Chapter 112: Deputy Clark

Friday, June 11, 1971

Roger knocked on my open door frame. “The girls have left. Where would you like to meet?”

“You pick. I’ll be there in two minutes,” I replied as I scanned for Ileana.

“Hey good looking. You okay?” I asked when I found her in her stateroom. “Your sister said you didn’t feel like shopping.”

She blushed. For some reason, it made me horny when I felt her blush. Hell, what am I saying? Anything to do with a female makes a sixteen-year-old horny!

“Yeah ... I thought I’d hang around here and maybe see what you were doing,” she said shyly.

This wasn’t exactly what I had come to expect from Ileana, who was usually confident and direct. So I delved a little deeper and saw that she was actually nervous. It would take a microscope to dissect all the jumbled reasons floating around her mind, so I didn’t bother.

“Great! That means I can have you all to myself,” I told her happily. “I have to meet with the architects for a little while first, though. You want to join me? We’re going to talk about our new home.”

“Sure,” she replied. “Where are you?”

“In my room,” I told her. “But I was headed for the Dining Car. Just head this way until you see this real handsome guy. I’ll be the one standing beside him.

“Oh, Michael!” she cooed.

Steve and Roger were in the Dining Car with the plat map laid out on a table. Ileana arrived about the same time as me so I kissed her cheek as I squeezed her hand.

“Okay, Steve. It’s your show,” I told him.

I was happy. Happy to work on the new house plans, and happy that Ileana had stayed for me. However, I should have been paying more attention to what was going on outside the train.

Like I said, I was happy. I should have been paying more attention to what was happening outside the railcar. So the knock on the rear vestibule door surprised me.

I quickly scanned, then called to Kip. “Company. And they’re not here to welcome us to Houston!”

“Quick! I want all of you in the Observation Car, now!” Kip ordered.

We all hurried to the rear of the train, while Kip ducked into the pantry. When he emerged, he was carrying his MP5N 9mm submachine gun and some other paraphernalia. “Okay, Michael. Do your thing and let’s find out what we’re facing,” Kip said.

Before doing anything else, I connected to Anna. “Sorry to bother you, but we have a situation,” I thought to her. I could feel her becoming still as she immediately thought, “Okay, Michael, what’s up?”

“We’re just about to find out. There are three cars next to the train. One says Harris County Sheriff on it; the other two are plain blacks with Louisiana tags,” I told her.

I scanned the lone man on the porch. Deputy Tommy Clark was not happy. He did not like to be set up, and this whole thing had the smell of set-up on it. “Since when does an interstate kidnapping case NOT involve the FBI?” he thought.

“Tommy, run these here boys out to the Englewood yard and see if there’s a custom job with the name ‘Rowena’ on the side. If it’s there, serve their warrant and then get back here. You understand?” The dispatcher had told him.

“It’s not a local warrant. How can I serve a Louisiana warrant in Texas?” Deputy Clark had asked.

“Don’t ask no questions, boy. Just do as you’re told. The Sheriff wants these boys accommodated. Now git!” the fat dispatcher had told him. “And don’t fuck this one up!”

Now twenty-eight years old, Tommy Clark had been a Harris County deputy for four years, and had already earned a reputation for asking too many questions and for one big fuck up. Born and raised in Hartford, Connecticut, he had joined the Marines at eighteen. After six years as an MP at Camp Pendleton, California, he met a sweet young thing, married her, and moved to Houston so she could be near her family. Her daddy got Tommy a job with his brother, who was the Harris County Sheriff, and reminded Tommy of it every time they went over to his in-laws house. As the marriage began to fall apart, it was his wife who did most of the reminding that he owed his job to her. Finally, she met a young salesman at the local Ford Truck dealership, and ditched their three year marriage for greener pastures and a greener bank account.

Tommy had decided to remain with the Harris County Sheriff’s Department, naively believing he was on the way up in the department. That had been his big fuck up. His career had ground to an abrupt halt with the divorce. Now, all he seemed to get were the shit-assignments. The jobs that no one else wanted. It’s still police work, he kept telling himself. But even he wasn’t buying it anymore.

“Open up,” he called. “This is the Sheriff’s Department.”

“This is some fancy way to travel,” he thought as he waited. “I wonder what they did to get on Dewey’s bad side.”

Yes, Deputy Clark had recognized the name on the warrant.

Samuel Dewey ran New Orleans. A former District Attorney, who had found easier and more lucrative ways of making money, with the help of powerful friends with powerful secrets. Dewey had started out protecting those friends by protecting their secrets. Even the dirty little secrets. Now in private practice, his client list read like a who’s who of organized crime in Louisiana.

“Did you get all that?” I thought to Anna.

“It’s hearsay and inadmissible as evidence,” she thought back.

Kip laughed in his mind as he thought, “I can’t wait to hear you explain to the judge how you came by it!”

“Well, it looks like you picked up a little trouble when you picked up Deedee and Abby,” Anna thought back. “Just keep stalling. I need to get to a phone and call Daddy. I’ll have them drop me someplace I can find a phone and then I’ll grab a cab back to the train.”

“If it’s the General you need, hang on a minute,” I told her as I began to focus.

“I can hear you moving in there,” Deputy Clark called out. “Don’t make me break down this door.”

He could tell the men from Louisiana were getting antsy, as he listened for sounds of more movement. “I’d sure hate to have to mess up this beautiful old door,” I heard Deputy Clark think to himself.

I located the General. He was alone in his office at the Pentagon. Tapping him on his mental shoulder I said, “Good morning, General. I have a long distance call for you from your daughter.”

“Huh?” he snorted at the invisible interruption.

“Will you accept the charges?” I added with a laugh.

“What the fuck? How did ... never mind. Hell, let me talk to her,” he said gruffly. I could tell that he was talking out loud. I reminded him that he didn’t need to speak, in case someone overheard him, just think. Then I connected him with Anna.

I pushed their conversation to the back of my mind as the four men from Louisiana, all wearing cheap dark suits with white shirts and narrow ties, had now congregated at the steps to the vestibule asking Deputy Clark what was going on. Deputy Clark explained that he thought someone was in here, but wouldn’t come to the door.

“Break it in!” said the heavyset one. He appeared to be the leader of this little band.

I quickly scanned him and did not like what I found.

Sam Dewey had been having him shadow the girls ever since the fire, and then Sam would relay their whereabouts to Haiti, I discovered as I scanned him. Hefty’s instructions were to keep an eye on the girls, but not to touch them until Little Doc could pull together his cadre of sorcerers and priests and send them to pick Abby up. It seems that Little Doc was afraid of the girls being protected by some powerful voodoo magic. However, Dewey could care less about the rumors of magic. It was easy money. At least until some kid in a fancy railcar had kidnapped them yesterday.

Deputy Clark hesitated. He knew the law, but he also knew the law had a way of getting bent if it got in the way of powerful people like Sam Dewey.

“I said ... break it down!” Hefty repeated.

Deputy Clark stepped back in resignation and unleashed a hard kick at the door, right below the handle.

“SHIT!” He screamed as the old door proved a lot stronger than he had ever imagined. The four suits pulled their guns when Tommy fell to the vestibule floor as his knee gave out.

“STOP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I knew that I could have zapped them, but I didn’t want them to know about my abilities at this point. I had already memorized Hefty’s emotional signature and could follow him now. All the way back to Louisiana if I had to. And that was exactly what I wanted to do.

The four suits all pointed their guns at the door. While I was monitoring them, Kip had slipped out the Guest Wing and circled behind their car. “Sam Dewey should hire smarter muscle,” I thought. “One of them should have covered their rear.”

“Drop your weapons, now!” I called out.

Two of them opened fire at the sound of my voice, their ricocheting bullets passing dangerously close to Deputy Clark, who, still unable to stand, had rolled off the vestibule onto the gravel on the other side of the train.

The Rowena had been built to withstand this kind of assault. “You’re wasting your ammunition,” I told the suits. “Now, lay down your weapons.”

Of course they didn’t listen. “Do it,” I thought to Kip who immediately opened fire on the rear Louisiana car with his submachine gun. At over ten rounds per second, It only took three seconds for the gas tank to explode, lifting the rear end of the car over six feet in the air, before crashing back to the ground in flames.

The moment Kip fired, I tweaked their motor cortexes just a tad. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice it in the excitement, or at least they’d attribute it to the shock from the explosion. However, it DID make them drop their guns. I couldn’t take a chance on one of them getting a lucky shot at Kip. In the middle of everything, I made a mental note to pick up some body armor for everybody. And soon!

The suits looked at their weapons on the ground, and then at the muzzle of Kip’s submachine gun, before slowly raising their hands. They weren’t scared so much as they were mad at themselves for letting him get the drop on them.

Deputy Clark tried to stand, but his knee wasn’t cooperating. “Stay where you are Deputy,” I told him as I stepped onto the platform. I decided to try something the Old One had taught me, focusing on the deputy’s pistol. I was surprised at how little heat it required to ruin the firing pin, thereby making the pistol inoperable.

I heard the sirens in the distance and reconnected with Anna. “Is that you I hear coming?” I asked.

“No, Daddy said for me to stay away until he found out who they are,” she replied. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll fill you in soon,” I told her before turning my attention back to the suits. However I did stay connected so she could feel what was happening. Kip had moved closer, his gun never wavering.

The Southern Pacific’s emergency fire crews were the first to arrive. But they fell behind the big fire truck when they saw Kip and his submachine gun.

I jumped to the ground and offered the Deputy a hand. But instead of accepting my offer of help, he whipped the arrest warrant out from under him, placing it in my offered hand. “You’ve been served,” he said.

I stuffed the warrant in my back pocket without looking at it and re-offered my hand. “C’mon, Deputy, you and I both know it’s not worth the paper it’s written on,” I said with a grin.

A look of surprise flashed across his face as I helped him to his feet. His knee wasn’t going to let him do much running for a while. In fact, even standing was going to be a challenge. Maybe I could take a look at it later. But right now, the cavalry was arriving.

Gravel flew as several dark green sedans with Federal Government tags screeched to a halt on both sides of the railcar. The doors flew open and the occupants immediately pulled their guns and dropped for cover at the sight of Kip and his submachine gun.

“Drop it!” the G-man told Kip.

“Stop!” I told them. “I’m Michael, and he works for me.”

I hoped like hell, the FBI Agent in charge wasn’t a hothead.

FBI Special Agent in Charge, Cecil Turner, had been briefed, I discovered as I scanned him. He wasn’t sure why his orders for this weekend had him babysitting a rich teenager, but they had come directly from J. Edgar’s office in DC, so he wasn’t about to argue with them. He held up his hand from his crouched position behind the open door of the sedan, motioning for his men to hold their fire, as he surveyed the scene. According to his Intel, there was supposed to be an FBI Agent already onboard the train. But since they had not identified themselves yet, he focused his attention on me.