Chapter 10: Sex Traffic Jam

“Well, the manhunt for Byron just ended,” Kevin chuckled into my ear. I set aside the bag of Epson salts and walked over to my porch.

“Oh?”

“Yep. They found him and his bike three counties over, at the bottom of a cliff outside of Jericho Springs. Odd thing is, he was tied to the handlebars,” he laughed.

I frowned, “but how did they...?” I shrugged. Didn’t really matter at this point. I tried to envision the final Evel Knievel flight off that bluff. “Do you think they are tying up loose ends before skipping town?”

I waited as my friend considered. It was midmorning and the sun was nearly breaking over the rim of the canyon. There were clear patches of dirt around the clearing where the snow had melted down to mud and then frozen overnight. Soon it would warm up enough that I would be stripping down to my t-shirt.

“If they are,” Kevin spoke finally, “they still have a very big one to tie up.” He was referring to Marta of course and she was well out of their reach.

I hadn’t seen her since we parted ways at the clinic three days prior. She was taken into protective custody with Rachel at her side. I knew she would be staying at the Sinclair residence, so I asked them if they would mind watching Travis for a few days while I took care of a few things around the place. Since Marta had developed an affinity for the mutt, I figured it would help her to feel safer.

A loud boom sounded off to my right and I turned to see another cloud of white smoke in front of Gil’s place.

“What the hell was that?” Kevin demanded.

“Just Gil,” I replied grinning, “when we were at Cabela’s yesterday, he fell in love with this double-barrel muzzleloader and he’s been playing with it all morn...” Another loud report echoed through the canyon, drowning my words. “Damn thing is as long as he is tall. He’s trying out different powders or something.” That was the first time I had seen the white smoke.

“Sounds like a freakin cannon.”

Nearby, my workbench was piled with various bottles of gunpowder, primers, and assorted ingredients for total pyro-anarchy. I had been busy the last two days.

I shook my head with a grin. “How did the press conference go?”

“I’m sure a lot of feathers got ruffled by it,” he snorted.

It was Delila’s idea to go public with the human trafficking ring. Her briefing was intentionally vague in her praise for the heroic intervention of an anonymous citizen. Marta’s (her last name turned out to be Kallaste) image was shown only briefly from leaked footage of her being escorted from the Federal Building in the Capitol, and placed into a dark Suburban. The mug shots of Byron and his 4 known associates were shown on every news channel as wanted felons, along with 4 other missing women.

She exhorted the roles and efforts of the State and Federal members of the trafficking task force in the state-wide manhunt. That there was no mention of the local Police or Sheriff’s office was also glaringly apparent.

Earlier she tried to explain the hierarchy of the trafficking business to me. It wasn’t complicated. For the same reasons they opted to punish Byron for losing one of their girls (and jeopardizing their operation), they were also at risk by whomever they purchased the girls from, and for the same reasons.

“Well, you just keep your head on a swivel and watch your six, buddy,” Kevin ordered, “they are desperate as hell now and you are their only lead.”

“Copy that,” I replied and ended the call.

That they would come, I had no doubt. Their numbers, weapons, and means of arrival, remained a mystery—though I had an idea of the latter. Sam ensured that my perimeter defenses were operational and standing by. I would know as soon as they approached the boundaries of my property and would be able to watch their approach. Sam created a protocol that would automatically notify the Task Force when such a breach occurred, which would get the cavalry rolling.

In the meantime, I decided to try my hand at making some rudimentary IEDs, flashy fireworks, and blasting material, after working at it for a full day, I became convinced that I would be looking into obtaining a demolition permit and purchasing materials legally.

Gil continued blasting away with his double-barreled bazooka. He tried to explain that wasn’t actually a double-barrel so much as a side-by-side rifle. I couldn’t tell the difference. It was long and heavy, with an adjustable flip-up rear sight, and it launched .50 caliber lead balls, that would knock a 55-gallon drum ass over tea kettle. He elected to rest the barrel on the end of a 2X4 to help him keep it steady as he aimed. Apparently aiming sticks were quite popular during the Revolutionary War.

They showed up later that afternoon. As expected, they were all riding Harleys which rendered my perimeter alert system pointless. They announced their presence like a tornado. The canyon walls echoed and shook with the rumble of their engines as they slipped and slid their way down into the ravine. I wondered if they considered the likelihood of being able to ride back out in these conditions. But that too was irrelevant.

I had already set my make-shift mortars and tube launchers on the porch and I was happy to see that it had snowed enough to cover the evidence of my work in the clearing. Only the 55-gallon barrel remained, standing in the center with a snow-covered half-sheet of plywood across the top. The plywood was merely a distraction. The barrel was not.

They began riding into the clearing over to my far left. There were five bikes total with two of them carrying passengers. As they drew closer, I could see the assault rifles carried by the two who were riding bitch. That was unsettling but expected. They approached in tandem, playing follow the leader, and made a show of riding in a full circle around the barrel before halting 15 yards away in a more-or-less orderly row. I pulled the emergency road flare from my back pocket as they began cutting off their engines. I calmly removed the cap as the roaring slowly echoed away, leaving an oppressive silence. The leader, clearly recognizable from the wanted posters and mug shots, climbed off his bike and lifted his goggles. The two shooters followed his lead, posing with their weapons pointing into the air.

“We want our property back!” he called across to me, “unless you...”

He halted as I struck the flare with the cap, igniting it with a loud hiss. Red flames burst from the tip filling the gloomy area with its bright radiance. “How does it feel to want?” I replied and tossed the flare onto the ground where my powder fuse began. There was a second burst of light and a cloud of white smoke rose as the powder began burning, leaving a hissing and sputtering trail in the snow. It slowly meandered about carving a smokey trail as it lazily began to circle the gathered spectators. Occasionally it would flair up brightly, producing random colors where I had integrated various chemicals into the mix.

It was almost comical watching their stunned and curious expression as they stupidly followed the slow progress of the burning line of powder. They turned their fat necks to watch as it traveled behind them and then lazily turned back in my direction. It remained far outside their immediate perimeter when it stopped with a sudden flash and went out. All that remained was a puff of smoke and a few feeble sputters.

There were several seconds of profound silence as they watched the spot. Then, as they turned back a subtle pop could be heard, jerking their attention back. The second powder fuse had lit off and shot towards the barrel faster than their eyes could follow. It was as if a solid thin line of gray smoke had suddenly appeared in a straight line from the fizzle. Then the powder charge within the barrel ignited, subsequently lighting off the 55-gallon contractor bag full of natural gas.

The result was impressive, to say the least! I had no idea the concussion would be so powerful. The detonation was beyond my wildest expectations. I was already covering my ears and closed my eyes expecting a loud bang and bright flash. I didn’t expect to be shoved backward into my door from the blast wave. I felt the heat against my face and was disoriented for a second as my insides jiggled about.