Chapter 6

The girls went shopping and didn’t come home. Our store isn’t big enough to keep anyone for three hours. I called Jessie’s phone and a man answered.

“Two million in small cash and gold or you don’t get either one of them back alive. Twenty-four hours. Use the orange bucket on the side of your house and leave it behind the old tractor place in Mortonton. The one across the tracks from Casey’s. Not a word to anyone but your banker, or they die. Don’t even think about screwing this up, Cantley. This time I won’t get caught. I win, or they bleed to death. Your choice.” I heard a muffled scream in the background. Click. He ended the call, and I’ll bet the phone was powered off immediately thereafter.

I kept my cool, barely, and thought for a second. Our only local cell tower was between here and there meaning Mortonton. A phone trace wouldn’t help. I didn’t have any time, since I knew what he was capable of. He said, “this time”. I looked up the articles Jessie had shown me, did a search on the names, and bigger than shit, one of them escaped from a work party outside the prison in Soledad, California, just before Thanksgiving and was still on the run.

I called the local hotels and motels looking for them, asking for the girls’ names, knowing he wouldn’t use his own. I’m sure he knew he was wanted. I hoped he didn’t have any fake papers or plastic he was using. I’d never find them. I tried both places in town, nothing. Wenger’s Corner, nothing. Boddenton, nothing. Wardensville, nothing. Then, I thought, ‘he wasn’t dumb enough to stay in Mortonton, was he?’ Might as well give it a shot.

“Roadway Motor Hotel, this is Cynthia, how may I help you?”

“Yes, Miss Cynthia, do you have a Jessica Cantley or Tillotson or Wendy Williams registered? They’re here for our family reunion and I need to get some information to them.”

“Yes, we do, sir. Mrs. J. Tillotson. Billing is under Cantley, though. Room two oh four. Shall I ring them for you?”

“Oh, no. Please. I’d rather surprise them. I’ll be there to deliver it myself in twenty minutes or so.”

“Yes, sir, of course.” She was friendly, and obviously didn’t have a clue of the danger lurking upstairs.

As I pulled up to the motel, about fifteen minutes later, I decided I’d better let Willie know what was happening, so I called dispatch and had them put me through.

“Willie, there’s a problem with Jessica and her friend. I’m in Mortonton now. I need to fix this quickly, but please come in case I screw it up. I’ll explain it later.”

“Charlie, don’t do anything ra...” Click. I ended the call. Rash. Yeah, I know. Don’t do anything rash. Too late for that. I stopped at the desk, told the lady the truth. I told her the sheriff was on the way, but it couldn’t wait, and I didn’t want a standoff with my wife and her friend in the room held by a man with absolutely nothing to lose. He’s already been convicted of kidnapping and raping her.

She saw the gun in my hand and shaking like a dry leaf in a windblown tree handed me a key card and told me to be careful. “That’s the master. It will open anything on the premises.”

I went upstairs, walked right by the room and noticed the curtain was just a bit crooked on the corner away from the door. It had the big glass front windows like the Holiday Inns of the sixties and seventies. Once I was past it, I crawled back, peeked in, and saw them. The girls were sitting on the floor, with both beds between them and the door. He was sitting on the the closer of the two beds, next to the phone table in the middle, looking at them. His back was to me. I had to do this quickly and not shoot the girls. Unlock, move in and to the left, shoot to the right, and pray no one was in the next room.

I looked over the balcony. The only car at this end of the building was an old Buick. God, I prayed, please help me not hurt anyone besides him.

As if he heard me, a big cattle truck drove into town from the south, using his engine brake, I pushed the card key down into the lock, turned the knob, threw the door open and yelled, “Hands up NOW.” He turned.

Jessie yelled “GUN!”

I fired three times. He was left handed, I hit his arm once and his chest twice. He never got the gun up. It fell out of his hand on the nearer bed as he slumped down, dead, between them, leaned up against that little table between the beds. Four seconds had gone by. It was all over. On the sixth, I had my arms full of my wife and her pet. My love and her love. Our love. All our love. Shared in our arms.

I snuck my gun back into my holster, called Jason, explained what happened, and who I shot. A four-thousand-dollar suit. A suave and debonair litigator. A professional by any standard, and what did he say to his wealthiest client, “You crazy fucker. You’re gonna get your ass killed someday. I’ll be right there.”

I called down to the desk and told them I was calling for an ambulance, everybody important was OK, then called 911 for the EMS folks and waited for Willie.