When Doubt Creeps In: A Harry Bronson Suspense Thriller Page 5

  One thing for sure, Mike would never be stupid enough to use his gun to kill anyone. He would know that the police would trace the bullet back to his gun.

  Another horrifying thought plagued Bronson. Why was Mike hiding?

  It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense, but at this point, that’s the only premise Bronson had. The gun had been stolen, and Mike was on the run because he was in danger.

  Bronson swore to follow that theory no matter where it led. Right now, that place would be Hobbs.

  He would go there because he had to believe in Mike.

  He had to, for friendship’s sake—for what is life without the love and support of a true friend?

  The Search

  14

  Mike saw his hand reaching for the gun. Raising it. Shooting.

  That same hand now reached deep inside, grabbed hold of his insides, and ripped them out.

  Mike sat bolt upright in bed as coldness and darkness embraced him. He felt his doubts translate into tensed muscles and a pounding heart.

  He jerked the bed covers aside. He had failed to close the night curtains and the moon’s light landed on the dresser’s mirror located next to the bed. He could hardly recognize the image that stared back at him. His ashen face, the deep anguish in his eyes, the fog of sheer, hopeless misery—all of that would betray him. He had to get a grasp on reality. He had a mission to accomplish. Nothing else mattered.

  One way or the other, he had to get hold of Cleopatra’s statues. But he’d never do it if he didn’t gain control of himself. He took a deep breath and headed for a cold shower.

  Two figurines. Five million dollars.

  Amazing.

  * * *

  The four detectives waited for what seemed an eternity for Chief Schemmel to show up.

  Mike scooted over to the edge of his seat. He looked at his watch. Another minute dragged by.

  Gene had busied himself dusting imaginary lint off his shoes.

  Susan turned the page of a magazine. She wasn’t reading. She simply turned the pages.

  Dave sat staring at the floor.

  “Any idea how much longer?” Mike asked the deputy sitting at his desk, entering information on the computer.

  The deputy’s face turned red. “No, sorry. Like I told you before, right before you all came in, Chief Schemmel was called on some kind of an oil emergency. She asked me to tell you that she hasn’t forgotten about meeting with you, but that this matter required immediate attention. It shouldn’t be that much longer now.” The deputy returned to his computer.

  “I’d say we get out of here.” Gene spoke loud enough for only the three Dallas detectives to hear.

  Susan shook her head. “I’d love to, but we promised Chief Kelley that we’d report here first.”

  “You’re right.” Mike crossed his arms and slumped down on the chair a bit more. “But I hate wasting time like this.”

  At that moment, a little past one in the afternoon, Chief Reba Schemmel strolled in. She signaled for the group to follow her into her office. She set her hat down on the desk. “Sorry about that. The oil—the major …” She waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “That’s not important.” She flopped down on her chair and took a deep swig from her water bottle. “So tell me, what can I do for you?”

  Mike sat up straighter. “I think it’s the other way around. It’s what can we do for you. Chief Kelley said that we should make ourselves available.”

  Chief Schemmel wiped the sweat off her forehead. “You’re here because of the murder—somebody’s partner, right?”

  Mike raised his hand as though he were still in school. “Mine.”

  “I’m sorry.” The chief’s tone sounded detached, as though she were dictating a letter. She took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. My mind is still with this oil mess. The major is putting the pressure on me.” She frowned. “Your partner’s death—that’s important too—very important, but I’m afraid we haven’t been able to do much digging.”

  “Hence the reason we’re here.” Dave’s harsh tone made the chief’s eyes open wider.

  “Yes, of course.” She waited for a moment before speaking. “Can you divide yourselves into two groups? Maybe you can dig around. See what you can learn.”

  “Any particular place we should begin?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I think we have a smuggling ring operating out of here, and I’ve heard from the vine that somehow Finch was in the center of it all. With that bit of knowledge, I want you to hit a couple of bars. Sniff around. See if you can pick up anything. Tomorrow, say at nine, we can regroup and work something out. I’ll assign some of my men to you. Not many, of course. We have this oil thing. But that doesn’t mean I want some drug lords hanging around our great little city. Report back to me tomorrow and we’ll take it from there.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “How does that sound?”

  Mike was the first to stand up, followed by his new partner, Gene. “Tomorrow at nine it is.” They walked out and Dave and Susan followed.

  Dave waited until they reached their cars. “That was nothing but bull. She doesn’t care if we find Finch’s murderer. All she wants is her precious oil interest protected.”

  Mike took in a deep breath. “As much as I hate to say it, I agree with you. But us four, we want to destroy that S.O.B. who did this. We’ll find him and bring him in. Maybe that’s why Chief Kelley sent us here.”

  “Where can we go to make plans?” Gene asked.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starved.” Susan tapped her stomach. “I didn’t have much of a breakfast.”

  Mike snapped his fingers. “Right across the street from our motel, there’s a restaurant that the motel clerk recommended. Dave, I was told they serve the perfect steak, and I know how you always love them. Why don’t we go there and brainstorm?”

  “I’m already salivating,” Dave said.

  15

  They had almost finished their meals when Mike closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands.

  “Mike.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “You don’t look too good.”

  Mike ignored his detective team. Instead, his fingers massaged his forehead.

  Susan placed her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Is there anything we can do?”

  Mike released his head, and Susan removed her hand from Mike’s shoulder.

  The seconds stretched as they stared at him, and he at the group. He squinted, and then blinked several times. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “What’s wrong?” Gene handed Mike a glass of water. “Would this help?”

  Mike cleared his throat and accepted the water. He took a small swig. “Thanks, Gene. The first day and you’re already taking care of your new partner.”

  Gene’s lips quivered as he attempted to smile. “What happened? You gave us a scare.”

  Mike focused on Gene, then Susan, and finally on Dave. He then looked at the other people in the restaurant. No one seemed to notice him. They continued eating, or chatting, or otherwise occupying themselves. “Sorry.” He winced and his right hand fumbled toward his forehead. “I suffer from migraines. I have medication back in the motel.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “Bad thing about the meds is that they knock me out. Sometimes, I sleep for two, three straight days. In the meantime, I’m not worth much.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Gene also moved his chair away from the dining table.

  “I appreciate that, but the motel is right across the street. Hopefully, by tonight, I’ll be able to somewhat function.” Mike took a deep breath. “You can fill me in on today’s events. I’m sorry I can’t do my share.”

  “It’s probably stress.” Susan squeezed Mike’s upper arm. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Our job is always full of stress. I should be used to it.” Mike looked down, refusing to meet their eyes.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dave said. “Finc
h was your partner. You need time to mourn on your own.”

  Mike nodded. “Thanks.” He unfolded his large frame from the restaurant’s chair. “After we we’re finished here, we were supposed to get a feeling for the town. Poke around. See if we could pick up any hints.”

  Susan nodded. “That’s what the Hobbs chief suggested.”

  “Mind if I don’t tag along?” Mike closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose.

  “We understand.” Dave took a bite of his biscuit. “Go.”

  Mike nodded. He wobbled and reached for the table to steady himself. “I’ll put the Do Not Disturb sign up. Hopefully tomorrow or the next day, I’ll join you. In the meantime, if you get any leads, text. It doesn’t matter what time.”

  Dave shrugged. “I’m sure nothing will come up. Yesterday, when I got here early, I snooped around. I didn’t get a single whiff. We are on a fool’s errand. I’m not even sure why Chief Kelly sent us here.”

  Mike reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth. “You came here early, by yourself?”

  Dave nodded. “Yeah, just like you.”

  Mike smiled and realized how lucky he had been not to have run into him. From here on, he’d be more cautious. “I guess you could say we’re both eager-beavers.” He stood up and ambled toward the motel, just in case the Dallas detectives were watching him. Once he entered the motel and knew they couldn’t see him, he sped up.

  His first stop was his room where he hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. Once inside, he grabbed the rental car keys for the Chevy he had parked on the other side of the motel, away from any inquisitive eyes staring out of the restaurants’ windows.

  He dashed out. He had bought himself maybe two days of freedom away from his eager new partner and the other two Dallas detectives.

  He was free to move, but time was limited, and he still had a lot to do.

  16

  Early twentieth-century Hobbs consisted of nothing more than a store, a small school, and a cluster of scattered shacks. All of that was destined to change, for in 1928 a giant oilfield discovery brought blooming business to the area. Hobbs was ideally located at the center of the Permian Basin, and the 1930s transformed the town into the fastest growing city in the United States. Today, New Mexico stands as the third leading oil and natural gas-producing state.

  Aware of what oil has done for them, the residents of Hobbs remain protective of their oil interest, even if it means turning an eye away from other matters.

  As soon as Mike discovered this bit of information, an idea began to brew in his mind. It had taken him a full month to work out the specifics that lead to tonight’s events. Its success would all depend on how close he had paid attention to the smallest of details.

  Mike leaned against the abandoned, non-working Jack Stand and yawned. He had leased the land around him so he felt confident that no one uninvited would come along. He glanced at his watch. The digital read 2:33. He wiped his brow. Even at night, the desert was warm. Or maybe the warmth came from within him.

  Twenty-six more minutes until showtime, and he was set to go.

  The first to arrive was the white pick-up with Pedro at the steering wheel and three men with him. The brown sedan followed closely with four more men. When Pedro stepped out, the other men did too. They hung close to the car while Pedro approached Mike. “Do you know what you are? You’re a crazy gringo. There’s a reason we don’t do night drops. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s too dark.”

  “And good morning to you too,” Mike answered.

  Pedro barked out some words in Spanish Mike didn’t recognize.

  Pedro’s hand swept the area. “Why did you choose this location for the drop-off? The place is nothing but one oil well after another. How’s the pilot supposed to know which oil well is the right one?” He pointed to the sky. “And even if they somehow know which one it is, we won’t be able to see where all the goods are dropped. And to make matters worse, you even chose a moonless night. It’s too dark.”

  At that moment, Mike’s watch beeped. He looked down at it: 2:50. “Now it starts.”

  Pedro’s eyes widened. “What starts?”

  Mike placed his hand on the Jack Stand nearest to him. “This oil pump is rigged. Its top has a solar-powered infrared light system.” He picked up the rumbling of a Piper Cup. Mike looked up and soon spotted the plane. “Watch what happens.”

  As the plane neared, a small landing strip near them lit up. “Best if we steer away from the strip. The Piper is going to land.”

  “You think the plane is going to land?” Pedro hit his head with the palm of his hand. “Stupido. The plane makes a fly-by and drops off the goods.”

  Mike shrugged. “Looks like the rules have changed.”

  “I don’t like changes.” Pedro crossed his arms. “My men don’t like changes either. No one does.”

  Mike took a step forward, invading Pedro’s private space. “Do you or don’t you want your merchandise?”

  `Pedro remained quiet, but his jaw jutted forward in an angle of contempt.

  “Just as I thought.” Mike backed off.

  The Piper Cup landed and the pilot turned off the engine and stepped out. He removed the special goggles that had allowed him to see the lights. In a loud clear voice, he said, “In five minutes I’m taking off. If you haven’t finished transferring your goods from my plane to your truck, that’s not my problem.” He stepped aside.

  Pedro signaled for the men to start unloading and both he and Mike kept a close eye on them.

  Mike’s attention shifted to the pilot who was heading toward them. “Which of you is Mike Hoover?”

  Neither answered.

  The pilot looked directly at Mike. “You must be Mike Hoover.”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My boss. He has a shipment he needs to move and you’re the man for it.”

  Pedro stepped forward. “Your boss works with me. Not him. I’m the one he wants.”

  With the speed of a jaguar, a gun appeared in the pilot’s hand. He cocked it and pressed its barrel against Pedro’s chest. He inched forward so that the men unloading the plane had no idea what was going on. “I don’t think so. He specifically asked for Mike.” Without moving his eyes away from Pedro, he asked Mike, “Are you coming, or do I kill him?”

  Mike took a deep breath. “That all depends on Pedro.”

  “How so?” the pilot asked.

  “I was promised Cleopatra’s two god figurines. If I can take them with me, I’ll go with you. If I can’t take them, then I’ll have to join you at a later time. If you need to kill him, do so. It makes no difference to me. I’ll get the statues either way.”

  Pedro glared at Mike with a fierceness that could ignite a fire.

  Mike looked at his watch. “Time is ticking. If I were you, I’d be telling those men to find the statues and give them to me. Now!”

  Pedro’s lips quivered. “Jose, Raul. Come!”

  The two men set down the boxes they carried out of the airplane and headed toward Pedro. As soon as they saw the gun pointed at their boss, they froze.

  “Tell them what you want them to do,” Mike said and slightly nodded at the pilot. He shoved the barrel of the gun deeper into Pedro’s chest.

  Pedro gasped. “The two Lapis Lazuli statues. Cleopatra’s gods. Bring them here.” Pedro spoke through tight lips.

  “Sí, señor.” They ran and began searching through the boxes.

  Less than three minutes later, Jose ran back to Pedro, carrying the box that contained the two exposed eight-inch figurines. “Are these them?”

  Mike looked at the treasure, and his heart skipped a beat. “That’s them.” I’m looking at five million dollars.

  The pilot lowered the gun but kept it visible.

  The atmosphere charged with tension as Pedro glared at Mike. “Give them to him.” He pointed at Mike and anger burned in his eyes.

  Jose did as told.

  Mike rewrapped them in the
ir original boxes. “I’m out of here.”

  The pilot moved the gun from Pedro to Mike. “Of course you’re out of here. You’re coming with me, remember?”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

  17

  Darkness still enveloped the room when Dave’s phone buzzed. Dave stretched his arm and fumbled for the cell. He had thought that by coming to Hobbs and away from Dallas’ constant craziness, he could at least sleep in late. “Detective Dave de la Rosa.” His eyes remained half-closed.

  “Dave? This is Chief Rudy Kelley.”

  Dave’s eyes snapped open. The chief had identified himself by using his full name. That meant this was an official call. What had gone wrong?

  The motel’s alarm clock read 4:40. Since the chief was calling him at such an ungodly hour that meant trouble. Suddenly wide awake, Dave sat ramrod straight in bed. “Chief, what’s going on?”

  * * *

  The first person Dave contacted was his partner, Susan. “Get dressed and grab your gun. Meet me in my room. ASAP.” He disconnected, dialed Gene’s number, and gave him the same instructions.

  Within five minutes, they arrived.

  “What’s going on?” Gene’s hair stood up at the side of his head.

  “Chief Kelley called.”

  Susan and Gene exchanged looks.

  “Bad news?” Gene ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to plaster it down.

  Dave cleared his throat. “They think they know who killed Finch.”

  Susan and Gene remained still.

  Dave continued, “Of course, they’re not certain yet, but evidence strongly points to … Mike.”

  Gene’s face remained impassive, but his eyebrows knit slightly in puzzlement. “That’s … not possible.”