Southern Bound - A Paranormal-Mystery (Max Porter Mysteries Book 1) Page 18

  "Hull put Stephen in prison to keep an eye on him and to punish him for acting on his own accord."

  This perked Max's attention. "He wasn't supposed to attack me, was he?"

  "No. He did that to protect me and his secret. And it was a stupid thing to do. I can take care of myself. Besides, it sparked Hull's interest. He still doesn't know for sure who my grandson is, but I think he's starting to become concerned."

  "So he puts him in jail."

  Putting her glass on the table with a loud clack, she said, "You are a noisy fool. Now, for the last time shut up. Okay, then. See, my son, my darling little Cal, he didn't want to worry me with what his real motives were. All this time, I had felt betrayed, and it hurt him so bad but he knew he had to do it that way. If Hull ever found out who he was, Hull would come to me and he would see how angry I was and he would think Cal was truly on his side. But he wasn't. Cal wanted to find Hull's journal. That's what he was after the whole time. He wanted to find out what really happened between Hull and Stan."

  Max's muscles tensed as he held his breath. "He found it," he whispered.

  "No. That's why his son, my grandson, Stephen took over. And bless his heart, he succeeded."

  "They really were looking for that journal."

  "Yes. Your finding Stan's journal was a mistake. How did you find it anyway?"

  A cold, painful thrust of memory spiked the back of Max's head. "I had some unusual help."

  "That's all there is. Now, you know my dirty secret. Please, don't tell Hull. For my grandson."

  "I won't, but I need you to do something for me."

  Annabelle's face turned cold. "What is it?"

  "I need you to call Stephen, arrange for him to meet me. I need to talk with him."

  "You don't need me to visit the prison."

  "I doubt he would talk with me. He tried to kill me."

  "He wouldn't have really killed you. He just tried to scare you away from me."

  "Look, I've listened to or read so many sides to this story, and I want the last one. Please."

  Annabelle frowned as she looked out the window. "Okay," she said. "I'll do it. But go now."

  Max checked the window — a green Ford and a grey Honda had pulled up; the Honda in the driveway and the Ford in front of the house.

  "I'm sorry," Annabelle said. "I called Hull before I opened the door. I didn't know you were on my side."

  "Is there a back door?"

  With a nod, she pointed the way. "I'll call Stephen. He'll be waiting."

  As he hurried down the hall, Max wondered how much more abuse his body could take. His hand throbbed non-stop, his muscles complained from the previous night, and his head ached with the feeling of ten hangovers. He moved like an elderly man as he negotiated the stairs to the backyard.

  When he slid to the side of the house, he could hear Annabelle at the front door. "It's all okay, gentleman. He's gone now. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'm just a foolish old lady."

  The men said something too soft for Max to hear. Then Annabelle continued, "Come in, please. Have a drink. Oh, well, then have a seat. Let me see, he barged in here, very rude, and forced me to sit over there ..."

  While she proceeded to fabricate a tale, Max crouched and duckwalked toward the front. He peeked onto the porch. Nobody. Both men were inside. He looked at both cars. No drivers waiting. Finally, he checked out his car. No Sandra.

  Looking up and down the street, he sought her with fear rising in his throat. As his gaze passed over the car again, he saw movement — her hair. She was scrunched down in the driver's seat.

  Relief swept Max as he rushed down the sidewalk several houses before crossing the street and then working his way back to the car. When he opened the passenger side door, Sandra jolted and stifled a yelp. She motioned him to stay down but get in, and before he could close the door, she hugged him. Wiping at her eyes, she pulled the car out and drove off in a casual manner though Max could see her pulse pounding on her neck. Pride took over and he kissed her cheek.

  "Where to?" she asked.

  "The prison. It's just a few blocks north."

  Chapter 27

  Max sat in the functional waiting room, his elbows on his knees, trying to ignore the sideways glances he received from the other visitors. Fluorescent lights turned everything pale. He knew he looked awful — dirty, smelly, bruised, and broken. At least he had Sandra sitting next to him — that made him look less crazy. Just a little longer, he promised himself.

  "Samuels," a guard called out, and a young, overweight lady went to see her boyfriend.

  Each minute that passed by left more questions for Max to plague his weary brain. What if Annabelle was still with Hull's men? What if she couldn't get Stephen to agree to see him? What if she had lied and was informing Hull of everything right this moment? What if ... But Max knew that worrisome thoughts would not help him now. The time for over-cautious analysis had ended long ago. He had tested Drummond's way more than once, but now he had entered Drummond's world in full — a gut-reaction and from-the-hip world.

  "Spanitti," the guard called out and waited as a woman assisted an old man into the visitor's room.

  "I'm sorry, you know," Sandra said.

  "For what?"

  "The only reason we came down was because of me."

  Despite the pain, Max shook his head. "No, no. Don't start that. We came down here together. I screwed things up back in Michigan, I'm the one who couldn't bend a little for my boss to make it work, I'm the one who stole, and —"

  "And I'm the one who found this job."

  "What?" A chill covered Max, reaching all the way into his wrapped hand.

  With her hands clutching her purse, Sandra said, "I wanted us out of Michigan, out of that mess, and I wanted you to feel better, confident — maybe even a bit arrogant like you were when we first met. So I started checking around on the Internet. I found out about this opportunity with Hull, but they didn't actually take job applications. You simply recommended somebody and they said they would look into it if they had an opening, and so, I recommended you."

  Max brushed away the tears dribbling down her face. "I don't know what to say. I don't know whether to be mad or flattered or what."

  "You can be all of those. Obviously, the plan didn't work out quite the way I had intended."

  "Obviously." Max tried to put this new information in place, but it wouldn't fit. "Why even tell me this? What good is it?"

  "I'm trying to be truthful. All the little secrets we keep hidden to protect each other, it only ever hurts us. You said we can't lie anymore, and you're right. I know you're mad. I can see it building up, but just know, I did it all out of love. And I'm sorry."

  Sniffling, Sandra lowered her head. Max put his arm around her, and the warmth of her body against him was the first good sensation in quite some time. He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

  "Porter," the guard called, but Max didn't want to let go of the moment.

  As if reading his thoughts, Sandra said, "Go ahead. It's okay. I'll be right here when you're done."

  Max followed the guard to a desk where he filled out some papers. Then he was taken to a large room teeming with inmates in orange jumpers, all seated with their loved ones, all talking in hushed, urgent tones. Near one of the wide, frosted windows, Max saw a man seated alone. The guard pointed and nodded.

  Stephen Bowman shared a few of his grandmother's attributes — a similar nose and jaw. The eyes were Annabelle's as well. The rest of him came from Cal and Stan and whoever was his mother — harsh and angular. He had shaved his head, and Max noted the knife tattooed on the back of his hand.

  "I'm letting you know right now," he said with a force that spoke of more time in prison than just this most recent stay, "I'm only seeing you because my Grandma asked me to. I got no care what happens to you, so long as it don't come down on me or her."

  "Fair enough," Max said, sitting in a plastic, blue chair on the opposite s
ide of a small table.

  "So what do you want?"

  "Your side of this twisted story, and, depending on what you say, maybe we can help each other out."

  "Yeah, sure. My side. Listen, man, there are no sides, just the one truth."

  "And what's that?"

  "The fact is that Hull screwed over my whole family. He took a good, honorable man, a soldier who fought bravely for this country, and he fucked with his head until the guy couldn't think straight anymore and he did it to protect his own ass. Then when it all went to shit, he bought off my Grandma and walked away as if nothing happened."

  "That's not quite the story I've heard."

  "Well, you don't have what I have, do you?"

  Max tried to stay calm. "You have Hull's journal?"

  "You know I do. Why else would you be here talking with me? I'm guessing you figured it out the minute you knew who I was. Well, maybe not that fast. You had to check with my Grandma first. Then, you knew."

  "I had a hunch you had something on Hull, but I never thought you had his journal."

  "Well, you ain't getting it."

  "I didn't think I would. But I do need to know what's in it. It's important to both of us. I mean, if I could find out who you are, then Hull will have no trouble finding it out, too. He just has to decide to look."

  "That's the thing, though, he doesn't want to look. He's got no reason to doubt me and start looking."

  Max gestured around them. "He put you in prison for attacking me. You don't think that'll get him curious about you? Make him wonder why you'd want to hurt me? Besides which, doesn't he know his journal is missing?"

  "Of course, he does. He hired you, didn't he?"

  "I don't know which journal he wanted me to find."

  "Fact is, I joined up with Hull so I could get his journal. That's it. I mean, I didn't know it at the time. Back then, I just knew I wanted to hurt the bastard who hurt my family, took my father and Grandpa Stan from me. Understand? I figured I'd get in and just keep my eyes and ears open and one day, I'd find my opportunity. That's what I was waiting for. A gold opportunity.

  "And it happened. Sitting in a bar, listening to college kids playing trivia games, just minding my business. And then I hear this guy boasting loud right next to me about how he knew the Hull family. Good friends, he says. Made a couple of rude comments about the lady Hulls, got himself some laughs. Right then, I decided I'd beat the guy to a pulp. Get myself some points with Hull. I sat there for two hours listening to this jerk go on and on. I swear he just wouldn't shut up.

  "Around one in the morning, he finally leaves and I follow him to his car. Then I start bashing him and kicking him and he starts pleading with me. He's crying right there. I say some cool shit about Hull, and he looks at me hard. Like his whole face changed and he became Mister Cool for just a few seconds. And he says to me, 'You want something to really give you power?' He tells me about the journal. Turns out this fool was one of Hull's little gophers awhile back and he saw the journal. Hull found out and fired his ass.

  "I thanked him for the info and then beat him some more," Stephen said with a grin.

  Max checked the clock — high on the wall, protected by metal bars. He couldn't recall how long the guard had said he would have but knew time would run out soon enough. "So, you've got the journal now?"

  Stephen pushed Max's chair with his foot. "It wasn't easy like that. It took planning, cunning, some real smart work. But yeah, I got it."

  "Have you read it?"

  "Not much else to do around here."

  "And?"

  "And Hull was a dick just like I thought," Stephen said, his face reddening as he puffed up his chest. A guard at the door looked over, ready to pounce if Stephen grew any more agitated. Stephen waved at the guard and formed a twisted smile. Then he lowered his voice and said, "When Grandpa Stan went to Hull to blackmail him, do you know what really happened? He refused to pay. He said nobody blackmails a Hull. Then he turned the whole thing around. He offered my dad all the blackmail money plus more if my dad would do a small job."

  "The POW," Max said.

  "Damn right. He wanted a specific one, Günther Scholz, and he wanted it covered up well, so he used Grandpa Stan's nuttiness against him. He paid to have the POWs captured and tortured. Just three of 'em. The one he wanted and two he didn't even know. But Grandpa Stan still struggled with the war and all, and this whole thing just snapped him. He hurt way more than just three. And, of course, he took his life, too. It's all laid out in that journal."

  "Are you sure about that name. Günther Scholz?"

  "Yup. That's the name. Strange thing, though. Hull gloats about all of this, except he doesn't say why that one POW made a difference anyway. I mean who was this dude who was so damn important that Hull had to screw Grandpa Stan over, wreck my family's life, and send me on a path that led here?"

  "I don't know," Max said, but he kept trying to recall the names he had seen on that transfer slip. He thought Günther was not on it. An idea had formed that he suspected might be right; however, with the remaining time, he had a more urgent line of thought to pursue. "I'm going to try to help us both out here."

  "Oh, are you?"

  "Listen to me, please. You are not in a safe position just because you have the journal. But you can be. Together we can guarantee our safety."

  "Nobody's safe, man. Nobody," Stephen said with an all-knowing smirk on his face. "You find some way to get rid of Hull, there'll be some other bastard taking his place. Fuck, our own government is the worst one of all. At least with Hull, I know who I'm dealing with."

  "That's fine, if it's just you. But your Grandma is involved in all this, too."

  Stephen's mouth tightened into a thin line. "You stay away from her."

  "I'm not trying to bother her, but like you, I've got to protect those I love. And right now, you and her are standing in my way. But we can do it all different. The problem for both of us is Hull. So, if we work together, we can solve our problem."

  "I'm listening."

  "I need something that's in that journal. Not the journal, itself. I promise I won't take that from you. In fact, it's in both our interest for you to keep hold of that. But I do need a page, a single page."

  Chapter 28

  The green Ford idled just outside the prison. As Max and Sandra exited, its driver straightened and woke the man next to him. Max, however, did not head for his own car. This time, he walked straight toward the Ford. He thought they might drive away, but the closer he came to them, the more he understood that they were no longer trying to hide their interest in him. The driver's side window rolled down, and Max saw a muscular man who would have looked right at home in the prison Max had just left.

  "Mr. Porter," the man said as he exhaled cigarette smoke, "we've been looking for you."

  Max peered in the car and saw the other man, this one chubby but strong. "I want you to deliver a message to Modesto," Max said, impressing himself with his sturdiness of voice.

  "Tell him yourself. We're here to escort you and your wife to see Mr. Modesto."

  "No."

  The chubby one unbuckled his seatbelt. "Looks like I get to do something after all."

  Max knew he had only a few seconds left before these fools would stuff him in the car. "I have what Modesto wants. You guys try to hurt me or my wife, and he'll never get it. Tell him now. Call him up. You can see I'm not running. Heck, I'm the one who approached you, right? So, call him. Tell him I want to meet with him."

  Chubby, his hand on the door, looked to Smoker for guidance. Smoker drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he strained his gray matter. "Okay. Jack's going to help you wait, though, just in case you change your mind."

  With more relish than he should have displayed, Jack, the chubby fellow, opened the car door, walked around the front, and stood behind Max and Sandra with his arms crossed over his chest. Sandra inched closer to Max, and her presence gave Max a slight comfort. He hoped he offered
her some peace as well.

  Smoker flipped open a cell phone and made the call. Less than a minute later, he said, "Okay, Porter, what do you want?"

  "Tell him to come to my office in about two hours. We'll deal then."

  Smoker relayed the message. "Done. Mr. Modesto wanted me to assure you that if for any reason you fail to deliver what you say you have or you try to run, the order to bring you in unharmed will be rescinded."

  "I kind of figured that."

  "And we're still going to be following you."

  "I kind of figured that, as well."

  "Don't try anything stupid."

  "No, I won't. I'm just going to the library to do some last minute research. Then we're going to the office to meet your boss. That's it."

  As Max and Sandra walked back to their car, Max kept calm. Sandra, however, had enough agitation for them both. "What are you doing? You don't have anything to give him."

  "Honey, trust me. I've got this one covered."

  Chapter 29

  Upon entering the office, Max discovered a thrilled ghost, bubbling and chatty. It was the most frightening experience Max ever had with Drummond.

  "Thank goodness you're okay," Drummond said and he flew around the room with nervous energy. "I mean I knew when you called Sandra that you were okay, but after they took you, well, I just started thinking about all of this and how I really got you involved and all that. I'm sorry. Really. I don't want you getting killed on my account. Oh, crap, look at your hand. They tortured you. I tell you if I wasn't stuck in this room, I'd be right out there helping you out. I mean it. I think you're okay, and I'm telling you, you need to have some backup. You can't go charging into a criminal's home —"

  "Drummond," Max said. "Be quiet."

  "That's a real nice thing to say. I'm just trying to let you know I was concerned and you're putting me down."

  "Modesto's on his way," Max said. To Sandra he added, "Help me move this desk."

  "Modesto?" Drummond said. "Why's he coming? The bastard already took the journal."

  The desk scraped the floor, making a grating, high-pitched tone, but they managed to get it pushed toward the back wall. The binding curse marking the floor could now be seen in its entirety. In the center of the circle the four-headed snake bared its bloody mouth. The creature looked in all directions, promising to see all things at all times. It was disturbing, and Max tried to put it out of his mind even as he walked over the image.