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    Vengeance
    Vengeance
    Vengeance
    Ebook340 pages3 hours

    Vengeance

    By Dan Baldwin

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    About this ebook

    Dr. Ashley “Ash” Hayes, professor of archaeology at a prestigious Louisiana college, is in danger of losing her job because of her controversial and outspoken beliefs about the history of man in North America. Unexpected and barely-welcome help comes from a moral enemy, a former state senator who years earlier was forced to resign due to Ashley uncovering his illegal dealing in Native American artifacts. He wants to make amends by using his still-considerable influence if she will use her skills to help him locate a fortune in lost Confederate arms. For the same reasons, Deputy Sheriff Tate Dawson enlists her aid in tracking a crazed serial killer who is seeking another historical treasure – the lost fortune of gunman Cullen Montgomery Baker. As matters deteriorate, Ashley’s career rests on her locating a bizarre letter penned by President Abraham Lincoln which is being sought by an old and mysterious organization known as The Brothers of the Law. The questors, the mysteries and the killer intersect in a violent confrontation at a lakeside mansion. Will Ashley lose her job or will she lose more than that – her life?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDan Baldwin
    Release dateApr 10, 2015
    ISBN9781310828454
    Vengeance
    Author

    Dan Baldwin

    Dan Baldwin is the author of westerns, mysteries, thrillers, short story collections and books on the paranormal. He is the winner of numerous local, regional, and national awards for writing and directing film and video projects. He earned an Honorable Mention from the Society of Southwestern Authors writing competition for his short story Flat Busted and  a Finalist designation from the National Indie Excellence Awards for Trapp Canyon and Caldera III – A Man of Blood. Baldwin received a Finalist designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards for Sparky and the King. Bock’s Canyon earned the Winner designation in the 2017 Best Book Awards. Baldwin’s paranormal works are The Practical Pendulum – A Swinging Guide, Find Me as told to Dan Baldwin, They Are Not Yet Lost and How Find Me Lost Me – A Betrayal of Trust Told by the Psychic Who Didn’t See It Coming. They Are Not Yet Lost earned the Winner designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Competition. How Find Me Lost Me won the Winner designation in the Best Book Awards 2017 competition and the Finalist designation in the New Mexico-Arizona Book Competition.

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      Book preview

      Vengeance - Dan Baldwin

      The old woman started screaming around 10 p.m., screams muted by the duct tape across her withered mouth and tightly twisted around her head. Spud sliced off her nightgown by slowly ripping the thin fabric from top to bottom, letting it pool at her feet. He held the knife point below her left ear at the edge of her jawbone and pushed forward gently enough to draw a drop of blood. He put his left hand on her bare breasts and shoved her to the couch. Her old man, Ben, was naked too, taped to a cheap metal kitchen chair not more than five feet away. His arms were tied behind him and his legs spread with the ankles taped to the forward legs of the rusty chair.

      Bone leaned over and spoke quietly in his ear. Spud, here, likes ‘em old. Something about all that flippin’ and floppin’ skin I think. He looked over to the old woman and grinned. Make it nice.

      Ben screamed as Spud had his way with Bessie–the Delta High prom queen of 1955, everyone’s favorite neighbor and Ben’s wife of forty years. Spud started with her on the couch, but halfway through he stopped and dragged her across the room. He shoved her head between Ben’s legs and then finished her from behind. His climaxing scream was a mockery of the ferocious rebel yell. Ben looked into his wife’s eyes. She had finally stopped screaming. It was 10:15 p.m. Spud shoved Bessie to the floor, zipped up his pants and looked to Bone. Your turn.

      Hell, I ain’t never been that horny.

      You don’t know what you’re missing, baby brother.

      I seen what I’m missing and I don’t want none of it.

      Spud tossed the knife. Bone caught it. He passed it across under Ben’s face so that the flat blade cast a beam from the bare bulb over the kitchen table directly into his eyes. The old man looked away, but Bone grabbed his greasy hair and jerked his head erect. This might take a while. He looked to Spud. Make sure he don’t miss a thing.

      Spud stepped behind the chair, grabbed Ben by the forehead and forced him to look toward the couch. Close them eyes and I’ll cut your eyelids right off, old man.

      The old woman’s screaming began again about 10:30 p.m. At some especially painful moment the old woman found respite in shock. Her mind clicked off, like a cheap lamp shattered by a wild punch in a drunken brawl and everything–for her–went black. Ben was forced to watch as Bone’s work continued.

      By 11 p.m. the pride of Delta High would never scream or smile or dance again.

      Bone and Spud turned their full attention to Ben. Spud ran the tip of his bloody knife downward from the old man’s belly button, stopping just as it entered his pubic hair. You think I ought to slice this little thing down the middle, cut it right off or just whittle on it a while?

      It was Ben’s turn to scream again. He shook his head left and right and back again, his eyes pleading with the two grinning thugs.

      We gotta talk to you some, Ben, but you got to promise to keep your voice down. Okay?

      Ben blinked the sweat from his eyes and stared at Bone.

      Spud jammed the knife into the stringy muscle of Ben’s left thigh.

      Ben? Bone said.

      Ben shook his head.

      Spud rammed the knife into Ben’s other scrawny leg. Ben pissed himself. His scream was more terror than pain.

      Bone leaned over again. Ben, nod yes if you can understand me.

      Ben nodded.

      Good, boy. Now look over there at Mrs. Bessie.

      Spud grabbed the old man’s head and forced him to face the unbelievable.

      Bone spoke again, quietly and gently. Now, Ben, I’m going to pull off this here duct tape. It might sting a bit, but you ain’t gonna make a peep are you? Are you, Ben?

      Ben nodded. Bone slowly removed the tape. He was a gentle as possible. He squatted down and looked Ben right in his bleary eyes.

      Ben’s voice was a desperate plea. Why… why… why?

      Bone patted Ben’s cheek. You could have avoided all this if you had just told us what we asked you. He looked over to Bessie’s bleeding corpse and pointed with the knife. Mrs. Bessie here is the finest woman me and Spud ever known. Hell, she taught us Sunday school all them years ago. Right, Spud?

      Spud blinked and nodded. He looked dazed–dazed, but happy.

      Bone said, Well… anyway, she was a fine lady, a damn fine lady. When my momma got the cancer, she came by once, twice a week just to check on her. You married a fine woman, Ben. Right?

      Ben’s voice was weak, raspy, Yes.

      Me and Spud loved that woman.

      Ben’s face was blank and confused.

      My point is, Ben, if we can do what we just done to somebody we love, now think about this some… just imagine what we’re going to do to you.

      Spud’s hand was over Ben’s mouth within a half a second, burying another scream.

      Now here’s what it’s all about, Ben. You’re going to die. Spud’s going to cut you up pretty bad. But you got a choice, here. You can get cut up real fast and it’ll all be over… hell, you’ll be dead before you hit the floor. Or….

      Spud flicked a spot of blood from his knife onto Ben’s face. Or we can just spend the rest of the night here.

      Bone slapped Ben on the knee. What’s it going to be, Ben?

      Ben swallowed. He tried to speak several times before his answer finally came. Fast. Please.

      Bone clapped his hands together. Okay! He leaned in even closer. Now if you want fast, Ben, you just got to answer one… little… question.

      Chapter Two

      Dr. Ashley Maud Hayes stood atop an embankment on the west side of the Red River just south of Shreveport and Bossier City, Louisiana. A couple of bicyclists paused for a moment on the narrow strip of asphalt following the river–a biking and jogging path without activity in the mid-afternoon heat. They watched the unusual activity and then moved on. A few cars were parked in a nearby lot that offered a pleasant view of the river where the drivers stared out from the safety of an air conditioned respite from the heat and humidity. Ashley wiped the sweat beading on her forehead onto the sleeve of her work shirt. She breathed in the smell of dying summer grass mixed with the fresh scent of newly turned earth as a young reporter from the local community newspaper stepped closer. Ashley pointed to the activity below. There’s your story.

      Several college students were excavating a small 10 x 10 foot plot of land. Stakes had been driven into the rich river bottom soil and tightly stretched strings formed square grids to mark the site. Each grid had been dug out to different levels. One student was digging while two others shook the collected earth through sifters made of 2 x 4s and chicken wire. One of the students stopped sifting and picked something from the dirt. She held it up for a better look, smiled and placed it in one of several cardboard boxes.

      The reporter said, What exactly are you folks doing, Dr. Hayes?

      We’re pretty sure this embankment was built during the Civil War as a position for cannon. It’s certainly not a natural feature, so we’re just looking to see what we can find.

      All this right in our own back yard.

      Your readers walk historic ground.

      The reporter held up a voice recorder. How do you go about it? What’s the process?

      Ashley led her down the embankment to where the students were working. Basically we work from top-to-bottom–from topsoil down to… wherever our shovels lead. I call it working from the known to the unknown.

      That’s good. I can use that as my headline. Where does that lead you… here?

      We excavate carefully one layer at a time. The known would be, say, recent coins, lost car keys, tabs from cola cans and that sort of trash. We clear all of that out so it doesn’t sift down and contaminate other layers.

      Give me an example of what you mean by layers, in terms my readers will understand.

      Let’s take those cola can tabs. As we dig down we’ll go from plastic containers to glass bottles. Further down glass will give way to ceramics to clay to, if we’re lucky, wood or even stone. Sometimes the difference between layers is subtle and often artifacts from one time period will be used in another.

      Just a minute please. This will make a great shot. The reporter turned off the recorder and took a minute or so to snap a few photographs. Ash took a deep breath and gnawed her lower lip until the questions began again. Give me a ‘for example.’

      Well, a wooden bowl from the 1700s could have been used into the 1800s. Or even kept as a family heirloom into the current era. So, careful observation of the entire process, the big picture so to speak, is essential. The best tools an archaeologist has is her eyes.

      That’s great. What happens if your eyes fail you? If things don’t make sense?

      We have a rule. When in doubt, bash it out.

      Blast it out?

      Bash, bash it out. It’s not as extreme as it sounds. Basically, the archaeologist in charge makes her best guess as to the best way to proceed. Sometimes it’s a marriage of science and instinct.

      Follow your gut.

      Sometimes that’s the best course. Sometimes it’s the only course.

      The reporter looked across the site to the jogging path. A man stood in the shade of a large oak tree. He was well groomed and well dressed, holding a suitcoat over his arm. His necktie was up tight against his buttoned shirt. His short gray hair was obviously the product of a stylist who knew his or her trade well. He raised his free hand.

      The reporter said, Dr. Hayes.

      Yes.

      That man, he’s waving at us. You, probably.

      Ash looked up and her smile fell as fast as earth falling from one of her student’s sifting stands.

      Dr. Hayes, isn’t that–

      It sure as hell is. She turned away and looked over her students’ work.

      Uh, don’t you think you ought to see what he wants?

      Ashley turned back. The man motioned her on. Damn.

      May I go with you?

      Ashley’s voice was cold and her speech clipped. You may not.

      Oh, I’ll just take a few more photographs then.

      The look on Ashley’s face softened. Of course. She looked to one of the students. Earl.

      Yes?

      Escort our reporter around the site, please.

      Sure thing.

      The reporter looked toward the man under the arms of the oak tree. My readers would like to know what’s going on, Dr. Hayes.

      You may get two stories out of this visit.

      How’s that, Dr. Hayes?

      Archaeology professor throws former senator down river.

      Cool!

      Ashley stepped away from the site and walked toward the bike path and the well-dressed man in the dark shade. Her fists were clinched.

      Chapter Three

      Former state senator Kent Nolan raised both hands and smiled his broadest political smile. Don’t hit me, Ashley. I come in peace.

      You might leave in pieces. And it’s Miss Hayes.

      Hardly original… Miss Hayes.

      It’s been a long day. Why are you here?

      I want to make amends.

      Bull shit. She turned and walked away.

      Hear me out, Miss Hayes. Please. I can help with your current… situation.

      Ashley stopped, turned around and walked back.

      Nolan didn’t wait for her to speak. You’re rather outspoken and you’ve pissed off a lot of people. You face a suspension vote before the beginning of the fall semester. It’s not going to go well for you.

      I am not afraid of those–

      You have precisely the same chances as a snowball in hell. Let’s not dance around the obvious, Miss Hayes. You’re in trouble. I can help.

      How the hell can you help me?

      First, may we turn down the temperature?

      Ashley took a deep breath and exhaled. All right.

      Second, the how I can help you is simple; the why is a bit more complex.

      Ashley glanced at the excavation site. The reporter stood at the edge nearest to the conversation. Her head was turned that she might catch any words floating her way on the thick and humid air. Ashley stepped toward the river, placing the oak tree between them and the reporter. Go on.

      Nolan grinned slightly and followed. The how–despite my indiscretion and my subsequent resignation–a resignation you forced on me if you remember–I still have powerful friends. They can most assuredly affect the outcome of the vote on your suspension.

      For or against?

      That in large part is up to me, which is to say it is up to you. And that brings us to the why.

      He paused, apparently looking for some sign of interest or some reaction he could interpret. Ashley’s face showed no emotion. He continued. This suspension is the end of a chain of events I set into motion several years ago.

      I knew it!

      Hear me out. Please. You kept your word and never revealed anything of my… indiscretion. Still, I hated you, Miss Hayes, and that’s not a term I used loosely. You ruined my career and destroyed the future I have… had been building for decades. I vowed revenge and was well on the way to ruining your career–your life if I could.

      Congratulations.

      I started that ball rolling. I can, in time, stop it.

      Then what in the hell do you want from me?

      Forgiveness.

      What part of bull and shit are you having trouble with?

      I have done you a terrible injustice and I want… I must make amends.

      Do I need to repeat myself?

      I don’t blame your skepticism. I’m a politician. I kiss more ass than babies. I hand out candy with one hand while picking the suckers’ pockets with the other. I’d rather tell a lie when the truth would serve me better because that’s just what I do. He searched her face for any response, but saw only a blank expression. "That’s just what I did. I am truly a changed man, Miss Hayes."

      How many times do I have to say bull–

      All right. Let’s put the matter on a practical level. You need help. I can provide it.

      And what do I provide in return.

      Nolan smiled broadly. You allow me to hire you for the summer. I’ll pay you far more than you can earn in the same amount of time given your limited earning capacity. No offense, I’m just being honest… practical if you will.

      That’s it?

      Work three months for me and by the fall semester your position will be more solid than those who are causing all your troubles.

      What exactly are you hiring me for?

      Ah, in your mind you’ve already accepted the job.

      I haven’t–

      I know how to read people, Miss Hayes.

      What’s the job?

      Treasure, Miss Hayes. I’m sending you on a treasure hunt.

      Chapter Four

      Regardless of the traffic stacking up behind him, Caddo Parish Deputy Tate Dawson resisted the temptation to move his patrol car faster than 45 miles per hour. He scanned the rolling, pine covered hills of north Highway 1 south of Oil City. Where the hell is she?

      Clyde Rhombuah, a local farmer sat in the passenger seat scanning the opposite side of the road with a fearful and desperate look on his face. She could be anywhere along here. She ain’t been gone more than half an hour or so.

      The traffic ahead thinned just as they topped a hill and headed back down. As the patrol car bottomed out and moved back up the next stretch, a small sedan raced from back of the line of cars and passed them doing a good 20 or more miles above the speed limit. Dawson caught the horrified expression and the expletive from the driver as he realized why the other cars had held back. On a different day and under a different mission Dawson would have pulled over the driver and given him the maximum fine. This time he just waved and pointed ahead. The driver, grinning stupidly, pulled back into the right lane and eased away doing just a mile or so below the speed limit.

      Rhombuah said, You’d have nailed him if it weren’t for me. Sorry.

      I’ll get him next time, Clyde. We need to find your Clara now.

      Still….

      This is what I do, Clyde. Back up is about ten minutes behind us. We’ll find her.

      Rhombuah nodded and continued staring out the window. She’s going to pop any day now. He spoke softly and not really to the deputy. It was almost a prayer.

      We’ll find her, Clyde. It’ll be– He pulled off the road, the patrol car kicking up orange-red dirt and rocks as he skidded to a fast stop. There! Against the fence. He pointed to the right and up the nearest hill.

      Clara!

      Each man rushed out of the vehicle. As the long line of cars zipped by, Dawson and Rhombuah raced up the hill where a large Hereford trotted along the fence line separating the forest from the highway. Rhombuah moved south as Dawson moved north. Both men waved their arms.

      Clyde spoke gently, but with a loud voice. Clara! Come here, girl.

      She backed away. Dawson moved slightly downhill between the cow and the highway. A large 18-wheeler came over the hill. The driver laughed and honked his horn as he zoomed past. Clara spooked and ran north along the fence. She saw Dawson, stopped and turned and started to trot downhill toward the highway. Dawson ran ahead of her, his arms flailing wildly.

      Back, Clara! Back!

      Clyde stumbled down toward them. Clara, girl. It’s all right. It’s all right.

      The brown and white animal trotted south and then north, always moving slightly downhill. Dawson parried each move, like a basketball player blocking a shot. Clara started moving north down toward the highway again, but she was no longer trotting toward an inevitable smashup on the highway. Dawson and Rhombuah moved closer and closer, gently forcing Clara to the fence. She kept moving and they moved with her.

      Down on the highway another patrol vehicle, a 4WD truck towing a trailer, arrived. Deputy Maynard Stroud slowed down and examined the situation and then parked a bit north of where

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