And What's With the Damned Gun?
"I'll help you." Shawn struggled to his feet.
"You'll help me best as a lookout. Stay in cover and make a noise if somebody comes."
"What, like a cuckoo?" He gave a poor imitation of what sounded like an asthmatic cormorant.
Juliet smiled. "Just shout." As Shawn went looking for an elevated spot that would give him a better overview, she started to explore the vicinity. The uneven area, interspersed with a few unexpectedly steep slopes, indeed offered various possibilities to set up traps of all kinds – if one had some rope. The way it was, the best she could do was cover up a few holes in the ground, look for rocks or trees that were bound to fall over, and make sure they did when she wanted them to. Very well. She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, pushed her wet hair back from her forehead and went to work.
Two covered holes in the ground and one cleverly set up domino of two loose rocks and a rotten tree later, she was looking for her next project when she spotted someone standing on a knoll only ten yards away. First she thought it was Shawn, but the man was taller, had broader shoulders, and he was pointing a gun at her. "Hello," he shouted. "And who do we have here in the middle of the night?"
"Toad volunteer?"
His voice dropped by a major third. "What were you two doing at the cabin?"
"That's what I'd like to ask you." She wondered where Shawn was, and feared that the man had found him before he had found her.
"I'm an avenging angel, honey pie." He postured and took a deep breath. "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, and babe, before I strike down upon you, you will feel my flaming sword." A hollow thump followed, his eyes rolled back, and he fell face-down into the mud and slid down the mound he had been standing on.
Shawn appeared behind him and dropped the branch that he had just swung. "No, she won't, you sick dipstick. And you know what, chatterbox? Brevity is the soul of wit. That's Bill S. Shakespeare, Esquire!"
Juliet sighed with relief. "Well done, Rambo."
„Rambo? Rambo's a pussy."
"Come down here, help me look for his gun." She got on her knees and groped around in the mud.
Shawn skidded down the mound and pointed at the underbrush to her left. "I think I saw it go that way."
"Damn," she uttered, "I can't find it. He was probably not alone. If we don't find the gun, we have to get away from here. Can you sense where it is?"
Shawn suddenly realized that this had to stop. True, his talent was often enough close to supernatural, and everybody knew by now that his alleged psychic abilities were erratic and not reliably working at all times, but right now, he could not stand seeing the look in Juliet's eyes when she pinned her hopes on something that had never been there. This was definitely not a good time, but he had to tell her the truth.
"No. No, Jules, I can't. In fact, I –" A yell echoed through the night. They both looked up. "Booby trap?" Shawn asked.
"I hope so."
"Fight or flight?"
"Let's take a look."
They sneaked towards the source of the noise and saw a bald man in a suit, who appeared very much out of place, even more so because he was standing in a hole up to his waistline and screaming with anger and pain.
Juliet smirked. She had not expected anybody to actually walk into one of her traps without any further assistance from her side. The smile faded when she saw two more men coming to the aid, both putting their guns into their holsters before they grabbed the suit under his arms and started dragging him back on even ground. One of them had a torch light.
"Are they anywhere near your other booby traps?" Shawn whispered.
"Near, yes, but not as close as I'd like them to. And I'd have to walk around them somehow in order to set them off."
"Walk around them, huh? Okay, where do you want them, and where will you be headed?" She pointed her finger into two different directions as he spoke. "Fine. I'll distract them."
"How?"
"I don't really have a plan as of now. Just go for it as soon as you notice that the distraction works."
"Be careful."
"Would I ever?" He grinned and made his way through the brushwood sideways, keeping an eye on the three men until he was far enough away. When he had reached a clear spot in the direction where Juliet had indicated that she wanted the men, he started looking around for something he could use as a distraction, slipped and fell. The yell that he let out when he hit his injured shoulder was loud enough that he would not have to take any further action to gain their attention. He just hoped that Juliet had been ready to set off whatever she had prepared. As if in response to his unspoken question, a loud rumbling sound echoed through the night. He went to find the source – and ran straight into a tall man whose heavy cotton jacket was drenched with water, which did not even up their chances, but somewhat alleviated the advantage the other man had for being able to use both of his hands. When the man had overcome his surprise and wanted to reach inside the jacket, his hand got caught in the denim, and Shawn took his chance and charged at him. He had intended to grab the weapon the other one had reached for, and for a split second, he could even feel the metal at his fingertips, but then they both fell and slid down a short slope, painfully hitting roots and small rocks when they reached even ground. Miraculously, Shawn did not add more than a few minor cuts and bruises to the growing collection of his injuries. He got back on his feet and looked into the face of the other man, who smiled as he now put his right hand under his jacket. When his smile faded, Shawn sensed another chance, picked something up from the ground and pointed it at his opponent, staying in the shadow of the trees. "Looking for this?" he asked.
The man froze. "So what are you gonna do now? Kill me?"
"No, I'm more the pain-inflicting type. What do you people want?" He did not mention the old gun, although he was certain that it was what the men had come looking for, and why they were now after them.
"You have something we want back, or at least you know where it is. If you have it, we want it. If you don't, we'll speak with your boss. He won't be happy with it for long anyway."
"And why's that?"
"I don't talk to middlemen."
"Said the henchman. Tell me, or I'll start by blowing away your kneecaps."
"No."
"Dude, I'm not a middleman. I have that gun right here in my pocket. All I need is a little incentive, and I might talk to your boss about selling it back to him."
"It's a fake, you idiot. He won't buy it back. He wants to stick it in the face of the man who sold it to him and blow his lights out. So you'll be smart not to get in his way, or your face could be next."
Now what was that all about? The pistol was a counterfeit? An unbearable din in Shawn's head kept drowning his thoughts. He forced himself to think louder. Bob and Eric had stolen the gun from one of the buyer's men after it had been sold, because the buyer now wanted his money back. Bob's words came to his mind. "He made it easy for us." A gun this valuable would not be trusted to some idiot, so what if he had wanted it to be stolen? 'Come on, Shawn, think!' he urged himself. Why did they know it was a fake? And bit by bit, he constructed a picture that made sense. Somebody had sold the pistol knowing that it was not real. He had wanted it to be stolen, maybe because the customer sooner or later would have found out that he had been ripped off. He had paid one of the buyer's men to 'lose' it, and somebody had not been happy about that. The man had probably talked before he died. As Bob and Eric had obviously not had a clue as to what was going on, the buyer had given them a chance to get the pistol back, because he wanted to get even with his business partner. But then their time had been up, and witnesses were undesired. Apparently the kidnapping had been interpreted as some sort of extra deal, which did not help to uncomplicate the situation, but probably had just saved Shawn's butt. "Fine then," he said and threw his weapon at the other man. It was not the pistol the guy had just lost, of course. It would have been dumb luck to find it in the ankle-deep mud. He had simply picked up a remotely pistol-sized stone and stayed in the shadows as well as he could. The stone hit the man in the jaw, and Shawn did not stay to find out what its impact was. He still had a vague idea as to where Juliet had wanted to go, and he started to make his way there, more cautious this time in order to avoid another close encounter. He soon found her and managed to keep her from clawing at his throat until she realized that it was him. "How did it work?" he asked.
"Not well. I may have blocked their way for a bit, but if they're still after us, they'll be back on track soon enough."
"Shame. And I think they are still after us. One of them's disarmed now, if that helps."
"A little maybe."
"Do you think we can take them out?"
"We're still outnumbered and unarmed. As long as they're together, we don't stand a chance."
"So what do we do now?"
"Shawn, drop that rock. They'll be busy for one or two more minutes. We'll retreat very quietly until we're out of sight."
"And then?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"Then we'll run."
The deputies had stayed at the cabin and called for backup. The Sheriff had demanded on the radio that everybody who was not with the local police went back into town, so Lassiter and the other men left the scene and drove straight to the Sheriff's Office where Sheriff Darby, a brawny man in his late thirties with a receding blond hairline, was already waiting for them. "Well, well," he said, standing next to the coffee machine with a full cup. "Detective Mayhem is back. I should have known better than to let you into my county."
"Save it, Luke. There's a police officer out there who needs our help. Can we not warm up old stories and do some police work instead?"
"Don't bite, Carlton, I was just poking fun at you." He scrutinized the men. "You guys look like drowned rats. Coffee, anyone?"
Minutes later, they were all sitting at a table in the staffroom, each with a cup of coffee in front of them. Darby wordlessly put cream and sugar on the table in front of Lassiter. "Now tell me the whole story," he said. "Who's your escort?"
"Henry Spencer," Henry introduced himself, "consultant liaison with the SBPD. My son is out there, too."
"Is he a cop?"
"Far from it," Lassiter said. "SBPD pays him for his services as a psychic consultant. Can you believe it?"
"Why, don't you?"
"Uh – no."
"Wait a minute. Weren't you the one who said 'if you think you're psychic, maybe you are'?"
"I never said that."
"Must have been someone who looked just like you." Darby shook his head as if to cast off an unsettling memory. "And the rest of you are…?"
"Declan Rand, he used to work as a criminal profiler until he retired due to incredible wealth," Henry continued, leaving out the complicating details, "and Burton Guster, my son's partner in their psychic detective agency."
"Another psychic?"
"No," Gus replied. "Just detective."
"Fine with me. Now please brief me on what exactly's going on. My deputies tell me there were two locals involved, who are now both dead."
"Who were they?" Lassiter queried.
"Eric Williams and Robert Jackson. Unremarkable guys until today. They used to hang out in the park or at the shopping mall a lot, sometimes with the wrong people. I've always suspected them of being into petty crimes every now and then, but up until now their records have remained clean."
"So why the kidnapping?"
"That's what I'm asking you. You said they wanted money. Anything else? Your Lieutenant O'Hara and the psychic, were they up to something?"
"Nothing police related, that's for sure," Lassiter mumbled.
"Williams has been seen with a woman recently. Andy!" Darby called.
"Yes, Sir?" Another deputy stuck his head through the doorframe.
"The girl you saw Eric Williams with. What's her name again?"
"Kelly Ferguson. She's a friend of my sisters'."
"Right, thanks." Darby looked at Lassiter again. "She works the night shift in a fitness studio a few minutes from here. Maybe she's got something for us."
"I'll go with you. You know how much I hate sitting around."
"Okay. But the rest of you stay here. Warm up." He gave Henry a reassuring glance. "We'll be back out there as soon as the weather allows." He put his hat on and left the room with Lassiter. Through the open door of the staffroom, they could see how he ducked as he stepped out into the rain.
Henry buried his face in his hands, then rubbed his temples. "You said Shawn saw that mess coming," he said to Rand. "Any more ideas on that?"
"Nothing constructive. He must have talked to the kidnappers and found out something. I don't believe they were abducted for something they knew beforehand, if you're aiming at that."
"Because of the ransom demand."
"Right."
"So whatever the reason for the kidnapping is, Shawn and O'Hara were just random victims."
"More or less. One of the men called me – and only me – with the ransom demand. Why would he do that?"
"Maybe Shawn told him to?" Gus speculated.
"This guy offered me to kill Shawn. Although it is tempting to say that talking to him can have that effect on people, I seriously believe it was the man's own idea to call me. He must have seen me and Juliet together."
"So it's basically your fault." That earned Gus gloomy looks from both Henry and Declan. "Okay, forget what I just said. I'll just sit here saying nothing. And doing nothing."
"That's about as much as we can do right now," said Henry and patted his shoulder. "Believe me, as soon as the weather gives us a chance of finding them, I'll be the first one out there."
Lassiter did not know what he had expected, but when he followed Darby to the counter of the fitness studio, he was pleasantly surprised. The studio was bright and clean, and the equipment was high-quality and in a good condition. A place to spend long evenings at.
"Kelly Ferguson?"
A slim, wiry woman in her mid twenties with long brown hair that she had tied to a ponytail insecurely smiled at the Sheriff. "Sheriff Darby? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" Upon seeing the serious expression on his face, her smile languished until it died a thin, pale death. "Something's wrong with Eric."
"I'm sorry. He was killed tonight."
The look in her eyes had prompted Lassiter to step behind the counter, and he supported her as now her knees gave way. She recovered within seconds and shook him off. "What happened?" she inquired.
"We hoped you could help us with that question. He and Robert Jackson were shot at their cabin out in the mountains. Do you know if they were in any trouble?"
She put her hands on the counter, clenched to fists, knuckles white. "That's got to have to do with the damn gun."
"What gun?" Darby asked.
"I don't know exactly what was going on, but do you remember the man who was found dead yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Eric told me that they stole a gun from him. He was pretty freaked, didn't want to see me for a few days. He said it would be safer."
"Guess he was right," Lassiter commented wryly. "What happened to the gun?"
"They sold it. That's where the trouble started. They wanted to get the gun back, but the guy who bought it had been arrested."
"His name?"
"Toby."
"That's it? Just Toby?"
"That's all Eric told me, and I don't think they wanted to see his ID and gun license."
"Where did he get arrested?"
"Santa Barbara."
Lassiter frowned. "What for?"
"I don't know. Something stupid. Robbed a store or something."
"You've got to be kidding me." Lassiter stared at her. "Luke," he said, "I need to use your radio. I'm getting an idea on what's going on here. And I don't like it."
Juliet knew that Shawn was not in the condition to do what she asked of him, but what choice did she have? Even if there were only three men left, and only two of them were armed, that was more than team O'Hara had to offer or could put up with. She had long begun to wonder what was so important that somebody would kill two men and try to finish off two accidental bystanders as well. She figured it had something to do with the reason why Bob and Eric had kidnapped them in the first place, but beyond that, everything was just obscure.
She had taken Shawn's hand so she would not lose him, and continued going downhill wherever she could. The bolts of lightning were not coming in as frequently as before, but the rain was still pouring down in torrents, and the wind had diminished only marginally. Small runlets were forming on the ground, and when she noticed that they flew together to form what might become an actual stream if it kept growing, she changed her course to follow it. Her right thigh still sent out a sharp twinge with every step she took, as if to remind her that it was still there, but all in all she figured she would be fine. What worried her more was the fact that Shawn was slowing down considerably. She stopped and found that he was close to giving up again. Concussion really was a bitch. During her time at the police academy, she had once hit her head badly without anybody noticing, and the attempt to keep up with the fellow students for the rest of the day had eventually sent her to bed for three days straight. She had a vague idea of how he was feeling right now. "Okay, listen to me," she said. "I know that you think you can't go any farther. You're sick, and you're in pain. But the storm's subsiding, and we'll just have to make it for a little while longer. I don't need your help with anything, I just need you to function for as long as it takes. Keep up with me, and try not to trip. I'll guide you. Shawn, are you with me?"
"I'll be right behind you. Just tell me when it's over."
"Okay. Now go!" She dragged him with her, still following the water downstream, hoping to find a river sooner or later that would lead them to some sort of civilization.
After what could have been minutes or hours, the rushing sound that had accompanied them ever since they had left the cabin changed. It sounded… bigger than the rain, more massive. More like a river. She adjusted her course, firmly holding on to Shawn's hand. And there it was, a stream that was clearly bursting its banks, taking anything up to the size of small trees with it. Juliet moved on, keeping a safe distance from the riverside.
But what was that? Had they been running in circles? Ahead of them, only a few yards away from the river, was a small wooden cabin. No, this was not the one they had escaped from. This one had a window in the front wall, a small porch, and it did not have bullet holes. Juliet knew it could be a death trap if their pursuers found them in there, but there might be a radio in it, or something else that could prove useful. She sent out a quick prayer as she approached the front door. Nope. Not helping. The door was locked. Well, this was an emergency. A small rock solved her problem and left the window frame empty. She climbed through it and found a spare key on the doorframe. On the inside. She decided not to think about it, unlocked the door and opened it, and Shawn stumbled inside. Juliet determined that they could not waste any time, and groped around for a light switch. The others would find the hut anyway, illuminated or not, and she needed to see if there was anything useful here. The lights went on. Juliet saw that Shawn was leaning to the wall, and led him to a bench in a corner of the main room. "Sit down." She looked around. This cabin was far better equipped than the other one. There was a kitchenette, the bench in the corner with a table in front of it, a locker, a large rugged carpet, a bunk bed, and several other items that suggested regular use of the cabin. No radio.
"Fish," Shawn said wearily.
"What?"
"Look at the walls." She scanned the walls, and there were dozens of stuffed fishes on wooden boards hung up. "No guns," Shawn declared.
"Probably not, but there has to be some fishing gear around." She opened the locker, and there were buckets, fishing rods, plastic boxes with bait, a dip net, rubber boots, a rain jacket – and nylon string. Not as helpful as some real rope, but good enough. She took one of the rods, the string, and also found a fishing knife.
"What are you going to do? Fillet them?"
"Maybe."
"The scary thing is, right now I believe you would."
"I can't deny I'm in the mood." The defiant look on her face, her wet hair and clothes, the red bandage around her thigh and the mud that covered her legs up to her knees underlined her statement.
"Actually, why don't we just turn off the lights and stay put? Let's stay the night. Come on, this is kind of cozy. Just you and me…"
"And a couple of armed men who want to kill us. We need to leave this place. Quickly."
"I thought you wanted to fillet them."
"Yeah, and I could if they came through the door one at a time. But somehow I don't think they'll do me the favor."
"I guess not. So what's the fishing armory really for?"
"We can't keep running away."
"You mean I can't."
"However. If the cavalry doesn't come, we have to take out the bad guys, and this is the best chance we'll get."
"And how are we going to do that with a fishing line, rod and knife?"
"I'll figure it out as I go along."
"Now where have I heard that before?" Shawn stood up with a moan and went to the locker. "I'll take that net."
"What for?"
"Catching butterflies. Maybe one or two bad guys. So, are we leaving or what?"
Juliet nodded firmly. "I'll try and set something up. We'll leave the lights on, that should distract them for a bit." Although Juliet did not agree with her brother's current engagement, tonight she was grateful for everything she had ever picked up from him. And for having a crush on Richard Dean Anderson when she had been eight years old. She needed one more thing from the cabin, then she would be ready to go.
Lassiter and Darby entered the Sheriff's station, where expectant faces greeted them, but they went straight into Darby's office. Lassiter called the SBPD. "Reynolds. The name of the man we arrested for the liquor store robbery – what was it? Tobias something, Goethe? Gunther, right. Interrogate him. I want the names of the men he bought that gun from. And see if you can connect any of them with a…" the Sheriff handed him a slip of paper "Richard Wilkes the Third. I want all you can get on either of these guys."
"My boys have done a little research, too," Darby said. "Wilkes is currently out of state."
"How convenient for him."
"Seeing your face, I'd say lucky for him."
"He owns both cars we found at the cabin. He's pulling the strings in this case, I'm sure. And don't you think the rain's letting up?"
"No. But I think the storm's not as bad as it was an hour ago. I'll stay in touch with our pilots. They'll be up there as soon as it's acceptable. Don't worry, Carlton. We'll find your people. We've had tougher situations, remember?"
"You mean the thermometer case. That was one unpleasant week."
"Yes. Now get back to your friends, tell them things will be alright. I'll let you know when there is any news. On the case or the weather."
"Thanks, Luke." Lassiter hesitated. "It's good seeing you again," he then said and left for the staff room.
"Anything yet?"
Shawn peered into the dark. "No. But it's almost stopped raining."
"Good. Come over here, I need a hand with this."
"You sure this is going to work?"
"Could MacGyver ever be sure?"
"Yes?"
"Not really. Hold on to that. Now pull. And – hold it. Okay, I think this is it." Juliet stepped back and regarded her work. "Not too original, but I think it's the time to go with proven methods."
"This is not from the police handbook, I'm sure."
Juliet looked up. Not very far away, a beam of light wandered through the darkness. "They're coming. On your mark, and wait for my signal."
Shawn trotted off, and Juliet took cover. At her hiding-place, there were two taut strings, one of which she had marked with fish bait. When the three men – obviously, she avenging angel was still having choir practice somewhere else – came closer, she cut string number one. Something tumbled over inside the still illuminated cabin. The torchlight's beam froze for a moment, and the men stopped checking the surroundings and went straight for the hut. Thanks to a few obstacles in their way, they had to take the path Juliet had intended for them. The first in line, who was bleeding from his chin onto his wet denim jacket, had the pleasure to meet Rockin' Rod, as Shawn had dubbed it. The fishing rod from the locker had been augmented with a small rock, and its flexibility combined with gravity did the rest after Juliet had cut string number two. The guy did not even make a sound, and out he went, as did the torchlight. The remaining two men stood like glued to the spot, and Juliet already worried that they might turn around and take a different route, but after a few seconds of contemplation, they moved on. When they had reached a spot that she had marked with a branch, she yelled, "Shawn! Now!" The assailants spun around and aimed their guns in the direction her voice had come from, but she was still in cover and invisible in the dark.
Shawn, who had assumed position next to the river, raised his Swiss and, too, cut a nylon string. Attached to it and hanging from a tree over the river's surface had been a bulky package made of branches, towels, the rain jacket from the cabin and pretty much anything that would possibly drift, which now plunged into the water and was torn away by the stream. It strained a cord made of several strings of fishing line, which ran across a robust bough and went down to the corners of a leaf-covered carpet. The rug was yanked up with one of the men standing on it. The other, the man in the suit, made a leap backward and landed on his behind, only to start up to his feet again. He aimlessly fired five rounds into the darkness. "Son of a bitch," he shouted.
Something was pulled over his head and then jerked back. He did not have time to realize that he had just been overwhelmed with a dip net when Juliet already darted out of her hideout and tackled the man. A series of punches drew the breath out of him and made him drop his pistol, followed by a roundhouse kick to the head Chuck Norris would have been jealous of, which sent him to the ground.
"Wow." Shawn gazed at her. "I can't believe you did that."
She smiled demurely. "That? Just a regular cop beating up the bad guy."
Shawn shook his head and pointed at the carpet hanging from a tree's bough. "No, I can't believe you did that. That rug really tied the room together." A small chuckle sounded from inside the carpet. Shawn grinned. "Okay, let's get the Dude down."
Minutes later, Juliet had disarmed all three of their pursuers, two of whom were still unconscious, and neatly tied them to trees.
Shawn regarded the scene. "I suppose it's over now," he said.
"Yes, Shawn, it's over."
"That's convenient."
