The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

he’d taken down one of the three men but wasn’t sure if Allyson had been able to take down another. Shots were hammering into side of the truck, and there was no way he could risk a glance over the edge. He looked in the direction of the rear window of the truck and saw that his friend was out of sight. For a split second, he worried that Mac had been shot. Then the truck lurched forward and turned into a position where the rear was facing the back of the Hummer, now about twenty-five feet away.

Sean raised his head slightly over the tailgate and caught a glimpse of the blond man shoving Tommy into the backseat of the SUV. Amazingly, the shorter henchman was slowly getting up, and crawling into the opposite door.

After pushing Tommy into the vehicle, Ulrich slammed the door and, leaning around the back quarter panel, squeezed off four more rounds. Three of the bullets thumped harmlessly against the tailgate, but one found its way into the back left tire of the truck. Instantly, the rubber gushed white air from the wound.

Sean felt the truck sag and knew exactly what had happened. He heard the Humvee rev to life and squeal its tires. He risked another look over the edge of the truck bed and watched as the four men in the SUV tore past the pickup. He fired off his remaining few bullets at the tires of the escaping truck, but the shots missed.

Allyson also emptied her remaining clip at the accelerating vehicle, but it disappeared over the hill as the clicking sound of her gun signaled it was on empty.

Lowering his head in disappointment, Sean realized he might have just missed his one chance at getting his friend back.

37

Cartersville

Trent and Will sat quietly, eating the breakfast they’d ordered. After leaving the McElroy place, they had driven into the nearby town and stopped at a diner. Both of them had left Atlanta in a hurry earlier that morning so by the time they were seated, they wanted one of everything on the entire menu.

The restaurant was nice enough for a cliché 1950s-type place. It had the traditional jukebox in the corner, checkerboard tile floors, and pictures of celebrity icons from the golden age of Hollywood. Cushiony booths were upholstered in the traditional glossy vinyl with black and white stripes down the center. Even the waitresses dressed the part with the cute little skirts and red-and-white striped shirts. Their particular server’s blouse was unbuttoned at the top and sported a nametag that read, Wanda.

Neither cop had said much to the other since arriving at the eatery. After they’d nearly devoured their meals, Will finally spoke up. “I’m sorry I lost it back there, man. I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Morris cut him off. “You’re all right.”

“It’s just that…people with disregard for the law…it gets me angry, that’s all.”

“Believe me, bud. I understand completely. Why do you think so many police brutality cases come up? It’s not that cops have problems with rage or anger issues, necessarily. The way that people disrespect us and the law can get anyone pissed off.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I appreciate you handling the situation back there so I could settle down.” The younger officer looked up from the now-empty plate. His eyes squinted as he smiled with gratitude.

“Like I said, it’s done. Let it go. I did.”

Will looked up from the table with questioning eyes. “So, do you believe the lady?”

Trent looked out the window at an old pickup truck driving by, his thoughts somewhere else. “I don’t know.” He turned his attention back to his partner. “I think so. If I was McElroy and I was helping a fugitive from the law, I wouldn’t want my wife to know either.”

He let out a few short laughs, which made Will smile. Morris continued, “Yeah, I suppose I do believe her. My guess is that she really was at her mother’s last night, and by the time she got home this morning, her husband and Wyatt were long gone.”

A look of determination came onto Morris’s face. He’d been a police officer for a long time. Sometimes, it seemed like too long. One of the biggest things he hated about detective work was that sometimes answers were hard to come by.

“What we gotta worry about now is where to go next.” He dropped the fork he was holding onto the plate and wadded up the napkin next to it. “Looks like the trail has gone cold.”

“Maybe we’re missing something.” Will stirred his coffee, his eyes staring into the brown liquid while he considered the problem.

“Every crime scene has been searched thoroughly. Every possible witness has been questioned. We went to Wyatt’s house, Schultz’s house. And we got nothing. I just can’t think of where else we could turn.”

Five minutes passed as the detectives sat in quiet frustration, drinking their coffee and turning over every proverbial rock in their minds.

The only thing in the diner that wasn’t circa 1950s was the flatscreen television that hung over the kitchen area. Two older gentleman who looked like stereotypical truck drivers with trucker hats and jacket vests sat at the counter watching a news report on CNN.

Trent looked up at the screen to see what they were watching. An aerial shot from a helicopter displayed a deep ravine in a mountain range somewhere. The headline on the bottom of the television read, Tragic accident in Blue Ridge Mountains.

Rescue crews could be seen at the top of the drop-off, working vigorously to get to what looked like the remains of a car resting upside down at the bottom of the mountain. Trent stared at the scene.