The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cody Merring was wrapping up the dull details of getting the EMT degree of which his mother was now so proud. He was desperately trying to figure out a way to live so he could enjoy using the new information he carried around in his head, but tried not to show this to his captor.

“So,” Cody concluded, “I’ve told you all about me, but I still don’t even know your name.”

Raymond Johnson tried to rouse himself out of the torpor he had been feeling, listening to this kid ramble on for fifteen minutes. “And it’s better if you don’t know my name, either,” he said, waving the handgun in Cody’s direction. “I may look stupid, kid, but I know what you’ve been trying to do. Win me over to your confidence, make me your friend so I won’t shoot you or this Graham guy, but it’s the same I told the chaplain who tried this on me in prison. You don’t really care about me or who I am.”

Ray shifted his weight in the back seat and put both arms against the front seat, the gun still pointed at Cody. “You’re just trying not to get killed, and I let you talk your stupid head off because I really don’t feel like talking. Just remember, kid, your only job is to drive this car to John Graham’s house, and wait for me like a good hostage. Then, when I am on my merry way, I’ll take your car, and maybe let you live to walk home and brag to Mom about how brave you were.”

Ray sat back in the seat. “Right now, I just need you to shut up and drive.”

Cody nodded, and added, “Okay, I can do that. Only about fifteen minutes now and we’ll be there.” Ray nodded that he had heard, and turned his attention back to the side window. Cody had that much time, apparently, to try to think of what he could do next to stop this from happening.

Smitty had been calling Greg Jones every ten minutes, and had even dispatched another car from the north to try to find him in Ridgeway, although it looked like Smitty and his crew would get there first. It paid to be careful, though, because you never knew what you were going to find happening along the road that might delay you.

The crew operating the roadblock had been no help. As soon as Smitty saw the blue truck on the side of the road just short of the barricades, he knew that the suspect was now in another car, wandering the hills, or sitting in the truck waiting for Smitty to arrest him. It never was the easy answer that was right. No one was in the truck.

“Think he went the other direction because of the roadblock?” Darrell Skinner asked Harold Smith. Smitty was shaking his head.

“He wouldn’t have left the truck,” Smitty explained. “If he wanted to avoid the roadblock, he would have turned the truck around and taken his chances with us meeting him on the road. My guess is he flagged down help and then hi-jacked the car and the owner. Let’s check the area quickly anyway. I don’t want a body left out here for someone else to find.”

He instructed the second car to stay and do a search. When Smitty got to the road block, he gave them permission to break it down and then follow them into Ridgeway. “I’m guessing he may already be there, so hurry up and get these barricades off the road and follow us in,” were the last orders he barked out as he jumped back into the car.

Greg Jones got on the speaker and called for Smitty. It was one of those dark nights which made him close the doors to the car and speak quietly. The equipment could pick up even a whisper, but Greg found that most police held the microphone way too close and talked way too loud.

Smitty’s voice spat back over the radio waves loud and clear. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get you all night.” The irritation in his voice was real, but Jones knew it covered up the concern about something else much more serious than not being by the radio.

“Sorry,” Greg clicked back. “I’ve been inside the house doing …uhh… surveillance.” Greg knew Smitty would know what that meant. After all, everything had been calm when Harold left.

“Johnson got away.” Smitty was short and to the point. “He’s killed two more officers, and probably has a hostage bringing him into town as we speak.”

“How?” was all Jones could think to say.

“Long story. Just be ready for anything. We don’t know how he’s going to get there; I’m just pretty damn certain he’s heading your way. We’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Then there was silence from Smitty’s end.

“Roger, that,” was Greg’s reply.

“Hold down the fort,” Smitty wrapped up. “The cavalry’s on the way.”

Ridgeway appeared over the last hill, and Cody was out of ideas. He had tossed several stupid ones around in his head, all of which ended with him trying to wrestle the gun from Ray, and in all probability, getting shot. It would be tough to practice effective EMT on oneself. So now that he was cresting the last hill before the homecoming he most feared, there was nothing left to do but follow instructions. He had resigned himself to the fact that he might have to sit by and watch one of his favorite teachers get shot by the jerk in the back.

But why did this guy want to shoot Mr. Graham? Something about money, he said earlier, but Cody wasn’t sure if it was about money owed, stolen, hidden, or what. He only knew that the maniac with the rifle, and now Cody’s gun, was ready and able to kill for what he wanted, and apparently, tonight that involved money at the Graham house.

Cody held his breath trying to listen to any noise in the back seat. Was the guy asleep? Would Cody be able to run in and warn the Grahams? What did the man with the gun plan to do to him to stop him from honking the horn, driving off; running away after this jerk left the car? He was sure it involved being tied up and being thrown in the trunk, because that was just the way you expected criminals to keep you quiet, especially if you watched a lot of television like Cody did. There seemed to be no noise at all from the backseat, and Cody looked sideways as they passed the Ridgeway sign, designating this point as the edge of town, the population, the elevation and the designation of Tree City, USA.

There was a shuffling in the back, and Cody tensed. He heard the man straighten his body upright, and also heard him say, “All right, we’re finally here. Ridgeway, population 1652. About to be 1651.”

Cody felt his stomach flip over sickly, and his fingers clutched the steering wheel tighter. There had to be something he could do.

Then the man in the back spoke again. “Here’s the plan, Mr. EMT,” Ray said. “We’re going to drive by the house, and then circle around the back of the block. You will get out of the car, get in the trunk and wait for me quietly in there while I drive back around to John Graham’s house and take care of my business. It may involve some gunshots, so if I hear noise coming from the trunk, I’ll just shoot you in there before we leave. Otherwise, you’ll ride to the edge of town with me, get out and walk back. Any questions?”

Cody tried to think of a way to do something besides act like a kid half-scared out of his wits. His mind was racing and no ideas would come. He resigned himself to just shake his head “No” and drive over to Mr. Graham’s house. Maybe something brilliant would occur to him later. “Probably while I’m in the trunk,” he thought to himself.

Smitty thought over the options. Charge into the small town with sirens blaring and give away their arrival, and the chance for the bad guys to take even more hostages, or just kill everybody and take off. They could proceed quietly to the house, approach stealthily, enter with guns drawn and shouting commands. They could also continue the stakeout across the street and watch for any action, which would probably end up putting this John Graham idiot in more danger. Smitty thought to himself that only now was he worrying about putting this guy in danger, but the stakeout seemed like the perfect solution at the time. Hindsight truly was twenty-twenty.

He radioed Greg Jones again, but there was no response. Smitty’s car was still the closest one to town, although seven other cars were now headed for the place he had been just short hours ago. Why did he always feel like he had to be at the most important place all the time? It was the glory hog in him, he knew, and it was a bad quality in a leader, he also knew. There had to be times when the other guys on the force could make the big collar, and he should be content to sit in the background, happy for his troops. “Yeah,” Smitty muttered, “when pigs fly.”

Darrell Skinner had been watching Harold Smith closely, and recognized the self-deprecating behaviors he was seeing. Smitty was probably down on himself right now for letting this idiot lead them all over the map, calling the shots and making them jump through the hoops. Darrell leaned up from the back seat and asked Smitty, “So what’s the approach going to be, chief?”

Smitty turned sideways to look at the man who had lost his brother to this killer. Hoping to sound confident, he said, “I was just thinking about that myself, Skinner. What do you think would be the best way to get this guy?”

Skinner was hoping for just such an opportunity, and he pushed his face farther into the front of the car. “I’ve been thinking about this guy for quite a while now,” Skinner said, “and I think I may know a way we can get him without anyone else getting hurt.”

Smitty now turned fully to the other officer and listened. The plan was very good indeed. He got on the radio and called home.

Raymond Johnson was not in a good mood. He was hungry, having neglected to buy food when he had some money. Losing the wad of bills to those farmers was still nagging him in the back of his mind, and he was half-ready to go back and get the rest of the money from them once he had the big part. But by then he probably wouldn’t care about the small bills.

He was also irritated by this punk kid, who was trying to pull that psychobabble on him that he had heard in the prison from the warden, the priests, the social workers. It would drive you crazy if you listened to them long enough, and luckily for the kid, they were now in town and approaching the house. Ray wondered about Tommy, worrying that he would have to do the time for this crime, and here Ray would get all the money. It didn’t bother him a lot, but it was another nagging thought in the back of his mind. Ray was mostly irritated by this John Graham idiot, who thought he could steal the money the Ray had stolen in the first place, and that was the thought that was uppermost in his brain. Wondering just how to punish the guy who had caused all this trouble.

The guy who decided to pick up a package that didn’t belong to him, to take the money that wasn’t his, and pretend to be a good guy by turning in the bundle to the cops. This Graham guy had complicated this whole scheme so much that Ray thought his blood might boil just thinking about it. Killing cops, kidnapping, other murders and crimes had all culminated in this journey to this one guy’s house, and Ray was determined to exact his revenge in the most painful way possible.

Cody indicated that they were pulling into the neighborhood, and that the third house on the left was John Graham’s. It was a 30 or 40 year old house, split-level, with aluminum siding that was a faded yellow, with green trim. Ray told Cody to slow down but not to stop, so he could check out the best entrance. The house probably had a deck on the back, which was the best entrance for burglaries Ray knew, since it was away from the street and prying eyes. Ray instructed Cody to turn the corner and get ready to stop on the other side of the uniform square blocks of the city. It was time for the kid to go into the trunk.

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