daneallred

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Officer Jones! You don’t know how glad I am to see you!” Cody blurted out, a little too loud. Greg shushed him and grabbed his knife from his belt and started to cut through the duct tape.

“Thanks, Cody, but we’ve got to be quiet. Was Raymond Johnson with you?” asked Jones.

“Short guy with an attitude?” asked Cody. “Yeah, this guy hijacked me and my car just in front of a police roadblock. He wants to hurt Mr. Graham, and he’s got my gun.”

Greg looked back over at the Graham house, and finally cutting through the tape, started to help Cody unwrap his wrists. “He locked me in my trunk. I’m parked on the other side of the block.”

“He’s probably already in the house,” Greg said, thinking that now he had three people to worry about. He decided Cody could run to the house across the street while Greg was running back up to the Graham house. “Cody, I need you to go to the old Parker house across the street. A friend of mine is asleep there, but she doesn’t know what is going on. Tell her what you know, and that I’m, going into the house. Do you know how to work a police radio?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the things I’ve been studying,” he reminded Greg.

“That’s right. Good. I have a feeling you’re going to be a good man to have around,” said Greg. “Now when I run to the Graham’s driveway, I want you to run at the same time to the back door of the Parker’s. Got it?”

Cody shook his head, and was feeling very confident. Though only 20, Officer Greg Jones had just called him a man, and was depending on him to help out in this situation. It was the kind of emergency he had signed up for, and the adrenalin was pumping. He determined he would not let Officer Jones down.

“Good luck, Cody,” said Greg. “Now let’s do this.”

They both sprinted from the neighbor’s carport at the same time in different directions, without a sound.

John Graham had fallen asleep on the couch. After the fitful dreams, he was sure he would be tossing and turning the night through, and didn’t want Reba to have to suffer for his wild imaginings. John had always been a light sleeper, and when he heard the noise from the basement, it awakened him slightly. He was used to listening to noises from his bedroom, imagining what they could be, and then usually going right back to sleep. It was a strange skill, to be aware while being asleep, but he guessed it had come when he had become a parent, and since his wife slept so soundly, he felt it was his job to keep an ear on the house. He heard the children cry first, and so his job when the children were young had been to go and get them to bring to Reba to be nursed. It had been a good arrangement, because John could usually go right back to sleep. Even the children had taken advantage of his ability to go back to sleep very fast in the days before they had remote controls. They would haul John upstairs to the television, where he would sleep between programs, being urged by his little ones to turn the channel to the next cartoon when the one they were watching was over. And in between, John slept great.

As he was preparing to go back to sleep after the random noise from the basement, he thought he heard the door to the basement creak slightly. This was also unusual, so he opened his eyes this time and looked toward the basement.

He could hear the footfalls on the soft carpet creeping up the stairs. Whoever it was turned slowly on the landing of the front door, and began their ascent up the last set of stairs. John Graham had often wondered just what he would do if faced with an intruder, and found that he was frozen and unable to move, that his breathing had even stopped and he was holding his breath waiting to see who or what was in his house. If he had wanted to, he couldn’t have moved a muscle.

Raymond Johnson emerged at the top of the stairs, and gave a cursory glance around the front room. The shadowy shapes on the couch didn’t betray that John Graham was lying there, nor did Ray expect to encounter anyone until the bedrooms, which he assumed were toward the other side of the house. Ray slowly moved across the front room while John Graham watched him. John recognized the man from the television, the man who was here in his house now to get the money that John had taken from him. As Ray crossed the opening just before the kitchen, and approached the hall, John could see the gun in Ray’s hand silhouetted against the light from the kitchen. It was decision time. Ray was about to enter the hall when John found himself speaking up, much to his surprise.

“You don’t need to go back there,” John said, as calmly as he could, but even he could hear the ragged edge of fear in his voice. “I’m the one you’re looking for.” John slowly stood up in front of the two windows in the front room, and now he was silhouetted by the lights from the street. “I’ve got your money,” he said, not believing he was ready to give it up so easily after all of his machinations. But John realized he was only acting in defense of his wife, who was breathing heavily in the bedroom. Traumatizing her wasn’t worth any amount of money.

Ray turned to see the giant figure standing in the shadows. “You John Graham,?” Ray asked simply.

“Yeah,” John confirmed. “Let me get your money.”

Greg Jones had dashed to the carport and was now standing outside the front door. He could hear voices inside, but the words were unclear. Johnson had probably entered through the back side of the house, and trying the front door as quietly as possible, he found it was locked. Now he was down to three options, which he quickly weighed. He could go around the back and try to gain access to house without being noticed. He could break down the front door and risk getting his friend shot. Or he could wait patiently here where he could hear John’s voice, and he assumed Raymond Johnson’s voice, and see what came next. Patience was not his strong suit, but knowing this was a shortcoming, Greg forced himself to edge closer to the door and listen.

Cody by this time had run across the street and into the back of the Parker house. Still running toward the front of the house, he found Paula almost immediately and gently kneeled down to wake her. She was slow to gain full awareness, and called for Greg.

“Officer Jones isn’t here,” said Cody patiently, using his best calming skills, which included speaking in a quiet voice. “He sent me over to tell you to stay here and watch the house, while I go check in on the radio.”

“What’s happening?” Paula mumbled, trying to focus.

“There’s a man with a gun over at Mr. Graham’s,” Cody explained simply, but the words shook Paula out of her stupor almost immediately.

“A gun?” she inquired. “And Greg’s over there, too?

“Yeah,” said Cody. “Watch the house, and I’ll be right back.” He ran back through the house and went straight to the car and the radio.

Smitty picked up the radio and warned whoever was on the other end that this was an official police frequency. Cody jumped right back with more unofficial language.

“I know. Officer Greg Jones told me to get right to this radio and tell you he has the suspect at the Graham house,” Cody explained.

“Raymond Johnson is at John Graham’s house?” asked Smitty.

“I don’t know who the guy is. Short, reddish hair. All I know is he kidnapped me and hijacked my car, and he wants something Mr. Graham has. Officer Jones told me to call you right away.”

“Any gunshots?” Smitty wondered out loud, and Cody told him it was still quiet there.

Smitty clicked back. “Thanks for the information. We are about 10 minutes from your location. Can you stay by the radio and call if there is anything to report?

Cody smiled broadly and said, “You bet. I’ll be right here.”

Smitty frowned. This was not going the way he had hoped.

John Graham stood looking at the man who was pointing the gun at him. It resembled what he had dreamt, but this was all too real. John wasn’t necessarily afraid, and he wasn’t nervous. It was a strangely peaceful resolution to a situation he had pictured much differently. There was no high drama, just a guy with a gun who wanted his package. He didn’t even really seem in too much of a hurry, but just determined to get what he wanted.

Raymond Johnson evaluated the cause of his headaches, and because the man was so big, he was glad he had the gun in his hand. But Raymond Johnson was also not nervous, and knew he had to be patient until the money was in his hands. Then it would be time to shoot this guy.

“So where’s the money?” Ray said simply.

“It’s right here in the room, over in that closet,” John motioned, unsure whether the gunman wanted him to move or not. “I can get it for you, if you want.”

“I want,” Ray said, and motioned him toward the closet with the gun. “But let’s not try anything funny, like pulling a gun out of there.” The room was dark, but both men’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and they could now see each other’s faces. Both faces wore solemn masks of seriousness.

John crossed slowly to the closet, resigned to the fact that the money was about to be handed over, and that he might or might not live through this night. The elimination of all other choices seemed to clarify the simplicity of the equation. Do as you were told. See what happens next. Plod yet another step.

Opening the closet door, John pulled on the string attached to the bare bulb in the closet more out of habit than of a conscious choice, but it was the wrong choice. Ray almost barked out, “What are you doing? Get rid of the light!”

John obeyed instantly, and both of their eyes readjusted. Ray’s finger was tight on the trigger, but he showed more restraint than usual. He wanted to see the money before he did anything rash. John reached up to the top shelf, not far for his long body and long arms, but almost inaccessible to Reba, which is why he had hidden it there. John fumbled in the dark, but the package was soon in his grasp, and he slowly turned to face his adversary. He held the bundle with both hands, and the heavy weight of the package reminded him there was a substantial pile of money in his grasp.

Greg Jones had lowered himself to peer through the front window next to the door. The translucent lace could be easily seen through, and the shape of two bodies was clearly evident at the top of the stairs. It was time to take a shot, since this was as clear a shot as he would get, but he hesitated one moment, making sure the smaller figure was clearly in his sights. Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty-four

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Logic seemed to slip from the room as John Graham did something incredibly stupid. He decided to try to keep the money. But how? Plod. He took one step forward, and Raymond Johnson was so enamored of his long lost package, that he neglected to keep John Graham far enough away. With one sweep from the left to the right, John used the package as a weapon to deflect the gun away from himself, and with one more crashing thud, used it to whack Ray across the face. The two moves, one to the right, the other to the left sent Ray tumbling down the stairs to the landing, right next to where Officer Jones was crouched just outside the door.

Ray got one shot off as the gun went sideways, and the bullet shot through the drywall in the kitchen. As he tumbled down the stairs, he raged at himself that he hadn’t shot this idiot before now. Gathering himself at the bottom of the stairs, he decided to finish this part of the job right now.

Greg Jones cursed under his breath as his target tumbled to the landing directly in front of him. Now all that separated him and Johnson was the door, which Greg stood back to kick open. He simultaneously shouted, “Police!” as his foot crashed through the door.

Ray was knocked forward by the door, and the shot he fired was low, but still hit its target just below the kneecap. John Graham collapsed at the top of the stairs with a sharp groan, dropping the money. Ray turned and fired once blindly at the force behind him, trying to process all of the data at once; the kicked door, being forced forward, the shout, the shots. Ray knew his only exit was in front of him. He dashed up the stairs, grabbing the money and heading for the heavy sliding glass doors. The alarm had begun ringing by this time.

As Officer Jones had kicked the door open, he saw the shot up the stairs, and then was staring into the barrel pointed back out at him. He ducked behind the rock wall of the front porch, just under the window he had been looking through only moments before. The shot was a wild one, and went straight out the door. Jones realized it had been to cover Johnson as he fled up the stairs. Hearing the heavy footfalls up the steps, ran up the short flight to see Raymond Johnson fleeing out the back door onto the deck. As the sliding glass door was opened, the sirens from the house alarm began wailing, and as was usual in these situations, time slowed to a standstill for Officer Greg Jones.

He kneeled at the side of John Graham, and checked the wound. There was blood, and no doubt there would be pain, but right now Graham was just staring into space, beginning to go into shock. Luckily, Reba crept down the hall and peered around the corner, and after hearing gunshots in her own house, was not eager to enter the front room. Greg called her over.

“Reba, it’s Greg,” he said, motioning her to them. “An intruder has just shot John in the leg, but he’s going to be all right. I need you to get him a towel and hold it on the wound to stop the bleeding.”

Reba stood over both of them, also shocked into inaction. She looked from the gun in Greg’s hand to her husbands’ wound. Greg understood the confusion of the moment, but he only had moments before he could catch Johnson.

“Quick, Reba, go get a towel,” he implored, “I’ve got to go get the bad guy.” Noticing the recognition finally in her eyes, he jumped to his feet and ran out the back door onto the deck.

Ray knew he had only moments to escape, since the cop would stop to help a shooting victim first. But the two options that presented themselves at the bottom of the stairs to the deck were not equally appealing. Although he had crept up the back of the lot along the bushes, the direct path back to the car would make him an easy target, and the yard was long and deep. As the wheels turned in Ray’s head, the other option seemed best, and would probably confuse the cop. So at the bottom of the stairs he turned and ran back around to the front of the house, and was now faced with three options. Turn to the left or right and maybe go around the block to the car, which the cop would probably go straight toward. Or he could go across the street to that darkened house, and wait for the cop to find him, and watch the cop act surprised as Raymond drilled a bullet into him.

Greg dashed to the bottom of the stairs, and looked toward the back of the lot. He needed to cover the car to prevent Ray’s escape, but the yard was so long Greg doubted he had gone that way. Since he had to prevent an escape, Greg ran through the long backyard, hoping to get to the car before Johnson. There was no alternative. Greg just hoped Johnson wouldn’t switch cars again, because if this guess was wrong, there would now be a gunman loose in the neighborhood.

When Greg Jones got to the car, his worst fears were realized. No one was around, and luckily the keys were still in the car. Jones leaned in and grabbed the keys, and then saw the rifle in the back seat. He took the gun and looked around the car. Johnson probably wouldn’t be back to this car, anyway, he thought. He stood and listened carefully. There was not other sound in the neighborhood at this hour of the morning. No other cars were leaving the area, so that meant Johnson was still here somewhere, waiting to escape. Greg thought he heard the sounds of sirens in the distance, and ran back through the Graham’s backyard, ready to brief the reinforcements on the situation.

Cody Merring was running around the far side of the Parker house while Raymond Johnson was running around the near side. Cody had heard the shots, and while sworn to stay at his station, his newly ingrained training kicked in and he leapt from the seat and ran to see if he could be of aid. He knew the protocol though, and wisely called Smitty quickly to say, “I heard gunshots across the street. I’m going over to see if anyone needs help.” It was his first real emergency that was all his own, and he wasn’t going to let the good people of his home town suffer while he could help.

Raymond Johnson got to the police car and quickly checked for keys to make an escape. He thought to himself that this would be the perfect way to slide out of town, just get in the car and pretend to be on the way to an “emergency”. He could even use the flashing lights if he wanted to, but probably the better way would be to just slowly drive from town. But the keys weren’t there. They were jangling from the side of Officer Greg Jones’ belt as he ran to Cody Merrings’ car.

But the radio was working, and as the crackle of the intercom began to rise in the speaker, Ray thought he could hear other noise, but farther off in the distance. Smitty’s car siren could be heard in the distance, and then was also heard over the radio. “Negative, stay in the car. Do not go to the scene, repeat, do not leave the car.” Ray was almost tempted to click the microphone and tell whoever this was that since he didn’t have the keys, he wasn’t going anywhere. But instead, Ray realized these cops he could hear in the background were on the way to meet him. Ray decided he would hide out in this house, and wait to see what developed. No one knew where he was, yet.

Cody heard the gunshots as he ran quickly across the street, looking up and down the street to see if he was exposing himself to any other danger than the one he was certain was in John Graham’s house. He knew he wouldn’t be any help if he was shot, too. He ran to the front door, and since it was still open, even with the frigid night air pouring in, he saw the Graham’s at the top of the stairway. Reba Graham was applying pressure to a wound with a towel that was almost completely blood-soaked. She looked up and only recognized him the kid who used to check out the adventure books when she was a librarian, and she knew that he had taken some of John’s classes. The name jumped to her throat. “Cody, John’s been shot!” Reba sobbed, beginning to lose her focus now that help had arrived.

“I heard. I’ve been training as an EMT. I know I can help,” he said quickly, and just as quickly, she turned her patient over to him. The reddened towel was turning black with blood, and Cody could see the blood leaking from the entry wound. It was probably spilling out of the back wound too. Without a thought, Cody pushed one finger into the bullet hole and held it there. John Graham moaned with pain, and then became unconscious again, slumping against the carpet. Cody felt for the second hole, and found the wound was clear, the bullet had gone straight through, and he kept his fingers in the holes. The blood flow was staunched.

“Mrs. Graham,” Cody asked quietly, trying not to sound urgent, but firm, “would you please get me another towel, and call 911. Tell them John – Mr. Graham has a gunshot wound.”

She looked into the baby face of someone she had loaned books to only five years ago. Now the adventure was in her front room, and her husband was bleeding, and she was unsure just how much to trust this ridiculously young man. But it was only a moment of hesitation, and she went to get more towels. And make the call.

Raymond Johnson crept into the back of the house, wondering where would be the best place to watch the proceedings across the street. So far no one knew he was here, so he could lie low, and quiet, and until a house to house search was conducted, he would be safe. There would be roadblocks, but he had no doubt he could escape. If only he would be quiet and still for just a while longer. As he crossed into the back kitchen, Ray was drawn to the window at the side of the room. He could see the flashing lights of several cop cars approaching the house. Whoever had been in the car just before him must have tipped them off, and he wondered where that other officer was at the moment. Better to stand here and wait for a moment. There could be cops in this house, too, for all he knew.

The cars roared down the street and the sirens, along with the gunshots earlier, got the other people on the street to turn on their lights, to creep out onto their porches and try to see what traumatic event they were missing, hoping to be spectators to the carnage, and then be able to report on it firsthand later to their jealous neighbors who had missed out. Several cars converged on the front of the Graham house, and as officers spilled out of the doors and took cover behind them, a single police officer emerged from the back yard to wave them off, indicating there was no one in the house. Ray heard a voice from the front of the house say plaintively, “Greg!”

Smitty holstered his gun and advanced to get the report from Jones.

Greg spoke up first, knowing that time was of the essence. “Johnson shot Graham in the leg and fled somewhere here into the neighborhood. I haven’t heard any other car activity except you guys. He’s got a handgun. And the money.”

Ray would have sat and watched the cops discuss their strategy, to see if they would point to the Parker house, imagining he was hidden there. But more important, Ray wanted to see the face of his next hostage, who was now standing in the front room looking out at the officers. As he slowly and noiselessly walked up to the front of the room, the rustling of his clothes revealed someone was there. Paula Rogers turned to see a gun pointing at her face.

“Don’t even think about making a sound,” Ray said very quietly, but with such conviction that Paula knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. She had reported on hostage negotiations before, and her mind quickly turned over the list of “correct” hostage behaviors which usually helped hostages to survive.

Non-confrontation popped up first. “Okay”, she breathed out. “Whatever you say.” Then she shut up.

Ray liked this hostage. He seemed to recognize her face, and wondered where he knew her from. It was tossing around in his head with the other thoughts of what he might want to do to her besides hold her hostage. The instructions came out first. “Just sit down on that couch, and wait until I decide what we do next.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him, and he freely let his eyes roam over her body. It was a visual assault on her body, and she thought she could see the ideas forming in his eyes. She tried to remain focused, and did as he said. Sitting on the couch, she hoped Greg would get over here soon and check on her.

Smitty called Skinner over and introduced Greg, but they already knew each other, and Smitty grimaced to realize the error. Greg’s deputy Larry Skinner had been killed by this madman, and now his brother Darrell Skinner was here to make sure he didn’t get away this time. The three formed a circle to weigh their options.

“Let’s lock down the town,” he said to the other two. They nodded, and Smitty turned to his second and gave the order. All the roads would be barricaded.

Greg spoke next. “I don’t think he has gone very far, and he may be watching us right now. If I were him, I’d be waiting for a distraction or lull in the action.”

The three nodded again, and realizing they were standing openly in the road, moved over to stand next to a patrol car. “We’ve got back-up coming in from the north,” Smitty said, “and if we have to wait, we’ll wait. What do you think about a door to door?”

They looked around the block and realized that nearly all the doors were already open, with several people standing in doorways trying to watch the drama unfold. As they scanned the scene, the only house with no open door was directly across the street.

“Damn.” Both Smitty and Greg exhaled the word at once, and Skinner looked over at the house as Greg said, “Paula.”

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty-five

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Greg Jones was walking back to the house when he saw a car he thought he recognized. Being one of two cops in a small town of only 1600 meant you got to know nearly everyone, nearly everyone’s car, their children, their dogs and their histories. Greg thought this yellow Honda looked like one that Peter Merring used to drive, but had since given to his kid Cody to use while studying to be an EMT. But the car was on the wrong side of town. Not only did small town cops get to know all about a town’s population, but Greg had learned their habits, and it was rare to see some cars ever travel to the opposite side of town. Most people stayed in their own little orbits, taking the same roads at the same times to the same jobs for twenty to thirty years.

Greg slid up next to the house and hid in the darkness as he approached the front, trying to see if this was Cody Merring driving the Accord. Peering through the darkness in the dead of the night, he thought he could see someone who looked like Cody Merring, but the shape in the back seat was what made the hair on the back of Greg Jones’ head begin to stand. He thought he could see someone crouched just over the seat, looking toward John Graham’s house. The dark shape in the backseat moved its head toward the house, and as the car passed, continued to look at the house, moving to the back of the seat. Then the car went past the last two houses and turned left. Greg ran to the corner and tried to see if the car was going straight, but he arrived just in time to see it turn left again. Greg thought to himself they must be circling the block. He decided his best defense would be to get to the driveway of the Graham house rather than risk running across the road when they returned. He dashed across the street and stood in the shadows of the open carport. Peering into the street. The car didn’t return, but Greg decided to be patient and wait. They would be back.

“Stop the car,” Ray barked out as they arrived at the far side of the city block. There were fewer houses here, but Ray told Cody to stop in front of one of the houses and park. “Turn off the car and get the keys. Go to the back and open up the trunk.”

Cody knew what the drill would be, and trying his best to still think of something that would help, he moved slower than usual, hoping the gunman wouldn’t recognize the pace. As they approached the trunk, Cody even thought about grabbing the gun, but thought better of it, realizing he would probably end up dead, and then Ray would go kill Mr. Graham anyway. He opened the lid and began to climb in.

“Not so fast,” Ray half-whispered, trying not to draw attention to two men standing over a trunk in the middle of the night. “Pull out some duct tape or rope.”

Cody did as he was told, and the grey roll of tape that had been placed in the trunk to help for emergencies was about to become his captor. Cody put his hands behind his back. Ray wasn’t buying.

“Put your hands in front of you, and you start the tape around your wrists,” he said to Cody. It sounded impossible, but a man was holding a gun telling him to tape his wrists, so he pulled a short section out and pushed it on his left wrist, then tried to pull it over the wrist with his right hand. Ray kept the gun in his hand and grabbed the tape. Once stuck to Cody’s left wrist, Ray simply pulled the tape around the two wrists several times, then around the middle several times. There was no need to cut the roll. Ray left it hanging between Cody’s wrists. “Now get in the trunk,” he said, motioning with his gun.

Cody Merring did as he was told, and hoped that this guy was not going to just shoot the trunk with bullet holes and leave him for dead. But even this idiot isn’t that stupid, Cody thought, and resigned himself to darkness for a while.

Smitty arranged for the details of Skinner’s plans. It might just work, but they would have to buy some time. If there were hostages involved, there usually was some negotiating time allowed by both sides, so Smitty was too worried about getting all the pieces in place to make it work. It would be so much easier if the guy would just run out of the house with his guns blazing, and just like the shoot-outs of the wild west, Smitty would only need one clear shot and this whole situation would be concluded. But it rarely happened so simply, and the complications were what threw off the best laid plans. The devil is in the details.

Smitty was hoping for no more complications.

Greg Jones heard his breath in the crisp night air, and listened for any other noises. There was no car noise within the few blocks of this house, so the car must have stopped shortly after turning the corner, and was probably just on the other side of the block. If that was Raymond Johnson Greg had seen in the back of Cody’s car, he would now be on his way to the Graham house. Greg had an advantage in knowing the layout of the block, and the three possible routes to the house. The big brick wall the Seaver’s had built would be the first obstacle, but that didn’t extend the whole block. The back of the Grahams’ house was still old barb-wire farm fences from when animals were kept here. The ways to the back of the house were open fields with some obstacles. Raymond Johnson could also just walk around the block and approach from the front, but from what Greg had learned studying burglaries, he knew the back entrance was preferred. But how to cover the front and the back, and not miss Johnson trying to get into the house?

Greg decided to retreat a bit to the other side of the street, but just up from the house they had been using for the stakeout. It would give him a clear view of the house from the side, the front, and he would be able to see anyone approaching from the back. It might slow his response time, Greg thought, but that was only important if this Johnson guy got into the house. Greg was hoping for a clear shot. After a warning, of course.

Raymond Johnson smiled to himself and crept along the side of the Graham yard. It couldn’t have provided better cover, since the bushes were taller than him and solid from the back to the front. He had got stuck on one piece of barbed wire, but that was easily fixed and now he was approaching the house. He hid in the shadows next to the tall bridal wreath stems, which had lost their leaves but not the ability to hide him.

He could see two rear entrances. There was the upper deck he had anticipated, with a sliding glass door and a large alarm sticker big enough for Ray to see from his vantage point fifty feet out. That would be the big alarm door, where the sirens would sound if it was entered. The other door at the back side of the lower level of the split-level home would be a sounded alarm, but not one that would wake the neighbors. Ray hated alarms, and usually just passed by when he saw the posted signs. But the money he wanted was inside this house, and alarm or not, he was going to get in.

There was a window next to the lower door, small, perhaps for a bathroom, but still big enough for him to get into. There were larger, bedroom windows still further to the west, but these would probably also be alarmed. Ray decided to gamble a bit, and decided that whoever put in the alarm system was too lazy to put switches on the smaller window. The installer had probably convinced John Graham that anyone trying to break in on the ground floor would use the larger windows, and not this small one. Ray could even hear the salesman pitching this in his head, convincing the idiot that the estimate would have to be rewritten if they included this small window, which of course, no one would use. Except Ray.

Cody had almost immediately began to try to find the latch in the trunk. He remembered reading about child release latches in some cars so they wouldn’t get trapped inside, and even if there was no latch, he might still be able to flip the hatch open. His fingers were free, so they danced across the metal strips, pulling and tugging, but none of the manipulations seemed to do anything. He was just about to turn and kick the latch open, when something clicked in the assembly. He stopped what he was doing and tried to push it the trunk lid up. It floated upwards and sat upright. The night sky was filled with stars and the air was crisp.

As he climbed out of the trunk, which is difficult enough without having both hands tied together, he tried to think if there was a knife or razor in the trunk he could use to cut his duct tape handcuffs. Then he realized having his hands free was not as important as trying to stop what was about to happen to Mr. Graham. He began to run, slowly, around the block, waving both hands before him. Cody never realized how valuable hands were to balance in running until just now, and his concentration was focused on not falling over.

Ray had crept up to the window unseen by Greg. Officer Jones had been looking the wrong direction when he crossed the short 3 feet of uncovered area from the shrubs to the back of the house, and as Ray sat looking at the window, he smiled broadly, not believing his luck. Not only did he not see any sign of wires inside the lightly frosted glass, but the outer pane of the double-pane window was already cracked. All he would have to do is stick his elbow where the window was broken, and a light tap is all it would take to break it open.

Ray quickly scanned the backyard, and then laughed quietly to himself. If there was anyone watching him, they would have seen him cross the lawn already. But it was a habit to check the landscape. Then Ray laughed at another “security” measure taken by most people. He wondered if there was a dowel of wood just inside the window, lying in the track to stop bad people like him from sneaking in the windows. Maybe if there was, Ray thought to himself, I’ll pick it up just after I break the window, and save it for a souvenir.

Greg was having trouble concentrating on the house. It was taking far too long for Johnson to cross to the house if that had been him in the car. There were no noises, no barking dogs, no cars driving – even in the outlying areas. It was all too quiet. Scanning from the front sides to the back, Greg thought about Paula sleeping in this house next to him, and wondered if he should wake her and tell her what was going on. Then Greg thought he heard the dull thuds of footfalls. Someone’s feet were thumping their way around the block to his left, and he withdrew further back into the shadows. None of this was making any sense, and Greg was beginning to doubt that he had really seen anything at all. Maybe Cody Herring had a new girlfriend on this side of town that Greg didn’t know about, and was on this side of town for a late night rendezvous. But still Greg Jones held his pistol in front of him, waiting to see what was making that strange shuffling noise.

Around the corner came Cody Herring, who seemed to have his wrists bound. He was running as best he could with both arms hanging in front of him, and seemed determined to run up to the front door of the Graham residence. Greg had recognized him immediately, but had hesitated only a moment when he realized where Cody was going. Greg ran quickly across the street to intercept Cody before he got to the Graham house, and was going to tackle him to get him to stop if that was necessary. As Greg neared, Cody heard him coming and turned and slowed his run. Greg grabbed the boy by the shoulders and hustled him to the carport of the house next the Grahams house, and steadied Cody next to him in the shadows. All was quiet.

Ray had been waiting for some kind of noise to help cover the sound of crunching glass, so when he heard some shuffling of the tree leaves in the front yard he pushed his elbow once. It bounced back, and hitting his other hand with a fist just a little harder, the glass gave way hardly making any sound at all. It sounded as if someone had dropped a heavy book on the cement. Ray began to pick the shard out of the way of the window handle, and pulling it from the inside, grabbing the short dowel he correctly assumed was there. Slowly pushing the window back, Raymond Johnson slowly crept into the house of John Graham, determined to leave a richer man than he entered.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty-three

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.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty-two

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-one

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Paula and Greg sat looking at the house across the way. They were both getting very tired. Greg stood and stretched, looking at John Graham’s now darkened house. “I guess we could call it a night, and head back to your motel,” he said.

Paula was looking at the house, too, but when Greg suggested they go, she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. “Why would I want to go back to my motel and sit in my room by myself,” she cooed in his ear, “when I could just stay here with you?”

Her words made sense, and the long kiss made a negative answer impossible. “Well, I guess we shouldn’t desert our posts, even though it looks like a pretty slow night,” Greg observed, looking around the partially furnished house. “Do you want the couch or the futon? I don’t think we’ll both fit on either one.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” she said, pouting out her lower lip, pretending to be hurt. Now it was his turn to wrap his arms around her waist, and without answering, kiss her long and hard. She seemed to forget the question.

“Go ahead and go to sleep,” Greg said. “I think I’ll sit here and watch for a little longer. You look tired, so turn in.”

“Yes, sir,” Paula Rogers said, saluting sharply. She crossed to the futon, and taking off her shoes, plopped down and was asleep almost immediately.

Cody was almost going crazy trying to figure out how to help John Graham. He thought back to the things he had been learning, searching for some answers to help him get this guy off his guard. As a paramedic, his first duty was to take care of the medical emergencies, but the other big part of the job was to make sure the injured parties didn’t panic, since that would further complicate the episode. Since they had at least another half hour to drive, Cody decided it was time to try out his “roadside” manner.

“So, does this John Graham guy owe you some money?” Cody tried this shot in the dark as a good starting point. Most people were about money.

Raymond Johnson grumbled to himself, but not because Cody was prying. “Yeah, you might say that he owes me some money.” Ray smirked thinking about a drama teacher stealing from him.

“You’re not gonna have to use the gun, are you?”

“Depends on what happens when I get to this guy’s house,” Ray admitted freely. “If everything goes well, nobody, including you, gets hurt. But I know how to use the gun, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Cody had no doubts that the gunman was proficient. But it did seem like he was beginning to open up. “You don’t look like a guy who would shoot people.”

“Nobody looks like someone that shoots people,” Ray interjected. “That’s why so many people get shot by surprise. The last person in the world they expect to get shot is them. You ought to see the look in most peoples’ faces after the bullet hits them. It’s like a kid looks when you take his candy away.”

Cody tried not to shudder visibly. Johnson was a guy who obviously had done both – shot people and taken candy from kids – and that was the way he was describing both sets of victims. While he had heard of cold-blooded murderers before, Cody never thought he would be driving one to his teacher’s house.

“So, this is over a lot of money, then. I don’t think you would kill someone over a little amount, would you?” Cody studied the man in the mirror, and saw that the softening was starting.

Ray smirked again, “Yeah, this is over a lot of money. But don’t get me wrong. I will kill you if you cross me, and that’s not over money.”

Cody knew this was true, and he was startled that Ray thought this conversation was about saving Cody’s life. But the hypnosis had begun. Part two, according to his training, was to get the other person to see you as a real person. Next, they would talk about what kind of training a paramedic had to go though.

Greg Jones sat for a while in the darkness watching John Graham’s house, wondering why Smitty hadn’t called about the capture of Raymond Johnson. Probably too busy with processing Johnson into the jail. But since there seemed no immediate threat at the time, Jones was able to sit thinking about other topics.

He intertwined his fingers and smiled. He looked over a Paula, by now fast asleep. He felt like a lucky man, indeed, and wondered at her patience and his thick-headedness. It was fortunate for him, he thought, that she was so determined.

He watched her breath rise and fall, and she seemed so peaceful. Not the fiercely determined reporter most people saw weekly on their television. Her blonde hair was short, fashionable, attractive. She had a great figure, and her personality was as tenacious as her reporting. She was no wall flower. Greg thought when she was younger she was probably the one leading the way of mischief in school. Then she would probably proclaim her status as the leader and most responsible, thus deserving of the most punishment. Which of course, always resulted in less punishment for everyone, including her. That leadership quality had served her well in tracking down murderers, rapists, con-game operators, neglectful mothers and fathers. Her determined questioning raised eyebrows at times, but the directness often caught her victims unaware, and they would confess into the microphone. Paula’s interviews had been used more than once to convict the guilty, and those who were convicted of their guilt without a trial often pled to lesser charges and were finally removed from the possible pool of people Greg had to round up.

This line of thought led him to wonder if her blunt questioning during the past days had made him confess the love he felt for her. His firm conviction of love proved her talent yet again, and he was glad that she had been so direct, after waiting for so long. Greg Jones knew how it felt to be trapped under the spell of Paula Rogers, and while it was an uncomfortable thought for the macho man in Greg to admit it, he was glad to be trapped. He thought that most of the people she usually trapped were probably happy to be out from under the burden of their crimes, guilt, or misery as well.

As Greg’s hands rubbed across his face, his brown hair ruffled at the sides. He marveled at the beauty placed before him, and counted himself the luckiest man in the world. But he shouldn’t let it detract him from his job. He should probably at least go to the car and check in with Smitty, or someone, to see if this lonely outpost he was enjoying so much was to be closed for the night.

John Graham continued to dream. Having gone back to sleep after the dream of losing the money, being laughed at by others and humiliated by his own stupidity, he found himself ready to sleep again, and was of the firm belief that one could control one’s dreams. He wanted to will this dream to be a good one, to show he had made the right decision, and that all would be well. He had changed his lucid dreams before, and now sleeping soundly, he was determined to find the happy ending in this complicated affair.

He was jogging again. Plodding again. What had happened during the past few days seemed like plodding, too. The package. The money. Prepare the fake bundle. Go see Greg. Watch the town get turned upside down as Raymond Johnson fell for the trap, killed Larry Skinner, shot Greg Jones with Larry’s gun. Then he had fled Ridgeway in Larry Skinner’s car. Paula Rogers had done the broadcast, and the videotape had shown Raymond Johnson looking very determined indeed to get the money.

Another step into the path. John Graham plodded on, wondering where this run would take him. In his dream, he struggled to look ahead to the finish line, to see if monetary gain or personal shame awaited. But the finish line was just too far away, just like in the marathons he had run. The wall awaited, telling those foolish enough to start the race that here was where it ended. The wall would win and the runner would stumble. Buried under the prospect of what lie ahead, the eager plodder would find that no amount of miles behind could overcome the short miles ahead.

In his dream, John Graham wondered why the wall often came at nineteen miles, instead of thirteen, fourteen or fifteen. If you were just over halfway, wouldn’t that be a greater cause for distress than being three quarters done? It didn’t make sense in his dream, and it never made sense in the marathon either. But there were only two answers to the despair of the moment. Quit; or keep putting one foot in front of the other.

One step. Then the choice again. Quit. Or step.

Another step. And plodding on, step after step, the runner doesn’t quit, doesn’t stumble, doesn’t even have to think about the next step, because the crisis has passed, and the wall has been overcome. All that remains is the victory of the finish line, no matter how ignoble the length of time it took to complete the journey.

So John Graham looked ahead. He knew the wall of the struggle he found himself within was just ahead, and after that wall was behind him, it would be smooth sailing to the happy conclusion. He put one foot in front of another, in his best plodding style, and came over the crest of a small hill. Always difficult, even the smallest uphill stretch greeted the runner with the challenge of walking, plodding or running. John plodded slower, but he did not stop.

Cresting the hill, he realized that now with the hill behind him he could enjoy the fruits of that small labor, and would take bigger, striding steps on the downhill side, making up for lost time on the hill.

But at the crest of this particular hill, there stood the figure of Raymond Johnson, holding Larry Skinner’s gun, pointed at John Graham’s head. John stopped dead in his tracks and stared into the barrel of cold steel, noticing the limp body of Larry Skinner lying in pool of blood behind his confronter. His race had stopped, and the wall was in front of him.

John Graham looked into the face of his adversary. He was short, with reddish hair that was beginning to grey, and was no longer a vibrant red. The lighter color didn’t soften the desperate look he saw in Raymond Johnson’s eyes, the steely resolve which told him that the end had come. The money would do him no good, because he would be dead and Raymond Johnson would escape to spend it elsewhere. The squat body of the gunman was stocky and not fat, but also not lean. His determined posture reinforced the message that John Graham had reached the end of his race. It was time to die.

Then John Graham’s point-of-view switched, and suddenly he was inside Raymond Johnson’s eyes, looking out at the pathetic figure before him. The gun held straight out the end of the short arm, the trigger about to be pulled ever so slightly and smoothly. John felt the supreme confidence of his killer, and looking through his killer’s eyes, he only saw weakness before him. John Graham appeared small to himself, though others often told him he was a monster of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and stunning features. The man who usually inspired confidence in his students and others now appeared to himself to be only greedy and weak.

He could see himself holding onto the bundle of money now, preparing to hand it over, with a look of puppy-dog shame in his eyes. Ashamed at the shame he saw on his own face, John Graham almost took pleasure in feeling himself pull the trigger to end his own life. He watched in slow motion as the handle pulled back, then went forward slowly, as the bullet crept out of the barrel and crept in slow-motion toward his own head.

John Graham jolted straight up in bed just before the impact of the bullet hit his forehead in his dream. Reba awakened for a moment and then collapsed back to her pillows. John realized he was damp from the night sweat of the nightmare. Trying to calm down, he reassured himself that it was only a dream – a very vivid and realistic dream, yes – but still a dream; that now he was awake, and alive, not shot through the head. He even tried to humor himself, muttering under his breath that the important part of dreaming was to wake up before you hit the ground. Or before you were shot, in this case.

He decided to walk to the kitchen and get a drink of Pepsi. John Graham needed to calm himself, and a jolt of caffeine might do the trick. One thing was certain; he would be glad when this whole situation had resolved itself, and he could get back to his normal nightmares of unruly high school students.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty-one

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cody was sweating, even though the night was cold and crisp. He had always thought of himself as a cool cucumber, someone who could handle the most horrifying accident, who could make it through what others could not. He hadn’t contemplated how he would react to having a gun, his own gun, pointed at his back as he prepared to drive through a police checkpoint. He was feeling like a criminal himself, and wondered if there was any way to help these officers collect the human trash they were searching for at the checkpoint.

He had read about false bravery, and those who risked their lives to appear fearless. The families left behind had nothing good to say about the bravado of challenging someone to shoot. Cody wondered about the training he had just completed and realized nothing he had studied could prepare him for this event. But the bigger worry was if he would survive this night and get the chance to use his newly acquired skills helping others. Or if he would just end up on a list of those killed by the desperate man in the back of his car.

Cody pulled up to the checkpoint. He looked at the officer’s name badge, and asked politely, “Looking for somebody?”

He realized almost immediately this was the wrong question, since most of the people in the line had no idea why the roadblock had been set up. Cody knew why they were all stopped, but had he just tipped his hand?

The officer refused to answer, simply waving his flashlight in the back and asking, “Who’s that in the back?”

Cody swallowed and tried to look convincing. “Oh, Dad’s just trying to catch some Z’s before we pull into town.”

The flashlight stayed on the backseat while the officer paused.

Then he turned the flashlight on Cody.

“Thanks for your cooperation,” said the officer routinely. “Please pull ahead.”

And that was it.

As the car pulled forward, Jack Arness motioned to his partner. As the other officer crossed over in front of the next vehicle, Jack said, “How much longer do you think we’ll have to do this tonight?”

The yellow Honda was slipping into third gear as it disappeared into the night.

John Graham by this time was fast asleep. He had eaten well, enjoyed the evening with his wife, and then crawled into a warm bed. As he slept, he dreamt of spending money. He had much more than the $100,000 he knew would soon be his, and when the unreality of the amount entered into the dream, he justified the spending by inserting his own financial prowess into the equation, and the dream continued.

He was driving a Ferrari. Red. With the top down. Even though he had no thoughts of leaving his wife for another woman, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving from the beautiful women he passed on the street. He kept eye contact with them as they stared first at his car, and then at his handsome face. It was the ultimate ego trip, with the sound of the motor underneath him and the attention of the world being showered from the outside.

He was dressed in a fancy Joseph Abboud suit, which was custom-tailored. A soft olive color, he knew it had silk-lined pants even though he couldn’t see them in his dream. There were suspender buttons sewn into the pants, and the styling was perfect. As if on cue, he arrived wherever it was that he was going, and got out of the car so those walking alongside him could admire his finely tailored clothes.

His shoes were Gucci. His jewelry was gold. Some of his high school students walked by admiring the ensemble and were appropriately complimentary, to which John Graham replied in his dream, “Extra credit.” It was a joke he often used in his waking moments to illustrate to students just how desperate some of them were for high grades, high scores, and the adulation of parents and teachers. Students would do anything for extra credit, just so they could have the highest scores possible.

But this was where John’s dream began to change. He looked back at the student’s to see if they were laughing at him behind his back, praising him unjustly and without sincerity. It seemed to Mr. Graham that the sudden respect he was receiving was the same false respect some students gave to teachers, the same butt-kissing that went on in the schools, but that this time everyone was catering to him and expecting some money in return.

The car, the clothes, the shoes, the glamour seemed to tarnish as he looked around and saw the crowd toadying to him, trying to win favor, and in the process, trying to gain money. He pulled out the pockets of his pants, and noticed they were empty. No money. The crowds around him looked at the white pockets turned inside out, obviously devoid of coin. They turned en masse, and suddenly the backs of the entire world were turned upon him.

John fought for the attention he had so recently enjoyed. He extolled his virtues – he was a great teacher, a caring person, a loving father, that he was more than just about money. He deserved the praise of the world, and its respect, but the world would have none of it. They continued to walk away, and suddenly John Graham awoke. The fear of the dream was still with him. The money sitting in the top of the closet hall seemed to mock him, and his only desire at that moment was to take the money back to the bank.

But it was the middle of the night, his rational mind assured him. No one would be at the bank right now. His paranoia began to ease, as he ticked off the reasons why he should be keeping the money, his fears subsided, and slowly, but surely, John Graham talked himself back to sleep.

Cody Merring was contemplating his options. As his car pulled away from the checkpoint, he realized that if he didn’t act fast, and smart, that he would probably be dead very soon. This guy didn’t need a driver, and he didn’t want a witness around either. So instead of waiting for Raymond Johnson to speak up and praise his performance with the officer, Cody spoke up first.

“That went better than I thought it would,” he said quickly. “But don’t sit up yet,” he cautioned Ray in the back seat. “I can still see the police cars.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” Ray said, not getting the irony in the statement.

Cody jumped back into the conversation. “Look, I know you probably just want to get rid of me as fast as you can, but if you shoot me now, it won’t be long before they find me, or maybe someone hears the gun.”

Ray didn’t speak.

“So, see what you think about this plan,” Cody continued. “We are about 40 miles from Ridgeway. In about 20 minutes, you drop me off and let me walk to town, which should take me over an hour. I don’t know where you are going, I can’t contact anyone for an hour, and you have one less body to worry about someone finding and pinning on you.”

The proposition hung in the air. Ray sat up slowly, looking out the back window.

“What’s to stop you from flagging down someone and getting the cops on me right away?” Ray asked.

“Tie me up so it takes me a while to get undone, or to find someone to untie me.”

Ray grunted. He tossed the idea around in his mind some more, trying to figure out the angle this guy was playing. Everybody always had an angle.

“Look, can I be honest with you?” said Cody. Since Ray said nothing, he continued. “I have just graduated from an emergency medical technician program. I’ve spent a lot of my parents’ money, and a lot of hours trying to get ready to help people out. That’s why I stopped to help you tonight. I want to help people, but if I’m dead, none of that will matter. It would be a waste of all that effort. You can understand that; you’re going to a lot of effort right now.”

Ray leaned forward and pushed the gun next to Cody. “That was a nice speech kid. The kind I’m used to making in front of judges just before they make me sit in a little room for a few years. None of my ‘efforts’ have ever got me anything but trouble. So that sales pitch probably is not the best one to use tonight. But the more I think about it, you would make a very good hostage, since those bleeding hearts out there don’t want a young man with a future to suddenly meet his end. That’s the kind of a hostage I might be needing in a very short while.”

Ray pulled the gun from Cody’s head. “So your first story was not so good, but the story you’re gonna tell your kids will be a whopper. Let’s call it ‘Hostage for a Day’. Just keep driving, and I’ll tell you what comes next when we get to Ridgeway. Just don’t do anything stupid between here and there, and we’ll all have a happy ending to tell the grandkids.”

Smitty was on the radio trying to find someone who could get Greg Jones on the phone. He imagined that Jones and that TV woman, Paula Rogers were busy playing house. He wondered if there was someone in Ridgeway he could call to go over and knock on the door of the “supposedly” empty house. That would be quite the wake-up call, at 11:00 P.M. at night. He was trying to be sensitive to Darrell, whose brother was dead because the state police hadn’t put the pieces together fast enough. If Larry was still alive, he would be the go-to man. He would have been able to get Jones on the speaker.

So now, as the four of them all sat silently in a car racing toward Ridgeway, Smitty turned over the details in his head. He was almost positive that this teacher, John Graham had found the rest of the money, and sent the fake package to the police. It didn’t make sense for Raymond Johnson to plan some elaborate decoy, and then go back for the decoy as if it were the real money. And now, Smitty was betting that Johnson was on his way back to Ridgeway to collect the rest of his money.

But the gasoline skip didn’t fit that either. The cashier had positively identified both the truck and the driver, but if Johnson had picked up the money from the evidence safe, and had the cash from the Mike Shepherd money, then why chance getting caught stealing gas. That made Smitty think back to the smug look on Simon’s face. He had the smile of a cat that just ate a bird, and had remembered to get the feathers away from his mouth. Smitty thought to himself that he would have to go back and see if Simon would cough up the money.

The gasoline theft had pointed them in the right direction, back toward Ridgeway, even though Johnson had left Simon’s house in the other direction. Smitty knew Raymond Johnson was planning on a rendezvous with the rest of his money, and the deaths of at least four people hadn’t bothered his conscience yet. Smitty wondered how many more would have to die to stop this maniac.

Ray handed the address to Cody. Cody looked at it 3 or 4 times and kept looking back up at the road. Ray thought that for a smart graduated guy, he sure couldn’t read very well. “Want me to read it for you?” Ray volunteered.

“I can read it, sorry. I was just trying to watch the road,” Cody explained. “I know right where this is in Ridgeway. It’s on the other side of town from my folk’s house.”

What Cody Merring didn’t say was that he also recognized the name. John Graham had taught him in high school, less than 2 years ago. Graham had been one of his favorite teachers, and Cody remembered how much fun they had in classes where laughing had an equal part with learning. John Graham was one of the reasons he had stayed in school, instead of dropping out like his older brother. Graham had talked honestly with him, stressing to Cody how much richer his wallet and his life would be to have a degree. But the main message had been to finish what you start. Many of Cody’s friends had dropped out in their junior and even their senior years, just months away from completing a twelve year hike toward a diploma. Cody had been tempted to try to get a job at the local gas station at minimum wage, and now that his EMT training was done, he was overwhelmed that the man who had helped him see the light at the end of the tunnel was the same man who this crazy man in the back seat wanted to see tonight. He tried to think of how to salvage what was turning into a terrible nightmare.

Cody began to try to pry some information from Ray. “So this guy, this John Graham, he lives at this address?”

Ray shrugged. “I guess. It’s just the address I have for this guy. Do you know him?” the gunman asked.

“I think I know who he is,” Cody revealed, but tried to hide his true involvement. “I think he’s a teacher at the high school.”

A light bulb went off in Ray’s head. He had seen how small the town of Ridgeway was, and this kid was trying to say he didn’t know the guy? Something wasn’t adding up.

“The high school you went to?” Ray demanded.

Cody looked into the rear view mirror. Ray didn’t look happy. “Yeah,” Cody said slowly.

“He taught at your high school, and you don’t know much about him?”

“Well,” Cody said as he searched for what would satisfy Ray’s curiosity. “He was the drama teacher. I was more into the sciences.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because Ray slowly relaxed and began to chuckle to himself. “The drama teacher. This is gonna be a pushover.”

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Twenty

Big River -- Five Interviews

"Big River -- The Huckleberry Finn musical" Dane Allred plays the King in this production, and he interviewed five members of the cast and crew.  All five interviews are included in this podcast in the order listed below: Elizabeth Hansen -- Director James Arrington -- Co-producer Harry Bonner -- "Jim" Anna Marie Johnson -- Costume designer Nathan Waite -- "Huckleberry Finn"

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Big River

Big River Radio -- Anna Marie Johnson and Nathan Waite

Costume designer Anna Marie Waite discusses "Big River" with Dane Allred.  Nathan Waite also talks about playing the role of "Huckleberry Finn" in Big River.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Big River

Abundance Rescue July 18th

This is the entire episode from July 18th.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Rescue

The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ray pulled into the gas station and parked at the pump closest to the road. As he got out and looked at the pump, he read “Prepay or card only”. Apparently, someone else had already done to this business what Ray was planning on doing – pulling away without paying. A gas skip, it was called. Many service stations now required the pumps farthest from the station to be pre-paid.

“What a bunch of crooks,” Ray muttered, not catching the irony of the statement. “These people don’t trust nobody.”

Ray pulled the car around to the inside bay and began to fill the car. He knew the teller was probably already writing down the license plate, which made him smile a bit since this was already a stolen truck. About to be filled with stolen gas.

Inside, a young teenage girl wondered why the customer had pulled around from the front. Now next to the station, he waved as he filled the tank. She then remembered that those pre-pay pumps had lots of people pulling around, and they usually tried to pay with a bad check. She caught herself being negative, and trying to put a better spin on the situation, said out loud, “Well, maybe he just wants to pay with cash.” She went back to the stocking of the shelf, and listened to the pump tick away.

Ray employed another trick he had learned back in the pen. As he got close to full, he pumped the last dollar very slowly, like he was trying to fill it completely. But what he had done was watch the attendant turn her back on him, relying on the counter in the station to tell her when he was done. Then she would stop stocking the shelves and take his money. So she thought.

After her back was turned, Ray placed the pump end on the ground and let the gas puddle. Inside the store, the counter ticked away as gas spilled on the ground. Almost three gallons ticked out slowly before she thought to look back and see what was taking this moron so long to pump his gas. The truck was gone.

By the time cars the two other cars arrived to pick up Smitty, Skinner and the others, nearly an hour had passed. Smitty decided to let the other cars ahead that had been contacted to be looking for Simon’s truck do their job. He would stop with Skinner and talk to Simon. They would have to depend on the troops farther up the line to do their job, and maybe they would be able to gather some valuable information.

Smitty was sitting in the front room on some old magazines, while Simon was sitting on the tattered Barcolounger. This had really been a wasted effort. Simon’s time frames kept changing, and from what Smitty could tell, he was hiding something. Smitty suspected that Simon had encountered Ray much earlier in the day than his official story, and the transport of Ray to the farm was still murky.

“So,” said Smitty, “exactly how did you get Raymond Johnson here to the house?”

Simon sat back and looked Smitty in the eye. “I made him walk back while I followed in the truck.”

Smitty and Skinner looked at each other, and then back at Simon. “How exactly did you get him to do that?”

“I was in my truck with my shotgun pointed out the window out him,” Simon said matter-of-factly. “He just walked down the road in front of me.”

“Then when was it,” inquired Smitty, “that he got away from you?”

“It was when I was getting out of the truck.” Simon replied. “I was closing the door when I looked up and he was skedaddling around the corner of the house. I got one shot off before he made it into the barn.”

Skinner was smiling, but Smitty was trying to stick to business.

“So how long did you have him trapped in the barn before you called us?” asked Smitty.

“Oh, I called you right away,” Simon lied, hoping there wouldn’t be any questions about the money or the phone call he had just made. “It wasn’t more than a minute or two and then I called my neighbors for backup.” Simon smiled, remembering the television word. He had watched enough television shows to know when to call for help and what cops called it.

Smitty asked about weapons the suspect might have.

Simon decided to speak slowly and carefully, so as not to reveal how Joe’s gun had really ended up in Ray’s hands. “Well,” Simon drawled out slowly, “when he came out of the barn with his hands up, we sort of circled him and I think Joe just got a little too close. That’s when he grabbed Joes’ gun and took my truck.”

Smitty decided he had the information he needed, but there was still something Simon was holding back. “We have an all points bulletin out on your truck, so we hope to have that back to you as soon as possible,” Smitty said, using Simon’s truck reference as an excuse to wrap up the interview.

“An APB, huh?” Simon said, enjoying being able to speak the lingo. “You guys will get him, I bet. Didn’t strike me as a particularly smart fella.”

“Well,” Smitty said as they walked to the front door, “he got away from you, made me crash two cars and has killed three police officers and shot another. He might be stupid, but I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”

Ray was looking up the road at three squad cars blockaded across the road. With the lights flashing, they were visible for over a mile, and Ray was able to pull over before they saw the truck. He could choose to try to find another road, walk to Ridgeway, or find another ride. He propped up the hood of the truck and pretended to work on the engine.

Out here in the middle of the country, it wouldn’t be long before someone would stop and ask for help. Then Ray would make sure they would be the ones who needed help.

Cody Merring had just finished his emergency medical technician program. He’d graduated last week, and now was headed home to Ridgeway to start looking for a job. His beat up old Honda had made this trip many times, and if Cody was lucky, he would be able to get some work soon and replace the rattletrap car. Up ahead, he could see a truck with its hood up, and because he needed hours of practical experience now, he had vowed to stop every time he saw someone in trouble. Even if they didn’t have a medical emergency, he knew he would have to work on his “roadside” manner, and this truck looked like the perfect opportunity.

Ray smiled as he heard the car slow down and pull in front of the truck and then back up. He kept his head in the engine for effect. Cody was by his side almost immediately. “Car problems?”

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, “same old thing. This truck has a problem with the fuel line. I’ll have to go to town and get another fuel pump. I’ve already put three in it.” Ray turned from the engine to see a tall brown-haired man in his early twenties looking into the engine. Then he faced Ray.

“I don’t know anything about engines,” Cody confessed. “But I could give you a ride to town, if you’re going to Ridgeway.”

Another smile from Ray, but this time he let Cody see it. “That would be mighty neighborly of you. You don’t mind if I bring my rifle along, do you? I’d hate to leave it here and have it get stolen.”

Cody patted his side under one arm. “I happen to be packing heat myself,” he chuckled. Cody had carried a gun since before he was legally able.

“Concealed carry permit, huh?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” Cody replied. “I gave myself permission to carry this weapon concealed. No, I do have the permit, though. You never know when you might need a gun.”

Ray smiled broadly again, but thought to himself, “Yeah, you really never know.”

The officers at the roadblock were stopping every car. The message they had been radioed had said to watch for a blue truck and a short dark haired man. A fax of the criminal was smudged badly, but the assembled troops thought they would be able to identify the man. But mostly they were looking for the blue truck.

Cody got back in the car, and Ray asked if he could lie down on the back seat and rest, saying it had been a long night. They were less than an hour out of Ridgeway on the only road from the south, so Ray said he was hoping to get a quick nap. Cody hadn’t given a second thought to the request, so into the back seat went Ray and his rifle. When Cody pulled up to the line of cars waiting to get through the roadblock. He felt a cold steel barrel on the back of his neck.

“These guys up ahead are looking for me,” Ray said slowly. “Tell them I’m your father asleep in the back, and you never saw the blue truck I was in. Got it?

Cody nodded and then said, “Yes,” quietly. He was trying to think of a way to get his hands from the wheel and onto his own gun. But Ray was already anticipating that.

“Get your gun from your holster and give it to me. Slowly.”

Cody did as he was told and took the gun out. He began to turn around to give Ray the gun, but Ray just said, “No reason for you to turn around. Just hold it up and I’ll grab it.”

For a split second Cody thought about turning around and pulling the trigger, but the steel barrel poked his neck in a reminder that slow and steady was the name of the game. He held the gun over the seat, and Ray reached up and grabbed it. The rifle was lowered.

“I’ve got your pistol aimed right at you. Thanks for this blanket in the back, “said Ray. “I’m going to pretend to be asleep, and don’t do anything funny. We wouldn’t want them to make me get out, because I will shoot you first, and then I’ll shoot them.”

A silence hung in the air. Cody was certain this man was serious, and would have no problem shooting anyone, even if it were a policeman. He wouldn’t even bat an eye at shooting an emergency medical technician.

At the roadblock Jack Arness was checking ID’s. Still looking for the blue truck, he waved the yellow volkswagon through without stopping her, since the female driver was the only passenger. He did look in the backseat as she drove by, but after checking 100 or more cars, the tedium was beginning to set in. “Bet this guy has already left the state,” Jack said to the other patrolman helping with the blockade.

There was nothing drivers hated worse than waiting in a line only to be waved through. Though the technique usually netted some arrests for drug deals (the guys were always the most nervous) and some minor violations, the “net” thrown around the roads rarely produced the suspects they were put in place to find. Jack and his partner knew this, but the odd van-full-of-drugs or illegal alien transporting explosives made the job at least a little interesting. Every car was a potential surprise.

Jack had seen it all in his 14 years of service with the highway patrol. He had seen people driving completely naked (he ignored it), he had people take off their seatbelts in violation of the state code just to spite the officers (they insisted they weren’t driving at the time they were stopped) and he had seen guns pointed at him. That guy hadn’t spent a day in jail, but he was on an extended visit to the state mental hospital.

Tonight’s gallery of fools included a man who changed places with his Doberman, thinking the officers would be amused by the doggie driver. His humor would cost him $150.00 for improper operation of a moving vehicle. They had also seen people lighting up joints less than 3 cars away, then fanning the smoke out of the windows as they were pulling up to the checkpoint. Another $300.00 fine for no drug stamp. At least they weren’t stupid enough to carry more than the legally allowed amount at one time (where it could be seen openly).

Jack waved another single occupant through the line, male, also with no one in the back seat. He had always wondered about the drug stamp law. Why would the state require a stamp for use of a product that was technically illegal? He often wondered if people actually went up to the state offices and tried to purchase drug stamps in advance, and if the state then took their names and addresses for further investigation later. Even though he wondered about it, he never took the time to find out if anyone actually ever paid for one before they used the drugs. Everyone who got caught got billed later. So what was the point?

Jack muttered under his breath, “So what’s the point in a roadblock that has no chance of turning up the suspect?” It was too bad that public work often involved simply doing what one was told because your boss thought it would work. Someone above who had less experience in the matter, and was too stupid to actually ask someone on the front lines what would work. It was the bane of the public employee. Effective people running the front lines, ineffective bureaucrats in charge of the show. Luckily, the faces of the bureaucrats changed often enough that the frustration didn’t drive Jack crazy.

Jack saw the yellow Honda three or four cars back, but paid it no particular attention, since he had by this time checked almost 200 cars. Routine had set in, and unless something jarred him from the regular motion of cars passing and him waving them on, this particular yellow Honda would let the very man they were seeking cross into the town where a large bundle of money was waiting for him.

LITERATURE OUT LOUD

Click here for a complete INDEX

LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text

The Complete Collection of

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping

Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin

Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece Chapter Nineteen