Peter Grist - Flashback

Buster put the phone back in its cradle after a series of short calls and turned to his two accomplices. “I’s got some help from some folks, they’ll be here soon enough.”

“How many are coming Buster?” asked Ed.

“Eight, maybe nine. They ma closest friends, the ones I trust ya unnerstand?”

“That’s great, now have you got some plain paper and a pencil so that we can make a map while we’re waiting for them to come.”

Buster disappeared to the kitchen and moments later came back with some printer paper and a pen.

“Ain’t got no pencils hereabouts, this is about best I can do.”

“That’s perfect thank you Buster. Right, let’s get to work. Now you said you been up to his place to fix his car, that right?”

“Yassir, that’s about right, been there few times over the years. He owns Judge Jones’s old place. Ain’t got no neighbours as such, lives long ways from anyone out on the east side.”

Ed passed the pen to the big man. “Okay, we need a map, really basic, of where his house is from the road, any outbuildings, woods, fields or fences, stuff like that.”

Buster Benjamin took the pen in his huge hand and began to draw.

The group had swelled its ranks and now numbered ten. Buster’s friends had arrived in twos and threes, most carrying shotguns or hunting rifles and wearing either dark clothes or old combat and hunting gear. All but one was black and for the most part were farm hands, as well as two mechanics, a phone engineer and a dentist, aged from thirty-five to sixty. They packed into Buster’s kitchen, surrounding the well-worn but usable solid wood table that held the hand-drawn map. They all recognised Linda and nodded or said hello as they came in, but she stayed near the back, leaning against a chipped Formica worktop staring at the blue check curtains that ran in front of the window and back door, desperately trying and failing to ignore what the men were plotting, hoping against hope that her precious boy was still alive and not scared out of his poor gentle mind. Ed took control of the small group and soon ascertained that five of the friends had served in the military at some stage. Without going into too much detail about where he had found the information, Ed explained to the gathering what had happened to Grace and the other children, and to Linda’s son. When he told them who the culprit was the friends all stared at Buster in disbelief. He nodded that it was true, which seemed to be all the proof they needed.

“Shouldn’t we phone the Police, at least the state troopers?” asked John, the youngest of the group. The rest of the group looked at him, most with a patient expression. Buster answered for the rest, “We will, but not yet, this is our business, my business, Police wouldn’t help none as they wouldn’t believe us, an even if they did it would take too long. We got to get Miss Linda’s boy back, tonight, afor it’s too late.” The group nodded in agreement and eventually John nodded with them. “Okay, what do you want us to do?” he asked turning back to Ed.

“We’ve got to do two things, first off is to find Josh and get him back. Once he’s safe we need to get the murdering son of a bitch to go back to where he buried the kids, that’s the best way to prove to the authorities that he did it. They can look for more forensic evidence inside his place later. If we split into two groups, I’ll take one group up to where he lives, Linda, you take the others and wait around the clearing up in the hills.” The mention of her name brought her back to the present. “I want to go with you, to get Josh.”

“I know you do but only you and I know where the clearing is, and I think I should go and find Josh, just in case there is trouble. I promise we’ll find him and take him somewhere safe then meet up with you.”

“We can take him back to mine, no problem.” offered John. Linda looked crestfallen but finally agreed. She really didn’t want to go back to that horrid grave site, not tonight, not ever.

“Okay, we’ll take the Jeep.” She said with more determination than she felt.

“Good, that’s settled then. Buster, have you got any paint in your garage?” Ed enquired.

“I got lots o half tins from paintin’ d’ house. What d’ya need?”

“Anything bright will do but red would be perfect, oh, and a brush too.”

Buster smiled for the first time since they had met.

“Yessir, I got just the thing, I’ll just go get it.” He squeezed through the throng to get to his back door then disappeared into the dark night.

While Buster was gone the group split up into two groups, one of six, Linda’s, and one of three, Ed’s, the ex-military guys spread between the two. Ed removed a calendar from a pin-board on the kitchen door and pocketed the thumb tack then turned back and looked at the gathered friends.

“I don’t want Buster going into the hills earlier than necessary for obvious reasons,” the group nodded and muttered their agreement, “so he comes with me.” He grabbed a pen and an old envelope from near the sink and began to draw a quick sketch of the woods. “Linda, when you go up there spread out over the far side in a shallow C shape, furthest from the stream. He’ll come in from that side so you’ll be facing him. Leave space between you but not so much that you can’t see each other. It’s very dark up there and there’s not much of a moon tonight. Park a lot further up the track so he can’t see your Jeep. Any cell-phones turn off or to silent, we’ll try and get to you before he arrives so don’t start shooting at anything that moves it could be me! Remember, we want him alive and we want him to start digging before we show our hand. Any questions?”

Buster bustled back in at that moment carrying a two-inch brush and a battered pot of paint, complete with old red splashes bleeding down the sides. Just about all of his friends started looking at their shoes or checking their weapons, anything so they didn’t have to look their friend in the eyes. What they were about to do was starting to hit home. Buster passed the brush and paint to Ed who shook the pot to see how much was left inside. It felt like over half a can remained.

“Okay, we’re ready.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 11.15 now. Linda, you guys don’t need to leave for at least another thirty minutes I’d say”. She looked up at a clock on the wall then nodded. None of the group said anything else so Ed’s small band moved towards the door to the hall.

“Buster, I’ll need you with me okay?”

“Okay boss, whatever you thinks best.”

Linda put a hand out to Ed as they moved to the front of the house.

“Please, be careful… and, thank you.” She kissed him fully on the lips. The kiss was long and deep. He breathed in her citrusy scent and lingered in the sweet taste of her mouth. They parted, stared into each other’s eyes, then he turned and almost floated out the door.

John’s Ram pick-up creaked and dipped down on its springs as Buster climbed in the back along with George, a forty-year-old ex-infantry soldier now mechanic and colleague of Buster at the gas station. Ed sat up front with John, the paint wedged between his feet. John put his hunting rifle on the gun rack behind the seat, while George kept hold of his shotgun. Buster gripped a large flashlight in one hand and held onto the side of the bouncing truck with his other. The journey took thirty minutes to make as they headed out of town and up into the hills on the furthest side of town. The last half a mile was made slowly with the Ram’s lights doused, partly so they couldn’t be seen or heard and also because the road was meandering and full of holes. John had passed the entrance to their destination and followed the broken and cracked blacktop another half mile around the back of the small estate and into a small patch of woodland. The truck was turned around then switched off, the got out and got into single file, Ed at the front carrying the pot of paint, and then John, George and Buster bring up the rear. The small group made their way silently through the trees towards the secluded main house. As they neared the boundary fence the trees grew less dense so they started to hunker down then eventually crawled on all fours as best they could the last few feet to the barbed wire boundary fence. From their vantage point in the last of the long grass, they looked onto the back of a large single story wood-sided house. Several lights cast long tapers across the hard-packed earth but faded to dark long before the fence. To the right and just in front of the dwelling they could make out the silhouette of a large barn and two smaller barns facing the front of the property but no movement.