Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

The piece of paper flew across the room after Norman crumpled it in a rage. Brendan refrained from needling the agent any further.

“Why did I just find a partially burned-out black Dodge with Agent Tyson’s blood on the backseat?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d have thought a Marine would at least know how to torch a vehicle.”

“I do know how, so it wasn’t me.”

This admission gave Norman pause. “And why did I find a handgun with your name etched into the grip sitting on the floor?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Brendan said. “I haven’t seen that gun in—”

“Save it,” Norman snapped. He pointed at Marcus, who’d been standing and watching the whole scene unravel. “You, take this man back to a cell and make sure he stays there.”

“Sir, doesn’t this seem a bit too obvious?”

Norman cut Marcus off with a violent shake of his arm. “You do as I say right now, Deputy. Got it?”

Marcus nodded glumly and muttered in the affirmative before leading Brendan from his perch to the holding cells. They rounded the corner, finding themselves completely alone; the cells sat empty this fine morning. Maybe that meant Brendan could catch some sleep finally.

“Man, this ain’t right,” Marcus whispered as they neared the cell doors. “I know you didn’t do any of this.”

“Tell me about it,” Brendan mumbled before an epiphany smacked him right in the face. He twisted around and Marcus let go of his arm. “I need to get out of here.”

His friend glanced over his shoulder briefly, obviously weighing his options. Surely their experience together at the warehouse proved Brendan wasn’t involved with Grant’s illegal activities. The decision was obvious before Marcus even opened his mouth.

“Okay, you’re going to punch me in the face and escape through the back, past the guard station over there. Greg’s up front helping that Norman asshole, so the coast should be clear.” Marcus fished his keys out and unlocked Brendan’s cuffs. He sighed deeply. “This is such a bad idea, but I know you’re not in on this. Do you at least have a plan?’

“I think I know where they are, but I don’t know the address yet,” Brendan said, getting giddy now.

Marcus pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and handed it to Brendan. He recognized it as his own immediately.

“This is it, man,” Marcus said as the cuffs fell away. “I can’t help you again.”

Brendan embraced his friend tightly before pushing past him.

“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something,” Marcus whispered harshly.

The punch was pulled just enough, but Marcus still fell against the wall and slid down slowly as Brendan made a break for his freedom.

Chapter 42

Sirens erupted from behind as Brendan raced down the alley butting up against the back side of the sheriff’s office. He hit the first corner at full speed and ended up in the middle of a street with a FedEx truck barreling towards him. Off-balance and frantic, Brendan edged back onto the sidewalk and powered forward, ignoring the truck’s squealing tires and the driver’s furious honks.

The sirens suddenly bloomed directly behind him, so Brendan chanced a glance backwards. The delivery truck slid sideways and blocked both sides of the road. A DEA cruiser dodged onto the sidewalk, but tagged a fire hydrant in the process. Water plumed up in a distressed fountain as the cops screamed and shouted. Brendan kept going, trying to think of where he could hide. He hadn’t thought they’d be onto him so quickly.

Chaotic noises of the chase dwindled as Brendan put more and more distance between himself and the mess behind him. Legs pumping tirelessly, Brendan recognized the signs that his adrenaline rush would soon fade, unleashing the intense pain lurking in his battered ribs. He needed a plan, and fast.

His flight from the law brought him into a suburban area in no time. A giant new grocery store loomed on his left, so he cut into the parking lot and made a beeline for the entrance. Once inside, he scanned the front area for payphones. He planned on calling from the payphone to maintain some kind of anonymity, increasing his chances that his contacts would answer.

Not seeing his target anywhere, Brendan asked the girl behind the customer service desk if there was a phone. She looked at him like he’d asked her where they kept the adult movies.

“Uh, sir, I don’t think there are payphones anywhere anymore.”

He thanked her and wandered away from her desk. Left with no other choice, Brendan made for the exit. A security guard waddled up to take his station by the door, but paid Brendan no special attention as he glided past and casually made his way to the side of the long building.

When finally hidden from view, he pulled out his phone and saw that the power bar was already in the red. Apparently only getting a short charge during the night hadn’t done much for the battery. He quickly selected the number he wanted and hit dial on the touchscreen.

“Hey, this is Michelle.”

“Michelle, this is Brendan.”

“What—? Are you insane? Why are you calling me on the house phone?”

“Just shut up for a second,” he snapped. “Where the hell is Grant?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. In fact, I’m going to hang up.”

“No, no. Don’t do that. Please tell me where he is.”

The line stayed quiet for a few painful heartbeats. Brendan’s side started to throb where the SWAT bastard had tagged him.

“He left this morning,” she said finally. “And what have you been doing at the sheriff’s so much these past couple of days?”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Brendan glanced around the corner of the grocery store to check for cops. It was all clear.

“Not much of an answer there, Tenny.”

Was she messing with him? This was crazy. She was crazy. “You know that two DEA agents are missing, right, since you know everything?”

“Spee?”

“How do you know about Spee?”

Michelle’s voice turned red hot. “That fucking idiot. That’s why he went to the cabin.”

The line went dead, but Michelle had confirmed the suspicion that had popped into Brendan’s head while in custody. He highlighted the next call he needed to make and prayed the dying battery would hold out for a few more minutes.

“Boy, what the hell kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?” his dad demanded in place of a salutation.

“It’s Grant that’s in deep shit, Dad. He’s been dealing meth.”

His dad hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Brendan insisted. “The same shit that Taryn’s hooked on.”

“What? But, wait—”

“I need to know where Grant’s timeshare is. The cabin you told me about.”

His dad was still in shock from the sounds of his inarticulate mumblings.

“Dad, snap out of it! We can do some real good here, but you’ve got to tell me where Grant’s place is.”

For all his usual bluster, Darryl Rhodes finally had nothing to say.

“Dad, please. I want to help Taryn, and to do that, I need to take down Grant. He’s kidnapped two federal agents.”

That got the old man’s attention. “What? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Where is the cabin?”

“Uh, I don’t know exactly, but I’m pretty sure he said it’s just two streets past our old place, off some caliche road. You turn right at the fork. Yeah, that’s what he told me. You keep going past our cabin, make a right two driveways down, and then hang right at the fork.”

“Holy shit. Thanks, Dad.”

“Brendan, the police just arrived,” his dad said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You sure you’re not in trouble?”