Three Rivers Chapter 3

A black pick-up truck pulled up in the alleyway across from the police station. It was just after dark when it came to a stop, the driver killing the engine and turning off the lights. Taking a Glock from the bag next to him, Jeffrey tucked it under his shirt. The open gear bag had several guns, ammunition, zip-ties, his phone, and other various supplies he might need. With Alex watching the hospital, Jeffrey had nowhere else to be, and that suited him fine. One way or another, Jeffrey was going to get some time alone with Joeseph.

He turned to the laptop in his truck, setting it up to monitor the area. Hacking back into the NSA satellite system using his old codes, Jeffrey knew there was a limited window of opportunity. Sooner, or later one of the tech guys would notice the intrusion. Jeffrey would be shut out of the system as soon as he was detected.

As he waited, Jeffrey's phone rang. It was Luco calling him back. He reached over and put Luco on the speakerphone. Jeffrey was excited to hear what Luco discovered about the mystery man in the cell.

"Go ahead," he said, "give it to me."

Luco's voice came over the speaker in the truck, "Well, I managed to get the report from when he was reported missing. There's not a lot there."

"Sloppy police work," suggested Jeffrey.

"No, it's as thorough as the lads could be," Luco answered, "Jeffrey, before five years ago, Joeseph Morris didn't exist."

"Are you telling me that you came up empty-handed?" asked Jeffrey.

Luco never came up empty-handed. He was the most brilliant intelligence officer in the theater and possessed a sparkling record. If Joeseph Morris didn't have a file somewhere, it wasn't because Luco didn't find it. It just didn't exist. He listened to his old friend describe the little bit of information he could find and how surprised Luco was not to find more records.

"It seems that our mysterious stranger spent time in Belfast. The church he stayed at reported him missing when he didn't return from a research trip to London," explained Luco. "Other than the three-year stint with the sisters of the divine ignorance, your Mr. Morris is a ghost. He's got no social media presence, no credit history, no driver's license here, and his passport doesn't exist. We even tried facial recognition through the Orion System and couldn't find him on anyone else's media."

"Who the bloody hell is this guy?" Jeffrey asked, staring at the front of the police station.

"I don't know, but I can tell you, he's not Joeseph Morris. Whoever it is you're after, he's using faked credentials and has assumed the identity. An identity that's been thoroughly scrubbed."

Jeffrey knew scrubbed identities were hard to come by and usually meant the person was connected higher up the food chain the most. With the high-end attorney, connections to the church, and an untraceable history, Joeseph could be just about anyone. He and Luco made small talk about when Jeffrey might get back to Tangiers. The entire dossier would end up in his inbox shortly, and Luco's wife was relentlessly trying to get him to come for a visit. Jeffrey made his apologies, telling Luco he had to go.

"We'll plan a trip out that way soon," he told Luco. "I've got to go. Something's happening."

"Stay safe old friend," said Luco before the phone went dead.

A stretched limousine pulled up in front of Three Rivers P.D. Jeffrey watched an elder gentleman getting out of the back before he carried a briefcase into the front door of the building. It had to be one of the attorneys that Alvarez warned him were coming. Considering their firm was out of New York, Jeffrey couldn't help but think that they had made good time getting there. Suddenly, he was considering looking into their fees.

Several minutes passed before Jeffrey saw the attorney again. He came walking out of the building with Joeseph Morris, with Alvarez accompanying them. Alvarez looked chummy with the lawyer and their mystery visitor to Three Rivers. Jeffrey knew Alvarez was a person with a price but couldn't see how buddying up to this guy would serve him well. He knew Alvarez would never directly sell him out. But, indirectly was another story altogether.

As the limo rolled away, heading toward the North end of town, Jeffrey pulled out onto the street to follow. He looked toward the station, making eye contact with Alvarez. Alvarez gave a nod of recognition. Maybe the crooked bastard hadn't sold him out yet, thought Jeffrey. As he aligned his truck a couple of car lengths behind the limo, he turned on his lights.

The limo drove for two miles before changing lanes. As they got across the train overpass, Jeffrey noticed the limo was speeding up.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he asked out loud.

It was a five-mile drive before they reached the edge of town, forcing Jeffrey to pull back some as traffic thinning out would leave him noticeable. He dropped back to a quarter of a mile from the limousine, hoping they hadn't noticed him.

Just past the McCallum Station, the limo got off the main road, slowing down dramatically. Jeffrey killed the lights and pulled off onto the shoulder on what was known as old 116. Barely anybody came out this way at night unless they lived out in the boondocks. The McCallum Station had been closed for nearly fifteen years. Nobody had done anything with it for all this time, and the fuel tanks had been dug up and removed a few years back.

Jeffrey ducked down in his truck, making sure that nobody could see him there. He waited to see the lawyer, the limo driver, and Joeseph Morris get out of the fancy car and go inside.

"What are you three up to?" he questioned to himself.

Climbing out of his truck and hurrying across the old highway, Jeffrey dropped down into the ditch. He pulled out a pair of binoculars to scope out the terrain. Windows on the highway side were all papered over to keep passersby from seeing inside. There was a dim light shining through beneath the front entrance. Jeffrey decided to work his way around the back to get a better view.

Running toward the south end of the building, staying out of the light, Jeffrey got to the building before anyone noticed him. There was an old dumpster along a barely lit area behind the structure. Climbing on top of the dumpster, he pulled himself to where he could see the three men inside. They stood around talking. From where he was, Jeffrey could hear a muffled sound from the opposite side of the garage.

Inside the garage, Joeseph spoke with the suited attorney that came to pick him up. He called him Harry and seemed somewhat upset.

"How in the hell did we lose him long enough for that to happen?" Joeseph demanded. "Are you certain that it moved on?"

"We're certain," answered the driver.

"Where did you find him?"

"A liquor store parking lot, just a block from the riverside."

Harry described the efforts they had gone to, looking for clues that might fill in the timeline. Still, they'd come up empty-handed, and that was when they came to get him out of jail.

"We flashed his picture around. I used the Center For Missing Person identity and offered a reward. One of these kids in the area will see him and try to collect," explained Harry.

"They better," said Joeseph. "You guys can take him and dump him somewhere. If I need to return to town, I'll take the jeep."

As the two men left the room, Jeffrey began to realize that the mysterious Joeseph was a shot-caller. Whoever he was, he had to be someone of some importance to be ordering around two obvious mercs. The lawyer may be licensed, but the bulge in his jacket told Jeffrey he was more than just a litigator. The limo driver was another story altogether. His stance was far too strict for that of a professional driver. And, judging by the twin bulges in his coat, he was carrying at least two guns.

Jeffrey moved away from the building, sneaking back up to the front. He knew they were leaving, and Joeseph would be alone. Now, he would get answers. Jeffrey moved along the side of the building, keeping himself concealed. He peeked around the corner in time to see them coming out the front, Harry and the driver. They were dragging someone out of the gas station, someone wearing a black hood over their head, and handcuffs.

"Shit," said Jeffrey under his breath.

Questioning Mr. Morris was important, but what he was watching, he couldn't just let it go.

Jeffrey waited until they put the person in the car. He pulled his Glock out and aimed it at the driver.

"Get your hands up," he warned.

The driver started to size Jeffrey up, deciding if he could outdraw a man with a gun aimed at him. It made it too obvious that he would be trouble. Jeffrey neared them, closing the gap to about ten feet. He looked the driver in the eye, almost challenging him to make a move. For some reason, the driver didn't make the mistake of doing anything rash. He finally put his hands behind his head, resting himself against the limo.

"Good boy," said Jeffrey, turning his attention to the lawyer.

"Harry, is it?" he asked him, approaching close enough to take Harry's gun from him. "An extra half-inch in the tailoring, and I'd have never noticed this."

"I'll be sure to take that up with the lads when I get back to New York," said Harry.

Jeffrey laughed, "What makes you think you're going back to New York? What makes you think I won't shoot you where you stand?"

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Major Mayes," Harry said. "It would be best for you if you just forgot everything you have seen today."

Jeffrey smiled widely, annoyed at the arrogance of the lawyer. He considered cracking him over the head and trying to discuss things with the driver. Then, at the last second, he thought better of the idea and slammed the bottom of his grip into the drivers' temple.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed, half laughing. "That's gotta hurt! See what you made me do," he said, looking at Harry.

Jeffrey put the gun to the side of Harry's head and smiled at him. He was sure that he could make the lawyer talk. Lawyers were his least favorite people. Lawyers did do a lot of talking.

"So, who's under the hood?"

"That's no longer any of your concern," said Harry.

Jeffrey reached back to swing his pistol grip into Harry's head. Before he could strike the salt and pepper-haired lawyer, it was Jeffrey that got hit over the skull. His body slumped to the ground, the lights going out as the sight of Joeseph Morris in his robes told him who struck him.

"What do you want us to do with him?"

"Leave him," Joeseph told Harry.

The site they were at was compromised. Now, there was no way they could call it secure. He ordered the driver to get in the car while he and Harry torched the place. The police could deal with the "rent-a-cop."

"Since our friend wants to hinder us from completing our mission, we'll let the police deal with him. Perhaps he'll enjoy some time in their fine accommodations," said Joeseph.

"What about the Lassiter kid?" asked Harry.

"We'll turn him over to Detective Alvarez. He could use the good karma."

Joeseph and Harry went into the station, and they came out as they poured accelerant from the station to the limo. Harry got in, then Joeseph lit the gas on the ground before getting in the car as it drove off, leaving Jeffrey there to take the heat.

The blast and the shockwave of the explosion woke Jeffrey up slowly. Groaning in pain, he looked down at his pant leg to find that he was on fire. Rolling around in the dirt until it went out, he finally crawled away some and managed to get to his feet. He could hear the sirens coming. A blast this big would bring a lot of questions. Those were questions he didn't have answers to give.

Stumbling to his truck, Jeffrey gingerly crawled inside. He tucked his gun back inside his gear bag before speeding away from the scene.

Back in Three Rivers, a young woman sat at a bar alone, picking at stale pretzels and sipping on a drink. She was blonde, young, and attractive. It made Watering Hole an odd choice for a young woman to drink alone. Lila was her name. She didn't look or fit the part for the bar, and the bartenders found her curious. While they both thought she was cute, the older bartender worried about her getting out with her dignity intact.

Lila felt the need for something different that night. She'd always done everything the way her mother told her. She watched where she went and with who she chose to associate. Good girls didn't go certain places, ride on motorcycles with strange men, or go out hunting for men. She'd always been kept safe and protected. Sometimes too much.

"Can I buy you a drink?" a young mans' voice asked from behind her.

She turned to face the young guy, a face of someone close to her age looking her over as she checked him out. He was an attractive sort. She sized him up to be about twenty-one or twenty-two. Judging by the look on his face, he had about as much experience talking to girls as she did boys. Why not?

She heard the "Why not?" echoing in her ears.

She repeated the sentiment, even though the voice in her head was no longer her own. As the young gent took a seat next to her, she shook her head side to side. She didn't want to drink at the bar. Lila wanted them to move the party somewhere else, somewhere more private. She patted him on the inside of his thigh.

"Let's go outside," she said to him.

Lila led the young college man outside, throwing him up against the cold bricks lining the alley. She pushed her body against his. He was warm, and she felt his temperature rising as her hands slid inside his pants. Their mouths met, tongues dancing around. His hands roamed freely over Lila's youthful, nubile form.

"Hold on," she said. "I've got protection in my purse."

The young man leaned back against the concrete, resting his hands behind his head. Lila pulled his shirt out of his jeans, revealing his toned, tight ab muscles. She looked up at him, staring into his emerald eyes.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm ready," he replied.

Lila held up a shiny object. She slid the blade slowly into his side and then with a slash, across his front end.

The bouncer in front of the club heard a gut-curdling scream and went running toward the alley. He found the college student laying there. Turning him over, the bouncer wretched, and moved away before he vomited.

The sound of the bouncer rang out through the night air. The two-hundred-fifty-pound ex-con was screaming like a girl.

"Help! Somebody help!"