Ann: The Married Years Ch. 52

"Now, back to something you said earlier about Mr. Franklin's arrest being legitimate. First of all, you're a citizen, not a law enforcement officer. You have no idea what constitutes a legitimate arrest. But common sense would tell you that having the brother-in-law of a man being arrested not only present, but IN the patrol unit that was making the arrest is enough to warrant a closer inspection of the circumstances of the traffic stop itself. The state police have Mr. Franklin's statement. They have the audio and video evidence from both patrol cars. They have the statement from the Deputy that took Sean in and booked him. They're investigating. There's already been an arrest, namely former deputy William Allen. There's the possibility there might be another, since you are on an audio recording from inside Deputy Allen's car, literally imploring him to pull Sean over and put him in jail. The sheriff's department is fully cooperating, hoping to avoid a civil lawsuit. Step one was the termination of your friend's employment. Step two is yet to be determined. I should also inform you that yourself and Mr. Allen will be named in the civil lawsuit... that's not if, but when it is filed on Mr. Franklins behalf."

"So, I might still go to jail?"

"It's up to the state police and the prosecutor to determine if charges are going to be filed. But if you do end up in jail at least it wouldn't be for rape, which would make you a target. And from the tape I saw this morning, you'd be a pretty popular inmate."

"You're just a fucking riot man. A real comedian. This is my life."

"I don't usually take pleasure in this type of thing, Mr. Bowen. I really don't. As I said, I've had to clean up a lot of little messes doing this for my client. But after finding out the things I have about you, I'm not even going to charge her. I did society a great service today in dealing with a pig like you.

"One last thing. In case you haven't figured it out by now, you fucked with the wrong woman. And I don't mean Miss Anderson. I mean your ex-wife. Miss Anderson is only doing what your ex-wife can't do because she doesn't have the resources. Consider yourself lucky. Like I said, you're a rapist. You should be getting that ass fucked every night like you did last night as far as I'm concerned. Gentlemen, please see Mr. Bowen out."

Dale went to turn his head but was suddenly in the dark, the canvas bag thrown over his head again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"At least I'm dressed this time," Dale groaned.

He was also a bit more comfortable since he was lying on the back seat of the car he was riding in. And while his hands were cuffed behind his back, his legs were at least free. He didn't bother to sit up. With the bag over his head it wasn't like he could see anything. All he could do was wait and wonder when the ordeal he was mired in would be over. Frankly all he wanted to do at that moment was sleep.

He had also been awake the entire trip, so he knew he'd been in the car a long time. Not knowing where he'd been before, he had no way to judge where he was being taken this time. It wouldn't have helped if he did know that starting point. He felt lost.

The trepidation he felt when the car stopped and a door opened was almost too much to bear. He didn't know how to react; was he going to be set free, or was there more awful surprises in store.

The rear door opened abruptly. He felt someone fumbling to unlock the cuff on his right wrist, finally opening it. He waited for the other one to be released only to be stunned that the door closed. Then the front door closed. He heard a faint screech that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"We're here man. You can take that damn bag off your head."

Dale removed it as he sat up, taking a second to gather his bearings. He blinked a bit, trying to get his vision settled. It surprised him that it was already dark out.

Looking through the small opening in the security partition, he locked eyes with those of the cab driver in the mirror. "Where's here?"

"Your new home."

"Care to be a little more specific?"

"Motel 6, in downtown Stockton."

"Downtown Stockton?" he asked nervously, knowing it was a dangerous area. "I live in Modesto."

"You used to. Apparently, you live here now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look man, I just drive a cab. I don't know who you are or why you were cuffed with a hood on your fucking head. I only know the little bit the guy told me, and I'm not about to blow the five-hundred-dollar tip that's coming my way for delivering you here."

"There's got to be a mistake," Dale pleaded, still in denial that all of it was real.

"Is that your truck?" he asked, pointing toward the white Ford F-250 with a bed cap on the back.

"Uh... yeah," he gulped.

"Looks like it's in your new driveway. You need to get out, buddy. I have a long way back to where I came from."

"And just where is that?"

"I just told you I'm not blowing my tip. Get out and I'll give you the key."

Dale did, unsure of what to do after that. The driver locked the doors so he couldn't get back in, lowering the window a crack. Slipping a room key through, he said, "There you go."

"I thought you meant the key to the handcuffs."

"Sorry. Can't do that. The fare is $78.50."

"What? That's outrageous. Besides, I don't have my wallet on me. I lost it last night."

"Looks like someone found it," the cabbie said as he pulled Dale's wallet from his jacket pocket. Opening it he emptied all the cash out before tossing it onto the ground. "That should cover it."

"Yeah," he groaned, knowing he had at three hundred in cash.

"Yeah, well, I gotta go use some of this on an air freshener to de-funk my cab. You should really think about showering more often than once a week, man."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was amazing how just a hot shower could help. Dale stood under the spray of the small cubicle letting his sore body have an attempt to recover. While he was starving, all he could think about was sleep.

With his wallet back, he had his credit card back, but he was suddenly worried about using it. The charges that had been put on it recently were worrisome. For all he knew he was paying for the room he was in.

At least it was a decent room and not some fleabag. It was small with one queen-size bed, a desk and a couple of chairs by the window. It wasn't in the greatest neighborhood but he didn't think it was in the worst part of the town.

He found the keys to his truck on the nightstand, along with the key to a storage unit. He didn't understand the significance of that until he looked in the back of his truck and discovered his clothes stuffed in boxes, along with his personal and toiletry items. His tools were all gone, but the note he found on the driver's seat gave the address where they were located.

He did a quick check under the driver's seat, grabbing the envelope that was taped underneath. Relieved to find the big stash of cash, he knew he had a chance to recover. He took it, some clothes and a box of personal stuff inside, knowing he needed that shower.

He felt he was resourceful enough to recover, only in need a plan. He'd have to buckle down, but he knew he could. Having developed a skill as a plumber and actually becoming very good at it gave him instant hope. The area was still booming and people that could do what he could were in demand. The loss of doing more lucrative side jobs for cash would be tough to recover from short term, but he knew a couple of guys that wanted to hire him. He figured he could land a great paying job with full benefits in less than a week. In the meantime, he just needed to lay low and stay out of trouble.

Walking out of the bathroom drying his hair with a towel he stopped breathing for a moment. The shadowy figure sitting in the chair closest to the door made the flash sweating return. He could tell it was a man in a dark expensive suit, the style of his pants evident is the dim light coming from the bathroom. His left leg was crossed over the right knee as he waited with his hands resting on the arms of the seat.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my room?

"It's my room. I've paid for it for the next month. Although I'm beginning to wonder why," the man said, holding up the envelope of cash in a leather gloved hand.

"That's my money."

"Yeah... I'm thinking it's Christina's."

"My daughter?"

"She is, technically. Hard to stomach the things I know she's gone without when there's at least twenty-grand in this envelope. The funny thing is if she were old enough to understand the significance, I'm sure she would have gladly accepted going without things just to have a dad in her life that gave a shit about her and her mom as much as you care your selfish bullshit."

"Who the fuck are you? Too scared to show your face!?"

Reaching up, he turned the switch to the floor lamp between the chairs, the 40-watt bulb not doing much to illuminate the room.

Dale squinted, trying to recognize a face that seemed familiar. It took a minute to come to him, having only met him once. Still he wasn't sure; the hair was stylishly cut short with some styling mousse to add body on the top. It was darker; more of a dirty blond, with a hint of grey at the temples. The neatly trimmed goatee was a striking look against his tan complexion. It was not how he remembered him.

"N... Neil? Is that you?"

"Good evening Sluggo," Neil replied using the unflattering nickname Ann's Aunt Helen called her son-in-law.

"What are you doing here?"

"I followed the slime trail," he quipped, recalling the final conversation he'd had with Dale the memorable night he'd been introduced to him and his family.

"What?"

"Yeah, I figured as much," he said as he opened his suit jacket to put the envelope in the inside breast pocket.

"Hey, I'm serious. That fucking money is mine."

Neil slowly nodded his head, saying, "I'm serious too." He pulled a Walther PPK from his shoulder holster before reaching into his side jacket pocket.

Dale laughed. "What, so you're James Bond again? I heard all about that stupid story. You can't intimidate me with a fake gun."

"Sit down on the bed, Dale," he stated calmly as he screwed a silencer onto the barrel.

"You must think..."

Neil took quick aim at the ice bucket tray on the table next to the TV stand and pulled the trigger.

PHWUMP PHWUMP

Two of the four tumblers on the tray were blown into glass shrapnel. It was an amazing display of marksmanship. Before the pieces settled, he pointed the gun at Dale.

"I said... sit... the fuck... down!"

Dale nearly shit himself as he scrambled to the bed. Neil shook his head as he stood.

"I really thought you got it. I really prayed you understood I was serious that night. It never should have come to this."

"Neil, please..."

"I warned you Dale. I pinned you up against that car and I warned you. Remember? I promised you that if you ever hurt Val... or God forbid Christina. Do you remember me saying that?"

Dale nodded, the threat coming back to him vividly.

"I told you it wouldn't matter how far away I was... I'd find you. I promised you I'd find you and finish what I was about to do to you. I just didn't think you were as stupid as you are. But then Ann got that call from Val, and now I'm here like I promised you."

Although it seemed ridiculous at the time that Neil would live up to that threat, he was holding a gun on him. Once again Dale looked for an exit strategy. There was only one exit and two ways to get there. Scramble over the bed, which was near impossible with what he'd been through the last day. Or he could try to run past him, barefoot and naked through the shards of glass now embedded in the carpet. As a compromise he remained frozen in fear.

"Except I'm not here."

"I don't understand," Dale cried, the fear suddenly all too real.

"I found you because, like I said then, you leave a slime trail a mile wide. I don't leave a trail. I don't leave a trace. At all. You won't find a plane ticket. Or a train, or a bus. You won't find a credit card slip. You won't find me on a surveillance tape or a phone message. No hotel bill, no restaurant receipts. No rental cars. No fingerprints. You thought having one lowly cop buddy was power? You have no clue what power is. It's who I know and what they can do for me when I call on them in a time of need. I have friends, and that gives me power. I'm a fucking ghost Dale. I promise you, there is nothing to tie me to us being in this room together."

"So that means you're going to shoot me... because you can get away with it?"

"I could," he said as he moved closer. "But I think I'll just live up to the promise I made you the last time."

Neil tossed the gun in the air. Dale's eyes tracked it and he went to reach, never seeing it coming. Neil hit Dale flush in the jaw with a right, while catching the gun in his left like a juggler. He moved in quickly and landed two more shots to his mouth and nose before relenting.

"Fuck, you broke my fucking nose!" Dale yelled, bleeding profusely.

"Huh... I was supposed to break your jaw," he said as he unscrewed the silencer and holstering the gun.

Grabbing Dale's hands, he pulled him toward the head of the bed. In seconds he'd latched the handcuff to his left wrist securing him to the bed.

"You should probably get used to those. From what I hear there's a pretty good chance you'll be wearing them again."

"You broke my nose!"

"Consider yourself fortunate," Neil said as he opened the door. "One more thing, Dale.

"What!"

"Don't do anything that makes me come back. You have no fucking idea what I'm capable of. This was a walk in the park."

Neil removed his gloves as he walked across the parking lot to the office. Stepping up to the counter, he eyed the middle-aged woman behind it.

"Is there a clean-up in room 117, James?"

"I think you know the answer to that Maya," he smirked. "I wouldn't be doing my job if there wasn't."

"Does he need help?" she laughed.

"Eventually. But I want you to wait a couple of hours. His nose is broken, but it's not like he's going to bleed out or anything."

"Did you get what you were looking for?"

"Retribution?" he replied, thinking of how he'd learned the meaning of that word from the way his mother interacted with her friends, keeping them in line. This was much more real, but he couldn't help but use that as reference. "I suppose. I just wish it hadn't come to this."

"You sound melancholy."

"I don't like being violent. It's not how I see myself."

"That's always been the internal struggle of being James Bond. You have a job to do and you have to push down the idea that you can be a man like that when you have to be. It's kind of like any job, really. It's what you do. That doesn't mean it's all you do. I certainly see myself as more than just a night manager of a motel."

"That you are," he smiled. He handed her five-hundred dollars. "Clean him up. Sorry about the room. Be careful of the glass on the carpet. The money should take care of the damages. You can keep the rest."

"Anything else?"

"Here's the key to the handcuffs. But be warned, he's naked."

"Ooh, Now I'm really looking forward to it."

He laughed and said, "I don't want to know, Maya. Thanks for helping me. And if he gets out of line while he stays here, just call the number I gave you."

"You're welcome James. It was wonderful to meet you, despite the circumstances."

Climbing into the limousine a short time later, he let out a long sigh.

"You okay Neil?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Sidney. Just glad it's all over."

"That part is. Just one more thing to do."

"I'm so exhausted I'm not thinking straight anymore. What am I forgetting?"

"The party. Sit back and relax. I'll have you there the in forty-five minutes."

Neil closed his eyes, a wistful smile forming. "How could I forget the party?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sidney pulled into the driveway entrance that led to the back of the beautiful ranch home. He drove down the side toward the barn. Parking, he got out, smiling as he looked at the people gathered in the back yard.

Opening the door, he nodded. "We're here Mr. Bond."

"Thanks, Sidney. I needed that nap."

"I'm sure you did. I'm off the clock... let's go get us a beer, shall we?"

Neil stepped out and walked with Sidney across the plush lawn toward the fire-pit that was roaring, stopping by a cooler to grab the aforementioned lagers.

"Are you really off the clock?" he asked as he twisted the cap.

"Not really. I'm only having one. I'm driving you back to the city tonight, remember?"

"That's what I thought."

"Don't worry."

"I'm not. We're going to be here for a while. Besides, you deserve it. You've logged a lot of miles this week."

"It's been interesting, I'll give you that," he laughed.

They made their way across the grass toward the small crowd gathered near the fire. It was a cool evening, but not one that necessarily necessitated a fire. It seemed appropriate under the circumstances though. At least Neil hoped. His goal all along was to help Valerie move past the most horrific event of her young life and show her a future without her husband was not only possible, it could be exciting and fulfilling. He was hopeful the night was one of celebrations.

Whether that happened would depend on Valerie's reaction to his plan and if it would be viewed as a success. It was subject to interpretation. First, there were a lot of things he didn't know. He obviously knew some things, mostly regarding Dale. He'd orchestrated the ending, so he knew of some of the events that led up to them meeting in that hotel room. And he'd been the integral mastermind in setting up the beginning. It was the execution of the middle part that he was a bit in the dark on.

He'd spent that part in the background, taking care of Owen, trusting his accomplices to carry out their roles. There were a lot of participants, all with a part to play in order for The Sting to work. That's how Neil had envisioned it, using the classic movie as a guide while mixing in a little James Bond to appeal to his sense of theatrical whimsy.

The Set-Up and The Hook, to use the episode title cards made famous in the movie, were all about conning an unsuspecting rube who'd violated his wife, and giving her a chance at regaining her life. The part called The Sting itself was the perfect performance by Charlie, unveiling the devastating realities that Dale suddenly faced. That left The Epilogue, which wasn't part of that movie. It was all vintage Bond; Neil wanting to put an indelible stamp on the last act.

It was those middle parts that Neil left to his co-stars. Particularly what happened at the hotel. He hadn't seen Ann since she'd left with Valerie. And once he got Owen down for the night, he left him with Ann's Aunt Helen and Uncle Marty to meet up with Charlie to go over the final two acts.

Neil scoped out the crowd as he and Sidney approached.

Owen was with Dana's girls; she and Chad having driven over for the get-together, not wanting to miss an opportunity to see the Thomas' while they were in California. Allison was a young teenager, and was blossoming into a beautiful girl. Mindy was an adorable and precocious eleven-year-old version of her younger self. They were by the fence, touching Charcoal's nose as he poked it through to nibble at the green grass of the lawn.

Marty was tending the fire, while Helen moved some trays around one of two tables filled with food. Sean was conversing with their friend Missy, who'd driven over Billie and Alfred, Ann's California parents. Todd and Gracie were there, along with Rose, Gloria and oddly Alexis. And Charlie was there as well. Neil saw everyone but Valerie and Christina, who were noticeably absent.