Ghost River Jon Coon (free reads TXT) 📖

Rogers was riding shotgun and D. B. “Dirty Billy” Johnson was driving. A former Army diver, Dirty Billy was Rogers’s first choice when trouble was calling.

“Looks like he’s headed to his mom’s,” Rogers said. “Ease off a little. We’ll park and let them get comfortable before we go in.”

Zack pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, got out, and walked around to open Mickey’s door. She slid off the seat into his arms and lingered for a minute before pulling away. “Hot shower here I come.”

As he held her, the Lincoln drove past the driveway and turned around the block. Zack thought he must be getting paranoid. He kissed her and led her to the front door.

Inside she went straight to the bathroom

Zack went to the bedroom hall and pulled down the creaky folding stairs to the attic. He climbed the squeaky stairs and turned on the attic light. The computer was on an antique door used by his father as a desk, and there were two boxes of floppy disks, some labeled with numbers, which meant nothing to Zack. He wiped off the years of dust, pulled up the chair, and booted up the ancient Tandy 1000-TX. The Windows 2.3 home screen came up, and he opened the disk still in the top floppy drive.

Hopefully it was what his dad was working on the last time he sat in this chair. The screen showed nothing but months of work schedules. Travel and expense reports, showing work site locations and divers logs. What was that about? He ejected the disk and replaced it with others. Nearly an hour passed.

Zack could hear Mickey walking around. Clearly she was out of the shower and finishing getting ready. He collected the disks, and as he stood from the desk, through the dormer window, saw a black Lincoln Town Car ease into the driveway. Two men got out and started toward the front door. They didn’t look like Mormon missionaries.

He shouted down to her, “Mickey, are you dressed? We’ve got company.”

He pulled open a file box next to the desk to hide the disks, and there was his father’s Colt Woodsman pistol and a box of shells. He stuffed the computer disks into the back of the box, grabbed the gun, flew down the steps, and folded the steps back up into the ceiling. He heard the front doorbell and ignored it. The towel was on the floor, and Mickey was in a T-shirt and pulling on jeans when he burst into the bedroom. Zack tossed the gun and shells on the bed and said, “Stay here, load the gun, and keep quiet. I don’t like the looks of these guys.”

He heard the front door open and hurried down the hall into the living room.

“Police,” Rogers said, flashing his badge. “You must be Zachary.”

“My name is Zack. Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

“Zack, we’re investigating the accidents relating to the I-10 bridge. We have reason to believe your father took official police records that are important to our case. If you have knowledge of those records or have them in your possession, you could be an accessory, and you need to surrender them immediately.” Rogers moved closer. D. B. moved sideways, blocking the door.

“I need to see your warrant, or you need to leave,” Zack said, holding his ground.

D. B. stepped in close, “Look, kid, we know you’ve got those files and your old man’s notebook. This doesn’t have to get ugly. Just hand ’em over, and we’re done here.”

“Well you’re out of luck. Someone stole all my dad’s files. I heard they were burned.” Zack backed away.

“Don’t get cute, kid, give us the stuff, or you won’t like what happens next.” D. B. took another step forward.

“I don’t like what’s happening now,” Zack said stepping back again. “Show me a warrant or get out. If not, I’m calling real cops, and then we’ll see how tough you are.” Zack pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and punched in 911. “Leave now, or this call goes through.”

D. B. lunged at him. Zack was quick and dodged the attack but tripped over a coffee table. D. B. lunged and pinned him to the floor.

“I want that notebook.” D. B. pulled a folding knife, flipped it open one-handed, and held it at Zack’s face.

“Drop the knife,” Mickey said from the hallway, the Colt Woodsman aimed dead center at D. B.

“Now look what we have here,” Rogers said, reaching into his coat.

“Drop it or I cut him,” D. B. snarled.

Before anyone realized what was happening, the gun went off twice. D. B. staggered to his feet, amazement on his face and blood seeping from two holes in his chest. Zack grabbed the knife from his hand and tossed it out of reach.

Shocked, Rogers hesitated. Mickey spun to face him. She had the Colt in both hands and him in her sights. Rogers raised his arms and said with a sneer, “This isn’t over.” Then he bolted for the door.

D. B., as his Army training had taught, stuck fingers in the chest wounds and stumbled toward her. She raised the Colt, pointing it at his head. “Not one more step.”

He growled and swayed unsteadily out behind Rogers.

“Thank you, Carol Evans,” Mickey said as she collapsed back into the wall and slid down to the floor. Tires squealed down the driveway.

“They’re gone,” Zack said as he knelt beside her. “I saw the name on the other one’s ID. It was Rogers. He’s the guy Gabe’s been looking for. Gabe will find them.” He kissed her. “Your hair’s still wet,” he said and kissed her again. “You saved me. You saved us both.”

“I just shot a cop,” she said and dropped the Colt as though it had bitten her.

CHAPTER 19

0730

Alethea’s Home, New Orleans

Sleep well?” Alethea asked.

“Wonderful bed, yes, thanks.” Gabe looked over the table to find Community Club, dark roast, chicory coffee, ready to be poured into demitasse cups then