The Shack: An Unstoppable Man

Tara and Stratton shot a mutual look of amusement at each other. Tara gave a soft ironic smile then looked at me. "You two have been completely up front?"

"He knows everything we know." Well, not everything, but I didn't see any point in mentioning that we'd probably killed off a bunch of Billy's friends at Eagle River. It wasn't going to solve anything anyway. I was pretty sure Tara-the-lawyer wouldn't thank us for admitting to multiple homicides with an illegal weapon, even in self-defense.

After a few more minutes of negotiations, it was decided that we could return home and wait for further information, but Agent Stratton emphasized that he didn't want us to leave the state. Although I suspected that he wasn't under any illusions that we'd really listen if we decided we didn't want to.

*****

We didn't even make 24 hours before we were called back down to the sheriff's office.

We only waited in his office for a few minutes before the sheriff walked in with a handful of paperwork. "Son of a bitch."

I glared at him. "What?"

"Your special agent sent this down. It's about your good friend Billy Aleshire."

"Was he connected to a drug gang?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that. There was a damn military arsenal in the trunk of that Charger. Several handguns, a couple M4s, a Russian PKM machine gun. Even some C4. Federal boys are going to be coming down for that."

"That sounds like an awful lot of firepower for a local meth and weed gang."

He sat down at the computer and pulled up a file from his email. "Let me show you something. We got a facial recognition match from the feds. This is dash-cam video from Wyoming a few years ago."

We watched the grainy dash-cam footage of a police pursuit. After taking several spike strip hits, the car went into a very neat and controlled side skid. Even before the car slid to a stop, the driver's side door was kicked open, and the driver turned in his seat, levelled a handgun at the oncoming police car and began firing - emotionless timed-rate-fire, as calmly as if he was on a practice range, right up until the video blacked out.

"Was that him?"

I nodded.

"Jesus." Delaney stared in shock at the screen. "That really was Billy. What the fuck?"

"His name wasn't Billy Aleshire. It was William Douglas Halston. He's done everything from murder to illegal gun sales to..." He shuffled the pack of papers for a moment. "This list goes on for about a dozen pages."

"I suppose he wasn't in the Army either." Delaney stared expressionlessly at the wall.

"Oh, he was for about twelve years. Then he deserted 15 years ago. Special Forces, Seventh Group. He was a Weapons Sergeant."

Delaney snapped out of her trance and looked over at me. "Fuck. He was like you. That explains a lot."

Sheree nodded and shivered.

"Shit." I tried to remember if he'd ever said or done anything that I should have caught.

The sheriff turned another page. "He was suspected of being involved in some murders and deserted when the Army started looking into them. Looks like he worked as a mercenary in South America for more than ten years."

I reached over, and he handed me the papers. "Ranger. HALO. Master Diver. Pathfinder. Sniper School. He's got offensive driving courses." I looked over the papers a bit more, reading between the lines. "Death squads. He worked on the death squads down there."

The sheriff pointed at the page. "He was supposed to have died in Colombia, but he turned up in Wyoming a few years later, killed six guys after some kind of argument in a bar, and got run down by a pack of state troopers, game wardens and a clapped-together federal task force before he could get into the mountains. That video was how they finally got him. He'd killed or wounded over a dozen agents and police officers before they rammed him. He spent over a year in the hospital, then got thirteen consecutive life sentences."

Sheree shook her head. "Seems awful serious to be running with small-time drug pushers."

The sheriff nodded slowly. "This just doesn't make a lot of sense.

"One other thing..." Sheree looked at Delaney. "Didn't Billy help you when someone shot up the Yard?"

Delaney nodded. "He did; he made sure I made it over the tires."

"We don't even know what he was doing. Maybe they hired him later, maybe he needed the money, but he had to have real connections. If he was working as an enforcer for a drug ring, it'd be a hell of a lot higher level than a few guys pushing spice." I looked at the top of the paper. "He was also supposed to be dead. Again. At least that's what I assume the huge fucking words 'INMATE DECEASED' stamped at the top of the report means."

The sheriff gave a quick nod. "I noticed that. He supposedly committed suicide at ADX Florence about six months ago. That's the federal SuperMax prison in Colorado. He was transferred there after killing three other inmates on his first day in prison. Nobody's ever escaped from Florence."

"I guess nobody bothered to fucking tell Billy that. Shit." Delaney slumped.

Sheree tilted her head. "So, I'm guessin' they probably need to do a headcount and see who really did die there. There'd have to be a body, right?"

The sheriff grimaced. "I imagine they're doing that right now. The FBI got real fucking interested when I reported this. So did the Army. I've gotten a helluva lot of phone calls from some very unhappy people."

I re-watched the video. "What about the other guy in the Taco Grande parking lot? We never saw him before. Billy called him Marco or something like that."

"Another mercenary. A former MARSOC Marine. Mark Osteen, known as Mark-O."

"They're both dead now, though; we just need to figure out who hired them. And why."

"He had a few other known associates, all former special ops of one kind or another." He slid a few sheets of paper out on his desk. "Here are some pictures; keep your eyes open."

I glanced over the three pictures. Delaney shot me a quick look but kept her head mostly down. Sheree's sidelong glance was even less obvious. We were all thinking about the Charger at the bottom of the river.

Delaney looked at her feet. "I liked Billy."

"We didn't really know him."

She kicked the leg of the desk dejectedly. "This sucks."

We finally headed home. Delaney dragged her steel-toe boots all the way to the wrecker and sat sullenly silent. Sheree and I just let her be until we got back to the cabin.

She stayed silent through dinner, but as she finished her corn chowder, she finally sighed and looked up. "I haven't ever had a lot of friends."

She just stopped and let her statement hang there.

Sheree looked over at me, then grabbed Delaney's hand. "It hurts, baby. You think you got a friend and..." She gave a sad smile. "Sometimes, they aren't really a friend at all."

"How can you ever trust anyone?"

"Some people you just know." I put my hand on Sheree's arm. "Some you get to know well, like Kurt."

Delaney looked down at Sheree's hand over hers for a moment, then looked up with glassy eyes and gave a crooked smile. "I..." She cut herself off. "I'll be right back."

She walked to her room, glancing back once. It only took her a moment to come back carrying a small box.

She took a deep breath and handed it to Sheree. "I want to give you your birthday present tonight."

"Are you sure?" Sheree took the box slowly. Delaney just sniffed once and nodded.

Sheree slowly opened the box, looked into it for a moment, then looked back up at Delaney with wide eyes. "Really?"

Delaney made a choking sound. "I can't do anything about Mother, but..."

That was as far as she got before Sheree grabbed her arm and pulled her into a tight hug. I sat there awkwardly, watching the two of them crying for a moment before I leaned over and looked into the box.

It was a locket with enough diamonds and rubies on it to explain what had happened to the ridiculous amount of swear jar money we'd collected.

A picture of Delaney and Sheree was inside, but the outside was what had stunned Sheree.

It just said, "Mom."

*****

Do You Think He's Amish?

****

"I suppose we could just clean up the wrecker and use it..."

Delaney snorted. "It'd be funny. Tiffany would go with it, but Mother would have a stroke, and Tara would be really pissed."

"I don't know...put a couple of those crepe streamers on it; nobody'd even notice, right?"

She grinned and looked out the office window at the wrecker.

"What are you renting?" Delaney looked over my shoulder at the computer.

"A Mercedes S-class in black."

"It looks like it's got some power. What's the top speed?"

"This one can reach over 180 miles per hour."

"Ooooh. Can I drive it?" She batted her eyelashes awkwardly.

"Uh, no. I think that would void the rental insurance."

Delaney scrunched her nose in distaste. "I bet I'm a better driver than most of the people they rent those to."

That may have been true. Actually, it was almost certainly true. "Maybe. But they have that weird 'must have a license' rule."

With Sally a little more perforated than I needed anyone to notice, I'd decided to go ahead and rent a car for the wedding. We wouldn't be using it much since we had seats in limousines from the church to the banquet, but a big four-door that wouldn't crush Sheree and Delaney's dresses would be convenient. A really expensive sedan might also tweak Charlotte, so there was that as well. She'd expected me to object to the cost of the wedding, and renting the nice car was a poke at her.

I knew from Tara and Tiffany that my lack of complaint over the expenses was driving Charlotte up the wall. When she'd proposed one of the top country clubs in the area as a venue for the reception, I'd called Deluca and asked him find one even more over the top. The Glenwyck was the absolute top tier venue in the area; it certainly was never available on short notice of less than a year, but Deluca pulled strings to make it happen. He'd even found a way to do it at a lower cost than normal. My best guess was that Charlotte had somehow managed to get under his apparently impenetrable armor. He hadn't really explained, but there had been a look of amusement in his eyes when he quoted us a price I knew was a damn sight lower than it should have been.

Charlotte's shock when she was told that the venue would be the Glenwyck had left Tara and Tiffany giggling for hours. She'd been rendered speechless when informed that it had been "Dad's idea."

I knew Sheree would have cheerfully gone in Sally; she loved the screaming yellow paint job and didn't give one happy damn about appearances or drama. But I really couldn't get the bullet holes patched in time. Besides, even if we only used the car for the trip to the church and home, I wanted Sheree to feel special, even if it was Tiffany's day.

Delaney studied the car a bit more. "It looks classy." She smiled softly, an odd look for her. "You could take Sheree in a wheelbarrow, and she'd still be thrilled with you. You got Shelly off the hook."

"I didn't get her off the hook; I just figured out why she shouldn't be on it."

"I saw her face when the sheriff came by." The sheriff had "informally dropped by" to tell Sheree that he'd found loose spice in Lucy's purse. Shelly had just had the bad luck to dig around in the purse to find an insurance card.

"She was pretty happy."

Delaney rolled her eyes at the understatement, then changed the subject. "It looks classy."

"That's the point. It is for a wedding."

I could see her pick up on my thoughts. She grinned. "I bet Mother isn't coming in a car this cool."

"Probably not." We both grinned. "How about we tell Sheree about the car."

*****

Something felt off as we rolled up to the cabin. Sheree's car was parked at an odd angle, something she never did. Delaney and I looked at each other silently for a moment. I pulled the 1911 from under the dash, and Delaney lifted a heavy wrench from the door pocket.

I opened the door cautiously, saw Sheree pouring a glass of ice tea at the kitchen counter and felt a little tension drain.

"Hey, babe... so how was your day?"

Sheree smiled. "It was pretty good. The repair guy came and fixed the soda machine at the Quickmart."

Delaney looked at me, at Sheree, then at the skinny blond guy tied to the chair next to the fireplace. I walked over and studied him. He had a nasty split lip, and he'd have a helluva shiner for a while. Probably two, since his nose looked like it might be broken.

"You two want some tea?" Before she even finished asking, Sheree pulled two more glasses out and began filling them.

The guy looked up at me. "Do something, man. Get me outta here. That bitch is crazy."

Delaney winced and stepped back hastily. "Ooh. Bad move."

I backhanded him hard across the face, knocking the chair over backwards in a bloody spray. Now his nose was definitely broken. "Don't ever call her that again, shithead."

Sheree calmly strolled over and handed us the tea. She gestured nonchalantly at the blond tweaker. "This is Caleb. Caleb Yoder."

I looked at him. "Yoder? Do you think he's Amish? He kind of looks Amish."

She shrugged, a slight frown on her face. "I'm a guessin' if he is, he left the fold."

Delaney rolled her eyes. "Are we doing this here now? The sheriff still has my Stun gun, and my electrical shock thingy is back at the yard. Do I need to make one to keep here now?"

Sheree smiled softly at her. "You'd have to keep it in the tool shed. You already have too much in your room."

"So are we collecting drug dealers now?" I nudged him with my foot, but he wisely kept quiet. Smarter than I thought he'd be.

"He almost killed a buncha people. He almost killed Shelly." Sheree gave him a cold stare. "And the damn fool heard I was askin' around and decided he wanted to talk to me."

"Really."

"He met me in the parking lot. With a knife." Sheree sounded more annoyed at him than upset.

I shook my head and looked down at him. "How'd that work out for you? Dumbass."

Delaney twitched, and her face twisted in rage with no warning at all. She skipped forward and her steel-toed boot slammed into his side with every ounce of strength she had. I just caught her before she landed a second kick aimed at his skull. She wrenched away from me and stepped back, red-faced in fury, screaming at him. "Not her! Not HER! You fucking ASSHOLE! I'm gonna Fucking KILL YOU..."

She stopped as Sheree rushed past me and wrapped her in her arms. Sheree looked back at me and pulled Delaney further away from him.

I squatted next to him and studied him. From the pain in his face, I had no doubt he had a few broken ribs. "If I let you go, you need to find a new home. Somewhere way west of the Mississippi. If we see you again, she really will kill you, and I won't stop her. You understand?"

He nodded, pain etched in his face. "Yeah. I wasn't really gonna kill her or anything. I was just tryin' to scare her off."

I glanced over at Sheree, who was whispering softly to a still-enraged Delaney. "You crossed a serious fucking line. You need to leave tonight."

"The fentanyl was a mistake. The guy that sold the stuff to us didn't tell us it was cut in. Hell, he dropped out of sight right after the overdoses."

"Who was that?"

"Everyone just calls him Adidas; he has sources. Good sources. Straight outta Mexico."

"What about Billy?"

"Billy who?" The confusion on his face was clear as a bell.

"That's what I thought."

Delaney glared hatefully at him, but Sheree was holding her arm tightly. "Woodchipper or car compactor, asshole?"

He painfully turned his head so he could see her. "What?"

"I'm giving you a choice, you piece of shit. Either way, you're going in alive. Feet-fucking-first."

I took a sip of my tea and stood up. "Let's give him a good running start, Thugbunny. It'll be more fun that way."

Her glare switched to me. "He went after my...my...Sheree." She took a deep breath, trying to control her rage. "My Mom."

Sheree's eyes filled with tears, and she smiled disarmingly at Delaney. "I didn't even have to shoot him, just hit him with my purse a coupla times. He folded like a cheap lawn chair." There was an odd sound to her statement, just something that wasn't right. "Les, how bout we let Delaney get cleaned up, and we take the trash here out and dump it."

I could see Delaney wasn't thrilled with that, and I understood Sheree's logic. Delaney's mind was made up. Caleb was a dead man if she got a shot at it. I couldn't drive and keep her from shoving a screwdriver into him at the same time.

"That works. You have a knife I can use?"

Sheree nodded and pulled a folding knife from her purse. I used it to make a six-inch cut from the top of his blue jean waistband and cut his belt in half while Sheree herded Delaney back to her room. I pulled off his left shoe and tossed it into the fireplace while he watched me in what seemed to be a normal state of confusion.

She walked Delaney to her room, talking quietly. I started to put the folding knife back in her purse for her and stopped.

The black shape of a handgun filled most of it. I looked it over. A Ruger 9mm. The advanced hollow points in the spare magazine made it clear she wasn't playing games. At least I knew who was shooting the nine down in the hollow.

A half-hour later, as he started walking the twelve miles of rough gravel road from the Eagles Aerie State Conservation Area to town, holding his pants up and limping on the sharp rock, I think Caleb finally understood my sense of humor.

Sheree watched him for a moment and shook her head. "Just a damn fool. Almost killed all them people 'cause he was stupid."

I followed his slow progress up the hill. "I dunno if letting him go is the right thing to do."

"Maybe he can learn from this."

We sat in silence for a while.

"I saw your gun when I put the knife back in your purse."

"I figured you would." She sighed and looked into space. "Had it for a while, bought it legal. Been practicing with it."

"Make sense. There have been a few problems lately."

"No more'n usual. Leastways it's normal around Delaney. But, with all this craziness, I thought I'd better start carrying something. Can't always count on bein' able to grab a shotgun comin' outta the shower." She gave a soft smile. "I wouldn't trade you'n Delaney for the world, so I figured maybe I need to get with the music, just in case." She reached over and gripped my hand.

*****

Father of the Bride

*****

"Remember to step off on your left foot." Tiffany gripped my hand tightly as we waited in the side room off the church vestibule.

I managed not to laugh. She had every right to be completely distracted but reminding a retired master sergeant to step off with the left foot was pretty funny. I squeezed her hand. "You look beautiful, Tiffany."

She gave a wan smile. "At least the morning sickness made sure I didn't stress-eat too much."

I did laugh at that. "Tara was afraid you'd have to get the dress taken in."

She started to respond but stopped, taking a deep breath to steady herself as Marcus DeLuca formally gestured for us to take our places. I gave him a nod. His tuxedo was understated, just right to fit in without standing out. The only spark of color was a small gold lapel pin of a stylized grenade with seven flames. I recognized it from deployments in the Horn of Africa. La Légion étrangère. The French Foreign Legion.

I chuckled to myself. He had said he hadn't always been a wedding planner.

The first notes of Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" filled the air around us.

There was just enough time for us to straighten up before the enormous wooden doors slid open.

The slow, steady march down the huge aisle let me get a clear look at everything — streamers of navy-blue silk, trimmed in champagne, which looked suspiciously like pale gold to me, lining both sides, running from pew to pew, peaking at clusters of flowers. Eric and the groomsmen were to the right, opposite the bridesmaids running from a brilliantly smiling Tara, in her light blue dress, to the short figure of Delaney in dark blue. Delaney was mostly trying to mask her discomfort, occasionally shooting glances at Sheree.