Mouledoux piloted his unmarked up the mountain under a cloud covered sky. But even in the almost pitch black, he could tell he was passing stately homes, most with locked gates in front of their driveways. One of the hazards of wealth, if you had it, others wanted it, so it had to be protected. That and a lot of rich people just plain didn’t like associating with the great unwashed.
He grabbed a glance at the dashboard clock. Thirty minutes to midnight. He’d made good time, despite the fact that he’d had to keep it under fifty during a lot of the drive through Northern California, because the road was warmer than the land it sliced through, so animals liked to rest on it. Twice he almost hit a deer. A coyote shot in front of him just outside Susanville and he’d missed it by inches, its eyes glowing with the reflection of his headlights. And he’d killed a couple rabbits. Bugs Bunny, it seems, wasn’t as adept at getting out of the way of a moving vehicle as were Bambi and Wile E.
As he passed a sign marking the altitude at six thousand feet, it started to snow. Early, he thought. Maybe it was a sign, but good or bad, he didn’t know. Soon enough he’d be in Mansfield Wayne’s lair and he’d find out if he’d made the right choice. He really only had two and he’d been grappling with the decision the whole trip from Oregon. Should he call it in, report Peeps, and come up to Wayne’s with the cavalry. Or should he come alone, play it by ear and maybe save his partner’s ass.
He hung a right at Radium Road, as per his instructions. There were no homes on this road, stately or otherwise. It seemed deserted, spooky, as it wound up the side of the mountain. Fortunately, the weather wasn’t below freezing, so the snow was melting as fast as it the road, but the landscape on both sides of it were getting a dusting. Tall pines lightly covered in snow reminded him of Christmas and he wondered if he’d blundered so badly coming up here that he’d be unemployed, or worse, incarcerated by the time the holidays arrived.
Maybe he should turn back. Maybe he’d made the wrong decision. The road curved around a bend and Mouledoux saw lights up ahead. Mansfield Wayne’s estate. He slowed, pulled over to the side of the road, killed his headlights. He’d made the wrong choice, he was sure of that now. He’d been stupid. Wayne had two kidnap victims up there, his partner was complicit in the crime and here he was, Mississippi Bob Mouledoux, joining the side of the bad guys.
Sure, he’d told himself, he wasn’t really, he was going in to try to rescue his partner from the dark side, but that would never fly with internal affairs, his chief or anybody else who might review this afterwards. Heck, he’d never believe it himself. The whole world would think he’d sold his badge for thirty pieces of silver, just as Peeps had done.
It was too late for Peeps, Mouledoux saw that now, but it wasn’t too late to save himself. His partner’s ship had sailed and was sinking fast and only an idiot would board it now.
He picked up the mic to call it in, but the radio was dead. No chatter, no static, nothing, just dead. How was that possible? He’d been listening to police chatter all the way from California.
He reached for his phone, touched the button to wake it from sleep, but it didn’t leave it’s slumber. He pushed it again, got no joy. He pushed the reset. Nothing. Like the radio, it was dead. That too made no sense, as he’d been using a car charger. The battery should have been full.
Nothing for it now, but to go back down the mountain till he could find a landline. That’d take about a half hour, maybe a bit longer in these conditions. Maybe he could stop at one of the homes that didn’t have a locked gate in front of its drive. Yeah, that made sense.
He was about to turn around when someone rapped on his window. Startled he went for his weapon when the passenger window exploded with the sound of gunfire, raining him with safety glass.
“ Don’t!” a man in black shouted as he poked a mean looking riot gun through the space where his window once was. “I blew your window out with my handgun. I just as easily could’ve used this and taken your head off.”
Mouledoux pulled his hand away from the shoulder holster.
“ Hands on the wheel!”
Mouledoux did as he was told.
“ Okay, mind and you live. Nod your head if you understand.”
Mouledoux nodded.
“ That’s good. With your left hand, open the door, keeping your right on the wheel.”
Mouledoux opened the door.
And two beefy hands grabbed him by the collar, jerked him out of the car. A giant of a man threw him onto the road, which wasn’t nearly as warm as he’d imagined it to be when he was avoiding all those animals. The giant pulled his hands behind his back and in a flash of a second he’d been handcuffed with cold metal cuffs, the old fashioned kind that unlocked with a key.
The other man was on him now, a knee in his back as he reached into Mouledoux’s jacket and pulled out his weapon, then he frisked him the way only a professional can. The man found and took his shield and creds.
“ He’s a police officer.” He got off Mouledoux’s back.
“ He the one Mr. Wayne is expecting?”
“ How about it mister, is Mr. Wayne expecting you?” the one who’d shot out his window said.
“ Yeah.” Mouledoux figured the less he spoke to these men, the better off he’d be.
The giant pulled him to his feet.
“ Can’t be too careful,” the man who’d shot out his window said. “Weird shit’s been going on.”
“ Like what?” Mouledoux said. Then, “And can you take the cuffs off?”
“ Yeah sure. I’m Weed, they call me Weedy.” He unlocked the cuffs.
“ And him?” Mouledoux nodded to the giant, who stood seven feet, six if he stood an inch. He had lightning bolts tattooed on both sides of his neck, which set off his monster of a chin, but the massive square jaw and the tattoos were understatements, compared to the flattened nose that dominated the middle of the giant’s florid face. And, of course, he was hairless.
“ That’s Lugar.”
“ What do you feed him?”
“ Ha,” Lugar said, “good one.” Then, “Don’t let my looks fool you. I’m plenty smart. I’m also a mean son of a bitch and I don’t feel pain. Born that way. I can be your best friend or one motherfucking horrible nightmare. Better for you if we’re friends.”
“ Got it,” Mouledoux said. “Meanwhile, we’re standing out in the snow.”
“ Yeah,” Weedy said, “let’s get inside.”
“ You wanna give me back my piece?”
“ Not just yet,” Weedy said.
“ So, we’re not really pals yet, are we?” Mouledoux said.
“ Not yet.”
Mouledoux decided to end the conversation and walked with them, Weedy in front, Lugar behind, to the gated drive. The gate wasn’t like the decorative gates guarding the estates he’d seen as he was coming up the mountain. This one was made of sturdy chain link and had razor wire on the top of it, as did the twelve foot fence that surrounded the property. The place looked more like a prison.
“ Fence is electric.” Weedy pulled a remote from his coat pocket, pushed a button and the gate slid open. Mouledoux half expected a gatehouse and a guard but there were none. There were, however, cameras mounted on both sides of the gate.
“ Pretty thorough,” Mouledoux said.
“ But not tonight,” Weedy said. “Cameras are on the fritz. Phones, both landline and cellular, are out. Cable too, so no internet or TV. But what’s really weird is the radios don’t work, either.”
“ But you got electricity?”
“ Yeah,” Weedy said. “Lights, the fence, this, he held up the remote, they all work. But communications, video and audio, between us and the outside, are all out.”
“ That’s impossible,” Mouledoux said, remembering the radio in his car and his phone.
“ Yeah, impossible,” Lugar said.
“ You check the radios in your cars?”
“ All on the fritz,” Weedy said. “So, you can see why we’re just a little nervous about who comes calling tonight. Why we might want to shoot first and ask questions later.”