chapter 91
FROM WHERE JAKE was parked near the entrance to the mobile-home park, he could see Moon Pie’s trailer—the third single-wide on the left. A restored Bronco with the back open was parked next to it. The trailer park had been around since the mid-sixties, and several of the homes appeared to be that old. About half of the trailers had old tires on their roofs. Next to an overflowing green Dumpster was the frame of a swing set from which a small skinned deer carcass was hanging by its legs in a gambrel.
Jake had called in a favor from a Rotary Club friend who worked for the police department to get Moon Pie’s address. He still couldn’t believe that no one in law enforcement had warned him that this guy was living less than twenty miles away. Jake had also learned that Moon Pie drove a tricked-out late-model FJ Cruiser, which he couldn’t see parked anywhere.
Since Moon Pie’s vehicle wasn’t around, Jake decided to sneak a look in the windows. He pulled down his Mossy Oak fleece jacket to cover his pistol, which was jutting out of his back pocket. He then eased the pickup door shut. His heart was racing. He took a long, deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose in an effort to calm his nerves. Although he couldn’t see anyone, Jake assumed that someone was probably watching out for anything suspicious.
The windows at the rear of the first trailer were all covered in aluminum foil. Next to it was a sporty new orange Camaro that undoubtedly cost more than the trailer. The second trailer appeared to be unoccupied. Tall grass grew all around, and all of the window curtains were closed. Jake hugged the edge of the aluminum house as he peeked around the rear corner at Moon Pie’s trailer. From this vantage, he could see several bags were being packed into the back of the Bronco.
Jake’s cell phone rang, causing him to jump. He quickly disconnected the call from his office and placed the phone on silent. He didn’t move for several minutes in case Moon Pie or whoever was loading the Bronco had heard it. Jake said a silent prayer of thanks when there was no reaction to his turkey-gobbling ringtone.
Moon Pie’s trailer appeared to be deserted. Jake tried to listen for any sounds coming from inside, but he couldn’t distinguish any noise because of the constant drone of training flights overhead from the nearby Columbus Air Force Base. He had to look in the open window. Jake hurried across the dirt patch between the trailers and pressed flat against Moon Pie’s. Instinctively, Jake touched the pistol in his back pocket. It comforted him. Jake looked at the trailers on the opposite side of the park but couldn’t see anyone, so he turned to look in the window.
The inside of the trailer was a mess. Jake didn’t notice anything of importance. He really didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but he wanted a closer look. He eased to the next window. It too was open. He peered in and didn’t see or hear anyone or anything. The trailer appeared to be empty. Jake knew that if someone were walking around, he’d hear footsteps.
Jake slid down the side of the trailer. His heart raced. After quickly looking around to see if anyone was watching, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He quickly drew his pistol, slowly opened the door, and quietly stepped inside. His body raced with a mixture of fear and the dump of adrenaline. How in the hell do the police do this shit every day? he wondered.
The trailer looked as if it had just been ransacked. It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. Jake couldn’t hear anyone or anything. The place looked like it had never been cleaned. Hunting magazines, beer cans, and empty ammo boxes were strewn about. There were several antlers on the walls and the worst flying-turkey mount Jake had ever seen. As he looked around the living room, the smell of cigarette smoke was almost overwhelming, and then he realized that there was a cloud of smoke in the room. He wheeled around toward the kitchen and saw an almost completely burned cigarette, long with ashes, resting in a clear ashtray. He instantly knew that Moon Pie was in the trailer. His hands were shaking as he quietly eased the pistol’s safety into the off position. Jake’s logical, rational side was being blocked by a primitive emotion—the one that desired to kill the person haunting and tormenting his family.
As Jake started across the tiny den, he caught a blur out of the corner of his eye and spun around just in time to face his attacker. The adrenaline coursing through him significantly impaired his fine motor skills, causing his attempted shot to be off its mark. The attacker pistol-whipped him before he could squeeze the trigger again. Jake’s gun hit the floor an instant before he did.
Moon Pie kicked Jake’s pistol out of reach and then stood over him. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room. Moon Pie put his free hand on his burning side. His fingers were wet and warm. He knew he had been hit but felt no pain. That would come later, when the adrenaline subsided. He pulled up his shirt and saw where the bullet had struck him. Another two inches and it would have missed. Dammit, Moon Pie thought as he lightly touched the wound.
He walked over to the front door to see if anyone was coming after hearing the gunshot. When he was satisfied that no one either had heard the shot or cared enough to investigate, he closed the door and locked it. He walked over to Jake’s gun, picked it up, and then put it into the back waistband of his pants. Moon Pie, breathing heavily, had a wild look in his eyes as he stood over Jake, trying to decide what he would do next. He looked again at his wound and knew that he would live but that Jake Crosby wouldn’t.