Red Dog Saloon (14 page)

He
struggled for air as the impact knocked his breath out. The fall from
the second story hurt worse than he imagined. Sitting around in his jail cell
twenty-three hours a day had left him out of shape. The meth probably had
something to do with it too.

He
was almost free. Now all he had to do was mount the fifteen-foot-high fence and
crawl over. The only issue was the fence was topped with razor wire.

Rhody
ran across the exercise yard and threw his blanket up over the razor wire
as he began scaling the metal fence. His progress was quick as he reached the
top of the fence within a few seconds. Now came the razor wire. While the
blanket provided some protection from the sharp wire, it didn’t provide
complete insulation. Rhody found that out as he felt his arm slashed by some of
the razor that cut through the blanket.

He
ignored the pain and the rush of blood from his arm as he continued pulling
himself over the top, another sharp pain cutting through his leg as the razor
wire dug in. Not deterred, the smell of freedom in his nostrils, he slung his
leg over the top of the wire and straddled the fence. He hoped the
razor wouldn't grab his man region. Sitting atop the fence like a roosting
pigeon, he grabbed the top of the wire for support and tried to find his
balance atop the span. It was then he not only felt, but he even heard, the
razor slit his hand. The sound almost made him sick to his stomach.

The
pain was not enough to stop him. He was halfway over the fence. He went to
pull his left leg over the wire but found himself held fast. His black and
white jail pants were snarled on the wire.

He
felt panic set in for the first time as he sat fully exposed atop the
wire. He fought to pull his pant leg free. His violent movements atop the wire
had an unintended consequence - they attracted the attention of the drowsy
guard in the crow’s nest who had been haphazardly watching the exterior
surveillance camera.

“Prisoner
in the wire!” the jailer yelled, pushing the button to the announcement system,
alerting the other correction officers.

However,
much like the county commission had tacitly helped with Rhody’s escape by not
having the jail built to proper specifications, they were also responsible for
understaffing the facility. There were just four jailers to guard nearly
two hundred inmates.

Rhody
was soon bathed in light, the flood lights filling the exercise yard. Realizing
it was do or die, Rhody made a daring move. He undid his pants and pulled
his legs through the pant legs, the razor ripping the front of his left leg.
The move worked as he was free of the razor wire even as he saw a jailer
running around the corner of the exercise yard.

He
dropped to the outside of the fence, pant-less with just his boxers
covering his lower half. The escapee hit the ground running and disappeared
into the darkness before the jailer could identify him. The fugitive dashed
into the woods that surrounded the jail, slapped in the face by frozen branches
as he ran. Rhody was a free man, but for how long? Being discovered before he
got away was not part of his plan. His get-away vehicle better be there on time
or his goose was cooked.

He
emerged from the woods about a hundred yards from the jail. He could see
searchlights scanning the darkness. The yells of the jailer for him to “halt”
fell on deaf ears. He knew guards didn’t have the green light to shoot fleeing
prisoners. If they wanted him back, they would have to catch him.

Keeping
to his plan, the escapee made his way to the railroad tracks on the other side
of the woods as he heard sirens coming from the direction of the jail. Rhody
stumbled onto the tracks. The bitter cold was already robbing him of the
feeling in his exposed legs. Time was limited. If he didn’t get to cover soon
he would be faced with the choice of surrender or freezing to death. How he
wished he had the blanket he left hanging in the razor wire.

Rhody
began to run once he mounted the tracks. He knew his ride, if it were in
fact there, was waiting at the first crossing. He had to get there before the
police or his escape would be foiled. The cold air ripping his lungs like
shards of glass, the fugitive pushed himself as he ran along the track. The cross
ties nearly tripped him several times as he ran through the darkness.

Then
he saw an outline. Something was sitting on the tracks. Was it his ride or was
it the police just waiting for him to come to them? It didn’t matter. This was
his only chance. Almost to the car, Rhody saw the red glow of a taillight. It
was a signal. It was his ride! He had made it. However, raining on his parade
was the wash of blue lights that were coming from the left on the other side of
the woods.

“In
the trunk, fast!” growled the driver as he popped the trunk.

The
desperate escapee wasn't about to stop and argue the point. Rhody dove for the
trunk without hesitation, slamming the lid closed above him. The car
immediately accelerated leaving him immersed in the pitch darkness of
its trunk. The sudden acceleration threw the fugitive against the back of the car.
The sound of spinning wheels and quickly approaching sirens filled his ears.
They were being chased!

What
followed was an assault on the already bleeding escapee as he was thrown left
and right against the hard metal of the trunk. The getaway driver drifted
around corners at top speeds as he tried to elude his pursuers. Half-dazed from
the pummeling he was taking in his uncomfortable refuge, Rhody tried to find
something to hold on to in the cramped trunk. At one point he felt the car roll
onto two wheels as the driver rounded a corner at break-neck speed.

“Was
that a gun shot?” Rhody asked himself as he heard a blast from behind.

Police
had opened fire on the fleeing car as the driver put space between him and his
pursuers. The wheels of the sedan came off the road as he topped a hill traveling
over a hundred miles per hour. While not sure their escapee was inside the car,
police were taking no chances as they intended to stop the fleeing vehicle. The
driver, however, was an expert. He weaved through the side roads outside
Easton like a professional.

Bruised
and battered from the wild ride, Rhody realized a few minutes later that the
sounds of the sirens were getting fainter. He was getting away. A short
time after that the sirens were a distant memory. All he could hear
was the drone of the car's engine.

Now
the only question in Rhody’s mind was how long he would have to remain cramped
inside the trunk. While considerably warmer than being outside, the trunk still
presented a chill on his exposed legs. Plus, the trunk stank. Whoever was doing
the driving likely didn’t bother cleaning out his car. He probably used it to
carry garbage to the dump considering the stench Rhody was noticing now that
the chase was over. Judging from the scent, the driver may have actually left a
bag in there.

Rhody
rolled over and began feeling in the dark. His hands fumbled across
something plastic deep inside the trunk. It wasn’t a garbage bag though. It was
something larger. Rhody probed further and discovered there something really
large taking up the back of the trunk. He hadn't noticed it earlier in all the
excitement. What was that smell? It was starting to fill his nostrils with
a sickly scent.

His
curiosity now peaked, Rhody began pulling at the plastic. He found a seam
and spread it open. The smell now flooded the closed trunk, filling it with
dank air gagging the fugitive. Then it hit him. The smell wasn’t garbage. It
was rotting flesh! There was a body in the trunk!

The
hardened criminal let out a blood curdling scream. His cries were drowned
out by the loud roar of the engine. Reaching to push the package away, his
hand slipped inside the open tarp. He felt human flesh against his palm.

“Let
me out of here!” Rhody yelled as he pounded the trunk lid with all his might.

 His
fear combined with the stench of the body robbed him of his breath as he
struggled to breathe. He had to get out! He continued yelling and beating on
the trunk lid with his bloody hand for several minutes until he felt the car
slow down and come to a stop.

“Let
me out!” Rhody yelled again.

He
could hear the engine still idling but no one was answering his shouts.

“Do
you hear me?" Rhody screamed. "Is anybody out there?  Let
me out!”

Again
his cries were unanswered as he resumed his beating on the inside of the trunk
even as he heard a door close. Was someone coming to let him out or were they
coming to kill him? Something was wrong. Things were no longer going according
to plan.

That,
of course, was a matter of which side of the trunk one was on. For Bart, who
stood outside the stolen blue sedan, things were proceeding smoothly with the
exception of the heart-stopping run from the law. It reminded him of the old
days when he would lead his father’s deputies on high speed pursuits through
Castle County. He was caught on rare occasions. On those few nights, the
rebellious youth would simply be taken home, his punishment usually being the
business end of his father’s belt. After all, you couldn’t just throw the
sheriff’s son in jail. That experience many years ago made Bart a bit of a
professional when it came to evading the law. Even as a successful businessman,
Bart still possessed many of his criminal skills.

Now
came the easy part, provided his calculations were right. He had only a couple
of feet clearance on either side of the guard rail. Too far one way and the car
would slam into the rail, stopping it dead. However, if he aimed it right, the
car would squeeze between the barrier and into the dark void.

Bart
walked over to the top of the drop off, ignoring the yells and pounding of
Rhody from the trunk. He could just make out the water seventy feet below at
the bottom of the sheer cliff. It would just squeeze through.

“Sorry
old buddy,” Bart muttered to himself as he reached inside and knocked the car
into gear before stepping back to watch it heading toward the cliff.

“We’re
moving again,” Rhody said to himself as he momentarily stopped his pounding.

Those
would be his last words.  Bart’s estimate was right. The car rolled over
the sheer cliff and took a nose dive into the frigid water below. Despite
the impact with the water having the same force as a head-on collision at
highway speeds, Rhody would not die on impact. It would be the freezing water
stealing away the last pocket of air in the locked trunk some five minutes
later that would end the escapee’s life.

Bart
lit a cigar and casually leaned against Hurricane Bridge. He took a puff
of the Dominican as he saw lights coming from across the high span. It was his
ride.

“Perfect
timing,” Bart said with a grin as he hailed his associates from Pickett County.

“We
got one over the wire,” Jail Administrator Chuck Lance shouted over the phone.

The
call arrived at the Delaney home just as he was about to nod off following his
long day. Sleep had become a luxury the sheriff couldn't afford.

“Who
is it? Do we have someone on it?” Sam asked in a drowsy voice.

First
a chain of unsolved murders and now a jailbreak. What would happen next? While
unusual, jailbreaks were not unheard of at Castle County Jail. The sheriff knew
full well the Achilles heel of his jail caused by the cutting of corners in its
construction. He also knew the inmates had been probing for its weak spots. A few
had been able to break through the unreinforced block over the years.

In
most cases, the inmates would be caught before even getting over the razor
wire. On rare occasions, prisoners were able to breach the fence and
get to the outside. However, in the dozen years Sam had been sheriff, not one
inmate had been able to make it on the outside for more
than a couple of weeks. Castle County Jail was a regular Stalag
Thirteen.

Most
escapees would turn up somewhere in Castle County while a few
serious fugitives would be captured in nearby counties, usually nabbed
while doing something stupid. While annoyed by the jailbreak, Sam had
confidence the escapee would turn up in short order.

“We
don’t know who it is yet,” the officer revealed. “We’re doing a head count
right now. The prisoner was already over the fence by the time the jailer got
out there so he wasn’t able to see his inmate number on his outfit. As far as
we know it’s just one inmate.”

The
timing of the escape seemed odd to the sheriff since the inmate decided to make
a break for it on what was one of the coldest nights in years. Sam was more
concerned for the inmate’s safety given the dangerous cold than he was getting
him back in custody. Most inmates in Castle County Jail weren’t dangerous. The
lion’s share of the inmate population was drug addicts, drunks and petty thieves.
The dangerous offenders were sent to the state penitentiary to serve their
sentences.

“Do
we have any idea how he got away?” Sam asked as he pulled on his clothes. “Do
we have any idea where he is?”

Lance
revealed his suspicions as he spoke up, trying to be heard over noise in the
background.

“We
had a deputy who went in pursuit of a suspicious vehicle just a block from here
right after the escape,” Lance explained. “The driver led them on a high speed
chase around town until he gave them a slip. We think he may have been in that
car but we can’t be for sure. It was a blue sedan last seen heading west on the
outskirts of Easton. The tags came back stolen. Just in case he wasn't in
there, we have our officers searching the woods next to the jail. But, if
I were a betting man, I’d put my money on that blue sedan. Our boy can’t stay
out too long in the elements, especially since he left his pants hanging in the
wire.”

Sam
couldn’t help but chuckle given the image of the pantless inmate running around
somewhere. The headlines in the local paper would no doubt be hilarious once
they got wind of their semi-nude escapee.

Now
dressed and ready to head out the door, Sam prepared himself for the manhunt
ahead. It was going to be a cold night. Everything would be okay so long as the
escapee wasn’t …

“It’s
Rhody Turner!” Lance barked over the phone. “He was in sick bay and was able to
get through a crawl space above the drop ceiling and chisel through the block
wall. The other inmates were causing commotion to help cover the noise. They
are still brewing it up right now as you can hear.”

The
news was too much for the sheriff to fathom. His one shot at breaking the cycle
of murders was gone hours before Rhody was going to tell all when it came
to the secret of the old Red Dog.

“One
inmate!” the sheriff yelled at the jailer. “All I ask is that you keep one
inmate safe and sound for me for one night and what happens? How in the world
could you let Rhody Turner get away? Of all the inmates, why did it have to be
Rhody Turner?”

“I’m
sorry sheriff. We were short staffed,” Lance responded. “You pulled off one of
our jailers to help on that surveillance thing you all were doing and we had
another jailer call in sick with the flu.”

The
sheriff ground his teeth together, realizing the cracker box jail provided to
him by the county was more to blame than anything. He slammed down the phone
and headed to the jail.

Sam
found the jail and surrounding areas lit up like Christmas when he arrived ten
minutes later. Officers were just completing their sweep of the area around the
jail. Aside from his pants, they found no trace of the escapee. That
left the blue sedan as the most likely mode of departure for the fugitive.

“We
know that car hasn’t left the county,” Bo said as he briefed the sheriff on the
progress of the manhunt. “We radioed ahead to Pickett County. That’s the
direction the sedan was heading. They had officers standing by on their side of
the lake and never saw a car by that description enter their county.”

“So
he’s still in Castle County?” Sam asked. “Or so we believe anyway?”

“It
would appear so, sheriff,” Bo said. “The question is, where he is hiding out?”

“The
real question is who helped him,” Sam pointed out. “He had help from the
outside. If we find out who that was then I think we figure out where he’s
hiding out.”

That’s
when Rhody’s statement during their meeting at his cell that afternoon struck
him.

“He
was getting a call from a girl,” Sam declared as he snapped his
fingers. “He mentioned he was getting a call when I talked to him. I bet that’s
what we’re looking for.”

The
jail kept electronic records of calls coming in and going out of the facility.
The records included recordings of both sides of the conversations between
inmates and the callers. Sam suspected the call Rhody received contained
references to the pending escape and perhaps clues as to the identity of the
woman.

“Pull
that recording,” Sam ordered. “I want to hear it right now. Perhaps it will
shed some light as to where our boy is hiding.”

Bo
headed down the hall to the computer bank and logged into the central system
where the records were stored. He returned ten minutes later to
find the sheriff and several of his staff looking over a map of the
county.

“Sheriff,
we have a problem,” Bo declared with an odd look on his face.

“Problem?
What kind of problem? We have enough problems already. We can’t have any more
problems,” Sam said, on edge given recent developments.

“It’s
not there,” Bo revealed.

“What
do you mean, it’s not there?” Sam asked as he stood up from the map. “It
has to be there.”

“I
mean it’s gone, sheriff,” Bo responded. “The audio from the whole afternoon is
missing.”

“But
how can that happen?” Sam asked.

He had
always assumed the program to be secure.

“Well,
it’s a server-based system that can be logged onto just like any network so
long as you have a password,” Bo said. “It seems someone logged onto the system
and deleted the entire file for this afternoon.”

Stunned
by what he was hearing, the sheriff was determined to get to bottom of things.
He could feel himself about to lose control.

“So
this was an inside job?” Sam boomed. “I want to know who logged in and I want
them in my office right now! Heads are going to roll!”

Bo
looked nervously around the room as his face took on a slight shade of red.

“Can
we trace whose password was used to do it?” Sam asked.

“Um
yes, we already know,” Bo said nervously. “It was yours, sheriff. Whoever did
this signed in to the system using your password.”

Sam
stood speechless, exasperated by the revelation, his staff joining his silence.
They were all afraid to speak up, sensing the sheriff was about to blow his
top.

The
awkward silence was broken moments later as Kendal burst in the room. He
paused just long enough to eye the unusually quiet group before blurting
out his business.

“There’s
a car in the water down at the Bottomless Pit,” Kendal revealed. “A witness
said it went off the Castle County side a few minutes ago.”

Silence
still hung momentarily over the group as they looked at the excited
investigator.

“It
was a blue sedan!” Kendal exclaimed.

This time he
got a rise out of the lawmen. The sheriff was able to step back
from the edge of rage. There was a ray of light at the end of the tunnel.

“Is
it still there, I mean on the surface?” Sam excitedly asked.

“No.
According to our witness it sunk pretty fast but they have a good location
where it went under,” Kendal noted. “It was Mitch Reagan who saw it.”

Some
people called Mitch Reagan a fishing nut while others just called him a nut.
The retired rocket scientist spent most of his waking hours either on the lake
or talking about going to the lake.  If there were any justice in the
world, the lake would be named in his honor once he died. However, so long as
the fish were biting in Castle Lake, Mitch Reagan would likely live forever.

While
Sam didn’t realize it, he had caught a break courtesy of Mitch Reagan. Had he
not decided to take to the lake on the coldest night in years to try one of his
deep water lures, the car would have likely stayed in the depths forever with
no one the wiser.

Mitch
developed the lure himself and had been aching to try it. The lure, he
explained to those who would listen at the neighborhood bait shop near his lake
house, was developed for deep water fishing during cold weather. And, what
better night to test out his new invention than on Castle Lake on a night the
mercury was supposed to hit single digits?

That
was what brought him under Hurricane Bridge. He had fished for about an hour
and decided to get out of the wind and snow for a moment to pour himself a cup
of hot coffee from his thermos. It was at that moment he heard a car approach
above him. However, instead of crossing the bridge as he anticipated, it
sounded like the car had stopped just short of the bridge. That, Mitch thought
to himself as he sipped his coffee, was odd since all that was up there was a
sheer cliff with no access to the water. However, before he could dwell on the
subject he heard the car start back up. Then, much to his surprise, he heard a
noise above him. A second later he heard a loud splash only a few yards away
from the bridge, the splash close enough to spray him with the frigid water of
Castle Lake.

The
old fisherman pulled out his spotlight and illuminated the form in front of him.
The light caught a blue sedan as it quickly slipped below the water. Its
windows were all rolled down from what he could see. Despite being surprised,
since one doesn’t see a car fly off a sheer cliff every evening, Mitch actually
considered how unusual it was for a car to have all of its windows down on such
a freezing evening.

His
consideration didn’t last for long as the car submerged like a diving
submarine, remaining on the surface for only a couple of minutes.  It did
remain afloat long enough for him to tell there was no one inside the car’s
interior as he motored closer to the sinking car before it slipped under the
black water for what would be a lengthy decent. He reckoned someone was dumping
a stolen car since driverless cars aren’t common things.

The
water in Castle Lake was part of a reservoir system meaning depths reached well
over one hundred feet in some areas. The particular area where Mitch saw the
car enter the water was a place many fishermen called the Bottomless Pit due to
the depth of the water there. Some areas below the bridge were rumored to be as
deep as two hundred feet. Whether the depth was rumor or fact, the
Bottomless Pit had seen its share of incidents over the years, most having to
do with daring divers who risked life and limb to leap from the arch bridge. At
its high point, the bridge spired eighty feet above the lake making for a
dangerous jump even for a professional cliff diver. The bridge claimed several
lives over the years, amateurs learning one wrong move meant death when diving
from such a height. The bridge, despite a newly installed safety railing
system, had been the scene of a handful of suicides over the years. Some
nicknamed the bridge Lover’s Leap given the grieving lovers who had said
farewell to the cruel world by jumping from the bridge’s heights. The bridge
had even been the scene of a murder, well, at least the disposal of a pair of
murder victims who had been tossed from the top of the bridge, bricks weighting
their legs.

It
took divers and recovery personnel the better part of a week to find the bodies
that were submerged nearly one hundred feet down even after a snitch told
them exactly where the bodies had been dumped over the side of the span. The
Bottomless Pit definitely presented issues, especially during the dead of winter
and during a snow storm which was only going to increase in intensity.