Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret (22 page)

“For something like that”—the cop motioned to Douglas's face again—“you've got to go to Dubuque. They've got three hospitals over there.”

“How far is Dubuque?”

“Oh, I'd say twenty to twenty-five minutes, depending.”

“And you'll watch the kid?”

“Sure,” the cop said.

“Thanks. I'll be back as soon as possible.” Douglas left a trail of blood behind him as he walked out the door.

“You sure did a number on him,” the cop said.

“He fell,” I said.

“Sure he did. Come on and have a seat.” The cop motioned for me to walk around and sit at the desk behind him.

I tried to sit but couldn't get comfortable with my hands behind my back.

“Oh, shoot.” The cop stood up. “Here, let me see that.” He motioned for me to turn around. “If you ain't under arrest, why have the cuffs on you, right?”

He removed the handcuffs and my arms fell to my sides.

“Thank you.” I tried to raise my arms in front of me but couldn't.

“Don't worry about that. You'll feel good as new in a few minutes. Takes a while for the blood to start flowing.”

The cop went back to reading the paper, and my phone rang several minutes later.

“Do you mind if I get that?” I asked.

“Suit yourself.”

I pulled out my old phone. It was Emma.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Hey, Furious. You sound kind of funny. Why are you talking so softly?”

“Yeah, it is a nice day,” I replied.

“What?”

“No, I haven't had a chance to do that yet. I've been sort of tied up,” I said.

“What are you talking about? Are you okay?” Emma asked.

“No,” I said.

“Are you in trouble?”

“Yup.”

“Can I help?”

“That would be great.”

“What's wrong? Where are you?”

I thought for a minute and then said, “Same place your dad went.”

“Jail? You're in jail?”

“That's right.”

“In Galena?”

“The one and only.”

“Sit tight. I'm on my way.”

“I'll try,” I said as I pushed the cancel button.

I sat staring at the walls for the next hour, wondering if I could trust the sheriff. Could I tell him that Bailey's dad was a CIA-trained assassin? And that her dad had secretly been working with the Salvatore crime syndicate and was probably responsible for my mom's murder and, at this very minute, was on his way to kill Trish and the woman in the photo—

The photo album! Douglas had taken the photo album.
The only physical proof I had to connect my dad's book to Anton and the others. And he never asked about it. Douglas just picked it up like he knew what it was.

The front door opened suddenly, and I practically jumped out of my seat. I figured it was Douglas, back to take me somewhere private. But I looked up and saw Betty.

H
ello, Maynard,” she said, without
looking at me.

“Betty? What are you doing here?” The cop set the newspaper on the desk in front of him.

“I have a favor to ask,” Betty said as she stepped up to the counter.

“What is it?”

“Well, Finbar there is my nephew, and I heard he was in a bit of trouble.” Betty motioned to me.

The cop looked back at me. “He's your nephew? Gosh, Betty, I thought I recognized him from the other day.”

“Yes. Have you arrested him, Maynard?” she asked.

“Well, no, Betty. I'm just watching him for, uh . . . ah—”

“Is he under arrest?” Betty asked.

“No.”

“Well, then, can I take him home?”

The cop looked at me and then back at Betty. “Well geez, Betty. You know I'd love to help you out, but I'm not sure I should—”

Betty cut him off. “What has he done?” Betty demanded.

“Well.” The cop looked at me. “I guess I'm not sure. Come to think of it, the agent didn't really say.”

“Well, Maynard, can you really hold someone without a reason? Especially when that someone is my nephew?”

The cop looked at her without answering.

“I'm going to take him home and you can just tell this agent fellow where he is, okay?”

The cop paused for a moment and then said, “Well, I don't see why not. I mean, since he's your nephew, and all.” He paused. “Sure, go on and take him home. I'll just let the federal guy know where to find him.”

I stood up.

“Well, I appreciate that, Maynard. I hope he hasn't caused you too much trouble.” Betty motioned to me.

“No. No. No trouble at all.”

I thought I saw a smile under the cop's massive mustache.

“No trouble at all,” he said again.

I didn't say a word. I just walked around the counter.

“Thank you, Maynard,” Betty said. “I'll see you on Tuesday.”

“Yes, I'll see you Tuesday at the regular time.”

I
didn't say a word
as we stepped out onto Main Street.

“I prefer the name Furious to Finbar,” Betty said.

“Yeah, me too. How did you find out?” I asked.

“I got a call from that nice Emma girl. She asked me to help you out. She said you'd been through a lot lately. But that much I already knew. Your colors were so dark. She's on her way up here, but I figured Maynard would listen to me. He's a little sweet on me.”

“Yes, I see that. But I'm sorry you got involved,” I said. “Now this federal guy is going to come by your place looking for me. I'm afraid he's not such a nice guy.”

“Oh, don't you worry about me. I'm just thankful I know
the truth. I thought I was losing my mind when your charts weren't adding up.”

“Yeah.” I looked down. “I felt bad about that too. And you were right, by the way: I am a Taurus.”

Betty clapped her hands together. “Ha! I knew it!”

“Thank you for getting me out, but I've got to go help a friend.”

“What's wrong? Is there something I can do to help? Maybe we could get Maynard to help. He really is a sweet man.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I need to do this on my own. You don't happen to have a car, do you?”

“Sorry, hon, I don't drive.”

“That's okay,” I started walking down Main Street. “Please be careful if Douglas comes to see you.”

Betty called out, “Don't worry. If he tries anything funny, I'll put a curse on him that will make him wish he'd never met me. And I ain't bluffin'!”

I ran down Main Street, past the floodgates, to the highway. I set out at a good pace, but it was going to take more than two hours to get to The Territories. I decided that I'd buy a motorcycle when I got back to . . . wherever it was I would live when this was done. No more running. I hated running.

I ran for thirty minutes before slowing to a walk. I was too
slow. And The Territories were too far. Bailey's dad, Anton, had probably already gotten to Trish. I pulled out my phone to call information. Maybe they had a home line that was listed and I could call and warn them, but my phone just beeped. No signal.

I started to run again when I heard the roar of a semi truck coming over the hill in front of me. I ran for about twenty feet before I stopped. I could see the truck now and it had seen me. It wasn't a semi truck, it was a bright orange pickup, and it was crossing the highway and coming toward me. I jumped over the metal guardrail, and the truck stopped in front of me. Four huge guys jumped out of the bed of the truck, and Duane and another guy climbed out of the cab. Man, this was the last thing I needed. I stepped back onto the highway.

“Well, well, well. Looky here, boys, we've got ourselves a hitchhiker,” Duane said.

Duane's face was covered with bandages, but I could see a little black-and-blue skin peeking out from the edges. The six guys stood shoulder to shoulder on the side of the road.

“Look, guys, I'm not looking for trouble, here.” I slipped my phone into my pocket.

“Do you need a lift, Finbar?”

“No, thanks,” I said.

Their bodies had formed a giant roadblock. There was no way I was going to get past them.

“You broke my buddy's nose,” one of them said.

“Yeah, I see that. And I hear you hurt my friends,” I said.

“Oh, we did. And we're going to hurt you,” he replied.

“I'm going to break your nose and your legs,” Duane added.

And I believed them.

“Well, you're going to try,” I said.

They all laughed.

“And you might succeed. Heck, you might even kill me. But I promise at least three or four of you will have season-­ending injuries when we're done here.”

“You're insane.”

“Count on it,” I said.

“Hey, why don't you show these guys your little necklace.” Duane laughed.

“Yeah, I want to see this thing,” one of them shouted.

“What a great idea,” I said, pulling the giant blue eye out from under my shirt.

“Dude, Duane, you weren't kidding!”

I took off the eye and threw it at their feet.

“You can have it,” I said.

“Seriously? Sweet.” The guy on the end picked it up. The other five football players stared at him.

“What? It's kind of cool.”

“If you think that's cool, wait till you see my new one.” I pulled on the rope and fished out the giant pouch of ghost pepper.

“Whoa, look at that thing!” They were howling now. “You're crazy, dude.”

I grabbed the pouch and pulled it over my head. I loosened the top of the pouch and flipped it upside down. The oil from the ghost peppers burned my skin as I poured the contents of the pouch into my hand.

“I told you, you can count on it. You can keep the eye, and this one too!”

I ran toward the mass of bodies as fast as I could, closed my eyes, held my breath, and threw the ghost peppers hard. My eyes were burning as I took several steps back. With my eyes still closed, I took off my shirt with my left hand and placed it over my face. Within seconds, I could hear screaming and vomiting, but I still couldn't see. I wiped my eyes with my shirt again and I felt hot blisters forming on my right hand. Betty was playing with some crazy stuff. I no longer worried about Douglas paying her a visit.

I managed to get my left eye open. All six of them were on the ground, writhing in pain. I walked past them, jumped into Duane's truck, closed the door, and put it in drive.

T
hanks to Duane lending me
his truck, I got to The Territories in fifteen minutes. It was another few minutes to Mike and Trish's place. The gate was still open, and I pulled into the drive. Duane's exhaust thundered and crackled as I parked behind Trish's car. There was no sign of Douglas or Bailey's dad. But if they were in there, they certainly knew I was here too. Susan was right: There was nothing subtle about Duane or his truck.

Mike was out of the house before I was out of the truck. Both of his eyes were black and blue, and his lip was split open.

“What are you doing with Duane's truck?” he said with a bit of a lisp.

“Oh, man,” I said, getting out of the truck. “Look at what they did to you. I'm so sorry, Mike.”

“I told you they would get revenge,” Mike said. “I told you.”

“I'm sorry, Mike. I should have been there.”

“Where were you? You never showed.” Mike's lisp was bad. It was hard to understand him.

“Long story,” I said. “Is Trish here?”

“She's inside. What's going on with Duane's truck?”

I didn't answer Mike and just headed toward the front door. “Is there anyone else in there?”

“Dude, what do you mean? What's going on, Finbar?”

“Furious,” I said. “My name is actually Furious Jones.”

Mike stood still. He looked confused.

I put my hands on his shoulders and said, “Look, there is someone coming here to kill Trish. We need to get her out of here right now. We're all in danger.”

“Trish is in danger? What are you talking about?”

“Mike, just take me to her. Please.”

Mike pushed open the door and I followed him down a hallway to a closed door. He knocked, but I pushed it open before Trish could answer.

Trish was lying on her bed with headphones on, reading a book. She looked up at me. “Hey, Fin, what's going on? Did you see what those guys did to my brother's face?”

“Fin here just drove up in Duane's truck,” Mike
blurted out. “Fin here says his name isn't really Finbar.”

“What?” Trish looked nervous. She pulled her legs up to her chest. “What's he talking about, Fin?”

“You're in serious trouble, Trish. I know you're in the witness protection program, and I have reason to believe there is a very bad guy on his way right now and he wants you dead.”

Trish pushed the hair out of her eyes. Her skin looked milky white against her auburn hair.

“How do you know about that?” she asked. Her voice was soft now. “Did you tell him?” She looked at Mike. She sounded scared. I couldn't imagine what must have happened to make Trish sound so scared.

Mike looked at Trish. “Come on. You know I didn't.”

“Who are you? Are you with them? How do you know?” Trish suddenly looked nothing like the girl I had met at the Pig. She was weak. Cowering.

“I'm here to help you. He's coming right now, Trish. We need to get out of here.”

“Who's coming?” She started to cry. “What's going on?”

I bent down on one knee.

“My name is Furious Jones. My dad is—” I paused. “My mom was with the CIA. And she was killed in Galena a while back. The guy who killed her is coming here to kill you.”