The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3) Page 20

  Chapter 39

  Lansing Residence, Sanborn, New York

  Richard kept the sedan lights on as he dragged a limp Holly out of the backseat, her ankles and heels dragging through the brown mud. Her tanned legs that he liked to dream about were dirty now, as were her jean shorts. Losing one of her open-toed sandals in the mud, he was strangely delicate in taking her down the mildew-filled cement stairs.

  Locking the door behind him, he laid her out flat on the living room floor in the dank room and went into the bathroom to throw up.

  All coming together, Alex, Richard thought as he scrubbed his hands clean with the brush. Plan coming together! He made sure to scrub under each of his fingernails. We need her body in that hangar, Alex, so don’t talk back to me.

  Coming back to Holly, he hogtied her hands behind her back, connecting them to her feet, a near-impossible situation to escape from. Using silver duct tape, he placed a hand-torn piece over her mouth, as the last thing he needed was her yelling. The second to last thing he needed was his mother barging in on him with his first-ever visitor.

  While she laid on his floor, he got the vacuum going and cleaned the mud that they both dragged in. He could not even think of having a dirty apartment, no way, so he ensured the place looked top shape for his guest.

  Running the warm water from the bathroom sink, he filled a large salad bowl and soaked a washcloth. He walked over and knelt next to her, mesmerized at the first female he ever had in his apartment. It was the closest he’d ever come to a woman.

  Over the next three hours, he would explore Holly, as he was excited to have a rare guest over. Richard gently brushed aside the matted hair covering her face, leaning in super close to look at her smooth skin. He was so close to her that he saw her pores, her dark eyeliner and long dark lashes, as his panting breath stirred a few stray hairs off her cheek. He moved his head so he could view her high eyebrows that came to a pointy end, made fine by sharp eyeliner. Richard inspected her makeup, turning his head to see how her foundation covered her smooth skin. He rubbed his hand on her face to feel her warm breath, finally comprehending he had a girl in his hands. Richard then stuck the tip of his tongue out, touching her cheek, curious to see what she tasted like. He ran his tongue over to her motionless lips, feeling how velvety they were, as well as her teeth. Tangy, maybe even salty. He was as bizarre as they came, and Holly had no idea what she was in for.

  Richard then wrung out the washcloth with a naughty look on his face and rubbed her legs, his favorite body part about Holly, with the cloth. “Just cleaning the mud off, Holly,” he whispered. He found it thrilling to touch her. He rubbed the warm washcloth far up her thighs, then down to her ankles, cleaning her, taking care of her as he did for Muffin. He repeated his washing on her other leg. “Oh, Holly, a tattoo of a rose? Why, we didn’t know... the Daily Double,” he commented, rubbing the washcloth a bit too high, seeing the tip of her black, lace underwear high up on her hip and normally hidden. “Alex didn’t know either.”

  Holly sprung her eyes wide open and immediately realized she couldn’t move, nor did she recognize her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was the car ride, affected by the beer she drank at the Canal Fest. Attempting to struggle with her arms and legs tied, she rocked back and forth, trying to figure out what the problem was. Able to roll over to her side, she spotted Richard for the first time, kneeling only feet away. Breathing heavily through her nose, forcing the air in and out, she made noises at Richard.

  She saw him wring out the muddy washcloth, smiling at her, and reached out his hand to peel back the duct tape from her mouth. She was pissed and terrified at the same time, feeling his creepy hand on her upper thigh.

  “I’ll take this off, Holly, but you have to be a sweet girl for me.”

  Gasping for air, she looked at him in revulsion. “Richard, what are you doing?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Richard, Richard. I have to go to the bathroom. I have to go. Untie me, please,” Holly told him, as she scanned the room with her eyeballs. She spotted the doorway to her left, and seeing the rectangle windows towards the ceiling, could tell she was in a basement.

  Richard’s demeanor changed, then he sat for a moment. “If I untie you, do you promise to behave?”

  He looked unsure as to what to do now, considering she had no idea of his plan to display her dead body at the base for all to see.

  “Yes, and then we can talk, okay, Richard?” Holly answered.

  He untied her, and she walked empty-handed to the bathroom. Closing the door, she gaped at all the bathroom products lined up. Travel-size hotel bar soaps were in immaculate rows, and towels and washcloths tidy, folded and stacked. He had a section of miniature hotel shampoos, conditioners, and lotions lined up ship-shape on a second shelf. And scrubbing brushes on a third shelf.

  Inside the bathroom, Holly turned the faucet on while sitting on the toilet.

  “Everything okay, my Holly?” he asked, listening to her behind the wooden door. She could hear him just outside the door, wondering what he was doing. Taking outlandish satisfaction that he could hear her pee hit the toilet water, he grinned.

  Sitting on the toilet, wondering what the hell was going on, Holly spotted a plunger with a wooden stick.

  What the hell is he doing? “Yes, just finishing up, Richard. Um, just freshening up.”

  “Lefty-loosie,” she quietly said to herself, unscrewing the wooden cylinder stick handle counter-clockwise with one foot holding down the rubber plunger base. Leaving behind in the bathroom the black base, she completed doing her business, flushed, and walked out, holding the wooden stick close to her body. The two-foot-long wooden handle was concealed behind her back now, holding it so tight she thought she’d squeeze the pulp out of it.

  “Come sit, Holly. Right here next to Muffin. She likes you,” Richard said, seeing her glide out of the bathroom. “We both liked the pretty color of your toenails.”

  Holly saw him stare at her stomach after she realized her shirt was lifted up a bit too high. It exposed her belly-button ring, something she did not want seen, especially by Richard.

  Holly picked up speed across the room as she got closer to Richard kneeling on the flat carpet, raised her arm and wooden handle high towards the ceiling, and gave two solid thumps to his face and head with the stick.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  She did it a third time to the side of his bent knee, putting him in a complete daze as the stick shattered like a broken bat after a fastball.

  Thwack!

  Richard seemed to have underestimated her strength and will as he fell over flat to the floor, holding his knee in pain.

  She leapt for the door to find it triple locked. “Richard! No!” she screamed.

  Richard surged at her, able to grab her remaining sandal with one arm and pulled, but she was faster than he was and unlocked the door at lightning speed. Holly stomped him off of her with two kicks, her D.C. women’s league soccer skills coming in handy, as the remaining sandal slipping off in his grip.

  Furious, Richard yelled at her, “You didn’t unlock them in order!”

  Bounding barefoot up the stairs two at a time, she slipped on some green moss, taking a lump out of her shin. Getting up as fast as she could, Holly entered the dark and humid night. The only light shining in the area was the single floodlight over the barn entrance, so she made a rush for it. Through the mud, she sprinted, dropping the broken wooden stick, picking up speed with each second. Richard was now out of the basement and holding his head, wiping the blood off with his shirt, searching for Holly. She turned to see him coming after her, seeing his rage even at a distance.

  “Bitch! Get back here!”

  Swinging open the heavy, weather-beaten barn door, Holly stepped inside. Dark and musty, she kept going further inside the cavity until she tripped on a lawn-tractor tire. Terrified and stumb
ling around, she crawled, then walked in as far as she could on the right, and crept down low. Feeling around without shoes, the old hard straw hurt her feet and snapped with each step. She had to hurry. Huffing from nervous energy and running, Holly did the best she could with what ambient light she had and remained as silent as possible. What in the hell is going on? she asked herself. Why would Richard do this to me?

  With the early orange glow of sunrise in the next hour or so, the crows scattered above the barn in all directions. Holding his P226 in his right hand, Richard marched to the barn on a mission.

  There was no stopping him.

  Chapter 40

  Niagara Falls Air Force Base, Niagara Falls, New York

  It was still dark outside with the sun still sleeping, but the military was working and already planning their day’s activities. Airplanes had to be fueled, cargo moved, and engines needed to be worked on. Time stood still for no one, including the Stevens’ boys.

  Ford, already an early riser, was in his squadron office and ready to take on the day.

  “Charlie, why didn’t you call me back last night or this morning?” Ford asked, concerned.

  “I thought I’d just stroll in and talk with you. Know you like to get into the office early. What’s up?”

  “Sit down. Zeke and his investigative team are throwing around the idea that you brought down the two-mishap aircraft. I’m upset. They have evidence. And when they interview you later today, they feel you are going to confess to the FBI.”

  “What the hell? Ford, no,” Charlie said. “I told you already.”

  A few short minutes went by as Ford and Charlie discussed some of the details. Charlie was adamant about it, insisting he had zero whatsoever to do with the takedown of either jet. Charlie was taken aback that anyone would even consider him of doing such an act.

  There was a timely knock on the door, and it was Zeke and Grape, and they walked in.

  Charlie barely had time to comprehend the situation and went on the offensive. He was pissed.

  “What the hell? Zeke, sir, no, I already told you. I had nothing to do with it. Zilch. I was in one of the airplanes that were on fire, for Christ’s sake!” Charlie looked at the two investigators. “I already told you two. No, it wasn’t me. Our father just about burned up once when we were kids, and the last thing we need in the Stevens household is anything do to with an aircraft fire.”

  Charlie felt hurt that the organization he joined would accuse him of doing something so hellish. He shook his head with his face turning red, the veins straining against the skin of his forehead like the vascular tissue on a leaf.

  Zeke and Grape sat, continuing to listen.

  “Charlie, I need to ask in front of these guys. Did you have anything to do with this? Now I’m asking as the commander. We need to know,” Ford asked.

  “Ford, screw you. Had nothing to do with it.”

  “Yeah, well, they have you stuffing rags from your helmet bag into the engines. Standard foreign object damage. FOD. Acts like a delayed fuse, causing a fire after airborne,” Zeke said, referring to the evidence they had. He didn’t expect to have Charlie arrive this early in the morning, but would put the topic up for discussion since the timing was right.

  “Rags in my helmet bag?” he asked out loud. “Yeah, I have rags from Richard Lansing, the maintenance officer. Told me they keep my hands clean when walking around the jet. Said for oil, and fuel… dirt purposes. They aren’t my rags, and I did a pre-flight with them because I was instructed to do it like that.”

  Grape spoke up. “Where’s your bag now, Charlie? Let’s have the lab do a test if they were from your stash of rags. Compare samples.”

  Angry, Charlie answered right away. “Go right ahead, Grape, you asshole. Here,” he said, picking it up and throwing it at him. “Analyze the shit out of it all day long if you want, you prick.”

  Zeke stuffed a cigarette in mouth, “Hold up, hold up. This isn’t how I envisioned this would go down, but okay, we’re all friends. Here’s what we’ll do. You Stevens boys hang out in the squadron, and ole Grape and I will have Frank lab-up dis here helmet bag materials. We’ll get a few samples from Lansing’s collection, and get back to you, ok?”

  Ford turned his head sideways, confused. “What do you mean collection?’

  Grape smirked. “You have no idea.”

  Charlie gave all three of them a wicked glare. “I’m no fucking saboteur.”

  Chapter 41

  Lansing Residence, Sanborn, New York

  Richard knew from fifty years of growing up on his farm where the barn light switch was located, and he had no trouble flicking them on. Limping in a little bit of pain, he walked past the area where his father used to beat him, where his pet goat died when he was 7, and where the barn cats used to leave their dead mice on display. By throwing on the power, a rudimentary string of low-wattage bulbs full of cobwebs came to life.

  Richard searched each horse stall, one at a time.

  “Holly, where are youuu?” Richard eerily called out for her in the dank barn, as if he was looking for a lost pet.

  The muggy weather caused two drips of sweat to fall from Holly’s chin as she attempted to calm her breathing and remain as motionless as possible. Richard couldn’t see her grimace in pain, her knee aching from a previous high school soccer injury. He also did not know the squat she was in hurt like hell. But she was already committed to the body position, and even moving an inch would give her location away to him.

  Slam!

  The first horse stable door was opened loudly, the cracked wooden door riding the rusty metal rails until it bounced off the stopper. He didn’t find Holly after a quick look, so Richard slowly limped over the next one. Sounding like an old ranch-hand iron triangle, Richard clanked the barrel of the P226 on the metal door track. The unnerving tapping echoed across the interior structure, the sound reverberating across the structure. A white-and-brown barn owl fluttered about toward the high ceiling, wondering what was disturbing her morning hunting routine.

  “I used to hide in this barn from my father, Holly… I played hide and seek just like you my entire life. You can’t hide in my own barn.”

  Holly looked around from her horse box, looking up into the rustic rafters and old beams, then behind her. The barn owl was looking down at her, watching.

  Slam!

  The second stable door was opened just as loud in the moist air, slamming on the door’s tracks as he searched around the moldy barn he knew too well.

  “Holly, my darling, I’ve wanted you for so long. I know you are in here.”

  “Don’t call me your darling,” she murmured quietly.

  His footsteps were getting louder now as he stepped on a pile of dry hay.

  “I need you. You’re going to help me close that base. Need your body laid out in that hangar… Alex knows”

  “You are a freaking psycho, Richard! Who the frick is Alex?” Holly whispered quietly.

  Slam!

  The third stall door opened, bouncing off the stop. This stall door was the squeakiest of the doors and was piercing to the ears. Richard stood with an evil grin, seeing Holly’s beautiful thighs and calves, squatting down in the yellowish hay and curled up.

  Upon seeing him, she stood up as fast as she could, slammed the stable door on its tracks right into him, and started to take off toward the barn entrance. The sweat drenched her face, the nerves of the situation giving her extra speed in her dash to safety, gasping through the thick air. She banged her head on a hanging light bulb, but she pushed on.

  The single low-wattage bulb, swinging from the long electrical cord, made the shadows dance off the weathered barn walls.

  “Holly! You better stop! Holleeee!” Richard yelled out, bringing the second half of her name to a high pitch.

  As the light bulb swinging made for a hallucinogenic
sight, the shadows danced. Like the graceful roll of a cruise ship at sea, the low-wattage lightbulb moved from side to side.

  Holding the P226 just as he had rehearsed for thousands of hours, he coldly focused on his moving target. Perfect foot location, hand placement, and relaxed.

  Pop! Pop!

  Richard fired two quick shots off as if he was back on the military shooting range. Then a hollow-sounding thud rang out as her body crashed to the floor.

  With her long brown hair covering her face, her arms extended out, she lay lifeless. Holly was killed in an instant, her body falling forward toward the entrance of the barn, resting on the grimy floor.

  “Holly for two hundred, Alex,” he said, without a lick of remorse. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his hand on his face, seeing the blood pool in the dancing shadows.

  Walking with a slight limp as he made his way toward his rotted brown Econoline Van in the rear of the house, he put his P226 away in its concealed carry holster. Backing the van up to the barn, he saw his mother’s upstairs bedroom light come on but knew enough that she wouldn’t be able to see him. The distance was just too far.

  Jamming the transmission in park, he opened the rear of the van and wheeled down his ramp a blue laundry cart borrowed from work. He spent a few seconds taking out some handfuls of rags, making space in the container. Richard grabbed one of them, wiping his wet and dirty face. Looking up at the single floodlight while wiping his face, Richard noticed a circle of mist around the light indicating high humidity, which was rare in western New York. The disturbed crows continued with their activity as the morning sunrise became brighter with each passing minute.

  Lifting Holly into the cart was tougher than he thought, but he was able to get her packed inside and on top of the rags. He glanced at her rose tattoo once more, moving her shorts up on purpose, but felt he didn’t have any more time to examine it.