Red Dog Saloon Read online

  RED DOG SALOON

  BY

  R.D. SHERRILL

  © 2013 Duane Sherrill

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  First Edition – October 2013

  Cover design Copyright © 2013 Seth Wright

  The following is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent any real persons or events.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  THE DARK MAN COMES

  LIES UPON LIES

  GOODTIME EDDIE

  MEET THE PRESS

  JAILHOUSE RAT

  MILK AND EGGS

  LITTLE YELLOW CORVETTE

  MEMORY LANE

  A BIT TOO LATE

  THE BEST LAID PLANS

  OUT OF THE FRYING PAN

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

  UP FROM THE DEEP

  FROM THE ASHES

  NEAR MISS

  CHALLENGE ISSUED

  DARK REVELATION

  SOMETHING ABOUT BEN

  SINS UNFORGIVEN

  FAMILY REUNION

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  He ran from the country church unrepentant and unforgiven, the bitter February wind slapping him in the face like an invisible hand as he dashed into the snowy night. If there was a Hell he no doubt was going there. Not just for his past deeds, but for what he was about to do. However, if he had his way this evening, Hell would have to wait until his body of work was complete, his curriculum vitae reserving him a special place in the bowels of the earth.

  For now he had a date with destiny, a date toward which he willingly raced forcing aside his fear as he concentrated on the matter at hand. His fate hung in the balance. A steady mind and steady hand was key to surviving his showdown with the dark man. His personal Armageddon was just minutes away.

  Sure, he considered turning his car into the wind and going the other way. He could flee Castle County forever, but somehow he knew the reaper would pursue him to the ends of the Earth until their business was done. There would be no rest for the wicked. Besides, he had invested too much, risked too much to cut and run this close to the end. He too, like the dark man, had blood on his hands leaving an invisible stain that would never wash off.

  Even as he climbed into his car taking momentary refuge from the cold, he realized his antagonist was waiting for him at the old Red Dog Saloon. The dark man was looking to complete his collection of souls and finish collecting the tab they ran up long ago at the rural tavern. For the others, his fellows in sin, the price had already been paid, that price being their lives. He didn’t plan the same fate to befall him. He refused to be a victim, a frightened child ducking his head under the covers after hearing things go bump in the night. He would stand up to his fears; devour them if he could. His defiance of his fate made him stronger.

  His tires spun on the icy road as the rubber struggled to find grip on the snow-covered lane. The winter storm had dumped a fresh coat of powder turning the landscape into a sea of white. The bodies in the trunk helped add some weight to the rear of the vehicle, stabilizing the handling enough where he could hold it between the ditches.

  If he had his way, the two corpses in his trunk would be joined by a third dearly departed soul in the next few minutes. That was if the dark man even had a soul. All would share the same watery grave in the murky depths of Castle Lake, forever concealed in the lowest reaches of the Bottomless Pit.

  His last-minute stop for absolution at the church, something he found to be a wasted endeavor, put him behind schedule as he now had to hurry over the treacherous roads to make his nine o’clock appointment. His knuckles were white as he held a death grip on his steering wheel as his car sliced through the curtain of snow. Being late was not an option, not for this appointment anyway.

  He threw on his brakes as he saw the turn suddenly materialize from the whiteout. His bowling bag flew forward onto the front floorboard and landed with a thud. The car slid sideways as he stood on his brakes, driving into the skid. His talent behind the wheel likely kept him from running over an embankment as he was able to collect the vehicle and continue on.

  His degree of difficulty would increase; however, as he flipped off his headlights for the final leg of his journey. He couldn’t afford to let the dark man know he was coming. The element of surprise was the key to his plan, and as such, key to his survival.

  All he could do now was navigate the dark lane using the piles of snow on either side of the road as his guide, keeping his car in the middle of the two ditches. There would be no other traffic this evening. The people of Castle County were known for their fear of bad weather. Most locals would make pilgrimages to the grocery store ahead of such storms for milk and bread as if they were preparing for a zombie apocalypse when a dusting of snow was in the forecast. This was the biggest snow storm in memory thus insuring just he and the dark man were the only two braving the elements.

  It took only a few minutes, despite his slow progress, to reach his destination, or at least the place he would park his get-away vehicle. He sat in the driver’s seat for a moment still clutching his steering wheel as he considered what he was about to do. Then, preparing himself for the shock of the biting cold, he opened the door. The chill was even worse than it was minutes earlier when he started his journey. He wasted no time opening the rear door and pulling out his hunting rifle complete with night vision scope. He didn’t always give the deer a fighting chance, enjoying a good night hunt from time to time. But then, illegal hunting was the least of the crimes he had committed over the course of his lifetime.

  He immediately began climbing the snowy hill before him, refusing to pause to give himself time to rethink what he was doing and perhaps back out. His frozen breath poured from his face as he puffed with the strain of each step. The frigid air ripped through his lungs like little daggers as he pulled himself toward the crest of the hill. The snow was starting to slow but the bitter wind still swept the loose powder across the landscape making the ascension a chore. The accumulation reached high on his ankles, the overflow cascading into his shoes where it immediately began freezing his feet. His toes were going numb despite his thick socks. This was no way to spend Lincoln’s birthday.

  After what seemed like an endless climb, he reached the pinnacle of the hill. He kept himself low against its face as he slithered the last few feet, parting the snow with his unprotected hands. He paused as he reached the peak which overlooked the valley where the infamous Red Dog Saloon stood more than twenty years ago. He took a moment to blow into his tingling hands, trying to return some feeling to his fingers. He had to be quick about his mission. The cold would not allow him time to procrastinate.

  Wiggling his fingers, his top knuckles already frozen tight, he slid his rifle through an opening in the snow and peered through his scope into the valley which lay a few hundred feet below his vantage point. His night vision scope relayed an eerie greenish rendering of the flat valley as he panned it from left to right looking for any signs of movement. It didn’t take him long for his cross hairs to find their target.

  There he was! It was the dark man waiting for him in the middle of the snow-covered field, atop the ashes of the former tavern. This would be their final showdown. One of them would die tonight and, from the looks of things, it was going to be the dark man.

  He looked through his scope for a few moments. He was not only watching to see if the dark man made any movements but also to
see if there were any others lurking in the shadows. He assumed the dark man had come alone and that he had worked alone during his murderous rampage but he couldn’t be careful enough. The stakes were too high.

  Satisfied no one else was witness to what was about to happen, he took careful aim at the center of mass and wiggled his trigger finger back and forth to unlock his joint. Then, holding his breath just as if he was about to drop a buck, he slowly pulled the trigger. A twinkling of an eye later the tranquil night exploded, the fire from the muzzle of his rifle blinding him momentarily as it flashed off the pristine snow while the butt of the rifle cracked against his shoulder. Had he hit his target?

  He dared lift his head from behind his snowy cover, straining to see into the night with his naked eye. The darkness prevented him from seeing any movement. Falling back onto his belly, he again peered into his rifle scope. He panned across the landscape until his sights again found his target. The figure was still standing from what he could tell. The darkness of his clothes cloaked whether he was facing him or facing away. Had he missed him? If he had, why was the figure still standing exposed in the open field? Why hadn’t he taken cover or, even worse, returned fire?

  Clenching his teeth and closing his left eye, he took careful aim through his scope, the cross hairs lined up perfectly on his target. Then, flinching in anticipation of the eruption of sound and fire, he squeezed off another round, then another, and another and another in quick succession. The gunfire split the serene silence of the countryside like claps of thunder.

  Surely the dark man was dead. He couldn’t have missed with that many shots. He had laid down a veritable wall of fire.

  The sniper again peered through his scope. The figure in the valley was now on his knees from what he could make out through the grainy picture. Perhaps he hadn’t struck the fatal blow. A kill shot would have laid out his target. However, the fact the form was dropped meant he had found his mark. Polishing off the wounded animal would be little more than a formality. He would finish the job up close and personal. Besides, he wanted to see the face of his vanquished opponent before ending him once and for all.

  With that he charged over the hill, rifle in hand like a soldier attacking out of his foxhole. He slid down the snowy hill forgetting the cold as the burst of adrenaline from the excitement of the moment made him feel invincible. He had won. He was the sole survivor in a game of life and death. All he had to do now was claim his trophy.

  Reaching the bottom of the hill, he cautiously approached his quarry. He looked for any signs of movement. There was none. His prey sat slumped on the ground.

  However, his elation was short-lived as something didn’t seem right as he approached the dark figure. Then he saw it as he crept a few feet from his quarry. The vanquished target was leaning against a pole! He could now clearly see the dark metal top of the pole protruding above the form, something he couldn’t see through his scope from the top of the hill. What was going on?

  He circled the black-clad figure that lie before him, his gun still pointed at the prone target. Then, timidly reaching out, he poked the seemingly lifeless body with the still warm rifle barrel. There was still no movement. He must be dead. Adding to the evidence was a crimson puddle which had formed beneath him.

  Convinced the dark man no longer presented a threat, he reached out to remove the mask that covered the figure’s face. His hands shook uncontrollably, perhaps from the cold or perhaps from the excitement of the kill. Grasping the covering, he gave it a tug. The mask fell onto the snow and into the pool of blood below.

  He froze as he gazed into the dead stare of the man before him, casting aside his rifle as he dropped to his knees before the figure. The dark man had won.

  THE DARK MAN COMES

  -Five Days Before-

  Sheriff Sam Delaney hated mornings, especially cold mornings like this one. The chill invaded his aging bones reminding him that he was not a spring chicken anymore. He hated the prospect that he was just a couple of birthdays short of fifty. It was a milestone he dreaded with a passion.

  Of particular annoyance this morning was the slow pace at which his patrol car’s heater cut the cold, leaving him seeing his own breath for most of his cross-county trek. His lips were already going numb from the biting cold as the cruiser’s heater belched out lukewarm air doing little to stem the chill.

  He navigated the winding country roads peering out through the small circle he defrosted in the middle of his windshield. The limited visibility slowed him to a snail’s pace as he spent twenty minutes reaching his destination. The drive should have taken half that time. He was paying for his oversight the night before when he neglected to cover his windshield despite the frost warning. The garage at his house was reserved for his wife’s new minivan. Sam had made a habit of parking his car outside his house anyway as the mere presence of his patrol car tended to dissuade speeders in his neighborhood. Having the sheriff living on your street was better than having a neighborhood watch.

  His arrival this morning, however, was not time sensitive given the fact the body wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Yes, it took a dead body to get the sheriff out of bed at such an obscene hour. His standing orders to his deputies were quite specific when it came to rousting him from his sleep before eight o’clock on any given day. Homicides, jailbreaks and major natural disasters were the only reasons for which Sam wanted to be called in before his regular business hours. After all, he had loyally served the thirty thousand citizens of Castle County for over twelve years. He had spent a fourth of his life as sheriff, first winning election after coming back to his hometown after a stint with the Army.

  Arriving at the scene located off Walker Road, Sam saw the yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the wind, the parameter around the small house completely surrounded by the barrier. In the driveway sat one of his department’s patrol cars, a rookie deputy in the driver’s seat, his door open and the engine running as evidenced by the smoke rising from the tailpipe. Sam pulled in behind the deputy. His car was finally a pleasant temperature and his windshield finally defrosted just in time for him to get out into the cold.

  The young deputy quickly hopped out of the warmth of his patrol car to greet his boss and make a quick report.

  “What do we have Deputy Faulkner?” the sheriff asked as he zipped up his jacket to keep the chill at bay.

  “It’s definitely a homicide, sir,” the deputy answered. “One of his co-workers found him this morning just after sun up.”

  Sam wondered what brought the co-worker to the house at such an early hour. It was way too early for a social call.

  “Our victim in there is Andy Crouch,” the young officer revealed. “He works second shift over at the Rockford factory. It seems he didn’t show up for work last night, something that’s very unusual since he hasn’t missed a night in years. When he didn’t call in and didn’t answer his phone the foreman got worried and sent somebody over to check on him. That’s when he found him lying just inside the door.”

  The deputy noted he had already taken a preliminary statement from the man who found the victim as to the circumstances surrounding his grisly discovery.

  “And you’re sure it’s a homicide, not a suicide, right?” Sam asked.

  The sheriff realized suicides were much easier to work than homicides since in the case of suicides you already know the killer. The rookie gave the sheriff a big grin as he assured his boss they were looking at a case of homicide.

  “Oh, I think when you get in there you’ll agree. There’s no way this is a suicide,” he declared. “Someone definitely wanted this guy dead and they succeeded.”

  The officer advised the sheriff that the crime lab was on their way down from their headquarters, their arrival still about an hour away. The investigators from the lab would look for trace evidence at the crime scene, perhaps providing the sheriff a starting point in his homicide probe. Given the relatively small size of Castle County, Sam depended on the help of the stat
e crime lab on the rare occasion there was an unsolved murder, the number of which Sam could count on one hand during his entire tenure as sheriff.

  “Well, let’s get this over,” Sam said as he walked up the steps to the small white house careful not to touch the door knob which might still contain fingerprint evidence.

  “Watch out when you go in, sir,” the deputy called out from behind. “It’s pretty messy. You might step in something.”

  Sam was immediately greeted by a scene of slaughter as he pushed the door open a few inches. Blood was clearly visible splattered across the carpet and back wall of the entry way.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you?” Sam said given the horrific scene before him.

  Sam looked back at the deputy who still stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was apparently not keen on seeing the hideous scene again. The sheriff figured it was young Faulkner’s first body, something that could make anyone a bit squeamish. Despite seeing his share of bodies over the years, the initial shock was something he hadn't gotten used to.

  The stiff remains of Andy Crouch, his body likely suffering from the throes of rigor mortis and from the bitter cold, lie on the floor just inside the door. The cause of his death was apparent. An ax laid buried deep in his forehead. His eyes were still open wide suggesting his death was instantaneous.

  “Yep, I think we got us a murder,” Sam agreed.

  Sam squeezed past the body and pool of blood, being careful not to leave his footprint in the evidence.

  “The poor guy never knew what hit him,” the sheriff noted.

  Sam figured the victim was dead before he hit the floor. The crime scene before him suggested he’d been surprised when he answered his door, ambushed by whoever was waiting outside.

  “Plus I don’t think our victim was in any condition to do that,” Faulkner said, pointing toward a mirrored bureau in the living room of the residence.