* Scattered Quarry started 11-Feb-2009
Dean glanced at his watch before he stepped out of his van. He was an hour early for work again. After nine years in the army, reporting to work at seven in the morning seemed like a joke. He had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. He loved his job and couldn’t believe he was being paid for doing what came natural.
His Grandfather offered to let him work at the truck shop until he could find something better. Now Grandpa didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t figure Dean would be so damn good at fixing trucks. However, why wouldn’t he be? Dean grew up in this shop, working with his Dad, uncle and cousins. Mechanics was in his blood; if it was loud, fast or powerful, Dean Stone was at home. He often touted: he got along better with machinery than he did with people.
Handing a large cup of java-mocha to his Grandfather officially started the day. Dean purposely didn’t buy one for his uncle Paul or his Dad after they tried to set his boots on fire the day before. As soon as they started squawking about it, Dean handed them a roll of toilet paper and a tube of axle grease. Grandpa almost choked to death on his coffee from laughing.
Paul jumped to his feet as if he was going to intimidate his nephew with his six foot-five stature.
“Sit down Paul, before that boy takes your head off again. You’d better get use to the fact he ain’t the same kid you pushed around a few years ago.”
It was true; Dean had grown up and learned quite a few things while he was away. Some of what he learned he shared with his Grandfather when they talked after work. The two people Dean trusted the most were his Father and Grandfather. They swore to keep all his secrets to themselves and support him if he asked for their help.
On the surface Dean Stone looked like your average twenty-six year old, single, all American boy from the south-west. No one, not even his uncle knew he was a contractor for the justice department. They hand picked him and a few others to blend back into society. Carrying on with their lives, waiting for a mission or a client as it was known within the department.
Not even the men that trained this group knew who they were or fully understood what they were preparing for. Lieutenant Jim Campbell was the only man that knew their name, background, and where they lived. Nothing was on paper this would have left a trail. As it turned out, that would be the only thing that kept Dean Stone alive. However, Jim Campbell wasn’t as lucky, murdered the day after, he sent his client to Dean.
Jim Campbell’s mission had been to form a secret unit within the Justice department’s Witness Protection Program. After high profile witnesses, started turning up dead. *
2 Dean Stone unlocked his toolbox and emptied his pockets before starting work that morning. His grandfather walked over to him still laughing about the befuddled expression Dean had left on his uncle’s face. Grandpa saw him take two cell phones out of his pockets, laying them in the open drawer of the box.
“Do you really think you’ll ever get a call from that one?”
Dean had told his grandfather why he carried the second phone, so he didn’t try to hide the truth.
“Well if I do you can bet the shit has hit the fan somewhere.”
No sooner had he gotten those words out when it started ringing.
“Don’t look at me boy, I didn’t touch it.”
Dean answered it but knew better than say names over an open line.
“Hello?”
“There is a priority-one package on its way. They’re on my ass right now; I’ve been hit once already. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes I understand.”
“Listen to me, I might not make it, you’re on your own, do what you think is right, you hear me?
“Yes….”
The phone went dead. Dean stood there, staring at it trying to imagine what was going on at the other end of that call. He recognized Jim’s voice and heard the urgency in his tone.
“What’s going on Dean?”
“All hell just broke loose Grandpa and they caught my handler on the phone which means they could be on their way here along with a package.”
“You mean you got one of them witnesses to protect?”
“Grandpa you can’t say a word to anyone and I gotta get out of here for a while.”
Dean started gathering his things together. “Gramps, I gotta go back to my apartment and wait for this guy to show, then I ‘m gonna need to bug-out for a while until we can straighten out this mess.”
Grandpa stood there pointing his finger. Every time he got excited, it took him a minute to put things into words.
“You can, I know where you can go, wait-wait. Take him out to the property. Its out of the way and no one but me and your dad knows about it”
Dean nodded. “Okay, but you keep quiet and don’t go near it even if you think you need to talk to me. As far as you know, I just quit and left town. Deal?”
“Okay, but you keep your head down, hurry home; you and me gotta kick some butt boy.”
“I’ll be careful, tell Pop why I’m outta here but no one else not even Paul.”
Dean jumped in his van and headed back to his place. His training kicked in and he started evaluating everything he knew so far. Jim’s voice echoed in his head.
‘Their on my ass right now, I’ve been hit once already.’
In the background, Dean heard an airplane before the phone went dead.
‘They might have caught up with him at the airport after he sent the witness. If they trace his call here to Phoenix, they might look at all the taxi trips from the Airport within a two-hour window after the flight lands. That doesn’t leave me much time. I gotta scrub that apartment clean of everything with my name on it. If they can’t follow me then Grandpa will be safe otherwise I’ll have bigger problems.’
Dean rented the studio apartment under a false name so Jim could have an address to send the “package” to. When he leaves, it had better not have a trace of his identity anywhere around it. Most of his stuff was at his dad’s house, all his mail went there too so all he had to do is dump the van, and he would be home free.
Dean had all his gear packed and his guns loaded. The van was backed into the driveway and ready to go. He splayed a few papers on the table that made it look as if the people who lived there were going to Los Angeles to an amusement park; that would be a logical reason to be gone for a week or two.
When the taxi pulled up Dean expected a man to get out of the back but instead a gorgeous little redhead in high heels paid the driver before the taxi drove away. Dean stayed inside and looked up and down the street to see if she was gathering unwanted attention or if she was followed.
‘Holy-crap, what am I gonna do with you. You stick out like a sore thumb. A blind man could have followed you.’
She knocked on his door even though it was open, “Anybody home?”
Dean held his Glock behind his leg. “Come in.”
“Are you Dan Black?”
“Yes”
“Jim Campbell sent me; you’re supposed to tell me something so I know who you are.”
This was all happening exactly as Jim told him it would so Dean knew he was looking at the witness he was tasked to take care of. So he confirmed his code to her.
“I am your Z-3 Contractor. You must do what I tell you without question, is that understood?” *
3 Dean could tell she had been crying and was about to start again. She looked relieved to hear him say those words. He pressed to get out of there faster not knowing if she had a tail. Taking her to a motel seemed the best course of action. She could rest and fill him in on all the details of why Jim sent her.
Before they could go, he had to sanitize her, making sure she wasn’t bugged or tracked in any way.
“What’s your name?”
“Samantha Bennett.”
“Okay Samantha from now on you’ll be Karen….Black and…”
“I hate that name, when I was in school a girl named Karen picked on me.”
Dean chuckled he knew the feeling. “Okay you look like a….Windy, how’s that suit you?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything as she fought the tears. This girl was tired.
“Windy, I need you to empty your purse on the table. We need to look at everything; you can’t have anything you walked in with.”
She dumped her purse and emptied her pockets while he looked through everything. Dean pulled the battery out of her cell phone and took apart all her pens. After he looked at the pieces, he dropped them in an empty coffee can.
“Rings, watch and necklace too”
Windy scowled and huffed but she did as he asked. Dean opened his gym-bag, took out a running suit and pointed her toward the bathroom. “Go in there and change into this, bring me everything you have on now.”
“Is that really necessary; what do you think they bugged my panties, come on get real.”
Dean didn’t say a word but the look he shot her direction made her shut up and do that too. While she was changing, he found a miniature Jump-drive for a computer and electronic Dictaphone in her purse.
Windy came back, holding her pants up so they wouldn’t fall off. He asked her about the chip and the recorder while he tied the drawstring on her sweats. “Why do you have these?”
“Those we gotta keep.”
“What’s so important about them?”
Her eyebrows narrowed and her jaw clinched, the look of hate washed over her. “Those bastards killed my father and Mr. Buscetta and I have the whole thing on tape, well not tape but on that chip-thingy and the jump-drive has evidence of a thousand crimes.”
“Why didn’t you give these to Jim Campbell?”
“I did but he started checking his mirror while we drove to the airport and he gave them back. He told me to give them to you for safe keeping.”
Dean slipped them in his pocket and looked through the clothes she just took off. After he looked at her bra and panties, he stuffed them into the gym-bag. “When we get to a motel I’ll give these back but we’ll get the rest replaced because I need to be sure you don’t have any tracking devices on you.”
“What about my rings?”
“They stay here too, if no one has trailed you, we’ll get them later but we’ve gotta go now. Once we get settled, I need you to tell me everything you know about your father’s murder.”
Dean handed her a floppy hat that looked as if it were run over by a truck a few times. They locked up and stone threw a small hand full of baby-powder into the air so it formed a thin blanket of dust on the floorboards before he locked the back door.
The roadside motel wasn’t fancy but he felt safer once he got her inside.
“I need to get a few things before we hit the road. You stay inside and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Are you listening; don’t open this door for anyone.” *
4 Dean waited outside the door until he heard the deadbolt latch then headed for the van. In his head, he made a list of things he needed to do before they could head up the mountain to the property. Grandpa planned to retire there someday and had been working on it a little at a time. It wasn’t finished but it was good enough to lay low in for a while. He dumped the van five miles from his Dad’s house and took the city bus there to get some things he needed. His truck has the suspension and ground clearance to make it beyond the point the forestry department stopped maintaining the dirt roads.
At the grocery store, he stocked up on can goods staples and peanut butter since it had a long shelf life with plenty of protein. Dean hoped Windy could cook because his biscuits sucked and he always seemed to burn the meat. A stop at the Outdoorsman’s Warehouse would finish off his list. Dean paid cash for everything; he didn’t want to leave a trail by using his credit cards. He lashed everything down in the truck bed with ropes under a blue plastic tarp and headed back to the motel.
“Windy open up, come on don’t leave me hangin out here girl?”
He kicked the bottom of the door a few times to get her attention. When she didn’t come to the door right away, Dean cringed, his imagination picturing all kinds of horrible things that could have happened to her while he was gone.
“I’m sorry I, ah….fell asleep”
“You look wired, how long have you been up?”
Windy plopped back down on the side of the bed, trapping her hands between her knees.
“About two days….yeah….two.”
“Well lie back down and crash for a while. I got some stuff for you when you get up.”
She flopped over and was probably asleep before her head hit the pillow. Dean grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs on the bed; a slight tug and she straightened out. He pulled the blankets over her and turned out most of the lights.
With a few hours to kill, he plugged in his laptop and sat at the small table by the window where he could keep an eye on his truck. As the computer booted up he took out the chip and the Dictaphone, looking them over for any kind of information but found nothing.
He plugged in the chip, but it needed a password to access the content. He reached into his case, took out the ear-buds for his MP3 player and plugged them into the recorder. Dean quickly deduced the recorder belonged to a busy lawyer that used it to make notes about several cases he was working.
He fast-forwarded through it stopping now and then to listen. Finally, he came to a spot where several men were yelling and cursing.
“That’s not going to be a problem I plan to worry about….now do em both or I’ll do all three of ya….Give me that….like this….I want to do this little weasel myself….I hated you for years anyway you little bastard…oh one more thing, I was the one that did your old man I hated him too.”
Two gunshots rang out and the sound of someone hitting the floor.
“Now you do him so’s I know you’re in this as deep as I am….that’s it now squeeze”
Another shot but this one sounded closer or maybe the gun was aimed at the guy closer to the recorder.
“You gotta do one more, in the head that way you’re sure”
Another shot rang out, footsteps moving about and shuffling, crinkling sounds as if someone searched through papers. There was a long silence then a girl crying in the background could be heard. A few minutes later Jim Campbell’s voice could be heard.
“Did you see this….yes….who did it….that mob guy and someone else. The old guy you see on TV….Oh gawd look…..is this thing on….if it is we have this whole thing on tape….”
Dean knew he had a hot potato in his hands. It made him wonder, as damming as the tape was, what else might be on the chip. If the old Mob guy on the TV was who he thought it might be, he had proof the Godfather of the mafia, committed murder with his own hand.
“Holy-shit every wise-guy or hit man money can buy will be after this and her too since she can attest to who is on the recording.” *
5 coming soon
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