Lover's Bridge

Lover's Bridge, Pt. 05

A Sheriff Ryan Caldwell story

Apologies for taking so long to get this series out. I've been quite busy lately with two other projects, including my fourth e-book, "Son of Baalak," which is now live. I also wanted to get this mostly completed before I submitted the first part.

Many thanks to QuantumMechanic1957 for beta-reading this. In my opinion, his suggestions have helped make this a much better story. Also, many thanks to those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. This story was inspired, in part, by several streaming series with the same basic opening.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.

All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.

Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

Ryan Caldwell made his first appearance in my seven-part series, "

A Father's Justice

." He was also featured in "

Tip of the Spear

," and in "

Justice Ch. 04: Old Scores

." The town of Hard Rock, Texas, to the best of my knowledge, does not exist.

Roland Waters first appeared in my story "

Roland and Susan

."

...

End of "Lover's Bridge, Pt. 04":

"Weren't you married once?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah. Her name was Susan," Roland said.

"What happened?"

"She fell in with an old rival. Left me to go have her fun. You remember Van Owen?"

"Yeah. I thought he was dead," Ryan answered.

"Not as dead as I thought he was," Roland said. "He got his hooks into Susan, took her. Bill found out he was gonna sell her off. So we went after him."

"Why? You were gonna divorce her anyway, weren't you?"

"I was. But I figured she didn't deserve that. Plus, I had a score to settle with Van Owen."

"I see. I gather she didn't make it."

"No, she didn't," Roland said quietly, a tear threatening to fall down his face. He composed himself quickly to avoid embarrassing himself. "It wasn't at my hand, though. I swear."

"I believe you," Ryan said.

"That was the last time I ever used... this," Roland replied, holding up his Thompson gun. "A part of me hoped I'd never have to pick it up again. But this is for a good cause, though. Right?"

"Reckon so," Ryan said in response. "Is Bill going to relieve you soon?"

"Yeah, in about an hour," Roland said.

"Okay. Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get some shut-eye. See you in the morning."

"See ya, Ryan," Roland replied as Ryan returned to the house. He climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, feeling exhausted. When he got upstairs, he undressed and climbed into bed beside his wife. Taking her into his arms, he felt her trembling.

"It'll be alright, sweetheart," Ryan whispered. "I'm home." He felt her settle down and drift off to sleep. A few moments later, he was also asleep.

...

And now, "Lover's Bridge, Part 05":

12:35 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022 - Somewhere between Houston and Hard Rock, Texas

"Speak!" Jean-Pierre commanded when he answered the call coming in through the car's Bluetooth.

"Are you on your way to Hard Rock?" a man at the other end asked. Jean-Pierre and Thierry knew this was the private investigator Jean-Pierre hired to keep track of Azalea and the goings-on in Hard Rock.

"Oui," he said automatically, forgetting the man at the other end did not speak his language. "Yes, I am on my way now. I should be there in about an hour. Why?"

"You may want to avoid the downtown area. It looks like a law enforcement convention at the Sheriff's Department. I'd say probably every LEO in the area is there. Sheriff's deputies, DPS, you name it. Hell, there's even some military vehicles there," the man said. "I also spotted a deputy director of the FBI."

"FBI?" Thierry asked, shocked.

"Yes. And if I had to make a guess, I'd say it was about the two of you. I don't think you should stay at your usual place. You may want to hang out at my safe house for a day or two until this all blows over," the man said. "You know where it is, right?

"Yes, I know," Jean-Pierre replied. It wasn't much of a "house," really. It was a small 60-foot-long trailer with two tiny bedrooms. But it had electricity, running water, a well-stocked refrigerator, a small bar, and a decent air conditioner. It wasn't Jean-Pierre's first choice, but it would have to do. And he already had a key to the place, just in case.

"I've already re-stocked the fridge, and there is a bottle of cognac, so you should be good to go," the man said.

"What about the target?" Jean-Pierre asked.

"Mrs. Dupont and her two guests are staying at the sheriff's place, along with the FBI deputy director. I will send you the address. There's a map at the safe house."

"Dammit, I told you before. NO NAMES!" Jean-Pierre yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Sorry. I don't know what's happening here, but it's pretty hot right now. You might want to sit back and cool your heels until things settle down," the man said. Jean-Pierre knew the investigator did not know his plans or business and wasn't paid to know that much. His job was to watch Dupont and what was happening in the town.

"Send the information, then watch them," Jean-Pierre ordered. "Goodbye." He ended the call, his frustration level rising with each passing moment. He heard the buzz that informed him an email had arrived. Just then, he heard Thierry's phone buzz. He looked at the man sitting beside him, staring at his phone.

"They know," Thierry croaked, his face turning several shades of pale.

"Who knows? What do they know?" Jean-Pierre barked.

"It is a notification that my status has been revoked. I am to report to the security services within 24 hours of receiving this message for possible expulsion," Thierry replied, his voice shaking. "What will I do?" he asked, looking at Jean-Pierre with fear. "I cannot go to jail. I will not survive."

Jean-Pierre knew at that moment that Thierry was no longer useful to him. He would be too concerned about his fate at the hands of the security services and the police to concentrate on the job before them. He saw a sign that read, "Rest Area 2 miles," and instantly knew what to do. He hated to do it but knew it was necessary. And he knew no one would likely be at this rest stop at this time of night.

"Don't worry, Thierry. I will personally see to it that you do not go to jail. Either here or in France," Jean-Pierre said.

"Thank you," Thierry said.

Jean-Pierre turned his signal on and prepared to exit the highway.

"What are you doing?" Thierry asked. "Where are you going?"

"I need to piss," Jean-Pierre answered in a cold tone. "I think you do, too."

"I could use a break. We have been driving a long time," Thierry said in sudden relief.

"Yes, we have. Turn your phone off," Jean-Pierre said ordered. "We do not want the security services tracking it."

"That is a good idea," Thierry replied. He followed Jean-Pierre's directions, returning the phone to his pocket when he finished. By then, Jean-Pierre had pulled off the highway and parked in front of the empty men's restroom. As he surmised, no one else was parked in the rest area.

He exited the car and motioned for Thierry to join him, ensuring he walked inside the small rock structure behind Thierry. He looked around quickly; no obvious security cameras. Good. Thierry stepped to a urinal without looking back, unzipped his trousers, and began urinating with a sigh. Jean-Pierre calmly pulled out his pistol and fired one round into the back of Thierry's head, spraying bone and brain matter on the filthy tiled wall.

Replacing his pistol, Jean-Pierre donned his gloves, then pulled Thierry's pistol. He placed it in Thierry's dead hand, then fired another round into what was left of his head, using Thierry's trigger finger. He then took Thierry's phone and replied to the email using the speech-to-text app to save time, pretending to be his former comrade.

"I confess to the murder of Phillipe Dupont of Worldwide Imports and Exports and his assistant, Carmelita Holder. I also confess to murdering Mrs. Holder's husband. I admit I have been in love with Azalea Dupont for some time, and I could no longer bear to see her with Phillipe.

"In addition, I have passed on confidential government information to outside parties and falsified official documents facilitating the arrival of paid assassins into the United States.

"I cannot live with the guilt of what I have done. Please accept my apologies, and tell my family that I love them and am sorry," Jean-Pierre concluded, signing the email with Thierry's signature. He hit "send" and smiled when he received confirmation the email had arrived at its destination. He left the phone on and placed it back in Thierry's pocket. Let the security services track that, he thought.

"I am truly sorry, mon ami," Jean-Pierre said, looking down at the dead man on the floor. Thierry's trousers were unzipped, his flaccid cock hanging halfway out with urine soaking the front of his trousers. "But it seems you are now more useful to me dead than alive.

"You have served me well in the past, which is why I gave you a quick death. You see, I do not have the time to deal with a man at the end of his career carrying emotional baggage, and I did promise to keep you out of prison. I imagine we may see each other again sometime in the future, perhaps in a place nearly as hot as this Texas, so I will bid you a la prochaine rather than adieu."

With that, Jean-Pierre calmly walked to another urinal, did his business, washed his hands and face, and left Thierry's dead body on the floor and carefully avoiding any spatters of bodily fluids. He returned to his car and drove away. Arriving in Hard Rock unmolested, he went straight to the safe house.

Using the private investigator's key, he opened the door and carried what luggage he had inside. After putting everything away, he drank a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then went to bed.

...

05:30 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022 - The Caldwell residence

Beverly woke up early in the morning as she always did and looked at the sleeping form of her husband in bed. After everything that had happened, he deserved a break, so she let him sleep. Besides, she reasoned, Azalea had already offered to accompany her to the chicken coops. The two women had a few things to discuss anyway, and Beverly felt it would be best if her husband weren't around.

She dressed in work clothes and went downstairs, shaking her head at two men snoring loud enough to wake the dead. She wondered if Azalea was still outside and was shocked to see the woman sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. After making some coffee, she went out.

"Good morning," Beverly said. "I brought you some coffee."

"Good morning. Thank you," Azalea replied mechanically, taking the cup of hot coffee.

"Were you out here all night?" Beverly asked.

"Yes," Azalea answered tersely. Where else did Beverly think she would be? In a house full of near strangers?

"Well then, are you ready to head over to the chicken farm?"

"Is it very far?"

"No, just right over there," Beverly replied, pointing at the white buildings in the distance. "C'mon, hop in my truck, and well drive over." The two women got into Beverly's truck, a Ford F150 similar to Ryan's civilian truck, and headed to Beverly's chicken farm.

"Do you do this every day?" Azalea asked.

"Sure do. Gotta take care of my babies," Beverly replied with pride. "I've been taking care of critters my whole life."

The ride was made in silence - slightly tense on Beverly's part, oblivious on Azalea's part, as she had nothing to say, so she said nothing.

After a few minutes, they arrived at the main barn, got out, and made their way across the cool, hard-packed ground to the door. Beverly unlocked and opened it and turned up the lights. A sleepy murmur of clucking rolled across the floor around them.

"My lord, how many chickens do you have?" Azalea gasped, astonished when she walked into the large building.

"Hundreds," Beverly said. "I have a couple that helps take care of them, but I like to come over and look after them myself in the mornings. I think they like it when I come by. C'mon, grab that bag of feed." Azalea looked where Beverly pointed and tried to lift the heavy bag but couldn't.

"I... I can't," she protested.

"Use your legs, not your back. Like this," Beverly said. Azalea watched as Beverly easily hefted a bag onto one shoulder. She was amazed that such a petite woman could lift such a heavy bag so easily. She emulated what she saw Beverly do and was surprised she could raise the thing. It had to weigh at least 50 pounds. "That's it. Let's go."

"Can we talk for a minute?" Azalea asked when they reached their destination. Beverly put her bag of feed down and saw Azalea had already placed hers on the floor of the large coop.

"Sure," Beverly said in a neutral tone of voice. "You wanna talk about why you tried to seduce my husband?"

"I did not try to seduce him. I only offered to have sex with him. It is a normal biological function," Azalea replied. Beverly snorted at that, confusing Azalea.

"I don't where you're from, sweetheart, but in these parts, offering to have sex with someone is seducing them," Beverly shot back.

"I am from Quebec," Azalea stated, puzzled. "Does that matter?"

"No. It doesn't," Beverly said pointedly. "It's the same in Quebec as it is in Hard Rock, Texas. Seduction is seduction. And sex is not JUST a biological function. It's the most intimate expression of love between two people. You were married, right?"

"Yes, of course, I was.," her puzzlement increasing.

"Then you should understand," Beverly said.

"We had an... understanding," Azalea answered, perplexed. "Do not you and Ryan have an understanding?"

"Yes. We understand that as long as we're married to each other, everyone else is off-limits. That's why there's that whole 'forsaking all others' in the marriage vows. You remember those, don't you?"

"No. Phillipe and I never said those words," Azalea replied, slightly bewildered. "Were we supposed to?"

"It's been said in every wedding I've ever been to," Beverly replied, confused. Then it dawned on her. "Were you in one of those open marriages?"

"Open?" Azalea asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, where the partners agree they can have sex with other people. I've read about those. Is that what you had with your husband?"

"I never thought about it in that way, but yes, I suppose we did," Azalea replied.

"Well, Ryan and I do not have that kind of arrangement. So I would appreciate it if you could respect our marriage enough to not offer yourself to my husband," Beverly hissed, her anger barely contained.

"I... apologize," Azalea said quietly, feeling thoroughly chastised. "I meant no disrespect."

"I accept your apology. This time," Beverly replied. The threat was evident in her statement. "Now, let's get these chickens fed, shall we?"

...

7:14 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022

Jean-Pierre woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the small screen and saw the call was from his PI in Hard Rock. He sat up and answered the phone.

"Have you seen the news?" the PI asked.

"No, you idiot, I was asleep," Jean-Pierre growled.

"You should probably turn on the television," the PI told him. "Turn it to channel 7." Jean-Pierre grabbed the remote and turned the television on. He gasped out loud when he saw his face on the screen, and he couldn't think of an adequate profanity.

"Residents of Hard Rock woke up Sunday morning to see this plastered everywhere around town," the news anchor said, showing one of the hundreds of flyers posted around town earlier that morning. The anchor continued his report.

"According to this flyer, the Sheriff's Department is looking for what they say is a suspect in at least three murders. The flyer identifies the suspect as Jean-Pierre Gagnon, and the flyer adds that he is considered armed and extremely dangerous. The Sheriff's Department asks anyone who sees this man to contact their office with details immediately. For more, we turn to KHRK's Allison Channing."

"Thank you, Brent," Allison replied with a slight smile. This is why she went into broadcasting. "In a statement released early this morning, Sheriff Ryan Caldwell said Gagnon is wanted in connection with three murders earlier this week.

"Because of the gruesome nature of the murders, Gagnon's prior military training, and the possibility that Gagnon may have recruited others with prior military experience to embark on a mission of violence against the town, the entire Sheriff's Department has been activated, and the local National Guard unit has been called into service.

"In his statement, Sheriff Caldwell said, 'This department will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of this community and those who call it home. I will not rest until Gagnon is taken into custody.' He also advised residents to exercise extreme caution should they encounter Gagnon, who is said to be a trained assassin. Back to you, Brent," Allison concluded.

"Thank you, Allison," Brent replied. "In what may be a related story, the body of a man was found in a rest stop approximately one hour east of Hard Rock by a family on their way home from Houston. Officials say the man appears to have been shot in the head. No other information is available at this time, but officers with the Department of Public Safety are investigating."

"What do you want me to do?" the PI asked Jean-Pierre.

"Do what I paid you to do," Jean-Pierre growled. "Watch the Caldwell residence. Let me know what you see."

"Will do," the PI said before ending the call. Jean-Pierre threw the phone and watched it bounce off the bed before resting on the floor. This Sheriff Caldwell would pay dearly for this, he thought. He did his morning business, showered, and made a pot of what these Americans called "coffee." After eating a microwave breakfast, he grabbed the map of Hard Rock and began to plan.

...

8:27 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022

Ryan woke to the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen below. He looked at the clock and remembered that he had promised to help Beverly with her chickens. Mentally kicking himself in the ass, he climbed out of bed, did his morning routine, dressed, and went downstairs to face the music.

"About time you got your ass outta bed," Smith quipped as he sipped his coffee at the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, well, someone didn't wake me up when she left to feed the chickens," Ryan replied, looking at Beverly, who smiled at him as she cooked the bacon.

"Azalea went with me," she said airily. "Besides, I figured you could use your sleep. Coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks," Ryan said, accepting the cup Azalea offered him with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression, obviously wrestling with deep thoughts. "So, is everything okay?"