The Crash

By Gregory Guess

a thirteen year old boy witnesses a small plane crash on a remote east tennessee mountain top. after rushing to the scene the sole survivor of the crash asks for a favor with his dying breath. the boy agrees and upon the mans instruction removes two suitcases from the wreckage, one he will be allowed to keep for himself if he delivers the other to the mans wife and daughter. Roy Wallace eases back off the mountain top as the Federal investigators chop their way through the dense foliage. The dying man failed to inform the young boy that two notorious drug dealing brothers from miami would be searching for the suitcases full of money.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregory Guess
• Release date: Jan 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465760357

Gregory Guess

Greg Guess is a veteran entertainer/ musician who has traveled to 75 or more countries and has entertained for millions. He created his first work of fiction while working on a cruise ship and has turned out four more since then. He has been writing music and lyrics for many years but has learned that his real love is storytelling. He continues to write from his home near Memphis, TN. and plans to continue writing. He says his life as an entertainer and his humble beginnings on the wrong side of the tracks in a moonshining community has help create many of his characters and stories.

Book preview

The Crash

Author- Gregory Guess

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Roy Wallace jerked his fishing pole so hard that he fell backwards and rolled to the water’s edge before finally stopping. He was laughing hysterically, so hard that the fact that his old mutt was licking him square in the face didn’t even bother him. That was the third trout he had missed that evening. They were contrary critters, and he had figured that out some time ago. Well really not that long ago since he was only thirteen years old. He had been fishing this same spot for as long as he had been fishing. He would come right after school daily and in the summer vacation months he might be here four times a week.

It was usually just him and Motley, the old mutt of a dog that wandered up to their house begging for food one cold December day and had been there ever since. At that time he was so scrawny that you could have counted his ribs, but that was then. There were two things in abundance at the Wallace house, food and affection.

Roy reeled in his line and gathered his things. He didn’t own a tackle box, because ever since his father had died, money had been tight around their house and luxury items like that only came at Christmas time. He carried his fishing gear in an old shoebox, but that suited him just fine. Come on boy, time to go home.

Motley patiently walked to his right side and one-step behind Roy and if he stopped, Motley stopped. It was funny, because people that had expensive dogs with pedigrees would cart them off to the best trainers available and spend considerable amounts of money trying to get them to do just exactly what Motley did on his own. It was an inherent loyalty, a friendship beyond human understanding. Motley appeared to be part German shepherd, maybe part Collie, who knew? In this case who cared, the two were inseparable. As they lumbered across the large open pasture away from the rolling waters of the Watauga River, Roy looked up when he heard the sound of a small airplane overhead. It was flying unusually low, so low that Motley started to run in circles as he barked at the sky, but stopped suddenly when the engine sputtered and backfired, the sound echoed through the valley as though a stick of dynamite had exploded. Roy gasped as he watched the small plane struggling to maintain its altitude, looking as though it might drop out of the sky at any moment. Once the engine caught again Roy noticed that it seemed to rev louder and faster than it had before and it had been a good thing, because directly in its path, approximately another two hundred yards, a small mountain reached into the cloudless blue sky. Some might call it a hill if they had grown up in East Tennessee, but still, it was at least a quarter of a mile or more high and from Roy’s front yard if you looked to the left diagonally, it started to rise farther away than the eye could see and meandered to the right for miles, decreasing in size until it became a collection of rolling hills.

Between the Watauga River and that string of mountains Roy had been blessed with a paradise for a playground. He and some of the boys in the neighborhood had covered almost every inch of that vast amount of land as they walked and climbed the mountains and when they tired of that, they would go back to the river for a few days floating on car tire inner tubes or fishing. Sometimes a group of them would camp over night on the riverbank and roast marshmallows or wieners. It was a slow-paced life there in the hills, but of a quality reminiscent of Huck Finn's days on the mighty Mississippi River.

Roy froze in his tracks, his eyes locked on the small single engine plane as it headed straight towards the mountaintop. Was it going to make it that was the question? The sound of the engine became a distant echo of a roar as it slowly neared the mountain and just as it looked as if it might clear the peak, Roy heard the engine sputter again and the small plane appeared to hit one of the tall tree tops sending it end over end until it disappeared into the dense canopy created by the tall hardwood trees. Roy gasped aloud and started to run, having another sixty yards to go before reaching his own backyard. He dropped his fishing pole and placed the shoebox against the back of the house in one fluid motion, causing the three chickens that were picking around in the grass to scatter noisily.

Motley responded in kind, chasing them for a brief moment, but panicked when he realized that Roy had put a pretty good distance between them as he headed across the several hundred-yard field that lay between his house and the base of the mountain. He had started out in a dead run, but as the freshly plowed dark earth sucked at his feet he had been forced to slow down some to catch his breath. Motley finally caught up with him, his gait resembling that of a Tennessee walking horse in a show arena, his front legs and chest rising high with each leap to clear the soft dirt. He circled Roy excitedly, then dove into the soft rich soil and rolled back and forth kicking his feet wildly as he covered his thick coat with the moist near black dirt, and in the next instant he stood and shook as though he had just exited the river.

Roy finally made it to the graveled road that would take him up the side of the mountain towards a small neighborhood of shanties that stretched from about midway of the mountain to the top. To the left of that semi-remote community a mile or so over, lay the adjoining mountain where the small airplane had gone down. About halfway up the graveled road Roy knew that he would pass a small wood framed house belonging to the Bledsoe family. A path veered to the left just past the house that would put him onto the steep incline that would rise to the peak where he felt sure that the plane, or what was left of it, would be. He had seen no one and it appeared to him that not a soul in the neighborhood had seen what had happened except for him and Motley.

People on this side of the river as they called it were poor, which was the one thing that they all had in common. They stayed to themselves mostly, with the exception being the children who wandered about socializing during the warm months. The summer months were mundane at best while the group of twenty or so neighborhood boys and girls ranging in age from seven to seventeen constantly searched for new ways to entertain themselves without the added luxury of money.

Even if someone had seen the airplane go down it would be questionable as to whether they would make the trek to the top of the mountain to investigate it. It would almost have had to crash in their backyard to get some of these people’s attention. Life was hard in those days for a bunch of ex-bootleggers in the early sixties and they had more to worry about than some airplane dropping out of the sky, unless of course it was full of groceries and happened to land in their yard.

Roy Wallace was the exception to the rule in that neighborhood; if people were in trouble and he could help them in some way it was his nature to do so. His father had always been that way and the things that he remembered about his father usually played a huge role in the decisions that he made.

As Roy took the narrow path to the left just past the Bledsoe house, instead of following behind, Motley had chosen to walk at his normal angle, just to the right and one-step back, even though, he was forced to plow his way through weeds and grass taller than he was. In just a few minutes the slight incline that they now navigated would turn into a forty-degree climb up the mountainside where you would at times be forced to grab a hold of small trees, low hanging limbs, or anything that you could wrap your hand around to pull yourself along the treacherous path. Roy was moving quickly today feeling an urgency to reach the top whereas normally, he would have climbed for a few yards and then would have stopped to rest while he looked out over the valley that would have grown smaller with each rest period. Both boy and dog were winded, but pushed on and with a little luck and no stumbles would reach the peak in thirty or so minutes. One slip could send you sliding back down the path sometimes head over heels until you were able to latch on to something to get yourself stopped and then you would need to sit for a moment to inspect the scrapes and bruises that inherently came with the spill. Roy was small for his age though very agile and in great physical condition due to his constant outdoor activities.

At one point Motley managed to stop and hike his leg to water a tree trunk without falling backwards and Roy couldn’t help but laugh at the dog precariously perched at an angle on the steep mountainside that made him look as if he were peeing up hill. Communications between the two were of another world and Roy’s chuckle excited Motley, inspiring him to immediately cut across at an angle to get close enough to brush against his master’s leg as they trudged farther up the steep incline. It was Motley’s way of saying, Yeah, I know it looked funny.

After another short stop for rest they reached the summit. Roy leaned against a gigantic oak tree while catching his breath and Motley lay on his side breathing heavily with his tongue extended six inches out of the side of his mouth. Roy was thirsty and knew that Motley was as well, he would normally have brought a canteen full of water when they made a hike like this, but today he just hadn’t had time to think about it. He pushed away from the tree and followed the trail again, glancing left to right for signs of the airplane. H e l l o… he shouted, but the thick canopy deadened the sound as if he were in a soundproof room. It was hot today with no breeze stirring and Roy noticed that he could smell the different varieties of plants that covered the mountain more than he ever had before, a large Mimosa tree full of pink blooms was permeating the area with its sweet aroma. They continued to climb and finally reached the highest point of the mountain where the trail started to decline a little and Roy was surprised that they had not seen any sign of the small plane. He looked around trying to get his bearings in reference to where he and Motley had been when they saw the plane hit the treetops and just as he looked up into the tall trees he spotted a section of a large tree that looked as if it had been clipped off by a giant shear. He turned forty-five degrees to the right and headed into the dense foliage saying, Come on Motley…

He had been on this mountain plenty of times, but he and the other boys usually stuck to the paths. They were narrow, having been made by animals, but were well worn and were no problem to follow. The direction in which he now headed was unchartered territory for them and he knew that if they continued to travel straight ahead that eventually they would end up in another section of the county called Minton Hollow, but that was miles away. After another hundred yards or so, Roy spotted some debris from the wreckage. His heart thumped and he picked up the pace the best that he could given the thickness of the forest. He held the white newspaper sized piece of fiberglass in his hand examining it, but had no idea what part of the plane it might be. He discarded it quickly and pushed ahead thinking that the rest of the plane would surely be near by.

At once Motley bared his teeth, the thick fur on the back of his neck standing as if someone had applied mousse to it. His low growl Roy recognized as one that told him the dog sensed imminent danger. Roy looked around hoping to see what had alarmed Motley when he spotted the man lying on the ground, his head propped against the base of a large tree. Roy darted towards the man and Motley shot past him in a full run growling and barking ferociously. The man appeared unable to move, however, his eyes reflected fear as the two approached. Hush Motley, was all that he had to say and the old dog looked as if he had been struck, his tail immediately disappeared between his legs while his whole body lowered as if he were expecting more admonishment. Roy realized that his harsh tone had confused the dog so he spoke in a consoling way when he said, Its ok boy…

When they reached the man Roy slowed and said, Mister, are you all right? A look of relief came over the man’s face once he realized that he was in no danger from the two and he spoke so softly that Roy could barely make out what he was saying.

Oh, I’ve seen better days…I think my back is broken.

Roy was surprised when the man displayed a weak smile and appeared to have maintained some sense of humor given what he had just gone through.

Motley sniffed at the man’s foot while Roy knelt close to the man and asked, Is there anything that I can do for you sir?

The faint smile left his face when he said, I’m afraid there’s not much anyone is going to be able to do for me son, I’m busted up pretty bad inside. He started to cough so badly that his whole upper body convulsed and Roy could tell that his lungs were filling up with what he figured was blood. Roy instinctively placed his hand on the man’s chest not knowing what else to do and said, Just try to lay still mister, I’m going to get you some help…was there anyone else in that plane with you?

The man’s face reflected his memory of the crash as he said, Yes…but they are dead, I’m the only one that survived. His breathing was labored as he said, But listen, I want you to do something for me."

Roy leaned closer because the man’s voice had grown weaker since the coughing spell and he said, Yes sir, just tell me what you want me to do…

The man hesitated as if he were pondering how to say what he was about to ask then said, Listen, there’s money in that plane …and some bundles wrapped in brown paper…I want you to hide the bundles somewhere and take the two suit cases, they are full of money, and you can keep one for yourself if you will see that the other suitcase gets to my wife and daughter. He started to cough again even worse than the previous spell and his breathing became ragged. When he tried to inhale Roy could hear him strangling on what he figured was his own blood. Roy was scared and didn’t know what to do, so he started to push on the man’s chest as if to try to help him breathe when his head flopped to the side and his face became slack in a way that Roy instinctively knew that he had died. Roy jerked his hand away as if he were unsure whether he might have initiated the man’s death by pushing on his chest. He sat back quickly and could feel his eyes welling with tears. Motley, sensing his distress came to his side and began licking his right hand to comfort him. The man had entrusted him to deliver money and he didn’t even know who he was. He jumped to his feet and rushed ahead to the plane lodged angularly between some large trees, one wing was missing and only a small portion of the other was intact. Roy looked at the small plane for a moment and then walked to the opening on the side of the plane where the door had been and stuck his head inside. Two more people lay motionless in the plane, their bodies strewn in a manner that left Roy without any doubt that they were in fact dead. One of them, obviously the pilot had been nearly decapitated in the crash and blood had sprayed the cockpit area. As Roy looked to the back of the plane he spotted the bundles, one ripped partially open with what looked like hay packed tightly inside it. Then he saw the two suitcases, they had been thrown around in the crash but appeared to be intact. Roy realized that he needed to act quickly incase others had seen the crash and were on their way there. He grabbed the suitcases first, one in each hand and jumped from the plane to find a safe place to put them for the time being. He ran straight ahead into some dense foliage and tucked them beneath some bushes and turned back for the plane.

Motley was starting to enjoy this part of their adventure; he loved it when Roy ran and would always run and jump nipping at his clothes as he did it. When Roy reached the plane again he jumped inside and grabbed one of the bundles and it was surprisingly light, so he grabbed another and with one under each arm repeated the trip back to the bushes. There were six bundles in all and two by two he hid them in the thick brush where he had placed the suitcases. It dawned on him that he had no idea how to find the man’s wife and daughter so he sprinted back to the man and though it bothered him to do so, he rolled him to one side and felt for a wallet in his back pocket. After pulling it out he found a drivers license as well as a picture that he was sure was the man’s wife and daughter posed with him as the three of them smiled happily. Roy stared at the photo thinking of his own father and how he and his mother and father had taken photos the same way, him in the middle with the parents smiling proudly at the rear.

Roy heard voices and as he surveyed the area he could hear what sounded like several people beating and thrashing their way through the dense forest coming from the opposite direction in which he and Motley had come. He whispered, Come on Motley, then he ran stooped over keeping his body low and didn’t stop until they were several yards away near where he had placed the suitcases and the bundles. He slipped into the bushes pulling Motley to him as he said, Shhh gotta be quiet boy. Motley’s tail wagged slowly thinking that this was just another part of the game, so he lay quietly with his head resting between his paws still breathing rapidly. Roy watched as the four uniformed men walked slowly, swinging machetes to whack at whatever got in their way. They had obviously come in from the backside of the mountain and it was probably why it had taken them so long to get there.

Motley started a low rumble of a growl deep in his throat and Roy popped him lightly on his head saying No, in a whisper and Motley shushed immediately. There were some things that Motley understood completely and that was one of them.

Roy strained to listen as the four men walked up to Dale Henson and repeated just what Roy had done only moments before. The green clad officer rifled through the wallet removing everything in it and finally read the man’s name from some other form of identification that had been there. It wasn’t the driver’s license, because it was now in Roy’s pocket along with the picture. Roy had seen money in the wallet, but had left it where it was not even bothering to count it, all he knew was that it was more than he had ever seen at one time, probably a hundred dollars or more he figured.

The men spent little time with Dale Henson and had moved on to the battered fuselage of the small plane. He could hear them as they inspected the crash, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eventually they came back out and wrapped yellow police tape around the wreckage and three of the officers left, leaving one to stand guard over the aircraft and its contents. Roy and Motley lay quietly as they watched the man wandering around the area looking at every little piece of the plane that he could find while he continually smoked cigarettes and mumbled to himself absently.

The sun was sinking and Roy knew that he needed to get home before dark or his mother would have his hide as she liked to say, so when the remaining crash site investigator ambled to the far side of the wreckage picking up bits and pieces of fiberglass that were strewn through the woods as if someone had dumped a large bag filled with them from high in the sky, he made his move towards the suitcases. He grabbed a handle in each hand and moved backwards away from the site. Once a safe distance from the crash site the two sat to rest again and curiosity had gotten the best of Roy. He popped the spring-loaded latches and peered inside but couldn’t believe what he saw. Packed as tightly as they could, someone had filled the case with packets of one hundred dollar bills each packet with a paper band around it with two thousand dollars printed neatly on it. Roy’s eyes grew large as he tried to do some math in his head, but soon realized that he couldn’t figure out how much money it actually was so he closed the latches and started to move again. Roy had a tingling sensation all over his body, the thoughts of having that much money was something that he had never considered. The man had told him that he could keep one of the suitcases as long as he delivered the other to his wife and daughter.

Roy and Motley worked their way down the side of the mountain slowly because the use of his hands had been diminished from carrying the heavy suitcases. At times he had been forced to sit on his butt and slide down the steepest parts of the mountain. They were traveling in uncharted territory because of where the crash had taken place. There was no path, but Roy knew that he was traveling in the right direction because when the dense foliage cleared at times, he could see down into the valley where he lived. He estimated that they were a couple of hundred yards to the right of the well-worn path and that suited him fine because he didn’t want anyone to see him with the suitcases. Everyone in the community knew him and his mother and would wonder what was in the suitcases. Most of the people on this side of the river didn’t own a suitcase and neither did he, until now.

He planned to walk the fence line that bordered the freshly plowed field in front of his house concealing himself behind the growth that bordered the fence. When they plowed the field, the tractor would leave a three to four foot border at each edge. Shrubs, weeds and tall grass grew there in the summer months and would easily conceal both him and Motley as long as they stayed close to it. The highway that ran parallel to the fence, called Lovers Lane, ran all of the way into the city limits in one direction and dead-ended into the highway leading to Stony Creek, another part of the county. Roy had figured that if he could make it the few hundred yards along the fence line undetected and cross the two-lane highway just before he reached the house he could deposit the suitcases in a dilapidated building on their property that they had always referred to as the barn.

It wasn’t nor had it ever been a barn, it was too small to house animals, but they had used it for storage and kept the lawnmower and a few other items there. It did have a loft that Roy thought would be a great place for the suitcases until he figured out what to do. Roy and Motley made it there just before dark and after storing the suitcases and rushing to the house his mother was pacing as he walked through the door.

Roy, where have you been…I’ve told you a half dozen times I want you in this house when I get home… Where have you been?

I was fishing earlier…then me and Motley just went walking…

Motley…Motley, you talk about that dog as if he were human, get washed up supper is almost ready. Roy’s eyes dropped to the floor as he left the room feeling deflated. Alice Wallace could only stay mad at Roy for a couple of minutes tops and when she looked into those sky blue eyes that were identical to his father’s…she turned to putty.

Their lives had been so perfect, not that they had a lot, but neither of them had cared. They had Roy, who they both adored, and William had been the perfect husband, sweet and kind and the best-looking man on that side of the river. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about him. To die so young seemed so unfair to her, who would ever have thought that he would have an aneurism at thirty years of age.

Roy returned from washing up and could see that she was still upset so he walked to her and locked his arms around her waist and said in that voice that also reminded her of his father, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you mom. Alice realized at that moment that her son would be yanking her heartstrings for the rest of her life. She returned the hug and held him for a few moments searching for the right words before she spoke.

I just worry about you Roy, that’s all, you’re all I’ve got in this world and if something ever happened to you…

Nothing is going to happen to me mom, I’m always careful…and I know you don’t believe me, but Motley would protect me if somebody tried to hurt me.

She couldn’t help but smile at him, he was so convinced that that mutt could protect him from anything and she said, Ok I’m sorry Roy, I know that I worry too much sometimes, but I just love you so much…

I love you too mom, just try not to worry so much, I’ll be ok.

Chapter Two

Roy tossed and turned all night and had thought once about going back to the barn to check on the suitcases, but decided against it. His mother was a light sleeper and he knew that he would have to concoct some kind of story as to why he went out during the night. His dreams had been crazy and of course he had been spending a lot of money in them. He had bought things for his mother and Motley, as well as a brand new Schwinn bicycle that he had seen at the Western Auto store down town. He had awakened abruptly from that dream because Motley was barking right outside of his window. It was nothing unusual, Motley barked at night all of the time, could be another dog, an opossum, or anything breathing that happened to wander into his protected territory which consisted of the house and the yard.

His mother woke him for breakfast as she always did, even when school was out for the summer. She felt guilty enough leaving him there