Rescued

By W.Wm. Mee

Wayland Crow, the sheriff of the sleepy little modern town of Robert Lee, Texas, always believed he was born in the right place, but at the wrong time. He believed he’d ‘missed all the fun’ by at least a hundred and fifty years or so. Maybe even more. Maybe even back to the time of Davy Crocket or Dan’l Boone! The truth be told, Wayland would have settled for just about anytime back when they used horses instead of cars, said ‘Yes Mam and no Sir’ instead of ‘Hey Dude!’ --- and as long as they had a lot of guns! So when his girlfriend’s sister gets kidnapped and held for ransom down in Argentina, Wayland sees a chance to ‘ride to the rescue’

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.Wm. Mee
• Release date: Aug 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310043765

W.Wm. Mee

Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at [e-mail]'ll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

Book preview

‘RESCUED’

by

W.Wm.Mee

A modern kidnapping

but an old-time ‘rescue’

A ‘Wayland Crow’ Novel

Dedicated to my son Jason.

Copyright 2014 W.Wm.Mee

Smashwords Edition.

INTRODUCTION

‘Enter the Reluctant Hero’

Wayland Crow always believed he was born in the right place, but at the wrong time. He believed he’d ‘missed all the fun’ by at least a hundred and fifty years or so. Maybe even more! Maybe even all the way back to the good ol’ Davy Crocket and Dan’l Boone times! The truth be told, Wayland would have settled for just about anytime back when they used horses instead of cars, said ‘Yes Mam and no Sir’ instead of ‘Hey Dude!’ --- and as long as they had a lot of guns!

Now, sitting in his small sheriff’s office in the little town of Robert Lee, Texas, he glanced up at the old picture on the wall for what must have been the godzillionth time. It had hung there for over ten years now.

Wayland’s ‘namesake’ at the top left

It was a blow up of an old tin-type his grandmother had given him just before she passed away. Fresh back from his second tour over in ‘towel-head country’, he’d just been elected the county sheriff and had gone to see the woman that had all but raised him as her own.

Wayland’s mother had died a year or so after his father passed away from a gunshot wound --- another bit of baggage that he carried around along with all the rest. The tin-type and his father’s .45 Peacemaker had been the old lady’s parting gifts to him --- that and a stern admonishment to ‘smile more, marry a nice Texas girl and make lots of babies!’

He’d been working on the ‘nice Texas girl’ part --- her name was Wynona. The ‘smile’ part seemed to be taking a bit longer. As for the babies, well, one step at a time.

What happened next didn’t make the smiling part any easier.

***

Chapter 1: ‘Bad News’

The phone in the sheriff’s office of Robert Lee, Texas was a replica of one of those old time 1920’s jobs that you used to crank to get a hold of Thelma the ‘switch-board lady’. Of course, ‘Thelma’ was long gone, along with the crank and the switchboard, but Wayland liked as much ‘old time shit’ in his life as possible, including his phone.

It had already rung twice that morning: the first call was from Ruth Hobbs, the pastor’s wife, reporting some vandalism over at the church; the second call had been Wynona reminding him about his dentist appointment with Doc Greely a 2 PM. When it rang again just after getting back from his lunch over at Rosie’s diner, he thought it might be Wynona checking in again --- since she knew how much he hated going to the dentist, she didn’t want him to ‘conveniently’ forget or get ‘bogged down in bloody paperwork’.

Well it was Wynona alright, but it had nothing to do with the dentist.

The conversation went something like this:

Sheriff’s office, Wayland drawled, leaning back in the wooden swivel chair that had been there when his great grandfather had held the office.

Wayland?! They’ve got her!

Who, Wynona? Who do they ‘got’?

My sister! Mary-Beth!

Mary-Beth? But she’s in Panama.

She’s in Argentina with a girlfriend from school, and the bastards got her!

How do you know?

Because the sons-o-bitches just phoned me, that’s how! Some bean-picker with a heavy accent told me that they have Mary-Beth and that unless I send them fifty thousand dollars they’ll kill her!

Silence for a few heartbeats while Wayland thought.

‘Could be a joke? A nasty prank! Maybe those Williams brother were behind it? Darryl and Lloyd are both still in their teens, but bad seeds nonetheless!’ Wayland already suspected that the two brothers were behind the vandalism at the church.

Wayland?! You still there?!

"Just thinking, darlin’. Did you actually talk to Mary-Beth?"

Sure as hell did! She was crying and there was a lot of loud Spanish music in the background, but it was Mary-Beth alright!

How do you know for sure?

A deep sigh, then: Jesus H. Kee-riste, Wayland! I recon I’d know the sound of my own baby sister’s voice!

But she was crying, darlin’. And there was all that music.

"Damnation, Wayland! I’ve heard Mary-Beth crying all her life long! She was a spoilt cry-baby back then and she still is today, but she’s my little sister and we gotta do something!"

We will, darlin, we will. Now, this Panama fella say how he expected to get the money?

"Argentina, for Christ sake! And the bastard said I was to wire the money to some post office box. Said he’d call back later today with the details! Wayland, I don’t have anywhere near fifty thousand dollars and neither do my parents!"

It don’t matter, darlin’ --- we aint paying a red cent.

***

The slanting rays of the setting sun flowed in the windows of the small but tidy house just outside of Robert Lee, Texas. Four people were sitting anxiously waiting for the call from Argentina. Well, three actually, as Wayland was having a beer and scratching his hound dog’s ears.

The three nervous ones staring at the phone were Wynona, Avis Dupree and Elmer Fisk. Avis was Wayland’s part time secretary. Avis also helped out Wynona at the school library on Mondays and Fridays and served as the court clerk on Thursdays and whenever else Judge Campbell needed her. Avis’s full time occupation however seemed to be Robert Lee’s ‘match-maker’, and she had been doing her level best to hook Wayland up with the beautiful out-of-work anthropologist and part time school librarian, Wynona McFee, for some time now. As for Elmer Fisk, he was Wayland’s childhood friend, hunting buddy and part-time deputy.

Elmer, fiddling with his as yet unopened can of beer, leaned in towards Wayland and lowered his voice. Ah, Wayland, Wynona told me that you aint gunna pay no money. That right?

That’s right.

But if ya don’t pay ‘em, they’ll kill Mary-Beth. That last part came out a bit loud and Elmer nervously looked over to where Wynona was staring out the window at the rolling prairie. I mean, aint that how it works?

Mostly.

Mostly? Elmer repeated. "Hell, the other night on ‘America’s Most Wanted’ this one fella sent a kid’s ear back to his momma just to prove he wasn’t messin’ around! You don’t want no ears turning up here, do ya Wayland?!"

The icy stare he received back would have stopped most men in their tracks, but Elmer had been seeing that cold, soul-searing stare all his life and though it still shook him some, he could endure it when needs be.

It won’t come to that, Elmer. Wayland finally said as he continued to scratch the hound’s head.

How do ya know what’s gunna happen?

The cold stare suddenly got a few degrees colder Because I aint gunna let it.

Just then the phone rang, causing Elmer and Wynona to both jump and Avis to drop the plate of sandwiches she was bringing into the room. Wayland gave the hound’s head one last pat while it went for the sandwiches and he reached for the receiver.

It was one of those modern cordless phones, but Wayland used it anyway.

Ya? What do ya want?

Is Wynona McFee dere? a heavily accented voice asked.

Ya. What do ya want?

A pause, then: I want to talk to Wynona McFee.

No. You talk to me.

Who da hell are you?!

I’m the guys that’s gunna hang up the phone unless you talk to me.

Listen asshole! Put da fucking woman --- !

Click!

Wayland put the cordless phone back in its receiver.

Shit, Wayland! Avis said, suddenly gone whiter than the bread she had made the sandwiches with. Wynona and Elmer stood by silently; Elmer slack jawed in shock and Wynona glaring daggers at you know who.

The silence stretched away seemingly forever.

Then the phone rang again.

Wynona moved towards it but Wayland held up a hand and she seemed to hit an invisible wall.

Two more rings before Wayland picked it up.

Ya. What do you want?

I want to talk to da fucking --- !

Click!

Jesus Christ, Wayland! Wynona yelled. Avis went to her and gave her a hug.

Elmer looked like he wanted to do the same, but moved towards Wayland instead. Ah, maybe you should let the fella talk, Wayland. I mean, what do ya think?

Those ice blue eyes washed over the deputy as they had on many previous occasions, usually when Elmer had done something either foolish or dangerous. What I think, Elmer, is that unless we get the upper hand with these fellas, we’ll never see Mary-Beth again.

Ya, but Wayland --- .

The phone rang again.

Wayland let it ring five times before answering.

Joo are one bad assed mudderfucker! Joo ---!

Click!

"Wayland, please! Wynona wailed. That’s my sister they’ve got!

I know that, darlin’, but if we just send the money, she’s dead as soon as they get it.

"But we don’t even have the bloody money!"

We won’t need it, darlin’. Just a few thousand for expenses and I’ve got that.

"Expenses? Expenses for what?"

Plain tickets mostly. That and buying guns when we get there.

Get there? Wynona asked. Where are we going?

You aint going nowhere, honey. But I’m off to Panama.

The phone rang again. This time Wayland picked it up right away.

Let me talk to right Mary-Beth now! If I don’t hear her voice in the next five seconds I’m smashing this phone and you get nothing!

Silence, something whispered harshly in Spanish, then a woman’s voice came on the line.

Wynona?! Is that you?!

No, Mary-Beth. It’s Wayland. Did they hurt you?

Hurt me? Yes! No, not really! I mean I’m not bleeding or anything --- but they scared the shit out of me! Let me talk to --- .

The phone was pulled away from Mary-Beth and the guy with the heavy accent was back on. So, tough guy, joo know da bitch is okay! Now, shut da fuck up ‘n listen! I want ---.

Click!

This time no-one said anything, but the look Wynona gave Wayland was far from a ‘loving glance’.

When the phone rang the next time Wayland picked it up on the second ring and started speaking. "Now it’s your turn to listen, Chico! I’m bringing the fifty thousand, not sending it! I’ll hand it over to you personally. Phone me back at noon tomorrow, I’ll need that long to get the money organized. I’ll hand over fifty thousand dollars cash, with an extra twenty thrown in if Mary-Beth is allowed to talk to her sister right now! So what do ya say, Chico? Do we have a deal or not?"

Nothing, then a muffled ‘wait a minute’ in Spanish. A stranger’s voice shouted something. Someone else swore, then the guy was back. Ya, we got a deal, tough guy, but da price is now one hundred thousand!

You’ll take seventy-five or I hang up right now --- and Chico, if I do, don’t bother calling back!

More muffled swearing, then. "Seventy-five thousand cash! We’ll call back tomorrow at noon and tell you where to go in Buenos Aires. And don’t try to fuck us, cowboy, or da bitch dies!"

Put her back on, Chico, and call me at noon.

The phone was handed off and Mary-Beth shouted into the phone. Wynona?!

She’s right here, Mary-Beth. Be strong, we’re coming for you. Two, three days at the most. Wayland handed the phone to Wynona then looked over at his deputy. Elmer, you still have Leon Elmtree’s phone number on that fancy cell of yours?

Guess so. Aint used it since you called him last fall to come hunting with us. Damn, that boy can shoot!

After nearly twelve years as a Navy sniper, with several serious wounds and a ‘registered’ one hundred and twenty-seven verified long distance kills to his credit, sniper Leon Elmtree had finally had enough of the killing and handed in his resignation. Wanting to see the world with his own eyes instead of through a rifle scope, he took a job on the security staff of a luxury cruise ship --- the same one that Wayland and Wynona had taken last year. Leon and several others had helped the ‘Texas lovebirds’ persuade a bunch of modern day Somali pirates to ‘go forth and sin no more’. (The rest of ‘that’ little tale, Gentle Reader, can be found in the novel ‘God’s Cleansing’ by yours truly.)

After the smoke had cleared and the bodies of the pirates had been dragged away, the two men had become good friends, and though he lived deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Tennessee, ex master gunnery sergeant Leon Elmtree had been more than happy to fly down to Robert Lee Texas for a week long hunting trip last fall.

Now that Wayland had decided to go get Mary-Beth himself, Leon had been his first choice as ‘backup’. While Wynona tried to calm her near hysterical sister, Elmer, his brow furrowed in concentration, pushed several buttons and handed the cell to Wayland --- who took it as though it was an angry rattler.

Leon? Wayland here.

A voice with a Tennessee twang came back over Elmer’s ‘smart phone’. How the hell are ya, man? Good to hear from ya! You gunna make it up here for the spring turkey hunt?

Afraid not, Leon. Got myself some bigger game to bag and was wondering if you’d be interested.

Hell, Wayland, I’m always interested. Aint a whole lot to do here in Blue Lick but shoot guns, drink ‘shine’ and watch the grass grow.

What about that girl you were fixing to marry? She was a real firecracker!

"She was that! But the country life didn’t appeal to her. ‘Too hot, too slow and too damn empty!’ were her parting words. She’s a big city girl and that’s where she went."

Sorry, Leon.

Ah, it aint nothing. I’m used to the single life; besides, snipers like being alone.

Well, pard, you up for a little South American hog hunt?

Damn right I am! But would that be the two legged kind or the four legged?

Wayland chuckled into the phone. Two legged n’ the kind that shoots back.

Outstanding! That’s the best type! Do we bring our own firepower or buy there?

I aint military, Leon, just a country sheriff. It’ll be a commercial flight so we’ll buy what we need when we get there. Hold on a minute, Leon. Wynona darlin’, what’s the name of the hotel Mary-Beth stayed in down there in Panama?

Wynona had been off the phone for some time now and was sipping some scotch Avis had found. "It’s Buenos Aires, Argentina for Christ sake! The King’s Arms out by the airport."

Wayland passed on the information to Leon and told him he’d meet him there tomorrow night or early the next day. Leon said he’d check out the flights and book one right away and they hung up. When Elmer had his fancy cell back, Wayland went over and gave Wynona a big hug. She clung to him tightly, then whispered in his ear.

"I’m coming with you, Wayland, and I won’t take ‘no way Darlin’ for an answer! Once we get there, you, me and Leon will get Mary-Beth back --- even if we have to kill every last one of the bastards!"

Wayland took a deep breath, sighed and nodded. Alright Darlin’; one way or another we’ll get Mary-Beth home.

***

Chapter 2: ‘Chico And The Man’

Don Carlos Delajairo’s Horse Ranch

Don Carlos isn’t going to like this one bit! said Manuel, a skinny little man with a pocked face, greased back hair and a big gun stuck in his pants.

Benito Hernandez, the man Wayland had called ‘Chico’, turned on the smaller man like a dog protecting a bone. "It’s not Don Carlos I’m worried about, but that crazy son of his! Ricardo is one loco hombre! I once saw him horsewhip a worker for accidentally getting his boots dirty!"

Ricky can get crazy alright, Manuel agreed, "but he still wants his cut. As long as he gets his money he won’t care how we get it; but the old don is different! He is a man of principal who won’t like us kidnapping gringos, especially women!"

I don’t give a shit what you or the old man think! Benito sneered. "You weren’t listening to that cold hearted Americano on the phone, I was! Did you see how many times that bastardo hung up on me! He must have a pair of ‘conjones’ the size of a bull!"

"It’s your ‘conjones’ I’d worry about, not some gringo cowboy’s! Manuel fired back at Benito. If Ricky gets his money