The Man with the Missing Fingers

Part 2 - SEVEN

April 30

 

The cabin was divided up into two floors.

            On the main floor downstairs, there was a propane cook stove and oven, a propane refrigerator, and coal furnace hulked beside an armchair. There were two tables, one low and the other high. Two easy padded chairs, and an old settee respectively serviced the tables. The low table was topped by a laptop and a hardcover book. A table lamp sat on a custom cabinet by the window with the awning. And a bed occupied a little area in the corner. Upstairs was a loft with a second sleeping area. A pull-down ladder connected it to the floor.

            The cabin was presently empty. Varnished plywood wainscoted the whole interior walls to a height of ten feet.

            “Who else is living in here?” Scarr asked.

            “Nobody––”

            “Go on, sit down.”

            Jeter sat at the high table on one of the padded chairs. Scarr lay his bullet-riddled coat over the settee.

            “Alright, now listen up,” he said, standing across from the high table, the Eagle watchful in his hand. “You were part of the crew that took down an armored car a few days ago. I want their names, their location, and the payroll, whatever’s left of it. I also want the dagger you people took. Where is it?”

            Jeter blinked. He looked at Scarr and blinked some more like he had trouble focusing his eyes.

            “You’re a bit of a slow study. Let’s do this one question at a time Jeter. Let’s start with names.”

            “You’re the guy who’s after us, aren’t you?”

            “That’s not an answer.”

            “So Blanchard’s dead,” Jeter said again. “And now you mean to kill me.”

            “Just answer my questions, Jeter.”

            “I don’t talk to no stranger, buddy.”

            Scarr looked at Jeter and grabbed his cell phone from his pants’ pocket. He dialed a number without taking his eyes off Jeter.

            When the voice of Alastair Windsor Sr. came on, Scarr said into the phone, “I found another one. If you have something to say to him, now’s the time.”

            Scarr listened for a few moments. Then setting the cell phone on the table, he said to Jeter, “He wants to speak to you.”

            He put the phone on speaker. The voice of the old man frizzled into the cabin.

            “You murdering piece of shit! I only wish I could be there to see your face right now. You have any idea who you knocked? Why did you have to kill everybody in that fucking truck? Now a little girl is going to have to grow up without her father because scum like you have no good judgment. I thought I’d have more things to say to you, but animals are animals; you don’t speak to them. You flail them to get things through. And the rabid ones, you put down. So chew on those last minutes you have left, and think about the little hole your death will make in this world–– Take me off speaker!”

            Scarr grabbed the phone off the table and turned off the speaker. After a short listen, Scarr said to Mr. Windsor Sr.,

“We haven’t broached the question of the dagger yet… You’ll know as soon as I know.”

            Scarr hung up. In all this time, his eyes, and that of the Eagle, were still very much locked on Jeter.

            “Who the fuck was that?” Jeter groaned.

            Scarr nearly smiled. “Obviously the man you robbed.”

            “Windsor? Didn’t figure that old jeweler had this kind of muscle.”



S.K.

Edited: 15.04.2019

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