Penny's Pass The Story - Part 10.

10.

 

Sheriff Milton eyed Polanski with suspicion. He’d never trusted his junior deputy, who was far too pretty for his liking. He adjusted his hat for the umpteenth time and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to look inscrutable.

    “I wouldn’t say baffled Polanski, but I just got back from visiting a dead man, so I guess you could say I’m intrigued.

    Polanski’s handsome face gave nothing away. He stepped inside the office and closed the door. “A dead man you say?”

    “Dead as a flat racoon on the interstate.” Milton confirmed.

    “That would be Amos Snodgrass?” Polanski casually walked over to the window and began slowly twisting the hanging pole that inverted the slats of the venetian blind, darkening the room bit by bit.

    Milton sat up straight, his unease palpable. “What the….”

    At that moment Polanski turned quickly, and in one fluid movement threw the knife that he’d kept concealed in his shirt sleeve, at Milton’s head. The spinning blade crossed the room in an instant, flashing briefly as it passed through a thin shaft of sunlight; then a dull ‘thunk’, followed by a gasp. Milton slumped back, blood gushing from his face. Protruding from his left eye was the knife’s ornately carved bone handle, giving him the appearance of being pinned to his chair by a stake. The office fell silent except for a faint rattle emerging from the dying sheriff’s throat.

    Polanski calmly walked over and retrieved his weapon, wiping the blade clean on Milton’s food-stained tie. He pulled the Sheriff’s hat down tight over his head, covering his wound, and span his chair around away from the door. It wouldn’t fool a curious visitor, but the casual observer, passing by the office, would think he was asleep; assuming the hat stayed in place, which it hadn’t managed to, even once, in the nineteen years its owner had worn it.

    Polanski probably had thirty minutes at best to wrap up the whole messy business of Mornington Heights. Failing wasn’t an option; Jack Seville’s last message had made that point to him very clearly.

    It was time to pay the Padgets a visit.

 

Marandina watched Jenny as she paced the room, the gun in her hand waving agitatedly, as she remonstrated with herself. 

    “I’m so dumb, of course they’re not going to let me out. They’ll never let me out,” she almost sobbed.

    “I can help you,” Marandina said.

    Jenny turned and looked at him scornfully. She raised the gun again and pointed it at his chest. “Why would you — Mister ‘straight as a die policeman’, want to help ‘little ol’ criminal’ me?” She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

    “Look, said Marandina, if it was in fact a policemen that killed Snodgrass, then none of us are safe. We should work together.” He shrugged his shoulders.

    “So you can arrest the lot of us and be the hero?” Oliver chipped in. He turned to Jenny, imploring her, “Don’t trust him Jenny, he’s a cop, you can never trust a cop.”

    “Why should I trust you?” Jenny directed her question at Marandina.

    “Can I sit down?” He responded. Showing his open hands as if to say, ‘I’m no threat.’

    “Sure, sit.” Jenny gestured with the gun, indicating that Marandina should take a seat on the armchair next to him.

    Marandina settled his wide frame into the chair and sat, straight backed, big hands flat on his thighs, which looked like tree-trunks in the police issue trousers he’d had tailored specially. His button-down, short-sleeved shirt fit so perfectly it seemed to be painted on, outlining his bulging biceps and chiselled pectoral muscles. His badge gleamed in the afternoon sun.

    He looked at each of them before starting to speak. “Look, here’s how I see it. “You two aren’t working alone.” He let this sink in for a moment. “I’d lay odds, you and the now deceased Amos Snodgrass were in this counterfeiting thing together and that the three of you are working for person or persons unknown.” He paused. “And I think Milton, who is a crooked bastard if ever there was one, is on to you; at least he’s suspicious.”

    Jenny snorted with derision. “Think your pretty smart don’t you?” But her eyes betrayed her surprise at Marandina’s accurate analysis.

    “There’s something else, have you met our junior deputy, Polanski?” He asked Jenny.

    “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” Jenny shook her head.

    “Well he’s the only other policeman in Mornington Heights. And it wasn’t me that roughed up Snodgrass, or, I’m pretty certain, Sheriff Milton, so….”

    “So you think it was this Polanski?” Oliver said.

    “There’s something off about him, I’ve always thought so.” Said Marandina. 

    “He doesn’t look the type to me,” said Oliver. “Way too good looking.”

    Marandina seemed to bristle at this. “Being handsome doesn’t exclude you from being dangerous,” he said emphatically.

    Oliver rolled his eyes.

    At that moment a sound from the kitchen made them all start and look towards that room.

    “Who’s there?” Jenny shouted, swinging the gun around to cover the open door. 

    There was no answer. Instead, the deafening sound of breaking glass and splintering wood came from behind them and when they turned back — there, standing by the window he’d just smashed in, was a smiling Polanski, pump-action shotgun in hand, pointed directly at Marandina.

 

    “Pavel!” Jenny exclaimed, her jaw dropping open, her gun arm dangling uselessly at her side.

    Polanski, or Pavel Ivanov, to use the name on his Russian birth certificate, shot a sideways glance at Jenny. “Don’t come any closer Jenny, and get your hands up where I can see them, I don’t want to hurt you, unless I have to,” he said without emotion.

    “But Pavel, I don’t under….”

    “Be quiet.” He hissed through his teeth. “Put the gun down and kick it over to me”

    Jenny did as she was told then slowly raised her hands and stared at him disbelievingly.

    Ivanov indicated that Deputy Marandina and Oliver should do the same.

    He addressed all of them. “Get me the plates and the bills and we can all get out of here alive,” he said. “If you don’t I’ll carry out my boss’s orders and you won’t be leaving this place, ever. You understand me?”

    Marandina spoke up, “You won’t get away with this Polanski, rotten cops never do.” His expression was defiant, challenging. 

    “Polanski is lying dead in a ditch Marandina, where I left him. He never made it to his new job, I took his place, and you never even guessed,” he sneered proudly.    

           “And what about when your boss finds out you haven’t carried out his orders? Or are you just waiting until you get those plates until you kill us all?” Marandina fired back.

    Oliver began to cry. “I don’t want to die, just give him the plates Jenny, please, just do what he says.”

    Jenny shrugged, “I don’t care, you want the plates Pavel? They’re in my car, right outside.” Her face was blank, she looked drained of any fight.

    “Get them, said Pavel, and don’t forget — he walked over to Oliver and held the shotgun to his head — his fate is in your hands. You try and trick me and he dies.” He rested a finger on the trigger.

    Jenny looked at Marandina who raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘do as he says’ . She left the room.

    Pavel Ivanov sat down and waited, keeping a close eye on his two captives.

    “So what’s your plan Polanski, you’re just going to walk out of here and you expect me to let you?” said Marandina. 

    Pavel looked irritated. “It’s Pavel, you big durak.

    “Whatever.” Marandina turned the corners of his mouth down. 

    “And what are you going to do about it anyway?” Pavel stood and walked over to Marandina, standing just far enough away from him to be out of reach of a grab, whilst keeping his shotgun at waist height, pointing at Marandina’s stomach.

    “Maybe I don’t need to,” said Marandina.

    “What is that supposed to mean?” Pavel said.

    “Like I said, when your  boss finds out you’ve double crossed him, he won’t be happy.” Said Marandina.

    Pavel tutted disdainfully. “He isn’t going to find out, and if he does, I’ll be long gone. You can get a long way with millions of dollars in cash and a license to print more” he said smugly.

    “Must be a pretty stupid boss I guess. Remind me of his name?” Said Marandina.

    Pavel snorted derisively. “Like I’m going to tell you that.”    

    Marandina smiled, “It was worth a try.”

    

    Jenny came back with the plates and two hessian bags.

    “Put them down here,” Pavel indicated the floor in front of him. She complied.

    Pavel then took several cable ties he’d evidently brought with him, threw them at Jenny, and ordered her to tie the other two up. 

    Reluctantly, Jenny stood behind Marandina and took his wrists, pulling them behind him. As she did so, Marandina turned his head and whispered some words to her.  Her eyes widened and she rocked back on her heels. “You… you sound… different.” She said.

    Marandina said nothing; he just stared at Jenny, his expression hard to read.

    “What are you two talking about? Shouted Pavel. “Get on with it Jenny, my trigger finger is getting very nervous.” He looked around the room as if expecting someone to emerge from the walls and attack him.

    Marandina turned to Pavel. “You’ve never met your boss have you Pavel?” There was a hard edge to his voice.

    Pavel Ivanov stared back at the big man in uniform. “What makes you say that.” He sounded rattled.

    Marandina ignored the question. “My bet is that you’ve never met him because there is safety in anonymity. You can’t identify a man you’ve never met. So your instructions come on the phone or via messages right?”

    Pavel fidgeted with his gun nervously. “Shut your mouth and sit down,” he spat.

    “So you must have a way of being sure where those instructions come from yes? Like a phrase or a word maybe?” Marandina went on, his tone even but insistent.

    “If you don’t shut that mouth,  I’ll do it for you!” Pavel advanced towards Marandina, raising his gun as he moved.

    “Penny For Your Thoughts? Pavel? Marandina said, leaning towards him menacingly.

    The words had a profound effect on Pavel Ivanov. He stumbled as if punched in the gut. “No… no… he stuttered. It can’t be… you can’t be…. Jack Seville??” His aim wavered, the weight of his gun seemingly so heavy he couldn’t hold it up. In a flash Jack Seville launched himself at Pavel punching him so hard on the jaw that his feet left the ground and he crashed against the wall, virtually unconscious. Seville, muscles bulging under his police uniform, closed in to finish the job. Oliver screamed and Jenny stood, mouth open, unable to move.

    In the confusion that ensued, no-one noticed the apparition that had entered from the kitchen. It was a terrifying sight, lurching forward in a rolling, staggering motion like some demented beast; roaring in anger and pain, bloodied and torn, half blind. The beast raised its arm and pulled the trigger of its weapon twice — the noise was deafening, muzzle flashes lit the room like lightning strikes and the smell of gunpowder immediately filled the air.

    Two bodies fell to the ground.

 

Epilogue

 

The anonymous, grey, Ford sedan merged onto the highway and headed west, bound for California. Jenny was at the wheel while Oliver read the map. There were no mobile phones in this vehicle, no way to track it.

    They’d made their one promised stop, on their way out of town, to the house of Sheriff Gideon Milton, who was recuperating in bed, one eye covered in gauze. One million in untraceable notes had been delivered and gratefully received.

 

    They had plans, Jenny and Oliver. Plans to raise children, plans to look up family members. But no plans to get involved in crime. Well, not immediately anyway.

 

 

https://www.abctales.com/story/penny4athought/pass-story-chapter-9