“Death On The Breeze”
A Danny Stark Mystery
by James Walling

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13

In the morning, Danny sat at his desk with a topographical map of Clark County spread out between him and Bean. The kid was tracing inch lengths with a ruler along the highways, private roads and logging routes that led outward from the garage in every conceivable direction. It was tedious work, but he kept diligently at it until he had traced all the possible routes emanating from the garage for 40 miles in a 360° radius.

Bean was grateful to have an activity. A righteous headache thumped somewhere behind his left temple and memories of the torment he had endured at the hands of a maniacal stranger tortured his thoughts.

Danny’s mood was similarly black, but he kept his thoughts to himself, opting to spare Bean the bother of needless chatter.

Just as Bean completed his task, his cell phone rang, the ring tone indicating a business call of the automotive variety. He answered it, and handed it to Danny after he ascertained the caller’s identity.

“Valued customer.”

Danny tried to hand the phone back.

“You handle it then,” he said briskly. “It’s your job, remember?”

Bean refused to take the phone.

“Just answer the damn thing,” he said.

Danny relented.

“What’s up, sucka,” said a gravelly voice.

Danny recognized it at once.

“Fox,” he said, his own voice brightening considerably, “sorry about that, man.”

The man hesitated.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” he asked. “Sounds real happy, like his dog got run over.”

Danny made excuses for Bean and brushed the matter aside.

“You got some work for me?” Danny asked, getting down to business.

“I do,” the man said flatly. “You keepin’ regular office hours or what? I heard you closed up shop for the season.”

“Close enough,” Danny said blithely, “but for you, my doors are always open.”

The morning mist was burning off a few hours later when a giant man with long black hair, matching leathers, and acres of ink roared up to the garage astride a beastly Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Moments later, a petite brunette in a too-tight tank top steered a bright red Hummer into an open bay at the far end of the shop.

Bill Fox swung a huge leg over the seat of his hog and extended a closed fist to Danny, who brushed knuckles with him.

“Who the fuck wants a Hummer anyway?” Fox growled, nodding toward the monstrous SUV.

Danny had the make pegged, but could only guess at the model.

“How old?” he asked.

“It’s an oh-eight,” Fox answered with a chuckle. “Some dickhead left it running with the keys in the ignition.”

“Bite your tongue,” Danny chided. Ordinarily he’d have objected violently to this kind of disclosure, but Fox was an exception. Like Danny, he was Chelatchie Prairie born and raised, though he had long since relocated.

“Danny Stark, as I live and breathe,” said Charlene Fox as she teetered out of the shop bay in a pair of six-inch stilettos.

“You still trailing after this bum?” Danny asked her happily.

“You know this fool trails after me, baby,” she squealed, kissing Danny on the cheek.

He took the keys to the Hummer from Charlene and led them into the shop.

He ran his fingertips over the contours of the vehicle.

“How does the idea of a convertible strike you,” Danny asked.

They laughed.

“What color is it?”

Fox told Danny it was red.

“Alright then…” Danny said, pondering the possibilities. “A lemon yellow drop-top oughtta be just what the doctor ordered.”

They were haggling over the details of the job when Bean poked his head into the shop and offered his greetings.

“Damn, boy,” Fox exclaimed when he saw him, “you look like hell.”

Charlene hurried over to Bean to examine him more closely.

“You take a shine to the wrong mister’s missus or what, honey?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Bean blushed and said nothing.

Danny led them back into the kitchen. He fished four beers from the fridge and set them on the counter top.

“A little early in the day, ain’t it?” Fox asked.

“You want I should make some coffee?” Danny countered rhetorically.

Fox roared with laughter and tore the cap off a bottle with a sizeable paw.

The four of them sat around the table sipping their beers as Danny explained the situation. He retrieved the map from the office and Bean drew a circle with a compass that delineated the area within which their mysterious attacker was likely to be located.

“It’s simple,” Danny explained. “Bean was in the trunk of that car for at least 30 minutes. If we check out each of these routes,” he said, pointing to the map, “we’re bound to stumble across the motherfucker eventually.”

Bean nursed his beer and nodded in agreement.

The group sat in silence for a long minute.

“Sounds like you could use a little muscle,” Fox said finally.

Danny smiled broadly.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll give that abomination in the garage a proper facelift, and you can pay me in manpower.”

Fox finished his beer with a long, slow swallow and slammed the empty bottle down on the table with a bang.

“Why not, Stark,” he said amicably. “You got yourself a deal.”

“Death On The Breeze”
A Danny Stark Mystery
by James Walling

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13

On the day Bean was released from the hospital, Angie’s father dropped her at the hospital parking lot and kissed her goodbye. Her very action-packed spring break had come to an end and it was time for her to return to her studies on the far side of the state amidst the plains and wheat fields of eastern Washington.

An hour later, Danny, Angie and Bean shared a plate of French fries in a diner near the Amtrak station at the Oregon/Washington border along the banks of the Columbia River.

Bean was uncharacteristically mute.

Angie dabbed a cold fry into a puddle of ketchup sullenly and tried to muster some enthusiasm regarding her imminent return to dorm life and the subject of business administration.

“Why so glum, girl?” Danny wondered aloud. “You’d rather be stuck in Chelatchie Prairie for the rest of your damn life?”

Angie frowned in consternation and said, “I’ll worry about you two. Who gives a rats ass about entrepreneurship and managing human resources anyway?”

“So change your major,” Danny said.

“To what?”

“Criminology?”

“Very funny…what’s next, Danny? It feels like we’re at a dead end.”

Danny prevaricated.

“You just keep your head in the books,” he said.

Bean peered out through eyes circled in blue-green bruises and held his tongue.

By the time Angie’s train arrived, the trio was engulfed in a foul mood. Angie squeezed Bean tightly, took his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. He forgot the pain in his ribs and smiled warmly as she wrapped her arms around Danny’s neck and whispered into his ear.

“Please be careful,” she said.

Danny said nothing. He released her and listened to her fading steps as she hurried to her train.

Danny and Bean were silent until they’d passed through Battle Ground and were winding their way through the farmland and thickets of timber north of the city.

“I’m scared, Danny,” Bean said as they neared their destination.

“I know.”

After they parked and let themselves into the garage, Danny brought a tumbler filled with crushed ice from the kitchen and fished an unopened bottle of Talisker from his desk. He topped off the tumbler, handed it to Bean, and settled back in his chair.

“Special occasion?” Bean asked.

“Lubricating the memory…” Danny muttered.

Bean paced the room square, taking quick sips of scotch.

Danny let the silence deepen.

Finally, Bean pulled up a chair on the other side of Danny’s desk.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s have it.”

Danny’s mouth curled at the edges in the slightest hint of a smile.

“When you came to after they grabbed you,” he began, “what was the first thing you noticed?”

Bean gulped the scotch, coughed violently, and set the empty cup in front of him for a refill. Danny obliged him.

Bean took a long swallow and shuddered.

“I was in some kind of shed,” he said slowly. “The floor was wood, but it was covered with dirt and gravel.”

Danny remained silent, waiting for Bean to go on.

“My hands were bound behind my back and I was blindfolded. After a while, he came and dragged me out of the shed into a trailer or something.”

What’s makes you sure it was a trailer?”

Bean thought for a moment.

“Well,” he said, “the floor had a hollow sound. And the whole place shook when he hauled me up the steps.”

“How far from the shed to the trailer?”

“Maybe fifty yards. It was a grass lawn. It was wet, freshly mown, he dragged me along the ground like a rag doll.”

“Did you take my tape recorder with you?’” Danny asked, taking a different tack.

“I did. He took it.”

“Who was the last person you taped?”

“The cook at CJ’s.”

“Dick Mattingly?”

“Yep.”

“What happened after you talked to him?”

“Nothing. I ate lunch and got jumped on my way to the truck.”

Danny opened the Talisker and took a swallow from the bottle.

“What can you tell me about the woman?”

Bean sighed.

“Not much,” he said.

“Same woman left the message on your phone?”

“Can’t be sure. She sure didn’t want to be there though.”

“What makes you think so?”

“She kept begging to leave.”

“She ever mention his name?”

“If she had,” Bean said gravely, “I’d be dead.”

Danny was quiet, thinking hard.

“How long were you in the car when they brought you back?”

Bean let out a groan.

“Man…it’s hard to say,” he said. “Honestly, I thought they were taking me somewhere to fucking bury me.”

Danny pressed him.

“But if you had to guess?”

“Well,” Bean said, “had to be at least a half-hour.”

“Why did they bring you back?” Danny asked.

Bean didn’t answer.

“It’s important, Bean.”

Danny refilled Bean’s glass once again and took out a brand new tape recorder, placing it on the desktop.

“You only gotta tell it to me once,” he said. “But I need to hear it.”

Bean stirred his drink with his index finger and took a recuperative sip.

Danny turned on the recorder and asked the question.

“What happened to you inside that trailer, son?”