Storm Front Read online

  “Sure,” said Bench. “What of it? He wasn’t from here.”

  Traverse City was a four-hour-plus drive north from Sheridan. When the report came in, they’d done a quick check of any local missing persons and confirmed what they’d thought all along—the dead guy wasn’t from Sheridan. Without a local angle, the police and the local media had quickly lost interest in Traverse City’s problem. It was shocking, but too bad.

  Hughes was undeterred. “Then you’ll recall the speculation that the dead guy might be associated with similar killings in Idaho and Wisconsin?”

  “What does that have to do with us?” Carter said. The mayor seemed to feel that Hughes was goading him, which Mike thought likely. In the world of small town politics, the police and fire unions had supported the other guy, and Hughes was not one to back down from anyone.

  Undeterred, Hughes continued, “They finally managed to ID him. Turns out he lived in a small town in a Wisconsin and was visiting a friend in Traverse City. His family said he went missing a week ago.”

  “So?” asked Bench, his impatience growing. “Is there a point to this?”

  “Well, someone used his American Express card to prepay a room at the Sheridan Motor Inn two days ago, as well as make a number of cash withdrawals from ATMs. Pretty active for a dead guy, if you ask me.”

  * * *

  To Joe Gomez, the onset of the heavily falling snow looked like a godsend. At only thirty-two, he was the proud owner of two successful businesses: Gomez Landscaping and Gomez Snow Removal. He originally started out with only one corporation, but his lawyer had advised him to have two. Something about liability if he should run over someone with his snowplow or accidentally mulch a customer’s cat with a mower. Or maybe mulch a customer. It made sense, so he did it.

  Either way, business had been pretty good the past couple of years and that was great because Joe had a lot of bills to pay. First, he owed money on everything, including his lot, garage, and, of course, his vehicles. He liked to joke that only his office stapler was free and clear. Then his wife had insisted on bringing her father in from Mexico, illegally of course, which meant other expenses, and now she was very pregnant with their third child and throwing up all the time. That meant she couldn’t help out in the office, which meant he had to actually pay someone for the work Maria did gratis because she loved him.

  Joe Gomez laughed when he thought about it. After all was said and done, his troubles were a lot less than other people’s. Screw it. Whatever happened, he’d make it work. Hard work and Joe Gomez went together, and he had a loyal clientele who agreed with that statement.

  Gomez Snow Removal had been pretty busy this past winter, but not overly so, which was both good and bad. Good was because he had time to work on his equipment, think, attend small business seminars, and play with his kids. He also played with Maria, and he thought that sort of thing had something to do with her getting pregnant. The bad part was because snow removal revenue just wasn’t as profitable as lawn moving. Fortunately, there had been a lot of snow this winter and what was happening this fine morning looked like a godsend. He considered it little more than a sideline and something to keep him busy in the winter. Grass had to be cut every week in the summer, but who knew when it would snow? He’d be busier than the proverbial one-armed paper hanger in a month or so with people’s lawns, but he’d really like a little better cash flow now. That was why he’d yelped with pleasure as the white stuff started to come down.

  It took Joe a little longer than he thought it would to get to the lot where he had his office and shed and kept his vehicles. Unlike many of his competitors, it was in Sheridan, which was expensive, but, so far, he’d been able to handle it. After all, it kept him close to his customers.

  Traffic flow coming in to his office had been really crappy, and all the idiots who didn’t know how to drive in the snow seemed to be directly in front of him. When he got to the lot, he saw that one of his other drivers, Tommy Hummel, had already taken his truck with the attached plow blade and was out doing his jobs. Tommy was a good, dependable guy, and more of a friend than an employee.

  Joe had a list of business and residential clients and they would be served in their turn, and, if the snow kept up, the businesses would be plowed as often as necessary to get their parking lots clear. Joe had a Wal-Mart lot to clear first, followed by a couple of large office complexes. Schools would come later since they’d be closed anyhow. Money, money, money, he thought happily as he mentally geared up for a day of hard work.

  Gomez also had a contract with the city of Sheridan to clear their streets if the snow was so great that their own vehicles couldn’t do it in a timely manner. In Joe’s humble opinion, that was exactly the way this snow was going to play out. No way those rich suburbanites could be inconvenienced, no sir. C’mon snow, he said to no one. The city fathers would be glad to pay him whatever it cost to keep their affluent citizens in line.

  Joe got behind the wheel of the big dump truck he’d bought from a bankrupt construction company and headed out. The truck was his pride and joy, and a lot of downtime work had been spent on it. Its size was more intimidating than necessary, but it was a statement that he took his job seriously. A large retractable plow hung from the hood, making it look like some kind of prehistoric dinosaur. A stegosaurus, his wife said. Joe did not disagree. He’d seen a picture of a stegosaurus on the Discovery Channel and the resemblance was clear. It really was a monster truck.

  The tires were oversized and good and he had little trouble exiting the lot and getting onto his street, which was a side street that entered onto MacArthur. Christ, it was really coming down, he thought, and immediately slowed down to a crawl. The last thing he wanted was an accident.

  He’d only gotten down the side street and to the main road when he stopped abruptly. Ahead and in front of him on MacArthur was nothing but wall-to-wall snow-covered cars that weren’t moving. He thought about barging his way in, but then what? He backed his truck up and pulled it aside so that anyone behind him could get through. Then he laughed at that possibility. Like where would they go if they did pass him? Besides, his street was a dead end, so he didn’t think anybody would exit from MacArthur, but you never knew.

  He turned off the ignition and carefully climbed onto the slippery top of the truck to see what he could see through the swirling snow. Not very much at all was what he could see. Where there was highway there were cars and they weren’t moving. Plumes of exhaust were all that told him anyone was in them. Otherwise, they could have been abandoned wrecks at a junkyard, or a parking lot at a football game. What now, he wondered? The top was getting icy and he climbed down before he fell and broke something. Maria was always telling him to be careful and reminding him that he was the business. If he got hurt, the business hurt.

  Through the snow, he saw someone walking in his direction. “That you, Joe?” Tommy Hummel asked as he emerged through a gust of even heavier snow.

  “Naw, it’s Santa Claus,” Joe answered. “Why are you walking and where the hell is my truck, you incompetent Anglo?”

  Tommy laughed. “I’m trying to do you a favor, taco-man. I’m stopped and stuck maybe two hundred yards up the road and people are beginning to leave their cars and head for warm buildings. Your precious truck is locked up and safe. Even if somebody tried to steal it, they couldn’t move it anywheres. Seriously, I was really hoping to catch you before you got stuck too.”

  That made sense to Gomez. He and Tommy got into his monster truck and Gomez carefully turned it around and headed back to the yard. He dropped the plow so he could at least make himself useful by clearing something, if only a dead end side street.

  “Tommy, why didn’t you phone me?”

  “I did. It helps to have it on. Works a helluva lot better that way.”

  “Oops,” Joe laughed. He noticed that the snow was nearly at the top of the plow blade. It was getting very deep real fast. So much for making a killing, he thought ruefully. All the sno
w in the world and no way he could get out and shovel it.

  “Water, water everywhere,” Joe muttered.

  “And not a drop to drink,” Tommy completed and both men laughed. Not much else to do but take what they’d been handed with good humor. When life deals you lemons, make lemonade. “What now, Señor Gomez? Wanna go back to the office and play cards?”

  “Not unless you have a better idea,” Joe said. Nor were they going anywhere at all anytime soon. Driving home had suddenly become out of the question. There was a six pack of Coors in the refrigerator and, since they obviously weren’t going to be doing any driving or operating heavy machinery for a while, it seemed a fine time to demolish it. There was a couch and a couple of folding cots that he’d put in so workers could catch naps if they had to, along with a small bathroom that included a toilet and a sink. Now it looked like they’d be using the cots to bunk down tonight. Maybe they’d catch a weather forecast on the television. Damn.

  * * *

  The main travel guides listed the Sheridan Motor Inn as either a three- or four-star motel. Given the fact that Sheridan was a bedroom community without any significant commercial base, and that it also lacked anything to bring in tourists, the motel and restaurant were surprisingly upscale, well appointed, and popular. One hundred and twenty rooms, restaurant, lounge, indoor pool, gym, and conference rooms made it a complete facility. Weekend getaway packages sold well and augmented income from weekday business travelers. A mini-water park brought in families and filled the pool with screaming kids on weekends.

  This Monday morning, the Inn was less than half full. Most of those who were departing had made it out, and those who had reservations for Monday weren’t going to keep them, at least not for a while.

  Billy Raines looked out the second-floor window onto an ocean of white that used to be a parking lot. This is not good, he thought. Their plans were to get out of this town and on the way south as quickly as possible. Staying too long in one place was a bad idea. They could not depend on the last body going undiscovered for any length of time. For all he knew, the cops around Traverse City had found the guy, identified him, and were on their way right now. Cops and computers were a bad thing. He hadn’t wanted to use the guy’s ATM card or his credit card, but they needed cash as well as a place to stay. He’d figured on leaving right away and then the damn snow started.

  Of course, Raines chuckled with some satisfaction, the cops would need fucking snowshoes to get anywhere near him.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Jimmy Tower, the other half of what Raines sarcastically referred to as their dynamic duo. Tower was anything but dynamic looking. Slightly over five feet tall and chunky, Tower was four years younger than the forty-year-old Raines. At a lean six feet, Raines dominated the other man in more ways than one. To put it politely, Tower was more than a little slow and looked it. Raines thought Tower might either have a mild case of Down’s syndrome or Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Either way, Jimmy Tower was at least one egg short of a dozen.

  Raines had befriended the smaller man in prison and had become his protector from the sexual predators who had stalked him. Tower owed Raines big time. Raines was a leader who always had a small group of supporters—white, of course—while Tower was an efficient and often brutal lap dog.

  Jimmy Tower compensated for his slowness with his viciousness. Jimmy had cut the throat of the guy in Traverse City, and Jimmy had beaten the hell out of a woman in Green Bay. He had also raped her. Jimmy liked women, but they didn’t like him because he was such an ugly little shit. Jimmy thought most people were laughing at him, and he was often right. Raines made sure he never laughed at Jimmy Tower. So far, they’d gotten along well.

  But that was the least of their problems. The mounting snow was imprisoning them as effectively as metal bars once had, and ruining their plans to move south. The key to not getting caught was to keep moving. This is what they’d done since escaping from a medium-security prison in Wisconsin. From there they’d stolen cars and driven across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and south across the Mackinac Bridge to Traverse City where they’d killed that guy. From there they’d driven the dead guy’s car to Sheridan where they’d planned a very short stay.

  Stand still and you become a target, so they had to keep moving. Their plan, such as it was, was to head south towards warmer weather and maybe even the Mexican border, although they knew they were well east of it. They’d heard that drug dealers south of the border liked Anglos. More reliable, they thought. Also, they could cross the border more easily since they didn’t look Mexican.

  Raines saw a hunched figure walking through the parking lot to a trailer with two lumps on it. The man shook off some of the snow and checked a tarp that covered whatever was on the trailer. The snow was swirling, but Raines thought he saw something like metal runners poking out from the tarp.

  Raines grinned. “Get in bed and cover up,” he yelled at an astonished Tower. “Start moaning like a woman when I return.”

  Raines opened the door and ran down the hallway, confident that Tower would do exactly as told. The hunched over man had returned to the motel and was going into his room. Snow had fallen from his coat and was puddling on the floor.

  “Sir!” Raines yelled anxiously and the man paused. “Are those snowmobiles on that truck?”

  The man was wary and hesitated. “Why, yes.”

  Raines affected great concern. “Thank God. My wife is complaining about abdominal pains. It may be her appendix. I’ve called 911, but they can’t help me. They can’t even get ambulances out because of the snow.”

  The man softened. “I understand. Tell you what, my wife’s a nurse. I’ll let her take a look before we do anything risky. If she says we need to, we’ll figure out a way to get her to the hospital.”

  “Great,” Raines said and gave him their room number. He ran back to the room to wait. In the bedroom, Tower moaned in an awful falsetto. “Not like that! Like you’re in pain!”

  A moment later, there was a knock on the door and the man entered, followed by a heavy-set and concerned looking woman. They both looked about fifty.

  It was so easy. Raines followed the two Samaritans into the bedroom. He suddenly pushed the woman onto the bed, where Tower grabbed her. Raines turned and hit the man on the head with a table lamp. The Samaritan dropped like a rock, while Jimmy easily subdued the woman. They tied her with torn cloth and stuffed a towel in her mouth. Jimmy was very strong for his size.

  The two of them dragged the man into the bathroom where Raines hit him several more times on the head. Then Jimmy dragged in the shock-stricken woman. When she saw her husband lying in a widening pool of blood, her eyes rolled back and she moaned. Then she fainted.

  Raines saw the look of expectation on Jimmy’s face. The woman was fat and ugly, but she was a woman and Jimmy wasn’t choosy. “No time for that,” Raines said. Jimmy shrugged and pushed the woman into the tub. A quick slash across her throat from a steak knife he’d taken from the kitchenette caused blood to gush out of her. She convulsed and in only a few moments, went limp. Raines dumped her husband’s body face down on top of her.

  Raines and Tower left their room and dashed down the hallway. The Samaritans’ room contained everything they needed in the way of cold weather equipment. Even better, they found a pistol in the man’s luggage. The dead woman’s gear fitted Jimmy Tower almost perfectly, although he didn’t look too mannish in pink. However, those were all details and even Jimmy recognized the opportunity that had presented itself. Now they could get out of the motel and then out of town.

  That is, if they could figure out how to drive a snowmobile.

  CHAPTER 6

  Wally Wellman stared at the unblinking television camera. The lens and the red light gave the impression of otherworldly life. He recalled how it terrified him when he was first starting out as a television personality. Back then, he spoke hesitantly and sometimes had an almost overwhelming urge to urinate. Now it was just a tool of the trade. Hi
s voice would be going out over the radio as well as television.

  Genuine concern showed on Wally’s face. Gone was his usual casual and corny banter. Now he was grim. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s obvious that the weather situation has gone from bad to worse and could easily get even more dangerous. Those of you who are listening to me on your car radios know exactly what I am talking about. However, those of you considering leaving work or school or wherever you are and driving home are everyone’s concern.”

  Wally paused for effect. “Simply put, it is far too dangerous to be driving in this weather. Worse, it is virtually impossible to move even if you do try. So, if you do try to drive home you will fail miserably and become part of a growing and dangerous problem. Almost every road in Southeastern Michigan is at a standstill and relief is not in sight. It is only noon and there’s much more than a foot of snow on the ground, and no letup in the intensity of the storm is predicted. We can only look at our maps and satellite photos and forecast snow, snow, and more snow. We have no idea when it will slow down, much less stop. To be candid, our science and our computers have all failed. We have no idea what is going to happen next. The weather has won this round and there’s nothing we can or should do except wait it out.”

  The comment about computers wasn’t quite the truth. Computers never fail. They just didn’t have enough data to make a correct analysis. The analysts who’d assumed their infallibility had failed by providing the computers with insufficient data and not acknowledging that fact. Detailed weather records went back less than a century and satellite reconnaissance less than half that. So how could data be complete?

  “Even if the snow were to stop in a few minutes, it would be many hours before the roads could be cleared. As you probably know, Governor Landsman has declared a state of emergency and ordered that everyone stay where they are. This could be inconvenient, but inconvenience usually isn’t fatal. At worst, you’re going to be a little hungry and have to sleep on something uncomfortable tonight. You may be concerned about loved ones, but please accept the fact that you are not going to reach them even if you try. Odds are, you won’t even get out of your parking lot or your driveway. Wherever you and they are, both you and they are better off not moving.”