One Good Turn (A James Bishop short story) Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Jason Dean

  Copyright for extracts from THE WRONG MAN and BACKTRACK © 2012, 2013 Jason Dean

  The right of Jason Dean to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2014

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 1 4722 2139 1

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Jason Dean

  About the Book

  Also By

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Extract from THE WRONG MAN

  Extract from BACKTRACK

  Extract from THE HUNTER’S OATH

  About Jason Dean

  Jason Dean was born in South London in 1966. He spent many years as a graphic designer before turning his talent to writing and deciding to write the kind of American thrillers he`d always loved to read. He lives in Thailand with his wife.

  About the book

  Free for a limited period – an exclusive James Bishop digital short story from Jason Dean, author of THE WRONG MAN and BACKTRACK. Do you like Reacher? You’ll love Bishop.

  She has already escaped her captors once. Surely twice would be impossible.

  Kidnapped and left for dead, Sylvia Caplan knows she will have one chance to get her life back. Having fled and found her way back to civilisation, Sylvia stumbles into a dingy bar. Wearing borrowed shoes and stolen clothes, she’s not the usual kind of customer and its not long before two menacing figures catch up with her.

  Unnoticed, former Marine, James Bishop, witnesses the woman’s struggle, stepping in before he knows what he’s done. Now Sylvia is on the run again but this time she is not alone. Can Bishop help her keep one step ahead or will he come to regret risking his life for a stranger?

  Includes extracts from all three James Bishop novels including an exclusive from the upcoming THE HUNTER’S OATH, out in June.

  Also by Jason Dean and available from Headline

  The Wrong Man

  Backtrack

  One Good Turn

  ONE

  Sylvia Caplan was exactly halfway across the narrow road when a pair of headlights suddenly cut through the darkness at her right. She halted mid step, as though trapped in a police searchlight. The lights were still about a hundred yards away. Had they spotted her? Was it even them? She had to assume yes on both counts. She was in no position to gamble on possibilities. Not with the stakes so high.

  Fighting the fogginess in her brain, Sylvia ran across the rough asphalt. The moment her raw feet touched grass, she dived into the thick bushes bordering the road. The sharp underbrush scraped her bare legs and snagged the material of her filthy sweatshirt, but she ignored it all and kept crawling until she was sure the thick foliage covered her. She carefully turned her body till she was facing the road again. The headlights had ruined her night vision, but through a small gap in the brush she could still make out part of the road.

  She breathed through her mouth and listened. She was still feeling the effects of whatever drugs he’d dosed her with, and she had to really strain to hear anything above the ringing in her head.

  Only a split second before the headlights, there had been nothing at all. The only illumination had come from the quarter-moon in the clear night sky. And since there were no turn-offs in the immediate area, that meant the vehicle had to have been travelling without lights up till now. Which wasn’t encouraging.

  The sound of the engine gradually becoming more noticeable. There were no other external noises. No cars. No wildlife. Hadn’t been for ages. This part of rural Alabama could have been the end of the world, especially at this time of night. The car wasn’t moving very fast, though. She could tell that much. After a few seconds, the headlights began to light the part of the road she could see. She could also make out the sound of the tyres slowly rolling along the blacktop.

  Then the vehicle stopped. Which was the worst news possible. It was still out of shot, but she could hear the engine purring. Sylvia waited for what felt like hours for another sound. She felt herself getting light-headed and thought for a moment the drugs were taking over again. But she realized she’d just been holding her breath and gave a long, slow exhalation until her head became clear once more.

  After a few moments a door opened and a man’s voice said, ‘. . . see anything.’

  ‘Well, if you stopped screwing around with your cell for a few seconds and did your goddamn job, you might of,’ a second male voice said.

  ‘Ah, screw you. ’Sides, it was prob’ly a deer. They’re all around here.’

  ‘Maybe. But I coulda sworn I saw somethin’ human-shaped for a second there. Shit, it’s worth a look-see, ain’t it?’

  Sylvia tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She knew both voices. It was them. Or two of them, at least. Her heart was now beating so loudly she thought it might explode from her chest.

  A pair of jeans and cowboy boots moved into her line of sight. He was standing in the middle of the road. A flashlight came on and the cowboy boots turned away. The man slowly played the light over the bushes on the other side of the road, and part of the field beyond.

  ‘See anything?’ the one in the car asked.

  ‘Still lookin’, ain’t I?’ The cowboy boots turned again until the toecaps were pointed towards her.

  Sylvia froze. There was a constant twitch just under her left eye, probably due to the drugs, but other than that she remained perfectly still.

  She could see the flashlight pointing right at her position and silently willed it to pass over her part of the shrub, praying that there was enough foliage to conceal her. Because if he saw her hiding in there, it was game over.

  They wouldn’t kill her, but they’d take her back again. And she couldn’t allow that to happen. She’d rather die.

  She clamped her eyes shut, then forced them open again. No more surprises, she decided. Whatever happened next, she wanted to see it coming.

  ‘Come on, Hal, let’s move it along,’ the one in the car said. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere. The bitch ain’t here, and we still got other areas to cover yet.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hal said, still playing the flashlight around. He gave a long sigh and finally switched it off.

  Sylvia breathed out again. He hadn’t spotted her. There was still a chance she’d get out of this. Only a small chance, but any chance was better than nothing. She listened carefully to the sounds of his footsteps recedi
ng. A car door slammed shut. After a few moments, the engine sound rose in pitch and she saw the lower part of the car pass by her. She used her elbows to move herself forward and peeked her head out of the underbrush until she could see the red rear lights growing steadily smaller in the distance.

  Then there was nothing but darkness again.

  And Sylvia was still free.

  TWO

  The night was quiet again. Sylvia carefully extracted herself from the bushes, slowly got to her feet and used a hand to brush her long dark hair out of her eyes. It felt greasy and dirty to the touch. In fact, every part of her felt that way. Both inside and out. Which wasn’t surprising after what she’d been through. She wondered if she’d ever feel clean again.

  Probably not. Assuming she got out of this mess, of course.

  She looked down at herself. She was in a hell of a state. He’d taken away all her clothes right at the start so she wouldn’t even think about escaping. But he’d forgotten the small wall cupboard in the bathroom. In there, she’d found an oily, crusty, foul-smelling man’s sweatshirt, an ancient thing that looked as though it had doubled as a floor rag. That was what she was wearing now. The only thing she was wearing. She tried not to think about what vile substances it had mopped up over time. It was disgusting, but it was also the only thing keeping her from running around totally naked.

  Thanks to her narrow five-foot-four frame, the dirty, shapeless thing at least managed to hang down to just below her hips. Not that it hid much. Even in the dark she could see the heavy bruising still visible on her upper legs, and the rope marks on both wrists and ankles looked even worse than before. But at least they weren’t bleeding, for which she was grateful.

  Unlike her poor feet. They were already raw, and they ached something fierce. And they were only going to get worse. How long had she been running now? Two hours? Three? She had no way of knowing, but she knew she still had some miles to go yet. The only plus was it was a warm July evening, so at least she wouldn’t freeze to death. But before she could even think of going into a populated area, she’d need clothes and some kind of footwear. That was clear. And all with no money.

  As a kid, her mom had always told her that life was an endless cycle of problems, one after another, after another. And that the secret was to take them on one at a time. It was great advice that Sylvia had never forgotten. She’d applied that rule to every aspect of her own life, and it had worked so far. Mostly.

  She’d been thinking a lot about her mom recently. Which was understandable, since it was only four months ago that that fatal stroke had taken her life. Sylvia still missed her a lot. Missed her common sense most of all, and her ability to find the positive in every situation. Right now, she’d be saying, Well, they haven’t caught you yet, baby, have they? Just keep your eye on the ball and they never will. You listening, girl?

  Yeah, Mom, she thought, I’m listening. But she still needed clothes. Then money.

  She was ravenous, too. And thirsty. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She had a feeling she’d been fed this morning, but it was hard to remember. That would have to wait, though. She’d made it this far without fainting from hunger. She’d survive.

  Sylvia shook her head a couple of times to try and clear the muzziness. Which was a mistake, as the light-headedness threatened to take over again. The world started to sway; she slapped her left cheek until it became still. Bright flashes played at the corner of her vision, but she ignored them. She had to keep moving. To the east, she saw nothing but more empty fields and more tree silhouettes. But she knew that the town of Hartsville lay in that general direction, and that was where she was ultimately headed.

  With a long sigh, she began walking again.

  Maybe between here and there she’d find a darkened farm or ranch or something. A habitation where she could grab some clothes without anybody knowing. That was what she hoped. Anything would be an improvement over the sweatshirt. Just the feel of it made her nauseous. But she couldn’t afford to talk to anybody. That was why she’d avoided the few ranches she’d passed already. The lights had been on, but she had no way of knowing who she could trust, so she didn’t dare knock and ask for help. And the cops were out for a whole number of reasons.

  Far better to avoid all contact for the time being and just rely on herself. Well, maybe not better, but definitely safer.

  For a moment, Sylvia wondered if it was the drugs that were making her so paranoid. If so, that was something else to be grateful for. It would keep her sharp and alert.

  She returned her attention to the road, and focused on putting one step in front of another. That was all that mattered right now.

  Half an hour later, Sylvia stood next to a large oak tree and looked at the house a hundred yards away. She couldn’t make out much. It was mostly a silhouette. The sky had become overcast a few minutes before, and with no moonlight it was hard to see anything clearly. But there was also a large barn-type structure away to one side. So probably a farmhouse, but there were no lights on inside. Also, she couldn’t hear any animal sounds at all.

  All she knew was that it was the first dwelling she’d seen in at least an hour.

  She began walking towards the main building, listening intently. But all she heard was the rustle of her own feet in the long grass. That was another thing that bothered her. She knew that snakes were rife in this part of Alabama. Normal woodland snakes didn’t bother her too much, but what if she stepped on a rattler, or a copperhead? Then it really would be game over.

  Gradually the grass became more sparse, and soon Sylvia found herself in a large dirt driveway area in front of the main building. The ground was hard soil, with a few weeds sticking out here and there. It felt cool under her sore feet. As she crept towards the house, she noticed a couple of steps leading to a raised front porch. There was a door in the centre with what looked like windows on either side. But still no lights. And still no sounds other than those she made herself.

  She climbed the wooden steps and approached the door. When she was a few feet away, she could finally make out the thick plywood sheets that covered it. And the windows. She looked up. Same with the windows on the second floor. Everything was boarded up. Either by the bank that had foreclosed it, or maybe the town of Hartsville had taken it over for taxes. Whatever the reason, it was now a derelict building. And probably had been for some time. No wonder she hadn’t heard anything.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Sylvia said to the air. ‘Just my luck.’

  She went back down the steps and checked the barn, but there were no surprises there. The double doors were padlocked shut. She then circled the whole house, but every entrance was boarded up. Useless.

  Sylvia silently cursed the world and began walking in the same easterly direction as before.

  THREE

  At the top of the sign, in large tasteful block capitals, were the words IGLESIO DE CRISTO. Underneath, in black plastic letters, ALL WELCOME! COME INSIDE – YOU’RE FAMILY! Sylvia wasn’t too sure about that. The parking lot out front was totally empty of vehicles, which she took as a fairly good indication that the church was shut. And despite not having a watch any more, she had a feeling it wasn’t yet midnight.

  So much for that old open-door policy, she thought bitterly. She’d never had much use for religion, but she could really use a helping hand right now. Just some clothes would do. The rest she could handle herself.

  The church was located at the westerly end of Main Street. A few hundred yards further on she could just about make out the neon lights of the first bar. Then the street curved to the left and she couldn’t see any more. She knew there were about half a dozen more bars along Main Street, though, along with several late-night eateries. That was pretty much it for nightlife around here. With a population of only ten thousand, Hartsville wasn’t exactly a swinger’s paradise.

  She’d finally reached the outskirts of town fifteen minutes earlier by carefully navigating through residents’ front and rear
yards. Fortunately, she hadn’t encountered any dogs along the way. Or angry homeowners with shotguns. She was still nervous about using the sidewalks dressed the way she was. With her bare feet and legs, she felt far too exposed under the street lights. And any time she saw a vehicle, she knew it could contain her pursuers, so she felt it best to keep to the dark as much as she could.

  She heard the distant sound of a truck behind her and quickly ran across the small lot until she reached the cover of the church itself.

  It was a modern, single-storey stucco building with a large cross engraved on the front. She stood under the wide portico entrance and tested the front doors. Locked, naturally. She turned back to the street and waited as a gas truck passed by at a steady thirty. Another car followed it into town. It looked like a Ford Taurus. Which was the same make as two of the vehicles chasing her. She also knew it was one of the most common makes in the country, but still she felt uneasy.

  She turned left and quickly walked along the side of the building until she found herself in a small, well-kept garden area at the rear.

  There was a narrow annexe connected to the main building, with its own entrance on the right and three windows to the left of the door. It looked like the living quarters for the pastor or padre. But there were no lights coming from within. Maybe the guy was asleep.

  She went across and rapped her knuckles on the door. ‘Hey, anybody in there? Hello? A little help out here?’ She pressed her ear to the wood, listening, but there were no sounds of movement from inside. No sounds at all. She knocked again. Louder this time. Still no response. She tried the door, but it was securely locked.

  ‘Shit.’ For the twentieth time that night, Sylvia cursed her luck.

  As she looked around, she noticed what looked like a wooden storage shed set against the rear fence. There were no windows. Just a single door. She walked towards it, momentarily savouring the feel of freshly cut grass against what was left of her bare feet, and tried the handle. It was unlocked.