Take down, p.1
Take Down, page 1
part #1 of Detective Danny Acuff Series
Take Down
This work was originally published in serial format
in six installments as “Detective Danny Acuff.”
By Stan R. Mitchell
Edited by Jaime Reyes
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Copyright © 2016
Eighth Edition
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by U.S. Copyright Law. For information, see website below.
Prologue
Danny Acuff stared down at the text message in horror.
An image of his partner was on the phone. Behind her, an evil asshole held her in a choke hold with his left arm, with a big .45 pistol aimed at her head in his right hand.
Danny knew the man well. He was a giant of a man, with an even bigger reputation for cruelty. The man was a hulking, grizzled retired Special Forces Sergeant Major. And he was dangerous as hell.
The man, and his other Special Forces friend, had already killed two police officers because of Danny’s investigation into Snyder Mining, a company they were affiliated with.
Now they had his partner, Collette.
The instructions in the text were clear: Danny had ten minutes to show up or Collette was dead.
Danny lacked any other options. The small town of Akin, Tennessee, had a piss-poor SWAT team. It would take them twenty minutes to assemble and gear up.
Danny had ten.
And that meant Danny would go alone – without backup – to face this dangerous monster. The man held all the cards, but Danny wasn’t a coward. And he wanted to kill the man holding his partner.
In the end, it might cost him his life, but this fight with Snyder Mining had already cost him too much.
Yeah, he was going. You damn right he was going. Fuck the consequences. Wasn’t like he had a lot to live for anyway.
Chapter 1
There’s no way I could have predicted the world of shit I was walking into when I sat down for a job interview as a detective in the small town of Akin, Tennessee.
Never would I have dreamed that such a move would nearly cost me my life. Multiple times. All within a few short months of taking the job.
But I’m not one to avoid deeply buried secrets. And once I began prying into the affairs of a mysterious mining company, cops would start to die and I’d soon find myself in almost as much danger as I’d seen in a brutal tour in Afghanistan as a Marine, serving in Special Operations.
It turns out that even in small towns there is crime and corruption, hidden under a thin veil of friendliness and charm.
And for me, what was supposed to be an easy year on the Akin police force while I patched up my marriage turned into quite a bit of something else.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, and no one likes to have the ending of a story spoiled.
The story started blandly enough, with the dullest and lamest job interview I’ve ever had. Let’s start there.
“Daniel ‘Danny’ Acuff?” the old Akin Police Chief asked, raising his eyebrows in question as he glanced up from a file in front of him.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
The old police chief, moving very slowly, nodded at my confirmation that I was indeed “Daniel ‘Danny’ Acuff,” as he’d called me, and paused, looking deep into my eyes, and smiling. It seemed a little odd, but I smiled back. His smile was as genuine, soft, and real as about any I’d seen in some time.
But I’m a detective, and skeptical of someone who’s too kind. I studied him while he studied me. He was certainly old. I pegged his age at about 65. He had a full head of hair, which was grayish white and shiny under the fluorescent lights of his office.
“You sure you wouldn’t like a water or Coke out of our machine?” he asked.
I declined.
Chief Fred Bradbury struck me as more of a gentle grandfather or pleasant pastor than a small-town police chief, but I needed the job.
Be patient, Danny. You’re no longer in Memphis.
Police chiefs in Akin – a small town twenty minutes north of Knoxville – were probably less hard cold shouldered than overworked police chiefs in major cities.
The second thing I noticed about Chief Bradbury was that he didn’t move in a hurry.
After he smiled, he slowly returned his eyes back to my file. His eyes strained a moment, then he reached for the glasses on top of his head. But they weren’t there, so he straightened his hair back into place and searched his desk. He moved some papers, struck out, then dug through another stack.
He found the glasses, looked back up at me, and smiled.
“I’m always losing them,” he informed me.
I nodded, unsure if any remark was necessary on my end.
To my left, a man shook his head in a negative sideward motion. The man looked embarrassed by the chief and had introduced himself earlier as the mayor of Akin. I thought it odd the mayor would be involved in the hiring of a mere detective, but this was my first interview at a small police department, so maybe it’s typical.
“Goodness, you’re big,” the chief said, recapturing my attention. He was reading from my file again. “It says here you’re six feet, three inches, and weigh 230?”
He looked up. He had seen me walk in and had even shaken my hand, but maybe he hadn’t noticed.
“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling. I gave him my best smile.
“You ever play any football?” he asked, laying the file down, leaning back in his chair, and now positively beaming at me.
“A little,” I said. “Played middle linebacker some.”
He smiled over at the mayor with the revelation. The mayor looked like he was about to explode in anger at such a slow-paced, unprofessional interview. The police chief missed the look, apparently, and asked, “How did someone your size not play in college?”
“I played a little,” I said, significantly downplaying the truth.
“Goodness, you’re big enough to play pro. You get hurt?”
“No, sir. I was decent, but 9/11 happened.”
“That why you joined the Marines?” the chief asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, thinking that at least the chief had read the file before I arrived.
He glanced back at the mayor, pointed at me, and said, “I told you this man was a good man. Would be a great addition to the department.”
The mayor appeared unconvinced and crossed his arms. I hated to admit it, but I agreed with the mayor on this one. So far Chief Bradbury had determined my name, my height, and my football acumen. Oh, and my foolish notion of duty, and from that, he’d already decided I was a good man. Seemed a little premature to me.
Chief Bradbury had somehow maintained an impressive innocence to have spent a lifetime in law enforcement. Frankly, he was way too naïve for my liking.
But he sat there smiling, clearly in no rush to continue the interview. “How come you decided to join?”
“I felt the old call of duty after the towers went down,” I said. “And my Dad served in Vietnam, so it made sense.”
He nodded. And would you believe he smiled harder? He was beaming, his belief of my “goodness” had been confirmed, apparently.
He looked back down at the file again, his eyes straining to read something. He looked back up. “See much action?”
For a vet, this question rankles about as bad as the offensive question of, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
I knew that since he asked the question he’d never served, and despite absolutely hating being asked these kinds of questions about my service, I was beginning to warm to him. His actions were so genuine and kind, that he clearly didn’t mean anything bad by the question.
“I missed most of it,” I lied.
He nodded a disappointed nod. There went his chance to hire a war hero and hear some good war stories on coffee breaks, I thought. Nonetheless, he knocked the disappointment away quickly and smiled again.
“I’m really glad to hear that. That war has messed up a lot of people.”
The chief picked my file back up. Then he stopped, laid it down, and asked the mayor, “Would you like some coffee, mayor? Or do you need a bathroom break? You seem a little antsy.”
“I’m fine,” the mayor snapped. He glanced at his watch. “And I’ve got an appointment coming up, so if we could – ”
“Yes, of course,” Chief Bradbury said, returning to the file, but with barely more noticeable speed.
I liked the mayor’s sense of urgency. It was more in line with mine. The mayor’s name was Tom Follett. Like many mayors, he seemed to be in a hurry to make something happen.
Chief Bradbury was reading my file – SLOWLY – and though his leisurely pace was killing me, it was hard to get agitated at such a friendly soul.
The mayor probably tolerated him because the chief did not appear to be the confrontational type. Chief Bradbury wasn
If I had to guess, I’d say he was the kind of chief who was born and raised in Akin and had probably worked his way up from the bottom. Bradbury probably knew the town like the back of his hand and attended one of its historic aptist churches.
“Says here after you got out of the Marines, you went back to college, followed by several years at the Memphis Police Department. Is that right?”
He was driving me crazy with the obvious questions. Of course that information was right, or I wouldn’t have put it in the file. But regardless of my feelings and my desire to speed this along, I swallowed down the agitation and smiled at him, nodding in confirmation.
“Any particular reason you picked Memphis?” he asked.
“They had a bunch of openings,” I answered, “so I figured I had a good chance of landing a position.”
The truth was more complicated. The fact was I hadn’t wanted to return to my hometown of Oliver Springs, which was a similar small town to Akin. A mere ten minutes away, in fact.
Damn, why was I back here? How had my life gotten this screwed up?
Stay calm, Danny.
Unfortunately, Oliver Springs was a lot like Akin. One of those small towns where everyone knows everyone, and nothing really happens.
Even on leave from the Marines, I had learned the hard way that it’s true: you can’t go home again. The questions from well-meaning family members are too much. The church you were raised in is too small. The girls you once pined for have married or moved away or become far less magical than you remembered.
I knew I couldn’t move back to Oliver Springs, and I wanted a police department where I’d see plenty of action. You don’t do two tours in Afghanistan, then quietly retire to some boring, small-town police department. Memphis guaranteed me some action and had kept me happy until my marriage apparently fell apart without me knowing.
And now here I was. Moving back to a small, miserable town, just ten minutes from Oliver Springs. Damn, where had I gone wrong…
“You glad to be moving back home?” Bradbury asked.
Given how slow and unhurried this interview was going? Hell no.
But, the police chief was smiling again. He was like a gentle, slow-moving river. He was like the guy who sits on his porch all day on some country road, waving to passing cars headed down the highway. But I really needed the job, and so I lied about moving back home, saying, “Yes, sir. Been dreaming about it for years.”
That’s how the interview went. Nothing but simple questions, which a ten-year-old could have easily answered. The whole time, Mayor Tom Follett stewed until he finally glanced at his watch a fourth time and abruptly left.
Chief Bradbury smiled after he had left and said, “Don’t worry about him. He just doesn’t like when we bring outsiders in. Says they don’t stick around long, and don’t know our ways.”
“I’m originally from Oliver Springs, Chief. I know the ways.”
Lord, did I know the ways. This man would be inviting me to a church homecoming any time now.
“I know you do,” Bradbury said. “Tell you what, let’s dispense with the interview. I can see you’re a fine man, and you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Chief, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve barely interviewed me.”
The chief stood and removed his glasses.
“Danny, you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
I left the office without giving that final sentence a second thought. I’d soon learn that though I’m a pretty solid detective, with a long and outstanding record, I missed some pretty obvious clues that day. Not everything in Akin was as slow and simple as it seemed. And my read on the chief, mayor, and town of Akin was about as off the mark and inaccurate as Goliath’s belief that he could easily slay David.
And Chief Bradbury's statement that I was exactly what he’d been looking for? That wasn’t just a clue. That should have been recognized as a giant billboard. A blaring klaxon horn.
Why would a small-town police chief hire a big-city detective? Who also has a long and distinguished war record? Duh, right? Because there was a massive case that needed to be busted wide open and a war that needed to be fought.
And yet I blew by that clue without noticing a single thing, thinking the entire time that Chief Bradbury was a simpleton, and that I was about to get some easy income and time to work on my marriage. My, my. How wrong I would be.
Chapter 2
I drove home feeling thankful I had likely been hired, but a little worried. I knew my wife Ali was going to blow a gasket when she found out about the job. Our marriage was already shaky, and this new job wasn’t going to help things.
I pulled into the driveway of the three hundred-thousand-dollar home that we couldn’t afford, but which she insisted we buy.
The home was a perfect example of our marriage. It was beautiful and perfect on the outside, from a distance. But on the inside, it was hollow and empty.
I parked my truck in one of the bays of the three-car garage, walking into the empty house and worrying about the fight that would soon happen. I glanced at my watch. It was 6:19. She’d be home soon.
A bit of worry creeped in. This was going to be interesting, to say the least.
I collapsed into our massive leather couch and flipped on ESPN. I tried to watch SportsCenter, and though the NFL playoffs were fast approaching, I couldn’t pay attention to the TV. I kept checking my watch and wondering when she’d arrive home.
By 7:35, I was growing pissed. I wanted to text her, but she hated when I asked when she was coming home. As a workaholic myself, I could relate.
Before leaving today, she’d explained that she would text if she had to work later than six or seven. So much for that. I flipped the TV off and stood to make myself some dinner. As I walked to the kitchen, though, I heard the motor in the garage groan as it lifted the garage door.
I pivoted toward the door, opened it, and watched her pull her expensive, 2015 BMW into her spot. The car was yet another thing we couldn't afford. She noticed me standing in the door and briefly smiled. She was on her cell phone, which she mostly lived on, when she wasn’t at work.
She was always looking for that extra time she could be working, whether it was conversing with a client while she was driving or dragging her iPad into bed to answer emails. Everything was about billable hours for her.
Ali put the BMW in park, opened her door, and said into her phone, “Jenny, I’m sorry to be short with you, but I’m telling you we need to take this to trial. Give it some consideration. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She hung up, pulled her tote bag out, and shut the door.
“Hey, hon,” she said as she glanced down at her phone, checking for emails and missed texts that might have arrived in the ten minutes it had taken her to drive home.
“Damn it,” she said, reading something. “I told them that wouldn’t work,” she muttered to herself before clicking on another email.
I watched her walk toward the door, and even in her hecticness, even with her barely acknowledging me, even with the fight I knew was about to happen, and even with our marriage growing colder, I couldn’t help but remark at how beautiful she was.
She was a short, dressed in a killer business suit. Thin and drop-dead attractive, with long blonde hair that was the envy of every woman around.
As she passed by, I kissed her on the cheek. And as she walked up the stairs to our kitchen, I noticed her strong, toned legs, and her best asset, which the pants outlined nicely. Without question, her body had barely changed since the moment I’d met her, thanks to no kids, healthy eating, and a work pace that would put most ants to shame.
As Ali walked through the door into the kitchen, she placed her tote on the island and kicked off her shoes. She carried the Givenchy tote today. I hadn’t even known what Givenchy was until a few years ago, but it turns out it’s a designer brand that sells leather bags for $2,400.
Yes, $2,400. Believe me, you learn about a brand when it carries a price tag like that. Ali’s face was still buried in her phone, reading another email.
“Honey,” I said, trying softly to interrupt her.
