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Lost Highway
Lost Highway
Lost Highway
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Lost Highway

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When Detective Michael, aka, Diablo, O'Shea's partner Ray is killed by a bomb meant for him, it sets off a long and ruthless campaign for revenge. Even when he's charged with being a dirty cop involved in drug lord Delgado's organization, he remains undeterred. Much of that strength comes from the loyalty and love of Dixie, the beautiful owner of the Lost Highway bar, and from young sexy Lara, who after being saved from a kidnapping by Diablo when she was a teen,considers him her personal hero. Lost Highway is a fast moving tale of murder, love, and revenge that takes the reader up the mountain, and down into the deepest of emotional valleys. Diablo has sworn that Luis Delgado, and others, will die, regardless of the rule of law. They have lived and thrived on ignoring laws. He intends to see that they die the same way.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherMike Poppe
Release dateMar 12, 2018
ISBN9781370431311
Lost Highway
Author

Mike Poppe

I was born in Rector, Arkansas, a small farming based town in Northeast Arkansas. Later, my parents moved to St. Louis in search of better economic opportunity. At age 16, disallusioned and bored with the “One Size Fits All” educational system, I dropped out in the 10th grade.Just as soon as I turned 17, I joined the Marine Corps. The education the Corps provided, wasn't always polite and pleasant, but it most certainly was not boring. My four year enlistment included one year in South Vietnam. 7 November, 1965 to 6 November, 1966. At the end of my enlistment, having attained the rank of Sgt E-5, I returned to civilian life.After nine months as an Industrial Engineering Clerk, I took advantage of an opportunity to move into transportation. For the next 34 years, I was a dispatcher and driver supervisor in the Trucking Industry.In 2011, the rise in popularity of E-books caught my attention. A life long avid reader, I'd always believed I could write a book, but didn't know how to go about getting it published. The birth of E-Books changed all that. In the fall of 2011, fulfilling a life long dream, I published my first book, The Sparrows Whisper.Today, my wife, Mary Katherine, and I, live in a small rural town in Southwestern Illinois. With the encouragement of family and friends, I've published a total of 13 novels. The split between my books has been divided pretty evenly between Mysteries and Westerns. Work on number 14, is under way.For all those that have taken the time to read my books, I appreciate your interest very much.

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    Lost Highway - Mike Poppe

    Chapter Thanks.

    First of all, a word of thanks to my wife Katherine, for her many hours spent patiently proof reading the manuscript for this novel.

    Second - This will probably be of no interest to anyone but me, and other fans of the movie, Dr. Zhivago, but it's my book, so I'm including it.

    A special word of thanks to Julie Christie for her wonderful performance as Lara, in the movie, Dr. Zhivago. It was her performance that made the character Lara, come to life on the screen. The unique pronunciation made the name stick in my head from the start. I've waited a long time to find a story where I felt the name – Lara – would be a good fit.

    Why this story, and not another? Your guess is as good as mine.

    Chapter 1

    For the past forty five minutes, I'd been staring at a glass of Coors, without ever once touching it. At the time I ordered the beer, I'd fully intended to down it right away, but the urge had become sidetracked, as I tried to deal with the emotional turmoil that now threatened to overwhelm me.

    Dixie Carter, the gorgeous redhead behind the bar, was skilled at reminding customers when it was time for another drink, but she'd not said word one to me for failing to touch my beer.

    Dixie knew.

    For three years, Ray Steen had been my partner on the police force. That partnership came to an end, when I'd been forced to resign from the force. Unlike most of my brother cops, Ray had continued to believe in me, and remained one of my two best friends. Three days after losing my job, I'd received a call from Ray. The next day was his day off, and he needed to borrow my truck so he could pick up a new refrigerator for his mother.

    The next morning, when Ray knocked on my door, I had already been on the phone, or more accurately, on hold, for thirty five minutes, as I waited to speak with someone in my internet tech support. With my phone still stuck to my ear, I yelled, It's open.

    When Ray stepped inside, I pointed to the keys on the counter and nodded. As he'd done on other occasions when he borrowed my truck, Ray dropped his keys on the counter, just in case I might need to go somewhere before he returned. Then he picked up my keys, grinned, waved, then walked out. A simple routine act. One that had repeated between us countless times over the years. Only, I had no way of knowing that this time would be different. Less than a minute after Ray closed the door behind him, I heard my truck engine fire up. Then, I felt a split second of intense pain, heard a deafening noise, and then, there was nothing.

    * * *

    My next bit of awareness came when I woke up in an ambulance. A cute brunette, dressed in a dark blue uniform, was taking my pulse. Now aware that I was awake, she leaned closer and offered a comforting smile.

    My name is Nora. I'm an E.M.T. You've been injured in an explosion, and we are on the way to the hospital. You don't appear to be in any real danger, but you do have several injuries that will require medical attention at the hospital. Do you remember what happened?

    I managed to mumble, Not really. Then before I could ask about Ray, someone flipped my light switch off again.

    As I was later to learn, I'd been thrown across the room from the force of the bomb's explosion. I'd suffered a slight concussion, cuts on my forehead and jaw, an ugly, but minor wound in my chest, and a slight shoulder separation. Somehow, I'd survived. Ray hadn't been so lucky. He was dead, killed by a bomb planted in my truck: A bomb that I knew must have been intended for me.

    * * *

    This morning, shortly before noon, I'd checked out of the hospital, then because I'd been told that most, or all of my clothing had been destroyed or damaged by the bomb, I headed for a store to buy a change of clothes. Lucky for me, my credit card had survived the explosion.

    Mid afternoon found me at Ray's funeral, standing at the side of his distraught widow, Angie, and their eight year old daughter, Terra. Angie was either too kind, or too numb to speak of it, but every time I looked into her eyes, I knew that neither of us could escape the truth that her husband, and her little girl's daddy, had died in my place.

    Once the grave site service at the cemetery was over, I decided my presence was inflicting more pain than comfort for Angie, so I took the coward's way out, and slipped silently away, while her attention was centered on the condolences being offered by friends and family.

    My next stop had been at a long time favorite watering hole for both Ray and myself. The Lost Highway, was a place where for years, I'd come to relax among friends, and let the tensions of the day fade away. On this particular evening, I'd come with a single purpose in mind: To drown my sense of guilt in alcohol. I wanted, needed, to forget, if only for one night, that Ray was dead because of me. Once at the bar, for reasons that eluded me, I'd not been able to take that first drink.

    Folding a five spot, I slipped it under the beer glass for a tip, then waved to Dixie, as I turned to leave. Sliding off the bar stool, my shoulder bumped into the impressive chest of a tall and very attractive blonde. Before I could say Excuse me, she reached out and touched my face. Diablo, I'm so sorry. Could you stay for a few minutes? I really need to speak with you.

    Diablo was a nickname I'd picked up on the job. My real name was Michael Allen O'Shea. As best I could recall, I'd never met this woman before. My voice was not exactly dripping with the milk of human kindness when I replied. Excuse me lady, but I've been in the hospital, and my thinking is a little fuzzy. Just who the hell are you?

    She eased her well shaped bottom onto the bar stool next to mine, then introduced herself. I'm Bree Tenant. Ray was a friend of mine. He told me all about you, so I was pretty sure I'd find you here tonight. She paused, as if uncertain about whether or not she should continue. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

    Oh Hell, I came all the way down here to talk to you. There's no sense in my backing out now. Look, with Ray's wife being at the funeral, I didn't feel right attending, so I thought maybe you and I could just sit and talk. She touched my arm as she stared into my eyes. You know, I'm going to miss him too.

    I couldn't recall Ray ever having mentioned anything about this woman, and I was pretty sure she hadn't just dropped by to make a condolence call. To satisfy my curiosity, I decided to let her talk. I got no place to be right now. What are you drinking?

    Whatever you're having, she answered.

    Dixie, who no matter how busy she might be at the time, had an uncanny knack for catching sight of every customer as they walked through the door, was already headed in my direction. I pointed to the blonde. How about a Coors for the lady?

    Dixie's face was pure business as she poured Bree's beer, but her eyes were burning with disapproval. Pointing to the money I'd slipped under the beer can, Dixie snapped, Like I told you earlier, you drink free tonight. Ray was my friend too, you know. She snatched the five dollar bill off the bar, then headed for the cash register. When she returned, Dixie shoved my change down into my shirt pocket, as her sullen eyes turned in the blonde's direction. Her drinks, you can pay for.

    As Dixie headed back to the other end of the bar, Bree took her first sip of Coors. I waited until Bree turned her attention back to me, before posing the question that had been nagging at me, since she'd first suggested that she and Ray were friends.

    Bree, exactly what did you mean about not feeling right about going to Ray's funeral?

    She dropped her eyes, as if she were somewhat embarrassed. Well, Ray used to stop by my place a couple of times a week. After first looking over her shoulder, she leaned closer, then nervously inquired, Look, this has to be off the record. OK?

    Chapter 2

    Normally, I made it a point to refuse requests to be off the record, from people I didn't know. But this woman claimed to have had some sort of connection to Ray, and I wanted answers. I nodded my head. I'm going against my better judgment, but yeah, tonight, we're off the record on this one thing.

    Bree took a healthy swallow of beer, wiped her lips with a bar napkin, then gave me her story.

    Here's the deal. I run a very exclusive escort service: Wealthy clients only. I don't know how, but Ray figured out what I was doing. Instead of taking me in, he offered me a deal. He promised not to arrest me, or tell anybody on the force about my little enterprise. In return, I would pay him a nice fee each week, plus give him free sex whenever my schedule permitted.

    The whole thing started out as a business deal for both of us, but over time, Ray and I got to be really close, you know? Believe it or not, sometimes he'd just stop by to talk. Ray liked the way my mind worked. We talked about all kinds of things. That's how I found out about you, and learned that this place was your favorite hang out."

    I raised my eyebrows, forced a smile, then finally took a drink of warm beer from the same glass I'd been staring at for so long.

    Well, how about that? Guess ole Ray did have a secret or two he didn't share with me. Letting my eyes rest on her considerable cleavage, I confided, Now that I've looked you over, had I known about your deal with Ray, I might have insisted that he share.

    With her eyes gleaming, Bree leaned closer, let her hand fall high on my thigh, then whispered, Now that I've seen you in person, I should have encouraged him to let you in on the deal from the start. No disrespect intended toward poor Ray, but he's gone, so as his best friend, I guess you're entitled to take his place.

    This felt like trouble with a capital T, but I really didn't give a damn. Ray was dead, and someone was going to pay. Something told me that this blonde was involved, and at least for the moment, she was the only lead I had. Flashing my best naughty smile, I suggested, Funny thing, Bree, I was just thinking the same thing. In fact, why don't we go somewhere and discuss the details? Maybe it's time to renegotiate this arrangement.

    Picking up her purse, she slid off the bar stool, kissed me lightly, then explained, Normally, I'd take you to my place, but it's being painted, and the smell is just awful.

    With her back to us, Dixie stared at me in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes glared a definite warning in my direction. Her message was clear. Be Careful.

    Once outside, Bree had a suggestion. Like I said, my place reeks of paint, but I do have the keys to my sister's condominium. She's on a cruise to somewhere in South America, so I'm feeding her fish while she's gone. She nibbled on my ear, pressed her large tits hard against my chest, then whispered seductively.

    Why don't we go to her place, and feed the fish?

    * * *

    Fifteen minutes later, we stepped out of Bree's car, opened the front door, then entered the condo. After she locked the door behind us, Bree led me to the bedroom. She dropped her coat on a chair, and her purse on the nightstand. Feigning surprise, she teased, Oh damn. We forgot to feed the fish.

    How about that? I replied, then took her into my arms. Our lips met in a fiery kiss, as I unzipped her dress, then let it fall to the floor. A few seconds later, her bra dropped too. With her lips still pressed against mine, she whispered, Talented hands Sweetie, but hold on. Let me turn off my phone. I don't want that thing spoiling the mood.

    As she reached to unsnap her purse, I growled, Hurry up.

    Patience Diablo, she purred, It's going to be worth the wait. I promise. Three seconds later, she declared, There, I've got it.

    Her hand had barely cleared the purse when I slammed her wrist against the edge of the nightstand, forcing her to drop the palm sized pistol. With lightning speed, the fingers on her other hand shot toward my eyes in a desperate attempt to blind me. Reacting purely on instinct, I managed to duck my head just in time to save my eyesight. My scalp was bleeding from cuts caused by her long fingernails, but I still had my vision.

    Fighting with all the tenacity and skill of a professional killer, Bree twisted her body, then drove her knee upward to attack my groin. While I managed to move just enough to avoid the full power of her thrust, she definitely had me on the defensive. Fighting off the sickening agony, I was lucky just to keep her from landing the full power of her martial arts punches, as I tried to buy time to recover.

    Bree had all the signs of an experienced fighter. As I used every trick I knew to buy time, she fought like a tiger to finish me off while I was still weak. When her first few attacks failed to stop me, she bit down hard on the bridge of my nose, blinding me with pain. Slipping inside a punch I'd thrown hoping to at least stun her, Bree countered with yet another thrust of her knee. Had she been successful, I might well have been left at her mercy. Only my training and experience saved me, as I turned and slid off the bed.

    My desperation tactic had bought me a few more seconds, but I was still somewhat crippled, and Bree, a skilled and dangerous opponent, now had both hands free to finish me off.

    Chapter 3

    Determined to kill me while I was still in trouble, Bree rolled quickly to the side of the bed where I was on the floor, struggling to get off my knees. Somehow before she could attack, I managed to deliver a short left hand jab to her nose. She didn't go down, but it slowed her reaction time. Instinctively, I doubled up with a hard left hook to her stomach, then using my right hand, stabbed my fingertips into the front of her throat.

    Lying on the bed, struggling to breathe, Bree raised her hands in surrender. Please...... don't.... hit me..... again, she managed to gasp in a broken request. When her breathing began to return to normal, she started sobbing almost uncontrollably, as she reached for the Kleenex box on the nightstand.

    As she turned, the ugly scar in the small of her back, gave away her true identify. The scar had been compliments of a vicious stabbing by her prison cell mate, in a dispute over a mutual girlfriend.

    Bree was better known as Sylvia Bates, one of the top female assassins in the world. Her detailed planning and preparation for each hit was almost legendary. Knowing her history, I couldn't buy the idea that she was going to fall apart this easily. Before she could grab the Kleenex box, I grabbed her by the hair, yanked back hard, then pinned her to the bed with my hand around her throat. With my other hand, I searched the Kleenex box. As I had suspected, inside the box I found a second .32 caliber pistol. Both weapons, along with who knows how many more, had undoubtedly been planted ahead of time.

    Her backup now gone, Silvia Bates exploded into a surprise attack, reaching for my throat in a desperate attempt to crush my wind pipe. The bitch damn near succeeded. It was close enough that I decided to put an immediate end to this fight. When the heel of my right hand slammed into the base of her nose, she fell back on the pillows, clearly stunned, and for at least now, seemed unable to move.

    Taking advantage of the opportunity, I used pillow cases to tie her wrists. Towels from the bathroom secured her ankles. I'd just finished the last knot when she began to come around. Glaring at me with hate filled eyes, she hissed, Diablo, you son of a bitch. How the hell did you know?

    I only answered in the hope that it might lead to information about who had paid her to kill me. It was a long shot at best. Silvia was heartless, vicious, and professional. She was not about to give up information unless it worked to her advantage.

    Don't feel bad. Silvia. You almost had me. Almost. In the course of investigating Luis Delgado, I learned a lot about you. When the bomb didn't get me, I figured Delgado would send a pro to finish the job. When you walked into the bar tonight, I was suspicious from the start. Your claim that Ray was involved in an illegal deal, was a little too much. What you didn't know, was that Ray was straight arrow, both as a cop, and as a family man. No way, he gets involved in the deal you described. Then, when I saw the scar on your back, it verified my suspicions. As I looked out the window, checking for a possible accomplice, I said, OK Silvia, I answered your question. How about you answer one of mine?

    I could almost feel the heat from her eyes. Go to hell, Diablo! You're a dead man. Delgado has the money for an army, if that's what it takes to get you. She flashed a grin that could best be described as evil. So, are you going to arrest me? Since you can't do a damn thing about it, I'll tell you this much. Right now, at this very minute, your Internal Affairs Division is conducting an investigation into your record. It seems an anonymous source dropped a dime, and told them that in return for a piece of the action, you've been helping Luis Delgado with his drug business. So, go ahead, fool. Take me in. You'll be behind bars before me.

    Then came the expected change of pace, as her voice softened, and took on an inviting tone. Look, why don't you use your head, and just leave? Once you're gone, I'll have my hands free inside ten minutes, and be long gone. This way, we both get out of this alive, with a chance to try again later. You're still gonna end up dead, but you can buy yourself a few more days. Hell, who knows? Maybe you can stretch it into a few weeks. It's the smart play, Diablo. Actually, it's your only play.

    I forced a smile. You know, you just might be right. Then, like the strike of a cobra, I slapped her hard with the palm of my hand. As her mouth opened in reaction to the unexpected blow, I forced the barrel of her pistol into her mouth, covered her face with a pillow, then pulled the trigger twice. Her body stiffened, then fell on the bed, limp and lifeless.

    If her story about my being under investigation was true, Silvia might well have gone free, for Delgado's money reached into a lot of pockets, at all levels. Silvia Bates had been far too dangerous to allow her another chance to kill me. Besides, for all I knew, she might well have been the one who set the bomb that killed Ray. That in itself had been more than enough reason to pull the trigger.

    The pillow had muffled the sound of the shot, so I had plenty of time to make sure I got rid of any fingerprints, both in the room, and on the gun. Since I didn't intend to leave until it was late enough that her neighbors would be sleeping, I decided to make good use of the time available.

    Just in case I was taken into custody within the next twenty four hours, I took three hard scrubbed showers to remove any trace of gunshot residue on my body and in my hair. The best I could do about my clothing, would be to change at the first opportunity, then destroy what I was wearing now.

    * * *

    It was one thirty in the morning when I finished my second round of wiping down the room for prints. For a good fifteen minutes, I stood by the door, mentally reviewing any possible way that the investigating officers might find a clue to my having been at the scene of this killing. As satisfied as anyone could be, that I'd covered all the bases, I slipped out the front door.

    When my eyes and ears failed to detect any activity, using the shadows created by the nearby street light, I quickly made my way to Sylvia's car. The engine fired with just a whisper of sound. After flipping off the headlights, I dropped the gearshift into reverse, let it idle out of the driveway, then slipped it into drive, and eased quietly down the street

    After making the drive downtown, I parked her car on the third level of the parking lot, next to the bus station. There, I wiped down the car and the keys for prints, locked the doors, and then dropped the keys in the gas tank. Ducking the lights by staying in the shadows at the rear of the bus station, I checked the time, then called Dixie, who I anticipated would still be at work, balancing the books on the night's business. When she answered, I asked, Hi. You about to close up?

    Recognizing my voice, she replied, Almost done. Maybe five more minutes. What's up?

    I need a ride. Can you pick me up on the east side of the bus station?

    It wasn't the first time Dixie had helped me out of a jam. She wasted no time with questions. Some of this stuff can wait till tomorrow. Figure four minutes. Maybe less.

    True to her word, Dixie pulled up one minute early. When I hopped in the passenger seat, she eased her foot down on the accelerator, as she pulled back into the traffic lane. Where are we going?

    You know the park behind that group of hotels down the road from your place?

    Sure, she answered.

    Pull into the park, and when there's nobody around, I'll hop out. From there, I'll make my way over to one of the hotels.

    Concern was heavy in her voice when she whispered, Why bother? You know you can stay with me if you're in trouble. Then in the dim light, I saw a familiar grin on her face. Or not in trouble, as far as that goes. You stopped needing an invitation a long time ago.

    I know Dix. But I don't want you involved in what I'm tied to right now. Just drop me off, and I'll be fine. Trust me.

    This time, her voice was loud and hot with resentment. Trust you? You're seriously asking me that? The fact that I trust you completely, is the only damn reason I'm not pulling this car over to the side of the road and have it out with you right now. I'll do anything to help. You should know that.

    Yeah, I suppose I do, I answered with a sheepish grin. Look, there is one thing you can do. When you get up tomorrow, how about buying me a change of clothes? You know my sizes, right?

    I could tell she was dying to ask what was going on, but it wasn't the first time I'd left her confused, at least for the short term. In the end, somehow or another, she always seemed to end up with the answers. Yeah, she replied. I know your sizes. What do you want me to do with the clothes? Bring them to the hotel?

    No. Take them to work with you, and I'll pick them up there tomorrow. Then before she could ask any more questions, I took off across the grass toward the row of nearby buildings.

    Twenty minutes later, taking care to

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