“What?”
“At Al’s the other night, we talked about your faith and the Father being a shelter in the storm—”
“You’re listening to me, too!”
“No, I couldn’t. Think about it. We had the restaurant to ourselves. No one was close enough to overhear.”
“You could have used some kind of bug.”
“No. Our decision to eat was spontaneous. We were at the restaurant in a few minutes. For Hank to plant a bug, he would have had to have somehow been listening in my car and overhear us choose the restaurant. Then he’d have to rush over there, plant the bug, and get out before we arrived. How could he have done that?” Classic misdirection. Get her thinking about the impossibility of a bug and not thinking about the possibility of parabolic mics or listening devices on her person.
“That does seem pretty impossible, but—”
“I know this all sounds nuts, but so does any other explanation. Does it make more sense that the bag boy from the grocery store has an elaborate network of listening devices and spies watching you? That only happens on television. From that standpoint, me being from the future isn’t that farfetched. Remember that fake psychic we saw at the park. I knew she was involved somehow, but I didn’t know how until Thursday when I was inside David.”
She inhales and holds her breath. She wants to believe, but at the same time, she wants to call the men with the straight jacket.
“Bronwen, the psychic, told Davey she would do a seance to call your Mom and Dad. He took the money to pay for it. She lured him there to steal from him. When he caught on, she pushed him—hard. He fell from the third to the first floor, breaking his leg and ribs. I only know where the place is because he wrote you a letter and he talked about the fairies and moles. He wrote, ‘It’s funny to me how many times we drove by these buildings and made up stories about the fairy creatures that lived here and their wars with the mole people. I hoped something magical would happen here and, instead, I got ripped off and trapped in this empty, sad place.’”
“Look, this is all—”
“I know it sounds like I’ve slipped into full-on dementia, but what have you got to lose? Call Detectives Diaz and Weidhoff. Have them meet us there. We’ll go in separate cars. And I’m old. You can take me if I try anything. Don’t you want to save David?” Grifter trick 856, ask a question someone would never say no to.
“Okay. I’m not giving you directions or an address. You’ll have to follow. And I AM calling them.” Feisty girl takes charge. I love it.
“Cool. I’m in the white SUV.”
Pretty soon we’re speeding down San Jose. She’s driving like it’s the grand prix in that dilapidated VW. I respect a woman who knows how to handle her wheels. We pull into a once- cleared, but now overgrown lot with some run down, half-finished condominiums off San Jose. He’s been ten minutes down the road this whole time. So close, yet it could have been a galaxy away for the chances of anyone finding this place. It feels right, but I won’t know which building until I see inside.
“I prayed about this the whole way over. Every bit of it seems crazy. But I’m not scared. The Spirit is giving me peace. So, I’m giving you this a chance. You better be right.” Lydia’s eyes imply some sort of violence will occur if I don’t deliver.
You got this, Father? I silently pray. I’m banking all I have on you.
I scan the property. Which building would make the most sense for a grifter? One in the back, of course. More privacy. But Bonehead Bronwen’s laziness and lack of skill would lead her elsewhere. Would she be stupid enough to use the first building? Maybe. Probably. I point. “Let’s try this one.” We run toward it.
Lydia educates me between breaths, “The developer ran out of funds. They’ve been sitting here like this for years. David and I imagined these transported you to another realm like Narnia or guarded a secret world like Fablehaven. That’s how the stories grew. Only he and I know about that.”
Desperate to justify her trust, I dash up the building’s steps as fast as old man Hank’s arthritic knees will take me. Lydia hangs back. Her faith in me and my insane story are hanging by a thread. I enter the second apartment and, miracle of all miracles, find what I was looking for. (When do things ever work out on the first try?) A giant hole occupies the middle of the floor with a faint drawing of a pentagram next to it. I lean out the door. “This is the one.” Her speed picks up. I dash back to the hole and shine a flashlight Hank had in his glove box in the darkness. “David!”
No response. When I redirect the light, I can see the edge of his boot.
“David!”
Now, Lydia is beside me on her knees. Light streams into the hole.
“David!” Our voices in chorus.
We hear a weak whisper, an incoherent mutter.
“David, it’s me,” Lydia shouts. “Please, please answer,” she whispers.
“His ribs are damaged, remember? Yelling might be hard.” I say to her. “David bang one of the bottles on the floor if you can hear us,” I scream into the hole.
The boot moves slightly, and we hear the empty thud of plastic on the concrete. It comes again louder.
“We’re getting help,” Lydia yells.
The banging continues. Together we stumble down the stairs to the first floor. The door is boarded closed, as expected. Lydia pulls fruitlessly at the wood, cutting her hands.
“David,” she yells through the door. “I’m here. I’m right here. Help is on the way. They’ll be here any minute. Just hold on.”
We hear the plonking of the bottle from inside. His fervent yes and SOS. She calls the boys in blue again. “We found him. He’s trapped. He’s hurt bad.” She hangs up. “They’re calling a bus. I guess that’s an ambulance.” She looks at me, tears in her eyes. “You were right. If you’re right about this…”
“I’m right about all of it. Crazy and insane I know, but everything I’ve told you is true.”
“But how?”
I shrug. “I don’t understand all the techy stuff.”
“So, they sent you from the future to find David?”
“No, they sent me from the future to be ‘exposed to law-abiding and virtuous citizens.’ Someone, I think your God, sent me to find David.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me either. I never believed in god, but, well, it’s been a weird week. I think he did it, all this for you and David…and maybe me. Remember talking to Mr. Burns the other night about his friend the orphan?”
“Yes. I’m trying to wrap my mind around this. So that was you, some time traveler, and not him?”
“I’m not a time traveler. I’m a felon. It’s a rehab program for prisoners. But, yeah, it was me. Anyway, I was telling you my story. I lost my mom at twelve. Been on my own ever since. Anyway, I’m thinking that your god chose me for this job specifically, to help me in some way. I’m not sure why he’d bother. I’m not exactly a stellar candidate.”
“He cares about everyone. He created us all. We’re all his children.”
I snort. “I’m not sure how I feel about all that. It’s new to me. It’s not like I’ve had the best life. It seems like a strange way to treat children. You’ve lost your parents, brother, and now this. Didn’t seem like love at first, but at the same time here I am, leading you to David. He’s confusing, that Father to the Fatherless. I don’t understand it all.”
“His ways are not our ways. His logic and our logic don’t mesh. Instead of giving us righteous punishment for our sin; he sent his son as a sacrifice so we that could have a relationship. It doesn’t make sense. I suppose this makes as much sense as other things he’s done. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego survived a fiery furnace without a scratch. Job. Elijah went up in a whirlwind.” She’s quiet for a moment. I know she needs a minute, so I give it to her. A grifter knows when to talk, and when to keep his yap shut.
“It’s funny,” she continues. “I haven’t had a check in my spirit about any of this. My mind has pl
enty of questions, but, in my spirit, it feels true. Faith is all about trusting in what you can’t see or touch. And I feel like God is saying I can trust you, as illogical as that may be.”
The screech of brakes resonates from the parking lot. A whining siren blares in the distance, looming closer. Lydia says, “Help is here, little brother! Hold on a few moments more.”
“You should go meet them. They don’t know me from Adam’s Housecat. I’ll stay with Davey.”
She darts out to the parking lot. I hear her talking with Benny Boy and Chuckles.
“Sorry, I took so long,” I say through the door; then creep into the dark of a stairwell. They don’t need to see me. There would be too many questions to answer. I mean to fade out entirely, but I want to see David with my own eyes. Make sure he’ll be okay.
Lydia must have explained because Chuckles appears with a tire iron. He slips one end under a board and pulls with all his might. The warped wood groans under the pressure but doesn’t give. Benny grabs the handle lower down and together they wrestle the board off. All the boards are cleared in a matter of moments, the door won’t open.
“Something is blocking it,” Benny says.
“David, if you’re leaning on the door, try to move over, okay?” Lydia says.
We hear a sharp moan of pain and some scuffling inside. Benny tries the door again, and it swings open. David, who no longer has the strength to hold himself up, collapses into the entryway. He looks like he’s already dead. Slack skin clings to his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes are sunken. Benny checks for vitals. Lydia is crying and holding his hand. Charlie dashes into the parking lot with his football speed to meet the approaching ambulance. The paramedics arrive and do their thing. The seconds go on for eternity. Finally, they load him on the gurney.
“He’s so pale. Why are his lips blue?” I hear Lydia whisper.
“We’re taking him to the trauma center at Shands,” one of the paramedics says to Benny. I slink out of the back of the development. Once they are clear, I head back to Hankster’s car. The day is almost half over, and I still have a lot of work to do.
III
Good thing my quarry lacks an abundance of brains. She should have blown town the day things went south with Davey. A good grifter would. Not only did she stick around, but I had found her at the scene of the crime! She went back to the same park where she picked up Davey two days after she dumped him. It’s clear by her specialty in the conning trade and that amateur move, that she’s devoid of imagination. She’ll stick to what she knows. However, once a bunch of jackboots start tromping through her territory with a frighteningly accurate drawing of her, she’ll bolt.
I need to find her before they spook her. Besides, she’s mine. I want the satisfaction of bringing her in, not them. I decide she would have had enough survival instincts to avoid Mandarin Park after our—hers and Burnsey’s—conversation. So, I’m not going to waste time searching there. But I bet she’ll stick to the southside of Jacksonville, near, but not in Mandarin.
Hank is dressed to impress, and I’ve got a mission. First few parks are duds, but then I find her. Perched upon a picnic table doing the meditation thing, like a sitting duck. I walk past her slowly with my cell phone to my ear, feigning a call.
“Gabby can you pull up the Riverwalk Condo papers? I drove by that development disaster on San Jose this morning, and there were cop cars and an ambulance outside one of the them. I’m going to have to come into the firm today and double check the docs as far as liability for the empty buildings. And have Howard call the police station and see what he can find out. So much for a day off.” Now if she had time to really think she might wonder why I was in the park making a call instead of running into the office…but she won’t really think. She’ll be in panic mode. That’s a conman’s bread and butter—make your prey feel desperate, so they don’t have time to really think. “There’s only limited spots, you could lose out on this once in a lifetime opportunity if you don’t act now!”
I end the call and sit at the table next to hers. Pretending to scroll through my contacts, I watch her in my peripheral vision. She’s cocked her head in my direction.
“Excuse me kind sir, I would never eavesdrop, but did you say there were official vehicles at those dilapidated buildings on San Jose?”
“Yep, this is a total train wreck. I don’t need this six months before retirement.”
“The ones near the creek?”
“Yeah, lady. Can I get on with my calls?”
“Certainly, if you wouldn’t mind entertaining one more question.”
“Sure, I’m loaded with time.” Being irritated increases her stress and, also, draws her in because she has to work for it. Nobody trusts something easy. “Sorry sir, the last slot just filled. Maybe next time.”
“No, please, can’t you squeeze me in?”
“Sure, maybe we can wiggle some room in Platinum status, but that’s an extra $200.”
“Deal!”
“Are you involved in the financing of those residences?”
“No, I lucked out there. They took a bath. I’m the lawyer.”
Her eyes brighten with hope.
“Can I disturb you with one more, hypothetical question?”
“Oh yeah, I love giving legal advice on my day off when a giant bomb is about to explode in my face.”
She giggles lightly and picks at the fringe on her gypsy skirt. “What if someone accidentally without malice hurt someone and didn’t get help?”
“Was it during the commission of a crime?”
“Excuse me?”
“Was it during the commission of a crime?” I punctuate each word like she’s hard of hearing, applying more stress.
“What if the crime were very small one?”
“Lady, it doesn’t matter if you stole a stick of gum. Battery during the course of a crime adds time. Plus, you said, ‘hurt.’ How badly? That could be Aggravated Battery, which is a whole other ball game. But you’re a skinny, little thing. A good lawyer could convince a jury you damaged the dude in self-defense.” Now, she’s biting her perfect nails. Tick, tick, tick. The pressure increases.
“What if the person were a teenager?”
“How old?”
“14 or 15.”
“Jury would still consider that a kid, and they come down hard on anyone that hurts a kid. Especially a good-looking one. Sounds cold, but it’s true.” Her eyes dart around the park as if she’s expecting the boys in blue to materialize out of thin air. She rubs frantically at her skirt and starts to rise. Here’s where I have to be careful. Don’t want her to explode. Time to be her friend. Punishment and reward, punishment and reward. It’s a time-honored grifting technique.
“You in trouble?” I ask.
“Huh.”
“Let me give you some free advice. Running is never a good idea. You don’t want to add ‘Fugitive from Justice’ to your mounting charges, plus you spend the rest of your youth looking over your shoulder. If you need help, solicit a lawyer.”
“Okay, here’s the thing—” Time to turn the heat back up.
“Ah, ah. Hold up, sweetie. I’m not your lawyer unless you’ve given me a retainer.”
“A retainer?”
“A fee paid to retain professional advice. Without a retainer, I’m a witness. With a retainer, you have attorney-client privilege.”
“How much?”
“My usual is $2000.”
“I don’t have that much.” Her eyes plead with me.
“Then check the yellow pages. I’m sure you’ll find someone within your budget. Of course, they probably got their degree online.” I stand up and walk away. I can hear her sandals slapping the pavement as she pursues me.
“Wait, wait. I’ve got five hundred. I could give it to you now.”
I sniff and purse my lips. “All right. I could write you off as a charity case.” Punishment, reward, punishment, reward.
She digs in the satchel draped across her chest
and hands me a wad of bills. I thumb through it, counting each one. I want her to suffer a little as she waits. It’s only fair after all David has waited and suffered. I count a second time. She stops breathing. A third time.
“I can’t today. I have to deal with this cock-up. Come to my office 11:15 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late. I abhor tardiness.”
“I won’t be.”
“Go home and don’t leave for any reason. Call me immediately if something happens.” I pull out a notebook and jot down a fake firm name, address, and phone. Then I hand it to her. “Write down your legal name, address, and phone number. I need it to start your file.”
“Okay,” she says complying. Blanche Evans! No wonder she changed her name.
“11:15 sharp. And don’t talk to anyone,” I say as I walk away. Later, she’ll call that number, and no one will answer. The help she’s waiting for won’t come, and she will rot in jail. It’s better than she deserves.
I hightail it to the Jeep. I need to get out of here quick. When the deal is done, cut and run. If that cow sees me in the parking lot, it will ruin the illusion. I drive away and think about my next move. I can’t call the tip line from Hank’s cell; they might trace it and question him later. I don’t want to bring that mess down on him. I scan both sides of the road for a viable place to make the call. Unfortunately in this century, pay phones have gone the way of the dodo. So, I need to find a business, but one that would have some privacy near the phone. This convo can’t be overheard. I spy a small salon.
“That’ll do. Small salons don’t generally have a receptionist. If it doesn’t look right when I walk in, I’ll find another place.”
It’s perfect. There are only two stylists in the joint. Both working with customers near the back. One looks up at me when I enter. “How can I help you?”
I shake my cell in the air. “I’m out of power and need to check in with the missus. Can I use your phone?”
“Sure,” she says, pointing to the reception desk.
Lost in the System Page 19