by Grant Pies
“Well after that long your records are purged from our system. Seven years is the max, I believe.”
“Oh! Perfect!” Carter smiled, but inside his stomach sank as any chance of finding Rose’s biological father evaporated. “That makes me feel so much better. Well I might come back on a day I have more time … thanks for your help.” He turned to leave the empty front office.
“Wait!” Belinda stopped him at the door. He turned and she waved her hand for him to come back. She blushed and looked up at the security camera one more time, then back at Carter. “Well … she could maybe still get the records.” She leaned in closer to him and he leaned towards her. “Technically, they are just purged from the electronic system. They keep the purged records locked up in hardcopy.”
“Oh!” Carter immediately questioned whether he sounded too excited or relieved. “Oh.”
“But it’s secure,” Belinda said. “We have cameras, and you need security cards to access them.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the back of the office. “I just wanted to be honest … you know, so you can make an informed decision.”
“Sure,” Carter smiled. “Honesty is always good.”
Dialing his phone, Carter scanned a brochure for the Bridgeport Cryobank he took as he left. It showed stock images of happy families playing in a park. Nothing like Rose’s family. On the back of the brochure, at the bottom, the fine print read Bridgeport Cryobank is a subsidiary of BioLife.
Carter rolled his eyes as his call went to Sam’s voicemail.
“Sam! C’mon, man. I’m sorry. Just call me back. I’m following a lead on Rose’s case. Claire admitted it. Robert’s not Rose’s father. I’m tracking down the bio father. I need your help. Just call me.” He hung up and shoved his phone into his jacket pocket. This was typical of Sam, not answering his phone after an argument.
He walked away from the Bridgeport Cryobank and turned a corner, heading back to the L Orange Line. Out of the corner of his eye, Carter spotted what looked like the same dark blue van that was parked across the street. It was too non-descript.
Not a mark on it, no scratches or dents, no logos, no business name, nothing. Made to not stand out, hide in plain sight. The van had moved from its original parking spot to one that was right on the corner. He couldn’t see inside the black-tinted windshield.
He walked and turned several corners until he reached a narrow alley, then ducked into a small alcove carved into one of the buildings, and waited. After two minutes of hiding, the dark blue van drove slowly by the alleyway, stopping briefly. Carter pressed himself into the alcove, like he could merge with the wall if he tried hard enough.
The van lurched forward and disappeared. Carter leapt from his hiding place, pulled his phone from his pocket, and jogged back to the street. Moving his phone just enough around the corner he snapped a photo. He walked in the opposite direction of the van and took the train, making transfers until he was convinced no one was following him.
But by the time he made it back, the same van was parked far down the street, facing his office. At least he thought it was the van. It was too far away to know for sure.
He locked the office door behind him, trying to act normal and go about whatever typical business he would if no one was watching. He pulled out his phone and called Sam one more time.
“Sam!” he said. “I think I’m onto something Sam … I need your help. I – I – look just call me. Please. I think someone’s fol—" Carter stopped and looked around, checking to see if everything was as he had left it. “Sam,” Carter said, slightly quieter. “It’s important. Trust me.” He hung up.
He was surprised at how quickly he had grown used to having another person around these last six months. Until now, he and Sam had only worked surveillance gigs together. Mostly husbands working late with the new female co-worker or stopping off at a massage parlor on the way home. As much as he hated to admit it, he would have felt better with Sam around. Deep down, he knew what he was planning, and maybe he wanted Sam there to talk him out of it.
He sat at his desk, looking up at the blue van every few minutes. It never moved. Carter was quickly learning how it felt to be on the opposite end of a surveillance gig. While waiting and hoping the van would leave, he ran scenarios in his mind, thinking of ways he could get his hands on the old donor records at Bridgeport Cryobank.
Bribery was the first that came to mind. But with what money?
Get a job there and sneak in the back room. That’s a long game. Too long.
He knew the cops would be no help. No chance in getting a warrant.
All of his scenarios led back to the same thing, the same solution. It was the same plan he had in his mind when he left the cryobank.
Once it was seven o’clock, he went to his safe and retrieved his gun along with a lock pick set and a ski mask. He shoved the gun in his waistband, the other stuff into his coat pockets, and left out the back door. He left the lights on, hoping the van would stay put for at least a little longer, then dialed Sam one last time as he walked briskly down the street to the train.
“Sam, God dammit! Look, I’m sorry! Now stop acting like a child! I’m going to do something. I – I’m following a lead … maybe, I don’t know. But I need to see this through until I know it’s a dead end.” Carter stepped over puddles and his coat blew away from his body, exposing the black metal gun jammed in his back.
“It’s gonna sound crazy, but I’m going to a sperm bank in Bridgeport. I might be able to find her real father. I’ll text you the address. Meet me there. Or at least call me back. Please.” Carter hung up, shot Sam a text with the address, and shoved the phone in his coat pocket.
The streetlights shone down, casting harsh shadows. Carter jogged the rest of the way to the train station. No sight of the blue van. He got off the train in Bridgeport and walked toward the Cryobank.
One block away, Carter pulled the ski mask down over his face, twisting it so his eyes lined up with the holes. He kept to the shadows and moved quickly. His heart raced, and his eyes darted around.
Crime was high in Bridgeport, and Carter knew there would be at least a few police vehicles patrolling the area. He gave himself ten minutes before a cop drove by and saw him in his mask. He guessed it would be three minutes before a cop showed up to the sperm bank after he triggered an alarm.
He walked to the back of Bridgeport Cryobank and pulled the lock pick set out of his pocket. Fumbling with the pins, he felt something click inside the lock. He turned the knob and pulled the door open. Rushing in, he expected to hear an alarm, but there was nothing.
Silent alarm perhaps? Regardless, he ran down the hall Belinda had pointed at earlier that day. Shit! Belinda! Carter thought and paused briefly. The day a man came in asking about old records is the same day they are stolen. Would she give a description of Carter? Was his face caught on camera?
“Fuck!” With no other choice, he kept going.
He flung each door open as he moved down the hall. Each one was just a small room, an old TV in the corner and a few worn out porn magazines on an end table. Even in a hurry, Carter was amazed at how desperate an empty room could feel. At the end of the hall, he reached one door with an electronic lock and card scanner at the door.
He looked around, wondering if he could find a security card somewhere in the office, but knew that would take too much time. He reached into his waistband and drew his weapon. Standing to the side of the door, he fired the gun. Three bullets ripped through the door and a deafening bang ran through the small office. Carter’s ears buzzed. He could only hear his internal workings, heartbeat and breath running in and out of his lungs.
A red light flashed overhead, and, even with his temporary hearing loss, Carter knew there was an alarm going off. He drove his shoulder into the heavy door and slammed it inward. Beyond, the room was lined with tall filing cabinets.
“Shit,” he said, but couldn’t hear himself, only felt the vibrations of the word going through his thr
oat and jaw. He shoved his gun back into his waistband, the hot barrel burning against his skin, and scanned the cabinets until he saw one marked ‘Purged Donor/Recipient Data.’
“Thank God,” he said, and thought he might have heard his voice, just a little bit.
He found a drawer labeled ‘2000-2004.’ He flung the drawer open to reveal thousands of printed pages. Two minutes since I picked the lock, Carter thought. One since I fired my gun.
He picked up a box of printer paper and dumped it out onto the floor then reached inside the filing cabinet and dropped handfuls of records into the empty box until he cleaned out the entire drawer.
Then, gripping the box, he ran out the door, down the hall, and back to the door he came in. He burst into the alley behind the sperm bank. The first thing he saw was the blue van with its back doors wide open. The first thing he felt was something solid and metal coming down hard against the back of his head.
His arms went limp. The donor records fell to the asphalt and Carter dropped to his knees. The rest of his body fell forward, his face splashing into a shallow puddle on the ground, water soaking into his ski mask.
He heard a muffled voice, but couldn’t make out what it said. Two large hands wrapped around his ankles and lifted. Someone else grabbed his wrists. They tossed Carter into the back of the van. His body dropped with a thud, and his head rattled on the metal floor. He pried his eyes open. Everything was blurry, except for two human shapes. One lifted the box of records and slid them into the van next to Carter.
“Let’s go,” one man said. It was soft, but Carter’s hearing had returned.
The man who put the records into the van was about to close the back doors when headlights shone down the dark alley.
“Shit,” the man said. The voice was gruff.
“I can’t let you leave with him.” Sam. Thank God.
Through blurred vision, Carter saw one man move to the side and point his arms out towards Sam. Then gunshots and explosions of light popped throughout the alley. Something pinged on the side of the van. Carter tucked his knees into his chest, making himself as small as possible. More shots went off, and then there was silence.
Carter saw a large man press up against the brick wall. He let out a short grunt then a shallow gasp. He shuffled along the wall towards the front of the van. The van rocked slightly, the doors slammed closed, and the engine turned over.
The vehicle shot forward. The back doors swung open, banging against the outside of the van. Wind rustled around the open van. Carter saw Sam’s headlights growing smaller until they looked like two orange laser pointers in the blackness. He crawled and wrapped his arms around the large box of stolen donor records. The van bounced in potholes, splashing water up behind it.
He inched his way towards the back edge of the speeding van, tucked his chin tight into his chest, and rolled out. His body crashed against the pavement, skin dragging along the rough road. His head smacked hard and everything went black.
Just One More Favor, Please
Carter’s eyes jolted open when Sam smacked him across the face, and then they quickly pulled shut again. In that brief moment, he saw a dark sky, a streetlight shining down on him, and the orange ember tip of a cigarette hovering above his face.
“C’mon,” Sam said, shaking him. He opened his eyes, fighting the urge to sleep, and turned his head slightly. Through blurred vision, he saw the box of sperm donor records tipped over on the ground, white pages spilling out and blowing away through the alley.
“Get up!” Sam barked. “Cops’ll be here any second!”
“The – the records.” Carter pointed at the fluttering papers.
“Fuck ‘em,” Sam said, pulling him to his feet. “We’ve gotta get going.” He ducked his head under Carter’s arm and hoisted him up.
“No, no, no,” he stammered, pulling in the opposite direction of Sam’s car. “I need the records.” By now, his vision was back to normal. The circumstances and his surroundings came rushing back. For the first time, he heard the alarm going off inside the sperm bank. About forty feet down, the back door of the cryobank hung open, and a red light flashed inside, spilling its light out into the back alleyway.
“You’re lucky I came at all! Get your ass in the fucking car now, or I leave you here for good!” The foul smell of cigarettes and alcohol spilled out of Sam’s mouth as he yelled. In the distance, police sirens wailed and tires screeched.
“I can’t leave them!” Carter broke free and stumbled over to the records. He started to stuff the loose papers back into the box but a lightning bolt of pain shot up his leg and he tumbled over.
“Son of a bitch!” Sam rushed to grab what papers he could before the wind took them away. He grabbed them and wadded them up into balls, tossing them in the box. “Happy?” he said, grabbing the box and leaving Carter to walk on his own. “Now get in!”
He yanked the back door open and threw the box onto the backseat, spilling the papers all over the car. The police sirens grew louder until they were louder than the alarm inside the sperm bank. Sam rounded the car, shoved Carter into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and jumped in the driver side.
He sped down the alley away from Bridgeport Cryobank and took the corner just as the police pulled up to the front. Sam sped until there was enough distance between him and the police, then he slowed, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
“Thanks,” Carter muttered and winced at every movement he made. He glanced in the back at the pages of records scattered all over. “Thanks.”
A half-drunk beer bottle rattled in the cup holder. “Don’t talk. I’m not ready to hear your fucking voice.”
Carter’s left shoulder had made first contact with the pavement when he rolled out of the van. Something was broken or out of socket. It hurt worse than anything he had ever felt. Tacky blood dripped through his hair and down the back of his head. With his good arm, he reached back and felt blood dripping down his neck and soaking the neckline of his shirt. His face hurt to move, and he could only assume he had layers of skin missing somewhere.
Sam checked his rearview mirror every few seconds. So far, the dark blue van wasn’t following them, and there were no blue and red lights either. The car ran over potholes and jostled Carter’s body. He wondered if Sam was swerving just to hit each one.
“Mother fucker,” Sam mumbled to himself. “I think I hit one of them. You know you are unbelievable.”
Carter opened his mouth.
“Ah!” Sam stopped him. “Don’t speak!”
“Don’t—" Carter started.
“What did I say! I don’t want to hear it!”
“Don’t go to—"
“I said shut up!”
“The office.” Carter tried to talk over Sam, but it was just a low whisper drowned out by Sam’s booming voice.
“The what?” He sped over a large puddle, spraying water down one side of the car.
“The office,” Carter wheezed, like the wind was still knocked out of his chest.
“What? Why?” Sam slowed down, jerking the wheel to make a U-turn, throwing Carter against the passenger door.
“They’ve been to the office. Watching,” Carter said, holding his chest with each word.
“Who are they?”
Carter shrugged his shoulders and cringed at the jolt of pain. “Been following me ever – ever since I went to the sperm bank … maybe longer.”
“Then where to? Your house?” Carter started to shake his head slowly. “Never mind. If they’ve been to the office, they know where you live.”
“Your place?” Carter slouched in the passenger seat.
“No, I’m not taking you to my place. Not after how we left things last we saw each other.” Sam clamped his lips around his cigarette and pounded his fist against the steering wheel. “Son of a bitch! Chances are they’ll be heading there next once you don’t show up to the office or your place. What a fine pile of shit you’ve pulled me into!”
“Mo
tel?” Carter’s face was swelling up, and, by the taste of blood in his mouth, he bet he’d bit into his tongue.
“I’m not hanging around to babysit you, and you’re paying!”
“No cash,” Carter tried to chuckle. He couldn’t believe how unprepared he was for this robbery. No getaway plan. Not even a getaway car. He needed Sam more than he realized.
“Figures,” Sam said, taking a hard drag on his cigarette. “You’re paying me back. Double!” Sam said, pointing at Carter.
Carter smirked, but his swollen face barely moved. “Double,” he repeated.
The motel was old, musty, and likely not professionally cleaned for some time. Sam opened the door and dropped the large box of records on one bed, then came back to the car to help Carter.
“C’mon,” he said, pulling on Carter’s good arm and wrapping it around the back of his neck. Carter hobbled the best he could, but Sam carried most of his weight. Something was twisted or sprained in his left leg, and he couldn’t place any weight on it.
Once inside, Sam, in a careless way, dropped Carter’s body onto the thin mattress. He sank down towards the middle of the bed.
Pulling the shades closed over the single window facing the parking lot, Sam said, “I paid for two nights. After that, it’s up to you.”
He picked up the TV remote and tossed it on the bed next to Carter, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of wrinkled bills.
“This is enough for the L and a couple transfers. To the hospital, your place, wherever. I don’t give a single fuck where you go.”
He opened the door and reached in his other pocket, pulling out the motel room key and tossing it high in the air. It landed on Carter’s chest.
“Don’t forget to lock the door behind me.”
“Sam, Sam, wait.”
“What!” Sam turned, his hand still gripped on the doorknob.
“Thanks,” was all Carter could get out.
“Fuck you.” Sam slammed the door shut. The engine of his car turned over and his tires squealed as he left the parking lot.