by Sam Carter
“They trust your abilities and because you like to work solo, no one is watching this place at all. Based on the time that you and I have been talking, in about ten minutes the rest of your crew will be here to transport me back to my apartment if I have given in or somewhere worse if I haven’t. And I need those precious minutes to get out of this place and get where I need to be. So, I am going to make sure I get that necessary time by making certain you can’t leave for help or follow me.”
After Luke finished with both legs of what used to be The Master, he flipped Kenji onto his back and continued, “One of two things will happen to you. Either by the time your associates arrive you will have bled out and all they will find is a dead man lying on the floor. Or they will come just in time to save your life, only to discover you let me get away without acquiring any information, and then they will kill you. I guess there really is only one outcome: you will leave this place in a bag.”
Luke began to laugh again as he saw the look of throbbing pain on Kenji’s face. He was enjoying this, every second of it, but he felt at least he owed the bloody, pathetic, weeping mess on the floor something he could tell the Matsuis so his pain and anguish would not be completely in vain.
“How about this? Before I go, I’ll give you something. Something that you can share with your buddies when they show up to get their worthless hands on me. This is the last secret. Ready?”
Luke leaned over and plunged his razor as deep into Kenji’s neck as he possibly could, listening closely so he could hear the flesh rip away from his body. As he slowly, painfully, pulled it back out again, he whispered into Kenji’s blood-filled ears to emphasize what he was saying. And Kenji got the message—he got it loud and clear. This would never end. Luke had made it that way. No one would ever find out what was wrong with the kids.
Chapter 19
Harlan hung up the phone and his mind began to race with fear.
Before he even got the chance to go and talk the cops down from their ridiculous theory, they show up at his place of work. And was it about this whole deal with John Samson? It had to be. What else could it be? But what did they think he would know? He was just some middle-aged dude who sent a few tweets to a sports writer who was murdered a few hours later.
Of course, for some reason, that guy who was murdered asked Harlan for help right before his life met its untimely end. Was he suddenly a person of interest? How could he be? But, was he?
All at once, Harlan was frozen with fear. He couldn’t move. His thoughts were jumbled up inside his head, and he wanted to hide under his desk or maybe behind a bottle one more time. He wasn’t sure what he should do. The person on the message told him not to say a word to anyone. Not a soul. Or Jack would . . . he couldn’t even think about it. He was trapped and confused.
At some point in everyone’s life, he or she comes to a crossroads. Harlan always felt depending on which way you choose, which path you take, your life will go in a certain direction that will decide who you are and what you will become.
Harlan, like most people, had many of these roads diverging moments in his life and because he rarely took that road less traveled by he was where he was today. A divorced, recovering alcoholic whose patients were dying, whose family was being threatened by a lunatic who somehow believed that he had something to do with a story a newspaper writer was going to write. And to top it all off, the police were waiting for him in the CEO’s office, and he wasn’t supposed to be talking to them. Well when you put it that way, Harlan thought, my life really doesn’t sound all that bad.
Harlan felt this was another one of those crossroads moments, when the roads were really diverging and he would have a chance to do something great. The problem was, he didn’t know which way to go. He didn’t know the right path to take. This had been an issue for him whenever he experienced moments like this. It was as if a road block was set up in front of each path that made it impossible to see what lay ahead. He would have to guess and probably, once again, guess wrong.
This time he needed to decide, and it appeared that he needed to decide quickly, what he should tell the police. He had two ways he could go on this. One, he could tell them everything he knew. Everything. This meant playing the message from the unknown caller, even though whoever it was made it clear he should tell no one.
The other option was to do what he originally had planned to do, which was to convince them they were following a false idea. It was just a simple Twitter exchange and the only reason Samson had sent Harlan the “help me” tweet was because he had to have been looking at his account at the very moment everything went down. But that was before he received the message. Then it was the truth. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Before he could settle on a decision, his cell phone rang. Harlan was terrified merely to look at it—this stupid contraption had given him nothing but grief today. Right now he was wishing Alexander Graham Bell had never been born.
He stole a quick glance and saw Cole’s name on his caller ID. Harlan exhaled, glad it wasn’t some unknown number again. While Cole was not a fountain of moral judgment or advice, he would still be helpful in this situation, though probably not on the phone. This person was probably listening to all his phone calls. Or was he just being paranoid? He didn’t care at this point. He needed to be as cryptic as possible. Say something only Cole would understand and then fill him in later.
“Who this be?” Harlan, not wanting to show that anything was wrong, answered with his normal, very adult greeting he always used when Cole called.
“It be yo’ momma.” And Cole kept it going. It be yo’ momma. If anyone was listening Harlan hoped the first seven words of this conversation would stop them from thinking he was any sort of threat to them.
“Where have you been?” Cole continued. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. You had to have heard the news about . . .”
“Yup.” Harlan quickly cut him off, not wanting John Samson’s name to be said. “Heard all about it. Crazy.”
“Just crazy? Aren’t you freaking out right now?! With everything that happened yesterday? And, dude! Your name is all over the place! Your Twitter conversation is, too! What is going on, bro?”
So much for playing it cool. Harlan still couldn’t tell him what was going on though. He couldn’t risk it. He needed to get him off the phone fast, both for Harlan’s sake (the police were upstairs waiting) and Cole’s, too. He was officially worried whoever these people were would now find a way to track Cole down. Harlan really needed to breathe, and maybe it was time to finally stop watching all those cop shows.
“I’m ok. It’s been so busy here, I haven’t had much time to think about it.”
Cole started to say something, probably something in disbelief, but before he could continue, Harlan cut him off again. “Sorry to cut this short. I’ve got to get back to work. Duty calls and all. Meet me at the hole tonight at 7:30.”
This was perfect because no one would be able to figure out what he was talking about. They would most likely believe they were going to meet at The Hole, a dive bar downtown. But that’s not what he meant. The hole was what they called Cole’s first apartment after he dropped out of college, because, and the reason was just too creative, it was a whole pile of crap. They were ever so clever.
“Um. All right. Sounds good, I guess,” Cole responded sounding completely confused. “Smell ya later, bro.”
“Not if I smell you first!”
And with that, even though they discussed nothing at all, even though no advice was given, Harlan knew exactly what he needed to do next.
Chapter 20
Harlan made his way to administration feeling like he was about to do what was best for everyone involved. It may not be smart, but he needed to do what he needed to do, and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.
Unfortunately, there was one last obstacle before he made it to Barry’s office. Standing outside her office, obviously waiting for Harlan to pass, was Josie. Not exactly who H
arlan wanted to see at this exact moment, or any moment for that matter.
“This is not what I remember the walk of shame looking like in college,” Josie said as she shot a happy grin in Harlan’s direction.
Before Harlan could stop himself, he opened his mouth and the words flowed right out. “From what I’ve heard, you haven’t stopped having walks of shame since college.”
The look on Josie’s face was enough to tell Harlan he better keep walking as a meeting with the cops would probably be more fun. But there was no way that Josie was just going to let him by without getting in a few choice words of her own.
“You arrogant idiot. You pompous fool. The police are waiting down in Barry’s office for you. For you! And you have the audacity to insult me?”
“Wow. Big words, Josie. Someone has been studying the dictionary, and then taking the words she learned and looking them up in a thesaurus. Amazing! Astounding! Astonishing!” Harlan knew this wasn’t the smartest strategy, but something about cops waiting for him behind the CEO’s door gave him more confidence than he had felt in a long time. It helped him to be even less mature.
“Harlan, are you drunk right now? Listen to yourself. Do you know who you are talking to? You may have Barry fooled, but I see right through you.”
“And what do you see? Do you see someone who hasn’t touched alcohol for almost six months? Do you see a doctor who has done more work in the last nine hours than you’ve done in your whole life? I’m no saint, Josie. I know that. But get off my back.” Harlan began again to walk toward Barry’s office, but before he was two steps away Josie grabbed his arm and glared hard into Harlan’s eyes.
“Listen to me. No matter what happens in there, I will personally ensure that this all ends poorly for you.”
Harlan pried his arm away from her, surprised by her strength, and returned her glare. “I’m shaking in my boots, Dr. Silver. Can’t you tell? Now excuse me, I need to finish my walk of shame.” Harlan turned, smiled, and finally made his way to his destination.
The door to Barry’s office wasn’t open, so Harlan knocked. As he did, butterflies swarmed his stomach, and he began to doubt himself. Was he doing the right thing? Had he really thought through every factor before making his decision? Had he really contemplated how this would affect the lives of others?
At this point it no longer mattered, because Barry opened the door and ushered Harlan in. The doubts he had, no matter how strong they were or how endless they seemed, had to be tabled. Now it was go time.
Harlan wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but this clearly wasn’t it. He thought that maybe a couple of cops in their blues would be there wanting to chat and check in to make sure that all was well in Harlan’s world. At least, that was what he hoped it would be. Instead, sitting in Barry’s office were two police officers in plain dress. These were detectives. They were here to do a full investigation of the matter. Harlan felt this was getting out of hand, although he realized he probably should have expected this to be the case. Who else would be sent during a murder investigation?
Before he could extend his hand and introduce himself, one of the detectives—a short, comb-over-sporting stump of a man—stood up and started the process. It was obvious he was the lead, the senior on the case.
“Dr. Allred. Thank you for taking the time out of what I am sure has been a busy day to come talk to us,” Detective Stumpy (Harlan had decided that this is what he would call him, no matter his actual name) said with a tone in which Harlan detected a strong undertone of sarcasm. “I am Detective Rick Mancuso, and this is my partner, Detective Selena Rodriguez.”
Selena Rodriguez stood up and faced Harlan. It was like the whole world stopped for a quick second. As she stretched out her hand, it was all he could do to keep his eyes from popping right out of his head. Maybe it was, once again, those cop shows that skewed Harlan’s reality, but Rodriguez was not at all what he’d expected. It was usually the Assistant District Attorney who was the sexy, show-stopping one, and if there was a female cop, she usually had a face and body for radio. But this was not the case with Ms. Detective Foxy. Not at all. She was tall, with long brown hair which she had up in a very business-like (but oh so amazing) ponytail and the body of a Greek goddess. She was going to be distracting, to say the least.
As Harlan looked at the two detectives he felt for a second that he was being set up. There was no way that Stumpy and Foxy were an actual team. Stumpy and Foxy sounded like a horrible kid’s TV show that he would be stuck watching on a Saturday morning. There had to be hidden cameras somewhere.
“Please, call me Harlan,” he said as he shook their hands. “You are not here for an appointment. No need to be formal. What can I do for you today?”
He knew that he should probably make eye contact with both of them equally, but he was finding it impossible to pry his gaze away from Rodriguez. This really was going to be hard. Harder than he could have imagined.
Barry cleared his throat, hoping this would get Harlan back to Stumpy’s questions, and fortunately it did. Thank goodness for that. “Well Harlan, I am sure that you are aware of everything that has happened over the past day with the Seattle Times writer John Samson.”
“Yes, Stu—um, Detective Mancuso. Such an awful tragedy to happen to an important person in our city.”
“No need for you to be formal either. Just call me Mancuso. Then you are aware that because of some, what are they called? Twits . . .”
“It’s tweets, Rick.” Rodriguez jumped in to help her partner. When she spoke, even three little words, Harlan heard angels sing. He needed to snap out of it. This had to be their shtick, using Rodriguez’s beauty to confuse doofuses like Harlan.
“Yeah, that’s right. Tweets. I don’t think I will ever get used to all this technological mumbo jumbo. Anyway, because of some tweets, there is a lot of thought that it was some article he was going to write that got him killed. And because he was tweeting with you, you might know something about it.”
This was the moment where Harlan officially hit the crossroads and he was glad that he had already decided what to do, because if he hadn’t been prepared, he would have been completely lost.
“Yup. I have read all about that. And, personally, the whole thing makes no sense to me, and I cannot figure out why anyone would think I have anything to do with it. I just sent him a few questions, and he answered. That is all.” Harlan had decided the best thing to do, the only thing to do, was not give them all the details. His reason for this was plain and simple. Jack. He had to protect Jack.
Detective Stumpy looked long and hard at Harlan, and Harlan noticed that Rodriguez and Barry were doing the same thing. Did they know something about the voice message somehow already? Was it obvious he was lying to them or at least leaving something out? This is what happens when you lie, Harlan thought. You get paranoid and start thinking of worst-case scenarios, even more than normal. But he still knew that he couldn’t say anything. He absolutely couldn’t.
This time it was Rodriguez who spoke to Harlan and, while he still heard angels when she spoke, they had more of an edge to them than before. “It does seem like a crazy idea, until you factor in that last tweet he sent you not too long before he was murdered. Why would he ask you, some random keyboard warrior, for help?” She was tough and direct. No skirting around the issue at hand. On TV, one detective always played it tough and the other was either overly kind or acted aloof. These two just went straight at it with no hesitation. They were going to figure this situation out quickly.
“That baffles me too, especially because I am just your normal, average keyboard warrior. The only thing that I can think of is that he was on his Twitter account right before everything happened to him, and that was the fastest or maybe only way to communicate with anyone.”
Harlan nailed it. It was almost word for word (he ad-libbed the keyboard warrior part) what he had rehearsed in his head over and over again as he was on his way up to meet them. It sounded perfect. Fr
om the looks on Rodriguez’s and Stumpy’s faces though, maybe it was too perfect. Maybe too rehearsed. Maybe he had made the wrong decision and taken the wrong path. No, he once again reminded himself, this was for Jack.
“We thought that, too,” Rodriguez said, but with a look questioning the validity of what Harlan was saying. Like she, too, believed that what he said was too perfect and too rehearsed.
“Here’s the thing.” Stumpy, obviously feeling left out of the conversation, decided it was time for him to jump in and do some detecting, too. “He sent you that tweet early this morning, and this story has been going on all day. Why haven’t you brought this to our attention? Why did we have to come to you?”
Harlan had an answer, an honest answer, for this one already, but he was starting to feel the heat. Once you start lying, simply telling the truth can be hard. He was sure that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be credible because of the lies he had already told. He knew how everything else would sound moving forward.
“Um, well, that’s a good, um, question.” Harlan was already fumbling with his words. Where was the confident person from just a few minutes ago when Josie confronted him? He needed to pull himself together and remember why he was doing what he was doing. “Because of an emergency here at work, I did not check my phone—aside from a call to my parents when I got to work—my email, my texts, or anything on the Internet until about twenty to thirty minutes ago. It wasn’t until then that I even knew anything was going on.”
He sounded a bit more confident than when he first started, but it was almost like he was trying to convince everyone in the room, including himself, that what he was saying was true. Had he taken the wrong path? Maybe he had overthought this whole situation. No, he thought. No, he hadn’t. The voice on the message was clear. If he told anyone, anyone at all, Jack would suffer like his patients. It was hard enough to watch Stacy go through this, but Jack, too? Especially if he could prevent it from happening. Jack’s life and the life of his daughter were worth lying for, and they mattered more to him than finding the killer of some writer.