Reel to Real

by Joyce Nance

  John turned the table lamp back on. “Did you wash these?” he asked.

  “There wasn’t nothing on ’em.”

  “Maybe, but you must've at least left tracks at the scene.”

  Esther frowned. “Oh.”

  “Bring me your biggest, sharpest knife,” he said, holding the boots up to the light. He peered hard at the waffled soles. “We gotta cut these bad boys up. They’re too particular. You could definitely tell a footprint from one of these guys. That’s not good.”

  Esther came back with John’s own set of knives, left at her house from his culinary school days. John chose a super sharp six-inch carving knife and put the rest back in the box.

  In order to cut through the soles, he had to use the blade like a saw. He cursed under his breath the whole time, because it took all of his considerable strength to slice them up into four largish pieces. He then stuffed the scraps along with the jacket Esther wore the night of the murders into a garbage bag. Then they went outside and threw it all down a city gutter.

  After the evidence was disposed of and they were safely back at Esther’s apartment, Esther and John sat back down on the couch.

  “Okay,” John said. “Now tell me again.”

  Chapter 23

  “Who lies for you will lie against you.”

  BOSNIAN PROVERB

  After hearing the entire terrible story a second time, John told Esther that this information was too much for him to handle. He had to take a walk, he said. Clear his head. Once outside he marched straight for a payphone.

  “Crystal?”

  Crystal sounded annoyed. “John?”

  “Babe, I need your help. I need you to get me some money. I need to get back to Colorado ASAP. And I mean right now ASAP. Can you get me some money?”

  “I don’t have anything right now, John. I don’t get paid 'til Friday.”

  “I know babe, but I gotta get outta here.”

  Crystal let out a deep breath but remained silent.

  “It’s urgent,” John implored.

  “I’m sure it is.” More silence.

  “Well?”

  “I’m thinking.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, I guess I could pawn my TV and get enough for a bus ticket. I don’t really want to give up my TV though.”

  “Look, babe, just get me back to Pueblo and I’ll figure out a way to get your TV back. I cannot stay here. There are too many problems.”

  “Okay, John. I’ll pawn it in the morning. What time does the bus leave?”

  “I think it’s at like 11:00 or 11:30. From Santa Fe. Call them. Make sure.”

  “All right, when I wake up in the morning, I’ll take the TV down to the pawn shop and then I’ll get your ticket.”

  “Can't wait to see ya, babe.”

  11:30 PM

  Shelly went outside to get a book from her car. Even though it was 11:00 at night, she wanted to keep reading to see how the story ended.

  While outside, she saw Shane in the street. He appeared to be cleaning his Fiero. He had a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex, and looked to be wiping down the inside of the car. She could not tell if he saw her, and he did not say hello.

  Thursday, March 7, 1996 8 AM

  Early Thursday morning Esther drove John from Albuquerque to the Santa Fe Greyhound Station to catch a bus back to Pueblo, Colorado. As it turned out, they got there two and half hours early.

  While cruising the historic Santa Fe Plaza, they ran across a cute cafe where the two of them stopped to have a bite to eat. Inside, a row of red vinyl booths lined one side of the wall, and a row of tables lined the other. Esther wanted a booth, and this time she got her way. Even though neither one of them could afford it, they both ordered steak and eggs.

  As they ate, Esther asked again if John was sure he had to leave town. He reminded her he was wanted, and therefore the two of them should not be seen together. He said it wasn’t fair for one of them to draw the cops to the other, and he agreed with the concept of acting “normal” and of making every effort to stay as “invisible” as possible.

  “We have to play it safe,” he said. “Just wait a week ’til I get some money. Crystal owns a restaurant up in Pueblo and I’m going to get her to give me a loan. I won’t tell her what it’s for. Then I’ll get you out of town. It won’t take long, you’ll see.”

  Esther believed him and agreed to wait until he sent for her. He told her they would escape to Mexico.

  As they chatted, John was once again the smiling, handsome, charming guy Esther had fallen in love with. For those few glorious couple of hours — when they finally had time to be alone, Esther was happy; hopeful happy. It was like old times, like nothing bad had ever happened and they were just an ordinary, carefree couple in love.

  Esther felt like maybe the world was finally on her side again, that she and John would indeed be together forever. John had even written down his correct Pueblo, Colorado address and phone number, and had given them to her before they left her apartment. She no longer had to use crazy Shane as the annoying and now scary go-between. Now she could call John directly – within reason, of course. It had also become very apparent to her during this time they had spent together, that John loved her as much she loved him.

  After finishing a leisurely breakfast, John looked at the wall clock and said, “It’s late babe, we gotta go. I gotta catch my bus in 20 minutes.”

  Esther paid the tab and they got back in her station wagon. She drove to what she thought was the location of the bus station, but it wasn’t there.

  “I don’t remember where it’s at,” she sighed.

  “What?” John said. “I gotta get that bus. It’s leaving in a couple of minutes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find it,” she said. But she looked confused. “I remember there was a drug store on the corner. It should be somewhere right around here.” She drove faster.

  John clenched his jaw and fumed, “You’re doing it again, woman. You’re messing up my--

  “There it is,” Esther shouted. “There’s the bus.” She pointed straight ahead. “Right there.”

  As Esther screeched to a stop, John jumped out and ran directly into the path of the oncoming motor-coach, waving his hands back and forth as it chugged away from the loading area. The bus driver must have seen him because the air brakes hissed and the bus pulled to a halt. John strode over to the bus door and with one foot resting on the bottom step, had a quick conversation with the driver. Then he got back out.

  Esther had hopped out of the car as well. With some difficulty, she yanked John’s big brown suitcase from the backseat, grunting as she dragged it towards the bus. John rushed over and snatched the bag away, running full speed to the bus door.

  He jumped on board. He did not kiss her goodbye. He did not even look back.

  As the bus pulled away, Esther stood alone in the parking lot, small and forlorn, waving goodbye to the man of her dreams. A man she would never see again.

  12 noon

  "My thoughts and prayers are with the families and loved ones of those so senselessly slain in this tragedy," Mayor Martin Chavez said in a written statement.

  As the city continued to mourn, the news media continued to focus on police efforts to capture the Hollywood Video killers. It was practically the only subject discussed. Businesses remained on high alert.

  The news bulletins were constant. Police urged motorists to call 911 if they spotted the mysterious black van, then to let law enforcement handle it from there. Officials pursued every angle.

  The shootings prompted terrified citizens, especially those living in the vicinity of the killings to lock their doors and arm themselves. Other video stores in the area began closing at 9 PM instead of 2 AM. The Hollywood Video on San Mateo Boulevard remained shuttered.

  "Everyone is scared. Honestly just scared," said Mari Gomez, assistant manager of a neighboring check cashing business.

  2 PM

  Esther hung around her apartment, feeling empt
y and missing John. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to watch the news anymore but she couldn’t help herself. It turned out that not watching the news made her more anxious than watching the news. If she didn’t watch, she didn’t know what was happening. If she did watch, then she kind of knew that everything remained the same.

  Still, she was worried that the guy in the video store might someday pick her face out of a mug book. She knew if she didn’t get out of town pretty soon, the cops would eventually be knocking on her door.

  3 PM

  All this stuff on the news was making Shane nervous too. He thought about changing his appearance; maybe letting his goatee grow, or possibly cutting his hair — something simple but effective.

  Plus, despite the constant alerts about the mysterious black van, he worried that his car had been seen. It finally hit him that he needed to change the tires on the Fiero. It was altogether possible he might have left tire tracks up in the mountains on that soft, muddy dirt. Tracks that most certainly would not match the tire tracks of any type of van.

  ***

  Bruce Connelly ran the sales counter at Southwest General Tire. He had been there for nearly a year and half, and his duties were to meet with customers and sell them tires.

  The store was typically busy in the afternoons. The phones rang non-stop, customers came and went, things like that. So Bruce didn’t think much about it when he got a call from a guy asking if he had a certain type of tire in size 195 60 14.

  “Yeah, okay,” Bruce said. “No problem.”

  The guy seemed concerned about price and asked for the least expensive tire that would fit his car. He also wanted to know how fast he could get the tires mounted. Bruce got these kinds of calls all the time, but this guy seemed a little frantic — maybe even extra-frantic.

  But so what? Bruce informed him that, yes, he had the type of tires he was looking for and he gave him the price.

  “That sounds fine,” the guy on the phone said. He told Bruce he would be in right away.

  Forty-five minutes later, a tall, skinny white guy wearing blue jeans and a white tee-shirt walked through the doors. His long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he asked for Bruce.

  “Hi, I’m David Paris,” he said as he shook Bruce’s hand. “I was the one that just called about the tires.”

  Bruce was a muscular, “played-football-in-high-school” type of guy with red hair and an easy smile. He picked up a clipboard and walked outside to look at the man's vehicle. It was a black Fiero with fairly new tires.

  “You know,” Bruce said, down on one knee, scrutinizing. “You don’t really need new tires. These tires still have quite a bit of tread on them.”

  “Yeah, I know, but they’re rubbing against each other all the time and I don’t like that. So I’m gonna go ahead and get ’em all changed,” David said.

  “Okay.” Bruce stood up and wrote the order. “It’ll take about forty-five minutes to get them put on.”

  “Fine.”

  Back at the front showroom counter, David chatted with Bruce while they waited for the new tires.

  “Do I look familiar to you?” David asked without elaboration. “Have you seen me before?” He turned sideways so Bruce could get a better look.

  Bruce’s eyes scanned David up and down. “No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve seen you prior to today.”

  David smiled.

  “Why?” Bruce asked absently. He had turned his attention to stapling red sales flyers to white sheets of advertising verbiage.

  David told him he recently had his picture in the paper because he was being sued by the parents of a couple of teen-agers who had tried to steal his car.

  “Oh,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. His beefy hand slammed the stapler down on another flyer set.

  “Yeah, what happened was, I was up in my apartment, minding my own business when I heard the sound of glass breaking down in the parking lot.” David leaned into the counter and spoke in a low and confidential tone. “I said to myself, someone’s breaking into my damn car, so I immediately jump up and call the cops. Meanwhile, while I’m waiting for them, I go down there. I wanna try and stop whoever it was from messing with my car. I brought a crowbar with me, just in case. You know, in case I needed protection. Well, when I get down there, I see two kids standing next to my car. One’s got a hammer and the other one’s got a screwdriver and they’ve already done a bunch of damage. The window on the passenger’s side is completely busted out.

  “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I just fucking can’t believe it.” David glanced sideways at Bruce, checking for a reaction. Bruce looked concerned. David nodded and continued. “So I scream at ’em to stop, and they don’t stop. Not even when they see me standing right there in front of ’em, staring at ’em. That’s when I seen that not only had they broke my window, they had also taken their screwdriver and gouged out a giant scrape on the hood. That’s when I went ape-shit. I couldn’t help myself. I took off and I ran right at ’em with my crowbar. I guess I was swingin’ it in a circle over my head or something because when I finally got to where they were standing, somehow the crowbar accidentally smacked ’em. Smacked ’em both hard.”

  David paused for a moment while he wiped saliva from his mouth with his middle finger. “It was because I was so pissed off that I even swung at ’em. I mean who can blame me, right?” He looked at Bruce again. Bruce had stopped stapling, and his eyes were now riveted on David.

  “Well, turned out, I broke one of the kid’s shoulders and hit the other one across the head to where he was bleeding pretty hard. I didn’t mean to hurt ’em that bad, but I was just so upset about my car, I guess I lost control. Anyways, when their parents found out about the whole thing, that’s when they wanted to sue me.”

  David shrugged his shoulders.

  He told Bruce he was being sued for $3,000. He also walked Bruce out to his Fiero and showed him the specific area where the car was damaged. Bruce had no way of knowing that the scratch on the hood had happened many months prior while the car was parked in a 7/11 parking lot. He also had no way of knowing that the story he had just heard was a complete fabrication and had been told to him by the most wanted man in New Mexico.

  David, aka Shane, ended up paying $251.24 in cash. On the information form, he scratched in the address of 6321 Lake Drive, Albuquerque, NM, 87126. That street number — 6321 Lake Drive — was the address of John Lausell in Pueblo, CO.

  When Shane signed the invoice, he signed it as David Harris, forgetting that he had initially given the name of David Paris when he arrived. Bruce did not check Shane’s ID because he paid in cash. The tire crew guys put the old tires inside the Fiero for Shane; two in the trunk and two in the front seat. Bruce estimated that the old tires had less than 10,000 miles on them when they were removed.

  After Shane left, Bruce told a couple of co-workers Shane's story about his violent run-in with the teenagers. They were just as flabbergasted as Bruce was.

  Chapter 24

  “No Sleep – No Dreams”

  KOREAN PROVERB

  Shelly drove a 1984 two-tone Nissan pickup truck, two-toned in the sense that the bed was a faded version of the original red and the cab was a rusty primer gray. The truck had recently developed an unsettling knocking noise, and Shelly's greatest wish tonight was to just make it home.

  Her job was wearing her down. Standing at the register all day was bad enough, but listening to rich people bitch night and day was agony. All she wanted to do was grab a cold beer, put her feet up on something soft, and hang out with her little girl for a few sweet minutes. Of course, she knew her boyfriend would be rocketing out the door the second she walked in, but that was fine.

  As she made her way toward the front of the building, she noticed Shane’s Fiero parked on the other side of the street. He usually parked in the parking lot, but tonight he hadn’t. It looked as if he had recently put four new tires on his car.

  “Hm-mmm?”

 
; Shelly stopped on the sidewalk and stared. Blue chalk marks and spiky rubber things were visible.

  As she contemplated the Fiero, Shane popped out from behind a bush and said, “Hi! Like my new tires?”

  Friday, March 8, 1996

  Shane got up early and dropped Jason off at the airport. He was taking a weeklong trip to Mexico.

  The night before, Jason and Shane had gone to the Isleta Bingo Hall in Las Lunas, New Mexico. The hardest thing they had to drink was soda. That was all the place served; no alcohol was allowed.

  Shane had brought $400 to the casino. He played a few games of bingo and ended up winning about as much as he lost. As Jason would say later, Shane didn’t seem any different that particular night than he ever did.

  8 AM

  John had a hard night again. He slept, but it was fitful, filled with bad dreams.

  In one of the dreams, John was walking home from high school. The sun shone brightly but clouds darkened the pavement. He was casual, upbeat, strolling at a leisurely pace on a concrete overpass, but as he neared the middle of the bridge he was startled by a loud popping sound and turned to witness two people falling from an adjacent overpass. He ran as fast as he could down the stairs to tell someone what happened. But no matter how fast he ran, he never reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Then his dream changed, he was even younger, only nine years old. He was watching TV with his eleven year old sister at his aunt’s house when an ear-splitting boom shook the house. He heard crying, yelling, pleading. He and his sister jumped up and ran to the noise. The door was stuck, blocked with something heavy. Finally, they were able to push aside what turned out to be a chair, and got in. Their parents lay moaning in their bed, covered in blood. John and his sister ran up to them, screaming. His dad mumbled something that he didn’t understand and his sister ran out of the room. John watched his mom bleed to death while he waited for the ambulance that never came.

  ***

  The City of Albuquerque was frantic to catch the Hollywood Video killers. To that end, Teri Cole of the Greater Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce had 4,000 posters printed up with the suspects' composites. They were posted everywhere. She hoped this tactic would bring in new leads.