Sixteen Sunsets

by Mark Gardner

  “I see a man on a bench in a suit with no shoes on and my assumption is that he should move along.”

  “Well, officer...” Kristof squinted at the officer’s nameplate. “Vasquez.” He looked to Vasquez’s partner about forty feet away and tried reading his nameplate but couldn’t. “You and your partner have done your duty to protect this bench from use.” Kristof looked around for his shoes. “If you help me locate my shoes, I’ll be on my way.”

  Vasquez looked around briefly. “I don’t see them, how about you move along now.”

  Kristof did a quick calculation in his head and examined several outcomes resulting in his encounter of the city’s finest, and came to only one conclusion: he had likely pushed his luck as far as he could.

  He made his way out of the park and looked over his shoulder at the officers watching his egress. He stopped at the green arch and ran his fingers along the painted railing. Yesterday he saw minute imperfections in the paint, but now... now it looked drab and uninteresting. He closed his eyes and imagined an aerial map of the city he saw once. He mentally followed the proper route to the nearest shoe store.

  After he had concluded his business at the shoe store, Kristof stepped out in an inexpensive pair of dress shoes. The sales person had initially attempted to deny him access, but Kristof argued a minor point of logic, and the sales person granted him access. Kristof looked across the street at an electronics store. The storefront had several televisions displaying something, but he couldn’t make out what was showing. He crossed the street and as he got closer, he calculated the surface area of all the displayed televisions. Why the hell do I care about the surface area of the screens? he thought to himself as he got closer. “Seven thousand four hundred and six square inches,” he said out loud.

  The news story displayed on the televisions was of an unsolved murder of a debutant that rocked the city a few months back. Like many of the denizens that resided in the city, he followed the story with great interest. Each breaking news story captivated him.

  He turned from the electronics store and made his way toward a newspaper stand. As he walked by, he saw an article from the corner of his eye. He brought his full attention to the article and a single phrase formed in his mind: “White Explorer.”

  He hurried past the newsstand and found a pay phone. He closed his eyes and pictured the business card Detective Massey dropped on the table two days prior. He could clearly see the desk number in the lower right corner. He fed a dollar twenty-five in quarters into the machine and dialed the number.

  “Seattle Police Department, can I help you?”

  “Listen carefully, the murder you’ve been investigating for the last few months, I have information about it.”

  “Go on.”

  “You need to search public records of her assistant for the purchase of a white Ford Explorer.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “I just figured it out, now do something about it.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Kristof hung up the phone. He stared at the keys and punched in a sequence of thirty-two numbers followed by the pound key. He pressed down on the coin return lever and smiled as he heard quarters falling into the coin return slot. He started to put the coins in his pocket, but instead stacked all five coins on top of the pay phone.

  History’s important, he recalled what the man in the restaurant said. You never know what you’ll discover when you look up your history. Kristof remembered something that Detective Massey had said: Something about you reminds me of an old murder case I once worked. Another memory rose to the surface. He remembered the details of the dream he had while waiting for Krystal at the hospital. They were of the night his mother died.

  “Holy shit,” he hissed. “I absorb super powers when I die.”

  Kristof closed his eyes again and returned to the aerial map of the city. The library’s three blocks down and one over, he thought. One mile is equivalent to twenty city blocks, so four is one-fifth of a mile. The average person walks three miles an hour, so I should be there in four minutes, plus one more to cross the street. He looked at a clock on the corner. Seven thirty-six. I have eighty-four minutes to waste until they open.

  Kristof remembered a café across the street from the library. Breakfast is only four minutes away. Well, seven minutes if I factor in preparation and average wait time during the coffee rush.

  Kristoff started walking, and his stomach concurred with his plan.

  “Bree, honey. Where are you going?”

  Bree looked up and smiled at Anne. “Where have you been, Auntie Anne?”

  Anne kneeled in front of the little girl tugging and straightening her pink dress. “I was just doing a little shopping, love.”

  Bree’s eyes lit up. “Anything for me?”

  Anne smiled wider. “Nope, I didn’t even get anything for me.”

  Bree closed her eyes. “A suit? For Justin?” she whispered.

  Anne stared and stood up to her full height. “Where is Justin?”

  Bree shrugged and stared at her feet.

  “Bree?” Anne tried to keep her voice steady. “Where is Uncle Justin?”

  Bree ignored Anne’s query. “You know he’s not my uncle, right?”

  Anne knelt again. “And I’m not your Aunt, either.”

  Bree threw her arms around Anne’s neck. “I wish you were.”

  Anne returned the embrace, feeling the stuffed kitten against the back of her neck. “Me too, love. Me too.”

  Anne kissed Bree on the forehead and set her down. She held out her hand. “Let’s find Uncle Justin.”

  Bree shook her head. “I hafta leave now.”

  “Leave?” Anne frowned. “Where would you go?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see you at the cabin.”

  “Cabin?” Anne stammered. “What cabin?”

  Bree turned and walked the way Anne had come in. “Tell Uncle Justin, I’ll miss him.”

  Anne stood mouth agape, watching Bree skip down the hall talking to her stuffed kitten and humming a song.

  “Stop her...”

  Anne spun as Justin staggered out of Bree’s room. He moved slowly as if he had been thawed from suspended animation.

  “She’s going to Globe,” he panted as he fought to regain control of his body.

  Anne shook her head and watched Bree open and close the steel door at the end of the hallway. “You know we can’t stop her once she’s made up her mind.”

  Justin looked back into Bree’s room. “She needs protection from Globe.”

  Anne wrapped her arm around his waist and led him further along the corridor. “Bree doesn’t need protection,” she whispered. “Globe may think he knows what he’s doing, but Bree is just too powerful for this world.”

  Justin shrunk from Anne’s touch. He placed both his gloved hands on Anne’s shoulders. “What world is?” he asked.

  “Buddy! Hey, buddy!”

  Kristof looked up from his book and surveyed his surroundings.

  “Whatcha reading there, buddy?”

  Kristof lifted the heavy hardback and pointed the spine toward the man.

  The man tilted his head slightly to align with the printing. “Decision Trees and Logic,” he read out loud and squinted to read the subtitle. “Pattern Recognition in a Chaotic World.” He raised his eyebrows and continued, “That’s some heavy reading, there, buddy.”

  Kristof lowered the book back to his lap. “Heavy book, too.”

  “That’s funny, buddy.” The man extended his hand. “The name’s Jules.” After Kristof had shaken Jules’ hand, Jules continued. “I know, it sounds like a precious gem.” Jules elbowed Kristof in the ribs and motioned to his groin. “Am I right, buddy?” Jules smiled when Kristof followed his gaze. “Yeah, you get it. What’s your name, buddy?”

  Kristof smiled at Jules’ juvenile humor. “Kristof,” he replied.

  “Well, buddy,” Jules continued, “I wasn’t sure if you knew we had stopp
ed for a break.”

  Kristof looked around at the empty seats surrounding him. Empty, except the seat next to him. What an excitable little man, thought Kristof.

  “It’s obvious you’re into your book, buddy, but I need to go.”

  Kristof stared blankly.

  Jules stood, cupped his groin with both hands and jumped up and down a few times.

  “Ah,” replied Kristof. He nodded and slipped the book under his arm as he stood to vacate the aisle seat.

  “Woah, buddy. Aren’t you gonna mark your place?”

  “Don’t need to, I remember what page I was on.”

  “Yeah, buddy?” Jules said as he inched past Kristof’s seat and into the aisle. “What page were you on?”

  “Three sixteen.”

  “Sweet, buddy.” Jules hopped down the isle with Kristof following at a more leisurely pace. “It was fun watching you when we went through that tunnel,” Jules said as he turned to head down the steps out of the bus.

  Kristof furrowed his brow and looked toward the back of the bus. Lacking a rear window, he saw only bus wall. “We went through a tunnel?”

  “Yeah, buddy. As it got darker, your book inched closer to your face.” Jules held his hand to his nose. “If that book were a woman, you’d know all her secrets.” Jules elbowed Kristof in the ribs. “Ya’know what I mean, buddy?”

  Jules ran down the steps and out the open accordion door. Before he followed, Kristof glanced at the bus’s odometer. He closed his eyes and did some calculations in his head. “We’re almost to the Canadian border,” he said out loud.

  “Ya’know it, buddy.” Jules thrust out his pelvis while clenching his fists. “Ca-na-da,” Jules emphasized each syllable by thrusting again. “I’m gonna get me some duty-free smokes.” Jules winked. “I’m passionate about sellin’ ‘em to my carnival buddies.” Jules nodded conspiratorially. “Those guys are freaks.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works, Jules.”

  “You can call me ‘Buddy,’ buddy.”

  “All right, Buddy,” replied Kristof dryly.

  “I like you, buddy.” Jules clasped Kristof’s shoulder. “I gotta whiz, then off to the duty-free shop.” Jules stopped and smiled. “Heh heh...” He slapped his knees. “Dootie.” Jules shook his head and ran to the restrooms.

  Acquisitions

  Tree...

  Tree...

  Billboard...

  Joaquin sighed and looked away from the window. He unclenched his fist and looked at the crumpled, sweaty bills. Get yourself to Canada and don’t come back, dumbass. He recalled the words said to him by Detective Massey. Joaquin closed his eyes and pictured Massey shake his head and roll his eyes, before pointing to the front door of the halfway house. Joaquin laid low for a few days, following Massey’s suggestion. While Massey ‘figured a few things out.’ It happened suddenly: Massey showed up at the halfway house, shoved a wad of bills into Joaquin’s hand, and mandated that Joaquin get on the number sixteen bus leaving in forty minutes.

  Joaquin spent most of the bus ride staring out the window watching the boring landscape roll by. Each mile looked the same as the one before it, and it was evident that the weather was getting colder. His thoughts were of Anne and the warehouse. Tiny and Lil’Cee. The chump he mugged on that rainy night, and, of course, Massey shooting him in the shoulder. He thought about his attempts to be a hero and the destruction that followed.

  I’m a failure, he thought as another mile flew by. My brother was right, I’m a loser. When the bus pulled into a service area just south of the Canadian border, Joaquin made sure he was the first one off the bus. He elbowed his way down the aisle. The driver had gone through a checklist before he allowed anyone to disembark.

  “Come on, man,” Joaquin whined. The door swung open, and Joaquin jogged into the restroom and after doing his business, he looked at himself in the mirror while washing his hands.

  I look like a gangsta, he thought. I need to blend in with the locals. His sleeveless denim jacket was fine in the city, but in Canada, he needed sleeves. Joaquin made his way to the duty-free shop and perused the wares. He came across a blue jersey with a green stripe bordering a white stripe. He pulled the jersey off the rack and eyeballed the exploding dye pack clipped to the sleeve. The jersey featured a shark breaking through ice in the shape of a stylized letter ‘C.’ In arched letters, the space above the logo was adorned with ‘VANCOUVER.’”

  These guys like hockey, he thought, I’ll blend right in.

  He noticed a sticker over the price tag hanging from the dye pack with the words ’75% OFF.’ Joaquin walked the jersey to the sales counter and waited for the cute young brunette to notice him. When he had her attention, he flashed his best winning smile.

  “Garrison fan, eh?” she asked after she snapped her gum.

  “Huh?” replied Joaquin, his smile fading.

  “Not many sales of Jason Garrison’s jersey since he was traded to Tampa Bay.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He glanced at the digital readout of the register. “How much is tax here?”

  The girl smiled. “We’re duty-free here. No tax as long as you take this into Canada.”

  Joaquin nodded and peeled off a few bills from the sweaty wad to pay for his purchase. The girl only touched the edges of the bills, and removed the dye pack with a security device.

  “You want me to cut off the tag for you?”

  Joaquin nodded and took off his denim jacket. He shouldered into the jersey and put his jacket back on over it. He mumbled thanks and headed for the door. As he stepped out, he had to sidestep a man with his nose in a book.

  “Hey! Watch it, yo!” Joaquin called out, but the man was so engrossed in his book, he didn’t respond.

  Kristof tucked the book under his arm and looked around the duty-free shop. It looked the same as any other convenience store he had been to in his lifetime. He made his way to a pay phone next to an automated teller machine. He picked up the receiver and rapidly punched in thirty-two numbers followed by the pound key. Once he depressed the coin return lever, the payphone spit out a handful of quarters. Kristof reached for the coins but hesitated.

  “Making a call, buddy?”

  “Hey, Jules,” replied Kristof without turning. “Can I get a little privacy?”

  “No problem, buddy.” Jules squeezed Kristof’s shoulder. “I just need to get as many smokes as I can.”

  Kristof sighed quietly. “A standard coach bus seats fifty-six people.”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “Even if fifteen percent are smokers, you have forty-six potential mules.”

  “Mules, buddy?”

  Kristof turned to face his excitable seat mate. “Yes. If you ask forty-six passengers to purchase a carton of cigarettes at twenty dollars each and sell them to your carnival buddies at thirty a carton, you can then spend the remaining ten dollars per carton to further your endeavor. If you do it right, say every weekend, you could net fifteen thousand dollars a year after a modest forty-five percent operating cost.”

  Jules looked over his shoulder, back and winked at Kristof. “Thanks, buddy. I knew you were something special.” Jules turned and headed toward the bus to recruit mules.

  Kristof turned his attention back to the pay phone and fed the quarters from the coin return into the coin slot. He quickly dialed the eleven digits to call his house.

  Ring...

  Ring...

  Kristof sighed as it rang a third time, followed by a click. You have reached Kristof and Krystal, his voice intoned on the line, we’re not available at the moment so please leave a message at the tone.

  Kristof returned the handset to its cradle. He spent considerable time browsing the candy aisle. After reading ingredient lists, but selecting nothing, he walked toward a cute brunette behind the counter. She absently snapped her chewing gum and flipped through a magazine.

  “Can I help you with something, hon?”

  Kristof started to respond, but a piece of pap
er thumbtacked to a cork board behind her caught his attention: A drawing of the thug that robbed him. The eyebrow ring and angry eyes fit his attacker perfectly.

  “Hon?”

  “Thanks, nothing,” Kristof sputtered. “I’ll just be on my way.”

  The brunette nodded and returned to her magazine, but Kristof didn’t see this as he had already hustled out the door.

  “Hey, buddy, can I get your help?”

  Joaquin smoothed the folds on the sleeves of his jersey. “What up, yo?”

  “If I spot you a twenty...” Jules looked at Joaquin’s face. “Um, never mind, buddy.”

  Joaquin scowled. “You got a problem?”

  Jules leaned closer. “Keep your voice down, buddy.” Jules looked over his shoulder at the duty-free shop. “There’s a wanted poster behind the counter.” Jules licked his lips. “Looks a lot like you, buddy.”

  Joaquin followed Jules’ gaze toward the duty-free shop in time to see a middle-aged man walk out. “What he fuck?”

  “That’s Kristof, buddy. He’s a smart dude.”

  “I’ll bet,” replied Joaquin. “Catch ya later,” he called out as he slowly moved to follow Kristof.

  They’ve found me, thought Kristof. They’re going to pretend to need me as a witness for that street urchin who stabbed me. Kristof moseyed, but with hidden determination toward the border. Lies... It’s all lies. They want to stop me from acting on what I learned in that library. I’ve got to get into Canada. Out of their jurisdiction. Kristof continued to walk and watched for guards at the border.

  Hundreds of plans to get over the border undetected formed and disbanded in his head. His brain was running on adrenaline, and he factored in sight lines, the position of the overhead sun and average stride length of a guard.

  Suddenly, Kristof saw his opening, dropped his heavy book and dashed into the Canadian woods.

  Joaquin witnessed Kristof run at full speed toward the tree line and disappear into the woods. Joaquin followed, only moments behind Kristof. I’ll deal with him in the Canadian wilderness, he thought as he breached the same tree line.