They

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “I wonder if she let them in,” Tracy mused. She leaned against the desk. “You know, maybe they knocked on the door and she answered it and they forced their way in. They chased her upstairs and got her in the bathroom.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “You’re sure they took the key to that safe deposit box?” Vince asked Frank.

  “Yeah.” Frank nodded, glancing at Mike. “We looked all over for it. Mike’s pretty sure they took it.”

  “So they knew he was working on this, that he’s been keeping information on the investigation,” Vince continued. “That means they know about us.”

  “That’s why I thought we should be together tonight,” Frank said. “You know, safety in numbers.”

  “What do we do with him in the meantime?” Tracy motioned to Mike.

  “Fuck if I know. I know the first thing we should do is go to his bank tomorrow and see if we can get to that safe deposit box. He has another key. Besides, I think he wigged out a little too hard about that thing. If his signature was the only one on file, nobody else can access it, even his wife. The bank would need some kind of death certificate or something for them to allow anybody else access to it.”

  Vince nodded. “That’s true.” He looked down at Mike’s sleeping figure. “How long you think he’ll be out.”

  “Till tomorrow morning.”

  “So there’s nothing to do ’till then,” Vince said.

  “Nope.”

  “And we’re not going to the police,” Tracy said, addressing the statement to Vince and Frank.

  Vince glanced at Frank, who shrugged. “No. I don’t think we should. Not yet. Going to the cops is going to cause a bunch of shit.”

  “I still think we should seriously consider going to William,” Frank urged. “Tonight, if possible.”

  “Who’s William?” Tracy asked.

  “That’s not your concern now,” Frank said, dismissing her question. He was looking at Vince. “I went through Mike’s shit after I called you and found William’s phone number. Haven’t gotten around to calling him yet.”

  “It’s pretty late,” Tracy said, her voice low, soft. “It might be best to wait to call him in the morning.”

  “She has a point,” Vince said. “What time is it?”

  “Well after midnight,” Frank said. “Okay, we call him at eight o’clock sharp.”

  “What do we do next?” Vince joined Tracy at the desk.

  Frank regarded the couple. As much as he didn’t like having Tracy Harris here, he was stuck with her. He sighed. “I guess we crash here tonight and wait for tomorrow.”

  Mike was sprawled on one side of a king-size bed. “You guys want to sleep on the floor, you can have some blankets and an extra pillow.” Frank picked up a pillow from the bed and threw it at Vince. “We should probably get some sleep.”

  Which they did after a few hours of lying in the darkness. Frank lay down on his side of the king sized bed staring up at the ceiling. He’d checked the lock on the door and the windows, and they were secure. Vince and Tracy settled down on the floor in the clothes they were wearing. They were using one of the pillows from the bed, a cushion from one of the chairs, and a sheet. Frank didn’t look at them and made no attempt at starting a conversation as they lay in the darkness, waiting for sleep to come. He was still angry with Vince for breaking their pact and bringing Tracy into the fold. The fewer people who knew about their investigation of the Children, the better. Especially now that their security appeared to be breached.

  He thought about the breakin at Mike’s. As much as he tried to tell himself that it could be a random act, that Carol might have been the victim of a crime unrelated to the cult, something told him that wasn’t the case. Something had happened there. And it had happened when the three of them were flying to Pennsylvania. Frank wondered if Mike and Carol’s kids knew their father was leaving town; he wondered if they’d tried calling their parents or stopping by in the past few days. How many kids did Mike and Carol have anyway? Frank tried to remember. Two sons, maybe a daughter. They were all within his age range, so they were probably married with families of their own now. Surely one of them had to still live in the area. Even then, it might still be a day or two before one of them got suspicious and decided to drop by mom and dad’s to pay an unexpected visit.

  The rasping sound of snoring made Frank turn his head to the floor. Vince was asleep. Tracy’s eyes were closed but Frank didn’t think she was asleep yet. He turned back and closed his eyes, thinking of Mike and Carol and their kids, his own wife and kids, and hoping that letting Tracy into the fold wasn’t going to do any more damage than was already being done, and then he was asleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WHEN MIKE PETERSON woke up he did so slowly. It felt like he was trying to swim to the surface of a lake that was heavy with sludge. He heard Frank’s voice, caught a glimpse of light in the room and opened his eyes, blinking. Vince’s voice cut through the din. “He’s waking up.” He opened his mouth, tasting sour spit in the back of his throat. He raised himself up on his elbows, trying to shake the drowsiness from his system. Frank and Vince were hazy silhouettes, and as they became more refined he made out a third shape as well.

  “How do you feel?” Frank came into focus. “You okay?”

  Mike shook his head and cast his gaze around the room. Vince was standing at the foot of his bed with a woman dressed in blue jeans and a wrinkled white blouse; she gave him an encouraging smile. He focused on the woman, confused. “Who are you?”

  “This is Tracy Harris,” Vince said, stepping forward.

  “It’s a long story,” Frank said, waving his hand in front of Mike’s face. “How you feeling? Woozy? Sick to your stomach?”

  Mike turned to Frank, confused for a moment. “No.” Last night’s events swam back into focus and he felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach. Then it hit him suddenly, like a Mack Truck hurtling at eighty miles per hour. “Carol…”

  He sat up, the room coming into focus now. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “Where are we, what’s going on?”

  “Easy there, fella,” Frank said. He took Mike’s shoulders and eased him back on the bed. “We’re in my motel room.”

  “Frank called me last night and told me what happened,” Vince said hastily, looking nervous. “This is Tracy Harris…my girlfriend…”

  The implications of what happened became implicitly clear to Mike; he’d flipped out over Carol’s disappearance, Frank had acted quickly and gotten him the hell out of there and slipped something in the glass of water he’d offered last night to knock him out. In the meantime, Frank had called Vince at home and—

  “Hi, Mike, sorry to barge in like this,” the woman said, positioning herself in front of Vince as if shielding him from a potential verbal assault. “I know you guys had this agreement to keep all that was going on between yourselves, but I kinda got tired of being left out of everything, especially since the people you’re dealing with tried to kill me too. I think I have every right to know what the hell is happening, so I kind of invited myself along for the ride. Sorry to shock you like this, but that’s the short version. Want to hear the long version?”

  Mike regarded her for a moment. She was standing in front of him, arms folded across her chest, waiting for his response. Her posture, her facial expression, the way she carried herself told him that she was strong-willed and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. On the other hand, Vince looked like somebody was going to hit him at any moment; he refused to meet his or Frank’s gaze. Mike sighed. “Christ.”

  “Thanks for bringing Mike up to speed,” Frank said, his tone of voice suggesting to Mike that sometime last night the two of them had sparred verbally. Frank didn’t look too happy and he looked bone tired, too. “That’s it in a nutshell, man. She’s in.”

  “Great, just great,” Mike muttered.

  “I’m sorry,” Vince said, still looking sheepish.

  Tracy ig
nored Vince’s meek demeanor. “This affects me as much as it affects Vince. I’m not trying to jeopardize anything. All I want is the truth.”

  The truth. And what was that? Mike looked up at Frank, not even caring that Tracy Harris was in the fold now. Only wanting to know what had happened to Carol. And his family—hell, his son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter lived a mile away. What if the cult got them, too? “I don’t care,” he said. “I just want to know where Carol is. I’ve got to find her.”

  “We will,” Frank said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna get started on that this morning.”

  “What time is it?’

  “Almost eight-thirty,” Frank said.

  Mike nodded. He felt tired, drained, but that was most likely the effects of whatever Frank had given him to help him sleep last night. Strangely, he didn’t feel that over-powering sense of panic when he discovered Carol had been kidnapped. He felt a strange sense of calmness. Thank God Frank had been thinking quickly last night when he came to the house to get him; he’d been acting on pure emotion and there was no telling what might have happened if Frank hadn’t been there to restrain him from doing something stupid.

  “Okay,” he said, closing his eyes to stave off the tension headache he could sense was coming. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t call the police, right?”

  “Nope,” Frank said.

  “Tracy knows everything?”

  “I know everything,” Tracy said.

  “Welcome to the club, Tracy,” Mike said. Despite his words, he felt bothered by Tracy being in the circle. Nothing suspicious had come up in her background when he had run a check on her a month or so back, but he always had the belief that the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. Obviously that theory was shot to hell now that Tracy was in the fold. It looked like they were going to have to do the best they could with what they had.

  “I’m trying to be as calm about this as I can,” Mike said, still closing his eyes. “I’m trying very hard not to completely lose it, so I am going to need all the help I can get. Okay?”

  Tracy, Vince, and Frank nodded. Frank said, “Yeah, man, I hear you.”

  Mike opened his eyes and looked up at them. His eyes burned; he supposed they were red with irritation. “I know this is going to sound shitty, but I have to go to the bank and check on that safe deposit box. That’s the only way I’m going to know if…if what I’m afraid has happened…”

  “I understand, man,” Frank said. “We’ll get you there, pronto. And just to put your mind at ease, I think it’s safe. Bank regulations would not have allowed Carol or anybody else to access it if you’re the only signatory.”

  “I know that,” Mike said. “But I panicked last night.” Mike looked around the room, still feeling a little disoriented. “Where’s my wallet?”

  “In your pocket,” Frank said.

  Mike felt his hip pocket, the reassuring bulge creating a calm feeling. He turned to Vince and Tracy. Vince still looked nervous but it appeared he was trying to live with the situation. Mike guessed he hadn’t been too happy about bringing Tracy into this, either.

  “I think we should call William Grecko today,” Frank said. “Put the last part of our plan into action now.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Mike said. “But first, I want to go to the bank. Humor me on this, okay?”

  Frank nodded as Mike swung his legs over the bed.

  “I think we need to get out of this room and find another location,” Mike said. “Preferably somewhere busy, with lots of people around and a lot of cops.”

  “Venice beach?” Frank suggested. The slight inflection of jovialness in Frank’s tone suggested he was joking, but the location was exactly what Mike was looking for.

  “Perfect. Does everybody have their cell phones?”

  Vince nodded. “Yeah, I got mine.”

  “Turn it on,” Mike said. “Take Tracy and get a room in Venice. Then sit on the boardwalk and wait for us. Frank and I are going to my bank to check on my safe deposit box. Then I’m going to call—”

  “Do you really think we should separate again?” Frank asked, concerned. “I mean—”

  “We’ll be fine,” Mike turned to Frank. “We don’t even know if they’re responsible for what happened at my house. If they are, that means they’re going after our families, not us. Tracy, your family is from Huntington Beach, is that correct?” He dredged that information up instantly. He turned to Tracy.

  “Yes,” she nodded, looking a little surprised. “My mother is. My dad’s from Monrovia.”

  “If you’re in this, you’re in all the way. Do you understand?”

  Tracy nodded. For the first time Mike detected a hint of nervousness in a face that, up till now, had been bold and defiant.

  “Be honest with us and yourself if you want in,” Mike continued. “This isn’t some bullshit game. If I’d had any inclination that I was putting my family in danger six months ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. I wouldn’t have even gone through all the bullshit of setting up a false identity and investigating all this under a pseudonym. I erred on the notion that if I put that kind of distance between my real self and personal life and this other identity, that my family and I would be safe. I was wrong. If you want to get involved, there is the very strong possibility that you may be placing your family in danger. Do you understand?”

  Tracy nodded, suddenly looking worried. She glanced at Vince, who put his arm around her shoulders in an encouraging hug. She turned back to Mike, straightening herself up. “Yes. I understand. And I want in.”

  Mike nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Frank. “You got a tooth brush I can borrow? My mouth feels like a septic tank.”

  “Go for it,” Frank said, motioning to the bathroom. “My stuff’s in there.”

  “Thanks.” Mike stepped past them and paused briefly. “We’ll call you in a few hours and discuss what we’re going to do next. If you don’t hear from us by the end of the day, do what you can to drop out of sight completely. Disappear.”

  Vince and Tracy nodded. They left the room as Mike brushed his teeth and freshened up quickly. Then he and Frank left the room for the Bank of America in Fountain Valley where he kept his safe deposit box.

  THEY ONLY HAD to wait a few minutes for the bank official to wait on them. She was a small woman with porcelain features and waist length black hair. “Can I help you?”

  Mike presented his pseudonymous identification. “I’ve got a safe deposit box I’d like access to.”

  The woman smiled and typed into her computer. “Box number?”

  “1356,” Mike replied.

  The woman typed the number in the computer and waited. “Identification?”

  Mike pushed his wallet across the desk. The woman looked at it, looked at Mike, then smiled. She reached into her desk for a set of keys. “Come with me, Mr. Costello.”

  Mike motioned for Frank to stay seated and followed the clerk towards the vault.

  The woman opened the vault with a key and escorted Mike in where the safe deposit boxes were. “Box 1356?”

  “Yes,” Mike said. He reached into his pocket for his copy of the key, which he’d attached to his key ring. The woman took it, slid it into the lock, and opened it. She took out the box and handed it to Mike. The moment Mike took the box, he felt a sinking sense of despair. This should be heavier than it is, he thought.

  “There’s a room around the corner.” The woman said. “Call me when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you.” Mike followed the woman out of the vault and went to the room where he closed the door.

  The box he’d gotten was the largest the bank had to offer. It was three feet long, four inches deep and seven inches wide. It was large enough to fit manila file folders and manuscripts in. Mike had stored two zip disks of information as well as three file folders of affidavits, notes, and photographs, among other things. His heart hammered in his chest as he opened
the box.

  For a minute it felt like his heart was going to stop. He stared into the box, not believing what he was seeing. He pulled the plastic top all the way off, running his hand inside. This can’t be, he thought. I was just here last fucking week!

  The safe deposit box was empty.

  Mike Peterson felt the room spinning. His stomach lurched, doing slow flops. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It felt like he was going to be sick. Good thing he hadn’t eaten yet; still, it was probably his empty stomach giving him the jitters. But no, the box was empty; that was a cold, hard fact. He opened his eyes again, hoping his vision had been deceiving him but it wasn’t.

  “Miss.” His voice sounded shaky, trembling. He stepped outside the room and caught the teller’s eye. “Miss?”

  “Yes, Mr. Costello?” The woman approached him, a smile on her face.

  Mike stood aside, conflicting emotions of fear and surprise and anger battling for position. “My box is empty. Who emptied my box?”

  The woman looked puzzled. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I said my fucking box is empty!” Mike yelled. He suddenly had the irresistible urge to slap this woman, this bank drone, to take her by the shoulders and shake her, demand that she tell him who she’d let in here to take his stuff. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Calm down, he told himself. It’s not her fault, just calm down, calm down—

  The woman was stunned. She opened her mouth, looked behind her towards the line of tellers, as if debating on whether she should sprint to safety then turned back to Mike. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid…um…”

  “The last time I was here,” Mike said, forcing himself to be calm and not go ballistic, “I deposited two zip disks and a file containing important documents. I also had several other files containing other documents. That was last week.”

  “Do you share this account with anybody else?” the bank clerk asked.

  “No.”

  “And this is your box?” The clerk looked at the box, probably to verify for herself that, yes, Mike did have the correct key.