by Graham Smith
On the walk back to the motel he sees a liquor store, but decides that alcohol would not be a good addition to their current situation. Not only do they both need to keep their wits about them, he doesn’t want to make a drunken mistake. Plus, he doesn’t know if Jake is a mean drunk.
Maybe once Jake has calmed down he can get him drunk and wait until he passes out to make his escape.
Under the shroud of darkness the motel looks even more depressing. It looks as if rooms are available by the hour, and the fact there’s a titty bar across the street does nothing to give him confidence that he’ll get a good night’s sleep. After being awake most of the previous night, and the stress of today’s attempts on his life, Cameron is starting to feel every year of his age.
If this were a normal day, and he was alone, he’d get his head down for a couple of hours, have a few drinks in the titty bar, and wait to see what offers came his way.
A jaw-clicking yawn drives that idea from his head.
Back at the motel, he washes his face in the bathroom and dries it with the threadbare towel that has been provided.
While in there he dismisses the idea of climbing from the window as it’s way too small.
Cameron leaves the bathroom to find Jake unplugging his cell from the borrowed charger.
‘I’m gonna make a couple of calls. You stay here.’
The second the door closes behind Jake, Cameron moves to the bedroom’s only window. He tries to open it but it’s jammed fast. Decades of being painted without being opened, have locked the window’s sash in the closed position.
With that escape route closed, he puts his ear to the door and hears nothing.
Neither the door’s handle nor its hinges squeak when he teases it open and looks outside. He turns his head left, then right.
Jake is at the end of the corridor, looking his way. Cameron gives his son a thumbs-up and retreats into the bedroom.
45
Now I’m alone, outside the crummy motel room, I start to shake. Today has been the most intense day of my life. I have no military training to prepare me for gunfights, or life and death situations with a murderous SUV. All I have are my wits and a refusal to quit.
I want to rage and shout and scream at the world for the injustice that saw Taylor catch that bullet instead of Cameron. I also feel an intense need to hate myself – for bringing Taylor along on this crazy trip, for not protecting her, and most of all, for leaving her body on the yacht.
As much as I want to berate myself, and find a bunch of guys to fight with so I can vent the fury that is threatening to overwhelm me, I stay calm and pull my cell from my shirt pocket.
I’m dreading the first call, and what I’m going to ask the second person I have to call is beyond any call of duty, or blood. That will be the most difficult conversation of my life and I’d make the first call a thousand times before making the second even once.
I select Alfonse’s name and press call.
‘What’s going on, Jake?’
I tell Alfonse everything in brief, clipped sentences that don’t allow my voice to crack, as the grief of verbalising Taylor’s death envelops me.
Alfonse’s response is a ragged breath followed by soft-voiced condolences.
I don’t acknowledge them. Can’t.
‘Right. So, you’re holed up in a motel with your father and you want to get him back to Casperton ASAP for John’s sake; you’re pretty sure that your father will abscond at the earliest given opportunity, and the guys who are after you are powerful enough to track cell signals. Have I missed anything?’
‘Just the fact that if Cameron gives me so much as half a reason, I’ll not be able to stop myself pounding on him until he’s nothing but a bloody pulp.’
‘I feel the same, Jake. However, as nice as the idea seems, beating on your father isn’t going to get you out of the mess you’re in. From what you’ve told me so far, you’re lucky to be alive. What we need to do is work out how to keep you that way. Options for travelling back to Casperton include, road, rail and air.’
‘Rail and air are out. The minute our names go on a passenger list we’re at risk of being traced by the guys who are after us.’
‘Agreed. That leaves road. Even if you could trust your father—’
‘Please don’t call him that. He’s not my father. I don’t want him to be my father. Call him Cameron.’
Alfonse inhales deeply. ‘Even if you could trust Cameron to not run off, and shared the driving so you didn’t have to stop travelling, it’d still take you a couple of days. If you’re travelling with someone who’s a prisoner in all but name, then you’re looking at three to four days by the time you add in rest stops.’
Alfonse isn’t telling me anything I haven’t already thought myself. Four days of being trapped in a car with Cameron is more than I can bear.
My need to avenge Taylor’s death is growing by the hour and if it takes four or more days to get to Casperton, I’m not sure Cameron will be alive when we get there.
It’s time to get to the real reason for my call. ‘I was hoping you could help me out there.’
‘Say the word and I’m on a plane to share the driving with you.’
‘Thanks, but after what happened to Taylor there’s no way I’m letting anyone else join us until I know we’re safe.’
‘So how can I help you?’
I spend five minutes explaining my plan to him and listening to his suggested refinements.
Alfonse isn’t just my best friend, he’s the best kind of friend any man could have. His loyalty is unfailing, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing to help me and he’s secure enough to tell me when I’m wrong. I’m lucky to have him in my life.
Right now, I want to do anything bar make the second call.
I take several deep breaths, offer up a blasphemous prayer to the gods of forgiveness, and hit the call button once again.
46
The ringing of my cell wakes me from the fitful slumber I’ve experienced since climbing into the motel’s ratty bed.
As a precaution against Cameron absconding during the night, I had positioned my bed behind the door; it also prevented anyone getting into the room without me knowing.
I answer the call and listen to what Alfonse has to say.
As always, he’s come through for me and has fulfilled my request to the letter. Now it’s just a case of Cameron and me getting ourselves to the collection point, and we’ll be flying back to Casperton.
I look at my watch and see we have two hours to make the journey. How Alfonse has managed to get this organised during the night, I don’t know. All I can guess is that he’s called in some favours and promised a lot more in exchange.
Alfonse bids me goodbye. The exact details of what he’s told me are sketchy in my head, but it’s not a worry as I know he’ll also email them to me.
My cell sounds its email tone less than a minute after Alfonse has hung up.
I open the email and start reading.
Cameron and I have to be at Hopedale Airport by 10 a.m. It’s 6 a.m. now so I’m sure there will be enough time. I use my phone to check, and it’s just under an hour away. Time is on our side.
I go back to the email and absorb its details, and the probable cost to Alfonse in terms of favours.
There are few implications that I can see, so I think about the person who has helped to make this possible.
Claire Knight is a rising star at the company that controls the oilfield to the north of Casperton. A good-looking woman, who’s forsaken romance for a career in a male-dominated industry, she is hard and ruthless when she needs to be, yet kind and compassionate when a gentler approach is required.
That she’s getting the company jet to make a detour to pick up Cameron and me, is testament to her kindness. On the other hand, she’ll have extracted her pound of flesh from Alfonse for the favour.
I know from first-hand experience that Claire gets what she wants. The night she lured me into her
bed is a case in point. She seduced me, set the pace, and asserted not just her body, but her personality on me.
Cameron grumbles in his sleep but I can’t make out the words. As much as I’m loath to touch him, I grab his shoulder and give him a shake. ‘Wake up. We leave in ten minutes.’
There isn’t a big hurry, but I want to take a slow meandering journey to the airport rather than a direct one.
It’s not that I think we’ll be followed again, more a precaution in case we are.
Now that I’ve got my plans in place, and will soon be arriving in Casperton with Cameron, I have to share the information.
I can make a call or send a message.
I chicken out and send a message. The reply won’t have an aggrieved tone and there will be plenty of opportunity for my character to be assassinated when I get back to Casperton.
Cameron heads to the bathroom and I hear water running.
While he’s in there, I put my bed back where it should be and check how much money I have in my wallet.
There’s enough to buy us breakfast and put enough gas in the compact to get us to the airfield. Beyond that, I’ll be relying on my card for any expenses we run up.
Cameron exits the bathroom and I sling my backpack over my shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘Casperton.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve chartered a plane. Get your ass in gear.’
47
Hopedale Airport is little more than a single runway that bisects a small industrial estate. I watch in trepidation as a small jet swoops in over the trees and touches down.
The plane taxies to the end of the runway then turns in its own length as the pilot stands on the left brake.
A door folds open and Claire Knight’s face appears. Her long, brown hair flaps in the breeze from the engine as she walks down the steps. She’s dressed in a pastel skirt-suit and, as is her way, wears her clothes as if they are an advertisement for her sexuality. Her skirt is at least an inch too short for the boardroom and the cut of her blouse shows a generous amount of cleavage.
This is typical of her. She does things her own way and is happy to fly in the face of convention. Anyone foolish enough to think she’d slept her way to the top would learn of their mistake when confronted with her sharp mind and instinctive cunning.
The clack of her heels can be heard over the rumble of the plane’s idling engines as she marches towards us. Her expression is business-like, but I can see a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
She gives me a kiss on the cheek and offers her hand to Cameron.
He smiles what appears to be a genuine smile and introduces himself.
‘I know who you are, Mr MacDonald. Alfonse filled me in on the need to rush you back to Casperton. I think it’s very noble of you to help your son in this way.’
‘I insisted on helping as soon as I heard about my poor boy.’
It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Alfonse has given Claire a potted version of the truth. To me it sounds like he’s omitted all the unsavoury details and has pitched our need for transport as a mercy dash, rather than the hot extraction it is.
What he’s said to enlist her help doesn’t bother me. Desperate times call for desperate measures; without her aid there’s little chance of me getting Cameron to John’s bedside.
The thing that bothers me most is the charm that Cameron’s displaying. As soon as he heard Claire suggest he was doing an honourable thing, he twisted the dial to maximum. Within seconds he was all smiles as he offered Claire his arm for the walk to the plane.
The fact that my father is an instinctive player shouldn’t have surprised me. I was one until I fell for Taylor. I had to inherit the trait from somewhere, and I’d much prefer it to come from an absent father than a narcissistic mother.
I buckle my seatbelt and watch as Claire takes the seat beside Cameron.
The jet engines roar as we hurtle down the tiny runway. I don’t know a lot about aeronautics, but to me, the runway seems too short for the jet to build up enough speed to take off.
Claire’s pilot must know better. He lifts the nose of the plane and we soar into the sky.
I’m tempted to look out of the window to see how much we clear the trees, but sometimes it’s better not to know.
Once the plane levels out, I unclip my seatbelt and take a few paces up and down the aisle to stretch my legs.
I make sure, when I sit back down, that I can establish eye contact with both Claire and Cameron. She might be doing us a huge favour, but she’s a sexual predator who’s sitting next to a slippery liar who’ll do and say whatever he thinks will earn him any kind of reward.
Claire is a big girl and I know she can take care of herself, it’s Cameron I’m blocking. My girlfriend died because of his selfishness and cowardice; there’s no way I’m going to stand by and allow him to seduce a woman young enough to be his daughter.
I don’t particularly want to tell Claire what he’s really like yet. It’s bad enough that she’s been spun a line to help us, telling her while we’re mid-air will only lead to a frosty atmosphere for the rest of the journey.
I couldn’t give two hoots about having a pleasant atmosphere; however, I do want time and peace to think.
Getting Cameron to Casperton is only part of what I have to plan.
48
I look out of the window as the plane taxies towards the low building that is Casperton Airport’s terminal. I can see Alfonse’s car and I know he’ll have followed my instructions regardless of his own feelings.
Casperton Airport might not be much, but compared to Hopedale’s tree-flanked runway its wide, open space makes it feel like JFK or LAX in size, if not in volume of traffic.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder once the plane has stopped near the terminal. There are no elevated walkways here, just flat tarmac and a building that houses the requisite amount of security guards, a fast-food outlet, and a car hire firm.
The air is hot and dry as we walk across the tarmac.
As we exit the terminal, Cameron freezes.
I know the cause of his sudden reluctance to move. To a certain degree I can understand why he doesn’t want to go any further.
Tough. He’s the man who walked out on my mother, my sister and me. He’s the man whose actions caused the death of my girlfriend.
‘Why did you have to bring her here?’ Cameron looks at me with panic on his face. ‘Jesus, Jake. You’re ripping the piss here.’
‘It’s nice to see you recognise her after all these years.’ I raise an eyebrow at him. If my face is giving away any of my thoughts, he’ll know to shut his mouth. ‘She’s going to look after you. Make sure you’re comfortable. You’ll be able to catch up on old times.’
The one word he gives voice to has seven letters.
My reply doubles him over.
I’ve been called a lot worse, but when a father uses a term that implies illegitimacy to his son, I figure the only fitting response is violence.
I’ve thrown harder punches and, if he’s mixed up with the people he says he is, it’s a fair bet that at some point in his life he’ll have been hit with a lot more intent. All I did was remind him to watch his manners around me.
Alfonse looks grave standing beside Mother. Compared to her though, he’s wearing the expression of someone who’s just checked their lottery numbers and found out they’ve won the jackpot. I’d expected to see a wateriness to her eyes, or a tremble in her jaw. Neither are evident.
Thirty years of hate now have a legitimate target.
None of us speak, but the look I get from Mother is sharp enough to eviscerate a concrete elephant. She’s gone beyond grief and self-pity. She’s now in the land of controlled fury. I swear, if she was holding a gun, she’d put it to Cameron’s head and pull the trigger without hesitation.
I slump down in the back of Alfonse’s car and keep my face turned away from the window. It’s only a matter of tim
e before my name is connected to Taylor’s death. Her bag is still on the yacht and will contain enough details to identify her.
Once Taylor’s parents have learned of her death, they’ll tell the police she was with me when they last saw her.
This is not the first situation I have been in where people have died, so my name will be at the top of what I don’t expect to be a long list of suspects.
As soon as I get Cameron to the hospital to be tested, and deposited at my apartment with Mother as his guard, I’m going back to New York.
Claire Knight is returning there at midnight and I’ve managed to talk my way onto the plane for a second time.
Mother doesn’t know about my plans, but Alfonse does. He’s tried without success to dissuade me.
Before I go, I need to have a brief talk with Cameron. At least I hope it will be a talk. If he listens to me, and trusts me enough to share what he knows, it’ll be a conversation.
Should he have other ideas, I may have to persuade him the same way as I did Donny. I don’t like the idea of using torture, or even threats of it, with Cameron. When all is said and done, I still have his blood running through my veins.
On the other hand, I’m not going to let my respect for the status of fatherhood stand in the way of what needs to be done to avenge Taylor.
My trip to New York has another purpose. It’s one thing delivering vengeance, but for justice to be done I need to make sure that my innocence in Taylor’s death is proven beyond doubt.
Even if I die in my attempts, I don’t want my name to be associated with a murder I’m innocent of.
Alfonse parks a hundred yards from the hospital’s main entrance.
I stare at Cameron and wait until he looks at me before speaking.