Total Mayhem

by John Gilstrap

  Then the line went dead.

  Seth snapped the phone closed much too loudly, and he felt tears pressing behind his eyes. His heart rate jumped to a million beats a minute, and suddenly, he felt like he might throw up all the breakfast he’d just scarfed down.

  Holy shit. The FBI! What the hell?

  He hadn’t signed up for this. He was supposed to answer the phone—if it rang, which it probably wouldn’t—memorize the code that he was told, and then meet Tony behind the tobacco store on Court Avenue. That was it. Period.

  Nobody said anything about the FBI!

  Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

  Everybody was looking at him now. Everybody knew. Maybe they were all FBI agents, and they were there to arrest him.

  Without moving any other part of his body, Seth rotated his head to the left and to the right, and no, they really weren’t looking at him. Well, maybe that one guy at the end of the bar, but as soon as they made eye contact, he looked away.

  Carol was over at the order window, doing what Carol always did—talking and laughing.

  Directly across, the fisheye mirror near the ceiling showed everybody doing normal things. They hadn’t seen him slam the phone shut, and maybe they really couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart. How was that possible?

  This was bad. Really, really bad . . .

  Wait. Seth hadn’t done anything wrong. Not unless skipping morning bell was a crime. Did they still have truant officers? He’d heard about them on an old TV movie he’d watched. The FBI weren’t coming for him. They were coming for Tony!

  What the hell should he do now? He could just leave the phone on the counter and walk away, but then Carol would call him back because he’d forgotten it. Then everyone really would be looking at him.

  What was he doing still sitting there? The guy on the phone said they were coming right now. Sure, it was easy for Seth to say he’d done nothing wrong because he really hadn’t, but were the FBI going to understand that? They were famous for stacking false evidence against people they didn’t like. He’d been hearing about it in the news. Hell, he’d been hearing about it everywhere.

  He had to get out of here. He glanced at his neighbors again, and they were still lost in their own worlds. When he looked in the mirror, though, he locked eyes with a guy in a denim jacket who seemed to be looking at him and talking to the lady he was with.

  Did he know? Was he the FBI?

  Seth had to move carefully here, needed to think things through all the way to the end. He didn’t want to go off half-cocked, as his mom always said.

  No, if they were the FBI, they’d have made their move, right? That’s what the guy on the phone said. He didn’t say that the FBI was there. Said that they were on the way. Those are different things.

  Seth decided that he had time, but that he needed to move. He needed to get the phone back to Tony, and while he was at it, he’d give back the hundred dollars, too. He didn’t want anything to do with anything the FBI was doing.

  In five minutes, he’d be free of all this shit. In fifteen, he’d be back in school with one hell of a story to tell Benny.

  Should he say good-bye, or should he just walk away? Call attention and act normal, or simply disappear?

  He decided that invisibility was the way to go. He’d already paid for his food. Before spinning around on his stool and dropping his feet to the floor, he looked in the mirror one more time.

  The guy in the denim jacket had gone back to eating his breakfast.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, it’s a kid?” Gail whispered.

  “Remember that boy at the bar when we first came in?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s him. He just took the call.”

  “He’s not even a teenager yet. Hardly terrorist material.”

  “Maybe he’s a mule,” Jonathan said. “Doing the dirty work for the real bad guy.”

  “Quit the chit chat,” Boxers said. “I’ve got eyes on the front door. Do I copy that I’m looking for a kid?”

  “Affirmative, Big Guy.”

  “Got a description?”

  Jonathan shifted his eyes to the kid at the counter. “He’s white, brown hair. Green windbreaker, looks like black tennis shoes. As far as I can tell, he’s the only kid in the restaurant.”

  As Jonathan was relaying his description, he met the kid’s eyes in the fisheye mirror over the service counter. The boy looked frightened.

  Jonathan cut his eyes to Gail. “Shit,” he said. “I think I’ve been made.”

  “Is he moving yet?” Boxers asked.

  “Looks like he’s about to,” Jonathan said. “I’ll need to give him a thirty-second head start or more when he leaves. Otherwise, if he sees us, I think he’ll panic.”

  “Don’t hurt him, Big Guy,” Gail said.

  Boxers replied, “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

  Jonathan understood. As wicked as Big Guy’s violent streak was, he’d moved heaven and earth in the past to avoid hurting children.

  Through his peripheral vision, while feigning conversation with Gail, Jonathan watched as the boy eyeballed him again, spun on the stool, hit the floor, and started for the exit.

  “He’s moving,” Jonathan said.

  As soon as the kid was clear of the door, Jonathan fished his wallet out of his pocket.

  “We don’t have a check,” Gail said.

  Jonathan dropped two twenties on the table. “Forty bucks is sure to cover it.”

  “I’ve got him,” Boxers said. “He’s scared shitless.” Gail stood.

  “Where are you going?” Jonathan asked.

  Gail explained, “You need to wait. I don’t. He didn’t see me staring at him. Big Guy can’t do it all from the truck.”

  “Good idea,” Boxers said.

  As Jonathan watched Gail exit, he realized that he might not be capable of waiting to follow. But he had to. Venice’s call had knocked the kid off-balance—who in the world thought there’d be a child involved? —and that in turn had knocked their plan off its trajectory. If Jonathan moved too quickly, he’d amp things up to panic mode.

  He decided to put the time to use. He slid out of his booth and walked to the eating counter. “Excuse me, Carol?” he said.

  She looked up from whatever she was doing and greeted him with a big smile. “Oh, no, honey,” she said. “I can come to the table for the money. I haven’t even brought—”

  Jonathan put the twenties on the counter. “Keep the extra as a tip,” he said. “Who was that boy who was just sitting here?”

  The frumpy lawyer on his left looked up at the question. “Whoa there, Mr. I-Don’t-Know-Who-You-Are. The hell kind of question is that? What business—”

  Jonathan produced his FBI badge. “I’m not talking to you,” he said. “Carol, I have to know.”

  Carol brought a hand to her chest. “Oh, my God, did Seth do something wrong?”

  “Seth what?” Jonathan pressed. “I need a last name.”

  “What did he do?”

  “I just need to talk with him.”

  “Then how come you don’t know his name?” the frumpy guy pressed.

  “I don’t have time,” Jonathan said. “Seth does not have time. Now, tell me.”

  “Don’t say anything,” the frump said. “Carol, that boy—”

  “Provost,” Carol said. “Seth Provost. But he’s a good boy.”

  “Seth Provost,” Jonathan repeated, mostly for the benefit of his team. “Thank you, Carol. Breakfast was terrific.”

  As Jonathan headed for the door, the frumpy lawyer moved to follow.

  Jonathan froze him with a forefinger thrust to his nose. “If you want to be on a liquid-only diet, go ahead and follow me.”

  The lawyer went cross-eyed as he focused on the finger. His altruistic indignation seemed to have taken a backseat to reality. That was a good thing. For both of them.

  * * *

  As Seth stepped out int
o the chilly sunshine, his spine felt as if it were crawling with ants and spiders, chills racing up and down from his butt to the back of his head. Was the FBI already there? Was he being watched? And what was Tony involved with that could get Seth arrested and sent to jail?

  Did they send thirteen-year-olds to jail? He’d read books and seen movies about juvenile detention centers. This had been a stupid, stupid idea. This shit was worth more than a hundred bucks—more than a thousand bucks. This shit was crazy.

  “Keep it together,” Seth mumbled to himself. He tried to look calm and uninterested as he glanced back to see if the guy in the denim jacket was following. Nope. Then he looked ahead at the courthouse and down the streets and sidewalks. FBI agents wore those nylon windbreakers, right?

  Just a few more minutes and this whole thing would be over.

  Tony would be in a white pickup truck. A big one with dual rear axles, the kind that’s designed to haul heavy stuff. He’d be sitting behind the tobacco store.

  What was Tony going to do when he found out about the FBI? Tony looked like he got pissed a lot. And he looked a lot like a guy to be afraid of when that happened.

  All for a hundred dollars. “Seth, you’re a moron,” he mumbled.

  His mom would shit a cow if she knew what he was doing.

  Maybe he didn’t owe Tony anything. Maybe Seth could keep the phone and the money and just disappear.

  Except, how hard would it be for Tony to find him when he lived in a town this small?

  No, this was important. He needed to make the handoff, and then he needed to fly away.

  It took way longer for Seth to cross the courthouse lawn than he thought it would. You didn’t pay attention to how long it took to get to a place you knew unless there was a reason to be in a hurry. And man oh man, was he in a hurry.

  He crossed Court Avenue directly in front of the tobacco store, but because all of the buildings touched each other—essentially forming one big building—he had to turn left at the sidewalk and then right onto John Wayne Drive toward Washington Street. That took him to the rear of the businesses into an alley marked by red brick and back doors on the right, and a line of telephone poles on the left. In the middle was a lot of nothing, some Dumpsters and a few parked cars.

  There weren’t many corners of Winterset that Seth hadn’t explored at one time or another, but the last time he’d been down here, he and Benny had seen a huge rat chewing on something that had fur on it, and it had kind of freaked him out.

  Yet here he was again, totally freaking out.

  He saw the truck. It was parked in a part of the alley that wouldn’t be visible to passing vehicles on John Wayne Drive or Washington Street. In fact, it wasn’t visible at all. Tony was sitting behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette and studying his phone, seemingly unaware that Seth was even there. Seth was half a second from turning around and quitting this whole thing.

  Then, as if drawn to Seth’s eyes, Tony looked up from his phone and waved at him.

  Seth hesitated, then waved back. He was going to do this thing. He hadn’t yet cut the distance by half before Tony opened the driver’s door and stepped out to stand next to his vehicle.

  “How’d it go?” Tony asked. Then his expression hardened. “What’s wrong?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’ve lost him,” Boxers said. “He disappeared behind the trees.”

  “I’m still on him,” Gail said. “It looks like he’s heading straight across the courthouse lawn. He’s certainly walking with purpose.”

  Jonathan listened to the radio traffic and tried to imagine their plan. Was Seth Provost merely a mule, or was he part sociopath? Jonathan remembered when the DC area was shut down for weeks by a sniper who turned out to be a child. Either way, the kid could not be working alone on this. There had to be others involved. His father, maybe? Older brother?

  “I’m moving my vehicle,” Boxers announced. “If he’s moving to the other side of the square, I want to be in position.” He was not asking permission.

  Jonathan decided to walk a parallel route to both Gail and Boxers, using the sidewalk along John Wayne Drive, which defined the eastern edge of the square. He was twenty yards to Gail’s left and probably a hundred yards behind. On the far side of the square, Boxers cruised the Suburban slowly along, finally choosing a parking spot at the southwestern corner of the square.

  “The boy is approaching the street,” Gail said.

  “I see him now,” Boxers said.

  “Be careful, Gunslinger,” Jonathan said. “Don’t get too close.”

  As the boy crossed the street and then turned left, Boxers said, “Looks like he’s not done walking yet. Another block or two, maybe?”

  At the corner with Court Avenue, Seth turned onto John Wayne Drive. “I’ve lost him again,” Boxers said.

  “He’s headed toward Washington Street,” Jonathan said. Ahead and to the right, Gail crossed Court Avenue and followed the path Seth had just walked.

  Still a hundred yards back, Jonathan had a perfect view of it all. “Slinger, feel free to turn the corner normally. He’s not checking his six at all.”

  When Seth turned right at the rear corner of the closest building, Jonathan’s gut tightened. “He turned into the alley,” he said. “I can’t see him anymore. Big Guy, turn left on Washington. That will give you the best opportunity to eyeball him.”

  When Gail reached the end of the building, the point at which Seth had turned, she stopped. “I don’t see him.”

  “Dammit.” Jonathan picked up his pace. “Big Guy?”

  “I’m just turning onto Washington, but I can tell you now that I’m going to have a limited view past the buildings on this street to see into the alley. Want me to go back and cruise the alley itself?”

  “You can’t drive through a narrow alley and stay out of sight,” Jonathan said.

  “He’s a little boy, Scorpion,” Gail said in her most scolding tone.

  “He’s just one kid,” Boxers countered. “We’re working to save a lot more than that.”

  “I’m going down the alley,” Gail declared. “I’ll just be a curious tourist. If he sees me, he sees me, but then I’ll know if he’s okay.”

  “Suppose he’s inside one of the businesses?” Jonathan asked.

  “Then we’ll know that, too, won’t we? I’ll keep you both in the loop.”

  Jonathan picked up his pace to a jog.

  “I need an order, Boss,” Boxers said.

  “Sit tight for now,” Jonathan said. “Wait for intel from Gunslinger.”

  Fifteen seconds later, Gail said, “I’ve got him. He’s talking with a guy—maybe thirty, looks like he could be an operator. They’re standing next to a big white dually pickup. The driver is getting out to meet him.”

  Jonathan hated being the blind guy on the team. “Are you seeing it, too, Big Guy?”

  “Affirmative. Well, sort of. I don’t see the kid, but I can see a fender of the truck. Big sucker.”

  “That’s the one,” Gail confirmed.

  As he listened to the chatter, Jonathan reached the entry to the alley, where he could see Gail downrange, pressed up against a Dumpster, doing her best to observe while staying out of sight. Jonathan walked past the alley, closer to Washington Street, then turned right and cut across a gas station parking lot, keeping the alley trash receptacles between him and the target. Up ahead and to the left, he saw Boxers’ rented Suburban idling against the curb.

  Finally, Jonathan had a usable angle, with both Seth and the driver in full view. The driver had a tough, athletic look about him. He wore a bushy beard and the kind of clothes worn by tactical operators of all stripes—and by countless classes of hangers on. Khaki shirt, forest green 5.11 Tactical pants, some kind of light boot or heavy tennis shoe. Jonathan had a couple dozen outfits that looked just like it. This did not look like a happy meeting.

  “Gunslinger, can you hear anything?”

  Her replay came in a whisper. “No.�
�

  Jonathan made a decision. “If he moves to hurt the kid, we move in to intervene.”

  Seth chatted with the driver for a solid minute, and as the meeting droned on, the boy’s anxiety seemed to grow while the driver went through a spectrum of body language. At first suspicion, then followed by a posture of intimidation that made Jonathan nervous.

  Jonathan repositioned himself to get a little closer. He didn’t want to be so close that he’d be noticed, but close enough to intervene if the driver started whaling on the boy.

  Seth reached into his pocket and handed the phone to the driver. Gail relayed that on the air.

  “Definitely looks like Seth was a mule,” Jonathan said. “Carrying the phone for the real bad guy.”

  Once the driver had his phone, he gave Seth another stern look, and then rumpled his hair and gave his shoulder a friendly smack.

  “Looks like it’s over,” Gail said.

  “Not yet,” Jonathan countered. “Big Guy, whatever happens next, you stay on the truck. If the kid gets in, we’ll hop in with you. If he doesn’t, Slinger and I will follow the kid on foot, then catch up with you.”

  “Gonna be tough not to be noticed in a one-vehicle pursuit,” Boxers said.

  “I have every confidence,” Jonathan replied. Big Guy didn’t like it when the action got split. He liked to be a part of everything that went down everywhere.

  As the driver climbed back into the truck’s cab, Seth started walking back toward Gail.

  Jonathan watched the pickup as it pulled out, and he said, “Big Guy, our target is turning left onto First Avenue. He’s going to cross behind you.”

  “I’m on him,” Boxers said.

  Jonathan turned his attention back toward Seth. He walked quickly, but with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his windbreaker and his head held low. When he walked past Gail, he didn’t even look up. Clearly, that was one distracted kid.

  Seth walked to the spot where the alley met John Wayne Drive, and he stopped. He stood there on the sidewalk for a few seconds, then sat heavily on the curb and put his face in his hands.

  “Hey Slinger, I think you should approach him first. He probably doesn’t need any more trauma in his morning.”