by Alexie Aaron
“Help yourself you mean,” Cid argued. “Guys, I have very little money left, just enough to make it to payday. I would appreciate it if you either pay for what you eat or clear out. No offense.”
Jesse frowned. He had forgotten the tight financial situation Cid was in. “Okay, we’ll reimburse you for the Zebra Cakes Wayne’s got stuffed down the back of his shirt. But those cookies earlier were fair game. You didn’t pay for them.”
Cid lifted an eyebrow. Jesse reasoned like a street kid. He knew very little about Jesse’s past, except for the few details that emerged after a few beers. And even those were suspect. Jesse was a closed person. He was very good at getting you to tell things about yourself while keeping his history locked down. “Sounds fair,” Cid said.
Wayne suddenly felt bad about taking the cookies earlier. He handed Cid a ten and said, “Keep the change,” before walking off.
“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve melted the frozen heart of the Walrus,” Jesse said, handing Cid his remaining bag of groceries. “What’s next? You’re going to get Kiki to back down on the killer schedule?”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” Cid said.
The sound of pounding footsteps preceded a very winded Wayne. He had one hand on his chest, the other pointing in the direction from which he came. After a few gulps of air, he managed, “Body… ground… maybe dead.”
Cid grabbed his long-handled flashlight and took off running after Jesse, colliding with Jesse as Cid rounded the corner of Wayne’s fifth wheel.
Jesse admitted, “I almost fell over him.”
Cid knelt and placed his fingers to the neck of the prone, uniformed man. “He’s got a pulse. Who is he?”
“He’s one of the security guards. Kevin something,” Jesse said.
“Banks. Kevin Banks,” Wayne filled in. “He’s not dead?”
“No, just knocked out. Jesse, help me roll him on his side.”
“Why?”
“In case he pukes, moron,” Wayne said, pushing Jesse out of the way. “This is the recovery position. What did you do at that first aid course Kiki sent you on?”
“Dated the instructor,” Jesse said. His face lit up as he remembered the hot redhead.
Kevin moaned before he started puking.
“Concussion,” Cid said. “We better call 911. Tell them, I suspect, a head injury. Looks like someone tried to bash in his skull.”
“On it,” Jesse said, pulling out his phone.
Wayne trotted over to his fifth wheel trailer and returned with a first aid kit and a lantern light. Wayne applied gentle but firm pressure to the back of Kevin’s bleeding head. He was comforted by the distant sound of a siren.
“Where’s his radio? Don’t these guys carry walkie-talkies?” Cid asked.
“Yes, and guns,” Wayne said. He pointed out the empty holster.
Jesse was answering questions for the emergency operator. Any information he didn’t know, he repeated to Wayne who filled him in.
Wayne looked at the wounds on the back of Kevin’s head and blew out air. “Man, you were lucky. The blood is clotting…”
Kevin vomited again.
“I’m calling it a concussion and taking you out of the game,” Wayne said.
Cid looked over at the big man. He was an oaf, but when it came to first aid, the giant was gentle.
“Cid, go to the security trailer and see if you can find the other guy. His name is Richard Warren. He’s about your size and twenty years older. Be careful, whoever did this could still be hanging around,” Wayne warned.
Cid ran over to the security trailer very aware that Kevin’s assailant could also be “his size and twenty years older.” It was unlocked and empty. The trailer was small but tidy. It took Cid a few minutes to get oriented. He sat down at a small operations console and accessed the last log entry.
Activity at Cabin 4. Banks not answering radio.
Cid looked over at the monitor displaying the six cameras. One covered the street end of the front drive. The others were positioned throughout the site. There was no present activity on any of the cameras.
Cid picked up one of the radios that were set in the charger and clicked on, “Richard Warren. Come in, Richard, over.” Cid waited and repeated his call.
Static filled the speaker.
Cid took a chance and instructed, “Press the lever on the side of the walkie-talkie, over.”
The line opened. Cid could hear labored breathing. It clicked off.
Cid had just gotten up to leave when the line went live again. “Come… Large cabin… He won’t last much longer,” an accented voice hissed.
“Thank you, I’ll be right there,” Cid said, grabbing the remaining radio. He ran back to Jesse and Wayne.
Kevin’s eyes were now open.
Wayne looked up at Cid. “Did you find Richard?”
“No. We have to get to Cabin 4. I have intel Richard is there and not doing well.”
“I’ve got to watch Kevin…” Wayne started.
“I’ll do it,” Jesse said. “I can multitask. The EMTs will be here in a few minutes.”
“Don’t let him get up. Keep his airway clear of puke.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wayne caught the walkie-talkie Cid tossed him and followed him to the cabin.
Chapter Seven
The night was now filled with the sound of sirens. Cid and Wayne split up: Wayne to look inside Cabin 4, Cid to check around the outside. In minutes, Cid heard Wayne yell, “Empty!”
Cid moved his flashlight back and forth, checking the area around the outside. Turning the corner, Cid frowned when he saw the dark open maw of the cellar. The steel doors reflected Cid’s light back at him, causing him to temporarily lose his night vision. He started down the steps and stopped. He felt a presence. Whether it was human or not, he had to go about this smartly. He backtracked and chained one of the doors open.
He took the stairs one step at a time, his flashlight barely cutting into the blackness. The clouds overhead parted for a moment, allowing the full moon to illuminate the area just at the bottom of the stairway.
On the ground was a uniformed man with one of his legs twisted the wrong way. Over him was a floating black mass.
“Thank you, Luminosa. I’ve got him now,” Cid said.
Part of the mass formed, and a questioning, tear-stained, beautiful face looked at Cid before disappearing.
Cid knelt and put his hand on whom he assumed was Richard Warren. He doubted that Kevin’s assaulter would have had time to dress in the security uniform. He heard faint labored breathing, and although weak, Warren did have a pulse. Cid clicked on the radio. “Wayne, I’ve found him in the cellar. Compound fracture of the right leg, a large contusion on the side of his head, and he’s fading.”
“I’ll relay the information to 911, over,” Wayne said, clicked off and then on again, “EMTs on the way. I’m going to help the team who just stabilized Kevin navigate the yard, over.”
“Time is not on our side, Wayne, over.”
“Understood, over.”
Cid got up, found the pull cord, and lit the place the best he could. He thought he saw something in the room scurry to the security of the shadows. It was small, a rodent of some kind - hopefully not a rat. Did they have rats in the country? He had no clue.
Richard moaned.
“Help is on the way, sir. Try not to move. You have a severe fracture.” Cid had no idea if the man was hearing him or not.
“Cid, this is Jesse, over.”
“Cid here, over.”
“Kevin’s rallying, and the EMTs have left with Wayne. I’m waiting on a second set to arrive. Two patrol cars have just pulled in, over.”
“Thanks for the update, over.”
“Hell of a night, over.”
“We’ve had worse,” Cid said and added, “over.”
“I’ve called Kiki. She’s on the way. She reminded me not to do anything stupid, over.”
“But stupid i
s what you do, over.”
“We all have our specialties. Cops coming, over.”
Cid put the walkie-talkie down and did a cursory inspection of the cellar. There was a handgun lying a few feet from him. Possibly the guard had had it in his hand when he was pushed down the stairs. His walkie was still on him, attached to his chest. He had landed on his back, which made Cid suspect he was coming up the stairs when he was attacked. But wouldn’t he have seen his attacker? No. “Was he behind him or beside him?” Cid asked himself. He looked at the stairs and changed his mind. “He was hit and tossed down the steps. He tumbled.” Cid slid his hand around and found Richard’s weapon still secured in his holster. “Not his gun on the ground. Is that Kevin’s gun? What’s going on here?”
The sounds of the approaching EMTs silenced and stopped Cid’s investigation. He calmly answered the questions one of the paramedics fired at him. “Did you move him?”
“No.”
“Did you touch him?”
“I took his pulse at his neck and listened to him breathe,” Cid responded.
Two state police officers arrived and began questioning Cid and Wayne while the EMTs worked on Richard. When they were through, they asked Cid and Wayne not to leave the property until they were cleared to do so.
“We’re living on-site in the trailers,” Wayne informed them before he and Cid climbed the stairs.
Cid walked straight out into the yard. He angled his head and listened. “There is somebody out there watching us.”
“Pretty ballsy considering the police presence,” Wayne said. “Don’t go out there. It’s too dangerous in the dark. And the cops might mistake you for a bad guy.”
“I’m going to mark where he went into the woods.”
“Don’t do it. The cops will be pissed. Let them do their job,” Wayne advised.
Cid typed a few things into his phone. “I’ve recorded the coordinates,” he explained. “Let’s go and check on Jesse.”
“You go. I’ll stay here with Richard. Just in case he comes around,” Wayne said. “I want to hear his explanation firsthand.”
“Not your first crime scene,” Cid commented.
Wayne didn’t confirm or deny it. He just twitched his mustache.
Kiki pulled over, allowing an ambulance to pass her, followed by a state police cruiser. She followed them up the High Court drive and parked by the old motel’s office. The lot was full, and there was no way she was going to be able to get closer than that. She got out and started walking. Someone had turned on the motel’s lights, although the aged system did little but cast a dim light on the scene before her.
Jesse had called and updated her on Kevin’s condition and that Cid and Wayne had found Richard unconscious and broken on the floor of the cellar under Cabin 4. “Before you ask, this isn’t an attack from the paranormal element,” Jesse said. “Human, deadly human.”
Kiki spotted Jesse talking to an officious uniformed man. Kiki walked towards them.
“Stop! Miss, this is a crime scene. Turn around and leave the lot,” ordered a patrolman, stepping in front of her.
“I’m Kiki Pickles, managing contractor for this job.” She pulled out her wallet, extracted her IDs, and handed them to the officer.
“I don’t care if you’re Princess Leia. Turn around, and leave the lot,” he said, handing her cards back to her.
Kiki looked the trooper in the eyes and said, “There is only one Princess Leia. Who’s in charge of this crime scene?”
“Sergeant Powell.”
“I would like to talk to Sergeant Powell,” she requested, holding her temper.
“He’s busy interviewing.”
“Is that him over there?” she asked, pointing in Jesse’s direction.
“Yes, miss.”
“That’s my employee with him. I demand to be part of whatever conversation is happening.”
“Please wait over by your vehicle, and I’ll inform the sergeant of your request,” the patrolman said.
“I’ll wait right here,” she said.
The patrolman’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything more. He turned heel and walked over to his superior.
Kiki watched as the patrolman spoke to the sergeant. Both Powell and Jesse turned her way. Jesse held up one hand, indicating he would be with her in five minutes. Powell shook his head.
The patrolman returned. “Miss, leave the lot. You’ll be contacted at the proper time.”
Kiki could not believe it. “This is my job, my responsibility.”
The trooper just pointed to her truck and said, “Leave or I’ll have to arrest you for being a nuisance.”
Luminosa was there watching the whole exchange. The police weren’t taking the Japanese woman seriously. Things hadn’t changed in all the years she’d been dead. In her day, when she would report a problem with a guest, and the guest had other claims, they took the guest’s word over hers. Who was she but a Mexican woman? This angered Luminosa. She felt the reason the police never caught her and her family’s killer was because they were Mexicans. It didn’t matter that she was legal or that she studied and took an oath to be a good American. Where were her promised rights? As she witnessed this woman getting the same treatment, her temper rose. She targeted her rage on the police cruiser across the lot from her.
Kiki took her time walking to her truck. She was frustrated and angry and turned back to see the patrolman put his hand on his holster, his fingers just touching the Taser. She decided she would wait in the truck for Jesse to finish. Jesse would get a piece of her mind for not insisting she be included in his interview. “Five minutes indeed,” she growled.
The odor of something burning assaulted her nostrils and she stopped. She had just passed a shiny new state police cruiser. Maybe the engine was burning oil? She walked back, bent down, and looked under the car. She saw a flame licking the underside of the car. Kiki shot upright and started running towards the group of cops waving her hands. She shouted, “Fire! Take cover, it’s going to blow!”
The shockwave from the cruiser exploding knocked Kiki to ground. The sound of it took her hearing away. She lay there calmly assessing her injuries. She felt someone tug one of her arms behind her and then the other. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrists as two patrolmen lifted her to her feet. She tried to walk, but something was wrong with her knee. They ended up dragging her across the lot.
Injured and shocked by her treatment, it took a moment to find her voice. “Wha…” was all she got out before her head was pushed down and she was thrust into the back of a state police car and the door slammed shut.
Cid ran into the chaos. He caught the tail end of Kiki’s arrest and moved quickly to intercede on her behalf. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked.
“Sergeant Powell,” a young patrolman told him.
“Where is he?”
“See that unconscious man on the ground. That’s my sergeant. What caused this? Some Asian chick blowing up his car. Do you have any more questions?”
“Jesse Holden? He was supposed to be speaking with him…” Cid led.
“He’s sitting over there.” The patrolman pointed.
“Excuse me,” Cid said and ran over to Jesse.
“Why are they taking Kiki away?” Cid asked.
“Pardon? I can’t hear you… the blast took away my hearing just as half of Wayne’s picnic table shredded my arm.”
Cid directed the beam of his flashlight on Jesse’s arm, and there were about a dozen long splinters of wood sticking out of it. The material of the flannel sleeve was barely creased by the peppering. However, the wounds were bleeding through the flannel.
Cid used his outdoor voice and shouted, “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Jesse asked.
Cid nodded.
“I’m number four, after the sergeant. The other half of the picnic table hit him hard. Evidently, it was his car that blew up.”
“They think Kiki did it.”
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“Huh.” Jesse’s face changed. He got up and looked as the patrol car containing Kiki drove away. “Maybe they’re taking her to the hospital?”
“In handcuffs?”
“Oh shit. I remember now. Someone came up to me and asked, ‘was Kiki capable?’ They said something before and after it, but I didn’t catch it. I can’t hear. Oh, you know that. I thought they meant capable of managing the situation, not blowing up the car!”
“Tell me what you know,” Cid demanded.
“I was handling things when she arrived. They wouldn’t let her come any closer than the lot. I told her I would be done in five minutes. But you know Kiki, she has to have her say in everything. She was pissed. They probably thought she blew up the car for attention. Was she capable of blowing up a car? Damn, I’d like to be able answer that one again.”
An unfamiliar set of EMTs ran over and began working on the fallen sergeant. Cid watched them a moment while he tried to figure out what had happened here and how to get Kiki out of this mess.
“Cid Garrett!” a gravelly voice called. “Who’s Cid Garrett?”
Cid walked quickly over to the man dressed in the beige uniform of the county sheriff. “I’m Cid Garrett.”
The man looked him over, not saying anything.
Cid pulled out his wallet and handed the officer his driver’s license and Carpenter’s Union card.
“I’m Sheriff Will Grady. Calvin Franks said, if I couldn’t find Kiki Pickles, I should speak with you.”
“They just took Kiki away in handcuffs. I fear, it’s to jail.”
“Why?”
“They think she blew up the sergeant’s car.”
“Did she?”
“I doubt it. Never struck me as an explosives expert,” Cid said.
Will Grady’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Seems to me, if we have two men down, that quite possibly their attacker set the car on fire. Patrolman!”
His military bearing and sharp voice had three patrolmen jumping. One ventured over.
“Since your sergeant is out of commission, this is my crime scene. Radio and have Miss Pickles taken to the hospital, and get those goddamn cuffs off her.”