Stratagems

  He pulled his arm back, slamming his fist against the right side of Cory’s head, sending his left cheek into the car door window, glass and blood spewing onto the asphalt as he went limp. His neck came to rest on the shards of broken glass, his eyes rolling upward. Dwight looked up and caught Eric’s eyes in the rearview mirror, shock blanketing his face. Eric started to hit the brakes when Dwight reached forward and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing as hard as he could. Eric’s reflection in the mirror confirmed to Dwight that it wouldn’t be long until he was either unconscious or dead, Eric struggling unsuccessfully in the front seat. Eric worked his fingers under Dwight’s arm, but it was too late. The hold was too strong and he went limp, Dwight releasing him as he fell onto the passenger seat.

  The car jumped the curb from Interstate 25, sending Dwight up into the air, his head hitting the car roof, and then knocking him back down in the seat. Cory’s body slammed limply against Dwight’s left side as the car hit the dirt and started down the hill. Dwight tried to hang on, but it was almost impossible, the car thrown up in the air one second and down the next, shuddering like a plane caught in turbulence.

  Finally, with one final thud the car came to a dead stop against a hill of dirt, Dwight being hurled forward into the headrest of the front seat, smashing against his right ear. Everything became still, a cloud of fine dust floating into the car from the broken window. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and survey the situation. Fortunately, the car hadn’t rolled. He glanced over at Cory, his body contorted on the seat next to him, his feet and knees sprawled on the floorboard while his head, still caught in the glass, was hanging out the window. Blood was running down the inner door.

  Dwight reached forward and shoved Eric’s body back into the driver’s seat, slowly crawling between both seats and landing awkwardly in the now vacant passenger seat. He opened the passenger side door and fell out onto the ground next to a large tumbleweed, his arm throbbing where he had hit the door during the journey down the embankment. There were weeds everywhere, acres of nothing but four-foot high weeds and brush. He looked up to the interstate, to the top of the hill. A few cars had stopped and people were gathering, looking down, a couple of men slowly making their way toward the accident. The weeds and dust provided good cover, but he had to move. He looked farther down the hill and saw nothing but more tumble weeds, all nicely stacked on top of each other by the wind.

  Dwight kept low to the ground, crawling deeper into a small ravine filled with nothing but loose desert grass and weeds. He went slowly so no one would spot his movements, not sure which direction he was headed but confident that anywhere away from the car was good. His arms and face started to itch as he crawled through the dense brush, looking ahead, seeing nothing but the same. He kept going, hopeful it would open up into a field far away from their battered car.

  After a few minutes of crawling he stopped to rest, laying his head down in the sand, breathing hard and wanting to scratch. He could hear sirens growing louder. He was a good distance away and was almost certain no one had seen him get out of the car, much less crawl along the ground. Everyone’s attention had been trained on the accident, nothing else.

  He rested for a good five minutes, holding his sore arm, then continued on, slowing to avoid getting scratched. After another few minutes he could see a break in the weed river. He inched along, keeping his sight on the clearing as he drew closer, finally reaching the opening. The small ravine he crawled through poured into a dry arroyo several feet below. He inched a little farther then rolled down the hill to the bottom, out of the weeds and into the sun, which was fading in and out as the clouds drifted overhead. He lay on his back for a moment, looking up, trying to resist the urge to scratch the skin off his arms. He didn’t think he broke his arm, but the pain was getting worse.

  He scrambled to his feet and started north, which led to Gibson. There were a few scattered houses in the distance, on either side of the arroyo. He stumbled forward, his dress shoes sinking into the sand as he trudged along, until he finally reached where the arroyo fed into a large, cement cylinder built under the road. The entire valley was susceptible to flash floods, about half-a-dozen times each year, the rest of the time it was bone dry.

  He climbed up the embankment and crossed Gibson to the other side, walking east. He saw the interstate in front of him and the off ramp near the accident. Emergency vehicles and police were at the top of the hill, several making trips up and down to and from the accident. He walked along, appearing to not be interested, until he was under the bridge and could breathe more easily, rubbing his neck and the back of his head. He had survived the crash, but knew he would be sore in the morning.

  He continued on foot, heading east toward the airport, stopping at the Phillips 66 mini-mart to buy a 20-ounce Coke and a candy bar. After 35 minutes of walking he stood in front of the door to the place he called home for the past several months. He fished his key out and walked inside. The Buick LeSabre, the one they had kidnapped Kyle in, was parked in the far corner, the keys still inside.

  He stammered to his office and fell into his chair, closing his eyes for only a second. He only needed a second.

  ____________

  Dwight woke around six and glanced at the clock on the wall. His arms were red and swollen, resisting the urge to tear into them with his fingernails. The last thing he needed was to have them bleeding, or worse, infected. The arm he had banged on the door was starting to swell and bruise.

  He rose from the chair with a groan and staggered to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and arms for about ten minutes, the coolness soothing his aching skin. He popped a couple of aspirin, quickly dried off with a towel, returned to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a Colt snub nose .357 Magnum, making sure it had a full complement of six rounds. He set it on the desk and returned to the drawer, this time removing a small cash box. He counted just under five-hundred dollars, fitting the bills inside his wallet. Inside the cash box were several identifications, two with pictures of him on the front. He took both and put them in his shirt pocket, along with a couple of credit cards with matching names. He closed the box and set it on the desk next to the gun.

  He stood and slid the gun between his belt and the small of his back, shoving it snug. The barrel was only two inches and the entire gun only seven, so it fit well. He grabbed the cash box and went to the LeSabre, tossed the box in the trunk and climbed in the car. He started it up and headed out, realizing it would be the last time he used the office, although the building owner would find a few valuables he left behind. It didn’t matter. If his plan worked, he’d have half-a-million travelling money and maybe even end up with millions in one of the bank accounts, one way or another.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Kyle returned home at five-thirty, feeling good for the first time in days. Charlie’s reunion had gone well and, because his condition was so good, the family was allowed to stay as long as they wanted, which turned out to be somewhere around four o’clock when Johnny starting crying and carrying on. He had missed a nap and Beth could tell it was wearing on him.

  Carmen had stayed, going to lunch with Kyle around one, then returned to the FBI main office. She told Kyle she was leaving around six that evening, and she didn’t know when she would see him again, but that she looked forward to it. She said she usually spent Christmas with Norm and Jean, but this year wasn’t sure if Norm would be willing after what she had done.

  Kyle dropped in the chair once again, flipping on the news. Charlie was still the headliner, the story of his reincarnation making it to the evening edition. The FBI and Beth made their best efforts to suppress the information as long as they could, but the natural order of things took over and the reporters were at the hospital just after two o’clock. Excerpts of Kyle’s video were mingled with Charlie’s report, the anchors once again adding commentary to the web of events, speculating on how it all fell together. The FBI had been eager to throw their own spin
on it, with Willis providing a mini-press conference at three-fifteen where he announced his involvement was merely a secret investigation which led to the eventual arrest of Dwight Patterson, the leader of the effort to defraud the American people. The news vans had also made it to Allied and managed to corner Tom Wells, who had no comment to all questions. That bit of footage produced a warm smile on Kyle’s face.

  Sammy was still slumbering at Eva’s, becoming spoiled by Quinn’s affections. Kyle had gone through his answering machine and found three messages from Eva and strict instructions to call her, that she was worried. The third message said never mind, since they had seen the report of Charlie and his reunion with his family, and for Kyle to call when he had a chance. The tape kept going as he discovered message after message from his mom and each of his sisters, including Jacqueline who had caught the report out in California on CNN, after Eva called and told her the blur on the screen was Kyle. A few other messages were from people at work worried about him, and one life insurance agent who would be willing to sell him a policy right away and might he call to schedule an appointment. Ah, if the salesman only knew.

  He ended up phoning no one except Pizza Hut. He ordered a large supreme, thinking it would suffice for breakfast in the morning as well as dinner tonight. He found himself missing Carmen, even though he had known her for less than forty-eight hours, he liked having her around. Her independent spirit and resourcefulness endeared her to him, not to mention the connection with her father, and he began to feel empty inside. Then he thought of Charlie and Beth reunited and what they must be feeling, and glad to know the kids had their father restored to them. Kyle thought, as he sat in the chair, it was all worth it.

  The doorbell rang. He knew it was the pizza but didn’t feel like getting up, his muscles aching and his head swirling from everything that had happened since Monday. He rose anyway, fumbling for his wallet as he opened the door. He only caught a glimpse of a blurred image before he landed on the floor. It was Dwight, standing where his pizza should have been, an evil grin engraved on his face, followed by a right-hook to Kyle’s jaw. He landed hard on his back, tried to scramble to his feet when Dwight burst in and kicked him in the ribs, sending him rolling toward the kitchen. Kyle lay on the floor, his hands clutching his side, moaning. He looked up and saw Dwight slam the front door shut and walk toward him, a small gun cupped in his hand.

  Dwight pulled his foot back again, swinging toward Kyle’s leg. “Thought you could steal my money, huh?”

  “What money?” Kyle murmured.

  “Wrong answer,” Dwight said excited, kicking Kyle across his hip and sending him rolling into the kitchen, finally coming to rest on the hard tile floor. Kyle moaned in agony, wanting to get up, but unable.

  “Okay,” Kyle said, wincing against the pain. “I’ll get you the money, but it’ll…” Kyle paused, struggling for air enough to speak, then continued, “…it’ll have to be in the morning. I put it in my safe deposit box.” Of course, it was a lie, but maybe it could buy him time. Kyle just hoped Dwight would believe it.

  There was a painful silence as Dwight thought. Kyle expected another kick coming. “That’s fine,” Dwight said. “We’ll just go hole up in a hotel. You’re rather partial to hotels, aren’t you Kyle? I can give you the same accommodations I gave Charlie. We can spend the rest of the night getting to know one another.”

  Kyle pulled himself up on one arm, half-sitting/half-laying on the floor, his breathing strenuous and painful. “If you kill me,” he said, taking another tense breath, “you won’t get the money, and if you keep hurting me, I swear you will never get it.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll give it to me,” Dwight said, pacing around Kyle’s limp body. “I won’t touch your face anymore, that might make people at the bank suspicious, but you will give me the money. And I mean all of it. I think you might have forgotten that I know who you are. Drew, is it? I can easily find the names and addresses of your precious sisters. That must be worth something to someone.”

  “You’ll get your money,” Kyle muttered, looking up, his vision blurred. Dwight was standing directly over him.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Are we expecting company?” Dwight asked, kneeling close to Kyle’s face, hovering the gun over his nose like a fly looking for a place to land.

  “Pizza,” Kyle choked out. “I ordered a pizza. That’s why I answered the door before.”

  Dwight smiled. “Pizza? I love pizza. We’ll take it with us to the hotel and you can watch me enjoy your special pizza.”

  Dwight stood and walked to the front door, the bell ringing a second time. Kyle considered yelling for help, but knew Dwight would kill a pizza boy, or girl, as easily as anyone else. He crawled across the floor to get a good look, Dwight staring through the peephole and heard a young man yell “pizza.”

  Dwight turned to Kyle, the gun pointed at him. “One word out of you and I’ll kill you both. Understood?”

  Kyle nodded, but it hurt to move his head. He just lay there and watched as Dwight opened the door, the gun still in his hand, hidden behind his back. He thought he might be able to get up and rush him, but would be no match in his condition. Dwight had the upper hand.

  Kyle thought he was seeing things at first. As Dwight looked outside at the pizza boy, he stood at the door frozen, not saying a word for a brief moment, then Dwight drew his gun from behind. A loud shot rang out. Kyle pictured some poor teenager laying at his doorstep, blood and pepperoni scattered over the front lawn. Then Dwight’s expression changed again as Kyle gawked at the sight of him. He turned from the door, toward Kyle, his mouth contorted as he stumbled a couple feet backward, before landing on the floor in the exact spot Kyle had moments ago. The ringing continued in Kyle’s ears as the smoke from the gunshot drifted into the kitchen.

  A shadow spilled onto the floor near Dwight’s lifeless body. Soon the silhouette emerged and Kyle recognized who it was. It wasn’t the pizza boy at all, although he was sure there was one outside, probably throwing up on the grass. It was Carmen.

  She rushed to Kyle’s side. “Oh, lord,” she said, sitting down beside him, resting his head in her lap and caressing his cheek. “You look terrible.”

  “I feel terrible,” Kyle mumbled. “How...”

  “He attacked Cory and Eric on the way to the airport. The car crashed down the side of a hill and he got away. When we learned what happened I thought he might show up here looking for the money.”

  Kyle grinned, feeling the pain of the first punch he received from Dwight.

  A shaky voice shouted from outside. “Do you still want this pizza?”

  “Get in here and call 911,” Carmen yelled.

  The Pizza Hut boy came and stood in shock. He couldn’t move as he gazed upon Dwight’s lifeless body on the floor, his eyes moving between Carmen and Dwight. He side-stepped the body and set the pizza next to Kyle. “Dude, you look toasted.”

  Kyle smiled up at Carmen who rolled her eyes.

  “He’s right, you do,” she said with a smile.

  “Ha, ha,” Kyle managed mockingly, his voice low and weak. “By the way, thanks for coming back.”

  “No problem,” she said.

  Kyle closed his eyes, felt her fingers gently glide along his cheeks in soft, soothing strokes. The pizza boy didn’t have to call 911 after all. Sirens echoed off in the distance, at first getting louder, then slowing fading as he lost consciousness.

  ____________

  Kyle woke in the dark, his eyes adjusting to the ambient light in the room. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. The ache was too great and spread all over, mostly to his side and jaw. He lay there for a second, wondering where he was, each breath triggering a shooting pain deep in his chest. Soon the few lights brought the room into focus. Two machines stood watch over his bed, small colored LEDs gleaming in their control panels, illuminating the room a little bit better helping his eyes adjust.

  He was in the hospital, that much he knew. It wasn’t
just from looking at the room, but the smell that hung heavy in the air. It was the same when he had visited Charlie. That aseptic odor left behind from a thorough cleaning; chemical residue mixed with the aroma of freshly cut flowers.

  “How are you doing?”

  The voice came from the other bed in the semi-darkness near the window, through which lights of the city streamed into the room. He couldn’t sit up, but turned his head to look over. The curtain was pulled and he could make out a figure lying on the far bed.

  “Not good,” Kyle managed, trying to focus on the voice he heard. “You?”

  “It’s me, Kyle. Charlie.”

  Even with the pain, Kyle managed a weak smile, not that Charlie could see it. He wondered how they arranged for them to have a room together, but didn’t question good fortune. As far as he was concerned, it was the best room in the hospital.

  “Are you okay?” Kyle asked, moving his head to try to catch a glimpse of him.

  “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Thanks to you.”

  “I thought I lost you.”

  “So did I,” Charlie said, his voice stronger than it had been when they first found him. “Carmen told me everything you did. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged this far into it. I just thought I would mail you the file and you would turn it over to the authorities.”

  “Next time, write a note to that effect.”

  Charlie chuckled in the dark, and Kyle started to feel wonderful in spite of the pain. He thought he would never hear Charlie’s voice again, so for him, it was a miracle.

  “There something Carmen didn’t tell you,” Kyle said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re my partner in a new business. You and I started our own consulting firm, with our old team I might add.”