A Hunted Man (The Men of Halfway House)

by Reese, Jaime

  "I assume you don't usually go around and make out with people at the diner on breaks. At least, I hope not. I figured we were something more."

  "I hope so, but I…I just need to talk to you, okay. Please, Hunter. Don't push me on this right now."

  "So it's serious then?" Hunter asked curiously.

  Cam hesitated. The emotions clogged his throat and tried to prevent him from speaking further. "Yeah," he croaked. He was on the brink of panicking. He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. "I've got to finish getting ready for work. I'll see you soon?"

  "You bet," Hunter responded. "Cam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "I hope not," he faintly responded, almost in a whisper, before ending the call.

  He stood, light-headed, half dressed in the room. He clutched the phone to his chest when his knees buckled. He wrapped his arms around his legs and lay on the floor with his eyes screwed shut as he rocked back and forth.

  He hoped and prayed he would be granted some mercy and allowed this one little piece of heaven with the piercing silver eyes that made him feel wanted and safe.

  * * * *

  Hunter finally arrived at the coordinates Karyna provided. The place would be damn near impossible to find without the map and GPS. He couldn't recall how many turns he made at non-existent streets. Just behind the brush of trees, Hunter saw a tiny house with a dirt driveway. He drove up the narrow path and parked his car next to the dark, nondescript compact. Before he had a chance to exit his vehicle, Peter stood in the doorway of the small shack with a smile.

  "Took you long enough," he announced as Hunter walked the path and closed the remaining distance between them.

  Hunter greeted him with a hug and pat on the back. "What the hell happened to you?"

  "C'mon in. I'll tell you what I know." He guided Hunter inside.

  "Thanks." Hunter took the offered glass of lemonade.

  Peter sat in the chair opposite Hunter and leaned forward. "What did they tell you guys?"

  "That you were dismissed for tampering with evidence. They're investigating all your cases."

  "Assholes," Peter scoffed.

  "I know it's bullshit, but what the hell happened?"

  "They tried to buy me off, when I refused, I started getting phone calls and messages."

  "What kind of phone calls and messages?"

  "The typical 'stay away', 'back off or else' bullshit. It was entirely too dramatic for me so I didn't pay it much attention."

  "What changed?"

  "I got a folder via courier. Nothing fancy about it at first glance, just a red file with a note on it."

  "Red?"

  Peter nodded. "In it were photos of me…like surveillance shots, and my schedule, hell, there were even pictures of me having dinner at the restaurant with a friend. I felt so damn uncomfortable. I'm usually aware of being watched because there's always some guy out there who's pissed off I put them away. But this was different. It was too personal. Then I found some documents in the folder. Fake documents, stuff I hadn't signed or written, with my name and forged signature on them."

  Hunter stood from his seat and walked over to his briefcase. He pulled out one of the red files. "Did it look like this?" he handed over the red folder.

  Peter took the file and thumbed through the endless mix of images, reports, details, and more. He glanced up with a questioning expression. "Exactly like this. Where did you get this?"

  "They mysteriously appear at the office. Some for me, some for Mel, but they always seem to be related to the cases we are working at the time. The guys fit perfectly with each case and arrest at just the right time."

  "I can tell you, I didn't do shit wrong, and if that's what these files mean, then something's going on."

  "What did the note say…the one with the folder."

  "One word. Run."

  "No shit," Hunter said, sitting back in the chair again. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His mind raced, trying to recall all the cases and convictions since the red files started several months before. Hunter shot upright. "Wait a minute."

  "What?"

  "What if the folders aren't for the guilty ones but the scapegoats?"

  "Scapegoats?"

  "Yeah," he said, grabbing another red file from his case. "This guy, for example, is the perfect target for a case we're working on now. I mean fucking perfect. No question. When I got this file a few days ago, it was almost too easy. That's why I didn't push it. Then I get a text from my assistant today, letting me know the guy was arrested last night—with the drugs on him. He says they're not his but no one's buying his story. Easy case, slam dunk, he's going back in for violating his parole."

  "Is it the same drug case that was scheduled for our hearing?"

  "No, the drugs that were found on him didn't have the emblem logo thing on it. In fact, most of the slam dunk cases are those that don't relate to the new guy on the streets."

  "It's too easy."

  "Exactly," Hunter said. "And to be honest with you, seeing that you were the subject of a red file tells me they aren't the guilty people."

  Peter sighed. "You know I didn't do any of that tampering with evidence thing they're accusing me of, right?"

  Hunter looked over at Peter with a glare. "I know you well enough to know it's all bullshit. Your morals border on those of a priest."

  "Thanks. It's nice to know someone's not questioning me. They ruined me, you know, and right before I could retire." Peter sounded defeated.

  "Not if we can figure out this shit and who's sending these files. They've got too much info in them. Confidential stuff no one should be able to easily access, surveillance logs, data not included in the original case reports. So it's got to be a higher up. The question is, who's trying to give us the heads up about the scapegoats and why?"

  "Maybe someone who wants to help put this guy away or help break down whatever the hell is going on that is causing all this to happen. I don't know." Peter straightened in his seat and leaned forward. "I just know that when I got that red file, I bailed. There was no way in hell I was going to hang around and wait with a bull's-eye on my head for these bastards to come get me. I smelled the bullshit a mile away and knew that once I saw one of the doctored documents in the file, I was done. So I had to leave."

  "Running makes you look guilty."

  "Well. Them not being able to find me makes it look like I disappeared, right? Not as if I'm avoiding some arrest."

  Hunter laughed. "Good point. I know you've got everyone wondering what the hell happened to you. The only thing people are saying is that you've gone MIA. That's it. It's as if you've disappeared off the face of the earth. I think people are more concerned about your disappearance than your guilt right now."

  "Exactly what I needed to happen. If it looked like I was running or hiding, then it would be a simple case closed situation of evasion. This way, people are wondering what happened and where the hell I am. Maybe that'll lead them to look into things a bit more and question what's going on."

  Hunter laughed. "You're so dramatic."

  "Fuck you."

  "Can I have your autograph? I think you're going to win an Oscar here."

  "Shut up." Peter laughed and shoved Hunter. They chatted for a bit and caught up on family and some of the latest court and case issues they'd encountered.

  "I've got to go. I've got a long drive back, and I'm going to need daylight to get out of this area." Truth be told, he was anxious to get back and find out what Cameron wanted to talk about.

  "Be careful out there. You don't know who's involved or who you can trust."

  "Yeah. Speaking of which—if I do need to go to someone, which judge do you think would be the go-to guy."

  Peter responded without hesitation. "Dylan Stanford. He's a no nonsense ass, but he's not one to be bought."

  Hunter laughed. "Yeah, he's an ass."

  "Watch your back, Hunter, and trust your inst
incts."

  "Take care of yourself. I'll get a message to you somehow when it's safe to come back."

  "You got it."

  Hunter left Peter's hideaway. He tried to think of any prior interactions with others that may have been questionable, but nothing stood out.

  "Shit," Hunter muttered in frustration. He wanted to finish these cases, catch this kingpin who was ruining the streets, review all the red files again with a new perspective, and finally talk to Cameron about his mysterious in-person conversation. He didn't have answers for any of this, and he just wanted to get back home.

  Hunter fished his phone from his pocket after driving through several towns only to notice his phone was still searching for a signal.

  "Dammit." He wanted to talk to Cam before it got too late but his phone just wasn't cooperating. He set his phone to charge and continued to drive. After reaching a rest stop, he checked again and hoped that one bar of service was enough to make a call. After two failed attempts at connecting, the call finally went through.

  "Hi there," Cam answered.

  "Hey. How are you?" Hunter asked, closing his eyes as Cam's voice filtered through his system.

  "Good."

  "You sound off, you okay?" Hunter asked.

  "Yeah."

  Hunter knew Cam well enough to know he wasn't okay regardless of what he said. "Is this about that talk you want to have when I'm back?"

  Cam grumbled. "How was your day?"

  "Long. Too much driving and headaches. But I'm heading back already."

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm hoping to be there probably tomorrow if all goes as planned."

  Silence.

  "Cam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "It doesn't matter, whatever it is you want to talk about, I already told you, I'm not going anywhere, so stop stressing okay?"

  More annoying silence.

  "Besides…you owe me a date," Hunter added with a smile.

  "If you still want me after our talk, then I'll go on as many dates with you as you want."

  Hunter held the phone closer to his ear, wishing it was Cam instead. He hated the worry he heard in Cam's voice. "Promise?"

  "I swear."

  "You do realize you're driving me nuts not telling me what you want to talk about."

  "Then fucking stop pushing!"

  Hunter closed his eyes. He shouldn't have forced it.

  "I'm sorry," Cam quickly added then exhaled deeply. "I figured if I told you I wanted to talk, then you'd push me until we spoke…but I thought you'd at least wait until you got back. Not telling you is like lying and I don't want to lie to you. Fuck man, I suck at this."

  Cam might be getting worked up over something that wasn't so bad. Whatever it was, it was important to Cam to get this off his chest. "Thank you."

  "For driving you nuts or for biting your head off?" Cam laughed nervously.

  "For not wanting to lie to me," Hunter said earnestly. "Lets me know you care."

  "Don't get sappy on me."

  "I'll call you when I get back in town."

  "Okay."

  "See you soon," Hunter finished before disconnecting the call.

  Whatever Cam had to tell him was obviously wearing away at him. Hunter needed to get his ass back and get rid of this wedge that had worked itself between them. He wished Cam would realize that whatever he had to say just didn't matter. If there was a problem, they'd talk through it, work on it, whatever. He wasn't the type to give up so easily on something, or someone, he wanted so much. He just wished Cam would believe him.

  Hunter finally checked into a hotel in the middle of the night at some point between Peter's hideaway and home. After taking a quick shower, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his briefcase. Grumbling, he decided to bite the bullet and scan a few of the files before he passed out.

  He walked over to his bag, took out the folders and sorted them as he usually did. He realized he'd forgotten about the last minute envelope that arrived during his meeting. He placed it on the table away from the others and stared at it for entirely too long, waiting for something to spring free of the seal.

  "Fuck it," he said out loud. He undid the metal clasp and pulled out a single, thin, red folder.

  "Fuuuck," he groaned and rubbed his face. Even though most of the face in the mug shot was covered with tousled hair, the piercing blue eyes were unmistakably those of the man who had stolen his heart.

  Hunter ran his finger along the image. Those blue eyes held anger and unmistakable pain. His face showed the beginnings of some serious bruising.

  What happened to you?

  He closed the file again and read the name label, "Pierce, C." A few simple letters on a label, yet they held a wealth of emotion for him. He debated reading the file, wondered if this was what Cam wanted to talk to him about when he returned. He tapped the closed file with his fingers. Is this considered an invasion of privacy? His desire to protect Cam overruled. He opened the folder and began to read.

  He re-read it, repeatedly. He couldn't find the congruency between the man on paper and the man he had come to know.

  "This doesn't make any sense," Hunter mumbled to himself. The charges read like a hodgepodge of items, nothing logical based on the report of what had happened and the evidence in the photos.

  Cameron had responded to his sister's call for help. The end result was the death of the sister's boyfriend by a single gunshot to the chest. Cameron was charged with voluntary manslaughter and sentenced to ten years.

  Hunter pulled out some of the other documents in the folder and found one of the court transcripts. There had been an attempt to charge Cam with possession of the firearm used, even though it belonged to the family of the sister's boyfriend. Luckily the judge found that illogical and threw out the charge.

  Hunter lowered his head and exhaled heavily. A firearm charge would have forced a mandatory minimum of twenty-five years.

  Something wasn't right. The bruising on Cam's face, the gun not belonging to him, any lawyer with a fraction of skill could have easily attributed the death to self-defense.

  Cam was charged with weapons possession because he had a "blade-like object" in his back pocket that day as well as a long list of charges including petty theft, violent personal crimes, and a drug charge. Hunter looked at the evidence photos. A fucking two dollar pocket knife key chain.

  "Shit." Hunter exhaled and rubbed his temples. The headache pulsing behind his eyelids tried to push forward.

  He continued to read the additional pages of transcripts, noticing some of the pages were redacted while others were highlighted. Hunter stretched his neck from side to side. None of the dots were connecting in this case, and he couldn't understand how a call to come to a sister's aid could end in a ridiculous checklist of charges and a ten year prison term.

  He read the pages, then read them again, flipping each sheet of paper sharply as he yanked the next page. He stepped away from the table and began to pace the room.

  Cam was guarded, but he wasn't the kind of guy who would do everything reported in that case file. Hell, he was probably wary of people because of all this and who knows what he'd had to go through during the last ten years.

  Hunter sat back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair.

  "Shit!" he yelled and threw the file across the room, sending the papers flying through the air.

  He leaned forward and lowered his head onto his crossed arms. He thought of Cam, the smile that made his heart skip a beat, the laugh that made his chest tighten. The tension began to ease from his body. The frustration replaced by determination.

  In a short amount of time, he'd gotten to know Cam. The person described on paper was not the man he'd come to love.

  He wouldn't deny it to himself. Cam had stolen his heart from the start.

  He stood and began collecting the scattered sheets of paper. He sat and willed himself to focus on solving the puzzle he had been handed. No statement from his sister had been taken
that day. He searched the additional memos, and after a few torturous minutes of his heartbeat echoing in his ears, he found the sister's boyfriend's name, Bradley Mackler.

  "Son of a bitch," he said under his breath.

  He pulled out his laptop and launched a browser search window to confirm.

  Buried within a news archive dated the same as Cam's report, he found a headline.

  Bradley Mackler, son of Judge Kevin Mackler, killed by an intruder.

  "An intruder?" he said to himself.

  He searched for information on the home where Cam and his sister had been, the homeowner's last name on record was not Mackler. He returned to the redacted documents. Most of the information was blacked out, but there, on a document citing a specific Florida statute protecting information from public record, was the same address listed on Cam's crime report with "K. Mackler" several paragraphs below. The house was titled under an alias for Mackler. Even Hunter kept his home address confidential on the county records to protect against retaliation from someone unhappy with a verdict.

  There was something missing, and it was obviously a critical piece to the puzzle. He looked at the picture of Cam. There was so much anger and pain in those eyes. He needed to find out why someone was now targeting him. He knew Cam was wary of new people, so that added another element to the puzzle.

  He remembered their conversation the other night. His sister. She hadn't spoken to him in about ten years. Her decision. He opened the file again and searched for any information on her. After a few minutes, there, in an obscure sticky note was Cam's sister's current married name and address.

  With renewed vigor, he stuffed the files back into his briefcase then grabbed some clothes from his duffle and quickly dressed. He knew there was no way in hell he'd get any sleep and figured he owed Cam's sister a visit since she was only a few hours away. He checked out of the hotel and raced over to his car.

  He was going to get to the bottom of this and save the one man who had managed to awaken hope for something more and the desire to fight for it.

  Hunter shielded his tired eyes when the sun rose behind the small suburban home. The lack of sleep had zapped his energy and had him running on pure determination and several cups of rest stop coffee. The crappy coffee in lieu of his latte was just another reminder of how much he missed Cam.