Pitfall

by Cameron Bane

  The voice coming back through the radio’s speaker was tinny. “Sheriff, this is Deputy Barry Hart.”

  “Yes, Barry, I know who you are.” Taking his thumb off the mike’s key, he said to me over his shoulder, “The mayor’s nephew. Twenty years old, and as dumb as a poodle. Sometimes I wonder why I took this job.” Hitting the button again he said, “Go ahead.”

  “Mrs. Yates called. She says her husband locked his keys in the car again, and it’s running.”

  Hardesty frowned. “Yeah, so?”

  “So she said Leighton’s in the car. They’re both worried sick.”

  Hardesty shook his head, and then said, “Barry, tell me how old Leighton is.”

  “Uhh … six, Sheriff?”

  “Six. You win the prize.”

  “Cool. Really?”

  “Do this. Can you do this? I want you to call Mrs. Yates back, and I want you to tell her to tell Ralph to tell Leighton to unlock the car door.”

  “Hey … that’s a good idea, Sheriff. So I should just tell her that, huh?”

  Looking back over the seat at me, the lawman rolled his eyes as he keyed the mike again. “Yes, Barry. You should do that.” Hanging the mike back on its hook, he rubbed his eyes.

  Regardless of my situation, I had to fight to keep from laughing. “Anyway, back to me. I guess all that’s left are those two kids I helped.”

  “Yeah, and they’re your saving grace. After I chewed them out for being underage and in a bar, Danny and the girl pretty much told it the way you did. Blakey started it, and you finished it. I didn’t find that knife you said Chet pulled on you, though.”

  “I guess somebody must have snagged it, to keep him from getting in trouble for armed assault.” I rotated my neck, trying to get the kinks out. “Like you said, the people in this town seem to stick together.”

  “I guess.” The sheriff’s chuckle was dry. “But I don’t think Danny and his girl will be seen in Jerry’s for a while. At least not until they’re legal.”

  “So I’m free to go, right? No one is pressing charges?” I hoped not. If I was booked, I’d be fingerprinted, and then I’d have to call in some favors I wasn’t ready to call in yet.

  “GeneSys might pursue it,” Hardesty allowed. “As I told you already, they’re the biggest employer in the county, and those two poster boys for contraception are theirs. But I doubt it.”

  That sounded good, and I allowed myself to relax just a bit.

  “It was only a matter of time until those fools were handled,” the sheriff went on, “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been somebody else.” His smile was thin. “Maybe even me.” The smile left. “Oh well, come on.”

  Getting out of the car, Hardesty slammed his door before coming back to where I sat. He opened my door, and I gratefully climbed out, drawing about six cubic yards of hot, humid air into my lungs.

  Hardesty unlocked my cuffs. “Listen, Mr. Fields—” he began, but I cut him off.

  “Is this where I get the ‘I run a clean town, stranger, so watch your step’ speech?” I grinned amicably, rubbing my wrists. “Don’t worry, sheriff, I will.”

  “Oh, but I do worry.” Hardesty hung his cuffs back on his belt as his eyebrows rose. “I worry like the very dickens.”

  “That’s too bad. Hard on the digestion I hear.”

  “You’re telling me. I have an ulcer in my stomach lining the size of a bing cherry. Meddling strangers tend to exacerbate it.”

  “Have you tried warm milk?”

  “No. You need to understand how things are run here. GeneSys has made a ton of money for Harrisville, and asked for very little in return, except to be left alone. So unless and until they do something illegal, I intend to do just that.”

  “It was never my intention to bother them,” I lied. “Unless, like you said, they were found to be in violation of EPA code.”

  “You’re still failing to see the big picture.” The sheriff’s tone was reasonable. “By keeping our townspeople employed, GeneSys has kept a ton of food on a lot of tables. The idea of anything happening to our gravy train is liable to upset certain folks. If you catch my drift.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned.”

  “Fine. We’re in agreement.”

  “It appears so.”

  “Just be sure to watch your back, Mr. Fields.” Hardesty nodded, regarding me meaningfully. “And I’ll be watching you.”

  *

  The Thursday morning sun shone in like glory through the window glass as I sat up in bed with a wince. This room I’d taken at the Harrisville Arms the night before was pleasant enough, but the way I was hurting, my bed back home would have been a lot more comfortable. I’ve yet to see a hotel mattress that was softer than sleeping on the floor.

  But that wasn’t the only reason I’d slept like shit. Late last night Marsh had contacted me on my laptop via Skype. He’d finally broken the rest of the code, and emailed me what he’d found. In short, his worst fears had been confirmed.

  “Illegal organ harvesting. Selling corpses. Body parts. Hair. Skin for grafts.” He looked awful as he shook his head, his voice folding into a croak as he poured himself a tall Stoly. His hands were shaking so badly the bottleneck battered out a harsh tattoo on the rim of his glass.

  Taking a large pull, he stared at his drink. “Unbelievable. I’d heard they’d broken up a huge ring dealing in just these things in Kenya. And of course there’s the victims of that cult in China doing the same with political prisoners. But not here.” He ran his hand through his hair. “My God, Johnny, what have you stumbled across?”

  “Something God apparently has nothing to do with.”

  “What I sent you is just case notes,” Marsh said. “This doctor—Manfred, is it?—evidently felt even an encryption program like Locksmart wasn’t enough security for this, so he purposely kept his writings vague. And because it was illegally obtained, it will do you little good with the police. Even so, there’s enough there to give me nightmares for a year.”

  “I know.” I leaned back in my hotel room chair, feeling a hundred years old. Again I glanced at the file he’d sent. “All I can tell for sure from this is Sarah entered what she thought was a program that would help end disease; that’s what she’d meant by changing the world. She had no idea how wrong she was.” I shook my head. “This is insane.”

  “A friend of mine lost his uncle to one of these human parts rings when he was captured by the Chinese government after the Tiananmen Square uprising. Six months later when some mercenaries destroyed a warehouse on a tip, his was one of the bodies found. There was barely enough of him left to identify.”

  “No wonder this upsets you so badly.”

  “It would upset any normal person!” Marsh’s vehemence shocked me. “Sarah didn’t run off to New York. Last Monday afternoon she made an appointment at Brighter Day, they picked her up in a van, and now she’s in that facility, she’s there.” His voice was ragged, clotted with emotion. “I know there are more victims. Find them, John.” The fact he was using my preferred name said a lot. “Find them and end this. Are we clear?”

  We were clear. The very thought of a someone like Sarah Cahill, a person I hadn’t even met yet, ensnared in the clutches of men like Manfred made my skin crawl. No doubt about it she was trapped, and the likelihood of me getting her free was slim. But it didn’t matter. I had to help, even though it might already be too late. The motto of the 2nd of the 502nd had said it all.

  To free the oppressed.

  It was now seven thirty a.m., and by that time Blakey Sinclair’s killer rib shot had blossomed into a half-dozen shades of swollen yellow and blue, causing my entire right side to throb like I’d been worked over with a ten-ounce, ball-peen hammer.

  It was almost funny: if that punch had landed just three inches to the left there was a better than even chance I’d be seeing Megan and Colleen and Ben right now, wherever they were, instead of groaning in pain. I shook that off with a hideous grin. Someday, yes.
>
  But not today.

  Slowly climbing out of bed, I ate two Tylenol dry and headed for the bathroom. This morning I planned to enter the lion’s den, and I needed to be convincing.

  After brushing my teeth, showering, and shaving, I put on my good dark blue pinstripe navy suit, which I’d hung on the hook behind the door last night. Actually it was my only navy suit. Actually it was my only suit period, navy or otherwise. I hate suits.

  I sighed. Fashionable duds, regretfully, sometimes are an unavoidable evil. The last touch I added was my ersatz EPA badge.

  Snugging my red, rep tie up against my throat, I checked the travel alarm over on the scarred bedside table. Eight a.m., straight up. Last night as I was checking in I’d noticed a shiny metal art deco place across the street called the Good Enough Diner. Funny name. I hoped the food lived up to the billing because it seemed like a smart idea to grab a bite before I headed over to GeneSys. And the time element should work in my favor as well. Since I was supposed to be an employee of the federal government, I figured it would be bad form to show up out there before nine. Bureaucrats have an image to maintain, after all.

  After crossing the street and strolling inside, I found the place nearly full. Either the food here was better than the name, or the citizens of Harrisville had really low standards of dining. A lot of heads turned my way as I came in, but I ignored it. That’s happened to me my whole life; why, I have no idea. Planting myself into an empty booth by the window, I prepared to wait.

  But I have to give the place props for service. Less than thirty seconds later a world-weary, forteyishwaitress in a starched, blue skirt and white blouse materialized at my elbow. With practiced efficiency she whipped a small order pad out of her blue-checked apron. Blowing a strand of unnatural-looking red hair away from her face, she licked the point of her pencil. “What’ll it be, hon?”

  The woman’s voice was low and smoky, possibly the victim of too many cigarettes, and I checked her name badge. Rae Ann.

  “Hi, Rae Ann,” I said, and put the menu down. Experience had taught me that in little places like this, if you want to know what’s good, ask the help. “What’s decent today?”

  The waitress peered at my own badge. “Howdy yourself, John.” Recognition dawned. “John Fields, with the EPA. I’ve heard about you.” She went on with a grin, “Man, you sure woke ‘em up at Jerry’s last night. The whole town’s buzzing about it.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. All I wanted was a beer and some pleasant conversation. Things kind of got out of hand.”

  “I’ll say.” Her laugh was throaty. “You nailed Blakey and Chet both, nailed ‘em but good. That’s never happened before. It was quite a treat to see, so they tell me.” She stuck the pencil into the tight hennaed curls behind her right ear. “It’s just too bad you didn’t go for the hat trick and punch Jerry out while you were at it.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  Before she could answer a man in the kitchen behind the counter interrupted, “Yo, Rae Ann. Order up.”

  “Comin’, Lou. Keep your boxers on.” The waitress addressed me again, cracking her chewing gum. “Jerry Whitmore? What’s not to like? He’s rude, he’s gross, he stinks like an outhouse, and he’s hit at least once on every woman in this town fifty and under.”

  I smiled sympathetically. “Including you?”

  “Yeah,” she chuckled. “I qualify. Just barely.” Her green eyes twinkled with self-effacing humor.

  I believed I was going to like Rae Ann just fine. Not only did she seem to be the know-it-all, seen-it-all person I’d hoped to find here, she also appeared to be genuinely nice.

  Her tone grew brisk as she retrieved her pencil. “Anyway, John, back to breakfast. You like breakfast meat?”

  “Sure. I like anytime meat.”

  “Then whatever you do, if you value your life don’t order the bacon. I gave it the sniff test when it came today. It kinda reminds me of my mom’s old gym socks.” I chuckled, and she went on, “I’m serious! I think Lou’s trying to get rid of it, and he’s got a boatload. There must have been something wrong with the refrigeration in the delivery truck.”

  Good thing she’d told me. Food poisoning would have been a heck of a thing to come down with at this stage. “I guess bacon’s out then. How’s the sausage?”

  “That’s okay. Lou bought some at the market just yesterday afternoon. A farmer makes it fresh, right outside of town. It’s pink and spicy.” Again she snapped her gum, grinning saucily. “Like me.”

  “How about the eggs? Any good?”

  “Ehhh.” She made a face as she rocked her hand. “You feel brave today?”

  I chuckled. “Not particularly.” Resting my chin in my hand I said, “Tell you what, Rae Ann. How about sausage and wheat toast, grits with gravy, and black coffee?”

  She nodded. “Good choice, hon. Coming right up.”

  *

  I wiped my mouth with the white paper napkin; the breakfast had been good and filling. There’s something to be said for the simple pleasures of flesh and bread. I tried to shut the saying, “the condemned man ate a hearty last meal” out of my mind. Instead I thought about Sarah, and what she might be going through. Hang tough. Help is on the way.

  Rae Ann showed up with the coffee carafe, pointing to my cup. “Freshen that up?”

  Slurping down the last of it I shook my head. “No thanks. Everything was great, though. Tell Lou.” I began reaching for my wallet, but my hand was stopped by the waitress placing her work-roughened fingers on top of mine.

  “It’s on the house, John. My treat.” When she smiled this time, it seemed almost shy. “For what you did to Blakey and Chet. For all of us. At least maybe they won’t be bothering the Harrisville womenfolk for a while.”

  It appeared Jerry wasn’t the only pig in town. “Well now. That makes me wish I’d hit them harder.”

  Rae Ann laughed, patting my wrist appreciatively. “Ah, you did good.”

  Thanking her, and leaving her a nice tip on the table anyway, I got up to leave. I was heading for the door when she called, “You come back and see me now, John. Be sure to try our pie.” I turned. Her look at me was wistful. “It’s always here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Yes sir. How can I help you this morning?” The young security guard, one of the ones I’d observed last night, stared intently. But I wasn’t sure if it was directed toward me or my car. Maybe this kid had an unnatural interest in red Camrys. You never know.

  “Put your tongue back in, son. It’s a rental,” I said. It was all I could do not to smile at his lust. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty-one and skinny, with slicked-back, dishwater blond hair above a uniform collar a size too big circling a scrawny turkey neck. Slipping my thumb under my badge, which I’d fastened to my suit’s lapel, I lifted it up an inch and stated, “Fields, EPA.”

  “Yes sir.” Checking an electronic plastic clipboard the guard went on, “I don’t see your name here, Mr. Fields. Do you have an appointment?”

  “Nope. I’m the new boy in town. Courtesy call.”

  “I see.” His nod at me was curt, as if he was really enjoying his gatekeeper status. “Nice car, by the way. For a government guy. Let me just make a call.”

  Drumming my fingers on the wheel, I watched him go back into the shack and mutter something to the other guard, who was alike enough to be his brother; this one was reading a well-worn porn magazine. I saw them both laugh, and then the first guy picked up a phone. Punching in a single digit he turned away from me as he spoke. A few seconds passed, and I saw him nod briskly. Hanging up the phone, he wandered through the shack’s door and back over to my car, now wearing a cheesy grin.

  “You’re good to go. Drive on and take any slot you want in the visitor’s area.”

  I put the car into drive, but before I let off the brake I regarded him. “Do you mind telling me what’s so funny?”

  “Not at all. We’ve heard all abo
ut you, Mr. Fields. About what you did to Blakey and Chet last night. How you handed them their heads.” The guard’s grin expanded. “Mr. Cross is real anxious to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  I’ll just bet he was.

  The guard pointed to his right. “Like I said, anywhere in that lot is fine.”

  After parking and locking my car, I pocketed the keys and began walking toward the entrance. At least I assumed it was the entrance. Swelling out from the dome’s near side stretched a tunneled archway, sealed with double glass doors on this end, and maybe thirty feet long by ten wide. It appeared to be made of the same shiny material as the rest of the structure. But as big as that arch was, it was dwarfed by the massive dome itself.

  And that wasn’t all. Flanking the walkway leading to the doors, and running along either side of the building as far as I could see, spread a landscaper’s paradise. A profusion of close-trimmed, box alders pressed against the structure, set off with late summer, red tea roses holding their heads high on white trellises, all of it arching above lush Kentucky bluegrass that looked as if someone cut it daily with nail clippers.

  Unfortunately those horticultural touches didn’t help much. To my eye the dome still looked like the mother ship from Independence Day come to Earth and parked in rural Ohio.

  Reaching the tunnel’s doors I pulled the handle of the one on my right. With a soft hiss and a click it opened, and a draft of cold air blew out, enveloping me. I paused. A sultry robotic female voice urged me in, murmuring, “Welcome to GeneSys.”

  Welcome to hell is more like it, I thought. Abandon hope, all ye that enter here.

  Senses sharp, I began walking the thirty feet of the tunnel, down toward the other end where a matching set of doors waited. As I descended a slight downward slope, my footsteps were absolutely silent on the short-napped, black carpet.