by Kirk Jockell
Candice was behind the bar. With the exception of the little sleep she got at home, she hadn’t left the bar since Nigel left town. She was using work to distract her mind from the uncertainty that flooded her thoughts. She was pulling a draft beer for her only customer when Kenny Chesney’s She Thinks my Tractor’s Sexy started playing on her phone. It was her favorite ringtone, dedicated for the incoming calls of only one person. Distracted, she turned her head and stared at the phone as the beer began to overflow the mug. She let go of everything, dropping the beer, and allowing it to bounce off the floor. She grabbed a towel to quickly dry her hands and she grabbed her phone.
After hearing her voice, he said, “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
She began to cry in silence. She could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn’t calling with good news. She did her best to hide her tears when, after a few moments, she said, “Well, no.” She looked to the ceiling, to take a deep breath and collect herself, then in a rush of tears continued, “But I guess you just did. You’re not coming home, are you?”
“It doesn’t look that way.”
She wanted to make another plea for escaping on the boat, to disappear from eyes over a night’s horizon, but she knew better. Instead they talked about each other and everything they have been through together, like that first afternoon they met and he beat up her third ex-husband, to more recent memories, like when Tom the cat presented her with a pygmy rattler. There were laughs and tears of happiness, but when everything had been discussed, and tears were all that was left of the conversation, Candice tried her best to be convincing and lied, “Listen, I got to go. The bar is filling up with thirsty bastards. I love you and I’ll see ya soon.” And she ended the call before he had a chance to say goodbye. She wouldn’t have handled that well at all.
Her one customer could tell the call was distressing. And it didn’t take him long to figure out who she was on the phone with. Candice never realized it, but he had gotten off his bar stool and walked around the bar to be near her when the call ended. He watched her tense up and make a fist. She was looking down at the bar, all her emotions surfacing. She was about to drink and bust every bottle of booze in the joint. Then she noticed him. But instead of going down a path of destruction, she cried and said, “He’s not coming back. He’s gone.” He opened his arms and she fell into them. He said, “Godspeed, brother.” Then Luke McKenzie held her there for more than an hour as she cried.
Nigel sat on the side of the road for another few minutes before putting the Bronco into drive and heading toward the downtown tunnel. As usual, traffic was backed up bumper-to-bumper and moving at a snail’s pace as everyone worked their way under the river. He needed a distraction, so he pulled up some music on his phone, Merle Haggard. He turned the volume up to ten, which sounded like shit, but that was the least of his worries.
Unbeknownst to Nigel, Stone was trying to contact him. She sent a text that wasn’t going to get delivered while he was in the tunnel. The message floated in cellular cyberspace until sometime after he emerged on the other side. Unfortunately, he was singing along to The Fighting Side of Me when the text message from Stone came through. He mistook the interruption of melody as a blip in the music and kept singing.
Nigel parked down and across the street from the police department. He could see the front door and all the news trucks set up out front. They were little clusters of technology reporting in real time to anyone that would listen. It didn’t take long to find Sherry Stone. She was speaking into her microphone and looking into the lens of the camera, gazing into the eyes of the viewers she couldn’t see. He watched as she gave the microphone to the cameraman then paced along the sidewalk. She often checked her phone. Then he watched her walk away from everyone else to be alone. She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put the phone to her ear.
Four and a half seconds later Nigel found it no coincidence that his phone began to ring.
“Where are you?” she asked.
Nigel said nothing.
“Okay ... what are you planning to do?”
“There’s not much I can do,” he said. “If I don’t turn myself in, this will turn into a massive manhunt, and I don’t care to waste that much time and energy hiding. Plus, I don’t run from anything. And the longer I do things on my terms, the longer I maintain what freedom I still have left.”
“So that’s it? That’s all you got? You are just going to walk onto their playing field and instantly lose your voice? Because you will, you know? Once those doors close behind you, your story will become their story.”
He said nothing.
“Do you want that?”
There was a long pause before he said, “What do you propose?”
“That you confess to me. Me and the rest of the world. That way you can tell your story. It can be documented while you control the narrative.”
“I’m still listening.”
She told him her plan. “We’ll meet somewhere private and quiet. We’ll find a hotel room. Film the whole thing from there with my crew and broadcast it to the world. That way, they can make their own decisions, come to their own conclusions.”
Nigel said, “It also sounds like a good news story.”
“That would be bullshit, Nigel Logan. It is a great news story ... for both of us.”
Nigel said nothing as he thought.
“Plus,” she added. “You owe me. I wasn’t going to bring this up, but...”
“But ... you are anyway.”
“But ... you left me once to a painfully long cold shower. Do you remember that?”
“My shower wasn’t exactly warm,” he added. Then he chuckled and said, “I can’t believe you would bring that up. You are amazing. You know that, right?”
“It’s too bad you will never find out just how amazing I am.”
Nigel said, “Arrange for a room. Then meet me at 1900 in the parking lot of my favorite bank. You copy?”
“Got it.”
“Oh, before I go,” Nigel said. “That red dress is awesome. It’s smoking hot on you. Please, do me a favor and change before coming to the hotel tonight.” And he ended the call.
Sherry Stone was confused for only a split second. She looked down at her dress. Then she heard the nearby rumble of a vehicle starting up with a little attitude. She turned her head and found the Bronco. When Stone found Nigel’s eyes, he revved up the engine one more time. After a U-turn in the street, she was watching his taillights brake, then make a right turn.
Under her breath, Stone said, “Kiss my ass, Nigel Logan. Me and my dress will be right on time.”
After he was a few blocks away from the police department, Nigel picked up his phone and called Jacob Hawkins. As much as those in the room tried to ignore his obnoxious presence, the second his phone rang, he became the center of attention. He answered, “It’s me.”
He listened for a couple of minutes. He never said a word until he reached out to hand the phone to Detective Anderson. “It’s for you.”
Anderson snatched the phone out of his hand. “Logan! Where are you?”
“Change of plans, Larry. I’m still coming in. You have my word on that, just not right now. There is something I need to do.”
Anderson was furious. “Logan! If your ass isn’t in here in the next ten minutes, we will come for you. Do you understand me?”
“That won’t be necessary, Larry. But do whatever you need to do. I’ll be in touch soon enough. My word is my bond.”
“Logan, dammit...”
However, Nigel had ended the call. He handed the phone back to Hawkins and demanded, “Where is he, dammit?”
Hawkins said, “I have no idea.” Then gave him the middle finger and continued, “Scout’s honor.”
Anderson hollered, “I want an APB out on Nigel Logan right now. Find his ass and bring him in pronto.” Anderson paced about the room for a second, then slammed his palm on a desk. “Son of a bitch!”
Stone and her cr
ew waited and continued to report occasional updates on air. As bad as she wanted to up and leave, she couldn’t. Everyone in the local news business understood the Stone-Logan connection. If she just packed-up and left with her crew, the other stations would get suspicious. No, she had to wait, but not for long. All the stations got their calls from the people inside the station. An APB had been issued. He wasn’t coming in.
As her crew began to break down their gear, they did so under Stone’s order, “Be lazy about it.” She didn’t want to give off the impression they were in any hurry. In the meanwhile, she began making telephone calls.
She and her trusted cameraman rolled into the parking lot. She was driving her Toyota FJ. They had ditched the news van across the street in the Walmart parking lot. It didn’t take long to find the Bronco. It was empty. She went inside. He was tucked away in a dark, corner booth, away from everyone else. She slid in next to him.
“I’m not so sure trying to do this here in town is such a good idea,” he said nodding toward the big screens on the wall. “My face has been splattered all over the television.”
“We got this, but we’ve got to get moving,” said Stone. “Stan, my cameraman, has a suite reserved at the Marriott Courtyard on Atlantic. I have everything we need in my vehicle. When we get settled, I’ll text you. Then you drive and park on the south side of the hotel. Text me back when you are there. Stan will come down and let you in the side entrance.”
The room was big and comfortable. It overlooked the Atlantic. As soon as Nigel entered the room, he walked right past Stone and two other women and went straight for the big picture window to have a look. The sun, having already set, brought darkness on the water. The only things to indicate something other than a huge, infinite, black mass were the running lights of the shipping that moved about the horizon. Nigel wished he was out there. He gazed upon the water until Stone interrupted.
“Nigel,” she started, “I would like to introduce you to some folks.”
He turned around and smiled. He introduced himself, “Hi. I’m Nigel Logan.” He stuck his hand out and the first woman took it and said, “We know who you are. I’m Jessica Bates.” She released his hand and said, “And this is ...”
The other woman took Nigel’s hand with a smile and said, “I’m Octavia Minor.”
Nigel cut Stone a What is this look as he said, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet the both of you.”
Then Ms. Minor said, “I’m afraid the pleasure is all ours.”
Before Nigel had a chance to ask, Stone said. “These are victims, Nigel. Like me, they were both raped or assaulted by Terrance Lundsford. Like you, they are here to tell their story. We are waiting on one more to arrive. Then we can get started.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Stan looked through the peephole, turned and said, “She’s here.” He opened the door and Grace Matthews slipped into the room. As soon as she saw Nigel, she ran across the room and threw her arms around him. She began to cry. He hugged her tight. She released him so she could look at him through her tears. “I am so, sorry. I told them everything. I had no choice.”
The other ladies looked on as Nigel smiled and pulled Grace into another hug. “It’s okay, pumpkin. It’s okay. I expected nothing less and you know it.” Her head was buried into his chest and he could feel her nodding in the affirmative.
When they released their hold, they looked about the room. The other ladies, except Stone, were crying. Stone broke up the emotion by saying, “We need to get started. It’s going to be a long night.”
The two ladies went first. They sat together as Stone interviewed them. Each one told her own story as Nigel and Grace looked on. Their experiences were very similar to that of Stone. Both had been invited to an after-show party and things had gotten out of hand. They both admitted their stupidity for putting themselves in that position. But T-Daddy wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. Their shame kept them from reporting the incidents.
While Grace’s story is also full of youthful stupidity, it was very different from the others. She was drunk and passed out in the back seat of her girlfriend’s car. While they were lost on a bad side of town, Lundsford carjacked the vehicle and drove off with Grace in the back. She was later found beaten and raped.
The case was going to trial. The prosecution had the DNA to put Lundsford away, but the evidence was thrown out of court. The defense had effectively illustrated its mishandling and the judge ruled it inadmissible. Lundsford walked.
All three ladies told their stories. Each taping ended the same way, with a heartfelt appreciation for Nigel Logan. The two painted him as their own personal hero. Someone who had come along and helped erase a bad memory. Someone who had delivered what the justice system couldn’t … closure.
Grace’s comments on Logan were more emotional and meaningful. He was family. His being a part of her life is one of her earliest memories. He has always been there. As far as she could remember, Nigel Logan has been in the picture. And now, she was devastated. To think that her own testimony would help seal his fate and remove him from her life, was more than she could bear. She became so overwrought with emotion that she got up and walked away from the camera.
When all three ladies had said their piece, they were thanked and asked to leave. They wouldn’t be allowed to sit in on Nigel’s confession. Grace begged to stay, but Nigel told her no. It was bad enough that Grace would see the video later, the last thing he wanted was for her to witness the words coming out of his mouth. In the end, he still wanted to protect her in whatever manner he could.
The camera kept rolling as a final rally of thanks and hugs were exchanged at the door. All three ladies were now overcome with tears as the inevitable was starting to sink in. Even Stone, the tough and professional newsperson, had to hold back the tears. Stone looked at her watch. It was getting late, so she showed everyone to the door.
When the door closed, an eerie quiet overcame the room. Only Logan, Stone, and Stan remained. Stone and Logan studied each other’s faces. Nigel looked tired. He was ready to get it over with, so he could get on with whatever the rest of his life had in store. Stone was having regrets. As much as she wanted this story, she also wanted Logan to run, to hit the road. She broke the silence and said, “We don’t have to do this. You know that, right? You’re much smarter than those looking for you. You could take off right now and keep your freedom.”
Nigel said nothing at first. He returned an appreciative smile, then said, “And what kind of freedom would that be? Always having to look over my shoulder. Always having to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Always wondering.”
“But you wouldn’t be in prison.”
“I would be trading one type of prison for another, a mental incarceration.”
He reached in and kissed her on the cheek. “Come on. Let’s do this.”
Nigel sat in the easy chair while Stone sat on the sofa adjacent to him. When Stan was happy with the lighting, he looked at Stone and said, “We’re rolling, Sherry.”
She nodded her head and looked into the camera to speak to her audience. “Hello. I’m Sherry Stone. I’m fortunate this evening to have with me a special guest. Retired Navy Chief Nigel Logan. He is currently wanted by the authorities for the murder of local rapper and entertainer, Terrance “T-Daddy” Lundsford.
“As we have illustrated, Lundsford was no stranger to trouble, violence, and crimes against women. You already know my story. And in addition to that, three brave women have come forward to share their own harrowing experiences. One of those women was Grace Matthews. It is suspected that the rape and beating of Matthews is what caused Logan to target Lundsford.
“Mr. Logan has indicated his plans to turn himself into the authorities.” She turned toward Logan and confirmed, “That is correct, is it not, Mr. Logan?”
“We’ve been here before. When will you learn? I’m not a mister. And to answer your question, yes. I’ll be turning myself in. Call me Chief.”
>
They both exchanged knowing smiles.
The camera continued to roll, but Stone spoke conversationally and off-the-record to comment. “That will work great. Just perfect. Are you ready?”
Nigel shrugged his shoulders. “As ready as ever, I guess.”
Stone straightened out her dress and posed for the camera. Nigel interrupted her preparation by saying, “I think you should show a little more leg.”
“Given the circumstances, you sure are being a little lighthearted.”
“Lighthearted,” Nigel laughed. “Hell, I’m serious. I’m going to jail. Yours might be the last great set of legs I ever get to see.”
“Could we get serious here?”
Nigel nodded.
Stone resettled in her seat and hiked her dress up a few inches in the process. She turned to Nigel and said, “Chief, I’m not sure where we should start. Perhaps you should just tell us your story.”
Nigel didn’t know where to start either. He sat thinking for a while. Stone encouraged him. “Take your time. We have all night.”
Nigel looked at the camera and said, “If...” and stopped.
“‘If,’ ... what, Chief?” asked Stone.
“If they had just done their job. If they hadn’t screwed everything up, we wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re speaking of the rape case, correct? The rape that victimized Grace Matthews?”
Nigel nodded his head. “They screwed everything up. They just let him go. Just like that.” Nigel paused for a beat or two and continued, “He beat and raped Grace, and he walked. We were ready for justice. But justice failed us. It failed Grace. She deserved better.”
“You realize, of course, the system would have never delivered a death penalty. You know that, right?”
Nigel’s face hardened. His jaw muscles tightened. His eyes looked at Stone through the narrow slits made by his lids. The veins in his neck bulged as he spoke through clenched teeth. In an icy tone, he said, “You’re right. The system wouldn’t have delivered. But...”