by Darren Swart
She smiled. It was a surprisingly gentle smile. “Sure, you go ahead. I’ll finish up in here.”
He moved to the next room, which must have been Faye and Mal’s bedroom. Marty could not imagine anything sleeping in this place. The soiled linens smelled seedy and offensive. More gossip magazines covered in dust. Stained glasses with healthy cultures of mold littered all the furniture. It didn’t look like they had washed a single glass in fifteen years. Marty was amazed that anyone could enter the room, much less sleep there. But then, he surmised they wouldn’t be doing that anymore.
He moved stacks of magazines and litter into the corner of the room, as he methodically filtered through all the assorted objects and papers. Dust tickled his nose, causing him to sneeze. Gillian entered the room and began to help.
After what seemed like an eternity, Marty plopped onto the floor in exasperation. The task was beginning to seem fruitless. They had searched everywhere, but to no avail. As he leaned back against the bed, it shifted slightly. He hadn’t leaned back that far.
Out of curiosity, he pulled up the edge of the yellowed cotton bedspread with two fingers to reveal a broken foot on the bedpost. The bed was being leveled by two stacked books. The one on the bottom with the gold edged pages looked familiar.
Excitedly, he exclaimed, “Gillian, give me a hand here.”
Immediately, she was by his side. “Pull these out, while I lift the bed.”
Marty gripped the footboard and lifted, while Gillian hastily snatched the books free. The top book was gouged from the repeated moment of the rough edge of the broken foot. The black cover on the book beneath it seemed relatively unharmed. As she turned it over, the gold embossed words HOLY BIBLE gleamed back at her. She smiled. “Is this it?”
Despite himself, Marty smiled. Quietly almost reverently he said, “That’s it.”
She handed it to him. He took it from her and held it. Picking up the edge of the bedspread, he dusted the cover of the Bible, cleaning off the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. A tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Gillian asked gently, “Marty, are you okay?”
The simple question jarred him back to the present. “Uh, yeah, I’m sorry.” He wiped his eyes with his wrist. “It must be the dust.”
She looked at him. Despite her hardness, she understood. Strangely, she felt a twinge of guilt for intruding on the moment, but time was critical. Giving him some latitude was the least she could do. “I know what you mean. It’s going to take a six pack and a half to wash down the dust after this.”
He nodded. “Let’s see if we have anything helpful in here.”
Lifting the well-worn Scripture, he suddenly realized that finding the Book might be the easy part. His grandmother had left more than two dozen bookmarks throughout the text. That didn’t even begin to count the church bulletins throughout.
The Good Book was a half-inch thicker because of the markers. Where should I start? He wondered.
They sat on the edge of the bed together for a while, looking through each marker and trying to find something to indicate what they might be looking for. Finally, Gillian looked up. “Are you thirsty?”
He nodded. “Yes. I’m dying here.”
“Me, too. I’ll be right back.”
He called after her. “See if they have any crackers or anything.”
“Jeez, Dude, what are you, some kind of eating machine?”
He jabbed back, “Uh, excuse me, but some of us eat more than once a week, thank you very much.”
She grinned. “Whatever. I’ll see what I can find.” And she was out the door.
He continued to study the Bible, trying to remember anything that would narrow the search. As he flipped through the text, he came across an old church bulletin from twenty years ago. It was yellowed and fragile. As he read it, his hands began to shake.
Please remember Sister Barbara Wood in your prayers. Her son, Martin Wood Sr. and wife Ann have joined the Lord. Barbara has gone to escort the dearly departed home, along with her grandson, Martin Jr. Memorial Services will be…
The entry went on. This was when his parents had been killed. The plane crash in New York had been sensational at the time. It had taken the lives of everyone on board, with the exception of one small boy. That was something Marty hadn’t thought about for a very long time.
He continued to stare at the bulletin for a moment, trying to adjust to the implication of what he’d just read. His eyes drifted back to the Bible. In the only location he had seen in the Text, he noticed a block of scripture underlined in pencil in the margin was See Pastor Thomason.
Marty blinked. The pencil marks took his mind off the painful memory. He studied what his grandmother had noted in this section. She had not written anywhere else in the Bible. And yet, she had taken time to underline this passage. Is this what we’re looking for?
The passage was in the Book of Exodus:
Then went up Moses, and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel; And they saw the God of Israel: and there was under his feet as it were a paved work of Sappir stone, and as it were the body of heaven in his clearness.
There it is, the Sappir. But what does this mean? Should I go to the church? He was sure all the people who had been there would be gone, including Pastor Thomason who had been the Minister at the Mt. Sinai Baptist Church. He couldn’t recall all the Sunday mornings he had squirmed to get through the lengthy sermons on the hard wooden pews, while Pastor Thomason’s soft melodic voice had delivered his eloquent ministry from the pulpit of the tiny sanctuary. The church had been small, but comforting. It always smelled of pine cleaner. Its ancient dark wooden beams vaulted the ceiling, giving a stark contrast to handmade stained glass windows, which flooded the sanctuary with colored light. Scenes of the apostles told the stories, acting as reminders of why they were there. Engraved wooden rails separated the choir from the pulpit.
Barb had always sung in the choir. Her voice was strong and confident. He sat quietly in the pew when the choir sang. Some days, it was if she were singing just for him. It was a happy memory, all except for those unpadded pews.
Gillian walked into the room with two glasses of water, cheese and crackers. “Sorry, I’d have been here sooner but I had to wash the glasses.”
Marty looked up, excitedly. “I’ve found something.”
She walked over, setting the glasses down on the now cleared bedside table and sat down beside him. He pointed to the passage in Exodus. “She left a clue.”
Gillian stared at the Bible, and then at Martin. Her eyes were quizzical. “Okay, what is it?”
He looked at her confused. “There, on the page, can’t you see it?”
She looked back at him. “See what?”
Martin looked back at the page. As he did, the watery thin pencil lines of his grandmother’s writing dissolved before his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The chill ran the length of his spine, ending up as goosebumps on his arms.
Gillian stared at him. “What is it, Marty?”
“No-othing. C-could I have some water p-please?”
She looked at him, with concern. She didn’t know he had a stutter. She handed him a glass of water. He drank the entire glass and handed it back to her. His eyes had not deceived him. He had seen something. He just knew it. He looked at Gillian in earnest. “I’m pretty sure I know where we need to go.”
She looked at him, dubiously. “Pretty sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
There were moments where she relied on her gut. This was one of them. She nodded and smiled. “Okay, let’s go.”
Marty tucked the Bible to his chest, hugging it, as they walked together to the bathroom.
Chapter 13
Digger kicked a rock from side-to-side under his feet, as he waited at the car for Gillian and Marty to arrive. He mentally calculated the number of rocks that size to fill the interior of his bug. He had become accustomed to waiting and watching. He normally created men
tal games to amuse himself. He once calculated the trajectory for a rock launched from earth to Venus, only to find that he was off by .00034567 degrees later. It irritated him at times that he needed computers to help him.
He tired of the game and decided to access satellite information to help with his surveillance of the area. Climbing into the car, he tapped into the Internet from his car’s system. He began to call up geo-data satellites to see which ones were transmitting today and which grids were being mapped. He could not commandeer one, but he could grab the image and tweak it according to what he wanted to see. Using the internal GPS system in his car, he determined his coordinates and began to plug the latitude and longitude into the uplink to the satellite. He scrolled through the available JPEG’s within the last half hour. The system began to retrieve a series of images from the feeds. After the images were downloaded, he used image enhancement programs on his hard drive to refine the detail.
He sat patiently, as the system downloaded the enormous files one by one. Minutes later, the hourglass on his screen finally went away and was replaced by a series of thumbnails. He scanned two of the images before the topography began to resemble the area around him.
Using the graphical interface on his computer, he began to zoom in on the one area where he thought he was. He tinkered and tweaked the image until he could clearly see the top of his little yellow bug. Even though it was in monochrome, he still recognized the car. It was beautiful, even from space. First, he scanned north of his location toward the wooded area. He would not be able to see a single person hiding, but he would be able to spot any vehicles. Chances are no one would think to hide their car from a satellite image.
There was nothing to the north of him. He scanned west toward the farm’s pasture land. The images of a large building came into focus. He wasn’t even aware that there was a building on the other side of the farm. He ran out of range before he ran out of interest. Going back to the east, he looked toward the road he’d drove in on. At the very edge of the image, he detected the front end of a car parked alongside the road. He guessed that whoever was in the car would be their guests this afternoon, if everything went well. Gillian had laid out a trap for them. All that the other surveillance team had to do was to follow them.
Farther up the road, another car waited. Mostly in the shade, the back end stuck out a little. It looked Japanese. Maybe it is a Toyota? That, he guessed, would be the other guest they expected.
Digger’s heart pounded, as he kept telling himself, This is the fun part. This is the fun part.
Marty had to admit to himself that he felt slightly uncomfortable undressing before three strangers. But then, they were too busy removing their clothing to really notice him. It struck him that all four of them had different ways of disrobing. He had never really thought about it before. Doss folded his clothes neatly and handed them across to Marty. Marty followed suit.
The girls must have trained with firefighters. They peeled off their clothes like grape skins. He could not help but catch a sideways glance at Gillian in her skivvies. Her body was lean and muscular. It must have taken years for her to develop her physical condition. Scars dotted her body like a roadmap of events. Some were long and thin, while others were round. None appeared to be less painful than the other. Even so, she was pretty in an unassuming kind of way.
He forced himself back to the task at hand. He slid on the warm jeans and realized that he had never worn anyone else’s clothing before. It felt strange. Once fully clothed, Doss and Cindy slipped out of the door. Doss was holding a cigar box to make the escape look convincing. Gillian whispered behind them, “Remember, Cindy has to drive.”
Doss looked back at her and grinned. “That’s not a problem. Her daddy always said she was the hell gettin’est youngin’ he’d ever had.” With that, they were out the door and running down the driveway to the Bronco. Gillian hoped to get it back in one piece.
Moments later, the Bronco spun gravel and dirt, as it hurtled out of its hiding place and sped down the road. It wasn’t long before Gillian noticed a Camry not far behind them. The small car struggled to keep up, as it sped in pursuit. The Frenchman would have been infuriated to know that she actually slowed down several times to allow him to catch up. Their purpose was to allow him to chase her, but not to elude him.
She eased up behind a pristine 1970 GTO. Its red and black paint gleamed in the morning sun. As she pulled out to pass the car, the driver swerved over, blocking her from passing him. She eased back behind, staying close to his bumper. She secretly smiled. Finally, there was something to make this a little interesting.
Reggie had spent years restoring the GTO. He would be damned if he was going to let some woman in a piece of crap Bronco pass him. He grabbed the soda bottle from the cup holder on the door, spit tobacco juice into the container and gripped the wheel. He’d show her.
Cindy shook her head. Amateurs. She looked in the rearview mirror to check on the Camry. It was hanging at a safe distance behind her. She would have to time this just right, or the Toyota would be right on her tail.
Doss gulped and looked over at her, nervously. “Is everything okay, Sweetie?”
Without looking at him, she clipped, “Fine.” She picked a long downhill slope of the road and edged out again, only to have the GTO driver match her move. She continued to move farther in the left lane and watched as the Detroit steel did the same. Without warning, she snapped the Bronco to the right pulling her back into the right, lane and along the back fender of the GTO. Now, the GTO was in the left lane and she had maneuvered beside him. Reggie wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp. He was slow to react to the change in his situation.
Doss’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the door and waited for the impact. Cindy eased the front end of the Bronco into the rear quarter panel of the GTO. She kissed it so softly that Reggie didn’t know that she was even there. She gunned the heavy SUV and yanked it hard to the left. With a sudden tug, the GTO careened into a spin, whirling toward the soft shoulder.
Smoke from the tires boiled from the rear of the GTO, as it moved in a slow arc and then suddenly whipped around, whirling into a one-eighty degree spin. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air around them. Reggie tried to compensate by gunning the engine. It was a classic mistake. Instead of straightening out the car, it made the spin worse. Cindy jammed the emergency brake, locking them in place and allowing the GTO to spin clear. Without seeing the brake lights, the Camry driver was suddenly on top of the Bronco. He yanked the wheel hard to the left, sending the Camry spinning into the soft shoulder.
The small Toyota skidded out of control backward into the brush, along the side of the road. The GTO finally stopped spinning and came to a rest, sideways in the road. She popped the brake off and slowly accelerated past Reggie, without looking. As they passed, Doss looked into the boy’s eyes. He shrugged as they went by. He could see the whites of Reggie’s eyes and his slack jaw, and snickered out loud when they were clear.
Reggie sat for a moment, staring straight ahead. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He looked down at his crotch, which was soaked. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He also didn’t want to think about the immense wad of tobacco he had just swallowed. He was certain, though, that as much as he didn’t want to think about it, he was going to have to—very shortly.
Bernard cursed, as he eased the Toyota out of the brambles. Weeds and dirt clung to the car, dragging as he went down the road. He cursed, as he gunned the small car in the direction of the Bronco.
Cindy slowed over the next rise and almost came to a stop.
Doss stared at her. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes narrowed to an alluring glance, while she gave him a sensual smile. “Waiting.”
“For what?”
“Why, the Toyota, Silly.” She licked her lips, slowly.
“I thought we were trying to get away from the Toyota?”
This time, she rolled her eyes at hi
m. “We wouldn’t be much of a decoy, if he couldn’t chase us.”
Doss shook his head in dismay, realizing that he was just arm candy. Cindy watched as an old man in a Buick pulled out in front of them. Perfect. She pulled in behind the Buick and followed at a safe distance. In the distance, she could see the Toyota almost turn sideways, as it crested the hill behind them. Cindy wore a small Mona Lisa smile, as she looked at the traffic coming toward them in the other lane. She would have to be careful, so it didn’t look too contrived.
She timed the car in the opposite lane. As it approached them, she pulled into his lane. It was too close for them to avoid. The car began to pull off the road to avoid them. Doss could see the old man in the Buick muttering, while he jerked the aging car to the shoulder to make room for them pass. Cindy gunned the Bronco, passing the cursing driver in the opposite lane. Doss caught a look at the old man in the Buick. It was McGillacutty. He had prepared his taxes last year.
Doss looked straight ahead. Quietly, he said, “Sweetie, this has gone on long enough. We need to cut this off. That man was a customer.”
She gave him a pained sideways look and sighed. “I guess it has been long enough.”
“Besides, we have the Ferguson’s Baby Shower at two o’clock. We still have to wrap the gifts.”
She glanced at her watch. “Oh crap! We’ve got to get a move on.”
He could feel the Bronco accelerate, while the distance between the Bronco and the struggling Camry increased. The Bronco was doing over a hundred when they crossed the Tuttle Bridge. It came off the ground in the dip and skidded sideways into the Iron Jaw Lounge gravel parking lot. Somehow, she managed to miss all the Harley’s parked in front and came to a stop a few feet from the building.
They left the doors open, while they hopped out of the truck. The front end pinged from the heat, as they moved away from the vehicle. They plowed through the front door of the biker bar and maneuvered around empty tables to the bar. In the dim light of the smoke-filled room, they could just make out the bartender wiping down the bar. The clatter of a prehistoric air conditioner greeted them.