Smoke Rising

by Craig Halloran

  She grabbed him by the arm, jerked him inside, and wrestled him to the floor.

  “No more games, Dave.”

  “You’re too late,” he said, laughing. “She’s already gone.”

  She checked outside the window. There was a deck and stairs that led down into the backyard. There was no sign of Allison.

  “She left you a message, Sid,” Dave said, sitting up and rubbing his head.

  “Really, what was that?”

  He giggled. “You are so stupid.”

  “Am I? Why is that?”

  She heard the rumble of a garage door opening.

  “Because,” Dave said, “she was never up here to begin with. It was all a distraction, you stupid b—”

  She socked him in the jaw, rocking his head back to the carpet. Whap! She dashed downstairs and opened the front door. A jungle-green Jeep Wrangler sped out of the garage down the street and disappeared around the corner.

  “Damn!”

  CHAPTER 11

  Sidney rushed to her car and slung open the door. Taking a seat, she glanced back at Dave’s house. A blind in one of the top bedrooms peeked open. She saw the faint outline of two fingers.

  Wait a minute.

  She took a second and closed her eyes, envisioned the Jeep Wrangler speeding away. There was a lone driver hunched over the wheel. Big. Husky. Allison could have been hidden in the back seat. Or maybe not. She had a feeling. An instinct.

  That little dope-headed witch is still in there.

  The garage door started to close.

  Crap! Move it, Sid!

  She couldn’t let Dave lock her out again. And she dared not force herself in, not after the last time. She was probably in enough trouble already. She sprinted across the street, right in front of an oncoming car. It squealed to a stop, and the driver laid on the horn. She kept moving, eyes intent on the lowering garage door. She wasn’t going to make it. She made a decision and did a stupid thing.

  Sidney drew her gun and slung it under the garage door. It skidded over the driveway, clearing the opening by inches and disappearing inside. The door stopped, rattled … and began to lift. She heard a voice inside scream. Up the door went. One foot. Two feet. It stopped and renewed its descent. Sidney rolled underneath it and inside. She spied her gun, scrambled to it, and found Dave’s wide eyes.

  “No!” he said, making his way back inside through the door. “No! Get out of here!”

  Sidney snatched up her weapon and charged the closing door that was slamming shut. She lowered her shoulder and plowed into it. The impact jarred the door open. It jarred Dave.

  “You get out of here! This is illegal!”

  She drove her knee into his crotch. She shoved him inside the garage and watched him spill onto the floor, cry out, and writhe. She slammed the door shut and locked it.

  Upstairs, she heard footfalls scampering over the floor. There was something about them—lithe, child-like, familiar. She made it upstairs in seconds. A woman with long dark hair, blue jeans, and a black T-shirt ambled across the hall into another room and stumbled inside the door.

  “Allison!”

  Two bare feet slipped into the frame, and the bedroom door started to close. Sidney stopped it with her foot and shoved it open. She looked down at her sister. Allison was a smaller version of herself, but soft and supple. She was shaking. Her face was sad. Tears streamed out of her eyes. There were needle tracks on one arm.

  “I’m sorry, Sid. I’m sorry.”

  “Shut up,” Sidney said. “Do you know how long it’s been since you left Megan?”

  “A day?” Allison sniffed.

  “Three days!”

  “No,” Allison said, shaking her head. “It, it can’t have been.”

  “Well, it has.”

  Allison started to bawl. Tears streamed out of her sunken eyes and over her pouting lips. “I’m a lousy mother.”

  “You’re a lousy sister too. Get up!”

  “What? Why? I’m not leaving. I don’t deserve to go back.”

  Sidney reached down and grabbed her arm.

  “Get up!”

  Allison jerked away. “No!”

  Here we go. Her little claws are coming out.

  “I’ll take you out of here in handcuffs.”

  Allison pounced on her legs and drove her to the floor. Sidney cracked her head on the door frame, drawing spots in her eyes.

  “No you won’t!” Allison screamed. She sprang out of the door.

  Angry, Sidney snatched her sister’s ankle and climbed onto her back.

  “Get off me! Get off me! Dave!”

  Sidney wrenched Allison’s arms behind her back. Her sister squealed. She bound up her wrists and slipped the flexi-cuffs on her. Allison resumed her bawling.

  “Get up. I’m not carrying you.”

  “No,” Allison said with a defiant sob. “No.”

  She grabbed Allison by the ankles and started dragging her toward the stairs. Her sister kicked at her and yelled.

  “I hate you! I hate you, Sid! I hate you! Why can’t you mind your own business? Why can’t you leave me alone!”

  This wasn’t the first time the sisters had gone round and round. It all started in their teens. Allison liked to party. She liked the attention. She liked boys. Drugs. Excitement. Sidney bailed her little sister out time and again. It got old. It had made her mom and dad old.

  “Why don’t you grow up, you little brat! You have a daughter. Go to church and find Jesus or something.” She hauled Allison down the carpeted stairs.

  “Hey!”

  “Get up, then!”

  At the landing, Allison started to rise. She eyeballed Sidney. She spat in her face.

  Sidney slapped her across the jaw, and Allison stumbled back to the floor. Her little sister wailed. “I hate you, Sid. I hate you.”

  Sidney dragged her to her feet and said, “You don’t hate me. You hate yourself.”

  ***

  Family. It mattered, even though her sister was a wild one who often ruined the best-planned Thanksgiving. Sidney loved her sister, even though for the last decade she’d wanted to choke her. And there was Megan. How could Allison neglect Megan? The little beauty was about one step from a foster home if she and their parents didn’t intervene.

  Please God. Please don’t let that happen.

  Sidney pulled into a gas station alongside the pumps. It was evening now, and she’d just spent the last three hours helping her parents get Allison settled down. They were all distraught, and none more so than Allison had been when she was finally reunited with Megan. She had shaken all over and sobbed, begging forgiveness. All Megan had said was, “It’s going to be okay, Mommy.”

  Megan was a strong little lady.

  Sidney whipped out her credit card, pumped gas, ran inside the station, and grabbed some coffee. Black. No cream. No sugar. No straws. She dropped two bucks on the counter and left, ignoring the greasy-haired clerk’s toothy smile at her.

  Creep.

  She racked the nozzle, grabbed her receipt, and hopped back inside the car to lean back against the headrest and take a long sigh.

  Lousy weather. Lousy day. I should have transferred south when I had the chance. What was I thinking?

  Family. She rubbed the knot on the side of her head.

  Love hurts.

  She took a sip of coffee and checked her phone. Smoke’s location hadn’t changed.

  He’d better be there—probably wants more pancakes.

  She put the car in drive, sped out onto the main drag, and gunned it onto the highway. Her thoughts were riddled with her family. The burden on Mom and Dad. Dealing with Allison’s problems. And Megan. This was one of the things she hated about her job. She loved her duty. She loved her family. But duty presided over family, and it hurt in times like this when they needed her.

  “It’s all right,” her mother, Sally, had assured her. “We understand. It’s our job to handle this. We’ll get her on the mend.”

 
; Her father, Keith, had agreed and nodded his head. Both of her parents were strong, but they were heartbroken, and they weren’t getting any younger. She could see it in their eyes. She heard the worry in their voices, not just for Allison, but for her. They didn’t like the job she did. It was dangerous. And oftentimes Sidney felt selfish. It tore at her.

  Block it out. Block it out, Sid. You can’t take care of everybody.

  Sidney had to live her life and be available when she could.

  “Just do the best you can, Sid,” her father had said, giving her one last hug. His hugs were always warm and comforting. “Do the best you can.”

  I try, but it never feels like enough.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was 8:14 p.m. when she pulled into the driveway of the FBI house. Smoke’s beacon was still strong, but the porch lights were out, and so was the lamppost at the end of the drive.

  He’s not here. I know it.

  The front door was locked, and none of the inside lights shone. She took out the house key that Jack had given her and fumbled around with the lock until she got it. Inside she went, testing the switches until she made it to the lamp between the living room and kitchen and switched it on.

  With caution she made her way down the hallway. A dim light showed beneath one of the doors. She put her ear to it and heard voices on the other side. She drew her weapon, turned the knob, and opened the door. A set of wooden stairs led into a basement she hadn’t accounted for. Weapon first, she crept down them.

  The basement was partially finished. There were hook-ups for laundry and an unfinished shower. The framework of two-by-four walls was laid out. There was an empty fireplace and a rec room or den of some sort. A flat-screen TV was on. In front of it was a plaid sofa, and there was an old recliner that didn’t match beside it. A news show was on the screen. A lady doing the weather.

  What is going on here?

  She noticed a wooden kitchen table with some papers fanned out on it. A pizza box and a two-liter of soda. Some power tools and drywall were lying nearby on the floor. There was a map hanging on a plywood wall.

  A commode flushed.

  Sidney whirled around.

  Smoke stepped out from behind a narrow bathroom door. He lifted his hands up.

  “Easy, Shooter. I’m just taking a ten-fourteen, is all.” He eyed the gun and cocked a feeble smile. “Glad you’re back. Is everything okay? You look like you’ve had a long day.”

  She holstered her weapon.

  “What is going on here?” She glided back to the table and took a closer look at the contents. The file folder was on the table. Her blood pressure spiked. “You stole my file.”

  Hands still up, Smoke said, “I can explain.”

  “Can you now?”

  “Sure, I, er … okay, I stole it, but only so that I could work on things while you were gone.” He walked over to his map and pointed at the red circles. “See, now we can take another angle on things.”

  “You made a mistake.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I stayed put. I bet you thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

  Her stomach gurgled.

  Smoke opened the pizza box. “Half ham and onions and half Hawaiian. Please, have some.”

  “How did you get this?”

  “Uh … Delivery.”

  “And how did you pay for it? Did you spend my money too?”

  “No,” he said, “I’d never do that.” He tapped his head. “I have many numbers in my head. Hey, my accounts are still good.”

  “Well, you did one thing right today.”

  “I did? What’s that?”

  Sidney picked up a slice of pizza and took a seat on the sofa.

  “I like Hawaiian.”

  The old sofa was comfortable. It reminded her of the times she and Allison would stay in their grandparents’ basement for long weekends. She bit into the pizza.

  “I could warm it up,” Smoke said. “I came down here and saw that some of the breakers were off, but I let them be. I didn’t want any nosy neighbors dropping by for a greeting. I like my privacy.”

  Sidney yawned. An image of Megan came to mind, and she forced it out again. She studied the television. “So, you’re getting reception down here.”

  “I spliced into the box.”

  “Cable theft is a crime,” she said with a laugh.

  Smoke eased into the recliner.

  “So, I’m here. You’re here. What’s the next move?”

  I have no idea.

  “You look beat,” he continued.

  “I look beat? Really?”

  “Sorry, I guess tired is a better word.”

  She finished off the pizza and dusted off her hands. She wanted to lie down, but she forced herself off the sofa instead and headed toward the map.

  “Where did you get the map? Did the pizza guy deliver that too?”

  “Er … well, you shouldn’t be surprised at what you can get delivered these days. As a matter of fact, Amazon—”

  “Save it. I don’t care to know.” She eyed the map that was tacked to the wall. Smoke had seven locations circled and named in colored Sharpie. “I guess they delivered the thumb tacks and pens, too.” She faced him. He sat with an innocent look on his face. “Is there anything else you care to share that you ordered? Should I expect a delivery from QVC?”

  “No.”

  Her thoughts raced.

  He could have had a gun delivered. Anything! “Get up!”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘get up’!”

  “But—”

  She drew her gun. “Now!”

  Slowly he came out of the chair.

  “Put your hands on your head.”

  “Okay.”

  She held her weapon barrel up under his neck, kept her eyes on him, and patted him down. Her fingers found a gun tucked in the back of his pants.

  “Sit.”

  Smoke obeyed.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From the same agent that I got the handcuff keys from. Smith & Wesson .45 ACP.” He smiled. “A fine weapon. But he doesn’t deserve it if he can’t secure it.”

  “And you don’t deserve it either.”

  “You can’t expect me to traverse troubled waters without a weapon in hand.”

  “No one said anything about you getting a weapon. It’s illegal for a convict to possess one.”

  “I’m not a—oh, never mind.” He flopped back into his seat. “Fine. Keep it.”

  She stuffed it in the back of her pants.

  “Thank you.”

  How did he steal a weapon from an agent? She turned and faced the map again, hiding the grin on her face. Impressive. I wish I could see Jack’s face when he finds out.

  “So tell me, Mister Smoke, what have you learned from all of these locations?”

  “Smoke, and they have nothing of use whatsoever.”

  “What do you mean? There has to be something here.”

  He got up and picked up the pictures from the table. “All of these pictures of Adam Vaughn at all of these locations. Well, guess what.”

  “Humor me?”

  “These photos are doctored.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Sidney studied the photos.

  “You have to be kidding me.”

  “I wish I was,” Smoke said.

  She took a seat at the kitchen table and eyed each photo one by one. Smoke was right. The shadows were bad. The angles off. Faint white lines showed where images had been trimmed and cropped. Repetition of pixels. A lack of reflections. They were good fakes, really good. She’d spent months working with the FBI’s digital forensics labs. She should have caught this right off the bat. She pushed her hair back from her eyes.

  I’m an idiot.

  Ever since Jack woke her up, her entire day had been rush, rush, rush. Everything was off beat. Unorthodox. She liked order. She liked a plan. She liked to be in charge.

  Today is not my day.

  �
��You have a good eye,” she said. “I have to admit I’m surprised. And I hate to admit that I missed it.”

  “You hardly looked at them.” He cleared his throat. “Given the evidence, I have a suggestion.”

  Sidney sifted through the file. There were rap sheets on some of the faces that accompanied Adam Vaughn.

  “We’ll go after them,” she said.

  “We?”

  “Sure. You’re used to stakeouts, aren’t you?”

  “Not with a partner. And I thought I was going this alone and reporting back to you.”

  “Given the circumstances, I think it’s best that we stay together. I feel more comfortable keeping an eye on things.”

  Smoke scratched his forehead. “So, when do we start this stakeout?”

  “When I say so.”

  The couch groaned when Smoke lay down. “Great, wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

  Sidney continued her closer inspection of the papers in the file. Pictures. Names. Places. Drug labs. Murder scenes. Illegal arms. Adam Vaughn was in a mish-mash of illegal behavior.

  “You know,” Smoke said, “I’m sure you know we’re being set up to fail. Or at least I am.”

  “I thought you were taking a nap.”

  “No, I was just thinking. Honestly, Agent Shaw, just let me go at this alone. There’s no reason you need to get hurt.”

  She began organizing the papers and pictures in neat little piles.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Think about it, The Black Slate, it’s just a ruse. They don’t really want us to find those criminals. Or at least not AV. They just want paperwork for the files so that it looks like they’re trying to put them down. It’s all baloney.”

  Oh Lord, that’s exactly what I was thinking ... Quick, find a reason to not like this guy.

  “Sounds like you read a lot of conspiracy books in prison.” She plucked out the picture of a beefy dog-faced man named Rod Brown. “Do you lose a lot of sleep over it?”

  “I always sleep like a baby.”

  “Except now, unfortunately.”

  “You really don’t have to be so defensive,” he said. We’re on the same team, remember?”

  “We aren’t a team.”