“Someone will be in to explain shortly. There are some people who wish to interview you both.” The agent smiled. “Do you have firearms on the premises?”
“We wouldn’t be very good security if all we could do is throw foul language at trespassers, would we?”
“Gun,” the other agent said as he picked up the Smith & Wesson that had entwined itself in a blanket on the floor. The agent picked it up by the trigger guard and then smelled the barrel. “Recently fired.”
The FBI agent talking to Bob smiled as he nodded at his partner. It was then that he noticed the DJ booth and the shattered window. He faced the smaller man again as Bob pulled his hair back and then applied a rubber band to it and formed a ponytail, much to the agent’s amusement.
“Perhaps you’d better stick to foul language, Mr. Culbertson.”
“Accidental discharge.” Bob eyed his wife, who nodded at the small lie. “Now, why are you here?”
The door opened, and several people that were dressed differently came in shaking rainwater from their clothing and hair. The tall man in the front shook his raincoat and then looked up with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. I think we’re making a mess here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Linda said as she moved toward the front door with a mop. She didn’t greet the newcomers as she started swabbing the water from the old linoleum flooring.
“We’ll just hang onto this, sir,” the first agent said as he held the gun up to show the tall man.
“Thank you,” the man with the well-trimmed beard said, looking at the agents. “We just have a few questions for Mr. and Mrs. Culbertson.”
The two agents left the station with a warning look at Bob about firearm safety.
“Wow, this is a blast from the past,” a small black man said as he looked the K-Rave station over.
“Can you please tell me why we are being held here?” Bob asked as he eyed the seven people standing near the door. The two women looked uncomfortable.
“Yes, sir. My name is Professor Gabriel Kennedy. These are my associates, Mr. John Lonetree, Dr. Jennifer Tilden, Mr. Leonard Sickles.” He stepped forward and clicked his heels together. “Mr. George Cordero, Ms. Julie Reilly, and the surly-looking fellow there is Damian Jackson. We’re—”
“The Supernaturals,” Linda said as her mop moved back and forth across the faded flooring. She never looked up from her task. “Knew it as soon as I seen ya.” She looked up and fixed them all with her tired eyes. “I must say, your recent troubles about hoaxes and people faking their experiences fails to hold water, in my humble opinion.” She bent to her mopping. “As a matter of fact, I think your theories on the subject are bullshit,” she said more quietly.
“There’s nothing to do but watch television here. We didn’t have much of a choice; this town has never had cable. We were kind of stuck with what programming we could get out of LA over the air.” Bob looked from person to person and then shook his head.
“Can we have a seat, Mr. Culbertson?” Gabriel asked with a smile after such a good review of their television work.
“You can have this whole fucking town if you want, man.”
Linda appeared with two chairs and placed them in the reception area, pushing a wooden record box out of the way before returning to get more chairs. With everyone seated, Linda brought in coffee after opening a window to get the smell of burned eggs out of the studio. The place was silent, with the exception of the rain falling on the old and battered roof. Everyone waited for Gabriel to speak. Before he did, he pulled out a sheaf of papers.
“This contract says you have a few days to go before your obligation here is fulfilled.” Gabriel looked at the pages and then placed them back into his coat pocket.
“I don’t give a flying f—”
“Whoa,” Linda said as she poured Gabriel’s coffee. “A little early to be rude. After this morning, I think we can dispense with that crap.”
“We have fulfilled the contract. The town is still standing, and it looks as if our relief has arrived. And to be perfectly frank here, you didn’t bring enough men.”
Gabe looked at John, and they both knew something was showing itself in Moreno. The room went silent as George stood up from his chair with coffee cup in hand. He walked straight to the DJ’s booth window as they all watched. Bob looked nervous as George ran his fingers over the empty frame. He closed his eyes. He opened them once again and turned and looked at Bob.
“Bullets can’t harm them, you know.”
Bob swallowed and then turned in his chair and faced Gabriel and John.
“Let’s just say it made me feel a lot better.”
“I know how you feel.” Damian sipped his coffee.
“That’s right, I think I remember you unloading an entire clip of nine-millimeter rounds at something that just laughed at you and kept coming,” Julie said as he smiled at Jackson over her memories of Summer Place.
Damian lowered the coffee cup and smirked. “As Mr. Culbertson said, it made me feel better.”
Gabriel saw the ease in which Damian and Julie disarmed the man sitting with them. Even his wife snickered at the small tale of terror.
“Freekin’ Rowdy Rhoads.” Cordero raised his cup and drank coffee. Kennedy could see that he was also doing his part in making the couple feel less like fools. He knew his team was very capable of making people relax in their presence.
“That’s the name he said on the radio this morning. Harvey over at Newberry’s says Rhoads used to be a DJ here until his death,” Linda said, amazed with George.
“Died, October 31, 1962,” George said, turning to see if he were right.
“Old man Leach said the same. We don’t know the particulars, but he did mention that fact,” Bob said, looking at the two men seated right in front of him.
“This morning?” Gabe asked.
“I knew that cat!”
The voice and its tenor made everyone turn and look at Jennifer, who was seated next to Julie.
“Oh, shit.” Leonard partially stood from his chair in fear of Jenny, but Damian made him sit with a warning look. Leonard was never fond of Jennifer’s reaction to an invasion of her mind by one Bobby Lee McKinnon.
Linda, however, stood up and with wide eyes quickly moved away from Jennifer, who had her eyes closed and her head tilted back. John made to move to her side, but Gabriel held him in check. He then turned and held a finger to his lips telling Bob not to speak.
“Met him in LA one summer—1957, I think.” Jenny’s mouth moved, but the voice was that of a man. “Damn talking head. One of those old Payola boys from Chicago. He was drummed out of the big markets along with Alan Freed for taking payoffs for record pushing,” Bobby Lee said.
Most knew that Bobby Lee was referring to the scandal-plagued days of music payola, where money was paid to stations to play certain songs and to push them onto the public. The practice had cost many a station manager and DJ their careers, including the famous Alan Freed, the same man who had coined the phrase rock and roll in Cleveland in the fifties.
“Freekin’ Rowdy was a war vet, and he obviously got a break coming here. Check my Nubian friend on the little TV thing you have.”
Jennifer stopped talking as everyone turned to face Leonard, who was still thinking about the term used to describe him. He had never been called a Nubian before. He finally caught on and then placed the laptop on his thighs after handing a smiling Damian his coffee cup. He typed in his command and then gave the slumbering Jenny a dirty look. “Asshole, Bobby Lee, why don’t you just call me a Negro, like the old days?”
They waited as George continued looking through the empty window space at the interior of the booth.
“Here it is—from the St. Louis army records center. James M. Rhoads, sergeant first class, discharged September 1945.” Leonard looked up with a smile. “He was S-2 for the Fourth Infantry Division, assigned to a special unit of the OSS. Commander was one Colonel Robert Hadley.”
&nb
sp; “Small world,” Damian said.
“Crazy as a shit house rat. He said he had seen things that drove him to drinking during his time over there,” Bobby Lee said through Jennifer, who immediately sat up straight in her chair and swiped at her mouth as if she had been caught sleeping and was drooling. “What?” she said as she looked from person to person as they all stared at her. “Was I snoring or something?”
“Or something,” Leonard said with a sideways look at her.
“Man, I don’t know which is worse—this place or you guys,” Bob said, casting a wary eye at his startled wife as she moved back to her chair.
“We grow on you,” Julie said with a concerned smile as she patted Jennifer on the leg.
The door opened, and two agents stepped inside, shaking water from their coats and eliciting a scornful look from Linda. The first man spied Gabriel and came forward.
“This was just faxed in from our field team in Washington. It’s the debrief you requested on men who served with Second Lieutenant Dean Hadley in Vietnam.” The agent looked concerned. “The fax transmission from Washington was spotty, and now we are having trouble with cell service. We still have reliable satellite phones, but everything else is headed south because of this storm.”
“The cell service is always spotty. The hills.” Bob waved his hand in the air.
Kennedy took the offered papers from the agent and then excused the men. He perused them, and then his brows rose.
“What did they dig up?” John asked as he turned and winked at Jennifer, who looked lost after her brief possession from her old friend Bobby Lee McKinnon.
“He served his country with distinction. Not one bad mark in his 201 file.” He moved papers around, and then he settled on the ones he was looking for. “However, his commander, upon interview from an old folks’ home, remembered a different soldier from the one described in his official file. He said, and I quote, ‘The lieutenant was disturbed. A loner. A man who slept very little and disdained the men he served with. He was a frequent volunteer for work outside of his Special Forces regiment. Thirty-six confirmed kills. All in black operations against the North Vietnamese. In 1967, he became unhinged after a visit from a civilian, his father. After that, he was arrested twice by the army’s Criminal Investigation Division for the illegal killing of North Vietnamese nationals.’” Gabriel read ahead. “He was found not guilty in a general court-martial that isn’t mentioned in his file. Although innocent of the charges, which he never denied, our boy was discharged. Honorably.” Gabriel held the papers up a moment and then shook his head.
“May I ask, why are you people in Moreno, and who is that you are talking about?” Bob asked as lightning flashed through the plate glass window.
“Mr. Culbertson, will you and your wife join us for lunch? I assume the food at Newberry’s is passable as such?”
“Harvey’s a good cook, but maybe not too happy to do so today. Now who was that you were talking about, and is this nut on the loose here or what?”
“That nut is here, Mr. Culbertson, but he’s not on the loose. He’s in a motor home being attended to by his physicians.” Gabriel was helped into his raincoat by Julie, who had brought it to him.
“Who?”
“The man who grew up here,” Gabe said, looking at both Bob and Linda. “And that is one thing that I bet old Harvey Leach didn’t tell you.”
“Tell us what?” asked Linda. She was handed her own coat by Damian, who then helped her into it.
“That the president of the United States grew up here and is now back home in Moreno for the first time since 1962.”
Bob looked at Linda as the team of Supernaturals held the door for them.
“I’m asking that lying damn company for that goddamn bonus, damn lying bastards,” Bob said as he and Linda moved out of the station and into the rain.
* * *
None of them saw the flicker of light from the heavily damaged marquee or heard the teenage screams of horror coming from the old collapsed façade of the Grenada Theater.
She knew that the full cast of Moreno’s passion play were present, and the show was about to commence.
15
Harvey had to open more space up inside Newberry’s. With the assistance of several FBI and Secret Service agents, the chain-link fencing was moved back and the old clutter of boxes and old hangers pushed elsewhere as men brought more chairs and tables up from the basement. Harvey had coerced Casper Worthington into performing prep-cook duties in the kitchen. More frozen burger patties and fries were also brought from the freezer in the basement, and they had hooked the old soda lines that had been serviced last in 2005. The federal employees could hear Casper cussing up a firestorm about being drafted just like he had been back in 1968. His dog, Peckerwood, remained by his side just beneath the prep table, where the Yorkie could hear most of the more colorful swear words escaping Casper’s mouth.
“President, my ass,” Harvey said as the last of the old rounded tables were placed in the general area where there used to be ornate booths. “I suspect that you fellas are just looking for free stuff and shoot any name straight out of your asses to do it. President, my ass,” he repeated.
The two Secret Service agents helping Harvey smiled and nodded at the old man and then excused themselves. Harvey finished wiping down the years of dust that had adhered to the old Formica that made up the tabletops.
The door opened, and seven strangers came in followed by Bob and Linda Culbertson, both looking uncomfortable in their new company. They all shed their coats, and Harvey knew he was going to be spending the better part of the day mopping up wet spots from the flooding outside. He stopped swiping with the rag when he focused his attention on the new arrivals.
“I see the damn feds have kidnapped you two also,” he said as he saw an ashen-faced Bob shrug out of his coat. Linda kept her sweater on. The other seven people again shook the water from their extremities just like Peckerwood had done earlier. “They give you the same bullshit line as they gave me and Casper?”
Bob didn’t reply. He and Linda moved to a small table away from the window and then sat. They were silent and clearly as confused as the two old men. The largest of the men stepped up to Harvey, who had to look up until he winced and grabbed his neck in pain.
“Don’t remember putting no tree here,” he said as he eyed John Lonetree. Harvey immediately regretted his choice of words when John introduced himself. He moved off some feet away before he regained his bravado. “And along with the president, I suppose this fella is in charge of Injun Affairs?”
Jennifer flinched at the insult, but as she looked at Lonetree, she saw him smile and then sit down at a table. She joined him.
“Mr. Harvey Leach, we need a few words, if you don’t mind?”
“And you are? The vice president?” Harvey joked, but no one laughed, with the exception of Casper in the kitchen, who cackled away with Peckerwood barking along.
“Name is Kennedy, Mr. Leach.” Gabriel moved toward the man and extended his hand. Harvey looked at it and then with the filthy rag still in his hand reached for Gabriel’s and shook. Gabe smiled and then wiped his hand on his trouser leg. “I understand your consternation, but we believe you have information that no one else may have.”
“I don’t know about constipation, but I do know I don’t have any information about diddly squat.” He moved away a few steps and then stopped and turned. “Who’s gonna pay for all of this? Me and Casper have far better things to do around here than wait tables for a bunch of gov’ment thieves.”
“I’ll issue you a ten-thousand-dollar deposit check for your services, and then we will settle up before we leave.”
Everyone in the Newberry’s old forlorn lunch counter and tables turned and saw several men with a woman at the center standing just inside the double doorway. At the curb with water running above the bottom of its tires was a brand-new Cadillac extended limousine. The woman was removing a set of expensive leather gloves as she
looked the department store over. She removed a large hat, and Harvey’s face went white. The First Lady of the United States, Catherine Hadley, had that effect on most males. Harvey and a wide-eyed Casper, who was staring at the group through the kitchen counter space, were aghast.
“Not much of a going concern, is it?” Catherine spied Kennedy and moved toward him and Harvey, who stood motionless as the beautiful woman excused herself as she stepped by him. She stopped and turned to face Newberry’s ownership. “I take it the women’s department is up the escalator?” She smiled and looked at the partially collapsed moving stairs. “Maybe not.”
“Mr. Leach, this is—” Gabriel began.
“I know who it is, you damn fool, I’m not blind and stupid both. Well, maybe stupid at times,” he said as a partial way of apologizing for not believing anyone this afternoon about the president being in town. He gestured for Catherine to have a seat, and she obliged by taking one at the table Gabriel was standing nearest. He made no move to stand up, and Harvey yelped in terror as the First Lady started to pull her own chair out. Harvey ran the few steps and then quickly pulled out the old cane chair.
She nodded her thanks. “Chivalry isn’t all dead, is it?”
“Not around here, ma’am,” Leach said as he nodded and then hurriedly left, forcing Casper to stop his gawking and get back to cutting up tomatoes.
“Well, here we are,” she said as she demurely smiled at Kennedy, placing her leather gloves in her hat and then resting them on the table. The other members of his team took seats around them. Damian and George Cordero sat at the extensive counter and looked at menus. “To let you know, the security element and medical staff will remain in place as long as my husband is here. I, on the other hand, will be staying at the Radisson in Ontario.” She looked around the small luncheonette. “I believe they have a better buffet,” she said, leaning forward as if not to hurt Harvey’s feelings, but Gabriel knew differently. She was as mean-spirited as her husband and liked to show it.
Harvey arrived with two glasses of water. “I don’t normally wait on tables, but seeing as you’re the First Lady and all.”
In the Still of the Night--The Supernaturals II Page 27