Traveler

by David Yates

  The man you killed at Anson's place was my brother

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  Chapter 11

  Braden paced the floor of the suite. He had tried sitting down, but was only able to stand it for a few seconds before he was up and pacing again. The others sat silently and watched him. He walked to the terrace and opened the sliding glass door. He stepped outside and looked up at the stars.

  Sam leaned in close and whispered to Manny, “I wish there was something I could do for him. I hate it that he's worrying so much about this."

  Manny, who had known Braden since he was two, shook his head. “Oh, no. He's not worried. He's angry."

  Sam looked out the terrace door at Braden's back. He was standing stiffly, gripping the terrace rail tightly and looking upward. “Maybe I should go talk to him."

  "No, don't do that,” Manny said. “I know you want to help him, but trust me when I tell you there's nothing you can do right now. Just let him be."

  Sam continued to gaze at Braden with a concerned expression.

  "Sam."

  Her gaze moved to Manny. “Let it go,” Manny said softly. “He's very bright. You have to give him time and space to work it out for himself."

  She nodded, but it didn't ease her expression any. Her eyes returned to Braden as she said to Manny, “Do you think we'll keep our flight reservations for tomorrow?"

  Manny shrugged and said, “I don't know. It's up to him."

  Twenty minutes later, Braden came in from the terrace. He walked slowly to an armchair and sat. No one said anything; they were waiting to see if he would speak. When he didn't, Manny rolled the wheelchair over and stopped beside him.

  "Braden,” he said quietly, “I need to know if you want me to cancel the flight reservations for tomorrow."

  Braden's head was lowered. He didn't respond or move. Manny gave him time to think about it.

  Finally, Braden spoke. His voice was so low that Manny had to lean in a little to hear his words. “No. We'll keep the reservations. When we get to Honolulu, we may end up just getting on another flight out. I'm not sure yet."

  Manny nodded and sat in silence. After a few moments, he reached out and put a hand on Braden's shoulder. Braden looked up and offered him a small, distracted smile. It wasn't much, but Manny was glad to see it all the same.

  They drove the Caddy to the airport. Braden eased it into a slot in the long-term parking lot and abandoned it for good. They carried their meager baggage inside the terminal and checked in. Braden was wearing all of his guns, and the metal detectors would have exploded if he had tried to walk through them. This, of course, was no problem for him.

  He met them on the other side of the security checkpoint. Their flight wasn't scheduled to depart for about 90 minutes, so they stopped at a small snack bar. None of them were very hungry, but it was a good place to kill some time.

  The terminal was busy. The foot traffic outside the snack bar moved past like a rapidly-flowing river. A few people ran past, presumably late for their flights. The majority of them were men and women dressed in business attire.

  The four of them were squeezed together at a tiny round table. Most of the people buzzing around them were respectful of Manny in his wheelchair, and gave him a wide berth. Braden sat on a stool that was much too small to accommodate an average human being's backside. He squirmed and shifted on the stool almost constantly. His anger of the previous evening had cooled somewhat, but he had been very distracted and preoccupied ever since they had left the hotel. His eyes continuously raked the crowds moving by on the other side of the large window.

  Sam saw Braden moving around on the stool. She said with a smile, “Feels like you're sitting in a baby's high chair, doesn't it?"

  Braden didn't respond at first, then his head spun around and he looked at her. “Huh? Oh, yeah, it does.” His eyes moved back out the window.

  Sam's smile faded a little. She put her hand on Braden's back. “Are you okay, babe?” she asked.

  Braden squirmed again. “I don't know. Something is nagging at me, but I don't know what it is. I feel antsy and jittery all over.” He looked at his watch. They had forty-five minutes until their flight was scheduled to depart. “I guess we can go ahead and get to the gate. Just let me make a pit stop first and then we'll be on our way.” The rest rooms were just across the corridor from the snack bar.

  They vacated the table and noticed that it was occupied again before they even got to the door. As they exited the snack bar, Manny said, “We'll wait for you here."

  Braden nodded and moved across the corridor, dodging pedestrians coming from both directions. As he was making his way to the men's room, he saw an unobtrusive door to his right. It was marked with a small sign which read Authorized Personnel Only. There was a block of wood on the floor between the door and the door frame, which effectively blocked the door from closing. Someone had placed the block of wood there, presumably to keep from being locked out. Airport security's falling down on the job, Braden thought. That door's probably supposed to be locked at all times. Especially with the way airline security is these days

  A few seconds after Braden disappeared through the men's room door, Sam told Manny and Archer, “I think I'll go too, while I've got the chance. Be right back.” She bounced across the corridor and into the ladies’ room.

  Manny and Archer were roughly in the middle of the wide corridor, waiting for Sam and Braden to return. The foot traffic picked up noticeably. The corridor suddenly became very crowded. Archer said, “I guess all of these people must have just deplaned."

  Manny was about to respond when someone behind them said, “Excuse me, sir.” They turned and saw a man seated behind the wheel of a small, roofless golf-cart-type vehicle. There were blue and white wheelchair decals on both sides of the cart, along with the words Courtesy Vehicle.

  "Yes?” said Manny.

  "Are you waiting for your flight to depart?” the driver asked.

  "Yes,” answered Manny.

  "I can take you to your gate, if you like,” the driver offered.

  Manny glanced at Archer. He said to the driver, “Well, okay, I guess so. We're waiting for two friends. They're in the rest room.” Manny pointed across the corridor.

  "Okay, no problem,” replied the driver, rising from his seat. “I can get you seated on the cart and get your chair loaded on the back while we wait."

  "All right, thank you,” said Manny. He handed his bags to the driver, who placed them on the small flat bed storage area behind the rear seat. Archer placed his bags beside Manny's.

  As Archer was pushing Manny's wheelchair around to the right side of the cart, Braden emerged from the restroom. He saw Archer pushing Manny around the front of the courtesy cart. A flash of quick movement caught his eye from the right. He turned his head slightly and saw a man in a business suit sprinting down the corridor toward the courtesy cart. The businessman was carrying a very expensive-looking leather valise. He was juking his way through the crowd like a halfback looking for a hole in the defensive line. He was almost up to where the courtesy cart was.

  Braden looked back at the courtesy cart. There was a large crowd of people between the running man and the cart. Braden could tell that the sprinter didn't see the cart behind the milling crowd. The man saw the cart at the last second and jogged quickly to the right, never breaking stride. As he flashed past the rear bumper of the cart, Archer was just turning the corner at the front, pushing Manny ahead of him. Braden knew he could do nothing to stop the collision from occurring, but he yelled anyway. “Look out!"

  The man crashed into Manny's wheelchair at full speed. The chair tipped over, spilling Manny out onto the floor. In one moment, Archer's hands were holding the chair's grips; in the next, his hands were empty. The running man was now the flying man. He went head first over Manny's chair in a long, swooping arc. In Braden's head, the football analogy continued. Looks like he's diving over the pile at the goal line

  The man c
ame back to earth with a thud and a loud, “Oof!” The valise went sliding across the floor of the corridor, coming to rest some 30 feet away. Braden hurried his way through the crowd, which was now standing still and looking at the sudden carnage. He got to Manny's side and knelt down. Archer was already there.

  "Manny, are you all right?” Braden asked anxiously.

  "Yeah, I think so,” replied Manny. He seemed to be more confused than anything else, as if he wasn't quite sure what had happened. Archer checked Manny quickly and asked him if he felt any pain anywhere. Manny replied in the negative. Archer took special pains to check Manny's lower extremities. If he had a broken bone or a laceration, he wouldn't know it since he couldn't feel it.

  Archer's examination was apparently taking too long for Manny's liking, because he said, “Can you guys just get me up off of the floor?” In a mumble which was still clearly audible, he added, “Now I know what a bearskin rug feels like."

  The cart driver had already righted Manny's wheelchair. Archer and Braden picked Manny up and set him down in the chair. The crowd parted a little and the man who had collided with Manny approached the cart. He was limping severely and had a bloody gash on the back of his left hand.

  "Are you okay, sir?” he asked.

  "Yes, I'm fine,” replied Manny.

  "I can't even begin to explain how sorry I am,” the man continued. “I feel about this tall right now.” He held his hand up, his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.

  "No harm, no foul,” Manny said. “Don't worry about it."

  Archer asked the man, “Are you all right? You took a nasty spill."

  The man shrugged. “Oh, yeah, don't worry about me. I just can't believe I was so stupid. You see, my mother's confined to a wheelchair and..."

  The man had obviously forgotten all about being late for his flight. He might have gone on apologizing for days if Braden hadn't intervened. He looked around and asked sharply, “Where's Sam?"

  "She went to the restroom right after you did,” Archer said. He glanced at his watch. “She should have been back by now."

  Braden looked in the direction of the rest rooms. He then scanned the growing crowd. No Sam. He walked back over to the restroom doorway with the intention of asking a female to check the ladies’ room for Sam. When he got to the recessed area just outside the rest rooms, the men's room door opened and Silas stepped out. He was wearing the hard smile that Braden remembered from their previous meetings.

  Before Braden's initial shock wore off, Silas stepped up next to him and leaned in until his mouth was next to Braden's ear. He whispered, “I have her. If you reach for a weapon, she dies. If you pull one of your disappearing acts, she dies. Do I have your attention?"

  After a moment, Braden said, “Yes."

  "Go get the other two and come back here. I'll wait, but I won't wait long."

  "If you harm her in any...” Braden began. Silas cut him off.

  "You're burning daylight. Get moving."

  Clenching his jaw muscles tight, Braden spun on his heel and walked back to the courtesy cart. The crowd had thinned out considerably. The cart driver was talking with Manny and Archer.

  "Guys, I need to talk to you for a minute,” Braden said.

  Archer said, “We were about to get Manny onto the cart."

  "Now,” Braden hissed. He turned and walked to the wall next to the snack bar. They followed him.

  "What's up, Braden?” Manny asked.

  "We have a problem,” Braden responded. “A big problem. Silas is here, and he has Sam."

  Manny and Archer began looking around them. “Where?” asked Manny.

  Braden nodded toward the rest rooms where Silas stood. They all looked in that direction. Silas raised one hand and waggled his fingers at them in a cheery wave. Then he tapped his index finger against his watch.

  "We have to go with him,” Braden said. “All of us. Now. If we don't he'll kill Sam. We don't have time to discuss this. Whatever happens, just follow my lead.” He began striding toward Silas. Archer gripped the handles of Manny's chair and followed.

  The cart driver began, “Sir, do you need me to..."

  "No,” Braden said tersely over his shoulder. “We won't be needing your services."

  As they approached Silas, he fell in at the front of their line without a word and led them to the door that Braden had noticed earlier, the door marked Authorized Personnel Only. He pushed the door open and went through. Braden followed him and held the door open for Archer.

  They were in a long, narrow corridor. The walls were painted cinder blocks. Overhead, light bulbs marched down the ceiling in single file. The corridor made a right turn at the far end. As they started down the corridor, six of Silas’ men fell in behind them. Silas walked almost all the way to the end and went through a door on the left side. Braden's small group followed him.

  This doorway led to another corridor. It was shorter and not lit as well as the first. They followed Silas about three-fourths of the way down the hall. He stopped in front of a metal door and knocked. The door opened a crack, and once the man inside saw Silas, he opened the door all the way and stepped back to allow them to pass through. Two of the men behind them remained outside, guarding the door.

  The room they found themselves in was apparently a storeroom for janitorial supplies. There were steel shelves against the walls, stocked with cleaning products of all kinds. The middle of the room was bare. Cases of bathroom tissue were stacked against the far wall. Some of these had been moved around recently. Sam was seated on one of these cases. Her hands were bound behind her with plastic flex cuffs, items ordinarily used by law enforcement. Eight more of Silas’ men were in the room.

  Sam had been crying; was still crying, in fact. As soon as she saw Braden, she cried out his name, her voice breaking. Braden started toward her, but Silas stopped him by placing his hand on Braden's chest.

  "No, you'll stay right there, I think,” Silas said. He reached inside Braden's duster and took the two guns from the crossdraw holsters. He handed them to one of his men, who placed them on one of the shelves. Silas took hold of the duster and spread it open, revealing the gun in the shoulder-rig and the one on Braden's right hip. “Damn, kid, you running for NRA president or something?” Silas asked, removing the guns from their holsters. He relieved Braden of his knife as well, placing it on the shelf with the guns.

  "Search them,” Silas ordered, pointing to Archer and Manny. They were to Braden's left and a little behind him. Two men moved that direction. Silas looked at Braden.

  "Well, here we are, alone at last,” said Silas.

  Braden completely ignored Silas for the time being. He looked at Sam. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded but did not speak.

  "You made a big mistake when you killed my brother,” Silas said.

  "Don't worry, you'll be seeing him again soon,” Braden retorted.

  Silas laughed fit to split. “Pretty tough talk for an unarmed, wet-behind-the-ears baby. You got stones, kid, I'll give you that.” The smile suddenly vanished from his face. “But you'll want to be careful how you talk to me,” Silas said. “You're nothing but a punk kid who's barely out of his diapers."

  Braden said, “How did you know we would be here today?"

  Silas shrugged. “I've got people. They've been searching for you 24/7 ever since you murdered my brother. We figured you might want to get out of the country so they've been checking airline reservations, among other things. They came across a four-party reservation from Kansas City to Honolulu, with one of the parties being a female and another needing ‘special assistance'.” He nodded meaningfully at Manny. “I figured it had to be you. And it turns out I was right."

  Braden clapped his hands together in mock applause. “Bravo. But I feel it's necessary to warn you that you and your Girl Scout troop here aren't going to make it out of this room alive."

  Silas barked a short laugh. “You're forgetting who's in charge here, youngst
er.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol. “I think it's time to educate you on that subject."

  Silas raised the pistol and fired one shot to Braden's left. Braden spun around and saw Archer fall to the floor, a bullet wound in his chest. Braden stepped quickly over to the fallen doctor and knelt beside him. Archer's eyes met Braden's. In them Braden saw surprise above all else.

  "What happened?” Archer rasped.

  "Just lay still, Doc. You'll be all right."

  From just behind Braden, Silas’ voice said, “I don't think so.” Another gunshot went off right next to Braden's head. Archer's entire body spasmed as the bullet entered his brain. Braden looked at his dead friend in momentary shock. He slowly rose to his feet and turned toward Silas.

  Silas had moved to a position beside Sam. He still held the gun in his hand. He reached out and let the barrel caress Sam's cheek. “I wouldn't make any rash decisions if I were you,” Silas said. Braden was visibly trembling with rage. He had a brief but fierce internal battle with his fury. He won, but it was a close thing. Much closer than even Silas knew.

  Silas watched as Braden slowly forced his muscles to relax. “There,” he said. “Now we have a better understanding of the chain of command."

  Braden stood stock still as Silas sauntered across the room. He put his pistol away and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a small pair of sharp-bladed clippers. They were about the size of a standard pair of pliers. He held them up and clicked the blades together.

  "Do you remember what I told you I was going to do to you when I caught you?” Silas asked. He clicked the clippers again. “Well, I have good news. I've changed my mind. I'm not going to use these on your fingers.” He strolled back toward Sam and walked behind her. “I'm going to use them on her fingers."