The Pineville Heist

by Lee Chambers

  “You promised this would be completed over the weekend, Chuck. The students need to study for exams, plus we have the play on Monday.”

  At half Dan's age, Chuck was more interested in gleaning a final glimpse of the hallowed Principal's Office. Brought back happy memories of his school days. He never minded being sent to the Principal's Office. More attention than he'd ever received from his own father.

  Chuck cleared his throat, probably early signs of too much asbestos dust in the lungs. “You're already red-flagged by the city,” Chuck said, pointing upwards at the ceiling. “If I find any of it outside the library, the big boys from the Capital will take over and shut you down completely until it's dealt with.”

  “Ballpark?”

  “Three, maybe four.”

  “Days? That's not so bad.”

  “Months.”

  “What?” Dan choked. “You can't be serious. Pineville can't survive having the school go down.”

  Chuck glanced nonchalantly at his hands, dusty and rough. “If what I hear is true about the mill, Pineville's going down the crapper anyway and… ”

  “Where did you hear that?” asked Dan, feeling a headache coming on.

  Meanwhile, Aaron continued, like a ghost flitting through the empty corridors, casting a reflection of a harried teenager in the windows of the closed classroom doors. “Help. Please…” At this point, he wasn't even sure if he was speaking the words or just willing them out of his mouth, as mumbled whispers and grunts.

  Skidding to a halt, relief swept over his aching body. His heart almost exploding as it beat so hard, his head was starting to hurt so badly, from the pounding in his eardrums. The English classroom. The door was open. Amanda was inside. She stood from her desk, putting her cell phone into her purse.

  In an insane flurry, a tornado of tension and craziness, Aaron burst into the room. Amanda almost jumped out of her skin. “We have to call the cops!” Aaron screamed out, simultaneously deflating into a heap, collapsed against her desk.

  Amanda's eyes quickly scanned Aaron–a horrified glint in his eyes, mud smeared on his ripped clothes, and scratches across his face.

  “I think they killed Steve!” he yelled for an encore.

  Amanda dropped her purse–stuff spilling out onto the floor. Aaron groaned as he involuntarily bent over, scooping up a lipstick case, an envelope, and phone, handing them back to her. She was now visibly shaking. “Who did? What's going on, Aaron? You're scaring me.”

  “We have to do something!” Aaron urged, suddenly feeling woozy again.

  “Come on,” Amanda took him by the arm.

  Their footsteps pattered along the corridor, towards the voices of Dan Parker and Chuck, who were surveying the outside of the library. “Well, everything depends on how much crap I find up there once I get going. I tend to find that once I start ripping apart these old buggers, it kind of spreads like a bad case of rectal cancer, know what I mean?”

  Dan's face paled, partly nauseated by Chuck's choice of simile, and partly because he knew exactly what he meant. “Just get it done.”

  “Mister Parker!”

  Dan turned, raising a puzzled eyebrow. Seeing Amanda holding Aaron's arm, he was nonplussed. “What did he do now?”

  “I need to call Carl,” Amanda said, deadly serious.

  Dan faltered in his assurance, with his normally confident and stoic expression falling to one of nervous anticipation. This was not a case of just catching a bathroom graffiti artist or exam cheater. This was much more serious.

  To cover his nervousness, Dan adjusted his fine strands of hair, nodded curtly, and crooked his finger for Aaron and Amanda to follow him. Chuck scratched the back of his ear, then sniffed his fingers, with a bewildered expression and watched them venture down the long hallway.

  After about ten minutes, Aaron began to regain awareness of his surroundings. He was sitting on the bench outside Principal Parker's office, and the nuances of the hallway hit him with a welcome force of authority. Cool and dark, the hall was usually intimidating, but today it was calming and welcoming. A cocoon to hide and recompose himself, collect his thoughts, assess the damage. He looked down at the torn knee of his jeans. His mud-caked nails slowly felt the edge of the bench beneath him. It was cool as ice, too. His legs had fallen asleep. Then, Steve popped into his head, falling down… Replaying over and over…

  “Aaron.” Amanda sat down, patting him on the leg, breaking his trance. “He's on the way. It'll just be-”

  Aaron pulled away from Amanda and pushed up to his feet. Shaky at first, but now feeling refreshed after the peace and quiet of this chilled sanctuary. He rubbed at a scratch on his hand as he looked anxiously down the hallway. “Why are we waiting?”

  “Because we need to wait for Carl to.”

  “We need to go find Mikey right now!” Aaron snapped, finding his voice at its normal volume again. He shot a determined glare at Amanda. That could be him out there. Running from a killer's bullets. Do something.

  “You can't just go, Aaron,” she said. But, it was too late. Aaron steamed down the hallway. He didn't run all this way to sit on his behind and waste more time. “Aaron, wait,” she called after him, following as he power-walked away. They sped by Chuck as he was hauling a roll of plastic sheeting and dragging it inside the library.

  Amanda caught hold of Aaron's forearm, slowing him down. “You don't know who or what's out there, Aaron.”

  “I don't care. He could be dying!” Aaron wrenched his arm free and kept walking. “I can't believe I just left them out there. Did nothing.”

  Ahead of them, Dan was pushing open the main doors to greet Carl. “Did you find them?”

  With a shake of the head, Carl replied, “Not yet.”

  Aaron, incensed, sliced between Carl and Dan, shoving the door open to leave.

  “Hey, I need to take you down to the station for a full statement.”

  The door slammed shut. Aaron was gone.

  eleven

  Frustration constricting his chest and pulsing at his temples, Aaron was about ready to run again. Where? Who knows. He'd just rather be doing something. Anything. Not sitting around talking about what happened, what he saw.

  Carl's hand clamped like a vice onto Aaron's shoulder, turning Aaron around to face him, Amanda, and the school. Aaron cringed to be looking at that stupid building again. This was supposed to be his oasis. But, after chasing it, turned out it was more of a mirage. He needed help, not concerned adults with all their questions.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Carl barked. He didn't like to chase kids, and Aaron was no exception.

  “The robbers shot Steve and maybe Mike by now, too. If you're not going to do your job then.”

  “How do you know it was them?”

  “I saw him shoot his partner and then he shot Steve and… and…” Suddenly overcome with emotion, Aaron swallowed hard and looked down at his shuffling feet. Eyes stinging, the heat of tears on his cheek. Amanda quickly moved to Aaron and put a comforting arm around him before he completely lost it.

  “It's okay, Aaron. Calm down. Carl's not the enemy here,” said Amanda, flashing a meaningful look at Carl, then back to Aaron. “How about we all go out there and have a look around together? Would that be alright?”

  “Amanda…” Carl's voice had a chastising tone.

  Amanda retaliated in kind with a firm “Carl.”

  Carl sighed and pointed to his cruiser. He opened the back seat. Aaron and Amanda slid inside.

  Principal Parker emerged from the school, looking from the cruiser to Carl. He flapped his arms. “Officer, should I call the parents?”

  “That's not necessary, Mister Parker. The station will handle all that. Just go on back inside… We've got it covered. Just stay put in case the missing boy comes over here. Okay?”

  Inside the cruiser, Aaron felt like a perp. The seats were worn and a corner was ripped with pieces of foam pecked out. He looked out the window at the tree-laden parking lo
t, as the radio crackled to life.

  Carl opened the driver's door and sidled in. Tremblay's voice blazed over the radio speaker: “Your ears on, Carl?”

  “I got you, Sheriff,” Carl said, pulling the microphone to his lips. He twisted the key in the ignition and the cruiser roared to life.

  “Where you at?”

  “Leaving the school now. I'm bringing the kid. And…” Carl glanced over at Amanda, “company.” She poked her tongue out and crinkled her nose at his label.

  The cruiser rolled out of the high school parking lot. Aaron felt a knot raveling in his stomach as he knew they were heading back to where he had escaped, where Steve was gunned down, and where Mike was probably wounded–or dead.

  They sped past the vast football field and bleachers surrounding the school, as Aaron pondered what they would find at their destination. The ride out of town seemed interminably long, in complete silence, and made all the more unbearable by the uncomfortable seating, compared to the cushy limousine that Aaron was accustomed to traveling in. He blinked heavy eyelids and watched as they left behind the last row of porched houses, each candy-colored house a carbon copy of the one before, reaching the end of the paved road.

  “Turn here,” Aaron said.

  Carl looked into the rear-view; Aaron was tense. He steered down the wooded path, and after a few bends; they pulled in just a few strides from the hood of Tremblay's cruiser, which was parked in the opposite direction, facing up the hill. Aaron swallowed as he glanced out the window, thinking of the white van that was once here, starting this whole goddamn mess in the first place.

  Suddenly, the door opened and Aaron lost his arm rest, his elbow slipping. He almost fell, exhausted, from the cruiser, but Carl suddenly gripped his upper arm, holding Aaron in place with a rough grip. Aaron looked up at Carl, who was signaling for him to get out while pulling on his arm. Aaron looked at Carl and looked at his arm pointedly. Carl released his tight grip, and Aaron and Amanda stepped out of the cruiser, both showing signs of anticipation.

  “Stay here,” Carl said to Amanda with a stern glare.

  “I'm a big girl, Carl. I can.”

  “It might not be safe, babe.” Carl tried to turn on the charm, but he didn't have much in him. Instead, he managed a scornful expression and a cutesy whine, “Please? For me?”

  Amanda nodded before he could say something stupid like pretty please with sugar on top. “And what am I supposed to do?”

  “Suck on a lollipop,” Carl winked at her. “There's a couple in the glove box.”

  So, instead of following, Amanda folded her arms in a huff and leaned against Carl's cruiser. Carl walked into the woods with Aaron at his side. Aaron looked around the woods, disoriented. “I'm not exactly sure where it is from here,” Aaron murmured, trying to decipher the labyrinth of trees.

  “Sheriff? You around?” Carl yelled.

  “Over here,” Tremblay boomed, not far away.

  “Come on,” Carl said, taking Aaron's arm and leading him into the bushes in the direction of Tremblay.

  Aaron's feet were struggling to keep up with Carl, getting caught on branches and roots. “Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming.” His eyes widened as he recognized the clearing up ahead. He was there. The campsite.

  Yet, when Carl and Aaron stepped out of the woods; the scene wasn't how Aaron had left it. He saw the fire pit, and the overturned canoe–but Jake, the bearded man's body had disappeared.

  “Did you move him already?” Aaron said, increasingly anxious and confused.

  “Who?” Carl said.

  “The body. The dead guy.” Aaron walked over to the canoe, scanning the ground for any sign of life, or death. There were only a smattering of leaves, sticks and twigs. No body. No blood.

  “Where was he?” Carl asked thoughtfully.

  Aaron pointed next to the canoe. “Right here.”

  Carl looked left and right. “Maybe he wasn't dead.”

  “I saw him die! It was right here!” Aaron exploded excitedly, kicking the canoe with a loud thud.

  A twig cracked as Tremblay wandered out of the bushes where Steve and Mike had been hiding. The sheriff slowly ambled toward Carl and Aaron, looking at the ground intently as he approached. He bent down once to inspect a leaf, picking it up and slowly twirling it in front of his face. Tremblay shrugged, dropped the leaf, and looked directly at Aaron through his aviator sunglasses.

  Aaron, steadied by the sheriff's presence, stopped overreacting and steadied himself against the side of the canoe. Tremblay pulled the sunglasses from his face, turned to stare at Carl for a moment, and then redirected his attention to Aaron.

  “There's no sign of blood or any sort of foul play that I can see,” Tremblay finally said, breaking the silence.

  “What do you mean? How can that.” Aaron stammered.

  Carl cut Aaron off, saying, “Tell us again exactly what you saw. From the beginning.”

  Letting out a sigh, Aaron looked down at the ground where Jake's body had bled out. Not a speck of blood. The dirt appeared to be freshly raked under the leaves.

  “You were standing in the bushes over there and then you saw…” Carl said, starting Aaron's story for him, while Tremblay stepped closer to the canoe, bending down to examine it.

  “No, I was underneath the canoe.”

  “Underneath it?”

  “Yeah. It was flipped over the other way,” Aaron explained.

  Tremblay straightened, meeting Aaron eye to eye. “What did he look like?”

  “He had a beard and I… I… it all went by so fast.”

  Resting a large hand on Aaron's shoulder, a crooked crevasse formed between Tremblay's nose and chin. After a second, Aaron realized that Tremblay was attempting to smile at him. “It's okay, son, you're not in any trouble here.”

  “What about the shooter?” Carl spat, impatiently.

  Aaron shook his head slowly. “I didn't get a good look at him.” Tremblay's eyes shifted to Carl and they momentarily exchanged a suspicious glance, which Aaron caught out of the corner of his field of vision. He looked up abruptly, with a flash of anger. “I'm not lying!”

  Carl raised his arms defensively, with a sincere smile that Aaron sensed was merely meant to humor him. Just that crazy Stevens kid, making up tall tales, is what they must've been thinking. Probably wants to step out of his old man's shadow. Tough on him, too, with all this closing the mill business. Let's nod, make him happy, and go back home for dinner.

  Aaron bit his lip, “Maybe Mike and Steve got a better look… Steve!” Suddenly, he charged out of Tremblay and Carl's reach, crossing the campsite at a gallop. The fire pit was on his left, and it was raked as well–empty of any ashes and incriminating evidence. “I'm not lying! Or crazy!” Aaron called over his shoulder as he raced into the woods.

  “Hey, kid, come back here!” Carl said, following after Aaron, with Tremblay close behind him.

  Aaron found himself running through the very woods he had just fled, only this time in the opposite direction. Potentially towards danger.

  twelve

  A voice crackled over the radio hanging on Tremblay's belt: “Sheriff Tremblay. Do you read me?”

  With a snort, Tremblay stopped in his tracks and removed his radio to answer the call. Ahead of him, Carl and Aaron disappeared on their forage into the forest. “Go ahead.”

  “I've got Mister Stevens here and he'd like to speak to you about…”

  “Tell him I'm busy right now,” Tremblay said, putting his sunglasses back on, over his slitted eyes.

  “I heard that,” Derek Stevens could be heard in the background at the dispatch office.

  Tremblay lowered the radio. “Christ.”

  Tremblay rubbed his temples with one hand and tried to find his Zen, but it was difficult. Given the history between Derek Stevens and himself, Tremblay found it very difficult to talk to the man.

  Back when Tremblay was seeking election for the post of Sheriff, Stevens doubted that Tremblay could do the jo
b. And he wasn't quiet about it. Stevens talked to every high-end official in the town about his doubts, making secretive phone calls that cast doubt on Tremblay's drive and abilities. Or so it has been rumored numerous times to Tremblay by many trusty sources.

  Even so, the town prevailed against all of Stevens' claims and elected Tremblay ten years ago. Stevens never backed down nor apologized, and Tremblay never confronted the man. Instead, all of their communication has been tense, frosty and overly-formal.

  Tremblay finished his brief trek down memory lane. He composed himself, whipped off his sunglasses, and raised the radio again. Tremblay spat into the radio, “Okay, put him on.”

  On the other side of the clump of trees, Aaron was running, with Carl hot on his heels. For the second time that day, Aaron ducked and weaved between branches, and leapt broken trunks and ditches. He was agile. He knew the woods better than Carl, who was trailing behind him now. But Aaron was also tired and thirsty and about ready to snap in two, mentally and physically. What happened to his friends?

  As he reached a small clearing, Aaron started to slow. He wiped away tears streaming along the sides of his face, into his ears. Kicking at the long grass in frustration, Aaron kept hidden while he kept an eye out for Carl.

  Then he heard Carl's voice, not far from his position. “Look, Aaron, I'm not saying you didn't see something out here, but put yourself in our shoes and look at it from our side for a minute.”

  Holding his breath, Carl waited for a response. “I'm not lying!” Aaron shouted, sounded like he was somewhere to the right.

  Carl veered in that direction, treading lightly, trying not to make a lot of noise. Crack. Clumsy oaf broke a damn branch. He tried to cover his mistake by talking some more: “Hold on. I didn't say you were. What I am saying though is we can only investigate a crime if there's evidence of one and, well…”

  “I know what I saw. Someone must have taken the bodies.”

  Carl's face appeared strained as he attempted to locate Aaron's voice, which seemed to be bouncing off every tree. “Then there's no sense wasting any more time looking for them out here, right?”