Get Real

by Erik Carter

  “I would not label it as a partnership. Not in the slightest.”

  “Why’s that?” Yorke said.

  “Because my mission is to get the truth out, and Jones said he could help. He was never meant to be more than an assistant. At first, he was finding locations with connections to Abe Ruef, but soon it was evident that he was more concerned with this Alfonsi character he kept mentioning. He claimed that the two of them—Ruef and Alfonsi—are connected. And I realized that he was attempting to mutiny my mission. He was trying to take it over for his own means.”

  “And how did you meet Mr. Jones?” Dale said. “How long have you two known each other?”

  Fair looked away, puzzled. “Well, isn’t that curious now. I… I do not know.”

  Dale and Yorke stood in the opposite room, looking through the backside of the two-way mirror at Fair, who was alone at the table in the interrogation room.

  “Kimble was using Felix to attack Angelo Alfonsi. But we also know that Felix robbed an Alfonsi bank months before he met Kimble at the mental hospital. Which means somehow Felix was already starting down the path of confusing Alfonsi for Ruef, and Kimble took full advantage of it,” Dale said. “The real question is why is Kimble attacking the Alfonsis? You told me that you and Beau were together during Kimble’s arrest and trial for the Red Riding Hood case. Did Beau ever say anything about Kimble that could shed some light?”

  “Nothing connecting Kimble and the Alfonsis. But he used to tell me that if something bad ever happened to him, to make sure that Kimble hadn’t broken out of the hospital,” she said with a smile. “He said that jokingly, of course, but it seemed eerie to me when Kimble actually did break out.”

  She laughed.

  Dale wasn’t laughing, though. Something felt too prophetic about that sentiment.

  “But Kimble was a child-killer,” Dale said. “What would Beau have to fear?”

  “It weirded him out, having been such good friends with the guy—then finding out he’d been friends with a psycho.”

  “Maybe Beau was more than just ‘weirded out.’ Maybe he was trying to warn you about Kimble.” Dale pointed to the window, toward Fair. “If we’re going to find out what Kimble’s next move is, we need to talk to Jonathan not to Felix.”

  “And how the hell are we gonna do that?”

  Dale knew exactly how they were going to do it.

  “We need to find the one person who can get through to him. We need to bring in the sister.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  There was the clatter of dishes, and Jane awoke with a jolt.

  Where was she?

  The smell of coffee. People surrounded her. Clanging plates and bowls, silverware. Daylight through the window. Traffic beyond.

  She was in a coffee shop. A small, busy place. Blue-collar.

  She remembered. She’d come here after the madness in Chinatown. After seeing her brother. And his not recognizing her. She’d needed something warm to drink. Something to calm her nerves.

  All around her there was a feeling of excitement, much more so than one would normally find in a coffee shop in the late afternoon. And Jane knew why. They were discussing her brother, his capture. The story had spread already. She heard John’s name through dozens of voices interspersed through the sounds of spoons and smoker coughs and laughter.

  Jonathan Fair. Jonathan Fair.

  The waitress walked up to her. She had a funny look on her face. “You all right, ma’am?”

  The waitress must have seen that Jane had nodded off. Humiliating. Jane wondered how many other people in the coffee shop had noticed.

  Jane smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” the waitress said and walked off.

  Jane wrapped her hands around the coffee mug on the table in front of her and took a sip. It was still piping hot. She hadn’t been asleep long.

  She scanned the shop for a clock. There was one on the wall behind the counter.

  5:03.

  She thought this through. She’d arrived at the shop at about twenty till. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes.

  Good.

  There was a small, color TV mounted high on the wall beside the clock. The evening news was playing. A photo of her brother showed on the screen. She couldn’t hear over the noise of the coffee shop, so she snaked her way through the tables and went to the counter. She sat on a stool beside a large man in a red flannel shirt and trucker cap who gave her the eye. She ignored him.

  The image of her brother was replaced by footage of a blonde woman in a polo shirt standing on the steps of the San Francisco Hall of Justice. Text appeared on the bottom of the screen, and it read:

  LIVE

  DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL HANNA YORKE

  “This is a direct plea to Jane Logan,” the woman said.

  Another still image appeared on the screen.

  It was a photo of Jane.

  Younger days. College. Jane still had her natural hair color, reddish-brown.

  “As you’ve surely heard, Miss Logan, your brother has been apprehended. We need you to come in. We understand that you’ve been in seclusion for some time, but you’re the only one who can help us get through to Jonathan.”

  Jane’s image disappeared, replaced by Yorke again.

  “Please come to the San Francisco Hall of Justice. Time is of the essence.”

  Footage of Yorke was replaced by the news desk. Two anchors. A man and a woman. The man spoke.

  “Believe it or not, there is other news beside the Jonathan Fair capture in San Francisco today. This morning, the mayor’s office…”

  He continued with the story as Jane walked back to her table, keeping her eyes forward, wondering if anyone had seen past her new hair color and recognized her from the news report.

  They wanted her to come in. To meet with the police. If she did so, she’d risk exposing herself to her father. He would certainly have men monitoring the activities at the Hall of Justice. It would also be the first time in seven years that she’d be admitting to anyone that she was Jane Fair—that she was anyone other than Jane Logan, a woman who had grown up in California and moved to Kansas to become a school counselor.

  Could she do it?

  One thing was certain—she couldn’t stay in the coffee shop. She threw a couple dollars on the table and rushed out.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Marco stood with his brother in his father’s office. He was happy and proud to be invited to such an important and exclusive meeting, but his conscience wasn’t letting him enjoy it.

  Papà stood behind his desk, facing large windows that were framed by long, velvet drapes, and he looked out upon the lush estate beyond. His hands were clasped behind his back. He hadn’t spoken for nearly a full minute.

  Marco and Matt exchanged a look.

  Marco’s stomach was in knots. He began to sweat. He knew this was all his fault.

  Because of the plan he’d enacted.

  Finally Papà turned back around. He looked at Matt.

  “How many men were killed?”

  “Five,” Matt said gravely. “All within an hour of each other.”

  Papà slowly took in a breath and released it. “First, Beau Lawton’s raids captured thirty men. And now Big Paul killed five more. Boys, this…” He paused. “This is the greatest test this family has ever faced. To this point, our rivalry with the Fairs has remained as cordial as can be expected. But now… Now Big Paul has turned this into a war. And we have to destroy him. So—”

  Marco couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Papà, this is my fault.”

  Papà’s lips parted. “What?”

  Marco became lightheaded. He didn’t think he could get the words out. He felt like a child, working up the courage to admit a transgression.

  But he forced the words out.

  “Papà… It was me. I hired El Vacío.”

  Beside hi
m, Matt gasped.

  Papà’s face grew pale. For only a moment. Then his green eyes went dark.

  “What?”

  Marco’s mouth shook as he tried to form more words. “I… I thought if I hired him to kill Jonathan Fair it would show you what I’m capable of. To take out the guy everyone’s looking for. Big Paul’s son. I thought… you’d be proud of me.”

  Papà sprang from behind the desk. His arm swung at Marco’s head and cracked his ear. A flash of pain, a loud pop, and then ringing. Loud and total ringing. Marco fell into the chair behind him and landed on the hardwood floor.

  He looked up. Papà’s face was red, screaming. Marco couldn’t hear his words. Only the ringing. Matt was holding Papà back as he thrashed toward Marco.

  Marco got to his knees—his legs shaking badly—then back onto his feet. He took a half step back, kept his arms up, ready to shield himself.

  Papà’s initial rage had slightly subsided, but Matt still kept a restrictive hand on his shoulder.

  Marco’s hearing faded back in. “…and you can’t imagine the damage you’ve brought to this family, this entire goddamn city, you stupid shit!”

  Matt eased Papà back. His father took several deep breaths grabbed his glass of wine from the desk and downed it. He slammed it down, and the stem snapped. The glass rolled off the desk, shattering on the floor.

  Papà took a couple more breaths as he stared at Marco.

  Marco’s ear burned, and he felt defeated. Small. Childish. Embarrassed. Yet he also felt a bit of betrayal. This was supposed to be his moment of redemption, after all. His chance to shine. But he knew that he had to obey his father in this situation. Marco had never seen him this angry. Marco needed to heed every single word his father said.

  “You’ve gotten our family into this predicament, Marco,” Papà said. “And you’re going to get us out of it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jane pushed her way past the last of the people and through the doors of the Hall of Justice. The experience was more jarring than she’d thought it would be. So many people. Crazy people with signs, wearing costumes. And reporters. They were still shouting her name—her old name—as the doors closed.

  Jane Fair!

  Miss Fair!

  She took a deep breath as she entered the lobby. A man and a woman approached. The man was dressed in a pair of Levi’s with a light brown, button-up shirt. Very handsome with a beard. The woman was blonde and tall, muscly yet pretty. It was the woman from the newscast, the one who had summoned her here.

  “Thank you for coming,” the man said. He pointed to the crowd, still swarming behind the glass doors. “I hope they were gentler with you than they were with me. Grabbed me all over. I still feel violated. I’m a gentleman, after all. Sheesh.”

  Jane laughed. She liked the guy already. Most people would try to disarm a tense situation by offering a styrofoam cup of cheap coffee or reciting a platitude. But he just came right in with cheesy jokes. He also had a voice that was commanding but reassuring.

  “I’ll survive,” she said with a smile.

  The man extended a hand. “I’m Tim Melbourne with the FBI. This is my associate, Hanna Yorke, U.S. Marshals.”

  After Jane shook their hands, Melbourne continued.

  “We’ll go upstairs now and see your brother. I hope it’s not too shocking for you.”

  But it was a shock, seeing John on the other side of the glass. After all those months.

  Jane stood at the backside of a two-way mirror with Melbourne and Yorke and looked at her brother, sitting alone at a table in a stark white interrogation room.

  He stared forward, a blank expression on his face. His skin looked pale, unhealthy. His shaggy hair was dull and frazzled. And his eyes were tired… and disturbed. Even confused. It broke Jane’s heart.

  Yorke spoke. “He’s been speaking only as Felix. We’ve tried to get him to bring out Jonathan, but he claims he doesn’t know that name or any of the other personalities. It’s as though Felix has chosen to block the others out entirely.”

  Jane sighed. “I can believe that. I’ve met Felix before. Only once. Right before John left, cross-country from Kansas, to come back here to California to commit the first crime.

  Melbourne stepped closer to her. “How did it happen?”

  Jane washed her hands in the kitchen sink and admired the small river stones in the backsplash. They mirrored the larger stones on the house’s exterior. It was a classy touch. Jane loved attention to detail. And she loved everything about her little cottage-style house in Topeka. It was her place over the rainbow. Her escape. She’d finally gotten herself and John somewhere safe and secure.

  She called out to him as she dried her hands. “Find any more intriguing info?”

  There was no reply.

  She finished drying her hands and walked out to the dining room table where she’d left John going over his stacks of research material as he continued to delve deeper into his conspiracy theory about a cover-up to the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

  And when she saw him, she nearly jumped back.

  It was something about his expression. Something different in his eyes. It wasn’t sinister … just different. Very different from her brother. And when he spoke to her, Jane’s suspicion was confirmed.

  It was a brand-new personality.

  John tilted his head, squinted his eyes, confused.

  “I apologize, madame. Do you work at this establishment?”

  The voice was very old-fashioned sounding. And affected, kind of over-the-top, almost cheesy.

  For a moment, Jane didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure how to respond. There hadn’t been a new alter since John first split. She didn’t know how to handle it. And she certainly didn’t understand what he meant by asking her if she worked at an establishment.

  So she just said, “Yes … Yes, I do.”

  “I see. Then I must ask you to leave.”

  “Why?” Jane said as she slowly, cautiously walked closer to him.

  John suddenly bolted out of his seat, making Jane jump. He leaned over the table, spreading his arms out.

  “Because I cannot have you seeing these materials. Not until I’m prepared to release them to the public. I do hope you understand.”

  Jane thought for a moment, wondered how to proceed.

  “What’s your name?” she said.

  “Felix Lyons,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Now, I must ask you to leave. I have an agreement with the owner to use these facilities exclusively. “

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jane said. “I live here.”

  John laughed heartily. “You live in a restaurant? You are a humorous individual, madame.”

  Jane stepped a bit closer to him.

  “I mean you no harm, Mr. Lyons. Why don’t we—”

  John leaned farther over his materials and slammed his hand down on the table with a loud crack.

  Again, Jane jumped. She stopped in her tracks.

  “Dammit, woman! I have been cordial with you to this point. This is your final request to leave. Pray I do not lose my patience.”

  John’s face had gone red, and there was a bit of sweat on his brow. He was simmering, nearing a boil.

  John was a sweet man, and Jane had never seen him nor any of his other personalities this angry. She’d been caring for John and his condition her entire mature life, since shortly after the two of them reached puberty. And she’d never felt frightened of John or the alters.

  Until now.

  John’s eyes bored into her with fire. His hands were on the table, a slight bend in his elbows, and his whole frame quivered. She started to slowly back away from him.

  But then the rage in his eyes disappeared.

  Vanished.

  He quickly sat back down at the table. His face went blank, his features softening dramatically. He blinked, and now his eyes were big—open and curious—innocent. He spoke.

  “Janey?” His voice was small, squeaky.
Like a tiny child. Because that’s what he was.

  He’d switched to Andy.

  “I think I lost some time again,” he said. He paused for a moment, looked around the room. Then he rubbed a fist into his eye and yawned.

  Jane’s body was shaky from her experience with Felix Lyons. She leaned against the counter behind her, gathered her resolve.

  John stood up, walked over to her. Even though she knew he was Andy now, her instinct made her jump back.

  “I’m sooooo hungry. Can I have some candy?”

  Jane took a deep breath and walked to the towel she’d just used to dry her hands. She wiped her face with it.

  “Not right now,” she said.

  John stepped up to her. “Pleeeeease! I really want candy.”

  He bounced on the balls of his feet.

  “I said, not right now.”

  Jane liked to think she had a good deal of patience, but if she was being honest with herself, she knew that sometimes Andy’s baby-talk annoyed her. She understood that her brother couldn’t help it—she’d lived with his condition for years, studied it at school and on her own—but at times the Andy voice seemed absurd to her, making her wish he would just knock it off.

  And right now her heart was still racing from this new alter she’d met.

  Felix Lyons certainly wasn’t evil. No person that came out of John’s personality could be evil. If anything, Felix seemed passionate, and evidently his passion was this historical conspiracy John had been researching the last few years. But Felix was more forceful than John. Much more forceful. Maybe that’s why John’s mind had created him—a more forceful personality to pursue this quest of historical correction, something that John’s meeker personality couldn’t do.

  And Jane knew that while passionate people weren’t often evil, they could certainly be dangerous. Jane didn’t know what to do about this new personality, Felix.