8-Track

by L. J. Lahage

  “Bill,” Eli replied.

  “Bill? How do you know it was him?”

  “I asked her who did this, she said Bill’s name. Also the boathouse door was open.”

  “So?” Vanessa asked shaking her head.

  “Bill was the only one that had a key,” Sig said in a low voice.

  Vanessa placed her hand over her mouth, speaking through her fingers. “I told her, you don’t know that boy. Where’s Bill now?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve called his house twice, but there’s no answer.”

  An older man wearing a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck exited Sam’s room. Vanessa read his name tag and tried not to stare at his obvious comb over, Dr. Pappier.

  “Is this the mother?” the doctor asked Eli.

  “Yes, I’m the mother. Is my daughter going to be all right?”

  The doctor put his chubby hand up in a stopping gesture.

  “Your daughter’s going to be fine. Samantha has a mild concussion and a fractured radius, that’s all. I’ve given her some medication in case of any swelling in the brain. We also gave her a mild sedative to help her sleep. Samantha’s going to be out for a while but she’ll be fine.” Dr. Pappier put a reassuring hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to go in and sit with her.”

  Vanessa hugged him. “Thank you.”

  “It could have been a lot worse, she's very lucky,” Dr. Pappier replied looking at his clipboard and entering another room.

  “Where’s Sam’s car?” Vanessa asked bringing her hand to her forehead.

  “It’s at the lake house. Sig and I will go get it.”

  “What about Bill, shouldn’t we call the police?” Vanessa asked raising her voice. Eli looked at her squarely, a short silence fell between them. Vanessa knew that look in Eli’s icy blue eyes, what they meant, one way or another Bill was receiving a comeuppance.

  Eli escorted Vanessa to Sam’s room and then slipped outside to speak with Sig in the parking lot. “After we bring Sam’s car back, I want you to go to his house. If he’s not there, wait. When he arrives, come and get me.”

  ***

  Hubble was still seething when he turned into a Howard Johnson’s. With his chin and shirt covered in dried blood, he had to get cleaned up before getting on the highway. Reaching for the rear view mirror he angled it downward. Tacky crimson red spots lay across his green undershirt. His lower lip was now swollen to twice its size, a crusty red scab had already formed in the center of the gash, and it hurt like hell. He smiled revealing his now chipped front tooth. That fucking bitch, I hope she’s dead.

  Clutching his duffel bag Hubble noticed his hands. They were sticky and looked like they had been submerged in beet juice. He got out of the truck carrying the bag with him. A young couple coming from the opposite direction noticed his face and gawked at him. Hubble shot them a loathing stare, causing them to quickly turn their heads.

  Entering the motel lobby Hubble bee-lined it to the men’s room. He checked to see if he was alone before locking the bathroom door. The white porcelain sink slowly turned rusty brown as Hubble scrubbed the dried blood off his face and hands. Moving rapidly he changed his shirt, washed up and left no trace of his ever being there.

  Questions began to percolate like that giant coffee maker at the prison. Getting back on the highway he could only wonder, how much fucking time do I have? Did Eli’s car kill Sam? How long until they figure something out? Shit, for all I know they could be coming for me right now. Gotta stay calm, with any luck Sam’s dead. Be in Miami in twenty-four hours, just need to fucking stay calm.

  More than anything, Hubble craved a fix. The pull to lose himself in a drug haze seized him hard. Stick to the plan, stick to the plan, almost home free.

  ***

  The sky over Conway was a burnt orange haze when Bill finally got home. What was normally a two and a half hour commute took close to four hours with the traffic. With bone crushing exhaustion he got out of the Jeep and stretched, his eyes felt heavy, like weights had been strapped to both lids. The only thing Bill could think about as he unlocked the front door was a hot shower and some sleep.

  Feeling like he had just stepped into a sauna, Bill cranked a few windows open and turned on the ceiling fan in his bedroom. The number three was flashing on his answering machine.

  “Hey it’s me, we left Eli’s house early cause of the rain. I hope you had a good day and got lots done. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. Hope to see you soon.”

  The next two messages clicked right through. Must have been the wrong number.

  Hot water from the shower head felt refreshing, scrubbing his body Bill could feel the grime washing away. His father’s company had been exactly what the doctor ordered. Ben was never one to say something just for the sake of it. It was one of his father’s best qualities. Maybe it’s fate his father told him. Perhaps he was right, Bill thought while drying off and putting on a pair of clean boxers.

  Looking out the French doors Bill could see the sun setting, a thin yellow sliver of it hung in the sky. It cast long shadows across the vaulted ceiling.

  ***

  Eli was sitting at his kitchen table when he heard a hard knock on the door. Knowing who it was he got up to answer it.

  “Hey,” Sig said wiping his feet.

  “Bitty made Tempura, you hungry?”

  “No thanks, I ate on the way over. Where’s Bitty?”

  “Most likely in bed reading, let’s go outside.”

  Blue light from the Zap-n-Trap hanging off the pergola fell across Sig’s forehead revealing his high widow’s peak.

  “Whatcha got?” Eli asked pulling his hair down.

  “He’s home.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “Yeah, his back door was unlocked and there’s something else.” Eli crossed his arms.

  “He’s got a barn outback.”

  ***

  Vanessa had stayed at the hospital the remainder of the day in hopes that her daughter would awake, she didn’t. Tired and mentally exhausted she went home to unwind. Sipping her rum and Coke she thought for a long while in her brown corduroy Lazy Boy recliner.

  The glass in her right hand was now empty leaving a damp water mark on the arm of the chair. Sam’s words came to mind, “I’ve gotten to know him, more than you. He’s genuine.” How could Sam be so wrong?

  The house was silent and felt deserted without her there. Vanessa got up to turn on the TV, but not before making herself another drink. Passing the kitchen table she glanced at Sam’s pocketbook laying on it. Vanessa had brought it in earlier when Eli and Sig returned Sam’s car.

  The Six Million Dollar Man was on, Vanessa smiled, Sam loves this show. Sipping her drink Vanessa felt something, almost tugging her. Putting the glass down, she turned her head back at the kitchen table. Sam’s tan Buckskin pocketbook. Standing up, she crept towards it and drew open the bag.

  Vanessa removed her daughter’s hair brush, a compact, wallet and an 8-track tape. Loose change, Wrigley’s spearmint gum and a few Revlon makeup pencils lay scattered on the bottom. With tired, heavy eyes she viewed the items, then noticed something.

  There were numbers written in blue pen on the back cover of the tape, it was a phone number. Vanessa read the number several times, it wasn’t anyone she knew. Turning the cartridge over she saw a white piece of paper sticking out of the jacket sleeve. Taking it out she opened it and read the letter.

  If Sam had these feelings for Bill, then why would he go after her? It just didn’t make any sense. Vanessa knew what a good judge of character Sam was. One question slowly rose to the surface above all others. What if Sam wasn’t with Bill? What if she was going there to meet him but came across someone else?

  The temperature in the house felt like it had just risen ten degrees as Vanessa picked up the phone and dialed Eli’s number.

  ***

  Bill lay down on his new latex and foam rubber mattress and sprawled out. His bo
dy and mind were tired. He closed his eyes. The constant humming from the white ceiling fan spinning above placed him in a hypnotic state. His thoughts turned to her while falling asleep. He admired Sam’s candidness, her honesty. She was smart, artistic, sexy and beautiful. Those hazel eyes coming down the hall to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s going on” were mesmerizing. Picturing her he felt an attraction that was undeniable.

  Bill was almost asleep when a creak in the hallway roused him. With his eyes still shut he smiled and expected to see her when he opened them. Instead he saw two shadowy figures wearing ski masks. Groggy and alarmed Bill reached for the Louisville Slugger behind his mattress. Unable to reach it in time, a hard blow to the back of his head made everything go dark.

  Coming too, Bill’s head throbbed. The pain was reminiscent of an accidental slap shot from Mike Dunlea in the fifth grade. Everything was spinning when he opened his eyes to darkness. There was some sort of sack over his head. Feeling the dry burlap rubbing against his face, he tried to speak but couldn’t. A rag, pungent with the taste of gasoline, was stuffed in his mouth. It made him nauseous. The tops of his bare feet were dragging across warm dirt, someone quite strong was carrying him, effortlessly. He tried to move his hands but they were tied behind his back, his legs bound together above the knees. Who were these people, what did they want?

  Bill heard the door to his barn open, the person carrying him never broke stride going inside and up the staircase. Unfinished wooden steps slapped against the tops of his feet, each one stinging more than the last. Bill’s nearly naked body dropped like a ton of bricks as it landed on the floor. He attempted to move but felt someone grab his ankle and drag him across the sawdust laden floor.

  The granular particles of wood stuck to Bill’s sweaty body, drifting into the sack over his head. Feeling like a rag doll, he was raised up, his lower legs were straddled on a beam and bound together tightly by another man. With his eyes burning from dust he tried to yell over the rag in his mouth.

  “MMMFF,” he groaned loudly and fought against the cord binding his limbs. Listening he heard talking, too low for Bill to recognize the voices. The sound of someone tromping down the stairs resonated through the barn. Bill thought he was alone until he felt the sack plucked off his head.

  Through teary eyes which were now puffy and swollen Bill looked through the gloom. Staring at the figure before him, Bill’s face went blank with uncertainty and fear. The man sauntered over to the work bench beneath the garden window. He picked something up. Bill struggled to see through the darkness, then wished he hadn’t.

  The figure wielding the flat head screwdriver looked possessed. Bill’s heart began to beat fast. There was no hesitation or pause as the man drove the tool into Bill’s right thigh, just above the kneecap.

  Bill screamed in pain over the rag in his mouth. Blood began to spew out of the wound. The expressionless figure stood up and removed the rag from Bill’s mouth. Gagging, Bill forced down the vomit threatening to spill out. Leaning in the man whispered in Bill’s ear.

  “You thought you could just move up here and do as you please? Leave this state while you’re still breathing. I don’t wanna have any quarrels with the man upstairs. If I’m wrong then let him be my judge,” the man said as he cut the cord binding Bill’s wrists and legs before walking away.

  Bill waited until he heard the door slam shut before reaching for the screwdriver buried in his thigh. Using both hands he eased it out, “Oh god, oh god,” he cried. Staggering on his feet, Bill half blindly went towards the window in hopes of finding something to tie off the wound. He could feel the warm blood snake down his leg, the sweat building on his neck. Then by the light of the moon he saw it in the distance, the Jamestown Bridge. Bill extended his arm, he reached for it before blacking out from the pain and falling to the floor with a thud.

  Eli Was His Name

  Bill faded in and out of consciousness. The threat against his life if he stayed in town brought memories of him moving to Conway. His first day in town, he could feel the sweat building on the back of his neck. Summer had arrived. The commute to the union hall in Rochester was just over an hour, barring any traffic on Route 16.

  Woodsy mountain views, flowing creeks and that old town feeling greeted Bill as he exited at Old Dover Road. The building’s brick facade had faded over the years, turning it a mauve red. Sprawling green English Ivy ran up one side, looking more like it was holding up the old structure. Bill’s father had mentioned the hall was originally built as an armory during the Second World War.

  The US and local fourteen flag fluttered in the wind as Bill pulled into the lot. He noticed an aluminum faced garage out behind the union hall. Two Caucasian men were standing by it talking. Bill parked beside a shiny black 1957 Lincoln Premiere, which he noticed was in very good condition. Both men looked over at Bill as he walked by them. The rather tall one nodded, the other man shorter, took a sip of his coffee.

  Bill opened the front door to the hall and went inside, the foul stench of cigarette smoke making him sneeze.

  “God bless you,” said an older man wearing glasses, he was sitting on a chair, hunched over reading the Boston Globe.

  “Thanks,” Bill replied.

  “Are you Bill Powers,” the person asked sitting up, extending his arm.

  “Yes,” Bill replied shaking the man’s hand.

  “Good to finally meet you. Name’s Buddy, friends call me Bud. I knew your dad years back, how’s Ben doing?”

  “He’s good, slowing down a bit, but healthy.”

  “Good to hear that, you’ll have to tell him I said hello.”

  “I will,” Bill replied.

  “All your paperwork got sent up from Middletown, so you’re good to go for work. Things are slow right now, typical with the summer coming. When September comes a knocking, things will pick back up. Just check the board regularly for posts.” Bud removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Everybody just kinda comes and goes here, I leave the doors unlocked so you’re free to come and go as you please. There’s a kitchen down back, look around and help yourself. Good to meet you and please say hi to your father for me.”

  Bill nodded. “All right then, thanks.”

  The hall was L-shaped, plastic circular tables and folding metal chairs were scattered throughout. Bill walked around them to find The Price Is Right running on a twelve inch black and white Zenith TV in the kitchen. The air conditioning by the back door kicked in, giving him goose bumps. Noticing a fresh box of donuts on the counter, he took a moment to look over the choices before settling on a coconut sprinkle. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and watched the tube. A warm breeze blew in with the two men entering through the back door, they sat down at one of the tables.

  “Who owns the Lincoln outside?” Bill asked before biting into his donut.

  “It’s mine,” said the man removing a cigarette from the front pocket of his blue denim vest. He appeared to be in his late forties, wore a goatee, and long dark hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail.

  “Far out looking car,” Bill sipped his coffee.

  “Thanks,” he replied pulling out a Zippo from his jeans. Bill noticed how the man lit his cigarette, he flipped the silver lid and ran the thumbwheel over his thigh before bringing it up in one rapid motion. Finishing his donut Bill picked up his coffee and walked over.

  “My name’s Bill Powers.”

  The man smoking the cigarette reached out to shake Bill’s hand. It took Bill a moment to make out the tattoo on his right arm. Running from his wrist to just below his elbow was a cluster of finely drawn human skulls, maybe fifty or more. They were drawn in various sizes, from different angles, each one perfectly detailing the individual bones in fine black ink.

  “Names Eli, you’re the new guy right?”

  “Yep, just got up here on Friday,” Bill replied shaking his hand. The other man was broad and very muscular. He extended his thick veiny arm. Bill shook his hand which looked more like a pitcher’s mitt. />
  “Sig,” he said with a firm shake.

  “Sit down man,” Eli said taking a drag off his cigarette. Bill threw his leg over the chair and sat down.

  “Why’d ya move to New Hampshire, why not some place warm like Florida?” Sig asked sitting back.

  “I happen to be fond of this state. Growing up I spent my summers here, thought it would be a good change.”

  Both men laughed, Eli took a long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out. He ran his thumb and index finger down the sides of his close cut goatee before replying.

  “Good change huh, it’s fucking quiet up here man,” he said with a grin.

  Bill took a sip of his coffee and shrugged before speaking. “It’s quiet in Rhode Island as well.”

  “You got any family up here?” Sig asked with his thick eyebrows raised. Bill shook his head.

  “No, it’s just me.”

  “Married?” Eli asked.

  “I was. She died.”

  “Sorry,” both men responded together. Sig stood up, “I gotta run Eli, I told Melanie we’d go see Chinatown today. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around Bill.”

  “Yeah, be seeing ya.”

  “Later dude,” Eli said.

  Bill waited until the door closed behind Sig. “That guy eats his Wheaties, huh?” he said with a reserved smile.

  “Siggie was a bodybuilder, won Mr Maine in fifty-five.”

  “Oh, wow. Is Sig short for something?”

  Eli shifted and crossed his right leg over the left. “Sig is short for Sigliano, but his first name is Jimmy.” Bill nodded.

  “Gotcha.”

  “There ain't much going on right now, you looking to start working soon?” Eli asked.

  “Yeah, sooner the better, I’m one of those people who needs to stay busy.”

  “I got a side job that I’m working on in Wolfeboro, mostly guttin the inside of a house. I could use another hand, if you want the work?”