by Ray Garton
Roger whistled a lively tune as he walked out, leaving Falczek in the large room alone.
Commercials played on the speakers. Falczek folded his arms across his chest, unaware that he was frowning out the window, his lower lip protruding from beneath his bushy mustache. He was running over his list of contacts in his mind, wondering who he could go to with this story. At the same time, in another part of his mind, he was already writing the story, even though he didn’t have all the information he needed. Even without having all the facts, he knew it was big. A major drug company pulling a drug from a market when it knew damned well the withdrawal effects that could result—that was big. And ugly.
Of course, he’d have to live long enough to write it.
His mouth was dry and he walked over to the bar to find something to drink. There was a small refrigerator behind it and he opened it, bent down a little and looked inside. Soda water, fruit juices, some cans of 7-Up and Coke. He grabbed a Coke and closed the refrigerator. A second after he cracked the can open, he heard Roger shout from somewhere in the house.
“Jesus Christ, Falczek! Falczek!”
Falczek put the soda on the bar, hurried across the room, and out the door.
“Holy Christ!” Roger said, his voice high with distress.
Falczek turned left outside the rec room and followed Roger’s voice. The hallway turned left up ahead and he rounded the corner. Roger was up ahead, coming toward him with mouth open, eyes frantic, blood on his hands.
“He’s been shot!” Roger said, coughing the words out as if they’d been caught in his throat. “Everett’s been shot!”
Falczek was hit with a bone-deep chill. “Shot?”
“Yeah,” Roger said, holding his bloody hands out before him, palms up. He gulped loudly, then said in a harsh rasp, “He’s dead.”
Suddenly, there was a man standing between them. He had stepped out of a door to Falczek’s left—a bedroom or a closet or something, Falczek wasn’t sure. Red hair, unremarkable clothes, kind of thick in the middle. And he held a gun equipped with a silencer.
Falczek nearly fell on his face coming to a halt.
The stranger turned his back to Falczek and raised his gun toward Roger.
Falczek began to walk backwards with increasing speed as the gun fired once, then again—two muffled, popping ffutt sounds.
As Roger dropped to the floor, Falczek turned around and broke into a run.
Chapter 19
A Change of Plans
1.
“Where are you going?” Sid said angrily as Chloe headed out of the studio.
“I have to leave,” Chloe said, heading toward the door to exit the studio.
Sid waved his arms as he said, “Oh, sure, just come in here and fuck up the entire afternoon and then run away!”
At the door, Chloe nearly ran into Melora, one of the receptionists, as she came in.
“The phones are having a meltdown,” Melora said to Sid. She was a short, plump middle-aged black woman who was rather excitable, and right now, she was very excited. “People want to know what the hell’s going on in here. We even got a call from somebody at the police department asking if we needed help. And we’re getting more calls about Paaxone than a pharmacy.”
Sid pressed his fingertips to his forehead and winced as he massaged it, as if trying to hold back a headache. “Uh... tell them... just tell them it’s a misunderstanding for now. Or that we’re... we’re... oh, just tell them you’re not sure.”
“I’m not sure,” Melora said. She turned to Chloe. “I mean, I heard everything you said, but I don’t know what’s going on!”
“Fine, then, you won’t be lying,” Sid said. He put both hands on his hips and turned to Chloe. As Melora left the studio, he said, “What the hell is going on with you, Chloe? Do you know the kind of lawsuits we could get hit with now? Do you know the kind of trouble you might have—”
”I don’t have time for this right now,” she said, hurrying by Sid. “Eli’s in trouble.” Sid continued to talk to her as she walked out, but she paid no attention to him. She ran down the hall, around the corner and out the rear door into the windy heat.
As she was getting into the car, her cell phone chirped in her purse. The sound startled her as she dropped into the car seat. She reached into the purse and fumbled around frantically, afraid it might be Eli and that he might hang up before she answered.
“Hello?” she said too loudly.
“Chloe? What the hell is going on over there?”
It was a woman. Before she even identified the voice, Chloe’s entire body sagged with disappointment.
“Chloe? Are you there?” It was Anna Hayworth, the news director at Channel 5.
“Hi, Anna. Um, look, I can’t talk right now, I’m sorry, but I’m on my way—”
She stopped talking, frowned. She remembered Falczek standing at the table in Roger’s dining room.
Seems to me our biggest mistake would be to stay quiet about this, he’d said, and we’ve got the ability to make a little noise.
When Chloe said nothing more after stopping mid-sentence, Anna said, “Is everything okay? We’ve been listening over here and... well, obviously something very weird just happened over there. What was that you were saying about Paaxone and Braxton-Carville? Was that... well, was that serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack, Anna. People are dying because of this. They’re killing others and sometimes themselves.”
Anna said nothing for a moment. “You, uh... sure you’re okay, Chloe?”
She thinks I’ve been drinking, Chloe thought. She closed her eyes and took a breath to keep the frustration and anger she felt out of her voice.
“You don’t have to believe me,” she said. “Do you know John Falczek? He’s a retired investigative journalist. Used to work for—”
”Yeah, the Washington Post. I’ve met him.”
“He’s got this story, and he’s dying to tell it to somebody.”
“Doesn’t he want to write it himself?”
“He doesn’t know if he’ll live long enough. Somebody’s already tried to kill him for what he knows.”
Another pause, then with skepticism, Anna said, “Look, Chloe, I hope I’m not out of line, but have you been—”
”No, I have not been drinking! And if you don’t believe me, call Falczek. He’ll tell you.”
“Do you have his cell number?”
“No, I don’t, but he’s at Roger Dreyfuss’s house right now.” She gave Anna Roger’s number. “Please call him. And do it now. Don’t wait.” She lowered the phone and started to hang up, but stopped and thought a moment. She put the phone to her ear again and said, “Anna, will you do me a favor? I’m not positive, but I suspect Eli will be driving over to Butter Creek, if he hasn’t already.”
“Butter Creek? Where’s that?”
“It’s north of Hemlock Drive. You know, in the Woodlawn District?”
“Most of Woodlawn’s been evacuated.”
“What?”
Anna chuckled. “You’ve been on the radio, but you haven’t been listening to it. The wind has moved the fire into the woods north of the Woodlawn neighborhood. Firefighters are on Silk Tree Lane, on the other side of the woods to the north, trying to contain it before it reaches the houses, but most of that area has been evacuated in the last hour.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Chloe breathed.
“What did you want me to do?”
Chloe had to think a moment to remember what she’d been saying. “Call the police. Tell them that Eli is probably at Butter Creek in those woods, and if he’s not, he will be soon. Tell them he’s their BOLO from Park Marina.”
“Their BOLO?”
“They’ll know what you’re talking about. I’ve gotta go.” She severed the connection, dropped the phone into the seat and started the car. Her tires squealed on the pavement as she raced out of the parking lot and headed for Butter Creek.
2.
Eli expected t
o relax a little once he turned onto Hemlock. He thought the familiar surroundings would calm him, if only a little. But that did not happen. He hoped he would feel differently once he got to Butter Creek. He pressed on the accelerator, increased his speed.
Chloe was no longer talking on the radio. There were other sounds, but he couldn’t focus on them enough to figure them out. He found it difficult to think about Chloe, to hold her in his mind. It hurt in two places—in his head and in his chest.
He drove down the street so fast that he did not notice how empty it was. There were no cars parked on the curbs or in driveways. There were no people in the yards. Nor did he notice that the smoke that had been in the air all summer long had grown thicker in this part of town. In spite of the blowing wind that made it roil and shift, the smoke grew thicker still as he drove down Hemlock toward his childhood home on the left.
Where the house once stood there remained only a vacant lot. Eli had sold it years ago. The man who bought it had planned to build a new house, but he’d died, and ownership had passed to someone else in his family. Eli knew nothing beyond that, only that no house had ever been built. Normally when he drove down this street and passed that empty space where he’d grown up, he experienced feelings of sadness and loss. Now, he was too full of fear and anxiety for there to be any room for other feelings.
Just beyond the empty lot was a dirt road that led into the woods to the north. Eli turned off of Hemlock and the car jostled over the bumps and potholes. The road had not been used in a long time and was only vaguely visible through the weeds and thistles that had grown over it. The car rocked as he drove too fast down the dusty, stony road. On each side was a small stretch of tall, dry, yellow weeds that shimmered in the wind. Up ahead loomed the dense patch of trees that formed the small forest in which Eli had spent so much of his boyhood: Oaks and a few pines and furs that were agitated by the wind. The spaces between the trees were dark with smoke. For years, he’d expected this grove to be cleared and developed, but there it stood, thicker than ever.
He fidgeted and squirmed in the seat, gripping the wheel as if for life. His head swirled inside with a tornado of painful thoughts and emotions. Chief among those emotions was fear. He breathed rapidly, chest rising and falling, as if he’d been running. His gut was tense and cramped with anxiety, stress, the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.
The road ended at the edge of the woods. He stopped the car, put it in park, set the brake, and killed the engine. Leaving the key in the ignition, he buried his face in his trembling hands, scrubbed it with his palms a few times. Once again, he imagined the creek in his mind. He would be alone there, safe and peaceful.
Eli opened the door and the alarm went off signaling that the key was still in the ignition. He stopped, leaned over and reached down to the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. His hand closed on Roger’s cold, hard .45. He clutched it in his hand as he got out, closed the door and headed into the woods for the creek.
3.
Falczek ducked back into the rec room. He did not know the layout of the house and it was the only room he knew. Once inside, he spun around to close the door, but it was an open doorway. There was no door.
Calm, be calm, and think, don’t panic.
“Now that we’re back,” Russ Campbell said, his voice sounding throughout the house on the system of concealed speakers, “I want to give you a real fire report. And by the way, I apologize for the nonsense that just happened. The northern half of the Woodlawn District has been evacuated. Firefighters are working on the blaze in the grove of trees at the north end of that neighborhood, but the wind isn’t helping. I suspect an evacuation of the rest of Woodlawn will be announced soon, but that’s not official. Now, I’d like to take your calls. We’ve been discussing the troops in Afghanistan.... “
He looked around for a weapon. Something—anything. His eyes fell on the rack of pool cues on the wall across the room. He ran to the rack, took one of the cues, and hurried back to the door. He pressed himself against the wall to the right of the door and held the narrow end of the cue like a club, the heavy butt poised to strike.
Listening, he heard nothing. The carpet in the hall was plush and silenced any footsteps.
He waited, afraid the pounding of his heart was audible out in the hall.
4.
So far, this was a little messier than Rubinek preferred. The house was bigger than he’d expected. He had no idea how many people were in it or where they were, so when he was done with these guys, he’d have to make a complete tour and find everybody.
Why? he thought. Why all of them suddenly?
A man’s voice sounded all through the house. It sounded like some radio talk show host, one of the right-wing ranters. He ignored it as he headed down the hall away from the man he’d just shot.
Important enough for me to put a stop to him, Gall had said.
Me, not us, Rubinek thought.
He told himself to stop it as he rounded the corner to the right after the man who had run. He’d only glimpsed the man, but it was enough to see that he was the man pictured in the folder Gall had given him: John Falczek.
I’m still gathering information about the subject, Gall had said.
I’m, not we’re, Rubinek thought.
He stopped just around the corner and took a moment to collect his thoughts, to focus on his job. But he couldn’t.
If necessary, heads will roll, Senator Veltman had said, and that made Arnold Shipp’s severed head flash in Rubinek’s memory.
Something about this isn’t right and you know it, Rubinek told himself, his own voice speaking quietly inside his head.
He closed his eyes and thought about the moon. A glowing disk in the night sky. He pictured it in his mind and concentrated on it intensely, making everything else in his mind dissolve slowly until it was gone. Then he infused that glowing disk with the task at hand, made it his job, his purpose in this house.
Once he was focused, Rubinek opened his eyes and continued down the hall.
5.
Well before she got to the Woodlawn District, Chloe could see the smoke billowing up from the fire in the woods north of Hemlock. Surely Eli would see the smoke, too, and would stay away. Wouldn’t he?
Unless he’s too confused and afraid to think that clearly, she thought.
Chloe debated whether to go down Hemlock and take the dirt road Eli had shown her or if she should go down Silk Tree Lane north of the woods where firefighters were working on the blaze. She knew Eli wouldn’t go there—he’d head straight for the dirt road off of Hemlock—but maybe she should alert the firefighters to the fact that someone was in that patch of woods, someone who might not be in his right mind. But what if she went to the firefighters on Silk Tree first and it turned out that Eli hadn’t gone to Butter Creek after all? She had to make sure.
Shortly before she got to Hemlock, she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a police car following her.
6.
Rocks and gravel crunched between Eli’s shoes and the dry, hard ground, but all he heard was the rushing sound of fear in his head, the thought storm that raged between his ears. He walked uncertainly among the trees, wandering a bit as he tried to get his bearings. He didn’t hear the secretive voices of the wind in the tree branches. Nor did he hear the rustling and staccato movements of more than the usual number of small animals rushing through the weeds and foliage. He tried to keep his mind focused on getting to the creek, but it wasn’t easy. He felt dizzy and wove a serpentine path through the trees, stopping now and then to lean against a trunk.
He did hear a siren. It was distant but distinct. He stopped and tried to concentrate on it, tried to determine how close it was and if it were coming closer. A rush of fear moved through him as he thought of that woman who’d been in his car. Who was she? Where had she come from?
Each thought was met with needles of pain in his head. He clutched the gun in his right hand so hard that his knuckles
ached.
A prostitute—yes, that’s right, a prostitute he’d met... where? In a bar. The bar he’d been in earlier. He couldn’t remember the name. And he’d kicked her out of the car because she’d been screaming out the window for help and would have drawn the attention of the police if he hadn’t gotten rid of her.
But what if she had? What if she’d gone to the police and they’d tracked him here to this spot? What if that siren were coming from a police car—or two or three—on the way to find him right now?
Fear made him keep moving. The possibility of danger made him determined to get—where was he going?
Ah, yes, the creek.
His eyes burned and filled with tears and he wasn’t sure why. As he walked, he began to cough, but hardly noticed.
He heard his name being called. At first, he thought it was inside his head, but he slowly realized it was an exterior sound, that someone really was calling him. But even then, his awareness of it remained tenuous, vague. He would hear it, and then forget about it. He did not recognize the voice.
Eli kept walking into the thickening smoke, looking for the creek.
7.
Falczek tensed when a shadow fell through the doorway of the rec room.
The shadow shifted as the figure in the hall moved closer. As the shape came through the doorway, Falczek spotted the gun and reacted instantly. He swung the pool cue like a baseball bat with all his strength.
The man in the doorway reacted swiftly and brought his right arm up in defense. The cue connected with his forearm with a crack. Falczek did not stop with the cue. He followed it with himself, launching his body at the man in a desperate attempt to knock him down. Once the man was down, Falczek hoped he’d be able to get the gun from him.