Head Shot

by Dan Ames

  "You think I am now, wait until you see how all that fresh air affects me."

  "Mmm," she said. "I like the sound of that."

  Over his shoulder, Mike saw the crew scrambling again and he figured Harwell would want him on his mark to make some lighting adjustments.

  "I gotta go, I'll see you in a bit."

  He ended the call and walked over to the craft table, where the breakfast food had now been replaced with candy. He scooped up a handful of M&Ms and realized how excited he was about the trip to Lost Lake Lodge. He was also a little scared. Because the truth was, he hadn't informed Laurie about all of the planning that had gone into the weekend, and had left out a rather significant event that would occur one night when the stars were just right and the moon was casting a gentle glow over Lost Lake.

  He was going to propose to Laurie.

  He'd spent months shopping around for just the right ring. He'd been squirreling away a little bit of money here and a little bit of money there until, along with a hefty line of credit from his bank, he'd had enough to buy her a decent rock.

  Mike walked over to the small trailer that served as headquarters for the director and the talent. He went into the bathroom and pulled the jewelry box out of his pocket. The diamond was a round solitaire, just over a carat, small by Hollywood standards but it was all he could afford and Laurie had slender hands, so it would look good in proportion, he rationalized to himself.

  The stone was set on a single gold band that featured a small curve in the middle.

  The way he looked at it, it wasn't fancy, it was elegant.

  He hoped to Christ she said yes.

  He snapped the box closed and left the trailer. Harwell was waving at him and he could see final adjustments being made to the lights and the reflectors.

  Mike's headache was going away, but his stomach was in knots.

  This could be the greatest vacation of his life, he thought to himself.

  Or it could be the worst.

  Chapter 30

  State Trooper Ken Lafferty was hopelessly lost. He braked hard at an intersection, waited for the cloud of dust to pass, then rolled down his windows.

  His GPS was out of whack. This Tomczak place was impossible to find, these back roads seemed to change names constantly. Pick a name and stick with it, Trooper Lafferty thought. It would make my job a whole lot easier.

  Lafferty had spent the majority of the day finishing paperwork on an arrest he'd made two weeks ago, and then finally had the chance to get out of the office and look into the supposed friend of the Milwaukee serial killer. They’d been alerted to the possibility by the lead homicide detective, Ray Mitchell.

  If he is up here, Lafferty reasoned, he's probably driving around trying to find the place just like I am.

  He read the address again, put the car back into drive, and turned right onto another dirt road that rose over a hill. After doubling back and spending close to twenty minutes following a road he didn't know the name of, he spotted a small house at the end of a winding two-track.

  Trooper Lafferty nosed the cruiser down the driveway, looking for signs of activity.

  He saw none.

  There were no street numbers on the outside of the house, but he spotted a small mailbox next to the front door. He opened it and found a letter from a credit card company. It was addressed to one James Tomczak.

  This was the place.

  Lafferty knocked on the front door and put his hand on the butt of his gun, which remained in its holster.

  He waited, then knocked again.

  Still no answer. He used his radio to let the dispatcher know what he was about to do.

  Lafferty pulled his flashlight from his belt and tried to peek through the living room windows, but the curtains were drawn and were too thick to give him a glimpse inside.

  He went back to the front of the house and opened the storm door. A piece of paper slipped out and landed on his black shoes.

  Gone fishing. Back in a few days.

  The state trooper taped the note back in place and closed the screen door, wondering how long ago the note had been posted.

  Lafferty went back to his squad car. He was about to climb back in when he realized that he had no idea how to get back to the main road and would probably spend another hour lost in the sticks.

  And he really had to take a piss.

  He looked behind the house and saw a small path leading back into the woods.

  He walked to the rear of the house and peeked in the windows as he passed them. The kitchen. Chairs, a table, couple of bottles of beer. The trooper continued around the house to the other side where a window, light curtains pulled across, gave him a fuzzy view of the living area of the house.

  He thought he could make out a couch or something like it, and what appeared to be a gun cabinet. Its door was open.

  Lafferty went around behind the house and saw an abandoned tractor. The woods were about fifty yards off and he headed in that direction. As he walked, he noticed slight depressions in the long grass.

  He walked into the woods and looked back to the house. Not good enough. On the odd chance someone pulled in, they could see him, and he didn't want to be the state trooper caught with his Johnson out in public.

  Lafferty walked deeper in the woods and urinated against the base of a tree. Mosquitoes buzzed around his ear. When he finished, he shook himself, zipped up, and walked to his left where a small clearing overlooked a ravine.

  A flash of white caught his eye.

  He walked down a slight depression then back up a small hill. At the top of the hill he stopped, looked down, and couldn't believe what he was seeing.

  Police in Milwaukee believed Joe Ferkovich, a serial killer, was driving a cookie truck.

  No doubt the same truck that was now sitting in a ravine less than two hundred yards from where he was standing.

  Lafferty radioed in to the dispatcher to report what he'd found.

  He concentrated on trying to sound calm.

  Chapter 31

  "Mitchell."

  "Ray, Soergel."

  Ray immediately went on guard. Benjamin Soergel rarely adopted the role of hands-on manager, he preferred to remain in the background waiting until he could decide whether to rush in and steal the success or sneak around and lay blame.

  "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked.

  "They found the truck in the U.P."

  "Where?"

  "A Jimmy Tomczak's near Rodgers Bay. I'd say it's time to hit the warpath, buddy."

  Ray ignored the jab and did some swift calculations in his mind. If he left in an hour, he would reach Rodgers Bay in four to five hours.

  "I’m on my way. Who's in control of the crime scene?"

  "The local yokels."

  "I'll scramble Casey and tell him to get his ass up there."

  Ray scribbled down a note to himself.

  "I may join you, Ray," said Soergel.

  Ray rolled his eyes and sighed inwardly. Politics as usual.

  "Keep me up to date on everything, Ray. I'll see if I can rearrange my workload in time to lend you a hand."

  What workload? Ray wanted to ask.

  He knew the real reason. Soergel wanted to take credit.

  While simultaneously blaming Ray.

  Chapter 32

  Cameraman Joel Crumbaker popped the clutch on the Channel 6 news van and struggled in vain to shift the manual transmission into third gear. The sound of gears clashing reverberated inside the van as the vehicle lurched backward and forward.

  “Jesus, find ‘em, don’t grind ‘em,” Nancy Bishop said. She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth and looked out of the corner of her eye at the young cameraman in the driver’s seat.

  “When’s the last time you drove a manual on the column?” he countered.

  “Ten bucks says I can drive it a hell of a lot better than you.”

  “Deal.”

  They changed positions and the reporter smoothly enga
ged the clutch and shifted flawlessly into second, third and finally, fourth gear. She maneuvered the big van onto the freeway, quickly headed for the passing lane and notched the speedometer at eighty.

  Nancy leaned back and made a slight seat adjustment as she passed three cars who moved over to get out of her way.

  She glanced over at Crumbaker and thought I hope he’s a better cameraman than driver.

  Her mind wandered and she thought how big this story could be. If she nailed this one, it might be the story of her already illustrious career.

  For a brief moment, she entertained thoughts of the wild success that would soon follow a story as big as this. Maybe she’d work for some of the national stations, or CNN.

  A road sign caught her eye. They were approaching Green Bay. Another couple of hours and they would be in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. She checked her watch. There would be just enough time to get to Rodgers Bay and do a little checking around, find Ferkovich’s sister’s house and check into a hotel.

  A ringing interrupted her thoughts and she reached for the cell phone in her purse.

  “Bishop.”

  She listened intently, then said, “Text me the address.” She then thumbed the disconnect button on the phone, collapsed the mouthpiece and tucked the phone back into her bag.

  Her foot tromped on the accelerator and she shot up to the car in front of her in the passing line. She turned the headlights on and off until the car moved over, allowing her to pass.

  “What’s the deal?” said Crumbaker, buckling his seat belt with a raised eyebrow.

  “They found the stolen truck and another body,” she said. Without a word, Crumbaker unbuckled his seat belt, crawled into the back of the van and began unpacking his cameras.

  Chapter 33

  A small Boston Whaler crept slowly into the harbor, sending gentle waves outward, messengers that rocked the silent occupants of the Rodgers Bay Marina. The Whaler dutifully adhered to the 5 MPH no-wake zone signs and its captain guided it smoothly into its slip.

  Inside Teacher's Pet, Joe Ferkovich opened his eyes as he felt the boat move under him. He heard the water lap against the side of the hull, and he listened intently until he heard the other boat's engines shut off. Just a fisherman returning from the morning hunt, he thought to himself.

  Soon, he heard the sound of footsteps on the pier, and then the telltale clink of ice cubes as a cooler full of fish was set down near the cleaning tables. The sound of men cleaning their morning catch and the scent of dead fish wafted its way back to the cabin in which Joe Ferkovich lay still.

  Teacher's Pet was a Bayliner 2, just a year old, and it was powered by a 225 h.p. inboard Merc. On deck it featured all the latest in electronics and sonar gear, as well as captain's chairs sporting smooth white leather and a dashboard encircled by hand-rubbed teak trim.

  Below, it housed a small but comfortable cabin complete with living room, bedroom, a small galley and ample storage. Plush carpet covered the floor and there were photos of a man and a woman placed sporadically around the living quarters. A small black-and-white television was in one corner, sitting on top of an equally sized stereo. The interior, normally impeccably clean, was now home to empty beer cans and discarded potato chip bags.

  Joe reached out and grabbed another Diet Coke from the twelve-pack sitting just outside the pantry door. His sister and her husband kept the boat well-stocked for their weekend jaunts around Lake Superior. Judging by the quality of the boat, Joe figured his brother-in-law's carpet business was doing more than all right.

  There was a small but comprehensive collection of fishing tackle including rods and reels, but Joe knew the boat was mostly used for day trips out to the big lake. His sister had always been a bit of a romantic, despite her upbringing.

  He was looking forward to seeing her. It had been years, and now it would have to be a little bit longer. Joe figured the cops would be watching Mary's house.

  Stupid cops, he thought to himself. He'd hole up here and wait it out, kept company only by his memories.

  His crotch stirred at the thought and he settled back, summoning the imagery of his victims, their mouths wrapped around him, their eyes looking at him. He felt his heartbeat accelerate, his body tense, and then just as quickly as the feeling had overtaken him, it disappeared. Evaporated into thin air.

  Goddamnit! Anger welled up inside Joe as the feeling passed too quickly. The fury made his heart beat faster and he could feel his muscles strengthen as the adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream. He rode the wave, liking the power, but then fought it down.

  He walked over to the pantry and grabbed a can of beer. He popped the top and drained half of the contents at once. His appetite was stronger. He needed a release.

  He walked across the small cabin and stood in front of a photograph of his sister. He studied the face looking back at him. She had gained some weight since he'd last seen her but she still looked like the same old Mary. Joe felt himself come back under control as his sister always had that effect on him.

  But it never lasted.

  There would be no waiting this thing out, he knew. Joe resolved to be smarter, faster, and stay one step ahead of the cops. He slammed the rest of his beer and went to the pantry to get another one.

  Choosing his destination was easy as his options were so limited. He would need to stay close to the boat and he could only move at night.

  He retraced his steps after ditching Tomczak's truck. It was tough to do because it had still been dark, with the exception of a faint glow from the oncoming sunrise.

  Joe's mind clicked over the scenes playing in his mind and he suddenly remembered seeing a swing. He knew there was a playground near the marina. Being a fisherman, he'd been to lots of boat landings and marinas just like this one. Inevitably, there was always a play structure with a sandbox that looked like a ship.

  He felt another stirring in his loins.

  Where there were children there would be young mothers. He'd take either, or both.

  He smiled and looked at a flash of blue sky through one of the small portal windows.

  Yes, this would be a short wait.

  It had to be.

  Chapter 34

  The sign blinked off and Mike Sharpe unbuckled his seat belt, stood, opened the overhead compartment and brought down pillows and blankets.

  Laurie was in the window seat and he put one of the pillows between her head and the window, then ducked back into his own seat, and brought the blanket over both of them. Their hands immediately sought each other out as the plane rocketed its way toward Chicago.

  The flight would stop in the Windy City then continue on to Milwaukee.

  "How long a drive is it from Milwaukee to Lost Lake Lodge?" Laurie asked.

  "It depends on traffic, which can be shitty when you get up North," Mike answered, "especially when you get stuck behind Farmer Ned on his John Deere tractor doing twelve miles an hour."

  He looked toward the front of the cabin for a flight attendant.

  "If everything goes okay it should only take a few hours."

  "So we'll get there late tonight?"

  Mike nodded.

  He looked out the window and saw the dark brown hills of California passing underneath him. They looked so dry and parched, not like the lush green of Wisconsin. In his mind, he heard the call of the loon from Lost Lake and glanced at Laurie in the seat next to him. Her eyes were closed and light from the window reflected the shapes of the clouds across her face.

  His hand reached down and touched the small case in his pocket. He’d been too nervous to leave it in his luggage.

  Their itinerary was pretty straightforward. Fly into Milwaukee, get a rental car, and then make the drive up north in one shot. They would get to Lake Lodge well into the night.

  Mike knew the old man would have left the fire going in the pit outside the cabin and a bottle of whiskey would be on the kitchen table. Mike would unload the car, then he and Laurie would sit out by the fi
re and get pleasantly sloshed listening to the loon and watching the stars.

  He still hadn't decided when exactly he'd pop the question. He would have to wait for just the right time.

  "What are you smiling about?" Mike snapped out of his reverie and saw Laurie looking at him intently with a half-smile on her face.

  "What I'm going to say to my parents when I take you for a ride on the pontoon boat."

  "Which is?"

  "Don't come knockin' if the pontoon's rockin'."

  She laughed and her hand released his, then dropped down between his legs.

  "I take it you've heard of the Mile High Club?"

  Now it was his turn to laugh.

  "What exactly do you have in mind, little Miss Horndoggy?"

  "Oh, I think you have a pretty good idea, mister."

  He laughed, then slid his hand to the top of her blue jeans. Laurie's hand met his and she held the belt of her jeans still while he unsnapped the button.

  She shifted in her seat slightly and Mike slipped his hand between her legs.

  Laurie's hand was also busy, as she zipped down Mike's jeans and freed his excitement.

  "Is this a hint of what vacation's going to be like?" she asked, her head reclining in pleasure.

  "We're on vacation, honey."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I'd call that a big yes."

  Mike also laid his head back and closed his eyes, the rumble of jet engines matching the hum that was beginning to run through both his body and Laurie's.

  They were interrupted briefly by a flight attendant who brought around some pretzels and offered drinks, both of which the couple declined. They sunk back beneath the blanket and looked into each other's eyes.

  "Now that's what I call the friendly skies," he said a few minutes later to Laurie and they both laughed. As covertly as possible they rebuttoned their jeans and got themselves adjusted.

  She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder.