by Gary Starta
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Jill? Do you want to stop for some water?”
“No, just get me home.”
“Driver, is there any way to speed up the ride? We’ll sacrifice a smooth ride for speed.”
New York cabbies are the keepers of the sacred secrets of cutting through heavy city traffic at any time and on any day; it’s a trick of the trade on which they pride themselves. Enthusiastically, the driver replied, “Yes, certainly, sir! On a Saturday, the fastest way to get to the Upper West Side is by taking the F.D.R. Drive on the East Side and then cutting over. I’ll get you there in less than 15 minutes from where we are now.”
The taxi took off like it was being chased by the devil, himself. Carter braced himself and hung onto Jill. If it was a fast ride she wanted, a fast ride was what she was going to get.
There, now. You kept the lid on it, asked her what she wanted and calmly asked the driver if he could help. I’m going to have to remember that the tools work the best when you don’t want to use them at all. Now, where was I?
Part of his exercise to stay focused on the moment was to imagine himself filling up a glass with all his anxieties, and then, in his mind’s eye, watch himself pour them out onto the ground. He saw his worries seep into dry, thirsty soil, and he felt some relief. By the time they got home, Carter’s heart rate had come back to normal, and he was ready to focus on whatever lay ahead.
***
Deeprose settled into a seat before Senator Pressman and presented him with her most engaging and open smile. She’d done her homework. Pressman began his career in the military. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Your service to our country is truly appreciated.”
Pressman looked first surprised and then pleased. He relaxed his posture and smiled. “I’m pleased to make you’re acquaintance, Agent Deeprose, and thank you. Am I really getting that old, or are agents getting younger and younger all the time?”
Deeprose knew the dance had begun. She waved a hand in the air. “Shoot, you’re in the prime of life, Senator.”
She removed the phone from her pocket. “Senator, I’d appreciate it awfully if you’d allow me to ask a few questions pertainin’ to an ongoin’ investigation. We’re hopin’ you can shed some light on somethin’ that’s not makin’ sense to us.”
“I don’t know how I can help, but go ahead and ask.”
“What you’re about to see on this video might be shockin’, but Ah need you to be as forthcomin’ as possible when it’s over. Your thoughts might lead us in a new direction.”
As he observed the video, Pressman’s eyes grew into huge blue-gray buttons. The blood drained from his face, and then returned in a flood when he started yelling. “Where did you get this garbage? Is this some kind of joke? I may be fair game during an election year, but this is outrageous!”
Pressman was so red in the face, Deeprose thought he might have a stroke. She held up a hand as if she was a crossing guard. “Calm down, sir! No one believes this is really you. Ah’m here to find out who it is, though. This is not a joke, Senator. Will you please confirm that this is not you on this video? Why do you think someone would use your likeness and voice as a front for this operation? Sir, is there any chance you’re bein’ framed? Ah need to know everythin’ you can tell me.”
“Of course, it isn’t me! I have no idea who the hell it is! Why hijack my identity? Oh God - it must be all over the web by now! This will ruin me! Agent Deeprose, whoever this is, and I better find out just exactly that, I’m going to have him strung up so high he’ll be wearing his balls for a hat!”
“We have reason to believe this video is incitin’ people to murder. If you have any idea who could be behind it or why he’d try to make you the fall guy, it would be best if you told me now.”
Deeprose regretted the words as she soon as she spoke them.
Shoot! Ah practically accused him of collusion. Carter’s so much better at goadin’ people into confessions.
Pressman leapt from his seat and paced. His maroon leather chair spun in circles like one of those old records her father still had. Deeprose watched it turn, hoping that if the senator was going to unravel, he’d do it as quickly as his chair did and get it over with.
“I can’t think of anyone out to get me, if that’s what you mean.” He wrapped a hand around his chin. “Even if I had a name, I can’t very well give it to you without something more than a suspicion.”
“This video has already gone viral, sir. If you’re not goin’ to help us, y’all are just shootin’ yourself in the foot. Ah don’t think you have a choice. Ah need to know anythin’ y’all think might be relevant to this case; we’ll worry about interviewin’ our leads and collectin’ evidence.”
“Agent Deeprose, you don’t know the depth of the water you’re treading. My past is a matter of national security.”
His past? Ah didn’t say anythin’ about his past. Come to think of it, Fischetti mentioned that General Breen said over and over again that this was a matter of national security. Could he know we had a visit from General Breen? What else does he know about that visit?
“Sir, do you know of any new drugs that were designed or used to stimulate feelings of murderous aggression and fearlessness in an individual or a group of individuals?”
“What? No! How could I?” Pressman thrust his hands into his pockets. He turned toward the window, and in the light, she could see shiny beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Sir, Ah have it on good authority that some kinda drug is bein’ slipped to attendees that encourages them to commit murder.” She knew nothing of the sort. She had only Michael’s word on that, but it couldn’t hurt to fish a little.
“I already told you I know nothing about this!”
“But why are they usin’ you, sir? Don’tcha think that’s more than a little strange? More than a coincidence? Don’tcha have any idea why you’re bein’ set up and by whom?”
“This interview is over, Agent Deeprose. I expect this video to be buried. It should have been pulled the minute you found out about it! I want you to go straight back to New York and tell Fischetti to pull that video, and leave this problem to the big boys. If he has to do damage control by calling it a hoax, then that’s what he has to do for the sake of national security. This has to be kicked upstairs to the D.O.D. If you’re right about this, it’s out of your purview now.”
“Thank you, sir. Ah apologize for upsettin’ you, but unfortunately, it’s part of the job. Ah hope our lab can provide definitive proof that the man on the video isn’t you. Good day.”
Deeprose was positive he knew exactly what she was talking about and was purposely stonewalling her.
O.K., Mr. Senator, have it your way. Ah gave you every chance to come clean or help us. Now all bets are off.
She snatched up the cell phone and headed for the door.
“Agent Deeprose!”
She turned.
“I’m doing this for my country, damn it! You’re too young to…”
She left without hearing the rest.
***
Seacrest tossed and turned on the bed while Carter raced around their apartment looking for extra pillows and blankets. He hoped they might keep her from falling off and hurting herself. Just after they got home, she began saying there was someone she had to kill for everyone’s good.
He tried to minimize it for his own sanity.
She only took a half of a dose. She probably experimented with things like that in college, anyway. She’s trained to control her own behavior in the event that she’s given mind control drugs, so come on, Carter. No ‘what-ifs’.
Carter stroked her sweat-soaked hair. “Remember your training, honey.”
The drug was turning his wife into a monster. “He has to die, and I have to do it. He doesn’t deserve to live!” Spit flew from her mouth with the vehemence of her screams.
I can’t stand seeing her like this. When this is over, she has to lear
n caution and self-control. She has to! I can’t live with not knowing what crazy thing she’ll do next.
There were moments she struggled to remain rational to record the effects of the drug, but in other moments, she pounded her fists on the bed and ranted at some boy she must have known in school. “I’m going to wrap my hands around your head and squeeze it like a melon, Tommy Gardner!”
Carter admitted to himself the full scope of Seacrest’s situation. It was going to get far worse before it got better. If it got better. He was ashamed of what he was about to do, but it was for her own safety and protection. He removed his handcuffs from his belt and grabbed his wife’s left arm. The click of the cuffs sent Seacrest into a rage. Her mouth dove at anything closest to her, and teeth bared, she sank them into Carter’s hand, smiling in satisfaction.
“God!” Before he could shake it off, Seacrest dive bombed his free hand again. He barely evaded her attack. Throwing himself onto her, he used his own weight to restrain her as he struggled with the cuffs. A few dicey seconds passed until he heard a confirming click.
One hand successfully cuffed.
Carter eyed the bedpost to gage exactly what he’d have to do to secure the other hand without bloodshed and a tetanus shot.
“If…you’ll…just…cooperate…”
Jill spat in his face and howled. “Everyone knows you hunt for stray dogs and shoot them in your backyard! I saw you do it myself! I’ll kill you, you sick bastard! You killed those poor animals and liked it! You don’t deserve to live!”
Carter dragged her other arm to the bedpost and fastened it there while she was distracted.
At least, now, you won’t fall out of bed, or hurt yourself….or me.
Somehow, they made it through the night. Seacrest screamed for blood and Carter mopped her face and helped her drink as much water as she could take. By morning he was a wreck, and she was incoherent and vacant. The cell phone never left his side in case they needed an ambulance, but he’d already asked a neighbor to drive them there if push came to shove.
You could die a thousand times in this city before an ambulance could get to you.
Seacrest started screaming and tugging on the cuffs again. This time, the outwardly unflappable Carter disappeared altogether. His Zen tools went right out the window, completely forgotten. Carter walked in circles, trying to decide if they should stay here or go to the hospital when he noticed the metallic clinking of handcuffs against the iron bedpost. It gave Carter an idea.
Sound!
He bounded across the room and began searching for the wireless speakers Seacrest had given him for Christmas last year. When they didn’t readily appear, he started grabbing the unpacked boxes and dumping them out on the floor in piles and heaps.
Ah! Finally!
Carter commanded his voice assistant to play something very special. The assistant obeyed, and the speakers came to life.
Chapter Nineteen
Seacrest stared at Carter with empty eyes as if he were a stranger. She knew her own name, but not his. She croaked, “Who…who are you?”
Handcuffed to the bed and sweating profusely, restless and disoriented, all she could do was turn her head from side to side and jerk on the cuffs.
“It’s me, honey, Carter. You’re O.K. You’re safe, home and in bed. Listen to me; I’m going to help you. The agitation and confusion you’re experiencing are caused by too many neurons firing at once. I’m going to play isochronal tones for you. They’ll help your brain waves re-stabilize from a beta to an alpha state. Concentrate on the beating of the tones, try to relax your body, and breathe slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth.”
“Where am I?”
“Jill, do you remember being in the jazz club on Friday night?”
“Huh? Oh yes!” She tried to sit upright. “Why am I handcuffed? Did I make some kind of a scene? Am I under arrest?”
“No, honey. Yesterday morning you volunteered to take the drug we confiscated, remember? It should wear off by tomorrow, I think…I hope. By then we’ll know exactly how it affected you and what happens when it wears off. You took a terrible risk, Jill.”
“Oh, right. Right. I remember. How’d I do last night?”
“Pretty bad. I had to handcuff you to the bedposts for your own safety. You had crazy superhuman strength, you were completely out of control, and if I hadn’t stopped you, you might have, well, let’s just say you were incredibly angry at some kid named Tommy. You lost a lot of fluids and most of your voice, but you’re doing a damn good job of resisting the drug. When you feel better, we’ll talk. I’m recording the whole experience so we don’t have to bother about documenting it or forgetting anything. For now, honey, just focus on the sounds. Try not to think too much. I’m here, and nothing’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
“I hated that twisted sonofabitch so damn much! Did I kill him, Carter?”
“Who, Tommy? No, no you didn’t.” He smiled reassuringly.
“Oh…that’s good. I wanted him dead. I really did. This music is weird. Are we still at the club?” She was drifting from one place to another.
“No, sweetheart. You’re here with me. Home.”
“I didn’t really want to hurt anyone.” Jill whispered. “Come closer.” When Carter cuddled up to her, she made a confession. “I saw you in my dreams. There were all these people inside my head, and they were chanting. They wanted me to do it. I knew it was wrong, and I tried my best to ignore them, Carter, but I couldn’t. It was like I actually became rage and vengeance.” She whispered in horror, “There wasn’t anything that could have stopped me, Carter, if I hadn’t been chained up. I might have killed anyone thinking it was that boy!”
Before he could answer, she faded away from him again.
This time, she was floating on the soft ripples of a pond surrounded by tall grass. The voices called her; the sound seemed to be coming from a couple of black swans. Passively, Seacrest noticed that everything she saw pulsed to the rhythm of a pounding sound she didn’t like.
I can’t move.
She knew she should be distressed about that, but she wasn’t. The water rose and fell with those tones, rising so high it terrified her and plunging down so deep she felt swallowed up. Seacrest raised her arms to signal for help. The last thing she remembered was seeing Carter walking along the horizon and wishing she hadn’t made so many important decisions over the years without talking to him, first.
Everything I do affects him. Why didn’t I realize that before?
But she knew the answer, already.
Because he never told me so, and I have to hear the words.
***
Deputy Director Fischetti rolled over in his bed, fighting to recall where he was and how he had gotten there.
What time is it?
Glancing at his Rolex, he realized with enormous relief that it was early on Sunday morning. A quick stumble out of bed brought him face-to-face with a standing mirror. Wearing only his boxer shorts, a white T-shirt and navy blue dress socks, he inspected his body.
What a mess!
The stubble of his beard made him look like one of those 1940s murder mystery detectives he liked to watch on cable. All he needed was a trench coat and a fedora smashed down over one eye. His clothing had been thrown over a chair. Usually, he kept everything neat and folded.
Must’ve had one Scotch too many last night.
Fischetti scrubbed a hand back and forth over the stubble on his chin and thought back to the day before.
Crap! I’ve got to check on Carter and Seacrest. Please God, let Deeprose get a hot lead from Senator Pressman. She is really something, that one. I bet she’s got the goods on him already.
A long, hot shower was the first order of business. He’d stayed in a hotel over the weekend to save commuting time and had his heart set on a treat for breakfast at his very favorite café on First Avenue near 20th Street called Ess-A-Bagel.
Nothing like a good old fashioned garlic bagel an
d a schmear - the breakfast of champions!
It had been a while since Fischetti allowed himself to eat freshly made New York City bagels, which, when it came right down to it, were the only real bagels in the world. Then again, the thought of a hot pastrami and Swiss on marbled rye brought on such a feeling of longing, it was almost painful.
Choices, choices…What the hell, maybe I’ll get both.
Fischetti had already blown some big money staying at the Millenium, but it would wind up on his expense report anyway. The Bureau could thank General Breen for that. With righteous indignation, he shaved and then began to make himself presentable. He made sure his tie was knotted expertly – it only took him three tries and a couple of curses to get it right. Fischetti walked outside and shook the chill of another overcast morning.
You’d think we could get one day of sunshine in this town. Just one God damned day!
He stood still for a moment, trying to decide if he should walk, take the subway or hail a cab, but his mind wandered back to food…
Definitely a bagel for breakfast and hot pastrami for lunch. I’ll take a cab and worry about my waistline tomorrow.
For a man in his 50’s, being away from home for the weekend was a mixed blessing. He missed Amelia, his live-in girlfriend, but he’d been married before for several years and was somewhat set in his ways. He wished she could be more interested in him and his life.
Maybe this live-in thing wasn’t such a good idea.
With the fiendish delight of a naughty boy, he looked forward to breaking the rules.
I’ll take a nap if I want one, too.
His habit of needing naps after a big Sunday breakfast was the real reason carbs were off the menu at home. That, and his growing belly, really got under Amelia’s carefully protected skin.
I hate to say it, but she’s right. On the other hand, life’s short, and sometimes a man’s just got to have a God damned pastry without it becoming a federal case.
Walking along Church Street searching for a cab, Fischetti recalled his first wife, Angela, and how she loved to come out with him, early on Sunday mornings, to their favorite neighborhood Italian pastry shop. It was one of the few things they really enjoyed together.