by Brad Cooper
Unfortunately for Sparks, nothing changed. Tochigi entered the building ten minutes later and Sparks’ heart rate nearly doubled. What kind of people had he entered into this deal with? Japanese businessmen, with possible Yakuza ties, who deal in narcotics and travel with bodyguards in helicopters were not generally the most understanding people when it came to adversity. These were people who felt that the best way to solve a problem was to eliminate the source. If you do not understand it, you get rid of it.
“Good morning, Mr. Sparks,” Tochigi said, offering a shallow bow with his greeting. His mannerisms still reflected his Japanese heritage, while his speech had become almost fully Americanized, albeit proper, through the years.
“Mornin’, Hotaka. Have a seat.”
Tochigi waited for Sparks to sit down before sitting down himself. “Allow me to see if I understand all of this. Mr. Sato arrives, we go into our restaurant to speak and coordinate our activities. While we are away one of your officers is shot and killed? There is much attention on our town now, Darrell, and attention is exactly what Mr. Sato desired to avoid by using this as his primary point of entry for this area of the United States.”
“I understand that, Hotaka. Really, I do, but this isn’t exactly something we planned for.”
Hotaka’s face remained void of any expression. “Perhaps you should have.”
Sparks was silent for a moment, looking at the Japanese man sitting on the other side of his desk. Tochigi was in no way an imposing figure but his presence still slightly intimidated Sparks, who assumed that every Japanese citizen was highly trained in martial arts. Tochigi was no longer a young man yet still looked younger than his age. His face was flat, even when he smiled. His skin was tight, his hair thin and closely cropped, the color once solid black but now showing shades of gray over the ear on each side.
After so many years in law enforcement Sparks prided himself on his ability to read people but Hotaka Tochigi was a particularly difficult case. In this instance, the total lack of facial expressions added to the difficulty. Finally, Sparks leaned forward and said, “I’m not sure how we could have seen this coming. Okay? He wasn’t even supposed to know what was going on but he saw us out here one night and started asking questions. So, to avoid problems with him snooping around without us knowing, we brought him in on everything.”
“I understand that, Mr. Sparks, but what I do not understand is how that brought us to the events of last night.”
“He had a conscience attack, Hotaka. He came and said that he just couldn’t do it and all that.”
“Couldn’t do what exactly?”
“He said he couldn’t…” – Sparks made quotation marks in the air with his fingers – “support what we’re doing, whatever it is that we’re doing. He kept screaming about the kids and about that Wyatt kid—
“Yes, that was terrible,” Hotaka said solemnly.
“—and about how wrong it was. He knew too much and we were just trying to stop him from leaving and telling someone what was going on down here,” Sparks said without stopping.
“And…” Tochigi said, wanting to know more than Sparks was willing to tell.
“Well, he kept trying to leave and we kept trying to make him stay. He started to fight with one of our guys and it just got out of hand.”
“Yes, I should say so.” Hotaka and Sparks both looked toward the door as it opened. Frank Amick started to step into the office but saw the meeting that was taking place and took a step back.
“Come on in, Frank. You know Mr. Tochigi,” Sparks said, gesturing to Amick to sit in the open seat beside Hotaka.
“Carl should, uh, be here in a few minutes. Took a couple of calls to wake him up,” Amick said with a nervous chuckle.
“Sounds about right. Hotaka here is concerned about what happened tonight but I was just going to tell him that everything was under control.”
“I am confident that the matter will be resolved but I am still concerned. I am sure you can understand our apprehension.” Tochigi shifted in his chair. “If I may ask, how are you planning to divert the attention away from us? Unless they are given an explanation as to what happened to Officer Kessler, those in the news media will not simply leave this alone.”
Amick spoke up for the first time. “Well, uh, Mr. Tochigi, we’ve been thinking about that and we’re working on it. I’m sure we’ll take care of it.”
Speaking to Amick he said, “I encourage you to do so quickly. Sato is also extremely concerned about this, as I am sure you can imagine. I must get back to my restaurant but please do keep me informed as to what you are doing about this.”
“We will, Hotaka. I’ll do that personally,” Sparks said.
Tochigi turned to walk out of the office. Amick offered a nod to say goodbye. Sparks closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate the tension from the combination of an uncomfortable situation and a long nap on an old couch.
“You said you’ve been thinking about this. Did you come up with anything or are we still as screwed as we were when you left?”
“It’s only been a few hours, Darrell. It’s not like the DEA is swarming in with a team of agents trying to get us and haul us to prison.”
The bell sounded as the front door of the station flew open. Alvin Willis was dressed in clothes that one would find at the bottom of the bin at any given homeless shelter in America. In any kind of weather, Alvin wore a thick black cotton toboggan and a jacket that would keep anyone warm, even in the coldest temperatures ever seen in the region. He wore camouflage cargo pants and heavy black boots that made loud clomping sounds as he walked on the floor of the station but he was notorious around the area for the walking stick that he carried with him wherever he went, even though he showed no visible signs of a limp.
Alvin was a well-known figure in Spring Creek. After multiple tours of duty in Vietnam, he had returned to his hometown only to have the effects of his combat time continue to haunt him. What started as minor problems grew into a complex mental disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which would ultimately cost him everything, just as it had for countless other veterans around the world. His job, home, car, and family were all gone, all out of Alvin’s control. Alvin Willis was a victim of circumstance.
Seeing a black man was rare in Spring Creek but no one was threatened by Alvin’s presence. Despite his Army-like attire and gruff exterior, those who talked to Alvin were usually intrigued, and sometimes entertained, by him. He was unlike anyone they had ever met, they would often say, and his appearance was not indicative of his demeanor. Some called him schizophrenic, some called him crazy, but those who took the time to stop and say hello never felt as if they were in danger. They spent most of their time laughing at his eccentric behavior and unusual remarks, and he laughed right along with them, thankful for the interaction with another human being.
In fact, the townspeople offered whatever assistance they could from time to time. On cold winter nights, even Chief Sparks would invite Alvin inside to sleep in a cell, a scene reminiscent of Sheriff Andy Taylor giving Otis the town drunk a key to the jail cell. Rainy summer nights were frequent and Alvin could be found sleeping in the covered doorway of any of the businesses on Main Street. Occasionally the Tochigis would provide him with buffet leftovers after closing. Alvin Willis was not the poster child for life in a small Southern town but he was a part of this small Southern town.
The door to Sparks’ office was cracked, allowing the sounds from the front of the building to come through.
“Hey, Alvin. How’s it going, buddy?” Robbins asked with a smile, never knowing what response to expect.
“Going good, my man. Going good. Too damn hot, if you ask me,” Alvin said before laughing loudly.
Robbins and Alvin continued talking. Kevin would laugh. Alvin would laugh right along without being fully aware of the reason.
“Who’s out there now?” Sparks asked with his eyes closed and his head down, both want
ing to know the answer and not wanting to know at the same time.
Amick paused as a smile formed at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll tell you who it is, Darrell. That’s the answer to our problem,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sparks asked.
“Don’t worry about it. I need to work out the details anyway. I’ll talk to you about it tonight,” Amick said as he walked out the door.
CHAPTER
10
Ryan and Adam sat on the couch and stared into the television that had been on for three consecutive hours. At 9 AM, the first report of the shooting appeared on the local television station, interrupting the network’s national morning show with a special report from the studio. There were no details to speak of, no suspects, and no theory as to what had happened. The only thing that was certain was that there was one less police officer in Spring Creek, West Virginia than there had been the day before.
The usually happy, smiling anchorwoman had spoken in a solemn, respectful manner and promised to make the details public whenever they became available. Now at 11:30 AM, the noon news broadcast was quickly approaching and nothing else had been heard.
Lisa was still asleep in the basement, finally calm enough to rest after a frantic night and early morning, which was usually time better spent unconscious. Confusion was still the dominating train of thought, if one could define it as such, in both of their minds as they sat and waited to hear the next update in hopes that the true details would come to light. Secretly, they knew otherwise.
Clark got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. “Hungry?” he said to Adam, careful not to wake Lisa.
“You cooking, or what?” Adam said, walking into the kitchen, stretching his arms to relieve the tension.
“If Pop Tarts in the toaster qualifies as cooking, then, yeah, I’m cooking. Frosted strawberry and a glass of orange juice. That’s all I feel like doing right now. I’ll cook later.”
Adam took the other tinfoil-wrapped pack of pastries and began eating before so much as considering the toaster. “Sold,” he said with his mouth full, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.
The phone rang just as Clark pushed down the lever on the toaster, drawing a groan of annoyance. He reached for the cordless phone sitting against the wall on the kitchen counter. “Hello?”
“Ryan! Have you been watching the news? What’s going on?” an excited Kara said.
“Yeah, we’re watching. It’s crazy. Look, uh, you mind coming over here?”
“Over there? Why? Is everything alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine. Well, I think so. Just get over here as soon as you can, okay?”
“Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be over.”
“You know, that’s not entirely necessary…”
“Shut up, Ryan.”
Ryan laughed upon getting the reaction he was seeking before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. Adam was nearly done eating by the time the toaster lever popped up again.
“You’re not human. Do you even chew anymore? You eat like a wood chipper.”
Adam looked at Ryan quizzically. “I was hungry!” he said with a mouthful of food, crumbs shooting out with every word.
Clark laughed again. “I know. Look, Kara’s on her way over. I’m getting myself cleaned up and I suggest you do the same. You’re taking on the appearance of a caveman,” he said with a smile.
“What about Lisa? I need to wake her up or…”
“Let her sleep. I’m sure she needs it. She had a rougher night than either of us did.”
The knock on the door came right at the strike of noon. Kara walked in, not yet completely awake, wearing an outfit that epitomized comfort. Her dark hair was pulled back. She wore a pair of denim shorts and a small white t-shirt, slightly undersized and clinging to her body. The shirt left part of her belly exposed which always drew Ryan’s attention, be it voluntary or involuntary.
“I’m here. What’s so important?” she asked, removing her sunglasses and falling into the leather recliner. “What’s Lisa’s car doing out there? I thought Adam picked her up and took her home last night.”
“He did,” Clark said flatly.
“And she’s back here already this morning? She must be insatiable. I know Adam is.”
“Yeah, to say the least. Be thankful you don’t get treated to the soundtrack like some of us do,” Ryan said, drawing a laugh from Kara.
Adam walked back into the room, a small amount of white foam still in the corner of his mouth from brushing his teeth. “Okay,” he said, “what are we talking about?”
“You, of course. You’re all we talk about. We can’t help ourselves,” Kara said, mocking him with an overly dramatic smile.
“You are such a smart ass. So much like him, it scares me.”
There was a knock at the door, not five minutes after Kara had arrived, and no more visitors were expected. Ryan and Adam’s heart rate nearly doubled at the sound, unsure of who was on the other side. Before they could stop her, Kara walked to the window and looked outside.
“Guys, you wouldn’t happen to be expecting a TV crew, would you?”
“A TV crew? Are you serious?” Adam asked.
“Dead serious. Take a look.”
“No need,” Clark said. “Do you mind answering it? I’m not in a ‘television interview’ kind of mood today, alright?”
Kara answered the door. A young reporter dressed in a light gray pantsuit stood at the side of the doorway holding a microphone. The cameraman that accompanied her was beside her, holding the camera at his side.
“Hi, I’m Faith Carson with NewsCenter Five. We’re going around trying to get reactions from some local townspeople about last night’s shooting. Would you mind saying a few words, miss?”
“Sure, I guess,” Kara said.
“Mike, get ready to roll tape,” Faith said to her cameraman. “Could I have your name, by the way?” she said, reaching for her notepad, the pen clipped to the top.
“Kara Morgan. Kara’s with a ‘K’.”
Faith scribbled the name, nearly illegible to anyone else who would try to read it. “Got it. Ready?” Faith said, placing the notepad in her pocket before running her hand through the blonde hair that extended to the middle of her back, trying to straighten every last kink before taping, even though she likely would not even be featured in this particular shot. Kara checked her own hair in the reflection in the camera’s lens and was satisfied with the result.
The reporter counted down from three for her cameraman, cueing him to begin recording. She placed the microphone in front of Kara and asked, “What was your initial reaction when you heard about the shooting of Officer Kessler?”
“Just shock, I suppose, like everyone else. We’re a small community, barely a town, really, and this kind of thing just doesn’t happen here,” Kara replied.
“They’ve yet to name any suspects or talk about any leads they may have. Does that concern you?”
“Yeah, kind of. I mean whoever did this is just running around and no one knows why he did it, I assume it’s a ‘he’, and there’s no telling if he’ll do it again or what so, yeah, it’s bizarre.”
“We got it,” Carson said, nodding to her cameraman and handing him the microphone. She took a step forward and stuck her head through the doorway, looking at Ryan and Adam, and a newly awakened Lisa who was sitting at the table outside of the kitchen. “You two have anything you’d like to say?”
“No. Not really. I’m not much of a TV personality. Kara basically summed up how we all feel, I think,” Ryan said.
“Okay, well, thanks for your time. Be sure to watch tonight!” Carson said with a wink before turning to walk toward the news van parked at the side of the road.
“Why didn’t you guys want to be on TV? I thought you’d at least want to talk to the cute little blonde reporter,” Kara said mockingly as she closed the door.
“I don’t even watch the news. Why would I wan
t to be on it?” Adam said.
Kara looked toward the kitchen table where Lisa was now sitting. “Lisa, you okay, sweetie? You look like you’ve been up half the night and not in the good way either,” she said, half-smiling.
Lisa took a sip of the coffee she had just prepared for herself. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Just needed to sleep, I think.”
“You’re fine now? You weren’t fine before?” She got no answer. “What’s been going on?” Kara asked, looking around the room.
She started to get up to join Lisa at the table but Ryan stopped her. “You need to sit down for a minute. There’s something you need to know, okay? This may take a while to explain.”
“A while? Something happened between last night and now that would take ‘a while’ to explain? Don’t tell me somebody’s pregnant.”
“Don’t even joke about that today. It has to do with what you were just talking about to the little blonde that just knocked on the door.”
“The cop?”
“Yeah. There’s a reason Lisa was up all night.”
Thirty minutes later, Kara’s demeanor was the polar opposite of what it had been upon her arrival. Only the feeling of shock remained.
“This is surreal,” Kara said, looking out the front door and into the driveway, still struggling to comprehend the images she had just been subjected to from the video tape. “Where did you get this tape?”
“Lisa filmed it, standing in her backyard,” Adam said. “Now I wish I would have insisted on staying last night.”
“Hindsight’s 20/20,” Ryan said. “It’s not like this should have been expected. It’s pretty clear that even the guys in the video didn’t expect it. That whole scene doesn’t exactly scream ‘master plan’.”