by Brad Cooper
Amick started across the street walking upright and quickly but with his head tilted downward to protect his eyes from the rain. In the middle of the road he did a quick sweep in both directions, looking for any signs of life not belonging to himself or Alvin. Nothing was seen or heard, except the sound of his own heartbeat growing louder and faster in his ears, the nervous tension driving his blood pressure to a dangerous level. Even his mouth had become dry. He began moving again and stepped onto the sidewalk, pointing in the direction of where Alvin slept less than a block away. The row of businesses on Spring Creek’s Main Street was lined up to his right. Some still showed the old fashioned brick facade on the front, including the post office, but some had been renovated to include newer materials and more modern appearances.
He swept the area behind him once more, seeing nothing, but made the conscious decision to be increasingly aware of every sound that seemed out of place in the night. Approaching footsteps, a car engine getting closer, a dog suddenly barking; anything that could trigger attention or be triggered by some type of action had to be acknowledged. After turning forward he began walking slowly toward his target area. Any sudden or excessive sound could awaken the one man that absolutely had to remain asleep. That was a risk that could not be taken.
He saw headlights approaching to his right. Before the car was within range to see him, he backed into the shadows of the entrance of a storefront. The driver’s head did not turn toward him, his attention entirely on the conversation he was having on his cell phone. The car turned right and onto the main road leading out of town as Amick stepped out of the shadows.
Amick walked forward slowly and spotted Alvin less than twenty feet away. He could hear his mark snoring clearly from that distance. With his range of focus too narrow, he failed to notice the empty soda can lying on the ground in front of him. Alvin woke from his sleep and sat upright when Frank’s next step kicked the can across the ground and into the sleeping man’s arm. The rattling clang of the metal against the concrete could be heard any number of times during the day in virtually any city but to Frank Amick the sound was particularly deafening and seemed amplified tenfold. He stopped and turned his attention to Alvin, who sat up and began rubbing his eyes before looking around to find the source of the noise and contact that had so rudely interrupted his rest.
Alvin swung his head in Frank’s direction. Looking up, he recognized the face and said, “Frankie? That you, man?”
Startled and caught off guard, Amick shuttered before answering. “Uh… yeah… yeah, Alvin, it’s me.”
“What the hell you doin’ out here this time of night, man?” Alvin asked.
Frank’s heart jumped as he tried to answer quickly before his target became suspicious of a sudden late-night visitor. “Just, uh, taking a walk, Alvin. I couldn’t sleep. Got a lot on my mind. You know how that goes.” He chuckled nervously.
“Yeah, I do, my man.”
“Sorry about that. You know, waking you up and all. Didn’t mean to kick that frickin’ can. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“It’s all good, Frankie. Don’t sweat it. You been good to me. We go back a long way.”
“We sure do, Alvin. You get some rest, you hear?”
Alvin nodded his agreement and rested back onto his side.
Frank turned and walked away, back in the direction from which he had started. Alvin raised his head and watched him walk away, puzzled at why he would go back in the same direction in which he approached before, but was soon lying down in his spot for the evening without giving the strange course of action a second thought. Amick’s chest thumped faster and faster as his mind tried to process what had just happened. He had been careful. He had been almost completely silent. He had been more aware than he had ever been in his life. In spite of all that he had made a careless mistake and one that could compromise all that he had planned. Tonight’s actions were crucial.
I blew it, he fumed at himself.
“Calm down,” Amick said after a moment, thinking aloud yet speaking in a whisper. “It’s not over yet. He’s got to go back to sleep sometime.” He struggled to control his breathing but did so after three minutes of concentration. He crossed the street again, returning to the position he had been standing in prior to the first pass by the place where Alvin slept. The nighttime sky was still pitch black except for the half moon and the streetlamps still provided just enough light for him to see Alvin’s every move.
A loud rattling sound startled Amick, causing him to suddenly look up in search of the source. The soda can that had caused the problems only minutes before had struck again. Amick had a brief, stifled laugh at the irony. He removed his cap, scratched the top of his head, and replaced it before taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. Everyone’s safe exit from the entire mess that had grown to an incredible size relied on tonight’s simple yet somehow complicated action. Giving up tonight and trying again later was out of the question.
Another half-hour passed as Amick stood in the same surveillance position as the first attempt. The rain subsided but the air was still moist and heavy with the extra humidity. Retrieving a small pair of binoculars from the left side pocket of his jacket, which he used regularly during hunting season, Amick focused on Alvin who was resting peacefully on the concrete. He hadn’t moved significantly in more than ten minutes by Frank’s estimation. The lowlight conditions made the view grainy and shadowed and without much detail but he could see clearly enough to gather the information he needed. Alvin’s chest was rising and falling rhythmically. An occasional twist or turn or roll for additional comfort was the only movement. By all accounts he was sound asleep and vulnerable for another pass.
Frank again started across Main Street, his eyes sweeping from side to side, searching partly for safety and partly out of paranoia for any signs of unexpected movement or unusual activity. The wet concrete essentially purged any potential sound created by his soft-soled shoes scraping against the ground. Creeping up the sidewalk, he looked at the road behind him and slowly scanned the area, trying to remain as quiet as possible in the process. Dawn would be arriving soon and that would mean increased traffic, both by car and on foot. His chance would be gone. It seemed that Spring Creek was one of the few remaining cities where it was feasible to travel on foot and the residents took full advantage. It had to be now.
Amick’s steps became even softer as he approached the entrance where Alvin slept. Alvin lay on the ground with his feet tucked behind his knees, his hands clasped on top of one another, providing support for his head. “The cot in the cell’s more comfortable than this,” Frank thought as he noticed Alvin’s position. Amick whispered to himself, looking at the innocent man’s back. “I’m doing you a favor.”
He stopped less than a foot from Alvin and crouched down behind him. What belongings Alvin owned stayed with him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The oft-perpetuated stereotype of the homeless walking aimlessly in cities pushing shopping carts full of lost, stolen, or otherwise acquired items was actually true in Alvin’s case. However, the cart was not full-size. A small grocery store had gone out of business in the late eighties but Alvin managed to secure one of the smallish carts before the clearance process began. Inside that cart were the few items that Alvin Willis had to his name. The clothes on his back remained there every day. There was no dresser stocked with numerous outfits and no weekend trips to the shopping mall to become a part of the latest trends in fashion. Regardless of weather, time of year, or any other factor, his wardrobe was permanent. Collecting bottles was an antique activity for the homeless. There were few available in the town and what few there were either became a part of the state’s enhanced recycling program or simply thrown out with the rest of the garbage with no place to turn them in for refunds.
An old dirt-covered football rolled around in the bottom of the cart, which bumped into and bounced off of an old baseball as he walked. Before leaving to serve in the military, sports had been Alvin�
�s passion. These were the remaining pleasant reminders of those times. He’d had a basketball at one time but it had gone flat, the inner bladder ruptured, eerily symbolic of his life.
A plastic bag sat in the corner. Inside it was a comb for his hair, a small plastic mustache and beard comb, and several small bars of soap and single use packets of shampoo similar to those found in hotels, which had been given to him by the local motel when they’d ordered a few too many. Other things had come and gone over the years but nothing of any real worth. Combined, the items would not total more than ten dollars of monetary value but only Alvin knew the true sentimental and emotional value attached to the things that he toted with him wherever he drifted.
Amick eyed the cart, careful not to brush into it and startle Alvin for a second time. He intentionally slowed his breathing, making certain that his breath would not rouse the man inches away from him. He retrieved the handgun from his pocket and quickly wiped it down with his handkerchief for a second time, making certain that not so much as a single fingerprint remained. By daybreak there would be only one set of prints to be found on the weapon.
Frank held the gun by the handle with his handkerchief. Reaching across Alvin’s body but careful not to make contact, he set the handgun just below his elbows. The first move Alvin made would brush the gun against him and he would almost certainly pick the gun up to examine it. It was basic human curiosity.
As Frank released his loose grip on the gun, Alvin started to stir. A breeze blew and the cart began to roll, the wheels squeaking as the momentum built. Frank reached out and held the cart in place before sliding it toward the wall. Although not yet fully awake he started to shift in his sleep, starting to roll into a position facing Amick. Frank quickly rose from his crouch, thinking of escape routes to get him away as fast as possible without being noticed for a second time, but Alvin returned to his original position.
Frank let out a sigh of relief. The handgun was now out of his possession, literally out of his hands to be exact, and the stage had been set to execute their exit strategy. He backed away slowly and softly before pivoting gently on the toes of his left foot in the direction from which he came. He continued walking softly but his pace quickened. His next objective was a quick return to the station, into his car, and to his home to sleep. It was the early morning hours of Sunday, and even the Lord’s Day would be especially full to begin the coming week. An arrest would be made and a potential crisis would be averted.
Frank Amick couldn’t help but smile.
CHAPTER
13
Summer was a time for staying in bed as late as possible and other examples of general laziness. Clark was taking full advantage. With no summer college classes and no full-time job that would require an early rise, the primary objective of nearly every mid-morning was sleep. Going to bed at 3 AM was not helpful either. Clark knew he would only be this age, and this carefree, once in his life and he planned on taking advantage to the fullest.
By 10:30 on Monday morning, Clark was fully rested. At least it seemed that way when he was awakened by Adam’s excessive noise by way of the pots and pans clashing in the kitchen. Ryan’s idea of a simple breakfast on a slow-paced, work-free Monday morning was a quick trip to a fast-food establishment for biscuits and gravy or some other artery-clogging dish while Adam preferred to prepare his own no matter the day. Clark’s way produced less noise, he thought.
The sun was shining into his window at the perfect angle to blind him when he opened his eyes. As he sat up in bed, he shielded them and then quickly fell back onto the pillow. It was still too early. Ryan rolled himself to the edge of the bed before sitting upright and finally standing to his feet. He stretched to relieve the tension. Wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt, his typical sleeping attire, his next move was to become presentable or reasonably close. His dark blue cotton terry bathrobe hung on a hook on the back of the door but was quickly donned and tied tight around the waist. Comfort and the simplest route to it were paramount for the time being.
Walking into the living room Clark saw that the television was already on and the sound barely audible. Adam was finishing the preparation of his breakfast, the usual high-calorie mixture suitable for his shift at the health club. Ryan moved toward the couch, ready to rest from the long walk from his room. “Watching anything in particular?” he asked, already reaching for the remote control.
“Not really. Be my guest,” Adam replied.
The channel was changed from an infomercial selling another product to chop, mince, dehydrate, or otherwise maim and destroy one’s food, to channel five where the regularly scheduled programming included a talk show filled with paternity test results. It was always an entertaining premise and hilarity normally ensued. A commercial for a local furniture store was on at the time but the break would soon be over.
The talk show was nowhere to be found when the commercial ended. Instead, the screen was filled with a live report from a familiar setting. The cameras showed the downtown, if one could call it that, area of Spring Creek, which was not quite a mile away. The same blonde haired reporter that interviewed Kara now stood near the police station updating the viewers who had just tuned in and filling them in concerning the latest development. The graphic at the bottom of the screen was simple but revelatory: Suspect Arrested in Police Shooting.
“Adam, get in here,” Clark said without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Hold on. I’m finishing up.”
“It can’t wait! Get in here now. They arrested somebody.”
“What?” Adam asked as he entered the room. He wiped his hands on the dishcloth he was holding as he sat down. “Turn it up.”
Clark turned up the volume on the television and both he and Adam leaned forward, sliding toward the edge of their respective seats, their attention focused squarely on the reporter.
“In case you’re just joining us, here is what we know at this point,” the reporter said. A graphic bearing her name, Faith Carson, now appeared at the bottom of the screen and the word LIVE was in the upper left corner in all capital letters. She glanced down at an index card as she spoke. “We have been told in a NewsCenter Five exclusive that a suspect has been identified in the shooting of police officer Raymond Kessler and that the suspect in question is currently in police custody. Other news teams are arriving as we speak and we are awaiting a comment from police chief Darrell Sparks on the progress of the investigation. We’ll bring you the latest as more information becomes available. Now back to the studio.”
The live picture faded and two news anchors appeared, telling viewers to stay tuned for later updates and that the regular programming would now resume, already in progress. Clark leaned back onto the couch and ran both hands through his buzz-cut hair. “I don’t get it,” he said. “How can they have a suspect? We saw who did it. If they arrested a cop for shooting a cop it would be a national deal and not just some rinky-dink station doing cut-ins during a talk show.”
“You never know. It’s not like we’re a big media attraction, Ry.”
“Yeah but still… come on. Something isn’t right. Who could they have arrested for this? Better yet, who could they have stuck with this?”
“I don’t know but this is starting to be way too much of a Hollywood thing for me,” Adam said as he walked back into the kitchen to finish what he started.
At noon, the daily newscast began and the lead story was the arrest in the Kessler shooting. The anchors had abandoned their normal smiles and cheerful attitude in favor of the calm, serious, professional demeanor more suitable for the day’s goings-on. Ryan and Adam sat on the couch eagerly awaiting the update.
“This ought to be good. Wonder which one they pinned it on?” Adam said.
Ryan looked at Adam and said, “What do you mean ‘which one’? There’s no way they arrested one of their own. You’re telling me one person took the fall and the rest just walk? If so, CNN and Fox, and the rest of the networks would’
ve already been here. Those vultures would have been on the first plane out. They had to have pinned this on someone but I don’t know how. I mean we saw what happened and it’s fairly obvious who all was there.”
Adam nodded and said, “Well, anyway, I feel bad for the poor schmuck that got hit with this.”
The broadcast once again went live to the scene as the blonde reporter brought the audience up to speed on the latest developments in the case. “We were informed moments ago that the suspect in custody is indeed a local man from the Spring Creek area,” she said. “The man’s name is Alvin Willis. He is an African-American male estimated to be in his mid-to-late fifties…”
“Alvin?” Ryan and Adam said simultaneously.
The blonde continued her report on the screen. “I spoke to several townspeople about Mr. Willis and they all said that he was a quiet, gentle man who never caused problems for those in the town. We were also able to learn that Willis is a Vietnam veteran who has spent much of his time homeless since shortly after returning from his tour of duty during an undetermined time in the early 1970s.”
Ryan got up from the couch and looked at Adam. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Alvin? Alvin Willis? They’re going to put this on him?” he said with his hands on his head but not grasping his hair.
“He makes for the best target. People already think he’s crazy so they’ll buy it. Makes sense.”
Clark was now pacing the room. “I know it makes sense but… no!” He let out a breath and continued calmly. “They can’t do this. It’s just wrong. That guy never hurts anyone and now he’s getting the blame for shooting a cop?”
“What exactly do you want to do? Come running into the police station yelling ‘Wait! We’ve got a tape! We knew who did it!’ We’ll either look as crazy as Alvin or be the next ones dead. I’m not too fond of either option.”