Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller

by J. C. Maçek III

  Calderon narrowed his eyes. “You shoot at people?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes, I just pick off a dog while its owner is walking it. Sometimes, I’ll take out half a couple. The other one doesn’t know what happened at first. They just freak out.”

  Calderon was suddenly not feeling well, which was strange because he was far from squeamish. “So, you actually are randomly killing on the street?”

  “‘I am become death,’ Calderon! I told you I’d do it for free if I wasn’t getting paid.” She laughed. “Oh, I killed two gay guys fucking in a park once. That was my two for one. They died happy, at least. Once I caught a guy sneaking a smoke behind the bathrooms. Boom. His family kept searching for him for hours.”

  “I see,” Calderon mumbled.

  “And one time…” She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I took out a baby in a carriage.”

  “A baby?” Calderon said, attempting to mask his horror. It wasn’t appropriate to be unprofessional, even when faced with this.

  “Well, it wasn’t my first kid,” she chuckled. “Just the only baby so far. In one side of the carriage, out the other. They didn’t even know the kid was dead for a while.”

  Calderon quickly lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. The more she spoke, the more he thought of Justin.

  “Just right through the carriage. The mom didn’t even realize something was wrong for several minutes.” Keeler paused and looked back at Calderon’s sweat-beaded face with concern. “Hey, are you all right?” Keeler asked.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Calderon lied quickly. “Just wondering what your story has to do with getting around.”

  She laughed again and said, “Oh, right. Well, that’s the best part. If you get a bunch of kills like that in one city, you’ve got a serial killer, right? Big public outcry and a manhunt. Remember the DC Beltway Sniper?”

  “I do,” Calderon said.

  “But, see, I travel all over the world, and anywhere in the world I go, I practice that. I become death. One shot. Only one. A dog, a girlfriend, a husband, a kid at play, a lonely old man playing chess. I watch the reactions for a while, then I scramble back down and drive away. I monitor the news in that city for the next few days. They’re always clueless, and nobody’s ever put my kills together. They’re all so random and far apart No consequences.”

  “That’s…that’s…you must be very skilled,” Calderon said, searching for the right words. He no longer felt like looking Keeler in the eye, so he just looked down at her body.

  “I like to think so,” she said cheerfully. “Oh, uh, you like what you see?” she asked, misinterpreting his gaze at her body. She then gave a playful model pose with her hands on her hips.

  “It’s…very nice. You’re very fit, you’re right,” he said, but stayed on topic. “So, that’s why you don’t care if Mrs. Peterson dies? Even though you admit you’re not much different?”

  “I said we’re physically similar. Only. But what do you mean? What reason?”

  “Well, you’re talking about killing innocent people as a hobby. Your hobby.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re saying since you love doing that, you also love the idea of Mrs. Peterson getting cut to bits?”

  Keeler shrugged. “Not exactly. But you’re close.” She held her hand out for another cigarette and waited until he handed her one. “What I’m saying is that it’s all the same. It’s all random. These people…they never get an answer as to how or why some stray bullet came out of nowhere and killed their greyhound mid-walk. The couple in Dusseldorf, they had no reason to expect one bullet to go through both their hearts. It’s senseless, isn’t it? The family looking for the dad? They will never know who shot him or why. Because there is no why. There are no answers. It’s just random craziness.” She took a step closer and leaned in to say, “It’s just…life.”

  “It’s just life?” Calderon asked, looking up at her.

  “Well, yeah. You get it, don’t you? I can tell you’ve had your history, and it’s something else. How many kills?”

  “I’ve lost count,” he said, truthfully.

  “I knew it,” she agreed. “You get it. Just like me, you become death. It’s our living. The randomness, the killing.”

  “The baby?”

  “His or her parents will never know,” Keeler said, missing any thought of morality. “And for the rest of their lives, they’ll wonder. They’ll wonder who did it. They’ll demand answers. They’ll need to know why. They’ll question themselves. What if they had gone down a different street? What if they hadn’t gone out that day at all? They’ll want to know why police weren’t patrolling. In a weird way, I gave them purpose.”

  “I guess you did.”

  “And you’ve done the same.”

  “I haven’t sniped strangers for no reason.”

  “Well, not yet, anyway.” Keeler giggled in that wide-eyed, playful murderer way. “But that’s the thing. There are no reasons. You do it for money, you do it for the thrill, you do it because you’re pissed off. It doesn’t matter. There is no difference. They’re just as dead, no matter the rationale.”

  Her words hit him hard. What was Keeler, a mind-reader?

  “Hey, you keep looking at my body,” she giggled.

  “Uh, you’re very fit,” Calderon responded casually.

  “No, I don’t mind. I’ve been looking at yours!” she laughed “You, uh, maybe want to get together later? After this, I mean?”

  Calderon narrowed his eyes and looked up at her face. Yes, she was cute and fit, that was true. Hopefully, his discomfort managed to come off as sexy. His mind reeled. New ideas, new pictures were developing from the puzzle pieces all around him. Justin, Mrs. Peterson, the boss, the job, the retirement, the blood.

  And Keeler’s words might have been providing the very means to finishing this new concept. The final missing piece, as it were. Keeler was the key, wasn’t she?

  “Yes!” Calderon said, suddenly happy and excited as Keeler had just been. “Yes, actually, I think that’s an excellent idea. You might be just what I’m looking for.” He looked back down at her body and gave her a once-over. “Yeah, you might just be what I’m looking for.”

  “Nice,” she said, running her forefinger down his chest to hitch on his belt, playfully, sexily, then fall away. She looked up at him again with her brown eyes, now inquisitive and hopeful. “You do get it, don’t you? The randomness? Every death is the same. The thrill of the kill. I can’t talk to just anybody about this, you know? I am become death, you know? I figured you’d get it.”

  “It’s all random,” Calderon muttered. “Death is all the same. So, you’re saying you think it doesn’t matter if she lives or dies?”

  “Is it any different from shooting a rabbit or swatting a fly?” she asked, her eyes wide and childlike. “It’s all just one death. And maybe she dies, and someone else lives later, you know? I mean, really, who cares? It’s just death. Does it matter in the overall scheme of things? Besides, you know, making people like us happy.”

  And as he considered that incredibly absurd question, suddenly everything started to feel better and calmer. He felt enlightened in a strange unnatural way.

  It was like an incomplete puzzle was finally getting its missing piece. The elements settled into place, and he rather liked the image he was seeing.

  “I get it,” Calderon said and gave her a smile, not forced this time.

  “It doesn’t matter who or what you kill. It’s all the same. So, you can kill anything. When you become the truth of death, there are no consequences.”

  Calderon coughed and extinguished his cigarette. “That’s amazing. That’s pretty much exactly what I needed to hear.”

  “Yeah? So why retire?”

  “You must be psychic.”

  She gave him a sexy look and got very close to him. “Well, maybe I am. And maybe I’m a lot of things.”

  He laughed and looked her up and down again. “Like I said, you might
be just what I’m looking for.”

  “Now come on. Look at me in the eye, here. You don’t really want to retire, do you? And miss all these thrills?”

  He thought for a second as they turned back toward the building. “Well, I clearly have a job to do, after all.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “For the first time in a while, I think I know exactly what to do next.”

  “Ah, good!” she laughed.

  He followed her inside on his way back to the old television.

  He had always said, “The difference is why.”

  Keeler had just told him that there was no difference because there was no reason. There was no why.

  Hell of a philosophy. It was a new truth, and that new truth meant that with no more reasons there could be no more consequences.

  He smiled, thinking of her words, her face, her crazy eyes, her body, and her stories. They all pointed to something. His next big step.

  And for the moment, Calderon felt great. Absolutely great, even when he thought of Justin.

  He knew just what to do.

  The knocking had even left his head, and he was thinking clearly at last.

  It was time for a new plan. No consequences.

  23

  Crash and Burn: 9:47 AM

  Anthony Peterson clenched his eyes and his fist tight as he replayed Tom’s words in his head. “There’s a cop behind me.”

  “Oh shit…” was all Peterson could come up with to say back to Tom. He thought fast for a plan and the right words but all he could manage was “Just…just stay calm.”

  “I am,” Tom replied nervously. “This cop just pulled up behind me out of nowhere.”

  “Do you think somebody called about the shot?”

  “Maybe, but… Uh…” Tom sounded dumbstruck. “Well…I think I just figured out why he pulled out behind me.”

  “Why?”

  “I just realized I’m still wearing my ski mask. He must have spotted me as I drove by.”

  Peterson cringed and immediately got angry. “Why the hell are you still wearing your ski mask?” He was finding it increasingly difficult to hold in his anger with Tom.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know. I guess I just forgot in all the excitement. I didn’t even realize it until I started watching him in the rear-view mirror and caught my–”

  Peterson heard the siren break through the line as Tom continued to ramble “It’s just they’re so comfortable and– OH SHIT! He’s stopping me!”

  “Tom?” Peterson spoke in a calm and direct voice. “Get out of there, Tom!”

  Tom revved the engine. Lucky for Peterson, Tom loved his muscle cars. Tires squealed, but Peterson could hear the siren keeping up as the cop gave chase.

  Above the roar of the engine, Peterson heard Tom’s voice saying something excitedly. Peterson couldn’t understand him as he clearly had dropped the phone.

  “Tom?” he said, then shouted “TOM! Put the Bluetooth on!”

  “Oh yeah!” Tom said, barely audibly and after a couple of beeps he said “We’re losing him, Anthony!”

  Peterson paced and thought hard, like a mastermind. “What street are you on now?”

  “Uh…comin’ up on Main annnd…Gleason.”

  “Hang a hard right…” he said.

  “Your wish, my command!” Tom said, exasperated but maintaining his humor.

  The tires squealed on the pavement as Tom made the dangerous turn, and Peterson did wild calculations in his head. Tom’s adrenaline pumped and got him high enough to laugh again. “Oh, yeah! Bat…meet…HELL!”

  Peterson had an answer. “Tom, listen, coming up should be an old parking garage. Old burned out neon sign says ‘Playa Parking.’ I want you to go in through the exit. The bar won’t be down and don’t worry about the tires, the spikes haven’t worked in years.”

  “You better be sure.”

  “I am! Just head in there and keep moving.”

  Another tire screech and engine roar.

  “I’m in. Jesus, this place is like a maze.”

  Peterson nodded. “Slow it down and keep it quiet. Hopefully, he didn’t make it in, but if he did…”

  Peterson heard the siren go by in a Doppler effect accompanied by the sound of a revved-up engine.

  “That was him,” Tom laughed excitedly.

  “Wait, wait!” Peterson cautioned him. “He’s not an idiot. Keep it slow and low till we know he’s not coming back.”

  Tom obeyed and drove around inside the garage for a little while.

  After a time, Tom said, “No sign of the cop.”

  “Then no stop!” Peterson said, with a bloody grin. “Now, don’t head out the main rear entrance, just look to your left, and take the side exit. It lets out into an alley you can follow to Main again.”

  “How do you know all this?” Tom asked in amazement. “You’re like a human GPS.”

  Peterson smiled and said professionally, “I have quite a memory, young man. Alarm codes, account numbers…even phone numbers. It’s safe to say I know this city like you know the feel of your right hand.”

  “Well, then you must know it pretty damn well,” Tom said, honestly impressed. “Side exit is coming up.”

  The sounds of another sharp turn followed and Tom shouted victoriously “And we’re clear! No sign of him.”

  “Nice driving, Tommy!”

  “So, what’s next, papa bear?” Tom laughed, sounding like Mr. Cool as he revved the engine once again and caused his tires to squeal in acceleration.

  “Just keep going straight–” but Peterson was cut off by a new cacophonous mishap.

  “Oh shit!” Tom shouted in panicked terror as Peterson heard Tom’s wheels braking quickly and noisily followed by a loud crash.

  Peterson’s damaged mouth fell open as he listened to wheels swerving and a horrific crunch, followed by another and another. At last, the noises began to abate. It sounded like the car had flipped over.

  “Tom? Tom!” Peterson was not a praying man, but he was willing to beg for Tom to be alive.

  Metal screeches and scratching sounds continued before things went silent for a second…and Tom finally allowed himself to breathe.

  “Tom!” Peterson said hopefully as he heard Tom’s coughs.

  “Yeah. Give me a second,” he said in a strained voice as he crawled out of the wreckage. Peterson waited as he heard scratching sounds, gasps from Tom and broken glass hitting the pavement.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m…I’m good!” Tom said, sounding almost as amazed as Peterson was. “I had those cross-ways professional seatbelts installed last year. It was a vanity thing at the time, but turns out they’re really helpful.”

  Peterson exhaled and allowed himself to start pacing again. What to do next? “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m a little banged up,” Tom said. “Got to love those seatbelts. Aw, but my car is totally totaled!”

  “What the hell happened?” Peterson asked.

  “Freak accident. Fuckin’ other car came out of nowhere, and I had to swerve to keep from hittin’ it. Ran right into a lamp post. Knocked the fucker down at the base like a lumberjack. The damn thing’s just…lying across the road like a big old tree, man.”

  “And the other car?”

  “I didn’t hit ’em. But the lamp post fell and crushed it.”

  Peterson started. “And the people inside?”

  “Hang on, shit.”

  Peterson heard cloth rustling again and asked, “Tom, what is it?”

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Not as well, but yeah, if you talk in that voice. Why?”

  “There was a whole family in there. They’re okay. A couple of cuts and scratches, but I saw they were all tweeting about it and taking selfies, so I had to pull down my ski mask again. I just had it up around my head like one of those old-style burglars, you know?”

  “Tom, spare me the play-by-play, would ya?”

 
; “Right, uh…yeah, so they’re all sitting over there on the curb with their phones. Big family. Cousins, maybe. Doesn’t sound like they speak English, either. How the hell did they fit so many of ’em in one damn car? Musta been a clown car.”

  Peterson was impatient. “Tom. Can you get the goods and get the hell out of there?”

  With those words, Peterson heard a siren approaching, and he knew the answer was not going to be ‘yes.’

  “Uh…well, there’s a new problem with that.”

  “What now?” Peterson whispered in exasperation.

  “That same cop just drove up. Looks like he’s calling the accident in on his radio.”

  “Tom, get out of there.”

  “I can’t just get out of here; the stuff is still in the car. You know, the car that’s registered to me?” Tom mumbled to keep from being heard.

  “Does he see the license plate?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tom mumbled some more. “It’s bent in half, but…”

  “I know! I know!” Peterson said, terrified. If Tom ran off, he could claim the car was stolen by the same people who robbed the store.

  The problem with that was Peterson had no other ideas of how to get the money, and that meant his life and Susan’s life were both forfeit. If Tom ran, Peterson was dead.

  “Okay, just stay there but stay calm, Tom. You’ve already done so much today. You’ve proven you’ve got brass balls, kid. You can face this too.”

  “Shit, he’s walking toward me. Looks like the goddamn Incredible Hulk.”

  “He’s just a guy, Tom. How big can he be?”

  “Huge,” Tom said, and Peterson froze. “And he looks seriously pissed off.”

  How gigantic must that cop be for Tom to be intimidated? The guy boxed for years. “Okay, just run. We’ll reformulate a plan, maybe get you to rob the impound lot.”