"Where did you get that?"
"Under the car." He handed the key to Simmons. “Why don’t you do the honor?”
Simmons took the key from Isaac and placed it into the ignition. Turned it. The engine fired up without a stutter.
“See, I told you I was probably wrong."
Isaac walked over to the red Camry and opened the passenger door.
"Is that it?"
"That's it," Isaac replied.
“What are we supposed to do with the car? Leave it out here?”
“We’ll send someone out here to pick it up. Just make sure you bring the key.” He could feel a family of mosquitoes nipping at the back of his neck. He wished Simmons would hurry up and get in the car.
“Do you think they’ll be all right with that?”
Isaac shook his head to momentarily free himself of the attack. “Just come on.”
Simmons grabbed the undershirt from the roof of the Escort and sat down inside the Camry. He tossed the Ford key into a cup holder full of change. “What do we say about the window?”
“Do you always worry this much?”
“I’m not worried.”
“You’re right, you’re not,” Isaac said. “You’re scared to death.” Simmons maneuvered through an eight-point turn. “I don’t know. Tell them whatever you want. Be creative.”
“Why me?”
“Because you live closer to the precinct. You can drop me off at home on your way.”
“Oh, great, thanks. Leave it all in my hands.”
“Look, just tell them a bird flew into it, or through it, I guess.”
After much work, Simmons had the car turned around and heading back down the narrow dirt trail. “Are you serious? A bird?”
“When am I ever not serious?"
Chapter Six
1
He made sure to lock the doors.
From inside the gas station, behind the barred glass windows, he could see it all. It was a world he had not seen in a very long time, and though everything had changed, slowly, he began to feel more like himself again.
He studied and waited for the arrival of a stronger, more significant being. Many had stopped by since the two detectives left hours ago. Some just passed through, a few knocked, and many tried to step inside. Though most were undeserving, and all did not warrant the respect of the special gift, a gift that only he could give.
The gift of illusion.
And then—
Deputy Howers finished pumping forty-five dollars worth of cheap gasoline into his squad car then walked toward the front of the store. He slung open the door and smiled at the clerk behind the cash register. The clerk smiled back. He removed his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and set it down on the counter.
“Forty-five on pump two,” said the young deputy. His voice had a touch of backwoods to it. “And a case of Copenhagen.”
Eddie smiled again and gazed up at the deputy’s finely brushed cowboy hat. “That’s a nice hat you have there.”
“Hey, thanks,” said the deputy. “Got it at the flea market.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I tried it on, would you?”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda in a hurry if you know what I mean?”
“I understand."
“How much?”
“Well, that all depends,” Eddie said, turning away from the deputy for a second, only to return with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. “How much do you think your life is worth?”
Deputy Howers jumped back from the counter. “Jesus! What the hell are you doing?”
“How much?” Eddie yelled.
The deputy remained tongue-tied and became more frigid as the seconds waned on, like a well-carved statue of fear.
“Is it worth the hat on your head?”
Deputy Howers only moved to toss the black cowboy hat over to the psychotic store clerk. “Here, t-t-take it,” he squealed, locking his body back into the frozen pictorial of before.
Eddie picked up the hat with his free hand and rested it on top of his head. “How does it look?” he asked.
The nervous deputy nodded an obvious approval.
Then Eddie cocked the shotgun, laughing.
A frightened Christopher closed his eyes.
A moment later the shotgun hit the counter.
The laughing stopped.
Chris opened his eyes with great relief to see the shotgun no longer pointed at him and the psychotic clerk wearing his hat stepping away from the counter.
“What? Can’t take a joke?”
The deputy chose not to respond in words but in actions. He removed his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the mental store clerk.
“I guess not,” Eddie said, answering his own question.
The deputy reached around the side of his belt looking for his radio and then remembered he had left it in the squad car outside. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He inched toward the counter. “Don’t move!”
When he reached the counter, he grabbed the shotgun and unloaded the shells on to the floor. Then he grabbed his wallet and placed it back into the back pocket of his navy blue pants. “Now put your hands over your head and slowly walk around the counter,” he ordered. “Slowly!”
When the clerk was free of the counter, Chris removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Okay, stop! Now turn around and put your hands behind your back!”
Eddie smiled. “Whatever you say, officer.”
Chapter Seven
1
Randy Wilson could have run a small junkyard business right out of his backyard, if he were so inclined. There had to be fifty or more used car parts spaced out across his lawn in no particular order. The former mechanic had all the proper equipment to assemble one nasty automobile, or one hell of a backyard bomb. The tall weedy grass concealed all sorts of strange and unique objects, some sharp enough to sever a toe if you were courageous enough to walk through the jungle without shoes. Most people would think of these things as trash, but Randy called it his mountain of treasures.
“Have you ever considered cleaning this place up?” Isaac asked, standing at the edge of the screened porch.
“Are you kidding? I find something new every day,” Randy explained. He bent down to pick up an old photograph tainted by fire. “Check this out. It’s an old picture of my Ma. God rest her soul. I never even knew I had this.”
“You’re a strange guy, Randy,” Isaac said. “But I’m glad to hear about the new job. I hope everything goes well with your fresh start.”
“Speaking of the fresh start, come on inside and meet Lizzy.” Randy locked the screened patio door and fired up the grill before heading through the sliding glass door. “I really think you’ll like her.”
Isaac followed Randy inside the house and sat down next to Amy on the couch. Randy ran through the small house calling for his fiancé.
“She’s not here,” Amy yelled back. “She went to the store to get some drinks.”
“Oh, okay,” said Randy. “Well, she’ll probably be back in a bit.”
“What are we watching?” Amy asked.
“Looks like the six o’clock news.”
Randy lit a cigarette and glanced over at the television. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear something about the crash this morning. But nothing’s been said yet.”
Amy glanced over at Randy. “What crash?”
“A car crash. Big one.”
Isaac bit his lip to keep his mouth closed. The last thing he wanted to talk about was this morning’s wreck, or the entire Ackerman family for that matter.
“One of the men who died in the crash worked with me,” Randy continued. “And a few worked with your father.”
Isaac cringed.
Amy looked over at her father huddling into the corner of the couch. “Is that true, Dad?”
Isaac nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.” He took a deep breath. “But I can’t say I really knew them that well.”
“Oh, I was und
er the impression when I talked to you earlier that you knew them,” said Randy.
“Not really. I knew of them.”
Just as Randy began to dig deeper into the closed file of James Ackerman, his fiancé barged through the front door cutting him off in mid-sentence. Isaac sat up and plopped his head back on the couch cushion. The relief had arrived right on schedule.
Lizzy held a couple of plastic grocery bags in one hand and a case of Bud Light in the other. “Hey babe, did ya miss me?” She spoke loud, with a high pitched, southern accent.
“I was looking for you,” Randy said, walking toward the door to greet her. He gave her a peck on the mouth then followed her into the kitchen. “They told me you went to the store.” He looked down at the case of beer in her hand. “I see you got some beer. Sweet.”
“Yeah, we were almost out.”
Randy escorted his fiancé (both with beers in their hands) out to the living room. Lizzy was easily the best-looking woman Randy had ever dated, or married for that matter. She was tall and slim, with long wavy blond hair, and big, glowing blue eyes like a pair of full moons. “Isaac,” Randy said, throwing his arm around his fiancé. “Meet Lizzy.”
“Hello.”
Lizzy smiled kindly at Isaac. “Hi there, it’s nice to meet you.” The loud pitch of her southern accent was now only a tiny flaw in relation to the entire package, like a small scratch on a new Mercedes. “Randy has told me so much about you.”
“I’ll bet he has,” Isaac said. With the happy couple standing next to each other, Isaac could tell that Lizzy was at least ten years younger than Randy, which would place her somewhere in her late-twenties. “Just don’t believe everything you hear.”
Randy left the living room for the kitchen. A minute later, he walked back through with two platefuls of various meats and headed outside to the grill. Amy got up to use the bathroom, leaving Isaac alone in the living room with Randy’s new fiancé.
“How did you and Randy meet?”
“Oh, we met at a bar.”
“How romantic.”
“Ain’t it?” she giggled.
“How long have you been together?”
“A couple of months now. I just moved in last week.”
“Good to hear.”
“Hey, would ya like a beer or something? I could get it for you.”
"Sure."
Randy tapped on the sliding glass door and gestured for Isaac to come outside.
“So what do ya think?” Randy asked, not taking his eyes off the flaming rib platter on the grill. “You think she’s a keeper?”
Isaac pulled out a plastic chair from underneath the white plastic porch table and sat down.
“I know we’ve only been together for a couple of months but I really think it's working.” Lizzy opened the sliding door and handed Isaac a beer, and Randy another as well. Then she headed back to the kitchen to prepare the side dishes.
“She seems fine, Randy. It really doesn’t matter what I think. You’re the one who’s marrying her.”
“Right,” said Randy. “But I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. It’s true.”
“What am I thinking?”
Randy placed the lid down over the grill and sat down across from Isaac. “You’re thinking it’s too soon. You remember me telling you that I’d never get married again.”
Indeed, Isaac did remember Randy saying just that on occasion, in fact, many times, but that really wasn’t what he was thinking. The age difference seemed more of a concern, not a problem, just a minor concern.
“And you’re wondering if this time is any different than the last.”
“Not really,” said Isaac. “I won’t lie, when you first told me, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that after all you’ve gone through in the past you were willing to do it again. But it’s not my place to call. It’s your life. You can do what you want. I’ll always be next door.”
“So you don’t think I’m making a mistake?”
“What are you shooting at, Randy? It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“I know, but—”
“Do you think it’s a mistake?”
Isaac was surprised that Randy was even thinking about the question, not after how sure he had sounded earlier. He wished he could take the question back, forget he ever asked. Getting involved in other people’s affairs made him uncomfortable. Relationships were hardly his strong point. The last serious one he’d had ended sixteen years ago.
“Sometimes I think that I’m trying to prove something,” Randy finally said. “To show myself I can do it. Ya know what I mean?”
Isaac didn’t answer, though for once he knew exactly what Randy meant. He had felt the same way many times after Linda’s death. Every time he dreamt about that night, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time would turn out different. Maybe he would wake up with Linda by his side, right where she belonged. But the dream always remained the same; he would wake up alone in a half empty bed with the guilt of having to sleep in it.
Randy took another long sip of beer and stared Isaac dead in the eyes. The look added to Isaac’s already mammoth feeling of discomfort.
“I’ve been divorced three times. That’s not something I’m proud of. And I know that some of that shit is my fault. But sometimes I wonder if I really did enough? Or was I just running away?”
“What are you running away from?”
Randy let out a deep breath of air. “I don’t know. Commitment, I guess.”
There was a long period of silence followed by a loud bang on the sliding glass door. Both men looked over at Lizzy frantically pointing at the grill. A thick fog of smoke rose from the top and navigated across the porch. Randy hurried out of his seat and opened the grill lid. A cloud of thick gray smoke rushed out and exploded into his face. He stepped back and fanned the smoke away with his hand. After a moment, the smoke cleared and Randy removed the partially burnt meat from the grill, stacking it on a clean plate.
“It will probably turn out okay,” he continued, as though nothing had happened. “I just hope I’m ready this time.”
Isaac stood up and walked next to his friend. “The only advice I can give you is to try and take it one day at a time. Cherish every moment like it’s the last.” He patted Randy on the shoulder. “Trust me, I wish I had.”
Lizzy had cooked an assortment of side dishes to go along with the barbecued meat: baked beans, potato salad, macaroni, and a dozen biscuits. Everyone sat down at the table and rushed to fix their plate. Randy grabbed the remote to turn off the TV when the news anchor broke into the story of the car wreck. Instantly, everyone stopped filling their plates and gave the television their full attention, everyone except Isaac. He pretended like it was no big deal, not even glancing over for a second, while at the same time hoping that the female voice in the background would just shut her damn mouth.
Only sound bites registered to Isaac’s ears.
“The truck driver..."
“Highway 41..."
“Losing control...”
“Ending in the loss ..."
“Sadness for ..."
Isaac sat back and waited impatiently for it to be over. Near the end of the report, the woman mentioned James Ackerman, and did not forget to state the recent death of his wife and daughter. Isaac expected the issue would arise, but what he didn’t expect immediately followed.
“Although investigators had believed that James Ackerman was responsible, no connection has been made yet to link him to the death of his wife and daughter."
“Holy shit!” Randy yelled. “I had no idea. Did you, Isaac?”
2
It took Isaac the entire length of dinner to successfully change the subject. The group left the table and sat down to chat in the living room. Twenty minutes later, Isaac’s phone rang. He hesitated to take it off his belt. With a half dozen watching eyes, he unclipped the Motorola from his belt and read the incoming number. It was Chief Stevens.
“Isa
ac, I have some bad news,” said the chief.
“Oh God,” Isaac moaned. “Don’t even say what I think you’re going to say.”
Everyone in the room wanted to know exactly what Isaac didn’t want the chief of police to say, especially Randy.
“It happened again.”
When Isaac hung up the phone, Amy asked, “Do you have to go?”
“Unfortunately.”
“That sucks,” Randy whimpered. “The night was just getting started. I was in the mood for a little truth or dare.”
Isaac smiled. He was a little old for truth or dare. “Save it for another night. I’ve got to run out.”
“Big emergency?”
Isaac kissed his daughter on the cheek. “Are you going to stay here for awhile?”
“No, I’ll probably go home soon.”
Isaac headed for the front door. “Emergency? Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he finally answered.
Randy opened the door for Isaac. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“No.”
It was getting dark outside. Storm clouds hovered above. Isaac caught a fleeting gust of light mist as he stepped out of the house and into the front yard.
“Oh, I get it, big detective stuff, right?”
“Now you’re starting to catch on,” Isaac said, walking away.
He stopped and looked back when he was halfway to his house.
“Hey, Randy.” He shielded his eyes with his right hand. The light mist had given birth to a hammering rain. “Don’t worry. I think she’s great.”
Chapter Eight
1
The police cruiser sat in the empty parking lot of an industrial warehouse on the right corner where Kingsley Avenue met Highway 41. Across the highway, past the light, Kingsley turned into Parker, and on the corner of Parker was the A-Plus gas station.
The deputy watched and waited from inside number 947 for the two detectives to arrive. He was sure they would come, they had every time before. They were on to him, or his trail, so to speak. But this time would be different, the game was all but over, and tonight he would make it personal.
The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller Page 8