357 Sunset

by Jude Hardin

  Hitchhiking was always an option, but it was one that Wahlman avoided for the most part. The meeting with the hacker in Junction City tomorrow was too important to risk missing. It was probably Wahlman’s best chance at identifying and locating the army colonel who’d been trying to kill him, at getting to the bottom of why all this was happening. Wahlman needed to be there on time, and he needed a mode of transportation that would be more dependable than hitchhiking.

  The Boyfriend of The Waitress With No Name walked into the restaurant. He’d changed clothes. He wasn’t wearing the tan boots anymore. Different shirt, different jeans. He walked up to the counter and sat down, leaving one stool between him and Wahlman.

  “You the guy who needs a ride?” he said.

  “Yes,” Wahlman said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Is it important?”

  “I guess not. We can just remain anonymous as far as I’m concerned. You ready to go now?”

  “My meeting’s at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” Wahlman said. “After the meeting, I’m going to need a ride back to Reality.”

  “We can leave at ten tomorrow morning if you want to,” The Boyfriend Of The Waitress With No Name said. “That should give you plenty of time.”

  “And you’ll wait around for me, and then bring me back?”

  “Sure.”

  “How much?”

  Boyfriend gave Wahlman a price. It was a little steep, but Wahlman wasn’t in a position to haggle.

  “I’ll meet you here at the diner at ten in the morning,” Boyfriend said.

  “Okay,” Wahlman said. “Is there a place around here where I can buy a phone?”

  “Yeah. About a mile from here. It’s on my way home. I can drop you off if you want me to.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Wahlman requested a lid for his cup, and then he followed Boyfriend out to the parking lot.

  6

  Wahlman bought a cheap little disposable flip-top cell phone—the kind you use for a few days and then crush with the heel of your boot. He activated the device, and then he walked to the hotel and called Kasey from his room. She was still staying at her parents’ lake house in Tennessee. It had been a couple of days since Wahlman had talked to her.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “Missouri,” Wahlman said, always careful not to be very specific about his location, in case someone was listening in. Unlikely, but there was no point in taking any chances.

  Kasey knew the drill.

  “I thought you would be further west by now,” she said.

  “The SUV broke down. I had to have it towed.”

  “You need money?”

  “No. I have enough for now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are you still planning to meet with that guy tomorrow afternoon?”

  “My car’s not going to be ready in time. I’m paying someone to drive me.”

  “You think you’re going to be able to get the information you need?” Kasey said.

  “I hope so.”

  “I hope so too. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

  Kasey’s tone had changed abruptly. She sounded anxious. Distraught.

  “How much more of what?” Wahlman said.

  “Being separated like this. I don’t know. Just the uncertainty of it all.”

  Wahlman had left his home in Florida and had been out on the road for months. Literally running for his life. He loved Kasey, and he wanted to be with her, but he couldn’t just hide out there at her parents’ lake house forever, as she had previously suggested. He was afraid that his troubles might follow him there, for one thing, putting Kasey and her family in great danger. He needed to find out why he had been targeted, and he needed to figure out a way to put a stop to it.

  And he needed to do it alone.

  Then he could deal with the charges that had been brought against him in New Orleans. Then maybe he and Kasey could have a chance at some kind of life together.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” he said.

  “I know you are. It’s just that—”

  “Everything’s going to work out. I just need a little more time.”

  There was a long pause.

  “There’s someone at the door,” Kasey said. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “Okay,” Wahlman said.

  He clicked off. Sat there on the bed and stared into the mirror behind the dresser. He hadn’t weighed himself lately, but his face looked thinner than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair had started graying at the temples. He was only forty years old, but some of the teenage cashiers at some of the fast food joints he went to sometimes were already starting to ask him if he qualified for the senior discount. He still felt good. Strong. But the nightmare that his life had become had taken its toll on his physical appearance.

  He stripped down and took a shower, and then he pulled a clean pair of underwear out of his backpack and put them on and climbed into bed. It was early, not even nine o’clock yet, but he’d only been sleeping four or five hours a night lately, and it was starting to catch up to him.

  He turned onto his side and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to set the alarm clock or arrange for a courtesy call. He knew that he would wake up at the usual time, at 5:27 in the morning.

  7

  Kasey walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Her parents had gone into town to do some shopping—a twenty-mile trip, each way—and Natalie had gone with them, hoping to find a new bathing suit for the summer. Before leaving, Kasey’s dad had called a service technician to perform some routine maintenance on the central heating and air conditioning system, and the guy had said that he was extremely busy this time of year and that it might be late into the evening hours before he could make it over.

  So Kasey hadn’t immediately felt uneasy about someone knocking on the door, but the guy standing on the porch didn’t really look like a service technician. He was wearing a white shirt and a tan sports jacket, jeans and boots and a white cowboy hat. Dark brown hair. Mustache.

  Kasey was certain that she’d never seen him before.

  She was thinking about walking over to the bureau at the end of the foyer and opening the drawer and grabbing the pistol that was in there when she noticed the white van in the driveway. JOE’S HEATING AND AIR, the side panel said, in big brown letters. So maybe the guy on the porch was going to put some coveralls or something on before starting the work he’d come to do.

  Kasey opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said. “My dad’s not here right now, but I guess you can—”

  “Are you Kasey Stielson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Kasey glanced over at the van. A guy wearing a gray shirt and a red ball cap climbed out and started walking toward the east side of the house, where the outside air conditioning unit was located. Then Kasey remembered what her dad had said, that the previous owners had used the same heating and air conditioning company for years and had highly recommended their services, that the guys were familiar with the setup, and that it really wasn’t necessary for anyone to be home when they came and performed the annual cleaning and refrigerant check.

  “What do you want?” Kasey said to the man on the porch.

  “May I come in?”

  “I don’t think so. Are you trying to sell something, or what?”

  “I’m looking for a man named Rock Wahlman.”

  “Never heard of him,” Kasey said.

  She glanced up the hill, saw a long black sedan parked along the side of the road. She took a step backward and started to close the door.

  The man slid his foot between the door and the jamb.

  “I’m pretty sure you have heard of him,” the man said. “This is going to be a lot easier for both of us if you cooperate.”

  “And what if I
don’t cooperate?”

  “I know your parents live here, and your daughter. Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “Are you threatening to do physical harm to me and my family?” Kasey said.

  “Of course not,” the man said. “But Rock Wahlman is wanted for murder. Anyone who helps him stay hidden from the authorities could be charged with a number of serious crimes. You, your parents, and your daughter—even though she’s still a minor. Is that what you want? Do you want Natalie to spend the rest of her teenage years in a juvenile detention center?”

  “Who are you?” Kasey said.

  “My name’s Decker. I’m a professional tracker and bounty hunter. I’m working with a private investigator from New Orleans. Guy named Feldman. He was hired by the New Orleans Police Department as a special consultant in the case against Mr. Wahlman.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Kasey said. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “May I come in?”

  Kasey took a deep breath, and then she opened the door wide enough for Decker to cross the threshold. He took his hat off as he entered the house. He was wearing some kind of cologne or aftershave, a scent that reminded Kasey of a certain brand of floor cleaner that she’d used recently.

  She led him into the living room and motioned for him to have a seat on the leather couch, and then she rolled the chair from the computer desk over to the coffee table and sat across from him. She didn’t offer him a cup of coffee or even a glass of water. She wanted to get him out of there as soon as possible so she could contact Rock and warn him.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is,” she said.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “He called just a little while ago. But he never tells me his exact location.”

  “Concerned that someone might be listening in?”

  “Of course. And concerned that someone like you might show up and start asking questions.”

  “Does Mr. Wahlman ever tell you his approximate location?” Decker said.

  “No.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I don’t really give a shit what you find hard to—”

  “You need to give a shit,” Decker said. “If I’m not satisfied with the information gained from our little interview session here, the next person who knocks on your door will be from the state police. You and your daughter and your parents will be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice. The four of you will be taken into custody and extradited to Louisiana, where you will be given a court date. You might be released on bail, if you can afford it, but your lives will be disrupted for a long time. Months. Years maybe. Then, if you’re convicted, you might be facing—”

  “Natalie wasn’t involved in any of this,” Kasey said.

  “Okay. Let’s say she wasn’t. She’s only fourteen years old. The court’s not going to let her just walk away and live independently. I understand that her father is deceased, so there’s a very good chance that she would become a ward of the state. It’s a heartbreaking situation. I’ve seen it happen more times than I care to remember. So yes, you need to give a shit about what I believe and what I don’t believe. As of now, you and your family haven’t been charged with anything, but that could change very quickly. All I want is Wahlman. Tell me what you know, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

  Tears welled in Kasey’s eyes. She didn’t want to see anything bad happen to Rock. She loved him. She wanted to be with him forever.

  But the welfare of her daughter came first.

  “He’s in Missouri,” she said. “He has an SUV with a fake registration. It broke down, and it’s going to be a while before he can drive it again. He’s staying somewhere while it’s being worked on, but I don’t know exactly where.”

  “Would you happen to know the tag number on that vehicle?” Decker said. “And the phone number he called you from a while ago?”

  Kasey told him the tag number, and the phone number, and then she lost control of her emotions. She started sobbing uncontrollably, knowing in her heart that she would never see Rock Wahlman again.

  8

  It had been years since Wahlman’s internal alarm clock had failed him, so it came as a complete shock when he opened his eyes and glanced over at the nightstand and saw that it was 8:57 in the morning.

  He’d slept for about twelve hours.

  He climbed out of bed and took a quick shower and headed over to the diner.

  The breakfast crowd had come and gone, and he had the counter to himself again. The Waitress With No Name wasn’t there. Another young lady stepped over and asked him if he would like a cup of coffee. She was petite and perky with short blonde hair and eyes the shade of robins’ eggs.

  The Waitress With No Name 2.

  “Yes on the coffee,” Wahlman said, studying the laminated menu he’d picked up on the way in. “And let me get the number four breakfast platter, with a side of hash browns.”

  “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Fast. I’m meeting someone here in a little while, and—”

  “I mean how do you want them cooked?” The Waitress With No Name 2 said, never cracking a smile.

  “Scrambled will be fine,” Wahlman said. “And make the coffee a large, please.”

  The Waitress With No Name 2 poured some coffee into a large paper cup and set it on the counter in front of Wahlman, and then she punched his breakfast order into the computer.

  “Should be out in a few minutes,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’m going to step outside and get a newspaper. I’ll be right back.”

  Wahlman stepped outside and fed some coins into the machine and grabbed a paper from the top of the stack. As he was turning to head back into the diner, he saw the man he’d hired to give him a ride to Junction City.

  The Boyfriend Of The Waitress with No Name stepped up onto the sidewalk. He was wearing the tan leather work boots again. They appeared to be dry now, but they were discolored up to the ankles.

  Like Wahlman’s.

  From sloshing around in the flooded house over on Sunset.

  “You ready to go?” Boyfriend said.

  “You’re early,” Wahlman said. “I was going to eat some breakfast.”

  “We better get going. You wouldn’t want to miss your appointment.”

  “Why would I miss it? Junction City’s only three hours from here.”

  “You never know what traffic’s going to be like.”

  Wahlman shrugged. “All right,” he said. “You mind if I eat in your truck?”

  “Not at all.”

  Wahlman walked inside and asked The Waitress With No Name 2 to change his order to a carryout, and a few minutes later he climbed into the truck with Boyfriend and munched on a strip of bacon as they made their way toward the interstate.

  But Boyfriend didn’t take a left where he should have. He didn’t turn onto the road that led to the on-ramps. Instead, he kept going straight. Toward Fantasy.

  “I think you should have turned back there,” Wahlman said.

  Left-handed, and with lightning speed, like some kind of ambidextrous gunslinger from the old west, Boyfriend pulled a handgun out from the other side of the driver seat and aimed the barrel at Wahlman’s face.

  “Shut up and eat your breakfast,” he said. “We’re going to take a little detour.”

  9

  The red and white sign mounted over the service bays said REALITY AUTO REPAIR. Decker steered into the parking lot, climbed out of his car, entered the building through a steel and glass swinging door that led to an enclosure with a counter and a waiting area.

  A guy wearing a blue shirt with an embroidered blue and white patch that said GERRY over the left breast pocket was sitting behind the counter staring at a computer screen. He had oily hair that didn’t appear to be quite natural in color, and a thick and gaudy pair of rhinestone-studded eyeglasses that didn’t appear to be quite fr
om this planet. Blackened fingernails, scabbed knuckles. He glanced up from his monitor and asked Decker if he could help him.

  “You working on this car?” Decker said, sliding a piece of paper across the counter with the tag number Kasey Stielson had given him written on it.

  Gerry picked up the piece of paper, tapped some keys on his keyboard.

  “It’s not ready yet,” he said.

  “But it’s here?”

  “Yeah. It’s here. It’s parked around back.”

  “I’m looking for the man who brought it in,” Decker said. “Any idea where he might be staying?”

  Gerry raked his greasy fingers through his greasy hair.

  “Is he a friend of yours or something?” he said.

  “Or something,” Decker said.

  “I don’t know where he’s staying. Not for sure. But he’s probably over at The Reality Hotel.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Right down the road. You could walk there if you wanted to.”

  Decker folded the piece of paper and slid it back into his pocket. He handed the mechanic a blank business card with a phone number written on it.

  “Give me a call if you hear from the owner of that vehicle,” he said.

  “Is he in some kind of trouble or something?”

  “More than you can imagine. Just give me a call if you see him or if he calls the shop.”

  “Okay.”

  Decker left the repair shop and drove to the hotel. The wormy little clerk at the check-in desk cited some sort of privacy policy, but he suddenly became much more cooperative when Decker told him that Wahlman was wanted for murder and that anyone hindering the investigation could be charged with a serious crime.

  Wahlman wasn’t in his room, but he hadn’t checked out of the hotel, so Decker figured he would be back.