A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  He whistled. “That’s one hell of a stash.” He and Brian would surely receive accolades for this bust. The department didn’t have to know it was all shit luck.

  Finally, things are starting to go my way.

  CHAPTER 15

  Friday midafternoon at the Silver City Galleria was like a goth teenybopper festival. Craig knew it would all change in an hour, when half-crazed parents got off work and ran out to do their Christmas shopping.

  “See? The only killers here are the ones playing on the Muzak at FYE,” Ricardo said.

  “You’d think with a name like The Killers, the band would be a lot less whiny.” Craig studied his surroundings. He didn’t see anybody following him, not that he knew what to look for. He imagined men in sunglasses, with index fingers holding in earpieces, saying things like, “The suspect is on the move,” and “Shadow him, but not too closely.” But the scene at the mall was more appropriately likened to what The Who might call a “Teenage Wasteland.”

  The Who—now there’s a great band that most of these dumbasses probably never heard of. Ah, it’s not their fault they’re here. What else is there for teenagers to do before they can drink and drive? Whatever happened to bowling?

  “Hey, Ricardo, want to go bowling?” Craig asked.

  “We can’t. It’s a league night. Anyway, I have plans.”

  “Oh, right, Bible class.” Craig hoped his verbal eye roll hadn’t been too obvious. “What time do you have to be there?”

  “Seven thirty. We have time for Bertucci’s if you want.”

  “Yeah, pizza sounds good.” As they walked through the mall to Bertucci’s Brick Oven Pizzeria, Craig felt much more relaxed. No one was spying on him there. No one is spying on me at all, he reassured himself.

  But something in the back of his mind made him second-guess his more rational side. He didn’t want to be home alone that night. He was staying with his parents until his tour picked up again after the holidays. His parents, already needing a vacation from him, had gone to visit friends for the weekend, leaving Craig there alone until Tuesday. “Carter mentioned that you guys are having a workout tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, why? Are you interested?”

  He gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “You want us to pick you up?”

  “No, I’ll drive, just in case I want to leave early. Can I follow you and Doug there?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll ask him and let you know.”

  Saturday morning was cold, quiet, and peaceful. As Craig prepared for his morning jog, he felt more at ease than he had in over a week. Only a few cars passed as he ran. Not a white van in sight. Sweaty but relaxed, he strolled back into his parents’ driveway at ten.

  By eleven, he was getting restless. He flipped through TV channels, stopping briefly on a cartoon he’d never seen before, then on several reruns. Saturday mornings suck for TV. He decided to call Aaron, always his best shot at getting out of the house, to see if he was up for lunch. Aaron didn’t answer.

  I guess I’ll be going over to Carter’s house today. He gave Ricardo a call.

  “Hello?” Ricardo answered.

  “It’s me. You hungry?”

  “Doug and I are eating now. We’re at Ponderosa.”

  “When did you start?”

  “We’ve been here for a while now. I had to get out of the house. Brittney was being difficult.”

  “And then you marry one. Damn, I need food. You should have called me. I would have come with you guys.”

  “Sorry. Are you still going with us today?”

  “Yeah, yeah. What time are you coming by?”

  “How’s twelve thirty?”

  “That works. It will give me time to hit the Pizza Hut buffet.”

  “They only have the buffet on weekdays.”

  “Damn! Well, I guess I’ll see you when you get here.”

  “All right. Later.”

  “Bye.” Craig flipped to Comedy Central and dozed off during a Larry the Cable Guy special.

  When the doorbell woke him, he rolled off the couch and went to the door. He was surprised to see Ricardo and Doug standing there since he hadn’t realized he’d slept so long. He grabbed his keys and hopped into his car to follow them.

  It was only a twenty-minute drive. Although he’d lived in the area as a child and his parents had always lived there, Craig had never known his home existed so close to such places—hard to get to, beautiful, secluded realty, scarcely corrupted by man. Outside of Dighton, the houses became scarcer. Most of them were gorgeous but deserted, their wealthy owners probably hibernating the winter away in Florida or some other tropical climate.

  Ahead, Doug’s truck veered sharply off the roadway. The growth was so thick that it hid the turn. Craig carefully followed the F-150 as it wound down a forest trail, then another, before hitting a paved driveway.

  Who would actually live out here? There’s nothing but farmland, then woods, then farmland and woods all over again. Country folk and woodsmen—where am I, West Virginia? They probably still shit in holes in the ground out here. Craig sighed. I doubt I’ll be able to find my way back.

  His Rabbit struggled to climb the steep driveway, almost stalling in the process. At the top was an elegant Victorian-style house. The property abutted a small lake and was surrounded by woods on its other three sides. He took in the crisp, clean air. God, I hate the rich. They get everything good.

  The house was enormous, with a four-car garage and a large three-tiered building attached that resembled a Japanese pagoda. Some might have found the culture clash somewhat gaudy or forced. Craig found it fascinating.

  I didn’t know Carter was so well off. He couldn’t possibly have afforded all this just from teaching jiu-jitsu. Maybe I’m in the wrong business.

  Craig climbed out of his car and joined Ricardo and Doug.

  Carter came out of the house, dressed like a preppy playboy. “Hey, guys. Welcome!” Even though it was less than forty degrees outside, his sweater was tied over his shoulders, and he was wearing a Polo pullover, khakis, and brown loafers, without socks.

  Craig did his best to hold back his goofy smirk as Carter walked toward them. “He looks straight out of an Old Spice commercial,” he whispered to Ricardo. “He would have gotten his ass kicked for dressing like that at school back in my day. Heck, he should probably get his ass kicked for dressing like that now.”

  Ricardo let out a strained laugh and shifted away.

  Carter approached Craig with his hand extended. “Hello, Craig. I’m glad you could make it.”

  Craig reached out to shake but recoiled when he saw a wet black smear across the back of Carter’s hand.

  Carter looked down at his hand. “Oh, sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back. “It’s blood. It turns black when I mix it with preservatives.”

  Not certain how to respond to that, Craig chuckled uneasily.

  Carter grinned, showing off his perfect teeth. “I’m just messing with you. I thought you liked jokes.” He rubbed the smear on his hand. “It’s just paint. I’m touching up a room in the house. I’ve been at it all morning.”

  Craig frowned. “You’re painting a room black?”

  “No. I meant the furniture in it. The room itself is gray. It’s my favorite color.”

  Craig gazed up at the house. “You could paint this place any color, and it would still look amazing.”

  “You think so? It’s quiet, private. I like it. But it’s not the type of place you want to be in when you lose power in a winter snowstorm. Fortunately, I have a generator.”

  “It’s good to be prepared.”

  “Isn’t that the Boy Scouts’ motto? Or the army’s? I forget which one. Anyway, did you bring your gi?”

  “It’s in my car. Do you have
some place where I can change?”

  “Right this way.”

  Craig retrieved his gym bag and followed the others into the house. The inside was as tasteful as the outside. Candles sat evenly spaced on the mantel of a fireplace. No mirror or painting had the slightest tilt. All wood was polished; Craig couldn’t spot even the thinnest layer of dust on anything. Every room seemed straight out of a package, as if they had been set up for the sole purpose of fooling visitors, or maybe Carter himself, that the house was actually lived in.

  But what Craig found most odd was the complete lack of photographs. He wondered if Carter had a girlfriend, family, or anyone besides his students and fellow Bible-reading bumpkins.

  Carter led him to a bathroom the size of a bedroom. While Craig changed, he heard the guys talking just outside the door.

  “Where’s Kelly?” Carter asked.

  “She’s at the mill,” Doug said. “Getting things ready.”

  “I thought I told her to be here.”

  “She didn’t want to do this one. She felt she’d only be in the way. She knows him, and it made her a little uncomfortable.” Doug paused. “She didn’t want anything to cloud her judgment.”

  “You’d better get her on a shorter leash. Who’s wearing the pants in your relationship, anyway?”

  “It’ll be fine, Carter. We can handle this without her.”

  “All right. Go get changed.”

  I didn’t know Doug and Kelly owned a mill. Craig frowned. Is everyone rich but me?

  Carter knocked on the bathroom door. “Craig, when you’re done changing, just walk around back to the dojo. You can leave your stuff on the kitchen counter.”

  “Okay,” Craig called.

  When Craig finished changing, he opened the door. Looking around the empty room, he realized he had no idea where “around back” was. He turned right and walked down a long corridor that he hoped led to a back door. But when he opened the door at the end, he discovered a six-car garage.

  “Cool!” He hurried down the few steps.

  In addition to the array of power tools neatly organized along the wall and a workbench, he saw a collection of big-boy toys that made him salivate. Two four-wheel ATVs, a snowmobile, a dirt bike, and a jet ski, each one top of the line, called to him from one corner. He hopped aboard one of the ATVs and nearly squealed when he saw that its fuel tank was full and its keys dangled from the ignition. How he wanted to turn those keys and hear the beast purr, but he talked himself off the seat to check out the street vehicles Carter’s garage had to offer—three cars: a cherry-red 1987 Corvette Stingray, a black 1969 Chevelle Supersport, and a black Chevrolet 3500 van.

  This guy’s got the coolest shit. Craig ran his hand along the Stingray’s oversized hood. He should lose the eighties van, though, unless he’s trying out for the A-Team.

  Craig moved toward the snowmobile. He kicked something that rolled beneath the van. Bending over to look, he saw that it was a paint can. The floor was covered with newspaper. He figured Carter had been painting his furniture in there.

  Craig turned to leave and slammed right into Carter. “Oh, sorry. I got lost.”

  “That’s okay.” Carter’s expression briefly hinted at impatience, but his tone was calm. “It’s this way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

  “You got a lot of cool stuff in there. I always wanted a four-wheeler. Maybe I’ll steal one of yours when you’re not looking.” Craig laughed.

  “There are lots of paths for them around here. If you want, we’ll take them out after class.”

  “Sounds cool,” Craig said, trying not to seem too eager.

  He followed Carter back down the hallway. When he saw where they’d be practicing, he actually felt his penis throb. Carter’s exercise area was world-class. Made up like an authentic Japanese dojo, it even had paper-thin partitions on three sides. That would have made it pretty cold in there, since they were technically outside, but space heaters took out some of the chill in the air. Doug and Ricardo, already in their uniforms, stood in the center of the sixty-foot-square matted floor.

  “Upkeep on this thing must be a pain in the ass.” At the threshold, Craig kicked off his shoes and bowed, then he stepped out onto the mat.

  Carter did the same. “Yes, the weather does a number on it, but it’s a small price to pay for the inner peace this place brings me.”

  “Are we it?”

  “Looks like it,” Carter replied. “Let’s begin. If there are no objections, I thought we’d start with a chokehold. Doug, why don’t you come here so I can use you to demonstrate?”

  “Sure.” Doug moved to stand near Carter.

  “Ricardo, I’ll walk you through it with Craig after I show it once. Doug, get on all fours.”

  Doug complied without hesitation.

  “Okay. So you and your opponent have gone down to the mat in a typical judo or jiu-jitsu match. This is my favorite judo choke. It’s a version of Hadaka Jime, or ‘rear naked choke.’ It’s called this because you execute it from behind your opponent and don’t have to use any portion of the gi to do it properly. Cops use it often, or at least they did until it was protested by hippie Democrats.”

  Carter looked over at Craig. “Did you wrestle in high school or college?”

  “One season.” Craig never could stick with one thing for too long, even when he’d been fairly good at something.

  “If you have your opponent in this position, you may want to lock in what’s referred to in wrestling as a double grapevine. Like this.” Carter straddled Doug’s back, curling his feet around Doug’s inner thighs. “This would be a whole lot easier if Doug here wasn’t so big.” Carter looked as though he were attempting to ride a horse, except the horse he’d chosen had the girth of a buffalo.

  Craig watched as Carter more-or-less bear-hugged the bear beneath him then rolled Doug on top of him. “That—” Craig stopped himself from saying that the hold looked kind of gay.

  “Did you have a question, Craig?”

  Craig shook his head. “No, I see what you did now.”

  “Okay. Once you get him on top of you, make a knife with your left hand. Dig it under his chin and across his neck—like you’re trying to slice his throat with your hand first, then your arm. You want his Adam’s apple to rest on the inside of your elbow. Once you’re through, squeeze. How’s that feel, Doug?”

  “Tight,” Doug said with a gurgle in his voice.

  “Good. Now, I haven’t even used my right arm yet, other than to keep him pinned. My left arm applies the choke. My right will lock it in. Take your left hand and put it on the inside of your right elbow… higher if you can. Now push the back of your opponent’s head forward.”

  Doug gasped. His head looked like a Munchkin on top of a pretzel.

  Carter grinned and applied more pressure. “After that, you should have him locked into place. Try to get out, Doug.”

  Doug struggled, shifting his weight around. He couldn’t escape.

  “See? If you get it in good, there’s no getting out of it, no matter how big your opponent is. I’m stopping blood flow to his brain by putting pressure on his carotid arteries with my left arm, while pushing and holding him in tight with my right arm. The pressure should be on the sides of the neck, not on the Adam’s apple. Doing that would hurt like heck, but it’s not a chokehold.”

  Doug slapped his hand on the mat several times, signaling submission. His eyelids hung low over his eyes. His face was strained and plum colored.

  Carter released his hold. Doug coughed, wheezing for breath.

  “Sorry, Doug. I didn’t realize I’d held it that long.” Carter smiled and patted Doug’s thigh. “You’ll be fine.” He stood and approached Craig and Ricardo. “Okay, Ricardo. Show me what you got. Craig can be your opponent.”

  Craig got down on all fours. Ricardo performe
d all the steps Doug had demonstrated. And once Ricardo had everything in place, he squeezed… hard.

  Craig instantly felt pressure mounting in his head. What the fuck! This is supposed to be just practice. Craig winced, uncomfortable and breathless. He tapped Ricardo’s arm to signify that it was time to let up. Ricardo squeezed harder.

  Carter was staring down, smiling like a hyena over a carcass. Craig slapped the mat as hard as he could, flopping wildly. Fucking let go already! This isn’t funny!

  Ricardo wouldn’t release him. Craig became light-headed. The room spun. With his remaining strength, he rolled onto his stomach, got up on his knees, then climbed to his feet. This is for real. Ricardo was trying to… What? Knock me out? Kill me? Why? He had to get free.

  Ricardo clamped around him like a boa constrictor.

  “Should I help—” Doug began.

  “No. Ricardo’s got this,” Carter interrupted.

  Through blurry eyes, Craig saw Carter smiling broadly, his eyes gleaming with approval. Doug looked concerned. Craig reached out to him. Why won’t you help me?

  Craig could feel his eyes bulging from the pressure, and his sight was fading. No! He fought back the darkness. In a final, desperate act, he reached around Ricardo’s legs as though he were giving him a piggyback ride. Craig jumped as high as he could and tilted backward, sending all his weight careening down on Ricardo. The flimsy walls shook as they crashed to the floor. Ricardo’s head ricocheted off the mat and into Craig’s. The pain jolted him back to full consciousness.

  “Block the door,” Carter ordered.

  Doug scrambled to obey.

  Ricardo’s arms fell away from Craig’s throat, and Craig seized the moment. Wheezing, he leapt to his feet. Glancing at the Doug-blocked door and at Carter moving in on him, he dashed in the first open direction he saw. Each stride was a burden on his lungs, which desperately needed oxygen. He crashed through the wall, and it tore like dry paper around him. Once free, he ran into the woods.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Does that guy ever sleep?” Bruce heard an officer say to another as they passed his office.