by Andy Rane
“Are you all right, miss?” said the officer. His free hand was still on the top of his unbuttoned holster. James tried not to look uneasy. It wasn’t working. In the suddenness, none of the consequences of what was happening had occurred to him until now. The officer would routinely ask for a license and registration. James would provide it to him, upon which the officer would realize that the car was not registered to either of its occupants. Then he would run the plate, and discover that the car belonged to a man in Florida named Reed. Oh yeah, and the three in the car just happened to fit the vague description of three from a crime scene about a half hour away. They would be arrested. The officer would probably call for backup, and this whole escapade would end with James in jail.
“Do you want to see my registration, officer?” James blurted out.
“I asked the young lady a question, sir, and I’d like her to answer it.”
“She’s not feeling too well,” James said. The officer looked at him.
“Have you been drinking, sir?”
James’ laugh was a little quick and a little too high pitched. The officer took a step back from the car. His name-badge said Williams.
“You were going to ask me for my license and registration, so I just thought I’d save you the trouble of asking.”
The officer’s free hand nervously fingered the snap that kept the 9mm holstered.
“Step out of the car, sir,” Office Williams said.
“I’m sorry, Officer Williams,” James said, his voice faltering with the knowledge of what he was about to attempt, “I just can’t do that.”
“Sir?”
“James…what are you doing?” Kevin whispered.
James could tell that his answer had somewhat stunned him. As James looked at the man, he realized that he wasn’t really a man at all. At least, not in James’ definition. He might have been a year or two older than James, though the smattering of facial hair gave him the look of a few more years. He had most definitely never fired that gun at anything but a target, or perhaps some poor four-legged creature, and the sudden prospect of being forced to pull it out now, and possibly using it against another man, seemed daunting. James was betting on it.
It was a clumsy move. Amateur at best. James turned toward Nicole quickly and leaned over the center console, saying something about the registration being in the glove compartment. The officer wasn’t expecting the sudden movement or the refusal to leave the car. With his body blocking the view of his hands, James reached with his left and slammed the gearshift down with his right.
“Sir?” Office Williams said again, his voice cracking a bit. James could hear the sidearm slide out of the holster.
His foot was on the pedal down to the floor. It was done. It wasn’t pretty. But, it was done. Nicole screamed. Kevin gripped the back of the seats like they might fall off if he let go.
The all-season radials fumbled about in the snow before finding anything resembling traction. The tail of the car fished about on the road in front of the stunned officer.
The car righted itself and was twenty feet away before Officer Williams had raised his gun half-heartedly to bear on the car. He considered firing a shot into the rear of the car, but then he remembered the girl. He stood there in the snow, choosing not to give chase. He would not report it. He did not want to waste the paperwork. As he sat in his car, convincing himself to forget all about it, his in-dash monitor lit up. It was a brand new APB out from the Springfield police department, about a half hour away. They were looking for a couple of vehicles involved in a possible homicide; one of which was a green Chrysler 300M with two young men and a woman in their early twenties.
“Sonofabitch.”
Chapter 21
“That fucker,” mumbled the man in black. It had been less than two hours since the incident in the hotel parking lot. Taylor had watched as his captor had rolled through every level of anger possible. He had gone so far as to slam both fists against the wheel, nearly sending them off the road. It was too much for the doctor to handle anymore.
“Alright! Get over it,” Taylor said, lashing out, “You’re such a fucking expert. You didn’t think he’d see something like this coming? Fuck him. He’s out of the way. He’d be a fool to follow now. Focus on those boys. They’re all that matters. They’re all that ever mattered.”
The man in black stared back across the car at Taylor, but Taylor did not flinch. He merely tried to meet the man’s gaze without faltering. The slow wicked smile crept across the man’s face.
“Growing some balls, doc,” he said, the smile only fading slightly. “I like that. You’re gonna need ‘em.”
Taylor looked away from him. He felt ill. His inability to stop James from continuing on, and the escape of Paynter had turned a bad day into a worse night. He had not wanted this man in black to kill Paynter. He had told himself that repeatedly. And he had felt a sense of relief when he realized his old friend had escaped. He had not felt so relieved by James’ deliverance. He did not want to kill James, but the thought had grown that there might be no choice in the matter.
“I need to stop,” Taylor said.
“Tough shit, doc,” said the man in black, his humored look wiped clear of his face.
“Might be tough to get off the seats,” Taylor said.
He watched as the man in black turned toward him, turned away, turned back, and pulled roughly onto the side of the road, cursing under his breath. A cloud of snow and steam billowed into the glow of the headlights as they came to a stop. They were surrounded by rolling fields of what might have been corn during the summer. Taylor opened the door, the drastic difference in temperature snapping at his exposed neck. He looked back at the man in black, who was lighting a fresh cigarette.
“Don’t be gone too long, Doc,” a sneer peeling his lips back across his teeth, “I don’t wanna be losing you out here in this lovely weather.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” Taylor said.
“Yeah, especially if you lived to tell about it,” the man said.
Taylor stepped out of the car, trying to ignore what the man had just said. He had known it from the time he woke up in that room days before. Taylor was not going to survive this trip and the man in black knew it as much as he. There was a certain sound in his voice that sometimes disappeared, but always returned to remind the doctor of its purpose. Sure, he needed him to get to James, but Taylor wondered if even that was true.
No, thought Taylor, he knew where he was going, or at least he had an idea…and someone was definitely feeding him information. How else would he have known to look at that particular hotel in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania? Taylor served a purpose though. Perhaps he was simply a convenient secondary target that might draw fire away.
Taylor expelled a large breath into the cold air and watched it whip around his head before dissipating. What little hair that was left atop his head was blown around like grass in a storm. He would start shivering soon. He had started walking aimlessly out into the field where they had stopped. Amongst the lonely remnants of corn stalks, he was emboldened. He could run for it. But, he wasn’t exactly dressed for a romp through the snow in the middle of winter. He still had his wingtips on. He might make another two hundred feet into the field before the man came after him. And where would he be then? Dead in the middle of a corn field. As opposed to being dead somewhere else, he thought. Dead in the trunk of a ’69 Barracuda found at the bottom of Lake Erie? Nah, he’d never give up his baby.
The cold was starting to make him shiver uncontrollably. The notion of relieving oneself in such weather was really beyond Taylor. Even if he had been able to maneuver his fly open with his now frozen fingers, he could not imagine performing in these extreme conditions. He stopped walking. He fingered the revolver still in his coat pocket. It was useless in his hands and he knew it. Near the stock was the small folded piece of paper with six sets of letters. A jumbled mass of numerals that only he understood. He didn’t need it. He cou
ld still remember the cross-country hike. Had it really been twenty-four years ago?
“Doc,” said the man in black.
His voice was low and deadly even at fifty feet. Taylor made a quick glance to make sure that the man had not crept up on him. He had not. The man in black sat against the side of the car, still smoking the cigarette. Taylor made to pull up his zipper. His hands aged in the cold air, feeling like they might break if he bent the knuckles. He turned to face the man.
“Cut the show, doc. We got miles to go yet,” said the man in black.
“I needed a breather,” Taylor said.
The man was silhouetted against the car, his cap pulled low over his face. The cigarette burn brightly with one long drag, then it was tossed on the ground. The man got back into the car. Taylor squinted his eyes against the wind. Before him, the sleek blackness of the car merged with the darkness of the night, contrasted by the white of the earth. Its eyes the taillights, gleaming red, its breath the exhaust. I’ll grow to love this car, thought Taylor. Only if I’m behind the wheel…and he’s under it.
Chapter 22
When the mileage markers for Cleveland read 20 miles, James knew he needed to stop. He was probably a half hour late in making the decision. The snow had stopped but despite his plea for a bit of company, Kevin and Nicole had both drifted off into uneasy sleep. The rest area was a welcome sight. It offered the comforts of a bathroom and food, even if it was a public stall and a Burger King. His eyes were ready to fall out of his head. He had intermittently opened the window to keep himself awake. He’d heard Nicole cry in her sleep and it killed him to be unable to comfort her. Kevin stirred for the first time in an hour.
“You awake?” James said, barely above a whisper. He had pulled into the first cleaned-out parking spot he could find.
“Yeah,” Kevin said, without turning away from the window.
“Did you sleep?” James asked.
“On and off. You staying awake?” he said.
“Barely,” James said.
“You’re doing a pretty good job.”
“Amazing what you can do when you need to.”
“I need my bladder to be about a half-gallon larger. Think it’ll happen?” Kevin said, grabbing his crotch with a pained expression.
James shook his head ‘No.’
“You’d better go before you wet your seat,” James said.
“You comin’?” Kevin asked. They both glanced back at Nicole. “She’ll be ok…you wouldn’t even know she was in here--”
“Unless you were looking for a girl in a green 300M,” James said.
“Gotcha…I’ll try and hurry,” Kevin said.
“By the looks of it, hurrying won’t be your problem,” James said.
Kevin got out of the car and made for the nearest restroom. James watched him walking away. The rest area was a simple collection of buildings. He had made an effort to park farthest from the main building that housed the food. When Kevin had opened the door, James got a faint whiff of fried food and his stomach had shouted at him. It had been a long time since his last proper meal. The one Nicole had cooked the morning before. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Paynter had been alive then.
“Where are we?” Nicole asked, her voice strained as she stretched her legs the width of the car. James glanced back at her and saw that what little sleep she had gotten had not really been what she needed. By the looks of it, she needed a week of sleep. Her face was pallid, the rosy color of her lips muted. Her eyes were glassy and her lids puffy. Her naturally tousled hair was looking flat and tired.
“I’m so sorry, Nic,” James said.
She looked at him, but refused to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. He could see her shoulders shrug.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore, ok? I think there’s some more important stuff to deal with right now. Why’d we stop?”
“I…ok…I stopped because I think we are really lost this time. I need to find a map or something,” James said.
“How far are we from…what was it? Hubbard?”
“Yeah. Well, I think we might be about twenty miles past it. Paynter…he said it wasn’t far over the Ohio border…and we passed that a little while ago,” James said.
“We’ll have to find a phone book, or maybe they have an information desk here?” Nicole said.
“And then what?” James asked.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I mean exactly that. Then what? What the hell are we going to do?”
“Well, we’re going to drive to this Hubbard and you’re both going to go meet your brother,” Nicole said.
Kevin approached the car and got in, releasing a long satisfied sigh.
“Much better,” he said.
“You make it sound so easy,” James said.
“What’d I miss?” Kevin asked.
“After all this? James…gimme a break,” she said, laughing humorlessly.
“Ummm…hello?” Kevin said.
“James is worried about meeting Doug,” Nicole said, folding her arms and reclining once more in the back seat.
“What if he freaks?” James asked.
“Of course he’s going to freak…a little. You freaked,” she said.
“Well, he does have a point, Nic. I mean, what if he has a girlfriend who wants to brain us with a large kitchen appliance when she sees us? I mean, this could be dangerous,” Kevin said, massaging the still noticeable lump on his temple.
Nicole tried to look angry at him for a moment, but quickly broke into a smile. They laughed like it was water and they were thirsty. It eventually tapered off into giggles.
“You’ve been driving too long if that’s all you’re worried about,” she said.
“You’re right about that,” James said, “I have been driving way too long. And I need to piss. And I’m hungry. Anyone want Burger King?”
“James, we can’t risk…” Nicole began.
“We can’t risk all of us passing out from exhaustion and lack of food either. I’ve been feeling light-headed for the last ten minutes. If one of us goes in, it shouldn’t be a problem,” James said.
“He does have a point. I could go an egg sandwich. You know what…just get me whatever you’re getting. I’d eat just about anything now. Ooo…and a large coffee…black with sugar,” Kevin said.
“Now it’s getting complicated. Hon?” James said.
Nicole looked wary but gave him her order anyway.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he closed the door.
To the East, James could see the faint promise of dawn struggling to be seen through the winter glom. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind was blowing the powder hard enough to make it blizzard-like. James pulled at the collar of his jacket, the chill cold running quickly through him. He wished he had listened to his mother’s constant advice and worn a hat. The warmth of the rest area was a welcome relief even after only a short walk outside. He found the bathroom and relieved himself, then stood in front of the near-vacant Burger King counter, deciding what to order. A TV overhead was broadcasting regional news to no one in particular. The place was empty. He picked up a few sandwiches from under the heat hood, got Kevin’s coffee, and went to the register. He handed his cash to a young black woman named Chanice. Somehow, she looked more tired than he felt. He tried to smile at her when she handed him his change, but she didn’t make eye contact.
He turned to leave, but paused when he heard the news broadcast.
“…disturbing news that begins with a report out of New Jersey…”
James turned and slowly looked up at the monitor. His heart dropped into his feet. He watched as a young woman spoke into the camera, his house clearly visible in the background. The multicup coffee holder in his hand swayed and he had to steady himself against a nearby garbage can.
“…events that took place at this home in rural New Jersey. According to police, they received a call from the home’s owner, twenty-four-year-old James Maste
rson, early yesterday morning. Based on the 911 tapes, police were able to determine that Mr. Masterson believed that someone had entered his home. That someone turned out to be 77-year-old Samuel Isaacson, Mr. Masterson’s neighbor. What happened next you can hear for yourself…”
A map of New Jersey appeared with Hackettstown marked in proximity to New York City. Then the recording began and James steadied himself again, fearing that he would just fall over in the middle of the rest stop and draw the sort of attention he certainly didn’t want now. He heard someone whispering about an intruder, then there was a pause and he didn’t have to be told that Samuel’s voice was calling to him in the background. The old man had been James’ neighbor all his life. They’d had picnics at his house when he was a boy. Then the caller suddenly spoke loudly. “…there’s an intruder in my house!” Samuel spoke again, this time much clearer due to his apparent proximity to the phone. He seemed to recognize James, but his voice was confused. James jumped when the first gun shot rang out, making white noise of the recording. The 911 dispatcher screamed. It was followed by two more in evenly spaced succession. James’ head swam. Samuel was dead. It hadn’t been him, but someone pretending to be him. And they killed his neighbor. For no apparent reason, they had killed his neighbor. He glanced back up at the screen and flinched. His photograph, about six years old by the looks of it, appeared blown up on the screen. James looked around, eyeing up the two people nearest to him. Neither was paying any attention to the TV. He almost bolted for the door, but thought better of it. He staggered his way back to the car, so much so that Kevin and Nicole came out of the car to help him. He had no sooner handed the food and drinks to Nicole when he turned, fell into the snow and vomited.
“James!” Nicole cried. Kevin stood in the snow next to him, a hand under his arm.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
“I’m on the news,” James spat. He wiped his lips with the sleeved of his jacket. He spat again, trying to get rid of the bile taste in his mouth.
“What? How?” Nicole said. She had placed the food in the car and now was crouched down beside him. He looked up at both of them.