The Tracker

by John Hunt

  He didn’t get that sense from Taylor. To him, Taylor was a lonely man. He would be the guy to hold the door open for you while looking at his feet. And when you thanked him, he’d mumble something into his chest and turn a bright red. Taylor’s whole story seemed fucking crazy but Owen could see Taylor believed it. No dishonesty in his mannerisms at all. People, even victims, lied to him all the time. Left shit out he knew had happened but of course, they wanted to put themselves in a better light. A person, a victim, telling him they had no idea why the guy punched him in the face. He was minding his own business and blam! Knocked on his ass. People tended to leave the part out where they called the guy’s wife a cunt. Doesn’t mean it’s okay to punch someone in the face for that. The laws were pretty simple. If in some way, your actions could hurt someone physically, don’t do it. If it isn’t yours, don’t touch it or take it through fraud. Pretty simple. Punching someone in the face, even if the guy asked for it, wasn’t legal so there was no need to hide anything. But people did. All the time.

  With Taylor, he got no sense of exaggeration or thoughts left out. Taylor, in his own mind, was telling the truth. Was he crazy then? From all the evidence, there was no doubt Taylor was the man who murdered four people over the span of two days. As he told Taylor earlier, the simplest explanation was usually the correct one.

  Owen found it difficult to keep a neutral expression while listening to Taylor. Dark man? The deadly Tracker? Really? This was the other dude defence? A ghost or demon or some such shit? Didn’t matter. He was placing himself at the scenes of the murders. Let him continue doing that and then hit him with the evidence. See what he says to that. The bad guys never have anything good to say against solid evidence. Nothing reasonable, anyways. They waited in silence for their food.

  ***

  The food dropped on the table. The officer nodded to Owen, shot a nervous glance at Taylor and left.

  Owen said, “You won’t be able to eat cuffed like that. I’m going to take one cuff off and secure it to the eyebolt to leave one hand free. Which hand would you prefer?”

  “The right one.”

  “Alright.”

  Owen stood and did his best to appear calm. He removed his keys from his pocket, which had a cuff key on it, leaned over and with much fiddling due to the awkward placement of the cuff, unlocked it. He kept an eye on Taylor searching for the tensing of the body that always preceded an attack and flashed to the image of the man with his head twisted around so that his chin was in the middle of his back and quickly snapped the cuff to the eyebolt. He exhaled audibly and backed off and forced a smile on his face.

  Taylor said, “You’re afraid of me.”

  “No, no. I don’t handcuff as many people in the detective office as I used to when I was in uniform. I was just happy I could still do it reasonably well.”

  Taylor eyed him from under his brows. It was a lie and they both knew it. Owen was afraid of him. He would be a fool not to be.

  Taylor ate his food one handed and Owen dug into his. Eating together was supposed to be a bonding technique. The handcuff incident soured it.

  When he was done, Taylor sat back and sipped on his soda. He was more comfortable with only one hand shackled. Owen stacked the garbage in the paper bags and placed them in the small bin in the room.

  Owen sat, picked up his soda and sipped on it. He said, “Have you decided what you want to do here, Taylor?”

  Taylor put his drink down with a trembling hand and exhaled. “I’ve gone this far, haven’t I? I don’t see how saying more could hurt me. But if you will look into everything like you keep saying you will, saying more could actually help me. Besides, this room is better than the cell I was in. I think I wanna stay here a little while longer.”

  -15-

  Taylor takes a shower…

  Taylor didn’t know how to proceed. The police would be looking for the car by now and that made it dangerous to drive around. What if he got stopped? He’d get arrested and thrown in a cell and then the Tracker would get him. Hard to run while sitting in a cell. And he wouldn’t even be able to ask for help. He had already broken two rules and look how that turned out. The Tracker said he would punish him for breaking any rule if he got caught. There couldn’t anything worse than being eaten alive only Taylor believed the Tracker would come up with something to prove him wrong. But right now, parked behind a warehouse on the edge of town, he felt safe. Only he couldn’t stay here. He needed to keep moving. Look what happened when he thought he could hide out in a bush at the sports park. Next step: he needed a place to crash, only for a brief time. He also needed new pants. The track pants he wore were covered in sweat and dirt and wet leaves were crushed into the fabric. Taylor already stood out because of his size but add in the ruined clothes and people would notice him. Their eyes would be drawn to him and they would call the police. He didn’t want that. Any place where he could crash would be too far to walk and being picked up here, in the state he was in by a cab, he would also be remembered. He would have to drive the car.

  Taylor, using the GPS on his phone drove residential streets to circle closer to a Royal Bank. He went through the drive-thru and took out his daily limit of $500.00. He didn’t know if the police had his name yet but if they did, they might be watching his banking transactions. They would know about this withdrawal at this ATM. And the one earlier in the morning. Hopefully he’d be long gone by the time a cop showed up and any purchases he made afterwards would be cash and untraceable.

  He drove to a Giant Tiger, went in and bought two more track pants, a pack of T-shirts and another hooded sweatshirt. The clerk, a teenager chewing gum, cashed him out while texting on his phone. So absorbed in the screen on his phone, he didn’t look at Taylor. Before leaving, Taylor paused at the window and surveyed the parking lot to see if the police were waiting for him. He didn’t know how they would have found him. It didn’t seem possible, but neither did the Tracker. He hustled back to the car, head swivelling for the police and holding his breath in case the boom-boom-boom started. He returned to the Starlight Motel, the same motel he had left the night before. When he thought of it, he congratulated himself on his brilliance. The Tracker wouldn’t expect Taylor to return there. Of course not. Because it was stupid. So stupid, it was genius! He only hoped it wasn’t the same person who had given him his key the night before, not that the person noticed him. Another reason he liked it was because all the rooms were on the ground floor making it easier to escape.

  Taylor dumped the car behind a pizza store and walked the four blocks to the motel. He walked along residential streets and took intersecting paths through green-spaces to avoid seeing people. He wanted to be invisible. Tired, his feet barely clearing the ground with each step, he ached to rest. His sweat had soaked through the new T-shirt and he could feel a rivulet run down the crack of his ass every so often. The constant rubbing together of his thighs was no treat either. On a path overhung with trees, their green canopy letting in sporadic shafts of golden light, Taylor stifled a sob. A mess, a complete mess, how could he hope to last until the end of the forty-eight hours? He had made it this far on sheer luck. The two strangers unintentionally saved his life and lost theirs because cruel fate decided it was their turn to die. Taylor had broken the rules and they had died. Their murder had distracted the Tracker long enough for Taylor to get away and since he got away and was, for the time being safe, the guilt pulled at his guts and emptied them, as though he were hollow inside. What was worse was the realization that, at the time, when the Tracker was bearing down on him, he didn’t feel guilt or remorse. He had been grateful. He was more than happy to sacrifice those people for his own life, a life he had thought pathetic more than once. Only when he had been faced with a man chasing him, a man or thing with teeth a great white shark would envy, all thoughts of altruism left hi
m. At the time, he probably would have pushed a bunch of kids on a school trip in front of him if it meant he would get away. And what did that say about him? Nothing good. So why was he fighting so hard, going through all this pain and fear to stay alive? Because he was a human animal and when faced with terror, rational thought took a backseat. Something else took over and he didn’t have the experience or desire to fight it. Deep down, he wanted to live and everyone else be damned.

  He stopped on the trail and buried the base of his palms in his eyeballs. He could feel them burning in their sockets. Even if he lived through all this, he would know what type of person he was. A selfish shit. No hero and any ideas he had about himself, thinking he had the strength to do the right thing in the face of adversity, well, they were lies. He had proven them to be so. He rolled his shoulders and with a head filled with recriminations and self-loathing, he did the only thing he could do. He kept walking.

  ***

  This time when he checked into the Starlight Motel, a surly woman with big hair and bright red lipstick took his cash and gave him a key, staring at him as though he had already done something to offend her. Taylor glanced at the fob and saw it was a different room than the one he had last night.

  He left the office. No cop cars were in the lot now. No boom-boom-boom of the Tracker. He checked his watch. 3:14pm. Fifteen hours down. Incredible how much shit can happen in fifteen hours. He unlocked his door, strode in the room and closed the door and clicked it locked. He drew the curtains and after taking in the flimsy doorknob, he wedged a wooden chair under it. He nodded and glanced at the bed and even though he knew the sheets and comforter were covered in all sorts of biological contaminants, it looked beautiful to him. Even the stupid love arrow pattern on the dark red comforter didn’t bother him. Not in the least. After sleeping in the dirt, who was he to complain? The bed called to him and if he lay down on it he knew he wouldn’t get up anytime soon. He wanted to be prepared to run if the Tracker made his presence known.

  Taylor took out his new clothes and put them on the bed. He took underwear and a T-shirt into the bathroom with him and had a shower. It scared him. He had never felt so vulnerable as he did then, naked in the shower with the front door secured with a cheap wooden chair. He rushed through the shower. Jumped in under the shower head, used the sliver of complimentary soap the motel provided, scrubbed himself as best he could, waiting for the boom-boom-boom to start, his jaw sore from grinding his teeth knowing that now would be time the Tracker would find him. Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like Taylor was having a great run of luck here. The water went from hot to warm to freezing to ah, fuck it and he got out with a layer of bubbly soap on his chest. He moved like an old man walking on ice. His body ached everywhere.

  He stood on the already squishy mat, curled his lip and said, “C’mon!”

  There was no bath towel on the rack.

  He snatched two hand towels and rushed through drying off hissing and cringing every time his movements tweaked a sore spot. He hated being naked with the Tracker out there scouring the city for him. He slipped into his underwear and T-shirt. The damp parts of his body made the cotton cling to him. He ran a tongue over his teeth and grimaced. He brushed them and when he ran his tongue over them the second time he was satisfied.

  He left the bathroom, put on his socks, track pants and a sweater. He put his shoes back on and felt…better. Then his stomach growled. H rummaged in his backpack and removed a few granola bars, one soda and a water bottle. Lame. He had the cash. He deserved a pizza, he had goddamned earned it and that’s what he was going to have. And if the Tracker came while he was chowing down, well, he would have to wait. Not really, but it was a nice thought.

  He ordered an extra large meat lovers from Pizza Hut and because it was part of the special, a two litre bottle of Coca-Cola. He paced in the room, twitching back the curtain and peeking into the lot. The sun dropped in the sky, an orange rind of light and Taylor squinted against it. He closed the curtain. He ate a granola bar. Yeah, he had ordered a pizza and it would be there soon only he was nervous and he ate when he was nervous. It calmed his anxiety.

  He jumped when someone knocked on the door and for a second he thought, don’t open it, the Tracker is on the other side, wearing a Pizza Hut hat instead of his fedora and if you open the door, he’ll drool over his sharp teeth and drop the pizza on the floor because you’re the meal he really wants. You’re the fat and the gristle and the blood he has been looking forward to. Don’t open the door.

  But he hadn’t felt the boom-boom-boom. And if he hadn’t felt that, then it couldn’t be the Tracker could it? Why not? If something like it could exist, why couldn’t it sneak up on him without the alarm system? What if it controlled the boom-boom-boom? Then he was fucking dead and if he was going to die, he was going to die smelling his favourite pizza or at least with a slice in his mouth.

  Taylor moved the curtain aside. It wasn’t the Tracker. It was a man holding a pizza.

  Taylor pulled the chair away from the door, unlocked it and opened it.

  The man said, “Hey bud. $32.60.”

  Taylor gave him $40.00 and said, “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, man. Keep it sleazy.”

  “Ok,” Taylor closed the door and said, “I guess.”

  He wedged the chair back under the door and sat on the edge of the bed. He turned on the TV and opened the pizza box beside him. Oh, God that smell! His stomach moved at the smell and if his belly had a mouth it would have oozed over and slurped it up.

  He jammed a slice in his mouth and clicked through the channels and stopped when he saw himself running across the screen and a calm voice asking if anyone knows who this is to please call the police. His mouth dried and his stomach dropped, as though he were going down a steep hill. He didn’t blink watching the footage. It wasn’t the best video. Wal-Mart had cameras positioned all over its property and Taylor watched himself run through the lot, run around the truck and trailer to the one side where his image was lost because the camera was so high up on the wall, it captured only the top of the trailer. What happened on the other side of the trailer wasn’t on camera. And so the murder of the night worker wouldn’t be on it. There was Taylor running to him, a man ending up dead and Taylor running away.

  The image wasn’t the best. The news station tried to clean it up by zooming in but they only succeeded in blurring it until Taylor became a dark blob. Taylor knew who it was. He had lived it. The only other person who could possibly guess it to be him would be Jill. And if she knew, she’d be calling him on his phone and asking him what the hell was going on. Or would she call the police? If she had called the police, it would be his face on the news beside the blurry footage. And if the news people were asking for help in identifying him, then the police didn’t know who he was either. Yet.

  Sweat tickled the top of his lip and he noticed the slice of pizza still in his mouth. When the news came on, he became a statue watching it. Although the thought of the police believing he murdered someone palsied his hands it hadn’t disturbed his appetite. Well, not too much.

  When the news finished explaining this same person was believed responsible for the murder of a city worker and the theft of a car and animal cruelty, Taylor knew it wouldn’t be long before the police knew his name. Wait a minute, animal cruelty? He replayed what happened in the park by the concession stand in his head. Certain he hadn’t done anything to the dog, Taylor frowned and changed the channel until he found Seinfeld. Even with all the crazy thoughts and fears in his head, the show managed to draw a smile from him.

  -16-

  The calm…

  Despite everything going on, Taylor enjoyed the evening. To a certain extent, the Tracker faded from his thoughts and he could get down to doing what he did best. Eating. He ate most
of the pizza (reluctantly and optimistically saving a couple of slices for the morning), drank the bottle of soda, brushed his teeth again and lay on the bed, eyes half-lidded, lightly dozing with the TV on and the activity outside the window increasing in direct proportion to the setting of the sun. He feared falling asleep. He didn’t trust he would wake up with how tired his body felt. Every muscle had a complaint to register and didn’t appreciate Taylor moving. So he didn’t. And throughout the long night he had no sense of the Tracker drawing nearer. He hovered between sleep and wakefulness afraid to go under too deep and jerking to wakefulness with the sound of a car door slamming outside or people chattering as they walked past his door.