Joe came over to sit beside me. “Are you okay?”
“What do you think?”
A few of the townspeople came over, and all of them were carrying either crowbars or baseball bats. Oh, this was not going to be good. “You and your kind,” one of them, a large, solidly built man in his thirties, hissed. “You brought that thing here. It could have killed us!”
Enough, already, and I got to my feet. “Hey, moron, that thing was after us, you got that? Us, not you, so get lost. I’ve had a rotten enough day.”
He raised his bat, his muscles quivering. “I heard about some scientist on the news. Got shredded by some monster. I bet it was you.”
Setting my stance, I balled my fists. “I didn’t do it, but I’m guessing you won’t believe me. So take your swing. You’ll strike out, but I’ll hit a homer.”
Indecision showed on his face, but a few of the other members of the local clan stepped up to the plate. Joe arose, bunching his fists and set his stance, preparing to spin. “If you guys start crap, we’ll give it back.”
The sound of a shot split the air. Sullivan had arrived and had his pistol out. He waved the crowd back. “Hey, chief, those monster kids brought another monster with them,” one man said. “We have to protect ourselves from them.”
Sullivan glared at the man. “Yeah, I can see that. Go home. You’re done here.”
A stare-off ensued, but soon the other man backed down and left, followed by the other spectators. Once they’d gone, Sullivan turned to us. “Mitch, you’ve got a lot to answer for. You’re under arrest for the fight here, and I’m taking you in as a suspect in the murder of that scientist.”
Those words sealed my doom. My day, which had already started out lousy, was about to finish on an all-time low note.
Chapter Fourteen: Cell time
Jail sucked.
Our member of the law-and-order community had decided he needed backup. Enter Deputy Upton, a short, stocky man in his late thirties. With prematurely graying hair, a capillary-lined red nose that indicated he was on the losing end of a battle with the bottle, and a perpetually tired look, he drove up in another police cruiser a couple of minutes later. In a voice that indicated he’d just woken up from a cat nap, he asked, “So what’s going on?”
“Upton, we were getting to that,” Sullivan replied in a sour tone and turned to me. “Let’s hear it, Mitch.”
Quickly, I recounted the story about the faux-Bowman contacting me, setting up the meeting, and then exploding into the monster he was. Upton waited with his arms folded. Clearly, he didn’t believe me, and I got more and more frustrated. Finally, on the verge of exploding, I yelled, “And you can ask the other people around here about the guy. They saw!”
“Where are the witnesses?”
That came from Upton, and it stopped me from replying. Who was going to talk? Or rather, who would be on our side? Still, the trail of destruction was easy enough to follow, and first on the list of people to talk to was Millie Nathan, the owner of the restaurant I’d helped to obliterate.
It was a mess. The front door had been torn off, the floor, seats, and tables smashed, and the wall that led to Mr. Hubert’s appliance store was destroyed. Sullivan asked Upton to wait by his car and accompanied us to the restaurant where a very grumpy Millie was in the process of cleaning up.
When Sullivan started asking questions, she stopped sweeping, and her face grew red with anger. “Those boys were in here, yeah. They came around noon, ate, paid, and then about an hour or so later, Mitch busted through my door carrying some kind of giant insect.”
“A giant insect,” he repeated. “Such as what?”
“Such as a centipede that screamed,” she responded in a tart voice. “And if you’re going to ask if I been drinking, the answer is no.”
Feeling somewhat vindicated, I said, “See, I’ve got at least one witness who believes me. You see that, right?”
No, the chief did not. Neither did Millie. “Take a look at this mess,” she complained while sweeping her arm around to indicate the damage. “You see what happened? I’m looking at about twenty thousand dollars right now.”
She refused to say anything else in my presence. “I’ll be back later on to get a full statement,” Sullivan said. “You’d better call your insurance company.”
Millie groused about it, nattering on about the damage. You’d think she’d have been more freaked out about the mutant, but no, she wanted compensation, and she wanted it now. Sullivan had walked through the opening in the once-was-a-wall wall and into the appliance store.
There, the owner, Mr. Hubert, tall and skinny and about ninety years old but still sharp, corroborated Millie’s story almost word for word. “All right, Mr. Hubert, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Thanks for your cooperation.”
“Cooperation, cooperation?” Mr. Hubert asked in a querulous voice. “Three generations of Hubert’s have owned this store. I want some justice!”
“You’ll have to wait for that,” Sullivan replied and escorted me and Joe outside to where Upton was waiting.
He then went back to speak to Mr. Hubert. Looking through the window of Hubert’s store, I saw Millie join them. The sounds of shouting started, and five minutes later, Sullivan walked out and over to me. “So where did Mr. Centipede go, Mitch?”
We walked over to the woods where he did the obligatory search-for-clues thing. Upton helped us look, but all we found was the usual hole in the ground and a puddle of organic slime. Pointing to it, I said, “That shows we were attacked.”
“You were attacked by something,” Sullivan said, poking around the area with a stick and not deigning to get his hands dirty. “But what, I can’t say. I arrived at the tail end of it. There’s no photographic proof, not unless one decent, law-abiding citizen comes forward with some visual evidence.”
He stopped to take off his cap and scratch his head. After replacing it, he sighed. “Mitch, you and Joe also willingly admitted to busting up three businesses.”
“Uh, Mitch was responsible for two of them,” Joe put in with a very unhelpful smile. He touched the cuts on his face. A few of them still trickled blood. “I just got thrown through the window of the dry cleaner’s.”
Thanks for the support, best friend. I shot Joe a dirty look, and he shrugged. Well, it was true.
Sullivan continued as if Joe had never spoken, “Not to mention you scared half the population to death. I can’t disagree you were attacked by something. The injuries you received show that. But there is the destruction of public property, and Mr. Hubert and Millie are both pressing charges.” He reached for the side of his belt. “Like I said, I’m going to have to take you in.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
That came from Joe, and swiveling my gaze from him to the dead-serious expression on Sullivan’s face, and it was pretty clear to me that he was not only not kidding, but he also intended to make sure we went behind bars and stayed there.
Really, did he think he could take us? He had the gun and the law on his side, but we had the truth going for us
Or did we? No, thinking about it, we didn’t have dick going for us, just a hole in the ground, a puddle of slime, and about fifty thousand dollars of property damage my fight with the creature had caused. Crap.
Upton already had his handcuffs out, and he motioned to us. “Which one of you is first?”
Preferably, neither, as we could have escaped at any time. The problem was, our local lawman had decided to draw his gun. He had it halfway up but hadn’t cocked it. Guns didn’t work on my body, but if he tried a head shot...
Mentally heaving a sigh, I extended my hands. Joe did the same thing, and we got cuffed. Upton led Joe to his cruiser while the chief escorted me to his car. Along the way, a few of the people who’d been around for the fight, but not for the immediate aftermath, decided to put in an appearance. Sure enough, Mr. Roberts, our local real-estate magnate, led the rush.
“I see justice i
s being served,” he said with a smirk on his flabby face
The notion of snapping my handcuffs and wreaking havoc on his sorry ass occurred to me, but no. That’s what he wanted. That’s what they all wanted. Joe silently got into Upton’s cruiser, and away they went.
I waited in the backseat of Sullivan’s car while he explained the situation to everyone. The words of innocent until proven guilty, insurance, and creature rang in my ears. After that, Sullivan slid into the front seat, and he took off.
Once at the police station, he and Upton uncuffed us and sat us down. “The handcuffs were just for show,” the chief said. “Now tell me what really happened.”
We told him the same story, and I finished off with, “I didn’t kill that guy. It looks like I ripped him up, but another monster did it.”
As soon as those words were out of my mouth, I realized how lame they sounded and how desperate I sounded. The chief let out a sigh and worried his lower lip with his upper teeth. “Mitch, I want to believe you. I really do. The arrest for the murder of that man—he was a scientist by the way—I can’t hold you to that. You have an alibi, slim though it is.
“But I also know you met him. His name was James Raney. I have witnesses saying they saw you and a blonde girl in Portland along with him. They saw you talking to him.” The expression on his face turned accusatory. “You withheld information.”
At first, I wondered who and then realized there had to be over a hundred people who’d seen me with Callie that day. “All right, the blonde girl was Callie, my girlfriend, and yeah, we met Raney, but I didn’t kill him. Why would I?”
“Calm down, Mitch.”
I’d been shouting. What better way to be disbelieved than yell? Toning it down, I repeated, “Why would I kill him?”
Sullivan pulled on his lower lip while mulling over my explanation. “Why would you? Anger, maybe, or maybe you found out something you shouldn’t have.”
Wonderful, screwed again by logic and reason. “Sir, you have to believe me.”
He stopped pulling on his lip. “Actually, I do. I saw something run off after your fight. That could have been the creature that savaged Raney, so on that point, I’m going to believe you.”
“Then why are you arresting us?”
“Like I said, Mr. Hubert and Millie are filing charges against you. I did this not only for your safety but also for the safety of the people of this city,” he said, looking utterly defeated. “Something ran off. Not a person—a thing. There are monsters around, and I can’t protect everyone.”
While leaning back in his chair, he blew out a deep breath of frustration. “Additionally, the FBI has failed to make an appearance except for that one time at the hospital. They’re too busy searching for that imposter, Rally.”
“His name was Reilly, and he was one of them.” Did that sound lame or what? I deliberately left out the part of Dornier telling me the authorities wouldn’t do anything to help.
Sullivan took it as I expected—by shaking his head. “Mitch, what else can I go on outside of that ooze? I’ve been shut out of everything.”
Part of me wanted to shout out I had problems, too, that my mother and I were about to be evicted, and that no one cared. However, the other part—pride—took over, so I said nothing.
“Oh, and as for the bail, it’s going to be hefty. Three businesses were destroyed. The minimum bail is ten thousand dollars. If you can come up with that, I’ll let you out on your own recognizance. If not, I have to hold you both for at least thirty days.”
I wanted to say that if the monster was alive, we wouldn’t have thirty minutes, but the words wouldn’t come out. With no other plan working, it was the gray-bar hotel for us. We both got our phone calls. I called my mother and Joe contacted his father.
After that, we walked into the cell, heads held high. It was relatively clean, with a cot and a toilet and a sink. That was it. No window. They could have gotten us a room with a view, but no.
My best bud took a seat on the cot, while I sat down on the floor. Great, what would happen to us now? We had no way of getting out—at least, legally. If we had to pay the insurance companies...
“So, what do we do now?” Joe asked, prodding the mattress with his forefinger and muttering about it either being filthy or lumpy.
Hell, I wasn’t about to sleep on it. “Well, from the guy who caused most of the damage—me—I’d say we’re both screwed.”
A look of embarrassment flashed across my friend’s face. “Sorry, man, but it was the truth.”
“And it shall set you free,” I responded, not trying to hold back the sarcasm. “Oh wait, it hasn’t.”
He chuckled, even though this wasn’t anything to laugh about. “Well, I am sorry, man. Shouldn’t have let you take the fall for everything.”
Did it really matter? Joe sighed, and in spite of his fastidious nature, lay back on the cot. Soon, the sound of his quiet breathing signaled he’d fallen asleep. Me, I felt the regeneration starting, but had other things to worry about. The chief walked by to ask if we needed anything.
“I would like to make another phone call, sir,” I said, endeavoring to be polite.
“Who to?”
Was it any of his business? “My girlfriend.”
Sullivan fumbled around in his pocket for the keys, found them, and opened up. “Come on out. I’ll let you make the call.”
The place was quiet, and only Upton was there, slowly typing something out on a computer. He didn’t bother to acknowledge my presence. Sullivan handed me a touchtone phone, and I dialed Callie’s number. She answered on the first ring, and once she’d heard my voice, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
Another understatement. “I’m a guest of the Independence Police department.”
A gasp came from the other end of the line. “What happened?”
Sullivan snatched the phone from my hand and asked, “Who is this, please?”
Beyond pissed-off language erupted from the other end of the receiver and continued for the better part of a minute. Sullivan held the receiver at arm’s length, his eyebrows arching so high that they practically met his hairline. The sounds of swearing continued. “That’s your girlfriend?”
“Uh-huh. She can be really nice, once you get to know her.”
He brought the receiver back to his mouth and spoke softly into it, saying he understood the situation and wanted to help. Quickly, he recited the facts as he knew them. He then mentioned bail money, and two seconds later, I heard an audible click. Sullivan replaced the receiver, saying, “Sorry Mitch, she hung up.”
“That’s okay.” No, it wasn’t. Why did he have to rip the damn receiver out of my hands in the first place? Nothing I could do about it, though. I got up and returned to my cell. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Once inside, I sat down on the cool stone. Joe was still out. I closed my eyes, willing my body to heal and also wishing for a miracle to happen. Soon, I felt myself nodding off and decided sleep would be the best thing for me.
An hour passed, and then two. No reporters showed because fortunately the shopkeepers with the busted-up businesses hadn’t blabbed, and the local citizenry hadn’t filmed anything. Sullivan dutifully went out and brought back food while Upton watched us. “You’re not going to cause trouble, are you?” he’d asked, his hand hovering around his gun belt.
Joe answered for me. “No, we’re cool here.”
Upton shifted away from his gunslinger stance and grunted. “Fine, while the chief’s gone, you can walk around a bit.”
He opened the cell door to let us stretch our legs. It would have been easy to bust out, but that wasn’t the way to go about achieving justice. Fair or not, we had to accept what had happened, and after our brief constitutional, we returned to our cell. Upton surreptitiously snuck a few drinks from a bottle he had stashed in his desk. Great, alcohol and firearms, what else could go wrong?
Oh wait, Mr. Roberts had shown u
p. In deference to the fire regulations, he didn’t smoke but waddled in wearing a mile-wide smile. “Mitch, Joe, I hope you’re holding up well. Sorry to hear about your troubles.”
Joe gave him a quick once-over and turned his head away with an, “I’ll bet,” comment. He muttered something else to the effect the fat slob could screw himself, but my hearing wasn’t super-human.
For my part, I walked over to the bars. “You couldn’t wait to run us out, could you? You promised us more time, and then we hear you told another family they could have the place in two weeks. Mister, you are slime.”
His grin faded and in its place, a cold stare stood that spoke of calculating dollars and cents. No room for sentiment. “Mitch, it comes down to business, pure and simple. Your mother owes me money. Mortgages cost. I have costs as well.”
He fished around for a cigar in his pocket, came out with one, fondled it, but put it back. “If you could come up with, oh, at least five month’s rent, I’d let things slide a little longer, but it looks as though you won’t be able to. The family that’s looking at the house, they really want it, and they have good cash money.”
Therein ended the discussion, and in a surprisingly graceful move, he spun around on the ball of his right foot and exited stage left. We were alone again, and now, totally dispirited, I took a seat on the cot.
An hour later, though, Sullivan walked in to announce, “Mitch, you got visitors.”
Going over to the bars, I asked, “Who came?”
“Your mother, Joe’s father, and your girlfriend, the blonde girl you told me about. The gang’s all here, and you made bail.”
Joe said nothing, but once Sullivan opened up, he strode through the door, never looking back. We emerged from the building, and a voice off to my right called out, “Over here, Mitch.”
It was Callie, and she sat in the back seat of my mother’s car, with Neil’s truck idling behind it. Joe’s father stood across the street and waved to us. “I’ll see you later,” Joe said and ran to join his father.
As for me, Callie took my hand as I got in. My mother drove off in the direction of our house. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” she asked.
Outcasts Page 17