Dire Means

by Geoffrey Neil

  He checked over his shoulder as he ran. Closing in on his car, he worked to remove his keys from his pocket. He unlocked his car after several failed attempts at inserting the key. He slammed the door shut and locked it. He checked his rearview mirror as he tried to jab his key into the ignition. He saw no one.

  He drove two extra blocks out of his way to avoid passing directly in front of the shelter. His heart still pounded. He rolled down the window for some fresh air. He wasn’t afraid of Neva, but the FBI was more than he had bargained for. Had law enforcement somehow found out about his visit to the Trail Bladers bunker? Was the FBI looking to implicate him as an accessory to Pop’s killings?

  “What’s going on?” Mark yelled at the top of his lungs.

  As Mark turned on Abbott Kinney and neared Bonfiglio Café, he heard sirens from behind him. His heart pounded harder and he squeezed his eyes shut in a moment of frustrated disbelief. He pulled to the side of the road and watched his rearview mirror. He rolled down his window just as the police cars raced by him. A small measure of relief swept over him and his shoulders slumped.

  Up ahead, he saw the police speed by a few people standing outside Bonfiglio Café. A few of the people stepped into the street to see where the police might turn. A man near the group who was walking his dog pointed up to the sky. Above, Mark saw two helicopters hovering a few blocks away in the direction of his apartment.

  Mark recognized Todd in the group. He rolled the window down and yelled for him.

  Todd approached, walking at first and then sped to a jog as he neared. “Buddy, what the hell is going on?” he said.

  “You tell me.”

  “There was a shooting. There are cops crawling all over my building and now it’s taped off—they won’t let us go back. Police broke into your unit.”

  “My unit? Do they think it’s me?”

  “You try to go home and you’re gonna be arrested.”

  “But I’ve been gone all day!”

  Todd looked up at the helicopter and then back to Mark. “I knew it couldn’t have been you. Buddy, you gotta come clean with me. Are you in trouble? Did you get into something deeper than you’re telling me with those gas station thugs? I mean, I’ve heard of revenge, but this is ridiculous. You gotta unhook those guys.”

  “Listen, Todd, did you see any unusual people in our complex today? Anyone?”

  Todd waited for another police siren to scream by before answering. “There was a guy in a suit hanging out by your door. Sometimes you have clients pick up laptops or software at your place. When I asked him what he was doing, he just said he was waiting for you and that he was early for an appointment. I thought nothing of it. Well, at least I didn’t let him in this time,” Todd said, laughing and going for a high-five that Mark ignored.

  A strange electronic beeping began somewhere in his car. It sounded like a cheap clock radio and it startled him.

  “What’s that sound?” Todd said.

  “I don’t know.” Mark glanced over his shoulder to check the rear seats and then swept his hands under his seat. Maybe it was a bugging device gone haywire—set by Pop—or the FBI.

  Then he remembered the Trail Bladers phone Morana had given him. It was in his pocket. “Listen, Todd, I’ve got to go.”

  “Where? What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  As Mark rolled the window up and pulled away, Todd said, “Good luck, buddy. Don’t let them get you—you’ll be hosed.”

  Mark drove far enough up the street to lose sight of Todd and pulled over again. He fished out and answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Mark, it’s Morana. Don’t go home.”

  “Apparently, I can’t! What’s going on?”

  “You are being followed by the FBI. If they catch you, you’ll face detainment and criminal prosecution. We can help you evade them quickly and without a trace. Will you accept our help?”

  “What happened?”

  “Will you accept our help?”

  Mark was confused, scared and emotionally exhausted. “Yes,” he said.

  “Begin driving straight ahead and do not turn onto your street. Timing is key, so do not question my instructions—do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Mark pulled back onto the road. When he passed by his street he slowed to look down it. He saw his apartment building lit up with spotlights and police tape around the entire complex. A cluster of police cars parked up on the lawn near the bottom of the staircase that led to his unit, and the street was blocked with police cars and news vans.

  “Do you see a white car following you?”

  In his rearview mirror, Mark saw a car following him about ten car lengths back. The car passed under a streetlight and Mark could see that it was white.

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “It is following you. Do not try to lose the car. Do not stop driving and do not get out of your car until I tell you to. Say yes if you understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are approaching Venice Boulevard. Turn right at the signal.”

  “How do you know that? Can you see me?”

  “Comply with my directions without question or you will cause your own capture. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry. Yes… I’m turning now.”

  Mark checked his rearview mirror again. The car turned after him. He pulled to a stop sign beside a convenience store. The store’s bright parking lot lights spilled onto the street and helped Mark make out the silhouettes of two heads sitting in the white car.

  “Turn right at the next intersection,” Morana said.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you see the car behind you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have your car tracked, and while you were in the shelter, your friends that are following you placed their own GPS transmitter on your car. That’s how they found you after you fled the shelter.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Mark shouted into the phone. “If you and Pop want me, then why don’t you just abduct me like you have the others? If these bozos want me, then why haven’t they just arrested me?”

  “Mark, get a grip. The men following you haven’t arrested you because they think you will lead them to us. Now turn right at the next intersection. It will be Pacific Avenue.”

  Mark signaled and turned his car northbound toward Santa Monica. The car behind him followed. As he approached a checkpoint, his panic grew. He knew they would inspect his car before entering Santa Monica.

  “They’re gonna search me up here. What am I supposed to do?” he yelled.

  “You have to calm down!” Morana said. “You will be fine if you follow my instructions. They should let your car pass through without a problem. However, if the checkpoint officer asks you to exit your vehicle, you will need to run as fast as you can three blocks east to Third Street. Turn left and you’ll soon see the nose of a Trail Bladers truck protruding from an alley. Its rear doors will be open. Duck into the alley, enter the open doors at the rear of the truck, and you will be safe.”

  Mark’s heart raced as his car neared the checkpoint. He slowed to a stop behind a line of cars waiting for inspection and clearance to enter Santa Monica. He checked the rearview mirror every few seconds to see if he could make out the faces of his two pursuers. On either side of the road, orange traffic cones funneled his car toward an inspection checkpoint that was loaded with spotlights, mirrors, and personnel.

  If police had swarmed his apartment in search of him, then they surely had an APB out on his car. Perhaps they didn’t yet have the description of his rental car, he hoped.

  While he inched forward toward the checkpoint Mark kept his eyes glued to the men in the car behind him. “Can you tell me again why I’m fleeing?” he asked.

  “Papa told you that this would happen. You should have heeded his warning.”

  “So you’re strong-arming me to join your mission?”

  “Actually, your fa
vorite shelter director arranged for the federal shadows that are rolling behind you. She’s quite a piece of work. How many more cars until you are checked?”

  Mark craned his neck and counted. “Six more and then it is my turn. The white car is right on my bumper now. I want to turn my car around—”

  “No!” Morana shouted. “Do not turn around. An officer in a chase car is parked around the corner and will have you pulled over in less than a block. Follow my instructions or you will spend the night in jail. Keep going and keep the phone line open as you pass through the checkpoint. I want to hear what is happening.”

  “Three more cars. They’re searching trunks and they just asked a guy to get out of his pickup. Oh, dear God help me,” he said.

  “What is it?” Morana said.

  “One of the feds just got out of their car and… he’s walking past me.”

  “Don’t panic. Remember to run two blocks east if you are asked to get out of the car. Keep the phone line open so I can hold our truck for you. What’s happening?”

  “The agent is talking to the officer doing the inspections.” Mark felt sweat soaking into the back of his shirt and he tucked his hand under his thigh to keep it steady.

  The agent finished his brief discussion with the inspector, walked back past Mark’s car, ignoring Mark, and got back into his Buick.

  Mark’s car was next. He pulled up to the officer and rolled down his window. The officer leaned in and said, “What’s your business in Santa Monica?”

  “I’m visiting a friend,” Mark said, kicking himself for not having an answer ready.

  “You’re free to go, sir,” the officer said. He tipped his hat to Mark and gestured for him to continue through the inspection station.

  “Thank you,” Mark said, stunned. He pulled his car forward and rolled up his window. “Whew,” he said.

  “Don’t celebrate,” Morana said. “Did they stop and inspect the vehicle behind you?”

  Mark checked his rearview mirror. The white car not only followed him, but tailgated less than a car length from his bumper. “No, they’re on me!” he shouted.

  “Calm down! Do exactly as I say.”

  “Fine—just get me out of this,” Mark said. Any urge to argue or lash out at Morana was dwindling. Something Trail Bladers had going for them was proficiency at making people disappear to the complete bafflement of law enforcement. At this moment Mark hoped that Morana could serve up some of their magic for him.

  “Drive directly to the ALCO building. Don’t speed and don’t evade the car following you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Mark continued north, driving deeper into Santa Monica before he began a series of turns at Morana’s instruction. As he came to within two blocks of the ALCO building, Morana gave Mark his final instruction. “Do not park in the garage. Stop on the street in the red fire zone and run as fast as you can into the building. The agents behind you may exit their vehicle and give chase. Take the stairwell. Run up the stairs until we stop you. It is important that you make it to the sixth floor. If you cannot make it to the sixth floor without being caught, then you will find yourself in their custody, not ours. Do you understand?”

  Mark’s fear surged to a new level. He was in decent physical shape for a guy that spent most of his days sitting in front of computers, but he didn’t feel very confident. “So you expect me to outrun both federal agents?”

  “For your own sake, you must outrun them. Raphael will be waiting for you on the sixth floor. Follow his instructions. Leave the phone I gave you on the seat. I will disable it when we hang up.”

  Mark made his final turn and saw the wide open plaza of the ALCO building. He rolled to a stop in the no-parking fire zone and the agents pulled over behind him. A blue strobe light appeared on their dashboard and red lights began to blink from within the grill. Both the driver and passenger doors opened.

  “They’re getting out!” Mark yelled.

  “Get out and run. Do it now!” Morana yelled back.

  Mark opened his door and ran for the ALCO building’s front doors. He looked over his shoulder and saw the agents chasing him. Their open suit jackets flapped behind them and one of them had his tie flung over his shoulder.

  “Stop! FBI!” one of them yelled.

  Mark slammed into the glass door, threw it open and then dashed past the security desk to the stairwell. He didn’t look to see if the security guard was Neville—he didn’t care. The guard yelled for him to stop.

  In the stairwell, he took the steps two and three at a time. On the second flight he tripped and banged his shin on the metal steps, but his adrenaline numbed the pain. He heard the door open on the first floor followed by male voices shouting at him by name. They demanded that he stop and hollered, “Federal agents!” He slowed when he rounded the last set of stairs that led to the sixth floor. He was winded and his lungs burned. On the next landing, he saw a familiar face—Raphael standing by the sixth floor exit to the stairwell. He wore a blue security guard’s uniform. He motioned for Mark to keep running toward him.

  “Raphael, help!” he said. Mark didn’t care if the agents heard him beg. If he had any clout with a Trail Blader, now was the time he wanted to cash in. He ran up the final set of stairs, threw himself into Raphael’s arms, gasping for breath.

  Raphael clapped his hand over Mark’s mouth and body-slammed him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Mark’s eyes widened and he stared up with disbelief and terror as Raphael’s hand stayed clapped over his mouth.

  “Shut up,” Raphael said. He pulled his hand off Mark’s mouth to prevent him from passing out. The agents’ footsteps grew louder as they neared. Raphael whipped out handcuffs from his back pocket and flipped Mark to his stomach. Within seconds, Mark was cuffed and Raphael put a knee on Mark’s back as they waited for the agents.

  “What are you doing?” Mark wheezed.

  “Shut up,” Raphael repeated. He grabbed the back of Mark’s neck and pressed is face to the concrete floor for a moment to show that he was serious.

  Agents Jameson and Tills slowed for the last few stairs when they saw that Mark had been detained. They leaned over onto their knees as they panted to recover from their sprint. Agent Tills stood over Mark with his own opened handcuffs in hand.

  “Mr. Denny, that’s some parking job you did out there, fella,” he said. Mark didn’t answer, still panting. Agent Jameson walked down half a flight of steps to the first landing and began tapping his ear and fumbling in his suit pocket.

  “You building security?” Tills said to Raphael.

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael said, smiling at them. He looked down at Mark with the pride of a hunter who had shot his first buck. “Just making my rounds when the lobby called. Right place at the right time, I figure. I opened the door and startled him right off his feet.”

  “Let’s get him up,” Tills said. He and Raphael scooped up Mark under his armpits and raised him to his feet.

  Jameson came back up the stairs with a coiled white wire hanging out from his collar. “I’ve got no transmission in here—not FM—not anything.”

  “Uh, that would be Treico’s fault,” Raphael said. “Treico Plastics on the fifth floor uses sonic waves to mold plastics. They have some strange machinery frequencies and create a huge dead spot from floors four to six. That’s why we only allow them to run the machines after hours. Once you’re two floors away in either direction, your signal will be back.” He smiled at the agents. “By the way, what’d this guy do?” He pointed to Mark.

  Tills’s eyes scanned Raphael and his expression showed a dwindling tolerance. He pointed toward the stairwell door for Raphael to leave. “We’ve got him from here. Thank you for your help.”

  “My pleasure. Lock his ass up,” Raphael said. He left Mark in the stairwell with the agents, and the door closed.

  “So why this building, Mr. Denny?” Jameson said as he turned Mark away from him and patted him down. “Care to tell us why you were i
n such a rush to get to this building in particular? Or would you prefer to tell us in a more private setting.”

  Tills laughed and said, “Save it. Let’s get him out of here.”

  They each took one of Mark’s arms and exited the stairwell into the sixth floor foyer. When they turned the corner and entered the elevator lobby, Raphael was there. He held an elevator door open for them.

  “Gentlemen, may I offer you a ride?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE ELEVATOR’S INTERIOR had cloth tarps covering the walls, and a plastic tarp lined the floor as if the elevator had been prepped for painting or remodeling.

  Mark thought Raphael would step in to join them, but he didn’t. He smiled again, waved, and said, “Have a good ride boys.” The agents seemed annoyed and anxious to be rid of Raphael. One of them repeatedly pressed the L button on the elevator panel.

  As the doors slid shut with Mark sandwiched between the two agents, each gripped his upper arm. The handcuffs dug into Mark’s wrists. Each time he wiggled to adjust them, the agents tightened their grips on his arms—as if he might actually escape.

  The instant before the doors closed, Raphael winked at Mark.

  “Did that security guard just wink at you?” Tills said.

  Mark shook his head and looked up at the floor display. The elevator bumped and they felt movement. The illuminated number six went black and the five lit up. Mark’s heart pounded so hard, he wondered if the agents would be able to feel it while holding his arm. The last time the door opened on floor five of the ALCO building, he had stepped into the world of the Trail Bladers.

  The elevator halted and the agents stepped forward, positioning Mark a step ahead of them in preparation to exit. The elevator lights blinked off and the elevator went pitch black. “Aww, what the hell,” Jameson said.

  “Power outage?” Tills said. He let go of Mark’s arm and Mark heard the sound of him fumbling through his jacket for something. A green glow lit up his chest and face when he pressed a button on his phone.

  “You got a signal?” Jameson said.