Beaming, the cook took the plate and walked back into the kitchen. Lester was over the counter and behind him before the second hand on the clock above the door had a chance to move. He brought the sole of his right foot up and into the cook’s lower back and sent him flying toward the far wall. The plate the cook was holding shattered on the tile floor. Lester sprang forward and grabbed one of the cook’s hands. He pushed it back and the cook screamed. He increased the pressure until he could hear the ligaments in the wrist begin to tear. The cook’s eyes vanished behind his eyelids and his body went limp.
Lester walked out to the counter and through the gap by the cash register to the front door. He flipped the “open” sign to “closed”, found the panel of light switches and turned off all but the one in the kitchen. That done, he walked back, found a mop bucket full of brown water and poured it over the cook. The cook stirred and began to moan. When he opened his eyes, Lester was standing over him with a butcher’s knife in one hand.
“Mister,” the cook said, the words coming out in a slur, “What’s in the register is all I got.”
“The man. What did he look like?” Lester asked.
The cook only looked at him, his face blank.
“The man you said got a ride here yesterday. What did he look like?”
It took another moment for the question to register, then the cook said, “I don’t know. Maybe five-ten, stocky, short hair.”
“What color were his eyes?”
“I don’t remember. Brown I think.”
“Did he have any tattoos or scars?”
“I can’t remember stuff like that. Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes,” Lester said. “What was he wearing?”
The answer had been so matter-of-fact that the cook wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all. “You are going to kill me?”
“Yes. I’m going to kill you. Now what was the man wearing?”
From the way Lester had said it, it sounded as if the cook had asked to be killed and was now annoying his would-be assassin by being impatient.
“I don’t want to die,” the cook said and began to sob.
“It would be a crime to let you live,” Lester said and moved a step closer.
“You’re crazy!” The cook screamed. “You’re fucking crazy!”
Lester stepped forward and planted the heel of his right foot into the cook’s stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs and for a moment he looked as if he was going to die right there and then. After a few long seconds, he managed to suck in just enough air to avoid fainting and began to hyperventilate.
“What was he wearing?” Lester asked again.
“I – can’t – remember.”
“You said his cousin usually gets here at around three. Does he ever get here before that?”
The cook shook his head.
“Was there anybody else with the man who got the ride?”
The cook continued to shake his head and Lester knew he wasn’t lying. The creature was beyond that now. The kids would have been waiting somewhere outside. It was the obvious thing to have them do. Lester stepped forward and before the cook could utter another sound, he brought the knife down and buried it in the cook’s gasping mouth.
That done, he sat down on a chair next to the grill and waited.
At precisely two-fifty in the morning he stood up, walked to the door, flipped the sign to “open” and turned on the lights. Fifteen minutes later a white Peterbilt truck towing a blue trailer pulled into the parking lot, spun around and lined itself up parallel to the diner. Lester turned the lights back off, flipped the sign again and walked out the door. He was standing beside the truck when Ned climbed down.
Cousin Ned was about six feet tall and very thin. He wore a pair of faded jeans, pulled tight at the waist with a buckle so big it almost looked like a boxer’s trophy belt. His white tank top exposed gaunt shoulders and scrawny arms. On his head he wore a huge, green John Deere cap that extended his height by another four inches. Any other man would almost certainly have laughed at the spectacle that was Ned the truck driver. Lester did not.
Ned looked at the diner and frowned. He turned, saw Lester and jumped. “Holy shit! Ya scared the livin’ daylights outta me!”
“Are you Ned?” Lester asked.
Ned stood back and studied the stranger for a moment. “Might be. Who’s askin’?”
“We’re going to get back into your truck and drive to the border,” Lester said.
“Easy there, big guy,” Ned said. “Keep going like that and you’ll be going no place. This may not be the glorious South, but manners is manners. Say, did you see the lights go out in the diner, I could have sworn –”
Lester punched Ned in the face. Ned’s nose exploded like a piece of rotten fruit and he went flying back, bouncing off the side of his truck and landing a few feet away on the gravel.
“Get in the truck,” Lester said.
Ned was quicker than the cook had been. He got to his feet slowly, holding one cupped hand over his nose. Lester stepped back to let him climb in, then he walked around and got in himself.
“Do you have ice in there?” Lester asked pointing back into the sleeper cab.
“Got a small fridge with a freezer compartment.”
“Put some ice in a bag and hold it to your nose until the swelling goes down,” Lester said. “If you are asked about it at the border, you will say that you refused a man a ride and he assaulted you.”
Ned climbed over into the small compartment and pulled a tray of ice cubes from the freezer. He broke them into a small white trash bag and put the bag to his nose, flinching at the pain. Lester looked around and saw a roll of paper towels on the fridge. “Use those to clean the blood off your face.”
When Ned was done he looked only slightly more presentable. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and looked out at the road, not daring to speak.
“You have a cousin,” Lester said.
Ned looked at him in surprise.
“He picked a man up here yesterday. The man was traveling with a boy and a girl. Where did he take them?”
Ned looked even more surprised. John had told him about the man and his two companions. Ned tried to remember where he said he had dropped them off.
“Junction of Highway 20 and the 55, I think. Runs over the Saint Lawrence into Three Rivers.”
“Take me there,” Lester said.
Chapter 34
Concord, New Hampshire Thursday 20 July 2006
0245 EDT
Francis woke to the sound of copulation in the room next door and cursed himself for not choosing a more up-market place to stay. The woman – he assumed it was a woman, but who knew these days – was earning her living in grand fashion. She began to moan louder as her patron picked up speed. Something on the other side of the wall began to clang, the man gave out a final triumphant groan of satisfaction and the room was quiet again. He could hear the murmur of conversation and pictured the woman pulling down her skirt and pocketing her fare. A door opened and closed followed by the sound of high heels on wood. Francis sat up and looked at the alarm clock.
He got up and dressed quickly, then pulled his backpack from under the bed, slung it over his shoulder and left the room. When he got downstairs a peroxide blonde in a pink miniskirt and black tank top was chatting with the man behind the desk. She gave Francis a glance as he walked by. “Hey, hon, you looking for some company?”
“Maybe later,” Francis said and gave her a wink.
“If I’m not here, Bobby knows where to find me,” she called after him.
Francis raised a hand behind his back in acknowledgment and turned left onto the sidewalk. He walked until he found a payphone next to a bus stop, pushed four quarters into the slot and dialed. It was answered on the second ring.
“Cassidy.”
“What did you find?” Francis asked.
“Listen asshole, if you ever pull a stunt like that on me again, it will be the last time y
ou and I do business. Is that clear?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Francis said.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That the woman and the boy were being watched.”
“Being watched? By who?”
“You really didn’t know?”
“Cassidy,” Francis said. “What kind of a fucking moron do you take me for?”
“Okay, all right, I believe you.”
“Being watched by who?”
“Two guys. At the house.”
“Serious?”
“Very.”
“Did they talk?” Francis asked.
“They did. But it took me a while to get them in the right frame of mind.”
“Hit men?”
“I don’t know. They had no ID. The car they were driving was a rental.”
“Did they give you a contact?” Francis asked.
“No contact. They were operating blind.”
Francis closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think. He had only wanted a picture of Mike Banner’s wife and son in case things got messy when they met.
“Am I good for the hits?” Francis asked.
“You were good for the capture and the interview,” Cassidy said. “The hits are going to cost you.”
“Go on.”
“Twenty each.”
“That’s a little steep isn’t it?”
“Times have changed. Besides, these guys are probably connected. Think of it as a risk premium.”
“All right,” Francis said. “Call it thirty-five for the two and give me an account number. And Cassidy, there’s something else I’m going to need you to do.”
Chapter 35
Vermont – Quebec Border
Thursday 20 July 2006
0330 EDT
Lester sat on the bed in the sleeper cab watching Ned through a narrow slit in the curtains. Ned was sweating profusely. At some point he had also urinated on the seat beneath him.
Ned raised his right hand from the gear lever and turned, squinting into the darkness behind him. Whatever he thought he saw, it seemed to make up his mind. Ned reached over and picked up a cell phone from a tray in the center of the dashboard. He moved it to his left hand and put his right on the steering wheel.
“Don’t be a fool,” Lester said.
Ned jumped in his seat and dropped the phone.
“I was just – ah – just checking the time,” he stuttered.
“Of course you were.”
“I have to let John know when I reach the border. We’re almost there.”
“You can call him after our business is concluded,” Lester said.
“You’ll let me go?” Ned asked.
“That depends on you. Try something stupid and the knife I’m holding goes through the seat and into your spine. Get me where I need to go, and you’re a free man.”
Ned was visibly relieved. He sank back in the chair and ran the back of his left hand across his forehead.
“Mister, I won’t tell a soul. You believe me, right?”
“I do.”
“I can keep my mouth shut is what I mean. You’re in a hurry. I get it. Whatever business you have, it’s none of mine. I just–”
“Shut up,” Lester said.
Ned did.
“Make a move to leave the vehicle or alert the officer to your predicament and you die. You, him and everybody else. Do you understand?”
Ned swallowed and nodded. He was about to say something else but Lester cut him off. “Stop talking and concentrate.”
The fluorescent lights of the border station were growing brighter in the distance. Lester sat back and pulled the curtains closed.
When the truck stopped, Ned cut the engine and rolled down his window.
“Hey, Ned. How’s life?”
For a long moment Ned didn’t answer. Lester tensed and got ready to spring forward.
“You know. Same old, same old,” Ned said in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.
“That’s a hell of a nose job you got there. You been brawling again?” the man asked.
“Damn hitcher. Tried to clean me out yesterday.”
“I hope you showed him what time it was.”
“Oh, he’s regretting it, take my word,” Ned said.
“Good on ya, man. What’s the world coming to, right?”
“Nothing good.”
“I’ll let you get on, Ned. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”
“Been prayin’ for one all day,” Ned said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ned started the truck and rolled forward. Lester listened to a less informal exchange with another guard on the Canadian side; then they were on their way again, rolling down Highway 55.
“Hand me your phone,” Lester said.
Ned reached down to the floor, picked up the phone and handed it over. Lester studied it for a moment, then reached over and placed it in the cradle next to the steering wheel.
“Make the call on the speakers. If the two of you have some arranged method of alerting each other to trouble, I will know. Use it and I kill both you and your cousin.”
Ned reached forward with an unsteady hand, scrolled to the name John in the phone book and pressed dial.
“Hey, Ned. Everything all right?” Big John asked.
“Yeah. I had some trouble getting the phone to charge up.”
“You over the border?”
“Yep. Should be dropping around eight if they’re ready.”
“You eaten?”
“Stopped off at Joe’s place on the way up.”
“All right. Give me a call when you’ve dropped. I might have something coming out of AB in Montreal for the return trip. It’ll be a nice little earner if it comes through.”
“Sounds good,” Ned said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Drive safe.”
“You too.”
Lester pulled the phone out of the cradle. He climbed into the passenger’s seat, rolled down the window and threw it out.
When they reached the junction Ned downshifted and pulled the truck onto the verge of Highway 40, just ahead of the off ramp. Lester reached into his pocket and produced a small blue capsule. “Swallow this.”
Ned took it but made no move to put it in his mouth. “What is it?”
“It’s the alternative to me killing you right now.”
“What will it do to me?”
“It will make you forget you ever saw me. Now take it before I change my mind.”
Ned looked back down at the capsule and up again at Lester. His hand was trembling so badly he almost dropped it.
“Mister,” Ned said, now on the verge of tears, “I promise I won’t tell anyone I dropped you off here.”
“And I promise that once you’ve swallowed that, you won’t be able to. Now I’m in a hurry, so decide what you want to do.”
Ned closed his eyes, placed the capsule on his tongue and swallowed it. When nothing happened he relaxed a little and slumped back into the seat. Lester reached over, grabbed the mic to the CB radio and pulled the spiral cord out of the receiver. He opened the door and climbed out without saying a word.
– – –
As soon as the door was closed, Ned thrust the gear lever forward and crunched the third gear before pulling it back and finding first. He popped the clutch and the truck jerked forward. In the rear-view mirror he could see Lester standing at the back of the trailer looking at him. Ned pushed the clutch down again and this time found fifth instead of third. When he finally got the truck back on the road and up to fifty, he began to sob, his whole body shaking like a man in the throes of hypothermia. He reached under his seat with one trembling hand and brought out a small waist pouch. When he finally got the zipper open and looked inside, he saw the spare phone he kept in there was gone. Ned grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and began to scream, rocking back and forth in the seat.
&
nbsp; “Son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Son of a fucking bitch! You just fucking wait till I get to a phone you cocksucker!”
When his voice finally gave out and his shouts subsided into a series of hoarse whispers, he stopped.
The blood began to drain from his head and his anger gave way to an unexplained optimism. His head felt light. For a moment he couldn’t even remember what he had been screaming about. When he looked down at the speedometer he saw the red needle bend slightly. Several of the numbers around the dial had fallen off and gathered in a pile at the bottom of the instrument panel. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the dial and the numbers were back in place. He looked back up and saw a spider the size of a Rottweiler scurrying across the highway. He tried screaming again but nothing came out. His heart stopped beating for several seconds, then it kicked back in and began to pound. Ned’s breathing grew heavier and his body began to tingle as if he had pins and needles in every limb. Then voices began speaking in his head in what was either a foreign language he had never heard, or no language at all.
The vague idea that he needed to stop the truck was overshadowed by the sudden powerful certainty that he was either Jesus Christ or God himself, and the idea actually made him laugh, although what escaped his mouth was little more than a series of rasping croaks. His final vision was of a tall wooden cross standing in the middle of the road in front of him.
It was burning.
The truck breasted the top of a gentle slope and began to speed up under its own weight. When it reached seventy-five, Ned suddenly sat up and opened his eyes. In the dim light of the cab, they looked like the milky blind eyes of some deep-sea monstrosity. The man that no longer looked quite like Ned fumbled at the wheel, turning it sharply to the left. The big truck crossed the central divide before tipping over onto its side, sending a bright shower of sparks flying in all directions.
The cab hit the guardrail and came to a sudden stop, half the trailer still blocking both eastbound lanes. Ned was projected through the windshield like a rag doll into a field of timothy grass. Where his right arm had been, there was only a short stump of shredded flesh. One side of his chest looked like it had been crushed in a vise. He showed no sign of being in pain, but was actually smiling like a lunatic reflecting on some particularly pleasant memory. He turned his head up to the sky and began to speak, the words distorted by a steady stream of blood running from his mouth.
Origin - Season One Page 16