The Phone Company
Page 19
Winding his way downhill, Bill activated his earwig and called the dispatcher. Not Aaron. Wasn’t her shift.
“Shelly, yeah, let’s put a BOLO out on Marvin Jones. Yes, Shelly, the Martian.” Bill described the moving van. “Yes, no plates. Did you take down the part about the rust spot? Good, Shelly, that’s all I need.” Bill hung up and called the sheriff.
“Right in the middle of dinner here, Bill, what do you want?”
“Sir, Marvin Jones just evaded an officer. Me. Evaded me.”
“Bill—”
“He was parked in this moving van behind the church during the PCo event. He saw me and ran. I plan to bring him in for questioning, sir. Plan to search his van, too.”
“What’s Dragnet say about that?”
“Sir?”
“It authorize the arrest?”
“Sir, he evaded the pol—”
“Did Dragnet authorize the arrest?”
“I authorized it, sir. Me.”
After a pause, Perkins said, “So run me through this. He was at the PCo event?”
“As part of a protest, sir, yes. Marvin’s very anti-Phone Company. There’s an eyewitness, sir, besides me.”
“Eyewitness?”
“Yes, sir, Steve.”
“Your friend Steve Gregory?”
“Best friend, sir, yes.”
Bill said it as if to prove Steve’s credibility, though he realized too late it sounded weak.
He turned onto the main road. “I suspect he’s got the fertilizer in the van, sir, the stuff he got from Rat.”
“So you think he’s planning to blow up the church, that’s what you’re saying.”
“Yes,” Bill said, “I know for a fact.”
“And how is it you know all this, Bill? How you know he was running from you and not just going for a burger?”
Bill tried not to hesitate. In all honesty he didn’t think Marv had seen him or his badge.
It seemed more like the Martian had simply changed his mind and had left before it could change itself back. “His mind’s got a mind of its own,” Bill had always said, the voices in Marv’s head convincing him to carry out their agenda.
If Bill were being truly honest, he hadn’t seen Marvin at all, just the back of the van. The only solid lead came from Bill’s best friend, Steve.
“He saw me, sir,” Bill said anyway. “I shouted freeze, and Marv took off. Simple as that.”
Perkins sighed.
“Sir?”
“If this is true, Bill, how come I can’t find any record of it in Dragnet?”
Bill glanced at the passenger seat where the glasses sat, staring back.
“Damn it, Bill, you still aren’t wearing them, are you?”
“Sir—”
“Well then, it’s your own damn fault.”
“I’m bringing him in, sir, Dragnet or not. He broke the law.”
“Hope it holds up in court.”
Perkins hung up, and Bill looked over at Dragnet.
“What,” he said. The glasses just kept staring. “Fine.”
Feeling a burble of stomach acid, Bill donned Dragnet for the first time since he’d thrown it onto his seat.
There was no pushing a button. The internet-connected glasses came to life as soon as they touched his skin. A compass and a map of the road overlaid Bill’s vision.
MOUNTAIN VIEW RD.
West
Other statistics, like the length of the road in miles, stayed in his periphery. He found he could drag things forward with his eyes, sweeping the other data aside.
He could drill into menus and submenus, down to entire lists of addresses populating the entire road, along with lists of the people who not only owned the property but who currently occupied the premises. He could see how much was still owed on the mortgage and/or construction loan, right down to the lot maps, floor plans, and floodplain maps kept by the lenders in inspection and appraisal reports.
Even better, Bill could see a complete police blotter kept on every property. The road had a long rap sheet.
Murder in that one.
Meth lab over there.
Suicide and triple homicide.
Arson.
That guy in that house was on parole.
“Ah,” Bill said, zeroing in on a setting. He eyeballed one of the options:
“You sound like Aaron,” he said.
“No! Just kidding! Cancel! End call!”
“Thank you,” Bill said. “Sheesh.”
“It’s Bill.”
“Just Bill.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“What did I just say?”
“No.”
Bill straightened the glasses on his nose. “Man, you’re a pushy first date.”
Making a disgusted sound, Bill threw the glasses back into the passenger seat.
Bill pulled into Marvin’s junkyard, scanning the gravel lot. No moving van. He parked and was surprised to see the Martian coming out for a meet and greet.
“Hands on the hood, Marv,” Bill said, climbing out.
“Hey, man, chill out.”
Bill rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “You shouldn’t have run. Hands on the hood, you’re under arrest.”
“Man, what are you even saying? What are even the words coming out of your mouth right now?”
“The van, Marv. The moving van.”
“I’m not moving, man, I’ve lived here my whole life. Plan to die here. It’s not like I’m asking you to help carry a couch or anything.”
“Just shut up and turn around, Marv.”
Bill grabbed him and bent him over the hood, slapping handcuffs on him and reading him his rights. Ugh, the Martian’s tie-dyed shirt and hair still dripped with sweat. He stunk.
Sweat and weed. That’s what he reeked of.
“Police brutality!” Marv screamed as Bill stuffed him into the cruiser’s backseat. “He’s brutalizing me, help! I’m being repressed!”
“Where’s the van, Marv?”
“What van, man—help!”
“I saw you. Witnesses saw you. Where is the goddamn van?”
Marvin shook his head and started spouting the Fourth Amendment. “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures—”
“I have probable cause, Marv. And this little thing called the motor vehicle exception.”
“—shall not be violated, man! And no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause—”
“I’ve got probable cause.”
“—shall not, shall not—”
Bill slammed the door on him, but Marvin kept reciting the Constitution through the glass.
“It’s a junkyard, Marv!” Bill said, glancing over the graveyard of fridges. “A commercial one! You don’t have the same expectation of privacy. You hear that, Marv?”
The Martian wasn’t listening. He screamed something about a police state as Bill stepped into the yard.
He took a complete walkthrough of the areas accessible to automobile (and the public): the salvage yard, the receiving area for scrap metal, the parking lot near the travel trailers. No moving van.
Bill thought he saw the maze of copper, lead, and aluminum Steve had mentioned, Marv’s Dead Zone. He headed down it. There, Bill thought, walking over to some crates filled with old cans of lead paint. He grabbed one to move it aside, but stopped.
In the distance he could hear Marvin in the cruiser, not even saying anything anymore, just screaming. The Martian was correct. He had rights.
Sighing, Bill activated his earwig.
“What now?” the sheriff said when he picked up.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’m going to need a search warrant. He’s hidden the van.”
“You don’t have to ask my permission, Bill.”
“Sorry, sir, I thought that was our protoc—”
“Not anymore. Dragnet approves those requests. Also, you ought to know, all warrant affidavits should be filed through Dragnet as well.”
“Why? What for?”
“It’s how we’re set up with the courts now, Bill. They’re not just written reports anymore, you’ve got to record the probable cause. Give the judge complete evidence or he’ll throw you out.”
“That’s. . . . Sir, that’s not going to work.”
“Get your warrant through Dragnet, Bill, good night.”
Perkins hung up, leaving Bill to grit his teeth. He knew one thing for certain: if he ever made sheriff, Dragnet would not dictate chain of command. And courts wouldn’t overreach.
Marvin was still screaming in the back of the cruiser.
“Shut up,” Bill said, leaning in to grab his pair of high-tech glasses. They came to life again when he put them on.
“Hey, I want to file an affidavit. Search warrant.”
Bill threw the glasses, not caring when they bounced off the seat into the foot well. He would go file an affidavit like he always did, screw the courts.
First, though, he’d book Marvin. At the very least they could impound his car and suspend his license, so that the next time Bill caught the squirrely little alien driving the van, he’d have the Martian’s head mounted on a wall.
* * *
“Yeah, Judge Holden, this is Deputy Sheriff Bill Biggs.” Again, Bill thought, steering up Mrs. Hayworth’s long, paved drive. He’d been leaving messages for the judge since yesterday. “Just following up on my request for a search warrant, thanks.”
He called Aaron next.
“Pretty sure my whole case is screwed.”
“Yeah?” Aaron said. “Why’s that?”
“I probably won’t even get my warrant.”
“But Steve placed Marvin in the van at the church.”
“See, I told you Steve’s a good guy. Even if his account doesn’t mean crap. He’s got an awesome dog, too.”
“Why doesn’t his account mean crap?”
“Two sweet kids . . .”
“Bill,” Aaron said, steering him back on track.
“Because I can’t prove Marv was evading me. Can’t prove he wasn’t just leaving anyway, you know? It’s not like he sped off. I can’t even prove it was Marv in the vehicle at all, not at the time.”
“Should’ve been wearing Dragnet,” Aaron said.
“God, you know, you sound just like her, too. That voice?”
“Really? My Dragnet sounds like you. A, uh, hot British version of you.”
“Hah! Yeah, well, I’ve already named mine Aaron 2.” Bill lit a cigarette and caught a peek of Mrs. Hayworth’s mansion through the trees. “I can’t prove there’s anything dangerous about the van, but, glasses or no, this whole thing’s giving me heartburn.”
“Don’t you call that your ‘Spidey Sense’?” Aaron said.
Bill did.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t think Marv’s going anywhere anytime soon. Did you hear the judge set his bail?”
“Yeah,” Bill said.
“He’ll never post that.”
“True.” Bill took one of the many hairpin turns up Hayworth Hill. “I’m going to respond to this call at Mrs. Hayworth’s.”
“Yeah, she called about seeing a dead man.”
“Like a body?” Bill asked.
“Not sure.”
“Hmm. Probably just her gardener, then. I’ll keep you right here in my ear, if that’s cool.”
“I’ll be here,” Aaron said. “Little birdy.”
Bill came up on the huge house. The pool with the vanishing edge had been covered up for fall, and all the flower gardens that usually lit up the place had died away to dirt and shrubs.
Mrs. Hayworth greeted Bill at the French doors at the top of the flagstone stoop. Her long silk robe and gray hair fluttered slightly, moving as if they were spun from the same threads.
“Morning, Mrs. Hayworth, everything all right? Where’s your gardener this morning?”
Mrs. Hayworth smiled. “I just sat down to some milk and lemon squares.”
“Mmm,” Bill said, beaming like a boy. “My favorite.”
He took off his hat, and Mrs. Hayworth invited him inside, to the breakfast nook overlooking Burnt Valley.
“Always loved this time of year,” Mrs. Hayworth said, looking out the bay window through the steam of her Colombian coffee. She’d brewed it so strong the smell practically caffeinated the air.
“Good season,” Bill admitted, “better hunting.” The mountains looked like green rock and the quaking aspens streaked through them in veins of gold. “So,” he said with a full mouth, “you called about a dead man?”
Mrs. Hayworth nodded. “Have you ever noticed these days on TV how they never say goodbye anymore? They just hang up. Why is that?”
Aw, Bill thought. He hated to see this, hated to see her slip in and out. She’d taught him everything he knew about math, which wasn’t much—but that wasn’t her fault. She’d been a smart teacher, so it hurt Bill’s heart.
“I don’t know,” he said, taking a whiff of his lemony treat. “Who knows why people do what they do on TV?”
Mrs. Hayworth nodded at the scenery, rocking gently in her seat. The creak of the wooden chair reminded Bill of his GeeMa’s rocker.
“My husband . . . he didn’t tell me goodbye,” Mrs. Hayworth said. “Called me just last night and didn’t tell me.”
Bill stopped chewing for a second, then sipped his milk. “Hmm.” Mr. Hayworth had been dead eight years.
“We never got the chance, I guess.”
“How come?” Bill said, chewing.
“We lost . . . touch, I think. No signal, I don’t know.”
“Huh. And this happened last night?”
“Oh, it was so nice to hear his voice. To hear him like I hear him in my dreams sometimes, only right there. I could feel him.”
“Uh-huh,” Bill said, trying not to notice the mansion’s draft. A lady this old, in this big a house? She really should’ve kept the heat pumped up to Florida levels. Especially at this elevation, where there was so easily snow.
Mrs. Hayworth kept rocking, hugging herself. “He said he’s in a place of gold and brilliant coins,” she said, staring wistfully out at the fall trees. “He said I’d be joining him soon.”
Crick-crack.
Crick-crack.
“Maybe . . . maybe that’s why he didn’t say goodbye.”
Bill didn’t know what to say to that. He took another bite and coughed a bit on the sugared dust.
“Hey, Bill?” Aaron said in his ear. “Sorry, but I just got a call. There’s a robbery in progress.”
He nodded, even though Aaron couldn’t see him. “Okay, Mrs. Hayworth, I guess if that was it. . . .” He started to stand up and reached for his hat. “Thanks for the—”
A spotted, wrinkled old hand clamped down on his.
“Please,” Mrs. Hayworth said. She reached into her robe and pulled something out. “I don’t know how to make it work. Please, help me call him back?” She held out a brand new Tether, which nearly slipped out of
her trembling hand like some fish. “I just want to say goodbye.”
“Mrs. Hayworth, my dear.” Bill stooped and clasped her hand between both of his, warming the poor thing as if it were a cold, fluttering butterfly. “I don’t know who you talked to last night, but . . . you can call me anytime, ya hear? Don’t you ever hesitate.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” Aaron said softly. “You’re so sweet, Bill.”
He let the pained grin bleed through his face. It died when he realized Mrs. Hayworth wasn’t comforted.
She slowly shook her head and sat back, hand slipping from between Bill’s gentle grasp before folding back into her lap. “I’m sorry, who are . . .?”
After sweeping up his own mess and thanking Mrs. Hayworth, after adjusting the thermostat he’d found by the atrium, Bill donned his hat and sped off down the mountain.
He tried not to look in his rearview at the cold and nearly empty mansion on the hill. No one should have been left alone in a place like that, especially not a sweet old lady. Too many echoes. Too many chills.
In his ear, Aaron 2 said,
Bill jumped, spotting the Dragnet glasses in the passenger foot well. “Hey, didn’t I turn you off?”
“Turn me off?” the real Aaron asked.
“Oh,” Bill said, “nothing.”
Squealing tires down and around one of the many hairpin turns, he peeked again into the foot well. Like he thought, Aaron 2’s power indicator remained dark.
* * *
“Clive?” Bill said, aiming his gun from behind the cruiser door. The man in the ski mask barely glanced at him, too busy shouting into his earwig.
“I don’t want any of your shitty insurance! No, my phone’s fine! I’m sick of this shit, I’m hanging up!” Except the robber didn’t hang up. He kept arguing with the salesman on the other end of the line.
Yep, it certainly sounded like Clive. But what the hell was Clive doing, robbing a gas station?
Bill’s eyes flicked to the bag of money in Clive’s left hand, then to the gun in his right. Bill had told him repeatedly to drop the weapon, but Clive only had ears for his phone.
Drugs, Bill thought, looking at the bloodshot eyes, the way they bugged out of the ski mask. Gotta be drugs. Which, quite frankly, scared him.