“Yes. I can. I have a fine memory. I just have someone else here that I’d like to listen in. Can they listen in?”
“Have her ask me. It’s the little computer girl you’ve been doting on, am I right?”
“Ask her. Hold on.” Al put the phone to his chest and make a huge almost comical shushing motion to everyone in the room, pointed to the phone, made a finger gun, and shot himself in the head with it. Edith grabbed the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hello, dear. Forgive the rudeness. Now, I suppose you are the black haired young-ish lady, petite, with green eyes.”
Edith licked her suddenly too-dry lips. “Yes. That’s me. My name’s Edith.”
“I know. I believe I know someone you know. A hacker named Gilbert.”
Edith knew Gilbert. “Yeah, I know Gilbert.”
“What do you think of him?”
“He’s an overblown tub of goo.”
“Edith, is anyone else there? Answer quick!”
In a knee-jerk reaction, Edith said, “No! Just me and Al. You know we’ve been spending time together. Besides, you should know I don’t really like people; why the fuck would we have anyone else around?”
There was a short pause, then the voice said, “Put me on speaker and put me on the table. I hate the sound phone rustling makes.” Edith did as she was told.
Al had meanwhile found a legal pad and pen and scrawled, “Don’t make a fucking sound!” It was written frantically and underlined with a scribble. Everyone got it.
The voice on the phone said gaily, “Oh, Edith? That tub of goo, Gilbert?”
“Yes?” She could feel it coming.
“Yeah…I had to kill him. He wasn’t just a disgusting tub of goo, he was a thief, and he was a liar. I think we’ve covered that part of my emotional makeup. So, Al! Any guesses, so far?”
“I’m pretty good at this game. Yeah. I got you narrowed down to two people. Well, one known person, and another from a pool.”
“Oh, fuck me runnin’. Really, Al? That’s the best you can do? A binary answer. Every fucking murder ever can be summed up by saying ‘one known person, and another from a pool,’ can’t they? I mean, really.”
“OK. You’re either Eric Bannerman, or you’re a family member of Judge MacFarlane.”
“I can deal with that I suppose. It shows at least a little aptitude, and it’s supported in Bud’s paperwork.”
“Bud was going to see Bannerman. You’re calling from Bud’s phone. So this is Bannerman.”
Edith jumped in. “Fucking Boolean Expression.”
Al looked a little like Nipper, the old RCA dog. Whoever was on the phone laughed and said, “Oh, most excellent!”
“Someone want to fill me in on what a Boolean Expression is?”
“It’s an expression that yields something that is true or false, but can be true and false. This guy on the phone--pardon me for calling you ‘this guy’, but I don’t know who the fuck you are.”
“Not a problem, dear. You’re doing rather well.”
“So he knows about my eyes; we hang out, you have an almost eidetic memory. Riddle me this, Al, you think someone like that who isn’t Bannerman might know the goings-on of your friend, Bud, whom you’ve met numerous times in public. He could have tailed Bud and subdued him and/or Bannerman. No dice, pal. Not enough information.”
Al was distracted, of course, by the situation, but was moved beyond expression by the magic and brilliance that was Edith Fiske. “So what do we do now, pal? I think I know your agenda. How do you want to play this?”
“Simple. I want you to find Gill and Sheena then I want you Al, you alone, to drive yourself and the two of them out to a location I’m going to give you when we talk next. You’ll be unarmed. If you do that, I’ll release Bud. Sound simple? Should I say it again so you make sure you have it all written down?”
“I got it. How long do I have? And how do I know that you really have Bud alive? I know you have his phone, but he could be dead?” Al’s mind was racing now.
“In one hour, I’ll call back. You’ll know it’s me because I’ll use Bud’s phone. Then I’ll talk to Gill and Sheena, and you can say howdy to Bud.”
“What do you want me to do?” Edith asked.
“Well, darling, I want you to either help Al gather the two actors or not, then say goodbye to him. You won’t be seeing him again. So, Al, call this phone. One hour. I’m pulling the battery so you can’t trace me, and the next call will be too short to trace. You don’t know if this is a one-stop deal or a multi-stop deal, so no cops. You bring cops, I kill the detective and slip silently away. One hour.”
“Fuckhead.” Edith spat.
Instead of getting mad, the voice on the other end just laughed, then the phone went dead.
Sixty minutes to figure it all out. And they had a grand total of shit.
64
Eric was driving happily along at a cop-safe fifty-seven miles per hour. The call had gone well. He texted the address to the Malta property, then pulled the battery. He still was unclear on whether or not a phone could be traced with a battery in it, but why take a chance?
His plan would be painfully easy. He had planted the fertilizer bomb outside the locked gate. The locked gate had a key hanging on it, and they were to call as soon as they were there. He would tell Al that Bud was in the barn. He would keep him talking for a moment or two, then he would tell Al to unlock the gate, get back in, and drive through. That’s when Bannerman would blow the fertilizer bomb. They really had no chance. He had set up a camera on the edge of the barn that broadcast via the internet. It was for wireless security. Theoretically, you could hide it in your kid’s room and spy on the nanny. He’d use the camera to watch everything from his safe little hide-out.
He figured out how he would get Bud taken care of. He had another security light from another system that could be used for movement detection, or you could turn it on and off remotely. He took the little bulb tip down on some sand paper, ground it down until there was a hole in the end. A little solder and some black powder made a fuse that just needed a little juice and, boom, flame. The contraption was attached to some flash paper just over a gas can that was sitting on a pile of hay and wood that was soaked with gasoline. The little structure would go up like a match. Bud would burn in the barn. There would be no more Al, Gill, Sheena, Bud, or Eric Bannerman. He’d pack up some necessities from a house he would never live in again and go back to the city as Lenny. He’d watch Marty squirm and twist for a few days, then kill him and be gone. It would be perfect. Like a movie.
This time, he would win. He would ride off into the sunset.
65
Al was pacing around Edith’s apartment. Sheena was weeping openly onto Sunny’s ample breast, wailing about how it had finally come and how she hoped the end would be quick. Gill was searching through the cupboards; he found the Grey Goose and took a huge pull from the bottle. Al walked past him and snatched the bottle. He handed it to Edith, “Pour this out, please. In the bathroom. I’ll buy you a new bottle tomorrow.”
She looked at him, flashed a small and incredibly sad smile, and went to the bathroom.
Al took one more lap around the place and stopped dead in front of a wall. It was painted off-white. He stood staring at it, like it had an answer written on it. Edith came back and stood next to him like it made sense. He acted like she wasn’t even there. This burned on for a full four minutes. Edith could barely feel Al breathing. Everyone was frozen in a huge chunk of “We’re fucked.”
“Sunny!” Al yelled this so powerfully and suddenly that Edith jumped, Sheena screamed, an affirmative sound erupted from Sunny, and Gill puked in the sink. “Shrek on tonight?” The question was in utter opposition to his yelling her name a second before. It sounded like he was asking about the weather.
“Um, yeah. He said he was gonna paint until he fell asleep or went home or both.”
“Good. Then he’s there.”
“Yeah, unles
s he changed his mind, but he never changes him mind about work.”
“Everybody get your shit. Hurry. We’re going to the theatre. We’ve got some shit to get together before the asshole calls back. By my watch, we have fifty-five minutes.”
People were running about, grabbing their things. “Sunny, get your car started. You’re driving us all over.”
“Al, you know I drive a Bug, right?”
“Cozy. Get the fucker started. We are, literally, right behind you.”
Edith chimed in, “Sunny, wait for Sheena and Gill. Take them. Al and I will take my car. I have a little two-seater. Make sure you get there safely.”
“We meet in the main lobby. Now, go,” said Al, and they all followed suit. Incredibly, Gill seemed committed to the plan for now. Things might change closer to go-time, but for now, he was on board. As he was leaving, he looked at Al. Al pointed one beefy finger at him. Gill got that goofy grin of his that was totally disarming and said, “Last time pays for all. See you in a second, Alistair.” And they were gone.
“You have a car?”
“Divorce. Girl needs a car. You ready?” She asked this and was gathering gadgets, wires, computers, and a small satellite dish, half of which she shoved into Al’s arms.
“Yup. When you are.”
They went out a side door that Al assumed went down to another side door. Instead, it went to a small one-car garage. The garage was spotless. The car was amazing, a practically new Porsche Boxster. Al didn’t know a ton about them. He just knew that the GTS had about 330 horses and could get up to 60 in around four seconds. “Hello, beautiful.”
She hit a button on her key fob and opened the small trunk and both doors. She threw her handful of electronic shit into the small trunk. “Throw your shit in the trunk, I’ll rake back the driver’s seat and make it Al-sized. You’re driving. I drive like a granny.”
“Cool. I’m insured,” was all he could think to say. She laughed, and he heard the little servo motor pushing back the seat and lowering it so his large body would fit in without a problem.
In under a minute, they were headed at a very cop-unfriendly speed to the theatre. Al was praying for no cops. Sometimes you got lucky. Sometimes you got screwed. Tonight’s business didn’t leave room for considerations like that.
“So, you have a plan?” Edith was trying not to think about the real possibility of being killed on the short drive to the theatre.
“Fuck, no. I have an inking. It isn’t even close to an idea yet, but it’s growing. I gotta bunch of pins to knock down, but we’ll hope it’s in the stars.”
“I trust you.” She put her hand on his shifting hand and let it ride on the back of it as he made the Porsche scream and whine all the way to the theatre.
They jumped out when they got there. “Listen, and don’t be offended. I won’t leave without you, but you gotta be quick. I have a big hard-sided golf case in my room. Drive this little car over there, run to my room, open the hard sided golf case and grab the black bag that has metal shit in it. The other bag has cash in it, but we don’t need cash tonight. We need metal. Be fast.” He gave her his room card, kissed her hard, and ran to the theatre lobby. He could see Sunny pulling Sheena along, and Gill bringing up the rear.
“Sunny, Shrek on stage?”
“On stage, mixing paint, or in the can.”
“OK. Sunny, can you stay here with Sheena and let Edith in when she gets here? She’ll need some help getting stuff out of the car. A bag or two and some electronics. Sheena, can you do that?”
Sheena looked up, and the fog cleared a little. “Sure, Al, anything you want. Hey, man. Sorry I’ve been a little hard to work with. Been worried.”
Al took two steps, and two seconds he didn’t have, over to Sheena, kissed her hand and said, “Nonsense. You have been a dream. Watch for her car. It’s a little black job. Gill?”
“Right behind you, guv’na.” He said this while flipping a smart, old-style British salute. They ran into the space. Shrek was alone in the space, rolling paint base on the walls, listening to REM, and generally grooving.
Al interrupted Michael Stipe assuring them that everybody hurts. “Shrek! Kill the tunes, man. We got a shitty situation, and we’ll all die without your help. If you help, I’ll give you fifty grand cash tonight!”
“Hey, guys!” He hit a remote that killed the music. “What? It sounded like life and death blah, blah, blah, fifty thousand dollars.
“That’s about the size of it. This is the really short version. The theatre people killer? He called. He’s kidnapped a detective friend who has a wife and kid. He wants me, Sheena, and Gill to show up at an undisclosed location so he can kill us and probably kill the cop, as well.”
“Sounds like a dick.”
“Of the first water. If it’s who I think he is, he’s been provoked, but he’s taken retribution to a new level.”
“I assume you need my help.”
“Yes.” Al was looking at him intently. Time was slipping away.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much danger will I be in?”
“One to ten? About a twenty-five. But if we do it right, we nail the fucker who killed Dave Parcel and a bunch of other good people.”
“I knew Odd Bill and Dave really well. I loved those guys. I’m in. What do we do?”
“We go to the costume shop and destroy the dummy head they made of me for the end of the play.”
“John’s gonna be pissed.”
“I can deal with John being pissed. I can’t really deal with all of us being dead in the morning.”
“Yeah…John could relax a little, I suppose.”
“Gill? You still in? You aren’t going to bolt?”
Gill looked at him steadily. “You don’t have to ask again, Al. I’m in.”
“Help the girls, and bring everything to the costume and makeup lab. Send Sheena right away. I need her hands.” He turned to Shrek, “Come on, big guy. Miles to go and all that shit.”
“Right on, man.”
66
Bud woke up with someone slapping his face. He wasn’t very comfortable; his head ached, and he was disoriented. He opened his eyes and took in the lights.
He was in a small barn structure, and standing in front of him, about to slap him again, was Eric Bannerman. Bannerman had a small truck behind him, running with the headlights on. There was a strong smell of gasoline in the place. Bud felt his stomach tighten and threaten to revolt. He squeezed the impulse away for the moment because his mouth was blocked with something sticky. Duct tape, you asshole. You are in a cocoon of duct tape. Oh yeah, this guy turned over a new leaf.
“There he is! I was afraid maybe I whacked you with too much ether or GHB. The GHB will stick around for a while. I think the ether has come and gone. I wouldn’t make a habit out of the ether. It’s mixed with petrol and kinda eats your brain tissue. I think GHB is relatively safe. It’s naturally occurring, so it’s probably not that bad. Oh, but wait, you aren’t going to develop any new habits. I have to say goodbye to you, Bud. It really sucks. Between you and that asshole PO, there were actually two people on the planet that thought I were OK guys.”
Bud grunted and muttered. Eric looked at him then went to pull the tape off. He stopped just before he pulled it off and said, “You can be as loud as you want. We’re in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, right now. But if you’re abusive or dishonest with me in any way, the discussion is over and those are the last words you’ll say…ever.” He ripped the tape off with one quick swipe.
“What’s goin’ on, Eric? What are you doin’?”
“Well, you were originally right. I’ve been killing people, eleven so far. I had three more, but I’ve expanded to five more, altogether. I added you and your asshole friend McNair to the list. How could I not? A crooked cop and a law-breaking PI? I’m doing a public service.”
Bud thought about the “crooked cop” part of what Bannerman was saying. He didn’t know where it was coming from. He wanted to
tell him to fuck himself, but thought that might bring back the tape and effectively end the conversation. Instead, he said, “What do you mean ‘crooked cop?’ What are you talking about?”
“You and that Al fucker. I saw you bracing Robbie and his dumb-shit brother. I don’t give a crap about Robbie. Tell you the truth, I was gonna off him that night, myself, but then I saw you and Al. Stealing from crooks is still stealing. Crooked. Any rebuttal to that? Time is wasting, and I have some driving to do. I’m afraid you won’t be doing the driving with me. You’re staying here. Check this out. It’s pretty genius.” He spun Bud on the hook that was woven into his duct tape harness. “You know what that is?”
“If I had to guess, I’d guess electric match.”
“Good guess! Were you a fire-bug as a lad?”
“Nope. Just been a detective a little too long.”
“We’ll fix that tonight. Any other questions, or are we done here?”
“I just want to get this straight. Some people played a shitty prank on you. You killed someone. You went to the big house. You did your time. You helped people educate themselves. You worked your ass off to be the perfect inmate. You educated yourself. I bet you know more about theatre than any of the people you wasted. I read your folder. The whole thing. So why this path? You could have gotten out and come back to Chicago--gone anywhere. There might have been some problems at first, but you have funds. You didn’t need to work. You could have had a career in the theatre. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Eric looked at Bud. It was as if he had never considered the question. “I built myself this way so I could do what I’m doing. If I didn’t do it, they would have gone free. I couldn’t have lived with that. No, sir. Not here, or in New York, or on the moon. Part of being a man is to take care of the business no one else will.”
“Part of being a man is putting away grudges and getting on with life. Judgement isn’t ours to mete out.”
Hog Butcher: 2nd Edition Page 38