by Al Lamanda
Peck stood up and started walking. He quickly broke into a run again and forced his body to make the final two hundred yards.
At the top of the hill, Peck came to a sudden stop. Fifteen feet directly in front of him was a twelve-foot high, chain link fence. Was he hallucinating again? He walked, then ran to the fence and grabbed it with gloved hands. It was real. He looked left and then right and the fence extended as far as his eyes could see. It glistened with snow and ice as it reflected the beam of light from his snowmobile.
Peck stepped back, turned around and sat in the snow with his back against the fence. He searched his memory, visualizing the map behind his desk. There were no markings on the map for fence lines that he could remember. Could the paper company have erected the fence to protect its land? No, that didn’t make sense. Protect it from what? There was nothing out there, not even a road.
The questions racing through his mind was what the fence was doing here and who installed it?
He stood up and felt his legs cramp. Another thought popped into his mind, what purpose did it serve?
Peck dismounted his snowmobile on a high ridge, which overlooked the logging camp and looked down upon the main cabin.. The small sleeping cabins were dark and quiet, but light shown in the windows of the main hall. In the moonlight, smoke rose from its chimney and appeared like a bright silver band rising to the clouds. The aroma of the burning wood carried to him on the light, winter breeze.
Peck slowly descended the ridge and stayed in shadows as he entered the camp. There were a half dozen vehicles parked around the main hall, one of which Peck recognized immediately as McCoy’s ambulance.
Bewildered, Peck crept to the side of the main hall and paused at a window to peer inside. He could see well enough, but the thick glass muffled the voices.
Reese and several of his men stood in front of the sofa that faced the fireplace and looked at Linda Boyce. Dressed in pajamas and a white robe, Linda sat on the sofa and appeared to stare into space. Her eyes were glazed over, her breathing sounded labored and nasal as if she had a cold.
Suddenly, McCoy exited the bathroom and walked toward Linda. He reached for the penlight in his shirt pocket and shown it directly into Linda’s eyes.
“Not good,” McCoy said, lowering the penlight.
“What,” Reese said. “Is not good?”
“We’re losing her,” McCoy said, looking at Reese.
“What the hell does that mean?”
McCoy sighed loudly. “I asked for Peck. Where is he?”
Reese glared at McCoy. “You said he would be at home. He was not. My men are looking for him right now.”
McCoy felt Linda’s face, and then rolled up one eyelid to inspect her pupils. “You fucking CIA are all the same.”
“Don’t lay blame on me, doctor,” Reese said. “If you let me place the transmitter under his skin like I wanted to, we’d know exactly where he is at all times.”
“And if he found that transmitter, what then?” McCoy snapped. “Don’t you think he might be just a bit curious as to what a micro transmitting device was doing in his neck?”
Reese bit his tongue and remained silent.
“Have you told Kranston?” McCoy said.
“No need,” Reese reassured McCoy. “We’ll find him before he has a need to know.”
“You better.”
Linda moaned and her head slumped to her chest.
“Take her back to her cabin and have a man stay with her,” McCoy said. “Make sure she stays warm, but if a fever comes on, call me immediately.”
Reese looked at two of his men and they moved to the sofa.
Peck flattened himself against the side of the main hall as McCoy opened the front door and stepped outside.
“You better find him tonight, Mr. CIA,” McCoy said to somebody inside the house, then entered the ambulance.
Peck moved slowly to the front of the main hall and watched as McCoy started the engine and drove away.
Peck was about to step out from the shadows when the door opened again and two men and Linda Boyce exited the main cabin. Linda had an arm draped around each man’s shoulder as if unable to walk on her own. They more dragged her than anything else until they reached a cabin and entered.
Peck turned away, crept to the rear of the main hall and ascended the ridge where he disappeared into darkness. At the top of the ridge, he sat on the snowmobile mulled it all over in his mind, trying to understand what he just witnessed.
A hundred feet from his house, Peck stood behind a tree and stared at his house. He was invisible, cloaked in darkness, but he turned away and cupped his hands to light a cigarette. Even a tiny flame could be seen at a great distance after dark.
He lowered himself to sit with his back to the tree and smoked the cigarette. He was confused about the entire night, the fence, McCoy and Reese at the main hall and especially Linda Boyce. She appeared drugged, maybe sedated. He had no idea what was going on around him, but instinctually, he knew some of the answers lay inside his own house.
Peck tucked the spent cigarette into the snow, then stood up and faced his house. He came out of the shadows and slowly walked to the rear of his house where he peered through the glass window on the rear door.
A shadowed figure sat on the sofa. The figure was motionless as if waiting for something. Peck realized the something was himself. He slowly backed away from the door and worked the situation around in his mind, searching for his next move.
Inside Peck’s house, the lone figure sat on the sofa in the dark and waited. The quiet was suddenly shattered when the deafening roar of a snowmobile sounded from outside the house. As he jumped up from the sofa and ran to the window, there was a loud crash. He reached the window and pulled back the drapes. “Shit,” he yelled as the powerful light of the stalled snowmobile blinded him.
At that moment, Peck kicked in the rear door and aimed his .357 revolver at the shadowed figure. “Don’t you move,” Peck shouted.
The figure, a semi automatic pistol in his right hand, turned around to face Peck.
“Drop the weapon,” Peck shouted.
The figure dropped the pistol and stepped forward out of the shadows.
“Jay?” Peck said in complete shock when he saw the figure was his deputy.
Bender smiled at Peck as he took a step toward Peck. “Hello, Dave.”
“What are you doing in my house?” Peck said.
“I’m waiting, Dave.” Bender said calmly and took another step forward.
“Waiting for what, and don’t you move?” Peck said.
“For you, Dave. I’m waiting for you,” Bender said in his youthful, friendly voice.
Peck squinted at Bender. “Why?”
Bender inched closer to Peck. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Peck said. “And that’s close enough.”
“Are you going to shoot me?” Bender said, smiling his boyish grin. “Look, another woman’s been attacked. Reese asked me to bring you to the logging camp. He said we need to hurry.”
“What for?”
“I just said another woman’s been attacked. That’s all I know.”
“What’s her name?”
Bender shrugged. “I just said, I don’t know. She’s with Doctor McCoy at the hospital.”
“Really,” Peck said. “That’s funny, because I just left the logging camp where McCoy was busy examining Linda Boyce and shouting orders at Reese like a junior Adolph.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave,” Bender said. The smile was gone now. “All I know is I’m supposed to wait for you.”
“Well, here I am.” Peck said. “The waiting is over.”
Bender inched forward again, which did not go unnoticed by Peck.
“That’s far enough, Jay,” Peck said.
“Sure, whatever you say, Dave. Look, could you put the gun down. It’s making me nervous.”
“Pretend it isn’t there.”
&
nbsp; “It’s pointing right at me,” Bender said, pointing to Peck’s revolver. What if it goes off by mistake?”
“That would be an unfortunate accident.” Peck squinted at Bender’s face. “Are you CIA like Reese?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Reese does,” Peck said “Let’s ask him.”
Bender took a full step toward Peck. Less than six feet separated the two men.
“I told you not to move,” Peck shouted.
Bender paused and smiled at Peck.
“Is something funny?” Peck asked.
In a swift and startling move, Bender performed a perfectly timed, karate sidekick and knocked the gun from Peck’s hand. Startled, Peck didn’t move.
“Now we can talk,” Bender said, posturing greatly as he lowered his leg.
Peck stared at Bender, with a where the hell did that come from expression on his face.
“Why don’t we have a seat on the sofa, Dave,” Bender said.
Without hesitation, Peck charged Bender like a linebacker and attempted to bring him down. Bender moved quickly, caught Peck just under the shoulder and used his own weight to toss Peck on his back to the floor in a perfectly timed Judo move.
“Don’t fight me, Dave,” Bender said and kicked Peck in the ribs. “You can’t win and I’ll just have to fuck you up. Just let me take you in quietly.” The friendly tone was gone from Bender’s voice, replaced by a deeper, more ominous one.
Peck looked up at Bender. “In? In where?”
“Just in, Dave. That’s all you need to know.” Bender reached for his handcuffs. “Now let’s do this quietly.”
As Bender grabbed Peck’s right arm, Peck slammed his body into Bender and they spilled to the floor. Peck landed on top and got off several good blows to Bender’s face before Bender struck Peck in the head with his right foot, knocking Peck sideways to the floor.
Bender jumped to his feet. “I said quietly, you stupid, fucking asshole,” Bender shouted. He wiped blood from his nose onto his pants. “Goddammit.”
Peck attempted to roll over, but Bender kicked him a half dozen times in the ribs. “What part of the word quietly didn’t you understand?” Bender shouted.
Checking his anger, Bender stepped back and wiped blood from his lip. “I just bought this,” he said, rubbing the blood on his shirt. “Son of a bitch.”
Face down on the floor, Peck spied his revolver and inched toward it.
“Where are you going?” Bender laughed.
Peck reached toward the revolver with his left hand.
“Oh, you want that, do you?” Bender said.
Bender reached down and took hold of Peck by the hair. As Bender yanked Peck backward, Peck took him completely off guard when he spun and delivered a vicious right hook to Bender’s exposed groin.
There was a freeze frame second before the pain in Bender’s testicles kicked in. Then, in a reflex action, Bender lowered his hands and covered his genitals as he gasped and slowly sunk to his knees. “Goddamn you,” he hissed through the pain.
Peck jumped up and threw a perfectly timed left hook to Bender’s exposed jaw, knocking him to the floor. Then, following Bender’s lead, Peck kicked his deputy several times in the ribs and stomach.
Breathing hard, Peck stepped back and looked around for his revolver, spotted it on the floor and went to pick it up. As he turned around, Bender had pulled a second pistol from an ankle holster and racked the slide.
Peck and Bender stared at each other as Bender slowly made his way to his feet. Bender grinned and spit blood. “The moment of truth, Dave,” Bender said. He spit again and a broken tooth hit the floor. “That’s a pretty good left hook you have. I think you busted my jaw.”
“Want to see it again?” Peck said.
Bender shook his head. “Unfortunately, we’re out of time.”
With the revolver by his side, Peck cocked the hammer.
“Out of time for what?”
Bender and Peck made eye contact and Peck thought he saw a tiny grin in Bender’s eyes as the man pulled the trigger of his pistol. A split second later, Peck fired his revolver.
Bender’s pistol jammed and misfired. Peck’s revolver did not.
Bender dropped the pistol and grabbed hold of his throat on the left side where Peck’s bullet entered. Blood literally gushed from the wound. Astonishment showed in Bender’s eyes as he looked at Peck in disbelief at having been shot. A moment later, he fell dead to the floor.
EIGHT
Peck raced the snowmobile at top speed for as long as its engine would hold together. When it started to smoke, he slowed to a crawl, then finally stopped near a grove in the woods to allow the engine to cool.
Peck dismounted and paced in circles through two feet of snow, wondering what the fuck just happened? In twenty-seven years on the job, he never fired a shot he could remember. Now he just blew he own deputy away. In the blink of an eye, Jay Bender was no longer among the living.
He could see him still in his minds eye. The incredulous expression on Bender’s face when he realized a bullet entered his neck. There was that split second before the blood exploded from the wound. Finally, there was the look of understanding in Bender’s eyes that he knew in a moment he would be dead and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening.
It was over so fast there was no time to think or react to the situation.
Now it began to sink in. He had actually killed a man. His own man.
A few feet from the snowmobile, Peck sunk to his knees where he began to sob. Once the floodgates opened, he could not shut it off. He cried until the muscles in his stomach ached and still he could not stop himself. Finally, there were no more tears and he stood up and faced the snowmobile. Mounting it, Peck started the cooled engine and continued along the path.
The moon was low across the sky as Peck approached the rear door of the hospital on foot. He lost his watch in the fight with Bender, but he put the time at around three AM.
Trying the door, he found it locked. Not willing to chance an encounter with a stray town resident up for the night, Peck used his utility knife to pry open the door.
The dark hallway led to the private quarters of Doctor McCoy. Lighting a match, Peck walked the hallway and stopped in front of McCoy’s bedroom door. Peck tried the knob and found it unlocked. He blew out the match and stepped inside. He lit another match, spotted a candle on the dresser and lit that.
McCoy was asleep in bed.
Peck stood over the sleeping doctor, and then quickly cupped his hand over McCoy’s mouth. McCoy awoke with a panicked start.
“You been looking for me, Tom,” Peck said. “Well, here I am.”
Wide eyed, McCoy stared at Peck and muffled something through Peck’s hand. Peck removed his hand and McCoy quickly sat up in bed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving you the trouble of hunting me down,” Peck said.”
“Hunting…what are you talking about?”
“Cut the crap, Tom. I’ve had a rough night.”
“What…where’s Bender?”
“You mean my deputy?” Peck said. “The last time I saw him he was on the floor of my living room not looking so good from the bullet I put in his neck.”
“You…..killed him?”
Peck nodded. “He didn’t give me a choice.”
“Oh my God,” McCoy said as he swung his legs off the bed to stand.
“Careful, Tom,” Peck said and patted the .357 revolver in his holster.
“No need for that, Dave,” McCoy said. “I just want to examine you.”
“No more examinations, Tom,” Peck said. “No more bullshit. Tell me what’s going on around here and I mean now.”
“You’re suffering a breakdown, Dave,” McCoy said, calmly. “That’s what’s going on.”
Peck smacked McCoy across the face with the back of his right hand. The blow produced a cracking sound and spun McCoy’s head around. “I said no more
bullshit.”
McCoy rubbed his cheek and looked at Peck. “Jesus Christ, look at you, Dave. You need help. You need a specialist. Somebody more qualified than me.”
“What for, Tom? What’s a specialist going to do for me now?”
“What for, you said?” McCoy said. “How about the likelihood of a brain tumor, that is what for? Because that’s what I think you have and only a specialist is qualified to make that determination and treat it before it kills you.”
“Like the way you treated Linda Boyce, Tom?”
“What? I don’t understand. What about Linda Boyce?”
“I was at the logging camp. I saw you examine her. I heard you bark orders at Reese as if he was a junkyard dog. You called him Mr. CIA.”
McCoy attempted to stand, but Peck shoved him back to the bed. “Would you listen to yourself, Dave?” McCoy said. “CIA. What in the hell is that? You have classic paranoia. It’s a symptom of a complete, nervous breakdown.”
“Bender tried to shoot me in my own house, Tom,” Peck said. “What’s that a symptom of?”
“You need help, Dave. A great deal of help.”
“Get dressed.”
McCoy looked at Peck, but remained motionless.
“Then don’t get dressed. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To get some answers.”
“Answers to what?” McCoy said. I don’t even have the questions.”
“Then what good are you?”
Peck pulled his revolver and smacked McCoy across the face with it. As metal struck skull, there was a dull thud and McCoy fell backwards to the bed. Grabbing a pillow, Peck smothered McCoy’s face with it, stuck the revolver against the pillow and pressed his knee against McCoy’s chest.
“Goodbye, Tom,” Peck said.
“Wait. Stop. Hold on a minute,” McCoy shouted through the pillow. “Think what you’re doing for God’s sake.”
“What am I doing, Tom?” Peck cocked the hammer on the revolver. “Because I just don’t know anymore.”
“Jesus Christ,” McCoy cried.
“Answers. Who has them?” Peck said.
“Kranston. He’s the only one.”