The Hangman's Soliloquy

by Jeb Bohn

  “You think he did it?”

  “Considering that he was almost blown to smithereens, I’m inclined to say no. That, or he’s terrible at his job.”

  The woman frowned, her face—remarkably smooth despite her advanced years—wrinkling from the gesture. “What about that box in the back of his car? Bobby said it has buttons and switches all over it. What if it’s a detonator? What if it leads the police here? How would we explain that?”

  Her husband shrugged, agitated by his lack of answers.

  “It’s a remote control.” The new and unexpected voice caused the couple to jump. “Sorry about that,” the man said, sitting up in the small bed. “Didn’t mean to put a scare into you.”

  “No, that house exploding took care of that,” the woman said.

  “Neenah,” her husband chided.

  “That’s okay,” the Tall Man said. “You may well have saved my life. Filling you in to the best of my ability is the least I can do.” He told them about Greg Schultz and his crusade, the plans for the Sioux Falls facility, and finding the note that Schultz left just before the bomb went off.

  “If you hadn’t brought me here, I would have baked in the sun until the cops showed up.”

  While the husband seemed sympathetic, the wife wasn’t quite convinced. “So, you’ve been helping this man, the one who tried to kill you? Why would you ever work with such a person?”

  “Believe it or not, I thought I was taking a step in the right direction. The people he’s been going after are the worst type of bad and they took a lot from him. I’ve seen it firsthand and I bought into his pitch. In a lifetime of questionable decisions, that one ranks near the top.”

  He continued filling in the gaps while the husband—who had identified himself as Adriel—prepared breakfast. He told her about his experience with QNI’s shadowy dealings, omitting some of the more horrific details. As the smell of bacon and coffee filled the cabin, Neenah began digesting what she was hearing. By the time the dishes were done, the couple were positive that they hadn’t been rendering aid to a domestic terrorist.

  After some protest, the Tall Man insisted that he was well enough to be on his way. Adriel relented, agreeing to walk him out to his car. Bobby, the couple’s grandson, had brought the car over before the authorities arrived on scene. Adriel himself had requested it, sensing that the stranger was benevolent. He had hoped that feeling was right. Despite believing the story he’d heard, he still did.

  Once they had taken a few steps away from the house, Adriel broke the silence. “There were two men dead in the field.” The Tall Man’s lips drew tight. “Shot in the head. Now, I don’t doubt that you can handle yourself, but the person who did this is dangerous. Backing him into a corner only magnifies that.”

  The Tall Man placed his hat loosely on his head as they approached his car. “You’re not wrong, Adriel, but I can’t put anyone else in harm’s way.”

  “I’ve always believed that placing ego above reality is the mark of a fool.”

  “Right again, but I can’t tip my hand.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Winning is a hell of a lot easier when your opponent doesn’t see you coming.”

  Adriel nodded, shaking the man’s hand. “Stay straight on the trail road. It’s bumpy but nothing your car can’t handle. Follow it for a mile and it’ll dump you off on 139. Take that south to 42, should keep you away from the hive of activity over there.”

  “Thank you for your kindness.” The Tall Man handed over a slip of paper. “It won’t be forgotten. Use that number if you find yourself in need.” Before getting into his car he tipped his hat to Neenah, who was watching from the porch. He followed Adriel’s directions, quickly reaching the paved surface of Highway 139. Instead of merging onto the road, he sat idling and dialed a number.

  Ring, no answer, voicemail. Rinse and repeat.

  “C’mon, Herman, pick up your damn phone.”

  He made a third attempt, leaving a message that he hoped Herman would fully understand. “First flight, March 1.”

  It was decision time. Schultz had gone off the deep end. There was hired gun roaming the countryside. He doubted that either were headed for Herman but the tightness in his chest told him that wasn’t good enough. Using his phone to search news articles, he scanned through a page before finding what he needed. “California it is.”

  Turning towards the Sioux Falls City limits, he drove until he saw signs for I-70 west.

  ◆◆◆

  Herman drove through the night, approaching St. Louis as the morning sun was glinting off the stainless steel skin of the Gateway Arch. He was exhausted, having spent the night counting down the miles to every city from Richmond to Belleville. It had all become a blur of green signs and gas stations, his iPod spitting out a soundtrack to his budding insanity.

  He sleepwalked from his car to Walt’s door, brushing by his host before collapsing onto the couch. An hour later, Walt was able to rouse him long enough to discuss a few details around Wright’s visit to Brawley. He wasn’t all there, that much was obvious to Walt. His eyes had the look of a junkie coming off of a weeklong bender. While Walt had no way of knowing, it was the same look that Greg Schultz had.

  “You’re going to California, aren’t you?”

  Herman looked at him, his eyes empty. “That’s the plan.”

  “What plan, exactly? What do you think’s going to happen? Are you going to stop Schultz? Help him? What is your plan?”

  Herman rubbed his jaw, stubble scratching against his thumb. “I don’t give a shit about Schultz. If he wants to burn the place to the ground, I’ll give him my lighter. I don’t give a flying fuck if he assassinates Samuel Wright and livestreams the whole god damned thing. He can execute every piece of shit VIP that ever served that company, and he should.”

  “Then why go? Why not lay low and let things play out?”

  Herman was on his feet in an instant, knocking the coffee table over and spilling magazines to the floor. “They killed Ray!” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking. “I know that the son of a bitch responsible for it is going to be there, I can feel it.”

  Walt stared Herman down, refusing to yield. “And what do you plan to do? You’re a journalist, Herman. Your weapon of choice is a pen, not a gun. If he is there, he’ll tear you apart. Do you think that’s what Ray would want?”

  “Okay, Walt.” Every muscle in Herman’s face was taut and bulging. “You want to go this route, let’s go.”

  “Look, Herman.”

  “No, no, let’s get into this because Ray,” he paused, swallowing hard. “Ray died because of me. I’m the one they were trying to kill and he was only there because of me. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about what he would want because the only thing I can think about is payback.”

  “At what cost?”

  Herman chuckled. It was a small, bitter sound. “Do you know why Ray was at my house that night? I tried to kill myself and he came to check on me. I gave up. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Jesus, Herman, you’re in no shape to be doing this.”

  “That’s exactly what Ray said.”

  “He was right.”

  Herman scoffed. It was obvious that he wasn’t open to feedback so Walt changed his tack.

  “What about Schultz?”

  “What about him?”

  “Grief, loss, and a sense of responsibility led him to where he’s at. He started off doing what he thought was right and look at where it’s taken him. There were two men found shot in the head less than a hundred yards from the house he blew up in South Dakota.”

  “If he’s the one that did it.”

  Walt shrugged. “Let’s assume he did. If he thinks you’re interfering with his cause he’ll turn on you.”

  Herman smiled, his face pale and sickly. “Then he’ll be seeing his wife and kids again real soon. Now, where’s this information you have on Wright?”

  “Forget it. You’re a jo
urnalist, if you want the info I’m sure you’ll be able to find it.”

  Herman guffawed, his eyes wide and unflinching. “Are you fucking serious? Do you not understand why I’m doing this?”

  “Oh, I do, but you don't. I also understand that you’re completely off the rails.”

  Herman took a single step forward, placing his face six inches from Walt’s. “Just give me the god damned rundown, unless you don’t want to help.”

  “You’re running full speed towards an early death. If you think that I’m going to help you do that, you are fucked in the head.”

  “Are you afraid, is that what this is? If so, just give me what you have and I’ll be on my way. That’s it, your name doesn’t have to be attached.”

  “Fuck you. I’ve got an article ready to go but I’ve been sitting on it. I’ve been sitting on it because I didn’t want to spook these assholes but the more I think about it, the more I think I should publish it before this bullshit goes any further.”

  “If you think that’ll stop me then you’re the one who’s fucked in the head. These assholes don’t get an easy way out.”

  “Tough talk for a guy who doesn’t look like he could pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel.”

  “Thank you for the deep, personal insight wrought with both wit and wisdom.”

  “I’ve got insight for you, all right? You’re carrying a beast with you. It’s mean and it’s dark and it ferries the smell of death. It’s a cancer that’s eating you alive and you’re feeding the fucking thing. We could sit down and lay out an entire series of articles and derail everything Wright’s trying to do. We could remind the world of what these asshole have done but all you want is vengeance.”

  “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this shit.”

  “No, of course you don’t. Why listen to a different point of view when you can get angry, ignore it, and storm off. You have the answers after all, right? I mean, you seem to think you’re the only person that’s lost something. You can delude yourself but this isn’t about justice, it’s about you.”

  ◆◆◆

  As he crossed into Utah, The Tall Man’s mind began to wander. Bringing Herman back into the fray was the wrong move and he regretted leaving him that message. He liked Herman, a man who he had judged to be honest and determined, and he didn’t want to put him in any undue danger. Christ, things had been so much easier when his conscience wasn’t a factor. Then again, life had been a lot less fulfilling.

  Using a police scanner app on his phone, he listened closely for any sign of Schultz. There was no doubt that he was ultimately headed for Brawley, but something told the Tall Man that Schultz would first try to get to Samuel Wright. It made no sense logically and that’s what settled his mind. Schultz was no longer bound by logic, a fact that compounded this precarious situation. He had become as big a threat as the assassin that was after him.

  Maybe even bigger.

  That’s where the true concern came into play. Schultz could blow up the plant in Brawley with himself and Wright inside, wrapping a macabre little bow on his story. It wouldn’t be a situation to celebrate, but it would be cause for relief. That relief would, however, be short-lived. A hitman had made an attempt on Herman’s life once already. If whoever hired him insisted that the job be completed—and the Tall Man had no doubt that they would—then Herman wouldn’t be safe until his hunter was dead.

  With this thought in mind, he guided his car into a rest area twenty miles outside of Salt Lake City. Grabbing a small duffel from the backseat, he made his way into the Men’s room. Finding it empty, he took a hobo bath before entering the largest stall to change. Eschewing his typical attire, he put on a button-up shirt and khakis. It wasn’t his style but the key was blending in. Throwing his old clothes into the bag, he made his way back to the sink and ran his fingers over week-old stubble. “That won’t do.”

  He pulled out a small, leather bag and opened it, placing a can of shaving cream and a razor on the edge of the sink. He was pacing slowly, letting the lather soften the hairs, when a man hurriedly walked in. “Howdy.” The Tall Man smiled and, in one seamless motion, the man turned and walked back out whistling. The Tall Man shrugged, turning towards the mirror to finish cleaning up.

  Once he finished, he resumed course. Schultz had a head start and, in all likelihood had already gotten there. That was inconsequential for his own goal, which was to find out anything he could about who was hunting Schultz’s team. Drawing close to his destination, he parked at a convenience store a block away from Wright’s house. He opened the trunk, opening a compartment on the side of the transmitter that contained a set of vials.

  Five minutes later he was walking down Wright’s street carrying a broken leash. An elderly couple was power-walking towards him when he interrupted. “I hate to bother you, but have you folks seen a golden retriever?” They hadn’t, of course. He smiled and thanked them before continuing his course, periodically calling for a dog that didn’t exist. With the Wright’s house coming into view he stopped and took out his cell phone. Feigning a call, he resumed walking. The crunch of tires on asphalt broke the quiet, slowly rolling along behind him.

  A battered sedan passed, easing along the curb on the opposite side of the street before coming to a stop fifty feet from Wright’s driveway. Two things quickly stood out: the beat-up car was an anomaly in this affluent neighborhood and it was the only vehicle parked along the street. As the driver emerged, the Tall Man continued his charade, talking loudly enough to be heard without going overboard. “No, sweetheart, I haven’t found Sparky yet. I know the kids are upset, but we’ll find him.”

  The driver paid him no mind, walking straight through a gate and into Wright’s backyard. While he didn’t recognize the man or his mannerisms, the Tall Man was sure that he had just laid eyes on the man who had been stalking Schultz and his team. Regardless, this wasn’t a fellow executive dropping by for brandy and cigars. Knowing that the visitor could reappear at any moment, the Tall Man made his way over to the rear of the car, using a hedgerow for cover.

  He pulled out an electronic device, five inches long, and affixed it to the underside of the sedan. As he stood up he noticed a light come on at the far end of the second floor and a shadow moving behind the curtains. Taking this to mean that he had a little time, he crept around to the driver’s door. A large binder was visible through the open window. A piece of masking tape crossed its cover, the name Schultz scrawled in Sharpie. “Real discreet, dumbass.”

  Propped up next to the binder was an open energy drink. He grabbed the can and lifted it; it was half-full and still cold. He removed one of the vials from his pocket, clutching it securely. As he went to reach back into the car, the upstairs light went out.

  “Yeah, let’s not make it too easy.” He broke the seal on the flask and emptied its contents into the can before pulling himself back out of the window. Returning the empty container to his pocket he turned and walked up the street in the direction he had come from. He reached the convenience store, its facade scaled up to match its surrounding, and returned the unused vials. As he closed the trunk, the mystery driver sped down the main road heading west.

  He slid into the driver’s seat, opened an app on his phone, and waited. A map began to load, zooming in and focusing on a blue dot. “Well, hello there.” The target was currently heading west along California Avenue. As he watched the movement, the Tall Man wondered if the mystery driver might be heading towards Brawley. Starting the car, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards State Route 201. He had been driving for five minutes when he saw the dot had stopped somewhere along the outskirts of the city.

  He drove as the city’s lights gave way to night, the darkness punctuated by streetlights that struggled to illuminate the roadway. He drove until he reached the location that the dot had stopped at, a poorly lit gas station with a rusty garage door. He watched as the driver got out and drained the last of his energy dr
ink before tossing the can into the trash. “There’s a good boy. Take your medicine.”

  The man emerged from the store a short time later, a rolled down paper bag under his arm. The Tall Man watched the sedan return to the road, giving the driver a small head start before following. He caught up as the black sedan was turning into the parking lot of a run-down motor lodge on the outskirts of a town called Magna. The sedan parked in front of a room at the southern end of the building, joining a random collection of cars and trucks. There was no sign of the large truck that Schultz had taken.

  The man from the car approached the room’s faded blue door. It was opened from the inside, a feminine silhouette greeting him in the doorway. The Tall Man couldn’t make out any detail, though something seemed off. It was like locking eyes with an ex in public, only they had undergone some drastic change. He knew who the woman was, he just didn’t know how.

  Dropping the transmission into DRIVE, he eased down the road. He was looking for a side road opposite the motel: paved, dirt, or other. After a mile he turned onto a path covered in loose gravel. The road twisted around for half a mile, ending near an old and sick boxelder. He grabbed a pair of field glasses and walked along a short ridge until he was directly across from the black sedan, its driver, and his friend. Laying flat on his stomach, he watched and waited.

  Ten minutes passed; then half an hour. By the time he stood back up, an hour had passed. There had been no movement. No one came out to plunk quarters into the old Pepsi machine that was tucked into its own dark alcove. He made his way back to his car, stumbling over a loose rock and righting himself just shy of a twelve-foot tumble. As he did, a rusted out Dodge sped by on the road below, swaying like a skyscraper in an earthquake.

  He chuckled, a reaction of genuine amusement as opposed to nerves. “What an end, falling off a cliff and getting scrubbed by some drunk hick.” His brush with death fading into the background, the Tall Man opened the trunk. Blue LEDs pulsed through the vents of the transmitter. It sat, waiting to serve its purpose as it filled the compartment with the smell of warm electronics. He leaned over and picked up the laptop, entering the dead operator’s login credentials.