Jake was escorted outside. Then he was shoved into the back seat of a brown 1974 Ford Gran Torino sedan which was parked right in front of The Eight Ball.
One of the goons jumped in back with Jake, and the other two assumed seats in the front. “Pull that ski mask down over your eyes unless you want us to close your eyes for ya.” Jake did not feel comfortable covering his eyes in this situation. Realistically, if he did so, he may never see the light of day again. He could end up being knocked unconscious and taking a short swim at the bottom of a deep, freshly poured concrete foundation.
But to the contrary, this could be the opportunity he needed to establish himself in a new life under a new identity. Maybe not permanently, but at least until he could be proven innocent of his Texas murder charges.
Jake pulled down his toboggan to cover his eyes. The car trip to Vinny’ s hidden lair began. The car felt as if it went over a bridge and past a shipyard. These observations could be instrumental in saving Jake’s life if he ended up being left for dead in some isolated part of the city and needed to find his way out.
The old sedan stopped suddenly and stalled out where it stood. A voice called out, “you can look now, douchebag,” as the thugs opened their car doors. The two from the front seats began to walk toward a fishing boat floating on the harbor. It was docked near a long wooden pier.
Jake lifted his hat and exited the back-passenger side door. It was apparent that dusk had set. Between the darkness and fog, the large older commercial fishing boat was barely visible. The back-seat goon exited on the left, then walked around the rear of the vehicle to approach behind Jake. “Follow them,” he instructed, giving Jake a hard glance in the process.
The four men walked up the pier and stopped prior to boarding the seaworn vessel. “You got anything on ya?” the elder wise g uy put the question to Jake. B efore Jake could respond, the youngest wise guy, whom the others called “Junior,” began to pat Jake down with both hands. Junior was going through Jake’s pockets, looking under his hat. He was searching for anything that could prove dangerous to them or their boss.
Junior opened Sal’s jacket and asked, “what you got in them pockets?” Junior reached into both jacket inner pockets. He then removed the twin ten-inch-bladed wooden handled cutlery, saying, “what did you plan on doing with these?”
Junior put the knives in his own back pants pocket, and the three mobsters proceeded to pounce upon Jake. They were throwing punches at him and dragging him to the ground.
“You two hold him down. I’m gonna put a plug in this mother fucker” screeched Junior. He pulled an old black semi-automatic pistol from the front waistband of his pants.
The ruckus from the boat’s exterior alarmed the lone occupant. That man exited the sea ship and yelled, “what the fuck’s going on out here?”
It was V inny DeAngelo. He didn’t recognize Jake, due to the darkness and years that had passed. Jake hesitated to say out loud who he really was, for fear of his identity being known by the associates.
Vinny questioned his underlings, saying, “who the fuck’s this?”
One of the goon squad spoke up.
“He came into The Eight Ball, claimed he wanted to pay you back some money. Then he
brokeChuckie’s ribs. We brought him here and searched him. He had two big-ass butcher knives in his coat. So now we are gonna cap this son of a bitch for you, boss.” Vinny squinted, trying to obtain a clearer picture of the dumbass lying idly by his feet. He noticed the guy on the ground was large and extraordinarily muscular. Vinny thought to himself, this guy could probably take care of his own and dish it out to others pretty good too. He could prove to be an asset. But he also looks somewhat familiar.
“Okay, let him up. I’m gonna take care of this piece of shit myself. You guys go wait in the car.”
Vinny then bent over, positioning his face merely a foot away from Jake’s, and said “You’re a dead man.”
Chapter Twenty-Three You’re Dead to Me
“Southie”, Boston Massachusetts
“Wait. Vinny, it’s me.” Jake replied. The three goons retreated to the Torino as Vinny extended a hand down toward the downtrodden figure. Vinny grabbed Jake’s hand, assisting the newcomer to his feet. Jake paused, unsure whether the mafia lord recognized him. Vinny got a hand full of Jake’s collar, and pulled Jake’s face within an inch of his own mug.
Vinny then quietly spoke. “Dude, I saw the news story about you. They said you died in some escape attempt from a prison bus?! So, I thought you were dead! I should’a known they couldn’t have taken you out that easy.”
Jak e took a deep breath as he realized he wasn’t about to be executed.
Vinny laughed. “What? Did you think I was gonna blast ya? Now that’s funny! “ “Yeah. I didn’t know if you recognized me. Anyways, there’s a lot more to that story than
what the media told,” Jake explained. “Not to be rude, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to have my knives back...” Vinny led Jake onto the rickety old schooner filled with fishing nets, lobster traps, floatation devices, knives and tools. They sat down in a small back room that served as a makeshift office. This room was complete with a thirty-yearold schoolteacher’s desk and an office chair with a cracked seat and missing one of its four casters.
Vinny reached into a small refrigerator and removed a couple of Saint Pauli Girl beers. The old high school buddies reminisced about the good old days for a spell. Then Jake told the tale of how his life had completely derailed since “the birthday incident.”
Vinny explained that he was doing quite well with his own sports booking, loan financing, and “insurance” company. He said he was currently looking to hire someone trustworthy to be his personal driver and bodyguardbecause he had to “let the last guy go.” Jake didn’t ask for clarification whether that meant that he fired the last driver or threw him off a bridge.
Jake gladly accepted Vinny’s offer of employment. He was also offered a dusty junk -filled room on the boat as a place to crash. A worn-out blue leather sofa in the corner would serve nicely for sleeping on, and a folding chair and a kerosene lantern were sufficient to complete Jake’s new temporary living quarters.
Vinny manufactured two different forms of identification for ‘Sal’. The first was a Maine driver’s license and the second was a Social Security card. Jake was also given a black Beretta 92F 9mm handgun, a tool he would need in order to properly protect Vinny from the many disgruntled customers and business associates wishing to cause him irreversible harm.
Vinny threw a wad of cash at Jake. “Go get yourself some nice suits. You look like you live in a dumpster.”
Dallas, Texas. Year 1 month 3 ATBI (after the birthday incident)
Mack had been gone from work for several days now, on an extended leave of absence. He, Duy and Roscoe were on their pilgrimage to find Jake. Meanwhile, back in the Central Headquarters of the Dallas Police Department, a patrol administrative secretary was placing a note into Officer McElroy’s mailbox. It was a small pink piece of paper marked “Important Message” at the top.
Be low on the “Date” line, she had written “Tuesday,” with no time inscribed. Further down on the paper was a line with the preprinted word “Message” on it, followed by some handwritten words in black ink: “Pennsylvania Wildlife Control Officer Harry called, wanted to tell you 4856 is eating beans.”
There was no phone number given or any email address. No contact information for this “Harry” guy whatsoever. 4856 was Jake’s Dallas Police badge number. Not many people knew that off the top of their heads, without looking it up. Maybe the only ones who had that number memorized were rookies who trained under Jake and were constantly having to record both his and their own badge numbers in every offense, incident, and crash report they generated.
Even if Mack had seen this message, he might have believed it was a prank. But if there really was a “Harry” with the Pennsylvania Wildlife Control, Mack would most likely wish to talk to this pe
rson and verify that he really had called. Also, Mack would try to decipher exactly what the hell this message meant. But for now, the message would lie dormant and the point remained moot.
Michelle and Amanda had become quite harmonious over time. They normally communicated every couple days or so. But as of late, Amanda was no longer responding to Michelle’s texts, messages, or calls. Michelle had been trying for several days now to contact Amanda without success, causing Michelle to become quite worried about her friend’s welfare.
One day Michelle was about to drive over to Amanda’s place to check on her. Before leaving her house, she checked Amanda’s Facebook posts and noticed a “life status update” that Amanda had recently posted online.
“Just married the most wonderful man in the world! I love you Chad Tillinghast!” Michelle was dumbfounded by the blurb. She could not comprehend why Amanda would have married the same cocky, oil tycoon, asshole guy that she not long ago was disparaging critically.
It was readily apparent to Michelle that something was very wrong. She knew she had to seek Amanda out in person to get to the bottom of this.
Washington County, Rhode Island Mack, Duy, and Roscoe arrived in the southwestern edge of the Ocean State after three long days of travel in Mack’s Chevy Avalanche. The two humans had taken turns at the helm. They had been jaunting the interstates, dodging the once animal or human segments scattered across the roads between Dallas and New England. They did their best to avoid the countless dark lifeless figures walking in and out of the roadway. These THINGS would mindlessly step out into traffic to pick at the roadkill splattered on the concrete, in search of even the most minute morsels of meat and sustenance.
Although the Chevy truck’s paint was a burnt orange, that color now only sho ne through in spots. The entire front half of the vehicle was covered with creature splatter; blood, guts, and other body parts coated the four-wheel drive pickup. It appeared as if it had been deep-fried in zombie batter at the Texas State Fair.
“So, Mack, are we gonna check his parents’ house first? We can ask them if they have seen Jake.” Duy queried.
“Man, I think we need to approach this more like a stakeout. I think we should conduct
surveillance on a few select prime locations rather than actually contacting anyone” Mack said.
“All it will take is for one person to be suspicious of us or our intentions, they call the local cops,
and next thing you know them scoundrels with the Feds will be on us.”
Mack continued; “if Jake is still alive, you know the government goons want to get ahold
of him before he can talk to anyone else. They don’t want him telling folks about the Feds framing
him for the murders, and the reason why. We can’t let the Feds get involved or it’s game over for
us and for Jake.”
“But you’re right about Jake’s parents place,” Mack said. “We need to sit up on that house.
if that doesn’t pay off, I have another place in mind as well. I recall Jake telling me a story about
camping out as a kid with his little buddy over in this area around a ‘Beach Pond’. There was a bad accident that killed his friend Jimmy. That might be a place Jake would return to. Possibly to pay his respects to his friend, but he could also camp out there and hide for a while. Plenty of fish,
too.”
Duy jumped on the Google Maps app on his smartphone and located Beach Pond. It was
in the Arcadia Management Area in the townof Exeter. “Okay, I found it. Let’s go there first.
We’re pretty close right now.”
Mack steered toward the small Rhode Island town of Exeter. This was a town which coincidentally had its share of the undead stemming from a tuberculosis outbreak in the 19th century.
In 1892, several members of George and Mary Brown’s family passed away from the fatal tuberculosis disease (then referred to as “consumption”). The Exeter town folk began spreading rumors that the Brown family were ‘undeadbeings’, causing mischief in the neighborhoods and places they had frequented while they were alive. George was persuaded to allow the exhumation of the corpses of three of his family members. Two of these, upon examination, were very decomposed - as should be expected.
But the exhumation of George’s recently deceased daughter, Mercy, created quite a stir among the town people. For unlike the other two, Mercy had been buried just two months earlier in an above ground vault. During the winter season, this vault acted much like a freezer. Thus, her body had little to no signs of decomposition, and her heart and liver still contained blood. These combined signs lead the investigators to believe Mercy Brown to be undead. Her heart was removed from the corpse and burned. Subsequently, those ashes were fed to her still living brother, Edwin, to cure him of “consumption.” He passed two months later.
Mack, Duy and Roscoe spent two days in reconnaissance of that Beach Pond area. They searched for any signs of Jake in the daytime, and then slept in shifts in the truck cab at night. These had been cold, rainy days, and neither of the men had prepared adequately for the potential of rainfall. They had anticipated the brisk Northeast air and had worn layers to combat such, but their failure to anticipate the necessity for rain gear was biting them in the ass. So, they soon found themselves cold and uncomfortable in damp layers of clothes, without anything else available.
By the end of the second night at this location, and now in the beginning of the third day of the mission, Duy found himself to be feeling quite under the weather. He was sneezing and coughing uncontrollably and slightly feverish.
“Mack, we don’t seem to be ha ving much luck here. Do you think we are wasting our time at this location? Maybe we should move around more, check out his parent’s place for a change...”
“Yeah, we probably should go to another spot. This really is like looking for a needle in a haystack.” Mack glanced over at Duy. “Dude, you look as sick as a dog passing peach pits. Maybe you should just sleep in the back while I keep watch.”
Mack drove the Avalanche toward the next town over, West Greenwich. There he found the address for Jake’s parents’ house, and he parked on the edge of the wooded ten-acre plot. Mack began to veer through his binoculars to look for any movement at the house.
It was now 9:30 a.m. Eastern Time. They had only been in that spot for forty-five minutes when Duy began to tap vigorously on his comrade’s shoulder. “Dude! Dude-look…”
Mack looked at Duy , who was pointing straight out through the front of the truck’s windshield. They both saw the outline of a human form exiting the Hathaway property through a wooded southern property line. The person was obviously avoiding the driveway and opting to use a much more difficult-to-travel terrain.
Mack told Duy , “You stay here in the truck since you look like shit. Me and Roscoe will handle this. Come on, boy…”
Mack slowly and silently exited the Avalanche and began to tread stealthily toward the fleeing human form. “Stay here, Roscoe. Lie down.”
Mack advanced closer and soon sought concealment behind a wide old pine tree with rotting branches and moss-covered bark.
The retreating hooded-sweatshirt-and-blue-jean-wearing person was about to pass by. Mack threw his beefy right arm out, wrapping it around the neck of the stranger and placing them in a chokehold position.
“Who are you?” Mack questioned the startled captive.
“Hey, let me go! I should be asking you the same thing!” a female voice emerged from within the sweatshirt hoodie.
Mack loosened his grip as the young woman began to remove her hood and show her face. “I’m Kristin Ramey. I went to school with Jake. I was just here visiting Mr. and Mrs. Hathaway. Now who are you?”
“Kris Ramey! Oh wow. I remember you. What I mean is, I’m friends with Jake, and I remember him talking about you. High school sweethearts, right? He mentioned you fondly. He once made a comment that he would love to see you again someday just to catch up and see how your l
ife is going.”
Yep, he was a year older than me. We went to each other’s prom together. So, why are you here?”
Mack found himself want ing to be honest with Jake’s long-lost adolescent love and divulged that he might still be alive. But Mack knew this was a bad idea. Trusting anyone at this juncture could potentially cost Jake his life, as well as that of Mack and their friends.
Mack im provised on the spot. “Before Jake passed, I promised him I would tell his parents that he loved them andcame to give them some of his things too.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you. I was talking to Charlie and Clara to see if they had heard the news reports about him. I was wondering if theywere true or not. His parents said they hadn’t heard any official news. But I guess you have confirmed the worst for me.”
“It really sucks,” Kristin said. “He cut ties from me back when he first got together with Amanda. I guess she was super-jealous, so Jake sacrificed our friendship so she would be happy. But I always wondered how he was doing and what his life was like. Way back in the day when we were together, he always made me feel special. And protected. He also seemed like the type of person that would do something really big or important someday.”
Mack’s cellular device began to rattle and hum in the front pocket of his BDU’s. He removed the device with his hand and held it in a position to read the phone number of the incoming call. It was fellow Dallas PD Officer Campos, who had a mailbox next to Mack’s in the Central Patrol Room.
Mack answered, “What’s up, Campos?”
“Hey, Mack, I saw this pink ‘missed message’ sticky note sitting at the top of your inbox. I know you are gonna be away for an extended period, and I thought this might be important. You know, like from a hot woman or something.
“But then I figured if it wasn’t important, I shouldn’t bother you with it. So, I kind of read it. Sorry. But after reading it,it really does sound important. Weird, but important.”
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