Surrender

by J. S. Bailey

  “I don’t under—”

  “What I’m saying is our department can’t devote resources to following up on rumors. I’m sorry.”

  “This isn’t a rumor!”

  Yancey shrugged. “You said the bar was too loud. The people in the booth next to yours were probably talking about what they saw on the news and then mentioned something about this conference.”

  “And what if they are planning to kill someone?” Bobby asked, rising.

  Yancey flicked his gaze Bobby’s way. “Sit down, son.”

  Not wanting to cause a scene, Bobby obeyed but remained perched on the edge of the chair, sitting ramrod straight. “Well?”

  “There’s not much I can do. A few major cases have been sucking up all our time these past few months. You’ve heard about the vehicle theft ring we’ve been trying to nail down all year?”

  “I thought that was just in Autumn Ridge.”

  Yancey gave his head a shake. “They get the brunt of the thefts, but it’s been happening here, too. Our departments have been working together to track down whoever’s behind it.”

  Bobby counted to five before speaking. “With all due respect, an assassination is a little more important than a few stolen cars.”

  “Talk to the police in Eugene, then, or contact whoever’s setting up the conference and suggest they bring in extra security. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

  “No,” Bobby said. “I don’t think there is.”

  “HE DIDN’T even believe us!” Bradley exclaimed the moment they’d gotten back into the Nissan. He plucked the bucket off the floor and held it in his lap again, gripping it with his arms.

  Bobby kneaded his eyelids. “Can you really blame him? They probably get pranked all the time.”

  “Do you think we should go to the FBI about this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got to warn them.”

  “The FBI?”

  “No, the people who are supposed to speak at that thing. Tell them not to go, or something.”

  “Hmm,” Bobby said. Now that’s a thought.

  TO TREAT herself after what had been a somewhat emotional morning, Mia Swanson sat on the vacant patio outside The Scoop Ice Cream Parlor licking a soft-serve ice cream cone that was even more frozen now that she’d taken it outside. She didn’t mind the cold—in fact, the dead of winter was her very favorite time of the year. It sure beat growing up in southern Mississippi, where the thick, hot air could smother you like a big, wet blanket if you ventured outside for too long.

  Her family had moved to Oregon to be near other relatives when Mia was ten, fourteen years earlier. She hadn’t missed Mississippi one little bit. If a cataclysm wiped the whole place off the map, she wouldn’t even shed a tear.

  Mia’s breath plumed in the air before her as she continued brooding. The cold helped to sharpen her thoughts, and right now she couldn’t stop thinking about the interesting thing that had come to her attention earlier that day.

  Her phone beeped in her purse, indicating an incoming text message. She fished it out and opened the text from her friend and “business partner,” Shona McElroy.

  Hey girl! I’m bored over here. Got anything for me to do today?

  Mia bit her lip and laid her half-eaten ice cream cone down on a napkin. She had done what searching she could about the item of interest but hadn’t learned much.

  What she needed was more information.

  She typed out a response: Dig up everything you can about someone named Nathaniel Bagdasarian. Sent it.

  Shona shot back with: Is he rich?

  Don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.

  Will see what I can do.

  Mia stuffed her phone back into her purse, feeling much better than she had earlier that day. Idle minds were the devil’s playground. Mia’s could use some work.

  “WHO ALL is scheduled to talk at this Interfaith Conference?” Bobby asked. He and Father Preston sat on couches across from each other in Father Preston’s living room. Bradley huddled in a chair off to one side; the unused bucket on the floor beside him.

  Bobby found a pen and discarded envelope in his glovebox and was prepared to start taking notes.

  Father Preston cleared his throat. “First there’s me, obviously. The imam’s name is Bill El-Amin. He lives in Eugene.”

  Bobby scribbled down the information, then said, “Who else?”

  “The Methodist minister is Cathy Norsworthy. She also lives in Eugene. The rabbi is Eric Dantzig, also of Eugene, the bishop is Tom Teichert of Salem, and the humanist is Ellen Barkley, who lives in Elkview.”

  Bradley shot out of his chair so fast Bobby would have thought the cushion had caught fire. “Barkley! That’s the name I heard! I remember now!”

  Bobby’s heart thumped faster. “How sure are you?”

  “A hundred and ten percent. I don’t recognize any of the other names. I didn’t even know he was going to be there until he mentioned it this morning.” Bradley nodded toward Father Preston. “She has to be the target.”

  “Or the one paying for the hit,” Bobby said.

  “Ellen would never do that,” Father Preston said, his tone sharp. “I know her personally.”

  Bobby peeked at his notes, which he’d scrawled down without paying attention to what he was writing. “Wait a minute. What’s a humanist?”

  Father Preston cleared his throat. “Ellen leads an assembly of sorts that focuses less on religious belief and more on humanity and what we’re capable of outside of any divine forces. We used to be good friends growing up, but we grew apart once we realized our differences were irreconcilable.”

  Bobby wasn’t sure he understood correctly. “She’s speaking at an Interfaith Conference but doesn’t have any faith?”

  Father Preston shook his head. Bobby could see the sorrow in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that. Her faith is in mankind, not in a deity. She was invited to the conference to provide a unique perspective that some of the attendees might be interested in hearing—each of the speakers has up to an hour to talk to the attendees and answer any questions they have. If she’s to be the target, I would guess her assassin has some kind of religious agenda.”

  “That figures.” Bobby grimaced. “Now what am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to be healing Bradley tonight after the evening Mass lets out, and I don’t know how long this is all going to take.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Bradley said. “You go talk to that woman and tell her not to go to the conference. Who knows? Maybe I overheard that conversation at the bar for a reason.”

  BOBBY BORROWED Bradley’s smartphone and found a T. Barkley living in Elkview on a White Pages site. He hesitated with his thumb poised over the on-screen keypad, then shook his head. Information like this would best be served face to face.

  He looked up the directions to the Barkley house, scrawled them on his envelope, and then set out.

  He couldn’t help but feel he was abandoning Bradley again just like he’d done when he’d scampered from The Pink Rooster back in July. But what else could he do? Let this Ellen woman die?

  Of course he wouldn’t. He was Bobby Roland. He would try his darndest to save the day once more.

  ELLEN BARKLEY had spent a large part of the morning sitting at the desk in her spare room mulling over her conference notes in between sips of coffee. It had at first confused her when she’d been invited to speak, then thrilled her that her opinions were to be taken seriously. After all, Oregon wasn’t a particularly religious state, not at all like the more southern regions of the country with their snake-handling and incessant Bible-thumping. It made sense for a humanist to be in attendance. Her voice had as much right to be heard as did the others.

  To best prepare for the conference, Ellen had taken the week off from her job at Pacific Insurance. She plucked up her yellow notepad on which she’d been composing her main speech, cleared her throat, and read: “Some equate humanism with athe
ism, but this is not always the case. Many religious leaders, including the current Pope Francis, take a humanist approach to life. The humanist, regardless of his religious beliefs or lack thereof, will always emphasize the value and goodness of humanity. A humanist can be a Christian, a Jew, a Buddhist, and yes, an atheist.”

  Ellen laid down her pad and wrinkled her nose. She’d have to refine this so it sounded more like Ellen Barkley and less like Wikipedia.

  “Go on, keep reading,” said a voice behind her.

  She swiveled her chair and regarded her husband Terence standing in the open doorway to the spare room wearing flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asked. Terence worked third-shift as a machinist, and sometimes she still woke him no matter how quiet she tried to be.

  “I woke myself,” Terence said with a tired smile. Graying stubble peppered his chin—he hadn’t shaved in days, and Ellen resisted the temptation to ask if he was growing a beard like their hipster son. “Bad dream. Have you salted the drive yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll get to it.”

  She thought Terence would shuffle back to bed, but he said, “They’re going to tear you apart, you know.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That conference. It’ll be like World War Three in there. I’m worried about you.”

  Ellen sighed. This wasn’t the first time they’d argued about this. “I’m a big girl, dear. Even if it does get ugly—which I doubt, knowing some of the other speakers—I’ll be able to handle it.”

  Terence shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m going back to bed.”

  He slouched back down the hallway toward the bedroom, and Ellen clenched her jaw as she focused on her notepad once more. She caught herself starting to pray for guidance as she continued to write, then laughed at her error. Old habits tended to die hard.

  AFTER FLEEING from Gerald and his accomplice, Kaori Saito had driven half the night until they came to a nondescript motel in the middle of nowhere. She and Matt checked into separate rooms next door to each other, and Kaori crashed into bed fully dressed.

  She fell into a fitful slumber and dreamed that Baba, her grandmother, was scolding her again for leaving home. Then the dream changed, and Kaori ran through swirling snow amid an evergreen forest while bullets tore through the darkness surrounding her, and a sudden rapping sound jerked her into wakefulness.

  It took a moment for Kaori to orient herself. Bright light peeked into the room around flowery curtains that would have been out of date twenty years ago, and her suitcase sat on the floor, still zipped.

  Kaori sat up, blinking, as someone continued to hammer on the door. Where in the world was she? This didn’t look like her room in the beach house. What was—

  “Kaori Saito, are you going to open up or not?”

  She leapt out of bed and unlatched her door to admit Matt, whose face was covered in gray stubble. He wore his orange knit cap again. “Hi,” Kaori said. “Lovely to see you, sir.”

  Matt scowled at her. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  Kaori’s eyes found the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table, and her heart skipped a beat. “One o’clock? That has to be a new record.”

  “You could give Rip Van Winkle a run for his money. I’ve been up since ten waiting for you to get moving.”

  “If you’d wanted to get moving that badly, you’d have knocked earlier.”

  Matt cocked an eyebrow at her. “Who says I didn’t?”

  Feeling somewhat sheepish, Kaori said, “Okay, give me a few minutes to shower and change.”

  HALF AN hour later, Kaori met Matt in his room, feeling reasonably refreshed. He sat on the end of his bed watching the news, which he switched off the moment she came through the door. “Let’s go get lunch,” Kaori suggested. “Or breakfast. Whatever you want to call it.”

  Matt gave a single nod. “You won’t be hearing any objections from me.”

  They got into the car, and Kaori started the engine. “Any idea where we are?” Kaori asked.

  Matt smirked. “You’re the one who drove us here. You tell me.”

  “I just wanted to get as far from those creeps as I could.” Kaori took back roads instead of highways once they’d fled the beach house in case Gerald had friends come after them. She remembered passing a nondescript “Welcome to Maryland” sign somewhere in the wee hours and hadn’t noticed if they’d left the state after that.

  Matt pulled up a GPS feature on his phone. “Looks like we’re in northern Maryland, about five miles east of Hagerstown.” He tapped the screen a few times. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Then turn left out of the lot.”

  Nodding, Kaori kept her eyes peeled for the restaurant. Most of the houses in this small town were turn-of-the-century brick or clapboard, and a dusting of snow covered the ground. Her stomach let out a plaintive whine. She’d no doubt needed the extra rest after last night’s ordeal, but she felt half-starved from missing her breakfast.

  Smith’s Diner resembled the ordinary, hole-in-the-wall place the likes of which its name implied. It was sandwiched among a row of shops selling everything from donuts to country décor, and an old-fashioned Coca-Cola sign hung over the door.

  The diner lacked a parking lot. Kaori pulled up to the curb and emerged into the cold. Matt paused a moment to purchase a newspaper from a box on the sidewalk; then they went inside together.

  Kaori’s mouth watered at the smell of cooking burgers and fries but ordered a salad instead. Matt ordered coffee, two eggs, and a side of bacon and spread his newspaper out on the table while they waited for their lunch to arrive.

  “Hmm,” Matt said, perusing the paper. “Someone near here is hiring ‘capable laborers’ to help them clean out a barn.”

  Kaori wrinkled her nose. “Couldn’t they have had someone do that when it wasn’t freezing?”

  Matt shrugged. “Hey, I’m not the one who wrote the ad. Here’s one looking for someone to keep an eye on their chickens for a week while they go out of town. That one shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “I don’t know, Matt.” Kaori sighed and glanced toward the diner’s kitchen in the hope their server would be bringing out their food already. “Here just doesn’t feel right. It’s too close to Delaware.”

  “I know how badly you wanted to give England a try, but it’s just not meant to be right now. Airfare didn’t used to be nearly as steep as it is now.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to settle down here for the next few weeks. It just feels wrong. Trust me on this.”

  Matt folded his paper and gave her a warm smile. “Always.”

  Kaori drummed her fingers on the tabletop and tried to ignore the pain in her middle. “I’ve been thinking since I woke up. We should keep going west for a while.”

  “Does ‘west’ feel right?”

  “It feels better than sitting here. I had a dream I was in this evergreen forest, in the snow. It reminded me of the Pacific Northwest.” She didn’t think she should mention the bullets.

  “You’ve never been there.”

  Kaori shrugged. “I’ve seen pictures.”

  “It’ll take days to get there.”

  “I’m not in a hurry.”

  “If that’s what you feel is right, that’s what we’ll do.” Matt laughed. “You know, of all the places you’ve ever had the desire to visit, that’s never been one of them, has it?”

  Kaori almost said that of course she’d wanted to go there before—she’d wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t Madison, Wisconsin, her place of birth—but realized that Matt was in fact correct. She’d longed for California, for Arizona, for Texas, and had cleansed more souls in those places than she could count. She’d spent months in New England and in Miami doing the same, but not once had the Pacific Northwest ever crossed her mind.

  “I wonder why that is,” she mused.

  “YOU HAVE no idea,” Bobby said to no one a
s he got into his car, “how nice it would be if there were two of me.”

  He kept running through a mental checklist to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything vital. Step one: visit Ellen Barkley and make her stay home from the conference. Step two: grab some last-minute Christmas gifts. Step three: make an appearance at Randy and Lupe’s Christmas party and awkwardly offer his condolences to the rest of the gang about Graham’s death. Step four: pick Bradley up from Father Preston’s house and continue his cleansing at the vacant church without soiling his pants.

  Delivering the canned goods could wait.

  He wondered if he’d even be able to focus his complete attention on Bradley during the exorcism tonight. His mind felt too full, like a bag of garbage that needed taken to the curb.

  He could feel the Spirit prod at his thoughts. Relax.

  Bobby didn’t think he could.

  His thoughts were stuck on repeat as he traveled north to Elkview, which lay further away than Hillsdale. Ellen Barkley. Shopping. Party. Bradley. Ellen Barkley. Shopping. Party. Bradley.

  He supposed he could always skip shopping. Today was December 5, so he’d still likely see everyone at some point before Christmas arrived so he could give them their gifts. But what if he didn’t get another chance to head to the store? Bradley might need him longer than anticipated. He might cleanse Bradley and immediately find someone else who needed him. He might get sick or sprain his ankle slipping on ice, or something horrible like that.

  Okay, so he’d make it a quick shopping trip, but only if he didn’t take too long talking to Ellen. He could just get everyone gift cards and call it a day.

  Bobby coasted through the Elkview town limits and wrinkled his nose at the snow flurries that gusted down from the sky. Please don’t let it blizzard on me.

  The address he’d found belonged to a butter-yellow house on a corner lot surrounded by a white picket fence. Huge spruce trees in the yard towered over the bundled-up individual tossing rock salt down onto the driveway.