Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller

by John Nicholas

  "Go to hell, Jake."

  Anthony heard his assailant approaching earlier than the man probably wanted him to.

  He knew who the man was. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the knife in his right hand and the "I'm going to kill you" scowl on his face.

  Watching him, Anthony silently dared him. Come on. Come and get me.

  When there were five yards between them, Anthony called out. "I know what you want."

  "Then give it to me, Andrews!" He flicked his knife. "I'm not here to play games."

  "I think we have time for one," Anthony said, taking a long draw on his cigarette. "You go first."

  Enraged, the man ran at him, knife drawn. He struck Anthony to the ground, raising his weapon, prepared for a kill. Anthony reacted in a flash, rising from the snow and striking his assailant on the shoulder. The man began jabbing his knife wildly, scraping Anthony's side. Cursing with pain, Anthony staggered backwards, bracing himself against a tree. The man moved toward him with his knife drawn.

  Five feet was all that separated Anthony from death now. He fought to hold himself higher. Three feet away from the knife, he prepared his counterattack.

  They'd stopped for a rest, five miles from Niagara, and Sarah broke off from the group to go over what she knew.

  It's no secret that Alex doesn't want me here, she thought. If I move one more iota away from his plan, he'll ditch me for sure. I need to figure this out quickly.

  She only had one clue: the small morsels of information from Edbrough's office. The events of the last two days had obscured the documents in her mind.

  Struggling to remember, she came up with two names that had been clumsily blacked out. From the parts she could see, she'd made out the first name, Mr. Charles Johnson. She went over all the people she'd met and all the important figures she'd read about in her life. Charles Johnson didn't fit anywhere. The second was harder to figure out, as it had been blacked over with certainty, as if Edbrough had suddenly realized what he was doing halfway through the task. William…she couldn't recall. The surname had been fully hidden.

  Suddenly, she realized that the documents had been in Edbrough's shredder for a purpose other than making his job easier.

  "Sarah!" Alex yelled. "Let's go! We have to move quickly if we want to get to Niagara before dark."

  He turned to Jake, smiling. "We'll be sleeping in beds tonight."

  "Give me a break. We have no money."

  "Leave it to me, Jake. If you take the right steps, any town is a goldmine."

  Two feet from an uncomfortable fate, Anthony thrust his foot into the man's stomach.

  His assailant went sailing backwards, hitting the ground hard. The knife flew through the air and lodged in the side of the tree. Anthony casually retrieved it. The instrument that could have killed him was now his to command.

  He raised it, intending to drive it deep into the man's chest. Suddenly, though, unpleasant memories of the last time he had murdered a man came flooding back. He dropped the knife. He had killed once, and had no intention of doing it again.

  He kicked the man, just to see if he would get a reaction. Nothing—he was probably unconscious.

  "Come talk to me anytime. You'll get nothing out of me."

  "Here it is, everyone!" Alex exclaimed. "Niagara!" He exhaled deeply. "City of opportunity."

  "Forgive my prying," Sarah asked, "but what exactly are we going to do here with forty-five dollars?"

  "Just follow my lead."

  They stopped to drink under a large sign, proclaiming Niagara, Capital of the Falls, Pop. 6041.

  Jake gestured toward the horizon. "There are plenty of bigger towns over that way. The highway leads into them. Why didn't we go into one of those? It would have saved two hours of traipsing over those miserable back roads."

  "My reason for doing that should have been obvious. Big cities mean more people. More people means more people who might have read about us on page thirteen. And that means?"

  "More people who could identify us as illegal runaways," Jake said, grasping the idea.

  "Illegal runaways carrying a gun," Sarah chimed in.

  Alex scowled. "Will you kindly shut up about that? It's a safety precaution. I don't intend to actually use it. Now, this town," he pointed at the sign, "has less than a thousand people. It's likely that there's no newspaper, except maybe a monthly one. No chance we'll be spotted."

  "Let's go, then," Sarah said. "No sense sitting around here."

  Compared to the neighboring cities of Niagara Falls and Niagara-on-the-Lake, the town bearing the simple name of Niagara is tiny and doesn't have much of an effect on anyone's affairs. Walking through "downtown" liberally broadcasted this to Alex, Jake and Sarah. Rife with restaurants, hotels, and sports rental stores, Niagara was most definitely a tourist-oriented town. Just as Alex had planned, nobody would give them the time of day.

  At Alex's request, they stopped in a diner called the Niagara Grill, where they liberally spent their last forty-five dollars. Jake and Sarah were skeptical.

  In between bites, Jake asked, "Are you sure we should be spending this much money?"

  "It's all part of the plan," Alex said.

  "What plan!?"

  Surprised, Alex and Jake exchanged glances, and then looked at Sarah. "We've been following your lead for days now," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You've gotten us stuck in Niagara, with," she glanced at the check, "twenty-six dollars, and nothing short of breaking the law to get us anywhere else."

  Sarah got up. "From now on, I can fend for myself! I thought I needed help to get out of Woodsbrook, but…you've given me no help! In fact, you've practically outcast me! Because of your worthless schemes, I'm in a worse position than before I met you. Goodbye!"

  With that, she stormed out.

  Jake looked worried. "Shouldn't we go after her? She doesn't have anything."

  "She'll come back," Alex said offhandedly, taking another bite. "How far could she possibly get? We haven't seen the last of her."

  Anthony made sure to stash the knife outside town, finding a deep snowbank and burying it under three feet of snow. He worried about thaw for a minute, but then realized that it was winter. In Niagara, you couldn't expect to see grass between October and April. It being February, he didn't see cause for concern.

  Upon entering town, he noticed his shirt was wet and stained just above his left hip. Raising the shirt, he started at the amount of blood he'd already lost. Quickly, he tore off a piece of his sleeve and wrapped it around the wound.

  He tossed his last cigarette into the snow on Main Street. Utterly devoid of nightlife, the streets would undoubtedly be empty. If you saw anyone out late, they were either taking a walk, something was happening, or they were up to something.

  Because he had held that conception for years, he was surprised to see somebody walking towards him. It was a girl, who looked to be about eleven, and seemed part angry and part scared.

  "If you don't mind me asking, why are you out this late?" he asked, once she was close enough to hear him.

  "If you don't mind me asking, why are you bleeding?" she replied.

  "None of your business."

  "Then you don't need to know why I'm out here. Do you have any food?"

  "Food for what?"

  "A fairly long trip. I followed an idiot up here, and now I need to get back down."

  "It depends. Do you have any money?"

  The girl fished in her pockets. "Twenty-six dollars."

  Alex and Jake had both finished eating, and felt satisfied with a meal for the first time since leaving Woodsbrook. After paying the check, Alex checked his backpack, intending to count their money. Instead he found a cruel surprise.

  "It's gone!"

  "What?"

  "Gone! Twenty-six dollars gone! Sarah must have taken them!"

  "Remember when she leaned under the table to tie her shoe?"

  Alex would have come up with an angry reply, but at that moment the waiter came
to pick up the check.

  "Thanks for eating at Niagara Grill," he said, slipping the check into his pocket.

  "You're welcome," Jake said.

  The waiter smiled slightly. "I didn't think you had the money. Thought you'd offer to wash dishes or something. Where'd you get this much cash?"

  "Odd jobs," Alex said, without looking up.

  "Maybe I should start doing odd jobs. Seems like there's a lot of money in it."

  It seemed suspicious to both of them. Maybe he's just curious, Jake thought.

  * * *

  As manager of the Grill, James Matthews made his own hours, and he'd declared them over fifteen minutes ago. Between then and closing time he liked to relax with the Woodsbrook Statesman, the nearest paper to Niagara. His friends often recommended he get the New York Times instead, but it would only come monthly to such a remote place. Besides, Matthews said, he liked the small town flair.

  The Statesman came weekly, so the stories were sometimes out of date. Not much had happened in the past few months. The "World" section was always in the front, fraught with stories about economic tension and wars in Uganda. Who needs it?, thought Matthews. He liked reading the sports page and the "Town" section much better.

  The town section lay aside, on his desk. He'd caught one of his employees reading it earlier, and forgot to put it back in. He picked it up. On the front page was a story about three runaway children—two from family homes, one from an orphanage. Their respective guardians were pleading for their return, except for the ones named Orson—the story didn't go into detail about them.

  Matthews was rudely interrupted by one of his waiters, who burst through the door with a great aura of urgency.

  "Boss! You'll never believe—"

  "What? Did Smith drop another serving tray?"

  "No! The Town section—in the statesman!"

  "Yeah, I saw you reading that earlier. You weren't supposed to look at it."

  "Boss! Those runaway kids—it said they were offering a cash reward for information!"

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Two of them are at table nine! The third just left!"

  Matthews stood up, suddenly serious. "I'll split it, fifty-fifty."

  "Sixty-forty."

  "Deal," Matthews said, dialing the operator.

  She picked up instantly. "May I help you?"

  "Connect me to the Woodsbrook Police Department."

  The Woodsbrook police chief and officer Michael Warren were the only people left at the station when they got the call. It was, of course, Friday, and most people had gone home. The chief envied them, as he was stuck doing paperwork. He'd tried several times to get a secretary, but there was so much bureaucracy involved. It gave him a headache.

  Officer Warren had just returned from a job in a town five miles or so out of Woodsbrook, and was putting his gear away before leaving for the night.

  Warren's phone rang, and he reluctantly picked up the receiver. "Woodsbrook police department, officer Mike Warren speaking."

  "Officer, my name is James Matthews. I have some information regarding the runaways."

  "Runaways? Let me check," he said, leaning under his desk, exasperated that he would have to stay late. "Alexander Matthew Orson, wanted for truancy, larceny, and illegal weapon possession. Jacob Daniel Harwell, truancy and accomplice to Orson. Sarah Rebecca Jones, truancy and theft of classified records. What do you know?"

  "They're all in Niagara. Two of them are in the Niagara Grill, 7471 Main Street. The other one…I'm not sure, but probably on the street someplace."

  "Thank you, sir. You'll get your hundred dollars in a few days." Officer Warren hung up the phone.

  "Well?" the chief said.

  "I'm working late tonight. I need to get some people from the Niagara Police to find those kids."

  "Niagara? That's a long way from here. They got pretty far in two weeks."

  Officer Warren cursed Alex Orson as he dialed the number.

  "Twenty-six bucks?" Anthony said, surprised that a kid, besides himself, would carry this much money.

  "Is it enough for food?" Sarah asked, annoyed that this guy was wasting her time.

  "Just enough. Let me head back to my house and see what I can do."

  "Can you make it quick? I'm kind of in a hurry."

  "Be patient! You can follow me if you want to."

  Sarah found herself en route to the home of an unknown kid, who may or may not be screwing her over, bargaining for food, and heading for Canada on the next boat possible. What's happening to me?, she thought.

  Anthony's house wasn't a long way off Main Street, on a road creatively titled Falls Avenue. She elected to wait outside, keeping an eye on the back door, in case he tried to stiff her and escape.

  When he entered the house, Anthony scanned for his parents. He saw them in the living room, his father probably drunk, his mother probably asleep. The only way to deal with them was to not talk to them, so he walked to the kitchen as quietly as he could.

  He opened the pantry and loaded a backpack with twenty-six dollars' worth of food. Suddenly, he had an idea. I'm not a grocer, he thought. I'm a proud delinquent about to get twenty-six dollars from some girl who thinks she's getting something out of me. I'm not selling any food.

  Rifling through his closet, he found an identical backpack.

  Sarah was about to go inside and ask him what was taking so long, when Anthony emerged, carrying a loaded backpack. He opened the first pocket to show it was full of food.

  "Be right back," he said, taking the backpack. "I need to use the bathroom."

  The moment Anthony closed the bathroom door, he started counting. One…two…three…

  Sarah took the money from her pocket and counted it, just to make sure nothing was missing.

  Twenty-nine…thirty! Anthony opened the door, after the amount of time anyone would spend in the bathroom. He replaced the first backpack with the second, and went outside.

  "Finally!" Sarah said, handing Anthony the money. "I just counted it. It's definitely twenty-six dollars."

  "Thank you," Anthony said, handing her the backpack and running off, his footsteps crunching on the snow.

  That's odd, what does he need to run for?

  She opened the backpack, and found…

  Styrofoam pellets.

  She'd been stiffed after all.

  And to top it off, she heard a police siren, which in a town like this meant something was very wrong.

  "Ready to go, Jake? The last boat leaves in a couple hours and I want to be sure we're on it."

  "Yeah, let's go. Do we have passports?"

  "Why bother? We're already criminals."

  Jake sighed and got up. A police siren from the parking lot caught his attention.

  "What the hell? Alex, look at this."

  "Two police cars. Maybe they didn't pass the health inspection?"

  "Shut up! They're starting to talk."

  "Alexander Matthew Orson, and Jacob Daniel Harwell, come out with your hands up. You have the right to remain silent."

  "Holy crap!" Jake shouted, his face white. "Someone must have known!"

  "Head for the kitchen!"

  When Officer Franklin burst into the restaurant, he found nothing but several bewildered customers and an open kitchen door.

  "This is urgent police business. Did anyone see Alex Orson or Jacob Harwell in here?"

  "I saw two kids run into the kitchen, but I thought they were the cook's sons or somethin'. Do I get a reward for this?"

  Officer Franklin was long gone before he heard this. Running into the kitchen, pistol drawn, he spotted the two kids fleeing down the right aisle. He fired twice, shattering plates.

  "Watch it, buddy! I just washed those!" yelled a man at the sink. Officer Franklin fired again, punching a hole in the door.

  "Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law!" he called, racing through the kitchen and kicking open the door. Orson and Harwell were fleeing to the stre
et now.

  He fired two more shots, the sound reverberating through the dark night.