Dues of Mortality

by Jason Austin

  Xavier turned and saw Glenda staring at him with marked concern, beneath the brim of Bennet Hawkins's Cleveland Browns baseball cap. He labored a grin at her and shrugged. Any hoity-toity introspective bullshit could wait, he thought. This little reunion was going to be far trickier than his one with Benny and the added distraction could only hinder his ability to protect Glenda...which was already as far from professional as it got. He glanced around at a number of television panels hanging from the walls. Every one was tuned to some kind of sporting event, no local news channels. He looked back at Glenda and reevaluated her appearance. He decided he liked her eyes better in their original color. Before they abandoned it, Glenda had retrieved a pair of prescription glasses from inside the Civic. She had programmed them to reflect her eye color as blue instead of their natural brown. She had also set the glasses frames—otherwise virtually invisible—to project a swirling array of red and blue around the rim of the lenses. American Glitter or something like that, the pattern was called. It was garish and unfeminine, but it did the trick. Even with Glenda's picture plastered all over the news, a simple pair of glasses could still distort one's face just enough to mislead the casual observer. Xavier nodded at her, satisfied.

  He turned again to face the sporty circular bar with everything he had. He plodded up behind one of its padded wooden stools like he was wearing lead shoes. He eyed the back of a stocky, short-haired man standing behind the bar, rearranging some liquor bottles and sharing a joke with one of the regulars. In a sudden burst of laughter, the patron batted his beer bottle off the end of the bar. With a swift snap of the elbow, the bartender whipped out his hand and snared the bottle’s neck in all five fingertips. As he replaced the bottle, he turned his head and spotted Xavier staring at him. A pair of comically protruding ears visibly dropped with the bartender's smile, like they were tethered to the corners of his mouth. Eventually, the bartender exited the ring and began walking toward Xavier in a way that made it seem as though a taught cord were pulling them together. Glenda, standing conspicuously off to the side, couldn't help but notice a limp in the bartender's gait, which favored the left leg.

  “Well, I'll be a monkey's shit-flinging uncle,” the bartender said. “Look at who’s still up and around. I could have sworn somebody told me different.”

  “Hey, Max,” Xavier responded, barely getting the words out.

  “How long has it been?”

  “About three years, I think.”

  “Right, right. How have you been?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  “That bad, huh?” Max scratched the tip of his nose. It was his go-to gesture whenever things got uncomfortable. He swirled a finger at Xavier's face, noticing the physical evidence of Xavier’s recent action-packed days.

  “You all right?” he asked. “You look like you ran into another angry boyfriend.”

  “Naw, nothing that serious,” Xavier said unconvincingly.

  Max glanced over at Glenda. “She with you or is she just being nosy?” He didn't have to guess at the answer. Xavier didn't take two steps without having a woman in tow. And if he did, it was usually because he'd woken up first.

  “She’s with me.”

  Glenda gave the bartender a perfunctory wave and then looked away. Maybe it was some sort of osmosis affect, but Max was starting to make her nervous too. He squinted at her in that icky, inconsiderate way men do when they want women to feel insecure—like she had a booger or something.

  “Well, have a seat,” Max said, smiling. “What can I get for you? I make a great Singapore Sling; you'll love it.”

  “Actually, we didn't come here for a drink, Max,” Xavier said hurriedly. He didn't even want the idea of a drink lingering in the air. “I have...” He paused. “I...need...some help.”

  Max stood silent for a moment, passing glances between Xavier and his companion.

  “Why don't we go in my office, where the air is better,” he finally suggested and cocked his head toward a well-lit stretch of hallway at the bar’s south end.

  Moments later, the three of them were standing in a charming little room with two genuine leather, sectional sofas, an executive oak desk, and a pair of colorful abstract paintings on either side of a webscreen pinned to the wall between them. Xavier thought it more reminiscent of a psychiatrist's waiting room than a manager's office.

  “This is cozy,” Xavier commented. “Do you charge for the full hour or just the first fifty minutes?”

  “A bartender who moonlights as a shrink; never heard that one before,” Max said. He playfully dropped into a pneumatic chair behind the desk and propped his feet up, inches from its 3D blotter.

  Xavier looked around aimlessly. “This is really nice, man,” he said. He was losing his courage, but fast. He took a seat in the only chair opposite the desk while Glenda parked it on one of the fancy leather sofas. “Being your own boss, not having to punch a clock. And you can throw people out when they get on your nerves. What kind of taxes you paying on...”

  “If you're gonna be a while getting to the point,” Max interrupted, “I can always step out for ice cream.”

  Xavier blushed. Same old straight-from-the-hip Max. Zero tolerance for bullshit. It was actually one of the things Xavier liked most about Max. But right now, that didn’t much matter. None of Max’s good points mattered. Could Xavier trust him after all this time? That was the question. Holding grudges didn’t ever seem to be Max’s style—he was a lot like Benny in that way—but the truth was, people changed...a lot, especially with years to work on it.

  “I kinda don't know where to start,” Xavier said.

  Max snickered. “If I had a nickel for every time that was the case, I’d have enough money to...” he splayed his hands, “buy my own bar.”

  Despite its harmless intent, Xavier couldn’t appreciate the joke.

  “Legal troubles?” Max asked.

  Xavier waxed sheepish. “Yeah, legal troubles.”

  “I know a good lawyer who doesn't mind doing pro bono every now and then.”

  “Not those kind.”

  Max studied his old friend for a second then said, “Didn’t think so.”

  Xavier threw Glenda a quick glance hoping it would put a little steel in his spine. Having her close made him feel better, more confident...or perhaps less selfish. He almost wanted to pull her off the sofa and plant her by his side like a fence post. He had no idea just how much of his discomfort she was already absorbing.

  Men and their pride, Glenda thought as she watched Xavier struggle to enunciate. On the surface it could read as so much nonsense, but in this case, she knew exactly how he felt. It was torturing Xavier to come here and beg like this. In fact, he was more afraid of importuning this man than he was his own brother. Something he never would have had to do if it wasn't for her.

  The two mens' voices faded into background noise as Glenda contemplated their predicament. It had become painfully obvious that she'd have to rely more on herself and start taking definitive steps if she wanted this lunacy to end. To simply go it the other way around left the outcome completely to the whim of others, and that she could no longer stand. Whenever Glenda closed her eyes all she could see was Perry Jones with his arm around her throat, having violated the trust that she so naively placed in him. That's what men were good at: violating her trust. Plus, she had spent her entire life believing that innocent people had nothing to fear from the police and that only the guilty ones ever try to run. Now, she was learning that it didn't much matter who she was afraid of, only that she was afraid. And that was all the reason anybody needed to run.

  Why?

  Why would someone want her dead? And how did Richard Kelmer know? What did Richard Kelmer know? Glenda pushed her fingers hard into her forehead. What was the deal with Jones? Could she still trust some police? How would she know which ones? Roberts and Bowen would never have harmed her, would they? What if she was just making it all worse by running? She looked up at Xavier.

  �
��Xavier?” she said barely audible. “I think maybe we should...”

  “Webscreen on,” Max ordered, aiming his head toward the big clear panel between the paintings.

  The webscreen flashed to life and the rooms occupants all turned their attention to the feed. Unlike the televisions in the bar that were each tuned to various sports channels, Max's private webscreen had been set to a twenty-four hour news site. Ohio News Network to be exact. Max thought he might have to do a search, but as it happened, the site was replaying the video of an early morning press meeting, featuring a Capt. Horace Penfield of the Cleveland Police Department. He was standing before a crowd of reporters at a raised podium in a department conference room downtown. And he was wearing the most hideous damn necktie anyone had ever seen.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to make it clear that we are still very much in the middle of this investigation and I would ask your utmost cooperation with keeping your reports as fair and as tame as possible,” Penfield said. “CPD, as you know, has an extra vested interest in bringing the perpetrator or perpetrators to justice, and we would appreciate your understanding in this matter.”

  “Captain Penfield,” yelled a voice from the throngs. “Do you give any merit to the reports that the murders of these officers were the result of some type of plot gone awry by a radical, feminist, would-be terrorist?”

  Penfield looked annoyed at the question. “It's not going to help anyone to try and draw conclusions before all the facts are in. All I can tell you is that Glenda Jameson was being kept under guard for her own protection at the time these shootings occurred.”

  Glenda and Xavier rallied to cap their reactions.

  “So you are pursuing this as a kidnapping?” the reporter followed up.

  “We're pursuing the people of interest. This is a unique set of circumstances that so far have defied the conventional wisdom. We simply ask that if anyone has information on this case and or the people involved to contact us immediately.”

  On either side of Penfield, a pair of 360-degree portraits of Glenda rotated like holographic bookends. The site also scrolled the description of her car and its license plate along the bottom of the screen.

  Xavier grimaced and stuck his thumb in his eye. “Shit.”

  Chapter 34

  “It broke late this morning,” Max said. “It's been on half the sites since then. Took me a minute to recognize her.”

  That's what the icky look was about, Glenda thought.

  “Please tell me you didn't drive that car here,” Max said to Xavier.

  Xavier shook his head. “Ditched it.”

  Another voice from the crowd of reporters spoke up. “What about her uncovered ties with the FFP and Hellene Dickerson?”

  “Being a member of a group doesn't make a person guilty,” Penfield answered. “I am aware of the current social and criminal climate, but not everything that happens is about some crackpot trying to make a statement. We haven't found any connection from this case to Hellene Dickerson's brand of feminist militancy or her past crimes.”

  “So you have been investigating that angle?”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “Feminist militancy?” Glenda said, shocked. She sprang from the couch one second from hysterics. “I'm not a militant anything and I've never even met Hellene Dickerson!”

  Xavier laid a hand on her arm. “Take it easy, Glenda.”

  “No! I quit FFP before any of that crap even happened!”

  “Glenda, calm down.” He turned to Max. “Max, believe me, this is not what it seems.”

  Max just rattled his head. “How in the name of God did you get involved in this?” he asked Xavier. It was the one question burning a hole in his brain since he'd recognized Glenda.

  Xavier squared his chest. He didn’t want to drag his friend into anything, but If Max was going to agree to help him, it had to be a completely informed decision. No lying. Xavier had caused the man enough grief—even if Max didn’t hold him responsible—and if he were going to ask for more, it would at least be done honestly. “First of all, she’s not a murderer and neither am I. And obviously I didn't kidnap her.”

  “You were the 'accomplice'?”

  “Yes. The cop that was supposed to be protecting her, turned on her and tried to kill her. He's the one who shot the other two. I ended up there by sheer happenstance.”

  “Let me guess: that irrepressible luck of yours.”

  Xavier sighed openly. “Don’t you think I know how it sounds, Max? Hell, none of it makes sense to me and I was there. All I know is that someone is after her and the people she thought she could trust to protect her can't be trusted. But we're not murderers. If you believe nothing else I tell you, you've got to believe that.”

  Max turned thoughtful. His silence dragged out the seconds into hours. “Dirty cops in this town?” he finally said, cynically. “I’m agog. What the hell are you gonna do?”

  Xavier hesitated. There were a dozen different reasons not to share he and Glenda's plan of action, not the least of which was that they really didn't have one. Xavier was betting everything on Glenda's assumption about Kelmer, which even she acknowledged was as solid as a cardboard sailboat.

  “We may have one chance to learn what's going on before we get thrown to the wolves,” Xavier said. “We're going to try and track down a guy who Glenda thinks might know something. In fact, she thinks he may have known all about this before it even started. He even warned her to avoid the police and this is what happened when she didn't.”

  “You realize you won't be able to run forever,” Max pointed out.

  “No argument there. It's a long shot, but as you can see, if we turn ourselves in with the goose egg we’ve got now, we’re as good as dead.”

  Glenda had a surge of bipolarism. She could have done without the “as good as dead” part, but she couldn't help picking up on the “we” in Xavier's explanation.

  “Truth is we haven't thought very far ahead,” Xavier said. “But what choice do you have when the police become hit-men?”

  “What do you need from me?” Max asked.

  “Neither one of us is linked up. We need a base, somewhere we can rest and make calls off the grid. We could also use a means of transportation.”

  “That's a lot considering the circumstances. Who's this guy you're looking for?”

  “His name's Kelmer, he's a researcher for Millenitech.”

  “Millenitech? I never stop hearing about that place.”

  Glenda looked hard at Max. “Do you really have to ask so many questions?” she blurted. Max had posed his last inquiry with a manner of twinkle in his eye that rubbed her all sorts of the wrong way. Also—and it may have just been her nerves—she didn't like how he almost seemed intent on forcing Xavier to reach a clear level of despair before volunteering any aid.

  Xavier checked Glenda immediately. “Glenda, don't.”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go blabbing about everything! He might be your friend, but I don’t know him from Adam!”

  Xavier gripped her biceps and looked straight into her eyes. “Glenda, I trust him.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she snapped back. She batted her eyes at Max. “No offense.”

  Max just waved it off, almost as if strange fugitive women kicked him in the dick every day.

  Xavier stood firm. “Glenda listen...”

  “No! There are people trying to kill me. I’m scared!”

  Xavier softened his grip. The words had slid through Glenda's throat like sandpaper. Although, she'd ultimately spoken them more with her eyes than her mouth. He saw her tearing up and wondered again if he shouldn’t have just kept walking that night in the park. Maybe he was screwing it all up, just like he feared. Shit, if he didn’t even have confidence in himself, it was no wonder he couldn’t evoke any from a woman running for her life.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” Max chimed in. “From the looks of things, you have every right to
be concerned.” He paused, deliberately regarding Xavier then looked back at Glenda. “I don’t know you, okay, but I do know him. If he says your innocent then that's the God's honest truth.” Max reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a code key that he tossed over to Xavier. “I’ve got a trailer on the east side that I was renting out. Last tenant moved out three weeks ago. I had the utilities rolled over to me for purposes of showing it, so the lights and water are on. It’s got an older Microsoft 800 hub, but it’s good to go. Any outgoing hits will be billed to me.”

  Xavier was temporarily starstruck by the generosity. “Are you sure about this, Max?” he asked. “I mean, if this all comes down, I can’t guarantee you won’t...”

  Max just stopped him with another pish-posh wave. “Hello, grown man making my own decisions here.”

  Xavier curled a cheek. “Right. Thank you.”

  Glenda turned away from the men, inhaling her palms. To her credit, she hadn't yet dropped a single tear; but the effort was like tensing a muscle and she didn’t want to break down in front of Xavier. “Excuse me, where is your ladies room?” she asked Max.

  Max jabbed a finger in the air. “To the left. It’s the second door in that small hallway we passed on the way in.”

  Glenda left quickly, with Xavier’s concern following.

  “You'll forgive me for saying so, Zave, but this plan of yours sounds like more than just a long shot,” Max said. “If you come up dry on this mystery man of hers, you'll have only succeeded in being fugitives even longer.”

  “I know. I figure we'll have to turn ourselves in eventually; there's no way around it.”

  “If the local cops are the problem then why not the FBI, or the media? Tell them your side of it.”

  “That same media?” Xavier pointed an aggressive finger at the webscreen. “They're already calling her a terrorist. And this isn't a federal case; the FBI would just hand us over to the local police with a big shiny bow. Besides, who in their right mind would believe us? Even you're having a hard time with it; I can tell.” Xavier took Max's silence as confirmation. “I have no idea what the right thing is, Max, but I do know what I saw and she has every right to be afraid of them. If there's even a chance she could be right about this Kelmer guy then I have to stay with her.”