by Laurel Dewey
“So, has anyone come after you?”
“No. Just you.”
Jane suffocated a smile. “You’ll be okay. God knows you’ve got plenty of protection from Joe and the boys on the force.”
Her eyes misted over. “Maybe Gabe’s watching over me now?” She studied the floor again. “I think I knew he was dead because out of nowhere, I’d sometimes feel like he was in the room. I can’t really describe it.” She struggled for the right words. “It was like a…a—”
“Muscular thickness?”
She softened and her shoulders finally relaxed. “Yes. It doesn’t make any sense, does it? But that’s exactly the way it feels when I’ve sensed his presence.” She smiled. “Adapt or die,” she stated out of the blue.
Jane looked at her with a stunned expression. “Gabe said that?”
She nodded. “It was his mantra. You wouldn’t believe some of the things he used to do to make that point.”
“Like stand naked in the snow?
Nanette’s jaw slightly dropped. “How did you—”
“You’re not the first person I’ve interviewed who knew him.”
“Oh. Of course.” She checked the clock again. “I never caught your name.”
“Anne,” Jane replied quickly.
“Anne…”
Jane briefly wondered what strange word association Nanette was concocting at that moment. She also snuck a look at the time. “Look, I need to know if you are aware of who Gabe worked for? Was it the government?”
“I don’t think so. I think after Delta Force, he was hired by a private contractor.”
Private contractor. That was the new, politically correct way of calling Gabe a hired mercenary. It made perfect sense to Jane. From what little she knew about the man, he certainly didn’t sound like someone with a strong desire to fit in. He was highly intelligent, strong, wired for the fight, an expert marksman and adept at rooting out the enemy. “You get a name of that private contractor?”
“No. I was smart enough not to ask that question. But I know he didn’t trust them,” Nanette declared. “He said the company who hired him was ‘invisible.’”
“How?”
“They answered to nobody. They blended into society and were embedded in every facet of our lives. It sounded like a lot of that conspiracy stuff you hear and disregard. But I could tell he wasn’t lying. Sometimes, he’d send me postcards with photos of different foreign countries. It took me a while to figure out that within a week or so of receiving the card, the location featured in the photo would be in the news. And not in a good way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There was one with a picture of children from the Congo, dressed in their tribal outfits. Less than a week later, I saw a story on the Internet about a coup in that region and tribal leaders were slaughtered, along with lots of children. That got my attention.”
Jane felt the clock ticking on their tête-à-tête. “You think Gabe was involved in that massacre?”
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine he would kill a child.”
“But he did kill for a living?”
“I think…I think Gabe killed people who needed to die. I like to think he never touched the innocent ones.”
“Did he ever mention the name Romulus to you?”
“No.”
“How about Odin?”
“No. Never.”
“What about IEB?”
“No. Why?”
Jane flashed on the white binder with the bold red letters on the front. Maybe IEB was the name of a job or a project Gabe was assigned to? “You never heard him use the term ‘IEB’?”
“No. I swear he never mentioned it.”
Jane factored that ‘invisible’ was the right word to describe his employers.
“Look, I know he killed people. But…he was exceptionally kind to me every time we met. He had a beautiful heart. I know people use that term a lot but I really mean it. He was better than what he did for a living. I always kinda hoped he would see that one day.” She thought about her memories. “He could have done great things. He had abilities that other people do not have. I’m sure that’s why he was so damn valuable to his boss.”
“You paint him like a saint.”
“No. He was better than that. If he could have changed his occupation and gone into the public sector, he would have done incredible things for this world. I know it! He was capable of making great strides. He had the charisma and perception to turn lead into gold. He would have been worshipped by millions.”
“That’s a helluva strong statement, Nanette.”
“I don’t care. It’s the God’s truth,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I get the feeling that he couldn’t leave his company ever. Even if he wanted to.”
“Once a company man, always a company man,” Jane echoed.
Nanette seemed to disappear within herself suddenly.
“What is it, Nanette?”
“Maybe,” she whispered, as if Gabe’s invisible “boss” was standing in earshot, “he did get out.” She seemed locked in a strange place. “Maybe he got out because he couldn’t do it any longer. It would explain that last card.”
“What card?”
“It was a greeting card and inside, there was a photo of him. He was wearing jeans and hiking clothing. He had a backpack on and his body is turned away from the camera but he’s looking back and you can just sort of see this look in his eye. It was like he was going away. Maybe, he was gonna go find himself?”
“I need to see that photo,” Jane said with urgency.
“Hold on.” She walked between the screens and disappeared into her bedroom.
Jane turned to the refrigerator and opened it. Scanning it quickly, she grabbed some apples and an orange, hiding them down her buttoned leather jacket. She started to close the door when she spied a peculiar label on a single bottle of beer. She picked up the brown bottle and looked at the green tartan label with the name, “Alba—Scots Pine Ale.”
Nanette returned, holding a small Bible. With a sweet reverence, she slid the white envelope out of the Bible and handed it to Jane. There was no return address and no postmark.
“I found it in my mailbox one morning. I think he personally put it there.”
Jane stared at the writing on the front of the envelope. A student of graphology, she’d learned many years ago to analyze handwriting and signatures in order to identify personality traits of perps and suspects. Gabe’s handwriting was like a voice to his spirit. In Jane’s mind at that moment, his personality was resurrected on that envelope. Part of his essence was forever fixed in the ink that stained the white paper. And through that energetic pattern—buried in plain sight between the “Ts” and the dotted “Is”—was a slice of his soul. Jane recognized his strength and dogged purpose. He finished what he started and was exacting on anything he pursued. The lines showed he demanded a lot from himself and was a confirmed loner.
Jane pulled the card out of the envelope. It was a museum photo of an Egyptian Pharaoh’s gold statue. In the center of his elongated forehead was a brilliant gem blazing with reflected light. At the bottom of the card was a quote from Matthew 6:22 “If your eye be single, your whole body should be full of light.” Jane looked back at the Pharoah’s golden face and back to the quote. It didn’t add up. Who puts a quote from the Bible on a photo of an Egyptian “god”? Jane opened the card. Inside, Gabe inscribed in all caps: “I will face the darkness, as the knowing light within my heart and mind leads me home.” Jane’s own heart began to beat like a drum.
“What is it?” Nanette gently asked.
“What he wrote here? It’s the end of a prayer he used to say whenever he was in danger.”
“Oh,” she said with slight disappointment. “I thought he wrote it just for me.”
“He
did. He wanted you to know it. Just like he wanted me to know it.” Jane looked at Gabe’s photo as an electrical pulse charged down her spine.
“What’s wrong?” Nanette asked, clearly concerned.
“Nothing.” Jane stared into Gabe’s eyes. It was as if she’d already known him for two days. She’d seen those eyes staring back at her. First, at the tiny mountain house the night before and again that morning outside in the snow. Gabe looked like he was about six foot two and was all muscle. His round face and taut jaw were set off by a tousle of black, wavy hair. But as tough as he looked, his eyes were probing, yet kind. Somehow, Jane understood that she was directed by an unseen hand to find this photo. “How old was he in this shot?”
“Thirty.”
Somehow, he looked a lot older to Jane. Life and death had clearly taken its toll on Gabe. And yet, for all the killing he apparently carried out, there was a serenity on his face. That “knowing light” within his heart shown through those piercing eyes. He was an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, and somehow that essence was trapped in Harlan’s chest. “I need to borrow this card and photo.”
“Oh, no, no, no, you can’t take that!” Nanette quickly argued. “That’s all I have left of him.”
“I promise I will return it to you. You have my word.” She could see that Nanette was still concerned. “I’m trying to find out who killed him, Nanette. His family has the right to know.”
“But certainly you have other photos of him? Why that one?”
Jane looked at the card once more. “I think he’s trying to tell a story here. But it’s coded and I need to figure out the code.” She looked Nanette in the eye. “I will return it to you.”
Nanette reluctantly agreed. “You should probably get going.”
Jane looked down at the bottle of pine needle beer. “Hey, can I buy that case of beer off of you?”
Nanette regarded Jane with a curious expression. “I didn’t buy it. Gabe did. Why do you want it?”
“It’s another piece of his puzzle. How much do you want for it?” She brought out her wallet.
“Take it,” Nanette offered in a sad whisper, pointing to the closet.
Jane crossed to the closet. “Oh, one more thing, we have various spellings of Gabe’s last name. Would you mind jotting down how you think he spelled it?”
While Nanette grabbed a piece of paper, Jane recovered the case of twelve beers from the closet. She held back the cold brew from the refrigerator and replaced it with a bottle from the case. Nanette turned and saw Jane’s gesture.
“I need twelve,” Jane said. “You still need one.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re very kind. I’m sorry I threw the coffee at you.”
“It’s okay.”
“And slapping you and the knife—”
“Really, seriously, it’s okay.”
The front door bell rang. Nanette spun around quickly. “Here,” she handed the piece of paper to Jane. “Go out the back door!”
Jane slid the paper in her jeans’ pocket and cradled the case of beer. “Thank you. You’ve been a lot of help.” She walked into the backyard and out the side gate, hugging the fence line until she knew Joe was safely inside with Nanette. From there, she quickly walked down the block and back to the car. It was turning out to be quite the day—free food in the morning and free beer at noon. She unlocked the passenger door and set the case on the seat.
Harlan peeked out from under the blanket. “Oh, hell, Jane. Did the stress push you off the wagon?”
She was just about to answer when she heard the sound of a police siren. Turning to an upper thoroughfare that rose up from across the greenbelt, she saw two police cars with their lights flashing and heading down the road.
“Oh, shit,” Jane murmured. “We got trouble.”
CHAPTER 13
“Stay down!” Jane instructed Harlan, as she crept around the Mustang to the driver’s side and got in.
“You think someone saw the car and called it in?” Harlan asked, clearly upset.
“I’m not sure.” She slammed the car door and removed the fruit she stole from Nanette’s refrigerator from inside her jacket. Her mind raced, strategizing several scenarios in her head but none of them seemed realistic. The sound of a bullhorn and someone loudly directing traffic in the distance could be heard.
“What are we gonna do, Jane?” Harlan was becoming increasingly agitated.
“I’ll figure this out! Relax!” Peering out the side window and onto the upper road, Jane saw a long line of traffic meandering in a line. “We go up there and we blend into the traffic.”
“Why can’t we drive in the other direction?”
“Because that way,” she pointed behind them, “is a dead end and that way,” she pointed to her right, “takes us to the main highway. If the cops have eyes on our vehicle, they’ll be stationed at the exits and onramps of the highway. We have no choice but to go up that direction.” She looked at her gas gauge. “Shit.”
“What now?” Harlan asked, his voice elevated a few octaves.
“We have enough gas to go maybe thirty miles.”
“It’s over, isn’t it?”
“Over? Shit, Harlan, it’s not even one in the afternoon. I never give up before eight.” She slowly backed the car out of grove of spruce trees and traveled out of Nanette’s enclave. The closer she drove toward the upper road, the louder the bullhorn sounded. She could see a third police car positioned at one entrance to the road. The staccato “blipping” of a siren every now and again startled Jane and forced a hard breath of air out of Harlan each time it erupted.
Traffic quickly came to a standstill at a four-way stop. Jane’s Mustang stopped three cars from the front. The sound of a motorcycle revving its engine came up quickly on Jane’s side. She turned just in time to see a cop on his bike jabbing his gloved finger at her and then point it toward the right hand lane, ordering her to change lanes. Jane nodded but something didn’t feel right. The motorcycle cop held back traffic, allowing Jane to easily switch lanes before motioning for her to follow him.
“What’s happenin’, Jane?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, hardly moving her lips. She followed the cop past the long line of cars, quickly picking up speed as he led her up the single lane and onto a crowded neighborhood street that paralleled the main drag and the center of the business district. The cop got off his ride and moved a road barrier so Jane could roll through. Once she passed the barrier, he closed it up again and walked up to the driver’s side. Rolling down her window, Jane heard a band playing in the distance.
“You’re really late,” the cop told her. “You need to head down this block and turn right.” With that, he got back on his bike and sped off in the opposite direction.
“What the fuck—?” Jane mumbled to herself as she motored down the street and turned right. When she saw the scene, she couldn’t believe it.
“Talk to me, Jane!” Harlan whispered.
“I think we’re going to be in a parade.” In front of her were dozens of polished classic cars and every single one of them was a Mustang. A sign nearby read: “Welcome to the Mustang Sally Crawl.” Jane maneuvered her Mustang in between two other cars that were lining up for the route. At the sound of a honk, Jane carefully slid the gear into first and began the slow journey down the parade route. Hundreds of spectators lined the street, clicking cameras and waving at the stream of automobiles. At one point, Jane rolled down her window and gave a demurred “Queen’s wave” to the enthusiastic crowd. It was like an out of body experience and none of it made a bit of sense, and yet she kept a plastic smile on her face and her eyes trained. It was obvious to her that even with the television coverage of her ice blue Mustang splattered on the screen, nobody made the connection. And why would they? They were programmed that day to see exactly what they came to see. For them, it was all
just a blur of metal and colors, loud engines, a band loudly playing “Mustang Sally”, popcorn and peanuts and a pleasant diversion.
Jane was reminded of what Nanette told her about the “invisible” group that employed Gabe. They blended into society, she claimed. Jane waved at a little boy who was wedged in a small tree to get a better view of the procession. He enthusiastically waved back at her with a huge grin on his small face. The whole thing was becoming increasingly surreal and absurd. Fewer than five minutes before, trepidation hovered close by and now, she was waving to children in trees, followed by a trail of classic Mustangs that outshone hers by a mile. But nobody noticed that her car didn’t fit in this group. They didn’t see how dirty her car was compared to the others in the parade. They didn’t recognize that the hubcaps on her wheels were not the originals. And none of those cheerful faces could ever comprehend that a wanted felon was hiding under blankets in the backseat.
She was just beginning to actually enjoy the bizarre diversion when the parade route ended and the cars in front of her turned in different directions. Jane followed suit and found a gas station a few blocks off the main drag. The pumps were crowded with a few other classic Mustangs, allowing her vehicle to easily intermingle without anyone noticing. Jane still put her ball cap on and kept her head down and away from security cameras when she paid for the fuel. But it became increasingly obvious that nobody cared. For a brief moment, she stood at the pump and took in the scene, silently shaking her head at how easy it was to hide in plain sight.
Looking across the street, Jane spotted an electronics store. A thought popped into her head and she decided to take further advantage of her apparent anonymity. After purchasing a large-size ball cap at the gas station that would fit Harlan’s head, she went into the store and scooped up twenty infrared LED lights, wires, a roll of black electrical tape, two nine volt batteries and a couple “on and off” switches. Pushing her luck just a bit more, she drove to a 1950s style drive-in restaurant on the outskirts of town and ordered six burgers, three servings of fries, a bag of onion rings, a large chocolate milkshake for Harlan, a medium size one for Jane and two sixteen ounce black coffees. Jane drove out of town, heading east ten miles and into stretches of territory that looked as barren as a moonscape. Pulling off the road and parking the Mustang next to one of the many dilapidated old ranching structures that dotted the terrain, Harlan sat up in the backseat and dug into his meal. After two days of living on pine nuts, bottled water, lunchmeat and raw milk, Jane realized how good it felt to finally sink her teeth into a hot meal and sip a strong, hot cup of java.