~~~~~
Shauna brought the motorcycle to a stop in Nick’s driveway and lowered the kickstand. Nick hopped out of the sidecar and raced to his front door, which sat wide open. Shauna took off her helmet, set it on the bike’s seat, and jogged behind Nick to the house. When he stepped into his main living room, Nick saw his parents sitting on the couch and O’Neil talking on the cell phone with his back turned to the others.
“Oh, Nicky, it’s so good to see you here,” Sylvia said. “Your father’s been shot.”
“What! Shot?”
“Technically, not really shot. He got hit with a stun gun,” Vincent explained.
“That’s right, Nicky. Your father was lasered.”
“Lasered?” Shauna said in the doorway.
“Not lasered,” Vincent said.
“He wasn’t lasered, Vincent?” Sylvia asked.
“No, he wasn’t tasered,” Vincent replied. “Somebody hit him with an electronic stun device in his neck which knocked him to the ground.”
“Who would do that and why?” Nick asked. His voice intonation rose with each word, and his stomach did flips, tossing and turning the day’s nutritional sustenance like the ingredients in a cement mixer going at Mach 4.
“Who the hell is Roger Chauncey?” Andy blurted out from the couch. His shirt lay untucked, his hair looked like a bird’s nest, and he was missing a shoe.
“I give up dad. Who is he?” Nick’s shoulders slumped as his body began to fold with the barrage of unexpected events.
“He’s the limey, albino bastard who shot me,” Andy screamed.
“Albino!” Nick, Shauna, and Sylvia said in unison.
Nick and Shauna looked at each other, not sure what to make of this new information. Shauna mouthed the two words, Blanco Diablo, just before Sylvia began spouting off about Blanco Diablo in Grand Junction and at the GFD Café with Miguel. Nick’s jaw dropped with each word his mother shared, and Shauna’s eyes got wider every time Sylvia mentioned this nefarious stranger. Vincent intently listened to Sylvia’s story, but found Nick and Shauna’s response equally captivating.
When Sylvia finished, Vincent turned his complete attention to Nick and asked, “Nick, what is it?”
“This isn’t the first time in the last couple of days I’ve heard somebody say Blanco Diablo.”
“No, not the first time,” Shauna repeated in a monotone voice, eyes still wide open and unblinking.
Nick shared the story at the animal shelter about the mysterious albino who was making a lot of noise about Bernie and how he disappeared just as unexpectedly as he arrived. Shauna folded her arms across her chest and stared at the floor. Sylvia covered her mouth with her hand as Nick relayed a story with uncanny similarities to her and Andy’s experience. Vincent furrowed his eyebrows and let out a long sigh.
“What is it, V?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t scoured the house, but I did look around a little bit, and I haven’t seen Bernie. I figured strangers in the house would have brought him out and about, but I haven’t seen a trace of him.”
With this information settling into their minds, Nick and Shauna began looking around Nick’s small house for the oversized pooch. They called out his name, but nothing. They looked in obvious places he’d fit, but nothing. They looked under beds, behind doors, the bathtub, and even in an armoire, but nothing. Nick stepped through the kitchen and out the back door and called out his name, but nothing. Bernie was gone.
Nick raced back into the living room, slightly out of breath. “O.K., let me get this right. A tall, lanky albino traveled along the same route my parents took as they attempted to flee from the United States Marshals Service, while I adopted a St. Bernard that the very same albino has some unknown interest in. In addition to stopping at Miguel’s parent’s gas station, this albino broke into my house, tased my dad, and stole the dog. Does that sound about right, people?”
Before anybody else could respond, O’Neil asked, “Did you say albino?” The U.S. Marshal was off his cell phone and staring a hole through Nick. Nick’s lack of comfort increased with O’Neil’s piercing eyes and forward body lean. “Well?”
“That seems to be the weird commonality we have this evening,” Vincent answered for his speechless friend. “By the way, where’s your partner? His name is Schwartz, right?”
“Yeah, Marty Schwartz. I’m pretty sure he’s chasing an albino driving a black Mercedes with smoked out windows.”
“Holy shit!” Nick exclaimed. “Who is he?”
“I didn’t see him. I’ve never heard of him, but Schwartz definitely knew who he was, and it shook him bad. So bad, he took off and left me here alone. Schwartz is a laid back veteran. I’ve never seen him so rattled.”
“What do you think got to him?” Vincent asked.
“He said that the guy was dead, and that he’d seen the dude’s death certificate.”
“I take it that doesn’t happen too much?” Vincent asked.
“In our division it happens more often than you’d think. Sometimes it’s easier to hide somebody if the people that who them dead already think they are dead. But that would mean he’s in the program, and that’s not good. Not good at all.”
The Bernie Factor Page 27