The Lance Brody Series: Books 3 and 4

by Robertson Jr, Michael

  “Yes,” Lance said, taking her by the hand and leading her out onto the landing.

  “You hurt?” Diana asked, letting him lead her.

  “No. Not me. Loraine … the woman who you saw earlier. She’s dead.”

  Diana said nothing. She asked no more questions.

  Lance had told her she could trust him. Apparently she was taking that to heart.

  Which was a fact that only made Lance want to succeed in helping rescue her even more. Her blind faith in him was worth nothing if he could not deliver on his promise to keep her safe.

  He’d started working on a plan for her earlier as he’d sat on the porch, and he was fairly certain it was the best he could offer her, given both of their circumstances. But now that plan was being forced into action faster than he’d anticipated. The biggest issue was time. How much of it they had, he didn’t know. But between Diana’s people potentially looking to reclaim her, and the authorities possibly being alerted at this very moment about the sound of gunfire coming from the Boundary House Bed & Breakfast, Lance figured it was safer to bet on less of it rather than more.

  Which brought to light the issue of transportation. He needed to get Diana to the bus station, and he had to do it fast. Loraine Linklatter might have a car somewhere, but even if Lance could find the keys, he didn’t figure getting caught driving the stolen car of a dead woman would help him in any way at all.

  But Lance realized he had another option. One single other person in Sugar Beach who might have both the ability and the desire to risk themselves to help him.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and found Todd’s number. Pressed Send.

  Todd picked up on the third ring, and Lance wasted no time, identifying himself and then giving Todd a very simple request. “You can’t ask questions, and you can’t tell anybody what you’re doing, but if you really want to do some good in this world and help me with something that is much bigger than either of us, come pick me up at the Boundary House right now. As fast as you can. I need a ride to the bus station. Can you do that?”

  The line was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and Lance was certain he’d been wrong about the guy, that he was more talk than walk. But then Todd said, “My roommate has a car. It’s a piece of shit, but it runs. I can be there in ten.”

  “Thank you,” Lance said.

  He led Diana down the steps and into the foyer, standing by the window next to the front door and waiting for a piece of shit to pull up to the curb, hoping beyond hope it would arrive before any police. He considered taking Diana and going to wait in the little park across the street, just to get out of the house, but decided to stay put. Ten minutes felt like a very long time.

  And all Lance could see in his mind was Loraine Linklatter’s lifeless body slumped against the kitchen table, her half-open eyes staring at him while her blood dried in dark, rusty splotches on the wall.

  * * *

  Lance gave Todd credit on two counts: he was right on time, pulling up to the curb outside the Boundary House almost exactly ten minutes after they’d ended their phone call, and the car he was driving was, in fact, a piece of shit. As Lance opened the house’s door and he and Diana walked down the porch steps and through the gate, Lance thought the thing Todd was driving looked more like something you’d see out in the dirt at a monster truck rally, sitting in a line with other cars put out to pasture, waiting for their turn to get squished under tires the size of a single-story home. The muffler was badly damaged—or missing, Lance reasoned—and the car made just enough noise that Lance figured there might be one hard-of-hearing citizen of Sugar Beach that would not hear them make their middle-of-the-night escape. So much for stealth and discretion.

  Lance pulled the handle to open the rear door, hinges screaming for a drop of WD-40, and waved for Diana to get in. Then he opened the front passenger door and tossed his backpack into the floorboard before folding himself into the seat. The car smelled badly of cigarette smoke and marijuana, which instantly gave Lance a sick feeling in his stomach and the start of small headache behind his eyes, but he took solace in the fact that he wouldn’t have to be inside the vehicle long. He looked at Todd, who was staring into the rearview mirror, looking at Diana like he was seeing a celebrity up close. Clearly recognizing her as one of the girls with the coolers, from around town.

  “She needs help,” Lance said. “All those girls do. But right now, all I’m worried about is her. We have to go.”

  “What happened?” Todd asked. “Why the hurry? Is somebody looking for her?”

  “Yes,” Lance said, keeping Loraine Linklatter out of it for now. “But, please, don’t ask questions. We need to go, now. Something happened, and they might be here soon.”

  “Who?”

  He’s not listening very well, Lance thought. Though he couldn’t blame the guy.

  “I don’t know, honestly. But whoever does show up, it won’t end well for her … or me, maybe. We can’t afford the risk.”

  Todd took his eyes away from the rearview and turned to look at Lance. The two men locked eyes for a moment, and both of them seemed to circle back to the understanding they’d discovered in the laundromat earlier; they could trust each other. Todd nodded and put the car into gear, driving forward and pulling out onto Sand Dollar Road.

  “Bus station, right?” Todd asked, sitting up straight in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the wheel and looking like he was ready to pull off high-speed precision maneuvers if it came to that.

  “Yes, please,” Lance said.

  Todd nodded again. And again and again. As if Lance’s answer made more sense than anything he’d ever heard before.

  “I knew there was something wrong,” he said. “I mean, I think a lot of folks did, but, like, hey … what could we do?”

  Lance said nothing.

  “Was it drugs?” Todd asked. “Sex? Were they prostitutes?”

  “You realize she speaks English and is sitting two feet away from you, right?” Lance said. Then he turned to the backseat and said, “Diana, this is Todd. He’s good. Trust me.”

  Diana’s eyes flicked to Todd from the backseat, then back to Lance, nodding once. “Todd … nice to meet.”

  “Uh, yeah, you too, Diana. Glad to help,” Todd said, glancing back at her quickly in the rearview one time before returning his eyes to the road. Then he added, “I’m sorry. About … well, anything. I’m sorry.”

  They rode in silence from that point on, nothing but the sound coming from the barely-a-muffler disturbing the night. At this hour, most things on Sand Dollar Road were shutting down or already had. Signage was turned off and doors were locked. Traffic was nearly nonexistent. The fun and tourist dollars on hold until morning. As they slowly made their way down the road, Todd obeying traffic laws as if he were taking the DMV behind-the-wheel exam, Lance considered his options, knowing he’d have to make a choice very, very soon.

  Option one, he could leave—not with Diana, but tonight. Different bus, different destination. Because there was no way he could go where he was going to send her. Not yet, and maybe never again. Lance knew there was no way he could single-handedly run a rescue operation for all the girls who sold the sodas and did all the other things they were being forced to do on the website, but he had an idea that the other person his plan was going to rely on might be able to pull it off. This person had the right sort of connections, so he could get Diana out of town before somebody else found her, and then let the rest of the pieces fall where they might.

  You can’t save them all, Lance.

  But he could save the one riding in the car with him.

  Option two, he could stay in Sugar Beach a little while longer. Because, much like some of the spirits he’d come across in this life, Lance felt weighed down with what he could only call unfinished business. There were too many other loose ends, things that if he left Sugar Beach tonight, he’d always wonder what more he could have done. Wonder who he’d failed.

  Coul
d he put an end to Jerry the janitor’s drug dealing, or at least his luring of those in desperate need of mental healthcare and offering them a terrible way out—his Emergency Exit? A call to the police would do it, maybe. Anonymous, of course. Lance figured that if he gave the authorities enough of the pieces, they’d be able to put the puzzle together. And then Jerry the janitor would be at the mercy of the judicial system. Lance knew he had to remove his anger from the equation, because frankly, nothing short of death and dismemberment seemed adequate for Jerry.

  Lance also thought of the kids on the beach, and how something seemed to be tugging at him to see them one more time. Why, he wasn’t sure. Maybe one of them had more sage advice to offer. Maybe just to say goodbye.

  And lastly, but maybe most importantly, he thought of Daisy. Wondered what she was doing right now, if she was standing alone in the kitchen of the Boundary House, staring at the body of her dead mother, more confused than ever before.

  He wondered if she’d ever find her way out, or if she’d stay there forever, stuck in a house that was no longer hers, with nobody to show her the way home.

  Todd pulled into the bus station’s parking lot and then parked as close as he could to the building. Lance hadn’t even realized they’d come so far, had gotten lost in his own mind. “Need me to come in with you?” Todd asked.

  Lance threw open the door and thought for a moment it was going to swing all the way open and slam into the front side of the car. “No, I think we’ll…” And then he stopped, an instant shift in decision. “Actually, yeah. Come on in, please.”

  The three of them made the short walk across the parking lot, Todd in the lead, Diana behind him, wrapping her arms around herself against the night’s chilled air, and Lance bringing up the rear, his head swiveling across the lot, looking for any sign of somebody approaching. He saw nothing but a few empty cars scattered in various parking spots, and two busses idling along the departure lane, purring with a low rumble. Good, Lance thought. She’ll go out on one of those. He’d feared that because of the hour, there’d be a chance Diana wouldn’t be able to leave Sugar Beach until morning. Which, Lance realized, was fast approaching.

  He was very thankful for the nap he’d accidentally taken earlier. Though by now he knew it was no accident.

  The inside of the bus station looked just as it had before. The lights were bright and the white flooring was clean and smelling of disinfectant. Lance did a quick survey of the rows of seating and found only two people there, one man and one woman sitting three rows apart from each other and both looking down at the screens of their smartphones. The man paid them no attention, captivated by what was on his screen. The woman, wearing tight black jeans and a Sugar Beach hoodie, managed to look up as Lance led his group to the ticket window, her eyes going down the line. She lingered on them a little too long, Lance felt. But he was probably just being paranoid.

  At the ticket window, Barb, the woman who’d been there before, the one who’d been flinging colored fruit around on her iPad screen and had told Lance that he was loved, was gone. She’d been replaced by a rough-looking man dressed in heavy work pants and boots—which he had on the counter, just like the woman with the iPad had—and a long-sleeved knitted shirt. Scruffy beard and long hair curling around his ears. Toothpick in his mouth, which he was rolling back and forth while he flipped through the latest Cabela’s catalogue. When he saw them approach the window, he snapped into action, polite and full of enthusiasm in the way people might be when they were new to a job and didn’t quite know what they were doing yet.

  Lance asked the man which of the two busses outside could get a passenger to Hillston, Virginia the quickest. The man, saying “Yessir. Of course, sir,” turned to a computer hidden away on the corner of the desk and slowly searched the screen with the mouse cursor like he was looking at a Where’s Waldo book. He found what he was looking for and then used the index fingers on both his hands to peck out some words and press the Enter key. The computer screen flashed and displayed a list of what Lance had to assume were travel routes. The man studied it for a very long time, and while he was doing so, Lance turned back to the seating area and found the woman who’d been waiting was gone. She’d slipped out while their backs had been turned.

  Calm down, Lance. It was probably just time for her bus to board. Or maybe she went to the restroom.

  “To be honest,” the man behind the ticket window started, bringing Lance’s attention back, “I can get her there on one of the two busses waiting—the one that leaves in”—he checked his watch—“a half hour. But the quickest route—only one transfer—would be to leave from the Ocean City station. That way she’d be there”—he leaned close to the screen and played Where’s Waldo again—“early evening, probably before supper.”

  Lance thought about the woman who had been there and now wasn’t, the way her eyes had lingered on them. Thought about a thirty-minute wait, essentially turning Diana into a sitting duck. He looked at Todd. “Can you drive her to Ocean City? Right now?”

  And Lance gave Todd credit on another count. The guy didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. I’ve got a bud down there.” He shrugged. “Seems like a good time for a day trip. I’ll call in sick to the diner.”

  Lance nodded. Asked the guy behind the window if he had a piece of paper and something to write with, which the man pushed through the little slot in the glass. Lance took it and scribbled two things on the sheet, tore it free and passed the pad and pen back to the man.

  He turned and held the paper up to Diana, pointing to the first word he’d written. “Hillston. It’s a town in Virginia. I want you to go there. I have a friend there who will help you. He’s helped me my entire life, and I promise you can trust him.” He pointed to the second thing he’d written. “Marcus Johnston,” Lance said. “That’s his name. He’s the mayor of Hillston. That means he’s in charge of everything. Find him, and tell him Lance sent you.” Then he folded the piece of paper in half and handed it to Diana.

  “You’ll make sure she gets on the right bus?” Lance asked Todd. “Help her get a ticket?”

  Todd nodded. “Of course. Hillston, Virginia. Got it.”

  Lance found an ATM near the entrance to the alcove where the restrooms were and got enough cash to get Diana a bus ticket and some food. He pulled the bills free from the machine and turned to go back to—

  Jerry the janitor was standing at the far end of the bus station, next to a row of vending machines that were lined up along the rear wall by a push-bar door with a dimly lit EXIT sign glowing above it. He was leaning against the wall, wearing the same outfit Lance had seen him wearing before when they’d encountered each other in the bathroom, and his hands were stuffed into his pockets. Casual. Looking like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  He was staring straight at Lance.

  No question about it.

  Lance stared back, feeling the fumes of rage begin to boil and spark inside him. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself.

  What can you do? he wondered. What can you actually do about it that the police can’t? Just make the call once you’re away from here.

  But the way Jerry was staring at him angered Lance. It was almost as if the janitor knew that Lance knew what he really was, and he was taunting him. It was more a feeling than a look, actually. Something permeating the air and toying with Lance. Clawing at him.

  He turned around and returned to his two companions. He handed Diana the money, pushing it into her hand along with the note. “Go on,” he said. “Find Marcus Johnston. He’ll be expecting you.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Todd asked. “You can catch a bus there just like she’s going to. I mean, if you need to get out of here, might as well, right?”

  Until the trip to the ATM, Lance had not fully convinced himself of a decision one way or the other. Stay or go?

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Jerry in the same spot, standing completely still, his eyes focused wholly on Lance.
And then the man gave a small nod, so subtle it was barely noticeable. And then he winked. And then he turned and pushed down on the door’s bar and swung it open just wide enough to slip outside.

  Lance turned back to Todd. “No. I’ll figure something else out. Just get her out of here, okay?”

  Todd nodded.

  Lance held out his hand, and Todd shook it. “Thank you for your help, Todd. Seriously. You’re probably saving her life, or at least allowing her to actually have one.”

  Then Lance said his goodbye to Diana, giving her a hug which she returned timidly, but with eyes that said she was grateful. He wished her luck and told her everything would work out. It was a statement he had to force himself to believe. He had faith in Marcus Johnston, but he didn’t know how much faith he had in the United States immigration office.

  Todd and Diana turned and left the bus station.

  Lance adjusted the straps of his backpack, turned around, and headed for the rear door. Off to find Jerry the janitor and tell him to never wink at him again.

  His mother used to tell him he had to pick his battles.

  Lance was picking this one.

  28

  By the time Lance had made his way to the rear exit of the bus station’s lobby and was reaching out to grip the door’s push bar and throw it down and step out into the early-morning darkness, he’d managed to come up with several scenarios that could play out. The most desirable of these scenarios would be a civilized and articulate chat between him and Jerry the janitor, one in which, at the end of it all, Lance would help the man to see the error in his ways and Jerry would march himself right down to the police station and turn himself in.

  The least desirable, yet unfortunately more likely, was Jerry the janitor waiting just outside the bus station’s door with some sort of large blunt object gripped in his hands—maybe a metal pipe, or a baseball bat full of protruding nails—that would render Lance unconscious if not dead with one or two precise blows to the skull.