by Shawn Hill
CHAPTER 12 – THE HUNT
The sun is bright, the sky blue, and the scenery undoubtedly beautiful through the eyes of someone else. At the moment, the light beaming in through the windshield is nothing more than a reason for Thomas to push his sunglasses, just a bit closer to his face. He’s on a nine-hour trek to the most famous city in the world with a foggy mind and clear mission. The drive is absolute torture, and besides consuming heavily caffeinated liquids, stopping every hour seems to be the only way to prevent dozing. Three times he has pulled over to walk around, stretch, and shake it off. Now, only five more stops remain before arriving in New York City. The whole time, Thomas continually recites, out loud, all the phone numbers, locations, and positions written down, until eventually no longer needing to look at the written words.
His strategy was simple at first, just get to them one by one and start hitting really hard. But, each new piece of information causes the plan to evolve. Ideas are spinning, swirling in a whirlwind of choices constantly growing, and with every spare neuron he shuffles through the options. I could call each of them and plead for her life. No, that’s ridiculous. I could call Jason Brean to plead for her life or offer more money to call it off. No, that will never work. I could call the police and tell them exactly where each of the shooters are going to be. No, they wouldn’t believe me. These guys don’t care and won’t stop because they have a contract. The wheels are already in motion, and when something’s in motion you need to ram it with something else in motion. Staying still isn’t an option.
No matter how much he knew, Thomas couldn’t think of a way to prevent Juliandra’s death without neutralizing each of the killers one at a time. So be it, he thinks, it is what it is, and right now, my mission is to find out where Boon was, then stop him.
The road starts to blur and sound begins to fade as Thomas’s eyelids get heavier and heavier. It was time for another break. He slows the van and comes to a gradual stop on the side of the road, giving him a place to get out and walk to ward off the desire for sleep. After a few paces it was apparent walking alone wouldn’t cut it, so he drops to the ground and starts counting pushups until his arms begin to give out. Thomas almost reaches fifty before jumping to his feet and sprinting back and forth to increase his heart rate. It was a terrible feeling being extremely wired and sleepy at the same time. A couple more sprints and another sensation hits him, hunger. The act of eating hadn’t crossed his mind since waking up, and his body was demanding action. Into the van and onto the road once again, this time, to find food.
Exit by exit, Thomas reads the signs, seeking out a decent place to buy a meal. Every name was familiar, but not one felt right. In fact, nothing at all seemed appealing. Even his favorite places had little meaning and couldn’t capture his attention as they did only days ago. He decided it didn’t really matter, and the very next restaurant, diner, or fast food joint would be the one. It wasn’t long before another exit sign came into view accompanied by a list of amenities. Great! He thinks, food, hotel, and gas on the next exit. Thomas veers right and heads down the curved pavement leaving the interstate. As the off ramp ends his heart speeds up and eyes open a little wider when the diner he and Juliandra ate in, that first evening, pops into sight.
“Figures!” He yells. “Awesome! More ways to torture my ass in this hell. Just shove it right up my ass!”
Plenty of parking spots remain and Thomas wastes no time navigating between two weathered lines to occupy one. Getting out of the van was quick and efficient. Going inside however turned out to be another story. He meant to walk right in, but for several minutes Thomas stands, motionless, looking at the sign mounted to the front. He had no words or thoughts, only emotions associated with the moments spent inside. His initial response was wrong. It wasn’t the universe laughing about it, mocking him, or trying to increase the pain of his loss. It was a virtual pat on the back, a thumbs up to right the wrong, and a nod of understanding to acknowledge it. If anything, being there reinforces his will to go on.
He steps through front entrance and is seated in a booth behind a family with children, one baby and two older, maybe three to four years of age. The older kids seem to think his presence is better than being at a theme park, or eating, since clearly that was no longer their interest. Exempt from any care of the world, they continually turn and stare, displaying a barrage of honest expressions. It was a welcome distraction, but only for a few seconds. Thomas didn’t have the luxury of feeling amused or entertained; he had plans to go over and other thoughts to contend with. Focus had to shift to the pad lying on the table, so his eyes move away, downward to review it.
“Hi,” a small voice calls out.
Thomas looks up to see the little girl in the next booth waving. He smiles back and she quickly turns away and slowly looks back again.
“You look sad,” she says.
The child’s mother immediately reprimands her. “Julie, leave that man in peace. Now turn around and stop bugging people.”
Thomas politely smiles. “It’s no problem,” he says.
“But, he’s sad,” the girl explains to her mother.
“Okay, leave him alone and face this way.”
Thomas looks down again at his notes and continues to ponder the logistics and tactics required to save Juliandra. Soon, a body stops near him causing his eyes to turn and readjust. It was a waitress. Her badge was pinned on crooked and had a white label stuck to it, spelling out her name in small black letters. She exuded patients, and seemed calm considering no one else was waiting tables.
“Hi, my name is Elodie. Can I get you a drink while you look over the menu, or do you already know what you want?”
Thomas picked up the menu, pointed to one of the dinner specials and asked for water along with it.
“Would you like to change any of the sides that come with it?” She asked.
“No,” he replied. “I’ll take everything as it shows on the menu.“
“Well, that makes my life easy. I’ll be right back with your drink, and your order should be out fairly quick.”
“Thank You.” Thomas says.
Elodie walks away, and within seconds is back with and empty glass and pitcher of cold water. She fills the glass and heads to another table recently abandoned by an older couple taking tiny steps towards the door. Thomas watched as the waitressed bounced, like a pinball, around the dining area taking care of people and cleaning up after them. She was a den mother for all who came in, unappreciated and taken for granted by most. That woman is someone’s daughter, he thinks. Maybe someone’s wife or sister, a human being not a robot dispensing treats. Man people piss me off.
The next stop brings Elodie back to Thomas’s table where she drops off his meal and bounces to the next location. It doesn’t take long to shovel the majority of it down. Taste wasn’t important. Neither was texture. It was fuel and that was all. He was almost done when the family with kids got up to leave. They looked like a group of ducks getting ready to make their way to the next swimming hole, parents in front and kids in tow. Just as they begin to move the little girl falls out of line and stops in front of Thomas to wave. The mother’s head shakes slightly, left and right before handing a baby carrier to her husband.
“Leave that man alone Julie.” she says. “Let him finish his meal, we’re leaving.”
Thomas looks at the miniature person standing only inches away and who has no intention of being diverted from her mission to cheer him up.
“Julie is a very pretty name,” he says. “My wife’s name was Juliandra.”
“Joolandra is pretty too.” She replies. “Where is your wife?”
The mother calls out again and heads toward the booth. “I said, leave that man alone Julie. Now, get your bag, and let’s move it.” The woman looks at Thomas. ”I’m sorry mister; she’ll talk your ear off if you let her.”
“It’s okay,” Thomas says. He looks down at the walking smile named Julie. “My wife is gone now.” He tells her.
The little girl doesn’t hesitate, nor does she ask permission, she simply steps closer and gives Thomas’s left arm a hug. “She will come back,” she says, “and you won’t be sad anymore.”
Another smile and she releases his arm then runs to get her small red bag.
“O geez, sorry again mister. I’m so sorry; she doesn’t understand things like that yet. Come on Julie, let’s go.”
The little girl waves as they walk by and leave the building. Unbelievable, he thinks. I’m in the middle of nowhere at some random all night diner, and some stranger’s three year old daughter gives me the best motivating pep talk ever.
The kid was honest, saw things as they were, and expressed herself without reservation or apology. There was no filter, and what she said was exactly what he needed to hear. Thomas gathered his notes, put everything into his pocket then flagged down the waitress to square up. Elodie walks over, but doesn’t carry with her the usually miniature sized invoice associated with eating out. There was no paper in her hand or plastic check holder; instead, she brings an explanation of why there’s no bill.
“The family that just left took care of it,” she says. “They felt bad about their daughter hassling you, so they paid your bill.”
“Really?” he says. “Wow, that never happens does it?”
“Not very often, but they were nice people.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Stay as long as you like. No hurry.”
He looked out the window and watched the family drive away, knowing everything was worth it.
There were good people in the world, mixed among the bad. And good people deserve a chance. Juliandra was a good person, the best in fact, and she deserved her chance, an opportunity to live and share her life with others. It’s not about me. It’s not about what I want. I’ve got to get her that chance, a chance to exist, and to be alive.
His sadness was now masked by another emotion. It wasn’t anger, or rage. This time he felt, possibility. This time he felt hope. Hope for Juliandra and everything yet to come. Everything she meant and could mean again, what she stood for and would stand for in the future, all that she had given and all she could give before leaving the world. Thomas wanted her to live and continue shining no matter what his cost. And, if there had been any doubts before now, they were eradicated along with any deficiency of determination. It was time to un-pause and move on to New York.
Thomas hops in the rental, recharged, and with a new interpretation of life, his place within it, and the role that must be played. His mind is racing thinking of ways to get answers from the next stranger who’s defined only by actions, a short description, and singular name. All he needed was a few details, enough to know where and how. The key’s turned and the engine started. A quick look left, a swift glance right, a short gaze in the rear view mirror then straight ahead. This was going to be a one-way trip and he knew it. Once he got those answers he’d be facing the nightmare again.
The 10:00am meeting was in Time Square, so Thomas booked a room at a Hotel on the corner of West 42nd Street and 8th Ave. According to Jason, Boon would be standing by a hot dog vendor where 42nd and 9th intersect, and he’d wait exactly five minutes before leaving. Twice already, Thomas had been taken off guard and ended up barely surviving the confrontation. He couldn’t risk that again. Not at this point. This time he was going to try something different. He was going to let Boon wait those five minutes. He’d watch from a distance then follow until he had an opportunity to restrain him.
Surprisingly, the next four hours go by with relative ease compared to the first, and Thomas arrives at the hotel without nodding off. It was a combination of loud music, cool air and pure determination preventing his body from claiming its next requirement. He pulls the van into the valet area, grabs what he needs then hands the vehicle off like a baton during a relay race. The thing had served its purpose and was no longer necessary, just like the discarded drink containers tossed aside after being emptied.
Off the pavement and through the glass doors he walks making his way to the lobby, clutching tightly to one bag in particular the entire time. From check-in to the elevator, down a hallway, and finally through the entry way of room 422, his grip doesn’t loosen until the door closes behind him. Even then the release is made with hesitation. It was the bag from Boston containing all that was important, and all that was gained to this point. Though he had already spent much time continually reciting number after number, detail after detail, he still wanted to review everything, every bit of it, laid out and in plain view. The thought of having to repeat the process was motivation enough to ingrain the knowledge and never forget it.
He placed his hand drawn map on the bed then the cell phones, and finally all the notes he’s become intimately familiar with throughout the journey. His eyes fixate on the map, the one thing he couldn’t analyze while driving, and for the next few hours he scrutinizes, inspects, ponders and stares, looking at the angles, trying to determine the best routes to each location and thinking about what actions to take once there. Idea after idea was scrambled and mixed together. It was getting harder to think, at least clearly. It was also taking longer and longer to formulate, imagine, and reason the steps. Time felt as if it were moving slower than before, but that was not the case for his level of alertness which had been dropping drastically during the last half hour. It was quickly reaching a new low and Thomas needed another break, so he decides to go out and explore the streets in an effort to regain his wits. He needed stimulation, and that was something New York would absolutely never have a shortage of.
1:00am was only two minutes away but there were still nine hours between him and Boon. What on earth am I going to do for nine hours? He thought. The city definitely contained an abundance of activity and offered plenty to do round-the-clock, but he couldn’t think what direction to go. The only lucid thing at the moment was the need to physically move and in the end it didn’t really matter which way. Left, right, forward, backward, it was all motion. Notes in hand, Thomas takes a step and begins walking, wondering around Time Square going from place to place in disbelief. He never realized how many people were actively doing things throughout the night. Of course everyone knows this to be the case. To experience it though, that was different; that was another level of understanding.
Diners, pubs, bars, and anything in between open for business became a mental respite. It was hard however to throw time away or waste it when the objective was to do so. Hours were passing, but not like he’d hoped. It felt more like watching a puddle of oil evaporate, and everywhere he went the clocks ran at the same pace, like cold honey poured from a pinhole. But, the scenery changed and the bustle surrounding him provided a bit of energy, enough to keep him going. Thomas was learning too, not about his goals or objectives, about people, and how they behave when crammed into small spaces. The city was big, but with all those human beings in one place it sure seemed small.
Walking amongst the population turned out to be an interesting experience, almost like studying changes in a social petri dish. One observation in particular, plain and prominent, no one was paying attention, not to him anyway. They didn’t seem to notice his presence or acted as if he wasn’t there. You could become invisible, he thought, like a ghost until you stopped to buy something, and even then once the transaction was complete, you’d be a ghost again.
Literally, tons of individuals moving all the time, in and out of buildings, up and down sidewalks, and every one of them ignoring bodies only inches from their own. If an assessment had to be made it would be that most trained themselves to see others more or less as moving obstacles. Something to avoid or navigate around, and they probably didn’t view them as people anymore. There were too many, the brain can’t process that many individuals. Perhaps certain ones could be seen as an opportunity, or a nuisance, but nothing more. And, if you spoke to someone, just to say hello, you might risk appearing a
bnormal, an oddity which didn’t belong.
Despite the torturously sluggish pace at which time progressed, Thomas eventually emerged from an all-night diner into daylight. Nine hours had passed since he left the hotel and ventured into the streets. Was it reality or a dream? He couldn’t tell anymore. His heart was racing, but his body wanted to collapse and shut down. It was demanding rest, the one thing that couldn’t be given, not yet, not now. He walked to 42nd and 9th Ave and stood by an ATM to get a good view of the opposite corner. So many people, he thought, it never stops with so many people roaming the streets day and night. The good thing was anyone standing still looked out of place. If you weren’t moving, you could easily be identified like a prey animal straying from the herd. Because of this Thomas did his best to appear occupied by writing notes, looking at papers, and pacing around as he watched for anyone not in motion, anyone who looked out of place.
Finally, 10:01 arrives and a person appearing stagnant falls into his vision. It was a man wearing cargo shorts carrying a camera and walking around very little. The guy was thin and had long hair which receded in front just as described by his associates. This has to be him, he thinks, there’s nothing on that intersection to take pictures of. The man’s movements quickly develop into a noticeable pattern, and it becomes evident the curious picture taking tourist look was a rouse. By 10:04 he had circled around and snapped shots of the same things three times.
As promised, when the time advanced to 10:05, the camera wielding individual immediately started walking down 9th Ave, away from the corner. Thomas wastes no time and crosses 42nd Street to follow, staying several yards behind. He keeps pace until 41st Street where the man veers off to the left and walks into a parking garage. At this point Thomas jogs to the entrance then carefully walks in, looking to see where the last killer went. His eyes dart back and forth trying to capture any glimpse of motion. Nothing left, nothing right. Faint sounds of cars running, rolling, and accelerating filled the structure, but one unique sound broke the ambient norm and stood out. It was a universal ding sound which echoed through the lower level. Thomas’s eyes move at light speed to focus on the elevator. One by one his feet advance in that direction, increasing speed along the way. The next sound was that of the elevator doors opening which triggered another shift in pace. The killer has stepped in and was focused on the button panel. As the entrance gets closer Thomas pulls the van key from his pocket and places it between the index and middle finger to use as makeshift weapon. Just when the man’s hand reaches to press a number, Thomas sprints in, collides at full speed, and drives him into the back wall of the small box.
Instantly, the struggle begins as Thomas blocks, ducks, bobs, and weaves to avoid getting hit by stray shots from his opponent’s rapidly swinging arms. Everything’s moving at lightning speed and the guy fighting back seems well versed in art of trading punches. Thomas stays close and grabs hold despite the impacts occurring to the top of his head and brow. Back and forth the two slam hitting each wall over and over as they battle to control an unpredictable outcome. The key, held between Thomas’s fingers has fallen to the floor blending with a collage of camera parts scattered along its surface, and the fight, though only seconds old, was taking too long. It had to end before someone realized it was happening or came upon the scene. Either scenario would prevent questioning of the last murderer. A quick shove and Thomas moves back. As soon as enough space develops, he kicks the man’s left knee then strikes his lip and nose with an elbow. The blows create an opportunity that’s not wasted as he immediately grabs behind the man’s neck and begins driving knees into his body. Finally, a second elbow strike to the jaw causes the individual to buckle and drop, scattering plastic parts in every direction.
Ding.
The elevator bell rings once more as if to signal the end of a round, and the metal doors start to open. Fearing the exposed entrance might reveal an innocent bystander on the other side, Thomas reaches down and pulls the man to his feet, thinking somehow it would minimize the appearance of conflict. At that moment, a loud arc sound fills the small space accompanied by sharp pain. The third killer was no novice and had come prepared. Thomas could do nothing but watch as the answers he sought staggered away. Great! He thinks. All that and I get Zapped! This is why you break their damn arms and legs right away. I was doing so good with that.
Within seconds, Thomas is able to move freely and doesn’t let any time pass before putting that mobility to use. Two keys are visible on the floor near him, one his, and the other most likely from his opponent. Both are collected before standing up and peering out into the large area filled with cars. Nothing, no one was visible. No motion, no movement, no nothing. Thomas runs out and across the garage to the opposite end. The man must be near his car, he thinks. He probably doesn’t even know he dropped his key, so he must have run towards his car.
He raises his hand and starts pressing the lock button on the key’s integrated radio transmitter, triggering the momentary horn blast. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on the cars location and starts carefully moving towards it. On the way, a silhouette whisks across his field of view. It was him, the third killer, a predictable human after all, just like the rest of us. Thomas gives chase and quickly catches up, cornering the man who’s now wielding a mini stun gun in plain view. The high voltage which paralyzed him a moment ago was now being thrust in his direction from multiple angles. Thomas pulls the belt from his waist and wraps a good portion around each of his hands, leaving about one foot between them. Each time the man’s wrist gets close Thomas tries to capture it with the unwrapped part. On the fifth attempt his timing works and the belt takes hold, allowing him to pull the man off balance and avoid getting shocked. Using all his body weight, Thomas yanks left and right until he’s able to trip him.
Once down, he steps in and grabs the wrist, holding it in a locked position with the stun gun pointed away. Using the pain induced by hyperextending the joint he coerces the man into flipping on his stomach where he’s able to bend the arm up and back, freeing the weapon.
“Boon!” Thomas says. “I have some questions for you.”
A pain filled voice replies. “I’m not Boon, you got the wrong guy.”
Thomas takes the belt and ties the man’s wrists behind his back then begins searching pockets.
“Ahh, a cell phone. What’s the swipe pattern Boon?”
“Screw you man. I know my rights. And, I told you I ain’t Boon, whoever that is.”
“Look, if you’re not Boon, then I’ll leave you alone, but to find out, I need to check your phone.”
“Take me in cop and you can talk to my lawyer. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Oh, I’m no cop, just a concerned citizen. Now what’s the swipe pattern of your phone?”
Thomas swipes a few times and then takes the Taser and places it on the man’s neck. “Just give me the pattern, wait… just figured it out. Letter Z; how original.”
A couple of taps and there it was in the call history, Jason Brean’s phone number. Thomas was relieved and sick to his stomach at the same time. This was Boon, and he had to make him talk. Though angry, there was no enjoyment in hurting these guys. He kept telling himself it was just and for the right reasons, but it didn’t feel that way. Thomas closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath then slowly exhales as he drops the phone into his back pocket. When his eyes open he flips Boon onto his back and delivers punch after punch until the voluntary movement of his body ceases.
Now, he’s on the road once again, heading out of the city in Boon’s vehicle. And, it wasn’t long before the familiar sound of painful groaning began to emanate from the back seat. Boon had regained consciousness, and each time he attempted to scream out Thomas shocked him with the stun gun until he stopped. It seemed to be a good system and the cycle continued for roughly thirty minutes before a good place to pullover and question Boon was found. Once parked, Thomas turns to the back seat.
“Listen carefully,” he says
. “I need some answers to some very specific questions, and please just give me the answers. If you do, I’ll call for help and walk away. If not, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
“What have you done to me?” Boon asks.
Thomas lets out sigh and places the stun gun on Boon’s face before turning it on.
“I ask the questions you fucking murderer! I broke your arms and legs, now answer my fuckin’ questions or I’ll shove this fucking thing in your eyes and keep it on until they burst!”
“Alright, alright,” the man says. “What do you want to know?”
“Hmm, let’s see. You and your pathetic piece of shit friends killed my wife Saturday. You shot her with a high-powered rifle. Where exactly were you at 8:36am that morning? And, I mean exactly where! Give me distance.”
“I was in a barn, 1800 yards south west of your house waiting.”
“But you moved didn’t you? You shot Juliandra while she was in the police car out front, so you had to get closer.”
Boon coughs a bit “Yeah, I moved. You guys were leaving, and my instructions were not to let that happen.”
“And, if we hadn’t tried to leave, you would’ve stayed in the Barn?”
“Yes, yes, the location was fine. There wasn’t any other reason to move.”
“What was the address?”
“I don’t know the address. All I know is that it was on River Street and it was a big Barn with a silo next to it.”
“Where exactly, were you in this barn? Tell me exactly where you were and which way you were facing.”
“Jesus, man. I confessed what more do you want? You got me. You got me, now just turn me in.”
Thomas takes the stun gun and places it near Boon’s left eye
“I wonder just how long it would take?”
“I was up high, on a loft looking out a small opening in some doors.”
“What did you bring with you? Tell me what you had in the Barn. I mean everything.”
“I had two rifles, an M98B and an M40, a 45 pistol, a hunting knife, a rangefinder and prepaid cellphone. That’s it.”
“Now tell me where each of those things were and exactly where you placed them.”
“I was holding the M98. The M40 was to my right. The rangefinder was on the left. My phone was on the floor below the M98 bipod. The knife and pistol were on me.”
“Why two rifles?”
“It’s just standard…”
“Why!?”
“The M40 was a backup in case I got closer.”
“What if someone called you and said don’t do it? Would you not take the shot?”
“No one ever does that. You don’t cancel a job like that.”
“What if they did, would you not do it?”
“Maybe, if the person who hired me called. But, they’d have to call, no one else.”
There’s no way Thomas would be able to speak with Jason that morning and convince him to call off all the killers, so the plan remains unchanged. He’ll make his way on foot to 2499 Rosewater Ave and disable Chief, head to 1628 Title Road to stop the two men known as Roy, then use the Ford Taurus they drove to make it near the barn on River Street and prevent Boon from taking his shot.
The driver’s side door opens and Thomas climbs out. He did it. He’d gotten what he came for. It seemed impossible but now felt easy compared to the challenge lying ahead. After a brief look around he starts walking, leaving the car behind with Boon inside. Step after step he moves down the street mumbling all the information he’d collected. Nothing else was on his mind, only the details, all those details. He had to remember, remember the addresses, phone numbers, where each person was at what time, and the positions of every item they had.
Several people standing on the sidewalk and passing on foot went out of their way to avoid him as he got near. He must have appeared crazy to them, a simple lunatic talking to himself. Their comments were easily heard, but Thomas didn’t care about perception. It was about being in the moment and doing what he had to. The written notes from his pocket were now in his hand, ready for the next glance as he continued to speak aloud with only his own mind as the intended audience. The steady stride he kept was uninterrupted before coming upon a small group of teenagers walking the opposite direction. Each of the five youth were either laughing or pointing as someone yelled out the word loser, but Thomas was oblivious to it until one grabbed his notepad and ran off.
“Hey!” Thomas yells. “That’s my paper! You stole my paper! Bring it back here!”
The kid continued to run, further and further away, as his friends carried on laughing and making comments. “It didn’t matter anyway” Thomas thought, he got all he could in his head, and now it was time to leave, time to restart hell and fight. Eight more steps lead him to a utility pole which becomes a backrest after sitting. The sun warmed his face as he watched the cars drive by. The sound was soothing and the wind cool when it moved.
Slowly he closed his eyes and let go…