Clouded Rainbow (14 page)

Roger widened his eyes. “Thank you, thank you. You don’t know how hungry I am. Please, keep the change.”

Again, his business instincts surfaced with his kind gesture, which baffled the construction worker.

“Hey. I don’t need the change. I feel for you homeless out here,” he responded as he handed Roger some coins.

Roger refused. His attention was completely focused on his hot, juicy burger. This was the cue for the driver to be on his way and, for a bizarre reason, he felt proud of his deed, even though he didn’t exactly know what he had done.

I ordered this man some food with his own money
, he thought, but he was happy to assist.

The SUV pulled away as Roger sat on the curb. Cars zipped by on the road in front of him as he unwrapped his meal. The warmth of the hamburger roused his cold fingers as he lifted the beef toward his mouth. His nose received a burst of Buddy Burger’s special sauce just before he bit down. Then, the meat consumed the taste buds in his mouth.

“Aww, yes,” he expelled.

The pain in Roger’s arm and right leg subsided as he felt a sense of victory in his journey. It was as if another chapter in Roger’s story had come to an end, but the remainder of his novel was far from complete.

14

The full moon pierced the night sky over the bustling city. As Roger satisfied his hunger, others focused their attention on finding the truth to the plight of the split couple. Det. Cleveland was on his way toward the sleeping beauty at Southern General Hospital. His trip back was similar to his drive in the opposite direction. However, he had the answer to his original question; Jane Doe was Lois Belkin. While this information was enough to solve the original case, it only answered part of the Belkin question—half in fact. He knew the location of Ms. Belkin, but Mr. Belkin was out wandering in the city building a rap sheet.

The glowing red “Emergency” sign burned into Det. Cleveland’s eyes. He slowed to pull into the parking lot as he grabbed his cellular phone and dialed his protégé, Charlie, back at the fort.

He answered on the first ring as he kept the desk phone positioned between his keyboard and his late night snack, a double-decker Buddy Burger with extra pickles. He knew it was Det. Cleveland on the other line even before a spoken word. Charlie was a “fly on the wall” back at the station, something he had perfected, and he would use the “buzz” to enhance his research for Det. Cleveland.

“Yello?”

“Charlie, I know the identity of our Jane Doe. She is Lois Belkin from Dietrich Road. I need to ask a huge favor. Could you pull up any information on other family members of the Belkin’s in the area?” Det. Cleveland rambled.

“Okay, where’re you at, man?” Charlie replied, standing up.

“I’m at Southern General Hospital now. Get back to me Charlie as soon as you have any information.

Charlie sat down and leaned in to his desk.

“Okay, okay. No problem. Hey. You gotta get this Belkin before he causes any more trouble.”

Charlie heard Roger’s name mentioned at the dispatcher’s desk about two hours ago after a call-in over the businessman’s car debacle. Now that the patrolmen had returned from Roger’s home with a report to the captain, Roger’s name was moving up on the list of fugitive priorities.

Det. Cleveland paused, and then hung up the phone. He pulled his sedan into a spot marked “Police Parking Only.”

As Det. Cleveland slammed his car door, a smaller and more compact door slammed across the city. It was Carol, another interested party thrown into the middle of her sister’s case, but for her, she didn’t know the brunt of the situation. The door she slammed was to the microwave oven as she popped in a TV dinner to satisfy a late-night craving.

Carol gave up on her voyage into the city, which turned her date with a baked black bean burrito into jury-duty with a three-cheese ravioli dinner frozen for nearly a year in the back of her freezer. Her husband, Robert, had phoned her about an hour ago and told her about a last minute overnight business trip to his company’s sister office. She knew he probably had this planned for a while, and his decision to call her at the last minute was due to her unwillingness to let work overwhelm him. He stopped by to pick up an overnighter, which was suspiciously already packed, and gave her a kiss on his way out the door.

Her sole companion for the evening was her beagle, Lucy. The dog was often her only friend when Robert was away and her sister had plans. Lucy had a calm and docile temperament and never acted aggressively. After all, she was ten years old, which was nearly sixty in human years according to Carol’s resources. She fed Lucy as soon as she got home from her unsuccessful trip into the city and now the lazy dog was basking in the warmth of the living room, letting her stomach do its work.

The beeps of the machine filled the kitchen, and then the device lit up and cooked her frozen dinner with its microwave radiation. Carol walked over to her kitchen window and looked out at the gloomy night. Clouds began to move in and steal the stars away. They moved quickly as one particular star caught her eye, and then, in a blink, a cloud choked the light from the distant luminary. A sudden feeling of loneliness overwhelmed Carol. For a moment, her lungs failed to respond to her breathing. It was a subtle feeling, but it was enough for her to turn and clutch her chest. She looked at a picture next to a magnet from Clearwater Beach on the refrigerator. Even though she was across the kitchen, the figures in the fuzzy four by six inch image were vividly clear. They were her sister and brother-in-law, Lois and Roger.

“I should call Lois,” Carol told herself.

All was silent in the lifeless kitchen, save for the hum of the microwave. Carol walked over to the cordless phone and dialed Lois’ number.

A few miles away through the shadowy night, the Belkin home stood dark and unconscious. Inside the master bedroom, the faint smell of Det. Cleveland’s aftershave swirled in the open room, most noticeable in the attached bathroom. The moonlight shined through the bedroom’s window, not yet victim to the encroaching clouds. On the nightstand was the picture of Lois and Roger in front of the Hoover Dam. The light from the moon glimmered off the glossy photograph paper. In front of it, sat the bedroom phone, the same one Lois used when Carol had called the evening before. Tonight, however, was much different. Roger was not in the room putting the final additions on his suit. Lois was not in the bathroom making sure blush was symmetrical on both of her cheeks. Instead, a barren room echoed with the burst of the phone. As the rings went unanswered, the noise seemed to intensify.

On the other end, Carol repositioned the phone to her other ear. She was on the third ring and was hoping to hear a voice instead of her place in the phone system’s black hole. Carol anxiously anticipated a click followed by Roger apologizing for being in the shower or Lois huffing after being preoccupied by a late night treadmill jog. However, none of these projected scenarios occurred.

The fifth ring echoed into her ear, and then the wave changed to a click. Carol stood on her heels, and for a moment she expected the voice of one of the two. Instead, she received the contrived voice of Roger.

Back in the deserted Belkin home, Roger’s voice traversed through the open space, bouncing off the cold walls. “Hello, you’ve reached Roger and Lois. We’re probably out and about, so please leave a brief message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.”

A loud beep followed as Carol responded, “Hi, guys. I haven’t heard from you since last night. Hope all is well.”

Carol hung up the phone and crossed her arms to control the knot that had tightened in her stomach.

“Where could they be? I hope everything is alright,” she whispered.

Carol pondered their location at this late hour. She looked at the clock. It was eight minutes after ten. Then, in a sudden burst, the beeps from the microwave stabbed Carol’s sensitive ears; her hand dropped the phone.

15

The night air whirled through the downtown. Buildings stood tall under the overcast skies as late night cars zipped through the roads. People scurried through the night traversing the various bars and lounges. Some more elegant restaurants exhaled sophisticated couples as awaiting valet drivers sprang to action. An older husband and wife exited a swanky jazz club, “The Lookout House,” and bypassed the valet service. Headed to a nearby public parking garage, they walked through the cool night air. As the elderly woman tightened her mink coat, she saw a figure approaching. It was Roger staggering toward them. Although he had given his belly something to work on, the pain in his right leg and arm returned. His previous painkiller, alcohol, wasn’t in reach, and Roger was left alone to deal with the throbbing twinge hindering his journey. He didn’t notice the approaching couple, but they noticed him.

The elderly woman hated walking the street at night. Even though her brazen husband had always held her tightly, she still dreaded the creatures lurking in the darkness. She and her husband saw what they classified as an approaching bum and realized he was not yielding to their steps. The woman slowed and stepped behind her husband so both could walk in single file. As they passed Roger, the elderly woman squeezed her husband’s arm. Her nose received a blast of an unforgettable odor bellowing from Roger’s battered body. She cringed. Roger kept focused on the concrete sidewalk and didn’t even notice the couple. However, he glanced up after they had passed as he sniffed the woman’s intense perfume.

Roger’s sense of smell caused him to refocus on his surroundings. He looked up as he walked and noticed a brightly lit corner newsstand still open and eager to assist the night crowd. He saw magazines and newspapers from across the country, the world in fact, proudly displayed in rows to turn a wandering person into a staying customer. The man behind the register was the owner of the stand. He was fifty-two-years-old and took pride in his corner stand, so much so that he purposely worked the graveyard shift to protect his valuable assets. The owner was assisting a young lawyer pulling an all-nighter for an important case going to trial in the morning. He was buying some peanuts, caffeinated soda, and a copy of the latest men’s magazine to arouse his sleep-deprived brain. Roger watched the lawyer reach into his trench coat and grab a leather wallet from the inside of his suit jacket. He studied the attorney’s conforming leather gloves, the slight wrinkles of the material from the movement of his hand. Roger looked at the man as his mind refocused on the list of baffling questions. His brain felt confident declaring that he was in the city last night for dinner, but his exact intentions were still unknown. The most significant question still rang in his mind.

Where is she?

Roger held his head low and saw the front page of a newspaper. The headlines read, “Chaos on Pleasant Place Bridge.” He looked at the prominent picture plastered on the front page, but as he tried to comprehend the image of terror, he heard the voice of the lawyer.

“Crazy, huh?” the attorney asked with disbelief. He looked at Roger’s short pants and felt a hint of sympathy for the street dweller.

The image sank into Roger’s mind as he made out the aerial view of the fiery mess on the bridge. He had never seen such a horrific image, and it almost appeared fabricated, like an image received in a dream.

“That tractor-trailer just annihilated those cars. Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time,” the lawyer added.

Roger didn’t know what his reference meant. The image in front of him showed specks of vehicles scattered on the bridge like the random placement by a boy dumping his matchbox cars on the ground. The lawyer grabbed another newspaper and tossed it in front of Roger, which explained the reference.

The paper highlighted images of scattered metal and auto parts, which resembled the remains of an auto graveyard. The tractor-trailer in the center of the image dominated the frame and towered above the helpless vehicles victim to its breadth. Roger glanced at the scattered auto parts. Suddenly, the whites of his eyes exposed as his mind received a flood of thoughts. It was as if the simple black and white image in front of him answered a chunk of his piling questions. However, the answers rapidly overwhelmed him. Then, he saw something gravely familiar in the picture. It was his black SUV crunched under the trailer of the truck. Roger could not speak; he could not listen; he could only be. All at once, half of the jigsaw board jolted into place.