Multiples of Six (10 page)

Chapter 22

When the mileage markers for Cleveland read 20 miles, James knew he needed to stop. He was probably a half hour late in making the decision. The snow had stopped but despite his plea for a bit of company, Kevin and Nicole had both drifted off into uneasy sleep. The rest area was a welcome sight. It offered the comforts of a bathroom and food, even if it was a public stall and a Burger King. His eyes were ready to fall out of his head. He had intermittently opened the window to keep himself awake. He’d heard Nicole cry in her sleep and it killed him to be unable to comfort her. Kevin stirred for the first time in an hour.

“You awake?” James said, barely above a whisper. He had pulled into the first cleaned-out parking spot he could find.

“Yeah,” Kevin said, without turning away from the window.

“Did you sleep?” James asked.

“On and off. You staying awake?” he said.

“Barely,” James said.

“You’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Amazing what you can do when you need to.”

“I need my bladder to be about a half-gallon larger. Think it’ll happen?” Kevin said, grabbing his crotch with a pained expression.

James shook his head ‘No.’

“You’d better go before you wet your seat,” James said.

“You comin’?” Kevin asked. They both glanced back at Nicole. “She’ll be ok…you wouldn’t even know she was in here--”

“Unless you were looking for a girl in a green 300M,” James said.

“Gotcha…I’ll try and hurry,” Kevin said.

“By the looks of it, hurrying won’t be your problem,” James said.

Kevin got out of the car and made for the nearest restroom. James watched him walking away. The rest area was a simple collection of buildings. He had made an effort to park farthest from the main building that housed the food. When Kevin had opened the door, James got a faint whiff of fried food and his stomach had shouted at him. It had been a long time since his last proper meal. The one Nicole had cooked the morning before. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Paynter had been alive then.

“Where are we?” Nicole asked, her voice strained as she stretched her legs the width of the car. James glanced back at her and saw that what little sleep she had gotten had not really been what she needed. By the looks of it, she needed a week of sleep. Her face was pallid, the rosy color of her lips muted. Her eyes were glassy and her lids puffy. Her naturally tousled hair was looking flat and tired.

“I’m so sorry, Nic,” James said.

She looked at him, but refused to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. He could see her shoulders shrug.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, ok? I think there’s some more important stuff to deal with right now. Why’d we stop?”

“I…ok…I stopped because I think we are really lost this time. I need to find a map or something,” James said.

“How far are we from…what was it? Hubbard?”

“Yeah. Well, I think we might be about twenty miles past it. Paynter…he said it wasn’t far over the Ohio border…and we passed that a little while ago,” James said.

“We’ll have to find a phone book, or maybe they have an information desk here?” Nicole said.

“And then what?” James asked.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean exactly that. Then what? What the hell are we going to do?”

“Well, we’re going to drive to this Hubbard and you’re both going to go meet your brother,” Nicole said.

Kevin approached the car and got in, releasing a long satisfied sigh.

“Much better,” he said.

“You make it sound so easy,” James said.

“What’d I miss?” Kevin asked.

“After all this? James…gimme a break,” she said, laughing humorlessly.

“Ummm…hello?” Kevin said.

“James is worried about meeting Doug,” Nicole said, folding her arms and reclining once more in the back seat.

“What if he freaks?” James asked.

“Of course he’s going to freak…a little. You freaked,” she said.

“Well, he does have a point, Nic. I mean, what if he has a girlfriend who wants to brain us with a large kitchen appliance when she sees us? I mean, this could be dangerous,” Kevin said, massaging the still noticeable lump on his temple.

Nicole tried to look angry at him for a moment, but quickly broke into a smile. They laughed like it was water and they were thirsty. It eventually tapered off into giggles.

“You’ve been driving too long if that’s all you’re worried about,” she said.

“You’re right about that,” James said, “I have been driving way too long. And I need to piss. And I’m hungry. Anyone want Burger King?”

“James, we can’t risk…” Nicole began.

“We can’t risk all of us passing out from exhaustion and lack of food either. I’ve been feeling light-headed for the last ten minutes. If one of us goes in, it shouldn’t be a problem,” James said.

“He does have a point. I could go an egg sandwich. You know what…just get me whatever you’re getting. I’d eat just about anything now. Ooo…and a large coffee…black with sugar,” Kevin said.

“Now it’s getting complicated. Hon?” James said.

Nicole looked wary but gave him her order anyway.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he closed the door.

To the East, James could see the faint promise of dawn struggling to be seen through the winter glom. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind was blowing the powder hard enough to make it blizzard-like. James pulled at the collar of his jacket, the chill cold running quickly through him. He wished he had listened to his mother’s constant advice and worn a hat. The warmth of the rest area was a welcome relief even after only a short walk outside. He found the bathroom and relieved himself, then stood in front of the near-vacant Burger King counter, deciding what to order. A TV overhead was broadcasting regional news to no one in particular. The place was empty. He picked up a few sandwiches from under the heat hood, got Kevin’s coffee, and went to the register. He handed his cash to a young black woman named Chanice. Somehow, she looked more tired than he felt. He tried to smile at her when she handed him his change, but she didn’t make eye contact.

He turned to leave, but paused when he heard the news broadcast.

“…disturbing news that begins with a report out of New Jersey…”

James turned and slowly looked up at the monitor. His heart dropped into his feet. He watched as a young woman spoke into the camera, his house clearly visible in the background. The multicup coffee holder in his hand swayed and he had to steady himself against a nearby garbage can.

“…events that took place at this home in rural New Jersey. According to police, they received a call from the home’s owner, twenty-four-year-old James Masterson, early yesterday morning. Based on the 911 tapes, police were able to determine that Mr. Masterson believed that someone had entered his home. That someone turned out to be 77-year-old Samuel Isaacson, Mr. Masterson’s neighbor. What happened next you can hear for yourself…”

A map of New Jersey appeared with Hackettstown marked in proximity to New York City. Then the recording began and James steadied himself again, fearing that he would just fall over in the middle of the rest stop and draw the sort of attention he certainly didn’t want now. He heard someone whispering about an intruder, then there was a pause and he didn’t have to be told that Samuel’s voice was calling to him in the background. The old man had been James’ neighbor all his life. They’d had picnics at his house when he was a boy. Then the caller suddenly spoke loudly. “…there’s an intruder in my house!” Samuel spoke again, this time much clearer due to his apparent proximity to the phone. He seemed to recognize James, but his voice was confused. James jumped when the first gun shot rang out, making white noise of the recording. The 911 dispatcher screamed. It was followed by two more in evenly spaced succession. James’ head swam. Samuel was dead. It hadn’t been him, but someone pretending to be him. And they killed his neighbor. For no apparent reason, they had killed his neighbor. He glanced back up at the screen and flinched. His photograph, about six years old by the looks of it, appeared blown up on the screen. James looked around, eyeing up the two people nearest to him. Neither was paying any attention to the TV. He almost bolted for the door, but thought better of it. He staggered his way back to the car, so much so that Kevin and Nicole came out of the car to help him. He had no sooner handed the food and drinks to Nicole when he turned, fell into the snow and vomited.

“James!” Nicole cried. Kevin stood in the snow next to him, a hand under his arm.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“I’m on the news,” James spat. He wiped his lips with the sleeved of his jacket. He spat again, trying to get rid of the bile taste in his mouth.

“What? How?” Nicole said. She had placed the food in the car and now was crouched down beside him. He looked up at both of them.

“They killed my neighbor…someone…they killed Mr. Isaacson. And…they think it was me,” James said, looking between the two of them.

“But, how?” Kevin asked.

“There was a 911 call from my house…it almost…he thought it was me. Then he shot him. Whoever made the call shot him…three times! He was an old man. They killed him…because of me. And now, they think I did it,” James said, turning now to sit in the snow.

Kevin tugged on his arm to try and lift him from the ground, but James resisted.

“James, honey, we need to get moving then,” Nicole said.

“Why are they doing this?” James asked.

He stared at Nicole and his eyes began to well with tears.

“Why are they ruining other people’s lives…because of me? I didn’t…I didn’t do anything. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

He turned his head and wiped the tears away.

“I wish I had an answer,” she said and wrapped herself around him.

Kevin crouched down and put his arms around both of them.

“James, I don’t want to be a prick…I’m sorry for your loss and all, and as much as I’m into the whole hug fest, could we move it to the car? My balls are gonna crawl up into my stomach in a minute.”

“C’mon,” Nicole said. They stood, half lifting James from the ground.

James trudged back to the car and slumped into the back seat. In his mind, he could see and hear Samuel Isaacson’s last moments, repeating over and over. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Chapter 23

Norris pulled the wool hat tight over his head. The snow might have stopped, but a bitter arctic wind had chased it down from Canada, or so the weatherman would have you believe. It was supposed to creep back up above freezing later, but that would be accompanied by rain.

Large sections of the parking lot of the hotel in Springfield, Pennsylvania, had been cordoned off with yellow tape. Judging by the size of the town, Norris figured they had raided the local hardware store for the extra rolls. He pulled out his badge as he approached the line. A lone officer who, to Norris, looked barely old enough to break the law, let alone defend it, pulled his collar about his ears, glanced at Norris’ badge and nodded. He pointed to the hotel, where there were three men standing, looking at the ground as if all three were in deep thought. Norris thanked the deputy and lifted the yellow tape above his head.

He had crossed three quarters of the lot before a fit of coughing took him over. The pain wracked his body, shooting from his chest down through to his ass. He blinked tears from his eyes and he wavered in his tracks for a moment. He didn’t see the office approach, but was glad for the hand of support that had gripped his elbow.

“Can I help you?” the man said in a deep baritone voice.

Norris hacked one last time, then bent away from the man and spit into the snow. He looked down at the bulge of bloody green mucous, then kicked some snow over it. He wiped his mouth with the exposed back of his free hand.
Shit
.

“FBI. Agent John Norris, for what it’s worth” said Norris, flashing his badge again. He forced another cough back.

“Deputy Robinson. If you don’t mind me saying, Agent Norris, you don’t look too good,” said the officer holding his arm. Norris turned to look at the man.

A square-jawed, clean-shaven, black man, Deputy Robinson wore a look of genuine concern on his face.

“Deputy,” said Norris, “I don’t feel so good, but the sooner I can get my work done here, the sooner I can worry about that little problem. Make sense?”

“Right,” said Robinson, releasing Norris’ arm slowly as if waiting for him to need it again. Norris straightened himself, and pulled his hat on tighter.

“The one you want to talk to is Lieutenant Fields. He’s right over there.”

As he said this, Lieutenant Fields turned and strode toward them. 

Lieutenant Fields was a tall young man of about thirty, Norris guessed. He looked too good to be a local cop, and Norris thought he might have puffed his chest up before he turned, which meant he was either dumber than a box of rocks or there was something else fundamentally wrong with him. 

“Lieutenant…Agent Norris, FBI,” Robinson said.

“Agent,” Fields said, extending a hand. Norris looked at it, then at Fields who seemed to have lost some steam.

“Don’t want to leave you hangin’, Lieutenant, but you don’t want what I’ve got,” Norris said.

Fields smiled wanly and pulled his hand back into his coat pocket.

“What can I do for you, Agent?”

“A little bird told me you had some trouble. Thought I’d stop by and see if I couldn’t help,” Norris said.

“Well, I think we’ve got things under control,” Fields said.

“You have a fairly large area cordoned off, Lieutenant.”

“We’ve got footprints everywhere.”

“Snowfall didn’t obscure them?” Norris asked.

“A little, but there was only a dusting after the incident,” Fields said.

“What have you made out so far?” Norris asked.

Fields shot a look to Robinson that was hard for Norris to not notice. He hesitated.

“Lieutenant…we’re all on the same side here. I already know you’ve got a missing body. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Spill.”

Fields considered this, then spoke.

“Well, the night manager’s a little skittish. He…wasn’t exactly on duty per se. Had a little nightcap and dozed off when this all went down. He’s afraid he’s going to become some sort of accessory for doing what he did,” he said.

“Which was what? Drinking on the job?” Norris asked.

“He boarded some people last night off the books. Took cash for a little room around back that’s really an old storage closet. Said there was only one guy who came in to check in, but he was pretty sure there were a few more people in the car,” Fields said.

“Small town to try and keep secrets in,” said Norris.

He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrapped cough drop. He fumbled with it, his ungloved hands stiff in the bitter cold morning air. Just as he managed to raise it to his mouth, it slipped in his fingers, grazed his outstretched lips, and fell into the snow at his feet. He stared after it for a moment like a kid who has just dropped his ice cream on the pavement and considers the possibility of rescuing it. He looked up at Lieutenant Fields who looked down at the ground with a small look of sympathy. Norris pulled out another cough drop and handed it to Robinson pathetically. The Deputy didn’t bat an eye. He peeled the wrapper off and dropped the candy into Norris’ outstretched hand.

“Much appreciated, Deputy,” Norris said.

“People still try…to keep secrets that is,” said Robinson.

“But, it wasn’t locals,” Norris said.

“No. Night manager said the guy was tan. Definitely not from around here. Two of the witnesses corroborated on the plates. The sedan had Florida plates. The classic was from Texas.”

“A Barracuda?”

“How’d you know that?” Fields asked.

“Call it an educated hunch,” Norris said.

“One of the witnesses is a local mechanic. Said he’d know one from a mile away in the fog,” Robinson said.

“Is that so?”

Norris tried to pull his coat tighter to himself. The cough drop had done the trick for now, and he breathed in deep on the cold air.

“Said he thought it might be a ’68 or a ’69,” Robinson said.

“Huh,” said Norris.

He could remember the ’69 well. It was intimidating next to cars twice its size. It had balls even if the driver didn’t. But, that wasn’t what was intriguing Norris.

“It was black?” Norris asked, knowing it was.

“Yep,” Robinson said.

“Tinted windows?” Norris asked.

“Yes,” said Fields, cocking his head. “Familiar to you?”

“Nope,” said Norris, not having to try hard in covering the lie with a cough. The cough turned into an actual fit, and he turned away from the deputy, nearly spitting out the cough drop. He recovered. “It’s a familiar layout for that car. Probably a couple hundred like them left in mint condition.”

“But, at least we can narrow it down to Texas,” Robinson said.

“Probably a waste of time,” said Norris, wiping the water from his burning eyes. “Did anyone get a number on the plates?”

“No. They were either too far away, or too busy dodging bullets,” Robinson said.

“Someone fired at a witness?”

“One of the witnesses decided to try and scare him away by telling him the cops were on their way. He didn’t take kindly. He didn’t miss by much,” Fields said, pointing to a row of houses nearby.

“He didn’t miss,” Norris muttered.

“What’s that?” Fields asked.

“Nothing. So, what’s the timeline?”

“What we can figure from the tracks and the witnesses is that there were two confrontations. The first occurred at approximately 2:30
am
. Our missing dead man confronted the shooter at the front of the building,” said Fields.

He pointed to an area close to the front right wing of the building. There were two yellow plastic pyramids, typically used to mark shell casings on the ground near one another.

“One witness actually saw the shots and watched the man fall into the snow. Didn’t hear a single report though…suggesting they were silenced. He went to call the police. No less than five minutes later, they were all gone.”

“No one saw the dead man walk,” Norris said.

“No,” Fields said.

“And no blood,” Norris said.

“Nope,” Robinson said.

“He was wearing a vest,” Norris said.

“Pardon?” Fields asked.

“He was wearing a bullet proof vest. It’s the only answer, Lieutenant,” Norris said.

“But, that would mean he was expecting to be shot,” Fields said, his face screwing in confusion.

“Strange world we live in, Lieutenant. Tell me about the second incident,” Norris said.

Robinson cleared his throat.

“The only witness to get a real good look at any of them. Heard his garbage cans being knocked around and got up to look out. He saw two men in the road. One older man with a gun and one younger man without. He went to call the cops and when he was on the phone he saw a car come out of the parking lot and nearly hit the man with the gun. The young man jumped in the car and fled the scene. Our shooter, dressed in a black jacket and cap joined our man with the gun. The witness then made the nearly fatal mistake of shouting at the armed men in the street.”

Robinson said. Norris nodded thoughtfully.

“Agent, I’m still not sure why you’re here. Though we don’t exactly deal with this kind of thing on a regular basis, we are still trained for such occurrences. Last murder was over ten years ago…and that was nothing like this,” Fields said.

“And how old were you, Lieutenant?” Norris asked, smiling.

Fields blushed visibly and pursed his lips.

“Sixteen, maybe,” he said.

“Well, have no fear, Lieutenant, your streak’s still alive. You’ve merely had an attempted murder. That man is still alive…somewhere.”

“He’s gotta be hurt though,” Robinson said.

“Ever taken a bullet, Deputy?” Norris asked.

The deputy chuckled a bit, then stopped, seeing the look on Norris’ face.

“No, sir,” Robinson said.

“Well, a vest only cuts down on the blood loss. You’re still gonna take a pretty mighty wallop. And, judging by the range, ten…fifteen feet max, I’d imagine our dead man walking is wishing he
were
dead. Where’s the nearest hospital?” 

“About five miles,” Fields

“Might want to send some of your men in that direction. Check for tracks leading that way. Probably off the road. He won’t have walked on the road. And, he won’t have checked in. If he has, he’s a fool. And, a man who wears a vest…well, this one’s not your typical fool,” Norris said.

“I don’t have too many men to spare, Agent Norris. With the chief out, there’s only a handful of us,” Fields said.

“I doubt you’re going to have a return call, Lieutenant. By the sounds of it, you’ll have a lot to tell the state police. Attempted murder, attempted assault, weapons offences, etcetera.”

“Don’t forget the attempted vehicular assault, Agent Norris,” Robinson said.

“The sedan?” Norris asked.

“Sure…we don’t know the circumstances, but we can’t just assume…” Robinson said.

“Did any of these kids have a gun?”

“I…none of the witnesses said anything like that. No, I don’t think they did,” Robinson gave Fields a look as if seeking forgiveness.

“And our walking dead man?” Norris asked.

“We’re fairly certain he didn’t,” said Fields.

Norris looked at Fields, who looked away.

“Fairly certain, Deputy?”

“There were no reliable accounts,” Robinson said.

“Gotta love it. People can tell you what clothes Oprah wore for the last three days, down to her shoes, but ask them something important, and…anyway, my point here, Deputy, is that we might do more harm than good by putting heat on the kids. Let’s let that one slide a while.”

The Deputy and Lieutenant did their best to avoid eye contact for a moment. Fields shifted his eyes to the ground and kicked some snow with his boot. Norris saw for the first time just how young this man was. Thirty might have been a stretch. Norris couldn’t help but sigh. He looked from Fields to Robinson and back.

“Deputy, you did what you were supposed to. Next time give it some thought. The book is a great tool…a guide for us all, but remember that it was written by someone who sits at a desk all day. You’ll remember that next time. I’d like to take a quick look around and then get out of here. My balls are about the size of peas,” Norris said.

“Rob, hang here at the line. Now that this is down the wire, we might have some gawkers swinging by. Hold ‘em at bay,” Fields said.

Robinson turned back toward the yellow tape, a hangdog expression in his shoulders.

Fields and Norris walked toward the yellow markers. Beneath each was a copper shell casing. The Deputy stepped to the left of the markers and raised his arm, as if he were holding an invisible gun.

“We already took all our measurements, Agent, so I’m not messing anything up.”

“That’d be your problem, Lieutenant, not mine. Go on.”

“Two bullets. Standard 9 mm. Nothing fancy. Same stuff you can buy over the counter at Wal-Mart,” Fields said.