Caught in the Web

by Jason R Davis

  Okay, that wasn’t true and he knew it. The chief would care. Not just because it would make their little police department look bad, but it would mean more than just a dereliction of duty. It would make him look like he had a problem. Rob, the man who barely touched any alcohol, except for an occasional beer on a Saturday afternoon. It would look like he couldn’t stay away from the stuff, even while he was in uniform. If Rob couldn’t be trusted now, what was he doing when he was alone at night?

  This day couldn’t end soon enough.

  He stepped through the door and felt like he was disappearing into the darkness of the bar, the sunlight not reaching too deep into the cavernous room. He was relieved by the lack of light, and while the room wasn’t much cooler than the hot day outside, the shadows were cool enough to be welcome. He was suddenly aware of the murmuring of the television as some news network was on in the background. There was the hum of the coolers, and the chatter of an argument that was in the heat of escalating to something more than rushed words.

  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Bruce sitting at the bar just ten feet in front of him. He was sitting back in his bar stool, filling it and threatening to spill over the sides, and was turned to the man at the left of him, a grease-covered man wearing a white tank top that was badly stained with sweat and grime. What Rob could see of the man’s hair that fell down past his shoulders was covered in filth, but looked like it was blond at one time. The man was turned to face Bruce and was leaning in, pointing at the large man.

  The bar was dark, lit by fluorescent lights accented in green and behind glass to keep them from being plain. It did help to give the place some atmosphere, but he felt like it wasn’t enough light.

  The bar was laid out with the long stretch of wood just ten feet in front him. To his right was a shuffleboard game with a sign hanging over it that said, “Every day I’m shufflin’”, and a row of digital slot machines behind it. Thankfully, he noted that the sound was off.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bit of movement and turned back to the bar. A stocky man, maybe in his late twenties, slightly unshaven with a hat that reminded Rob of the lead singer of AC/DC, was quickly taking a large bucket off the bar and placing it on the ground. As he did so, Rob saw him quickly sweeping the bar of what he guessed were tickets, putting them into the bucket. Rob pretended not to notice.

  “He is a goddamn socialist who is tearing this country apart! He is takin’ our jobs, and spyin’ on every damn thang we are doin’,” came from the grease-covered man. He didn’t really have a southern drawl, but it was more of the Midwest southern that Rob had realized he had been hearing more and more. It was like an attempt to imitate the southern drawl, but mostly consisted of cutting off the “g” to everything.

  “That may be so, but you can’t be saying shit like you’re going to drive down to Peoria and kill him. It’s against the law.” Bruce was trying to keep his voice level, but Rob could sense he was having a hard time keeping calm.

  “He needs to be put in jail.”

  “That may be-”

  “For what?” Rob said as he stepped deeper into the darkness.

  “For breakin’ our constitutional rights! For spying on us! Shit, what hasn’t this president done? Hell, look at all them damn illegals he’s bringing into the country. Soon, we’re going to have to start speakin’ Mexican just to order McDonalds.” said the dirt-covered man who was sitting closest to the window. Rob noticed the tickets the AC/DC kid had been sweeping off the bar had been in front of the man. Now the man was glaring, his eyes fixed on Rob.

  “And when have you been spied on?” the bartender said, stepping back. Now that Rob’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could see a slight smile at the corner of his lips. This guy liked egging on the man.

  “I don’t have to take this shit from you.”

  “When?”

  “Just last week. Damn sheriff pulled me over. He heard I had drugs in the car. He HEARD! They’ve been listenin’ in on my phone calls. That shit ain’t right!” The man was easing back into his stool, taking a long drag off his beer before slamming it back down on the bar, pushing it to the edge so that the bartender had to get up to fill it.

  Rob eased himself onto the stool just one down from Bruce, who smiled and saluted him with his can of Coca Cola. The other man seemed to growl at him and muttered under his breath, “Fuckin’ pig.”

  Sullivan neared Rob. He could see that the man was tense, scared to the point that he seemed like he would rather be anywhere other than about to approach him. Rob knew it was because he was still partially in uniform, though he would guess that an officer on duty would look a lot cleaner and less sweaty than what Rob had to look like right now. After all, he had been standing at his car and sweating his butt off for most of the day.

  “What can I do for you?” Sullivan asked.

  “I’ll take a Coke,” Rob said.

  “I’m buying,” Bruce chimed in quickly, then turned to Rob. “So what did they say about your car?”

  “Won’t be able to get it towed until the afternoon. Their tow truck is already out and having some trouble getting back into town. Something about a road being closed. The driver is trying to come in from a different one, rather than waiting for the road to open. They’re supposed to give me a call here when they have it at the shop.”

  “Oink, oink.”

  Rob lowered his head. He could feel the eyes of the room on him. His jaw hurt from the back of his teeth grinding, and he had to fight to keep from snapping back at the jerk. His skin was thick. His years on the Chicago PD had toughened it. He couldn’t let it get to him. There was no way a small town pissant was going to draw him out.

  It was easier said than done. He already wasn’t having too good a day, and the idea of taking out some of that frustration on the scrawny little man seemed like a good way to let off some of that steam.

  He looked up at the bartender and noticed that the man was still stiff, watching him. Bruce was watching him, too, and he began to realize that his posture was showing some of the frustration he had been feeling, as they both seemed to be holding their breath and waiting for him to do something.

  The man called out to him, “You got a problem? We haven’t done nothin’ wrong in here, so why don’t you just leave us alone?”

  Rob looked down at the man, returning the glare. He let the words hang in the air for a minute. He was still having to fight back the quick retort that was on the tip of his tongue. He took another deep, relaxing breath. At least it was an attempt at a relaxing breath. It hadn’t done much to relax him.

  “Just here for a drink. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “This ain’t your place.”

  Rob smiled and turned away.

  From somewhere in the back in the bar, there was a “pang”, then a loud slamming sound, like a door being thrown closed. Rob looked to the other end of the bar and saw that just past where the counter stopped, there was a lighter area that must lead to a back room. An old man was walking up from back there. Rob couldn’t make out too many details, the light behind him making him not much more than a shadow in the darkness of the bar, but Rob could see that he moved with a limp. The man made his way to the end of the bar and sat in the farthest stool. Rob noticed the cigarettes on the in front of him, then noticed there were ashtrays all along the bar, which implied that people were smoking illegally in there.

  Rob turned to look back at the redneck and, sure enough, he had a pack of cigarettes open in front of him and the ashtray was nearly full of butts and ash. It suddenly explained another reason why the guy didn’t want Rob in there. Then again, he really should get out of his uniform. Under his thick shirt, he had a plain white undershirt, which was probably soaked, but he thought about stripping down to it. He didn’t like the idea of strutting around in just his sweaty undershirt, but was sure he would get less glares than by being in his uniform. If it got worse or if they had to be there for too long, he would
think about it.

  Sullivan quickly returned with the soda and a glass of ice. He poured part of the can over the ice and it fizzed up high. Rob watched it, then looked up at Sullivan.

  “Thanks.”

  Sullivan just nodded.

  Behind Sullivan, the TV sitting on top of the stand-up freezer started to hiss with static. It was followed by the same from the TV at the end of the bar and the big screen mounted in the opposite corner. Rob hadn’t been paying attention to it, until all of the televisions had gone out at once.

  “Turn them damn things off!” yelled the old man from the end of the bar. Rob didn’t know who the man was, but could tell that he was one of those grumpy old men many people probably didn’t like to deal with. Rob imagined him making phone calls about neighbors, complaining about music and parties when the neighbors just had a few friends over.

  Rob grimaced and turned to watch the man behind the bar struggling with a large remote. It was one of five he had pulled out from underneath the bar, and Rob could see that the man obviously didn’t know which one went to what. Finally, he was able to figure out one of the remotes and the big screen turned off. It had been the loudest of the televisions, and removing the booming sound of the static was a relief.

  Sullivan set aside that remote, then started working on the other two televisions. They were identical, so the owner probably bought them at the same time. The same remote should operate both of them, or so Rob thought. However, instead of turning it off, he started to flick through the channels. Each of them was static.

  “Just turn the damn things off. What kind of idiot do you have to be not to just turn them off?!” yelled the old man from the end of the bar.

  “Must have forgotten to pay your cable bill,” said the grease-covered man a couple seats down from Bruce. He had a nasty tone to his voice, almost as spiteful as the old man.

  “Service is probably just out,” Bruce said just before he took a gulp from his soda. Unlike Rob, Bruce was drinking it straight out of the can.

  “I don’t know. Don’t even work here. I’m just helping out,” Sullivan said, looking at the TV’s, then grabbing the tangle of remotes and tossing them back under the counter.

  Rob looked around the bar and tried to find a clock. He wasn’t sure what time it was. The shop had told him they might know something this afternoon, but he wasn’t even sure how long from now that was. What time had he left this morning? It had been a little past six, right? No, it had been past eight because the sun was already up and he was running late. He had wanted to leave earlier, but had slept in.

  Robyn, his wife, wouldn’t be expecting him home until early tomorrow morning because he had a shift tonight. He was supposed to go straight from the courthouse back to Standard, grabbing the squad car so he could go on patrol. Chief Renner was going to stay on duty until Rob got there. Of course, that meant the chief was just going to have the squad car sitting in his driveway, handling everything from his house.

  Even though Robyn wasn’t expecting him and she had no idea the day he was having, he figured he should still probably call her and give her an update. Besides, it would be nice to hear her voice, and he had to tell her that his cell phone was still at home so she wouldn’t be able to call him. He wanted to ask if she could do some laundry. He hated asking her and knew that he was sure to get a rebuke. She would be upset, but he hoped she would understand. He would have to explain to her how he was covered in yuck from this morning and wanted to change out of his sweat-drenched uniform when he got home.

  “Hey, can I use your phone for a minute?” Rob asked. Sullivan was filling a glass with a bright golden-colored beer. Rob glanced around quickly and, not seeing any empty glasses, figured the beer must have been for the bartender. When Sullivan took a huge swig out of it, he knew he was right.

  “Local or long distance.”

  “Standard?”

  “I’m not sure if that’s long distance or not. Guess you can try it and see. There is a block on the phone for long distance. You’d have to use the pay phone at the end of the bar for that.”

  Rob hadn’t noticed it before, but there was an old rotary-style phone at the end of the bar with a large slot on the top for quarters. He looked back when Sullivan hand him the cordless handset and he nodded his thanks as he grabbed it. He hoped that calling his wife would still be a local call, as the redneck who was enjoying making rude sounds his way was sitting one stool down from the pay phone. Rob didn’t want to get any closer to him than he had to.

  If it meant him either getting his way or avoiding the situation all together, Rob could be very diplomatic.

  “Hey, after you’re done, I need to give my wife a call.”

  Rob nodded to Bruce as he pressed the TALK button and the phone lit up, but as Rob started to press buttons, he noticed it wasn’t making any sound. He held it to his ear and listened. He pulled it away and pressed the OFF button, then pressed the TALK button again. He held it up to his ear. Still nothing.

  “Phone’s dead,” Rob said as he looked at Bruce. The man just looked back at him, a confused expression pinching his brows. The man went from being confused to red-faced as he reached over and held his palm up. Handing the phone over, he watched as Bruce repeated the motions Rob just went through. Then he watched as Bruce did it again and again.

  “When’s the last time this thing was charged?” Bruce bellowed, looking up at the kid behind the bar. Rob wondered if Bruce realized just how loud his voice had suddenly become. The quiet man Rob had met earlier had faded away to this new man who didn’t react well to things that weren’t happening how he wanted.

  Rob looked at the televisions, both of them now just blank screens reflecting the sunlight coming in from outside. So the televisions had no reception. Looking at the receiver, it looked like they were both hooked up to a satellite, so that meant there was no satellite signal. Okay, he could see them having issues with that. DISH was known for having issues, especially in this area. A good strong wind could throw it off, then it would need to be recalibrated. It was a pain in the ass, but was known to happen.

  But it wasn’t windy outside. Hell, he would have loved a nice little breeze blowing when he had been stuck sitting out there by his car. There was barely even anything to rustle the leaves. There was no way in hell that anything was blowing strong enough to throw off the signal.

  And the phones were out. Those would be coming through on the old traditional telephone wires. A system that hadn’t been upgraded since…well, he didn’t know when. Sure, internet companies were always boasting about putting in that fiber optic cable shit, but none of that had reached there yet. Had it? They were still telephone lines, so that had to be it. The old telephone cables.

  What was he getting at? He wasn’t too sure. It just seemed so strange…

  “Hey, bud, what’s got you thinking?” Bruce said. Rob looked over at him, seeing that the man was staring at him.

  “Get the phone working?”

  Bruce shook his head, then they both looked when they heard a loud “clang” come from further down the bar. The redneck had slammed the receiver down on the pay phone, as well.

  “You need to tell your fuckin’ boss to pay your fuckin’ phone bill,” the man said, looking disgusted as he went back to his beer. “They turn the fuckin’ power off and I’m out of this shithole.”

  “So what’s up?” Rob tuned his attention back to Bruce, who had turned back around and was refocused on him.

  “Shit if I know. Just seems kinda funny both the television and phones are out.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Hey, can I see your cell phone?” Rob looked over at the bartender. The man quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone and handed it to Rob, who just looked at it. He had no idea how to use the damned thing. Why couldn’t things stay simple? He had his nice little flip phone. You opened it up and dialed a number. Where the hell was the keypad on this thing?

  “Yeah, um…I g
ot no idea how to use this. How do I make a call?”

  The bartender reached out to take his phone back. The kid took a quick look at it and shook his head. “Nope, no bars. Won’t be able to.”

  “Huh,” Bruce grunted, then looked over at Rob.

  “Yeah, huh. Something’s not right.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Do about what? It’s just odd. No cell, satellite, and TV, but what could it be? Hell, far as I know, it’s a nasty sunspot causing issues. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Yeah. Sunspot.”

  “Hey, hear anything in news about sunspots?” Rob asked, looking at the redneck, then the bartender. Travis just turned away, but Sullivan was shaking his head.

  “Well, don’t know what else it could be,” Rob said.

  “Yeah. When do they get your car towed in?”

  “Soon.”

  “No offense, but I might not stick around to make sure you’re okay. I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Bruce said as he reached for his soda.

  Rob silently agreed with the man.

  CHAPTER 6

  Luke lifted his hand to the dashboard vents of the car and felt the muted cool air as it rushed in. The forced air was trying to fight against the heat of the midday sun, but it failed. It wasn’t nearly cool enough, and he was silently cursing at how ineffective it was.

  The day wasn’t getting any cooler, and it wasn’t even the hottest part of the day. He was sitting in an idling car so, of course, the air conditioning wasn’t going to be blowing very cold air on him. They were designed to cool on the move, to keep the car nice and comfortable while a person was driving. When it wasn’t in motion, the designers didn’t care if the car kept cool or not.

  He was in a damned European car. It doesn’t get hot over there, so why would they design something to keep cool when the temperature outside exceeded tolerant levels and the day was scorching hot? Those damn Germans. It was just another way to torture us for kicking their ass in the past.