Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

“So, you really are convinced Vince is a Russian spy?”

  Jason nodded. “Everything I’ve seen and heard points to him.”

  “It’s odd. Vince didn’t seem capable of such . . . scheming. He always reminded me of some dumb jock from high school. All brawn and no brains, the kind women die for.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Jason said.

  “Hey, tiger, we had a chance. I threw myself at you and you weren’t interested. You were too busy to pay any attention to me. It’s not my fault he hit on me.”

  “I know, I know.” His eyes skipped over the other patrons in the restaurant and wondered if their lives were as complicated as his. Jason’s feelings for Kathy were strong, but he didn’t think now was the time to bring up the subject. “He may try and contact you while he’s here.”

  “I hope not,” she said. “If he’s what you say he is, I imagine he’s going to be busy.”

  Jason’s head tilted. Her words sounded more like a critique than casual talk.

  “Why don’t you just call your father and tell him what’s going on?”

  “I wish it were that easy. I tried. I never actually met him until a few months ago. He changed his phone number at some point since I’ve been at pilot training. Trust me, if I had a number, I’d call.”

  “What about calling the police?”

  “I tried that,” he said. “And the FBI. They said the Senator doesn’t have a son. They think I’m another kook who’s making threats to kill the Senator. One of over sixty. I even tried to approach the Secret Service. Hell, they almost arrested me.”

  “Jason, I’m so sor—”

  “Would the señor and señorita care for another drink?” the waiter said.

  “No thanks,” Jason said. “Check, please.”

  Kathy stared at him, a slight smile on her face. The waiter turned his back and started to walk away. Jason leaned forward in his seat and gazed into Kathy’s blue eyes. He wanted to open his heart to tell her how he felt when the waiter came back at the table.

  “I’ll be your cashier for you,” he said, as he set the check face down on the table.

  Jason lowered his head briefly. “Thanks.”

  He glimpsed back at Kathy, and she giggled. The moment gone. Jason thought perhaps he still had a chance with Kathy. He gazed at her longingly when something caught his attention.

  He sensed someone watched him. Or was it nerves?

  Jason glanced around the restaurant and checked the faces in the crowd. Nothing unusual, he thought. As if on cue, one of the guitar players finished a serenade at a nearby table and walked on to another table.

  Across the courtyard of the Market Square, a fat man sat on a bench, reading a newspaper. Only he wasn’t reading it, he was looking at it. And at Jason. Back and forth, as if to make something register.

  “Jason, what’s wrong?” Kathy asked, aware of his quick change of disposition.

  “Don’t turn around,” he said. “A guy is sitting over there, looking at a newspaper.”

  “So? There’s no crime in that.”

  “I’m sure he’s watching me. He looks at the paper, then back at me.”

  “Do you think your picture is in the paper?”

  “I’m sure it is. Listen, you need to leave. Walk to the ladies’ room. When you get there, go ahead and leave any way you can. Lose yourself in the crowd. As long as I sit here, they won’t think anything.”

  “They?”

  “I’m assuming there might be more. Hurry, we’ve got to get moving. I’ll leave five minutes after you. I’ll call you in an hour or two.”

  Kathy stood slowly. “You be careful, Jason. Call me as soon as you get to where you’re going.” She gathered her purse and disappeared around the corner inside the restaurant.

  Jason pulled a twenty out of his wallet and set it under the candle in the center of the table. He sat there, as if he waited for Kathy to return. He scanned the patio and kept the fat man in his crosscheck. Kathy had been gone maybe two minutes when the fat man’s wife showed up in the courtyard with a police officer. The fat man first pointed at the newspaper, then in his direction.

  Damn.

  They were on to him.

  As he looked around, it was obvious his options were limited. He rose from the table and walked into the restaurant. He searched for Kathy but didn’t see her anywhere. Hopefully she made it out of the restaurant. Through a window, he monitored the fat man and the police officer, who talked into his radio.

  49

  September 12, 1995

  * * *

  STANDING AT THE BAR, Jason fumbled with a box of matches as he searched for a way out. The bathroom. Maybe there’s a window. Jason pushed away from the bar and slid the matches into his pocket. Outside, two more policemen approached the overweight gentleman and his wife. Three cops are enough for them to make a move.

  He walked into the bathroom. The small facility had two stalls, two urinals, and no window. Damn. He walked out of the bathroom and scanned the restaurant again. By the front door, sixty feet away, the police officers searched for him.

  Jason dashed back into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He dragged the trashcan across the ceramic tile floor and removed the lid. Half-full of paper towels, perfect. On the ceiling, he noticed a smoke detector. Jason pulled the matches out of his pocket and quickly lit the paper in the trashcan. He stayed long enough to ensure the fire would not go out, then unlocked the door and hurried back to the bar. When he sat on his stool, a young Hispanic boy rose from the table where his family ate and walked toward the bathroom.

  Smoke bellowed from under the door and Jason wondered why the alarm didn’t go off. He glimpsed back toward the courtyard. The two policemen now stood inside the door of the restaurant talking to a man who appeared to be the manager. The police officers’ eyes continued to scan the restaurant.

  The young boy approached the bathroom as the smoke seeped from under the door. He slowed his approach and reached out for the handle. The smoke billowed around his ankles and he pushed open the door.

  The fire in the trashcan was fully ablaze. The bright light cut through the smoke and brief blast of heat hit the child. He screamed, let go of the door, and ran back to his table.

  People in the restaurant turned in the boy’s direction as the boy stopped dead in his tracks, five feet from Jason.

  “Fuego! Fuego! There is a fire in the bathroom!”

  Everyone looked at the boy except Jason, who focused on the policemen. They looked at the small boy also. Then they saw him.

  The two police officers moved toward him, their hands on their weapons. Suddenly, a woman shrieked.

  Jason turned as the woman walked out of the ladies restroom next to the men’s bathroom. She stopped and stared at the ground, as smoke drifted upward.

  “Fire! Fire!” she screamed. At that moment, the fire alarm in the building sounded. The loud shrill of the alarm pierced the atmosphere. Two seconds later, the water sprinklers overhead came on and pandemonium ensued.

  Everyone in the restaurant bolted from their seats for the front door. Parents gathered children, husbands grabbed their wives, and all headed for the one exit in the front of the restaurant. The panicked crowd pushed back the police officers. They lost sight of him again.

  Jason used the opportunity to slip out to the patio. The traffic jam at the front door caused some of the patrons to head for the patio, too. He scanned the courtyard outside the restaurant. The policemen all went to the front door. None were in sight. Neither was the fat man and his wife. Jason hopped over the small fence that surrounded the patio and went straight to the alley next to the restaurant, leaving the mass of confusion behind him as he disappeared into the darkness.

  ALONZO JACOBS SAT IN HIS LIVING ROOM wearing boxer shorts and T-shirt. It was good to be home back in San Antonio. He didn’t like going TDY as much as he did when he was younger. The more he went on the road, the more he wanted to stay home. He shifted in the recliner and folded the newspap
er for a better grip. His wife had run to the store and would be back soon to make dinner. That was fine, he enjoyed the peace and tranquility of his living room. The taste and warmth of his coffee relaxed him, and he began to read the article for the third time.

  The paper verified the scuttlebutt at work earlier in the afternoon: Jason Conrad was wanted for shooting two men, one of whom died. He was now charged with murder. A picture of Jason, in his dress blues, accompanied the story.

  Alonzo wondered what went wrong. The boy didn’t seem unstable. He’d been proven innocent of stealing the tests. Curt Davis was able to determine Lenny Banks had breached the LAN at Randolph AFB. Alonzo didn’t think he’d been too hard on the boy. Perhaps he had other problems that were never mentioned.

  His wife returned and fixed dinner. The evening was relaxing and uneventful. The news came on at ten o’clock. Alonzo turned up the volume. He glanced at his wife, curled up on the couch, asleep. The raised volume didn’t faze her.

  Eventually, the report about Jason and the shootings aired. This story had more detail. It showed the locations of the shootings and released the names of the two men. The media somehow acquired footage from Jason’s UPT class and had pictures of him in his flight suit. They mentioned someone with his description might have been seen near Dallas, but the authorities hadn’t confirmed that information yet. The newscast ended with photo of Jason flashed upon the screen with a one-eight-hundred number for people to call with any information they might have.

  Alonzo copied the telephone number out of habit. Jason Conrad appears to be moving south. His father will be in San Antonio for the NAFTA convention. Could he . . . no. If he was wanted by the police, there was no way he’d walk into the biggest collection of law enforcement officers in Texas.

  50

  September 13, 1995

  * * *

  JASON CALLED KATHY SEVERAL TIMES and left messages. He waited for her call throughout the night and eventually fell asleep around four or five o’clock in the morning. Perhaps the sunlight that split the curtains woke him up, or maybe his subconscious worked overtime. Regardless, he woke thinking about Kathy, the woman he loved. Yes, loved. He couldn’t fool himself any longer.

  He still wore the wrinkled, dirty clothes he wore the previous night. His skin felt sticky. He needed a shower and the pressure in his lower abdomen told him he had to use the bathroom.

  A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand, and he rolled his eyes. Nine-fifteen. Less than five hours of sleep. Another five would have been helpful. Jason swung his feet off the bed and on to the floor. Methodically, he made his march to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he finished, he checked the mirror. The face looking back at him looked different. Almost like a stranger. He stretched his sore muscles as he stripped out of his clothes and stepped in the shower.

  The warm water peeled away the layers of perspiration and filth. As he started to lather up, the fresh fragrance of the soap pierced his nostrils, and he began his slow return to consciousness. The shower was a quick one, but it gave him time to formulate his strategy for the day.

  The bathroom was foggy when he turned off the water, toweled off, and moved to the sink. Steam fogged the mirror and he wiped it clear with his hand towel. He stared through the condensation at the three-day growth of hair on his face. He’d let it stay. It might help disguise him.

  What about Kathy? She never did call back. For all he knew, she could be shacked up with Vince after a glorious night of sex. He quickly tossed that image out of his mind. Those thoughts weren’t healthy, and it wasn’t true. Vince was a killer, and she was in danger.

  Jason dressed, then sat on the bed, the phone in his lap. He dialed Kathy’s number and waited with anticipation for someone to answer. His heart raced with each ring and hoped Kathy would pick up.

  After eight rings, he set the receiver back on the phone cradle and prayed she made it home safely last night. Jason’s mind wandered, images darted back and forth, of what might have happened to her. His focus returned to Vince; where was he?

  He grabbed the phone book and flipped through the pages until he reached the hotel section. His eyes landed on the Davy Crockett Hotel. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

  “Davy Crockett Hotel, may I help you.”

  “Yes, Vince Andrews’ room please?”

  “Just one moment.”

  Music played over the phone while he was on hold. He was unsure of what to do or say if Vince answered. The phone continued to ring.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the desk clerk cut in, “there doesn’t seem to be anyone here by that name.”

  Jason hung up and walked out to his car. He drove downtown and found the Davy Crockett Hotel. He sat there for hours, hoping to see some sign of Vince. He wandered the streets of downtown San Antonio and even meandered through the Alamo while there. Frustrated and unsure of what to do next, he returned to his car and drove back to his hotel room.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head.

  Damn.

  He had no other choice. His hand slid into his pocket and removed a piece of paper with a number scratched on it. Jason punched in the number.

  “OSI, this is Judy. May I help you?” the voice on the other end said.

  “I’m looking for Agent Jacobs. Is he in?”

  “Agent Jacobs is gone for the day. May I take a message?”

  “Gone? He can’t be.” Jason bit his lip. “I’ve got to see him. It’s an emergency.”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  Jason sat there for a second before he hung up the phone. The one person on the side of the law he trusted wasn’t available. Where was he? If not in the office, he could be anywhere. The secretary said he was gone for the day. Jason glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after six. Maybe he was home. It was worth a shot.

  He dialed 411 for information. There was only one Alonzo Jacobs in San Antonio. He had no pencil or pen to write down the number, Jason listened to the number twice, and then called.

  The phone answered on the fourth ring.

  “Yeah,” a groggy voice said.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Alonzo Jacobs.”

  “Speaking.”

  “Sir, it’s Jason Conrad. I need to speak to you.”

  “What?” Alonzo said. “Where are you? What time is it? Hang on.”

  Jason was surprised by his reaction. But why should Alonzo be any different from anyone else? Everyone was looking for him.

  “Where are you, Jason? You’ve got to turn yourself in. My God, son, it’s all over the news. What the hell happened?”

  “Hey, I didn’t shoot those guys. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

  “More impor—are you crazy? Jason, you’ve got—”

  “Listen to me, damn it! I didn’t do that. If you don’t believe me, contact the CIA and ask for Agent Aaron Caldwell. He’ll tell you what happened. All I have time to tell you is I didn’t do it.”

  “Yeah, I’ve spoken to him before. Isn’t he one of the guys they’re saying you shot?”

  “Yes. Look, I need your help. You’re the only other person in San Antonio I know. Hell, you’re one of the few people I can trust for that matter.”

  “You’re in San Antonio?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where? Tell me, and I’ll get there right away.”

  “Not yet. You have to promise me you’ll come alone, and you won’t try to turn me in.”

  “Jason, I can’t do that.”

  “You’ve got to, for Christ’s sake! I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  “What the hell is so damned important that you’d risk running from the law?”

  “There’s going to be an assassination attempt on my dad, Senator Bowman.”

  51

  September 13, 1995

  * * *

  JASON CHECKED HIS WATCH; it had been an hour and fifteen minutes since he called Alonzo. No doubt he talked to his contacts in the CIA and
the police in Enid. Caldwell had mentioned he had spoken to Alonzo. Maybe that was enough.

  What should he do? Once again, Jason relied on his instincts about Alonzo Jacobs. Could he trust him? He thought so.

  He pulled the baseball cap further down on his head. He bought it earlier that morning at a truck stop while getting gas. It was one of those gag gifts and had a fake ponytail that hung from the back of it. The color matched his hair color, so he picked it up to help his disguise.

  He dropped the quarter in the machine and dialed. The phone rang, and Alonzo answered on the second ring.

  “Alonzo?”

  “Yes, Jason it’s me. Where are you?”

  “I’m at a phone booth. I’ll leave as soon as I hang up, so don’t bother tracing the call.”

  “I’m not tracing the call. How are you doing, kid?”

  “Not so hot. Are you familiar with the Naked Iguana restaurant on the Riverwalk?”

  “Yes, I’ve eaten there before.”

  “Meet me there in one hour. Alone please, or I won’t show.”

  “Jason, I give you my word I’ll be alone. You trust me, don’t you?”

  “I called you, didn’t I? Right now, you’re about the only person I can trust. Hey, I gotta go. One hour. See ya.”

  Jason hung up the payphone at the convenience store and jumped in his car. He rounded the corner to see Alonzo leave his house. Jason knew the route to the Riverwalk, so he could follow Alonzo without getting too close. He knew of no other way to be sure Alonzo came alone.

  The OSI agent pulled out of his driveway and zipped up the street. Jason eased out into traffic about fifty yards behind him. He kept that distance between them until they reached the interstate, then he closed in. It didn’t matter if Alonzo saw him. It was more important that Jason knew he came alone. So far, Alonzo was a man of his word, as he turned in to the parking garage.

  The Riverwalk was crowded. The fair weather and cool temperatures brought out the locals and tourists alike. Alonzo strolled from the covered parking area through the multi-level mall and finally outside by the water. Jason followed him not far behind.