Come Join The Murder

by Holly Rae Garcia

  As she drove closer, she noticed a white van pulling out of the jetty parking lot. It was old, like Jon had said. Rust patches marred the dull white surface, and the back doors hung crooked on their hinges. Rebecca’s heart seized up, forgetting how to beat. She turned off the radio, spinning the dial so hard it wouldn’t have surprised her if it had broken off in her hand. At the next intersection, she turned left to follow him. Unable to see the driver, she kept a few cars between them so he wouldn’t notice her. When he turned onto the bridge and headed north, she was still behind him, unable to believe her luck in finding him so fast. She just needed to figure out what to do once she did catch up with him.

  Rebecca glanced in the rear-view mirror at the booster seat behind her. “We got him, Ollie. We got him.” Oliver laughed that sweet belly laugh of his and smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. When she looked back towards the road in front of her, she couldn’t see the van.

  “Okay Rebecca, it’s okay. He’s probably on the other side of the bridge, you’ll see him when you hit the top.” She muttered to herself. A quick peek at the rear-view mirror showed an empty booster seat.

  The van was nowhere in sight when she hit the peak of the bridge. As she descended, she looked around, hoping to see him parked at the bait shop, or at the edge of the water. Nothing.

  “Shit!” She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, hard enough to press the horn in. A woman driving a small yellow car in the lane next to her cast her a questioning look. “Sorry, not you.”

  In the sea of tail-lights in front of her, she thought she could see the rear of the van again. But, by the time she was able to get close enough, she could tell it wasn’t the same van. Emblazoned across the side in a swoosh of red and blue paint were the words: ‘Paulie’s Electric’. No rust.

  Undefeated, Rebecca continued driving. Every intersection was a possibility, and every red light a nuisance. She retraced her route to the beach, the jetties, the bridge. The view was magnificent from the top at that time of day, the setting sun threw oranges and reds across the sky, reflecting in the water below. But Rebecca just glanced at it, her eyes still frantically searching. A few hours later she finally caught a break.

  Just off the highway, parked to the side of the Lucky S just ahead of her and on the right, was an old white van. Rebecca pulled up to the left of the van and put her car in park. It wasn’t ‘Paulie’s Electric’ or anyone else’s ‘Plumbing’ or ‘Air Conditioning’ van. It was plain white, rusty in spots. It was him, she could feel it in her soul. Her keys clattered in her trembling hand as she realized the driver was still in the van and about to open the door. He would have to walk right by her car to go in the store. She sank down into her seat and held her breath, hoping to hide behind the tinted windows of her car.

  The man got out and shut his door with a muffled thud. He shuffled past her car, a few feet from where she was sitting. He looked tired, but she could understand that. She knew what it was like to live with the crushing guilt of killing someone innocent. Not that she could call what she was doing ‘living’. It didn’t matter, none of that mattered. She just needed to make it right, then she could figure out how to live with herself.

  He limped as he walked toward the doors to the gas station. His dark skin was weather worn, and his clothes hung off his thin frame as if he had lost forty pounds since he bought them. He carried a red plastic gas can in one hand, and a handful of keys in the other. As he walked away she noticed a bulge at the back of his shirt near his waist. That was it. That was the gun he used on Jon. She was sure of it.

  18

  FRIDAY, JUNE 8TH

  “Hey, are you still in town? Looks like the AAA guy is here already, we’ll just ride with him. You can meet us at the mechanic shop, it’s closer to home anyway.”

  “I’m not, but I can turn around. They got there fast.”

  “Yeah, I thought so too. But he’s not in a tow truck. This is probably the car service so we don’t have to ride with the tow guy. Either way, they really need to invest in nicer vehicles. This van looks like it’s about to fall apart. I’ll call you back when we’re on the road again. Love you.”

  Jon hung up the phone as the rusty white van pulled up behind his car and stopped a few feet away. He leaned into the open window of the Chevy and held out his phone to Oliver.

  “Here buddy, play your games for a bit. Daddy’s gonna talk to this guy for a minute.”

  Oliver eagerly grabbed it, grinning from ear to ear.

  Jon smiled an identical, ear-to-ear, grin. A son and father had never looked more alike than Ollie and Jon. Same curly blond hair, always shaggy and full of cow-licks. Same bright blue eyes, always twinkling at a joke no one else had heard. They even had identical dimples when they smiled, only on the left side.

  As Jon straightened and turned to face the AAA van, he noticed the driver was already walking towards him. He was a middle-aged man, not unlike Jon himself. He wore an over-sized fishing shirt and a hat with a couple of hooks dangling from the brim. It was hard to tell how old he was; the sun could age you faster than time ever would. The man’s dark brown skin was rough and dry, thick from too much time outside. Slightly shorter than Jon, he probably would have been taller if he had better posture. The man swayed as he walked, slightly hunched over, doing the best he could with the leg he was given. Jon couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong with it, but the man could barely put any weight on his right leg before swinging the other one around in an almost comedic rhythm.

  “Hey there! I’m Jon Crow,” Jon jogged forward a few steps and met the man halfway.

  The man held Jon’s outstretched hand like a dead fish, shook it up and down a few times and, to Jon’s relief, finally let go. “Hi. Arthur Washington. You havin’ trouble?”

  “Yeah, just a flat tire though. You’re with AAA?”

  “What? No, I was headin’ home when I saw you guys pulled over here and thought you might need some help. Were ya’ll just at the beach? I thought I remembered seein’ your car and your little boy.” The man peered around Jon, searching for Oliver.

  Jon tilted his head to the side, “Oh well, you didn’t have to trouble yourself. We have help coming, they should be here any minute now.”

  Arthur’s face fell as he mumbled, “Oh, okay.” He took a few steps towards his van and looked down the highway before he stopped. “Hey. You got a light? I can’t find my damn lighter and I’ve been wantin’ a cigarette all day.” He pulled a pack from the front pocket of his shirt and opened it. His leathery hands fumbled with the thin cigarettes, and one of them fell to the ground at his feet.

  “I’ll get that for you,” Jon said as he reached down to pick up the dusty cigarette. He felt sorry for the man. It was obvious that Arthur had money problems. His van had rust holes as big as a fist, and his clothes looked like they had been bought for someone else, someone a lot larger. He probably picked them up at Goodwill. With Jon’s face close to the ground, he got a good look at the man’s feet. A big toe was poking out of a hole in one of his mottled blue house shoes that had long ago lost their fuzz.

  Jon’s fingertips had just wrapped around the cigarette when a blinding pain exploded at the back of his head. As he fell to the ground, the cigarette rolled out of his hand and back onto the dust. Jon’s mouth gaped like a fish thrown onto the banks, and for a minute he thought he was going to suffocate there with his face in the dirt. He pushed up from the ground with a gasp, and his hand went to the back of his head. When he pulled it back, wet sticky blood coated his fingertips. Nausea overcame him and he fell to his hands and knees, throwing up the lunch he had just eaten.

  Another explosion erupted at the base of his skull, harder and more intentional than the last.

  His arms crumpled beneath his body and he fell into his own vomit, puffing up small clouds of dust and wet, half-digested bits of food. He didn’t touch his wound again, and he didn’t see his fingertips coated with more blood. His eyes forever focused on the left rear tire of his car,
and he lay still while a small puddle of urine pooled around him.

  Arthur dropped the blood-stained rock to the ground with a thud and shuffled to the side of the Chevy.

  “Hey little guy, your dad wanted me to get you out of the car. What’s your name?”

  Oliver looked around the man but couldn’t see his dad. He cocked his head to the left, taking in the stranger. “Oliver,” he whispered.

  “Oliver! What a great name, Oliver. Come on now, son, and let’s get you out of this seat.” He started unbuckling the straps that held Ollie into his car seat. When he was free, the man reached under his arms and lifted him out. He wrapped his hands around Oliver, pressing his small frail frame against his own chest. The man’s eyes closed and his breath quickened. He couldn’t believe his luck. But he was pressing a little too hard, and Oliver started to squirm away. He tried to hold onto him, but he wasn’t as quick as he used to be. Oliver slipped to the ground and skittered away from the man with a suspicious look.

  “Come on now boy, let’s get you into the van and everything will be all right.” He took a step forward, swinging his good leg around to gain momentum.

  Oliver kept his eyes on the stranger and walked backwards around the rear of the car, his small hand grasping at the blue Chevy as he went. His foot caught on something and he fell, scraping his hands in the dirt. His lips quivered as he stared for a minute at his stinging palms. When he looked around to see what he had tripped over, he began to scream.

  “Daddy? Daddy!?” He moved up to his dad’s side and grabbed his arm, shaking him as hard as he could. “Daddy!”

  The man reached down to grab him by the arm, but Oliver jerked away and ran as fast as he could. Away from his father and the only safe thing he knew, away from the car and his games and songs, and away from the strange man. He came to a halt at the edge of the bank, a few inches from falling in. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the man inching towards him with his hands held out.

  “Hey little man, I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay. We’ll get your dad to the hospital, they’ll make him all better. I already called the ambulance, but first you gotta come with me.”

  Oliver hesitated, confusion sweeping over him. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked around the man to see his dad laying there on the ground, so still and quiet. Maybe he was sleeping. Sometimes it was hard to wake his dad up, but there was blood on his head, his hands, and the ground, and that didn’t look right to Oliver. He knew what blood was, he had cut his arm last month when he fell off the swing at Riley Park. His dad had cleaned him up at the water fountain and gotten a bandage from his car. Oliver knew where his dad kept the bandages, in a first aid kit in the trunk, but he didn’t know how to open the trunk. Besides, the strange man was still looking at him funny and getting closer.

  The tips of the man’s outstretched hands had barely brushed Oliver when he jerked away. He stumbled and tottered on the edge of bank, arms flailing to find balance. But it was too late, momentum had already taken over, and had pulled him over the edge and into the water. Yelping, he leaned forward as he fell, but the sounds were cut off with a loud crack as his forehead knocked against the edge of the concrete embankment. His body eased into the water with only a gentle splash echoing back to the man standing above him.

  Frantic, Arthur knelt and waved his arms around in the water, hoping to make contact with Oliver. He leaned over the concrete edge, one hand steadying himself while the other continued its blind search. His fingertips brushed against something silky and he immediately closed his fingers around it and jerked up as hard as he could. A fistful of sandy blond hair broke the surface, water glistening off the light locks, followed by Oliver’s small head. A deep gash across his forehead dripped blood onto his face and into his eyes, but Oliver didn’t seem to notice. He was so very still.

  Arthur lifted him up out of the water and placed him on the sandy ground. Panic set in as he attempted CPR. He had no idea what he was doing, but knew it involved breathing into Oliver’s mouth and pounding on his thin chest. Worried he would break his thin ribs, Arthur stopped and rocked back on his heels, watching for any signs of life. Nothing. He leaned forward again, holding his hands together in a double fist and placed them on Oliver’s chest. With hesitation, he pushed down a couple of times, then harder as he realized the little boy was still not breathing.

  “Nooooo!” He had come so far and was so close.

  The man fell back down next to Oliver’s lifeless body and caressed his peaceful face. He was so beautiful, it was such a shame. An eighteen-wheeler rumbled overhead, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at his watch and pulled himself up to his feet.

  Arthur leaned down and put one arm under Oliver’s neck and the other underneath his knobby knees. With a groan, he stood back up, cradling Oliver’s small body against his chest. He lowered his face to the wet blond curls and exhaled, disappointed. He hadn’t seen one as sweet as that in a long time.

  The man reached the open back door of the car and placed Oliver into his booster seat. There was a blue stuffed elephant next to him, and Arthur picked it up and placed it on Oliver’s lap. The air inside the car was still blowing cool, and the radio played faintly. The keys were still in the ignition. He closed the door and looked around, finally spotting the blood stained rock he had dropped earlier. He shuffled toward Jon’s body, old joints screaming at him as he bent down to retrieve the rock.

  Back at the car, he sat down in the driver’s seat and placed it into drive. He eased out, left the heavy rock resting on the gas pedal, and closed the door behind him. The tires quietly crunched on the loose gravel and dirt as the car inched towards the water’s edge. He was halfway to his van when the underside of the car scraped against the concrete embankment as it dropped into the water. It bobbed for a minute before sinking to the bottom.

  He stopped at Jon’s body, hunched over awkwardly in the dirt. His wallet came out of his back pocket easy enough, Arthur wasn’t leaving completely empty handed. He wasn’t strong enough to lift him so he sat down on the ground beside him and pulled up his knees. As he straightened his legs, he pushed Jon’s body towards the water with his feet. Roll after roll, inch by inch, he finally had him at the edge of the bank. Arthur looked down into the murky water but could only see bubbles where the car had gone in just minutes before. With one more kick, Jon tumbled into the water, following Oliver and his blue Chevy.

  Arthur wiped his hands on his jeans and shuffled back to his van. He pulled back onto the highway, nervously glancing around, but no one was looking his way. He stepped on the gas and sped off into the night.

  19

  The bell over the door of the Lucky S jingled as the man made his way into the store. Rebecca peeked over the edge of her window and looked around the parking lot. Besides her and the van, there was only one other vehicle. A tall thin boy, no more than 18, was pumping gas into his truck. Laughter floated from the passenger seat as he leaned in to talk to someone Rebecca couldn’t see. The truck’s tank reached capacity with a short click, and the boy nestled the handle back into the holder. He returned to the driver’s seat with a youthful hop, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Rebecca could see the man through the window as he said something to the cashier and pointed to the clear acrylic lottery ticket display sitting on the counter. Piled high with a variety of scratch-off games, ranging from $1 to $20, it blocked most of her view of the cashier. The man was still digging around in his wallet, so she slipped out of her car and closed the door behind her with a soft thud. Crouched low, she waddled to the front of her car to peek around the hood. He was still at the counter, putting change back into his wallet. She shuffled towards the far side of his van, hunched over and holding her breath. Rebecca tried the handle on the sliding door. Of course he hadn’t locked it, he probably knew no one would want to steal anything from that piece of junk.

  The faint tinkling of the door-bell reached her again when he left the store and walked toward the pumps with the r
ed gas can dangling from his fingertips. She crept into his van and closed the door behind her, hoping there was enough distance between her and the pumps for him to not hear the click of the door as it latched. Crouched behind the driver’s seat, sweat dripped into her eyes but she was too afraid to wipe them. Beneath her knees, she could see only the sandy floorboard littered with crumpled receipts, take-out containers, straw wrappers, unopened mail, a few tools shiny with oil and half wrapped in old rags, and a bright green lighter with a crooked sticker that said ‘Buy your own fucking lighter’. Jon’s gun, stashed against her back in the waistband of her jeans, dug into her skin as she waited for the man to return. She moved to pull it out when her eyes locked onto the discarded green lighter. An idea began to form, and she eased the gun out of its hiding spot.

  Small rocks and dirt scattered beneath his feet as the man shuffled closer to the van. He opened the door and eased into the driver’s seat, pushing the fabric back and into her. Rebecca held her breath. The man placed the gas can on the floor to her right, never noticing that she was only inches away. If he had stretched his hand out, his fingers would have touched her knee. But he didn’t. He pulled his arm back to the front, and his keys rattled in his other hand, ready to start the van.

  She pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of his neck and whispered, “Don’t move.”

  The man gasped and tried to turn around to see what was happening. The keys slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor.

  “I said don’t move!” Rebecca’s voice shook with false confidence.

  He faced forward and stared at the palm trees that lined the far edge of the parking lot. His voice quivered as he said, “Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.”