"Gavan, that's him."
"It can't be!"
"Why, Gavan, why can't he be the Walking Man?"
"Because Asher Cries-For-War is dead."
"Well, apparently not. You solved the mystery: The Walking Man is Asher Cries-For-War!"
BOLO: Asher Cries-For-War, Murder Suspect Wanted in Henryetta, Oklahoma
HENRYETTA, OKLAHOMA - The Henryetta Police Department has issued a BOLO for a suspect in connection to two murders inside the Wilson Community of Henryetta, Oklahoma.
The HPD believes Asher Cries-For-War is still in Okmulgee County. With 20 years of military service, Cries-For-War is considered extremely dangerous. There is no evidence he is armed, but authorities insist he is still dangerous. Authorities are appealing to citizens to avoid subduing him should they see him. Instead, anyone who sees him is encouraged to get to a safe location and call 911.
CHAPTER16: THE VIKING-GOD THAT FAILED
Chance - Henryetta, Ok
Julie and Theresa sat in their office. They attempted small talk but failed. The homicide and the return of Sam Otto had put all of Henryetta County in a state of fear, and their office was no different.
The Walking Man.
His real name was Asher Cries-For-War, but the Walking Man moniker still stuck. The news used his alias when describing him.
The Walking Man.
His title had been used multiple times. Henryetta’s residents had heard the name over and over in various, but the women in the office were too afraid to repeat it. Not only did they want to avoid the subject of the Walking Man, they wanted to avoid the issues entirely. Julie pretended to work on her computer and would give Theresa an awkward glance. Both women knew that Julie wasn't working and that they did not want to speak. On Mondays, Julie usually asked Theresa how her weekend had been, but Julie knew Julie had spent the weekend in an agonizing fear over her husband's safety, as an Airborne Ranger turned murderer crept around the county. These thoughts had been so heavy on their hearts, that they forgot an important question they should be asking:
Where was Mr. Chance?
In a month, Chance had progressed from being habitually early, to only sporadically being on time. The question was no longer if their employer would be tardy, but how late he would be.
“Where is Mr. Chance?” asked Theresa.
“Wait,” said Julie looking at her desk, "why hadn’t I noticed this before? Yeah, where is he?”
The rough voice of a man answered their question. Theresa and Julie looked at each other.
“I’m scared,” whispered Julie.
Theresa gave a sympathetic smile, and then called out, "Mr. Chance is that you?"
The rough voice called back with an inaudible reply.
Theresa walked towards Chance’s closed office door.
“Mr. Chance,” she called as she knocked. “Are you okay –”
Theresa gave a high-pitched squeal as the door unexpectedly opened.
Chance wedged himself in the doorway, preventing Theresa from seeing inside his office.
“Mr. Chance, is everything alright?”
Her voice trailed off as she asked the question. The stockbroker wore no sports coat over his shirt. He wore a loose blue dress shirt. The shirt was not buttoned, and his undershirt was wrinkled. His weathered khakis were also wrinkled and the women assumed he slept in them. A pair of black flip-flops exposed his feet.
Chance had lost so much weight his belt did not fit him. He had a cut a crude hole for the buckle to run through.
Julie's mouth gaped, and for the first time in her young life, she was offended by someone's unkempt appearance. Both women were disgusted by the financial advisor's professional attire, but the most curious part of his appearance was his eyes. Jon T. Chance still wore the large black sunglasses that he had the day prior.
Theresa wanted to ask if he was okay but felt she couldn't. That question would only embarrass him. Theresa was now the one in charge. It did not look like she was the employee. She was in charge now, clearly, and Chance was being a spoiled toddler seeking to avoid any confrontation. The conversation ended, and Theresa returned to her desk.
"You think he is acting this way because of a failed relationship?" asked Julie.
"Not anymore, I think, I think this erratic behavior is something else."
"What do you think 'something else' is?"
"I think it is the time my husband figures out what 'something else' means. It’s his turn to investigate the strange case of Mr. Chance."
“You mean, professionally?”
“Yes, I think whatever he’s attached to, the Oklahoma Department of Public Safety would like to know.”
CHAPTER 17: AN INVESTIGATION AND A BBQ
Chance - Henryetta, Ok
Theresa and her husband Willem lived at a house where the only entry was an old dirt road. Willem worked for the Highway Patrol, and Theresa had her job managing the office, but they were also both part-time farmers. When they weren't farming, the land was suitable for riding horses, and spending time with their family - barbeque, shooting, fishing, and socializing.
Smoke from Willem's grill rose into the air, as his spatula turned over hot dogs and hamburgers.
"Hey, babe," said Willem as he worked behind the grill, "you mind going and setting the skeet thrower out?"
"You want me to bring out the skeet thrower?" asked Theresa, her voice a mixture of misunderstanding and disbelief, “are you sure?”
"Yeah, I want to shoot with Chance," said Willem, his voice stern, but still loving.
"You want to put a shotgun in his hand when you're trying to figure out if he has a tie to a group nicknamed ‘The Death Squad?'" asked Theresa.
“Trust me, babe. I know what I’m doing,” said Willem, his voice this time more stern.
“I think he’s dangerous,” said Theresa, both eyebrows cocked high with concern.
“I know, that’s why we are talking to him.”
“No, I mean, the guy doesn’t look like he gets any sleep. It looks like a virus is eating him from the inside. I think Chance with a freaking shotgun is bad idea.”
“I’ve heard everything you’ve said, Theresa. You’re awesome with our finances, and I respect that, and I am thankful. I say that to say this: you do your job, now let me do mine. I think him being sleep deprived with a weapon might show me exactly what I need to see,” said Willem.
Theresa smiled, and felt a sudden carnal urge to grab him with both hands, and pull him into her, in response to his display of confidence. They had been together now for decades, their passion may have matured, but it was no less potent. Their love for one another was not the loud, chaotic display of young lovers, but they knew each other's needs. Willem could see his wife's passion, the heat building up in her eyes. If he had been younger, he would have responded emotionally, but he was older and knew which emotions to trigger. He made his face stern, and with a commanding presence, he lifted his hand and pointed to the skeet. Theresa gave her husband one final stare and then broke her gaze to do as her husband requested.
"Now, maybe she won't be so hard on me when she finds out I bought the expensive hamburger buns for the hamburgers," he said, laughing to himself.
At that same time, Julie's car pulled into the driveway. She opened the door and brought a Tupperware dish of watermelon in both hands and a textbook wedged under her right arm.
"You can set your watermelon on the end of the table. Are you doing homework at a cookout?" asked Willem
"College life. I have an economics test on Monday, and I did not have any time to study this week," said Julie.
“Well, your boss is coming, he’s a finance guy, he could help you out,” said Willem.
“I’d rather not, he seems… preoccupied,” said Julie.
“Preoccupied with what?” asked Willem.
“We are here to let you figure that out,” said Julie.
Julie's phone vibrated, she set down her book and pulled it from her pocke
t.
“I don’t recognize this number,” said Julie.
“What did they say?” asked Willem.
“Running late - ETA ten minutes. Who is this? And what is ETA?” asked Julie.
"Estimated time of arrival. You don’t recognize that number?” asked Willem.
“No, but I guess it must be my boss,” said Julie.
“Do you ever see him with a lot of different phones?” asked Willem, “Like inexpensive ones?”
"Inexpensive? No, until recently, everything he had looked nice. But now those suits, that just hang off of his body – those are not cheap," said Julie.
"Well, speak of the devil," said Willem.
A silver Aston Martin DB5 rolled into the driveway, next to Julie's car. The British vehicle threw dust up in the air, encompassing all of Julie's car, and obscuring everyone's sight.
“He looks even worse!” Julie whispered loud enough for Willem to hear.
At that time, Theresa came back from placing the skeet thrower and put her arm around her husband's waist.
"What's up?" Theresa asked.
"He's here," said Julie.
"Oh my," said Theresa, as she covered her mouth with shock.
Coming out of the dust was the Financial Advisor. Chance was unaware of the three pairs of shocked eyes staring at him. His clothes were loose to the point of being comical. His shirt looked like a blanket worn as a shirt. It hid his now slender body. His signature sunglasses covered his face. What appeared to be discoloration from a bruise, could be seen above and below the right portion of his sunglasses; the discolored part of his face ran from his hairline all the way to his jawline. When Willem had first met Chance, he had teased him about the amount of hair gel he wore, to make his hair look perfect. That was not how Chance looked now. Chance had been somewhat prideful about his hair, but he was an outright narcissist when it came to his meticulously trimmed beard. Now, he did not part his hair, and his red beard was in total disarray.
“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” said Julie to herself.
Their eyes had been fixed on Chance they did not notice the thin woman rocking light blonde, almost white hair who was sitting in the passenger side. She wore red lipstick, tight black pants and a unique, psychobilly-type red blouse which looked more like a corset. Her arms had lean muscles; her right arm was milky-white, and tattoos covered her left from the trapezius muscle all the way down to her knuckles.
"Who is this?" asked Julie. Her words came out awkwardly, as she tried to distract herself from the unsightly image of her boss.
Julie came forward and reached out her hand to greet the woman.
"Hello, my name is Sasha Ferrell," said the woman.
"That car looks like it should be in an old spy thriller," said Willem as he reached out and shook Chance's hand.
Chance sighed in pain and withdrew his hand from Willem's grip.
“I’m sorry, that is why I am still wearing my driving gloves. I think I have come down with something.”
“Are you sure you should be here?” asked Willem.
"Yes, I need to be where my people are," said Chance.
"Your people? You mean your workers?" Willem’s eyes lit up at Chance's words.
"Yes, a leader needs to go where his people are," Chance responded with a thin and raspy voice.
"That's interesting; you learned that at business school?" Willem answered back, his eyes lighting up a second time.
“Yeah, something like that," said Chance.
“Well, we have hot dogs, and hamburgers, the works, grab some food!” said Willem.
"I am afraid I do not feel much like eating. Right now, it would be better if we just sat and socialized," said Chance before turning to Sasha. “Is there anything I can do to serve you?" he asked her in a weak voice, almost a whisper.
Willem watched as Sasha told Chance what she wanted to eat. Obediently, Chance nodded his head, before going to prepare a plate for her. Sasha sat down at the table where everyone else was sitting. Chance placed her plate in front of her and sat beside her. He moved in and pressed his chapped lips against hers. Willem felt himself cringe as he watched a sick man touch the food. He did not find the display charming; he found it disturbing.
The five people now sat at the table. Chance's eyes still hid behind his glasses, but there was no ambiguity in Julie's stare. Julie did not disguise the intense stare she threw at Sasha. Chance did not appear to notice, but everyone else did.
"Looks like we found the variable in the equation," said Julie.
"Equation?" asked Chance, "Julie, did you bring your homework with you again? All that studying when you should be having fun."
"Yeah, I took some Economics homework," said Julie.
"Please, don't bore me. I want to socialize, I don't want to be dragged into Economics," said Chance.
“Yes,” said Sasha, rubbing her hand against his back. “Chance has been stressed at work.”
"Doing what? It looks like you're back there doing some weird science experiment," said Julie.
“Is that really how you talk to your boss?” asked Sasha.
"That's nothing compared to what I would say to you," said Julie.
Sasha stared back at Willem and clenched her tattooed covered fist before staring back at Julie. Willem knew that his time was limited, and he needed to speak to Chance. Somehow, he needed to prevent Sasha from leaving, and he also needed to isolate Chance so he could build a rapport with him.
“Hey!” interrupted Willem. "Why don't we go shoot some skeet? You know, some recreational shotgun shooting?"
"I'm sorry, Willem, I don't have the energy," said Chance.
"Are you sure?" asked Willem
"Wait, what is that over there?" asked Chance.
"Oh, this?" asked Willem.
Willem got up and went to grab the object that had been propped up in plain sight of Chance. He held the weapon up.
"Are you talking about this?" he asked.
“A Franchi SPAS-12, Italian made, semi-automatic 12-gauge shotgun," said Chance.
"Yes, I'm surprised you're able to have any hobbies outside of the finance world," said Willem.
"Yeah, a few," said Chance.
"Are you sure you don't want to hit some skeet?" Willem tried his luck again.
“You know, on second thought,” said Chance, running his tongue over his cracked lips, “yeah, let’s go hit a few.”
"You know what," said Willem, "you look better already."
Chance looked at the semi-automatic shotgun, and then back at Willem and smiled. The two men walked over and positioned themselves behind the skeet-thrower, and in a safe position to shoot.
"To tell you the truth, I feel better. Are you ready to start using that thing?" asked Chance as he pointed at the skeet-thrower with his non-firing hand.
"Yeah, just say ‘pull,'" said Willem.
“Pull!” said Chance.
The skeet thrower threw the skeet out into the air. Chance leveled his weapon, as he watched the trajectory.
BOOM
Skeet exploded.
“Pull!” said Chance.
Again, Willem pulled back the device and released the skeet.
BOOM
Skeet exploded.
“Faster this time, I want the rest released as close together as possible,” said Chance.
He loaded and threw skeet, one right after another. Each clay pigeon that went into the air, Chance destroyed.
“Man, that feels good,” said Chance. “This time, I want you to load up more than one clay pigeon. Three at a time.”
“Alright, Chance, give me a second to reload," said Willem.
Willem repeated the process, but this time three clay pigeons flew into the air at a time. Chance hit all the clay pigeons straight through the middle, except for one, which he clipped only slightly.
“Dang, Chance, you’re pretty good. You should have been a marine.”
Chance laughed and smiled a broad smart-aleck gri
n as if he had some sarcastic statement to make. "Yeah," he said tightening the muscles in his face as if his thoughts made him uncomfortable. "Yeah, marines...marines are cool."
“What’s that mean? You don’t support the military?” asked Willem.
“No, I mean. I just thought other...things would be more interesting,” said Chance.
"Okay, fair enough. Where did you learn to shoot like that anyway?" asked Willem.
"Oh you know," said Chance, "just from living in a small town."
“Oh yeah, what town are you from?” asked Willem.
“Me? I’m from -”
“Willem!” shouted Theresa, “Willem!”
Willem cast an intimidating glance at Chance, before turning to his wife.
"Willem, the landline and the cell phone are both dead. There's no signal. I walked past the scanner. You have to get into Henryetta right now!"
"What is the issue?" asked Willem.
"The town of Henryetta is engulfed in flames," said Theresa.
CHAPTER 18: REVELATION
Chance - Henryetta, Ok
The streets Julie used on her way to the office were void of traffic. While small-town traffic was less than that of a larger city, it still felt odd as her vehicle drove alone on the roads. Julie may have been trying to avoid the flames, but it seemed everyone else in town was trying to get out to them. The drive from the barbeque to the main street of Henryetta was uncontested, but every emergency responder in Henryetta rushing to the flames. As she pulled into her parking spot, she noticed a man wearing dark sunglasses, clad entirely in black leather. He was riding a chopper-style motorcycle with saddle bags on either side.
"What, do we have motorcycle gangs her now too?" she asked herself.
The biker, as if he had heard what she had said, charged the bike and drove off. Julie could not see his eyes, but she shivered as she felt him looking at her.
She shivered in disgust as she felt she had been psychologically tormented by the unknown biker.
The Dark Lord of Oklahoma Page 9
