Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  The glass doors swung open, interrupting their banter. Zach’s father marched smoothly toward them, lacking any emotion. “We’re done here.”

  Slim Tim leaned back in his swivel chair with his feet crossed on the metal desk.

  “What happened?” asked Zach.

  “He’s trying to jerk me around on the price.” His father winked. “Don’t worry; he’ll call me in a couple days wanting to deal.”

  Zach sighed, clearly more excited about the vehicle than he’d let on.

  “I need to get back,” said the busy doctor, looking to Trey. “Do you mind?”

  “Sure, I’ll give him a ride.”

  Dr. Reynolds smiled, then turned to his son. “Two days. You’ll see.”

  Zach nodded in resignation. When his father disappeared into the sleek black Mercedes, he spoke. “I wonder how much he scrapped the deal over.”

  Trey backhanded Zach’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go see what the girls are up to.”

  Zach’s shoulders slumped noticeably. “Nah, just take me home.”

  Trey glared at his best friend, but before he could press for details, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  He glanced at the foreign number. Instinct told him it was a telemarketer, but he reacted against judgment.

  “I’m gonna take this.”

  Zach circled the front of the truck as Trey stood at the driver’s door.

  “Hello,” Trey answered.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice called out. “It’s Jeremy. I’m so glad you answered.” A sense of urgency heightened his words. “Livy didn’t answer my calls.”

  Trey threw open the door. “Jeremy, what’s up?”

  Zach hopped in the other side and listened intently.

  Jeremy spoke in a tizzy. “It’s crazy here. These dudes are up everyone’s butts asking all kinds of questions.”

  “What are you talking about? What dudes?”

  “I don’t know; they’re like FBI or something.”

  “Back up. What happened?”

  Jeremy paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Before Dylan skipped town, he went into the security office at the park and wiped out every hard drive in the place. When he didn’t show up for work, they started looking for him. It didn’t take long for them to figure out Captain Deek Jones is actually a comic book character.”

  “Are you serious?” Trey interrupted. "He was posing as a guy from a cartoon?”

  “Yeah, well, nobody’s heard of the whole La Cucaracha series.”

  “Let me guess . . . you did.”

  “That’s not the point. Listen to me. The local cops just treated the whole thing like a big waste of time, but yesterday, these dudes showed up in polished suits and dark sunglasses claiming to be government agents.”

  Trey shifted in his seat.

  “I tell you,” Jeremy said. “These guys combed the place. I don’t know how they traced it back, but they ended up at Dylan’s doorstep. They scared the shit out of his Grandma. She was barely able to talk to me after they left. She kept going on about their faces. She said she could see their faces.”

  Trey’s heart rate exploded. “You said he deleted the files, didn’t you?”

  There was no response on the other end.

  “Jeremy, he deleted the videos, right?”

  “Dylan isn’t strong at computers. I don’t know if he did a destructive delete.”

  “So, you think they can be recovered?”

  “I’m not sure. But if they do, they’ll have more than just the videos. They’ll have everything we dug up on all four of you.”

  Trey started the truck. “I’ve gotta find Livy.”

  He hung up on Jeremy and tromped the gas pedal. As the truck raced from the car lot into traffic, Trey fumbled with the display in search of Livy’s number.

  Zach snatched the phone. “Let me do that before you get us killed.”

  Trey swerved to pass a slow-moving van. “Call Livy! If she doesn’t answer, call Amy.”

  “I’m on it.” As the phone progressed through its call routine, Zach looked to Trey. “What was that all about?”

  Trey glanced from his high-speed route. “They may be onto us.”

  “Who?”

  “Them!” He eyed the phone. “Is she answering?”

  Zach shook his head. “It’s going to voice mail. Should I leave a message?”

  “No!” Trey barked. “Not yet.”

  Trey yanked the wheel and cut onto a lesser traveled side-street, squealing the tires and jerking Zach into his seatbelt. The phone flew from Zach’s fingers and rattled across the dashboard before toppling at Trey’s feet.

  “What the--” cried Zach.

  Trey didn’t apologize. “I don’t have time for Sheriff Smead’s speed trap.”

  The truck bounced over the roughly paved street with Trey groping at the floor for his phone, barely able to see over the wheel.

  “Just drive!” yelled Zach. “I’ve got my phone.”

  Trey straightened, just in time to swerve sharply, barely avoiding a massive rim-crushing pothole. The street narrowed to a single lane. Parked cars flashed past him on both sides, inches from his side mirrors. In the distance, a slow-moving car headed toward them, blocking the path. One of the vehicles would have to yield into the parking lane to allow the other to pass.

  Trey swerved into the last available gap and slammed on the brakes. The wheels skidded to a stop on the loose road grit.

  Trey turned to Zach. “Is she answering?”

  Zach was white as a ghost. “No.”

  Trey impatiently watched the car poke toward him, bouncing his foot on the gas pedal. “Come on already.”

  “We’re no help if you kill us, Trey.”

  “Do you want out? Now’s your chance.”

  “No . . . just . . . slow down a little.”

  Another car turned onto the narrow street ahead. Trey kicked himself, counting the time he could have saved by slowing to pass by the Sheriff’s cruiser.

  “Forget this!” He cut the wheel hard and drove over the sidewalk into the lawn separating him from the back-side of a nearby parking lot. His tires spun in the wet turf, tossing mud and grass until the treads finally grabbed the blacktop with a bark and a jerk.

  He raced through the empty lot toward Main Street, scanning left to right, timing the heavy four-lane traffic.

  “NO!” cried Zach, gripping the dash. “Don’t try it.”

  Trey floored the pedal and bolted out of the lot without slowing. The truck darted across two lanes of oncoming cars and cut into the suicide lane, just shy of skidding out of control. The heavy traffic alongside him slowed in apparent shock, giving him an opening to dive between them. Horns blasted from every direction, but fortunately they weren’t accompanied by the crunch of metal on metal.

  He merged quickly into the outer lane and passed a string of cars on their right. Within seconds, he took a hard right onto route 808, heading out of town toward Amy’s, where he hoped to find the girls safe and alone.

  Raspberry Pie

  TREY’S FEARS WERE realized when Amy’s small house came into sight ahead on the long straightaway. He slowed quickly and eased to the side of the road. A shiny-black SUV sat crossways in the driveway, blocking in Livy’s lime-green Prius.

  Trey thumped the steering wheel. “Dammit!”

  Zach turned to Trey. “You think they’re aliens?”

  Trey nodded. “Or their half-breed spies. We’re screwed either way.”

  Zach wrung his hands. “What do we do?”

  Trey dropped the truck into gear. “We’re gonna storm them, while we have a chance.”

  Zach’s eyes shot forward, doubling in size. “They’ll have guns. Or those . . . smart weapons.”

  Trey threw the truck back into park. “Reach behind your seat. There should be a tire tool.”

  While Zach dug behind the bench with his rear-end in the air, Trey flipped open the glove compartment.

  Fishing through loose
papers, the most threatening object he came up with was a shiny tire pressure gauge. He held it firmly in his fist and pumped the air with a stabbing motion. It would have to do.

  Zach returned to his seat holding a miniature crank handle. The compact tool lacked the formidable weight Trey had envisioned.

  Zach’s troubled expression spoke volumes about their makeshift weaponry. “Instead of storming them, let’s surprise them.”

  Trey nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

  “It’s a shame we don’t have those transmitters to get a peek at what’s going on inside.”

  Trey lit up. “Your right, we don’t. But I can.”

  Zach looked confused. Trey wished he hadn’t waited for such a critical moment to tell his best friend about his hidden talents. He sunk back into his seat, thoughtfully contemplating how to explain.

  A soft rumble vibrated the truck cab.

  “What was that?” asked Zach.

  The vibration sounded again.

  At Trey’s feet, his cell phone wriggled on the hard vinyl floor mat. “It’s my phone,” he said, snatching it up. “It’s Livy.”

  He held a hand toward Zach, silencing him as he pressed the button to accept the call. “Hello?”

  Livy’s voice answered on the other end. “Hey, sorry I missed your call. I guess we got distracted.”

  Trey’s eyes shot toward the house. “Where are you?”

  “We’re at the mall.”

  Trey stared at her car in the driveway, worried he was being tricked. He knew projected faces didn’t appear on video, but he wasn’t sure whether projected voices broadcast over the cellular network.

  He wracked his brain for a question only Livy could answer without also giving away his suspicion.

  “Trey, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, stalling. “I’m pulling over.”

  Zach leaned toward the phone. “Is Amy there? Is she all right?”

  Trey threw his hand over Zach’s mouth, but the damage had been done.

  “Of course,” answered Livy. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” said Trey, rolling his eyes at Zach. “We just drove by your place and saw your car there.”

  “Well, yeah, Amy’s mom dropped us off.”

  Trey gave up the cat and mouse game. “Livy, is that really you?”

  “Trey, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  “They’ve found us. That dumbass Dylan led them right to us.”

  “Oh my God,” she answered.

  “Yeah, the creeps are at your house right now.”

  Zach screamed something inaudible through the fingers Trey’d forgotten to withdraw from his face.

  Trey lowered his hand for Zach to belt out, “They’re leaving.”

  In the distance, two men in black suits exited the front door in-route to the black SUV.

  Trey kicked the truck into reverse and started backing away at high speed, hugging the tree-line for cover. He handed over the phone and threw his arm over the back seat to see out the back glass, steered with the other.

  “They’re on the move,” Zach said into the phone.

  The truck veered and jostled as Trey struggled to maintain a straight line on the rough terrain along the roadside.

  “Trey,” said Zach. “Trey! They’re going the other way.”

  For a moment, Trey continued bounding in reverse at full speed, until the realization hit him. His place was surely next on their list.

  He slammed the brake. Frantically, his mind raced, grasping for where his parents would be at that time of day. Panic clouded his thoughts, keeping him from coming up with even the day of the week.

  “Wednesday afternoon,” he finally said aloud. He grabbed his phone, “Livy, call back at Zach’s number. I need to use my phone to warn Mom and Dad.”

  Trey dialed the newspaper first, watching the SUV quickly distance itself from them.

  A young woman’s voice answered. “Longwood Times. Mister Collins is unavailable. May I redirect your call?”

  “No,” Trey answered. “This is his son. I really need to speak with him.”

  “Oh, Trey,” she said. “I’m sorry, but he’s in the men’s room. Would you like to hold?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll call back. Thanks.”

  The black SUV was barely visible, so he pulled out onto the road, turning sharply in the opposite direction.

  Zach tipped his phone away from his conversation with Livy. “Where are the girls supposed to go?”

  “Nowhere,” said Trey, speaking loudly toward the phone. “Stay there in plain sight until we get there.”

  Trey dialed his mother’s cell phone.

  After two rings, she answered. “Trey . . . hi.”

  “Are you at work?”

  “Yes, but it’s fine. What can I do for you?”

  Trey swallowed hard and spoke the words he had hoped he would never need to tell his mother, “I want raspberry pie for dessert.”

  A long pause followed. “I see,” she said in a forcibly calm tone. “Does your father agree?”

  “No,” Trey said with unimaginable difficulty. “He was busy when I called. You should tell him.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you for supper.”

  “Yes, I’ll see you then.”

  “I love you, Trey.”

  “I love you, too, Ma.”

  Trey ended the call and rolled down his window.

  Zach caught his arm just before he tossed his cell phone. “Whoa there! What the heck was that?”

  Trey looked at his phone and nonchalantly tucked it away. “That’s our code-red emergency sequence. It means cut all communications, lie low, and meet at rendezvous point one.”

  “Are you serious? Who has a red emergency code?”

  “We do.” Trey’s temper flared. Zach had no idea the level of shit they were in, and this emergency plan was about to save everyone’s necks. He opened his mouth to respond, but another thought struck him hard; he was responsible for all this trouble brought to his best friend.

  Trey softened his tone. “We’ve had a family disaster plan as long as I can remember. It’s just been super-sized in the last few months.”

  Zach settled back into his seat. “So, I suppose you can’t tell me where you’re headed.”

  Trey shrugged. “Why not? You need to know in case we get separated.”

  Zach raised a brow in Trey’s direction. “Wait, you think I’m going, too?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what other choice you have. These guys don’t care who you are. If they think you know too much . . . well, we’re not chancing it. You and Amy are going with us, at least until we figure out what they do or don’t know.”

  Up ahead, a sheriff cruiser approached at high speed with lights ablaze.

  Trey checked his speed; he was well over the limit, but the sheriff was too far ahead to have tagged him with radar. He slowed slightly, not about to push his luck. The cruiser raced toward them at shocking speed.

  Just before they met, the black-and-gold Dodge swerved suddenly and slid crossways to a long rubber-burning stop, blocking the center of the road.

  Trey locked up the brakes, screeching to a halt inches before plowing into Sheriff Smead’s passenger door.

  Jailbirds

  SHERIFF SMEAD ROSE from the opposite side of his cruiser. His yellow hair and beard shone brightly in the afternoon sun, lacking his usual wide-brimmed hat. His revolver rose above the car, and with both hands he aimed directly through the windshield at Trey’s face.

  “Holy shit,” said Zach.

  Trey raised his hands from wheel.

  Zach followed his lead.

  The sheriff straightened and holstered his weapon. Slowly, he circled the front of his car, keeping his right hand firmly planted on the gun’s grip.

  Trey froze, unsure he could move if he chose to.

  Smead reached the driver-side door and signaled to lower the window. When Trey nervously complied,
the sheriff spoke gruffly, “You boys aren’t going to give me a problem now are you?”

  “No, sir,” they both agreed in unison, shaking their heads profusely.

  “Get on out of the truck. You’re both under arrest.”

  “Arrest?” cried Trey. “For what?”

  Smead squeezed his thick fist tighter around the revolver, squeaking the leather holster. “Now, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t give me a problem.”

  Trey nodded and eased open his door.

  One after the other, the Sheriff snapped cuffs around Trey and Zach’s wrists and escorted them to the back seat of his taxi to the slammer. When they were both inside, he pushed the door closed and hopped into the cab of Trey’s truck. He backed the pickup off the road into the shallow ditch and locked up the doors as he lumbered out.

  Zach rocked back and forth in his seat. “This is crazy. What does he think we did?”

  Trey didn’t answer. His only concern was the time slipping away to reach his rendezvous point. He cycled through the plans, repeatedly recalling the numbers, unsure of how many days were allowed to pass before his family moved on to the next location.

  Smead lowered into the driver’s seat with a heavy groan. He blew out a huff of air and grabbed the radio handset. “It’s Smead. I identified the suspect’s abandoned vehicle at mile three on route eight-o-eight. Send a tow-truck, pronto. Over.”

  “Copy that. Any sign of the suspects?”

  “Negative! Tire tracks indicate a second vehicle in the vicinity.”

  “Roger, Sheriff.”

  Smead’s eyes briefly met Trey in the rearview. He threw the car into drive and slowly turned toward town.

  “What’s going on, Sheriff?” Trey asked.

  “Well ain’t that funny? I was about to ask you the same damn thing.”

  Trey turned defiantly and stared out his window.

  Zach spoke up. “Don’t we have a right to know why we’re being arrested?”

  Smead chuckled. “Let’s see . . . impersonating an officer . . . identity theft. Oh, it just gets worse from there . . . kidnapping . . . murder.”

  “What?” Zach cried.

  “Yup, you boys got a rap sheet as long as those skid marks back there. I haven’t seen an APB this hot in decades.”

  “Congratulations,” Trey said, breaking his silence. “Turn us over to the feds and you’ll be a hero. But you’ll be signing our death warrants.”