Face Blind

by Len Melvin

  Connor moved both hands in a down motion as Cori’s voice became louder. “Okay, okay, I was just wondering.” Connor grinned as he looked around to see if anyone had heard. “I forgot about the ‘Cori’ temper.”

  “You remember how it used to be. Remember when there was the rule of law?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, maybe just maybe we can have that again.”

  Connor nodded. “Agreed.”

  Cori ran her thumb and index finger along her lower lip in thought. She looked around the restaurant. “That guy’s looking over here again.”

  “Probably thinking how hot you look when you’re angry. You still got it, you know.”

  Cori shook her head, the strands of the blonde dreadlocks whipping in front of her face. She put a hand on the handle of the Zombie Knife. “I doubt he could handle me.”

  Connor nodded and laughed. “Probably not.”

  ◆◆◆

  Gaby pulled her sweat-soaked clothes off and dropped them into a sack. She poured a bottle of water into a pan and dipped a small sponge into it, barely skimming the surface. She had to conserve water but a foul body odor might give notice of her presence. She touched the sponge to different parts of her body, the every two-day bath, the only relief from the brutal heat. She finished and slid the dirty water into a corner of the room in a shaded area so that it wouldn’t evaporate before the next bath was needed. Next, she reached for the white jug that sat next to the pan of water and twisted the top off. Kneeling, she placed it between her legs and relieved herself. She finished and put it back into the corner next to the pan of water. The Professor had stressed how important it was that she didn’t leave any DNA behind. She stood, still naked and peered through the slits of the window of the bell tower.

  Men in suits stood in the yard below, some in huddled groups as others moved stealthily about, hands to their earpieces, their heads down as they spoke in the microphones attached to their lapels. They would point occasionally at something and their attention would turn to the spot that was being discussed. One of the men pointed at the bell tower and she had ducked. She didn’t think they could see her but was afraid something might reflect off of her. She took the cross from around her neck that her dad had given her and placed it into the sack. It would be ironic if her act of vengeance for him would be spoiled by his gift.

  She peeked back through one of the slits and became concerned. The stage that was going to hold the ceremony was being built in an space probably twenty yards to the right from where she thought it would be. In that position half of the stage would be hidden from her view. She might not be able to point the rifle at the correct angle. And what if the President was on the part of the stage she couldn’t see?

  Gaby sighed and moved away from the window. She picked a t-shirt from her pack and slipped it over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves and pulled it down over her. She grabbed a pair of gym shorts and stepped into them. She sat down, placed her back to the wall and sat with her hands on her knees.

  She put her hand on the trigger of the Win Mag that stood against the wall, then ran her hand along the barrel. She couldn’t worry about the stage now. She was here and there was no turning back. She’d make it work somehow—for her father’s sake.

  Three days more before she got her chance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hey, you want a ride?”

  Malouf stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk as his friends piled into his back. He put a hand over his eyes and peered at the powder-blue pick-up truck that had pulled up beside them. “No thanks. We have lots to do today.”

  Beaux leaned over and looked past the twins who were in the front seat. “It’s a little hot today. You sure?”

  Malouf went to the passenger window and ran his hand along the exterior of the truck. “This is beautiful. Where did you get this?”

  “It was Bobby’s, but he doesn’t drive anymore so he gave it to me. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “We’re good.” Malouf waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve got some things to do. But thanks.”

  Beaux made a gesture with her hand. “Come over here.”

  “What?”

  “Come on over here. I want to tell you something.” Malouf hesitated, then crossed behind the truck and went to the door where Beaux sat. She leaned out, her elbow through the window. “They’re not meeting today.”

  “What?”

  “They all have to work today plus I heard one of them say it would be too risky to meet in the day.”

  Malouf stepped back, glanced again at his friends and then turned back to Beaux. “How do you know that?”

  “I just do,” she smiled. She turned to the twins. “Hey, you guys get in the back. Let my friend sit up here.”

  Jones and Jackson piled out of the front seat, seemingly excited about the prospect of riding in the back of the pick-up. “I don’t know…,” Malouf’s voice trailed off.

  “Normally, I don’t let them ride back there.” Beaux watched the twins clamber into the back of the truck. She turned to Malouf. “C’mon. I have some errands to do and you get to see a little of the town.”

  “Well…”

  “C’mon, it’ll be interesting.”

  “What about the my friends?”

  “Tell them to get in the back with the twins.”

  Malouf smiled at the thought of his friends in the back of the pick-up. “Hey,” he yelled to his friends, “we’re going with her. You guys pile in the back.”

  “What?” one said.

  “Sir, I don’t think…,” another began.

  “We have things to do,” the last one said.

  “We have a change of plans. Everybody in. Let’s go.”

  The men exchanged looks and then began to move slowly toward the back of the truck. “Just climb in?” one asked.

  “Yeah,” Malouf went back to the passenger side of the tuck. “Get in,” he urged them with a wave of the hand.

  They all circled the back and then one put his leg up over the back of the truck. He brought it back down and looked at the others. Beaux followed them through the rear-view mirror and began to laugh. “Have they ever been in a pick-up truck?”

  “I doubt it,” Malouf said, smiling, as he watched his friends decide how to climb into the back end of the truck.

  “They are so fucking weird,” Beaux said, as she put a hand over her eyes. “So fucking weird.”

  Malouf ran a hand over the dashboard. “This truck is beautiful.”

  “Hold on.” Beaux exited the truck and went to where the three men stood. “Here.” She lowered the tailgate and extended a hand toward the bed of the truck. The men exchanged looks again and then began to crawl carefully into the truck. Beaux raised the tailgate and slammed it shut. “There. Now just hold on to something. I have a heavy foot.”

  “What is a heavy foot?” one asked another.

  “It means she drives fast,” Jackson said. “Better hold on.” Jackson and Jones both grabbed handles attached just over the wheel well.

  Beaux got back into the truck. “How do you hang out with these guys? Do they know how to do anything?”

  “They have specialized talents and are good at them but common sense stuff sometimes stymies them.”

  “Well, they better be really good at whatever they specialize in.”

  “They are. So tell me about this truck.”

  “It was Bobby’s, but like I said he doesn’t drive anymore so when I got old enough to drive, he gave it to me.”

  “What year is it?”

  “A 1953 F-100. I think it’s like the first truck made to have a radio.”

  “How many miles does it have on it?”

  “A lot. Bobby’s not sure. The odometer broke at some point.”

  “Wow.” Malouf ran his hand over the interior of the truck. “It’s in such good shape.”

  “Didn’t used to be. I had to do a lot of work on it before it was drivable.”

&nb
sp; “Like what?”

  “Well, I had to sand all the rust off, to begin with. Then I rebuilt the engine and the carburetor and lubed the transmission and rear end.”

  “Rebuilt the engine?”

  “Yeah, all new rings and bearings. And the radiator was corroded so I had to buy a new one. And the brakes needed cylinders, and springs and new shoes.”

  “How did you know how to do all that?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t. I read a lot of books and did research online and asked people questions who would come into the restaurant.”

  Malouf shook his head and turned to check out the bed of the truck. The twins were grinning, hands inserted into the handles. His friends were all gripping the side of the truck, expressions of dismay on their faces. He smiled and turned back to Beaux. “Where are we going?”

  “Homeless camps. Every week the twins and I take leftover food from the restaurant to them.”

  “I see. Are there a lot?”

  “More all the time. It used to take a half an hour to deliver the food. Now, it’s over an hour. So,” Beaux glanced from the road to Malouf, “2056?”

  “You asked.”

  “You left before I could get a follow-up question.”

  “I had a lot to do and you were busy.”

  Beaux looked back to the road, eased to a stop at a red light and turned to Malouf.

  “You ever play chess?”

  “Not really. I mean I’ve played but not very much.”

  “Chess consists of making a continuous series of evaluations. Each move creates a different circumstance and a different board altogether. Then, another evaluation is needed. Based on these evaluations, strategies are enacted and pieces deployed accordingly.”

  Malouf pointed at the light which had turned green. “What’s your point?”

  Beaux hit the gas and the truck jerked forward. “You, in so many words, offered an explanation that is impossible.”

  Malouf was silent.

  “But even that impossible explanation forces a new evaluation and new strategy.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “There are masked people meeting and going underground. Then people with blue colors around them are following the underground men. Now, the President is going to speak directly across the field from where the men are going underground.” She glanced at Malouf. “Now, what would a good chess player deduce from this series of events?”

  “What?”

  “Malouf,” she reached over with one hand and patted him on the leg, “there are no coincidences in chess.”

  Malouf faced straight ahead and was quiet.

  “And now one of the blue men says he’s from 2056.” Beaux turned and gazed at Malouf for a long moment before turning back to the road. She braked the truck in front of a rough-hewn fence held together with chicken wire. A thin man with an American flag wrapped as a do-rag around his head, stood at a ramshackle entranceway. He raised a hand and took a step forward. “Boys,” Beaux motioned to the twins in the back. Each grabbed a sack from the bed of the truck and hopped over the tail gate. They handed the sacks to the thin man who nodded before hoisting them over a shoulder. He nodded again, then turned and walked back inside the fence, snapping a lock into place.

  “Where are we? What is this?” Malouf asked, as Beaux gunned the truck forward.

  “It’s a homeless camp but not an official one. There are shelters in town but lots of people don’t trust them.”

  “Why?”

  “They think the government is killing them systematically.”

  “Are they?”

  Beaux shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that’s what they think. I hear that some of them have gone missing after going to the shelters but that could be some kind of misunderstanding or maybe just a paperwork thing.”

  “So your mother sends you guys out to these camps to distribute unused food every week?”

  Beaux put a hand over her mouth stifling a short burst of laughter. “She doesn’t even know we do this.”

  “She doesn’t know?” Malouf’s voice was incredulous.

  “No, if she even happens to be around, I just tell her we’re going to do some errands.”

  “Why do you do this?”

  “It didn’t make sense to throw food away when people were hungry. Plus, I think it’s good for the twins to see that there are less fortunate people that need help and to be able to provide that help.”

  “How old are you again?”

  Beaux looked at Malouf and rolled her eyes.

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “A while. It took a while to build up trust with the people out here.” Beaux stopped in front of another encampment and two men ran out to the truck. The twins tossed four sacks to them and Beaux started forward. “Better not to stay too long.”

  They turned onto a two-lane highway lined with pine trees, the middle line a faded yellow. “Building up trust,” mused Malouf. He turned to Beaux. “Are you doing that with me also.”

  “I’m just being me.” Neither said a word for some time and then Beaux took a left turn on to a dirt road and slowed the truck to a crawl. She held up a hand in caution as she peered into the underbrush. “You got your baton with you?”

  “Yeah,” Malouf mumbled, as his hand went to his backpack.

  “Keep it handy. This place is a little dodgy. It’s new and I don’t really know them very well here.” The truck moved slowly under a heavy canopy of overgrown trees that crowded over and into the road. A bald-headed man in ragged pants, barefoot, with no shirt and tattoos from waist to neck, appeared in front of them, a shotgun lodged against one hip. He scowled at them without speaking. Beaux got out of the truck, took some bags from the back of the truck and approached the man slowly. She held up a hand, said something and then placed the bags on the ground in front of her. She stood there for a moment, said something else and then returned to the truck. She put the gear in reverse, backed up, then drove off the way they had come. Malouf turned and saw that the man had not moved.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “That I brought some food, I was on his side and,” Beaux looked at Malouf, “just to trust me.”

  They rode in silence, the motor humming as Beaux pushed steadily down on the gas pedal. Malouf ran a hand through his hair and glanced over at Beaux. He turned and gazed out at the countryside in thought for what seemed like minutes and then looked back at Beaux. He shifted in his seat, watching her without saying anything and then suddenly pointed to a shaded area on the side of the road. “Stop the truck,” he said. “Over there.”

  “What?”

  “Just stop the truck for a minute. Let’s talk.”

  Beaux tapped the brakes, pulled the truck over into a gravel area under a tree and killed the ignition. She turned to the group in the back who were eyeing her questioningly. “You guys go take a bathroom break while we can.” The twins hopped out and went to the edge of the woods while the men sat, eyeing each other. “I guess they don’t have to go,” Beaux said.

  “No, they don’t.” Malouf turned sideways in his seat and faced Beaux.

  “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  Malouf began to say something and then stopped.

  “There are,” he began. “There are…”

  “Yes?” asked Beaux.

  “There are these brief, strange flashes of light every night.”

  Beaux’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “There are these intermittent flashes of light in the air every night. The boys and I can’t decide what they are.”

  “Lightning Bugs? You’ve never seen them before?”

  “Nope. We don’t have them where I come from.”

  “Tell me. Where do you come from?”

  “Beaux,” he began and then his voice trailed off. “Beaux,” he began again, and stopped searching for words. He turned halfway in his seat and faced Beaux. He placed a hand on her knee. “If I tell you where I’m
from and why I’m here, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  “No, really. This is the most important thing you’ll ever promise. Give me your hand.” Beaux extended her hand. “You must promise with all of your heart that what I’m about to tell you can go no further.”

  “I promise.”

  “Beaux, I’m trusting you. You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you and you must promise not to act on anything I tell you.”

  “I promise, Malouf. I do.”

  “I’m breaking a lot of rules telling you this but damn, you already know so much. And I imagine, being the chess player you are, that you’ll figure it out anyway.”

  “And you like me a lot.”

  Malouf smiled. “And I like you a lot. Plus,” he rubbed the back of his hand lightly across her cheek, “I like the person you are.”

  “Thanks.” Beaux cheeks turned a reddish color. “Look, I promise. I won’t tell anyone what you’re about to tell me.”

  “Or act on what I’m about to tell you.”

  Beaux held up her hand, palm forward in a pledge. She took her other hand off the wheel and placed it over her heart. “I promise.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He put a hand to his brow and breathed out slowly. “We don’t have oranges either. Or almonds.”

  “Why? What happened to them?”

  “You guys used too much pesticides. You killed all of the bees.”

  “Where are you from?” Beaux’s tone of voice was insistent.

  Malouf was quiet so that Beaux thought that he wasn’t going to answer. “I’m from here. Just a lot later.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m from the year that was on the coin.”

  “2056?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re saying you’re from the future?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why else would I have a coin with the year ‘2056’ on it?”