by Ty Patterson
She mentioned the church, the graveyard.
‘I came to this village five years back. It fit the profile of the town the Marshals had initially placed us in. I restarted the life they had built for me, only in a different town.’
She stopped, tired but relieved that it was all out in the open now. No more hiding, no more looking behind her shoulder. No more secrets from her friends.
Pike handed her another glass of water. She emptied it and flopped back on her bed.
‘What now?’ She asked the agents.
Burke and Kowalski exchanged a glance. ‘That’s quite a story, ma’am. We’ll have to check it out thoroughly, but I’m sure it’ll stack up.’
‘We have a few more questions. They won’t take long.’ She turned to Pike. ‘Why didn’t you take her to a hospital, or call 911?’
‘She didn’t want us to. She was very vocal about it. Why would we call 911 when your agents were here?’ Pike smirked.
‘Who dressed her wounds?’ Burke’s posture said she knew the answer.
‘One of your agents. Like I said, they didn’t give out names, ma’am. They didn’t hand out business cards. The only name they mentioned was yours. They gave me your number, said you would be coming. I didn’t wait, and called you.’ Pike had a hard time controlling a grin.
Burke’s voice turned hard. ‘Mr. Pike, you don’t seem to be taking this seriously. May I warn you that you could get into all sorts of trouble for misleading the FBI.’
Pike’s face was innocent. ‘Any more trouble than winding up dead at the hands of gangsters, ma’am?’
Burke’s body wilted for a nanosecond before recovering. ‘Where are the bodies?’
Pike gave astonished. His voice became wondering. ‘Why, ma’am, your men took them.’
Burke cursed for a good ten minutes, words and phrases spilling out that she had never used in her career.
She whirled on Kowalski when she had finished. ‘If it ever gets out that I swore, I’ll –.’
Kowalski put up a palm in peace. ‘I get it. I’ll end up polishing shoes somewhere or washing dishes in some roadside diner.’
‘You’ll end up polishing shoes for those who are washing dishes,’ Burke warned him.
‘Of course.’
They stared out from the inside of their SUV, looking over the village at a scene that was straight out of a picture postcard.
Pristine white church. Lush green lawns. Happy smiling people.
‘What do you make of it?’ Kowalski asked.
‘If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here, listening to your moronic questions,’ she growled in frustration.
‘How did we ever get to this?’ She untied her ponytail, retied it, but even that gesture didn’t calm her.
Of course she knew how they had gotten here.
The call had come at four a.m. that morning, rousing her from a deep sleep. Saturdays were her days off. She didn’t go on her ten-mile run on those days, preferring to burrow under her blankets and sleep late.
Saturdays were when Special Agent in Charge Sarah Burke disappeared and girl-next-door, Sarah, appeared.
Not this Saturday.
The phone roused her and when she answered, a male voice came on.
‘Special Agent in Charge, Sarah Burke?’
‘Yeah, how did you get this number?’ She groped for the night lamp, turned it on and peered at the number on the screen.
There wasn’t one.
‘Your agent gave it to me, ma’am. My name is Pike. I’m calling you from Milton Mills, New Hampshire.’
The voice warmed. ‘Your men did a splendid job, ma’am. They saved our village from these thugs. Saved our lives. I know it’s early, and they said you were coming, but I just had to call you and thank you.’
My men? Saved a village? Coming? What? Where? How?
‘Can you run through that again, Mr. Pike? I’m behind with my reports.’
Nice one, Burke.
‘Not at all, ma’am,’ Pike replied.
Was that a smug tone?
She grabbed her other phone, typed out a hasty text to Kowalski. She didn’t care if that woke him up.
Do you know anything about a takedown in Milton Mills?
‘You there, ma’am?’
‘Yeah, go on.’ Gone was her sleep. She turned on the TV, muted it and flipped through various news channels.
Nothing on Milton Mills.
Pike explained at length.
‘And you say these men identified themselves as FBI agents?’
‘That’s right, ma’am.’
‘How many of them were there?’
‘Dunno man. I saw five, but there could be more. They came, they saw, they conquered.’
He chuckled at his own joke.
‘What did the gang want?’
‘No clue, ma’am. They locked us up and were torturing a woman, a resident, when thankfully, your men burst in.’
His voice turned curious. ‘Your men didn’t report to you, ma’am?’
‘I’m sure they did. Like I said, I’m behind. I’m juggling several cases.’
Nice save, Burke.
Pike wound down. ‘Thank you again, ma’am. You folks saved our bacon today. I hope you find who these folks were and why they were camped in our village. I’ll be writing to your Director, thanking him for the fine job you did.’
No!
‘Mr. Pike, our investigations are still ongoing. I will appreciate if you held back from contacting the Director, for the time being.’
Lame, Burke.
He bought it.
‘Sure, I’ll back off, ma’am. Well, I gotta go. Thank you again, ma’am. You folks do the nation proud. I’ll see you in the village.’
‘Wait! Did my agent mention his name?’
‘No, ma’am. None of them gave any names.’
It took an hour to rouse her crew and brief them. Not one had a clue.
She ordered them to rendezvous at Reagan in forty-five minutes, got Kowalski to arrange vehicles for them at Portsmouth International Airport in Pease.
She brushed, showered, dressed, packed her gear, her mind whirling all the while, but she was no closer to finding answers.
Till now.
And she still didn’t have answers.
Kowalski and she watched a woman push a baby carriage, glance curiously at the SUV and move on.
They had interviewed the captives from the bar. All of them told the same story that Pike had.
The solitary man in the bar had hit on Burke. Had suggested a celebratory drink.
To thank her for rescuing them, was how he had put it.
Kowalski had a hard time concealing his mirth.
No other residents had any more insight.
The house next to Wade’s was empty. No one knew where the owner was.
‘Did you find out who occupies the next door house?’
Kowalski cursed, bent to his tablet.
Pike peered from Jenny’s window, spotted the Feds’ SUV parked a few homes away, and came back feeling satisfied.
‘What’s going on Pike?’ Jenny demanded in a loud whisper.
Livy was on the bed. Sleeping, with teddy, smiling now that her universe was back to where it had been. She had told Jenny about her adventure.
That was what she called it. She said that secret place Mr. Carter had, was cool. It was so comfortable that she had slept. The next thing she knew, she was back in her home, next to Mom.
Jenny asked her where the secret hide was. Livy pursed her lips. It was a secret. She had pinkie-sworn to Mr. Carter.
Jenny didn’t push it. Livy would tell her in good time. Her daughter couldn’t keep secrets.
She, Pike, Chuck, and Bundy had talked at length. She had cried, gut wrenching sobs that seemed to wash away the past and had left her calmer. She apologized for keeping her past from them.
Chuck surprised them. The taciturn bartender hugged her and patted her back.
‘The past don’t ma
tter, girl. The present and the future do.’
That ended that discussion, but Jenny had to ask.
‘Why did you lie to them, Pike? They’re FBI agents for chrissakes! Why didn’t you tell them about Mr. Carter?’
‘He asked us not to,’ Pike answered simply.
Pike and the others had trotted behind the black man and the blond guy, following them to Jenny Wade’s house.
He saw the SUVs in front of her house, his fears mounted. He asked a question, but got a jerked head in return.
He, Chuck, and Bundy rushed inside and stopped.
Bodies all over. That was the first thought that came to his mind.
Two by the door. Another against the wall.
A fourth, nearby.
No not a body. That was Jenny. Someone was tending to her.
He hurried across and gasped.
That someone was Mr. Carter.
He looked up once but didn’t speak to Pike.
Pike saw his hands were surprisingly gentle as they moved over Jenny’s body, assessing her injuries.
‘She’s in shock. None of these are serious cuts. He was toying with her,’ he murmured to no one.
‘Chloe?’
‘Here.’ Pike moved back dumbly to let a petite woman pass.
She crouched next to Mr. Carter, handed him a medical kit and helped him dress Jenny's wounds.
Mr. Carter carried her upstairs to her room, disappeared for several moments while Pike and the other residents aimlessly milled around and watched the strangers drag the dead away.
Mr. Carter returned. He had Olivia in his arms.
‘She’s sleeping,’ he answered Pike’s unspoken question.
Pike looked at him and the four other men and three women, when he returned downstairs.
All eight were outfitted in vests, combat suits, the kind he saw on several TV shows. The men had a hard edge to them that was apparent despite their casual stance. The women looked equally competent.
Two of them are twins.
‘Shall I call 911?’ he asked diffidently.
Pike was a take-charge man, but here, he had relinquished control to Mr. Carter. To his surprise, he found he was okay with that.
He didn’t know what was going on. But he suspected his fellow resident knew and also knew what had to be done.
He wasn’t surprised when Mr. Carter shook his head. ‘No need.’
‘We gotta explain all this.’
Mr. Carter handed him a phone. ‘There’s a number on that. The first number on the dialed list. It’s the number for FBI Special Agent in Charge, Sarah Burke. Call her.’
Pike felt himself smiling foolishly when he heard the story Mr. Carter spun out. This would keep his buddies entertained for years.
He asked one question before he started dialing. ‘Are you good guys?’
The black man chuckled. ‘What do you think, sir?’
Sir.
Pike observed him carefully. Looked at the rest of the strangers and lastly at Mr. Carter.
Heck, if these were the bad guys, they were going to Hell in any case.
He called the FBI agent.
Jenny heard in silence, her hand absently stroking her daughter’s curls.
‘He didn’t tell you anything?’
‘Nope. He and his crew loaded the bodies in their vehicles and they just took off.’
‘Where?’
‘Heck if I know.’
Kowalski chuckled, rousing Burke from deep thought. The chuckle turned into laughter.
Deep gusts that arose from his center.
Burke stared at him as if he had lost his mind.
Maybe he had. This case was driving all of them nuts.
‘You know who owns that house?’ Kowalski wheezed.
‘No I don’t. That’s why I asked you to check,’ Burke answered curtly.
Kowalski calmed down, wiped his face with a tissue and looked at her with a smile.
‘You’re gonna love this.’
‘You know that owner. You’ve met him a few times.’
‘Who is it?’ Burke asked through gritted teeth. She didn’t like playing games.
‘Zeb Carter.’
Burke fell back as if punched, her eyes widening, looking past Kowalski, down the street, where Wade’s house was visible and just past it, the neighboring house.
She sat there as synapses fired, neurons floated and buzzed, and somehow connections were made in a way that billions of years of evolution had perfected.
Who else? she thought dimly, over the cacophony of pieces slotting into place.
Who else has the connections, the ability? Who else wouldn’t want credit?
‘Where is he?’
No one came close to Big G.
He heard the news Saturday evening. A whisper that was passed to him in the shower stalls from another inmate who was visited by family earlier in the day.
Boiler was dead. Killed by the FBI.
The Feds were cracking down on his gang.
Big G went on a tear. He smashed the inmate’s head against the concrete wall. He punched another inmate and broke a third one’s leg.
The guards came rushing in.
He groined one, poked another’s eye before they clubbed him, subdued him, chained him, and hauled him back to solitary.
Today was Sunday.
His killing mood hadn’t dissipated, but he had no one to vent on.
Gang gone. Money gone. Karel gone.
Big G alone lived.
He made a vow. He would come out of this alive.
He would rebuild his gang.
He would go after those agents who murdered Karel. He would go after that bitch and recover his money.
He rattled his cage and shouted loudly.
He needed a shower.
The guards came. Four of them.
Two of them trained shotguns at him, while the two others fell in behind.
The solitary cells were separated from the showers by a sliding, barred gate.
Cameras were all over and when Big G approached the gate, it swung back silently and shut behind him.
He was all alone in the showers.
He turned on the tap, let the water flow on him.
The guards watched him impassively through the bars.
He would kill them too.
Big G turned his back on them, reached out for the thin sliver that passed for soap, and lathered himself.
The lights went out.
Big G turned and saw it was just the showers that were dark. The cells were brightly lit; the guards were still watching him.
‘Hey,’ he called out. ‘I can’t see. Turn on the damned lights.’
They didn’t respond.
‘Can you hear me?’ he shouted, his rage bubbling over.
Big G deserved a response.
‘They won’t respond.’
The voice came from behind. Indifferent. Bored.
Big G whirled around. There were ten showers, a changing room, nothing else.
He thought he saw a shadow in the far end.
‘Who are you?’ he asked suspiciously.
He moved back to the shower stall. Reached behind with his hands. Bent as if searching for the bar of soap and searched for the shiv that he had concealed in a crack in the floor.
The shadow didn’t answer.
Big G rose.
‘Hey,’ he called out to the guards. ‘There’s some dude here.’
The guards turned their backs on him. Started walking away.
What the fuck?
‘They won’t interfere.’
‘Interfere with what?’ he shouted, anger lacing his voice, but also fear.
Anyone who could turn lights off, get the guards to ignore him, was someone.
The shadow didn’t answer.
‘Who are you?’ Big G shouted again. That was his default tone now. It was what he used to intimidate, to make others cower.
It was also his tone when he went into com
bat mode.
The shadow moved. ‘I’m the one who killed Boiler.’
Big G thrust with the shiv, a cutting motion that had disemboweled several victims.
He disemboweled empty air.
The shadow was no longer there.
Trap.
Big G turned swiftly but not fast enough to evade the block of concrete that hit him.
The blow to his midriff staggered him.
Darkness swam in his vision.
He shook his head to clear it away.
He was Big G. He ran one of the largest gangs in the country. He ran this prison.
The shadow moved again.
This time Big G crouched as low as he could, jabbed fast and straight.
Something clasped his wrist, a grip so painful that he cried in agony. He went flying, crashed against the wall, and slid to the floor.
He thrust himself upward as quickly as he could.
He would fight. He would escape. He would kill –.
Something, a knee, smashed his face. He reached out blindly, his hands were swatted away.
His groans and shouts went unanswered. No guards came rushing in.
His attacker moved silently. All Big G could see, through one good eye, was a shadow.
The shadow became smaller and before he knew what was happening, he was lifted. Easily.
Now Big G could see the assailant’s eyes. They were brown.
Or maybe black.
Their color didn’t matter anymore because the assailant hurled him against the wall. Some kind of martial arts throw.
Big G bounced off concrete.
He didn’t hear the attacker approach.
He didn’t feel the chokehold that was applied.
Big G was beyond hearing. Beyond caring.
Beyond living.
One month from the events in Milton Mills, Olivia spotted Zeb.
He was doing that thing with his hands and legs. She had to go to school or else she would have copied his actions.
She dressed in a mad rush, ran down the stairs, and announced to her mom that their neighbor was back.
She waited impatiently for the school bus, to break the news to Margie.
Her mom watched her daughter board the bus, looked out once at her neighbor’s house, but as usual didn’t spot him.
Big G’s death hadn’t made front page news, but it reached her because she had set an alert for his name.
She had cried that night, in the aloneness of her bathroom. She had looked heavenward and thanked HIM. She had cried for lost years, had lain in the bathtub till her skin wrinkled, till the sobs turned into hiccups and died away.
