by Ben Follows
Joe Hagerty sat on a bench in the corner, staring at the back wall of the cell, motionless, his knees pulled to his chest. Matt Oberman was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands in front of his body and muttering to himself. Based on the words Curtis was able to make out, he was trying to convince himself he'd done the right thing.
Curtis had to shout at Matt a few times to get his attention. He paused and looked up at Curtis with a curious expression.
“What were you thinking?” said Curtis, standing a few feet in front of the cell. Frankie stood behind him.
Oberman turned. When he spoke, his voice was faint. “I was trying to avenge my sister," he said. "He killed her and threw her body in a river.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did!” Matt lunged at the bars, screaming. “He fucking killed her.”
Curtis took a step back in surprise at the instability that had so quickly come over Matt. Curtis looked him in the eyes.
“Whatever happened to the oath you swore when you became a police officer?" he said. "Is this how the justice system in this country is supposed to work? Like some savage revenge scheme? Maybe you think we should just murder everyone who’s ever been suspected of anything?”
A calmness came over Matt. He shook his head and smiled incredulously. “You don’t know what it’s like," he said. "You try knowing that someone you love has probably been raped, murdered and subjected to torture you can’t even imagine. If that day ever comes, I’ll hand you a gun and give you the bullets. I’ll help you point that gun at the suspect. In that moment, you’ll understand why I did what I did. And you'll pull the trigger, because that’s what family is.”
Curtis let out a deep sigh. “That isn’t how a civilized society works. The justice system would have found if he was guilty, and if he was, we would have done the right thing and imprisoned him.”
Matt shook his head and stepped back from the bars. “If you ever find yourself in that position, with a loaded gun pointing at the person who ripped away a loved one, remember this conversation. On that day, I’ll accept your apology.”
Matt walked to the back of the cell and fell onto the bench. He crossed his arms and looking away, making it clear the conversation was over.
“Hey, Hagerty!” said Curtis, gesturing to the curled-up mess of a man in the corner of the cell. “What do you think of this?”
“You won’t get a response,” said Natasha.
Curtis and Frankie turned to see Natasha leaning through the bars of her cell and looking at them.
“I’ve been trying all day,” she said. “He and Ken aren’t responding at all. Makes it hard to get a quote.”
Frankie walked to the front of Natasha’s cell. “Don’t you have any shame?”
Natasha smirked. “Shame is a five-letter word that means lack of ambition.”
Frankie turned away from her. “Curtis, let’s get out of here.”
Curtis followed Frankie, glancing back at Natasha for a moment, still getting that feeling she knew something they didn’t. He shrugged it off and walked to the car with Frankie.
Trevor had left to continue his search for Kendra Matheson. FBI agents were looking for Marino. Curtis and Frankie were on their way to notify Robert Randall about his son, then they would continue looking for the true killer.
Somewhere in the back of Curtis’s mind was the knowledge that his father was dead, that Monica was probably picking out a casket for him at that moment. Once this was finished, for better or worse, he would think of himself.
For now, he had to push aside his own wishes for the greater good.
He’d done it before.
51
Robert Randall rubbed the cloth against the counter, trying to get out an annoying stain. He looked up at the empty bar and wondered where Bobby was. His son was supposed to be in before ten. He was half an hour late.
He sighed and returned to his cleaning. He heard the door open and said, without looking, “Sorry, we’re closed until noon.”
“I’m not allowed to come in and visit an old friend?”
Robert wrung out the cloth in the sink before looking up at Sam Marino.
The escaped prisoner stood on the other side of the bar with the same bewildering confidence he'd always had. Marino was wearing a basic white t-shirt, dirty jeans, and a ratty Buffalo Bills cap.
“Sam,” said Robert blankly.
Marino spread his arms as though looking for a hug. Robert put his hands on top of the bar and stared at him.
“That’s no way to greet an old friend,” said Marino.
“What are you doing here, Sam?”
“You didn’t hear I’d escaped?”
“I thought you'd be out of town. FBI agents are everywhere.”
“This is my town, Robert," said Marino with a smile. "I want your help to get it back.”
Robert leaned forward. “Why would I help you with anything?”
Marino laughed. “They never even thought to suspect you, did they? The friendly, joyous, Santa Claus looking bartender could never hurt anyone. But I’ve seen what you are capable of, Robert. What? You forget you worked for me? You forget working as my muscle and that you requested to kill those kids?”
Robert moved his hand behind the bar. His fingers grazed the barrel of a shotgun hanging there.
“The moment I heard about the girls,” said Marino, “I knew it was you. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
Robert’s hand rested on the shotgun's barrel. “What do you want?”
Sam shrugged as though it was obvious. “I want you to become my right-hand man while I rebuild my empire.”
“Get out of my bar, I will shoot you, and I will be within my rights. They might even give me a medal.”
“And what if they come looking for the Matheson girl? You snatched her from a bar last night while she was drunk? Seems lazy.”
Robert shrugged. “Get out, or I’m calling the cops.”
Marino glanced out the window and frowned. “Did you call them already?”
“No, what are you talking about?”
Robert followed where Marino was looking. Curtis Mackley and Frankie Lassiter parked in front of the bar. They had no backup and no sirens, nor any sense of urgency as they climbed out.
“I don’t need to tell you that I’m not here,” said Marino, slipping around the back of the bar and into the kitchen.
52
Curtis readied himself to step into the bar and tell Robert his son had been murdered in cold blood in the middle of the police station. He checked his watch five times as they walked to the door. The time never changed.
They stepped into the bar. It was empty save for Robert Randall rubbing a spot out of the counter he seemingly couldn’t get. He looked up when he saw Curtis and his face broke out into a broad grin.
“Curtis!” he bellowed. “How nice to see you!”
stepped up to the bar.
“Robert, we need to talk," said Curtis, stepping up to the bar. "We fucked up, to be completely honest.”
“What happened?" said Robert. "I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Curtis took a deep breath. “Bobby’s dead.”
Robert didn’t reply for a moment. “What?”
Curtis took another breath and told him what had happened. Robert’s face lost all emotion, becoming an unreadable canvas.
When Curtis was finished, he said, “Which cops?”
“Hagerty and Oberman. I’m so sorry.”
Robert lowered his head. “Marino’s in the kitchen.”
“What?” Frankie jerked her head around.
“Sam Marino is in the kitchen.”
There was the sound of running through the kitchen and a door slamming.
“Frankie! Call it in!” Curtis took off at a sprint, pulling his gun from its holster and running behind the bar.
He ran through the kitchen then out the back door. There, on the edge of the forest behind the bar, was Marino, his form dis
tinct, but shrinking into the distance and the cover that the trees provided.
“Sam Marino! Freeze! FBI!”
Marino disappeared between the trees.
Curtis grinned. This was the chance he'd been waiting for since that night Josh disappeared. The missing girls, the murders at the station, his deceased father, none of it mattered anymore. He sped up and ran toward the forest, closing the distance between himself and Marino.
53
Frankie turned away from Robert Randall and grabbed her radio.
“Dispatch, come in. This is FBI Special Agent Frankie Lassiter. I need backup at—“
Frankie turned and looked directly into the barrel of a shotgun.
“At where?” said the radio.
Robert had rounded the counter with such quiet steps that Frankie hadn’t sensed him approaching. It seemed impossible that a man of his girth could be so quiet.
“Robert,” said Frankie, raising her hands into the air. The radio continued to make noise, asking for information. “What are you doing?”
“Drop that radio and slide it over to me," said Robert. "Slowly. If you go for your gun, I’ll blow your brains out.”
There was a vacantness in Robert’s eyes Frankie had only ever seen in serial killers, and in that moment, she saw how they'd gotten everything wrong, how they had been so close to the correct answer.
She bent over and slid the radio across the floor. As she stood she looked out the front window of the bar, hoping that some passing cop would see their car and figure out where they were.
Robert stomped on the radio, crushing it under his foot. “Give me your gun.”
Frankie nodded and took her gun from its' holster. She remained calm and looked for any opening, but Robert never took his eyes off her, his finger twitching on the trigger of the shotgun. She slid the gun along the floor. Robert kicked it away, into the corner.
“Why do this?” she said.
Robert didn’t take his eyes off her for a moment. “Sam Marino showed me the joy of killing a long time ago," he said. "This is something I’m good at, something I’m passionate about. I'd forgotten the feeling when Ashley Hagerty fell into my lap. Killing is like riding a bicycle. You never forget.”
“You’re murdering people.”
Robert shrugged. “To each their own. Now give me your car keys.”
Frankie slid them along the floor. There was no opening as he bent over and grabbed the keys, the gun still levelled at her head.
“Get up and walk to the stairs.”
“Where?”
Robert pointed with his free hand at the door to his right, which had a sign saying, “Employees only.”
Frankie stood and walked to the door, looking for the opening she was getting certain would never come. She opened the door, which led to a staircase and a cellar. She took the steps slowly, Robert following a few steps behind.
“Turn right,” said Robert when she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Open the freezer.”
Freezer, thought Frankie, remembering that Dr. Novak had said the victims had indications of frostbite.
Frankie walked to the large steel door and unlocked it. She grabbed the handle and pulled the thick door open. It was at least a foot thick, more than enough to muffle any sounds. A blast of freezing air hit her in the face and an involuntary shiver racked her body.
“Who’s there?” came a voice from inside.
“Kendra?” said Frankie, looking into the dark freezer, lit only by the light of the cellar behind them.
“Agent Lassiter?” said Kendra.
“Get in,” said Robert, “or I’ll shoot both of you.”
Frankie hesitated and got the shotgun shoved into her back.
She stumbled inside the freezer, slipping on the icy floor and catching herself against the wall. She spun back toward the door just as it slammed shut and the sound of the lock going across echoed through the freezer.
“Shit,” said Frankie, moving across the ten by ten freezer, now dark except for the dim light coming through the small window. She moved her hands over the door, looking for the handle.
“It’s—It’s not there,” said Kendra from the corner of the freezer, a shiver in her voice. “No door handle, no light. No food. He moved it all some--somewhere else.”
Frankie turned around and looked around the freezer. There were shelves around the edges built into the freezer, but there was no food on the shelves. The entire freezer was coated in a thin layer of ice and snow.
Kendra sat against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing a thick parka and gloves, which looked as though they'd been supplied by Robert. Perhaps he wanted to kill his victims himself. He wouldn't let the cold do it for him. Even with the parka, she was shivering.
Frankie paced back and forth once, pulling her jacket around herself. “Fuck! We should have seen it. We never even considered Robert.”
“No one did,” said Kendra. A shiver wracked her entire body. “No one did.”
Frankie sighed, turning and looking out the window of the freezer, wondering whether they would ever get out. “I should have seen it.”
54
Curtis sprinted through the forest as it became denser, pushing branches away and trying not to trip. He couldn’t see Marino, but could hear the panting of a winded man less than a dozen feet in front of him.
Curtis had his gun ready. There was light gathering in front of him.
The branches continued to snap back, cutting his skin and ripping his clothes. All he could think was how close he was to getting Marino, to having him alone. He could finally learn what happened to Josh. He could finally know.
He broke through the underbrush and into a clearing, the sun coming like an onslaught against his eyes. He put his arm over his head to block out the sunlight and only saw Marino sprinting directly at him at the last second.
Curtis got his hands in front of his face to block the blow from the shorter but thicker Marino and managed to block it. His gun went flying from his hands, bouncing across the ground and settling in a patch of grass.
Both men lunged for the gun.
Curtis got there first. As he bent over to get it, Marino tackled him from behind, sending him spinning and falling to the ground.
Marino got on top of him, straddling Curtis's chest and pinning Curtis’s arms. Curtis tried to move, but was unable to get any leverage.
Marino grinned through his red, sweat-covered face. “Here we are, Curtis," he said. "I have you at my mercy. I’ll bet you wish you hadn’t turned me in to the feds now. Maybe if you hadn’t I would let you leave here alive.”
“If I die," said Curtis, "I’m taking you with me.”
Marino just laughed and looked around. When he saw the gun sitting ten feet away, he sighed. “Suppose I won’t be able to get that without letting you up. Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He grinned. “You really thought I didn’t know it was you? I always knew it was you, you little piece of shit.”
“I didn’t buy your lies and your nice guy act for a second," said Curtis.
“Whatever you say.” Marino put his hands around Curtis’s throat, choking him and cutting off his airways. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Curtis tried to reply, but he was already losing air, and his words came out as strained gasps. He shook his arms, trying to get out from beneath Marino as thumbs dug into his windpipe. He flailed his legs against Marino’s back, trying to get him to loosen his grip.
Marino was breathing heavily and grunted.
The blue of the sky above Curtis grew hazy. The world began going out of focus. He gasped for the air that couldn’t get to his lungs.
He lunged forward in a last moment effort as though he was doing a sit-up and in that moment managed to get his chin against his chest, allowing him to gasp for air.
Marino kept fighting, far from defeated, and Curtis knew that the rush of air that flowed into his lungs would be useless if he couldn’t get o
ut from under Marino. With the rush of air that went into his brain, he did the only thing that seemed to have any chance of working.
He lunged forward and bit down as hard as he could on the side of Marino’s hand, his teeth sinking into the right thumb.
Marino screamed Curtis's teeth sunk through flesh and muscle down to the bone. Curtis could taste blood in his mouth and moving toward his throat. He didn’t let go as Marino yanked back his hand, trying desperately to pry it loose of Curtis’s jaws.
Marino’s looked angrier than Curtis had ever seen anyone. The former crime boss raised his free hand into the air, ready to punch the side of Curtis’s face and free his hand. It didn’t seem to occur to him that if Curtis didn’t let go, he’d effectively be ripping his thumb off.
Curtis took the chance of Marino being off-balance to use his freed arm to grab Marino and force him off.
Marino went sprawling across the grass, blood flowing from his hand. The skin from his thumb was hanging from Curtis’s teeth as he stood.
He took a few deep breaths and checked his throat for damage. He tore the piece of flesh from his teeth. The taste of Marino’s blood was still fresh. He spat onto the ground, but it did little to get rid of the taste.
Marino spun to a standing position and grabbed his hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He looked down and smiled.
Curtis's gun was sitting at his feet. His movements were slowed from his blood loss, but he was still able to grab the gun off the ground with his free hand while he pushed his wound into his shirt. The shirt quickly became a deep red.
Curtis was too far away. He raised his hands in surrender as Marino levelled the gun at him. Marino wobbled, looking lightheaded from blood loss.
In that moment, Curtis took a gamble he knew was all or nothing. He sprinted at Marino with all his energy.
The sound of the gunshot echoed through the forest, but Curtis didn’t think he’d been hit. He tackled Marino, shoulder first, as hard as he could. Marino went sliding along the ground and into a tree at the edge of the clearing, groaning loudly.
