by Blou Bryant
He started to run but in his surprise had not been ready and ended up tripping. He fell forward into the garbage bin and hit his right shoulder hard on the metal structure. He was on the ground when he glanced up to see a short trucker with a wearing an Angels baseball hat in the entrance, staring back down at him with a puzzled expression.
“Hey,” the man said.
Wyatt could smell rotting flesh around him and put a hand down to lift himself up. He almost vomited when his hand connected with something slimy. He held his bile in, pushed himself up, and wiped his hand off on his jeans, not caring to see what he’d removed. The man didn’t appear threatening.
“Um,” Wyatt said. What do you say to a stranger when surrounded by the police and covered in rot? ‘Hi’, seemed the choice that didn’t involve a long conversation and he wasn’t in the mood for sharing. “Hi,” he said.
“So, you’re Wyatt Miller.” the man replied.
“It’s not a good time to chat,” he replied, but wondered how tiny cowboy hat man knew his name.
“Yup, I see that. Police here for you, I guess.”
“You guess?”
The man shrugged. “Lots of cops, you out back.”
“And I’m Wyatt because?”
“Cause it’s your name?” the man looked confused.
Wyatt was tiring of the conversation and wanted to get back to his escape. He wasn’t social at the best of times and these were not the best of times. “Are you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I got your picture,” baseball cap replied.
From a wanted, poster, assumed Wyatt.
“On my phone,” the man said, and nodded down at the phone in his hand.
Oh.
“Anyhow, here, it’s yours now,” the man said, and handed it over.
Instinctively, Wyatt reached out and took the phone. His photo was on the screen, a picture from the last yearbook.
The man looked nervously to his left, likely at the front end of the police car that jutted out, only its grill visible around the corner. “So, good luck, I guess. Passcode is 1-2-3-4.” With that, he turned and opened the back-door to the kitchen and turned to walk away.
Wyatt looked from the phone to the retreating man. What the hell? “Wait,” he called out.
The man hesitated and turned. “I can’t stay. I have a dog. Gotta feed him,” he said.
Wyatt didn’t understand and didn’t care. A dog? The guy could have had ten starving kids at home, whatever. “Why give me your phone?” he asked, trying to read something in the blank face that was looking back at him.
The man shrugged. “Guy texted me, said he’d give me five grand if I followed you out back and gave you my phone. Interneted the money right away. It’s a phone, I’d have given it to you for a hundred,” he replied, sounding pleased with himself. With that, he turned and walked away.
Wyatt looked at the phone. Five thousand dollars? What the hell? Too late to ask though, the guy was gone. Alone again, he backed towards the dumpster and crouched next to it, trying to ignore the squishing under his shoes and the smell crawling up his nostrils. He swiped across the screen and entered the password. A message appeared immediately, “Go with Jessica Golde when she arrives,” from phone number 000-000-0000. There was no picture or name.
“What?” he texted, knowing that his online stalker was back again. This guy had skills, but also was more than somewhat mad. He looked up to the night sky and took a deep breath, regretting it right away as the odor of the dumpster filled his lungs.
“Please trust her.”
“Her?” texted Wyatt. “Don’t trust you.” This guy wanted him to go with Jessica, he had to be nuts to imagine that was even an option.
“I will protect you,” was the quick reply.
“Why?” typed Wyatt, taking a moment to scan the area again. The police hadn’t yet come to the back. He crept out of his hiding space and edged to the corner of the garbage container. He couldn’t see anybody in sight. Perhaps he could make it to the bushes without being noticed. The phone buzzed in his hand.
“I want to make everyone happy. It’s my goal.”
He looked at the note, incredulous, said, “Screw you, buddy,” out loud and then shut his mouth. Crouched down, he listened for a moment until he was sure nobody had heard him. He typed out a reply, “Wrecked life.”
“My intentions were good,” the guy said. Wyatt didn’t have a reply to that. There was a game underway, but he didn’t know what it was or what the rules were. He needed time to rest, to think, something he didn’t do well with people around him. He looked back to the bushes across the lot and the inviting darkness between them.
He was about to text back, “Don’t care,” but decided he had better things to do than exchange notes with a random stranger who’d inserted himself in his life. He put the phone in his pocket, took a runner stance and was ready to bolt, when the door behind him opened again.
“Oh, for crying out loud, take your phone back,” he said, turning. His heart dropped when he saw who it was. It wasn’t the baseball-cap wearing dog lover. The doorway was filled by a man twice the size of the one who’d given him the phone. Lewis.
“Oh,” said Wyatt, staying in his crouch.
Lewis took a step forward, his face set. “Don’t run, son. It’s not worth it.”
“Leave me alone,” Wyatt replied and thought, if I ever get out of this, I’m never talking to another person again. I will go to my room, shut the door and read or watch TV or just sleep, anything. I want this nightmare to end.
Lewis shook his head.
Wyatt noticed Lewis didn’t have his gun drawn. “You don’t have your gun out. Do you believe I didn’t do it?”
“What I believe doesn’t matter. Saw you didn’t take a gun off the table when you ran, could’ve. Wilbur says trust you, so perhaps I do, but you’re still wanted, so I have to take you in.”
“What do you care, you’re doing this job for fun.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t do it well,” said Lewis, and stepped forward, extending one hand. “Come on, son. The law is the law, if you’re innocent, you’ll go free.”
“Not if the law is for sale.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“I didn’t,” replied Wyatt, “but then I met Jessica.”
Lewis stepped forward again, he was only two feet away. It was now or never and Wyatt tensed. Lewis shook his head and said, “Don’t run, you think you can outrun me?”
“I’m young, perhaps.”
“I run for a living, don’t do it.”
Let’s see who can run the fastest, he thought. Wyatt bolted for the bushes. He made it two steps and then tumbled onto the ground as Lewis’s nightstick hit him hard in his left calf.
Lewis dropped onto one knee and then put his other onto Wyatt’s shoulder. He grabbed one hand and slapped a handcuff on it. Wyatt found himself flipped over as if he was half his size, and then the lawman cuffed his two hands together.
“Don’t need to outrun a man if he’s lying on the ground,” Lewis said, with humor in his voice as he lifted his prisoner to his feet. He looked Wyatt up and down and shook his head. “You’re filthy and reek of something vile.”
“No shit.”
“More likely rotten food, but anyways don’t disrespect me. You know a man by how he behaves in the hard times, not the good ones. You’ll come through, trust me, I’m doing well now, but it wasn’t always like that, I’ve had my hard days.”
“I know,” replied Wyatt. “I used to worship you, I watched you hit sixty-three feet on a shot, once.”
“Did that a few times. Hit sixty-five twice,” the man replied with clear pride. “Have to say, not many people know that about me. Everybody knows me from football. What type of person follows track and field like that?”
“I do. I love shot-put. It’s just you, alone in a circle with a shot in your hands. You’re not competing with anyone but yourself.”
�
��Uh-huh, true, but it’s lonely and not as much of a challenge, is it? You might be a good runner, but see what happened when someone else tried to stop you. You want to be the best, you need to stand against others.”
Whatever. “Please, don’t hand me over, it’s not who you are. I saw you at the nationals and I remember when you gave up your spot to Williams.”
“Wasn’t nothing.”
“It was everything! He’d been next on the qualified list for the one-hundred, would have been first if he’d not missed the Milwaukee meet to be with his brother.”
Lewis nodded. “At court. They came from the same place I did. Was the right thing for him and for the team, he was better than me.”
“See, you did the right thing and helped him get free!”
“Yup, I did it cause his brother got in trouble but wasn’t a bad guy. And he stood up in court, took his rap, did his time. Ain’t the same, letting you go. Seems the opposite.”
Wyatt didn’t reply.
“Quiet now? Might be an older guy got something right. You’re smarter than you look if you can understand that. Let’s go,” Lewis said, opened the door, and pushed Wyatt through.
Wyatt had only a moment to notice the three men in the kitchen before he was yanked back behind Lewis. One big hand on his shoulder was all it took to move his two hundred and five pounds. The officer stepped to the side so that he completely blocked his view.
“Who are you?” Lewis asked.
Wyatt stepped out from behind his captor to take a second glance at the other people in the room. There was a police officer at the door and another man in a brown uniform that wasn’t police issue. The one he focused on stood in front of the other two, dressed in an immaculate beige suit and white shoes. A wide smile filled a round face that was topped by a few wisps of hair that were swept forward, failing to cover a forehead that gleamed in the brightly lit kitchen.
“Hi there, I’m Johnathan Golde.”
Lewis didn’t appear very impressed. “And you are, who exactly?”
“I’m the President of Golde, Inc. We provide contract services for communities looking for efficiencies in law enforcement services. We offer high quality community policing options for local and State governments across the country.”
“And you’re here because?”
Wyatt interrupted, “Because his daughter is…”
“Be quiet, would you, please?” asked Lewis. “Mr. Golde, it’s strange that you’d be personally involved in this.”
“I’m a hands on guy, Officer…”
“Stanhope.”
“But in this case, it’s because my daughter was involved. Are you a father, Officer Stanhope?”
“No.”
“When you are, you’ll understand. This boy you’ve arrested, good work, by the way, he kidnapped my poor peach, and he shot her boyfriend.” Golde walked forward two steps, and looked up at Lewis. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
Wyatt took three deep breaths and scanned the kitchen for options, for a way out. He played with his handcuffs, but they were on tight enough that he wasn’t going to be able to wiggle out of them. He stepped out from behind Lewis, “He’s a famous athlete. You can’t railroad me, he knows and everybody will, that your daughter is a killer, a psychopath and that you’re a crook.”
Mr. Golde looked at Wyatt, one eyebrow raised. He made a small sound in the back of his throat and looked back up at Lewis. “You’re famous?” He turned to the man in the brown shirt and said, “Do you recognize him, Frankie?”
Frankie nodded. “Yes sir, it’s Lewis Stanhope, I don’t know what he’s doing here, but he’s a running back for the Eagles. Mighty good, too.”
Golde nodded in a distracted way. “So you’re a famous athlete, Officer Stanhope?” he asked and walked away from Lewis, went to the counter, picked up a tomato slice and put it into his mouth with a wet slurping sound. “I’m famished but shouldn’t be. They served an incredible spread at the basketball game tonight. I enjoy sports. Good for you, playing for the NFL. You must do well for yourself.”
Lewis paused before answering, “Mr. Golde, this is highly unusual.”
Golde crouched down in front of a fridge, and moved items around. “Not much good here, is there? The food in the private box, now that was delightful. The chef outdid himself, the seared foie gras was perfect. Nothing like the drivel served by this dump.”
He stood back up and walked towards Wyatt, who stood his ground. You can’t intimidate me, Wyatt thought. I don’t know how I get out of this, but I’ll do it standing tall. He tried to move forward, past Lewis, to stare the shorter man down, but was shoved back by one large hand.
“Mr. Golde, I can’t transfer him, it’s got to be done proper, through local county office, you don’t have authority here.”
Golde licked his lips. “Officer Stanhope, how about you leave the policing to the real police.”
Wyatt said, “He believes me, so did Wilbur, you can try to railroad me, but it’s not going to work.”
Lewis turned to him, “You’re not helping. Be quiet.”
Golde ignored Lewis and looked at Wyatt through narrow eyes, “Is that so? They believe you, do they? Who is Wilbur, you told him your story too?”
“He’s the server here and yes, I’ll tell everyone what your daughter did and that you covered it up.”
“How nice. Frankie, you heard that, he’s innocent.”
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Golde, that’s what he said.”
“Frankie, how about you send…” Golde hesitated and then pointed to the police officer at the door, “him, to get this Wilbur guy.”
“Yes, Mr. Golde.” Frankie said, at which the officer left.
Golde turned back to Lewis. He somehow made looking up at the big man appear as if he was looking down, so dismissive was his expression. “So, you’re rich and famous, an athlete, but want to be a cop.”
“Man’s gotta do something in the offseason.”
“Why not just enjoy your money? Spend it on women and other prurient activities? You understand what that means, don’t you?”
To Wyatt’s eye, Lewis didn’t look as if he much liked Golde. “Just because I play ball doesn’t mean I don’t know things.”
“Things, we all know things,” replied Golde. “No insult intended, son.”
“Call me Officer Stanhope, Mr. Golde,” said Lewis, deliberately. Wyatt could see him struggling with what to say. “I’m not your son.” He pointed at the door. “We’re going to leave now, and if you want a transfer, the Chicago Police can ask for one. I’ve read the rules on how this works.”
Golde just smiled and leaned back against the counter. The kitchen door swung open and the other officer returned with Wilbur, who no longer had his shotgun. “Ah,” said Golde, “our esteemed server. Thanks,” he said to the returning officer, “is the restaurant clear?”
The man nodded.
“And the Sheriff?”
“He said he’d let us handle this, he’s gone.”
“Well done, you can wait outside. I’m safe enough with Officer Lewis and Frankie here. We’ll be out in a moment once we worked out the custody question.” The officer left happy, like a puppy who’d been praised by its master. Golde picked up another slice of tomato, popped it in his mouth, turned and looked at Wilbur. “So, I’ve been informed that you’re aware of the full story this boy has shared?”
Wilbur nodded, “Yes, Sir, I am. I’m confused as why I’m here and everybody else is out front.”
Golde stared at Wilbur, ignored the question and asked, “And do you believe him? He said you do.”
Wilbur looked at Wyatt and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I was wrong earlier,” he said. “Sometimes, instinct is right,” he said, the meaning clear to Wyatt. He should have run. Wilbur said, “I believe you.”
“Well then. God blesses honest men,” Golde said with apparent sadness. He looked at the others, absent-mindedly fixed his tie and nodded at Frankie.
Wyatt
looked to each of the four men in the room and tried to gauge what was going on. Frankie had edged back towards the door, behind Wilbur. He caught a brief exchange between Wilbur and Lewis, but didn’t understand what it meant until he saw Lewis shift his weight to his back foot.
He’d ran enough races to recognize what would come next. Blood rushed to his face and his heart started pounding. There was danger in the air, his animal core knew it instinctively.
Golde nodded, his soft face impassive. “This poses a problem for me. My contract is up for renewal soon,” he said. I don’t suppose you’re looking for a job or need money, Mr. Stanhope?
“I’m doing fine,” replied Lewis, his face as hard and unmoving as if it was set in stone. “You should let us leave now, Mr. Golde. It’ll be easier.”
“Will it?” he asked. “Will it be easier to have a big public trial at which wild accusations are made against my daughter? There are people always trying to take down men like me, men who’ve spent their life building and creating.”
Golde turned back towards the counter, reaching for yet another tomato. As he leaned forward, Wyatt saw a gun in his hand. He tried to pull out of Lewis’s grip and jump forward, intending on putting his shoulder into the businessman. Lewis didn’t let go and he ended up spun around, directly between the officer and Wilbur.
Lewis had pulled his own gun out and it was now aimed at Wyatt’s temple. “Get down,” he yelled.
A gun barrel inches from his skull, Wyatt froze, and watched in slow motion as Lewis let him go and grabbed Golde by the hand holding the gun. The big man twisted hard and fast, audible cracks coming as bones broke. The well-dressed CEO screamed and dropped his own weapon to the ground, his face contorted in agony.
Wyatt started to let out his breath in relief but stopped cold at a loud bang from behind him. Lewis stepped forward, slapped him in the side of the head to force him out of the way, still holding a screaming Golde by his right arm.
Wyatt twisted around and blood splashed over his face. Lewis let him go and as he tried to get out of the way, he tripped and fell to the ground. A moment later, Wilbur fell on top of him. Blood poured from the old man’s chest
