The Crashers

by Cubed, Magen

  By 1:10, they walked silently to the Egyptian restaurant around the corner and found a table by the window. She didn’t say anything as she gave the server her black credit card at the beginning of the meal. Adam didn’t have the chance to argue.

  “How is he?” Caitlin asked, tapping a long, red nail against the bottom of her water glass. “Is he healthy at least?”

  Adam shrugged feebly and kept his hands in his lap. “He’s been good—under the circumstances, I mean. He’s been keeping busy the last few weeks, trying to stay distracted. I think it’s been good for him, though.”

  He made no mention of powers, terrorists, or Bridger’s chaotic visions. She needed the peace of mind, and he didn’t have the heart to explain what should have been between a woman and her husband.

  “And the house?”

  “We fixed it up, actually. Had the whole thing renovated. It’s kind of his passion project.”

  She nodded. “Is he happy?”

  “He’s... I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I mean, he’s content, yeah, but it’s been a lot to deal with.”

  “But he is happy with you.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying that.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him. I didn’t steal him from you.”

  “Then, what is it like?”

  Fidgeting in his seat, he licked his lips and tried to arrange his thoughts into something with a nice take-home message. “It’s just... he’s my friend. And I like to think that we are friends, and that even if this wasn’t happening, we could still be friends. I care about him. I really don’t know how else to explain it.”

  She took a sip of water and shook her head. “You don’t have to. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “You misunderstand me, Adam. I don’t hate you, and I’m not jealous of you, either.”

  His laugh was short and harsh. “No, you loathe me. I can tell.”

  “It’s... more complicated than that.”

  “Then, what is it? Why do you do this?”

  She let out a sigh. “My husband has been pulling away from me for months. I tried to deny it to myself, to find some way to fix it, to make him stay. But... ever since the cancer, he’s been different. We’re different. And he thinks it’s better to leave me than to stay together like this. I don’t agree, but I have to find a way to let him go now for both our sakes.”

  “And you’re all right with that? With letting him leave you?”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then, you don’t know what it’s like. We’re both sharks, Adam. I’m not going to lie to you. And predators complete each other. What Bridger and I had was more than a marriage; it was a partnership. We were equals in everything. He was devoted to me—emotionally, physically—and in return, I helped him destroy whatever stood in our way. And if this is what he needs—what he truly needs right now—I have to find a way to be okay with that. He would do the same for me.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him,” he insisted.

  “But you care about him. You take care of him. That makes you important.”

  Adam looked down at his plate. His fingers hooked into his dog tags. “He isn’t like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A predator. He’s a good person. I just don’t think he’s ever been told.”

  “Yes, but he isn’t the man you seem to think he is, either. Bridger’s like a well, Adam, and he makes you want to be the person who fills him. He makes you want to love him because nobody else ever did. He’s good at that.”

  “You make him sound weak.” His face burned. Whether it was from shame or insult, he didn’t know. She smiled at that, which only angered him more. “He isn’t. He’s strong. He takes care of his friends.”

  “I’m sure he does, but I spent twenty-five years loving him when no one else did. And now, all of a sudden, he has you.” After a moment, her smile faltered sadly. “And you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  He flinched, started to lie, and then thought better of it. “Yeah. I am.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “No, I don’t. I really don’t. But I have to try, because I know I can trust you to take care of him for me. And because I think that’s the only way I’m going to be able to move on now that he’s gone.”

  Sighing, he nodded. “Of course I will.”

  She smiled again and reached across the table to place her hand on top of his. “Then, I think you and I will be fine.”

  IV.

  It was long after dark when Amanda stumbled from the precinct to find Kyle on her stoop waiting for her to get home. He stuffed his hands into his pockets with a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his bottom lip and a manila folder tucked beneath his arm. The eighteen hours she spent on the clock weighed in her every movement; the burn behind her eyes begged her to tell him to go. She needed sleep now, not to look over more reports or search for more evidence. But she slid her key into the door and pushed it open for him to enter.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “Anything we can use?”

  He took one last drag of his cigarette and stamped it out. “We need to talk.”

  They walked upstairs to unit 302. She dropped her bag on the sofa and slid out of her jacket. In the kitchen, she pulled two beers from the fridge. He sagged against the counter with a hole in his gut, his mind racing as he took the offered bottle.

  “It’s White. I can’t prove it, but you were right and I know it’s him. The profile fits, along with the timeline and the motive.”

  She nodded and took a drink. “What do you need?”

  “More time. An address. Anything.”

  “They’ve got me answering phones and filing paperwork. I wish I could do more, but I know as much as you do right now.”

  “And the security checkpoints?”

  “Hey, I found out about it on the news like everybody else. The decision came down from the chief and the mayor’s office.”

  “They’re out there shaking down single moms and special needs kids, Amanda. This is bullshit.”

  “I know.”

  He shook his head. “And there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “You ever hear of Kyrios Securities?”

  “Just what I’ve heard from Ben. It’s a private security firm based out of Camden.”

  “They’ve been following me. Keeping tabs.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Don’t know. They offered me a job before all of this got started. Tossed my place when I didn’t bite. Been on my tail ever since.”

  “You have to talk to Ben and see what he knows.”

  “Can I? I don’t know if I can trust him anymore. What if he set me up?”

  “You don’t know that. We’ve known Ben for years, Kyle. What would he have to gain by doing any of this?”

  “I don’t know. This all figures in somehow. I’m just not seeing it yet.”

  He turned away and paced around her tiny living room. She left her beer on the counter to follow.

  “Hey, maybe you just need to take a step back from all of this. Put some distance between you and this shit.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She scoffed. “No, you’re a trauma victim trying to do my job for me. This is more than you can handle right now.”

  “I’ll make it.”

  “When’s the last time you slept?”

  The question gave him pause. He shrugged. “Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

  “Yeah, it matters. You’ve hit a wall, Kyle. What did you expect?”

  “People are relying on me to come through, Amanda. Because I promised I would.”

  “It’s not your job.”

  “No, it’s an obligation.”

  “Your friends?”

  He nodded.

  She sighed. “You’re no use to anybody li
ke this. You don’t want to go home? Fine. But you’re sleeping.”

  “Amanda, you don’t have to.”

  “I don’t have to what? You’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll be gone by morning, and we’ll have this conversation again tomorrow.” She pointed to her sofa. “So, what’re you going to do?”

  After a moment, he sank wearily into the sofa. “I’m going to press Ben, see what he knows. Then, I’m going to find a way to catch Damon White.”

  “Good,” she said. “Just sleep first.”

  V.

  The latest manifesto was a DVD with Farsi letters scribbled across it in permanent marker. It was dropped into the mailbox of Lily McDaniels of Channel 8 fame. Three other copies were dropped in the boxes of anchors across the city, from major network subsidiaries to the local Spanish language station. Damon White decided this would be the biggest lie yet as he spliced together images and news footage from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Still frames of burn victims and chemical attacks pulled from internet searches were peppered between recycled Al Qaeda manifesto tapes. American casualties of unrelated accidents were held up as the targets of a sudden and glorious jihad.

  By 8:00 a.m., the DVDs would be on every television in the EBC. At lunchtime, the footage would be the top story of every major network in the western world as terrorism strangled the heart of the city. Mayor Sheldon’s office would have another press conference, followed by Chief Marshall and the suits from the FBI and Homeland Security field offices upstate. The White House would release statements all afternoon, to field questions about foreign policy and domestic security. Social media would clamor for the resignation of Sheldon and Marshall for their inability to protect their citizens from terrorism. Religious leaders would take to the streets by sundown for prayer, and members of the white supremacist groups outlining the edges of the state would release internet videos demanding an end to the American slaughter.

  But at 6:00 a.m., reading the paper over coffee and toast, Damon White simply waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I.

  Kyle left before Amanda woke up just as he always did, stealing away into the dark-purple of morning before her alarm went off. The note he left on the nightstand told her where he was going, what he was doing, and that he could text her later. He was standing outside the white tower across town that overlooked Camden while the rest of the city was making its slow commute to work. Ben’s office was on the twenty-second floor of the ivory spire in an ocean of desks and cubicle partitions. Kyle didn’t have the nerve to step inside the offices of Kyrios Securities yet; he didn’t have a profile of his stalkers to fall back on in case his stakeout went south on him.

  A quick, fake social call to the front desk gave Kyle an approximate window to catch Ben on his lunch break. He waited until Ben emerged from the building at 12:20. Kyle caught up with him at a restaurant on Jermaine Avenue. He dropped into the leather-backed chair across from Ben at his little, black, marble table.

  Smiling, Ben reached out to slap his shoulder. “Hey, man. Long time, no see. How’d moving into the new place go?”

  “We need to talk,” Kyle said sharply.

  “Sure. What about?”

  “What did you tell your bosses about me?”

  Ben shrugged. “Nothing. I mean, yeah, there’s a candidacy program. One of the guys from upstairs was looking to field possible new recruits. You know, ex-cops, former military. That’s how your name came up.”

  Kyle shook his head. “You’re lying to me, Ben.”

  “What? No, of course not. Why would I lie?”

  “So, I’ll ask you again: what did you tell them?”

  “Nothing, man, I swear. I dropped your name, talked about your record, your testing scores. A couple of suits seemed really into getting you onboard. I did it to help you, Kyle.”

  “Your employers have had me followed since the subway accident. I want to know why.”

  “Holy shit.” Ben shook his head. “I had no idea, I swear. I never would’ve said a word.”

  “Any reason they would want to keep tabs on me?”

  “No.”

  “Think harder, Ben.”

  “I’m telling you, this is way above my pay grade.”

  “Then, give me a name. Who has my file? Who would gain something from all of this?”

  Ben chewed his words for a moment, trying to think. “My boss Salazar could know, his boss Wu... and then Bosie, I guess.”

  “Who’s Bosie?”

  “Walter Bosie, our senior operations manager. He was sitting in on all the meetings.”

  “How do I reach him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s on the fifty-first floor. My clearance doesn’t give me access to their offices.”

  “Somebody has to know, Ben.”

  “Let me ask around for you, see if I can find something out.”

  “No. You don’t need to get involved in this.”

  “Let me do this. I want to know why my bosses are tracking you. Besides, this could be my fault. Just let me help.”

  “All right. Call me if you find anything.”

  As Kyle stood to leave, Ben grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ben.”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t be. Just do what you can.”

  Ben nodded. “Okay. Okay, I will.”

  II.

  The backyard had become a target range in the days after the latest manifesto tape hit the news. It was Bridger’s idea. Under the circumstance, no one else could really fault him for it. The tape was on a fifteen-minute loop on every channel. It was a source of endless sound bites on the radio. Norah changed the living room set to one of the children’s networks and hid the remote from everyone else. She refused to have coverage on in the house. The constant barrage made them all wary to put on the news or leave the house, hearing unconfirmed reports of demonstrations and riots all over the city.

  Clara spent hours at a time on the phone with her mother and Abuelita trying to get them to remain calm and refrain from sending her uncle Carl to fly down and drag her back home. Norah gave Hannah ample distractions in the form of new sketchbooks and coloring supplies, sending her off to the greenhouse most afternoons while she shuffled through Kyle’s notes and files. Kyle had been gone for days already. He came and went at odd hours and spent his nights at Amanda’s; he still checked in periodically while he chased Damon White’s footsteps across the city.

  Adam had his job at the shop to keep him distracted, and was thankful for it. When he came home that night, the house was quiet. Norah was in the utility room washing a load of laundry, Hannah was playing in the green house, and Clara was in her room speaking poor Spanish on the phone. Taking off his jacket, he went to the kitchen for a beer. The sudden sound of gunfire grabbed his attention as he moved to window. His initial panic calmed when he saw Bridger in the backyard. Bridger had found glass bottles in the recycling bin and lined them up on a makeshift rack built from scrap wood leftover from the renovations and spray-painted yellow. Adam poked his head through the back door to find Bridger fruitlessly making his way down the line, a cigarette between his teeth as he stared down the long barrel to the target.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Adam asked, sounding remarkably like his mother for just a moment.

  “World’s gone to shit,” Bridger answered flippantly. “I figured I’d be prepared.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Norah’s not going to be happy about the target range, though.”

  Bridger chuckled darkly. “Considering that she and her kid live here rent-free, she better be thrilled about it.”

  “And the cigarette?”

  “I quit in college.”

  Adam tossed a hand in the air. “What about the one you’re smoking right now?”

  “I picked it back up. We can’t all be saints, Adam.”

  “Yes, but you have lung cancer. It’s a little counterproductive, don’t you think?”

  “Ironic,
right? I’m getting pretty hard to kill these days despite my best efforts.”

  Bridger closed one eye and squeezed off a round at a long-necked bottle. Adam watched the bullet clink off the squat belly. He shook his head and sighed.

  “Your stance is way off.”

  Bridger huffed irritably around his cigarette. “What?”

  “Your stance. You’re compensating too much, and the recoil’s going to knock you off your feet. You’ll never hit anything like that.”

  “How would you know?”

  “What, you mean besides the six years I spent in the army while you were riding a desk? I used to go hunting with my dad and uncles when I was a kid. Spent a lot more time loitering around firing ranges than I ever did at school. C’mere, it’s easier if I just show you.” Adam stepped behind Bridger and placed a hand on his waist. He drew up Bridger’s arm, pulled back his shoulders, and widened his stance, squaring him up for the shot. “Line up your sights. Take a breath. Let it out. Pull the trigger.”

  Bridger squeezed the trigger. The bottle exploded into shards of glass.

  “See?” Adam smirked. “Easy.”

  Bridger lined his sights up with another bottle, then another. He squeezed off two more rounds in successful bursts. It took several moments for Adam to realize he hadn’t yet stepped away. Bridger cleared his throat. Adam’s face felt hot and he let go of Bridger. He put his hands in his pockets.

  “Thanks,” Bridger said. He opened the chamber to reload.

  “Yeah, sure.” Adam smiled weakly. Everything about this felt stupid. His mouth was cotton-dry and his stomach turned with the initial coils of panic. “Um, look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. I just hadn’t found the right time yet.”

  “What?”

  “I just don’t want you to be mad.”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “It’s just... It’s about your wife, and I know that’s a really sore subject right now.”

  “Okay, now you’re making me nervous. What is it?”

  Adam took a deep breath and tried not to feel sick. “You know how she came to visit me before? Well, it’s more than that. She’s... kind of been seeing me for a while.”

  Bridger blinked. “Seeing you how?”