The Tracker

by Chad Zunker

  He pressed his lips together, considered it. Cedric shrugged. “Sure, I can do that. No harm there.”

  “And, Cedric, you can’t tell anyone I’m out here.”

  “No worries, Sam the man.”

  I waited fifteen long, excruciating minutes. I began to wonder if I was wrong about Cedric, that he couldn’t be trusted. Would the police be pulling up at any moment? The Feds? What was taking so long? My mom moved a lot slower these days, but not that slow. Especially if she heard I was waiting for her outside the building. He finally reappeared from the same back door. My mom was not with him. There were serious lines in the kid’s forehead, which of course made me concerned. I stepped out from behind the dumpster again.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “She’s not here.”

  “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. She was checked out.”

  My heart started pounding. My mind began to spin through dramatic scenarios. “Wait…checked out by whom?” Only family was allowed to check out a resident of the facility.

  “I knew you’d ask, man, so I checked with Claudette, at the front desk. The paperwork has the name Larry Manor. Under family relationship, it states ‘uncle.’ Your mom signed the release form herself. It all seems very legit.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  I was in a near panic, barely able to breath. My mom did not have an Uncle Larry. I was the only living family member that I knew about — unless she’d kept something from me. I’d never heard the name. So who was this man? And why would my mom sign out to go with him? Did she voluntarily go? Had someone stuck a gun in her back and forced her out the front door? Cedric could read the fear in my face. He tried to reassure me.

  “I asked around, Sam. I think it’s cool. Janice met him, too, said he was a real nice older man, very polite, very pleasant. She said your mom seemed totally comfortable with him. Nothing strange about any of it. The man had all the proper identification and paperwork. It seems solid.”

  My eyes flashed open. “This man, he have a gray beard?”

  Cedric’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. That’s how Janice described him. Gray beard, dark suit.”

  My throat tightened, I sunk down to my knees. The world was spinning. I couldn’t even respond. My mind was reeling. I didn’t understand. I’d taken the first flight out of Austin. There were no other earlier departures, not even in neighboring cities like San Antonio, Dallas, or Houston. I checked them all. I would have flown out from anywhere. The gray-bearded man was in Texas with me last night before midnight. Ten hours ago. How did he get back to DC before me? He could not have driven. Impossible. The only explanation was a private plane. He must have access to some serious financial resources or at least someone did. Someone who had kept me alive last night, but who had now taken my mom. The same man who had killed a guy right in front of me last night probably had a gun pointed at my mom right now. A professional who knew how to kill. They’d taken her because of me. Because I’d accepted this job and responded to that damn text.

  For all I knew, my mom could already be dead right now. Because of me.

  Cedric was asking if I was okay, his hand on my shoulder, but I couldn’t respond.

  I was numb. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

  They had my mom, which meant they had me.

  I had to find Natalie.

  NINETEEN

  Sunday, 11:02 a.m.

  Washington, DC

  1 day, 12 hours, 58 minutes to Election Day

  Natalie Foster’s daily routine never changed. She was always working. The news didn’t pause for the weekend. She was up early and at the office before sunrise, writing, researching, making calls, then breakfast meetings with sources, leads, and players in the game. She’d head back to the office to write some more, then quickly change before lunch into a jogging outfit for a four-mile loop around the National Mall. After showering and changing at the gym, she would stop at the smoothie shop for lunch, then make her way back to PowerPlay’s offices four blocks from the White House. I’d run with her several times. It always turned into some kind of competition, of course. Everything did with her. Usually a dead sprint up the massive steps, Rocky Balboa style, and into the lap of Abraham Lincoln, where we collapsed and rested.

  It was a depressing gray day in DC. The mist had not let up. There was a numb panic inside of me. I had no idea where my mom was or if she was even still alive. I would find her, no matter what it took, even if it meant giving up my own life to do it. I desperately hoped Natalie would be willing to help.

  I was standing behind a thick column next to the massive monument of the 16th President of the United States at the Lincoln Memorial. Even with the nasty weather, there were still packs of tourists out, all in their raincoats, umbrellas, phones held up, cameras snapping. Only the committed runners were still out on the lawn in this weather and on the sidewalks around the Reflecting Pool. Natalie was a committed runner. A few sprinkles and some puddles wouldn’t stop her from her routine.

  She arrived on schedule, bounding up the massive steps, under the protective covering of the giant building in front of Abraham Lincoln. She looked fantastic. I expected nothing less. She wore black running pants, pink Nikes, and a black windbreaker. Her brown hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. Earbuds were in her ears. I watched her from the column for a minute or two as she checked her pulse, bobbed her head up and down some to her music, began to stretch. I wondered if she was listening to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, or the Stones. She grew up with those classic bands, her dad’s favorites.

  I had not spoken to Natalie in over five months. Not since we ran into each other at a coffee house, did the awkward side-hug thing, and sidestepped any serious conversation. She basically evaded eye contact altogether, and quickly excused herself. There was a lot of pain there. I could feel it pinch in my gut. But I needed her right now, in more ways than one.

  I took a deep breath, exhaled, stepped out. The blue hood was covering my new blonde hair. My gray running shoes were the same ones that I used to wear while jogging with her over a year ago. I waited until a small pack of tourists cleared the area in front of Abe, then made my way over to where she was pulling a leg up behind her. My heart was pounding the same way it did when I was back in that batting cage, trying to win her over for the first time.

  When I was within five feet, close enough to break a comfortable level of personal space, she looked up and locked eyes with me. Her head stopped bobbing, mouth parted. Her eyes met mine. It was only five seconds, us both standing there, staring, but it felt like five minutes of silence. She noticeably swallowed, put her leg down slowly, plucked out the earbuds. She stepped closer and hugged me, really tight. This time, it was not awkward at all. She was holding me close to her. I held her back and almost lost it. I could feel her breath on my neck and the puddles forming in my eyes. Of course she knew all about my current situation. Natalie was plugged-in minute-by-minute with every single news story going on in the world, a news junkie. Used to drive me crazy, her phone buzzing every two minutes with a new breaking news alert.

  She took a step back, spoke quietly. “Sam, are you okay?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

  She seemed to be examining my new hair under the hoodie.

  She nodded. “I’ve been trying to call you, texting, emailing. I’ve left like a hundred voicemails. What’s going on?”

  “None of it is true. I promise. I got pulled into something very dangerous.”

  We paused conversation as a large pack of Asian tourists made their way up to old Abe, sitting presidentially in the big chair. I peered behind me, noticed a security guard hovering near the front steps. He wasn’t watching us, but it still made me nervous. Any Barney Fife with a badge and a gun made me twitch right now.

  “I need your help,” I whispered.

  She nodded again. I could see that she was thinking, brains
torming. When her brain was processing through critical new information, she always looked down, a far off stare, her forehead creased, biting gently on her lip. She looked up, resolved.

  “Okay, meet me at my place in one hour,” she said. “Use the back door, from my parking spot. Code is still the same. I’ll be waiting.”

  I felt a tidal wave of relief push through me. “Thank you.”

  She grabbed my hand in hers, a quick squeeze. Then she put the earbuds back in, brushed past me, trotted down the steps, and continued on her run through the Mall.

  Standing there, I couldn’t help but relive it all over again in my mind.

  SAM CALLAHAN

  Age Twenty-Four

  Washington, DC

  Komi is an exquisite, high-end Mediterranean restaurant near Dupont Circle.

  Fancy and expensive is not exactly my style. I’m perfectly content with my usual six dollar cheeseburgers from Five Guys on Friday nights. Natalie, on the other hand, had mentioned more than once in the few months that we’d been dating that it was one of her favorite dinner spots in the city. She began to insist the past few weeks that we should dress up and show some class every so often. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her on that, but she finally wore me down. We would eat at her dear Komi. The dinner tab would run us up over three hundred bucks tonight. That made me want to choke on my own tongue. When Natalie saw the look on my face at the mention of the daunting price tag earlier that same week, she tried to insist that we should each pay our own way. No big deal. She was not some precious princess that needed the guy to pay for everything. She had her own career. She did not expect me to carry the full weight of our social life together. I refused her offer. I may have been near broke, but I would not let chivalry die.

  So we dined on braised goat, salmon, scallops, all appropriately paired with the most excellent wine choices, according to the waiter. He spoke with an accent. I couldn’t understand him half the time, but Natalie interpreted for me. She seemed perfectly at ease in this environment. Which made me wonder what she was doing with a poor street kid like me. She had grown up with affluence. Her father was very successful. She knew life in the big city and life on the farm. She was just as comfortable in this high-dollar establishment as she was at the cheap BBQ joint we liked to frequent up the street. I, on the other hand, was completely out of my element and comfort zone. I wasn’t sure which fork to use or how to pronounce most of the menu. I was not used to wearing my only suit out to dinner. After all, I had eaten out of dumpsters behind places just like this one at one point in my life.

  I did not want to let these internal feelings of tension ruin my evening. So I tried to focus on Natalie in her short cocktail dress and heels, but this just made me wish we were on our way back to her place. Admittedly, the food was much better served warm and fresh and on perfectly clean plates. It was indeed exquisite. Every bite was a taste of bliss. I finished off my salmon, sipped my wine, took in the quaint dining room. The restaurant, with its crisp formal white linens and perfect mood lighting, was filled with other couples also dressed to the nines and who seemed perfectly fine dropping down a few hundred dollars on tiny plates of food. There were a lot of easygoing smiles and empty wine glasses around the dining room.

  “What are you thinking?” Natalie asked.

  “Trying to pick out the one guy in here who makes less money than me. Other than our waiter, perhaps.”

  “Our waiter probably makes twice as much as you.”

  I smiled. “You’re right.”

  “I told you I would pay for myself, Sam,” Natalie said, looking guilty.

  “I’m just teasing, Natalie. If this makes you happy, it makes me happy.”

  “It does, thank you. You should be okay with treating yourself every once in a while.”

  “I guess.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m overdue at the cash-for-fluids medical clinic anyway. That should help pay for tonight.”

  “Right.” She laughed. “How’s your mom today?”

  I had come straight to dinner after seeing my mom. “Oh, she’s her usual firecracker self. But she seems to really like the people there, which is good. She’s actually made a few friends. And she likes the neighborhood. Some of the ladies at the center invited her to the church up the street. And so far no reports of biting or stealing. I’m hoping this will last.”

  Natalie grinned. “She’s funny. I really like her.”

  “Well, that’s good, because she adores you. She won’t shut up about it.”

  “Good. Please tell her I feel the same.”

  “She asked me to invite you to come with me tomorrow. We’re walking over to the park to feed the birds. And smoke about two packs while doing it. She can’t understand why the birds won’t come closer, even though there’s a haze of smoke all around her. But it gets her outdoors for at least an hour, which seems to be good for her.”

  “Yes, I would love to come with you.”

  “Okay.” I took a sip of wine. “Hey, you mentioned earlier in your text that you had some exciting news to share with me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, right. I’m going to be an aunt again. Greg and Amy are pregnant.”

  “They have the twins, right?”

  “Yes. But they’ve had a lot of trouble getting pregnant. They have had to do fertility treatments to finally get here. So, it’s a huge blessing that they are finally pregnant again. My dad wants us all to come to Foster Farms two weekends from now for the whole family to celebrate.”

  “Your dad is always looking to throw a party, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. But family is everything to him. Do you want to come?”

  “Sure. If I haven’t already worn out my welcome.”

  “My dad specifically asked me to bring you along.”

  “Really? He must need help bathing the pigs.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure that’s it.”

  The waiter brought out a small plate of assorted specialty chocolates for dessert. Natalie picked at one. I devoured the rest of them like they were cheap Reese’s peanut butter cups. Probably not the appropriate way to eat them — I’m sure each chocolate had its own matching wine — but they were ridiculously good. Like little drops of chocolate heaven that melted immediately in my mouth. Everything about Komi was ridiculously good. Especially my company. Then the bill showed up. I paid through gritted teeth and tried to hide the fact that I wanted to punch the waiter who made more money than me in the mouth.

  Afterward, we decided to take a walk around the fountain at Dupont Circle. It was a cool evening. We held hands. Natalie snuggled in really close to me. She was being extra affectionate after dinner. I wasn’t sure if she felt guilty about the bill or if it was a positive response to me taking her to her favorite restaurant, the good food and drink, or what, but I was no longer thinking about the money. I just wanted to hold her close to me. We stopped and stared at the water flowing over the sides of the fountain and splashing into the pool below. It felt like a perfect evening. Until it took a dramatic turn.

  Natalie suddenly pivoted to face me full-on, both my hands interlocked in hers, and she looked me square in the eyes. Something important was coming.

  “You know that I love you, don’t you, Sam?” she said.

  And there it was. Three heavy words. My stomach immediately tightened up like a clenched fist. My tongue felt thick. I wasn’t prepared to respond. I understood the weight of this moment. The weight of those words. It was the first time those three critical words had been spoken by either one of us. They had been on my lips many times before tonight, but I had been unable to say them to her for some reason. They stuck in my throat. Just like tonight.

  “I had a feeling,” I managed to say in reply, forcing a smile.

  She waited, but it was all I could say. I just froze. What a jerk. I leaned in to kiss her, and although she kissed me back, I could feel the reservation in her lips. No one says those words unless they hope to hear them immediately back. I had failed her. Fortunately,
a street musician began strumming a guitar and singing a few feet away from us, and a small crowd began to gather around. We turned to listen as well. Although we continued to hold hands, her grip had loosened in mine, and I could sense a cloud starting to hover over us.

  My heart beat twice as fast the rest of the evening.

  I dropped her at her apartment later with a quick kiss and left.

  I didn’t sleep at all that night. Why couldn’t I say it back?

  She hit me with the follow-up question at dinner a week later.

  “Are you ever going to tell me you love me back, Sam?”

  I obviously knew it was coming. That’s why I had avoided her for almost a week. I was dreading it. The words she said to me at Dupont Circle are not something that can hang out there for very long without some kind of eventual reciprocation or explanation. I was struggling like crazy with my emotions. I had bailed on several possible dates in the interim, citing study groups or tough law exams or general busyness with my part-time jobs. I was doing everything I could to avoid what I knew was a relationship defining moment. Maybe the relationship defining moment. Something apparently Natalie was ready and willing to embrace.

  I could avoid it no longer. Natalie deserved a response.

  We were sitting at a table in the corner of Chef Geoff’s restaurant. We had just finished a screening of the classic film Casablanca at the National Theatre nearby. Natalie was always dragging me to watch classic movies. She loved the old Hollywood glamour. Another favorite pastime she shared with her father growing up. I could see her lips moving during Casablanca as she silently quoted the lines. I had a lot of catching up to do. There had not been much movie watching in my youth. But a movie was great because we didn’t have to talk about the elephant in the room. But the elephant was still on the loose.

  “What if I’m incapable of it?” I replied. It was an honest response. If I could give nothing else, I would at least be honest with Natalie.