She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know either.”
That was the last thing she said. We watched the movie a little longer, and then we fell asleep. We’d done that often when she was alive. We’d watch a movie, talk through it, and then fall asleep. Ironic how in a dream we can dream about falling asleep. The last thing I remembered about the dream was that the phone started ringing. In the dream, I opened my eyes and reached for the cordless phone. I said hello in a sleepy and groggy voice. Theresa moved around a little but didn’t wake up. On the other line, I heard faint breathing but the person didn’t speak. I said hello again and a few seconds later, I heard my name being spoken in a sleazy tone that nearly sent chills up my arm, “Hello, Detective.”
My eyes shot open, and I realized that I was in bed with the phone in my hand. The lights were off and the house was quiet. Outside, it was still night, and Henry was lying on the floor on my side of the bed. I was dressed in the clothes that I’d worn that day, and I was on top of the blanket. I was that tired, that I hadn’t even undressed.
I thought for a second that I dreamed the voice, so I said “Hello” again.
“Did I wake you, Detective?”
My eyes grew wider and I quickly sat up. I unconsciously looked around the room because the last time I heard this voice I dreamt that I was strapped to my bed.
“Who is this?” My heart was beating fast.
“You don’t remember our meeting the other night, do you?”
I instantly thought back to the dream, and my skin felt like it was starting to crawl off my body. No, that couldn’t have been real.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want. I want to play the game. And I chose you, Detective.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What game?”
“I know you’ve read my letters. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Look, buddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re harassing a sworn officer of the law.”
“I know exactly who I’m harassing,” he said with a lot of sarcasm attached to “harassing.” “I told you that the next time we see each other, you will surely die. I meant what I said. I could have killed you, your friend who was sleeping on the couch, and your dog that night, but I didn’t. That wouldn’t have been honorable.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You come near my house again, and I’ll have you locked up for a long time.”
“Is that a threat, Detective? You don’t seem like the threatening type.”
“Come near my house again, and we’ll see what type of person I am.”
“Good, good, get angry. Anger always clouds rationale. But don’t get too angry because I want this to be a fair game. That’s the only way the game will work.”
“What game? What the hell are you talking about?”
“The game of all games, Detective. It’s called Life or Death. If you can kill me, you live. If not then you don’t. It’s that simple.”
“I’m not playing this game with you, asshole. Don’t call this number again.”
“I think you will, Detective. As a matter of fact, I know you will.”
Before I was able to say another word, I heard a weak voice in the background say my name, and it almost caused me to drop the phone.
I nearly lost my voice, but I managed to say her name, “Pat?”
“That’s right, Detective. Young Patricia is here with me. And let me tell you, she’s to die for.”
Suddenly anger and rage started to overtake my mind. “If you touch one hair on her head.”
“Too late, Detective. I already did.” He then started laughing.
I couldn’t help myself. I felt like David Banner transforming into the Incredible Hulk. I shot to my feet and yelled at the top of my lungs, “I’m gonna kill you.”
There was a brief silence on the phone, and then the man spoke again, “Wasn’t expecting that reaction. But at least now you’re ready.”
“Where are you?” I yelled again.
“One condition,” he said. “No cops. Just you and me.”
“Where?”
“Look out your window.”
I leapt around my bed and looked out my window. There was a gray, nineteen-sixty-something muscle car with its lights on idling in front of my house. The light flashed to its high beams and then went back to its normal lights.
“Game time,” the man said.
The line went dead, and the muscle car started to peel away from my house. I dropped the phone, grabbed my gun and car keys, then I rushed down the stairs and flew out of my house.
“Pat!” I yelled.
I was in my car in a matter of seconds with the engine revving and tires squealing from my driveway.
Eighty-seven
This was what The Game lived for. Adrenaline pumping. Muscles tensing. Driving a fast car through city streets. This was the stuff of movies. And to The Game, he was the main star. Before he called the detective, he sat in his car a block away from the detective’s house with Pat sitting unconscious in the back seat. He’d been watching the house when the one who went by Rule was sitting on the doorstep. He saw the detective pull up in his car and then watched as the two men talked and then hugged it out. The Game was a patient man. That’s why he was still alive and had never been caught. He knew how to choose the right times.
The detective and Henry went into the house and the lights never came on. The Game waited some more. Two hours to be exact. He knew that the detective would be asleep, and The Game wanted to wake him up. So he dialed the number, and when the detective’s groggy voice answered the call, The Game knew it was game time.
Every game had been played almost the same way. The Game found an exceptional officer of the law and then made him play the game. Every officer said the same thing, “I’m not playing your silly game,” until The Game pulled out his ace, which made the officer change his mind really quick.
The first game was played in his home town of Lubbock, Texas. The sheriff was the father of the boy who’d bullied him most of his young life. The Game had been just eighteen at the time and recently let out of juvenile detention. One day while The Game was walking home from his new job at McDonald’s, the sheriff pulled beside him and said that he knew who he was and that he was going to keep an eye on him. The sheriff said that he knew all about the drama that’d been going on between him and his son over the years and that a real man would stand up for himself and fight, and not resort to a life of crime.
“You’re the kind who’d rather cheat and steal to get ahead,” the sheriff said, “instead of work hard and earn your own keep. I know your kind.”
“What kind is that?” The Game replied.
“The kind of smartass that’ll end up behind bars before you’re twenty-one.”
“Sounds like to me, Sheriff, that you’re challenging me.”
The sheriff took a step closer and spit next to The Game’s shoes. “Trust me, boy, you’ll know when I’m challenging you.”
At that single moment, The Game’s new identity emerged, and he knew that he was going to kill the sheriff. But not in a way that was normally done. The Game wanted it to be interesting. He wanted to be challenged. He knew that the sheriff was a hard-ass, and that he’d spent time in the military. The sheriff’s son was the benefactor of being raised by a hard-ass sheriff because he’d beaten The Game up plenty of times during their youth. However, The Game had spent time in juvenile detention. He’d grown tall and matured into a man’s body quicker than the other boys his age. He had to fight nearly every day in detention until he proved to everyone else that he wasn’t a pushover. There came a time when he was running things and telling others in the detention center what to do.
So when the sheriff said, “You’ll know when I’m challenging you,” The Game said back to the sheriff, “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
That comment landed The Game in jail overnight, but three weeks late
r he had the sheriff and his son begging for their lives. Unfortunately for them the begging didn’t work. Since then, The Game had searched the country for worthy adversaries, each time upping the ante and making each challenge more difficult than the last.
With Detective Hayden on his heels and Detective Jennings in the back of his car, half unconscious, this was the first time he’d involved two police officers at the same time. But Detective Jennings wasn’t the prize, Jacob Hayden was. Detective Jennings was only the piece that he needed to get Detective Hayden moving in the right direction. And that direction was right behind him.
Interesting, The Game thought, the detective thinks that he’s chasing me when in reality I’m chasing him. Or leading him, rather.
The Game looked in his rearview mirror and saw Pat’s glossy eyes starting to become clearer.
“Waking up, are we?” he said.
“Why are you doing this?” her voice was weak.
“Why not?”
“I know who you are.”
“Do you really? Let’s think about that. You gave me your number at a grocery store. I told you that my name was Tim. No last name, just Tim. Then I called you at your place of employment, and you agreed to meet me at a restaurant. What information do you really have? Is Tim my real name?”
“Jacob won’t let you get away with this.”
“Only time will tell.”
A high beam of lights came flying upon The Game’s car from behind, followed by a series of blaring horns.
“Well, then,” The Game said. “Your knight in shining armor is finally here.”
The Game gripped the steering wheel and then slammed on the breaks, causing his tires to skid. He looked in the rearview mirror, and the car giving chase swerved and spun out of control on the other side of the road. The Game quickly lifted his foot off the brake, shifted gears, punched the gas pedal, and the muscle car’s engine came to life.
“Tailgating is dangerous,” he said.
In the driver’s side mirror, The Game saw the car regain control and then spin around and give chase again.
That’s good, Detective. Really good.
Eighty-eight
The car caught me off guard when it slammed on its breaks. I instinctively turned the steering wheel to the left and hit on the brakes, thereby sending my car into a spin on the opposite side of the road. I nearly hit parked cars along the curb. The car barely came to a stop, but I was able to regain control and stop the spinning. I took a second to gather my bearings and then turned the car around and began pursuit again.
My foot was mashed against the gas pedal. The muscle car was fast, and the driver acted as though there was no one else on the road. Luckily at this time of the morning, the roads were bare, but there were still the scattered few vehicles roaming about.
I was gaining ground on the distance that I lost. The muscle car’s tail lights were growing closer as I pushed my car’s engine to the limit. However, the closer I got I realized that the muscle car was slowing down. It wasn’t trying to outrun me like it was a few moments ago. Was it trying to veer me off the road again? I lifted my foot off the gas and allowed my car to slow down naturally. I changed lanes so that I wasn’t driving directly behind it. What was this guy trying to do? We were now driving at speeds that were acceptable to D.C. roads.
Now that we were driving slower, I focused more at the rear window and tried to see if I could see Pat in the back seat. I couldn’t. I was worried about her and wondered how she was holding up. Did he hurt her? Touch her? I became more enraged at the thought of him putting his slimy hands on her. I pushed a little harder on the gas to get closer to the muscle car.
Who was this guy and how’d he get to Pat so easily? I knew nothing about him except the fact that he was crazy. But he was the methodical kind of crazy, which was even more dangerous. I’d received his first letter earlier in the year and hadn’t heard from him for over six months. That meant that he’d had close to a year to study my movements, learn who I cared for, and know my patterns. He’d not only studied me, but obviously people who were close to me. He knew how to get in with Pat. She told me that she met a guy at the grocery store and that he called her at work. He must have said things that he knew would be triggers for her to give the okay to go out with him, because if anyone knew Pat, they’d know that she didn’t stand for the bullshit.
So, what advantage could I gain? I’d left my phone at home. I couldn’t call anyone for help. Pat was being held against her will by a madman, and I didn’t know where he was taking me. He knew me, and I didn’t know him. Where was the advantage? There was none, I quickly settled in my mind. I had a gun, but I was sure he did too.
He was good enough to break into my house while Rule slept on the couch. He was slick enough to tie my hands and feet to my bed without waking me up. How stupid was I for thinking that whole thing was a dream? I assumed the towel he’d used to cover my mouth was filled with chloroform, which acts as an anesthetic when inhaled. He probably used the same thing on Rule while he was sleeping.
Damn.
We’d now been driving for over fifteen minutes. He didn’t stop for stoplights, and the thought ran through my mind that the police were never around to witness people running red lights. Finally we came upon the exit to go onto 295. Once we got on the ramp, the muscle car shot off like it was catapulted from a canon.
My foot slammed against the pedal, and the engine felt like it lifted my car slightly off the ground before traveling at warp speed.
“Don’t lose him, baby,” I said to my car.
Eighty-nine
I didn’t know how fast a plane had to be going to start flying, but if we went any faster I worried that my car would leave the ground. The speedometer was close to one hundred and ten miles per hour. We whizzed by cars as if they were standing still. Again I kept thinking, Where are the police when I need them? But then, the police wouldn’t have been good in this situation because Pat was being held as a hostage, and that madman might just kill her. From 295, we went onto 495 and crossed the Woodrow Wilson Bridge into Northern Virginia. It was then that the muscle car did something that I wasn’t expecting; it started to slow down.
We’d been traveling in the middle lane, but the car changed to the far right lane. I saw that the driver’s side window rolled down, so I pulled next to it and lowered my passenger window. We were now traveling at equal speeds still at an excess of ninety. The driver looked over at me, and my eyes suddenly grew wide. He was wearing the same kind of mask that he wore when he broke into my house.
“Detective,” he yelled. “You drive well.”
“Where’s, Pat?” I ignored his comment.
“Sleeping in the back.”
“Pull over and let’s handle this like men.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Detective, we will.”
“Pull over now!”
“This is the fun part.”
“This isn’t a game. Pull over the damn car.”
He laughed, and then in an instant I was suddenly traveling faster than his car. I heard his tires screech like it was painful for them to stop, and then in my rearview mirror the muscle car made a sharp right onto the ramp that I was passing.
“Shit!”
I veered onto the shoulder and slammed on my brakes. I shifted into reverse and started backing up until I reached the off-ramp. I shifted back into drive, and my car fishtailed back and forth until I was able to gain control of it. I hadn’t paid attention to what ramp we took, but I knew that we hadn’t driven far from the bridge, so I was somewhere in Alexandria.
Once off the ramp, I frantically looked around and didn’t see the muscle car.
“Shit!” I yelled again, slapping the steering wheel.
I didn’t know Alexandria well. I recognized some of the shopping centers and roads, but that was about it. I came upon an intersection and looked at the street sign, recognizing the name of the road.
I slowed down, and the way I was looking out o
f each window, one would have thought I was a tourist trying to see all that I could in one swipe.
“Fuck!”
I was now frustrated, and I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. At this time of the morning, the roads and shopping center parking lots were pretty much bare. The muscle car would stick out like a sore thumb if it was anywhere around. I thought about turning around and driving the other way. Could I have passed them? No way. My eyes had searched every detail over the past mile or so.
I lifted my foot off the gas and pressed on the brake, coming to a full stop in the middle of the road. I looked in my rearview mirror to make sure that no headlights were coming upon me, and there were none. I was alone, and everything was quiet with the exception of my idling engine.
Think, Jacob. Everything this guy has done has been calculated. Why would he bring me all this way out here just to lose me? He wouldn’t. The whole time he kept saying that this thing was a game. But, a game could mean anything to a lunatic. So, if he wasn’t trying to lose me then what was he doing? He wanted me to think. He wrote that he chose me because I’d be a worthy adversary. So he thought I was smart enough to figure out where he went.
I hate to disappoint you lunatic, but I’m not. Scratch that thought. I am.
If I were a madman with a hostage asleep in my back seat and a detective was trying to find me, where would I go?
I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythmical flow, but nothing was coming to me. Where would a lunatic go? There wasn’t anything around that was symbolic to being crazy or out of one’s mind. I looked around again at the desolate road and then looked over at the street sign. A flash bulb suddenly went off in my head.
Northern Virginia was notorious for its new construction buildings, and further down on this road there was a new office building going up.
Would a madman lead me to a construction site at 2:30 in the morning in an area that I wasn’t really familiar with? Why not? I looked ahead, and the streetlights were all flashing yellow. I shifted the gear back into drive and floored it again.
The Game of Life or Death: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 3) Page 21
