The Kaleidoscope

by B K Nault

  But the man with Harold. Morrie something or other. And the woman. They could not be trusted, and he was forced to chase them away in case someone was watching the compound. Someone who would kill Walter and anyone he was associated with. If they were watching and saw him shoot over their heads, then so much the better. Until he drew out those who would kill them, distance from him would save Harold’s life.

  The lid fell back, and Walter reached in to lift out the few items he’d culled down when he left LA. An expired passport, a class ring. A green, six-month AA chip for sobriety. A marriage license. Harold worked loose the false bottom while his pulse raced, and he realized the last time he’d allowed himself this simple indulgence, he’d not needed the bifocals perched on top of his head. Sliding them down to rest on his nose, he held the photograph in a beam streaming between the thin curtains, parted enough for the light to get in, but drawn against prying eyes.

  Even the technology to take the family picture was going obsolete. Taken days after his son’s third birthday, a few months before his wife’s death, it showed the three standing together, dressed for Easter Sunday. The proud father on the cusp of a promising career, the love of his life and their ginger-haired son, moments before their last ride together in the showroom-fresh LeBaron. Walter wiped dry the Polaroid before his tears could damage the priceless keepsake. He turned it over, examined his wife’s meticulous notation, “Harold’s first Easter,” its curls and dips reaching into his soul from the only woman he’d ever loved.

  “Soon this will all be over.” Walter was on high alert, and a noise outside had him to his feet before he could determine what caused it. He squinted through the dirty glass, ready to reach for the shotgun. Probably just a pinecone falling on the corrugated metal roof. He was learning the normal creaks and moans the cabin uttered, from the morning when the heat warmed the shanty’s tired walls, until the evening, as the rays rolled away and the house huddled, holding tight against the evening’s chill and every board and plank complained like his creaky knees. He replaced the photograph, recovered it, and slid the box back under the cot.

  Perched on the stool at a desk he’d made from an old door and two empty drums, he scanned the wall, hoping for the missing piece of the puzzle. If he could unearth evidence to prove what really happened, maybe he could spend the final few years of his life making it up to Harold.

  Harold reminded Walter of himself. Smart. He hoped he hadn’t hurt him too much. He’d only intended to make it seem like he was attacking, then the dog got involved, and Harold had to be the hero. Brave, too.

  Walter yearned to explain. But that Morrie guy kept hanging around. When he wasn’t there, the woman was. Walter knew Georgia had left Harold. He didn’t know why. He was glad Harold had found someone else. Unless she was Morrie’s girlfriend.

  “Morrie the midget.”

  He replayed the disparaging title over in his head. From somewhere in the past, a familiar bell rang. He began shuffling through the few articles he’d tacked on the wall to study. The ones he’d memorized, reread, and anguished over for the missing piece of information that would clear his name.

  “There you are.” He found the one he was searching for, and smoothed out the yellowed, brittle paper. The picture was fuzzy, but he could see enough to know they were a match. He moved his arm in and out to focus, and slid his glasses up his nose. Yes, that was him. Younger, more hair. But the body shape and height were exact.

  “There you are, you son of a bitch.” Walter folded the article into quarters, and slid it into his pocket. “It’s taken me decades, but I’ve finally found you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Wait, you are implying that the same comics your dad liked was Gus’ password! Nu-uh!” Pepper’s amazement was palpable. “You would have recognized your own dad. Right?”

  “It’s been, what, twenty-five years since I saw him last? He resembled the guy…” Harold squinted, conjuring Gus’s face in his mind’s eye. “I thought it was just because he reminded me of the homeless guy from the…park.”

  “The one who gave you the ’scope?” She tipped her head, angled a look at him. “Where is the Kaleidoscope, Harry?”

  He patted his pocket. “Here, why?”

  “Because I believe it’s leading you somewhere.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense. Remember, he acted like he’d never seen it. Then he shot at us.” Harold hitched up his glasses. The binding around his chest restricted his movement, and he dropped his arm, making it worse. “None of this makes any sense.”

  Morrie and Glenda emerged from a thicket and headed toward them. Morrie was returning a cell phone to his pocket, but almost dropped it as Glenda saw Pepper and sprang for her.

  “What am I going to do?” Harold wondered aloud as the dog dragged Morrie across the parking lot toward her mistress.

  “You’re going to tell the police who he is!” Pepper scruffed the dog’s head, and Glenda panted, sprawling across the sidewalk. “Thanks for walking her, Morrie.” She reached for the grip. “I’ll take her off your hands.”

  “It’s fine.” Morrie eyed the uneaten hot dog.

  “Would you like one?” Pepper shoved the paper tray to him. “Harold had all he wanted, right?”

  Harold waved his consent. He was sore and confused, unsure if he was delusional from the drugs, inside a weird nightmare, or losing his mind just as his father had done.

  ****

  The next morning Harold made it to work, glad for the peace and quiet after the weekend excitement. “I have something for you.” Rhashan removed the pouch he always wore from around his neck. He opened the top and removed something, setting it on Harold’s desk.

  “What is that?” Harold regarded the small, dark object, his stomach roiling. “Is that a shrunken head?”

  “No, mon.” Rhashan grinned. “Dat’s a totem to remind you of your inner strength.” He pounded a fist on his broad chest. “You’ve got brains and you’ve worked hard for de promotion.” He scratched his beard with the side of his thumb. “But unless you have de confidence, dey will sense you’re not ready.”

  “I’m just tired from the weekend, Rhashan. Thanks anyway.”

  “Wot happen to you?” He gestured at the head wound.

  “It’s a long story.” Harold had taken off the bandage around his middle, but he wondered if it was a good idea since he had to remind himself to move slowly.

  “Let me leave dis with you. It make me feel better to know you have it. Especially now wid your injuries, you need all the good juju you can get.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Harold could tell he wasn’t going to give up easily, and recalled the passage about being amenable to offers of help from others. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, thanks.”

  Leaning an elbow on the cubicle wall, Rhashan got a distant look in his eyes. “When I was a little boy, I keep a herd of goats. When I first start, they run all over me. And den my dad he say, ‘Rhashan, you must teach de goats who is boss.’ So I take the strongest goat in the herd, and I grab her collar, and I speak into her ear and I say, ‘Gwendolyn, I am de boss now, and you will do what I say.’ And I look at her long in the eye until she look away. From dat day, she obey me. And because she de boss of the other goats, dey all follow me as well. You find the boss goat, and when dey listen to you, den you will have all of them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  “That’s a very nice goat story, Rhashan, but I’m not sure how it applies to the interview committee.” Harold picked at a splinter he must have gotten in the cabin scuffle. “Now if you don’t mind, I really need to concentrate on my work.”

  “Sure, mon. It is obsidian. Beautiful, no?” Rhashan turned around the gift for Harold to admire.

  “Did you carve this?” The small sculpture was quite pretty. Where had he seen obsidian lately?

  “No, mon. A gentleman who I see sleep in the park, he gave to me. He said it would give me strength in whatever pursuits I seek.” Rhashan turned
it over, examining it from all sides. “My wife, she say dis kind of rock is revered for its power to block negativity. You keep as long as you need it. Go get ’em, tiger!”

  He pushed on, and Harold picked up the carving. Smooth, it was jet-black with tiny speckles of white. Shaped like some kind of large cat, its long tail was curled at the end, and the mouth was open in a menacing roar. An inscription was etched into a driftwood perch where its claws dug in. “Go get ’em.” Harold set it next to his pencil cup. “Grrr,” he uttered under his breath.

  ****

  Passing Pepper’s apartment door, Harold considered knocking; he could use some company. But she’d want a full report, and he was not ready to admit he had probably tanked the interview. Unless Gordon had picked his nose or lost his lunch during his turn, Harold feared his chances weren’t good. The suits’ eyes had glazed during the PowerPoint, they’d hardly read his handouts, and the five-year-plan was clearly not their vision. But the clincher came when he suggested they had a serious issue that was possibly being engineered internally.

  The interview morphed into an interrogation when he suggested they had a dirty coder right under their nose. Instead of an interview for promotion, they’d arranged for department heads to gather for an emergency meeting and Harold had been asked to compile all the data he could, sworn to secrecy until the matter could be handled to a satisfactory conclusion. His allegations were serious and had diverted the interview into another discussion.

  Clyde had escorted him out, and warned him to come to him directly before doing any more finger-pointing. “It’s like you’re calling a roomful of cops dirty to their face. Everyone begins suspecting everyone else of being the mole.”

  Harold was pouring himself a glass of water at his sink when someone knocked, then his front door opened.

  “Hey, sport, why didn’t you let me know you were home?” Pepper came in, Glenda bounding up to him. “So? How did it go?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Aw, honey. It’s all right. A lot of people don’t interview well. But your work speaks for itself. Right?” She tried to get him to look at her, but he pretended to be absorbed in a smudge on his stove. “Let’s forget about it and go to Frank and Keith’s. They got a new grill they want—”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “I’m not taking no. You’ll just sit here and pout.” She took hold of his hand and steered him into the bedroom. “Come on, let’s find you something less button-down to wear.”

  He let her help him change shirts. His injured ribs were better, but it was nice to have someone take care of him. He didn’t even argue when she started sorting through his closet. She found a soft polo shirt and was straightening his collar when the phone rang. “Make it quick. I’m hungry, and they’re waiting for us.”

  “Harold Donaldson,” he answered while Pepper primped in front of his dresser mirror.

  “Mr. Donaldson, this is Officer Saunders. We visited the individual this afternoon against whom you recently filed the complaint.”

  Harold swallowed. “Yes?”

  “He stated that you and the others were trespassing on his property, and when he asked you to leave you attacked him. Since you also stated the argument took place in his home, there is nothing we can really do for you. If you’d like to pursue charges, I suggest you contact an attorney.” He waited for this to sink in. “To be honest, I wouldn’t think a couple of cracked ribs were worth the trouble. From now on I suggest you get yourself a good GPS system and stay off other people’s property unless you’re invited. There are some folks who would rather remain undisturbed, if you know what I mean.”

  “What about getting my phone back?”

  “Have the service discontinued if you haven’t already, and get yourself a new one, sir.”

  The officer clicked off, and Harold set down the handset as Pepper emerged from the bathroom. “Who was that?”

  “The police aren’t going to do anything about the attack.”

  “Why not?”

  “He said, she said.”

  “Did you tell them who you think he really is?”

  “Why would I tell him I think he might be the homeless guy from the park?”

  She ran a comb slowly through his hair, careful around his wound. The tines scratched his itchy scalp. Harold closed his eyes while she groomed him.

  When she was satisfied with his hair, Pepper replaced the comb and picked up the carving. “What’s this? It’s quite beautiful.”

  “Rhashan gave it to me for good luck or something.” Still drowsy and relaxed, he didn’t want to move.

  “Mailroom Rhashan? That’s awesome. Did he carve it?”

  Harold couldn’t recall what the man had said except for the goat story. “I’m not sure where he got it.”

  “You know what obsidian symbolizes, right?”

  “He told me but I forgot. What?”

  “Bravery. Did you have it in your pocket during the interview?”

  “I think I left it on my desk.”

  “Someday you’re going to have to admit that these things you call hocus pocus might have more to them. We already have plenty of reason to think the ’scope is more than just a spinny thing with pretty colors.” She replaced the tiger on his dresser. “So much has happened since it came into your life.” She shadowed him out the door. “Not everything can be explained with numbers and logic.”

  “It’s just mind over matter.”

  ****

  “So we stumbled on this creepy old shack in the middle of the woods.” Even though Harold had begged her to change the subject, Pepper was describing their trip to Frank and Keith over grilled kebabs and brown rice. “And when he lost it and kicked at Glenda, Harry put himself in the middle and took the brunt.” She slammed a fist into her palm.

  “Ohmigod!” Keith’s head spun to Harold. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s still sore. I’ll be all right.” Harold conjured a pathetic look. Their attention felt better than he wanted to admit.

  “Broke two ribs. It would have killed my baby girl.”

  “Just cracked.” Harold corrected her and was glad the guys still cared.

  “Then what happened?”

  “We came home with our tails between our legs.” Harold shoved his plate away. “Didn’t find Morrie’s cousin, I lost my phone, and…”

  “He’s upset the interview didn’t go well.” Pepper said while Harold pulled himself up. “Can I tell them the rest?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “He thinks scary-Gus—” She paused for dramatic effect. “Harold thinks he might be his father.”

  “I do not,” Harold protested.

  “Well, I do.”

  “Get out!” Frank swiveled from Pepper to Harold. “Why? Did you recognize him?”

  Pepper told them about the password, and while she was speaking, something else dawned on Harold that he’d forgotten about. The hair dye. The more he thought back, the more details he recalled. “I saw a Chrysler LeBaron.”

  They all looked at him like he was nuts.

  “What, Harry?” Keith spoke softly.

  “As we were driving out. When he’d kicked me and shot at us, I saw a Chrysler LeBaron in his shed.”

  “Like one your dad had when you were little.” Pepper told them about Harold’s mom while they listened, their mouths gaping.

  His head was bombarded with images. Visions of the car he’d tried to forget, the one that robbed him of his mother, came back into focus. The drug-induced murky memories were clearing. Even the color was right. Powder blue.

  “Wouldn’t it have been a wreck?” Frank argued. “I’m confused. If that’s the same one that your dad drove when you were little, why would he have it now?”

  “Harold, I really do think the homeless guy is your dad.” Pepper’s comment was hushed, almost in fear of hurting Harold more.

  “Cars can be repaired,” Keith said. “Especially old bombs like that. T
hey were built like tanks.”

  Frank sat forward. “This is your field, Keith. What about his dad being wanted for the murder?”

  Pepper tapped her foot. “I can check with the attorneys about the statute of limitations for hit-and-run.”

  “Alleged,” Harold reminded her.

  “I can ask my dad. He’s itching to get involved in a juicy cold case.” Keith gathered up the dishes.

  “You look skeptical.” Harold stood up to help. “We don’t have to bother him about it.”

  “His dad’s got files of unsolved crimes and a pile of cold cases he dabbles in. Those two slip into the lingo so fast you feel like you’re in an episode of ‘Stan and Frank, SVU.’ He has articles and pictures going back thirty years. They cover an entire wall of his home office.”

  Pepper squinted. “Harry, remember what I saw in your dad’s bedroom?”

  “Stop calling him my dad.” The entire discussion was making Harold want to leave the room. “And besides, if it was him, he would have identified himself to me.”

  “But he’s on the run from the law.” Pepper shook her head. “Duh. No, he wouldn’t.”

  “Is it okay to get your dad involved?” Harold asked Keith. “If not, I understand.”

  Pepper threw him a sideways look, but she didn’t say anything else.

  “It’s just that after his gunshot wound he’s suffered the after-effects of TBI, and sometimes he makes, well, ill-informed choices,” Keith explained. “Traumatic brain injury victims can do screwy things, like some of his mood swings, and random thought processes might be illogical. But it sure would be nice to get him involved in something to make him feel like he’s still useful.”

  “So he could act as a consultant. Shed some light on how we can find out who this guy really is, couldn’t he?” Pepper sprang up. “I think we should ask him, don’t you? Please, please?”