Back Track

by Jason Dean

  ‘I don’t know. In all honesty, I’ve been afraid to think too much about it since they took Patricia. If they thought I knew anything more than I do already, there’s no telling what they might do to us.’

  Bishop ran a hand over his scalp and decided to let it go for now. But it was definitely something he needed to look into further. ‘So did you discuss all this with your wife?’

  ‘Yes, after about six months Patricia and I talked it over. Up until then I was able to justify what I was doing. Simple cosmetic surgery. Nothing too complex. But now I didn’t know what I was getting into and wanted out. Patricia agreed. She said if I felt strongly about it I should walk away.’

  Bishop looked at the pictures on the wall. He was beginning to understand Tatem’s devotion to his wife. Regardless of whatever other qualities she possessed, if she was willing to trade a comfortable lifestyle for an uncertain future, she was clearly something special.

  ‘And that was the second time you met Abraham?’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t a pleasant meeting. I was told to go home and think about it, and the next morning I woke up to find Patricia missing from our bed. They must have taken her in the middle of the night and I didn’t hear a damned thing.’

  ‘Sounds like their MO,’ Bishop said. ‘I take it you didn’t call the cops?’

  Tatem shook his head. ‘I got a phone call a few minutes after I woke. It was Abraham. He said Patricia would remain safe for as long as I continued to do my job and didn’t talk to anybody. After he let me speak to Patricia briefly, he then laid down the new rules for me. They’d still pay me and we’d be allowed conjugal visits once a month.’

  ‘What, till the end of time?’

  ‘Until the four years I’d initially agreed on were up. Then they’d let her go.’

  ‘You really believe that, doc? That once they’re finished with your services they’ll just let the two of you waltz off into the sunset?’

  ‘I try not to think about that part. Besides, what else can I do?’

  Bishop didn’t have an easy answer to that one. He said, ‘Where do they keep Patricia? You must have talked about it.’

  ‘Over and over, but it’s no good. She says they keep her locked away in some kind of secluded living quarters furnished like an apartment. Except there are no windows anywhere and the walls are made of thick hardwood. The only time she ever leaves is when they take her to the motel once a month. They drug her with a sedative first, of course. As you can imagine, her skin’s bleached white by now from the lack of exposure.’

  ‘What about sounds? Can she hear anything at all?’

  ‘Well, she can hear people talking sometimes, but she can’t tell how many. The thick walls muffle everything.’

  ‘Does she ever see Abraham?’

  Tatem paused and looked at the floor. ‘She says she doesn’t see anybody. Any time they deliver food, she’s told to lock herself in the bathroom. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Abraham’s not the kind of person anybody would want to meet on their own.’

  Bishop gave a thin smile as he glanced out the window again. ‘Well, I sure would.’

  ‘So here’s your chance,’ a voice said from the doorway.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Bishop swivelled his head to see the man from the surveillance footage standing there with a gun aimed straight at his chest. He was impressed with the man’s stealth, considering his size. He hadn’t heard a thing.

  Bishop kept his hands in plain view on the desk either side of him. There was no way on earth to reach back for the .38 anyway. He’d be dead before he even tried.

  Abraham was dressed in a dark suit over a white shirt. Bishop noticed the small eyes and the heavy creases lining his forehead. He also looked bigger than expected. Bishop could see the guy’s shoulder muscles straining against his suit and the large hands looked as though they could crush a man’s windpipe in a second. Or snap his neck.

  ‘So you’re the idiot who tried to kill me,’ Bishop said.

  Abraham smiled. ‘And you’re the asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.’

  ‘That’s me. The second part, anyway.’

  The big man kept smiling. Without taking his eyes off Bishop, he said, ‘I’m disappointed in you, doctor, falling so easily for an obvious fake-out. Didn’t I tell you to accept instructions from me, and only me? Lucky for you I have your phone tapped, otherwise Bishop here might have gotten Patricia killed. In fact, he still might. Where’s your gun?’

  Bishop saw Tatem shift in his seat. ‘It . . . he’s got it in the back of his waistband.’

  ‘Fine. It can stay there for the moment. Bishop knows better than to reach for it.’

  Abraham entered the room and approached Bishop’s left side. The gun was a black, 9mm automatic with a stainless steel slide. Clunky-looking. Looked like a Sig Sauer P226. When Abraham was five feet away, he reached into a jacket pocket, pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs and tossed them in Tatem’s lap.

  ‘Cuff Bishop’s hands in front of him, doctor.’

  Which immediately told Bishop they were going somewhere, and that he would probably be driving. Probably to his own burial site. No sense in killing him here when there were so many other locations within easy reach. They were in desert country, after all.

  Bishop slowly raised both hands as Tatem got up and walked over to him. The doctor refused to make eye contact. It also took him over a minute to get the cuffs on Bishop’s wrists. Bishop expected better hand control from a surgeon.

  ‘Butterfingers,’ he said.

  When Tatem was done, he glanced over at Abraham like a dog to its master. Obeying Abraham had clearly become second nature to him now. Bishop had an idea his wife was the stronger half of the relationship, and that she was probably holding up a lot better.

  ‘Good,’ Abraham said. ‘Now carefully remove the gun from his waistband and bring it to me.’

  Tatem reached around and Bishop felt the gun disappear. Then he watched the doctor walk over and hand it to Abraham, who placed it in a pocket. ‘Now search the rest of him from head to toe and show me what you find.’

  Bishop remained still as Tatem clumsily patted him down. He found the wallet and keys and laid them on the desk. Then he found the letter opener. He brought it out and showed it to Abraham.

  Abraham raised an eyebrow. ‘Yours?’

  Tatem nodded. ‘I keep it in the same drawer as the gun.’

  ‘Never miss an opportunity, do you, Bishop?’ Abraham said, smiling.

  Bishop shrugged. ‘I just collect letter openers, that’s all. It’s an addiction of mine.’

  ‘Sure it is. Okay, Tatem, hand me his wallet and keys. You can put the letter opener back in your desk.’ After pocketing Bishop’s meagre possessions, Abraham waved his gun in the direction of the doorway. ‘Okay, Bishop, back to the garage. We’ll use my car this time. And open some windows and clean this place up, will you, Tatem? It stinks in here.’

  Bishop pushed off the desk and said, ‘Shampoo and baking soda, doc. That ought to do the trick.’ Then he began walking.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Abraham’s car was a brand new silver Lexus LS460L with four thousand, four hundred and seventy-six miles on the clock. Bishop knew the exact mileage because it was there on the speedometer in front of him. He was the designated driver, as he’d suspected. Steering was a little problematic with his hands cuffed, but the automatic transmission balanced things out.

  They were travelling south on Saracen Road, having passed the town limits about four miles back. Straight road ahead of them and desert all around. An occasional car or SUV whizzed by, heading north. Abraham was sitting in the passenger seat with his gun pointing at Bishop’s side. He’d already warned that if Bishop went over 30 mph or made a wrong move, he’d shoot him in the leg. Bishop believed him.

  ‘Fill me in,’ Bishop said. ‘Before you went bad, what were you? No wait, let me guess. A squid. You look the navy type: all muscle and not much upstairs.’

  A
braham just smiled at him. After a few beats, he said, ‘Dumb jarhead. You know what we used to sing whenever we took a dump? “Here I sit on the old latrine, giving birth to a new Marine.” I always liked that song. Real catchy.’ He looked out the windshield. ‘Take the next left onto Terra Cotta Road. It’s coming up in half a mile.’

  A minute later Bishop saw the sign and slowed down. He took the turn and carried on driving.

  ‘Where you keeping Tatem’s wife holed up?’ he said. ‘The same place you keep Selina Clements and the other women?’

  ‘Don’t give up, do you? Forget about them. Right now, worry about yourself.’

  ‘Sure. Is Abraham your first or last name, by the way?’

  ‘Just drive and keep your mouth shut, asshole. You’re giving me a headache.’

  Bishop shut up. But he was thinking back to what Tatem had said. And what he perhaps hadn’t wanted to admit to himself. For instance, that short pause after Bishop asked him if his wife had ever seen Abraham. Nothing definite, but there had been something there.

  ‘You’re screwing his wife, aren’t you?’ He turned to see Abraham smiling. ‘And with a face like yours, I’m fairly sure it’s without her consent. There’s a word for that, you know.’

  ‘Pretty quick for an ex-jarhead, aren’t you? And it’s not rape if she secretly enjoys it. I know what women want. Especially that one. After being married to that prick, she’s bound to want someone who takes charge. And I’ve never gotten any complaints.’

  ‘That’s probably because she wants to keep on breathing, dickhead.’ Bishop glanced at him. ‘You’re really the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you?’

  Abraham pressed the barrel of the gun hard against Bishop’s temple. ‘Maybe I’ll just do you here. Right now.’

  ‘And make a mess of this beautiful car?’ Bishop sneered. ‘Typical swab.’

  Abraham took the gun away and sat back. ‘I’m gonna enjoy it when your time comes, Bishop. I really am. And it’ll be slow, you can believe that.’

  ‘Just tell me we’re getting close. Your body odour’s getting unbearable, even with the air conditioning.’

  ‘We’re close, all right. See those old huts in the distance? That’s our stop, asshole.’

  Bishop had already spotted them. They were the only things on the horizon. A collection of ramshackle wood cabins about a couple of miles away to the left. He couldn’t begin to guess their original purpose. Or why they’d been constructed out here in the middle of nowhere. But he had no doubt the site would make a great burial ground.

  A couple of minutes later Abraham said, ‘Slow down. There’s a gravel road coming up on the left. There, up ahead.’

  Bishop saw it. A break in the road and a dirt track leading off towards a steel gate further down and a fenced-off area. He slowed the vehicle and took the turn. Another thirty seconds and they reached the gate. Bishop stopped the car a few yards away. There was a large padlock barring entry and a No Trespassing sign.

  ‘Leave the engine running and get out,’ Abraham said.

  Bishop got out. Abraham came round and handed him a ring with a single large key on it. ‘Unlock and open the gate, then come back here.’

  Abraham was waiting by the open passenger door when he was done, gun pointing nowhere in particular. ‘Okay, jarhead,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Bishop opened the driver’s door and got back in. Abraham was already seated and waiting. The man was quick, he had to give him that. But speed wasn’t everything. Without waiting to be told, Bishop drove towards the shacks, reaching the first one a minute later.

  ‘Well, here we are, asshole,’ Abraham said. ‘End of the line.’

  Bishop came to a stop and Abraham pulled the handbrake and removed the keys from the ignition. He removed a small flashlight from the glove compartment, checked to make sure it was working, then motioned for Bishop to get out. Bishop opened the door and noticed Abraham locking Tatem’s .38 Special in the glove compartment before he got out, too. That was good. Now he’d only have one gun to deal with. But the Sig held a fifteen or nineteen round magazine capacity. He’d have to assume nineteen. And that was bad. Very bad. But not insurmountable.

  The cabins were in an even worse state than he first thought. Bishop guessed they dated back to the twenties or thirties. All one- or two-room structures. At least, they were once. There were five of them arranged in a loose semicircle, with a sixth shack on its own twenty yards further back. They all looked as though they might collapse at any second, with rusted, caved-in roofs and deteriorating window frames and doorways.

  Abraham pointed to the one on its own and said, ‘Over there. Get going.’

  Bishop walked in front of Abraham and studied his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. Just brittlebush and overgrown weeds everywhere. There were no sounds other than the crunch of their footsteps. No cars driving by. No birds. Nothing. This was a bad place. He could feel it in his bones. People had died here recently. Probably courtesy of Abraham or one of his cohorts.

  Yeah, a bad place, he thought. And it’s about to get worse.

  He slowed as he reached the remote shack. It was no different from the others. Maybe fewer windows. Beyond the doorway, he could see only darkness within. Abraham prodded the gun barrel into his back and said, ‘Go inside and turn left, but move very slowly. I’m just looking for an excuse.’

  Bishop walked up to the doorway, stepped inside and turned left. It was dark, but there was enough light to see. What few floorboards remained were either badly warped or broken. There were two halves of an old bicycle frame in one corner. Leaning against the south wall were a few landscaping tools. All looked rusted. A rake with only two prongs left. A hoe. A broom with no bristles. Part of an old cultivator. And a round point shovel. The type with just a staff and no handle. That stood out. It was old and rusty, but not as much as the others. And it was almost free of dust, which said it had been used recently.

  ‘Here,’ Abraham said, and threw the handcuff keys at Bishop’s feet.

  Bishop picked them up and unlocked the cuffs.

  ‘Leave the cuffs and keys on the floor,’ Abraham said. ‘Then grab the shovel and come on outside.’

  Bishop turned and saw Abraham standing just inside the doorway, gun and flashlight pointed straight at him. Realizing he couldn’t do anything in here, he went over to the tools, took hold of the shovel and walked back to the doorway. Abraham kept his distance and backed out first, watching him every step of the way.

  Once they were both outside, Abraham pointed east and said, ‘Walk.’

  Bishop began walking, watching the ground as he went. After only ten feet, he noticed some medium-sized rocks to his right, grouped together by some weeds. He memorized their position.

  After another thirty feet, Abraham said, ‘Okay, stop right there.’

  Bishop halted. He was standing in the middle of a bare patch of land. No vegetation within a twenty foot radius. Not even weeds. Bishop looked carefully but saw no sign of recent disturbances in the earth. Not that that meant anything.

  ‘Okay,’ Abraham said from behind him, ‘pick yourself a nice spot and start digging. You know what size to make it.’

  Bishop looked at him. Studied the shit-eating grin of a man safe in his superiority. The illogical part of him wanted to tell Abraham to take a hike and to do the work himself, but what would that get him? A moment’s satisfaction, followed by a bullet in the head and a shallow grave. Right now, he needed time. And digging would give him some. And Abraham might be more willing to talk now he believed he held the winning hand. So he took a step forward and with the shovel blade started to draw a line in the dirt.

  ‘Uh, uh,’ Abraham said. ‘Not there, asshole.’

  Bishop looked up. ‘You pick a spot, then.’

  ‘I’m just saying you don’t want to dig there. Trust me on that one.’

  Which meant he did want to dig there. Just not right now. He’d find time later. Bishop marked the spot in his mind and t
ook a few steps to the right. ‘Here okay?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Bishop studied Abraham for a moment, looking him up and down, then marked out a rectangle in the earth. Abraham was right. Bishop knew what size to make it. Two foot wide. Six foot, four inches in length. The extra inch in case his calculations were off. He didn’t think they were, but you never knew.

  Then he began to dig.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Bishop took his time. He saw no reason to make himself sweat. Besides which, it probably amused Abraham to draw this out for as long as possible.

  With each excavation, Bishop put intense pressure on the shaft of the shovel while pushing his foot hard against the blade. Seeing how far it would bend. This tool was in better shape than the others, but it was still old and rusty, the wooden shaft rotten and malleable. After a few minutes testing his weight against it, he felt confident that it wouldn’t take too much effort to snap it in two. But not just yet. Now wasn’t the time.

  ‘All those women you and your two pals grab in the dead of night,’ Bishop said. ‘Do you take a few shots at them before bringing them in to your boss?’

  ‘Give it a rest, asshole.’

  Bishop ignored him and carried on digging. ‘I mean, who’s gonna know? Only those two idiots, and they won’t talk. Hell, maybe they even join in.’

  ‘Maybe we’re a little more professional than that, asshole.’

  ‘You?’ Bishop chuckled. ‘Professional?’

  ‘Keep going, Bishop. I’ve changed my mind. It’s actually fun listening to a man’s last words.’

  ‘So since I’m not long for this world, there’s no harm in answering my questions, is there? Like who’s your boss?’

  Abraham laughed at that. ‘Forget it. Although I give you credit for trying. You really don’t give up, do you?’

  Never, Bishop thought. He said. ‘So besides you three and your boss, how many more of you are there? Five? Six? More?’

  ‘I forget. What difference does it make to you?’