by Alan Orloff
Rick grabbed Dimitri with his other hand, preventing him from crumpling to the floor. “Who’s First Time? Goddamn it, who is it?” He tried to make eye contact with Dimitri, but the smaller man just whipped his head about, screaming and crying. Rick slapped him hard across the face. “Who is First Time? What girl does he have?” Then Dimitri’s eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp in Rick’s hands, head lolling around like a bobblehead doll with a busted spring.
A voice called to them from the living area. “Police. Fairfax County Police. Everything all right? Come out of there.”
Rick slapped Dimitri again, trying to bring him back from his near catatonic state. He had to find out who First Time was before the cops got him. Something told Rick that Dimitri would clam up when the cops arrested him. He tried again. “Who’s First Time?”
Dimitri’s head stopped bobbing, and his beady eyes cracked open. They fixed on Rick’s. Focus had returned, at least for a fleeting moment. “I’m sorry. So sorry, Rick. I loved you. Please forgive me. But you must hurry, it’s almost done.” Dimitri collapsed onto the floor, eyes closed.
Rick stood above Dimitri, staring down. Rage filled his mind, his heart. How could someone participate in such a heinous scheme? He was vaguely aware of a cop storming in, gun drawn. He wanted to pounce on Dimitri and wring the truth out of him. Continue until he felt the last, dying breath of the scumbag flutter on his cheek.
“Hey. Hey.” The cop was nudging him. “You okay?”
Rick nodded. Turned away from Dimitri as another cop tended to the unconscious man.
“I better call this in.” The cop requested an ambulance and got patched through to Adams.
Rick stood there, trying to will his body back to stasis. He’d been so close to getting Dimitri to reveal First Time’s identity. His powers of persuasion had failed him. With any luck, the cops would be able to sweat it out of Dimitri in short order. Assuming they could revive him from his shock. He eyed the banks and banks of electronics. The forensic investigators would have a field day with all this stuff. Surely they could get the clues they needed, once they combed the memory of all these machines. It was going to be all right, wasn’t it?
The cop hung up and spoke to Rick. “Adams says you’re cool. What went on here?”
Rick explained, glossing over some of the less complimentary parts. The cop took notes, interrupting the narrative only once to brief the EMTs on the situation when they arrived. When Rick finished recounting the incident, the cop flipped his notebook shut.
Rick felt like he’d boxed twelve rounds. He wanted to collapse too. Into his bed. He addressed the cop. “All done?”
“Here. Adams wants you to meet him at the station. Give a detailed statement.” The cop tilted his head and eyed him. “That a problem for you?”
“No. Not at all,” Rick said, defeated. First Time had slipped away from him again.
CHAPTER 54
AS RICK LEFT Dimitri’s apartment, he felt like he was walking in hip-deep water, everything moving in slow motion. He’d been so close, but he’d blown it. Twice in less than a day. Would he get another shot at the madman?
When he reached his car, he thanked God for small favors. No one had ticketed his car for being illegally parked at a hydrant. Rick slid in, then slumped over the steering wheel. He should have tortured that little creep until First Time’s name came spilling out. Due to his failure, the life of some innocent girl was still in jeopardy. He saw Dimitri’s pathetic face, crying and contorted. Eyes full of unspeakable anguish. It would be so pitiful in any other context.
Rick started up the engine but didn’t put the car in gear. Why was Dimitri apologizing? Why the last look of such extreme sorrow? Why did he want him to hurry? A terrible feeling gained purchase deep within Rick’s chest as he played back Dimitri’s words. The feeling grew, accelerated, spread through his limbs into his head, racing out of control like a wildfire. His heart jumped, froze, then started palpitating. His fingers trembled.
He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Hit the speed dial. One ring. Two rings. Pick up, damnit. Three rings. His stomach tumbled and rolled. Four rings. Where the hell were they?
“Hello.” Barb’s angelic voice was a prayer answered.
“Hey.” Rick croaked out the word, but didn’t say more, afraid his cracking voice would give away the terror he’d felt. His heart slowed.
“Rick? You okay?”
He swallowed and closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m okay. Now. How are you?”
“Fine. Just reading a book. It’s nice to have a little time to myself.”
“What do you mean?”
A pause. Then Barb said, “Well, Ray’s taking a nap. And Livvy’s at the mall—”
“Who’s Livvy with?”
“Relax, dear,” Barb said. “She’s with Winn.”
Rick cursed under his breath. What was Winn doing with Livvy? “What do you mean? Tomorrow’s Friday. Tomorrow’s Winn’s day.”
“I know. He came by this afternoon, said he needed some cheering up. Luckily, Livvy and I hadn’t made any other plans. Being cooped up here was getting her down. They’re really great for each other, don’t you think? Two unique personalities, all right.” She gave a little chuckle.
The wildfire was ablaze again in his brain. Snapping and crackling, burning and destroying. Charring everything black. Hot. Hot. Hot. “Where are they?” he snapped into the phone.
“At the mall. I told you—”
“What time did they leave?”
“Rick, you sure nothing’s wrong, you sound—”
“What time, Barb? What time did they leave?”
“Jeez. About four, four-thirty. They were going to have an early dinner, then visit the arcade. You really need to chill out.”
Rick hung up. “Good idea,” he said to no one. “Good fucking idea.”
Tin Man and Marie resumed their show after the call from First Time. Celia told them to keep things going, keep taking calls, keep revving up the listeners. But Tin Man had a different idea. No more callers today. He had some things he wanted to say, some things he wanted to broadcast to the millions of Circus fans. He was going to reveal a different side of the Tin Man to his listeners. Celia could pound dirt if she didn’t like it.
J.T. pointed at him. On-air. “Welcome back, Circus fans. This is Tin Man.” He cleared his throat again, and in a deeper-than-usual voice said, “Sit back everyone. Put the phones down. Tin Man has a few things he’d like to unload. And relax, it won’t hurt a bit.” He cued up a cheering crowd sound effect and let it play for eight seconds. It felt good playing God.
And God had a few things to say about the whole First Time ordeal.
Rick cursed the traffic. He needed to know Livvy was okay before he could meet Adams at the station. Adams would understand, and if he didn’t, well, he could sic the department on him.
Winn had Livvy. Crazy ideas swirled in his head and every one got the worst-case spin. Was Livvy the girl Dimitri referred to? Why did he have to hurry? What was about to happen? And the craziest thought of all: Was Winn really First Time?
Sterling Commons Mall. To get there, he had to negotiate the main drag to the Fairfax County Parkway north, then take the Toll Road west to Route 28. Mostly high-speed roads, but at rush hour, the normal fifteen-minute drive could easily stretch into an hour or more. In the Washington suburbs, a little fender-bender could snarl things for hours.
He flipped open his cell, called up Winn’s number, hit the send button. Let it ring until the message kicked in. He knew Winn often didn’t have his phone on. Always joked about not wanting to be interrupted during his naps. Rick snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the passenger seat.
He drove by instinct, as fast as he could, ignoring the angry blares of the motorists he cut off as he veered from lane to lane. People driving home after work didn’t want to cede the right-of-way. They were tired. But their little girl wasn’t in trouble.
In the background, the car radio played softly, tuned to the Afternoon Circus. Tin Man’s nasal voice spoke to millions. When will the cops catch this madman? How many more innocent people have to die before they nab him? But let’s not throw all the blame at the police, our dedicated public servants. Let’s look inward, take some of the blame upon ourselves…
Upon ourselves. Maybe this whole thing could have been prevented if Rick had responded to the warning signs. Winn was lonely. Despondent. Drinking way too much. Irascible. Had Winn been calling out for help? Had he failed his friend? The analytical side of Rick took charge. Even if Winn had fallen on hard times, that didn’t transform someone into a murderer.
What possible reason could Winn have for killing people? Thrills? Rick had a hard time believing that. Dimitri seemed like a thrill-seeker, a risk-taker. But Winn? It just didn’t make any sense. And he didn’t see Winn putting up with Dimitri’s bullshit for one second. It didn’t add up.
Up ahead, a column of brake lights extended as far as Rick could see. Like red, bloodshot eyes staring at him, taunting him. He cursed his luck and banged his palms on the steering wheel, a captive of the commuter rush.
The radio played on. Rick thought Tin Man sounded unfettered, stronger. What kind of parents raise a murderer? Do they see their ten-year-old boy trapping squirrels and think it’s cute? Do they share some brewskis with him when he’s thirteen? Let’s take some responsibility for ourselves, and our neighbors. I tell you, people, this country would be in a much better spot if we issued licenses for parents just like we do for drivers…
What possible motive did Winn have? An insidious thought popped into his head. Money. Winn could be doing it for the dough. During their last conversation, Winn seemed preoccupied with money. It was funny how everyone was so up, so giddy, when they thought the SatRad deal would make them millionaires. Then, the happiness had come crumbling down with the Rhino’s death.
They’d all told themselves the deal wasn’t dead yet, that there was still hope, that hard work and perseverance would save the day, but Rick didn’t think many of them really believed it. And the station’s morale had suffered. No room for Pollyanna at a radio station.
The SatRad deal wasn’t dead, not officially. If their ratings were good enough, they’d push forward and sign the Afternoon Circus. And it wasn’t a coincidence the ratings had been off the chart since First Time arrived. An old fox like Winn would see the perversity of killing people for ratings. Maybe he even had Celia’s blessing. Maybe everyone was in on the conspiracy except him. The quest for killer ratings.
Rick shook his head and laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the car. It was crazy. Insane. But then again, people were killed every day for far stupider reasons. The traffic inched forward. Rick squinted into the distance, trying to determine if the back-up was due to an accident or if it was just the normal mass of vehicular humanity.
He remembered the prescient words of Harrison Caldwell. First Time was someone he knew. Someone associated with the show. He’d dismissed his prophecy as show-biz fluff, as just some outrageous talk to get himself invited back to the show or get people to visit his blog. At the very most, he thought maybe a deranged listener had gone off the deep end. Did Caldwell really have some kind of super-psychological intuition? Had he suspected it was Winn all along?
He was getting carried away. Like how Livvy got sometimes when she heard something that spooked her. She’d embellish and elaborate, until there was a bogeyman behind every door and under every table. It was all too much nonsense. He’d get to the mall, find Winn and Livvy playing Frogger and eating popcorn. Winn was depressed, he needed cheering up. Just what he told Barb. And Livvy was the top-of-the-line cure for the doldrums, that was for sure.
But the feeling of dread remained lodged in his gut. Rick considered calling Adams. Letting him know his suspicions. What would he say? Winn Hummel, kindly Winn Hummel, curmudgeonly-but-in-a-good-way Winn Hummel, has been gallivanting around, butchering people and chopping off body parts? Adams would lock him up. Didn’t matter if Rick had been right about Dimitri, Adams would summon the men in the white coats and Rick would be doing all his future broadcasts from a padded cell at St. Elizabeth’s.
Rick forced himself to calm down, to examine the situation from the perspective of an impartial observer. Did his suspicions about Winn hold an ounce of water? He hoped not. For once, he hoped he was flat out wrong. But it all seemed to fit. After all, who was one of Winn’s victims? Garth the Goth. In Winn’s eyes, the epitome of youth gone bad. Garth had rubbed Winn wrong from the day he’d shown up—antagonized him mercilessly. Winn probably enjoyed cutting off his ear.
Tin Man’s voice on the radio interrupted Rick’s thoughts. We need to step up. Do something. If you see someone acting strange or doing something you find dangerous, get involved. Don’t sit back and wait for the other guy to take care of the problem. It’s up to us—each and every one of us—to get off our asses and step up to the plate. Take a mighty swing against evil. Don’t let any opportunity go by. If anybody gives you grief, tell ’em Tin Man sent you. We need to take charge of our lives, our world. Save someone today…
Rick’s car shot through the intersection. Traffic seemed to thin out after the light. He glanced at his watch. Another few minutes to the mall lot. Then a minute to park, another three minutes to the arcade. Ten minutes until his theory was proven. One way or the other.
He floored it.
CHAPTER 55
RICK BURST THROUGH the mall doors and sprinted down one of the side halls leading to the main shopping area, dodging groups of shoppers, ignoring shouts at him to slow down. The arcade was upstairs, next to the food court, and the nearest set of escalators was located in the center atrium, next to a little stage set up for community performances. A sign promoting the February Festival recital balanced on an easel. He’d taken Livvy to the same show last year.
He cut in front of two elderly ladies and bounded up the moving stairs on the left, leaving several gawking shoppers behind. Two-thirds of the way up, a group of teenagers clogged his path. “Coming through.”
Two boys whirled around, one dropped his soda. The top came off and the liquid splashed onto Rick’s jacket on its way down the escalator. “Hey, man, you—”
Rick streaked by, obscenities in his wake. When he reached the top he paused. The food court extended to his left. Ten or twelve fast food outlets ringed the large eating area where rows of tables provided seating for the diners. The area looked more chaotic than usual. Dozens of chairs had been dragged to the edge of the balcony to afford people a view of the performances below. He scanned the food court, hoping to see Winn sharing a snack with Livvy. Too crowded to see it all from where he stood.
Jogging, he traversed every row, aware of the strange looks he was getting. He wanted to shout out, “lost kid,” but didn’t want to start a panic. If he didn’t find Livvy soon, he’d reconsider. In less than two minutes, he’d searched the entire eating area and come up empty. No sign of them. He allowed himself ten seconds to catch his breath, then sped off to the arcade.
Game Galaxy was located two shops down from the Arby’s, the last restaurant in the food court. Rick had never been inside before, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Livvy started begging him to go. Their twice-annual visit to Chuck E. Cheese was already more than Rick cared for. Dim lighting, plenty of noise, a vague aroma combining root beer and ripe kids. He started on the right of the cave-like arcade and made his way to the back, looking for an adorable little girl with blond curls. His little girl.
He bulled his way through the crowd, hopes sinking with each unsuccessful step. In the back of the arcade, the attendant, a tall, skinny man with wild, Albert Einstein hair perched on a stool behind a glass display case. On the wall behind him, scores of cheapl
y made prizes hung, waiting to be claimed by eager little ticket holders. Rick headed for the attendant. Maybe he’d seen Livvy.
Before he got there, Winn approached the counter from the left, wallet in hand. “Winn! Hey, Winn.” Rick pushed a couple of teenagers aside and grabbed Winn’s arm, swinging him around.
Panic seized Winn’s face, eyes wide. When he saw it was Rick, his face relaxed a bit, but to Rick, he still seemed jittery. “Hey. What are you doing here?” The sides of his mouth sagged. “Everything okay?” Winn tried to shrug Rick’s hand off, but Rick held tight. The older man’s eyes narrowed.
“Where’s Livvy?” Rick asked.
Winn pointed over his shoulder. “Over there. Saving a machine. I wanted to change a twenty. Don’t like putting such a big bill in those machines. They always seem to eat my twenties.”
Rick dropped Winn’s arm and took off in the direction Winn pointed. From behind, he heard Winn call out, “What’s wrong? Barb okay? Rick? Rick?”
Rick forged ahead, turning sideways to slip through the crowd. His head whipped back and forth, searching for Livvy. With all the larger people around, he knew little Livvy would be hard to spot. “Livvy! Livvy!” A few patrons looked at him, the crazy dad yelling in the arcade. Rick ignored them all. He needed to find his daughter.
“Wait up,” Winn yelled. Rick turned back to see Winn squeezing through the mass of people.
When Winn caught up, Rick said, “Where is she? Goddamnit, where is she?”
Winn’s head swiveled around. Slowly, he pivoted his body in a complete circle. A perplexed look grew on his face. Morphed into concern. Winn’s reaction burned a hole in Rick’s heart. Where was she?
Winn gestured at the machine next to him where a pudgy boy, maybe ten years old, was playing, working the controllers with exaggerated body motions. “She was right here. At this machine. I just left her for a sec—”
