One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3)

by Tony Faggioli

  “Got it.”

  “And Parker?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch your ass, guero.”

  CHAPTER 22

  KYLE WAS RESTING, HIS eyes half closed, while he and The Gray Man sped across the desert a mile above the black road beneath them, snaking through the desert hills that rose up here or there.

  For some reason Kyle couldn’t stop himself from thinking about, of all people, Caitlyn. Her innocent face, her bright smile, and the monster that had been hiding right there behind her eyes the whole time. “How could I have not seen it?” he mumbled. The Gray Man made no reply.

  He wasn’t sure how God and fate worked, not really. Perhaps the whole “millionth” thing was his destiny, regardless, one way or another. Had he been able to deny himself Caitlyn, then maybe he would’ve just been forestalling the inevitable. Perhaps he would’ve just done the same thing a few years further down the road, with some other woman who might’ve made it worse.

  Then he mocked himself. Worse? How could it possibly be worse than his wife being abducted by a psychopath and his children now under police protection?

  His lust had been a mountain within him that, once shook, had turned into an avalanche of chaos, pain and destruction, sweeping over everyone around him.

  Perhaps it could’ve been avoided, if he’d been stronger. If he’d—

  The Gray Man finally spoke. Perhaps this, perhaps that. If this, if that. Can’t you see, Kyle? All decisions are interlinked. Each of them is a ripple from the splash, spreading ever outward, in a pattern you simply cannot fathom.

  “Yeah? But how—”

  No, Kyle. Do not add “but”s and “how”s to the “if”s. You’re stringing together a shaky web.

  “Then… okay, fine—”

  Go back to your first question. That was the one not of yourself. That was the one you were meant to answer and did not want to answer so badly that you brought up all the other questions to forestall it.

  Kyle nodded and looked out over the desert sands to the horizon, the sunlight partially discolored by the radiant glow of their orb. He’d been thinking about Caitlyn and… how he’d been unable to see the evil within her, the evil that almost killed him. Again he felt himself wanting to change the subject, especially when the answer popped up in his mind as obvious as a stubbed toe; he’d been unable to see her evil because he’d been blinded by his own.

  “I had become evil,” Kyle said flatly. “Isn’t that right, Gray?”

  The Gray Man nodded. “How do you think that is, Kyle?”

  Kyle recalled the months before that fateful moment with Caitlyn in the hotel room, and they fanned out before him like a deck of cards, each day offering up to him a color, a face and a value to his shame.

  The low cards were the first memories: noticing her in the break room and saying “hi,” then at a staff meeting and joking with her about her note-taking, then one night in the parking garage, her leaving for the day and him arriving from a meeting to grab his things, and chatting it up with her. For ten minutes. Then twenty. Small talk, pregnant with the urge for bigger talk, which would come later, the discussion in the garage about favorite beaches or college classes morphing later into whether or not she was dating anyone, and why he was in no hurry to get home most nights.

  After that, thoughts of her were like mushrooms, setting roots, growing in his mind: the mole on her right earlobe, the fullness of her breasts, the way her eyes sparkled when she said something flirty. Then, before he knew it, came the nights he wasn’t able to sleep because he was burning up with desire. The fantasies of taking her away and being someone new, someone better than himself, through her, because of her, never thinking of how sad it was that he was at such a low point in his life that he’d come to believe that a complete stranger, seventeen years younger and fresh out of college, could help him find anything, much less himself. Then came the need for her body, the want for her sex that infested him, despite his best efforts to be strong, to be a good husband, to be faithful.

  Don’t lie to yourself, Kyle. We’ve been over this.

  “What?”

  You didn’t try very hard to be any of those things. Not in the end.

  “That’s not true.” But it was. It was true. In the end he’d started fights with Tamara on purpose, to justify his behavior. He ignored the kids, not helping them with their homework or reading them bedtime stories, because the guilt of his thoughts and intentions were more than he could bear.

  And you stopped praying. And you stopped going to church too.

  Kyle nodded.

  You stopped talking to God in every imaginable way. You stopped wearing the little cross Tamara bought you one year for your birthday and—

  “I stopped wearing me wedding ring.”

  They fell silent. Kyle was trembling a bit, but he had to finish. “I started taking it off when I’d get to work. When Caitlyn asked about it I told her things at home weren’t so good…”

  Yes. You lied. You had no intention of leaving your family. You just wanted to play, Kyle. With another human being. With another soul.

  The blue in Kyle welled up forcefully, like a watery tear in the center of his chest, and then it was apparent what had really happened. Clear as day.

  “We fed off of each other.”

  That’s correct. And the one evil begot the other. She lusted too, for what she couldn’t have. Then had fun with it, and then became enthralled by it. When she saw you willing to do evil, she was more willing to herself, and vice versa, things eventually building up to what happened.

  “But she was the one who attacked me.”

  The Gray Man flashed a sad smile. Really? Are you sure of that?

  “Have you forgotten that she tried to kill me?”

  Kyle. The good in us, the bad in us, it tallies up over time. We all know this. When I walked this planet I knew it too. We know full well when we deposit or withdraw good, or evil, into our lives or into the lives of others. God is in that accounting, and so is the devil. But make no mistake about it: we are the one’s working the equation.

  “And?”

  And when you took advantage of her, when you made her feel adequate and woefully inadequate all at the same time, you were the one doing the attacking, my friend. You were the one inflicting harm.

  “But I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to—”

  Use her to make yourself feel better about yourself, about your life, for a little while.

  “No.”

  Yes. And by that point she felt used enough, by you and the others that preceded you, that she turned fully and completely to the darkness.

  “My God,” Kyle sighed in suppressed frustration. “What have I done?”

  A wrong that you’re still trying to right, as best you can. Meanwhile, you know the scripture: “The Father works for the good in all things.”

  “The good? What good could possibly come from this?”

  The man who has Tamara right now has killed nearly a hundred women, Kyle. That was nearly a hundred families tortured by the evil that this man wrought, never knowing if their loved ones were dead or ever coming home. Thousands of sleepless nights are now giving way to sorrow and mourning, yes, but also to healing, Kyle. Detective Parker found the bodies of those women in a ravine, where they had been lying in decay. Now, they will be put to rest, and in the process you cannot imagine how much healing is going to take place, how much love will escape into the world as mothers start support groups or families start foundations to help others in similar predicaments.

  “So what I did…”

  Was wrong. But there is always an offset, Kyle, always a balancing of the books. That’s what we do. That’s what I do. We work to offset things. We work to help people who want to be helped, because everyone can be, if they want to be.

  “And if they don’t?”

  Then, as you have seen, there are plenty of agents for the other side working just as hard as we are to offset thing towards the da
rkness.

  They were so engrossed in their conversation that they almost missed the dark speck moving on the road ahead, a small shimmer of sunlight bouncing off its rear window. They’d passed hundreds of cars on the road so far on their journey, and The Gray Man had taken note of each of them and then looked away.

  But not this one. The Gray Man’s eyes were fixed intently upon it.

  Kyle squinted as they grew closer; it was a black Chevy Camaro. Or, just like the ghost in Ragtown had described, a “black wagon.”

  Shifting his weight to his hip, Kyle swiftly stood up and leaned against the wall of the orb. “Gray!”

  I see it.

  WHEN NAPOLEON AWOKE, his eyelids scraped hard against his eyeballs, as if there was sand in them, and his body felt heavy with a sleep that did not want to be disturbed.

  He heard SpongeBob first, and then the little girl, Janie, giggling over something her brother whispered to her. He blinked and looked around. From his position on the floor, just below the television, he could not tell if the two children lounging on the bed were watching him or the cartoon. He guessed it was him, as he had awoken with his head jammed partly under the dresser with his cheek meshed against the carpet and drool dried to his chin.

  “What’s the story, Morning Glory?” Janie said, giggling again.

  Napoleon grunted. “Nothing new, Suzie-Q.”

  Janie’s eyes widened. “Whatever you say, Mr. Jose.”

  It was way too early for word games. But even now, after sleeping for what felt like twenty hours and wanting twenty more, Napoleon knew his fatigue had nothing on a little girl whose mother had been dragged out of their home right in front of her. Whatever gave her even a hint of a smile, he would do. “Okay. Give me sec. Right now I got nothin’.”

  She laughed from the belly, a sweet sound.

  “You were out solid,” Trudy said from the sofa chair nearby, looking at him over the edge of a magazine.

  “Don’t I know it. Shi—” Napoleon stopped himself, remembering to watch his language in front of the kids. “Man. I needed that.”

  “Evidently. You didn’t even snore. Just: out.”

  Napoleon sat up and rubbed his hands over his cheeks, trying to massage them awake, especially his right one, which was now creased with carpet outlines. He glanced over to see if Parker was awake and noticed his spot on the bed was empty.

  Before he could ask, Trudy spoke up. “He went to get breakfast.”

  “Alone?”

  “He figured we’d be safe with you here.”

  “Makes sense,” Napoleon replied, and it did. What didn’t make sense was the weird feeling he had. Why had his first concern been for Parker’s safety?

  “It’s been awhile though,” she said with a sprinkle of worry.

  “Whatdya mean?”

  “He said he was going to the McDonald’s down the street. That he’d be back in twenty minutes or so. But it’s been just over a half-hour now.”

  Napoleon tensed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. He left at about quarter to eight. It’s twenty past now. I was gonna wake you in another five if he still wasn’t here.”

  “Why not sooner?”

  “I figured maybe he misjudged the walking distance or something.”

  “He walked?” Napoleon asked as he stood to stretch, but he heard how foreboding the question sounded as soon as it escaped his mouth and regretted it. A look of concern flashed across Trudy’s face.

  “Yeah. Why? Is that a problem? I figured he wanted to leave the car here in case”—she glanced nervously at the kids—“we needed it.”

  Backtracking, Napoleon tried to cover. “No, I’m not worried, just still half asleep. That makes sense.”

  But even the kids weren’t buying it entirely now.

  Janie looked straight at him. “Watchya thinkin’, Abe Lincoln?”

  He chuckled softly. “Nothing at all, Crystal Ball.”

  Sighing, he walked to the bathroom to take a piss and wash up. Closing the door, he thought about things: Parker had left and was out there on his own. That was not a good thing. Napoleon could feel it clear as day, hanging on his neck like a four year old. But why? The kids were the ones who were supposed to be the target.

  Using cold water from the sink he splashed his face, head and hair. In the mirror he saw an entirely different man than the one he knew; his face that had aged considerably, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deeper, the bags beneath them more pronounced. The cold water felt unbelievably good, especially as it trickled over his scalp and down his sideburns, so he went all in on a head bath, even using the tiny bar of soap on the sink as shampoo. Once done and feeling clearer, he returned to his musings.

  He couldn’t leave Trudy alone with the kids. That wasn’t an option… until it was. Napoleon had seen the McDonald’s the day before when they were driving here as well. It wasn’t that far away, even by foot. Call it ten minutes there and ten minutes back. No way had it got past thirty minutes round trip unless he was lucky enough to get there right after the local soccer team arrived on trophy day or some shit, and it was a little early for that.

  Combing his hair with his fingers, Napoleon looked again into the mirror and realized it didn’t even tell half the truth. He’d changed three times as much on the inside now. He’d tracked down a wanted man, seen angels, literally been to hell and back and was now here, still a nomad of sorts, not a cop anymore, still dead as far as the world knew and… what now? What was his role now? His place? Efren knew he was okay, and that was all that really mattered on a personal level. But here, in this motel room, there was a woman and two children that still needed him.

  But your partner needs you more. Now. Go.

  And that was the biggest change of all in him, he knew it full well: the propensity to listen to that little voice in his head when it said something, instead of questioning it like he used to. Gut over logic, every time, yes, he’d lived his life that way. Now? Now it was spirit over gut.

  When he walked out of the bathroom it only took one look at Trudy to prove that she was feeling uneasy too, even before she said, “He gave me his cell number. I’ve tried to call it three times now but there’s no answer.”

  With the kids looking at him, Napoleon unholstered his gun and handed it to Trudy. “You know how to shoot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. No matter what, empty the whole clip if you have to… understand?”

  She nodded firmly, looking afraid but resolute.

  The kids? Not so much. Seth sounded especially concerned. “Where’s he going, Aunt Trudy?”

  “Just to go find Mr. Parker, honey” Trudy answered reassuringly.

  “Why? What’s happened to Mr. Parker?” Janie asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

  Poor kids, Napoleon thought. They can go from laughing hysterically at cartoons one second to crying hysterically the next. This is too much for them.

  Napoleon straightened his shirt and headed for the door. Once there, Janie called to him. “Mr. Napoleon?”

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitated, her face contorted with emotion. It was obvious she was trying not to cry. Ten years old and it was clear as day that she was trying to encourage him. “Watch your back, Jack.”

  Giving her a nod, Napoleon smiled. “No doubt, Scout.”

  Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  They were on the second floor. Looking around he took it all in: where the walls and corners were, which cars were parked where, especially the cars that were backed into their spaces or that looked threatening in any way, checking for reclined silhouettes. He’d been on enough stakeouts as the “watcher” to know what the “watchee” should be looking for. None of the cars were occupied.

  Nearby a guy stood by a janitor’s trolley eating a banana, but he’d taken no notice of Napoleon. Still, Napoleon went directly past him, taking note of the guy’s crew cut hair and marine tattoo before dismissing him outright as a th
reat for one reason: he was wearing a very large cross on a leather string around his neck. Napoleon felt that was a deal killer if you were working for the other side.

  Walking briskly and with purpose, Napoleon made his way out the driveway and to the street, then made a hard left onto the sidewalk, where he double-timed it to Los Feliz Boulevard. It was busy with morning traffic, but Napoleon paid the cars no mind as he made it to the intersection. There, to his left and a short block away, was McDonald’s, where he assumed Parker was. It was the only one around, so it had to be. The lot was mostly empty and there were three cars in the drive-thru.

  There was no way he shouldn’t be back by now. Something was wrong.

  Napoleon picked up his pace. By the time he reached the McDonald’s he was almost out of breath. Seeing Parker nowhere in sight, he went inside.

  He noticed Parker as soon as he walked in. He was sitting at a corner table, a half-dozen bags of McDonald’s food in front of him, getting cold. And he was sitting with another man.

  What the hell?

  Parker glanced quickly at Napoleon, and then gave him a hard look before returning his attention to the man opposite him. He was in a beige suit. A normal Businessman Joe, but his posture was odd. Overly composed, he sat with both hands palms down on the table, his head fixed, staring at Parker intently.

  Immediately, Napoleon canvassed the rest of the McDonald’s. A woman with two children sat at one table; two Hispanic men in Edison power company uniforms were at another, talking with their mouths open. Near them sat a lady in yoga pants and a hot pink top with a guy in jeans and white shirt. At the table nearest Napoleon was a man reading on his iPad.

  Napoleon figured he could play this a lot of ways, especially without his gun. But he still had the .22 in his ankle holster.

  Kneeling down, he tied his shoe, even though it didn’t need tying, and as covertly as he could he pulled the gun out and palmed it.

  If no one else in the room wasn’t a problem, Parker would’ve called me over as soon as I walked in. But he didn’t.