by Ellis, T. W.
‘What, now?’
She raises another pen, ready to throw at Sabrowski. ‘Go get my coffee, limp dick.’
Sabrowski flinches in frightened anticipation, as if the pen might do some real damage, and reaches for the door.
‘Take this abomination with you,’ Rusty orders. ‘Its very presence offends me.’
Sabrowski does as he’s told, returning a couple of minutes later.
‘Why are your hands empty, Officer?’ Rusty asks. ‘My thirst has become untenable and my patience stretched thinner than your thighs.’
Sabrowski says, ‘Sorry, Rust, I was waylaid.’
‘Now what does that mean?’
‘We have a couple of people here to see you,’ he explains. ‘From the FBI.’
‘It’s too early in the morning for practical jokes, Officer. If I get up from my desk and see Zeke in a rented suit and his hair slicked down with bacon grease and acting like he’s finally finished puberty I’m not going to be amused. That’s foolery only fit for the afternoon and certainly won’t be appreciated by this here under-caffeinated chief.’
Sabrowski pleads sincerity. ‘I’m telling you, Rust, there are two severe individuals out there with badges who want to speak to you immediately.’
Rusty is not quite ready to believe this. In all her years as police chief she hasn’t so much as had a call from the FBI let alone a couple of agents show up on her doorstep.
‘They’re real stone-faced, boss,’ Sabrowski continues. ‘You want me to tell them to come back in the afternoon when you’ll appreciate their foolery?’
‘Don’t be an idiot every waking moment, Officer.’ Rusty stands. ‘Take a break every now and again. See how it feels. Maybe you’ll like it.’
She rounds her desk and makes sure her belt is tight and her shirt tucked in.
Outside her office, Rusty sees a smartly dressed woman and man who don’t belong. They’re already looking her way, waiting. Sabrowski was right: these are a couple of serious people.
‘I’m the chief,’ Rusty says, nearing.
The woman makes the introductions. ‘I’m Agent Wilks, this is Special Agent Messer. We’d like to talk to you about one of your residents.’
‘And who in this here quiet town has come to the attention of the great and the good at the FBI?’
‘A Mrs Jemima Talhoffer.’
Rusty purses her lips. ‘Yoga Jem? She’s quieter than a mute mouse. Whatever has she done?’
Wilks glances at Sabrowski and Zeke, both inching closer so they don’t miss a word of this unprecedented conversation.
She says, ‘Perhaps we could discuss this further in a more private setting?’
‘Sure,’ Rusty replies. ‘You guys want something to drink?’
‘Not for me,’ Wilks says.
Messer shakes his head.
She steps aside and gestures for the two FBI agents to make their way to her office.
‘This way, please. Make yourselves at home.’
She follows a step behind, pausing only to point at Sabrowski and mouth, My coffee, now.
9:23 a.m.
In the summer this town is beautiful and now, in the fall, it maintains that beauty, although there is a richness and maturity to its palette with rust-coloured leaves frosting the sidewalk and rooftops. The town is quiet because it’s always quiet. I need that quietness. Without it I would have never been able to drive here for groceries. I don’t like noise these days just like I don’t like a lot of things. Today, though, this morning, I don’t like the quiet. The lack of noise makes the town feel empty, threatening. It’s only a short half-block to the police department’s office but I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. I’m hyperaware of all the windows around me – on my side of the street, on the opposite side, on ground level and on floors above – and how someone could be standing behind any one of them. They could see me yet I couldn’t see them in return.
I feel like the whole town is my enemy.
I’m paranoid, I know, but I think I have every right to be given what has just happened.
Keep it together, Jem. You’re almost there. Just get inside the precinct.
Inside, you’re safe. Wilks and Messer can’t get you in there.
Without the doping effect of adrenalin, the simple act of walking is painful. I’m hobbling more than walking. There are so many cuts and scrapes on the soles of my feet and I’m becoming more and more aware of each and every one of them. Running through the woods did more damage than I thought.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a store front. Man, I look like I’ve stepped straight out of the jungle after being lost there for a decade. It’s almost comical how crazy my hair has become, how smeared my clothes are with dirt and blood and God knows what. I was worried earlier that I might stink after yoga but now I must reek.
Least of your worries, Jem.
In fact, it’s not a worry at all. Not even a sliver of a worry. Funny how we can be so concerned with appearances so much of the time yet they’re nothing close to a priority when it really comes down to it.
I near the police department. It’s a low, square building. There’s no signage on the back of the building to denote its purpose and to the unknowing it could serve all manner of purposes: an office, a bank, maybe even a place of worship.
I turn on the spot to look at Trevor. I’m not sure why, what I hope to see. Reassurance, probably. I just need to know he’s still there.
He is. He gives me a slow nod and it’s enough for me to turn back round and hobble the rest of the way to the end of the block. I circle around the building because there’s no entrance round back that I can use.
I can no longer see Trevor and that’s not good for my nerves but I’m so close now, to safety, that I keep stumbling along without slowing down, reaching the front of the building.
Parked in the lot is a black Explorer.
I don’t hesitate for even a second. I retreat. I don’t see Wilks or Messer but they must be inside or close.
I hurry back to Trevor, who sees me hobbling along the sidewalk and accelerates over to me to spare my feet.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks as I heave open the passenger door and climb back inside.
‘They’re there,’ I say, panting, distraught. ‘Wilks and Messer.’
‘Outside the police building?’
‘I only saw their vehicle out front. They might be inside. God, what am I going to do now?’
Trevor is confused. ‘You think they’re inside the police department?’
I nod. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. Their SUV is in the lot, why else would it be there?’ I’m shaking my head, angry at myself. ‘We must have taken too long. We gave them too much time. They must have realised what we were planning to do. What am I going to do now?’
Trevor still has the look of confusion. ‘The cartel folk are inside the precinct?’
‘Yes,’ I hiss, losing my temper. ‘What’s so hard to understand about that? They’ve beaten us here.’
Trevor is silent in thought with his lips pursed. He has grey eyes and they’re looking at me questioningly.
My temper calms, and now I’m confused too.
I say, ‘Why are they inside the police HQ?’
‘Beats me,’ he says. ‘Now, I don’t know a whole heap about forgeries, but to my mind I don’t think that drug dealers could get fake FBI badges so good as to fool local law enforcement.’
‘You’re saying they don’t just work for the cartel? You think they’re agents on the take?’
He shrugs. ‘Perhaps, but that’s not really what I’m saying.’
I know what he’s saying and I’m silent. I put my face in my hands for a moment.
‘Please don’t tell me I’m on the run from real FBI agents, Trevor. Oh God, please don’t say that. That can’t be right, can it?’
Trevor breathes a sympathetic sigh.
He says, ‘I think you need to consider the possibility that perhaps you’ve had your wires
crossed this whole time. Because even if a couple of badass enforcers working for a cartel could get access to the kind of forgeries that might trick Rusty, would they really risk it? Would they really stride into the lion’s den and try and fool the lions if they didn’t have to?’
I can’t answer. The pain from my feet is forgotten because with every wise, sensible word Trevor is making me feel worse.
‘But Carlson,’ I say eventually. ‘He said … he told me I was in danger. That those two didn’t work for the Bureau. That’s what he said. I swear that’s what he said. He’s the only agent working on the case, who knows about Leo. I didn’t mishear him, Trevor. I’m not making it up.’
‘I believe you,’ Trevor responds in a soft voice. ‘I’m sure he told you exactly that.’
I know what Trevor is going to say next. ‘But how do I know Carlson was telling me the truth?’
Trevor shrugs.
‘Oh no,’ I breathe. ‘Oh Jem, you stupid, stupid woman.’
Trevor says, ‘Don’t go condemning yourself just yet. You can only ever do what you think is right in the moment. Moments change.’
‘I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, Trevor. I really do. But let’s face it: I’ve royally screwed up. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought I was running for my life and I was running from the damn FBI.’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
‘I do,’ I snap back. ‘And you do too.’ I open the passenger door. ‘I need to make this right before they put together a nationwide manhunt. Oh Trevor, you might have been harbouring a fugitive this whole time.’
‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.’ I climb out. ‘I’ve already jumped to the worst possible conclusion based solely on a phone call from a stranger. I already knew I was crazy but I didn’t know I was this crazy. Go home, Trevor. Take Merlin home. Have a good laugh at my expense because once I’m over the humiliation, once I can walk okay again, I’m going to have a good laugh at myself. But not right now. Not for a good long while.’
Trevor leans across the seats so he’s closer to me. ‘Why don’t I drive you round the block and drop you off outside?’
‘No, thanks. You’ve done more than enough already. I don’t want to waste any more of your time. And I need to have a few moments to myself. I need to get my thoughts in order before I walk in there.’
His furry eyebrows arch. ‘Your call, Jem. You know what’s best for you. And don’t worry about my time because if nothing else it’s been an interesting morning.’
He smiles at me. I can’t smile back.
‘See ya round,’ I say, and head off to face my judgement.
I don’t move with any kind of speed. I’m dragging my feet. Not because they’re sore but because I’m so embarrassed, so ashamed, I don’t want to reach my destination. Looking back, I can’t believe I ever listened to Carlson, whoever he is. I’m trying to remember exactly what he said and what I said to him and it’s all a blur, all fuzzy. He must have been convincing. I didn’t doubt his sincerity. Maybe I’m easily led. Maybe I’m too quick to believe what I’m told, too passive in my own thought process.
Have I always been like this?
No, definitely not. I never used to feel incomplete. I never used to hate myself.
I turn round to see that Trevor is still parked, still waiting for me. A ceaseless guardian.
I put my hands on my hips.
He gestures with his hands, wondering what I’m doing.
Go, I mouth.
He frowns. Shakes his head.
I shrug in defiance. If he’s not going to go, I’m not going anywhere either.
Fine, he mouths back. Then something else I can’t read. I expect something along the lines of have it your way, but probably a little less cordial.
He pulls away from the kerb, rolls past me. He gives me a nod and I nod back.
Then he’s gone. At least Merlin will have stopped growling now.
As I near the police department I sigh, shake my head at my rash actions, my poor judgement. What got into me?
Time to put it right. Time to find out what is really going on.
When I’m closer, I see the big SUV out front and Wilks standing near it. She’s talking on a cell phone. She’s too far away for me to hear what she’s saying and she hasn’t looked in my direction, so she doesn’t realise I’m approaching. I was terrified of her less than an hour ago and now I can’t understand why. She looks like a decent woman, a strong authority figure. She bears no resemblance to a killer working for a drug cartel. She looks, surprise surprise, like an FBI agent.
Oh, Jem, wait until Leo hears about this.
Leo, the criminal, laundering money for a cartel. Can it be true? Even if what Wilks told me earlier is correct, that he’s being pressured into it, I still can’t bring myself to believe it. How could I not have known? How could he have kept such a secret from me?
I guess I’ll find out more in a few minutes once I’ve had a good telling off about what happened earlier. I hope Messer didn’t have a heart attack after chasing me through the woods. He’s a big guy, after all. I don’t imagine he ever spent much time on a treadmill.
I’m about to call out to Wilks when I hear a vehicle behind me. I glance back, expecting to see Trevor returning. Instead I see a plain grey sedan, which pulls up fast alongside me.
The window is already down, and the man behind the wheel is looking my way.
‘I’m Carlson,’ he says. ‘You need to come with me. Right now.’
9:31 a.m.
After all the surprises of this morning I guess I should have been expecting another. Carlson looks to be in his late forties. He’s African-American, with his curly dark hair thin and buzzed short and a shadow of stubble despite the early hour. He wears a suit, white shirt and tie. In many ways he’s cut from the same cloth as Wilks and Messer. On the surface an FBI agent, but I’m not so easily fooled a second time.
‘Get away from me,’ I say, backing off, surprise at his sudden appearance becoming concern.
‘Please, you have to get in. You have to come with me right now. I need to get you out of here while I still can. That’s not a lot of time. Please, Jem, get in the car.’
‘Where’s your badge? Where’s your credentials?’
‘There’s no time. You’ll have to trust me.’
‘Fat chance. I trusted you before and it got me nowhere. Look at me, I’ve been through hell.’
He says, ‘I saved your life. Let me save it again.’
‘From who?’
‘The two people who knocked on your door this morning, Wilks and Messer. They’re still out there and still looking for you.’
‘You mean the same Wilks and Messer who are at the police station at this very moment?’
He nods. ‘They’re dangerous.’
‘Are they? Are they really? They’re so dangerous that they’re hanging out with the local law enforcement. How does that work? I’m dying to know why criminals, cartel killers, are doing that.’
‘It’s complicated,’ Carlson answers.
‘That’s pathetic.’
I’m walking now, stepping away along the sidewalk. Carlson is persistent, rolling his car alongside me, keeping pace.
‘There’s so much I have to tell you,’ he continues. ‘About them, about Leo, about you. I can’t do it at the side of the road in thirty seconds. Come with me. I’ll explain everything. I’ll answer all of your questions. If you don’t believe me, if you don’t trust me, then I will drive you back and you can go see the police. But please, we must hurry.’
‘No chance.’ I’m shaking my head. ‘The last thing I need to do is hurry. Hurrying is what started this mess. I did it once. There’s no way I’m making that mistake again. I’m going to do things by the book. You want to talk to me, you can come with me into the police department. Let’s all of us talk this through together. How does that sound?’
He hesitates, then says, ‘I can’t do that.’
‘I had a funny feeling you might say that, Agent Carlson … or whatever your name is.’
‘I am Carlson,’ he insists. ‘I’m trying to help you, Jem. I’m trying to help Leo too. Please. Just trust me. All I want to do is keep you alive.’
‘An hour ago you were a voice on the phone telling me to run for my life. Now you’re a stranger in a car asking me to get in. Are you nuts? Leave me alone.’
‘Please,’ he says, almost pathetically, begging.
There’s something sincere in his eyes that makes me doubt myself, that makes me consider believing him. I pause, hesitate.
He stops the car and releases the door for me, taking my hesitation as consent to come with him, a stranger in a car.
‘No way.’ I back off again. ‘I don’t care who you say you are or what you say you want. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust a single thing you’ve told me.’
He tries one last time. A simple plea. So much said in one short word: ‘Don’t.’
I turn.
I’m gone.
9:33 a.m.
Wilks isn’t out front any longer – she must have entered the building at some point during my encounter with Carlson – so I walk uninterrupted across the short parking area, past the black Explorer that seemed so frightening earlier and then by an officer’s blue and white. I’m more aware than ever of my hurt feet and I’m not quite walking, not quite hobbling. A kind of shuffle, trying to keep my weight off the parts of my soles that are most painful. I’m on the balls of my feet more than my heels, wincing with every awkward step.
Never run barefoot through a forest, trust me. Especially not after you’ve scuttled across a tiled roof. In short: always wear shoes. Shoes are great. Shoes need more love.
The precinct is a single-storey building with a flat roof and a dull, featureless exterior. A functional place. No budget left over to put a friendly face on things. I push open the door, which seems ridiculously, unnecessarily heavy when I don’t have a secure footing. A little brass bell chimes as I step into the lobby. The scent of pine air freshener hits me, strong and potent. I picture one of those tree-shaped things you can get for cars, but a giant one. It must be hidden somewhere because I can’t see it.
