by Ellis, T. W.
12:57 a.m.
The night is cold. I can feel it on my exposed skin and for some reason it doesn’t bother me. I’m impervious to its touch. I walk slow because Trevor walks slow. He’s an old man, after all. I feel bad for making him walk any distance, least of all on a cold night like this. He makes no complaints about either. I look at him, wondering why he’s even with me on this wild adventure. He’s known me less than a day. We’re strangers. For all he knows I could be a criminal. I could, in fact, be crazy.
He notices me looking. ‘What is it?’
‘Why are you here, Trevor? Why are you backing me up? You don’t know me. You have no skin in this game.’
‘I would argue otherwise, young lady,’ he says back. ‘The moment I stopped my truck to let you in I became responsible for you.’
‘Are you talking about chivalry?’
‘That sounds a little too European for my liking. I prefer to think of it as good old-fashioned American decency.’
‘Whatever it is, I’m glad of it. I don’t think I could do this on my own.’
‘There you go again with that TV talk self-doubt nonsense. You are doing this on your own. I’m just a bystander.’
‘I’m not sure the authorities will see it like that if I’m charged with a felony. I think they might consider you an active participant. Aiding and abetting a fugitive or whatever.’
‘You’re a fugitive?’
‘Rusty says so. I did stab a guy with a pair of scissors, and shoot him.’
‘Self-defence. No jury in the land would find you guilty of any crime in that. We may be circling the moral drain but we haven’t entered the sewer quite yet. Besides, if they want to throw me behind bars and give me three squares a day on the government’s dime then I’ll say thank you very much.’
‘I don’t believe that last part for a second,’ I tell him. ‘You’re trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate it.’
He grumbles to himself. ‘I’m doing nothing of the sort.’
I gesture. ‘Here we are.’
There’s space for maybe half a dozen cars in front of Leo’s warehouse, set back from the sidewalk by a narrow grass verge topped with flowers. I wonder who tends them, whether they’re the responsibility of the business park or the individual companies. Does Leo pay someone to do it? If I don’t know such a simple thing about his life, his business, how can I be surprised by everything that’s happened today? Rusty told me that Leo’s been lying to me for a very long time but what if I’ve simply failed to see what’s obvious?
Is my husband a stranger and I’ve never noticed?
I take a breath, trying to settle my anxiety.
‘What’s wrong?’ Trevor asks.
‘TV talk stuff.’
‘Sometimes a bad day—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’
I feel exposed approaching the unit. The space for cars is small yet feels a mile wide. There’s plenty of ambient light from street lamps and the units themselves, but the shadows are dense and plentiful. There are numerous places for someone to hide. I try and reassure myself that what Trevor said is right: neither Wilks nor Carlson could conceivably have got here ahead of us.
But what if there are more enemies I don’t yet know about?
Both Wilks and Carlson could have backup. Either could have arranged for that backup to be waiting for us.
I look up towards the warehouse roof.
Perfect spot for a sniper.
I shake my head. What do I know about snipers?
Nothing, it seems, because no shots ring out. Even moving at Trevor’s snail’s pace, we make it across the empty asphalt alive. If not for the very real danger I know I’m in I could laugh at the ridiculousness of thinking there could be a sniper on the roof.
‘Didn’t want to say it beforehand,’ Trevor says, ‘but I was a little scared there might have been a sniper on the roof.’
I bat him on the arm with the back of my hand. ‘I know, right?’
There’s a large rolling metal door for vehicles on the front of the building and a regular entrance to one side of it. There could be others on the side or round back, but if there are, I didn’t use them.
‘You’ve said nothing about keys,’ Trevor says as we near the entrance.
‘That’s because I don’t have any.’
‘Then how are we supposed to—’
I point. ‘Key code.’
‘And you’re sure you know it? You said you haven’t been here in years.’
‘Of course I know it, Trevor. The code’s my birthday.’
There’s an electronic entry system and I tap the keys with my six-digit birthday date.
Nothing happens.
Trevor’s mouth opens.
‘Yes,’ I say before he can say it. ‘Leo’s changed the code. Maybe it’s his birthday.’
I try it. Nothing happens.
‘What are we going to do now?’
I give Trevor a sly look. ‘We’re going to break in.’
‘How?’ he says.
‘I … I have no idea, but how hard can it be? It’s not like burglars are geniuses, are they? If they were, they wouldn’t be burglars.’
‘True enough, I suppose. But they at least know what they’re doing.’
‘Don’t stamp on my dreams, Trevor. Give me a little positivity, okay? Some encouragement. I could use a little boost right about now.’
‘You want me to encourage you to be a thief?’
‘We’re not going to steal anything. We’re just going to break in.’
‘I believe in you,’ he says, deadpan.
‘Is that really the best you can do?’
‘Maybe I could use some encouragement too.’
I sigh. ‘You don’t have to look so pleased with yourself.’
He nods. ‘I don’t, but I want to. How’s the breaking in going?’
‘I’m still working out the details. Don’t suppose you saw a crowbar in Carlson’s car, did you?’
He shakes his head. ‘I did not.’ He gestures. ‘There’s going to be an alarm, you know.’
‘Yeah. I’m really hoping it’s the same code as the alarm at home.’
‘And if it’s not?’
‘Then we’ll be sprinting back to the car.’
‘Not sure if you’ve noticed but my running days are well and truly behind me.’
‘Good point,’ I say. ‘In which case I’ll run back to the car and come pick you up.’
He grunts, pleased. ‘Much better plan.’
I examine the door. It’s made of frosted glass, so I stride back out across the parking spaces and scale the little grass verge to where the flowers grow. The flowerbed has a border composed of bricks. Half-bricks, to be exact.
I prise one out from the soil. It’s a good fit for my palm. A good heft to it.
Trevor is watching me with a quizzical expression as I return to him. He looks at the half-brick in my hand. ‘What are you going to do with that?’
‘This,’ I say, and throw it at the frosted glass door.
It bounces off the pane, straight back at me. I leap out of its path.
‘Safety glass,’ Trevor says. ‘I could have warned you if you had—’
He stops. He stops because I’m murdering him with my eyes.
He reaches down and picks up the brick. It’s not easy for him and he winces as he stands back upright again.
He throws the half-brick up a few inches into the air, catching it again.
‘You know, this can’t break safety glass but I bet you a shiny nickel there’s some windows on this building somewhere.’ There’s a glint in his eye. ‘And them windows will be good old regular glass. Good old regular breakable glass.’
‘There you go,’ I say. ‘That’s the kind of encouragement I was talking about.’ I take the brick from him. ‘Let’s go make a mess.’
12:59 a.m.
Rusty is dead tired after leaving the crime scene. The weed hasn’t helped, of course. Thank
s to lots of fine coffee and generous squirts of eye drops no one seems to have noticed the town police chief is stoned. Only a little, because nothing counteracts marijuana’s aptitude for mellowing her out like having to hide that fact on official business. She should have just ignored the call from Sabrowski, she tells herself. Only there was that gnawing sense of doom she couldn’t ignore. Maybe that was the marijuana talking – a little old-school paranoia – but she hasn’t been herself since the two government folk strode into her office with all sorts of crazy talk.
She peers at her eyes in the rear-view and decides to give them both another squirt of wash. After blinking away the excess, she pushes open the driver’s door and shuffles out of the seat of her cruiser.
Rusty has parked near to the diner, but not too near. She doesn’t want to walk any further than she has to, but she wanted to be far enough away to take a minute to compose herself without being watched.
The diner’s lights look far too bright for Rusty’s liking, she notes as she nears.
Inside, they’re even worse. She squints and frowns, resisting the urge to put on her sunglasses or use a hand like a sun visor. There are no eye drops powerful enough to disguise that level of intemperance.
She wonders why it’s an all-night establishment when so few customers seem to require its services. There are a couple of truckers sitting on their lonesome – not locals – and a college-age young woman who looks drunk as a skunk.
Rusty approaches the only waitress working this shift.
‘Hey Dana, how’s your evening treating you?’
‘Is it still evening when it’s after midnight?’
‘Great question,’ Rusty says. ‘Answers on a postcard.’
‘On a what?’
‘Forget it,’ Rusty says. ‘Just something they used to say on kids’ TV back in the day.’
‘Which day?’
Rusty keeps her lips tight for a moment. ‘You called?’
‘Sure did,’ Dana says, ushering Rusty out of earshot of the young woman, whose drunkenness makes her curiosity obvious. ‘Had a little encounter an hour ago that I figured you’d want to know about.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘It was quiet like it is now. You always get the same kinds of people come in here in the middle of the night and I’ve been doing this piece-of-shit job long enough so I know them all.’
‘I bet you do.’
‘I don’t mean by name,’ Dana explains. ‘I mean the kind of people they are.’
‘I know what you meant. Continue, please.’
‘So, given what I just said, I noticed right away when these two, a man and a woman, came in and sat down. He orders a bacon burger and she wants a grilled cheese, but the way her lips are all tight like this’ – Dana demonstrates – ‘as she orders tells me she doesn’t really want it. Like she’s under duress.’
‘He was forcing her?’
‘No, no, not like that. You know, she’s too good for it.’
Rusty pinches the skin between her eyebrows. ‘You called about a grilled cheese sandwich?’
Dana doesn’t appreciate Rusty’s lack of patience. ‘No, I did not. I’m just giving you some background colour.’
‘It’s late, Dana. I’m tired. Could you do me a favour and skip the colour? I’m only here personally because right now my department is stretched thin. Like, crêpe thin. Keep the colour in your head, though. Maybe it’ll come in handy afterwards.’
‘Fine,’ Dana says, sharp of tone. ‘That skinny officer of yours, Sabrowski, came in for his usual. Sat right there by the door like he always does and tries not to watch me any more than would be considered gentlemanly. So, this woman asks me to do her a favour because she doesn’t want him to see them leave for some reason or another. I tell her to give me a hundred per cent tip and I’ll see what I can do.’
Must have happened right before Sabrowski was told to haul his ass back to work.
‘And you did it?’ Rusty asks once Dana has finished.
Dana nods. ‘I most certainly did. I gave your boy a little extra attention and he didn’t see them go. He didn’t see anything but little ole me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Rusty doesn’t answer. ‘Tell me why you decided to contact me.’
‘Because I knew she had done something if she wanted to slip away unnoticed,’ Dana explains. ‘I didn’t know what, of course. I figured she hadn’t paid her taxes or whatever.’
‘That’s not a matter for the police, Dana.’
‘I apologise for not being a professor of law, but like I said that was at first. I didn’t have a whole lot of time to consider the rights and wrongs of what I was doing. It was only when I was talking to that skinny trooper of yours and he had to rush off because there had been a shooting—’
‘Sabrowski discussed the details with you?’
Dana backtracks. ‘No, not exactly. I inferred.’
‘You inferred?’
‘A waitress can’t infer?’
Rusty says, ‘So, you put two and two together that the woman who asked you to distract him was involved in the aforementioned shooting?’
‘I most certainly did,’ Dana says, shoulders squared with pride.
‘And then you called me nearly an hour later?’
The shoulders loosen a little. ‘Well, I wasn’t wholly sure.’
‘I see.’
Dana’s hands find her hip bones. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘For aiding and abetting a fugitive?’
Dana doesn’t detect the sarcasm. ‘Am I?’
Rusty lets her off easy. ‘No, Dana, you’re not in trouble because by some cosmic miracle you have me as a town police chief and not some hardass. But you really shouldn’t have helped her.’
Dana pouts.
‘You did the right thing by calling, though,’ Rusty adds. ‘Did they do anything else while they were here? Did they speak to anyone? Anyone sit down with them?’
‘Kept to themselves but I believe she may have used the payphone.’
Rusty’s eyebrows arch. ‘That one on the wall by the restrooms?’
‘That’s the only one we got,’ Dana says. ‘I forgot it’s even there.’
‘Has anyone else used it since?’
‘Nuh, uh, and I don’t remember the last time anyone used it before her.’
Rusty nods. ‘Did you happen to see the vehicle they were driving?’
‘I did, but all pickups look the same to me.’
‘Of course they do,’ Rusty says. ‘Colour?’
Dana shrugs. ‘Blue, black, red, brown … I didn’t pay attention.’
Rusty gestures to the lot outside and the highway beyond. ‘Did you happen to see which way they turned when they exited?’
Dana thinks.
‘Did they turn left or did they turn right?’
‘I believe,’ Dana says, ‘that they turned right.’
‘How sure are you?’
‘Sure enough to say so.’
Rusty asks, ‘What about the man she was with? Did he say anything?’
‘He said my coffee was the best he’d ever tasted.’
‘Did he say anything not related to your coffee?’
Dana thinks, lips pressed together. ‘No. I don’t believe he did.’
‘Can you describe him to me? White? Black?’
‘He was white. Old, but normal.’
Leo’s not old but he could be in disguise, Rusty thinks.
‘Did you get a name? Leo, perhaps?’
Dana shakes her head. ‘Perhaps he was using a false name.’
‘Did he give you any name?’
‘No.’
‘Then how would you know if he was using a false name or not?’
Dana frowns. ‘I believe that’s your job, not mine.’
Rusty shows Dana a photograph of Leo. A printout that she unfolds from her pocket. ‘He look anything like this?’
Dana plu
cks the printout from Rusty’s fingers and gives it a long look. Rusty leaves her to it while she inserts coins into the payphone and hits redial, memorising the number that comes up on the little screen.
‘Well?’ Rusty asks, returning to Dana.
‘Not even a little bit.’
‘Seemed to take you a while to be sure about that.’
Dana shakes her head. ‘But you’d have to be dead from the waist down not to appreciate such a fine specimen.’
‘Uh huh,’ Rusty says as she takes the printout back. ‘If you think of anything else please give me a call. And if they happen to come back, don’t make any more deals.’
Dana waits until Rusty is near the door before calling out, ‘That would depend on how much they pay me.’
Rusty leaves the diner, feeling the icy pinch of the night air when she steps outside. Rusty, who is prone to perspiring, appreciates a refreshing breeze. She makes the most of it as she gazes at the highway, silent and black at this hour.
Right is south. South is NYC and all the airports. Could be that Jem Talhoffer is aiming to hide in the big city or attempting to flee by plane? The latter would seem a foolish option, but fugitives have been known to make worse mistakes. On the run is constant pressure, relentless tension. No one operates well under those conditions. The scared are also the dumb.
Only something tells Rusty that Jem Talhoffer isn’t dumb.
And who is her travelling companion if it isn’t Carlson? Could be an innocent bystander she’s pulled into her schemes. Which makes sense. She’s less obvious as one half of a pair. Or maybe he’s more involved? Rusty isn’t sure. But if they came to the diner together and left together that suggests they’re more than strangers.
Rusty calls in the new information and tells Zeke, ‘Get me the address this number belongs to.’
She hears Zeke tapping keys.
‘Warehouse outside of NYC,’ he says, then gives her the address.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Rusty says, flipping shut her phone.
She’s used a flip phone since for ever. Smartphones scare her with all those fiddly apps. Touchscreens terrify her. She’s seen Sabrowski’s skinny fingers dance like a pianist’s on those things and Rusty knows she’s never going to be able to do the same in a million years. She doesn’t want to spend all that money just so all her messages come out as gobbledygook on account of her tapping three letters at once. So, the flip phone it is, despite her troopers taunting her at every opportunity. She gets her own back on a frequent basis every time they go into a panic because their batteries are low. Boys and toys.
