by Lee Deadkeys
“Kill them,” Ox said in a growl almost too low to be heard. Frank turned his head slowly toward the giant standing beside him, the hairs standing up on his arms, his mouth dry.
“Pardon?” Frank finally managed.
“I said, we should kill them.”
Frank blinked, “Criminals?” Ox said nothing, only nodded once. “We should? Like you and me?” Frank asked, realizing he knew almost nothing about this man.
“Somebody should, don’t you think?”
“Well, you mean like the death penalty?” Frank asked.
Ox didn’t answer for a moment, “Something like that. If they ever catch the guy, which they probably won’t, he might get life. But one thing he will get is three squares a day, cable TV, and a top-rate education.”
Frank let his eyes slide from Ox’s face, not wanting to see any pain there or worse, a reason to distrust him with his daughter. A tattoo on Ox’s arm snagged his eye; it was his son’s name, the dates of his birth and death inked below. Beneath that it read, Rest Easy, Brother.
“What are you two talking about?”
Frank turned to see Jess standing beside him.
“Death penalty,” Ox said.
“For it?” Jess asked as she popped the top on the can.
“Absofuckinglutely,” Ox said and offered a fist to Jess. She bumped her half-the-size one against his and took a drink from the can. Frank looked from Ox to Jess, feeling that he’d missed something, like he’d been the one who just joined the conversation instead of his daughter.
They were both looking at him, challenging him to voice a different opinion.
“What brought that up?” Jess finally asked and Frank had to wonder who the question was directed at. It was Ox that answered though her eyes never left his, “Just discussing what should happen to shit stains that hurt innocent people.”
“Any particular shit stain?”
Ox rubbed his chin for a moment, pretending to weigh the subject, shrugged and said, “Nope, same thing should happen to them all.”
“Cops ever catch the guy who mugged your mom?” Jess asked Ox.
“No. Cops never did.”
Frank understood this conversation was solely for his benefit. They wanted some sort of consent from him or maybe a difference of opinion which they could bludgeon him with until he saw reason and changed his mind. It had a well-rehearsed, ensnaring feel to it.
He realized then that he had never really decided what his stand on vigilantism might be. He believed a person had the right to defend themselves, but had never considered a vigilante as anything more than a citizen thug, a person who wished to take matters into their own hands, to bypass all the judicial checks and balances, stripping it down to eye for an eye, to basic street justice.
Frank shook his head; he couldn’t condone that kind of philosophy and had no desire to argue it now with his angry, bitter daughter in the blazing Arizona heat.
“Why don’t we do what we came here to do? You two can gab about it over beers when I’m not around.”
Ox seemed to relax at the suggestion to get back to work. “Yeah, we should get it done. I have to drive out to Mom’s tonight and I don’t love driving in the dark.”
Jess gave Ox a questioning glance. He waved a hand, “She’s fine. Sounds like she’s got a rat problem. You know how it is, the older people get, the larger and more sinister life’s little problems seem.” He picked up the green tank and stepped into the dim unit. “Again, I ask, what the hell is it?”
* * *
Mason sat beside the box running a hand over the smooth surface, feeling for another seam or something to indicate a depression which would release the lid. Jess stood behind him and watched as he caressed it. She felt an almost uncontrollable urge to jerk him away from it, stop him from touching it even if she had to grind his hand off at the wrist.
“Where’s the lock?” Ox asked.
“Doesn’t have one, you big oaf, that’s why I called you instead of a locksmith,” Jess said and tapped Mason on the shoulder, urging him up and away from the box.
He stood and stepped away. “I can’t feel a thing on it, no seam, except that one at the very top. You can’t even tell where the sides were joined. It feels like one smooth piece.”
Ox lit the torch and adjusted the flame. “Stand back, I’ll cut this thing in two.”
Ten minutes later Ox stood and killed the flame from the end of the torch. He raised the shield of his welder’s mask and frowned. “This makes no damn sense at all.” Ox raised a hand to the area he’d been trying to burn through, testing it for heat. “It’s not even warm, this thing should be red hot.”
Jessica cursed under her breath, out of ideas. “What time is it?”
Mason looked at his wrist. “Quarter to five. Have we really been working on this thing that long?”
“I say we call it a day, leave this shit here and hit it again tomorrow. Maybe one of us will come up with an idea,” Jess said.
Ox turned valves and checked gauges. “I’ll leave my torch here just in case you guys get through this outer shell. Could be lined with something you’ll need the torch for.”
“I’ll bring a hammer and chisel in the morning, work on that seam with some good old caveman engineering,” Mason said, getting a chuckle from the group.
Jess clapped her hands together. “Then it’s settled. I’m going to Boomerang’s. I do my best thinking there. Anyone else?”
Mason answered quickly, “I’ll go with you, Jess.”
Frank smiled; his daughter could do worse than Mason.
“Come on Ox, you can drink iced tea and talk to me,” Jess said.
The big man looked at his watch. “Only for a half an hour, then I need to jet. What say you, Frank?”
Frank shook his head. “Have a good time kids, but nothing is keeping me from a shower and my chair.”
Day 4, Evening
Jess, Mason, and Ox
Boomerang’s
The trio stood in the open doorway, letting their eyes adjust to dim light stabbed here and there with bright neon. A smoky embrace pulled them into the room where they joined ten or twelve other people already talking, drinking and laughing.
A few of the patrons shouted Hello! and Hey There! as they made their way to the bar. Jess took a stool in the middle, the two men on either side.
“So, what’s up with your mom?” Jess asked as she sipped a longneck. Munching on a pretzel, she glanced at a TV bolted to the far wall, the screen occasionally blotted out by the movement of Ox’s head. It was tuned to a news station where a reporter stood in front of a large crowd gathered in a parking lot outside a Planned Parenthood building.
“Nothing really, I just worry about her, she’s not getting any younger,” Ox said, shifting his head again and blocking out the scene.
Jess nodded, none of them were getting any younger. “She should move back here, make it easier for you to check in on her.”
Ox nodded his agreement, it would be much easier on him if she would move back, but he doubted she would consider it. She had her house and her friends, the few that were left, and the church work she did.
“I’ll mention it to her again, but….” the expression on Jess’s face stopped him. She had the bottle poised halfway to her lips, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at something over his left shoulder.
Before he could react, Jess dropped the bottle and grabbed him by the face.
“Oh my God! Look!” she yelled, almost snapping his neck as she wrenched it toward the TV behind him. He blinked his watering eyes.
The video showed a radio-controlled robot rolling across a parking lot. An object roughly the size of a shoebox was taped to its retractable arm. Nearly a dozen men crouched behind shields with the words Bomb Squad stenciled below the viewing window. The camera zoomed out revealing dozens of Police, Fire and EMS readying up behind them.
“What!” he snapped, rubbing his sore neck.
“Keep watching,” Jess shou
ted as the video feed shifted again, showing the robot approaching an object.
“It’s another one!” Ox walked quickly over to the TV and turned up the volume.
An attractive reporter moved in front of the action playing out behind her:
“I am on the scene of yet another mysterious Box discovery. The Phoenix Bomb Squad arrived an hour ago, and it is believed they will try to detonate this device near the box using a remote robot.
These strange boxes have been discovered in more than a dozen areas throughout the city. There have been no reports of witnesses coming forward to identify the person or persons responsible for planting the mysterious boxes, and no one has claimed responsibility.
Local authorities are puzzled but are taking no chances until it is determined whether this is a hoax or an actual threat to the public’s safety. Officials are urging people to report any new discoveries to local authorities.
Samantha Quist, reporting live from downtown Phoenix. Back to you, Jim.”
Jessica felt Mason lean against her, his breath on her ear. “What does it mean, Jess?”
She leaned back into his chest, the physical contact evoking a feeling of security within her. “I have no idea,” she said, watching Ox standing rapt before the TV.
“They’re going to blow it up,” a man’s voice behind her yelled, and the room cheered. Jess wondered if they cheered for the box’s destruction because it was something unknown and therefore something to fear, or was it simply the human desire to see something destroyed in a violent manner.
“Yeah, blow that baby up!” someone else yelled, followed by more cheers.
The robot made its way forward until it reached the box. The cameraman shifted his focus from the reporter and zoomed in for a close-up of the robot. Nothing happened for a moment. The bar’s patrons sat hushed and expectant, holding their breath.
There was a noise like a gunshot. The screen went white, and a second later totally black. The bar erupted into a chorus of whistles, shouts, and nervous laughter. The reporter was talking again but no one was listening. They were watching the smoke.
Everyone waited. As the camera retracted, the view widened to show Police and Fire Rescue men peeking around their vehicles as the men in black from the Bomb Squad slowly edged from behind their blast shields.
There seemed to be too much smoke for the size of the explosion and everyone, including Jess, figured the box had held something flammable inside. It could be the only explanation. The smoke billowed up to the heavens in a dense black column. The view widened further as the smoke reached a hundred feet in the sky and then stopped.
Murmurs rumbled through the bar as they watched in disbelief. The thick column of smoke suddenly ceased its upward progress and hung frozen in the air.
A woman screamed from somewhere on the other side of the bar, Oh my God, look! although no one had taken their eyes off the screen. The black mass of smoke began to sink downward as if an invisible force were pushing it.
At the fifty-foot mark, it began to speed up, no longer pushed, but pulled from beneath. Jess glanced at the top of the screen where it said Live, and a tremor of unease ran through her as she realized this wasn’t prerecorded footage run backward.
The smoke raced back to where it had come at twice the speed it had left. When it reached its destination it suddenly vanished. A gasp ran through the bar patrons, the box stood there, intact and untouched.
The reporter was saying something incoherent as Ox turned the sound down. The bar sat in silence a moment and then people began laying money on tables and bar top. Quietly, the place began to empty.
Ox turned from the TV. “I have to get to my mother’s.”
“We’re leaving too,” Mason said as he took Jess by the elbow and led her to the door.
Outside, the sun was closing on the horizon, setting the western slopes of the mountains ablaze. Compared to the near darkness of the bar, the light hit her like mid-day. They stood outside the door for a moment, blinking into the setting sun, letting heat tingle on cool skin.
The images from the television took on a less ominous quality in the fading light, and Ox stood beside them for a moment, drinking in the dying day.
“How long are you going to be in Nevada?” Jess asked as they approached their vehicles.
“Probably just a day or two. Gary is great, but I don’t want to leave the shop for too long—lot of work to do,” Ox said, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Hey, does Frank know about you two?”
Jess snapped her head away from the West, “No, and I don’t want him to know yet.”
Ox noticed Mason lower his head, knowing instantly the decision to keep their new relationship a secret had not been his. “Will he be upset?”
Jess shrugged. “No. Why would he? He likes Mason a lot. Sometimes he likes me too,” she said with a sad smile. “I just don’t want him making a big deal out of it. I really don’t want questions about how serious we are or, God forbid, questions about marriage.”
Mason’s head lowered another degree. Ox wondered quietly if Jess had any idea the effect her words had on others. He thought that for the most part, she was probably unaware. But he also knew from experience that at times she knew exactly what her words did to people, that she either didn’t care, or was purposely trying to hurt or anger them.
“Maybe you don’t give your old man enough credit. Besides, he could use some good news for a change,” Ox said and gently punched her arm.
Mason tentatively placed an arm around Jess. “I think he’d be more upset finding out we kept it from him.”
Jess shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not the time. The last time I saw him truly happy was Jacob finding Angel. And then after… well, he was damn near destroyed.” She shook her head and looked back to the setting sun. “No, it’s too soon. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Ox nodded, but pushed the issue. “You and Mason ain’t Angel and Jacob. Maybe you should tell Frank about you two, let the old guy build some better memories.” Ox knew he’d said too much when pain pinched the corners of her eyes as she chewed at her upper lip.
“You know what Ox, sometimes you just don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” She opened the door, got in and slammed it shut.
Mason hung his head again. “Sorry Ox, she shouldn’t talk to you that way. I know you were just trying to help.”
Ox clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry about me, my man. You’re the poor bastard going home with her.” Ox banged the hood of the truck and pointed in at Jess. “I’ll keep my phone on when you’re ready to call and apologize.”
Day 4, Late Evening
Jess and Mason
Jess’s Place
Mason sat in the middle of the Del Mar Apartment’s parking lot; his truck idling in the evening half-light, air conditioner cranked up to four. Jess had parked in her assigned space almost ten minutes ago, and he wondered again why she didn’t just leave a few things at his place instead of the nightly gear-grab she insisted on.
The door to her apartment finally opened and Jess emerged, toting a large black duffle bag. She set the bag on the front mat, inspecting it for a moment before disappearing back into the apartment. Mason sighed; the familiar bag told him that she brought everything she would need for the night and the next morning. If she stayed the next night, he could look forward to driving her back around noon, only to pick her up a few hours later. He didn’t want this seemingly senseless routine to irritate him, but it did.
Movement from the corner of the building caught his eye, interrupting his thoughts. The area was between two wings of the complex, with bushes and other shrubbery planted in a gravel bed. He could see nothing lurking there in the near darkness and let his eyes slowly drift back to the door, open and unoccupied. Another flicker of movement from the corner quickly snagged them back.
A tall, thin black man peeked from the side of the building, looked directly at Jess’s apartment and quickly disappeared out of
view. Mason tensed, straightening in his seat. He allowed himself to glance at Jess’s door and then back again to the area where he’d seen the man.
The stranger again took a quick look and then disappeared. Mason’s hand moved to the door of his truck, ready to confront the man when his eyes were drawn back to the door as Jess emerged with what appeared to be a gun case in hand. She stooped, grabbed up the large duffle, turned toward Mason and smiled.
Mason tried to smile back as he looked to the shadows where the man was hiding. The man peeked again, saw Jess and began to cautiously emerge from concealment, all the while casting darting glances up at the apartment above Jess’s. Mason risked a glanced at the second floor but saw nothing alarming. Jess had taken six steps toward his truck as the stranger moved in on her left, pausing briefly to take one more nervous look at the second floor before closing the distance between them.
Mason jerked on the truck’s door handle as he gestured wildly towards her left. A tingle of awe ran through him as he watched Jess simultaneously turn her head in the direction he had indicated, release the large duffle and raise the now free hand under her shirt to her waistband, all in the space of time it took him to open the door and get one leg on the ground.
As she turned to face the man, he stopped abruptly and raised his hands in front of him. Mason was out of the vehicle, standing inside the open door, ready to rush to her aid.
Jess lowered her head, shook it once and looked to Mason with a sheepish smile, waving him back into the truck. Jess wagged a scolding finger at the stranger. The man grabbed at his chest and laughed, shaking his head as he slowly walked up to her.
Mason let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he watched the two of them laugh at the scare they’d given each other.
Getting back in his truck, he felt the familiar irritation toward Jess and all the mysteries that seemed to surround her. His questions found a nagging voice in his head. Who is this guy? How does she know him and why have I never heard of him? He told himself to stop, and tried instead to figure out what they were talking about.
