[Mark Taylor 01.0] No Good Deed

by M. P. McDonald

  Taylor didn’t answer for a moment and Jim wondered if the guy even knew that he and Jessie Bishop had met last summer. It had only been a couple of months since he’d seen Bishop at that pub. At that time, she hadn’t seen Taylor yet.

  “I’ll ask her. I can’t promise though. She’s working.”

  “Okay, well, if I walk in and don’t see her, I’ll just turn around.”

  “Listen, I know you hate my guts, and I feel the same about you, but what I have to say has nothing to do with either of us. That’s all I can tell you now.”

  He could picture the other man’s face flushing with anger. Against his better judgment, he gave in. “Okay. One hour.”

  Jessie sounded stressed. “I’ll be there. I’ve been going crazy knowing what’s going to happen. I’ve tried to get more security at the game, but without something concrete, the brass won’t go for it.”

  “I know the feeling.” Mark circled the heel of his hand against his forehead, grimacing at the dull ache behind his eyes. He sat in his boss’s office and glanced out to the store when the bell above the door jingled. “Look, I gotta go, a customer just came in. See ya in a little bit.” For the next thirty minutes, he tried to remain patient as he showed the customer several of the digital cameras. Gary had said he’d be back from lunch by one o’clock, but it was already twenty after. O’Leary’s wasn’t far, but he’d have to leave soon to make it on time. He rang up the camera, amazed that the guy bought it in spite of Mark’s distracted sales pitch.

  The bell sounded again and Mark heaved a sigh of relief when Gary entered.

  “Sorry, Mark. I started talking to this hot waitress. I got her number and everything.” He grinned and didn’t look the least bit sorry about being late.

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Mark shrugged. “That’s great, but listen, I’m going to have to run, I have an errand I wanted to do on my lunch hour. I just sold a Nikon. I didn’t get a chance to file the paperwork.”

  Gary bounced behind the counter. “No problem. I got it.”

  Before leaving, he retrieved the brown paper bag containing his camera and the prints of the horrific attack from the back room. This time, he had proof.

  Mark jogged the four blocks to the pub and stopped at the entrance to catch his breath. His shirt clung to him and he cursed Gary for being late and forcing him to run. He already felt his stomach knotting at the prospect of seeing Jim. Last thing he wanted to do was look as nervous as he felt, and having sweat dripping didn’t make for a calm appearance.

  The interior was dim after the bright sunshine, and he paused to scan the room. Tugging his shirt away from his chest, he was grateful for the blast of air conditioning from the vent above the entrance. Sheridan and Jessie at a table in the corner. Damn. He’d hoped to get here first and get the upper hand, have some control. Jim sat with his back to the corner and had a view of the whole room. Their eyes met and Mark had to fight the impulse to flee. The door opened behind him as a group of women entered. The flash of sunlight reminded him that he wasn’t trapped anymore. He could leave whenever he wanted. That thought propelled him forward.

  Jim gave a short nod, but Mark ignored it as he wound his way past other tables and customers. He couldn’t help noticing that Jessie didn’t look at all uncomfortable with the guy. She even smiled at something he said. A trace of a smile lurked around Jim’s mouth. Were they talking about him? Jessie turned and the smile slipped from her face when she saw him. Her brows knit as she glanced at the bag in his hand.

  He was about to tell her what it contained when Jim jumped to his feet and shot around the table. “Hold on. What’s in the bag, Taylor?”

  Mark halted. As much as he wanted to push past Jim without answering, he couldn’t. A year of conditioning to obey the man’s orders had left their mark. He dropped his gaze. “It’s just a camera.” It took everything in him, but he raised his head and said, “The one I told you about. Over and over.”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. Mark gripped the rolled top of the bag tighter for a second, the muscles in his arm rigid. The tension grew with Jim’s eyes never leaving Mark’s, his hand still waiting expectantly. Finally, Mark shoved the bag at Jim, but couldn’t keep from balling his hands into fists as rage boiled inside of him.

  Jessie stood and took Mark’s elbow with one hand, the other going to his back. The reassurance she offered with her touch and smile helped. “Come on and have a seat. We ordered a pizza already.”

  Mark acquiesced, but looked at her blankly, his mind still on the camera in the bag. Pizza? Did she think that they were actually going to sit and eat like they were old friends? He pulled his arm from her grasp and ground out, “I’m not hungry.”

  It had been his plan to simply divulge the pictures, relate the details that he recalled from his dream, and get the hell out of there. Socializing hadn’t played a part in it. The crinkle of the bag drew his attention back to Jim. The man had returned to his seat and without asking, opened the bag and withdrew the contents.

  Jim gave the camera a cursory look, but when he shuffled through the photos, his mouth set in a hard line, the only sign that the pictures registered. He went through them twice before he glared at Mark and slapped the prints down on the table. “What did you do this time?”

  The accusation in the words hit Mark like a punch and his jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d crack a molar. The bastard!

  Jessie pushed a glass of water towards him. “Here. You look hot from your walk here.” Her eyes flashed a warning to him. While he gulped the cool liquid, she slid the pictures in front of her and flipped through them. “Mark didn’t do anything. He got these pictures the same place I got those ones last year. You were there, Jim. Don’t act surprised.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  Jim shot a look at Jessie. “Come on. That was a set-up and you know it. I still haven’t figured out how you pulled it off, or who the leak was, but I’m not going to fall for it a second time.”

  Mark set the glass down, sloshing water over the side and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Well, that was that. He reached out, grabbed the bag on the table and swept the camera into it then snatched up the prints. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He pushed his chair back and stood.

  Jessie grabbed his hand and gave a tug. “Mark—”

  “You’re not leaving until I find out where the hell you got these photos.” Jim rose, cutting off Jessie’s plea. Eyes hard, he held Mark immobile with his look.

  Mark refused to back down as he and Jim glared at each other like two alpha dogs. He was determined to win this time. Jessie had come to stand beside him and said something, but he heard only his own blood pounding in his ears. Without warning, images from last night’s dream shot through his mind, overwhelming him with their intensity. Like a flashback, he was there again, just as vividly as he’d been in his dream. He locked his knees to keep them from buckling, and grit his teeth as he tried to maintain his rage. It was no use. Screams of the children ricocheted through his head. A shudder swept over his body.

  His anger died when he realized the truth. This meeting wasn’t about him. It was about saving people-regular folks just out enjoying a game. About saving them from crazed gunmen who thought killing innocents earned them a place of honor in the afterlife. What he had been through in prison paled in comparison to the fate that awaited hundreds of people leaving the ballgame tonight.

  Mark had to convince Jim that the pictures were real. Or would be real. It was the only chance anyone in the photos had. If he couldn’t control his anger, he’d fail. Again. It might not have been his fault on September 11th, but it would be today.

  To stop this, he needed help and Jim had the resources to get the bad guys. He took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. “Can we start over?”

  Jim blinked. His stance softened and after a beat, he stuck out his hand. “Jim Sheridan.”

  He stared at the hand. His plea was meant to eras
e the last few minutes, not their whole past. Mark wasn’t ready to forget those fifteen months, but he’d go along for now. He’d do whatever it took to fix this if it meant not having another tragedy hanging around his neck. Swallowing hard, he clasped the other man’s hand. “Mark Taylor.”

  The handshake introduction did more than calm the waters. With a shake of his hand, Jim gave Mark back something he’d been missing since being arrested. His dignity.

  They returned to their chairs as the waitress arrived with their pizza. She paused in puzzlement as if sensing the residual tension in the air. “Um, cheese and sausage, right?”

  Eyes burning, Mark avoided eye contact with everyone and covered his emotion by putting the photos back in the bag before the waitress saw them.

  Jessie moved the water glasses out of the way so the waitress could put the hot pizza in the center of the table. “Yes, that’s correct. It looks great.”

  What the hell had just happened? One minute Jim was sure Taylor was going to attack him, but the next, anguish flashed in the man’s eyes followed by something else. Resolve? Jim took the spatula and lifted a slice of pizza onto Jessie’s plate. He slid the utensil under another and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he nodded towards Taylor’s plate. The guy looked wrung out, but he accepted the pizza and poured water for all of them while Jim served up the food.

  “This is good pizza.” Jessica dabbed at her mouth.

  Taylor glanced at her but didn’t react to the statement. He looked distracted and hardly touched his food.

  “Yeah. It is. I’ll have to remember to come here more often. Who’d have thought an Irish pub would have decent pizza?” Jim took a sip of water and wished it was beer.

  She glanced at Taylor briefly, and apparently communicated something to him because he nodded and took a bite. Turning back to Jim, she shrugged. “No kidding. But hey, it’s Chicago. We love our pizza.”

  Jim took another slice. The pub was busy, and background noise covered the uneasy silence that hung over the group as they ate. Taylor’s leg bounced under the table, occasionally it bumped into the bottom. It was something that seemed beyond Taylor’s control. Every time they’d interrogated him, the leg would jump. At first, Jim had taken it for a sign that the guy was lying, but later, realized it was stress related. The fact it was going like a piston now meant the guy was extremely keyed up. When it seemed the other two were finished, Jim balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “It’s time to get down to business. Level with me. What’s this all about?” He gestured to the paper bag on the fourth chair.

  Taylor sighed and reached for the bag. “I have no reason to lie to you, and every reason to keep this to myself.” His mouth twisted and he gave a shake of his head. “I hope I don’t regret it.” He withdrew the photos and went to put them on the table, but the pizza pan was in the way, so he stood and came around next to Jim’s chair. “Forget about the camera for a minute. Just look at the pictures. Really look.”

  “Okay, fine.” He’d go along with him. When he’d first looked, all he’d noticed were bodies and blood, but this time he took note of the setting. It looked familiar. He picked up one photo and angled it towards the light. It appeared to be a gangway. The victims were every age and race, but he saw a theme, a commonality. Most were wearing Cubs gear—T-shirts, jerseys or hats.

  Taylor pointed in the upper left corner of the photo. “See the white flag? The one with the ‘W’ on it?”

  Jim squinted. It was hard to make out but he could just see it. “Yeah.”

  “Well, the good news is, the Cubs win tonight. The bad news is, nobody’s going to care.”

  “Okay, so you did some photo editing. It’s a damn fine job too, Taylor. You might think about doing something useful with your talents.” Jim glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in thirty minutes.

  “Goddamn it! Would ya listen to me? Why would I go to all this trouble? Huh? To take another chance that you’d lock me up?” Taylor turned away, his hands on his hips, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He waved a hand at Jim. “Shit. Whatever.” He snatched up the photos and returned to his seat.

  Jessica folded her arms and leaned on the table. “Mark’s telling the truth. I’ve seen it. I’m the most skeptical person you’ll ever meet, but sometimes we have to admit that we don’t have the answer, do we? There are still mysteries in the world.” She waved a hand towards the photos. “Do you think I want to risk my career? Hell no. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. But, this is real.”

  Jim shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

  She shook her head and darted a look at Taylor, who was sorting through the pictures before returning her focus to Jim. “Look, even if you don’t believe us, could you at least arrange for tighter security at Wrigley Field tonight? Tell them you got information from a source you can’t reveal. You’ve been doing this a long time. They’ll believe you.”

  He almost considered her suggestion. If nothing else, it’d be a good training exercise, but training exercises took planning and cost money. There were channels to go through, he couldn’t just announce one on a whim.

  Mark leaned across the table and spun a picture in front of Jim, stabbing a finger on it. “Before you go accusing me of having anything to do with what’s going to happen in about eight hours, I suggest you take one more look at photo four.”

  Jim leaned forward and glanced at it. It was more of the same but from a different angle. There was no flag in the corner. “You forgot to add the flag to this one.” He smirked at Taylor. Busted.

  “You’re a real son of a bitch aren’t you?” Taylor jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, and arms akimbo.

  Jim tried not to flinch, sure that the other man was about to round the table and slug him. He’d been expecting it. It’s what he’d have done if the tables had been turned, only he wouldn’t have made up a crazy story to get Taylor here. No, he’d have just found the guy and let him have it.

  Taylor sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out, his shoulders and hands relaxing as though he’d commanded his body to relax. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I tried. I shouldn’t have even shown him that last one. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve his fate.”

  Jessica jumped up and circled to Taylor, taking his arm and leading him a few steps away. She spoke in a low voice, but Jim heard her. “You don’t mean that, Mark. I saw you agonizing over this. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Taylor looked away from her, off to the right, his mouth set in a hard line. The muscles in his neck and jaw flexed. He turned and looked at her for several seconds before finally nodding. Jessica’s fingers tightened on his arm, briefly before Taylor returned to the table. He tapped a finger on the photo. “See anyone you recognize in there? The one lying in a pool of blood behind the old lady?”

  Jim sighed but examined the photo yet again. He bent to take a closer look. Cold washed over him and the hairs on his arms stood on end. “That’s me.”

  In the picture, his eyes were wide, but the way he laid, and the bullet hole in his forehead indicated that he was dead. He’d seen enough dead bodies in pictures to recognize one… even when it was his own. “How’d you do that?”

  Taylor moved to the chair beside him. “I don’t do anything. The camera does. But, I have dreams.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and set it in front of Jim. “I wrote down all the details I could remember.” He sat leaning forward expectantly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His eyes, wide with hope, darted from Jim to the pictures. “I’ve got no reason to make this up, and I sure as hell have no part in what’s going to happen if we don’t act.” His gaze met Jim’s. “I swear to God.”

  It was crazy, but Jim believed him. Years of training had made it instinctive for him to study body language, tone of voice and subtle expressions to decipher when a suspect was being truthful. Not only did he read the truth in the man’s face, but the truth, incredibly, made more sense. The details on the paper
filled both sides of the page, and staging a photo shoot of that magnitude would cost a fortune. Logistically, Taylor wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

  The guy was right about one thing. It made no sense for him to go to all the trouble to stage a photo shoot like this and then write it all down. There was no payoff as far as Jim could tell. He flipped through the prints again. The photos showed dozens of bodies, with more strewn farther up the concourse. Faking something like this would cost a fortune. The site was definitely Wrigley Field and if it had been used for some elaborate photo shoot, the media would have reported it. Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth and sighed. Hell, the guy was lucky to have a couple of dimes left to rub together. The fact that he was partially responsible for Taylor’s financial straits didn’t elude him. That made this even more puzzling. He laid the pictures side by side on the table, and spread his hands wide. “I don’t get it.”

  Taylor straightened, his expression once again blank. “What?”

  “According to these, I’m going to be a victim here too.”

  Taylor shifted forward again, and glanced at Jessica, who had resumed her seat. “Yeah. It looks that way.”

  “So, why’d you tell me?”

  Guilt stole over Taylor’s features and he cleared his throat. “Honestly, it’s probably the hardest damn decision I’ve ever had to make.”

  Jessica nodded. “We discussed it last night. Of course he wanted to stop this, but, he’s taking a huge risk here. You realize that, right?” Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “After what he went through the last time he tried to prevent something like this, who could blame him for ignoring these pictures?” She picked up number four. “And even though he didn’t say it, I’m sure it crossed his mind that you being a victim wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  Jim felt heat climb his face, and Taylor stared at the floor. She was right. He couldn’t blame Taylor. He shrugged. “I understand. So…we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to prevent this.” Another thought hit him. Cracker Jack. Baseball. It made sense and he mentally kicked himself for not making a connection sooner.