Looking Over Your Shoulder

by P.D. Workman

CHAPTER 18

  “REMEMBER I’M GOING TO the lawyer’s office today,” Ursula told the children, “so I won’t be home until later. Juneau, you could start some pasta or something?”

  Juneau nodded.

  “Are you sure you have to?” she questioned. "I don’t understand why you have to divorce Dad.”

  “Don’t you love him anymore?” Crispin put in.

  Ursula smiled and tried to keep a brave front.

  “Yes, I still love him,” she said. "But I need to make sure we are protected. Sometimes people who are sick like your dad… they empty out the bank account or run up huge debts. And if we’re married, or he’s using a joint account or line of credit, then I’m responsible for it too. I need to get everything out of our joint names, and I need to make sure we’re protected from anything like that he might do.”

  “Dad wouldn’t do anything to hurt us,” Crispin asserted.

  “I don’t think he would, not on purpose anyway, but sometimes he does things without thinking, or without understanding the consequences. He’d never want to take food out of your mouths, but if he was confused… it could happen. There are other people who didn’t protect themselves, and it happened to them. We have to make sure it doesn’t.”

  “Can’t you just put everything into your name?” Juneau argued. "Then you wouldn’t have to get divorced.”

  “If we’re married, I’m still responsible. Trust me, I’ve thought this through. And it breaks my heart to do it. But it’s my job to protect us. That’s what Dad would want too, if he understood how sick he is.”

  Juneau shook her head.

  “Dad would never want this.”

  Ursula sighed.

  “I also have to ask for full custody of you kids, and only supervised visits. So he can’t do anything that puts you in danger again. Like he did when he thought he was being shot at.”

  “He was being shot at,” Crispin said fiercely. “I heard the shot!”

  “It was probably a backfire or something,” Ursula said. “And he thought it was a shot. He is always suspicious, always thinks that someone is out to get him.”

  “But I heard it,” Crispin argued.

  “Yes, you heard something. Not a shot. The police said there were no shots fired. No one else heard anything unusual.”

  “I don’t want you to divorce Daddy,” Meggie said in a small voice, having listened seriously to the rest of the conversation.

  “I know, sweetie. And I don’t want to have to. But that’s just the way it works. It also means he’ll be able to get more help, if he doesn’t have a spouse supporting him. There will be more people and programs that will help him.”

  The children ate their breakfasts, each thinking their own sad thoughts.

  “But what if Dad gets better?” Crispin questioned.

  “I don’t know what will happen when he gets better,” Ursula said.

  “Will you marry him again, if he gets better?”

  Ursula couldn’t look at any of them. She shook her head slightly, eyes tearing up.

  “I don’t know, Crispy. Just because he gets better, that doesn’t meant that this won’t happen again. I can’t just keep marrying and divorcing him. I don’t think we’ll ever be married again. But I still love him, and I still want to help him out and want him to be a part of the family. He’ll always be a part of our family, okay?”

  “Will he come back here to live again?” Crispin persisted.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if that will be safe.”

  “If he’s better, it will be safe.”

  “Yes, I hope so. I can’t tell what will happen in the future, Crispin, but I’m going to do my best to make everything work. And to keep everyone happy and together as much as we can be. Okay? I’ll just do my best.”

  Crispin sighed heavily and looked down at his soggy cereal.

  “I can’t eat the rest of this.”

  “Okay. Let’s clean up and get you off to school.”

  Abe got back to his car, and looked carefully around for anyone that might be watching the car or following him. He unlocked the car and looked around again. He checked the back seat to make sure no one was in the car. Abe opened the driver’s side door and popped the trunk. He looked to make sure that everything was in place and that there wasn’t anyone hiding in his trunk or putting incriminating evidence there for the police to find. Satisfied, he took out his duffel bag, and got into the driver’s seat.

  The first thing he had to do was to find a place to wash up and shave. Ursula always thought he was silly to shave twice a day; she said that his five o’clock shadow was sexy. But an afternoon shave always made Abe feel refreshed and ready to face the rest of the evening. After that, he had to find somewhere to park. People didn’t like you parking in front of their houses and would call the police when they saw you sleeping in your car. But if he tried to park somewhere away from residences, like a store parking lot or a school or something, then the police showed up too. Sometimes he was lucky enough to find a parking space beside a park or something where the police didn’t patrol too often. Then he could manage to get a good night’s sleep in. But usually they rousted him at least once a night.

  After finding a gas station restroom to wash up in, Abe headed out for the car. He stopped abruptly, looking at the graffiti on the wall in the alley behind the gas station. Something about it… he gazed at the bright, winding letters, numbers, and symbols. They were all familiar to him. He saw the airport call letters in the jumble, and other letters and numbers… were the other letters people’s names or initials? Maybe the identity of the inside man? Did this obscure wall of graffiti hold the key for him? He spotted a big “C” for carbon, the element that diamonds were composed of. Diamond shapes could be found amongst the other symbols and overlapping pictures on the wall.

  A man came out of the gas station.

  “Is there something wrong?” he questioned suspiciously, coming up to Abe staring at the wall.

  “No… no, I was just looking at the graffiti,” he realized that the man might be in on the conspiracy, and not like Abe looking at the coded images there. “At the color, I mean,” he amended lamely. "It’s quite interesting.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you think I could take a picture?” Abe questioned.

  If he had a picture, then he could study it at his leisure, sort out what all of the different symbols meant. He wouldn’t have to stand here, drawing suspicion to himself.

  “I don’t think so, buddy. Why don’t you move on?”

  Abe looked at the man. He was a little bit shorter than Abe, but heavyset and powerful looking. His eyes glittered in the dark. Someone who could cause trouble for Abe if he wanted to, and after recent events, Abe had no wish to physically confront any more of the conspirators.

  “Sure, of course,” he agreed, tearing his eyes away from the wall, and heading for his car. “I was just leaving.”

  The man stood there with his arms crossed stubbornly across his chest as he watched Abe walk away and get into his car. Abe attempted to betray no more interest in the intriguing graffiti on the wall. He started his car and pulled out, turning out of the parking lot and out of sight of the gas station.

  Biting his lip, he drove aimlessly for a few minutes thinking about it. He knew that graffiti tags were usually repeated a number of times in the same neighborhood or territory, so chances were, any of the graffiti that he had seen would also be on other walls. Then he could resume his studies without the suspicious gas station attendant looking disapprovingly over his shoulder. Abe pulled into a deserted alley and found more graffiti. He pulled out his phone and took pictures of what could still be seen in the dimness of the alley, in case he was interrupted.

  It was brilliant. The conspirators using steganography in graffiti to communicate with each other, to send coded messages in plain sight, without anyone being any the wiser to the plan. The police could look right at it and never know what they were looking at. This w
as big; very big.

  Abe pulled out his notebook and began jotting down the characters and what they were connected to. If he could keep making connections and figuring this out, he would have the case solved in no time.

  He didn’t know how long he had been there, sitting hunched over the steering wheel with his notebook, writing it all down, when he saw the flashing lights of a police car light up the alley. The police car turned its spot light on Abe, which allowed him to see parts of the graffiti that he hadn’t been able to before. A police officer walked up to his window while he frantically scribbled down this new information. The cop rapped on his door, signaling for him to roll it down. Barely taking his eyes off the paper, Abe pulled the window switch.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” he questioned, still working hard.

  “License and registration, please.”

  Abe looked at him.

  “I’m not even driving,” he pointed out. "You can’t give me a ticket for sitting here.”

  “How long have you been stopped in this alley?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been working.” Abe leaned over and got his registration papers, and pulled out his wallet and slid out his driver’s license. “I really don’t appreciate being interrupted, you know. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  “Is this your current address?”

  Abe hesitated.

  “Is this where you are currently living, sir?” the police officer persisted.

  “Well, no. That’s my wife’s house. I’m sort of… between residences right now.”

  “Where are you staying then?”

  “Just… hotels, friends, whatever.”

  He saw the policeman’s eyes going over the interior of the car, and studying his face.

  “Do you have any illegal drugs or weapons in the car?”

  “No.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if I just took a look then, would you?”

  Abe knew just what he was up to. If Abe allowed him to search the car to prove that he didn’t have any illegal drugs or weapons, they would find something else to charge Abe with.

  “No sir, this is my private property,” Abe said.

  The cop looked more suspicious.

  “You could easily prove to me that you don’t have any drugs,” he pointed out. "Refusing makes you look suspicious. Maybe I’ll get a warrant and search it anyway.”

  Abe tried to continue with his writing.

  “What are you doing there?” the police officer said, looking at his notepad.

  “That’s personal.”

  “Personal, eh? Would you please step out of the car, sir?”

  Abe sighed, putting his notepad aside and opening the door to get out.

  “You haven’t had anything to drink tonight?” the officer questioned.

  “No… not lately.”

  “So you have been drinking?” the cop shined a light in Abe’s eyes, making him squint and shy away.

  “No. No, I had a couple drinks in the afternoon. I’m not drunk. And it’s…” Abe squinted at his watch. "It’s ten o’clock. I doubt there’s any alcohol left in my system.”

  “Would you object to giving a breath sample?”

  “No,” Abe sighed.

  “No you wouldn’t object?”

  “What I object to is you harassing me. I’m not doing anything, just sitting in my car writing.”

  “Well, once we get that confirmed, then you can go ahead and write some more, as long as you move somewhere else.”

  “Is there a time limit to how long someone can park here?”

  “Yes. Until the police tell you to move. You’re loitering. I can take you in for that if you’re going to give me trouble.”

  “I said I’d do the breathalyzer,” Abe said impatiently.

  “Come over here to my car, please.”

  The cop watched him, as if expecting him to trip and fall on his face or something. He looked disappointed when Abe made it to the squad car without mishap. He prepared the machine and handed Abe the pipe.

  “Blow in there, and keep blowing, until the machine beeps,” he instructed.

  Abe put his mouth on the mouthpiece and blew. He had just about run completely out of breath when the machine finally beeped. The display flashed zeroes. Abe handed the mouthpiece back.

  “I told you I wasn’t drunk,” he said.

  “So you did. How about drugs? Had anything tonight?”

  “No.”

  “So what are you doing out here, sitting in your car in the dark writing in your notebook?”

  “That’s private. It isn’t hurting anyone.”

  “Well, it’s time to move. I’ll give you a pass this time, but if I catch you hanging around here again…”

  “What’s wrong with here?” Abe demanded, gesturing around. "I’m not parked in front of somebody’s house or a fire hydrant or anything. It’s a back alley. There’s no one else here. Why can’t I sit here?”

  “Because we’re trying to keep drug dealers away from here, and other locations like this. You can’t sit around in the dark. You do what you’re doing, and move on your way.”

  “Well I would, but I’m not done yet.”

  “You’re done, buddy. Now are you going to move on, or are you looking to be arrested?”

  Abe growled in his throat.

  “I’ll go,” he said, “but I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. You can see that I’m not a drug dealer.

  “You could be, I have no way of knowing. I can see you’re hiding something. So why don’t you move on?”

  Abe climbed back into the car and turned it on. He put it in gear and backed out past the squad car, then left the policeman behind. It didn’t matter what he did, they were always out to bust him for something. Well soon, he’d have someone else for them to bust.

  “I wish I could make Dad better,” Crispin ruminated to Juneau as he sat working on his homework and an after-school sandwich. “If I had enough money, I could buy him a place of his own, and I’d make sure that he had a really good doctor that could give him all of the right meds to fix his brain, and then we could all live together again.”

  “That would be nice,” Juneau agreed, “but you don’t have a million dollars and neither do I. And no doctor can force him to take his meds, except when he’s in hospital. So it doesn’t even matter if they’re the right ones or not, if he’s not going to take it.”

  Crispin sighed.

  “But I could talk him into it. If they were the right ones, he’d take them, right? It’s just because they’re not right, and don’t make him feel good, that’s why he doesn’t take them.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “He doesn’t like the way they make him feel,” Crispin said.

  “But what if the way they make him feel is right. What if he doesn’t like what it feels like to be normal. Maybe for him, that’s just too weird.”

  “He would want to take his meds, if they were the right ones,” Crispin said with certainty. “Maybe when I’m grown up, I’ll be a doctor, and I’ll help people find the drugs that are best for them.”

  “That would be really cool,” Juneau told him. "I’m sure a lot of people would really appreciate that. And so would their families.”

  “Maybe I’ll help you find the right meds too,” Crispin said, looking at his sister.

  “Me? I don’t need any meds.”

  “So you don’t have a reaction and need to go to the hospital. Or to make it so that you can eat again. I miss you eating.”

  “You miss me eating?” Juneau repeated, laughing. "How can you miss that?”

  “Because it’s fun to eat together. To have meals together and to talk about the food and everything. I like it when you eat with me.”

  “Well, maybe when I feel better…”

  “You won’t feel better,” Crispin said. "You’ll just feel worse. ‘Cause it makes you feel bad not to eat. I remember once when I didn’t have anything to eat all morni
ng, and I wasn’t sick or anything, and I was so tired and … and just gross. It felt so much better when I had something to eat.”

  “Yes,” Juneau said, "I guess you’re right.”

  “Why don’t you have something with me? It doesn’t have to be anything big. Just have something to eat with me.”

  “I don’t think I can, Crispy.”

  “What if I buy you a Coke?” Crispin suggested. "I have some money, and I could. It’s in a can, it can’t get contaminated. How about that?”

  “No, you don’t have to spend your money on me.”

  “Then what should I get you?” Crispin demanded stubbornly, walking over to the fridge.

  “I don’t know… are there any of those grapes left?”

  “Yes,” Crispin agreed. He took them out of the fridge, and took them to the sink. Juneau watched while he carefully washed them and then put them in a bowl. “Here,” he said. "They’re all clean. No dirt on the outside, and nobody’s been touching them or anything. Why don’t have you a taste?”

  Juneau stared down at the small bowl of grapes dubiously.