An Unusual Occupation

by M. L. S. Weech

  Richard found a thank-you note from Javier on the back of the frame. “Sometimes my students and I keep in touch,” Drifter explained as Richard read the note. “I move around a lot, but I have this house here in Arizona, and I heard Mr. Rojas was sick. I haven’t been here in some time, but I wanted to pay my respects.”

  “And he just happens to croak right on the day you see him?” Kyle asked.

  “I’ll thank you not to speak ill of the dead, Detective,” Drifter said. Kyle was surprised to feel a little ashamed. He got over it quickly. “It’s unfortunate that Mr. Rojas had to die.” Drifter continued. “But it’s not a crime that he died, is it? Was there a crime committed? Do I need a lawyer?”

  Kyle found himself respecting the suspect, if only a little. He maintained a polite demeanor and never looked more than a little frustrated.

  “Where are the pictures of your kids?” Kyle asked. There were six photos on the TV and an album tucked in a cubby beside it.

  “I’ve never had children,” Drifter answered.

  “You know, some people might think having pictures of kids that aren’t yours is a little creepy,” Kyle said. A look of good ‘ol honest anger blossomed on Drifter’s face.

  “I’ve been more than polite, officers,” he said carefully. “I’ll not permit that sort of comment just to see how angry you can get me. It’s causing anger for anger’s sake and won’t help either of you.” The man stared at Kyle again. “I think you’re both better than that.”

  He was angry, but at the comment. It wasn’t false shock or a distraction technique. He sounded like a guy who’d just caught his friend cheating during a chess match. So he knew they were opponents. But Kyle imagined the suspect wouldn’t allow that fact to be an excuse for- what? Rudeness? Drifter seemed to notice he was staring and pulled his photo back from Richard and put it where it belonged.

  The whole conversation was a loss. Kyle tried every trick in the book to get some sort of clue or comment out of Drifter and failed. “I asked if I needed a lawyer,” Drifter said softly. He honestly looked like he regretted snapping at Kyle. If anyone accused Kyle of being too interested in kids, he’d shoot the bastard. This guy got a little snippy and looked like a boy who had to shoot ‘Ol Yeller.

  “No,” Richard answered. “No official investigation has begun,” he said, emphasizing the word official.

  “But just so you know, I think you’re creepy, so I’m gonna watch you,” Kyle said.

  “Do you guys always finish each other’s sentences?” Drifter asked.

  “Do you know a Tom Stampson or Magdalen Wallron?” Richard asked. Drifter’s eyes widened. It only took the smallest second, but it happened, and Kyle noticed the look. He knew them.

  “I don’t believe so,” Drifter lied. Kyle couldn’t prove it, but he knew it.

  “We have footage of the car accident,” Kyle said. “Stampson died in that crash. Someone who looks an awful lot like you was there when it happened; just watched.”

  “You saw my face?” Drifter asked.

  Damn! Kyle thought. He took a deep breath. “No, we never saw the man’s face,” he confessed.

  “But we’re watching you,” Richard said. “We just wanted to stop by and tell you we’re wondering how you, or someone who looks a lot like you, keep winding up around dead people.”

  “I’m not around dead people any more than anyone else I know,” Drifter said. “However, I think I’ve been sufficiently threatened. I’d like you two to leave now.”

  Drifter walked to his door and opened it for them. He watched Richard walk out. Kyle moved directly in front of Drifter again. “We’ll be around.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again,” Drifter replied. “Until then.”

  17

  Fishing

  Fishing wasn’t a sport. Not in Nick’s book. He had lived long enough to think his opinion mattered as much as anyone else’s, so fishing was not a sport. He took a sip of beer before reclining in one of the folding chairs he and Bob had brought to the middle of a pleasant little lake in Surprise. If fishing were a sport, there’d be an objective, such as getting the big fish, catching it faster, or using less bait. That was all a bunch of bull.

  “You know the point of fishing?” Nick asked. Bob lowered his book beneath his eyes to look at him.

  “Um, to catch fish?”

  “No,” Nick said in mock reproach. “If that were the point, we’d have to stay until we caught one.”

  “I’m good with that,” Bob said. He looked happy.

  Surprise Lake wasn’t the most beautiful place. It was a manmade pond just off of Highway 60. There was a sort of pleasant atmosphere, though. Under the blue sky, Nick could focus on just the water and imagine he was on a real lake letting the gentle breeze cool him down.

  “The point,” Nick said playfully, mocking Bob’s teaching voice, “is to enjoy life.”

  “I don’t think the fish would agree,” Bob said with a smile.

  “Fair enough, but we’re not fish, so my point is still good.”

  “I can’t say I disagree.”

  Nick noticed a shadow skitter away. He reeled in and recast his line where he noticed the shadow. “Still, it’s nice when you catch one.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever done that,” Bob said distractedly as he read his book. He read while doing everything, not that it bothered either man. Nick saw Bob’s line jerk twice, and after the third time, the line went slack.

  “I think you almost had one.”

  “Did I? I guess I was too busy enjoying life,” Bob said with a chuckle. He put the book down long enough to reel in. The fish had stolen his hook and bait. “Shame David couldn’t be here.”

  “He seemed excited to go study with that friend of his,” Nick said.

  “Which one?”

  “He didn’t say, but he couldn’t wait to get out the door.” Nick noticed his line move, a nibble. Bob looked as if he might have known something about whom David went to see, but he kept quiet, which bothered Nick a little.

  Nick was about to think he was out of his mind. He’d watched Bob, and things didn’t add up. He had an absolutely insane hunch about Bob and could hardly believe it himself. The fishing trip gave him another chance to see if he could confirm his suspicions.

  “He took those books you gave him, though,” Nick said. He took another swig of beer. “One minute he’s fussing about how you leaving a stack of books wasn’t what he meant about you helping him write that song, the next, he scoops them up and rushes out the door.”

  Bob lurched suddenly. “He didn’t just throw them in that black hole of a bag of his, did he?” Bob loved books more than anything.

  “He took them in the box you left,” Nick reassured him.

  “Sorry,” Bob said abashedly. He began to attach a new hook to his line. “Some of those are first editions.”

  “How’d you get so many rare books?” Nick asked.

  “It’s not so hard. You just keep your ears open, and someone always has some old book they don’t know is as important as it is.” Bob tested the new hook before putting some bait on it and casting his line.

  “I thought I heard David say one of them was autographed,” Nick said. That was a lie. The first and only lie Nick had told Bob since meeting him. The truth was Nick looked at the books. He told himself he was only being curious, but that wasn’t really it. The autograph was in a book of poems by Tennyson. It read something like, “To the traveler, all journeys should have destinations.” It was a personal autograph from a man who died more than a hundred years ago. Drifters are travelers, Nick thought.

  Of course, that autograph could have been to anyone, but “anyone” didn’t have the book. Bob did.

  “I make it a point to be on the watch for autographed books,” Bob said. “Not that autographing was a big deal back then, but every now and again, a young writer would approach an author or some other circumstance would warrant it. I have to pay through the nose for them.”
>
  “On your salary?” Nick laughed.

  “I’m a wise investor,” Bob said. Nick wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not. They settled back into the fishing—or rather, letting the line get wet while they drank and read, respectively. Bob drank since David wasn’t there, meaning he was “off duty.” Bob talked about a friend of his named Drisc.

  Apparently, Bob traveled more than even Nick thought he did. The man had been everywhere. The conversation led to Nick and his time in the army. They didn’t talk about the war, but about other places Nick had been. “I was raised in Fort Dodge, Iowa,” he said. “I joined there.”

  “That’s not too far away from Clear Lake,” Bob said with excitement.

  “I was just back from my first tour in ‘Nam,” Nick answered. “I caught Buddy Holly’s last concert.”

  “You were there?” Bob said in earnest astonishment.

  “Me and my wife,” Nick said. He didn’t talk about her much. It was easier not to. She died about ten years ago, but Nick didn’t really feel like that much time had passed. “We were out on the floor dancing. We didn’t find out about the crash until the next day.”

  “I liked the Big Bopper a lot more myself,” Bob said with a smile.

  “You liked the Big Bopper?” Nick asked.

  “Sure, ‘Chantilly Lace,’ one of my favorites,” Bob said.

  “What, in your mother’s womb?” Nick asked. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but he’d done it again. Just like the discussion about Vietnam. “It was forty-something years ago.”

  “Music never dies, my friend,” Bob said, looking sad as he spoke. Nick was certain Bob had said the same thing before. “It’s a new song to whoever hears it for the first time. I happened to hear it on my way to watch President Ford take the oath.” Nick noticed that Bob didn’t say that was the first time he heard the Big Bopper. He only implied it.

  “With your father?” Nick asked. Bob had to be about ten at the time, unless Nick’s crazy theory was right.

  “With the man who taught me everything I know,” Bob answered with a smile. Nick felt bad; he didn’t think about Bob’s parents. Did Bob have parents? And how would he feel if Nick asked him honestly about his origins? What would Bob do to him if Nick was right?

  18

  Shadows

  October 9, 2006

  I must confess to a certain degree of concern. Who am I to do anything for people? My new shadows are making my life impossible. I went to the grocery store, and LeShea was behind me in line. When I went to the bathroom while at the movies, Hertly actually remarked on the coincidence of us watching the same film.

  I almost didn’t go to the Taylors’ home, but apparently, the two policemen are only trying to make me uncomfortable. It’s working. What the heck do I do the next time I meet someone special? I have enough on my plate as it is. This could blow up in my face if I’m not careful. I need a chance to see this works out the right way. Perhaps my luck ran out with the Taylors.

  I can’t stop, even if I wanted to. I just have to be very careful. Guys like me can find life in prison more uncomfortable than being followed. Actually, guys like me could get the death penalty, and I doubt anyone, much less twelve of my peers, will understand my explanation.

  Bob had just finished another day at Oak Mountain. He made his way to his car and noticed Hertly standing next to it with a pad, writing Bob a ticket.

  “Good afternoon, Sergeant,” Bob said, trying to sound sincere. He’s just doing his job.

  “You’re parked in the teacher’s section without a sticker,” the detective said. He tore off the ticket and handed it to Bob.

  “Where’s your partner today?” Bob asked.

  “He’s around. Sometimes people from the station come visit the kids and talk to them; they tell them how bad drugs are and why they shouldn’t ever trust strangers,” Hertly said calmly.

  “If no one spoke to strangers, how is it people make friends?” Bob asked. He wasn’t worried about LeShea talking to any students. He was a great teacher, and none of his students had any reason to say anything unfavorable.

  Hertly laughed bitterly at the comment. “So what’s your story, anyway?”

  “No story, Detective; you should know that by now.”

  “Well, we imagine you’re being careful,” Hertly said. He has no idea. “But it’s got to be killing you now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Bob said.

  “The itch.”

  “I have a powder.”

  “Oh, this is one powerful itch.”

  “It’s a prescription powder.”

  “You’ve watched three people die.”

  “You think I’ve watched three people die,” Bob said calmly. He was very careful to say everything calmly.

  “Soon, you won’t be able to resist the chance to watch someone else,” Hertly said. “You might even want to help things along.”

  Bob didn’t ask the detective to move. He simply walked to his door and opened it. He rolled down his window and was surprised to notice Hertly waiting for him to say something.

  “No one likes to watch people die,” Bob said. “Least of all, me.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  Bob chuckled. “Nice try, Sergeant,” he said. “But as my file has undoubtedly told you, I’m an orphan. I’ve seen people important to me die. Do you know what consoles me?”

  “The fact that that you’re not them,” Hertly said sarcastically.

  “The fact that death isn’t the end,” Bob said. Hertly looked surprised. Bob was sure the cop had expected anger at the horrible joke. “I’m not the bad guy, Sergeant.”

  “You just do bad things.”

  “You accuse me of doing bad things. You suspect me of it, but you only suspect.”

  “I’ll find proof.”

  “I wish we could work this misunderstanding out,” Bob said, meaning every word of his statement.

  “You can tell me about it,” Hertly said. “Maybe I’ll understand.” And maybe pigs will fly.

  “Don’t lose yourself in your work,” Bob said. “I’m sure there is more to this world that you care about than catching bad guys.”

  “You threatening me, you son of a bitch?” Hertly asked.

  Bob shook his head in regret. “I’d never threaten anyone, Sergeant,” he said gently. Can’t you see I’m trying to help you? “Take it from someone who used to be buried in his work. You end up alone.”

  “Only if my work involves depraved indifference homicide,” Hertly retorted. Bob wasn’t sure what it meant, and he didn’t really want to find out.

  “I decided a short time ago to try and do more with my life, Sergeant,” Bob sighed. “I don’t know you that well, but you seem like the type of person to care about a lot. Don’t waste your time chasing after things you only think are true.”

  “Catching killers is never a waste of my time,” Hertly said.

  “I wish you all the luck in the world in doing so,” Bob said. Hertly looked a little surprised again, perhaps because he could see that Bob was being honest. “I’m just not that guy. You’ve spent the last two days watching my every move. What have you seen me do in my life that is more important than anything you might have done otherwise?

  “I’ll catch you slipping, Drifter,” Hertly said. Bob could tell the policeman was getting frustrated. Bob had to give up trying to talk sense to him.

  “Is there something wrong here?” someone asked. Bob jumped at the interjection. Principal Markrich had noticed the conversation.

  “Just police business,” Hertly said, flashing his badge.

  “On my parking lot,” Markrich countered. He introduced himself to make sure Hertly understood he had a right to know what happened on his campus.

  “Just talking to one of your substitutes,” Hertly said. “I had to write him a ticket for parking without a sticker.”

  “That so?” Markrich asked. “Bob, can I see that ticket?” Bob shrugged. He wasn’t sure what he
wanted it for, but he gave his boss the ticket. “Due to his long-term status with the school, Bob is given certain privileges.” Markrich tore the ticket to shreds right in front of Hertly, angering the policeman.

  Somehow, I think this is going to have a very negative effect on my life, Bob thought.

  “Do those privileges include—” Hertly began. Bob forced himself not to cringe. If Hertly said the word murder, everything would come crashing down. Hertly’s jaw snapped shut. He couldn’t accuse him of anything. The breath escaped Bob’s lungs before he realized he was holding it.

  “Thank you for explaining that,” Hertly said. “Mr. Drifter, I’m sorry about that misunderstanding.”

  “Not a problem, officer,” Bob said kindly.

  “I’ll be sure they’ll be no misunderstandings if we run into each other again,” the detective said. Bob understood the implication.

  “I genuinely hope you will,” Bob said. He turned the engine in his car and drove straight home.

  19

  What People Don’t Know

  There’s nothing better than waking up with a woman in your arms, Detective Kyle LeShea thought to himself. The nurse—Amanda was her name—still slept soundly on his chest, which he thought was just fine. He was a womanizer, and he knew it. He’d find some way to forget to call. He’d make it three dates before he screwed up.

  He tried once or twice to figure out why he could never stay in a relationship. He narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first was that he was a throwback to the days of free love and no connections. He considered that the most favorable option, especially as he traced two fingers down Amanda’s soft skin.

  She opened one eye at him and smirked. “No target practice before seven,” she said. Kyle chuckled at the joke. He had noticed her smile before everything else about her. There was plenty to notice, but if a woman’s smile couldn’t knock you out cold, there just wasn’t a point in the rest of her.

  This reminded Kyle of his second option. It was his least favorite reason for his lack of commitment, so it was probably the truth. Kyle wasn’t one for philosophy, or was it science? Anyway, he just knew that if it sucked, it was probably real.