“What were you doing?” Seth repeated still looming over the kid.
“Tryin’ to get free.”
The shadow disappeared and moments later, screens around the world went blank.
Chapter Sixty–Five
Totem
“That’s it?” Smokey said. He lit another cigarette before complaining further. "He’d better get his ass back on there and tell us what’s goin’ on.”
“Yeah,” Tonic said. He tossed a dried olive at Finn. "It’s ‘bout time for us to go sit on the JHS building. Our shift.”
Finn looked at his watch, "Your shift. I got shot." He stood and was about to make his way for the bathroom when the screen flashed again. Smokey pulled him back into his seat without looking away. People in the bar came back to the televisions and things quieted.
* * *
“Mr. Meek has asked me,” Ray began, and then cleared his throat, “to summarize in place of any formal closing arguments. So…” He looked over the notes Seth had prepared. “The defendant, Derek Siclo has been charged with three counts of first degree, or premeditated, murder. Emily Meek, 33, Jennifer Meek, 8, and Justine Meek, unborn and the sexual assault of each. He plead not guilty. The defendant Saul R. Brown as been charged with one count of attempted murder, Seth Meek. One count each of conspiracy to commit murder, and accessory to sexual assault. He plead guilty to the count of attempted murder, and not guilty to conspiracy to commit murder and accessory to sexual assault.”
Ray looked up at the camera and then back at the notes. "The grand jury is now instructed to consider all of the facts that have been presented during the trial, namely the testimony of Mr. Seth Meek, a video taken by the accused in the Meek home, and the statements of the accused.”
“Jurors are then instructed to enter their decision at the website,” he looked off camera, “visible on the screen now. This address will be removed at 11pm this evening when the jury’s voting time elapses. As was the case last time, each voter may cast four ballots to account for multiple voters on one IP address, meaning one computer. There is no age restriction in voting as this obviously cannot be practically enforced, nor are voters excluded on the basis of their nationality.”
“The Juror’s website will become active shortly, which should allow those who wish to vote, time to do so. The verdict then, will be announced at 11:30pm, and the number of votes tallied will be held confidential until this announcement.”
* * *
Seth checked the time on his computer. He spent three minutes lying on his back upstairs trying not to think. His mind had been swimming in detail for days but it wouldn't, couldn't, calm itself. Any one of a thousand different things could end it all, but likewise, there was no reason to think that it wouldn't all play out to the very end. What end he didn't know, and the weight of it pressed down on his chest without mercy. Death was a reasonable assumption. If someone managed to get through his encryption, it was only a matter of time until men with black machineguns broke down the door and exterminated him like a household pest. To be taken alive and sent to prison was no option at all, and one that he'd decided simply would not happen if he still held a loaded gun – if the police didn't kill him, he would just kill himself. And really… that was about it. Die, or… die. Distantly he felt some remorse for Whit. They'd come full circle, and oddly enough, found common ground in the midst of the storm. Also remotely troubling was the disappointment that the counselor, Marley, might feel at having him end up crumpled on a basement floor. Despite all of her talk of redemption, he suspected that she would also feel some guilt over having lived vicariously through his rage against the chaos in life. Beyond his disconnected father and a young woman in whom he'd found the impetus to live life – if only to scoff at death – he really had no one. It would be an exceedingly small funeral. He wondered if the preacher from the hospital would officiate… he blinked, snapping out of his fatigue. He shook his head, and tried to focus.
He glanced at the computer again and wondered if this might be his last chance to talk to his father. It struck him as an exceedingly odd thing to consider, not particularly sad, but outlandish. Like waking from a bizarre dream that seemed quite completely real. He hadn't come to the point in his life where he'd begun to consider last times. And yet suddenly everything would be a last. A last soda. A last chance to use the toilet. A last word. Some things were already past. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the last time he'd kissed Em. He couldn't.
The computer chimed, and the Skype software showed the incoming call. Right on time. Seth pushed himself up on one elbow and hit connect. His father's voice was as clear over the Internet as if he were standing in the room.
"You there kiddo?"
"Yeah," Seth said. "Thanks for calling."
"You knew I would."
"Yeah."
The pause lengthened until Whit finally said, "Still there?"
"Yeah, I'm not going too far I don't think." Seth sat up and leaned into the corner.
Whit was scribbling something, the rasp of his fountain pen on his pad surprisingly clear through the computer link. "I was thinking along that line. I put some things together for you." His father explained what would happen at the Potomac Mills shopping mall on the other side of D.C., and how Seth could use it as a timer of sorts.
"You've done enough Whit," Seth said. "I don't want this to come back on you."
A laugh. "It'll be coming back for years Seth. But I want you around to listen to me bitch about it all."
Without warning tears welled up in Seth's eyes again and he let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. He gathered his voice. It took two tries. "It's better this way."
"Maybe," Whit said. "Maybe, but I think my ending is better. Trust me."
Seth's head came up and he worked to blink away the tears. He finally just wiped at his eyes. In his mind he stood on the dock once again, arms flailing over the icy water–this time though, Whit reached out and took hold of him before he could take the plunge. He held him close with his words, trust me.
"Listen kid, these are all just options, but a man needs options in the present so he can make the right decisions about the future. Whatever you decide though… I'm proud of you. You could have opted out the night it happened, but you didn't. It would've been easier. I bet you thought about it, but you didn't do it, and now here you are. The world's different because of you. It's different in the way that it changed when men stepped out on the moon. Everyone's watching, everyone's considering what it'll mean for the future. In what it means for the system. You did that and you didn't have to do it."
"But I did it for me."
"I know. And I hope you found what you were looking for. I did."
They listened to the line hum for a moment.
"Seth, think about what I'm saying. I just want you to step outside when it's all over and I'll take care of the rest. Alright.?"
"Thanks dad."
"Yeah well… it might be awhile until we get to talk again."
"Seems so."
"I'm proud that you're my son."
The line went silent.
Seth stood, gathered up two of the three of the cell phones that he had purchased and wrapped them in a plastic garbage bag. He pulled the garage door up about six inches and pushed the bag out into the snow and wind. Twenty minutes later the bag was gone.
Whit would do the rest.
Chapter Sixty–Six
Trahison des clercs
Conversation was never hard for Finn and Tonic, and in light of recent developments, it was almost impossible to keep things under a thousand words a minute. Babysitting the John Hancock Standard building from twelve to eight would give them plenty of time to exhaust the topic, and neither of them were optimistic about the chances of their one and only drunken lead turning up to raid his office liquor cabinet.
“I miss Ray,” Tonic said as they pulled up in the parking lot adjacent from the JHS building.
“Well he’
ll have his name in lights soon enough.”
“Nah, I mean for shit like this. Over–caffeinated little fucker never slept once that I saw. We could’ve just posted him up on the hood and racked out.”
From where they were, they could see both the front door, the covered parking, and the little dimple in the pavement that marked the once, but no longer, blocked fire exit from the basement. Plus, they were in the only other lot within a couple of blocks, so if the idiot decided that he needed to stop by work and kick the shit, they’d probably see him. As Tonic adjusted his pants by squirming up and down in his seat, Finn made calls to the other lucky guys who had been chosen to stakeout Hack’s house.
“What?” came the voice of pure boredom.
“Oh… hey Hop,” Finn said.
“What?”
“Just checking in with you guys,” Finn tried not to smile. It was good to see the Boss in the field once in awhile, even better to rub it in a little. Hopkins was a good guy, a pretty natural office honcho, but it wasn’t any secret that he preferred driving his desk to getting shot at. Smart guy. “Feeling the urge to flash your badge a little?”
“It’ll feel even better to get my hand on your dick and twist if you don’t cut it out.”
“Promises, promises,” Finn said.
“I can hear you smiling, stop it.”
“You guys see anything?”
“Nah, we’re short a couple of people, but ain’t nobody gone in or out of his apartment.”
“Alright, we just got out to the bank so we’ll be here.”
Hop accidentally pressed some buttons on the phone. “Jesus could you get a smaller phone?” he said to the lucky soul he’d drawn for the surveillance. “Why do I care where you are?” he redirected to Finn. “Oh hey, where’d you guys get those cherry deals?”
After Finn hung up the two sat in silence for as long as they could stand. It was their custom, and the ritual of cops all over the world, to want to save as many words as possible for the times of draught. It was much harder now, but they made it to nearly one o'clock before Tonic finally broke the stalemate.
“How we gonna vote out here?”
“Smoke signals?”
“We’d need a real Indian for…” Tonic said just before his voice trailed off and he looked past Finn. His partner had seen enough horror films to know protocol. He sat still.
“What?”
“There’s someone behind you, two of ‘em.” Tonic said, still watching. Mischief filled his eyeballs, making them float about in his head as he considered the possibilities.
“Two of who?” Finn finally snuck a peek over his shoulder. Less than thirty feet away the FBI sedan was rolling to a stop beneath the only tree within a mile of the place. It might have provided some degree of camouflage had there been any leaves. Instead, it acted like a big flag stuck in the top of the car, waving and drawing attention to the pilot and co–pilot; Agents number One and Two.
“Miller and what?” Tonic asked.
“Dupree.”
“Right, right,” Tonic was leaning way over into Finn’s personal space as he gawked. It was agreed that the center console was the natural DMZ during stakeouts, and any attempts at border crossings were strictly verboten.
“Ahem,” Finn gestured to the line of death. “I believe this means that you’re buying?”
“Shit,” Tonic said. He recoiled back, knowing it was too late. “I was vulnerable!” he protested.
“You’re buying tonight, and I think…” Finn looked back at the newcomers, “that we’ll have company.”
“Pizza alright?” Tonic searched through his wallet – it contained equal parts wadded up dollar bills and pristine photographs of his girlfriend.
“Pizza’s fine. But tell ‘em to hurry, they haven’t seen us yet.” The agents had pulled up under the oak, which put them just forward of the detectives at a range of about ten yards. The foot wide tree trunk helped to obscure their view even further. Tonic called in the order and the two melted down into their seats.
“Ooo… what’s that one?” Finn pointed to a photograph showing some skin, but was careful not to violate the DMZ.
“That… is one you don’t get to see. Perv.”
“I’m not the one carrying around porn in his wallet.”
“That’s because your gay. Gay people don’t like porn.”
"No, you just don't like my porn."
They carried on the conversation as they watched the FBI pair setting up shop.
“Binoculars… camera. Jeez, a nice camera. Why don’t we have a camera like that?” Tonic asked as he peered over the edge of the door. “I bet they’ve got nods too, you just watch.”
“What?”
“Nods, night vision. All that shit. Yep, yep… there ya go,” Tonic confirmed as an agent opened a pouch and held an expensive looking night vision scope up to his eye.
“Son of a bitch,” Finn said. "We gotta talk to Hop, that’s cool.”
“Wanna bet that they still don’t see us until the pizza gets here?”
Finn opened his wallet and placed a five on the dash. FBI guys were pretty sharp. They’d catch a whiff. Tonic matched the bill, and sixteen minutes later collected his ten dollars.
“We need to keep bettin’ so I can get the pizza money back,” Tonic said as they both watched the frizzy haired Dominos kid search around the lot for a “shitty blue four–door sedan.”
Finn smiled. "Never gets old.” The pizza kid came right up in their blind spot like a ninja and tapped on the window. They jumped on cue, and then Agent number One–this was Miller they agreed – rolled down his window and said something that was probably bordering on rude judging from the way the kid stepped away from the door. The FBI, as a rule, was chastised for actually being rude in public, but technically they were in their car. A sacred place not to be invaded by irreverent city cops.
Mr. Pizza pointed, still balancing the box, and obligingly, both Finn and Tonic gave their best Forest Gump waves. More words were exchanged between agents, as the pizza kid’s joints began to freeze up.
“Is this a spat or is this some sort of negotiation?” Finn asked.
“Dunno, but Frodo there should have worn a coat.” The kid was hopping around now. The pizza was probably frozen. Finally, the window came back down and the pie was passed in with a little wave of acknowledgement from Agent number Two, Dupree. The kid vanished, and then reappeared at Tonic’s window with a second pizza.
“I guess they decided that the cheese wasn’t strychnine,” Tonic said as he rolled down the window. The kid was eyeing the roof and trying to keep his cap on his head.
“Dude, I think somebody shot your car.”
Tonic handed the money out, plus five bucks for coming out into the cold, but minus two for being a dumb ass and not wearing a coat. Cop equity.
The kid wrangled the big box in the window, handed over a six pack of sodas and ran to his car, pumping his arms into the wind the whole way.
Tonic watched until again Agent Dupree looked over, and then waved for the FBI to come and join the D.C.P.D. for late lunch.
Dupree, much to Miller’s dismay, shook his head and then mimed talking into a radio. He went so far as to hold one up and wave it around. Tonic made a dismissive gesture and twenty seconds later both detectives were standing outside of the FBI sedan waiting to be let into the back seat. They looked at one another over the roof of the car as the agents inside decided whether or not it was safe to unlock the doors. Click.
“Heyas,” Tonic said. "You guys gotta get cell phones so you can get off of those radios.”
“Cellular telephones are not adequately encrypted,” Agent Miller said.
Finn rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, well… anyway,” Tonic went on, “good to see you guys again.”
Dupree, who had a little pizza sauce on his lip now, seemed much more amiable. Maybe he had just needed to eat, or maybe he was second fiddle and knew when to keep his mouth shut. At any rate,
he raised his slice of greasy pizza in a toast. “Thanks for this.”
“It’s nothin’, cops need to eat,” Tonic opened their pizza and took out his own slab. “Besides, it might be a long night eh?”
Miller, who was still staring forward, binoculars in his lap, glanced at Finn in the rearview mirror, then looked away.
Finn took his cue, "Hey sorry about all that before.” He dangled the remaining three colas forward, and Miller took them without looking back. “I was a little tired. We’ve been working this case hard without a break.”
“Yeah me too,” Tonic said with his mouth full. "But I wasn’t tired, I’m just a prick. Sorry.” He popped open a can and swallowed, “This is a pretty nice ride.” They all looked around the interior like mourners staring at a coffin’s lining.
“It’s not bad,” Dupree ventured. "But not as nice as yours.”
This time Miller rolled his eyes. It made Finn laugh.
“Yeah but we don’t have night vision goggles.”
“We’ve got a thermal scope in the trunk,” Dupree said with no small measure of glee.
“No shit? Lemme see,” Tonic said. They were perfect for each other.
“No,” Agent Miller said a little too forcefully. He looked into the mirror and then amended his vote with, “It’s not dark yet.”
“Alright then, when it gets dark,” Finn said. "Can’t wait.” Agent Miller closed his eyes in resignation and Finn imagined the FBI generated jargon popping up in his head. Inadvertent invitation! Darn. Darn. Darn.
Car talk degenerated into talk about the length of shift, which morphed into gun talk, which further decomposed into stories about past busts. It was hard for cops not to lapse into this kind of banter, and even Agent Miller, try as he might, broke down and told a tale or two in the end. It helped pass time, and as long as no one got the farts, the law enforcement world would remain at peace.
Jury of Peers Page 34
