by Jonas Saul
The phone showed no texts since he released her from the back of the cruiser. Battery was over ninety percent. She would deal with the cruiser blocking the road to the south of her. She would let Lee deal with the one to the north. As long as one of them was out of the way, a real police officer could get her out of there. Or maybe she would just borrow a car.
She laughed to herself. She used to hate cops. Trusting them was not an option. And now she was going to call the cops—Officer Stephen Lee—to pick her up and get her away from cops who had tried to kill her.
“What the hell is going on in this crazy fucking world?” she muttered out loud.
At a decent pace, her cheek numb, only aching slightly now, Sarah started down the road. Myra Canyon Road was mostly downhill from Mason’s cruiser, meandering left and right, with nary a shoulder. At each corner, she eased around it slowly. The element of surprise couldn’t be lost. The road veered to the left, then right again. She followed it quietly, at every turn watching for the RCMP cruiser blocking the south.
She checked Mason’s phone frequently.
Why hadn’t his partners texted him to see what was taking so long? After a brief communication with Vivian, she understood. They were waiting for word from him. A call for backup. A plea for help. Then they would come running.
In a few turns, she would come upon the cruiser of Officer Brent Waters, the man who helped Mason cover for the beating he gave his ex-girlfriend Vicky.
Sarah grinned, flaring up the pain in her cheek.
It was Brent’s turn to learn an important lesson in being a responsible adult. By blocking the road so Mason and Sarah would be alone, Brent was complicit in Mason’s actions. Brent was, in fact, an accessory to her attempted murder.
Sarah quickened her pace. Maybe he’d have a water bottle in his car, too. Forget calling Lee to get her out of there. She would take Waters’ cruiser. By the time she took the car from him, she would definitely want a drink.
According to Vivian, waiting for Lee to get her out of here wasn’t the answer. He wouldn’t get her to Vernon fast enough and that was where Sarah needed to be within an hour or so.
At a grocery store.
A grocery store?
Vivian’s nod seemed urgent. At least that’s how it was conveyed in her consciousness.
Sarah started running.
Chapter 16
Mason struggled to attain consciousness as the pain swallowed him whole. The heat had become unbearable. Breathing through his nose, impossible. Mouth open, inhaling searing breaths of hot air, he rolled onto his side. His broken arm bumped the Plexiglas. White hot pain flared through his body. The kind of pain he associated with severing a limb. His eyes fluttered, then shut. Drowning in the misery of his agony, consciousness waning, he allowed himself to let go for a moment.
Thoughts of Vicky dashed into his mind. Where was she now? What man had she run to after they broke up? How could Vicky leave him? They had a good thing. If she’d just done what she’d been told to do, nothing would’ve happened. She wouldn’t need dental work to fix the teeth he broke.
Women always complain about men losing it and attacking them. Or the husband kills his wife and ends up in jail. Follow the trends. If you’re a woman, buck up and listen to your man or pay a price. Each man had a different idea of what that price was, but Mason knew his exactly. He had enjoyed causing Vicky pain. It was for the better. It taught her a better way. Why wouldn’t they get that and just thank him for his efforts?
He pushed thoughts of violence out of his mind as an image of Sarah came to him. What she had done to him. The pain he would cause her when he caught up with her spurred him on.
Suddenly, he was walking in a field. At the edge of the field, a line of something light brown had been set down, covering the foliage in all directions. He headed toward it. Moments later, he got to the brown section and discovered it was sand. As he crossed into the sandy area, the temperature changed to desert-like conditions. He broke out into a sweat. It was hard to breathe. The air was thick, humid, choking.
Something bumped into him. He spun around to see what it was and the light brown sand all around him disappeared to form a white light.
Mason screamed.
He opened his eyes, batted them, then squinted. The sun beat through the back window of his cruiser onto his face. Inside his mouth, his tongue felt fat as it tried to move to the side to allow air in.
He must’ve drifted off. He needed to get up. Stay awake. What he needed to do was call for help. With his good arm, he grabbed for the burn phone he had in his pocket.
It was gone.
Sarah must’ve taken it.
He felt around to his front left pocket and pulled out his own cell phone.
“Missed this one, bitch.” His voice surprised him. A deep nasal quality that made him think of the stuffed nose of a nasty cold.
He held up the phone to his eyes, flipped it around to the front, and almost dropped it. His body jerked as he caught it, sending more waves of pain through him.
“Sarah Roberts,” he moaned, teeth tight, jaw firm. “Your death will be my pleasure. Your pain, my ecstasy.”
Was it Calder parked at the top of Myra Canyon Road, or Waters? Which one blocked the north? Calder or Waters? He couldn’t remember for sure, but decided on Calder. He scrolled through the menu on the phone and dialed Calder’s number.
“Yeah?” Calder answered on first ring. “We good? You need backup?” he said the last word sarcastically.
“Yeah,” Mason mumbled. “And an ambulance.”
“Mason?” Calder stammered. “That you?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to your voice?”
“Bitch broke my arm, then my nose. Call an ambulance. Get me out of here.”
“Holy shit. On my way.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Call Waters, too. Warn him. Sarah’s probably headed his way. She’s on foot and armed.”
“Holy shit. On it.”
The line died.
Mason wondered how far Sarah would get before she was murdered by one of his team. He laid his head back on the seat. He set the phone on his chest. The second Calder got there, they would send out a BOLO for Sarah. Hopefully she stayed alive long enough to get put in jail. In jail, she would be abused. Then she might end up hanging herself. He’d see to it.
Either way, it didn’t matter to Mason how she did it—or how he did it. What was important to him was that Sarah Roberts would be leaving Kelowna in a body bag.
His eyes fluttered closed. He focused on his breathing. He lost consciousness again.
Chapter 17
After the second estimate didn’t pan out, and then the third was a lost cause, Thirio was convinced he wouldn’t be able to steal a weapon. Canadians, as a rule, did not have guns in their homes. Sure, there were knives and baseball bats and several other implements that could become a weapon, but he could go to the local Home Depot and purchase those items himself.
He walked around the backyard of an old Victorian-style home in rural Vernon, assessing the viability of digging up the overgrown grass and planting a vegetable garden. The owner, Mr. Ray Durowitz, wanted the garden to combat all the chemicals in the food that killed his wife. Durowitz was in his eighties, lived alone, and seemed fit enough to manage his own garden.
None of that mattered to Thirio. What mattered to Thirio was if he could convince Durowitz that he was the man for the job and entice a fifty-percent deposit up front on the work.
Thirio talked. He engaged Durowitz, made suggestions. He wasn’t just a salesman, he was a master closer. Everything he did or said was to close the deal, and Durowitz was falling into his trap.
The summer heat warmed Thirio’s back and matted his shirt up against his skin. He welcomed the heat. One day soon, he would reign in the heat of Hell, unbearable to human flesh.
At the edge of the proposed garden, Thirio surveyed the assembled tools Dur
owitz had placed out in anticipation of digging a garden. Old folks had no idea how contracting worked. The estimate came first. The deal was arranged next. A deposit was paid. Then a date was set for the work. Today was arrange deal and retain deposit day. Just like dealing with a lawyer. People had to pay something to retain services. Only with Thirio, he would never return to do the work.
He retrieved a shovel from the ground, hefted it to check its weight, then set it up against the fence.
“Nice shovel, Mr. Durowitz. It’ll work for you, but my team will bring our own tools.”
“Ray.”
Thirio turned to glance over at Durowitz. He set a palm over his eyes to block the sun.
“Excuse me?”
“Ray. Just call me Ray.”
Thirio nodded. “Okay, Ray. I was saying that my team—”
“I heard that,” Ray cut in. “What’s important to me is the initial placement of the garden. The seeding, too. Once that’s done, I’ll tend it.” Ray looked away from the overgrown grass and weeds, his eyes watering as if he was about to cry. “How long before your team could have this job done?”
“That’s a two-part question, Mr. Durowitz—Ray. The job itself would take one afternoon. We tear up what’s here and lay rich topsoil. Then, on day two, we seed and water it. When can we do it is another question.”
“Any day is fine with me,” Ray said.
“My team is pretty busy, Ray. It’ll be at least a month before we could get here.”
“Too long,” Ray said. He turned away and started for the house.
“Wait up, Ray,” Thirio said, stumbling after him. “I could look at my schedule and see if we could make it earlier.”
“It’s already midsummer,” Ray said as he slowed and turned back to face Thirio. “I need that garden in so it produces something for September and October. I want vegetables stored for the winter. You can’t come in September to do the work. It’ll be too late.”
“Okay, I understand.” Thirio pulled out his cell phone. “Let me call the office. I’ll have my secretary look at the schedule and see if there isn’t room to fit this job in this week.”
Ray faced Thirio and crossed his arms. “I would like that very much.”
Thirio dialed his own cell number and turned away from the customer. Back at the proposed garden area, he pretended to be talking to Maria at the office. He begged her to find room. He explained to the dead line that Mr. Durowitz had lost his wife—he lowered his voice but made sure it was loud enough for Ray to still hear—and that the garden was a necessity. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder.
“On hold,” he said. Then pointed at his phone. “She’s checking with one of the crew.”
Ray nodded his understanding, then shuffled inside the house and shut the door.
Alone, in Ray’s backyard, Thirio held the phone to his ear and stared at Ray’s garden tools. Handheld digging implements, a small shovel, a pitchfork with three tines, about the same size of the shovel. He grabbed the pitchfork. The handle was new, the grip tight. The tines hadn’t seen much use, if any. Steel tines painted red. An image of Lucifer holding a pitchfork filtered into his consciousness. When the epiphany hit, he couldn’t believe his luck. Here he stood in the backyard of Ray Durowitz’s house, holding the weapon he was looking for. Instead of a gun, he would kill Sarah with a pitchfork. The estimates he did on a regular basis never had anything to do with gardens. But today, the day he needed a new weapon, he had a garden estimate. A garden that had a pitchfork. It was like Satan was talking directly to him.
The door banged behind him. Ray was back outside.
“Yes, I understand, Maria,” Thirio said into the phone without turning around. “That’s right. I’ll tell him. Thanks.”
Thirio hit a button on his cell and slipped it into his pocket. When he turned to face Ray, he offered him a smile so wide he showed all his teeth.
“Ray, you’re in luck. Doing anything this weekend?”
Ray shook his head.
“My team can come Saturday. They’ll plant and water Sunday morning. That work for you?”
Ray wiped his eyes. It must have something to do with getting old because the man wasn’t crying, but his eyes just leaked nonetheless.
He nodded. “That works fine for me,” Ray said. “The sooner the better.”
“Let’s head on into the house and write this up so I know exactly what you’re looking for. I’ll need the paperwork for the team. Once we get the deposit, I can commit them to Saturday and Sunday.”
Ray started for the house with Thirio on his heels. He’d never killed anyone as old as Ray Durowitz before. It would probably be quite easy on account of the man’s age. Thirio would watch those watering eyes to see if he saw relief as he strangled the life from the old man. He hoped he didn’t see relief. Thirio wasn’t doing it for Ray. He was doing it for his own pleasure. Maybe he’d burn the house down once Ray was dead.
Just before entering Ray’s house, he took one last look around. The neighborhood was small. Only two houses had a view into Ray’s backyard and both had curtains drawn, empty driveways. He was sure no one had observed them talking by the proposed garden.
Thirio was in the clear to send Ray to another world far from this one. He only hoped he wasn’t reuniting Ray with his long-lost love. That would upset Thirio. He didn’t let the door bang shut after him. In fact, he didn’t let it make a sound as he locked it behind him.
He headed into the kitchen to obtain a deposit cheque. Then he would steal a soul. An old man’s wretched soul.
One more soul headed south of the soil.
Chapter 18
Parkman entered Lee’s office, pushed past Officer Amparo and stormed up to Lee’s desk.
“Where’s Sarah?” he demanded.
Lee looked up from a stack of papers, a bewildered expression on his face. “I have no idea,” he said, then glanced past Parkman at Amparo. “Isn’t she with you?”
Amparo shook his head.
“They went another way,” Parkman said. “At first, Mason took Sarah and disappeared within two or three street lights. Then the other two cruisers broke off a few lights after that. Amparo here,” Parkman gestured at the officer to his left, “drove me here.” Parkman ran a hand through his hair and then crossed his arms. “You want to fill me in on what’s happening here?”
Lee looked from Amparo to Parkman, then back to Amparo. “Where’s the rest of the team?” he asked Amparo.
The officer shrugged. “No idea, sir. They didn’t fill me in.”
Lee placed his hands on the desk, eased his chair back, and stood up.
“Why do you have no idea, Officer Amparo? Mason volunteered for this delivery job. It was simple. Take Sarah and Parkman to the airport. When I called to have them brought back here, you were supposed to come as a unit.”
Amparo stepped closer to Lee’s desk. “I understand, sir. Mason’s a senior officer. When they told me to bring Parkman here …” He shrugged again. “I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea what’s happened. I’m sure they’ll be on their way soon.”
“They’d better be,” Lee said, his voice harder, an octave lower. “Or it’s all of your jobs.” He pointed at Amparo. “And if anything’s happened to Sarah, I’m holding all of you responsible.”
Lee hit a button on his desk. “Julie Deighton. Get me Officer Tom Mason on the phone.”
“Yes sir,” a female voice responded.
Parkman detected a slight British accent. Lee had a secretary? He hadn’t seen one when he walked in to Lee’s office.
“Amparo,” Lee said. “Take a seat. When I reach Mason and get to the bottom of this, I want you close.”
“Yes sir.” Amparo walked over to the far wall and sat on a small couch.
Parkman studied Lee’s face. Was the man truly on their side? Could he trust his old colleague?
“I’m sorry, Parkman.” Lee sat back down in his office chair. “I’m sure nothing’s going on. Mason wouldn’
t risk his career.”
“Who is this Mason fellow?” Parkman asked as he took a seat opposite Lee’s desk. From his back pocket, he pulled a toothpick and popped it in the side of mouth. An idea struck him. “Did Mason know Barry Ashford?”
Lee snapped his head to face Parkman. After a moment’s hesitation, he rolled his chair closer to the keyboard where he typed furiously for a moment.
“Oh shit,” Lee mumbled.
