Evil Like Me

by Steve Bradshaw

  The distant crack of thunder rolled through the city to the Lorraine Hotel. Heads turned looking for lightning or storm clouds—there were none. Then splintered wood flew from the podium and Baldwin’s index card took flight. His face was wet. His thigh burned. He froze.

  Secret Service jumped into action, but it all happened in one second of surprise and confusion. Before they got to the attorney general, the second crack of thunder rolled and more splintered wood flew into the air. This time the impact knocked Baldwin back into the chairs. This time the bullet found his chest.

  They surrounded him and carried him away as screaming crowds stampeded and knocked down barriers in a desperate attempt to find safety. The cluster of dark suits carried Baldwin into the museum as the chaos on Mulberry stirred terrible memories—another assassination.

  Alfred E. Baldwin was taken away in a stream of black limos and flashing lights, and the Memphis police and federal agents swarmed the city. The flow from the National Civil Rights Museum was like red ants protecting the mound poked by a stick.

  Ten blocks and four minutes away the Razar, long-range scope and Remington 700 were disassembled with precision. The rooftop of the Sterick would be empty in less than a minute, the building in two.

  Thirty-Eight

  “I would rather die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life.”

  Corazon Aquino

  *

  Brent Mansion - Shelby County

  *

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch. Baldwin got shot today,” Wilcox said looking at his cell. “It’s streaming news. It was around one, the Lorraine Hotel.”

  The old Brent mansion would be the safest place to hide. One mile into the woods of north Shelby County, the abandoned manor came to mind. Wilcox had spent time there; a serial killer lived in the basement. The overgrown property posted—no trespassing—was the perfect place to get some rest and to consider options.

  “Mr. Baldwin’s in Memphis? Wonder if it had something to do with Stargate,” Petty said.

  “They say he was here to receive a humanitarian award from the National Civil Rights folks. But those kinds of things get setup minimum of six months in advance, security purposes. Since it wasn’t, I’ll bet you’re right.”

  The musty smell of rotting wood filled the old mansion in spite of the strong breeze passing through the seven-foot windows of shattered panes on all three levels. Even the remodeled sections were now weathered. Nothing could overcome the steady decay of a dying structure.

  At the corner window on the second floor Wilcox had the best view of the long driveway. The weed covered road cut through ten acres of wildflower fields boxed-in by dense woods. The weaving route was the only way for wheels to reach the dilapidated structure. The network of creeks and marshes surrounding the estate—occupied by poisonous moccasins and black snakes—all but eliminated access on foot.

  While standing guard at the window, Wilcox could not resist an occasional look at Petty’s legs. Now bathed in the only square of sunlight in the room, her curvy calves, small ankles, and firm thighs took his mind off their mounting troubles. Although he admired beautiful ladies, this time was different. This time there was more than a physical attraction.

  She always knew when Wilcox was checking her out. She felt his eyes and smiled at her cell as she read the news. Although they were beginning to know each other on a professional level, personal feelings were growing. Before she left Dallas, she knew the reputation of the top Memphis homicide detective. She knew the stories of his crudeness and arrogance and womanizing. But it did not take long for her to see through all of it. She was attracted to the gentle, honorable man inside. She saw character and unwavering commitment to justice. He reminded her of her father lost in the line of duty. He was a Dallas homicide detective.

  She crossed her long legs for his wandering eyes and continued to scroll. “Thank you for my wood chair, detective. It is very thoughtful of you. I prefer to sit on something a nasty rat cannot make a home in.”

  Wilcox snapped out of his erotic trance. He turned back to the window and empty road. The sun dropped behind the tree line, and the shadows began to reach for them. Hunter Keller fell asleep on the old sofa in the center of the room. “He can sleep anywhere. Rat infestation doesn’t seem to bother our psychic friend,” Wilcox said.

  “Bald Knob took a lot out of him,” Petty said.

  “He is different.”

  “I think the nasty rats like him, too. You know the elk herd?”

  “Yeah. They just stood there hypnotized by the damn headlights.”

  “They weren’t looking at the headlights, Tony. Every one of them was looking at Hunter. It was like they were waiting for instructions.”

  “I seriously doubt that. I can’t explain much, but that’s a reach, doctor.”

  Keller lay on the sofa, filled with rat holes and stuffing poking out. It looked like the sofa was used as a shield in a machinegun fight. Keller’s hood covered his ears, only his nose visible. The shredded arm cradled his head. His black Converse high-tops hung off the end.

  “Hey, Keller, wake up,” Wilcox barked.

  “Let him rest. We have time,” Petty said turning off her cell phone.

  “We don’t have time. Somethin’s supposed to happen tonight. The sun’s going down. Mr. Keller, I need you to conjure up some of those skills. Tell me about the Baldwin shooting. Are you awake, Keller?”

  One eye opened. “I’m awake,” he said. “The shooting is not political.”

  “I need more, please. Don’t be like a teenager with an attitude,” he poked.

  “Tony. Don’t harass him.” Petty dragged her chair to the sofa. “Hunter, we have a meeting in four hours with people we know little about. We need your help. Did the people we are meeting have something to do with this shooting? Can you tell us anything? Is Albert Baldwin a problem for them?”

  “I don’t see everything,” he said. “I see pieces. It takes time to sort through faces and events because I don’t know everyone. After, I see relationships and intentions.”

  “Give us the Cliff Notes, Keller. Petty and I will fit the pieces together.”

  “Mr. Baldwin was shot by someone I do not know. He is new to me.”

  “Maybe it is a political hit,” Wilcox muttered.

  “The man is professional,” Keller said. “He is a sniper.”

  “Do you know who he works for? Was anybody with him when he shot Baldwin?”

  “They are on a rooftop—the Sterick building,” Keller said.

  Petty leaned closer. “You said they.”

  “He did not know Mr. Baldwin. They paid him $200,000. It was another assignment.”

  “Who are they? Look around the roof,” Wilcox pressed.

  He slipped his hood off and stared at the ceiling. “Dr. Proust gave him money. Dr. Swenson went to Henryetta to terminate Dr. Proust. It was time for him to go.”

  “Time for Proust to go?”

  Dr. Swenson was in the car on Dewar that night. Because you and Dr. Petty were in the house, Major Cankor did it—he killed Dr. Proust.

  “Dr. Swenson is a remote viewer,” Petty said.

  “Yes. He is not strong. He was going to try to kill Dr. Proust. Major Cankor took over when he knew you were there.”

  “Swenson’s with Cankor,” Wilcox said.

  “He is on roof with the shooter,” Keller said.

  “Swenson is Baldwin’s mole,” Petty said. “He had to be the one who killed Green and Blanchard. He was protecting his position.”

  “If Swenson and Cankor eliminated Russian moles and assassinated Baldwin, they could be at their end game.”

  “Hunter, tell us what you know about Cankor, Proust, and Baldwin,” Petty said.

  “They’ve been close a long time. They met in 1978, the Gondola Wish Project.”

  “I bet the assholes wanted to control psychic-weapons from day one.”

  “They killed my family and friends. And Bone is dead because of m
e.”

  “We can’t go there now,” Wilcox said. “The world’s full of bad people. You gotta give Bone the respect he deserves. He chose to get involved in your life. He knew the risks. You were important to him. Don’t take that away from him by blaming yourself for his death.”

  “But I am the reason so many people die. It’s killing me inside.”

  Petty and Wilcox were not going to overcome a lifetime of confusion and pain with a few words of wisdom. They could not begin to comprehend Keller’s complex world, the burdens he carried. They had to take a different tact if they were going to get his help with Mud Island.

  “The three of us will put our lives on the line tonight,” Wilcox said. “We have no choice because nobody’s going to believe any of this shit until it’s too late. Swenson and Cankor and their minions are the bad guys. I don’t know how Baldwin fits in all this crap. God knows who else these people have killed. They will not stop until they get what they want.”

  “If they get control of psychic-weapons, the world as we know it could change a great deal,” Petty said. “We’ve got to stop them.”

  “Now is the time to put aside your paranoia and blame. If you want to make a big difference, tonight is your night. I don’t get any of this psychic shit, but I’ve seen you do things. If you got ’em, use your gifts to help us stop these sick people before it’s too late.”

  “They have the advantage,” Petty said. “They are choosing the venue, time, and there are two of them. There is only one of you, Hunter.”

  “The training wheels come off. Tonight is about your parents, your friends, and the remote viewers and their families slain by monsters. You gotta find a way to do what Bone and your parents taught you.”

  They sat in silence as the second floor in the old mansion grew darker and the occasional gust lifted the torn curtains and swept the room. Keller looked up at Petty and said, “I don’t think that is the case.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wilcox asked. “She didn’t ask you anything.”

  “I did, Tony. I did ask him. I just didn’t say it out loud.”

  “What did you ask him?”

  “Why is Major Cankor afraid of you?” Petty said. “Why did he run away from you on Dewar Avenue?”

  Keller clarified. “I don’t think he is afraid of me. I think he is choosing his time.”

  “You stopped him on Dewar,” Wilcox said. “Or was that something else?”

  “I distracted you, Hunter. It broke your focus,” Petty said.

  “He sure wanted out of there,” Wilcox said. “He’s afraid of you, Keller. Whatever you did to him, and those jerks at Bald Knob, you need to do again on Mud Island.”

  “There will be two remote viewers on Mud Island,” Keller said. “They did not setup a meeting they could not control, Mr. Wilcox. They want me. It is best I go with them so the others can live. Maybe I can convince them. Maybe I can escape another time.”

  Tony lit a cigarette and blew. “I must be psychic, too. You know as well as me, when those freaks get you under control they kill us—they toss our bodies in the river. You know they chose Mud Island for that reason, Keller. The movie is in your head, but you’re afraid to look. It is time to grow up and to do something about it. It is time to use these gifts to stop this evil.”

  “We will do our best to protect you,” Petty said. “But Tony’s right. They’ve killed many innocent people. Now they are killing each other.”

  “Who does Cankor and Swenson work for?” Wilcox dropped his butt and turned a shoe as he looked out the window. “Save it. We have lights in the woods.”

  They watched them emerge on the road through the field to the mansion. Petty said under her breath, “How did they find us?”

  “These people are relentless,” Wilcox said checking his gun. “Talk to me Keller—who?”

  “I’m blocked. There is a remote viewer with them.”

  “Gotta be Cankor or Swenson or both. A surprise visit. Impatient bastards.”

  They watched the last car in the line stop at the edge of the woods. The headlights popped off. Three cars continued to the mansion in a slow, tight line with only parking lights.

  “Grab your things,” Wilcox said. “Our car’s in back. Let’s move!”

  “I thought you said there was only one way on wheels,” Petty said.

  “Let’s hope I’m wrong.”

  Thirty-Nine

  “The sun also shines on the wicked.”

  Seneca

  *

  It was a beautiful night to die …

  Wilcox parked by the overgrown boat launch ramp at the north end of Mud Island. Standing in the shade of an oak, the three took in what could be their final moments. The pale half-moon washed over the river brush, and the hot engine popped in the cool November night. Wilcox could not stop memories—they flowed like the Mississippi a few hundred feet away. Six months ago the terror and carnage he experienced on the island was unbearable. He found seven dead men and met a serial killer. Somehow Wilcox survived. This night he returned to the sandy clearing on the east bank and would face impossible odds against another monster with unimaginable weapons. Death would return to Mud Island before the fingers of the morning sun touched the muddy river again.

  “Everyone knows what to do—right?” They stood at the top of the narrow path on the edge of the ravine. Keller and Petty nodded with wide eyes. I wish I could do this alone, Wilcox thought. “If you have any questions about the plan, let’s go over it now.” They stood in silence.

  “We stay together until it’s time. Is your gun loaded?” He asked Petty, although he knew the answer. Wilcox checked all three guns at the Brent mansion and again in the car. He had two, Petty one. Keller refused to carry.

  “Yes, for the third time,” she said.

  “Good. You got it where nobody can find it?”

  “Depends if they’re perverts, I’m wearing my thigh holster.”

  “They don’t have to be perverts to look up your dress,” Wilcox said as he led the way down the incline reaching back for her hand. A gust ballooned her dress like a spinnaker sail. “Never mind, I see it. And I see you’re still wearing damn heels—unbelievable.”

  “You’re not a pervert, more like a pain. And my shoes, it’s not like I could run home and change into Nikes. You left my suitcase in Henryetta. Don’t worry, I can still outrun you.”

  Hiding his smile, Keller followed down the weed-covered slope. Wilcox and Petty reminded him of his parents—always poking fun but always watching out for each other. Although Keller tried to stay away from personal thoughts, he knew where their relationship was going. With his hood up and hands in pockets, he jumped to the bottom.

  Wilcox lead the way across the river scrub covered in a blanket of gray mist. They reached the last stand of trees. Less than a hundred feet away, the tall grass stopped at the edge of the infamous clearing. Beyond the barren patch there was a sparse line of trees lining the river bank. They could see the wavering white ribbon marking the moon’s path from the other side.

  “Keep low from here forward, and whisper. I prefer no talking. Pay attention.”

  They moved through the tall grass on the narrow trail. When they reached the edge of the clearing, they left the trail for the tall grass and watched and listened. But the churning water of the Mississippi River sliding by swallowed sound, and the gusting winds moved shadows. Although they were early, they would not know if they were alone.

  Inches from Keller’s face Wilcox whispered, “Do not deviate from the plan. We can’t change anything without screwing up everything. Petty and I go to the clearing. You wait here. You stay low in these weeds. Do not move around—the top of the grass will shake and give you away. And for God’s sake do not poke out your head. I will call you when the time is right. Do you understand, Mr. Keller?”

  He nodded with a distant stare. Petty leaned into the huddle. “Are you blocking someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do Swenson
and Cankor know where you are when you block?” Wilcox asked.

  “They cannot locate me, but they know I am nearby. I know they are nearby, too. There are seven others with them, trained combatants, mercenaries paid a lot of money. They have guns.”

  Wilcox rubbed his face like he took a hit in the jaw—we don’t have a chance.

  “There’s no going back, Tony. You’ve done all you can. This is an impossible situation. Let’s hope the plan works.”

  Wilcox pulled Keller to him like a father pulling a child from the path of a car. “Listen to me,” he said with urgency in his tone. “You can do some strange damn things, but you cannot stop bullets. If you don’t think you can beat them your way, you must leave the island. Do not try to save us, Keller. We understand the significance of this moment. You must live to fight another day. You may be the only one alive who can stop these people. All the conditions must favor you, or you leave. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand,” Keller said.

  “We must get Patterson, Baily, Cottam, and Petty off this goddamn island before you come into the equation. It is the only way.” Wilcox turned to Petty. “And it is your job to take them up that trail, get them into the car and out of here. You don’t look back.” He folded his keys into her hand. “Take them to The Med. I will meet you there when this is over.”

  We both know we are not making it to The Med. Petty grabbed his neck and kissed him hard. She would do everything but drive away without him. She would not leave him behind. “Don’t show off, Wilcox. You can’t stop bullets.”

  He nodded. “If the rest of our plan materializes, we have a chance. If it does not, we are all pretty much screwed. Keller, you said the lesions on my brain may protect me for a while from that psychokinetic shit.”

  “That is a real possibility.”

  “It does make medical sense,” Petty said. “Lesions are scar tissue. It will alter brain function and disrupt neural connectivity like a short circuit tripping a breaker. You may not get hurt, but it could knock you down or out. Don’t forget we are dealing with powerful psychics.”