Had he not gone to jail, he would never have had been bailed out and found himself at Stanley's mercy. He would never have killed Stanley. Had he not killed Stanley, he would not have had to kill his own mother, although admittedly, the bitch deserved it. Now that she was gone, he wondered why he hadn’t had the balls to do it years ago. The freedom was exhilarating.
Still, to some extent, all of it, from the job loss, to the knockout game, to jail, and the two murders, was CamaroChick19’s fault. All the trouble she’d caused him and she had the audacity to act like she didn’t know him?
He was certain she had seen him. How could she not? She'd watched his videos, commented on them. She had to know what he looked like, and it wasn’t like he looked any different now.
Oh shit.
Wait…he did look different.
Since he’d posted those videos, Stanley had cut his hair and beard off. His most recognizable features, his massive hair and his distinctive beard, were gone. That must be it. That was why she didn't recognize him.
For a moment he thought about starting the car and driving off, aborting the mission. He’d either go home or find some other place to crash out for a while and get his head together. Yet that was not why he'd come there. He needed to man up and confront her. It wasn’t like they were strangers. They had a relationship for God’s sake.
Victor shoved the car door open and maneuvered his bulk from beneath the steering wheel. He walked toward the entrance to the bike shop taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He had never been in a shop like this in his life so he didn't know how to act. Did you look around or go to the counter and let them wait on you?
He lurched through the door and stopped expectantly in the shop. Rather than looking at the merchandise like a typical customer, he glared wide-eyed at CamaroChick19. She looked up at him with concern in her eyes, clearly recognizing him from the parking lot. He could not take his eyes from her, the animated and living manifestation of so many things that had happened to him. So many things he’d thought about.
"Can I help you?”
The voice was beside him and startled Victor. He turned almost mechanically, unnaturally, and saw the young man standing beside him. He was wearing a T-shirt that matched CamaroChick19’s. He must work there.
"Can I help you?" the young man repeated.
Victor snapped back to reality. "Just l-looking,” he stammered.
The young man continued to stare at Victor with suspicion. "Let me know if I can help you with anything."
Victor nodded. "I will."
He walked away from the young man and made an awkward loop through the aisles, looking but not seeing anything except CamaroChick19 from the corner of his eye. She and the young man were huddled together now, talking conspiratorially, talking about him. What else would they be talking about?
Victor had always been awkward in social interactions and had never had a close friend. He couldn't read body language enough to know what was going on with those two. Was this guy her boyfriend? Was that why she didn't respond to him? No, it had to be the difference in his appearance. She just clearly couldn't recognize him.
He quickly realized there was not enough in the store to justify extended browsing. He would either have to interact with the salespeople or leave. Was leaving really an option?
Not when all of his life was coming down to this. Where else could he be right now but here in this very spot looking CamaroChick19 in the eye?
This was where it all came together. This was the tip of the blade. There was no way to go but forward.
Victor strode to the counter and stood across from CamaroChick19. He looked her in the eye and she returned his gaze expectantly.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Do I look familiar at all?”
Amanda shrugged. “No.”
“I used to have more hair. And a beard.”
“What color?” Amanda asked.
“Black. With some red in it.”
Amanda shook her head again. “No, I definitely would have remembered. I just moved here though.” She was trying her best to be friendly, to be professional.
“Not from here,” Victor said, “from the internet. Online. I do videos.”
“I’m not a big video watcher,” Amanda said.
Victor sighed loudly, looking down at the counter to gather himself. He was irritated. He was losing it. He couldn’t tell if she was intentionally lying to him or just playing games or what. It made no sense. Why would she reach out to him, talk about their connection, and then look right through him like he was nobody?
The young man stepped over beside the girl. “What can we help you with? Are you wanting to rent a bike? You wanting to buy something?”
Victor looked at the young man. Was he part of it too?
“Do I look like I want to rent a fucking bike? I was four hundred pounds last time I weighed myself. I haven’t been on a bike since I was five or six years old.” Victor glared at Ben.
“Then if we can’t do anything for you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Ben said. “You’re using bad language and you’re making my employee uncomfortable.”
Victor tensed up. He recalled the pleasure he’d experienced in striking his old boss. He recalled the near ecstatic experience of killing Stanley. What would it feel like to kill this young man?
Then he recalled he wasn’t armed. He hadn’t been thinking clearly when he left home and he’d neglected to bring one of his knives with him. If he’d remembered it, this moment would be different. He would have spilled blood.
Ben reached beneath the counter and pulled out a walkie-talkie. He keyed the transmit button. “Dad, Mom, can you come to front please? Code Blue.”
It was a code established when he was a kid working at the store. His parents told him if there were ever situations he couldn’t manage, he should call Code Blue and they would immediately come to his aid.
“Code Blue?” Victor asked.
When Amanda and Ben came in to start their shifts, Ben’s parents retreated to the back to tend to the business end of things while the part-timers tended the customers. At the mention of Code Blue, they hurried to the front. They anticipated an angry customer wanting a refund or that one of the rental bikes was broke down on the trail and a rider required assistance. What they did not expect was a large, menacing young man with a shaved head and dressed all in black.
“Can I help you?” Penny asked, her husband standing behind her, still trying to figure out what was going on.
“This gentleman is using bad language and making Amanda feel uncomfortable,” Ben said. “He doesn’t seem interested in bikes. He only seems interested in Amanda.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Penny said.
Victor regarded each of the four, one at a time. He assessed them, feeling the strength and aggressiveness of DeathMerchant6o6o6 fill his body. He was no longer the meek Victor Hesse. He was no longer the spineless, cowering, weak child.
“And if I don’t?”
Amanda picked up the cordless phone from the counter. “We’ll call the police. They’re only a few blocks away. They’ll be here before you reach your car.”
Victor looked Amanda in the eye. “I don’t know what happened, CamaroChick19. I thought we had something. I thought we were friends. I thought it was the start of something. I thought we had a future.”
“I don’t even know you,” Amanda said, her face twisting in utter confusion.
“Don’t speak to him,” Ben said. “He needs to go. Now.”
Victor turned and walked away. He felt like turning over a display or doing something destructive but he was too devastated. His one human connection had cut ties with him and he didn’t understand why. He had nothing left.
Outside, he made a beeline for his mother’s car and got behind the wheel. When he looked up, Ben and his father were standing on the sidewalk, the kid taking a picture of the car and license plate. Victor wanted to react b
ut did not have the energy.
For nearly a week, Victor and DeathMerchant6o6o6 had been fighting for control of his body. Sometimes DeathMerchant was in charge and made bold, violent decisions. Other times Victor was in charge and he wanted to curl up in a fetal position. It was clear something had to change, but Victor did not know how to bring it about.
There was only one answer. One option.
Victor had to go.
He had to let DeathMerchant6o6o6 take control once and for all. Apparently, this was not the moment because Victor could still take the reins. He prayed there’d be a moment when that was no longer an option. He prayed for the DeathMerchant to fill his body like an invading virus and drive out the weakness.
39
Nights at elevation in western North Carolina were cool and beautiful. Everyone kept their windows open for the natural air conditioning and the sound effects. Cole was sitting on the porch drinking a beer and waiting for his daughter to come home from work. She’d texted him that she was leaving, just as he’d made her promise she would do every time she worked. It was a condition of her driving herself on the unfamiliar roads in the dark.
Cole heard the Jeep slowing and turning onto their road. Then he saw a second set of lights swing through the trees and another set of tires began crunching their way up the hill. Cole was up quickly and retrieved the closest weapon, a Saiga 12 shotgun with a tactical light, which was stored on a hook behind the front door.
He went back outside and sat on the porch steps, the Saiga propped behind a porch post where it would be hidden from whoever was approaching. The Jeep was in front. He could tell from the sound of the engine at a distance, then the shape of the headlights as it came closer. There was a second Jeep behind it. He knew folks with Jeeps but none of them would show up without calling.
Cole went to the driveway. Amanda pulled the Jeep into its spot, out of the way of the work truck he’d be driving out of there at sunup tomorrow. She killed the engine. The driver of the second vehicle stopped at the top of the driveway and turned it off as well.
Amanda hopped out quickly and went to her dad, waving a hand at the other driver to get out.
“Who the hell is that?” Cole said.
“Ben,” Amanda replied. “His parents own the bike shop.”
Besides the darkness, the headlights had destroyed Cole’s night vision. All he could see were shapes. He understood this must be the bicycle boy Amanda was so excited about but he didn’t know why he was here. Ben climbed out of his own vehicle and was approaching them in the dark.
“Little late for guests, isn’t it?” Cole asked his daughter.
“He insisted on following me home,” Amanda said.
“Why?”
“Mr. Castle, I’m Ben,” the young man said.
Cole caught the motion of a hand extending toward him and found it in the dark.
“Good to meet you, Ben,” Cole said. “My daughter was just getting ready to explain to me why you had to follow her home.”
“She didn’t want me to,” Ben said. “I insisted.”
Cole felt his daughter take his arm, an obvious attempt at minimizing and de-escalation. “There was this weird guy came in the store today, Dad. He acted like I should know him but I’d never seen him before.”
“What happened?” Cole demanded.
“Nothing happened, sir,” Ben said. “He just seemed…off. Like he might be kind of crazy or something. I asked him several times if he needed help and he almost acted like he didn’t understand my questions. He was interested in Amanda, and kept talking to her like she should know him.”
“Drugs maybe,” Cole pointed out.
“I told him he had to leave,” Ben said. “I threated to call the cops if he didn’t.”
“That’s good,” Cole said. “Did he make any threats?”
“No, Dad. He just kind of ran off.”
“I know it’s a longshot but you didn’t get a tag number did you?” Cole asked.
“I did,” Ben said. “Went outside and took a picture of the car and the tag.”
“Good man,” Cole said, pretty fucking impressed with this young man already.
“I’ll need you to send it to Amanda so I can get a copy of it. Do it tonight,” Cole insisted.
“I’ll do it,” Ben said. “We’ve never had anything like that happen at the store before. I hope you don’t blame us.”
Cole shook his head. “There are nut cases everywhere. They’re hard to avoid. Sounds like you handled this right. I appreciate you following her home, Ben, though I wish she’d made me aware of this earlier.”
“She didn’t want to worry you,” Ben said.
“I’m her dad. Worrying is my job and it’s one you never retire from.”
“Well, I need to get home,” Ben said. “It was good to meet you, sir.”
“Good to meet you, Ben. You’ll have to come over and hang out with us sometime. Cook out and do some shooting.”
“Sounds great,” Ben said. “I’ll do that.”
Ben moved off in the darkness and climbed back in his vehicle. Cole threw an arm around Amanda and steered her into the house, knowing she was not as familiar with the dark exterior of the house as he was. Once inside, he locked the door behind them.
“You okay, sweetie?”
They were both heading instinctively to the kitchen.
“I’m fine.”
“Anything I can fix you?”
“A margarita.”
Cole was taken aback until he turned the kitchen light on and saw the grin on her face.
“A joke, Dad.”
“Better be a joke,” he muttered.
Amanda went to refrigerator and pulled out a 2-liter bottle of Sun Drop cola. She poured herself a tall glassful. Cole cringed. Watching her drink the sweet concoction made his teeth hurt.
“Were you scared?” Cole asked.
Amanda took a seat at the table. Cole tossed his empty beer bottle in the trash then got another from the fridge and leaned back against the counter.
“Not really,” she said. “Just concerned. I had run-ins like that in the city sometimes. The homeless. The mentally ill.”
“We don’t get much of that around here,” Cole said. “I guess it happens but something like this is not a frequent occurrence.”
“I can still work there, right?”
“Of course. I can’t hide you from the world. God knows when your mother took you to Virginia I had a lot of sleepless nights wondering if you were going to be safe up there. It was almost more than I could handle.”
“Really?”
Cole nodded. “I hated it.”
“Why did you let her take me up there if it bothered you so much?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know. I have a lot of regrets about how everything went. I probably should have fought more but I just wanted it to be over. It was a painful thing. A bad memory.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said.
Cole looked at her seriously. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You remember that. None of this was your fault. Don’t ever apologize for it.”
Amanda hesitated before speaking again, resisting the urge to apologize for apologizing. “I know you don’t like talking about this, Dad, but this is all just so different from everything I’ve ever been told.”
“You should have asked me if you had questions.”
“Mom said you would get mad and that you were scary when you were mad.”
Cole frowned. “I never got mad at her until…”
“Until what?” Amanda asked when he didn’t complete the sentence.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cole said. “I need to go to bed. I’ve got to get up early.”
“You just told me I should ask you if I had questions. I’m asking.”
Cole sighed. “This puts me in a position. I don’t want to be seen as disparaging your mother.”
“Why do you care about doing that?”
Just the sound of that sent an icy rush in Amanda’s veins.
“You told me I could ask,” Amanda repeated firmly. “I’m asking.”
“Then all I’ll say at this point is that the divorce was not my idea,” Cole said. “I didn’t want it at all. It was entirely your mother’s idea. If she told you otherwise, then that’s not the truth.”
40
Mohammed and Khebat departed the container ship in the waters off the Port of Mobile in much the same way as they boarded the ship. A sports fishing boat came alongside and the Syrians climbed onto its deck using the rope ladder. This was actually much more difficult than when they boarded the container ship. It was nearly impossible to see where they were stepping. Mohammed fully expected to end up in the Gulf, and he could not swim. Worse yet, he imagined being crushed between the two vessels.
The fishing boat was manned by a couple of hard-looking good old boys. These were not the pristine fishermen of advertisements with their Costa sunglasses, colorful Columbia fishing shirts, and G. Loomis hats. These were men burnt dark from the sun, with thick arms and sleeveless shirts. Each wore a long fixed-blade knife in a sheath. The captain carried a Glock on his hip.
Once they were safely aboard, a deckhand contemptuously pointed them to the cabin. He obviously did not care for these passengers. Among these type of men, the Syrians were simply another cargo they were paid to deliver. Last week it might have been heroin or cocaine. Next week it might be full-auto AKs. This week it just happened to be a couple of guys from the Middle East whom they wanted to know nothing about.
The captain navigated the boat up the Alabama River and toward a public dock several hours upstream of the Gulf. When they arrived, two men were waiting on the dock. As they drew closer, one of the boat crew drew a pump shotgun from a locker. He draped a towel over it to keep it hidden but ready. This did not concern the Syrian. They assumed there was cash involved and where there was cash, there would be guns. They were not so naïve as to think this scenic ride had come about as a result of charity or ideals.
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