by Martha Carr
Besides, Norman felt grateful for the distraction from running, as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked up and realized he had managed to make it halfway around and was coming up by the trash cans. “Keep going,” he said, waving to another runner.
It only took a couple of Friday runs before he had different markers around the lake. Trash cans, benches, the dogwoods on the far side. He made bargains with himself every time depending on how he felt.
“Just make it to the next bench,” he huffed to himself, looking up at the next row of trash cans further away, thinking maybe he should try and keep going right past the benches.
“You can do it, you can do it,” he said, feeling the throbbing in his thighs. He lifted his shirt and wiped his nose, trying to take in a deep breath. A cold breeze blew across his belly as he blinked a few times, trying to get the sweat out of his eyes.
He looked up again moments later and was only a few feet away from the next set of trash cans. A sense of accomplishment came over him and he let out a laugh. “This is what it’s like to get older,” he said, as another runner turned to see who was talking. “Hello,” he said, giving a wave. It was a good run.
He slowed down to a fast walk as he came up on the trash cans, leaning into the wind. The app announced he had completed a mile at fourteen minutes. Not bad, he thought, as he headed toward the parking lot.
The lake in Deep Run Park was nestled off by itself so that even during crowded times and despite the park being nearby to streets or even rows of houses, the sound didn’t carry down the long, winding road past the amphitheater and the two playgrounds all the way to the lake.
Norman stopped for a moment at the edge of the parking lot just to listen to the birds and the wind moving through the trees. A really good day, he thought, as he saw a white paneled van pulling out of a parking spot.
His phone rang and he looked down to see the picture of Wallis and Ned. Wallis was trying to Facetime him.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in court right about now?” he asked his wife, holding up the phone.
“Boy, do you look sweaty,” she said, her face filling up the screen. Norman could see the edge of the shelves in her office behind her. “Never made it in the courtroom. We settled in the hallway,” said Wallis. “Good run, I take it?”
“Made it past the benches,” said Norman. “A personal best. Really nice out here,” he said, still breathing a little hard. He held up the phone so she could see the surroundings. The van was doing a slow loop around the parking lot. Something nagged at Norman about the van.
“Christmas decorations even in the park,” said Wallis. Norman looked up to see what she was talking about, surprised he hadn’t noticed. He scanned the parking lot, glancing again at the van. The sign near the entrance of the parking lot had a large garland running all around the sign with a small wreath at the top.
“Didn’t even notice. Was too focused on getting it done,” he said.
“Good for you,” said Wallis, smiling. “You’re representing well for our age group. When you headed back here?”
“After lunch with the good Father Donald. Should be a quiet afternoon,” he said as the van started to turn toward where he was standing. Norman turned the phone around and pointed it toward the van so they could see he was doing it. “It appears the Watchers are restless,” he said. “Bothering to check up on me while I run.”
He waved at the two men in the front seat of the van and held the phone out further. “Get a good look at these mooks. In suits at the park in the middle of the day. Not obvious at all.”
They seemed to slow down to a crawl as they went by Norman. He gave a gentle pat-pat to the back of his head. The cold air went right through his wet t-shirt as he held up the phone a little longer for Wallis. They rolled to a stop on the other side of the parking lot before finally turning to head down the long road heading out of the park.
“What was that about?” asked Wallis, sounding worried. Norman knew she still was trying to reset after everything that had happened. He didn’t want to make it worse.
“Rumors of my workout have gone viral,” he said, feeling his unease growing.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what viral means,” she said, as he turned the phone back around and gave her a small smile.
“It’s getting cold out here. Better head off to the church,” he said.
“Y’all have a good time,” said Wallis. “Stay out of trouble,” she said. “Hey, can you text me when you get to Father Donald’s?” Norman knew it took a lot for her to ask. It wasn’t like her to keep tabs on him for any reason.
“Can do, and I will do my best to behave. It’s Friday, so I like to keep my head down. Promised Ned I’d let him take the lead on dinner tonight.”
“Which means something that lights on fire,” said Wallis, “or involves mystery ingredients.”
“Good chance of both those things, although he’s been more interested in just talking these days. Mostly about girls.”
“Now you have my attention,” said Wallis, filling up the frame of the phone again.
“Can’t break the guy code, sorry.”
“Uh huh, well, share all that wisdom you’ve gained.”
“It worked on you Wallis Jones.”
“Very true, still does. Besides, our neglected dog, Joe will be happy to hang out with me. Love you always,” she said.
“And Harriet, of course. She’ll keep you company.” Wallis let out a laugh.
“Love you more,” he said as he hung up the phone. He stood on the sidewalk for a few moments longer, taking in the view. A gust of wind made him shudder and he took a short jog over to his car, grabbing a sweatshirt from the backseat and pulling it over his head. It was his favorite, with the familiar VCU in gold letters on the front.
Norman took the blue and green beach towel with a picture of a cartoon crab out of his back seat, wiping his face before he laid it down in the front seat. He slid in and pulled out of the parking lot, waving at the father playing with his young son, the boy around Ned’s age. The boy was operating a remote control with a DJI Phantom 3 drone.
Norman recognized it as the one Ned had been campaigning to get for Christmas. Wallis was not on board with spending seven hundred dollars so Ned could take aerial photos. Ned started listing the different things he could do with a drone that could take high-definition pictures from a long distance. Norman’s favorite had been Ned’s suggestion that they could do surveillance of certain clients. “It would pay for itself,” Norman had said, wanting to be helpful. He smiled at the memory.
The van was already forgotten.
Norman took the first curve as the boy reluctantly handed over the remote control to the middle-aged man. The drone steadily rose in the air, till it was just above the treeline, two hundred feet off the ground, high enough not to be heard but in plenty of range to still take detailed photos of Norman and his car. Contingency plans were a very good thing.
It flew behind Norman’s car, sending back images as he passed through the park, following as he turned out to the top streets, till he headed down the long and winding Three Chopt Road on his way to St. Stephen’s Church and lunch with his best friend.
He turned on the radio at the top of Three Chopt Road, punching the button for the AM dial and WRNL, a popular local sports station. A loud tone erupted out of the radio, muddling the sound, only half-surprising Norman.
“Damn, I know it’s short range but this is new,” he said, quickly punching the button again to turn it off.
He pulled into the parking lot behind St. Stephen’s, parking in the sunlight in the middle of the large lot that was well over an acre of black pavement, rolling down a hill and hidden between St. Stephen’s and the large Catholic cathedral next door.
Norman pulled his gym bag over the front seat as he pushed open his door and got out. He shoved his car door closed with his foot, pushing the button on his key till the car gave a loud beep. He ambled toward the large re
ctory door tucked down a short walkway, thinking he should run more often if he was ever going to make any progress.
Father Donald opened the heavy door as he got closer, waiting in the doorway.
“I made almost the entire mile. Did it in fourteen minutes,” Norman called out across the parking lot.
“Marvelous progress,” said Father Donald, “although I don’t understand the shorts. I’m told the shorter length is no longer in style.” Father Donald stepped outside and breathed in deeply. “Can almost smell snow, I think.”
“The good ones were in the laundry,” said Norman, still looking down at his shorts, “and I was feeling good about the calves. Wanted to show them off to the fellow runners at the park.”
“I’m sure Wallis appreciated the gesture as well. I’m not sure what it’s doing for me,” said Father Donald, looking behind Norman for a moment.
Norman turned around in time to see a black SUV cruise by the front of the churches. It was too far up the hill to see who was sitting inside.
“You a little nervous? Not even my first tail today. Saw a white van in the parking lot at Deep Run,” said Norman, as he pushed past the Father. “Hey, do you still have that old radio that can get an AM station? I want to listen to Bob and Mike, that talk show, while I take a shower. The steam won’t mess it up, will it?” Norman was making his way down the hall, still talking, without looking back. “I tried on the way over but something’s wrong with my car radio. Let out this loud sound, like one long note.”
He turned around in time to see Father Donald’s expression change to one of concerned surprise. He didn’t say anything as they went into the rectory.
“Has the radio ever done that before?” he asked, stopping in the long hallway with the portraits of past rectors.
“It’s no big deal. I think the radio station only has a range of about three miles. But usually I can pick it up on my way over here. Maybe it was cloud formations. Gave off a loud tone, like a bell tone. Just interference,” said Norman. He stopped in the hallway, not sure if he should keep going or not. “What?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“You notice anyone following you over here?”
“No, but I can’t say I was paying attention. Why, what did I say that made you worry?”
Father Donald looked like he was trying to decide what to do. He seemed to think better of something and started down the hall again, putting his arm around Norman’s shoulders. The large gold ring with two crossed keys caught the light. “We can do it later. Let’s let you get cleaned up and out of those godawful shorts, first.”
“These are my shorts from my college days,” said Norman, shifting his bag to his other hand.
“That explains it,” said the Father, “VCU basketball shorts.” Norman noticed he was making his breathing even, trying to move Norman down the hallway in the direction of the shower.
Norman pulled away and turned to look at his old friend. “What, now I’m a child in this game? You have to humor me?” he asked, irritated. “When did that become necessary?”
“Not necessary at all. Maybe I’m a little tired of running at things head on.”
“This doesn’t appear to be happening to you,” said Norman, putting down his bag.
“Point taken. I think someone has used a GPS to track your movements. You inadvertently used an old analog device to ferret them out. They probably never expected you to listen to anything AM and if you did, to not know what you were hearing, and you didn’t.”
“What was I hearing?” asked Norman.
“The signal it puts out. Tell me what you saw in the park. Tell me everything.”
“I’ll tell you over lunch if you pull out the good beer. It’s Friday, I ran a mile and apparently I’m back in the middle of Management’s games. Calls for the good stuff.”
“Deal. You know your way to the shower. I’ll call in our order. Mekong?” said the Father, pulling out his phone.
“Sure,” called Norman, who was already in the oversized, ancient bathroom, his voice echoing off the old black and white tiles.
“Hello Esther,” said Father Donald. “I think we have a problem. Can you get over here in about an hour?”
The food showed up in only thirty minutes and Norman realized just how hungry he was as he gave the kid a five dollar tip. Despite the news that Watchers were paying him more attention than usual, he was feeling good. He wanted to spread it around a little.
“Thanks,” said the teenager. He drove his mom’s Hyundai up the hill to the top of the parking lot and pulled alongside the black SUV. “He’s in there. He answered the door. What’d the guy do?”
“We can’t talk about ongoing investigations,” said the man on the passenger side, as he handed the boy a twenty dollar bill. “Appreciate it if you keep this to yourself. We don’t want him to run. Ruin a month-long investigation.”
“Sure, sure, I get it. I watch TV,” said the boy, slipping the twenty in behind the five dollar bill in his wallet. Not a bad take for the last lunch delivery of the day, and on a Friday.
He drove away, glancing in his rear view mirror at the SUV, still parked just out of view of the church. He looked back in time to see the white van and swerve to the right to just miss it as it went around him, pulling up behind the SUV.
The men waited patiently in their cars. There was no need to hurry and besides, their first plan had already been interrupted. There was an insistence though from the team above them that the operation needed to go into effect today. The afternoon was fading away.
Still, they knew patience would pay off in the end.
It was almost an hour later when the door to the rectory opened and the two men walked outside, the one wearing a collar brought along a metal bat and was scanning the street. The driver in the lead car, the SUV, knew they were far enough back not to be spotted. He waited only a moment to see what the two men would do as they approached the car in the middle of the church parking lot.
“It’s a go,” said the driver of the white van, giving the signal as he gunned the motor and drove over the grass, down the hill and blocked the path to the car, surprising only Norman Weiskopf.
Father Donald ran at them swinging, giving them no time to pull out their guns, as he brought the bat down on the shoulder of one of the men who had jumped from the van. The sound of a crack, the man’s shoulder giving way under the bat, was barely audible.
“Donald! Donald!”
He could hear Norman yelling his name behind him and he heard the sounds of a scuffle more than a fight. Norman’s keys hit the pavement as Father Donald turned in time to see Norman’s feet lift off of the pavement and he was shoved into the wide opening of the white van.
The Father tried to raise the bat again as someone punched him squarely in the face, bloodying his nose and knocking him back. He held tight to the bat and rolled himself over, trying to get up as he swung again. The bat moved through the air without making contact.
“I’ll find you,” he shouted. “I’ll find you.” He screamed it as loud as he could as the van door slid shut. The van and the SUV sped away, squealing their tires as they rode over the thin patches of concrete and grass islands that broke up the parking lot, and onto Three Chopt Road, disappearing in the direction of River Road.
Father Donald ran after them as the distance spread between himself and the cars, knowing it was futile, hoping Norman could still see him. It had all taken only a minute.
Esther turned the corner on Grove Avenue and took the short drive around the church to the parking lot just in time to see the two cars pass her, still speeding. She caught a glimpse of the driver in dark sunglasses, his hair disheveled, looking straight ahead, and a hand pushed up against the tinted window in the back seat, abruptly pulled away.
Esther turned into the parking lot as Father Donald came up to the passenger side of the car, beating on the window. “Unlock the goddamn door,” he yelled.
She pushed the button, trying to
lean over and help with the door as he yanked it open and slid inside, slamming the door.
“They’ve taken Norman! Gooddammit, they took Norman,” he yelled. “Follow them! If they get too far away, if they get out of this damnable city, we may never see him again.” His face was flushed with anger and blood bubbled out of his nose.
“Are you alright?” asked Esther, pulling the steering wheel around to the left, gunning the motor as her old Crown Victoria blew smoke out the back. She had her foot pressed all the way to the floor.
“Tell me what you know,” she said, slipping into her native German accent. There was no need for her to maintain her cover right now. Her voice was calm and even.
Father Donald was leaning forward in the front seat, his hands braced on the dashboard as if he was trying to get there just ahead of the car. They caught a glimpse of the black SUV as the road curved around to the right and then it slipped from view again.
“Donald!” she shouted, trying to get his attention. “Focus! What do you know?” she said, spacing out each word.
“They must have been watching him for some time. There was a tracker on his car and he saw the same van at the park where he goes for a run every Friday.” The Father never took his eyes off the road ahead, scanning from left to right.
“I’ve told him more than once about keeping the same schedule,” said Esther, swearing under her breath. She took a small hill barely making the curve as the car skid past an old tree along the roadside.
“We were coming outside to see if we could find the tracker when the van pulled up out of nowhere. I think I injured one of them but that won’t matter.”
“They’ll have planned for that, even the death of an entire team,” said Esther. “Someone planned very carefully.”
Esther took a hard right turn onto Forest Avenue as the car fishtailed, swinging out into the other lane. Several cars leaned on their horns, and a driver waved at them dramatically as they sped past. An old woman at the wheel and a bloodied cleric leaning forward in his seat.
