by Jack Gardner
I did not have the courage to answer directly and tell her that I could no longer find those feelings I felt before. I wasn’t ready to hurt her again. I gave her an allusive reply and went on my new life course, where I may have been lonely, but at least I knew that I did the right thing in order to see where my fate lay.
16
Just like a photograph is compiled from thousands of pixels, so is a man’s personality constructed from numerous details that have to be assembled and put together like the solutions to a crossword puzzle. When enough details are gathered, the empty fields that reveal nothing suddenly become meaningful and connect together until the image floats like a sculpture that is revealed from the block of marble.
Eddie thought to himself that the process could be made easier had he been told where exactly the last meeting between the target and the team set to bring him in took place. Undoubtedly, he thought, that would be a reasonable place to start searching. Only that that information was not disclosed. Still, Eddie thought he might have a lead with which to begin. What did L say? “Shot them like stray dogs, killed two and injured the third.” Maybe it was more than he wanted to say, but it seemed to be the truth. And it happened in a public place, he thought to himself, because they have not discovered the safe house. Two men killed and one wounded, gunshots in a public place, this kind of incident must leave a trace. That thought led Eddie to the library of the university’s School of Journalism, where one could find every article published in each and every one of the newspapers and magazines. If it was printed, it could be found there.
Secretly, Eddie loved investigations just as much as he loved fieldwork. He saw himself as a professional—an artist, even. The profession, or the art, was in compiling layers that the layman would consider completely unrelated to the subject, whereas the artist, who sees the whole picture, recognizes these links and sees that every building stone laid in this logical-psychological structure is just as important as another. That explains why investigations were just as important to him as the skills fieldwork required.
The search was much easier than he initially thought. No less than three evening newspapers mentioned the incident, which the journalists ascribed to settling of scores in the underworld. According to the newspapers, the incident happened around 10:30 p.m. on Monday in a small café called Davis in the southern part of town and three people were hurt. The reporter from a reputable newspaper mentioned that in an exchange of gunshots between a man who was dining at the front of the café and a number of people who showed up and approached him, two were killed and a third badly wounded and then taken away by a private ambulance. The name of the ambulance company was not mentioned, but this did not surprise Eddie whatsoever.
According to the testimony of one of the waiters at the café, whose name was not disclosed, the shooter escaped by foot and headed east. A police car arrived within four minutes and the scene of murder was closed. Within a few minutes, the bodies were taken away in a black truck. No arrests have been reported. The police spokesman informed the reporter that in all probability this is a case of settling scores in the criminal world. No, they do not yet know the identity of the two murdered men. The wounded one is guarded while undergoing treatment in the hospital. For obvious reasons, they cannot disclose the name of the hospital. The man is severely injured and unconscious; therefore, it is impossible to interrogate him at the moment.
The other newspaper was more creative in its description of the event, but did not add any information, even though it included an interview with one of the diners who was present at the café during the event and recounted his story to the reporter. He was happy to tell the reporter that the shooter—the one who escaped—seemed cold-blooded, a man who knows what he is facing. The bystander did not see where the first shots originated, but he did see two men fall. One of them, he remembered, wore a black shirt. He did not hear the men converse with the shooter; could he not have noticed? Not a chance: the place was practically empty and very quiet. There was nothing to hear.
As far as he remembered, seven shots were fired. He was convinced that that was the number—which made Eddie smile and gamble on any number but seven. The imagination and excitement of untrained people usually make them give wrong information. He thought about the murder of JFK in 1963. The official version was that Lee Harvey Oswald shot the president three times, but a close inspection of a video of the event shot by an amateur photographer who was in Dallas at the time revealed that the president was shot no less than six times.
Eddie returned to the article. In any case, once the last shot was shot (the witness was not sure who shot it, or did not want to disclose that information, thought Eddie), the man rose calmly from his seat and walked away quickly, but definitely did not run. The witness described the shooter as a white man about thirty-five or forty-years-old, tall (the witness thought he was more than 5’10”), athletic but not overly so, with neat short brown hair and eye glasses in a big metal frame. No other signs he could point out except for the man’s remarkable calmness.
Eddie started putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The glasses were, of course, a costume, as well as the haircut and color that could change according to his need. The height cannot be changed, but all in all, this is a man who can merge into his surrounding like a chameleon, as can be expected from an intelligence officer. Eddie invested another half hour of his time looking into the police spokesman’s messages, hospital reports, and follow-up articles, but could not find any further information. Once he finished gathering information about the café incident, he started searching for articles about a beggar attacked on that same day. Here too, he was lucky. A small piece in the crime section recorded a beggar who was attacked by an unknown person. The man was found lying unconscious on his blanket in the exit tunnel of the museum station. Apparently, the target made off by train. Eddie noted this to himself. The beggar was stunned with a blunt object in the back of his neck. He was robbed—that is, if you call the loss of a used guitar case and a black beret a robbery. The article further noted that the beggar refused to be examined in a hospital. Eddie read through other newspapers but this incident was not even mentioned in them. He wrote some notes, leaned back in his chair, and thought about the bystander at the café and his description of the events.
The witness did not know who shot. That fits a single shot, maybe two, but the witness counted seven shots. More likely that it was four, maybe five. Eddie closed his eyes and tried to imagine the situation. The target sitting by a table, his back to the wall, looking over the café’s entrance; the team faces the target and are all hit within seconds. It seems that they were standing next to each other, which fits a quick exit from a car. Had they come by foot, they would have walked one after the other and the third would have evaded the shots. Eddie rewinded the image in his head: the target by a table watching the entrance, a car pulls by, doors open, three men exit and advance in a single line, the target is not surprised. Why? The distance between the target and the team is no more than ten or fifteen feet. Eddie noted to himself to confirm this at the site. Trained people do not miss a shot from that kind of distance. There is no doubt the target fired the first shot. Another question: An immediate threat or a planned ambush?
Eddie imagined himself at the target’s table at the café. The target is holding a gun. The gun must have been there, because this kind of timing does not allow for a quick draw. But one does not sit at a café holding a gun. So one holds the gun under the table, hidden by the tablecloth. Yes, Eddie could see it in his mind. The gun in the hand, leaning on the knee, under the tablecloth. That also explains the fact that the witness did not know who shot. The shots were shot from under the table.
Eddie thought about the man’s technique. Three dangerous attackers—at least so thinks the target—so he decided to open fire without warning. No words are exchanged. The target shoots whether the attackers meant to shoot him or whether he is ambushing them. But in an ambush one wouldn’t si
t in broad daylight in front of the attackers. In addition to that, the target left a wounded man behind. Nothing stopped him from killing that man. The ambush option is dismissed. And again, to the first option: the three are carrying guns. The target is not ambushing them, but he is ready with a loaded gun. The target is convinced that they are so dangerous that he opens fire immediately. Did he think that this was not meant to be an arrest, but rather, an execution? Maybe.
In front of three trained armed men with drawn guns you have—even considering the surprise factor—about a second. You shoot orderly from left to right. The first bullet is aimed for a sure hit. The second bullet for a high probability of hitting the target. You’re out of time. The third kills you. But this is not what happened. The third was injured too, and that Eddie could not understand. Well, he’ll try to understand it on the ground.
17
The sun started rising in the east and the chilly morning air started to take in heat from the sand and the water. Five fish insisted on ravenously biting into the worms but it was their lucky day: I released them gently and threw them back in the water. Fishermen always examine each other’s catch and I was sure that the guy to my right had me tagged as a silly hobby fisherman who takes pleasure in simply catching the fish and throwing them back in the sea. I didn’t get me any good points with him. He probably believed that a fish that was released would warn its friends not to bite into the hooks. On the other hand, there are quite a few outlandish people among the fishermen, but in any case he’ll remember me for something. I simply hoped that no one would ask him.
My clock showed 8:15 and it was time to go. I folded the rod and put it in my fishing bag. I slowly and thoroughly surveyed the beach and my exit path, and did not notice anything suspicious. I started the Lada and drove down the shoreline to the southern entrance, the one furthest away from the beach. Had someone ambushed me there he would have made my life very difficult. I tried to focus on my surrounding and blocked any pessimistic thought, even though recently those recurred incessantly. As soon as I was merging into morning traffic, I felt a little calmer. I did not stop examining everything around me, but I had to think.
***
Eddie showed up at Davis Café a few minutes before 4:00 p.m. The café was in a typical part of the city: one main street with a series of stores and small, unimpressive businesses. Eddie walked down the sidewalk in front of the café and surveyed the area. The café was on a street corner where the main street met a smaller side street. The most noteworthy building on the block was an old one-story building with a large sign on its roof indicating that it serves as a cinema. To the left of the café, Eddie noticed a photography lab and next to it a hair salon. The front of the café had five round tables set on the sidewalk: three in the back and two in the front set like a checkers board. A flowery yellow curtain in the café windows concealed its interior. Two pots of plants on both sides of the tables on the sidewalk created a natural wall that enclosed the café and created the feeling of a pleasant separate area.
Eddie noted to himself that the only way to reach the café quickly was in a car driving from north to south—meaning, from where the cinema down the street is. But that was too obvious and did allow for a surprise. It was an awful option, operationally speaking, because that was exactly what the target would be expecting. And still, he told himself, that is how things were done.
He crossed the street and walked over to the café. He hesitated for a second, as if he were wondering which table to take, which allowed him to confirm that even when standing by the door, it is hard to see what is going on inside the café. But maybe it’s different at night, it depends on the lighting in the place. At last, he chose the middle table in the back row and sat down. He felt uncomfortable for a moment, completely exposed. The corner table, by the plants, seemed alluring. A natural, even if mistaken, thought. The corners are the first suspects because they make it easier for whoever is approaching from the front to shoot. The middle may seem exposed but it disperses the efforts, which is what one needs when in an unequal balance of power.
A tall waiter wearing a white apron over a pair of pants that used to be part of a cheap suit and has already seen better days approached him. Maybe he was happy to see a customer who came to the place’s rescue from abandon because he smiled a wide, real smile. “Can I tell you about our specials?” He asked, while handing him a run-down menu.
“I would love to hear about the specials,” Eddie knew flattery would get him everywhere.
The waiter described some of the most expensive dishes the place served. Eddie collaborated by ordering one of them. This paved the road to a promising friendship. While the waiter went to share the surprising success with the kitchen, Eddie pulled out a map of the city, the kind you get at the tourism office, more disorienting than helpful, and prepared to strengthen the newfound friendship.
When the waiter returned with a napkin, the silverware, and a basket of bread, he found the patron submerged in the map of the area, his face showing just how lost he was. The waiter smiled and offered to help. Eddie did not let the opportunity go: “Why don’t you explain to me a little bit about the place while I eat,” Eddie said smiling, and added “some information would not hurt a stranger such as I. And when you pour me a pint of beer from the tap, pour a pint for you as well.” His hand gesture ruled out the slight objection. “I insist upon it.” He was answered with a thank you and a wide smile.
When the meal and the beers arrived, the waiter took a seat at his table. Eddie was truly interested in his explanations on the map and out of the blue said, “It’s interesting how easily people recognize strangers.”
“Are you referring to someone specific?” Wondered the waiter, who would never have guessed Eddie was not from there had he not pulled out the map.
“I mean this odd phenomenon of folklore tales…”
“What folklore tales?”
“Oh, forget about it,” Eddie ruled out his own words with a simple hand gesture, but the waiter was already curious.
“You can’t just stop there…you’ve already intrigued my curiosity.”
Eddie looked straight into his eyes. The waiter saw in front of him a nice, hesitant man who does not want to say something that would make a mockery of him. At the end, he seemed to overcome his shyness. “It’s just that a storeowner down the street told me about a gunfight that took place here a few days ago…” he looked at the waiter with an “I told you so” look.
“But I presume he was simply trying to impress the odd tourist. I was just surprised by how quickly he could tell that I wasn’t from here.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if saying, “well, it’s like that everywhere.”
“But he was telling the truth!” The waiter announced.
“Excuse me…?” Now it was Eddie’s turn to seem surprised.
“Yes, he told you the truth. Three days ago, around 10:00 p.m., there was a gunfight right here, in this very place.” The waiter knew he was paying for his beer that way.
Eddie leaned forward, astounded. “Right on this street?”
“On this chair where you’re sitting!” The waiter did not hide his joy in this victory. A true amazement showed on his guest’s face and his hand could not bear to bring the fork all the way from the plate to his mouth.
“And what happened? You have to tell me.”
By now, nothing in the world could stop the waiter from telling the story.
“The man got here around 9:30 p.m. The one who took your seat, I mean. It was my shift and I was in charge of the terrace. He seemed quiet, really normal. A tall guy with glasses, you would never have guessed. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee and asked to make a phone call while waiting. He even specifically asked for the call to be billed to his check.” Eddie could see on the waiter’s face that he did not appreciate that request. “I told him right away that the call was on the house. I brought him our wireless phone and went to take care of his order. When I came ba
ck with his sandwich and coffee a couple of minutes later, he was already done with the talk and started eating. He did not take his time, so to say.”
‘He did not have any time,’ thought Eddie. ‘Eating is a simple operational need: eat whenever you have the chance.’ The waiter paused for a moment and gathered his thoughts. You could see that it was hard for him to say what he was about to say. “I stood by the door there,” he pointed at the exact place where he stood a few minutes earlier, “I had a young couple at the other table who were about to finish and I was ready for them to ask for the check. All of a sudden, a black jeep stopped in front. It had dark windows, and its stopping here seemed weird to me, because this is a no standing zone. A second later, three men came out of the car, all carrying handguns. At first I didn’t notice it, but then I saw it. It was like an action movie and I was kind of shocked. And then they started walking toward me…”
Eddie felt as if he was no longer pretending to seem interested. “And then what happened?”
“There were gunshots. At first I couldn’t see who was shooting, but two of the guys who walked out of the car fell right away. Then the third stood there screaming, he was bleeding real bad. And then the man shot him and he fell.”
He looked at Eddie, who seemed horrified and looked around in fear that they would find themselves in a gunfight again.
The waiter collected himself. “Don’t worry, this is a very safe area. Nothing like this ever happens here. Truth is, no one here really understands what happened, even the police.” ‘Especially the police,’ thought Eddie, who did not bother to correct him.
