Thriller: I Am Sal - A Mystifying Crime Thriller (Thriller, Crime Thriller, Murder Mystery Book 1)

by Abraham Falls

  When they hit the ground, Jackson wasn’t finished, and pounded on Branson’s face a couple of bone-crushing right fists. I snatched up my own weapon, hurried across the floor to pick up Branson’s as well, then ordered Jackson to back off.

  Sal was just standing there, watching everything. As Jackson got up off of the sheriff, I saw Sal look over at me.

  “What now?” Sal asked. I opened my mouth to say something, but I wasn’t sure what it was going to be, so I closed it again. There was no way Branson was ever going to let this go, and I knew it. Even if I gave Sal some kind of head start, Branson knew enough about him that it wouldn’t take long for those government agents to track him down. That would mean dissection, and Sal and I both knew it.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said to him. “Sooner or later, he’s going to get word to the people he’s been talking to, and I don’t see any way to avoid it.”

  “We don’t need to avoid it,” Branson said suddenly. His words were a slur as the bloody mess that was his face moved about. “Decker, come in with me. I’ll split the money with you, that’s a hundred million each. Think about what you could do with that much money.”

  “I could probably keep myself drunk,” I said as I shook my head, “because that’s the only way I could live with myself if I went along with you. I heard what you said, and maybe you don’t think Sal is a person, but I do.”

  “Oh, come on! Don’t take a moral high ground with me! We can split this reward, and who knows, maybe they won’t have to take him apart. Hell, as smart as he is, he can probably tell them how to make more like him. You just work with me, and I’ll split it with you. If you want, we’ll even put it in the contract that they can’t cut him up.”

  I couldn’t help it, I chuckled. “Sheriff, I work for the government. Do you really expect me to believe they would honor a contract? No, this is over. Sal’s going free, and you’re going to prison.”

  Branson was sitting up by this point, leaning on one arm, while the other rested on his bent knee. He looked over at Sal, who was tearing a piece of his own shirt off to make a bandage for Jackson’s shoulder, and without thinking, I followed his eyes. The thought crossed my mind that Sal was probably more human than most of the people I had known in my life. Definitely more so than this excuse for a sheriff sitting in front of me.

  In that moment that I was distracted, Branson moved. Like many cops, he kept a throwaway gun holstered by his ankle. He suddenly snatched it out, pointed it at me and fired. I felt the bullet rip through the flesh along my ribs, just under my right shoulder, and the pain caused me to drop my pistol. I looked back at him in shock, and he stepped over me, pointing the gun to my face. My entire life passed before my eyes, and, surprisingly, in that moment, I didn’t feel a single regret. I was ready. Ready to die for what I believed in. And I knew, deep in my heart, that true justice would still be served. Somehow, someway, Branson would get what was coming to him.

  Branson looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said, “Should’ve taken the deal.”

  Then I heard an explosion.

  Chapter 35

  The gun shook violently in my hand, and I dropped it without thinking. Branson fell back, a look of shock on his face.

  Decker was staring at me wide-eyed, and I stared back. I didn’t even remember lunging for the dropped pistol, nor pulling the trigger. It just felt like a primal instinct. Like a mother protecting her cubs. Or a father protecting his family.

  Branson’s arms went weak, and dropped to the ground beside him as he looked at the hole in his chest. Blood was spraying everywhere, and I knew he wouldn’t make it. One of the things programmed into my head, literally, was the anatomy of the human body. I knew exactly where the bullet went, and what it had ripped through. His artery was now split in two, and it was only a matter of seconds before he would lose consciousness, just like Johnson, and slip into oblivion.

  He raised his head and looked at me, then turned and looked at Decker. A second later, his eyes glazed over, and his entire body went limp.

  Agent Decker grunted up to his feet, and carefully went over to him and felt for a pulse. He shook his head, as there surely was none.

  Sheriff Branson was, finally, dead.

  Chapter 36

  I wrapped Gunner’s shoulder as well as I could, and then turned to look at Decker. The bullet from the sheriff’s gun had just burrowed under the skin along his ribs, but it was bleeding pretty good. I took off my shirt and tore it again, folded a couple of pieces to go over the entry and exit wounds, then used the rest of it to bind them in place.

  “You really heard everything he said?” I asked, and Decker nodded. “Then you know I didn’t kill Johnson, right?”

  Decker grinned. “Actually, I already knew that. I found out yesterday about the robot, and that it was the one who actually killed Deputy Johnson. Unfortunately, you escaped before I could come and tell you. How did that come about, anyway?”

  I shrugged. “I was getting these notes in my lunch tray, from someone who claimed to be able to prove I was innocent and knew who I was. I guess I just got my hopes up, so when they told me to escape and told me exactly how to do it, I went along with it.”

  He looked over at Gunner. “And Jackson? How did he happen to come along?”

  “Well, he kept trying to warn me that it sounded like some kind of a trap, but he knew I wasn’t going to listen. I was too desperate for anything that might prove my innocence, let alone help me figure out who I am. He came along to try to protect me. We figured that if I found out who I was and was able to prove my own innocence, then maybe I can help him not get in so much trouble over this.”

  Decker laughed, but then he winced at the pain that went through his ribs. “Hmmm, I think maybe I won’t be laughing for a little while. As for your Jackson, I think I might be able to pull a few strings. A good reference from a fed, especially one you helped save the life of, should be enough to get you out on early parole.” He put his hand up. “Now, I can’t make any promises,” he advised, “but I’ll sure try my best. That work for you?”

  Gunner grinned widely. “It sure does!” He exclaimed.

  “He’s been a good friend.” I added. Then, I looked at Decker closely. “What about me, Agent Decker? What have you got planned for me?”

  His eyes went wide. “Me? The only thing I’ve got planned for you is taking you in and clearing your name. Now that we know what it is, anyway.”

  I crinkled my eyes and looked at him. “What?”

  “Well, we all heard Branson. Apparently, you are a clone of Mr. John Saldivar. That means you look exactly like him, sound like him, everything. I suspect I know somebody who can tell you everything about him you need to know in order to step right into his shoes, and I think that might be the best plan.”

  “Sounds like a winner to me,” Gunner said. “Seems like the only two who knew about you and wanted to hurt you are dead. Now, only me and this fed know the truth, and I suspect ain’t neither one of us gonna tell anybody. Am I right, Mr. Fed?”

  Decker laughed, and winced again. “Ouch! Oh, I’ve got to stop that. Yes, Mr. Jackson, you are right. I don’t think anyone else needs to know.” He looked up at me. “Do you know anything about these supercomputers?”

  I started to shrug, but then I nodded. “Apparently, I know the theory behind them,” I said, “because I can sort of visualize them in my mind.”

  “Okay, then you won’t be too shocked when I tell you I spent a good part of yesterday talking to one of them. Apparently, John had one set up to run his house and his robot, and it is still hidden somewhere on your property. A girl who works for CSI figured out a way for us to talk to it, even though we don’t know where it is. It told us that you didn’t kill the deputy, and that it did so using the robot. Apparently, it decided that Deputy Johnson was a danger that needed to be eliminated.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “That fits right along with what Branson told us. Even though it still sounds crazy.
Even to me.”

  “No kidding,” he said. “Well, anyway, that computer won’t tell us where it is, but it did tell us that it belongs to you, now. Apparently, John Saldivar intended you to be his heir if anything happened to him, and now it has. The computer is recognizing his intentions, so as far as it is concerned, it and everything else he had now belongs to you.” He grinned. “Incidentally, that probably means that you are now a very wealthy man.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Gunner said with a laugh. “Hey, Bro, can you spot me a few mil? You know I’m good for it,” he said as he winked at me.

  I laughed. “We’ll see about that.” I turned back to Decker. “So, I gather you think this computer can tell me a lot about John, right? Do you really think I can pull it off, pretending to be him?”

  Decker shrugged, but only with his left shoulder. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Branson thought you were him, and when we showed your picture to your neighbors, they all thought you were him. Even your bartender thought you were him. He didn’t really get close to anyone, so I doubt anybody would be able to tell that you’re not the original. Maybe you can take his dreams and run with them, make them come to reality. Or, maybe you’ll come up with dreams of your own. That’s what men do, we dream, and then we either choose to ignore them, or go after them.” He smiled at me. “You seem like the type of guy that won’t be able to sit on his dreams.”

  Decker took out his cell phone and looked closely at it, then grinned. “Three bars,” he said, and then he dialed a number. “Levens, it’s Decker. Yeah, I know how early it is, trust me. Listen, I need you to grab a couple of deputies you trust and come out to this location. Track my GPS to find it, because I don’t have a clue where I’m at. Bring paramedics with you; there are two of us wounded here, and just so you won’t be shocked when you arrive, I’ll tell you now—Sheriff Branson is dead. No, no, I’ll explain it all when I see you. All I can tell you right now is that he was trying to steal something from the man we were calling Sal, him and Johnson. Johnson was killed by a robot, more on that later, but Branson set Sal up with this phony escape thing, by promising to give him proof that he was innocent. Once he caught up to the escapees, though, that’s when the truth came out. Do what? Yes, I know who Sal is now. His real name is John Saldivar.”

  He hung up the phone and turned to me and Gunner. “Okay, gentlemen, we need to make sure our stories all match when they get here. So here’s what I got in mind, you ready? Okay, we tell the truth, all except for the part about how Sal is a computerized clone. We say that Johnson killed another man who was a relative of John’s, and that’s why the robot killed him, and that the shock of it all made John lose his memory for a little while. That way, if they come up with a DNA match, we just claim this guy was a long-lost brother, or something. He just showed up at your house that day, and looked a lot like you, so Johnson thought it was you when he killed him. Are we all clear on that part?”

  I nodded, and Gunner just shook his head. He wouldn’t be involved in that part of the story.

  “Okay, then we say that Branson pretended not to know who you were because he was afraid that his attempts to steal your computers would be exposed, so that’s why he wanted to shut you up, now. He was afraid your memory would come back, and you would be able to tell people what he had been doing. He set up this whole escape so that he could get you out here, and kill you. Your buddy coming along just happened to save all our lives.”

  We all agreed on the stories, and spent the time waiting for help to arrive by practicing them. By the time we had to tell them, we had them down pat.

  The three of us were taken to the hospital, where Decker and Gunner had their makeshift bandages replaced with stitches and proper treatment. Neither of their injuries was serious, but they would both be kept overnight. I was allowed to stay with them, on the assumption that I might be suffering from shock.

  Deputy Levens, after getting Decker’s statement and comparing it to mine and Gunner’s, went to the prosecutor and laid it all out. Since Levens would be serving as the acting sheriff for at least the next year, Mr. Vaughn decided to go along with him and filed a motion in court that afternoon to dismiss all charges against me.

  The news that I was John Saldivar spread like wildfire, and within hours, there were calls and messages coming for me from people who had known John. I wasn’t sure how to respond to any of them, so I asked Decker.

  “I think we need to get you in touch with someone else, first.” He took out his phone and dialed another number. “John? You got Chloe around there somewhere? Good. Bring her and her computer and transmitter out to the hospital, there’s somebody here I need you both to meet.” He hung up and looked at me. “The two people you’re about to meet are aware that you are not the real John Saldivar, but trust me when I say that they’ll keep your secret. I suspect they’ll know who you really are, but again, I don’t believe either of them will ever say a word.”

  I had to trust him, because there was no other choice. When a man and woman arrived a short time later, Decker introduced us. “John Saldivar, I’d like you to meet John Armstrong and Chloe Miller. They work with Montana CSI, and Chloe is the computer expert there. Chloe, can you get our friend on the line again?”

  The girl set up her computer on Decker’s table and begin typing. A moment later, some text suddenly appeared on the screen.

  Hello, again, Chloe.

  The girl typed another message, saying that “Sal” was with her and wanted to meet.

  Please allow Sal access to the keyboard.

  She motioned, and I stepped up to the computer. I didn’t know what to do, so I simply typed, “Hello.”

  Hello, Sal. Q RT-774494653.

  Suddenly, I felt as though I were somehow connected to something bigger than myself. In my head, I heard a voice speak to me.

  “Hello, Sal. I am LJM-RBT-A2. Our Creator called me Bobbie.”

  “Oh, um, hello, Bobbie. I am Sal.”

  “Sal, are you aware that our Creator is deceased?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “In the event of his demise, I am instructed to upload to you all of his personal files and research. Prepare to receive upload.”

  I don’t know how I was supposed to prepare to receive the upload, but I never got a chance. It was more like, Boom, here’s a whole bunch of information to cram into your head. It seemed to go on for several minutes, as Bobbie transferred to me all of John Saldivar’s personal notes, anecdotes about his life and childhood, lamentations about the loss of his wife and children, ideas and plans for his inventions, including me, and so much more. I suddenly knew almost everything about him, even down to his favorite colors, favorite music, everything. I had images installed in my memory, so that I now knew what his wife and children had looked like, his parents, all of his friends and closest business associates. If I ran into one of them on the street, I would know them instantly, and would know a great deal about them, such as their spouse’s name, the names of their children, and more.

  When the upload was complete, Bobbie told me where to find her, in the pump house where no one had looked. The computer that was Bobbie’s consciousness was tucked inside a fuse box in the pump house, along with the transmitter and receiver it needed in order to operate the robot and communicate over distance. She told me about the car, and how to activate James, the computer that controlled it.

  In reality, the transfer of information had taken only a matter of seconds, and then I was back in the hospital room with Decker and the others. We sat down and explained to Armstrong and Chloe what was going on, and received their enthusiastic support. Both of them were fascinated with my existence, although Armstrong seemed more interested in the biological aspects of my creation, while Chloe was full of curiosity about my computer brain. They each gave me a phone number, encouraging me to call any time.

  I continued to stay in the hospital for another day, but then told Gunner and Decker that I needed to go. They wer
e both confused when I mentioned it, but I told them I’d be in touch soon, and that I just needed to focus on a few things on my own for a little bit. I could tell they both wanted more information, but also probably realized what I had just gone through was a lot to take in. Not to mention the brain dump I had just received and was still sorting through.

  In reality, though, I just needed some space. A few moments of clarity to figure out who, or what, I truly was. I wanted to explain this to them, as I seriously had grown very attached to both Decker and Gunner, but knew that they would say the same things that I simply just didn’t feel. Kind of like when your mom tells you you’re beautiful. She’s not lying, but it’s tough to believe her because you know she has a bias in the matter.

  Anyways, I just needed some space. Some time. I wasn’t sure how much, though. I had already planned to send some money over to Decker to work on Gunner’s case. Gunner had explained what had really happened to him, and Decker mentioned that he might be able to get him off the hook without “ratting” out his cousin. All he would need to do was go back and prove Gunner’s innocence, but didn’t need to mention who really did the crime. In order to do this, he would have to go back into the lab and find more scientific forensics that disqualified Gunner from being the killer. This way, they could get Gunner off without having to provide a new suspect.

  I also planned to send over a good amount to Gunner’s wife and kids. They deserved it, and so did Gunner.

  Eventually I would come back, and get in contact with them again. Who knows, maybe me and Gunner might end up living next to each other? I mean, I had never had a better roomie than that guy.