Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Squinting, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes, Dave nodded once in greeting. "Hey," he said, fighting to keep his voice calm though his heart was pounding. "Hope I didn't get you in the middle of something."

  "Well, not really," said Larry, keeping one brawny hand on the doorknob. "I was just getting ready to hit the sack."

  As his eyes became accustomed to the glare, Dave could see the guy more clearly. Larry wore his usual bluejeans and sleeveless black T-shirt; he was frowning, perhaps in puzzlement over the unexpected visit. "Well, could you spare a few minutes?" Dave said tentatively. "I need to talk to you about something."

  "Go ahead," shrugged Larry. "I'm listening."

  "I'd, uh...I'd rather discuss it upstairs," said Dave, lowering his hand from his eyes. "It's pretty important, y'know?"

  Larry's frown deepened. "I really have to get some sleep," he said. "What exactly do you want to talk to me about?"

  Sighing, Dave scuffed his feet on the sidewalk. "I don't want to discuss it down here," he said. "It's really important."

  Leaning out of the doorway, Larry coolly looked around. "There's nobody out here," he said. "Whatever it is, you can tell me right here."

  "I can't talk about it down here," persisted Dave, trying to sound forceful. "It's just too important. Somebody might walk by or come out of the bar and they'd hear."

  "Nobody's gonna' come back here," Larry told him chidingly.

  "No," Dave said flatly. "We need privacy. Believe me, when you hear what I've got to say, you'll understand."

  Larry snorted and wagged his head. "Geez," he clucked sarcastically. "What're you doing here, kid? Playing secret agent or something?"

  "Look," Dave said grimly. "I'm not playing games, Larry. I need to talk to you about something serious, and I need to do it in private." Well aware that he posed no physical threat to Larry, that the guy could easily flick him away and slam the door shut in an instant, Dave attempted to face him down. In the back of his mind, he worried about what Larry could do to him if he were provoked, how much damage those massive arms of his could inflict...but he was dead-set on having his way, would risk a thrashing to get what he wanted.

  Larry sighed and rolled his eyes. "So what is it you want to talk to me about?" he drawled. "What's so serious that you can't tell me right here?"

  Dave swallowed. He fixed his faze unflinchingly to Larry's, maintained a stony, challenging glare. "Let's go up to your room," he said coldly. "We'll talk about it there."

  For a moment, Larry stared at him, and his expression changed; his frown of annoyance shifted to a scowl of extreme displeasure. "No," he said, folding his arms over his broad chest. "I don't have time for this nonsense. If you have something to say, then say it. Otherwise, let me get some sleep."

  Dave stood his ground. He hadn't expected such an early impasse, hadn't thought that Larry would turn him away before hearing him out, but he wasn't ready to surrender.

  He decided that it was time to play his first card. He'd hoped to save it, use it later for maximum shock value, but he now realized that it was probably his only ticket to Larry's sanctum.

  "I'm going to the police," said Dave. "If you won't do as I ask, I'm going straight to the police."

  A cruel smirk curled across Larry's face. "Why is that?" he asked condescendingly.

  "You were at Martin's last night," said Dave. "I saw you."

  Larry's expression didn't change; he was giving away nothing, not even the dimmest flicker of surprise. "I wasn't at Martin's," he said coolly.

  "Yes you were," nodded Dave. "You were there from before eleven-thirty to three in the morning. You drove a green station wagon."

  "I don't have a green station wagon," said Larry. "You must have seen somebody else."

  "It was you," declared Dave. "How do you think the cops will react when I tell them you were with Martin the night he killed himself? Don't you think they'll be interested?"

  Larry just shrugged. "I don't think they'll care," he said. "I think they'll ask you what drugs you've been taking."

  "I saw you," pressed Dave. "I was watching the whole time."

  "You been following me around?" Larry asked calmly.

  "No," said Dave. "I just happened to be there the same time you were."

  "Well, if you'd been following me around, you'd know I wasn't at Martin's last night. I was at work, and then I was here."

  Dave began to realize that he wasn't getting anywhere, that his revelation hadn't intimidated Larry one bit. "You were at Mr. Martin's house last night," he continued, straining to rethink his strategy. "I did see you there."

  Abruptly, Larry broke into a wide grin. "Wait a minute," he said slowly, strange good humor in his tone. "I get it. This is a joke, isn't it? You and Billy are trying to put one over on me, huh?"

  "It's no joke," Dave stated evenly. "Billy has nothing to do with this."

  Leaning further out of the doorway, Larry looked past Dave, peered into the darkness. "Son of a bitch," Larry cooed amusedly. "I'll bet the gang's out there right now, hiding behind those trees or something." Chuckling, he raised a hand and waved at the night. "All right, you goofballs," he called blithely. "You got me!"

  "There's no one out there," Dave insisted. "You know this isn't a joke. You know you were at Martin's last night." Desperately, he tried to think of a way to puncture Larry's glib defenses. He'd really believed that by confronting the guy with the knowledge of his activities at Martin's, he would sufficiently startle him, catch him off-guard...but the bombshell had turned out to be a dud; if Dave didn't soon come up with something more effective, he would soon end up trundling home empty-handed in defeat.

  "Okay, guys!" called Larry, nodding and waving at the nonexistent observers. "You've had your laugh! Now go on home! Game's over!" Shooting his arm high in a final salute, he chuckled and stepped back, pulling the door along with him. "That was a good one, Dave," he said roguishly. "Now I gotta' get some sleep. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

  His mind working fiercely, Dave hesitated. Eyes fixed on the door as it slowly drifted toward the frame, he frantically groped for inspiration, the elusive key that would sweep aside Larry's smug evasions.

  "Take it easy," said Larry as he retreated into the building. "See you later."

  The door kept moving; a few more inches and it would be closed.

  Dave's heart walloped like a dying fish in his chest. He knew that if he let that door shut, he might never have another opportunity to learn the truth.

  The door kept moving. The few seconds of its travel seemed to take forever.

  Suddenly, Dave lunged forward.

  Catching the doorknob with both hands, he heaved it back. The move took Larry by surprise, for he was unable to hold on from the other side; the doorknob was wrenched from his grip and the door flew wide open.

  As the heavy door swung away and crashed against the wall, Dave jumped forward and fixed himself squarely in the doorway. If Larry wanted to make another grab for the door, he would now have to first physically remove Dave. Dave hoped that it wouldn't come to that; he had an idea.

  "Listen to me!" he shouted as Larry whipped around to face him. "You were there! You were there and I can prove it!"

  Larry glowered at him. The teasing glibness had fled from his face; his eyes were wide and angry, his features crumpled in a snarl.

  "I have it on video, damnit!" lied Dave. "It's all on video! I recorded you walking into Martin's house, and I got you walking out again! The camera put the time and date on there, too!"

  Larry said nothing. His expression remained unchanged.

  "I'm serious here!" barked Dave. "I had a video camera with me in the car, and I shot you going in and out of the house with it! I borrowed the camera from a friend of mine at school, just to play around with it, and I had to drop something off at Mr. Martin's house, and then I saw you pulling in the driveway!" The words rushed out of him like water from a garden hose; he was amazed at how easily the lies came to him. "I saw you, and
I parked down the street, and then I decided to try out the camera because I wanted to see how well it worked at night."

  Pausing, Dave searched Larry's face for a reaction. The guy just loomed silently before him, hunched and scowling threateningly.

  "I recorded you going in," continued Dave, "and then I waited for you to come out. I wondered what you were doing there, since you said you didn't like Mr. Martin, so I wanted to see when you left. It took a long time, but the lights in the house finally went off and you walked out. I got you on video and then I went home and didn't think much about it...and then today, I heard that Mr. Martin killed himself!" Dave paused for an instant and took a deep breath.

  There was still no change in Larry; he just stood, watched, listened, looked dangerous.

  "The video's at home," said Dave. "If you won't talk to me upstairs, I'm gonna' go get it right now and take it to the cops. I'll give it to them tonight!"

  Larry continued to glare, giving no sign of how Dave's report had affected him. There was no clear emotion in his stony expression aside from the anger that he'd been showing since Dave had hurled open the door.

  Dave had absolutely no idea what would happen next. As he reviewed the lies that he'd spun, he realized how far-fetched they were; he didn't know if Larry would believe that he'd just happened to be at Martin's house at the right time with a video camera, that he'd been able to record Larry coming and going through a stroke of pure luck. Still, Dave hoped that his fabrication would work, that the mere mention of an incriminating video would be enough to make Larry worry and overlook the story's flimsiness.

  Dave concentrated on his goal, focused all of his will on persuading Larry to admit him to his room. Getting upstairs, Dave believed, was crucial; he wanted complete privacy for the questioning, didn't want any distractions or unexpected passers-by to interrupt once things got rolling (if they got rolling). There was, of course, the chance that a confrontation in the confines of the room might be disastrous, might give Larry more freedom to resort to violence...but Dave still felt that the interrogation would go more smoothly if privacy was assured.

  Larry was still silent, still glaring inscrutably. A moment passed, then another, and still he made no move. Unblinkingly, he held fast to the threshold, perhaps hoping to drive off his unwanted guest with sheer unresponsiveness.

  The lack of reaction was indeed exhausting Dave's patience. "I have the video," he said finally, trying to rouse his opponent. "Like I said, it has the time and date on it. It proves you were there."

  Larry said nothing, did nothing but stand there.

  "If you don't want me to talk to the police," continued Dave, "then let's go upstairs and we'll talk about it there. That's all I ask."

  Larry's eyes narrowed to furtive slits. Dave couldn't tell if the guy was trying to gauge his truthfulness and resolve or was just sizing him up for an assault.

  For a long moment, there was complete silence. Larry remained in his implacable shell, and Dave had nothing left to say. The two of them stood there, staring at each other, their misleading stillness giving no hint of the struggle between them.

  Dave was so intent on holding Larry's gaze that at first he didn't notice when the guy reached for him. By the time that he caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye, it was too late for him to duck or twist out of the way.

  As Larry's hand swept toward him, Dave made what he knew was a hopeless attempt to dodge. He sucked in his breath, expecting the painful impact of a powerful fist.

  Dave was surprised when the blow that he'd anticipated didn't come. Instead of exploding against his skull, the hand plunged onto his shoulder and dug in with a tight grip.

  Instinctively, Dave swung his head around to locate the other hand, assuming that Larry was just holding him in place for the real bombardment. Again, he was surprised; Larry's other hand was at rest, at his side, not even crimped into a fist.

  Eyes wide, betraying his fear and surprise, Dave gaped at Larry's face. Though the guy still appeared to be angry, he didn't display the full, feral snarl of someone enraged enough to turn violent.

  "All right," Larry said then in a low, slow voice. "You want to go upstairs and talk so bad, let's go upstairs and talk."

  Heart thundering, body burning with adrenaline, Dave nodded.

  Turning away, Larry released Dave's shoulder and started up the stairs. "Shut the door," he commanded. "Make sure it's locked."

  Dazed and shaky, Dave stepped over the threshold. He shut the door.

  He made sure that it was locked.

  *****

  Larry's room was just as empty as the last time that Dave had seen it. In one corner, there was a cot; in another corner, there was a small table and a chair. A khaki duffel bag and a beaten pair of sneakers rested in a third corner; a pot and a hot plate occupied the table.

  As Larry admitted him to the cramped and barren quarters, Dave realized that nothing new had been brought into the place. Quickly scanning the premises, he looked for alterations, details which had changed or which he hadn't noticed before. He found nothing of interest; the room was as frustratingly vacant and unrevealing as it had been before.

  Without closing the door, Larry walked to the table and leaned against it. Arms crossed, he faced Dave with an impenetrable stare, a cold gaze which exuded no trace of emotion. If he was worried or annoyed or furious, he gave no sign of it; he was there, he was ready to listen, and that was all that he would divulge.

  "Okay," Larry said calmly. "You wanted to talk, so talk."

  "All right," nodded Dave, and he sighed, looked away for a moment as he collected his thoughts. To say the least, he felt acutely uncomfortable; everything was now on the line and he didn't want to make a mistake, didn't want to say the wrong thing.

  "You were at Mr. Martin's last night," he began. "I'd like to know what you were doing there."

  "Why do you think I was there?" asked Larry, as cool and indecipherable as ever.

  "I think you knew that Mr. Martin was going to kill himself," Dave said evenly. "I think you knew about it the same way you knew Boris was going to try to commit suicide."

  "What exactly do you mean by that?" asked Larry.

  "You predicted it," said Dave. "You knew what was going to happen before it happened. Did you go to Martin's house to try to stop him?"

  "What makes you think I predicted his suicide?" asked Larry. "What makes you think I knew what Boris was going to do?"

  "Because it's the only explanation that makes sense," said Dave. "The night Boris tried to kill himself, you were the only one who had any idea what he was up to. You hardly even knew the guy, but you kept saying how depressed he was, how we oughtta' keep an eye on him. Then, you took me to the exact spot where he was hiding, at the exact moment when he was going to blow his brains out. I don't think that was any more of a coincidence than the fact that you just happened to turn up at Mr. Martin's place the same night he cut his throat."

  Larry cocked his head to one side, thoughtfully narrowed his eyes. "Why couldn't those things be coincidences?"

  "I can't believe they were both due to luck," declared Dave, shaking his head. "Both times, you were at just the right place when something terrible was about to happen. I mean, if it had just happened once, I might not have given it a second thought, but twice is too much to be a coincidence."

  "Why?" shrugged Larry.

  Dave wondered if Larry would ever give him a straight answer or if the guy would just keep deflecting every question with a question of his own. "Those weren't the only times when you predicted what was going to happen. There were other times, too."

  "Like when?" asked Larry. "What other times?"

  "Like when I was busted for taking chocolate milk. That one night, out at Billy's trailer, Billy and I were telling you about how we always sneak food at work. We said we could trust everyone not to turn us in, but you kept warning us that we should watch out for the people at work. The very next day, Mr. Wyland called me in his
office and said that somebody told him I was stealing chocolate milk. It turned out that Peggy Kutz turned me in, and I'd thought I could trust her. You warned me about something like that happening, and the very next day it happened!"

  "That certainly doesn't prove anything," said Larry. "If I gave you some advice, that doesn't mean I knew what would happen the next day."

  At first, Dave was annoyed by Larry's dismissal of the chocolate milk incident; he quickly realized, however, that he'd just made a bit of progress, the tiniest bit. Though Larry hadn't specifically confirmed that he remembered warning Dave, he hadn't denied it, either. When Dave had asked him about the incident before, Larry had claimed not to have any memory of it.

  Slightly encouraged, Dave pressed on. "The same night Boris tried to kill himself, we were all sitting around Billy's kitchen, and Jeff Tressler came in and griped about how far away he had to park. Do you remember that?"

  Larry nodded.

  "Anyway," continued Dave, "you seemed really interested in the way we all parked out along the road. You asked all kinds of questions about the parking, and you wanted to know if the local cops ever gave us any trouble over it. Then, a little later on, a cop actually showed up to complain about how we were all parked along the road. That was kind of incredible, don't you think? We never had any problem like that, and all of a sudden, right after you mentioned it, a cop knocked on the door."

  Larry shrugged. "Doesn't strike me as unusual," he said. "Sounds like a 'speak of the devil' sort of thing. Speak of the devil, and he'll appear."

  Again, Dave was slightly buoyed, for Larry hadn't denied his role in the incident. When Dave had tried to discuss it with him before, Larry had said that he hadn't been the one who had asked about parking by the road; he'd insisted that someone else had questioned the parking arrangements.