Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "I can work in the dishroom," Dave nodded obligingly, though he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of spending the evening up to his elbows in slop. "Who was supposed to work back there, anyway?"

  "Um, Larry," said Mr. Wyland.

  Dave's eyes widened with surprise. "Really?" he said, straining not to sound too startled. "He didn't call in or anything?"

  "No," the boss answered curtly. "He didn't even have the common courtesy to let me know." With an irritated snort, Mr. Wyland looked away, glaring in the general direction of the customer chute; then, he flicked his eyes back to gaze intently at Dave. "Um, Dave?" he said curiously. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea why he's not here, would you? I know you and Billy are friends of his."

  "No," shrugged Dave. "I don't have any idea." In truth, of course, he did have an idea about the cause of Larry's unexplained absence. Knowing what he did, Dave thought that it was rather easy to guess at Larry's reason for not coming to work.

  The day after confessing his most carefully guarded secrets, Larry Smith hadn't shown up for his shift at the steakhouse. After a night in which he'd made unprecedented revelations, placed dangerous knowledge in the hands of a college kid with only his promise as guarantee of confidentiality, Larry hadn't come to labor in the dishroom. Dave didn't think that it took a genius to figure out why.

  He didn't think that Larry Smith would be back to work any time soon; for that matter, the guy might never return to the Wild West Steakhouse.

  Dave had a strong feeling that Larry the psychic was already out on the road, getting as far away from Confluence as he could. At that moment, he was probably in Ohio, or West Virginia, or New York, escaping the one person who knew enough to expose him to the world...the one person who could ruin his vital work and make his life more miserable than it already was.

  As he pondered the possibility that Larry was gone for good, Dave experienced a resurgence of the shame which he'd felt the night before; he hated to think that he was responsible for driving the guy off, forcing him to make an unannounced getaway. At the same time, Dave also had a feeling of great disappointment; if Larry was indeed on the run, Dave wouldn't have the chance to make up for his troublesome prying, make amends for the pain which he'd caused. He would also be robbed of the opportunity to get to know Larry better, to enjoy his company without constantly seeking clues to his secrets.

  Mr. Wyland loudly cleared his throat, giving Dave a start; judging from the expectant look on the manager's face, Dave guessed that he must have missed something that Wyland had said. "Uh, what?" he dumbly asked the boss.

  "I, um, asked if you know some other way to get in touch with Larry," Mr. Wyland said stiffly. "I called the phone number in his file, but there wasn't any answer. Is there another number you know of?"

  Dave shook his head. Briefly, he wondered why there had been no answer at the number listed in the file, which Larry had told him was the number of the bar beneath his room; he concluded that the bar was probably empty at that hour, wouldn't open until later that night.

  Then, he suddenly realized the import of Mr. Wyland's look at the file...the unorthodox, incomplete personnel file of Larry Smith.

  If Mr. Wyland had been into the file, he had no doubt noticed its lack of appropriate paperwork. If he had noticed the lack of paperwork, he'd certainly realized that something was wrong, that crucial corners had been cut for unknown reasons; if he realized that, then Larry Smith would definitely not be able to return to the Wild West Steakhouse.

  If Larry ever came back, Fred Wyland would naturally confront him about the file, ask him why it didn't contain the proper forms. Larry could make up a story, perhaps blame Tom Martin for the breach of regulations; however, Mr. Wyland might not believe the story, might just fire Larry on the spot...or, he might think that Larry had been an accomplice in Martin's embezzlement. Martin had hired Larry; the fact that Larry's file didn't contain what it should might suggest a cover-up, a partnership between the two men. If Larry returned, and Wyland suspected that he'd been in cahoots with Martin, Wyland might not only fire the guy, but get him into serious trouble as well. Whatever complications might arise, Dave was sure that Larry would want to avoid them at all costs.

  Dave wondered if Mr. Wyland would comment on the file, make some mention of its abnormality. The manager, however, said nothing more about it; he told Dave that he ought to get started in the dishroom, that Billy would handle the fry cook station as well as the broiler, and then he marched off to attend to other business. Whatever his thoughts on the file, he was keeping them to himself for now.

  With a sigh, Dave retreated to the dishroom; as soon as he entered the place, he saw that it really was a mess, just as Mr. Wyland had told him. There were bus pans everywhere, stacked on every available surface, each one overflowing with slop and dirty dishes. Cups and mugs were piled high in the sinks, silverware was scattered over the floor; apparently, someone had dropped a whole jar of French dressing, for there was a huge, orange burst on the floor, too.

  For a moment, Dave just stood by the door and surveyed the wreckage before him. He slowly shook his head, realizing with dismay that he faced an arduous evening's work; it would take him a very long time to restore the dishroom to a semblance of order, and he knew that the dirty dishes and slop would just keep flowing from the dining room. It was highly unlikely that there would be any slowdown in business from that point on, since the dinner hour was swiftly approaching.

  Even with another person to assist him, Dave would have been hard-pressed to clear away the mess and keep up with the demand for clean dishes during a dinner rush. Alone, he would have to work like a maniac, and he would probably not have any breathing room until the steakhouse finally closed for the night. There was no doubt about it: Dave was in for one hell of an evening.

  Of course, he realized, it could have been worse. If he was facing such a staggering workload on a Friday or Saturday night, when the steakhouse was far busier, he would be in truly dire straits. If it had been a Friday or Saturday instead of a Wednesday, he would have found himself caught up in a maelstrom of far greater intensity.

  As he began his new labors, Dave tried to focus on the fact that his situation could have been worse; digging into the first bus pan-load of slop, he tried valiantly to remain upbeat, keep his spirits from sinking.

  He failed. His hectic and unpleasant assignment inevitably dragged him down; the vigor which had filled him throughout the day was sucked away like water down a drain.

  As he grew busier, he grew more depressed. Scooping slop from the bus pans, hurling racks of plates and cups and silverware through the dishwasher, he remembered how much he hated working at the steakhouse, how nights like this always made him want to quit. Soaked with sweat and spray from the steaming machine, he wished that he was somewhere else, anywhere else.

  As he raced around in a hopeless struggle to conquer the mess, he also thought about Larry Smith. He wondered if the tragic psychic had indeed bailed out for good, and if he had, if his departure was Dave's fault. He wondered what Larry would do next, where he would go, whom he would try to help...if he would try to help anyone at all.

  Dave wondered if he would ever see Larry again, if he would ever in his life cross paths with the guy who had so mystified him.

  He hoped that he would.

  *****

  By the time that he'd finished work and driven home, Dave Heinrich was thoroughly exhausted. The murderous shift in the dishroom had taken everything out of him, completely worn him out. His whole body ached, especially his arms and legs; he felt woozy and slow, as if he might instantly fall asleep if he closed his eyes, no matter what his position or location. To top it all off, he was still wearing his soaked, filthy uniform; he'd been too tired at the end of his shift to change into his street clothes, had just wanted to get out of the steakhouse as quickly as possible.

  It was an inauspicious way to end what had started as such a grand day. When he'd awakened that morning, he'd been peppy a
nd cheerful, refreshed and optimistic...and when he pulled into the driveway of his family's home, he was weary and doleful, sodden and sour. All the energy and lightheartedness had been wrung out of him like juice from an orange.

  As he ponderously marched to the front door of the house, he could think of only one thing...collapsing into bed. There would be no TV-watching, no reading, no phone calls; he didn't have the strength to pursue any activity save slumber.

  He was consoled by the fact that he could sleep as long as he wished, as long as he needed. There would be no reason for him to rise early the next morning, for he'd taken his last exam and had no more classes to attend. For that matter, he wouldn't have to rise late, for he didn't have to work at the steakhouse the next day...and, in fact, there was absolutely nothing on his agenda for that day, not even the smallest errand.

  Bleary-eyed, Dave unlocked and opened the front door, dumped his keys into the pocket of his coat. Sluggishly, he staggered into the house, let out a long, exhausted sigh as he pulled the door shut.

  After locking the door, Dave turned and saw that his mother and father were still awake: Ann Heinrich was sitting on the sofa, legs stretched out along its length, and Bob Heinrich occupied the recliner. Lit only by the bluish glow of the TV, on which the late news was playing, Dave's parents had an eerie, shadowy cast, like fish in a dimly lit tank.

  "Hi," Mom said pleasantly. "How was work?"

  "Oh, pretty busy," sighed Dave, dropping his knapsack of clothing to the floor.

  "Had to stay late, huh?" said Dad.

  "Yeah," nodded Dave, unzipping his coat. "Somebody didn't show up, so they needed me to close the dishroom. I was only supposed to work till eight, but I ended up stuck there till after eleven." Dave shrugged out of his coat, tossed it onto a chair near the door. He stooped to pick up his knapsack, then had to pause as a lion's-roar yawn surged out of him.

  "You look like you're bushed," commented Dad. "It must've been a rough night, all right."

  "Sure was," Dave said weakly. "I just wanna' hit the sack."

  "Would you like me to get you a cup of tea, maybe?" asked Mom, raising a cup which she'd been holding in her lap.

  "No, thanks," said Dave. "I'm going straight to bed." Plucking his knapsack from the shag carpeting, he started to plod toward his room.

  "Oh, by the way," pitched Dad then, stopping Dave before he'd taken three steps. "One of your buddies from work stopped by this evening."

  "Oh yeah?" Dave said listlessly. "Who was it? Ernie or Boris?"

  "No, no," dismissed Bob Heinrich, scratching a spot on his bald pate. "It wasn't anyone I'd ever met before. It was an older guy."

  Dave shrugged.

  "He was a really nice guy," said Dad. "He had a lot of good things to say about you." A pleased smile surfaced on Bob Heinrich's face, and he chuckled. "You know, he came to see you, and he ended up staying and talking to us. He's a real talker, I'll tell ya'. He was about my age, too, wouldn't you say, Ann?"

  "I'd say so," agreed Mom. "He looked like he was in his forties."

  "I think that's really something," grinned Dad. "You having a friend who's about as old as me. Makes me feel like I'm not quite as over-the-hill as you guys make me out to be."

  Dave's jaw dropped.

  Realization had finally hit him. His parents had practically had to pound the message into his tired, murky mind, punch it in with a sledgehammer...but at last, he understood.

  He knew who had been to his home.

  All thought of hurrying to bed blew out of his brain. All his attention was suddenly focused on one thing, drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet.

  The visitor; he could think only of the visitor.

  He didn't know why he'd been there, but he knew his name.

  "Larry," he said softly. "Larry Smith was here."

  "Yeah, that's him," Dad nodded cheerfully. "Larry Smith. Real interesting guy. He said he's been all over the world."

  "I guess he hasn't been working with you for very long, huh?" said Mom, lifting her cup for a sip of tea.

  "No, he hasn't," answered Dave. One question stood out in his mind, rose up like the steeple of a church from a low-lying village: why had Larry been there?

  Possible answers fluttered down and danced about like butterflies; he chased them, one at a time.

  The first and most sensible explanation: Larry had come to see him one last time before leaving town, had come to say goodbye.

  "Did he say why he wanted to see me?" Dave asked his parents.

  "Not that I can remember," replied Bob Heinrich. "Did he tell you?" he asked his wife.

  "No, he didn't," said Ann. "He asked for you, but he didn't say what he was here for. When he left, he just said he'd get back to you later."

  Apparently, there had been no goodbyes; it didn't even sound as if Larry was set to skip town, since he'd suggested that he would see Dave again. The first explanation didn't seem satisfactory.

  The second, still feasible, answer: Larry had come for the video. Since Larry didn't know that the video didn't exist, and such an item, if it did exist, could do him great harm, it was only logical that he might try to confiscate it. Perhaps, he'd hoped that Dave would hand it over as a goodwill gesture; perhaps, he'd planned to wrest it forcibly from Dave's possession.

  "Did Larry say anything about a video?" Dave asked his parents.

  "Uh...no," said Dad, frowning thoughtfully. "What kind of video?"

  "Any kind of video," said Dave.

  Bob Heinrich stared at his wife, tapped his forehead as if that would spur his memory. "Do you remember anything about a video?" he asked Ann.

  "No, I don't," said Mom. "I don't remember him mentioning anything about a video."

  "Me, neither," chimed Dad.

  "What is this video, anyway?" Mom asked curiously.

  "Oh, just a video I have," Dave replied nonchalantly. "He said he wanted to borrow it sometime, and I thought maybe that was what he was here for."

  "Well, he didn't mention it," confirmed Dad.

  Though Dave couldn't discount the second explanation, he had a feeling that it didn't fit the bill. If Larry had come for the video, how could he have resisted inquiring about it, trying to maneuver the unsuspecting Ann and Bob into locating and surrendering it?

  The third explanation: Larry had been seeking Dave's assistance in preventing one of his visions from being realized. The night before, Dave had offered to help if Larry ever thought that he could be of use; though he couldn't act personally to change the future, since he knew Larry's secret, Dave guessed that he could still guide someone else to intervene and stop one of the "flashes" from coming true. Maybe, Larry had another "flash" that he wished to neutralize; maybe, he'd visited the house in order to procure Dave's help in the task.

  "You're sure he didn't say why he wanted to see me?" Dave asked his parents.

  "Yeah," nodded Dad. "He didn't say a thing about it."

  "He just said he'd get back to you," offered Mom, placing her cup on the coffee table beside the sofa.

  "Did he say exactly when that would be?" pressed Dave.

  "No," replied Mom. "Just later."

  From what his parents were telling him, Dave couldn't judge if Larry had come to the house seeking help. It was possible; Larry was so secretive, he probably wouldn't divulge such a mission, wouldn't dole out even the vaguest of clues to anyone but Dave. Still, there was just no way that Dave could know, no way that he could confirm his speculation with nothing to go on but his parents' report.

  He considered the fourth explanation. It was the last theory that he could think of, the only other way that he could explain Larry's visit.

  He didn't like this last explanation. He didn't like it one bit.

  Its implications were terrifying. He tried to hastily dismiss it, come up with a reason to invalidate it...and yet, the more that he thought about it, the more solid it seemed. He tried to put it out of his mind, but it quickly eclipsed the other explanations which he'd c
onsidered. Perhaps, it was no more logical than any of the other theories...but the implications if it was true were staggering.

  The fourth explanation: Larry had been to the house to try to prevent something bad from happening...something that he'd foreseen...something that involved Dave's family.

  Maybe, Larry had had another "flash," one that featured Dave's mother or father or brother...or Dave himself. Maybe, Larry had been warned of some impending calamity, some tragedy which was destined to befall a member of the family...or the entire family. Though he couldn't directly intervene, and he rarely had luck in saving people by using their kin, maybe Larry had been making a last-ditch effort, a desperate bid to thwart fate.

  Maybe, something terrible was about to happen, and Larry knew it.

  Maybe, someone was going to die...and Larry knew it.

  A cold, sick feeling was growing in Dave's gut.

  "So, uh, what did you guys talk about?" he asked his parents.

  "Oh, all kinds of things," said Mom. "He told us about the steakhouse and how much he enjoys working with you and the gang."

  "He told us about some of the pranks you guys play at work, too," said Dad, mock disapproval in his tone but a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "He said he's even been to Billy's trailer for some of those parties."

  "I told him I'm glad that there's finally someone at those parties to watch out for you wild kids," Mom added teasingly.

  "What else did you talk about?" asked Dave, fishing for a clue, hoping that Larry had said something which had prefigured the misfortune which might lay ahead.

  "Well, he told us about his travels," reported Dad. "He told us stories about some of the places he's been to. He's really been around the world, hasn't he?"

  Dave nodded.

  "He told us how much he likes the area," supplied Mom. "He said this is one of the nicer places he's lived recently."