Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Ultimately, contacting Billy had proved far easier than getting him to come to the house. He'd been scheduled to work that morning and had resisted Dave's pleas for him to call the steakhouse and feign illness; Billy hadn't wanted to call in sick, for it would have been difficult for Mr. Wyland to round up a replacement for him at the last minute. In addition to his reluctance to miss work, Billy had been skeptical about Dave's wild claims, Dave's reasons for wanting him to hurry to the house. Since he'd been in a rush to get off the phone before his parents awakened, Dave had given only a partial explanation; he'd said that there was an emergency, that he had final proof that Larry was psychic, that he thought that Larry had foreseen disaster for his family. Billy hadn't seemed convinced that Dave was in his right mind, and he'd seemed irritated by his friend's strange demands.

  After several minutes of frantic begging and wheedling, Dave had heard the beeping of his parents' alarm clock. He'd made a last, desperate plea, beseeching Billy to help him in the name of friendship, if for no other reason. Escaping to his room just as his mother and father had emerged from theirs, Dave had nervously waited and prayed for his friend's acquiescence. He'd tried to think of what he would do if Billy didn't show up, and he'd dreaded the potentially deadly day ahead.

  In the end, though, Billy had come through, as he almost always did. Still peevish and skeptical, hiding only some of his displeasure at Dave's inconvenient entreaties, Billy had appeared on the doorstep just a little after nine o'clock...the time at which Dave had begged him to be there, when his family had all departed for work and school.

  Dave had told his friend the whole story then, sparing no details. At first, Billy had remained staunchly skeptical...but gradually, as Dave had unfolded his tale, Billy had seemed to become more convinced. When he'd heard about Boris' stab at self-destruction, Billy had reacted with surprise and disbelief; he'd also been taken aback when he'd learned of Larry's appearance at Martin's house. Each bit of evidence that Dave had presented had seemed to sap more of Billy's resistance, reduce his efforts to poke holes in the incredible story. By the time that Dave had finished telling all that he knew, Billy had seemed largely won over; he still expressed doubts about Larry's claims of psychic prowess, but he accepted that Larry was involved in some kind of dark business which might be threatening Dave and his family.

  And so, with Billy brought up to date and into Dave's camp, the two friends were now brainstorming, trying to decide how to handle the situation. Of the two, Billy was the most rational and collected; Dave was in a virtual panic, pacing and fretting, worrying that something terrible might be happening to his family even as he tried to plan with his partner.

  "Okay," Billy said calmly, frowning thoughtfully. "Let's go over this again. Larry told you that he can see the future, but he can't change it himself. He needs to finagle other people into doing it for him."

  "Right," Dave pitched abruptly, marching to one end of the kitchen, then turning on his heel to retrace his steps.

  "Okay," said Billy. "He uses people, but he can't use just anybody. For one thing, he can't use someone if they know he's psychic. Plus, if the person he's trying to use is related to the person he's trying to help, it won't work for some reason. Relatives aren't any good-brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, the whole shootin' match."

  "Husbands and wives, too," tossed Dave.

  "Right. Same difference," shrugged Billy...and then he paused and his frown deepened. "Y'know, doesn't that seem pretty weird to you?" he asked quizzically.

  "Does what seem weird," grumbled Dave.

  "Well...that there's all these rules," said Billy. "I mean, there's an awful lot of rules on what Larry can and can't do."

  "Hey, I don't know," snapped Dave. "I just told you what Larry told me, all right? He said he didn't even know why things're like that."

  Squinting puzzledly, Billy leaned further forward on the counter. "Right, I understand...but it still seems kind'a weird, doesn't it? I mean, this guy's got more rules than a card game."

  "The whole thing is kind of weird," barked Dave. "It doesn't matter! We've gotta' do something, like right now!" Jerking his head to one side, he glanced at the clock over the stove; it was ten o'clock, over an hour since the last member of his family had left the house. "For all I know, it might already be too late!" he ranted. "Mom or Dad or Jeff might already be dead, for all I know!"

  "All right, all right," said Billy. "Just calm down, man. We aren't gonna' get anywhere if you keep freaking out on me."

  "I think I am pretty calm," protested Dave. "Considering the fact that my whole family might be about to die, I think I'm being real calm!"

  "Whatever you say," replied Billy, emitting an exasperated sigh. "Okay, so we'll just accept what Larry told you as the gospel truth...for now, anyway. He needs other people to keep his visions from coming true, but he can't use anyone who knows he's psychic or who's related or married to the ones he's trying to save. Now, sometimes, if he can't get anyone to handle things for him, he'll go ahead and try to mess with the future himself, right? Either that, or he'll try to use those relatives, even though he knows neither way'll probably work."

  "Yeah," nodded Dave, scratching under the collar of his Wild West shirt. "That's what he did with Martin." Dave was still wearing his steakhouse uniform, hadn't changed clothes since returning from work the previous night. The chocolate-brown trousers were caked with dried muck, the striped shirt was splotched with unidentifiable grime; the outfit smelled horrible, but Dave had been so caught-up in his worried vigil that he hadn't thought to remove it.

  "All right," said Billy. "So, that's what you're afraid he was doing here yesterday. You think maybe he spotted some nasty shit about to go down, and he couldn't get anyone else to help him head it off...so he was either trying to get your folks to do something, or he was trying to do something himself."

  "Right," nodded Dave, hunched and pacing, swiftly running out of patience.

  "Now, if there's something really bad comin' down the pike, we've gotta' stop it...if we can stop it. From what Larry said, we don't have much of a shot, 'cause not only are you related to the people you think he's trying to save, but both of us know he's psychic. On top of that, for all we know, you might be the one who's really in trouble here."

  "Yeah," Dave said gruffly. "Exactly."

  "The big problem is, we don't know jack shit," continued Billy, drumming his fingers on the counter. "We don't know for sure if Larry was here because he had a psychic vision, and if he did have a vision, we don't know squat about it. We don't know when, where, or how it's gonna' happen, so we really can't do anything to try and stop it."

  "Unless we follow my family around twenty-four hours a day," added Dave.

  "Right, and that's impossible. There's no way we can keep track of them all the time, and anyway, there won't be anyone to watch out for you."

  "I don't care about me," shot Dave. "I'm just worried about my parents and Jeff. I think we oughtta' be out there right now, keeping an eye on them."

  "You said yourself it probably wouldn't do any good," said Billy, shaking his head. "You can't follow Jeff through his classes all day, and you can't follow your folks around work. Anyway, if we tried that, they'd probably think we're both a couple bricks short of a load."

  "I think we should at least follow them for now," insisted Dave. "I think there's more of a chance that something will happen to one of them when they're all split up."

  "Uh-uh," rejected Billy. "That's not the way to go, man. I mean, according to what Larry told you, we're screwed from the get-go. We probably won't be able to do anything to help your folks, since you're part of the family and we both know Larry's psychic. According to his rules, it'd be useless for us to chase your brother and folks around."

  "We've got to at least try!" flung Dave. "Damnit, we can't just sit here! This is my family we're talking about!"

  "Calm down," Billy said reprovingly. "We aren't just gonna' sit here, okay? Seems to me, though, if som
ething's gonna' happen, we can't handle it ourselves. If what Larry told you is true, we'll have to get somebody else to do the dirty work...somebody who isn't part of your family and who doesn't know about Larry's powers."

  "Like who?" huffed Dave. "Who're we gonna' get, and what good's it gonna' do if we don't know what's coming?"

  "That's what we've gotta' do first," Billy stated decisively. "We've gotta' find out what's coming...if anything is coming. We've gotta' get Larry to fill us in on this deal."

  "I've already thought of that," said Dave. "That's why I wanted you to help me. I figured you could keep tabs on my family, and I could go see Larry in the meantime."

  "No," said Billy. "Both of us see Larry. No way are we gonna' split up, man...not as long as there's a chance you might be the one in danger."

  "Good," Dave chucked snidely. "So we just hang my whole family out to dry."

  "There's no other way to help them," Billy said with conviction. "If what Larry told you is true, and if he was here yesterday because something awful's gonna' happen, we've gotta' get someone else to stop it. We can't do that till we find out more from Larry, and we've gotta' do it together 'cause I'm not letting you outta' my sight!" Momentarily agitated, Billy looked away from his friend; rubbing the bridge of his nose, he released a long sigh. When next he spoke, his voice wasn't so sharp. "Look, I'm being totally serious here. As far as I can tell, this is the way it has to be."

  Still pacing, still dissatisfied with Billy's ideas, Dave shrugged.

  "Now, c'mon," said Billy. "I think it's about time we dug up our boy Larry. Where's that phone number you said you had?"

  "Calling him won't do any good," declared Dave. "I had a hard enough time dragging anything out of him in person, and I doubt he'll say anything over the phone."

  "How do you know he won't say anything on the phone? Maybe you softened him up enough the other night, so he'll sing like a birdie."

  "Believe me, he won't. Larry gets lockjaw when it comes to this psychic stuff."

  "No harm in trying," shrugged Billy. "It might save us a lot of time, man. At the very least, we oughtta' be able to find out if Larry's home."

  Still pacing, Dave mulled it over for a moment. "What if we scare him off?" he asked hesitantly. "What if he just makes tracks the minute he finds out that we wanna' talk to him? I mean, if he is trying to stop something terrible from happening, he won't wanna' tell us a damn thing. He won't want us in the way."

  "Yeah," nodded Billy, "but if he isn't out to stop some disaster, he'll probably tell us right off the bat. If he was here yesterday to do something else, like get that video you told him you have, he'll probably just say so, and we can relax."

  "Yeah, but what if he lies? What if he just tells us something like that to get us off his back?"

  "What if, what if, what if," Billy chanted mockingly. "You've gotta' lay off the 'what-ifs,' bud. We'll never get anything accomplished if you keep sweatin' over every little thing that can happen."

  "If he lies, I'll have no way of knowing," Dave snapped shrilly. "I need to see the guy so I can tell if he's laying it on the line!"

  "How do you know he didn't lie to you the other night? From what you've said, Larry's a damn good liar, right? So how do you know he wasn't bullshitting you the other night?"

  "He wasn't," clipped Dave. "The way he acted, I could tell."

  "Could you?" queried Billy, raising his sandy eyebrows, slowly drumming his fingers on the counter. "Maybe he's just a good actor, too."

  Dave stubbornly shook his head...but he found that he couldn't readily refute what Billy had said. It was possible that Billy was right, that Larry's convincing confession had been merely a skilled performance. Still, if Larry had misled him, if his story hadn't been accurate to some degree, what other explanation could there be for the events of the past weeks?

  "Go get that phone number," said Billy Bristol, clapping his hands. "Let's get it in gear, okay, man?"

  Dave snorted disgustedly and charged out of the kitchen. Without a word to Billy, he marched through the living room and down the short hall to his bedroom.

  Jerking open the drawer of his desk, Dave snatched up a scrap of paper. He heaved the drawer shut and hastened back to the kitchen, slapped the scrap onto the counter in front of Billy Bristol.

  "There," Dave said unenthusiastically. "There's the number, the one from Larry's file."

  Gingerly lifting the beaten rectangle between a thumb and forefinger, Billy gazed at it appraisingly...then smirked. "Hey, cool," he said, flicking the scrap to examine both sides. "It's a Wild West order slip! Hmm...a medium porterhouse and a medium-well filet mignon. Y'know, I think I may've cooked these dinners!"

  "Yeah, whatever," Dave muttered without amusement.

  "Well, here you go," Billy said then, extending the note to Dave. "Start dialing, man."

  "You want me to call him?" frowned Dave, staring at the crinkled slip without accepting it.

  "Yup," nodded Billy. "You're the one he told everything to. You're the one whose folks he was checking out."

  "Yeah, but what if he won't talk to me?"

  "You think he'll talk to me?" Billy said pointedly. "I'm not even supposed to know he's psychic, right? You think he'll tell me anything important?" Billy shook his head, flapped the paper at Dave.

  With a heavy sigh, Dave yanked the note from his friend's grip and moved to the phone on the kitchen wall. Tucking the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he nervously punched the buttons corresponding to the number on his note.

  Agitated, uncertain of what he would say to Larry, Dave fidgeted with the phone cord as he waited, drew and released a succession of deep breaths. Through the earpiece, he heard a click, then the first warbling ring.

  After two more rings, Dave heard another click; there was the rustling of a receiver being handled on the other end of the line, and someone spoke.

  "Hello, Youth Center," said a man with a high-pitched, nasal voice.

  "Excuse me?" Dave said haltingly, surprised at the response to his call.

  "Saint Mark's Youth Center," replied the man, sounding as if he were out of breath. "Who's calling, please?"

  "Uh, sorry," fumbled Dave. "Wrong number." Irritated at his inability to dial the phone correctly, he quickly swept the receiver back onto its cradle.

  "What's the matter?" inquired Billy.

  "Aw, I must've hit a wrong number," groused Dave. "I got some kind of youth center or something."

  "So try again," said Billy, his active hands beating an irregular rhythm on the edge of the counter.

  Again wedging the receiver between his ear and shoulder, Dave carefully reentered the number. There was another click, then a sequence of five rings before the line was opened.

  "Saint Mark's Youth Center," said the same voice that he'd heard before, differing only in that it sounded more winded.

  Puzzled and annoyed, Dave grimaced at the paper in his hand. "Uh, I'm really sorry," he stammered. "I guess I dialed the wrong number again. I, uh...I'm trying to get five-nine-five eight-one-one-zero."

  "Well, you've got it," the man replied, a touch of aggravation in his tone. "This is five-nine-five eight-one-one-zero."

  "Uh, I see," said Dave, still staring at his note.

  "Maybe you oughtta' check the phone book again," the man suggested. "Unless you're trying to reach the youth center at Saint Mark's in Doddsville, you've got the wrong number."

  "Well, sorry," Dave said apologetically. "Thanks." There was an immediate click as the man on the other end of the line hung up; slowly, Dave pulled the receiver from his shoulder and hung up as well.

  "You got the same place?" asked Billy.

  "Uh-huh," nodded Dave. "It was Saint Mark's Youth Center in Doddsville. I got the same guy and everything."

  "And you're absolutely sure you used the number from Larry's file?"

  "Oh yeah," confirmed Dave.

  "And Larry told you it was the number of that bar, right?

  "Uh-huh."


  "Well well well," clucked Billy Bristol, raising his eyebrows and wagging his head. "Guess what, buddy-boy. Ol' Larry fed you a line of horse-shit."

  "He told me it was for the bar," said Dave, looking dazed and baffled. "I mean, why would he lie about it?"

  "Maybe he wasn't completely lying," Billy said slyly. "That number was in his file, right? He said it was so Tom could call him if he needed to, right?"

  Staring at the phone number, Dave nodded slowly.

  "Wellll," said Billy, pointing at the scrap in Dave's hand. "Maybe that isn't the wrong number, man. Maybe that is how to get in touch with Larry."

  "You mean Larry's at this youth center?" frowned Dave.

  "Maybe," answered Billy, rising from the stool on which he'd been perched.

  "Buy why would he be there?" wondered Dave. "If he's there, why wouldn't he just tell me the number's for that place?"

  "Don't ask me," shrugged Billy, moving toward the phone. "There's just one way to find out, man." Reaching past Dave, Billy snagged the receiver, then removed the note from Dave's grasp. "Okay," he said distractedly, checking the number once and punching buttons on the phone. "Let's see if our boy's hangin' out with the youth, man."

  Billy finished pressing buttons, then waited for a moment. "Hello?" he said finally. "Is this Saint Mark's?"

  There was a brief pause. Dave wished that he'd thought to use the phone in his parents' bedroom to listen in on the call.

  "Well, how're you doing today?" Billy asked in his most charming manner. "Busy, huh? Aren't we all?

  "Well, I won't keep you, then. My name's Barry...Barry Wilson, and I'm trying to get hold of a buddy of mine. I'm not exactly sure what he does at the center, but he did mention that he spends some time there. No no...he's an older guy. His name's Larry."

  As the moment of truth approached, Dave tensed. He was hanging on every word of the half of the conversation to which he was privy.