Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "He's probably inside already," protested Dave. "It's almost twelve-thirty."

  "Well, fine," shrugged Billy. "If he's in there, we let him settle in. If he's all relaxed and wrapped up in whatever he does in there, he'll be easier to corner."

  "He's had enough time to settle in," Dave said gruffly.

  "Try and calm down," advised Billy, still gazing tranquilly through the windshield. "I know you've got good reason to be uptight, but you've gotta' get ahold of yourself. Larry's a tough customer, and if we just go running after him like chickens with our heads cut off, we aren't gonna' get anywhere and you know it."

  "I vote we go in there," Dave said stubbornly. "We've waited long enough."

  For a moment, Billy said nothing, just looked in the direction of the youth center. Just as Dave was about to speak up, Billy raised his left arm and peered at his watch. "Okay," he said smoothly. "You're right."

  Dave lunged a hand to the door handle; he opened the door and swung a foot onto the pavement before Billy grabbed his shoulder.

  "Not you," Billy said sternly.

  "What're you talking about?" lashed Dave, bucking at his friend's restraining grip.

  "It'll be better if just one of us goes in first and has a look around," replied Billy. "There'll be less chance of Larry catching on."

  "Fine," Dave said glibly. "Then I'll go in first, and you can wait out here."

  Forcing Dave's shoulder back against the seat, Billy shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "Who do you think Larry's more likely to run away from? You think he'd rather avoid me, when for all he knows, I don't know jack shit about what he's been up to...or do you think he might just wanna' stay away from you, since you know everything and you could blow his cover like that?" Emphatically, Billy snapped his fingers in front of Dave's face.

  "You're not leaving me out here," barked Dave.

  "I won't leave you out here for long," assured Billy. "I'll run in, check the layout of the place, see if our buddy's around, and then I'll hightail it right back out here to fill you in. If he's not there, we'll wait a while longer, and if he is, we'll go after him with a better idea of what to expect."

  Dave again tried to jolt from his partner's grip. "Let's go," he snapped defiantly. "One way or another, I'm going in there."

  "Geez!" flung Billy. "You wanna' really screw things up for your folks? If something is gonna' happen to them, and you blow this, you might not get another chance to find out the truth before it's too late!"

  "If Larry's in there, I want to talk to him now," insisted Dave.

  "Just do what I tell you!" shouted Billy, rare anger boiling up in his tone. "I think this is the best way to do this, all right?"

  Momentarily cowed by the surprising outburst, Dave glared at his friend and said nothing. Heart pounding, he considered launching himself out of the car and dashing across the street; though Billy's grip was tight, Dave believed that he could wrench away from it if he made a sudden, forceful move.

  Still, after pondering the situation for a moment, Dave found his will faltering. Though he desperately wanted to confront Larry without another minute's wait, he realized that Billy might be right, that a cautious approach might be wise. Dave knew that if he ignored his friend's strategy and dove recklessly into the youth center, only to lose his chance to secure answers in the process, he would have only himself to blame for the resulting consequences.

  With a petulant click of his tongue, Dave yanked his foot back into the car. "Okay," he muttered, slamming the door shut. "Go ahead then. Go see if he's in there."

  "All right," said Billy Bristol, removing his hand from Dave's shoulder. "I'll just be a minute, man, I swear, and then I'll be right back."

  "You better be," Dave said grudgingly. "A minute's all you get, and then I'm coming in, too."

  "Just wait for me," ordered Billy. "Don't go running after me the minute I walk in."

  "I won't, I won't," Dave mumbled reluctantly. "Just hurry up."

  With that, Billy got out of the car and chucked the door shut.

  Squirming uncomfortably behind the wheel, Dave kept his eyes on his partner, watched as he paused at the curb to wait for a flurry of cars to pass. When the traffic had cleared, Billy crossed the street, ambling with his usual, casual stride to the other side. Dave didn't think that he seemed to be in much of a hurry; if Dave had been the one venturing in search of Larry, he certainly would have rushed, would have run or jogged, would have at least walked at a much faster clip.

  Once he'd crossed the street, Billy moved along the sidewalk in front of the youth center. In the wake of two sweatsuited kids, he strolled to the entrance at the far corner of the building; catching the door behind the kids, he slipped inside, disappearing from view.

  Unhappily, Dave slumped, watching the building which now held his friend...and, perhaps, Larry Smith. He hoped that he wouldn't have to wait long; to that end, he resolved that if Billy didn't reappear soon, he would follow up on his vow to go in after him. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he noted the time, decided to give Billy no more than five minutes on his own.

  Eyes fixed on the youth center's entrance, Dave waited impatiently. He quickly developed an awful case of the fidgets, releasing tension in constant, unconscious movement; he scratched his head, then tapped his feet, then rubbed his nose, then wound the window up and down...then repeated the cycle with new variations, a repertoire of nervous flicks and twitches.

  Two minutes passed. By the time that a third minute had leaked away, Dave's fidgeting had accelerated and grown more pronounced; he stomped his feet instead of merely tapping them, battered the seat instead of drumming with fluttering fingers. As his long-awaited moment of action approached, he became more agitated, oscillated with a building charge of energy like a rocket preparing for lift-off.

  As the fourth minute neared, he was caught by a climactic yawn, an inhalation so terrific that it halted his jittery spasms. All the exhaustion which he was fighting to subdue surged forth in an awesome wave: his mouth plunged open like a drawbridge; his eyes were crushed shut; his whole body shuddered; and when he exhaled, the long gust of his breath pulsed out with a roar, a violent, plaintive groan like the dying cry of a dinosaur. When at last the yawn had run its course, he shook his head furiously, whipped it from side to side in a reflexive attempt to banish the uprushing weariness.

  His first thought as he opened his eyes was of the time; indeed, when he looked at the clock, he realized that the five minutes of his wait had concluded. In good conscience, he could at last exit the car and follow Billy into the youth center, see for himself the shape of the situation.

  Relieved that he could finally leave his confinement, Dave opened the door and slung his foot onto the pavement of the lot. As he emerged from the car, extending himself to his full height, he was instantly soothed by the stretching of his muscles; he paused for a moment, flexing his arms and legs and back, limbering up the cords and fibers which had been knotted and kinked by his stay in the Torino.

  Then, he looked across the street.

  Abruptly, he dropped back into the car. Slumping low in the seat, he reached for the door and started to wrench it shut, then caught himself and closed it softly to avoid attracting attention.

  Peering over the wheel and the dash, Dave was transfixed by the scene across the street. He'd been waiting for Billy Bristol to come out of the youth center; instead, Larry Smith had appeared, accompanied by an unfamiliar kid.

  From the lot, Dave couldn't make out the details of the kid's face, but he was skinny and gangly and looked as if he were in his early teens. He had short brown hair and wore a white T-shirt and red sweatpants; he carried a basketball in the crook of his arm. Talking and laughing, he walked easily beside Larry, seemed quite relaxed and high-spirited.

  Sinking into the seat, hoping to remain unseen if Larry happened to glance in his direction, Dave wondered at the new twist. He assumed that the kid was one of the participants in the youth center league which L
arry supposedly helped to coach, but he couldn't figure out why Larry and the kid had walked out of the place. The priest had told Billy that the day's game would start at one o'clock; why would Larry and one of the players depart before the game had even begun?

  Dave was most bewildered by Billy's absence. Billy had only gone on a quick reconnoitering mission, a brief infiltration; logically, Dave thought, Billy should have spotted Larry and made a beeline for the door, propelling himself outside before Larry and the kid could leave.

  Whatever Billy's status, Dave was on his own for the moment, and he had to decide what to do next. Larry and the kid were hiking down the sidewalk in front of Saint Mark's Hall and Youth Center; in a flash, Dave could dart across the street and intercept the guy, confront him right there and demand some answers. Interrogating Larry would fulfill the purpose of the expedition to Doddsville, could alleviate Dave's worries and confusion...and it might just be his last chance to speak to the psychic. If Dave let Larry go on his merry way now, he might never catch up with him again.

  Still, as eager as he was to charge after the guy, Dave wasn't sure if he should take the leap. For one thing, the kid complicated matters; Dave wouldn't want to speak freely in front of the stranger, and Larry could use that to his advantage.

  In addition, Dave was reluctant to make a drastic move without Billy at his side. Though he'd been anxious enough to do so before, had been determined to race into the youth center without his partner, he now hesitated to act alone. As exhausted and overwrought as he was, he might make a mistake which would cost him the information that he sought; if Larry ran, Dave might not be able to chase him down, and if he retaliated physically, Dave would have no one to back him up. The more that he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it would be better not to face Larry without an ally.

  As he nervously considered his options, Dave realized that he was running out of time. Larry and the kid were walking down the street; soon, there might not be a chance of intercepting them either with or without Billy Bristol.

  Breathing rapidly, tensing like a fist, Dave glanced at the door of the youth center, hoping to see Billy emerge...but there was still no sign of him. When he swept his eyes back to Larry and the kid, he was unpleasantly surprised: the two had moved to either side of a car parked along the street, and Larry was opening the driver's side door.

  Larry was leaving.

  The situation had suddenly become more complex. On foot, Dave couldn't reach Larry in time to stop him from debarking; even if he immediately leaped out of the Torino and ran full-tilt down the street, he wouldn't be able to get to the car before Larry and the kid ducked into it and drove away. If he followed them in his own car, Dave would have to abandon Billy, desert the partner whom he felt he needed as counsel and extra muscle. If he didn't go after Larry, he might not find out if his family was truly in jeopardy, might not know of the danger until it finally materialized.

  As Dave frantically tried to decide what to do, Larry and the kid dropped into the gray Honda and shut the doors of the car. In a moment, they would be on their way, heading for parts unknown.

  Dave shot a quick glance at the youth center, but Billy was nowhere in sight. If Dave chose to wait for him, he would lose Larry; if he went after Larry, he would lose Billy's help.

  In a state of near-panic, Dave grabbed at the key in the ignition and swept his foot to the accelerator. Jerking the key, jamming the pedal down, he started the engine.

  The Honda pulled away from the curb.

  Dave yanked the gearshift, backed the Torino out of its space with a jolt. He experienced a split-second of doubt, wondered if he should seek his friend instead of chasing Larry...but the sight of the Honda drifting away was enough to persuade him that pursuit was crucial. He had to talk to Larry, had to know, had to settle things for once and for all.

  Cranking the gearshift, Dave stamped the accelerator and the Torino lunged forward. Eyes on the Honda as it began to slip away, he swung his own car through the parking lot and into an alley which intersected the street. With a final glance at the youth center, he wrenched the wheel to the right and started after Larry Smith...or Frank Moses, or Mike Hoffman, or whatever his name really was.

  As he took up the chase, Dave noted with some relief that the Honda hadn't gotten very far; it was stationary at the end of the block, waiting behind two other cars at a stop sign. The Honda's left turn signal was flashing, but the cross-street that the car was poised to enter was busy with traffic.

  After ascertaining that the Honda was still within reach, Dave slowed the Torino. He didn't want to get too close; it was bad enough that he was going to try to tail Larry in a car that Larry might recognize, and it would be foolhardy not to follow from as much of a distance as possible.

  By the time that the first car had cruised past the stop sign and across the intersection, Dave had slowed the Torino to a crawl. When the second car rolled past the sign and around the corner, Dave simply stopped his vehicle; with the Honda still halted before the flow of traffic, there was no other way for Dave to keep his distance from Larry.

  After a moment, the Honda finally made its turn. Glad that he no longer had to sit conspicuously in the middle of the street, Dave started to guide the Torino forward...only to be startled by a sudden thumping and a shout from just outside the car.

  Reflexively, Dave punched the brake and whipped his head around...and he immediately identified the source of the ruckus.

  It was Billy Bristol. Sandy hair wild, wiry arms pumping, he was sprinting beside the car. Before Dave had time to wonder how he'd gotten there, Billy had flung open the passenger-side door and hurled himself onto the front seat.

  "Let's go!" he hollered. "Get after 'im, man! Let's go!"

  Dave obeyed. As Billy slammed the door shut, he hammered the accelerator, blew the Torino forward with the sound of squealing tires.

  In a flash, the car flew up to the stop sign, lurched to a jarring halt as Dave mashed the brake. Flicking on the signal for a left turn, Dave hastily looked for Larry's car, gaped in the direction in which the psychic had gone.

  There was traffic, but no sign of a gray Honda.

  "Damn!" shouted Dave, pounding the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "I don't see him!" he snapped, fresh panic rising like spiders in his chest.

  "Just go!" commanded Billy. "Go left!"

  "What if he turned off somewhere?" wailed Dave. "God, we'll never find him!"

  "He's probably goin' for the bypass!" flung Billy. "Just go for the bypass, man!"

  Heart walloping like a fish dying on a dock, Dave felt his panic swiftly burgeon toward an unmanageable enormity. Not only had he lost sight of Larry, but he couldn't move forward; though no cars were coming from the left, a long line from the right impeded the Torino's progress.

  "Shit!" flared Billy Bristol. "Just go, willya'?"

  "I'm trying!" returned Dave. "There's too much traffic!"

  "Go!" ordered Billy. "Just ram your nose out there! Make 'em move!"

  "You want me to wreck? There's no room!"

  "Make room!" blasted Billy. "When I give you the word, just go! Larry's gettin' away, man!"

  Gripping the wheel like a shipwreck survivor gripping a life preserver, Dave got ready to comply. The line of traffic was tight, and he didn't believe that he could merge with it without colliding with another vehicle...but he hunkered down and prepared to move anyway, for he knew that Billy was right. Larry was escaping, perhaps for the final time; already, he might be out of range, irretrievable, soaring up the bypass or winding through the honeycombed streets of the city. Though a wreck seemed imminent, Dave realized that he had to take the risk...and hope that the catastrophe that he feared Larry had foreseen wasn't his own death in a car crash and pileup.

  "Hold it...," said Billy, leaning forward, watching the advancing stream of vehicles. "Hold it...hold it...," he chanted, the words like a countdown.

  Dave sat stiffly, waiting for the cue, primed but fea
rful of the leap which Billy had prescribed. He didn't see any break in the traffic which he believed he could exploit, no favorable gap into which he could wedge the Torino.

  "Okay...," said Billy, holding onto the dash with one hand, pointing through the windshield with the other. "After that truck...okay..."

  Sucking in a deep breath, Dave looked to the right, saw the tractor trailer to which Billy was referring. A tight formation of cars was strung behind the truck; Dave didn't see much of a gap between the trailer and the vehicles which followed it.

  "Okay...," continued Billy, his index finger tracking the truck as it approached and rumbled past. "And...GO!" he shouted, smacking his hand on the dash.

  Wincing, Dave drilled the accelerator to the floor and cut the wheel to the left. Peeling away from the corner, the Torino erupted toward the rear-end of the tractor trailer...but the car behind the truck was still too close.

  Dave punched the horn and chucked the wheel more sharply to the left; the Torino skewed violently into the empty lane, the lane from which oncoming traffic could pulse at any instant.

  Still blasting the horn, Dave glanced quickly to the right, saw the black Chrysler shunting toward the curb. Tires screaming, the car jolted and veered off, finally separating from the tractor trailer.

  As he socked the wheel right, sent the Torino careening into the lane behind the truck, Dave heard more screaming tires...then a crash, a booming impact. Straightening the Torino, continuing to accelerate, he gaped at his rear-view mirror, saw that the Chrysler had run up over the curb and collided with a lamp-post.

  Nerves dancing like bees in a box, Dave plowed onward, staying so close to the tractor trailer that the Torino's front bumper almost touched the truck's mud flaps.

  "Good!" cheered Billy. "Way to go, man!"

  "Oh God," groaned Dave, his voice hoarse and quivering. "God, that other car. We should go back."

  "Don't worry about it!" shouted Billy, glancing over his shoulder. "You didn't kill anybody, okay? Two guys just jumped out."

  "It's my fault!" stammered Dave. "We should go back!"