Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Larry paused briefly, cast a puzzled frown at Dave. "I'm curious," he said, stroking his goatee. "What exactly made you come after me again? What made you decide to follow me here?"

  Dave didn't answer.

  "All right then," shrugged Larry. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It really isn't important anyway.

  "All that really matters is that you did follow me, and here you are, and I have to deal with you. I have to convince you to let me finish what I started." Larry paused again; he cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck, then returned his gaze to the listener above him.

  "No more lies," he said firmly. "I don't have time for lies. From here on out, I'll only give you the truth.

  "That boy over in the crack," he said, tipping his head in the general direction of the trench with the dead kid. "I killed him.

  "Tom Martin didn't commit suicide, either," said Larry. "Remember how you saw me at his house the night he died? I wasn't there to try to save him. I was there to kill him.

  "I didn't predict that Ernie's parents would die in a car accident. I made the accident happen."

  Dave blanched. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

  "That's right," said Larry. "I killed them.

  "I killed them all."

  *****

  Chapter 28

  Dave was drowning. On dry land, under clear blue skies, he was sinking fast.

  He teetered dizzily. For a moment, he thought that he would topple into the trench.

  "Ah," nodded Larry Smith. "You didn't guess the others, did you? I didn't think so. My stories must not have worked too badly, then."

  In a futile attempt to mask the depth of his shock, Dave narrowed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut.

  "There were others," said Larry. "Other murders, that is. People you don't know. I guess I've killed six so far.

  "I do have one more to go, though."

  Ominously, Larry's words echoed in Dave's mind. 'One more to go,' the monster had said...and Dave wondered who the 'one' would be.

  'I've killed six so far,' Larry had stated matter-of-factly, and the number had given Dave a chill. He counted the victims of whom he was aware: the faceless kid; Mr. and Mrs. Dumbrowski; Mr. Martin. Four; he tallied four of the six.

  Then, he remembered the Rolex. The inscription had read 'Kimmel'; Billy had associated that with Roger Kimmel...the same Roger Kimmel whose son had perished in a recent fire.

  'There were others,' Larry had said. 'People you don't know.'

  Dave thought that he knew one of the others.

  Roger Kimmel's son made five, five of the six. Dave wondered who the other one had been.

  "Anyway, there were six," continued Larry. "That might seem like a lot to you, but there were reasons why I killed every one of them...good reasons. I didn't do it because I like to kill people. Matter of fact, this has probably been the hardest stuff I've ever done in my life...but I had to do it.

  "I had to do it for him," said Larry, looking down at the unmoving form of Billy Bristol. "All of it, all of it was for him."

  For a long moment, Larry didn't speak. Leaning against the wall of the trench, he stared thoughtfully at Billy, seemed lost in dark and unguessable ruminations.

  At last, he looked up at Dave. "April, five years ago," he said cryptically, and then he again looked at Billy Bristol.

  "You were in high school. You wanted a job so you could get some spending money. Your grandfather often ate at the Wild West Steakhouse, and he put in a good word for you with the management.

  "You were interviewed and hired in the same day. That was when you first met Billy."

  Larry turned his face toward Dave, fixing him in a calm gaze.

  Caught off-guard by the unexpected twist in the monologue, Dave couldn't stop a startled frown from congealing his features.

  "They put you in the dishroom," said Larry. "You were supposed to train with Billy that evening. One of the first things he said to you was 'Go to the basement and get me some more soap.'

  "Of course, there wasn't any basement," said Larry, a grin emerging on his face. "You didn't find that out until you'd spent a half-hour looking for one, though. You asked everybody, and they all sent you hunting in a different direction.

  "It was a kind of initiation. Billy finally let you in on it, and you were mad and embarrassed at first...but then he whacked you on the back and said 'Congratulations! Welcome to Double Doubleyoo!' Pretty soon, you were laughing as hard as the rest of the crew.

  "You've been best friends ever since."

  Dave's frown deepened. Larry's retelling of the friends' first meeting had been accurate in every way; he'd flawlessly described the incident from five years in the past...an incident which he couldn't have witnessed.

  Billy must have told him about it. That was the only explanation; during one of their drinking sessions, Billy must have told Larry the history of his friendship with Dave. Yes, that was a reasonable explanation...but why was Larry dragging out the information now?

  "Once, at the steakhouse, Mr. Martin gave you a really rough time," resumed Larry after a brief pause. "During this one shift, he was on your back constantly. He made you do all kinds of extra work, and he made you dig through the dumpster with your bare hands to look for a wallet that some customer claimed he'd lost. You spent an hour up to your armpits in stinking garbage, and you never did find the wallet.

  "Martin wouldn't let up. He kept harassing you, pushing you around. When you didn't bus tables fast enough to suit him, he blew up at you. He screamed at you right in the middle of the dining room, in front of the customers and other crew-people.

  "You were really angry and upset. You wanted to get back at him somehow. Later that night, you did the only thing you could think of: you sneaked out to the parking lot and let the air out of two of the tires on his car.

  "Naturally, when Tom found out his tires were flat, he interrogated all the employees. He was sure one of you had done it, and he demanded to know who it was. You lied and told him you didn't know anything about it.

  "The only other person who knew you did it was Billy, and he lied, too. Tom never found out who let the air out of his tires. It stuck in his craw, and he kept trying for years, asking around every now and again...but he never knew it was you."

  Dave was astonished.

  Larry had just reeled off a story of which he should have had absolutely no knowledge. Billy Bristol was the only one who knew the truth of the incident, and he'd sworn to keep the secret in order to protect Dave from the vindictive Mr. Martin.

  Billy must have told Larry, shared the facts to which no one-not even Ernie-had access; there was no other way that Larry could have learned the story. Still, Dave was surprised and disturbed by the apparent breech of secrecy; he'd trusted Billy with everything, even the most personal data, and he'd always believed that Billy would never betray him.

  Dave wondered what else Billy had told Larry, what other secrets he might have compromised.

  An answer came quickly:

  "Stacy Evans," Larry said evenly. "Do you remember Stacy?

  "Billy never told anyone about her...about you and her, that is. Just like with Tom Martin's tires."

  Dave was flabbergasted. He'd expected to hear another story which only his confidant should have known, another secret no longer secret...but he hadn't anticipated the mention of Stacy.

  "She was very attractive," said Larry, nodding approvingly. "She worked at the steakhouse, went to Billy's parties, and she was always trying to get you alone.

  "Stacy was very nice, and you did like her...but you could never bring yourself to return her affection. Problem was, she was black.

  "You were too afraid of what people would say about you to do anything with Stacy. Some of the gang were already teasing you about her, and some were being downright mean. It didn't bother you that she was black, but when it came right down to it, you knew you couldn't stand the complications and harassment you might have to
put up with.

  "Still, she kept after you...and you started to think about her more and more often. You weren't seeing anyone at the time, and you were lonely, and she was attractive and she was crazy about you.

  "You finally decided to give her a chance. As long as you could keep it secret, you thought it would work out.

  "So, during one of Billy's parties, you slipped out of the trailer, and you had Billy arrange for Stacy to meet you. You went for a walk in the woods with her, and the two of you kissed and messed around some. Before you went back to the trailer-separately, of course-you set up a date with her.

  "Everything went well for a while. You and Stacy dated a couple times, and Billy acted as a go-between and helped keep it quiet.

  "Then, someone at the steakhouse got wind of what was going on. Somebody had seen you and Stacy together...and the next thing you knew, it was all over Wild West.

  "The teasing got worse, and everyone badgered you for details. Instead of showing some backbone, you denied everything.

  "You concocted ridiculous excuses to explain why you'd been with Stacy, and you got Billy to back you up. After all the good she'd done for you, you turned on her like that." Dramatically, Larry snapped his fingers.

  "You dumped the poor girl, even spread lies about her...anything to keep your own ass out of the fire.

  "How did Stacy take it? She didn't say a word. She let you take the coward's way out, and she never exposed you. After two weeks, she quit the steakhouse, and you never saw her again."

  Dave was stupefied. Grimacing, he clenched his hands into fists, stared incredulously at the man who knew far more than he had a right to know.

  Stacy Evans. Dave hadn't thought about her in years; he'd been deeply ashamed of the way that he'd treated her, had done his best to bury all memory of his brief dalliance with her. Stacy had left, the steakhouse gossip had subsided, and he'd forgotten...or, at least, he'd locked away his regret and self-loathing, plunged them into distant corners where they could do the least damage.

  Now, the memories were set free; all the turbulent emotions of the long-ago incident leaped to the surface of his mind, shot from the darkness like jets of bubbles erupting from ocean divers. He felt a great sadness and shame, a shame intensified by the fact that someone else knew what he'd done, someone other than Billy.

  Why had Billy told Larry? Billy had only known the guy a short time, a few weeks; it didn't make sense that he would have divulged such sensitive information to someone whom he hardly knew.

  It didn't make sense. Dave couldn't believe it; he couldn't understand how such a grand betrayal could possibly come to pass. He couldn't understand why Larry Smith felt the need to tell him about it, either.

  He didn't want to hear any more, but Larry wasn't finished.

  "Three years ago," he said calmly, "Billy decided to give you a surprise birthday present. Do you remember what it was?"

  Anxiously, Dave combed his memory, groping for the incident to which Larry was alluding.

  It took him all of a second to remember.

  "He took you for a drive, remember? He wouldn't tell you where he was taking you."

  Too much. It was just too much.

  "He drove you way out past Hartsburg, and you ended up at a house back in the woods. You'd never been there before, and you kept asking him what the place was, but he wouldn't say. He just told you your birthday present was inside."

  Dave felt as if he were freezing, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped below zero. His stomach lurched.

  He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "Billy made you put a blindfold on," continued Larry, his voice even and inexpressive. "You didn't like the idea, because you figured he was going to pull some kind of practical joke on you, but you went along with it.

  "Then, he led you out of the car and into the house."

  Scowling with pain and confusion, Dave shook. He knew what was coming next; he didn't know how Larry knew.

  Surely, Billy hadn't told him about this.

  "He led you into a room, and then he said 'Happy Birthday' and left. You heard the door shut, and you started to take off the blindfold...and then somebody grabbed you.

  "Somebody kissed you."

  Wincing, Dave looked up, looked at the sky, had to look away from Larry.

  He closed his eyes.

  "You couldn't see who it was. You were really nervous, thought for sure that Billy had set you up for a joke.

  "Then, whoever was kissing you started rubbing your crotch.

  "The person finally spoke. It was a girl, and she said..."

  Too much.

  "...'Happy Birthday, virgin. I'm gonna' give you a present you'll never forget.'"

  Dave wanted to run.

  "You were in a whorehouse. You were still a virgin, and Billy knew it, so he took you to a whorehouse to get you laid for your birthday. He paid for everything in advance, and he thought you'd appreciate it.

  "Well, of course you didn't," said Larry, a sardonic bite in his voice. "As soon as the girl touched your privates, you jumped away from her and ripped off the blindfold.

  "She actually didn't look too bad. She was maybe just a little older than you, and she had long, black hair, and she was wearing some skimpy lingerie...but you just couldn't handle the situation.

  "You were babbling like an idiot. Every time she tried to get near you, you jumped away from her. You were too embarrassed and scared to even let her get within three feet of you, let alone touch you again."

  Rushing with shame and confusion, Dave beat his fists against his thighs.

  Larry shouldn't have known this story.

  Larry shouldn't have known this story.

  "Finally, you ran out of the room. You ran down the hall, and the girl was yelling..."

  The girl was yelling.

  "...'Geez, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were queer!'" The girl was yelling.

  One of the worst moments...

  He hadn't expected...

  Larry shouldn't have known.

  "You weren't queer, of course. You'd just freaked out. You've always been so paranoid and self-conscious that you just couldn't deal with the situation. You were ashamed just to be in a whorehouse.

  "The girl's yelling made you feel even more humiliated. You lammed out of that place, ran right past Billy and out the front door like you'd just seen a ghost.

  "You ran down the driveway and kept going right down the road. You were upset about the girl, you were ashamed of yourself for acting like a baby, and you just wanted to run straight home and hide. You didn't even want to see Billy.

  "Naturally, he came after you in the car. He tried to get you to settle down, and he tried to talk you into going back to the whorehouse, but you wouldn't even speak to him.

  "He gave up on the whorehouse idea and told you to get in the car so he could take you for some beers. You just kept running. He finally pulled the car over and got out. He ran with you until you broke down and went back to the car with him.

  "As soon as you got in the car, you started crying."

  Too much.

  Dave felt a fresh pressure building within him, a rolling, growing force that bucked at the paper-thin walls of his restraint. Everything fed that force: the shame of the memories of his weakness; the humiliation of hearing Larry describe his failures; the confusion about how Larry had learned these most private of histories; the fear of the killer; the fear that Billy might already be near death; the urge to escape; the image of the faceless kid; the absolute exhaustion of a night of sleepless worry, a day of chase and horror.

  It was too much.

  The girl was yelling.

  Most of the face was gone.

  Stacy Evans.

  Six so far.

  The pressure intensified.

  "You couldn't stop crying," said Larry. "Billy was apologizing up and down, doing his best to snap you out of it. You wouldn't say anything, but he kept at you.

  "Finally, you screa
med 'I'm not queer! I'm not queer!'

  "Billy just said 'Well, if I'd thought you were queer, there wouldn't've been a girl in that room.'"

  Too much.

  Larry shouldn't have known.

  "Anyway, he took you home after that," said Larry. "He swore he'd never tell anyone what had happened.

  "After a couple days, things got back to normal...but for a long time, you were worried that your best friend still thought you were queer...or a total chickenshit crybaby, anyway."

  Too much pressure.

  Dave's instincts insisted on silence; the tidal forces welling within him insisted on release. He knew that he shouldn't say a word, that Larry had probably wanted to goad a response from him from the start...but unreasoning emotion overruled all sense of caution.

  Dave exploded.

  "What the hell do you want from me?" he screamed, voice cracking with rage and fear. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "To prove a point," Larry said calmly.

  "What point?" wailed Dave.

  "That I know," stated Larry. "That I know things...only he could know." Gently, he swept a hand toward the body in the dirt behind him.

  "I don't understand!" blurted Dave, eyes burning with tears. "I can't believe he'd tell you all that!"

  "He didn't have to."

  "What are you talking about?" cried Dave.

  "He didn't have to tell me a thing," said Larry. "I already knew all of it.

  "I was there when it happened.

  "You see," said Larry Smith, "I am him.

  "That's my secret," said Larry Smith. "I'm Billy Bristol.

  "I'm Billy," said Larry Smith, "and I have one more person to kill, and you have to let me do it...for old times' sake."

  *****

  Chapter 29

  Larry: "That's my secret. I'm Billy Bristol.

  "I'm Billy, and I have one more person to kill, and you have to let me do it...for old times' sake."