Basic

by E. J. Mara

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kimberly’s fanboy gas station attendant was, thankfully, not behind the counter of Alberto’s Fuel N Go when Jonathan and I walked into the store.

  Instead, a heavy set and balding man with skin so pale he’d have made a Game of Thrones white walker look like a beach bunny stood behind the counter, staring into space.

  I relaxed at the sight of him.

  I hadn’t said anything to Jonathan, but I’d been worried that if the other dude from earlier had been working, he would’ve remembered me.

  “Good evening. How are you?” Jonathan said with a smile and a nod. He carried himself so professionally that he looked way older than seventeen. He also looked way hot.

  I bit down on my bottom lip and told myself to stop staring at him and focus on saving Farrah Duncan.

  “Hi,” the gas attendant said with a smile. I glanced at the name tag on his shirt, briefly wondering why the guy from earlier hadn’t been wearing one. This man’s tag said his name was Kev. “How can I help you?”

  “We apologize for stopping by unannounced, but there’s been a glitch in some of our security systems today. So, I’ll just need access to your security tape for about an hour, maybe less, to review it and make sure the glitch isn’t affecting the system here.”

  Hoping I didn’t look too hopeful or too nervous, I slid my hands into the pockets of my slacks and tried to appear relaxed as I mentally freaked all the way out and prayed that Kev the gas station attendant would let us get to the camera without any trouble.

  Kev nodded. “Sure, let me show you were we keep the monitoring system.”

  I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  “Thanks,” Jonathan said, flashing another perfect smile. “And I promise, we’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

  Kev waved this off as he made his way out from behind the counter. “No worries, take your time. It gets so quiet in here at night it’s kind of nice to have visitors for a change. Follow me.”

  We followed him to the very back of the small store, passing a candy aisle that added 10 lbs. to my hips simply by being in my vicinity and a unisex bathroom that smelled more like the sight of a horrible, unspeakable tragedy than a bathroom.

  At the very back of the store was a small office which the three of us could not fit in. So, Kev stepped out, allowing Jonathan and I to step inside and take our positions in front of the CCTV monitors.

  “Here it is,” he said. “And my name is Kevin, so just holler if you need anything. I’ll be up front behind the counter.”

  “Thank you,” Jonathan said with a bright smile.

  Him and his smiles.

  I stared at him, wondering if I’d ever met anyone who smiled as much as he did. What made it especially weird was that he wasn’t faking it either, his smiles were sincere. Everything about him was sincere.

  I frowned.

  Is that why I’m so attracted to him? Because he’s the complete opposite of me? I’m a liar and Jonathan is 100% honest.

  “Okay,” Jonathan said leaning over the keyboard, his voice pulling me from my thoughts.

  There was a chair in front of the desk on which the monitors and keyboard were perched, but Jonathan just kept standing.

  “You could sit,” I pointed to the chair.

  “Nah, I’m good,” he said, completely focused on what he was doing.

  He double clicked on the camera labeled “Outside Gas Pumps” and it brought up a full screen image from this camera. He typed in the date of Farrah’s kidnapping and chose “12 noon” as the time. A window appeared, asking him which channel he wanted to use.

  He chose one and then pressed a few more buttons.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing this,” I whispered. “Because I wouldn’t have any idea where to begin.”

  He smiled. “It’s not difficult, especially when you’ve been doing this practically since birth. You could learn it too.”

  I patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you be the expert.”

  He grinned. “Well, thanks for not stealing my thunder.”

  “Anytime, Cletus.”

  He chuckled and the video began to play.

  I leaned closer to screen, not wanting to miss anything important.

  The visuals were pretty good. I’d expected the footage to be blurry and black and white, but it was all in color and very clear.

  Cars pulled up, people got out, pumped gas, and then left. Over and over again. And then I saw it- a white Jeep driven by a slim black woman with shoulder length hair. She pulled into one of the gas station’s parking spots, away from the pumps. She parked there, and didn’t get out of her vehicle.

  While other cars came and went, one after the other, the woman in the Jeep stayed put. I pointed to her and said, “That must be Farrah.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

  We watched silently, both of us tense as we waited for the inevitable.

  Before we knew it, it was happening.

  A black SUV pulled up to the pump closest to Farrah’s parked vehicle. Two of the other pumps were in use, both of their occupant’s bearded white guys in suits who were probably on their lunch breaks as they filled their tanks. And both of them chose to do nothing besides stare as a tall and heavyset man got out of the black SUV, lumbered to Farrah’s Jeep and forcefully opened the driver’s side door.

  They continued to do nothing other than stare as the man pulled Farrah out of the Jeep, covered her mouth with his large hand and dragged her back to his SUV, shoving her into the backseat before jumping in the front seat and peeling out so fast he left a cloud of exhaust in his wake.

  “You all right?” Jonathan gently asked.

  I realized my hand was over my mouth and I was audibly gasping.

  Trying to pull myself together, I nodded and cleared my throat. “Do you think we can rewind it and get his license plate?”

  “Good idea,” Jonathan nodded and went to work on rewinding the footage.

  We watched it happen again, and even though I was supposed to be looking at the man’s license plate my gaze went to Farrah. I watched her struggle to no avail. I watched the men in suits glance her way, concerned but not concerned enough to act and tears filled my eyes.

  If someone had helped her, she would have been a survivor instead of a victim.

  But no one helped her, because she was the wrong color.

  “Got it,” Jonathan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He was scribbling the license plate number on a piece of paper. “BRN 856.”

  I blinked away my tears. “Perfect. Now, let’s get out of here and go look up that number.”

  ***

  It was pitch black as we left the gas station and drove to my house. The silence was easy to fill, both of us excitedly talking about who Farrah’s kidnapper could have been and what we were going to do once we tied his license plate to a name and address.

  As we pulled up to my house, I saw that it was dark.

  Mom wasn’t home.

  Normally, this would have sent a tug of annoyance to my gut. But, tonight I was glad. I craved more time alone with Jonathan. And, for some reason, I really didn’t want my mother to meet him.

  We’d been talking a lot on the drive over, but as soon as we parked and headed to the back door, we fell into an awkward silence.

  “Let me get my keys,” I said, just for the sake of saying something as I fished in my purse for my keys.

  “This is a pretty house, I like the garden out front,” Jonathan said.

  “Oh,” I glanced at the row of tulips stretching from the front yard all the way around to the back door. “That’s right, this is your first time here. I forgot. Well, we can’t take any credit for the yard. We bought the house like this.”

  “Oh,” he said with a nod.

  I could tell he was uncomfortable.

  I wondered if he was uncomfortable because he liked me the way Kimberly claimed he did, or because he sensed that I
was nervous and wasn’t sure how to respond to my sudden weirdness.

  Sighing, I finally found my keys and managed to unlock the door.

  We stepped into the dark house and I flipped on the lights.

  “Do you want anything to eat or something to drink?” I asked.

  “I’m a little thirsty,” Jonathan said, briefly glancing at me. “May I get some water?”

  I stared into his soft blue eyes, wishing he were a different kind of thirsty.

  “Uh…” Jonathan’s cheeks turned red and he shifted on his feet. “I can just get it myself if you tell me where the cups are.”

  Realizing I was staring way too intensely, I tore my eyes away from him and laughed. “Sorry, about that. I was thinking about this whole Farrah thing and got lost in my thoughts. What did you want to drink?”

  He smiled. “Water. Please.”

  “Coming right up,” I set my book bag and purse down on the floor near the counter and made my way to the kitchen, where I opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. “I’ll feel so much better once we find out who this guy is and turn his name into the police. Because once they have a name, how can they not do anything?”

  Jonathan nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  I handed him one of the bottled waters and grinned, “Now, let’s go save a woman’s life!”

  Ten minutes later, I’d changed out of the Red’s uniform and we were in my room in front of my laptop our smiles gone and our eyes wide as we stared at the screen.

  The man’s name was Timothy Dawes and he’d worked for Farmer County’s Sheriff’s Department for twenty-five years before retiring.

  I stared at the picture of him we’d pulled up on Facebook.

  Tall and overweight with dark beady eyes, he stared back at us with his hands on his hips. They were very close to the gun holster, which was undoubtedly a part of the deputy’s uniform he was wearing.

  “So,” Jonathan said. “he’s a cop.”

  “A former cop,” I corrected.

  “Even so, I’m thinking that still means we can’t turn him into the Sheriff’s Office,” Jonathan slowly said.

  I nodded. “Because they probably already know it was him. And that’s why they’re not taking any action. They don’t want to accuse one of their own.”

  “So, it’s a cover up,” Jonathan murmured. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  “Somehow, I’m not even surprised,” I quietly said.

  Jonathan glanced at me. “You’re not?”

  I met his eyes. “How many times in the past six months have you heard news stories about officers abusing people of color and then covering it up?”

  Jonathan blinked quickly and glanced down. “Well…”

  I watched him search for the right words and realized I was holding my breath.

  This time, it wasn’t because I was hormonal and lusty, it was because I was afraid of what he’d say… how many times had I mentioned something like this to a non-brown acquaintance and they’d replied with a lackadaisical shrug and waved off my words as they said, ‘Well, the Police have a difficult job’ or ‘We only hear one side of the story?’

  Of course, I never let them see how raw, wounded, and insignificant their dismissive comments made me feel. Instead, I’d pretend to agree with them and paste on a smile as I changed the subject.

  Then, I’d steer our conversation back into less controversial territory.

  But, with Jonathan it would be different.

  If he said something so dismissive about people like me, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fake nonchalance. I cared about his opinion too much.

  I bit down on my bottom lip, my face starting to itch with heat as I held my breath and waited for him to respond.

  He continued to frown, his gaze lowered. “Well, I guess you’re right,” he slowly said. “It’s just hard to accept that that’s how the world really is. You know?”

  He looked up at me and as our eyes met I exhaled.

  I was so relieved, I wanted to cry.

  But I just nodded.

  “You want to believe the good guys are the good guys,” he said. With a shake of his head and a deep sigh, he pointed to his arm. “And you want to believe that most of the people who look like this aren’t racist douchebags.”

  “There are plenty of good guys out there. I mean, look at you,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and looked away. I focused every bit of my attention on my computer and said, “Um, anyway, let’s see how far away this guy’s address is. What street did the registration page say his house was on?”

  Jonathan was watching me carefully, but I had no idea how to gauge the expression on his face because I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

  All I know is that without looking at the screen, he said, “8123 Wyndham Drive. It’s not too far. Maybe fifteen minutes away at most.” His gaze still on me, he hesitated and then said, “Libby… what exactly are you planning to do next?”

  That was a very good question.

  I laced my hands together and stretched the joints of my fingers as I thought this one over.

  “Honestly, this was Kimberly’s thing, not mine,” I said. “But now I really want to do something. I want to get this guy and free Farrah. Because it’s obvious that he either has her locked up somewhere, or … well, or he’s killed her.”

  As I said the words out loud, chills moved up and down my spine.

  This man was definitely a kidnapper, but he could even be worse- he could be a cold-blooded murderer.

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Which is why I think we should stop here.”

  “Stop here?” I repeated, finally turning to him. I looked at him, shocked. “You want to just leave Farrah with this guy?”

  Jonathan held up both of his hands in a gesture of surrender and shook his head. “Whoa. No, that’s not what I meant. At all. I meant, this is too dangerous for us. Like, sure we have the guy’s address. But you shouldn’t just show up at his house. He could hurt you. Promise me you won’t do that?”

  His voice went up a notch as he looked into my eyes. I won’t lie- they held me in a sort of trance and I found myself close to nodding and making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.

  Fortunately, I caught myself and skirted his question with an expertise my mother would have been proud of.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to just show up at the guy’s house either. I’m not that crazy,” I said with a forced laugh. “But we need a good alternative. If we can’t go to the cops, what do we do?”

  “Red’s works with a few private investigators,” Jonathan said. “Maybe I could reach out to one of them.”

  I thought this over and I could easily see an older PI, who was probably a former cop listening to Jonathan’s crazy story and then immediately telling Jonathan’s dad all about what his son had been up to.

  That was a terrible idea.

  “I don’t know,” I slowly said. “Let me think about it. But we can’t think for too long. Farrah’s life is at stake. If she’s even still alive.”

  My last sentence hung in the air, uncomfortable and threatening.

  Jonathan nudged me with his elbow. “You never did promise me.”

  Crap. Maybe I’m not as sneaky as I thought.

  I bit down on my bottom lip.

  “It would make me feel better if you did,” he said, his voice quiet.

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to lie to him… again. I hated lying to Jonathan.

  “Libby,” Jonathan said. His gaze went to my hair before returning to my eyes. It made me wonder if my hair was sticking up. Before I knew it he was reaching out and tucking a strand of it behind my ear as he softly said, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The tips of my fingers and toes went numb, my breath left my chest and I almost felt like I was floating.

  We hadn’t even kissed.

  All he’d done was tuck a strand of m
y hair behind my ear and my body went into full-on I’m-So-Into-This-Guy-That-I-Can’t-Even-Function mode.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said.

  We stared into each other’s eyes, me barely breathing, and his lips parting as his gaze moved to my mouth.

  He gulped, turned away from me, and looked at the computer.

  I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to understand his thoughts.

  Jen. He was remembering that he was with Jen. She was the girl he was supposed to kiss, not me. I was the friend- the good ol fat friend he ate lunch with. Why would he kiss me when he had someone like Jen?

  I suddenly felt incredibly dumb.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Everything’s going to be okay, and we’ll save Farrah in the safest way possible.” With this, I slid out of my chair and said, “I think I’m going to get some juice. Do you want some? Or, ice cream? We have ice cream. Vanilla. Or chocolate. I think mint too. Which kind do you want? And cones, we have waffle cones. If you’d prefer that to a cup. Cups are boring.” I laughed because this was hilariously funny. Obviously. And then I folded my arms across my chest as I cleared my throat and shifted on my feet.

  Jonathan wasn’t looking at me, but he smiled, his gaze on the wooden floors of my room as he said, “No thanks. No ice cream for me. But I could use some juice. And after that I should probably get going.” He stood. “I’ll just go downstairs with you, makes more sense.”

  Also, he was probably about ready to get out of my bedroom considering what had just almost happened.

  My cheeks and necks flaming, I smiled broadly and chirped, “Yeah, sure thing,” before hurrying out of my room and down the stairs, without bothering to wait for Jonathan.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, I tried to tell myself to chill out as I opened our refrigerator and searched for the juice.

  The cool air felt good on my burning face and I just stood there, silently willing myself to get over it.

  So, Jonathan wasn’t into me the way Kimberly swore he was. So, I liked him in a way that he, obviously, didn’t like me. So, I was probably going to die a virgin because guys like Jonathan never went for girls like me. So, maybe I should just pull myself together and get all the way over it!