George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  "Okay," Liam says.

  "Okay then," I say, almost to myself. I honestly can’t tell how loud I’m talking right now.

  I sit quietly as we ride. I want to ask more questions, but I don't want to lean on Roddy too heavily. If he does have a good plan and he knows what he's doing, I don't want to interfere. I don't know what to do, really. For the moment, I'm glad to let Roddy take the reins while I sit here and try to absorb the shock of the situation.

  My mind tumbles, taking me back to the memory I just experienced of ancient Greece and the pain of being alone without Ali and Ethan. Now that I remember, it feels like my insides have been sliced clean through. I don't know how I can live without them again. I'm terrified that something unthinkable has happened to them now. And if it has, I just don't know how I will be able to go on.

  Every moment is critical right now. I've heard the statistics about missing persons. After the first twenty-four hours, it becomes highly unlikely that the missing persons are ever found alive. I think about poor John Walsh from the television show America’s Most Wanted and his somber, ominous tone. He got the gig because his own son-- Adam if I remember right-- was kidnapped and then found beheaded in Florida. Of course, when talking about adults who are of sound mind and are able-bodied, it's always hard to know when to start the clock on calling them missing persons. What I know for sure right now is that every moment is precious. We have to think strategically.

  "What do you want us to do when we get there?" I ask Roddy.

  "We're going to search to the store, beginning with the parking lot first," Roddy says. "If we don't find them, I'll speak with a cashier."

  Liam nods his head in agreement. I get the idea Roddy is planning to do more than just speak with a cashier.

  "We’ll need access to their surveillance feed," Liam adds.

  "Hey, guys,” Taye interrupts. “I'm used to doing things by the book. Are you sure you want me involved in this right now? I’m dedicated to providing all the help I possibly can, but..."

  "You'll stay in the car," Roddy says. "Keep working your connections. We need someone on the phone while we’re out scouting physical locations. Remain in close touch with Duke. Work together."

  Taye a raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, apparently satisfied enough with that answer.

  I'm used to doing things by the book myself. No time for that bullshit right now. Aside from my private internet research, I let the police in Ithaca do things by the book after the kidnapping. Look where that got us.

  Clouds are beginning to blot out the sun as we enter the parking lot of the Bi-mart supermarket. It's a small store. It’s been remodeled and decorated to match the mountain landscape, but it looks like it's been here for years. Potted flowers and rocking chairs line the front of the store. An old man in overalls is sitting on one of the rockers and smoking a pipe. It's a charming scene. At least it would be if my family wasn't missing.

  The parking lot is small. Roddy drives up and down six of the ten rows looking for our rented minivan. Nothing. He parks the Suburban then gets out. Liam and I follow closely behind as he walks purposefully into the front of the store.

  "Fan out," he instructs us.

  Liam gives me a quick pat on the back as he heads to the right side of the store and I begin making my way towards the left. Roddy walks straight down the middle.

  The small-town charm continues as I look around at the shoppers. A little girl kicks her legs playfully as they dangle down from the front seat of her mother’s shopping cart. An older couple seems to be having an in-depth conversation about which ice cream flavor to choose. Seeing them together sends another wave of nausea through my body as I’m suddenly reminded that Ali and I might not make it long enough to do the same.

  This scene reminds me of something out of a bad movie. Only this is my real life. Roddy, Liam, and I are tense and shoppers are beginning to sense that something’s wrong. I try to walk slowly enough so as not to alarm anyone, but fast enough to make good use of the time we’re spending here. The clock is ticking.

  When I reach the end of the first aisle, I make my turn and see Liam at the other end of the store doing the same. We make eye contact and I shake my head back-and-forth to let him know I haven't found anything. I quickly go up the next row, then around the bend and down the next. I repeat this several times, quickening my pace as I go. By the time the three of us meet again in the middle, a manager has come out of his office and is standing at the front near the cash registers. He's a short, balding man who looks to be in his late thirties. The passage of time has not been kind to his physique.

  "Can I help you gentlemen with something?" the man asks.

  Liam does the talking. "We're looking for some family members. We think they shopped here this afternoon," he says.

  I'm surprised Roddy isn't the one talking. This only reinforces my suspicion that Liam and Roddy know more about what's happening here than I do. I want to get with the program.

  "Okay," the manager says. His name tag reads Phil Burgess.

  Liam pulls out his smartphone where he already has pictures of Marjorie, Ali, and the boys queued up. He must have done that on the ride here.

  "Here they are," Liam says as he extends the phone towards Phil.

  "That's my wife and my little boys," I say. "And my mother-in-law."

  "Phil, is it?" Liam begins. "Can you help us?"

  Phil takes the phone reluctantly in his hands and examines the photo. He looks at it long and hard, studying it closely. He doesn't say anything.

  "Have you been here all afternoon?" Liam asks, his tone friendly but direct.

  Maybe this is going to be a good cop-bad cop situation. Maybe we're saving Roddy for when it counts.

  Phil takes a deep breath and puts one hand on the inside of his belt just above his right hip. I wonder why he's hesitant.

  "Look," he says. "This sounds like it might be a matter for the local police. Have you called them?"

  "Of course," Liam begins. "They actually called us."

  Phil squints his eyes as if he's deciding whether or not Liam is believable.

  "It was an Officer Dunley," Liam adds.

  Upon hearing this, Phil's demeanor softens a little. Apparently, he knows officer Dunley.

  "You boys aren't from around here, are you?" Phil asks.

  Liam pauses, assessing the situation.

  "We just want to find our loved ones," he says. "Do you have a family, Phil?"

  Phil tilts his head to one side and then the other, then hands the phone back to Liam.

  "I do," he says. "I could tell you these folks look familiar, and no offense, but women and children shop here all day, every day. I couldn't be certain whether I saw your women and children or someone else's."

  I'm not wild about the way he's talking about my family is if they're my property.

  “Besides,” Phil continues. “How do we know they want to be found?”

  Roddy has heard enough and decides to get in on the conversation.

  "We would like to look at your surveillance feed,” he says. "They were driving a Honda Odyssey minivan with Nevada plates. We’d like to begin by finding out if their vehicle was in your parking lot."

  Roddy’s tone is much more stern then Liam's has been. Phil can tell he means business.

  I glance at Roddy and I suddenly notice what looks like the outline of a gun in one of his pockets. He still dressed in swimming trunks and a t-shirt from the lake, so I'm not sure when he had time to pick up a gun. Hell, I didn't even know he brought a gun on the trip. It then strikes me just as suddenly that maybe he's using his hand to make it look like the shape of a gun in order to intimidate Phil. Would Roddy do that?

  I don’t fault Phil for being cautious. I'm sure he's a local and that he takes pride in his store. I wonder why Liam isn’t showing his military I.D.? I could show Phil the U.S. Veteran designation on my driver’s license. Hell, we could tell him to google any one of us in order to verify tha
t we’re upstanding citizens and not up to no good. Why aren’t Liam and Roddy doing that?

  Roddy takes two steps forward towards Phil. Phi is shorter by a lot, which means that while standing this close to Roddy he is forced to either step back or to look up. Roddy knows how to intimidate someone physically. Clearly. He's doing it right now like an old pro.

  "I'm only going to say this once," Roddy continues.

  Phil doesn't step back. But he now has to look up to make eye contact with Roddy. I can tell he’s scared. He ought to be.

  "Yes, sir," Phil says obediently. I think he’s trying to be sarcastic, but there's no way to avoid the reality that Roddy is dominating him right now.

  "Take us to your surveillance equipment,” Roddy insists.

  Phil takes a long deep breath in, then lets it out with a wheezing sound.

  "Alright. I don't suppose it will hurt anything if you take a quick look,” Phil says.

  "That's the spirit," Liam says, stepping closer and slapping Phil hard on the back so that he’s almost pushed into Roddy.

  This good cop bad cop thing is working out all right after all. My father-in-law and my uncle really do you know what they're doing. At least it seems like it so far.

  Phil spins around on one foot, almost as if he's doing an about-face. I wonder if he’s former military. He motions for us to follow him and begins to walk towards the office at the front of the store. A couple of young cashiers give him inquisitive looks as we pass by, but he waves to let them know it's alright, then continues on his way. Roddy backs off a bit physically, letting Liam take the lead again now that Phil is cooperating.

  The office is up a flight of stairs. It’s a wide room with a two-way glass stretched running the entire length of one wall. The special glass allows management to keep an eye on what's happening in the store below. Phil remove stacks of paper that are sitting in two armchairs and tells us to have a seat. He offers to go in the next room and get a third chair, but Roddy says he prefers to stand, continuing to intimidate.

  Phil turns one of the monitors on his desk around so we can see it also, then cues up the surveillance feed. The screen is divided into four quadrants and alternates between different camera angles, each located somewhere different on the property.

  "You say you want the parking lot feed from earlier this afternoon?" Phil asks, looking at Liam.

  "That's right," Liam replies. "We're looking for a Honda Odyssey minivan. The driver is a woman in her mid-thirties with long, golden brown hair. The passenger in the front seat is a woman in her late fifties with long, red hair. And there should have been three little boys in the back seat: a five-year-old, a toddler, and an infant.”

  "Nevada plates, you say?"

  "Right again,” Liam replies.

  "And what color is the van?" Phil asked.

  "It's black," I add. "An Odyssey. Did you get that?"

  I’m reminded of how I pondered the deeper meaning of driving an Odyssey on this trip while driving down from the Reno airport. Little did I know that we were being tracked or that my family would go missing. This isn’t the kind of odyssey I had in mind.

  10

  Stumble Along

  I remember the first time I came to understand that the world wasn’t always a kind and gentle place. I was in elementary school in Brooklyn. Third grade. It was late September, a few weeks into the school year.

  Dad had gotten me a brand new backpack the weekend prior and I was proud to show it off at school on one sunny Monday. The backpack was made by JanSport and was navy blue. It had a large, prominent tag bearing the brand name on the front just above the zipper pocket and below the looped, black strap meant for hanging the bag on a hook. Dad had outdone himself because there was even a shiny new Trapper Keeper notebook and a metal Pac-Man lunchbox inside. Money was tight back then as Dad was working to grow his department stores. The school supplies were a splurge and I knew it.

  I was getting old enough by that time to notice the differences in what the rich kids had and how their things compared to my own. So, when I finally had some of the right things, things like the rich and popular kids had, it meant a lot. I felt like I belonged a little more. Like I deserved my place at the school with the others. I wasn’t just a superficial little brat though. The fact that my dad had picked out the backpack, Trapper Keeper, and lunchbox special for me and then surprised me with them meant most of all.

  The storage area in our classroom was in the back of the room next to two small bathrooms, one for boys and one for girls. I placed my new, blue JanSport backpack on one of the hooks alongside the backpacks that belonged to my classmates. My Pac-Man lunchbox was to stay inside my bag until lunchtime when I had planned to take it out to eat and then put it back in place. My Trapper Keeper would go with me to my desk where I’d keep it in a slot underneath the desk when it wasn’t in use. The notebook was large enough to hold all of my papers and folders.

  I was called out of the classroom that morning to participate in a meeting with my school principal because I was being named Student of the Month. I received the call before I’d had time to unpack my Trapper Keeper and take it to my desk. My teacher, Mrs. Mobley, told me to leave my things and go to the office straight away. She promised I’d have plenty of time to unpack and join my classmates when I returned. I did as instructed, leaving my new things on the hook. They seemed safe enough there.

  When I got back from the principal’s office and returned to the storage area in the back of my third-grade classroom, the hook which had held my treasured new backpack stood empty. Confused, I looked around the other hooks and the bench below them thinking maybe I had forgotten where I placed it. No sign of my things. I began to search further, around the outside of the storage area and near a water fountain. Still nothing.

  I was in Mrs. Mobley’s view at that point, so she stopped what she was doing and came to the back of the classroom to find out what was going on with me. I explained that I couldn’t find the new backpack my dad got me, and how the backpack also held my new Trapper Keeper and Pac-Man lunchbox inside. She assured me that we’d find it and began looking through the same areas I had just searched. It wasn’t until Mrs. Mobley decided to check in the bathrooms that we learned what had happened.

  There, inside the small room which was the boys' bathroom, we found my things strewn around, mostly in the toilet. My backpack was opened haphazardly and the Trapper Keeper and lunch box had been ripped out. The Trapper Keeper had landed squarely in the toilet. It was soaking wet and beyond repair. Most of my papers had been pulled out and half-flushed. My shiny, new Pac-Man lunchbox had apparently been stomped because it was bent and dented when we found it lying on the floor behind the toilet. My lunch was swimming in the toilet along with my papers. My juice box had been opened, then discarded along the edge of the toilet seat.

  Mrs. Mobley gasped and covered her mouth with one hand when she saw the carnage. She was a nice old lady. I don’t blame her for what happened. My reaction was more intense. It physically hurt me to see my cherished new possessions disrespected like that. If Mom and Dad had taught me anything, it was to appreciate what we had and what we did for each other. Even now, it’s hard for me to describe just how violated I felt. So many questions swirled through my mind, namely, why would someone do this to me? What had I ever done to deserve this? I was a good kid. I was kind and helpful to others. I certainly never touched anyone else’s things. It was truly boggling to my seven-year-old mind.

  I had to spend the rest of the day at school, wondering who had done the dastardly deed and whether or not they wanted to do more harm, like beat me up on the playground. Mrs. Mobley gave the class a stern talking to and encouraged the offender to fess up. They never did. Mrs. Mobley wrote a note telling my parents what had happened and attached it to my shirt with a straight pin. Having to walk through the halls after school with a huge note pinned to my shirt only made me feel more upset and embarrassed about the whole situation. I suddenly felt like I had to
watch my back like a hawk in order to avoid being picked on. It was a brand new feeling that’s I’d never experienced before. The kind of feeling that, once you come to know, you never forget.

  When I got home that day, backpack-less, and told Mom what had happened, she pulled me close and hugged me tightly without saying a word. She took the pin and paper off my shirt but didn’t bother to read the note Mrs. Mobley had written. It was a kind gesture, simply holding me like that. Mom didn’t try to rationalize what happened or to scold me for not handling things differently. She held me in that embrace until I moved to end it. She wasn’t going to let go until I was ready to move on. When I was ready, Mom made me a snack and then we went to the couch and watched Mister Roger’s Neighborhood together. When Dad came home, he hugged me, too. Then he promised me a replacement set of supplies, which he made good on the very next day.

  I never cried over that ordeal, although I probably should have. I held it all in. Bottled it up inside. I think I was too shocked by the realization that the world can be cruel and unfair that I didn’t know what else to do but freeze up as I considered the implications. Maybe that’s what it goes back to for me. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t make my legs move the day Dad’s ambulance pulled up to the emergency room bay. And why I couldn’t do more to help Mom as Biscuit lay dying in her arms on the street in front of our house. Maybe something is innately wrong with me. Maybe I failed at some key developmental milestone. I can handle things just fine when they’re at a distance and not about me personally. Maybe that was an asset to the work I did in the Air Force. I don’t know for sure. What I do know, is that Mom has never looked down on me for freezing up and becoming overwhelmed during times like these. For all of her faults and quirks, I have to hand it to her. She has always supported me when it counts. She accepts my pain and she seems to understand how my hurts have affected me. She’s ready and willing to be a shelter for me in any storm.

  It’s morning now and I’m waking up groggy. I’m in the king-sized bed at the vacation house, but I don’t remember how I got here. I’m fully dressed, wearing the same clothes I did yesterday. The same ones I was wearing out on the boat. Oh, God. Yesterday. It all comes back in a rush. I frantically look over at the other side of the bed and reach out for her. Ali isn’t here. She’s not with me. She should be with me.