The Bernie Factor
Page 43
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Nick’s words rang in his ears, but he saw no threat. Schwartz jumped out of the car and instinctively flipped his sports coat back, reaching for his service issued Glock.
“There’s no need for that,” came an old familiar voice from the shadows. Schwartz ignored the advice and drew his weapon and pointed in the voice’s direction. Surey Whiteside emerged from the opposite side of the building that O’Neil had run down moments ago. Whiteside’s hands were raised to his shoulders, and his palms faced forward, fingers extended.
“Just hear me out,” Whiteside said. “I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say.” Whiteside continued to take small steps forward as he spoke.
“Don’t take another fucking step,” Schwartz ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them, stand still, and start talking. You’re officially on the clock, but you don’t have much time.” Whiteside furrowed his brow, not understanding the current importance of time.
“O’Neil, Schwartz needs you back to the car!” Nick screamed into the handheld radio from his position in the pines. This was not what he expected at all. He could feel a plate of nachos and fried pickles working their way back up from his churning stomach. “He’s drawn down on a guy. It looks like the albino.” Nick’s voice was wrought with sheer terror and cracked like a prepubescent boy. His parents were down there, and Schwartz was pointing a gun at a guy several feet away from the car.
“Oh, my God, Nick!” Shauna said.
“I know. I can’t believe what I’m seeing down there,” Nick said in a panic.
“It’s not just that,” Shauna pleaded. “There’s another car coming up fast from down on Mocking Bird Lane, and I don’t recognize it.” Nick turned to look, hoping to see a police car. Instead he saw a silver Nissan Altima racing up the street south of the ballpark.
“I’m coming, partner,” O’Neil voice crackled over the radio.
Nick stared down at the parking lot for several seconds, wishing he could hear what was unfolding a short, inaudible distance away. He looked back at Shauna, who had a deer in the headlights stare on her face. As he turned back to the parking lot, he locked in on the camera and remembered Schwartz’s wire was transmitting back to the device. Nick fumbled his hands along the controls, looking for the setting button O’Neil had shown him to adjust the volume.
“What are you doing to the camera?” Shauna asked.
“We can hear what’s going on down there with the wire that’s on Schwartz,” Nick responded. After a couple of seconds he heard Schwartz’s voice booming over the camera’s external speaker.
“That’s bullshit,” Schwartz screamed. “You expect me to believe that Chief Inspector Gionelli is involved in compromising protected witness identities, and the info is in that dog?”
Nick and Shauna slowly turned their heads in each other’s direction and gave each other a look of total disbelief. Nick turned his head back to the surreal scenario playing out before him and the camera. O’Neil finally reached the clubhouse and drew his weapon on Whiteside, who still stood motionless with his hands in the air.
“I’ve got call logs from him on my cell phone and even a few voicemails,” Whiteside said. “I promise you, I don’t want to hurt anybody. I just want you to know the score. I’ll give you the witness information. Just let me and the dog disappear.” He reached into his front pocket.
“Thumb and a finger only,” Schwartz demanded, his gun still pointed at Whiteside. “Real fucking slow.”
Whiteside complied with his demands and drew the thin black cell phone from his shirt pocket. He held it, offering it to Schwartz.
“Stay on him, O’Neil,” Schwartz said, lowering his gun and stepping forward. “Toss it here.” Whiteside gave him a look of concern. “I’ll catch it, dammit.”
Whiteside looked at the phone and then back at Schwartz. “You’d better. I’d hate to see evidence get destroyed because your big matza ball hands let the phone dance across the pavement.”
He tossed the phone to Schwartz who caught it without any difficulty. Schwartz scrolled through the call logs and saw Gionelli’s government issued office telephone and cellular numbers several times. He looked up at Whiteside for several seconds and dropped his head back to the phone, letting out a long sigh. He thought about the keyed mic from earlier in the evening as a wave of sickness flowed over him. His knees began to wobble as his balance started to betray him. Schwartz staggered back to the car and dropped his right hip onto the sedan’s hood.
“The code for the voicemail is 6969,” Whiteside said. “There are several messages on it from Chief Gionelli. You were always good to me, and I’m not going to lie to you now. Everything I’m saying is the truth.”
Sylvia whispered in Andy’s ear, “I really thought a man like him would use 666 or something like that for a password.”
“Maybe he’s a sexual deviant, too,” Andy replied as he attempted to sink further into the backseat’s upholstery and avoid visual contact with the man he loathingly referred to as taser-boy.
“We’ve got a car coming up on us fast,” Nick yelled into the radio.
Oblivious to Nick’s warning, Schwartz stared at the device as screeching tires cut through the night. Whiteside remained still, but O’Neil began looking between Schwartz, Whiteside, and the approaching silver Nissan Altima tearing into the ballpark parking entrance.
“Did you hear me Schwartz?” Nick pleaded. Schwartz remained fixated on the cell phone. Fearing for his parents’ safety, he turned to Shauna and said, “Give me the bike keys!”
“What do you think you’re going to do?” Shauna asked, her eyes wild with fear. “You can’t go down there. They’re pointing guns at people!”
“My parents are down there! I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay up here and film them while they’re in danger. Please, just give me the keys and stay here, o.k.?”
Shauna didn’t even feel her body complying with Nick’s request, but she could see the keys going from her hand into his. Nick took the keys and squeezed her hand with both of his. He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the lips. Nothing overly passionate, but definitely beyond the “we’re just friends” status. Her loss of self-awareness returned the moment their lips met as a jolt of electricity shot from her mouth to her toes and back in a split second.
Before she could press her lips back onto his for a repeat performance, Nick sprinted to the motorcycle parked on the adjacent street. Her eyes followed him, and she desperately wanted her body to do the same. But she stood motionless as he hopped on the Harley and fired the engine up. Ignoring what unfolded by the cars below, Shauna watched Nick navigate the bike back toward the others in the parking lot. The Harley roared like a thunderstorm crashing through the midnight clouds, as Nick made no attempt to approach unsuspectingly.
Vincent was the first to hear the Harley as he sat in the shadows of the dumpster with Bernie, although he didn’t know it was just Nick straddling its pipes. Bernie rose off his hind haunches and began stepping up and back while emitting small, high-pitched whines. Vincent reached over and rubbed his back and patted his head.
“It’s alright, big fella,” Vincent said. “That’s just Shauna’s bike. Everything’s cool.”
“Can’t say I agree, buddy boy,” came a voice in Vincent’s head. “Ole Nick’s about to get himself into a jam. You best hustle your ass on back to Nick’s place, if you know what I mean.”
“You got it,” Vincent answered before processing where the voice came from.
Vincent watched Bernie scamper off toward the parking lot, moving at what he assumed was top St. Bernard speed. Vincent now understood what Shauna and Nick told him about the dog before they left the house. That was an unfamiliar voice and he was the only human being capable of speech there by the game field’s rusted rubbish repositories. Vincent rubbed his hands over his chest and looked all around him.
With a quiet d
etermination, he exhaled deeply and said, “Fuck this noise. I’m not crazy, but I am following instructions from a dog.” Vincent stood up, turned around, and took long strides as he made his way through the darkness back to his friend’s house.