by Joe Pulizzi
The combined FBI task force moved all team members and the cooperating Sandusky Police Department out of the debris area from the McGinty building. Five minutes later, just about the time the fire department was arriving, the first-floor bearing wall collapsed. The second floor became the first floor. Another ten seconds later, nothing could be seen except for a tornado of smoke heading skyward and gray snowflakes floating down from the sky.
JACK AND I STOOD OVER the desk watching Uncle Dan’s building burn to the ground. There was no doubt we would be implicated in the bombing and the killing of the agents who entered the building and God knows how many more people.
My burner phone rang. It looked like Alex’s number. I clicked to answer.
I held the phone to my ear but didn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong?” Alex said. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Oh you think this is bad? That was just the appetizer. Perhaps the soup or salad as well. The main course hasn’t even started yet.”
“Outside of our families competing in the same business for thirty years, I’ve done nothing to you personally.”
“First of all, you have. But second, you’re acting like this is a bad thing,” Alex said. “I just gave you a new life. Lord knows how you’ve screwed up your current one. The feds most likely believe you died in that explosion. You could leave the city now and never come back. Maybe get a new identity and live in peace somewhere, perhaps. A nice spot in Mexico? Brazil is wonderful this time of year. Or you could stick around, show that you’re still alive, and be hunted down by your college buddy. I have a feeling they don’t take too kindly to someone killing their own. Tsk, tsk.”
“It sounds like you are having a good time with all this, and whatever I did to you I’m sorry, but where’s my family?”
“Careful, William. You’re on my timetable now. But, okay, I can speed things along a bit. It’s the least I can do since you’ve been such a capable character in my little play this week.” Alex cleared his throat. “Be a dear and put me on speaker. I’m going to give you some directions.”
I put the phone on speaker and set it on the desk.
“Hi, Jackson. It’s Alex. How’s your day been?” Alex said from the speakerphone.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you soon so I can shove my SKS up your ass.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’re mad at me. After all, you were the one who’s been playing turncoat.”
I put my hands out to Jack and motioned for him to stop talking.
“That’s a good boy, William. You were always so smart,” Alex said. “Now, I need you to gather up all the papers and folders that your father left for you and put it in that tiny trash can to the right of the desk. And please do it quickly.”
I took the journal, the orange folder and the map and placed them into the trash bin.
“Good. Now, Jackson, go grab that lighter fluid you have in the corner and squeeze some into the trash bin.” Jack looked at me, and I nodded. Jack did as Alex asked.
“Good boys. William, now you light it with that lighter by the wall.” I just stood there. Then I looked at Jack.
“I’d rather not do that.”
“I was wondering when you’d say no to me. In high school, you were always so obstinate. Always had to have your way. Never listened to anyone. Actually, now that I think about it, you were very similar to your father in that respect. Oh, we tried all kinds of things to keep him in line, but nothing seemed to work. I thought we had him for good when I killed your mother.”
He paused.
“You already knew that, didn’t you?” he said. “I thought that would be a dramatic reveal. You’re spoiling all my fun.”
I felt completely helpless. It’s the same feeling I had when I couldn’t stop day-trading. The same feeling I had right after the divorce. But worse. I had an idea what was coming next and didn’t know if I should delay the inevitable or get right to it and figure it out.
I’d studied conflict resolution for years and used it actively in our marketing strategy sessions and when selling a project. In a situation such as this, the best course of action was usually to keep the decision-maker talking as long as possible. Keep asking questions in the hope of gaining some insight that can be used as leverage. The more the decision-maker talks, the more they feel in control. But actually the opposite happens because they’re giving up valuable information and are generally unaware of it. At the same time, the person asking the questions has to show no emotion. Any kind of an emotional reaction could set off a person in an unpredictable direction.
“What if I burn these documents? Then what?”
“Then I will tell you where your loved ones are.”
“And who would that be exactly?”
“Oh, goody. You finally asked.” Alex giggled. “I bet if I tell you how many I have, you can figure out who it is.”
Everything in me wanted to shout at Alex, but I kept as calm as possible.
“How many people do you have?”
“A-one, a-two, a-three, and a-four licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop.”
My heart sank. How did he get Jess here so fast?
“Will you tell me where they are, Alex?”
“Tsk, tsk, William. This is very upsetting. I told you I would tell you after you set the documents ablaze.”
I turned to Jack. “Where’s your lighter?”
“There’s a grill lighter over on the shelf in the corner.”
I walked over, grabbed the lighter, and stood over the trash bin. I clicked the grip on the lighter, and the flame appeared.
“Don’t do it,” Jack whispered, now standing next to me.
“It’s okay,” I said to Jack.
“Okay, Alex, I’m going to light this as you’ve instructed, and then in return you’re going to tell me where they are. Correct?”
“That’s exactly what will happen. If you would, please move the bin out to the space in the middle so I can get a good look.”
“How can I know you’ll keep your word and won’t hurt them?”
There was three seconds of silence. “You can’t, William.”
I moved the can out to the middle of the room and touched the tip of the orange folder, which was sitting just above the top of the trash bin. With the help of the lighter fluid, the documents were consumed by flame immediately. There was nothing spared.
“Can you confirm that I did what you asked?”
“You have. Thank you. And I will stick to my side of the bargain.” There was some rustling over the phone. Switches? Buttons? I couldn’t tell for sure.
“Sorry about that, William. Sometimes technology takes a human touch, which always wastes precious time. I sent you a link to your other phone. If you would click on it, please.”
I clicked on the link and a video appeared with two camera views. The left view was of four bodies, mummy-like, wrapped head to toe with some kind of tape or wrapping gauze. Only the eyes were visible. It was clear who they were. Robby was on the far left. There was a blood stain that looked to be seeping through the gauze on his left leg. Next was Denise, whose eyes were darting back and forth. Clearly having some kind of panic attack. The other two were looking at each other. I could see the tears. Sam and Jess.
The right view was from behind the bodies, set further back. On the left was Jess, her hair almost touching the ground as she lay flat on what looked like a casket lift. Robby was all the way to the right. In front of them about ten or so feet were four large openings, just large enough to fit a human being. All bursting with flame. I could see the heat distortion on the screen. The crematory.
Chapter 36 – Chocolate Triumph
“What a dilemma?” Alex asked himself. “Which one should go first?”
It took a few seconds for my brain to start working, especially after seeing the real-life horror movie in front of me. Then the answers started coming. Different scenarios. Different possibili
ties. But I had to choose quickly.
“Wow, Alex,” I said. “You are certainly a genius with technology. That almost looks real.”
“Well, thank you, but I assure you this is real.”
“If I’m not mistaken, I just watched myself and Jack here sneak into the McGinty building. Now that looked as real as,” I paused, “as real as what I’m looking at now. Bravo!”
There was a pause. He wasn’t anticipating this. The problem was there were a few scenarios where he could prove it was real without me being present. And for any of my plans to work, I needed to get to him.
“Let me run this by you,” I said. “I’m assuming I’m the cake topper to your plan, so let me come to you. If I’m a good boy and do what you say, maybe you’ll let one of them go, and I can take their place.”
Alex laughed. “Cunning, William. I see exactly what you are doing.”
“Of course you do. I’m not hiding anything right now. You’re holding all the cards. Jack and I are all alone. You have the entire city on your side. And the FBI probably has us on shoot-to-kill orders, so making it to you is going to be a challenge in and of itself. But if we can, it would make for better theater, wouldn’t it?”
Growing up, Alex and I would hang out at the mall and watch people fighting or kissing and all kinds of other human interactions. After each situation, Alex would grade what he saw as either good theater or bad theater or “could-have-been-better theater.” I was betting he still used the terminology, and I could get on his good side, if just for a few seconds.
Alex’s tone changed. The jovial nature was gone. This was serious now.
“Every thirty minutes, I’ll be pushing one in. Starting right,” he paused, “now.”
I looked at the time on the burner phone. It was 1:02 a.m.
“Remember where we used to hide from our parental units, drinking and smoking, sophomore year?” he asked.
It took a second to register. “I remember.”
“I’ll call off the dogs so they won’t shoot you. Take that entrance and follow it all the way. If you don’t dillydally, you’ll be here in time. It works out better this way anyway.”
“Got it. What about, Jack?” I asked.
“Jackson can come. But if he tries anything at all, tell him I’d be happy to throw poor little Jess to my guys for a full physical examination before she’s toasted. And they aren’t gentle. She’ll be praying for death.”
The call ended.
“DO YOU HAVE A PLAN?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, winking at him. “Come here. Let’s see if there’s anything left.” I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder and moved him over to the burning trash bin. We stood over it, with the desk to our left. “Let’s get a bit closer,” I said, pushing Jack’s shoulder down until we were both crouching.
“Son, there’s nothing left, it’s just a bunch of ...” Jack paused for a second, finally realizing what I was doing. From the conversation with Alex about moving the trash can, I knew that his camera couldn’t see under the desk, which meant the camera was located behind where Jack currently was. If my calculations were right, he couldn’t see the lower half of my body.
Jack and I were now crouched facing each other, with the smoking trash bin to his right and my left. Jack continued talking, “I’m not sure we can do anything with this.” He continued to inspect and groan and inspect some more while I reached between my legs, grabbed Dad’s remaining journal from the floor, and slid it in the back of my pants. Then I stood up.
“We don’t have much time, Jack. Let’s go,” I said, heading for the hearse. Jack quickly pulled down the chains that opened the storage door while I started the hearse. When the door was high enough, Jack got in and I took off, leaving the door open as I made a sharp right turn down the alley.
“Nice move,” Jack said as I weaved in and out of the small storage paths and bolted out the exit.
“I don’t know what kind of evidence the remaining journal has,” I said. “But I saw something in there we’re going to need.” I made a left and headed onto Route 6. “Without stopping, we’re fifteen minutes from where we need to be, but we need to make a stop first.”
“For what?”
“I’ll tell you in a second,” I said, quickly making a left turn across the road, pulling into a 24/7 Convenient Food Mart. “I’ll be right back.”
I ran inside and stopped just beyond the door. A dark-skinned man stood up quickly as if I’d startled him. “Where’s your frozen treat section?” I asked. He pointed toward the back corner. I took a quick right down an alley of corn chips and Hostess snacks and made a left at the Gatorade. There was one window dedicated to frozen snacks. It was foggy, so I suspected someone had recently opened it.
I grabbed the bar and pulled it open, scanning from top to bottom. Thank God, I said to myself, grabbing two PopC popsicle packages from the bottom shelf. I quickly reviewed both packages, then threw one back and picked up another one. Perfect!
I jogged back to the counter to pay, throwing down the last of what I had in my wallet. “Keep the change,” I said. As I walked out the door, I noticed a small television in the corner near the ceiling. It was showing my picture with the subtitle Fugitive At Large. I looked back and saw the clerk pick up the phone, and I bolted out the door.
I jumped in the hearse, tossed the frozen treats in Jack’s lap, put it in gear, and made a U-turn, heading back west on Route 6.
Jack said, “I have no idea what you’re doing right now.”
“No time.” I blew through a stop sign. “Those are six-pack treats. Each one opens at the top, like a box. I need you to take the six from the fudge blister flavor and put it in the chocolate triumph package. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I’m taking the six here from fudge blister and putting them in the other package, chocolate triumph.”
“That’s correct,” I said. Jack began making the switch. “Will, why is he doing this to you and your family?”
I ignored his question. Taking Old Route 6 another two miles I turned and made a left onto Bardshar Road, passing Dorn Park on my right.
“How long?”
“Three minutes,” I said, pulling my iPhone from my pocket. I looked at the time: 1:18 a.m. I tossed both the burner phone and the iPhone to Jack. “Pull up my recent calls on the burner phone. Find the one phone number ending in seventeen. Then call that number on the iPhone and put it on speaker.”
Jack fumbled a bit but found the number, dialed it into the iPhone and quickly found the speaker button. While the phone rang, I took a left on Heywood, then another immediate left down a dirt road with no sign.
The call picked up. “Shit, Will. I was hoping you were dead. Well, you will be in about five minutes,” Alan said.
“I’m sorry all that happened. It wasn’t us, but you won’t believe me right now anyway. I’m keeping this phone on. You can track our location and bring us in. We’ll come in voluntarily,” I said. “End the call, Jack.”
Jack did. I stopped at a dead end about a hundred yards from where we turned. “Okay, this is it,” I said.
I grabbed the burner phone from Jack and pulled Dad’s journal from the back of my pants. I flipped to the last page where I saw the phone number. I opened up the messages app, typed my message, and sent it to the phone number. I made sure to leave the iPhone in the car as I exited. It was on. I opened the back-seat door, took one of Robby’s guns, and stuck the two fireworks in my front pocket.
“Jack, take the chocolate triumph container and leave the other. Make sure you have the right one.”
Jack double-checked the ice-cold container and stepped out of the hearse. Popsicles in one hand, an SKS rifle in the other.
Chapter 37 – The Collage
Remembering this place thirty years ago, there was only dirt. Now weeds had taken over the once-barren field like a cancer, butting up to newer apartment complexes to the west and to the south.
I started circling the ground looking
for the marker.
“What are we looking for?” Jack asked.
“It looks like a manhole cover. It should be a couple inches off the ground.” As soon as I finished my sentence, Jack fell.
“I think I found it,” Jack said, his head barely popping above the weeds.
“Perfect,” I said. The area around the steel cover was clear of weeds, which meant it was still in use. There were two open holes in the middle of the cover. I reached down and pulled up with everything I had, almost dislocating my right shoulder. Without a word, Jack came over and put his hand through one of the open holes. I grabbed the other with two hands.
“On three,” Jack said. “One, two, three.” We lifted and pulled the cover just off center by a few inches. But it was enough. I knelt down low to the ground and pushed the cover aside, revealing the entire opening.
“There should be a ladder dug into the side. It goes down about ten feet. I’ll meet you down there,” I said. I brought my left leg into the hole, followed by the right, made sure my footing was sound, and descended down the shaft.
There wasn’t the faintest sign of light. I pulled the burner phone out of my pocket. I moved to the side so Jack would have some room and when he hit the ground, I checked the time. It was 1:22 a.m. We had ten minutes. I turned on the phone flashlight.
There were cigarette butts everywhere. Some were white but most were brown and half disintegrated. I wondered which ones were mine. Alex and I spent half of one summer down in this hole.
I double-checked to make sure Jack had the popsicles and scanned for the passageway. I found it quickly, pointing due south toward the crematory. As I scanned the walls with the phone light, Jack and I noticed all the papers stuck to the walls, from about our knees up to the ceiling, as far as the light could stretch.
Each paper was the standard eight and a half by eleven. Something you’d take out of an inkjet printer. But there wasn’t any text on the sheets. They were all color photos. Of me.
