The phone rang. He looked at it briefly, considered ignoring it- maybe taking a walk to go find some medicine for his swollen sinuses. On the fifth ring he answered. “Pinson operations. Colonel Wilcox speaking.” He listened for several seconds and sat up straight.
A few feet away, standing in the hallway, the private who had been assaulted by an undercooked biscuit and rock hard sausage patty was finishing his text message. He heard the colonel talking to someone on the phone and from the strained tone of his voice decided taking a long walk might be a good idea.
As he opened the door to the parking lot, he heard the phone being slammed down followed by a long stream of loud profanities. While walking quickly toward Finches, he heard the sounds of furniture being thrown against the operations trailer's walls.
Wilcox was furious.
He was being relieved at noon. The official reason given was a more experienced officer in terrorist matters was being assigned by Admiral Branson to take over. His replacement was bringing General Heller, his immediate superior, his transfer papers and would expect a full report on any progress regarding the origins of the blast by noon.
Progress? Fucking, shit licking, cocksuckers! He thought, storming out of the operations trailer.
Marching quickly across the parking lot he noted the litter being blown by the late October breeze and felt like screaming. That old fucker better have something for me or by God I'll... His train of thought derailed and exploded as he heard big band swing music playing somewhere inside the trailer. His hands trembled in barely checked fury as he marched up the steps and savagely yanked on the doorknob.
*****
A hawk or perhaps an eagle was circling over the trees on the other side of the school's parking lot. Jake wasn't sure what is was but focused only on it as he stood motionless in the ditch. Dirty water flowed sluggishly around his feet, and he heard the man behind him with the crowbar breathing heavily.
I could run. Hell, I don't even know who that girl is. She might even be with Orlando. I should run, Jake thought, feeling his legs trembling in anticipation. It was as if his body had already decided to take off while his brain continued to think about it.
The man behind him yelled for his buddy to hurry up.
Jake heard the echoing yell and realized Orlando had turned back toward the culvert. His echoes were still bouncing back as he made his move.
Jake moved swiftly and surprised himself when he turned and kicked Orlando as hard as he could in his ass.
The big man stumbled off balance and nearly fell into the water before grabbing onto the top of the concrete culvert and accidentally dropped the crowbar. There was a metallic clang and a splash when it fell into the water. Little snot kicked my ass. Oh, he's going to pay for that, Orlando thought, pulling his hunting knife out of its sheath on his belt and turning back to the boy.
Jake picked up a heavy wet rock from the ditch and held it ready to throw as they faced each other.
Clutching the eight inch long glittering knife, he sneered at the kid. Orlando Duprat had never achieved anything higher than a D in English literature so his unfamiliarity with Shakespearean tragedies might explain the idiocy of his next statement. “Romeo you done fucked up. This time there won't be a happy ending for you and Juliet.”
“You killed my dog!” Jake screamed, feeling his stomach churning.
Frodo was just a puppy when his dad brought him home. They'd spent every day together over the last five years. He was his best friend and now he was dead. Jake's eyes stung as tears threatened to flow.
Orlando realized the kid was potentially dangerous and decided to play an old but sometimes effective trick. He turned to look past Jake, toward the road leading into the parking lot, and opened his eyes wide in surprise. Yelling, he lowered the knife a bit and turned slightly away from his nemesis. “Kenny, hurry up! There's a cop car pulling in!”
Jake realized it was a trick a split second after he turned to look for the police.
In a single swift movement the knife arced up and into the boy's stomach. Dropping the heavy rock, he fell back into the ditch feeling an immediate intense burning pain. So, this is death, he thought, before striking his head against a chunk of irregularly shaped concrete and rolling into the water face down.
*****
The breakfast crowd at Billy Bob’s Po Boy Eatery had grown in size as agents Mendez and Hicks ate their food in an uncomfortable silence. Mendez didn't mind the silent treatment he'd been giving her since she almost broke his thumb. It was actually kind of nice. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing every time she caught a glimpse of the big man furtively massaging his sore digit while they ate.
He spent the meal staring out the window at the vehicles coming and going. The only time Hicks spoke during the whole breakfast is when he noticed a police car pull into the restaurant parking lot. “Oh joy. Here comes Deputy Dog,” he said it almost under his breath, but Mendez understood and looked up.
The county deputy yawned as he climbed out of the squad car. Standing a little over five feet tall and being very slender, he'd heard people call him Barney for years. Secretly, he found it sort of flattering to be compared to the beloved deputy from the Andy Griffith Show. But publicly he'd beaten up more than a few teenagers and men old enough to know better that made the mistake of calling him Barney to his face. Scratching his butt as he opened the restaurant door he yawned. He waved at a few people he knew before crossing to the counter. Settling on one of the stools, he gratefully accepted the mug of coffee a waitress brought him. The deputy looked over a menu he'd read nearly every morning for the last five years, hoping that may be today there would be something new. But there wasn't.
Amy Lynn smiled as she set the bill on the table near Hicks. “Hope everything was good. Do you need anything else?”
“We need two large coffees to go,” Hicks answered without looking at her.
“No problem. I'll be right back.”
“You're a real charmer,” Mendez said, and finished her glass of orange juice.
A noncommittal grunt was his only response.
There was a burst of static and then a voice came from the deputy's microphone clipped on his shoulder. “Andrew. come in- over.”
The deputy had a fork in his hand and a pair of greasy eggs with a side of bacon on the plate in front of him. With great reluctance and a look of regret, he sat down the fork and keyed his mike. “I'm here. Go ahead,” he said, and bit into a piece of bacon.
“Got another ghost sighting. You know who, has called three times in the last thirty minutes.” The dispatcher's voice said.
“Same place?” He asked, and sipped some coffee.
“10-4.”
He shook his head as several people within earshot smiled.
Hicks stared out the window as Mendez listened intently to the deputy's conversation.
After wiping his mouth with a napkin the deputy said, “When she calls back, tell her I'll be out that way in ten minutes.”
“Busy morning?” The dispatcher asked.
“Just tell her I'll be there in ten minutes. Over and out.” Shaking his head, the deputy replaced his microphone while sliding the fork under the eggs and shoveling them into his mouth at a leisurely pace.
Amy Lynn set two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee on the table as Mendez looked thoughtfully at the deputy.
Hicks tossed a ten dollar bill on the table and stood up. “Keep the change,” he said, before looking at his partner. “Be back in a few minutes, Shannon.” He strolled toward the restroom as Mendez looked at the bill of $9.55.
The girl looked disgusted at what little tip there was before asking, “Is that guy your husband?”
Agent Mendez laughed before saying, “Bite your tongue, girl.” She pulled out a few dollars and handed them to the girl before continuing, “What was that about another ghost sighting?”
Amy Lynn giggled. “There's a crazy old lady who picks up cans on the side of the roads and she's be
en saying the woods near the high school are haunted. She's a nut, but harmless.
Well, I gotta get back to work. You have a nice day and don't forget to come back real soon.”
Agent Shannon Mendez looked in her small black leather notebook and thumbed through the pages. She checked the directions given on how to get to the farmer's place they came to talk to. After reading them silently she whispered them aloud softly, “Turn east off the highway at mile marker twenty seven. Go two miles past the Ragland high school. Look for a sign saying Craig's Pumpkin Patch.” She reread it again and the words 'past the high school' seemed to almost glow.
The deputy stood up and left some money on the counter.
Hicks was still in the bathroom.
Mendez decided to follow the deputy and told a waitress she'd be back for her associate in a while. Ooh, he's gonna be pissed, she thought smiling, and walked quickly to the SUV pulling out her set of keys.
*****
Alice felt dizzy and happy as Dr. Anniston waltzed her around between the computer workstations. She'd been smiling more in the last thirty minutes than all of last year. Her messy divorce, from a cheating husband with a penchant for Asian hookers, had hurt so much she thought she would never be able to smile again. As she held onto the much older man (she guessed at least thirty years older) moving in rhythm to the big band music, she giggled and grinned at him.
He smiled back and she closed her eyes. Her ex-husband never liked to dance.
Dr. Anniston swung the surprisingly graceful woman with hardly any effort. Alice said she'd never danced before, yet picked up the steps of the waltz within just a few minutes. On the stereo, Vera Lynn began to sing We'll Meet Again and the old man trembled as he remembered a young girl he danced with decades earlier. He had to forcefully constrain his hands from wandering when Alice rested her head against his chest. His eyes felt moist and for a second he thought they were playing tricks on him.
Guiding her closer to the bookcase, he saw a roach. It was unremarkable in shape and size. but as he watched it moving over the back lit stereo screen a feeling of wonder grew in the back of his mind. It's not possible. My tired eyes are playing tricks. A roach can't dance, he thought, as it continued to move in an intricate pattern in time with the song. Or maybe, it could be much more than a roach.
The door leading to the trailer's hallway was thrown open and it slammed against the bookcase. Several books, a framed photograph of his beloved deceased wife he always carried with him, and the stereo clattered noisily to the floor.
Alice shrieked in surprise as they both turned to see a red faced colonel march into the room. The music was silenced, replaced by the labored breathing of the very much uninvited intruder.
“What the hell are you two doing!?” Wilcox bellowed.
“Please watch you language, colonel. If you are incapable of speaking in a civil tongue, I'm afraid I shall be forced to ask you to leave. By the way, in answer to your question, I was teaching Mrs. Weinstein how to waltz.
What's more, we were about to try the foxtrot until you quite rudely barged in,” Anniston said, and then added. “The foxtrot is a dance.” While speaking, he moved protectively to stand in front of Alice.
She'd been scared silent until he explained what a foxtrot was and then broke out in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.
Wilcox swiftly closed the distance to the much shorter old man and sneered down at him. “I know what a foxtrot is, you old fart. What I want to know is, how many of these messages have you deciphered, and that-” He poked the old man in the chest roughly, “is all I want to know.”
Anniston stumbled backward and had Alice not been there, he would have definitely fallen.
She held the old man until he shakily regained his balance.
She stepped around Anniston, reached up, and slapped the colonel's face. “Who do you think-” Alice managed to say before Wilcox grabbed her slender arm and threw her across the room. She slammed into and over a desk, knocking off several items including a multimillion dollar computer on loan from the Pentagon's research division.
Dr. Anniston felt overwhelmed and more than a little scared of this stranger who seemed to have gone quite unaccountably insane. He felt in his pants pocket for something he could use as a weapon. His trembling hand closed around a small spray metal can of mint flavored breath freshener.
“You'll be responsible for replacing that computer!” Wilcox screamed, grabbing the old man by his shuddering shoulders. “Do you have anything deciphered?! I need something and I need it now! Lives depend on it!” And my command, he silently thought.
“Leave him alone!” Alice yelled and stood up behind the desk she'd been knocked over. “Let go of him and get the Hell out of here, right now!”
Still holding the old man's left shoulder tight, he pulled his gun and pointed it at her. “Shut up, you worthless bitch! Another word from you and you can ask Saint Peter for dance lessons.”
“Tell me you have something,” the colonel said, squeezing Dr. Anniston's shoulder so tightly he both felt and heard a bone cracking.
The old man moaned and was afraid he'd pass out from the intense pain.
Trevor heard the crashing and yelling from the next room. Why does something interesting always happen when I'm in the bathroom? He wondered, quickly standing and pulling up his pants.
He opened the door silently, as someone in the next room seemed to be threatening his employer and friend. He pulled his stun gun out of his jacket pocket and walked slowly down the hallway toward the main room.
Peeking around the open door, he saw the back of a giant man in uniform aiming a gun at the young lady and squeezing an obviously agonized Dr. Anniston's shoulder. He tiptoed closer as the intruder sputtered threats that Trevor truly believed he meant to carry out.
“Tell me, you dirty old man. Tell me you've got something. The fate of the whole world is teetering on nuclear annihilation and you're dining and dancing like it was New Years Eve. So you better have something or by God I'll-” Wilcox sputtered in growing frustration, until he heard a very soft cracking sound behind him. He pushed Anniston against the bookcase and whirled around with his gun ready to fire.
A shard of glass cracked under Trevor's foot as he got close enough to use the hand held stun gun. In the instant he heard it crack under his foot, he saw the man with the gun begin to turn around. He thrust the two metal prongs of the stun gun against the big man's neck and squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER SIX: Ghost Stories
Federal agent Shannon Mendez pulled her SUV to a stop, on the side of a two lane country road, behind the patrol car.
The deputy gave her an odd look before walking toward an old lady standing beside a rusty grocery cart.
Shannon stepped out and walked up as the woman spoke. “I ain't crazy. And I seen another ghost ball just a bit ago. You think I'm crazy, but it's true. My cat seen it too. Didn't ya Michael?” The lady asked a fat old black cat sitting in a baby carrier strapped to the cart.
“Listen Allison, you can't be calling the police to come out here and look for ghosts. Like I told you last time, we got real emergencies to deal with and can't be wasting time looking for spooks and booger men,” Deputy Fulton said, in a frustrated tone of voice.
“Well, I see you brought a friend along with you this time. Maybe she can do something about them if you won't. Imagine, a big man like you being scared of ghosts,” she said smiling, and looking at the tall lady standing off to the side of the deputy.
“I don't know who she is, but if she doesn't get back in her fancy car and skedaddle she might be getting a ticket for something,” Andy said, turning to the smiling agent.
“And what exactly would be the charge, deputy?” Mendez asked, looking at the thick cluster of pine trees beyond him.
“Interfering with an official police inquiry and illegal parking, for starters.” He gestured to her car parked on the side of the road. “And if you don't beat cheeks before I count to ten I'll
think of something else,” he said smiling grimly.
“Officer, could you tell me your name please?” Mendez asked.
“I am Deputy Andrew Fulton, of the Saint Clair County Sheriff's Department. And who are you?”
Mendez flipped open her leather ID case. “Shannon Mendez, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Pleased to meet you. Are you still going to write me up?”
Deputy Fulton's eyes stared at the credentials before he swallowed with great difficulty and tried to speak “I... I, uh.”
“The man's a regular Rembrandt with words, ain't he Shannon?” Allison asked, before cackling and petting her cat.
Fulton shot Allison a quick dirty look before turning back to the federal agent. “I didn't know. What are you doing out here?”
“Let's just say I love a good ghost story, deputy,” Mendez said, with her dazzling bright smile. “Where have you seen these ghost balls, Mrs.?”
“Name is Allison Taylor, pleased to meetcha. You're a tall drink of water ain't ya?”
“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Taylor. Now, where did you see these things exactly?”
“Call me Allison and I'll tell you all about them,” the old lady said, ignoring the confused deputy. “You ain't got a cigarette by any chance do ya?”
“Sorry no, I don't smoke.” Mendez turned to the deputy. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“Yes ma'am,” he said, reaching into a shirt pocket and pulling out a pack.
After the old lady got the cigarette lit, she smiled and recounted her ghost story.
*****
Betty reached the end of the culvert just as Orlando plunged the knife into the boy’s stomach.
When he pulled it out, Jake fell face first in the water.
The girl tilted her head very slightly and her eyes flashed a brilliant red color for several seconds while she watched the man put the knife back in its sheath before picking up the trash bags full of stolen laptop computers.