The man grabbed two specially made jars from his table and filled them both three-quarters of the way full with glycerol. He then grabbed a flask he would use to store the jars in and packed it with dry ice he kept in a large fridge. He would need to get the eyeballs in to the jars and the jars into the flask as quickly as possible, then package it all up in an ice chest filled with more dry ice and get it to his courier by 6am. He had plenty time.
He grabbed a scalpel off the table and a tool that looked like a flat, metal Slurpee straw. He wasn't going to waste time doing this the correct way. He asked his assistant to hold the light for him and then he stuck the scalpel into Wayne's forehead and began removing the skin from around his eyes. After that, he folded the skin down over the crushed and bloody nose, dug the small knife into the eye socket, and began cutting away at the muscle. It was tougher than the man thought; he had to grab a larger knife. Going back in with the bigger blade, he used his other hand to start scooping the eye out, cutting the muscle and veins along the way until the entire thing was unattached. He scooped it out and dropped it into the jar. It wasn't pretty. Muscle and veins still clung around the eyeball, but what did he care? That’s not his problem. He started on the other eye.
When they were finished, Roxanne made sure everything was packaged properly and ready to go. It would be her responsibility to drop it off to their courier first thing in the morning. She was ready. The only problem remaining was what Wayne had said right before he had been drugged. Had he told his friends? It seemed likely now that she thought about it. She realized that she really did fuck up. She looked down at the eye-less Wayne, still alive on the table and asked the man, "What do we do with him? What if he talked?"
The man answered, "The only thing we can do." He left the room for a short while and returned with a gun. He rolled the still breathing Wayne over onto this stomach and pressed the gun to the back of his head. "Cover your ears, dear." He squeezed the trigger and a bullet tore through Wayne Brandon's skull, ricocheting around like a pinball machine, turning his brain to liquid and stopping his heart from ever beating again. The man then called to his idiot son in the other room. When he entered, the man gave him specific instructions to take this body to a remote location, dump him and set him on fire. Nobody would miss the eyes that way. The man's son agreed to the task.
"Hold on," the man said, while putting on a fresh set of gloves. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a metal Altoids mint tin. He dumped the mints in the trash and wiped the tin down with a towel then grabbed a bottle of oxycontin from a shelf and filled the tin with it. He walked over to Wayne still lying face down on the table, picked up his lifeless right arm, and rubbed his fingers all over the Altoids tin. "Just in case," he said as he shoved the tin into Wayne’s back pocket. He looked at his son, "Make sure he still has these on him when you torch him. Don't fuck this one up!"
"You got it." The son loaded Wayne's body into his trunk and drove him out to one of the many large, open fields in town. There was a bike trail that cut the through this particular field, but he was quite certain no one would be on it at night. Still, he took a little look around and when he felt confident no one was near, he pulled the bloody mess of the boy from the trunk and dropped it on the ground. He squirted lighter fluid all over the body and lit a match. He stood back and watched the flames envelope the body of Wayne Brandon. He looked around one last time, seeing the lights from cars passing off in the distance and felt fairly certain that no one would notice the fire so far out here, especially while driving.
He then went back to his car and tried to warm himself up. He was tempted to get out again and stand by the flames for a while, but that seemed stupid. Instead, he decided he would treat himself to a nice hot cup of coffee.
And that is how the man who told Archie Lemons to fuck off at the King Liquor came to be stepping out of his piece of shit taxicab and walking straight towards him.
11.
My mind began racing as I tried to piece together the odds of me seeing this same man again. Could it be a coincidence, just a random occurrence that has no significance what so ever, or could this guy be stalking me? My paranoia kicked in and I didn't know how to react. I tried to fill the detectives in as quickly as possible. I had already told them the story of the taxicab but I couldn't remember the driver, didn't really much care at the time. But now, he shows up at my office dropping off a client, is the last known seer of a missing girl, he tells me to fuck myself after I leave the crime scene of a murdered client, that same missing girl’s mother, and now he's walking into the Starbucks where I just happen to be sitting with two police detectives discussing something that involves him. It could all be a fluke, but I'm not chancing it. I tell the detectives that the cab driver who is involved in all this shit is walking straight for us. I decide I can't let him see me and I bolt out the opposite door he's headed for, onto the patio area. The detectives told me they would meet me around back after they checked him out. I was in charge of getting the license plate number and whatever information I could off the cab.
I hopped over the little stone wall that was fencing in the patio and peeked inside the window to see the man walk in. I high-tailed it to the other side of the building, trying my best to use the darkness as my cover, even though I must have looked pretty goddamn ridiculous. No bother.
I get to the cab and I double check to make sure no one is paying me any attention. All clear. I grab my iPhone from my pocket and take a picture of the license plate. I walk around, check all the doors, and get lucky; the rear passenger door is unlocked. I take another look for snoopers then get in and close the door to kill the light and begin to search the cushions for any clue about Mallory. Just random garbage and change. Nothing of much importance that I can see.
My phones chimes. A text message. It’s Anderson.
NOthing unusual. Buyng coffee. Smeels like bbq.
Typing must not be his strongest ability. I go back to my search. I look for the driver's name but he doesn't have his license posted anywhere. This is odd. It bothers me. Ya know what else bothers me? Short women in high heels that are still short. That bugs the shit out of me. It just doesn‘t look right. Oh well. Stay focused.
Another chime.
'Order placed. how u?'
I respond with, ‘In the car! Give me heads up!’
I continue my search of the cushions and come across a moist spot. Gross. I use my phone for light and notice my hand has something red on it. Blood. Damn.
I reach up to the front seat and take a quick look. I don't have time for this. Clock is ticking. I decide to pop the trunk. I hear the latch disengage and I look once more for people, then quickly exit the car and make my way around to the back. Inside I see what I was looking for but hoping not to find.
Another text. ‘he's on patio’
I go through a few random items in the trunk, but it all seems irrelevant since it’s all surrounding a puddle of blood. I decide to call it quits and make a break for it. I need Anderson and Enzite to grab this asshole. Now! To hell with a search warrant. I need to find my girl!
Anderson again. This time it’s the Magnum Theme. I answer and don't even have time to get a word in. "Fuck Archie, we lost him! He went out onto the patio and never came back in. Enzite just went out to check and said he’s gone. He had to hop the wall. Get the hell out of that car!"
"Shit! Man, find him! We need this guy! I'll hide out here and see if he comes back."
"Keep out of sight til you hear from me." He hung up. Shit, how did he get so good at badass call enders?
I was crouched beside a small sports car, out of sight from anyone in the Starbucks, keeping an eye on the cab. I peeked up and saw Detective Anderson walk outside and look around. He then walked around towards the patio side and I lost sight of him. I glanced around the parking lot once more. It was busy with cars, which I thought was weird for this time of night, but I guess it could be expected with a 24-hour grocery stor
e in the shopping center and a pizza joint. I saw a few shoppers far off leave the grocery store then noticed someone running then coming to a halt and start to walk casually with the customers leaving. Nice try asshole.
I took off running in that direction as fast as I could, past the hippy health food store, past the surf shop and back into the parking lot. I fished my phone out of my pocket and tried to dial Anderson's number but in my haste, I dropped it and heard it crash down on to the pavement. Shit! I continued to run. Taxi-Driver must have spotted me because he took off again. He had a huge lead on me but I kept running. The pain in my side was already bad and getting worse with each step. This is what happens when you live on a sofa and keep psychical movement to a bare minimum. Let that be a lesson to you, kids.
He was nearing the end of the shopping center and on the other side of the street were apartments that he could surely lose me in. I needed to speed up and catch him before he got there or else I was out of luck. I got back on the sidewalk, ran passed the grocery store where he had spotted me and nearly crashed into an old lady’s shopping cart. I cut back into the parking lot.
He must have been in even worse shape than I am because I was closing the distance. I was weaving in and out of parked cars trying to make my way to the other side’s sidewalk now so I could have a straight shot at him. My hope was that the traffic would be too much and he would have to turn and run down the side of the street instead of crossing it and going in to the apartments. My heart was beating in my ears and I wanted to barf.
I didn't catch a break, of course, and when he got to the street, he darted out in front of the cars. I made a quick decision and chose to go for it. I was close. He had just made it to the other side when I ran out in to the road. I wasn't as lucky. The next thing I know I am shattering someone’s windshield with my back, then feeling my weightless body float in midair before gravity sends me back to earth in an eruption of pain. The last thing I remember is my head hitting the asphalt. Hard.
12.
I awoke in a hospital bed, as you would assume. The two detectives stood up when I opened my eyes and came over to my bed.
"Don't you assholes have some work to do?" I said with a smile. Oh, smiling hurts.
"Very funny, Lemons. You're lucky to be alive. You went one on one with a Dodge Stratus."
"Let me guess. The Stratus won?"
"Well yeah, but it was a good fight. It's going to need some bodywork and a new windshield. The driver is here, too. She feels horrible."
"Wow, that’s nice. So what’s the damage?"
"Doc says you got no broken bones, aside from a few ribs. I don't even see how that is possible. Your head got banged up pretty bad though, both ankles are probably sprained, too. I sure you don’t need me to tell you how bad your ribs are, right? How you feel?"
"Like I was hit by a goddamn Dodge Stratus." I let out a little laugh. Ahhhh! No more laughter for me for a while. "Have you ever paid your hard earned money to see any movie starring David Spade?
"Yeah."
"It's almost THAT painful!"
Enzite shot me a look that told me he was a David Spade fan. I would have expected no less. Apparently, unfunny midgets stick together. I moved on, "At least tell me you caught the son of a bitch."
Enzite spoke up this time. "We will, man. We didn't even know you had him until we saw all the commotion on the street. We have the car though. Didn't touch it though, ya know. But it’s in impound, I believe."
"Yeah, well, get whatever you need because his trunk had a puddle of blood in it, and his backseat had some blood spatter. I just hope it’s not my girl‘s."
"Yeah, well we figured it had to be something. I shouldn't have lost him like that. Swear to God, one minute he was walking out onto the patio and the next minute he was just fuckin' gone."
"It’s okay, no worries. At least we have a solid lead to follow. Not like it matters now since you have the car, but I took a picture of his license plate but I lost my phone in the pursuit."
"We found it."
"My Phone? Oh, thank goodness. This is the longest we've ever been apart."
Anderson started talking again. He told me when I got out of here, just to be on the safe side, I shouldn't stay at home or hang out too much at my office. "If this guy knows who you are like you think he does, it won’t be too hard to track you down. Do you have anywhere you can stay?"
"Yeah, I think so. I can probably stay with my sister-in-law. I need to get my dog though. He's been alone for way too long. Can I have my phone?"
Enzite retrieved it from the table and handed it to me. It hurt to even raise my arm up and take it from him. I may not have broken, so called major bones but I don't think I'm going to be doing much moving around for a while.
"My gun is in my car, too. I think I had better get that. Actually, where is my car?"
"It’s still at Starbucks. I would have brought it over but your keys were in your pocket when they loaded you into the ambulance."
"No worries."
I turned my phone on and checked the battery. Still had thirty-seven percent left. I was going to need a charger soon, though. I dialed Elise's number and gave her the rundown on what happened. I had awoken her and probably scared the shit out of her. The last time I had to call her was to tell her her sister was dead. I asked if I could stay at her place for a while and she said absolutely. I told her I didn't know when they would discharge me from here but I would let her know. I told her to hold on and lowered the phone so I could ask Anderson a question.
"Hey new BFF, wanna do me a favor?"
"No."
"Can you go to my house and get my dog? Drop him off at my sister-in-laws place?"
He sighed. "Fine, but it’s only because I like dogs."
"Oh, you're a peach, Detective." I gave him a wink.
Back now with Elise, I asked her if she would mind the detective dropping off Wrecker. She said the kids would be thrilled to dog-sit for a while. I reminded her that Wrecker was the world’s laziest dog. She told me her and the kids would be down to the hospital in the morning to visit and hopefully take me home. Sounded like a great plan to me. I told her thanks and goodbye, like a gentleman.
Anderson and Enzite were going to take off and let me get some rest. Should I be sleeping with my head banged up like this? Who knows? I told Anderson to grab my house key from my key ring and asked him if he could also grab my Macbook while he was at my house. With my downtime, I would be able to start my search for David Fick, and I most definitely needed my computer for that. He said no problem and I asked if he needed directions to my house or if he remembered how to get there. He gave me a guilty little smile and admitted to knowing exactly where I lived. I told him Elise's address and that she had promised to have a pot of coffee brewing for them when they made the drop-off. He said they would get started on searching the car as soon as they got the OK from above. I'm pretty sure a judge would be getting woken up for a search warrant. Something told me the detectives weren't going home for some sleep tonight, like originally planned. My bet was that they would be going to the original crime scene and going over everything again. It’s what I would do. Ask some of Amanda Colley's neighbors if they happened to see a cab on the street, too. Just to check. I hope that before they left here though they would ask about any missing drugs, but since it was the middle of the night, I doubted they would have much luck. Oh well. Speaking of drugs, how many am I on, right now? I can’t even make sense to myself. Wow.
On the way out the door, Anderson stopped and said, "Hey Archie, that was pretty badass what ya did tonight, man. Maybe you're not a big of puss as I originally thought."
"Thanks Detective. Oh, can you grab my phone charger, too while you're at the house. My dog will probably be laying on it. It’s by the sofa." He gave me a little nod and with that, they were out the door and I was all alone with nothing but a useless body and my thoughts. I hope they tell that woman
that hit me I appreciated her staying. I need to pay for her cars damage. I'll worry about that later. The lids to my eyes dropped and I fell back into my drug-induced coma within seconds.
13.
When I woke up, I saw some familiar faces sitting in the chairs near my bed. It was Elise and her two boys, Elliot and Eric. Elise was a little taller than average height for a woman, with a slender build and dark black hair like my wife‘s, just cut a little shorter and with a few red highlights in it. She was two years older than my wife was but they both looked and dressed eerily similar. She wore a green Abercrombie sweatshirt that matched her eyes, jeans and black Converse All-Stars. With the painkillers flowing through my bloodstream, it took me a second to realize it wasn’t Marianne sitting there. Elise’s two boys looked almost identical to each other, apart from the obvious age difference, although I could never tell if they looked like her or their father. Adorable, none-the-less.
The boys shot up from their seats when they saw me open my eyes and rushed over to pounce on me. The pain was ridiculous but somehow I didn't mind it so much right then. Elise quickly rushed over to pull the boys off me and explained to them how badly I was hurt and how they had to be gentle with me. For the rest of the visit they treated me as if I was a bubble that would burst with the slightest touch.
"Hey guys!"
"Hi Uncle Archie," they said in unison.