CHAPTER TEN
THE HACKER
Donna arrived at the police station and was impressed with its quaint, old-fashioned exterior. It was clearly a newer building that was built to reflect the stereotypical police station of the late 1920’s.
The inside was neat, clean and had freshly painted white walls. She saw six new desks that were evenly spaced from each other. Each had a new computer sitting on top. Three of the desks were occupied by well-groomed, uniformed police officers. Two of them were busy doing something on the computer and the third was speaking with someone on the telephone.
She walked to a female police officer who was entering data from a stack of paperwork and said, “Excuse me. I’m looking for Deputy Collins.”
The officer stopped typing and picked up a small transceiver. “Your name please?”
“Donna Garrison. I’m here about a citizen’s arrest I made.”
The officer held the device to her mouth and said, “414 to 361.”
“414 go ahead.”
“Bradley, there’s a Donna Garrison to see you.”
“Be right there.”
“He’s coming,” said the officer indifferently.
Donna looked around the station and was impressed with its orderliness. She was surprised to see a giant, potted cactus growing in a corner.
“Hi, Donna,” said a deep voice behind her.
Donna turned slowly and saw Deputy Collins approaching her at a quick pace. Each time she saw his strikingly handsome, six-foot tall chiseled body, she had a moment of excitement. If his hair was only a little longer, he’d be a perfect hunk. However, his short haircut and confident swagger reminded her of a Marine Corps drill instructor and it quickly put the excitement to rest.
“What do you think of our new ‘digs’?”
“Pretty impressive. I’m glad I don’t have to pay your county taxes!” said Donna.
“None of this was bought with county taxes. We used money from drug busts to remodel our station. We also built four new playgrounds, a community center and established a vocational program for high school dropouts.”
“They tried that in some other communities but for some reason it hasn’t worked as well for them,” stated Donna.
“My guess is that it’s a result of limited involvement. When there are only a handful of people coordinating expenditures, mismanagement and corruption seep in. We established ‘The Group of Twelve’. It consists of twelve ordinary, non-governmental citizens who administer all funds seized from illegal activities. They meet in committee and develop plans to use confiscated monies. Their plans are published in the newspaper and are totally open to public scrutiny. We also created an emergency assistance fund, to help families that have found themselves in a bind for whatever reason.”
“Outstanding concept. How come no one else knows about it?” asked Donna.
“That’s a good question. We’re making no attempt to keep it secret. Why don’t you come over here and have a seat at my desk?” said the deputy as he ushered her to a desk in the rear. “I’m going to let you sit in my chair once I bring up the booking screen. Take as much time as you need to fill in the blanks and write your report. I’d be as detailed as possible because our boy is going to be transferred to federal jurisdiction in the morning. Your charges will be scrutinized by the federal prosecutor but the case may not come to trial for a couple of years. The more detailed you are now, the easier it will be for you to recall it when it comes to trial.”
“What do the feds want with him?”
“Do you remember the fingerprints Shingo helped us get?”
“I wasn’t here for that but I was briefed on it,” she replied.
“We e-mailed them to the National Fingerprint File and requested a non-priority search. They finally e-mailed us back this morning with the results. Since it wasn’t listed as a priority, the mail wasn’t opened until the shift change tonight at six. I didn’t see the printed copy until I brought him back here.”
“So, what’s the story?” asked Donna.
“His name isn’t Brian Caufield. It’s not even close. His real name is Kenny Taylor. He’s been arrested on six misdemeanors and two felonies. The feds have been trying to track him down for some unauthorized computer invasions.”
“In other words, he’s a hacker?”
Deputy Collins nodded. “Apparently, he’s a damn good one too. He tapped into some ATM’s at a bank in Kentucky and somehow got PIN numbers on several hundred people. He spent two days going to every ATM he could find and hitting them for one to three hundred dollars per PIN. He took the money and left town before the bank even knew what hit them. I downloaded his records if you want to look through them.”
“Has he said anything since you brought him in?” she asked.
“No. They’re sending a federal interrogator to speak with him in the morning. He’ll probably try to cut a deal since he’s facing his third felony.”
“What about his counsel?” asked Donna.
“The public defender will meet with Taylor before the prosecutor does.”
“This situation is taking on a whole new life!” exclaimed Donna.
“It appears so. I have to go back on patrol in a few minutes. Follow the prompts on the screen and you should have no problems. Any of the other officers here can lend an assist should you need it.”
“Thanks, Deputy.”
The deputy put his hat on and left the police station. Donna spent forty-five minutes completing her report. She picked up a copy of Kenny’s arrest record and then left for her motel room. As she was driving down the highway, she saw a set of headlights in her mirror that duplicated her every move. Her first thought was that the deputy was following her, so at the next traffic light she came to, she made a U-turn and headed back toward the headlights. She could see a single male driver in a civilian car and it certainly wasn’t the deputy.
Donna used her cell phone to call the deputy. “Hey deputy, it’s Donna Garrison. I seem to have grown a tail and it’s very unbecoming on me!”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m headed north on Highway 29 and I just passed Holland Street.”
The deputy hesitated for a minute and then said, “Keep going north. You’ll hit a traffic light at Juniper Street in about five miles. Go west on Juniper for about two blocks. There’s a gas station there. Pull into that gas station. I’ll be there with two other units and we’ll cut that tail off.”
The headlights kept an equal distance until just after her phone call with Deputy Collins. Then they started closing in. It was like a spider crawling down its web with fangs out and legs raised; ready to finalize the prey’s demise.
The traffic light would be the web that stopped Donna. She saw the green switch to red and thought about running it. She had mere seconds to debate with her subconscious and conscious mind. She tended to be a risk taker with a sponge like curiosity. If she ran the light, he might not follow. If she stopped he could have sped by. Too many things to think about and not enough time to rationally fight it out.
The headlights behind did the exact opposite of Donna and sped up. The headlights switched lanes abruptly and pulled immediately next to her. She lunged reflexively to her right side as the report from a gun echoed in her ears. She felt something hammer against her upper arm and then felt her chest getting wet from a warm liquid. She next heard an engine racing and tires squealing. The seat belt prevented her from being flat on the front seat like she wanted to be.
She stayed put and listened for the car to return. She sensed movement in her car and quickly used her right hand to slam the gear shift into park. Her car jerked to a halt in the middle of the intersection. She heard her engine idling and watched as tiny raindrops started to roll like tears down her windshield.
It reminded of her of a lonely night in her college dormitory. She shared the room with two other girls who were very socially active. They each had a bed next to a wall but Donna’s was against a window. She ha
d been playing volleyball in the college gymnasium and slammed to the wooden floor on her left arm. She hyper extended a muscle and the doctor told her she would need six months to recover. Her roommates knew of Donna’s injury but elected to go to a frat party, leaving Donna to fend for herself.
That night she went to bed with her arm wrapped tightly and rested on her right side. It rained that night as well and Donna watched the raindrops hit her windowpanes until she fell asleep.
The warm liquid was rolling across her chest and pooling in the car seat. Donna knew it was blood and she also knew her assailant could return at any moment.
The perpetrator turned off his headlights for a short distance and continued speeding north. He reached over to his open glove compartment and turned off the squawking police band scanner. He looked in his mirror and saw nothing but darkness. Then he said, “Curtis, you devil. You’re so good at what you do. One down and two to go.” He thought for a minute and then said with clarification, “One down and two to go… here. I still have plenty of fun waiting for me back in Atlanta!”
Deputy Collins looked at his watch and knew that Donna should have reached the gas station already. He looked at a patrol car parked behind a trash receptacle and picked up his radio. “She should have been here by now. I’m going to hop onto 29 and see if I can track her down.”
The other officer acknowledged his call as Deputy Collins drove away. He quickly drove the two blocks and saw Donna’s car parked in the middle of the intersection. He parked his vehicle, drew his weapon and approached her with caution.
He cleared the area, assessed the situation and called for an ambulance. “Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay.”
Donna licked her lips and said, “Thanks.” She started to sit up and the deputy verbally halted her.
“It’s better to stay where you are until the paramedics arrive,” cautioned the deputy.
Donna licked her lips again and said, “Send the cavalry north. They’re looking for a lone, white male operator, driving a dark, two-door car.”
The deputy passed the information along to the other two patrol cars and watched as they sped north.
“Can you see the wound?” asked Donna.
“I can see what looks like a point of entry,” he replied.
“How bad?” she asked calmly.
The deputy shined his light on her arm again. He scanned it and her entire body. Then he followed his light throughout the rest of the car interior. He brought his light back to her left arm, the back of her neck and then to the passenger window.
“It looks like the bullet entered just above your left elbow, traveled along the bone and exited from your left shoulder area. It looks like it grazed the back of your neck and left through the passenger window.”
“Don’t follow a trajectory from this vantage point. I was parked at the traffic light when I took the hit. The bullet will be somewhere east of there,” said Donna with the composure of someone discussing a lost baseball.
The deputy looked south and said, “The ambulance is almost here, Donna. We’ll have those leaks plugged in no time! Hang tough for another minute or two.”
Donna licked her lips and managed a weak smile. She continued to watch the rain streaming down her windshield and waited for the paramedics.
Deputy Collins stayed with Donna until the paramedics arrived and started working on her. “These guys are the best in the business, Donna. You’re in great hands now,” he said as he walked to his patrol car. He opened the trunk and removed a roll of yellow crime scene tape. He cordoned off the entire area and waited for the detectives to arrive and take control of the investigation.
The deputy’s sergeant reached the site and approached him. “What do we have?”
“There was a lone, female private detective driving north on Highway 29 en route to a motel that she was staying at. She was being followed by a lone, Caucasian male driver in a dark, two-door car. She called me requesting assistance and was en route to a rendezvous I established, when she stopped at this traffic light. The car following her pulled along side at the light while she was stopped and discharged a single bullet. My preliminary evaluation is that she attempted to lunge to her right side and held her left arm up like this.” The deputy raised his left arm and lowered his head. “The seat belt restrained her movement and the bullet struck here, and exited here.” He used his index finger to point to the probable path of the bullet on his arm. “On the way out, it creased the back of her neck and then traveled out the passenger window.”
“Is she one of the PIs involved with the Taylor arrest?” asked the sergeant.
“She’s the one who made the apprehension and arrest.”
“I hope she doesn’t have to use the ten grand reward money for hospital bills,” said the sergeant.
The deputy shook his head and said, “I completely forgot about the reward. I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
“That should brighten her day,” said the sergeant. “Wait here until the detectives arrive and then write your report. I’ll have Jacobi resume your patrol.” The sergeant returned to his patrol car and drove away.
The detectives made their appearance and after his briefing, Deputy Collins returned to the station and wrote his report. By the time he was done, his shift had ended and he went home for the night.
The following morning, a federal interrogator arrived to begin his questioning of Kenny Taylor, also known as Brian Caufield.
Jailers brought Kenny to an interrogation room where the prosecutor and his public defender were waiting.
“Good morning, Mr. Taylor,” said the prosecutor as Brian/Kenny was shaking the hand of his defender.
“I understand you’ve already discussed your situation with counsel and have been advised of your rights?”
Kenny looked at his lawyer and whispered something in his ear. The lawyer whispered back and then said, “He’s been advised of his right to counsel but still hasn’t been advised of all charges being filed against him.”
“I hope you have a lot of ink in your pen, counselor. Our preliminary charge sheet will specify nineteen criminal offenses, each having multiple counts, involving five different states. Some of the offenses committed were misdemeanors but we also have a considerable number of felonies. Most of them will be dealing with computer crimes. The federal government is coming down hard on computer crime. We’re losing a minimum of $300 billion a year due to computer crimes of one form or another. There’s probably even more being scammed out there that we don’t know about. Your client has done as much damage to our economy as a terrorist with a bomb.”
He gave the public defender and Kenny a moment to digest his comments and then continued. “The sheriff’s department is executing a search warrant of the residence he has been occupying the past few days. The results of the search could lead to even more charges.”
The public defender whispered something in Kenny’s ear. Kenny appeared to be thinking and then whispered something back. The lawyer turned to the interrogator and asked, “What are the five states?”
“California, Texas, Tennessee, Georgia and Florida. Who knows, it could be more tomorrow.”
“Where will he be tried first?” Kenny’s attorney inquired.
“Once we determine which charges will take precedence, we may keep him here or extradite him elsewhere. California wants him real bad for over thirteen offenses and they have the third strike policy there. Your client is going away for a long, long, long time.”
“May I?” asked the defender as he reached for the charge sheet in front of the interrogator. He and Kenny reviewed the sheet. All the color in Kenny’s face drained away and he took on a ghostly appearance. The two whispered back and forth like two kids sharing secrets in the playground.
“Are you prepared to offer a deal of any kind?” quizzed the defender.
“A deal? Perhaps. It would be very, very conditional though. I’ll give you twenty-four hours. By then we’ll have the prelimin
ary charge sheet prepared and we can take it from there.”
The public defender nodded, rose and shook the interrogator’s hand. The public defender buttoned his brown, single-breasted suit coat and avoided eye contact with Kenny as the federal interrogator left the room. He scratched the back of his head and without looking at Kenny said, “You’re in the deepest kind of shit there is. I don’t remember ever seeing a case tried like yours before and I’ve reviewed thousands of cases. If they achieve successful prosecution on all those charges, I guarantee you that you’ve breathed your last breath of free air. Even with a deal, you’ll be lucky to get less than one hundred and fifty years.”
Kenny lowered his head and stared blankly at the table in front of him.
His lawyer lifted the charge sheet up and read some of the charges aloud. “Income tax evasion, interstate flight to avoid prosecution, credit card fraud, attempted rape, internet fraud, identity theft. Were you trying to break every law ever enacted?” He shook his head and read a few more, “Assault and battery, trade secret theft, insurance fraud. You don’t need a lawyer, you need one hell of a prayer and a big ladder to climb out of the hole you dug .” The lawyer sat down, rubbed his chin and said, “I don’t know. Maybe we can get them to drop a few charges. Do you have anything to trade?”
Kenny kept staring at the table and mumbled, “Trade?”
“Do you know of any other computer hackers that you could tell them about?”
“No,” he mumbled.
“Man, there’s not going to be much to deal with. You’re coming to the table with no money and asking to play. Don’t be surprised if they don’t let you in the game.”
Kenny raised his head slightly and said, “I might have something to trade but I want to think about it for awhile. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“I hope it’s good. Remember, the fed is the dealer and he’s holding some powerful cards.”
The public defender gathered his things and said, “Jailer.”
The jailer came, opened the door and the defender left. Another jailer come from the hallway and the two of them escorted Kenny back to his cell.
Meanwhile, Marcia was on the phone with Deputy Collins. He was at the hospital and had just left Donna’s room.
“How’d the surgery go?” asked Marcia in a worried voice.
“The surgeons were able to repair some of the damage but Donna will only have about twenty percent of her arm’s normal function. When the bullet entered her arm, it took a sizeable chunk of her elbow and shoulder. At this stage, she won’t be able to bend her arm at all. They think that future surgeries will be able to restore some motion but they said it’s too early to tell.”
Marcia got misty-eyed and paused to collect herself. “How much would you charge to cover me here for a couple of hours? I’d like to see her for a couple of minutes and get something to eat.”
“As long as it’s only for a couple of hours, I can sit in for you at no charge. I like you guys all right but I do have a job and other priorities.”
“Understood. Thanks,” said Marcia sincerely.
“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” he said and then hung up.
Marcia called the Atlanta office and got Robert just as he was entering the door.
“Hi, Robert. It’s Marcia. We have a situation here.”
She explained everything that had happened and expressed her concerns about how things were escalating.
“I’m going to call the team in. We’ll be down there on the next flight, regardless of cost. Have someone meet us at the airport that knows exactly how to get there so we don’t waste any time. Don’t suspend coverage though.”
“I’ll work something out. I’m going to see Donna as soon as the deputy arrives.”
“What hospital is she in?”
“She’s in Freemont General but it’ll be easier to reach her on her cell.”
“All right. We’ll be there as quickly as we can. I’ll call with flight information so you arrange to have someone meet us.”
“Talk to you later, Robert,” said Marcia as she closed her cell phone.
Hunting season was open for Curtis and he wanted to bag his limit so he could get back to the fun and money in Atlanta. He wasted no time getting back on the road and tracking his prey.
He noticed that he was low on gas, so he pulled into a small, twenty-four hour gasoline and food mart. It was the kind of shop and puke you see on every other corner in every other town.
He filled his tank with a stolen credit card and went inside to get a snack and a drink. Curtis rarely ate breakfast because he felt it slowed him down too much. He walked around the assorted food racks, picked out a few candy bars and went to the refrigerated section to select a drink. He stopped to try on a pair of sunglasses displayed on a spinner rack. He looked in the display mirror he said, “Curtis, you handsome devil!” Then something caught his eye. An attractive, teenage looking girl with red hair stepped from behind the counter. He licked his lips and said, “Now that’s what I call breakfast!”
He walked to the refrigerator door, opened it, lifted a red fruit drink in a glass container and let it fall to floor. Glass and juice splattered everywhere. The girl heard the breaking glass and nonchalantly strolled back to Curtis to investigate. She looked at him and said jokingly, “I ought to make you clean it up.”
He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Get me a mop.”
The girl laughed and said, “Yeah, right!”
“I have a better idea, why don’t we go in the back room and party,” he said as he produced a small plastic bag with a white substance packed inside.
She eyeballed his black shoes, black slacks, blue shirt and black leather jacket. His hands were hard looking with multiple old scar ridges. His hair was combed but it looked dirty to her somehow. She could deal with that aspect of him. When she got to his eyes, it was another story. The eyes were different. They were dark brown but looked black and evil. It was like the eyes could exist without a body. They were the kind of eyes that could summon your soul and leave nothing but the flesh in their wake. Eyes that could paralyze every muscle in your body; freezing you where you stood while the owner decided what he wanted to do with his prey. They made her feel nervous and frightened. The longer she looked at his fixed gaze, the more nervous she felt and the more frightened she became. She wanted to ask him to put the open sunglasses resting on his head over his eyes to shield her from those eyes.
“I’m not in the mood to party.” Her mouth was getting dry and she had a hard time getting the words out. Her smart-ass attitude met its match and forfeited. She didn’t feel cool anymore. The only thing she felt was a mounting, all-consuming fear.
“How about a little mood music then!” said Curtis as he dropped the candy bars, made a fist and drove it into her jaw. He heard her jawbone shatter as she sailed backward toward the stockroom door, as easily as a rag doll being thrown by an angry child.
“Nothing like the music of breaking bones to get you in the mood.”
Curtis looked around the store and made a quick glance out the front window. Seeing no one around, he walked to the girl, grabbed her by her red hair and dragged her into the stockroom. He opened the plastic bag, brought the white powder to his nose and snorted some of the contents. He closed the bag tightly and returned it to his pocket.
“Momma always said too much candy will spoil anyone’s appetite and I sure don’t want to spoil my breakfast,” he said as he took a hunting knife from a sheath tucked in the back of his pants. He cut the unconscious girl’s clothes from her and raped her. She regained consciousness toward the end of the rape and began to weep. The tears mixed with the blood that was seeping from her mouth and pooled on the floor.
“Tears of joy always warm my heart,” he said sadistically. Curtis looked at the blood and said, “I do so wish I could be a neater person! Kind of looks like the other mess I made out there. The big difference… and the best difference is tha
t it’s about to get much, much messier. ”
He pulled his pants up, adjusted his clothing and kneeled back down to the girl. He kissed her on the forehead, put one hand over her mouth and plunged his knife into her chest repeatedly with the other hand until she closed her eyes for the final time. He used a piece of her white blouse to wipe the blood from his knife, casually held it up and said, “It’s actually quite decorative. Hmmm, maybe there’s a profitable hobby in this! Something to think about! Goodbye, sweetheart,” he said as he stood and left.
When he left the stockroom, he saw a frustrated customer standing at the register area, looking in every direction for someone to help him. Curtis marched straight at the man and stabbed him five times in the abdomen. “Damn! I’m getting a good workout this morning,” he said as he wiped his knife on the man’s shirt. He looked at the wet blood and said, “Yes, I think we’re talking hobby here. The next time I need to bring a jar and save some blood to work with later. I could be known as ‘Curtis, Genius Knife Artist’. No one would have to know where I got the blood!” he said as he went to the exit.
Curtis had his hand on the front door when he stopped and snapped his fingers. “Damn, I almost forgot dessert!” He ran to the snack aisle, shoved some candy bars into his pocket and hustled to his car. He started the engine and drove away slowly toward Mac’s house.
“I’ve got to get out of here before these assholes make me break a sweat and ruin my clothes!”
Curtis had savagely ended two lives and severely damaged another, while Mac was just stirring in her bed. Once again, she was very slow to rise and get moving. She didn’t like the groggy, lethargic feeling and decided not to take any more medication of any kind unless she found she could no longer bear the pain or discomfort. If she did take some, she would certainly never mix them with any form of alcohol again.
Mac had to satisfy her curiosity before she did anything else, so she headed for the jigsaw puzzle. She went to the coffee table and looked closely at it. “Hmmm. No change. That’s a first. Twenty-four hours and no change. Maybe it’s over.”
She completed the breakfast routine and reflexively searched for a cell phone to check voice mail. She quickly realized there wouldn’t be any voice mail. It was a good feeling not to have to deal with bullshit first thing in the morning but it was also an empty feeling. It created a whole new void she would have to fill.
Mac went to her bedroom closet and was pushing hangers on the rod to the side when she heard a whisper. She couldn’t quite make it out, so she said, “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
She sensed a warm, reassuring presence. It made her feel as secure as if she were in her father’s lap, being held snuggly while they watched television.
The voice whispered once again. “I love you, Mac.”
“Who loves me?”
The reassuring presence dissipated and Mac felt alone.
“Who loves me?” Mac turned from her closet and looked around the room.
She slammed her closet door and said in a loud, frustrated voice, “I’m getting tired of this whispering shit! Why the games? Why don’t you stay and talk to me?”
She waited in a sea of silence. The only sound she heard was her own thoughts. She sighed deeply, opened her closet door again and picked out some clothes.
Mac changed from her bed clothes and went outside. She was greeted by a brilliant blue sky and an insignificant breeze as she made her way to the surveillance van.
She knocked on the sliding door and smiled when she saw Marcia step outside.
“Good morning, Marcia. I must have had a heck of a night last night. I don’t even remember coming home. I’ve learned my lesson though. I’ll never mix medications with alcohol again!”
“Good decision,” replied Marcia in a monotone voice. “Do you remember getting ready for bed?”
Mac’s eyes shifted from side to side as she tried in vain to recall that event. “Damn, now that you ask, I can’t remember any part of going to bed. Why, did I look like an idiot or something on tape?”
“You have no recollection of last night after leaving the bowling alley?” asked Marcia.
“I vaguely remember leaving. After that, there’s nothing. Did I make a fool of myself?”
“No, but we did have a good bit of excitement.” Marcia provided Mac with a play-by-play account of what transpired.
Mac laughed when she heard about Brian/Kenny’s scrambled eggs. “I feel embarrassed but I’m thankful Donna was there for me. I’d like to thank her. When does her shift start?”
“She won’t be coming back here. She was shot last night,” stated Marcia.
Mac gasped and brought her hands to her face and covered her mouth with her fingers. “Shot? Why? Oh my, God! How bad?”
“She was being followed. When she stopped at a traffic light, a man shot her. She lunged to her side and took the bullet in her arm. She’ll be okay but she’ll lose some of the use in her left arm.”
“Why on earth did he shoot her?”
“Everyone’s asking that question. It’s possible it was a random attack. Maybe it was some crazy bastard looking for kicks. We’re still early into the investigation but we’re taking no chances and we’ll be operating under the assumption it’s associated with you.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s recovering from surgery at Freemont General. I’ll give you her cell number if you’d like to call her.”
“I’d rather go see her in person.”
“That’s fine but you’re going to have to wait until the team gets here. In view of all that has happened, we don’t want you traveling anywhere alone.”
“The team?” inquired Mac.
“The team is the remaining three investigators in Atlanta. They’ll put everything they are doing on hold and join us here. They won’t leave until your case is resolved or until they apprehend the shooter. If the shooter is involved in your case and they apprehend him, it may very well close your case.”
“What if they don’t find him?”
“If he’s involved in your case, he’ll be back. If he comes back, the team will be waiting.”
“When will they be here?” asked Mac in a tense voice.
“My guess is sometime this evening. They’ll be on the first flight they can get. Don’t worry, Mac. We’ll be footing the tab for their tickets.”
Mac wasn’t thinking about the tickets. She was thinking about Donna. She had been shot and she could’ve been killed. Everything was getting more and more real to her. Kenny couldn’t have been involved because he was at the gray bar café and would be for some time to come. Obviously, someone else was deeply involved.
“I don’t understand. If someone was after me, why wouldn’t he just try to kill me? Why would he go after Donna?”
“He could’ve been observing us and wanted to thin the herd, so to speak, thereby increasing his odds at hitting his target. He could have had something personal against Donna from another case she worked and followed her here. He may have thought Donna was you. It’s also possible he likes his work too much and just wanted some extra excitement. It’s hard to say why he did what he did.”
Marcia looked Mac in the eyes and said, “Does it really matter why he shot her? What matters is that we get him and stop it from ever happening again.”
“I was planning on flying back to Atlanta to square away some loose ends, do some networking for new employment here and pack my things at my apartment,” said Mac already knowing Marcia’s response.
“No can do, Mac. The pot is about ready to boil. We take it off the burner now and it will cool down and we’ll have to start all over. Do you realize the time and money that will be involved? We need to stay the course we’ve charted and be prepared for anything the next few days.”
Mac knew it was the right decision. “Oh well. Since I was going to book a flight with less than seven days notice, it was going to cost me over two thousand dollars for a ticket anywa
y. I can wait.”
“We don’t want you going any further than the Cuda Shack from now on. Are you going to be able to live with that?” asked Marcia.
“My house is the trap and I’m the bait, right?”
Marcia nodded.
“If that’s the way it has to be, that’s the way it has to be,” said Mac with a shallow sigh.
“If we can keep a tight noose around you, it will frustrate any would-be assassins. The frustration will lead to impatience and the impatience will lead to mistakes. The mistakes will lead the team straight to him.”
Mac smiled and said, “And the team will lead him to the gray bar café!”
“Maybe. If he’s lucky.”
Mac decided it was best not to delve into Marcia’s last response any deeper. It was one of those situations where the less you know, the better.
“Maybe I can get Shingo to rent some movies for me. I’ve got a brand new television, complete with DVD player just sitting inside gathering dust. I may as well get some use out of it. It’s going to get pretty boring here,” complained Mac.
“My guess is that death is more boring!” said Marcia.
“No…it’s not!” whispered a voice.
Mac stared at Marcia waiting to see if she made any comment. Marcia stared at Mac waiting for the same response.
“You heard it…didn’t you?” asked Mac with a big grin.
“I heard something. It could have been…”
Mac didn’t let her finish. “Bullshit. You heard the voice and you understood what it said. You can try to rationalize it until the moon actually turns to cheese and it still won’t work. It won’t work because there’s no rational answer and you damn well know it!!”
“Let’s say I accept it as a voice. What should my or your, next step be? What do you think it all means?”
“I wish I knew. It’s the not knowing part that is so frustrating. I am excited that someone beside me finally heard it. You don’t know how good it feels. At least I know I’m not hallucinating.”
“Doesn’t it seem odd that you were the only one that could hear it until now? Why not before? I realize you have no answers but it’s my number one question if you’re ever involved in an actual conversation,” said Marcia.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Mac responded.
“Come out, come out whoever you are!!” chanted Marcia as she looked around the van.
They both waited anxiously and when nothing happened, they laughed in nervous harmony.
“I guess I’ll go and do laundry.” Mac looked at Marcia and then to the sea and said, “Well, come on if your coming. That is, of course, unless you prefer Marcia’s company.”
She smiled at Marcia, went back inside and started gathering up the dirty laundry.
She took the clothes past the electronic array on her dining room table and went through a door to the laundry room. It wasn’t much more than a walk-in closet that contained a washing machine, electric dryer and scant shelving which held little more than detergent and fabric softener. She turned the clothes right side out and tossed them in the washing machine as it filled with soap and water. She filled it with clothes and closed the lid. Mac continued sorting the clothes, checking all the pockets and creating a mound for the next load, while the washer churned away. She grabbed the jeans from the previous night and felt something foreign when she checked the right front pocket. She pulled the object out and gasped. Her heart began racing and she began breathing hard. She was so excited the veins in her neck began to throb from the pressure of the surging blood. It was the shell necklace Billy gave to her on their last day together. She had lost track of it years ago and assumed it was a victim of time. Yet, from all appearances, it still looked as fresh, neat and clean as the day it was given to her. She raised her hand over her open mouth and said, “Oh, my God!”
Mac ran out to the van and banged on the door. Marcia opened it quickly and nearly blurted excitedly, “What happened?”
“Look what I found!” exclaimed Mac as she held up the necklace.
Marcia was a little exasperated because she though Mac had a real situation to deal with. “Mac, it’s only a trinket. It’s not like you found a string of pearls.”
Mac shook her head and said, “It’s more valuable than a string of pearls to me. It was handmade by my first boyfriend, Billy Mullins. I thought it was lost and gone forever. I had it in Atlanta for years and simply lost track of it. The next thing I know it’s in my jeans in Florida. I wore those jeans in Atlanta and washed them before I came down here so I know it wasn’t in them all along.”
“How do you think it got into your pocket?”
“It’s Billy, Marcia. He’s here! He’s the voice I’ve been hearing. The necklace is his way of announcing that he’s back!!”
“If it’s so important for him to let you know he’s here, why doesn’t he tell you, instead of just whispering a couple of words?”
Mac climbed down a few steps on the ladder of euphoria when Marcia said that. You’re right though. If it was Billy, why not approach me and say, “Hello, Mac. It’s the ghost of Billy Mullins. I’m back from wherever I was. I love you and….and…and what? Mac’s enthusiasm waned even more when she considered the fact that he was dead. My dead boyfriend is trying to contact me. Good grief! How desperate am I? I can’t have a relationship with a ghost I can see or touch! Especially one that says less than ten words all day! Mac…what in the world are you thinking.
“He probably doesn’t say more than he does because he knows we can never be together. Maybe I did lose the necklace somewhere and he was kind enough to return it.”
“Maybe he’s been assigned as your guardian angel,” suggested Marcia.
“Maybe,” sighed Mac as she closed her hand over the necklace and went back inside.
Mac finished sorting the clothes, went to her bedroom and put the necklace on the white doily across the top of her dresser. She read the inscription on the shell once more and said, “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand any of this.” Then she realized something was missing. It was her favorite doll, Miss Julie. The once beautiful doll in her once beautiful pink dress that held Mac’s hand and keep her safe hundreds of dark and scary nights. The doll that was more a companion than a toy had disappeared. Mac looked everywhere in her room but to no avail. She looked in the bathroom, down the hallway, in her closet and then finally found it sitting on the coffee table next to the jigsaw puzzle.
“How in the world did you get in here?” she asked, knowing that an answer from the doll would likely clinch her reservation in a psychiatric ward. She picked the doll up and brought it to her face like she was holding a real baby.
“Maybe I can get someone to run to the store for me and get you some more yarn hair,” stated Mac as she smoothed the doll’s “hair” back.
She took the doll back to her dresser and placed it so that its back was to the mirror. In doing so, she saw the reflection of the back of the doll’s dress and clearly saw scattered granules of sand.
She left Miss Julie sitting against the mirror and returned to the coffee table. There was a small sampling of sand next to the edge of the puzzle where the doll was resting. The little girl in the puzzle seemed to be in the same spot so how did Miss Julie get from the dresser to the living room? How did she get sand on her back? Just two more questions to file in the unknown zone. The questions were piling higher and higher. There was no indication that any answers would be forthcoming to lighten the load. She wondered how high they would climb before they toppled. What would happen when they did?
It reminded her of an open book test she once took in school. There were ten questions and all the answers were in the book in front of her. Yet, when time was up, she still hadn’t been able to find the answers to two of the questions. She was hoping all the “ghostly” events had answers and they just had to be found but she knew how her track record was with obvious answers. The thought occurred to her that the answers would be more
obscure and she’d spend the rest of her life trying to figure it all out. I’ll have a ghost married to my shadow the rest of my life. What a thought!
Mac wiped the sand from the table, returned to her bedroom and this time she looked past Miss Julie and eyed her own reflection in the mirror. “What if it turns out that this ghost is just a friend of Billy’s who likes me like Brian, I mean Kenny, did. Great! A ghost stalker!”
Mac turned her attention back to Miss Julie, picked her up and looked in the general direction the dolls should be. “But what if it is Billy, or even my dad? What does it all mean?” She put Miss Julie back, smiled at the doll and said, “I really didn’t expect an answer from you right away but I wanted you to be at least thinking about it.”
There was going to be a lot of down time ahead of her so she went to her briefcase for a notepad to create an action list for the remainder of the week.
The first thing on her list was to call Shingo and fill him in on current events. She picked up her cell phone, scrolled down to number twelve and entered the number.
“Cuda Shack,” answered Shingo.
“Hi, Shingo,” she said solemnly.
“Uh oh. You don’t sound good, Mac. What’s wrong?”
“Donna was shot in the arm. She’s had surgery and is recovering at the hospital. The detective agency is sending in the troops to help with surveillance. I heard a ghost again, only this time Marcia heard him too.” Mac paused, let out a short sigh and said, “Strange shit keeps happening in my house. I can’t get away from it all because I’m grounded now. The furthest I can travel until all this blows over is the Shack. How’s that for a start?”
“Why don’t you come for lunch and we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” replied Mac.
Shingo was empathetic and thought of a way to ease the burden. “Hang up and call me back immediately.”
“Why?” asked Mac.
“Come on, Mac. Humor me. Just hang up, call me back and tell me you want to come here for lunch.”
“All right!” she said as she complied and redialed.
Shingo grabbed the handset from his wall phone and said, “Hello, you have the world famous Cuda Shack. How may I direct your call?”
Mac smiled and said, “I want to come there for lunch.”
“Please hold while I connect you with reservations.” Shingo hummed some background music, pretending to put Mac on hold.
“Hello. Maitre d’ speaking. How may I help you?” said Shingo with a lame French accent.
“I’d like to come there for lunch,” replied Mac, still smiling.
“How many in your party?”
“Just myself,” said Mac.
“I have a table for two opening in one hour. Your name please.”
“Sarah Flanagan,” she replied jokingly.
“I’m terribly sorry; Ms. Flanagan has been banned from this establishment.”
“How about Mackenzie Mason?”
“Table for two for Ms. Mackenzie Mason in one hour. May I be of any further assistance Ms. Mason?”
“No, thank you. Is there a dress code there?” she asked.
“Absolutely! No one who is wearing any formal clothing will be served!”
“What about tipping? Is that included in the check?”
“Absolutely! A straight fifteen percent is automatically added,” said Shingo, still struggling with a weak French accent.
“Thank you. I guess I’ll see you in an hour!”
“Goodbye, Ms. Mason. I look forward to your arrival.”
Mac hung up and chuckled. Shingo put her in a much better mood but then again, he usually did. There were several occasions when the anxiety related to her position got out-of-control and she needed reassurance. She could always talk to Shingo and he made things better. He never judged and rarely offered advice but he had a way of redirecting her thoughts to a point where she could cope more easily.
Next on the agenda was Larry Summers, her attorney in Atlanta. She called his office and after a short wait was connected to him.
“Hey, Larry. It’s Mackenzie Mason. Do you have the time for a few questions?”
“I may not have the answers but I have the time, Mac,” he replied with a smile. “Fire away.”
“You handled the deed transfer from my parent’s name to my name when they passed away and you handled my divorce. You also prepared a will for me about five or six years ago, do you remember?”
“It all sounds familiar and I certainly recognize your name. Let me pull your file,” replied the attorney as he put Mac on hold.
Larry Summers was a young, bright attorney who specialized in real estate law but would handle other cases as the need arose. He was a kind and understanding man outside of the courtroom but a vicious viper once he went through the courtroom doors.
Mac found him quite by chance. She needed a divorce attorney and asked some business associates if they knew any good lawyers. They all referred her to expensive law firms that billed you just for saying hello. Then one day she was making a store visit and in the course of the visit, helped a customer with a sale. They chatted for awhile and he gave her his business card.
He had a thriving practice but never flaunted his prosperity. He neither acted humble nor arrogant and Mac admired that down-to-earth personality trait in people.
“I have your file, Mac. What are your questions?”
“I wanted to make sure that Shingo Hisamatsu is still listed as my main beneficiary.”
Larry flipped through the file and said, “Yes, he is.”
“I’d also like to go ahead and have my cottage in Florida deeded over to him.”
“I can do that,” said Larry.
“Do I need to sign anything?” asked Mac.
“I still have your power of attorney on file so I won’t need you here. It would be better for you to review the documents involved though.”
“I have some unfinished business here in Florida and as soon as I wrap it up, I’ll stop in.”
Mac provided her attorney with her new cell phone number and hung up. She still had some time before going to Shingo’s so she decided to clean out her briefcase. Since she didn’t have a job anymore, there was no need to keep anything associated with it.
After throwing away old files and documents pertaining to her job, she looked at her cell phone and began deleting manager’s phone numbers and store telephone numbers. She was a little surprised that none of her managers tried to call her after being fired. She really thought April Maxwell would call. April always seemed friendly and sincerely interested in Mac as a person. Mac determined that it was probably nothing more than April being political and sucking up to the boss. Oh well, she thought. I guess I really only have one friend after all.
Mac wanted to work on the Miss Julie restoration and she still had to finish cleaning the attic. She debated momentarily and decided the attic could wait awhile.
She got her box of acrylics from her closet and returned to the living room. She turned her stereo on and tuned it to a classical music channel. She cleared a small spot on the edge of the coffee table and set out her paints.
Her eyes wandered to the jigsaw puzzle and she noticed that the orange truck crane with the log shifted position and the log seemed lower. Additionally, she thought she saw a man standing at the beginning of the pier that wasn’t there before. He was facing the crane and may have been watching the workmen lowering the log into place. In any case, it was the first time she had seen him in the puzzle. She was no longer startled by new puzzle observations. She had accepted them as commonplace and moved on with whatever she was doing.
She opened the tubes and squeezed some paint onto an old palette. There was a little crust at the opening of the tubes but once cleared away, they were fine and still usable.
Mac opted to make the doll’s eyes a light blue and the eyebrows a dirty blonde. She would eventually get some beige yarn to serve as the dirty blonde hair.
She completed th
e face and made a fresh pot of coffee. She poured a cup and returned to her project. She took great care to detail the hands and feet, making sure the finger and toenails were accurately painted. She even drew small lines to indicate where the fingers should separate, if there were any, and lines to indicate where knuckles should be on the cloth hands.
The doll was completed and set on her dresser to dry. The hour had passed so she went to Shingo’s for lunch.
She told Marcia where she was going and headed for the Cuda Shack. On the way, she reflected on how her life had shifted gears. She had gone from living ninety miles an hour to a mere ten. There were no more hectic schedules, no nagging telephone calls, no ass to kiss anymore and no feeling that she belonged to anything anymore. It was like walking into a huge ballroom with no furniture. It was grand but empty. She had a lot of life experiences but she no longer had a need to apply any of those experiences.
When she arrived at the Shack, her best friend, Shingo, was waiting at the door. He was wearing a black, clip-on bowtie attached flimsily to his t-shirt, a white apron, wrinkled khaki pants and had a white towel folded neatly over his right forearm.
“Hello, madam. How may I help you?” said Shingo, trying to speak with a French accent again.
Mac smiled and played along. “Yes, I have reservations for lunch.”
“Really? And how many are there in your party?”
“Just myself,” she replied with an impish grin.
“What name is the reservation listed under?” he asked.
“Mackenzie Mason.”
Shingo turned the pages of his receipt book and said, “Ah, yes. I see it here.”
He looked around the empty restaurant and said, “I have reserved the finest table in the house for you. My name is Pierre and I will be serving you the finest cuisine the state of Florida has to offer.”
Shingo escorted Mac to the only table without gum on the bottom and pulled her chair out for her. After seating her, he came around to the front of the table and said, “May I suggest we begin your meal with some of our world renown vintage coffee?”
“Which one would you recommend?” asked Mac.
“I strongly recommend the Caffeine de Shingo. It is a house blend of freshly ground coffee beans that we have imported from two counties to our east.”
“Hmmmm. Sounds inviting. I’ll try some of that for sure but I’d also like a sweet tea chaser.”
“Excellent selection, Ms. Mason. Would you care for any appetizers?”
“No, thank you. Any suggestions for the main entrée?” asked Mac with a reserved smile.
“We serve the very best freshly steamed Dogs de Hot. Or, if you prefer, our world class chef will grill our imported, freshly ground beef to your exact specifications. Naturally, both entrées are steeped in fresh condiments of your choosing.”
Mac smiled at Shingo and said, “I’ll take the ground beef, Pierre. Make sure it is well- done but I don’t want a briquette. Smother it with the works and slap on a bunch of mayo.”
Shingo pretended to make some notations on his receipt book and left for the kitchen. Mac stared at the place setting and smiled. Shingo had set out a mismatched dinnerware ensemble. She had a white ceramic plate, with a beige saucer to be used as a bread plate and a coffee cup resting on an off-white, chipped saucer that was somewhat smaller than it should be for the cup resting on it.
He had a lit, tall, yellow candle that already had half its size resting in the drip pan of the candle holder.
Shingo returned with the coffeepot in hand and poured a small amount in her cup for her to sample.
Mac savored the aroma, then swirled it a little. She smelled it again and finally took a sip. “Outstanding blend, Pierre.”
“Thank you, madam. It is one of our best years.”
She put the cup down and Shingo filled it to the top. “The chef is preparing your meal as we speak. Your wait will be minimal, Ms. Mason!” Shingo set the coffeepot on the table and went to the kitchen.
“Thank you, Pierre,” she said as she watched him walk away.
A few minutes later he returned with Mac’s hamburger and it was delicious. She thought about having another one but decided to wait for her brain to catch up with her stomach. She didn’t want to overdo it.
“Would you care to view our dessert menu, madam?”
“No, thank you, Pierre. Just bring me the check please.”
“Very well, madam.”
Shingo gathered the dirty dinnerware, save the coffee cup and went to the kitchen.
He returned with a sheet of white paper, marked with a huge red check. He passed it to Mac and said, “You will note that our prices are very competitive…and the gratuity has in fact been added!”
Mac put the paper on the table and gave Shingo a warm hug. “Thanks for a fantastic lunch.”
They separated from their embrace and Mac sat back down. “Mind if I join you?” asked Shingo.
“Like you have to ask?” she said.
Shingo got another coffee cup, filled it and sat down at Mac’s table. “I’ve developed a new line and I want to test it out.”
“A new line?” quizzed Mac.
“Yeah. Ask me to donate a ham to the next charity auction,” said Shingo with a devious smile.
“All right. Shingo, I have a charity auction coming up on the fifth. We need some local merchants to help us with the buffet. Would you mind donating a ham for the event?”
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a ham!!” he replied and burst into laughter.
Mac thought it was amusing but not hilarious, like Shingo did, and merely chuckled.
“I’ve been waiting to use that line for months!!!” said Shingo as he calmed down.
“I’m ever so lucky! Got any more?”
“Not right now,” said Shingo as he tapped his head, “but I’m working on it!”
“Don’t work too hard!” laughed Mac.
“Ouch!” Shingo feigned hurt feelings and a sniffle.
Mac took a sip of her coffee and said, “Off the subject, but you’ll never guess what I found.”
“A lucky penny, a diamond ring, a chunk of meteor from Venus, a….”
Mac held her hand up like a traffic cop and said, “Stop! I found the heart necklace that Billy Mullins gave me all those years ago.”
“I know. Naomi put it in your pants pocket last night. She found it in the sand after your confrontation with Brian, I mean, Kenny. She thought some kid lost it and I told her it was yours. I figured it came off in the scuffle.”
Mac was speechless. Her jaw dropped as she broke her stare at Shingo to look out the front window.
“What’s wrong?” inquired Shingo.
“I lost track of the necklace years ago. I didn’t have a clue where it was. I looked for it for awhile but with each new day come new priorities. In time, I totally forgot about it. Then when I was doing the laundry this morning, I found it in my jeans pocket and thought Billy put it there.”
“No, like I said, Naomi put it there after she found it in the sand.”
“How in the world did it get in Horseshoe Mound? It had to be Billy! I didn’t bring it with me from Atlanta and I haven’t been to the Mound in forever. Even if I had it and dropped it there years ago, it would be long buried by now. And then at the van, Marcia was talking about my confinement and said my death would be more boring than confinement. A soft, whispery voice said it wouldn’t. We both heard it so unless someone is playing an extremely elaborate joke, it has to be Billy’s ghost. At first I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be my dad because I’ve had paranormal experiences suggesting it might be him. But, when you said the necklace was at Horseshoe Mound, it clinched it for me. Billy was the only other person that knew it was given to me there and understood the significance.”
Shingo contemplated while Mac took a slow sip of coffee. He rubbed his chin and said, “Let’s assume you’re correct. Let’s say there are ghosts who possess the same faculties the living poss
ess, except actual substance. Wouldn’t it be possible for any ghost to know about the necklace and put it there, including your father? Or, your mother even?”
“Come on, Shingo. You know I don’t have an answer.”
“I’m not looking for an answer. I’m simply trying to think this thing through. I guess your hypothesis is valid but I’m a little confused. If it is Billy, why all the mystery? Why doesn’t he just come forward?”
“Marcia said basically the same thing. This is all driving me nuts!!” exclaimed Mac as she rested her elbows on the table and brought her hands up to cover her face.
Shingo took a sip of coffee and looked at Mac. “I wish I had some answers for you.”
He reached across the table and gently caressed her forearm. He had run out of witticisms and tricks. He didn’t know how else to help her.
Shingo was looking at Mac with her head in her hands and a male voice whispered, “The pier…”
Mac’s head shot up and Shingo jumped straight out of his chair like a spring-loaded toy.
“That’s the voice!!” said an excited Mac. “Now you’ve heard it too!!”
“No denying it, Mac. I heard it. It wasn’t very loud but it still shot through my head like a bomb blast.”
“The voice said ‘The pier’. Let’s go,” said Mac as she stood and yanked Shingo’s arm toward the front door like a tow truck.
Shingo jammed his hand in his pocket quickly and said, “Let me at least take the time to lock the door!”
Once locked, the two made haste to the end of the pier. Along the way, Mac said, “What do you think it means?”
“Maybe he’s ready to meet you.”
“I’m nervous, Shingo. Only Billy knew about Horseshoe Mound and it’s been a man’s voice all along. What do I say to him? What if I can’t see him? How will I know if it’s him I’m really talking to?”
“Sorry, Mac. I can only remember the first two questions. You start by saying hello. My feeling is that once you are actually engaged in a conversation and you exchange memories, etc., you’ll know if it’s him or not.”
“That was actually question one and three. You skipped number two. What if I can’t see him? If he’s coming back into my life, I don’t think I could be content to have a relationship with an invisible entity. That’d be like having an imaginary friend no one else could see.”
“That’s a tough one all right. Obviously, you guys could be great friends but I don’t see it going any further than that.”
“Maybe I’ll get out on the pier and he’ll tell me how to make him appear or something.”
“Anything’s possible, Mac.”
“Do you think we’re supposed to go all the way out to the end?” asked Mac.
“Hold it, Mac,” said Shingo as he stopped abruptly. “What if I’m not supposed to go with you? What if he sees me and decides not to show?”
“But he spoke in front of you,” she replied.
“It still may have been intended for you alone. What if he said it because he trusted me and figured I’d stay at the Shack?”
“You could be right, I suppose.”
“I’m going to head back. You keep going and let me know if anything happens,” said Shingo.
The second he unlocked the door, his telephone rang. When he answered it, he instantly recognized Marcia’s voice.
“Hey, Shingo. It’s Marcia Labonte.”
“Hi, Marcia.”
“The guys were able to get emergency seating but they had to come on two different flights. Robert will be on the first flight. Dennis and Mario will be flying forty-five minutes after that on another airline. Is Naomi still willing to meet the team at the airport?”
“She’s good to go as soon as you give her the word.”
“Great. Let’s plan on her being there at three this afternoon. She knows to bring them straight here, right?”
“Yes. That hasn’t changed, has it?”
“No. The team will meet me here at the van. They’ll familiarize themselves with the layout and then form a plan of action. Robert has already gotten permission to speak with Kenny at the jail. He’ll need a ride there as soon as the briefing here is done. Do you think Naomi would mind dropping him off? Understand, we’ll be paying for her mileage and her time as well. We’re not asking for any favors.”
“I don’t think she’ll object, but I still want to ask her first. How are the other two going to get around while they’re here?” asked Shingo, hoping they didn’t expect Naomi to continue her chauffeur duties for an indefinite period of time.
“They’ll each rent a car at the airport and follow Robert and Naomi back here. Once Robert has completed his interview with Kenny, Mario and Dennis will commence implementation of any plans formulated, while Robert arranges for food and lodging.”
“Just tell me what you guys want and I’ll deliver it to you,” he said sincerely.
“That’d be great, Shingo. Will you allow us to run a tab? It would be a whole lot easier to pay for everything all at once.”
Shingo’s instinct was to answer immediately and say he’d be happy to do it for nothing. He put skid chains on his tongue and thought before replying this time. Feeding four people, who knows how many hamburgers/hotdogs for who knows how many days and nights could be rather expensive. Moreover, he’d have to leave the Shack and possibly suffer an additional revenue loss because of it.
“A tab will be fine. We’ll settle when this whole mess is resolved.”
“Thanks, Shingo.”
“No problem. I’ll give Naomi a call after I’m off the phone with you. I’ll have her meet your team at three and mention the trip to the jail. If there’s any sort of objection, I’ll let you know. Otherwise consider it a done deal so we don’t have to keep calling back and forth.”
“Before I let you go, there is one other matter.”
“What’s that?” he inquired.
“How far out on the pier is Mac planning to go and how long is she intending to stay there?”
“I believe she’s walking to the end. We both heard the voice speak and our understanding is that it wants her to go to the pier. She’s testing out the theory.”
“It’s not good for her to be out there. There are way too many ways for someone to get at her. Someone on the shore with a high-power rifle or someone passing by on a pleasure boat would have no difficulty in getting several clear rounds off. I’d advise her to make haste off the pier. The voice will have to wait.”
“I see your point. I’ll call Naomi and then go get Mac.”
“Talk to you later, Shingo.”
Shingo next called Naomi and relayed the details of his conversation with Marcia. “You really don’t mind doing this for them?” he asked.
“Not really. It will actually be quite profitable for me.”
“I guess, but what if you run into a situation like Donna did? I don’t want you to get shot too.”
“I could get shot, stabbed or carjacked coming home from the grocery store, Shingo. The only difference now is that I’m helping out one of your friends. The private investigators could easily call a taxicab service, but they’re unpredictable and may not be available when the guys need them.”
“Just be careful, Naomi.”
“I think it’s sweet that you’re concerned, but I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry!”
“I’ll try not to,” he replied reluctantly.
“I’ll call you every step of the way and give you updates. Will that help any?”
“Yes, thank you, dear,” he said smiling.
“I’m going to take a shower and get ready. I have an errand to run before I go to the airport. I’ll call you as soon as I leave to pick them up, okay?” she asked kindly.
“Okay,” he replied. He locked the door once again and walked briskly toward Mac.
Mac passed two fishermen near the middle of the pier but was alone by the time she reached the end of it. She paced anxiously from side to side, calling Billy??
?s name in a normal voice. Unfortunately, the only conversation she had was with the waves as they bathed the pilings.
She ran her hands across the smooth, wooden guardrail as she ventured to the corner of the pier. A westerly breeze blew her hair back and filled an orange windsock suspended on a high pole above. A television news helicopter with a huge, red, number five painted on the side raced across the skyline, while a white sailboat with a blue mainsail sliced through the water underneath. She waited and watched, but there was no indication that Billy was anywhere near.
“Talk to me, Billy. Tell me what you meant,” she pleaded. “And if it’s not you, Billy, then please, tell me who you are.”
Shingo had come within earshot of Mac’s plea and was relatively confident her statements would remain unheeded. He also knew that there were compelling reasons to be where she was. He just wished some form of resolution could be achieved and Mac could move on, either way.
“Were you able to make contact of any kind, Mac?” he asked in a sensitive tone.
“Nothing, Shingo.”
“I was thinking about what the voice said as I walked out here. He just said, ‘The pier’. It almost sounded like an incomplete sentence. Perhaps he was trying to warn you about something associated with the pier. What if he was saying, ‘The pier is dangerous’, and was cut short for some reason? It might have even been the end of a sentence. What if he was saying ‘Stay away from the pier’? Don’t you think that’s possible?”
Mac raised her eyebrows and said, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Shingo raised his right arm and put it across Mac’s shoulders. “How about another cup of coffee?”
“Sure.”
He started walking her back to the Cuda Shack and being mindful of Marcia’s warning, looked all around for possible assailants. His observations would have little impact on the effects achieved with a rifle but if another assault occurred like the one at Horseshoe Mound, he would be prepared.
Shingo was a man of good humor and even temper. His humor was never at the expense of someone’s feelings. He felt that making fun of a person or cracking a joke designed to insult someone was crueler than a physical attack. Physical pain is more readily absorbed and healed. Mental pain can linger for years and in some cases, a lifetime.
His view on physical violence was just as restrained. It took a lot of abuse for him to cast reason aside and succumb to violent behavior. He possessed tremendous self-control and ruled his emotions, instead of them ruling him. There was one occasion that he made an exception to his rule. It was a very dark day in his past and he lived every day from that point on, ensuring it would never happen again.
He was a husky seventeen year old and his sister was a frail twelve year old. She was born with one leg three inches shorter than the other and walked with a awkward looking limp that provoked many stares.
The two of them were very close and equally felt the pain delivered to her as a result of the teasing and taunting generated by classmates. Kids on their block excluded her from neighborhood activities and would often throw water balloons or raw eggs at her as she rode by on her bicycle.
There were many nights she would cry herself to sleep. Shingo spent a good many nights having the same tearful experience but he shared his pain with no one.
Shingo walked his sister home from school on a daily basis and helped her with her homework any night she asked. He had to curtail that practice when he took a part-time job in a grocery store after school. The store was in the opposite direction of their house and his schedule there wouldn’t allow enough time for him to walk her home and be at work on time.
She was walking home one spring day and two teenage boys, who routinely harassed her, ran up from behind and dumped a bucket of dog shit on her head. They pushed her to the ground and maneuvered the bucket sufficiently to ensure that it was ground into her hair and face.
Nearby children who witnessed the event did nothing to help. Instead they laughed and made barking sounds.
The incident pushed Shingo close to the edge. He confronted the boys after they were given a warning by the police and guaranteed them his full wrath if anything even close to that ever happened again.
The boys laughed in his face and dismissed him as a fool.
Several months went by with only minor, routine cackling and general harassment. Kids continued to bark as she passed them. To avoid the confrontations and humiliation, she retreated indoors and rarely went outside after school. Shingo and his parents finally coaxed her to go back out and play. They said it would be good for her to confront and defeat her fears. Slowly but surely, his sister gathered the wherewithal to once again venture out. There were some isolated incidents but she overcame them and expanded her field of play.
Then one day, while she was riding her bike on a warm summer day, the two boys pounced on her and dragged her into an abandoned house at the end of Clark Road. They took turns sodomizing her, punching her and kicking her.
They were both apprehended and served time in a juvenile detention center until they were eighteen. All the while, Shingo counted the days until their release.
They had been out for almost six months when Shingo determined that they were in the right place at the right time.
The boys stole a case of beer, drove to Beaver Lake and used surrounding twigs and branches to build a robust fire. They were supposed to meet some girls there and have a private party but Shingo got there before the girls did.
He donned a ski mask, put on his gray work gloves, tucked a baseball bat under his arm and sneaked through the woods until he was about twenty feet in back of the boys. Then he sprinted as quietly as possible up to them and started pummeling their arms and legs with the bat. When he was certain he had broken all four arms and legs, he dropped his bat, went to their pickup truck, removed the battery and returned to the boys. He took a couple of minutes to watch them as they were screaming in pain and begging for help.
Then he sat on the chest of the first boy, removed the caps on the battery and poured half of the contents into the boy’s eyes. He next went to the second boy and repeated the process. Afterward, he stood, dropped the battery and retrieved his bat. He looked at them once more and then walked away slowly. He had dispensed his justice but he didn’t do it to feel better. He did it because it had to be done.
By the time the boys received medical help, they were blinded permanently. After two years of rehabilitation, one boy was still left with permanent leg damage to his right leg, and walked with a noticeable limp. The other boy sustained such extreme damage to his left arm, he could no longer bend it.
He was ashamed of humanity and its collective ability to be so cruel. He always felt the world could be such a wondrous place if people would only use half of what they spend on destroying things, to build things. Shingo always thought that the human race had such potential but most people he met would rather cause pain. People working together for a better world…what a foolish dream.
There were some that suspected Shingo but no charges were ever filed and he never told anyone he was responsible.
When Shingo unlocked the door at the Shack, the intrusion alarmed Waldo and he jumped to his paws. He saw that it was Shingo and Mac and he raced to greet them.
Waldo wagged his tail so hard; three-fourths of his body shook with it. Mac scratched his head and back while Shingo walked to a glass jar, removed a round dog biscuit and said, “Waldo! Bonus!”
The dog darted to Shingo, jumped against his chest and nearly toppled him. “Waldo, sit!”
The dog sat down and Shingo put the biscuit in his own mouth and held it with his teeth. Then he bent over and waited for the dog to get his treat. Waldo leaned forward slowly, removed the biscuit with the precise skill of a neurosurgeon and never touched any part of Shingo’s face.
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Mac. “Those are dog biscuits? I thought they were cookies. Do you remember the two men that were eating here on the day I arrived?”
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“Not really,” admitted Shingo.
“One of them snuck two of them on his way out.”
Shingo laughed. “That explains a lot! Poor Waldo. I wonder how many other times that’s happened? I cut him back on his treats because I thought I was giving him too many.”
They had a good laugh and then Shingo said, “What are you going to do the rest of the day?”
“I was bringing old stuff down from the attic and sorting through the boxes, when I found my favorite doll. She’s in disrepair so I’ll probably go back and finish what mending I can.”
“What needs to be done?” he asked.
“She’s an old rag doll that needs a new everything, from her face to her clothes. I’ll be able to do everything but the hair. I need a skein of beige yarn from the Handy Mart, but since I’m restricted in my movements, it’ll have to wait.”
“Maybe not,” said Shingo. “Naomi has to pass Handy Mart on her way to the airport and she has to bring the private investigators to your place after she picks them up. I could ask her to stop there on the way.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” said Mac sincerely.
“Having her drive to the airport and back is more of a bother than making a quick stop along the way. She’s going to call before she leaves and I’ll ask her then. Do you want or need anything beside the yarn?”
“Not that I can think of. Eventually, I’ll have to make another trip to the grocery store and I’m not about to ask anyone to do that for me,” she said firmly.
“When you run out of food, just come here,” offered Shingo.
“I can’t keep mooching off of you.”
“What makes you think you’ll be mooching?” said Shingo as he smiled and produced his receipt book.
“Fair enough!”