Raimo\u2019s first impression was that she was an upper-level administrator or a lawyer. Something about the way she entered his small office as though she were commandeering it for a PowerPoint presentation. She lacked the hesitation of every client who entered his small office on Bridge Street. ***<\/p>\n Bart entered, nodded at Ray, and headed for the coffee machine. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d ***<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is it with you small-town and gumshoes and cops? I told you, and I specifically told your sidekick, that walking bag of testosterone, to stand down\u2026 Jesus Christ.\u201d<\/i> ***<\/p>\n Empties lined the tiny concrete stoops of the rooms. Cigarette butts pockmarked the sidewalks out front. He imagined the interiors: carpets with worn nap, flimsy pillow cases from industrial laundering, some so yellowed in the centers they\u2019d never be clean. Rusty circumferences of sink drains. A fuggy smell of stale booze and sex in the rooms. ***<\/p>\n Someone grunted\u2026 maybe him\u2026<\/i> ***<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019ll hurt our business much,\u201d Bart said and tossed the morning issue of the Herald-Tribune<\/i> of his desk. ***<\/p>\n Ray wondered how the writers had got it so wrong. All the busting down doors, the geewhiz spy equipment, the laconic quips and morose philosophizing deep into the night, not to mention the gunfights. His directional mic, bought on impulse from Amazon<\/i>, lay unassembled in the closet behind his desk. His Beretta, a worse impulse buy, lay in the gun safe. \u00a0<\/p>\n [Image Credit : Photo by Yaopey Yong<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a>]<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>The firm handshake bespoke confidence as well. Tasteful makeup, a scent composed of layers, bergamot followed by a zestier note of mandarin, not the usual nose-prickling backwash some female of his clients chose. He\u2019d prefer citrusy perfume to men who doused themselves in the cologne du jour<\/i>.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m Special Agent Alina Storr from the Chicago field office.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHow can I help you, Agent Storr?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She was part of a multi-agency task force hunting a killer across several states. They didn\u2019t have a name, fingerprints to match in AFIS, or DNA to upload to CODIS. He was a ghost, a chameleon who blended into any environment, as comfortable trolling in Los Angeles as he was in Thackerville, Oklahoma. His body count was hard to determine; some corpses were so advanced in decomposition no evidence was usable. The FBI\u2019s computer model set the percentage of one killer for all victims at sixty-three percent probability.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIs it need-to-know, or can I ask how your team concluded your killer is in Northtown?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s my job. I\u2019m a profiler.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The Bureau had resources on call to flood any city with a hundred agents and a world-class crime lab back in Quantico. But there she stood\u2014inside his office in a rust-belt, port town on the Great Lakes.
+++++<\/span>She handed him a buff file folder with surveillance photos of an averaged-size, short-haired male in a check shirt taken with a telephoto lens from parking lots. One showed him walking out of a diner with a chicken logo. He could be anyone.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s skilled with a computer,\u201d Storr said. \u201cHe uses aliases. He provided himself with paperwork to go with the names. We ran them all through and nothing rang the cherries.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She said he was never been booked or printed. Never bought a gun or applied for a job that required a background check.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s clean.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She seemed unaware of the irony in saying that.
+++++<\/span>A second file contained photos that were stomach-churning of fresher corpses before they became unrecognizable from time, weather, or animal foraging.
+++++<\/span>He asked why they didn\u2019t bring him to let some veteran interrogators sweat him.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe want him for multiple murders, not criminal impersonation.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ray felt the frisson<\/i> of uneasiness coming over him, like the onset of cold. Something bothered him.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe\u2019ve been hunting him without results,\u201d she said. \u201cA large FBI presence in a small town attracts attention. Local cops expect to be formally notified if we\u2019re running an operation in their jurisdiction. Word gets out. Before we can set up a surveillance team, we\u2019re running into reporters and he\u2019s on the run again. We don\u2019t want to spook him.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Further evidence they were on the right track came from the fact that no abductions or murders had occurred since they had him under surveillance after he quit a fry cook job in Terre Haute to come to Northtown. Other \u201cunsubs\u201d were looked at and dismissed as new evidence pointing to him was compiled.
+++++<\/span>\u201cUnsubs?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cUnknown subjects.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Prior to having him under observation, she added, all but two abductions or murders took place within twenty-five miles of an off-road racetrack. Most recent victims could be placed closer where a racing event was held.
+++++<\/span>\u201cA nineteen-year-old girl attending Ivy Tech Community college in Terre Haute had a boyfriend into motorcross. She attended his meets. By the time a neighbor complained about the smell coming from an abandoned house, we\u2019d lost his track.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She saved this glossy for last and pushed it across his desk with two fingertips.
+++++<\/span>The girl\u2019s face was battered and half her face dented beyond recognition. One eye was missing. The blood that pooled in the socket was crusted black like alligator flaking of weathered paint. A rictus grin exposed teeth along the upper jaw.
+++++<\/span>Ray pushed the photo back to her.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m going to get this animal,\u201d she said quietly. Her eyes were bright. She had all the TV cop clich\u00e9 mannerisms in the determined set of her mouth.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, Mister Jarvi?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll help you if I can.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He couldn\u2019t dispel the uneasiness she brought with her. Something in the air wasn\u2019t right.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe must have spooked him in Terre Haute,\u201d she said. \u201cHe left work after punching in and exited the back door. Didn\u2019t go back to his motel for clothes or anything.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe looks older than his victims. Wouldn\u2019t he stand out if he approached his victims?\u201d
+++++<\/span>He was thinking of the crowds at the racetracks.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou get every age if you add in the support staff, the sponsors, the journalists, and the older friends and families of the riders. It\u2019s not hard to blend in and he\u2019s a master at it by now, as I said.\u201d
+++++<\/span>After that, she talked in general terms about VICAP profiles of serial killers, how they routinely put a hundred-thousand miles on their odometers every year. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing to roam the nation\u2019s freeways trawling for victims,\u201d she said. She wasn\u2019t trying to impress him with her superior experience, he thought, but he couldn\u2019t shake the feeling he\u2019d been dragged into something over his head.
+++++<\/span>She was talking about motorcross circuits, BMX racing, and mountain biking venues. None of which he knew anything about.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe think our sixth victim was grabbed off one of the biking trails in Nevada.\u201d
+++++<\/span>None of the backing-and-filling narratives he was used to hearing from clients. She laid pertinent facts down like a dealer in Texas Hold \u2018Em once he agreed to join \u201cthe team.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI wish I could tell you more but it\u2019s confidential,\u201d Storr said, adjusting her files.
+++++<\/span>Ray picked up the one surveillance photo she wanted him to keep.
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe looks harmless, doesn\u2019t he? Remember the Green River Killer in the eighties? He claimed to have killed eighty women. Every hooker from every dive bar on Highway Ninety-Nine was warned by cops a serial killer was prowling that road, yet they all got in his car because he was such a harmless-looking nobody.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDoes he key in on women particularly?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019ll take victims from both genders. The oldest one we have is a retired teacher from Boise. Most are female, younger. That shouldn\u2019t surprise you, although you told me you didn\u2019t come from law enforcement.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Storr was about to sign the standard contract for Jarvi Investigations when Ray\u2019s former classmate from Sts. Stephen & Basil made his typical blustering entrance. Bart Massey wore sunglasses and a scowl until his gaze lit on the attractive woman seated opposite Ray; then he gave her the full caress of perfect teeth.
+++++<\/span>Ray winced, still dealing with his uncertainty in what she expected of him and unhappy about his friend\u2019s buffoonish appearance in his office.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAgent Storr, this is Deputy Bart Massey of the Sheriff\u2019s Office. Deputy, this is Special Agent Storr.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBad timing?\u201d Bart said, his eyes searching Ray\u2019s face for a signal to stay or retreat.
+++++<\/span>\u201cUnfortunately, no,\u201d Ray said, turning back to Alina. \u201cWe\u2019re going to need him.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t know what it is. Something\u2019s off.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re drinking from the Keurig where us little people have to go instead of your primo stuff with the\u2014that Aruban-Babylonian-wherever concoction.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ray picked up the bag. \u201cMy Kopi Luwak.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cChrist, that stuff you told me was shit out by a bobcat and made into coffee. You\u2019re sick, Ray.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAn expense, I admit. I got this bag at half-price for forty-eight bucks. And it\u2019s an Asian palm civet cat from Java, not a bobcat.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd you wonder why you\u2019re not making enough money.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s what\u2019s bugging me about Agent Storr. She\u2019s paying cash.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou think she\u2019s gay?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ray barked a laugh. \u201cYou think any woman that isn\u2019t into you once she sees you jiggle your pecs at her is a lesbian. You\u2019re something, man.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy ass still hurts from that strip she took off it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Alina Storr had no time for Bart\u2019s machismo<\/i> and informed him in clipped English that, if he wanted in, he was to follow her orders without demur or hesitation whatsoever.
+++++<\/span>\u201cSo why aren\u2019t you home sleeping? A strapping fellow like you must need sleep between chasing women, patrolling the back roads of the county, and online betting.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOuch, don\u2019t mention it. I dropped five hundred Sunday on FanDuel.\u201d<\/i>
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe Browns beat the Ravens.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI took the Ravens, you mope. Wake up.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMea culpa.<\/i> What brings you here?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy FBI man you asked me to check with about Agent Storr called me. He didn\u2019t want to leave a message. We played phone tag until I got him at home. It\u2019s bad news, Ray.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cTell me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s off the reservation. The FBI folded that task force months ago, my guy tells me. Chicago put her on unpaid leave and ordered her to see a shrink. Office scuttlebutt said it\u2019s a nervous breakdown, her obsession with the killer. She argued with her SAC, then the ADIC, whatever that is, and even flew to DC. She made a scene at headquarters with some muckety-muck in the Bureau.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ray put his head down on his desk in despair.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou remember the network of killers leaving the smiley-face symbol near victims?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAs I remember,\u201d Ray said, \u201cthe FBI debunked it.\u201d His mind raced with worry over his exposure from a federal agent\u2019s rogue op. Cases were hard to come by. Being a public joke meant he could kiss his business goodbye.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt gets worse,\u201d Bart added. \u201cThey debunked her serial-killer theory, too. You\u2019re\u2014we\u2019re being played for patsies\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHang on\u2026 let me think this through.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhile you\u2019re slumped over thinking like Rodent\u2019s Thinker<\/i>, I\u2019ll drink my coffee.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou did graduate high school, right? It wasn\u2019t blank like one of those social promotion diplomas?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cRight as rain, Rai-mo<\/i>\u2026 So what do we do?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s been paying us out of her own money. That tells me she\u2019s not going to stop until her money runs out.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat would be tomorrow,\u201d Bart said. \u201cCut me my share and I\u2019m out of it. You handle it. Any blowback reaches the Sheriff and I\u2019m shitcanned. Sayonara<\/i>, pension.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt could be worse,\u201d Ray said. He drummed his fingertips on the desk calendar. \u201cShe might want to go after this guy we\u2019re surveilling tonight, give him a bump\u2014confront him with a story, maybe accuse him, see what he does, get him to react and then\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnnie Oakley time, fuck me. There\u2019s no way to keep me out of it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m no lawyer, but I better get one for us both.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThere\u2019s no time,\u201d Bart said. \u201cYou\u2019re on call to watch her, ahem, unsub\u2019s motel, and she\u2019ll expect you pronto.<\/i>\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t remind me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cGood luck, bro,\u201d Bart said, one hand on the doorknob.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ve been around a few pissed-off women in my life. And she looked bad when she relieved me last night. Hair an unholy mess, clothes all wrinkled, stained, bags under the eyes, no makeup or lipstick. She could have used some of that fancy perfume she wore. Eyes darting around like a wild animal\u2019s. I\u2019ve pulled over users that looked at me like that. Seen it a hundred times.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s encouraging.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t thank me. No chick I dumped had an arsenal at her disposal like her. One of those rounds she keeps on her night table can go ten inches up a block of ballistic gelatin.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>She leaned toward the steering wheel and placed a hand on her forehead while she swiveled her head slowly side to side.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI didn\u2019t plan to upset you,\u201d Ray said. \u201cBut I had to let you know.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She was past the stage of deshabille<\/i> Bart had implied. The car had a pungent smell to it from the backseat. Getting inside, he glimpsed what might be a portable toilet. A bag spilled over with soiled Kleenexes. The footrest was jammed with crumpled papers and bags from fast-food places. She was living inside her car, probably had her guns and clothing jammed in the trunk. Every marathoner experienced \u201crunner\u2019s trots\u201d owing to the redirection of blood from the GI tract to the running muscles during a race. He\u2019d never heard of anybody on surveillance needing to evacuate bowels inside a car.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou did not have my permission to check out Alan Reynolds, did you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI had to be sure we weren\u2019t targeting some innocent loser. Alan Reynolds has public records in Northtown going back to ninety-one with convictions for drunk driving, aggravated menacing, domestic violence.\u201d Ray ticked off the infractions on his fingers. \u201cHe\u2019s done time in the county hoosegow. He\u2019s known<\/i> to cops.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t you think I know that? Don\u2019t you think I\u2014we ran checks on every Alan Reynolds in this godforsaken state?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe matches the physical description of your guy. That\u2019s all it is\u2014that and your obsession.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy obsession? My obsession? Who the hell are you? I am the Federal Bureau of Investigation talking to you, loser. You shitkicking nobody\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201c\u2014not anymore,\u201d Ray said, barely audible compared to the rant she\u2019d leveled in his ear. It worked like a slap to her face. She reared back in her seat, both hands gripping the wheel until the knuckles seemed to glow in the darkened interior of her vehicle. Her mouth hung open like an opera singer who forgot the next phrase of her aria.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2026 what did you say?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI had you checked out. You\u2019re suspended. There is no killer hiding under the name Alan Reynolds stalking the highways. There\u2019s just you! And your desire to make a name for yourself.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Her mouth opened and closed, a goldfish. \u201cMy\u2026 our computers\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYour<\/i> computers are wrong, Alina.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cGet the fuck out of my car! If he comes out to check his car and sees you, I swear I\u2019ll\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat? Kill me? You need to stop, former<\/i> Special Agent Storr.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Before he knocked again, he cast a look over his shoulder where Bart sat in his car watching. Before he got out, Bart was already checking his service Glock.
+++++<\/span>Ray stooped near the driver\u2019s side window.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou think there\u2019s a chance she\u2019s right?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLittle late now for that, Ray, don\u2019t you think? The woman\u2019s a ghoul when I\u2019m around, I don\u2019t know what to think. But Reynolds? All we know he\u2019s a transplanted shitkicker with a violent record.\u201d
+++++<\/span>If Reynolds was another alias of a psycho-killer, as she claimed<\/i> her computers said, then what would the guy do when a stranger knocks on his door and says there\u2019s an FBI agent who might be crazy surveilling him? Would he grin and say, \u201cHang on, while I fetch my gun under the pillow, come back out here, and blow your head off before I hightail it out of town\u2026\u201d
+++++<\/span>The man who did show up at the motel door Ray knocked on looked hungover, red-eyed, and mean as a two-headed snake.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWho the fuck\u2019re you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>The stale air buffeting him from inside the room came with a whiff of marijuana. \u201cMy name\u2019s Ray Jarvi. I\u2019m a private investigator\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cFuck off. I ain\u2019t done nothin\u2019.\u201d
+++++<\/span>he door swung toward him, but not that fast Ray couldn\u2019t insert his shoe between the jamb and the door.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWait a second! There\u2019s an FBI agent\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>Reynolds might have been coming out of a booze fog but his reflexes weren\u2019t. He grabbed Ray by the shirt collar and whipped him into his room like a bullfighter sidestepping horns. Ray didn\u2019t catch his balance in time and just avoided a full-on face plant.
+++++<\/span>\u201cGet up,\u201d Reynolds said. \u201cYou know I\u2019m going to kill you, motherfucker.\u201d
+++++<\/span>It wasn\u2019t a question.
+++++<\/span>Before Ray could sit up, a corkscrewed blur of fist took him on the side of the jaw and sent him flying backward into the corner of the bed. His head bounced against the mattress but his back slammed into the metal frame and air whoofed<\/i> out of his lungs. It didn\u2019t matter because the black whirlpool swirling in his direction was already sucking him down.
+++++<\/span>Hearing is the last sense to go. Before Ray sensory apparatus shut down, he heard the splintering of wood. He hoped it was the door before he was spaghettified into oblivion.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Turquoise and cherry lights, a pretty cascading of lights around the parking lot like a miniature Niagara Falls effect at night. Ray\u2019s neocortex was back; he sat with an ice compress against his jaw.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s not broken, but you should get an MRI to be sure,\u201d the EMT said. \u201cCould be a hairline fracture in there.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThanks,\u201d Ray said, regretting speaking immediately.
+++++<\/span>He watched the trio of Bart, Reynolds, and the motel manager on one side, with a uniformed cop on the other with a notepad. Behind them were another EMT and two more officers. A fourth cop stepped out of the motel room where the door canted to one side like a tongue lolling from a dying patient\u2019s mouth.
+++++<\/span>Ray\u2019s head and legs weren\u2019t working in sync yet, but he wanted to stand up to test the waters of his vertigo. So far, so good. The jaw hurt but was intact. No bones broken. Bart had bumrushed into the room before Reynolds could fulfill his lethal promise. The fight apparently didn\u2019t last long. The room looked totaled even from his limited glimpse at the edge of the ambulance.
+++++<\/span>Patrons of the motel stood on the stoops. Or those willing to expose themselves to public view, given the place\u2019s reputation. As cops like to say of the \u201cfrequent flyers\u201d in their custody, Ray was no stranger to Bill\u2019s Bide-A-While Motel. On those three prior occasions, he was merely practicing his \u201cwindow-peeping\u201d job as the chief of police said contemptuously of his profession. The place was used by even the bourgeois couples cheating, albeit more than one husband or wife complained of the tiny red bedbug bites as reminders of the marital oath-breaking.
+++++<\/span>Bart came sauntering over twenty minutes later.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOne tough hillbilly,\u201d he said, grinning at Ray and pointed a finger toward his swollen eyebrow. \u201cProbably a black eye tomorrow.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThanks, kemo sabe<\/i>.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat mean a bonus?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou know my policy,\u201d Ray said. \u201cIf I get one, I cut you in.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCheap bastard.\u201d Bart snorted.
+++++<\/span>The male-bonding ritual concluded, Ray asked what the cops said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cFirst, the good news. A public disorder citation, no assault charges. We both agreed on that. I agreed to pay for all damages to the motel room.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat means I\u2019m paying.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cRight.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat else?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cReynolds buying that? He looks like he lost the fight.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe did. Mine and him, that is. When the cops pulled up, I told you\u2019d piece him off if he kept his mouth shut.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cFigures.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cListen, Ray. I said nothing about serial killers so you keep your mouth shut too. The cops think you were doing a cheating gig out here and accused the wrong guy. It happens. That\u2019s how it\u2019s going down.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m sure Agent Storr will abet that swindle.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNever mind that bitch now. She took off as soon as the cops arrived with sirens screaming.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean she\u2019s not still gunning for Reynolds.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCan it, Ray. Cops are looking at us. I could not get that wiry bastard into a chokehold or put his ass down. It was like fighting in a closet.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBart, save your heroics for the office. Shit, he\u2019s coming over.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Reynolds stood close, easily invading Ray\u2019s space, the alpha dog back in place. His lip was split and dried blood caked in one nostril. His left cheek puffed out like a chipmunk packing too many nuts in one side. Bart stood off, hands relaxed. Ray hoped Bart would be as fast to react if Reynolds tried to pick up where he left off.
+++++<\/span>\u201cSo we all agree on this, huh,\u201d he said, looking only at Ray. \u201cNo charges. That\u2019s good. You bring the money around tonight before I leave for work or my next call will be to the police.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He jabbed a hard finger into Ray\u2019s chest for emphasis. \u201cDon\u2019t make me wait, neither, motherfucker.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou threatened to kill me in that motel, remember? I mention that in case you decide to change your mind or come back for more later. I can file charges faster than you in this town, shithead. Blackmail and aggravated menacing will put you away for good. Just keep that in mind.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cFuck you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBack off,\u201d Bart intervened without moving an inch. \u201cHe said he\u2019d pay.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Reynold\u2019s head slightly turned in Bart\u2019s direction. \u201cYou jumped me from behind, big boy. Wasn\u2019t no fair fight. Maybe next time they\u2019s gonna be a whole different outcome.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThink so, white trash?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLet it go, Bart,\u201d Ray said. To Reynolds: \u201cI warned you. There\u2019s an FBI agent out there who believes you\u2019re a serial killer. She wants you dead.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYouns need to get your head checked out, boy.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Reynolds spat on the ground between Ray\u2019s feet and took his time walking back.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYouns<\/i>.\u201d One mean streetfighter right out of the steel mills in Wheeling, West Virginia.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThere goes your FBI cash, Ray.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou mean Alina Storr\u2019s cash. We saved an innocent man from being murdered.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ray saw no computer in Reynold\u2019s room, which didn\u2019t mean he didn\u2019t have a laptop with incriminating data on it. The room itself told him the occupant was a sad, two-bit drifter who made his way in life by bullying and small crimes.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYeah, look at him,\u201d Bart said, watching the banty-rooster strut of Reynolds pause in his open doorway, enjoying the acclaim of onlookers and cops alike. He gave the side-eye to the half-dressed couple on the stoop beside his room. He snarled at them: \u201cYou lookin\u2019 at me?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cFuck, he thinks he\u2019s Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver,\u201d Bart said.
+++++<\/span>The supervisor of the officers came over and explained to Ray in more detail what Bart had told him. Being a deputy on scene, however, helped out the sordid situation. Ray being an outsider listened to his friend and a brother officer chat amiably, even laugh about something he wasn\u2019t privy to said about Reynolds. He felt an odd pang of kinship with Alina, she being a woman in the FBI boys\u2019 gun club. She was an outsider, now one with a criminal indictment hanging over her.
+++++<\/span>Bart snapped him out of his reverie. \u201cC\u2019mon, Ray. You need to get to the bank today. That lowlife wants money to make this mess go away.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Ray read the short article\u2014just three paragraphs in Crime Beat<\/i>. His name was mentioned. Bart\u2019s was omitted. Reynolds\u2019 name was mentioned as the occupant of the motel room where the police were called to the \u201cdisturbance.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cShort and sweet.\u201d Bart did a hand-washing motion to accompany his pronouncement, as though he\u2019d arranged it all.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou said something about \u2018our\u2019 business,\u201d Ray acknowledged with a tilt to his head. \u201cDoes that mean the Sheriff has asked you to tender the resignation he\u2019s been after for two years now and you are applying for full-time work with me? You do realize I\u2019m thousands of dollars lighter after that little escapade at the motel and can\u2019t afford to pay much?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNope, I\u2019m still on call, Still ridin\u2019 the lonely back roads,\u201d Bart replied. \u201cBelieve it or not, the Sheriff didn\u2019t do more than ask me about it. I blamed it all on you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe probably thought you were there on one of your romantic liaisons.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat<\/i> place? Don\u2019t insult me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNot so bad now,\u201d Ray lamented. \u201cThat pot-bellied manager has a lot of nice new furniture out there thanks to me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMoney well spent. You\u2019re not clutching steel bars between your hands and worried about your cellmate growing too affectionate.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m thinking of ex-Agent Storr.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d Bart said. \u201cShe\u2019s not your problem. The Chicago office fired her. She\u2019s a nobody on civvie street\u2014unless they bring charges for impersonating a federal agent, whatever. They washed their hands of her.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI checked on Reynolds,\u201d Ray said. \u201cHe quit work. The manager said he didn\u2019t show for his shift but demanded his last paycheck. Created a scene, she said. They almost called the cops on him. He kicked over a display of CDs on his way out the door.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt makes me wish she was right,\u201d Bart said. \u201cHe was the guy they wanted. Maybe she\u2019s on a rooftop right now drawing a bead on him.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cA whimsical thought. Not a charitable one, though.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m all out of charity where that trash is concerned\u2026 What\u2019s all that paper on your desk for?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m looking up unsolved murders in the U.S. We don\u2019t know to a certainty Reynolds isn\u2019t the one. Alina could be right.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Bart headed for the Keurig. \u201cIt\u2019s Tuesday in America. People are going to die every day.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI never fully appreciated your morbid sense of humor back in high school. But, then, we didn\u2019t hang out. Me the bookworm, you the big jock football and baseball star.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI saved you from all those bullies, remember? Come to think on it, I\u2019m still saving you.\u201d
+++++<\/span> \u201cNow comes the pitch for a bigger bonus,\u201d Ray said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cBetter spent on me than on that cat-shit coffee you like so much. Now that you brought it up\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>He had one friendly contact at the Northtown PD, and she was always on the verge of cutting him loose. But the symbiotic relationship he\u2019d developed with Det. Bolsterli of Missing Persons had paid off for both over the years. She agreed to keep him posted on the FBI\u2019s VI-CAP website. So far, nothing. No sudden appearances of a nondescript male\u2019s mugshot with sandy-brown hair using the alias Alan Reynolds.
+++++<\/span>The streets outside his window were the same today as yesterday: packed with shoppers and people on their way to and from restaurants. Life ordinary, non-violent, non-bloody. But it was a cosmos filled with light-speed violence, and he resided on a small, insignificant planet in it where the one species evolved toward higher thinking had a reverse tendency toward mindless, insatiable violence. It would be that way until Newton\u2019s entropy brought the whole thing to a frigid collapse into endless blackness.
+++++<\/span>Some passersby glanced in at the window, looking for a peek at the occupant within. If the late-afternoon sun were pitched at certain angle, they\u2019d gawk at him trying to see through the glare of his big plate-glass window. He\u2019d see them with perfect clarity. For a few moments of each day, he enjoyed that off juxtaposition, a reversal of the normal.
+++++<\/span>But everything seemed like that to him since Agent Storr walked into his office months ago wafting that exquisite perfume with her. Part of him dreaded finding her in an online news article. His imagination painted the grimmest scenarios. The one he feared most wasn\u2019t that she\u2019d put an expanding bullet through Reynolds\u2019 head and turn his brain into stew. Bart was right about that\u2014he\u2019d be no loss to humanity. It was suicide. He saw her over and over again as he did that night in her hoarder\u2019s car, a lonely, anguished woman who had sacrificed so much to be on the side of the angels in a world full of demons.
+++++<\/span>He often thought of what she said to him about the killer she believed in had the keys to hell and she wanted to send him back there. Somehow through the rooms of memory constructed and preserved in his brain since his own lonely boyhood, he remembered a stint of bible reading until that, too, was set aside for something else he craved. It came from The Book of Revelations<\/i>.
+++++<\/span>He wrote it down and stuck it next to his desk calendar. He thought of the two women he knew every time he read it: Alina the good angel versus Alina the fallen angel: \u201cI am<\/i> He who lives, and was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore. Amen. And I have the keys of Hades and of Death.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"Facebook\"](\"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/plugins\/social-media-feather\/synved-social\/image\/social\/regular\/48x48\/facebook.png\"\/ "\\"Share")
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