The Pineville Heist (7 page)

“Stay here,” Carl said to Amanda with a stern glare.

“I'm a big girl, Carl. I can.”

“It might not be safe, babe.” Carl tried to turn on the charm, but he didn't have much in him. Instead, he managed a scornful expression and a cutesy whine, “Please? For me?”

Amanda nodded before he could say something stupid like
pretty please with sugar on top.
“And what am I supposed to do?”

“Suck on a lollipop,” Carl winked at her. “There's a couple in the glove box.”

So, instead of following, Amanda folded her arms in a huff and leaned against Carl's cruiser. Carl walked into the woods with Aaron at his side. Aaron looked around the woods, disoriented. “I'm not exactly sure where it is from here,” Aaron murmured, trying to decipher the labyrinth of trees.

“Sheriff? You around?” Carl yelled.

“Over here,” Tremblay boomed, not far away.

“Come on,” Carl said, taking Aaron's arm and leading him into the bushes in the direction of Tremblay.

Aaron's feet were struggling to keep up with Carl, getting caught on branches and roots. “Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming.” His eyes widened as he recognized the clearing up ahead. He was there. The campsite.

Yet, when Carl and Aaron stepped out of the woods; the scene wasn't how Aaron had left it. He saw the fire pit, and the overturned canoe–but Jake, the bearded man's body had disappeared.

“Did you move him already?” Aaron said, increasingly anxious and confused.

“Who?” Carl said.

“The body. The dead guy.” Aaron walked over to the canoe, scanning the ground for any sign of life, or death. There were only a smattering of leaves, sticks and twigs. No body. No blood.

“Where was he?” Carl asked thoughtfully.

Aaron pointed next to the canoe. “Right here.”

Carl looked left and right. “Maybe he wasn't dead.”

“I saw him die! It was right here!” Aaron exploded excitedly, kicking the canoe with a loud thud.

A twig cracked as Tremblay wandered out of the bushes where Steve and Mike had been hiding. The sheriff slowly ambled toward Carl and Aaron, looking at the ground intently as he approached. He bent down once to inspect a leaf, picking it up and slowly twirling it in front of his face. Tremblay shrugged, dropped the leaf, and looked directly at Aaron through his aviator sunglasses.

Aaron, steadied by the sheriff's presence, stopped overreacting and steadied himself against the side of the canoe.
Tremblay pulled the sunglasses from his face, turned to stare at Carl for a moment, and then redirected his attention to Aaron.

“There's no sign of blood or any sort of foul play that I can see,” Tremblay finally said, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean? How can that.” Aaron stammered.

Carl cut Aaron off, saying, “Tell us again exactly what you saw. From the beginning.”

Letting out a sigh, Aaron looked down at the ground where Jake's body had bled out. Not a speck of blood. The dirt appeared to be freshly raked under the leaves.

“You were standing in the bushes over there and then you saw…” Carl said, starting Aaron's story for him, while Tremblay stepped closer to the canoe, bending down to examine it.

“No, I was underneath the canoe.”

“Underneath it?”

“Yeah. It was flipped over the other way,” Aaron explained.

Tremblay straightened, meeting Aaron eye to eye. “What did he look like?”

“He had a beard and I… I… it all went by so fast.”

Resting a large hand on Aaron's shoulder, a crooked crevasse formed between Tremblay's nose and chin. After a second, Aaron realized that Tremblay was attempting to smile at him. “It's okay, son, you're not in any trouble here.”

“What about the shooter?” Carl spat, impatiently.

Aaron shook his head slowly. “I didn't get a good look at him.” Tremblay's eyes shifted to Carl and they momentarily exchanged a suspicious glance, which Aaron caught out of the corner of his field of vision. He looked up abruptly, with a flash of anger. “I'm not lying!”

Carl raised his arms defensively, with a sincere smile that Aaron sensed was merely meant to humor him. Just that crazy
Stevens kid, making up tall tales, is what they must've been thinking. Probably wants to step out of his old man's shadow. Tough on him, too, with all this closing the mill business. Let's nod, make him happy, and go back home for dinner.

Aaron bit his lip, “Maybe Mike and Steve got a better look… Steve!” Suddenly, he charged out of Tremblay and Carl's reach, crossing the campsite at a gallop. The fire pit was on his left, and it was raked as well–empty of any ashes and incriminating evidence. “I'm not lying! Or crazy!” Aaron called over his shoulder as he raced into the woods.

“Hey, kid, come back here!” Carl said, following after Aaron, with Tremblay close behind him.

Aaron found himself running through the very woods he had just fled, only this time in the opposite direction. Potentially towards danger.

A voice crackled over the radio hanging on Tremblay's belt: “Sheriff Tremblay. Do you read me?”

With a snort, Tremblay stopped in his tracks and removed his radio to answer the call. Ahead of him, Carl and Aaron disappeared on their forage into the forest. “Go ahead.”

“I've got Mister Stevens here and he'd like to speak to you about…”

“Tell him I'm busy right now,” Tremblay said, putting his sunglasses back on, over his slitted eyes.

“I heard that,” Derek Stevens could be heard in the background at the dispatch office.

Tremblay lowered the radio. “Christ.”

Tremblay rubbed his temples with one hand and tried to find his Zen, but it was difficult. Given the history between Derek Stevens and himself, Tremblay found it very difficult to talk to the man.

Back when Tremblay was seeking election for the post of Sheriff, Stevens doubted that Tremblay could do the job. And he wasn't quiet about it. Stevens talked to every high-end official in the town about his doubts, making secretive phone calls that cast doubt on Tremblay's drive and abilities. Or so it has been rumored numerous times to Tremblay by many trusty sources.

Even so, the town prevailed against all of Stevens' claims and elected Tremblay ten years ago. Stevens never backed down nor apologized, and Tremblay never confronted the
man. Instead, all of their communication has been tense, frosty and overly-formal.

Tremblay finished his brief trek down memory lane. He composed himself, whipped off his sunglasses, and raised the radio again. Tremblay spat into the radio, “Okay, put him on.”

On the other side of the clump of trees, Aaron was running, with Carl hot on his heels. For the second time that day, Aaron ducked and weaved between branches, and leapt broken trunks and ditches. He was agile. He knew the woods better than Carl, who was trailing behind him now. But Aaron was also tired and thirsty and about ready to snap in two, mentally and physically. What happened to his friends?

As he reached a small clearing, Aaron started to slow. He wiped away tears streaming along the sides of his face, into his ears. Kicking at the long grass in frustration, Aaron kept hidden while he kept an eye out for Carl.

Then he heard Carl's voice, not far from his position. “Look, Aaron, I'm not saying you didn't see something out here, but put yourself in our shoes and look at it from our side for a minute.”

Holding his breath, Carl waited for a response. “I'm not lying!” Aaron shouted, sounded like he was somewhere to the right.

Carl veered in that direction, treading lightly, trying not to make a lot of noise. Crack. Clumsy oaf broke a damn branch. He tried to cover his mistake by talking some more: “Hold on. I didn't say you were. What I am saying though is we can only investigate a crime if there's evidence of one and, well…”

“I know what I saw. Someone must have taken the bodies.”

Carl's face appeared strained as he attempted to locate Aaron's voice, which seemed to be bouncing off every tree. “Then there's no sense wasting any more time looking for them out here, right?”

“Hey!” Aaron felt himself being yanked backwards. He let out a surprised yelp and carouselled around to see Carl, who was now resting his arm around Aaron's shoulders.

Carl began to lead Aaron away, keeping his arm firmly closed around him, squeezing a little too tightly. Aaron had no opportunity to escape again, and he slumped against Carl in defeat.

“We need to look somewhere else.” Aaron had spent every last ounce of 'fight' on this mad dash, and he was about ready to relinquish the reins of the search to someone else. But, there were so many questions and fears rattling around his head. What about the money?

Walking back to the wooded path, Aaron stepped over a plank that was covered with a layer of dirt; below it was the hole where Jake hid the other backpack.

Amanda straightened from her leaning gait to meet Aaron and Carl as they approached the cruisers. Her face was etched with concern, and she smiled for Aaron's benefit. Aaron was never happier to see a familiar face than now in his exhaustion.

Carl led Aaron to the tail end of the cruiser, and Aaron sat on the bumper. He kneaded the back of his neck and stared off into space, tired and worried.

Carl seemed satisfied that Aaron wouldn't try another cross-country run through the woods again, so he turned to Amanda.

She leaned forward and tried to read Carl's expression. Exasperated to find no clues in his poker face and no forthcoming words, she asked, “So?”

“We didn't find anything,” Carl said, looking away.

“Nothing? At all?” Amanda looked over at Aaron, who was still posed in a slightly comatose stare. He looked stricken and shocked. Amanda looked back at Carl and asked again, “Nothing?”

Carl shook his head “no” and glanced over to Tremblay's cruiser. Behind the wheel, the shiny-lensed eyes were watching them as the Sheriff conversed with the radio. Tremblay waved Carl over.

Amanda stared at Carl and Tremblay as Carl walked away. After a moment, she shrugged and turned to Aaron, looking him directly in the eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Startled, Aaron's unfocused stare began to focus on his teacher. With concern lacing her voice, Amanda asked, “What's going on, Aaron?”

Aaron wiped at his dirty face in frustration and answered, “I don't know.”

“Did you even see something out here or is this just another of your…”

“You don't believe me either? Thanks a lot, Miss Becker.” Aaron looked away from Amanda and scuffed his toe against the dirt.

Carl was back. “The Sheriff wants to talk to you,” he said, with a serious tone. “He just wants to ask you some more questions about what happened.”

Sucking in his courage, Aaron knew that he would need to dig into his reserves; Tremblay wasn't done with him yet. Without another word, he headed for Tremblay's cruiser. Amanda and Carl watched him walk away like a man on death row, on his way to the chair.

Aaron stopped at Tremblay's window. He looked down at the Sheriff, who stared straight ahead, stone-faced.

“Get in,” Tremblay said, through the open window. He pointed to the back seat.

Aaron slid into the back, closing the door just as Tremblay started the engine. “I thought you were just going to ask me some questions,” Aaron remarked, trying–and failing–to appear unconcerned.

“At the station, not here.”

Aaron's stomach sank, along with his courage. They were going downtown.

The cruiser pulled away, leaving Carl and Amanda arguing at the edge of the woods.

The red glowing tinge of a setting sun bounced off the roof of Tremblay's cruiser as it sharked through the streets of Pineville, with sirens in the place of a predatory fin. The cruiser chased the smaller fish, the civilian cars, to their hiding places on the side of the road. As the cruiser swam past, the drivers breathed sighs of relief that the sirens were not meant to capture them. At least not for today.

Aaron watched this game of justice and civility, cat and mouse, shark and fish. He found it unfair. “The Law” could force people to obey traffic symbols but could do nothing for his two friends.

About to burst with frustration and concern for his friends, Aaron tapped on the wire cage between Tremblay and himself. Tremblay turned almost imperceptibly. Without saying a word or looking at Aaron, Aaron knew he had the Sheriff's full attention.

Aaron considered what he was about to say. Did he really want to tell the Sheriff about the money? That he knew about the bank robbery? Would that make him a suspect? He opened his mouth to talk, just as the cruiser prowled into the parking area and stopped at the groaning mouth of the station's main doors. Tremblay flicked off the engine and adjusted the rear-view mirror to stare at Aaron, sizing him up.

“You do realize making a false report is a serious crime,” Tremblay's words shot with intent to wound.

“But I didn't! I can prove it all happened just like I said,” Aaron pleaded, still clinging to any remnants of fight left in the depths of his body and soul.

Suddenly, Tremblay was the one who appeared to be cautious. “Prove it? How?”

Aaron drew in a sharp intake of breath. “I found the bank money.”

Tremblay immediately stiffened and turned to lasso Aaron with a steely glare. “The bank money?” His voice was different, strange, urgent, concerned, excited. Not the cardboard cutout Sheriff who talked about drugs in class. This was a motivated individual, with goals, dreams, aspirations, fears. Tremblay was human after all.

“Yeah,” Aaron said, feeling like he was finally getting someone on his side. Maybe Tremblay, of all people, believed him.

“If this is some sort of…”

“I'm telling the truth. It was in a backpack under the canoe.”

“Then why the hell didn't you say something back there?” Tremblay cursed, about to start the engine again.

“Because it's not back there anymore.”

Tremblay froze. “Where is it, Aaron?”

“I brought it to the school with me.”

Tremblay cranked the key in the ignition so fast that Aaron thought the entire car might flip over with the sheer breakneck momentum of the hand's turn. Then Tremblay slammed the cruiser into gear, pulled away from the station and zipped out on to Main Street.