Authors: Timothy Allan Pipes
Ten minutes later, Oliver was firing up his squad car with the hulking McKenny beside him, the man wearing a sickening grin just begging to be wiped off. As for help in actually finding the missing papers, Jenny had been of little use, coming up with common sense suggestions more than real clues. Which made it clear to Oliver she'd simply been playing along in hopes of staying alive a little longer. Never expecting to become a pawn in this sadistic game he’d come up with. Her attempt at improvisation, however, had saddled him with locating the missing evidence and a watchdog all too eager to watch him fail.
“Don’t expect any help from me, Peidmont,” McKenny spat out as he squeezed into the passenger seat of the squad car. “That bitch means less to me than a stray cat.”
Oliver said nothing as he shifted the car into gear, released the break and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Tires screamed as they struggled for traction; the smell of burning rubber and the resulting smoke gathered around the rear of the vehicle until first one tire, then the other found its grip and shot them up and out of the underground entrance of JenelCo.
Profanities spewed from McKenny as his head struck the car’s roof. “Slow down, you fucking idiot,” McKenny said icily. “Ya got shit for brains or something?” Oliver ignored him and reaching over, McKenny encircled his neck with a single hand. “I said slow down or I’ll snap you like a pencil!”
Oliver had no doubt McKenny had done such things in the past, but couldn’t afford somebody slowing him down. Not when he had a mere twelve hours. As Oliver backed off on the gas, McKenny smirked, then slowly released his grip before turning to look out his window. It was what Oliver had hoped for and leaning forward, reached under the driver’s seat, gripped the back-up revolver kept there and swung the weapon up against McKenny’s temple.
“Now," Oliver said, releasing the safety. "What say we go have a little
chat
?”
On the backside of Seaside’s border with Fort Ord, was a road used by the military during its heyday and now rarely so after the closure. Oliver headed for that now, steering with one hand while making sure with the other that McKenny remained passive. After turning onto the highway 218, Oliver turned right onto onto Fremont, driving slowly down the almost empty street. The few people out at four in the morning were the last of the streetwalkers, ghost-like individuals who continued to ply their trade despite the departure of their largest customer, the military.
As he approached in his unmarked police car, most of the girls drifted from the street’s edge and into the shadows and possibly it was passing them which prompted McKenny to mouth off.
“For a cop, you’re pretty stupid, Peidmont. Ya know that?” Despite the cold metal barrel against his massive head, McKenny tried to turn toward Oliver. “How long do you think you can hold me like this, you dumb ass? Think you can drive like this forever without somebody seeing that gun to my head?”
Oliver didn’t respond, only sighed. After stopping at the light leading toward the old Broadway gate, he quickly moved the weapon from McKenny’s temple down to the man's crotch in one smooth motion. If McKenny had been still before, he became positively statue-like now, saying nothing other than a slight whimper.
Oliver drove his vehicle slowly, deliberately, aware that McKenny might try something soon if for no other reason than impatience.
“Not much further, McKenny,” Oliver intoned evenly. “Just another quarter mile, then we’ll have our little talk.”
Perhaps it was simply Oliver’s nerves, but it seemed to him that McKenny breathed a little easier after that. They pulled into a school parking lot a minute later without incident.
“Now what, Peidmont?” McKenny asked, once again finding his voice and it was obvious the gun’s target had improved his tone, if not his attitude.
“What else?” Oliver replied, shutting the car off. “We
talk
.” Lifting the gun from McKenny’s crotch, Oliver kept its aim true.
“I’m usually a pretty quiet guy when a gun’s pointed at me,” said McKenny. “Even more when it’s aimed at my dick.”
“So I noticed,” Oliver replied dryly.
“Small man with a big gun, ooohhhh, I’m scared.” McKenny raised his huge hands and shook them.
“Big man with a small brain,” Oliver gripped the weapon tightly, aware of the hot button he'd just pushed.
The giant’s breathing sped up. “If you got something to say, dickhead, say it! Otherwise I’m outta here.”
Oliver stared at him for several seconds, then lowered the gun to his lap.
“Fine, I’ll make it clean and simple, Jenel plans to either kill you along with us or more likely, make you the fall guy for our deaths. That is, unless you and I can bring the missing papers back on time.”
If he hadn’t expected it, Oliver probably should have as McKenny burst into raucous laughter, slapping his ham sized leg till his breath became ragged and his voice hoarse.
“I can’t believe you’d try something so obvious, Peidmont? Weren’t you listening?” McKenny snarled. “I did
everything
Jenel asked and more, when I brought you two in. I’m practically a hero.”
Oliver really didn’t have time for this and fixed the gloating man with a cold stare.
“Okay, McKenny, just listen to what I’ve got to say until I’m done. If you think I’m wrong, fine; you can keep acting like the world’s biggest asshole.” In the semi-darkness of the parking lot lights, Oliver felt more then saw the giant man tense and gripped his gun tighter.
“Talk away,” McKenny said dismissively, then settled against the car door to his right. “It’s your breath.”
“If I had more time, I’d go into more detail but I think the five items I mention will make it clear just how bad your situation is.”
Holding up his free left hand, Oliver ticked off each point with a raised finger.
“First of all, as far as the police know, your ex-wife is missing and they have her recent statement on record of your history of violence against her. Secondly, your ex-wife’s girlfriend, an employee of JenelCo by the way, was murdered within the last seventy-two hours and though you have what appears to be an airtight alibi, Jenny’s sudden death would certainly prompt them to take a closer look at any connection you might have with the two thugs I killed earlier tonight.”
“Thirdly," Oliver said, lifting another finger. "My own disappearance would prompt a major investigation of JenelCo, again pointing in your direction since I was last known to be working on the murder of a former employee of JenelCo,
your wife's
best friend. Eventually my own emotional and physical involvement with your wife would be discovered, once again pointing toward you: the jealous ex-husband. Fourthly, your boss seems very uncomfortable with the kind of publicity that three dead bodies would bring; possibly national media coverage when the ties to JenelCo inevitably come out.”
“Finally," he said, bringing up his thumb until all five digits were aloft. "Jenel avoids all this by offering you to the police; the scorned ex-husband, who first killed the supportive friend, then your ex-wife and finally her new lover. If he’s really creative, he’ll kill you and make it look like a homicide/suicide. A messy ending to be sure, but it will ensure that you don’t talk.” Oliver lowered his hand while keeping the gun pointed toward McKenny.
McKenny had begun swearing after Oliver’s third point, although under his breath, until all five digits had been lifted before him.
“Goddamn fucking Jenel!” McKenny responded, pounding the car dash like a caged animal. "Shit! Oh shit, Oh shit, that stinking Italian's going to sell me out! Oh shit!”
“One last point,” Oliver interrupted. “Why do you think Jenel sent you along with me, as if you could stop me from going to the police?”
He knew he shouldn’t feed McKenny’s paranoia more than he already had, yet the fear on the other man’s face felt right somehow; a small but exacting revenge for all Jenny had suffered at his hands. He watched as McKenny’s mind searched for the answer and the look on his face became one of complete terror.
The voice which spoke next was no longer that of an arrogant and sadistic killer, but that of a little boy, whining at the approach of an angry father. “So plenty of witnesses could say I was the last person with you before you were murdered?”
Lifting the revolver from his lap, Oliver took aim in the near darkness at the wide-eyed stricken McKenny, then made a show of pulling an imaginary trigger.
“Bang!” he whispered.
Though he worked for the city of Pacific Grove, Willy Johnson loved his hometown of Seaside and the squared-jawed, handsome policeman never missed an opportunity of championing its positive aspects.
‘But,’ said many in the other communities. ‘Wasn’t he aware Seaside had the highest crime rate on the Peninsula?’ ‘Yes,’ he would smile in answer. ‘
And
that it had almost no tourism to speak of! Why, with the closing of Fort Ord,’ they would go on. ‘Many of its rental units now stood vacant, a potential, perhaps an inevitable draw for crack dealers and the homeless who wandered its back streets! ‘Yes, yes, and yes,’ he would reply, then he would counter each negative viewpoint with his own positive perspective, never flagging in his enthusiasm and belief that Seaside was a great place to live.
All such factors and more had been explained to Willie many times, often after he'd pulled a motorist over or responded to a call out among predominately white Pacific Grove. Out it would come, like some kind of morbid confession: a local liturgy, a recitation of Seaside’s woes until his city was nothing more than a problem in their minds, instead of the vibrant city of living, breathing human beings that it was. Though no one had spoken the words, Willy suspected what some wanted to say was that Seaside was a blight on
their
peninsula: an eyesore warranting removal.
Insistent, yet not overly loud, the knocking which awoke Willy Johnson persisted until he got out of bed clad only in boxers and T-shirt. He reached for his weapon which sat on the five foot tall dresser beside his bed and well out of reach of his three year old twin girls. His wife, Julie continued to sleep, stirring only slightly as he left the bed and made his way towards the front door. Though it wasn’t common for Willy to have visitors at four-thirty in the morning, neither was it unheard of. Despite the weapon for insurance, he expected a locked out neighbor kid wanting to sleep on his couch; certainly not Oliver Piedmont with a worried looking Collin McKenny behind him.
“Hello Willy,” Peidmont said, wearing a worried grin under the anemic entryway light. “Got a minute?”
It took nearly a half hour to explain the situation to Willy before he was finally comfortable putting his gun away. A precious half hour gone, which left, according to Oliver’s watch, about ten hours and fifty minutes to save Jenny’s life. Assuming Jenel would keep his word, a very big assumption, Oliver kept reminding himself.
“I need you to call in tomorrow, Willy,” Oliver said as the three of them sat around Willy’s kitchen table. “Tell them one of your girls has got the flu, or a dentist appointment. Something which allows you to be seen around town.”
“No problem, Ollie, but what’s your plan? You got any idea where those papers are? How do we know they even exist?"
It was McKenny’s turn to speak.
“Look, Johnson, if Jenel said some papers were missing,
they’re missing
. He’s got no reason to have Peidmont and me running all over this area other than to find what Carol Montoya stole.” As a kind of afterthought, McKenny laughed coldly, “Unless it was just to hang my ass out to dry.”
“I hate to say it, but McKenny’s right,” Oliver said after he sipped some of Willy’s instant coffee.
“Jenel wants those papers enough to risk letting me go, all in hopes of minimizing the damage already done by Carol. She made a royal mess for him and he’s hoping I’m the mop to clean it up.”
“Okay, I believe you. So where do we go from here?”
Oliver took a long pull on his coffee until nothing remained in the cup, wondering how best to answer. Slowly, with a carefulness that made the kitchen’s silence even louder, he set his coffee cup onto the table.
“I think you should go over to Carol’s house, Willy. The cops who went through it were only looking for potential items related to her murder. Anything with JenelCo on it would have slipped by since she’d recently worked there.”
Willy nodded but remained silent, sipping his own coffee.
“Since Jenel has McKenny acting as my watch dog, we dare not split up or one of his people might notice and that could seal Jenny’s fate, whether we bring in the papers or not.”
“Why not call your partner?” Willy suggested. “Jerk or not, we could really use John Collinson’s help right now.”
“Too big a risk," Oliver said, shaking his head. "It’s likely Jenel has at least one informant in the Monterey Department and I can't risk both of you calling in. However I might have somebody else who can help us, someone I’m pretty sure Jenel doesn’t know about.”