The Whisper Box (21 page)

“Actually, no. I don't need any books but I would love a map or two of the state of North Carolina and maybe the East Coast as well. That OK?”

This librarian was obviously under worked. She pointed a finger at Grant and smiled. “Sure, let me click this computer on for you, get you started and then I'll run and find some maps for you.”

“Thank you ma'am.” This woman was confident about his identity and that scared him.

The woman clicked here and there on her computer screen. When she heard the dial tone she was up and running to find some maps. Grant sat down, found the mouse, and started clicking away. He went right to CNN.com. The first thing he saw was a headline that read 'Young Reporter Feared Dead'. As he was focusing in on the article and its headline about his own death, the picture started to download. It was a picture of him standing outside the White House just days before holding a microphone and smiling. The story was about how Grant was part of the CNN family. It went on to mention his many highlights of his career and that he was the preferred interviewer for most political leaders. He never felt so appreciated.

Within five minutes he saw the old librarian headed back in his direction. He minimized the screen in fear that she would see his picture and figure him out. He stood up to block the view of the computer and greeted the hard working librarian about five feet from his cubicle. “These are the maps?”

“Yes sir, this first one is North and South Carolina and the next one is the entire country. These should help you. Are you taking a job in the area?”

“Well ma'am, I'm not real sure yet,” continuing his staring contest with the floor, “I really have to see how it would all work out geographically. I do appreciate your help.” Grant started back to his seat to tell the woman in an unspoken way that he wanted to be left alone. She must have gotten the hint because she turned away too.

“You just holler if you need anything else son.”

“Thank you, I will.” Grant gave a reassuring smile.

He shoved all the maps to the side for the time being and accessed his e-mail on the Internet. These computers were old so the download time was a bit more extensive than what he was used to. Nevertheless, his e-mail page was beginning to download when he saw the message: YOU HAVE 1 NEW E-MAIL.

He clicked on it as his heart rate began to race again. Another long pause took place while the e-mail made its way to his screen. It was from JohnnyM80.

Grant,

I am hoping you are alive and able to access this. I heard about the plane crash while I was waiting at the airport. If you do not already know, they have not yet identified any of the bodies BUT some hobo by a lake in those woods y'all crashed into did say that he saw someone jump with a parachute. I hope he is right and that you are the guy he saw. Right now, because he was drunk, the investigators are saying that the hobo was possibly looking for some much needed attention or that he saw a piece of debris and he just couldn't tell the difference. I think I am about to acquire a car somehow and drive to Asheville (the scene of the crash) in hopes of finding you. You must answer this e-mail as soon as possible if you are alive. I can come get you. This needs to be done ASAP!

JohnnyM80

Grant had a new hero. This JohnnyM80 impressed him. Nothing stopped him and he was on top of every possible scenario. Grant clicked on the reply button to answer his friend.

JohnnyM80—

I am glad to tell you that I was the fella' that the hobo saw parachuting out of the jet. It's a real long story. If you come pick me up I'll tell you all about it. I am in a small town about five or six miles from the crash named Gillens, NC. I hope you found a car, I need you here ASAP! As I'm sure you can imagine, most people know my face, which makes pretending I'm dead a hard thing to do. So far two people have already recognized me, but I think I convinced them otherwise. I am in the Sam C. Tuttle Library in Gillens, NC. If you are in Columbia, SC, you could be here within a few hours I would think. Hurry!

Grant

Grant clicked on the send button and clutched his face in his palms. He was so tired and really needed a nap. He wanted to fall asleep right here in the cubicle, but like a high school student in class, did not want the teacher to catch him. She would think he was too strange and maybe on drugs. She would notify the authorities and he would be taken into custody for questions.

He would check his e-mail every five minutes for the next three hours. He tried to hold back his anxiousness. He tried to be patient and explain to himself that he would know something within three hours. If JohnnyM80 was not here in three hours he probably was not coming. His eyes began to shut and his head began to bob. Grant’s body was telling itself to shutdown but the mind resisted. His eyelids shut and his mind began to drift into a weird little dream before entering REM. His mind realized it and told the eyelids to open. An explanation of awake and conscious was accepted and the body became determined to not fall asleep. Before the brain realized it, it was nodding off again. Grant lost. His body was exhausted. He drifted off to sleep and began to dream about his past.

Jason Rama had to leave the Alabama Sun for good. He was unemployed and he would probably never work in his beloved field again. He was going to make a lot of money in the field of reporting and it was all just swept away from him by some egotistical power mongrel that was the King of the Good Old Boys Network.

Jason moved to Miami, Florida immediately. He told his parents he was taking a job for a bigger newspaper in Miami so they would not worry about him. Every time they offered to come visit he would tell them that he was working on a very important story and just could not afford the time. He had no girlfriend and no friends. He lied on the beach, depleted his savings, and cashed out his 401K. He drank beer constantly and stayed drunk. He went into a deep depression for about six months. His anger was at a constant level of intensity.

He always kept himself in great shape and could probably annihilate any of the Senators’ hit men and especially the fat old Senator. That would do him no good though because he knew the Senator was telling him the truth. He knew that the Senator would blow him away in a second or have him blown away. This elected official was no good. He was a lying, cheating, stealing farce. Jason swore to crush him one day.

One night in The Cat's Meow, a low class strip club in Miami, Jason was sitting with a stripper named Heather enjoying a drink and making small talk. His “buzz” was more intense than usual that night. Jason could tell that Heather had a crush on him for almost six months now. Jason wanted to take her away from the strip club and try to start a relationship with her, but he could not. She was usually bombarded by dirty old men propositioning her all night. Jason never propositioned her for anything. They talked about life. Jason thought she was beautiful but would never tell her. He just liked her company. He promised himself that if he were ever able to sweep her away from all of this, he would.

“How did you get to be a stripper, if ya' do not mind me axing?” Jason mumbled through the alcohol.

“I had always wanted to dance when I was little. When I was in college my sister had a boob job. Instantly, every guy on campus was after her. So I went under the knife about a year later hoping it would help me attract the rich guy I always wanted. I never got the rich guy. All I had was bigger boobs, a cuter nose, and about five thousand dollars less in my bank account.”

Jason interrupted. “You got a boob job and a nose job? Did people recognize you after that?”

“Actually, I was surprised, a lot of people had no idea who I was when I walked up to them. It was weird. Anyway, I was still dancing, I never got a single audition, so I took my boobs, danced my way in here, got this audition, and now I'm making more money than I ever expected. So I guess it all worked out.” She smiled at Jason who was now staring at her with a gaze in his eyes.

He was looking right through her, off into space like an excited scientist who just thought of some new revelation.

“What's wrong baby?”

Jason raised his voice. “You got plastic surgery and no body recognized you? You got plastic surgery and no body recognized you! No shit!” he screamed.

“What the hell just got into you?” Heather was totally confused now.

“Oh Heather, I love you baby, I love you! I gotta' go sweetie. Maybe I'll see you next week.” His screaming had drawn an audience.

Heather sat there staring at Jason, as he grabbed his windbreaker and headed for the door. Jason jumped in his old, beaten up, red Volkswagen that he received along with two thousand dollars last month when he traded in his Honda Prelude. His tires threw pebbles and dust everywhere as he sped out of the parking lot. The ride home was a frantic one. He was hoping he could find the cardboard box where he kept all of his files on Howard Farnsworth. He was sure they were stuffed in the back of the hall closet. He was about fifteen minutes from his apartment.

He swung open his door and ran for the closet. For the first time in almost a year Jason wished he were not drunk. He started throwing boxes out over his shoulder. He found the box marked 'Old Howard' and ripped it from the closet. He stumbled towards his kitchen that was only about seven feet away. His apartment, another reason he hated Senator Farnsworth, was a roach motel. It was all he could afford. It was old, dirty, damp, and in the worst part of town. When he worked for the
Alabama Sun
he could afford much more than this.

He laid the cardboard box on his kitchen table and grabbed a tall glass of cold water from the refrigerator. Hoping the water would help sober him up, he began going through the notes he had from Alabama. He had some clippings from the Associated Press and other outlets mixed in among the notes of his own. There, in the middle of the pile he saw what he was looking for. An Associated Press story that questioned The Senators support of Dr. Anson Ripple, the abortion doctor and plastic surgeon. The article stated: FARNSWORTH ABOUT FACE HAS SOME VOTERS CONCERNED. The author cited how it was a bit fishy that Farnsworth all of a sudden became a big supporter of Anson Ripple.

When Jason first read that article years ago, he too, thought it was a bit fishy. He began to snoop around town looking for anything or anyone that might tell a little more about the story. An old woman that worked in a small bakery in the town told Jason that she knew Anson was paying through his nose to keep his practice open. She guaranteed Jason that it was extortion but she would not reveal her sources. It all came back to him now.

He continued to read on. He found a clipping of the good Senator making a speech in favor of Anson Ripple's practice. Jason grabbed his magnifying glass to see the expression on Anson's face who was standing about ten to fifteen feet behind the Senator. His lips were tightly clenched. His upper teeth were clawing into his bottom lip. He was not happy to have the Senator on his side. Something had to have made that man angry. Jason took a shower and fell asleep. He needed to sober up. Tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his life.

*************************

The next morning Jason woke up to the sound of his alarm clock. He knew this was going to be a good day. The song playing on the radio was “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” This was his all-time favorite song. Maybe the planets finally were aligning. He packed his small suitcase with enough clothes for a few days. He loaded his pistol, tucked it in his ankle holster and walked out the door. He filled his little beat up Volkswagen with gas and headed North towards Jefferson, Alabama.

At nine o'clock he pulled off the highway in a small town just south of Jacksonville, he went to the bank and withdrew the little he had. He got back in his car and headed north again. The entire way he was planning his speech to Dr. Anson Ripple. He would approach the subject delicately to avoid scaring the man off. He would show nothing but absolute respect for the doctor and hope that his best sales job would close the deal by evening.

Once he was back in Alabama, Jason tucked his chin low and wore his hat low across his forehead. He never went over the speed limit. If a cop were to stop him and find out who he was he would surely be arrested, then Old Howard Farnsworth would come bail him out of jail and kill him. He was banned from the state forever.

After getting lost for over an hour in the vicinity of Anson Ripple's estate, Jason finally pulled up to the black iron gates. They were locked. It was now seven o'clock. Jason turned his car off, made sure his gun was still at his ankle and headed for the gates. After inspecting for cameras, he began to climb the fifteen-foot tall gates. Once he was at the top he carefully swung his left leg over and then his right. He climbed halfway down and heard an approaching dog. The bark coming from this dog made Jason aware that no poodle was about to come through the bushes. This was an attack dog, possibly a German shepherd or two. He quickly moved back up to the top of the gate. As he got there the Shepherd came flying through the bushes and hit the gate so hard that the vibrations almost threw Jason off the gate.

He sat there for a minute pondering his next move. Surely this dog was going to get someone's attention. Jason looked down the long dirt driveway and saw a flashlight approaching. He yelled for help. “Hello? I mean no harm, I swear it!”

The flashlight stopped moving and shined up to the top of the gate. “If you mean no harm why in the devil are you climbing my gates after hours?”

“Sir? Dr. Ripple? Is that you?” Jason was shaking with fear.

“Who the hell did you expect son, Santa Clause?”

“Sir, I swear, just get the dog to leave us alone. I promise sir, you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“How the hell am I supposed to believe someone trying to break into my property?”

Jason thought hard and tried a little reverse psychology. “Dr. Ripple, Sir, I have a gun. If I were coming to harm you, I'd have shot your dog five minutes ago and continued climbing over your fence. I did not shoot your dog, sir, because I respect you and do not want to harm you. I swear sir, just get rid of the dog and we'll talk.”

The pleading tone in Jason's voice was authentic. He pointed to the gun in its holster hoping Ripple would realize that he really could have shot his dog from his perch easily.

“Get on home Buster” Anson Ripple yelled to the Shepherd, “Daddy can take it from here. Go on! Get!”

The attack dog stopped barking and ran away. Jason breathed a sigh of relief. “Is it OK to come down now?”

“Yes sir, climb on down here. Now be careful boy, I'm eager to find out what you have to tell me of such importance that made you want to break into my property. If you fall and break your neck before I hear the news it's gonna' piss me off.”

Jason liked that the man had a sense of humor and worked his way down the fence. “Yes sir, Doctor, sir. I hope I'm not bothering you.”

“Let's head inside and pour ourselves a drink. We can talk on the patio over cigars, but you’re gonna’ have to hand over the gun first,” said the Doctor.

“No problem sir. I'd like that very much.” Jason handed over his pistol and followed the doctor to his house.

Dr. Ripple poured them both Scotch on the rocks and handed Jason a Cuban cigar. “I hope you like Scotch, I know you'll like the cigar. It's Cuban. Mother Theresa would enjoy a Cuban cigar. So what's all this hubbub about? Tell me why you've come here?”

“Sir, I do not know where to start....”

The men sat on the porch for about an hour while Jason explained who he was and what had happened to him about a year ago. He explained how he was on to a couple of Farnsworth's wrongdoings when he was a writer for the Alabama Sun. He explained how Farnsworth held a gun to his head and everything. He left out no details. He told Dr. Ripple that his desire to get back at the man who destroyed his career and life was far greater than anything he had ever experienced. He then told Dr. Ripple exactly what he suspected about Farnsworth extorting him for some elaborate amount of money

“I'm sure sir, that if what I'm saying about you is true then you, too, would love to see him get a taste of his own medicine. Am I right?”

Ripple just sat there staring at the smoke from his cigar floating through the air. It circled and danced upward creating a beautiful swirl. “So what if I was to agree with you about the extortion allegations you are making? You must have come here wanting more than that. You're not an attorney. You're not here looking for my testimony. What is it that you want son?”

“Sir, I need you to redo my nose, my hairline, my cheekbones -- everything. The problem is that I can't afford anything close to what it will cost me. I have no money to give you. I swear to you though, I will dedicate my life to taking this man down. When I do, I will let everyone know how he extorted you for millions over the years. You can sue and get a handsome sum of money when it is all said and done. I need this plastic surgery sir. He banned me from the state and frankly, if he ever lays his eyes on me again, he'll kill me. I need you to do this Dr. Ripple and I think you need me also, sir.”

Ripple again stared at his smoke swirling and dancing around his head. He rubbed the edges of his perfectly groomed mustache with his thumb and index finger. He looked away from the smoke and stared at Jason. “You know, if you want to do this, we have to do it right. You have to get an entire new identity. I mean birth certificates, social security cards, state identification cards, credit cards -- everything.”

Jason smiled because he knew Ripple liked this idea. “I have no idea where to find all those identification cards you just mentioned. I never thought about that.”

“Son, I'm a plastic surgeon. I change people for a living. I know where to get all that crap. I think I like your idea boy, but I have to know your plan. I'm not going to do thousands of dollars worth of work for free if you have no idea what to do next. Trust me, I've given enough of my money away over the years. Oh and, by the way, I don't care about the money. I won't sue his sorry ass for anything. I just want to know that he got what was comin' to him. That's all.”

Jason agreed and they began talking about how they could execute something so deep. This would not be done overnight. They agreed on that. This could take years to carry out and be totally successful. They would have to stay in touch and pick their spots. They would need a little luck and there could be zero missed opportunities. They talked for hours and drank more scotch. Jason spent the night on the couch. The next day they would start planning his new facial features while Dr. Ripple explained the procedure from beginning to end including total recovery time.