The Tesla Gate (20 page)

Seth once again looked to me for reassurance. I nodded fervently and waved my arms like I was rooting him on in a mile relay. The sirens were getting louder now, maybe just a few seconds from coming around the bend. Seth took off like a sprinter in the direction that Officer Pace had told him. He had just disappeared into the tree line when the first of three patrol cars and an ambulance skidded to a halt behind us.

CHAPTER 22

Lost and Found

“No man stands so straight as when he stoops to help a boy.”

—Knights of Pythagoras 

The arriving officers took statements from me and Officer Pace. Due to the present condition of my throat, I provided a written statement for the patrolpersons, one of whom was a woman. Not that it matters much for my account of things, but the female cop, Officer Bargone, reminded me a great deal of Ann. She reminded me of how much I miss her.

My statement was pretty much word for word with what Officer Pace had advised me to say in his drill sergeant tirade, with some slight embellishment thrown in to add to the realism of being a firsthand witness. The paramedics tended to my neck injury and kept insisting that I go to the hospital to have it checked. I assured them I was fine and needed no medical attention, although my croaking voice espoused just the opposite.

The bodies of my two captors were bagged by the medics and placed in the back of the ambulance. It took the help of all the officers on scene to hoist Hamm's large frame onto the gurney. The former residents of the bagged corpses sat placidly in the back seat of the cruiser, not daring to look, not daring to speak. It was almost as if they were terrified that the other shoe was about to drop any minute and the slightest movement by either would bring down the proverbial footwear on their silvery-hued heads.

I thought it was an interesting observation that while Impals look like their physical selves, they don't seem to be troubled with the physical defects. I didn't take much note of that with Miss Chenowith because I was in too much shock. While Hamm still looked like a stout fellow, he wasn't quite the blubbery creep he had been in life. Also, his cough was noticeably absent. Howie didn't look much different except maybe a couple of years younger. It was hard to tell because I had never really seen him in full light. The clothes were what struck me. Hamm the Impal was wearing a nice button-down Oxford, jeans topped with an enormous silver belt buckle, and snakeskin boots. His body had on a baby blue warm up suit with sneakers that were holier than the Pope.

Howie the Impal wore a Tennessee Volunteers jersey with jeans and high tops. His body wore dirty jeans with a stained black t-shirt, complimenting his mud-covered NASCAR hat, which incidentally the ambulance drivers hadn't bothered to pick up. It set against a large pine tree like a mini-NASCAR memorial.

Of course, Miss Chenowith had a very stagnant wardrobe; I suspected she had only one color dress and a different one for every day of the week. But Seth wasn't wearing his favorite Spiderman shoes when he was killed, nor his favorite shirt and shorts, but somehow he wound up in them as an Impal. It made me scratch my head, but I had no real answer for it. Maybe we get to wear our favorite wardrobe for eternity? I just don't know.

When Officer Pace came back to talk to me, I got an amusing surprise.

“Do you know the names of those two?” he asked jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the cruiser.

“I think their real names were Hamm and Howie.” I whispered, trying to rest my throat.

Officer Pace chuckled.

“Well that's close, get this … their real names are Hammond Bannister and Howard Longsworth. Don't exactly sound like the criminal type, eh?”

I shook my head and smiled then looked distractedly over the officer's shoulder. I could see Seth's head peeking over the top of a group of sapling pine trees. He hadn't gone as far into the woods as Officer Pace had directed. I knew he was scared and didn't want to let me out of his sight, but he was dangerously close to being visible to the other officers.

Officer Pace saw the look on my face and knew immediately what had me distracted. Maybe he was psychic or just had good old keen police instincts, but I suspected it was because he knew how I felt and could empathize with me. My good old dad instincts told me he was a father, too, and the gold band on his left ring finger solidified that belief. He smiled discreetly at me then turned to talk to the other officers. He stood so that all of their backs would be to Seth's position; just a simple distraction. Hopefully he would be able to keep it up, because if any of the cops turned to look in that direction, unless they were myopic they would see him for sure.

The ambulance left shortly, toting the mortal remains of the two partners in crime whose names sounded like they should be Ivy League school chums, but their eternal dress suggested they were a high-class honky-tonker and a seasoned tailgater. I suppose if my theory was correct regarding comfy dress for eternity, I would probably wind up in my Razorback hoodie and red sweat pants along with padded moccasin house shoes. Not exactly stylish, but if comfort were style you could call me Armani.

My heart almost slid into my shoes when Officer Bargone asked me if I would like a lift into the station so I could give my statement.

“I'll have Jimmy come out and tow in your SUV, on the county's dime of course,” she said with an accent that was reminiscent of Scarlett O'Hara.

“I've got him covered,” Officer Pace interjected. “He said he feels up to driving, so he's going to follow me in.”

My heart retracted back into my chest.

Along with Officer Bargone, there were two other cops that had reported to the scene. I was never introduced to them, but one was big and beefy with a neatly parted haircut that was white-walled just above his ears. The other looked like a junior high kid playing a cop for Halloween. He had a buzz cut that had grown back just enough to tell he was a carrot top. I could have sworn he had a slight case of acne blemishing his pale cheeks.

“Well, we need to get back up the road and find that Impal kid they dumped,” the beefy officer said.

“Why?” carrot top asked.

The beefy cop looked at him disgustedly like that was the stupidest question he had ever heard.

“Because we are under orders, too, numb nuts.”

“We're under orders to turn in PDIs, not RDIs,” the carrot top reminded him.

The beefy cop looked at me.

“Well, what was he, a RDI or a PDI?”

I shrugged and swallowed hard to lubricate my throat.

“I never saw him; I was in the back. I believe he was a PDI.”

The beefy cop shook his head and laughed.

“Previously deceased, recently deceased, how can you tell the difference? They all look alike to me, the ones I've seen have.”

He looked at Officer Bargone and carrot top with serious, narrow eyes and spoke in a low tone that sounded more sadistic than sarcastic.

“We'll question him before we chain him, all right?”

The other two officers shook their heads and turned to walk back to their cruisers. But not the beefy officer, he was looking suspiciously at me and Officer Pace.

“So what are you two looking at?”

We both shrugged, a little too simultaneously to avoid suspicion. His eyes narrowed into slits and his jaw tightened. The veins in my injured neck pulsed with cruel fervor as my heart went into overdrive. The beefy cop had turned to look in the direction of the patch of pine saplings where Seth was hiding. I could no longer see Seth's head, but the beefy officer had a much better view than I did. His eyes narrowed even further like someone trying to read small print and his hand instinctively went for the butt of his gun. He took a few steps toward the pines. Officer Pace looked at me worriedly and followed after the beefy cop. I didn't know if he planned to distract him with more conversation or smack him over the head with his billy club, but as it turned out neither one was necessary.

The two cops had barely made it ten yards when an enormous buck came bounding out of a patch of wild blackberries next to the pines. The beefy officer drew his pistol but then quickly lowered it before he aimed at the animal. He let out a booming laugh.

“You're lucky it isn't season yet, you big bastard! But I'll be back to get you then!” he taunted as he slid his pistol back into the holster. He spun and looked at me and officer Pace with the expression of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Did you see that?” He asked. “That had to be an eight-pointer, at least!”

Officer Pace agreed with the same enthusiasm. I had no idea what “an eight-pointer” even meant. Was there some kind of hunting scorekeeper and that deer was worth eight points, like a three-point shot in basketball? Officer Pace explained later that it was the number of literal points on the deer's antlers. Oh, well; I was never much of a hunter.

The encounter with the eight-pointer seemed to have satisfied the beefy cop's curiosity, and he set out back up the highway in his cruiser to catch a “spook,” as he put it. As soon as he was out of sight, I quickly went to retrieve my own little spook.

Seth was sitting on a large moss-covered rock behind the pines. He was sobbing and he was terrified. I picked him up and hugged him tight, hardly noticing the weird cold and warm sensation as his arms and legs slowly sunk into me. I did notice the cold iron of the humiliating, rusty collar on his neck as it brushed against my cheek. I carefully sat him down to examine the cruel choker. Officer Pace bent down and examined it as well.

“I believe I can fix that,” he said, and produced a Swiss Army knife-looking device from his utility belt. He selected a small metallic extension and pulled it up until it locked into place. He stuck it in the small keyhole on the side of Seth's collar. After a couple of quick counterclockwise motions, there was a faint click and the collar swung open and fell to the ground, bouncing off of Seth's Spiderman sneakers. He let out a small squeak of pain and instinctively jerked his foot back.

Seth frowned as he rubbed his neck.

“Does it hurt?” I asked worriedly.

His bottom lip puckered as he nodded his head.

“Feels like I got a sore throat.”

Two hurt necks; weren't we the pair. Of course, I worried about Seth. I had no idea how something like that might affect him or what the long terms effects might be for an Impal. As it turned out, I was worried for nothing. Within ten minutes, Seth was good as new. Officer Pace had gone out near the road to smoke a cigarette while Seth and I sat on the back bumper of the SUV, nursing our wounds. I was fully prepared to hide Seth if a car should happen by, but thankfully we were in the sticks and there was not so much as a riding lawnmower in the vicinity. After we had sat quietly for a few minutes, Seth jumped to his feet in a panic.

“Jackson! They left Jackson behind!” he cried.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“It's okay, buddy, we'll go find him.”

“We have to go now, Daddy! We have to go now! They'll catch him like they did those two mean men!”

I swallowed hard and nausea started to flame in my belly. Seth had seen it all: the shooting, the capture of the Impals, everything. Kids are innocent of a lot of things in the world, but they are not stupid. They can add two and two really fast. He saw, he heard, and I was kidding myself if I thought he didn't hear the radio broadcasts I had been listening to in the vehicle. There was no point in lying to him; he needed to know the truth.

“Okay, buddy, let's go find him,” I said as I got to my feet.

He paused and stared at the cargo area of the SUV.

“Is that why you made me get back there?” he asked.

“Yes, son. I will do anything to keep you and Jackson safe. Let's go find him.”

Officer Pace came over and shook my hand as we started to get the vehicle ready to go again. There were a few dents and scratches in the paint, but we were blessed with the fact that all the damage seemed to be cosmetic.

“Good luck to you and Seth,” he said, then gripped my hand tighter and pulled me close so he could whisper without Seth hearing. “For God's sake, keep him out of sight!”

I nodded and thanked him I started to ask him why, but he was a good cop and he anticipated the question before I could articulate it.

“They took my dad yesterday,” he said, very solemn. “He's been dead almost 20 years, living in our house, watching over us. I had two days with him, two miraculous days. I made the mistake of mentioning it at the station, and, well …” his voice trailed off sadly.

“But he was a PDI, they …” Deep down, I already knew the answer.

“It doesn't make a damn bit of difference!” he snapped. “Don't you make any mistake about that!” he said nodding his head in Seth's direction. “The government sees them all as a threat!”

“A threat?” I parroted. “I thought it was just to give them a place to stay, to avoid population crowding.” I winced, not from the pain in my throat but from how stupid my own words sounded to me. I knew better, I just didn't want to believe it. That was not the American way, but neither were Japanese internment camps. People can be capable of a lot of things they ordinarily would not when their back is against the wall. But why had this been done so quickly?

Officer Pace shook his head and looked at me dejectedly.

“Please tell me I haven't risked my career for someone this naïve. For your son's sake, please tell me.”

“You're right,” I croaked. “You are 100-percent right.” I paused before asking, “Why was this ordered so quickly?”

Officer Pace shrugged. “Not sure, fear I think. Which I can understand because the first time I saw my dad it scared the hell out of me, but …” he hesitated as his jaw stiffened. “I think it's more than that. I think that sicko General Garrison gets off on stuff like this. You remember what he was accused of in Panama several years ago?”

I suddenly recalled exactly what Garrison had been accused of. He was the head of a military drug task force charged with stopping trafficking out of Panama. After the killing of one of the soldiers under his command, he allegedly rounded up women and children in the surrounding community for interrogation. The story was that there was more torture than interrogation, that General Ott Garrison was more interested in revenge than justice. No one has ever been able to confirm the horrific stories, but there was enough smoke that he was brought back to Washington to be an “advisor” to the Pentagon for the remainder of the operation. Someone important liked him then, and our president likes him now. I voted for the current president, but I will not do it again, not after he supported someone like that.