Saltar's Point (25 page)

“Okay champ,” Randall said, “which type of bait and line do you want to use today?”

“Twenty pound line and stink bait!”

“Well you can use the stink bait, but we’re not fishing for Chinook salmon today, so I think the four pound line is all you need.”

“Okay.”

“Do you remember how to tie up your own line?”

“Uh huh.”

Randall and Cletus watched as he painstakingly set up his own line, determined to do it all himself. His small fingers worked vigorously to tie the tiny knots like Randall had shown him. It took him almost an hour, but soon he had his line all ready to go. Randall inspected his work, tugging on the line and inspecting his knots, and then he took out his pocketknife and cut off the excess slack for him. He was not ready to entrust Aiden with his knife.

“Looks pretty good champ. Now cast it on out there.”

Aiden reared back and fired, trying to manipulate the large pole to do his bidding. His cast went about four feet before plopping into the water in front of him. He gave Randall a pitiful look over his left shoulder.

“That’s okay. Here let’s try it again. Reel her in.”

Aiden did as he was instructed. When the line had been reeled in and the casting lock was set Randall knelt down behind him and placed his large hands around Aiden’s, then together they hoisted a cast that zipped out forty feet before plopping gently into the lake.

“That cast will catch some fish dad!”

Aiden’s comment made them all laugh. Randall had been right; a sunny day fishing was just what they needed to take their mind off their problems, if only for a little while.

TWENTY-SIX

He sure as hell was not going to worry about her. Stupid chick probably found someone to shoot up some speedballs with and was on a binger, that was all. Nope no use worrying about it, Jimmy thought to himself as he paced back and forth on the living room carpet, listening to the crusty fibers crunch under his bare feet and wearing a path from wall to wall. Nope not worried at all, not at all, nosiree, not me. I’m not worried.

But he was. In fact he was worried shitless. It had been two days since Sheila had gone out for tacos and possibly to turn a trick, and she had never been gone this long before. His thoughts were like a leaky faucet, constantly dripping and driving him batshit.

Drip.

She’s dead, went and got herself killed.

Drop.

Naw man, don’t be stupid. She’s just turning a few tricks, trying to make rent. Probably blowing some old fart for a quick fifty in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Underwear aisle five, batteries aisle nine, blowjobs around back.

Drip.

She’s in real trouble or she would have called, or maybe she left. Got tired of your shit and decided to just bail. No, no, she wouldn’t do that.

Drop.

She’s up shit creek as they say, hurt real bad or worse. I gotta call the pigs.

He entered the bedroom and opened the dresser drawer, rummaging through the contents frantically, displacing bongs, pipes, and other drug paraphernalia until he found what he was looking for, a crinkled faded business card that read: Detective Jeremy Peterson. He found the cordless under the crumpled bedspread and pressed the talk button. The dial tone droned monotonously in his ear. He listened for a few seconds more and then clicked it off. Uh uh, no way was he going to call that fucking pig, so he could tell her to go and leave him again. Not this time, he could mind his own damn business. He waffled a few minutes more and then pressed the button again and dialed the number, surprised at himself for doing the right thing for once in his life. He nearly hung up once again on the fourth ring, but somehow he managed to gather enough intestinal fortitude to stick it out this time. A gruff voice on the other end came through. God how he hated this prick.

“Peterson.”

Jimmy struggled to find where to begin. “Detective Peterson?”

“That’s the rumor.”

Prick!
“This is Jimmy Tucci.” The silence on the other end let Jimmy know that Peterson had no idea who he was. “Sheila Bradley’s boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah, what the hell do you want Tucci? You’re not messing up that girl any worse than she already is are you?”

“Well sir I’m not sure if that’s possible.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s been missing for two days now.”

Jimmy could hear Peterson’s anger growing despite his silence. “I swear to God Tucci, if you hurt…”

“Damn man. I told you she’s missing. I didn’t hurt her.”

“Well maybe she just got up the nerve to leave your worthless ass once and for all?”

“As much as you’d like to believe that sir, I don’t think she’d do that.”

“Yeah well, if I had a nickel for every time you don’t think, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I’d be sipping a stiff drink with an umbrella in it on some tropical island.”

“Look man.”

“Don’t interrupt me, I’m not finished.”
I’m listening prick.
“You’re a punk Tucci. You’ve never been worth a shit in your entire miserable life, and you’re never going to be worth any more in the future. The only reason I haven’t run you in for narcotics possession is because I’m afraid that would put Sheila out on the street, and I suppose living with a punk, even one as reprehensible as yourself, is better than living on the street. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it. Are you finished?”

“For the moment.”

“So are you going to help me or not?”

Another tense silence followed, broken only by Peterson’s deep breathing on the other end. Jimmy thought he sounded like one of those walruses at Sea World when they emerge from the water and blow snot out of their noses.

“Come on down to the station and fill out a report. I’m only here till six O’clock tonight, so move your ass!”

The line went dead. Jimmy slammed the cordless down onto the charger. Unsatisfied with that he hoisted it back up and slammed it down once more, a little harder this time. God that Peterson is such an asshole. I shouldn’t have called him. I knew it! His anger continued to build for a few minutes more before finally subsiding a bit. He didn’t want to go down to the station at all. For all he knew Peterson might just throw his ass in jail on some trumped up charge, but what other choice did he have? None, and he knew it.

Reluctantly he picked his jacket up off the floor and threw it on, making sure to check the pockets for any weed, just in case. When he had made sure he was clean, he unlocked the front door and stepped outside. Dang he thought, who would have ever believed that I would go down to the station willingly?

Outside the sun beat down on Jimmy causing him to lower his head and squint his eyes. He hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, preferring instead the comforting darkness of nighttime. It was ten in the morning and the sun was growing brighter. Like a vampire he shielded himself underneath his oversized flannel shirt, pulling up the collar to cover his face. The police station was twelve miles away. He would have to flag a cab. He had a few meager bucks to his name. He hoped it would be enough.

He flagged the first cab he saw and the driver pulled up alongside him. Twenty minutes later they were pulling into the station. Jimmy was relieved to find that he had just enough money to cover the fare, though the cab driver sneered at him from the lack of tip. Times are tough buddy, you deal with it. He didn’t even have enough cash to get home and he would have to walk or hitchhike. Worse still, his stash of weed was growing low. He had enough to get high for one more day, maybe two, and that was it. If he didn’t find a way to get some money soon he would be left high and dry, or just dry unfortunately.

The station was relatively new. The county had found another ingenious way to bilk taxpayers for a few extra dollars to build the new facility. Constructed in red brick it had a throwback appearance to the police stations of old with all the modern day conveniences of a newly erected building. The courtyard just prior to the main steps had a statuette of a large American eagle, spreading its wings as if preparing itself to take flight. In its talons it clutched thirteen arrows representative of the original thirteen colonies and it sat perched upon a large globe with intricate detail of the seven continents. It was finished in solid brass, giving it an awe-inspiring appearance. 

Jimmy walked up the twelve cement steps one at a time, dreading what he was about to endure. The automated door swung open and he entered the station with heavy reservations. He crossed the tile floor over to the reception area. A young female officer sat just behind bulletproof glass, the kind you would find at the drive up window of an automated bank teller. Her voice squeaked through the circular mesh of holes in the window in a barely audible volume.

“Can I help you?”

“Jimmy Tucci, I’m here to see detective Peterson.”

“One moment please. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

She depressed the button on her microphone and whispered into the foam covering and then waited for a response. Jimmy couldn’t hear what was said.

“He’ll be with you in just a moment.”

I can hardly wait. The sarcasm in Jimmy’s mind abounded within his head. It was near twenty minutes before the locked door to the back offices opened and detective Peterson poked his head out. He was cordial, but the look on his face told Jimmy that there was no love lost between them.

“Jimmy, come on back.”

He rose from the waiting chair and followed the detective to the back rooms. They made their way over to Peterson’s desk, located in a small office on the southwest corner of the station. Peterson closed the door and motioned to one of the two seats in front of a small particleboard desk. At least there were no two-way mirrors in here Jimmy thought. He sat down and waited for Peterson to seat himself on the other side of the desk.

“Alright, talk to me.”

“I already told you what I know. Sheila left two days ago to get some food.”

“Where?”

“Jack in the Box.”

“That all? Or was she looking for johns?”

“Yeah, she might have been looking to turn a trick or two.”

Peterson’s gaze hardened. “At your suggestion I bet.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Peterson decided not to press him. “Go on.”

“And that’s pretty much it. She was supposed to be back that night, but she never came home.”

“Was she on foot?”

“Yeah man, you know we ain’t got no car.”

“The Jack in the Box, that the one on Front Street by the waterfront?”

“Yeah that’s the one she always goes to. Why?”

“Because that could be important.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just a hunch.” Peterson said. “Just a hunch.”

Inside Talcott Manor Sheila was trapped in a living nightmare. She had awoken in a haze. Reality set in slowly from all sides, appearing first as a white haze on the outskirts of her peripheral vision and focusing slowly inward. The white cement walls formed about her. Overhead a fluorescent ceiling light shown directly into her eyes, making her blink. Metal tables and sharp shiny implements lay strewn about the room with no particular organization. The terror of reality began to sit deep into the pit of her stomach. She was sure that she had had a vivid nightmare, and nothing more. But this was no nightmare, it was all too real. She tried to move her arms and legs, certain that she would not be able to. She was right, the chains that bound her were still affixed to her limbs. She lay naked and spread eagle, vulnerable and cold as she shook upon the table. She was well past the point of screaming, instead she relented to her pressing fears with a river of tears that welled in her eyes before streaming down her cheeks and plinking on the metal table beneath her.

A large dark shape stood just behind her. She careened her head backwards trying desperately to see what it was, but the table would not let her head tilt back far enough to receive a solid image. She could only make out slow methodical movement as the black presence move back and forth behind her.

My God, please help me wake up, this can’t be happening. She pulled her hands against the shackles that held her fast. The steel cuffs cut into her wrists, biting at her tender flesh. The more she struggled the worse the pain became. The metal cut into her skin and soon the blood began to seep from her self-inflicted wounds, working its way down to her fingertips making them slippery to the touch. Sheila lifted her head and scanned the room again, this time noting the floor and the base of the walls. The outside of her vision was still blurry and she had difficulty focusing. The images in her retinas warbled and undulated almost as if she was trying to see under water. In the west corner of the room an image caught her eye, though it was not clear. She whipped her head back to the sight and focused her eyes. A person sat motionless upon a plastic chair. One of those plastic chairs with the steel legs they use in Sunday school, but this was no Sunday school. At last the image began to solidify and she recognized the man seated motionless in the corner. Now she screamed, the horror in her voiced streamed through the room and down the adjoining halls. The john, the horrible sick man who had picked her up and offered her a thousand dollars for one night. He sat unmoving and silent as if oblivious to her screams. His hair was thin and plastered against his scalp in a greasy matte giving him a disgusting appearance. He was dressed in jeans, boots, and a ragged flannel shirt with small holes worn through at the shoulders. He grinned at her with yellow nicotine stained teeth, one of which, in the center of his smile was missing. He stood and began to make his way forward. When he spoke Sheila thought she could smell his wretched breath from across the room.

“Mornin’ darlin’ you’ve been asleep for quite awhile.”

Through her terror Sheila was able to form a few words. “What the hell do you want from me?” They came out stuttered and trembling.

He moved closer. “Oh it’s not what I want darling that you have to be afraid of. It’s what he wants.”

Darrow motioned behind her. The black shape that she had seen earlier moved around the table until it stood directly in front of her. It was beyond the stuff of nightmares, worse than anything she could have dreamed up herself. Sheila shut her eyes praying that when she opened them again that hideous thing would be gone, although she knew deep in her soul that it would not be. The demon spoke, a deep guttural sound that was hard to discern yet she made out the words with striking clarity. Sheila wished that she were able to close her ears. Listening to her fate was worse than enduring it.

You have been patient my son.

“Yes.” Darrow said.

I will deny you no longer.

“Thank you master! Thank you!”