The Fed Man (19 page)

Doug uncrossed and then recrossed his legs, cleared his throat, and responded, “Yes, I agree. I do know the juvenile judge in Duluth quite well and that may or may not help us. I’ll file the motion with the juvenile court for production of information from the file as soon as we get back to the office.” Looking at Naldie, he continued, “Basically, Chief, that means I’ll try to obtain the records.”

C. J. stood and replaced his glasses to the left breast pocket of his jacket before addressing the group again. “I must say that you guys make a wonderful crime-fighting team. I am impressed.” Pointing at each of them, he continued, “We will nail this perp’s butt to the proverbial wall.

“Marie, I would suggest that you ask the lab if they can check the inside of each sock for DNA. It would help us, as I mentioned earlier, if we knew that he used these socks for the intended purpose of killing his victims and that he did not purchase them to wear. I would think that since these cases have been labeled as high-priority homicides, it shouldn’t take them too long to accomplish that for us. One last item. When should we meet again?”

Before responding, Nube thought to himself that he could see why these guys were so successful in court: great teamwork, and C. J. could hold a crowd like Clarence Darrow. Nube rose from his
chair and said, “How about Friday afternoon? I think we have to stay on this before he decides to kill someone else.” Looking around the room, he saw that all were nodding in agreement. “Okay, we’ll meet right here at three o’clock on Friday afternoon.”

Nube pulled his car into Habib’s to have a chat with the owner. Inside, he saw Habib behind the counter. Habib heard the bells tinkle above the door and looked up.

“My dear friend Mr. Nube. Thank you once again for coming.” He stood and came around from behind the counter while gesturing, “Did you happen to notice my new sign?” He walked to the window and pointed at the sign hanging over the gas pumps that read HNJ FOOD AND FUEL.

“Before you ask, I will tell you that it stands for Habib and Jamaal. We wanted to Americanize it so people won’t think that we are taking over all convenience stores. What do you think, Mr. Nube?”

Nube returned the smile and said, “It’s a nice touch, Habib. I need to ask you a question, my friend. Have you ever seen an old red Nissan pickup truck come in here? Perhaps one with some duct tape on it? Or a customer wearing a gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his face?”

“Let me think, my fine young American friend. I cannot recall the pickup truck you are talking about. But the sweatshirt, I do believe I’ve seen someone like that. He stops in occasionally to buy a Mountain Dew. He pays with the exact change without saying a word and leaves immediately.”

Squinting and briefly looking away, he returned his gaze to Nube. “I think the last time I saw this individual was about two weeks ago. Yes, yes, it was two weeks ago. I remember because Jamaal and I were just finishing rearranging our snack aisles. And he came in, grabbed a Mountain Dew, and marched to the counter. When we didn’t come to the counter immediately, he slammed the bottle on the counter to get our attention without even looking at us. Jamaal actually ran to the counter and apologized, but he still didn’t say a word. Just threw his change on the counter and left. How do you say it, Nube, a rude SOB?”

“That would be quite accurate, my friend. Why don’t you check with Jamaal about the truck and let me know the next time I stop in.”

Habib smiled and did a half bow. “Will do, my favorite American.” But Nube had already left.

The mission seemed clearer to him tonight. He sat quietly in his happy place, his leather chair. No music tonight. Just thinking. His mission was being impeded by the young federal agent. He wanted to give the nemesis a name and thought Fed Man was appropriate. There was so much work yet to be done as the Garbageman. Therefore, it was becoming clearer to him that he needed to rid himself and the world of this Fed Man. The half-lip snarl appeared as he moved the Fed Man from his mental list of ought-to-be to need-to-be. He also was beginning to form a plan. He would alter his usual approach and add some excitement to his mission. He would send the Fed Man a message tomorrow night. The little snarl became larger and he actually chuckled. This was going to be fun.

He reached down beside his chair and retrieved the leather binder. He had some thoughts he needed to capture for posterity regarding himself and his mission before the headaches recurred. Opening the binder to the last page, he stared at the words and thought that this was truly about his eleventh hour. He wondered
how many would know that
Hora Undecim
was Latin for eleventh hour. Grinning, he thought that it would be lost on most, for the masses just did not share the level of intelligence he possessed.

Walking home from Burnt Wood after an arduous day, Nube stopped to stretch out a few stiff muscles. Steve had a long list of tasks that needed to be completed before the first frost. Nube had spent the entire day digging a trench for a water line to the new water hole being constructed along the fifth fairway. They would have to run an electrical conduit to the site because the water hole was going to have an aerator as well. Steve was hoping to make the redesigned fifth hole the signature hole at Burnt Wood. Looking at his hands while opening and closing them a few times, he wondered who came up with the term “poor man’s backhoe” for a shovel. Whoever it was had a warped sense of humor. He started thinking about a hot shower and how therapeutic it would feel.

Walking up to his home, he thought he saw Ms. Abby lying on the porch. Thinking that she was never out of her kennel without him being around, he called and whistled to her. When she failed to respond, he began sprinting. He leapt onto the porch and knelt beside his best friend. He could see her chest slowly rising and
falling, but when he stroked her back or scratched her ears she did not respond. Then he saw the note paper clipped to her collar. His FBI training instincts kicked in: do not touch the paper. He leaned closer and saw that the paper was folded. He recognized the print on the outside as Franklin Gothic font: Mr. Fed Man.

He retrieved his Swiss army knife from his left front pant pocket, released the blade, and used it to unfold the paper. He used the tweezers from his knife to hold the paper to the light and read the following:

He gently laid the paper on his chair and turned his attention again to Ms. Abby. The letter could wait. He picked up his dog and carried her into the house and placed her on his bed. After covering her with a light afghan, he returned to the porch and reread the
letter. He checked his watch. It was 8:30. It was late and the hot shower he had promised himself would have to wait. Now he had to call Naldie and Doc.

Within fifteen minutes both Naldie and Doc arrived. Entering Nube’s home they found him sitting at the kitchen table holding perhaps the one living being that meant more to him than any other.

“How’s she doing?” Doc asked as he slowly reached out to touch Ms. Abby.

“She’s starting to respond. She’s twitching her legs a bit and occasionally moans. What’s the deal on ketamine, Doc? How long before she’s okay?”

Continuing to softly stroke the dog’s back and without taking his eyes from her, Doc spoke in his quiet, reassuring voice. “Ketamine is a Class III drug used primarily as a general anesthetic in veterinary medicine, but it’s also used in pediatric medicine. It creates a dissociative effect much like PCP. It was used a lot on American soldiers during the Vietnam war because they didn’t always have reliable ventilation equipment and because it maintains or increases cardiac output. It’s usually administered intravenously or intramuscularly, but it can also be taken orally, or even smoked. As a result, it has found a new use as a recreational drug and is especially popular at rave parties.” Before continuing, Doc looked briefly at Nube and thought his young friend’s pain was palpable. “The effects of ketamine usually last about an hour. Ms. Abby may be a bit nauseous when she awakens and may even vomit. She shouldn’t
have any other problems. I’d suggest that you try to keep her quiet and don’t give her any food or water for a bit. She’s going to be just fine, Nube. Trust me.”

“I trust you, Doc.” He laid his head on Ms. Abby’s chest and gave her a gentle hug before looking up. Keeping one hand on her, he stood up and looked at Naldie and Doc.

“But this takes everything to a new level. Now this sociopathic mother has made it personal.” With a look of anger and determination on his face, he clenched his fist and looked from one man to the next. “I swear on all that is holy and good that I will find this creep and we will bring him to justice. Trust me on that one, Doc.”

Just then the door opened and Pete walked in. Seeing Nube’s dog lying listless in his lap, he took his cap off and pointed at Ms. Abby. “What in the hell happened to her?”

Doc took a minute to bring Naldie’s deputy up to date. He put his cap back on and pulled it low on his brow. “That crazy no-good son of a bitch. Picking on a dog. Jesus Jennie Lybeck. That does it; we’re going after him with no holds barred! I brought my kit so we can dust the paper for prints if it hasn’t been done yet.”

Naldie cleared his throat and then addressed Pete. “Go ahead, Pete. I was going to get my kit, but if you have yours, have at it. I’ll call Marie and have her come right down to the office so we can run them.” Looking at Doc and Nube, he continued, “Pete and I will take care of the prints and you guys can take care of the dog.”

Nube looked at his dog before speaking. “Thanks, guys. One thing we should keep in mind. I checked my watch when I arrived
home and found Ms. Abby on the porch and it was 8:30. It’s about 9:00 now, which means that the perp must have been watching me at work late this afternoon. Therefore, he knew when I was going to leave so he could time the ketamine injection, which he must have given at about 8:00. I don’t want to wake my neighbors who are elderly and already in bed. So first thing tomorrow morning I’ll check with them to see if anyone saw or heard anything. I’ll let you know what I learn.”

Doc finally stood and, looking at his friends, he slowly rubbed his hands together. “Gentlemen. I just remembered an old Latin phrase I learned years ago:
spa labor levis
, which translated means
hope lightens work
. Our intensity will increase, but our work will be easier. We will catch him.” He smiled and returned his attention to the dog while Pete began work on the note.

Nube looked around the group gathered in Naldie’s office this gray morning and, despite all that had occurred last evening, smiled to himself. He felt comfortable they had put together the best possible team to catch this perpetrator. He took a small sip of the steaming hot delicious coffee Marie had brewed for their early morning meeting. He couldn’t help but notice that Naldie was on his second jelly roll and made no effort to wipe the frosting from his face. He remembered Naldie telling him that the best way to eat a bismarck was to lick the frosting off the top, suck the jelly out, throw the container away, and reach for another.

Pete looked his usual stoic self with his arms crossed, slouched in his chair and with a brand-new camo cap pulled down over his brow. Marie, like always, seemed to glow and was busy paging through the sheets of data she had accumulated since their last meeting. Doc just sat quietly and looked all the world like he was replaying his last round of golf in his mind. C. J. Stone was leaning forward with his right elbow on his knee and was twirling his glasses. Doug, as Nube would have expected, sat ramrod straight in
his chair with his legs crossed and was tapping his foot lightly on the floor. It seemed that every ten seconds he checked his watch.

Nube set his coffee cup on the corner of Naldie’s desk, cleared his throat, and began, “I want to thank all of you for agreeing to meet first thing this morning rather than this afternoon. I’m afraid I have a personal agenda necessitating the early meeting and it’s called a job. The first thing I would like to do is to update C. J. and Doug on the events of last evening.”

Nube updated them on the story of Ms. Abby and his intent to visit with Nancy Jameson about the implied threat to her son. While he was recalling the events of the previous evening, he asked Pete to give C. J. and Doug the note the perp had left for their review.

After they had both finished reading the note, C. J. chuckled. He put the tip of his glasses in his mouth and began to slowly walk around the office. “It does seem that this self-described Mr. Garbageman has taken this to a new level. He’s given himself and Nube names. He is obviously stalking you and the Jamesons and has made personal threats. It appears to me that he is on an accelerated schedule for some reason.” Turning to his partner, he asked, “What thinks thee, oh wise one?”