The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller (10 page)

“Why so quiet?” he asked, tossing the balled
up shirt over to Simmons.

“You’re crazy, you know that,” Simmons said,
carefully stepping toward the broken window.

“I’d like to think I’m resourceful,” said
Isaac. “Sounds better.” He opened the car door and looked around
inside. “You’re telling me you’ve never punched out a window
before?”

“No, can’t say I have. I’m not one to
destroy someone else’s property.”

“Give me a break, the guy is dead for crying
out loud, what harm could it do now? Besides, I’m not waiting
around for a locksmith. These damn mosquitoes out here are eating
me up. And I’ve got a barbecue to attend later.”

“How come I wasn’t invited?”

“Because you’d eat all the food.”

“You know, just because I’m a
little
overweight doesn’t mean I eat anymore than the next guy.”

Isaac laughed at Simmons’s over
pronunciation of the word little.

“No, seriously. It doesn’t. Sure, I’m
willing to admit that exercise and I aren’t the best of friends.
Shit, to be honest, we can’t stand each other.”

This was Isaac’s favorite part of the job;
the only part he truly enjoyed—fucking with the new guy. Only the
best in the business could take blows without a flinch.

“Look, you can come if you want. I don’t
think Randy would mind.”

“In the end it all comes down to your
metabolism,” Simmons continued.

Isaac wondered if Simmons even heard a word
he had said. He reached around the front of the driver’s seat and
pulled the trunk latch. Simmons followed Isaac around to the trunk.
Except for a heavy-duty flashlight nestled in the back corner next
to an emergency roadside kit, the trunk was empty. No jug of
gasoline. No lighter fluid. No matches. Not even two twigs to rub
together.

Simmons shook his head. “Nothing.”

Isaac sneered. “There’s got to be
something.” He reached his hand underneath the dark blue carpet and
ripped off the covering. A small donut tire rested in the spare
compartment. He tried to lift the tire out but it was bolted to the
frame of the car.

Simmons picked up the large piece of blue
carpeting from the ground and placed it back into the trunk. “Did
you check under the front seats,” he asked, slamming the trunk
closed.

Isaac leaned down and peered under the
car.

“What are you looking for?”

“Won’t know until I find it,” Isaac
said.

“Did you hear me?”

Isaac rolled over, brushed the red dirt off
his coat, and stood up. “Yes and no. Why don’t you check out the
rest of the inside while I take a little peak at the engine?”

Simmons squeezed inside the car and popped
the hood latch. “Call me brainless, but what’s the point in
examining the engine? I mean, it’s not like the car was stolen or
something.”

“Well, brainless, James obviously drove the
damn thing out here. But why did he leave it? Why take the time to
walk a half-mile up the road to a shit-hole of a gas station? Why
bother taking a ride from a hippie truck driver with a trailer full
of motor oil?”

“Good question,” Simmons said. “Who knows
what he was thinking.”

“Exactly. Nobody knows for sure. But my
guess is that the car probably broke down leaving him stranded.
After that he just panicked.”

He gently closed the hood and walked back
over to the driver’s side of the car.

“But I’m probably wrong.” He reached into
his coat pocket and pulled out a key to the Escort.

"Where did you get that?"

"Under the car." He handed the key to
Simmons. “Why don’t you do the honor?”

Simmons took the key from Isaac and placed
it into the ignition. Turned it. The engine fired up without a
stutter.

“See, I told you I was probably wrong."

Isaac walked over to the red Camry and
opened the passenger door.

"Is that it?"

"That's it," Isaac replied.

“What are we supposed to do with the car?
Leave it out here?”

“We’ll send someone out here to pick it up.
Just make sure you bring the key.” He could feel a family of
mosquitoes nipping at the back of his neck. He wished Simmons would
hurry up and get in the car.

“Do you think they’ll be all right with
that?”

Isaac shook his head to momentarily free
himself of the attack. “Just come on.”

Simmons grabbed the undershirt from the roof
of the Escort and sat down inside the Camry. He tossed the Ford key
into a cup holder full of change. “What do we say about the
window?”

“Do you always worry this much?”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re right, you’re not,” Isaac said.
“You’re scared to death.” Simmons maneuvered through an eight-point
turn. “I don’t know. Tell them whatever you want. Be creative.”

“Why me?”

“Because you live closer to the precinct.
You can drop me off at home on your way.”

“Oh, great, thanks. Leave it all in my
hands.”

“Look, just tell them a bird flew into it,
or through it, I guess.”

After much work, Simmons had the car turned
around and heading back down the narrow dirt trail. “Are you
serious? A bird?”

“When am I ever not serious?"

Chapter Six

1

He made sure to lock the doors.

From inside the gas station, behind the
barred glass windows, he could see it all. It was a world he had
not seen in a very long time, and though everything had changed,
slowly, he began to feel more like himself again.

He studied and waited for the arrival of a
stronger, more significant being. Many had stopped by since the two
detectives left hours ago. Some just passed through, a few knocked,
and many tried to step inside. Though most were undeserving, and
all did not warrant the respect of the special gift, a gift that
only he could give.

The gift of illusion.

And then—

Deputy Howers finished pumping forty-five
dollars worth of cheap gasoline into his squad car then walked
toward the front of the store. He slung open the door and smiled at
the clerk behind the cash register. The clerk smiled back. He
removed his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and set it
down on the counter.

“Forty-five on pump two,” said the young
deputy. His voice had a touch of backwoods to it. “And a case of
Copenhagen.”

Eddie smiled again and gazed up at the
deputy’s finely brushed cowboy hat. “That’s a nice hat you have
there.”

“Hey, thanks,” said the deputy. “Got it at
the flea market.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I tried it on, would
you?”

“I don’t know. I’m kinda in a hurry if you
know what I mean?”

“I understand."

“How much?”

“Well, that all depends,” Eddie said,
turning away from the deputy for a second, only to return with a
sawed-off shotgun in his hands. “How much do you think your life is
worth?”

Deputy Howers jumped back from the counter.
“Jesus! What the hell are you doing?”

“How much?” Eddie yelled.

The deputy remained tongue-tied and became
more frigid as the seconds waned on, like a well-carved statue of
fear.

“Is it worth the hat on your head?”

Deputy Howers only moved to toss the black
cowboy hat over to the psychotic store clerk. “Here, t-t-take it,”
he squealed, locking his body back into the frozen pictorial of
before.

Eddie picked up the hat with his free hand
and rested it on top of his head. “How does it look?” he asked.

The nervous deputy nodded an obvious
approval.

Then Eddie cocked the shotgun, laughing.

A frightened Christopher closed his
eyes.

A moment later the shotgun hit the
counter.

The laughing stopped.

Chris opened his eyes with great relief to
see the shotgun no longer pointed at him and the psychotic clerk
wearing his hat stepping away from the counter.

“What? Can’t take a joke?”

The deputy chose not to respond in words but
in actions. He removed his pistol from its holster and pointed it
at the mental store clerk.

“I guess not,” Eddie said, answering his own
question.

The deputy reached around the side of his
belt looking for his radio and then remembered he had left it in
the squad car outside. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He
inched toward the counter.
“Don’t move!”

When he reached the counter, he grabbed the
shotgun and unloaded the shells on to the floor. Then he grabbed
his wallet and placed it back into the back pocket of his navy blue
pants.
“Now put your hands over your head and slowly walk around
the counter,”
he ordered.
“Slowly!”

When the clerk was free of the counter,
Chris removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“Okay, stop!
Now turn around and put your hands behind your back!”

Eddie smiled. “Whatever you say,
officer.”

Chapter Seven

1

Randy Wilson could have run a small junkyard
business right out of his backyard, if he were so inclined. There
had to be fifty or more used car parts spaced out across his lawn
in no particular order. The former mechanic had all the proper
equipment to assemble one nasty automobile, or one hell of a
backyard bomb. The tall weedy grass concealed all sorts of strange
and unique objects, some sharp enough to sever a toe if you were
courageous enough to walk through the jungle without shoes. Most
people would think of these things as trash, but Randy called it
his mountain of treasures.

“Have you ever considered cleaning this
place up?” Isaac asked, standing at the edge of the screened
porch.

“Are you kidding? I find something new every
day,” Randy explained. He bent down to pick up an old photograph
tainted by fire. “Check this out. It’s an old picture of my Ma. God
rest her soul. I never even knew I had this.”

“You’re a strange guy, Randy,” Isaac said.
“But I’m glad to hear about the new job. I hope everything goes
well with your fresh start.”

“Speaking of the fresh start, come on inside
and meet Lizzy.” Randy locked the screened patio door and fired up
the grill before heading through the sliding glass door. “I really
think you’ll like her.”

Isaac followed Randy inside the house and
sat down next to Amy on the couch. Randy ran through the small
house calling for his fiancé.

“She’s not here,” Amy yelled back. “She went
to the store to get some drinks.”

“Oh, okay,” said Randy. “Well, she’ll
probably be back in a bit.”

“What are we watching?” Amy asked.

“Looks like the six o’clock news.”

Randy lit a cigarette and glanced over at
the television. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear something about
the crash this morning. But nothing’s been said yet.”

Amy glanced over at Randy. “What crash?”

“A car crash. Big one.”

Isaac bit his lip to keep his mouth closed.
The last thing he wanted to talk about was this morning’s wreck, or
the entire Ackerman family for that matter.

“One of the men who died in the crash worked
with me,” Randy continued. “And a few worked with your father.”

Isaac cringed.

Amy looked over at her father huddling into
the corner of the couch. “Is that true, Dad?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.” He took a
deep breath. “But I can’t say I really knew them that well.”

“Oh, I was under the impression when I
talked to you earlier that you knew them,” said Randy.

“Not really. I knew
of
them.”

Just as Randy began to dig deeper into the
closed file of James Ackerman, his fiancé barged through the front
door cutting him off in mid-sentence. Isaac sat up and plopped his
head back on the couch cushion. The relief had arrived right on
schedule.

Lizzy held a couple of plastic grocery bags
in one hand and a case of Bud Light in the other. “Hey babe, did ya
miss me?” She spoke loud, with a high pitched, southern accent.

“I was looking for you,” Randy said, walking
toward the door to greet her. He gave her a peck on the mouth then
followed her into the kitchen. “They told me you went to the
store.” He looked down at the case of beer in her hand. “I see you
got some beer. Sweet.”

“Yeah, we were almost out.”

Randy escorted his fiancé (both with beers
in their hands) out to the living room. Lizzy was easily the
best-looking woman Randy had ever dated, or married for that
matter. She was tall and slim, with long wavy blond hair, and big,
glowing blue eyes like a pair of full moons. “Isaac,” Randy said,
throwing his arm around his fiancé. “Meet Lizzy.”

“Hello.”

Lizzy smiled kindly at Isaac. “Hi there,
it’s nice to meet you.” The loud pitch of her southern accent was
now only a tiny flaw in relation to the entire package, like a
small scratch on a new Mercedes. “Randy has told me so much about
you.”

“I’ll bet he has,” Isaac said. With the
happy couple standing next to each other, Isaac could tell that
Lizzy was at least ten years younger than Randy, which would place
her somewhere in her late-twenties. “Just don’t believe everything
you hear.”

Randy left the living room for the kitchen.
A minute later, he walked back through with two platefuls of
various meats and headed outside to the grill. Amy got up to use
the bathroom, leaving Isaac alone in the living room with Randy’s
new fiancé.

“How did you and Randy meet?”

“Oh, we met at a bar.”

“How romantic.”

“Ain’t it?” she giggled.

“How long have you been together?”

“A couple of months now. I just moved in
last week.”

“Good to hear.”

“Hey, would ya like a beer or something? I
could get it for you.”

"Sure."

Randy tapped on the sliding glass door and
gestured for Isaac to come outside.