The Good Soldier (11 page)

I drove without stopping for close to three hours. The clock on the dashboard said the time was after twelve in the morning. We crossed into the city limits of Charlottesville, Virginia. Shopping centers with empty parking lots lined the main road through town. Cars huddled around late night restaurants and bars. Neon signs announced their presence.

I pulled into a twenty-four hour gas station and stopped the car next to an outward facing pump. I placed the gas nozzle into the Audi's fuel tank and clicked the handle to auto pump. I walked inside the convenience store, grabbed a four pack of water bottles out of the fridge and filled a 20 ounce cup with fresh coffee. Hunger pains attacked my stomach, so I milled about a few minutes looking for something to eat, ultimately finding nothing. I stepped up to the counter where a freckle-faced teenager with red hair and a name tag that read "Stan" waited behind the register. He asked me how I was doing without bothering to look at me.

He grabbed the water bottles and scanned them. Looked at the coffee and punched a couple keys on his register. He looked up at me with a nervous tick of his head that threw his hair to the side and out of his eyes.

"That all?"

"Gas at pump three."

He looked at his display. "It's not finished pumping yet."

"Guess we're waiting then."

He rolled his eyes and looked away, adding a sharp click of his tongue to further express his annoyance. He walked away, pretending to attend to something else, anything to avoid dealing with people, I supposed.

I leaned back against the counter and looked around the store, taking note of all the security cameras. There seemed to be an overabundance of them.

"Have a lot of trouble with robberies here?" I said.

"Huh?" he said.

"The cameras." I pointed to the four cameras positioned throughout the store, mounted to the ceiling.

"Nah, maybe just college kids stealing stuff."

I nodded slowly. Time dragged. "Gas done yet?"

He walked back over, looked at his screen. "Yeah. Total's forty-three fifty."

I handed him three twenties and waited for my change.

I stepped out into the cool night air, put the coffee and water in the car and scanned the parking lot. There was a payphone butted up to the corner of the store.

"I'll be right back, Bear."

Two directories dangled from the base of the phone. I grabbed the white pages and thumbed through it, tearing out a page when I found what looked to be the correct listing. I needed a map, so I went back into the store and asked the kid if they had any regional map books. He pointed to an aisle full of books, magazines and car accessories. A large regional map book of Charlottesville and its surrounding areas sat next to a rack where the top of every magazine in the row was covered except for its title. I searched the directory in the back of the book, found my street and ripped out the corresponding page.

"Hey," the kid said. "You can't do that."

I walked to the door. "I'm sure the cameras caught it, kid. You can report it."

He yelled again as I pushed through the door. I paid no attention to him. Got in the car and started the engine. Backtracked half a mile and took the bypass around the city. Hopped onto I-64 for a couple miles then exited into a residential area. I turned on the dome light and compared the street names with the map in my hand.

"Where're we going?" Bear asked. He held his right arm tight to his chest. It had been partially numb for the last hour. I began to worry he suffered nerve damage. Not a good thing for his career.

I said nothing and kept my speed steady at forty miles per hour while checking the names on the street signs of every neighborhood we passed. Finally, I found the street I had been looking for and made a right turn into the cookie cutter neighborhood full of two story colonial style houses. It looked like the builder made three models available and decided to follow a model a, then b, then c pattern during construction. I pulled over to the side and stopped next to the curb. The page torn from the white pages sat on my lap. I found the address and compared the house numbers, then turned off the dome light and pulled away from the curb.

"Jack," Bear said, half question, half demand.

"Jessie," I said.

Bear laughed for the first time since being shot. "Kline?" He shifted in his seat to look at me directly. "Jessica Kline?"

I hiked my shoulders a few inches and looked away.

"After what happened to you two?"

I said nothing. After another thirty seconds, I found the house number I'd been looking for, drove half a block past and parked the car next to the curb.

* * *

We stood on the front porch for five minutes staring at the red door. Bear leaned back against a post running floor to ceiling, clutching his shoulder, a look of pain spread across his face.

"Knock on the damn door, Jack." His breath formed mist in the air, rising up, enveloping his head before disappearing. "C'mon."

I leaned forward and rapped on the door with my knuckles. A moment later a light flicked on inside. I heard hands tap against the door, the way they would if someone leaned up against it perhaps to listen for a moment. The porch light turned on and the door cracked open as far as the security chain lock would allow it.

"Who's there?" Jessie asked.

I took a step back and moved over so she could see me through the crack in the door. Our eyes met and locked in a stare that only two former lovers could share.

"Jack?"

"Hey, Jess."

"What're you doing…? Is everything OK?"

"Yeah. No. Can we come in?" I turned sideways and nodded toward Bear. "He's hurt."

"Riley?"

"Heya, Jessie," Bear said.

Jessie closed the door. I heard the sound of the security chain sliding in its lock, and then the door reopened. She stepped back. She wore a white t-shirt and blue sweatpants. She smiled and tucked strands of her dark brown hair behind her ear while extending her other arm in a "come on in" gesture.

I took a step in and stopped in front of her and stared into her dark brown eyes. Opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I had no idea what to say.

She was the first to break off the stare.

"Oh my God," she said. "Riley, what happened to your shoulder?"

"That something you can take care of?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, we get a few gunshot wounds into the ER. I've assisted with enough of them to know what to do." She started toward the other side of the room. "Come to the kitchen."

We followed her through the foyer and living room to the back of the house. Bear entered the kitchen first. The room was painted off white, with a tan tile floor and stainless steel appliances. Dark wood cabinets stretched along three walls and a decorative blue tile back splash stretched between the cabinets and dark granite counter tops.

"Sit," Jessie said, pointing toward the kitchen table. She turned and rifled through a couple drawers under the countertop.

Bear took a seat. I leaned back against the fridge.

"Jack," she said. "Above the fridge, in the cabinet, grab a bottle of whiskey. Put it on the table."

I did as she said, taking a pull from the bottle before setting it down in front of Bear. He let go of his arm, grabbed the bottle and took a pull himself.

Jessie turned in time to witness Bear taking a drink. Her lips stretched into a frown. "That's for your arm."

"You don't have anything else?" Bear asked.

She nodded. "Of course I do. This will numb it a bit, though." She lifted a pair of scissors and cut his sleeve off. She dabbed peroxide onto a hand towel and wiped the blood away from the wound area, then poured peroxide into the hole in Bear's arm.

Bear flinched at first. His face twisted. A moment later he eased up.

Jessie waited until the white fizz from the peroxide settled down, then opened the bottle of whiskey and poured it into the wound.

Bear grimaced and groaned.

"Works fast," Jessie said.

He nodded and sighed.

I reached for the bottle to take another drink. My hand was met by Jessie's as she slapped it away.

"I'm not done," she said.

She grabbed a pair of small forceps off the table. "Riley, grab hold of the table and your chair. Squeeze tight."

He did. His large knuckles turned white.

"Don't break her chair," I said.

Neither of them said anything.

She placed the forceps against the open wound and Bear jumped an inch.

"Steady, Riley, steady." Her voice was low, breathy, soothing.

A shiver of remembrance traveled down my spine. Why I hadn't tried to call or reach out to her during the past five years?

"Now I'm going to extract the bullet," she said. "You ready?" She looked up at Bear.

Bear nodded and forced a loud exhale. He rolled his head to the side and then sat up straight.

She expertly guided the forceps into the wound and grabbed hold of the slug buried in Bear's shoulder, eliciting a groan from the big man as she gripped and pulled the bullet out.

"All done," she said as she dropped the bullet into a glass tumbler. "OK, now I'm going to clean this out and stitch you up."

I stepped out back while she stitched Bear's arm. The cold air hit me with more force than earlier, perhaps an effect of the whiskey, not that I'd had all that much. But it had been such a long couple days that the warming effect of the alcohol gripped me much sooner than it normally would have. I glanced up at the sky, figuring I would get a great view of the stars out here in the country. No such luck though, as gray clouds had overtaken the sky.

The door opened behind me and Jessie poked her head out. "All done in there. Want to come back in?" She smiled. The gesture relaxed me.

I followed her back inside, through the kitchen and into the den. She clicked a black remote and the TV turned on, tuned to one of the twenty-four hour news stations. The sound was low and I couldn't make out what was being said. I didn't need to hear it, though. A familiar face appeared on the screen in the form of a picture.

Delaney.

"Christ," Bear said.

I shook my head, knowing what was coming next.

The picture of Delaney shrunk and moved diagonally down to the side of the screen. My picture was shown next with the words "Armed and Dangerous" flashing underneath and the words "Person of Interest" in a smaller font below.

"Well, at least they got part of it right," I said, turning to Jessie and Bear. "I am a pretty interesting guy."

Bear laughed, Jessie didn't.

"Jack," Jessie said, her voice trailing off at the end. "What's going on?"

I reached out to her. "Jess, you know what I do, right? The whole reason we split up is because..."

The remote dangled from her hand. Her mouth opened, a stutter escaping every few seconds in place of a response.

"Jess, I'm being…we're being set up. That man, Delaney, he was trying to help us. We met at a park. He had information." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the carbineer with the key hanging from it. "This key, Jess, whatever this key unlocks will give me the information I need to clear us."

She shook her head. "Get out." She rose. "Get out. Now. Both of you. Leave."

I got up and placed my hands on her shoulders. She tried to squirm away.

"Look at me, Jess. Look in my eyes."

She stopped shaking her head and lifted her chin, her eyes meeting mine. We engaged in that familiar stare again that said too much had been left unsaid, left undone.

"It's me, Jess. Jack. Look at me and tell me if I'm lying." I looked between her eyes. "I didn't kill Delaney. I'm being set up. The last seventy-two hours have been a cat and mouse game and I'm the mouse." I paused. "Believe me?"

She shook her head. "I don't…I don't know, Jack. You come in here. Bear's all shot up-"

"What happened to 'Riley'?" Bear said.

"- and now this? I just…" She sat back down and curled one foot under her, looked up at me. "I believe you, Jack."

I pulled the wooden coffee table closer and sat on the edge and took her hands in mine. "Thank you." I squeezed her hands. "I'm sorry to have dragged you into this. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're-"

Her phone rang and I shut up and we all turned toward it.

"I better get that." She stood, grabbed the portable phone and disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

The news coverage continued for another thirty seconds without providing much information. A good thing, I figured. It meant they know much, or someone hadn't fed them much. Yet.

Bear turned to me. "Christ, Jack. We're done for."

"We need to get a hold of Abbot. He can stick his neck out for us."

"The mountains are right there," he said pointing over his shoulder. "We can hide out for a few weeks."

I shrugged and said nothing while waiting for the commercial break to end and the news to return.

Jessie returned a moment later, holding the phone out. "It's for you, Jack."

I grabbed the phone from her hand.

She continued. "Who would know you're here?"

I shook my head and held the phone to my ear. "This is Jack."

There was nothing but silence.

"Hello?" I said.

"Yeah, Jack?"

"Who's this?"

"This is Jack Noble, right?"

"Yeah, who the hell is this?"

There was another pause. I looked around the room, stopping at the two faces staring back at me. Bear sat back in his chair, he looked relieved that he didn't have to hold his shoulder anymore. His clothes were covered in blood. His red cheeks stood out against the rest of his pale face. He held the bottle of whiskey in his hand, brought it up to his lips, took a pull and exhaled loudly.

Jessie forced a smile while tapping with her fingers at the edge of the seat cushion. She crossed, uncrossed, then re-crossed her legs.

"What kind of game are you playing?" I said.

"This is what's going down, Jack." He paused a few seconds, and then continued. "We got you for the murder."

"You know that wasn't me."

"Yeah, well, we got you for it. It's all on you. Pinned on you, Jack." Another pause filled with the sound of the man taking a drink from a bottle. "You can't escape us, Jack. We're everywhere. We know everyone you know. We'll know every move you make a second after you make it. Half the people you know are on our side and the rest can be persuaded by us through one means or another."