The Methuselah Gene (16 page)

“I tell the truth, and where does it get me?” I called after him, anyway, and then sat back down on my holding cell cot to look up at the barred window.
 
The frustration was real, if nothing else was.
 
Nothing to do now but to wait for the end.
 
In the office, the Sheriff was gathering his questions, readying to dial Jeffers.
 
I ran my fingers through my hair, and imagined working for JC Penney in the shoe department, and walking door to door for the Census Bureau to make ends meet.
 
Then I heard the front door open out there, and a familiar voice that sounded like an angel from heaven.

“Sheriff, are you busy?” Julie asked.

I rose in disbelief to see her approaching the Sheriff in the other room.
 
A phrase from the Bible also rose in my mind like long forgotten mantra: The truth shall set you free.

“What is it, Julie?” Sheriff Cody inquired pleasantly, setting down the receiver he'd lifted.

“I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you.
 
I saw some strange men.
 
Strangers, I mean.”

“Strangers?”

She hooked her thumb in my direction.
 
“I think I just saw them again.”

The Sheriff stood and moved steadily closer to her, sounding concerned.
 
His entire demeanor metamorphosed within seconds into a fatherly protective state.
 
“Following you?”

“No, walking around up at the water tower.
 
Just now.
 
Two of them.”

At the cell window I peered up at the
treeline
where the bulky silhouette of the water tower was mostly hidden.
 
I saw no one, and no movement.
 
Had she lied for me?
 
If so, it either meant that she believed me, or that she intended to test the waters of my seemingly preposterous postulation.

I turned back to see the Sheriff adjusting the holster across his paunch.
 
He moved toward the front door, guiding Julie away from the desk with his hand.
 
“Would you point them out to me?” he requested.
 
“It would be so good of you.”

Julie glanced back at me just before they exited, and I saw anxiety in her eyes.
 
“Are you feeling all right, sir?” she asked Cody.
 
“You seem . . . different, somehow.”

“Different?” Cody inquired.

Cody used the set of keys from his pocket to lock up the office, leaving the other cell key ring on the chair where he'd dropped it.
 
I stared at the key ring for a moment, as a scene played out in my mind—a scene from an old Brando film.
 
Then I turned back to the window.
 
When they came into view behind the building, walking toward the water tower, I overheard more of their conversation.

“What is that man in jail for, Sheriff?”

“For lying.
 
But I'll get to the bottom of it, don't worry.
 
Now, you saw two men, up there?”

“Yes, two.”

“What would they be doing?”

Julie seemed even more worried when she glanced back over her shoulder to see me watching from the cell window.

I waited until they disappeared into the
treeline
at the base of the distant hill.
 
Until I thought I saw movement on the tower, up there, between the trees.
 
Was there really someone else up there, climbing the tower?
 
The one named Sean?

When I left the window, I turned my attention back to the key ring on a chair in the other room, ten feet away.
 
I reconsidered what Marlon Brando had once done in
One Eyed Jacks
.
 
Could I repeat the maneuver?
 
In the movie
The Edge
it was Anthony Hopkins himself who'd said what one man can do, another can do.

I took off my belt, experimentally.
 
Then my pants.
 
I began to unravel the threads of the cuff and the seams, and curled my fingers around the frayed edge.
 
Finally, I ripped a long strip up the leg.

Was I really doing this?
 
And once free, what would I use for clothing?

More strips followed.
 
Frantically, I tied together the strands that I'd ripped, and then tied the belt at the end of it.
 
I took off my shirt and tied the sleeve through the buckle of the belt.
 
I stared longingly at the distant key on the chair.

Come to papa.

On the very first try the fabric almost parted.
 
I pulled the heavy end back gingerly on its connecting tendril.
 
Retrieving the length of it, I strengthened the weak link with knots, and tried again.
 
On the fifth throw, I managed to catch the back of the chair, and pulled it over.
 
The key ring fell with it, and was partly caught under the seat frame.
 
But on the eighth toss I got enough purchase to overcome the chair's weight.
 
I pulled it steadily almost all the way to me.

Almost.

Another section near the chair tore into a ribbon that finally broke.

Damn.

On my belly I reached through the bars, straining my fingers outward to touch one wooden leg of the chair.
 
I turned it painfully with the tip of my forefinger until it was almost close enough to pinch my index finger and thumb down on it.

Not quite.

I tried to use my forefingers instead, going from side to side and pulling with each turn like a ratchet, to try and overcome the weight and keep the inertia.
 
But it didn't work.
 
The chair wouldn't come any closer.

I sat up, rolling my shoulder to work the stiffness out of it.

Relax, I remembered Cody telling me, and this will all be over soon.

I cursed, then almost immediately laughed at myself.

I knotted the fabric I had left, and easily looped it around the crosspiece between the legs.
 
Then I pulled the chair the rest of the way to me.
 
Seconds later the key was in my hand.
 
But as I turned it in the lock, I looked up to see someone standing at the front door, looking in fear through the glass at me.

It was Julie.

We stood motionless for several seconds, staring at each other.
 
Then I lifted my hand and wagged it slowly in a pathetic wave.
 
The embarrassed smile on my face held her attention, but thankfully my own fears were not realized in the form of the Sheriff joining her at the door.
 
Yet.

I crossed toward her in my underwear, keeping the stupid smile on my face for fear she'd run.
 
Unlocking the door, I opened it.
 
She backed away several steps as I did, just like Madeline Stowe might do if confronted by a naked savage.

“Where's Cody?” I asked her, sounding a bit like a game show host.

Her own voice was tremulous, but her wide eyes lost most of their shock.
 
“He went up to the water tower.
 
We saw someone up there.
 
He didn't want me to go with him.”
 
Her gaze dipped again below my tee shirt to my legs and then lingered on my crotch.
 
Then she looked from side to side along the empty street.

“I need clothes, yes,” I confirmed.
 
“Can you get me some?
 
You know, if George sees me with you . . .”

“George?”
 
She turned to look behind her, toward where I nodded.
 
The drug
store's
CLOSED sign was now displayed, and George couldn't be seen through the front window.
 
But he might come out of the back any second, I realized, perhaps carrying embalming supplies to stock a shelf below the hair colorings.
 
“Oh,” she said in memory, and I could see the memory was not good.
 
“George.”

“Is there a place?” I asked.

“Didn't you think about that before you . . .”

“No,” I conceded.
 
“I didn't think.
 
That's been my problem all along.
 
That, and thinking too much.”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face.
 
“Did anyone ever tell you what a strange man you are?” she wanted to know.

After only five minutes absence Julie returned with a pair of blue jeans, size 34 waist, and a medium dark gray pullover shirt.
 
It had been a tense five minutes for me, staring out the cell window in the back but seeing nothing.
 
She examined the tatters of my former clothes as I dressed.

“It's hard to believe the story you tell,” she noted.
 
“Except . . .”

“Except what?”

“Except there's something going on today.
 
I'm not sure what, exactly.”

“You must be sure of something,” I said, “because you certainly wouldn't be helping a stranger in his jail break.
 
Intuition?”

She
pursed
her lips, and didn't smile back as I zipped up.
 
Then she looked beyond me at the barred window, and it sobered her even more.
 
“What do you think is happening up there?”

“You really did see someone?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know,” I replied, “but I better go see, don't you think?”

“You mean we.
 
I'm going too.”

I opened my mouth, about to protest, but saw that it was futile.
 
The determination on her face had already set, as a resistance to fear if nothing else.
 
I retrieved my binoculars and camera instead, and stated the obvious.
 
“It could be dangerous.”

“It's too late to avoid dangerous,” she contended.
 
“You've already said as much.”

As if taking my cue, I went to the gun case to test the lock's strength.
 
But as I was pulling on it, and as Julie searched for a second set of keys in the desk, the front door opened, and we both paused.
 
A tall middle-aged woman with long black hair stood framed there, a box of donuts balanced atop one hand.

“Hi, Julie,” the dark haired woman greeted Julie brightly.
 
“Where's Sheriff Cody?”

Julie straightened, lifting her hands guiltily from the drawer beneath her.
 
I walked quickly forward to join her, and surreptitiously palmed a Deputy's badge visible near the front of the drawer.

“What a nice day today,” the woman continued, although not getting an answer to her question.
 
“It was supposed to be hot today, but there's a nice breeze out there so far.
 
Oh!
 
Here . . . these are for Sheriff Cody.”

Julie held out both hands mechanically as the woman came forward to give her the white box.
 
The look on Julie's face seemed to hold more astonishment now than guilt.
 
“Rebecca?” she asked, as if she wasn't sure of the woman's name.

“Yes?
 
Something wrong?”

“No,” Julie replied, suddenly coming to her senses.
 
“And no, Cody's not here, he's . . .”

“He's out on an investigation,” I suggested.

The woman named Rebecca seemed fascinated. “My, my—an investigation?”

I came around from behind Julie, having slipped the Deputy's badge onto my belt.
 
“Yes, and my name is Alan.
 
I'm from out of town, helping out.”

“Well, goodness.”
 
Rebecca now seemed genuinely surprised.
 
“Sheriff Cody needs help from Creston?”

“Des Moines,” I corrected.
 
“It's an important case.
 
Has to do with the town water supply.
 
Would you like some coffee, Mrs.—?”

“
Crim
,” she said, shaking my hand with just the tips of her long fingers.
 
“Rebecca, please.
 
Gave up coffee, but thanks anyway.
 
What's wrong, did you say, with our water supply?”

I hesitated, considering my options.
 
Julie looked at me too, but in disbelief.
 
“We're not certain,” I lied, although it was only a partial lie.
 
“Until we know, you should boil the water before drinking it.
 
And tell everyone else the same.”