“Now listen, mister,” Ted said. “Jake’s getting nervous, and I can tell you from experience, you don’t want to make him nervous. So if I were you, I’d start talking – real fast. Who are you and what are you doing here? And you best not be feeding us a story. Got it?”
Chris nodded as he looked at each man individually. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was too confused to make up an elaborate lie so he decided to tell them the truth – the whole story – and hope they bought it.
“Start talking,” Jake said pushing the shotgun into Chris’s side.
“All right. My name’s Chris Foster. Last Sunday I was fishing at my camp in northern Maine…”
The banker had time to smoke several cigarettes while Chris told them about his ordeal. Ted and the banker listened intently, but Jake kept looking around as if he expected something to happen.
“And that, as unbelievable as it sounds, is how I ended up here with you,” Chris said. “So, like I told you, I could care less who you are and what you’re doing out at this time of night with guns. I just want to wash my hands of this whole thing. I was trying to do my part, and all it has brought me is grief…”
His three captors looked at each other.
“Sounds like a bunch of BS to me,” Jake said.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? What sort of idiot would think I made this story up on the fly?” Chris snatched the ID from Jake’s hand and held it up. “This isn’t even me. Look at the picture, does that look like me?”
Ted took the ID from Chris and examined it with the light on his iPhone and then tossed it to the banker saying, “It ain’t him.”
“I told—”
Jake rammed the barrel of his gun into Chris’ chest and said, “Who you calling an idiot?”
Chris turned his attention to the banker. “Come on, buddy. I’m not making this up. All I want to do is make sure the authorities are on the case, that they’ve got as much information as possible to find this Sarah Burns woman and then all I want to do is get as far away from here as possible and forget the whole damn thing. I don’t know what you’re all about, but you’ve got to look at the big picture. These zealots want to change the course of mankind. It’s bigger than whatever you have going on, and it’s the only reason that I’m even here.”
“Hey Ted, didn’t you say you saw people out at the old McGuire place?” The banker said.
Ted nodded. “Yeah. I noticed lights on up there tonight on the way down here. You think it’s them?”
“Could be,” the banker replied as he flicked the cigarette butt onto the road and looked at Chris. “What do you want to do? We can give you a ride out to the main road, or drop you down by the McGuire place so you can have a look around. Your call.”
“Are you crazy?” Jake exclaimed. “He wants to bring the fucking FBI right into our backyard, and you’re going to give him a ride? Where’s your head at?”
The banker snapped, “Didn’t you hear what he said, Jake? The FBI is going to be dealing with the people he’s after. Looking for this virus. They’re hardly going to be interested in us are they? Sounds like they’ve got much bigger fish to fry.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Jake said.
“I don’t think so,” Ted said as he stepped closer to the banker as if to emphasize their allegiance. “The Feds won’t be interested in us. They’ll have their hands full already and I’d rather give them who they’re looking for than have them up here crawling all over the place and poking around willy-nilly. That’s when we’re really in trouble.”
“Where’s this McGuire place?” Chris asked.
Ted pointed off to the right. “Basically on the other side of that hill. The south side – sunny side.”
“What time is it?” Jake suddenly asked.
“Ten-thirty,” the banker replied. “Come on. We don’t have time for this now.” He pulled a pistol out of a shoulder holster concealed under his coat.
“No listen, you don’t have to do this…” Chris started to plead. headlights suddenly flashed on and off three times down the road.
“That’s them,” Jake said.
He leaned through the driver’s side window and flicked his lights on and off once. After a moment, the other car turned on its parking lights and moved slowly toward the men.
“What about him?” Jake asked as the car drew closer.
“Stand behind the car out of the way. This won’t take long,” the banker said to Chris, pushing him towards the rear of the car.
The approaching car stopped about twenty feet from them. Three men got out. The two groups of men were identically constructed, two thug types and a smarter dressed man. The new crew was much younger than the banker and his boys. The two thug types were physically ripped – lean, muscular, their arms scarred with splotchy prison tattoos. The smarter one wore a heavy black leather coat.
“You got the stuff, man?” The leader said to the banker in a thick Latino accent. His slicked back black hair glistened in the dull light.
“Where’s Roach?” The banker replied.
“He couldn’t make it today. He was tied up.”
Jake and the banker exchanged glances.
“That’s funny,” the banker said. “I heard he got busted selling a Q.P. to an undercover cop in San Francisco.”
The kid stayed cool. His two compadres were either mute or had nothing to say. They stood tensely at his side. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. Is it true?” The banker said.
“No way. He’s cool, man.”
The newcomers noticed Chris standing behind the car in the shadows.
“Who’s he?”
The banker turned and glanced at him. “Nobody important, Miguel.”
Miguel looked distrustfully at the banker. When Chris used to buy quantities of pot in college things were a lot different – no guns and gangs; just a trip to a hippie’s house in the country with a little cash. They used to party together. Trade some cash for some pot. Those were the days.
“I’m worried, Miguel,” the banker said.
“Me too,” Jake chimed in.
The banker shot him a ‘keep your mouth shut’ look.
“About what?” Miguel asked.
“About you. I’ve got fifty pounds of shit in the trunk of my car with your name on it, but I like to feel good about who I do business with. I don’t feel good about you anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Miguel asked as he took a step toward the banker. “We’ve always done good business. I’ve got your money in the car.”
“I think a couple of things,” the banker said calmly. “First, I know that you’re buying elsewhere and that pisses me off, but I can live with it. It’s the second thing that’s got me upset.”
Miguel rocked from foot to foot bobbing his head rapidly. This could turn ugly in a hurry, and Chris slowly moved further behind the car.
“I’ve got a friend; let’s call him Frank, just for the hell of it,” the banker said. “My friend Frank just happens to work in the San Francisco Police Department. He likes to smoke a little reefer; we go way back. Anyway, he tells me that the cops busted this kid selling quarter pounds. Oh well, that happens every day, right?”
Miguel stared back at the banker blankly.
“Right?”
Miguel nodded. “I suppose.”
“Do you know what doesn’t happen every day, though?”
“What?”
“My name doesn’t come up when the kid’s spilling his guts to the cops. That’s never happened before. The kid sings and drags me into his little fucking mess.”