Full Measure

Chapter twenty-seven

Ted clomped down the stairs, through the lobby and onto Main Street. His stab wounds hurt. His vision had constricted and he was short of breath. When he got to his truck, the dome-headed man he’d seen lurking around Fallbrook was sitting on a sidewalk bench in the late morning shadow of the buildings. As before, he wore a suit, this time olive. His complexion was pale and he had open, expressive eyes and a small neat mustache. He held up a badge holder then slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “Hello, Ted. I’m Homeland Security Department, Homeland Security Investigations Special Agent Max Knechtl.”

Ted stopped and looked down the long rifled tunnel at the end of which sat the agent. He didn’t think Anders would get him that riled up. My government, he thought, working for me. Now more of it. “I’m Theodore Archibald Norris. Citizen.”

“What’s that under your shirt?”

“A tarantula for the mayor. She didn’t like it.”

“That’s an unusual gift.”

“You must be the arson expert. Your boss was on the news but they didn’t show you.”

“Yes, I am that expert.”

“I didn’t set the fire.”

“Sit down and talk to me. Take a load off those feet and those stitches in your side.”

Ted reached under his shirt. Knechtl’s hand was already on a gun holstered within his suit coat, and his expression had gone blank. Utterly. His face was nothing but two eyes with sunlight coming into them. Ted could see dark blue steel twinkling behind the olive lapel. “The tarantula,” said Ted, slowing extending the sandwich box for Knechtl to see. “She’s a female.”

“Nice one. I’m relieved. Sit, Ted.” Knechtl smiled but left his hand inside his coat for a moment. Then he crossed his hands over his knees but he still had an empty look on his face. Ted took the opposite side of the bench and set the sandwich box next to him. “Tell me about the fire.”

“I just told you I didn’t set it.”

“I know you didn’t set it. But someone did. And I think you’re a smart man. You know every inch of this little town and the people in it. You know its streets. I see from your political cartooning that you’re a student of current affairs and a man of clear and strong beliefs. Talk to me about this town and the man who set this fire, Ted. Educate me.”

A sheriff’s patrol car went by, driven by the black deputy who’d given him the nystagmus test for all of Fallbrook to see. The deputy nodded behind his sunglasses and Ted nodded back, then noted that Knechtl nodded back also. Ted felt suffocated by government: the mayor — formerly his own babysitter with whom he had once been in serious love — spinning financial webs upstairs in her lair; domed Knechtl ambushing him on Main Street; and of course the cursed black sheriff’s deputy on scene, always on scene like a character in a repeating dream. Ted yearned to be in his cab, for motion and protection, to be watching the world through heavy glass. “I was driving the taxi when the fire broke out. You can check my Friendly Village Taxi time card.”

“Oh, I’ve done that. And your call-in log, too. You had five fares that morning.”

“I was too busy that day to set a fire.”

“If you say so.” Ted’s vision began to reassemble and he took a deep breath. It was beginning to seem possible that Knechtl was not here to arrest him for anything. Across the street, Mary Gulliver stood outside Gulliver’s Travels, sipping a mug of something, getting some of the morning sunshine on her pretty face. Yes, she was twice his age but who cared? “Oh, there’s Mary,” said Knechtl. “I’ve talked to her about you. And I’ve talked to Dora Newell and Evelyn Anders and Lucinda Smith about you, too.”

Ted felt as if he was naked now, sitting on a bench on Main Street, with everybody able to see his naked, pale, flabby body, his shy little penis, and his open, unprotected soul. God he could use some protective glass. He reached into his pocket for his sunglasses but had left them somewhere. “I hope they said good things, Agent Knechtl.”

“It’s special agent. How do you like the Glock?”

“It’s legal. It’s for self-defense. I was robbed at gunpoint not long ago.”

“And at knifepoint just two nights ago.”

“I passed the background check for the gun. I’ve never been convicted of a crime. I had a high D average at college until they kicked me out.”

Knechtl took a cell phone off his belt, checked something, put it back. “You had a C-plus going in the media and politics class.”

“I loved that class.”

“And I saw that almost every book you checked out of the library was about current events, recent trends, our nation.”

“I read books because I don’t trust the media. There’s always more than they’re telling us. The truth is always on the back page but TVs don’t have pages. I don’t like you knowing what books I check out and what my grades are. It doesn’t seem American.”

Knechtl nodded and uncrossed his legs. He picked up the plastic box and tilted it up and down. “I can assure you it is. You’re defensive, Ted. Is there a reason?”

“Because I’m innocent.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

“Then why be defensive?”

“I don’t like being followed by you. You’re a pit bull of the nanny state. It doesn’t matter how nice a guy you are, Max. I didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing. Except, well, a few days ago I painted some of the burned trees without triple-washing the sprayer. Then I stripped off the bark when I was trying to get the poison paint off. Killed about thirty trees in less than a day. Talk about making your dad mad.”

Knechtl set the container back on the bench. “Why did you go to the Inspire magazine Web site?”

Ted was suddenly amazed that the DHS could have found out about that digital visit. But just as quickly he realized that he’d read somewhere, or maybe heard on TV, that every single e-mail, cell call, and Web site visit in America is recorded. “I researched Inspire because it was on the news. I’d never heard of it. I wanted to see if it really was trying to get people to set wildfires in the United States.” He looked across Main Street to the pedestrians walking by and he could feel Knechtl staring at him.

“Did you read the instructions on how make a firebomb with a timer?”

“I’m not interested in things like that.”

“But you saw them, the instructions?”

“Because they were part of the site.”

“The timer on the Fallbrook device was similar to the one described in Inspire.”

“But I went on the Inspire Web site after the fire, not before.” Ted turned and faced Knechtl, saw the strange neutrality on his face, like when the special agent had put his hand on his firearm.

“I’m not accusing you, Ted.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m trying to let you help me. Domestic terrorism is our number one threat. Tell me about Ibrahim Sadal down at the GasPro Station.”

“Ibrahim? I don’t know him.”

“You’ve spoken to him many times, Ted. And yes, he’s spoken to me about you.”

“He’s a good gas station manager. He always fixes the carwash when it breaks, and the window-washing water is always clean and he never runs out of paper towels. He’s always a few pennies a gallon higher than the Arco across the street, but I think his station is better.”

“He came to this country from a violent Muslim nation. His family has ties to militant mullahs.”

“I thought Saddam killed them all.”

“Maybe we should have let him.”

Ted picked up the sandwich box and lifted off the plastic lid and gently spilled the big spider onto his lap. She methodically started creeping up his aloha shirt.

“Aren’t they poisonous?” asked Knechtl.

“Mildly. Their fangs are big but they’re not interested in biting people. They just want to be left alone. If I grabbed her now, she’d bite me. Or if I badgered her into it. Just like if you badger people too much, they’ll bite you, too.”

“Have you and Ibrahim Sadal talked politics?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Has he made anti-American remarks?”

“Not that I ever heard.”

“What’s your gut tell you? We know for a fact he’s a practicing Muslim. He keeps the Koran behind the counter at the station. I’ve seen him reading it when business is slow. Would Ibrahim set that fire?”

Ted gingerly scooped the tarantula off his shoulder. He opened his hands and let her walk from palm to palm, over and over again, while he thought. Her feet felt dainty but purposeful on his skin. He liked the way her first and third legs on one side rose in unison with the second and fourth of the other. Like she was compensating for sore feet. He set her on his lap again.

“Tell me about Cade Magnus, Ted. Do you find it interesting that the fire broke out exactly seven days after he moved back here to Fallbrook?”

“Not really. I don’t think he set it.”

“Why not?”

“He isn’t sneaky.”

“Interesting observation. Have you talked to Cade about the fire?”

The tarantula had summited Ted’s shoulder again, and again he lifted her off. “No.”

Knechtl steadied Ted’s arm for a better view of the tarantula. His grip was surprisingly strong. “Is she warm or cool?”

“Slightly warm. Sun.”

“What are those two little things sticking up under the rump?”

“Those are spinnerets, Max. They dispense silk.”

“Do tarantulas spin webs?”

“No way. They line their tunnels with silk. Then they decorate the tunnels with whatever they find. I found a tiny plastic soldier in a tunnel once. A prone rifleman.”

“What do you talk about at Pride Auto Repair when you shoot pool with Cade and Trevor and the women?

“Why don’t you just hide a bug in the place?”

“Expensive and time-consuming. I don’t think Cade Magnus set the fire, either. But I do like to keep tuned to what he’s up to. I’d appreciate you passing along anything that strikes you as unusual. Domestic terrorists are our number one threat.”

“You said that twice.”

“It can’t be said too many times.”

Once again the spider had climbed Ted’s shoulder. She now seemed to be considering a climb up his neck, her two foremost legs raised as if to take the first steps. Ted angled his head and looked down and saw the eight stacked eyes looking up at him. “Are you good enough with that gun to shoot a tarantula off my shoulder?”

“Piece of cake. Nice talking. I’ll be in touch.” Knechtl headed down the sidewalk.

Ted slid his hand under the spider and tilted her back into the box. “I’d never let him do that.”

He stood at the Pride Auto Repair counter and watched Cade barge through the windowed double doors. Cade flung open the counter walk-through and pulled Ted outside by one of his ears. Ted yelped and tried to duck away but was forced to stoop and crab along to the front door or have his ear torn off, and to keep the spider from getting slammed around. Once they were outside Cade let go of his ear and pushed Ted to the ground. “Don’t come back here until you can account for yourself.”

“What did I do?”

“I don’t want your brother here. I don’t want the DHS or FBI here. I don’t want you here. You’re not worth it.”

“Account how, Cade?”

Cade looked like he was about to say something, then he slammed the door. Ted looked up at the neon sign of the blue Model T doing the wheelie, throwing the red flames. The sign was turned off but the sunlight played through the tubes and brought the colors to life. Ted gathered himself and stood. His knife wounds throbbed and he wondered if they were leaking. He checked the spider in the box and she looked hunched and afraid. He set the box on the seat of his truck and put a ball cap over it to give her some shade and peace. Standing by the open truck door he lifted his shirt and saw the pink discharge soaking through the dressings.

He drove out to Lucinda’s condo on the golf course and parked well away from her unit but with a good view of it. He looked at the security screen door and the curtained windows, and he wondered where her potted plants and flowers had gone. He could feel her consuming pain from here, he thought, and he wondered again what was gnawing away at Lucinda’s soul.

After an uneventful half hour he drove out to the stables on east Mission in hope of spotting Dora. He cruised through the parking lot, looking down on the riding arenas and he saw equestrians and their mounts but Dora was not among them. He went back downtown and walked past Gulliver’s Travels and waved at Mary at her desk but didn’t stop. He ate lunch at the Irish pub and overtipped the friendly waitress. He got his hair trimmed at California Cuts and overtipped the stylist, too. At the salon desk he saw Cruzela Storm concert tickets on sale. He read the flyer and pursed his lips: Fallbrook clearly didn’t need lighted crosswalks, but Cruzela Storm made crazy good music. The tickets were modestly priced at $30. He felt his brain battling his heart and his heart won out. He bought two. He drove out to Bonsall and saw a movie about a superhero who gets the girl, then drove back to Fallbrook to hit the GasPro for a fill-up and a wash.

It was nearly five by then, and the traffic was heavy leaving Pendleton and Mission was buzzing with cars. He pulled in to the gas station and saw Ibrahim Sadal out restocking the paper towels in one of the service islands. Ibrahim was a big man and he did his work quickly and efficiently, and he had to, what with half a dozen cars taking on fuel and customers heading inside to pay and buy snacks and drinks and smokes. Evelyn’s rejection had made Ted angry. Knechtl’s interrogation had left him dazed. Cade’s dismissal had reignited his anger, but now all he felt was betrayed. By everyone. His feet hurt.

He pulled up to pump two, got out, and waved. Ibrahim recognized him and waved too, then hustled back into the mini-mart. Ted got the gas going and leaned against his truck. The line at the car wash was three cars now, which was quite a wait. He saw Ibrahim run from the store into the supply room of the car wash, come out with a new window washer, charging over and handing it to the man at pump seven. Then he sprinted back inside the mini-mart. The door to the supply room had banged when Ibrahim shut it but now Ted watched it slowly swing open. He saw a pail on wheels and a jumbo flat of paper towels and a bucket of what looked like new window washers. Someone could walk right off with those, he thought. When the nozzle clanked off Ted slapped it back in place and collected his receipt for the wash.