The Killing Kind

32

Michael Hendricks crouched in darkness beside a red-brick foursquare on a quiet suburban street, hidden between its porch and an azalea bush. The night sky was full of stars. The air had taken on the sort of chill that always struck Hendricks as summer’s death knell. His breath plumed. His muscles ached. His shoulder throbbed dully in time with his heartbeat.

The metal cover on the outdoor electrical outlet clacked loudly when he opened it. He winced and glanced toward the window to his left. But no one inside noticed. The children suggested by the swing set out back had long since gone to bed. The couple who owned the place were glued to CNN, which was broadcasting helicopter footage of the message left for him in blood. But although it held their interest, it was nothing for them to worry about. It had happened almost four hundred miles away.

Once the call about the ambulance came in, the Feds were forced to reallocate their resources to search both the hotel and the neighborhood surrounding the crash site, which left local PD and Pendleton’s security in charge of wrangling the frightened casino patrons. It was easy enough to slip past the barricades.

Hendricks knew he’d be likelier to escape suspicion if he weren’t traveling alone, so he’d cozied up to an octogenarian gambler who’d been separated from the rest of her senior-center tour group. He bummed a Windbreaker from a kind stranger on her behalf, which, once zipped, hid her neon-yellow Gamblin’ Grannies T-shirt. She was grateful for it, because the temperature was dropping, but when he offered to help her find her friends, she balked.

“Son,” she said, “I’m old, not stupid-and you don’t want no such thing.” Her tone was sharp enough to chastise, but she was smiling when she said it, and her suspicion was of a benign sort. It was clear she wasn’t afraid of him- why would she be, when he’d already been cleared by the agent at the gate?

Hendricks smiled, too. “You got me,” he said. “I’m just tired of standing around. Plus, my girlfriend must’ve seen the news by now, and I’ve got no way to tell her I’m okay. You wanna help me get outta here so I can let her know I’m not dead?”

“Sure,” she said, “but it’ll cost you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, young man. I left eighty bucks in chips on the table when they made me leave, and Lord knows these yahoos ain’t gonna give it back. So if you can make it right, I’ll help you get back to your little lady-friend.”

“You want me to pay you?”

“Damn right I do. You’re lucky I didn’t ask you for double. I expect I-ain’t-dead whoopee’s great. And if you want some, you’re gonna hafta pay the piper.”

Hendricks laughed and took his bankroll from his pocket. The old lady’s eyes went wide. He peeled off two hundred even and handed it over.

“Shit,” she said-though it came out more SHEE-it-“I shoulda gone higher. You must be one lucky sumbitch.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hendricks said.

But as sarcastically as he’d intended that, he was lucky in one respect: Lorraine-this was the woman’s name- went from mark to coconspirator in the time it took her to pocket Hendricks’s payoff.

She’s the one who hatched the plan. She’d toddle, addled, up to the greenest officer they could find. Hendricks-the doting grandson-would follow close behind, apologizing for her sorry state; she gets confused when she hasn’t had her medicine. It’s at home, and hours past due. No, they wouldn’t need a ride: Hendricks’s car was in the garage at the edge of the lot. That part was true, not that it mattered-Hendricks had no intention of returning to his rental car, for fear it had been burned.

Lorraine played it to the hilt, and the kid bit so hard he might’ve cracked a tooth. Hendricks had to suppress a laugh when the officer slid aside a panel of steel barricade just wide enough to let them pass, and Lorraine shuffled through, arms out like a blind man’s, headed back toward Pendleton’s.

Hendricks trotted after and, with affection not entirely faked, gently turned her around so that they faced the outer lots and the parking garage beyond. Then they strolled arm-in-arm into the distance.

They entered the parking garage just for show and exited the other side, out of sight of the casino. It was there they parted ways. “You sure you’ll be all right?” Hendricks asked her. He was reluctant to strand her so far from her group, in the vast commercial stretch that surrounded the Pendleton’s grounds.

“I ain’t an invalid,” she replied. “I’ve got a cell phone, and thanks to you some spending money, too. I’m gonna call a cab, and I’m gonna have him take me to Winstead’s for a bacon cheeseburger and a chocolate malt. I’m convinced that low-fat crap they feed us at the home don’t actually make you live longer-all those years of not being able to taste your food just makes it feel that way. I’ll cab it back when I’m good and ready.”

Hendricks smiled and peeled another hundred off his roll for her. “In case you ever feel the need to break out for a decent meal again.”

“You’re a dear. You care to split that cab?”

“That’s all right,” he said.

She looked appraisingly at him a moment. “Take care of yourself, would you?”

“I will try.”

Lorraine pecked him on the cheek, and Hendricks set out walking, heading south until he hit the Missouri River, then following its lazy eastward arc until he disappeared from Lorraine’s sight.

Hendricks walked for miles in Norm Gunderson’s god-awful, pinching boat shoes before he came across a set of railroad tracks. He knew the Feds would be covering all passenger rails out of town, as well as airports and rental-car companies, but that was fine by him, since he didn’t plan on availing himself of any of those. He followed the tracks until they crossed a roadway, then waited for a freight train to roll by. It wouldn’t take long, he reasoned- Kansas City was a major shipping hub, servicing freight carriers both local and national-and he knew that trains crossing streets were required to slow. He waited just beyond the intersection in a shallow ditch, shielded from view of the street by a stand of trees. An hour later, his waiting paid off, and he climbed onto an empty cargo car headed for Peoria-not that Hendricks knew that until he’d arrived.

The last thing he wanted was to tangle with a railroad cop, so when the squeal of brakes indicated they were approaching their destination, he hopped off the train, rolling as he landed to cushion the blow. Then he walked-filthy, stiff, exhausted-into town.

Hendricks’s first priority was to call Lester. He hadn’t dared from Kansas City, because he assumed the Feds were monitoring traffic through all the local cell towers-and by the time the train had taken him far enough away to chance it, his burner phone was dead.

His charger was in the rental car he’d left behind. That was okay-cell-phone chargers were easy to obtain; the lost-and-found bins in every coffee shop in the country were full of them. He made three stops before he found one that fit his burner. The girl behind the counter eyed his filthy clothes suspiciously and seemed dubious when he said he’d been in earlier, so he decided not to stay to charge his phone. Instead, he wandered around the adjacent neighborhood until he found a spot with an outlet private enough to suit his needs.

Hendricks plugged in the phone. It booted up. Lester answered on the first ring.

“Jesus, Mikey, are you all right? I’ve been going outta my head!”

“I’m all right,” Hendricks said, his voice just above a whisper. “Barely.”

“What the hell happened out there? The news says Leonwood went on a rampage.”

“I fucked up, Les. I didn’t get to him in time. I was jumped before I got the chance.”

“By who?”

Hendricks sighed. “I wish I knew.”

“This the guy who left the message on the ambulance?”

“Yeah,” Hendricks replied.

“I thought that mighta been directed at you,” Les said. “Gave me hope you were still kicking.”

“What’s the press saying about the guy?”

“Nada. Official story is, he’s an accomplice of Leonwood’s.”

“I don’t think Leonwood knew any more about him being there than I did.”

“You want me to do some digging? Maybe poke around the Feds’ system? I could see how much they’ve got on you, while I’m at it.”

“No,” Hendricks said. “It’s not worth the risk. As good as you are, Les, you can’t make me disappear from Pendleton’s security-cam footage, and it’s too late for that anyway. By now, my picture’s probably been circulated to every airport, train station, bus terminal, and rental car agency from Colorado to Kentucky. But there’s no way they’ve got my name, since as far as Uncle Sam knows, I’m dead and buried. Which means right now, there’s nothing that connects this fucking mess to you; the last thing you should do is stick your neck out and change that.”

“Let me hook you up with a new ID, at least.”

“What’s the point? My face will still be the same. Don’t worry about me-I can make my own way home. I’ve been through worse than this.”

“But this dude’s still out there, hunting you.”

“All the more reason for you to keep clear. Whoever this guy is, Les, he’s bad news-I don’t want you on his radar. Promise me you’ll lie low until I get back.”

“Aw, listen to you, all cute and worried-like. We’re gonna hug it out when you get home.”

“Sure,” Hendricks said. “Then, when we’re done, we’re gonna find this guy and end him.”

Hendricks disconnected the call and left the phone in the bushes to recharge. Then he looked around for somewhere to lie low and get some sleep. He found a boat out back, behind the house-a twenty-footer that looked like it hadn’t seen the water for a couple years. He undid a couple snaps on its canvas cover and crawled inside. It was musty but dry, and the tiny cabin had cushioned benches.

Tired as Hendricks was, he dropped off almost immediately. As he slept, he dreamt of dying. Of rebirth.

And as the sun crested the horizon to the east, Hendricks awoke and braced himself for the long journey home.