Mary McDonald - No good deed

It was crazy, but Jim believed him. Years of training had made it instinctive for him to study body language, tone of voice and subtle expressions to decipher when a suspect was being truthful. Not only did he read the truth in the man’s face, but the truth, incredibly, made more sense. The details on the paper filled both sides of the page, and staging a photo shoot of that magnitude would cost a fortune. Logistically, Taylor wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

The guy was right about one thing. It made no sense for him to go to all the trouble to stage a photo shoot like this and then write it all down. There was no payoff as far as Jim could tell. He flipped through the prints again. The photos showed dozens of bodies, with more strewn farther up the concourse. Faking something like this would cost a fortune. The site was definitely Wrigley Field and if it had been used for some elaborate photo shoot, the media would have reported it. Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth and sighed. Hell, the guy was lucky to have a couple of dimes left to rub together. The fact that he was partially responsible for Taylor’s financial straits didn’t elude him. That made this even more puzzling. He laid the pictures side by side on the table, and spread his hands wide. “I don’t get it.”

Taylor straightened, his expression once again blank. “What?”

“According to these, I’m going to be a victim here too.”

Taylor shifted forward again, and glanced at Jessica, who had resumed her seat. “Yeah. It looks that way.”

“So, why’d you tell me?”

Guilt stole over Taylor’s features and he cleared his throat. “Honestly, it’s probably the hardest damn decision I’ve ever had to make.”

Jessica nodded. “We discussed it last night. Of course he wanted to stop this, but, he’s taking a huge risk here. You realize that, right?” Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “After what he went through the last time he tried to prevent something like this, who could blame him for ignoring these pictures?” She picked up number four. “And even though he didn’t say it, I’m sure it crossed his mind that you being a victim wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Jim felt heat climb his face, and Taylor stared at the floor. She was right. He couldn’t blame Taylor. He shrugged. “I understand. So…we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to prevent this.” Another thought hit him. Cracker Jack. Baseball. It made sense and he mentally kicked himself for not making a connection sooner.

Taylor’s head snapped up. “You believe me?”

Standing, Jim stacked the photos, trying not to look at the one with his own image. “Do I have a choice?”

Over a year’s worth of shame and humiliation exploded out with a single breath. Mark bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his head as he absorbed the fact that Jim believed him. His throat convulsed, and embarrassed, he closed his eyes. He sensed motion in front of him, and lifted his head to meet Jessie’s gaze. No words were necessary, and then he broke the eye contact and stood, suddenly restless.

The lunch crowd had dwindled in the mid-afternoon, and he was glad for that. Their section only had one other table and with a couple of older guys who weren’t paying any attention to them. Jessie took her purse off the back of her chair and he grabbed the bag. Together, they followed Jim to the front of the pub. The waitress prattled about the weather as she rung up the meal. When Mark pulled out his wallet, Jim waved him off and paid with a credit card. Ten minutes ago, Mark would have protested, and fought for the right to pay for his own meal.

Energy pumped through him and, not knowing where to focus it, Mark went outside to wait for the other two. Pacing in front of the pub, he felt ready to burst as emotions tumbled one over the other. Elation and satisfaction at finally being vindicated bubbled inside. The bubble of joy burst when a guy wearing a shirt emblazoned with a Cub’s logo passed him. Time was running out. What was taking them so long? Just as he thought that, the door opened and both exited, cell phones pressed to their ears.

Jim glanced at Mark, but spoke into the phone, “I need everyone on this. A level one alert…that’s right. Wrigley Field.” He approached a dark blue sedan with government plates parked along the curb. Still barking orders into the phone, he leaned against the car.

Mark turned to Jessie, about to ask what was next, but she held her hand up, her head bent to her phone.

“Sir, just giving you a heads up. The FBI is now involved and advises we get all available manpower on the Wrigley Field case.” She brushed past Mark and stopped, a finger in one ear as she spoke to what sounded like her boss.

Confused, and unable to make eye contact with either, Mark resumed pacing. Did this mean they didn’t need him? It sounded like they had called in the cavalry. His lunch hour was over and if he wanted to keep his job, he’d need to get back. Aimlessly, he wandered up and down the street, checking every few seconds to see if the other two were done with their conversations. Lacking direction, and feeling unneeded, he turned and headed for the El. He’d gone half a block when Jim caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“Mark! Wait, where are you going?”

He whirled at the contact, yanking his arm out of Jim’s grasp, and walking backwards. Just because they had called a truce didn’t mean he felt comfortable being touched by the other man. “I figured I’d head back to work. You don’t need me.”

“Like hell we don’t!” Jim motioned him back towards the sedan. “Come on. We need to pick your brain to find out any more details.”

“Pick my brain?” A chill washed over him and he halted. “What do you mean?” Visions of chains and a stark white room rose in his mind.

His fears must have shown because Jim’s eyes widened and then he put up both hands. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I mean just see if there are any more details you can recall. Maybe something that didn’t seem important when you first wrote down your notes.” His phone rang then, and as he answered it, he inclined his head back towards the car, his hand resting on Mark’s shoulder.

Jim and Jessie exchanged cell numbers, and he and Jim left her to work things from her end. Mark climbed into the car and tried not to think about how surreal it was to be voluntarily in the passenger seat of his tormentor’s car. The short trip could have been awkward, but Jim kept his eyes on the road and his ear to his phone as he continued to direct operations. Jim concluded the conversation and dropped the phone into a center compartment between the seats, then cast a look at Mark. “Do you need to call your work and let them know you won’t be back in today?”

Mark reached for the phone. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Mark explained that his errand was taking longer than he thought, and if it was okay for him to take the rest of the afternoon off and make up the time the next day. Gary was fine with it, didn’t even ask many questions, and instead, acted thrilled that he’d have the next evening off to take out the waitress. Mark hung up, a smile lingering at the excitement in the younger guy’s voice.

When they arrived at the FBI building, Jim whisked him through security, telling the personnel that he was bringing Mark in for questioning.

In the elevator, Mark wiped his hands on his thighs, and then shoved them in his pockets and leveled a look at Jim “I’m not in any trouble, am I?” He had to ask. He had to be sure. The guy had only spoken a few words on the ride over and even now, Jim stared at the lit numbers on the panel. He might have been alone in the elevator for all the attention he paid Mark. The lack of communication was nerve wracking.