Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“Listen, I know we were going to do some checking on that Web site together tonight, but something’s come up. I’ve got to go talk with Frank.”

Hunter’s hands stopped and he turned. “About what?”

“Just grown-up stuff.” Damien tried to read Hunter’s expression. It was probably disappointment. That was the default expression these days. “But tomorrow night, let’s sit down and we’ll see what we can find out about the Web site and-”

“I already did.” He turned the computer monitor to face Damien. “Whoever is doing this knows how to not get caught. Usually the IP information is easy to find, but it’s locked out. Everything is locked out. See?” He pointed to the screen.

Damien moved closer. “Yeah. Looks, um, complicated.”

“Whoever is doing this doesn’t want to be found; that’s for sure. There’s no contact information anywhere on the site. And digging deeper, there are rabbit trails everywhere, leading to nowhere.”

“Huh.” Damien paused. He realized before he went to talk to Frank, he probably should have a good idea of what Angela was talking about. But should he bring Hunter into this? “Can you pull up the Web site again? I want to see something.”

“Sure.” A few fast keystrokes and they were at the site.

“You been following this?”

Hunter shrugged. “When I can.”

“May I?” Damien said, gesturing to the chair. Hunter got up and Damien sat down. Using the mouse, he scrolled down, trying to read the various conversations. He found himself lingering on each one, wondering who said it, wondering about whom it was said. This was brutal and tantalizing, like a traffic accident you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. He scrolled down some more. Damien stopped, reading a snippet of a conversation that seemed like it could be about Frank.

Hunter leaned over his shoulder and read out loud.

“I know! I can’t believe it! He’s such a moron. No… no! I mean it. Don’t do anything… because, trust me, he’s a maniac. He’ll make your life miserable beyond comprehension. You’ll pack up and move to Alaska… No, I’m not overreacting! Listen to me. Just shut up and lay low. I’ll handle this. Do not get involved.”

“Wow,” Hunter said.

Damien rolled the chair back and stood up. “I’ve got to go. I need to talk to Frank.”

“About this?”

“I can’t really discuss it right now.”

Hunter cast him a wounded look. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

Damien pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not. There’s so much… It’s just that life is complicated, and it’s hard sometimes to explain why people do what they do… and why adults act like they do. That’s even harder to explain, but-”

“Dad. I know.”

Damien reached for Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know you do, Son. Forgive your old man for being a buffoon sometimes.”

“I practice forgiveness every day.” Hunter smiled. “Now I guess you better go talk to Frank. If this is Angela,” he said, pitching a thumb toward the computer screen, “and she’s talking about Frank here, it can’t be good.”

Damien let out a laugh. “Okay, yes, obviously you’re following the situation. Better than I am, I think. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late. And make sure you hug your mom before you go to bed.”

Downstairs, Damien kissed Kay good-bye and headed over to Frank’s. He checked his watch. Normally Frank liked to go to bed early, but Damien figured he’d probably still be up. He shut off his lights as he pulled into the driveway. He should’ve called first, but Frank would’ve sensed something was off, because Frank was a cop and he could always smell bull.

Lights from the living room glowed. Everything else was dark, including his porch light. Among other things, Frank was a conserver of all things costly, and electricity was at the top of his list,. He’d been known to go through Damien’s house turning off lights.

Damien pulled his coat around him and climbed the steps of the porch, tapping lightly on Frank’s door. He tapped again, listening for movement. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Damien leaned to get a look into the small window by the door, but a lightweight panel revealed only vague shadows.

“Frank!” Damien knuckle-tapped the window. “Frank, hey! It’s Damien. You in there?”

Silence.

Damien reached in his pocket for his cell phone only to find lint. In his rush to leave the house he must’ve forgotten it on the counter.

“Frank!” Damien pounded the door. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch. His fist hit the door again, but this time the door popped open slightly. It was unlocked?

Slowly Damien pushed the door wider, looking for any signs of movement. “Frank, it’s Damien. You here?”

The television was on, flickering through sports highlights on ESPN. Damien stepped in. His heart thumped erratically. It just seemed like something wasn’t right, and that was what Frank always talked about… the gut instinct of a cop. He could drive the streets and sense when something was going wrong.

Damien swallowed, stepping lightly on the well-vacuumed carpet. He glanced back and forth, gauging whether danger was indeed nearby. Was Frank’s truck in the garage? He should check that. But the garage door was accessible only through the kitchen, which was at the back of the house.

Damien stepped closer to the basement door. It was open, which wasn’t unusual. But the lights were out, and it was pitch-black down there. “Frank?”

Nothing.

Should he go down and check anyway? or check around ground level first? Damien looked toward the hallway. No light came from that part of the house, not even a night-light. What if he’d had a heart attack?

Damien began flipping on any lights he could find. He headed to the back of the house, throwing open doors, calling Frank’s name. Within seconds he’d flipped on every light in the back of the house and explored every room and closet, but there was no sign of Frank.

He should check the basement, but first he decided to check the garage, see if Frank’s truck was here. There was certainly a chance that he’d left the front door unlocked accidentally. A slim chance but a chance.

Damien hurried down the hall and around the corner-

“Ahhh!” Damien clutched his chest.

Frank stood there, gun drawn, looking aggressive. When he saw Damien, his hands dropped to his side, but his expression was hard. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” Damien said. “Where have you been?”

“Why are you in my house?”

Damien drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his heart. “I knocked on your door and it swung open.”

Frank turned and observed his door for a moment. “You didn’t call.”

“I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I thought I’d just come over.”

“You never come over without calling first.”

Exactly, Damien thought. Already Frank sensed something was askew. Damien sat on the couch and turned to look at Frank, who still stood by the open door. Frank slowly shut it, and Damien observed him studying the lock. Did he think he picked it?

“Where have you been that you forgot to lock your door?”

“I just left in a hurry,” Frank said, walking into the living room. He sat down in his recliner. “Quick errand. I ran up to the QT for a two liter of Coke.”

It was a strange moment, an invisible glint against the air that held hesitation and caution and awkwardness. Damien stared at Frank’s hands because he was not holding a bottle of Coke, and nowhere nearby was a bottle of Coke.

Frank blinked. Once. Then said, “They were out, so I came home.”

“Ah.” Damien smiled, but it was uneasy.