Джордан Шор - The Search

As the enormous man came toward him, George was ready to squeeze and trigger the fearsome string of water. But the man walked straight past him and out the entrance doors. George first thought was not to bother the massive man as he was obviously upset. But on the other hand, the entire purpose of his flying to Yellowknife was to ease and calm the surviving passengers before they were interviewed by the press. George swallowed his fear and ran out the entrance—the water bottle still in his hand.

“Excuse me!” he yelled. “Mister Bosch!”

The large man stopped and turned his head, and looked angrily back at him. George hand tightened around the water bottle.

“Are you a survivor of flight seven one nine to Anchorage?”

The tall man looked him up and down.

“No comment.”

“I’m not a reporter,” George quickly added. “My name is George Stanton. I’m with the airline. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right, and ask if there is something I could do for you in this time of need.”

George wasn’t at all impressed by his improvised speech, and by the looks of things, neither was the strong man. So he decided on a different approach.

“The cops aren’t sharing any information with us. We just want to know what happened,” he said, dejected. “How about if I buy you lunch? I noticed this great diner down the road. What do you say?”

Mr. Bosch eventually nodded in agreement.

As the two of them walked down the road, George never felt as small—literally, that was. He felt like a sidekick as he walked next to the tall, muscular man who wore training clothes at least two sizes too small. The tall man appeared like a stereotype of a comic book superhero. George felt as if he were walking beside the notorious Batman, and needless to say, he was Robin ( or at least a smaller and skinnier version of Robin) and judging by people’s reaction, it wouldn’t have made a difference if George had actually worn a cape and a spandex suit.

George felt a chill run down his spine.

Suddenly, the horrific image of Danny DeVito popped up in his head.

Afternoon

Time flew by quickly as the two of them enjoyed a lunch together at a local diner. George was surprised by how much he enjoyed the company of Jack Bosch. Not only, was the tall, muscular man attractive, but he also had a gentle and nurturing side that blended perfectly with his raw and butch appearance. George wondered how the man had gotten the huge scar on his neck. Jack Bosch reminded George of his ex-boyfriend, Derrick, the only man he’d ever lived with.

Jack Bosch had been very open with George and told him an amazing but also a horrific story of what he and a woman by the name of Julie had gone through for the past ten days. And to George’s relief, he’d also disclosed that Captain Daniels had died alone in the woods and no one had talked to him.

“So, did you see him put the poison in the stew?”

“No, but I noticed a jar in the barn when he showed me the moose,” Jack Bosch said. “I think they were planting beef.”

Planting beef? What’s that supposed to mean?

George’s jaw dropped. “Tetrodotoxin?”

Jack Bosch suddenly had a wary expression. “That’s right, but I don’t think they knew what they were doing. I think they were just experimenting, and I was their guinea pig . That’s why they didn’t shoot me right away.”

George felt a morbid curiosity brewing, and he began to wonder how on earth a couple of hillbillies could possibly attempt to produce one of the most lethal poisons known to mankind. And even though it was obvious Jack Bosch possessed that knowledge, George didn’t want to make a mistake and ask the man straight out, as he noticed Jack Bosch seemed quite wary and suspicious regarding George’s curiosity.

“So, what made you notice the jar in the first place?”

“I noticed the label on the jar,” Jack Bosch responded. “It said, Lady Jane Marmalade .”

Jack Bosch looked intensely back at him, and George assumed the man had understood the real purpose of his asking.

“So you like marmalade?” George tried his best to sound casual.

“I don’t think I ever had marmalade.”

“Really.” George astonished. “It’s just jam, basically.”

Suddenly, Jack Bosch’s face lit up with joy, and he kept smiling for quite some time. George smiled back at first, but then he started to feel uneasy, and as he closed his mouth, he rubbed his tongue against his front teeth to make certain he didn’t have any food wedged in between them.

After a moment of silence, George felt even more uneasy, and he tried his best to come up with something to say.

“Is the name Bosch of German descent perhaps?”

Jack Bosch’s face shifted. Now, he looked angry and disconcerted. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” George lied. “But I couldn’t help but overhear the man back at the police station call you Bosch, and you only introduced yourself as Jack to me, so I assumed your name was Jack Bosch.”

“ Box ,” Jack said, and pronounced the word clearly. “It’s a nickname.”

“Oh, yeah, I get it,” George said. “Well, it’s shorter than Jack I suppose.”

George smiled wide and hoped the man would return the favor.

“I hate that name.”

“I think it’s cute.”

Why did you have to use that word, George?

George felt his fever rising, and he struggled with thinking straight. Jack’s expression shifted once more, but this time he looked more sad than angry.

“I tune out sometimes. I sort of escape reality. You know, like when the light is on, but no one is home,” Jack said. “But this guy I served with told people I was insane, and he started a rumor about how I was locked up in a mental institution—Jack is in his box.” The last sentence sounded like a quote.

“Sorry to hear that,” George said. “Did you file a complaint against him?”

Jack frowned. “He died.”

“He died in battle?”

“I guess you can say that,” Jack responded in a drowsy voice.

“So, you were in the military?” George asked. “Is that where you got…” George was about to say ‘that scar,’ but he didn’t dare. “…those muscles?”

Jack’s expression changed once more, and this time he looked ashamed.

“Julie asked the exact same question.” Jack bowed his head. “No, I was never in the military. But I did, however, spend twenty years in prison.”

“That’s a long stretch,” George said, and thought he sounded like an idiot.

Do not tell him about the night you spent in jail. Don’t you dare, George.

“I was young, and I needed some fast money. So, I thought it was a good idea to drive a truck filled with counterfeit booze across the Canadian border—the bottles even had my name on them.” Jack had a crooked smile.

“They gave you twenty years for that?”

“No, they gave me two years, but I ended up serving twenty,” Jack explained. “Manslaughter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry too. Every day,” Jack maintained. “And the last name is Green by the way. Hey, speaking of names, the feds told me we had a celebrity on board.” Jack Green winked and offered another crooked smile.

George felt as if the lump in his throat had just expanded. The mention of Captain Daniels ex-wife, Sharon Stone, scared him. But then again, it wasn’t strange if her name had come up during Jack Green’s debriefing. After all, Fare Airlines had provided the feds with the information, and it would only be natural for them to ask some questions. It doesn’t necessarily mean they suspected Captain Daniels of crashing the plane on purpose. And according to the news, the investigators were certain the Imam was to blame. George felt more at ease again. However, the lump in his throat was still present, and he felt his fever rising.