Rick Mofina - Every Second

It was blank.

His prints were on record because he’d once been charged for a misdemeanor drunk driving offense, but the charge had been dropped because the blood test results were lost.

Mae’s supervisor had cleared her to call the primary detective immediately once she had a hit, so she reached for her telephone. The line was answered on the second ring.

“Tilden.”

“Detective Marv Tilden?”

“That’s me.”

“Mae Clarke with the latent print section. We got a match on a print from the duct tape in your case. Ready to copy?”

“Go.”

“Jerricko Titus Blaine. I’ll send you the spelling.”

“Got it.”

“Age, twenty-three. Last known address, Dallas, Texas.”

“His sheet?”

“He’s clean. A misdemeanor drunk driving charge that was dropped. I’ll send you everything I’ve got, DOB, height, weight, et cetera.”

“Thanks, Mae.”

After sending Jerricko Blaine’s file to Tilden, Mae finished her water, then let out a long breath.

Now we’ve got a lead, something to work with.

She was preparing to return to her other cases when her computer pinged.

Another hit?

She wondered if Jerricko Blaine popped up in another jurisdiction, but instead it was a new hit-one from Lori Fulton’s prints.

Mae’s brow creased when she read the notice.

She reached for her phone to call Detective Tilden again.

New York Thruway

Dan’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“I need gas,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Vic said. “You started with a full tank.”

“I’m telling you, I need gas!” Dan stared at the gauge, so Vic could see through the camera that the needle had dropped into the red zone. “Look!”

No response from Vic.

Dan had just left New Jersey. He was heading northbound on the New York Thruway, and was somewhere between Suffern and Sloatsburg, an hour out of New York City’s frenzy. Here, the metropolis had conceded to rivers, rock formations and undulating oceans of trees. The highway wound through the rolling hills, further isolating him and deepening his fear that he’d never see Lori and Billy again.

Are they alive?

He felt dwarfed by the vastness of the region, the Catskills rising around him.

Where’re they sending me? What’re they going to do?

His heart pounded against the sweaty confines of the bomb vest, and all he had to pass the time were his own terrified thoughts. While he couldn’t make any sense of who these guys were or why they’d chosen him. Could it be about someone his branch had dealings with? Maybe tied to an insurance cheat, someone Lori dealt with? One thing he did know was that Vic and his gang were planning something beyond the robbery.

Why would they make me drive across New Jersey and back into New York with the money? Why not just take it and let us go?

Dan dragged the back of his trembling hand over his mouth.

It’s as if they know I don’t have the guts to fight back. That I’m a coward. These people are going to kill us all, and I’m just going to let it happen. God help me.

His eyes strayed to the bag on the passenger floor, bulging with the cash.

At some point they were going to take the money from him. That’s when Dan would have to make a decision-to give up or to fight for his family’s life.

He studied the traffic in his side and rearview mirrors, eyeing an SUV, a delivery truck and two late-model sedans that trailed behind him.

Is Vic in one of them?

He didn’t know their vehicle or how close they were. He didn’t even know if they were keeping Lori and Billy with them.

“I want to talk to my family,” he said.

“Shut up and keep driving,” Vic said.

“I need to know they’re alive, or… I’ll go to police, I swear! If they’re already dead I’ve got nothing to lose.”

A long silence passed. Then he heard a commotion in his ear and his heart swelled.

“Dad?”

The connection was filled with static as if patched from a radio to a cell phone.

“Billy! Son, are you hurt?”

“Dad, you gotta just do what they say!”

Dan’s head swiveled to look at the traffic around him, desperate to catch some glimpse of his son in a nearby car.

“Billy, where are you?”

Another bleat of confusion, then over the scratchy air he heard his wife’s voice.

“Dan, just listen to them. Do what they say!”

A disturbance filled his ear. Then nothing.

“Lori? Lori!” Blinking quickly, Dan took a deep breath and adjusted his hold on the wheel and himself.

“They’re alive, Dan,” Vic said calmly. “Now just keep doing what we tell you to do and you’ll see them soon. The next exit comes up in two miles. Take it. Go east to the gas station called Weldon’s.”

A quarter mile from the exit, down a forlorn rural road that cut through fields with horses and cows on one side and a few rusting cars on the other, Dan came to Weldon’s Gas and Grocery.

Four pumps stood out front of the building’s weathered wooden walls. A faded metal awning stretched over the Coke and ice machines. Tires were neatly stacked next to a pyramid of motor oil. A neon sign over the door said Open, while one above the pumps said Self-Serv.

Two vehicles were parked at the edge of the paved lot. A pickup with a dented fender and a van with a small banner reading: Dereck’s Electric. Several cars and trucks whizzed by the station. Dan scrutinized them. Before getting out he was stopped by Vic’s orders.

“Pay with cash,” he said. “I saw a ball cap in the car-put it on, play it smart and everything will go smoothly.”

The Stars and Stripes flapped as Dan fueled the Ford’s tank.

He went inside to pay, walking up to a man with a full white beard who stood behind the counter.

“All I’m saying, Roy, is I won’t use that type for bluegill or smallmouth,” said a man in overalls, who was leaning against the counter, sipping from a take-out coffeecup.

“Just the gas today, friend?” the bearded man behind the counter said to Dan.

Dan nodded, placed the cash on the counter. “May I use your restroom?”

“Just around the corner.”

As Dan started for the room, a man wearing a flannel work shirt rushed from the area, muttering to himself. As he passed Dan, he called out: “I know I got that part in my truck, Roy, be right back.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Hey, Hank.” The man in the overalls winked. “Alice have the baby yet?”

“Doctor said anytime, I tell you-” Hank continued talking while outside, something about no sleep.

Dan rounded the corner to see that Hank had been working on an outlet between the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms. A large open tool box was on a shelf between the two rooms.

Dan knew Vic could see whatever he saw.

Dan looked away from the toolbox, keeping his eyes ahead on the bathroom door as he made his way down the hall. As he passed close to the shelf, he reached out and took two small items from the tool tray, shoving them in his pocket while still keeping his eyes-and Vic’s view-straight ahead. In the restroom, while standing alone at the urinal, Dan used one hand to reach into his pocket and uncap the felt-tipped marker he’d stolen from the box. His heart rate was galloping, but he kept his eyes forward as he began scrawling on the metal wall of the stall. The ongoing rush of flushing water drowned out any sound from the pen as he wrote as fast as he could-hoping it would be legible since he wouldn’t be able to check it.

After finishing, Dan washed his hands, feeling the bulk of the vest. Then he dried them and returned to his car and resumed driving northbound on the Thruway.