James Moore - Blood Red

“You look like you ate a bug. What’s wrong?”

Brian looked over at the sergeant and thought about giving him a straight answer. “I just can’t get this. It doesn’t add up.”

“Yeah? That’s why you’re not a detective. Leave it to the professionals, Brian.” The slob seemed to think the whole thing was a joke, but as much as he wanted to respond that it was a serious situation, he bit his tongue instead. He had enough shit going down in his day without adding anything else to his list of bad events. Coswell was exactly the sort of sorry asshole that would take any comments he made and turn them around on him later. He was a prick.

His cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket and Brian answered it without even considering that he wasn’t supposed to carry the damned thing on duty. Screw Coswell on that one, at least. He knew the man was carrying a phone of his own.

“Hello?”

The voice from the previous morning spoke into his ear. “How has your day been, Officer Freemont?”

He looked at Coswell. The man was busily scratching his nuts as he looked at the marks on the car again.

Brian walked away from the site, wanting to make sure his sergeant didn’t hear any of the conversation.

“What did you do, you son of a bitch?”

“Nothing that I can’t fix.”

“Then you better get to fixing it!” He forced himself to calm down. It wasn’t easy. As of nine A.M., Brian Freemont had discovered that he had no checking accounts, no savings accounts, and was two months behind on his house payments. His finances were in ruins. He had to come to work and act like nothing was wrong in his life, but everything was wrong. Every single damned thing was very, very wrong.

“Listen to me carefully. Listen to the numbers I’m going to read to you, and pay very close attention, Officer Freemont.” Brian held his breath. “Are you listening? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Good, because I want this over with as much as you do.” The man started talking, firing off a litany of numbers that Brian knew very well. They were the numbers for his car note, his mortgage, his different bank accounts. His blood seemed to slow down in his veins as he listened and he had trouble catching his breath. The voice read off his Social Security number, the policies for his life insurance, for his vehicle insurance, for his retirement accounts. By the time he was done, Brian Freemont was sweating bullets.

“Okay. Okay. What do you want?” He could barely recognize his own voice.

“You have files at your home, or hidden away somewhere else. I’m guessing you have a lot of files; police files that could cause a lot of trouble for a few friends of mine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The voice on the other end did not suddenly break into laughter, but he heard humor when it spoke again. “Yes, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. We’re not mentioning names yet, Officer Freemont. I could. I could give you several. But we haven’t reached that level of unpleasantness.”

“What do you want?” His chest was burning, and Brian had to wonder if he was having a coronary.

“I have five things to say, so listen carefully. One: I haven’t even hurt you yet. The worst thing you have going so far is a bounced check fee or two. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Number two: I can hurt you. I have everything that makes you a person in this country. I can have you audited by the IRS. I can have your back taxes examined with a microscope and make sure you pay interest on every penny that you ever earned. I can make sure that all proof you ever paid any taxes goes away as easily as your bank accounts did. I can ruin you so badly that Humpty Dumpty will look good next to you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. Yes, I do.” Had he ever wanted to cry so badly? His hands were shaking and the world had bleached to a dark pulsing gray in his eyes.

“Three: one of the girls you did wrong is pregnant. She wasn’t with anyone but you. That means she’s carrying your baby, and that means you are going to lose your wife if you aren’t very, very careful about how you handle this. She doesn’t want your child, but she’ll carry to term if I ask her to because she knows she can ruin you like you did her. Do you understand?”

“Oh. Oh God.” His voice was cracking and he couldn’t feel his legs. “Oh, please, don’t do this to me.”

“Be quiet. We aren’t done yet.” The voice spoke without malice and that made it worse. “Number four: You get off work at seven P.M. tonight. By eight P.M., I want you to gather all of the evidence from all of the girls you did wrong and I want you to bring it to the edge of the Cliff Walk, right next to the spot where you’re parked now. I want you to set that evidence down and I want you to go back to your home and wait for a call from me. Do you understand me, Officer Freemont?”

He nodded, forgetting that he was on the phone for a moment.

“I have spoken to several girls about you. You will bring all of the evidence packets, because if you miss one of the girls I spoke to, I will carry out every threat I just made. Do you understand me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do understand.” His mouth felt so dry, so painfully wretchedly dry, that he could barely make the words form properly.

“Number five: If you do everything I just told you to do and you follow my instructions exactly, I will give you back your life. This is your one warning, Officer Freemont. If you deviate from what I’ve told you in any way, I will ruin you.”

The phone went dead in Brian’s hand. He barely noticed. His body shook and his face glistened with sweat, but he was unaware. His mind went numb for several minutes. When he could think clearly again, Coswell was talking to the detectives and they were looking over the crash site carefully.

Brian Freemont had planned to discuss the tire tracks with the detectives, but the idea had slipped his mind.

He only had one thought that didn’t escape him. He had to get those damned files down here by eight o’clock or he was royally fucked.

At least as fucked as every girl he’d set up for a little fun.

The irony was not missed by him, but it was most assuredly unappreciated.

Ben had experienced two of his favorite things the night before and well into the morning. He’d had a wonderful conversation that covered the whole spectrum of discussions, and he’d spent time with Margaret, no, with Maggie Preston. The worst of the morning breakfast crowd had overrun the diner and then left for other places by the time they left the diner, and he’d felt so bad about it he’d left Sally an embarrassingly large tip. Funny, she didn’t seem at all embarrassed. She just smiled and told him to come back any time.

After that he walked Maggie home, the conversation slowing down only because both of them were tired and even all the extra cups of coffee only went so far to keep them conscious.

“I had fun.” She stretched and smiled as she spoke and Ben found himself smiling right back.

“Me too. It’s nice to meet an insomniac with a personality now and then.”

Maggie laughed and her hand moved over to squeeze his fingers for a second. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek. A moment later she was pulling out her apartment key and slipping through the door. “See you in class, Ben.”

He’d walked numbly into his own apartment, and sat down on the couch. The smile lingered long after he sat down and he was almost certain he’d never wash his cheek again. Well, not for a while at least.

And now, one day later, he was still amazed by the kiss on his cheek. Maggie had gone to school and he had seen her there, but once again she was strictly there to study. She smiled and waved, but beyond that there was no contact. Not that he had expected any.