The Infinity Tattoo (2 page)

It had been at a bar near the base, a place he rarely frequented because it was far too fancy for Jack’s tastes. They seemed to welcome only the high-ranking military. And the drinks were outrageously expensive. You paid to be seen there.

But a buddy was about to be deployed, and he’d asked Jack to join him for a farewell drink. They were expecting a couple more people, so Jack decided to scout out the rest of the place to find them.

He didn’t find his buddies, but he did find his commanding officer, Colonel Parker. He was sitting in a booth in a dark corner towards the back. Sitting at the table with him was the very man who’d broken in to his apartment. The moment Jack saw Parker and this man, he’d made an abrupt U-turn and headed back to join his buddies.

He wasn’t sure if Parker had seen him or not, but it shook Jack up. First his commanding officer had told him that he was imagining that his office had been searched, and then he’d seen him having a drink with one of the guys that ransacked his apartment.

No, something very strange, sinister even, was going on and it was time to get the hell out of Dodge for a while.

Meg slammed the door to the old Land Cruiser and kicked the tire. She had just been to the bank for a loan, and her prospects weren’t looking too good. The loan officer was all honey-voiced and smiley-faced, but at the end of the meeting, it was pretty clear that a loan was not going to happen.

Meg wanted to grab the little pip-squeak’s neck, pull him down to her eye level, and glare into his face. Did he know who her father was? Hadn’t her father been banking with them for the past forty years? Had he ever defaulted on a loan or line of credit? Her father’s business had always been rock solid. His was the most reputable landscaping company in the Verde Valley, and had been for years.

Okay, so he had let things slide in the past six months, but he was ill, fatally ill as it turned out. Meg felt tears swimming in her eyes. She knew that wasn’t completely true. Her father had been failing for a number of years, but she hadn’t realized it at the time. Business had been declining for the simple reason that he was past his prime. He couldn’t compete with some of the newer companies who had state-of-the-art equipment and up-to-date training.

Her father and Julio had managed the best they could, but they didn’t have the money to upgrade or maintain their equipment. They still had many loyal customers who employed them for the smaller jobs, but for the big jobs at resorts and golf courses, Goodwin Landscaping wasn’t even on the radar. Which was no wonder, really. Her father had lost his competitive edge. He hadn’t submitted a bid in three years.

Meg remembered when she was a kid that the place was always swarming with laborers waiting for assignments, machinery being driven to and from work sites, and contractors wanting to discuss some issue or another with her father.

Now, she looked around the shed that housed the equipment. Some of it didn’t work at all, other stuff needed serious servicing to be functional, still other items were so old and worn out that Meg couldn’t imagine any home for them but the dump.

She grabbed a couple of grocery bags from the back of her vehicle and headed into the house. Since it was just Meg living there, she didn’t need a lot of supplies. Dinner these days usually consisted of a baked potato, some chicken, and salad out of a bag. She put her purchases away and headed back to her bedroom to change out of the business suit she had donned for her visit to the bank.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt, and returned to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She was heading to the deck, with her wine and her misery, when she heard a car pull up to the house. It was Nicky, a childhood friend.

They’d lost touch for many years while Meg wandered the world in search of a story. She probably would have left it like that on her return to Sedona, but Nicky was doggedly determined to rekindle their old friendship. Since she’d found out Meg was back in town and making a go of her father’s business, she’d got into the habit of stopping over in the late afternoon. Just like when they were kids hanging out together, she would walk up to the door, pop her head in to see if Meg was around, then make herself at home in the kitchen.

The first time she’d opened Meg’s empty bare refrigerator, she’d been horrified. At the ripe old age of twenty, Nicky had married a widower with three children and shortly after had two more of her own. Thus her house was always heaving with kids between the ages of ten and eighteen and their friends, not to mention three large dogs. Just to keep the family fed, she had two refrigerators stuffed to the gills.

More often than not, she arrived with a pie or a loaf of homemade bread or a bowl of fruit. Today was no exception. She carried a bowl of pasta salad. When she opened the door, she saw the expression on Meg’s face and immediately went into mother mode, even though she was six months younger than Meg.

“What is it?” she said with concern as she put her offering into one of the many bare shelves in Meg’s fridge.

“I went to the bank today,” Meg told her.

Nicky turned around and looked at Meg. “I take it that it didn’t go well.”

“No. I wanted to punch that weasel-face in the nose.”

“But you managed to restrain yourself, I hope,” Nicky said.

Meg sat down at the kitchen table with her glass of wine. Nicky grabbed a glass of water and sat opposite her.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Meg confessed. “In order to get contracts, we have to have equipment, but in order to get our equipment repaired we have to have contracts.”

“It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“The loan officer said the only way they could offer a loan was to mortgage this property. I just don’t know if I want to do that. What if I fail with the business? Then I’ll have nothing.”

Nicky patted Meg’s hand. “Things will work out. You’re just going to have to take it slow. You’re still getting work. Can’t you put some of the money back into repairs?”

Meg took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, I can. If I don’t buy any new clothes or go out to dinner or get a dog, I’ll manage.”

“Honey, you don’t need new clothes, and if you want to go out to dinner or hang out with dogs, there’s always a place at our table for you.”

Meg smiled. She had felt guilty about not keeping in touch with Nicky. But their lives had taken such different courses that she just couldn’t imagine what they would have in common. She hadn’t reckoned with the fact that there was something about childhood friendship that stayed with a person. The embers of affection were still there in the heart, just waiting to be fanned. She was grateful to Nicky for stoking those embers.

“In fact,” said Nicky, “why don’t you pack up that bottle of wine and come over for dinner tonight? We can take my car and then someone will give you a ride home so you can relax and enjoy yourself.”

“You know what? I’m going to take you up on that offer. Let me just go change.”

Nicky grabbed her arm as she started to rise. “Nothing doing. You look fine just the way you are.”

* * *

It was definitely what the doctor ordered, Meg thought as she sat in the great room with her glass of wine. Two kids were sprawled on the floor, their eyes glued to some inane sitcom. Another kid sat at the dining-room table, the ear buds from his iPod blocking out the noise that surrounded him as he worked on a homework assignment. One very large Labrador sat on the couch next to Meg, continually seeking her affection. Every time Meg left off scratching the dog’s ears, he lifted his head and licked her hand.

Nicky sat on her other side. She had a yearbook in her lap. Meg reluctantly looked at the pictures. She had been quite the nerd in high school and really didn’t relish strolling down memory lane. But Nicky was having such a blast pointing out fellow students and recalling some of their antics that she soon had Meg laughing in spite of herself.

Before long another kid entered the room. Meg had met her on her last visit. Her name was Emma. She was tall and painfully slender with frizzy red hair and freckles sprinkled liberally across her pale cheeks. When she saw her mom with Meg, she came over and pushed the dog off the couch so that she could look at the yearbook with them.

But soon Nicky closed the book and rose from the couch. “Time to get supper on,” she said.

Meg put her wine glass on the coffee table and started to rise. “Let me help you.”

“Nothing doing. You’re our guest. Besides, it’s already done. I just need to get it out of the oven. She rose and patted one of the TV-watching children on the head. “Come on Annie, your turn to set the table.”

“Ah, Mom,” said the pre-teen. “I’m watching this.”

“Don’t you ‘ah Mom’ me. It’s your turn. And set an extra plate for Meg.”

Meg hesitated on the couch. She would have happily set the table. But before she could say anything, Emma said to her, “Don’t even think about it. It’s Annie’s turn. Besides I wanted to ask you about being an international journalist.”

“Oh? What would you like to know?”

“Well, like, how did you get started?”

“I started by going to college. Well, no, actually I started a lot sooner than that. Because to be a journalist, you have to know how to write. Do you ever write anything?”

“Yeah, some,” she said shyly.

“Like what?” Meg saw a blush spread slowly across Emma’s cheeks.

“Oh, just stuff, you know,” said Emma.

“So . . . do you keep a journal?”

“Yeah. I write in it all the time.”

“That’s good. That’s really good. I kept a journal for years.”

“Really?”

“Mh-hm.”

“What kind of stuff did you write in it?” Emma asked.

“Oh, you name it, I wrote about it. Besides boys, I wrote about all the places I planned to visit. I read a lot, too, which gave me plenty of ideas about the adventures I planned to go on.”

“Really? Like where did you want to go?”

“I really wanted to go to Africa, to see the wild game there.”

“Cool.”

“And you know what? One day I did. Have you ever heard of the Serengeti?” asked Meg.

“Isn’t it in Kenya?”

“Well, it’s in Tanzania and Kenya. But the part in Kenya is called the Maasai Mara. Anyway it’s chock-full of game. They say that every year over a million wildebeests migrate in this huge herd. They trample on everything, over hills and through streams. Can you imagine that?”

“Did you get to see it?”

“Unfortunately not. But I did see plenty of game—giraffes and lions and cheetahs.”

“I want to go there,” said Emma, her eyes wide with wonder.

“There’s no reason why you can’t when you’re older, whether as a journalist or just on a trip.”

Nicky’s husband came in from the kitchen a few minutes later. “I see we have a guest,” he said to Nicky.

She rose on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. Then she turned to Meg and Emma. “Okay, you two,” she said, “time for dinner.”

It was a noisy affair with kids reaching over and around each other for bowls and plates of food. They chattered and argued about school, sports events, television shows, and friends. Meg found herself diving right into the melee as she made a stab for the last piece of roast beef or gave her opinion on whatever they were arguing about.

After dinner and dessert, Nicky drove Meg home. At the same time, a man was beginning the last leg of his nocturnal journey to her house.

Jack put one foot in front of the other, like he had been doing for the past twelve hours, all the while damning the cursed vegetation of the inhospitable landscape. If he never saw another cactus, spiny succulent, or any other prickly plant as long as he lived, it would be too soon.

Even with his boots, some of those spines had managed to penetrate the soles and he knew his feet were bloody inside his socks. And then there were the bushes with vicious thorns on their branches that grabbed at his shirt, or, worse yet, his skin and wouldn’t let go. The only way to get free of them was to back up very slowly until they released their prickly hold.

Thus, he had learned the hard way to pick his way ever so carefully. Fortunately, the moon was full, providing him with plenty of light by which to navigate. After an arduous journey on the backs of pickups, taking back roads and on foot when necessary, he crested a five thousand foot rise that gave way to the Verde Valley.

As the sun rose, he could see the long stretch of green where the river provided an oasis in the desert. He found a shed that was solid enough to keep out the animals—coyotes, snakes, scorpions and other wicked creatures of the desert. It was near the river. Shaded by large cottonwoods, it would remain tolerably cool as the sun rose. He settled in for the day under an old tarp he’d found tossed in a corner, and slept.

He woke up as the sun was setting. The temperature was dropping rapidly from a balmy eighty degrees to around fifty. It was springtime and considerably cooler at this altitude than in the valley where Phoenix sprawled. Jack made his way down to the river twenty feet from the shed and filled his water bottles.

Finding a fairly flat rock to sit on, he rummaged around in his pockets for the remainder of the trail mix he had scored at a gas station. As he munched on the nuts and berries and bits of chocolate, and drank copiously from one of his water bottles, he thought, now what?

He was far enough away from Phoenix to have eluded his pursuers, he was pretty sure. When he had started this insane journey, he had no particular destination in mind, his only thoughts were on escape. It didn’t take long for him to realize that being a fugitive in the desert was not without its own hazards. He needed to rest, to regroup.

He thought hard about what he was going to do. Then it came to him. A very good friend of his spoke often of a friend who lived in Sedona. And Sedona was just up the road. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He had kept it turned off most of the time to preserve the battery. Now he turned it on. And discovered that he was out of cell phone range.

He stood and started walking, once again just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, waiting for the pain to subside to a dull ache. He followed the interstate, always staying out of sight of the traffic. He thought about how much easier it would be to just walk along the side of the road, but he didn’t dare.

Leaving a military base without permission meant that technically he was AWOL. If his commanding officer had reported him, the police might also be looking for him. Therefore he couldn’t be seen by anyone, couldn’t trust anyone. Now that he had a destination, he didn’t want to take the risk of being seen hitchhiking on the interstate. Besides he looked like hell. Walking out of sight was better.

Once he got closer to civilization, he tried his phone again. This time he was in luck. He googled the name Goodwin plus Sedona. The very first result that popped up was a company called Goodwin Landscaping. He smiled. For the first time since this insane journey began, he began to have hope. If Meg’s family had a landscaping business, they would have garages or other outbuildings where he could hide, at least until he could figure out what to do.

There was a map on the Goodwin Landscaping website showing its location. He expanded it and studied it carefully, memorizing the roads he needed to take. Then he turned his phone back off. Standing, he grimaced in pain from the torture he had inflicted on his feet over the past few days.

The going was frustratingly slow as he approached Sedona, for he knew that as the crow flies the place was very near, but there were no roads that traversed from the highway to Red Rock Loop Road. As he passed through the Village of Oak Creek and continued along the highway, he began to understand why. He could just make out huge monoliths of stone jutting up into the night sky as well as shadowy crevasses carved like wrinkles in the earth’s surface, a land created by wind and water over eons. He wondered what it looked like by day.

Finally he reached his destination, just as the skies were starting to light up. A simple sign said Goodwin Landscaping. A tall fence ran around the perimeter. Jack could just peek over the gate in front. Inside was a small house with a front porch. There were two rocking chairs on it. The yard was landscaped in a manner consistent with a desert climate with strategically placed bushes, a few boulders, and crushed gravel instead of grass. He could see a light on in a side window. Did that mean someone was already up? Who got up at this ungodly hour of the morning?

Nearby was another building that was dark and silent. It stood just outside the perimeter of the fence. It looked long enough to house three vehicles at least.

He approached it, being careful to stay in the deep shadows along the perimeter. Along one side were three large garage doors. Around the corner on another side of the building was a pedestrian door. He reached for the handle and turned it. It was unlocked. He took that as a sign from providence that he was meant to be here.

As he stepped inside, the fecund smell of earth and compost mixed with motor oil surrounded him. The faint light of early morning shone in through a couple of windows, and he could see outlines of assorted equipment and vehicles. In the back was a bank of neatly stacked bags filled with something, soil or fertilizer perhaps. He followed it to its edge and found what he was hoping for: a space between the bags and the wall of the building. He heaved some of the bags around, creating a cozy cubbyhole in which to hide. Then he lay down on the hard cement, closed his eyes, and dropped off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Meg lay in bed and listened to the birds. They always started chirping before the sun even came up. Soon she, too, would have to get up, just like the birds, before the sun came up. But just for a moment, she snuggled deep into her covers reveling in the peace and solitude in her cocoon of a bed.

She’d had a really nice time over at Nicky’s house the night before. Kids, dogs, a husband, mayhem. All that love packed into one house had worked some magic on her—not that she ever, ever wanted a family that large. Just as she loved partaking in the chaos, she also loved escaping to the peace and quiet.

This morning, the issue of not getting a bank loan no longer loomed so large in her mind. It did mean, however, that she had to get to work. So she threw the covers back and got up. Pushing her feet into slippers and pulling on her bathrobe, she made her way into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Putting a couple of eggs on to boil, she retreated to her bathroom for a quick shower.

She toweled off and donned the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday, and a clean T-shirt. She returned to the kitchen, gulped down a cup of coffee, hardboiled eggs, and toast. Filling her thermos with the remainder of the coffee and grabbing some sandwiches that she’d made the night before from the fridge, she slipped on an old sweatshirt and headed out.

She’d agreed to do some work at one of the new housing developments and she needed to hop to it. If she started early, she could work until around three o’clock, catching most of the cooler temperatures, then knock off for the day. She entered the shed, pulled up the garage door, and jumped into her truck. It was already loaded with equipment. Just as she was about to head out, she realized that she going to needed another shovel.

She got out and went around to the back of the shed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up: something wasn’t right. Those sacks of compost had been moved. She was sure she had closed the door to the shed, but it was just possible that a javelina had found its way in. She grabbed a pitchfork. It wouldn’t be much of a weapon, but would serve as a deterrent to keep the animal from charging her.

Then she heard a sound that was distinctly human. A moan. What in heaven’s name? She approached the corner very cautiously with pitchfork firmly in hand. She heard another moan, then some mumbling. It had better not be some kids using her shed to make out, she thought. Not that it would be a very romantic place, but you never knew with kids, they had more hormones than brains.

“All right, whoever you are, come on out of there,” she said loudly and authoritatively. But nothing happened. Stealthily, she crept around the compost bags. And there, between the stack of bags and the wall, she found a man passed out cold. His clothes were filthy and his hair stuck out in all directions. Slowly she backed away, ready to run to the house and call the police. She turned to run but a hand grabbed her foot.

The man, now awake, held her with an iron grip on her ankle. Meg screamed and jerked her foot away. But this proved to be a foolish move, for he then grabbed her other leg and sent her tumbling to the ground. She kicked wildly and tried to scramble away, but the man’s grasp was too strong. Soon she found herself flipped over onto the ground with him on top of her.

He had light brown, very scruffy hair that stuck up in spikes all over his head and eyes that looked half wild. His face was narrow and emaciated. And he smelled. Oh God, did he smell, of body odor and fear.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. Then he collapsed on top of her, unconscious again.

Meg pushed him off and scrambled away. She grabbed the pitch fork and stared at this man who one minute had a viselike grip on her, and the next, was passed out on top of her.

He was long and lean. He wore a chambray shirt that was practically ripped to shreds. His jeans were torn and filthy. His feet were shod in scuffed lightweight boots.

She a took long look at his face. He had at least a four-day-old growth of whiskers and he was peeling from sunburn. But under the sunburn, was a pasty pallor that frightened Meg. She was afraid he might die right then and there.

What was he doing in her shed? As she stared down at him, he started mumbling. “Have to get away . . .
por favor, no me hagas daño
. . . thirsty . . .”

Meg had no doubt that the man was thirsty. It looked as though he had been out in the desert for a good long while. But what was that other stuff he said? Her Spanish was rusty, but she was sure he had said, “Please don’t hurt me.”

She rose and made for the door. She had to call the cops. He was probably a fugitive. Who knew what kind of trouble he was in. He could be dangerous. Just then he started thrashing and mumbling. His arms flailed and she grabbed them for fear he might hurt himself.

Then he lapsed into delirium again. As she gazed down at him, she noticed the rip at the seam of his shirt. She could see some kind of tattoo on his shoulder. Slowly, she reached over and pulled down on the sleeve until she could see the tattoo clearly.

The sight of it thrust her back into a nightmare from another life. After months of peace, memories that she had suppressed came rushing back with a vengeance. There was only one person she knew with a tattoo like that: Alex. Her very old and dear friend Alex. He had disappeared in Central America.

Meg ran away, back to her kitchen where she flung herself into a chair at the table. She lowered her head between her knees and took deep, calming breaths. When the lightheadedness receded, she stood up and poured herself a glass of water.

Alex had been a very close friend, maybe her best friend. They had been working together in Honduras in June 2009 when the president was taken out in a coup. It was all very exciting and newsworthy except for one thing. The leaders of the coup did not like journalists who reported or voiced any kind of opposition. Especially nosey foreign journalists like Alex. Meg was certain that’s why he’d disappeared.

Her cell phone rang and she jumped.

“Hello?” she said, pulling it from her pocket.

“Meg? Where are you?”

“Oh, Julio, I’m so sorry I’m late. Look, something has come up.”

“Oh? Are you all right?” She could hear the concern in his voice. He was her employee, but he treated her like a daughter, ever since she’d come back to Sedona and taken over the helm of her late father’s failing business. He’d worked for her father for many years and had known her since she was
una pequeña niña
, a small child.

“I . . . yes, everything is all right. Listen, can you get along without me for a while? I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“Of course. Don’t you worry. Manny and I can finish leveling the area. It’s a big job, no?”

“Right, yes it is,” Meg said. “Thanks a million, Julio. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m always happy to help my little Meg. I’ll talk to you later.”

Meg hung up and glanced over at the shed where a strange man lay unconscious . . . with a very distinctive tattoo on his shoulder.

It was an infinity tattoo: a fierce dragon with its mouth open threateningly. Its body was long and sinewy like a snake. It was wrapped around into a circle so its tail curled into its mouth. Alex had told her that it symbolized friendship that lasted forever. It also meant that you would do whatever was needed to help those who also wore the tattoo. He and three other friends had gotten the tattoo when they were at college. They had made a vow to look after each other throughout their lives, no matter what the circumstances.