The Travelling Man (18 page)

Lesnar tried to stick to the shadows and follow Lassiter unobserved, but it was difficult given his unique appearance. Mr Grange had assured him that no matter what occurred, he wouldn’t be seen and while Lesnar believed the words, Mr Grange looked tired and weary and Lesnar wondered if the strange man would be able to follow through on his boasts.

Lesnar headed down an alleyway behind The Oasis Bar as Deputy Lassiter walked in front. The rear of the bar stank of urine expelled from lazy men and women who couldn’t or wouldn’t wait for the bathrooms inside to be free. His nose wrinkled in his disgust for the bodily function and his hatred grew for the fragility of the human form. One thing that he had come to realise was that he had little desire to be one of them. He wanted to be better, a higher evolved life form above such mediocrity. He knew that if Mr Grange deemed him a worthy successor then his rewards would be only limited to his own imagination. He had thought at first that his greatest desire was to be normal, that he longed to look like some cover-boy model. But he was starting to believe that he wanted more than just surface looks that ran puddle deep. He wanted to be more than them. He wanted to ascend beyond humanity, with its disgusting base instincts and filthy baser functions. He wanted to be free of the constricting form, with the power to change and shape the universe. Mr Grange had promised him that; all he had to do was earn his place at the head of the table.

He exited the alley and saw Lassiter up ahead of him. The cop was walking with his head down low as though deep in thought and oblivious to the world around him. Lesnar continued to follow at a safe distance. He had never been a reckless man and he wasn’t about to start now. Lassiter was a cop who carried a badge and a gun and presumably knew how to use both.

Lesnar tapped his inner jacket pocket and felt the comforting weight within. Mr Grange had provided the essential tools for the job and Lesnar knew that there would be no excuses if he failed his task. He also wasn’t keen to find out just what punishment Mr Grange would deem necessary if he did fail.

Lassiter took a left and cut through the park. Lesnar had to cross the road to follow but just as he stepped off the sidewalk, a car almost hit him, not even bothering to slow down. It was only pure luck that all he got was a clip from the car’s wing mirror.

“What are you, blind?” he couldn’t help but roar, after the vehicle had passed before it occurred to him that the driver simply hadn’t seen him. He crossed the road very carefully, glad for the limited traffic in town. His new found confidence in his cloaking allowed him to follow Lassiter more efficiently now that he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Mr Grange may have been old and tiring, but the guy apparently still had plenty left in the tank.

The cop lived in a small apartment and his neighbors’ windows seemed dark and empty of their occupants. Mr Grange had told him that Lassiter worked the night shift at the station and Lesnar checked his watch to see that this would be this guy’s breakfast hour.

Lesnar withdrew the large revolver from his inner pocket, a gift from his benefactor. He had never handled a gun before but he had watched enough movies. He knew that weapons would have a safety catch and he found the small red slider easily enough. He cocked back the hammer, watching with fascinated awe as the first chamber rolled around, and loaded a bullet. Such a simple device with such potential devastation, it really was a marvel of modern technology. Just a tiny amount of pressure through his finger and the course of an entire bloodline would be forever altered.

Lesnar wandered up to the apartment block and watched as Lassiter used his key and headed inside. The security system was a simple buzzer intercom. He debated pressing a few buttons to see if he could get someone to buzz open the door before he realised that if people couldn’t see him then maybe they wouldn’t hear him either.

He placed his faith in Mr Grange and reached out his hand. The magnetic lock momentarily loosened its grip and he pulled the door open easily. He smiled a small tight and cruel smile as he stepped inside.

He moved towards the row of small metal mailboxes to look for Lassiter’s apartment number before the number just popped into his head: 23. He silently thanked Mr Grange again before he walked up the stairs, his short legs already aching from the much larger amount of physical exertion than he was used to.

He reached Lassiter’s apartment quickly enough on the second floor. He could hear the cop rummaging around inside and the hallway was empty and devoid of other noises.

He reached out with his thick and hairy paw and rang the bell. The shrill sound was loud inside the apartment and was soon accompanied by approaching footsteps. Lesnar lifted the heavy handgun and waited as the chain was removed and the door creaked open.

Lassiter looked out into the corridor with some sort of yogurt or ice-cream smeared across his face. His expression changed rapidly from confusion at the empty corridor into one of surprise as he suddenly realised that there was actually someone standing there with a cannon aimed at his face.

Lesnar felt his heart pounding hard inside his chest as the cop’s eyes widened and he knew that the man could see him clearly; perhaps it was Mr Grange’s way of making sure that he followed through. “I can’t think of anything cool to say,” he managed through a dry mouth, “so you’ll have to just imagine that I did”.

The gunshot was huge inside the narrow hallway and the sound seemed to echo in booming sound waves along the corridor. A large hole appeared in the centre of Lassiter’s chest and was rapidly filled with dark blood. The cop hit the floor hard and Lesnar could only stand over the body in shock at the damage he had caused with a tiny squeeze of his finger.

His paralysis broke when he heard a door open along the hallway and footsteps coming out. He ran, or more like shuffled quickly, back the way he’d come and headed for a fire escape outside of the stairwell window. If Mr Grange’s cloaking device was down, then he was about to be seen and his misshapen form remembered by everyone with a set of eyes. Not only was his physical shape extremely noticeable, he was also by far the richest man in town and therefore one of the most famous.

He clattered his way awkwardly down the metallic fire escape until his unsteady legs hit the floor. There was already a lot of noise and shouting and he knew that he could not leave the scene without being noticed. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction to the one that his senses were screaming he took and headed back into the building by the front door.

There was a crowd gathering in the lobby after someone had run from the building and left the front doors open. Cell phones were out and most people were calling the police and shouting in frustration as their calls overwhelmed the switchboard.

“What’s going on?” Lesnar demanded as he grabbed hold of an old woman trying to get out of the building.

“Some maniac is shooting up the place,” she wailed and he let her go.

“Did anyone call the police?” he bellowed and several head nods answered him in reply.

He heard the sound of a wailing siren approaching fast and he secreted himself within the crowd as they all filed back outside.

----------

Kevin floored the cruiser and flew the short distance between the station and Tom’s apartment. The panicked call had come in from one of Tom’s neighbors, who had told the shocked Jeanne that Tom had been shot and was possibly dead. Jeanne had told Kevin and he had been halfway out the door in his own panic before she had managed to slow him down enough to make sure that he didn’t finish the afternoon by wrapping the police truck around a tree. She put a call through for the paramedics, as well as Dr Stewart, and Kevin had  only prayed that there would be work for them to do.

The Sheriff had called in just as he’d been leaving and Jeanne had flapped a hand at him to tell him to go instead of waiting for her.

When he pulled up outside of the apartment block there was already a gathered crowd of gawking onlookers. He ran towards the throng, roughly shoving them aside as he barreled his way through, ignoring the angry stares. His weight and size was an advantage that he used to its fullest as he dropped one powerful shoulder and hit a particularly large red-faced man blocking the entrance door.

He took the stairs two at a time and soon reached Tom’s apartment. The door was open and he gratefully found Doc Stewart kneeling over Tom’s prone form with a man that he didn’t recognise, which was odd for a small town like Granton.

His first thought was that there was entirely too much blood for his friend to still be alive. The floor was soaked with it and Kevin fought hard to contain the wild fury that threatened to overwhelm his rational senses. He needed to think clearly right now to be of any use. He couldn’t be the raging Hulk that people expected him to be.

“Kevin, good,” the doctor greeted him without looking up. “Mr Kravis, perhaps you would be so kind as to step aside and let the deputy take over. Kevin, come here and put one of those big strong hands right here and try not to crush his ribs.”

Kevin moved quickly and did as he was told. He knelt down and could absently feel the sticky wet blood on the floor soak through his pants. He took the clean towel that Doc Stewart handed him and placed his hand where he was shown.

Tom’s face was pale and drained of all color. Under the pressure of his hand he could dimly feel his friend’s breath coming in short sharp shallow pants. Dimly off in the distance, he could hear the approaching ambulance. “Doc?” he whispered, not wanting to ask the question but having to nevertheless. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Doc Stewart looked up and his face seemed to have aged decades in minutes, “It’s out of our hands now, Kevin. If you’ve never prayed before then might I suggest that this is a good time to start.”

----------

Bobby Cohen sat amidst the wreckage of what had once been his living room. Cora’s carefully collected ornaments lay shattered on the floor. Paintings had been torn from the walls and were slashed with the blood-stained knife that he still held. The room looked like a tornado had blown it apart and at the centre lay the ruined remains of his wife.

Cora’s lifeless eyes stared up at him accusingly. Her arms were stretched wide open in an obscene embrace invitation, especially considering what he’d done to her.

He looked down at the knife still in his hand and dropped it in disgust. His pants had been pulled up too quickly and his fly was buttoned up wrong. He gingerly knelt down and pulled Cora’s skirt down to cover her modesty; it was a futile gesture, but he made it nevertheless.

He was wondering what would be the quickest and easiest way to kill himself when the phone rang. He looked over at the handset ripped from the wall and lying smashed on the floor. The cord was no longer plugged into the socket and yet the phone rang anyway. He picked it up and knew that only one person could call him on a broken phone. “Hello, Mr Grange,” he answered meekly in a childlike voice. “I’ve done a bad thing.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear it, Robert,” Grange commiserated. “I understand that marital affairs can be tricky.”

“I was going to kill myself now,” Bobby said quietly, and half to himself.

“Well that would certainly be one way to go, I grant you, but such a waste, don’t you think? I mean, here you are with all of this newfound confidence and nowhere to spend it.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked, finding himself intrigued despite his earlier malaise that seemed to have lifted a little from his shoulders.

“I mean that, isn’t this town just packed to the gunnels with people like Cora? People who like to use you as a stepping stone, people who - dare I say - might deserve the same fate?”

Bobby felt the surge again in his bones. He had been kicked around for far too long by far too many of Granton’s residents. His heart burned darkly as he thought about every sneer and every laugh at his expense. For all he knew, Cora had probably been putting it to half the town behind his back and laughing. Oh, how they must have laughed. He stared down at her body in the centre of the floor and kicked her lifeless leg viciously.

“I have a list, my boy,” Grange said and Bobby could hear a smile in the man’s voice.

“Where do I start?” Bobby replied with his own smile that was infinitely smaller, tighter and crueler.

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Cassie reached the hospital in record time. She’d left the puzzling crime scene behind as one of her boys was in serious trouble. She’d spoken to Kevin and the big guy seemed to be a little shocked but otherwise in control. She had initially worried that he might fly off the handle and start a rampaging investigation. He was a very large man and she knew that he had a temper that scared him; he kept it carefully hidden and under control, but it was still there.

Doc Stewart had ridden in the ambulance with Tom to the hospital and the last thing that she’d heard from Jeanne, who was keeping her updated, was that Tom was in surgery but things weren’t looking good. She’d had enough of hospital visits to last her a lifetime with Ellie’s illness and it was the last place that she wanted to go to now.

She parked in the same place that she had on Ellie’s last appointment and felt a stab of uncomfortable déjà vu. She crossed the parking lot quickly and was at least slightly relieved to only find a local journalist standing guard outside of the large glass opening.

Will Daniels was smoking a cigarette with a collection of patients unable to stave off their addictions. Most were standing around in hospital gowns and several clung onto wheeled IV stands.