Neon Nights Chapter 29

“Did you read what I just sent you?" Carly asked him when he picked up.

Marc clicked the link and skimmed the story. FRAUDSTIVAL

By: David Smith

Sometimes a writer gets a gift handed to them.

Sometimes the phone will ring or ding with a message that can upend your career.

Sometimes it's a letter or an email that will give you the story you have always wanted to write.

Sometimes it's a beautiful woman that brings the news to your door.

Fans of my work and the festival life we love so dearly know my feelings about the Neon Jungle Festival and, more specifically, its founder Alec Davidson.

Today, my dear friends is the day the payoff has arrived. The check has finally come in the mail.

Today you will see him for who and what he is….

"Well, that's not gonna be good for business," Marc said.

JT sat out in front of the 9 Mile Motel and lazily chewed on a piece of beef jerky. He started to get fidgety from sitting in the same position for the last two hours, and he waged a constant battle against his eyes drying out from the constant barrage of air conditioning flowing out of the vents.

No matter, though.

This was the good stuff, and he was happy that Detective McKinley had believed in him enough to send him over to watch for Ryan and Avery.

The motel was bustling for the moment as festival employees switched shifts. As far as JT knew, Avery and Ryan weren't in the room, and according to Sergeant Russell at the festival, they hadn’t been in their VIP booth all afternoon.

So, he waited.

It was the great equalizer for cops who had been on the job for twenty days or twenty years.

He couldn't take the pins and needles feeling in his feet anymore and got out of the SUV to stretch. His legs felt wobbly, and he braced himself against the door. He realized that he hadn't peed in three hours and had consumed an entire thirty-two-ounce bottle of recovery drink from his weightlifting session earlier in the day. He opened the back door to shield himself and aimed at a patch of dirt a few feet away. As he rolled his eyes back in relief, he heard a vehicle

pull in. It was not necessarily a regular occurrence on a paved parking lot unless the vehicle played its music at a level that could only be comfortable to someone with at least ninety percent hearing loss. He tucked himself back against the left quarter panel and tried not to wet his pants, only partially able to accomplish his objective.

"Shit," he said as he zipped up and grabbed a napkin from the center console.

Happy this was a solo stakeout.

He picked up the phone and dialed Detective McKinley right away. "Where are they right now?" Marc asked him before he could speak. "Back at the motel now, just pulled in," JT replied.

"You have eyes on them now?"

"No, sir. Not directly, but I watched them go into their room a minute ago."

"Okay, I don't want Sir Runs-a-Lot to get the jump on us again. Who else is with you?"

"Solo," JT replied.

A black snake rustled some fallen leaves next to the back tire and caused him to lose focus for a moment on the conversation.

"Don't approach them yet. Did they ride together?" "Yes," JT replied.

"Okay, good. I'm on my way to you as soon as I get a truck from the station. If they leave, follow them but don't arrest them yet. Let's see

where they end up. I don't think you need another car chase this week," Marc said as he hung up the phone.

A faded yellow sign and a tall chain link fence with rusty barbed wire on top set the department's motor pool off from the rest of the station. The officer who ran it checked Marc’s ID and showed him to space number nine, where his newly assigned white F-150 sat with the keys inside.

He climbed into the driver's seat and was hit with a tsunami of anxiety as he turned the ignition. His pulse quickened, a chill ran down his body, and the skin on his knuckles cracked as he affixed a death grip on the wheel. It hadn't bothered him in the passenger seat, but the trauma of the accident was very much with him from where he sat now.

He opened the door, got out of the truck, and held onto the side to catch his breath. His legs trembled, and he used the truck bed to guide himself in slow, measured steps to the tailgate. He opened it and lifted himself slowly into the bed to reset.

This is crazy. I walked away from the accident. I'm good. Stop being a sissy and get in the truck and drive.

He moved back to the driver's side door as if it were a cobra. This was a time for confidence and calm, not doubt and panic.

All he had to do was drive.

Something he had done for over twenty years.

Something so simple and so routine.

Yet he couldn't shake the screech, the slide, and the sensation of helplessness as he careened toward the barrier. The feeling was here with him now, and it was obvious it wasn't ready to leave.

He pulled himself back into the driver's seat and stared at the wheel again.

Deep breaths. One at a time.

He grabbed the key from the center console and inserted it in the ignition. The truck cranked over, and he sat motionless, his body absorbing the vibrations of the big motor.

Step one … check.

He moved the gearshift to D and rolled slowly out of the space. Step two … check.

The tension relaxed momentarily, and he started to feel normal again, his pulse slowing to a jog.

Suddenly he slammed on the brakes. “Shit!”

An officer had jogged across the lot to his cruiser without looking over and was a truck length away from being hit. Marc's heart thudded against his damaged ribcage and threatened an escape from his body altogether.

The officer waved an apology as Marc sat there trembling, unable to respond in kind.

Marc was lucky to jump on the 30 Bridge headed west out of town before everyone left the beach for the day, and he made it out to the 9 Mile Motel in twenty minutes, only having to stop three times to steady himself and do deep breathing exercises. Between the mini panic attacks, he composed himself enough to text Carly and let her know where he was headed. He conveniently left out the parts about his heart, ribs, or the sensation that he was about to sweat to death from anxiety.

These were lectures he did not need at the moment.

When he pulled into the motel parking lot, he backed into the space next to JT's SUV and rolled down the window.

"Any movement?" he asked. "No, sir. Not a peep from them."

"Any chance they went out the back?" JT put up his hands and shrugged.

"I mean, there is always a chance I missed them for a second. I asked the manager, and these units have no back exit, and it's all forest behind it for miles, so not many places to go."

"Okay, good work. Let's hang here and see if they make a move soon. The festival is done tonight, and we can't miss our window here."

The late afternoon heat hung heavy like a wet blanket, and they both opted to roll up their windows and keep the AC on.

Fifteen minutes.

Nothing.

Marc checked his watch. 5:48.

Fifteen more minutes. Nothing.

Marc got out of the truck, and JT met him at the tailgate. He felt flush and weak, and he had to stabilize himself against the rails of the truck bed.

"You look terrible, sir."

"Damn. Right to the point, huh?" JT put his head down and smiled. "Sorry, sir."

"I can't drive anymore," Marc said to the younger officer.

"It's temporary, don't stress about it. My family and I were in an accident when I was younger, and I remember that fear when we first got back in the car. I had another one where someone rear- ended me, and I didn't want to be in the driver's seat for a month. It went away, though. Time heals, as the saying goes."

"Yeah."

Marc looked down at the mulch and moved some with his boot. JT snapped his fingers as if a bolt of inspiration had struck him.

"You know what worked well for me? I kept the music on for a while when I drove. Like from the second I sat down to the second I got

out of the seat. I needed to sing along to something. It helped me keep my mind off the fear I felt."

Marc managed to lift his eyes to meet the younger man's. "That's a pretty good piece of advice. I'll try it."

JT's posture straightened a little more—a student proud to have given the teacher something valuable.

"Hope it works for you, Detective."

They both turned their heads as another vehicle came into view, Carly grinning at them as she backed into the space next to JT.

When she got out, she sized Marc up.

“Somehow you look worse than the last time I saw you." "Both of you, huh?" Marc asked. "No reprieve." "What's the plan here?" she asked.

Marc shrugged.

His words were cut short by a gunshot thundering from an open window on the second floor, and the trio hit the ground beside their vehicles for cover.

"You guys alright?" Marc asked, through frantic and uneven breaths. "Good," said JT.

Carly gave a thumbs up.

"Carly, you take the left stairwell. JT, you take the right. I'll hit the door."

Marc sprinted away from the other two to keep Carly from getting in a rebuttal.

A dozen people scrambled past, and Marc checked the faces as they went by to make sure neither of the kids had slipped out in the chaos.

When the last person clattered down the stairs and brushed past them, he ran up the steps as fast as his body would allow and took a position to the left side of the door halfway down the corridor.

"Police! Drop your weapon out the window and then come out of the room with your hands on your head."

No response. With the window down, Marc could hear a slight whimper coming from the room.

"Is anyone hurt?" he yelled.

A wail of grief filled the air outside the room. "Shit, shit. I-I didn't mean to …"

Marc reached forward and tested the door handle; thankful it was an old-school motel door with no key card reader. It was unlocked, and he pulled the handle down and nudged it open a foot to peer inside.

Ryan was seated on the bed, rocking back and forth, both hands wrapped around a gun as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Ryan, I need you to put down the gun, please. Where is Avery?"

"H-h-he's gone," the boy stammered through tears. "Gone where? Dead?"

Marc nudged the door forward another foot and got his answer. Avery Bass was motionless on the ground, an ever-increasing pool of blood around his midsection.

Marc kept his weapon trained on Ryan. "Is he still breathing? I need to check on him. Maybe he's still alive."

"He's dead!"

"Can I check? Will you put the gun down, please, so we can talk?" "No, I told you, he's fucking dead!" the young man shouted.

Ryan became more agitated and popped up from the bed, which caused Marc to raise his weapon into firing position.

Marc watched JT and Carly dart up their stairwells to be closer in support, each only about ten feet from where Marc stood.

"He kept threatening me, man. I couldn't take it anymore. I was tired of being his bitch."

Marc glanced down at the body hoping there would be some sign of life from it, but it was still as a stone.

"It's okay, Ryan. A lot has happened here, but nothing that can't be fixed. You can still do the right thing here, and I can help you."

The young man took short, aggressive paces between the two beds as the gun moved wildly around his body.

“Where's your stepfather?"

"Who cares? Lock his ass away forever. This is all his fault. It’s all his fault!”

Ryan sat back down on the paisley comforter, exhausted from the emotional marathon he had just run.

"Can I sit down and talk to you for just a few minutes?"

Ryan looked at him through the door, and Marc saw a terrified kid. He saw a kid with an infinite number of paths to choose from in life who had taken the one that led to his demise the fastest.

It broke Marc's heart.

He saw so many young men like this.

Young men who believed that life was a hundred-meter dash that never went past twenty-two. They wanted the fast life, drugs, women, and money. What they were all painfully unaware of, though, was that most of these movies didn't allow for sequels.

Ryan wiped at his face with his shirtsleeve, and Marc could see something change in his face.

"Ryan! Please put the gun down so we can figure this out?" Marc implored him, holstering his weapon and putting his hands up to show there were no tricks up his sleeve.

Ryan locked eyes with him, all the kid's fear, regret, and the profound sadness of a life wasted transmitted to Marc in a wordless look.

Then there was a swift and unstoppable motion as a single shot shattered the stillness of the air in the room.