He waited by the curb for his ride. The hookers, drug pushers, and other nocturnal creatures had returned to their street corners and were back to doing business, acting like nothing had happened. Someone had died tonight, but the sad truth was, people died all the time, and it didn’t change anything.
The Uber app said the driver was a minute away. He glanced over his shoulder for a final look. The photographer had gotten her camera working; she’d pulled away the sheet covering Logan’s body, and was again taking pictures.
He started to choke up. The misery of being with the dead was the helpless feeling their presence invoked. You wanted to help them, only it was too late.
Logan had asked about Jesus before he’d died, wanting to know if he could still be saved. Had his brother gone to church while in prison? His final act suggested that he had. Logan was still angry at him for what had happened twenty-five years ago, yet he had not allowed his anger to cloud his judgment.
His ride pulled up to the curb, and he stole another look before getting in.
“I owe you,” he said.
Part Two
Tomorrow Never Knows
Chapter 12
Broward County had been a different place in the early eighties. The beach had its splashy hotels and towering condos, but the rest of the county had been farmland. Thirty miles to the south, the Miami drug wars were claiming lives every day, but that was a different world, and far removed from Broward’s slow, laid-back pace.
Lancaster had grown up in an area called Southwest Ranches. The houses sat on big lots, and it wasn’t uncommon to see a horse tethered to a hitching post. When people talked about predators, they meant the hawks that cut the skies, searching for prey.
One early July afternoon, his mother had gone shopping with her two sons. A flyer in the paper had announced a sale at Macy’s, and she wanted to buy several items. Macy’s was the anchor store in the Pembroke Pines Mall, and she parked on the building’s north side. Before getting out, she made her boys promise there would be no shenanigans once inside.
Logan had broken his word as they’d neared the entrance.
“Logan hit me!” Lancaster said.
“Logan, stop tormenting your brother,” their mother said.
“Jonny stuck his tongue out at me,” his brother lied.
“No I didn’t,” he bellowed.
His mother made them stand in front of her, and pinched their chins. “That’s enough out of both of you. If you don’t behave, there will be no Tastee Treat during the drive home. Are we clear?”
Her sons nodded solemnly. There was no greater treat than a soft ice cream twirl from Tastee Treat, the roadside buildings designed like giant ice cream cones.
They entered the store. Just inside the doors was the toy department. The boys stopped in their tracks, transfixed by the end display on the first aisle. It was the Atari Asteroids space shooter game that was all the rage, the clamor of spaceships and cannon fire tearing up the air.
“Can we play?” they asked.
Their mother removed the flyer from her purse. One of the sale items she wished to purchase was a few aisles away in household goods.
“You may, so long as you stay together,” she said.
“Yes, Mom,” they said.
No sooner had she walked away than they were arguing about who should play first. Logan won out, and was soon blowing up alien spacecraft while trying to avoid being hit by counterfire. As the game progressed, the obstacles increased, and Logan became hypnotized by the machine’s flashing lights.
“Let me play,” Jon said.
“You’re up next,” Logan said.
“I want to play now.”
“Stop bothering me. I’m close to making ten million points.”
He’d started to sulk. Soon their mother would be finished, and they’d leave the store, and he wouldn’t get a chance to play. It sucked being the younger brother.
“You stink,” he said.
Logan gave him a Bronx cheer. Steaming, he walked into the appliance department, and flipped the channels on a TV with a remote while pretending it was a video game. He did not notice the strange man until he was right on top of him.
“Hey, little guy,” the stranger said.
The man flashed a twisted smile, and he put the remote down and backed away from the TV. His mother had taught him not to talk to strange people.
“What’s your name?” the stranger asked.
He shook his head as if to say, Nothing doing.
“Look at what I have. Help yourself.”
The man had a brown paper bag, which he opened and shoved beneath his nose. It was filled with an assortment of mouthwatering candy. The temptation was too great, and he stuck his hand in, and pulled out a bag of M&M’s. He frowned and tossed it back.
“What’s wrong?” the stranger asked.
“I don’t like M&M’s,” he said.
“That’s too bad. What’s your favorite candy?”
“Reese’s Pieces. When we leave the store, my mother is taking us to Tastee Treat, and I’m going to get a chocolate twirl sprinkled with them.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jonny.”
“Well, Jonny, you’re in luck. I’ve got a big bag of Reese’s Pieces in my car. Come with me, and I’ll give you some. What do you say?”
“Okay.”
The stranger gave another smile. His face was marred by a wandering eye that refused to stay still, and his clothes smelled dirty from days of wear. Two of the buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing a shiny purple fabric underneath.
The stranger stuck his hand out. “Let’s go.”
He stared at the stranger’s hand and saw that it was covered in scars. A voice inside his head screamed at him. There was no bag of Reese’s Pieces. The stranger was lying, and if he went outside with him, he was never going to see his family again.
“No,” he said forcefully.
“Don’t you want to come with me?”
“No!”
Leaning down, the stranger punched him in the stomach, which knocked the air out of him; then he grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the store. By the time they reached the parking lot, his voice had returned, and he started to scream. Several shoppers getting in their cars stopped to watch but did not intervene.
“That’s enough out of you,” the stranger scolded. “Now be quiet, or you won’t get any dessert tonight.”
He kept screaming and kicking the pavement. The man came to his vehicle, a ’71 black-over-white Cadillac with a dented bumper, and dug out his keys. The man popped the trunk and lifted him off the ground by the back of his shirt.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll throw you in,” the man threatened.
The trunk’s interior was lined with carpet. On it lay a collection of rusted tools, including a shovel and a machete. Seeing them, he stopped crying.
“That’s a good boy,” the man said.
He was fixated on the machete. He had seen landscape crews in his neighborhood use them to prune trees. They were dangerous, and they scared him.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered.
The man laughed under his breath. He didn’t mean for his victim to hear him, the sound born out of the sickest of impulses.
But Jon did hear him, and screamed even louder.
Fresh from conquering space, Logan burst out of the store. Seeing his brother’s dilemma, he sprinted across the parking lot, and kicked the stranger squarely in the nuts. As the stranger crumpled to the ground, groaning in agony, his shirt came out of his pants, revealing a purple dress beneath.