Running on Empty (16 page)

‘Is this what you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘Perfect’ she answered, ‘Now, get changed’.

They stood in the arrivals terminal of Logan International Airport, and surveyed the scene. A flight from Gatwick Airport, London, had landed ten minutes ago, with the passengers due to emerge soon.

‘What we’re looking for is a Brit, who wouldn’t be well versed in procedures and identity documentation this side of the pond’ said Tom. ‘He also has to be alone, and of a similar age to me. This makes more sense, when you think about it. Neither the American or Irish emigration control would be as well up on a British passport as they would be with one of their own. And remember, if we don’t strike lucky this flight, there’ll be more to come, so no harm done’.

‘Right, here they come, get ready’.

They both spotted the same guy at the same time. He was striding towards the exit, alone, pulling a single compact suitcase behind him. There was something about his look, his clothes, and his demeanour which said ‘British’. They approached together.

‘Excuse me sir. I’m Jim Tyson, and this is my collegue, Jane Somers. We’re both Narcotics officers attached to the Federal Government’. They flashed their laminated identities. ‘And you might be?’

‘What? Oh, Arthur Davis, why, is there a problem, officers?’

‘Well, Mr Davis, there could be. You arrived on a flight from London, is that correct?’

‘Ah……yes, what’s wrong. I mean, ah, ….’

‘Mr Davis, was London you’re departure point, or did you pick up a connecting flight via London, on route from Amsterdam?

‘Wha…no, I just came from London. I live there.

‘Could we see your passport please’ asked Sally.

‘Yes, yes, certainly officers, here it is’.

Sally took hold of the passport.

‘Are there any illegal substances in your suitcase’ she asked.

‘No, oh no, nothing like that’ he replied.

‘And, where are you staying during your visit to the United States?’ asked Tom.

‘The Bulfinch Hotel, 107 Merrimac St, I think that’s the address officer’, he replied uncertainly.

‘And, you’re sure there’s nothing of that nature in that case of yours’ pressed Sally.

‘No, nothing officers’ he replied, in a high pitched voice.

Sally was sure he was going to have a heart attack, and collapse right there in front of their eyes.

‘Mr Davis’ continued Tom, ‘you have two choices. We can take you to the interrogation centre at the other end of the terminal building for further questioning if you so wish. However, an alternative, which I think Officer Somers would be happy to agree to, would be to withhold your passport and suitcase for examination, both of which would be forwarded to you within twenty four hours at the Bulfinch Hotel, presuming everything checks out of course. So, which shall it be?’

Arthur Davis, hurried to the exit, dazed, confused, but happy to be released from the clutches of the officers.

Sally turned to Tom.

‘Funny’ she said, ‘but I’d have never imagined you as an Arthur’.

‘Fuck off’ he said, as they made their way out the doors of the terminal building, armed with a suitcase and passport, on route back to the charity shop.

Back in the room, Tom set to work. First, he scanned both the passport page, and his own photo. He then, using a sharp blade, carefully cut into the laminate of the passport, and removed the image of Arthur Davis. Next, he went to work on the two scanned images. Using the layers palette, he carefully cloned the overlay onto the image of himself. He then stuck his image to the passport, before finally covering the entire page with a cut piece of clear contact sheet. When he had finished, he looked at it carefully.
Not bad,
he thought,
not bad at all.
It wouldn’t hold up to intense scrutiny, but it should get the job done.

On the bus, they travelled back to the airport in sombre mood. The plan had gone really well, so far at least, but that just meant the separation was all the nearer. Tom was despondent. Sally tried to lighten the mood.

‘This time tomorrow you’ll be dancing with the leprechauns’ she said. ‘But remember, keep your eyes off the redheads. They may look cute, but word is that they’ve a temper like the devil’.

‘Listen Sal, I’ll be back, or else I’ll get you over to me. One way or another, we’ll be together again. I’ve always been under the impression I was my own person, that I didn’t need anyone. I was wrong. I need you. Leaving you is tearing me apart. I know it’s the only way, for now. But, that still doesn’t make it any easier. I’ll figure something out where we can be together again, real soon. I’ll write to you as soon as I get over. Check the charity shop every couple of days. If coming back is impossible, I’ll get money to you somehow, and you come over to me. We can start a new life together. I’m not sure how things are going to pan out, but I am sure of one thing. We belong together, and we will be together. It’s just a matter of figuring out how’.

‘Spoken like a true romantic. I always knew you were a big softie at heart. You’re right, we will be together’ she said, though not with as much conviction as Tom.

She knew life could get in the way of the best intentions.

When they arrived at the airport, Tom approached the ticket desk, while Sally waited back.

‘Hi, can you tell me when the next flight is to Shannon, Ireland’ asked Tom.

‘There’s one leaving in two hours, sir... and... let me check... yes, there are a number of seats still available. Would you like me to book you a seat on that flight?’

‘How much is a one way ticket?’

‘It comes to $619, including taxes’

‘Ok, I’ll take it’ said Tom flatly.

‘How would you like to pay, sir?’

‘Cash please’ said Tom, handing over most of what was left of Sally’s savings.

‘Certainly, sir. May I have your passport?

Tom handed it over.

‘And how many bags?’

‘Just this one’, said Tom, placing it on the belt.

She handed Tom the ticket, and returned the passport.

‘Boarding is at gate B26, have a pleasant flight, Mr Davis’.

Tom walked back to Sally.

‘Well, I guess this is it, for a while anyway’ he said sadly.

‘Look, you said it yourself, we’ll work this out’ said Sally ‘and you’ll contact me, right? I’ll check with Jean at the charity shop every day until I hear from you. It’ll be fine’.

They sat together, talking about all the sad things, and the funny things, and the crazy things they’d been through over the last few days, until it was time to go. They kissed, tenderly at first, then passionately, holding onto each other until it became unbearable, then they parted, and regained some form of composure.

‘I’m scared leaving Sal, I don’t want to leave ’, Tom said softly.

‘Ten minutes after you arrive in Ireland, you’ll have forgotten all about me’ she said. ‘You better not forget, Tom, or I’ll be over after you, and string you up. And, remember, just because you’re in another country, that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily safe. So, keep your head, and look after yourself’.

Silently, she drew her hands behind her neck, and removed her gold crucifix. She held it for several moments, studying it quietly, before putting it around Tom’s neck and fastening the clasp.

‘You can’t do that Sally, it means so much to you’.

‘So do you Tom, so do you’.

And, with that, she kissed him quickly on the cheek, turned on her heel, and left.

Tom stood, following her into the distance, until he couldn’t make her out any more in the throng of people. He turned, and began making his way slowly to departures, his heart dragging along the ground behind him. It was an overnight flight. Although it only took six hours or so, Tom knew that Irish time was four hours ahead of Boston, making a difference of ten hours, give or take, between take off and landing. He flicked through the in-flight magazine until he found what he was looking for, a map of Ireland. He checked the distance, Shannon to Sligo. The distance between them looked to be about one hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies, maybe two hundred by road, a fair distance to cover with virtually no money.

Tiredness began to take over. It had been a very, very long day. He closed his eyes. Tom found himself drifting in and out of full consciousness, not awake, but not asleep either. He began dreaming. He and Sally were walking arm in arm along a deserted beach. She wore a soft, black mid-length dress, which seemed to flow as she moved. She held her shoes in one hand, and the waves lapped against their toes. She was smiling. He could get the distinct smell of lavender....

‘Excuse me sir, I have your lunch here’ said the stewardess, as she leaned over Tom with the tray.

He realised that with the hectic day they had, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. No wonder he felt hungry. Then he thought again of Sally. She hadn’t eaten either, and by now she was probably making her way back to the cave, to a cold empty cave.

His appetite disappeared, and his heart dropped thirty thousand feet.

Detective Brad Johnson leaned over the two corpses that had been fished from the river.

Nine months to go,
he thought,
I’m getting too old for this shit.

He had been looking forward to his retirement for the last two years, counting the days almost, and each discovery of another corpse just made him yearn for his final shift all the more. How many dead bodies had he seen over the course of his working life? Too many, he knew, far too many, hundreds probably. But who’s counting.

‘What’ve we got, Brad’ asked Mandy.

Mandy Travers was the new State Coroner. Six months into the job, and every newly discovered homicide was a fresh and exciting challenge. Not for Brad. To him, each one just represented another nail in the coffin of humanity, another sign that the bad guys were winning the good fight.

‘Oh, hi Mandy. Don’t hang about, do you? I recon you have a teleporter back at the office’.

‘Just like to hit the scene fresh, you know me’ she replied. ‘So, any ideas?’

‘Well, one’s an Oriental male, forties maybe, no obvious signs. The others a white female, twenties I’d imagine, although it’s hard to tell with half her skull and face missing. Think I might hazard a guess that there injury has something to do with her premature demise, ‘though I’m no expert’.

‘Looks like it took a high calibre weapon to do that sort of damage. You going to close off the area?’ she asked.

‘No, not much point. No sign of anything happening here. This is just the dumping ground. The killing fields are elsewhere. I’ll leave you at it, Mandy. Give me a holler when you can fill in a few of the blanks’.

‘No problem, Brad, talk to you later’

Brad Johnson walked slowly back to his car.

What a shitty job,
he thought, unsure if he was referring to Mandy, or himself, or both.

*****

Fielding’s head lifted from his computer screen as Lowanski entered the office.

‘Well?’

‘Nothing concrete yet, boss. We’re after shaking down every whore that works within five blocks of West street. None of them know anything about a hooker operating in the area that fits the description of our girl. I’m beginning to think she may not be a hooker at all’.

‘Well, you’re obviously not shaking hard enough. Our customers are getting anxious. You better get out there, and start banging a few heads together ‘till you come up with some answers. Feeney, and possibly this other bitch, are the only loose ends that need to be tied up. Tie them up!’

*****

Shan Ou sat at her desk, deep in thought. She’d overheard their remarks, directed at her obviously. ‘Tuo shou’ they’d called her. The dialect over here on the eastern side of China was very different to what she was used to, coming from the extreme western edge of this vast country. She knew she was different. The main body of workers employed in the Shanghai factory were from the surrounding regions. They were slim, petite, pretty and had an air of sophistication she obviously lacked. She was much stockier, with bright red cheeks, in comparison to her co-workers sallow skin. Her hair was a mass of thick wiry blackness. She hailed from a region near the town of Hetian, close to the foot of the Himalayas. Her looks had more affinity with the Mongolian tribes than the Mandarin workers she found herself amongst.