Third Power Page 2

  McCracken nodded and Steve could only shrug in response to his father’s perplexed look. “I have no idea,” he replied to the unspoken question. “Look, I’m going straight to Amy’s from here anyway so you guys might as well go on ahead. I’ll let you know what this was about tomorrow.” His father nodded, his curiosity short-lived, and Steve could see him explaining the situation to his mother as he herded both her and Billy toward the door.

  Steve felt like a fish swimming against the river current, moving as he was against the flow of the outgoing crowd but eventually managed to break free and then approached the executor’s desk. “I’m not so sure I’m really the fellow you’re looking for?” he said. “I didn’t even know Mr. Jacobs.”

  McCracken, a frail looking man in an expensive Armani suit, shuffled the rest of his things into a briefcase and produced a thick, brown folder from within. Offering it he asked, “You are Steven G. Walker, are you not?”

  Steve took it, perplexed, and flipped open the cover. Inside laid his most recent school picture staring back at him from the front page of an extensive dossier.

  “What the...”

  Flipping beyond this, his academic records dating back to the first grade, social security information, a list of his extracurricular activities and friends, medical records since birth... He flipped through page after page, his astonishment and surprise at the amount of information collected on him giving way suddenly to suspicion and anger.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Steve demanded. “Who the hell was this guy? Why has he been spying on me for, what, all my life?”

  “Please, there is no cause for alarm. Mr. Jacobs was not spying on you. He was... he was fulfilling a contractual obligation.”

  “All right, fine,” Steve said slapping the folder shut and dropping it on the desk with an unceremonious thud. “Then who was he working for and why does his former employer find me so interesting?”

  “I don’t know the details behind Mr. Jacobs’s actions but I served as his legal counsel in all matters for the better part of two decades. I don’t think it was like that. The most he ever did say about this matter was that it was a promise he made long ago. Now that he is gone I am to make sure the final part of that bargain is kept.” That said, he reached into a drawer and withdrew a six inch by two inch black box shining like polished ebony beneath the office lights. Setting it on the desk, he pushed it toward Steve. “Mr. Jacobs wanted you to have this as soon as possible if anything were to happen to him.”

  Steve took it, the box opening with a creak to reveal a crystal pendant, hexagonal in shape, flat on top and pointed at the end of its one-inch length. Around the top of the crystal wrapped a tiny silver band that attached to a fine silver chain. “Jewelry?” Steve asked with an arched brow. “I’m flattered and all but we never even dated.”

  If McCracken found humor in the joke it didn’t show. “You may keep the folder,” he said closing his briefcase and clamping it shut with his thumbs with two clicks. “Mr. Jacobs will not be needing it anymore.” The lawyer then straightened stiffly and navigated the desk on his way toward the double doors. “Good day, Mr. Walker.”

  Four o’clock, Steve noted as he left the building and emerged into the parking lot. Still have an hour.

  Though the ride into West Seattle was barely thirty-five minutes from the law office, he knew the traffic could turn contentious on a dime. Steve’s gait, one part walk, one part run, carried him swiftly to his car where he slipped the keys into the lock. He paused briefly at the door of his car, noticing another man making his way across the parking lot opposite him. The stranger, a man who looked to be in his late thirties to early forties, with a long, dark coat, and equally dark hair tied in a braid reaching to the middle of his back, eyed him a little too intently for comfort.

  Whatever, Steve thought dismissively. He had more important things to attend to. Tossing the ebony box on the floor of the passenger side of his car, he inserted his key into the ignition and the red Mustang roared to life. “Plenty of time,” he said shifting into gear. The back tires chirped and Steve joined the flow of traffic out of town.

  Steve pressed his finger to the doorbell and the door to his girlfriend’s house opened a few moments later. Amy’s mother, Rebecca Weland, smiled warmly in greeting. “Hey, Steve; come on in.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Weland,” he said stepping into the foyer and then turned, pausing with his back to the staircase leading up to the second floor.

  Mrs. Weland turned the latch on the door’s deadbolt and then turned back around to face him. “I don’t know how you do it; putting up with all that traffic every weekend to come up this way. What is it, forty minutes?”

  “If the traffic behaves,” Steve admitted with a tilt of his head, “but your daughter’s worth it.” Just then he noticed Mrs. Weland’s eyes dart up and over his shoulder, as though spying someone at the top of the stairs, but she then quickly looked him in the eyes again, clearly trying not to give some secret away. Steve smiled inwardly but did not turn, knowing full well who had silenced Mrs. Weland—likely with a finger to her lips—as she tried to sneak up behind him.

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet to say so,” Mrs. Weland replied.

  Steve continued to make polite chitchat until he heard a slight creak from the stair directly behind him. At that he shifted his weight and leaned against the wall to his left, waited just long enough for someone to adjust, then shifted again to lean against the lowest bannister post on his right.

  Seeing the corners of Mrs. Weland’s mouth upturn in a slight smile, at what could only be her daughter’s mounting frustration, Steve finally asked, “How long do you think she’ll keep trying?”

  “Oh!” Amy exclaimed with a slap to his butt. “How did you know?”

  “The same way I always know,” Steve laughed as he turned and hugged her in playful apology. “I pay attention.” Releasing her, he stepped back and whistled his favorable appraisal. “You look great.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” she replied turning a full circle before him in a deep blue, off-the-shoulder sundress that ended just above her knees.

  Amy glanced at the clock. “You ready to go?”

  “Ready when you are,” Steve replied. He moved to the door then and paused after opening it to allow Amy to pass first, prompting an approving smile from Mrs. Weland at the display of courtesy. Steve waited until they were far enough down the sidewalk to be out of earshot and then remarked, “You really do look great.”

  Amy smiled. “Well, a girl does what she can.”

  The Mustang’s alarm chirped and the headlights flashed twice in the breaking twilight as Steve unlocked the vehicle with his push-button remote. Escorting Amy to the passenger side, as he always did, he held the door and she eased in with a graceful outward lean. Seeing her settle in, he closed the door, moved to the opposite side, then reached for the handle when...

  “Ow!” he said startled as his hand reflexively jerked away from the lock. Steve rubbed at the webbing between his index and middle fingers where something had jabbed him in the descending darkness. Feeling cautiously around the lock, he wrapped his fingers around the offending implement and tugged. It pulled free without resistance.

  Amy reached across from the passenger seat then and opened the door. “Everything okay?”

  Steve climbed in then held up a small, thin bar of black metal to the overhead light for closer inspection. “This was jammed in the lock.”

  “That’s weird. What is it?”

  “I know it probably sounds a little strange, but it looks like a piece to a lock pick. A friend of mine had one a few years back during his ‘I-wanna-be-a-safecracker’ phase.”

  “Oh, wow,” Amy said, her eyes widening slightly as though she were suddenly realizing the implication of that discovery. “I bet someone was after your stereo and we scared them off when we came outside.”

  Steve closed his door, the overhead light going out in response, and put his keys in the igniti
on. Still somewhat puzzled he said, “This has been the weirdest day.”

  In a few minutes, they were headed for Southcenter mall on I-5 at Steve’s typical ten miles over the speed limit. Amy slipped out of the shoulder harness of her seatbelt, reached over to the console and flipped through the preprogrammed stations on the stereo. Her approving smile told Steve she found a suitable song to match her mood: an 80’s station playing“Eternal Flame” by the Bangles. She then reached across and rested her hand on his thigh, and Steve affectionately placed his own over hers.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

  Amy’s eyes widened with interest.

  “How would you like to go out on the sound with Wayne and me? His dad bought a used Bayliner about a month ago and the two of us thought a picnic next weekend out on Blake Island would be fun.”

  Her shoulders slumped disappointed at the offer but she smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’d like to but...I’m going to be busy next weekend. I won’t even be able to see you.” She tilted her head at him. “I’m sorry.”

  Steve shrugged, more than a little disappointed himself but not wanting to show it. “That’s all right,” he said. “Stuff happens. So what have you got going on?”

  She hesitated before answering, as though the question surprised her. “Oh, just shopping and things like that with my mom. You know, she likes to do that mother-daughter thing every once in a while.”

  “Ah, that’s cool, I guess.” Something about the awkwardness of her response left Steve curious and, strangely, he thought he felt her pull away from him slightly. It was probably just his imagination but--

  Steve and Amy winced as brilliant white light assaulted their eyes. Amy turned her head quickly and Steve flipped down his rearview mirror so the high beams of the vehicle behind them no longer reflected into his eyes.

  “What the hell is this guy’s problem?” he thought aloud and more than a little annoyed. Signaling left, he changed lanes to allow the vehicle to pass but it moved left as well, remaining behind them and even surging forward and back repeatedly as the driver aggressively pumped the accelerator.

  Steve’s eyes narrowed at that. “I think you’d better get back in your seatbelt.”

  Amy gave no argument and quickly replaced her shoulder harness.

  Seeing her safely settled in, Steve glanced briefly into his side view mirror. “All right, you wanna’ play?” His foot moved to the brake pedal and the mustang halved its speed in seconds. The car behind barely slowed in time--swerving, in fact, to avoid colliding--only to remain a scant few inches from Steve’s rear bumper.

  The car behind switched from high beams to low, and then drove up on the passenger side of the Mustang, allowing both teenagers their first look at their antagonist: a black, four-door stretch Cadillac with opaque windows. It matched their speed to cruise alongside them, keeping an even pace.

  “Hang on,” Steve said in warning.

  This time he down-shifted and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roared as they flew ahead of the caddy and Steve shifted up as the gear whined at its zenith. In three seconds, they accelerated to 90 mph and Steve dodged in and out of traffic like a rabbit escaping the hunting dogs through the trees, winding in and out of spaces between cars too small for the caddy to follow. He chanced a quick glance in his rearview mirror then and spotted the highway patrol car fast approaching. With two highway lanes clear to his right, Steve pulled into one of them and slowed down. In moments the Cadillac was alongside once again.

  “What are you doing?” Amy asked incredulous. “You were losing him!”

  Steve smiled. “Look behind us.”

  Amy looked over her shoulder and then back again. “What, you want a ticket now?”

  Steve made a face as though considering the suggestion, but finally, “Nah, maybe not today.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “That cop had to have been sitting on the side of the road. I’m willing to bet the reason I didn’t see him is because that stretch Caddy and the cars in the right lanes were blocking my view. I’m also willing to bet that if I didn’t see the cop, he didn’t see me—sorry, hold on a second.”

  Steve planted the gas pedal to the floor. Amy tensed as the sudden acceleration pressed her firmly into her seat, and with the engine roaring like an enraged lion, the Mustang pulled ahead and Steve swerved in front of the Cadillac. He then decelerated and forced his pursuer back down to the speed limit. The black car moved into the next lane but Steve swerved yet again, keeping the other driver behind him.

  The patrol car moved up behind the Cadillac and the three cars continued on the highway for what seemed endless seconds. Enough time, in fact, Steve began to wonder if his genius plan was going to work, after all. As if in answer, however, the Cadillac decelerated and moved off to the side of the road with the patrol car following close behind.

  “Yes!” Steve exclaimed.

  Amy laughed. “That was brilliant! How did you know?”

  Steve glanced into his rearview mirror to be sure he had lost the Cadillac for the last time. Satisfied, he took a moment to exhale his relief before replying, “Highway 99. It’s a long stretch of road that runs near my house and is famous for all the unofficial drag races that happen there. If two guys have a grudge--and even sometimes when they don’t--they’ll go to 99 on a Friday or Saturday night and race. The catch, however, is the cop who is always waiting for us when we do--a cop who used to race when he was a kid. When two cars go flying by him he pulls over the guy who loses.”

  Amy’s eyes brightened. “So the guy who is behind not only loses the race, but also gets the ticket.”

  “You got it.”

  With a wry grin she asked, “And I’m sure you would never participate in such reckless activities, would you, Mr. Walker?”

  Steve shrugged with a guilty tilt of his head. “Maybe once or twice.”

  “So have you ever gotten the ticket?

  Steve smiled with a glint in his eye but his gaze never left the road.

  Steve’s red Mustang pulled into the driveway of the Weland home at 12:15 PM, fifteen minutes after the established curfew, but not so late for Amy to draw consequences from her mother. Steve turned the car off and climbed out, moving to the opposite side to open the door for his girlfriend, as was his custom. Amy had voiced on more than one occasion it was an unnecessary courtesy, but Steve would have none of it. Maybe it was an expectation he put on himself as a result of his interest in fencing, and the ideals of chivalry and honor oft associated with it but, in his mind, sometimes the old ways were the best.

  Amy stepped out of the car and narrowly missed bringing her foot down on the small black box that had fallen out. She bent over and picked it up. “What’s this?” she asked, examining it.

  Steve sighed at the reminder of his monumentally boring afternoon, followed by his disturbing discovery of the invasion of his privacy. “It’s just something I got in that will reading this afternoon.”

  “But I thought you never knew him.”

  Steve took the box and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I didn’t, but he apparently did his homework on me, though. It’s no big deal,” he said with a shrug and a helpless shake of his head. “Just some cheap piece of jewelry left to me by some old dude who really needed a hobby.” He felt a chill run down his back as he thought again of just how long a total stranger had been following his life. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Amy replied. “It’s not that crazy.” Then her eyes lit up like jewels. “Let me look at it.”

  Steve frowned. “I don’t think--”

  Amy’s hand darted inside his jacket. Steve started to protest further but let it go, knowing how stubborn she could be once curious.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said upon opening the box. Despite the low light from the security lamp shining down on them from above the garage door, the crystal’s six sides split the light and cast a multitude of tiny rainbow dots o
n Steve’s chest.

  He shrugged. “If you really like it, you can have it.”

  Amy looked shocked. “Oh, nonsense!” She then lifted it out of the box. “It obviously meant something to that old man and he wanted you to have it. Here...” She unfastened the clasp and reached for his neck with either end of the chain pinched between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

  Steve recoiled from even the thought of wearing a gift from his deceased stalker but acquiesced with a sigh, remembering whom he was dealing with here. She reached up and fastened the chain around his neck.

  “Oh, stop it. It looks good on you!” she chided with a light slap to his chest.

  “It’s…it’s not that.” Steve sighed as he thought back. “That guy just knew so much about me. I kid you not, Amy, the guy had a file on me two inches thick!” he said holding up his thumb and forefinger for emphasis. “The whole event was easily the cap on what was already a very weird day.”

  “Well, weird or not, creepy old guy or not, he picked the right guy to wear it.” She reached up, hooked a hand around his neck and pulled him down in a kiss. She let him go a moment later saying, “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out here and my mom’s probably already watching us from the kitchen window.”

  Leading him by the hand, she trotted up the steps to the front door. When they were both inside, she closed it with a shiver.

  “Mom, they’re inside now,” Amy’s older sister Cheryl called from her seat on the couch in the adjoining living room. “You can stop spying on them from the kitchen window!”

  Mrs. Weland marched briskly out of the kitchen. “I am not spying!”

  Amy concealed a giggle. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

  The bottom floor of the Welands’ home sported a finished basement with all the comforts of the upstairs living room: a comfortable couch (which Steve noticed to be a hide-a-bed), a T.V. in the far corner, a desktop computer, and a stereo system made easily accessible by the same remote control which operated the T.V. And lastly, but certainly most importantly, privacy.