Truth Series by Leah
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
DISCLAIMER: The fictional characters (Miss Parker, Jarod, Sydney, Broots etc.) and places of the dramatic television series "The Pretender" are the property of MTM Entertainment and NBC Productions and used with no harsh intent for the purposes of entertainment only. There are some real facts in this story, but it is entirely a work of fiction. This is an independent fan production. It takes place directly before the episode, "Toy Surprise." Written with much admiration for the writers and actors that create and portray these characters. Fourth in the "Truth" series.
DEADLY TRUTH
by Leah
Written in 1998
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside Abandoned Theatre
Jersey City, New Jersey
March 31st
Tuesday 8 P.M.
The black car screeched through the streets chasing the fleeing form before them. Evening had fallen and the headlights were the only illumination in this part of the city. A thunderclap rolled through the air with the threat of rain. The car pulled around a corner and came to a halt. The pursued was no longer in sight.
Miss Parker and Sam the Sweeper sprang from the car, zeroing in on the only building their fugitive could have disappeared into. "Go around to the front and block the entrance!" she hissed at the driver. The car sped off into the night.
"This way," Miss Parker said, pausing before a dark alleyway. "It's like Wonder Boy to choose large empty buildings to hide in." She was again wearing her headset and mouthpiece to keep in touch with the occupants of the car.
The alley was very dark and very long and for once Miss Parker hesitated. She had the same eerie feeling she had had when first staring down the porthole which led to SL-27. She had ordered Broots to go down first. This was not an option this time. She looked at Sam and ordered, "Give me your gun!" In her last encounter with Jarod, he had taken her gun. Her personal gun, her 9mm. She was now very much frustrated without it and even felt a bit lost, rather like a snake who has lost its rattle. She had carried it almost everywhere with her. Her gun had been her security blanket, whenever she had been on edge or in danger, it was something comforting to clutch and flourish. It instilled fear, it gave power, and as of yet she had not felt like getting a new one. She had extra weapons, but had failed to bring any along this trip. Partly in defiance of the fact that Jarod had taken hers and partly because it just wouldn't have been the same.
Sam's gun in hand, she had the sufficient amount of courage to plunge into the darkness of the alley, whispering to Sam over her shoulder, "Stick close." The sky grew even darker as clouds covered the stars overhead. They reached the door and Miss Parker gestured at Sam to go in first. He pulled the door open and they both sprang inside into the even more encroaching blackness of the interior.
Sam, in his dark suit, was nearly invisible in fact yet Miss Parker still insisted he go first as they walked down a dim hall into the auditorium. Their footsteps had echoed on the cement floor of the halls, but were muffled on the red carpeting of the auditorium. Rows and rows of seats greeted them and Miss Parker thought uneasily that Jarod could be hiding behind any one of these. She pointed her gun in all directions, then looked at Sam and said. "Get back and guard the door! If anything moves, alert me at once!"
With a nod, Sam complied.
Miss Parker continued on, scanning the rows. From pitch blackness, the room began to take shape. Miss Parker squinted as there was a flickering of lights and the stage suddenly was illuminated. She looked up towards the light fixtures, pointing her gun accordingly, but spotted no one. Her nerves were now on edge. She quickly turned to look behind her. She felt as if she were being watched. There was definitely someone here.
But she never saw who was, for just then, the lights died again. And in that moment when one's eyes are still adjusting to the dark, still dilating in order to see more, she heard a moaning noise coming from the direction of the back door. A hand slapped over her nose. She smelt a strange sweet odor and lost consciousness.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the Highway
Somewhere in New York
April 1st
Wednesday 3 PM
Time has a way of changing things, Jarod thought. He was driving down the road in a grey Intrigue, leaving the scene of his last Pretend. Who would have believed now that it was over a year since he had escaped the Centre? He ate a mouthful of Pez from a Snoopy dispenser and smiled to himself remembering how his coworkers had looked at him strangely when he had asked how come Charles Scultz, the writer of this comic strip had called it Peanuts, when it was about children and super-intelligent animals. When he had insisted on knowing the answer, some had broken into laughter and Jarod had joined them.
He raised his arm to look at his wristwatch. It was three fifteen, he still had about forty-five minutes left before he was due for the job interview. Jarod pulled over to a gas station to get his tires checked. While he did so, he munched on Pez and pulled out his lap-top computer, which he kept in his silver Haliburton briefcase, along with the precious DSA's which contained his life. You Have Mail, flashed across the screen. He opened it, and began decoding the message. It was from Sydney and read "Jarod, we need to talk." Jarod typed back a message which read, "Page me." He knew Sydney now had his pager number, he had sent it with a drawing not long ago and doubted if the Centre had yet found out about it. Besides, it was much easier for Jarod to get a secure line, one Broots would not be able to trace until it was too late, if it was he, Jarod, who called Sydney.
About ten minutes later, Jarod heard a sharp series of high-pitched beeps. He looked at his beeper, pulled out his cellular phone, and punched the buttons.
"Sydney," a voice answered.
"It's Jarod," he replied. "What do you need to talk about, Sydney?"
"Thanks for calling here so promptly. I have a question to ask you. Where is Miss Parker?" the Belgium accented voice contained a masked anxiety.
"Isn't she supposed to be wondering that about me?" Jarod replied, warily. "What did she convince you to do this time, Sydney?"
"I'm serious, Jarod. She left two days ago following your clue and we haven't heard from her since. She should have contacted us by now."
"What clue?" Jarod asked in a surprised tone.
"Your bread crumb arrived Monday morning while Broots and I were on coffee break. When we returned, Miss Parker had left to follow it," Sydney explained.
"Left? To where?"
Sydney replied, "Broots was able to deduce New Jersey, but nothing else very specific. Miss Parker must have taken the item with her."
"Alone?" asked Jarod, sounding worried. "Sydney, I didn't send anything to the Centre, let alone to Miss Parker."
"Are you certain, Jarod?" asked Sydney, incredulously. "No, not alone. I believe she was accompanied by some sweepers."
"I'm positive. But if I didn't, then who did? Keep me posted, Sydney." He pushed the 'off' button on his phone.
Sydney sighed and hung up as well.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MEANWHILE,
Somewhere in Rochester, New York
The first thing Miss Parker was aware of was a sickening, splitting headache. Her brain was fuzzy, she opened her eyes but her vision was blurred. Her brain registered that she was in a dark, enclosed room. What was going on? What had happened? She closed her eyes again, and tried to touch her head, but her arm wouldn't move. Something was restraining it. Miss Parker opened her eyes again and looked down at her arm. In the dim lighting, she could just make out the fact that she was sitting in a chair. The fog began to lift from her brain and she realized the reason she was unable to move. She was tied in the chair with ropes, her arms were tied to each arm of the chair, leaving only enough slack to wiggle her fingers ever so slightly. She was being forced to sit.
At this point her brain cleared completely and she jerked to broad awakeness. "What in the world!" she cried out, tossing her head back and nearly toppling the chair. She struggled, pulling at the ropes, but noticed another tied around her waist, keeping her back against the back of the chair. She turned her concentration to the bonds around her arms, but found she was not able to move enough to dislocate any joints...fingers or otherwise. The only part of her free were her legs.
The effort of speaking told her that her mouth was dry, but she ignored that fact. She was more interested in knowing who her captors were and she did not have long to wait. Footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and then the screeching hinges of the door moaned in protest at being opened. Two shadowy figures stood in the doorway, Miss Parker was unable to make out any details. She felt a cool breeze blowing on her from above and looked up to see a grate. I'm in the basement of somewhere, she thought.
One of the shadowy figures nodded to the other. "You're right. She's awake."
Miss Parker swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing she had nearly exhausted herself from struggling against her bonds. There must be a peephole somewhere, she thought to herself. These thugs have been watching me. Her head was still throbbing slightly, but her blood pulsed faster as her temper began to take over.
"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" she shouted hoarsely at the two figures in the shadows. Yes, her father was chairman of the board, they would definitely pay.
"Hit the light if it pleases you, Mr. K," directed the one in charge to the other. A single bulb suspended from the ceiling flicked on, serving to chase away a few shadows. "Now perhaps you can tell us about Jarod?" the one in charge said.
He advanced toward her and she waited tensely, coolly calculating a certain distance. His eyes were beady and shifty, shaded under a grey broad-brimmed hat. His hair was red, slicked down under the hat. He looked for all the world like something picked straight out the days of the Prohibition. But if he did, his associate who still stood in the shadows, looked even more so. The second man wore a black Fedora which was pulled low over his eyes. He also wore a long black coat, the collar of which was pulled up so that there was no way of seeing his entire face. Only the glint of his eyes. Both hands were in his pockets and he remained standing near the doorway.
"Why would I know that?" Miss Parker retorted, lowering her voice deliberately. The one in charge moved closer, trying to catch her response. A plan had not yet formulated in her mind, except one. She wasn't going to be a willing prisoner. This gang, whoever they were, were going to regret the day they ever messed with a Parker!
"I've got news for you," she said, blatantly. "Al Capone is dead."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Photography Museum
Rochester, New York 4:30 PM
"You the new security guy," asked the man, walking into his office.
Jarod nodded assent. He was dressed in a black watchman security suit. A walkie-talkie was strapped to his side. He had the vigilant air of someone constantly scanning for something out of the ordinary. "Jarod Locke," he replied. "You can call me Jarod."
"Good. I'm Charles Ray. I'm hiring you temporarily. Our normal guy's on vacation, but we can't stand to take any chances. You have any idea what you're guarding?"
"Of course," Jarod replied. "Mr. Eastman is credited with coming up with the idea for a simpler camera. The first camera that was easy and uncomplicated enough for an amateur photographer and even a child to use. This museum was loaned some older models which are usually displayed at the Eastman museum."
"Excellent," nodded Charles Ray. "And you're not from around here, did you say? How did you know that? Been looking around the museum while you waited?"
"Oh, well...With the growth of multinational corporations, marketing has greatly expanded its scope; many marketing managers take the whole world as their marketplace. Thus Eastman Kodak marketed its new Instamatic camera simultaneously in 28 countries in 1963--the first time simultaneous worldwide marketing was achieved--and prepared advertising and publicity in more than 20 languages. Managers of such global activities must take into account international differences in climate, customs, and business practices, " Jarod rattled out these facts.
"You sure you just got into town? You talk as if you saw all of this happen. How old were you then? Five?"
"Well, not in person sir, but I did think of the initial business plan. I was four at the time," Jarod grinned.
Mr. Ray shook his head in appreciation of what he thought was a joke.
"Well, good. You do know a lot, I see. There have been several museum break-ins lately. Authorities believe that a certain Jimmy Murdock gang is responsible. We can't afford to lose anything, Jarod. That's why we're adding to the security of this place. I must admit, your credentials are extremely impressive. You worked for the Detroit Bomb squad?"
"Yeah," Jarod replied, shrugging. "But I didn't stay long."
"Why not?"
"Things kept blowing up in my face," Jarod replied.
Mr. Ray broke into a laugh. "That's a good one, Jarod."
"Well, you need a sense of humor when you're in my line of work. You wouldn't happen to have a photo of this Murdock fellow would you? I could--keep an eye out for him?" Jarod raised a questioning eyebrow.
"As a matter of fact, we do. The police have been sending it out to all the local museums in the area. Just ask, Marie, at the desk on your way out. Well, Jarod. Come in and start tomorrow. 8 P.M. sharp."
"How's your day security?" Jarod asked, suddenly.
"Day security? With all the cameras and alarms up in this place you think the crooks would try to steal something in broad daylight? Jarod, your sense of humor amazes me. We have a man to open the doors in the morning and check things over to see if they're in order. It's all covered."
"I see," Jarod replied, backing out of the room. "Well, stranger things have happened. See you tomorrow."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside, Jarod observed the man who was walking across the street from the museum. This man had black hair and dark eyes, looking of Spanish origin. He looked to be about Jarod's age, but maybe a few years younger. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a blue shirt over it, which buttoned in the front. He also wore black jeans and a brown belt. He was talking to another man who was dressed in a suit and tie. He was shaking his head fiercely, apparently in response to what the well-dressed man was asking.
Jarod moved unobtrusively closer to catch the words that were being said.
"Why don't you understand, man? Es simplemente. No and no means no. You got me?"
"I got ya, Lopez. So, I'm supposin' you want to be taken off the list. Are you ready?".
"Por supesto! What do you think I've been telling you guys. I'm out and I don't intend to go back. Nunca. Never in my life."
"So you don't wanna hear about the job?" asked the man with a tie.
"No way, man. You think I'm stupid or something. I hear about the job and I'm in. Murdock don't tell his plans to nobody but those involved. I'm out. I never heard of you, never spoken to you, never seen you. Nunca. Me comprendas amigo?"
"I get you. Well, don't say I didn't give you a chance at the cut. Be seein' ya Lopez."
"Don't bet on it, Crumel. Don't bet on it," Lopez replied.
The two men parted ways and Jarod followed the man called Lopez.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Basement
Rochester, New York
Wednesday 6 PM
Miss Parker was more bruised then she had been before. Her legs were now bound and her chair was shoved into a far corner of the room.
The man with the slicked back red hair was now walking with a slight limp. He glanced back at her warily looking at the foot of the chair which had so rudely been brought down on his foot. He rubbed his thigh where the toe of a pointed shoe had kicked it. Then, he pulled up a stool and sat down facing her.
"Now let's dispense with this rumble and act like civilized persons. I am Mr. Murdock and you, let me see if I got this right, are Miss Parker," he said with a patronizing tone which indicated he knew perfectly well who she was. "And now, that we have been formerly introduced let's get down to business. You do look like her, but that's beside the point."
Miss Parker's eyes widened, cat-like. "You knew my mother?" she gasped.
Mr. Murdock removed his hat and ran a comb through his red hair. Then, he put his comb away and said, "That grabs your attention, doesn't it? You could say that, yes."
Miss Parker became as still as a statue. She stared at him, frowning.
He noted the look and shook his head. "No, I didn't bring you here for small talk." He pulled out a small pocket knife and began tossing it. "Now, we can do things the easy way..." He gripped his penknife and used it to cut a stray thread from his suit. "Or the hard way." He glanced at his sore foot and then looked up at her menacingly. "You know what the hard way is. The simple fact of the matter is you know something that I want to know. We all want to know. And it would be to your benefit and ours if you would join us in this little...arrangement."
Miss Parker's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who killed my mother?" Her words dropped into the air plummeting like rocks that pounded on the floor.
Mr. Murdock grinned and said, "You're not getting the point. You have been brought in to help us. To help me."
Miss Parker's mind was racing. What was it they wanted? What did Murdock know about her mother? Why had they brought her here? "What do you want from me?" she snapped.
"I already told you," Murdock replied. "What do you know about Jarod? You're going to tell us everything you know about him."
Miss Parker arched her eyebrows, incredulously.
"That's your job at the Centre," Murdock continued in an even tone. "Only in this case you won't receive a paycheck....you'll receive something of much greater value." He pressed the penknife and the blade snapped back into its place. "Your life." He deposited it into his pocket and stood up. "Don't you agree, Mr. K?".
Although hard to see, the shadowed man appeared to be nodding silently.
"Well, I'm a little tied up right now, boys." Miss Parker replied, wrapping herself in the facade of Ice Queen.
Mr. Murdock acted as if he didn't hear. "You are a part of our plan. I've heard of this Jarod fellow and word on the street tells me I won't like him too much. Seems he's taken up a dangerous hobby...and none us intend on becoming a piece in his collection."
"If you know as much as you say you do about me," Miss Parker said in a forced bright tone. "Then, you know as much as I know about Jarod. I don't see what any of this has to do with me. Not that I haven't enjoyed these little pleasantries, but show's over."
Murdock who had worn cordiality like a blanket was reaching the end of his patience. He limped over to her and harsh eyes glared her directly in the face. There was no mercy there. "I say when the show's over," his voice was now razor-like. "I'll give you twelve hours to make this decision. And then, it'll be curtains for you!" He turned and stalked out the door. Mr. K flicked out the light and shut the door, engulfing the room once more in darkness.
Feeling momentarily safe from scrutiny, Miss Parker shivered and then allowed herself a deep breath, hoping to calm her raw nerves. She now knew that the lead to New Jersey must have been a total setup to lure her into an elaborate trap. Did the Centre know where she was? She hadn't really told Broots or Sydney where she was going. Such a terrible price must be paid for independence. She wondered what her father was doing now. She wondered if Broots and Sydney missed her. She wondered if Sam was still alive, if he had been captured or simply knocked out and thus able to report back to the Centre when he recovered. Was anyone looking for her? And then she wondered something that totally shocked her. She wondered: What would Jarod do in a situation like this?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where could Miss Parker be? Jarod wondered silently as he pulled out his laptop computer and sat it on the table in front of him. His current dwelling was the basement of a small boardiing house. Well, Jarod thought, Sydney would call as soon as he heard something. Perhaps Miss Parker had chosen to take a little unscheduled break from her Centre duties. Of course, that was highly unlikely. Unless she had gone back to visit Ben Miller. Jarod popped a piece of Pez candy into his mouth and puckered at the sweet and tart flavor. He tried hard to focus and concentrate on his current mission. He had followed Lopez to an old-and-run-down apartment and discerned the man was out of work, having recently just returned from serving a sentence.
Jarod lost no time in using his laptop computer and finding out more details of Mario Lopez's life. Basically, Jarod was able to cull facts from in between the lines and with Sherlockian-like deduction, he decided that the blame for a certain robbery which had happened a little over a year ago had been pinned on Lopez, while the most guilty parties seemed to have gotten away without a trace. But who were they? This is what Jarod would have to find out.
Jarod stood up, yawned, and stretched. He checked his watch. It was getting late. He heard padded footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned around and smiled at the young, bright-eyed boy who appeared and paused on the landing. The boy was hugging a teddy-bear in his arms and wearing fuzzy lion slippers. Each foot was stuck in a lion's mouth. The boy smiled shyly.
"Come on in, Felipe," Jarod smiled. "I was just about to make myself a snack."
"Gracías señor, but por favor, call me Filly. Everyone does." He padded the rest of the way down.
"Alright, Filly. And you can call me Jarod." Jarod opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of chocolate ice cream. He got two bowls and two spoons. "Your mother wouldn't mind if you had some of this, would she?" Jarod moved his laptop aside and set the bowls down on the table.
Filly shook his head, climbed into a chair, and then remembered the message he had been sent to deliver, "Mama told me to say...to ask you if there was anything else you needed. A veces," the boy slipped into Spanish a moment and then corrected himself, "Sometimes this basement gets cold, so we have some more blankets."
"I don't think I'll sleep much tonight, so blankets aren't really necessary." Jarod spooned the smooth gooey lumps of ice cream into each bowl and offered a spoon to Filly. "¡Me gusta helado! ¿Y tu amigo?" Jarod gestured towards the bear, "¿Le gusta helado de chocolate tambien?"
The little boy took the spoon with one hand, holding his bear under his arm and nodding excitedly. "You speak Spanish!" he exclaimed delightedly. "My mama does too, but she says it is best to speak English here. Papa always said I could speak both." A small hint of sadness filled the young boy's eyes. He laid his teddy bear next to his bowl, and began to eat the cool ice cream, pretending first to offer the bear some.
"Where's your Papa now?" Jarod asked.
"I don't know. They took him away. And..."
"And what?" Jarod encouraged him to go on.
"And Mama says she doesn't think we're ever going to see him again, but I do. Because I miss him." The boy ate the last spoonful of ice cream and stood up, dragging his stuffed bear off the table. "Buenas noches, Señor Jarod."
Jarod nodded and smiled sadly. "I know the feeling," Jarod said, as he watched Filly disappear up the stairs. "Sleep well, Felipe Lopez."
Scooping out more ice cream with one hand, Jarod reached over with the other and pulled a folder from the pocket of his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. He opened it up and looked at the police photo of Murdock. He stared at it long and hard. He had seen that face somewhere before. It seemed like it. He was positive. But where?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
5:15 AM
"Any word, Sydney?" Jarod's voice came over the line.
"Yes, the Sweeper team that accompanied Miss Parker have just returned and reported in," Sydney replied. "Broots has gone to see what has happened."
Broots ran into Sydney's office looking like a scared rabbit and shaking his head.
"What is it, Broots?" Sydney asked.
"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's got Mr. Parker mighty upset. I didn't see Miss Parker. I think she's missing. And you should have seen Sam, the lump on his head was the size of a toma--" Broots paused thinking. "Do you think Jarod..."
Sydney shook his head and pointed to the telephone. He pressed the button, switching to intercom mode so Broots could listen in.
"Oh," said Broots, plopping into a chair.
"So the Centre has no idea where Miss Parker is?" Jarod asked over the line. "You really should keep better track of your employees. Disappearing acts seem to have become a regular routine."
"Jarod, if you know anything about this, something that would give us a clue." Sydney asked. "Have you found anything yet?"
"The real question is," Jarod replied. "Do you know who Jimmy Murdock is?"
"Jimmy Murdock?" Sydney replied, trying to decipher what this had to do with Miss Parker's disappearance. He glanced questioningly at Broots who shook his head. "No, I'm sorry that name doesn't ring a bell. Jarod, if there is anything you can tell me..."
"I've told you enough already," Jarod replied. "What makes people join gangs, Sydney?"
This sudden change of subject did not throw Sydney off one bit. He was used to swift changes of subject trained by over thirty years of work with this genius' probing mind. "It's caused by a basic human need, Jarod. The need to feel accepted and to belong to something. Ideally, this need should have it's fulfillment in..." He paused realizing he was brinking on a touchy subject.
"In a family," Jarod finished for him.
"Yes, Jarod. And when the system of family fails or doesn't fulfill that need then a person turns elsewhere for acceptance and may join a gang, in a sense trying to make their own family."
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "When I discover the truth that leads to my family, then I'll know where I truly belong," Jarod's voice was choked with emotion. The line went dead. Sydney slowly put down the receiver and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He no longer had any taste for reading. Jarod was still determined not to return the Centre. Miss Parker was still missing. And he knew both were seeking answers, seeking the truth. And yet, as in the case of Catherine Parker, these could be deadly truths indeed.
"Sydney," Broots said, starting nervously out of his chair. "I think I'll get to the Tech room and see if I can find out anything on the name Jimmy Murdock."
"Good idea, Broots," Sydney agreed, nodding.
Broots started for the door, then broke out in a nervous sweat and looked back at his coworker. "Um, Sydney."
"Yes, Broots?" asked a calm and patient voice.
"Ever get the feeling that you're being watched? I mean like a spooky feeling that little, beady eyes are...well um...staring into the back of your head?"
A small twinkle appeared in Sydney's eye and there was almost humor in his voice as he replied, "Of course, Broots. This is the Centre." In Sydney's opinion, one had to simply grin and bear it.
An air vent opened just then and all of Broots' paranoia was, for once, amply justified. A man with a thin crop of hair hopped out, crouching on the floor, holding something shiny in his mouth. His eyes were a pale blue and his expression was nearly blank, but it changed swiftly like the wind. First, mirroring Broot's expression of surprise and then Sydney's expression of interest before returning again to a blank look.
"Angelo," Broots said, immediately lowering his voice at the warning look from Sydney. He whispered, "How does he always get out?"
"Worry, worry," Angelo stated in his hoarse, low-toned voice, removing the shiny disk from his mouth. He looked back and forth from Sydney and Broots' faces, picking up on their emotions. Then, Angelo said, cryptically, "Help Jarod. Help Daughter. Help Jarod help Daughter."
Sydney held out a hand, nodding persuasively and saying, "Yes, Angelo. What is it?"
Angelo looked skeptical for a second and then handed the shiny, iridescent item to Sydney. It proved to be a DSA.
"Wow!" said Broots. "Wonder if he has a stash of those some--Nah, silly idea," Broots shrugged.
Angelo began mumbling again.
"What's he saying, Sydney?" Broots asked as Sydney stared at the disk. Broots screwed up his face as Angelo kept speaking. "Sounds like...worry...worry again," Broots said. "No wait," Broots clapped his hands together and looked at Sydney. "I got it! He said Murry."
"Murry, Murry." Angelo agreed, his face twisting into a strange contorted grin.
"Murry," Sydney repeated in a tone of recognition.
Minutes later, Broots and Sydney entered a secured room, followed by Angelo. "Are you sure no one's about, Broots?" asked Sydney.
"As sure as I can be," replied Broots, looking extremely uptight. He set the computer he had been carrying down. Sydney slid the disk into the slot. The DSA began to play.
At the bottom of the screen flashed the words:
For Centre Use Only
5/4/68
Murry James
A fifteen-year old boy walked into a room. Stubbornness was written all over his face. The camera panned and a young Sydney was shown sitting at a desk. "You're late, Murry. Sit down. I'm glad Dr. Raines agreed we could have this session together."
"My name ain't Murry, it's Murdock!"
"Murry is the name I have been directed to call you," replied Sydney, informatively.
"Yeah, yeah," replied the youth, anger in his eyes. "You the shrink here? I don't need no shrink." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
"Can you tell me what's troubling you, Murry? " Sydney asked, kindly. "Perhaps I can help."
"Take me back to my family," Murry pleaded. "I don't like this stupid place. It was supposed be a good place, cause I was smart. Well, I hate it! It stinks. This whole place stinks." He moved moodily off the chair and began kicking the floor with the toe of his shoe.
"I'm sorry, Murry. I can't," Sydney replied.
"They're dead, ain't they? They're all dead," Murry cried.
"Now, Murry...I don't know about your family."
"Well, I'm gonna get a family someday, I promise you! I'll go to New York and I'll get me a family and nobody, ain't nobody gonna mess with us." He was yelling now, but there were tears in his eyes. He pointed a finger at Sydney in a gesture of emphasis. "You're gonna pay for this. All of yous. I'll make you sorry! And that big wig, Mr. Parker too!" His eyes turned toward the camera. "You hear that," he shouted. And the whole view of the room was blocked by a balled fist.
Static appeared.
Broots looked on with gaping mouth. Angelo touched the screen where the black and white images had just faded and looked sad. Sydney pulled the disk from its slot and sighed. None of them spoke. It was a story all too common. Another life ruined by the Centre.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rochester, New York
April 4th
Thursday 6 AM
"The Centre's done too many little projects...when they affect me, I draw the line. I want Jarod." Murdock had returned, bringing with him Mr. K and another mystery man who also stayed hidden in shadows.
"Well, get in line," Miss Parker replied in a tone of utter boredom.
"Looky Miss Parker, picture this: I'm in the middle of pulling of the biggest job of my renowned career and this Jarod fellow bungles in and ruins it. How would that look to my competitors? Nope, I simply cannot have it. I refuse to give up my throne. You understand that?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Mr. Murdock turned to give her a critical stare, but her expression was of absolute seriousness, so he let it pass.
"Now," Mr. Murdock rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Let's say that this Jarod fellow bungles in and I got you there, say strapped to a bomb of sorts. How would that affect him? Would it maybe bring him round to my point of view?"
Miss Parker looked at him. "And that point would be?"
"Well, Jarod likes to be a good guy....suppose he wouldn't want you to have such an accident. Ain't he protectin' you in some way?".
There was a stony silence.
Murdock persisted. "Sure...I mean it ain't like your strangers. Knowing each other when you was both kids. Maybe you're even protectin' him."
How much more did he know? Miss Parker wondered. Who could he be in contact with at the Centre? "I'm not the sentimental type," Miss Parker retorted, hiding the pain that lay behind that statement. "My job is to bring what belongs to the Centre, back to the Centre."
"What no pursuer's sympathy?" scoffed Murdock.
Those words were electric. They shot through her veins like cold fire. She glared at Murdock and said icily, "I wouldn't trust that blonde."
Murdock simply stared at her for a moment. "I thought I'd ask is all...such an interesting conversation was had about you and your father. But I'm the one running this operation." He snapped his fingers. Mr. C moved forward and placed something in Murdock's hand.
"Your time's up, Miss Parker. And the answer is...?"
Miss Parker sighed inwardly. Currently, her hands were tied and her limbs had become stiff sitting one position for so long. She was hungry and thirsty. It seemed the cleaner Brigitte was somehow connected with Murdock's gang which simply heaped a further log on the fire of her miserable situation. It was best to play along with these ruffians until some sort of rescue was in sight or she saw a window of opportunity for escape. She would have to pretend to go along with their plan. Pretend? Miss Parker almost cracked a smile at the thought and began to speak. "If Jarod wants to interfere, he'll pull something that you won't expect when you least expect it. He's a genius who can literally become anyone he wants to be from a policeman to a thief. You won't be able to let down your guard for a second because the second you do, he'll disappear."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CENTRE HELICOPTER
"I can't believe Mr. Parker actually authorized us to go, without Miss Parker being around," Broots said in wonderment.
"I think it was more perhaps his concern over the immediate situation than for us, Broots," Sydney replied. "And he didn't seem to think it necessary to cancel his trip to Bermuda. Are you positive New York is our best choice?"
Broots nodded. "It's the best I could do...scans on the net revealed that police have a warrant out for a Jimmy Murdock in the area of Rochester, New York."
Sydney agreed. "New York seems plausible, especially based on that DSA Angelo gave us. Murry was a very clever lad. He changed his name...from Murdock James to Jimmy Murdock. I remember being given implicit orders never to call him Murdock, only Murry...which is the reason I didn't recognize the name when Jarod called. I remember him now. He was very determined and older than most children who are brought here. He never quite adjusted to life at the Centre. Then, he simply disappeared."
Oh," said Broots. "When?" Broots wondered if he someday would simply vanish. The Centre had a way of doing that...making people vanish as if they had never existed.
Sydney squinted, thinking. A wrinkle grew on his forward and a grim line around his mouth. "Murry was seventeen the last I saw of him. May of Nineteen-Seventy."
"Nineteen-Seventy?" Broots gulped. "A month after Miss Parker's mother was killed?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mario Lopez opened the door a crack and peeked out. A tall man was standing there dressed in a leather jacket, a black shirt, and black pants. "Uh...yes?" Lopez asked.
The man took off his shades and gave Lopez a serious look. A look that seemed to say that there was more than met the eye about this visit. "May I help you?" Lopez asked, still hiding behind the door.
"No, but I'm hoping I can help you," the mysterious visitor replied.
That statement didn't make any sense. "Who are you?" Lopez asked in bewilderment.
"Someone who thinks you made a mistake. Someone who wants you to know you're making even a bigger mistake now. Someone who doesn't think a child, a little boy who misses his father should go without one." His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, holding it out to Lopez.
The door opened wider and Mario Lopez grabbed it. It was a picture of a smiling dark-haired boy who was dressed in white shorts and a red shirt, gripping tightly to a teddy bear. A picture of his son. Lopez sighed.
His visitor heaved an echoing sigh. "My name is Jarod. I know what you've went through...you bypassed the security systems when that painting was stolen. You were one of the few caught. The rest walked. You've been serving time and now that you're out, you're unemployed. And your wife and your son....you haven't contacted them. You feel ashamed. You feel afraid, but believe me, having a family, having people who care about you is better than isolation. I met your son, Filly. He really misses you....mentions you all the time. Please reconsider. Go back to your family."
Lopez was unable to hide the emotion on his face. He had felt ashamed, afraid and alone. He shook his head quickly however and said, "I can't. I can't face them and ask for their forgiveness. And even if I could, I couldn't. Nunca en mi vida. ¡Nunca!"
"Nunca," Jarod repeated, understandingly. "Never is a long time, Mr. Lopez."
"Don't you see?" Mario asked. "If I go back now, he'll get me. He'll use them against me. No one is safe."
"You mean Jimmy Murdock?" Jarod asked, targeting his question and hoping it struck home.
Lopez jumped visibly. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Yes. Once you're in, it's like you're in for life. You can never leave."
"There is a way." Jarod replied.
Lopez's eyes widened in disbelief. "How?"
"You can do me a favor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 5th
There was something different in the air. Miss Parker had felt it ever since she had disclosed information to them about Jarod. She had not told them everything, basically only the barest of details covering things that she had guessed they might want to hear. However, Friday was going to be different. Miss Parker had no doubts that their famed plan had gone into action.
Mr. K came in not long after she had been making these reflections. Suddenly, the world went dark. He had blindfolded her.
"Where are you taking me?" she dared to ask, when the rest of her bonds had been loosened and she had been allowed to stand up. She wobbled slowly as she felt herself being pushed through the doorway and guided onto the stairs.
"It doesn't concern you," Mr. K replied.
It was the first time she had heard him speak. "Who says?"
"Mr. Murdock."
"Go figure. King Carrot Top sends out another royal decree and his subjects fall over themselves carrying it out."
There was no comment. Handcuffs were slapped on her wrists.
A gust of wind blew past her and dozens of noises assailed her. The smell of the outdoors filled her nostrils. It had rained recently. The air was damp. She played it smart, she felt she was being carefully watched and these were mean characters she was dealing with. Mr. K stayed directly behind her
Then, once again, the outside world was shut out. The noises were muffled. A stuffy smell of dust, oil, and metal filled her nose. She was in a confined space again. The air reverberated as a door was pulled shut.
The blindfold was removed. The lighting of her surroundings was dull and the sound of a motor starting and the ensuing motion revealed she was inside a large van. Miss Parker frowned. Two others sat on crates, their faces hidden by shadows. Slowly, Miss Parker sat down in a corner, pressing her back up against the wall. Her hands, thus hidden from observation, began to fiddle with the handcuffs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BASEMENT OF BOARDING HOUSE
ROCHESTER, NEW YORK
FRIDAY 1 P.M.
It was strewn with empty cartons of chocolate ice cream and boxes of ice cream bars. However, the most prominent features of the room, besides the contents of the refrigerator, were the fuzzy inhabitants of the room. There were big teddy bears and little teddy bears, tan teddy bears and brown teddy bears, teddy bear books, teddy bear musical tapes, teddy bear videos and most any other item remotely related to a teddy bear.
Broots giggled as he nearly tripped over several pairs of teddy bear slippers. "I have to get some of those. Debbie would love them."
The two sweepers sent along to accompany Broots and Sydney were not amused. They swept throughout the area and uncovered a laptop computer, which had been half hidden by a monster-size bear.
"Hey, look at this," Broots said, pressing a button on the keypad. A box popped up with a video image. "It seems to be live, coming from a camera someplace."
Sydney and one of the sharp-eyed sweepers came over to watch the screen.
Broots maximized the images that they were receiving.
A truck pulled up and parked in front of the museum. The van was white and on its sides were painted bright green stems and yellow flowers.
Moments later, a grey-colored car pulled up beside it.
A man dressed in the uniform for flower delivery, stepped out of the van and went over to the car. He apparently exchanged a few words with the person and then car's motor revved up and the car pulled off the screen. The man looked around casually and then walked slowly over to the back of the van. He rapped three times on the back door of the van. It opened.
From the van stepped three figures, one tall man wearing a Fedora hat low over his face and his collar up, one man with dark hair who looked Spanish, and one woman wearing a dark wrinkled suit. She wriggled out of something around her wrists, but the man in the Fedora grabbed her by an arm to prevent her escape. The man who had rapped on the door caught what they were now able to recognize as handcuffs and stuffed them in his pocket. The woman had auburn hair and she turned her head once to scowl at him before being pushed towards the doors of the museum.
"Miss Parker!" Broots exclaimed.
"Broots, where is this?" Sydney demanded.
"I'm working on it, " Broots replied. His face took on a concentrated look as he attempted to trace the image's source. "Just give me a little more time."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The watchman opened the door and glanced at his watch. "We're not quite open yet," he stated.
"It's alright, we're just here to deliver these decorations." There was a light Eastern accent touched with a slow southern drawl in the voice.
"Flowers," asked the man, puzzledly. "I wasn't told..."
"Look man, we came all the way out here. At least let us do our jobs and all the other details can be sorted out later. Understand?"
What an ego, Miss Parker thought. Murdock and his thugs are actually going to try to get away with this in broad daylight. It'll never work!
The man thought a moment. "Sure, what do I think you're going to do...rob me?" he chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you and your crew the main displays."
Idiot! Miss Parker thought.
"Much obliged to you, sir," replied Mr. K. There was hint of some strong reserve in his voice....of something wild that was being restrained. Miss Parker had the faint notion that she had heard it somewhere before.
THONK! The watchman was knocked out as soon as they had cleared the doorway and the door had been closed to the outside street.
"No violence! You promised Crumel," said Mario Lopez, looking in shock at the injured watchman lying on the floor.
"Can it, Lopez," replied Mr. C, better known as Crumel. "Murdock's orders are for you to get rid of the record." He gestured towards the security camera, waving the crowbar he had carried concealed in his suit coat.
Lopez swallowed another protest, clutched a small tool box and worked on the security system controls, while Mr. K, Crumel, and Miss Parker continued on towards the selected antiques that were to be stolen.
They had not taken their eyes off of her for a moment, Miss Parker thought. How was she to ever get away? For now, excepting the mysterious Mr. K, she had seen their faces. And despite the fact that Murdock strictly called the members of his gang by their alphabetic designation, they had just carelessly let her overhear their actual ones. So when this was all over....
"It's off," Lopez called out about the security system.
A moment later, Murdock walked into the display room. "So where is he? Where is the famous Jarod?" He walked up to Miss Parker and jeered, "He should be here, shouldn't he? To teach me a lesson? To spoil my plans?"
Miss Parker didn't answer. She was staring past Murdock at the display that had been spotlighted. Instead of looking at a large antique camera...as well as several old film reels which Murdock had explained earlier to her that a "ransom to die for" would be paid for these relics' return, she saw a yellow, picnic basket.
Murdock followed her gaze and a look of dismay came across his face. He moved quickly to the display, pulled the basket down and opened it. He lifted out a brown plush teddy bear wearing a bib labeled, "Miss Parker." He tossed the bear at her.
But suddenly, a mechanism in the basket was triggered.
The bear felt weighted in Miss Parker's hands, she shook it slightly and an opening appeared. She reached in her hand and pulled out her 9mm.
The attention of Murdock's gang was fixed on the basket. If you go out in the woods tonight-- A song about a teddy bears' picnic blared in their ears.
Murdock turned just in time to see Miss Parker's back disappearing out the door.
"That's the last straw," he shouted. "She dies!"
Mr. K stuck his foot out and Murdock sprawled on the floor. He looked up with anger his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?".
"I decide who lives or dies! I decide!" replied Mr. K, vehemently. He threw his Fedora on the floor. His coat and gloves followed suit. Murdock's last impression of the man was a fleeting glimpse of an oddly-shaped scar on his right hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Miss Parker almost ran full throttle into a black Centre car that came barreling down the street. It pulled up beside her and she hopped in, throwing the teddy bear on the seat and clutching her gun tightly.
"Are you alright, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.
Miss Parker puffed. "I will be. And if I never see another gangster movie again, it'll be too soon. Step on it, driver!" she ordered.
In the rearview mirror, the flashing lights of a police car flashed behind them and sirens rang in their ears, but these soon grew fainter. The real prize was inside the museum and one car driving away didn't concern the authorities.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A FEW DAYS LATER...
A red notebook arrived at the Centre. For once, Miss Parker was totally uninterested in the contents. Her mind had turned to other things and especially a particular day that was coming up.
"I know all about it, Syd," she said, upon returning from a few days leave of absence.
"How nice," Broots said, when he got to look through it. Angelo looked on over his shoulder. "This man Lopez helped to bring in some key members of the Murdock gang and was reunited with his family after they hadn't seen him for months. And now, he's been given a job in developing burglar-proof security systems."
Sydney was lost in other thoughts. After viewing the DSA Angelo had provided, Sydney had sent Jarod information about Murdock's former life at the Centre. "Yes, but somehow Murry escaped."
Broots nodded. "Yeah well, if you can escape the Centre you can pretty much escape anything else."
Angelo retired to the vents with his Cracker Jacks with a very satisfied look on his face.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
APRIL 13TH
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Her cell phone buzzed and she snatched it from her pocket and brought it up to her ear as she walked swiftly through the halls towards her office. Her heels clicked on the floor.
"Are things back to normal as usual at the Centre, Miss Parker? Not that there's anything usual about it," questioned a familiar voice with a smirk in it.
Miss Parker thought of the gun Jarod had returned to her and replied, "Yes. I'm about to go and speak with my new sweeper...Hayes, I think his name is. I have to wrap things up around here before some fire security test that's been ordered," she added.
"And I'm about to do finish up an investigation of my own."
"Where are you, Jarod?"
"Oh, I da know if I owe you that bit of information." Jarod smiled to himself, glancing at a vehicle that drove past. Its license plate read: Idaho.
"What are you hiding, Jarod?" Miss Parker accused him.
"I think the bigger question is what is the Centre hiding from you? Murdock knew something about the people who killed your mother. Another link in the chain, Miss Parker. Don't give up! Who knows? The truth may be closer than we think." Click.
Miss Parker snapped the phone shut and put it her pocket. She smiled inwardly as she opened the door of her office and spotted Hayes taking candy from the dish on her desk.
Give up? Never.
by Leah
Written in 1998
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside Abandoned Theatre
Jersey City, New Jersey
March 31st
Tuesday 8 P.M.
The black car screeched through the streets chasing the fleeing form before them. Evening had fallen and the headlights were the only illumination in this part of the city. A thunderclap rolled through the air with the threat of rain. The car pulled around a corner and came to a halt. The pursued was no longer in sight.
Miss Parker and Sam the Sweeper sprang from the car, zeroing in on the only building their fugitive could have disappeared into. "Go around to the front and block the entrance!" she hissed at the driver. The car sped off into the night.
"This way," Miss Parker said, pausing before a dark alleyway. "It's like Wonder Boy to choose large empty buildings to hide in." She was again wearing her headset and mouthpiece to keep in touch with the occupants of the car.
The alley was very dark and very long and for once Miss Parker hesitated. She had the same eerie feeling she had had when first staring down the porthole which led to SL-27. She had ordered Broots to go down first. This was not an option this time. She looked at Sam and ordered, "Give me your gun!" In her last encounter with Jarod, he had taken her gun. Her personal gun, her 9mm. She was now very much frustrated without it and even felt a bit lost, rather like a snake who has lost its rattle. She had carried it almost everywhere with her. Her gun had been her security blanket, whenever she had been on edge or in danger, it was something comforting to clutch and flourish. It instilled fear, it gave power, and as of yet she had not felt like getting a new one. She had extra weapons, but had failed to bring any along this trip. Partly in defiance of the fact that Jarod had taken hers and partly because it just wouldn't have been the same.
Sam's gun in hand, she had the sufficient amount of courage to plunge into the darkness of the alley, whispering to Sam over her shoulder, "Stick close." The sky grew even darker as clouds covered the stars overhead. They reached the door and Miss Parker gestured at Sam to go in first. He pulled the door open and they both sprang inside into the even more encroaching blackness of the interior.
Sam, in his dark suit, was nearly invisible in fact yet Miss Parker still insisted he go first as they walked down a dim hall into the auditorium. Their footsteps had echoed on the cement floor of the halls, but were muffled on the red carpeting of the auditorium. Rows and rows of seats greeted them and Miss Parker thought uneasily that Jarod could be hiding behind any one of these. She pointed her gun in all directions, then looked at Sam and said. "Get back and guard the door! If anything moves, alert me at once!"
With a nod, Sam complied.
Miss Parker continued on, scanning the rows. From pitch blackness, the room began to take shape. Miss Parker squinted as there was a flickering of lights and the stage suddenly was illuminated. She looked up towards the light fixtures, pointing her gun accordingly, but spotted no one. Her nerves were now on edge. She quickly turned to look behind her. She felt as if she were being watched. There was definitely someone here.
But she never saw who was, for just then, the lights died again. And in that moment when one's eyes are still adjusting to the dark, still dilating in order to see more, she heard a moaning noise coming from the direction of the back door. A hand slapped over her nose. She smelt a strange sweet odor and lost consciousness.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the Highway
Somewhere in New York
April 1st
Wednesday 3 PM
Time has a way of changing things, Jarod thought. He was driving down the road in a grey Intrigue, leaving the scene of his last Pretend. Who would have believed now that it was over a year since he had escaped the Centre? He ate a mouthful of Pez from a Snoopy dispenser and smiled to himself remembering how his coworkers had looked at him strangely when he had asked how come Charles Scultz, the writer of this comic strip had called it Peanuts, when it was about children and super-intelligent animals. When he had insisted on knowing the answer, some had broken into laughter and Jarod had joined them.
He raised his arm to look at his wristwatch. It was three fifteen, he still had about forty-five minutes left before he was due for the job interview. Jarod pulled over to a gas station to get his tires checked. While he did so, he munched on Pez and pulled out his lap-top computer, which he kept in his silver Haliburton briefcase, along with the precious DSA's which contained his life. You Have Mail, flashed across the screen. He opened it, and began decoding the message. It was from Sydney and read "Jarod, we need to talk." Jarod typed back a message which read, "Page me." He knew Sydney now had his pager number, he had sent it with a drawing not long ago and doubted if the Centre had yet found out about it. Besides, it was much easier for Jarod to get a secure line, one Broots would not be able to trace until it was too late, if it was he, Jarod, who called Sydney.
About ten minutes later, Jarod heard a sharp series of high-pitched beeps. He looked at his beeper, pulled out his cellular phone, and punched the buttons.
"Sydney," a voice answered.
"It's Jarod," he replied. "What do you need to talk about, Sydney?"
"Thanks for calling here so promptly. I have a question to ask you. Where is Miss Parker?" the Belgium accented voice contained a masked anxiety.
"Isn't she supposed to be wondering that about me?" Jarod replied, warily. "What did she convince you to do this time, Sydney?"
"I'm serious, Jarod. She left two days ago following your clue and we haven't heard from her since. She should have contacted us by now."
"What clue?" Jarod asked in a surprised tone.
"Your bread crumb arrived Monday morning while Broots and I were on coffee break. When we returned, Miss Parker had left to follow it," Sydney explained.
"Left? To where?"
Sydney replied, "Broots was able to deduce New Jersey, but nothing else very specific. Miss Parker must have taken the item with her."
"Alone?" asked Jarod, sounding worried. "Sydney, I didn't send anything to the Centre, let alone to Miss Parker."
"Are you certain, Jarod?" asked Sydney, incredulously. "No, not alone. I believe she was accompanied by some sweepers."
"I'm positive. But if I didn't, then who did? Keep me posted, Sydney." He pushed the 'off' button on his phone.
Sydney sighed and hung up as well.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MEANWHILE,
Somewhere in Rochester, New York
The first thing Miss Parker was aware of was a sickening, splitting headache. Her brain was fuzzy, she opened her eyes but her vision was blurred. Her brain registered that she was in a dark, enclosed room. What was going on? What had happened? She closed her eyes again, and tried to touch her head, but her arm wouldn't move. Something was restraining it. Miss Parker opened her eyes again and looked down at her arm. In the dim lighting, she could just make out the fact that she was sitting in a chair. The fog began to lift from her brain and she realized the reason she was unable to move. She was tied in the chair with ropes, her arms were tied to each arm of the chair, leaving only enough slack to wiggle her fingers ever so slightly. She was being forced to sit.
At this point her brain cleared completely and she jerked to broad awakeness. "What in the world!" she cried out, tossing her head back and nearly toppling the chair. She struggled, pulling at the ropes, but noticed another tied around her waist, keeping her back against the back of the chair. She turned her concentration to the bonds around her arms, but found she was not able to move enough to dislocate any joints...fingers or otherwise. The only part of her free were her legs.
The effort of speaking told her that her mouth was dry, but she ignored that fact. She was more interested in knowing who her captors were and she did not have long to wait. Footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and then the screeching hinges of the door moaned in protest at being opened. Two shadowy figures stood in the doorway, Miss Parker was unable to make out any details. She felt a cool breeze blowing on her from above and looked up to see a grate. I'm in the basement of somewhere, she thought.
One of the shadowy figures nodded to the other. "You're right. She's awake."
Miss Parker swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing she had nearly exhausted herself from struggling against her bonds. There must be a peephole somewhere, she thought to herself. These thugs have been watching me. Her head was still throbbing slightly, but her blood pulsed faster as her temper began to take over.
"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" she shouted hoarsely at the two figures in the shadows. Yes, her father was chairman of the board, they would definitely pay.
"Hit the light if it pleases you, Mr. K," directed the one in charge to the other. A single bulb suspended from the ceiling flicked on, serving to chase away a few shadows. "Now perhaps you can tell us about Jarod?" the one in charge said.
He advanced toward her and she waited tensely, coolly calculating a certain distance. His eyes were beady and shifty, shaded under a grey broad-brimmed hat. His hair was red, slicked down under the hat. He looked for all the world like something picked straight out the days of the Prohibition. But if he did, his associate who still stood in the shadows, looked even more so. The second man wore a black Fedora which was pulled low over his eyes. He also wore a long black coat, the collar of which was pulled up so that there was no way of seeing his entire face. Only the glint of his eyes. Both hands were in his pockets and he remained standing near the doorway.
"Why would I know that?" Miss Parker retorted, lowering her voice deliberately. The one in charge moved closer, trying to catch her response. A plan had not yet formulated in her mind, except one. She wasn't going to be a willing prisoner. This gang, whoever they were, were going to regret the day they ever messed with a Parker!
"I've got news for you," she said, blatantly. "Al Capone is dead."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Photography Museum
Rochester, New York 4:30 PM
"You the new security guy," asked the man, walking into his office.
Jarod nodded assent. He was dressed in a black watchman security suit. A walkie-talkie was strapped to his side. He had the vigilant air of someone constantly scanning for something out of the ordinary. "Jarod Locke," he replied. "You can call me Jarod."
"Good. I'm Charles Ray. I'm hiring you temporarily. Our normal guy's on vacation, but we can't stand to take any chances. You have any idea what you're guarding?"
"Of course," Jarod replied. "Mr. Eastman is credited with coming up with the idea for a simpler camera. The first camera that was easy and uncomplicated enough for an amateur photographer and even a child to use. This museum was loaned some older models which are usually displayed at the Eastman museum."
"Excellent," nodded Charles Ray. "And you're not from around here, did you say? How did you know that? Been looking around the museum while you waited?"
"Oh, well...With the growth of multinational corporations, marketing has greatly expanded its scope; many marketing managers take the whole world as their marketplace. Thus Eastman Kodak marketed its new Instamatic camera simultaneously in 28 countries in 1963--the first time simultaneous worldwide marketing was achieved--and prepared advertising and publicity in more than 20 languages. Managers of such global activities must take into account international differences in climate, customs, and business practices, " Jarod rattled out these facts.
"You sure you just got into town? You talk as if you saw all of this happen. How old were you then? Five?"
"Well, not in person sir, but I did think of the initial business plan. I was four at the time," Jarod grinned.
Mr. Ray shook his head in appreciation of what he thought was a joke.
"Well, good. You do know a lot, I see. There have been several museum break-ins lately. Authorities believe that a certain Jimmy Murdock gang is responsible. We can't afford to lose anything, Jarod. That's why we're adding to the security of this place. I must admit, your credentials are extremely impressive. You worked for the Detroit Bomb squad?"
"Yeah," Jarod replied, shrugging. "But I didn't stay long."
"Why not?"
"Things kept blowing up in my face," Jarod replied.
Mr. Ray broke into a laugh. "That's a good one, Jarod."
"Well, you need a sense of humor when you're in my line of work. You wouldn't happen to have a photo of this Murdock fellow would you? I could--keep an eye out for him?" Jarod raised a questioning eyebrow.
"As a matter of fact, we do. The police have been sending it out to all the local museums in the area. Just ask, Marie, at the desk on your way out. Well, Jarod. Come in and start tomorrow. 8 P.M. sharp."
"How's your day security?" Jarod asked, suddenly.
"Day security? With all the cameras and alarms up in this place you think the crooks would try to steal something in broad daylight? Jarod, your sense of humor amazes me. We have a man to open the doors in the morning and check things over to see if they're in order. It's all covered."
"I see," Jarod replied, backing out of the room. "Well, stranger things have happened. See you tomorrow."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside, Jarod observed the man who was walking across the street from the museum. This man had black hair and dark eyes, looking of Spanish origin. He looked to be about Jarod's age, but maybe a few years younger. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a blue shirt over it, which buttoned in the front. He also wore black jeans and a brown belt. He was talking to another man who was dressed in a suit and tie. He was shaking his head fiercely, apparently in response to what the well-dressed man was asking.
Jarod moved unobtrusively closer to catch the words that were being said.
"Why don't you understand, man? Es simplemente. No and no means no. You got me?"
"I got ya, Lopez. So, I'm supposin' you want to be taken off the list. Are you ready?".
"Por supesto! What do you think I've been telling you guys. I'm out and I don't intend to go back. Nunca. Never in my life."
"So you don't wanna hear about the job?" asked the man with a tie.
"No way, man. You think I'm stupid or something. I hear about the job and I'm in. Murdock don't tell his plans to nobody but those involved. I'm out. I never heard of you, never spoken to you, never seen you. Nunca. Me comprendas amigo?"
"I get you. Well, don't say I didn't give you a chance at the cut. Be seein' ya Lopez."
"Don't bet on it, Crumel. Don't bet on it," Lopez replied.
The two men parted ways and Jarod followed the man called Lopez.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Basement
Rochester, New York
Wednesday 6 PM
Miss Parker was more bruised then she had been before. Her legs were now bound and her chair was shoved into a far corner of the room.
The man with the slicked back red hair was now walking with a slight limp. He glanced back at her warily looking at the foot of the chair which had so rudely been brought down on his foot. He rubbed his thigh where the toe of a pointed shoe had kicked it. Then, he pulled up a stool and sat down facing her.
"Now let's dispense with this rumble and act like civilized persons. I am Mr. Murdock and you, let me see if I got this right, are Miss Parker," he said with a patronizing tone which indicated he knew perfectly well who she was. "And now, that we have been formerly introduced let's get down to business. You do look like her, but that's beside the point."
Miss Parker's eyes widened, cat-like. "You knew my mother?" she gasped.
Mr. Murdock removed his hat and ran a comb through his red hair. Then, he put his comb away and said, "That grabs your attention, doesn't it? You could say that, yes."
Miss Parker became as still as a statue. She stared at him, frowning.
He noted the look and shook his head. "No, I didn't bring you here for small talk." He pulled out a small pocket knife and began tossing it. "Now, we can do things the easy way..." He gripped his penknife and used it to cut a stray thread from his suit. "Or the hard way." He glanced at his sore foot and then looked up at her menacingly. "You know what the hard way is. The simple fact of the matter is you know something that I want to know. We all want to know. And it would be to your benefit and ours if you would join us in this little...arrangement."
Miss Parker's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who killed my mother?" Her words dropped into the air plummeting like rocks that pounded on the floor.
Mr. Murdock grinned and said, "You're not getting the point. You have been brought in to help us. To help me."
Miss Parker's mind was racing. What was it they wanted? What did Murdock know about her mother? Why had they brought her here? "What do you want from me?" she snapped.
"I already told you," Murdock replied. "What do you know about Jarod? You're going to tell us everything you know about him."
Miss Parker arched her eyebrows, incredulously.
"That's your job at the Centre," Murdock continued in an even tone. "Only in this case you won't receive a paycheck....you'll receive something of much greater value." He pressed the penknife and the blade snapped back into its place. "Your life." He deposited it into his pocket and stood up. "Don't you agree, Mr. K?".
Although hard to see, the shadowed man appeared to be nodding silently.
"Well, I'm a little tied up right now, boys." Miss Parker replied, wrapping herself in the facade of Ice Queen.
Mr. Murdock acted as if he didn't hear. "You are a part of our plan. I've heard of this Jarod fellow and word on the street tells me I won't like him too much. Seems he's taken up a dangerous hobby...and none us intend on becoming a piece in his collection."
"If you know as much as you say you do about me," Miss Parker said in a forced bright tone. "Then, you know as much as I know about Jarod. I don't see what any of this has to do with me. Not that I haven't enjoyed these little pleasantries, but show's over."
Murdock who had worn cordiality like a blanket was reaching the end of his patience. He limped over to her and harsh eyes glared her directly in the face. There was no mercy there. "I say when the show's over," his voice was now razor-like. "I'll give you twelve hours to make this decision. And then, it'll be curtains for you!" He turned and stalked out the door. Mr. K flicked out the light and shut the door, engulfing the room once more in darkness.
Feeling momentarily safe from scrutiny, Miss Parker shivered and then allowed herself a deep breath, hoping to calm her raw nerves. She now knew that the lead to New Jersey must have been a total setup to lure her into an elaborate trap. Did the Centre know where she was? She hadn't really told Broots or Sydney where she was going. Such a terrible price must be paid for independence. She wondered what her father was doing now. She wondered if Broots and Sydney missed her. She wondered if Sam was still alive, if he had been captured or simply knocked out and thus able to report back to the Centre when he recovered. Was anyone looking for her? And then she wondered something that totally shocked her. She wondered: What would Jarod do in a situation like this?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where could Miss Parker be? Jarod wondered silently as he pulled out his laptop computer and sat it on the table in front of him. His current dwelling was the basement of a small boardiing house. Well, Jarod thought, Sydney would call as soon as he heard something. Perhaps Miss Parker had chosen to take a little unscheduled break from her Centre duties. Of course, that was highly unlikely. Unless she had gone back to visit Ben Miller. Jarod popped a piece of Pez candy into his mouth and puckered at the sweet and tart flavor. He tried hard to focus and concentrate on his current mission. He had followed Lopez to an old-and-run-down apartment and discerned the man was out of work, having recently just returned from serving a sentence.
Jarod lost no time in using his laptop computer and finding out more details of Mario Lopez's life. Basically, Jarod was able to cull facts from in between the lines and with Sherlockian-like deduction, he decided that the blame for a certain robbery which had happened a little over a year ago had been pinned on Lopez, while the most guilty parties seemed to have gotten away without a trace. But who were they? This is what Jarod would have to find out.
Jarod stood up, yawned, and stretched. He checked his watch. It was getting late. He heard padded footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned around and smiled at the young, bright-eyed boy who appeared and paused on the landing. The boy was hugging a teddy-bear in his arms and wearing fuzzy lion slippers. Each foot was stuck in a lion's mouth. The boy smiled shyly.
"Come on in, Felipe," Jarod smiled. "I was just about to make myself a snack."
"Gracías señor, but por favor, call me Filly. Everyone does." He padded the rest of the way down.
"Alright, Filly. And you can call me Jarod." Jarod opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of chocolate ice cream. He got two bowls and two spoons. "Your mother wouldn't mind if you had some of this, would she?" Jarod moved his laptop aside and set the bowls down on the table.
Filly shook his head, climbed into a chair, and then remembered the message he had been sent to deliver, "Mama told me to say...to ask you if there was anything else you needed. A veces," the boy slipped into Spanish a moment and then corrected himself, "Sometimes this basement gets cold, so we have some more blankets."
"I don't think I'll sleep much tonight, so blankets aren't really necessary." Jarod spooned the smooth gooey lumps of ice cream into each bowl and offered a spoon to Filly. "¡Me gusta helado! ¿Y tu amigo?" Jarod gestured towards the bear, "¿Le gusta helado de chocolate tambien?"
The little boy took the spoon with one hand, holding his bear under his arm and nodding excitedly. "You speak Spanish!" he exclaimed delightedly. "My mama does too, but she says it is best to speak English here. Papa always said I could speak both." A small hint of sadness filled the young boy's eyes. He laid his teddy bear next to his bowl, and began to eat the cool ice cream, pretending first to offer the bear some.
"Where's your Papa now?" Jarod asked.
"I don't know. They took him away. And..."
"And what?" Jarod encouraged him to go on.
"And Mama says she doesn't think we're ever going to see him again, but I do. Because I miss him." The boy ate the last spoonful of ice cream and stood up, dragging his stuffed bear off the table. "Buenas noches, Señor Jarod."
Jarod nodded and smiled sadly. "I know the feeling," Jarod said, as he watched Filly disappear up the stairs. "Sleep well, Felipe Lopez."
Scooping out more ice cream with one hand, Jarod reached over with the other and pulled a folder from the pocket of his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. He opened it up and looked at the police photo of Murdock. He stared at it long and hard. He had seen that face somewhere before. It seemed like it. He was positive. But where?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
5:15 AM
"Any word, Sydney?" Jarod's voice came over the line.
"Yes, the Sweeper team that accompanied Miss Parker have just returned and reported in," Sydney replied. "Broots has gone to see what has happened."
Broots ran into Sydney's office looking like a scared rabbit and shaking his head.
"What is it, Broots?" Sydney asked.
"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's got Mr. Parker mighty upset. I didn't see Miss Parker. I think she's missing. And you should have seen Sam, the lump on his head was the size of a toma--" Broots paused thinking. "Do you think Jarod..."
Sydney shook his head and pointed to the telephone. He pressed the button, switching to intercom mode so Broots could listen in.
"Oh," said Broots, plopping into a chair.
"So the Centre has no idea where Miss Parker is?" Jarod asked over the line. "You really should keep better track of your employees. Disappearing acts seem to have become a regular routine."
"Jarod, if you know anything about this, something that would give us a clue." Sydney asked. "Have you found anything yet?"
"The real question is," Jarod replied. "Do you know who Jimmy Murdock is?"
"Jimmy Murdock?" Sydney replied, trying to decipher what this had to do with Miss Parker's disappearance. He glanced questioningly at Broots who shook his head. "No, I'm sorry that name doesn't ring a bell. Jarod, if there is anything you can tell me..."
"I've told you enough already," Jarod replied. "What makes people join gangs, Sydney?"
This sudden change of subject did not throw Sydney off one bit. He was used to swift changes of subject trained by over thirty years of work with this genius' probing mind. "It's caused by a basic human need, Jarod. The need to feel accepted and to belong to something. Ideally, this need should have it's fulfillment in..." He paused realizing he was brinking on a touchy subject.
"In a family," Jarod finished for him.
"Yes, Jarod. And when the system of family fails or doesn't fulfill that need then a person turns elsewhere for acceptance and may join a gang, in a sense trying to make their own family."
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "When I discover the truth that leads to my family, then I'll know where I truly belong," Jarod's voice was choked with emotion. The line went dead. Sydney slowly put down the receiver and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He no longer had any taste for reading. Jarod was still determined not to return the Centre. Miss Parker was still missing. And he knew both were seeking answers, seeking the truth. And yet, as in the case of Catherine Parker, these could be deadly truths indeed.
"Sydney," Broots said, starting nervously out of his chair. "I think I'll get to the Tech room and see if I can find out anything on the name Jimmy Murdock."
"Good idea, Broots," Sydney agreed, nodding.
Broots started for the door, then broke out in a nervous sweat and looked back at his coworker. "Um, Sydney."
"Yes, Broots?" asked a calm and patient voice.
"Ever get the feeling that you're being watched? I mean like a spooky feeling that little, beady eyes are...well um...staring into the back of your head?"
A small twinkle appeared in Sydney's eye and there was almost humor in his voice as he replied, "Of course, Broots. This is the Centre." In Sydney's opinion, one had to simply grin and bear it.
An air vent opened just then and all of Broots' paranoia was, for once, amply justified. A man with a thin crop of hair hopped out, crouching on the floor, holding something shiny in his mouth. His eyes were a pale blue and his expression was nearly blank, but it changed swiftly like the wind. First, mirroring Broot's expression of surprise and then Sydney's expression of interest before returning again to a blank look.
"Angelo," Broots said, immediately lowering his voice at the warning look from Sydney. He whispered, "How does he always get out?"
"Worry, worry," Angelo stated in his hoarse, low-toned voice, removing the shiny disk from his mouth. He looked back and forth from Sydney and Broots' faces, picking up on their emotions. Then, Angelo said, cryptically, "Help Jarod. Help Daughter. Help Jarod help Daughter."
Sydney held out a hand, nodding persuasively and saying, "Yes, Angelo. What is it?"
Angelo looked skeptical for a second and then handed the shiny, iridescent item to Sydney. It proved to be a DSA.
"Wow!" said Broots. "Wonder if he has a stash of those some--Nah, silly idea," Broots shrugged.
Angelo began mumbling again.
"What's he saying, Sydney?" Broots asked as Sydney stared at the disk. Broots screwed up his face as Angelo kept speaking. "Sounds like...worry...worry again," Broots said. "No wait," Broots clapped his hands together and looked at Sydney. "I got it! He said Murry."
"Murry, Murry." Angelo agreed, his face twisting into a strange contorted grin.
"Murry," Sydney repeated in a tone of recognition.
Minutes later, Broots and Sydney entered a secured room, followed by Angelo. "Are you sure no one's about, Broots?" asked Sydney.
"As sure as I can be," replied Broots, looking extremely uptight. He set the computer he had been carrying down. Sydney slid the disk into the slot. The DSA began to play.
At the bottom of the screen flashed the words:
For Centre Use Only
5/4/68
Murry James
A fifteen-year old boy walked into a room. Stubbornness was written all over his face. The camera panned and a young Sydney was shown sitting at a desk. "You're late, Murry. Sit down. I'm glad Dr. Raines agreed we could have this session together."
"My name ain't Murry, it's Murdock!"
"Murry is the name I have been directed to call you," replied Sydney, informatively.
"Yeah, yeah," replied the youth, anger in his eyes. "You the shrink here? I don't need no shrink." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
"Can you tell me what's troubling you, Murry? " Sydney asked, kindly. "Perhaps I can help."
"Take me back to my family," Murry pleaded. "I don't like this stupid place. It was supposed be a good place, cause I was smart. Well, I hate it! It stinks. This whole place stinks." He moved moodily off the chair and began kicking the floor with the toe of his shoe.
"I'm sorry, Murry. I can't," Sydney replied.
"They're dead, ain't they? They're all dead," Murry cried.
"Now, Murry...I don't know about your family."
"Well, I'm gonna get a family someday, I promise you! I'll go to New York and I'll get me a family and nobody, ain't nobody gonna mess with us." He was yelling now, but there were tears in his eyes. He pointed a finger at Sydney in a gesture of emphasis. "You're gonna pay for this. All of yous. I'll make you sorry! And that big wig, Mr. Parker too!" His eyes turned toward the camera. "You hear that," he shouted. And the whole view of the room was blocked by a balled fist.
Static appeared.
Broots looked on with gaping mouth. Angelo touched the screen where the black and white images had just faded and looked sad. Sydney pulled the disk from its slot and sighed. None of them spoke. It was a story all too common. Another life ruined by the Centre.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rochester, New York
April 4th
Thursday 6 AM
"The Centre's done too many little projects...when they affect me, I draw the line. I want Jarod." Murdock had returned, bringing with him Mr. K and another mystery man who also stayed hidden in shadows.
"Well, get in line," Miss Parker replied in a tone of utter boredom.
"Looky Miss Parker, picture this: I'm in the middle of pulling of the biggest job of my renowned career and this Jarod fellow bungles in and ruins it. How would that look to my competitors? Nope, I simply cannot have it. I refuse to give up my throne. You understand that?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Mr. Murdock turned to give her a critical stare, but her expression was of absolute seriousness, so he let it pass.
"Now," Mr. Murdock rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Let's say that this Jarod fellow bungles in and I got you there, say strapped to a bomb of sorts. How would that affect him? Would it maybe bring him round to my point of view?"
Miss Parker looked at him. "And that point would be?"
"Well, Jarod likes to be a good guy....suppose he wouldn't want you to have such an accident. Ain't he protectin' you in some way?".
There was a stony silence.
Murdock persisted. "Sure...I mean it ain't like your strangers. Knowing each other when you was both kids. Maybe you're even protectin' him."
How much more did he know? Miss Parker wondered. Who could he be in contact with at the Centre? "I'm not the sentimental type," Miss Parker retorted, hiding the pain that lay behind that statement. "My job is to bring what belongs to the Centre, back to the Centre."
"What no pursuer's sympathy?" scoffed Murdock.
Those words were electric. They shot through her veins like cold fire. She glared at Murdock and said icily, "I wouldn't trust that blonde."
Murdock simply stared at her for a moment. "I thought I'd ask is all...such an interesting conversation was had about you and your father. But I'm the one running this operation." He snapped his fingers. Mr. C moved forward and placed something in Murdock's hand.
"Your time's up, Miss Parker. And the answer is...?"
Miss Parker sighed inwardly. Currently, her hands were tied and her limbs had become stiff sitting one position for so long. She was hungry and thirsty. It seemed the cleaner Brigitte was somehow connected with Murdock's gang which simply heaped a further log on the fire of her miserable situation. It was best to play along with these ruffians until some sort of rescue was in sight or she saw a window of opportunity for escape. She would have to pretend to go along with their plan. Pretend? Miss Parker almost cracked a smile at the thought and began to speak. "If Jarod wants to interfere, he'll pull something that you won't expect when you least expect it. He's a genius who can literally become anyone he wants to be from a policeman to a thief. You won't be able to let down your guard for a second because the second you do, he'll disappear."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CENTRE HELICOPTER
"I can't believe Mr. Parker actually authorized us to go, without Miss Parker being around," Broots said in wonderment.
"I think it was more perhaps his concern over the immediate situation than for us, Broots," Sydney replied. "And he didn't seem to think it necessary to cancel his trip to Bermuda. Are you positive New York is our best choice?"
Broots nodded. "It's the best I could do...scans on the net revealed that police have a warrant out for a Jimmy Murdock in the area of Rochester, New York."
Sydney agreed. "New York seems plausible, especially based on that DSA Angelo gave us. Murry was a very clever lad. He changed his name...from Murdock James to Jimmy Murdock. I remember being given implicit orders never to call him Murdock, only Murry...which is the reason I didn't recognize the name when Jarod called. I remember him now. He was very determined and older than most children who are brought here. He never quite adjusted to life at the Centre. Then, he simply disappeared."
Oh," said Broots. "When?" Broots wondered if he someday would simply vanish. The Centre had a way of doing that...making people vanish as if they had never existed.
Sydney squinted, thinking. A wrinkle grew on his forward and a grim line around his mouth. "Murry was seventeen the last I saw of him. May of Nineteen-Seventy."
"Nineteen-Seventy?" Broots gulped. "A month after Miss Parker's mother was killed?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mario Lopez opened the door a crack and peeked out. A tall man was standing there dressed in a leather jacket, a black shirt, and black pants. "Uh...yes?" Lopez asked.
The man took off his shades and gave Lopez a serious look. A look that seemed to say that there was more than met the eye about this visit. "May I help you?" Lopez asked, still hiding behind the door.
"No, but I'm hoping I can help you," the mysterious visitor replied.
That statement didn't make any sense. "Who are you?" Lopez asked in bewilderment.
"Someone who thinks you made a mistake. Someone who wants you to know you're making even a bigger mistake now. Someone who doesn't think a child, a little boy who misses his father should go without one." His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, holding it out to Lopez.
The door opened wider and Mario Lopez grabbed it. It was a picture of a smiling dark-haired boy who was dressed in white shorts and a red shirt, gripping tightly to a teddy bear. A picture of his son. Lopez sighed.
His visitor heaved an echoing sigh. "My name is Jarod. I know what you've went through...you bypassed the security systems when that painting was stolen. You were one of the few caught. The rest walked. You've been serving time and now that you're out, you're unemployed. And your wife and your son....you haven't contacted them. You feel ashamed. You feel afraid, but believe me, having a family, having people who care about you is better than isolation. I met your son, Filly. He really misses you....mentions you all the time. Please reconsider. Go back to your family."
Lopez was unable to hide the emotion on his face. He had felt ashamed, afraid and alone. He shook his head quickly however and said, "I can't. I can't face them and ask for their forgiveness. And even if I could, I couldn't. Nunca en mi vida. ¡Nunca!"
"Nunca," Jarod repeated, understandingly. "Never is a long time, Mr. Lopez."
"Don't you see?" Mario asked. "If I go back now, he'll get me. He'll use them against me. No one is safe."
"You mean Jimmy Murdock?" Jarod asked, targeting his question and hoping it struck home.
Lopez jumped visibly. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Yes. Once you're in, it's like you're in for life. You can never leave."
"There is a way." Jarod replied.
Lopez's eyes widened in disbelief. "How?"
"You can do me a favor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 5th
There was something different in the air. Miss Parker had felt it ever since she had disclosed information to them about Jarod. She had not told them everything, basically only the barest of details covering things that she had guessed they might want to hear. However, Friday was going to be different. Miss Parker had no doubts that their famed plan had gone into action.
Mr. K came in not long after she had been making these reflections. Suddenly, the world went dark. He had blindfolded her.
"Where are you taking me?" she dared to ask, when the rest of her bonds had been loosened and she had been allowed to stand up. She wobbled slowly as she felt herself being pushed through the doorway and guided onto the stairs.
"It doesn't concern you," Mr. K replied.
It was the first time she had heard him speak. "Who says?"
"Mr. Murdock."
"Go figure. King Carrot Top sends out another royal decree and his subjects fall over themselves carrying it out."
There was no comment. Handcuffs were slapped on her wrists.
A gust of wind blew past her and dozens of noises assailed her. The smell of the outdoors filled her nostrils. It had rained recently. The air was damp. She played it smart, she felt she was being carefully watched and these were mean characters she was dealing with. Mr. K stayed directly behind her
Then, once again, the outside world was shut out. The noises were muffled. A stuffy smell of dust, oil, and metal filled her nose. She was in a confined space again. The air reverberated as a door was pulled shut.
The blindfold was removed. The lighting of her surroundings was dull and the sound of a motor starting and the ensuing motion revealed she was inside a large van. Miss Parker frowned. Two others sat on crates, their faces hidden by shadows. Slowly, Miss Parker sat down in a corner, pressing her back up against the wall. Her hands, thus hidden from observation, began to fiddle with the handcuffs.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BASEMENT OF BOARDING HOUSE
ROCHESTER, NEW YORK
FRIDAY 1 P.M.
It was strewn with empty cartons of chocolate ice cream and boxes of ice cream bars. However, the most prominent features of the room, besides the contents of the refrigerator, were the fuzzy inhabitants of the room. There were big teddy bears and little teddy bears, tan teddy bears and brown teddy bears, teddy bear books, teddy bear musical tapes, teddy bear videos and most any other item remotely related to a teddy bear.
Broots giggled as he nearly tripped over several pairs of teddy bear slippers. "I have to get some of those. Debbie would love them."
The two sweepers sent along to accompany Broots and Sydney were not amused. They swept throughout the area and uncovered a laptop computer, which had been half hidden by a monster-size bear.
"Hey, look at this," Broots said, pressing a button on the keypad. A box popped up with a video image. "It seems to be live, coming from a camera someplace."
Sydney and one of the sharp-eyed sweepers came over to watch the screen.
Broots maximized the images that they were receiving.
A truck pulled up and parked in front of the museum. The van was white and on its sides were painted bright green stems and yellow flowers.
Moments later, a grey-colored car pulled up beside it.
A man dressed in the uniform for flower delivery, stepped out of the van and went over to the car. He apparently exchanged a few words with the person and then car's motor revved up and the car pulled off the screen. The man looked around casually and then walked slowly over to the back of the van. He rapped three times on the back door of the van. It opened.
From the van stepped three figures, one tall man wearing a Fedora hat low over his face and his collar up, one man with dark hair who looked Spanish, and one woman wearing a dark wrinkled suit. She wriggled out of something around her wrists, but the man in the Fedora grabbed her by an arm to prevent her escape. The man who had rapped on the door caught what they were now able to recognize as handcuffs and stuffed them in his pocket. The woman had auburn hair and she turned her head once to scowl at him before being pushed towards the doors of the museum.
"Miss Parker!" Broots exclaimed.
"Broots, where is this?" Sydney demanded.
"I'm working on it, " Broots replied. His face took on a concentrated look as he attempted to trace the image's source. "Just give me a little more time."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The watchman opened the door and glanced at his watch. "We're not quite open yet," he stated.
"It's alright, we're just here to deliver these decorations." There was a light Eastern accent touched with a slow southern drawl in the voice.
"Flowers," asked the man, puzzledly. "I wasn't told..."
"Look man, we came all the way out here. At least let us do our jobs and all the other details can be sorted out later. Understand?"
What an ego, Miss Parker thought. Murdock and his thugs are actually going to try to get away with this in broad daylight. It'll never work!
The man thought a moment. "Sure, what do I think you're going to do...rob me?" he chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you and your crew the main displays."
Idiot! Miss Parker thought.
"Much obliged to you, sir," replied Mr. K. There was hint of some strong reserve in his voice....of something wild that was being restrained. Miss Parker had the faint notion that she had heard it somewhere before.
THONK! The watchman was knocked out as soon as they had cleared the doorway and the door had been closed to the outside street.
"No violence! You promised Crumel," said Mario Lopez, looking in shock at the injured watchman lying on the floor.
"Can it, Lopez," replied Mr. C, better known as Crumel. "Murdock's orders are for you to get rid of the record." He gestured towards the security camera, waving the crowbar he had carried concealed in his suit coat.
Lopez swallowed another protest, clutched a small tool box and worked on the security system controls, while Mr. K, Crumel, and Miss Parker continued on towards the selected antiques that were to be stolen.
They had not taken their eyes off of her for a moment, Miss Parker thought. How was she to ever get away? For now, excepting the mysterious Mr. K, she had seen their faces. And despite the fact that Murdock strictly called the members of his gang by their alphabetic designation, they had just carelessly let her overhear their actual ones. So when this was all over....
"It's off," Lopez called out about the security system.
A moment later, Murdock walked into the display room. "So where is he? Where is the famous Jarod?" He walked up to Miss Parker and jeered, "He should be here, shouldn't he? To teach me a lesson? To spoil my plans?"
Miss Parker didn't answer. She was staring past Murdock at the display that had been spotlighted. Instead of looking at a large antique camera...as well as several old film reels which Murdock had explained earlier to her that a "ransom to die for" would be paid for these relics' return, she saw a yellow, picnic basket.
Murdock followed her gaze and a look of dismay came across his face. He moved quickly to the display, pulled the basket down and opened it. He lifted out a brown plush teddy bear wearing a bib labeled, "Miss Parker." He tossed the bear at her.
But suddenly, a mechanism in the basket was triggered.
The bear felt weighted in Miss Parker's hands, she shook it slightly and an opening appeared. She reached in her hand and pulled out her 9mm.
The attention of Murdock's gang was fixed on the basket. If you go out in the woods tonight-- A song about a teddy bears' picnic blared in their ears.
Murdock turned just in time to see Miss Parker's back disappearing out the door.
"That's the last straw," he shouted. "She dies!"
Mr. K stuck his foot out and Murdock sprawled on the floor. He looked up with anger his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?".
"I decide who lives or dies! I decide!" replied Mr. K, vehemently. He threw his Fedora on the floor. His coat and gloves followed suit. Murdock's last impression of the man was a fleeting glimpse of an oddly-shaped scar on his right hand.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Miss Parker almost ran full throttle into a black Centre car that came barreling down the street. It pulled up beside her and she hopped in, throwing the teddy bear on the seat and clutching her gun tightly.
"Are you alright, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.
Miss Parker puffed. "I will be. And if I never see another gangster movie again, it'll be too soon. Step on it, driver!" she ordered.
In the rearview mirror, the flashing lights of a police car flashed behind them and sirens rang in their ears, but these soon grew fainter. The real prize was inside the museum and one car driving away didn't concern the authorities.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A FEW DAYS LATER...
A red notebook arrived at the Centre. For once, Miss Parker was totally uninterested in the contents. Her mind had turned to other things and especially a particular day that was coming up.
"I know all about it, Syd," she said, upon returning from a few days leave of absence.
"How nice," Broots said, when he got to look through it. Angelo looked on over his shoulder. "This man Lopez helped to bring in some key members of the Murdock gang and was reunited with his family after they hadn't seen him for months. And now, he's been given a job in developing burglar-proof security systems."
Sydney was lost in other thoughts. After viewing the DSA Angelo had provided, Sydney had sent Jarod information about Murdock's former life at the Centre. "Yes, but somehow Murry escaped."
Broots nodded. "Yeah well, if you can escape the Centre you can pretty much escape anything else."
Angelo retired to the vents with his Cracker Jacks with a very satisfied look on his face.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
APRIL 13TH
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Her cell phone buzzed and she snatched it from her pocket and brought it up to her ear as she walked swiftly through the halls towards her office. Her heels clicked on the floor.
"Are things back to normal as usual at the Centre, Miss Parker? Not that there's anything usual about it," questioned a familiar voice with a smirk in it.
Miss Parker thought of the gun Jarod had returned to her and replied, "Yes. I'm about to go and speak with my new sweeper...Hayes, I think his name is. I have to wrap things up around here before some fire security test that's been ordered," she added.
"And I'm about to do finish up an investigation of my own."
"Where are you, Jarod?"
"Oh, I da know if I owe you that bit of information." Jarod smiled to himself, glancing at a vehicle that drove past. Its license plate read: Idaho.
"What are you hiding, Jarod?" Miss Parker accused him.
"I think the bigger question is what is the Centre hiding from you? Murdock knew something about the people who killed your mother. Another link in the chain, Miss Parker. Don't give up! Who knows? The truth may be closer than we think." Click.
Miss Parker snapped the phone shut and put it her pocket. She smiled inwardly as she opened the door of her office and spotted Hayes taking candy from the dish on her desk.
Give up? Never.
