OT Short Stories: Part One
[In desperation to kill time at work, I am writing short stories which I will post here. Do not read unless you have plenty of time on your hands. Each story will feature an OT forum member who is not the protagonist, but a lowly servant who somehow becomes a great hero. The names are not connected to their personalities—they are just names inserted into the fictional characters.
Enjoy!]
The Car Killer
by Mr. Stillman
Steve looked to his right at Officer Chapman in the passenger seat. Too late now; he saw the look and that was no mirror check. It’s now time to cut the silence and ask him something. “So Sarge wants us to work on this case together. Any idea why?” Steve’s smirk as he asked this revealed he was trying to lighten the solemn atmosphere that stone-faced Chapman had been setting all morning.
Chapman responded, “I have some understanding of the faculties of mind required for paranormal experiences and higher phenomenon of the spiritual state.” He said it blandly, a line off his verbal resume he had uttered in at least a dozen other encounters. One time he tried the line on a date. The date did not go well. Certainly it did not go to completion.
Steve zoned out for a moment, his years of cop driving with implicit memory (eyes on everything happening off the road) taking over as he worked on what was just said. “Ohh…I get it. So you’ve already seen this sort of case before. Well that’s good. That will help us a lot,” Steve said. His new partner for the day, and who knows how much longer, sounded like he was really into ghosts and the like. So much so that Chapman had wanted to make a career out of it. Steve wondered if Chapman had seen a ghost that turned his face so drab.
Steve: “So how do you know the Sarge?”
Chapman: “I don’t.”
Steve: “You must know him from somewhere.”
Chapman: “Just the little interview we had on the phone.”
Steve: “Do you know any other guys working for Sarge?”
Chapman: “It was a quick phone call.”
Steve: “Like, to the point? He asked you to move here in a hurry??”
Chapman: “Pretty much, yes.”
Steve: “Did he say you’d be partnered up with me?”
Chapman: “No, it was brief.”
Steve: “I wasn’t mentioned?”
Chapman: “No.”
A long silence resumed. Steve focused on plotting his cruiser through the restaurant region of Downtown Halifax. Nothing was going on. This gave Steve some additional time to ponder his next array of questions. Little did he know that Officer Chapman would take over the conversation completely.
Steve asked, “So what’s your take on this Car Killer guy? Do you believe any of it’s true? Or, maybe it’s some garage scam. You know, mechanics purposely installing faulty parts to rake in cash from motorists.” Steve had some big words too. He had been driving the beat now for over 20 years.
“No, it can’t be just faulty parts, unless our subject is some expert car burglar who installs them himself on his victims’ vehicles without stealing anything,” Chapman said. “He would have to also stalk the motorists and choose only vehicles that traverse his daily walking route.” Steve was about to retort, but Chapman continued, “See, our subject, this so-called Car Killer, is right there on the surveillance camera shots at the scene of every traffic jam caused by ‘dying’ cars. The cars don’t quit unless this man is close enough. Furthermore, he is a pedestrian. He himself does not drive. He looks too poor to own a car. He walks to work every day on the traffic light videos just like we walk to our cars every day. Simply put, he just doesn’t have the money to go around tracking down cars on his walking route. He can’t tinker with them as they sit in driveways 50 miles away from his neighborhood.”
Chapman concluded, “Whatever is going on with this city’s cars, it is connected to this young man we’ve seen in all those traffic videos we observed at the station yesterday.”
Steve jumped in, missing his chatterbox self and wanting it back, “You didn’t say much yesterday.”
Chapman looked over and said, “I was too busy going over all the video the mayor and your sergeant gave us. I thought it all over last night. The sergeant was right to point out this glaring man in all the images. He may also be right to label this kid the Halifax Car Killer.”
Steve said, “So you think this guy is responsible.”
“Yes,” said Chapman, “for all the troubles, all the backed up traffic, each and every car that needs to be towed away from the middle of every intersection. Every dead car, minivan, SUV, plumber’s truck and whatever else is all tied to this one angry youth stomping off to work in the morning. It’s all connected.”
Steve now looked perplexed. “Well if he’s not tampering with their engines on his time off, how is he affecting the cars?”
Chapman replied with a smirk of his own (the invisible kind) as he said, “Why do you think I was assigned to this case?”
Always answer a question with another question. Steve knew that one. Suspects used it often. Chapman was employing it now. It was meant to be a challenge. Steve accepted the challenge like he accepted the crossword puzzles in the Halifax Metro paper which he failed to complete each day.
“Ahhh…” Steve thought for a bit. Then he said, “Well…I’m thinking he could use some machine, a device he carries under his coat. He hits a button on a rigged walkie-talkie he put together and it sends out some signals that kill the cars. But…” Chapman let him finish. Steve drove on for a while, then concluded, “…only newer cars would be affected, the ones that have chips in them. The kinds of cars that have been shut down are, well, any kind. Old ones. Even a restored 63 Pontiac. Even Mac Trucks.”
Chapman nodded. Steve filled in the missing parts. Maybe this would be the one crossword puzzle he could solve. Steve went on, “So you were brought in because you think he’s physically affecting the cars, but not physically.” He could only smile; it sounded funny the way he had put it. “He’s affecting them.”
Chapman only nodded. He did not care to elaborate on how the appropriately named Car Killer was doing it. Steve figured Officer Chapman had had enough of skeptics telling him he was full of crap. Steve respected the reserved nature of his new partner.
That morning, the two of them had quietly gone over the pile of evidence and constructed a walking-to-work route the subject would likely be traveling. They planned on intercepting the subject on the corner of Spring Garden Road and South Street. Some of the pictures from the hidden traffic cameras were shocking. The Car Killer would be crossing the street, then he’d scowl at a motorist, then the car would stop moving. Steve new a scowl from far away, even from the awkward angle of the traffic cameras which only showed beady little faces on a grey world. Steve recognized that prolonged stare of a pedestrian who was not just disgruntled, but utterly pissed. Pissed at the world of drivers, designed by drivers, designed for drivers.
Steve also reflected on that snug face of the driver. That wry smile of the upper class whose facial features sat there in a pool of fat. They were separated by the windshield—the ones doing well in their warm cozy cars, and the ones doing poorly in the Canadian cold as they tramped off to their miserable labor jobs. Video after video had shown the same story that morning. The young man sees something he doesn’t like, he glares at the enemy (The car? The driver? The world?) and seconds later, the vehicle containing Mr. or Mrs. Upper Class is a vehicle no more. Its engine has hummed its last. Its cozy occupants spiral into a morning of chaos as 30 cars behind them begin honking their horns, urging them to press forward and get their dead car off the road.
Over 200 vehicles had been ‘killed’ this way. All of them ‘died’ at these intersections where the subject walked to work. It was costing the city big time. There was backed up traffic, police being called to the scenes, and tow trucks not being plentiful enough. And the drivers, the victims, were screwed. They would not be driving their brand new cars or reliable SUVs or old trucks ever again. Mechanics all claimed to be at a loss to explain the problem. The vehicles were ‘dead’. It would just be a matter of time before a fight broke out among road ragers held up in the jam, or an ambulance not making it to the hospital in time. Or worse, what if the Car Killer, if he is real, gets….angrier?
Steve pulled over at a location where he could just see the intersection ahead. As he snuggled the cruiser into a parallel parked hiding place behind a gas truck, Chapman debated that they should drive up closer. Steve declared he would be able to point out the subject from back here; the Car Killer always wore an ominous black winter coat and hat. Black pants too. And, he walked like he owned the goddam city. Steve left that part out, sticking to the physical details on the videos.
They waited and watched. Chapman, trusting Steve a bit more, brought up a few theories he had developed. He figured, he told Steve, that the Car Killer was focusing his mental powers on or around the spark plugs, most likely the latter. Spark plugs can easily be replaced. But if some region close to the spark plugs were manipulated, perhaps the affected area could prevent electrical currents from flowing ever again. Perhaps the Car Killer could magnetize a section of wiring or even change a metallic substance into a one that has the properties of rubber so it can no longer act as a conductor. The Car Killer could, in theory, ‘locate’, ‘detect’, or ‘sense’ where the spark plugs are, then affect the surrounding metals. Mechanics would find no reason to replace these parts. The vehicles would be diagnosed as ‘dead on arrival.’ And every vehicle requires spark plugs and metal parts that connect to them.
Steve smiled and brought up Air Force One. Why not bring that puppy down? Chapman said, “No, he’s got to get fairly close to the engine. Think of it as using his gift to mentally or spiritually caress the targeted materials. Intimacy requires proximity.”
The subject came into view at last. Steve yanked the cruiser out of hiding and sped towards the intersection. The subject had his gloves on this cold day. In the videos he always had black gloves. Black everything. Steve thought of the phrase his nurse would say when he landed in hospital with a heart attack a few years ago. Cold hands, warm heart she said. Damn, her hands were colder than the stethoscope. For some reason, Steve now thought of the phrase reversed: warm hands, cold heart. Maybe it was the large gloves or the visible breath bellowing out of the subject’s mouth as he stormed down the street. He was in a hurry. Cops were always ready for subjects who were in a hurry.
They got closer to the subject and could now see the illusion. His coat was not really black after all; it was more of a deep dark blue. The hat was navy grey. He only looked like he was wearing a jumpsuit with a bullet proof vest under it in the surveillance videos, or from afar. Up close, he seemed dressed like any other winter walker. It was like how some cars get described by witnesses as being jet black and they turn out to be dark green on closer inspection.
The Car Killer eyeballed them like a shark eyeballing every individual fish it sees in its surroundings. This guy would never get struck by a vehicle, that’s for damn sure. He glanced at 4 different cars, a cyclist, and looked both ways twice all in 2 seconds.
“Let’s jolt him,” Steve said, turning on the cruisers flashing lights. “Give him some prep for questioning. He’ll give quicker, truer answers.” Chapman did not object.
They pulled over fast a little ways ahead of the Car Killer and let him walk up to them. When they were lined up, the officers jumped out of the cruiser and slammed the doors. They confronted the young man who stopped and stood there as though the cops were actual jail bars and all he could do now was maybe play a little harmonica.
He was slightly tall and lanky. He had that impoverished boney face Steve saw in the majority of his clientele. The only thing this kid’s got going for him is he won’t get heart disease like I did, Steve thought. That, and maybe he can kill cars.
Steve: “What’s your name son?”
Car Killer: “Johnny.”
Steve: “Johnny. Are you on your way to work?”
Car Killer: “Yes.”
Steve: “Where’s your place of work?”
Car Killer: “The ____ Restaurant.”
Steve: “That’s just right over there, see?” He shows Chapman the nearby restaurant which will not be named here so as to not implicate a business.
Steve: “You actually work there. What’s your position at the ____ Restaurant on Spring Garden?”
Mess him up by asking a sudden complicated question with too much info. A lie will come out jumbled as he sorts out the info. The truth will be answered quick and neat since he would have answered it so many times before.
Car Killer: “Dishwasher.”
Sounds honest. No wonder he looks so stern and pissed in the traffic videos.
Steve: “You wash the dishes there?”
Car Killer: “Hmm.”
Sounds like it’s true. But he doesn’t’ want it to be true. Ok. He works at the ____. Dishwashing sucks. Things seem to be falling into place.
Steve: “Did any vehicles break down up the street a little ways from here, Spring Garden Road beyond the ____?” Chapman realized a second later he was being asked. “What?” Chapman said, “Um. Hang on. I just got called in from Vancouver. Ok. I think the ‘Spring Garden’ traffic jams were at Spring Garden and South. Not sure about any incidents further down.” Steve made a mental note to check all the videos again later.
Steve: “So you walk this way to work everyday?”
Car Killer: “No.”
Steve: “So you’re saying you take another route?"
Car Killer: “Hmm?”
Steve: “Why would you do that? It means walking farther for no good reason.”
Car Killer: “I have Mondays off.”
Steve: “That’s not what we asked.”
Chapman: “He’s saying no, he doesn’t take this route everyday because he has Mondays off.”
Steve: “Oh. What do you do on Mondays, your days off when you don’t have to work at the ____ across the street there on Spring Garden?”
Mess him up by asking a sudden complicated question with too much info. A lie will come out jumbled, whereas—
Car Killer: “Nothing.”
Chapman: “Nothing at all?”
Car Killer: “Whatever I want. I stay home.”
Walking sucks. It’s cold out. Things falling into place here. Maybe he doesn’t ‘want’ to kill cars out in the cold on his one measly day off. Steve would be sure to check the dates on the videos. Maybe they would show no cars were killed on Mondays. Maybe the mayor would like to know he can drive his hooker around Mondays and nothing will happen. No tow truck driver will gawk at the girl and tell the whole city how big her hair was. All because this dude doesn’t do dishes on Mondays.
Steve: “Who does your shift on Mondays?”
Chapman tried not to give Steve a what-the-hell-is-this look. It was hard.
Car Killer: “No one.”
Steve: “You’re saying no one does dishes at this big restaurant on Mondays? ‘Place looks full.”
Car Killer: “They’re closed on Mondays for cleaning.”
Steve: “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
*** *** ***
Steve was utilizing his menacing body language. Not using; utilizing. They should write police academy textbooks about me, he thought. His arms were folded tightly across his chest. He was teetering back and forth impatiently from tiptoes to heels and back again for the remainder of his questioning.
Steve said, “It looks like you could be carrying all kinds of objects under that coat you’re wearing. It looks like that could very well be the case, wouldn’t you agree?” Steve was asking Chapman. Chapman could only look at him and feign interest. This voluntary interview was eating away time and the subject would soon have to get going to work or else he’d be late. They were lucky the Car Killer walked so fast and always showed up 20 minutes early, apparently. Steve went on saying, “It wouldn’t surprise me—not at all—if you had some devices under there. Something you would want to keep concealed.”
Steve waited for a reaction. There was none. The Car Killer looked around at the dirty snow on the dirty street. Time went by and the three of them looked at each other. Steve said, “I think you would have something under that coat.”
The Car Killer said, “Did you two have some questions for me?”
Oh, he’s being a smartass now. Steve spent 20 plus years dealing with smartasses. Always answer a question with another question. But this time, there was no initial question.
“Do you want to show us what you have in your coat there, son?” Steve threw in ‘son’ almost every day, even to folks who were way older than himself. Talk down to those suckers, that’s what would go on page one of Steve’s Academy book. Meanwhile, Chapman seemed to be making a pamphlet of his own, looking at the restaurant and jotting down things in his little devil worshipin’ notebook. Did that guy love paper work or what?
The next six minutes went by starting with the Car Killer handing over his winter coat and ending with nothing being found in his winter coat besides some big rubber gloves. There were questions too. Are these your dishwasher gloves? Yes.
Steve handed back the coat to the shivering Car Killer. Questions ensued. Was he mad about being searched just now, outside of his workplace on Spring Garden Road on a non-Monday? No. why wasn’t he mad? Because soon there would be 8 hours of hot water and steam in the dish pit. Plenty of warmth ahead. And, plenty else to be mad about instead. Dishwashing sucks. Steve then added, “You don’t seem to be saying much.”
There was a long pause. This morning was just one long pause. Maybe Steve’s intent was to show how no cars were getting killed during this stalling. Steve barked, “Well? I said you aren’t saying much.”
The Car Killer replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were talking to him,” looking at Chapman.
At last, Chapman broke down and blurted, “Johnny, do you know why the police are interested in you?” And at last, Steve heard the response he had been after. Silence. The Car Killer only stared at Chapman and they all seemed to know exactly why the police were interested. He was holding back an answer and that meant everything.
*** *** ***
Chapman went on, “We have good reason to think you are involved in the disabling of many motor vehicles on this intersection you often walked through. Other streets too. We believe you’ve been destroying people’s cars over the past several months. We’d like for you to talk to us about it.”
Cars of every caliber zoomed by in the background. The Car Killer remained silent.
Chapman continued, “Now, not only have you cost innocent people their means of getting to work, but you’ve also held up many other people from getting to their jobs since stopping one vehicle means causing a big traffic backup. Now if you’re upset at certain people, stopping their cars is one thing, but doing it at rush hour and hurting innocent people is just a random senseless crime. The price of a new car is in the range of thousands—“
The Car Killer cut him off there. “Innocent. Innocent people you say. They don’t look so innocent to me,” he said scornfully.
Chapman seized the opportunity, “Well why don’t we talk about that.”
The car killer spoke up again, saying “Yes. Why don’t we. First, you say these ‘innocent’ people can’t get to work. You know what I say to that? Oh, those poor, poor drivers.” You could cut the sarcasm with a knife. No, you could run over it. It was that thick.
A bunch of cars bolted by. Those are the lucky ones, Steve thought. His stellar police work was saving the day once more, just like in the old days. Heck, even the new guy was getting something out of the Car Killer.
The rant of the Car Killer continued. He poured out his anger. The cops took it like cough syrup. He stood there for eight minutes lecturing the silent cops about safety on the highways and how drivers are scum. They should all have their cars taken away from them. Drivers are a danger to all, he declared, and traffic jams that ‘hold up’ people are really holding them up from getting people killed. The Car Killer gestured wildly at every slight violation, particularly cross walk violations. Nine out of every ten vehicles failed to wait until pedestrians were all the way off the crosswalk. Each driver was impatient and drove over the white lines while there were still people crossing. Some drivers actually weaved between gourps of walkers. These were all crosswalk violations, and none were ever punished for endangering lives. He screamed this at the policemen, calling them blind idiots. Did they not see? These tyrant drivers were endangering the rest of us. They are unregulated. Less than one percent of lawbreakers were ever getting punished. The useless police were here bugging someone who walks, when the real work needs to be done cleaning up the roads of arrogant drivers.
If getting yelled at was the only way Steve and Chapman were going to get any information, then so be it. About ten red lights were run by drivers during the Car Killers fit of rage. Orange light means slow down, you retarded cops, he yelled. He practically spat in their faces. Why weren’t they doing their job and arresting all these dangerous offenders? He pointed at every driver using a cell phone, every set of wheels that were not turned inward to the curb. No one used their emergency break to park like they’re supposed to. People were walking by looking and wondering why these two cops were just standing there taking it up the tailpipe. This young fellow was screaming profanities at them, and they were just standing there.
Jeeze, thought Steve. This kid is pretty observant. He’d make a great cop.
*** *** ***
The scene (that’s what the papers would call it the next day—a scene) ended with the Car Killer holding his fist right up to the noses of the tired looking cops while a pack of teenagers went by recording it on their cell phones. After much swearing, the Car Killer said that the cops would have their way in the end. The Car Killer was getting a much better job, he was just putting in his two weeks due, then he would be moving away from this cesspool. If he had something to do with the blissful act of killing cars, he would become someone else’s problem in some other lazy-turd cops’ neighborhood. Steve saw it as a complete win.
For Chapman it was a double-edged sword. After the kid stormed off to the restaurant (through the back entrance—apparently he did work there; he seemed to be telling the truth) the two officers stood there for a while. Well, Steve didn’t; he went immediately back to the cruiser to warm his hands. Chapman lingered outside putting it all together in his mind. He looked sure of it now. The mystery was solved. They had found the Car Killer. He practically confessed. But how could they stop him? Any Judge would dismiss such foolish charges of car killings when the suspect had no contact with the cars and no wave-emitting devices on his person. ESP was not an allowable argument in court. He and Steve would later look back to the videos and find the Car Killer glaring at the drivers, who had made some crosswalk violation against his life. The ‘violators’ would then be shown struggling to restart their engines with no success. But the Car Killer would be shown as completely innocent while the drivers are caught on camera committing traffic violations. It was as laughable and true as the outburst they’d just been assailed with.
Chapman, looking both lost and found at the same time, gently got into the passenger seat mumbling his now completed theories to Steve. Steve interpreted it as a blur of “Vigilantism for sure…philosopher…revenge artist…PTSD and ESP mixed and stirred. Perfectionist; he wants a utopian society…capital punishment. The only hope is his new job will be better and he’ll cool down, leaving cars alone for a while.”
Steve scrapped that idea. He had his own theory. Steve said, “Ok. He’s in cahoots with someone else. We’ll find it. We’ll find the signal he’s giving to his friend in the videos. When he makes the gesture, his unseen friend, far out of range of the cameras, uses a device to switch off the cars by emitting radio waves that disrupt the wiring…”
Chapman heaved a long sigh and said, “Can we discuss this at the station please?” Steve agreed to that at least, but there was just one problem. Their car wouldn’t start.
[In desperation to kill time at work, I am writing short stories which I will post here. Do not read unless you have plenty of time on your hands. Each story will feature an OT forum member who is not the protagonist, but a lowly servant who somehow becomes a great hero. The names are not connected to their personalities—they are just names inserted into the fictional characters.
Enjoy!]
The Car Killer
by Mr. Stillman
Steve looked to his right at Officer Chapman in the passenger seat. Too late now; he saw the look and that was no mirror check. It’s now time to cut the silence and ask him something. “So Sarge wants us to work on this case together. Any idea why?” Steve’s smirk as he asked this revealed he was trying to lighten the solemn atmosphere that stone-faced Chapman had been setting all morning.
Chapman responded, “I have some understanding of the faculties of mind required for paranormal experiences and higher phenomenon of the spiritual state.” He said it blandly, a line off his verbal resume he had uttered in at least a dozen other encounters. One time he tried the line on a date. The date did not go well. Certainly it did not go to completion.
Steve zoned out for a moment, his years of cop driving with implicit memory (eyes on everything happening off the road) taking over as he worked on what was just said. “Ohh…I get it. So you’ve already seen this sort of case before. Well that’s good. That will help us a lot,” Steve said. His new partner for the day, and who knows how much longer, sounded like he was really into ghosts and the like. So much so that Chapman had wanted to make a career out of it. Steve wondered if Chapman had seen a ghost that turned his face so drab.
Steve: “So how do you know the Sarge?”
Chapman: “I don’t.”
Steve: “You must know him from somewhere.”
Chapman: “Just the little interview we had on the phone.”
Steve: “Do you know any other guys working for Sarge?”
Chapman: “It was a quick phone call.”
Steve: “Like, to the point? He asked you to move here in a hurry??”
Chapman: “Pretty much, yes.”
Steve: “Did he say you’d be partnered up with me?”
Chapman: “No, it was brief.”
Steve: “I wasn’t mentioned?”
Chapman: “No.”
A long silence resumed. Steve focused on plotting his cruiser through the restaurant region of Downtown Halifax. Nothing was going on. This gave Steve some additional time to ponder his next array of questions. Little did he know that Officer Chapman would take over the conversation completely.
Steve asked, “So what’s your take on this Car Killer guy? Do you believe any of it’s true? Or, maybe it’s some garage scam. You know, mechanics purposely installing faulty parts to rake in cash from motorists.” Steve had some big words too. He had been driving the beat now for over 20 years.
“No, it can’t be just faulty parts, unless our subject is some expert car burglar who installs them himself on his victims’ vehicles without stealing anything,” Chapman said. “He would have to also stalk the motorists and choose only vehicles that traverse his daily walking route.” Steve was about to retort, but Chapman continued, “See, our subject, this so-called Car Killer, is right there on the surveillance camera shots at the scene of every traffic jam caused by ‘dying’ cars. The cars don’t quit unless this man is close enough. Furthermore, he is a pedestrian. He himself does not drive. He looks too poor to own a car. He walks to work every day on the traffic light videos just like we walk to our cars every day. Simply put, he just doesn’t have the money to go around tracking down cars on his walking route. He can’t tinker with them as they sit in driveways 50 miles away from his neighborhood.”
Chapman concluded, “Whatever is going on with this city’s cars, it is connected to this young man we’ve seen in all those traffic videos we observed at the station yesterday.”
Steve jumped in, missing his chatterbox self and wanting it back, “You didn’t say much yesterday.”
Chapman looked over and said, “I was too busy going over all the video the mayor and your sergeant gave us. I thought it all over last night. The sergeant was right to point out this glaring man in all the images. He may also be right to label this kid the Halifax Car Killer.”
Steve said, “So you think this guy is responsible.”
“Yes,” said Chapman, “for all the troubles, all the backed up traffic, each and every car that needs to be towed away from the middle of every intersection. Every dead car, minivan, SUV, plumber’s truck and whatever else is all tied to this one angry youth stomping off to work in the morning. It’s all connected.”
Steve now looked perplexed. “Well if he’s not tampering with their engines on his time off, how is he affecting the cars?”
Chapman replied with a smirk of his own (the invisible kind) as he said, “Why do you think I was assigned to this case?”
Always answer a question with another question. Steve knew that one. Suspects used it often. Chapman was employing it now. It was meant to be a challenge. Steve accepted the challenge like he accepted the crossword puzzles in the Halifax Metro paper which he failed to complete each day.
“Ahhh…” Steve thought for a bit. Then he said, “Well…I’m thinking he could use some machine, a device he carries under his coat. He hits a button on a rigged walkie-talkie he put together and it sends out some signals that kill the cars. But…” Chapman let him finish. Steve drove on for a while, then concluded, “…only newer cars would be affected, the ones that have chips in them. The kinds of cars that have been shut down are, well, any kind. Old ones. Even a restored 63 Pontiac. Even Mac Trucks.”
Chapman nodded. Steve filled in the missing parts. Maybe this would be the one crossword puzzle he could solve. Steve went on, “So you were brought in because you think he’s physically affecting the cars, but not physically.” He could only smile; it sounded funny the way he had put it. “He’s affecting them.”
Chapman only nodded. He did not care to elaborate on how the appropriately named Car Killer was doing it. Steve figured Officer Chapman had had enough of skeptics telling him he was full of crap. Steve respected the reserved nature of his new partner.
That morning, the two of them had quietly gone over the pile of evidence and constructed a walking-to-work route the subject would likely be traveling. They planned on intercepting the subject on the corner of Spring Garden Road and South Street. Some of the pictures from the hidden traffic cameras were shocking. The Car Killer would be crossing the street, then he’d scowl at a motorist, then the car would stop moving. Steve new a scowl from far away, even from the awkward angle of the traffic cameras which only showed beady little faces on a grey world. Steve recognized that prolonged stare of a pedestrian who was not just disgruntled, but utterly pissed. Pissed at the world of drivers, designed by drivers, designed for drivers.
Steve also reflected on that snug face of the driver. That wry smile of the upper class whose facial features sat there in a pool of fat. They were separated by the windshield—the ones doing well in their warm cozy cars, and the ones doing poorly in the Canadian cold as they tramped off to their miserable labor jobs. Video after video had shown the same story that morning. The young man sees something he doesn’t like, he glares at the enemy (The car? The driver? The world?) and seconds later, the vehicle containing Mr. or Mrs. Upper Class is a vehicle no more. Its engine has hummed its last. Its cozy occupants spiral into a morning of chaos as 30 cars behind them begin honking their horns, urging them to press forward and get their dead car off the road.
Over 200 vehicles had been ‘killed’ this way. All of them ‘died’ at these intersections where the subject walked to work. It was costing the city big time. There was backed up traffic, police being called to the scenes, and tow trucks not being plentiful enough. And the drivers, the victims, were screwed. They would not be driving their brand new cars or reliable SUVs or old trucks ever again. Mechanics all claimed to be at a loss to explain the problem. The vehicles were ‘dead’. It would just be a matter of time before a fight broke out among road ragers held up in the jam, or an ambulance not making it to the hospital in time. Or worse, what if the Car Killer, if he is real, gets….angrier?
Steve pulled over at a location where he could just see the intersection ahead. As he snuggled the cruiser into a parallel parked hiding place behind a gas truck, Chapman debated that they should drive up closer. Steve declared he would be able to point out the subject from back here; the Car Killer always wore an ominous black winter coat and hat. Black pants too. And, he walked like he owned the goddam city. Steve left that part out, sticking to the physical details on the videos.
They waited and watched. Chapman, trusting Steve a bit more, brought up a few theories he had developed. He figured, he told Steve, that the Car Killer was focusing his mental powers on or around the spark plugs, most likely the latter. Spark plugs can easily be replaced. But if some region close to the spark plugs were manipulated, perhaps the affected area could prevent electrical currents from flowing ever again. Perhaps the Car Killer could magnetize a section of wiring or even change a metallic substance into a one that has the properties of rubber so it can no longer act as a conductor. The Car Killer could, in theory, ‘locate’, ‘detect’, or ‘sense’ where the spark plugs are, then affect the surrounding metals. Mechanics would find no reason to replace these parts. The vehicles would be diagnosed as ‘dead on arrival.’ And every vehicle requires spark plugs and metal parts that connect to them.
Steve smiled and brought up Air Force One. Why not bring that puppy down? Chapman said, “No, he’s got to get fairly close to the engine. Think of it as using his gift to mentally or spiritually caress the targeted materials. Intimacy requires proximity.”
The subject came into view at last. Steve yanked the cruiser out of hiding and sped towards the intersection. The subject had his gloves on this cold day. In the videos he always had black gloves. Black everything. Steve thought of the phrase his nurse would say when he landed in hospital with a heart attack a few years ago. Cold hands, warm heart she said. Damn, her hands were colder than the stethoscope. For some reason, Steve now thought of the phrase reversed: warm hands, cold heart. Maybe it was the large gloves or the visible breath bellowing out of the subject’s mouth as he stormed down the street. He was in a hurry. Cops were always ready for subjects who were in a hurry.
They got closer to the subject and could now see the illusion. His coat was not really black after all; it was more of a deep dark blue. The hat was navy grey. He only looked like he was wearing a jumpsuit with a bullet proof vest under it in the surveillance videos, or from afar. Up close, he seemed dressed like any other winter walker. It was like how some cars get described by witnesses as being jet black and they turn out to be dark green on closer inspection.
The Car Killer eyeballed them like a shark eyeballing every individual fish it sees in its surroundings. This guy would never get struck by a vehicle, that’s for damn sure. He glanced at 4 different cars, a cyclist, and looked both ways twice all in 2 seconds.
“Let’s jolt him,” Steve said, turning on the cruisers flashing lights. “Give him some prep for questioning. He’ll give quicker, truer answers.” Chapman did not object.
They pulled over fast a little ways ahead of the Car Killer and let him walk up to them. When they were lined up, the officers jumped out of the cruiser and slammed the doors. They confronted the young man who stopped and stood there as though the cops were actual jail bars and all he could do now was maybe play a little harmonica.
He was slightly tall and lanky. He had that impoverished boney face Steve saw in the majority of his clientele. The only thing this kid’s got going for him is he won’t get heart disease like I did, Steve thought. That, and maybe he can kill cars.
Steve: “What’s your name son?”
Car Killer: “Johnny.”
Steve: “Johnny. Are you on your way to work?”
Car Killer: “Yes.”
Steve: “Where’s your place of work?”
Car Killer: “The ____ Restaurant.”
Steve: “That’s just right over there, see?” He shows Chapman the nearby restaurant which will not be named here so as to not implicate a business.
Steve: “You actually work there. What’s your position at the ____ Restaurant on Spring Garden?”
Mess him up by asking a sudden complicated question with too much info. A lie will come out jumbled as he sorts out the info. The truth will be answered quick and neat since he would have answered it so many times before.
Car Killer: “Dishwasher.”
Sounds honest. No wonder he looks so stern and pissed in the traffic videos.
Steve: “You wash the dishes there?”
Car Killer: “Hmm.”
Sounds like it’s true. But he doesn’t’ want it to be true. Ok. He works at the ____. Dishwashing sucks. Things seem to be falling into place.
Steve: “Did any vehicles break down up the street a little ways from here, Spring Garden Road beyond the ____?” Chapman realized a second later he was being asked. “What?” Chapman said, “Um. Hang on. I just got called in from Vancouver. Ok. I think the ‘Spring Garden’ traffic jams were at Spring Garden and South. Not sure about any incidents further down.” Steve made a mental note to check all the videos again later.
Steve: “So you walk this way to work everyday?”
Car Killer: “No.”
Steve: “So you’re saying you take another route?"
Car Killer: “Hmm?”
Steve: “Why would you do that? It means walking farther for no good reason.”
Car Killer: “I have Mondays off.”
Steve: “That’s not what we asked.”
Chapman: “He’s saying no, he doesn’t take this route everyday because he has Mondays off.”
Steve: “Oh. What do you do on Mondays, your days off when you don’t have to work at the ____ across the street there on Spring Garden?”
Mess him up by asking a sudden complicated question with too much info. A lie will come out jumbled, whereas—
Car Killer: “Nothing.”
Chapman: “Nothing at all?”
Car Killer: “Whatever I want. I stay home.”
Walking sucks. It’s cold out. Things falling into place here. Maybe he doesn’t ‘want’ to kill cars out in the cold on his one measly day off. Steve would be sure to check the dates on the videos. Maybe they would show no cars were killed on Mondays. Maybe the mayor would like to know he can drive his hooker around Mondays and nothing will happen. No tow truck driver will gawk at the girl and tell the whole city how big her hair was. All because this dude doesn’t do dishes on Mondays.
Steve: “Who does your shift on Mondays?”
Chapman tried not to give Steve a what-the-hell-is-this look. It was hard.
Car Killer: “No one.”
Steve: “You’re saying no one does dishes at this big restaurant on Mondays? ‘Place looks full.”
Car Killer: “They’re closed on Mondays for cleaning.”
Steve: “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
*** *** ***
Steve was utilizing his menacing body language. Not using; utilizing. They should write police academy textbooks about me, he thought. His arms were folded tightly across his chest. He was teetering back and forth impatiently from tiptoes to heels and back again for the remainder of his questioning.
Steve said, “It looks like you could be carrying all kinds of objects under that coat you’re wearing. It looks like that could very well be the case, wouldn’t you agree?” Steve was asking Chapman. Chapman could only look at him and feign interest. This voluntary interview was eating away time and the subject would soon have to get going to work or else he’d be late. They were lucky the Car Killer walked so fast and always showed up 20 minutes early, apparently. Steve went on saying, “It wouldn’t surprise me—not at all—if you had some devices under there. Something you would want to keep concealed.”
Steve waited for a reaction. There was none. The Car Killer looked around at the dirty snow on the dirty street. Time went by and the three of them looked at each other. Steve said, “I think you would have something under that coat.”
The Car Killer said, “Did you two have some questions for me?”
Oh, he’s being a smartass now. Steve spent 20 plus years dealing with smartasses. Always answer a question with another question. But this time, there was no initial question.
“Do you want to show us what you have in your coat there, son?” Steve threw in ‘son’ almost every day, even to folks who were way older than himself. Talk down to those suckers, that’s what would go on page one of Steve’s Academy book. Meanwhile, Chapman seemed to be making a pamphlet of his own, looking at the restaurant and jotting down things in his little devil worshipin’ notebook. Did that guy love paper work or what?
The next six minutes went by starting with the Car Killer handing over his winter coat and ending with nothing being found in his winter coat besides some big rubber gloves. There were questions too. Are these your dishwasher gloves? Yes.
Steve handed back the coat to the shivering Car Killer. Questions ensued. Was he mad about being searched just now, outside of his workplace on Spring Garden Road on a non-Monday? No. why wasn’t he mad? Because soon there would be 8 hours of hot water and steam in the dish pit. Plenty of warmth ahead. And, plenty else to be mad about instead. Dishwashing sucks. Steve then added, “You don’t seem to be saying much.”
There was a long pause. This morning was just one long pause. Maybe Steve’s intent was to show how no cars were getting killed during this stalling. Steve barked, “Well? I said you aren’t saying much.”
The Car Killer replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were talking to him,” looking at Chapman.
At last, Chapman broke down and blurted, “Johnny, do you know why the police are interested in you?” And at last, Steve heard the response he had been after. Silence. The Car Killer only stared at Chapman and they all seemed to know exactly why the police were interested. He was holding back an answer and that meant everything.
*** *** ***
Chapman went on, “We have good reason to think you are involved in the disabling of many motor vehicles on this intersection you often walked through. Other streets too. We believe you’ve been destroying people’s cars over the past several months. We’d like for you to talk to us about it.”
Cars of every caliber zoomed by in the background. The Car Killer remained silent.
Chapman continued, “Now, not only have you cost innocent people their means of getting to work, but you’ve also held up many other people from getting to their jobs since stopping one vehicle means causing a big traffic backup. Now if you’re upset at certain people, stopping their cars is one thing, but doing it at rush hour and hurting innocent people is just a random senseless crime. The price of a new car is in the range of thousands—“
The Car Killer cut him off there. “Innocent. Innocent people you say. They don’t look so innocent to me,” he said scornfully.
Chapman seized the opportunity, “Well why don’t we talk about that.”
The car killer spoke up again, saying “Yes. Why don’t we. First, you say these ‘innocent’ people can’t get to work. You know what I say to that? Oh, those poor, poor drivers.” You could cut the sarcasm with a knife. No, you could run over it. It was that thick.
A bunch of cars bolted by. Those are the lucky ones, Steve thought. His stellar police work was saving the day once more, just like in the old days. Heck, even the new guy was getting something out of the Car Killer.
The rant of the Car Killer continued. He poured out his anger. The cops took it like cough syrup. He stood there for eight minutes lecturing the silent cops about safety on the highways and how drivers are scum. They should all have their cars taken away from them. Drivers are a danger to all, he declared, and traffic jams that ‘hold up’ people are really holding them up from getting people killed. The Car Killer gestured wildly at every slight violation, particularly cross walk violations. Nine out of every ten vehicles failed to wait until pedestrians were all the way off the crosswalk. Each driver was impatient and drove over the white lines while there were still people crossing. Some drivers actually weaved between gourps of walkers. These were all crosswalk violations, and none were ever punished for endangering lives. He screamed this at the policemen, calling them blind idiots. Did they not see? These tyrant drivers were endangering the rest of us. They are unregulated. Less than one percent of lawbreakers were ever getting punished. The useless police were here bugging someone who walks, when the real work needs to be done cleaning up the roads of arrogant drivers.
If getting yelled at was the only way Steve and Chapman were going to get any information, then so be it. About ten red lights were run by drivers during the Car Killers fit of rage. Orange light means slow down, you retarded cops, he yelled. He practically spat in their faces. Why weren’t they doing their job and arresting all these dangerous offenders? He pointed at every driver using a cell phone, every set of wheels that were not turned inward to the curb. No one used their emergency break to park like they’re supposed to. People were walking by looking and wondering why these two cops were just standing there taking it up the tailpipe. This young fellow was screaming profanities at them, and they were just standing there.
Jeeze, thought Steve. This kid is pretty observant. He’d make a great cop.
*** *** ***
The scene (that’s what the papers would call it the next day—a scene) ended with the Car Killer holding his fist right up to the noses of the tired looking cops while a pack of teenagers went by recording it on their cell phones. After much swearing, the Car Killer said that the cops would have their way in the end. The Car Killer was getting a much better job, he was just putting in his two weeks due, then he would be moving away from this cesspool. If he had something to do with the blissful act of killing cars, he would become someone else’s problem in some other lazy-turd cops’ neighborhood. Steve saw it as a complete win.
For Chapman it was a double-edged sword. After the kid stormed off to the restaurant (through the back entrance—apparently he did work there; he seemed to be telling the truth) the two officers stood there for a while. Well, Steve didn’t; he went immediately back to the cruiser to warm his hands. Chapman lingered outside putting it all together in his mind. He looked sure of it now. The mystery was solved. They had found the Car Killer. He practically confessed. But how could they stop him? Any Judge would dismiss such foolish charges of car killings when the suspect had no contact with the cars and no wave-emitting devices on his person. ESP was not an allowable argument in court. He and Steve would later look back to the videos and find the Car Killer glaring at the drivers, who had made some crosswalk violation against his life. The ‘violators’ would then be shown struggling to restart their engines with no success. But the Car Killer would be shown as completely innocent while the drivers are caught on camera committing traffic violations. It was as laughable and true as the outburst they’d just been assailed with.
Chapman, looking both lost and found at the same time, gently got into the passenger seat mumbling his now completed theories to Steve. Steve interpreted it as a blur of “Vigilantism for sure…philosopher…revenge artist…PTSD and ESP mixed and stirred. Perfectionist; he wants a utopian society…capital punishment. The only hope is his new job will be better and he’ll cool down, leaving cars alone for a while.”
Steve scrapped that idea. He had his own theory. Steve said, “Ok. He’s in cahoots with someone else. We’ll find it. We’ll find the signal he’s giving to his friend in the videos. When he makes the gesture, his unseen friend, far out of range of the cameras, uses a device to switch off the cars by emitting radio waves that disrupt the wiring…”
Chapman heaved a long sigh and said, “Can we discuss this at the station please?” Steve agreed to that at least, but there was just one problem. Their car wouldn’t start.
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