The Compound: A Thriller Page 3

  “He followed the rules until now, you mean," said Jake.

  “Yes, until now, when the entire state seems to be interested in him. Even if it’s on the twelfth page of the newspaper, it’s too large a risk. If he ran off to Las Vegas, like the cops think, we need to send someone out there to make sure no one in Nevada recognizes him and tries to kill him. When he hired us, we faked a drive-by shooting in Nevada and buried a similar-looking body in New Mexico alongside his mother and father—don’t overthink it—and staged a funeral. There were quite a few shady people there, not to mention the feds. We’re sure many of them were aware of each other, but they were united in making sure Frank Tanners was dead. Although many groups conducted investigations, it seems they were convinced and at the very least set aside the case. If the media about his disappearance spreads too far, then it could be a massive problem. Someone will see it who recognizes him, and then people will start asking questions about how he’s still alive.”

  “What is my assignment?”

  Harold smiled. “Find him. Kill him. Make him disappear. Understood?”

  Jake nodded. “Understood.”

  “Good,” said Harold. “The local contact is named Zeke. He works at the video store. The code phrase is ‘purple wombats.’ His idea, not mine. He’s a James Bond fanatic. Thinks he’s Q and we’re his James Bonds. As long as he doesn’t fuck anything up, he can believe whatever he wants.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll do you proud.”

  “Do yourself proud, and it will work both ways. Now, let’s get some goddamn food. I’m starving.”

  He waved Janet over to the table. She came almost immediately. The diner had filled up a bit, but there was space between them and the rest of the customers. Jake wondered if there was some sort of deal between the two of them and how much Janet knew. As she approached, Harold slouched and shoved his hands into his pockets. His expression became more relaxed and confident. Jake marveled at his skill. Somehow, Harold looked both older and more youthful, and it occurred to Jake there was a twenty- to thirty-year range into which he could guess Harold’s possible age.

  “Can I get you anything to eat, sweetie?” Janet asked Jake.

  Jake gave the menu a cursory glance, but the mere suggestion of food made his stomach turn. He closed the menu. “Just a ginger ale, please.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie,” she said. “And for you, Harry?”

  “The usual, Jan,” said Harold, not even opening his menu before holding it out to her.

  “That was two cheeseburgers with fries, a foot-long hot dog, a large strawberry milkshake, and, I’m going to guess, a refill on Coke.”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” Harold grinned.

  “Oh, it’s never too much trouble for you, Harry. I’ll put that on a rush order in the kitchen for my favorite customer.” Janet took their menus and left, her cheeks turning a soft red.

  “That’s a lot of food,” said Jake.

  Harold shrugged. “It’s good here. You should try some.”

  “I'm good.”

  Harold sipped at the remains of the Coke. They discussed details of the case until the food arrived, and Jake watched with rapt fascination as Harold ate all the food himself, without rushing but also without stopping except for sips of Coke. Jake thought he was beginning to understand why Janet said he was such a good customer, especially if he came in here almost every day. Yet he was also in phenomenal shape. How he achieved that was beyond Jake’s wildest imaginings.

  They paid the check, and Harold drove Jake to the Bishop’s Inn. He was to stay here until his sentencing hearing, Harold explained. His kind “uncle” was not willing to drive him back to Boston, and the friends Jake had spent the night with at a bachelor party weren’t either.

  “All right, I got it,” said Jake, stepping out of the car. He turned back before closing the door. “How can I get in contact with you?”

  “I’ll be at the diner everyday between noon and one, unless I’m not. Any other time, tough shit. Got it?”

  Jake nodded. “Got it.”

  Harold left, and Jake was alone at the hotel. It was just before noon, and the town, which he had seen on his way to the hotel, was beginning to come alive. It was Sunday, and the stores were only opening now, most of the employees pulling back the metal barriers on the front of their stores and pulling some of their wares out onto the street. He could see the beach and the lake a few blocks away between the cottages. The snow had mostly receded, and the locals were taking advantage of the spring air before the tourists began pouring in.

  During his research, Jake had discovered that until a few years ago Crescent Point was economically stable, but the closure of several large factories on the north shore—which had since remained vacant and rotting, unable to sell—had cut off that source of work, leaving tourism and then agriculture as the main sources of income for the small town.

  There didn’t seem to be many tourists, though.

  Maybe the news about Frank Frederickson’s disappearance had done that, maybe it was simply a slow year, or maybe the supposed rise in crime had scared people away.

  Jake didn’t know, but he knew that until he his hangover passed he wouldn’t be much use anyway. The coffee and Advil were beginning to wear off, and the nausea and migraines were returning in full force.

  He walked into the small front office of the hotel. There was no one behind the counter, so he rang the silver bell and waited. An older woman emerged from the door behind the desk. She was slow and deliberate in her movements, propping herself up against the counter. When she looked up, however, Jake could see intelligence and clarity in her eyes. Her body was going far earlier than her mind. She eyed Jake for a moment before saying, “What can I do for ya?”

  “I’d like to rent a room.”

  “For sure. Rooms are empty anyway. How long?”

  “Don’t know. A few days, maybe a week?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see. Ah, room seventeen. There ya go. We need half the cash up front. We’ve had some issues with people running off without paying in the past. I’ll be nice and only reserve it for three days right now.”

  She gave Jake the price, and he turned over the cash from his wallet, which the cops hadn’t touched. “Wait,” he said as she took his money. “What’s your name?”

  “Agatha,” said the woman. “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing,” said Jake, releasing his money and letting Agatha count it. He watched the woman intently, trying to gauge whether there was any dishonesty in her words, and found none. He was given the key to the room—out of a cabinet filled with keys—and thanked her. He could feel the woman watching him as he exited, although he couldn’t figure out why.

  He walked up the outdoor staircase to the second floor of the hotel. He memorized a map on the fire exit and all the potential exits, both marked and unmarked. Once on the second floor, he looked out over the hotel. It was a basic courtyard hotel around a pool.

  At his door, he went through the long mental list he had been forced to remember during his time at The Compound. He found nothing dangerous or suspicious about the door and stepped inside. It was such a short pause that someone glancing his direction would not have noticed, but it was pivotal.

  He stepped inside and searched the room for anything suspicious.

  It was nothing special, but it was clean. Perhaps he was the first person to stay this year, and they only cleaned it thoroughly that once, but he got the sense from the hotel that they cared about keeping it clean.

  Once he was certain there was no danger, which he had known in his gut before he entered the hotel, he fell onto the bed. It was stiff and the pillows were like bricks, but it was far nicer than the bench he’d slept on the previous night, and he fell asleep almost instantly.

  Chapter 3

  The sun was gone, the stars illuminating the clear night sky and providing natural light for the city when Jake woke up.

  He’d slept away t
he day and awoke feeling rested just as the sun set, most of his hangover gone. Even still, he took a few more Advils before exiting his room.

  He walked out of the hotel and down the street to the beach. As he walked the few streets between the hotel and the beach, he was struck by the empty cottages that lined the road, all with signs containing a phone number to call if you wished to rent the cottage. The lights were out and the yards undisturbed. It was almost unsettling. Jake momentarily wondered why Harold hadn’t set him up in one of the cottages but then figured that he wasn’t supposed to stay here more than a week. The rest of the space on his walk seemed to be filled with pine trees, their needles impervious to the spring chill.

  He made it to the beach, leaving his shoes and socks at the entrance. The beach was mostly empty save for one couple sitting on a blanket who didn’t notice him, so engrossed were they in one another. Jake couldn’t help but look at them, longing for something like that, some feeling of unconcerned security in another person, someone who has seen your soul and told you it’s something special, and meant it.

  He thought of Doug and Sarah, his best friends at The Compound, and a relationship that would never happen.

  He shook his head when he realized he was staring at the couple.

  He walked to the edge of the water and let the chilly water lap over his feet. The sunset illuminated the forest on the far side of the lake before disappearing over the horizon. Jake just stood there, his pant legs folded up to keep them out of the water and his hands in his pockets.

  About a half hour later, he looked to his right and saw something he’d seen pictures of but hadn’t imagined he’d see himself. At certain points during the year, when the moon rose over the point at the end of Crescent Point, the small forest cut a crescent out of the moon almost perfectly, making the moon look like a crescent moon that had been turned ninety degrees. It only lasted for a few minutes, but Jake stood transfixed as he looked at the image from which Crescent Point took its name.

  There was a legend he’d read that those who saw this Crescent Moon were granted a great streak of luck, although that few believed it now, and he himself had a hard time believing there was any supernatural quality to it. Even still, he understood why the legend had started.

  He walked back up the beach past the couple, grabbed his shoes and socks, and walked back to the hotel. He showered in his room and changed into clothes Harold had given him before walking down to the front office. Agatha was sitting behind the counter. Jake cleared his throat, and the woman looked up, pushing herself up to a standing position.

  “Ah, you again?” she asked, straightening her glasses. She hesitated. “Your name was?”

  “Jake,” he said. “You own this place?”

  “For twenty years,” she said. “Ever since my husband died, and before that he owned it for ten years, and his father before him.”

  “So you must know this town well then,” he said. “I don’t know it that well and was wondering if there was anything to do at night. A bar or something like that?”

  Agatha chuckled. “Just like my husband. You were out last night and then right back to it the next night. Of course, that’s also what ended up killing him.”

  Jake frowned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, honey. I’m just kidding.”

  "Okay.”

  “It was the cancer that did that before the alcohol had a chance. Mark my words, though, it would have if not for the cancer.” She grinned at Jake, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

  “I was just looking for something to do,” said Jake. “Is there anywhere—“

  “I’ll tell you where the bar is. Gosh, I know how much my husband loved drinking himself into the grave. It was his favorite hobby. There isn’t one out here by the beach. You need to go into town.”

  She gave him the directions and another story about a time her husband had come back to the hotel roaring drunk and refused to give a room to a visiting couple, screaming that they were “communist psychopaths out to steal his linens.” Where he had gotten the idea, she had never figured out, and in her husband’s blackout drunk state, neither did he.

  “Oh,” Jake said as he was leaving the office, as though he had just remembered something. He turned back to Agatha. “I was curious. I saw in the papers that some local guy had disappeared. You know anything about that?”

  “Frank?” said Agatha. “Local media took it way out of hand. I’d bet my left leg that he’s out with some bimbo somewhere. Always seemed odd to me that he settled down with a wife and kids. He never struck me as that sort of guy. It’s better for everyone involved if he disappears and his wife gets someone new, someone who could actually be a good role model for her daughter.”

  “That's too bad,” said Jake.

  “You were hoping for something more interesting,” said Agatha, sitting back down and grabbing her book. “Nope, just a run-of-the-mill sleazebag.”

  Jake exited the hotel office and walked to the street. He didn’t have a car, so he set out walking to the main road and then turned away from the beach, following Agatha's instructions. His mind turned over what he had learned about Frank. The locals had no concerns that anything bad had happened. This task might end up being as simple as traveling to Las Vegas and shooting Frank Tanners. Making someone disappear was easy if you killed them. It was making someone disappear while keeping them alive and happy that was hard.

  Once he left the small downtown core around the beach, the houses became farther and farther apart, with wide fields or forests lining the sides of the roads. Some of the fields were growing crops or had horses or cows, but most were empty, as though no one had noticed there was fertile unclaimed ground within driving distance of the town.

  There were no streetlights, but the sky was clear and the stars and the full moon illuminated the road enough that Jake was confident he was moving in the right direction.

  He heard the roar of an engine behind him and looked back, squinting at the headlights. He didn’t change his pace and stuck out his arm, thumb raised, hoping he’d be able to get a ride.

  To his surprise, the car slowed and pulled up onto the shoulder of the road beside Jake.

  “Glad to see you’re not driving tonight, Jake,” said a familiar voice. “Your uncle kick you out already?

  Jake leaned down and squinted so that he could see the driver, who reached up and turned on the interior light, and Jake was hit by a wave of light and had to blink a few times to see who it was.

  “How you feeling, Jake?” asked Chief Williams.

  “Oh, hi, Chief. I’m fine. How are you?”

  Jake leaned back and checked the car he was driving and saw that the chief was not in a squad car. The chief was wearing a plain yellow shirt that accentuated his gut and some faded jeans.

  “I’m off-duty,” said the chief. “Not allowed to use the squad cars. Taxpayers get annoyed if I use it for personal use. Where you heading? I can give you a lift.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on you.”

  “Of course not,” said the chief as though he was offended. “I am a civil servant of Crescent Point. I will do everything I can to make sure that the people in my city are all right. Town is still a good ten-minute drive from here. Were you planning on hiding out in the woods until we stopped looking for you and you could get back to Boston?”

  Jake hesitated for a moment before the chief broke into laughter.

  “I’m just teasing you. It’s something I do. The locals know to expect it from me. Maybe I should remember that with the out-of-towners.”

  “I was going to head to the bar downtown,” said Jake meekly.

  “Really? Drinking already, Jake? You really think that’s such a good idea?”

  “I wasn’t going to drink anything,” said Jake. “I just wanted to meet some of the locals, get something to do.”

  The chief nodded. “Get in, I’ll give you a drive. I’m going to
the same place.”

  “Really?” said Jake as he climbed into the car and pulled the seatbelt across himself. “What are the odds of that?”

  The chief smirked. “I’m off tomorrow, and there is literally one bar in Crescent Point. It’s not a brain-teaser, Jake.”

  “Sorry,” he said. They were quiet for a few minutes as they drove into town, the lights of a small town and the houses scattered around it coming into focus. “Is Obrasey going to be there?”

  “No,” said the chief, and Jake caught his nervous sideways glance. “She’s working tonight.”

  “Okay,” said Jake. “Anything else happening in Crescent Point?”

  “In what way?” said the chief, watching Jake.

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to start a conversation here.”

  The chief laughed. “Hmmm, what can I tell you? Tourists haven’t really been coming in, although there should be some coming soon. Right now it’s a natural variation in tourist numbers.”

  Jake nodded. “I heard something about Obrasey, about her husband, from my uncle.”

  “Yeah,” said the chief. “Where is your uncle anyway? Ditched you?”

  “Bailed me out, took me to lunch, and then went back to work. Dropped me off at a hotel.”

  “Sounds like a nice guy.”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t really know him that well.” Or at all, he added silently.

  The chief rolled down the window and hung his arm out. “Well, on to your question about Obrasey’s husband. I can tell you that. It’s not her husband, it’s her fiancé, but those kind of details tend to get muddled in rumors and stories. His name is Zach Cameron, and until last fall he was a firefighter for Crescent Point. Had only been on the job a year or two, but he loved it and fit in really well with the rest of the guys. We only have one fire station in Crescent Point, and then we have deals with the surrounding towns to provide additional bodies if needed. That’s neither here nor there, the point is that for major problems that require quick action, we’re understaffed. You get me?”