Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1) Page 11
“What you’re saying is that you don’t want to choose, right? That you’re afraid you’ll screw up and make the wrong choice?”
“I guess.”
“What would happen if you did nothing? If you ignored the camera or the dreams?”
CJ shrugged. “I suppose they’d play out as I saw them in my photos and dreams.”
“And you wouldn’t be responsible because what is going to happen is fate, right?”
His eyes snapped to Mark’s, anger sparking as his brows drew together. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. I can take responsibility-I just don’t want to fuck-up, okay? Carrying someone’s fate in your hands…that’s some crazy shit, you know?”
CJ shoved away from the table, paced to the counter and did an about face. “What if I make a mistake and the person I was supposed to save would have gone on to invent the cure for cancer or something? But they don’t because I went," he flung his left arm out, "this way instead of that way." He repeated the motion with his other arm, then he folded his arms, his eyes worried and pensive. He leaned against the breakfast bar with his head turned towards the window over the sink.
“You’re over-thinking it, CJ. Go with your gut instincts.” Mark rose and stabbed a finger towards the city skyline visible from the window. “I'm out there almost every day doing these things and do you think it doesn’t cross my mind every single time I go out to fix a vision that I might screw it up? That the person I'm trying to save might die? Or that some other person is killed instead?” He thumped his chest. “Or that I could be killed? It scares the hell out of me! I don’t want to die any more than the next guy." Mark turned from the window, and punctuated his next sentence with two fingers, jabbing CJ in the middle of the chest. "But you do what you gotta do.”
He stared at Mark, his expression stricken. “I just don’t want to mess up. You’re braver than I am.”
Mark almost snorted at that. “You’ll be as brave as you need to be. You’ll rise to the challenge. I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be sure when I’m not?”
“Because you wouldn’t get the photos and dreams if you didn’t have courage. It’s not something that can be measured-it has to be tested. You, my friend, have already been tested and passed with flying colors when you saved Blanche.”
“You don’t think that was a fluke?”
“Nope.” Mark reached for his beer and took a long drink, not breaking eye contact. Swallowing, he tilted the bottle towards CJ. “I’m not wrong about this.”
* * *
CJ left Mark's feeling a little better but only because he'd started to accept that the camera wasn't an all-knowing superpower. It was just a tool that showed a glimpse of the future. He looked at it sitting on the seat beside him. He'd taken photos earlier and hadn't developed them yet. He should have done it while he was at Mark's, but he hadn't thought about them after Blanche had dropped her bombshell. He eyed the little black canister sitting in the cup holder where he'd placed it after removing the film from the camera. He should just ignore it. Probably get nothing anyway. But when he spotted a corner drugstore that did one hour processing, he pulled to the curb and ran in, dropping off the film. He grabbed a hot dog from some little spot that looked like a dive, but the aroma wafting from it as he window-shopped while waiting for the film, drew him to the walk-up window. He sat at one of the battered tables surrounding the restaurant and ate. Finished, he balled up the wrapper, and spotting the trash can next to the building, did a head fake, spun, then did a jump shot. Score! When he turned away, he found an older couple watching him, perplexed. He shrugged and grinned.
His mood buoyed by Mark's words and the meal, he made the short hike back to the drugstore and retrieved the film. The envelope was sealed shut, and worried that it might have produced a future photo, he didn't dare risk opening it in public-not until he learned how to mask his reaction to the images.
He returned to his father's condo, unlocked the door and flopped onto the couch. CJ stared at the envelope, almost afraid to open it. What if there were no future photos? Again? Maybe his decision to move to Chicago wasn't such a great idea after all. He made a face. The camera didn't seem to approve. Trying to shake off the melancholy mood, he thought of his friends back in D.C. There was always something going on, but he knew that would change soon as his friends got jobs and moved around the country so he couldn't keep thinking about them as though they were back home waiting for him, but he missed having people to talk to, friends his own age. Yesterday, he'd hoped he and Blanche could at least be friends, with the possibility of more, but now that was out of the question. He knew he could probably find a replacement softball league to get into, and if he found another job, he'd meet other people, eventually, but that did him no good right now.
Turning over the envelope, he took a deep breath and peeled the flap back. He nearly fell off the sofa when someone pounded on the door. Someone sounded pissed off and immediately he thought of Blanche. She was ticked. Did she know where he was staying? It had been on his chart, he supposed and on his prescriptions. He shoved the envelope between the cushions. He wasn't about to go through them in her presence again. Jumping to his feet, crossed the room to answer it, when the pounding sounded again, harder this time. Even angry, he couldn't see Blanche beating the door like that.
When he opened it, two police officers barged in, pushing CJ back against the wall in the small entrance hall. "Hey!"
"Turn around, hands on the wall."
CJ obeyed the command, but turned his head to ask what was going on. As he opened his mouth, he was met with a thick forearm to the side of his head, forcing him hard against the wall. His legs were kicked apart so they were spread wide. As CJ struggled to stay upright, he was frisked, the forearm now planted against the back of his neck where it remained until they'd finished searching him. Finding nothing except keys and his phone, the cops stepped back. "Face front-slowly."
Stunned at the speed of the events, CJ kept his arms raised as he faced the officers. Their hands rested on their sidearms. "Can you tell me what's going on?"
An older officer, his hair flecked with gray, his eyes hard, said, "We need to bring you in for questioning."
"For what?"
The younger one shook his head. "We'll let the detective explain it."
"Am I under arrest?" He knew his rights.
"No. The detective just needs to ask you a few questions. Will you come with us?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"At the moment, we just want to ask you a few questions. This is your chance to come in voluntarily and clear things up. If you wait..."
"Voluntarily? If I have a choice then what was all of that," he jabbed his thumb behind him, pointing at the wall, "about?"
"We saw in your file that you were carrying a concealed weapon the last time you were questioned. We couldn't take any chances."
CJ shook his head. "The last time? You make it sound as if I have a whole string of arrests or something. The other day was the first and only time before now when I had any contact with police officers."
"Glad to hear it. Now, will you accompany us to the station?" The older officer motioned towards the door.
CJ thought about it. Maybe he could get some information from the detective about the latest murder. See if the guy who attacked Blanche was a suspect in this attack as well. "How long will it take?"
"Why? You got some place to be?"
"What if I do?" Now that the fear was easing, he was getting pissed. He'd just wanted to know if he should leave a message for his dad, but he crossed his arms. "I just wondered if I should leave a note or something. I'm visiting my dad."
"Sure, you can leave a note for your daddy."
CJ glared at the younger cop. The guy wasn't more than a year or two older than CJ. "Never mind. Let's go."
* * *
CJ was shown to a small room that didn't look much different from the last time he had been here retrieving his phone. He wa
sn't in handcuffs, but he also didn't feel free to leave and wish his pride hadn't gotten in the way and that he'd at least left a note for his dad. He waited in the hard plastic chair for what he guessed was at least thirty minutes before Detective Hamilton entered.
"Good afternoon, Chris."
CJ nodded. "Detective Hamilton."
"Thank you for coming in voluntarily. It saved me the trouble of going to a judge and getting an arrest warrant."
"Arrest warrant? For what?" Were they deciding to press charges about the knife? Could they do that days later? He'd taken criminal justice classes, but right now his brain was whirling and he couldn't remember a single thing he'd learned. He licked his lips, wishing he had something to drink.
"Where were you last night?"
Taken by surprise at the sudden question, CJ stared at Hamilton. "Uh...I went out to dinner with my dad and a friend. Then we came home and I went to bed."
"Was anyone with you?"
"No. Just my dad was in his room, I imagine." CJ glared as Hamilton smirked. "Hey, I didn't go check on him and he stopped tucking me into bed when I was about eight."
Hamilton appeared to be looking over notes, but CJ didn't think he was actually reading anything. He was just trying to make CJ squirm. Well, let him try his best. With nothing to hide, CJ felt confident that the detective was just blowing smoke. He watched the man until the detective finally looked up.
"Something wrong?"
"No, sir. Just wondering if you're done with me?"
"Almost. So, other than your father, sleeping in his own room, there's no one else who can corroborate your claim?"
"No. I was sleeping. Went to bed about eleven, I guess." Why had he volunteered information? CJ clamped his mouth closed. It wasn't that he'd said anything wrong and nothing close to incriminating; it just bugged the shit out of him that he'd fallen into the trap of giving info that hadn't even been sought. "What is this all about?"
Hamilton sat back and crossed his arms, looking at CJ over the rim of his glasses. "You really don't know?"
CJ spread his arms. "How the hell would I know? Nobody's told me jack-shit!"
Hamilton put a hand up. "Settle down. Once you're calm, we can talk."
Fuming, CJ clenched his teeth.
"That's better." Hamilton leaned forward. "We'll be checking out your whereabouts, but let me just tell you that we have an eyewitness who saw a Caucasian male about your height and age, running from an alley. The same alley where a body was found, and not more than a block from where you were supposedly saving a young woman from an attack."
CJ opened his mouth to protest. Hamilton's tone insinuated that CJ hadn't been saving Blanche and he wanted to challenge him on it, but he took a deep breath, and kept his cool.
"Nothing to say?"
"No, sir. Not a thing."
"You don't think it's an odd coincidence?"
"What?"
"That someone who looked just like you was seen fleeing the scene of a murder?"
CJ laughed, and Hamilton jerked back in surprise. "You think this is funny?"
"Not the death of a woman. Of course not. I just thought it was hilarious how your story went from someone with my general coloring and height to my doppleganger with a smoking gun standing over the body." CJ chuckled and added, "Now I'm exaggerating, but you have to admit, you're grasping..." He tilted his head. "How many people live in Chicago, Detective? Three million or so? I bet you could fill a stadium with guys who match that description."
Hamilton glared at him. "You think you're so damn smart. You showed up yesterday pretending you just happened by and that you saved my ass, but I'll get to the bottom of this. Why are you always in that area? Your father's condo is a couple of miles away and you don't have a job. No reason to be in that area. You don't live here, you're only visiting, and yet in the time you've been here, there have been several attacks and a murder all following the same m.o."
His accusations ate at CJ's resolve to not volunteer information and it took every shred of his willpower to lay off the bait.
Hamilton stood and pointed at CJ. "We're going to question the woman you 'saved' the other night. See if she can give us more information about her attacker."
CJ shrugged. "That's probably a good idea. She might remember something that could help you."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"No. Why should it? Although I'm pretty sure if Blanche remembered something, she'd come to you about it. It's bothered her that she doesn't remember much about the guy."
"You've spoken to her?"
"Yeah. A few times. We went to the zoo yesterday."
Hamilton's eyes narrowed. "You're free to go."
Startled, CJ didn't move for a second. "Just like that? You're done with me?"
"For now."
* * *
CJ left the police station, flagged down a cab and at first, asked to be taken back to his dad's, but changed his mind and had the cab drop him off at a bar instead. He wasn't really in the mood for a drink, but thought it might settle his nerves. The bar was dim and cool, perfect for just chilling. A few neon signs advertising various brands of alcohol glowed over the bar and on the walls. This was a neighborhood joint, not a touristy kind of place and a couple of guys sitting on one end cast him a curious glance as he slid onto a bar stool. CJ nodded to them. They returned the nod and went back to their discussion. He guessed he passed their scrutiny. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he noted a couple of missed calls, one from his dad and one from Mark. Well, they could wait for now. He slid the phone on to the top of the bar and motioned towards the bartender, ordering a draft beer.
He had some thinking to do and didn't want to deal with his dad. The last thing he needed was the third degree from him. Did his father even know he'd been arrested? CJ supposed it wasn't an actual arrest, but close enough. It was crazy. He'd heard the stories about Mark, but never thought something like that would happen to him and yet, he'd barely used the camera, and already, he was targeted as a suspect. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Would he have a bulls-eye on his chest forever? Glancing down, he almost expected to see one, or at least a cross-hairs. Should he reconsider his decision to stay in Chicago? He toyed with the glass, staring into it as if the golden liquid was a crystal ball showing the future and telling him what he should do.
He sipped from the glass, wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. But the camera-it needed him. Or he needed it. Why hadn't it shown him the murder of the nurse? It didn't make sense. Why show Blanche's attack and not this other nurse?
Was it his fault? Had he done something wrong when he'd used the camera yesterday? What if he wasn't supposed to tell Blanche? But even Mark had agreed that he should tell someone, and Blanche made sense because, well, she'd already been the recipient of the camera's powers. And there had to be a reason she and CJ had kept crossing paths. First, for the save, then when she had his phone. She must have taken down his number while she had it. Then there was his trip to the ER and of all the nurses in the ER, she was the one who treated him. His father could have driven him to another ER, but had chosen the hospital where Blanche worked without even knowing she worked there. CJ hadn't given his dad the name of the hospital. Had he met the nurse who had died? Was she there the night CJ had been treated?
Blanche's anguish on the phone this morning replayed in his mind and he set the glass down and ran his hands through his hair. Damn it. It was all so complicated. Her accusation rang in his ears. 'You played me.' No, he hadn't played her, but maybe the camera had played him. He hadn't killed the nurse, but his guilt that he'd somehow screwed up made him feel like an accomplice. It wouldn't happen again. If he had another chance to get this asshole, he was going to be prepared. He wouldn't be played again. It was like some kind of cosmic chess game. He just had to make the right moves. Yesterday, he'd been outflanked, but he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. If he got the chance, he'd make sure the guy didn't get away.
There was only one way to even the odds. He needed a weapon. Back in D.C. he had several in a gun safe in his apartment. He still liked to go to the pistol range a few times a month, but the handguns would do him no good right now and now is when he needed one. He didn't know what the laws in Illinois were, but he knew Chicago had a complete ban on handguns-not that the criminals seemed to care. How would he go about buying a weapon here? CJ finished the last of his glass. His buddy, Michael from softball was originally from Chicago and had claimed to know all kinds of bad dudes in Chicago. Said he'd been sent to live with his father the last year of high school because he'd been running with a gang. If anyone knew where to get a gun, it would be Michael.
CJ picked up his phone and searched his contact list, found the number and pressed the call button. "Hey, Michael. What's up?"
* * *
CJ felt guilty about forgetting to look at the photos when he got home last night. He felt even guiltier for the reason he’d been out. He’d bought a gun off the street, but despite his guilt, he wasn't about to confront the next murderer unarmed. After getting the weapon, he'd taken it straight to his room and hidden it under his mattress. He'd worked the morning for Mark, but with no studio shoots scheduled for the afternoon, Mark didn't need him at the studio.
He drove through Chicago, looking for a place to take some photos. He still didn't quite believe it didn’t matter what he snapped, that if it was going to be a future photo, it would appear despite the original subject matter. He found that hard to believe, but had to trust Mark. He didn’t have enough experience to know first-hand. Chicago had plenty of picturesque scenes to photograph, but CJ didn’t want to do the usual ones. He drove to the area he'd never been before. It was a working class neighborhood with bungalows that had seen better days. Some had been maintained, with neat lawns and flower beds, but most were in disrepair with unkempt yards. Here is where he would get his next future photo. It was a gut feeling. Mark’s word’s echoed in his head as he left the car. He resolved to do what he had to do and not worry about anything else.