Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

thoughts in his head made no sense when he focused on them rationally, and yet somehow they made perfect sense when he just let those same thoughts drift. They pulled him, guiding him, and the closer to the ocean he got, the greater his anticipation of that one moment―and there could only be one―when he would first see the water. On this day, when that moment came, all he saw was a field of gray. There was no horizon. The sea and sky had became one. He stopped his truck and stared. Only with great effort could he see that thin line between air and water.
    His truck shook as the invisible hand of the relentless wind pushed at it. He thought about the previous night. He mulled over what he had intended to do, what he hadn’t done, and what he needed to do. Soon enough, a sense of calm washed over him and he drove back in the direction he had come from. That same invisible force that had drawn him to the ocean now guided him into the pub at the York Harbor Inn.
    A feeling of déjà vu washed over him as he stepped into the pub, which had just opened for the day. The décor, though modern, had the feel of an old wooden ship, not unlike the one that burned in his dreams nearly every night. He was the first customer, and the bartender turned as the door closed behind him.
    “Good morning! Welcome to the York Harbor Inn,” he said. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right with you.”
    Alfred didn’t reply. He stood and looked around the room. Even though he was the only person there, voices and sounds filled his head. He could hear them laughing, he could hear their taunts. He closed his eyes and reopened them, and when he did, the voices stopped and he saw the bartender staring at him. Flustered, Alfred stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry. Thanks,” and he moved toward a table by the windows that overlooked the street. He positioned himself so that when he looked out he could see the ocean in the distance. More memories flashed through his head.
    “Not a very nice day out, is it?”
    Alfred looked up. The bartender put down a placemat and utensils in front of him. Then he took the menu that was tucked under his arm and presented it to Alfred. “My name is Stephen. May I get you something to drink?”
    Alfred stared silently at him.
    “Coffee? Tea? Something more substantial?” Stephen suggested, still trying to get a response from Alfred.
    “Yes, coffee would be good. Thank you.”
    Stephen turned and headed for the kitchen. When he reached the door he looked back at Alfred, then imperceptibly shook his head. “ Strange, it must be the weather, ” he thought to himself.
    Several hours had passed by the time Alfred was ready to leave. The lunch crowd had come and gone. As he looked over the check, he didn’t even remember eating what was on the bill, but he knew he must have done so. When Alfred stood to leave, Stephen looked in his direction and for a moment their eyes met. Alfred quickly looked down, dropped some cash on the table, and headed for the door. He never heard Stephen say, “Have a nice day,” because of all the other voices in his head.

CHAPTER 83
    THE WEATHER HADN’T IMPROVED by the time Malloy was ready to leave, and even though Ben’s was open he declined the invitation to stay for lunch. After the conversations with Max and Jack, he was even more convinced of the urgency to find Alfred. Tom offered his help and they agreed to keep in touch.
    Sitting in his car, with the engine running, Malloy looked over his notes, then called his office. Jack hadn’t been able to catch up with Alfred in the parking lot, but now Malloy verified the plate number and description of Alfred’s truck based on its registration and asked his sergeant to issue a B.O.L.O.―Be On the Lookout for. Something about Alfred was gnawing at him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was definitely feeling an urgency to find him.
    * * *
    Unlike Malloy, Tom did accept the invitation to join Max and Jack for lunch. As soon as they had ordered he looked at them and asked, “How the hell do the two of you get into these situations?”
    “It’s not like we go looking for it,” protested Max.
    “I know that, but you have to admit, you two seem to get into more than your fair share of trouble.”
    Max didn’t say anything.
    Tom looked over at Jack, who said, “Hey, don’t look at me.”
    “Sorry. It’s just strange. So would you mind telling me again what happened last weekend?”
    Jack finished the story at