Into the Field

By S.D. Murdoch

A bizarre childhood accident left Pete Scanlon a changed man.  Now, the secret knowledge of just what he had become has made its way into the hands of the wrong people.  Blessed with the ability to enter into the Earth's geomagnetic field, Pete must now contend with those who seek this gift and will stop at nothing to obtain it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664172951

S.D. Murdoch

After a lengthy career in the construction industry, the author is now retired and lives in the western United States where he's currently working on his next novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The increasing sound of sirens seemed to be a lot closer than he’d first thought. Kind of hard to tell with his car stereo playing, but after lowering the volume, it wasn’t long before he saw two police units came buzzing up behind him in the rear-view. Slowing down and pulling to the side of the road to give way, Dawson then steered back onto the road in their wake. It wasn’t long before two generic dark sedans also appeared behind him. Repeating his roadside stop to get out of their way, both of them accelerated on by a little too quickly to be anything other than more law enforcement, he figured.

The thought struck him that all this activity seemed to be heading in the same general direction of his destination. That would be the apartment currently rented by his good friend Pete Scanlon, which immediately got Dawson’s imagination running at full tilt.

Before he got back on the road again, he dialed Pete on his cell phone. Dawson heard a casual Hello from his friend after the second ring. He didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, but that didn’t quite put his mind at ease.

Pete, those sirens you probably hear don’t have anything to do with you, do they?

You give any more thought to the pizza idea?

That’s avoiding the question.

What sirens are you… oh, never mind. Yeah, I’m hearing them now. What makes you think it has something to do with me?

Dawson paused for a second and then said kiddingly, Uh, no reason. Just kind of a coincidence, you know, how a large contingent of the city’s finest all seem to be heading in your direction.

Nope, believe it or not, this ain’t me, buddy, and peering out his living room window, Pete added, But now that you mention it, I do see some cop cars rolling in down the street here. It looks like they’re stopping someplace a few houses down. Wonder what’s up. Maybe I will—

Uh-oh, Dawson thought. Hey, don’t bother with it. It’s probably nothing. Maybe, you know, like a pot bust or something.

Yeah, you’re probably right. It does have me a little curious now, though.

Let it go, man. Not your concern. I’ll be there in about five, so go ahead and order us that pizza if you want. Your choice—I’m good with any toppings.

Boy, there are a bunch of cars down there now. Wonder what the hell’s going on. You did say you still wouldn’t be here for a few, right? Maybe I will wander down there and, you know, just talk with someone. See what’s happening.

Uh, more like I’m almost there. Really.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back by the time you get here.

Ah, shit, here we go again, Dawson thought. Pete, I don’t think …

Too late, he was gone.

Already back on the road, Dawson had subconsciously started accelerating to hasten his arrival but then slowed down again. He figured, why bother? He knew Pete could probably handle whatever might be going down. Still, being a mile or two out, Dawson realized he probably wouldn’t get there in time to make a difference anyway.

A couple of minutes later, he turned the corner onto Pete’s block. There were already a couple of uniforms in the street blocking off the neighborhood traffic. One of the officers shot Dawson a dirty look as he opened the door to get out of his car, which prompted him to stay put and yell out the window, What’s going on?

The woman took a few steps closer and explained, We’ve gotta domestic disturbance. Sorry about the delay, but we had to cordon off the area until we figured out what’s going on. Just a temporary precaution, but please remain in your car until we get an all clear.

Dawson immediately tried calling Pete again on both his home phone and cell with no luck, so at this point, there wasn’t much he could do except wait it out.

Pete, in the meantime, had popped his head out through the sliding glass door on his patio. From there, he heard the distinct crack of a small-caliber weapon going off in the distance. Immediately afterward, it became deadly quiet, which made the situation seem even more ominous.

On average, his neighborhood would typically be pretty active on a late Sunday afternoon. There would usually be some kids getting in some playtime before being called into dinner or a dog or two barking at something. Now though, not even a bird was chirping. Pete was thankful for the rare serenity but also a bit suspicious. All the more reason to go exploring, he figured.

Making his way to the front of his apartment complex, he noted how the police presence was already closing in on one particular house down the street from his complex. The primary team was just waiting for the go word from the lead officer on the scene to advance to the residence’s front door, so realizing it was now or never, Pete made his move.

Down the street, at the Fenton residence, it was anything but quiet. Ted, the husband of Heather and father of Tabitha and Marko, had just accidentally fired a bullet from the gun in his hand into a kitchen cabinet. Ted, who had been drunkenly swaying back and forth, was wondering how the gun in his hand had managed to go off. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if his hand had been on the trigger. In the meantime, he continued slurring about how badly he was getting screwed by his boss. Having just been told at work that morning that Boswell Construction no longer required his services, he seemed to have a bone to pick with everyone in general.

The scene was similar to family disputes playing out across the country in numerous households. Especially with the way the economy had been going recently, but the difference here was that Ted held a .38 revolver in one hand. Heather had only seen her husband this drunk a few times before, and she knew he wasn’t quite himself when he got this corked. The combination of the booze, the gun, and their children milling had been the last straw, though. After quickly shuttling the kids off to their rooms to get them out of harm’s way, a frenzied Heather had quietly phoned the police from the bathroom. She knew Ted wasn’t usually a violent person. In fact, he’d only bought the revolver a few months ago (against her wishes) because of his contention of the growing crime rate in our neighborhood, but she also wasn’t going to take any chances with the safety of the kids. She had desperately hoped she could talk Ted down a little before the police arrived to avoid an ugly confrontation.

Just my friggin’ luck that I’d get canned by that nut-sack boss of mine right after we decided it would be okay to start in on landscaping the yard. Now we not only don’t have the money to finish that, but we’re also not going to be able to pay our stinkin’ mortgage for much longer either.

Heather broke in, Ted, we’ve still got a little in our savings. That’ll help for a while, and you’ll find something else. You know you will. But please, there’s no reason to be waving that gun around. Please, just put it down, honey.

Dazedly, he looked her way and then at the weapon. Shaking his head, he tried to explain, God, Heather. I just got it out of the closet to bring out to my truck. I thought I’d see if I could hock it for some extra cash. Maybe even just sell it. We don’t have enough in savings to pay our bills as it is, and now I get home and see you’re spending money on pizza instead of cooking the food we’ve already got in the kitchen. Why did—

Did someone say pizza?

Blam! The gun going off in Ted’s hand sounded like a cannon in the confines of the kitchen. Fortunately, the wayward slug plowed safely into the floor, and as the echo of the shot faded, Ted exclaimed, Wha … who the fuck are you?

In the living room entry leading into the kitchen stood a stranger. The man was about six feet tall, 180 pounds, somewhere between thirty-five to forty years old, dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt—pretty average looking in general. Ted was still puzzling over how his gun had managed to go off yet again, but instinctively going on the defense against this new possible threat, he started to raise the gun toward the intruder.

Heather, noting the stranger’s calm demeanor, asked, Are you the police? with Ted echoing the inquiry, Police?

Subconsciously, he lowered his gun again, but in his besotted state, completely overlooked how the police had shown up so quickly after the gun had first gone off.

God, I’m sorry, Officer—

Pete interrupted, No, I’m not the police. I’m one of your neighbors from down the street. There are a bunch of cops pulling up in front of your house right now, though. I’m guessing they’ll be knocking on your door in the next minute or two. Especially with that extra gunshot I’m sure they just heard. Before they rumble in, though, I thought I’d drop in and play diplomat.

The couple seemed more curious than confused by Pete’s appearance. To redirect the couple’s thoughts from the situation at hand, Pete asked, I did hear somebody mention pizza, though, right?

Ted and Heather looked at each other with similar blank expressions, and it was Heather who muttered, Umm, yeah. Over on the kitchen counter there.

Thanks, don’t mind if I do. You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a good slice, maybe two or three days. I—

Pete saw something that froze him in his tracks. The pizza on the counter had mushrooms and pineapple on it. For God’s sake, he thought, who the hell puts …ahh, heck. Putting aside his disgust for a moment, he continued, Uh, let’s deal with this little spat of yours first. So what’s this big problem that’s so terrible that Wild Bill here feels the need to be packing a gun?

Heather spoke first, explaining, Ted lost his job and is taking the news a little hard. Turning to her husband, she added, but it’s not the end of the world, honey. You’ll see, we’ll make it work out somehow.

Ted had only been half-listening to his wife, concentrating more on how the stranger now seemed to be about eight feet closer to him all of a sudden. Ted hadn’t even seen him move. Is that right, Ted? Hell, a lot of people are out of work right now. Don’t you read the paper? Suck it up, buddy. Like the Mrs. here said, something will crop up.

Ted dipped his head, muttering under his breath, That’s not all of it. Looking sheepishly at Heather, he confessed, Ronny and I have been hittin’ the OTB a couple of days a week at lunchtime, and hell, baby, I screwed up big time. Pretty much all our savings are gone. I know we hadn’t saved up a lot or anything, but now I’ve lost even that. Heather, showing obvious disappointment, said, Oh, Ted, betting on the horses? Really? How could you?

I was going to get it back, sweetie. Work some overtime when things picked up, but I never thought I’d get the ax.

Pete said, Ted, buddy, that still doesn’t explain why you’ve got a gun in your hand. Oh, wait a second. It’s in my hand.

Ted, looking down at both of his now empty hands, muttered, What … how the hell…?

The stranger was correct; he held the gun now, and he was casually removing the remaining cartridges and setting them side by side on the kitchen counter.

Heather hadn’t seen the stranger move either. Her vision had seemed to blur for a split second, though, and then voila, Ted had been disarmed.

Well, I think we can all forget all this gun nonsense now, and I’ll tell you what. Let me talk with the police for a minute and see if I can make this go away. Hopefully, we can all just chalk this up to a temporary bout of stupidity.

Heather and Ted both started to say something, but Pete interrupted, And I’ll just hang on to the gun for now if you don’t mind, Ted.

Noticing the look of despair still on their faces, Pete added, Look, I’ve got this buddy who’s pretty connected. He runs a big company himself, and no promises or anything, but let me talk with him. Before you go and start thinking a bunch of crazy shit again, let me see if he can come up with something in the way of job possibilities for you.

Wow, seriously? That’d be a lifesaver. Ted gushed. Drunkenly babbling on, he continued by saying, Anything you could find would be great. I mean, I’m pretty good with my hands and have experience in a bunch of—

Hold up a sec there, Ted, Pete interrupted, seeing that their time before the police charged in was dwindling rapidly.

Like I say, I’ll speak with my buddy. There’s a good chance he’ll have something for you, but let’s deal with this annoying little police matter first, okay?

It was just then that they heard from the police outside. Ted and Heather looked at each other and then looked for Pete, but their uninvited guest had vanished as mysteriously as he’d arrived.

Hello in the house! This is the police. Please come to the door and—

And then there was silence.

After what seemed like a few minutes, but in actuality, was probably only seconds, the couple edged toward the kitchen window facing their front yard. Taking a tentative look outside, they saw the stranger out in the front yard speaking with a couple of the officers at the scene. It almost looked like they were all old friends saying goodbye at the end of a Friday-night poker game or something.

Shockingly, the stranger turned and looked right at the couple in the window, and pointing at Ted, motioned for him to come outside. Not knowing what else to do, Ted looked at Heather and said, I guess I better get this over with.

Here he is, Tommy. This is Ted Fenton. Teddy, I was just explaining to Sergeant Shemanski here how you’d been showing me your new revolver, and I had stupidly dropped it. Sorry about that holein your wall, but nothing a little drywall mud won’t fix.

Turning again to the Sergeant, Boy, I really feel foolish, Tommy. Sorry about all the hubbub and everything.

Is that right, Mr. Fenton? What about your wife calling in some domestic disturbance or something? We got the impression somebody was about to get shot or something.

Ted, still a little boozed up but sobering quickly, muttered, Nah, that ain’t true, officer. It’s just, you know, my wife was against the whole idea of me bringing a gun into the house in the first place. And to be honest, I’ve had a couple of brews and shouldn’t have had the damn thing out anyway. She got all kinda white-knuckle about it and called you guys, I guess, but then—uh—Ted glanced over at Pete, who mouthed his name silently to Ted out of eyesight of the officer—Pete here had mentioned he wanted to take a look at it. Stupid, I know, no excuses. I should’ve said no, just dumb on my part.

It was then that Heather and the two kids wandered out, looking much relieved that everyone seemed to be chatting amiably. The children were hopping around and smiling over all the excitement, and everyone looked okay to Shemanski.

All right, Mr. Fenton, here’s what we’re going to do. First, I’ll send a couple of my officers to check things out, if you don’t mind. Then, if nothing looks out of sorts inside, you’ll agree to relinquish your firearm over to the department until you can show that you’ve attended and passed a qualified gun-safety class. If you’re good with all that, then we’ll chalk this one up to a domestic misunderstanding and just cite you for accidentally firing off a firearm within the city limits. That work for you?

Hey, that’d be great, Sergeant. And believe me, it won’t happen again.

Dawson, back down the street behind the police barricade, was patiently killing time making some calls concerning his business. It wasn’t long before he saw Pete walking down the road toward him, laughing it up with a police sergeant.

Okay, Tommy, give me a call next week, and we’ll hit the links over on the Pleasant Meadow course. And hey, bring your wallet.

That drew a chuckle from the man, and slapping Pete on the back, Shemanski turned to his officers on the scene and shouted, Okay, let’s clear things up here.

With that, the parade of cars slipped by in a steady stream until shortly, it was just Pete and Dawson left behind. As Pete strode up to the car, Dawson asked, So, anything worth sharing?

Nah, nothing too serious going on here.

Well, hop in, pal. We should still be able to catch most of the Bears-Chargers game.

Hey, that reminds me. You give any more thought to that pizza idea? I just saw one with mushrooms and pineapple on it. I mean, what would possess people to do that?

Dawson smiled, I actually like mushrooms, but different strokes, I guess. But yeah, pizza works for me. And like I said, your choice—they all work for me.

Pete smiled, Okay, a Meatlovers with extra cheese it is then.

Along with a coronary bypass or two, said Dawson, but I hope it won’t hurt your feelings if I grab a side salad too.

Pete said, Your stomach, pal, but hey, that reminds me. You think you can drum up some kind of job for a pal of mine? He recently had a tough run of luck and could use a little help right now.

Someone I know?

Nah, I just met him five minutes ago, but he’s okay, Just sucking wind a little, you know?

What does…or did he do for a living anyway.

Uhh, construction work, I think. At least, going by the ladders and stuff I saw in his truck. There was a tool belt on the floor in his house too. I’m guessing maybe carpenter, framer, something like that.

Yeah, if you think he’s okay, I can find something. It might not be job-specific to his work experience, but I’ll make a call or two later on. If I can’t come up with anything in construction, I’ll find a spot for him at the facility in our maintenance department.

You’re the man, Dawson. Now let’s get back to my place for the rest of the game and get that pizza ordered.

Sure, but c’mon. First, tell me what the hell happened over there. I heard at least one gunshot.

Nothing to write home about. This guy with the job problem I was telling you about. He was farting around with his new gun and got a little goofy with it. The police decided he probably wasn’t equipped to have one for a while, and the guy agreed.

The case with a lot of people, I’m afraid, said Dawson. So, who do you have in the game anyway?

The Bears, of course.

What do you mean, of course? You’re from California. I could see if you were a little enthusiastic over the Chargers, or maybe the Niners, but what’s the deal with the Bears?

Well, true, I was born here. I moved around so much as a kid, though, that I never really had any favorite sports teams until after I’d settled in someplace for a while. It wasn’t until after I had left Germany and landed in Illinois that happened.

It was pretty rare when Pete spoke much about his past, so interested now, Dawson asked, But why Chicago of all places? I’ve been there a few times with my business dealings, and hell, the one winter when I passed through there was pretty brutal.

Pete smiled, Yeah, some winters there can be pretty rough. Hard to believe, but I guess the reason I stayed more than anything else was because of this one pizza joint that was on the same block as the place I was renting there.

Dawson laughed, Oh, I believe it, alright. I think you forget how we first met.

Pete laughed too, No, I remember, but as far as Chicago, while I was there, I figured if the people there could make food like that, the least I could do was to support that area’s teams.

To each his own, buddy, but let’s get moving. I told the wife I’d be back home by eight.

Pete nodded, but the mention of Chicago got his mind wandering back to 1993.

CHAPTER 2

Dawson first encountered Pete when he was a freshman at Boswell State University, pretty much a chance encounter, but a timely one as it turned out.

On the surface, Dawson was a relatively typical first-year student. Like many, a bit tentative about the new learning environment but not overly concerned with the hefty load of classes he had taken on. He had always been an overachiever, scholastically speaking, both in middle school and high school, and kind of relished the thought of the new challenges that college would bring.

Being a little bit of a bookworm, though, brought other challenges. Those came in the form of the new social interactions he’d be encountering, which the mere thought of Dawson dreaded. His parents had encouraged him to join a fraternity, thinking that might help pave the way to break out of his shell, but he’d declined. He thought it would be better if he just made his way at his own pace. With that mindset, he tried expanding his social conscience by attending a few games, hanging out in the library, and visiting a couple of the local off-campus student hangouts.

It was at one of these local establishments, Tubby’s Brew’ n’ Grub, where Dawson started having second thoughts along those lines. His change of heart came when he made the mistake of accidentally bumping the elbow of some jock at the bar. Unfortunately, the jock held a half-full mug of beer at the time, and as Dawson was reaching for his ordered slice of pepperoni and a soda, the beer splashed a bit onto the left arm of the jock’s letterman’s jacket.

Jeez, hey, I’m sorry, man! I didn’t know you were going to turn into me like that. Here, let me get a towel and mop up this mess.

Shit! You better be buying me another beer, too, you lame-ass clown. Look at my friggin’ jacket!

Uhh, yeah, another beer. I was going to suggest that, sure.

He apologized once again before speaking up over the noise to the counter guy, Hey, could you bring this guy a refill? This one is on me.

The jock, seeing that he had a situation he could milk, decided, On second thought, a pitcher might be more like it. I mean, really, dude. I gotta pay to have this thing cleaned now.

Dawson recognized that he was being played and replied, Well, actually, it looks like you only got a little on your sleeve there. And truth be told, it was probably as much your fault as mine. But yeah, okay. I’ll spring for a pitcher, and we’ll call it even.

The jock started turning a little red, apparently thinking that the little guy in front of him was trying to turn the advantage back his way or something.

So, you’re saying this is my fault? Get real! You walked up behind me and almost knocked my beer out of my hand. And you know, now that I think about it, I’d say a pitcher and a few bucks to get this jacket cleaned sounds a little fairer.

Uh yeah. Fairer for you, maybe, but not very realistic. Look. The guy, there has your pitcher coming, so I think we’re done here.

On that note of finality, Dawson tossed a few bucks for the pitcher down onto the bar, picked up his soda and pizza slice, and turned to walk away.

The semi-inebriated jock wasn’t quite through with their conversation, though. Grabbing Dawson’s sweater at the neckline as he turned to leave, he forcefully yanked him backward.

Wait a second there, ya little prick. We’re done when I say we’re done. With the abrupt change of direction, Dawson’s soda went flying through the air to land on the floor, the glass exploding, and his slice of pizza slipped from his hand to land on the jock’s left shoe.

Looking down at his sauce-covered sneaker and fuming all the more from this new effrontery, the jock yelled, Damn, what kinda moron are you? Now you screwed up my new Nikes too. Setting his beer mug on the bar to get both hands on Dawson, the jock warned, You better start coughing up some bread, and I mean now, dude.

Dawson’s temper was also quickly rising to the surface now as he tore himself out of the jock’s grip. His sweater was now stretched beyond repair, and this lummox and his bullying was the final straw. Years of pent-up frustration at being everyone’s whipping boy throughout his schooling now came to the forefront, and he reacted by yelling, Bite me, you jackass! I’m not giving you shit. Now get the hell off my back!

The jock, laughing aloud, looked back to his two chuckling cronies who hovered nearby, taking in this little bit of entertainment. Turning his attention back to Dawson, he threatened, I don’t think you get it, shit-for-brains. You’re going to pay for my shoes now, or you’re going to take a pounding instead. And with that, he started moving forward.

Dawson, despite his ill-timed display of bravado, saw that he was in deep shit. Holding up his hands placatingly, he said, Whoa, okay, okay. Hold up a second. I get it. Just let me see what I’ve got in my wallet.

With that momentary bit of misdirection, Dawson spun and ran full tilt toward the door.

The jock was only surprised for a moment before yelling to his two buddies, Let’s get that son of a bitch, and all three of the crew were in hot pursuit as they hit the parking lot.

Dawson had no preconceived notion beyond escaping when he’d decided to turn and run. Instinct, self-preservation—call it what you will, but he also held no false hopes that he was ever going to be able to outrun these guys. Dawson had never been what you’d call an athlete by any stretch of the imagination. His adrenaline had kicked in pretty good, though, and by the time he’d rounded the south end of the parking area, he was churning for all he was worth. With escape seeming like a fleeting fantasy, he was now mostly looking for someplace to hide.

Winded, he paused to catch his breath and take a quick look behind him. Spotting his pursuers closing rapidly, he turned to renew his flight. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen the beat-up Ford Thunderbird that had entered the parking lot from the rear parking entrance. Right as Dawson had blindly turned to flee again, the car turned into the parking spot in front of him. The tech-scholar slammed into the front left fender with a loud thud, ending up draped over the hood and gasping for the return of the air he’d had knocked out of him.

However, the three jocks in pursuit didn’t give their prey a chance to catch his breath. The first to arrive grabbed him by his already-ruined sweater and tugged him off the car and onto the tarmac. The mouthy one with the beer-splashed jacket then kicked out, pushing the groaning Dawson down onto his back, taunting, This doesn’t seem to be your day now, does it, dumbass?

Dawson gasped out, Bite me, just as his primary attacker reared a leg back to aim for Dawson’s ribs.

Just then, the driver’s door of the T-bird opened up, and the driver stepped out.

Hey, I hate to interrupt your guy’s little tea party here. Before you kick this guy senseless, would you mind if I talk with him first? You know. I just want to make sure he’s not going to sue me for hitting him with my car.

The driver was an average-looking guy. Pretty clean-cut, kind of preppie looking. There was something about him that made the jock pause for a second, though. Dropping his foot back to the ground, he said, Okay, sure, but make it quick. This guy owes me big time.

You bet … uh, hey, buddy. You doing okay down there?

Dawson, just now getting some of his wind back, looked up at the new arrival to the melee. Thinking quickly, he saw his way out of this mess.

I don’t think anything’s broken if that’s what you mean. I am feeling a little bad about the new dent I put in your car, though.

The driver waved a hand, What, this old thing? Hell, I’ve dented it plenty of times myself.

Dawson, struggling back up into a sitting position, added, Still, it was me who wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ll tell you what. How about I spring for pizza and beer, and we call it even?

This offer seemed to send the car owner’s mood up another couple of notches, Well hey, now you’re talking. I mean, this old machine really has seen better days, but free pizza and beer? Sure, sounds great.

With that, the stranger bent down and extended a hand to help Dawson up. On his feet again, the men introduced themselves, with Dawson going first.

Dawson Penrod. Good to meet you.

Pete Scanlon, same here. Now when you say pizza, you do mean the kind with meat, right? None of that foo-foo stuff like with tofu or vegetables and fungus on it. I mean to each their own, but as I see it, you—

The jock, shocked by this new turn of events, protested, What the fuck! Hey, pal, this guy’s not going anywhere. Not until we’re through with him. He owes me some serious cash, and he’s paying up now, or he’s going to get whumped on a little.

Pete looked at Dawson questioningly. Is that right? You have some business with these gents?

Dawson shook his head, No. As far as I’m concerned, we concluded our business inside a couple of minutes ago. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some lunch.

Without another word, he turned and headed toward the building entrance with Pete following on his heels. The jock, turning red with anger from this new development, shouted, Hold on there, Nimrod or Penrod, or whatever the hell your name is. You might think we’re done here, but I sure as hell don’t.

With that declaration, he moved quickly toward the retreating Dawson but abruptly found his progress halted. Somehow, the T-Bird owner had seemed to slide about ten feet closer to place himself in front of the jock. Placing a firm hand against the other man’s chest, Pete cautioned, He said your business is done. So I’m guessing it’s done, right?

The jock first looked at the hand against his chest and then into the other man’s eyes. During which, his two friends started to flank Pete. The lead jock smiled as he began anticipating the ensuing rumble, which would typically have been an unexpected afternoon delight for these guys.

As they circled Pete, though, Dawson edged over behind them to give them as little advantage as possible if shit started happening. The lead jock was still wondering how the hell the guy standing in front of him had pretty much frozen him in place with one hand. If he were honest, the glare the other guy was giving him right then didn’t give the attacker a lot of confidence either.

Retreating a step, he said, Look. This guy screwed up my new shoes, and he needs to pay for them, but the conviction wasn’t in his voice anymore.

At that point, one of the other two aggressors moved in to grab Pete from behind and was confused when he was instead grabbing the arm of his jock friend. The guy did a double-take after seeing that Pete was, once again, standing ten feet away near Dawson.

Well, okay then. It sounds like we’re all in agreement here, said Pete, and he and Dawson were once more heading toward the entry to the establishment.

Like I was saying, Pete continued, ya can’t really call it a pizza if it looks like a garden or something when it comes out of the oven. Am I right? I mean, salads are great, and I eat them once in a while, but everything in its place. Now, if you’re in agreement, I think we should go with a Mega-Meat Combo because, with that one, you get a nice variety of all kinds of animal parts.

The dumbstruck athletes now rallied, and closing on the departing pair, the lead jock muttered, Hey! You guys think you’re going to just walk—

And with their aggressor’s last show of bravado, Pete had had enough. He was already anticipating a few fresh slices of what he construed as the food of the gods, and he was getting a little miffed. Turning on a dime, he squared off against the three approaching men.

Okay, enough. It’s over. Go away. Now.

Between the T-Bird guy’s body language and his willingness to fight three guys bigger than himself on a whim over a literal stranger, the lead jock finally got the message. Pursuing this further wasn’t worth the effort. Seeing a lot of grief for little reward, he said to his two buddies, Let’s get out of here. These clowns aren’t worth the sweat on our balls.

And with that, he and his two relieved-looking pals headed toward the far end of the parking lot. Dawson wouldn’t admit it, but he was still a little flustered by the whole progression of events of the last few minutes. He was just now finally catching his breath, but he noticed Pete seemed to act as if he’d just awoken from an afternoon nap. Relaxed, smiling, yucking it up a little, and Dawson too had witnessed the man’s unrealistic ability where he seemed to move without moving. Curious, he asked Pete, What was that out there anyway?

Playing dumb, Pete said, Oh, the Thunderbird? Yeah, it’s pretty beat-up now but still pretty reliable. I figure why pony up the cash for something new when I don’t really need to.

Waving that off, Dawson said, No, not your car. That way you were moving like that. Is that some martial art or something? I mean, I’ve seen some of those karate and kung fu movies. What you were doing didn’t look even remotely like any of that kind of stuff. What is it?

Pete balked for a moment and then said, It’s just something I learned growing up. Kind of complicated to explain, but maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. There’s no actual name for it, but, well—like I said, it’s complicated.

You said ‘we’, meaning what? That others know this too? Which is weird because I’ve never seen anything like it.

Pete laughed, I guess we’ve been running in different circles or something, Dawson. Now let’s get serious about this pizza and beer thing!

And with that last remark, the two men crowded through the door of Tubby’s Brew’ n’ Grub and headed toward the order counter.

That was Dawson’s first encounter with Pete Scanlon, and after a cordial afternoon of scarfing pizza and slamming brews, they got together for more of the same a couple of times over the next few weeks. For one reason or another, they both got busy with whatever life had in store for them at the time, and their paths didn’t cross again until twelve years later.

CHAPTER 3

The year, 2005

Your 2:30 is here, announced the voice from the intercom on Dawson Penrod’s desk.

Thanks, Betty. Give me two minutes and then show them in.

Yes, sir, came her reply.

Dawson closed his laptop and sat, gathering thoughts for the moment. He reviewed the schematics for his company’s new chip design once again, which he was about to discuss with the client waiting in his outer office. This visitor would be the 7th and last of the semiconductor manufacturer reps with whom Dawson had already met this week. He yawned and stretched his arms out over his head. This last meeting was more of a courtesy at this point, but Dawson had to hear them out. He was already pretty confident that the Indonesian contingent would come in at the lowest production price overall. But money wasn’t everything, after all. If possible, he would love to keep the project stateside. He felt he could do that if he could negotiate this new U.S. client down to a number that would make it feasible.

Logistically speaking, it was almost always preferable to go with a domestic business partner whenever possible. He’d sure learned that the hard way. Since many of his company’s contracts had security aspects linked to the U.S. Government, it was simply much easier to evade many of the mind-numbing entanglements of governmental regulations by keeping things at home. Not that he hadn’t partnered up with foreign companies in the past and profited greatly by doing so. Some profits on a few of those deals had been prodigious. After the fact, though, he’d always felt that the additional regulatory hoops he’d had to jump through just hadn’t been worth the tradeoff versus keeping things stateside.

Not that profit margins didn’t definitely play a key role in his decision-making, but Dawson always asked himself one question before agreeing to anything. Could he sleep at night with the choice he’d made?

A minute later, Betty escorted in a thin pasty-complexioned man with a scraggly-looking beard. The man wore an aging Brooks Brothers suit with shoes that had been shined a few too many times, but by contrast, the leather briefcase he carried appeared to be new.

Betty announced to her boss, Mr. Bogdanian, sir. May I bring either of you some coffee or tea, or possibly a soft drink of some kind?

Bogdanian replied, Some coffee would be great if it’s no trouble. Black. It seems like I almost live on the stuff sometimes.

My pleasure, and, Mr. Penrod?

The same for me, Betty. The usual, two creams, one sugar—thank you.

Dawson, watching his office manager as she left, was secretly enamored with the efficient brunette. Probably as much for her razor-sharp mind as he was her five-foot-four comely appearance.

Walking around from behind his desk, Dawson greeted the client with a firm handshake, offering, Please, have a seat, Mr. Bogdanian.

Thank you, and please, call me Tom.

Sure, Tom, it is. I’m Dawson. So, down to business. I take it you’ve had a chance to look over my expected development estimates and the production timeframe I sent over. Have you come up with a quote for me?

Yes, I certainly have, Mr. Pen…um, Dawson.

He pulled a thin binder from the briefcase he had placed on his lap and handed it across the desk to Dawson.

I think you’ll find that we can be quite competitive with the foreign contingent as a whole. By my estimate, our production costs can come in 2-3 percent lower compared to our competition’s by—

Betty then reappeared carrying a tray with two cups of steaming brew, saying, Excuse me, gentlemen. Here, let me drop these off, and I’ll be out of your way.

As she passed by Dawson to leave, she leaned in to say quietly, Ben Jackson is outside. He said he could use a moment of your time when you’re available. Nothing urgent, but he says someone who claims to be a friend of yours was found inside the eastern facility’s gates earlier this morning. The man is currently downstairs in the security office.

What? And he said he’s a friend of mine? All right, thanks, Betty. Tell Ben I’ll be out shortly.

Retreating to the entry door, Betty stood and waited as Dawson wrapped things up.

Okay, Tom, sorry to rush things along. You say everything I need to render a decision is in this binder?

Bogdanian seemed flustered upon sensing a quick dismissal but nodded, Well, yes. I suppose that is all of it.

Dawson waved the binder at him, Good enough. Well, then, I won’t keep you. As you know, Penrod Industries is a privately held company, so I won’t need to wait for the usual approval by a board of directors or anything. I should be able to get you a decision by next week at this time.

Noticing how Bogdanian was looking reverently at the untouched freshly brewed coffee in front of him, Dawson quickly added, Oh, and I’d love it if you would take this nice heavy-duty coffee mug with our company logo on it as a memento.

That brought an immediate smile to Bogdanian’s face.

Sure, Dawson, that would be great. And if you have any questions about our proposal, all my contact info is in the binder. Thanks again for everything.

You bet, Tom. I’ll be in touch.

Betty led the client out and shut the door behind her. Dawson browsed through Bogdanian’s binder, only to allow enough time for the man to depart the outer office. He quickly located the pertinent information of the man’s proposal, calculated all comparative data from the other offers he’d received, and made his decision.

Tossing the binder onto his desk, he tapped the intercom.

Betty? Go ahead and send Ben in.

Her reply, He’s heading in now, quickly saw Ben Jackson enter through Dawson’s door. Ben, an Englishman who had previously worked in Her Majesty’s armed forces across the pond years ago, strode in to say, Hi, Daws.

Hey, Ben. Say, what’s this I hear about a friend of mine being held down in security?

Ben, an intimidating hulk of a man in his late 50’s, stood six foot five and weighed in at 250 or so but had the heart of a saint. Unless you got him riled, that is, but in reply, he answered, Actually, I think we’ve got some kind of a nut job downstairs. We found this fellow sleeping behind building C over in the east facility a few hours ago. At first, I thought he was just some sad rube down on his luck. I was going to slip him a few bucks and send him packing, but he swore to the saints that he’s a mate of yours. We’ve had him downstairs for a while trying to coax a few answers out of him, but he’s been pretty tight-lipped so far. He keeps saying he’s from the old days, and he’d like to see you when you get some spare time. I waited until now to contact you about this, mostly because it’s such an odd situation. And you know how this industry is, so I also wanted to make sure he wasn’t some kind of threat or corporate spy or something.

Dawson scratched his chin and asked, And?

Ah, I guess he seems okay. Maybe a little daft, if you know what I mean, but pretty harmless."

Dawson thought a second and said, You said the situation seemed odd. Explain.

Ben thought this over, but when a compelling explanation evaded him, Dawson prompted, I mean, did he give you any trouble?

Well, no, not really. He did seem a bit reluctant at first to accompany us to the security office. And well, two of my boys, you know. Freddy and Hernando, those lads who used to work Border Patrol for a few years? They tried to grab the man’s arms to help escort him over.

Ben paused here as if trying to find the right words and then explained, Well, these boys, they aren’t used to taking guff. And don’t get me wrong. They kept things pretty restrained and all, but a strange thing. My guys couldn’t get a grip on him. He just kept up slipping their grasp. I think it was the weirdest damned thing I’ve ever seen. After that bit of embarrassment, he said he’d come voluntarily and thank Christ for that, if I may say. He told us he’d wait wherever we wanted him to if he could get a meeting with you. So, I fudged a little. I told him, of course, he could see you, to get him to comply, mind you. Sure enough, he came along like a trained pup. That little white lie was enough to open him up a bit because he finally answered a few of the questions I put to him. Bottom line, I don’t think the man is interested in anything to do with the company. That leads me to think he may really just want to speak with you.

Dawson mulled this over for a moment, then inquired, What exactly did you ask him?

Well, first, I asked him what the hell he was doing here. And that’s where it started getting odd. He asked me where here he was, like he wasn’t quite sure. As you’d expect, I looked him over for signs of injury and couldn’t see any. He also answered a few routine questions about the day of the week, the year, who was president, that kind of stuff, so he seems to have his wits about him. Also, he’s not exactly dressed like a bum or anything, but no I.D., though. That’s when he mentioned how you two were friends from back in the day, but there was one other thing.

Dawson: Keep going.

You know that our security here is pretty darn good. Nothing military-grade or anything, but even with the twelve-foot fences and the security cameras, no one seemed to see our trespasser arrive. He was just found, kind of sitting up against a wall behind building C. I dunno, Daws. The whole thing is just a bit of a mystery. I figured I’d let him wait downstairs for a bit until you cleared your schedule for the day and then see what you wanted to do about him. Betty just told me that after that last guy, your slate was clean, so it’s your call. Do you want to take a look at this fellow? If you’d rather not, I could give the police a call and have them come and cart him away. No muss, no fuss.

All of the things that Ben was saying had a strange déjà vu kind of feeling about it as Dawson’s memory harkened back to the long-ago meeting with one Pete Scanlon in the parking lot of Tubby’s Brew’ n’ Grub.

He remembered their few get-togethers for pizza and beer, where mostly, Pete had just listened to Dawson talk more than anything.

After just a few weeks, though, they both became more involved in their respective lives at the time. Dawson eventually tried contacting Pete without luck and then had casually checked with someone he knew in the college registrar’s office. The only thing he’d been able to discover was that Pete was on a news story for the school paper. When Dawson had followed up a couple of weeks later, he was informed that Pete was no longer enrolled. Thinking back, he remembered how he’d concluded at the time that his friend might have simply gotten tired of the academic life. Pete had never seemed overly interested in his studies and, during one conversation, had also spoken of possibly joining the military. For some reason, though, the mystery of Pete’s disappearance hadn’t concerned him as much as it would have if it were someone else. Dawson, himself, had been heading off to MIT that next semester and then on to Stanford for his post-doctorate studies. Any thoughts he’d had at the time of reconnecting with his friend became an afterthought.

That had been years ago, however. Now, Dawson sat and pondered the long path that life had led him down and those he’d met on that road. True, this stranger might just be some random nutcase, or maybe someone looking for work—who the hell knew? Dawson’s curiosity would only be satisfied one way, though, and turning to Ben, he said, Okay. Let’s go see this guy.

The security office for Penrod Industries was located on the main floor at the rear of the building. Taking an elevator down four flights to that level, Ben and Dawson entered the security office. A secretary, two armed security staff, and a couple more people monitoring the facility’s cameras all looked up as they entered. After exchanging pleasantries with everyone, Dawson went over to one of the monitors. The screen’s image displayed a view of the holding area that sat to the security offices’ rear. There, a man sat casually reading through an old copy of Sports Illustrated.

Ben stated the obvious, Well, there he be, Daws. You know this chap?

Dawson leaned closer to the monitor, peering at a face that he hadn’t seen in twelve years. It certainly looked like the Pete Scanlon of old. In fact, he hadn’t changed too remarkably at all over the years. Maybe a couple of extra pounds stockier but not much else.

Ben, I do know this man. Let me in.

You’re the boss.

Ben led Dawson back to the holding area entrance and swiped his electronic key card to open the door. Stepping aside to allow Dawson entry, Ben cast a suspicious eye at their guest.

The door opening had prompted Pete Scanlon to look up from his magazine. Recognizing who had entered, he rose from his seat, exclaiming, Dawson! Long time, buddy. How’ve you been?

Pete, what the hell! The last thing I heard about you was that you’d been chasing some news story for the school paper. Then you pretty much fell off the face of the earth.

"Yeah, that’s kind of a long story; I’ll have to catch you up sometime.

But hey, I’m here now, so how about grabbing some beer and pizza?"

Dawson realized at that point how much he’d missed Pete’s off-kilter personality and thought back again to how the guy had saved his bacon that one day at Tubby’s. With a grin spreading across his face, he said, Sure, let’s go do that. I’ve got my work done for the day, and I skipped lunch to boot, so, yeah. Pizza and beer sound pretty damned good right now.

Dawson then realized Ben was still standing in the doorway. After a brief introduction between Pete and his security head, Ben returned to his duties while the old friends headed off to eat.

CHAPTER 4

Gennaro’s was the favorite local pizza joint of Dawson’s. He’d become a big fan of their cuisine during his Stanford days, and in his opinion, they had the best pies in Silicon Valley. It was here that the two men ended up, but the short drive over hadn’t allowed for much time for conversation. The two had exchanged some quick banter about the local traffic, and Pete commented how well Dawson seems to have done since their last meeting.

After finding a parking spot and walking inside, Dawson spoke up, Let me do the honors. I think I remember your usual.

At the counter, Dawson said, Hey, Rosario, this is my buddy, Pete. Pete—Rosario. I guarantee he makes the best pies in the state.

Rosario, a robust Italian with a girth that suggested he was a fan of his cooking, said, Hey, Pete, good to meet you. I think your friend here has kept my place in business all on his own. You should see the number of pizzas he and his people go through in a week.

Dawson smiled, He’s exaggerating. Folks drive from miles around to eat here. Rosario, how about fixing up with a large carnivore special and a couple of mugs of Bass.

You got it. Hey, Manny! he yelled to the cook in the back. Gimme a large number 7 and load it. Here, you guys grab a booth, and I’ll bring your brews over.

Thanks, and with the order placed, Dawson and Pete headed toward the back, where there seemed to be fewer customers.

So, who’s Gennaro? Pete asked.

Oh. Yeah, that. Gennaro’s Rosario’s father. He’s semi-retired now, but the name stayed the same after Rosario took over.

Settling into their seats, Dawson then opened a new line of conversation.

So, Pete. Come on, how’d you do it?

Pete had known this would be coming, but for just a moment, he stared questioningly back at Dawson.

You know. Show up at my business complex without anyone seeing you. My security guy, Ben, told me you were found asleep there.

Pete held up a finger requesting a momentary pause as Rosario delivered the beers.

Enjoy, fellas. Give it about 10 minutes for the pizza.

Once their server had wandered out of earshot again, Pete continued, Okay, before I get started, you’ve gotta keep an open mind.

Dawson wasn’t sure what that implied but nodded to the affirmative, Alright, I can do that.

Pete smiled, No, really. I mean, before I begin, you seriously need to understand that what I’m going to tell you will sound like a bunch of bullshit.

Dawson blinked a couple of times. You mean, as in unbelievable?

Pete laughed, "Yeah, pretty much. Think of it as something you might read in a comic book. The difference is that I’ve been living it. Anyway, that’s my disclaimer. I know you’re one of those scholarly types who like