The Summer Job - 49. Team Building, Detective Work and Fieldcraft

After lunch and swimming much of the morning, Phillip herded the boys back inside for showers. Stevie was little pink around the edges, so Randy applied a little aloe Vera and, they opted to take a nap during the heat of the day.

Phillip piled Seth, David, Billy, and Johnny Gray who appeared by bicycle just before lunch, into his car and went to Wet Gear in the mall. He took them in and explained to Wally, a college kid who worked for the store who Phillip often saw, that he would be coaching the Barracudas for the summer. Phillip wanted to outfit them in cobalt blue Jammers and Speedo drag suits for the upcoming Summer Heat competitions. That made Wally’s whole day.

Wally set them all up with a three pack of swimmers jocks, Arena brand Jammers and a Speedo brand drag suit that came out to be a little over forty dollars, with a nice volume discount.

As the boys were busy getting measured and trying on their new gear, Phillip wandered over to one of his favorite stores called Recycled Electronics. The guys who owned and operated the store got old cell phones, PCs, laptops, video consoles and even home stereo equipment, reconditioned it resolving any problems, adding new batteries, tweaking the configurations, loading fresh software and reselling it for a fraction of retail price. Other people’s write-offs were a techies gold mine. The place was why Phillip’s electronics were in such good shape.

Phillip found the store was selling piles of the outdated iPhone 4S for fifty dollars a phone. The store had them bundled with a plan with a local carrier that provided 750 minutes and unlimited data for thirty dollars a month flat. He paired them up with cheap Otter box lookalike cases in the cobalt blue of the Barracudas and had Seth, David, Billy and Johnny set up. He put them in a bag, dropped them in the trunk and went in to settle up with Wet Gear.

On the way back to the house Billy said, “I’m delighted we’ll be wearing Jammers, so our nards won’t be hanging out, but usually, we have to buy our suits.”

Phillip chuckled and replied, “You guys would be cuter in the buff, but I don’t think the league would go for it. I got a big check this Friday and, I’m going to outfit the whole team in gear you’ll be comfortable in.”

Johnny said, “I like the looks I get in the Speedo.”

Seth said, “You would Mr. Perfect Body and package.”

“You can wear them to practice if you want. A lot of the kids hate them passionately”, Phillip said as he turned into a convenience store.

Phillip stopped for some ice cream, then drove to Center Park and found a shady parking place for the boys to enjoy their treat. As they were scarfing down ice cream, Phillip said, “I’m going to sit at a picnic table and I want you to come see me one at a time. We’re going to have a short chat and when we’re done, we’ll head back to the house.”

He got out of the car, popped the trunk, took the bag of phones and went to a table well behind the car.

David was the first to come out. He was still licking his fingers when he sat beside Phillip.

Phillip put his arm around David and said, “I’m glad you were first. You’re my favorite you know.”

David sat bolt upright and said, “I am?”

“Of course. You look like an angel, you’re smart as a whip and horny as a little devil. You’ve got the best of both worlds going on.”

David giggled and said, “I love it when we get a chance to talk like this.”

Phillip said, “I do too and”, he reached in the bag and pulled out the phone with David written on a post-it note and said, “We’ll have more chances now.”

David’s eyes got big as saucers, and he said, “No way! You got me a phone! Jesus Phillip!”

Phillip said, “It’s not the latest and greatest, but it’ll do the job. You’ll have 750 minutes a month, unlimited texts and data for thirty bucks a month.”

Phillip sent a text to the phone and said, “There, you got your first text.”

David took the phone in shaking hands and, Phillip showed him how to save his number as a new contact. Apparently, it was an emotional experience for David as he had to wipe away a few tears.

After a hug and a promise to put it in his pocket and not give the game away, David went back to the car and Billy appeared.

Phillip went through the same procedure with Billy, told him he was his favorite, presented him with his ‘new’ phone and became his first contact.

Johnny Gray was next. He actually did shed a few tears.

Seth was last and Phillip had to hold him for a minute as he was wracked by happy sobs.

On the way home Phillip told the boys to text whenever they could and save their voice minutes. Oh, and don’t let the others know and spoil the surprise.

When Phillip arrived back at the house, he was delighted to find that Adam had returned with the van. This time he could get everyone who needed to go and headed back to Wet Gear.

Tyrone pulled into the Glenlion Apartments at a little after two and parked. He knew that a Deputy Sheriff was parked somewhere nearby watching and listening, but had no idea how to spot him. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

It answered on the third ring, “Tyrone, you’re right on time. It’s so good to deal with a professional. Are you in your Honda?”

Tyrone replied, “Yeah Arturo. I’m three cars down from your Land cruiser.”

The apartment door opened and Arturo appeared in sweats with a gym bag. He walked to Tyrone’s Honda, opened the door and sat in his passenger seat.

Arturo said, “You’re not looking so good.”

“Tell me about it. I’m going to have my appendix out this week. I’ll probably be out of business for a couple of weeks.”

“That sucks man. It’s best to get it out soon if it’s bothering you.”

Tyrone reached on the back seat and pulled out a Target shopping bag with the four pounds of weed for Arturo and said, “I smoked a join of this when I got off work. It's pretty good weed.”

Arturo took a sniff and smelled the musky, skunky smell of potent hydroponic grown marijuana, smiled and said, “It does smell pretty good.”

He opened the gym bag and handed Tyrone a roll of bill and stuffed the bulky bag inside.

Arturo asked, “You want to come in and hit the bong?”

“Next time man. I feel like shit. I’m just going to get this done and head to the house.”

Arturo departed and Tyrone started his car and left the apartments.

His phone rang, and he answered, “Tyrone.”

Deputy Gaddis said, “Well done. Three more stops to go.”

Detective Jack Murphy met the chopper from Bragg at an Air Guard Base and greeted Sergeant Major Ricky Rials with three men, two cases of equipment and a smart looking Labrador retriever.

Murphy said, “I sure appreciate you coming so quickly Sergeant. This thing is going to happen tonight.”

Rials said, “Jack, this is Taylor, Anderson and Chan. They’re the tech support I promised you. Lead the way, and we’ll walk and talk.”

Jack did as the Sergeant Major suggested and Rials said, “We looked up your boy. Farmer was teamed up with a guy named Chad Rider who had an excellent rep until he got his foot blown off in the rematch back around 2007. I talked to him about Farmer.”

Jack asked, “Did he give us any insights?”

“Yes he did”, Rials said with a sigh. “Farmer became a Green Beret right after the Soviet Union fell apart and many older hands were retiring. It was a number's thing. Usually, they won’t take anyone who hasn’t been in for a couple of tours, but they needed bodies to fill empty slots older and more experienced men should have been in.”

“Chad said Farmer got too close, too emotionally involved with the Kurds he was with. They were all kids and Farmer wasn’t mature or experienced enough to stay detached. Chad said there was one he was especially close to. When they got hit by choppers, Farmer went back for him. That’s how he got hit. The boy bled out in his arms and Farmer wasn’t much better off. Chad had to drag him out.”

“Farmer was a Walter Reed for a while. His body heeled a lot faster than his mind. They looked at him for supposed war crimes, but that was bullshit. Farmer blamed himself for what happened and Army shrinks put a flag in his jacket to keep him out of further combat. He served out his tour, was honorably discharged with a nice fruit salad and went to college.”

Murphy asked, “Is he crazy?”

Rials answered, “No crazier than anybody else that’s been as deep in the shit as we have.”

Karen Callahan was napping on the sofa in her office, so she wouldn’t be any further from her desk phone than she had to be. Her cell was sitting right by her charging from a port on her laptop.

Her phone pinged with an incoming text message. She looked at it and didn’t recognize the number, and opened the text. It was a picture of Timmy and Scotty in cobalt blue Jammers with the text: Hi Mom. Save this number. It’s my new cell phone.

Horrified that he may have fallen for an expensive plan, she texted him back and asked, Where did you get a phone?

Phillip got one for everybody on the team at Recycled Electronics. The phones are old iPhone 4S dirt cheap and the plan is only thirty bucks a month.

Karen raised her eyebrow. She had been looking at getting a phone for Timmy, but the contracts were outrageous. That must have been a lot for a kid. She replied, Where did Phillip get that kind of money?

The city gave him a big check for helping out Rodney and all the rest of us. Phillip said he was going to give it back but decided to spend it on the team. He got the blue Jammers I’m wearing and, said we will need them for regionals and nationals.

She covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. At least Phillip aimed high. All the best coaches did. Since Timmy would own the phone, the service plan would be much cheaper. She would own her iPhone 6S when her current contract was done in a few months. The new Apple 8’s were now all the rage, but she simply didn’t need one. Her phone worked just fine.

That Phillip kid is smart, very smart.

Then she gasped out loud. At that very instant she knew exactly who Otter was. She texted back: Tell Phillip I said thanks. Make sure you do too. I’ll switch to that carrier as soon as my contract is up.

Detective Butler pulled up to the nice old house in Old Town his mentor former Chief Detective Arty Shaw had retired to. He parked on the driveway walked to the front door and rang the bell.

Arty’s wife Mona answered the door and said, “Chris, it’s good to see you. Cold Case?”

Butler nodded guiltily.

Mona was a cop’s wife. Her face took on a wicked sideways grin, and she said, “I should have known. Arty hasn’t been this excited since the Giants last Super Bowl. He’s upstairs in his study. Would you like some coffee?”

Butler said, “Please.”

Arty was indeed in his study and had several piles of papers waiting when Butler arrived. He stood and said, “So you think you’ve got a line on the Hunter Young case?”

Butler said, “Maybe. If I remember there was some talk that might have been a serial thing.”

Arty said, “It was. The Quantico guys were looking at it— sixteen boys between the ages of twelve and seventeen vanished without a trace between 1997 and 2013. There’s just a small problem with your suspect.”

Butler said, “There is?”

Arty grinned and said, “He’s not dead.” He handed Butler a file and said, “Quantico did a profile on the killer: a white male between the ages of 45 and 55 who was a short-haul trucker with established routes. That was his hunting ground. There’s some more psychobabble about him being a religious nut in profile, but the most important parts are established. He knew his hunting ground and got to watch it over time.”

Butler looked at the file. He had never seen it. It was well before he got his gold shield but, he had seen others like it. The profile was in the tight, stilted language used by the criminalists at Quantico, and they were superb.

Arty said, “Now, page over to the blue tab and look at our victim profile: all of our victims lived within three miles of a truck stop or an interstate rest area. Doing interviews detectives asked the standard questions, twelve of the victims were reported by friends or family to use drugs. Six of sixteen were reported to be known or suspected of being gay or bisexual.”

Butler saw the lightbulb and said, “They were cruising.”

Arty said, “Or hustling. That’s the theory of the crime, but there’s very little to go on. There might be a drug angle, but I think that only muddies the waters. They’re out looking for quick cash or nookie in the wrong place and meet the wrong guy. One or two boys a year go missing without a trace, then it stops cold in 2013. When that happens, what is the standard answer?”

Butler said, “The perp is dead or in jail on other charges.”

Arty picked up another file, handed it to Butler and said, “Right out of the textbook. Now, let me introduce you to David Wayne Allen. He was found dead in 2013 and fits the profile like a glove right down to the religious nuttery. We even found a few items that might have been related to the victims, but we could never positively run it down.”

Butler flipped through the file and saw the coroner’s report and said, “Jesus. I’d say he was found rather profoundly dead.”

Arty said, “The theory is someone connected to one of the dead kids figured out who was doing it and ended him in a rather brutal, proficient, military manner.”

Something clicked in Butler’s head, and he said, “What did you just say?”

Arty said, “The Coroner’s report on Allen— someone ended him in a brutal, proficient, military manner.”

Butler asked, “Why did you say that, exactly?”

Arty chuckled and said, “If there was an unbroken bone on the Coroner’s Report for Allen, we missed it. Allen is good for the serial murders. I’ll bet the house on it. Now, tell me about your boy.”

Butler described Farmer, his background as a Green Beret, and his apparent fondness for boys.

When he was done, Arty said, “I don’t think you’ve found the Interstate Killer. Allen is almost certainly good for it. I think you’ve got the guy who punched the Interstate Killer's ticket.”

Tyrone pulled up in a shady parking place in Center Park where he always met Coach. He rolled his windows down and waited. It was just like every time he met Coach. He had to unbuckle his seat belt and adjust himself. His erection was strong.

He loved Coach. All the Cops thought he was the scum of the Earth, but growing up, Coach had always been there for him. Without Coach, he would probably already be in prison. Coach had tried to talk him out of the drug business, but the easy money was just too seductive.

That day in his office when he had gotten so aroused by a paddling, Coach pulled his shorts down and sucked his cock was the first sex he had ever had. It wasn’t because Coach was just a perv. Coach told him when it happened, either he caught it or there would be a huge mess when that bomb went off. He looked down at the erection in his shorts and there was a wet spot.

Tyrone had never had a Dad. He had Coach, he loved him, and he felt like Judas. In all the years he had known coach, he had never seen him get rough with a boy— except with a paddle and, they deserved it. Most of them were like himself: fatherless or with parents that were fucked up or too busy. The Cops would never and, simply could never understand.

He didn't really believe Coach had killed Hunter. It was something desperate he pulled out of his ass. If... Hunter had never disappeared, he would never know but the memory of Hunter's lips against his own was like fire. The memory of touching the beautiful blond boy with long hair made him ache.

Interrupting his reverie, there was Coach in his GMC Yukon. He had to do what he could to save his skin, but he would never, could never fuck Coach over.

Coach Farmer rolled up beside Tyrone’s Honda and parked. He had a Playmate cooler with their lunch in it. He got out, entered Tyrone’s car and said, “Ty, you’re looking rough. Are you all right?”

Tyrone stuck to the script and said, “Not really. I’m supposed to get my appendix out next week.”

They made their deal, ate lunch and exchanged blow jobs in the deserted part of the park they always chose.

Before they were about to part ways, Tyrone said, “Do you know of anywhere close to get a good bucket of crabs?”

Farmer stiffened. That was their previously arranged compromise code.

He replied, “There are some chain places around but, if you want a good bucket of crabs you’ve got to ride to the coast. How soon would you like to go?”

Tyrone said, “I’ve got a craving— tonight if I feel up to it.”

Farmer thought shit, shit, shit. Tonight. He pulled a pen out of his shirt and wrote a number down. Tyrone looked at it, pocketed it and said, “I guess Joe’s Crab Shack is your best bet. Maybe over the fourth we’ll ride over to the Coast and hit one of the excellent joints.”

Tyrone brushed a tear out of his eye and said, “I’d like that. Let’s talk next week after I get this alien out of me.”

The two old friends, no the father and son, hugged and went their separate ways with the jagged pain of certainty that they would never see each other again.