Recycle - 12. Chapter 12

“One more thing,” Elena went on, “in addition to the shooter probably being a woman with long hair... at one point, Zal said something went wrong... Something tiny, like she dropped her marker or the stencil slipped... Or things weren’t going as fast as she wanted – though Zal said he was amazed at how quickly it went. He was on the ground, with his eyes shut. And he was counting slowly... because after fifteen minutes, he gives up for the night. And he’d been lying there for maybe seven, when he felt something poke him in the chest... kind of prod, the way you might a dead animal. He didn’t respond, and it came again, and he decided it was a foot. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was shaken... just a bit, but nothing was said. Then she flipped him on his back – he’d been on his side – unzipped his hoodie, pushed up his T-shirt, tattooed him and left. But at one point, while she’s was doing the tattoo, she muttered scheisse.”

“In a woman’s voice?” Don questioned.

“It was a whisper,” Elena explained. “Could have been anyone. Zal just assumed it was a girl.”

“Scheisse isn’t English, is it?” Rob asked.

“No,” Ike told them. “It’s German for ‘crap’ – or something stronger. The Germans use it the way we use damn and darn and dang.”

“So the shooter’s German?” Jae guessed.

“Or Austrian,” Ike went on, “they also speak German there. And there’s a handful of other countries... smaller but still in Europe... where you hear German all the time. Switzerland... Parts of Italy... I think Belgium.” He paused. “I forget the rest.”

“Is that the slip-up we’ve been waiting for?” Owen asked.

“Maybe,” Elena said smiling.

“Could Zal get any idea how old she is?” Owen went on.

“No... remember, we told him not to look. But she’s obviously agile... Prods with her foot.... easily bends down to shake his shoulder... quickly opens his jacket and pulls up his shirt.”

“So still possibly a student,” Jae observed. “Though maybe an international one.”

“Or someone raised speaking German,” Ike offered.

“Or who likes certain words,” Don added. “I still say Jay-sus when I’m pissed off. But it’s cause an old friend of mine – who grew up in Belfast – said it, and I thought it was cool.”

“Let’s focus on a woman,” Owen summarized. “With long hair... sometimes braided... athletic... possibly European or German... maybe a student.” He grinned. “That’s a huge gain over yesterday.”

And they soon had another, Elena reported. “Or at least a change.”

“What?” everyone asked.

“No new tattoos last night – with or without darts. And that’s the first time in over a week. But there were plenty of shootings.”

“What do you mean?” people questioned.

“With these.”

She passed around a Nerf bullet, with its usual short plastic head and longer foam body. The difference with this one was it had a sticker on its side reading “Recycle.”

“The UMass police sent me a photo this morning and said, ‘They’re everywhere!’ So I drove over to see for myself.” She laughed. “And they are everywhere. It’s like spring, and they’ve been planted.”

“And they’re all labeled?” Owen questioned.

“Yes... that’s the only difference from the earlier ones... And everyone’s shooting them ‘cause they’re free – bags of them were dropped at the major frat houses and dorms last night – 500 per bag.”

“Are we back to a rich kid?” Don wondered.

“Possibly,” Elena admitted. “But the UMass police... after asking around... said someone’s been buying up all the cheap discards... the ones some of the kids collected.”

“Recycling them,” Rob cracked.

“Could be,” Elena admitted smiling. “But I wouldn’t have thought there’d be that many... even after a couple of weeks. So some of these may be new.”

“Does any of the sellers remember who’s buying them?” Ike asked.

“Not from what the UMass police have learned. They said the students who collect them always find buyers. So they keep picking them up.”

“Ask them to be more observant,” Don suggested.

“I already have – and so have the UMass guys. But students aren’t going to turn in their friends – and customers.”

“We just need one – the long-haired woman with a German accent,” Rob joked.

Owen refocused them. “Do any of the sales people at the stores remember anyone buying in bulk?”

“That hasn’t been any use before,” Elena reminded him. “There are too many stores within forty-miles of Amherst... not to mention buying online.”

“Just a chance,” Owen followed, and Elena nodded. “What about the TV stations and Internet folks?” he went on. “What should we tell them?”

“It’s already too late,” Elena acknowledged, “though you might be able to head off the TV news. But it’s on the Internet... on the UMass site... so it’s probably on others.”

“We could ask them to stop,” Owen suggested. “Again.” He sighed. “But we got that favor from them once – promising not to mention the recent tattoos. And I’ll bet we won’t get it again.”

He screwed up his mouth like a kid’s again, and everyone was silent while he thought. Then he just shook his head. “Let’s let ’em have the whole thing,” he decided. “All of it. All of them. And ask them to publicize it... heavily. Bullets. Labels. Tattoos. Darts. Braid. Probable woman. German. Student. Anything they and we can think of. She can’t hide from us all.”