Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 34, Part 2: Sometimes you’re the windshield

Battles on all fronts

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With gratitude, Bill

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Last week, in chapter 34, Part 1, The crew geared up to rescue Holly’s mother.

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Chapter 34, Part 2: Sometimes you’re the windshield

After they left, Wake stood on the dance floor, staring at the door for a long moment. He listened to the quiet that filled the apartment and reread Holly’s note.

Find Takeda’s Mom. West Coast somewhere.

Make sure she’s safe.

“Right on, Holly. Right on.”

With the precision of a maestro, he sat down in front of the computer system and flipped non-existent coattails out of the way of his descending posterior. ‘Jungle Boogie’ began to crackle through the air. Circulating red, purple, and gold lights flashed across the interior of one man’s discotheque in the sky.

Wake spun a full circle in his chair, cracking his knuckles theatrically, and set to work.

---

Diane struggled to wake up through blurred vision. First, she was surprised to see someone, some man, sitting across from her drinking tea? Then, she noticed with reflexive panic that her arms and legs were zip tied to her favorite old wooden chair. She jerked upwards, testing the restraints. Oh yes, that man, she remembered.

“I’m telling you, if you fall over, I’m leaving you there,” the man said. “Are you thirsty? Sometimes people get thirsty when they come out of it.”

She examined his face, gaunt, sharp, and oddly handsome. But his eyes were vacant. She shook her head.

“Suit yourself,” he said and took another sip, then placed the delicate porcelain flowered cup next to another. “Before you start asking questions, and they always do,” he rolled his eyes and played to an invisible audience, “allow me to fill you in. It will simplify this, and you and I can get on with our day. I’ve my mind set on picking up some fresh scones in town before heading home. Sound good?”

Diane took a slow breath, steadying herself, and glanced over the man’s shoulder at pictures of Holly and her late husband Jack on the fireplace mantle. She nodded.

Ira saw where she was looking and turned. “Ah! You see, you’re helping me without saying a word. Thank you!” He walked over to the mantle and picked up the framed photo of Holly. She sat before a birthday cake with a big number five and ‘Happy Birthday Holly’ written in bright red icing.

“Mrs. Johnson, do you mind if I call you Diane?” he continued without waiting for an answer, “I need to speak with your daughter, Holly, in person. It’s a matter of great importance, and she’s been quite difficult to get a hold of. Poor choice of words. In contact with, is what I mean.”

He took a long, loud slurp of tea from the china cup without breaking eye contact. “This is great tea, by the way. I’m not really a tea drinker, but I saw that you had some brewing, and I’ve been meaning to try new things, you know? Get some culture. Hey, what’s that thing the Brits eat with tea? A crunchette, no, cromfet?”

He waited, staring, for her to answer.

“A crumpet.” She spat the words.

“Yes! A crum-PET! Well, next time, Diane. I mean, if there’s a next time, we’ll have that with our tea.”

She blinked and turned her head towards the window. Morning light warmed the room. This was usually reading and tea time. Ironically, she was now tied to the chair where she would have sat. Stranger than that, she happened to be reading an old Stephen King novel called ‘Misery,’ and now felt like the protagonist in her own psychological horror story. A wisp of hair fell across her face, and reflexively she blew at it.

“Oh my,” he said, reaching over to draw the stray hair away, tucking it behind her ear.

She didn’t flinch, but the hint of a snarl turned the corner of her mouth into something momentarily threatening. He drew back as if avoiding a snake bite.

“Hmm, and we were getting along so well. Okay, let’s get to work then,” Ira said and grabbed the chair by its sides with both hands, dragging it screeching across the floor close to him. Diane gasped and leaned away.

He pulled out her cell phone from his dress shirt pocket and faced it towards her, so she could see him swipe it open. “Seriously, nice job securing your phone. Kudos to me, though, for preparedness.” He high-fived himself. “I figured someone who’d spent time learning from a techie legend would value security. So, while you had your little nappy-poo, I had some colleagues remote in and open that sucker up. Like filleting a fish,” he patted a little black bag at his feet.

“There’s a sweet little exchange between you and your daughter from,” he looked at the phone, “well, just last night!” he chirped. “Now, I bet you’re expecting me to threaten to hurt you if you don’t tell me where she is and blah, blah, blah. So annoying, am I right? Been there, done that.”

Diane gripped the chair handles, digging her nails hard into the lacquered wood.

“Well, not this guy. I’m new school! You’re going to give me a text message that you want to send her, a nice and short heartfelt one. Full disclosure that I’ll edit it for signs of fuckery before sending. After that, we’re going to have a lovely photo together to share with your only child. You’ll do this because if Holly doesn’t show up here with her jackass friend Takeda… do you know him? Never mind. If she doesn’t show up here today so I can ask her a few questions face-to-face, and I have to waste more of my precious time tracking her down…” he twitched and squinted at the ceiling, seeing something only he could. “Then when I find her, I’ll open and fillet her,” he chuckled. “Oh, no, not like a fish,” he paused. “Like when you fillet a human.”

Diane’s rage, fear, and tears mixed, and her breath grew rapid.

“Now, I’ve made my asks simple and clear. So, will you be nice and work with me, or do I have to get all bloody today and skip getting those scones?”

---

They screeched out of the underground garage, Sheila leaning on the horn. He almost clipped a shopping carriage packed with possessions. Someone yelled, "Yah fuckin mufacka!"

"Buckle up for safety," Sheila grunted. He gunned the engine, banking hard onto Boylston Street and slicing through the steam expelled from a sewer grate. A pedestrian screamed and lept onto the curb. A flyer passed overhead, throwing the GTO into shadow for a moment.

He cut through the traffic and occasionally onto the sidewalk with cold efficiency. Sheila wouldn't confess it, but he loved driving like this almost as much as he loved the car. The barest hint of a smile was the only sign. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses with red frames.

Takeda gasped at the near misses. He clutched Triscuit, who was buckled to his chest. The dog didn't seem to mind the thrill ride this time.

Holly sat bolt upright, rigid and stone-faced.

"Hang on, ya'll, running into the Skid Zone in a block. Gonna get dicey, but I got this," he said, jerking the car into third gear.

"Why go that way…," Scott said as they banked around a corner and came abruptly upon two cars on fire blocking the road.

Sheila slammed on the brakes. They slid sideways to a stop before hitting the red-hot hulking wrecks. Skulking bodies crept out from doorways and alleys. Some were carrying pipes and chains; one dragged a three-foot-long hammer. They surrounded the car and closed in. A gaunt, shirtless punk with electric green spiked hair emerged from the group in front of Sheila's GTO. The punk stared at them, reached down, and started the chainsaw he carried. It roared to life. He waved it overhead and screamed nonsense.

"Oh, fucking fuck!" Takeda yelled.

Triscuit made a low guttural sound as the group got closer.

"Friggin skids," Scott said without worry.

Holly barely changed expression, but Takeda noticed she had the taser phone in her hand.

"Relax," Sheila said and flipped a switch on the dashboard. "Ya'll got ten seconds to fuck off before I shock the shit out of you, literally." His voice boomed through a speaker outside of the car.

A few of the skids crept away. The guy with the chainsaw didn't hear or didn't care. He let out a blood-curdling shriek and leapt at the car. Sheila reached under the dashboard and hit another switch. Electricity shot out from all sides of the machine, propelling the chainsaw maniac backward into the burning wreckage.

Screams of pain filled the air as the skids touched by the blast howled and rolled on the ground.

"Crispy," Scott said as he lit a cigarette from a Zippo lighter.

Sheila jerked the car into reverse. From behind them came a high-pitched buzzing.

"Damn," he slammed the steering wheel. "That shit needs an hour to recharge. Sorry folks, it's bout' to get real bumpy."

The sound grew closer, and Sheila smoked the tires in place.

Holly twisted around in her seat, looking out the back window, and screamed, "Stop!"

Sheila let off the gas, "What?"

She got out of the car quickly, leaving the door open.

"Holly!" Takeda yelled as he unbuckled. Triscuit scrambled out after her. "Dammit, Tris!"

Holly stood in the middle of the road as a mass of mopeds surrounded her and the car like a cocoon. A hot pink flag adorned with a screaming skull parted the group like a shark's fin. The bike it was attached to pulled forward and shut off. A hulk of a man swung off his metal steed with a grunt, keeping a chewed cigar clenched in his teeth. He stepped forward and pulled down wrap-around goggles, then locked eyes with Holly, now flanked by Takeda, Triscuit, Sheila, and Scott.

"Well, ho-lee-she-it!" the man said as he approached Holly.

She smiled and scrunched up her sleeve, exposing the feather tattoo.

"Fuckin-a girl!" the man said and gave her a surprise bear hug. "Whatcha doin' out here in shit-bag skidville? These fuckers gave you some trouble?" He pointed with the cigar towards the few remaining skids who crawled and moaned in pain on the sidewalk.

Holly composed herself. "My friends and I were trying to get to the highway. Going to see my Mom, kind of in a hurry."

The big biker eyed the group, pausing momentarily to size up Sheila, and said, "You cool with these guys?"

Triscuit barked her reply, and the man laughed.

"Yes, very cool. Hey, you never told me your name."

"Oh? Hell if that ain't impolite as shit. I'm Thurston Earthfucker Sting, but my friends call me Tes," he bowed with palms up.

"Guys, this is Tes. Tes, this is Takeda, Sheila, Scott, and I believe Triscuit introduced herself."

"Gentlemen," he nodded, "any friend of this badass right here is a friend of mine for life, you dig? And my mutha-fuckin crew! Preach!" the swarm of bikes revved simultaneously in response.

"Nice to meet you, Tes," Takeda said.

"Same here," Scott mumbled.

Sheila nodded slightly.

"Y'all nearly got chewed up. Might I suggest that we escort you to the highway? My hellhounds will keep the skids at bay and set you on the big nine-three in ten minutes, cool?"

"Yes! Thanks, Tes!" Holly turned to the group. "Uh, you boys cool with that," she said, not as a question.

They nodded in unison.

"Damn, that is one fine GTO! Glad it didn't get trashed," Tes said.

"Thanks," Sheila said, unblinking.

Tes grinned, "I like a man of few words."

Sheila almost smiled.

"Heh, okay, big boy," Tes said and turned to Holly. "Keep close but not too close. We'll get you there or your money back. It's been great to see you again, darlin, be safe. I hope your mama's okay." He hugged Holly again.

"Thanks, Tes. Good to see you too." She smiled.

"Let's do this, you maniacs!" Tes bellowed as he got back onto his ride. He revved the engine, and vertical flames shot from the rear, bracketing the skull flag. He pulled away, leading the posse of riders from the scene.

"You've got some interesting friends, Holly," Sheila said, watching the bikers go. "We better hustle and catch up."

Takeda was staring at the bikers in amazement. Holly touched his hand.

"Weirder and weirder, H."

"You're telling me." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Glad you got that tattoo."

"Me too," she said. "Come on."

---

They tore across the city following the moped hoard without incident. Several times cars and people made an extra effort to get out of the way. The group hit the on-ramp to Route 93, and Sheila pulled alongside Tes. He rolled down his window and nodded. Tes smiled and blew him a kiss. The tattooed biker gunned the engine, and the flock peeled off a left-hand exit that led back into the city. Triscuit watched the scene from Takeda's lap and grumbled.

Sheila downshifted, and the blood-red GTO screamed out of Boston, heading North.

---

By the time the group left Boston, Wake had located Takeda’s mother and connected with resources on the West Coast to keep an eye on her. He’d done this on an odd day when there was a significant increase in the number of attacks on his network.

“Damn, you suckas are hostile!” he said, thumping on the enter key and opening a new window to text Holly.

On another screen, he analyzed photos and video captures of Holly’s mother’s house. There was a live feed that caught part of the front and the driveway. The feed came from a traffic cam trained on the winding coastal road. There was never any traffic in this part of Portsmouth, but residents loved to complain about tourists driving too fast.

“Too easy,” Wake said as he scrolled back through the feed. He saw a lanky man pull up, exit the car, and approach the house. A few minutes later, the man returned, shut the car off, and got something from the trunk.

“Are you alone, you piece of shit?”

In short order, he’d traced the car’s license plates back to a dead man. A separate application searched through millions of frames of video footage. Wake gave it parameters: location, dates, times, an image, and an algorithm sorted the info into something useful. Highway, residential, and storefront cameras added their data to the flow. A few isolated frames began to appear on a separate screen.

Wake found several matches that helped solidify the time frame. One handy clip from a convenience store showed no one else in the car. It also gave Wake an excellent headshot of the man carrying a jumbo soda.

“Teeth will rot right out of your head drinking that garbage. I bet you’re sleepy though, and need the sugar rush. Where did you come from?” He tapped at the face on the screen.

Next week in Chapter 34, Part 3, “Sometimes you’re the windshield,” Wake is in trouble.