Chapter 2

South Maldonado, known locally as South Mall, was a crime ridden, unincorporated area of Marshall County that Jason knew well. He had worked there both as a rookie patrol officer and a rookie field supervisor. Full of dilapidated motels, skuzzy apartment complexes, liquor stores and porno shops, it was criss-crossed by narrow avenues and streets badly in need of maintenance where hookers and drug dealers strolled with near impunity. Part of the plan Jason and Janet had concocted required the purchase of some rock cocaine and South Mall was the ideal place for such a transaction. As carefully as they had planned everything, Jason, in his wildest estimations, had not planned for more than thirty minutes to complete this particular phase of the operation. But after nearly ninety minutes cruising around the dangerous streets attempting to purchase what he needed, he was frustrated and angry, and very much aware of the time slipping away from them. The problem was not the lack of drug dealers on the streets. On the contrary, the unseasonably warm weather had brought them out in droves. The problem was that he had been unable to convince a single dealer, and he had tried five times so far, that he was not a cop. After the fifth refusal he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration.

"What the hell are we going to do?" he asked Janet. "We don't have much time left."

"Maybe you could, you know, get out of the car and let me go buy it. I don't look like a cop do I?"

"No way," Jason said firmly, shaking his head. "Too dangerous. Maybe we should just forget this part of the plan."

"I wouldn't advise that," Janet warned. "I'd say that the cocaine is integral to the plan working."

"Damn," he muttered, putting his hand to his head and leaning onto the steering wheel. After a moment's thought, he came to an impulsive decision. He dropped the car into gear and pulled quickly out of the liquor store parking lot they were in. "I guess it's time," he said quietly, "to approach this problem from a different angle."

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know, not liking the way he had said that.

"You'll see," he replied cryptically, pulling down a side street.

It took him less than two minutes to find what he was looking for. A young black man dressed in a trench coat was hanging around next to a boarded up apartment building. Jason's eyes, which knew what to look for, spotted the other man, who was the real dealer, lounging in the shadows around the side of the building. The real dealer would have the main supply. The man out front, he knew, would only have about forty or fifty dollars worth of rock on him. But that was all Jason needed. He pulled the car to the curb, undid his seatbelt and waved the man out front over to him.

"Stay in the car," Jason said to Janet. "This'll be over in a minute."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, alarmed as the dealer strolled casually over.

He didn't answer her, simply rolling down the window.

"What's up, my man?" the young black asked him, pleasantly enough.

"I need some rock," Jason said simply.

"Shee-it," the dealer told him. "Then you best go find yourself a rock dealer, officer."

"You think I'm a cop?" Jason asked quietly. By now this was becoming routine.

"You gots the cop stink all over you, Homey," the kid said, shaking his head in amusement.

Jason smiled, opening his door and stepping out in one quick motion. The kid stepped back in alarm but thankfully did not try to run.

Jason drew his off-duty 9mm and, holding it at waist level, pointed it at the kid. "You're right, Homey," he said. "I am a cop. Now put your fuckin' hands on the car."

"Hey look, man," the kid started, "you can't..."

"Now, asshole. Now!"

The kid obeyed.

"You!" Jason yelled in the direction of the real dealer. "In the corner over there. Police Department! Get your ass out here, hands in the air!"

As expected, Jason heard the sound of running feet rapidly retreating down the small alley next to the building. That was fine with Jason, who had no interest in the dealer other than not wanting to worry about him taking a pot shot at him with the gun he undoubtedly carried. He turned to the kid before him, putting his hand on the back of his neck and pushing him down on the hood of the car. Sliding his gun back into its holster he began to pat the kid down. "You strapped, Homey?" he asked.

"Naw man," the kid answered dejectedly. "I don't carry no piece. What's up with this shit, man? They repeal the motherfuckin' ninth amendment?"

"It's the fourth amendment I'm violating here," Jason replied. "Go back to civics class."

Satisfying himself that his young charge was not carrying a weapon, he returned his hand to the left front pocket where he had felt several vials. He pulled them out, taking a quick look to confirm they were what he thought they were. They were small plastic vials with red lids. Inside of each were two small, off-white colored rocks about the size of an undernourished pea. He stuffed the three vials into his left front pocket and stepped backwards.

"Stand up and turn around," he told the kid. "Keep your hands down to your side."

The kid did as he was told.

"How much are those three vials worth? Sixty?"

The kid nodded, obviously confused by the turn of events.

Jason reached in his pocket and withdrew the wad of twenties he was carrying. He peeled off four of them and handed them to the kid. "Here's eighty," he said. "Forget this little incident ever happened."

The kid looked at the offered bills for a moment, not moving to take them. "What the fuck kinda shit is this, man?" he asked.

"Nothing that concerns you," Jason told him, pushing the money towards him again. "Take the money and try not to be so suspicious. It's unbecoming."

Finally, the kid took the money. Jason jumped back into the Volvo and roared away, not even pausing to put on his seatbelt. Behind him, the young drug dealer stuffed the money into his pocket and wondered if anyone would ever believe him if he did tell the story.

At ten minutes to six, Jason wheeled the Volvo to the curb just outside one of the CSUF parking areas. From where they were it was but a short walk to the gymnasium complex where Buckingham worked out. The sun had set for the evening bringing the first wisps of the evening's fog bank with it. On the main street behind them the traffic was heavy as college students and workers tried to get home on the congested artery.

"Last chance to back out," Jason told her, watching her eyes. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Maybe I'm crazy. This has been a crazy day. But I'm sure. How about you?"

"I'm in," he said without hesitation. "You got your list?"

She held up a small piece of paper, reading off of it. "A jar of baby food, a pack of chewing gum, a ballpoint pen, a package of steel wool, a disposable lighter, a bottle of rum, a two-liter bottle of Pepsi. Pay cash."

"Right." He smiled. "And when you go in the motel room?"

"Wear my gloves, wear my hat, don't take off my jacket. Clean all of the supplies that I bought with soap and water in the sink."

"I'll make a criminal out of you yet," he said, immediately regretting it since that was precisely what he was doing. She didn't seem to notice the bad taste of his remark however.

"And you?" she asked. "Have you got everything you need?"

He patted himself down quickly. "Three pairs of gloves, my hat, my gun, my cellphone. Short list."

Though both of them had cellular phones and would keep them turned on, they had decided not to use them unless they needed to abort their plan for some reason. Using them in Fresno would leave an electronic trail that they had been there, something to be avoided at all costs.

"Good luck," she told him, suddenly finding herself near tears for no reason that she could put her finger on. "And be careful. I know you're a badass cop and all but he's a young guy in excellent shape that works out six hours a week. Don't drop your guard."

"You don't have to worry about that," he assured her, opening the car door and feeling the brisk evening air on his cheek. "I'll see you in about an hour and a half." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips and then stepped out without another word.

He walked slowly onto the campus and into the gym parking lot, wearing his hat and keeping his face turned down, but watching everything carefully with his eyes. This was the most critical part of the plan. Anybody taking the slightest notice of him would bring the entire scheme to a crashing halt. He realized that part of him, the part that realized how deadly serious of an endeavor he was embarking on, hoped that just that would happen; that this mad errand would be brought to an end before it went too far to stop. The parking lot, however, was dark and deserted as he strolled casually across it. Only ten or twelve cars, all parked near the front, occupied the lot.

He went quickly to an area of concealment on a small, grassy hill just outside the paved parking lot; the same place he had watched Buckingham's comings and goings from during the reconnaissance portion of the plan. It was well outside the reach of the nearest lightpole and shielded by two evergreen bushes. Only thirty-five feet or so away from the silver Mercedes that belonged to his quarry, he felt he could reasonably expect to sit there unobserved and unnoticed, even if one of the campus cops made a cruise through the parking lot. He sat on a small rock, careful not to get any mud or grass or bush fragments on his clothing, and waited.

From time to time, as he waited, watching the front of the building, someone would leave, usually carrying a gym bag of some kind, and walk out to their car or stroll off across the campus towards the dorms. Twice, a new car pulled in, parking near the front and disgorging young college students intent on utilizing the facilities they were entitled to. No one seemed the slightest bit aware of his presence less than fifteen yards away. Seven-thirty rolled around, the time that Buckingham usually emerged from the gym, and there was no sign of him. Seven-thirty rolled slowly on to ten minutes to eight and still there was nothing. Jason took this as a particularly ominous sign. The routine, his most favored ally, had apparently changed. Why? What did it mean? What else would change?

The answer came five minutes later when Buckingham finally strolled through the double glass doors of the gym. Dressed in an expensive looking leather jacket and slacks, his blonde hair still slightly damp from the shower he'd just taken, all of Jason's previous doubts disappeared in an instant, replaced by the bright red hatred he felt whenever he gazed upon the brutal bastard's face. But there was a problem. He was not alone.

"Goddammit," Jason muttered under his breath. Of all the lousy luck. Emerging with the quarterback were two shapely young women, one blonde, and one brunette, both dressed in loose-fitting jeans and colorful sweaters. Both appeared to be quite young, probably freshmen, and both were giggling at some remark the witty Chad Buckingham had thrown at them before the doors had opened.

"So what do you think?" Chad asked them, his voice exuding arrogance much like a high priced fashion model. "That sound like the makings of a good Friday night to you?"

Jason barely heard him. He simply watched helplessly. He would now have to sit here and watch the object of all of his planning drive away. He would then have to call Janet on the cell phone and tell her it was off; that they'd failed due to a stupid quirk of circumstances. He supposed they could try again some other night but he knew that they probably wouldn't. They would never be able to work themselves up to this level again. Aside from that their alibi, that they had holed up in the Hilton for a little love-fest, would never stand up. It was supposed to be a spontaneous event, garnered from the month that the two former lovers, he and Janet, had spent in close proximity with each other. Having it happen twice would stink to high heaven to any cop looking over the case. So with a matter as simple as two attractive freshman distracting Buckingham's attention, it was all over with. Buckingham would never even know how close he had come.

In the parking lot, the two girls were giggling again. One of them was saying something about changing her clothes first and the other one was nodding in agreement.

"You're both fine the way you are," Buckingham assured them, grinning his all-American grin. "It ain't no fashion statement you know."

"Just give us the address," one of them, the blonde told him. "We'll be there in about an hour or so."

Buckingham recited an address to the two girls. Jason recognized it immediately. It was the frat house where the quarterback and some of his teammates lived. The place where his daughter had been raped. Jason had tailed him there enough to know it by heart. Apparently there was another party there tonight. Big surprise. Instead of provoking fresh rage however, he felt only impatience. He simply wanted the three of them to leave so he could make his phone call and start putting this night, this useless night, behind him.

So sure was he that the plan had failed, Jason almost reacted too late when things took a turn for the better. After a few more giggling remarks, the two girls strolled off, gym bags in hand, not into the parking lot as he had expected, but around the corner of the building towards the campus dormitories. Suddenly Buckingham was alone in the parking lot. It is perhaps fitting that his fate became sealed because, instead of going immediately to his car when the two girls left, which would not have given Jason enough time to act, he stood and stared at the retreating derriéres until they had disappeared, whistling softly in appreciation.

"Son of a bitch," Jason muttered in wonder, getting quickly to his feet as Buckingham walked to his car.

There was a double beep as the alarm was deactivated and then Buckingham was opening the passenger door and tossing his bag onto the seat. Jason moved quickly and silently, still trying to digest his good fortune, pulling the 9mm from his belt as he approached. He took one more quick glance around, seeing no one else in sight, and then sprung into action.

"Buckingham," he said quietly, from behind.

Buckingham, perhaps lost in sexual fantasies that involved the double rape of the two girls he had just been talking to, had not heard him approach. He turned around, not the least bit alarmed, probably figuring it was one of his admiring fans, and then he spotted the gun, which Jason was holding near his waist.

"Look, man," Buckingham started immediately, throwing his hands up in the air. "I don't have any money. I just..."

"Shut the fuck up," Jason hissed. "And get those fucking hands down. Put 'em by your side."

Buckingham did as he was told, looking at Jason fearfully. "Look..." he started again.

"Shut your ass," Jason said. "You say another word and I'll kill you where you stand. Do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it without any commentary. Understand?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice trembling.

"Put your car keys on the roof."

He did so.

"Throw that gym bag in the back seat."

That was done also.

"Now get in the car," Jason ordered. "Slide over into the driver's side keeping your hands in sight at all times."

A slight hesitation.

"NOW, motherfucker!" Jason barked.

Buckingham quickly did as he was told, sliding awkwardly over the Mercedes' gear shift and center console until he was situated in the driver's seat.

"Put your hands on the steering wheel and keep them there," Jason told him, picking up the keys with his gloved left hand. He took one more glance around to see if anyone was watching. He figured that the entire confrontation had taken less then fifteen seconds but still, fate had a way of ruining the best-laid plans. Seeing no one, he sat down in the passenger seat, keeping the gun pointed at Buckingham the entire time and closed the door behind him.

He tossed the keys into Buckingham's lap. "Start it up."

Buckingham's mouth twitched into an O, about to form the word "where".

"No talking," Jason ordered. "Just do it."

With trembling hands, he picked up the car keys and fumbled with them for a minute, trying to find the right one. Jason debated telling him to hurry the fuck up, every second the spent in the parking lot was extremely dangerous since someone could come out of the gym at any time, but he figured that that would be counter-productive, scaring the prick into fumbling them more. After what seemed an eternity, he located the proper key and inserted it into the ignition. The car roared to life at once.

Jason, with his left hand, reached up and pulled the seatbelt down over him, latching it securely into it's clasp and pulling it tight. Buckingham, probably automatically, reached his left hand up to do the same.

"Put that hand back on the steering wheel," Jason ordered.

"Just putting on my seat belt," he squeaked defensively, slamming his hand back down as if he had touched something hot.

"You won't need it if you don't crash," Jason told him. "Take your left hand and put the car in reverse."

Awkwardly, Buckingham reached down across his body and popped the gearshift down one notch. Jason ordered him to back slowly out of the spot and then to put the car in drive.

"Now," he said, once this was done. "You will drive out of the parking lot and out onto the road, heading for Highway 99. You will keep your hands on the steering wheel, at ten and two, just like driver's Ed, at all times. You will obey all traffic signals and speed laws. And you will follow my directions to the letter. If you screw with me in any way I will empty this gun into your stinking guts and bury you up in the mountains somewhere. Now go."

Jason directed him to Highway 99. There was one bad moment when, just prior to reaching the onramp, they stopped at a red light and a black and white California Highway Patrol car pulled in and stopped at the light in the adjacent left turn lane, preparing to turn in the direction that they had just come from. Jason could see Buckingham's eyes light up as he spied the cruiser.

"You make any move what-so-ever to attract the attention of that cop and it'll be the last thing you ever do," Jason told him levelly. He was bluffing of course. If Buckingham tried to jump out of the car and run to the CHP officer it would be all over. Jason had no intention of murdering the quarterback in front of a cop. But apparently the bluff was a good one. The CHP officer's light turned green and she made the left turn, passing less than ten feet in front of the Mercedes. She never even glanced in their direction and Buckingham made no attempt to signal her, neither overtly nor covertly. Presently their light turned green and they continued on their way, heading south on the freeway.

Jason directed him to take the downtown exit and then guided him through the streets until they reached the Motel 6 parking lot.

"Pull in here," Jason told him. "And follow the parking lot around to the left."

"What are we doing here?" Buckingham asked desperately, disobeying Jason's order to keep his mouth shut for the first time since the college.

"You'll find out soon enough," Jason replied simply.

He had Buckingham park the car directly in front of the room.

"Now shut off the engine, take out the keys, and put them on the roof of the car."

Buckingham attempted to do this but Jason had left out the necessary step of rolling down the electric window first and they had to backtrack. When the deed was done, Jason directed him to sit in the car with his hands on the wheel. He looked out the Mercedes' windows, taking in every place he thought that they might be observed from; the rest of the parking lot, the windows of other motel rooms along this wing, the street that passed by this section of the parking lot. Seeing nothing, he unsnapped his seatbelt and stepped quickly out of the car, slipping his right hand, which held the 9mm, into the pocket of his jacket. He walked around the back of the car, keeping one eye on Buckingham's hands, which remained firmly on the steering wheel as directed, and the other on the surrounding terrain, which remained as deserted as it had been at first glance. Stopping next to the rear driver's side door, he snatched the keys off of the roof and stuck them in his front pocket. He then opened up the front door, pushing it all of the way open.

Stepping back two steps, keeping the gun in his pocket pointed towards the front seat, he said, "Slowly step out of the car so that you're facing out over the roof. Keep your hands to your sides and don't make any sudden moves. It'd be a shame to have to shoot you now after we've come so far."

Buckingham did as he was told, using exaggerated motions, until he stood facing out across the empty parking lot. Jason then ordered him to turn around and walk slowly to the door of room 47. He carefully kept his distance as this was done knowing that if the large quarterback were able to get hold of him at any point, he would get his ass kicked and worse.

"Now knock two times on the door. Knock, knock," Jason told him.

Buckingham raised his fist and hit the door two times. Jason then counted slowly to ten and then directed him to knock three more times. That was the signal for Janet to open the door. After a moment the doorknob turned and the door creaked open. As Jason had directed her, Janet pulled the door all the way open and stood with her back pressed tightly against the wall of the motel room, holding it open.

"Now walk quickly into the room," Jason said. "And stop once you get to the middle."

But Buckingham didn't hear this. He stood staring at Janet's face, his own face, which was pale with fright, marking recognition. "I know you," he whispered to Janet. "Where do I know you from?"

"Get the fuck in the room!" Jason barked, looking around the parking lot nervously again. "Now!"

Jerked out of his daze, Buckingham walked slowly into the room, his head turning to remain on track with Janet as he did so. When he was out of reach of both Janet and himself, Jason followed him inside and closed the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief now that the most difficult part of the operation was over. He saw that Janet had arranged the chairs in the room as he had instructed, one near the television counter, one next to the bed. On the television counter itself stood the two liter bottle of Pepsi, a bucket of ice, and a fifth of Bacardi rum.

"Have a seat," Jason told him, gesturing towards the television chair with his left hand. His right hand, holding the gun, was now out of his jacket pocket and pointing at Buckingham again.

Still staring at Janet, obviously trying to place her, he walked over to the chair and sat down. Once he was safely planted in the chair, Jason sat on the edge of the bed keeping his right hand and the gun in his lap.

"How'd it go?" asked Janet, her face showing relief at his safe arrival.

He nodded. "Next to perfect. There was a small delay at the gym. Romeo here was chatting up a couple of freshmen girls. But they were kind enough to go about their business leaving us to ours."

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, her voice even. "I was... I was worried."

He smiled weakly, turning to Buckingham, who was staring at them pointedly, his handsome blue eyes full of fear and confusion, like a deer in the headlights of a car.

"What is this all about?" Buckingham asked, speaking to Janet. "I mean... well if it's money you want I can get it for you. My family is..."

"We don't want money," Janet interrupted. "What we want is you."

"What do you mean?" he whined. "Who are you? I know you from somewhere. I know I do."

"You've never met me before in your life," Janet told him, sitting down in the chair next to Jason. "But you have met my daughter before and she looks an awful lot like me."

"Your daughter?" Buckingham said, his voice conveying that he was, with those two words, already gleaming what this was about.

"My daughter," Janet said. "You met her at a frat party about a month ago, where you brutalized and raped her and then left her bleeding in a dorm room."

His eyes widened almost comically. "Look," he said carefully. "I don't know what that little bitch... uh what your daughter told you, but I never laid a finger on anyone that night. Like I told the cops, I was..."

"Shut up," Jason said. "Spare us your story. We know you did it and you know you did it. We're not lawyers or a jury or the media you're dealing with here. We're parents of one of the girls you raped and you're going to pay the price for that. A price you should've paid a long time ago."

"But I didn't..."

"I said shut up!" Jason ordered, raising his voice. "We know you did it. There will be no discussion about your guilt or innocence in this room. We have already established your guilt in this matter beyond a reasonable doubt as far as we're concerned. You are not undergoing a trial here, asshole. You're undergoing punishment."

It took almost twenty seconds for that word to sink into Buckingham. Finally he squeaked, "Punishment? What do you mean?"

"All in good time," Jason told him. "Everything will become clear as the night progresses. In the meantime, have a drink."

Buckingham blinked. "A drink?"

Jason nodded. "Of course," he smiled. "We're not uncivilized here. My research has taught me that you're a rum and Pepsi man." He waved to the table where the potables sat. "And it just so happens that we have an ample supply of that on hand."

He looked at the drink mixings beside him, noticing them for the first time. "No thanks," he said carefully. "I'm trying to quit."

Jason raised the gun up, pointing it at his face. "Oh, but I insist."

Buckingham went slowly about making himself a drink with hands that trembled like a paint-shaker. He threw a handful of ice into the plastic motel glass on the stand and then dumped Pepsi on top of it. The Pepsi fizzed wildly, some of it spilling out onto the simulated wood grain surface. When it settled down, he opened the Bacardi and poured in an amount approximately equal to a capful.

"Oh come now," Jason told him. "We don't have all night here. Dump out at least half of that soda and fill the glass up with rum."

Buckingham looked at him carefully. "Dump it?" he asked. "Where?"

Exasperated, Jason yelled, "Drink it, toss it on the carpet, put it back in the bottle. I don't give a shit!"

Jerking at Jason's words, he spilled about four ounces on his hands. Another six or so ounces he quickly drank down. He then poured rum into the glass until it was full. The resulting concoction was no longer the deep brown of Pepsi but an almost clear shade of amber.

"Drink it down," Jason ordered. "Quickly."

Buckingham did as he was told, not even grimacing as he swallowed. Although the 50/50 mixture would have burned Jason or Janet's throats and probably been unpalatable, Buckingham reacted no differently than if he was drinking water. Jason figured that they had probably hit upon just the proportions he normally used when drinking.

Over the course of the next twenty-five minutes, they forced him to drink down six more of the rum and Pepsi drinks. The level in the Bacardi bottle had dropped down to approximately half. Buckingham's hands ceased to shake, undoubtedly due to his intoxication, and he did not seem nearly as nervous as he had been before. Jason, though he had not consumed a drop, was also more relaxed. Though the large quarterback was more likely to try something now that he was soused and his better judgement was impaired, Jason and Janet had both dealt with more drunks than anything else in their respective careers and knew how to handle them. Though full of bravado, their coordination would be shot to hell, leaving them incapable of carrying out any scheme they thought of.

Buckingham tried nothing physical while consuming his drinks. What he did do was plead and beg the two vengeful parents to cease whatever plan they were considering. He could pay them, he said. He was genuinely sorry that things had, "gotten a little out of control that night". He had changed, he sputtered at one point, had started going to church and helping his community. When that track didn't work, he tried threats. His parents were both lawyers, he told them. Not only would he sue the pants off of them and see them in jail, but also he would take their house, their car, their boat, and their investment fund. He told them that his parents had Mafia connections. Jason and Janet said nothing to each other, their only words orders to Buckingham to mix another drink or to shut his ass when he got to loud or too vocal.

When the glass was empty for the seventh time, Jason turned to Janet and asked, "What do you think?"