Just Yesterday

Chapter I
Franklin Zinquist stared at the gun in his hands, then at the body in the alleyway. He had done it. He had killed someone. The nameless man had surprised him from behind. Without thinking, he drew his gun, turned and fired. Now a man was dead, and his mind was racing with his next move. The thoughts came in faster than he could process. While one idea was taking shape, another pushed it away, striving for his attention.

He should run. Get as far away from the scene before someone noticed. As he looked around, a shocking realization occurred to him. There was no screaming, no sirens. No one was berating him asking what he had just done. He stared again at the body. Maybe the man wasn't dead. Maybe he had just wounded him. The shock of the bullet hitting him knocking him unconscious. Should he check for a pulse? Again the thought of running screamed to be heard. Slowly he approached the body.

With the gun still in his hand, he slowly walked toward the slumped figure on the ground. Who was this person? Franklin was sure the man had intended him harm. The caller had said so. The threatening phone calls to his house had started weeks earlier.

When the first call had come, he thought it was a wrong number. “I'm sorry.” he told the caller. “My name IS Franklin, but I don't know anyone named Helen”. “Stop lying you son of a bitch. I've heard her on the phone with you. How the hell do you think I got this number? She is MY wife, and I have no problem beating the shit out of you. Stay away from her.”

The caller had hung up. Franklin hung up the phone shaking his head in disbelief. Whoever had called him certainly had the wrong number. He checked off all of the people he knew. No, there was no Helen in his life. He certainly felt for the poor bastard who was seeing whoever this Helen was. The guy on the phone was pissed.

The calls continued. In each, the threats of violence becoming more and more disturbing. Franklin tried reasoning with the caller. He tried hanging up. He even started screening calls. It was during one of these screened calls, that he became nervous. “I know where you work asshole.” The message started. “I'm telling you right now. Leave my fucking wife alone. I know you work late. I know what kind of car you drive. Maybe some night, your walking out to that prissy blue Nissan, and you end up face first through the window. Leave my God damn wife alone.”

The police were no help. “Mr. Zinquist,” the officer said, “These are just harassment calls. If your not fooling around with another mans wife, then you have nothing to worry about. Whoever this joker is, has the wrong phone number. My advice is to change yours. It'll be easier on you, and less work for us. Now, if this guy shows up at your door, call 911. We'll send an officer over right away.”

Changing his number sounded reasonable. He started to call the phone company, then decided against it. The thought of rearranging his life because of the harrasing phone calls caused a rising anger that shocked him. No, he wouldn't be bullied.

His friend Joyce suggested the gun. “Franklin, you have to get a gun.” she said. “You know I think the world of you, so don't take this the wrong way. If this guy shows up at your place, you won't intimidate him. Your a good guy, but scary biker guy, your not. A gun is the best way to scare off any punk. If your worried about safety, don't buy bullets.”

Joyce didn't know that he already had a gun. In Texas, you are permitted to carry a concealed weapon. He had applied for and received his permit almost a year ago. He purchased the gun from a local gun shop. The clerk had suggested a North American 380 Guardian. It was also known as a short 9mm. The small silver handgun with black stock felt good in his hand. It was lightweight, and easily concealed. The clerk had said that this type of handgun had just enough power to incapacitate an assailant. He had also suggested Federal Classic Hi-Shok cartridges with a 90 grain bullet. Franklin wasn't sure of the technical details, but relied on the clerks advice.

He decided only that day to start carrying the weapon just in case he ran into “Mr. I'm gonna kick your ass seven ways to Sunday”. Unfortunately, he did load the bullets, and unfortunately, he had just possibly murdered someone.

He stopped about halfway to the body. What if had killed him? No, it was too late for that. He was going to jail either way. Murder, even attempted murder was frowned upon by the authorities. Jesus, the worst offense he had ever committed was a speeding ticket.

The person he had shot was a man. He looked to be about 6'3”. He was wearing a green army field jacket, jeans, and boots. He couldn't see what color hair he had, because he was wearing a stocking cap. As he knelt to check his pulse, he knew the guy was dead. “Oh shit.” he murmured. The bullet had hit the man in the right eye. He was a murderer.

He looked around again. Still no one. It was 2:30AM on a Tuesday. So there wouldn't be a lot of downtown traffic near the UT campus. It was also February. While winters in Austin were not the type you get further north, it was cold enough to keep people off the street.

Franklin decided to search the man for identification. He guessed he should know who it was he had just killed. The man lay on his side, so he checked the most likely spot. The back pockets of his jeans were empty. He could see that just by looking. The front pockets held only a set of keys. He then looked in the top pockets of the jacket. There was nothing. In the lower left hand pocket he felt a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he found that he had probably just saved his life. On the small lined sheet of paper were two lines. The first his name. The second, his work address.

Franklin stood there, shocked. This can't be happening.

He had worked at United Bank for 5 years. His first job being simple data entry. He was now a full time trainer with the company, having worked pretty much every possible position there, with the exception of management. At 28, he had an okay life. A job he was good at, decent salary. No real social life. He went to a few happy hours, but mostly stayed back listening to conversations. He had a one bedroom apartment with simple furniture. His car was nearly paid for, even if it was “prissy blue”. He was getting close to approaching his supervisor about the traveling training position, and now this. He could just imagine the conversation. “Hi Mr. Lauder, I know I killed a guy near the bank recently, but I was wondering about that traveling position.” Of course, once they did find out about this, if they didn't fire him, putting him on the road might be the next best thing. It was just as this thought hit him, when something else did. The last thing he saw was the pavement rushing up toward him.

Chapter II

When Franklin came to, he wasn't exactly sure what was going on. He had an odd floating sensation. He was in the back of an SUV. He was also afraid to sit up. Laying in the seat, he couldn't see any landmarks out the window. “The gun!” he thought. He tapped at his empty pockets, like looking for lost keys. Still groggy from the blow to the head, he tried to roll on his side. Thats when he came face to face with the now one eyed man, laying on the floor next to him. “God Damn!” he screamed, jumping up and smacking his already hurting head on the roof of the SUV. The lady driving the SUV started yelling “It's okay, it's okay. Calm down, you almost scared me off the road.”. “Calm down?!” Franklin said. “Jesus Christ lady. I just killed a guy, get wacked in the back of the head, and wake up staring him in the face, in someone else's car. Tell you what. Stop the car, let me out, and I'll calm down as I get as far away from you as possible.” “No can do Chief.” she said. “We need to get as far away from there as possible. I still can't believe you killed Tony.” “Okay, slow down.” Franklin said. “Who are you? Who is Tony? Why am I here? What the hell is going on?” “Answers in reverse order.” she said. “I'm saving your ass. I don't do existential answers, so I don't know why your here. Tony is the hit man you just killed. And I'm Helen.”.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Franklin said. “THE Helen. The same Helen that I've supposedly been running around with behind some psychos back?”. “You got it.” she said. “Sorry about all that. Andrew is possessive.”. “Stop.” Franklin said. “I've never seen you before in my life. I don't know any Andrew either.”. “Well, “ she said. “Your sort of a blind ruse.”. Franklin stared at her, the lady was speaking gibberish. “Blind ruse?” he said. “Okay, “ she said. “I'm having an affair with someone behind Andrew's back. I needed something to keep him from getting suspicious. I trained at the bank in January. I put your name and number in my notes. I thought Andrew would think you were my instructor. Instead, he thinks your my lover.”

“YOUR WHAT?!” Franklin screamed. “Ow, head”. “You might want to take my advice on calming down.” she said. “I will not calm down.” Franklin said. “I don't know you, I never trained you, and we are most certainly not lovers.”. “All true.” she said. “Especially the lovers thing. Your cute, but not in the jump in the sack kind of way.”. “You haven't done enough, that now you have to deflate my ego?” Franklin said. “Tell me again how I fell into this mess.”. “Well, “ Helen said. “like I said. I trained at the bank. Although Joyce Simpson was my trainer.” “Joyce, “ Franklin said. “why couldn't you put her in your notes?”. “Well obviously I couldn't.” she said. “I don't swing that way. Male affair, male instructor.”.
“I've died and am now in a romance novel.” Franklin said. “Okay, who is Andrew?”. “Andrew is my husband.” she said. “Are you always this dense?”. “No, “ Franklin said. “Just too much to process at this time. Let's skip the character introductions. How are you saving my ass?”. “For someone who's job it is to have the answers, “ she said. “You sure ask a lot of questions. You just killed a guy. I couldn't just leave you there.”. “I killed a guy, because your husband sent him to kill me.” Franklin said. “He wasn't going to kill you.” she said. “Beat you up, damage your car, send you a message, but not kill.”. “You said he was a hit man.” Franklin said. “Yes, I did. But he's not, sorry, was not, a heavy hitter. I overheard Andrew send him out. I tried to get to the bank first to warn you, damn IH-35 construction, but I got there just in time to see you hit him with this pop gun of yours.”. She raised up his gun to show him. “Where'd you get this girly gun anyway?” she said. “It's not a girly gun.” Franklin said. “It's a perfectly good gun for self defense.”. “Well, anyway,” she said. “I couldn't leave you there, and you were so jumpy, I think you'd shoot your shadow. So I threw a rock and hit you on the head.”. “You threw a rock at me?” he said. “What if you missed? I could have turned and shot you too.”. “Not likely.” she said. “One, you are not a great shot.”. “I hit him in the eye.” he said, pointing to the body. “You hit him in the eye, from a distance of about 1 foot. You were also firing up instead of out. It was lucky you didn't shoot yourself in the face.”. “Firing critique from Annie Oakley.” he said. “What was two?”. “Two what?” she said. “You said , and I quote, 'one, your not a great shot.'. I assume that there's a two.”. “Oh.” she said. “Two is I was on the womans fast pitch softball team at Lanier high school. We went 9-0. I'm kinda handy throwing things.”. “That's it.” Franklin said. “I'm getting off this crazy train right now.” He intended to go over the seat, get his gun, and make the crazy lady pull over. “I wouldn't do that.” she said. “Why not?” he said. “How do you think I got Tony and you into the truck? I'm not strong enough to lift you both.” Just then he felt the pistol barrel in the back of his head. “Meet Jonathan.” she said. “He's my bodyguard.”.

Chapter III

Franklin sat like a stone, barely even breathing. “If your good, promise to shut up and listen, I'll have Jonathan put his gun away. I wouldn't want to have this thing go Pulp Fiction.”. In a calm steady classroom voice, Franklin agreed to be good. He felt the gun come away from his head, and heard it holstered. Somehow he knew it was still at the ready.

“Now, “ she said. “here's the plan. We're heading out to the old landfill near the airport. We'll dump the body there.”. “You don't need me for that.” Franklin said. “Jonathan sounds pretty well equipped to handle this.”. “Call it a hunting rule.” she said. “You bagged him. You take care of the carcass. Besides, this has got to be more exciting then teaching people how to type in numbers in a database.”. “I don't need this kind of excitement.” Franklin said. “Why not just let me make an anonymous tip to the police? He attacked me, I shot him, Self defense. I read a story recently about a guy shooting a home invader in San Antonio. Not only was he not arrested, he was proclaimed a hero.”. “Won't work Ichabod Craine.” she said. “You weren't at home, so no home invasion. And the guy you killed wasn't a robber. He's on the other side of the law.”. “Other side?” he said. “Yup. You killed an off duty police officer.”. Franklin slumped down in the seat. “Holy shit.” he said. “No, no , no, no, no. I'm going to be sick.”. “Not in my truck your not.” she said. “We'll be there soon. Relax, breath. Stick your head between your legs and smell your ass, or whatever.”.

Franklin tried to relax. Breathing deeply, nose to mouth, he felt his nausea drift away. “There's got to be a way out of this.” he thought. He let his mind review the facts. He had killed a cop. Oops, nausea again. Pushing that thought away, he started adding things up in his head. One crazy lady driving an SUV. Hired gun behind him. No idea of his size, but surely bigger, much bigger, than him. Dead body at his feet. Crazy lady and gunman both with guns. They were driving out to a landfill to dispose of the body. Wait a minute. Why not dispose of two bodies. Tony disappears. Fake lover disappears. Problem solved for crazy lady. Even if he got away, what then. Can't go to the police. Can't go home. Can't go to work.

Then a wild idea occurred to him. “Do you love your husband?” he asked. “What?” she asked. “Do you love your husband?”. “Define love.” she said. “Do you enjoy his company? Do you see yourself growing old, taking long walks, standing by his side holding his hand when he dies.”. “Well that last one sounds good.” she said. “I'd have to say no. Don't get me wrong. He's fun, when he's not spying on me. He gives me what I need financially.”. “Then why not turn the tables on him.” Franklin asked. “And how do you suppose I do that?” she said. “Tony works for Andrew.” he said. “Link the dead dirty cop to him. Hubby goes to jail. Your free to frolic with whoever you want.”. “Interesting.” she said. “Tell you what. You figure it out before we dispose of the body. If I like it, we'll do it.”

“Okay, “ he thought, “I've bought some time.”

Chapter IV

When they had arrived at the landfill, Franklin was still forming a basic plan. They had stopped at the gate, and Jonathan got out and spoke briefly to the guard. The term “Gorilla” has been used to describe hired muscle in the books that Franklin had read. Jonathan definitely fit this description. At 6'5”, and 300+ pounds, he looked like someone who only used a gun to finish the job once he was tired of beating on you. He was dressed in black slacks, purple silk shirt, and a London Fog overcoat. His shoulder length black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Franklin figured he'd be doing most of the “disposing” since he was dressed this way.

One had to assume that late night visits to the landfill happened a lot. Jonathan walked up to the guard, and flashed an unknown amout of cash. Without a word, the guard opened the gate. He received his payment, and before Jonathan could get back in the SUV, he had counted it and stuffed it into his wallet. The smug bastard even tipped his hat to them like a doorman as they drove through the gate.

Franklin couldn't see much of what the landfill looked like. The late hour and dark tint of the SUVs windows made the view out the side windws impossible. Helen drove slowly over series of bumpy dirt roads. They sloshed through small potholes, and weaved around large ones. Every now and again, they would turn at an intersection. Franklin gave up any hope of making a run for it. There would be now way he could find his way out of here. They finally came to a stop near what Franklin assumed to be the middle of the landfill.

“Okay. “ Helen said cheerily, and turned to face him. “Let's hear your idea, before we go any further.” Franklin took a deep breath. “How about we dispose of Tony first.” he said. “Then we can go somewhere and talk about how we're going to 'save my ass' as you put it.” Franklin felt that reminding her of her earlier statement was a way into seeing her intentions.



“Well, here's what I think. After we dispose of the body, you take me to a motel in another city. For arguments sake, let's say Bastrop. It's close by. Drive into the parking lot, I can jump out like I was thrown from the vehicle. You speed off, and I run into the office screaming for help. When the police arrive, I can tell them that I was jumped at work, taken to an unknown location, and threatened. The police will take me back to town, and I'll give them a description of Tony. I'll tell them that I overheard Andrews name. The police will question Andrew, who will deny everything. Of course Tony won't report for work, and things will start to look suspicious. A few days later, one of you can then make an anonymous tip about Tony's whereabouts. They find Tony, arrest Andrew, and your a free woman. What do you think?”

“Interesting.” Helen said. “But theres one little thing that bothers me. I have no guarantee that you won't mention Jonathan and me.”