Page 133 of The Fourth Option
Walker rolled his eyes.
“You let me take a crack at the binders,” she continued. “You go through whatever else is in your Santa garbage sack there. Tomorrow, we compare notes.”
Walker paused. It wasn’t the worst idea.
“Okay,” he said. “Deal.”
He removed the binders from his sack and set them on the back seat.
“Chris, take care of yourself tonight,” Belle said, as he exited the vehicle. “Call me if you want to talk.”
At midnight, Sergeant Dupuis rolled his 2007 Chevy Silverado 3500 dually to a stop near the railroad tracks, headlights off. He put the big truck, with its four wheels on the rear axle, in park and hopped out, approaching a black Dodge Charger through the rain. Its driver’s-side window lowered.
“When do we do it?” he asked Gormley, who sat behind the wheel playing solitaire on his phone.
“I already texted Bates. He said to wait until three a.m. Shift change for the patrol units.”
“Time for some payback.”
“Fuckin’ right it is.”
Due to the weather, Walker had pulled the van’s back seat down into a bed and was sleeping next to Paladin. The river passed by off his starboard side, unencumbered by the events of the day or any day.
Walker had not gotten much from his SSE haul, nothing he would have considered actionable intelligence in his former profession. A lot of bills and unintelligible notes and phone numbers on yellow stickies. He hoped Belle had fared better.
Earlier, he had pulled Jean-Paul Sartre’sBeing and Nothingnessfromhis shelf. The pages were dog-eared, the spine cracked from years of use. Walker had read it countless times, but tonight, one line had held him captive:Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.
As he shut his eyes, he debated the truth of Sartre’s claim. Was he truly free? Or had his path been carved by trauma, war, the ghosts of men he had killed and those he had lost in battle? Men like John Staub.
Man is condemned to be free.
He thought of Paladin’s utter lack of conscience. Was that what separated man from beast? The dog snored softly next to him.
It was then that his mental debates segued into determinism, the idea that every action was inevitable, shaped by prior causes. If that were true, then perhaps he was not to blame for the blood on his hands, John Staub’s blood, and, by default, the blood of Connor and Leigh Ann. But Sartre wouldn’t let him off so easily. Freedom, Sartre argued, was a burden, a responsibility that could not be escaped.
Walker’s ruminations grew fuzzier until they morphed into his dreams.
Man is condemned to be free.
At 2:59 a.m., across the tracks, Detective Gormley checked his watch. He rolled down his window. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly.
Dupuis had been ready and waiting. He started the Silverado and shifted into drive. The heavy dually, fitted with a thick grille-guard bumper, nosed forward. When it was aimed at the leafy growth hiding the van, Dupuis shoved his right foot down, pinning the accelerator to the floor.
Walker felt the broadside hit before he heard the vehicle behind it.
His VW Westfalia van toppled sideways, slamming him against the sliding door’s rectangular glass window. Paladin barked in the darkness. Walker felt the dog clawing to escape. He had just gotten to his knees when the van was bashed a second time.
An engine roared. The vehicle it powered backed up and then accelerated again, smashing into the van’s undercarriage. He was thrown into Paladin, the dog’s body shaking uncontrollably, clawing, barking.
This time their tormentor did not back up. Instead, the vehicle pushed them toward the river.
The van was sliding, moving over rocks and grass while the engine of the vehicle being used as a weapon thundered outside. Walker tumbled and smashed his head into the swing-out table when the van rolled again.
Maybe we can break the opposite side window and climb out.
The next roll felt different.
Rather than flip, the van dropped and hit the water, nose up, weighed down by its rear engine. Water poured in through the windows and jagged holes in the metal. Walker felt it rising all around him. Cold, fast, and dark.
