You better watch out, p.1
You Better Watch Out, page 1
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For Jim & Maryann Murray
1
Darkness had invaded Old Forge.
Snowflakes sprinkled Eddie Parker’s windshield as he drove along Main Street. The small Upstate New York town had a homely feel. Retro streetlights giving off warm yellow glows. Adorable local stores stuffed with holiday decorations. He imagined that most of the inhabitants were straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, gathered around their fires on this cold Christmas-week evening. Most places had closed for the night and the sidewalks were deserted.
Old Forge had heaps of character, and its quaintness drew people from miles around. It was a tourist trap in the summer, with the best boat tours in the Adirondacks. But it had the lowest temperatures in the entire state during the winter. Truly brutal weather. Even so, Eddie never tired of seeing the place on his drive back from his brother’s cabin.
Also, the people here had money. Lots of it. Eddie had a maxed-out credit card, forty bucks in his wallet, and was a month behind on his rent. But he knew he had a few more months to go before his landlord could start the eviction process. New York law was a bitch to landlords, thankfully. But overall, a pretty sad situation for a thirty-year-old guy. Once back home, he vowed to get a real job.
Because Lord knows, he had done his old job for far too long. It was time for a change.
A bright sign beamed at the end of the strip. The local grocery store had remained open.
And he needed a pack of smokes.
On a cold winter night, it was a match made in heaven.
Eddie slowed and flicked on his turn signal.
The store entrance swung open, sending a shaft of light into the street. A man walked out with a couple of six-packs.
He pulled into the dilapidated parking lot at the side of the building. Moments after, a set of headlights flashed past his SUV. A minivan parked a few spots to his left. It had a blue wheelchair sign in one of its windows.
Eddie sensed an opportunity. Maybe the “real” job search could start tomorrow …
A silver-haired lady, dressed in a thick coat, struggled out of the driver’s side. She unsteadily made her way around to the other side of the minivan. A minute later, she reappeared with a stick-thin husband in an electric wheelchair. The couple was maybe in their seventies. Probably too old to brave this kind of weather for butterscotch candies and a bottle of Bartles & Jaymes.
Eddie scanned the place for any security cameras.
Nothing.
For a moment, he kicked himself for allowing another one of his bad habits to surface, but quickly rationalized the moment.
One last score to see me through Christmas.
Besides, nobody’ll get hurt.
Nobody will ever get hurt again.
He jumped out of his vehicle, and his breath instantly fogged in the frigid night air. His jeans and a sweater provided poor protection from the elements.
Eddie broke into a jog toward the entrance, following the wheelchair tracks in the snow. He dragged open the door and stepped into the welcoming warmth.
Quiet Christmas music leaked out from an old, dilapidated speaker. It looked like a Radio Shack special, circa Black Friday 1994. The woman at the checkout glanced at him, then focused back on a wall-mounted tube TV playing repeats of Wheel of Fortune.
The tiny grocery store had a measly five aisles. The elderly couple moved along the one farthest from the counter. The old woman’s basket was already half-full and she visibly struggled with its weight. Eddie followed closely behind, glancing back and forth between his targets and the various junk foods on display. The freshest seemed to be the Twinkies. The hot dogs on the roller looked like they needed carbon dating.
The couple moved along to the next aisle. They seemed in good spirits, busily chatting while completely unaware of his presence. The perfect marks.
The bell at the front door of the store tinkled.
He paused his pursuit by the refrigerators.
A middle-aged cop with a stern stare had walked in. The type of humorless asshole that would give you a ticket for looking at him the wrong way. It was the last thing Eddie needed on a night like this, but he told himself to play it cool.
“Sheriff Briggs,” the old man called out.
“George. Dorothy. What you doing out on a night like this?”
“You know how Dorothy likes to stock up for the holiday, Sheriff,” the old man said with a smile.
“The roast isn’t going to cook itself,” the woman replied, pinching her husband’s side lovingly.
“Do you have a moment, Sheriff?” the old man asked.
“I’m in a bit of a rush, sadly.”
“Nothing too serious, we hope?”
“Oh no, just a minor incident on the other side of town. What’s up?”
“We were watching the news last night and wanted to congratulate you on another year of no murders in Old Forge.”
The cop gave her a satisfying nod. “Oh, don’t thank me, George, Dorothy. It’s the good people that live here that make all the difference, such as the two of you.”
Eddie half-listened to the conversation, biding his time nearby.
He pretended to check out the cans of generic vegetables and dusty boxes of Froot Loops. The cop hustled over to the checkout, bought a lottery ticket—so not in that much of a rush—and strode back outside, seemingly without a care in the world. Moments later, his cruiser casually pulled away from the front of the store.
The old couple continued through the aisles, picking a few more items. The basket looked ready to burst, though it contained nothing of interest. Finally, they headed over to the register.
Eddie moved directly behind them. He hated himself for doing this.
He had learned the dark arts of theft as a teenager. It required patience. No matter how vigilant or attentive someone might be, the perfect opportunity to rob them always came along.
He edged forward to closely watch their every move. Their every detail. But not close enough to arouse suspicion. The old lady wrestled the basket onto the counter. Her husband was wearing a pricey-looking suit under his overcoat. Eddie doubted his plan would put a serious dent in their finances.
More likely, they’d simply get over it.
The server scanned the items and put them in several plastic bags.
Patience.
Do this outside.
The old lady opened her Chanel purse.
Excitement shot through Eddie’s body.
It was crammed with cash.
At least a few grand, he figured. Enough to survive until he found work.
She pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and paid for the items. But as the old woman struggled to lift the grocery bags, one slipped from her frail hand, sending cans rattling across the tiled floor.
Eddie immediately bent down to pick them up. His playing the Good Samaritan meant they wouldn’t see what was coming next.
“Thank you, young man,” she said. “I hate to ask, but would you be a dear and help us to the car? These groceries seem to get heavier and heavier each year.”
“Of course, my pleasure,” Eddie replied.
“You’re a gentleman,” the old man said. “Not enough of those going around much anymore.”
Eddie smiled at the couple warmly.
The perfect opportunity.
This was gonna be smooth sailing. He swept the remaining bags off the counter and followed the couple outside.
The man’s electric wheelchair left two fresh trails in the snow-covered ground. The woman waddled beside him as they headed into the dark parking lot.
“Where are you from, young man?” she asked.
“Fort Drum, born and bred, ma’am.”
“Really? What brings you to our little town?”
“Oh, just cruising through. Eager to get home for the holiday, see the family, know what I mean?”
The elderly lady smiled. “Well, don’t worry, my husband and I won’t keep you for long. But we’re so glad you came through Old Forge.”
They stopped by the side of the minivan. The old woman slid open the side door, placed her purse on the seat, and folded out a ramp. She hit a button on the key fob, opening the trunk.
“You know,” the old man said, “we always need more people like you.”
“People like me?”
He nodded and smiled. “Yes, son. Just like you.”
“Be a good man and place the groceries in the back,” his wife added.
Eddie glanced around to make sure the coast was clear.
Nobody had followed them into the quiet parking lot. The few cars around them ha
This was his moment. He was easily too fast for them, and his prize lay within an arm’s reach. The easiest score of his life. This time, with zero collateral damage.
He dumped the shopping bags he was holding. Rushed around to the front of the wheelchair. Thrust his arm inside the vehicle to grab the purse. In a moment, he would be gone, and flush with cash.
Instead, he felt a sharp scratch on the side of his neck.
Eddie planted his hand against the sudden pain.
He spun to face the old couple, confused over what had just happened.
The old man had risen from his wheelchair, now looking tall and composed. He took a step back from Eddie, holding a syringe in his right hand. The woman had also retreated a few paces. The friendly smiles had now disappeared from their faces, replaced with expressions of grim curiosity.
“What the fuck,” he muttered.
Eddie lurched toward the couple, but his right leg buckled. He collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath but unable to stand.
Energy drained from his body.
His eyelids wilted.
Desperate, he threw out a flailing arm that brushed against the old man’s polished shoes.
Eddie tried with every remaining ounce of energy to move. To get the hell away from whatever was happening. Instead, with all power sapped from him and his vision blurring, he dropped face-first into the snow.
Then … his world went black.
2
Eddie’s head felt like it was about to explode. His body shivered on the freezing ground. Every muscle ached. He swallowed hard to moisten his parched throat. A biting wind whipped against the back of his wet clothes, sending a shudder down his spine. His hands tightened into fists as he attempted to collect his thoughts.
Images swirled in his mind, eventually crystallizing into coherent thoughts. Driving home at night. Old Forge. The grocery store. A purse packed with cash.
George and Dorothy.
They’d taken him out in a matter of seconds.
The old couple hadn’t been simply defending themselves. A spray of Mace in his eyes? He could get that. But who carried syringes in their pockets, primed with a powerful drug, ready to inject into a thief …
His eyes slammed open, mind racing over the last thing he remembered. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear. A few more seconds to register his surroundings. This wasn’t the parking lot or Old Forge. It looked even more historic.
Ornate streetlights lined the sidewalks at irregular intervals. Snow drove through their dazzling yellow ambience and blasted against his shivering body.
Eddie groaned to a crouch on a cobblestone street. He let out a rasping breath. Wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, glancing in both directions. One end of the road disappeared into utter darkness. For a moment he wondered if the old couple had left him in a deserted hamlet, miles from anywhere, to teach him a lesson. The other end of the road led to a brightly lit town square.
But …
There were no cars … No people in sight … No signs of life anywhere.
What the hell?
Weak lights bled out of several buildings. Every one of them had hokey Christmas decorations in their windows, reminiscent of a bygone era. A few of the storefronts looked vaguely familiar, like the pharmacy and the diner, but he couldn’t place them in time or space. It was more like a memory from childhood, invoked by a song or a phrase.
Eddie winced at the pain from the cold. He needed to get inside—anywhere—to establish where he was and find a way home.
He pawed at his jean pockets. Empty.
The old couple must have taken his cell phone and wallet.
What the hell …
An old-time saloon lay directly to his right, resembling something he imagined from the early part of the twentieth century. Thin light radiated out of its four windows. A set of wooden steps led underneath a veranda toward the entrance. It looked like the type of place where the customers wouldn’t appreciate a stranger’s presence. Then again, Eddie wasn’t welcome in most places, whether he was a stranger or not.
His limited options meant braving the cold and likely catching hypothermia, or braving the locals and getting run out of town.
He opted for the locals. Most Upstaters didn’t have pitchforks.
A strong gust of wind roared through the street, shrouding him in a cloud of snow. He climbed to his feet, still woozy from whatever drug he had been injected with. He was guessing it was propofol, or something similar.
He stumbled to the sidewalk in front of the bar, like a drunk looking for a late night spot to keep the party going. He clambered up the saloon steps and shoved the doors open forcefully.
Eddie had expected raucous locals drinking it up after a long day’s work in the terrible storm outside. The clack of pool balls. Terrible music thumping out of a jukebox. Maybe a few heads whipping in his direction as he entered, checking out the stranger in town.
Instead, the bar was completely empty.
The odors of timber and burning oil instantly hit him. His boots creaked over the wooden floorboards as he advanced into the room.
A distant choral version of “Silent Night” came from somewhere in the bar. The volume was low but distinguishable. The track had the distinctive, soothing crackle of an old-time record player.
The soft tones were out of place in a small-town bar.
He slowly turned in a complete circle. All of the tables inside were empty, though several had beer glasses on them. The long-paneled bar at the side of the room had tinsel taped all around it, but no barkeep stood behind the faded taps.
Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed on them for warmth. He scanned the apparently abandoned establishment for any hint of life.
The lighting in the saloon came from three lit kerosene lamps. One had been placed on the corner of the bar. Another sat on a table by the window. The third was on top of a dark jukebox.
The bar had electricity, though, meaning the place wasn’t dead to the world. A string of multicolored Christmas lights had been hung around a pitiful-looking plastic Christmas tree.
“Hello?” Eddie called out, baffled by the entire experience.
Nobody replied.
If the Mary Celeste had been on dry land, this would be it.
The record spun to a finish, leaving only the sound of the endless crackle.
Wait a second …
Someone must have been here. Recently. The kerosene lamps and the record player told him that much.
None of this made sense.
For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming.
Dream or not, his priorities were clear.
Get warm and dry.
Call my brother for a ride back to Fort Drum.
Get the fuck outta here.
Eddie weaved between the empty tables and approached the bar. A seven-inch single spun on the record player. He frowned. From memory, he knew this could’ve only lasted a few minutes at most. So who had played the track?
A door lay to his right, probably leading to a kitchen or a stockroom in the back.
“Yo,” he shouted. “Anyone home?”
Once again, nobody replied.
He racked his brain for answers.
None of this feels real.
Where the hell did the old couple leave me?
A sense of danger rose inside him.
Eddie stooped below the counter and entered the bar. The two fridges were powerless and empty. Dusty glasses filled the shelves. Old tin signs for Guinness, Budweiser, and HarleyDavidson hung on the wall. On closer inspection, they were reproductions. A brown dial phone sat next to a cash register that was fit for the Wild West.
His instinct drew him to a knife on a chopping board. It was the best thing he could see for self-defense. He grabbed it with his still-shivering hand, peering around the empty room for any signs of movement. Any hint of reality in this warped place.
Suddenly, a scream split the air. Piercing and loud. The type he recognized as someone scared out of their mind.
Eddie hunched down to hide behind the bar. The scream had come from behind the backroom door. He considered his options for a second. First, running out into the freezing night with no idea where he was going. But that could leave him miles from anywhere.
