A Thankful Blizzard Pt. 04

"Bye, be safe." And the line clicked off. I stared at my still-glowing phone, wondering what I was going to do at all.

A sudden thought struck me. How had Edmond McMahon known about me? How had he had enough time to get all that info? Oh, it had to be a phone tapping. Kat had called her parents' house again, while we were driving home, letting them know my name. These days, from what I understood, a name was all you needed to get plenty of information - provided you had the right connections.

At least my phone had reception out here. And a data connection. It was limited, but it still worked. I quickly checked the maps and saw I was outside Phoenix, some 70 miles or so. I was actually close to a small town called Gila Bend. I figured I could search for a hotel or other lodging there. I wondered if Edmond had my phone tapped. Well, the quickest way to solve that was to shut it off and remove the sim card.

I started down the road in silence, thinking about what I was going to do. I felt trapped, much like I had in the cabin. Only this time, I wasn't with Kat, I was in a place where I couldn't reach her, couldn't save her, couldn't do anything for her.

Although, I could just forget the whole thing, stay away from anything related to Edmond McMahon, and return to the Mountain State campus of Caltech. I wanted to slap myself for even having that thought. Katherine White had changed my life. Her wit, her wisdom, her talent, her compassion, companionship, passion, beauty, sexiness... all these things about her were so ingrained in my mind, I could never abandon her. But what was I going to do? I didn't even know where she was, or who had her. She could be in another state by now. Or even another country. I doubted that one, but it was still plausible. I needed time to think, probably to do some research. And a way to know that I wasn't being tracked or followed, monitored, or spied upon. My phone was a likely and almost guaranteed source of tracking. They could have put something in my Explorer too. If they had access to social security numbers, they probably could track my spending by credit card. I stopped at the next gas station I saw, and used their ATM to withdraw as much cash as I could from my account. It was only $500, but it was better than giving away a trail of what I was doing or where I was going. Neither of which I was entirely certain. At least at this gas station, it was on the road I would have had to take to get back into Phoenix anyway. As a last minute impulse thought, I grabbed a pay-as-you-go phone and a refill card. Ok, communication was ok. But I still had to figure out what to do about my Explorer.

Pulling into Gila Bend, I found a hotel that offered business connections and accepted that I paid by cash. I signed in under a false name, one I thought up just before coming inside. Tonight I was Wayne Ford. I had no idea that would play into my favor within the next 24 hours. I had simply chosen it as a composite of the best movie Kat and I had watched together, starring John Wayne, and Ford from the manufacturer of my Explorer. Luckily, the town was small, there was a clear need for business, and there was a teenager working the front desk. I walked back outside to drive around to my room, since it was situated on the other side of the building, when my solution for a car presented itself. There was a decent looking car with its window open. It looked old enough to not have any fancy GPS devices on it, yet new enough to be reliable, and more importantly, valuable. Looking around and seeing no one present, I checked inside the car. The keys were dangling from the visor. I hatched a quick plan, something that would delay anyone finding out I had swapped cars. I realized I was about to commit a crime, something I had never done before, but thinking about how I had to save Kat, whatever it took, I shrugged it off, trusting that the owner had insurance.

Snatching the keys from the visor and pocketing them, I unlocked my room and hauled several things inside. I unturned the covers of the bed, climbing under them for good measure, before moving about the room, making it look as if I had been there. I found a guide for local sightseeing, and laid it upon the table, the courtesy pencil stuck in a page about an attraction within walking distance of the hotel. I checked my own phone one last time, before setting it on the table. With everything looking as I wanted it to, I left the room.

Starting someone else's car, with their keys, and without their knowledge, was exhilarating yet troubling at the same time. I chose not to dwell on the latter feeling. I carefully pulled away from the hotel and went down the road a ways until I spotted a weed-choked used car lot a little off the beaten path.

The lone salesman was just the man I was looking for, an overweight stump of a man, with a scruffy 3-day growth, protruding belly, bald head, and patches everywhere on his suit coat. After a short haggle, I had traded in the car for a different one, a small 2-door Honda. Considering the difference in value between the trade-in and the Honda, Mr. Stump was willing to dispense with details like registration plates, insurance certificates, and other pesky legal niceties. The car ran, it had AC and a radio, and it left a confusing trail for anyone searching for me - mostly thanks to the complete lack of integrity I had just witnessed. I really hoped that the original owner of the first car wouldn't check out too soon.

With the new confidence that nothing could track me at the present moment (I searched my person, including body cavities, and checked my clothes - no bugs), I set out to get closer to Phoenix - and to finding out what I was going to do to find Kat.

*******

A short while later, I found myself in an internet café, just outside Phoenix, that promised to be open all night, browsing any information I could find on Edmond McMahon. I cross referenced the other names as well - Jasmine, Jasper, Edmond's son Stanley - and searched through the information I could find. Edmond proved to be the most fruitful, giving me several businesses that had his name involved in some manner. I was looking for anything - a lead, a clue, a thought of where he might be keeping Kat. Or even where he did his business.

I almost gave up when something rang a bell. I came across an article in a business magazine about a patent one of Edmond's companies had purchased some five years ago for some ridiculous amount of money. The patent itself - a small bag that worked much like instant ice-packs - was unimpressive and not really unique. But the application was being used to serve snowcones anywhere. The user simply squeezed the top bag, releasing the chemicals to cause an immediate and drastic endothermic reaction, freezing the syrupy-water in the lower bag just enough to make it slush-like. Once an indicator turned color, the user then twisted the whole thing off the cone, running the ice through an imbedded grinder, creating a snowcone on demand. The magazine article found it incredulous that this technology was somehow economically profitable.

The company that owns and operates the snowcone factories is named, ironically, Blanco's Sno Cones. Even I, untutored as I am in the Spanish language, know that blanco means white. Indirectly, Edmond named his product White's Sno Cones! He was thumbing his nose at his rival and there was nothing Doug White or the White Family Corporation could do about it. The lawyers shrugged and said there was no trademark violation: after all, the actual tradename is Blanco and, besides, white is just the color of snow or, in this case, shaved ice.

Edmond McMahon had shown himself as delighting in irony. In the video message he left for me, he had made a reference to irony, the irony of chopping me up and burying me in snow.

I stepped outside, surprised to find a working payphone in this modern cell-phone-dominated world. It just played in my favor.

I dialed the number I had received for the factory. I waded patiently through the voice-response menu, offering a maddeningly vast array of numbers to press for various connections, until finally hitting the hours of operation. I was in luck: they stayed open late, and I still had time. Hanging up, I nearly pumped my fist in excitement at the lead I had. Well, I hoped it was a lead. I was basing this completely off the idea that Edmond liked irony. If I wasn't right, I could be discovered at the factory and - well, I may just end up being some bear's snowcone.

Climbing into the Honda, I started driving toward the address of the factory. I was taking a big risk, bigger than I had ever taken before. I wished I had the kind of aptitude I'd encountered in video games I used to play- steady hands, incredible athleticism, perfect aiming capabilities, plus the ability to acquire weapons and vehicles at will. I at least had my own intelligence. Ah, yes. That was how I was going to make this work. I detoured slightly to get the supplies I'd need, before attempting something I never imagined I'd ever be doing.

******

Chapter 9

It took only a few minutes and some minor tweaking and rigging, but I had a successful smoke grenade - five of them, actually. And with my knowledge, I knew how to create the ones that created thick, billowing smoke that lasted for several minutes, all with self-starting 'pins' similar to a grenade. I also had purchased some goggles and a few handkerchiefs, to get through the smoke unscathed. I recalled once more, the schematic layout of the factory that I was able to access online. If my hunch was right, and Kat was being kept in the facility, she'd be on the second floor in one of the offices. If I timed it right, the smoke from my grenades would make workers assume a fire had broken out. Then I'd be able to either get to Kat, or see where she was taken. My first step, though, was to survey the building's perimeter, check for cameras, security, things of that nature.

I drove calmly through the neighborhood, checking out each entrance. The front was an obvious no-go, what with a security check-in booth, gated entrance and all. Each side was accessible, but left me exposed to the bright outside lights far too long for me to be comfortable. I could set off a smoke grenade or two, but I wanted to save them for when I got inside. As I drove around the back side of the factory, where I saw deliveries were handled, I spotted my perfect vantage point. A three-storey parking garage sat overlooking the entire back of the factory.

I pulled into the garage, and parked in a spot on the second floor. I took up a spot between a large truck and a support pillar, mostly blocked from sight of any cars coming or leaving. I pulled out the cheap binoculars I had picked up and began scanning the back entrance. I saw a minor check-in spot, but with the activity going on, all focus was on the gate, not the back corner of the fence, which also happened to be conveniently darker than the rest of the grounds. I checked as close as I could with the low magnification level of the cheap binoculars, noticing a lack of security cameras back here. There looked to be only the one security person in the booth, who was largely focused on the trucks.

I did notice something peculiar. Each truck seemed to be checking something with the gate guard before entering, then getting it back from him after leaving. I had no idea what that was about, but thought I would note it for future reference.

When the time seemed right, I hitched the small backpack on my back, loaded with my grenades and a few other supplies, then headed down toward the darkened back corner of the factory grounds. I tried to appear as calm and in control as possible, hoping that if anyone saw me, they would assume me harmless. I made it to the corner of the fence, looking around once before grasping it and swinging myself up and over. Nerd though I was, I had learned how to climb a chain-link fence at a tender age, when I would cross from our house into the adjacent park to play. This fence posed no problem as I landed softly on my feet, inside the fence.

Now that I was closer, I saw an even better point of entry - a side door, which was unmonitored. I assumed it was there solely for the smokers, a guess that was quickly confirmed as I saw a man dressed in factory-worker coveralls, hard-hat, and goggles come out, stretch, and light up a cigarette. I quickly moved to the building while he was turned and stepping away from the door, which he had propped open with a stopper, so I quietly moved behind him and into the building. He didn't notice me. As soon as I entered, the noise of the machinery was louder than I had anticipated. I tried to recall the schematics. Where had the side door been? I looked left and right, catching sight of an 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' sign at the far right. I moved cautiously over toward the door, peering through the glass. No one inside. Easing myself in, I looked around at what appeared to be a break room. Nothing looked very remarkable, until the hallways leading off to lockers caught my eye. That was interesting.

Taking a closer look, I discovered several lockers were open, or unlocked, and quickly picked out a worker outfit that fit me. At least now I'd be much harder to detect as an intruder.

The door to the break room suddenly opened, startling me. I moved behind the last row of lockers, hoping that this was just a break and not someone's shift change. I heard change plunk into the vending machines. Someone began talking. The acoustics of the room made it as easy to hear everything as if they were in the locker room with me.

"Yeah, can you believe he did that to me?" one voice whined, in a very nasal voice.

"Girl, you gotta get rid of him," the other retorted.

"Yeah, but this job pays so well. It's because of him that I'm working here."

"I bet you can get better pay elsewhere - you smart girl, not like me."

They dropped their voices a little, and it became harder to hear them.

"Do you know what actually happens here?" The nasal-voiced woman was nearly whispering.

"No, what?"

"Adam says that over half the cones get shipped to a special warehouse, where they're packed with various drugs, then delivered to store fronts, as snowcones. We're paid more overnight cause these are the 'special' cones."

"No shit?"

"Shhh... yeah. Adam has hinted he is involved in that process, too."

"He get more money for it?"

"Well, if he does, he doesn't tell me."

"Then why you stayin' around, girl? Leave his scrawny ass!"

"I'm just worried he'll do..." The rest of the conversation died out as the women left the break room. That was very interesting. That must have been what the check-in gate and drivers were handing back and forth, something to do with this. I had figured the McMahons were in to drugs somehow. It actually sounded like a brilliant idea. Who thinks of snowcones as a drug-carrier? Individually wrapped, too. How convenient. How'd Edmond put it? Neat, efficient, cost-effective and productive? Yeah, that guy had to be stopped. I added that to my list of reasons to hate Edmond McMahon and his whole bunch.

I emerged from the locker room and walked out of the break room, heading toward the sound of the machinery. Now where would he keep Kat? The most logical place was the second floor, where the offices were. I doubted workers would be up there, at that late hour. Holding my backpack full of goodies in one hand, I tried once again to look unsuspecting, unsuspicious, and normal. At least my bag was very plain, nondescript looking. My heart was hammering though. I was worried someone was going to stop me at any moment, not with words, but some kind of weapon. The sound of someone dropping something nearby made me jump. Calm down, Paul, calm down.

I took a deep breath, and continued walking toward the stairs. I reached the steps with no one accosting or challenging me. Walking up the stairs, I saw, there at the end of the row of doors, a guy dressed in black sitting on a metal folding chair by a door and looking as suspicious as the thug from central casting. A thrill coursed through my body. I was sure that I had outsmarted Edmond McMahon, the cocky bastard. Now, how to get past that guy? Now was the time to use my smoke grenades. I pressed against a support beam, hiding from everyone's sight. I reached into my bag, and grabbed three of the grenades. I pulled the pin on one, dropping it over the edge of the railing, directly below me. Within a few seconds, the container the grenade had fallen into was producing a large amount of smoke. A few people below screamed and started shouting 'fire!' at the top of their lungs. Peering over at Black-suit, I saw him stand up, trying to see what was happening. He hurried over to the opposite set of stairs and started going down. I pulled the pin out of the second and third grenades, and chucked them over the support beams and lights of the main open space. I hoped no one saw the light smoking trail.

I picked my bag back up and rushed toward the end of the rows of offices, and stopped at the one behind the folding chair. The locks were on the outside of this door. This wasn't the first time someone was being held in this room. The door was solid and had no window. I had no way to know if someone was inside or not until opening it. As I cracked the door open, peering into the gloom, lit by one single small light bulb, my heart leapt into my throat.

There was Kat, wearing the same thing as when we were separated, her hands tied behind her back. She looked exhausted, defeated. She was slumped in her chair, but I could still see her face was red, probably from crying. How could this asshole do this to her!? Not my Kat! I stepped into the room and Kat lifted her head to see who had entered. I'm sure she was wondering why a worker had snuck into the room with her, for her first look was one of confusion.

"What are you doing in here? Get out, now, before you get in trouble!" She practically hissed. Her tone was harsh but to me it was the voice of an angel. She hadn't recognized me yet, because I had put on the goggles. I pulled them up and over my head, and saw recognition start to cross her face.

"I'm not leaving without my girlfriend."

"Pa... Paul? Is that really you??"

"It's me, Kat. I came for you."

"But, how did you find me? He'll find out! You'll be killed!"

I tried to smile, to reassure her. "He left clues. I think he has this subconscious desire to be caught - something about adding to the danger. I saw it on a Discovery Channel show about criminal profiling. And no, I intend for him to not find out until we're safely away from here."

"Oh Paul... you've saved me twice now!"

"Let's get out of here first, before you say I've saved you." I moved forward, looking at her bindings. They were plastic, so I pulled out the pocket knife I had picked up, one of those folding toolkits with pliers and screwdrivers and the works. I quickly had her free of the chair and the bindings. She immediately threw her hands around me, nearly knocking me over.

"Oh Paul, Paul, I love you, thank you for coming back for me, for getting me!" She planted a kiss on my lips, as I registered the words she had just said. She loved me. She said it. Well, she may have been stressed, but it still meant she was thinking it, right?

The sound of an alarm behind me shook me from my thoughts. "Time to go, Kat." I felt as though I had said that before, or something like it.

"That's what you said before the blizzard hit hard. Is that going to become your catch-phrase, just before you step into action and look like some kind of hero?"

"I hope not. This is freaking me the fuck out, but it's for you." I saw her smile at my words. This woman had brought out so many firsts in me, so many things I didn't know I was capable of - much like my sudden resort to swearing. I reached into my bag, handing her the extra coveralls I had stashed from the locker room. She quickly pulled them on, making her look like another factory worker instead of a hostage.