WALKABOUT 2 - The Back of Beyond (Part 19 *The End)

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97

I wanted to be me again. Or as much of me as I could be. No way for me to go back to my old identity. I could never pick up where I left off. But, was there any way I could possibly salvage something, even a small portion, of my old self? This Jared Mulligan identity I worked so hard to assume was now consuming me from the inside. I’ve already changed in so many ways, done things I would never imagined I could. Or would. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say I just felt my soul decaying. I was dying inside. The man in the mirror was not me.

Not that any of it mattered. They had killed my daughter. Sold her body parts like cuts of meat in a butcher shop. I wasn’t going to let it go. There were more people to be killed. Scores to be settled. To tell you the truth, that was the only reason I could think of for not using the one remaining bullet to end my life. How could I ever have another moment without a tormented mind, knowing my actions contributed to the death of my daughter? I will never have peace of mind. I could never really go back to being the real me, no matter how much I wanted to.

I could end my own life, but first, I needed to take care of business. I needed to get back to the states. But, how? I was broke. My access to my—or, rather, Mulligan’s—funds was gone with the computer. I didn’t even have a passport. No ID of any kind. What possible way—

“This seat taken?” a stranger asked. Definitely American.

“Be my guest,” I said.

“American?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Hey, same here,” he said, offering a hand. “Name’s Ed. Ed Banks, from Ohio.” The bartender approached. Ed ordered a beer, then turned his attention back to me. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

I took a long sip of my drink. “Jared.”

Ed took note of my numerous scrapes and bruises. “You look like shit, Jared. No offense.”

“Yeah, well. I was in a wreck. Lucky to be alive.”

Ed nodded. “Where you from?” he said, reaching for some pretzels. “What brings you to Australia?”

I didn’t really want to go down that path with our conversation. Best to change the topic of discussion. “Just taking it all in. You know, tourist stuff. You?” My mind was already busy thinking of ways to get away from this guy, Ed. I didn’t want or need small talk right now.

“Business,” Ed said. “I’m supposed to fly out of Melbourne tomorrow on a horse transport.” Ed’s beer arrived. He took a long sip. “Big horse show. Big money horses. I’m one of the attendants. I was supposed to be on vacation. Got a call a couple days ago. The guy who was supposed to be doing it got sick. Appendicitis, I think they said. So, here I am. Supposed to get down to Melbourne to meet up with everyone.”

“You don’t already know them?”

Ed shrugged. “Not everyone. It’s not unusual to fly with people you’ve never met.”

I abandoned my thoughts of bailing out. Ed had my attention. “Tell me more, Ed.”

98

“What are you doing here in Alice Springs?” I said. “It’s not the edge of the earth, but you can see it from here.”

“I came to Darwin a few days early, so I could start out there, ride the train to Adelaide, and from there, on to Melbourne,” he said. “Something I’ve always wanted to do. See the Outback. We got here half an hour ago. Three-hour whistle stop, then off we go again.”

“So the train’s the way to do it, eh?” I remembered how, only a few days ago, I’d been looking forward to doing the exact same thing.

“Beats the hell out of driving.”

“I suppose so,” I nodded. “Long-ass way to drive.”

Ed, at my urging, proceeded to tell me everything about his job. He seemed surprised anyone would find his line of work so interesting. I needed to get back to the U.S. and this looked like maybe the solution to my problem.

He told me how the horses have to stay a while in a quarantine barn prior to boarding the long flight. How the attendants stayed with the horses on the plane, providing them with feed; water; and hay while enroute, as well as checking their general condition.

A veterinarian was on board. Just in case one of the animals needed additional care.

The attendants slept in modified shipping containers.

“How do you get them on board?” I asked. “Do you have a ramp at every airport?”

“Sometimes,” Ed said. “Usually nowadays they use scissor jack lifts to raise the portable stalls with the animals already inside.”

I know horses. Not that I’m an expert, but I know horses. I could do Ed’s job. The hard part would be staying out of view as much as I could.

99

 Ed covered the drinks and snacks. I kept him company, and I savored the comradery. After the fourth beer, I had a mild buzz going. I leaned back in my barstool, felt the revolver tucked in my waistband press against my back. The revolver with one remaining bullet. I thought of Jared Mulligan. Had he ever befriended someone, all the while knowing he was going to end that person’s life? From personal experience, and from reading his journal, I knew Mulligan was a ruthless son of a bitch. A cold-blooded killer. But I also knew he had a conscience, as evidenced by the entry in his journal, the one about the kid. The most disturbing of them all.

100

Atlanta, Georgia

Jasmine hurried out to the line of waiting taxis, gave the driver the address. “Please hurry,” she said as they pulled away.

It had been a hectic race against time, getting home from Australia. First, after the fight with Simone, she had to break into a veterinarian’s office to find what she needed to treat her wounds. Then, getting to Sydney, hopping on the first flight out. Sitting in coach all the way to LAX. Tight connection on to Atlanta. She hoped she made it in time.

There was a car in the driveway. Jasmine paid the taxi driver, leaving a generous tip rather than wasting precious time waiting for change. The house was completely dark, the front door standing partly open. She stepped up onto the porch, reached overhead, felt for and found her Glock 43 in a concealed cubbyhole. She quietly chambered a round, draped her jacket over the hand holding the gun.

Jasmine pushed the door open, reached around the corner for the light switch. There on the couch, sat Simone, holding a butcher knife against Raquel’s throat. “Hello, Jasmine,” she said. “Raquel and I have just been getting acquaint—” two 9mm bullets whizzed by Raquel, impacting Simone’s forehead. Just like that, it was over.

Raquel was horrified, trembling. Jasmine came to her, helped her to her feet. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

Raquel nodded, obviously in shock.

“I have some things to tell you. First, my name is not Jasmine.”

101

Alice Springs, Northern Territory, Australia

In war, or in self-defense, it is morally and legally acceptable to take another person’s life in order to save yourself. Why not in any circumstance?

He lives, I die. Or, he dies, and I live. That’s the premise of self-defense. It’s acceptable.

Think about it. Could not the concept also apply to people who are innocent and mean no harm to their killer? Perhaps they are not even in a position to do their killer harm.

They may not be acquainted with their killer, or even know the killer exists. They are complete strangers. They are unaware of the danger, unaware they are being stalked.

The bartender approached us. “Good here, mates?” Behind her, the TV news was showing footage of a plane crash.

I asked her, “Could you turn that up?”

Ed looked at me. “Whattaya say, Jared? Good for another round?”

“I’m tapped out, Ed. No more cash.”

“It’s on me,” Ed said, holding up two fingers for the bartender. “And could we have a couple of menus?” He shrugged, “I’m getting hungry. How about you?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” I said. “As long as you’re buying. Like I said . . .” My attention was on the news report.

“Dexter Flynn, the notorious leader of the Death Adders Motorcycle Club was rushed to hospital in Coober Pedy this morning with third degree burns over his entire body, resulting from an airplane crash in a remote area of the Australian Outback.” the anchor man said. “We are told he is in critical condition. Cause of the crash is unknown at the present time. Investigators on the scene emphasize this is still very early in the investigation. It could be months, even longer, before a cause is known. In other news, the sudden flash floods caused significant damage to local roads and bridges. Here with a report is—” Curiously, no mention of the shootout at the hangar. I supposed they had disposed of the bodies. Certainly there was no shortage of mineshafts to deposit them in. And an overturned truck amongst all the other junk at the hangar would not draw attention.

Ed paid no attention to the news. He was getting chattier the more he drank. “I tell you, Jared,” he leaned in, as if sharing a heavily-guarded secret. “This job. It’s not for everyone. I’m gone a lot. A lot!”

I nodded, as if I was paying attention, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

“And I’ve got kids,” Ed said, “so, it’s rough on them.”

Maybe Flynn’s surviving the crash wouldn’t be such a bad thing, from my point of view, if he had to suffer every day of the rest of his life. Serves him right. Prick.

Ed was holding photographs of his family for me to see. A reasonably attractive wife. A boy of about four, maybe five years of age. And a little girl, a toddler. Ed pointed to her. “She’s Daddy’s girl!” he said with obvious pride. “My little angel.”

So, I was done with Flynn. Fate could do with him as it wished. My mind drifted back to the question I had been wrestling with when Ed came in and sat down next to me. What would I do next?

I could use the one remaining bullet to put myself out of my misery. I could commit a robbery to try to raise more cash. My chances of getting away with that were close to zero.

Returning to my thoughts on the subject of killing, if I select someone. If I kill another man, I can assume his identity and return to the U.S. I’ve killed before. But that was different. I was fighting for my life. Killing in self-defense, was nothing more than a reaction to an immediate threat. Kill or be killed. No thought went into it beforehand. This time it would be different. This time I wasn’t fighting for my life. And it was too late to think I could save Shelby. She was already dead. If I had to, I would have killed anyone to get back in time to save her. But it was too late. And I will forever blame myself. Had I not taken Jared Mulligan’s identity, no harm would have come to her.

This time, with Ed, there was time to think before taking another human being’s life. This time, the other fellow was not trying to kill me. This time, he thought I was his friend. He was buying me drinks and supper. He’d shown me photos of his family.

It’s one thing when it is hypothetical. It’s another thing entirely when you are drinking beer with the guy, and you know his name. and he thinks you are his new friend. It is no longer him, or me. It now becomes Ed or me.

Flynn was gone, but that wasn’t enough. He had given the order, yes, but others carried it out. Someone had taken Shelby. Someone had brought her harm. And someone, perhaps several, had profited from it. These people, every last one of them, had to pay. My mission in life was to see to that, and no one was going to stand in my way. Not even Ed.

I looked in the mirror behind the bar. Saw the reflection of a man I no longer knew. What have I become, I thought, that I am even thinking this way? My vision began to blur. Both eyes this time. I closed them, took a deep breath and let it out. When I opened my eyes, there was no improvement. If anything, it was worse than before. The man in the mirror was no longer recognizable. 

Who am I?