I hadn’t thought of that, “I just assumed the police or my security would pick him up.”
Sophia looks at me with sad eyes, “Dear, he doesn’t want to be found. Do you think the police will say come with us? He will hold out his hand and say, ok? He probably has a death wish going from the guilt. He doesn’t want to be put in a cage. The accounts from the club owner said that he scared her with his show of strength, focus, and measured actions.
“He selected not killing those men that tried to control him. He was willing to fall and possibly break his wrists, so he could get free. The owner, a beautiful woman, walks up to him, takes him by the hand, and she walks him to her office, never once in fear of him. YOU need to be there. No weapons. Hug him, kiss him, and he will do anything you ask. You need to get there fast. If you don’t have a helicopter, you can borrow one of mine.”
It now occurs to me that she loves my son just as much as her daughter does. She will do anything for her daughter, but she loves him as well. She cares almost as much as I do.
We stand up after dinner, both leaving a massive tip for the staff. We hug for a while as we cry again. We are partners in this. She will be with me tomorrow. She has an advertising company; they are working on scripts and a director already.
As soon as I am in the limo, “Hello? Spencer? I have some new information.”
After our conversation, I sat stunned. The FBI is helping Sophia, and they are working with Sophia. No one had a clue about my son’s military history, so that was a big help to them. He was thrilled with the TV ads and having a helicopter available.
+++++
Making a TV commercial is a lot of work, I find out. I cry too much or not enough. Sophia is hard on them to make this perfect and that I say every word clearly. Once the waterworks start, it’s hard to speak clearly. The resulting TV spot made everyone cry. Sophia was excited and cried as well.
Almost immediately, the spots are on TV.
+++++
Location: Ballinger farm, not too far from New York
Bill’s point of view:
I’m sitting here with Walter and Edith Ballinger watching the Yankees game. Three days ago, he caught me in his barn stealing food from the refrigerator. He has a rifle in hand, trained dead on me.
My exact words were, “Shoot me. Please.”
He invited me inside, where his wife made me leftovers. He’s a simple man, a celery farmer. His wife is intelligent. She made me recount my story. I have helped around the farm since then. I repaired his farm equipment and moved the heavy bales of straw for cleaning. Then I put them back. His equipment is old and used. I tune up the engines and clean the motors. I like clean machinery.
In the military, we clean every piece of equipment we have. It’s ingrained in me. Every engine in his equipment is now working at peak efficiency. They also look damn good.
I am beat. I did a ton of heavy lifting, and my muscles are sore. I ache all over. It feels wonderful on the couch. Walter must sit in his recliner. Edith snuggles up with me, which makes Walter laugh his ass off. I have a cold beer in my left hand of a brewery I never heard of.
I’ve been hiding here a few days. They have been very kind to me. They never asked me to do anything, I just stepped in and started fixing all his bad or worn-down equipment.
The Yankees are up by five runs in the seventh inning; I hope our bull pen can last a few more innings. They have been suspect this year. The first commercial stopped my heart. My mother has tears streaming down her face. Walter and Edith are glued to the screen when my picture in uniform is shown, and then a picture from about a month ago is shown. It’s a plea for any information on my whereabouts.
They both stare at me.
I swear my heart stopped. I like these people; they have shown my love and compassion. They stopped my self-loathing. They can’t fix my Vickie issues, nobody can. They do love the work I have done on their equipment. Everything works better.
I have lost again, I tell them, “Call the number. Any number of people have seen me. I would rather you two get the money.”
Walter quickly calls the number, “I am Walter Ballinger. William is here with me now in my house. Please wait until the Yankees game is over, though.”
They ask him a ton of questions. The Yankees give up three runs in the eight. We only have a two-run lead. In the distance, I see a line of cars with their flashing lights on. They’re coming. Swell.
The Yankees score another run on a home run. It’s weird seeing the entire front-yard full of cars with flashing lights, yet nobody rang the bell. The Yankees walk two players in a row, swap pitchers, the guy BUNTS, and gets on base. Bases loaded. I hear a helicopter outside. What the hell, too much noise!
Strike one. Strike two. The next ball is one of the most brutal balls I have ever seen hit. It hits the top of the stadium in straight away center field. The doorbell rings. Edith answers the door. Only my mother walks in. Well, color me blue. I stand up, she rushes me, and we hug and cry.
I introduce everyone. Four men come in; none have weapons. I almost laugh at that. They fear me that much. Well, I guess it’s warranted. I am capable of doing some horrific things. Actually, I have.
Agent Johnson has his hands up, “We’re not here to hurt you. We do need to go downtown, get your view, and then you will be free. Vickie is in a coma, so there is an investigation ongoing. Your help would be most appreciated as you’re a ‘Person of interest.’ No handcuffs, no arrest, we just want to talk. Your mom will be with us all the time.
Mom takes me outside, and we attempt to get in the backseat of a tiny car.
Mom takes charge, “Agent Johnson, you’re with us. We’re taking the helicopter. They can meet us back at the station.”
He didn’t like that, but as mom and I were already walking to the helicopter, he followed. I see the company logo in the comfortable chopper, and it’s a company Vickie’s mother owns. I watch the startup procedures with interest and everything the pilots do. I can fly a helicopter; this one is different than military versions. If things don’t go well, this is an exit option.
Mom is a bundle of nerves; she holds my hands tight. We don’t say a word as we fly. It’s noisy in the helicopter. Mom is leaning into me. I hold her close to me and can hear her purr like a kitten. I must have put her through hell. I do feel bad for that. With all my thoughts on my humiliation and pain, it never occurred to me how mom would feel.
+++++
At the FBI headquarters (NOT the police station,) Agent Johnson leads me into a prisoner interrogation room. Black chairs, brown table, white walls, white table, white ceiling. There is a single door and a large viewing window that’s one-sided. No doubt that two mothers, a camera, and other agents are listening in.
I know what they want. I make them work for it.
I am commanding, “I will tell you everything. However, I want a bottle of cold water, a McDonald’s #1 combo, and a French cruller. I have been too good for too long. Otherwise, I am out of here.”