KELLY SAILOR AND THE DEADLY FREQUENCY

The atmosphere crackled with tension at the Stone Building Owners’ Association meeting, which has been building inaugurated only six months before. The air was thick with heated exchanges, forcing Benjamin Carter, the association’s president, to take center stage in a desperate attempt to manage the damage control.

— Very well, then, those in favor of the motion...

— I can’t believe someone's gonna vote in favor to this proposition!

— Ron, please! — Benjamin Carter called out. — Now we’ll cast our votes. Owners who are in favor, please raise up your hand. Three, including me. Those who are against! Four. The motion has been turned down...

— I request a reconsideration! — another homeowner yelled — What the heck is this? Are you guys going to be persuaded by someone who has no interest in the benefit of the community?

— It’s over, voting is closed, that’s all!— screamed an irate Ron Needles. — Until the next month!

— Please, gentlemen, calm down! This meeting is over. Mr. Secretary, if you please write the results in the record book for everyone to sign...

— I shall not sign it! — uttered another of the building’s owners, leaving Carter’s apartment that was used as a conference room.

Ron Needles was the last person to leave the apartment after signing the book. Two weeks later, the man was waiting for visitors, for which he duly arranged things in his flat. Horace “Beans” Cassidy, Al Katz, and Paul “Ballroom” Jenkins had received an invitation from Ron, a former schoolmate, to a 10-year high school graduation reunion. He had no trouble finding out their addresses: the three of them lived very close to each other. The funny thing is that they were told to attend wearing animal domino masks, because the host, according to the invitation card, would display some photos of their school years on a screen so that the guests would later remove their masks and show everyone their true selves after the ten-year gap.

In the vehicle, a Ford Bronco equipped with automatic transmission, the three former classmates were approaching their destination.

— Can you believe it? We had him as a slave in that crappy high school and now the freak invites us to his apartment. I’ll tell you what, if the drinks aren’t good I’ll stick his head in the toilet, for old times' sake.

— I’m just going out of curiosity. I wanna know what the hell he did to get an apartment in that neighborhood. It amazes me because Ron was always a loser. I remember that in elementary everyone wanted to be an astronaut despite the fact Apollo 1 was good only to barbecue Grissom and his crew, a thing nobody cared about, and Needles said he wouldn’t jump into a rocket in a million years.

— Do you remember when he was branded as a highway patrol officer in the tenth grade vocation test, but he announced that he would study chemistry?

— Sure, Beans, but you were pegged for a future as a stunt double in that same test all you wanted was to be a fuckin' pimp. Now look at you, a salary at a cookie factory...

— Chief of Staff! Chief of Staff, don’t forget it! Why do you think I’m in that position? Because if someone dares to talk me out of something, I’ll break his knee.

— Just like you broke Ron’s knee?

Not a word passed between them until the red light sputtered and flicked to green. Paul and Al exchanged glances as if debating what Cassidy was going to reply.

— That was an accident! — Cassidy stated, without remorse. — The principal agreed, the lawyers agreed. Even the parents of the two families agreed before settling out of court.

— Listen, nobody will scream “crippled” when we get in. It’s not worth it, maybe some other guests are already there who won’t take it so easy.

— I wonder if he never noticed we meant “creep - led" at school. Okay, enough, we’re almost there.

The neighborhood, notably the block where the host’s address was located, was crowded with brand new buildings. The Bronco was parked in front of the Stone Building; the three men, illuminated by a street lamp, stepped out of the car. Cassidy, wearing a lion domino mask, was in charge of ringing the 211 button in the electric panel, ahead of Jenkins in a fox mask, and Katz, who didn’t want to go as a cat but as a tiger.

— Needles! We’re down here!

A slight hum indicated that the door had unlocked electronically, whereupon the guests pushed the door open, preparing to climb the steps to the second floor. Once upstairs, Cassidy didn’t need to knock to enter the apartment 211. The door was open, displaying streamers as décor and a table with a bowl of punch and other items in the back. There was music flowing from a stereo: “Alive and kickin’” by Simple Minds, a soft but hot tune. Needles was standing in front of the living room's coffee table.

— Crippled! — Cassidy greeted immediately so as he saw nobody else had arrived yet. — You, as popular as usual.

— My, Needles, you haven’t changed a bit — Katz remarked —. But look at me, I have a scheduled appointment with a PT for tomorrow. A sore muscle after returning a tennis ball. But based on what I can see, it looks that tonight the entire class will be busy elsewhere .

— People will arrive at any minute — the host emphasized — so don’t get ahead of the situation. Forget about that stinky punch, I have something in store for this meeting. Beans, would you like to open the top drawer of the sideboard?

Cassidy did as asked, but found nothing.

—There are only tablecloths here!

— Sorry, I meant the bottom drawer.

— Oh! What have we got here?

Cassidy found a bottle of 12-year-old Glenlivet that made his eyes wide open. The host uncorked the bottle; then poured a third of a glass for each guest, also adding some soda.

— What a nice apartment, although I don’t see much furniture — Jenkins pointed out .

— Some of the stuff is in another room, I had to clear this space up almost entirely.

— And what did you do to get all this beauty?

— I work for the government as a communications technician; we manage resources for things that we’re not always allowed to discuss. Aside from that, I used to spend my earnings on poker games. My superiors were not pleased, but they kept me in office because of my skills to handle the equipment. When I was able to pay off this flat, I stopped meddling in the gambling joints. If you’re lucky enough, there are guys in underground poker who don’t care where you work.

— How much money did you win?

— Six digits.

— It’s a joke?

— No. Plus, if you don’t have a family, you hardly have any expenses. And besides, I got a loan.

— What for?

— For my favorite pastime. Let’s walk into the next room so you can look at it.

The man kept sophisticated comms equipment assembled in a room next to the bedroom. There was a multi-frequency transceiver with an LED indicator, shortwave digital receivers, noise-cancelling directional headphones, and, of course, a Dell Turbo with an interesting database that he turned on for the guests to see, among other stuff that would be an espionage buff’s dream.

— You must have paid an arm and a leg for this. Can you receive the police channel? — Katz inquired.

— I assure you we won’t need the police tonight. Another scotch? The girls should be arriving by now... or better said, the ladies.

— On the rocks! Hey, Ballroom, just check out all this shit.

As Ron was preparing the drinks in the living room, the three sidekicks started talking.

— He’s still as insane as he was in high school. Who knows what the hell he'll secretly do with all this. Perhaps he already knows quite a bit about us. What are your thoughts, Ballroom?

— I have nothing to conceal. But you, Beans... how much more are you going to “borrow” from the company’s safe? And that Bronco... d'you think he knows where you got it from and that the license isn’t in your name?

— Not even my wife knows that! What do you reckon?

— I think these government guys know everything. Even what’s in your bank account. If I were you, I would get the hell out of here immediately.

— Enough, man! — Katz intervened — Come on, let’s go outside.

Three additional whiskeys awaited for the visitors in the living room, along with a little cup full of blue liquor for the host, who, by the way, had switched off the sound equipment.

— Who else did you invite, crippled? — Cassidy inquired, raising his glass to his lips.

— Sandy, Wilma, Lyla... some of them are married, they can bring their damn husbands if they want to.

— So you’ve checked out their current profiles... Have you seen their faces?

— Of course, there's also a database for that, but I’m only able to do that in the office. Sandy appears to be in good shape for her age, but Wilma has the cheekbones of a sperm whale.

— But she was already a cetacean at 17! Now you say that, but you never dared back there, yes or no?

— No, but you never kept your thoughts inside... did you, Beans? I know everything you said behind her back after she testified against you about the accident.

— That’s because it was an accident, crippled. We all agreed with that. And what is that blue thing you have in your cup?

— It’s ... a European liquor. On instances like this, I frequently taste this booze.

— What is that, is it sherry? Let me give it a shot, man!

Cassidy took the tiny cup Ron Needles had in front of him, but when he was about to raise it to his lips, the host said:

— Sure, Beans. Why don’t you give it a shot?

He said that with a terrifyingly dry expression. His face had changed abruptly, from an absent smile to a smirk. Cassidy stopped, put the glass back in his place, and said:

— You’re not thinking of poisoning me... are you, crippled?

After a few seconds of mutual thought, the three guests burst out laughing, which Needles matched with his own tone of laughter, slightly lighter and not shrill at all. Once that reaction was over, the host took the cup of blue liquid, swallowed it completely and said:

— Of course I’m not thinking of poisoning you, Beans. I already did.

Cassidy gazed at him with a blank expression, as if he didn’t know how to react, especially since the host had a look of satisfaction that couldn’t be fake. The man stood up immediately, but doubled over instantly with a searing agony in his tummy that swiftly traveled to his chest. Cassidy collapsed on the glass surface of the coffee table, crushing it with the full weight of his 195 pounds, despite the efforts of the other two guests to prevent it. Katz and Jenkins look at each other with terrified expressions before Needles spoke out to calm them down.

— Don’t worry, gentlemen, you had a smaller dose in your glasses, enough to cause discomfort after an hour, but the harm and subsequent fatal effect wo be inevitable after that. That is, if you guys don’t take the antidote first.

— You’ll give us the antidote now! — Jenkins yelled, moving towards Ron, who stopped him by pointing a 9mm Beretta at his face.

— Better sit down, Ballroom. Time is precious. Besides, the antidote isn’t here.

— Where is it?

— First of all, take a seat, gentlemen.

The two, albeit slowly, complied, knowing it was their only chance. Ron poured himself some more of the blue liquor and continued:

— By now, you’ve already noticed that no one else is coming to this small joint. I’ve been tracking Beans for quite some time, as well as you two. I could see you three rascals are so stuck together since high school as today. I knew he’d insist on bringing his thugs along with him because he was the one in command... He probably arrived in that Bronco he purchased on the underground market. Yes, I am aware of that, too. But first, let’s look at the antidote. It’s tucked away in a hidden spot along Highway 41, surrounded by thick forest. I dug a pit there for Mr. Cassidy a few days ago. Now, if you want to live, gentlemen, you will do exactly as I tell you.

Ron Needles, still pointing the gun at both, reached behind one of the sofa cushions and pulled out a small device, as well as a couple of small battery-powered flashlights.

— This is a little transceiver I designed myself. It transmits and receives on a single frequency, far from those used by walkie- talkies which could interfere with the signal. This ensures that neither my voice nor yours can be intercepted or heard by anyone else. This is what you guys are going to do. First, get Mr. Cassidy’s car keys right now.

Katz and Jenkins rushed to dug into Cassidy's pockets.

— Now put these flashlights in your pockets keeping them out of sight. Make sure your tiger and fox masks are properly adjusted, because, I'm telling you, there's a camera pointing at the lobby, just recording, nobody is watching live. And now slip the transceiver inside Mr. Cassidy’s clothes.

The two friends did as they were told. The combination of the animal masks and the angst that covered the men completely made them look cruelly comic.

— Now you two will take Mr. Cassidy and take him down the stairs as fast as you can to the front entrance of the building. Don’t worry about the other proprietors, this is a new building and the other six owners went out with their families to see an outdoor musical play. Apart from myself, there’s just a janitor who dwells in a little room on the top floor. Now you know why I chose precisely this day. And… you know what? There’s a camera on the lobby watching you guys.

The pair stopped to breathe for a couple of seconds.

— But don't worry, it only records in case something wrong happens, like today. Nobody's watching live. You'll find the building's main door open, as one of you supposedly pushed the button that opens it from here before going downstairs. Next, you'll load Mr. Cassidy into the Bronco and drive along a route that I will convey to you via the transceiver, which you will turn on as soon as you step into the vehicle.

Katz and Jenkins stood staring at Needles until he jolted them awake with a shout backed up by the Beretta:

— Move!

Observed from the doorstep of the apartment by Needles, the huge body of “Beans” Cassidy began to be moved with terrible effort down the second-floor hallway, then across the lobby to the electric door. The camera in the lobby captured everything, but also an aerial camera outside the building that captured the moment when both wild animals, after looking in all directions, loaded the corpse into the back of the Bronco, after which Katz took the wheel and Jenkins took the right side seat.

Next, they turned on the transceiver to listen to instructions from Needles, who had already entered his communication room with a previously prepared street map in hand.

— Do you hear what I say?

— Yes, we do.

— Don’t take off your masks yet. Now, you’ll take the following path. Go north six blocks further to 4th Street, turn right, then two blocks further to the right again, as if you were returning here.

Al Katz started up driving and followed the strange route, not daring to argue. Then Needles send them go through narrow dark alleyways for about six minutes, always heading south, until they reached a street marked as 8th Street.

— Now you will continue straight ahead for two more blocks until you reach an alley between 6th Street and St. George Avenue and you’ll go there until Wisconsin Avenue, which is a huge boulevard. Once you cross it, proceed straight ahead to Highway 41.

Katz did as he was told again, but when he reached Wisconsin Avenue he met something unexpected: some kind of march of the faithful was blocking the way.

— We have a problem. There’s a religious group marching down Wisconsin Avenue. We can’t pass! — he shouted into the microphone.

— What the fuck are you saying?

— I’ll step out to take a look — Jenkins said, hurrying out of the car. There he could see the religious group, with tambourines singing: “Hear! Hear what the Savior commands! / March! March, and proclaim my love!”. All of this was accompanied by psalms and the glow of colored candles.

Needles, in the meantime, was shocked in his flat. He couldn’t believe what was going on; it was hard to believe.

— They’re taking up an entire block! And moving too slowly! — Jenkins replied as he slid back into the passenger's seat.

— What should we do? — Katz screamed into the microphone. Horace “Beans” Cassidy had collapsed on the living room table in Department 211′s room 24 minutes before.

— Pay close attention. Tell me if there are any cars behind you.

— There aren’t any in sight.

— Turn off all the headlights, put the car in reverse and go back to St. George Avenue

— But it’s against the traffic! The passage is really narrow!

— Do exactly as I tell you or you're dead!

Katz put the car in reverse as quickly as the Bronco allowed, nearly ramming into the walls at the bottom of the street.

— Now turn right onto the avenue and go four blocks at full speed until you reach 22nd Street.

Katz made the tires squeal and sound like a pig’s scream.

— Now turn around there to enter Wisconsin Avenue again. Cross the avenue, turn left and continue until you reach Highway 41. Go!

Katz made the engine rattle as hard as he could till he arrived a the destination.

— We’ve reached the end of the road, Needles. What should we do now?

— There is a spot where you can pull off the road. Get into the bushes and conceal the vehicle. Take Beans out to the woods, hide the Bronco behind the trees, and carry Beans along with the device with you for further instructions.

They did so, after which both men heard Needles’ voice again.

— You can now remove your animal masks. Turn on your flashlights. A tiny clearing can be found about 10 yards further on. Find a huge, lead-colored rock. There's a pit at the base of said rock. Take the body to that location if you want the antidote.

Cassidy had collapsed on the living room furnishings 33 minutes before. With the agony of knowing that time was running out, they both searched desperately until Jenkins yelled out five minutes later:

— Al, this way!

Without squandering time, they lifted the heavy corpse again, moving it to the place where, indeed, there was a hole, but too small for Cassidy's body to throw him in.

— Needles! How are we supposed to get this big guy in here? He weighs over 190 pounds! Do you want us to dig? I can't see any lamp around! We have no time!

— Who said he was going to be thrown on his back?

With their flashlights, Katz and Jenkins studied the hole once more. It was narrow but extremely deep. They exchanged puzzled looks as they realized what they had to do.

— You’re insane, crippled. Did you know that? You’re utterly insane!

— Say whatever you like, but if you want to live, you must proceed.

The two of them lifted Cassidy’s body to his feet and, with great effort, lowered it into the hole like someone inserting a construction pipe.

— Done!

— Now, gentlemen, listen carefully to everything that follows before doing anything. Push that rock over the grave to cover it completely. Don’t do anything yet! After sealing the grave, look at the back of the place where the rock was. You'll find a black bag with two vials filled with a liquid. One for each of you. Enjoy your drink, go to the Bronco and clean all your fingerprints off the steering wheel, seats, door handles and ignition key. And most importantly: don't forget to dispose of the transceiver. There must be no traces of it left. I also suggest that you carry the vials away. If you get home late, make something up. Last but no least: leave no trace of your presence there, since only you will pay for it. You are the only ones to have been observed. The masks and my silence are the only thing that keeps you unknown. Now... start!

Needles cut the transmission. Katz and Jenkins did their best to follow the directions. They sipped the antidote as if they’d never drank anything before. It tasted bitter, but that didn’t matter. The two rested on the ground place until they felt better.

— Ballroom, let’s get that car cleaned up.

— Yes, of course. I... I’ll walk back to the dang road. Then I’ll make something up.

— I’ll go the other way, it’s better that they don’t see us together.

— What will we do with the masks?

They had left their animal faces at the foot of the Bronco; Cassidy took his to the grave with him. The survivor rushed to the Bronco where they took their masks off to tear them apart with their hands, without haste, without worrying about what to do with the pieces next. They were alive, the rest could go to hell.

(END OF CHAPTER ONE)

© 2023 by Fernando Salinas.

Original work registered with Indecopi (Peru). All rights reserved. Unauthorized distribution, translation, or inclusion in AI training datasets is strictly prohibited.