now, too. Pull out onto the main road and make a right turn.”
He had me drive one road past where we’d have turned off to go to the men’s house. It was rough-paved, and there weren’t many houses. He reached forward and touched under the dash, and the headlights turned off. My tiger’s vision took over, but a warning would’ve been nice. Several minutes later, we were on a long straightaway without houses when he said, “Stop. Don’t pull over. Just stop where you are.”
I did so, and he touched my leg, just above my knee. “Put it in park. Don’t shut the engine off. I need you to help me get these guys into the woods. You’re doing good, Kitty. Stay on the pavement. Be conscious of not leaving footprints.”
He took a two-by-six piece of lumber from the side of the van, put it on the ground, and then grabbed another and carried it while he walked to the end of the first. He put it down at an angle, going into the woods, and walked along them to return.
“This keeps me from leaving footprints in the mud. When I leave with the first man, bring the second to the end of the first board. Stay on the wood so you don’t leave footprints either.”
Squatch alley-ooped both men a good distance into the trees, and then he had me get back into the van. He broke the two-by-sixes into multiple pieces and put them into another garbage bag, placed it in the back of the van, and then he returned to the passenger seat, his gloves muddy from handling the wood. He’d left his door open, so he didn’t have to get it muddy to open it. He took the soiled gloves off, dropped them into a bag at his feet, closed the door, pulled two more gloves from the glove compartment, and put them on.
“You’ve done this before.”
He grinned. “No. Never. Keep driving. Turn around just before the curve up there. Don’t go off the pavement.”
The van had a tighter turning radius than I expected. I had to back up once to keep it on the pavement, but only because it was a narrow road. He flipped the lights back on at about the same place he’d turned them off.
“Back to your apartment. I’ll drive the Pathfinder, since I can be more certain of not shedding stray hair. I’m leaving my burner phone with you. If we run into problems, I’ll abandon the Pathfinder and run to the left of wherever we are. Go around me — keep going and then come back another route and look for me to the left of wherever I exited the vehicle. If you can’t do that without drawing attention, use the app on the phone to call the control room. Tell them where I abandoned the Pathfinder. Say it like that.”
He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “It’s going to be fine. Keep your head down and forward. Don’t look up or around. I’ll keep us away from traffic cams, but we’re going to go by a few private security cams. Prop your left elbow on the door and touch your face with your left hand. Drive with your right. Look tired and bored. Keep the bill of the hat down over your face as much as possible. Don’t follow too close. Half a football field or more.”
“What happens to the bag?”
“The bag holds what gets destroyed. We’ll add to it later — the gloves we’re wearing, the garbage bags you originally used, and our clothes, in case we got some of their DNA on them. Also, the wood pieces in the other bag. Shoes, too. We have a small incinerator at the bike shop. That’ll be our last stop before I take you home with me.” He sat back. “Thankfully, the men left their cellphones at home, this would be a helluva lot more complicated if they’d brought them.”
“I want to go home when we finish.”
“I’m sure you do, but this van will have already come and gone twice. A third time is pushing it. If you absolutely need something from your apartment, I’ll get one of my brothers to stop and get your phone and whatever you need while we do this. It’s best if we can leave your apartment alone though. Every piece of traffic is a chance a neighbor remembers something odd.”