Time Bomb Town - Chapter Three

Wyatt was seated in the middle of a bare interrogation room. It was a flat gray space with only a table and chairs. One wall was dominated by a mirror that was clearly a window hiding observers. Wyatt drummed his fingers on the table. Across from him was seated Agent Boone. Boone was sharply dressed, with a short hair cut and wire rimmed eye-glasses. He studied Wyatt. But Wyatt was getting visibly frustrated and bored. 

Standing in the corner, leaning against the wall, was Agent Ted Templeton. Templeton was built like a bull, with a shaved head and bulbous eyes. He observed Wyatt sullenly.

Boone leaned forward, “Okay, Wyatt...let's go over this again. You and your brother had dinner with your father around 7 pm last night. You said at first he seemed distracted. I want you to think carefully about anything else he said to you before he left. What time did he leave again?”

“Nah,” Wyatt looked down at his fingernails and then started drumming them on the table again.

“Excuse me?” Boone was surprised.

“I'm sorry, kid, are we boring you?” Agent Templeton walked to the table and leaned over it in a menacing manner.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“We're not messing around, Wyatt. This is very serious and we need you to answer the questions.”

“Nope. I'm done.”

A sneer crossed Templeton's face. “You're done when we say you're done.”

“Am I being charged with something?”

The two agents didn't answer. Then Boone spoke, “Aren't you concerned about your father? Don't you want to help him?”

“I do, but I have my doubts about you two.”

“Perhaps we haven't communicated the urgency of the situation.” snarled Templeton.

“I get it. I got a grasp on the situation.”

“So can we get back to the timeline?” asked Boone.

“Am I free to leave? Or are you charging me?” Wyatt got up. Templeton moved around the table and gently placed his fingers on Wyatt's chest. With a small shove, he pushed Wyatt back into the chair.

“Siddown, kid.”

Wyatt leaned forward. “Ok...let's go over the timeline. You drag me and my brother out of class, drive us in separate cars. Um, that's weird if you just have some questions about finding my dad. Now you're conducting this interview like an interrogation, even using the good cop/bad cop variation. Either that or Agent Templeton is just naturally a dick.” Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “And the questions you're asking. About my dad's financial situation. Covered by a pathetic attempt to make it look like 'small talk'. Concern for dad having to pay tuition for me and Dalton. So...why don't you just cut the crap and tell me what you think my dad did and why you're after him?”

“You think you're a real smart one, dontcha?” said Templeton.

“Actually yeah. I graduated college egregia cum laude. That's higher than summa and only used for 'smart ones'. I'm currently top five in my class at law school and I'm pulling that off while still surfing almost every day. So. Yeah. I'm a real smart one. Now if there's nothing else? I'll be leaving.”

Wyatt got up and walked to the door. Templeton intercepted him, this time placing his hand more forcefully on his chest. “Siddown. We got more questions for you.”

“Bite me, turdface,” Wyatt tried to shove Templeton to the side, but the big man jerked Wyatt over to the wall with one hand. With his other hand he slammed Wyatt's head against the wall. The loud crack echoed in the tiny room. Wyatt winced in visible pain. 

* * *

Watching this interrogation in the observation room, through the mirrored glass, was an older man, Bob Fielding. Several other men were in the room with him. Bob rubbed his neck with irritation as he watched Templeton hiss into Wyatt's face. 

“You listen to me close, you little jag-off. We know all about your whore drug dealing mom. Now we know your dad conspired to betray and kill thirty...THIRTY of our agents. So....YOU WILL SIT DOWN AND YOU WILL ANSWER MY QUESTIONS.” 

Templeton's already bulbous eyes were bulging with rage. Wyatt locked eyes with the man. “Let's see what we've got so far. I requested a lawyer back in the classroom. A classroom full law student witnesses, I might add. So I've been denied legal counsel. Add to that false imprisonment and now assault. Would you care to add anything else before I file my complaint? Because after I file the complaint and get you suspended, I am going to file a civil suit against the Bureau and you personally, Templeton. I cannot wait to get you on the stand.” A hard edge came into Wyatt's voice. “And when I get you in that witness chair, I will dig so far into your past, your grade school girlfriend will be testifying about your history of abuse. You get off on pushing people around? Just wait and see what I can do to you.”

Templeton was caught between disbelief at Wyatt's arrogance and being enraged by it. His face was red and a vein in his forehead pulsed violently.

Wyatt spoke softly to him. “Did you...did you really think you could intimidate me? Have you met the man who raised me? Have you even met my father?”

Disgusted, Bob Fielding shut off the microphone, cutting the audio from the interrogation room. He turned to a window on the opposite side of the room. Another two-way mirror, looking in on another interrogation. Dalton was seated with two agents. Fielding clicked the audio on, coming in on Dalton speaking mid-sentence.

“...and that reminds me. Yeah, yeah, shortly after that, I was about...five years old,” Dalton paused for a moment, pushing his blond hair out of face, looking toward the ceiling, deep in recollection.

Two agents were seated at the table across from him. Judd, older, gangly and pock-marked was holding his head in his hand, staring at Dalton, glaring at him with a combination of boredom and anger. Keene, a mousy man, sat at the table biting his lip and nervously twisting his wedding ring on his finger over and over.

“...No, maybe four. I think I was four years old. Maybe four and half and dad was pushing me on the swings at the park when he twisted his ankle funny and broke his foot. That lead to-”

Keene interrupted, “Ahhh, Mr. Vance-”

Dalton smiled, full of charm. “Please. Call me Dalton.”

“Ahhh, can we get back to point, please, your father-”

“But I'm telling you about my father.”

“Yeah, perhaps less detail,” Agent Judd thumped his palm on the table to emphasize his point. “Like, let's jump forward a bit...say FIFTEEN YEARS.”

“Ahh, you wouldn't mind...Ahh Dalton.”

“Have you ever considered going to a speech therapist, Agent Keene?”

“Ahh, what?”

“For that 'Ahh' thing you do. It's gotta drive people crazy. I know you know what I mean, right Agent Judd?” Dalton looked at Judd. Judd stared back in disbelief.

“Maybe if you heard yourself recorded and became conscious of it, you could start to change it on your own. A speech therapist could really do wonders. And perhaps a regular therapist. Is your home life interfering with your ability to do your job? I feel like you're distracted, like you're not really focused, like I'm not getting all of your attention.”

“My Ah-” Keene cut himself off with a small cough, “personal life isn't your concern. If we could return to-”

“Oh sure. Absolutely,” Dalton seemed as if he was about to continue and then, “I just get this feeling you're very depressed. You keep playing with your wedding ring. That's something newly married men tend to do, but your ring is clearly worn and older. Plus your heart isn't in this.” Dalton leaned forward and put his hand on top of the older man's in sympathy. “Is your wife cheating on you?”

“What?” Keene yanked his hand away. Judd rapped loudly on the table with his knuckles.

“Mr. Vance. Please.”

Dalton continued, not missing a beat. “Maybe your job is placing too much stress on your marriage. You want to know about my dad, well, this job did not help his marriage. My mom felt like she was a single parent half the time. Finally, it was too much, you know?” Dalton sighed. “I was fifteen. Do you have kids, Agent Keene? It's always rough on the kids.... You know what you should do? Take her on a vacation. A romantic getaway. Napa Valley Wine Country is always nice.”

“AHHH-” A deeply aggravated Keene tried to speak.

“There it is again,” Dalton looked at Judd. “Seriously, that doesn't annoy you? Hearing that all day long? Ahh, Ahh, Ahh.”

Judd slammed his fist down on the table. “That's enough. THAT'S ENOUGH!”

“Great! I'll be going then!” Dalton got up.

“SIT DOWN.” roared Judd.

“You're a little tougher to read, Agent Judd. Either you have a drinking problem or a newborn baby at home. Did you just have a baby? If so, congratulations!”

Judd's eyes narrowed, “You need to watch your mouth.”

“You're over-tired and on edge. If you don't stop coming into work with bloodshot eyes and reeking of alcohol, I see rehab in your future.”

Judd lunged across the table at Dalton who jerked back just barely avoiding Judd's grasp. Keene pulled Judd away.

“And possibly anger management classes,” Dalton adjusted his eye-glasses.

In the observation room, Bob Fielding shut off the audio in disgust. He turned to leave the room and stopped right before leaving. He spoke to the men still in the room. “I want to see all four of those agents in my office right now.” Fielding opened the door to leave and stopped again. “And find out if Judd is drinking again.”

He slammed the door. 

* * *

A Blue Lexus pulled off Sepulveda Boulevard into the parking lot of the Federal Building. On the bumper of the Lexus was a sticker reading “Legalize It” with the picture of a bright green marijuana leaf. The Lexus was followed by a large, dark colored town car.

The cars parked and out of the Lexus strode a beautiful woman in her early fifties. Veronica Vance was wearing a colorful and expensive dress suit. It was a bright outfit that contrasted with the murderous look on her face.

Out of the town car stepped three men in dark suits and sunglasses, carrying briefcases. Lawyers.

All four marched towards the Federal Building.

Inside the executive suite of the F.B.I., a prim receptionist sat at a wide desk. In front of her, the double doors opened suddenly and with a bang. The receptionist looked up startled. Into the reception area came Mrs. Vance, followed by her three lawyers.

Veronica didn't pause at the desk but she also didn't ignore the receptionist. “Hello, Janet. I'm here to see Bob.” She didn't wait for an answer.

“Oh! Mrs. Vance...you...he's in a meeting,” Janet called after Veronica. “You can't go back there, Mrs. Vance!”

Veronica and her team had reached the door to the main office. The name plate read 'Robert Fielding – Assistant Director-in-Charge'. Veronica threw open the door. Bob Fielding was standing at his desk. Behind him, a huge picture window looked out over Los Angeles.

“Mrs. Vance! You're not allowed-”

Veronica was already in the office. She stood behind the four men seated in front of Fielding. They were the four agents that had been doing the interrogation.

“Hello, Bob.”

Janet came in right after her, “I'm so sorry, Director Fielding. I couldn't-”

“Don't worry about it, Janet,” Fielding, a man in his late fifties or early sixties stood. He was balding, with gray hair at his temples. His eyes twinkled with a fatherly or grandfatherly-like warmth. He smiled at Veronica. “Hello Ronni. Haven't seen much of you since you left Carter. That was such a tragedy. Fran and I were heartbroken.”

“My boys, Bob. Where are my boys?”

Fielding looked his agents. “You're dismissed. We'll continue this later.” The agents filed out, not bothering to hide their disdain for Ronni Vance. After they'd gone, Veronica stood in front of Bob's desk, her three lawyers close behind her.

“Now, what's this about your boys, Ronni? Got into some trouble?”

“Cut the shit, Bob.” She leaned forward on his desk, “Go get them, right now!”

“You think it's a good idea to barge into the office of a Director of the F.B.I. and act in a threatening manner? You're presuming a lot on our former friendship.”

“I don't give a rat's ass about our 'friendship', Bob. You were always a boor. But if you want to play, I came to play. Go get them or you will be in a world of hurt,” Ronni nodded to her lawyers. One of them came forward and handed Fielding a blue legal file. Fielding didn't even look at it. He just tossed it on his desk and sat down.

“Fine, Ronni,” He hit the intercom, “Janet, have the Vance brothers brought to my office right way.” He sighed and leaned back. “I'm complying not because of some ridiculous legal threats, but because they've been spectacularly unhelpful.”

“What were you thinking?” said Veronica.

“You don't know what's going on, Ronni. I needed any information the boys might have.”

“Shove it up your ass, Bob. You want to play these kind of games with me, that's fine. Send your thugs down to my office any time. But how dare you come after my boys,” said Veronica.

“This isn't about your stupid little pot shop, Ronni. Something big went down, Carter was involved and now he's disappeared. You understand me? Carter was working a case and he vanished. Those boys were the last ones to see him.” Genuine concern played across Fielding's face.

“Carter can take care of himself. I'll take care of Wyatt and Dalton.”

The doors opened. Wyatt and Dalton came in, escorted by Agent Boone.

“Mom!” Dalton gave his mother a big hug, lifting her tiny frame off the floor.

“Thanks for picking us up, Ma. Glad you got my email,” said Wyatt.

“It's 'MOM' or 'MOTHER', No 'Ma'. We don't live on a farm.” she pushed the boys towards the door. “Come on, let's go.”

The boys and the lawyers headed out the door. Veronica hung back and turned to Fielding.

“If you ever bring my boys in again, Bob, you'd better be prepared for war.”

She slammed the door behind her. Fielding exhaled in relief and frustration, spun his chair to face the window and rubbed his face.