Reel to Real (25 page)

“I don’t believe shit from you.”

“We were up in the mountains,” she said in a low husky voice. “It was late. Real late. Shane made the grandparents drive up there. We stopped in the middle of nowhere. We got out of the car and Shane said to me, ’I shot the kids, you go ahead and shoot the old people.’ And I did.”

John slumped down on the couch as he listened. He said later he felt like she was probably making it up because the details were too vivid; that there was so much detail, it had to be a lie.

“Shut up. Just shut up,” he kept saying. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

But she kept talking. “You don’t believe me, huh?”

She gave him more details. She told him Shane killed three people inside the store and repeated how she had killed the McDougall’s.

She shot the grandfather, she said, with a 12 gauge shotgun, and a few minutes later, she shot the grandmother, too. The first shot was to her head. She told him how when she pulled the trigger to kill the grandmother, it didn’t discharge because there wasn’t a round in the chamber. She said that Shane later fired a bunch of additional shots into the grandparents with the TEC-9.

After Esther finished, John sat quietly and dabbed his forehead with a paper towel. John hated to admit it, but he was beginning to believe her. His face tightened as he took in the information.

“Where’s the guns?” he asked. “Did you get rid of ’em? Did you at least get rid of the damn evidence?”

“Shane has ’em, I guess,” Esther replied, eyes vacant. “That’s the last place I saw them. They were at his house.”

“Do you know where he’s keeping them?”

“As far as I know, he still has ’em in a duffle bag in his closet.”

“Okay, that’s dumb. Told you he was a stupid motherfucker.” John grimaced. “Did you guys wear gloves?”

“Yeah, I had on cloth ones and he had on surgical.”

“So where’s the gloves now?”

“At Shane’s. I left everything there except the clothes I was wearing.”

“Okay, and what did you do with the clothes you had on?”

“Well, I washed my clothes. I washed all of ’em, and my boots are in my closet right now.

John’s stared at her, mouth open. “What?  You’re shitting me? You still got those fucking boots?”

“Yeah,” Esther said with a hangdog look.

“We gotta get rid of those fuckers right now, babe,” he said, chastising her. “Go get ’em.”

The creases on John’s forehead deepened as he waited. He had warned her to stay out of trouble and she didn’t do that. Not at all. Now she was in over her head, but he still felt responsible for her. He wanted to try to help.

Esther scurried to the bedroom and brought back the boots. She dropped them on the floor in front of him.

John turned the table lamp back on. “Did you wash these?” he asked.

“There wasn’t nothing on ’em.”

“Maybe, but you must've at least left tracks at the scene.”

Esther frowned. “Oh.”

“Bring me your biggest, sharpest knife,” he said, holding the boots up to the light. He peered hard at the waffled soles. “We gotta cut these bad boys up. They’re too particular. You could definitely tell a footprint from one of these guys. That’s not good.”

Esther came back with John’s own set of knives, left at her house from his culinary school days. John chose a super sharp six-inch carving knife and put the rest back in the box.

In order to cut through the soles, he had to use the blade like a saw. He cursed under his breath the whole time, because it took all of his considerable strength to slice them up into four largish pieces. He then stuffed the scraps along with the jacket Esther wore the night of the murders into a garbage bag. Then they went outside and threw it all down a city gutter.

After the evidence was disposed of and they were safely back at Esther’s apartment, Esther and John sat back down on the couch.

“Okay,” John said. “Now tell me again.”

“Who lies for you will lie against you.”

B
OSNIAN
P
ROVERB

After hearing the entire terrible story a second time, John told Esther that this information was too much for him to handle. He had to take a walk, he said. Clear his head. Once outside he marched straight for a payphone.

“Crystal?”

Crystal sounded annoyed. “John?”

“Babe, I need your help. I need you to get me some money. I need to get back to Colorado ASAP.  And I mean right now ASAP.  Can you get me some money?”

“I don’t have anything right now, John. I don’t get paid 'til Friday.”

“I know babe, but I gotta get outta here.”

Crystal let out a deep breath but remained silent.

“It’s urgent,” John implored.

“I’m sure it is.” More silence.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, I guess I could pawn my TV and get enough for a bus ticket. I don’t really want to give up my TV though.”

“Look, babe, just get me back to Pueblo and I’ll figure out a way to get your TV back. I cannot stay here. There are too many problems.”

“Okay, John. I’ll pawn it in the morning. What time does the bus leave?”

“I think it’s at like 11:00 or 11:30. From Santa Fe. Call them. Make sure.”

“All right, when I wake up in the morning, I’ll take the TV down to the pawn shop and then I’ll get your ticket.”

“Can't wait to see ya, babe.”

11:30 PM

Shelly went outside to get a book from her car. Even though it was 11:00 at night, she wanted to keep reading to see how the story ended.

While outside, she saw Shane in the street. He appeared to be cleaning his Fiero. He had a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex, and looked to be wiping down the inside of the car. She could not tell if he saw her, and he did not say hello.

Thursday, March 7, 1996 8 AM

Early Thursday morning Esther drove John from Albuquerque to the Santa Fe Greyhound Station to catch a bus back to Pueblo, Colorado. As it turned out, they got there two and half hours early.

While cruising the historic Santa Fe Plaza, they ran across a cute cafe where the two of them stopped to have a bite to eat. Inside, a row of red vinyl booths lined one side of the wall, and a row of tables lined the other. Esther wanted a booth, and this time she got her way. Even though neither one of them could afford it, they both ordered steak and eggs.

As they ate, Esther asked again if John was sure he had to leave town. He reminded her he was wanted, and therefore the two of them should not be seen together. He said it wasn’t fair for one of them to draw the cops to the other, and he agreed with the concept of acting “normal” and of making every effort to stay as “invisible” as possible.

“We have to play it safe,” he said. “Just wait a week ’til I get some money. Crystal owns a restaurant up in Pueblo and I’m going to get her to give me a loan. I won’t tell her what it’s for. Then I’ll get you out of town. It won’t take long, you’ll see.”

Esther believed him and agreed to wait until he sent for her. He told her they would escape to Mexico.

As they chatted, John was once again the smiling, handsome, charming guy Esther had fallen in love with. For those few glorious couple of hours — when they finally had time to be alone, Esther was happy; hopeful happy. It was like old times, like nothing bad had ever happened and they were just an ordinary, carefree couple in love.

Esther felt like maybe the world was finally on her side again, that she and John would indeed be together forever. John had even written down his correct Pueblo, Colorado address and phone number, and had given them to her before they left her apartment. She no longer had to use crazy Shane as the annoying and now scary go-between. Now she could call John directly – within reason, of course. It had also become very apparent to her during this time they had spent together, that John loved her as much she loved him.

After finishing a leisurely breakfast, John looked at the wall clock and said, “It’s late babe, we gotta go. I gotta catch my bus in 20 minutes.”

Esther paid the tab and they got back in her station wagon. She drove to what she thought was the location of the bus station, but it wasn’t there.

“I don’t remember where it’s at,” she sighed.

“What?” John said. “I gotta get that bus. It’s leaving in a couple of minutes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it,” she said. But she looked confused. “I remember there was a drug store on the corner. It should be somewhere right around here.” She drove faster.

John clenched his jaw and fumed, “You’re doing it again, woman. You’re messing up my--

“There it is,” Esther shouted. “There’s the bus.” She pointed straight ahead. “Right there.”

As Esther screeched to a stop, John jumped out and ran directly into the path of the oncoming motor-coach, waving his hands back and forth as it chugged away from the loading area. The bus driver must have seen him because the air brakes hissed and the bus pulled to a halt. John strode over to the bus door and with one foot resting on the bottom step, had a quick conversation with the driver. Then he got back out.

Esther had hopped out of the car as well. With some difficulty, she yanked John’s big brown suitcase from the backseat, grunting as she dragged it towards the bus. John rushed over and snatched the bag away, running full speed to the bus door.

He jumped on board. He did not kiss her goodbye. He did not even look back.

As the bus pulled away, Esther stood alone in the parking lot, small and forlorn, waving goodbye to the man of her dreams. A man she would never see again.

12 noon

"My thoughts and prayers are with the families and loved ones of those so senselessly slain in this tragedy," Mayor Martin Chavez said in a written statement.

As the city continued to mourn, the news media continued to focus on police efforts to capture the Hollywood Video killers. It was practically the only subject discussed. Businesses remained on high alert.

The news bulletins were constant. Police urged motorists to call 911 if they spotted the mysterious black van, then to let law enforcement handle it from there. Officials pursued every angle.

The shootings prompted terrified citizens, especially those living in the vicinity of the killings to lock their doors and arm themselves. Other video stores in the area began closing at 9 PM instead of  2 AM. The Hollywood Video on San Mateo Boulevard remained shuttered.

"Everyone is scared. Honestly just scared," said Mari Gomez, assistant manager of a neighboring check cashing business.

2 PM

Esther hung around her apartment, feeling empty and missing John. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to watch the news anymore but she couldn’t help herself. It turned out that not watching the news made her more anxious than watching the news. If she didn’t watch, she didn’t know what was happening. If she did watch, then she kind of knew that everything remained the same.

Still, she was worried that the guy in the video store might someday pick her face out of a mug book. She knew if she didn’t get out of town pretty soon, the cops would eventually be knocking on her door.

3 PM

All this stuff on the news was making Shane nervous too. He thought about changing his appearance; maybe letting his goatee grow, or possibly cutting his hair — something simple but effective.

Plus, despite the constant alerts about the mysterious black van, he worried that his car had been seen. It finally hit him that he needed to change the tires on the Fiero. It was altogether possible he might have left tire tracks up in the mountains on that soft, muddy dirt. Tracks that most certainly would not match the tire tracks of any type of van.

***

Bruce Connelly ran the sales counter at Southwest General Tire. He had been there for nearly a year and half, and his duties were to meet with customers and sell them tires.

The store was typically busy in the afternoons. The phones rang non-stop, customers came and went, things like that. So Bruce didn’t think much about it when he got a call from a guy asking if he had a certain type of tire in size 195 60 14.

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce said. “No problem.”

The guy seemed concerned about price and asked for the least expensive tire that would fit his car. He also wanted to know how fast he could get the tires mounted. Bruce got these kinds of calls all the time, but this guy seemed a little frantic — maybe even extra-frantic.

But so what? Bruce informed him that, yes, he had the type of tires he was looking for and he gave him the price.

“That sounds fine,” the guy on the phone said. He told Bruce he would be in right away.

Forty-five minutes later, a tall, skinny white guy wearing blue jeans and a white tee-shirt walked through the doors. His long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he asked for Bruce.

“Hi, I’m David Paris,” he said as he shook Bruce’s hand. “I was the one that just called about the tires.”

Bruce was a muscular, “played-football-in-high-school” type of guy with red hair and an easy smile. He picked up a clipboard and walked outside to look at the man's vehicle. It was a black Fiero with fairly new tires.

“You know,” Bruce said, down on one knee, scrutinizing. “You don’t really need new tires. These tires still have quite a bit of tread on them.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re rubbing against each other all the time and I don’t like that. So I’m gonna go ahead and get ’em all changed,” David said.

“Okay.” Bruce stood up and wrote the order. “It’ll take about forty-five minutes to get them put on.”

“Fine.”

Back at the front showroom counter, David chatted with Bruce while they waited for the new tires.

“Do I look familiar to you?” David asked without elaboration. “Have you seen me before?” He turned sideways so Bruce could get a better look.

Bruce’s eyes scanned David up and down. “No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve seen you prior to today.”

David smiled.

“Why?” Bruce asked absently. He had turned his attention to stapling red sales flyers to white sheets of advertising verbiage.