San Diego, CA | Late Monday Afternoon
Late in the California afternoon, Griff jumped to the cover of some bushes in a park in San Diego not too far from the San Diego FBI field office where he'd dropped off one of his informational packets the week before. The packets contained a drawing of Kemp, copies of newspaper articles he'd been gathering all spring that detailed every encounter he'd ever had with Kemp and his people that had made it into the news in some form, and a letter explaining how these events tied together. Griff had dropped off the envelopes to agents in the various organizations involved in the investigation of the events at Sam's place last year where six INS agents had been murdered - murders Griff continued to blame himself for causing.
A normal person might have waited more than a weekend to find out if there was news, but Griff had been on the run from Kemp since he was nine and over winter break, Kemp had decided killing Griff's parents hadn't been enough. He'd tried to draw Griff out using his friends as bait. Of course it had worked, and Griff had gotten the pleasure of slipping in pools of Sam and Consuelo's blood as he fought off some of Kemp's men and finally learned the name of the man who was destroying everything Griff loved. As far as Griff was concerned, there was no unsolved case more important for these agents to be working on. Screw waiting.
He brushed some greenery from his shirt and made his way to a pay phone across the street to ring up the FBI agent in charge. He was transferred to a woman who took his name and the information that he was the one who'd sent the information and was put on hold once again. Of course they wanted him to hold. They wanted to find him.
Griff waited twenty seconds and was about to hang up and head back to Fandom when a man came on the line. "Hello? Griffin O'Conner?" He sounded far away in some noisy location. Probably commuting.
"Yes."
"Ah, good. I'm Special Agent Proctor. Give me a moment--they patched you through to my cell phone and I don't want to crash." The background noise lessened. "There, I'm on the shoulder. Where are you?"
Griff snorted into the phone, "Surely your office already told you the phone number and location." This was why he no longer bothered carrying a cell after all.
Proctor was silent for a few seconds and then he chuckled. "Well, yes, they did. I got your letter. Very interesting reading."
"Has it produced any results?" Patience wasn't a virtue Griff gave a damn about.
"Maybe. A lot of questions, for one thing. What makes you think this Kemp character was involved in the murders at Sam Coulton's ranch?"
Griff thought about what to tell and what he needed to keep to himself. In the end, he told the truth. The only people the truth would hurt were already dead. Or people he wished were dead. "Kemp talked to me from there. By phone. He told me to come there or he'd kill Sam and Consuelo. I was afraid, so I called the INS and the sheriff. And yes," he added stridently, "I lied to the INS about there being a bunch of illegals there, but I thought the more people, the less chance of anyone getting-" Griff took a deep breath. "I lied."
"And this Kemp was there when your parents were killed?"
"Definitely." Griff remembered his face far too clearly.
"What's the common thread here, Griffin? What does Kemp want?"
"Me. I'm the common thread. Kemp wants me-he wants me dead." And these days he probably wasn't the only one.
"Why? He could've killed you at your parents', right?"
"He tried. I got away. I've got the scars."
"Again, why? What's the motive?"
Griff shook his head. He still didn't know exactly why, but it had to have something to do with the jumping. "I don't really know why." A partial truth.
Proctor continued, "And where do Sam and Consuelo come in? Were they friends of your family? 'Cause I'm not finding any record of that."
"No. They found me in the desert after I got away. I was a mess and they took care of me until I was better. Later, I went and stayed with Consuelo's niece in Mexico, in the state of Oaxaca. Her house was blown up right after the murders." I paused. "You knew that, right?"
Proctor exhaled. "Yeah. That I know. It was too close to the murders, the niece's home and all that. No bodies found."
"They missed. It was close."
"Were you there? There weren't any calls from Mexico that day, to the ranch."
"Ah, phone records. Mine would be the call from the pay phone in El Centra." Griff told him a half-truth. "Consuelo's niece, Alejandra Losada, was almost killed in the explosion."
"Where is she now?"
"In hiding." He hoped she was well hidden and suddenly glared into the phone as he realized how long he'd been answering questions. "You haven't once asked me to come talk to you! You sent people, didn't you?"
Proctor paused, then said, "It's for your protec-"
Griff hung up. Protection his ass. Out on Coast Boulevard, two black-and-white SDPD cars had stopped behind all the parked cars and four officers were getting out. He went down the stairs past the seal observation deck, moving briskly, dodging the tourists, and headed out onto the breakwater. It was windy and cold in the early morning and there were only a few people braving the sea spray that regularly shot through the railing.
The police followed slowly. It was a dead end, after all.
Griff reached the end, put one hand on the rail, and launched himself over. It was rocks and surf perhaps twelve feet below and Griff heard someone shout from behind, and then he was standing in a parking lot in Alexandria.
[NFB, NFI. Warning: This post contains details of previous NPC death and mild language.]
A normal person might have waited more than a weekend to find out if there was news, but Griff had been on the run from Kemp since he was nine and over winter break, Kemp had decided killing Griff's parents hadn't been enough. He'd tried to draw Griff out using his friends as bait. Of course it had worked, and Griff had gotten the pleasure of slipping in pools of Sam and Consuelo's blood as he fought off some of Kemp's men and finally learned the name of the man who was destroying everything Griff loved. As far as Griff was concerned, there was no unsolved case more important for these agents to be working on. Screw waiting.
He brushed some greenery from his shirt and made his way to a pay phone across the street to ring up the FBI agent in charge. He was transferred to a woman who took his name and the information that he was the one who'd sent the information and was put on hold once again. Of course they wanted him to hold. They wanted to find him.
Griff waited twenty seconds and was about to hang up and head back to Fandom when a man came on the line. "Hello? Griffin O'Conner?" He sounded far away in some noisy location. Probably commuting.
"Yes."
"Ah, good. I'm Special Agent Proctor. Give me a moment--they patched you through to my cell phone and I don't want to crash." The background noise lessened. "There, I'm on the shoulder. Where are you?"
Griff snorted into the phone, "Surely your office already told you the phone number and location." This was why he no longer bothered carrying a cell after all.
Proctor was silent for a few seconds and then he chuckled. "Well, yes, they did. I got your letter. Very interesting reading."
"Has it produced any results?" Patience wasn't a virtue Griff gave a damn about.
"Maybe. A lot of questions, for one thing. What makes you think this Kemp character was involved in the murders at Sam Coulton's ranch?"
Griff thought about what to tell and what he needed to keep to himself. In the end, he told the truth. The only people the truth would hurt were already dead. Or people he wished were dead. "Kemp talked to me from there. By phone. He told me to come there or he'd kill Sam and Consuelo. I was afraid, so I called the INS and the sheriff. And yes," he added stridently, "I lied to the INS about there being a bunch of illegals there, but I thought the more people, the less chance of anyone getting-" Griff took a deep breath. "I lied."
"And this Kemp was there when your parents were killed?"
"Definitely." Griff remembered his face far too clearly.
"What's the common thread here, Griffin? What does Kemp want?"
"Me. I'm the common thread. Kemp wants me-he wants me dead." And these days he probably wasn't the only one.
"Why? He could've killed you at your parents', right?"
"He tried. I got away. I've got the scars."
"Again, why? What's the motive?"
Griff shook his head. He still didn't know exactly why, but it had to have something to do with the jumping. "I don't really know why." A partial truth.
Proctor continued, "And where do Sam and Consuelo come in? Were they friends of your family? 'Cause I'm not finding any record of that."
"No. They found me in the desert after I got away. I was a mess and they took care of me until I was better. Later, I went and stayed with Consuelo's niece in Mexico, in the state of Oaxaca. Her house was blown up right after the murders." I paused. "You knew that, right?"
Proctor exhaled. "Yeah. That I know. It was too close to the murders, the niece's home and all that. No bodies found."
"They missed. It was close."
"Were you there? There weren't any calls from Mexico that day, to the ranch."
"Ah, phone records. Mine would be the call from the pay phone in El Centra." Griff told him a half-truth. "Consuelo's niece, Alejandra Losada, was almost killed in the explosion."
"Where is she now?"
"In hiding." He hoped she was well hidden and suddenly glared into the phone as he realized how long he'd been answering questions. "You haven't once asked me to come talk to you! You sent people, didn't you?"
Proctor paused, then said, "It's for your protec-"
Griff hung up. Protection his ass. Out on Coast Boulevard, two black-and-white SDPD cars had stopped behind all the parked cars and four officers were getting out. He went down the stairs past the seal observation deck, moving briskly, dodging the tourists, and headed out onto the breakwater. It was windy and cold in the early morning and there were only a few people braving the sea spray that regularly shot through the railing.
The police followed slowly. It was a dead end, after all.
Griff reached the end, put one hand on the rail, and launched himself over. It was rocks and surf perhaps twelve feet below and Griff heard someone shout from behind, and then he was standing in a parking lot in Alexandria.
[NFB, NFI. Warning: This post contains details of previous NPC death and mild language.]