Yates spent the next few days as though he had left town to go into seclusion leaving only his body behind. He was nice to people he met and chose to avoid rather than confront even the most flagrant violators of the Penal Code that crossed his path. His utterances were the equivalent of those auto-replies one gets from the email accounts of absent executives; polite and undiscerning. Yates was a man whose world, already tilting, had turned upside down.
Jessie Joe Patterson had been dead and buried—figuratively—for many years in the Witness Security Program, which had the effect of protecting not only the savage Mr. Patterson, but Horvath and Yates as well. For him to turn up deceased shortly after Yates ran a make on a vehicle registered to his alias was proof that God had an evil sense of humor. He knew what lie ahead; interminable interviews with I.A., full-time surveillance of his comings and goings, wire taps on his home and cell phones and, more likely than not, GPS monitoring of his personal car and police vehicle. The trap had sprung and Yates found he was inside it unable to move. He was helpless to avoid whatever was going to happen. He was clueless as to what that might be.
Jessie Joe Patterson had been dead and buried—figuratively—for many years in the Witness Security Program, which had the effect of protecting not only the savage Mr. Patterson, but Horvath and Yates as well. For him to turn up deceased shortly after Yates ran a make on a vehicle registered to his alias was proof that God had an evil sense of humor. He knew what lie ahead; interminable interviews with I.A., full-time surveillance of his comings and goings, wire taps on his home and cell phones and, more likely than not, GPS monitoring of his personal car and police vehicle. The trap had sprung and Yates found he was inside it unable to move. He was helpless to avoid whatever was going to happen. He was clueless as to what that might be.
(c)2006 Stephen Mitchell
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