No Job For An Old Man

Crime Fiction by Bern Sy Moss

“I’m lying on a bed of snow and haven’t any idea why. I seem to have lost my jacket. My head is throbbing, the throbbing accompanied by a severe pain in the back of my head. I force my hand up to where I feel the pain and make contact to what I suppose is a wound. My hair is frozen stiff around it.”

“Go on,” she said as she pushed for more, writing in her notebook anything that seemed to be of interest to her.

“I have to get up, I tell myself. That or freeze to death. I push myself up to a standing position and now see a woman nearby in her own bed of snow.

“I shake her shoulder. ‘Get up or you’ll freeze to death,’ I tell her. She ignores me. She’s past worrying about anything.

“I can see lights across the road. Maybe, a restaurant, bar, motel, someplace to get out of the cold.

“I’m shaking from the cold, sliding and slipping on the frozen ground, stumbling toward the lights. Trying to remember what happened, but most of all trying to remember who I am.

“Getting close now, I try to read the sign above one of the buildings. Snow and ice are covering most of it. ‘Resort’ is all I can read. I see cabins and the office with a restaurant and a bar attached. Loud music escapes from the bar, a throbbing beat that matches the throbbing in my head.”

“I need to get out of the cold. I feel in my pockets for money, identification—I find instead a key. Number 15 is printed on the plastic tag. I fit the key in the lock of Cabin 15. Warm air escapes from the room. I don’t remember going in.”

Looking up from her notebook, she said, “You were found in the doorway of the cabin and brought here to the hospital. Is that all you can remember, Mr. Smith?”

“Smith? Is that my name?”

“It’s the name you registered with at the resort, John Smith. Said you were from St. Louis and had no reservation. You paid cash for two nights. You had no identification on you when we found you. Not even a cell phone.”

“I don’t think that’s my name,” I said and began coughing. She handed me a glass of water.

“Why?”

“Sounds fake,” I said, then wishing I hadn’t said that.

“Do you know the dead woman; the one you claim is across the road from the bar?”

“No,” I said.

“How do you know that if you can’t remember anything before waking up in the snow next to her last night?’ she asked.

“I don’t know, Officer…,” I said. “I’m sorry I forgot your name.”

“Deputy Sky Olson.”

Sky-blue eyes set in a most attractive face. The name certainly fit her, I thought.

“How does your head feel?” she asked.

“Better. The pills must be kicking in. When can I get out of here, Deputy Olson?” I asked.

“Doc said possibility of a minor concussion. That’s why they kept you overnight. You got a few stitches in that bloody mess you had on your head and you’ll probably have a headache for a while, but he’s ready to release you. Left some pills if it gets really bad again.” She shook a small bottle of pills.

“Your memory, the doc said, could be triggered with seeing something familiar or just hearing a word or name that you can connect with. He also said you should get some help with the amnesia if it persists.

“One more thing, Mr. Smith., you paid for two nights at the resort. I would think then you were here for a reason, not just stopping for the night on your way to somewhere else, but you don’t remember why you’re here. Is that right?”

“Where is here?” I asked.

“Minnesota,” she answered.

“The ice fishing is supposed to be really great up here, isn’t it?” I said.

“And somehow you remember that. Call me if you remember any more,” she said as she handed me her card, “and don’t leave this area. I’ll have someone drive you back to the resort.”

***

Dropped off in front of Cabin 15, I turned the key in the lock and went in. Nothing in the room belonged to me—no luggage, no identification, no money, not even a warm jacket to spare me from the pervasive cold. No clue as to why I came to this place. I didn’t even recognize the face staring back at me in the mirror over the vanity.

The bar—for some reason I could not fathom at nine in the morning—was calling me. I had nothing else to do so I shivered my way down to it.  Several of the Sheriff’s Department vehicles, their warning lights flashing, were now parked across the road. Apparently, the investigation into the death of the woman—my partner in the snow—had begun.

I used the door that opened directly from the parking lot into the bar. The aroma of bacon whiffing in the air greeted me.

A man seated at one of the tables along the wall across from the bar, wearing a polo shirt with the resort’s name emblazoned on it, called out to me, “Bar’s not open. Opens at two.”

I pulled out the chair across from him interrupting his breakfast. About to put a fork full of eggs into his mouth, he stopped mid-air and said, “Hey, you didn’t come back last night.”

“You remember me?” “I do. Bourbon neat, right? But you didn’t have those bandages on your head last I saw you,” he said leaning back against his chair. “You really are a talker. Told me your first-time ice fishing and went on and on about all the research you did before you came and wanted to know if there were better places than here to fish. Of course, you’re not the first one to think the bartender knows all the secrets. Finally, you said you were going to your pickup to get some brochures for fishing resorts around here to show me. You never came back. Left your jacket. Got it here in back.”

He headed for the back room and returned with a dark blue jacket that he handed to me. I put it on and felt around in the pockets. In the right-hand pocket, I pulled out a wad of cash. In the left pocket, I felt something that for a brief moment felt familiar—a key fob for a vehicle.

“Anything else, you remember about me. See I’m having this amnesia problem,” I said.

“For real?” he asked as he filled a shot glass for me.

“Yeah, for real,” I said. I downed the bitter liquid, thanked him and then headed for the door.

As I walked back to Cabin 15, I reached in the left pocket of the blue jacket and pressed the alarm button on the key fob. A Ford F-150 sounded a noisy response.

That gave me hope. A bunch of brochures for fishing resorts were strewn on the passenger seat and I expected the duffel bag behind the passenger seat would have a change of clothes. I immediately went to the glove box. Shoved under a map to this place, I found my wallet, driver’s license with my picture, and my cell phone.

And yes, I am John Smith from St. Louis, but I also seemed to be Albert Jones and P. Thomas Harding respectively from New York and Houston. The extra driver’s licenses and more cash were nestled at the bottom of the glove box under a loaded revolver. This set off a cascade of images flashing through my memory, but too quickly for me to grasp any and make sense of them.

Who am I?

***

The County Sheriff’s Office was one large room with one smaller room, a private office, I assumed the Sheriff himself occupied. A counter separated the authorized personnel from the public. Deputy Olson waved me to the other side of the counter to her desk.

“I found my truck and personal stuff,” I said trying to give the impression I had nothing to hide and doing my best to make a show of cooperation. On the other hand, I had no intention of telling her about my other identities or the gun.

“Well, that’s good. Maybe, you can answer some questions then,” Deputy Olson said as she shuffled through the files piled on her desk. “Oh, here it is, John Smith.”

“Yes, it’s John Smith,” I said as I laid the John Smith driver’s license on her desk.

“Oh, now that’s interesting,” she said. “You now have your license? From St. Louis, with an address I see. If you don’t mind, I’ll run a background check on you.”

“What if I do mind?” I asked.

“I’m going to do it anyway,” she answered. “How did you come by your license?”

I explained that the bartender at the resort remembered me being in the bar last night and that he had my jacket, which led me to my vehicle, wallet and cell phone.

“Where’s the cell phone?” she asked.

“Left it in the pickup. Can’t remember the PIN. Useless to me now,” I said.

“Do you remember anything more about what happened last night?” she asked as she opened her notebook, pen in hand.

“Sky, is it all right if I call you Sky?” I asked.

“No.”

“All right then, Deputy Olson, I don’t remember any more than I already told you. Do they know the identity of the woman?” I asked.

Before she could answer, the door opened and with a blast of cold air, a tall uniformed figure came in. He walked up to Deputy Olson’s desk and extended his hand to me. “Sheriff Larson,” he said. “And you are?”

“John Smith,” I said returning the gesture.

 “Our person of interest, John Smith?” he asked looking to Deputy Olson.

“That’s the one,” she said. “Who was it?’ she asked in a matter-of-fact way.

“Sorry, Sky, your friend, Shelly Miller,” Sheriff Larson answered.

“No! Are you sure? It can’t be Shelly.”

Larson put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Sky, it’s Shelly.” He turned to me and said, “How about you come into my office, Mr. Smith,” as he pulled off his parka and trapper hat.

I followed him to his office leaving a very distraught Deputy Olson, sobbing uncontrollably and mumbling, “I’ll get him for this.”

Sheriff Larson put his parka and hat on one of the two wooden chairs in front of an old green metal desk. I sat in the other.

He sat across from me doing a pyramid thing with his hands and studying me for a few minutes, before finally saying, “Well here’s where we’re at so far. We have this guy who says he can’t remember anything. Lost his memory he says after he wakes up next to a dead woman. Not a good place for any guy to wake up. I know I’ve found better places. “Here’s what we’ve determined. We got a dead woman, a Shelly Miller, an employee at the resort you’re staying at and at this time looks like a victim of strangulation. That will be confirmed when the autopsy is done. It snowed last night and covered some things up, but we did find a large rock with blood on it. The way it looks whoever killed her may have slipped on the snow and hit his head on the rock. Since, you’re here, why don’t you just give us a DNA sample and ….”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Person of interest for now,” he said.

“Maybe, I need a lawyer,” I said.

“Maybe, a good idea. Do you have one?”

“Sheriff, I’ve got a cell phone in my pickup that probably has a lot of contacts that would be here right now supporting me, but I can’t even remember the PIN for it. I probably have never been so alone in my life,” I said.

 “How about that DNA sample?

“I’ll see what my lawyer says, when I find one,” I said as I zipped up my jacket and hurried out of his office. But before I could leave, I needed to make a stop at Deputy Olson’s desk.

Deputy Olson, her tone angry and belligerent, told someone on her phone, “No! I’ll be the one to fix this.” She looked my way and realized I had overheard her conversation.

“We’ll discuss this later,” she said and slammed down the phone.

Deputy Olson had shed her tears and moved on. Life goes on, no matter what, I decided.

Her words “fix this” seemed to nudge something lose in my memory, but the momentary recollection didn’t remain long enough for me to make any sense of it.

“You still have my driver’s license,” I said.

She handed me my license and I left.

So completely consumed by my conversation with Larsen, I almost missed being tailed, but not by the Sheriff’s Department, unless they were now using old, rusty pickup trucks driven by old men.

***

I drove back to the resort, checking every so often to see if my tail was still with me. I parked near the main building and so did he. I went in, but he didn’t. The resort had a choice between a fast-food establishment and a full-service restaurant. I preferred the restaurant with its roaring fireplace and white tablecloths.

I was still trying to decide between the locally caught fish or the rib eye steak when Deputy Olson approached my table.

“Can I join you?” she asked.

“Please do,” I said, thinking she was a much better catch than anything I could have pulled out of a hole in the icy lake behind the resort.

“Did you run the background check? Who am I?” I asked as I pulled out a chair for her.

“The address on your driver’s license, well it seems that area had been cleared of housing awhile back and replaced with a public park. So, it can’t be your actual address. We’re not off to a good start, are we?” she said.

She continued, “I spoke to the desk clerk on duty last night when you checked in and he remembered you. You wanted to schedule a fish-house rental for today, but there were none available. In fact, all of the fish-houses are already booked for the rest of the season. The interesting thing is, you still paid for two nights even though they couldn’t accommodate you. I find that odd. Why two nights? Why not just move on?

“And Mr. Smith, I have just talked with the bartender who worked last night and he confirmed that you had prior contact with the deceased.”

“Prior contact? What does that mean?”

She ignored my question and went on to say, “I want you to know, we do not have any unsolved crimes on our books, and this is not going to be the first. We know you did it. Won’t be the first time a woman has rejected a man’s advances only to be murdered as a result. Just a matter of proving it and I will. I have to.”

“I didn’t do anything to this Shelly. I’m sure I didn’t. I’m not that kind of guy.

“You can’t remember anything, but you’re sure you’re not that kind of guy. Maybe, you are that kind of guy and just can’t remember that you are.”

“That old man that’s watching me, the one in the rusty, old pickup truck, is he your guy?” I asked.

 “An old man in an old pickup truck? The Sheriff’s Department can do better than that. Look around you, Mr. Smith. We’re all watching you.” She got up and headed out the door.

She was right there wasn’t an eye that wasn’t on me. I lost my appetite. I needed to talk to that bartender.

***

The same bartender from the morning worked the bar. “Do you remember me?” I asked as I settled in on one of the stools.

“Yeah, the guy they think killed Shelly,” he said.

“You told them I knew her. Why would you tell them that?”

“Not exactly what I said. If you remember…”

“I don’t remember anything,” I said.

“Well, you were sitting here and we were talking. Shelly came in from the restaurant side and asked me for a cigarette. I gave her one and she went out that door,” he pointed to the door that opened to the parking lot, “to take her brake. I couldn’t help but notice that you were looking her over as she walked out.”

“That’s it? That’s prior contact?”

“Well, after a while, you went out the same door to get those brochures,” he said. “And you didn’t come back.”

“There’s a guy following me. An old man in an old, pickup truck,” I said.

He leaned over the bar, his face only inches from mine and said, “Everyone liked Shelly and a lot of people are really upset about the murder. Besides that, this sort of thing is bad business for the resort. The owners are putting a lot of pressure on the local law enforcement to get this solved as soon as possible, whatever it takes.”

“Have you got your order list ready, Joe?” someone behind me said.

“Yeah,” the bartender said and handed the list over the bar to a woman who unnecessarily brushed against me as she reached for it. Attractive and available, the body contact, I decided, to make sure I understood that.

“Thanks, Joe,” she said as she smiled at me and then headed to the restaurant side of the building.

“Who was that?” I asked thinking, I’ve seen her before, somewhere.

“Shelly’s sister, Diana. They often got mistaken for each other. Lots of family resemblance going on there. She works here too,” he said.

“She must be devastated. I mean about her sister,” I said.

“Not really. Walking around here like nothing happened.”

“Oh?”

 “Everyone liked Shelly, but Diana not so much. Diana, well, let’s just say she likes a lot of attention, single men, married ones, no matter. Didn’t sit well with Shelly, especially when one of those married men was Shelly’s husband. Lots of bad blood between them. Finally, the husband did go back with Shelly. Latest rumor is, Diana’s moved on to someone else,” he said.

“That’s interesting, anything else?” I asked.

“You come here for anything other than the local gossip?” he asked.

“Bourbon neat,” I said. “And set something up for yourself.”

***

The old man in the old pickup parked outside my cabin wanted me to know he was watching me. He gave me a hard look every time I pulled back the curtain in the cabin window.

It didn’t take much to come to the realization, I was in a lot of trouble. Everything pointed to me as Shelly Miller’s killer. How could I defend myself? I couldn’t remember anything before waking up next to her. I started to think I should just make a run for it. No, I told myself. I didn’t kill Shelly. I’m not that kind of guy, but the fear—maybe, I am that kind of guy— nagged at me.

The throbbing in my head started again. The pain-killers they gave me at the hospital had worn off and the extra pills the doc had supplied weren’t helping. Now adding to it, a man’s voice, repeating over and over in my head, telling me, “Take care, take care.”

I had no idea what that meant.

Take care of me? Take care of what? Exhaustion and the pounding in my head brought me to the point where it hurt to think. I needed to sleep. With one last look, I could see the old truck still there, the windows of the truck steamed up now, making it harder to see the old man inside. The plume from the exhaust told me as long he had gas in the tank he wouldn’t freeze to death. I went to sleep wishing he would run out of gas.

***

After a restless night filled with dreams of the dead Shelly rising up out of the snow and choking me, I was grateful to see some light coming through the gaps in the curtains. I peeked through a sliver of open curtain. The old, pickup was gone.

While I slept, someone had slipped a note under my door. It was from Deputy Olson and said the old man told her he had information that could clear me. Directions were given to where I could find her, “a place where we could talk privately away from all the prying eyes.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and took stock of everything that had happened the day before. I could remember yesterday. That came as a relief, but before finding myself next to Shelly, nothing more than flickers of memory.

“Take care,” I could hear the guy in my head say.

***

Snow falling, crisp, more like sleet, the kind that hurts your face when a sharp wind blows it at you, made the roads slick, but I seemed to know how to deal with them. Not the first time I drove in weather like this, flashed in my head, which made me think about where I called home—maybe a place where winter and snow went hand in hand.

Sky Olson’s directions brought me to the edge of a lake where her cruiser and the old pickup were parked. A lone ice fishing house stood about fifty yards from the shore. I followed footprints in the deep snow to the fish-house.

“Take care,” that guy in my head said again.

Sitting at a table in the corner of the fish-house when I opened the door, the old man looked at me then shifted his gaze to Sky sitting on one of the bunks. When she stood up, I could see she had a gun in each hand. Her eyes were cloudy with tears, some running down her face.

“Sit down John,” she said motioning me to the other chair at the table. She raised her right hand and said, “My gun and this one is his,” raising her left hand. “Important I don’t get these guns mixed up or my story won’t hold up.”

“What’s going on, Deputy?” I asked. “Is he the guy that killed Shelly?”

“He’s the guy. He’s the dumb, half-blind, old man that they sent to do the job. They told me, ‘Years of experience.’ I didn’t realize then, that meant someone too old to do the job right. This was no job for an old man. He couldn’t see well enough to see Shelly wasn’t Diana. He killed the wrong sister. He didn’t kill you. Keeping track of you was the only thing he did right.”

If Deputy Olson shared this information with me, she certainly wasn’t planning to let it get any further than this fish-house. If I wasn’t going to leave alive, then I was entitled to know everything and asked, “Why did you do this, Sky? Why did you want him to kill Diana?”

“I begged Diana to stay away from my husband. She laughed at me. She said I couldn’t make him happy and she could. So, I contracted for a hit man. You heard that right, a deputy sheriff contracting for a hit man. But I knew right away when he got here, this old man wasn’t up to the job. I told Mr. Chinn I didn’t want the old man. I wanted out of the contract.”

“Mr. Chinn?” I repeated.

“I told the old man I wanted to call it off, but the old man said, no, it was his job to do and he went ahead and did it last night. Then the old man didn’t do what he was supposed to do. He didn’t kill Diana.”

“But why me Sky? Why did you get me involved?”

“You, John, are just collateral damage,” she said. “Someone had to take the fall. Just a simple plan. Diana is strangled, then my hired guy waits at the parking lot entrance to the bar and the next guy coming out is it. You were the next guy. He puts a gun in your back brings you to the where he left Diana’s body and from behind hits your head hard enough with a rock, he kills you, then leaves the bloody rock near your body.”

“Let me just walk away. I don’t have to tell anyone,” I said as I stood and started to approach her.

She raised one of the guns and motioned me back to the chair.

“It would have been an open and shut case. You killed Diana for whatever reason we don’t even have to know. You slipped in the snow, hit your head on a rock and the murderer is also dead. Case closed. But it’s not closed. The old man didn’t kill you and now the Sheriff is thinking about charging you. I can’t have that. Can’t have a trial. Who knows what might come out of that? What if your memory came back? What might you remember? You understand, don’t you, John? I have to fix this.”

The guy in my head said, “Fix this.”

“I never killed anyone before, never even fired a gun at anyone. This isn’t easy for me, but I have to clean up the mess that the old man and I’ve made and this is the only way. It will look like the old man shot you and I got here too late to save you but I shot the old man because he had a gun drawn on me. It’ll work. It has to,” she said as she wiped tears away with the sleeve of her jacket. “Nobody is going to care about the reasons why for all this. Everybody will be dead. Case closed.

“First you old man. Got to use the right gun, my gun,” she said as she aimed her Glock with her right hand at his chest, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. His body slowly slumped over, finally falling out of the chair to the floor.

She laid her gun on the floor next to the bunk and switched the old man’s revolver to her right hand.

“Now, it’s your turn, John. I have nothing against you, but you were the next guy to come out of the bar. You were just someone to take the blame. I’m sorry. Open the door and run, John, I just can’t have you looking at me when I do it,” she said waving the gun in the direction of the door.

I opened the door and ran, but you can’t really run in thick, deep snow. I heard the crack of the gun, felt the pain in my back and fell to my knees. I turned back to face her. “You’ll have to face me if you’re going to kill me,” I said.

Then I could see things were not going according to Sky’s plan. The old man appeared in the doorway of the fish-house He had the gun, Sky’s gun, pointed at her. He aimed and fired before she could send another shot in my direction. She fell into the snow, arms outstretched as if she were going to make a snow angel. The old man moved closer to her, firing more shots into her before falling on top of her.

***

“The snow is still falling, large soft flakes now. My back is damp with my blood and my teeth are chattering from the cold. I can’t get up. With the little strength left in me, I’m crawling to my truck, to my cell phone. I’ll call for help. I remember my PIN now; it’s the same as my daughter’s birthday.

And I remember why I’m here. I’ll need to call Mr. Chinn, tell him everything has been taken care of, but not the way he expected.

“Set yourself up for some ice fishing. Supposed to be great up there. It’ll give you a cover, a reason to be there. The deputy is right about the old man, but nobody changes the contract once it’s made. Fix this for me. Take care of them both, the old man and the deputy,” were Chinn’s last words to me.

Just have to keep going. Keep crawling if I can. Keep crawling…

---

Bio: Author Bern Sy Moss has been published in several anthologies and in print and online magazines including Mystery Tribune,Woman’s World, Spine tingler Magazine, Mysterical-E, and others. The author’s manuscript “Death at Sunset” was selected as a 2024 Killer Nashville Top Pick in the Killer Nashville Claymore Awards for best first 50 pages of an unpublished manuscript in the Best Cozy Category. 

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