Page 49 of Aftermath

"Just answer," Cam said quickly, impatiently.

He sensed Austin's smile and was sure it was 'cause Austin knew him by now—his temper, his impatience. For a second, Austin leaned closer to him, but then he frowned and leaned back again, quickly followed by a shake of his head.

"Before getting lunch," Sean continued, appearing to think back on the day he was kidnapped, "I'd picked up my son's tux—Valentine's Dance and all. And, uh…I was looking for work; I had a couple interviews lined up. Talked to the people down at the unemployment office—"

"That could be it." Cam snapped his fingers and nodded. Then he resumed patching up Austin's arm and lowered his voice. Sean was out of the conversation already. "So, imagine Psycho trying to find his next victim. He follows Sean, who looks like an average Joe, and hits the goddamn jackpot when Sean later unknowingly tells the world he doesn’t have a job when he walks into that unemployment office." He paused to pay attention as he tore off a bit of medical tape and fastened it across Austin's skin. "When he's done, he's got a couple unemployed dudes, a couple construction workers, a mechanic, a mailman, a plumber…it goes on like that. No suits." He eyed Austin. "No Ivy League or other fancy colleges. No fucking success."

Austin arched a brow. "There's a lot of money in construction." And he went on about how he knew that for several reasons. Bakersfield was attractive mainly for the oil and agriculture industries, but also 'cause of its low sales tax, which led to many companies moving here—or there?—depending on where they were right now. Land was cheap, and when a company relocated to Bakersfield, it resulted in many other businesses booming, as well. Construction was certainly one of them. Plants and manufacturing warehouses, housing projects and road construction…the list went on.

Cam waved it off, though. "That has nothing to do with it. No matter how much a mechanic or a construction worker makes, you don’t think about them when you hear the word 'success.' And you sure as shit don’t think academic success about a mailman."

"That’s what you were trying to say before, wasn’t it?" Austin murmured. "We were talking about any kind of connection we might have, and you mentioned our jobs."

Cam nodded and wiped some sweat off his forehead. "It's what we have in common—menial jobs, so to speak. And you saw how that fucking prick went off on you and Tim when he learned about your degrees. Something's up with that. He didn’t pick random dudes."

Gale nodded as Cam spoke; for once he was keeping his voice steady, and because he was talking, it was easier to remain in the present and not be sucked in completely by the past.

"It was the same theory Mr. Morris came to." Victor spoke of the FBI profiler who had been assigned to give answers to those who needed them. Cam wasn’t one of them. Maybe the theories were true, but only one motherfucker could confirm.

"It doesn’t fit with that insane bastard's real family members, though," Sean said, looking frustrated. "I'm working-class, out of a job at the moment, and he kept calling me Scott, some high school bully. But the real Scott…I read in an interview with him that he's a lawyer. Married, has kids, does charity—the whole shebang."

"Yeah," Victor agreed. "I was supposed to be his older brother, who is now raving about that lunatic in the papers. Says they were close and whatever, yet I was shot. Anyway, he—Fred, the older brother—is a successful spokesperson, fuckin' lobbyist, for some oil company."

Cam sighed and rolled his neck, closing his eyes for a beat. This could go on forever, and they'd never come to a conclusion. So, why bother? Psycho had lost his fucking marbles; let's leave it at that. Rhyme and reason wouldn’t help him sleep better at night.

"He was intimidated by success."

Everyone turned to Chase, who had spoken up in his quiet, gruff voice. He had his knees drawn up, his forearms leaning on them, and his head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. He reminded Cam a little of himself with his rough exterior, though Chase was a couple years older. Holey jeans, biker boots, simple T-shirt, and a pair of Ray-Bans on top of his head.

Gale was pleasantly surprised—it was easy to tell—'cause Chase rarely talked. Even Cam and Austin, who were quiet, had nothing on Chase.

"Care to elaborate, Chase?" Gale asked encouragingly.

Chase opened his mouth without moving from his position and kept his eyes closed as if he was napping. "They're all successful—that asshole's family members. It's pretty clear to me. I've read every interview, watched every news segment…" He shrugged with one shoulder. "He obviously felt like he'd been mistreated by these guys at some point in his life, but he was intimidated by their status. So, he took out his anger on ten innocent men who weren't all big shots. He could play boss with us. He wouldn’t be able to do that with a lawyer, a CEO, a producer…"

It was quiet for a while before Tim said, "Remy, Stahl's little brother, works in a tattoo parlor. I don’t see that as very successful."

Chase tensed up slightly at the mention of Remy, the name he'd been given in captivity, but answered without wavering. "He does that for kicks; it's his fucking hobby. He also runs a website—something with music, and the advertising makes him cash in like a king. Trust me, that fucker's loaded."

Chase had evidently done his research.

"Why would Stahl be intimidated by success, though?" Lance asked. "That’s what I don’t get."

Cam rolled his eyes, as there could be a million reasons and factors. "All it'd take is a case of Daddy issues. There're people all over the world who're fucked in the head 'cause of how they were raised." It was anyone's guess, andthatwas why Cam didn’t give a fuck. "Maybe his pops told him that you're a fucking loser without an education or a good paying job." He shrugged.

Gale looked at the guys. "Well, that's certainly something to ponder, isn't it?"

Not really, Cam thought wryly. Weeks ago, they'd found out that Psycho's dad lived in some old folks' home and had Alzheimer's, so again, what did it matter? Were they gonna ask this old fuck who didn’t know his own name how he'd raised his son?

Yeah, I don’t fucking think so.

"Okay." Gale sat back and took a glance at her notepad. "Let's move on. What happened next?"

No one volunteered to answer.

When Psycho shouted, "I said back off!" everyone heard it. Tim and Chase were already in the cell, and Cam and Austin got there a few seconds before Victor, Sean, and Lance did. Huddling near the doorway, they all saw the fucking Zippo lighter in Psycho's cuffed hands.

"I thought you searched him." Chase slapped Tim's arm.

---