Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) (22 page)

"Mark Taylor?"

A group of men in suits crowded the hallway. Mark's hand tightened on the doorknob. This couldn't be good.

 "I'm Agent Thomas with the Washington office of the FBI.” His dark eyes, framed by bushy eyebrows, focused on Mark and showed no hint of friendliness. “We have a warrant for your arrest.” The man flashed a badge and motioned with his arm to the men behind him. “Secure the site.”

Irritation changed to confusion at the sight of the badge. Stunned, he stepped back as four of them pushed their way in.  Even though Jessie had mentioned the rumor, he never thought it would come to this. He just needed a chance to explain.

Mark staggered as one man pushed him against the wall and frisked him. Removing the camera from around Mark's neck, he set it on the table beside the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw it wobble and almost topple off the pile of junk mail.

"Hey!" He reached to steady it, but a shove to his back jammed his face against the wall. Mark grunted and bit back a curse as his cheekbone scraped against the brick.  A hand entered his field of vision and snatched the camera.

The agent yanked Mark's arms behind his back, and Mark strained to look over his shoulder. “Hold on!  If you'll just listen to me for a second.” The cuffs bit into his flesh as they clicked closed.

“Save it. You're under arrest as a material witness for terrorist acts against the United States.” The man's voice boomed in the loft as he spun Mark face forward. Another agent grabbed Mark's right elbow.

Mark's knees buckled and only a hard jerk on his elbow kept him upright. "You can't be serious.” His stomach twisted as a cold sweat broke over him. He felt bile rise and feared he was going to vomit.

Jason and Gail wandered out to the main room. Their engagement photos had been nearly complete. Mark straightened and tried to collect his composure.  Once he explained everything, he was sure the FBI would realize this was a colossal mistake and let him go.  One of the agents asked the man and woman for identification, and Mark wanted to die of shame.

“Okay, you two can go.”

Averting their faces, the couple hurried past Mark, their shoes clattering on the wooden steps. At least they weren't going to be dragged into this too. Chances were, he'd never see them again.

“Come on.” The charge guy grabbed him by an elbow and another man tugged on the other. They dragged him down the steps and outside. A small crowd had gathered on the walk beside his building and Mark dipped his head, unwilling to look at anyone. How would he ever face these people again?

Jessie tossed a file folder onto her desk. It joined a half dozen other files containing suspects flagged by the FBI. Per orders from the Chief of Police, all arrests from the last two years needed to be checked with an eye out for any possible connections to terrorism. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. It was going to be a long day. She glanced at the office coffee pot and swore. It was empty again. It seemed like she was the only one to ever made a fresh pot.

“Don't worry, I'll make the coffee."

Dan Mekowski looked up from his computer and nodded. “Great. I could use a cup.”

“Coming right up.” Her sarcasm was lost on her partner. Dan brought in donuts at least twice a week, and when she had begged him to stop, he switched to bringing in fresh fruit. She supposed one day, he would make the coffee and she could bring in the goodies.

Three hours later, her eyes burned, and she stretched. She appreciated that this was a huge job and didn't mind doing it, but some of the connections they were supposed to look for seemed so remote. The obvious suspects, those here illegally or with strong connections to the Middle East had already been sorted into a pile to be questioned. The files remaining on Jessie's desk weren't so cut and dried. Some were U.S. citizens arrested for misdemeanors and who just happened to have Arabic last names. Nothing else in their records sent up red flags.

Reaching for one of the files, she flipped it open, only to realize it wasn't the one she wanted. She rubbed her lower back and twisted it to work out a kink. “Dan, I have to take a break. These names are all beginning to melt into one big mish-mash of letters. What do you say we go get something to eat?”

Dan nodded, and then rolled his head. The audible pop made Jessie cringe. He saw it and grinned. “Yeah, I could use some food.” He stood and put his suit coat on. “How about lunch at that little hot-dog place?”

“Fine by me. I'll drive.” Jessie grabbed her purse.

The route to the restaurant would take them past Mark's building. Every time she came this way, she couldn't help thinking of him. Their first date had been a flop. He had flaked out on her and had cut the evening short, saying that he didn't feel well. An hour later, she had run to the store to pick up some ice cream, and saw Mark there chatting with the clerk. Just before she had stormed up to him, a guy in the line behind him pulled a gun. She had pulled her gun from her purse and shouted at the young man to drop the weapon and freeze. Instead, he had turned, pointing it at her. Training and instinct kicked in and she began squeezing the trigger at the threat.

“Jessie! Don't shoot! It's not a real gun.” Mark's voice penetrated and she hesitated. It saved the robber's life. He dropped what turned out to be a very realistic looking water pistol. Instead of killing a fourteen-year old kid, she had arrested him.

While grateful that she hadn't shot the teen, she couldn't help wondering how Mark had known. Did he get a better look at the weapon, being closer? When she had inspected it up close, it still looked like a real gun. The orange plastic that was supposed to be at the end of the barrel had been covered in black paint. What if Mark had been wrong?

The next day, he had called, apologizing again for the ruined date and requested a chance to make it up to her. She was unsure It wasn't just about the disastrous date. Her reluctance spun out of the many other odd dealings she'd had with him. What would her colleagues think? Mark had gained the damning reputation throughout the Chicago police department as a strange duck. Despite that, she couldn't deny the attraction she felt for him. It was more than his good looks, although she admitted to herself that was part of it. She had always had a thing for dark haired men.

Several times, while questioning him as part of investigations, she looked up and caught a wistful expression on his face. He would look away real fast and she remembered how his face had flushed. When he had finally asked her out to dinner, she knew she should say no. What kind of detective dates a man she's had to question a half a dozen times in regards to various crimes and suspicious incidents? But the hope in his eyes made it impossible to say no.

The light turned red, so she took the opportunity to take a quick peek down his street to see if his Jeep was parked out front. It was and she felt her stomach tingle with a familiar flutter. She felt like a damn schoolgirl and was glad for the sunglasses that hid her eyes from her partner.

“What's all that action out front of your boyfriend's building?”

Jessie lifted her glasses. Three unmarked police cars were parked in front of the building, but at the far end of it. “I have no idea.” 

As they watched, the door to the building opened and a tight knot of men moved down the steps toward the waiting cars. In the center, flanked by four men in suits, walked a tall, dark-haired man in handcuffs. Mark.  

“What the hell?” Dan's voice held the same note of confusion as Jessie's. The light turned green and the car behind her honked impatiently. She pushed down on the accelerator and made a quick right turn at the end of the block. By the time she circled back around, the cars were gone.

End of the first deleted scenes.

I found this scene from No Good Deed buried in my files. I can’t recall why I cut it. Possibly it was because I already had a similar scene and didn’t want it to be too repetitive, but I saved it because I liked the imagery in it. I hope you will too. This takes place towards the end of Mark’s imprisonment when he’s close to breaking.

* * *

Time seemed to shrink and grow, making it feel like days had passed when it had been only a few hours. One day blended into the next with only sessions in the room to break up the monotony. Then the sessions came less often as other methods came into play. Sometimes, he thought he'd go deaf from the noise and loud music piped into his cell. More than once, he'd curled into a ball with his hands clamped over his ears, rocking at the pain in his head. The incessant sound made thought impossible. Sleep was only a wish. The sleep deprivation wore on him and he'd pace the room, unable to stop himself. Thoughts, jumbled and disjointed, ricocheted through his brain. Even the music seemed to play games with him and he'd hear messages in the lyrics. Was he losing his mind?

His only respite came with his hour out in the yard. What was the point? One hour a week of peace? Was that worth living for? Mark slumped against the wall of the courtyard, knees pulled up and arms draped over them. He stared at a tuft of withered grass. It was the only vegetation in the courtyard and the hardy blades forced their way out of the cracks in the cement. What choice did he have?

End of deleted scene.

 This final deleted scene takes place after Mark has moved into an apartment. Remember Bud the landlord? When I started writing him, he wasn’t even going to be a named character, just the mean slum landlord, but something happened, and he acquired a softer side. It is especially evident in this scene that I had to cut simply because it didn’t really add to the plot and I had some feedback that it might slow the story down. Objectively I agreed, but I always loved this little scene. This takes place right after Mark has painted his apartment and has taken on a few other painting jobs for Bud.

Playing Pool

Some jobs, Bud paid him cash, others, he knocked a few bucks off the rent. Either way, Mark felt like he came out ahead. The weather eased from brutal cold to spring dampness, and when he wasn’t working at the camera shop or fixing up apartments, he jogged. The freedom of running wherever he wanted never got old.

One evening, Bud came by with a different request. “Wanna go have a beer?”

The offer caught Mark completely off guard and he stepped back. “Ah…I, um…”

Bud scowled. “Jeez, if you don’t wanna go, just say so. Ain’t no skin off my nose.”

“No…no, that’s not it. I just…I’m surprised, that’s all.” Mark broke into a grin. “You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I went out for a beer. I’d love to go.”

“I’m not gonna be pushing you off the wagon, am I?” Bud peered at him, and raised his hands as if in surrender. “Cause I don’t wanna tempt you if you’re trying to stay dry.”

Mark grabbed a sweatshirt and threw it on over his t-shirt. “Nope. No worries there. Come on. Let’s go.”