Free Closure (Jack Randall) by Randall Wood Page A

wanted to find out where he had been. It would stay on him at all times. The transmitters were perfect. Paul had included six of them. Paul was optimistic. Sam smiled, as he would be lucky if he got to use one. The receiver picked up all but one signal from them. He was down to five, but Sam doubted that would be a problem. There were two cell phones, both prepaid, with plenty of minutes, and untraceable. A frequency checker, for any bystanders and himself. He spent a few minutes playing with it to get familiar. The sweat running down his back made him put it down. He opened the bottle of Gatorade he had brought along and drained half of it. He could play with the laser more at the hotel. It had to be close to a hundred degrees in here by now. He stood and took off his pants. He needed them dry when he went back to the hotel. Now clothed in his underwear, he began separating the equipment into two piles. When he was done, he reached for the set of golf clubs that were standing in the corner, a new set of Pings. Sam had to smile again at the irony. He didn’t golf, but good old T. Addicot had. He figured if Pings worked for T., they would work for him. He removed the clubs, and began packing the equipment in the pouches and bottom of the bag. The tripods went in the top, along with the clubs carefully arranged around them. The small monitor would fit in the large shopping bag Paul had provided. He would bring that up to the room after he went looking for the missing equipment this afternoon. Paul had apologized for coming up short on the list, but at least he had been smart and left off items that Sam could get himself. Sam threw his new clubs in the trunk before pounding the crates back together. From the gym bag he pulled a towel and a can of spray deodorant. He cleaned up best he could before he got dressed and opened the door. Nobody in the aisle. He could see the heat rolling off the blacktop. Good. He replaced the lock in the hasp, and pulled a green zip-tie from his pocket. It was the expensive type with the metal band within the plastic, same as the police used for cheap handcuffs. You couldn’t just snap this one off as easy; it had to be cut off with a tool. Sam would know if anyone had been in his unit next time he was here. He drove out past the office. An elderly woman was smoking a cigarette by the gate. He gave her a quick wave as he drove through and she waved the Marlboro in return. Sam pulled out the page he had ripped from the phonebook, checking the address and name of his destination. With the air-conditioning cranked up, he turned east into the morning sun.

 
    The state of Florida holds 79,594 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 53,327 are repeat offenders.
    —NINE—

    T wenty minutes later Sam was looking through the plate glass window of a large hobby store. A large selection of model airplanes, remote control cars, and all the related gear was on display. Sam also checked the people inside. One guy was at the counter reading the paper, older than Sam by maybe ten years. A thirtyish man and his son were checking out plane engines on the other side of the store; apparently a slow day for business.
    The door chimed as he entered the store and the man looked up from his paper.
    “Hello, help you find anything today?”
    “Not sure yet. Where do you keep your radios?”
    “Back corner.” He pointed. The man and his son approached with an engine for the latest father-son project. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
    “Thank you.”
    He smiled at the eager kid before he walked in the direction indicated. Sam saw what he needed as soon as he looked through the display case. A Futaba radio with four servos. Designed for use in model airplanes, the kit came with a powerful radio with a very good range and a collapsing antenna. The standard four-servo kit was enough for the throttle, two ailerons, and the rudder of the average model airplane. Perfect.
    “What can I do you for?”
    The man had