The Ice Cream Man - Bomb-pops and Brain Freeze

The trio sat at the Omaha Upstream Brewery table,“I’m telling you Jacque, the clock is ticking and you need a best seller…now! Your last decent book was what, three years ago?!” Amanda wasn’t just riding his case because she was his editor…well, yeah she was. Her paycheck was suffering too. She’d vested in this southern boy the moment she heard one of his New Orleans weird-crimes stories; she knew he had a future.

Jacque put his cold mug down next to his latest book and wiped his frothy chin, “You don’t have to tell me. The poor turn-outs for these book tours you’ve lined up for me speak volumes. I just need one good story to fall in my lap; I know I can spin a great tale out of it. That’s why I brought Horace along; a skilled photographer who can add reality to the story.” And that’s when the young tattooed gal approached, “Excuse me. Are you that famous author on the back of that book?”

As Jacque entertained one of his few admirers, the 25 year old photographer introduced himself to Amanda, “Matt. Only my mother calls me Horace. I can take a picture or make a picture; photoshop if you know what I mean. Take that man outside in the stained and wrinkled suit. What’s a hobo like him doing walking around with an expensive briefcase? I could take his picture and turn him into a local CEO exec. Or Jacque could makeup a story about him being a murderer. Remember, books are just stories. Doesn’t have to be true stories. Especially if you’re desperate for a best seller.”

Jacque finished autographing the book for his young admirer before saying goodbye. Amanda quick to point out, “You do realize that was your book you just GAVE away. How do you expect to make money?” But Amanda wasn’t going to spoil Jacque’s moment of self-worth. The next passer byer snipped, “Hey, are you that weird crime author? Man, you suck! What a lame ass story of the daughter killing her mother, biting her on the chest, then claiming the “devil made me do it.” You quoting Flip Wilson now?”

And that’s when Matt’s hobo approached their table with his own book copy in hand, “I thought so; you ARE the author Jacque Francois. You’ll believe me. Most of what I say will seem mad. But I am not mad. Please listen to me. If you don’t believe me, I’ll just get up and leave. I won’t try to hurt you or anyone else.” The trio sat dumbfounded, and thus the man’s story continued. Matt listened intensely since he’d glimpsed the holstered pistol under the man’s arm.

Larry Helmsworth’s story was of his kidnapped son. “Four years ago I was a successful researcher for a law firm. I was divorced, but I had joint custody of my son. We had the summer together. I bought him ice-cream from the truck. [Loud enough to attract attention from neighboring tables] STUPID ME! I BOUGHT HIM ICE CREAM! Then that night as I slept, a sound. Something woke me. Felt the urge to check on David. Gone; bed empty. Then I saw him walking toward the ice-cream truck. Ignored my calls as if in a trance. The blonde young ice-cream man climbing out all smiles, reaching for David. As I fought for David I glimpsed those dead black eyes of the driver. I woke the next morning on my living-room floor with no memory. My ex-wife claimed I’d sent David away from her. Got the police involved, who got a hypnotist involved who restored my memory. The stench of the man came flooding back.”

Larry explained these last 4 years devoted to tracking the ice-cream man. His briefcase full of pictures, news clippings, post-office missing children posters. “I showed everything to the police but they didn’t believe me, especially when I told how the ice-cream man is a monster who skins the real ice-cream man and takes his place. Steals about 2 kids per month. Moves from town to town. I tracked him here to his route in Bellevue. Finally justice; I shot him. But then realized the eyes were wrong. The poor innocent young ice-cream man dead. The monster still loose.”

As Larry told his story, Matt texted 911 for police. Other patrons too called the police as they could easily overhear the hysterical confessor. Thus sirens could be heard wailing in the distance and getting closer. Larry hearing and thus kicking his briefcase under the table, “It’s up to you to find him and kill him. I want you to kill the ice-cream truck man.” As the police enter the Upstream bar, Larry unholsters his pistol, “It’s time to pay for my crime and join my son.”

As Jacque and Amanda dive for cover, Matt rises to grapple for the gun. Shots ring out. Two bullets directed toward the ceiling. The police rushing to tackle the gunman. As the police lead Larry away, one remains to question them, “That was a pretty stupid thing you did there. Could have got shot. But you saved lives. Especially cop lives. Did you know the man?” Almost a half hour of questioning before they finally settle back into their chairs. “Man, I can use a drink right now. Make it a double.” Jacque adding, “I could use a smoke. My asthma is acting up.” And that’s when Amanda remembers, “The briefcase.” Which Jacque claims, “That’s my newest best seller you’re holding there.”

They struggle to unlock the briefcase: 0-0-0, 0-1-2, 1-2-3. “When did Larry say his son was kidnapped?” Matt googles the topic, “June 15^th, 2014. Try 6-1-5.” CLICK. Piles of data. Photos of ice-cream trucks in various cities as labeled on the back, post-office posters of missing children (at least 80, two per city). Meticulous notes: the latest dated ones mostly ‘chicken scratches’ showing Larry’s weary state. Amanda notices the truck in every picture has the same vender number on its side (231), “It’s the same truck driven to every city.” 

Jacque arranges the pictures by date, “The truck came to Omaha from Des Moines. I’ll see if I can find its prior owner.” But his computer search (76) is a dead-end. He tries researching ice-cream routes in Des Moines (a push roll – 99). He’s up all night in a desperate attempt to bust the case wide open. At least Matt had success googling “The Center for Exploited Children” confirming a sampling of the missing child posters. And Amanda has located Omaha’s “Mr. Ice Cream” on Q street and highway 75. She tries to call the police station to gain more information about Larry, but her charm skills (rolled 99) sux as the detective now thinks her disturbed. They call it a night.

It's already 10am when they finally gather. Matt having taken pictures of all the briefcase data, “Notice I didn’t handle anything. I’m not going to be accused of withholding evidence.” Amanda drives them to the police station to turn in the briefcase. Jacque giving the excuse Larry had given it to him for a book story; him not realizing it was evidence till after he opened it. Per head detective Johnson (that Amanda had failed to charm), “We’d been looking for Larry these last few days since the newspaper article came out. He saved us a lot of time pleading guilty. Otherwise we would have wasted hours and days focused on the briefcase material to work a motive.”

In the police lobby Jacque has already pulled up the newspaper story. “Maybe we can find new clues at ‘Mr. Ice Cream.’ Go there for a human-interest story on their deceased driver, Mr. Jeffery Kelly.”

The business is open and Mr. Downer more than willing to get in the spotlight, “Be sure to make it a happy story. Don’t want to discourage business. Jeffery? A loner; lives lived in Dundee. Came from Detroit. Just purchased the truck 2 days ago off of Auto-Trader.” Only his 2^nd day on the Bellevue route. The truck? Each driver purchases his own truck but Downer needs each driver to fill-out paperwork (truck safety and health inspections, driver badges). Jeffrey’s truck? The police have it in their impound lot. Matt (googling Auto-Trader) corrects him, “Actually the truck is already up for resale. The original owner (Mr. Hugh Jones) claiming it wasn’t fully paid off and thus he reclaimed it. Police had to release it.”

Mr. Downer getting suspicious of their line of questioning, “Why the interest in the truck instead of Jeffery?” Amanda fast-talking how they’re just covering all the angles. Matt insuring him even he will be mention. “Oh? Did you need my picture?” Matt showing him casual pictures of him talking to them. “Oh no. Not the cigarette. Poor health image to the kids. Let me pose.” But Matt already photoshopping the cig out of the picture. “Yeah, I like that.” Before leaving Matt secretly plants a small camera on the side of the building in hopes of recording the truck’s arrival.

Back in Amanda’s car, they each pull out their phones to google different angles. Matt digging deeper into Auto-Trader. Truck described as 6 years old, like new, even with a soft-serve bin. Matt tries to place a bid so they can possibly see THE truck, “Damn! The truck already sold to a Mr. Martin Ray in Bellevue.” Amanda researching the car-tax history: was registered to Jones, then Kelly, back to Jones, and now Ray. Addresses for both Jones and Ray. Jacque trying to research prior truck owners; comparing names to obituaries. Chasing his hunch the drivers and kids are both victims. Dead end. [All prior drivers were single and without local family to question them missing. The business owners just assuming they had moved on to better jobs.]

While Amanda and Matt drive off to check out Hugh Jones’ address, Jacque takes an Uber to Ray’s address. Studio apartments for the younger crowd. Flashing a press pass, Jacque finds a busy-body neighbor, “I’m doing a background investigation on Martin Ray. Just character research since he’ll be driving an ice-cream truck and around vulnerable kids.” The mother holding two of her brats on her hips, “Wish more folks had background checks. Martin? Recent Bellevue West grad. Said he was an orphan. Nice kid. Hope he covers our area with his ice-cream route.” Meanwhile Matt and Amanda have hit a dead-end. A false address; this one owned by an older couple.

As coordinated, they rejoin for lunch to compare notes. They plan to drive to Mr. Ice Cream to look for the truck. It’s back and the gate still open. Matt casually enters to retrieve his camera. As they wait for it to get dark and the business close, they replay the camera. Nothing alarming – Ray dropping off the truck then climbing into a 90s Cavalier. Amanda researches the prior missing children, “Seems to be a pattern. 13-18 days between reports in each city. Then another 13-18 days before the next report in the next city. Is that a lunar cycle thing?”

Once it gets dark, Amanda and Jacque check local shops for a ladder to scale the fence (both roll 99). “Larry did say the truck snatched his kid at night. Let’s wait and see if Martin shows up.” Amanda drives off to get snacks and drinks for the long stakeout. It’s 2am before they call it quits. “We’re here. Let’s at least check out the truck. Scale the fence in the corner furthest from the security camera. It’s a cheap camera with poor range and image quality.” Jacque climbs the fence then sneaks to the truck; unlocked. He waves for the others. “What are we looking for?” “I’ll tell you when we find it.”

Phone lites splash the inside of the truck. A 6 ft long freezer. Beside it a large mixing bowl… with serrated blades! WTF, you don’t need blades to churn soft-serve ice cream. Amanda and Jacque open the freezer and almost collapse gagging. Empty except for the acidic smell, like vomit. The inside sides and bottom lined with stiff plastic like your grandmother protects her couch. While Amanda climbs into the cab to check the glovebox (nothing but registration paperwork), Jacque enters the adjacent truck grabbing a water bottle. He pours the water into the suspect truck’s mixing bowl. “I was hoping to find particles washed out of the spout. I don’t know; the blades grinding meat?” Matt attaches (stealth 87) one of his GPS-Pro cameras in the upper corner before leaving. “It’s motion activated. Maybe we can catch him in the act.”

The next morning they arrive at the business at 10am just as the trucks are leaving. They see Downer escorting Martin to his truck, handing him paperwork. Before climbing into his truck, Martin seems to pause with a sensual rub along the truck body. Amanda drives in pursuit. “Not too close.”

South on 75 turning on Chandler into Bellevue. The truck music playing and the kids on summer break lining the streets.

Amanda parks then she and Matt walk to the truck to order ice cream (as if a loving couple). They notice the menu on the side of the truck doesn’t list soft-serve. As they return to the car, Amanda exclaims, “Did you see it?! His black eyes! Like death! And that overpowering smell of cheap cologne.” 

They drive around the block to let Jacque out. “I’ll have a bomb-pop. On second thought, make it a soft-serve cone.” “Sorry sir, we don’t sell soft-serve.” “What are you talking about; I bought soft-serve from Jeffery last month from this exact same truck. Same logo number on the side.”

And that’s when Martin got loud and belligerent, “What are you, some kind of pervert?! Hell no, I don’t serve penis-pops!” When Martin pushes (spell attack) Jacques’ hand off the serving counter, Jacque suddenly blacks out and collapses, hitting his head hard on the curb. As the truck quickly drives off, Amanda and Matt rush to Jacques aid. They rush him to the emergency room. Hours before he’s seen. Matt taking the opportunity to go Walmart shopping for GPS trackers. Jacque finally able to leave, under concussion watch, with a splitting headache, “I don’t remember anything. I was eating a bomb-pop and then brain-freeze.”

It’s already 10pm and dark when they arrive at Mr. Ice-Cream’s lot. And the gate open, and the cab light on in the truck. Matt driving this time as the truck pulls out. Too close as the truck speeds up. But they know where he is going, so they don’t accelerate. They catch up to the truck at the red off-ramp light. Amanda gets out and plants a tracker on the side of the truck but stumbles trying to get back to the car without being seen. Phone app tracker shows the truck turning onto the same street where Jacque was attacked. Now stopped. Matt turns his lights off as he too turns onto the street. Just in time to see a child getting into the truck. As the truck quickly drives off, Matt pursues while Amanda calls the cops. Matt is barely keeping up (chase scene) as the truck now speeds down Fort Crook road turning west onto Capehart. Ignoring all red lights and stop signs. Matt almost losing control (drive roll of 98) as he jumps a curb. Clanging of a lost hubcap bouncing down the street. “Turn the damn headlights on!”

The truck out of sight but the tracker showing it has turned south onto a gravel road. Matt slamming the breaks as they slid to a stop behind the truck. Jacque jumping out and running to the truck, throwing the back doors open. “AAAUGH!” Jacque screaming as if in pain (he’s psychotically blinded from his failed Sanity check). 

Blinded whether from seeing the monster before him or seeing Martin’s skin suit hung up on the back of the truck. Amanda and Matt arrive but pass their Sanity check (forewarned by Jacques screams). But they shudder at the sight of the monster, with cleaver in hand, chopping up the child and feeding pieces into the running mixing bowl. And the monster pouring himself a big-gulp drink from the spout.

Amanda attacks with her fists, Matt with his knife. Jacque reacting to the sounds pulls out his cigarette lighter and his asthma atomizer using them as a blowtorch (4 pts) aimed toward the monster sounds. The monster screams spewing acidic vomit at the blindman. Fists, and knife, and now cleaver swinging. One more blowtorch hit (9 points) earns Jacque a critical hit. As Jacque falls, Matt finds an opening for a lethal stab. The monster collapses, then slowly begins to melt away. Just as approaching police sirens grow louder. Amanda rushes to Jacque only to find him dead. Both survivors hug as the police now confront them.

EPILOGUE:

Amanda and Matt have been charged with the murder of the ice-cream man. As they readily admitted. Well they admitted to killing a monster, but only Martin Ray’s flayed skin was left as evidence. Matt’s motion-activated camera in the cab: the flayed skin was hung before it blocking all vision. Only sound was recorded, and it implied they killed…something. At the trial, “Ms. Wilson, remember you are still under oath. What did you hear while serving these two at Upstream?” “Well your honor, I heard Mr. Helmsworth tell these two, ‘I want you to kill the ice-cream truck man.’ They had gathered at the table like a gang plotting their next move.” “I object your honor. Drawing conclusions.” Matt’s phone presented as evidence with all the picture copies of Larry’s briefcase contents. Yes, part of his gang. The jury deliberation was short. Guilty.

The only good outcome: Jacque Francois’ books were selling like hotcakes. Nothing like death to make you famous.