by Dale Mayer
“Well sure, but it was pretty bland. And there was no dessert.”
Both men’s gazes went to the cinnamon buns she had brought out, but only about six were left. She nodded toward them. “If you still have room, go ahead.”
Both men reached out and snagged one.
She shook her head. “After this much food for breakfast, you probably won’t need anything else until dinner tonight.”
“It’s always good to be fed when you go hunting,” Jager said, mumbling around the food in his mouth.
She nodded. “Exactly as I thought.”
Both men, their second cinnamon buns now in hand, disappeared.
She did the dishes, then went to her freezer and pulled out steaks. She had some big prawns she could grill with them. She seasoned the steaks and left them in the fridge to defrost. She’d been planning to do something with them on the weekend, but they could be eaten now. She liked to marinate her meat a little longer if she could.
She walked to the living room and watched through the front window as both men hopped into the truck. She thought it was Geir’s truck. Interesting they were only taking one this time.
As she headed past her front counter, the phone rang. She frowned. She wanted to get to her studio. She answered it to find another single male would be arriving. In delight, she told him it was no problem, and she would be here most of the day and could check him in. He said he’d be here within an hour.
“Perfect,” she said as she hung up. She had two rooms ready. She thought about it and decided which one it would be. She put a note down in her guest book and went to her studio to make the most of the time she had.
As she walked inside the small studio, turning on the lights and opening up as many of the windows as she could, she deliberately avoided looking at her new painting. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, she stood in front of it and studied it.
And sighed with joy. It was just as amazing as it had been the first time.
Finally she took it down, set it on the floor against the wall, where it would be prominent while she painted the next one. She brought up a slightly larger canvas and put it on the easel. She had no clue what it would be, but it needed to be something in the same vein as the last one. She had to have something, more than one something, for Friday. And she had to have a theme, a name for the collection. She closed her eyes as she thought about it but immediately felt tension choking her. What if she couldn’t duplicate the first effort? “Stop that,” she chided herself. “It takes trust. And a lot of it. Grab your paints and start like you did yesterday.”
To that end, she walked to the sink, pulled out her brushes, dried them off until they were perfect for working with and then headed to her large selection of paints. With her clean palette in hand, she found a beautiful orange, some yellow and some white that she mixed together. It took her a bit to work it in, but suddenly this bright tangerine formed with a weird luminescent glow to it. She smiled happily.
“Perfect.” She returned to the canvas, stood in front of it for a moment with her eyes closed, then took a deep breath. “Okay, so this is faith. You need to have a little faith in your ability. Let’s go.”
And without any real idea of what she was doing, she set her paintbrush and paint to the canvas and started working.
Once again, she got so caught up that, when the doorbell rang, it surprised her. She checked the clock and realized her guest had arrived. She set aside the palette and paintbrushes, tossed off her smock and raced downstairs. She beamed as the businessman walked in. “I presume you’re Ken Wiley?”
He nodded his head, and she registered him. “Let me take you to the room.”
She led him upstairs and down the hall, putting him in the room across from either Jager or Geir—she never did find out who was in which room. She opened the door and showed the room to Ken.
He nodded politely. “This will be fine. Thank you very much.”
She turned to him. “Would you like a cup of coffee? If so, I can go put on a pot.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll be back later this afternoon or evening,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m not exactly sure what time.”
“And you’re only staying one night?”
He shook his head. “If you don’t mind,” he said gently, “I’d like to book at least two nights.”
She beamed. “That’s fine. I’ll make a note of it in the guest book. Breakfast is between seven and ten. Just come down whenever you’re ready in the morning, and I’ll be happy to provide a nice breakfast for you.”
He nodded, but he was already putting his briefcase on the bed, opening it to pull out a laptop.
She was amazed how electronic the world had become. It seemed to her everybody was attached to their cell phone, tablet or laptop. She understood, but, at the same time, she thought the world should unplug for a certain number of hours every day.
With her new guest taken care of, she headed back to her studio and straight to her painting, curious to know exactly what she’d been working on. As she stood there, her breath caught in the back of her throat. She’d done it again. She didn’t know what the painting was yet, but she had this interesting orange glow working off the background. And she realized it faded outward, as if coming through a fog. She went with that theme and developed the fog more. But that was only half the canvas. She had to see what was below it first.
She switched to grays and blacks and put in a skyline. As she worked, she stayed focused on that orange light. Several hours later, she stopped, her hands shaking. She’d done all the sky colors in the background, but she still needed to work that light and fog farther over the top. That was the thing about painting; it was always best to do it in layers. You always worked from the background forward, but, in this case, she also needed an overlay of fog. And so that had to be layered on next.
She worked until her phone rang. When she straightened and answered it, she found Nancy on the phone. “Hey, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing great. I met your two guests. They just had a few questions about the school system and how it works, the teachers,” Nancy gushed. “Those men are not only gorgeous but they are nice too.”
Morning frowned, her mind still half on the painting. She dragged her attention away from the big canvas. “Men?”
Nancy pealed with laughter. “You’re painting, aren’t you?”
“Well, I was,” she confessed. “At least until you interrupted me.”
“Well, I’m sorry.” Nancy twittered with laughter again. “No, I’m not. You sent those two men to talk to me. You know how gorgeous they are?”
“When did they get there?” Morning asked with a frown. “I thought they would have been there hours ago.”
“Silly, it’s just eleven-thirty,” Nancy said. “Actually it’s eleven-fifty,” she corrected. “Remember? We set it up for eleven-thirty.”
She shrugged. “Right, I forgot about that. They left the house hours ago, so I lost track of time.”
“When you’re in your painting zone,” Nancy said firmly, “everything gets lost. But particularly time.”
“That may be,” Morning said quietly as she stared at her painting, “but I’ve started a couple paintings that are … unique.”
“Is unique good?” Nancy asked cautiously.
It was Morning’s turn to laugh. “It’s always good.”
“Great. Anyway, I have to go and get some lunch before I’m back in class again. Have fun painting.” And she hung up.
The trouble was, Morning had been pulled out just enough that it broke the magic. But, on the other hand, it was past lunchtime, and she needed to eat something herself. She carefully set her painting materials to the side, took one last look at the very odd light on the canvas and smiled. “This just might work.”
She headed to the kitchen. As she went, she thought, “So what the hell were those men up to this morning if they just now got to the school?”
; None of my business. She might be curious, but they sure as hell weren’t going to share. It just wasn’t part of their nature.
Geir walked through the hallways of the second floor of the school. They’d already done a full check of the neighborhood, the parks and the men who worked at the school. Geir and Jager had a good idea of who they might be looking for. There were three options. The other teachers weren’t in the right age category or nationality. After checking police records in Texas on Poppy’s fetish with little boys, the general consensus was white/late 40-50s, yet he’d somehow escaped capture.
“Nancy is an interesting character,” Jager said. “She’s knowledgeable about the school but hasn’t been here long enough to know much about the teachers.”
Geir looked at him with a grin. “Interested?”
Jager shook his head. “No.”
Geir shrugged. “You could do worse.”
“Maybe, but Morning is more my style.”
“Morning Blossom? Really?” Geir frowned, not liking the sound of that at all. He had just met the woman though, so he didn’t know why he’d be pissed off—if that was the case here. He should be happy for Jager. “Go for it then.”
Jager laughed. “Like you’d let me.”
Geir stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor and turned to look at him. “Why wouldn’t I?” His tone was a bit challenging. He frowned. What the hell? … It shouldn’t matter to him who Jager saw.
Jager smiled, smacked him on the shoulder and said, “Go ahead and pretend you don’t care, but I can already see the interest.”
“Hey, she’s pretty. She can cook. She’s nice. There’d be something wrong with me if I didn’t respond to that.”
“I agree totally,” Jager said. “She’s also a friend of Mason’s, and he’d be happy to give you the rundown.”
“Oh, no. No rundown, thank you very much. And definitely not from Mason. It’d be all over the bloody group before too long if that were the case.”
“Nah, Tesla would just think another one had bitten the dust.”
“Not happening,” Geir said. “At least not until this nightmare is over.”
“We are getting closer,” Jager said. “If we can track down this Poppy and find out what the hell happened to Mouse on this end, I think it could blow the whole thing wide open.”
“Maybe. I’m just not so sure at this point. We’ve tracked this asshole all over the world.”
“But then our life was all over the world. We’ve lived a global lifestyle because we were in the navy. It was hard to see it as anything other than normal. But, once you’re outside, you realize just how much of a tight community the navy was and how completely different the world is apart from the navy environment.”
“I was thinking about that,” Geir said. “It’s like a before and after. We had our life before the accident, and now we have a life afterward. But I can’t say I’m all that comfortable with this one yet.”
“That’s because we were kingpins in the other one,” Jager said. “We were at the top of the top, the best of the best and all that crap. But one land mine dropped us right to the bottom.”
“And so damn fast,” Geir said. “I wasn’t ready to leave active duty.”
“I hear you. But I’m sure as hell not taking a desk job.”
“Exactly. How do you go to something so much less than what you were?”
“I don’t think you do,” Jager said. “I think you’re supposed to move on, to find something else, to find something different, to find something that suits our new world.”
“Not doing so well with that,” Geir said. “Can’t say that you look to be doing so well either.”
Jager chuckled. “No, I’m not sure I am, but that doesn’t mean we can’t. I think we’re just stuck. All of us waiting for this to sort itself out.”
“We still need to be thinking forward, finding something we want to do, that we can do after this.”
“What about starting a company, like Levi’s?” Jager asked. “I’ve been wondering about something along that line. It doesn’t have to be quite so physical, considering our injuries, and we could take on some jobs from him if they happened to be in our part of the world. He’s certainly overworked.”
Geir stopped and stared at Jager. They were now outside, standing on the front steps of the school. Just as he was about to say something, the bell overhead rang, deafening both of them. When it finally stopped, he said, “I’d forgotten how much I hate school bells.”
Jager chuckled. They hopped down the steps easily, making sure they were out of the way before the kids either came tearing out or went running inside. Geir and Jager escaped through the front gates and stood beside Geir’s truck. Geir wondered about Jager’s suggestion. “What kind of work will we do though?”
“We can do either security work or bodyguard work. Or we could do investigative work.”
“Like PIs?”
“I don’t want to pigeonhole it into that,” Jager said. “Levi built himself a very large company, and it’s doing very well. We don’t have to go big. We can stay small with just the seven of us. Make it something we can handle with our growing families, not work so hard and so crazy, but potentially have something to bring in an income.”
They hopped into the truck and sat there thinking for a few moments. Geir turned his attention back to the school. “Interesting that two of the three men we were looking for didn’t show up for work today. That there’s a Joel Henderson and a Reginald Henderson added to the confusion.”
Jager nodded. “I was just thinking that. Wonder if the homeless men put out the word that Poppy was being hunted.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Get paid from him too for their information. The question is, how do we run Poppy to ground?”
“Well, the school didn’t give us any personnel information, but we do have their full names. We should be able to research them easily enough.”
While they sat here, both men brought out their laptops and got to work. But the space was cramped. Geir looked at Jager. “Surely a coffee shop is somewhere close by.”
Jager nodded and hit Google Maps. “Two blocks ahead, take a left and its right there.”
“Good enough.” Geir turned on the truck. He followed the directions and pulled into the back of the parking lot. They hopped out and walked inside. Each ordering a coffee, they went to a table at the very back of the busy place and sat down with their laptops side by side.
“I also didn’t see him on the staff photo wall, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Sipping their coffee, they did whatever public research they could access from where they were sitting. For more than that—like access to tax forms and medical records—they’d have to get some authorized assistance. It wasn’t that they didn’t know where and how, but they needed access to databases they didn’t currently have.
Geir lifted his head at one point, looked around and said, “This is what we can do …”
Jager nodded. “It is. We’re a little less physical than what we used to be, but we’re in very good shape, and it’s not like we can’t do a more physical job if it comes through. The other thing is, if we do get a bigger job or something that’s up Levi’s alley, we can always subcontract out with them.”
“Or hire a couple of his men to work for us,” Geir said. “We’re better off doing it that way and getting the fee ourselves.”
Jager studied his buddy for a long moment, then nodded. “True enough. You’re excellent at cracking safes—in fact, anything that’s locked. I’m good at walking in the shadows.”
“I’m also good at walking in shadows. But you’re better,” Geir said magnanimously. “You’re amazing at disappearing into the woodwork.” The two men went back to their research, but Geir’s mind wouldn’t leave him alone. “We could hire a manager.”
Jager nodded. “That would probably be best.”
“Unless you like doing bookkeeping, pape
rwork, tax filings,” Geir said, teasing.
Jager shot him a horrified look. “I couldn’t stand handing in navy reports. No way you’re tying me to a desk job.”
Geir stopped teasing and got serious. “Apparently Joel Henderson lives on Morrison Road.” Geir turned the screen so Jager could see what he’d found.
Jager leaned over to read the article. “It just says Morrison Road but doesn’t give the actual number. We should check him in the online phone book listings.” Jager ran it down and said with triumph, “Five five two five.”
“Good. I’ll write that down. Now let’s track Reginald Henderson. Maybe we can drive past their houses this afternoon.” After a moment, he added, “How does a pedophile operate like this all these years without detection?”
“Teacher,” Jager said simply. “A position of trust with easy access to the kids.”
Geir nodded. “But how is it none of the other adults knew?”
“Because somehow he had a hold over the kids, so nobody ever told.”
“But that’s victim profiling to the nth degree,” Geir said. “In order to pick up a victim like that, Poppy has to know exactly what his target needs. In that way Poppy can ensure he fills that need so the kid feels completely loyal and indebted to Poppy for providing that one thing the kid thinks he must have.”
“Which is exactly what he did with Mouse—helped him become Ryan.”
“Any chance he’s the one who killed Mouse? Maybe Mouse wasn’t suitably grateful? Or something … Maybe Mouse wanted to ditch Poppy after Mouse did make it? A lover’s tiff?”
Just then Jager popped up with Reginald Henderson’s address. “Here we go. Got an address for both now.”
They shut down their laptops, took their coffee cups back to the front counter and walked out to the parking lot.
“Maybe Mouse finally got away from Poppy, saw just how damaging the sexual predation was and threatened to turn him in.”
Jager stopped and looked at Geir. “In a way that makes more sense than anything we’ve heard so far. But how would Poppy have known the accident would kill only Mouse?”
