Down the Rabbit Hole

by F J messina

  Sonia waited until the four ladies left the barn and piled into the Mercedes, seemingly none the worse for wear. She did note that none of the farm hands had bothered to be gentlemanly enough to walk them to their car. So much for chivalry. The time was 3:14 PM, just a tad over one hour since the women had arrived.

  Sonia was stiff and sore from sitting in the car all day. She decided it was time to call it a day, so she headed home. She turned off the camera; she wished she could turn off her frustration the same way.

  Sonia’s day was over, but not her night. It was Thursday, and she knew that every Thursday evening Mr. Dylan met up with his muse and danced the dance of young love, or was it young lust? Either way, she had plans to meet Jet after dinner and wrap that case up. This time they would snap the incriminating photos they needed and burn the guy by handing them over to his loving wife.

  7

  At eight o’clock that evening, Sonia met Jet in their office. It was a short walk to the house on Clay Avenue. A simple one story with a large front porch, it appeared to have been built in the ‘40s or early ‘50s and probably hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint since the ‘80s. This should have been a pretty easy affair─it wasn’t turning out that way. First, they were walking, one in front of the other, carrying a six-foot ladder they had awkwardly attached to the top of Sonia’s Subaru and then transported to within a few houses of the “bimbo’s” residence. Second, it was pouring rain. The whole scenario made Sonia feel more like Barney Fife than a real private investigator.

  Jet and Sonia had already gotten all the shots they needed of Mr. Dylan and his mystery woman entering and leaving the house on Clay Avenue. They were also pretty sure the window at the back of the building would give them a view of the man and his paramour. Given the fact that the ground around the back of the building sloped downward, the problem was getting high enough to see through it. They were confident the ladder they were carrying would give them the height they needed to get the shots that would clinch the deal.

  The early spring storm was making it pretty miserable, with cold rain and a whipping wind─and, of course, prickly bushes outside the house. Things turned worse for them when lightning lit up the sky, followed by a significant boom of thunder.

  Sonia whispered. “Are you sure we need to do this tonight?”

  The look on Jet’s face told Sonia the answer, but she got Jet’s retort nonetheless. “Hush now chil’,” her voice was all fried green tomatoes and collard greens, “because of a little wind and rain?”

  “And lightning and thunder.” Sonia ran her fingers through her wet hair and wiped the moisture off her face with the back of her hand. “C’mon Jet. Just because Mrs. Dylan thinks her husband Robert is cheating on her─”

  “Bob,” corrected Jet. “Bob Dylan.”

  “Okay, Bob Dylan,” said Sonia, acknowledging the running joke they’d developed about the twenty-four-year-old man whose parents had unfortunately named him Robert Dylan.

  Jet placed the ladder against the building, her eyes on its upper end. “You bet your ass we’re doing this tonight. I’m not gonna let a little weather keep me from catching this son-of-a-bitch. We’re getting him tonight and ending this little love affair first thing in the morning.”

  “Ooookay,” said Sonia, knowing full well that once Jet was on the trail of some “slimeball cheat,” there was no dissuading her. She also knew that if they missed this opportunity, they would have to wait another week to catch ol’ Bob and turn his latest version of “Lay, Lady, Lay”, into his final refrain.

  Cold rain splashed in Sonia’s face as she heard Jet say softly, “And here we go.” She watched Jet go up the few rungs necessary for her to see through the window. Then, mixed with the wind and rain, Sonia heard Jet’s singsong commentary. “And there she is, naked as a jaybird, walking around the room, not a care in the world.”

  “Get the shot and let’s get the heck out of here. I’m freezing.” Sonia’s arms were wrapped around her body.

  “Give me juuust one more minute. I haven’t got ol’ Bobby in the picture yet. He’ll be there in a second, I’m sure.” There was no question Jet was enjoying this.

  CRACK! The sky lit up and the thunder shook the girls almost simultaneously. There was no need for them to count the seconds to try to figure out how far away the lightning had struck. It had struck right there. Not three hundred feet away, a transformer on a pole blew, sparks flying everywhere. Within seconds the whole block went black.

  Sonia froze.

  “Damn, damn, damn. I can’t get the shot. I can’t get the damn shot.”

  Sonia knew better than to say a word. She just held the ladder still as Jet climbed down and muttered, “Well doesn’t that just take the cake? That’s one lucky boy in there, one lucky boy.”

  “Look, Jet, let’s just get out of here, okay? Everybody will be looking out their windows. It’s bad enough we’ve got to walk to the car carrying a ladder. Come on, let’s just go. We’ll be lucky if another bolt of lightning doesn’t light up the ladder and us with it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jet pulled the ladder down and they marched off, back toward Sonia’s car. Ol’ Bob Dylan had slipped out of their grasp yet again. Another night wasted. Sonia knew that Jet would now be more determined than ever to get that slimeball in the end, and soon the times would be a-changin’ for ol’ Bob. She was starting to feel the same way.

  Jet led them on the short walk down the street, bent into the wind. “Come on baby girl, tote that end of the ladder. I ain’t no pack horse up here you know.”

  Sonia felt cold water splash on her ankle. She bent her head as well, sighed, and plodded on.

  Thursday night had been a wet and soggy disaster, and Friday morning found Sonia in a foul mood. Nonetheless, Sonia had gotten herself out of bed and out the door. By ten in the morning, she had already stopped by to see Hildy, picked up her coffee and sandwich, and was pulling into the little turnaround just around the bend from the Dahlia Farm entrance.

  Sonia slouched in the driver’s seat with little hope of anything special happening that day. Her job was to catch Marcos Torres in the act with another woman, and Sonia was now pretty certain that his other woman was a prostitute. So, here she was, once again, with Spotify and her laptop computer, watching the day go by.

  The only ray of sunshine in her professional life was the message she had received from Jet. Apparently, the sixty-four-year-old client who had hired BCI to find his ex-girlfriend had called the office. He had gone on and on about how much he appreciated the fact that Sonia had put in the extra effort to not only find the woman but to establish her current situation. “I’m so glad she stopped me from going all the way out to Phoenix only to find her married to the head honcho of some scruffy and aging motorcycle gang or whatever they are. You thank that Ms. Vitale for me, Okay? She really went the extra mile and I’ll be eternally grateful.” The compliment and appreciation had gone a long way toward brightening Sonia’s mood.

  Just past one in the afternoon, the truck from The Mid-West Feed and Hay Co. had shown up on the farm and backed partially into the barn. Sonia sighed in boredom. Horse farm, feed and hay truck. No big deal. But then again, something in the back of Sonia’s mind said, “This is a big deal.” The few horses on the farm were going through an awful lot of feed and hay. She was no farm girl of any sort and certainly knew less about horse farms than most folks in this town, but she would have imagined this truck showing up every week or two, not just two days after its last visit.

  Sonia wished she could watch the farm hands unload the delivery, but with her limited view, and the truck being backed into the barn, that was impossible. Sonia squirmed in her seat. It would be great if I could just stroll up there and ask a simple question about directions or something, just so I could get a peek at that delivery.

  In fact, she was beginning to come up with just such a plan. She would simply drive onto the farm and go looking for someone to give her directions to somewhere, maybe th
e apple orchard that was nearby. She sat up taller in her seat. Unfortunately, before she could get her plan clear in her mind and pluck up the courage to put it in place, the driver hopped back in the truck and took off.

  It wasn’t too long, however, before Sonia saw some new activity and her frustration dissipated a bit. She sat up again. One by one each of the farm hands was backing his truck up to the barn’s entrance and then going inside. The one in the oldest-looking truck backed in first and left the farm almost immediately. Then the driver of the dark red Toyota Tundra followed the same procedure.

  Marcos Torres was third. He backed his truck into the barn, spent a few minutes in there and then left the farm headed toward the castle. Sonia was tempted to follow him as she’d done the other day. She thought better of it. She knew where he was getting his extra-curricular action, and she was willing to bet that was going to happen again soon. She paused with her hand on the key. She didn’t turn it. I should really just sit here and see if that last pickup truck follows suit.

  The last farm hand backed his truck into the barn and, a few minutes later, took off. Sonia had to fight hard to resist the temptation to follow that last pickup. She scratched her head. Something very strange was happening out there and she was dying to know what it was.

  8

  Ten o’clock Monday morning found Sonia sitting in her car, just around the bend from the farm, monitoring her laptop. The prostitutes had been there last Thursday, and Teresa Torres had said, “a couple of times a week.” So, it was possible that Monday could be another “Hooker of Your Choice Day.” Sonia would be ready this time.

  Once the girls arrived, she would wait a bit and then drive right onto the property. With her professional Cannon camera completely on display, although with a small, reasonable lens attached, she would walk right into the barn. If anyone stopped her, she would just say that she was a tourist from another part of the state and hoped nobody would mind that she was taking pictures of one of Kentucky’s beautiful little horse farms. Of course, they would chase her tail right off the property. Still, if she could sell the story, it was more than likely that no one would make a big deal of her having walked in.

  Sonia was surprised when, at 10:47 AM, the large red truck from The Mid-West Feed and Hay Co. arrived again, maneuvering on the driveway and backing into the barn. A few minutes later, Marcos and his colleagues─laughing, shoving, fooling around─arrived and went into the barn as well. Sonia tried to quit thinking about the fact that this was yet another frequent delivery. She folded her arms and leaned back in the seat, reminding herself that her job was catching Marcos cheating, not figuring out what the men on that farm were up to.

  Sonia sat up straighter just after eleven and spoke into her phone. “A white Jaguar convertible has just pulled onto the farm.” Sonia wasn’t familiar with the model numbers of high-end cars, and she had no idea what kind of Jaguar it was, but she knew one thing: this baby had to go sixty or seventy thousand bucks at least. The car drove right up to the house and Sonia watched a blond man in white pants and a madras shirt step out of the car. He was smallish, maybe five-foot-five or less, and slight, a hundred and twenty pounds or so. He seemed at ease in his fine clothing, well-coiffed hair and thickish tortoise-shell glasses. He walked up the steps, onto the porch, and right through the front door.

  A few minutes later, the man stepped out the front door and back onto the porch. He stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene, looking left to right and into the distance. Sonia squinted at the computer screen, wishing she could see his face more clearly. However, his body language indicated a certain sense of well-being. He walked casually down the steps and toward the barn. Steve Hollings followed. It appeared to Sonia that Hollings was speaking and pointing in another direction as if he wanted the man to go with him out into one of the fields. The blond shook his head slowly, although apparently not disturbed, and continued toward the barn. As he neared the barn, Hollings hustled up to him again. Sonia sensed Hollings still urging the man to follow him in that other direction.

  Sonia shifted herself in her seat. Without sound, the images on the screen were simply not giving her enough information to figure out what was going on. She banged her fist on the steering wheel. “Dang.”

  The blond man seemed determined to walk into the barn, and that was exactly what he did. Hollings shrugged and followed the dapper little man in his hip clothing. For quite a while, Sonia could make out nothing new on her screen. Her intuition, however, told her now was not the time for her to go poking around the farm posing as a tourist.

  Forty-five minutes or so went by and, at 11:59 AM, Sonia jerked herself upright quickly, popped her earbud out, and spoke into her phone. “A local police cruiser has just come onto the property. What’s that all about?” The cruiser pulled up the farm’s driveway and stopped directly outside the barn. As the officer exited the car, Sonia saw that he was not in uniform. She stared at her laptop. Must be off duty, or maybe a detective. With his image so small on the screen, however, there was not much more she could tell about him as he went quickly into the barn. Sonia brushed a wisp of hair out of her face and let out a sigh.

  Only seven minutes later, at 12:06 PM, the policeman emerged from the barn. Having seen plenty of cop shows on TV, Sonia could almost see him already, standing outside his car, one foot on the door ledge, holding the microphone from his radio and calling in a report or a request for help. Instead, the cop got directly into his cruiser and made a pretty dramatic U-turn in the driveway. Kicking up a lot of dust, he left the property. The feed and hay truck followed right behind him.

  Sonia picked up her phone and noted the cruiser’s arrival and departure. She wished she could add more. Had the police been called simply to calm down a situation? Was it just a coincidence that the officer had arrived when he did? Sonia shook her head. What the heck is going on? It didn’t feel right. It might not have anything to do with the Marcos Torres case, but it didn’t feel right, and she damn well knew she wasn’t leaving until she had figured out what was going on.

  By three in the afternoon, nothing else had happened. She was tired of watching horses meander around a field, munching slowly on grass. And unfortunately, Sonia had been sitting in her car drinking Magee’s coffee since ten in the morning. The phrase, “having to pee like a racehorse,” seemed appropriate to her in so many ways. She should give in to her biological needs and head to the BP station just a mile or so away. Sonia put her hand on the ignition key. Before she could turn it, however, a black Lincoln Continental appeared on her computer screen─a third surprise visitor. The weather had been very dry over the last few days and when the car sped up the driveway it kicked up so much dust that it transformed the image on the screen into swirls of gray.

  Sonia squirmed in her seat and picked up her phone: “3:07. Black Lincoln comes onto the property. Similar to the vehicle seen last week, but not the same one. Couldn’t see the license plate”

  The screen cleared. Today’s driver was accompanied by a passenger, another blond man, but his look was entirely different. He was tall and very thin, his haired slicked back, a closely trimmed blond goatee adorning his chin. Dressed in black pants and a black shirt, he appeared to carry himself with a definite sense of authority, almost of menace. While the driver stayed outside, the tall man went directly into the barn.

  Once again, the duration of the visit was very short. Sonia noted the Lincoln was gone by 3:18 PM─only eleven minutes. The tall man had simply walked out of the barn, flicked his hand, indicating to the driver that it was time to go, and gotten into the back seat. When the car blew out of the farm’s entrance, turning right onto the road without stopping, Sonia missed her only other chance to get a look at the car’s license plate.

  By three-thirty, Sonia couldn’t put off her need to pee any longer. And she was pissed. “If I was that damn Brad Dunham, I’d just go behind a bush and relieve myself. But no, I’ve got to leave the stakeout and go find a freakin’ bathroom.”
/>
  Sonia made the world’s quickest trip to the BP station and back to her surveillance post, hoping she hadn’t missed anything that had happened on the farm. Marcos’ truck was gone, but that was no longer her main concern. It was what was happening in that barn that she was focused on. As long as the Jaguar was still there─and it was─Sonia was not going anywhere.

  By four o’clock, Sonia was so bored she decided to go over her notes. Damn, I never recorded when that stupid truck left the barn, or Marcos either. She knew the truck had left at the same time as the police cruiser. Having been gone only about ten minutes on her pee run, she guesstimated when Marcos had left. But the Jaguar was still there. That just didn’t seem right.

  By six o’clock Sonia had listened through her entire iTunes library, mostly Smashing Pumpkins, Radio Head, and Over the Rhine, a local Cincinnati group that she had followed since she was a kid. The Jaguar was still there. Where was the guy in the madras shirt?

  By eight o’clock, Sonia checked for local headlines on her phone. Nothing about Dahlia Farm. Her stomach was reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her butt was reminding her that she’d been sitting in the car all day─again. At 8:36 PM, the computer screen filled with the red and blue lights of a police cruiser. It was followed by another and then another. Sonia tracked the movement of each vehicle, including the ambulance that followed. Less than twenty minutes later, a small SUV from the local NBC affiliate arrived.

  Sonia was certain the time had come to get more aggressive. She twisted her lips, mustering her strength, pushing herself forward. Dang, I knew something was going on. Surely, with all that commotion, I could walk right onto that farm see what the heck is happening. She started her car and drove to the edge of the property. With her iPhone concealed in her hand and recording video, she started to walk up the driveway, right toward the barn.