by Steve Richer
Jeff didn’t have time to cruise around the city looking for a dwelling.
“If it makes any difference, I heard on the news last night that there wasn’t one single room available in Raleigh. There are a bunch of conventions in town and there’s a racing event taking place in a few days. They said in the news that it was a record.”
“Where am I supposed to go then?” Jeff complained.
It was a rhetorical question but he hoped that the clerk would answer it. Morales’s meeting was scheduled only for tomorrow and until then he would have to crash somewhere.
“Your best bet would be to go outside the city. Again, I am sorry for your trouble and wish you luck.”
Jeff got the message, picked up his bags, and left the hotel. He didn’t want to drive around all evening so he went back the way he had come from and headed south.
The trip took him to Emmetts Run where he checked in at the Howard Johnson Express Inn.
Chapter 30
While he had started to see his work at CSE as useful and important, at least to him, he was beginning to begrudge his long days spent alone. He had always considered himself a people person and this surveillance work was anything but.
Dreading another solitary night in a motel room, he headed out to a local bar. The patrons would be speaking his language and he was sure he would have a good time. He would have rather have spent time gazing at the fox in the nearby Ava Gardner Museum, but it was closed for the night.
The bar was quiet, it had none of the loud music that city bars forced upon their clients. From the look of the place, Jeff believed it was as old as Emmetts Run. The exterior might have been made of bricks but the interior was all old-fashioned wood paneling. It wasn’t made to look luxurious like his boss’ office or the fancy cigar lounge he had been to in Paris. It was homey.
This being a weeknight, the room wasn’t packed. There were a couple of regulars sitting at the bar and a few tables were occupied by middle-aged couples. The town was just big enough so that no one looked at Jeff with suspicious eyes. He sat at the bar and ordered a foreign beer.
“You new in town?” The voice came from an elderly man of around seventy sitting at Jeff’s left.
“Just staying the night, all the hotels in Raleigh are booked. They say it’s some kind of record.”
“Yeah, I heard something about that on the TV.” It was an even older gentleman who spoke.
“It’s not so bad, I got to discover your fine town.” Jeff was laying it on thick but he had more to gain with them on his side. “They’re even remodeling my hotel, everything is new. Howard Johnson had money to spare it seems.”
The two patrons glanced at each other before resting their eyes on their drinks. Jeff caught the malaise.
“What is it?” Jeff asked.
“Nothing.”
“What, did the place burn down or something?”
“There’s been… an accident recently.”
The younger man shot him a disapproving look. The man who had spoken shrugged as if it was no big deal, that the kid would find out the truth one day.
“There was a shootout a little over a week ago. A bunch of people got killed. Town’s been crazier ‘n a buttered coon.”
Jeff took a sip of his beer while he appreciated the turn of phrase and he thought about that statement. Somebody got killed at his hotel?
Could it be related to Morales’s visit to North Carolina? The possibility was remote, but it gave Jeff something to think about. The evening was still quite young and there would only be reruns on television.
“Do they know what it was about?”
“I reckon there was something about it in the newspaper, but I didn’t read it on account that my daughter came to visit last week. Did you read it, Bobby Ray?”
Bobby Ray was the older man and he shrugged as he gazed into his drink. “Something about drugs. It’s always about drugs. Truth is they don’t know diddly.”
Jeff knew how he would spend the rest of the evening and he felt excitement build.
“You fellas have been a wealth of information. To thank you, I’d like to buy you guys a round of drinks. Barkeep, do offer these men your finest alcoholic beverages and put it on my bill.”
The theatrical move would have been to drop some money on the counter and leave, but since he was running low on hard cash he had to wait until Bobby Ray and his friend were served and pay with his credit card. Once outside, he asked a passer-by for directions to the police station.
The flat building on Fifth Street was exactly what Jeff expected. There was a young officer who acted both as receptionist and dispatcher.
“Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about that thing at the Howard Johnson.”
He was fishing for any piece of information, anything that could lift that shroud of boredom that was perfunctory with every waiting game.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this case.”
“Who is?”
“That would be the chief. And I think the Sheriff’s Department is now handling the investigation anyway.”
“When do you expect the chief in?”
“Not until tomorrow. But if you’re a member of the press, you should tell me so I can fill out a request for an interview with the chief.”
“The thing is, my brother’s run away from home and we think he might have been killed. I’ve been to every town, big and small, from Seattle to Raleigh, and every time I hear there’s been a murder I check it out. Our mother is going nuts.” Jeff leaned forward on the counter. “All I want to know is who got killed.”
“Look, was your brother African-American?”
Jeff arched his eyebrows. “No.”
“Was he Canadian?”
Jeff gulped. The casual conversation he had intended to be nothing more than entertainment had suddenly taken a twist he could not have foreseen. He had to answer something.
“No,” he said.
He immediately regretted his answer. Had he said yes, the officer might have been more explicit with his answers. He might have told him the identities of the deceased. But it was too late.
“Sorry I can’t help you, sir.”
He had nothing left to do at the police station but he wanted to know more. Morales, a man who was involved with a Canadian, was staying half an hour away from a town where other Canadians had been slain. Was it a coincidence?
Something was afoot and finding out was a viable alternative to network television’s summer lineup.
Chapter 31
At his hotel, Jeff had noticed a copy of the Clayton News-Star lying on the counter. Maybe this was a sign that he hadn’t hit a roadblock after all.
He drove north to Clayton and after taking the wrong road twice he finally found the newspaper building. The newsroom of El Universal was a football field compared to this one. No larger than a common high school classroom, it had three desks boasting computers. There were a few doors in the back that Jeff suspected led to a dark room and maybe some restrooms.
There was a man at one of the desks who looked up when Jeff walked in.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah, it’s about those killings in Emmetts Run. I’d like to talk to someone who knows about it.”
“That’s Chasey Parfett’s story. You might want to check our last edition.”
“In my profession, I’ve learned that reporters often leave out the good parts.”
The door to the ladies’ room swung open and a beautiful woman came out. Jeff was vaguely aware that the man he had been speaking to was responding, but he didn’t hear a word of it. His eyes were glued to her soft brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders.
“Well, there she is. Hey Chasey, there’s a guy who wants to speak to you.”
“Yeah? What about?”
Her southern accent was pronounced and Jeff loved how it made her seem unpretentious. It had been years since he had been so smitten with a woman he had
just met. In fact, he had to think back to high school and the crush he’d had on Carly Demers. But this reporter had her beaten hands down.
The truth was she didn’t jump out of a magazine cover. Her face wasn’t made up, her hair wasn’t lustrous and had merely been hooked back behind her ears. Just a woman out working amid a crowd that had long ago ceased to be aware of her.
There was something however that appealed to Jeff no end. Maybe it was her slightly slanted eyes that gave her somewhat of a Hispanic/Native exotic appearance although she was neither of those things. Or perhaps it was the way the corner of her lips seemed to be locked into a perpetual playful grin. She definitely had something.
She lingered at what Jeff believed was her desk and in a drawer found a notebook and a pen. Jeff rounded the desk of the man who had welcomed him and walked to Chasey Parfett’s desk.
“You gonna tell me what you wanna see me for or am I just gonna have to guess?”
Jeff knew he had to snap out of it. If he were to express any interest he had in her or try to be funny to make a good first impression, he would simply crash and burn. He had to stay with the facts and concentrate on the reason he was here in the first place.
“I was told you covered the Howard Johnson story.”
“That’s right,” she drawled. “Story’s even been printed in the Raleigh paper.”
“I was wondering if you could tell me all about it.”
“What’s it to you?”
Jeff had to find a reason that could be believed by a reporter whose job it was to sort the truth from all the other rubbish she could hear in one day. He patted his hip pocket and produced his fake RCMP badge. For all he knew, the RCMP had already been here but it was his only chance.
“I’m with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I’ve been told that some of the victims were Canadians.”
“Yeah, these four were with a security firm. The other guy, no one knows who he was.”
The drug factor that had been mentioned at the bar didn’t hold much water. Bobby Ray had been right, the police didn’t know anything.
“That’s why I’m down here. I’m trying to see the bigger picture. I’d be interested to hear your take on it.”
Jeff made sure not to smile so it wouldn’t sound like a line, which it totally was.
“Sure thing,” she said. “But it’s gonna have to wait until tomorrow. There’s been an accident up I-95 and I have to go cover it. You gonna be here in the morning?”
Jeff’s original plan was to go to the Sheraton as soon as he woke up and follow Morales all day. But this was far more interesting. She was far more interesting.
“We could do breakfast, an early one if possible.”
She nodded curtly. “That’s fine as frog’s hair.”
She bent down over her desk and scribbled something on her notepad. Jeff tried not to stare at the sight she was offering him, but it was difficult. She tore the page off and handed it to him.
“Meet me there, it’s in Emmetts Run. What’s your name, by the way? I didn’t catch it on your badge.”
“Jeff Riley.”
He thought about adding a rank, but figured the best lies were the ones closer to the truth.
“I’m Chasey Parfett, pleased to meet you. I gotta run.”
Jeff wanted to shake her hand but she was out the door before he could offer it.
AUGUST 9
FRIDAY
Chapter 32
Morales was sweating. The sweat was so intense that the toupee wouldn’t stay glued on. He wiped his cranium several times and cranked up the air-conditioning, but the source of the problem was not heat.
It was apprehension. He’d had several shady meetings during his bout as a revolutionary but none had made him this nervous. The Bermuda meeting hadn’t had this effect on him. What was getting to him now was the fact that he was finally reaching his goal.
His terrorism duties had never been to orchestrate bombings and assassinations. He was always the front man, the respectable face, the eyes and ears of the organization into the reputable world. But now he had had orders to get involved on a profoundly deeper level. It frankly excited him.
And because of what he would do today, of what he would get, his comrades would be able to achieve victory.
He tried eating the breakfast room service had brought up but the knots in his stomach cast a different vote. He got dressed and finally decided to leave the hairpiece in his suitcase. Going bald would be his disguise.
It was too early for most meetings, but Morales’s instructions had been clear. The man he was meeting was peculiar. Morales understood that atypical behaviors favored security. It was routines that had contributed to the fall of the greatest criminals. He placed a call to the number he had been given months before and made sure that the get-together was still on.
Raleigh was one of the few state capitals that had been planned before being built. Trees had been planted everywhere from the start and the city was often referred to as a city within a park. Majestic oaks were still present and Morales enjoyed the shade they provided as he walked through Moore Square Park.
He had to wait for about a half-hour until the car drove by. He marched to it and got in. He had heard about Aaron Chapman but nothing had prepared him for what he saw.
The man was black, had long dreadlocks, and looked as if he was trying to rejuvenate the hippie movement. He was too young to have been there during the original wave but he surely had been told a lot about it.
His attire consisted of sandals and dashiki shirt. What was most bizarre about his appearance was that the hair in his ears had never been trimmed and was fashioned into extremely short tresses. Or perhaps they were strange earrings? In any case, it was off-putting.
Neither man spoke until the car stopped in the southeast corner of the city. They both got out of the car and headed toward the State Farmers Market. They strolled through the stalls.
“So, how are we going to do this?” the Venezuelan asked.
“Do you have my coins?”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Real simple, you get me my coins and I get you the information you want.”
“So you have it?”
“I have what I said I would get. The question is, do you? You sound like a man who’s trying to buy time.”
“I will get the amount very shortly.”
Chapman jerked his head toward him and it made the tresses/earrings whirl about.
“You really don’t have my coins?” he snapped.
“It’s now that I need to receive what you have what you have for me. If you give me an account number, I can wire you the money as soon as I get it. For your trouble, I’m willing to add an extra ten percent.”
Morales felt uncomfortable because as a businessman he knew it was bad commerce to buy something when you didn’t have the money. The meeting had been set up a few months before and he had expected to have the money by then.
“Man, you can just shove that ten percent up right your ass.” Chapman had to contain himself because he had spoken too loudly. A few merchants turned their heads and he lowered his voice. “I want my coins now.”
“But…” Morales tried to reason.
“No buts. You call me back when you have my coins.”
Chapman’s face was flushed with anger. He picked up the pace and left the banker alone. The fate of Morales’s terrorist operation now rested in the hands of a snob Frenchman and an austere Canadian.
Jeff had ordered a big breakfast. There were eggs, pancakes, toast, sausages, and beans – he didn’t much care for them, but they had come with the order. It was the biggest plate on the menu.
Usually, he only ate that kind of breakfast on Christmas morning. Eating in the morning always made him bloated and he then had problems concentrating on his work. He wasn’t even a coffee drinker; it gave him cramps.
He was halfway through his first toast when he began wondering why he had ordered such an impos
ing meal. There was simply no way he could finish this plate. He was dimly conscious of what his goal had been, but he didn’t want to admit it.
The longer he ate, the longer he would be in Chasey’s presence. That made being bloated worth it.
There was another reason to this absurd amount of food. It was 8am and Jeff should have been staking out Morales at the moment. He hadn’t planned on breakfast taking so long but he was glad it did. Subconsciously, he told himself that if he were to miss Morales as he was going to his meeting, he would be able to use his drawn-out breakfast as an excuse. It was a lame explanation, but it was all he could think of at the moment.
The restaurant was small and rustic. It was the kind of place where after a week the waitress brought your meals before you could order them. The last customers had left a full half hour ago and now Jeff and Chasey were alone. She had given more information during the last thirty minutes than during the first thirty minutes. As a reporter, secrecy was her livelihood. What she wrote that nobody knew about was what paid her rent.
“So you’re telling me that the RCMP knew about this shooting?” Jeff asked.
“Damn right they knew. An FBI agent came up from Charlotte a few days ago. The Sheriff called them right after he found out that four of the dead guys were from your country. I talked to the FBI agent and he said he had called the RCMP. Why you weren’t informed, I don’t know.”
“I work for the International Liaison branch, I should’ve been the first one informed.” Jeff sighed in an exaggerated manner.
“Well, I called the agent back just yesterday and he said that the investigation had produced nothing yet. He didn’t say it quite like that, but it was what he meant. How did you come to learn about it anyway?”
“Channels,” he replied, his mouth running dry.
He was running short on lies, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her.
Chapter 33
Jeff didn’t know much about the RCMP and its procedures so he figured that he should keep his answers short.
“It’s just all so mind-boggling,” he said. “Four men from a private security firm that are killed for no apparent reason…”
