by Jeff Kirvin
Daniel was going nuts. After switching away from one insipid sitcom after another, he’d finally thrown the remote down in disgust. In the three hours Susan had been gone he’d watched television, listened to the radio, flipped through most of the magazines in the apartment, practiced judo, and was currently busy pacing a hole in her carpet.
He hated feeling powerless, doing nothing while others worked in his behalf. He’d already picked up the phone half a dozen times, intending to wring some information out of Herb. The only thing that stopped him was the realization that Herb was just about his only friend, thus a prime candidate for a police wiretap.
This is ridiculous, he thought. Squaring his shoulders, he stormed towards the door just as Susan opened it and stepped inside.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” she said. “It’s starting to look like you had a run-in with the Witness Protection Program.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because until a few years ago, Floyd Rockport didn’t exist. No birth certificate, no high school transcripts, nothing.” Susan walked over to the fridge, popped open a diet soda, then plopped down on the couch. Daniel sat down next to the computer.
“Until he graduated from college,” Susan continued, “he was a non-person. There’s no record of immigration, either. It’s as if a native born American citizen, complete with Social Security number, just magically appeared at the age of twenty-five.”
They both sat in silence for a moment.
“That’s it?” Daniel asked. “That’s all you found out?”
“Back up there, buckaroo. Research is hard work. You think getting access to personal data like that is easy?”
“Teach me.”
“What?”
“Take me along. We’re not likely to run into anyone that knows me, and I’m going insane sitting here without anything to do.”
Susan thought it over. It was a dumb idea, on the surface. Daniel didn’t know anything about investigative journalism and would probably just get in the way. She also didn’t want to take the risk of him being spotted by the police.
But he just sat there, staring at her with eyes holding a resolve she’d only seen in the mirror. She knew she’d never be able to keep him confined to the apartment, and if he was determined to venture out it was better if she could keep an eye on him.
“Okay,” she began. “The first thing you need to know about reporting is never take no for an answer.”
The Post
As Susan scanned the library microfiche looking for references to the Witness Protection Program, Daniel perused the local paper. Sure enough, he was in the news. “Paramedic gone bad” read the three-inch blurb in the Metro section of the Post. It detailed the charges against him and described him as a fugitive still at large.
“Hey, Susan, check this out.”
As Susan scanned down the page, she noticed with some annoyance that the byline was Steve Dunbar. Steve, you bastard, she thought, I’ve got the scoop this time. Still, he might be privy to some information that they weren’t. She’d have to look into that. “Thanks Daniel. I’ll check that out at the office later. In the meantime, look at this.” She motioned to the display.
Daniel studied it for a long moment. “I don’t see anything.”
“Exactly. I can’t find a single reference to anyone connected to the Witness Protection Program matching Rockport’s description. We just hit a dead end. I thought maybe he was just a mobster stoolie finding that old habits die hard, but I guess that was too easy an explanation to hope for.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Beats me. Did you ever go back to that junkyard and talk to the guy that said you authorized him to crush your car? Maybe we can get something out of him.”
“Let’s go.”
Daniel rode with Susan to the Post offices. She wanted to get some information out of Dunbar before they started out on what may well be another wild goose chase. They parked out in front of the imposing stone building and Susan left the keys in the ignition. “Stay here,” she said. “You might be recognized inside. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Daniel watched as she trotted up the steps and into the lobby, then he turned on the radio and hunkered down in his seat.
Damn, Susan said to herself. Dunbar wasn’t at his desk. She looked around the busy newsroom, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She did notice, however, that his computer was on. Looking over her shoulder, she sat down.
Back at the car, Daniel saw a police officer walking down the sidewalk, checking cars. Daniel slouched down more, trying to fall through his seat.
Dunbar’s machine was password protected. Susan started trying likely passwords for a guy like Dunbar. His name backwards. His birthday (she’d been to a birthday bash for him once while they were in college). The word “password.”
When those didn’t work, she started thinking about what she knew about her slimy, womanizing coworker.
Boink. No.
Babe. No.
Melons. No.
Hooters. Yes!
She was in. She started looking for any files that might relate to Daniel’s predicament. Dunbar’s files were organized by date in folders. She opened the folder for the previous day and found subfolders for various projects Steve was working on. She clicked on the one marked “Cho” and perused the contents. There were only two files. “Article” was more than likely the text of the story she and Daniel had read in print. “Notes” looked more promising. She opened the file.
She read down through the expected notes, the sort of rough information she used when writing a story. Virtually all of it was in the finished article. It wasn’t until she reached the end of the file that she found something that wasn’t.
“If you get any new info on Cho,” Dunbar had written to himself, “call this number.” The number was local, with a D.C. area code. Susan dug into her purse for her ever-present pen and pad, then scribbled down the number.
Replacing her notepad in her purse, she closed all the files and folders she’d opened on the computer. She was just about to get up and leave when she heard a familiar voice.
“Well hello there, Suzie Q.”
Daniel averted his eyes as the cop walked up and tapped on the window. Me? Daniel pointed to himself. The cop nodded and dropped his hand to his belt, putting it within easy reach of his sidearm, his nightstick, or most dangerous of all, his radio. Daniel rolled down the window.
“Sir,” the cop began, “there’s no parking or standing on this side of the building until five.” Daniel looked at his watch. It was 4:47. “I’m going to have to ask you to move your vehicle.”
Daniel released the breath he’d been holding. “Yes, officer. I’ll do that right now.” He scooted over into the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling out into pre-rush hour D.C. traffic and wondering just what the hell was taking Susan so long.
Susan spun slowly around in Steve Dunbar’s chair and leaned back to face him like she had every right in the world to be there. “Steve! I was wondering where you were!”
“What are you doing with my computer?”
Steve’s abrupt, humorless manner stopped Susan cold. She’d planned just to ask Steve to show her what she’d already seen, maybe getting some more explanation along the way, but now she was on her guard. Something was definitely not right here. “Nothing,” she replied. “I was just making myself comfortable until you got back.”
“What do you want?”
Getting more uncomfortable by the second under Steve’s threatening gaze, Susan stood up and distanced herself from the desk. Maybe it was better Steve not know her true reason for her visit. “I was just curious how your interview went.”
Steve seemed to relax a little. “Fine. It’ll be printed tomorrow. Anything else?”
“Nah, not really. I’ll see you later.” Susan walked casually away, but inside she couldn’t get out of that newsroom fast enough.
Daniel couldn’t believe he’d gotten
away from the cop unrecognized. He resolved to find some way to change his appearance as soon as possible.
As he completed his eighth lap around the building, he spotted Susan walking briskly down the front steps. She was heading back towards where she’d left the car, so, after checking to see there were no cops nearby, he stuck his head out the window and yelled her name.
She trotted over to the car and got in. “What are you doing?”
“I had a run in with a cop,” Daniel deadpanned. “No biggie. Though it might be nice next time if you tell me we’re parked in a no parking zone.”
“Is it before five?” Susan asked, looking at her watch. “Sorry,” she grinned sheepishly.
“So,” Daniel asked, “was this trip at least worth something?”
Susan looked over her shoulder at the building. “I’ll tell you on the road. Drive.”
Steve sat and stared at his computer screen. The folder labeled “Cho” was selected, and he hadn’t worked on it since the day before. Just to check, he opened the folder and checked the file access dates.
Sure enough, “Notes” had been accessed just a few minutes before. He opened the file and double-checked the number before dialing.
“Hi, it’s me. I think I have some information for you.”
Escape
On the way back to Susan’s apartment, she told Daniel what she found, as well as Steve’s uncharacteristic reaction to her presence. Now they huddled around her computer as she tried to figure out just to whom the phone number belonged.
“Why don’t we just call it?” Daniel asked.
“Because I don’t want whoever’s on the other end to be able to trace the call back to us.”
Daniel watched as Susan brought up the web page for American Directory Assistance, only to find that the number had no match, meaning it was unlisted. “Well, it was worth a try,” Susan smiled. “I guess we’re really going to have to work for this.”
On a rooftop across the street facing Susan’s apartment, the creature recently known as Floyd Rockport settled in and waited for the police to arrive.
Daniel paced from the window to the computer and back. He was trying to keep up, but Susan was much more proficient with computers and the net than he was and she soon left him in the dust. So while she dialed into obscure systems and services tracking down the ownership of the phone number, he paced. It was all he could do; something else he vowed to change in the near future.
He stopped pacing to stare out the window. On the street below, he saw numerous dark sedans park and black clad men with guns get out. Further down the street was a police paddy wagon.
“I think I’ve got something,” Susan said. Daniel turned away from the window and saw her pointing to something in the monitor.
“I hope it’s good, because we’re out of time.”
“What?”
Daniel pointed to the street. “The police are here.”
Disconnecting her laptop and throwing it into her bag, Susan sprang from her chair and looked. “Steve! That bastard set me up!”
Daniel was strangely calm. This sort of thing was becoming old hat. He grabbed Susan’s hand and firmly guided her to the door. “We have to go.”
Outside the apartment, they made straight for the emergency stairwell. Susan started down before Daniel grabbed her.
“No, the cops will be coming up that way.” He pointed up. “This way, to the roof.”
After a few flight’s climb, they burst out into the sultry Washington night air. It was a clear night, which for the District of Columbia meant you could see a handful of stars. Daniel ran to the edge of the building closest to its neighbor. It was about a ten-foot jump, but the other roof was lower, so it looked doable. He turned back to where Susan was watching the cops deploy.
“Susan. Over here.”
When she jogged over to him and saw what he had in mind, she gave him an unbelieving look. “You’re out of your mind.”
“You have a better idea? Come on, the cops will be up here as soon as they figure out you’re not home.”
Daniel stepped back a dozen feet or so and took Susan’s hand. They looked into each other’s eyes, ran to the edge and jumped.
After what seemed an eternity suspended in midair, they landed on the gravely tarmac of the other roof. Daniel rolled to his feet immediately and helped Susan up.
“I did it,” Susan whispered.
Daniel was already edging for the stairwell. “What?”
“That was so cool!” Susan was suddenly full of energy, breathing in the air, looking around—and then she froze.
She walked briskly over to Daniel, jerking her head over her right shoulder. “Somebody’s watching us.”
Daniel looked across the street and felt his blood go cold as he recognized the creature that had ruined his otherwise normal, boring life. Rockport. Involuntarily, he began walking to the edge of the roof.
This time Susan provided the voice of reason. Her momentary elation given way to her more natural caution, she dragged Daniel by the arm back to the stairs. “Now’s not the time, Daniel. There’s a Metrorail stop just around the corner. We’ve got to get some distance and plan out our next move.”
With great reluctance, Daniel tore his eyes from Rockport and followed Susan down the stairs.
Minutes later, Daniel and Susan sat on the brightly-lit orange vinyl seats of the D.C. subway, speeding west and out of the city. Susan had her laptop out and was trying to explain to Daniel what she found.
“Then I finally tracked the number down to a phone bank leased by the Social Security Administration. Looking in their internal directory, I found that line assigned to this guy.” She showed Daniel a picture of a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and a weak chin. “He’s listed as Richard Birchmere, an Assistant Director. I—”
She looked up at Daniel and found him staring blankly out the window as if he hadn’t heard a thing she’d said. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello? Daniel? Anybody home?”
Daniel shook himself out of his reverie and turned away from the darkness speeding past the window.
“I’m sorry. You were saying?”
“I was saying I think we finally have a lead on the bastards that are destroying your life. I’m more concerned with why you weren’t listening.”
Daniel looked like he was about to say something, then shut up again.
“It’s that guy on the roof,” Susan surmised. “Who was he?”
“Rockport.”
Susan suspected as much, but it was still a surprise. “That was him? What was he doing watching my apartment?”
“Hounding me, keeping tabs on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one that called the cops.” Daniel turned in his seat so that he was sitting sideways, facing Susan directly.
“Susan, I want to thank you for all your help, but I think it’s for the best if we part company. You shouldn’t continue to risk your safety because of me. I don’t know who these guys are, or why they’re after me, but it’s obvious they aren’t going to stop until I’m—”
Susan put up her hand, stopping Daniel midsentence. “Don’t say it. It’s not going to come to that. Besides, you aren’t going to get rid of me that easily. The cops are after me too now, remember? The only way out of this is to clear your name.”
Susan looked over Daniel’s shoulder to check the map on the wall. “We’ll get off at the next stop and check into a motel. I’ll see what I can dig up on this Birchmere guy and you can get some rest. But make no mistake: we’re in this together, bucko. You’re stuck with me, so you’d better get used to it.”
When they got off the train at the next stop, neither of them noticed Floyd Rockport exit the train several cars behind them.
Fight or Flight
The motel Susan picked was “economical”, meaning it was a dingy rat-bag. Water stains dotted the walls and the remote to the ancient television was securely bolted to the nightstand. According to Susan, this was the
best possible choice. By paying in cash, they could avoid leaving a paper trail, and the other patrons were unlikely to pay much attention to them.
Susan sat at a rickety desk next to one of the twin beds and pecked away at the keyboard of her laptop, the evening news on the tube just barely drowning out the screaming pipes of Daniel’s shower. So far, she hadn’t found out very much about Birchmere, but she was going to keep at it until she did. Things like his address and phone number had been easy, but the juicy stuff was bound to take longer.
The pipes fell silent and moments later Daniel emerged from the bathroom clad in jeans and an undershirt, toweling dry his hair as he padded barefoot across the room. “Anything good?”
“Not so far.” Susan disconnected from the net and shut down her computer. “All I have so far is personal statistics. I can tell you his driver’s license number, but not why he’d be involved with Floyd Rockport or an attempt to discredit you.”
Daniel sat down on the edge of the bed and stared down at the towel in his hands. “I don’t know.”
After a heavy silence, Susan said, “Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll find out. Did I ever tell you—”
A pounding on the door interrupted Susan. Shaking off his melancholy, Daniel shushed Susan and glided silently to the door. Looking out the peephole, he saw a fish-eye-distorted view of a scruffy elderly man trying to peer back at him. Daniel motioned Susan to relax and opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
The old man scratched his white beard and smiled. “Hi, I’m Jeff Frankel. I have the room next door,” he said, pointing. “I was wondering if you folks could spare some soap, seeing as how the management declined to give me any and said management is currently passed out in a drunken stupor.”
Daniel had to smile. It seemed like the first time in ages, and it felt good. “Yeah, hang on.” He walked back to the bathroom to get some soap.
