by Jason Deas
“I remember what it’s like,” Benny offered. “I didn’t let it bother me. If I didn’t have anything to say, I just didn’t say anything and I moved on.”
“You didn’t answer my question about your relationship with Rachael,” Jessica stated, motioning for a bartender.
“We’re seeing each other,” Benny said, even though he didn’t think it was any of her business.
“Exclusively?”
“We never discussed it.”
“Interesting,” Jessica cooed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Benny’s mind did a few flips and searched for words, a waiter appeared.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he said, “we were just going through a shift change. What can I get for you?” he asked, looking at Jessica.
“My new friend,” she said, brushing against Benny’s knee again, “was just saying he had a taste for fine champagne. What do you suggest?”
“We had a wedding here last weekend and the wedding party left a few bottles of some divine champagne. I’ll go and see what we have and bring two glasses of our best.”
“That sounds divine,” Jessica mimicked.
As the waiter walked away, Benny gathered his wits and shook off the spell of Jessica’s beauty to ask, “Why do you need to speak with me?”
“No small talk?” Jessica asked. Her smile was beautiful and evil all at once. Benny cringed inside.
“I don’t have much time.”
“Do you have another appointment this afternoon?”
“In fact, I do.”
“With whom?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Touché,” Jessica said, acting like she was stabbing Benny in the chest. She laughed and Benny registered it as one hundred percent fake. “Stay away from Ted,” she said, switching the conversation into a whole new gear.
“Ted who?” Benny asked coolly.
“I’m not talking about Ted Danson,” Jessica said. “Who do you think? You saw him two hours ago.”
“Oh,” Benny said. “That Ted.”
“Yeah. That one.”
“So,” Benny said, “you’ve been following me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t see a tail.”
“Oh Benny, honey, we don’t do it that way anymore.”
“I know that.”
“I could teach you so many new things if you would let me.”
“You could?”
“I could,” Jessica promised.
Benny started to slip away again, under her spell, before he caught himself. “When I inspect my car, you better have had the tracking device removed.”
The waiter arrived with the champagne and tried to act as if he had not heard what Benny said. The look on his face revealed he had heard every word.
The waiter departed, and Jessica picked up her flute. “I already have a boss who tells me what to do,” Jessica said, sipping her champagne. “If you want to boss me around, I could probably get into that,” she said with a wink. “If you don’t have your handcuffs anymore, you can borrow mine.”
“You are out of line!” Benny said, shocked by her advances and forthcomingness.
“I thought you already figured that out,” she started, “with the little tracking device thing.”
“I could report this to your boss,” Benny said calmly.
“But you won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Remember Brandt Anderson?”
How could Benny forget. He was the guy who had the job of firing Benny when he made his little mistake. And, he wasn’t nice about it or understanding at all. Brandt raked him over the coals and made Benny feel like the scum of the earth.
“Unfortunately,” Benny answered.
“He’s my boss now,” Jessica announced triumphantly, “and he would just file that complaint under sour grapes.”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Benny suggested.
“Let me hear it.”
“I’ll stay away from Ted, if you promise not to follow me, and do your own legwork? I’m tired of solving cases for the FBI. I now work for private citizens. If you want to know what I know—it will cost you and that ass Brandt a pretty penny.”
“Deal,” Jessica said, extending her hand.
Jessica and Benny shook hands.
Benny had not touched his champagne. He picked up his flute and said, “To our deal,” and extended his glass toward Jessica.
She in turn, picked up her glass and responded, “To the deal.”
As their glasses clinked together, Benny and Jessica turned to see who had just entered the bar and spotted them. It was Rachael.
Chapter 14
Benny pulled his champagne flute away from Jessica’s and stood up.
“A little early in the afternoon for champagne, isn’t it?” Rachael put forth, more as a statement than an actual question.
“When the FBI is buying hundred dollar bottles of champagne, I’m taking it anytime I can,” Benny tried. “And,” Benny continued, “Ms. Flynn and I have just come to an agreement that she’s not going to follow me anymore using unorthodox means. In turn, I have agreed not to speak to one of my former colleagues any longer—or at least until the case is resolved.”
Rachael looked from Benny to Jessica.
“Unfortunately,” Jessica said, “it’s true. Benny seems quite noble. I was hoping I could alter his moral sensibilities with alcohol.”
“He just talks a lot when he’s drunk,” Rachael said, with a wink to Benny. “Other than that, he is quite a catch.”
“I’ll file that information away for future reference,” Jessica said. “And, I’m not making any promises.”
“Promises about what?” Rachael asked.
“Promises about trying to steal your fish,” Jessica said, standing up from the table. “I too, like to pull in a big one.” Jessica shot a look at Benny and said, “You two enjoy the champagne on the FBI. You both owe me one.”
Before either Benny or Rachael could respond, Jessica quickly walked away.
Rachael motioned for the waiter. He hurried over. “Can you please remove this glass and bring me another one?” she asked, gesturing to Jessica’s flute. “This one is dirty.” She shot a look at Benny and he nodded his head slightly in agreement.
Silence hung in the air for a moment before Benny said, “I get the feeling, you two might know each other.”
Rachael did not speak.
“Do you?” Benny asked, perturbed.
“I didn’t know it was a question,” Rachael said, giving the attitude right back to him.
“Don’t get touchy.”
“Touchy?”
Realizing he was digging a hole for himself, Benny tried to change gears saying, “I know it looked bad, but can I explain what happened this morning?”
“OK.”
Benny explained how he had gone over to Ted’s house, and Jessica had been waiting for him in the lobby when he returned. He also told her the details about the tracking device and the bad blood with his old boss who just so happened to be Jessica’s current boss.
“Understood,” Rachael said, taking a sip out of her clean champagne flute. “Let me tell you about my bad blood.” Rachael took another sip and then finished the glass. She refilled her glass and drained it again before continuing to speak.
“This is really expensive champagne that is supposed to be savored,” Benny said, trying to make a joke. “I could just order you a few shots of tequila if you’d like?”
Rachael gave him a wicked look and did it one more time.
“Champagne shooters could be the next big thing,” Benny said, accepting the fact that he was now just going to have to sit back and accept whatever was coming.
“Jessica Flynn is a total bitch,” Rachael began.
“If it helps this story any, she seems to feel the same way about you.”
“It doesn’t,” Rachael said.
“Sorry. I’m just going to listen
now and not try to add any more to the story.”
“That would be great,” Rachael said. “I’ll start again.”
“Great idea,” Benny said.
“Jessica Flynn is a total bitch.”
Benny nodded his head in agreement but dared not speak.
“Three years ago,” Rachael began, “you were between the FBI and your life now.”
“Drunk,” Benny said.
“I thought you weren’t going to add anymore to this story?”
Benny shook his head, no.
“Are we off the record?” Rachael asked Benny.
Benny threw his hands up into the air, pointing to his closed mouth.
“You are allowed to speak, one more time,” Rachael instructed.
“We are always off the record.”
“Agreed,” Rachael said. “I thought we had previously agreed upon that, but I just wanted to make sure. Because this time, it really, really matters.”
Benny started to speak and Rachael signaled for silence.
“It was the Appalachian Trail Murders.” Rachael looked to Benny for any sign of recognition. “Were you sober long enough to see that on television?”
Benny shook his head signaling he did not.
“Well, basically, there was this guy who was killing hikers on the Appalachian Trail. Since similar murders on the trail occurred in a small timeframe and crossed state boundaries, the FBI was called in to handle the case. And, because of the fact that the trail spans two thousand plus miles, from Georgia to Maine, it was a lot of ground to cover.
“The agents could never figure out if the killer was traveling from north to south or south to north. He was so elusive, moving and skipping around so fast from state to state that the agents had a hard time figuring out if he was working alone or had help. The FBI knew for certain that he was accomplished in wilderness living because one of the murders happened in the middle of what is called the Hundred Mile Wilderness. It is an area that has no road access or place to buy supplies for the entirety of the one hundred miles.
“As you can imagine, the news media was all over it. It had everything a case needs to capture the nation—intrigue, fear, a manhunt, and constant developments. The killer toyed with everyone and left little carvings of scorpions all over the trail. He left some in the three-sided shelters, carved some into signs marking the trail, trees, the ground. He even made this very large formation out of rocks, in a clearing, knowing it would be seen by a helicopter. Television personalities were risking their lives, like war correspondents, travelling into deep sections of the trail to capture exactly what is was like to be so far away from civilization.”
Benny raised his hand as if he was in a classroom. Rachael nodded.
“Before I ask my question, I would like to point out the fact that alcohol also makes you incredibly chatty.”
“Thank you, smart ass,” she said, with a grin. “Now ask your question and then go back to being quiet.”
“What does this have to do with Jessica?”
“I was just getting there.”
“So,” Rachael continued, “at the beginning of the media blitz, I was staying at this little bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere. The bed and breakfast was five miles from the trail and the next possible accommodations were about forty miles away. The place was OK. It was an older home, which was quite nice, but the walls between the rooms were paper thin. It was a large home and had ten rooms that had been converted into guest rooms. The older lady who ran the place said she normally had hikers who just wanted to get off the trail for a day or two, sleep in a bed, take a shower, and have a hot meal. The hikers were not picky about the rooms. The FBI had eight of the rooms and media types had the other two. People even paid her to set up camp in her yard or to sleep in their vans and cars.”
Benny raised his hand again and Rachael granted him permission to speak.
“I thought we were almost at the part where Jessica comes in?” Benny filled his glass with the remaining champagne and teased, “No more for you, talky pants.”
“I’m a journalist,” she teased back. “You are so, so lucky.”
“Why?” Benny asked.
“You get to enjoy my work without any commercial breaks.”
“Lucky me,” Benny answered. “If you don’t get on with this story, I’m going to have to request a commercial break so I can run to the restroom.”
“Should we order another bottle of champagne?”
“No!”
“What if I finish the story and we order one for the room?”
“Yes!”
“OK, then. Back to the bed and breakfast alongside the Appalachian Trail. My room happened to be next to Jessica’s. The headboards on our beds were separated by about an inch or two of wallboard. I couldn’t hear the talking in her room or the television, but I could hear the loud moans.”
“Uh oh,” Benny said, scooting his chair up as the story had finally caught his attention.
“Oh, Agent Charles,” Rachael mimicked. “Have I been a bad girl, Agent Charles? Have I been naughty? I might need a spanking, Agent Charles.” Rachael pretended to stick her finger in her throat as if she were making herself throw up. “It went on for two hours. I would get a twenty minute break here and there, and then they would start up again. Agent Charles, Agent Charles, Agent Charles.”
Benny was laughing so hard, he had to bend over and put his hands over his mouth to dampen the roar coming from his mouth.
“So, the next morning, all the guests were having breakfast in a big room downstairs. I could barely look at her. She was dressed in a navy suit and acting like she was God’s gift to the FBI. And, I knew her other side. Her dirty side. As I looked around the room, I wondered which one of the guys was Agent Charles. I even had the thought cross my mind that it might be another woman agent, but Jessica was the only female.
“Jessica was not exchanging glances with anyone, so I decided to figure it out on my own. I had seen a phone in the entryway the day before and got up quickly as if I had heard it ringing. I walked back into the room and announced, ‘Phone call for Agent Charles.’ The nerdiest little guy in the bunch stood up and walked toward the entryway. I almost lost it right there but somehow held it together.
“I had laid the phone down on a table with only a dial tone and sat back down to finish my breakfast. Agent Charles came back in a moment later and told me the phone was dead. I asked him if he thought it might be the killer messing with him, and his eyes grew two sizes.
“After breakfast, I had a quick meeting with my cameraman and producer and we all decided we wanted to go a mile or so down the trail to do a piece. When we got to the trailhead, Jessica was there. She informed us that we could not pass, the FBI had decided the area was unsafe and the media was not allowed to enter. My cameraman looked dejected, and my producer had veins about to pop out of her forehead.
“I told them to walk back out of earshot, and I would take care of the situation. My producer had her job on the line, as she had previously made some questionable decisions. I knew if this didn’t pan out for us she would probably not make it through too many more news cycles.
“So, I told Jessica that we were going to do our story. Jessica was a little taken aback and said that we absolutely were not going to do anything of the sort. I asked her if I did it anyway and was a bad girl if Agent Charles would have to spank me.” Rachael’s eyes were sparkling with humor as she continued.
“Her eyes lit up like Christmas. She didn’t know what to say—so I kept talking. I told her that I had heard it all. I told her I wasn’t sure about FBI policy and sleeping with other agents, but I would be interested in doing a story about the subject. And, if that wasn’t enough, the nation and all of my viewers would love this little juicy ear-witness account.
“I told her I would have the story ready for my show at nine o’clock that evening and to start working on her resignation letter. She let us pass, and to make a very long story short—t
hat is why she hates me.”
When Benny stopped laughing he said, “You know, you could have just said, ‘I caught her getting it on with another agent and blackmailed her.’”
“That story is no fun.”
“You’re right. Are you ready for that second bottle of champagne?”
“I am,” Rachael grinned. “You order it, and I’ll be upstairs waiting for you.”
“I hope the walls here aren’t paper thin.”
“I don’t care if they are,” Rachael said, with a wink.
Chapter 15
Red woke up in the garden with Galaxie at his side. She had been asleep too, with one eye halfway open, keeping guard. A woman on a bicycle approaching the house caught Galaxie’s attention, and the feline gently extended one of her claws to poke Red’s cheek. Red stirred and listened to hear the bicycle tires crunching against the gravel driveway.
Red watched from his hidden vantage point. Something about the person on the bicycle did not seem quite right. Instead of immediately parking the bicycle and heading for the door, the person stalled, to take in the entire scene and to write something in a small notebook. Galaxie began a low growl and Red shushed her with a click of his tongue.
The mysterious person walked the bicycle up the front walk and lowered the kick stand with one quick motion of her foot. Once she made sure the bike was standing secure, she made her way confidently to the door.
As the stranger climbed the stairs to the front porch and was out of Red’s sight, Red sprinted to the back door with Galaxie on his heels. Red entered his house from the rear to hear the door bell ringing and stood still for a moment to catch his breath. Once he was breathing normally again, he proceeded to the front door to greet his new and mysterious guest.
Red yanked the door open, and before the person was able to utter a word, Red said, “You not better be selling dirt sucking machines. I having one and Red not needing another one for many years and days.”
The person at the door was dumbfounded. “I… I…”
“Do you not speaking English?” Red asked. “I not speaking any other words than English. I do speaking with hands if you speaking with you hands. I not even learning English until way past time. Red Mama and Red Papa only speaking with they hands.”
