Out Jumps Jack Death: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 8)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “You don’t need to do that,” a familiar voice shouted. It belonged to Diamond.

  I turned in the downpour and saw what I imagined to be her form walking briskly past some mounds in the mud in front of the bright lights. Suddenly I was on my knees once more. Then I wasn’t. She approached me and that was the last memory I had for what was to be a couple of days.

  12

  It was Sam’s face that I first saw when I awoke on whatever day it was. He was licking my face.

  “Love you, too, friend. Good to see you.”

  He sat down on his back haunches and seemed to smile.

  “Good to see you, too,” Rosey said from across the room.

  I glanced at my left arm and noticed that it was bandaged and wrapped in some field triage wrapping. I scanned the rest of my body fully expecting to still have a layer of mud covering me. I was clean.

  “Looks like the S.E.A.L.s have landed and cleaned up my injury.”

  “Something like that. The bullet tore nothing vital, but you lost a little blood,” he said.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  He smiled. “Yeah.”

  Sam came over and put his cold nose against my side and left it there. Strong affection for a Lab.

  “Must’ve been a heck of fight you were engaged in,” Starnes said as she entered the room. “Heard you two talking. Glad you’re awake finally.”

  “Wasn’t much of a fight. I never fired a shot,” I said.

  “There were three dead bodies by a black SUV. Sam shoot them?”

  “My guardian angel,” I said.

  “Some angel,” Rosey said.

  “She saved my life. That ought to count for something.”

  “Won’t get her into heaven,” Rosey said. I think he meant it.

  “Not much that we do gets us into heaven,” I said.

  “What on earth are you two talking about?” Starnes said. “Who is this guardian angel?”

  “Her name is Diamond. She’s helped me in the past.”

  “She’s a hired assassin,” Rosey said.

  “For truth?” Starnes said to him.

  “True enough. Murder for hire.”

  “And you allowed her to help you?” Starnes said to me.

  Sam shifted away from my bed and found a spot a safe distance from our conversation.

  “She has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  “Still,” Starnes said, “she’s a hired killer?”

  “Her profession would not be my first career choice,” I said.

  “Nor my second or third,” said Starnes.

  “Our work can get nasty. Sometimes you have to use what’s there.”

  “Not sure I agree with you,” Starnes said.

  “We can argue ethics later on. I think the folks in Washington are serious about getting rid of Rosey and all of his friends. That includes you, now, Starnes.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to resort to using hired killers to ward off the Washington thugs.”

  “You want us to leave?” I said to her.

  “No,” she said and walked out of the room.

  “She’s made her point. I’ve made mine,” Rosey said.

  I took that to be the end of it as far as Starnes was concerned. I wasn’t certain that Rosey had finished with his point.

  “She has more of a leg to stand on,” I said to Rosey.

  “You think I’m like a hired killer?”

  “I think the work you do for the government has death written all over it.”

  He stood up, stared at me, and then walked out of the room as well. Injured, coping with pain, and friendless, for the moment.

  “You gonna leave me, too?” I said to Sam.

  He stood up, walked over and put his large head on the part of my arm that was not wrapped and rolled his large, caramel colored eyes at me as if to say, I’m with you till the end.

  Comforting friendship.

  Despite my friends’ disagreement with me concerning Diamond, I was glad that she had come along in that pouring rain. I could easily be dead now. If I had passed out and she hadn’t come along, then those hired thugs would have done whatever they wished with me. Probably shot Sam as well.

  Wonder if the ethics of my friends would be the same if I was lying in a casket instead of a bed.

  And where was she? She must’ve known that her presence here would not be favored, to state the obvious. Timely and intuitive. Good combination in her line of work. At least from my perspective it was a good combination. I remained indebted to her. No way was I going to throw away that relationship, ethics notwithstanding.

  While I understood both of my friends’ attitude about using a hired killer, I also knew that I could trust Diamond to provide the kind of protection that Rosey might need if we ran into a larger squad than three being commissioned to eliminate him. If those people in D.C. were willing to take me out, then all of us were in need of a guardian angel wherever we could find one.

  I doubt if my mother would agree with my survivalist philosophy. I thought about my father then. He had been a county sheriff in Virginia. I’d love to know what he would have said about somebody like Diamond helping me, to say nothing of saving my life on more than one occasion.

  I sat at the table and ate supper that evening. I was weak, but it was good to eat something. It had been two days since the wreck and since I had incurred my latest wounds. In addition to my gunshot injury, I was bruised and battered some from rolling around in the Jeep.

  My hunger was what I wanted satiated. Starnes and Rosey fixed spaghetti sauce and pasta along with some homemade bread. She was turning into quite the chef.

  “You must be studying recipe books,” I said. “This is over-the-top delicious.”

  “You’re delirious and just hungry,” she said.

  “I am hungry, but I think the delirium has passed. Did you fix the sauce for this?”

  “I did,” she said.

  “From a can?”

  “Jar,” she said.

  “Completely, solely, only from a jar?”

  “I added some stuff.”

  “See, I am correct. Rosey, tell her this is good.”

  “This is good,” he said without added feeling.

  “Wow. You two are something.”

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  “Did I miss something?” I said.

  “Rosey gave me the recipe. I just threw it together,” she said.

  “Well, I assure you that you threw it together well. Good recipe, my friend.”

  “It is very good,” he said to Starnes. “She’s a good student,” he said to me.

  “Since you are feelin’ so much better,” Starnes said, “you can do the dishes after supper.”

  “Gladly,” I said. “I am pleased and honored to do the dishes considering all things of late.”

  “We’re glad you’re okay, too,” Rosey said, “considering everything.”

  I took that to be as close to a concession as I would likely get from him regarding our disagreement.

  13

  Starnes had already retired for the night. Sam and Dog were asleep in the living room. I was sitting on the top step of the front porch. Late March and a warm front covered us for the moment. Still, I had a sweatshirt and a jacket on just in case there was a chill lurking about.

  It was dark and late. My cell phone was inside the house so I had no idea what time it might be. Good detectives have an internal clock so that they always know what time it is. Mine was broken. Some other things inside me were bruised a good deal. All things considered, I was happy to be alive.

  I had slept for two days since my rendezvous with the bright lights and the hired heavies, so I was not even close to sleepy. Besides that, I was busy pondering. I do that a lot now that I am well past thirty-nine. Well past.

  Pondering is what detectives do when they are not solving crimes. Sometimes it is what detectives do when they are solving crimes. I was not sure what this was,
somewhere in the middle. I was still trying to figure out what Rosey had done to bring the wrath of Thad down upon him. Since I had nothing of substance on which to chew, my pondering about that was nothing less than guesswork. I deduced that Rosey must know something that he doesn’t even know that he knows. Clever sleuth that I am.

  Rosey joined me on the step. He handed me my cell phone.

  “Rogers called a couple of times, but I didn’t answer for you. I figured she had some information on whatever it was she was researching and I also decided that she wanted to talk with you. You want me to leave you two alone?”

  I laughed.

  “That won’t be necessary. Besides, you might be a little interested if she found something that might enlighten us as to why an old employer wants you dead.”

  “I might.”

  “Call Rogers,” I said into the tiny microphone on the cell.

  “And where have you been since forever?” Rogers said using her contrived classic, sassy Southern voice from someplace deeper in the South than McAdams County, North Carolina.

  “I wrecked, was shot, and have been sleeping for two days.”

  “Really?” she sounded astonished.

  “No brag, just facts.”

  “And would that dark friend of yours ever call to inform me of your demise if that ever were the case?”

  “You want to answer that?” I said to Rosey.

  He leaned over and spoke into the phone, “No.”

  “Thank you, Rosey. Good to hear your voice. Hope all is well,” Rogers said changing her sassy style to a more pleasant tone.

  “All is well,” he said.

  “At any rate, Miss Nine-Lives Evans, I am glad you are alive and … well, are you healing?” Rogers said to me.

  “I’ve had good care. I’m ready to roll,” I said.

  “Are you sitting down for what I have discovered?”

  “Rosey and I are both sitting. The speaker phone is engaged. Lay it on us. And don’t tell us how you came by this info.”

  “Well, Dearie, according to what I have managed to piece together from several reliable sources, that Bangkok Relations name was merely the one used officially in the office and with the Secret Service. It seems that old Thaddeus changed the code name for some memos he sent to a fellow named Mich. My processor thinks that was his shortened form for Michael. I have not been able to trace down a full name as yet, but rest assured I am on it. This Mich or Michael may be the one who was with old Thad the day that Marvin Dillingham overheard Thaddeus and that man talking about exterminating Rosey.”

  “What was the code name Wilkerson used in his communication with Mich?” Rosey asked.

  “Golden Box,” she said.

  “Does that mean anything to you?” I said to Rosey.

  “Yep.”

  “Go ahead, Rogers. We’re still with you here.”

  “The Golden Box was the item that your friend and mine, code name Black Seal, was to bring back from Thailand. If Roosevelt Washington is not the Black Seal, then I’m not worth a tinker’s damn.”

  “Do you even know what a tinker’s damn actually is?” I said.

  “Honey, are you kidding me? This is your CPU whose memory banks are simply chocked full of raw material like that which I use from time to time to wow the general public.”

  “You don’t talk to the general public,” I said.

  “Baby-chops, you don’t know who I talk to.”

  I leaned over to Rosey and whispered, “Are you the Black Seal?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Get on with it,” I said to Rogers. “The likely enough Black Seal and I are intently listening to your report.”

  “I knew I was right. And before I get on with it, I am curious about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “I want to know if Rosey knows what was inside that box that he retrieved and brought back from Thailand to Thaddeus Wilkerson.”

  The light from the cell phone’s screen was shining brightly in the dark night. I looked at Rosey and he looked at me, and then shook his head. I didn’t know if that meant he didn’t know the contents or that he wasn’t about to answer her question.

  “Why do you need to know that?” I said to Rogers.

  “Because what was inside the Golden Box is the reason that they want to kill him,” she said.

  “I figured as much. Do you know what was inside the box?” I said to Rogers.

  “I want an answer from Roosevelt Washington first,” she said.

  “Held at bay by a bloomin’ computer. I can’t believe what the world is coming to,” he said.

  “Then you simply will not believe what was inside that box you brought back, mister,” Rogers said. “That is if you honestly do not know the contents.”

  “No, I did not know what was in the box. That was not part of my mission. I was to retrieve it and hand it over to Wilkerson.”

  “It was a flash drive, a small 16 gigabyte flash drive. Those gadgets have many names as you know. It all boils down to a file, sir. Data was what you retrieved,” Rogers said.

  “As in state secrets?” I asked Rogers.

  “I’m still searching for the answer to that, my love. I do not yet know precisely what the contents of the flash drive were, but I shall have that knowledge forthwith.”

  “Forthwith,” I repeated. “You’re a delight, Dear One. Call me when you have the scoop.”

  It was a darker dark when the face of the cell phone shut off.

  “Do you know things about this that Rogers has not uncovered?” I said.

  “Some minute data, but nothing that I think is worth disclosing. At least not yet.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “I am never surprised at what I am called upon to do for the agencies of the government. It is not my job to be surprised or shocked.”

  “Or informed as to specific details?” I said.

  “It is always a need to know basis in my line of work,” Rosey said.

  “And the one who lays his life on the line for his country, so to speak, does not need to know what is going on?”

  “A good soldier never –”

  I interrupted him – “Oh, don’t give me that BS! You are no longer a soldier for the military. You are an independent contractor who works for hire. They get you to do their dirty work because you’re good and you like the pay.”

  “You make me sound base and colorless,” he said.

  “With those rich skin tones of yours, you’re anything but colorless, my friend.”

  “That sounded racist.”

  “Black is beautiful,” I said. “Is that racist?”

  “Not if I say it.”

  “Working a double standard.”

  “The way of the world, my love. Get used to it.”

  “Back to the point – I am simply reminding you of your gene pool, your roots, and your education. Don’t sell your soul for people who turn their backs on you.”

  “I am sufficiently reminded. However, I suspect that they continually hire me for these unholy but oh-so-righteous tasks because I am a person they trust to keep his mouth shut.”

  “I don’t think Thaddeus Wilkerson trusts you to keep your mouth shut, my gallant warrior.”

  “Sometimes I do not like the way you think and reason.”

  “I get that. I recall our discussion earlier today, regarding Diamond.”

  “I disagree with you about that woman, but, I do confess that I understand something of why you trust her and call her for assistance from time to time.”

  “I marvel at your ability to comprehend the complexity of the woman named Clancy Evans.”

  “Me, too.”

  14

  Starnes fixed pancakes the next morning for breakfast. That was her way of saying she held no grudge against me despite the fact that she absolutely disagreed about Diamond, the hired assassin being invited into our little war with the people in D.C. She had no qualms about shooting people
from D.C. Her stand was regarding the ethics of collaborating with a known assassin. A killer. A hired gun.

  My reasons for calling upon Diamond were simple. I trusted her. She could shoot with deadly accuracy. She also knew how to maintain a low profile and stay alive. Since I enjoyed staying alive and keeping my friend Rosey alive, I can easily justify some non-justifiable stuff that way. While I am dependable and trustworthy – for the most part – I am not always consistent in my approach to solving problems. I am, however, expedient. I delve into practical solutions. My methods can be called into question; and, they often are. My results, not so much. I have the habit of finding ways to accomplish what I set out to accomplish. It’s not always pretty. This is likely one of those occasions.

  My mother would agree. She is oftentimes my chief adversary who comes at me with a hint of love. I am sure that she would prefer that I behave otherwise when it comes to my methods. The bottom line is that I am who I am. I cannot run away from that.

  In my defense for this Diamond-decision, I must say that I would not go seeking just any professional killer to join our ranks against the guys coming after us. If I had no personal experience or any relationship with Diamond, then she would not have been asked to come help. My weakness is that I am a relational person. My strength is that I am a relational person. Ambivalence, to be sure.

  Starnes fixed so many pancakes that we had leftovers for the dogs. Everybody left the table happy and full.

  A single, slight bell-sound emanated from my cell phone. That meant I had a text.

  “Leave. Go the back way. D”

  I grabbed my guns, a rifle I had brought from Norfolk, my pre-packed backpack filled with food, water, and a sweatshirt. I hurried to the living room where Starnes and Rosey were talking about my inconsistencies. The subject never ends.

  “Time to leave, boys and girls. The enemy must be approaching from the front.”

  “How do you know this?” Starnes said.

  “A text.”

  “From who?” Starnes said.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Damn. Is she watching our every move?” Starnes said.

  “I have no idea. I merely got the text and I am passing it on to you, in case you want to live to fight another day.”