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

by M. Glenn Graves

  Sam also watched as folks hurried past. Now and then his ears would stand erect at some brief conversation that would go by hurriedly, but most of the time he simply would watch them walk along on their way to wherever it was they were hurrying. Maybe they were nothing less than a mass of white rabbits crossing his horizon. Well, only if he could ponder metaphorically. Sam was too smart to see the masses around us as anything but humans. Just a guess here.

  “Let me know if you see or hear anything interesting,” I said to him.

  He whined a little, but just to answer me. Nothing emotional.

  A slight breeze was stirring in Dupont Circle. The sun was warm and welcoming. My take on nature. I hadn’t relaxed like this in days. It was good to be sitting and pondering even if I detested waiting on men. My lot in life some days.

  I removed the cell phone from my pocket to see if there were any calls I had missed. Nothing showed. Maybe it was just Starnes’ old cell. I had left Diamond’s loaner in the truck after I had turned it off.

  Since I was killing time waiting on this man, I decided to do something useful. I programmed Rogers’ phone number, my home number really, into the number one speed-dial slot on Starnes’ burner phone which she had loaned me. Essentially, it was now my burner phone.

  It was a quarter past noon and by that point I had discovered at least four men in dark glasses lurking at four different corners of adjacent streets. Intuition informed me that Summers was taking no chances with me. I figured he had to be close.

  He appeared as if from the shadows of one of the nearby buildings.

  “I take it you’re alone,” he said.

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Agent Summers. This is Sam.”

  He looked down at the dog without speaking. Dubious beginning if he wanted to win me over. He would have to up the ante to win over Sam.

  “Yes, he bites,” I said.

  “I didn’t ask,” he said.

  “You were thinking.”

  “Mind reader?”

  “It helps me in my work,” I said.

  “And what is your profession?”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Not sure these days. Your involvement with Roosevelt Washington and his illegal activities could cost you your license.”

  “A threat?”

  “Just a cautionary word, nothing more.”

  “I didn’t call you here to have you chastise me for my behaviors, nor my associations,” I said and stood up, faking an attempt to leave him without sharing.

  “I don’t have time for games or dramatics, Miss Evans. If you have something to say to me, then tell me or I’m leaving.”

  “I need you to listen to what I have to say. If you believe me, you will find it interesting. If you do not believe me, you’ve only wasted a few minutes.”

  I sat down on the other end of the bench. Lots of space between us. I figured he would move closer to hear my story. I was wrong. Summers was being a hard case.

  “You can move closer to me,” I said.

  “I can’t appear to be too friendly with you.”

  “Big brother watching us?”

  “Always, Miss Evans, always.”

  I moved a few inches closer to him so I wouldn’t have to shout over the hubbub of the relentless human traffic walking past us.

  I told him the story. I left out some specific details, some people who could be hurt by his legal crusade, and some data that he simply didn’t need to know. Overall, what he got was the basics – Thaddeus Wilkerson of the B.E.P. hired Rosey to go to Thailand some time ago to retrieve a box which contained a flash drive. I told him what was on the portable drive. I also told him that Wilkerson had some of his contacts in the Secret Service try to kill Rosey because of his knowledge of the box and its contents. He was surprised when I added that Rosey did not know that the box contained the flash drive, and, at the time of the retrieval for Wilkerson, he didn’t know about the hologram on the flash drive.

  “You expect me to believe that Roosevelt Washington traveled to Bangkok, stole the box, carried it all the way back to the United States, and never opened it?”

  “My friend, the vigilant soldier. He had a mission and he did what he was told to do.”

  “A true soldier, huh?”

  “He’s one of those to be sure,” I said.

  I told him about Wilkerson meeting with Sai Leekpai to sell the drive to her for a couple of billion dollars. I didn’t tell him that I had Rogers steal that money from Wilkerson’s Cyprus account. I was waiting to see if I could trust him. Too much information might be damaging all around. I mentioned Sai and her brothers being some part of the plan on both ends. I didn’t give all of the names of the participants, but I did give him Sai Leekpai’s name. I did tell him that Sai was no longer a threat to us.

  I mentioned that I had some unanswered questions.

  He focused his small, black eyes on me while I talked. I couldn’t tell whether he was using some technique from his training manual to make certain that I was telling him the truth or trying to undress me. I leaned towards the former since his body language was anything but sexual. Once he stared off into space as if whatever I was saying bored him to tears. When I finished my prepared speech, he remained silent and still for about a minute. I looked at my phone a time or two just to be certain that time was still moving. These were odd moments to be sure.

  “I can walk Sam around while you ponder this, if that helps,” I said finally.

  He looked at Sam and then back at me.

  “Your tale is too wild to be mostly fabricated. I suspect you have left out some details here and there; probably to protect your own skin … and maybe the skin of others. But, the long and short of it is, I believe you. I am not certain as to why I believe you. I don’t really like you and therefore it makes it more difficult for me to accept what you say.”

  “Hard to know our own minds some days,” I said.

  “Don’t be philosophical with me. I won’t trudge through that tripe,” Summers said.

  “Alliteration, that’s good.”

  “What?” he looked confused.

  “Literary term. You just … never mind. Can you help me?” I said.

  “Not sure. I need some proof of what you say is on that drive. As in, hard evidence.”

  “Give me your email account.”

  “Personal or work?” he said.

  “Whichever one you think is safe from prying eyes.”

  Summers took out a business card from his inside coat pocket. He then retrieved a stubby pencil with no eraser. Probably his golfing pencil. He scribbled something quickly on the back of the card and handed it to me. A non-descript email account written in pencil. I flipped the card over and all it had on the reverse side was his name, Rodney Phillip Summers.

  “Is this in case you get lost and forget your name?”

  “Smart-ass. That’s all some of us need.”

  “Concise,” I said as I hit the number one on my cell phone.

  Rogers answered. I gave her the email account and told her to send a copy of the Bangkok file to that email.

  “Personal secretary?” Summers said.

  “Yeah.”

  Summers waited a few minutes then took out his phone. I watched him push some buttons and then study whatever appeared. I had to assume that he was viewing the hologram of the Thai currency plates. I wanted to lean over and gape, but I decided I didn’t know him that well.

  “Give me my card back,” he said abruptly.

  “You don’t trust me with your name and email account?”

  “In case someone finds you dead in an alley, I don’t want my card to be part of the investigation.”

  In light of the fact that my personal secretary now had his email account in massive data storage, it was the least I could do for Summers.

  “Wild imagination you have, Rodney.”

  Some moments passed as he studied the file Rogers had sent him.

  “Su
rreal,” he said finally. “Never seen anything like it. But I’m not sure it proves your story. You could’ve stolen this yourself and then fabricated the rest to come clean.”

  “Come clean? Seriously? You sound like a B-movie from the ‘30’s.”

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “It was in the possession of Thaddeus Wilkerson.”

  “You stole it from him.”

  “We can call it espionage.”

  “He’s a government employee. You stole it.”

  “Okay, be literal. So you won’t do anything?” I said.

  He stared at the tops of the buildings for a short interval. At least he had his head arched in that position with his eyes aimed skyward. I watched him take several deep breaths.

  “Careful, Rodney. Keep that up and you’ll hyperventilate.”

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  “I have my moments.”

  “Let me do some checking,” he said as he stood up and walked away briskly.

  No goodbye. Nothing. Just walked away after our stimulating conversation with my spectacular show and tell. Some men have no manners.

  I noticed that after he had disappeared in a matter of a minute or so, all of the dark sunglasses with their suits who had been standing around watching us disappeared as well.

  Summers and his entourage were gone.

  54

  Rosey met me for lunch at a café just off Dupont Circle. In case Summers got testy, Rosey was there as a backup to make sure I survived the meeting. He had finished whatever recapitulation he had run through and surprised me for a late lunch. I surmised that my friend had been watching my back from the shadows behind those sunglasses and suits who accompanied Summers. True BFF.

  “He believe you?” Rosey said.

  “Couldn’t tell. But said he would do some checking.”

  “You think he will?”

  “He’s the diligent sort. I suspect he will snoop around some and see what he uncovers, but he remains skeptical.”

  “Mostly of you, I’d say,” he gave me a quick smile.

  “You’re a true friend.”

  “You have that effect on people.”

  “I am elusive and hard to niche.”

  “Don’t forget strange. So, I hope he is clever,” Rosey said.

  “Not sure I would use that adjective for Rodney.”

  “He could get himself killed. This thing … two billion dollars? That’s a lot of mischief being played out there. Thad was aiming to win the lottery.”

  “He came close.”

  “But for you and your friend, the illusive and insightful AI,” he said and downed his drink.

  “And that means you and I are still in the throes of vulnerability,” I said.

  “We be victims or heroes.”

  “I vote for something in between,” I said.

  “Babe, ain’t much in between those choices. At least not for the likes of us.”

  We left D.C. and returned to Sterling but not before we walked the Mall and admired the old buildings along the circumference. Sam needed an educational experience and that was as close as I could get him to it without violating most of the buildings’ pet policies. I ran the idea of pretending Sam was my service dog past Rosey.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “And creative.”

  “And if they catch you in your little deceit … what do you think they might do to you?”

  I mentally postponed the notion and whispered to Sam that we might try it on another occasion.

  Sam and I tried to follow Rosey out of D.C. but the traffic was such that our staying close to each other from the city to Sterling was impossible.

  By the time we arrived at Rosey’s apartment complex, it was late afternoon and I was hungry. Best guess was that Sam was also hungry. Rosey was sitting on the curb in front of his condo waiting for us.

  “You buying or fixing my dinner?” I said as I approached.

  “Let’s cook in tonight. I’m a little tired of dining out. I need the practice with some of my culinary techniques. I don’t want to get rusty.”

  “Tired of dining out? Our lunch today was the first time in several days for me, and you … you’ve been hiding out in the mountains.”

  “Precisely… hiding and dining out.”

  “You’re idea of dining out is radically different from mine. But, since you cook so well, it sounds like a plan to me.”

  He unlocked his door and we walked inside. The entire apartment was in shambles. Someone had tossed the place, obviously looking for something. His Rembrandt sketching was on the floor near his sofa. It was torn. The wall safe was opened and cleaned out.

  “They took my files.”

  “Anything incriminating in those documents?”

  He laughed.

  “Okay. Anything in them that might punish you by death?”

  “Only if they fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Like the government?”

  “Depends.”

  “On the alphabet agency?”

  “No. Which government you mean,” he said.

  We went through the rubble and began straightening the place as we moved about methodically from one chaos to another. Halfway through the living room, Rosey sat down and sighed loudly. Exasperation was evident. I’m a detective. I know these things when I see them. Highly skilled.

  “We can go eat somewhere and come back to this,” I said.

  He nodded approval and we left. Rosey was silent instead of philosophical. This adventure was getting to him.

  We stopped at the closest eating establishment we could find. Billy Bob’s Burger Barn was the place. Sam remained in the backseat of Rosey’s Jag while we went inside for some greasy special. We both ordered comfort food and filled our bodies with saturated fat from fries and cheeseburgers. I also had a milkshake. Black Cherry with whipped cream on top. He drank black coffee.

  We ate mostly in silence. Rosey wasn’t much into talking. His disheveled home was likely weighing heavily on him. I tried to give him ample space to process. After thirty minutes of our greasy delights, I had to say something.

  “Billy Bob knows how to make good burgers,” I said.

  Rosey grunted and took another bite.

  “Are the onion rings any good?” I said as I studied the menu for some future occasion in which we might wind up there.

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  “You mean this is your first visit? Are you kidding me?”

  “First.”

  “And this place is so close.”

  “If I eat here again, I won’t be around to see your children.”

  “What children?”

  “Those you will have after you marry.”

  “What planet are you from?”

  “No plans to marry?”

  “Where did this conversation come from?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that other thing.”

  “Oh, the old home place.”

  “Yeah, that thing. And I don’t want to go back.”

  “Ever?”

  “Tonight. We have to go back, but not tonight.”

  “Where are we going to sleep?”

  “Motel 6,” he said.

  I shook my head. Been there and done that.

  “I want an upgrade.”

  He nodded, paid for our supper burgers, and we left Billy Bob’s, but not before I had ordered Sam a couple of regular burgers without sauce or other condiments. He preferred his meat plain and without the buns. I cheated and gave him a couple of French fries just to delight his fancy.

  We walked across the street from our motel to the IHOP for breakfast the next morning. It was after ten o’clock and the traffic had thinned enough for us to risk crossing. I wanted waffles and some accessories, so I used my womanly wiles and convinced Rosey that IHOP was the place. I told him I would shoot him if he didn’t take me there. Nice to know I have a strong influence on a friend.

  “You i
n a better humor today?” I said as we drank coffee and waited on our calories to arrive.

  I was waiting on blueberry waffles with bananas and whipped cream while he was waiting on a Southwestern omelet made with six eggs. Yikes. Talk about cholesterol.

  “I think so. I’m ready to go back and attack the place. I think I was a little tired last night.”

  “So you rested well?”

  “Yeah. Comfortable bed. How about you, you get some sleep?”

  “Some,” I said.

  Rogers interrupted our pleasantries. I retrieved Starnes’ relic of a phone from my pocket.

  “Got a news flash for you. D.C. police found a body early this morning in a dumpster on the southeast side of the city.”

  “I don’t want to ask,” I said.

  “No need. I shall tell all. An F.B.I. agent named Rod Summers.”

  I hit the speaker button and placed the phone on the table between our coffee cups

  “Say that again, you’re on speaker. Rosey needs to hear this.”

  “Of course. Good morning, Mr. Hunk,” she said.

  Rosey grunted at the phone.

  “He says good morning. Repeat what you just told me.”

  “A homeless woman was rummaging through a dumpster in an alley in southeast D.C. She discovered a body and had someone call the police. They identified the victim as Rod Summers, F.B.I. agent.”

  “You should have told him to be careful with his checking,” Rosey said after Rogers had ended her report. She simply hung up and left us to our own thoughts.

  “I assumed the F.B.I. were trained to be careful.”

  “Apparently not,” Rosey said. “And if he doubted you told him the truth,” he said without needing to finish his idea.

  “Point.”

  55

  One day later I was leaving the Hoover Building. Rosey had dropped me off a few hours earlier. Someone had informed them that I had met with Rod Summers two days earlier. Probably one of those guys lurking in the four corners of DuPont Circle wearing their dark glasses and trying to look menacing the day Summers and I spoke. A snitch in sunglasses.