by Jordan Cole
He kicked the silver box. The pounding from inside started up again, frantic this time. The two subordinates each hefted a side, lifting it into the air. The man in the suit smiled broadly.
***
Agatha paid the check. Then she sat in silence, running her manicured hands through her red hair.
“What do we do?”
We? Riley thought. Suddenly they were in this together. But for some reason, he didn’t much mind it. She had brains, and guts, and he liked her. He wanted to help her out. Somewhere, that ancient lizard brain adrenaline began to stir deep inside him. A bloodlust he’d felt before, in middle eastern deserts and barrooms and alleyways. Some people were up to some bad shit, and Riley wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know why a perfectly good hungover morning had been stolen from him.
“First thing we do is get you someplace safe. We should ditch the pickup. Someone could be looking for it.”
They went outside, lingering beneath a dimly lit overhang. A few truckers stood off to the side, smoking cigarettes and looking like they were in no big hurry to get back on the road. They wore mesh caps and loose-fitting shirts and cargo pants. If Riley took a few steps over to his right, he would have fit right in with them. He could use a shave and a shower, and a change from the grimy, sweat-stained clothes he’d been wearing for close to two days now. But there were other priorities to consider first.
“I think I should go to the police,” Agatha said. “Tell them what happened. Maybe I should have called them in the first place.”
“By all means,” Riley said. “But I think you should do it in DC. Preferably in a well-lit station with lots of witnesses. Harder for them to get to you in the city. We call some two-bit sheriff out here, who knows what they’re into. Could have a flag for your rental or this pickup truck already. Lead them right to you.”
“Okay. But how are we going to get back to DC without the pickup? Uber?”
Riley smiled and shook his head. Stretched out his arms. Glanced over at the coterie of truckers, still sucking down the stubs of their cigarettes like they’d found the last tobacco on earth. Agatha looked at him, her face sagging.
“Please tell me you’re not considering what I think you are.”
“Uber uses credit cards. Which can be tracked. Safer this way.”
With no further response from her, Riley took a few short steps over toward the truckers. They gave him cursory nods, mistaking him, Riley guessed, for one of their own.
“Any of ya’ll headed down to DC?” he asked.
One of the truckers, a younger guy with a thick mustache and buttoned up plaid shirt, gave a wave.
“Headed that way now, as a matter of fact. Trying to make it through before midnight.”
“Got room for two more?”
“Hmm.” The trucker looked at the two of them, and started hemming and hawing. “Normally I’d help you out, but insurance regulations and all that. The job’s been cracking down on that sort of thing.”
Riley nodded. Didn’t blame him. With self-driving cars on the way, these guys needed to hang onto their jobs as long as they could. He went back to Agatha. Pointed to her purse, and after some convincing, she came out with a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Riley went back to the trucker.
“How ‘bout now?” Riley asked. The trucker thought for a second, then took the money. Didn’t ask any further questions. Money now, consequences be damned. Without further debate they climbed into the cab, squeezing over one another to make room. Worry on Agatha’s face as they lurched away from the parking lot, headed back to where she’d started from.
5.
None of them talked much during the ride. The trucker kept a classic rock radio station turned up loud, and conferred with his CB radio every so often. Didn’t offer a lot of room for conversation. Riley could see Agatha on the verge of sleep, her eyes fluttering closed every so often before snapping back to life. She wasn’t used to days like these. Probably never had one before in her life. For him, it had been a while, but some things you didn’t forget, no matter how hard you tried.
The trucker made good on his estimate, and it was indeed just before midnight when they got into DC. Still a decent amount of traffic muscling down the interstate, headed toward the city lights. Safety in numbers. The Potomac shimmered in the still air. They passed the Verizon center and drove on to the northeast part of town. Riley instructed the driver to let them off on Massachusetts Avenue, a well populated thoroughfare with a line of bars and restaurants, crowded with people who had just gotten off work. He and Agatha climbed out of the cab, thanked the guy, and watched the truck roll away. She stared at the people going by with a dazed expression, like she had never seen them before. Riley scanned the crowds as well. But he saw nothing there. Just drunk natives and tourists, enjoying a late summer evening.
“Now what?” she asked.
“You should probably get some sleep,” Riley said. “Get refreshed. In the morning you can head to the nearest precinct and tell them the whole story. But I wouldn’t go back to your apartment. Not tonight.”
“What then? A hotel?”
“Yeah. Preferably a decently-sized one with a well-lit lobby.”
“If I use my credit card, my name will be in the register.”
“I’ll use mine.” It had been some stroke of luck that his wallet hadn’t fallen out of his pants during the earlier excitement. Riley wasn’t exactly flush with liquid cash, but he had a pair of seldom-used credit cards that worked just fine. He saw the look she was giving him, and smiled.
“Separate rooms, don’t worry. Whoever’s after you has no idea who I am, so the name Clayton Riley won’t ring any bells.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I’ve come this far. And I need a place to sleep, unless I want to pay a hundred bucks to have a cab take me back up to my cabin. We’ll find a hotel tonight and you’ll talk to the cops in the morning, and then I’ll be on my way. The authorities can help you more than I can.”
Agatha thought about it. Nodded slowly.
“I’ll reimburse you, of course.”
“Worry about that later. Let’s get this taken care of.”
Some quick searching on Agatha’s smart phone informed them there was a Westin Inn only a few blocks from where they’d been dropped off. It was a decent option--clean, well-run, just short of high-end, with guests coming and going from the bars nearby. A long front desk with an attentive staff. Riley handed one of the clerks his credit card and paid for two rooms, while Agatha stood with her head bowed, trying to make herself small and inconspicuous. They were assigned side-by-side rooms on the sixth floor. A busboy asked if they had bags to bring up, and Riley said he’d be unloading them from his car in just a minute. A couple with no luggage was memorable; a guy who’d left it in the car by mistake was forgotten immediately. The busboy strolled away, and they took an elevator up.
“Remember,” Riley said. “Lock the deadbolt. Anyone comes knocking on your door, you call me, then the police.”
They walked the winding hotel corridor until they reached the pair of rooms, two gray doors beside each other, nestled near a dead end.
“Why are you doing this?” Agatha asked. Her face a mix of emotions--fear, exhaustion, gratitude. “Why are you helping me?”
Riley yawned.
“Non nobis solum nati sumus. Or more honestly, beats me. I’m gonna get some sleep. Maybe in the morning I can give you a more satisfying answer.”
They parted ways, and Riley retreated to his room. A long day with plenty to think about, but after he’d stripped off his clothes and lay down on the queen size bed, drowsiness washed over him and soon he thought about nothing at all.
***
“That’s far enough,” said the man in the suit. They dropped the silver box onto a flat patch of earth, where it resonated with a metallic thud. They were out deep in the wilderness, surrounded by a tract of forest blooming thick as a rainforest canopy. The ground wet and lumpy, r
unoff from the reservoir a few miles east. The fringes of the man’s dress pants were muddy, which irked him somewhat, but it wasn’t a pressing concern, not right now. While his two subordinates got to work, turning up the soggy ground with their shovels, the man in the suit reached down and unlocked the bolt which held the silver box closed. Undid the hasp and opened it up, revealing the bruised and battered thing inside. The man in the suit looked down.
Inside the box was a person, face bloodied and swollen to grotesque proportions, legs broken and skewed uselessly against the sides of his prison. He sucked for air, hands reaching up into the cool night, good eye struggling to focus. After some effort, he seemed to grow aware of his surroundings. His gaze hovered shakily on the man in the suit, who loomed overhead with a curious expression. He stared down at the thing in the box with pity, like one would a wounded animal.
“Sorry about this,” said the man in the suit. “But you won’t have to worry much longer.”
The man in the box tried to speak. His tongue moved clumsily over what remained of his teeth, guttural noises emanating as his larynx struggled to form words.
“What’s that?” The man in the suit bent down, his brow furrowing. “Unfortunately, the chance for conversation is over. Long past over, actually. You should probably just try and relax. These two guys are working hard for you over here.” He turned to his subordinates. They were grunting and sweating, almost finished digging. An impressive mound of dirt piled behind them.
“Scott,” said the man in the box. The words were slurred and thick. He shook and trembled with the effort. “Scott.”
The man in the suit burst out laughing.
“That’s right! Very good, Peter. You remember me.” He slapped the side of the box good-heartedly. “Well done. I appreciate the effort. You win the participation trophy.”
“Wait.”
“Nah, waiting’s done. I think we’re just about set. That right, boys?”
The two men stuck their shovels into the soft earth. Nodded vigorously, both spent.
“Wait! Wait!”
“Bon voyage, Pete. Better luck next time.”
The man in the suit closed the box. Ignored the protestations of the gnarled and wretched thing inside. He locked the bolt, and nodded to the others. They hoisted it up, holding it aloft for a moment before dumping it unceremoniously into the fresh grave. The man in the suit watched as they went through the final stretch, piling the dirt back into the hole. He felt strangely self-conscious, like he should be helping, but then, they had only brought two shovels.
***
Riley was roused from a sound sleep by someone knocking. Loud but not frantic, delivered at a certain staccato speed and rhythm that suggested someone other than housekeeping. He found his pants crumbled at the foot of the bed and threw them on. Stumbled to the door and checked the peephole. It was Agatha, looking worried. He let her in.
“Sorry if I woke you,” she said. “I was getting anxious. I was up most of the night.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” he said. He saw her turning awkwardly away from his bare chest, and went to retrieve his shirt, now firmly into its third day of active duty.
“Sorry,” she said again. “You’re in better shape than I thought. At least, judging from how you dress.”
“Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.” He slung on his shirt, thinking a fresh change of clothes would be nice right about then.
“I was thinking about the police,” Agatha said. “And about what they’ll say. I think you should come with me. To corroborate my story. It sounds bizarre enough that I’m afraid they won’t believe me. You’ll lend me...an air of credibility, I guess.”
“You were nearly kidnapped at gunpoint. I would hope they take you seriously.”
“I know. It’s silly. Just as a woman by myself, who knows how they’ll react. And you helped me when you didn’t have to. I trust you. And I was serious when I said I would pay you.”
“Okay,” Riley said. Sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his head. “I’ll go with you to the police. See what they have to say. No promises after that.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Mind if I grab a shower before we head out?”
“Of course. I’ll wait in my room.”
She was still scared as hell, no doubt about that. Not that he blamed her. She went next door and he took a quick shower. Satisfying, feeling dirt and grime from the past few days washed away. Went back over to her room where she was waiting and they headed downstairs. Stopped at the continental breakfast to refuel before heading over to the precinct. Neither of them spoke much. Riley drank ice water and had some scrambled eggs. Felt like a new man. They headed out to the lobby and he told the valet to call a cab and they got in, directing the driver to the police station. Agatha was dressed in the same clothes as the day before, which somehow looked like they’d never been worn at all. Put together impeccably, like a fashion model. Riley didn’t know how she did it. One of the obscure skills of the fairer sex, he supposed.
They headed down Massachusetts avenue, making good time in the early morning hour. Arrived outside the first district precinct ten minutes later. A wide, old-fashioned building with a smattering of MPD cruisers sitting idle in the parking lot. Looked like it could have doubled as a library or a museum. It had been some time since Riley had been to a civilian police station, but he knew the drill well enough. He followed Agatha inside to the lobby, with a sleek front desk, more modern than the outside facade would suggest. A few people waiting in chairs, but not altogether crowded. Agatha spoke to the woman behind the desk, a uniformed officer who listened with polite professionalism. The officer typed some information into the computer and said a detective would be out to see them shortly. They sat down to wait.
“Are you sure about this?” Agatha asked, speaking in hushed tones. “If that guy you hit is dead, you might be in trouble.”
“We would have heard about it by now,” Riley said, shaking his head. “You’ve still got a cell phone, right? The Lexus you rented was feet from the guy's body. Someone would have called it in.”
“What if one of his friends found him first?”
“Then we’re in the same situation we are now. No chance they’d leave him there for the cops to find.”
“I guess not.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” Riley said. “You need to have this on record. If it comes back on you, later.”
But deep down, he wasn’t sure. The MPD would be better than some county sheriff out in the boonies, but in his experience, cops tended to screw things up more than they helped. In his experience, they tended toward corruption and violence, same as the people they hunted. Perps were usually stupid. Usually arrested themselves, all things considered. Riley didn’t know who was after Agatha, but one thing was clear--they weren’t stupid. And that worried him.
After nearly a half-hour, a man came out to greet them. He was dark-skinned, smaller, wearing a tan suit maybe half-a-size too big. Short hair cropped closely against his head. He looked like a guy with a lot on his plate. Like it wasn’t even ten in the morning, and his schedule was already full.
“I’m Detective John Ramirez,” he said, shaking hands with the two of them. “You say there’s been an attempted abduction?”
“Someone pulled a gun on me,” Agatha said. “Tried to get me into his car.”
“Okay. Glad you’re all right. Let’s head over to my desk and you can give me the story.”
They followed him through the busy station. Uniformed officers and haggard detectives milled around a long room, separated by glass partitions. Ramirez motioned to his desk, cluttered with pictures and paperwork. He went into the hallway and came back with two folding chairs, before sitting down across from them.
“Don’t exactly have much of a chair budget, unfortunately,” Ramirez said. He pressed the power switch of a computer monitor that looked like it had peaked in popularity sometime around 1
994. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
Agatha launched into the events of the previous day. Related the story in a detailed, clinical fashion, omitting the needless stuff and focusing on the important points. She mentioned the tampered-with car, the stalker, her suspicion that her job somehow factored into what had happened. Ramirez listened, taking notes on the computer. Didn’t interrupt much, which Riley appreciated. When Agatha was finished, he clicked his tongue and looked up at them, bobbing his head up and down.
“All right. I’ve got a few questions. To clarify, you two--” he fanned his fingers at Riley and Agatha, “--have never met before yesterday. Is that right?”
“No. I just happened to witness the attempted carjacking, or however you want to call it.”
“Your name is Clayton Riley?”
“The third, yeah.”
“And you were sleeping it off in a hammock? This was near your home?”
“Right,” Riley said. “Got a cabin up there. Fifty acres, just outside Charlemagne county. Maybe forty miles from the city.”
“You were unarmed, and you fought off a man with a gun. That takes some guts. Or stupidity.”
“I’d say both.”
“You a veteran?”
“Sort of. More of a security contractor. Retired. I’m sure if you type my name into Google, you’ll get a full history.”
Ramirez nodded.
“I’ll be doing that in due time. What I want to know is, after you’d gotten away from this guy, why didn’t you call the police immediately? You had your phone, right?”
Agatha nodded.
“So what’s with the wait? If this happened in Charlemagne county, it’s their jurisdiction.”
“Because I told her not to,” Riley said.
“Why not?”
“Because this was not an isolated carjacking. Not a crime of opportunity. Ms. Dumont was specifically followed and targeted. Charlemagne county has a small department. Maybe ten officers total. Too easy for someone with bad intentions to get information on Agatha’s whereabouts. I told her she should deal with the professionals of the MPD.”
