Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  Jason paused. He had to think this through. “Do you have children?”

  “No. We couldn’t.”

  “Are you worried about family?”

  Earl jumped to his feet. He thrust a crooked finger in Jason’s direction. “I don’t know why you’re pushing me on this. Maybe it was me I was trying to get away from. A big piece of my life ended when she no longer recognized me. Then …” His eyes welled. He lowered his finger. “If you’re thinking of doing a story on me, I don’t give my permission.”

  “No. It’s not that. I thought you had some connection to Ella Hahn—”

  “I do. Every time she comes out of it, I want her to know she isn’t alone here.” He turned toward the window, and the green lawn beyond it.

  Jason stood. “I’m sorry. I have what I need. You don’t need to worry. Nothing will come of our conversation.”

  Earl didn’t turn from the window.

  Jason paused at the door. “Thank you for caring about Ella.”

  CHAPTER 26

  THE DRIVE TO SANTA ROSA TOOK FOREVER, OR SEEMED to. Jason wondered why Ella had refused to talk to him. If something had happened to her, the memory must have survived her mental vacancy through most of the day. He didn’t know much about Alzheimer’s, but he assumed the event would have to be pretty bad to make a lasting impression. Unless she remembered more than she let on. At least Earl didn’t seem to be involved. Although he could be a good liar. “Benefit of the doubt.”

  Jason picked up his cell phone and punched in the code for a stored number. He waited. It clicked into voice mail, as expected.

  “It’s me. I don’t need the workup on Earl Trent anymore. I got what I needed. It might sound strange, but I don’t want to know his real name. You can send me one piece of information, though. Is there anything outstanding from the police? And don’t worry, I’ll send full payment, plus a bonus. Thanks, big brother.”

  He threw the phone onto the passenger seat and swerved from the highway onto an off ramp. He swung over the overpass and drove about a mile before he flipped a U-turn and headed back. It was his third and last maneuver of this type before his turnoff in Santa Rosa. Ever since Agnes told him about the box, he’d paid as much attention to his rearview mirror as his windshield. Tonight, either he was clean, or his pursuer was really good. He banked on the former.

  Glad to be home, he slammed the front door behind him and threw the dead bolt, then walked through to the sliding glass door and pulled it open. The patio faced the tee boxes on the seventh hole of a public golf course, but they were partially shielded by a stand of eucalyptus trees. The trees shredded the view, but they repelled nearly all of the wayward tee shots.

  He liked the location, despite the limited view. He was on the end of his building, and the building was at the end of the development. Privacy squared. Besides, his parking space was right next to the side wall of his apartment. Easy in, easy out.

  He liked the nights here the best. No golfers, and no upstairs neighbor, who worked nights at an aluminum plant that stamped cans for beer and soft drinks. He even liked it when it rained and the eucalyptus trees smelled like cat pee.

  He leaned on the stucco half wall that separated his patio from the long, sparse grass of the golf course fringe. No rain recently. The air smelled fresh. It smelled of productivity. He’d bring his laptop out for a final tune-up of one of his stories.

  A rustling sound shook a bush to his right, ten yards into the darkness. He cocked his head in that direction. A shadow moved behind one of the tree trunks.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  He turned to go back inside.

  “Don’t go in.” The soft voice stopped him.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Please. Don’t go in. I want to talk to you.”

  He scanned the area, but there was no substance to the voice.

  “Who are you? Identify yourself or I’ll go in.”

  “No. Please. I just want to talk.”

  He turned and stepped to the sliding glass door.

  “I’m Lilin.”

  He froze. “Did you follow me here?”

  A dark figure stepped from behind a tree trunk and slowly walked toward the stucco wall. As she stepped into the muted light from his patio, his heart raced. From fear? From excitement?

  The woman resembled Agnes, but only superficially. Her walk was more of a confident strut, even though she walked on a soft surface. She wore skintight shorts that barely covered two or three inches of her thighs. Her shirt, if one wanted to call it that, was tied just above her navel, and fell open two buttons up to reveal an ample cleavage that protruded with a natural, braless sway.

  He tore his eyes from her chest as she came into the light. Her face was Agnes’s, but with a different countenance, and not from the makeup, which was heavy but well done. Her eyelids were heavy, sensuous, like Marilyn Monroe’s. And her hair was styled with a zigzag part that coursed halfway to her crown and disappeared into a slightly bouffant shell that fell to her jawline.

  He stood, paralyzed in the glow of her advancing appeal.

  She put her hands on the patio wall. “Help a girl over?” She held her arms out like a toddler wanting to be carried.

  He hesitated. Which was dominant, the reporter or the man? It didn’t matter. He moved to the half wall and placed his hands under her arms, then lifted. Her perfume teased his senses. It wasn’t the same as Agnes’s. It was more floral, ethereal.

  Her midcalf, heeled boots clattered on the stucco. Her hands wrapped around his neck as she slithered against him.

  His body reacted uncontrollably to her curves. He caught a prolonged view of her breast. She did nothing to hide it from him.

  Intoxicating.

  He shook loose and stepped back. Focus. He had so many questions. Which one to ask first? Cold shower. Think cold shower.

  She straightened, thrusting her breasts forward. She tilted her chin and raised a brow. Hands on hips, she looked him up and down.

  He stood with his mouth open like a spellbound teenager, cold shower forgotten.

  “Now you’ve seen the titties of twins.” Her voice broke the silence, much more bold than the calls from behind the tree. “A male fantasy unfolds, right?”

  The topic caught him off guard, and he didn’t know if he should duck for cover from her complaint, or laugh at her joke. Her tone had been playful, and her partially closed eyes didn’t have the slant of anger, but something in those eyes told him to beware. They glowed with the full dilation of intent.

  “I’m sorry.” He stammered into his response. “What did you say?”

  “I want to know your intentions with my sister.”

  “I’ve been trying to help her find you.”

  “Now we know your approach. What are your intentions with her?”

  Her words were confrontational, but her tone and expression were teasing. She moved toward him, swaying her hips wide with each step.

  “I like Agnes, but I don’t have a personal agenda.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  Seen? He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, balancing on one foot. Her delivery was softer, sultry, and her exaggerated movements enhanced the sway of her breasts. Was she angry or flirting? Or both?

  “I’d like to find a way to get the two of you together.”

  Lilin laughed. “A threesome. I should have known.”

  He balanced on the edge of the abyss, and she pulled and pushed at the same time. She looked like she enjoyed her game.

  “No. Not that. Agnes wants to meet you. You’re her sister. She wants to be with you.”

  “I’ll meet her when I’m ready, and I won’t need you to set it up.”

  He flexed his legs, ready to jump. “Then why are you here?”

  “To judge your intentions with my sister.”

  “I told you what they were.”

  “I don’t believe you. If you want to sc
ore twins, you’d better start with me. Now. I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, or the next day. Besides, it’s going to take some serious work to get into Agnes’s pants.”

  “I told you that’s not what I’m after.”

  “You don’t find us attractive?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “And you didn’t diddle that woman from Aunt Ella’s home after knowing her for what, a few minutes?”

  She saw that? “It’s different with Agnes.”

  “Pull the other one. You men think a woman is nothing but a playground. A teeter-totter, curly slide, and merry-go-round all rolled into one.”

  Her effervescence was fading, so he took another step back.

  “I’ll stop seeing her if that’s what you want.”

  She tilted her head as a frown wrinkled her forehead. “You know that’s not what I want. She seems happy when you’re around. She’s never had a man, and she’s not likely to have many more chances.” She paced parallel to the half wall. “I want you to do her, and then stop seeing her.” A throaty laugh filled the patio. “I’m sure you can pull it off. It seems to be your style.”

  “I can’t do that. That’s not why I’m helping her.”

  “Sure you can.” She pulled her shirt aside to expose her right breast and supported it with her left hand, giving it a slight shake. “She has everything you see right here, but it’s low mileage. Not like me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to her.”

  “Yes, you would. The innocent ones always induce the best fantasies. I could do you ten different ways and your mind would still be on her.”

  Jason inched backward.

  Lilin seemed to notice his movement. “So, I guess this means you’re not interested in having some fun with me tonight. Pity. I could’ve curled your toes like they’ve never been curled before.”

  “What about Agnes?”

  “Don’t try to tell me you have those kinds of feelings for her. I’ve been watching you. You’re not one of the good ones.” She reached down to her right boot.

  The expression reverberated in his mind—not one of the good ones. He took a full step back as her right arm raised toward him.

  He dodged left as a zing rang in his ears. A shooting pain ran up his right arm and down his right side. Then all of the muscles on that side of his body contracted into painful knots. He fell to the cement.

  A Taser. She shot him with a Taser. He knew because he’d done a story on them. He’d even seen a demonstration in which an officer volunteered to be shot with one. But unlike the officer, he wasn’t totally incapacitated, and his mind was still sharp.

  He leaned up and swept his left arm across his chest. A lead was attached through his shirt. He yanked out the barbed probe, grimacing at the sting. He scraped his right arm. Nothing. It must have grazed him, delivering only a portion of its jolt. Movement terminated his analysis.

  Lilin came at him, towering over him. A bright starburst of reflected light flashed from her raised right hand. A low, guttural growl parted her red, painted lips.

  He waited until she was a step closer and raised his left leg. He kicked. His heel caught her square in the chest, knocking her backward against the apartment wall. She collapsed, straining for her next breath.

  His right arm hung at his side, useless, and his right leg was only partially there, tingling from hip to ankle. Lilin staggered but stood, so he launched himself at the half wall. The stucco rasped the skin along his left side as he fell on the other side of the wall. A snarl crowned the barrier. He heard the swipe of her hand pass close to his right ear.

  He jumped to his feet and ran for the cover of the trees, eyes on the wall.

  A groan pierced the darkness as she strained. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her shadow come over the wall.

  His right leg worked well enough to maintain a decent pace, but he ran with a significant limp. He sent a silent prayer of thanks upward for his dedication to his morning visits to the gym.

  Staggering between two trees, he stumbled around a third and headed out onto the grass. He grunted as he turned left onto the fairway, then held his breath as he cut right to circle behind the elevated tee boxes. The crescent moon was unobstructed by clouds, so his silhouette would be easy to see.

  Her growling turned away. His deception worked, but only for a moment. The knee-high tees were still about ten yards away. Her snarl shifted in his direction, bouncing off the slick grass. Had she spotted him?

  He circled the first tee box and ran to the far edge of the course. A waist-high chain-link fence separated the golf course from a flood control canal that maintained a trickle of water, even in the dead of summer. He rattled the fence with his arm, and kicked it a couple of times, then darted away from the fence, back toward the other two raised tee boxes. Halfway, he fell to his knees, then flat on his stomach as Lilin approached the fence, silhouetted by a distant streetlight. She raised herself over the barrier and ran to the edge of the canal.

  She looked right, then left, then right again. She darted to the left. Ten yards down the canal, a tall stand of white oleander filled the space between the fence and ditch. She ran to it and pushed her way into the bushes.

  Jason returned to hands and knees until he was behind the last tee box. He paused on all fours, struggling to catch his breath. The razor just missed his neck a minute ago. His neck, then his crotch. His abdomen tightened like he was leaning off the roof of a skyscraper.

  Out of view, he ran in a low crouch across the cart path to the sixth hole. It was a par three with three large sand traps guarding the green. The largest one had a tall grass overhang that was probably responsible for a good proportion of the curse words he had heard leaking from the course during playing hours. The hole bent around his apartment complex, so the trap was within fifteen yards of his parking lot.

  He dove into the trap and crawled as far under the overhang as he could get. Wiggling into the sand, he used his good arm to scoop more sand around him. He put his head down, trying to blend into the contour of the slope.

  The wait wasn’t a long one. Within a few minutes, soft footsteps and heavy breathing echoed across the short, even grass of the green. He tried to calm his own breathing. It was shallow, fast. He switched to mouth breathing, hoping it wasn’t noisy.

  The footsteps crossed the green at a leisurely pace, right to the edge of his bunker. Then stopped. A loud grunt sounded from right above him. He flinched. God, don’t let her notice. Please, God, don’t let her hear.

  The footsteps started again, circling the bunker in the direction of the parking lot—the direction of his head. Boots. He saw boots. Shorts. Shirt. Lilin. All of Lilin. She approached another short chain-link fence at the edge of the parking lot. She spun around.

  The human body can’t flatten like some animals, but Jason did his best to become two-dimensional. He pushed himself farther into the sand, and felt it move between his parted lips with each inhalation and exhalation. He pushed his tongue behind his front teeth to keep the grains from going any farther.

  Lilin scanned the golf course one more time. Hands on her knees, she hunched forward. Two slow, shuffling steps forward. Three. She stared directly at the overhang.

  A low growl resonated across the sand. Jason held his breath.

  The growl rocketed in volume. Lilin exploded into a sprint, directly at the overhang.

  Oh, shit. Jason’s entire body tensed. He closed his eyes tight. Sand grains ground against his molars. Involuntarily, his eyes opened wide.

  A bird flushed directly behind him. Its wings hammered the air. A sound nearly escaped his throat, but he held it in. The bird shot past his left ear and banked away into the darkness.

  Lilin froze again, hunched over at the corner of the bunker.

  The seconds seemed like minutes. He wanted to scrunch farther down into the sand, but he didn’t want to risk the movement. Did she see him? Was she preparing for the kill?

  A cackle ripped the air. �
��Almost got a birdie.”

  Jason closed his eyes again. The cackling continued, but changed direction. Away from him. He waited until it was a ways out and opened his eyes.

  Lilin boosted herself up on the short chain-link fence with straight arms and lifted her right leg, gaining a foot hold on the top of the fence. She froze once again and turned her head toward the bunker, and laughed again.

  Jason’s Volvo was two spaces from the fence. Lilin stalked its rear bumper. She raised her fist and slammed it down on the trunk cover and let out another laugh before circling to the driver’s side of the next car. She opened the door and swung in.

  Jason knew the type of car—a late sixties or early seventies Pontiac GTO. The muscle car of all muscle cars. An instant wet dream for most males over the age of thirty. The car matched Lilin’s growls as its engine came to life.

  Jason relaxed and spat out as much sand as he could. He’d be grinding grains between his teeth for hours, maybe days.

  The GTO backed up and swung its rear end toward the bunker. An unexpected bonus greeted Jason. The plate was one of the really old black ones, with bright yellow letters and numbers, and the lightbulb that illuminated the license plate well was missing its covering, so it was particularly bright, despite being pixilated by the chain-link fence. Before the howl of four hundred cubic inches of power spun the wheels on the pavement, he was able to make out all three letters, and the first of the three numbers: ZFZ 5.

  The road to the apartment complex looped around the tee boxes of the par three hole and formed a T-junc tion with a major street within a hundred yards. Jason watched and heard the GTO accelerate around the par three, rat-tatting across the raised, reflective street markers that outlined the golf cart crossing. He watched its brake lights flare as it approached the stop sign. It screeched into a right turn on the next street and headed into the night.

  Jason hurried from the sand trap, doing his best to shake loose the sand that covered him head to toe. His right leg was back to near-normal, and his right arm was tingling. Thawing out, as he called it when he was young and one of his limbs “went to sleep.”