by Brett Baker
“You better let someone near it. Judging by your reaction to a simple question, it sure seems like you’ve got something to hide. A fresh set of eyes might provide some perspective that will protect you from yourself.”
“That’s enough. I’m not having this conversation with you. This isn’t any of your business. Stay away from Mia Mathis. She’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, looking for trouble. But forget about her. I’ll take of her.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Cooper asked. “You’ll take care of her? That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not a threat. But I’m not going to stand by and let someone damage my business. She’s been trouble ever since she came to town.”
“She told me that she came to see you the other day. What did you talk about? Why is she so interested in what you’re doing? How do she even know you?”
“It’s none of your business, Cooper. Drop it.”
“I have a right to ask questions.”
“Ask your questions,” Dirk said. “But the business isn’t yours. And if you can’t understand that, then maybe I’m going to have to cut you off so you’re forced to find your own business. You only get to live the kind of life you live because of how I manage this business. So instead of causing trouble, show some damn gratitude, and let me do what I need to do. Otherwise, you’re going to be on your own.”
“It might not matter,” Cooper said. “You keep managing this business the way you’re managing it, and you might go away and I’ll be on my own anyway.”
“That’s enough. Get out of here.”
Cooper stood up and walked out of the room. He didn’t get any information from Dirk, but at least Dirk knows that I know about 342 and the warehouse, which was my whole point of going to see him at his house in the first place. If I’d made the correct assumptions about Dirk since meeting him, then I knew exactly what would happen next, and I was prepared.
Chapter 31
After talking with Cooper that morning I had no plans for the rest of the day. I had to wait for him to talk with Dirk. I didn’t anticipate anything happening until Dirk found out that I knew about 342 and the warehouse. I suspected that Leona might tell Dirk, but I could also understand if she wanted to keep her distance from him since I’d made clear that I had my eye on her. But I wanted there to be no doubt in Dirk’s mind that I had an eye on him.
With nothing to do but wait, I returned to my room at the El Hombre. I’d forgotten about the doll in the bed, and felt a surge of adrenaline at the shock of seeing her upon entering the room. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm down, and then cursed the existence of such a ridiculous thing. However, once I recalled the plan for the evening, my appreciation for her returned.
I sat in the room and read for the entire day. I’d considered going to 342 to investigate further, but since I’d already laid the groundwork with Cooper, it seemed best to stick with my original plan and wait. I had no problem improvising new plans, or adjusting the reality of a situation as opposed to the plan for a situation, but all things being equal, I’d rather know what to expect than be caught off guard. And after a few encounters with Dirk Oswalt, I felt fairly certain I knew what to expect.
Well after dark I adjusted the doll, turned out the light, and stood in the doorway to evaluate its realness. Satisfied that it looked like a human rather than a pile of silicone, I scooted myself under the bed once again. It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.
I heard the jiggle of the door handle from a sound sleep. Jiggling the handle of a motel room door seemed like an amateur move to me. Motel rooms doors lock automatically. But if the person who’d decided to visit my room was more accustomed to visiting residential spaces, then it made sense. He jiggled out of habit. Chances are, the visitor often found unlocked doors, which made the first part of his job—entry—much easier. I couldn’t draw any conclusions about the person at the door just because of a jiggled door handle.
However, the ease with which he opened the door after finding it locked implied that a professional had arrived. Had I not already been awake, I may not have heard him open the door. He picked the lock with a steady hand, and opened it with a smooth, silent motion. I could see only his feet as he entered the doorway after pausing for a moment outside after opening the door. He stepped inside the room, closed the door behind him, and took four steps toward the bed. He stood motionless for a few seconds before I heard four muffled shots in quick succession as he fired into the back of the doll, still under the blanket.
He took another step toward the bed, and I heard the bed creak as he lifted one leg, and rested his knee on the bed, as he stood on the floor with the other. Although I couldn’t see what he was doing, I assumed he’d leaned over to identify his victim. I prepared for the possibility of chaos that might ensue if he discovered that he hadn’t shot me, but rather a doll.
Instead, he stood up from the bed, and took a few steps back toward the door. I heard him put his gun down on the table in front of the window, and then heard the beeps of his phone as he dialed a number.
“I’m at the El Hombre. I’ve eliminated Mia Mathis.” I wanted to crawl out from under the bed and say, “Not so fast,” but decided not to ruin the situation.
“Yes, I felt her pulse. Nothing.” He hadn’t leaned on the bed to identify me, but rather to feel my pulse. For the first time I felt a pang of admiration for the people who manufactured the doll. Not only did they manage to fool Bundy into thinking she was real during his more amorous moments, but she felt so real that this man who came to kill me felt the doll and concluded she was authentic. Either the doll was well made, or the guy was just a lousy feeler.
“She put up no resistance,” Feeler said. He stood up from the chair, and walked toward the window. I couldn’t see what he did, but imagined he peered out the curtains. “I came into the room undetected, five quick shots, and she was done.” He spoke with the disinterested tone of someone describing a trip to the grocery store.
“I’m not responsible for disposal. That’s another team. Not my specialty.”
Disposal of the doll had been an obstacle since I devised the plan. I’d hoped that the murderer would wrap the doll in blankets and dispose of her without examining her too quickly, although he might notice the lack of blood right way. But if he didn’t plan to dispose of the body, but instead leave it for someone else to handle, then that meant I’d have to wait for someone else to arrive. Killing me wasn’t enough. I had to ensure they thought they had my body if I really wanted to deceive them.
“Fine, I’ll do it. There’s a swamp west of here. I’m sure I can put her in there and make the gators happy.”
After Feeler finished his conversation, I heard him pickup his gun, and he walked to the door of the room. I watched as he opened the door, and stepped outside, leaving the door the ajar just enough so it didn’t latch closed. I assumed he’d return, so I spun myself around beneath the bed so that my head was at the foot of the bed. He returned a minute later, and closed the door behind him, but before he did I caught a glimpse of his car parked next to mine.
Feeler walked toward the bottom of the bed, his feet inches away from my head, and continued to the far side of the bed, where the doll slept. Since he wanted to maintain secrecy, he hadn’t turned on a light in the room, so I hoped that even if he looked at the doll he’d be fooled into believing it was real. I couldn’t do anything about the lack of blood.
I studied his feet as he stood next to the bed. His ankles moved toward the bed, which seemed to indicate that he leaned forward, toward the bed, but hopefully not examining the body. I heard the fitted sheet snap free of the mattress, and breathed a sigh of relief. He was wrapping her in the sheets. The mattress springs squeaked as Feeler moved his arms beneath the doll, and picked her him. I watch him slide his feet down the length of the bed as he navigated the narrow space between the bed and the wall.
As soon as Feeler passed me at the edge of the bed, I grab
bed the bottom edge of the mattress with both hands, and pulled myself out from under the mattress. I’d practiced the mover over and over again throughout the afternoon, and I managed to get free and stand up in one fluid motion.
Feeler heard the headboard slam against the wall as I pushed myself free, and he turned around to check it out. As he did I met him cheek with a roundhouse kick, which sent him stumbling back toward the door, where he lost his footing, and fell on his butt, the doll in his lap.
Before he could get out from under the doll, I grabbed the pillowcase that I’d placed on top of the dresser at the front of the room. I’d thrown both the Gideon bible and the outdated yellow pages in the bottom of the pillowcase and tied it shut. As Feeler tried to stand, I swung the pillowcase at him, the two books inside hitting him in the side of the face, knocking him into the door.
By the time he turned around I already had the power cord from the lamp wrapped around his throat twice. Most people grab at whatever’s around their throat when they’re being strangled, but Feeler didn’t. Instead, he turned away from me so he faced the door once again, and used both of his feet to push against the door, sending us backward. I tripped over the doll and fell back to the floor, hitting the back of my head on the edge of the dresser as I did.
Feeler didn’t land on top of me, but rather spun away as we fell, landing next to me. As soon as he hit the ground, he tried to spin away from me, but he spun the wrong way, and rather than loosening the cord around his neck he tightened it.
I still had the lamp cord in my hand, and I used it to pull me toward him. He fell flat to the floor, and I pounced on his back. As his arms and legs flailed, I planted a knee in the center of his back and pulled on the cord as hard as I could, intending to strangle him. However, the cord slipped from his neck, and caught on the bottom of his chin. The force with which I pulled drew his head back, and I heard a loud crack as his neck broke, and all tension left his body.
I jumped off of him, and ran to the door, slowly pulling it open just enough so I could peek outside to ensure he had no one waiting in the car, and no passersby heard the commotion inside. Everything seemed calm though, so I closed the door. After peeking out the curtains for a few minutes, and seeing no action outside, I deemed it safe to leave.
But before leaving, I went through Feeler’s pockets. I found his wallet in his back pocket. His driver’s license listed his name as Derek Curtis, and he lived in Herndon, Virginia. Other than a couple of credit cards, and $142 in cash, he carried nothing else with him.
Since Feeler had already reported that he’d killed me, and was expected to dump my body in a swamp, I had no choice but to leave in his car. If I left his car in the parking lot, it wouldn’t take long for Dirk or anyone else to discover that my car was gone while his was still there. I had no plans to dispose of Feeler or the doll, so I left the room, made sure it locked behind me, and drove off in Feeler’s car.
Chapter 32
I left Cross City and went directly to Gainesville, and the Roost. I always preferred daytime visits to the Roost. Going to a strange place at night presented its own challenges. At least I’d been to this Roost before, but that didn’t mean that the neighbors were used to me. It wouldn’t take much for some nosy Neighborhood Watch person to conclude that I looked suspicious and get some well-meaning Barney Fife to pay me a visit.
But it was almost three o’clock in the morning by the time I got to Gainesville, and at that time of night most of the world is asleep. Although the time of day made it more difficult to explain why I was sneaking around, it also made it less likely that anyone would be awake to catch me.
I parked Feeler’s car on the street, and walked to the garage with as little care as I could muster. Half the battle of avoiding detection in a situation like that is pretending like you belong there. And nothing looks less likely to belong than someone sneaking around. I made my way to the garage, let myself in, grabbed the bar beneath the steel door at the back of the garage, inserted it into the small opening, and pulled the door open.
Upstairs in the Roost, a single light at the back of the room permitted a quick scan of the situation to ensure no one else was present. In all my time with The Summit I’d never heard of a Roost being penetrated, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. But everything looked as I expected, undisturbed. I stood near the window for a couple of minutes and saw no signs of life outside. I’d hardly seen anyone else on the road as I drove to Gainesville, so I didn’t think that I had been followed. But I still breathed a sigh of relief that I’d made it inside without detection.
I dialed Polestar, and a male voice answered. I’d only discussed the Coulson case with Kathleen, so the change in voice surprised me. As agents in The Summit we were never not working, but Polestar employed a different strategy. Perhaps they could afford downtime since they weren’t out in the field with demented mad men trying to kill them.
“This is Justin,” he said.
“Justin, this is Mia Mathis. I’m working in Dixie County, Florida to try and close the Martin Coulson case.”
“My information shows that you’re in Gainesville.”
“This is the closest Roost.”
“No Roost closer than 50 miles from where you’re working? That’s unusual. We’ll have to look into that. Go ahead. Coulson has been eliminated from what I understand. It was big news around Polestar when that happened.”
“He deserved it,” I said. “But I’m afraid my investigation hasn’t moved much beyond that. I’m uncovering something in Dixie County, but I’m not sure how Coulson is related. Have you reviewed my most recent briefing with Kathleen?”
“Yes, I know where things stand. Did you talk to Stockton?”
“I did. He was helpful. He told me about some land deals that this guy Oswalt did with Pietro Ospina, the drug dealer who I eliminated the other night. And in the course of investigating the land deal I discovered a suspicious road and a warehouse.”
“The road is suspicious?” Justin asked.
I spent the next ten minutes recounting what I’d discovered with 342, and my conversation with Cooper. When I described my plan to fake my death, Justin sounded a bit skeptical about using a sex doll to do so, and commended me when I told him it worked.
“We’ll send a team to clean up your room at the El Hombre again. That’s become quite an active site for you.”
“What can I say? I’m a popular guest.”
“What’s next?”
“I need some help identifying the man who killed the doll.”
“After we retrieve him we should be able to track down an identity.”
“He had identification in his pocket. His name is Derek Curtis. Herndon, Virginia. Can you check on him?” I relayed Curtis’s birthdate and license number to Justin.
“Give me a minute.”
I put the phone down and looked out the window once again. One can never be too careful. A white delivery truck had appeared across the street, and parked on the side of the road with its lights on and engine running. I could see a light inside. I waited, expecting a team of mercenaries to exit the truck and try to infiltrate the Roost. Instead, a man appeared at the passenger side door, opened it, and tossed a stack of newspapers onto the sidewalk. I breathed a sigh of relief as he got back in the driver’s seat and pulled away. Only as he drove off did I notice the name of the local newspaper, The Gainesville Sun, on the back of the truck. Working for The Summit, paranoia runs deep.
I went back to the phone just in time to hear Justin say, “We’re familiar with Curtis. He’s CIA.”
“CIA?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if Justin had told me he was a circus clown. “What’s CIA doing in my room?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve had a few encounters with him. All good. Not as a partner, but more like an unknown benefactor. He doesn’t know we exist, but he’s helped our agents in investigations without realizing it.”
“Sounds like a standard CIA encounter.”
“Very much so,” Justin said. “We don’t have much on him, but nothing we have is alarming. He’s done some terrorism work, and a bit of work tracking money related to Russian oil oligarchs. Hasn’t spent much time in the U.S. until recently. We’ve mostly encountered him in eastern Europe and central Asia.”
“That’s not helpful,” I said. “I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but all indications are this has more to do with South America than Europe or Asia. Although I guess if you look at it from the other side, it’s all American. He’s working for the United States, so we shouldn’t be surprised when he intervenes anywhere.”
“Are you sure you have Oswalt pegged correctly? You’re not misreading the situation, are you? Perhaps this whole operation is legit, and you’re just interfering in it. We know much of what the CIA does, but sometimes things slip through. Maybe they’re running an operation and your work on Oswalt is interfering.”
“That’s not what’s happening,” I said. Agents have to develop a tough skin when working for The Summit. Although Polestar serves to support agents, it also serves to ask difficult questions to ensure that agents see each situation from every vantage point. Often that means calling into question an agent’s tactics or conclusions. There’s no room for an agent’s self-doubt. Agents can rely on Polestar, but no agent should rely on anyone more than they rely on themselves. Self-confidence is an agent’s most important asset.
“Curtis made a call after shooting the doll. He hadn’t planned to dispose of the body. He made it clear in the call that he expected someone else to take care of it. But the person on the other end talked him into it. The conversation wasn’t professional. Curtis wasn’t talking to CIA on the other end of the line.”
“Did you check his phone to see who he called?”
“Yes. He’d wiped it. No record of a call. I’m sure he was talking to Oswalt though.”
“Perhaps Oswalt is CIA, too. I know you said it didn’t sound like a professional call, but if two people work closely together sometimes their relationship transcends professionalism.”
