This Doesn't Happen In The Movies (The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series)

by Renee Pawlish

  “Oh hell,” I said, taking off my coat. I took a deep breath, let it out, and determined that the X Women were not going to scare me. Not this guy. I was like Bogie.

  I began a search of the condo, starting in the living room, coaching myself with tough-guy talk. “They don’t know who they were messing with,” I mumbled. I began a search with the obvious, checking the television, the cables behind the entertainment center, and the cable box. I checked the phones, starting with the one in the living room, then the bedroom phone. I took apart each receiver and didn’t see anything beyond the complex equipment. Nothing looked out of place.

  I examined the bedroom thoroughly but didn’t find a thing, no hidden cameras or recorders. Nothing.

  I gave the living room, my office, and the kitchen the same treatment, looking everywhere for any signs of bugs or listening devices. I even looked inside the Tupperware in the cupboards. I came up empty-handed.

  I finally stopped for a breather, falling Indian-style on the floor, rivulets of sweat crawling down my face. My living room resembled a scene from The Conversation, where Gene Hackman’s character tears up his entire apartment looking for an elusive bug. I scanned the mess and then I gave up, thoroughly frustrated. I laid back, stretched out my legs, and stared at the ceiling. I must be getting extremely fearful. I’d let Deuce’s comment about a cable guy send me on a wild goose chase. I should’ve known not to listen to a guy I dubbed as a goofball.

  And then I saw it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In the center of the ceiling hangs a ceiling fan. The housing was in two parts, the lower housing screwed to the upper housing, which was then secured into the ceiling. The faux-brass motor is decorated with evenly spaced holes. In every fifth hole a screw secured the housing together. Except for one hole, where the spacing was only three holes apart. I got up and looked up at the fan. That one screw didn’t resemble the others. It looked like a tiny glass eye.

  I dragged a chair from the kitchen and stood on it, directly under the fan. Now I could peer up into the metal housing, right at the suspicious-looking screw. I was being watched by a tiny camera. I wondered which X Woman was staring back at me. And if they had planted a spying device, I was sure they would be listening as well. Judging by the mess in the condo, I was pretty sure a bug wasn’t inside, but maybe outside, on the building or in the phone cables.

  In my haste to go outside and look I nearly fell off the chair. Anger was taking over my sense of reason. The X Women were watching me, listening to me. I jerked open the door, ran out onto the little porch, and looked for the phone lines. I spotted them, coming from wires in the alley, attached to the overhang of the building then running down the side of the house. I dashed down the stairs, did a one-eighty around the rail, and started to run under the stairs toward the back yard. I ducked under an overhanging branch from one of the large oak trees on the side of the house and ran smack into the biggest man I had ever seen.

  “Oof!” I swear that’s exactly what I said. And after the “oof,” I stumbled backward right into another man. I felt hands come under my shoulders and push me erect, and much closer to the Herculean guy than I cared to be.

  “Mr. Ferguson, would you come with us, please?” The man behind me spoke in a resonating baritone. I slowly turned around, expecting another giant. Instead I was confronted by an average-looking, average-aged man. He could’ve been a businessman or a neighbor coming home from a long day at the office. Except for the gun in his right hand. I glanced at Hercules behind me. Moonlight beamed off of his completely bald head. His squared shoulders stretched the seams of a black wool overcoat and I saw a bulge in his left coat pocket. I debated my options, like running, or asking them upstairs for a beer.

  As if he read my mind, Baritone said, “Let’s not make this difficult, Mr. Ferguson.” He spoke in a cultured manner. I’d bet money he was Ivy-League educated.

  “I didn’t know the X Women hired men,” I countered, stalling for time. “I thought they just killed them.” All the great detectives stall when they don’t have a clue what to do next. And I was clueless.

  “Come with us, please.” Baritone gestured toward the street with the gun. A full-size, four-door SUV sat doubled-parked in front of the building. He strode off toward it, looking over his shoulder to ensure that I followed. I hesitated but then felt the breath of Hercules behind me, so I reluctantly made my way over to the vehicle. Hercules matched my every step, his shoes crunching loudly on the sidewalk. In the meantime, Baritone reached the SUV, opened the back door, and waited for me. As I neared him, he reached out and began searching me.

  "You won't be needing this," he said, taking my cell phone. When he'd finished, he jerked his head toward the car.

  I eyed him levelly as I climbed in the backseat. He had an amused look as he eyed me back.

  Two men sat in the SUV, a driver and another solid-looking man on the other side of the back seat who wore a dark overcoat over a gray suit. He tipped his head once, then resumed staring at the back of the driver’s head. Hercules got in right after me, scrunching me in the middle. Baritone got in the front seat and we took off down the street.

  “So is somebody going to tell me what this is all about?” I asked.

  No answers. We rode in silence until we got to 17th Avenue, where the driver turned right and headed east. After two lights, Baritone hiked himself around where he could see me.

  “You’ve become a real liability.” He smiled at me.

  “That’s what I was hired to do.”

  The smile turned into a slit. “No, Mr. Ferguson. You were hired to find Peter Ghering.”

  “I go where the trail leads me,” I said, shifting to my left, trying to get some of Hercules weight off me. “It led straight to you guys. Or gals.”

  Baritone shook his head. “I may have given you more credit than you deserve, Mr. Ferguson. We don’t work for the X Women. We’re trying to find them. Just like you.” I tensed slightly. “I’m Special Agent Dobson of the FBI.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. My nerves felt taut and adrenalin was pumping through my veins. I looked from Dobson to the guy on the left, who nodded once again but didn’t introduce himself. I turned from him to Hercules. “Special Agent Jones,” he said, speaking for the first time in a voice too high for his massive physique. He tried to stare me down, his dark eyes squinting at me.

  I felt all my organs churning inside me, and hoped the agents couldn’t hear them. I had my doubts that real agents would nab someone like they’d just done to me, but how could I question a gun pointed at me? I locked my jaw and narrowed my eyes in what I hoped was an intimidating posture. “If you’re FBI agents, where are your badges?” With a trace of a smile on his face, Dobson pulled a black wallet from his coat pocket and flipped it open. I saw a golden shield with three initials carved into it, and an identification card underneath the shield. Jones did the same, and I scrutinized his ID as well. The guy on my left continued to gaze straight ahead, and I chose to let him continue doing that. I didn’t need to see his badge to know that I was in a precarious situation. “They could be fakes,” I said.

  Dobson continued to look at me as he put his wallet away. “I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this...” He left the rest of the sentence for me to figure out.

  “You’ve been watching me.” I received a nod in answer. “Listening in?” Another nod. “Following me?” After all, I was riding in a black SUV, the same kind that I assumed had been following Amanda. Dobson nodded his head one final time. “Why’d you slug me over the head?” He stared at me. “And what about the following me home from Cal’s, trying to run me off the road?”

  “I assure you that was not us, but it is clear you are a danger to many people. As for our interest in you, once Amanda Ghering hired you, we had to know how successful you were,” he said. “You really have been too smart for your own good. Certainly too smart for ours. You’re threatening our investigation. I won’t allow that.”

  B
y now we had turned north onto Colorado Boulevard, past the Natural History Museum, IMAX Theater, and Denver Planetarium. “You got me into the car by using a gun? Isn’t that illegal?” I asked. “What happened to my rights?”

  Dobson chuckled. “That’s a myth of all those detective shows you watch. If needed, I can stretch the rules.”

  “This is stretching?” I shifted again, elbowing Jones not so subtly in the side. He leaned into the door.

  Dobson glanced out the windshield. I noted that we were now merging onto Interstate 70, going east again. “Where are you taking me?”

  “All in due time.” Dobson paused. “What happened to Peter Ghering?”

  “I don’t know. He’s disappeared without a trace.” I was puzzled by the question, though. If the FBI had been spying on me, why didn’t they know about my progress in the investigation? “Let me see that badge again,” I demanded.

  Dobson ignored that. “We need to come to an understanding, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you need to let this investigation go. You need to let us do our job.”

  “No can do,” I said. “I’ve had my life threatened, and I’ve come too far. I’m not stopping now.”

  “What have you learned about the X Women?” Dobson raised his voice. He shifted so I could see the gun in his shoulder holster.

  “They have quite an organization and they are very adept at what they do. But you already know that.”

  “How did you find out about them?”

  I chose my words carefully. “I noticed some unusual occurrences.”

  “What?”

  “A pattern of accidental deaths happening to men who had been recently accused of a crime against a woman,” I said.

  “Who? What women?”

  I crossed my arms defiantly. “That’s all I’ll say without a lawyer.”

  “I see.” Dobson examined his fingernails thoughtfully. “As I’ve said, I have worked on this case for quite some time. Now I’m close to bringing this group down.” He paused, then met my gaze. “And I won’t allow you to jeopardize this.” I stared back, waiting. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “I’m not going to back off. Look, I’ve been lied to by the woman who hired me, knocked over the head, nearly run off a road, and now spied on by the FBI. If you think you can just tell me to 'let it go', as you say, you’re crazy.”

  Dobson took a deep breath. “I can understand your reluctance to give up. But I must ask you again to not jeopardize our work. Do I make myself clear?” he repeated.

  “I’m not a child.”

  His face stiffened. “Quite right. But I can ground you like one.”

  “You’re going to sic Hercules on me?” I wagged my thumb at Jones.

  “No.” Dobson made a clicking sound. “I’m going to make it exceedingly uncomfortable for you if you continue.”

  “How?” By now we had passed Peña Boulevard, which leads to Denver International Airport. The area was becoming more barren the farther east we traveled. Only a few more exits and we would leave Denver behind and head toward Kansas. My mouth was suddenly dry, and I felt real fear grinding in my stomach. “Where are we going?”

  “Sit tight, Mr. Ferguson. It will become clear.” Dobson turned around and settled into his seat. I watched the back of his head for a moment, then peered to my left and right. The guy on the left seemed in a hypnotic state, focused on the seat back, while Jones appeared as bland as his name.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We drove on in a chilling silence past the last exit to the eastern suburbs, into the darkness. I listened to my heart pounding and watched the mile markers pass by. Then the driver slowed, exited onto a frontage road, and followed this for a minute or two before turning down a dark dirt lane. The headlights illuminated a long stretch of road straight ahead, with no lights from houses or any other building visible. We traveled on the deserted road and after a mile or so, the vehicle stopped.

  “Won’t you join me outside?” Dobson said as he opened his door. Jones got out and held the door for me. “This way, Mr. Ferguson.” Dobson walked down a slight incline at the edge of the road and waved me over. I had a sneaky suspicion that these guys weren’t who they said they were, but I didn’t have much choice except to go along.

  I was flushed with fear even though it was frigidly cold. I stood rooted to my spot until Jones pushed me from behind. “Come on,” he said. I stepped carefully, not sure of my footing as I followed Dobson. I tried to glance at the license plate on the SUV, but I couldn’t make out the numbers on the dark plate. Besides, with Hercules prodding me on, I didn’t have much time. I got to the bottom of the incline where Dobson stood waiting. He put his arm around my shoulders in a friendly gesture.

  “Let’s be reasonable about this,” he said, like we were best friends chatting.

  I didn’t say a word. We started walking into a field, the uneven ground frozen under our feet.

  “It’s time for the games to end, Mr. Ferguson.” We kept walking, the icy dirt crunching loudly under our feet. “Let the government handle this.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Dobson stopped and faced me. His features were ghostly in the moonlight. He did not appear happy. “Things will get messy for you.”

  “Like what?”

  “It doesn’t take much to ruin a person, personally, financially, morally. I can make any of that happen. How would you like it if that trust fund of yours was suddenly eliminated?”

  “I can handle it. I wouldn’t be happy, but I’d work it out.” I hoped he didn’t hear the shaking in my voice. I crossed my arms against the cold, burying my hands in my armpits. “Money isn’t everything.”

  Dobson moved in for the kill. “Maybe so, but what if I take down your family? Your friends? I can make things very complicated for Cal.” His eyes narrowed. “He runs quite a little operation from his house in the foothills, doesn’t he? I wonder just how much of it is legal. Maybe we should check into that.”

  A different kind of coldness swept over me. I couldn’t let anything happen to my parents, nor could I let Cal get into trouble at my expense. “You’re right to protect him.” Dobson's smile chilled me more than the frigid air. “And you can. Just by leaving this investigation alone.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Don’t try me, Mr. Ferguson.” He rocked back on his heels, signaling the end of our discussion. “Do I have your assurance that you leave this alone?”

  I couldn’t think of any alternatives. “Yes,” I finally said.

  “Stay away from Amanda Ghering. Do not see her. Do not communicate with her in any way.”

  “What if she calls me? I can’t stop her from doing that.”

  “Let her know that you are no longer available to her. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” He seemed pleased with himself, clapping his hands together. “It is cold out here, isn’t it? Too bad you rushed out without a coat.” He turned and started back for the car. I took a few steps after him. Dobson turned around and held up his hand.

  I stopped. “What now?”

  “Our meeting is over, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Okay, take me home.” I pointed to the SUV. Dobson shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and even in the dark I could see him clutching the gun that was in the left pocket. He contemplated me in a nonchalant manner. My knees buckled under me and I almost fell down.

  “What are you going to do?” I finally asked.

  Dobson shrugged. “Stay away from this investigation. Stay away from Amanda Ghering. Stay away from anything that has to do with this organization. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I said I would,” I managed to say.

  “Excellent choice.” He turned his back to me again. “I will leave you to your own resources now,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You’re going to leave me here?” I yelled after him. “If you’re really the FBI, you wouldn’t do that!”

&
nbsp; He reached the SUV and in the moonlight I could see him say something to Jones, and then they both laughed.

  “Hey!” I raised my voice even louder. Sensation came back into my legs and I began trotting toward the car. “You just threaten me and that’s it?” I shouted, jabbing my finger into the air. “I have rights. I pay taxes.” The men opened their car doors. “It’s freezing out here!”

  “I can do whatever I want,” Dobson called out to me. “Let this be my warning to you.”

  “This doesn’t happen in the movies!”

  Dobson held a hand up. “This isn’t a movie, Mr. Ferguson. Good night.” The two men got into the car, slammed their doors, and the SUV pulled a quick U-turn, dipping down into a slope on the side of the road. The wheels spun for a second before catching traction, and the SUV roared off, spraying dirt behind it. I ran after it, swearing as many four-letter words as I could think of in the cold, but by the time I got to the road all I saw were two tiny red lights disappearing in the distance. And the left one was broken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said to the semi driver as he dropped me off at the side of the road near Interstate 70 and Quebec, on the eastern side of metro Denver. The big eighteen wheeler groaned as it edged its way back on the highway, leaving me in its dust.

  Once I had determined that the SUV was not coming back for me, I ran back down the dirt road to the highway, yanking my flimsy sweater up around my ears, and stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. That did little to keep out the burning cold, and I had to stop and walk twice because of stabbing pains in my side. I definitely needed to get in shape if I were going to continue in this profession.

  I reached the highway, cold and out of breath. I crossed the eastbound lanes, ran through a grassy, frost-covered median, and began walking along the westbound lanes. I stuck my left arm out and pointed my thumb up, hoping someone would have pity on me. Cars hurtled by, but none stopped or even slowed down. After ten minutes my arm was tired, and I was fuming. The broken taillight told me one thing: the X Women were posing as the FBI. That thought made me grow colder still. I was lucky to be alive.