Snake Bite

by Jim Heskett

  “I know. But the fantasy is more fun that way. Sweaty, hunched over, with fast food boxes and empty cans of Mountain Dew all around them.”

  “And jars of piss,” he said. “That’s something they don’t really tell you about stakeouts.”

  “Always the romantic, you are.”

  Layne blinked when the search results came back. He’d used a clandestine photo of the man he’d met earlier to run a facial recognition analysis. But, it had come back with no results. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Ronald Gaynor. And, there were no matches with this guy’s face. Nothing tied to him using the “back east” summer camp counselor line, either.

  A ghost.

  “What can I do for you?” Daphne asked.

  “I’m working on details about who killed our two agents and kidnapped the three others.”

  “I’ve been debating all morning whether or not I should call you and tell you. It’s three killed. Everett Diem was found this morning.”

  Layne had already opened his mouth to speak, but the news about Everett made him halt in his tracks. “Where did they find Everett?”

  “In Green Bay, in the house he bought a couple years ago. I’m sorry, Layne. I know you two were close, once upon a time.”

  He picked up the sock on the counter and massaged it. An old trick he learned not long after he’d quit smoking. A sock, lined with a baggie, and the baggie filled with sand. With a knot tied at the top of the sock, you could use it like a squeezy stress ball. “I haven’t talked to Everett in years.”

  “He married a couple years ago, then his wife ran out on him. He didn’t take it well, and he spent most of his time in his house, drowning his sorrows. I talked to him about a year ago. I was trying to get him to come back. I thought work might do him good. He told me he couldn’t pass a drug test and then hung up on me. That was our last contact.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Everett. What happened to him?”

  “They got him at his house. It was just a normal two-bedroom, not outfitted with anything beyond a basic security system. He didn’t even have any guns in the house. They kept him there for a few days. He was tortured, by the looks of it, and it’s ugly. I’m not sure if you want me to go into details about it. It’s safe to say they took their time with him.”

  Layne cleared his throat and squeezed the sand sock. He tried not to picture his former teammate and friend fruitlessly working to fend off invaders and being unable because he was halfway through a handle of Jim Beam. A shadow should never go out like that.

  Layne blinked a few times and tried to refocus. “I met the man responsible.”

  “You did?”

  Layne closed the lid of his laptop. “He’s going by the name Ronald Gaynor, but that’s not his real name. Facial rec came back negative, too. Whoever this guy is, he’s not anywhere in the system.”

  “Send me what you have. I’ll see what I can do from this end.” She paused, breathing. Eventually, she said, “I know it’s hard for you not to take this personally.”

  “They’re killing people I trusted with my life. People who saved my life on multiple occasions. Yeah, man, I’m taking this personally. When I’ve got Harry back, free and clear, I’m not going to turn this guy over to the cops. I’m going to take care of him myself, and I don’t want any argument about it. This one is off the books.”

  “That’s very unlike you.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “As long as you can see clearly. If this Ronald person is our guy, he’s clever. He’s outwitted some of the best and brightest people I’ve ever worked with. We can’t have compromised judgment.”

  “I’m being careful.”

  “I know you are, Boy Scout.”

  “Daphne, he’s looking for the Littlefield report.”

  She hesitated. “What? The op in Texas? That NSA report?”

  “It’s why he’s killing shadows. He seems to think one of us has it or knows where it is.”

  “Well, he’s in for a rude awakening. That report no longer exists. It was printed on DocuSeal A2 security paper, so there were never copies made. It’s impossible.”

  “But where is it now?”

  “Shredded, with the pieces burned. After Littlefield, I handed it to my supervisor at the time, and I watched him shred it myself. That report has been obliterated. Totally.”

  Layne chewed on this for a moment. “You reported to Avery Weeks then, right?”

  “Yes, Avery was my supervisor.”

  “Was?”

  “Avery died in a car crash about six years ago.”

  Layne sat back and grunted. His eyes unfocused, staring at a framed picture on the wall of a sun setting over an unrecognizable rock arch somewhere in the desert.

  “Send me what you have,” Daphne said. “I’ll get someone on it.”

  “Will do, Control,” Layne said. He hung up the phone and then stared at it. He had to assume Daphne was keeping some of the details from him, but he had no idea how much. She would do so, probably thinking she would protect him from himself.

  Even with the best of intentions, trusting Daphne was like jumping out of an airplane without testing the parachute.

  12

  In the morning, Layne awoke to his phone vibrating across the nightstand. His eyes flicked open to see a video chat request from his ex-wife on the screen. As he reached for the phone, a pulse of realization hit him. A day and a half until Ronald’s deadline. Sometime tomorrow afternoon, his rope would end, and he would have to either produce this mythical report, or Harry would die. Unless Layne could find him first.

  He tapped the accept button and held the phone in the air. Inessa Parrish’s alluring Russian face appeared on the screen. “You are in a hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not want to know where.”

  “Good, because I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “Your retirement looks wery much less like retirement every time you go away. Anyway, this is not why I called. Here is your daughter.”

  The screen shifted over to Cameron, beaming, sitting on the couch next to her mother. “Daddy!”

  “Hello, little one. Good morning.”

  “Daddy, today is show-and-tell at school, and I want to take Dolphin, but I can’t find her and mommy says she thinks it’s at your house.”

  The dolphin, a stuffed animal which made eerie squeaking sounds whenever you pushed on his nose. Not Layne’s favorite toy. The squeaking was fine for the first five hundred times he’d heard it. After that, not so much. “No, little one. It’s not at my house. I made sure you had it last time you went to Mommy’s. Can you ask her to go look in your bed?”

  “I already look in her bed,” Inessa said, offscreen.

  Layne frowned as Cameron pouted. Then, her face lit up. “I know! I can take Frog!”

  The other prized stuffed animal. Like a light switch, she had gone from sad to abundant excitement. “Sure, Cam, that sounds like a great idea.”

  “Okay, Daddy, thank you. I’ll go get Frog now.”

  He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but he saw Cam’s tiny finger jab the phone to end the call before he could.

  He smiled as he stretched and sat up, the phone screen darkening across from him. Cameron Parrish still didn’t understand phone etiquette yet. He found it cute.

  Layne sat up, a warm rush of memory of his daughter almost crowding out the other unpleasantness of the trip so far. But, it wouldn’t last. He needed to get out there and rattle some cages, to see where the echoes would lead him. He didn’t mind working against the clock. But, he did not like having no clear avenue to complete his goal.

  After dressing, Layne left his room and ventured toward the inn’s office for the free continental breakfast. A bowl of cereal and a waffle from the cast iron waffle-maker. Nothing to get excited about, but Layne didn’t want to spend time sitting at a restaurant. He had to hurry. With the wide-open expanse of the mission in front of him, Layne had to venture out into town. He had to create th
e leads himself.

  When Layne opened the door, a surprise jarred him. The antagonistic cop from yesterday, Officer Brendall, stood at the front desk. He was in mid-conversation with the hotel clerk, his belly bunched up against the counter. Above his head, a meteorologist on the television pointed at areas on the map, all of them with angry red suns lording over Arizona.

  “There he is,” Brendall said. He took a few steps toward Layne, and Layne braced himself.

  “Morning, officer.”

  Brendall gritted his teeth. “Outside, now.”

  He brushed past Layne and Layne checked with the woman behind the counter. She looked like she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. So, Layne turned and ventured outside with Brendall. Morning sun bounced off the chrome and metal of a dozen cars in the lot, sending laser beams into Layne’s eyes.

  “Larry Primrose, huh?” Brendall said as he turned and faced Layne.

  Layne noted several details about the cop within the first second. He was standing at a slight angle, with one foot behind the other and pointed at ninety degrees. This was a preventative stance. Also, his hands were near his belt, which was meant to be protective. He could easily raise them to throw a punch, or he could just as easily go for his cuffs or his gun. His jaw was set, tight, as if he’d been grinding his teeth. And, his eyes were red. Either severe allergies or he was on something. That could explain his behavior so far.

  “Yes,” Layne said. “That’s my name.”

  “Looks like you’ve got a lot of money invested in those tattoos. Quite a few years of ink, it seems to me.”

  “What can I do for you, Officer?”

  “The Village of Oak Creek is my little town. These are my people. I want Oak Creek to stay as pure and untarnished as it was the day I started working here.”

  “Sounds like a worthy goal.”

  “A lot of tourists come through this village, staying a few miles out of Sedona for a cheaper place to stay. But that doesn’t make it invisible.”

  Layne made sure to keep Brendall’s hands in his peripheral vision. Layne considered himself skilled at predicting human behavior, but this guy was too far out. Erratic and jerky in his movements. Layne had no idea what would happen next.

  “Invisible? I don’t follow.”

  “You, Mr. Primrose, are not who you say you are. I want to know what you’re doing in my town.”

  “After I complete the job for my client, I’m hoping to do a little hiking. Devil’s Bridge. Maybe West Fork after that. That’s the beauty of being my own boss, you know.”

  “Bullshit. I knew your sugar glider story was all smoke. Now, you’re going to tell me what you’re really doing here. Either that, or I can take you in, and we can talk about it there. Maybe spending a couple hours handcuffed to a bench will make you a little more receptive.”

  Layne considered his next move. A ride in a police car would be a bad look for him. Especially if he hoped to do any undercover work while he was in town. Plus, a total waste of time, a resource Layne did not have in great supply. But, admitting his real name would almost guarantee increased scrutiny. Layne wasn’t here under any official government capacity so he couldn’t rely on Daphne to bail him out.

  No, Layne needed to stick to his cover. Brendall didn’t know anything. He was going solely on cop instinct, and he was fishing for an opening.

  Layne shrugged. “I’m not sure what to tell you.”

  Now, Brendall seethed. Layne watched the man’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathed from his mouth, between clenched teeth. Layne wanted to square his shoulders and ball his fists in anticipation, but he couldn’t risk Brendall noticing. He was a cop. He’d be trained for that sort of thing. Brendall’s eyes kept flicking down to Layne’s hands, another cop technique. Eyes on the hands, not on the suspect’s face. Because it’s the hands that will kill you.

  Layne still held out hope he could talk through this. Maybe even turn Brendall into an ally. He had little else to go on.

  For a second, time seemed to freeze. Layne could see wheels turning in Brendall’s mind, but Layne didn’t know where it was going.

  Brendall’s fist shot out. Even though Layne had noticed his escalation, it still took him by surprise. He turned his head at the last second, and the punch scraped off his nose. Not a direct hit, but near enough to make his eyes water.

  Brendall followed with another punch, this one lower. Layne pulled back, out of range of the sideswipe. Even though Brendall couldn’t land the punch, Layne felt the force of the air moving.

  On the defensive, he couldn’t attack. Would he want to? A fistfight with a cop was maybe not the smartest thing he could do. But, Brendall was still coming. Rearing back. Layne had to do something.

  Brendall again punched, this time an uppercut. It connected with Layne’s jaw, making his teeth crunch together.

  Layne couldn’t stand here any longer. He jabbed out a quick right, into Brendall’s chest. Not to hurt him, but to knock him back a step. The thick cop was surprisingly solid. His forward foot skittered back a few inches, but his back foot stayed planted.

  Brendall took the punch and kept coming. Another right, and Layne leaned out of the way and followed up with his own right. This one directly into Brendall’s face.

  “Stop,” Layne said, heaving a breath. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Brendall lowered his head as if to charge, and then he did just that. With a grunt, he barreled forward. Layne didn’t have time to move out of the way, and the burly cop struck him in the midsection and drove him back, onto the hood of a car. The thing’s tires sank as the weight of two men pressed down on it. This situation was quickly spiraling out of control.

  Brendall reached for something at or near his waist, but Layne couldn’t tell what it was. Handcuffs, or maybe even his gun. All sense had left this big man, and he’d turned into a wild boar. Layne didn’t even know if the guy could hear right now, with all the adrenaline fueling him.

  Layne reacted. He grabbed hold of Brendall’s ears and twisted them, forcing the cop to lift his face. Then, Layne head-butted him, driving his forehead into Brendall’s nose. Blood instantly flowed. The cop stepped back, a hand rushing to his face. Blood dripped down the inside of his palm and then down his forearm.

  “Big mistake, jackass,” the cop said. He groaned, heaving deep breaths.

  Layne readied himself. Brendall, outmatched, would go for his gun next. Layne knew better than to make a move when faced with a gun, so he started to raise his hands in surrender. Layne didn’t feel in control, and Brendall clearly didn’t, either.

  Except, the cop did something completely unexpected. He turned and ran. Through the parking lot, to the sidewalk, and around a corner. A blur of police uniform running, with the implements on his belt clacking and clanging as he moved.

  A moment later, Layne was alone in the inn’s parking lot, chest heaving. Adrenaline spiked. Spots of Officer Brendall’s blood on the pavement below him. The sound of cars on the road whooshing by, a light breeze rustling the trees.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Maybe Layne had won the fight, but he had probably started a war. And not one he could win.

  13

  Ronald held open the door for Ashleigh as they strode into the backyard, and he led her toward the valley beyond. A sea of green dots filled the bowl between the peaks. The young woman with him smiled as he opened the back fence for her. As they walked, he noted how she kept on an even pace with him. He liked that. Cornelius and the others who worked for him stayed behind, subservient. He liked a little brashness. It showed she wouldn’t let her position in the hierarchy determine her self-worth.

  “Did Harry eat his breakfast?”

  Ashleigh nodded. “He did. He seems a little better this morning, actually.”

  “Good, good.” Ronald pointed at a small path through the beige dirt, and they proceeded in that direction. “I really hope that taking a different direction with this one will yield bette
r results. Contrary to what it might seem, I don’t enjoy killing these people. I don’t enjoy torturing them.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But you’re okay with the way I’m running this transaction?”

  “I understand that what we’re doing has to be done. It’s not just about the money, but the money is nice. It’s about not letting them get away with their cavalier attitude about imperialism. I mean, I haven’t seen what’s in the report, but I understand the content.”

  He studied her. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  “I thought I already got the job, Mr. Gaynor.”

  This made him chuckle a little. “Yes, you’ve definitely already got the job. I just realized I know little about you. Your hopes and dreams, as it were.”

  They strolled through the cacti, the sun rising ever higher. With her lips pursed, thinking, Ronald watched her process a reply. She was calculating, and he liked that about her. The smart answer would be something that both demonstrated loyalty and ambition.

  “I’d like us to be in the business of funding organizations looking to overthrow their governments. There’s a lot of money to be made in the chaos, the aftermath, the rebuilding. It’s like getting in on the ground floor of a startup.”

  This answer surprised him. He stopped walking and faced her. “Interesting. How do you see yourself functioning inside that?”

  “With a team of my own, and a budget. Given the ability to make decisions and choose where the money should be spent, without being hamstrung.”

  “Do you think I hamstring you?”

  Now, she looked uncomfortable. Yes, she already had the job, but she needed to realize everything was a test. Every moment with him was an opportunity to demonstrate her worth. If she were as smart as he thought, she would understand that.

  “No, sir, it’s not that. What we’re doing here with Harry and the others is precise work. We’re dealing with dangerous materials, by taking government employees and eliminating them. We need to be careful and exacting. I have no trouble taking orders.”