by K. T. Tomb
“Well,” Adam sighed, “I’m not the guy you’re looking for, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “But the genius is this. Take the guy she’s sleeping with, the guy she’s cheating on me with, and make him look like the Mendes killer. He stashes the body in the closest car he can find, then he would go back for it because he got scared or some nonsense even though she’s already dead. Maybe she is threatening to say something to somebody about what Jupe does for a living, who knows. So I make him look like the killer and his best friend the ex-cop-PI-save-the-world guy goes down for something that was already draggin’ him down.”
“But why?” Mark asked him again. “Why me? I understand there’s a connection there between myself and the case you mimicking, but what did I ever do to deserve that?”
“Honestly, you think I have something better for you than this, but here’s all I got for ya. I blamed you for a lot of what my wife did because, frankly, you’re an enforcer, the type of guy I expect to keep guys like Jupe under a little bit of self-control. I know you investigate infidelity cases for clients, so I figured I’d try to give you something a little tougher to deal with as well.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t always tell Jupe what to do,” Mark said softly.
Everything was quiet for a moment. The world seemed still to Mark, even though this was not a peaceful situation. That moment of peace was gone in a flash and a roar. A roar so loud, it took him a second to realize that sounds just like the gun he loaned to Alex just a couple of hours ago.
Mark blasted through the door, swinging his gun through the place, making sure the area was clear before he puts the gun away. Alex stood well to one side, clearly trying to avoid looking at what she’d done. When she sees Mark, she runs toward him and wraps her arms around him. It is a completely platonic hug; they both know that. She was crying, concerned that she had killed Adam. A long groan from the otherwise inert body on the floor convinces Mark that she had only wounded the man. For the second time that day, he got on the phone, requesting an ambulance for a gunshot wound. It did not take nearly as long—or at least Mark thought it didn’t take nearly as long—for the ambulance to arrive the second time around as it did the first. Once they have secured Adam, Mark drove Alex to the hospital to visit Jupe.
Chapter Nineteen
“Hey Jupe, how ya feelin'?” Mark asked as he came through the door.
“I’ve seen worse days than this,” I replied, trying for humor. It worked. Mark chuckled. Alex was right behind him, which I thought was a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think she would show.
“So what happened with all of you guys then? Off having adventures without me?” I asked.
“Something like that,” Mark said, looking at Alex. It was then that I noticed how truly shaken up she appeared to be.
“Mark!” I exclaimed. “What did you do to our sweet Alex? Come here, girl, and get a Jupe-hug!” What could I say? I was loopy on the painkillers at the time. Things were still fuzzy for me on how everything had gone that day. I knew that Emily had already left after being cleared by the doctors. She had some scrapes and scratches. That was the extent of her injuries. We all chatted for a while, and Alex told me softly all about how Mark distracted Adam enough for her to put a bullet in him. He was going to be okay, and he would live to see his day in court. Mark then drove her to the hospital so that they could both visit with me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had visitors,” Dr. Holz said as she came into the room and then tried to quickly exit.
“No, that’s okay. Stay; it looks like we might get a party going in here doc!” I shouted from the bed.
“Sorry about that,” Mark apologized for me. He was a good friend. “Listen, doc, what can you tell me about your patient over there? What’s his situation?”
“What’s your relationship to him? I can’t share a whole lot if you’re not related,” she said.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’m his brother,” Mark lied.
“In that case, things are looking a lot better than when he first arrived,” she said.
“What does that mean?” Mark questioned her, concern etched in every line of his face.
“When he arrived he had lost close to a pint of blood. His blood pressure and his heart rate were both dangerously low. On top of that, the wound was filthy, so infection was a big concern. Because his low heart rate and blood pressure we couldn’t operate—basically we had to get those stabilized before we could put him under. Once he was under, we cleaned the wound, removed the bullet and then we had to repair a couple of the main ligaments in the shoulder. Pretty simple stuff, medically speaking, but he had a lot of work done today. I’m surprised he’s as chipper as he is.”
“He’s got one of those spirits,” Mark replied.
“Well, in that case, you’re a pretty lucky brother,” she said to him.
“Yes, that I am.” He offered the doctor a handshake. “Thank you again for taking such good care of him,” he said.
“Will he be going home with you then when he’s ready?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, that is more than likely what we will do when that time comes,” Mark told her cautiously.
“Okay. Well, then we’ll make sure to put some guidelines together for him because we almost lost him twice in surgery, so we want to make sure that all the recovery guidelines are followed to a tee.”
“I will personally make sure that that happens,” Mark said to her.
I glared at Mark from across the room, trying to convey to him that he was being rude, ignoring his perforated best friend. He walked back over and sat down in a chair near the bed.
“Well,” he said, “at least you got your wish!”
“What wish would that be?” I asked.
“That you get to sleep in a bed tonight!” Mark laughed.
I stared at him for a second and then a wide grin broke across my face. He was right. That had been my wish earlier that morning—that I could sleep in a real bed tonight. I was very grateful to Mark for pointing that out to me. Eventually, things quieted down and Mark took Alex back to her apartment. I stretched out as best I can.
My memories were flooded with, surprisingly enough, all the interaction I had had with Alex over the last few days. I could tell that there had been a real connection between the two of us. It was something I decided I was interested in exploring more. I didn’t know how much she knew about what I did professionally. There’s no room for personal relationships in my line of work if those relationships are romantic in nature. It could be very tough. But I decided that since I would be taking some time off from work anyway, that I would see where it went. If she wanted to keep visiting, then I would keep talking with her. And this would be a great way to get to know her as well. This wasn’t a one-night-stand-extended-stay situation. We met in a semi-professional setting, worked together and liked each other, so this could definitely be something good.
Chapter Twenty
Six Months Later
The restaurant was packed for a Tuesday.
There were a lot of people here tonight. Some business dinners, some were friends catching up, but the place was packed. I wove my way to the very back table, the table I liked to think of as my table. Whenever I made a reservation here, this was the table I requested. It gave me a good view of the whole room while its placement provided a sense of seclusion you don’t get anywhere else in the restaurant.
The serving staff flew around in front of us, a choreography of dance moves to the pulsing beat of the kitchen, the melody the hum of voices, the flourishes and embellishments the gurgling of the water from the fountain.
“Remind me again, why this restaurant?” asked the fit, black woman in her fifties. She was flirting with me, and I loved it. Her name was Hellen, an economics professor from UCI and smart as hell.
“Because I like the fountain,” I said with a smile.
“Ah yes. The fountain with the tits.” She hadn’t missed a beat, picking up right whe
re we had left off before Mark interrupted us on our first date. I’m unsure if I was going to continue in my career as a male escort or not. It was true that I was playing more by ear now than I had been when I was still convinced that I had the best job in the world. The flexible schedule was still a major selling point. The money, was definitely still good, and I had an even better reputation now that I’d been shot; so I could be even choosier about my clients. I could say yes or no to anyone. My discretion. But at the same time, the last six months had been a dream come true.
Once I’d left the hospital, I lived with Mark for about two months. He helped get the rehab under control and really just helped me stay positive. When I started moving things back to my own place, Alex played a big role. She helped me cook, she helped me clean, she helped me pick out a really comfortable, oversized reclining armchair. When you’ve had a shoulder surgically repaired, you can’t sleep on your back the first six months.
And yes, we did have some personal, adult fun. I had forgotten what that could be like. Neither of us were sure we wanted something serious, something committed yet. I didn’t even know if I knew what that looked like. But I did know that I told this client that I owed her a date, on me, no charge. So I would give this woman the date she was looking for.
I reached across the table and picked up one of her hands in mine. I looked at it for a moment, and then I looked her square in the eye and I asked her, “Has anyone told you today that you are simply beautiful?”
Epilogue
I did a last-second check of everything I had spent the last week packing.
After I spoke with Mark and the police, and now that things with Alex and I were over—like most of my previous relationships, she left once I told her what I did for a living—I decided I needed some time away. I called Helen, who had since become a regular, to ask her where I should go to get away and lose myself for a few days.
“Miami,” she had said. “The beaches and the nightlife are amazing. If you’re truly looking to get away from the pressure and stress you’re under, go to Miami,” she told me adamantly. She provided a list of restaurants and some of the top bars that would be fun. “A guy like you can find somebody to hole up with for a few days. Somebody younger and better looking than me,” she added as I started to invite her along.
Helen was very well connected through her work. The one thing she had missed out on during her rise to anonymous power was the relationship, family and children aspects. She had a history of long-term boyfriends, but she was so busy all the time that they eventually left. Perhaps it was one of the reasons I appreciated her company so much. She understood having a career that could and would not be given up for anything. It was one of the major reasons we got along so well.
She managed to arrange a flight down to Miami on a private jet for me. I supposed in a twisted sort of way, the people she worked for were also people I worked for, so she was more than happy to share some of the perks available to her with me when they came around.
The phone in my pocket rang. I looked at the number, and answered, “Hello?”
“Yah? Hi, this Arman. Your cab is here,” said the cab driver who was parked on my street.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll be right down,” I replied. I looked over the room one last time, grab my luggage and my laptop bag and made my way out the front door. I locked everything up and then had the cab driver pop the trunk. I threw my bag in and then got in the front seat.
“Okay, hello,” Arman said. “Where should you like to go this morning?” he asked.
I loved the happy energy and his sincere attempt to learn and speak English. “Arman, I need to go to the LAX. Private hangars, please,” I asked.
“Yes, okay. I know how to go there,” he told me. “Where are you off to?” he asked.
“I’m headed to Miami,” I told him. “And I can’t wait.”
We rode along in relative silences. I would be in Miami for almost three weeks—I planned to be there that long. We got closer to the airport.
“If you can go anywhere, Arman where would you go?” I asked him.
“Oh dat is a berry, berry good question,” he said, the thick Indian accent becoming more pronounced as his excitement mounted. “I am tinking dat I would go to Australia and dat I would like to see de kangaroos.” He smiled again.
His words were over-enunciated and his syllables were pronounced strangely, but I couldn’t help but love his answer. His smile was so genuine. He pulled into the parking area of the private hanger. I couldn’t wait. The cabbie gave me my total due, and I overtipped.
“But sir,” he argued, for the first time all morning not smiling, “I most certainly owe you change,” he stated.
“No, no,” I replied. “Keep it. Use it to go see those kangaroos,” I told him.
“I will, sir, I will,” he said, bowing his head. “Many, many tanks. And many tanks again,” he says.
I walked up to the walkway, where I met a guy with a sign that said, “Jupe,” and I followed him into one of the hangers. The private jet was sleek, had powerful looking engines, and all kinds of antennas sticking out of it.
“They’re extras for long range transmissions,” explained a smartly dressed man in a short-sleeved, pressed, white, button-down and navy blue slacks. “I’m Jack, by the way,” he said. “Your pilot, by the way,” he added. I had a feeling I would be hearing ‘by the way’ quite a bit.
We loaded the luggage onto the plane and then I took my seat. I closed my eyes and began to drift away. I woke for a moment when the pilot said over the PA system,
“Okay, all passengers prepare for takeoff.”
I closed my eyes again, content knowing that once I woke up, I would be in Miami and I would have a long while to relax.
Relaxation, pure and simple; that was my agenda, but even as I was thinking it, I wondered if I shouldn’t have known better. There was always going to be women wherever I went that needed my services. Lust never took a vacation. I had lots of plans for Miami, but what I couldn’t help but wonder was what Miami might have planned for me.
The End
Return to the Table of Contents
G-MAN
A thriller by
K.T. TOMB
G-Man
Published by Quests Unlimited
Copyright © 2018 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
(Previously published)
G-Man
Chapter One
Two of them; one man, one woman.
The woman was interesting to look at. Small and curvy. Her breasts, I was certain, were fake. I could be wrong, although I rarely was wrong about such matters. She was dressed in a pantsuit, complete with jacket and starched shirt. By all rights, I should not be able to guess her breasts’ authenticity, but my instincts told me they were fake, and I always trust my instincts.
Why the two agents were standing at my front door, I hadn’t a clue; unfortunately, my instincts hadn’t a clue, either. My instincts were, apparently, limited to breasts and other female anatomy.
The man wasn’t as interesting to look at, and his chest, I was fairly certain, was real. Neither agent bothered to take off their cool glasses. After they each put away their ID badges and confirmed my identity, the man said, “We’d like to talk to you.”
It’s not often that the FBI comes by my house. Hell, it’s not often that the police come by, either, although that has happened once or twice after a party or two. I’m a smartass, certainly, but not when two FBI agents were standing in my doorway, looking ominous.
“Sure, come in,” I said. “Is there something wrong?”
They didn’t answer immediately but stepped inside anyway. Only then, almost in unison, did they remove their sunglasses. My place is big, too big for just me, but it had been left to me by my father, and it was home.
I was dressed in only bicycle shorts. It was around noon, and I had been dead asleep when the doorbell rang. Luckily, I had been alone. I excused myself briefl
y and threw on some jeans and a black T-shirt. I always wore black T-shirts. Black makes you look thin, and while I was fine in that department, a little extra help never hurt.
I offered the agents something to drink, but they both declined. Standing there in my living room, both were taking in my home. There was a lot to take in. My ceiling was impossibly high. I had ladders in my garage that could reach nauseating heights, ladders that took two people to carry; all to reach the far corners of my home. My father’s home.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the female agent. I found her cute, which surprised me. I didn’t think of federal agents as cute. I also caught her looking at me, in a way that didn’t seem entirely professional, but I could have been wrong, although I rarely was about such matters either.
“So what’s this all about?” I asked, and for the first time since their arrival, a bit of my smartass crept through. “Or are you here for autographs?”
“You are a poet,” said the man.
“An honest to God poet,” I said, “there’s not many of us left, you know. Well, not many of us who make an actual living at it.”
“So you must be good,” said the man.
His name was Agent Hernandez… I thought.
I spread my hands humbly. “I do alright,” I said.
“Good enough to be Washington State’s Poet Laureate,” said the woman, speaking for the first time. Her name was Agent Hunter. Unlike the man, I was certain of her name. I have a thing with names, with words. Especially the names of cute women.
“Well, someone has to be,” I said.
“Good for you,” said Agent Hernandez, if that was indeed his name, and I was beginning not to care if it was or not.
“Sure,” I said, “if being admired by college English professors is your idea of a good time.”
