The Long Gray Goodbye: A Seth Halliday Novel

by Bobby Underwood

  “Please,” I said, “it’s an emergency.”

  She was a good kid, not one of those who will protect their all-important cell phone to the death. She pulled it from her pocket right away and handed it to me. I took off running and hollered over my shoulder, “I’ll be back!”

  I punched in Caroline’s number as I ran, which isn’t easy. She picked up on the second ring as I hit the lobby and the elevator doors closed. The shooters hadn’t seen me but I got a glimpse of them.

  “Matt…”

  “Caroline, tell Sonny to grab the Glock and get you two out of there! Take the stairwell! Two shooters are on their way up in the elevator!”

  There was no hesitation, just an urgent, “Okay, be careful, Seth!”

  I was already headed up the stairs. I heard the tap-tap of shoes and ran into them a few floors up.

  “Get ‘em down to the street, Sonny, where it’s busy.”

  “Take the gun, man,” Sonny said. Before I could object Katarina held up a little .22. “Take it! We’re armed. I smuggled it through.”

  I grabbed the Glock and headed up the stairs as they continued down. Caroline looked worried but there was no time. I was out of breath when I reached our floor. I cautiously opened the stairwell door a crack. The man with a paunch was standing outside our suite, which meant the other one was inside already. I burst through the door, rolling onto the hallway carpet. The short bald man was a little quicker than he appeared, his shot whizzing past my shoulder even as I rolled and came up firing. I put two quick shots into his chest and he crumbled.

  My plan had been to take him out quickly, trapping the second man inside the room, with nowhere to go. It went awry because the tall killer had been opening the door as the first slug hit his partner. He was behind him when my second shot caused the potbellied man to crumble. He made a dash for the stairwell at the opposite end of the hallway. As he ran he fired in my direction, so I had to roll again, and couldn’t get a shot off. He was heading down the stairs as I scrambled to my feet and chased after him.

  No one had opened their door to see what was happening because it was gunfire, and no one wanted any part of that. That goofy European siren was already blaring annoyingly as I hit the stairwell only a second or two behind the long-haired shooter. I’d already taken two steps down when I heard something above me and stopped. He hadn’t gone down, but up. Up is stupid, because there isn’t any way out up there. The way out is always down. Only on TV did you see guys heading for the rooftop in an effort to escape. I realized immediately what that meant, but had no time to consider the implications.

  I had to take it slowly now, because the one advantage it gave the shooter was the high ground. He could listen for my footfalls and fire a shot down the previous flight of stairs. There was always a chance he’d get me. The percentages weren’t high, but I had no desire to die because the percentages hadn’t played out in my favor like they were supposed to. I crept up the stairs carefully. My advantage was that he’d trapped himself. He had only one place to go.

  On the other hand, I realized as I reached the door leading out onto the roof, he could simply lay for me, and begin firing as soon as I opened the door.

  Sirens were loud now, even behind the closed door. I considered waiting him out, because he had to have figured out he was trapped. I had slipped on my dress slacks from dinner last night and it came in handy. I took my belt off and unlaced my joggers as quickly as I could. I tied the laces together and then tied them to the belt buckle. I crawled up noiselessly to the door handle and secured one end of the shoelace to it. I slid back down on my stomach, and pulled gently on the end of the belt I had wrapped around my left hand. The Glock was in my right hand.

  The door handle clicked, and when it did, I yanked hard with my left hand. The door swung open and the air above me was filled with gunfire, the bullets causing chips of plaster and metal to fly through the claustrophobic stairwell as they struck the door and the wall behind me. Then I heard the sound I wanted to hear. He’d got excited, thinking he had me, and used up his clip. It didn’t mean he couldn’t have another one, but judging by what I’d seen, it was a good guess he didn’t.

  “I know you’re out of ammo,” I hollered, to let him know I was alive and he’d blown his chance.

  No answer. I crawled up the stairs to the door, remaining as flat as I could against the steps. I couldn’t hear the sirens any longer, which meant the authorities were here. They’d find the dead man outside our suite. It would only be a few minutes before they figured out where we were.

  I had my head above the top step now. Thirty seconds passed.

  He had been hiding behind a big reverse cycle unit. In a burst he ran toward the other side of the hotel roof. I began to chase after him but slowed after a few steps. His strides were long and he was fast. He had shed the long overcoat to gain speed. He was nuts. There was no way he’d make it. The next rooftop was too far away. Maybe he’d been a track star in high school, or maybe he hated the idea of getting poked from behind in prison, but for whatever reason, he tried it. And damned if he almost didn’t make it. He’d gotten such a big push-off with his last long stride that it seemed like he’d been shot out of a cannon. But three quarters of the way there physics caught up with him. There was a split-second when I was reminded of Wilie Coyote realizing the parachute he’d ordered from the Acme Company wasn’t going to work.

  He disappeared before he reached the other building and a second later I heard a terrible crash. A car alarm went off. I’d been walking toward the edge as I watched him trying to fly, and was there now. I looked down. He had landed face down on the roof of one of those godawful ugly little French cars, crushing it. Wilie Coyote had hit the pavement and left his imprint.

  From behind me: “Police! Abandonment l’arme et levez vos mains!!”

  I did as I was told. I think.

  Twenty-Eight

  I only had to wait about a half hour for Athea to arrive at headquarters — or whatever the French called it — because Caroline had called her even as they were putting me in the back seat of an ugly little French police car. She had also called Laura Garner, who in turn had called someone in authority. Oddly, I never spoke to a detective, was never even questioned. I told the story to Athea, who made no comment whatsoever, and then she left. Twenty minutes later, she was back, and smiling.

  “Alright, you are free to go. You may pick up your weapon at the front desk. Your account of what happened matches up with other eyewitness accounts and the ballistics report. The two men have been identified. Both are from South America, as you suspected. Dangerous men wanted for killing a South African diamond dealer and suspected of three other murders. Killing is what they seem to do.” Athea stared at me a moment. “I am a bit confused as to your assessment of them. You mentioned they were not professionals, yet they appear to be hired killers.”

  “I assume because you came down here, you’re my attorney?”

  “Yes, anything you tell me is privileged.” She saw me glance around the room, which looked like every interrogation room in ever country — drab.

  She smiled. “I assure you we are not being listened to by anyone other than God.”

  “Are you His attorney, too?” Her face brightened. She was a very nice woman.

  “No, he is the Supreme judge of us all. He does not need an attorney. Though He would make for one hell of a reference.” We both burst out in laughter. “I could put it on my door,” she added through her laughter. “Athea Christos — Attorney For God. When Only the Best Will Do.” We laughed some more.

  I finally answered her, at least as much as I could under the circumstances.

  “There is another matter that is running concurrently with my investigation for Laura. It does not directly involve me, but I care about the people it involves. For a moment I thought it might not have been resolved as I thought. The men who factor into this other issue would not have made the little mistakes these men did, however.” I shrugge
d. “There are professionals, and then there are professionals. These men were in the same line of business, generally speaking, but on a different level. They were…gardeners. The other men would have been farmers, far more knowledgable and capable of getting the job done.”

  Athea Christos stared at me a long time, then she stood, and walked to the door. She asked softly but with authority as she opened it. “And which are you, Seth Halliday?” I felt like a child in class being asked a difficult question by teacher.

  “I’m afraid I’m a farmer, mam. But I would rather be a gardener, if that counts for anything.”

  She smiled, no longer the teacher, but Laura’s friend. Perhaps my friend, as well. “I would think it is the only thing which does count. Perhaps that is what separates the good men from the bad in this world. Good men are willing to do bad things only to bring about justice, or protect those they love. Farmers who would rather be gardeners.”

  She left the door open and I followed after a couple of seconds had passed. She was speaking to Caroline about forty-feet down a hallway to my left. Caroline was nodding a lot. They hugged and Athea made a left at the end of the hallway and went out the front door.

  Some French cops were watching me with raised eyebrows. One of them held up his hand in a signal for me to remain where I was. He walked over and got a drink from the water cooler just outside the interrogation room. He spoke English and his accent wasn’t as thick as some I’d heard.

  “That was a nice little trick with the belt and shoelaces. He might have blown your head off, otherwise.”

  “I watch MacGyver a lot.”

  He frowned briefly and then smiled. “Oh, yes. Richard Dean Anderson. Stargate.”

  “His second gig.”

  “Lucky you weren’t wearing loafers this morning, eh?” There was nothing to say to that.

  He nodded his head toward the hallway. “Your wife is standing by the front desk where you can pick up your gun and valuables.” He grinned. “Including your shoelaces. You’ll have to untie them yourself, however.” He sighed as if in apology. “Manpower being what it is, we can’t free up a policeman for every American detective working for a beautiful television star. Surely you can understand?”

  I chuckled and nodded as I went to join Caroline. He wasn’t being a jerk, he was being funny, or at least amusing. Who knew French cops had a sense of humor?

  Caroline held me in her arms and wouldn’t let go for a while.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’d never leave you.”

  Her grip on my neck got tighter. I heard her say, “You better not, Mister.”

  “Sonny outside?” She nodded. “He didn’t want to come in.” I laughed. “He doesn’t like police stations. Bad memories.”

  I signed at the desk and got my weapon back — minus the two rounds I’d fired — and everything else that had been in my pockets, including a young girl’s cell phone I needed to return. Strangely, not that much time had elapsed since I’d gone across the street to get pastries. I’d left them at the bakery, along with the flowers.

  “Athea moved our meeting to noon, so you can get cleaned up and relax before she shows you the files. She’s arranged for you to speak with the person who looked at the body at three. It’s still the same man, apparently.”

  “Great. We’ll go by the bakery so I can return this phone.” I explained where I’d been when I spotted the two men.

  Outside, Sonny was sitting on the steps with Katarina. They were laughing about something.

  “That’s right, just yuck it up. I certainly wouldn’t want my friends to give my life being in peril a second thought. Best to go on and live life to its fullest.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying, man,” chuckled Sonny.

  Athea had left Ciro out front and he drove us back to the hotel. The four of us walked over to the bakery. The girl spotted me when we got near and I waved the phone in the air. She reached behind her and held up the flowers. Caroline smiled. I hadn’t told her about those.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. You may have saved lives by letting me borrow it.”

  “I heard! Everyone’s talking about it! They said you’re the one working for Laura Garner. She’s so wonderful. I watch her show every week.” She was a sweet, starstruck kid. She made me think of another young girl who would never get a chance to be starstruck.

  I folded three bills against the back of her phone and handed it to her, so no one would see. It would undoubtedly buy her three phones, but she’d probably saved Caroline’s life. She smiled and became bug-eyed when she saw the money, quickly stashing it away in her apron pocket. She mouthed a “Thank you” and turned around to get my flower arrangements and box of croissants/pastries off the counter behind her. I handed one bouquet to Caroline, and one to Katarina. I’d been going to sneak it to Sonny to give to her, but that idea got shot to hell earlier.

  “I’m going to get spoiled,” Caroline said, smelling the arrangement and rubbing the velvety petals of a red flower between her fingertips.

  “Well, I won’t,” Katarina teased, “unless I travel with Seth more.”

  “Yeah, thanks, man,” said Sonny wryly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Sonny and Katarina had a comfortable ease about them now, the kind couples get once they get over that thin razor’s edge between going all the way or calling it a bust.

  The police and ambulances, all the emergency vehicles were gone from the street now. You’d never have known two men had died here earlier; one inside the hotel from two gunshot wounds to the chest; one from plunging off the roof of the hotel onto the top of a car. The car had been towed and traffic flowed freely again.

  We got to our room and ate, even though we’d be eating again in a couple of hours. I took a quick shower, changed clothes, and kicked back on the bed. Caroline crawled up in my arms and we dozed, Sonny and Katarina offering to wake us a few minutes before we would head for the café down the street. For some reason, I dreamed it was I who had jumped from the roof, but Caroline caught me before I hit the ground.

  Twenty-Nine

  Red geraniums were growing in terra cotta planters attached to black wrought-iron fencing surrounding the little café where we were having lunch. Actually, I’d already finished mine and was going through the files Athea had brought with her. It was sunny but not hot, and once in a while a light breeze would waft across the outdoor café. Traffic on the adjacent street had been bustling when we arrived but lessened the longer we remained, as people headed back to work. A lot of people were bicycling and some of them were pretty young French women with nice derrières.

  For the first time since Escobar, I thought of having a permanent address that wasn’t a slip number. A real home for Caroline. A base we could use between long jaunts in Sweet Caroline to places she had always wanted to see, so at least all of the dreams she’d had would not go unfulfilled. Somewhere we could keep two bicycles to ride down to the boat on warm summer days so we could take her out and feel the fresh sea air on our faces.

  I’d noticed a wistful look in Caroline’s eyes a couple of times since we’d left Ecuador, and wondered if she didn’t miss having roots, like she’d had in Cozumel. It was only a room, but it was hers because her adopted mother, Rosita, had given it to her. She’d felt trapped, because she might never get to leave Cozumel, find love, find adventure within her limitations. But at least she’d had a home, a haven from a harsh world where young girls with big dreams had them shattered.

  Even with all Caroline had lost and forgotten, she knew a lot about archaeology and past civilizations. I often wondered if knowing all those things, only saddened her that she couldn’t remember the rest. Though she had made peace with her life, it wasn’t the first time I’d pondered whether deep down she might need a sense of normalcy that having a brick and mortar home would give her.

  I looked up from the files and caught Caroline’s eye. She was putting a piece of cantaloupe on her fork when I mouthed an “I
love you” and her fork stopped moving. Her look was tender, her smile loving, as if I’d done some great and wonderful thing by loving her.

  I said, “I wanna show Caroline something. We’ll be back in a minute.”

  “See if you can find something akin to pie while you’re gone, man.”

  I took Caroline’s hand in mine and led her to a little alcove I’d spotted when we arrived that appeared to have no particular purpose. She had worn a yellow sundress and she looked pretty. I stopped at the alcove and walked her back two steps until we were hidden from everyone. I didn’t give her a chance to say anything because I wrapped my arms around her waist and began kissing her, soft and intimately. She responded, draping her arms over my shoulders, letting her fingers caress the back of my neck. I let my hand slip down over her soft derrière once, just for a gentle squeeze, to let her know how beautiful I thought it was, and then I rubbed her back and shoulders through the yellow cotton fabric. We kissed there in the alcove like lovers for at least five minutes.

  I finally came up for air, Caroline’s full soft breasts pressing against my chest causing me to breathe hard.

  She whispered, “I don’t know what brought than on, but it was wonderful. I love you, Seth.”

  “I love you, too. I was thinking about Holly and Susan, about us. Once we finish our long honeymoon, I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to have an actual home? Somewhere near the water so we could take trips in Caroline and have a place to come back to. Something you could decorate and all that other girly stuff.”

  “Are you sure, Seth?”

  She couldn’t hide the excitement in her eyes, but she didn’t want me to be doing something I didn’t want to do, just for her.

  “I’m sure. And the more I think about it, the happier it makes me. At Christmastime we could get a tree, kiss under the mistletoe, all that stuff. We could even get a pup.”

  “We’d have to take him when we went on trips,” she said in a rush. Her eyes were dancing. “Christmas!” She hugged my neck so tight she almost choked me. I started laughing. “We’ll have to decide on a place. South Carolina’s pretty. There’s Maine, the whole New England thing. There are lots of places in Florida. Even the Keys.”