by Jim Heskett
What was this? A remote cabin, a place for Farhad to get some privacy?
Worth a look.
19
Farhad set the briefcase down on the table near the front door. His dress shoes clacked across the marble floor of his entryway as he crossed the room. The grand staircase led up, little running lights under the individual stairs flicking on as he approached. But, he didn’t go upstairs. No, he needed a drink.
He headed for the kitchen. The kitchen that had been remodeled last year, when Farhad was new in town, and this house had seemed like a glorious project he would relish the opportunity to tackle. Now, the kitchen was done, but the plans for the den, garage, and master bedroom languished. And now, he would never finish them.
He liked this house. This city, too. He’d come to Redding because of Jonah, and then Farhad had experienced his epiphany about this city and begged his bosses to change their plan. And now, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it much longer. So be it.
On the way to the kitchen, he knew he would have to pass by his son’s room, but Farhad tried to keep his eyes forward. Of course, he slowed and stopped by the open door, anyway. Just the same as it had been since his son had last been here. Farhad hadn’t stepped inside it in at least three or four months. He often thought of entering and sweeping the sheen of dust off the dresser, but he had not yet been able to do so. And, he wouldn’t let his cleaning lady set foot inside it.
Not yet. Maybe someday, if the day would ever come. Maybe it no longer mattered.
In the kitchen, Farhad made himself a vodka martini and drank half of it in one gulp. The sweet burn, warming his throat and stomach when it hit. One of the few pleasures he still allowed himself; the stiff drink at the end of a long and hard day.
He lifted the briefcase from next to the front door and escorted it down a hallway to his office. There, he opened it and turned on the shredder next to his desk. It whirred, ready to do its job. One by one, he fed the paper documents into it, the hungry shredder screeching as it ate all the paper and crapped out the broken strands.
He drained the martini and vowed to have another one as soon as he’d finished his current task. With this sort of day, he might have three or four more. Not a smart idea, but maybe he didn’t need to be smart any longer today.
Next, Farhad removed the thumb drives and memory cards. He took a lighter from his desk and a small porcelain bowl, then dumped them all into it. As much as it pained him to do so, he destroyed them. All those years of video and audio recordings, gone. But, he had to. It had to be done.
A knock came at his front door. He picked up a newspaper from the desk and draped it over the bowl. Within a few seconds, a second knock reverberated through the door. Faster, more insistent.
Farhad slipped out of his office. He had a good notion of who he would find on his porch, but better to be cautious. He locked the office door behind him and dropped the key in his back pocket. His next stop was at the portrait of his father hanging on the wall. He slid it up and took the CZ 75B handgun he had stashed there.
With the gun inserted in the back of his waistband, Farhad crossed to the front door and peeked through the peephole. A familiar—yet annoyed—face looked back at him, standing on his front porch with her arms crossed. Strands of raven hair framing her face.
He opened the door a crack.
“Let me in,” she said. “It’s chilly out here.”
“A little late to come calling, don’t you think?” he asked as he opened the door. She didn’t answer him and instead brushed past him, knocking her shoulder against his on the way in. Always so fiery, that one.
Five paces inside, she turned and stared at him. “Are you going to offer me a drink? I can smell it on you, and I’m not in the mood to negotiate. Vodka?”
“Of course.” He escorted her into the kitchen and took two fresh glasses from the cabinet. He mixed drinks in each and handed her one. Standing there, in the kitchen, over the marble counter. They had shared many drinks in this exact spot.
They clinked glasses, and she went at hers with gusto. Farhad sipped his, having changed his mind about his resolve to get drunk. He was still expecting a phone call in a few minutes and needed to have his wits about him. The phone call would not be pleasant. He knew that for sure, and being drunk would not make it better.
“Easy, Mariana,” he said. “You look as if you’ve had a few already.”
“I had dinner with him at my place. Yes, we had a few, not that it’s any of your business.”
“By your glow, I would assume you did more than eat and drink, yes?”
She gave him a smirk. “Does it make you jealous?”
“It does. A little.”
She mock-pouted and approached him, petting him on the shoulder in a condescending manner. “Good to see there’s still fire in that belly.”
Farhad drew back a step, shrugging off her touch. “None of that matters. What did you learn from Louis?”
“He’s cagey. Full of secrets and he knows how to keep his guard up. But, you probably could have guessed as much.”
He gritted his teeth. “Did you need to sleep with him to learn this?”
“No,” she said, grinning, “I did that because he’s hot. And, um, skilled, too. I’ll sleep with him again if I have the chance.”
“You will not have the chance.”
“Aww, you’re no fun.”
He set his empty drink glass down on the kitchen counter, a little too forcefully. The last remaining ice cube leaped from the glass and landed on the counter. He snatched a nearby dishrag and wiped it up.
“You think this is fun?”
She let loose an angry sigh. “No, not all fun. I know what we’re doing here. I know what’s at stake. You want the full report? I don’t think he is who he says he is. That seems obvious. But who he actually is? I need more time.”
“I don’t know if I can give that to you.”
“He was very curious about your office.”
Farhad glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “He was?”
“Yes. I told him you’re a control freak about it. Very protective.”
“That’s fine. Good thing I cleaned everything out.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, Mariana. Thank you for reporting in. You may go now.”
She hesitated, her lips swishing back and forth. “It’s late. I was kinda hoping I could sleep in one of your guest bedrooms.”
He turned away from her, gazing at the sliver of the moon from the kitchen window. “No. My guest bedrooms are not available tonight.”
He listened to her drop the glass in the sink, and he could feel her seething eyes burning into the back of his shirt. But, he didn’t care. She could be angry all she wanted. She hadn’t needed to sleep with him. That had been done for Farhad’s benefit, to make him furious. To make him react, so she could push buttons and procure his attention. He wasn’t interested in falling into her trap this evening.
A few moments later, the front door slammed shut and he turned around to see he was once again alone.
Farhad checked the sink to make sure she hadn’t broken the glass. He scooped it up and put it in the dishwasher, then wiped his hands on a clean towel. That woman was like a tornado, leaving chaos and destruction everywhere she went.
With a sigh, he returned to his office and resumed the task of burning the memory cards and thumb drives. But, before he could, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Farhad took it out to see an unavailable number on the caller ID. They weren’t supposed to call for another half hour.
Sighing, he thumbed the button to accept the call.
“Yes?”
“We are not happy,” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“I know.”
“What are you doing about our current level of unhappiness?”
Farhad watched the silicon chips melt as he applied the flame. “Cleaning up a few bits of history that could get us in trouble. After that, I will look into this new man Louis Pastori.
Something about him isn’t right. I don’t think he’s who he says he is.”
The voice on the phone scoffed. “Of course. He is a little too familiar, do you not think? The timing feels impeccable.”
Farhad stood up straight, his mouth dropping open as the realization hit him. “He’s one of Daphne Kurek’s shadows, just like Jonah Bramble.”
“Obviously. His name is Layne Parrish, and he’s been a government agent for more than a decade. He has made a fool of you, Farhad.”
“Not anymore. I will deal with him.”
“And Jonah?”
“Now that I have Parrish, I’m sure he can lead me to Jonah. He’s only been gone a day, and he’s not equipped to get far.”
The voice on the phone sighed. “Again, you are too slow. We know where Jonah is. He is at a Best Western in Redding. He can’t be allowed to live, but we already have everything we need from him. Anything else you learn from Jonah is your side project, not your goal. Do not forget that.”
Farhad gripped the phone, his jaw tight. “Do you think I don’t want this too? I’ll poke out his eyes and feed them to him if I have to. This is personal for me, or have you forgotten?”
“That’s your business. Be ready in three days, or the plan moves forward without you.”
20
Harry woke up to the sound of the television. He looked at the bed across the room to see Jonah, with a cluster of pillows behind him, propping him up. Eyes closed, mouth open, a gentle snore coming from his lips. On the TV, a crew of morning show news anchors talked about a big drug bust in Eureka, with a photo hovering over their heads of a crew of cops standing next to a pallet stacked with cocaine bricks. Exuberant smiles on their faces.
Harry didn’t remember falling asleep with the television on. Maybe Jonah had woken after him and turned it on. Hard to say, because the man Harry had known for more than a decade was in a strange state of mind. Not just the drugging and forced hypnosis Farhad had subjected him to. Jonah had deep wounds, and he didn’t seem ready to talk about them.
Harry reached for his phone and unlocked it to see a message from his wife. The usual morning greeting she sent him whenever he went on the road for work… although she didn’t know this trip wasn’t explicitly for work. Not that Harry was hiding anything from her. It hadn’t come up, because she didn’t ask him about the particulars of his responsibilities, most of the time. She knew what he did to pay the bills and knew better than to ask too many questions.
He wrote back:
Morning, love
And he waited as the screen indicated she was composing her reply. A few seconds later, the words appeared on the screen:
Your son has discovered mixing pickles and peanut butter. I blame you.
Harry chuckled, which made Jonah stir across the room. Harry quickly typed a heart emoji and then put his phone back on the nightstand.
“Morning,” Jonah said without looking at Harry.
“Morning. How do you feel?”
“Fuzzy. Like I might’ve been asleep for twenty minutes or twenty hours, and I can’t tell the difference. Also, hungry as hell.”
Harry sat up, yawning. “I can go out and get us something soon.”
“How’s your little squirt doing?”
Harry stared for a second. He and Jonah had engaged in a long conversation about Harry’s family last night, sitting in these exact same spots. He appeared to have forgotten. “Good. You alright?”
“If you’d call being a crying wreck of a shell of a former man alright, then I suppose I do fit that description.”
“At least you haven’t lost your wit. That was always your only redeeming quality, anyway.”
Jonah grinned for a split second, then it vanished, and the blank look returned. On the television, a commercial for a car dealer flashed colorful numbers at the screen. A man in a carnival barker jacket stood by, shouting about cars.
“I need to splash some water on my face,” Harry said, and then pivoted in the bed to drop his feet down on the carpet. He studied Jonah's expression, his eyes wet and his lips pursed. “What are you thinking about?”
“I used to go to Denver a lot,” Jonah said. “You know, after I retired. Before I moved here, I visited my brother often. I had nothing else to do, really.”
“I think Layne told me that. He said you guys had plans to get together, but it never panned out.”
“No, it never did. Not exactly. I should have known everything I did would lead me here. I should have known better.”
“What’s going on, Jonah? Is this about the op in New Orleans?”
Now, a tear streamed down his cheek. “I’m just so tired of feeling like this. The guilt, the confusion. I can remember flashes and bits and pieces, but it’s all like a damn dream.” His face turned into a scowl, the TV throwing reflected colors on his face. “Maybe I don’t want to remember.”
“But you need to. It’s important.”
“One thing I know for sure: Farhad did this to me. Whatever happens, he’ll pay for this.”
Jonah sat up and pushed a button on the remote to turn the TV off. He wiped tears from his cheeks and cleared his throat. “I need to get my shit together. All this moping isn’t doing any of y’all any good.”
“What’s the last thing?” Harry asked.
“The what?”
“You said there was one other piece of information Farhad wanted. What was it?”
Shrugging, Jonah said, “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Whatever it is, I don’t think he’s gotten it. I think he was still trying to pry it out of me. And I can remember there’s been a sense of urgency. Something is coming, and he needed to know the thing now. He was angry with me, our last few sessions. I remember that.”
Jonah threw back the covers and slipped out of bed. He went prone on the floor and commenced to do push-ups, getting faster and faster with each one. Grunting, nostrils flared, eyes growing fiercer with each repetition. He looked more like he was punishing the floor than he was exercising.
Harry stepped over him on his way to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, silencing the room. A little bit of quiet to balance out the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. Harry wasn’t the type to handle a million things at once, the way Layne could. He preferred a slower pace.
Harry splashed water on his face and put his phone on the counter, leaning over to check a new message. A text from his thirteen-year-old son, with a meme about a farting superhero. Harry brought up the keyboard to type a reply when he heard a sound out in the main room. A bump, like something hitting the wall.
He put down his phone and opened the bathroom door. Jonah made a muffled grunt, but he wasn’t doing pushups in front of the bathroom door any longer. He was grunting from somewhere unseen.
Before Harry could see where it had come from, a fist smacked him in the face.
Layne parked outside the Best Western and let his hands rest on the steering wheel for a few seconds. A little quiet to soothe his nerves. He liked a mellow morning routine; drink coffee, read the news, go for a run or lift weights. But, at a different hotel on the other side of town, he and Inessa and Cameron had not had a quiet morning.
He’d been affected by the events of the last couple days. First of all, seeing Inessa mere hours after sleeping with another woman had been a little strange. They were divorced, and he could do whatever he wanted, but it still felt awkward. He was sure she’d had other lovers too, but he certainly didn’t want to know anything about that.
And Cameron had been difficult this morning. Just one of those days where she didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to go on the planned hike with Inessa she had already committed to doing. Layne had eventually talked her into it, but not without quite a lot of preschooler tears and yelling.
Now, he missed his daughter, despite the difficulty. That was one thing becoming a father had taught him: how you can be so angry at a person, you can’t wait to get a break from them, yet miss them the second they’re no longer
around.
He left the car and rounded the back of the building toward the room Harry and Jonah were sharing. He’d thought of texting Harry on the way over, but had decided to show up instead. Harry should be expecting him, of course.
When he could see the back side of the building, Layne knew right away something was wrong. The door to the room was ajar by a few inches.
Immediately, adrenaline pumped. His muscles tensed. On this side of the building, a large exterior bay window displayed the interior hallway, into the inner courtyard. He raced over to the window to look inside, past the hallway and into the courtyard. A few early morning swimmers were lounging by the pool. Members of the hotel cleaning staff loading up carts with supplies. But, nothing out of the ordinary. No one sprinting or ushering along a person who appeared to be an unwilling participant.
Layne peeled away from the window, hurrying toward the door. When he reached it, he flung it back. Bedsheets pulled off, strewn about the floor. A large crack running along the TV screen. The entire room in a state of disarray.
And, near the bathroom in the back, Harry Boukadakis, face down. Aside from Harry, there was no one else here.
Layne’s heart pumped as he leaped across the room. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and turned him over. A black eye, a line of blood under his nose. But, he was breathing. Confused, foggy, but breathing.
His eyes fluttered. “I’m sorry, Layne. So sorry. I was in the bathroom, then I heard something, and somebody punched me. I tried to… but they…did they take Jonah?”
Layne nodded. “He’s not here. How long have you been out?”
Harry put a hand to the side of his face, wincing as his fingers explored his swollen nose and the bump on his temple. “I don’t know. A few minutes, at least. Maybe longer. Where would they take him?”
