by Glenn Roug
the same travel agency for years."
"Did anything unusual happen before or after the flight, say at the airport?"
"I don't think so. I was in a rush. I made it to the gate just when they started boarding. That's the only thing I remember from the whole experience. The flight itself was uneventful."
"You didn't tell me about that. Why the rush?"
"I had to drop my son off at school on the way to the airport because my ex wife Jane, God bless her, would not give up yoga class." I wanted to gripe some more about Jane but then remembered that Doc was not the right audience for anything emotional.
"Hmmm. So you may have missed something that happened at the gate. How did the other passengers strike you? Were they talking excitedly about something they witnessed?"
"No, nothing unusual."
"We need to find the ground crew who manned the gate that day and question them."
I had more confidence in him now. At least he came up with a workable plan of action. I wanted to help. "The FBI planned to have me see a hypnotist before I ran off, to see if they could get me to remember what happened."
"The incompetent will always delegate to other incompetents. Hypnotists get out of you only what they want to hear, and you look the suggestible type to me." He put the cigar down and got up and began to make himself another omelet. He did not offer me any, nor anything to drink. "What we need to do now," he continued, "is put ourselves in the killers' shoes. They're afraid of something you might know or might have seen, or might possess, and so they must get you. They won't let go. But they don't know where you are right now, either. So, what's their next move?"
"They'll go to my ex and son. I asked the FBI to put them in a safe house."
"An exercise in futility. There is no way the FBI would have done that in time. Even if they did, someone would have been there to follow them to the new place. Someone was probably watching your ex's house not two hours after they lost you."
"Oh my God."
"Don't turn to jello on me; they won't touch them. They'll just wait for you to make contact, that's all. You can be sure there is someone watching their house right now, and that all communication is tapped."
This reminded me that I promised the FBI agent to write her, but I had no access to e-mail. I told Doc Minus Two about it and asked him what to do. I thought he would scold me for even raising the question but he said he did not mind if I made contact with her, if only on the off-chance that I might get some useful information out of her, but that I was not to volunteer any of my own. I should tell her anything she does not already know. He went into another room and came back with a laptop and put it in front of me. "I have several proxies I'm connected to. They are no more likely to trace where we log in from than a deer is to know the make of the rifle that got him. But don't dare use any other machine."
I wrote the FBI woman. The email address she had given me — a civilian e-mail of course — started with a 'k_' followed by a long number. I therefore decided to call her K, and opened with Dear K. I told her I was doing fine and let her know where I left Peterson's car at, and asked if she was able to move my family to a safe house, and also if she had any news for me. Doc Minus Two stood behind me and took the laptop away when I was done and warned me again not to make contact with anyone unless it was through him. Now he was my only connection to the outside world. I did not like it but notions such as like or dislike melt away when your life is in danger. I read about people who hid in the sewers, immersed in excrement for days, until the danger passed. I could at least handle not logging on to the internet for a few weeks.
"Can I e-mail my kid?"
"Would I have taken the machine away from you if I wanted you to e-mail your kid?"
"But why? You said yourself they could never trace it."
A cat came into the room now. It was a grey cat with a restless tail. It climbed onto the windowsill and stared at me with hostility. Doc Minus Two ignored it. He put the new omelet he had made on a plate and carried it back to the table and sat down to eat it. "They can’t, but they'll use him to get to you. They'll send you a reply in his name that will force you to come out of hiding; maybe saying he was in danger or something to that effect. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if they initiate contact themselves at some point, in his name or your ex's. If these people could infiltrate the FBI, there's little limit to what they can do. They have no shortage of resources, data, and skill. We must assume that they are almost as good as me."
In the light of the brass chandelier Doc Minus Two's eyes were as grey as the cat. I looked away from them. The room had no furniture besides the kitchenette, the table and four chairs, and a shelf that supported dusty scotch bottles and some papers. The smell of the omelet completed the impression that it was more a section of a restaurant than someone's dining room. I gathered up the courage to ask if I could use the bathroom; might as well take advantage the opportunity to use a real one while I could, before I was to go back to Nat's cave. He did not reply or lift his head off his plate, just motioned with his arm in the direction of the hallway. It was the first door on the left. A litter box was lying next to the toilette. The cat began scratching at the bathroom door anxiously as soon as I closed it behind me.
"Let him in," Doc Minus Two called from the living room.
"I'm not letting him in," I cried out.
"Let him in, he needs to use the litter box."
I opened the door a crack. The cat slithered in with a smug expression but did not go up to the litter box. Instead he sat down and stared at me and meowed incessantly. I cursed out loud and pulled up my pants and exited the small bathroom.
"That was quick."
"I couldn’t go. Your cat."
"He had to kick you out; can’t go so long as you’re in there. He's shy that way."
"How polite of him." I was upset now. "I thought you didn’t like animals."
"Who told you that?"
"I heard about the lizard."
He got up and now he seemed upset. "You look like someone who's read his share of books. Did you ever read Dante's Inferno?"
I had to admit I did not.
"The hero goes through the nine circles of hell in that book, each one worse than the one before. Each puts the souls through more terrible punishments than the circle above. Do you know what was the ultimate punishment, in the Ninth Circle? I'll tell you. Satan chews on the souls of traitors there. But they never die, the traitors. They get eaten for eternity. That boy of yours with the red cap, the one the entire town so adores, was doing the same thing to the poor lizard. I saw it there on the pavement covered with spit and slime and green stuff and twitching like it was in eternal death throes. I knew its fate was worse than any living thing I had ever seen. I saved it. If I could shoot that boy while I was at it and get away with it I'd have done that, too."
"I'm sorry," I said as he went back to his omelet.
"I told you, I don't give a shit if you're sorry or not. You asked me about the lizard, I answered you about the lizard."
I felt I had overstayed my welcome for that day. I counted one thousand dollars and put it on the table in front of him. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"Not today. You go back to Nat now. Lay low. Don't even come here, to my cabin. I'll find you when I need you."
I was alarmed. "Not to come here? You don't think they might be watching this cabin, do you?"
"No, I just don't want you hanging around my house." And then he took the empty plate back to the sink and began to make himself yet another omelet.
V.
Nat had to go somewhere that night and he left me alone with Makwa. I don't know if it was my imagination, but Makwa's snoring seemed to get worse when Nat was not around. That night I tried several different designs for earplugs. I started with a simple chewed-up gum, but could still hear Makwa snore as if her muzzle was right in my ear. I tried rolled-up toi
lette paper and even a sock, but it was not much help. In desperation, I opened the metal box to see if Nat had anything there I could use. Holding a flashlight with one hand and digging with the other, I found some leather holsters, phone cases, a felt cap, and a rusty revolver. I picked up the revolver and examined it, and then looked at Makwa. It was not an ideal solution but I was tired and desperate to get some sleep, and could think of no better way to do it. I pushed the cylinder open and took out two rounds. The lead tips were easy to push into my ear canals, and provided a seal of sorts. I inserted pieces of toilette paper around to stabilize them. I could still hear the snoring, but it was faint and easier to tune out now.
In the morning I heard Nat say, "If those who are after you saw you with them 38 S&W sticking out your ears they'd of laughed so hard you could get away."
"She was snoring." I turned towards the bear, but Makwa was gone.
"You'll get used to it. She got used to you, didn't she? Don't think you don't smell funny to her." He sat down and dug into a pocket and handed me a piece of paper. "Here. Minus Two said to give you this, and to tell you meet him there at two."
"Where did you bump into him?"
He ignored the question. "He wants to take you somewheres I think. That's a great privilege to see the master in action."
I wanted to probe Nat about Minus Two's character, but was worried that it would sound disrespectful. I waited for him to bring us to the subject by asking about the previous day's
