SKELETON

by Peter Parkin

  He liked his life now. He could do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted. And these bars always had a vast selection to choose from. He avoided the really beautiful girls though. The ones he picked weren't ugly, mind you; they were just...past their prime. And he knew they were the easier ones. The really beautiful ones were far too confident and generally weren't interested in a dirty little roll in the hay. They ignored him. So he ignored them.

  He could quickly determine who the eager ones were within minutes after entering a bar. They dressed a certain way so as to advertise their wares, and they acted a certain way that guaranteed they would be noticed. And he noticed...boy, did he notice. And they weren't the gorgeous ones. So they needed to dress and act the way they did to make up for what they were lacking. And he knew that they did it just for him. He never failed. He never spent a night alone.

  As usual, Keith had forgotten the name of the girl whose ass he was squeezing. Yeah, this type of girl didn't even care that he was doing this right out on the sidewalk. He liked it...but also despised it. He couldn't understand the lack of dignity, but he sure as hell was going to take advantage of it. And he might just slap her around a bit too. Teach her a thing or two about dignity. His bitch of an ex-wife would never allow him to squeeze her ass in public. He hated her for that...but strangely, also loved her for that.

  They sauntered up the street together. His apartment was a short ten minute walk. They could just squeeze as they walked...this was foreplay at its best.

  The blow seemed to come out of nowhere. A sharp thud to the side of his neck that left him zombied on his feet. He heard the slut next to him gasp, was barely aware of a hand pointing down the street ordering the tramp on her way. He couldn't move, but his eyes watched as she ran for her life.

  Then he felt a strong hand grab his longish hair dragging him into an alley. The man was tall, Keith could tell, dressed in black and wearing a balaclava. Keith knew he was doomed but he didn't know why he knew. This wasn't just a simple mugging.

  The man in black shoved him back against the wall, and stared at him silently for a few seconds. Keith tried to talk but the only thing coming out of his mouth was drool. He heard the man sigh just before his hand moved like a lightning bolt. A sharp thud to his chest this time. He started to sink to the ground.

  Sitting on the pavement in the alley, back against the wall, Keith glanced down curiously at his chest, at the spot where the pressure seemed to be coming from. There was a hole in his shirt, which seemed strange, and the hole was quickly beginning to spew blood like a pulsating fountain. The hole was exactly where Keith figured his heart was.

  Strangely, there was no real pain—just numbness and an accelerating feeling of fatigue. Keith looked up at his assailant, silently questioning. The man knelt down in front of him. He never said a word. Keith heard him sigh once again, and his left hand suddenly became a blur of movement. Another thud, this time right in the centre of his forehead. It felt to Keith as if he had a hole in his head.

  While the blood from the gushing forehead began to fill his eyes, Keith stared at the man kneeling in front of him, hoping for some words, some answer, some reason. But he knew in his heart that there would be no time for that. Time was quickly slipping away...

  CHAPTER SIX

  She arrived with a flourish, as she usually did. Tossed her straw wide-brimmed sunhat onto the deacon's bench, removed her high heeled shoes reducing her height by at least three inches, and planted a big kiss on Dennis' cheek—leaving a slight trace of pink blush lipstick.

  This was Barb Jenkins in the flesh, a powerhouse of a woman even at sixty-five years of age. Charisma beyond description and a confident air about her that would challenge even the most accomplished man.

  Dennis couldn't wipe the broad smile off his face—the woman he used to have a crush on still had a magical effect on him. Perhaps it was because she had the same kind of personality that his mother used to have? The same kind of intellect? He shuddered at the thought that he had had a crush on someone who reminded him of his mom. He didn't have a 'mother complex' going on here, did he? Dennis gave his head a furious shake, then just kissed the beautiful Barb Jenkins back, but his kiss was right smack on the lips.

  "Well, aren't you the friendly little boy today? Are you happy to see me, or did you just want to try out my lipstick—you don't suit the color though, Denny, I have to tell you!"

  "It is good to see you, Barb. And to be honest, I just couldn't resist those lips of yours."

  "Well, I'm glad. Let's chat for a minute or two, okay? Before I see Lucy?" She grabbed his hand and led him past the drawing room where Lucy sat rocking. Barb didn't even glance into the room. She went to the kitchen, put her flowers in a vase, filled it with water, then led Dennis into the rear living room. Dennis felt like a little boy—the way she took charge, this seemed more like her house than his. But he didn't mind. He just admired Barb's spunk so much, he was just glad to let her be her.

  "Can I get you something, Barb? Beer, wine?"

  Barb smiled coyly at him. "What would a woman like me do with a beer, Denny? I'm insulted, I must say. How would I drink it—from the bottle? Or one of those tall macho beer mugs you have? Would either of those really suit my image?"

  Denny laughed. "Okay, okay. Yes, a southern belle like you does deserve a glass of wine. I'll never offer you a beer again!"

  Dennis poured them each a glass of Merlot. He handed her the glass and they toasted to Lucy. Then Barb's tone turned serious. Dennis was never surprised by this—she could turn on a dime, and cause her adversaries nervous frustration. Sweet and flirtatious one moment, a tigress on the attack in the next.

  "So, tell me what's going on. You were excited on the phone yesterday." Dennis stretched his long legs out on the stool and told her everything that had happened from the moment he had wheeled Lucy out to the sidewalk in front of the nursing home. She listened intently, nodding and asking brief lawyerly questions from time to time. When Dennis had finished his tale, she sighed and smiled.

  "That must have been quite the thrill for you—having your mom back ever so briefly. Spooky, but wonderful at the same time."

  "Yeah, it was. It was exhilarating. But then, just as suddenly, earth-shattering when it ended."

  Barb nodded. "So what do you think this 'package' is? Any guesses?" "No, none at all. But I know that whatever it is, it caused her serious stress just telling me about it. She really wanted me to get it. And I really don't think that it was in that room. If there is a package at all—it might just be a twisted memory about something. But from what I could tell, aside from what the spooks were removing, there was nothing left in that room."

  Barb uncrossed her shapely legs and leaned forward to pour herself another glass of wine. Dennis admired her for a second—she was wearing a red and white polka dot dress—and not too many women could pull that off. But she did. She looked like the perfect southern matron. Dignified, head erect, looking like a lady—but a lady who always seemed to be on a mission, always ready to fix whatever needed fixing.

  "So, it sounds like it was the trauma of the purse snatchers that caused her memory to snap awake for a few minutes. The stress of it, the quickness of it, perhaps somehow fired her brain cells? Do you think?"

  Dennis took a sip of his wine. "I do think that, yes. And I'm thinking it could easily happen again."

  "Would you make it happen again?"

  Dennis stood up and walked to the window, taking a few minutes to gaze pensively at his garden. He turned back to Barb. "Yes, I think I might. You know me, I can't let things rest. And you know also that I would never put my mom at risk, but if I can cause some harmless stress to trigger another event, I might give it a try." He paused and stared at her. "Are you ashamed of me for that?"

  Barb smiled tenderly at him. "I could never be ashamed of you, Denny. I have to admit though, I'm shocked that you would want to try something like that, but I understand it in a weird sort of way."

  "Yeah,
it is kinda weird. But I have a strong feeling about this 'package' thing. Especially after discovering those guys snooping in mom's room. It seems to me like she knows something that they want to know. Why else would they have bugged her room?"

  "Well, I can pretty much confirm to you that it's bullshit what they told you. I myself had a high security clearance with the Department of Defense, and I've moved houses twice since I retired. I never once, nor did the new owners, encounter anyone checking out the places I lived in. So, they were scrambling for an explanation when they gave that one to you."

  "That's what I thought too. Something tells me there's just something fishy going on, and I'm obsessed now with getting to the bottom of it."

  Softly, Barb asked, "How can I help, Denny?"

  Dennis scratched his chin. "I would hate to drag you into this."

  "Crap! You would love it! You know I have connections, and if I didn't just offer this to you, you would have eventually asked me. Right? Don't bullshit me."

  Dennis laughed. "You've got me pegged. Yes, I would have."

  "So, quit trying to pretend to be considerate—again, how can I help you?"

  "Well, two ways. You can help me figure out ways to unlock my mom's memory again. And you could give me the name of someone fairly high up over at the DOD who I can contact on the quiet. Someone you can trust. Someone discreet. Someone who's also a bit brave."

  Barb fluffed her marvelous blonde hair and stood up. "Let's go pay your mom a visit, and I promise I'll give some thought to the two things you would like from me. Okay?"

  Dennis gave Barb a big hug. "Thank you. I couldn't expect more than that."

  She smiled. "Yes, you could." She winked. "But we can talk about that some other time."

  Two hours later, Dennis escorted Barb out to the front porch. They sat down in the Adirondack chairs and looked at each other wearily.

  "It is exhausting, isn't it?"

  Barb nodded. "It is. I don't envy you at all. I'll bet you can hardly wait until another nursing home comes up."

  "Sad to say, I'm counting the days—but I fear it's going to be months rather than days. They're all filled to overflowing. I need a few people to die."

  The front door opened and out walked a shapely young woman in white. "Mr. Chambers, I've just run the bath for Lucy. Is it okay if I take her to the washroom now?"

  "Oh sure, Felicity. By the way, this is my long-time friend, Barb Jenkins. Barb, Felicity's the nurse I hired to live with us while mom is here."

  "Hello, Ms. Jenkins. Very nice to meet you."

  Barb stood up and took her hand. "My, you're a pretty little thing. Very nice to meet you."

  Felicity smiled—hazel eyes twinkling. Dennis couldn't disagree with Barb. The young nurse was very striking to look at.

  Barb frowned for just a split second. "You wouldn't happen to be from the Casper Agency, would you?"

  Felicity seemed surprised. "Why, yes I am. How did you know that?" Barb chuckled. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

  Felicity seemed to rock back on her heels until Barb put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'm just kidding, dear. That's the way I am. I just come out with things, and shock people. I do it to entertain myself!"

  Felicity laughed, politely bowed at the waist, and went back inside the house to deal with the bath—the next thing on her list of tedious geriatric duties.

  Barb turned to Dennis. "Hmm. She seems too pretty, Denny."

  "Is there such a thing, Barb?"

  "Yes, believe it or not, sometimes there is. Watch yourself."

  "Oh, you're just jealous."

  Barb smiled patiently at him. "We may banter around, you and I, but it's all just in good fun. I do worry about you and when I ask you to be careful, do be careful. You have a lot of money; you're handsome and alone. She's young, attractive—and living here now. Too close for comfort? Sometimes motives aren't pure. Or sometimes there are other motives."

  "Yes, Barb. I will be careful. Hey, why did you ask her about the Casper Agency? They're top notch, from what I've heard."

  "Yes, they are. I just guessed that that was where she worked, that's all. Nothing meant by it. She's just the style of nurse they tend to employ."

  Dennis frowned, puzzled at what she meant by that. He shook it off and gave Barb a big goodbye hug. She walked down the porch steps but stopped at the bottom to turn and face him before going to her car. "I'll get back to you on those two issues, I promise." Then her pretty face twisted into a wince. "Denny, do you ever think about your dad? Are you over that yet?"

  Dennis felt his fists begin to clench, and an annoying twitch making its presence known in the corner of his left eye.

  Softly, he answered her. "I'll never ever be over that, Barb. Never. Ever."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  His eyes were being hypnotized by the rhythmic spinning of the ceiling fan. Lying on his back, eyes wide open but wishing they were shut. Remembering, but trying hard not to remember. Crying, but trying hard not to cry.

  He quietly cursed Barb for asking the question about his father. Dennis was pretty good at mind control—controlling his own mind that is. He was able to shut out things that troubled him, resurrecting them only when he needed to for other reasons. But remembering just for remembering's sake was not something he generally allowed himself to indulge in.

  His dad was a prince. A lobby consultant who everyone wanted to consult with. A gentleman in the true sense of the word. His formal education was in marketing and public relations, a Princeton graduate. He used that background to develop a specialty in what was an essential skill in Washington, D.C. Lobbying was an industry unto itself in the country's capital city, and smart men and women who knew how to lobby were precious commodities. Dennis' father, Alan, was one of the most precious. Because he was one of the most honest.

  He consulted and taught others how to lobby, how to influence, how to manipulate thinking, which buttons to press, when to exert leverage, when to capitulate. He knew his business.

  The last night he saw his dad alive was on his sixtieth birthday. Dennis was thirty-five years old and had just ended his marriage. His dad had become his rock once again, just like when he was a kid. He was there for him. And Dennis was there for him. That night was a special birthday dinner. His mother wasn't able to attend and neither was Melissa. Both of them had an important event to attend raising money for disabled children, a charity they volunteered for. So instead, they had an early birthday dinner a couple of days before for Alan. But Dennis wanted to do something with his dad on the very day of his birthday, and this as going to be just their special time together, father and son.

  They had dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, Denny's treat, in downtown Washington. An older seedier area, but one that surprisingly had the best Italian restaurant in town. So, people in the know made their wary way down to Temple Street, to savor the delights of Emilio's. Alan joked beforehand that they really had nothing to worry about because, after all, Dennis was a cop and he had to wear his firearm at all times. So, they figured they were the safest of all of Emilio's patrons. And they probably would have been.

  If they hadn't been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Denny closed his eyes and concentrated on savoring the breeze from the overhead fan. The whirring noise was strangely soothing and he imagined himself laying on a beach somewhere, anywhere, the ocean breeze caressing his face. He sighed and felt himself slipping away...

  They were laughing about everything, anything. Denny joked with his dad about being five years younger than mom, and how she had robbed the cradle when she married him. Alan agreed and responded that he had always had a fascination with older women: wiser, experienced, the ability to tame the wild beast. Dennis laughed, happy that he and his dad could joke candidly about things like this. They had always been able to do that— their relationship as father/son had always been special that way.

  They raised their wine glass
es and toasted to older women. Alan looked at his watch. "We need to head home. Your mother will be worried sick."

  Dennis felt his heart sink—the night was over. It was rare these days to get his dad alone, away from his work, away from Lucy. Even though Dennis was a mature thirty-five years old, he still needed his father alone once in a while. His wisdom and sense of humor were things that Dennis always cherished, and that hadn't ended when Dennis had become a man.

  Well, there would be other times.

  Dennis paid the bill and toasted a Happy Birthday to his wonderful dad one more time. He could tell that Alan had enjoyed this little outing just as much as he had. His only son, spending time with him, man to man. And he was proud of his only son, having made detective at the ripe age of thirty. Dennis had possessed the gold shield now for five years, and at his young age there would be no stopping him. The sky was the limit. He could see Chief of Detectives in his future, then Chief of Police, then Police Commissioner, and then maybe Mayor. Alan had high hopes for his son. And Dennis shared those hopes.

  They walked arm in arm out of the restaurant, laughing about the days when Dennis had tried his hand at baseball and failed miserably. Despite his dad's cheering from the sidelines, Dennis had been hopeless at the sport. But, never fail, after every game Alan would tell him that he was proud of him. Proud that he had done his best and tried hard. Then he took him home to their backyard and worked with him on the fundamentals. No matter what Alan tried though, Dennis couldn't grasp the game of baseball. And Dennis gave up on the sport long before his father did. Twenty-eight years later, the memories were fun and provided good fodder for fatherly teasing. Dennis loved it.

  Dennis' car was parked about eight blocks away. It was almost midnight and a shortcut through the alleys would shorten the trip to the car by about fifteen minutes. So they took that route. And the route took them.

  He felt their presence before he saw them. That eerie feeling of being watched, stalked. He fingered the revolver on his hip reassuring himself that it was still there. But he didn't have a chance.