by G M Eppers
My stomach sank. “Is there a problem, Miss Chiff?”
“Not exactly. You see, the policy regarding married team members is to leave it to the discretion of the Coordinator.”
That would be me. I could discretion the hell out of this, I thought. I had worried a bit originally that their relationship would rock the boat. I knew that Roxy had also had an interest in Billings, but it didn’t seem to be causing any trouble at all. Oh my God, I think I might be working with adults.
She continued, “The issue here is that Billings has for the most part completed his training and is basically a Coordinator himself. He is simply waiting for an opportunity to advance. The policy changes when it comes to marriage to a subordinate, you see. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“You mean, they couldn’t serve on the same team.”
“Quite correct, Helena. You see the dilemma, then?”
It meant that eventually Billings was going to have to choose between Avis and his career. He might know that, I thought. Or he might not. People in love often don’t think about consequences. But how could I tell him? How could I not tell him? There’s time, I soothed myself. There are no openings right now. There’s only three teams and they are all fully manned. He didn’t have to decide right now.
Chapter Two
Less than an hour later, I came out of the shower clad in ladybug pajamas. Roxy and Sylvia were already under the covers with a row of pillows between them. I climbing into my bed, ready to turn out the light. It had been a very long day. I was looking forward to hours of blissful unconsciousness. There was a sound at the door. Not a knock, exactly, but there was definitely someone in the hallway. Now, we were in a B & B, so I guess it wasn’t totally unusual for another person to be out there. But it wasn’t someone going into the room across the hall. Someone was lingering. I could see the split shadow of feet in the band of light under the door. Sylvia threw off her covers and was on her feet in seconds, revealing a holster holding her Glock around her waist, cinching a light blue, long nightshirt with Tigger on the front. “What?” she whispered at my surprised face. “We’re expecting an attack, right?”
“What did you think the pillows were for?” whispered Roxy with a grin. “The gun was jabbing me in the side.”
I put a finger to my lips and held out my index finger toward them to hold them back. It could be someone attempting to break in, someone taking the bait we’d left at the bar. My Glock was on the nightstand and I picked it up, waiting for the doorknob to rattle. After some more shuffling sounds, a small envelope was shoved under the door and we heard footsteps hurrying away.
I leapt up and opened the door, looking down the hall, holding the Glock at my side and pointed down. I saw a booted foot disappear around the corner, but I knew it wasn’t worth chasing, especially in my current attire. I closed the door again and let the lock engage. I bent down to pick up the envelope. The face of it was blank and the flap was only tucked in, not sealed. I unfolded the flap and found an unlined index card inside. On the card were the words “Fuaim Smoky” and the numbers “12:30.” The clock radio supplied by the Banshee’s Breath said 11:48.
Going back to the bed, I put the Glock back on the nightstand and showed the card to Sylvia and Roxy, then picked up my phone, still on its charging cord, and opened a conference call to the whole team. “Hey, guys. We just got something weird under the door.”
“Kill it,” said Badger.
After a beat, Billings said, “Is it a spider? Do you need me to come kill it for you?” I heard Sylvia’s one good eye roll in its socket. It made the wap wap sound of a spring-loaded window shade when you pull on it and let go. Or maybe that was just my imagination.
“No, it’s not anything like that. It’s a note.”
“We got one, too,” replied Badger. Shortly after that, Billings added that their room had also received a mysterious message. “Mine is a warning. It says, ‘Go home or die’ in Irish.”
Billings read the Irish on his card as best he could so that Badger could translate. It said ‘Stay away. They’ll kill you.”
When I read ours, there was silence for a moment. Badger said, “It means Smoky Flue. The numbers, I think, are a time notation. Ireland uses a 24-hour clock, so that would be tomorrow just after noon.” I’d been afraid it meant 12:30 a.m. and we’d have to go out again. When duty calls I can do it. I’ve stayed up for about seventy hours for some missions, but it was among my least favorite things to do. That, and being held captive long enough that I had to pee on myself. I’d rather be shot at than do either one of those things.
Billings’ voice came over my phone, “Smoky Flue is another B&B, right? So they serve lunch now?”
Roxy laughed. “This is Ireland. The second B stands for booze.”
“As long as it doesn’t stand for brothel.” Badger wasn’t fond of scantily clad women.
“Speak for yourself,” came three or four voices back, nearly in unison.
“An invitation?” I asked. Sylvia and Roxy both were looking at me quizzically, their hair damp and flat from the showers.
Sylvia was smiling. “Seriously? Irish for smoky is smoky?”
Badgers voice came back over my phone. “Yes. Same for banana, too. And a lot of words are just the English word with an ‘a’ at the end. But I wouldn’t recommend trying to have a conversation that way.”
“I think I’ll leave the languages to you, Badger. I talk better with my, uh, hands.” She tapped the butt of her Glock lightly. Even though she’d traded in her leather and chains for the Tigger nightshirt, her attitude was still a scary thing.
“Sounds like an invitation to me, too,” Badger concurred. “But I don’t think we’re meant to participate. They would have provided more information. I’m guessing someone wants us to see something.” There was a very quiet tapping as he consulted one of his many useful apps. “I think the Smoky Flue is probably another pub or B & B nearby. Yep. It’s about six blocks into Ballincollig.”
“Why would we get two warnings AND an invitation?” I asked. That wasn’t how the scenario was supposed to play out. Someone was supposed to sneak in and try to kill us and one of us would leap up, punch them in the throat and we would all wrestle the intruder to the ground. Followed by some light coercion and interrogation, get some answers and we all live happily ever after.
“They only want girls?” suggested Nitro. That would imply that whoever it was had been watching us very closely, and knew who was in which room, not just that these three rooms were booked by the CURDS agents.
“We’re girls!” insisted Avis and Agnes in stereo.
I thought back to the little play we’d done downstairs in the pub. It seemed more likely to me that they had singled out Roxy, defender of cheese. Sir Haughty’s room had been warned away because he had threatened to go to Begorah Farms. It wasn’t just girls they wanted. It was just Roxy.
I was wishing that whoever it was had felt comfortable enough to talk to us. A little conversational give and take would have been much quicker and probably more informative even without the throat punching and coercive methods. Odds were good we wouldn’t understand what we were seeing anyway, with no other information to go on. “Well, they’re getting all of us whether they like it or not. Lights out everyone. We have an appointment for lunch.”
The next day dawned clearer than the previous one, but still partly cloudy. The clouds, however, were a nice, fluffy white instead of gray and black. We enjoyed a nice, light, late breakfast in the Banshee’s Breath, then suited up to head out for The Smoky Flue with vests, belts, and weapons. It was still cool enough for the jackets, which helped hide the hardware around our waists, but I only zipped half way up. After having my head wrapped in the hood most of the day yesterday, it felt good to leave it down and feel the breeze in my hair. Roxy suggested that we three girls, as invited guests, go ahead and the rest hang back. An alley separated the Smoky Flue from the next building, which was a hair salon. Signage was now in both Iris
h and English. I could see that the second story hair salon was called A Cut Above and featured a nail salon on the ground floor, Twenty Below. With the others hanging back in the alley, Roxy, Sylvia and I approached the door.
I had to smile, noticing an engraved plaque near the door which labeled the Smoky Flue as a Smoke Free Establishment without any apparent appreciation of the irony. Were we meant to go in, or just watch the front door? I looked around. A woman walked into the bookstore across the street. Two young men talked animatedly as they strolled past us and turned the corner. A blue VW Jetta rolled down the street going east. I raised my gaze and checked for anyone watching through a window, but there was no one in sight. I put my hand on the butt of my Glock and checked my watch. Twelve twenty-five. “Billings, divvy people up and put eyes all around the building. We’ll go in and see what’s going on.”
He nodded. I didn’t wait for him to start delegating. I opened the door and stepped inside. Sylvia and Roxy followed right behind me.
Pubs don’t have a lot of variety in décor. The Smoky Flue was also filled with wood, but it was lighter and brighter. The bar was walnut, but the booths and tables were heavily lacquered oak. A family of six, including a toddler in a high chair, was in one large booth enjoying their lunch and making a mess on the floor. A lone woman sat at a table for four with a tablet and a cup of coffee. Three teenagers were eating burgers and fries in the corner. A bored bartender stood behind the bar wiping glasses with an orange rag. The stairs to the rooms were behind a partition near the cash register.
The hostess came up to us. “How many in the party?”
“Three,” I said, my attention still on studying the room. I could see Billings and Nitro through one of the front windows observing foot traffic. Near the bar there was a door that led to the kitchen, which I got a glimpse of as a waitress pushed through it with a steaming bowl of something which she placed near the woman at the table for four. She thanked the waitress then returned to her tablet and coffee, ignoring the bowl for the time being. The hostess showed us to a booth and handed us menus, which we pretended to read as we observed the perfectly normal activity going on around us. Twelve twenty-nine.
“I thought B & B’s only served breakfast,” said Sylvia.
“This is Ireland,” Roxy replied. “The second B stands for booze.”
My phone vibrated. I picked it up and answered it. “Incoming,” said Billings. “A familiar face.”
My back was to the door. Roxy and Sylvia were on the other side of the booth, facing me. I heard the big wooden door open and saw Roxy mouth the name “Tevaughn.” Causally, I pointed to my eye as I raised the menu to partially cover my face. Roxy and Sylvia did likewise, peering over the top. We could have confronted him. It would have been fun to see the look on his face, as if he were seeing ghosts. Instead, it was more important to see where he was going.
The hostess approached Tevaughn Dunleavy with familiarity. She started leading him our way and we raised our menus even higher. I could still see the auburn top of his head and I felt his husky presence pass by as the hostess showed him to a doorway marked with a long Irish word beginning with ‘P’. “Badger, what does this word mean?” I whispered into my phone, pronouncing it phonetically and, I’m sure, very badly.
The answer came back without hesitation. “Private.”
“Get in here. I need your skills.”
Billings asked, “What about the rest of us?”
“Stay where you are and keep watching. In case Tevaughn tries to sneak out a back door. When he leaves, Billings, you and the twins keep tailing him. Don’t try to take him, just report. The rest of you come on in.”
“You don’t want us to cuff him?” asked either Avis or Agnes. I wasn’t sure which.
“No. We don’t have anything on him, yet. The hayride isn’t enough and we can’t link him to the fire. The stolen animals aren’t our jurisdiction. Right?” Billings explained. I was assuming that Chembassador Zickman by now had called the proper authorities to get both the fire and the animals taken care of. That left Tevaughn for us.
Roxy confirmed his analysis. We needed to get into the private room. We could interrupt the party and start questioning everyone in there, but they might be armed. Like the Banshee’s Breath, the Smoky Flue probably confiscated firearms, but, like us, their guns might be concealed, or they might have other weapons and I didn’t want to start a fight that might migrate into the public dining area. It would be better to examine the room after they left, figure out what Tevaughn was involved in. We needed something that would stand up in court better than he pushed Nitro off a hay wagon. It sounded like attempted murder should be good enough, but it would still be our word against his. Even the addition of the pilfered livestock didn’t make it a sure thing. It didn’t mean he set the fire, just that he rescued the animals. And what jury would convict someone for rescuing animals? We take him now, I thought, we never learn the whole story and there’s something bigger going on here.
When I saw Badger come in, I left the table and met him up front.
“Will the gentleman be joining you?” The hostess asked, grabbing another menu.
I showed her my badge. “We’re here representing CURDS and I’d like to speak to the manager, please.”
The hostess looked at me quizzically. I was pretty sure she understood me, but this was why I wanted Badger to come in. He translated my statement into Irish so she couldn’t avoid it, showing her his badge as well. I was a bit concerned as I saw something close to terror pass over her face. Her eyes darted. “He’s not here.”
“Call him.”
“I’m here.” A tall man with a fiery orange beard came up behind her. The rest of his head was bald. He didn’t even have eyebrows, which I found kind of weird. He was dressed in a navy blue suit and a white shirt with a yellow striped tie. The hostess disappeared into another room quickly, as if she were afraid of being punished. “Alroy Fitzpatrick, proprietor.” He held out his hand and bounced on his heels, though I wasn’t getting a friendly vibe from him. His handshake was firm, but brief.
We showed our badges again. “Look, I won’t disrupt the private party, but we’re going to inspect that room after they leave, and before anyone attempts to clean it. Is there a problem with that?” I wasn’t asking permission, just letting him know what was going to happen. He couldn’t claim our activity offended any of his guests, and delaying the busboys from cleaning a private room for a few minutes wouldn’t harm his business.
He wasn’t happy. “I don’t know how long they will be.”
I smiled, unperturbed by his wrath. “I have people monitoring the exits. We know the identity of one of the guests and when that person leaves we will be going in there. Don’t try to stop us. If you don’t cooperate we can report you to Chembassador Zickman and Interpol for obstruction of justice.”
“Have a seat,” he grumbled. “Anything you want. As you say in English, on the house.” He sneered, bowed and waved us toward our booth.
Badger and I rejoined Sylvia and Roxy in the booth. “Can you be sure he won’t contact the private party and warn them?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m hoping I was intimidating enough.” I’m only a bit over five feet, Fitzpatrick was at least six feet, but the badge, a stern look, and the legitimate warnings I gave him should be enough to get us into the private room with the leavings intact. If he wanted to retaliate later, there were probably ways. We’d have to watch our backs.
We ordered some sandwiches, and five more to go. He probably thought we were taking advantage of his offer, but we had no intention of not paying for the food. It would be against CURDS rules to accept something for free while on the job. We’d be paying and we were also generous tippers. As we ate, Sylvia asked, “so if we don’t find any Uber in there, are we leaving?”
“No,” I said. “He still tried to kill us. I really want to know why. Unless Miss Chiff recalls us, we stay here.” And the only way she would recall us is if she
got a report lamenting the lack of Uber. As our communications guy, that report would come from Badger. He sat next to me in the booth and I caught his eye as I spoke. “Any of you guys bored with Ireland?”
Badger shook his head. “Ireland is fascinating.”
“I love Ireland,” replied Sylvia.
“Nope. I’m good with it,” said Roxy.
I was about three bites away from finishing my sandwich, when Sir Haughty called. “The eagle has flown,” came his voice over my phone’s tinny speaker, “taking his tail with him. They all came out a back door. They disappeared too fast to count but it might have been as many as a dozen people.”
Roxy winced at the code phrase. It was corny. Besides that, this wasn’t covert. He didn’t need to use a code phrase. “Come into the nest,” I responded anyway. “We’re going to look for eggs.”
Sir Haughty and Nitro joined us. I got up and moved to the private room. No one came over to stop us, although I saw Fitzpatrick watching us from behind the bar. I put one hand on the butt of my gun and opened the door with the other, expecting an ambush. Even though a rush of people had gone out, it didn’t mean no one was left.
I was disappointed, or pleasantly surprised, depending on how you look at it. No one shot at me. The room was abandoned. It was about twenty feet square and contained a large circular dining table covered with a green linen tablecloth. I counted ten chairs set around it. At each place was a plate with crumbs in various shades of white, yellow and reddish pink, crumpled white cloth napkins, simple glassware empty or partially filled with red or white wine. More food particles littered the tablecloth and the floor around the table as if a pack of toddlers had eaten here. A sideboard held serving platters, also scattered with crumbs. A door near the opposite corner was clearly marked EXIT in both Irish and English. “Sir Haughty, can you tell what they were eating?”