Color Of Blood

by Keith Yocum

  “I thought you’d come around to that.”

  “So?” Dennis said.

  “So what?”

  “Jesus, Massey. Come on.”

  “It’s more than the one million dollars,” Massey said. “He’s shopping something else to the bad guys. I can’t tell you what because you’re not authorized to know, but he got hold of something that he apparently thought would be worth more than one million to the right group. So he took it. We want it back. Does that answer your question?”

  “Who are the bad guys? Journalists?” Dennis said.

  “Not journalists, though most journalists are bad guys in my book.”

  “So who are the bad guys then?”

  “They’re bad guys; that’s all you need to know.”

  “Bad guys with head scarves or bad guys with Slavic accents?”

  “Bad guys.”

  “Thanks for the deep intel. I need to go.”

  “Wait,” Massey said. “We have an extraction team in place in Australia. You’re to use the same number given to you before. Call that number if you find him again. I’m confident you will, for some crazy reason.”

  Dennis hung up and put the phone next to a large map of Western Australia he had purchased at a bookstore. He’d also bought a felt-tip black pen and a small packet of yellow sticky notes.

  Well, he either believed me or he didn’t, he thought. My guess is that he did, so I’ve got a small head start. But I’ve really got to help Judy first. Poor Judy.

  He stood up and went into the bathroom, filled up a glass with water, came back to the small round work table in the suite, set the water down, put the large, unfolded map on the floor gently, so that none of the sticky notes became dislodged, grabbed a lined, yellow pad of paper and yellow No. 2 pencil, and started to write every relevant fact Judy had told him.

  ***

  She started out the day running late and never seemed to catch up. Judy was aware her frazzled demeanor was attracting the notice of her office mates. Daniel had asked her again if she was not feeling well.

  During the day she allowed herself to nibble at the image of Dennis. She did so with the same controlled excitement with which she approached a small bar of dark chocolate: nibble too fast and the pleasure was gone too quickly; nibble slowly, and the enjoyment would last so much longer. She had showered at home that morning, but by late afternoon, she felt she could still smell Dennis on her body. It was a warm, sexy odor.

  Or was it a warm, manipulated odor? she wondered.

  Dennis had appeared out of nowhere. In her darkest moment of fear and doubt, he had promised to help her. Would she use Dennis out of desperation to save Simon and her?

  Yes, she decided. She would do anything to save Simon.

  ***

  Dennis ate dinner by himself at an Irish pub near the hotel. He ordered a hamburger at the bar, paid, and took his numbered sign to an open table. A solo male singer wailed a Celtic love song, and he marveled at how an Irish pub could be found in nearly every city in the world. He returned to his hotel.

  Judy grabbed a quick bite at home and came to his hotel at seven thirty. Dennis noticed she did not bring a small bag of clothes.

  “You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Dennis asked Judy a series of questions about every facet of her work life, her professional partnership with Daniel, her relationships with everyone near and far in the AFP; the West Australian Police Department, which she called WA Pol; and the Australian Crime Commission, which she referred to as the ACC. He took notes on the pad of lined paper. Judy noticed he had already accumulated a stack of hand-written pages on the table.

  After an hour and twenty minutes, Judy said, “Can we take a break? I really need a break. Feels like an interrogation.”

  “Do you want something to eat? A drink?”

  “Yes, a drink. A glass of wine, white wine: any sauvignon blanc.”

  Dennis ordered room service. He observed her closely and noticed she had lost both the sexy flirtatiousness of the prior night, as well as the bouncy silliness of the morning. Now she simply looked tired and depressed.

  They made small talk until the drinks were delivered.

  “Hey, what’s that over there?” Judy said.

  “It’s a map.”

  “I didn’t notice it when I came in.” She walked over to the large map of Western Australia taped to the wall. Small yellow sticky notes with words hand-printed on them were pasted everywhere.

  “What in the blazes are you doing?” she asked, laughing for the first time that evening.

  “None of your business,” he said. “That’s for later. I need your help on that, but not now. I have an idea about how to solve your problem, and I just need a little more time to pull together some details. Then you can work on my work problem.”

  Judy laughed. “You are a funny one.”

  “But really, we should stop, Dennis. I think I need to reach out to one of the blokes I know in Canberra at the ACC. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and while I appreciate all you’re doing for me, it would be best to rely on the ACC. It will be messy, but I think I can trust them to protect Simon and my family.”

  “Can you sit down here just for a moment?” Dennis asked. “If we do this right, you come out protecting your family and are seen as a hot-shit investigator to boot.”

  “I am a hot-shit investigator,” she smirked.

  “Of course you are, but you’ll be seen as a really, really hot-shit investigator.”

  “But you’re doing all the work,” she said.

  “There’s much more to be done,” he said.

  Judy walked over, slumped into the chair, took a long sip of the white wine, and looked at him with blood-shot, sunken eyes that eye shadow and mascara could not hide.

  “I’m at the end of my endurance,” she said. “You’ve been too kind.”

  Dennis ignored her and plowed ahead.

  “Just answer these last questions. Ready?”

  “No. I can’t go on.”

  “OK,” Dennis said, ignoring her. “So when you were being restrained, and this idiot was telling you that they had a snitch in the WA office, he mentioned a PowerPoint presentation, correct?”

  “Yes,” Judy sighed. “Yes. That’s what he said.”

  “He didn’t mention anything specific that Miller said? He didn’t quote Miller directly?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you said you looked through the photo files from the AFP and could find no one who looked like this guy you saw when the tape lifted off your eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said some time ago that you had investigated a shooting of a Chinese national that had been killed with a powerful rifle?”

  Judy stopped in mid-sip and put down her glass.

  “Did I tell you that?”

  “Yes, one of the first things you told me yesterday.”

  “Why are you going back to that?”

  “You said a medical examiner had made a comment about why they might have used that powerful weapon to kill a man. Right?”

  “God, Dennis, I have to go home. I’m sorry.” She stood up, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead gently. Judy got a whiff of Dennis’s smell, and it excited her, but she grabbed her purse and headed to the door.

  “And this medical examiner— you said his name was Lynch, I think—he told you and your partner, Daniel, that the gun was probably used to warn someone else who was in the room at the time of the shooting. That was his guess, right?”

  “Yes,” Judy said, her back to Dennis.

  “Great. This all works; I like it. Judy, before you go, one last thing. Just take a second.”

  She opened the door.

  “Goodnight, Dennis.”

  “I think I have a photograph of your bad guy: the guy who cut your toe off.”

  Judy froze in the doorway. She pursed her
lips and blinked in exhaustion. Time to go, she reminded herself.

  But.

  She was a policewoman. She solved crimes. She knew he knew that. Now she felt manipulated.

  Time to go.

  But.

  She was a policewoman.

  The door closed, and she turned to face him. He had his laptop open.

  “I have access to a much larger database of photos than you: one of the benefits of working for the best-funded intelligence agency in the world.”

  She walked over without saying a word, sat down, and dropped her purse onto the floor with a thud. Judy looked at Dennis and not at the laptop.

  Those bloody blue eyes, she thought, are they going to be good for me or bad for me?

  She turned to face the screen.

  “I’m going to show you three pictures. Tell me if any of them look like your fellow.”

  He clicked, and the screen showed what looked like an arrest photograph that had Cyrillic lettering underneath the scowling face.

  “That’s not him.”

  “How about this one?”

  It was a grainy color photograph taken by telephoto of a man getting out of an Audi somewhere in Germany, she surmised by the signage on the nearby storefronts.

  She peered at it closely. “I don’t think so.”

  “OK, last one.”

  Another color photograph that appeared to be taken surreptitiously showed a man walking toward the camera on a city street.

  Judy squinted.

  “Damn,” she said. “I think that’s him.” She kept looking at it, then at Dennis, then back at the photo.

  “Dennis, where did you get this photo?”

  “I told you; we have photos of half the people on the planet. Didn’t you read 1984 in high school? Well, for better or worse, this is what you get.”

  Judy reached for the half-consumed glass of wine.

  “Who is he?” she said curtly.

  “A South African: name is Kurt Voorster. He’s been implicated in illegal arms sales to rebels in Africa, primarily Ugandan militia and Burundi gangs. Lives very well. Homes everywhere. Only one arrest in 1999 for possession of narcotics in Pretoria. That’s it.”

  Judy sagged in the chair. To Dennis she looked very small, as if she were collapsing into a child before his eyes. She took another sip of wine. A bead of condensation rolled down the glass and flew off, hitting Judy’s maroon silk blouse, turning the spot dark red.

  “Judy, I need you to do two things for me.”

  She just looked at him, her mind whirring with confusing thoughts and images.

  “Judy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you to tap into any database you have that can tell us where this fellow Voorster is staying here in Australia. I hope he’s still here. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “And lastly—and you’re free to go home afterward—can I have Phillip’s mobile number?”

  Judy frowned, started to speak, frowned again, and put down her drink.

  “I’m trying to catch up with you, Dennis, but I’m having trouble. Maybe I’ll never catch up to you. But Phillip?”

  “I just need his mobile number.”

  “He has two mobile numbers: one for work, one for personal use.”

  “Excellent. I can get his numbers through other channels, but it would take a while. Please write them down.” He pushed the yellow pad and pencil to her.

  She picked up the pencil and wrote out two phone numbers.

  “Great,” he said. “You can go now.”

  She pushed the pad back to him and stared at the two numbers.

  “I’m hungry,” she said.

  “I can order something,” he said.

  “Where are my pajamas?” she said.

  “You should go home,” Dennis said. “You looked completely exhausted.”

  “You’re an odd one, Dennis Cunningham.”

  “I guess.”

  “I would like something to eat,” she said. “And I want my pajamas. And don’t give me any more of your shit.”

  Dennis gave her the same T-shirt she wore the night before, and she changed out of her clothes in the bathroom while he called room service for a salad and two more drinks.

  She came out with her folded clothes, wearing only a white cotton T-shirt and her underwear.

  While they waited for room service, Dennis felt the warmth of self-satisfaction spread over him. The unexpected joy of his fledgling relationship with Judy, combined with the fact that he was too preoccupied to be depressed, buoyed him immensely.

  Judy had piled her jewelry together on the dresser, carefully laying out her thin gold necklace next to her earrings.

  She ambled over to the bed, sat down, crossed her legs, and stretched the T-shirt edges over her knees so that it created a tentlike effect.

  “I’m not going to ask you why you want Phillip’s phone numbers, and I’m not going to ask you about this bloody monstrous map and classroom notes. But Dennis, you didn’t really explain why you came back to Australia nor how you got that long, thin scab at the corner of your right eye. Looks like someone scratched you. I gather you think Garder is back here?”

  There was a knock at the door, and Dennis took the tray from the food runner and paid in cash. He brought the salad and utensils to Judy on the bed and put her fresh glass of wine on the bedside table. She took the plastic wrap off the salad and attacked it.

  After several bites, she said, “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you going to answer every question with another question?”

  “Am I?”

  Judy grabbed a piece of lettuce off the plate and threw it at Dennis.

  He laughed, picked up the lettuce, and put it in the bin.

  “I found Garder in Europe: in Switzerland, actually. It’s a long story. I had him in front of me and was holding him at gunpoint, but he got away.”

  “That’s how you got the scratch?”

  He nodded.

  “So you think he’s back here now?”

  “No. In fact I’m pretty certain he’s not here. He’d be stupid to be here, and while I think he’s lots of things, stupid is not one of them.”

  “I don’t follow you,” she said, chewing slowly. “I’m missing something. You’re chasing a fellow, and you’ve traveled all the way to Australia to find him, but you’re pretty certain that he’s not here. So you’re not really chasing the fellow.”

  “Correct. My boss thinks I’m chasing Garder, but I’m no longer chasing him.”

  Judy put down her fork on the edge of the white porcelain salad dish and placed the dish on the bed.

  “I need a drink,” she said, turning behind her to get the glass of wine off the bedside table. “You’re making me dizzy. So are you going to tell me what you’re doing, or do I have to ask a thousand bloody questions?”

  Dennis frowned. “OK. Here goes. Just do me a favor. Don’t judge me or say I’m crazy or being self-destructive. OK? That’s my therapist’s job.”

  “Mmm,” she said slowly.

  Dennis told her of his strange discussion with Garder in the hotel room, about the young agent’s claim that he’d discovered something very wrong going on in Western Australia and his attempts to shine a public light on the project. Judy asked him several questions, intrigued with Dennis’s narrative.

  “All right, I grant you all of what you just told me, but I still don’t understand what you’re doing back in WA? Dennis, am I daft? You’re leaving something out.”

  “I’m back here to discover what Garder stumbled upon in the first place,” he said. “If he found it, then I should be able to find it. Then I’ll decide what to do afterward.”

  Judy slowly turned and looked at the map on the wall, and then turned back to look at Dennis. He took a sip of the Macallan
he’d been nursing. She stood up and walked over to the table and sat in the chair facing him.

  “Mmm,” she said, eyeing him.

  “You promised not to judge me.”

  “I have a headache,” she said. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “I’ll get you some.”

  “Then can we go to bed?” she said. “You’re exhausting to be around.”

  They did not make love that evening. Judy curled herself into a ball around one of the large decorative pillows and fell sound asleep. Looking at his watch on the bedside table, he did a quick calculation, picked up his cell phone, and moved to the table. He opened a small black leather notebook, found a phone number, and dialed it.

  “Hey, Joey, it’s Dennis,” he said. “Yeah, Dennis the Menace.”

  Dennis went back and forth with Joey for several minutes, exchanging gossip on which personnel were being transferred where. Judy woke at one point and took Dennis’s pillow to cover her head.

  Dennis finally got to the point of the call. Would Joey do a favor for Dennis and run an activity report on two phone numbers? Dennis warned that the numbers were Australian personal mobile numbers and he gave the dates of coverage he needed. He hung up, turned off the lights, and gently recovered his pillow from Judy. She turned, threw an arm around Dennis’s chest and sighed; he was not sure whether she was awake or dreaming.

  ***

  She said almost nothing to him while driving west on the Stirling Highway, toward the Indian Ocean and the setting sun.

  They had spent the day apart; Judy had worked until early evening, and Dennis had busied himself with his map and sticky notes. When they finally connected, she seemed distant and curt. He could not tell whether she was angry or just tired, but he insisted they see each other that evening to review his notes on her problem.

  “Let’s get you out of Perth,” she said, driving away from the city.

  “What are we having for dinner?”

  “Fish and chips,” she said. “In Swanbourne: near the water. You like fish?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Don’t love it, but if it means you’ll sit down and look at these phone records, then I’ll eat fish.”

  She did not answer his challenge. After another ten minutes of silence, Dennis—who was no stranger to awkward silences—became restless.