Twenty minutes later my broken doorbell alarm sputtered or made some gosh-awful sound alerting me to an arrival. I checked my spy-hole to verify Marvin’s presence on the other side of the door. I opened it and invited Marvin Dillingham to come inside.
Rosey stood when Marvin entered the apartment. The height differential was staggering. I don’t feel the difference as much as most folks. My five feet and ten inches allow me an advantage in most situations. My red hair is an added attraction that usually causes people to pause momentarily when they meet me. That or my sharp wit.
Marvin was looking up at Rosey. I introduced Rosey to Marvin. He shook Mr. Dillingham’s hand firmly. I watched to see if Mr. Dillingham showed any surprise or fear at meeting such a sizable, handsome African American. Some folks are taken aback. Others might easily feel threatened.
Some few are neither. Dillingham was in the latter group. He showed no emotion or ill effect at the introductory greeting.
I fixed a cup of coffee for Marvin – a smidgen of milk and a trace of sugar. I poured a cup for Rosey. Black with no smidgen or trace of anything. I served them and then sat down to listen. This had to be stimulating. Maybe.
“You traveled a long way to find me, Mr. Dillingham.”
“I did,” he said and looked around at my place. “Is there somewhere we can go that is more private?”
“Not necessary. Say whatever you like in this space. Clancy here is about as close as one gets to a perfect friend. And, she’s practically family.”
Dillingham looked at me, then at Sam, and then back at Rosey. He almost smiled. My keen detective skills noticed that the corners of his mouth twitched as if heading toward that particular facial move. He stopped short.
“You can trust him, too,” I said to Dillingham, nodding at Sam. “He seldom divulges secrets.”
The corners of his mouth twitched once again. This gesture hinted that the man might have a sense of humor. Might. Hold that thought.
“I apologize to you, Miss Evans. I live and work in Washington, D.C. One seldom knows whom one can trust.”
“No need to apologize. I can leave the room.”
He looked at Rosey as if waiting to see if Rosey might concur.
“She and the dog stay,” Rosey said.
“I overheard a conversation at the Treasury Building a few days ago now,” he began. “Two men were discussing ‘a loose end’ that needed to be removed.”
“A loose end,” Rosey repeated Dillingham’s phrase.
“Their words.”
“You know these men?” Rosey said.
“I have seen one of them around Washington, you know, now and then, but I don’t know names.”
“And you overheard this conversation?” Rosey said.
“I was in an adjoining room with the door open. They didn’t see me. I had the advantage, I suspect. It was a rather brief conversation. One of them said that a person named Washington was a loose end and needed to be removed.”
“Why is it you think I’m the Washington about whom they were talking?”
“One of them said that he had hired this Washington for a job and had sent him to Bangkok on a secret mission to retrieve something.”
I noticed that Rosey’s right eyebrow shifted slightly. It was a minuscule move to be sure, but one that I had often seen. I knew he was now truly interested in what Dillingham was saying. He placed the coffee mug on the table at his end of the couch. Dillingham was sitting in the middle of the couch since Sam had refused to give Dillingham back his original seat at the other end.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Rosey said.
“One of the men I overheard that day mentioned that this Washington person was a former Navy S.E.A.L. My research on you turned up the fact that you are not only named Washington but are also a former Navy S.E.A.L.”
“Uh-huh. What else did they say?”
“It seemed to me that from the gist of the conversation and from the peculiar accent one of the men had, that he was from Maine. The other man had no such distinguishable accent, but his voice resonated in deeper tones. This man with the deeper voice was trying to convince the man from Maine that the removal strategy they were discussing was the way to go in order for them to become rich, so to speak. He said quite plainly that they could come into a lot of money once your demise was a fact.”
“And you were in an adjoining room when this conversation went down?”
“Yes. I was sitting at a table behind a wall in a break room. The sliding door was open. However, my presence was unknown to them, I assure you.”
“You’re positive?”
“They never saw me.”
“Or knew you were there?”
Dillingham shook his head while seemingly deep in thought.
“Are you the man?” Dillingham asked Rosey.
“That is a distinct possibility.”
4
To say that the news delivered by Marvin K. Dillingham was a shock would be to say the least. After Rosey encouraged Dillingham to repeat his story at least twice more just to be sure that he was being consistent with the tale, we offered to treat Dillingham to a lunch in downtown Norfolk. He graciously declined, saying that he had to get back to D.C. Something about job pressures was offered as the reason. He did mention in passing that he worked for the U.S. Treasury Department. I figured he had to go print up some more money or make certain that more was placed into circulation. I had no idea what Marvin K. Dillingham did for the Treasury Department. But I was curious.
Rosey was driving the two of us back to my apartment in his Jag after we finished our sandwiches at the deli down the street from my apartment building. He had insisted that he drive us there even though we could have easily walked. Dillingham was probably back in D.C. by now.
“You think he heard what he heard correctly?” I said.
“He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who sports a fanciful imagination.”
“No imagination at all, if you ask me. Still, you’ll check into it,” I said.
“I will.”
“May I do some investigating as well?”
“Please.”
“You know either of the two men involved?” I said.
“One of them.”
“He have a name?”
“Wilkerson, Thaddeus Wilkerson. Works for the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.”
“I was expecting one of those alphabet agencies that do black ops.”
“You read too many novels about D.C.,” he said.
“Some of that stuff is true.”
“Some.”
“You’re not going to try to convince me that you don’t do black ops.”
“I could tell you the truth, but then I would have to eliminate you.”
“I think I’ll continue believing the novels I read. Is this Wilkerson a real player?”
“He has some contacts, but I never considered him a player,” Rosey said.
“And now that he wants you exterminated, he might be considered a real player.”
“I may have to revise my assessment.”
“Who will he send after you?” I said.
“Too many tentacles. Hard to say.”
“Maybe more than one.”
“If he wants the job to be successful,” he said.
“So you are vulnerable.”
“And I bleed.”
“I’ve nursed a few of your wounds.”
“I might need some more of that.”
“You don’t even have to ask,” I said. “Should we call in some more assistance?”
“That could be tricky. Not sure I trust many others.”
“I trust someone,” I said.
I tried hard not to permit a gleam to emanate from my eyes.
“The femme fatál?” he said.
“She would be my choice.”
“She tried to kill us.”
“She wasn’t successful.”
“The intent was there.”
; “We’re just better than she is. Or lucky?”
“Maybe that’s more to the point.”
“Naw, we’re that good. But she did wound you.”
“Yeah, I kinda recall that pain, even now.”
“Another set of eyes and ears would not be so bad.”
“I’ll think about it,” Rosey said.
“While the posse forms?”
“Time could be an issue.”
“It could be everything,” I said.
“I’m thinking about a road trip to D.C.”
“And that simply proves your lunacy,” I said.
“He wouldn’t expect it.”
“He being Wilkerson, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. Surely you weren’t considering Marvin?”
“I don’t like to make assumptions.”
“You have suspicions about Mr. Dillingham?” Rosey asked.
“Nothing serious comes up on the radar, but I’ll check into him as well.”
“Please do.”
“So, you’re going to D.C. because you think Wilkerson doesn’t know that you know.”
“My advantage,” Rosey said.
“I would suggest that you hide.”
“Run like a coward.”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t fight. I just think we need to control the board. Home court advantage and all that.”
“And whose home court do you have in mind, yours?”
“Too open. I was thinking of hiding in the hills.”
“Starnes.”
“She can shoot if the target holds still,” I said.
“Great. I retreat to the hills only to be surrounded by three women.”
“Some men might like those odds.”
“But these three women have guns,” he said.
“And they shoot with accuracy.”
“Call Starnes and see if we can come and hide out for a spell,” he said. “I’ll call you from D.C. if I learn something.”
“Can’t dissuade you from the road trip into the lion’s den of D.C.?” I said.
“Need some verification.”
“You might not make it to the mountains.”
“I’ll make it. Wilkerson is cagey, but he’s no match for a S.E.A.L.”
“Former S.E.A.L.,” I said.
“You say that as if former means something.”
“It means that you are not as young and vigorous as you used to be.”
“I still have my brains and some brawn.”
“And your gun collection.”
“It was next on my list,” he said.
“And you have the name of the monster,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex.
“As far as I know, the number one suspect.”
“Why this Wilkerson fellow?”
“He’s the one who sent me to Bangkok.”
5
It was close to midnight when we left Norfolk and headed to D.C. Actually we were driving to Sterling to pick up a few shotguns, small arms, and a ton of ammunition. After we had returned to my apartment, I was able to convince him that Sam and I needed to go with him into the lions’ den of D.C.
I had Rogers contact Starnes in North Carolina to clear the way for our possible hasty retreat there if we felt outnumbered or in need of some triage.
“You drive. We’ll take your car,” he said.
“The dog, right?”
“I just had the Jag cleaned.”
“He’s not dirty.”
“He’s a dog.”
“He’s smart.”
“Still a canine.”
“You could hurt his feelings.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“He holds grudges.”
“There’s the other thing,” Rosey said.
“They know you drive a Jag.”
“I seldom hide the fact.”
“You have that other vehicle.”
“Likewise a noticeable automobile.”
“Your taste might need to run towards the middle class in the future,” I said.
“Cars are my vices.”
I drove while Rosey rode shotgun. Sam, the dirty dog, was in the backseat peering out the front window from between the two seats of my Jeep. I also had Rogers contact Diamond, my friendly, favorite assassin who was sent to kill us a few years ago. Since that episode, she had become something of a friend, although that was not quite the word for our relationship. I knew I could trust her, but the mantle of friendship wasn’t something that Diamond would likely want to wear in public. A dubious term for her profession.
In addition to calling Starnes and Diamond, I turned Rogers loose on a search for as much information as she could find about Marvin K. Dillingham. I mentioned the name of Thaddeus Wilkerson to her as well knowing that her curiosity would get the better of her and she would want to check him out too. I’m never above testing her to see just how much initiative she has. Besides that, I think it also provides her with additional self-improvement for her superb skill set. Of course the latter here is something I would hesitate to tell her since I have discovered her ego needs no self-improvement. Humility? Well, that’s an entirely different matter.
We arrived in Sterling in the wee hours of the morning. Darkness was a good shield just in case the bad guys were lurking about in wait. We were caught in a quandary. Since we didn’t know Marvin Dillingham, we had no reason to believe him. Since Rosey did know Thaddeus Wilkerson and did not trust him, we had good reason to believe Marvin might be right. At any rate, when you are warned that someone is out to kill you, it’s best to take no unnecessary risks. Cover your backside, so to speak.
“You go in the front way and I’ll circle around to the back in case they want to play mean,” Rosey said.
“You assume that they are here waiting on you,” I said.
“I’d rather assume that and be wrong. It’s how I stay alive.”
I had my 9mm secured in my back holster. My slacks covered the .38 in my ankle holster. If I knew how to use a knife, I would have had one of those. Armed and dangerous.
Sam and I walked leisurely to the front door as if we lived there. Rosey was hiding in the shadows even though I could not see him. Stealth can sometimes be a virtue. I used his key and entered the condo.
“You stay here by the door and listen for alarming sounds,” I said to Sam.
Sam sat down on his haunches and released a low growl. I took that to mean he was ready. It could have meant that he didn’t want to remain by the door, but I’m more of a hopeful optimist when it comes to communicating with a dog. I’m not a dog whisperer. More often than not he simply understands what I say. His talent, not mine. Uncanny if you ask me.
I found the hidden panel in the closet behind Rosey’s old Navy uniforms. After I unlocked and opened the doors, his subdued, blue lighting came on automatically and revealed his arsenal. I shook my head in disbelief. When the end of the world comes, and if there is likely to be fighting, I want to be with this man.
I found the small trunk he wanted, filled it with the shopping list he had provided, added some extra boxes of ammo and then closed the door panels. The arsenal lights shut off.
When I withdrew the key from the hidden panel doors, I heard a muffled cough. It was ever-so-slight, but a cough none-the-less. I eliminated Sam and Rosey immediately from the suspect pool. No way had someone entered past Sam. Rosey would have likely spotted someone had they approached from the back. Someone had preceded us. Clever detective that I am.
I took advantage of the dark bedroom. I placed the trunk full of guns and ammunition on Rosey’s bed and slowly removed my 9mm. I quickly espoused two notions – first, whoever was here was after Rosey; second, in all probability they were going to shoot me for the heck of it.
I devised a plan after I had drawn my weapon.
I clicked on the small lamp sitting on Rosey’s bedside table. I then crawled under the bed and waited. As soon as I was under the bed, I decided that my devised
plan was not well conceived. Haste and waste came to mind. I would have to improvise.
I could see the doorway entrance to the bedroom from my prone position. I was lying uncomfortably on my stomach. I could shoot them in the foot or ankle. The downside to my improvisation was that, while painful, it would only cripple my adversary. They could still shoot me. The upside to my position would be if my adversary decided to peek under the bed. Then I could shoot him or her in the face. Yuck. Messy and risky. Rosey would gripe about the blood stains on the carpet.
I could now hear someone walking on the hardwood floor of the hallway just outside Rosey’s bedroom. The outside lights for the parking lot along with the safety lights for the condos shone through the bedroom windows. I held my breath so as not to reveal my not-so-clever hiding place. Life in the trenches.
Moments passed. It seemed like days to me. I released my breath slowly. That’s not easy to do when lying on one’s stomach. Since my life was at risk, I managed.
The outside lights shone brightly around the bedroom entrance. Two shoes. The size suggested it was a man. I watched the shoes walk around to my gun hand’s side of the bed. The noise above me suggested that my intruder was trying to open Rosey’s ammunition trunk. No luck there. It was locked and I had the key.
The shoes then moved to the closet, still on my gun hand’s side but a little further away. Now I had a calf shot. Whoopee. I decided to wait.
As soon as the shoes turned away from the closet and headed back to the doorway, I heard Sam growl. I could now see Sam’s outline. He was standing in light.
I could no longer wait.
I fired three rounds into the ankle and foot without giving another thought. The man fell hard onto the floor. I was in the dark and he was not. He no doubt knew my location since I had already shot him, so when he hit the floor he raised his gun to fire.
The sound of a silencer on a pistol is a distinct sound. It’s like an abrupt thud. A chunk. Especially if the bullet hits the intended target. The man on the floor stopped moving. No more ankle/foot pain for him.
I wasn’t using a silencer.
“You can come out,” Rosey said.
Sam met me as I crawled out from under the bed. He was licking me as if I had been injured.
Out Jumps Jack Death: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 8) Page 4