Don't Order Dog: 1 (Jeri Halston Series)

by C. T. Wente

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

  From his corner seat, Chip suddenly sat up straight and cleared his throat.

  “Jeri, I’m as sorry as it gets for keeping this from you, but it wasn’t entirely my decision.” He pointed his thumb at Tom, who was too absorbed in the letter to notice. “Apparently the current thinking of our country’s Homeland Security is that you catch bigger fish with ignorant bait.”

  Jeri glared at Chip for a moment before turning on Tom.

  “Is that true?” she asked.

  “What?” Tom asked absently.

  Jeri reached over and snatched the letter from his hands. “If you knew this guy was a terrorist, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Tom replied, reaching his hand out impatiently. “Can I have that back?”

  “No, you may not.”

  Jeri walked to the end of the bar and stood in front of Chip. She laid the letter on the counter and rested her hand over it protectively. “I’ll let you read it Chip…

  on one condition.”

  The older man looked up at Jeri with a pensive stare. He could see the glow of anger beginning to smolder in eyes. “What condition?” he asked quietly.

  “Stop trying to look out for me.”

  She pushed the pages of the letter towards him and grabbed his empty beer glass. “I’ve done just fine on my own,” she said as she walked towards the beer tap, her eyes burning into Tom as she walked past. “And I certainly don’t need the protection of the Department of Homeland Security. Not that you guys made any effort to provide it anyway.”

  Tom shrugged and waved his hand dismissively through the air. “Look, I understand you’re upset Jeri. But once you calm down, we can talk this whole situation out… including ways we can insure your safety if such a thing is needed.” He pushed his empty beer glass towards her. “Honestly, I don’t think you’re in any real danger.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” Jeri asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Just like it was your professional opinion that this guy was dead, right? Thanks, but your professional opinion means absolutely nothing to me.”

  The front door of the saloon suddenly groaned open, stabbing a long blade of cold light into the dim interior as a short, barrel-chested bald man walked in and quickly closed the door behind him. He took off his coat and met the three faces staring back at him with a wide grin as his stout legs paced towards the bar.

  “How’s my best bartender doing, Jeri?” Joe Brown asked as he stepped up to the bar next to Tom.

  “Just great, Joe,” Jeri muttered flatly as she walked a fresh pint of beer over to Chip, his attention still fixed on the letter. “How are you?”

  “Goddamn weather’s wreaking hell on my joints,” Joe replied, nodding his head bitterly. “Took me twenty minutes just to get outta the damn bed this morning. Got any hot coffee on?”

  “I do,” Jeri replied softly. She grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and walked over to him. Joe watched as she filled his cup before turning to the man sitting next to him.

  “Having a nice morning so far?” he asked Tom.

  “Not exactly,” Tom replied, staring at his empty glass. Jeri turned without acknowledging him and returned to her seat. Both men gave her a perplexed smile as she opened her book and started to read.

  “Jeri,” Joe said finally, “I believe our friend here could use another beer.”

  “I’m sure he could, Joe,” Jeri replied without looking up. “But he’s not our friend, and he’s not going to be served another beer from me.”

  Joe looked suspiciously at Tom as he scratched his chin. His eyes drifted down the bar to Chip, who was still absorbed in the letter. He turned and looked at Jeri with a lost expression. “What the hell’s going on, Jeri?”

  Jeri gave him a weary frown before closing her book and sitting up straight on her barstool. “Let me give you a brief update, Joe. I got another letter from the postman this morning. Unfortunately, I was accosted by the gentleman sitting next to you before I could read it. His name is Tom, but you and I should probably refer to him as Agent Coleman. Agent Coleman works for the Department of Homeland Security. He’s also been secretly investigating my mysterious letter writer,” she paused and gave Chip a snide look. “With the help of a senior-aged assistant.”

  “Is that true?” Joe said, looking down the bar at Chip. Chip nodded his head.

  “Agent Coleman was surprised to see a new letter from our mystery writer this morning,” Jeri continued. “Especially since a team of commandos raided his hotel a few nights ago in Amsterdam and forced him to blow up everything in his room– including himself.” She leaned forward on her stool and whispered mockingly. “You see Joe, my letter writer was a terrorist.”

  Joe stared back at Jeri, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Or should I say is a terrorist?” Jeri said as she stood up and walked towards Chip. “Because if he was dead, I don’t think he’d still be writing letters.” She glared at Tom as she passed. “Anyway, I just found out a few minutes before you walked in that both Chip and Agent Coleman here have been aware of this fact for some time, but decided it was best to keep it from me.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Joe said in a hushed tone of disbelief. He turned and scowled at Chip sitting quietly in his seat. “What the hell were you thinking, Chip? For Chrissake… I thought you looked after Jeri like she was your own daughter!”

  Chip looked up from the letter and narrowed his blue eyes on the bar owner. “Don’t start with me, Joe. Why the hell do you think I’ve spent every single day sitting here? To look after you?”

  “Go easy on him, Joe,” Jeri said as she stopped in front of Chip. She reached out and took the letter from his grasp, squeezing his hand gently before walking back to her corner. “He wasn’t the one who decided to keep me in the dark.”

  “Oh really?” Joe said as he took a step back from the counter and turned to Tom. “Then I’m starting to understand why Jeri won’t serve you that beer after all. In fact, I’m wondering why I shouldn’t just throw your ass out of my saloon.”

  Tom broke his stare from the letter in Jeri’s hands and glanced over at the bar owner. He hadn’t met Joe before, but he already disliked the heavyset bald man with the shiny head and flashy temper. He gave Joe a smug smile and raised his hands defensively.

  “Okay, I think everyone needs to just calm down for a minute. It’s not like I made up the rulebook for investigating terrorism. I was just following protocol.” He turned and looked at Jeri. “Can I at least see the Polaroid, Jeri?” he asked.

  Jeri eyed him coldly for a moment before shaking her head.

  “There wasn’t one.”

  Tom looked at her skeptically. “Are you sure? I swear I felt a Polaroid in the envelope before you opened it.”

  Jeri returned his stare with a contemptuous smile.

  “Well, it looks like you were wrong once again, Agent Coleman.”

  Tom slammed his fist onto the counter. “Jesus Christ! How do you expect me to do my job when you won’t even share the fucking evidence with me?”

  “She just told you there wasn’t a photo,” Joe replied, his voice low and threatening. “And around here, Jeri’s word is a helluva lot stronger than that of some goddamn Federal agent. So unless you have a warrant to search my establishment, I suggest you drop the subject.”

  Tom nodded and looked up at Jeri with a piercing stare. “You know what’s funny, Jeri? The reason I came down here this morning was to tell you the truth about all this… to explain everything and tell you that your anonymous pen pal was dead. There’s no rule in the handbook for that, no rule that says we have to tell you anything about the murderers and terrorists we protect you from. I just thought you deserved to know.”

  “But he’s not dead, is he Tom?” Jeri replied angrily, holding up the letter. “He’s alive and well… and apparently in China now.” She shook her head absently. “Which means he’s also g
oing to kill again, doesn’t it?”

  Tom mulled over the question before slowly nodding his head.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Jeri said, slipping from her barstool. She ducked under the bar and headed towards the restroom. Joe silently watched her until she was gone, then walked behind the bar and grabbed the letter.

  “Joe, are you sure there isn’t a Polaroid sitting inside the envelope over there?” Tom asked expectantly.

  Joe looked around and shrugged. “I don’t even see the envelope.”

  Tom nodded and looked off towards the restroom. “Right.”

  Both Tom and Chip sat quietly as Joe stood behind the bar and read the letter. When he was done, he tossed the pages on the counter and scratched his bald head.

  “Shoulda known this guy was a damn lunatic from the start,” he said as he poured himself another coffee. “What with all that romantic nonsense and those ridiculous coded messages.”

  Tom grabbed the letter and began to pull out his notepad when he paused and looked at Joe. “What do you mean, coded messages?” he asked.

  Joe rolled his eyes at Tom from behind his coffee cup. “Are you kidding me? You really think he’s collecting some damn toys called brainy buddies? Give me a fuckin’ break. Whatever he’s collecting, it ain’t toys. And look at the way he always ends each letter with that ‘don’t order dog’ statement. That didn’t strike you as odd?”

  Tom looked again at the letter. His eyes slowly widened in shock.

  “Jesus Christ,” Joe said, shaking his head. “It’s a wonder you ever found him in the first place.”

  “He didn’t find him,” Chip muttered, his hands pawing the sweat from his beer glass. “The guy gave Jeri his hotel address in the last letter.”

  Joe chuckled bitterly. “Man, I’ve heard some crazy shit in my days, but this one beats ‘em all.”

  Jeri emerged from the restroom and quickly paced back towards the bar, an odd, distant expression on her face.

  “You okay, Jeri?” Joe asked as she ducked under the counter and re-emerged next to him.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied tensely. “But I need to ask a favor. Can you have Owen fill in for me for a few days, starting this afternoon? I could really use a break from this whole situation.”

  “You got it,” Joe replied, squeezing her shoulder. “Between Owen and me, we’ve got this place covered. Get outta here.”

  Jeri gave him a weak smile before quickly gathering her things. She was about to leave when she glanced at the letter and paused. Joe immediately sensed what she was thinking.

  “I won’t put it up, Jeri,” he said quietly. “Hell, maybe it’s time to just rip the whole goddamn shrine down. Hasn’t been getting much attention lately anyway.”

  Jeri stared at the letter for a moment, deep in thought, before turning and looking at him with an expression that bordered on fright. “No, don’t do that. Put the letter up, Joe. Put it up and just pretend like nothing has changed. After all, nothing has changed.”

  Joe looked at her curiously and nodded. “Okay, Jeri… if you’re sure that’s what you want me to do.”

  “I’m sure.” She turned and waved to Chip. “Maybe you should take a few days off from this place too, old man. There’s not going to be anyone around to look out for.”

  Chip looked up at her with a solemn smile. “There’s always someone to look out for, Jeri. Just make sure you stay safe for the next few days.” His blue eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. “Whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you need a ride, Jeri?” Tom asked, his voice noticeably eager.

  “I can take you home if you’d like.”

  Jeri didn’t bother to make eye contact with him as she pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag. “No thanks, Agent Coleman. In fact, if I see you so much as turn onto my street, I’ll have you arrested for stalking. Do you understand?”

  “Got it,” Tom replied flatly. He finished scribbling something in his notepad and returned it to his pocket.

  “Thanks again, Joe,” Jeri said over her shoulder as she walked out the door. Joe nodded his head silently.

  Tom watched through the arched windows at the front of the saloon as Jeri stepped out onto the sidewalk and disappeared down the street, her slim body concealed under the thick folds of her winter jacket. He was just about to turn away when a car parked at the corner caught his attention. He looked closer at the familiar maroon-colored sedan, its driver door now covered by a pizza delivery sign. Someone appeared to be stretched out asleep in the driver’s seat.

  He looked up at Joe, who was now busying himself behind the counter.

  “Hey Joe, would there happen to be another exit in this place?”

  Joe looked at him suspiciously before pointing towards an unmarked door next to the bathroom. “That’ll take you to the back alley,” he mumbled. “And I won’t even ask why you need to use it. I’m just happy you’re leaving.”

  ∞

  Eugene Austin was standing outside of Melissa Carson’s window in his dream. A warm soft light was on inside her bedroom, casting provocative shadows of movement as someone moved around the room. He stood still as a statue as he watched, crouched in the shadows of a manicured row of shrubs that lined the edge of her parent’s large home. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, listening intently as the smoke of his breath curled around the features of his young face. He could hear her moving around the room, the soft purr of her voice warm and inviting as she spoke to some unseen person.

  And then she appeared.

  The most beautiful girl in his trigonometry class, Melissa stood centered in the window, her unblemished face gazing quizzically out at the black night. She leaned forward as if seeing something, forcing Eugene to shrink further into the shadows before realizing she was simply admiring her own reflection in the window. She was distracted, her hand pressed tightly to her ear as she spoke into her cell phone. Her free hand moved consciously up along the large, loose-fitting t-shirt that covered her body, pulling at the material until the pale white skin of her stomach appeared underneath. Eugene let out a quick breath of air as a sudden shiver of excitement moved quickly up his spine. He was just getting comfortable when, strangely, the ground beneath him began to shake. He glanced around anxiously as the slow, swaying movement quickly turned to a violent jolt. It was then that his conscious mind suddenly registered what was happening.

  Eugene snapped upright in his seat as the back door of his mother’s car slammed shut. “What the fuck!” he screamed, tearing the ear buds from his ears as he frantically spun around to face the intruder in the back seat.

  Tom Coleman looked at him and smiled.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Eugene stammered, his nasally voice cracking with mock courage. He instinctively reached for the small asthma inhaler lying on the seat next to him.

  “I’ll take a large pepperoni pizza and a good reason for why I’m being followed by a fucking pizza delivery driver,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh fuck, it’s you,” Eugene replied, suddenly recognizing the face of the man sitting in the back of his mother’s car. He instinctively covered his face with his hands and shook his head.

  “What do you mean, ‘it’s me’?” Tom asked as he glanced around at the car’s interior. His eyes paused on a large black box sitting on the seat next to him. “Who sent you to watch me? Alex?” he asked threateningly.

  Eugene groaned loudly.

  “Hey, I’m asking you a question. Did my fucking brother-in-law hire you? He slapped Eugene’s headrest hard with his hand, causing the teenager’s head to snap forward. “Answer me!”

  “Ouch! No… I mean… I don’t know! Fuck, dude– chill out!”

  Tom paused and studied Eugene closely. “Jesus Christ. What are you… sixteen?”

  “Eighteen,” Eugene replied flatly, slumping lower into the front seat. “I’ll be nineteen next month.”

  “What’s your name?”
/>
  Eugene shrugged at Tom’s question before mumbling one of his favorite quotes from an old spy movie. “You’re on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

  Tom slapped the back of Eugene’s headrest, causing the boy’s head to once again snap forward. “Don’t get smart with me, shithead. I could arrest you right now if I wanted to.”

  “I doubt that,” Eugene replied sullenly.

  Tom sat in the backseat, his mind spinning. He suddenly realized there was only one reasonable explanation for being under surveillance. “It’s Preston, isn’t it?” he asked, watching Eugene through the rear-view mirror.

  The teenager’s eyes nervously flickered up at him.

  “Fuck, I knew it!” Tom said angrily as he slapped the headrest again. He leaned forward and glared menacingly at the eighteen year-old. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

  Eugene hesitated before answering. “For as long as you’ve been in that bar over there,” he said dejectedly as he gestured towards the saloon.

  “Right,” Tom replied, throwing his arm over the front seat and placing his gloved hand firmly on Eugene’s shoulder. He was surprised at how thin and boney the kid was. “And were you recording the conversation that just took place?” he asked, squeezing his shoulder persuasively.

  “That’s… that’s none of your business.” Eugene answered defiantly. Tom could hear an unmistakable crack of fear in the kid’s voice.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Tom responded. “Has it been sent to Preston?”

  “I report immediately after each contact,” Eugene replied, suddenly grimacing at the realization that he’d just inadvertently confirmed he was in fact working for Director Preston. He shook his head slowly.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Tom replied, tightening his grip.

  “No, I haven’t. I should be reporting in right now.”

  “Good,” Tom said, releasing his grip. He thought quietly for a moment before smiling and gently patting Eugene on the shoulder. “Okay, change of plans.”

  “What do you mean?”