and Pixar’s Cars cover almost every empty space. A debris field of toys are scattered across the floor, as if some mini explosion has occurred. A tiny bed, fashioned like a racecar, sits beneath a lone window. Matthew lies on his back, a soft snore escaping at the end of each tiny respiration.
Watching him sleep is peaceful. My anxiety wanes a bit, but I can still hear that damn fish banging around in its glass prison, so it’s not a complete panacea.
A set of Venetian blinds cover the window, blocking out the street lights. Thomas and Bethany, acting as responsible parents, have the draw string wrapped around a hook high above Matthew’s reach.
I ponder my options.
What if there is no Herbert Frost? What if it is all a smoke screen to keep me busy and make me miss my mark? Is it possible Agent 011880 is involved? What would happen if I skipped looking for Frost and just collected Matthew? Perhaps it is a test, one formed to challenge my determination to complete a mission in the face of impossible odds.
I tickle the drawstring while running these scenarios over and over in my mind. And the more I do the less probable they seem.
My superior, and all the upper Agents for that matter, are cruel and vindictive, but they are bound by certain codes of conduct. They can be misleading at times, but they aren’t allowed to just bald-face lie to another agent, even a subordinate one.
My guess is that Herbert Frost is real, and that any actions I take outside of my mission parameters will result in demotion, or worse.
I leave the drawstring where it is, but I stay and watch Matthew sleep until near dawn. Tired of listening to the fish thumping in his tank, I slip out of the Goodwin’s house just as the eastern sky fills with pink and orange fire. I check my surroundings for spying eyes, but I detect none.
The next four hours are fruitless and slow to the point of excruciation. I have once again spiraled through the town like some crazed insect searching for food, and am left empty handed.
My mind goes to Agent 011880. I haven’t seen her since our game in the grocery store. A sickening knot lifts into my throat. The hurt look in her eyes haunts me. I wonder if she has found Frost, and the strange thing is, I sort of hope she has. I don’t want to lose this fight, but I don’t want her to lose, either. At least one of us should be promoted to Level 3.
At evening of the third day I find myself on the outskirts of town near a gas station truck stop for semi drivers. It’s some small spot, nameless, with a few fuel pumps and a greasy diner inside. I’m sitting in a booth in the back corner when a red Mack semi pulls into the lot.
The red semi shines like a candy apple in the bright white halogen lamps, and has chrome in every spot available. It has a large living area behind the seats and a picture of a snowman riding a Harley on each door. Twin exhaust pipes pump black smoke into the air like the locomotives of old. The semi isn’t pulling a trailer at the moment, but looks no less formidable without one.
The semi pulls up to the diesel pumps and a man with a long gray beard, a bald head and potbelly, slides out of the driver’s seat. After filling the tank the man parks his custom rig and heads for the diner.
There is nothing exceptional about the man or his truck to grab my attention. I take notice of him because I take notice of everyone. It’s part of my job to size up situations.
I yawn, stretch and stand up. The truck stop is a dead end. It’s time I move on.
The bearded trucker steps up to the counter just as I’m headed for the door. He pays for his fuel, a couple cartons of cigarettes, and a scratch-off lottery ticket. My hand is on the door when a group from within the diner calls out, “Snowman!”
I pause just long enough to glance over my shoulder at Snowman before walking outside. I go to the red semi and as I draw closer I notice the word “Frosty” painted under the snowman artwork. The semi is locked tight, but that’s no problem for me. Once inside I search through his paperwork and find a truck registration under the name Herbert Frost.
I’m all smiles. I don’t know if I believe in destiny or the Fates, but this seems too good to be a coincidence. Herbert Frost, AKA the Snowman, is just passing through town on his way to pick up a delivery. The odds that I would be at this truck stop at just the right moment are too high for even me to calculate.
Whether or not I have been given a gift by a higher power, I cannot squander this opportunity. Herbert Frost cannot be allowed to leave town.
While Frost is in the diner, talking it up with the others truckers, I disable his semi. I slip out and hide near the dumpster just as he crosses the parking lot. When his truck won’t start, Frost gets out and begins searching for the problem.
I’m tempted to collect him right here next to his truck. It would be so easy. But I must abide by my orders and frame an innocent. I have no idea how I will accomplish this, but right now I’m just excited to be on the right track.
I slip back into the diner and wait for Frost.
“Hey, Dolly,” he says to the skeletal lady behind the counter. “My boat’s on the fritz and the grease monkey is tied up until the morning. Would it be a problem if I camped out in the parking lot tonight?”
“I’ll have to check with Bob,” Dolly says, her voice raspy from too much smoking.
“I can have her towed if it’s too much trouble, but I’d rather not if I can keep from it.” He winks at her and I get the impression that the two have more of a history than I care to imagine.
Dolly flashes him a smile full of yellowed and crooked teeth. “I guess what Bob doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
“That’s my girl,” Frost says patting her on the hand. “What time you off tonight?”
“In about an hour. Why, you need a date?”
“Something like that. You wana swing by the rig?”
“I can’t do that,” Dolly says with a measure of girlish embarrassment.
“Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“That was different,” Dolly says. “Your rig wasn’t parked out next to where I work.”
“Suit yourself,” Frost says with a shrug. He turns, but Dolly stops him.
“What if you come home with me? My bed’s miles above that cot you have behind the seats.”
“It’s a date,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll be waiting.”
Frost walks away and rejoins his trucker buddies and Dolly watches him go, something like withered love resting her eyes. It’s easy for me to see the pair twenty years ago, before life and circumstance drained their vibrancy. I wonder just how many “Dollys” Frost has in the various towns he passes through.
And then it hits me.
Jealousy and unrequited love can cause people to perform the most heinous acts of depravity. I’ll collect Herbert Frost tonight, pin it all on Dolly, and then I’ll have all day tomorrow to visit Matthew Goodwin.
I walk back outside, a childish sort of giddiness infusing my soul. The crescent moon is high in the sky, watching me like a heavy lidded ivory eye. The storm clouds are all vanished leaving a purple canopy dusted with stars. That promotion is in my hand and all is right with the world.
For all of thirty seconds.
She circles around the front of Frost’s semi, looking it over with the detailed eye of someone in the market to buy one. She stops at the door and rubs her hand down the painting of the snowman and traces the word “Frosty” with her slender fingers.
All my plans crash down around me. I can’t collect Frost in front of so many witnesses due to my mission requirements, but that doesn’t mean Agent 011880 has the same limitations. For all I know, she could be cleared to walk in and tear his spine out in full view of the public.
My heart is thundering in my chest, sending an almost debilitating thrum into my extremities. I try to consider my options but the pressure building behind my eyes makes it difficult to think.
She hasn’t seen me yet. I could hide.
No, that won’t work. Any Agent worth their salt will make a sweep of the area once presented w
ith such an obvious lead. She’ll discover Herbert Frost in the diner within minutes.
I could attack her.
But, that won’t work, either. A fight will do nothing more than delay her.
I’m sure this is all the design of my superior. There is no way that she happened upon Frost’s semi, unless she’s been tailing me. But if she had, she would know where Frost is and make her move. No, this is a set up.
I clench my fists and grit my teeth. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.
I dart towards her, no longer thinking, letting my natural talents take over. She hears me approaching, but not soon enough to evade my attack.
Before she can raise her arms in defense, I have her by shoulders. I shove her, pouring in all of my frustration, and send her tumbling to the ground. She rolls to her feet like an acrobat.
Her stance is wide, her hands up before her. The dainty persona is ripped away and I see fire pulsing in her eyes. She shines me a devilish smile, letting me know that if I attempt a second attack, it will cost me.
“He’s mine,” I say feeling like a petulant child.
“I’ll have to disagree.”
We circle around each other like battling lions. Her hair is wild in the wind. Her skin flushed with excitement. Her lips glisten as she wets them with her tongue. She takes in a deep breath causing her breast to heave.
I am outmatched. I am stronger than she is, there is no doubt, but her arsenal far exceeds mine. She can negate any attack I make. I have but one weapon left. A coward’s
The Promotion (A Short Story) Page 5