Name Not Given

by Scott Blade

  I figured that some of them were fans of his and others had never heard of him.

  The second thing that happened, just after he started playing, was a guy walked in who didn’t belong. But I didn’t say anything to Talbern because I wasn’t on the job anymore. A guy who walks into a bar and sticks out to me doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with me.

  The first thing about him that stuck out was his clothes. The guy wore sunglasses, a worn black suit, black tie, and slacks to match. Not to mention, the tiny white ear piece that came out of his shirt collar and ran up to his ear.

  He looked like Secret Service, but that made no sense. What the hell would a Secret Service Agent be doing in here, alone? Unless he was giving the place a security audit. Maybe he had a protectee coming by later.

  Best I could figure was that the guy was scoping the place out for that reason.

  He took his sunglasses off and sat at a dark booth. His face fell out of sight when he sat back into the shadows.

  I got a second glance at him, with the sunglasses off, when a waitress came over to take his order.

  I couldn’t hear them, but I watched as she took his order and smiled. Then she returned later with a tall glass of something that looked like soda water.

  Occasionally, the guy leaned forward to take a drink.

  A little voice in my head, which reminded me of Rachel Cameron’s voice, was telling me to keep an eye on him.

  I turned back to Talbern and tried to forget about the stranger.

  She told me some personal stuff about herself. She was divorced. Going on six months now. The guy had worked in an airport or been a pilot or something like that. She was vague about what he did for a job. But she was much more forthcoming on what he did to piss her off.

  The guy had cheated on her with their neighbor. This had all happened in Tennessee. She had only been in Florida for six months.

  After she caught them, she packed her stuff and took a transfer.

  I asked her how she got it so fast. She told me that they had been asking her to go for weeks. Like the military, the FBI likes to move its people around every once in a while. They don’t like their agents to get complacent.

  They like them sharp, on their toes, and ready. Understandable.

  I asked, “What’s the story with you and Kelvin?”

  Even though she had been sitting straight the whole conversation, she suddenly seemed to tense up, like I had hit a nerve.

  “Why? Nothing’s going on. Kelvin is married.”

  “I wasn’t implying anything. Just asking. It’s normal in the Navy for two people, partnered together, to be attracted. Happens every day.”

  She was quiet.

  “You two seem to have a good relationship.”

  “We’re friends. That’s it.”

  I stayed quiet.

  She said, “I mean.”

  She paused like she was contemplating the thought. Then she said, “I did hit on him once. In the beginning. I tried to kiss him. We had gone out for a drink.”

  Like this one, I thought.

  “Believe me. I was embarrassed about the whole thing.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I told you. He’s married.”

  “He turned you down?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry. But no way!”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you. I mean that no way would I have turned you down.”

  “He’s married.”

  I said, “He’s a better man than me. I wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

  “I saw his wife. She’s beautiful.”

  “Wouldn’t matter to me.”

  “You’d cheat on your wife?”

  “I’d like to think not, but then again, I never imagined a woman like you out there.”

  She smiled, pressed a finger up to her lip like she was contemplating chewing her nail, but resisted. Temptation. Right there in front of me.

  She asked, “What if your wife was Marilyn Monroe?”

  “Even if my wife was Rita Hayworth.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s a movie star. Before Monroe. And a lot more beautiful. In my opinion.”

  “I like Marilyn.”

  “Nothing wrong with her. I’m just more partial to a classy woman.”

  Talbern laughed out loud. She said, “You? Classy?”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  She laughed a little harder, almost too hard. I started to think that she was picking on me more than actually laughing.

  She rested her hand on my knee. And I noticed.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry. You are a classy guy.”

  “I can be.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I smiled at her, again and examined my bottle. It was near the bottom. So was her martini.

  I asked, “You want another?”

  She slowed her laugh and looked at her drink. Instead of answering me, she let go of the stem of the glass and reached into her pocket. She pulled out her phone, looked at the screen.

  “It’s getting late. We should head back.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten to midnight.”

  “We should get back to the room.”

  I perked up because she’d said room and not our rooms. Not that it meant anything. But I liked the implication that came with it. A guy can pretend.

  “I’ll get the check,” I said.

  “Nonsense. I’ll get it.”

  I paused a moment and then I said, “Nah. I should pay. I’m a gentleman, remember?”

  “I know. But let me pay. It’s the FBI’s money. Not mine.”

  I shrugged. Sounded good to me. But she must’ve felt the need to sell me more on it because she added, “The way I see it, they owe you. They plucked you out of Florida and sent you here in handcuffs. The least they can do is pay for your drinks.”

  I nodded and said, “They already paid for my hotel room.”

  “True.”

  “Plus, the flight here. Really, the FBI has paid for me to have a vacation in New York. Not bad in my book.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  Talbern leaned forward on her stool and asked the bartender for the bill.

  After she gave the girl her card, she sat back and said, “I’m going to go to the lady’s room.”

  I nodded.

  “When the bill comes back, just sign it. Leave a tip.”

  “I always do.”

  She took her purse with her and swiped her left hand across my shoulders on the way to the restroom.

  I smiled. Then I started to think about the amount of trust she was showing me by leaving her card.

  I waited. The bill came and I signed for it, took the card, and left a fifteen percent tip.

  I drank the rest of my beer and set the bottle down on the bar.

  The bartender took both drinks and the bill away and thanked me for the tip.

  I waited longer.

  The musician played one more set and then stopped. He said that he would return after a short break. I turned in my seat and faced the stage, then I glanced at the bathrooms. She still hadn’t come back out.

  I looked over the crowd. The Secret Service agent was gone.

  That startled me for a moment, because I hadn’t noticed that he had left. Then again, I wasn’t supposed to notice. It was his job to be invisible when he needed to.

  Which got me thinking. If he was good enough to slip out without me noticing, then why did he make himself visible to me when he came in?

  I shrugged to myself and glanced back at the bathroom doors.

  There were a women’s and a men’s bathroom. Both were clearly marked. Black doors. On a black wall.

  Suddenly, one of the doors opened. It wasn’t the woman’s. It was the men’s. A bright, white light washed over a table nearby. A pair of couples sat there. They didn’t look back at the restroom light.

  A sho
rt, fat man walked out. He was still drying his hands on a paper towel. Before the door shut behind him, he chucked the paper towel back into the room. Probably into a waste basket that was out of my sight.

  I waited.

  The bartender came back around and asked if I needed anything else.

  I told her no, but I asked for the time. She said it was about midnight, not midnight, but about midnight. Which meant that it was probably five past or so.

  Talbern had gone in at ten to midnight and now it was about five past. She had been in there for more than ten minutes. That length of time might’ve been regular for a woman to do at home, but not in a lounge.

  I should'

  I needed to pee anyway, so I thought I’d better check it out.

  I stood up and walked across the room, around the bar to the bathrooms.

  I went into the men’s room, closed the door.

  It was a single-person bathroom. There was a toilet, a sink, and a urinal on the wall, but there was no stall. I locked the door and used the urinal. Then I washed my hands.

  As I twisted the knob on the faucet to turn off the water, I heard a sound in the women’s room. I paused and listened.

  It was the sound of running water. Talbern had been washing her hands.

  I dried mine and walked out of the bathroom.

  A man dressed in a shirt and tie stood there. He had a thin mustache and a bald head. No trace of hair anywhere.

  He smiled at me and scooted pass me into the men’s room like he couldn’t wait to use it another second.

  I stepped out and stayed near the doors.

  I waited for Talbern to come out.

  The women’s door opened and a woman stepped out. It was a woman who wasn’t Talbern.

  She must’ve been startled to see me because she jumped back and grabbed at her chest like she was having a fast heart attack.

  “Sorry to scare you, ma’am.”

  She took a breath.

  The woman was older. She was probably in her late fifties. She had a short, thin body. She was dressed nice, but had a big bag that didn’t quite belong with her outfit.

  She said, “It’s okay. Just didn’t expect to see a…”

  She paused a beat and said, “Man standing there.”

  My first thought was that she was going to say giant. I was used to scaring people.

  I said, “Again, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m looking for my friend. Did you see her in there?”

  She laughed and said, “Young man, there’s no one in there. There’s barely room for me in there.”

  I tilted to one side and looked behind her, inspected the women’s bathroom. It was a small room. It was smaller than the men’s by almost half.

  I guessed that because they didn’t have a urinal, the designer of the bar figured that it didn’t need to be as big.

  “Did you see her maybe when you went in?”

  She shook her head, said, “No one was here when I went in.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turned and looked back at the bar. Talbern wasn’t there.

  She hadn’t walked past me.

  Did she ditch me?

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card that I had paid with. It had her name on it. Plain as day.

  No way would she have ditched me and left her card.

  CHAPTER 22

  I WALKED OUT of the martini bar. I passed the hostess, and went through the front door. A couple was locked in an embrace like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

  The street was busy with hurried pedestrians and honking taxi cabs and people standing around waiting for Ubers, and a group of people who had left the lounge to smoke cigarettes on the street corner.

  No cars were parked out front except for drop-offs.

  I frowned.

  I took a left and started to walk back the way we had come. I walked to the street corner. Looked left. Looked right. Saw no sign of Talbern.

  I crossed the street. I didn’t want to deviate because, eventually, she’d head back to the hotel.

  Once I crossed the street, I walked past another bar and then an all-night convenience store.

  Around the side of the building, I came to a service alley.

  I looked left. A black sedan was parked in the center of the alley. The engine hummed. Exhaust pooled at the rear of the car. A driver sat on the front bench, behind the wheel. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he sure was staring at me from the rearview mirror.

  He looked like a personal driver. The sedan was a polished and well-kept ride. It was also unmarked. I couldn’t tell whether it was some sort of town car or a full-size vehicle. I couldn’t tell the make or model.

  There was someone in the backseat. A woman. She was talking to him, I guessed by her movements. She seemed upset with him, like he had gotten lost and she wasn’t happy about it.

  That’s when I realized that the driver was either the Secret Service agent from the lounge or another member of the same team. He had that earpiece curling out of his ear and disappearing down into his shirt.

  Suddenly, there was someone standing directly behind me. I didn’t even hear him approach until he was right there.

  I turned and there was a tall man, tall as me. He had a handsome face. Clean-shaven and slicked-back hair, but not wet looking. His eyes were deep-set. The color was a mystery to me in the darkness of the alley because they were too deep-set to see them.

  He said, “Mr. Widow?”

  I nodded.

  He said, “The United States Secret Service would like to have a word with you.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “WHERE’S AGENT TALBERN?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. That’s her right there. In the car.”

  I nodded, said, “You snatched her as she left the bathroom?”

  “No. Nothing like that. She’s an officer of the law. We don’t harass fellow federal agents.”

  “She just got in the car on her own?”

  “Yes. We had someone call her. And then we explained the situation. She got in on her own.”

  “What is this about?”

  “Would you get in the car?”

  I glanced down at his clothes. He was also dressed like a Secret Service agent, same as the guy I saw in the lounge, but he wasn’t the guy. That guy must’ve been the driver.

  I wasn’t looking him over for his choice in clothing. I was looking for a gun. Which he had.

  Pulled tight under his jacket was a shoulder rig. It was nearly invisible under his jacket. It was the gun that gave it away.

  I turned to look at the car, then back at him.

  I said, “Sure. You lead the way.”

  He nodded and walked past me.

  I followed.

  He opened the back door for me. I got in next to Talbern.

  “You okay?”

  She looked unharmed, but she was obviously upset.

  She said, “Yes, but what the hell is going on?!”

  She was directing the question at me, but her anger at the driver.

  “I think we’re about to find out.”

  The other guy closed my door, stepped forward, and got into the passenger seat.

  He looked at the driver and said, “Let’s go.”

  The driver nodded and put the car into drive and eased forward.

  Talbern said, “Where the hell are we going?”

  No answer.

  I leaned over to Talbern and asked, “You sure these guys are Secret Service?”

  She looked at me and said, “I got a direct call from the office of the FBI director. He vouched for them.”

  She said it so they could hear her. They didn’t respond.

  At the end of the alleyway, the driver stopped and looked both ways. Then he headed out into traffic.

  The agent in the passenger seat turned back and looked at us.

  He said, “My name is Clayton. This is Special Agent Daniels.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’m a form
er Secret Service agent. Mr. Daniels is a current one. We work for a very important man. I’d like to ask both of you to come with us.”

  I looked at Talbern. She kept her hands down resting on her lap. I checked up on her torso to make sure that she still had her gun. She did.

  She said, “Why?”

  “It’s better if Mr. Widow hears this from my employer.”

  “You went over my SAC’s head. So what choice do we have?”

  Clayton said, “Mr. Widow has a choice. You’re not prisoners. This is simply a favor from one agency to another.”

  Clayton looked at me.

  “What do you say, Widow?”

  “Like the woman said. What choice I got?”

  Clayton smiled.

  He said, “My boss will explain everything once we get there.”

  WE DROVE for nearly an hour and we didn’t get very far before I started to worry because we were driving to JFK.

  That’s when Talbern asked, “Where the hell are we going?”

  No answer.

  She said, “We’re not getting on a plane.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be,” Clayton said.

  Talbern’s face looked confused, which must’ve matched my own.

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, I was passing through an unmarked security gate with Talbern, headed into an airport. Only this time, the security guards gave us even less fuss than the last time. Secret Service has priority over the FBI, I guessed.

  We drove down a long service road, then we turned right and followed along an unused runway.

  I looked out the window and saw a distant runway light up. I watched as a plane came in and landed.

  The memories of seeing a thousand fighter jets land on battle carriers came flashing across my mind.

  Seeing the commercial jet land didn’t even compare.

  The driver slowed the car and took a soft right. He slowed the car to a stop in front of a private hangar. And suddenly I realized why Clayton had said that we weren’t getting on a plane.

  Parked in front of the hangar was a blue Agusta AW139 helicopter. Which is a big, luxury helicopter.

  Out front were three more Secret Service agents and a pilot.

  The pilot stuck out like a sore thumb. He was a pudgy, short guy, dressed like he was going golfing. He wore a red polo shirt and white golf shorts. Instead of golf shoes, he wore boat shoes. No socks.