by Ellis, T. W.
‘They said he was a money launderer working for a cartel.’
‘Do you believe it?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve never believed it.’
‘You’re right not to believe it, and also wrong at the same time,’ Carlson explains without explaining. ‘The money laundering, the cartel, they’re window dressing. It’s a diversion, a distraction. A cover story.’
I’m losing what little patience I had. ‘Get to the point, Carlson.’
‘Your husband isn’t just a money launderer, he’s an information launderer. He’s not washing dirty money for the cartel. He’s taking dirty information and making it clean.’
‘You’re telling me a lot without telling me anything at all.’
‘I work for the government, Jem. Just like Wilks. Just like Messer. Just like Leo.’
‘What do you mean Leo works for the government? He’s a sommelier. He’s a wine merchant.’
Carlson nods. ‘He is, and he’s very good at it, but he’s also my informant.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘Now I know you’re talking nonsense. Leo isn’t an undercover agent.’
‘He’s not,’ Carlson says. ‘But that label is out of date even when it’s more appropriate. Once we’re off the road, once we’re safe, I’ll help you understand.’
I wince, blinking, momentarily feeling a wave of dizziness ripple through my brain. When it passes, I have to jerk the steering wheel to keep on the road.
‘We need to go to Rusty,’ I say. ‘She can help us. She’ll understand. She’s not involved in this. She can’t be.’
Carlson is not convinced. ‘Can you trust her?’
‘Of course I can trust her. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Are you saying that you know her, really know her? I mean, you’ve known her well for years, know her personality inside and out, know her financial position. I mean: do you know all of her secrets? Do you know what keeps her awake at night? Do you know what she regrets, what she aspires towards? Do you know how many sugars she puts into her coffee?’
I frown. ‘No, of course I don’t know all of that. How could I possibly know all of that? That doesn’t mean I don’t trust her. She’s the chief of police.’
Carlson doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to because he’s right. I don’t know Rusty, so how can I trust her? Is the fact that she’s the chief a good enough reason? Does that make her pure and righteous and incorruptible?
I say, ‘So, where do we go instead? We can’t just drive around for ever.’
‘We need somewhere to lie low. I need to make calls. We need to think very carefully how we proceed because we don’t know how far this thing goes. We already know that they’re willing to kill to keep a lid on it.’
I’m quiet, thinking.
Carlson says, ‘Do you have anywhere else to go?’
‘Leo has some warehouse space,’ I say, ‘where he stores wine. That’s not too far. About an hours’ drive. Between here and the city.’
Carlson shakes his head. ‘That’s too far away. We can’t afford to be on the move all that time.’ Carlson coughs and clears his throat. It hurts him to talk. ‘Plus, they’re bound to know about it. I would be very surprised if they didn’t. So, they could have it under surveillance.’
‘Maybe you should make a suggestion instead of dismissing every one of mine.’
‘I’m not trying to be dismissive of you, Jem. I’m trying to avoid getting my ass kicked again. I’m trying to avoid killing anyone else. So, to that end, do you have anywhere we can go that isn’t connected to you on paper, that doesn’t involve law enforcement, that no one but you would know about?’
I think for a minute, staring out at the long, winding road, the trees. We pass a handful of vehicles. Most of them flash by in a blur. I’m not paying attention to them. One, however, gets my attention because a German Shepherd has its head out of the open passenger window, enjoying the evening air in its face.
The dog reminds me of another dog, and that dog reminds me of its owner.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I know where we can go.’
6:01 p.m.
Trevor’s cabin is hard to find, which I guess is the point. He gave me his address when he dropped me off in town this morning but that proves to be of little use. He lives about five miles out of town, deep in the forest at the end of a narrow dirt track that Carlson’s sedan can barely handle. Again, I guess this is the point. Trevor wants to be left alone. He doesn’t want visitors.
He strikes me as the kind of man who owns a lot of guns and the kind of gun owner who doesn’t like strange cars rolling up unannounced on his property.
‘Let’s stop a ways from the cabin,’ I tell Carlson. ‘Let me walk up the rest of the way by myself.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want to get shot for trespassing after all I’ve been through today.’
‘You told me he was nice to you. You said he was a kind, sweet old man.’
‘True, I did tell you that,’ I say, feeling unsure of myself now. ‘I’ve only met him the one time, though. He was just like I told you: kind, sweet. He gave me a ride. But that was then. A lot has happened since this morning. Now, I’m kind of on edge and expecting the worst. Which I think is understandable.’
Carlson is sat upright now he’s shaken off the worst of his fight with Wilks. I imagine he’s still in pain, however, like I am. My awful headache won’t quit.
‘Exactly what else can you tell me about this Trevor?’ Carlson asks. ‘Besides the fact he’s kind and old.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘he lives on his own far away from anyone else because he’s not a big fan of the modern world. What can you extrapolate from that?’
Carlson nods. ‘Good point. You go first.’
‘You could try saying it in such a way that I don’t think of myself as your human shield.’
Carlson offers me an apologetic look.
I stop the car maybe a hundred feet from Trevor’s cabin after pulling it round. I want to be able to get away fast should the need arise. The track twists one last time before it reaches the building so there is a stretch of trees between where I park and the cabin itself. I can just about see the timbered walls through the foliage. I wonder if Trevor can see us in return. I picture him at a window, rifle in hand, taking aim with Merlin at his ankles, growling at the intruders.
Stop being paranoid, Jem. Trevor is one of the good guys. Maybe the only good guy.
But good guys can have itchy trigger fingers, especially the ones who don’t own cell phones and live by themselves.
‘Wish me luck,’ I say to Carlson.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he reassures me with a bare minimum of comfort.
I’m sure I will, and I’m worried I won’t be. You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you, and if today’s events have taught me anything, it’s that they really are out to get me. I open the car door and put my feet down on the dirt track.
‘Sit tight,’ I say to him.
The dirt track isn’t easy to traverse, even in shoes. It’s rutted and changes from firm to squishy underfoot with no warning. My sneakers are coated in mud by the time I reach Trevor’s cabin. There’s an expanse of open space before it – a driveway of sorts – with a pile of firewood under a shelter and a pile of logs collected from the woods waiting to be split next to a stump and axe. Trevor’s pickup is parked in front of the cabin so I know he’s home.
I’m not sure if I should knock on the door or call out a greeting first. If he’s seen me then it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to startle him though, and I don’t want to give Merlin a reason to be any more aggressive towards me.
I do both. I knock on the front door and call out, ‘Trevor, it’s Jem.’
There’s no response, and I hear no footsteps on the other side of the door, no barks either.
‘It’s Jem,’ I call again, ‘from this morning. You kindly gave me a lift to the police department. I’m sorry to say I need your help once
more. Bet you’re wishing right now you never stopped your truck.’
I try and make it sound breezy and I have no idea how successful I am.
No response.
Maybe he’s not home. The pickup’s here, but he could be out collecting firewood or hunting or just taking Merlin for a walk.
What to do?
I can’t see Carlson’s car through the trees, and for a horrible moment I think he’s driven off and abandoned me. I would have heard the engine though, so he’s still there even if I can’t see him. I shake my head and shrug in case he can see me.
What to do?
There are a couple of windows flanking the front door. I cup my hands and peer through one. There’s a net curtain so I fail to make out anything significant of the interior. Maybe that’s a sofa. Maybe that’s a staircase. I don’t see any movement.
I think back. I think back to when I ran out on to the road and flagged down Trevor’s truck. I think back to when he drove me away and I saw Messer coming out of the trees behind us. Was he close enough to see the licence plate?
My pulse quickens. Is Trevor dead?
Did Messer pass on Trevor’s details to co-conspirators?
I peer back through the window, this time trying to focus on the floor, looking for a corpse. I see nothing. He could still be alive. He could be injured.
I try the front door in the vain hope it’s unlocked. I thump it with my fist, increasingly fearful.
‘Trevor,’ I shout, ‘can you hear me?’
‘Yeah, I can hear you,’ he replies. ‘They can hear you all the way up in Canada. You got quite the set of lungs on you.’
He’s behind me, Merlin at his side. They’re emerging from the dirt track. Carlson is with them. He has his hands up because Trevor has a rifle pointed at the back of his head. Trevor is frogmarching him.
Carlson calls out to me, ‘He didn’t believe me when I said I was on your side.’
‘He’s got a shifty look about him,’ Trevor says.
‘Because I’m black?’ Carlson says.
Trevor seems confused. He says to Carlson, ‘Are you? I didn’t realise,’ and then to me, ‘I figured he might have coerced you to come this ways.’
‘It’s okay, he’s okay,’ I say, stepping towards them. ‘He helped me. He’s on my side, I swear.’
Trevor seems disappointed. ‘Put your palms down, son. You have yourself a stay of execution.’
Carlson lowers his hands. ‘He snuck up on me.’
‘But I didn’t shoot you, did I?’
‘And I’m supposed to be grateful for that?’
Trevor nods. ‘Mighty grateful, I should say.’
‘Thank you,’ Carlson says, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.
I’m not sure if Trevor hears it or just doesn’t care.
‘You should be more aware of your surroundings,’ he says to Carlson. ‘In fact, we might deduce that I’ve done you a favour by demonstrating the disadvantages of assuming safety in a non-recce’d theatre.’
Carlson is confused. ‘You’ve done … what?’
Trevor doesn’t answer. He leaves Carlson standing in his confusion and approaches me. ‘You don’t look so good, Jem. I’m guessing things didn’t work out as intended with Rusty.’
I sigh as I nod my agreement. ‘Something of an understatement, Trevor. Don’t suppose we can lie low in your cabin for a short while? I know it’s a lot to ask. I wouldn’t if I had any other choice.’
‘Long as you know it’s a little light on the creature comforts you might have come to rely on.’
‘It’s got a roof. It’s got walls. That’s more than enough for me right now.’
‘Then you’re welcome to come inside and take a load off.’ He unlocks the front door. ‘But before you come in it’s my duty to advise you both not, under any circumstances, to sit on the red chair.’
‘I can live with that,’ I tell him. ‘Why, is that yours?’
He shakes his head. ‘The red chair is Merlin’s and he’s not one for sharing.’
I manage to smile. ‘Why am I not surprised to hear that?’
6:06 p.m.
Trevor’s cabin seems larger inside than I expected from its exterior dimensions. It’s pretty much one huge room with a staircase at the far end that leads up to a mezzanine level where Trevor sleeps. I work this out for myself but he’s still quick to tell me.
There’s a kitchen in one corner of the cabin, a dining table in the other and a living area taking up the rest of the space. Everything that Trevor needs and nothing he doesn’t. Despite the space and the modest furniture and appliances there’s not a lot of room to manoeuvre because there are stacks and stacks of books. They’re everywhere: along every inch of wall, under the dining table, on top of the dining table, next to the sofa; the coffee table is what looks like a door cut in half and rested on top of a dense pile of books.
‘I like to read,’ Trevor says.
‘Never would have guessed.’
Dog-eared paperbacks for the most part, although I can’t see a single work of fiction. There are biographies and books on science, politics and current affairs.
‘I put the ones that make me mad under the coffee table,’ he says. ‘That way I won’t read them again by mistake.’
‘Sounds like a good system.’
Merlin is so quick leaping up to his red armchair that Trevor need not have warned us outside, although it’s not a strong leap. The little dog only half-makes it and has to scramble up the rest of the way with skinny back legs kicking out for purchase. I’m suddenly aware that Merlin is probably the same age as Trevor. In dog years, I mean. Merlin spends a moment sniffing the chair before flopping down and watching us with his beady black eyes.
Trevor settles into his own chair next to Merlin’s, and together they have a certain charm: a couple of old guys hanging out together.
‘Make yourselves comfortable.’
There’s a tatty leather sofa covered in a tatty patchwork blanket. I take a seat and almost get swallowed whole. The sofa cushions are as soft as ice cream.
Carlson says to Trevor, ‘Is there a restroom I can use?’
‘Course there is, son. I said there might be a lack of creature comforts not essential amenities.’
Carlson looks apologetic. ‘Where is it?’
Trevor gestures with his chin. ‘Out back.’
‘As in outside?’
Trevor nods.
Carlson is horrified. ‘A latrine?’
Trevor squares up in his chair. ‘Is that not a good enough depository for your waste materials, Mr Agent Man? Cause if not, why don’t you try holding it in instead for the entire time you’re here? See how that works out for you.’
Carlson shows his palms. ‘No, no. It’ll be fine, thank you.’
He mutters apologies as he makes his way outside to find the latrine.
Trevor has a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘It’s fully functional,’ he tells me. ‘Installed it all myself. I just like seeing him squirm.’
I smile.
He chuckles to himself and scratches Merlin behind the ear.
‘So,’ Trevor begins, ‘what kind of bother have you got yourself in now?’
Trevor already knows a good chunk so it takes only a couple of minutes to summarise the rest of the day’s events since he dropped me off in town. I tell him about Carlson trying to warn me, I tell him about Rusty, I tell him about going back home with Wilks and Messer … This time, however, I tell him everything that Wilks and Messer said about Leo, about the money laundering.
‘I’m sorry I kept that from you earlier,’ I say, ‘but I was embarrassed. I wasn’t ready to believe it, let alone be judged.’
‘Thing about me’s worth knowing is that I don’t judge anyone.’
‘Thanks, Trevor.’
Carlson returns.
‘Except,’ Trevor continues, ‘employees of the corrupt federal government.’
Carlson has no idea how b
est to respond, so he doesn’t. He takes a seat next to me on the sofa.
Trevor eyeballs him. ‘Did I invite you to sit down?’
Carlson moves to stand again, so I intervene. ‘He’s joking. He’s just screwing with you.’
Trevor chuckles to himself.
‘Hilarious,’ Carlson says. ‘Great sense of humour. Really appropriate to the circumstances.’
‘Talking of circumstances,’ Trevor responds, ‘what exactly is your story, Mr Agent Man?’
‘The name’s Carlson.’
‘A short story is it? Right you are, Mr Agent Man.’
‘I’m helping out Jem,’ Carlson explains, trying again. ‘I mean, I’m trying to help her out but I’ve been doing a pretty lousy job of it so far.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not a good recipient of advice. I always think I know best even when I clearly don’t. The rest of the time I don’t want to admit I don’t know best so either way I’m screwed.’
‘Even still, I should have contacted you sooner. Or, failing that, found a better way to convince you to trust me.’
I ask Carlson, ‘Why didn’t you tell me on the phone Leo was working for you?’
‘Standard operational procedure when dealing with an informant,’ he explains. ‘Above all else is secrecy, security. Leo’s safety is always my top priority. He’s put himself in tremendous danger by giving up information on his employers. These are very powerful people, very influential people. I can’t overstate how long their reach is and just by mentioning Leo’s name I put him at risk so I don’t do that lightly.’ He pauses. ‘I needed an excuse to call you, to warn you and to warn Leo while hiding our connection. I had no choice, Jem. I had to pretend Leo’s name had just come my way in case anyone was listening, in case anyone came asking questions.’
I nod. I think I understand.
‘Had you told me on the phone my husband was an informant for the FBI I probably would have laughed.’