The Warhol Incident

by G. K. Parks

  My phone rang again, and I was disappointed when the caller wasn’t Martin.

  “Parker,” I answered, taking a seat at my kitchen table.

  “If you aren’t busy today, maybe you’d like to come for your evaluations,” Director Kendall’s assistant relayed the message through the phone.

  “Fine.” I hung up. There was no reason why I had to stay home and mope when I could go to the last place I wanted to be and bring some cheer to Kendall and Mark.

  I went through the routine physical and demonstrated my athletic prowess by being forced to do the rudimentary running, push-ups, sit-ups, and firearm proficiency exams. After I showered and dressed, I was sent to see the Bureau’s shrink for my psychological evaluation, my least favorite part of the process. Luckily, since my last evaluation, someone new had been hired. He read my personnel file, asked some basic questions, and sat quietly, hoping I would feel the desire to randomly discuss something deep and disturbing nestled in the very core of my psyche. Instead, I stared at my shoelaces, wondering why the plastic tips at the end weren’t the same color as the shoestring itself.

  “Would you like to talk about your recent run-in with Louis Abelard?” the doctor asked.

  “Not particularly.”

  “It looks like you stopped some agents from entering a booby-trapped motel room. Is that why the director asked you to come back to work?”

  “I don’t think so, but you’d have to ask him.” Succinct answers were always a good idea when dealing with anyone whose job it was to get inside your head.

  “It must be nice to know you prevented a tragedy.”

  I remained quiet, but I knew the doctor hoped to draw a parallel between my last OIO mission and what just happened. It wasn’t the same, and it was none of his business. We were in the midst of a mental standoff, which amused him. After a few minutes of listening to nothing but the droning of the white noise machine, he spoke.

  “Do you have a lot of friends?”

  I looked at him, surprised by the randomness of the question. “Enough. They have my back if I need them.”

  He nodded almost to himself. “Are you close with your family?” It was his attempt to figure out what made me tick outside of the job.

  “Not so much.”

  He nodded again. “It says you’re not married. Anyone serious?”

  I almost said yes and realized yes wasn’t an accurate answer. No was the accurate answer. I was single. Martin was a dalliance, casual and brief. I wasn’t even sure it counted as casual, maybe just brief. But nothing about our relationship seemed casual, probably because we had been close friends for so long.

  The doctor looked up from his notes. A smile played across his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I didn’t say anything. He filled out the rest of the form and handed it to me. “You’re clear.”

  I looked down at the paper, almost positive I hadn’t heard him correctly. “Really?” I realized questioning his diagnosis was a dumb idea, but there were times I felt batshit crazy. Right now seemed like one of them.

  “Yes. There was a note in your file indicating you didn’t have enough outside the job to remain objective, but from your responses, I don’t think that’s the case any longer.”

  I stood and took the paper. This guy must have gotten his degree from an online university, but I wasn’t about to correct him.

  “But if you ever need someone to talk to.” He reached for his card.

  “Don’t push it, Doc,” I said and left his office. I went downstairs and handed the paperwork to Kendall’s assistant. She glanced at it and stuck it into my file, which just happened to be sitting on the desk.

  “The director will call when he has a case for you. Have a good day.”

  “Yeah, you too,” I replied with an equal amount of contempt. Maybe I should have my number changed before that could happen.

  * * *

  The next morning, I got up bright and early and went to the hospital. Even if we weren’t on the best of terms, Martin was having surgery, and I was going to be there. I went to the outpatient waiting area and sat down. I had no earthly idea what time his procedure was scheduled, how long it would take, or even if it was being done in this particular hospital. After sitting impatiently for almost a half hour, I tried to sweet talk the nurse into giving me some information. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t budge.

  I gave up and went back to my chair to wait. After almost another hour, I spotted a familiar face coming down the hall.

  “Marcal,” I called to him.

  “Miss Parker,” Marcal’s features brightened, and he adopted a knowing look, “I had a feeling you’d be here.”

  “Am I that predictable?” I quipped. “What’s going on?”

  “They are prepping him now. The whole procedure shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and then they’ll move him back to his room, wait for the anesthesia to wear off, and send him home if there are no complications.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I don’t intrude in Mr. Martin’s private life, but he’s had a rough couple of days.”

  “I know the feeling.” At least I wasn’t the only one upset by the way we concluded things. “I had to be here, just so I’d know he was okay.”

  “He’s in room 315. I have some errands to run, and I won’t be back until late this afternoon. He doesn’t have anyone else to check on him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marcal left, and I sat in the waiting room, trying to decide if seeing Martin was the best idea. In the end, I gave in.

  While I waited in his room, wondering if he would be angry by my presence, my phone rang. “Parker,” I answered. I had reverted to my old habit of identifying myself to the caller instead of answering with the much more common hello.

  “Gustav’s been surrendered to Interpol,” Ryan said. “Delacroix personally picked him up early this morning. I think you’re right.”

  “Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

  “You should be a bloody psychic. Go ahead and quit your day job now. I’ll vouch for your claims.”

  I chuckled.

  “I got curious and called Interpol, asking for a follow-up to Gustav’s last interview. I was told it’s not possible since he has been moved to an undisclosed location.”

  “What about Clare?” If Gustav was still working with Interpol, could she have been moved too? Or maybe he was in witness protection.

  “As far as I know, she’s still around. Do you honestly believe he was undercover this entire time?”

  “I don’t know. The only other time I encountered Jean-Pierre was when he was a very convincing UC. Maybe he didn’t give up the game. Did you find anything on the car bomb?”

  “Since you asked, I read Interpol’s file on Marset. I swear I don’t see how those blokes manage to do anything right.”

  “What’d it say?”

  “Not much. Before Gustav was taken away, I asked him about Marset’s murder,” Ryan said. “According to Jean-Pierre, Marset wanted to escape Abelard’s clutches, and Claude killed him on Abelard’s order. Jean-Pierre didn’t find out until after the body was presented to Abelard. It was Jean-Pierre’s idea to put the corpse in the car and light it up. He thought it would help throw everyone off his scent.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know. If your theory’s right and Gustav’s an Interpol agent, then yes. After all, policemen aren’t in the business of killing people, at least not in cold-blood. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know, but I’m not digging. After shutting down the gambling and recovering the art, I’m ready to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “That would probably be best.” I listened to the silence fill the air space. “Ryan, I’m relieved the sick son of a bitch is dead. Is that a sign I shouldn’t be doing this anymore?”

  “I would say if you didn’t feel relieved, then there would be something wrong.” His words were just the reassurance I needed. “It’s good you’re going back to the OIO. You’
re a cop, or agent, or whatever you bloody well want to call yourself. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are, Alex.”

  “Thanks, Ryan. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Why did I need his encouragement? After all, no one else had to deal with the fallout except me. As I continued to process this line of thought, Martin’s bed was wheeled into the room.

  “You and me back in a hospital room,” I said to the unconscious Martin. “Honestly, something should have changed by now.” I settled into the chair and watched the machines beep away with his vitals. While I debated if I should leave before he woke up, a doctor came in and told me how the surgery went.

  “James will need extensive rehab, but we’ve removed almost all of the scar tissue. He should regain at least ninety if not a hundred percent of his feeling and dexterity back.” At last, some good news. “He’ll wake up soon, but he’ll probably be groggy,” the doctor cautioned. “We should be able to discharge him in a few hours.” After the doctor left, I reached over and grasped Martin’s left hand.

  “Well, at least we know your shoulder is fine.” It was time to leave, but Martin squeezed my hand.

  “Alex?” he asked, confused. He had a goofy grin on his face, and I was sure he was still feeling the effects of the drugs.

  “You caught me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m okay now. I’m sorry.” He did his best impression of a sad puppy dog.

  “Don’t be.” For all intents and purposes, he was inebriated, so I couldn’t rely on the things he said. “You made a valid point. I can’t ask you to wait around, not knowing what might happen, and expect you to be okay with it.” By the time I finished speaking, he had shut his eyes.

  “Please don’t leave,” he beseeched before falling back to unconsciousness.

  I leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. Now was the perfect time to make my escape, unless I was willing to agree to his terms. Maybe there was a compromise somewhere in the middle.

  I sat in his hospital room for the next hour while he slept off the remnants of the sedation. I ate the pudding cup they brought on his lunch tray while I tried to determine what exactly I hoped to accomplish. The only thing I was certain of was I didn’t want him out of my life.

  When he woke up, he looked confused. “Why are you here?” he asked, a bitter tone to his words.

  I snorted. “There was pudding. I couldn’t let it go to waste.” The slightest bit of amusement crossed his features. “And I wanted to make sure you were all right.” After I relayed the information the doctor provided, Martin watched me intently.

  “I remember waking up before, and you were here.” He squinted, hoping to recall what had transpired.

  I resisted the urge to tell him he apologized for being an ass since that wouldn’t have been fair. “Yeah.” I leaned forward in my chair. “I guess I should probably go, right?” Maybe he’d ask me to stay.

  “It’s up to you. You decide.” We weren’t talking about if I was staying in his hospital room.

  “Honestly, I won’t be around much for the next few weeks.” This seemed a realistic assessment, given my current status at the OIO. “But when I get back, if you’d be willing to give us another chance, I’d like to try.”

  “Okay.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I smiled and kissed him. “I thought we were waiting until you got back.”

  “I’m compromising. Just go with it.”

  Thirty-seven

  A few days later, my words rang true when Director Kendall called to ask if I could assist on a particularly intricate case. I dressed in black slacks, sensible shoes, white button-up shirt, and a black blazer. My hair was clipped in a bun, and every part of me from my shoulder holster to my ugly shoes screamed out federal agent. It felt like going home, and I hated it. I drove to the OIO building and parked in the garage. When I emerged from the elevator, Mark caught sight of me. He exited his office and began clapping.

  I turned and glared at him, but before I could force him to stop, he was joined by a majority of the office. Dammit, I thought irritated as I felt myself blush.

  Kendall came out of his office and joined in. “Welcome home, Agent Parker.”

  “I’m not an agent anymore, sir,” I said as everyone thankfully returned to their business.

  “Things could change,” he added, unperturbed. “Come to my office, sign the paperwork, and then you can head to ops for the briefing.”

  I followed orders obediently, hoping everyone was wrong, and I was not getting sucked back into the life I left behind. Some chapters were closed for a reason and didn’t need to be revisited.

  After the paperwork was filed and I was briefed on the current case, I decided to take advantage of my new status and went in search of Interpol’s liaison. Unfortunately, Farrell was out of the office on assignment. Maybe I should follow Ryan’s lead and let sleeping dogs lie.

  I returned to my apartment that night confused by the day’s events. I sat on the couch and stared at the blank television screen. It was just one case to prove my leaving had been a conscious choice and not an attempt to hide or escape. This was the reason I went back, to prove I had chosen to leave. If that wasn’t some ridiculously convoluted thinking, I didn’t know what was. At least I figured out what I was trying to prove by going back to the OIO. That was progress.

  I glanced at the phone, thinking briefly of Martin. I didn’t know how things would work. Maybe starting over was like slamming my head into a brick wall, hoping the wall would break away before my skull did. Only time would tell. I was in the process of deciding which takeout menu to order from when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered, making a conscious effort to be less agent-like.

  “Parker?” Delacroix asked.

  “Agent Delacroix, what can I do for you?” Need the name of a good surgeon to remove your head from your ass?

  “Just thought I’d let you know you’ll be receiving a check in the mail soon,” he sounded less than pleased. “I did say we’d give you the reward money.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” I didn’t want to have anything else to do with him.

  “Well, you have an admirer at Interpol who insists. He wanted to make it up to you, after everything that happened.”

  I pressed the phone closer to my ear. Was he talking about Jean-Pierre? “Were you running an undercover operation independently but concurrently with the Police Nationale?”

  “Perhaps.” His responses were still infuriating. “You’re supposedly smart. Can’t you piece it together?”

  “What will happen now?”

  “Oh come on, you know how these things go. New name, new place, same old game.”

  I wondered if Jean-Pierre really had committed illegal activity that indebted him to Delacroix and Interpol or if that had been hearsay and a planted background. “What if he wants out?” I had no way of knowing if Jean-Pierre wanted out of the game, but that night in my hotel room, before his murder was staged, I thought his words were sincere.

  “You and I both know, once you’re in, there isn’t much hope of walking away.” Delacroix disconnected, and I laid the phone on the counter and stared at it. His words resonated throughout my apartment, all the way to my bones. What if he was right and there was no chance of walking away from this life?

  Here’s a preview of the next installment in the Alexis Parker series, Mimicry of Banshees

  “I’m heading out,” I told Mark Jablonsky as I placed a twenty on the bar. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not consulting for the OIO again. I’m done, and in case there’s any doubt in your mind, my letter of resignation is sitting on top of your desk.”

  Picking up my purse, I maneuvered around the barstools. The mirror behind the bar caught my image, white dress shirt, black blazer, and long brown hair pulled into a severe bun. There was a time in my life that was all I wanted, but I had run from the pain associated with the job. Even after coming back for a month long gig, I couldn’t do i
t. The reflection in the glass wasn’t me. Not anymore.

  “Director Kendall isn’t going to be happy about this,” he responded. “To be honest, Alexis, I thought you were going to stay this time.” I shook my head. “If it makes any difference, you were instrumental in helping crack the museum robbery wide open.”

  “Thanks, but it doesn’t matter.” I headed for the door, ready to be free from my consulting contract with the Office of International Operations.

  Agent Mark Jablonsky had originally been my supervisor and mentor when I started work as a federal agent almost five years ago, but after resigning to follow my own pursuits in the private sector, he and Director Kendall had convinced me to give the OIO one more chance. My own pigheaded stubbornness led to a final stint to reinforce my true reason for leaving; I didn’t want to be tied down by bureaucracy and all the other red-tape legalities law enforcement agencies have to endure.

  Stepping into the cold night air, I exhaled slowly and watched my breath float away. Alex Parker, you’re free, my internal voice happily cheered. I had been working the private sector for almost a year, taking a few consulting jobs here and there. Going back to my former agency was the most recent venture in my sporadic work schedule. But it required one too many sacrifices, and I was glad to leave it behind.

  My personal life had been put on hold while I waited for the gig at the OIO to conclude. What was initially supposed to last a couple of weeks had taken almost a month to resolve. During that timeframe, I had neglected both my retainer contract as security consultant for Martin Technologies and my somewhat erratic and brief attempt at a romantic relationship with James Martin, the company’s CEO.