Triple Threat

by Jan Coffey

  “Time is of the essence here, Sister Helen,” Hawes said, interrupting the silent interrogation. “How soon can Murtaugh get started?”

  “As soon as I decide if it’s wise to reveal Agent Murtaugh’s true identity to my friend.”

  “The fewer people who know of this the better,” the assistant director said. “We want fewer explanations necessary when this is all over.”

  “I agree. Your entire hope for success depends on Elizabeth agreeing to help, but knowing how much she distrusts the authorities…” Sister Helen paused, studying Nate from the toes of his wing-tip shoes to his hair. “Yes, I think it’d be best if she didn’t know.”

  “Elizabeth?” Nate asked, getting a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Littlefield. Everyone else calls her Ellie, but she’s Elizabeth to me. I’ll ask her to come over tonight after dinner, to get her onboard. You and I can meet here again tomorrow morning at seven. Bring your new identity and whatever story you’ll be using. Better yet, call me beforehand with the information, so I’m prepared.”

  “You’ll introduce him as another friend?” Hawes questioned.

  The nun turned to Hawes. “A friend of a friend or whatever. He’s visiting for a few days. Elizabeth will understand. There are always new faces around. And considering his specific interest, it’d be logical for me to ask for her help.”

  “This is great.” Hawes showed his big smile. “On behalf of the President and the Justice Department, we can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing here, Sister Helen.”

  Nate interrupted as Wilcox stood up to express his own gratitude. “I believe it’d be best to introduce me to Ms. Littlefield as myself.”

  Three sets of eyes turned on him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Ms. Littlefield and I have met before.”

  Sister Helen let out a breath of relief and sank back against the chair. “I’m so glad. Elizabeth is like a daughter to me. It would have been very difficult to hold back any kind of information like that from her for any length of time. This makes everything so much easier.”

  Five

  The ground was wet from the rain shower. Dirt and leaves stuck to Chris’s leg where he crouched low in a gully behind the trailer. His dad used to tell him to go play, but not to go past the gully, where the “slime men” lived and waited for little boys. He could hear the noises of things in the woods, but they weren’t as scary as the two men going through the trailer.

  Chris could see them through the dirty windows, the gleam from their flashlights flitting around the small living space. He’d known it was only a matter of time before they’d come looking for him here. The old tin can of a trailer, with its tires shot out years before he was born, was supposed to be his father’s secret hideout in the woods, but just about everybody in town knew about it. Everybody at the Green Lantern bar and poolroom, anyway.

  One of the men stepped out of the trailer. The other followed a few seconds later. Chris hugged the box of stale Lucky Charms tighter against his chest. The men were looking out at the woods, and he pulled the stiff square of faded green tarp he’d found outside the trailer over his head. He could hear them talking low, but he couldn’t make out the words. It looked like one was giving directions, pointing his light one way, and then the two men started circling the trailer, shining their lights on the ground and into the woods at the edge of the small clearing.

  Chris pressed his face against the dirt and held his breath. The image of the uniformed guard’s angry face at the museum flashed before his eyes. Chris’s shoulder still hurt from the way the man had dug his fingers into him. The guard was holding him the way Peebo, his mom’s scumbag ex-friend, used to, then called somebody on his walkie-talkie. Chris wasn’t deaf. He’d heard the guard whisper, “Gatz. Problem here. There’s a kid.” When the man on the other end said, “Hold the fuck on to him,” Chris knew they were doing something wrong.

  He’d seen enough movies to know the bad guys. He knew museum guards wouldn’t use the f-word. And that thing on the flag…it didn’t belong there. This guy was a fake, and holding on to a kid meant they’d be getting rid of him. That was when he kicked the guy in the shin as hard as he could and ran out the back exit door by the bathroom.

  He thought about running now and peered from under the tarp at the flashlight snaking through the trees to his left. He hated the woods. They were dark, and you didn’t know what was in there at night. Maybe there really were “slime men.” Besides, he thought, with these two guys so close, they’d see him now for sure if he tried to run for it.

  He stared at them. In the reflection of the lights, he saw they were both wearing suits. Like Will Smith and the other guy in Men in Black. But these guys were bad guys, too. Social workers didn’t dress like this or drive down his dad’s dirt road at night with their headlights off.

  One of them was looking out in his direction. Chris ducked his head. He saw the lights shining out over the gully now, and a cold feeling of panic washed through him. He could hear their footsteps. Something was crawling up one leg of his pants, but he didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe.

  He should have stayed with that lady outside the museum. She’d been really nice to him when he’d burst out the exit door and jumped in front of her car. She’d believed him when he babbled about having to go to the bathroom and wetting his pants. She’d seen him in the hallway. She knew.

  Chris could see the fake guard standing inside the slowly closing exit door, talking on his walkie-talkie, so when she’d said the bus wouldn’t have left without him and offered to give him a ride to the front of the building, Chris had climbed inside of the car. She didn’t say anything to him about smelling bad and being all wet.

  As soon as she’d started around the building, though, Chris had realized the guard might be there waiting for him. Panicking, he blurted out a sob story about how the other kids would make fun of him on the bus. And his foster mother would get mad at him for coming home like this. He’d begged her to drop him off at his father’s trailer, where he could change first before he went home.

  There’d been another phone call. She was running late. But Chris didn’t feel bad at all about turning on the tears and telling her how horrible his life was and how this would be the only thing the kids remembered about him all summer. He’d done his best to make her feel bad. There were no buses in front of the building, anyway. Chris didn’t mention that the bus that was parked next to the road was his. He could see Miss Leoni inside as they went by. She was counting heads and looking a little upset.

  The lady was a softy and had dropped him off at the trailer park on the main road where he’d lied and told her his father’s trailer was. He’d promised to walk to Mrs. Green’s house, on the next street, from there. She’d even given him a piece of paper with a couple of phone numbers on it. In case people weren’t home and all that.

  Now Chris was sorry about all the lying. He’d seen something he shouldn’t have, and he didn’t know how to get out of this kind of trouble. And he didn’t think going back to Mrs. Green would help. She had three other kids she looked after, and her favorite saying was that she was in no mood for trouble.

  A twig snapped not far from his hiding place, and Chris bit down hard on his bottom lip.

  “He has to be here,” a deep voice said from the top of the gully. “He sure isn’t making it too easy for us with all these woods around.”

  “He won’t go far,” the other man answered. “We just have to wait for morning.”

  Chris shoved one fist into his mouth to quiet his cry. He was dead, for sure.

  Nate held the phone out and tugged on his earlobe, certain that there had to be some permanent damage to his eardrum. Holding the cell phone two feet away from his head, he could still hear Sanford Hawes’s voice blaring out of it clear as a bell.

  “You fix it, Nate. You screwed this thing up. Now you straighten it out. And I don’t give a f—”

  Nate put the phone down on the pass
enger seat as the door of the dinner club across the street opened and a well-dressed couple sauntered out. He picked up the phone again.

  “You sonovabitch, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. By the way, since you’re done bawling me out—”

  “What makes you think I’m done bawling you out?”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me exactly what Sister Helen said to you.”

  “She called to say it’s not going to happen. She said she’d just gotten off the phone with this Ellie Little-field, and the woman adamantly refuses to have anything to do with you. She said the deal’s off. Oh, and she also told me, don’t fucking bother to send Agent Murtaugh around tomorrow morning.”

  “Nice mouth for a nun.”

  “Don’t get cute on me. I was making a point. And here’s another point. I could have your job for this. You’ve put your entire career in jeopardy here.”

  “That right?”

  “There was no reason for you to make contact with that woman beforehand, Nate. No reason to stop at her shop. I know this has to do with that kid, but I made it perfectly clear that you don’t have time to f—”

  Nate dropped the phone on the seat again as a noisy group of two women and three men came out of the club. A limousine pulled up to pick them up, and the driver jumped out to open the door for them.

  One of the women, holding a small take-home bag of food, spoke quietly to the driver, and together they began maneuvering the others into the car. She was polite, classy and obviously the only one not trashed. Nate let his eyes take in Ellie Littlefield. Though he’d thought she was pretty damn cute in her jeans and a baseball hat, she was a knockout in a sleeveless black dress and short pumps. Yes, the woman cleaned up very nicely.

  While a woman and two of the men managed to tumble into the car, a young, preppy-looking guy looped an arm around Ellie and drew her toward him. She smiled and wedged her arms between them, turning the eager Romeo toward the limo and pushing him in. Ellie kept her weight against the door and said something to the driver as he hurried around the car.

  “Murtaugh!”

  Hawes’s voice from the cell phone made Nate pick it up again. “Look, Sanford, I’m trying to fix it as we speak.”

  “Just how are you doing that?”

  “I’m trying to get into Ms. Littlefield’s good graces.” Nate snapped. “But I can’t very well do that with you nagging at me. I’ll call you when I have something.”

  “You do tha—”

  Nate hung up and pocketed the phone. The limo had already left the curb, and Ellie was striding north along the street.

  The club was only four blocks from where she lived. Walking distance. Figuring that was where she was headed, Nate left the car in the no-parking zone near the stop sign and took off after her.

  The assistant director’s news about Ellie’s refusal to work with him had come as no surprise. Although he wasn’t sure how he’d gone awry, it took no genius to figure that he’d rubbed her the wrong way this morning. It was just bad luck that he needed her now. Calling her or showing up at her door were not going to get him too far. He knew that. Charming her with his magnetic personality, though, was definitely the only way to go. He didn’t want her to think he was stalking her, and he picked up his pace.

  Ten steps behind her on the next block, Nate was surprised to see Ellie cross the narrow street and start a conversation with a homeless guy in a wheelchair. Calling him by name, she handed him the bag of food. From what he could hear, she seemed to know this Jack well enough for him to ask about her father. Nate busied himself with putting quarters in someone else’s parking meter and saw her hand five bucks to the man before she started down the street again.

  Nate figured she was one hundred ten pounds soaking wet, and it would be stretching it to call her height “medium” at five two…maybe three. But she had the stride of someone who knew where she was going and who obviously felt safe on the city streets. In fact, it occurred to him that she carried herself differently now, more confidently, than she had when she’d been with her limo buddies.

  Pine Street was quiet, with only a few people sitting on steps and walking dogs and chatting with neighbors. She seemed to know everyone. When she got to the door of her shop, he saw her reach inside her purse and search for keys. Nate thought this was as good a time as any to approach. He crossed over.

  She turned to face him before he stepped onto the sidewalk. “Looks like I wasn’t too far off this morning, was I?”

  Nate looked down at the keys she’d positioned like a weapon between her fingers. “You’re not going to use those on me, are you?”

  “It depends.”

  “The current thinking is that you’ll hurt your hand more than your attacker.”

  “Thanks for the professional advice.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but the keys disappeared into her fist. “Why are you following me, Agent Murtaugh?”

  “I was hoping for a few minutes of your time.”

  “You had that this morning.”

  “I’d hardly call it that. You practically threw me out of your shop.”

  “We were closed, and you barged in uninvited.”

  “Your assistant, Vic, invited me in. This time, though, I’d be much obliged if you’d give me the chance to explain.” He stepped closer to her, but she didn’t back up. The street lamp cast shadows on her face, but Nate had no trouble appreciating how delicate her features were. “And apologize.”

  “No dice. I have no interest in hearing anything that you have to say,” she responded. There was a huskiness in her tone. “I don’t know what kind of story you fed Sister Helen for her to even consider helping you, but you don’t fool me. I saw through you this morning, before you even opened your mouth.”

  “You knew when I offered to help you climb over the mirror?”

  “Don’t get cute,” she snapped.

  “Everybody thinks I’m cute these days.”

  “Well, I don’t. What you’re pulling here is an old game, Murtaugh. You guys are forever plotting ways of rounding up dealers and collectors. I know as far as you’re concerned, we’re all crooks.”

  Two men passing on the far side of the street who obviously knew Ellie paused at her raised voice. She waved at them, and they moved on.

  “Can we go inside and talk about this?”

  “No.” She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t have to talk to you at all.”

  “But you will.”

  “Why? You think you can force me to help you?”

  “No, you need to talk to me because you’re wrong about what you think we want to do.”

  She snorted.

  “All right, then, maybe I can appeal to your sense of civic duty. You have a social responsibility to help your country.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Listen.” Nate leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I couldn’t say anything about this assignment this morning. Frankly, even now I don’t know how much Sister Helen has told you about what we’re up against.”

  “She said enough for me to know that the whole thing doesn’t add up to a hill of beans. Besides that, I want nothing to do with it or with you.”

  “Are you telling me that this country means so little to you? That you can just turn your back while the entire nation is dealt another crushing blow?”

  “Just when I thought you could sink no lower.” She shook her head and started turning toward the door.

  “What did I do, hit too close to home?” Nate taunted her. “An upscale shop, rich friends, private clubs and parties. I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Little-field. I can’t believe Sister Helen would even recommend you for this job. You are so far removed from your days as a kid in the system that I don’t think you even know—or care—how the rest of America lives.”

  She whirled on him and pressed a finger into his chest. “Let’s get something straight, Agent Ea
gle Scout. I don’t need you to remind me of my roots or my civic responsibilities. But now that you’ve opened up this little discussion, I’ll tell you that the majority of the people in this country don’t give a damn about this Spirit of America celebration. They see right through it as the campaign song-and-dance routine that it is.”

  “Look, I—”

  “People in this country need solid productive action, not some dog-and-pony show. They need jobs. They need a good education for their kids. They need health care that they can afford and that actually covers them when they’re sick. If President Kent really wanted to help all the people in this country, and not just his business buddies, then he’d veto that billion-dollar con job they’re calling the Water for America project. Everybody with half a brain can see it’s meant to help his home state of Oklahoma at the expense of programs for millions of other Americans. How about showing the people of this country that we’re united by more than just a few symbols!”

  “Look, I’m not here to argue politics with you.”

  “Oh, how inconsiderate of me to mention it.” She let out a frustrated breath and then jammed the key into the latch. “Why did I even bother? Good night, Agent Murtaugh. Better luck finding a brainless sap someplace else.”

  The door slammed in his face before Nate could even think of a comeback.

  Ellie had passed a big milestone this year, and it wasn’t only because she’d turned thirty.

  In just a few years, she’d made a name for herself in antiques. She was trusted by top decorators for her taste and her expertise, and her client list included many of the elite of Philadelphia and the Main Line. Certain highly eligible bachelors were showing interest in her. She had a few very good friends. She and her father were talking again. She was healthy. And for the first time in her life, she had a very nice balance in her checkbook. All and all, life was good.

  She wasn’t going to let Nate Murtaugh ruin it.