Alli

by Kurt Zimmerman

  It was mid-afternoon when Randy finally left the building in frustration. He was hoping to avoid the late-afternoon Washington traffic, and also hoping that another message from Alli would come soon.

  Chapter Five

  Rather than waiting at home for a phone call, like some lovesick prom night hopeful, Randy decided to do a little investigating. It was about time to reconnect with his old college roommate, Carl Frazier. They both applied to Central Intelligence fresh out of college, but the rigors of the “farm” training were too much for Carl. While Randy went on to work for the agency, Carl decided to start his own.

  FrazTek Investigations, during the last decade, had grown to include 54 private investigation offices in several countries and 22 different states, Virginia being one of them. Randy’s friend lived and worked out of Middleburg, Virginia; about forty miles outside of Washington. With all of Randy’s family gone, Carl was his closest friend, and the only person he would consider family. He pointed his Suburban toward Middleburg.

  Though Randy and Carl had stayed in phone contact during his time at the CIA, it had been at least 5 years since the two friends had seen each other, back when Randy had taken a couple of months of leave after a particularly stressful Agency operation. He had intended to look up his old friend right after he quit working, but he had yet to find the time. Today’s as good a day as any, Randy thought. After doing a quick internet search on his phone, he had an address typed into his GPS and was on his way.

  FrazTek Investigations was headquartered immediately outside of Middleburg, on East Washington Street. It was only a 60 minute drive from DC, or so Randy thought.

  Two hours later, he pulled into the parking lot of FrazTek.

  Randy was impressed as he neared his destination. Not too shabby, he thought. I guess the boy did all right for himself. The FrazTek Building grounds were immaculately groomed, along a curved, tinted concrete driveway that looked glassy smooth. The building itself was a modern structure, four stories of curved glass and polished chrome. As the sun was setting in the west, the entire building took on a glowing, copper color. Randy had hoped to arrive earlier, but Arlington Boulevard was bumper-to-bumper coming out of Washington during the late afternoon.

  When he arrived, most of the employee cars were gone, but a 1969 Pontiac GTO convertible, parked in the reserved parking area, told Randy that his friend was probably working late tonight. He thought back to college when Carl had the insatiable desire to attend classic car shows nearly every weekend. He was one of those ‘gear heads’ that lived and breathed cars, and was in a constant battle to keep grease from under his fingernails.

  The front doors were locked, but Randy found the call button and summoned a well-dressed security guard, who looked like he belonged in the President’s Secret Service detail- black suit, earpiece, and the whole outfit. After showing his ID through the glass, the guard allowed him into the reception lobby.

  “Hi, I’m an old friend of Carl Frazier. I drove over from Washington to see him tonight. We used to room together in college.”

  “What was the name again, sir? I’ll let Mr. Frazier know you are here.”

  “Fairchi…”

  A booming voice shattered their conversation and the quiet in the lobby. “Randy, is that you?” A large, but very friendly Carl Frazier strode over to where Randy and the guard were standing, his arms outstretched. He was immaculately dressed, from his Gucci shoes to his hand-tailored, oversized silk golf shirt. “How in the hell are you, you old bastard?”

  The two men embraced like long lost brothers. “I’ve been fine, Carl, but it looks like somebody around here needs to skip a few meals.” Randy pushed his pal away to survey the damage. “Where’s that college athlete’s body that you used to have?”

  “It’s still right here!” Carl said, as he laughed and repeatedly slapped his ample stomach with his hand. “It’s still in here somewhere!”

  Carl insisted that Randy follow him to his home, a few minutes west. Since it was getting late, and they had a lot of catching up to do, he gladly complied with his friend’s request.

  A short drive later, they pulled into the gated, wooded, entrance. Ornate iron parted automatically, and the GTO roared up the curved brick driveway. The main building was hidden from view of the public road, but as they meandered along the manicured drive, Randy was able to glimpse the approaching house. It was impressive. What looked like a three level plantation, the house was a colonial style mansion. Tidy black shutters contrasted with what looked like original wood clapboard siding. Tall, twin brick chimneys flanked the slate roof. The large, canopied entrance was well lit, and the landscaping was dutifully trimmed back away from the first floor windows. It looked like Carl practiced what all security people preach about safety. As the garage door opened for the classic Pontiac, Randy was able to glimpse several other highly polished sports cars of various pedigrees sharing the same garage. He parked the Suburban in the driveway and walked over to his friend.

  “Let me show you around,” Carl insisted. “Let me show you how well following and photographing someone’s soon-to-be ex-spouse pays!”

  They spent the better part of the next hour going from one room to another, and from one floor to another, admiring the home, its furnishings, and catching up on the last ten years. So this is how the other half lives, Randy thought. The home was filled with classic antiques, American folk art and photographs of Carl standing next to various famous dignitaries.

  Randy learned that Carl had been married before. Twice, actually, but both marriages had quickly and abruptly ended in divorce. He had no children. His life had consisted of work, work and more work. He had succeeded in building a flourishing business, a beautiful home, and quite a lonely life.

  As they passed through the massive kitchen, Carl spoke to someone whom Randy assumed to be Carl’s cook.

  “Nigel, we have a guest. Please set the table for two tonight.”

  “Very well, Mr. F,” was his answer.

  It turned out to be more of a feast than a dinner. In addition to the strong Burgundy, there were artichokes with mustard aioli, maple-glazed duck breast with gingered cranberry pear chutney, whipped sweet potatoes and garlic mashed potatoes, orange-scented sugar snap peas, and flourless chocolate cake for dessert. Randy had not eaten such a meal since he was invited to share another fellow agent’s expense account dinner in the capitol of some foreign country, the name of which escaped his memory at that moment.

  It was near the end of dinner when Randy was able to share with Carl the reason for his visit. “I met a girl,” he began. “Or at least I’ve talked to her on the phone.”

  “She’s a government worker, right?” Carl surprised him by saying.

  “Yeah, but how did you know?”

  “I’m an investigator, you dolt. And I know your type. You government employees are all the same,” Carl explained. “The only people you talk to is each other. I happen to know how you think, mister. Ever since college, I could always tell what you were thinking, remember? And after all these years, after all the women you met while travelling the world for the CIA, you retire and fall for some office worker on the phone. Man, you are pathetic.”

  Randy ignored the insult but went on the defensive. “There’s something about this girl, Fraz. I know we probably haven’t said more than a few dozen words to each other. But there’s something very familiar, something very comfortable about her. It’s soothing and exciting at the same time. I can’t really explain it, but it’s a rare thing, you know?”

  “I know,” Carl said as he stood up from dinner. “I’ve heard it all before, bud. Maybe it’s true love, maybe it’s true lust; who knows. I think I’ve heard and seen everything there is to hear and see about relationships between men and women in this business. Nothing surprises me anymore. If you think she’ll make you happy, I say you should go for it.”

  “That would be great, but I can’t contact her. I need you to help me locate her, Fraz. I need your expe
rtise and your contacts so I can find her.”

  Chapter Six

  The government Call Center was available to all Americans using one phone number- 1-555-USA HELP. The phone system distributed the incoming calls into an active queue that the random call handlers answered. The system was not really designed for outgoing calls, but occasionally, one of the handlers would return a citizen’s call, as was the case when Alli called Randy with Pension Services on the line. Unfortunately, those calls go out blocked, so there is no way for citizens to call or request a specific call handler. It was as if the entire system was designed to keep the call handlers anonymous. Maybe it was, Randy thought.

  “They probably keep the call handlers anonymous so stalkers like you can’t find them,” Carl said, kidding his old roommate at breakfast the next morning. “But I’ll put one of my people on it today, if it’s that important to you. They will do a complete nexus search using what few bits of information we have. I also know people who are well connected in Washington. I should warn you though, she’s going to be a 300 pound, trailer-dwelling cat owner, mark my words.”

  Randy brushed off Carl’s comment and went through a mental checklist to make sure his friend knew everything he knew about Alli, which wasn’t much. She was probably from a Midwestern state, based on her accent. She was likely his age or slightly younger, based on the time she had spent working for the program. She was probably single, based on her comment about working all the time and being lonely. Not much to go on.

  Carl offered to have him stay for a few days, but Randy decided to head back to Washington, to his own apartment. Even though Carl was the closest thing he had to family, and his place in Middleburg was beyond comfortable, he was more at ease at home, at his own place; likely due to spending the last ten years traveling the globe.

  “Why don’t you come and work for me, you slacker,” Carl offered as Randy walked toward his vehicle. “I could use a guy with your credentials. Seriously pal, think about it. It could be good for both of us.”

  “I just left one lousy, stressful job, man... But give me a while to think about it, alright? I appreciate it.” Randy took Carl’s ghetto grasp and gave him the old single chest-bump, pat on the back routine.

  The trip back to Washington went quickly. Randy couldn’t get thoughts of Alli out of his head. He tried to imagine who she was. Was she tall or short? Thin or fat? Blonde or Brunette? Was she single, married, widowed or divorced? Did she have kids? And why couldn’t he have a normal conversation with her? Whenever a personal question about Alli was raised, the phone would suddenly go dead. Was it her hanging up, or was it someone who was listening breaking the connection? He decided against both of these. It didn’t make any sense for her to call him back if she didn’t want to talk, did it? And the government didn’t have a reason or the manpower to listen in on every single phone call going in and out of the Call Center. The unanswered questions and the haunting nature of Alli’s voice only raised Randy’s curiosity more. There was only one way out of this problem, and that was to find Alli and talk to her. A few hours spent doing internet searches might yield some information about who was behind the Call Center and how to contact them.

  Nearly a week went by before Randy heard from either Alli or Carl. On one of his early morning runs, his phone rang at precisely 8AM, and it was Alli.

  “Hello, Randy?” she asked.

  “This is Randy. Is this Alli? How are you doing today?”

  “I’m fine, Randy. I’m always fine,” she said. “I have been thinking about you since we last spoke.”

  “Oh, you have?” Randy had stopped running, but now he was floating. He restrained himself from bombarding her with his questions, and tried to keep it light. “Tell me about that.”

  “Well, your full name is Randall Jefferson Fairchild, you are 34 years old, and you were born at William Beaumont Hospital in Lansing, Michigan on February 2nd. Your real parents’ names were Julia and Simon Ericson, and your adoptive parents are David and Felicia Fairchild. You went to Carter Elementary then to Montrose middle and Hill-McCloy High Schools, where you graduated in the top three of your class, with a 3.98 grade point average. You later…”

  “Whoa! Whoa! Slow down there! I guess you really have been thinking about me, haven’t you.”

  “Yes.., is that... Okay?”

  “Sure, it’s more than okay. It’s terrific. But tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  “Like what? There’s not much to tell, really.”

  “Well, you have a last name, right?”

  “Yes... Yes I... Yes I have a last name...

  There was a long pause.

  “Please, Alli, don’t hang up. I need to know your last name. What is your last name?”

  Right then, when Randy thought he was finally going to get some facts on this mystery girl, the phone line made a series of high-pitched tones, two clicks, and then was dead.

  “Damn!” Randy yelled, startling a couple of fellow runners near him. “What the hell is wrong with this damn phone?”

  He put an immediate call in to Carl. Even though he dialed Carl’s cell phone, he got his answering service. I guess you have to be really important to have a personal service answer your cell phone, he thought. After leaving a message, he decided to go home, clean up, and poke around the Call Center again.

  His first attempt to get some information didn’t get him past the receptionist. He would have to try another approach.

  Randy stopped by the florist before returning to the Call Center. He noticed the same receptionist at the desk while he was clearing security.

  “Hi, remember me?” he said in his most sincere voice. Randy was also trying to get a glimpse of her name on her employee badge, but it was hiding inside the edge of her sweater. Damn, he thought. She noticed me looking. She probably thinks I was checking out her boobs.

  “Sure, honey, I remember you. Your lunch date stood you up last week, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she didn’t show, but I brought these back for you, and I was hoping you might help me find her.”

  She did a quick survey of the flowers. “Boy, it’ll take you more than a trip to the flower shop for me to risk MY job; snoopin’ around for your girlfriend.”

  Randy had anticipated this.

  “There’s a little something else clipped to that note in the flowers, in case you change your mind, Jessica.” The hidden name badge had finally given up a name: Jessica Cooper.

  “What was her name again?” Jessica reached in and retrieved Benjamin Franklin from the $29.95 FTD Spring Bouquet.

  “Alli. That’s all I have. Just Alli. She’s worked here since the program started.”

  Jessica pushed her notepad and pen in his direction. “Give me your number, honey, and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have to call you back.”

  He scribbled his name, address and number on the pad and slid it back across the counter. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your help, Jessica.”

  “Well, honey, if we can’t find your Alli, you can always bring a little more of this around. You might even convince me to go out with you.”

  Randy wasn’t sure if she was referring to the flowers or the hundred, but he mustered a nod and a friendly smile as he left the building.

  *****

  It was the following day before he heard back from Carl. His old friend was the consummate professional when it came to finding a missing person. He made it a personal challenge to successfully find and do the impossible.

  “Damn it, Randy- this mystery girl of yours is tough to find, damn near impossible. I’ve had one of my best people on this, and he came up empty-handed. We ran every license plate on every car in the Call Center’s parking garage, and for good measure, we also ran all the surrounding street parked cars as well, over a three-day period. We came up with twelve outstanding parking tickets, two bench warrants for various infractions, and two cars actually licensed to people named Allison and Alice. My investigator waited and intervie
wed both of those people, but neither knew or remembered talking to a Randy Fairchild.”

  “The reason I called you yesterday was because I heard from Alli again,” Randy said. “She called yesterday morning and said she had been thinking of me and rattled off the first few years of my life story like she had it memorized, before the phone line disconnected.”

  “Disconnected?”

  “Yeah, that’s how it sounded. And it was right when I was asking for her last name, too. Neither of the Allis you contacted can be the one we are looking for. The Alli I talked to on the phone knew where I was born, who my parents were, even my High School grade point average. She would definitely remember me if you were to find her and ask her.”

  Carl seemed to be either lost in thought, or in another world entirely. “Well Fairbaby, you might want to give this one up. It seems like she doesn’t want to be found.”

  Randy ignored Carl’s use of one of his least favorite college nicknames, and the fact that he was giving up so easily. He decided a challenge might keep Carl hot on the trail.

  “I’m going to find her, with or without your help. If you find her before I do, we’ll see how good you really are, Fraz.”

  Chapter Seven

  Randy missed the blocked call that came in to his cell phone two days later. He was on the shooting range, running a couple of boxes of target shells through his Sig Sauer. When you are on a range and surrounded by a dozen other shooters, hearing your phone ring is impossible.

  The caller had left a voice mail: “Mr. Fairchild, my name is Dr. William N. Johnson. You left a message on my machine. Please meet me at the Blue Duck Tavern on 24th street at 9PM tonight. We need to talk.”

  Damn, he thought. It was already 7PM by the time he received the message. Randy hurried back to his apartment, showered, dressed, and headed toward the restaurant, which was near the Capitol Building. The hostess had a reservation for Fairchild, but Randy said he would rather wait at the bar until his other guest arrived.