The Agency

by Edward Kendrick

  All the while, Kip had been keeping track of any missing persons cases which might connect with the ones he had on file. Men, or women, who had disappeared, leaving behind rumors that money had gone missing when they did. Or bodies found in the mountains which could have been the result of an execution-style murder. So far, he hadn’t found anything which piqued his interest, which was just as well, as far as he was concerned. Maybe Mr. Alexander was the last one. Maybe the thugs have retired, or met their end at the point of a gun while being some mobster’s enforcers. He certainly hoped so. While he didn’t spend time looking over his shoulder when he was out and about, he was also very aware of who was in his vicinity. In particular anyone who bore even a passing resemblance to the men who had murdered Constantine and Alexander.

  It was Friday evening. Hot as only August could be in the city. They’d been working hard all week and so when John suggested they stop for a beer before he headed home, Kip was all for it. Since taking their vehicles for a four-block drive would have been stupid, they walked. John shed his work shirt before they left, leaving him in a black T-shirt which showed off his tats and fairly muscular build to advantage. Kip changed into a T-shirt, although his was blue.

  “At least it matches my eyes, for what that’s worth,” he muttered when he checked how he looked in the bathroom mirror. “Maybe that makes up for the fact muscles are not me?”

  When he got upstairs, he double-checked to be certain the back door was locked and bolted. He found John waiting by the front door. After Kip turned on the security, he locked the door after them, and they set off.

  “What are you looking for?” John asked when they were halfway to the bar.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  John shrugged. “You keep checking the buildings as we go by them. You always do.”

  “My detective gene kicking in,” Kip joked. He hadn’t realized he was being so obvious. Or at least obvious to someone who was a trained observer.

  “I’ll buy that, for now.”

  For a Friday night, they got lucky. Someone vacated a booth just as they walked into the bar, so Kip hurried over, beating out a foursome with the same idea. He sat while John went to get their beers. Kip liked the place with its retro ambiance and brass chandeliers. It could be noisy, after all it was a dive bar, but he was okay with that. It meant they could talk with less chance of anyone overhearing them.

  “I survived the crush,” John said with a laugh, sliding in opposite Kip before handing him his drink.

  They talked about work for a few minutes as they drank, recapping what they’d accomplished during the week and discussing the jobs they knew were on tap for the following one.

  Then John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Do you want to tell me who you’re looking for, or more likely trying to avoid?” he asked quietly.

  “No one,” Kip protested. “I already told you…”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but you were lying. Before you get pissed, I know it’s none of my business. Still, if you’re in trouble I’d like to help.”

  Kip stared at his empty beer bottle. “I need another. Do you want one?”

  “Yeah.” John smiled sardonically. “Maybe then you’ll open up a bit?”

  Without replying, Kip took their empties back to the bar, returning with two fresh bottles. Do I tell him? Obviously he’s figured out something’s wrong. I’ve got the feeling he’s not going to drop it. As soon as he sat down, Kip took a deep drink of his beer.

  John watched him with what seemed to be a mix of amusement and concern, with concern winning. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kip replied, “It’s now or probably never. You already know I was homeless for a while, when I was a teen. What I didn’t tell you was…” He took another gulp of beer then glanced around to make certain no one was close enough to hear him. Even then, he leaned in, keeping his voice low. “While I was living up in the mountains I’d find places to camp close enough to the road so I wouldn’t get lost. Not right on whichever one it was, but close. Anyway, I was asleep one night and something woke me up. It was a car’s doors opening. I figured it was some guys looking for a place to piss, but I didn’t want them to see me, so I grabbed my backpack and hid under a tree. A pine tree. You know how their branches hang low to the ground.” He closed his eyes, remembering what came next.

  “I take it there’s more to the story,” John said when Kip didn’t continue.

  Looking at him, Kip nodded. “There were three of them. Two thugs and their prisoner. They forced him to his knees then one of them shot him in the back of the head. I…I made a noise which caught their attention, so I crawled to the other side of the tree and stood up, ready to run. One of the men saw me. He shot, but missed and I got the hell out of there. I ran until I collapsed.” Kip clenched his hands around the bottle. “The man they shot? He begged for his life first. He said he’d give them the money and disappear.”

  “They’d kidnapped him for ransom? Never mind. I’m sure you don’t know. Did you go to the cops?”

  Kip sighed, shaking his head. “I told you about the sheriff I met. I was at that diner, watching the news. There was a story about a missing man who had stolen the payroll from his company. They showed his picture.”

  “The man you saw murdered.”

  “Yeah. The sheriff knew something was wrong. He took me to his office and sort of kept pushing, asking if I’d seen the guy. I wasn’t about to tell him everything I witnessed. One of the killers got a good look at me. I was young, I was scared, afraid if I told the sheriff and described him, the killer would know it was me and come after me. But I had to say something, so I told Sheriff Long I thought I’d seen the victim, Mr. Constantine, when he stopped to take a piss and that he drove away afterward like, well, like the cops were after him.” He smiled weakly. “Which they probably were, but the thugs beat them to him.”

  “Damn, Kip.”

  “What else could I do? All right, don’t answer that. I know I should have told the sheriff the truth. I just…I couldn’t. All I could think about was that he…that the cops were looking for Constantine and he or they would let it out that I’d witnessed his murder.”

  “They wouldn’t have,” John replied. “They’d have kept you safe.”

  “I know that…now. Back then was another story.”

  John put his hand over Kip’s. “I get it. I don’t like it particularly, but I understand. What I don’t get is why you’re still looking over your shoulder. It’s been a long time since that happened.”

  “They, the cops, never found his killers. Yeah, I moved halfway across the state right after it happened. I figured I was safe here. Then, the day before I hired you, as it turned out, there was a story on the news. The manager of a bank here in the city disappeared, along with a large amount of cash from the bank’s vault. His body turned up in the mountains. He was shot the same way Constantine had been—execution-style. The police found a picture on his phone, taken right before he died. It wasn’t very clear, but…”

  “They put it up on TV and you recognized whoever was in it.”

  “Yeah. If I knew who he was, I’d have gone to the cops, but I don’t, John. I have no idea, so what good would it do?”

  John squeezed Kip’s hand before releasing it. “Probably none, other than to tie him to Constantine’s killing. Not that it would do them any good. If it were me, I’d start looking for other similar murders. But then I’m a nosy bastard.”

  “That’s what I did. I found at least five others that fit the parameters. Who knows, there could be more bodies that haven’t been located yet.”

  “May I take a look at what you found?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Thanks. I take it the last killing is why you’re always checking things out when you’re walking, and probably driving.”

  “Yes. The man, Mr. Alexander, worked here in Denver. His body was found in the mountains outside of Sil
ver Plume, which isn’t that far away when you think about it.”

  “About forty-five miles. Ask how I know.” John grinned. “I sometimes ride up I70 to get out of the city. But that’s neither here nor there right now.” He studied Kip. “How much have you changed since the guy saw you?”

  “Back then my hair was a lot longer, down to my shoulder blades. I usually wore it tied back, but not when I was sleeping, so he saw it in all its glory, so to speak.” Kip chuckled. “I got it cut the next day, after talking to the sheriff, because he suggested it would be easier for me to get a job if I did. Obviously I’ve aged, though I don’t think I look twenty-eight.”

  “More like twenty-five, maybe. Have you always looked younger than your age?”

  “Yeah. The sheriff said he’d figured I was fifteen or so and I was seventeen.”

  “So the guy who saw you probably figured the same. A kid, a runaway, and when nothing appeared on the news about you witnessing the murder, he and his partner most likely decided they were safe.”

  “I suspect so. But I’m not taking any chances. If I do see him I hope it’s before he sees me and maybe recognizes me.” Kip picked up his beer, surprised to find he’d emptied the bottle. “We should get out of here. I’ve talked more than my share for the night. I bet you’re ready to go home and get some sleep.”

  John smiled. “Not really, but I think you are. Confession can wear a guy out.”

  “At least you didn’t say it’s good for the soul,” Kip replied with a smirk as he slid out of the booth.

  John laughed. “Too clichéd.” He followed Kip out of the bar. When they were on the sidewalk he said, “You’re doing it again.”

  Since Kip had, surreptitiously he thought, checked out every person on the street, he nodded.

  “Are you carrying?” John murmured, slinging his arm around Kip’s shoulders.

  Kip was more than a little surprised by his move, and figured he’d done it so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Not at the moment,” he replied as they began walking back to the agency.

  “If you think there’s even the slightest chance the guy’s around then no matter where you go, you should.”

  Kip sighed. “You’re right. Not that I like the idea.”

  “Of course you don’t, but right now…do. Until we find him you’re not totally safe.”

  “We?”

  “Yep. You and me. We’re supposed to be PIs, good ones. We should be able to find him if we put our minds to it.”

  “You’re right, damn it. It’s about time I did something more than worry every time I step out the door.”

  John hugged his shoulders then lowered his arm. “We’ll get started first thing in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday. You don’t work.”

  “So? The sooner we find him, and his partner, and whoever they’re working for, the better. Right?”

  “Right.”

  They were back at the agency by then. John promised he’d return around nine the following morning then took off.

  I can’t believe he took it so well. I honestly expected he’d look at me like I was some kind of weakling, or stupid for not going to the cops. He didn’t. He understood and now he’s willing to help. Kip smiled as he headed downstairs to his apartment. I guess someone’s watching over me, sending him my way just when I needed him—for work, and as a friend, and now…He glanced up. Thank you!

  * * * *

  I volunteered, now what? How do we find a guy when all we’ve got is a blurry picture and Kip’s memory of him, which undoubtedly has faded over the years?

  A problem, and John knew it, but one he was willing to deal with if it helped Kip and kept him safe. He was well aware why he wanted to do that. He liked the younger man. Although it had only been a little over a month since they’d met, he liked and respected him, as a friend—and perhaps more. He’d face that issue once they’d dealt with the killers.

  Chapter 5

  “Do I smell breakfast?” John asked when Kip let him in by the agency’s back door Saturday morning.

  “Yep. I figured food might help us think,” Kip replied. “I hope you haven’t eaten already.

  “I haven’t, so lead me to it.”

  Kip did, taking him downstairs to his apartment.

  “Not bad,” John commented. “Your basic bachelor beige and blue.”

  “How alliterative,” Kip replied, shaking his head. They went into the kitchen which, as Kip pointed out, was granite and green. “And don’t even…”

  “Me? Never.”

  Kip had two omelets keeping warm in the oven. He put them on plates, along with toast, setting them on the table along one wall. After he poured coffee, they sat down to eat.

  “Where do you think we should start?” Kip asked.

  “Let’s figure that out when we get upstairs,” John suggested. “Eat first, then work.”

  Kip nodded, reining in his need to get moving now that John was going to help. They finished eating; Kip put the dishes in the dishwasher and refilled their cups to take with them.

  As soon as they were in his office, he booted up his computer. When it was ready, he clicked on the file he’d created about the killings.

  John laughed when Kip told him the security code to access it was Summer20vaCation19. “Planning ahead?”

  Kip shrugged. “I figure it’s the last thing anyone would think of if they were looking for the file.” When it opened, he suggested John pull up a chair rather than hovering over his shoulder. “Here’s what I have so far,” he said when John took his advice. “Five potentials spread out over seven years. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “I’m with you on that,” John agreed before he took control of the mouse so he could scroll through what Kip had collected. “Interesting,” he commented when he finished. “The only problem I see is the woman from the escort service. There’s nothing that says she walked away with money belonging to them, whoever they are.”

  “I know. It was the MO of her murder that got her on the list. What if she saw or heard something she wasn’t supposed to? Like one of the killers on his phone talking to his boss. It’s the only thing I could come up with, but you have to agree the bullet to the back of her head, and being buried up in the mountains, fits.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep her for now. When was the last time you checked to see if there’ve been any comparable killing recently?”

  “Last week.” Kip took the mouse when John handed it over, running a search. “This, maybe,” he said, tapping the screen. The story was about a woman who owned a realty company in north Denver. “According to this she was about to be indicted for using her company for money laundering when she disappeared,” Kip said. “It doesn’t say who for.”

  “Logically, she’s on the run,” John pointed out.

  “Logically,” Kip replied, “so were Constantine, Alexander, and the others. Then their bodies were found buried somewhere in the mountains and they’d all been killed execution-style. If hers turns up the same way…”

  “Then we add her to the list.” John tapped a finger on the desk. “This happened real soon after Alexander’s murder. Much closer together than the rest of the ones on our list.”

  “Maybe not, if there are bodies that haven’t been located. The other option is, whoever’s in charge is getting sloppy with who he uses for—my guess would be money laundering, given that’s what she was supposedly doing.”

  “Sloppy would be letting someone like Constantine get his hands on the money to begin with.”

  “I disagree,” Kip replied. “He, they, would have to. They’d need to move it around to make it look legit. They just got greedy and took advantage of the situation.”

  “Okay, you’ve got a point. So Ms—” John checked the story. “Ms. Lincoln did something stupid and the Feds caught onto it. She runs, or so it appears, but instead our killers grab on her and get rid of her before she can rat out the boss.”

&n
bsp; “A definite possibility, if we’re right that she belongs on the list. We won’t know until her body is found, if it is.”

  “And there’s the problem. If.”

  “I know, I know. So we track the story.” Kip added her to the list, then highlighted her name. “To show probable but unproven, so far,” he told John. His mouth tightened. “We’ve got a hell of a lot of conjecture, and no proof we’re right.”

  “Be patient. It’ll come.” John squeezed Kip’s shoulder. “The next thing we need to do is find out what the cops may know about the guy in the photo.”

  “On it.” Kip went to the site he wanted then made his way through the layers of protection. He smiled when John said, “You’re good,” replying, “Practice. Lots of practice recently.”

  Obviously figuring it would be at least a few minutes until Kip found out anything, John took their cups down to Kip’s apartment to refill them. When he returned he asked, “Any luck?”

  “Not so far. They enhanced the photo but…” He shrugged. “I guess they can only do so much, no matter how good their computer experts are.” He printed out the photo.

  “They should still run it through a facial recognition program,” John said when Kip handed it to him.

  “Gee, maybe I should email them to suggest it. Watch it,” Kip muttered seconds later when John smacked the back of his head. “Anyway, they have. No positive matches.”

  “If he’s working for the mob, or some gangster, and twenty-to-one he is, he’s managed not to get arrested, which is interesting.”

  “That or whoever he’s working for has the kind of connections or computer experts who can obliterate any arrest records for him.”