by Jim Heskett
“That’s what I figured. And, that’s what makes the request you sent me last night so strange.”
“It’s important. I wouldn’t ask if I could handle it myself.”
“Is that so?”
“You know I wouldn’t contact you for something trivial. I’m at the tip of the iceberg here, and there’s a lot under the surface.”
“It better be worth it, for me to use up favors and resources to get you all these fake documents. It’s not like I have a fairy who can wave a wand and whip this up for me. Around DC, favors are a currency, and I’m spending mine faster than I can accrue them.”
Layne ran a hand through his short hair. “I found Jonah Bramble. That’s what this is all about.”
“Wait a second. Did I hear that right? You found Thorny?”
“He’s working at the mental health facility I need the documents for. But, he’s going by the name Wade Nicholson, for no reason I can see. And, he didn’t remember me yesterday, when I saw him. At least, he claimed he didn’t remember me. It was a pretty convincing performance.”
“Interesting. That’s not like Jonah. Disappearing, sure, but not the rest of it.”
“Yeah. I need to find out what’s going on here.”
“Just be careful. Jonah didn’t leave us on the best of terms, but you know all about the last few weeks of his tenure.”
“Yes I do.”
“I sent the details about the docs you requested to our secure file share site and set the password to the alpha protocol. Do you have an interview lined up?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, late morning.”
“Then you’d better get to studying. You have a whole lot of fake history to learn before then. I hope you have the day cleared.”
“Nope. I’m spending the day with my daughter. But, don’t worry. I’ll absorb it all in time.”
“I’ve seen you do more with less. Hope it all helps.”
“I appreciate it, Daphne. I know you want to stay out of this, so your assistance means a lot to me.”
“Whatever I can do, I will. And I know, at some point, you’re going to want to pull in Harry and Serena. You always do. And, if you do, let me say this: my team is small. Currently, it’s just those two. If you ask them to come out to California and get them involved in a mess, just think about what you might be taking them away from. Think about where they’re needed.”
Layne breathed for a few seconds, watching an elderly couple at the pool, testing the water with their feet. “I understand, Control. I know how valuable the team’s time is. But, I think this is big. There’s something nasty going on here.”
“I’m sure you have a good reason to think that. My team is available to you, however you need them, if it comes to that. I understand. I really do. Just because Jonah is no longer part of the team, doesn’t mean we don’t still have a responsibility to him.” She paused, and Layne could practically hear Daphne’s smirk on the other end of the line. “Plus, I like having you indebted to me.”
“I know you do, Control. That’s your favorite part of all this.”
She laughed. “When this is over, why don’t you come see me in DC? I’ll take you out to dinner. There’s a new Indian place down the street I’ve been dying to try.”
Layne held the phone, watching the elderly couple descend the steps at the edge of the pool. “I’ll think about it.”
“I bought satin sheets for my new mattress. Those need some breaking in, too.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Daphne pouted. “You say that now, but let’s get you out here. You know I can be persuasive.”
Layne did know, and that’s why he had no intention of flying to DC just to let Daphne take him out to dinner. “I said I’ll think about it.”
“Fair enough. While you’re thinking, try not to get in too deep out there. If Thorny has adopted this new identity of Wade Nicholson, there’s got to be a good reason. If he’s pretending he doesn’t know who you are, there’s probably a good reason for that, too. It might be for your protection.”
“I considered that. I don’t think he’s a willing participant in whatever is going on here.”
She made a hmm sound for a few seconds. “Could be. You’ve always had good instincts. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“It’s good to hear from you, Boy Scout.”
Layne bristled at the mention of his old operational handle. He’d never found it fitting, but Daphne had given it to him one day in a motel a lot like the one he was currently staying in. The two of them, next to each other, sweaty and panting in a bed. The beginning of a decade-long, tempestuous and destructive affair.
Daphne liked to dredge up his old handle, not for the nostalgia of reliving their days of working together, but to remind him she would always own a part of him. Layne had no doubt about her motives.
“You too, Daphne,” he said, trying not to tighten his jaw.
With that, he hung up and went back inside to make sure Cameron finally put on her pants for the day.
6
Layne stood and reached across the desk to shake the woman’s hand. Her name was Kelly Krafft-Jones, a rotund white woman with hazel blue eyes and cute dimples in her cheeks. She had conducted Layne’s initial interview in the conference room on the main floor.
Layne had felt off the entire time, not only from claiming to be Louis Pastori from Traverse City, Michigan. It had a lot to do with the suit, which didn’t fit right. He’d already returned the rented tuxedo from the fundraiser. But, he’d had to rush out yesterday to buy this one, since he hadn’t come to Redding with dress clothes. And, not only didn’t it fit well, but everyone else Layne had seen at Hillcrest was in jeans and regular shirts. He looked a bit overdressed.
Twenty-four hours wasn’t a wealth of time to learn his cover story. He tried his best to stay away from specifics, whenever possible. Kelly was the chatty type, so he had to dodge and parry quite a lot.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Pastori,” Kelly said as she also stood.
“Mr. Pastori is my father. Please, call me Louis, or Louie.”
She grinned. “Only if you give me a tour on that sailboat of yours.”
“Ha! Of course. If you’re ever in Michigan, I would be happy to take you out on the water.”
“Maybe we can find some of those… what did you call them? Pedrosky stones?”
“It’s Petoskey, but you’re close enough.” He cleared his throat. “So, I don’t want to be too forward, but what are the next steps?”
Kelly motioned for him to sit back down, and she did as well. “To be honest, despite how eager we are to bring on new staff, things tend to move quite slowly around here. We’re going to have a staff meeting this afternoon, and—I’m sure this is no secret—we’ll discuss how you stack up with the rest of our candidates. If we decide to move on to a second interview, that will be with our clinical director, Mr. Jahandar. That would be within two to three weeks, I think, and that’s the last step.”
Two weeks on the sidelines would not be a viable option.
“That long, huh?”
She nodded. “And that’s at our hurry-up speed.”
Layne lifted his hands in surrender. “Believe me, I understand how slow the wheels of mental health work. It’s just that, I’m going to be in town for a few more days, and I would hate to waste this opportunity. So, I was wondering if it were possible for me to observe as a visitor. As you said, my initial background check has already come back clean, and I would love to spend a few days attending group sessions, day treatment, that sort of thing.”
Kelly raised her eyebrows, in what Layne interpreted as a sign of pleasant surprise. Perhaps other applicants for this job hadn’t brought up supervised observation as a possibility.
“Well, Louie, I think we would like that very much. There are things you can’t do and places you can’t go, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But, I’ll tell you
what: if you wouldn’t mind hanging out in the break room down the hall for a few minutes, I’ll go talk to Ronnie in Security and see what sort of paperwork we would need to draw up. Non-disclosures and all that.”
“Fantastic.”
They both stood and shook again, and Kelly escorted Layne out of her office. She pointed him along the hallway, shuffling from side to side as she walked.
Now, out of the glitz and glamor of the fundraiser in the gym with its expensive drapes and floral arrangements, Layne saw Hillcrest plain. Pinkish walls with faded paint, rusty water fountains, cracked safety glass on the windows. When Layne had interned in hospitals and other mental health facilities back in grad school, he’d seen many places like this. They weren’t profitable operations. They were always on the verge of collapse, running on shoestring budgets. The good ones cared more about helping people than fat paychecks for upper management.
The stark contrast to the opulence of the fundraiser made Layne think he was wrong about Hillcrest. Maybe.
Kelly escorted him to a room the size of a small apartment, with a kitchenette and a ping pong table. A couch perpendicular to one wall faced a TV that had to be at least fifteen years old.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.”
“Thank you.”
And then, she was gone. Layne looked around the break room to see only a single other person there, a Latina woman with black hair so shiny it almost looked silver in spots. A cleft chin and high cheekbones framed her face.
She was standing up against the counter, dunking a tea bag in a cup of steaming water. She wore a curve-hugging business suit, with enough buttons undone at the top to expose a slight line of cleavage. Hovering on the border between professional and sexy.
“You the new fitness instructor?” she asked in a south-of-the-border accent suggesting English might not be her first language.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you’re not here for the open therapist positions. Or, are we hiring for Security?”
Layne looked down at his suit. The ill-fitting nature of it did hide the tattoo sleeves on his arms, but it couldn’t hide his girthy limbs or his broad shoulders.
“Not fitness instructor. I am actually interviewing for a therapist job.”
She crossed the room with a wry smile on her face. “I stand corrected. Mariana Flores.” She stuck out a hand with fingernails painted bright red. Warning bells dinged all over Layne’s brain. Not just the nail polish that looked more appropriate for a night out at the club than at the office. She had a look about her that said not only did she match Layne’s type, she would also be nothing but trouble.
“Louie Pastori.”
“Well, then, Louie, I hope you get the job. We haven’t had anyone fun around here to work with in a long time.”
“What makes you think I’m fun?”
The wry grin spread a little wider. “Oh, I can tell.”
“Clearly, I should trust your judgment, since I’m the new guy around here. Not even the new guy. I’m a new guy hopeful.”
Mariana giggled. “You’re adorable. Where did you come from before this?”
“Northern Lake Community in Traverse City.”
Her eyes brightened. “You’re from Michigan?” She held up her right palm and pointed at a space near the crook of her thumb. “I spent some time in Fairgrove. What about you?”
Layne’s pulse hitched up a notch. He hadn’t expected to talk Michigan trivia with someone who’d lived there, beyond what he knew already and what he’d researched in his bio. “I’m not from there, actually. I was born in New Jersey and grew up in Colorado.”
“Oh,” Mariana said, seeming a little disappointed. “What took you to Michigan?”
“Same thing that brought me out to California. Work.”
She sighed. “Isn’t it a shame we have to spend the best part of our days every day working? Seems like there’s a better way we could occupy our time.”
“It’s not work if you love what you do.”
“Slow down, Louie,” she said, giggling. “You don’t have to put on your interview candidate face with me. I’m not in those little staff meetings about hiring.”
He raised his hands in surrender and gave her a crooked smile to return her flirty attitude. “Busted.”
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
A hint of motion passed at the corner of Layne’s eye. Someone sweeping through the hall. It took Layne half a second to realize it had been Jonah, dress shoes clacking on the floor.
“Nice to meet you, Mariana. If you’ll excuse me for one second, I need to say hello to someone.”
“Sure. I’ll be seeing you around. Hopefully more often, right?”
“Yes. For sure.” He left her there and ventured out into the hall, trailing his target by fifteen feet. Jonah kept walking, a cluster of file folders in his hand.
“Wade,” Layne said.
A second later, Jonah turned around. His eyes trailed down to Layne’s breast pocket, where he was wearing a nondescript visitors badge with only a red letter V on it. “Howdy. Can I help you?”
“Don’t you remember me? We met at the fundraiser.”
For a few ticks, Jonah appeared confused. Then, his face changed, but Layne could tell he was faking the recognition. “Sure. You’ll have to forgive me, I knocked back a few too many that night. I don’t remember much after the silent auction.”
“I was going to bid on the radio appearance.”
“Oh, that sounds like a good ol’ time. Did you?”
“No, man, I didn’t bid. I was only thinking about it.”
Jonah's lips swished back and forth, and he glanced down at the file folders clutched under his arm. He looked uncomfortable, lost, as if not sure where he was supposed to be at the moment.
Layne took a couple steps closer. “Louis Pastori. You don’t remember meeting me?”
“Sorry, no. No offense, really. I ain’t supposed to drink, but it happened, so what can you do?”
“What about the name Jonah Bramble? Thorny? Do those names mean anything to you?”
Layne had hoped to cause a break in the façade, and he almost thought he saw it, briefly. Jonah's eyebrows knitted together, but only for a split second. “I don’t… sorry. Can’t say I know that name. Do they work here?”
“They might.”
An awkward second or two followed, and then Jonah pivoted his body away from Layne. “Sorry, Louis, I’m late for a meeting. But I hope you find your friend, if you’re looking for them.”
With that, Jonah turned, and Layne watched him disappear down the hall.
INTERLUDE #1
New Orleans, LA | Six Years Ago
Layne watches Jonah Bramble drop his suitcase onto the hotel bed. Hands on hips, a scowl on face.
“This is such horseshit,” Jonah says.
Layne, calm, studies Jonah to decode whether his operational partner wants him to ask what’s horseshit, or only to listen. Sometimes, it can be hard to tell with him. After a moment, Jonah looks at him, expectantly.
“What’s up, man?” Layne says.
Jonah takes a letter from his back pocket and hands it over to Layne. It’s from NYU, where he earned his advanced degree in psychology. “You want me to read this?”
“No,” Jonah says, waving a hand. “I think I just wanted someone else to touch it so I could make sure it’s real, and not a figment of my damn imagination.”
Layne bounces the envelope in his palm, feeling the weight. “Pretty sure it’s real. What is it?”
“I got it this morning, and only read it while you were in the bathroom just now. It’s about my student loans. There was an error in the database, and they mixed me up with some other J.Bramble, and turns out, I owe a lot more than I thought.”
“That is horseshit.”
Defeated, Jonah slumps onto the bed. He stews as his eyes crawl over the room. The interior of this hotel room is done up in a gold-t
inged art deco style, with throwback everything. There’s a pattern on the ceiling, and Layne watches Jonah follow the lines from one side to the other.
“I’ll bet you can get Control to make a few phone calls,” Layne says.
“Maybe. I’ll ask her.” He grunts as he sits up. Then, he wanders over to the window and draws back the ornate green curtains, overlooking Bourbon Street. Outside, it’s the day before St. Patrick’s day, so Bourbon is drenched in green. Loud and colorful, coursing with neon. “Do you know why she’s called that? No one ever told me.”
“I do, actually,” Layne says. “I gave her that handle.”
Layne doesn’t tell him the context. Some members of the ever-shifting team have ideas about Layne and Daphne, about how they used to sleep together, but not everyone. Layne wants to keep it that way. Even though their secret string of trysts has ended now that he’s with Inessa, Layne doesn’t want people on the team to think Daphne might play favorites with him.
He joins Jonah by the window. Across the street, on a slim balcony with a rusted metal railing, a line of women lift their shirts. On the street below, several dozen college boys yell and chuck green beads at the young ladies. A flood of camera flashes light up the ground level as many of the onlookers hold up their phones, snapping pictures and shooting video.
The people on the street move like a writhing organism. Layne has seen few pedestrian areas in the world that can rival the frenzy below.
“If you think this is bonkers,” Jonah says, “you should see it during Mardi Gras. It’s full-on nuts. Cops stand there with beers in their hands, letting whatever happen.”
“Seriously?”
Jonah chuckles. “I shit you not. I was here about ten years ago, and saw a woman going down on a guy right there on the sidewalk, while two cops stood about ten feet away, just watching the show.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yeah, but it’s like Vegas when you’re away from the Strip. Outside the Quarter, it’s a relatively quiet town.”
“I didn’t think it would be cold here in March,” Layne says.