by John Etzil
They followed me inside. I gestured to the kitchen table. “Sit. Make yourselves at home. Want anything to drink? Water, coffee, bourbon?”
“No, thanks. Can I use your bathroom?” the second agent asked.
“Sure, down the hall, first door on the left.”
“Thanks.” He walked away. I swear he was walking funny…
I made small talk with Kennedy while waiting for the other agent to clean his panties. He returned a few minutes later, looking more relaxed and at ease, and joined us at the table.
Kennedy turned to me. “We’re trying to locate an undercover special agent who has gone missing.”
My heart skipped a beat. Deep down, I’d feared that one of Ostrich Boy’s entourage could be an undercover agent, but I didn’t want to think about it. You always ran that risk, especially when HFS turned up a light criminal record for the guy. But there was no way for me to be sure. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Pull him aside and say, “Psst. Hey, buddy, wink wink. Do you work for the FBI?”
I did my best to sound surprised and appear interested. “Oh?”
“Yeah, he was last seen in Summit.” He reached inside his suit breast pocket and took out a photo. He laid it down on the table. I looked into the eyes of the skinny guy who was lying under tons of dirt at the bottom of my well.
“This is Special Agent Jerry Skillman.”
Was.
“Haven’t seen him,” I said.
“We know he was at the Red Barn, and we also know that you were present at the same time.”
“Really? Huh. The Red Barn? When? And who told you?”
“We tracked his cell phone, and we think something may have happened to him while he was there with his associates. All three have gone missing. Earlier today, we interviewed the workers and some of the patrons of the Red Barn. They were surprisingly standoffish towards us. One little old lady even told us to go fuck ourselves. After she grabbed my ass.”
“Oh my.” I held my hand to my mouth and feigned concern over Frances’s use of such terrible language, then I hit them with the fake news story I’d created on the Internet over the last few days. “Wait. Does this have anything to do with those three mobsters that bugged out and joined the witness protection plan?”
“What? Where’d you hear about that?”
“It’s all over the Internet.” Which was true. A few well-placed tweets and Facebook posts on some popular accounts that I hacked into was all it had taken to create the fake news story of the year. Even the President tweeted about the missing trio…
People were so gullible. They just retweeted and reposted stuff that they had no idea was false, spreading the virus of misinformation until it blossomed into reality.
I’m sure Sam’s mob associates were shocked to hear the news, but since it was all over the place and some of his associates really did rat him out just a few weeks ago, it was believable.
The FBI couldn’t comment on who decided to join the squealing rat club, which meant that Sam’s buddies would be even more convinced that my fake news stories were real.
HFS also turned up a few interesting tidbits regarding the disappearance of one of Sam’s crew, a fellow called Tough Tommy. I’m guessing that someone in Sam’s crew was “tipped off,” ahem, about the plans Sam and Tommy were hatching. Once the seed was planted in the paranoid brains of his fellow mobsters, it was an easy call to take a look at Tommy’s cell phone.
The texts with the missing trio were read, analyzed, debated, and a conclusion was drawn. It was all over for Tough Tommy. Too bad he’d never learned how to erase a text chain…
Kennedy stared at me, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “We heard that rumor too. But I can assure you that since the FBI runs the witness protection program, we know who joins it.”
I stared blankly at him.
He looked away and continued, “Do you remember anything unusual that happened at the Red Barn last weekend?”
“No, not at all. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
I stood up and showed them the door. They each reached into their leather card-carrying cases and handed me one of their business cards.
“Please call if you hear anything.”
“Yes, I most certainly will.” Don’t hold your breath.
I closed the door behind them and threw their cards in the fireplace.
37
My cell phone rang. It was Mary Sue’s mom, Meredith.
“Hi, Mer.”
“Can we talk?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“Not on the phone, in person. Tiby’s Coffee Shop? About four?”
“Sure. See you then.”
What was that about?
I knew the second I walked in and saw her face that something was wrong. She smiled, and that was always a great sight, but I could tell by the way her face was contorted that something wasn’t right. She got out of her chair and hugged me. Tight. That was new. We’d gotten together many times over the years, but she’d never been this touchy-feely with me. She looked up at me, tears welling in her red-rimmed eyes.
“You look great, Jack.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Thanks, you too. Been too long. Um, hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just glad to see you,” she sniffled and finger-wiped a tear from her cheek. “I know what happened.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know what you did, and I wanted to thank you for saving our daughter. In person.”
My heart skipped two beats. I was speechless, so she continued; “We have security cameras in our house.”
Oh. Shit.
“Really?” I replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Really. When Stu and I returned from Key West I went to do my usual house cleaning, and I noticed that my cleaning supplies were almost empty. They were full when we left. So I figured I’d better, what’s that term the sportscaster’s always use, ‘go to the video tape?’ So I saw everything that happened in our kitchen…”
“Oh.”
“I wanted to thank you.”
“Okay.”
“But that’s not all.” She looked down at the floor. “This is really hard for me, but after seeing the video, I needed to finally tell you, so here goes.” She took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. “I never regretted our affair. Not for a second. Mary Sue’s just so special. She’s so much like you, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to have her in my life. And… I’ve loved you since high school.”
My jaw dropped and bounced off the table three times before I regained control. “What?”
“It’s true. I made a mistake marrying Stu. He’s great and all. A fantastic provider, a great husband, a great dad too. But he doesn’t make my heart skip a beat when he walks into the room. Like you do. Did. I mean.”
After a long pause to think about the bomb she’d just dropped on me, I continued the conversation. “So why didn’t you marry me instead? You knew how I felt about you.”
“I panicked. I’m sorry, but you were such a rich and spoiled carefree party animal, I never thought you would amount to anything. With the baby coming, I needed someone I could count on. Someone reliable. Plus I figured you were just doing the manly thing—you know, offering to marry the woman who you got pregnant. And of course the great sex only clouded your feelings for me. And I had this commitment to Stu. I couldn’t just back out of our wedding.” She looked at me and shrugged.
Maybe it was because I would have never found Cheryl if Meredith and I had gotten hitched. Or maybe I’d never really loved Meredith as much as I’d thought I did, but I didn’t see any reason to keep beating ourselves up over this. No more living in the past.
I let out a sigh. “You’re right. I can’t say I blamed you. In fact, I’d say you made the right decision. Stuart’s a good man.” I quickly changed the subject. “How’s Mary Sue?”
She hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath as if in resignation that it was time to move on.
“Oh, she’s fine. I hope you’re not upset, but I wanted her to be able to vent, so I told her I saw the security video. She cried on my shoulder for a while, but after that she’s been fine.”
“Good. I’m glad that you told her. It’s important that she be able to confide in you. She’s a great kid. You and Stuart deserve a lot of credit. You two did a great job raising her.”
“Thanks, but she’s got your spunk, your fire, your character, I see it in her eyes every day, and I tear up just thinking about it.” She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
I looked at her, unsure of what to say. I’d been friends with her in high school and had always liked her. A lot. But I’d been too shy to act on it.
I’d found she had feelings for me when we’d gotten drunk at a holiday party one year when I came home from Notre Dame for Christmas break. We’d wound up having sex in the backseat of my BMW—no easy feat for someone as big as me, mind you. And, she’d gotten pregnant.
To make matters worse, she was engaged to be married to Stuart. We were horrified. Her at being pregnant, me at that, plus the fact that I’d gotten drunk and slept with another man’s woman.
I would have regretted it, except that Mary Sue came with the deal, and she was something to thank God for. And I did. Every night I dropped to my knees and prayed hard for her. To guide and watch over her. To keep her healthy and to help her make good strong decisions in life. To keep her “parents” healthy and wise. I’ve never been a very religious man, but so far so good.
“Do you think Stuart’s ever suspected that Mary Sue wasn’t his daughter?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. I never told him, of course, but he is a smart guy. If he does know, he never let on. And he does kind of look like you.” She winked at me and took a sip of her coffee.
“He really is a good man.”
“Yes, he is.” She napkined another tear away.
“Why this? And why now?”
“Because I watched the whole video. I saw what happened, Jack. I don’t know how it started, I’m guessing it’s a Red Barn thing, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you stopped it.” She flashed me a small, comfortable smile, and held my eyes. “And I read the papers. I read about the three missing mobsters. I recognized the one from the video. He’s a bad man.”
She looked around and leaned in close, like she was preparing to pass me Russian nuclear weapon secrets. “Sammy. Sammy something,” she whispered. “The papers say they went off grid and did that witness protection thingy. But we know better.” She smiled and winked at me.
She reached across the table and grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight.
“Thank you for saving her. I know how it works with those mob people. How it’d never end if you followed the rule of the law. Something that you pride yourself in doing.”
If she only knew...
“Did Stuart see the security video?”
“No. Soon as I watched it, I deleted it. Nobody will ever know, as long as that wussy ex-boyfriend keeps his mouth shut. Aren’t you worried about him telling?” She laughed and shook her head. She paused for a second, and a seriousness returned to her face that I rarely saw in her. She leaned in close again. More top-secret highly classified document passing. She whispered, “At one point, I thought you were going to shoot him.”
I laughed it off. “Ha. I guess you haven’t heard? I convinced Harold to join the Marines. He reports to Paris Island in a few weeks. We’re going to have a going away party for him next Saturday at the Red Barn. I hope that you and Stuart can make it.”
“Oh, that’s good. Yeah, Stu is off next Saturday. And he always liked Harold, so I’m sure that he’d like to go.”
“Excellent,” I stood up to leave and gave her a hug and a smile. “Just keep him away from Frances.”
Epilogue
While I was busy dumping Fat Sam into the Atlantic, Debbie found London still alive so she rushed him to the Vet for an emergency operation.
He’d taken a bullet to his chest and wound up expiring on the operating table, but the Doc told me that his heart condition was a lot worse then he thought, and even though the bullet did kill him, his time was very limited. As in ‘I’m surprised he lasted this long’ limited. That would explain how tired he seemed all of the time.
I couldn’t help but admire him even more now, going out in a blaze of glory like that. Leave it to London to come through one final time and save the day. I could only hope that I would be that lucky when my time was up.
I built a coffin for him out of some pressure treated lumber. I put his bed in the coffin and laid him down on his right side, his favorite way to sleep. He looked so peaceful. Debbie tossed in a few of his treats, along with his chew toys, and I placed a photo of Cheryl next to him to keep him company.
We buried him right next to my hammock, so that he’d always be by my side.
A week from Tuesday I have an appointment to get my first tattoo. It’s going on my chest. When I showed Jamie at the tattoo shop in Cobleskill the photo of a head shot of London that Cheryl took when he was only a year old, she smiled and nodded. “Nice.”
* * *
The end
* * *
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December 27, 9:43 p.m.
Two hours before the event
* * *
As the big airliner climbed past twenty-four thousand feet, the air pressure detonator worked exactly as planned. In retrospect, it was all too easy. A small metal box, about the size of a child’s shoebox, held the components of the bomb: a nine-volt battery, a small brick of C-4 plastic explosive, a sealed glass capsule, and a digital timer.
The box was attached to the forward bulkhead in the unpressurized nose cone of the airliner. The reduction in air pressure as the airliner climbed in altitude caused the air inside the thimble-sized glass capsule to expand until it burst. The shattering of the capsule completed an electrical circuit and started the digital timer.
In two hours, the timer would reach zero, and the nine-volt battery would fire an electrical charge to the blasting cap in the C-4. The blasting cap would detonate the C-4, and the explosion would rip apart the big airliner, sending the three hundred plus holiday vacationers to their deaths.
Airliner Down Chapter 2
Five hours before the event
* * *
Inside Terminal Six at Los Angeles International Airport, off-duty airline pilot Kevin McSorley rolled his carry-on luggage over the gray tiled floor towards the check-in station at his departure gate. Midevening on a Tuesday in the week between Christmas and New Year’s was a quiet time for the airlines, and he had the terminal mostly to himself. Off-key, he sang out loud, “Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” as he made his way through the terminal. He daydreamed about his upcoming flight to Hawaii and the six nights he would spend in a five-star hotel with a beautiful woman. His woman. “Tis the season to be jolly…”
His iPhone vibrated in his pocket, indicating a new text message. He retrieved it, and as if on cue to verify their strong mental connection, it was Margie.
Margie: Just got in, hotel rocks!
Kevin: cool, you naked yet?
Margie: Still in the lobby
Kevin: is that a yes or no?
Margie: Sophomoric
Kevin: just at gate now
Margie: Wow, u r early. Can’t wait, eh?
Kevin: u bet, baby!
Margie: Hitting the gym and then the lounge for food
Kevin: don’t pick up any strangers
Margie: Define stranger??
Kevin: sophomoric
Margie: Kisses. Hurry here!
Kevin: XOXO all over
Margie: Waiting up for u w cold beer
Kevin: nice! send photo
Margie: Of coors light?
Kevin: of u naked
Margie: No, use your imagination
Kevin
: roger. gotta check in now, babe. Kisses
Margie: Luv u
Kevin: u 2 ;-)
Kevin smiled, pocketed his phone, and headed over towards the gate that had “Flight 2262 LAX–HNL: On Time” illuminated above the check-in counter. He looked around at the near-empty terminal and checked the time: 6:47 p.m. He had arrived early for his 9:15 p.m. flight and looked forward to putting on his headphones and relaxing to some classical music for the first time in a while.
Kevin recognized the slim brunette ticket agent at his gate as soon as he spotted her. Tess. Her dark skin and long, slightly wavy black hair that reached down to the middle of her back were a perfect complement to her bright smile and pretty features. Close to thirty, she still showed off the athletic remnants of being a collegiate swimmer in the form of a tight body, something every man within fifty feet took notice of.
“Hi, Tess,” he said.
Tess stopped what she was doing, looked up at him, and greeted him with a smile. “Well, hello, Captain.” She looked him up and down, and a look of snarkiness overtook her as she noticed his unusual attire: sneakers, jeans, and a button-down Hawaiian-style shirt along with an LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Wow, someone’s letting their hair down,” she said in reference to his normally streamlined and stoic captainly appearance. “Will you be joining us to Hawaii tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, I will.” Kevin smiled back at her, leaned on the counter, and handed her his buddy pass, the airline employee equivalent of a general admission ticket. Even if his flight was sold out, the buddy pass allowed him to sit on the fold-down jump seat in the cockpit. The jump seat was small, and the two-person cockpit was overly snug when a third person rode along, but it got the job done.
“Damn,” Tess said. An exaggerated pout appeared on her otherwise perfect face. “Wish I was going to Hawaii. I did my friend a favor and traded flights with her.” Her almond-shaped green eyes looked right at him. “Now I’m sorry I did that. Your flight crew has a three-day layover in Hawaii, and a three-day layover with you would have been fun.”