No Place to Hide

by Opa Hysea Wise

  “How could I forget? I was barely out the door when it hit the fan.”

  “Well, after Chris was acquitted, we started an investigation. One of the partners at your firm was intimately involved in some shady dealings during court proceedings, and it had far-reaching consequences outside just this city.”

  “What?!”

  “I can’t go into specifics over the phone. Suffice to say, you got out just in time.”

  “Who else was investigated?”

  “What I can tell you is that you were cleared. You weren’t the attorney on record. But some did call your timing into question.”

  “You know why I left. What little I knew of the case, I still knew the guy was guilty. Yet the firm still took on the case and got the guy off. He had ties to some local chem company. That acquittal cost the witness her life. I just couldn’t—”

  “I know, I know. That’s one of the reasons I chose you for this assignment. You’re stellar, Artie. You can’t be bought, and you can’t be intimidated. Look—I’m only bringing up the Chris case because you were left completely in the dark about what was happening two floors above you. Right now, with this case, I just need you to look at all angles. All of them. Question everything and everyone. Your sole job is to stay ahead of the ring, keep me informed, and keep Smythe alive.”

  “I get that, but information goes both ways. What you know, I need to know.”

  “I’ll do my best. I’ve got a bit of a hunch, but I’m working on the evidence.”

  Although she held little hope of persuading the District Attorney for an earlier trial date, Carole agreed to at least try. She was suspicious of holding ongoing conversations about Smythe over the phone and opted to meet with Artie in person. She set up several in-person meetings over the next several weeks before abruptly ending the call.

  Artie stood, clenching her jaw and holding her hands in tight fists. She was suspicious of the FBI and considered that there was a leak within the FBI that perhaps Carole was unaware of. How else could the syndicate know of Smythe’s existence? The reference to the Chris case also troubled her. She unconsciously cupped the bottom of her throat. She had held a suspicion about the witness’ safety and voiced her concern to her agency’s law partners. They discounted it, steadfastly stating their client was innocent; therefore, the witness was safe from harm by their client. Grief began to swell within her.

  I should have reached out to Carole. Told her what I suspected. And now the witness…

  Artie cleared her throat and motioned to Dennis, who sat in an SUV outside Smythe’s apartment. Together, they reviewed team logistics for Smythe’s protection. She also wanted an update. While the trial would be months away, Artie placed her number two in charge of interviewing potential new team members who would be assigned as needed during the course of the trial.

  “I like four of them—I’m running background on them now. I should receive the reports back in about three weeks, and I’ve just received a new batch of apps. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Excellent. We’re going to need four additional teams of two. Keep on it; we may not have a whole lot of time. Get them on my calendar when you’ve decided they’re worth the trouble to interview.”

  “You ok, boss?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. Old wounds. I’m going to take one of the team vehicles. I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Hang out with Smythe until my return.”

  Artie left the complex and chose a route that skirted the city limits, eventually taking her to an isolated dirt road. The road rambled around the side of a hill through a smattering of oak trees. She continued to bounce along the rocky road, deep into the hills, until the road abruptly ended. She peered up at the steep slope, which rose before her as she parked her car. The rolling hills around her showed signs of recent use. She exited and stood beside her vehicle, hands on her hips, her eyes following a line of the undulating terrain. Gashes scarred the gravel beneath her feet and lances of sunlight speared clumps of dirt unearthed by recent travel through the area.

  Off roaders.

  She remembered the journey she made to this area after hearing the news that the witness against her law firm’s client had been brutally murdered. She walked forward up the rising slope and retraced her steps along a sparsely wooded path. She could hear the soles of her boots scrunch the mixture of fallen leaves and gravel beneath her feet. After several minutes, she pushed her hand through a thickening of oak tree branches and arrived at a clearing. Twenty or so feet in front of her, the clearing gave way to a steep jagged drop-off. The hush of silence surrounded her. She breathed deeply and surveyed the vista of rolling hills below. A freeway off in the far distance was light with traffic in both directions. She rested her gaze on the drop-off. It was there where the victim’s body was found. She looked up to the oak trees. The spot offered her a bit of shade. She bent low, grasping at the dirt in front of a small wooden cross with carved initials, standing no more than a foot high among a patch of dandelions at the base of a tree. She sat down next to the cross, picking at the dandelions. She spoke no words, but sat in quiet peace, staring out onto the vista.

  She remained at the memorial for close to an hour before she stood up, brushing off the back of her pants. The dandelion bunch she picked laid before the cross. Turning to leave, she paused briefly, her words caught in her throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, returning somberly to her vehicle.

  Until You Needed Me

  LATER IN THE DAY, ARTIE RELIEVED DENNIS, WHO SAT ON SMYTHE’S sofa reviewing electronic applications of potential new team members. She glanced toward Smythe and assumed she was still seated in the same position since the last time she checked in on her. She casually strode into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and set the glass on the table in front of Smythe.

  “It’s been several hours, and you haven’t moved from that seat. If you don’t mind me saying, you need to stay hydrated.”

  Smythe picked up the glass and drank from it until she had drained it. She realized she was thirstier than she thought, but too engrossed in her learning to stop and do something about it.

  “Thank you. I do tend toward dehydration, but I have shifted.”

  Staring at the empty glass, Artie moved past Smythe and sat on the sofa.

  “So, I’m curious, what have you learned today? I mean, your lessons.”

  “Well, to begin with, I learned a pretty cool activity to help people begin to gain clarity. I then learned some language to use for a seminar that I am planning to offer when I get back from my first conference.”

  Conference?! Seminar?! Artie made a mental note. “When is the conference?”

  “In a couple of months. I’ll give you the calendar of trainings.”

  “And the seminar?”

  “I haven’t scheduled it yet. Once I do, I’ll let you know. There will probably be several of them. It’s required for my coaching and training certification, and they will prepare me for the conference.”

  “Ok. That would be helpful. So, how has the learning helped you?”

  “What do you mean?” Smythe said, annoyed.

  “No offense, Smythe. I read your file. From where I’m sitting, you jumped off a ledge to pursue a dream. That takes a fair amount of courage. I know a lot of people wouldn’t have done what you did. I also know that even when you decided to jump, there still wasn’t a lot of clarity. People like you and me; we just know we need to jump. As we’re jumping, we figure things out. I’m wondering what you have learned that you can implement in your own life as it is right now.”

  Smythe smiled and nodded. Settle down, Smythe. She’s just making conversation. “Sounds like you’ve had some experience with jumping.”

  “I do. I was an FBI agent before becoming a criminal defense attorney in a large law firm. It was busy and very profitable. Only thing was, I wasn’t happy. My office was often defending some pretty bad people. I must admit that on at least one occasion, my firm’s clients did some hor
rendous things.” Artie paused, her eyes examining the geometric pattern of the front door.

  Smythe gazed at Artie. “I’m sorry. That had to have been difficult. I do find it interesting that you’ve been on two sides of the law, though. Law enforcement and defense attorney. Sounds like you were at a bit of a crossroads back in the day.”

  “Back in the day? I’m only seven years older than you!” Artie said with a smile, continuing to gaze at the front door.

  “I was at a crossroads, though. My firm cost someone their life. It was a dark time for me then. A really dark time. Finally, I had enough. So, I took a step back, used some vacation time, and when I returned, I up and quit. I had to really figure out what I valued and what it was that lit a fire under me; what made me burn inside.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “By first determining what I didn’t want. I didn’t want the bureaucracy of the FBI or the District Attorney’s office, but I also didn’t want to get the bad guys off either. From there, I thought about what I wanted. What I discovered was that I am passionate about fighting for the underdog—the people caught in the middle of both worlds. I realized then that I have a keen sense of justice and fairness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say, there are a lot of people who find themselves in difficult circumstances. They just need a little help to do the right thing for their lives. That’s where I decided to come in. So, I quit and opened up this agency. I knew just enough information to be dangerous, but I had crazy passion. With a lot of work and a fair amount of courage, I slowly built the business to what it is today. Many of my clients like you cooperate in FBI investigations.”

  “A personal security agency?”

  “Yes. It’s the best of both worlds. I don’t have bureaucracy nipping at my heels, running my decisions about cases by anyone, and I don’t have to defend bad guys.”

  “Hmmm. I had never even heard of you until you showed up beside my car.”

  Artie turned toward Smythe. “You didn’t need me until you needed me, and you wouldn’t have known about my agency anyway. I don’t advertise. I like to say my job is to make a mess of things behind the scenes and then put it all back together again seamlessly in favor of my client.”

  “You mean like having your car hit instead of mine?”

  “Well, kinda. And even at that, I’ve sat with what happened and analyzed it. Could I have done things differently? If so, what? I’m always fine-tuning. I have to. People’s lives are at stake. But, back to my original question. Has the learning helped you?”

  “I have more questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Such as?”

  “How do you get clients? I didn’t seek you out, yet I’m your client. How?”

  “Referrals. All of my clients are referred to me, even you. You have a benefactor whose name even I don’t know. That person, for whatever reason, has a vested interest in keeping you alive.” Artie eyed Smythe. Although Carole would not reveal the name or the relationship the benefactor potentially had to Smythe, Artie wanted to figure it out. Now was as good a time as any to ask Smythe if she knew.

  “So, you don’t know who it is? I thought it was the FBI,” Smythe said.

  “No, it’s not the FBI. They do want to keep you alive, but they’re not footing the bill for your round-the-clock protection. I honestly don’t know who it is, but my referral says the person is legitimate. Do you know who the benefactor could be?”

  Smythe’s eyes widened. “Why would I? I don’t know anyone with that kind of money. And I haven’t told anyone about what I saw. Except for Joao, and I just told him.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was there.”

  “No one knows you are protecting me except for the FBI.” Smythe remained quiet for a moment. “Artie, should I be worried? About who it is, I mean.”

  “Nah. Worry is my job. Besides, whoever it is has got to be on our side. At any rate, you were asking me about how I get clients.”

  “Yes. So, if all of your clients are referrals, that must make it difficult to get clients.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t. With the work that I do, there is usually no shortage. Former clients, friends, or families of former clients—they all refer people to me. Some cases I take, some I do not. I just have to be patient. The right work always comes along. Even when hiring new agents. There is never a shortage of applicants.” Artie smirked as she thought about those who had applied for a position in her agency. Current and former law enforcement, ex-military personnel. Everyone wanted to work with her.

  “So, am I the right work?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Smythe sat perfectly still, pondering Artie’s response.

  “Why am I the right—”

  “You ready to answer my question?”

  Smythe scrunched her nose. “Sure. The year-long training program I’m now getting into, which may seem otherworldly, I’m actually convinced will allow me to continue training and coaching but at a much deeper level than I have at any other time in my career. Of course, there will be opportunities to weave this knowledge into some of my prior courses and offer them to organizations, which really excites me. Yet, honestly, when I strip away that side of my business, the thing that ignites my fire is writing. I have a constant novel in my head at all times. I’m always creating a storyline, especially as I’m learning new concepts.”

  “I’d love to read some of your work sometime.”

  “Perhaps. But it all has to get written. So, I spend about two-thirds of my day working on the business side of things and devote one third to writing.”

  “Makes for some long days, I’m sure.”

  “Usually, about 16-17 hours.”

  “I’ll let you get back to it then.”

  Smythe smiled. It was nice to get to know a more personal side of her protector. She continued to work until early evening, and by the time she completed her day, she was mentally exhausted. She found herself beginning to nurse a slight headache and realized she was ravenous. She sighed as she walked toward her bedroom. It was very much like Smythe to go for several hours—sometimes a full twelve hours—before she would wrestle herself into the kitchen to make a bite to eat.

  Not good, she thought. You’re increasing your mileage and need fuel.

  While Smythe changed clothes, Artie sprung for pizza for her team and had them deliver a box to the apartment. Once Artie and Smythe finished dinner, they watched whatever was on one of the few channels Smythe paid for on television. As the evening turned to night, Smythe excused herself for bed.

  “I’d like to get a five-mile run in before I head to the baker’s shop tomorrow. It’s been a few days, and I really feel the need to run.”

  “Outside?! I don’t think so.”

  “No. The gym here at the complex.”

  “Ok. When are you getting up?”

  “Probably 2:00 a.m.”

  “Ooof! Is this a habit?! Because if it is, 9 p.m. is a bit late to be going to bed.”

  “Yes. Lately, it’s been a normal wake up time. At least if I want to run before seeing the baker, which I do. I’m sorry to have kept you up. Thank you again for dinner. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  Restless

  SMYTHE WOKE WELL BEFORE HER ALARM SOUNDED. SHE LAY IN BED, tossing from one side to the other, siphoning energy from her here-now moment by reviewing her to-do list. For her, the workload seemed daunting. Not only did she have to learn the course material, but she had to integrate it into her own life. She turned to lay on her back. She did not want to get up, but she could feel her shoulders tighten. Unable to coax herself back to sleep, she tumbled out of bed in a huff. She opened her chest of drawers and pulled out running attire. She dressed quickly, trying to move past the stress that came with no sleeping, and strode into the kitchen.

  Artie was just beginning to stir. She peered up at the oval wall clock hanging against the wall over the kitchen pantry door. It read 1:00 a.m. “Oof,” she quietly s
aid to herself as she leaned her elbow on the air mattress.

  Had I known she was this much of an early bird…

  She sat up and stretched long, her palms extending up toward the ceiling, before making her way to the bathroom to change.

  Meanwhile, Smythe puttered around the kitchen. She pulled her French press from the cupboard and set down two mugs. Once the coffee was ready, she poured herself a cup, inhaling its mesmerizingly nutty notes. She took a sip, feeling the body of it against her tongue as it slid down her throat. The first sip was always the best, in Smythe’s opinion. She looked down at Artie’s air mattress and continued to sip on her coffee as she prepared to leave, gathering her phone, earbuds, and a couple of towels.

  Artie returned to the kitchen, bypassing the mug Smythe left for her and pulled out a small thermos from the cupboard. Preoccupied with her previous conversation with Carole, she slowly added cream to her coffee, taking several sips before deflating her bed and storing it in the back of the dining room closet.

  The clubhouse was barely a two-minute walk from Smythe’s apartment. Still, unwilling to take any chances, Artie chose two teams to escort them both to the gym. They moved quickly along the mildew-stained walkway, providing a cocoon of protection around the pair. Smythe gazed beyond her team as they passed a small grassy park that sat between two buildings. Droplets of rain from the night before covered two well-worn park benches. She remembered sitting during the warmer months of the year, watching dogs bound along the grass, playing fetch with their owners. One of her favorite four-legged creatures, Lucas—a caramel-colored, four-month-old Labradoodle—would bounce up to her and stand in front of her, waiting for a response. Lucas’ human would give Smythe a handful of the dog’s favorite treats to offer him, which he gladly accepted. After a while, Smythe purchased the same treats and would wait patiently for Lucas to arrive with his human. Smythe smiled at her memory. It was love at first (and every) sight between them.