by Jay Heavner
“I thought it was all that plus my ability to cook.”
“That too. You can heat up my oven anytime, but duty calls. You know how it is in this line of work.”
“You don’t have to remind me. We’ve been fortunate. A lot of people in this line of work don’t last long. Even fewer find time for love and even fewer find time for a family.”
“So true, Mr. Smith.” Her eyes gazed down his body. “Looks like you’re ready to go again, but it will have to wait.” Mr. Smith whined as she rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom. The door shut and he could hear the sound of water running. His wife would soon be in the shower when the water got hot. Hot wife in a hot shower. Maybe he should sneak in and shower with her. He’d say he was being environmentally conscious, saving water, saving the planet. But perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea. He’d seen his wife in action, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of startling her. People had done that. A few lived when she wanted them to, but most didn’t. She was dangerous, but so was he. In their line of business, you had to be. You had to be smart, too, or you didn’t survive. You learned to improvise, and a little luck helped, also.
He quickly dressed and checked the compound surveillance. All seemed in order. They’d spent tons of money to secure this place. Even more so, none but the best trained would see it, and they’d done even more to thwart any effort of the best of the best attempting to gain entry. No system was foolproof, but theirs was second to none. A call came on the phone, but no number came up on caller ID.
“Yes?”
“Secure?”
“Yes. Secure here. There?” “Also secure.”
“L here.”
“M?”
“Near.” “Be ready.” “Job?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Nearby.” “Involving?”
There was a hesitation. “ODESSA.” An expletive rolled from his lips. “ODESSA?” “Correct.” Nothing was said for a long moment. “Well?”
“Game on.”
“M in agreement?”
Mr. Smith heard the shower water being turned off. “A moment,” he said. He cupped the phone in his hand over the receiver, rose, walked to the bathroom door pecked on the door. “Honey, I need to talk with you,” he said loudly.
“Okay,” she yelled.
He opened the door, and the steam in the room hit his face. “It’s important.” She pulled the curtain back far enough to reveal her face. “A job?” “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Nearby.”
Her eyes showed some surprise and concern. “Involving?”
“ODESSA.”
“ODESSA?”
“I’m in.”
She nodded. “We’re in.”
“We’re in,” he said into the phone.
The voice in the phone said, “Affirmative. We’ll be in touch. Be ready.”
He slipped out of the bathroom and sat at the desk as he finished the conversation concerning a minor detail he needed to be clarified. He sat at the table thinking deeply for a long moment and felt an arm slide around him from the back. He tensed, but knew he was at someone’s mercy. That someone licked his ear. “I have you just where I want you.”
Mr. Smith relaxed. He knew the voice cooing in his ear. “I was hoping it was you, Mrs. Smith.”
“You’d be dead by now if it wasn’t.”
“You always move silent as a stalking feline. It’s no wonder you got the nickname, The Cat. Teach me some more how you do that.”
“I will. And honey, it’s later.” He turned to face her. She held a towel to cover her. It dropped to the floor. “Oh my,” he said. “My prayers have been answered. Why the change of heart?”
She sat on his lap.
“Oh my, you smell good,” he said. “Fresh from the shower, and what’s that pleasant scent? Channel No. 5?”
“Close but no cigar. It’s ylang-ylang. I picked it up while in the Philippines.”
“It’s heavenly and makes me desire you more.” A lusty growl came from his throat. She began to unbutton his shirt. “Actually the ylang-ylang flower is what makes Channel No. 5 so sensuous and expensive. You know me. I’m too cheap to pay for that when I can get the same thing for less. And why the change of mind? Well, I’m a woman, and we can do that when we want. Also, we got the call. We have a mission. It’s close by, and we have some time. And it involves ODESSA.”
“We nearly died in the last encounter with them.” She continued unbuttoning his shirt and began to unfasten his pants. “We did. I’m female, your wife, I love you, and we could die very soon. Let’s make the most of today, husband.”
He smiled, and she stood up as did he also. His pants and shirt dropped to the floor. As he picked her up, a little squeal of anticipation slipped through her lips. He carried her to the bed, laid next to her, and pulled up the sheets. “Mrs. Smith, are you ready for some undercover work?”
“Ready and waiting.”
“I have a question for your first. Why did you use the regular towel and not the fancy decorator towels? It’s not like we ever have company or guests over to impress.”
She frowned. “The decorator towels are special and not for regular use. Don’t you see the difference?”
“No, not really. A towel’s a towel.” “It’s a little touch that makes me feel more feminine. With the line of work we’re in, it makes me feel better, more delicate, more ladylike.” “Don’t think I’ll ever understand women.” “Nor I. You know the old joke about God, a man wanting a bridge to Hawaii, and trying to understand women.”
He nodded. “I do. In that case, I’ll tell you what, next time you surprise me dressed only in a towel, use the fancy one.”
“Why? You already know what’s under the wrapper.”
“I do, but a fancy covering does make the gift package better, and you’re special.” She smiled. “I’ll take that under consideration. So, I guess I now understand why you only use those old cloth towels when you are done tinkering around with your gadgets, MacGyver.”
“MacGyver? How long have you known my nickname?”
“A while. You’re always improvising like he does except you use guns and kill when necessary.”
“True,” he said. “And I’m not a big fan of boats or water. You’re much better at that.”
“Honey. What are you waiting for? Enough talking from those sweet lips of yours. Kiss me, before I’m forced to attack you again.” Their bodies were soon entangled. Twenty minutes later, they lay in bed side by side. “Mr. Smith, I can’t get enough of you. The thought of dying makes me want to live more and love you more in the time we have. You know what I mean?”
“I do, but there are some things worth dying for.”
“Agreed and stopping whatever plans ODESSA has is one of them,” she said. “Honey, are we REDs?”
“Not yet, but soon I believe. We’ll know when the time comes. Retired, Extremely Dangerous, REDs. The time will come.
We’re set. Financially, we’re very well off. Most of the people in this line of work don’t live this long.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?” “What we usually do. We wait. We’re kinda like firemen. It’s mostly look - ing over your shoulder waiting for something to happen, but in our case, we’re on the front line. The fire’s already going somewhere. We can be proactive, light backfires, and put the active fires out.”
“Mr. Smith. I love it when you wax poetic.”
“Mrs. Smith, I thought you only kept me around for my body.” “That too. We are the good guys, right?” “We are and when I quit believing that, it will be time develop a plan for exit. I know some are only in it for the money and some have flipped, but yes, I believe we are the good guys.”
“Yes, we’re the good guys. So we wait?”
“We wait until we hear or see more, and I think I have a fair idea of where we should be watching?”
“And where might that be?”
He whispered somethi
ng in her ear. “I thought so,” she said.
CHAPTER 21
“Hey, Pastor Phil. There’s a fellow here says he needs to talk with you. Says he’s a friend of Bill Kenney.” “Bill Kenney?” A pregnant pause followed. “Lola, tell him I’m on the phone. Could take a few minutes. Tell him he can wait or make an appointment.”
“Okay, Pastor. I’ll do that.” The slim woman with a full head of bushy hair came around the corner from the hallway. “The pastor says you can make an appointment, or if you have the time, you can wait. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“I heard, and I’ll wait.” “Okay, take a chair. Got a pot of coffee over there. It’s fresh. Pastor runs on coffee. His last name should be Duncan.” She pointed. “There’s sugar and creamer in the cup next to the pot if you need it.”
“Thanks,” Roger said. “I like mine black.” He poured himself a cup full in a Styrofoam container and took a sip. “Hey, this is good. Tastes like medium roast. Just like I like it.” She smiled. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you around here before, Mr. Pyles. Are you new to the area?”
“I am. I’ve been kind of a homebody since I moved here from up north. I hadn’t gone out much till recently. It feels good to stretch my legs a bit, you know?”
“I’ve lived here all my life. My family moved here long ago. I’m sixth generation Florida Cracker. They came shortly after the Seminoles moved south before the Civil War. None of the family fought in the war. They were too busy driving beef north to feed the Confederate troops. An army rides on its stomach. A soldier can’t fight well if he’s starving.
“They were here when this place was all open range back when the range wars occurred. Some of my relatives died then. Few people know about the range wars in Florida. Most think of them all as out west. This place sure has changed over the years. Brevard County was a sleepy place till the Space Center was established. It boomed like crazy and then busted after the moon program drew to a close. The shuttle program pulled us out of that, and now it’s going strong until the next dumb president pulls the plug for some dumb reason. People need to know how important keeping ahead in space is.”
“No argument there, Miss Lola.”
“It’s Mrs., but you can call me Lola like everyone around here does.”
“Okay, you can call me Roger. Just curious, the range wars were a long time ago. How much do you know about those old wars?” “Some, not much. It was long before I was born. I’m the youngest in my family. My older siblings probably know more. My oldest brother is 31 years older than me. As I said, I don’t know a great amount, but I do remember as a young child when the subject came up, the room got quiet and the conversations were in hushed tones. Best I could figure out, some of the wounds were still fresh, and no one seemed to want to stir things up again. I think some of the descendants of both families are still deeply involved in Florida politics, and many would like to keep things quiet. Let sleeping dogs lie, they say. If you asked me, I’d say there are some things that happened in the past, people would like to keep buried and forgotten. That’s my opinion for what it’s worth. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I ran across something at the dig up at Windover outside of Titusville.”
“Now, I know why your name and face are familiar. You’re the fellow that was involved in finding the killer of the young woman at the dig into that old Indian burial site. And then you were involved when Stiltsville down in the Indian River behind here blowed up and burned down. It was all over the local paper, Florida Today. Did they get the story right?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Did they get it right? For the most part yes, but there were some omissions.”
“That’s pretty normal and about what I thought.”
They heard a door hinge squeak, and a voice called out, “Lola, did he stay?”
“He sure did, Pastor. Is it okay to send him back?” “Sure is. Could you get me a coffee too?” “Sure will, Pastor.” Lola looked at Roger and said, “Looks like he’ll see you now.” The phone began to ring, and she said, “Would you get him a cup and take it back? He likes it black like you do.”
“Sure thing.”
Lola answered the phone, “Hello, Riverside Baptist Church. Can I help you?” Roger watched as Lola tensed up. He could tell it wasn’t good news. Quickly, he got the coffee. He could see Lola wildly scribbling away on a notepad. She only repeated “Ah ha,” as she wrote. Her voice was tight and lines formed on her face. It was definitely not good news and seemed to be getting worse as she listened.
He turned the corner to the hallway to the office. Roger’s hands were full of coffee cups, so he said, “Okay to come in?” “Sure thing.”
Roger pushed the door aside with his foot and placed one cup before the pastor. “She got a phone call and asked me to bring this to you.” “And you are?” “Name’s Roger Pyles.”
“Thank you for the coffee. I’m Pastor Phil Nassey. Bill Kenney said you possibly would be showing up.” “I should have known. Old Bill’s quite a rascal.”
“He is. He sometimes shows up for services. I know he’s no saint, but saint or sinner, all are welcome here. This church is a hospital for the hurting and the sinners. It’s not a museum or mausoleum for the saints.”
“Aren’t the latter often called the frozen chosen?”
“They are. We have a few of those like any church does. We even have a few hypocrites, too.” “Really? Most places wouldn’t admit that.”
“We’re not most places. We deal with reality and it ain’t always pretty.”
“Yeah, I think your secretary just got one of those not pretty calls. She looked concerned.” “Yes, we’ve had more than our share of trials lately. Mr. Pyles, you’re quite welcome to attend any time. And if you’re going to let a hypocrite stand between you and God, it just means the hypocrite is closer to God than you are.”
“Call me Roger. That’s a good point. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Interesting. I thank you for the invitation and the coffee.” The Pastor said, “What was it you’re here for today?”
“Bill told me you may have some information about a case I’m working on. He said a local doctor may have passed something unusual on to you. Know anything about that?”
“It’s possible. Give me a minute.” The pastor rose from the chair and went through the door to the secretary’s desk. Roger could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Roger sipped at his coffee and studied the many books lining the room. The pastor was either well read, or a collector of books, or both.
A long minute late, the pastor returned. He shut the door behind him and said, “It was bad news, very bad. One of our senior members who’s been undergoing cancer treatment was on his way to the clinic with his wife driving. A car crossed the medium on US 1 down in Cocoa and hit them head-on. Neither survived.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Terrible news. You never know when your world will end or be turned upside down.” “How well I know that.”
Pastor said, “Lola’s notifying people and looking like I’ll be officiating a double funeral sometime soon.”
Roger bit his lip as a wave of grief hit him. How well he knew the shock and pain from losing loved ones.
“Are you okay, Mr. Pyles?” Roger let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes,” he said unconvincingly. “What was this information you have that could help me? And it’s Roger. Mr. Pyles sounds so formal.”
CHAPTER 22
The pastor sat down. “Lola’s a great secretary. Sometimes I ask her to sit in on these discussions, but the fewer people who know about this matter, the better. I always ask her to sit in when there’s a woman present. You can’t be too careful. There are women who would love to accuse you of doing something and ruin you and this church’s reputation. It’s just the corrupt and fallen world we must live in.”
“I can understand that. You can’t be too careful. I’ve heard Billy Graham never is with another woman alone and always has his hot
el rooms checked first for women planted there to cause trouble and ill fame to him, his family, and his ministry.”
“That’s all true. In this case, the information I give you is in confidence. It’s all true, but you can’t say you got it from me and especially not from the doctor. It’s crucial. It’ll have an effect on your case, but if you need it to build a case against someone, you’ll have to figure out a way to get the records without mentioning either of us.”
“I understand,” Roger said. “Troubles at the front door so if I need to, find the back door and use it. Are you gonna tell me where the key’s hidden?” “I already have. Figure it out.”
Roger’s face showed surprise, but he said nothing. He knew the pastor was walking a fine line, and there were landmines everywhere capable of taking out all in the vicinity. Roger said, “So what is it you can’t say?”
“Missy grew up in this church. Her parents still go here today. They were pretty strict with her as she was growing up. We had a band, and she was the drummer and a good one at that. She was a good kid, but she had a streak of rebellion in her. She left home after graduation and traveled with a rock band, I can’t remember the name, Heart or Head or something like that, some body part it was. They were making money and building a following, but the drugs, sex, and rock and roll were taking a toll on her. She knew she was going to end up dead if she continued down that path like so many others.”
“How do you know this, Pastor?”
“She told me shortly before her death.” “Go on.”
“While she wasn’t following the straight and narrow path, at least she was no longer roaring down the highway to hell in the fast lane.” The pastor continued, “She came back to the area, did some crazy stuff that drove her parents bananas though they never stopped praying for her or lost all hope. Missy got married on a whim. She was very impulsive and just as quickly realized she’d made a big mistake. They both wanted the divorce, but there was a lot of shouting, and hard feelings especially from her ex, and I believed what she told me. She hadn’t been feeling well for some time and finally went to the doctor. It was obvious something was wrong, but it took a fair amount of testing to figure out what the problem was pancreatic cancer.”