“But we’ll still hook up Saturday night, right? I don’t have that many more shots at you before you run off to Switzerland.”
“Absolutely. I just need the day to go through my stuff and sort it for long-term storage, and maybe look around for a cheaper place. It’s costing me a king’s ransom to keep it there.”
Monica seemed mollified by his explanation, and he pulled her closer, the lie now told, his deception an ugly necessity. She leaned her head back and invited him with a glance, and then he was consumed by her again. Their bodies joined in concert, a harmonious rhythm that was as effortless as it was by now familiar.
TWENTY-THREE
The World According To Sam
“I want to do a day’s surveillance, Jeffrey.” Jakes’ voice was flat over the pay phone, and Jeffrey could practically see the man’s face scowling as he spoke the words Jeffrey had been hoping not to hear.
“Why? I thought you said she was clean.”
“I don’t want to go off half-cocked. You need to trust me on this. When are you going to see her again?”
“Tonight. It’s Friday. She’ll spend the night at my place, and then take off tomorrow morning. I’m going to pick up the car at your office, remember?”
“Yeah. It’s already parked on the street. I drove it in today, filled it with gas, checked the tires. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have someone meet you at the office, and I’ll tail her from your place.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.” The single word had the finality of a jail door slamming shut, and Jeffrey swallowed hard at Jakes’ tone.
“Fine. She’ll be leaving at around nine a.m.” Jeffrey gave him the address. “You have her license number. Red Alfa convertible.”
“I know the car.”
“Can’t you tell me anything more?”
“Not until I have more information. Look, you hired me to do a job. Let me do it. I’ll get you a full report by Monday, okay?”
Jeffrey felt panicky, but bit it back. This wasn’t going anything like he’d expected after the preliminary report the day before.
“Okay. Do what you have to do. Just be certain. That’s all I ask.”
“That’s what you’re paying me for.”
The line went dead, and Jeffrey found himself staring at the phone in frustrated puzzlement. Jakes’ voice had given nothing away, and he’d refused to even hint at why he wanted to do the physical surveillance. Perhaps it was a gambit to get another day’s wages? Which, of course, Jeffrey would be happy to pay, especially when relieved to hear that she’d passed with flying colors. If so, it was a good strategy, and the man knew his human nature. There was no way Jeffrey could refuse to have absolute confirmation. He absently wondered whether he was being scammed, and then banished the thought. Jakes hadn’t struck him as shifty or artificial. And Jeffrey considered himself a good judge of human nature, even if he was now questioning the woman he was in love with.
The realization that he was in love stopped him.
But it didn’t surprise him. They’d only been together for a few weeks, but they had a powerful chemistry, and he was sure Monica felt the same way — which made it all the more critical for him to be certain about her. There was too much on the line for them both. If he made it out the other end of the nightmare he was involved in, he needed to know she would be there for him, and that what they had was something honest, not an artifice.
Jakes probably sensed all that. Which made his tactic a very smart one, if somewhat underhanded.
Whatever. Jeffrey would play along. It was only money, and he would gladly pay another grand or two to hear the truth, which in his heart he was already convinced of.
Saturday was there before he knew it, and when he parted from Monica it was bittersweet, for reasons only he understood. Once she was gone, he quickly got ready to hit the road. Fifteen minutes after she left he was behind the wheel of his car, driving to the moving company’s storage facility where he’d leave the BMW and grab a cab. He’d checked with them and confirmed that they would be open until eight that evening, and he could get access to his storage compartment all day.
Jeffrey parked in the lot and made his way into the cavernous building, pausing to use the bathroom and confirm the hours again with the sleepy desk clerk before slipping back out on the street. Looking around to ensure he was alone, he walked to the main boulevard to flag down a taxi, his cell phone in the car where he’d forgotten it again so he couldn’t be easily tracked. Luck was with him, and after a few tries a cab pulled to a stop. Jeffrey gave the driver Jakes’ office address and sat back, his thoughts on Monica.
As the car approached the office, he forced his focus back to the job at hand — his drive south to Roanoke and then into the wilds to see if his quarry was still living at the last known address on record, outside a small town called Boones Mill. Part of him hoped so, while another dreaded the meeting because of what it might uncover.
At the office, a desultory, unshaved young man sporting a Marlins baseball cap and a burgundy hoodie stood smoking by the entry. When Jeffrey approached him he looked up with a skeptical expression.
“You Rutherford?” he asked, making it sound like a slight.
“That’s me. Got the car?”
The man flicked the butt into the gutter and nodded, then walked down the block to where a black sedan hulked, its clear coat and much of its paint eaten away, looking every one of its at least fifteen hard years, the Keith Richards of cars.
The sullen man held out a key dangling from a chrome fob with a keyless entry remote and a Tecate bottle opener. “You got the money?”
Jeffrey exchanged the cash for the keys and took another appraising look at the dubious wreck, wondering if it would make it out of the city limits, much less hundreds of miles into rural Virginia. “I’ll be back by eight or so. Maybe earlier. Where should I leave the keys?”
“Drop them through the building mail slot with a note about where you parked it. I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to steal it.”
“Yeah. It’s got that going for it.”
The driver’s side door opened with a creak, and Jeffrey was assailed by a musty odor of mold mixed with stale cigarettes and vomit. He lowered all four windows before twisting the ignition, and the engine sputtered to life with a belch of white smoke. His host grinned crookedly and shook his head, and then turned with a wave and made his way down the street.
Jeffrey put the transmission into gear, two warning lights on the dashboard vying for his attention as he gave the car gas. To his surprise, it sprang forward with unexpected agility, and his concern about the vehicle’s reliability eased a few notches. After driving his BMW it felt as sluggish as a riding mower, but all he had to do was recall his Honda to readjust his attitude.
And of course, it had the benefit of not being bugged or tracked.
Hard to put that on the sales literature, but it was a feature that Jeffrey was grateful for.
He felt even more comfortable about his new steed once on the freeway headed southwest through rolling farmland, the car purring along at sixty-five, and he turned on the radio and tuned in a talk radio station where a right-wing commentator was lambasting the administration for some real or imagined offense. He quickly tired of the man’s strident rhetoric and angry delivery and scanned the dial until coming to a classic rock station where ZZ Top was burning up the frets.
Four hours later, he stopped at a fast food restaurant on the outskirts of Roanoke and got a shake and a hamburger crafted from hormonally augmented mystery meat. He sat outside at a white molded plastic table, enjoying the blustery mid-afternoon as he consumed his questionable meal. By his figuring, he was forty-five minutes away from the professor’s last known address, so he should have plenty of time to discover whatever there was to learn — assuming the man was still alive and living there.