Authors: Frank Hughes
My next clear memory is
of such indescribable warmth and comfort, I briefly assumed I had indeed died
and gone to heaven. Only heaven was surprisingly wet. I opened my eyes to find
myself in a big Jacuzzi tub, complete with scented bubble bath. It occurred to
me that God might be a woman.
“Ah, you’ve come back to
us.”
The voice was female and
familiar. I looked up to find Chief Catherine Masterson standing over me, hands
on her hips. She was in full uniform, but her holster was empty.
“I’m going to smell like
my grandmother’s sofa,” said a croaking voice I barely recognized as my own.
“You’re welcome, since
I’ll assume that was some sort of thank you.”
“How did I…?” I gestured
weakly with an arm that dripped big soap bubbles.
“Get here? You don’t
remember?”
“Not really. I think I
was on autopilot. For some reason I have a vague picture of the blue fairy in
my head.”
“There were no
fairies involved. That was my porch light.”
“Oh, my God. I must have
remembered that silly story of yours.”
“If it wasn’t for that
silly story you’d probably be dead. I dragged you off my front lawn.”
“You must work out.”
“You helped a little.
Very little. Let’s just say you’ve got bruises you didn’t have when you
arrived.”
“I see.”
“There’s coffee brewing.
How do you take it? Wait, I remember, black.”
“Right.”
“You should be about
ready to prune by now. Towel’s right there. Your clothes were a little rank.
Blood and God knows what else. That stuff on the vanity should fit you.”
“Thanks. Just one more
minute, Mom, then I’ll get out.”
“Modesty compels me to
give you your privacy. Have you recovered enough for me to leave you alone? Not
going to pass out and slip under?”
“I think I can handle
it.”
“Good.” She turned to
leave.
“Oh, Chief?”
She turned back. “What?”
I splashed a few suds
away so I could look down in the water. Then I looked up at her and raised an
eyebrow.
“Your clothes were
soaked,” she said.
“I see.”
“I’m a big girl, Craig.
It’s not like I was seeing anything special.”
“Just what a man likes
to hear.”
“Oh, don’t take me
wrong, that’s not what I meant.” She nodded towards the bath water. “Speaking
of that, are you sure you’re Irish?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’m
black Irish.”
Ten minutes later, after
a preview of what it’s like to get dressed when you’re ninety, I was wearing
some other guy’s flannel lined jeans, work shirt, and black wool turtleneck. I followed
faint noises and the occasional transmission from a police scanner out into the
hall and found my way to the kitchen. Catherine turned from the counter as I
entered.
“Do they fit?”
“Pants are a bit loose
and he’s a mite taller than me, but this’ll do in a pinch.”
“Beggars can’t be
choosers. I’m not putting whatever’s on your clothes in my washing machine.
What size shoes do your wear?”
“Ten and a half.”
“Those UGGs of his over
there should fit you. You’ll want to stay warm. Your toes were close to frostbite
when I found you.”
“Yeah, it’s a tad chilly
out there.”
“Most people wear
something besides socks in a blizzard.”
I sat down at the table
to put the boots on. The kitchen was large and well-equipped for such an old
looking house. All the appliances were top of the line stainless, and the
coffee machine looked like she got it at a Starbucks garage sale. I noticed a
black gun safe on the counter next to it. Like most cops, at home Catherine
kept her gun locked away, but easily accessible. A quick pattern on the four
numbered pads and the revolver would be in her hand.
She brought over two
steaming mugs and handed one to me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking
a sip. I put the cup down and went back to the footwear. “Considering my
weakened condition, I’m lucky this guy didn’t show up while I was naked in your
Jacuzzi.”
She took a seat across
the table from me. “Not much chance of that. He’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Second tour in
Afghanistan.” She smiled without humor. “Didn’t even die in combat. Mechanical
failure. Chopper just dropped out of the sky.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
She sipped her coffee
and said nothing.
“You on duty?” I asked.
Nice segue, Nick.
“I’m the chief, I’m
always on duty. However, your surmise is correct. I was headed out the door to
deal with an emergency, but you came calling.”
“Couldn’t be much of an
emergency if you had time to bathe me.”
“Well, I figured you
were the emergency.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“Why me?”
As if in answer, the
scanner came to life with a brief report that Patrolman Gibbons was taking
statements at the hospital from the victims of the warehouse break in.
She sipped some coffee.
“I think the sudden influx of traumatic injuries to our already overburdened
emergency room was my first clue.” She sipped some coffee. “My second was the
urgent request from Kohl’s security people to help them find an armed and
dangerous man whose description fits you down to the eye color.”
“I have one of those
faces.” I had some more coffee.
“They also said his name
was Nick Craig.”
“Really? So why am I not
in custody?”
“I wanted to chat
first.”
“Very unusual for a
cop.”
She grunted or laughed,
I couldn’t tell.
“I spoke with my
counterpart in Bedford,” she said.
“Nice guy, as I
remember.”
“Seemed to be. Actually,
he reminded me a lot of my Dad. In any case, he must like you, too. He inquired
after your health.”
“I’m happy to hear he’s
still breathing.”
“Yes, he mentioned your
cautionary advice. Anyway, he filled me in on what went on there, including a
Colorado phone number on a cell you directed him to.”
“Did that lead
anywhere?”
“It was unlisted, a
number for a throwaway phone. Our conversation got me thinking about some of
the things you said. So I thought we’d spend a few moments together. Off the
record.”
“I am yours to command.”
“For starters, who are
you?”
“Exactly who I told you
I am. Nick Craig,” I said, pausing dramatically before adding, “private eye.”
“So you say, but after
our previous conversations, I did some checking. No Nick Craig is registered at
any hotel within fifteen miles of here, and wasn’t for any of the time I
personally know you were in town.”
“I usually stay in a
manger. Old habits die hard.”
“However, the Sheriff’s
office did have one report of credit card fraud from a charming motor lodge
just outside of town.”
“I see. And this
concerns me how?”
“It seems a David
Somerset paid cash for a room, and then disappeared. When the cash ran out and
Mr. Somerset had not vacated the room, the clerk ran the card for the balance.
It was disallowed.”
“Again?”
“How does this concern
you? The owner’s description of Mr. Somerset fits you to a ‘t’.”
“Once again,” I said, “I
call your attention to the face.”
“Yes, the plague of Nick
Craig doppelgängers our meager force has had to deal with. One of them, our Mr.
Somerset again, was driving a truck with New Jersey plates, according to the
motel records. That truck, however, seems to be registered to an eighty-seven
year old man in Wall County, New Jersey, who says it was repossessed nearly two
weeks ago. Said vehicle even now sits in our municipal parking lot, with a
Denver boot on the front wheel, having overstayed its welcome.”
“Perhaps he ran out of
quarters.”
The radio came to life.
“Dispatch, this is Schecter. I’m going 10-7B.” Dispatch gave him a roger.
“And,” Catherine said,
getting up and going to the kitchen counter, “there’s this.”
She picked up a manila
folder and tossed it onto the kitchen table. Some of the contents slid out
towards me, fanning out neatly like playing cards.
“I found this behind a vent
in Mr. Somerset’s room. Topographic maps, Google Earth photos. And Mr.
Somerset’s passport. But, then, you know all about this, don’t you Mr.
Somerset?”
“You call that place a
charming motel,” I said. “It looks like it hasn’t been renovated since Bonnie
and Clyde were on the run.”
“You’ve got thirty
seconds before I put the cuffs on.”
“Ordinarily, that would
excite me, but I suspect you mean that in a businesslike sort of way.”
She folded her arms and
looked grim.
I sat forward and put my
hands palms down on the table. “Somerset was a cover identity I used, in a
capacity you’re not cleared for. The passport and credit card were supposed to
go in a burn bag when my last assignment went bad, but I held onto them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t
sure what went wrong and I wanted options. After things got sorted out, I just
kept them for a rainy day.”
“It’s pouring now.”
“You have no idea.”
She thought for a
moment. “I imagine they monitor those identities.”
“Constantly. Some guy in
Istanbul is probably using it now.”
She grimaced and set her
cup down. “I had a call on my cell phone. My personal cell phone that only five
people have the number to, from a man I’ve never met in New York. Asking about
you.”
“Clipped voice, abrupt
manner?”
She nodded.
“Name of Roma?”
She nodded again. “He
was interested to know if I had any news of you. I had the feeling he expected
to hear you were dead.”
“Or hoped. Upon my death
he inherits the entire kingdom.”
“I assume when the motel
ran the credit card number, it set off alarms in D.C.”
“Immediately.”
“Are you working for
Roma?”
I laughed. “In a way.
Like everyone else in this thing, he’s been using me.”
“To find out what’s
going on at The Retreat?”
“Yes.”
“Which is what?”
“Off the top of my head,
I’d say it’s a drug smuggling operation.”
“What?!”
“Hey, you asked me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“They’re using the beer
distributorship to smuggle something. Hiding it in beer kegs and shipping it
out in loads of empties.”
We were interrupted by a
loud knocking at the front door.
“Stay out of sight,” she
said. “I’ll see what this is.”
She grabbed my coffee
cup and put it in the sink. Smart girl. I got up and moved towards the back of
the house. The knocking started again.
“Hang on,” she yelled. I
heard the door open, then: “Schecter, come on in. What’s going on?”
“Hi, Chief. We got a
report that guy from the beer warehouse might be in this neighborhood.”
“Report from whom?”
“I don’t know. Anonymous
tip, I guess. It just came in over the radio now. Someone saw a man running
down the street a couple of blocks over. Said he looked drunk or something.”
Funny, I thought, how we
hadn’t heard that call, but we had heard Schecter say he was going off duty for
personal reasons. This did not feel right.
“Couldn’t you just call
me?”
“Well, I wanted to be
sure you were okay. Plus, I noticed it looks like there’s been some foot
traffic around your house.”
“Everything’s fine. As
soon as I finish my coffee, I’m headed in. You better get back out on patrol.”
“I think I should look
around.”
“I think you should get
back on patrol.”
Just then the scanner
burst into life. I caught only a few words - it seemed like a routine call –
but it came at a bad time for Catherine.
“No, Chief. Keep your
hands away from the mike.”
“You going to shoot me,
Schecter?” Her voice was level.
“Not if you do as you’re
told. Turn around and face the wall. You know the position.”
I looked around for a
weapon. If only I knew the combination to the gun safe. I was eyeing a set of
kitchen knives when the rear door was breached, slamming so hard against the
wall that two framed pictures dropped to the floor. I had a glimpse of one
masked man in dark clothing holding a breaching tool, before two more, their
faces obscured by balaclavas, rushed into the kitchen, pistols pointed at me.
“We have him,” the first
man said. He turned to the others. “Take Karl and secure the house.”
The man with the
breaching tool laid it against the wall and pulled a pistol. He followed the
other man into the house.
Catherine came into the
room, hands cuffed behind her. She was followed by Schecter, who was holding
his Glock.
“You okay?” I said.
She nodded and held my
gaze for a moment. Then her eyes darted briefly to my right and she said, as if
disoriented “I, don’t, I want… two, three, four, four.”
“Shut up,” said the man
with the gun. “No one talks.”
A moment later Kohl came
through the open door.
“Why, Mr. Craig. It has
been far too long.”
“Can we skip the bad guy
speech and just get this over with?”
“You think we are here
to kill you? No, no. The time for that has passed. Although, it will come
again. Soon. For now, there are questions to be asked of you.” He nodded in
Catherine’s direction. “Also of our lovely police chief, who according to her
phone records has been talking to federal authorities. And for that, you must
both accompany us.” He turned to Schecter. “Officer, please cuff Mr. Craig.”
Schecter pulled the
cuffs from Catherine’s belt and came towards me, holstering his Glock. I
dutifully turned my back, and presented my hands. I nodded to Catherine and she
lurched into him. They stumbled into the kitchen.