Book 3: Dobie’s Dilemma

Episode 3

© by William Arthur Holmes

You Gonna Dance a Jig?

Under Brice’s close supervision – at least he wasn’t looking down my shirt – I replaced the fuse and put everything back together. It sparked. I flinched. Nothing happened.

I checked the voltage again. Still dead. Swapped in another fuse. This one lasted five seconds before giving up. I cursed under my breath and reached for a third.

Eventually, it all came back to life with a triumphant whir. The conveyor belt was conveying again.

“Third time’s a charm!” I made a mental note to wear gloves next time. “Nailed it. Mission accomplished. My work is done here!”

With dismissive exasperation, Brice said, “You gonna dance a jig?”

“Fantastic!” Jessica was not afraid to show appreciation. She learned long ago that acknowledging and encouraging others’ accomplishments was the right approach.

She hugged me without reservation. I returned the hug, but she felt a little too good up against me. Just the right height. She and I were a perfect fit. I broke away before it became obvious that I was enjoying this a little too much.

“Now, remember,” she said in a motherly tone, wagging her finger, “you can’t tell anyone anything about what you’ve seen here. Corporate espionage,” she scanned the room, “is a very real problem in our business.”

“So I’ve heard,” I remembered what Ludwig told me in Kuala Lumpur.

Brice stood beside her, nodding, adding, “You might want to read the release form you signed when you came in.”

“No, of course,” I said but don’t think either one of them believed me. My poker face needs work. “I’ll cancel that 60 Minutes interview,” I joked.

Jessica laughed politely while Brice of course sneered.

“We’ll let Tony escort you out,” she nodded at the closest security guard. Both of them towered over me, but Tony was tallest of all. I had him pegged as a Mongo, not a Tony, though. And Mongo is how I’ll remember him when I look back and reminisce on our time together.

I nodded and smiled in his direction, like saying “nice doggy” to a snarling junkyard dog. He gave no response. I was extremely happy to be out of there – tempted to dance that jig on my way out – but felt the need for a certain decorum as I headed for the exit.

Mongo was right behind me. I had dubbed the other guard Gary. Not sure why, other than because Mongo and Gary sounded good together, like a morning radio duo. Gary was probably out in the woods now finding a good spot for me to dig my own grave.

At the front desk, I asked the woman if I could have my phone back. I was going to be nice and say her name, but her nameplate read simply: RECEPTIONIST. She smiled thinly and said, “Name, please?”

I was fairly sure I was their only visitor that day, but gave my name and waited. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I was anxious to be on my way. I flashed a fake smile at Mongo scowling behind me.

That’s when Darla appeared. She was a sight for sore eyes. Smiling that happy smile of hers. A ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day.

It was the first time I’d seen her all day, somehow missing her on my earlier excursions into the office area. I pulled her aside and whispered in her ear. Our closeness, like with Jessica earlier, had me more aroused than intended.

It must’ve been all the stress making me act like this. I mentioned my misgivings about the lab. Nothing specific, but a suspicious glance here, a sidelong glance there, a general feeling of something not kosher.

Nodding in the direction of the armed guard, I said, “I need to get out of here.”

She gave a knowing look, stepped in behind the reception desk, pulled my phone out of that Faraday bag, smiled and handed it to me. Taking my arm, she said, “I knew I liked you! It’s close enough to quittin’ time. I’ll go with you!”

The receptionist was still trying to look me up on her computer as Darla and I escaped out the front door. We took my car – coincidentally, an Escape – parked in a front row visitor spot, and Darla navigated us back onto the highway and toward her house.

I never noticed, but Mongo followed us in his own black SUV. Bad guys always drive black SUVs.

~ ~ ~

Lehavre’s company jet was parked next to the terminal as we drove past the little airport Jessica mentioned. I never would have recognized the jet, but their name was on it. If I had a secret lab and private jet, I wouldn’t have my name splashed across it, but that’s just me.

Through more side roads and woods, we eventually ended up at her house. It was a small, one-story brick home painted white, with a red metal roof. A large swath of cleared land separated it from the surrounding woods, and most of that space was covered with freshly mowed lawn.

I wondered if she mowed it herself, or if I would soon be meeting the man of the house who did the outside chores. Inside, an elderly man with thick, white hair and the deep wrinkles of a lifelong smoker slept in a recliner in the living room. I saw no ashtrays and the house did not smell of cigarettes, so maybe I was wrong about his smoking. Either way, he seemed to be the only one home at the moment.

A big screen TV was mounted on the wall, surrounded by bookshelves, also fastened to the wall. And old movie was playing on that television. The scene was at dusk along the side of a desolate road. Two men with guns and foreign accents were escorting another man, pleading for his life, into the nearby woods.

I stood, transfixed, convinced they were going to make him dig his own grave. What are the odds this would be the scene I would walk in on? Darla grabbed the remote and turned it off, breaking its spell over me.

I wanted to know what happened to that poor man on television, but when she pulled me into her bedroom and began to strip, I didn’t complain about this latest plot twist. On my way in, I thought I caught a glimpse of that Dynamo book – Dynametrics: The Metric Science of Human Dynamics – but wasn’t sure and didn’t have time to make sure.

~ ~ ~

In the bedroom now, seeing the look in my eyes, Darla said, “Nunh-uh. I’m just changin’ clothes, but didn’t wanna leave you out there alone with Daddy. Mainly for his sake.”

“Am I that scary?”

“You’re not scary at all,” she smiled seductively. “It’s just so he don’t wake up and shoot you. He keeps a gun under a pillow next to the remote.”

“Ah,” I said, as if that was normal. “But how is that for his sake?”

“He gets upset after he’s killed someone, and I don’t want him getting upset. His heart ain’t what it used to be.”

She smiled and stepped out of her pantsuit. “I don’t wanna be over-dressed as we make our getaway.”

“Our getaway?”

“We’re in this together now, Dobie. Like Bonnie and Clyde. But, they make me dress up more than anyone else because I’m an executive assistant. Everyone else gets to wear jeans. Anyways, seeing me in my underwear is no different than seeing me on the beach.”

“It is when we’re alone in the bedroom,” I smiled. “And, spoiler alert, Bonnie and Clyde did not live happily ever after.”

She forced a frown, but her eyes were smiling. She looked even better in blue jeans and a simple peach blouse. Some women look better dressed up, some when dressed down.

I tried to find something, anything other than her to stare at. The curtains were open, and I saw something in the backyard that made me do a double take. It looked like lawn furniture had been blown to bits, and I asked about it.

“That’s Daddy’s doing,” she laughed. “He likes to blow things up. Yeah, sometimes I worry our house won’t be here when I get home, but he’s taught me everything I know about explosives. I can undo whatever he’s done... if it’s not already too late.”

“Useful skill,” I nodded, “but keep your explosives away from me, please. I’ve had enough explosions to last me several lifetimes.”

Pulling a small suitcase out of the closet, she brought a couple blouses and slacks down off their hangers. The slacks were placed at the bottom in the suitcase, the blouses folded neatly and set aside. Lugging it out to the dresser, she pulled a couple days’ worth of undergarments out of their drawers and dropped them into the bag before placing the blouses on top.

“You have great taste in... underthings,” I joked, uncomfortable. There aren’t many things in life better than being in the same room with an attractive woman taking off her clothes, but I was a married man. Not very happily lately, but I took those vows seriously.

“Feel free to borrow some,” she offered.

“Nah, it looks much better on you.”

My vows never said I couldn’t flirt.

She turned away – blushing – and went to the adjoining master bathroom. Collecting mouthwash, toothbrush and other toiletries, she dropped it into a smaller zip-up bag, went back for a bottle of perfume, sprayed herself, and added that to that bag.

She handed me the suitcase – which I accepted like a hotel porter – and followed her into the living room.

“Don’t forget your secret stash,” I said.

“How could I forget! Wait, how’d you know...?”

“I thought I was joking,” I shrugged.

Reaching into the hall closet, up high, her blouse rose up and I caught a glimpse of her lower back. It was nice, increasingly rare these days, to see a woman’s lower back free of tattoos.

That sounded creepy. I just meant I’m not a fan of tattoos, not that I expected to see even that much of her again.

She brought down her “go bag,” a leather briefcase, and lost her balance. I caught her with my free arm and wrapped it around her waist. I was tempted to throw her onto the bed, and I’m pretty sure she would have let me.

Something I do when resisting the allure of another woman – and it’s necessary more often than I would like to admit – is to picture my wife Cori next to me, smiling. That’s it, but it works like a charm. Keeps me out of trouble.

Holding onto Darla now – longer than I had to, but neither of us was complaining – I set down that first piece of luggage and took the briefcase into my other hand.

“Hold that, too,” she smiled, as if she had everything under control, and I guess she did.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She returned to the living room, pulled her father’s handgun out from under the pillow and dropped it into her go bag.

“Daddy, wake up,” she nudged him. “We need to leave.”

Sure enough, his first move was to reach for the gun that was no longer there. I was not happy about this becoming a party of three, but we couldn’t leave the man behind, trigger-happy or not.

Awake now, we helped him to his feet.

“Does he have a walker or cane?” I asked as I looked around.

“Don’t need none of that,” he grumbled, eyeing me suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Daddy, be nice. This is my friend Dobie I’ve told you about.”

She’s been telling her father about me?

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Dobie,” he said. “What’s your last name?”

“Pokorny.”

He shook his head, as if he had never heard such a name, but extended his hand and introduced himself as “Dalton, like the town.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dalton. I couldn’t help but notice,” I nodded to my right, “the Dynametrics book on the shelf. Please tell me you’re not a couple of Dynamos.” I gave a nervous laugh but was deadly serious. I thought I had escaped that cult.

“That’s Daddy’s,” Darla answered while Dalton eyed me with a renewed suspicion. “He’s read every one of the books you see there, haven’t you, Daddy?”

“And then some,” he nodded slowly. The look on his face said it was no one’s business what he read.

Neither of them answered my Dynamo question before Darla said with some urgency, “We need to skedaddle. Like, right now.”

“Wait!” he shouted. “My teeth!”

“They’re in your mouth, Daddy.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth and said, “Ah, so they are. Well, alrighty then.” To me, he confided, “Don’t never want to forget your teeth.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “I hate when that happens.”