Book 3: Dobie’s Dilemma

Episode 10

© by William Arthur Holmes

Divorce

“I thought you made and sold your own jewelry,” I said to Gloria.

She smiled for the first time, visibly relaxed at the mention of her true passion. “That’s my side hustle.”

To Cori, I said, “You know what happened between me and Darla afterward?”

“Like I said,” her voice came out of the speaker, “I can guess.”

“Well, you’d be wrong. We started in that direction, but I stopped. I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t get it up?”

“No, smart-ass, I said you and I have been together too long to just throw it all away. I just... couldn’t do it.”

I didn’t mention that there was some heavy petting, but we ended up lying next to each other and eventually falling asleep, exhausted from the day’s events. That doesn’t count as cheating, it’s coming within a hair’s breadth. If you stop at the 1-yard line and don’t cross the goal line, it’s not a touchdown.

“Remember that vacation in Gulf Shores?” I changed the subject. “It was at that seafood place... Lulu’s... and I....”

“Stop!” she snapped. “Gloria, you can always spot a liar. Do you believe anything he’s saying?”

Gloria looked me up and down, shook her head, and said, “I hate to say it, Cori, but I think he’s telling the truth.”

“I always liked you, Gloria,” I smiled.

“Just have him sign the papers,” Cori said finally. “I’m done.”

“He doesn’t have to sign anything. He’s been served. That’s all you need in Tennessee... to get the process started.”

~ ~ ~

That’s when I decided to never again get involved with a woman based solely on her looks. Darla was good-looking, but our mutual attraction was based on personality.

The problem now was that she would not be so easy to find. She had trained professionals keeping that from happening, but something told me she was in the Nashville area. I saw online that her house near Ducktown had been sold.

I wanted to call but couldn’t risk anyone finding out I was back in town. I had to find a way to tell her where to meet without identifying myself but, if I was too cryptic, that alone would tip them off.

I didn’t know how smart my stalkers were, but it’s best to never underestimate your enemies. Assume they are at least as smart as you. If you’re me, assume they’re smarter.

She once told me about the mom-and-pop restaurant where her parents first met – we covered a lot of ground in our “work-related” phone calls over the years – so I texted her and suggested we meet at that restaurant.

I identified myself as “your lab partner.”

After a few days wondering if she received my message, she texted back, telling me the exact day and time to meet. Any spies tracking us would have no idea where.

I hoped I knew where. If the story about her parents was true, and she hadn’t blogged about it online, and the place was still in business, we’d be all set.

That last hope was apparently too much to ask.

~ ~ ~

The restaurant was now a used car dealership. I had to tell the salesman, another Charlie, that I was not there for a car. I was meeting someone.

“Who the hell meets someone at a car dealership,” Charlie #2 asked, “unless one of ‘em is looking to buy a car?”

I could see his point and almost said I might be looking for a new car – having no idea what became of my old one – but didn’t want to get his hopes up. Instead, I said I was having a secret rendezvous with a beautiful woman.

“At a car dealership?”

“There used to be a restaurant here. It’s where her parents first met.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember. Jo Marie’s. They had the best pecan pie. Any chance your mystery woman has a lady friend for me?”

“I doubt it, but we will soon find out.”

I passed the time strolling up and down the aisles reading the stickers on the cars in his lot.

~ ~ ~

A few days prior to my visit to the dealership, Darla had a secret rendezvous of her own. Nothing like ours, I hope. She’d gone back to Ducktown to meet with the handyman, Jimmy, at a local dive where he was a regular. The two of them skulked, mostly hidden in a rear booth, deep in conversation.

That night Darla was back in Nashville and crawling onto the roof of Charlie #2’s dealership where she installed a couple of small surveillance cameras. Pointing them at different spots in the car lot, she walked fifty yards down the street back to her own car. From there she tested her phone’s connection to the cameras.

Everything was a go.

Hoo-Wee!

When Darla arrived to meet me, Charlie #2 returned to my side. He ran his fingers through his greasy brown hair, and said, “Hoo-wee! Now that is something worth waiting for!”

Men don’t normally say “hoo-wee” for women dressed as she was — loose-fitting long pants and bulky long-sleeve hooded sweatshirts. It was a lot of clothing for such a warm day, and I wondered what that was all about.

He spit his chew onto the ground in front of him. Male turkeys puff out their chest and spread their tail feathers to impress females. Maybe his people spit chew on the ground. I don’t know.

“She’s not a ‘that’ or a ‘something,’ I said. “She’s a ‘who,’ a ‘someone.’”

“Sounds like someone’s in love,” he smiled again.

I was already sick of that smile. “I am not...” I started to explain, then dropped it.

“No lady friend for me, I see,” he said. “Hey, that rhymes!”

He moved toward her, saying, “I’m gonna dazzle her with my charm. Watch and see how it’s done!”

I wondered how she might react. Free entertainment either way, I waited for the show to begin.

~ ~ ~

A black Mercedes SUV pulled up to the curb behind Darla. The passenger, dressed to match his vehicle, gave her a hard look, then looked down at his phone, then back at her. The driver said something and the first man turned toward him in conversation.

Darla was expecting them. She gave them a look, then turned back toward me and yanked two gas masks from her backpack. She hurled one toward me just as the mystery men lobbed some sort of canister heavy enough to land with a dull thud onto the pavement.

The thing hissed as a cloud exploded, blooming outward in a mist that rushed toward her like it had a mind of its own.

I figured these men in black were from Lehavre’s lab. Had to be. They would probably classify this event as a routine field test: “Effectiveness of Airborne Agent Deployment in Urban Civilian Settings.” Just another data point to them.

Darla pulled her mask on just before that cloud of gas reached her.

Charlie Number 2 was quicker than me. He snatched the second mask out of the air and pulled it over his own face. I stood exposed.

With her voice muffled by the mask, Darla screamed at me to run, but I was already moving. Instinct took over, adrenaline wiping out conscious thought. The salesman sprinted after me.

Behind us, Darla moved upwind of that mist, letting it float harmlessly away from her. She then turned toward the SUV and flipped them off with both hands as it sped away.

Number 2 and I were now quite a distance from her and the dissipating cloud. I watched as she pulled out her phone and texted someone.

She barely escapes a poisonous cloud, I thought, then feels the need to text someone?

~ ~ ~

In the dealership office afterward — with the bad guys long gone — I leaned against a desk while she stripped off her bulletproof vest and pants. Number 2 stood staring at her, dangerously close to drooling, saying nothing.

“That was it?” I said to Darla. “Your plan was to wear a mask and all this, flip them off, and then, what? Post it online?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” she flashed a smile as she tossed the vest onto the desk. “Did you expect some sort of Rambo response?”

“Kinda hoping, yeah.”

Underneath her reinforced pants she wore olive green leggings. At least now we knew why she was so bulky.

She had no problem, I noticed, disrobing in front of men. First it was in front of me at her house, now this. She wasn’t flaunting it, this was just how she operated. Comfortable in her own skin. Maybe she used to be a stripper? I didn’t know her that well... yet.

I spotted Charlie Number 2’s coffeemaker, pointed at it and asked, “Is that fresh?”

“If you consider within the past couple hours fresh, then, yeah. Knock yourself out. The cups are there in the dispenser.”

“Fresh enough,” I said. I pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser and filled it up.

At some point in the process, I brushed up against the machine. It shorted out. I reflexively jumped back and spilled hot coffee on myself.

Cursing and now tearing at my shirt, the cup fell to the floor. A puff of smoke billowed up from the coffeemaker. The smoke quickly dissipated. There was no fire hazard, but its lights had gone dark.

“Damn, man!” Number 2 was not happy. “You owe me a new coffeemaker! You’re lucky the carpet is dark, so the coffee don’t show.”

“It was an accident!” Darla defended me. “Static electricity. Besides, that thing wasn’t new. Twenty bucks should cover it. And count yourself lucky to get anything at all for it.”

“I did ask permission first,” I said. “In a court of law, that would absolve me…”

“Court of law over a coffeemaker?” Charlie #2 scoffed.

He redeemed himself later – somewhat – by rattling off the Mercedes SUV’s license plate, make, and model from memory while I had Brad and Calista on the phone. The latter two then tracked down the culprits.

Darla and I were on our way home when we got word that the suspects had been killed in custody and a new investigation into Lehavre had been launched.

~ ~ ~ ~

Lehavre should have never had to worry about being prosecuted for that secret lab. They had contracts with the US military. Untouchable... until they used their bioweapons on US soil against civilians.

Now, as Calista put it, they were in a heap of trouble for letting their research spill into public space. They had walked into Darla’s trap.

The aftermath became Lehavre’s worst nightmare. Their military-backed research was now a liability, not an asset. No government agency could justify keeping ties after such a blatant act of negligence.

Cover-ups are not an option when there are casualties and undeniable proof like what Darla caught on video. Lehavre quickly crumbled under the weight of its own arrogance.