Book 3: Dobie’s Dilemma

Episode 8

© by William Arthur Holmes

The Johnsons

The woman asked if my family would be joining me. So far, she had seen only me.

“Yes,” I was guessing, “my wife should be joining me.”

“Okay. Well, we’re the Johnsons. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” the girl echoed with gusto. “This was Cindy’s house!”

“Oh, no,” I laughed and shook my head.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked.

Her daughter looked insulted, as if I had something against Cindy.

“I’m sorry. No, it’s just that my last name is Johnston, with a ‘t.’ We’ll probably start getting each other’s mail.”

I’m probably giving him too much credit, but had to wonder if Hintenscheissel saw the neighbors’ last name in his database and thought it would be funny to give me something close to that. Just one more irritant in my new life.

“Ooh, you’re right,” my new neighbor agreed, then joked, “Any chance you can change your name?”

If she only knew.

I was tempted to say “Again? No problem!” Instead, I shook my head and smiled. “My first name is Clif, with one ‘f.’ Short for Clifton not Clifford. I dropped the ‘ton’ because Clifton Johnston was just too much.”

She laughed at the drawn-out explanation. “I’m Larissa and this is Jordan. We’ll just have to deal with each other’s mail, I suppose.”

“Beautiful names,” I laid it on thick, still figuring out how to play this new identity of mine, like an actor getting a feel for my character. “Larissa, like the city in Greece; and Jordan, as in The River of...”

Larissa’s eyes laughed at me. Aloud, she said, “Oh, have you been to Greece? I’ve always wanted to go.”

“No, but a family member visited and told us all about it.”

Another lie. And not even part of my official back story. I just made it up. I’m such a liar now. Just shoot me if I start manipulating people because lying and manipulating are the two worst qualities a person can have.

Jordan finally handed me the cellophane-wrapped plate of cookies. Her mom said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Clif with one ‘f’ Johnston with a ‘t.’”

“Larissa has two S’s,” Jordan said through her missing teeth.

The two lovely ladies walked to the end of my driveway, turned left onto the sidewalk, then left again at their driveway. The girl tried to cut across the grass, but her mother deftly caught and steered her back onto the pavement.

I would have cut across, too.

~ ~ ~

Back inside, I unwrapped the cookies and chose one of the oatmeals. I was about to take a bite when one of Calista’s warnings came back to me. “Don’t take candy from strangers. But, seriously, be careful with edible gifts. It might be poisoned.”

“Great. Paranoia, the new theme of my life.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I’m guessing Larissa told her husband all about her visit because I later watched as he got up on a ladder and redirected two of his security cams toward my house. Suspicious? Jealous? Or, maybe my new neighbors were my latest surveillance team.

When Larissa stopped by again one evening a few days later, she was alone, in a housecoat and slippers, and looking out of sorts. Poor thing, I invited her in.

She asked about my wife, and smiled when I said she would not be coming.

I poured us each a glass of wine. After a few sips, she revealed that her husband never touched her anymore.

“What!?” I was incredulous.

She looked deep into my eyes and placed her hand on my upper thigh. Her lips slowly parted as she moved in close. And we got to know each other right there on the couch.

She thanked me afterward and went home. It was weird. I’m not that lucky. Did I dream that? Then I woke up. Crap.

In my next dream, Larissa and her entire family were professional killers. Even Cindy, who I never met, was trying to kill me. I tried and failed to convince myself I wasn’t losing it.

~ ~ ~

My neighbors began stopping by more frequently, and we developed a friendly rapport. The husband, Charlie, was a bit too intense for me, but loved to talk about cars. Larissa, as always, exuded a warm, inviting presence. It was nice to have such friendly neighbors. Cori and I had that in Nashville, in particular the woman now taking care of XeGirl. I just didn’t expect it in the cold, presumably inhospitable north.

One afternoon, Charlie announced with a laugh that he was in love with my car. I was tempted to announce my love for his wife, but held my tongue. The Escalade was too much for me, but he couldn’t stop gushing about it. I asked how long they’d lived there, and they said theirs was one of the first houses in the neighborhood, built ten years ago. I thought the neighborhood was newer than that, based on the size of the trees. They nodded in unison and Larissa explained that the cold winters there make trees grow more slowly.

“Not crazy about cold weather.”

“You get used to it,” they answered simultaneously, then laughed at themselves.

I gave a polite laugh, but was stuck on the “you get used to it.” I had been hearing that too much lately. Yes, twice is too much.

“We are such a married couple...” Charlie began and Larissa joined him in saying, “...we finish each other’s sentences!”

Winking when he said it, Charlie asked if they could borrow my car for their upcoming vacation to the Gulf Coast. “It would be perfect,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be perfect?” he asked his wife.

She nodded and smiled. I think she was embarrassed. Too polite to make such a request herself. We all laughed it off in the moment, but I think he was serious.

Bugs

The only problem with my new house was the bugs. Not insects, the place was bugged in every room. I thought I was under protection, not suspicion. Guess not. The Marshals were holding me as much as they were protecting me. It was a prison cell disguised as a very nice house with very nice neighbors. Could have been worse, I guess.

I checked online how to find bugs in your house. Once I got past the insecticide results, I went around and removed anything that looked like it might have a camera or listening device behind it.

~ ~ ~

Cori’s overdose was ruled accidental. The toxicology report said there were other sedatives already in her system before she took what Brad had found on her nightstand. Again, I found myself wondering if Darla had anything to do with it. She was one of the last people to see Cori that night and did serve her a drink.

Cori was back home, recovering, when Brad and Calista stopped to check on her. They asked if she had noticed anything suspicious lately. They also asked if she wanted to join me in my secret new location.

“My overdose was an accident,” Cori scoffed. “Losing Dobie is not something I would kill myself over. I definitely ain’t following him to East Paducah, or wherever you sent him.”

“We need to keep you safe,” Calista said, “but can’t do that with you staying here.”

“The budget,” Brad explained, mostly as an excuse to talk to her now that she was single again, “doesn’t let us split families up. You’ll have to live together or take your chances here, unprotected.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Brad and Calista nodded, about to leave, when Cori shook her head and said, “I swear, I only took the two pills, like I always do.”

The marshals gave each other a look. “We’ll check on you every day for a while,” Calista offered. “You might not see us, but we’ll be around.”

“We’ll be in stealth mode,” Brad thought he was being cool, striking a pose meant to convey stealth.

The women looked at each other and laughed.

~ ~ ~

A couple weeks later in South Dakota, I called Laura, one of my new handlers. I could have called Roger, but prefer dealing with women for most things. In my defense, it’s only because most men are assholes.

I asked for a “sit rep” on whether or not Cori would be joining me.

“Sit rep?”

“I watch a lot of action flicks.”

She scoffed and said she had no updates. I then called and left a message for Calista, asking the same thing, and she called back surprisingly fast. She’s usually hard to get a hold of.

“Yeah, she’s not gonna be joining you,” she said. “I don’t know what you did or didn’t do, Dobie, but she’s ready to move on. Sorry.”

“Is she talking about remodeling the kitchen again?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Darla Calls

Several days later, Darla called. It was an unknown number, and I normally let those go to voicemail, but I was lonely and answered it. I recognized her voice immediately. I was glad she called, but all I could say was, “How’d you get my number?”

“I pulled a few strings and had them look you up for me.”

“And by ‘strings’ you mean your ex? Never mind, I know you can’t comment. But I’m guessing you and what’s-his-name are back together?”

“Eric. Yeah, no, it didn’t work out.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I lied. “What happened, if I may ask?”

“Ugh... it doesn’t matter. You still married?”

“Good question. I don’t honestly know. How would a divorce lawyer get a hold of me, anyway?”

“I need to tell you something,” she got to the point.

“Testify,” I said.

“Funny you should use that word,” she began. “I’ve been digging into things, and it turns out you and I will never be witnesses because Lehavre will never be prosecuted. Their activities were commissioned, on the down-low, by our own military. We’re not being protected so much as kept quiet.”

“Those were my exact thoughts after discovering my house was bugged.”

“Yep. On the bright side,” she continued, “if Lehavre had their way we’d be dead like Griffin and Tim. So, WitPro did prevent that.”

“There is that,” I laughed.

“Still, I’m leaving the program. I need my freedom. What about you?”

“I think I’ll stay. I mean, I’ve got it pretty good here. Nice house and car… and neighbors. Too bad it’s in... oops, I almost said where I was. Anyway, I’m staying.”

She made more arguments, none of which swayed me, and finally accepted my decision.

“Suit yourself,” she said sadly. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“Guess so.”

After a moment of silence but still on the phone, she finally hung up.