Book 3: Dobie’s Dilemma

Episode 5

© by William Arthur Holmes

Now Officially a Snitch

Walking out of his office, I was now officially a snitch. Those guys don’t last long in prison or gangs, but I’d never been in a gang and hoped to never see the inside of a prison again, so that wasn’t a problem.

The problem was that Darla had gone missing. She and her father were not in the waiting room when I came out, and there was no one to help me find them. Everyone, including Hintenscheissel, had disappeared. Was it happy hour? Two-for-one margaritas down the street?

I texted and left a message at Darla’s number. When there was no response, all I could do was hang around and wait. Conveniently, I was in the waiting room.

Several minutes later, Hintenscheissel returned and said, “What are you still doing here? You need to get up to Nashville. They’re waiting for you.”

“I’m waitin’ on Darla.”

“It’s a free country,” he smirked, “but don’t get your hopes up.”

“So, you did put her under protection.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

He knew more than he was saying, but it was pointless pursuing that line of questioning.

~ ~ ~

Exiting the building, the heat of the day felt good after the air-conditioned office. The AC was nice at first, but after a while I was wishing I’d brought a parka.

I kept an eye out for anyone stalking me – standard procedure now – on my way through the parking lot. A homeless man was pushing a shopping cart nearby. Had I looked closer I might have recognized Darla’s ex, Eric, but I thought nothing of it.

Once safely inside my vehicle, I called and made a motel reservation in Nashville, in case someone was still after me by the time I got up there. Half the country was in town for Nashville’s yearly country music festival, Fan Fair – or whatever it’s called now – so I couldn’t be picky about which motel I got stuck with.

In the meantime, I thought I might visit the Tennessee Aquarium, if they were still open for the day. Their signs were all over town, and I had never been.

It was an out-of-the-blue thought, but ever since escaping Lehavre, the farther I got from that lab the closer I came to thinking I was overreacting to this whole thing. I should just relax. Everything will return to normal.

Either way, a visit to the aquarium – if anyone was following me – might throw them off my scent. They would never expect me to stop and play tourist.

If anyone was chasing anyone, they were after Darla, not me. She was the one with the inside scoop. I only had vague suspicions.

~ ~ ~

At the aquarium I was enchanted by the wide variety of freshwater and sea creatures swimming, floating and lurking in the largest tank I had ever seen. I turned to see if anyone else was enjoying it as much as I was.

That’s when I saw Mongo. He had followed me all the way here. They were trying to intimidate me like they did Tim. Lehavre was clearly worried that I knew too much.

I walked straight toward him. He knew he was busted and didn’t bother pretending otherwise. “This place,” I said, “makes you wanna break out the fishing pole, doesn’t it?”

Mongo would look down on almost anyone not on an NBA court, and he looked down on me now. He had not said a word to anyone since we entered each other’s worlds, just the occasional nod. And he was not about to start now.

“Hablas Ingles?” I tried. Still nothing, and I was tired of trying. “Good talk,” I said, and turned toward the exit.

Outside, I hid behind a vendor’s cart near the front entrance. Its dangling paraphernalia served as a sort of hunting blind while I waited to see which car he got into.

Mongo walked out a few seconds after me. Studiously casual. He pulled out his key fob and pressed it twice. His SUV was in a no-parking zone and chirped as its engine came to life and he climbed in.

I walked behind his car and made a mental note of the license plate. I flipped him off but couldn’t tell if he saw me. Either way, it felt good. I’m such a bad-ass.

A few rows away and back inside my car, I called the police and reported Mongo’s license plate, not sure what good it would do. The woman answering said, “Any time you think someone’s following you, drive to the nearest police station.”

It sounded like good advice and I took it. In the police parking lot a few minutes later, I watched as Mongo’s SUV cruised past.

I left another message for Darla, and thought about calling Cori, but some things are best said in person.

I gave Mongo another few minutes, then headed home.

The Drive Home

I assumed every car that lingered behind me more than a few seconds was tailing me. It was only a matter of time before one of them pulled alongside, rolled down their window and shot me. Paranoia is exhausting, though, and the tension faded.

I convinced myself I was being ridiculous. By Monday morning, I’d be back at work, taking that promotion and pretending this trip had been uneventful.

Then traffic turned on me. Cars and trucks kept cutting too close, swerving toward my lane just a little too aggressively. Reckless drivers are everywhere, sure, but this felt deliberate. More than coincidental. Maybe I wasn’t crazy after all.

Then I saw it: a black SUV with a dented front fender; a red sedan with a broken taillight; a white pickup with a “Honk If You’re An ET” bumper sticker. I had seen all of them before, in different spots over the last few miles, lurking in my mirrors, slipping ahead and falling back again.

This wasn’t a series of unfortunate near-misses. They were following me.

West of town, the Interstate split. I was in the fast lane because I wanted to go fast – like Ricky Bobby – but the lanes boxed me in. Traffic forced me southward, away from Nashville, into Georgia and Alabama. Two of those three cars came with me.

I took a zigzag scenic westerly route, through Huntsville, past NASA’s Space Camp, and back onto I-65. And that’s how I ended up at Sissy’s Emporium.

Imagine a gas station and convenience store, times ten. That’s Sissy’s Emporium. Everything the Road Warrior could ever need, and more. If that’s not already their slogan, I should sell them the idea. I might need to find a new line of work, and word on the street is that stand-up comedy is not an option.

I parked in one of the few shady spots. This lack of trees in places otherwise surrounded by them is a pet peeve of mine. If property developers would plan ahead and leave more foliage, there would be plenty of shade. The land would be more attractive and valuable. It’s a win-win.

Maybe I can get a job as an Arbor Day ambassador.

I went in and ordered something at the food court. Yes, they have a food court, but no tables. My phone had a good signal so I leaned up against a kiosk and made a full backup to “the cloud.”

I removed the SIM card and broke it in half – like I’d seen done on spy shows – and reset the phone to factory settings, wiping everything. I then dropped it in the trash in their amazingly clean restroom.

This Sissy’s will show up on my stalkers’ tracking devices as the spot where they lost me. Pretty sure I lost them, anyway.

They’ll probably stop and eat when they get here. Buy a few souvenirs. What sort of trinkets do bad guys buy, anyway? Something camo-colored and lethal, I’ll bet. There’s an entire section of the store for that.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries and root beer and ate it in my car.

Back on the Interstate, I drove way too fast, hoping a State Trooper would serve as an unwitting escort as he tried to pull me over. And, sure enough, because I wanted to be spotted by the cops, I never was. Funny how that works.

I made it to Nashville in record time.

~ ~ ~

The Marshals’ downtown Nashville office was inside a shiny new federal courthouse, where I met my new handlers, Brad and Calista. The former was an average-height, wiry, sandy-haired White man in his early 30’s. The latter was a full-figured brunette woman pushing 40. With a wide, friendly face and curly hair, she looked Caribbean, but I could be wrong.

Those near misses down south had convinced me to go ahead and meet them and finalize the WitPro paperwork, just in case. I recognized Calista’s name from the card Hintenscheissel handed me in Chattanooga.

Like Dieter G, they didn’t think I had much of a case, either.

“If I were you,” Brad said, “I’d take that promotion you mentioned, and just go back to work.”

He was right, but coming from him it was annoying. You ever meet someone and have this immediate repulsion, animosity toward them? That was me and Brad.

They went ahead and finalized whatever Hintenscheissel had started and escorted me home.

“You’re lucky you caught us on a slow day,” Calista said.

“I am lucky,” I said. “So lucky.”

“Smart ass,” Brad scoffed. “We’re only doing this as a professional courtesy to Darla’s ex, Eric.”

“We’re hoping they get back together,” Calista explained more helpfully. “Everyone’s pulling for them.”

~ ~ ~

At my house, they stayed in their car while I went in and told Cori we might have to go into witness protection. Nothing was finalized yet, but it might happen.

I knew it would be a difficult conversation but was not prepared for her response. Brutally honest would be an understatement.