Book 3: Dobie’s Dilemma

Episode 7

© by William Arthur Holmes

Last Chance

Riding in the back of a law enforcement vehicle was not on my bucket list, but that’s where I sat as we drove to my house and they filled me in on exactly what happened to Griffin and Tim. The assassin was caught on camera going in and out of their rooms.

“Funny thing, though,” Brad said to me through the rearview mirror, “the surveillance video made it look like you were the last non-medical person to enter their rooms before they died. Maybe it’s a good thing we’ve got you in the backseat?”

“Luckily,” Calista gave Brad and exasperated look and said, “our techs determined that the video was doctored.”

“No pun intended,” I said with a laugh. “But it was several days ago that I was there.”

“Yes,” Calista nodded, “there were large gaps in the timeline.”

“Somebody tried to set you up, dude,” Brad smiled through the rearview.

“The real killer,” Calista added, “who looked nothing like you, by the way, said he poisoned their IVs under orders from ‘higher-ups.’ Griffin died almost immediately. Tim almost recovered but relapsed and died the next day.”

I wondered who had access to their security system in order to do that. Was Brad involved? Thinking about Griffin and Tim, all I could do was shake my head.

~ ~ ~

Our Boston terrier, XeGirl, short for Tuxedo Girl von Trapp – Cori came up with that – greeted us with a bark at the door as we came in. Not much of a guard dog, she greeted the marshals happily and escorted us into the master bedroom.

She always somehow knew where I was going, staying a few steps ahead, in the way. This time was no different, except that Calista insisted on “walking point” while Brad “covered our 6.”

Calista flipped on the lights as we entered the bedroom, but I immediately turned them off. Cori was asleep and wouldn’t appreciate the lights.

“The night light in the bathroom,” I whispered, “is enough.”

Cori never opened her eyes, which was odd. XeGirl had jumped on the bed and Cori usually awoke at the slightest thing. In the past when I tried to wake her, she almost always reacted as if being accosted. It used to annoy me until I realized she – along with half the female population – probably had been accosted at some point in her life.

It was warm that night and she had pushed the sheets down to where they were covering only her feet. Her nightshirt had ridden up, exposing her bare bottom and legs. She was on her side, with her knees pointed toward us. Her long, dark hair covered most of her face. Only her mouth and the tip of her nose showed.

I caught Brad ogling her but couldn’t blame him. She looked good, even asleep. Calista pulled the sheet up to cover Cori’s bottom half.

“Cori,” I said softly as I moved in and pushed her hair out of her face. “I’m leaving. Last chance to come with.”

I couldn’t hear her breathing. I rubbed her shoulder. She was unresponsive and a little too cool to the touch. I shook harder. Still nothing. I felt for a pulse.

“There’s no pulse!” I shouted, stood up, and flipped on the lights.

Calista bent down to see for herself. “She’s alive,” she said, “but I’m calling an ambulance. Her pulse is very weak.”

When Calista bent down, Brad was behind and to her left. I was on her right, closer to Cori. He tried to be sly, but I caught him checking out Calista’s ass as she bent over. Most men are prone to do that – and I didn’t care in the moment – but this “new girl every week” thing made more sense now.

The paramedics arrived, put Cori on a gurney, and wheeled her out of the house. I put XeGirl in her crate and followed the paramedics outside.

I was about to climb into the ambulance with her when Brad stopped me with a hand on my chest. “We need to get you out of here right now.”

“I don’t want Cori taken to the same hospital that Griffin and Tim were sent to,” I said. He gave a questioning look, and I said, “…given what happened to them.”

“Good point.”

Calista was headed toward the ambulance and Brad relayed my request to have them avoid that particular hospital. She nodded, said a few words and handed something to one of the EMTs, then returned to me and Brad.

“Brad’s right about getting out of here now,” she said. “We’ll bring your wife along as soon as she’s able but need to take you tout de suite. Someone will stay with her until she’s ready.”

“Assuming she ever is,” I said, deflated. It took a second before my two years of high school French reminded me that tout de suite means “right now.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Calista said, but she knew no such thing.

“I meant I’m not sure she’ll want to rejoin me, but what did you hand to that paramedic?”

“A bottle of sleeping pills,” she said with a glance at Brad. “He found it on her nightstand.”

Found it, I wondered, or planted it?

~ ~ ~

Brad and Calista drove me to John C Tune Airport, a small public airport on Nashville’s west side. Along the way, Brad, driving, pulled up in front of the Tennessee State Prison at Cockrill Bend. “We’ll be dropping you off here,” he said with a straight face as we sat idling at its massive front gate.

The place has been closed for 30 years, replaced by the newer maximum-security facility nearby, but its Romanesque Revival architecture was impressive.

“Hilarious,” I said. “Can we go now?”

“I’m with him,” Calista shook her head. “Let’s go.”

“What? Don’t like prisons?”

“I don’t even like riding in the back of this car, if that answers your question.”

At the airport, as they handed me off to my new marshals, Roger and Laura, Brad said to me, “You can thank Hintenscheissel for your new location. He insisted on it. You must’ve made quite an impression.”

“I do have a knack.”

“Just be glad it’s summertime.”

I took that to mean I was relocating to somewhere just shy of the North Pole, and I was close: Sioux Falls, South Dakota. One state south of The Great White North, but in winter it’s all just tundra to me.

I can reveal the location now that I’m no longer there.

South Dakota

I disappeared into the night not knowing Cori’s fate but did make sure XeGirl was taken care of. The neighbor lady always loved her and offered to keep her as long as necessary.

I finally got that ride on a private jet when they flew me to my secret location. It was exciting, honestly, but I spent most of the flight thinking how much Cori, even XeGirl, would have enjoyed it.

Roger and Laura put me up in a motel while waiting for my “new” house to be ready. When they stopped by to see how I was doing I asked what was taking so long with the house. I didn’t mean to be rude, but this motel was almost as scary as the last one.

Roger avoided eye contact while Laura spoke. “Oh, you know, they like to give them a thorough cleaning, sometimes a paint job, inside and out. Mow the lawn, trim the hedges. That sort of thing.”

I wasn’t buying it. More likely, there was a cleaning crew in hazmat suits on their hands and knees, scrubbing blood stains out of the carpet, wiping bits of gray matter and skull fragments off the walls. Patching up bullet holes, etc.

Once my new home was ready but before they handed me the keys, I had to promise I would not share my details with anyone from my former life. I promised but never got a warm and fuzzy feeling from these two new agents. They did not seem especially concerned about my well-being. Not as engaged as the previous team.

Brad was an ass, but at least he was fully engaged. As for Calista, she always made eye contact. Wasn’t afraid to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. Much more touchy-feely.

~ ~ ~

With the map program pulled up on my new car’s dashboard display, I pulled into my new neighborhood. I was starting to appreciate the benefits of a fresh start. It put me in a good mood, despite everything.

The house was a very nice two-story, three-bedroom craftsman-style home with a small front yard, narrow side yards, and big backyard with a deck. The car was a brand-new black Cadillac Escalade with all the upgrades. Feds only seem to buy black. Sadly, neither the house nor car belonged to me. They were just loaners until... well, I don’t know. Until I got whacked, I guess.

Like so many hand-me-downs, unfortunately, they were ill-fitting. Both were too big for just me but, in the Marshals’ defense, they were expecting a couple with a dog.

As I pulled into my driveway, the next-door neighbors were parked in theirs, piling out of a gray minivan. The wife, with her arms full of groceries, smiled at me on her way inside. The husband, carrying a bag in one arm while on the phone with the other, glanced and nodded curtly at me before stopping and giving my car a serious, almost lascivious look. It was a nice-looking SUV fresh from the factory, but not something I would personally lust over. To each his own.

The boy, 9 or 10, carrying nothing but his phone never looked up as he went in. The girl, 6 or 7, struggled with a bag as she lagged behind.

“Justin!” she yelled at her brother. “Lazy! Get a bag!” But Justin was ignoring the world around him.

“Justin, get a bag!” his dad made it clear it was an order, not a choice. The boy made a show of being egregiously inconvenienced but went back to the car, grabbed a sack of potatoes and slung it over his shoulder.

It was a family of brunettes, though the girls’ hair was a shade lighter than the boys’. The husband was the only one keeping his cropped short. He had a military air, and I wondered if there was a base nearby.

They were all physically fit. Probably had gym memberships they actually used. Not my style. I need my exercise to come as a by-product of sports or chores.

The wife held my attention more than she should have. She was a knockout. If her husband can lust after my car, I can do the same with his wife, no? Maybe not, but after Miss Jessica and her flirtations, then the thing with Darla at the motel, and now my marriage apparently over, you might appreciate my mental/emotional state at the time.

~ ~ ~

The wife and daughter stopped by the next day with some homemade cookies to welcome me to the neighborhood. People still do that? Apparently they do in Sioux Falls.

The woman was even prettier up close. The girl was an exact copy, only smaller... and losing her baby teeth.

“I made them!” the girl boasted, proud of her baking skills.

“I hope you’re not allergic,” the woman smiled. Everything about her was graceful. “We didn’t know what kind of cookies you might like: chocolate chip, oatmeal or sugar...”

“So, we made them all!” the girl half-shouted.

“No allergies, thank goodness,” I assured her. I never say “thank goodness” except in the presence of children and religious folk.

I was prepared to tell them the back story WitPro had provided me, without giving too much detail. “Let them assume your vagueness,” they said, “comes from being a very private person.”