The next morning I woke to a gentle kiss on the lips.

Marie was crouched next to the bed. She smiled as she stroked my hair. “Morning, baby.” The smell of coffee permeated the air. “Time to get up. Breakfast’ll be on the table in a few. After that we’ll go get a rental car. Then we’ll make a practice run to Lafayette.”

I cleared my throat. “A practice run?”

She shrugged as she straightened. “It’s always a good idea to scope a target site early when you have the time.” She was already dressed in jeans and a tucked-in pink t-shirt. As she turned away and moved past the corner of the bed, she glanced back. “See where the neighbors are located and all that. Plus—”

“But Google Maps?” I threw back the sheet and swung my legs out of bed.

She went through the door into the hallway. White sneakers with a pink Nike swoosh on the side graced her feet. The edge of little socklets protruded just above them. She poked her head back into the room. “The maps thing is great for research, Boo. At first or if you don’t have time to check the place out in advance. But it’s also wrong sometimes, or outdated. Always depend on your own self when you can.” She turned away. As she continued down the hall, her voice filtered in more quietly. “That’s why they say no plan ever survives first contact.”

*

I stood up and got dressed, and by the time I got to the kitchen she was setting our plates on the table. Two filled coffee mugs were already in place. Each plate contained scrambled eggs and bacon, and in the center of the table another plate was stacked with pancakes.

“Looks really good. And pancakes too?”

She chuckled. “I love dipping bacon in syrup. It’s probably my only vice.”

“You don’t have any that I’ve seen.” I held her chair for her as she sat.

She smiled up at me over her shoulder. “Thank you, sir. That’s nice.”

I grinned. “I’m trying to become indispensable.”

Her smile faded. “Baby, I told you—”

I put up one hand as I sat. “I know, it’s not a permanent thing.”

She put one hand on my forearm. “It isn’t that I wouldn’t want you around full time. It just can’t be, Nick.” She shook her head. “It’s too complicated. What I—what we—do for a living just ain’t conducive to permanent relationships.”

My mind raced. We can make anything work if we really want it to. Plus we both do the same thing, so it isn’t like either of us is an outsider. If we’re together, at least we’ll have somebody to talk with about everything. “So you don’t get lonely?”

She glanced at me and squeezed my forearm. “It won’t work, Nick. Just believe me, okay?”

As she withdrew her hand, I only nodded and started in on my eggs and bacon.

By the time we finished breakfast and washed the dishes, it was almost 9 a.m. Marie turned to me, put her palms on my chest, then rose onto her tiptoes and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s go get that rental.”

*

On our way to the rental place, we chatted about other job-related topics. One of those was using a false name.

I looked at her. “Like an alias? I’ll need one of those?”

“One or more.” She shrugged. “It’s not important yet because you just started. But later if you want to rent a car or stay in a hotel or whatever, it’s a good idea to have at least one good alias.” She glanced over. “Plus the ID and at least one credit card to back it up, of course.” She returned her attention to the road. “But I can help with that too.”

“Okay.”

At the rental place, she parked in the lot of a nearby convenience store. “No reason to let the rental guy see my truck since it’s your assignment anyway. You have your license with you, right?”

I nodded.

“Okay. I’ll go inside and find something to buy while you’re getting the car.”

I rented the car—per her instructions to get something that would blend in, I chose a plain white Ford Focus—then followed her back to her house. Dark, heavy clouds were building in the distance to the west, threatening to spill over the mountains.

As I parked along the curb in front of her house, she turned into the driveway. Her garage door was opening as she turned in. She drove the truck inside, then ducked out under the door as it was closing. She was carrying two large waxed-paper cups from the convenience store.

I leaned over and opened the passenger door for her, and when she slipped into the seat she said, “You want Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi?”

I grinned. “Whichever.”

She smiled. “I’m the same way.” She set one cup in the cupholder, shifted the other drink to her left hand, then pressed against the floorboard and lifted her luscious little jeans-clad butt off the seat. She reached back with her right hand, and when she brought it back around front, two plastic-wrapped bear claws were dangling from it. “Dessert?”

I chuckled. “You’re chock full of surprises, aren’t you? Maybe a little later, okay?”

“I agree.” She opened the console, dropped the bear claws inside, then set her drink in the other cupholder and raised off the seat again. This time she pulled a .22 snub-nosed revolver from her left hip pocket. She wedged it between her left thigh and the seat. “My go-to for things like this.” She buckled her seat belt. “Okay, Jeeves, go.” She pointed at the windshield. “Next corner, turn right.”

I drove away from the curb and turned right at the next corner. Several blocks later, at her direction, I took an onramp onto US-287 north. As I resettled in my seat, I glanced over at her thigh, but my gaze landed on the revolver instead, and everything came home to me:

I was on my way to kill someone.

I glanced up at Marie.

She seemed to know what I was thinking. “You okay, Boo?”

“Yeah.” I returned my attention to the road and tapped the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“The second time is a lot easier. You just have to remember you’re doing your job. What you’re paid to do. But if you can’t do it—”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

She nodded. “I know.” Patiently, she said, “But if you can’t, I’m just sayin’ it’s okay. I’ll handle it, and then I’ll talk to TJ, get him to make you a contact or something instead.”

I grinned. “Instead of taking me to the bus station with a one-way ticket to Normalville?”

“Instead of anything.” She hesitated. “Just because it can’t be permanent doesn’t mean I don’t want you around for at least a little while.”

Well, that’s progress. I only nodded.

Other than her giving me directions and the occasional bit of best-practices advice, we didn’t talk much for the rest of the trip north.

When we got back from the restaurant, Marie keyed the lock, then walked in through the front door and kicked off her heels. “That was nice. Thanks, Boo.”

“My pleasure, believe me.” As I turned to lock the door, a loud, horrible screech sounded and I jerked. “What the—!”

Marie had already turned around. She grinned and pointed at my jeans. “VaporStream. Left front pocket, remember? The big button near the top’ll shut it up. But then you better read it quick. You only got a minute from the time you—”

I reached for my left jeans pocket. “I know, I know.” I was still scowling, half-embarrassed that I’d flinched at the noise.

I pushed the On button as I pulled out the annoying little device and held it up. My first assignment! I trembled a little.

Marie was still amused. She reached to stroke my upper right arm. “Hey, it’s okay, Boo. You get used to it.” She turned and started for the kitchen. “I’m gonna make coffee.”

By then I’d read the first couple of lines. “No, wait. This is for you too. I think.”

She kept walking. “What’m I, gonna train you or somethin’?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I’m new, remember?”

She chuckled. “Bring it to the table. I’ll look after I get the coffee on.”

As I walked toward the kitchen, I finished reading the message:

Welcome aboard. Share with your friend.

Lafayette

TWP Eldridge Reeves 7 to 8:30 p.m. tomorrow

12484 East Ella St.

C Marie Dubois

Marie had added the filter and the grounds, then crossed to the sink. As she filled a plastic pitcher with water, I said, “Wait. This is for tomorrow.”

She shrugged. “So is the coffee.” She turned off the water and started for the coffee machine.

I pulled out a chair and sat sideways, facing her. “Are they always such short notice?”

She poured the water into the coffee maker. “Usually longer, sometimes shorter.” She set the pitcher on the counter behind the coffee maker, then wiggled her index finger at me. “Turn around. I’ll look over your shoulder.”

I did, and I held the device a little higher.

She rested her hands on my shoulder. “Hmm. Yep. So I guess I’m ‘friend’ now.” She squeezed my shoulders lightly. A grin in her voice, she said, “You got any other friends in Denver, Boo?”

I ignored that. “Where’s Lafayette? Louisiana, right?”

She grinned. “Not the one in Colorado. It’s north of here. Focus, Nick. Did you memorize the target and the address and time?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then push the Accept button.” She pointed past my shoulder. “That’s the other big one.” She chuckled. “He makes it easy to accept assignments, but you gotta hunt if you wanna reject one. And that’s always a bad idea anyway.”

“Yeah, he told me.” I pressed the button, and the message disappeared like vapor in a wind. Ah. VaporStream. “He went over the device with me too.”

“Yeah, but the first time you gotta use it for real’s different, ain’t it?” She moved around the corner and sat down. “Okay, Lafayette’s north of here about a half-hour, so it’s no—”

“Wait.” I frowned. “Is TJ actually up at this time of night?”

She wagged a hand. “He’s got his ways. But focus, Boo. Like I was saying, it’s no sweat. Lafayette’s a half-hour, but it’s maybe an hour from here to the address. That number’s probably way out on the east side. Probably a farmhouse or somethin’. We’ll look online in a little while. The time frame’s specific, so that means the target’ll be alone then. There’s probably someone else around the rest of the time. So when you get there—”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“You want me to? I’m ‘friend’ but he also listed me as your contact. At the bottom, remember? That big C? That means contact. So that means I’ll give you whatever weap—” Her eyes went wide and she caught her breath. “Hold on: Does he know about us, Boo?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him. He sort of figured it out. I guess with me showing up right after you got back from Stillson— Oh, and he also knew I was from Stillson. Though I guess I accidentally verified all of that for him.”

She laughed. “That tricky little prick! He acted like he knew, right? And then you told him he was right?”

“That’s exactly it.”

Still grinning, she shook her head. “Well, he’s just playin’ games. It must get borin’, sittin’ up there in Golden handin’ out assignments instead of livin’ ‘em.”

“I guess. Anyway, I’d really like you to come with me.”

“Okay.” She got up and extended her right hand. “But for right now, come on. I’ll show you how to do research, and then we’ll get some sleep. Then tomorrow I’ll show you some other preps I recommend. ‘Course ever’body prob’ly does stuff different.”

*

In the bedroom she pulled a laptop from the bottom drawer of her dresser, then sat with her back against the headboard and patted the space next to her.

I sat on the bed, took off my boots, and twisted around to pull my legs up.

She brought up Google Maps and typed in the address. “Maps is the best tool I’ve got. You got it too, right?”

I shook my head. “My laptop’s still in Stillson, remember?”

“Well, we’ll fix that tomorrow or the next day. Get you all set up.” She zoomed in. “And the Google Earth lets you actually look the place over up close if you need to. But we won’t need that for this. We’ll prob’ly just try the doors and—”

“What if nothing’s unlocked?”

She shrugged. “Then you’ll knock. That’d be easier for your first time anyway. I’m just sayin’, you can try the doors if you want to.” She pointed at the screen. “See? Like I thought: a farmhouse.” She zoomed the screen out. “And no neighbors for at least a half-mile. Easy-peasy, Boo.”

I nodded. “So trying the doors. You mean like you did with the guy—I mean, the target—in Benson, right?”

“Yeah. And then if there’s an unlocked door you’ll—”

“But just knocking would be more direct, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah. I was just sayin’, if you wanna practice—”

I shook my head. “Direct is better, I think. I’ll practice sneaking through a house when I have to.”

“Yeah, that’s also what I was gonna say before. It’s a tight time frame, so when you get there, you wanna just do it and get out as quick as you can. So knockin’s better for this one.”

“Right. So that’s what I’ll do.”

“Good.” Again she pointed at the screen. “We’ll use this to map out our ingress and egress too. Goin’ in and comin’ out. Just lookin’ at the roads bit by bit all the way from drivin’ up on 287. See?”

She zoomed out a little and traced the route with her fingertip, tapping the screen at each juncture. “Goin’ up we’ll take this US highway (tap), then this state road east to this street (tap), then south to Ella (tap), then east again. Comin’ back, we’ll do the first part in reverse: west on Ella, then north on the same street to the the state road again. But from there we’ll shoot over to I-25 and then south to home.” She paused and looked at me. “So you good?”

I grinned. “I’m good.”

“Then school’s out ‘til tomorrow.” She closed the screen of the laptop, swung her legs off the bed, and stood. “I’ll put this away. Tomorrow we’ll get a rental car, then—”

I swung my legs off the bed and looked over my shoulder. “A rental car? Why?”

As she straightened and turned around from putting away her laptop, she frowned. “Never take your own car on an assignment, Boo. That’s bad juju.”

###

Note: Hey guys, we’re a little over halfway through. There are 17 chapters left, plus a short epilogue.

If you’d like to continue reading the installments, please do. But if you’d rather see the whole story, the novel is out now, and it’s only $5. You can see the cover and read the description at https://payhip.com/b/Plyn8.

Happy reading!

Chapter 18: Home to Marie

I was clear-headed and calm as TJ and I shook hands, but as I stepped out of his office and into the elevator, a mental fog descended over me.

How long have I even been here? At least several hours. I hope Marie didn’t hold supper. If it isn’t terribly late, maybe we can go out for a celebratory drink or something.

As the elevator made the short descent to the lobby, I tried to run through it all in my mind. The initial interview was maybe two hours. He questioned me about my life, my experiences, and so on. Pretty cut and dried.

We spent no more than probably an hour and a half at the indoor range and then on the so-called tests in Levels U2 and U3. But then there was U7. God only knows how long we were in there. And then we spent a couple more hours in TJ’s office again to wrap the interview.

The car slowed, then settled. The doors opened, and I stepped out to find all three hundred and some odd pounds of James Buchanan Blackwell waiting with an actual smile on his face and his right hand extended. As we shook, he said, “Welcome aboard, Mr. Porter. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Nick’s fine. Listen, do you know—” Then I spotted the glow of the glass door off to the left and realized it was still daylight. And my cab was waiting just outside.

He canted his head slightly. “Sir?”

I grinned. “Nothing. Thanks, JB.”

Still smiling, he turned and led the way to the door. He stepped through first, then held it and raised one hand. “Safe travels, Mr. Porter.”

I only nodded, opened the back door on the cab, and slipped in.

As I closed the door and the cab pulled away, it dawned on me that I’ll never know whether there were other rooms off the hallways on Levels U4 through U6—I assume there were—or what horrors they might hold. Neither do I care to know. I’m pretty sure my sense of curiosity’s been cured for life.

The cab ride was routine, and a half-hour later the cabbie pulled up in front of Marie’s house.

I opened the door and stepped out, and as the cab drove away, the front door exploded and Marie raced across the lawn. She was barefoot, and dressed in a pink peasant blouse, the tails pulled up and tied over her tummy, and a pair of blue shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

I stopped and grinned, and from a few feet away she launched.

I caught her waist, and she dangled from my neck by her arms and peppered my face. In between little pecks on my forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips, she said, “Congratulations!” Peck. “My man!” Peck. “Wanna go out for supper?” Peck. She frowned. “Ooh, but are you okay?” She grinned. Peck. “I think French would be great!” Peck. “Or maybe Mexican food!” Peck. “That’s what we need! Somethin’ spicy!”

When I was finally able to squeeze a word in, I set her on the grass. “Okay, first, thanks. Second, I’m fine. Third, yes. And fourth, whatever you want is fine with me.” I shrugged. “But could we just sit for a little while first? Maybe talk?”

A look of mischief crossed her face. “Mmmhmm. I know what you wanna talk about, and I know we won’t use many words other than moanin’ ‘Oh God’ a few times.” She laughed, took my hand, and turned away to lead me across the lawn. “C’mon, Boo. Let’s get outta public.”

I chuckled. “I’d love that, really, but I would like to talk a little while the experience of meeting TJ is fresh. Maybe compare notes? Is that okay?”

She stopped, turned around and looked at me, her brow furrowed. “Sure, Nick, we can do that first.”

“Oh, and I was thinking, we still need to do a little shopping, right? I can’t keep wearing—”

She put up one hand and grinned. “No sir, Mr. Porter. I took the liberty. I got your sizes—well, everything but your jeans but I guesstimated that—and I got you a few pairs of jeans and some underwear and t-shirts—I know you like wearin’ t-shirts—and a few more button-down shirts and some work socks and two belts and another jacket. A’course we can take back anything you don’t like.” She turned away again and tugged on my hand. “C’mon, come see!”

Inside she led me straight to the bedroom and set me on the end of the bed. “You watch, now, you.”

Watch? I couldn’t look away.

She crossed to the closet, grabbed the handles of the two vented folding doors, arched her back and pulled, then stepped aside. “See?” Like a model showing off a new stove on a game show, she gestured with a sweep across the left side of the closet. “All’a these are yours, Boo!” She gestured toward the other side. “And mine’s over here. ‘Course I know you’ll wanna get your own place soon, but whenever’s fine, okay? So whaddya think? And there ain’t no rush. You can try everything on over the next few days and—”

Still grinning, I put up one hand. “Hold on a sec.”

She smiled seductively. “You got that look on you, Nick. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you lock the door and come join me?”

She chuckled as she turned to lock the door. “I can absolutely do that, Mr. Porter.”

*

Roughly an hour later, I was doing a marathon between the bed and the closet, trying on clothes.

Marie sat with her back against the headboard, the sheet pulled up under her arms. After each thing I tried on, she flashed a grin and a thumbs up. Every now and then she’d gesture for me to twirl, which I did with all the precision allowed by my ballet skills, which are zero.

Despite her occasional silliness, everything fit perfectly, even the jeans. She must’ve snuck a peek at the size when she was laying my old jeans out on the bed as I showered earlier.

I’m a 34 waist, but I’ve been told it looks smaller. Probably because I was blessed with height and good shoulders. At 6’2” my weight varies between 190 and 200 pounds. I owe that mostly to the muscle mass I built up with free weights while playing tight end for my high school football team a couple of years ago.

I haven’t worked out regularly since I graduated, but I’m active enough that I keep good definition.

After I’d tried on everything to her satisfaction and put it all away, we showered, then dressed and went out to supper. I wore a pair of my new jeans with a new blue shirt and the silvery jacket I’d worn for my interview, and she slipped into a form-fitting blue dress and a pair of heels and put her hair up in a vertical bun on the back of her head.

She chose French, which I’d never had but was fine with me—everything but the snails—and we got back to the house at around 11.

We’d no sooner walked into the house when my VaporStream device went off for the very first time.

We proceeded quickly through more or less minor tests on Levels U2 and U3. Nothing I saw there startled me or bothered me in the slightest, and I was a little put off wondering why they would affect anyone. By the time we headed for the elevator, I’d also loosened up quite a bit.

As we stepped back into the elevator, I was feeling plenty confident about my chances. I grinned. “I hope the next one’s at least a little more shocking.”

TJ only looked at me for a moment. Finally he pressed U7. As the doors closed, he said, “Okay. Let’s see how you deal with the most difficult test. Few applicants make it past Level 3 or 4. If you do well on this one, we’ll skip the others. And if you fail, perhaps we’ll talk about whether you might want to join the team as a contact instead.”

“What do contacts do?”

His brow furrowed. “Whatever I tell them.” Then he shrugged. “They’re mostly observers and informants. But they aren’t hammers.”

The elevator slowed and settled, and the doors sluiced open to reveal a damp, darkened hallway. The air held an eerie grey-blue tint, but there was no light source that I could see.

I only stared for a second, then took a silent breath, released it, and nodded. “All right. I’m ready.”

“No you aren’t.” He hesitated. “Just remember, you can’t control how a tense situation might affect you. But what matters is whether the other guy can gauge how it affects you. And you can control that.”

I only nodded.

He looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Follow me.” He stepped out and led the way to the only door in the hallway. He stopped, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and selected one. Then he looked up at me, his gaze steady. “When I open this door, you will witness horrors you have never imagined. Last chance. Would you rather opt to leave now and perhaps apply as a contact?”

Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so cocky. I hesitated. “No.”

“You can still quit after I’ve opened the door, but I doubt you’ll ever be able to erase the memory. I apologize for that, but this is necessary.” He held up the key. “Are you certain?”

I closed my eyes, opened them, and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain.”

Quietly, he said, “Very well. I’ll go in behind you. You may quit at any time.”

I nodded, then kept my gaze averted to the floor, wondering whether I’d made a mistake.

He inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and eased the door open. Then he moved aside and touched my upper arm, indicating I should enter.

I closed my eyes again and stepped into the room, then opened them as the door latched behind me.

My eyebrows arched and my mouth gaped open.

TJ was right. I’m not ready. I fervently wished I’d quit.

Every surface in the room, whether wood, metal, concrete, block, cloth—or human hair or skin—was covered with various kinds of filth in blotches and spots and dried, lumpy streams.

And the sores. The oozing sores and—

Then the stench flooded over me and I clamped my mouth shut again. My eyes stung, and I swear my ears and nose tried to close. The air was almost liquid with the dank stench of sweat, urine, and feces mixed with body odor and the undeniable rot of death. All of that was overlain by the continual moaning of the creatures—former humans—strewn about the room.

I won’t describe the scene further. I finally understood why Marie hadn’t described it to me.

Suffice it to say I wanted to slap my palms over my mouth and nose, but something in my head caused me to make two tight fists instead, my thumbs hooked firmly into my jeans pockets. I wanted to scream, but instead I clenched my jaw. I wanted to jerk my gaze away and bolt from the room, but I closed my eyes, opened them, and forced myself to look.

I wanted to tell TJ it was enough. I wanted to leave.

But I didn’t want the creatures to hear me speak. And for whatever reason, I didn’t want to fail the test....

*

Sometime later I finally slid a quarter-step to the left and glanced over my right shoulder at TJ.

He met my gaze, a question in his eyes, but he said nothing. He was the same as he had been, gaunt and slightly stooped, his atrophied arms crossed over his chest, knuckles protruding through transparent skin as he gripped his triceps below his shirt sleeves. His deadpan expression hadn’t changed.

I turned back, attempting to mimic his dispassionate gaze.

But I was certain I’d already failed.

How could anyone pass that test?

Seconds or minutes or hours later—finally, quietly—TJ said, “It’s enough. Come on, Nick.” No chains over gravel. Pity. Disappointment hung off his voice.

I wanted to forget, but I also wanted to remember, so I looked for another moment. When I was able to tear my gaze away and turn around, the door was already open. TJ was standing in the hallway, the doorknob in his left hand. With his right hand, he gestured. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Come on. It’s all right.”

I stepped out, averting my gaze, and turned for the elevator.

Behind me, the latch clicked softly. Then keys jangled. Then one turned in the lock.

At the elevator, the doors were still open, but I didn’t step inside. I leaned slightly, breathing deeply, my trembling right arm extended to grip the side of the opening.

TJ stepped past me. “Let’s go.”

“It’s, uh, over?”

“Yes.”

The doors closed and the car jerked slightly, as if in a hurry to leave this floor.

It would be a short ascent to the lobby. I’d failed the test, and God forgive me for having witnessed it in the first place. And Marie. She must have seen the same thing. How does she live with it?

TJ said, “Questions?”

The elevator slowed.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to ask. “Yes sir. Are the people in that roo—”

He put up one hand. “They’re unfortunates. That’s all you need to know.”

I nodded and looked at the door. As the car settled and the door started to open, I looked up again and extended my hand. “Well,—”

TJ stepped past me and out the door, then turned around. “Let’s go finish your interview.”

I frowned. “What?”

His brow furrowed. “You passed. Do you still want to be an operative?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then we have to finish the interview. There are some things I need to explain.” He turned on his heel, took a step, and reached for the doorknob on his office door.

We’re on Level C? I’d assumed the elevator had stopped at the lobby.

He stepped through the door of his office and left it open. I quickly stepped through and closed it quietly behind me, then headed for the guest chair in front of his desk.

When he was settled behind his desk again, TJ let his elbows rest on the armrests and touched his fingertips together in front of his chest. Over the next hour or so, he explained what would be expected of me as an operative, including that it was a lifetime obligation.

I balked a little at that requirement, but he only said, “Up to you. You’re under no obligation at all... yet.” Then he scribbled a number on a slip of paper and reached it across the desk. “If you do join us, this will be your salary.”

I looked at the paper and my eyes went wide. “Every month?”

“Every month.”

“Whether or not I even get an assign—”

“Every month.”

“I’m in.”

The rest was technical and anticlimactic. He issued me a VaporStream device and explained its use and function, and the interview was over.

He stood and extended his hand across the desk. “Welcome aboard, Nick. I’ll be in touch.”

# # #

Note: If you’re a glutton for punishment, the scene Nick chose to curtail is contained in more depth in Blackwell Ops 14: Soleada Garcia: Origin Story.

As Marie had said it would, the cab ride took about a half-hour. The headquarters was imposing. It rose on the back part of a gravel lot, three stark, grey stories of concrete and plaster with an aluminum-framed glass door.

And the guy in front of the door was more imposing than the building.

That must be JB, TJ’s brother. Wow. If he’s only the security guy, TJ must be a monster.

As the cab slowed, tires crunching over gravel, I checked him out. No hat. A close-cropped white crewcut on a bucket-shaped head on a thick neck that sloped to the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen. A dark grey sport coat hung open over a light blue shirt tucked into dark blue jeans under a black leather belt. Black combat boots protruded from beneath the jeans. His arms were crossed over a massive chest.

Even when the driver pulled up and stopped squarely in front of him, JB didn’t so much as twitch a bushy white eyebrow. He only waited.

I opened the door of the cab, stepped out and shrugged into my jacket, then smiled and extended my hand. “You must be JB.”

“Number?” Above his left eye, a blotchy pink scar wrinkled slightly. But his arms remained crossed over his chest, and the non-committal look in his ice-blue eyes never wavered.

I dropped my hand and recited the number the lady had given me.

His gaze locked on mine, he reached back and pulled the door open. “He’s expecting you. Take either elevator. Press C.”

“Yes sir. Thanks.” I stepped past him, and the door shushed closed behind me.

The lobby wasn’t deep. The golden-brown marble tile floor was distinctive, but there were no pictures on the off-white walls and no potted rubber tree plants. On the right, a white leather couch and two matching overstuffed easy chairs flanked a warm mahogany coffee table in a seating area. The elevators were against the wall beyond that.

My footsteps resulted in a soft echo reminiscent of what I think weightlessness might sound like. I stepped into an elevator. As the doors closed, I pressed C on the keypad. As the elevator began a smooth ascent, I looked more closely. In a single column from the top, the buttons read C, B, Lobby and then U-1 through U-7.

Seven underground levels? Uneasily, I wondered whether the psychological testing had already begun.

The car slowed, then settled, and the doors sluiced open.

Nobody met me.

Gripping the edge of the door, I leaned out to look along the hallway.

The same golden-brown tiles covered the floor. The walls and ceiling were a muted off-white, and small, inset fixtures in the ceiling provide an equally muted light. The hallway was empty, save for a door directly across from me and another one at the far end on the right. The door before me was labeled C4.

Interesting.

I stepped out across the hall. As I lifted my right hand to knock, someone said, “Please come in.” The voice was reminiscent of Truman Capote mixed with heavy chains being dragged over graveled asphalt.

I took a second to gather myself, then turned the doorknob and stepped into the biggest office I’ve ever seen. The floor and walls matched those of the lobby and the hallway, and— I stopped and gaped. That can’t be TJ.

Some thirty feet away, a twisted, pencil-thin, elderly man in a short sleeved white shirt sat behind a huge mahogany desk. The back of his chair rose at least a foot above his head. I judged him to be 5’5” or 5’6”, maybe 120 pounds soaking wet, and somewhere between 80 and 130 years old. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I was looking for—”

“Me. I’m TJ Blackwell.” Truman Capote, chains over gravel. “Don’t be fooled by appearances, Skippy.” He gestured to a padded mahogany guest chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

As I started toward the desk, he rattled off the number the lady had given me. “That’s you, right?”

I settled into the guest chair. “Yes sir.”

He only eyed me for a moment, then nodded. “I think I understand what Dubois sees in you.”

My eyebrows arched on their own.

“Oh, Christ boy! Don’t look so surprised. You give away a lot when you look surprised. Too much. I didn’t know anything but your number until you flashed that look.” He shook his head, then pointed at me. “But you are Nick Porter, right? Recently of that pin-prick of a town, Stillson?”

“Yes sir.”

He wagged a bony hand. “Well, you needn’t mention any of this to Marie. None of them are as smart as they think they are. Or else I’m not as stupid as they think I am. How is Marie anyway?”

Finer’n frog hair diced twelve ways. “She’s fine, sir.”

“Mmmhmm. I’ll bet. Anyway, you be good to her for as long as it lasts. Otherwise—”

“Oh, yes sir. I would never—”

“Never interrupt me, son.” He wagged one finger side to side. “I don’t like it.”

I only nodded.

“Besides, I’m not warning you for her sake. I’m warning you for yours. She doesn’t look it, but that little girl’s one of my best operatives. She could erase you in any of a dozen ways and you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“Yes sir.”

He wagged a bony hand at me. “And call me TJ. I work for a living. Or I used to.”

“Yes sir. I mean TJ.”

He crossed his hands over a decimated abdomen and leaned back slightly in his chair. “So you want to be an operative....”

Marie’s advice came back to me: Be honest with yourself, Nick. “Actually, I’m not sure, sir. TJ. Marie seems to think I’d be good at it, but I don’t really know what the job entails.”

“Did she give you the bit about the carpenter and his hammers and nails?”

“Yes sir. I mean yes.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s what the job entails.” He wagged that hand again. “But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. You want to test and see where it goes?”

I took a breath, then met his gaze. And from what might have been a million miles away, I said, “Yes. Yes sir, I do.”

He slapped the desk. “Good! That’s the first step.” He pushed a few inches back from his desk, then stood up with no little difficulty. “Come with me and we’ll get started.”

As he came around the back of the desk, I stood up too, and he glanced up at me. “First I want to see whether you really know firearms or whether all that guff you told Marie on your ‘date’ was only bluster.”

I said nothing, and I held my best poker face.

He nodded as he passed the front corner of his desk, and I think one corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “You’re learning.” He moved on past me toward the door.

Once we’d stepped into the elevator, he pressed U1 on the keypad. As the doors closed, he said, “First we’ll test you ability with firearms. With pistols and revolvers, your goal is to hit as near to center as you can inside a two-inch circle from twenty yards. Then the same target with unscoped long guns in the offhand position from a hundred yards. Max that and I’ll pull for you to pass the other tests. Get close and I’ll still pull for you. Miss too many circles, and we won’t bother with the other tests.”

The car slowed then settled and we stepped out on a state-of-the-art firing range. A .45 caliber Colt 1911 lay in the first stall to the left, and a S&W Model 19 Combat Magnum .357 lay in the second stall. Various long guns lay in several stalls to the right.

I didn’t ace the test, but only one bullet hit outside a circle, and even then it was within a quarter-inch.

On our way back to the elevator, he said, “Are you as adept with knives?”

“No sir. I’m, uh, not a big fan.”

“Ah. Well, different strokes.”

I sat on the end of Marie’s bed, punched in the number for my dad’s office, then glanced around the room. I hadn’t paid much attention to the furnishings last night other than the bed and the nightstands on either side.

A low light-oak dresser sat against the wall in front of me. To the left of that was the door to the ensuite.

Stillson’s police department is very small, and the three dispatchers, all women, double as the receptionist for each shift. Jeanne May answered. “Stillson Police. Can I help you?”

“Jeanne, it’s Nick Porter. Is—”

“Nicky? Where on Earth are you? Your daddy says you disappeared and your mama’s beside herself. Did you know old Mr. Gruber’s been murdered? Are you okay?”

Ooh, I hadn’t thought about my disappearance maybe being connected with Gruber. My mind kicked into high gear.

I shook my head, then smiled to put the right tone in my voice. “Gruber was killed? No, I didn’t know. Anyway, I’m fine, but listen, I don’t have much time. Could you connect me with Dad please?”

“Oh, sure thing. I told him you’re probably fine despite what happened to Mr. Gruber. I said I’m sure you ain’t connected with all that. All you young’uns got itchy feet, I said. You’ll probably wander around a bit and then—”

I rolled my eyes. “Jeanne, really, I’m sorry but I don’t have long.”

“Oh. Okay. You said that, didn’t you? I’ll connect you right now. But you take care now, you hear?”

“Thanks. I will.”

There was a click, then another one, and then Dad said, “Nick? Boy, where are you? Did you know your boss was killed? Murdered?”

“Hi Dad. That’s what Jeanne said. Wow, I didn’t know. In fact, he said he’d let you and Mom know I left. I said goodbye to him and left not long after I got to work yesterday. I caught a ride with a trucker. Guess it’s a good thing I called.”

“But Nick, you even left your clothes and—”

“Yeah, I’m traveling light. It was a spur of the moment thing. Anyway, I hate to cut this short, but the guy’s waving at me through the window. He’s about ready to hit the road again. Listen, I’ll call again when I know where I’m gonna end up. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. You can smooth things over with Mom, right? Love you, Dad. ‘Bye now.” And I ended the call, then turned off the phone just in case his phone recorded my number.

I wanted to just sit on the bed and think, but I glanced at the bedside clock. It read 10:02. That reminded me I’d told Marie to tell the cab company 10:30. I shook my head, got up, stripped off my jeans and headed into the ensuite for a shower.

When I got out, I walked back into the bedroom while I was toweling off.

My jeans, which I’d left on the floor at the foot of the bed, were laid on the bed, the legs folded neatly under them. Alongside them lay a long-sleeved white shirt, a brown leather belt, and a neatly folded pair of white tube socks.

I’d have to go commando. I don’t like putting on underwear I’ve already worn. So I pulled on my jeans and the shirt.

As I finished buttoning the shirt, Marie came through the bedroom door. She smiled. “Ooh, you clean up pretty, Boo!”

I grinned despite myself. “You’re just prejudiced. So the shirt and belt?”

“My dad’s. He passed away awhile back. He was shorter than you, but I thought the shirt and belt would fit.” She pinched a sleeve just below a shoulder. “It looks good on you.”

“It’ll do in a pinch.”

“We’ll go shopping after you get home. You have money for the cab?”

“I’m good.” Once I got a steady job at Gruber’s I made it a point to always have a couple hundred dollars in my billfold. “So I’ll take a cab back too?”

“Yep. And I’ll be right here when you get back, waiting to see how it went.” She handed me a slip of paper. “I wrote the address down for you. Did you get through to your folks?”

I slipped the paper into my jeans pocket. “Yeah, I called my dad. He’ll tell Mom. The receptionist at my dad’s office thinks maybe I killed Gruber.”

She wagged a hand. “Humans. Predictable, aren’t they? Anyway, no worries. How often did you go into his office?”

“Never. I saw it through the door once. When I hired on we even did the ‘interview’ in the showroom. That consisted of him saying Dad thought I’d be a help to him. Mr. Gruber only said, ‘You can fix small motors?’ Then I said I could fix anything, and he hired me.”

“See? So there won’t even be any physical evidence of you ever being in the office. Or of me either, for that matter.” She slipped her arms around my neck. “We’re clean, Nick.”

As we kissed, I forgot what we’d even been talking about. As she broke the kiss, she glanced left. “Oops. No time for anymore of that.”

I looked. It was 10:28. I reached for her again anyway.

She grinned and put one hand on my chest. “Get your boots on, Mr. Man. You have an interview to go to.” She chuckled and walked out of the room.

I sat on the end of the bed, pulled on the socks and tugged on my boots, then went into the living room.

Marie was just closing the front door. In her left hand was a nice, western cut silver sport jacket. “I talked to the cabbie. He’ll be waiting when you come out after your interview, so no worries on that.”

“How’d you pull that off?”

She smiled as she shrugged. “I told him you’re a VIP. Then I gave him a couple hundred bucks and a gift certificate for two for a nice restaurant in Denver. He was tickled pink.” She offered me the jacket. “Don’t put this on until you step out of the cab. That way it won’t be creased.”

As I accepted it, I ginned. “You’re unbelievable.”

She laced her arms around my neck and kissed me lightly on the lips. “So are you, Boo. You just don’t know it yet.”

I grinned and shook my head. “See you in a bit.”

“Remember, be honest with yourself, and don’t let your feelings for me interfere. I’ll be waiting.”

I nodded, draped the jacket over one shoulder, and walked to the cab.

“Okay. So tell me about TJ. What do I need to know going in?”

She shook her head. “I changed my mind. I’m not gonna discuss him or the company. You already know more than most people do. It’s better if I don’t taint your understanding. You’ll know everything you need to know by the time the interview is over. Then you’ll have another decision to make, and it’s a big one. It’ll affect the rest of your life.”

“Well, I’d rather get it over with if I’m gonna do it. So how do I contact him?”

“Wait right here. I’ll be back in a few.” She got up, leaned forward, and pecked me on the lips. Then she turned away, walked past the island and disappeared into the hallway. But she was gone considerably longer than a “few” anythings.

I finally got up and poured myself another mug of coffee, then sat down again. When half of that was gone, I got up and leaned past the end of the island. “Marie? You okay in there?”

Down the hall, her bedroom door opened and she stepped out. “I’m fine, baby.” She’d changed into a pair of olive-drab shorts and a yellow pullover tank top. She was still barefoot and all smiles, and her hair was damp. As she came up the hallway, a magazine was flopping in her hand. “I decided to change clothes, and then I thought I should shower before I changed.”

I grinned. “Wish I’d known. I could’ve—”

She raised onto her tiptoes and kissed me, then grinned and continued past me to her chair. “I know exactly what you could’ve, Mr. Man. Later for that. I opted for privacy and a real shower instead.” She chuckled.

I sat down. As a question about the magazine formed in my mind, she opened it to the classified ad section in the back and plopped it down on the table in front of me. She tapped a centered, five-line ad in the second of three columns with her fingernail. “Read that.” Then she got up, picked up her coffee mug, and stepped past me.

As I read, from behind me came the sound of her filling her mug.

Are You Different?

Crave adventure?

Possess special skills?

Put them to use at Blackwell Ops.

[toll-free number]

As she passed me again and sat down, I looked up, wondering vaguely how different I’d need to be to land the job. “Wow. So what kind of special skills? Like with weapons?”

“That’s part of it, but also psychologically.” She sipped her coffee. “Mostly you have to be able to detach emotionally so you can do your job. It’s like TJ’s a carpenter, and we’re the hammer. He tells us which nails to hit, and we do the rest. Something about you tells me you can do that. But what matters is what you think.”

I shrugged. “I think I can do that.” I actually had no idea. I’d never thought about it. But I didn’t want to appear weak.

“Well, you’ll find out. He’ll test you as part of the interview process.” She put up one hand. “I mean, he won’t play any head games and you won’t be in any danger, but he’ll show you some things that... well, you’ll have to wait and see those for yourself.”

She shook her head, then leaned forward and rested one palm on my forearm. “Just be honest with yourself, okay Boo? And try not to let your feelings for me interfere. If you do those two things, by the end of the interview you’ll know whether you want to hire on. I can’t tell you anymore than that.” She sat back and sipped her coffee again.

“And I get to see you again either way?”

She shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “Of course. I brought you out here. I won’t leave you stranded.”

“Okay, can I use your phone? My cell’s still in my room in Stillson.”

Again she pushed away from the table. “Hold that thought.” And again she disappeared down the hallway. When she came back, she tossed me a small flip-top cell phone. “It’s a burner phone. Nothing fancy, but it’s preloaded with 180 minutes. It’s yours as long as you want it.”

As I turned it over in my hands, I thought about my parents. “I can call anyone?”

“Of course.”

“Can you tell me how long the interview will last?”

“Mine was a few hours. But it’s probably a little different for everybody.”

A few hours? So I should probably wait to phone Ma until after the interview. Or maybe Dad. Leaving home is kind of a guy thing.

I opened the phone, powered it up, and looked at the ad again. Once I’d keyed in the number and pressed Send, the phone rang and what sounded like a middle-aged lady picked up.

She sounded bored. “Blackwell Ops. How may I direct your call?”

“Uh,” I glanced at Marie, then said, “I’m responding to the magazine ad? My name’s—”

“I don’t need your name.” She sighed. “Do you have a pen? I’ll give you a code number. Then you may come to our headquarters in Golden, Colorado whenever you like for an interview. You have to recite the number to the man at the door, and then he’ll direct you.”

I didn’t have a pen, but I have a great memory. “Go ahead.”

She read off a number, and then there was a plaintive click. She’d ended the call.

I looked at Marie. “Done. She said the headquarters is in Golden? That’s near here isn’t it?”

“Just over on the west side. You’ll have to grab a cab. I can’t drop you off. JB knows me.”

“JB?”

“James Buchanan Blackwell. TJ’s brother. He’s the guy on the door. When you get there, recite the number the woman gave you. He’ll send you up to TJ.”

“That’s what she said.”

She shrugged. “It’s the same for everybody.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 9:53. “It isn’t too late to go today?”

She shrugged again. “He’ll make time. If you want to go right now, call a cab. Leave time to take a shower, and maybe to let your folks know you’re all right. The drive from here to Golden takes about a half-hour.”

I got up, but for a moment I only looked at Marie. “I’m really doing this, aren’t I?”

“Only if you want to, Nick. I think you’re right for the job, but you have to really want to do it.”

I nodded. “Guess I’ll get a shower. Call a cab for me, for say 10:30? I’ll be ready by then.”

“Sure, I’ll call for you.”

“Thanks.” I grinned. “Or you could join me if you want.”

She grinned and gestured. “Go on, you skunk. I’ll make the call for you, and then I’ll give you a good luck kiss. But that’s all you’re gettin’ until you get home.”

I chuckled as I padded out of the kitchen. But to be honest, I was faking it. I was still wondering how different I had to be and whether I had any chance at all.

“Okay. As you noticed when I saw you in the shop on Friday, I’d changed into my work clothes.”

“The jeans and boots and turtleneck, right?”

She nodded. “Right. And when I saw you I was ready to leave town, remember?”

“Right. You said I had to make a decision right then, to go or stay.”

“I never hang around right after I finish an assignment. That would be stupid. Remember that for later. Always get out as soon as possible, but as calmly as possible too. You don’t want to call attention to yourself.”

“Right. That makes sense.”

“That’s also why I wear combat boots and jeans and all that. Somebody only catching a glimpse of me might think it’s a guy. Every little bit helps. Just remember that.”

“Got it.”

She took a breath and released it. “Okay, I got to Gruber’s maybe eight or ten minutes before I came for you in the shop. I went to the back door—the one that opens on the alley—”

“I didn’t even hear the bell sound.”

She smirked. “I’m always very careful when I open a door. You never know what’s on the other side, and in my job, silence is golden. So I opened the door, and there were shelves all over the place and then the counter out front. And there was only one inside door back there. One door to an inside room. So I figured that had to be his office.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he made it easy on me. You know where his desk is, right?”

“Sure. As you go in it’s across the room. Under the window. He likes—well, he liked—looking out the window.”

She nodded. “If there’d been a pillow or something to muffle the shot, I’d have used my .22, but it isn’t silenced. Even with the low-velocity rounds in it, the noise would’a been too much. I didn’t want you to hear it and maybe come see what was going on.” She paused. “So instead I used my garrote.”

An involuntary shudder raced through me.

“He didn’t suffer much. He was leaning slightly forward over his desk, and I noticed the chair had rollers under it. So as I slipped the garrote out of my hip pocket and grasped the handles, I took one step and slapped it over his head as I braced the heel of my boot against the wheel. Then I jerked it tight, leaned back, and held on.”

I breathed, “Jesus! A garrote? How long?”

She shook her head. “It only takes about 10 pounds of pressure to cut off the blood flow, as little as thirty seconds to effect brain damage, and death occurs in only a few minutes.” She shrugged. “Four or five. And as for Jesus, trust me, He wasn’t there. If anyone came to receive Klaus Gruber, he came from the other direction. Gruber was a despicable man, if you can even call him a man. He was subhuman.”

She held up one hand. “But not all of our targets are like that. Sometimes maybe a wife wants her husband removed or vice versa. In fact, I suspect that was the case with Rupert Marshall in Benson. I don’t know for sure, but Mrs. Marshall’s absence was awfully convenient, just sayin’. So we aren’t always the good guys, doing a good deed for humanity.”

“So then what are we?”

“Operatives doing a job like anyone else.”

“Like anyone else? Most people don’t go around—”

She held up a hand. “First, you’d be surprised at how many do. But second, don’t confuse the job with the person. My job is different from a lot of other jobs, but I’m no different than many of the people who do those other jobs. Understand?”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I only said, “I think so.”

“Plus TJ is extremely generous. Which you’ll find out if you pass the interview and get to the final Go or No Go stage.” She paused. “But again, everything depends on you and what you want to do.

“And if I meet him and he hires me as an operative, will I get to work with you?”

“It’s not impossible. From what I’ve heard, sometimes more than one operative is assigned to a case, but I’ve never seen that personally. So probably not. But that isn’t the—”

“What if he hires me as a—what’d you call it? A contact? Could we be together then?”

“I think he’ll want you as an operative. But no. Contacts are just as anonymous as we are. Probably more so.”

“So is there—”

She put up one hand. “The company doesn’t work like that, Boo, and it’s a good thing it doesn’t. Even if we could, we don’t want to work together. It would be too dangerous. We’re too close personally. If we were on an assignment together, you’d be concerned for me and I’d be concerned for you and one or both of us would probably get killed because of that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want that, and neither do you.”

“No. When you put it like that, I don’t want that. What I want—”

“I know what you want. You want us to be together, always, bound at the hip. But that won’t work either. I told you earlier, remember? I can’t stand the thought of having my feet nailed down? And none of this is permanent? Any of that strike a bell?”

She reached across the table to touch my arm. “I like you, Nick, very much. I like how you make me feel, and I love how you make me feel in there.” She pointed vaguely toward the bedroom. “But most operatives are completely anonymous, and that’s how TJ wants it for security.” She sat back. “The only permanent thing we’ll ever have is the knowledge that both of us are operatives.” She hesitated. “But as long as we live close enough to each other, there’s no reason we can’t visit from time to time.”

I won’t tell you the exact thought that crossed my mind, but it entailed my willingness to drag an intimate part of myself across a hundred miles of jagged glass fragments embedded in a steaming lava flow just to catch a whiff of the exhaust fumes from the laundry truck that carried her dirty clothing away. So an occasional visit? Yeah, I could settle for that. If I had to.

But I only shrugged and said, “Okay, then I want to meet with TJ.”

She beamed. “Good!” Then she held up an index finger. “But you can’t mention me to him, okay? And to get your appointment, you’ll have to call a toll-free number. The lady who answers will give you a number. Then you go to the headquarters, present that number to the man who’s on the door, and he’ll direct you to TJ.”

I frowned. “I thought maybe you’d already set up an interview. Can’t you just call him and—”

“No. It has to be this way. Anonymity, remember? If we want to spend some personal time together later, TJ either can’t know or he has to think we met by accident.”

Marie took a sip of coffee, then set the mug on the table. “Okay, I actually got into Stillson early in the morning on Thursday and checked into the motel. Then I spent the rest of that day researching Gruber, at first from the few assignment notes I’d received from TJ and then from the yellow pages of the Stillson phone book. That’s where I discovered he owned a small-engine repair shop. A few seconds online showed me the location of the address.

“Then I had to figure out how to get close enough to him to do my job. Finally I got up, got into my truck, and just drove around looking for anything old and abandoned that had a small engine on it. You know, something I could ‘borrow’ and nobody would notice.” She frowned. “How do you guys get by without even a junk yard? Anyway, toward the end of the day, I hadn’t found anything, so I drove to that town to the north—”

“Bradford?”

“I guess—the one with the Walmart—and bought a cheap gasoline mower.” She grinned. “I played my Helpless Woman card, and the guy who put it in the back of my truck was kind enough to take it out of the box and put it together for me.” She chuckled. “He even took the box back inside.”

Smiling, I shook my head. “You’re so bad.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Anyway, so I was all set for Friday. I wasn’t even gonna stay in the motel that night. I had all my stuff in the sleeper when I stopped into Gruber’s on Friday morning. The plan was to do Gruber on Friday morning, then drive over to Benson.”

“Really?”

She only nodded. “There I’d get another room, hit Marshall on Sunday, then drive back to Denver.” Her elbow on the table, she pointed at me. “Only on Friday, you were there instead of Gruber and the whole plan went to shit.” She chuckled. “So after that I played it by ear.”

“So you thought Gruber would be in the shop? I never saw him in there unless he was poking his head in to tell me he was leaving or he was back.”

She shrugged. “Hey, I couldn’t know. When I saw the listing in the yellow pages, I envisioned a little old man with thick glasses sitting in a dimly lit room fixing small engines. Anyway, when I met you something just clicked.” She laughed and pointed at me again. “Jesus, Boo, you practically swallowed your tongue lookin’ at my legs. And the way you stumbled around the language was hilarious.”

I half-closed my eyes. “Glad I could amuse you.”

“But something about you told me you’d be perfect for my company—well, TJ’s company. I’m only an operative—so I decided to recruit you.”

That caused me to frown a little. “So all of this was only about recruiting me?”

She reached across the table and took my left hand. “You really gonna ask me that after last night?” She released my hand. “No, as it turned out, it wasn’t only about recruiting you, okay? But focus. We have a lot to get through here. You focused?”

With my ego safely patched, I only nodded.

“Good. So Friday happened and then Saturday we had a great time. I like that Janie Price, by the way. Then on Sunday I drove to Benson.”

I furrowed my brow. “That’s a six-hour drive!”

“Like I said, I had the whole trip planned out. Even with the plan screwed for Stillson, there was no reason not to stick to it for Benson.” She hesitated, as if anticipating a question.

“So was the original plan to be in Benson on Saturday? I mean, why Sunday instead of Saturday?” I think I was hoping she’d say she’d changed the plan so we could spend some time together on Saturday.

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know how TJ gets his information, but the note for that assignment said Rupert Marshall and his wife, both in their 70s, would host a family reunion for their kids and grandkids and a few great-grands on Saturday. And then on Sunday they’d all be gone—all except Rupert, who’d stay behind. Mrs. Marshal left with one of their sons and his wife to extend their visit for another few days. So the primo time to hit Rupert was Sunday evening at around 9 p.m. That’s when he and Mrs. Marshall usually go to bed.”

“TJ even knew what time they’d go to bed?”

She nodded. “So on Sunday I drove to Benson. I’d researched Rupert’s house online on Saturday before I picked you up for supper. So I knew where he lived, the parking situation, everything, before I even drove up there.

“I pulled into town at 9:18, parked in the alley, jumped his fence, and accessed the house through the sliding glass door that opened onto his back yard. I figured I’d just pop him and get out.” She chuckled. “Only as I padded across the living room in the dark, all these sounds of passion were comin’ from the bedroom! Tell you what, I was shocked! I mean, the guy’s like 76 or something!

“So I waited a little and the sounds died off and then the bed springs squeaked like somebody was gettin’ up. I figured it was probably whatever woman was in there. Then I heard a door latch click. So I hurried down the short hallway. The bedroom door was already open, and there was a light comin’ under a small door on the left.

“So I stepped inside and curled around the wall. Rupert was sittin’ with his back against the headboard. So I said, ‘Hey, Rupert?’

“And he looked up and frowned and said, ‘Who’re you?’

“I shot him twice in the left eye with a little .22, then boogied back down the hallway and through the living room and out the back door. The clock in the truck read 9:22 as I turned on the street at the end of the alley.” She shrugged. “And a’course, I was back in my room at the Blue Swallow in Stillson by about 3:30.”

I only gaped at her. “Amazing!”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“You actually killed him! And then you killed Gruber, right?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I do for a livin’, Boo. It ain’t personal.” Her frown deepened. “Hey, you okay?”

“I... I think so.”

“Well, like I said, you can always change your mind.” She sipped her coffee.

“Still? But you just confessed murder to me, Marie! I mean, I know what you’ve done! Plus I know where you live, so—”

“Hey, I wouldn’t never come after you, Boo. Well, not unless I got an assignment on you. But you ain’t the kind that pops onto TJ’s radar. Besides, even if an assignment did come in on you, I think I’d reject it so I wouldn’t have to do it.” She sipped her coffee again.

“You can do that? You can just let an assignment pass?”

“Yeah, but then he sends it to another operative. That’s how it all works. But he’ll tell you all about that when you meet him. I mean, if you decide you wanna meet him.” She sipped her coffee. “But we’ll talk about all that after I tell you about Gruber, okay?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any more. Up to that point, it had all been nature, at least on my part. Basically I spotted this lovely creature in the wild, and I reacted the way any healthy young predatory male would react: on instinct. And of course my end goal did include maybe glossing over my suspicions about her to get what I wanted.

But now there are no more excuses. Now I know exactly what she does and how she goes about it. And who she truly is.

On one hand, I was sort of appalled by what I’d heard and even by my own thought process, as probably anyone would be. But also, something inside me clicked loose, and deep in my core, I wanted her to tell me about Gruber. And about TJ.

With what I thought was maybe a final defensive whisper, my subconscious said Hey, this is her show. It isn’t that you want to hear it. It’s that you want to let her tell it.

So I nodded and took a sip of my coffee. “Okay, sure. Go ahead.”

The trouble was, I felt almost as cavalier as I sounded.

When I awoke to the tantalizing scent of fresh-brewed coffee and the sound and smell of bacon frying in a skillet, the bedside clock read 8:43. The bedroom was flooded with light.

I sat bolt upright and looked at Marie’s side of the bed even though I knew she wasn’t there.

Embarrassed at having slept so long, I quickly got up, pulled on my jeans, and padded barefoot down the hall.

As I looped around the end of the island, to the left a glass-topped table and four padded chairs with black metal frames were tucked into a small dining room. Two plates, two napkins, and silverware were already set out.

Marie, in a pink pajama top and shorts, was at the stove to my right at the far end of the room. A sense of relief moved through me.

Much of the back wall of the kitchen was a sliding glass door that opened onto a broad terra cotta patio and then a lush green lawn. The whole thing was enclosed within a faded grey grape-stake fence.

To the right of the door, a long counter held a bread box and a toaster, a small toaster oven, a microwave and a coffee pot, and then a double sink. Around the corner was a stove and Marie, another much narrower counter, then a side by side freezer and refrigerator, then the island.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “That was sweet, Mr. Man. And hot.” She chuckled, then nodded toward the long counter. “You wanna drop a couple slices of toast in for us? Butter’s in the fridge. Silverware’s in the top drawer next to the fridge, or you can use a knife from the settings on the table. It’s behind you. Bacon, eggs, and hash browns’ll be on the table in about two minutes.”

I got two slices of bread and dropped them into the toaster, then stuck the loaf back in the bread box and walked up behind Marie. I put my hands on her sides just above her hips, then kissed her on top of her head. “It was sweet. And wonderful. Thank you.”

She chuckled. “Thank you, Boo. You about levitated me.”

Boo again?

“Now you go on and sit. I wasn’t kiddin’ about breakfast. Most important meal’a the day. While we eat, we got things to talk about.”

Her accent had changed. Or was changing. I grinned, “Yes ma’am,” then opened the fridge and grabbed the butter dish. I stopped at the coffee pot, pulled a mug from a rack on the wall, and poured myself a cup. “You want coffee?”

Without looking around, she said, “Yes please. Black’s fine. You might want a little sugar in yours though. That’s chicory coffee.”

I’d never heard of it, but it smelled rich. I pulled another mug down and poured her a cup, then started for the table. There, I pulled out a side chair, sat sideways so I could watch her, and just enjoyed the view as I sipped my coffee. It was strong, but delicious.

When the toast popped up, I set my mug down, retrieved the toast and buttered it, then cut it diagonally and laid two halves on each plate. Across the kitchen, Marie was busy with her spatula, loading up a large charger with eggs, hash browns, and crispy strips of bacon.

“Want me to bring that over for you?”

“Nah, I got it, Boo. I got a method.” She turned and crossed to the table, the charger in both hands, the spatula on top. She set the charger on the table, picked up the spatula with her right hand, then patted the back of the chair at the head of the table with her left. “You sit over here.”

“Oh. I just figured that was your place.”

As I sat down, she loaded my plate with three over-medium eggs, a generous heaping of hash browns, and several strips of bacon. “You’re the man. You sit at the head.” She moved around the corner of the table and started loading her plate. “Besides, I like the view of the back yard.” She set the charger on the far end of the table and sat down, then looked up as she adjusted her chair. “Safer that way too. I can see what’s comin’.”

I nodded. “I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask where you’re from originally?”

She grinned. “I think we’re pretty much past the pryin’ stage. Houma, Louisiana, born and bred, then later Lafayette.” She shook her head. “Way too many people there.” We ate, and despite what she’d said, we didn’t talk much. The only sounds were of silverware contacting the plates. Breakfast was delicious.

Maybe ten minutes later as we cleared the dishes and set them in the sink, she said, “All right. Now I’ll tell you about my other assignment, and then about Mr. Gruber.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary unless—”

“Sure it is.” She took my hands and focused on my eyes. “For one thing, I want you to be clear about who I am and what I do. And for the second, I need you to know what’s comin’ if you decide to meet with TJ. We can talk in the livin’ room if you want, or back at the table.”

“Okay, can I ask a question?”

She grinned. “Sure.”

“Boo?”

She laughed. “I didn’ forget your name, Nick. It’s a Cajun thing, short for Budreaux. It just means ‘guy’ or ‘man,’ okay? Like that.”

I grinned. “Got it.”

She turned away and led me back to the table. “We’ll talk in here. I like the light.”

I seated her this time, then said, “You want another cup of coffee?”

She smiled. “Good idea.”

I poured us each a cup, then took my place and waited.

As the clock in the dash flashed 3:35, Marie guided the pickup smoothly onto an exit ramp. She slowed and stopped at a stop sign, looked both ways, then wheeled the truck left and passed under the interstate. After making a series of at least seven turns under corner streetlamps, she turned into a driveway and stopped. “Here we are!” She shifted into park, turned off the engine, and glanced at me. “It’s good to be home. This was a longer assignment than I’m used to.”

“How long were you gone?”

Her brow furrowed. “A week?” She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. “No, six days, almost exactly. Door to door, I mean.” She pointed past me. “Meet me at the front door?” She chuckled and turned away to open her door.

As I opened the passenger side and stepped out, I started to reach back in for my bag, then remembered I didn’t have one. Weird. I closed the door and turned around.

A path of round terra cotta stones, dimly illuminated by a streetlamp, led across the dark lawn to the ground level pad that served as the porch. As I started along the path, I glanced up.

Somehow, Marie was already at the front of the house, the aluminum framed screen door resting against the curve of her left hip. Her lovely thighs and ankles, white leather flip-flop sandals, and the back of the white peasant blouse were bathed in the glow of the same street lamp. She looked down, fumbling with something. Probably her keys. A yellow bug light above the door reflected gold across the left side of her black hair.

Just as I stepped onto the porch, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, then stepped aside, still blocking the screen open. She smiled broadly and gestured. “C’mon in. Let’s get you off the street.” She chuckled.

I stepped in past her and moved a few feet into the room.

A dim light emanated from beyond a low island that divided the living room from whatever was on the other side—probably the kitchen. The living room was spacious, with a warm brown carpet and off-white walls and ceiling. A wide-bladed fan hung just behind the back of a flat screen TV that was also suspended from the ceiling. I’d never seen that before.

I also made out a dark brown sofa against the wall to my left. In front of it was a glass-top coffee table.

Behind me, the sound of the latch locking on the screen door. Then the main door shushed solidly closed, followed by the quiet sound of Marie turning the lock in the doorknob, then the plaintive click of a deadbolt going home.

Two matching recliners were nestled against another wall with a glass-topped side table between them.

“Hey, this is really cool!” As I turned to face Marie, I said, “So you live here al—”

“Yep. It’s all mine.”

I tensed and almost flinched. Somehow she’d moved right up in front of me, almost touching.

She beamed up at me. “Like you, right?” As her eyes filled with mischief, she reached her arms up around my neck. “Are you all mine, Nick?”

I couldn’t speak, so I bent to gather her in and kiss her.

She kissed me hungrily. Her perfect little lips seemed to anticipate every move of my own and beat me to it by a split instant. Between the movements of our lips, her audible breaths were short and hot It was our first real kiss, and before she was through, I thought my head would explode.

After we finally broke the kiss, she was still smiling and her fingers were still interlaced behind my neck. Quietly, intently, she said, “Okay, you. No, I’ve never done this with anyone else I’ve recruited. Yes, you can still change your mind whenever you like. And no, I don’t have a significant other.” She chuckled. “Now, any other questions, or would you like to see my bedroom?”

Is that a trick question? I could only manage a massive grin. My throat thick, I muttered, “I’m good with that.”

She lowered her arms, took my hand, and turned away. “I’ll give you a tour of the house sometime after, okay? But right now I need some sleep.”

Sleep? As my heart sank into my boots, she led me down a hallway to a door at the end.

Again she stepped aside and held the door as I went in ahead of her, then locked it before I could turn around. When I did, again her arms went around my neck. “Now then, if you’d help me get out of these pesky clothes?”

Of course I won’t go into detail. Suffice it to say we finally drifted off to sleep around the time first rays of the sun were illuminating the venetian blinds on the window.

Chapter 9: Waking Up

The sudden jerk of my head lolling forward and me catching it snatched me awake. A short, searing pain fired up the back of my neck, and an odd blue tinge emanated from the darkness to my left front. Where am I?

As I gripped the back of my neck, a singsong voice came from my left. “Hey, welcome back, you!” That was followed by a quiet chuckle.

Ah. Marie. We’re in her pickup. The engine purred. That’s probably what lulled me to sleep. It was maybe the quietest engine I’d ever heard. Or maybe the quietest cab. There was no road noise at all. Especially compared with my old ’92 Ford.

I stretched, yawned, and tried to smile as I glanced over at her. “Thanks. Did I sleep very long? I should’ve stayed awake so—”

She wagged a hand. “Nah, no biggie. Don’t should on yourself, Boo. I’m used to being on my own. Besides, you only slept for a few hours, so....” She let the sentence die.

Boo? Must be a nick—

The windshield wipers suddenly sprang to life, swept to the right, then back to the left and settled. All at once the driver’s side window was filled with the dark but silvery side of a tractor-trailer rig.

Then I noticed the cab of the tractor. The right rear corner was maybe ten feet ahead of the pickup and pulling away slowly. The glow of the red lights above the passenger door was diffused and distorted by wet places on the windshield of the pickup.

The wipers leapt up again, swung right, then left, and settled again. Specks of something spattered up on the windshield.

Marie glanced over and smiled. “We came through a pretty good storm back there, but the rigs kept running, so I did too.” She lifted a finger from the steering wheel and pointed at the passing truck. “And that’s why the wipers are still on. The actual rain stopped probably fifteen minutes ago. Now everything’s all sludgey.” She chuckled.

I glanced at the clock in the dashboard. It read 3:02. I looked at Marie again. Her thighs and knees are so pleasantly shaped. It’s almost like she’s sculpted from— “Wait. You changed clothes?” I frowned but kept looking.

She was in dark shorts—dark blue, maybe, or black—and a white peasant blouse. The tails were untucked and tied at her waist, revealing an inch or two of skin above her right hip. I couldn’t see her feet. But she wouldn’t wear combat boots with shorts. Would she?

She jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Rest stop a couple of hours back.” She glanced at me, then back at the road, then flashed the headlights bright and back to dim to let the rig know it was safe to pull over. “I did leave you to do the necessary, but I wasn’t gone long. And then I changed in the sleeper.”

“You changed in the sleeper?” Man I wish I’d been awake for that!

She chuckled. “I have a little cupboard back there. Holds a couple changes of clothes. I’ll show you later. Anyway, it only took a second or two.” She glanced at me, then turned her attention back to the road. The rig was steadily pulling away. “Relax, Nick. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay, your first official lesson. Never be sorry. You can say the word if it helps you win a situation, but don’t actually be sorry. If you’re gonna do something you think you’ll regret, just don’t do it. And if you do something and you’re sorry afterward, just get through it and don’t do it again.” She hesitated. “Sorry’s a lousy trade for accepting responsibility.”

“Sor—I mean, okay.” I grinned.

“Now, are you sorry you’re here?”

I grinned. “Oh, not even a little.”

“Good. I’m a pretty good judge of people, and I think you’re gonna be great.”

“Okay....” Great at what?

“I’ve recruited a few others for TJ, and they worked out fine. Two operatives, both women, and two contacts, both men.”

Ah. “Okay, so what are operatives and con—”

She wagged a hand. “I’ll explain all of that later.” A moment later, she lifted a finger from the steering wheel and pointed at the windshield. The rig was already a quarter-mile away and receding. “Hey, see that glow in the sky?”

I looked. A massive glow of city lights reflected off clouds several miles ahead of us. “Yeah?”

“That’s the south end of Denver. We’ll be there in a half-hour, tops. Then home to my place maybe ten minutes after that. Then we’ll finally have some us time, and tomorrow we’ll talk more.”

Us time?

“Then in a day or two, once you decide how you want to proceed, you’ll meet TJ.” She shrugged. “Or not.” She looked at me. “I can take you to the bus station if you’d rather.”

I chuckled.

She glanced over. “What?”

“No matter what happens, we won’t be going to the bus station. Or at least I won’t be going back to Stillson. I’ve always wanted to travel. Denver’s as good a place to start as any.”

She only nodded, focused on the road ahead.

In the dark interior of the cab and in the light blue glow from the dash, her face in profile was as lovely as from any other angle. Her slightly rounded forehead, with the smallest protrusion that marked her eyebrows. Her gently sloped nose, perfectly rounded on the end. Her slightly parted lips, protruding just enough that you could tell they were there. Her jawline was strong too, and her chin was rounded as perfectly as her nose and flowing seamlessly down to that lovely throat.

She might’ve been a cameo on a fine work of art.

The cab of Marie’s pickup was decked out with pretty much anything you might need or want. After I stepped inside, I looked around as I was buckling my seat belt. “Wow! I thought there was something off about your truck when I took the mower out of the back.”

She nodded, seeming preoccupied as she started the engine, then shifted into reverse. “Figure out what it is yet?” She backed around the front corner of the building, then shifted into drive. She edged the truck forward to the street, watching through the driver’s side window for oncoming traffic.

“I think so. This is a crew-cab, right? A dual cab? But there’s a back door only on my side.”

She leaned slightly forward and looked past me for oncoming traffic on my side. “Right.”

I’d already looked. There was none.

As she spun the wheel hard left, crossed into the eastbound lane, and accelerated, she said, “I ordered it that way from the factory.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “To make room for my sleeper.”

Straining against my seatbelt, I twisted around and looked between the seats into the back. Instead of a back seat, a narrow bed stretched the width of the cab, and a small fridge was wedged into the corner behind the driver’s seat. I turned to face front. As I settled again, I grinned. “Wow, a fridge and everything huh?”

She checked the rearview mirror. “Well, not quite everything. No toilet. I still have to stop for that. Anyway, the sleeper’s only for emergencies.”

“Emergencies?” The town limit sign flashed past in my right periphery, interrupting the occasional telephone pole, the seemingly endless 5-strand barbed-wire fence, and the yellowed plains grass that reached to the horizon in every direction.

I looked out the passenger window. In the distance, the sharp A of Herman Miller’s windmill stood stark against the almost cloudless sky. As I watched, the wind caught the vane and shifted the blades to a new orientation. It was like the thing was saying goodbye to me.

Billy Cormier and I used to walk out there from town to fish for perch and catfish. If you went by the road, the windmill was exactly three point two miles from my house. If you walked across pastures like Billy and I did, it was only a little over a half-hour.

I faced front again. All of that’s behind me now.

Marie shrugged. “You know, like if it’s a long trip and I don’t want to—”

“Wait. Are we headed out now? I thought we might swing by the house for clothes and—”

She looked at me, a slight frown on her face. “I can’t do that. Remember I said we’re starting a new journey? And your new life?” She bit her lower lip. “Look... I have a thing against turning around, but I’ll pull over and let you out if you—”

“No! No, it’s okay.” I did remember. In fact, I remembered her exact words: Once we’re in my pickup you’ll start a new journey. And a new life. So my old life was dead. I wouldn’t see my parents again for at least awhile. Or Billy Cormier. Or Janie Price or Marcy or the other waitresses at The Well. Okay then. But I’d have to call my folks later to let them know I was all right.

I grinned and flashed Ranger Gus McCrae’s gesture from Lonesome Dove toward the windshield. “Like ol’ Gus said, the best thing you can do with death is ride—” I stopped and felt my face flush red. “I’m sorry. I only meant the death of my old life, not... anything else.”

She held up her right hand. “It’s okay.” She looked at me. “So you’re with me then, Nick? You’re sure?”

I nodded and tried to sound more confident than I felt. “Oh, absolutely.” Then I grinned and gestured again, but this time the quote was from Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise: “Engage.” Whatever with me meant, yes, I was all-in.

She smiled lightly but she didn’t look around. Obviously her mind was occupied with other things.

And it hit me. She actually killed old man Gruber. I don’t know how or exactly why, but she killed him. And she doesn’t seem concerned about it at all.

Something like a chill trembled up through my spine, but I’m sure it didn’t show on the outside.

When she glanced in the rearview mirror earlier she was probably looking for flashing lights.

Of course, there were none. In Stillson there were only three cops on duty for each shift, including the assistant marshal on the day shift. The other two on the day shift were most often down at The Well, and when the assistant wasn’t in his office or hobnobbing with the judge, he was almost always napping in his car out near the old quarry. He probably thought that was a secret, but everyone knew. Dad didn’t want to fire him because he was an army vet.

Like I’d told Marie earlier, there isn’t much adventure around Stillson.

Well, until now. Or whenever they find Mr. Gruber.

Without being too obvious, I glanced over at her.

She was dressed in jeans and combat-damn boots. And a long-sleeved black turtleneck, so even the skin of her lovely porcelain-looking throat was covered. And she’s a murderess. Murderer? Still, what a beautiful woman. But even with what she’d admitted to me—and even with almost no skin showing—she was still wildly enticing. Maybe even more enticing than before. How can that be possible?

It dawned on me that maybe I was flawed. Why did I jump at the chance to come along with her? I mean, there’s her appearance, but then there’s what she actually is. So where can all of this end up?

“Something?” A slight smile curled the right side of her mouth.

She must’ve noticed me looking. “No. Not at all.”

Her gaze still on the road ahead, she shrugged. Quietly, she said, “Don’t try to figure it out, Nick. I just do what I do.”

I nodded. Still, it was difficult for me to look away. And when I finally did, I was already looking forward to the next time I could steal a glance.

She took a breath, released it. “Anyway, for your clothes and stuff. I won’t leave you high and dry. Tomorrow sometime we’ll go shopping. Get you some clothes, a toothbrush, and all that. You pick and I’ll pay.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. And with what I get paid, believe me, I can afford it.” She glanced over at me. “If it hurts your male pride, you can pay me back if you want. But for now, just settle into getting your head right, okay? Think about your future. You don’t have to do what I do, but for some reason I think you’d be good at it.”

Murdering people?

“You’ll have a lot of decisions to make over the next few days.” She hesitated. “Including whether you’d like to meet my boss. And maybe even work for him.”

“So you do mean doing what you do.”

She wagged a hand like a teeter-totter. “Maybe. There are other opportunities too. But we’ll talk about all of that later.” She glanced at me. “And you can change your mind at any time, okay?” She raised a palm from the steering wheel, then let it drop again. “Well, up until you sign on the dotted line. After that it’s a done deal. But I’ll explain that later too. Or TJ will.”

“TJ?”

“My boss. TJ Blackwell.”

“I understand.”

Of course, that was sheer bravado. I didn’t understand at all. My mind was reeling. And really, I only barely even suspected what she was talking about. After all, I hadn’t actually seen her kill anyone. And I hadn’t seen Mr. Gruber after I talked with her, but that was normal. I very seldom saw him except when he let me know he was going to lunch or that he was back. Well, or once a week for inventory. So all of that was fine, really.

At the moment, I only knew I didn’t want to be anywhere other than in her truck with her. For the time being, that was good enough. I glanced over at her for a moment, then looked out the passenger window. The same old telephone poles, the same barbed-wire, the same tall yellow grass. But somehow it all looked different. Vibrant, maybe, like it looks after a good rain when that special smell is in the air.

I sighed. This is going to be one wild ride.

Chapter 7: Monday—A Most Unusual Day

Sunday was both hot and humid, and it was all I could do to drag myself through it. I spent most of the day in my room, and of course I was thinking about Marie. Where she was and what she was doing. And travel. And weapons. And what it might mean to be Marie’s partner. And how all of those factors might be connected. The up side was good though. With my brain all but exhausted, I slept well.

By contrast, Monday morning was busy, which was actually nice. Between my arrival at work and around 2 p.m., I repaired three lawn mower engines and one for a gasoline powered chain saw. It felt good to focus on something other than what Marie was doing and when I’d see her again.

As I worked, Mr. Gruber poked his head in to say he was going to lunch, and sometime later he poked his head in again to let me know he was back and he’d be in his office.

Unfortunately, that exhausted my waiting jobs. I cleaned up the shop a little, hoping more jobs would come in, but nothing did. So around 3:30 or so, to help divert my mind from the pending arrival of the lovely Marie and all the questions that were still nagging me about her, I went into the showroom and sat behind the counter. I propped my feet up on a shelf below the counter and browsed the new issue of Popular Mechanics, then started reading the articles that interested me. I was deep in the last article when the familiar sound of a tinkling bell pulled me back to the real world.

I set my feet on the floor and leaned the chair forward, then stood up and stretched. I glanced at the front doors, but there was nobody there. The bell must’ve sounded in the shop.

I walked to the end of the counter, opened the door to the shop, and stepped inside.

Marie had just come in. She was dressed in jeans, combat boots, and a long-sleeved black turtleneck. She briefly glanced to one side, as if listening intently for something. Her hair was pulled back and coiled in a bun on the back of her head. She remained just inside the door. “Hi Nick.”

I grinned. “Hey, you.”

She worked up a smile, but it didn’t go to her eyes. Something felt different.

I frowned. “Are you all right? You seem... different.” I gestured toward the showroom door. “Oh, would you like to meet Mr. Gruber? I think he’s in his office.”

She shook her head, but only slightly. Quietly, she said, “He is. I came in the back way.”

I frowned. I hadn’t heard the bell from the back door. Maybe he took that one down? But I had a feeling she could pass right through the door if she wanted to.

“We, uh, had a short talk.” She spread her hands a little. “And I did my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yes. And I’ve decided not to pick up the mower after all.”

“What? Why? Did he say something to upset you, or—” I started to turn around.

She held up a hand. “No. Just listen, and then we should go.”

Go? We? But something about the gravity in her voice focused my attention on her eyes. I’d never seen a more serious look. “All right.” I moved closer. “So what’s going on?”

She took my hands. “Okay, the short version. Remember I told you I find things and I fix them? I was here to find Klaus Gruber. He isn’t who you think he is, Nick. A long time ago, he caused a lot of people a great deal of misery, and then he disappeared.”

“He did?”

She nodded, her gaze firmly on my eyes. “But that’s all over now. Understand?”

“I think so, but—”

“I need a friend, Nick. A partner. So you have a choice to make.”

“A choice?”

“I really like you, so I’ve decided either way to let you live.”

My eyes went wide. “Let me live?”

She pointed past me. “You can go see Gruber if you want. But if you do that, you’ll be involved in something that doesn’t concern you and is not of your choosing. And when you come out, I’ll be gone. And I guarantee you will never see me again.” She took a breath and released it. “Or you can walk out of this shop with me and lock the door on the past. Once we’re in my pickup you’ll start a new journey. And a new life.”

Wow. That was a lot to take in. My mind raced. Did she kill Mr. Gruber? And who was he? If I left, would I see Billy again? And Janie and Marcy? And all the other people I’d spent my whole life around? What about my parents? But I only said, “Really?”

She nodded. “Really. If you’re wondering whether you can come back to Stillson later, you can if you want to. But—”

I grinned. “I was, but mostly I was wondering why you chose me.”

“Okay, but right now I need you to focus. I chose you because you feel right to me. I can’t explain it beyond that. Nick, there’s an opportunity here, but you have to decide right now.”

I decided. “Okay. Time enough for the rest later. Let’s go.” I reached past her and shoved the door open.

“Good!” Her eyes shining, she raised up onto her tiptoes, held my cheeks, and pecked me on the lips. Then she turned and stepped out.

I followed her out, threw the lock on the door and closed it firmly, then followed her to her pickup. And into my future.

###

Please Read This

Thanks to all of you who voted.

Just to clarify, I wasn’t going to leave you hanging. Chapter 7 originally wrapped the short story with a single sentence. When you said you’d like to see the continuation, I deleted that sentence. Back in a couple of days with Chapter 8. :-)

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When Marie pulled up at the curb and I opened the passenger side door of her pickup, her light scent wafted over me. Jesus, I nearly passed out. And she was even more beautiful than I remembered. I got in, mentally stumbling for something to say. “So, any trouble finding the place?”

“No, I’m pretty good at finding what I want.” She flashed me a knowing smile, then glanced down at her blouse and skirt. “Too much?”

The top two buttons of her black silk blouse were unfastened. Her red skirt rode several inches above her knees. “Oh no. No, you’re fine.” Like I told Billy, finer’n frog hair diced twelve ways. “I mean it’s fine. What you’re wearing. Beautiful.”

She grinned. “Well, thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated. Buckle up.”

A few minutes later we were parking outside The Well.

I quickly got out and hurried around to her side. I opened the door for her and held it as she swiveled in her seat. Her skirt slipped slightly higher and I strained to keep my gaze on her face.

She saw me looking, but she just smiled.

Beautiful and a woman of real class. So what is she doing in Stillson?

Nah, don’t go there. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

As she closed the door and locked the pickup with her remote, I offered her my arm.

But as we began walking toward the front corner of The Well, that nagging thought returned. “So what are you doing in Stillson? If you don’t mind me asking. I mean, it’s a massive understatement to say I’m glad you’re here, but you seem kind’a out of place.”

She looked up at me, seeming to search my eyes. Then she looked away and shrugged. “Oh, just business. I’m on assignment. I’m sort of an insurance adjuster. I find things that people want found and I fix things that people need fixed. It’s pretty boring really. Well, not boring. Just routine, I guess.”

Janie Price met us when we walked into the restaurant. “Right this way, Mr. Porter.”

I blushed. “Aw cut it out, Janie. I just wanted you to save us a good table. Something in the back maybe?”

She laughed. “And I did.” She glanced at Marie. “You must be something special, Miss.” She offered her hand. “I’m Janie Price. This is my place.” She frowned slightly. “Have we met?”

“Marie. And no. This is my first time in town.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. All the years I’ve known Nick, he’s never called me before to make sure everything was ‘just right’.” She glanced at me, chuckled and winked, then shifted her gaze back to Marie. “Anyway, we’re glad to have you both.” She said, “If you’ll follow me,” then turned away.

As we followed her into the back dining room, every man in the place was checking out Marie. I couldn’t blame them.

Janie led us to a table in the back corner of the back dining room. Only two other couples were in the room, and they were seated near the front.

As I held a chair for Marie, I smiled at Janie. “Thanks, Janie. I owe you big-time.”

“I look forward to collecting.” She winked again. Then she looked at Marie and smiled. “I’m only jokin’. I joke a lot.” She smacked her gum and took our drink orders. “Okay, so the special tonight is filet mignon with all the trimmings. Or I can trot out a lobster for you. And a’course, there’s always chicken.”

Marie smiled. “Thanks! The filet mignon would be perfect.” She looked at me.

I glanced up at Janie. “Make it two.”

After Janie left, returned with our iced teas, and left again, Marie shifted in her seat. “So how about you?”

“Me?”

“What are you doing in Stillson? I mean why are you still here? Not that it isn’t wonderful if it’s what you want, but... is it?”

“Oh. I don’t know, really. Billy—my friend, Billy Cormier—and I used to talk about leaving. We were gonna go away to college, but we decided to wait. You know, take a year off.”

She nodded.

“We’ve been buddies most of our lives, so I guess we got used to running in tandem. Now he works graveyards on an oil rig. I was gonna travel, but somehow I ended up down at Gruber’s instead.” I shrugged. “Billy definitely makes better money, but I never wanted to work on rigs.”

“Why not?”

I grinned. “I don’t like smelling of oil all the time. It’s bad enough just working at Gruber’s.” I hesitated. “And then my folks aren’t getting any younger. And then too, old Mr. Gruber, he needs a lot of help down at the shop.”

“He must be a good friend.”

“Oh... nah, not really. He’s just my boss. He’s friends with my dad, I guess. My dad got me the job in the first place.”

“I envy you all of that. It would be... comfortable, I think, to grow up with the same people, generation by generation. Probably everybody in town knows what’s usual and what’s unusual in town without even thinking about it.”

I laughed. “There is that.”

“I never had that. We moved around a lot. I guess that’s why I like to travel, see new places. So when I have to pack up and go somewhere on assignment, I don’t really mind. It’s almost like the world’s my home and I’m getting to visit all the various rooms.”

“I’ve never traveled much, but I like the idea of it. That and, like you said before, adventure.” I held up one hand. “And don’t get me wrong. Living in the same small town your whole life isn’t all peaches and cream. And not everyone’s like me and Billy. I mean, Mr. Gruber isn’t from here originally. He’s only been here a few years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He came to town probably five years ago. Maybe six. When you hear him talk, he sounds like a university professor or something, like the kind that teaches astrophysics or something. And he sounds foreign, like he has an Eastern European accent. Or at least what I think one sounds like.”

She grinned. “So did you ever ask him what he’s doing here?”

I laughed. “Nah. You’re the only person I asked that. ‘Course if I’d seen him in that blouse and skirt I probably would have asked him then.”

She laughed, reached across the table and lightly slapped my arm. “I don’t think anyone would want to see that.” She sat back. “Still, he sounds interesting. I’ll have to meet him sometime.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Are you thinking about staying around?”

A sadness passed through her eyes. “Oh. No, I didn’t mean that. I don’t think I could live having my feet nailed down.” Then the mood was gone and she smiled. “I guess I’m like a shark. Gotta keep moving.”

“Well, he’ll be there on Monday when you come by to pick up your mower. Well, except when he’s out to lunch with his wife. So as long as you’re there before 11:30 or after around 1:30, you can meet him then.”

“And you close at what, 5?”

Where’d that come from? But I only nodded.

“Oh, I already asked that, didn’t I? Well, I’ll stop by just before that. I can meet Mr. Gruber and then give you a ride.””

A waitress came up with the food, and Marie and I ate and chatted for the next hour and a half.

The filet mignon was excellent.

The rest of the evening went better than I’d hoped.

We held hands as we walked around the lake in the park on the edge of town. Mostly we talked about traveling, but the subject of various weapons kept coming up.

When she pulled up at the curb in front of my house, I reached for the door handle.

She said, “Nick?”

“Yeah?” I turned back.

She leaned forward, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me. When she broke the kiss, she took my hands. “I was serious when I said I was looking for a partner, and the more we’ve talked, the more I feel like you’re perfect.”

I grinned. “Thanks!”

She nodded. “We’ll talk more on Monday, but I won’t be in town tomorrow. I’m on kind of a double assignment, so....” She kissed me again. “Just give it some thought, all right?”

I only nodded. “I will.”

Like I’d thought of anything else since she’d first mentioned wanting a partner.

###

Please Read This

I’ll be back on the 21st with the finale in Chapter 7. Or Not.

I’d preposted Chapters 1 – 7 to wrap the short story, but the characters kept nagging me to write the rest of the story (so probably a novella or novel).

If you’d like me to continue posting successive chapters here, please let me know in the comments or via email at harveystanbrough@gmail.com. Otherwise I’ll wrap this as a short story and write the novella or novel without serializing it here. Thanks!

I still felt a little strange about calling Marie so soon, so as it turned out I forced myself to wait until Saturday morning. That was a bad move.

Most of the night I lay awake trying to figure out that line on her business card, not to mention that bit about her looking for a partner. Did she actually mean she wanted me as a partner? Or had my addled mind connected two completely separate things?

That was probably it. I probably misunderstood her. I probably connected what she said about wanting a partner with her inviting me to lunch, like lunch would be an interview or something. So I didn’t sleep much.

Still, I was up early on Saturday morning, and of course I was worried about calling her too early in the day too. But sitting on my bed thinking about her was no good, so I went downstairs and ate breakfast with Mom and Dad.

Just before I finished my egg on toast, Dad said, “I’m taking the day off, Nick. I was thinking maybe we could head out to the lake, do a little fishing. Bob Wilson’s boat’s out there and he said we could use it if we—”

“I can’t today, Dad. I have plans already.”

He frowned. “Oh? What plans?”

I put the last bite of breakfast in my mouth and shrugged. “Just lunch with a girl.”

Mom smiled. “Do we know her?”

“No, she’s new.” I pushed my chair back and picked up my plate.

As I stood up, Dad said, “Well what’s her name?”

I headed for the sink. “Marie. You don’t know her.” After I deposited my plate, I kissed Mom on top of the head on my way by. “I gotta go.”

Back in my room, my finger actually trembled as I punched in the number.

She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Marie? This is Nick. We met at—”

“Hi Nick! I wondered what had happened to you. I thought you might call last night.”

“I thought I’d wait to call until I had some news about your mower.”

“All business, aren’t you, Nick? Man, you gotta lighten up a bit.” She chuckled. “Okay, so tell me, what’s up with the mower?”

“Oh... well, nothin’ actually. I mean, it’s fine. You can come pick it up whenever you’re ready.”

*On Monday, right?”

“Oh, right. We’re closed ‘til Monday. And there’s no charge.”

“No charge? You sure?”

“Yeah, no problem. Like I said, it didn’t need anything, so—”

“Okay. Then lunch is on me. Where you wanna go?”

“Oh... well, there’s only one place in town. The food’s good though.”

“So that’s The Well, right? It won’t be really crowded, will it?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“I thought we’d talk a little about that partnership thing I mentioned. I mean, if you’re interested.”

So she did want to talk about the partnership thing! With me? Holy crap!

“Nick, are you interested?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“But we’ll need to be able to talk privately.” She hesitated. “I’d just invite you over here, but—”

“No, that’s okay. The Well should be good.” Janie Price, the owner of The Well, flashed through my mind. Maybe I could get her to give us a booth far away from everyone else. “And if not, maybe we could go to a park afterward or something. Or we could go out of town.” Then again, I don’t know any other restaurants to go to. Most of the nearby towns just have a small place like The Well, and those would probably be just as crowded. “But The Well’s probably our best bet without driving too far.” I felt a need to regain control of the conversation, if I’d ever had it. “So you wanna go today?”

“Perfect! Should I pick you up or do you want to meet me there?”

Of all the decisions I’d ever made in my entire life, that one was the easiest. One way or the other, I wanted everyone in The Well to see me walking in with Marie on my arm. “I live at 1432 Evergreen. I’ll be waiting at the curb.”

“Deal. What time?”

“Huh?”

Her grin came through. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

I glanced at the clock. I might or might not be able to reach Janie in time. “Oh... you know, actually it’s kind’a crowded for lunch. Would you rather go to supper? They open the back dining room for supper. It’s connected to the lounge next door. More relaxed atmosphere, all that.”

“You move fast, don’t you, Nick Porter?” She laughed, and the sound was like liquid diamonds tinkling over gold.

“Oh, no no! I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, Nick. I’m looking forward to it. So, casual’s okay? Jeans or maybe a skirt and blouse?”

I thought of her in either of those and grinned. “Sure, whatever you want.”

She laughed again, and then her voice turned serious. “Okay, but I really do have to levy one condition.”

“Oh, I know it isn’t really a date or anything. I just—”

“What? Of course it’s a date, Nick. I just mean I still get to pay the tab. After all, you were nice enough not to charge me for fixing my lawn mower.”

Well, duh. The lawn mower was obviously brand new. And she’d obviously bought it so she could bring it to Gruber’s. But why’s she in Stillson in the first place? I’d thought about that, but I tried not to think too much into it. Not before our first date.

I laughed lightly. “Oh, right... right. Okay. Well, I’ll see you then. Say about six p.m.?”

“Could we make it seven?”

“Sure. Seven’s probably better.”

She chuckled again. “Okay, Nick Porter who lives at 1432 Evergreen. I’ll see you then.”

And she was gone. Well, from the phone anyway. I couldn’t have blown her out of my head with dynamite.

I called Janie Price, hoping to catch her. I did, and made the arrangements for what I hoped would be a great evening.

###

Back soon with Chapter 6. If you’re enjoying the story and would enjoy more like this, let me know in the comments.

Back in the shop, I checked over her lawn mower for a good two hours, and from what I could tell there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. The sparkplug and oil were pristine, the gas lines were clear, and when I started it, it sounded as brand new as it looked. That goofy spring that everybody loses was even in the right place.

At five I said goodnight to Mr. Gruber. I wanted to go straight home and call Marie, but I didn’t want to seem too anxious. If there was ever a woman I didn’t want to scare off, it was her. So instead, I called my buddy Billy Cormier. “Hey Billy, are you at The Well?”

A grin in his voice, he said, “Where else am I gonna be at this time of day?”

“Wait there, okay? I need to talk to somebody.”

“Want me to have Marcy set you up with a cold one?”

“Yeah, do that. See you in a few.”

Five minutes later, I was sitting across from Billy in a booth in the bar side of The Well. He listened attentively as I talked, and ten minutes after I sat down, I’d told him what had happened at work, including me making a fool of myself and Marie looking for a partner and her invitation to lunch. Finally I handed him her business card and pointed at the front. “Whaddya make of that?”

He eyed the card, took a long drag on his second beer. “Real-time solutions for real-world problems.” He shrugged. “Beats me.” He handed the card back to me. “Jeez, Porter, whadda you suppose it means?”

I took a sip of beer and shook my head. “I dunno. I thought you might have some idea.”

Billy had been my friend since second grade when he and his parents had moved to Stillson. We fished together, hiked and camped together, and decided together that college could wait. In the meantime, he worked the graveyard shift on an oil rig. I didn’t want any part of that. I’d hoped to travel, even if I had to hitchhike, but then I ended up working at Gruber’s.

He took another sip of his beer and held up two fingers for the waitress. “An’ you say she’s fine on top of all the mystery?”

I grinned and repeated a favorite local description. “Finer’n frog hair diced twelve ways.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Okay, tell me about her legs again. You know how I like frog legs.”

“C’mon, man. You know that ain’t gonna happen. I really like this girl.”

He sat back. “A’right, a’right. But you let me know how the date goes, right?”

I shrugged. “We’ll see. It ain’t a date anyway. It’s just lunch.” I hooked a thumb toward the dining side of The Well. “Probably right next door.”

He nodded, huffed, and glanced around. “The only place in this sorry town. So you call her yet?”

“Not yet. I don’t want to sound too eager.”

“Oh man, come on! Look, we both know you’re smarter’n me, but sometimes you’re dumber’n a bagga caliche.” He held up his hand and started ticking off fingers. “One, she gave you her number. Two, she asked you to lunch, remember? An’ three, then she reminded you of it.” He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You gotta call her, man, and quick.” He leaned back and patted his belly. “Either that or, you know, if you ain’t interested you can give me that card.” He made a grab for it.

I jerked it away and deposited it safely in my left breast pocket. “No way, Moron. You couldn’t land a chick like this even if you had money. You definitely ain’t gettin’ this one.”

He grinned. “Aw man, I was just jerkin’ you around. I ain’t gonna take your girl. I mean, I could, but I ain’t gonna.”

“Yeah, well... would’a could’a should’a didn’t never made a damn.” I grinned and tipped my beer at him, then drained it just as the waitress arrived.

She set down two beers. “Anything else for ya’ll?”

Billy said, “Yeah, could we get some fries?”

I shook my head. “None for me. I gotta go.”

Billy looked at me. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He turned back to the waitress. “Okay, just the tab I guess. Thanks.”

She grinned. “Four beers, six bucks. Well, plus my tip.” She took a half-step back and gestured like a model showing off a new car. “You gonna leave me a good tip, Billy Cormier?”

Bill patted his chest and grinned. “Lord have mercy, Marcy, how could I not?”

Marcy turned and swayed away. Over her shoulder, she said, “Thanks, Darlin’.”

Billy laughed and shook his head. “I’m so easy, man.”

“Nah, she just knows the right bait.”

He leaned forward over the table and pointed at me. “You just remember to call that girl. And don’t forget you promised to tell me how it goes.”

“I only said ‘we’ll see.’”

He grinned. “We’ll see, promise, it’s all the same thing.”

From there the talk shifted to the upcoming ballgame between the Saints and the Indianapolis Colts as we finished our beers. We were both Saints fans, and we were both glad Manning had moved on to Denver.

###

Back soon with Chapter 5. If you’re enjoying the story and would enjoy more like this, let me know in the comments.

Late on that special morning, I was really rolling. I’d already finished working on one chainsaw and the leaf blower, and I’d hefted the next lawn mower in the queue up onto the workbench.

The door to the showroom opened a few inches, and Mr. Gruber poked his head in. “Neek, I am leafing now. I will meet Mrs. Gruber at The Well for lunch. You are okay though?”

The Well is the only restaurant in town, and it’s more of a combination café and bar. We don’t even have a McDonald’s. I only nodded. “I’m good. Enjoy your lunch, sir.” His head receded, and a moment later the bells over the front door tinkled as he left.

I read the ticket for the lawn mover. The engine speed had been rising and falling with no regard for the position of the throttle.

I grinned. Only Mr. Gruber talks like that. I looked over the Briggs & Stratton engine, tugging this and checking that. As I expected, I would only need to replace a simple little spring that homeowners most often lose without realizing it. There are probably a billion springs like that embedded in lawns all over the country. It was basically a two-minute job, and that included the time it would take to get the spring from the box on the shelves. But the engine needed a good cleaning more than anything else, so I decided to do that before I replaced the spring. I was trying to pace myself.

Maybe a half-hour had gone by when that stupid bell tinkled again. At first I thought it must be the front door. After all, it isn’t like Mr. Gruber locks the showroom door when he’s only going out to lunch. But I’d just reinstalled the spark plug after cleaning it and setting the gap, and I was up to my wrists in carb cleaner. I’d have to Goop my hands and wipe them, then go greet the customer.

But just as I reached for the can of Goop, a quiet, tentative female voice filtered across the shop. “Hello?”

I pushed down my frustration. “Be with you in a sec, okay?” How in the world did she miss the double doors on the front of the showroom? I mean, how big a moron y’gotta be to blow through a shop door and annoy a working man? Then I swiveled around on the stool and stood up.

I closed my eyes, opened them. “Wow!”

Before me stood the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. A petite angel in cut-off bluejean shorts and a bright pink halter top. Her tummy was flat, her breasts medium, rounded, and firm, and her skin smooth as ivory and lightly tanned. Her smile was honest and open and filled with perfect white teeth framed by full lips. Her nose was a noble accent mark between her eyes, which seemed a magical mix of green and blue. Her smile seemed to begin in them. Her eyelashes were the perfect length and natural, her eyebrows the perfect width and matched, her forehead smooth. Even her hairline looked delicious. I calculated that her pure black hair, apparently pulled back into a ponytail, probably hung to the middle of her back.

And no wedding ring.

She beamed a smile, raised one hand, and curled her fingers in a cute wave. “Oh, hi there. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I— Oh, hell no!”

Her smile fading, she frowned slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“No no, I’m sorry.” I spread my hands. “I was a little— It’s just— You are a remarkably striking woman.” I shook my head and waved my hands in an X in front of my face. “I’m sorry.” I grinned. “Let me start over, okay? How may I help you?”

She canted her head to the right, her eyes shone, and the smallest hint of amusement curled one corner of her mouth. “Well, it is a very small town, isn’t it?” She chuckled. “But thanks. Anyway,” and she jerked one thumb over her shoulder. “I think maybe I came in through the wrong door.”

“Oh, no. No no. We use that door all the time. Mr. Gruber and I. But this is the shop, so— But customers use the shop door sometimes too. Besides, if you’d come in the other way I’d’ve had to Goop up my hands, so you saved us some time. You and me, I mean.” Jesus. Just stop talking, Nick. But I only gestured and frowned. “Are you a customer? Because customers are welcome to use this door if they want to get something fixed.” Then somehow my brain linked fixed to pets and I grinned, “But not pets.” Fortunately, I heard it as I said it. Unfortunately, I tried to laugh it off. “‘Cause pets... you know, they don’t have engines and we’re a small-engine repair shop, so—”

Mercifully, she held up one hand. “Right. Small-engine repair. That’s what I need, I think.”

*Oh, I don’t think so.” I frowned. Did I actually say I don’t think so? I was doing my best to keep my gaze locked on her eyes and not allow it to go exploring. Finally, to help keep my own mouth shut, I bit my bottom lip and nodded sagely. “I mean right, right.”

She cocked her head again, looked at me for another long second, then glanced over her shoulder. “I guess I’m a customer.” She faced me again and pointed over her shoulder with one slim finger. “Actually, I have my lawn mower in the back of my pickup. It’s been acting up. Could you maybe look at it for me?”

I blushed. Is that a trick question? But I nodded again. “Sure. I mean sure, that’d be fine.”

She looked around. “So... is there a bay door or...?”

“Oh,” and I wagged a hand. “I’ll just lift it down and wheel it in. Or carry it in. I might carry it in.” Shut. Up.

She shrugged. “Okay.” It was maybe the cutest shrug I’ve ever seen.

I pointed past her. “So it’s right out there?” I took a step, then turned sideways and awkwardly edged past her, my arms in the air as if she was holding a gun on me. “I’ll just go right out there and get it for you.”

She giggled as she nodded.

I shook my head as I went through the door, wondering whether I’d left unticked any of the boxes that would make me look more like an idiot.

A slate-grey Toyota Tundra was parked in the dirt lot. In the back was a red, gas-operated push mower. There were no other pickups with lawn mowers in the back, but without turning around or looking back, I pointed. “Is that it?”

She giggled again. “That’s the one.” Her voice came from right behind me.

Okay, enough. I stopped, turned around, and sighed. “Look, I don’t know why I’m being so weird.” I put my hand on my chest. “I’m Nicky—Nick. Nick Porter. What’s your name?” I put up one hand. “I mean, not for me personally. I’ll need it for the estimate.”

She smiled broadly again, a gleam in her eyes, and offered her hand. “Marie. Marie Dubois.” As I twitched to reach for her hand, she added, “But you don’t want my name personally? Should I be offended?”

“Oh, no Ma’am... I mean, Miss. I only meant—”

She chuckled as she took my hand. Hers was as soft as I thought it would be. I forgot to shake it, but she remembered and shook it. “It’s really good to meet you, Nick.” She canted her head slightly. “Y’know, I believe you’ll do.”

“Do?”

“I’m looking for a partner. Tell me, do you like adventure?”

“Me? Sure.” I glanced around. “I mean, there isn’t much adventure around here, but—”

“I’m sure. But I suppose people around here know how to shoot. Do you shoot?”

“You mean guns? Sure. I love guns. My dad’s the town marshal. He was a Marine, too. He taught me all kinds of—”

“Good. Listen, would you like to have lunch with me sometime?”

What? For a second I was struck dumb. I even forgot how soft her hand felt in mine. And that I was still holding it. “What? Oh, yes Ma’am.” I blinked and held up one hand and grinned. “Miss, I mean. Miss Dubois.”

She laughed again and lightly tugged her hand from my grip. “Marie’s fine. But first things first. Should we maybe get the lawn mower down?”

I frowned. “I’m sorry?” Then I remembered. Her pickup was parked in the lot directly behind me. Her lawn mower was in the back, sitting sideways. I was supposed to repair it for her. “Oh, right. Sure. I’ll get that right now.” I tore my gaze away from her face, turned away, and strode along the driver’s side of her truck.

As I rounded the left rear corner, Mr. Gruber’s car stopped in front of the parking lot and he stepped out of the passenger side. His wife was driving. As he closed the car door and it pulled away, he raised one hand. “Hallo, Neek. Another customer?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, good.” He nodded, passed by the passenger side of Marie’s truck, and went in through the showroom door.

After I lowered the tailgate, I slipped my fingers under the deck of the lawn mower and pulled it toward me, doing my best to showcase my chest muscles. Then I hefted it and looked at Marie. “There we go. So what seems to be the problem with this thing?”

“Maybe if you bring it inside first? I’ll get the door.”

“Oh, right. Right.” I carried it to the door and edged past her into the shop. At the workbench, I shoved the mower I’d been working on aside with my left elbow, and set Miss Dubois’ mower in its place. “There we go.” As I turned around, I said, “So what’s it been doing?”

“Was that Mr. Gruber who came by a moment ago?”

“Yeah, that was the boss. So what’s the problem with the mower?”

“Oh.” Those luscious little shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “It just kind of sputters.... I think it needs a good cleaning. Or maybe a tune-up or something? You do that, right?”

“Oh sure, you bet.” I glanced over my shoulder at the mower. It looked almost brand new. “And I’ll bet that’s exactly what’s wrong with it too. Sure do.”

“Don’t you need to start it or something? Listen to it run?”

“Oh... yeah, sure. But I’ll do that later and we’ll check it out thoroughly for you. Of course I’ll give you a call before we do any re—”

She wagged a dainty hand. “Nah, that’s all right. Just fix it please. Any chance it’ll be ready before closing today?”

“Oh. Well, maybe, but it’s already late in the day, and—”

“And it’s Friday, isn’t it? So are you open tomorrow?”

“No. I guess it’ll have to be Monday. Is that all right?”

“Sure, that’ll work. And Mr. Gruber will be here on Monday too?”

I grinned. “Oh, he never misses a day of work.” That was the second time she’d asked about old man Gruber. Is she maybe his illegitimate daughter or something?

“I’ll have it done for sure on Monday. You could even pick it up on Monday morning if you want. I’m usually here by 8.”

“What time do you close?”

“Five.”

She nodded. “I’ll be back at around 4:30 on Monday then. But I’ll see you for lunch before that, right? Maybe tomorrow?” She produced a business card from somewhere and offered it to me. “My local number’s on the back. Don’t forget to call me, okay?”

As I took the card, my grin burst ear to ear. “I—sure. Of course. I won’t forget. I’ll call tonight. Or tomorrow morning?”

“Any time is fine.” She smiled again, then finger curled a wave at me. “Talk to you later, Nick. I’ll be waiting.” And she turned, swung the door wide, and walked out.

Of course I caught the door before it closed and watched her walk to her pickup. It was my pleasure.

She glanced at me through the windshield, smiled and waved again with her fingers, then backed out and drove away. A light plume of alkali dust hovered in her wake. I watched until the truck disappeared.

Suddenly I was aware of her card in my hand and glanced down.

The front was printed in bright pink on stark black in two lines:

Marie Dubois

Real-Time Solutions for Real-World Problems

I turned the card over. She’d neatly printed Blue Swallow Inn, Rm 16, and the phone number.

I turned the card over again and reread the front.

No company name. Just her name and that second line.

###

Back soon with Chapter 4. If you’re enjoying the story and would enjoy more like this, let me know in the comments.

Chapter 1

Okay, first, I woke up a little late. I all but ran down the stairs from my bedroom, in a hurry to get to my job down at Mr. Gruber’s small-engine repair shop. I’d been lucky to get that job, and I didn’t want to give the boss any reason to rethink his decision to hire me. There weren’t many jobs in a town the size of Stillson for a guy like me, recently out of high school and inexperienced at most things.

As I came off the bottom step and into the kitchen, Ma glanced around from the stove. “Morning, Nicky. Breakfast is almost—”

“On the table. Got it.” I wasn’t being disrespectful. It’s just that she says the same thing every morning. I moved closer to look over her shoulder at the skillet, but it was empty. Beyond it on the counter was a small plate with a slice of dry toast on it.

She let an over-medium egg slip off the spatula and onto the toast. So the usual.

I turned away and started for the front door, which was standing open to admit the cool morning air. “No time this morning, Ma. I’m runnin’ late.”

“Now you have to eat something, Nicky.” The spatula made a tinny sound as she dropped it into the skillet. I didn’t look back, but in my mind’s eye she was picking up the plate and turning toward the table.

“Not this morning, Ma. I gotta go.” Across the living room I hit the wooden frame of the screen door with the heel of my hand. Oops. Maybe a little harder than I meant to.

The spring on the white screen door complained and the door itself slapped hard against the slats on the front of the house.

Across the street, old Mr. Morgan looked up and frowned as he bent to pluck his morning newspaper off the sidewalk. But by then I was already sailing off the three-step porch and headed across the yard.

I winced, remembering too late that I should’ve caught the screen so it wouldn’t slap the door frame too after it rebounded. The report was sharp when it did that, like the sound of my little rolling-block .22 going off, so I always tried to remember to catch it, but that day I forgot. Like I said, I didn’t want to be late.

I yelled, “See’ya, Ma!” I was all set to flinch and yell “Sorry” when the door slapped the frame too, only it didn’t.

Apparently Mama caught it, and in her hand-beside-her-mouth voice, she called out, “Nicky, now you mind your Ps and Qs.” Sometimes she followed that with “What would people think if the marshal’s own son ran afoul of the law?” but that morning she didn’t.

Anyway, I knew what she meant. That “P’s and Q’s” thing just means “behave.” I raised one hand to let her know I heard her, then passed through the gate and broke into a jog.

Chapter 2

A little bell tinkled as I pushed open the side door at Gruber’s. I can only assume Mr. Gruber hung that bell just in case a customer came in that way, which none ever had in my experience.

The door opened onto the shop, which was mostly my domain. The floor was concrete, chipped here and there, and peppered with spots of grease and oil. In various states of disrepair, several mowers, two chainsaws, and a leaf blower lined the wall on the left.

Against the right wall a heavy wooden workbench sat next to the door to what Mr. Gruber calls the showroom. A rolling steel stool with a padded black-plastic seat sat in front of it. My tool box stood on one end of the workbench. The rest of the space was for whatever gadget I was working on. The far wall, which abutted the alley, was actually a big bay door that I’d never seen open.

Anyway, that stupid bell. I could understand having bells on the front door, but not on the shop. The front door is aluminum-framed glass, and customers always come through that into the showroom with its polished linoleum-tile floor printed to look like marble. The showroom’s bigger than the shop too, even though it only has an old-fashioned mower with a rolling blade—like anybody wants those anymore—plus a gas-powered push mower, and a fancy riding mower.

Well, that and a small set of white metal shelves set against the left wall with a few premium parts stacked on them. Air filters and small containers of 2-cycle oil and the like. The bottom shelf is lined with one- and two-gallon red gas cans. And to the right there’s a matched seating area with a short couch and two chairs, all with chrome legs and arms and blue pleather seats. That’s it. And then the counter with the cash register.

Behind the counter there are more rows of shelves that hold the real stock: everything we might need to make any repair on just about any small engine that was ever invented. From the counter you can see the back door, which opens on the alley. Next to it on the right is Mr. Gruber’s small office. It’s just big enough for his small desk and chair, a chrome and plastic guest chair, a filing cabinet, and his safe. Cozy.

But about that bell.

When I’d worked for him for a few months, we were in the shelves taking inventory. He liked to take inventory every week even though we only sold something maybe every other month. He carried a clipboard and a pen and quietly hummed whatever tune was in his head at the moment.

I only followed along, wanting to get the inventory over with so I could get to work on the engines waiting in the shop.

As we counted the items on the shelves, he checked them off his list. Maybe once every other row of shelves, he’d pause, double check his clipboard, and mutter in a strong accent, “Ah! Fife down to four, you see? So I haf to reorder that one soon.”

Then he moved along, humming and making check marks on the paper. When we were in the last row of shelves, I asked him why all the doors had bells.

He stopped humming in mid-note. “Huh?”

“I just wondered why there’s a bell on the door to the shop.”

He looked at me as if I had two heads, then frowned. “I do the bells for that time when a customer migh’ come in.”

“But customers never come to shop door, do they?”

He’d already turned back to the inventory. As he made another check mark on his paper, he said, “Mmmhmm. Yes, you are right, Neek. And that one means the firs’ time iss getting closer.”

And it was.

###

Back soon with Chapter 3. If you’re enjoying the story and would like more similar to this, let me know in the comments.

The odd thing about Jensen was how the guy kept coming.

Big Steve Jensen was a typical dockworker: Six-two or -three and broad, with a bull neck, red crewcut hair, and shoulders like a minotaur. He has a chest you could age whiskey in. You could tell his waist is a 32 without having to measure, and he wore boots that were so long they’d make women wonder about that rumor. You know the one.

All of that was accompanied with a pair of hips that swiveled just enough to give him a swagger. And he had the attitude to go with it.

That was his big problem. That attitude. Attitude doesn’t play well on the docks. Not with a guy who knows that’s all it is.

Me, I’m built okay. My arms and shoulders and legs do what I ask them to do and don’t complain. At least not until the next day. But all of that’s set on a 5’9” frame. Jensen had me by probably 50 pounds.

Down on the docks, size and weight matter when you’re manhandling crates. But when you’re going against another man, not so much. Experience trumps all that.

I’m 34 and been around. Jensen was only 24 or maybe 25. He came to work at the docks from his hometown, about a half-hour walk from here.

I never figured the guy was a threat to win a Nobel, but I didn’t think he was stupid either.

So imagine my surprise when he came at me. Like the crate knife in his hand made a difference.

I guess it did, but not like he wanted it to. It only made him think he had an advantage, and that gave me the advantage.

It was almost as humid in the dock shack as it was outside, but with the added stench of hard working men at the end of a long day. It was almost as hot too, and there was no breeze inside to cool us. To shove all that aside, most of the twenty or so of us were standing around in pairs or small groups talking as we waited for the fleet boss to come in with our weekly pay. A few of the guys were sitting on the heavy plank floor, their backs pressed against the clapboard walls.

I said something in passing to another guy, just loud enough so he could hear it.

Only Jensen heard it from across the room.

One second I was grinning and saying something to my friend, and the next, a booming “What?” rolled across the room.

My friend gaped past my shoulder, then vanished like a ghost.

When I turned around, Jensen was glaring at me. Maybe two-thirds of the guys were behind him. They’d fanned out in a semi-circle, and most of them were sneering.

“Wha’d you say?” That was Jensen again.

I laughed. “I wasn’t talkin’a you, Jensen.”

I wasn’t either. I was bragging to my disappearing friend about a very friendly woman I’d met last night. Well, and how she was still smiling when I left her bed this morning. You know, dock talk. I didn’t even say her name. I probably wouldn’t have said it even if I’d remembered it. I don’t roll like that.

But as I watched a growl grind its way up out of Jensen’s gut, that crate knife appeared in the chunk of meat he calls his right hand, and he charged me. Just like that.

Me, I just assumed a stance I learned awhile back. Lightly balanced, committed to nothing either way.

He came on like a freight train, straight and true and bound to the tracks. The crate knife was extended straight out in his right hand like a skewer heading for a wiener.

Only I ain’t no wiener.

Just before he was close enough for me to smell his breath, I sidestepped under the knife and brought my right fist up and broke his nose. That punch landed so flush, so perfect, a fire shot through my wrist all the way to my shoulder. When the bridge of his nose snapped, my own eyes almost watered with the sting. I let his momentum turn me around, and I thought sure he’d be on the floor when I saw him again.

But he wasn’t.

He stumbled a couple of steps, then clomped those big boots down on the plank floor. He took a couple more steps to turn around, but the guy didn’t even put his hand to his face or shake his head.

Me, I spread my arms and opened my hands. I arched my eyebrows and made my eyes wide too, like I was surprised he was still standing. Like I was scared.

My ears told me nobody in the semicircle behind me was moving, so that was good.

A sneer came to Jensen’s face like I figured it would, even with bands of blood and snot stringing from his nose down over his lips and chin. He blew hard through his lips and some of the snot arced to the floor. Then his eyelids came down a little and he charged.

That was my fault. I’d shattered his nose all right, but then gravity took over. He could still see.

He extended the knife a little to his right, his arm hooked, and leaned forward to charge again.

I let my surprise register for another split second.

He leaned into the charge, took his first step with his right boot, and raised his left for the next step.

I shifted away, stomped hard on the arch of his right boot with my left, then snap-kicked him above his left eye with the toe of my right boot. As he stumbled past, I was turning to watch.

The crate knife dropped and skittered away across the floor. Jensen plowed forward and sprawled flat, his arms and legs pointing at the four directions. At least three other men jerked their boots aside to let the knife through. I was relieved none of them had reached for it. The knife thunked to a stop somewhere against the far wall.

I looked at Jensen again.

He’d pulled his hands back under his shoulders, and his chest and back were heaving.

So he’s breathing. Good. So that’s over, and no real harm done.

I’d have to nurse my right knuckles a little, but the big toe on my left foot was fine. Here’s to steel-toed boots. Jensen would be fine too once he made it through that first headache. Then maybe he and I could have a beer and—

He turn his head, then pushed his palms against the floor and started moving his knees up under him, first the right, then the left.

Seriously? I shook my head slightly. “Hey, just stay down, man. No shame in that. I know you’re hurt.”

With his mouth not quite a foot above the floor, he shook his head hard, clearing cobwebs. Blood and snot slung to the side in both directions. “I ain’t hurt!” He said it so loud a little dust fluffed up off the floor. He twisted his head to one side like he was trying to look at me. “Hell, I ain’t even started yet!”

I frowned. “Just stay down, man. We’ll draw our pay and the first beer’s on me.”

He shook his head. “No way.”

Somebody in the semicircle muttered, “Guy ought’a finish him off.”

I couldn’t tell who it was by the voice. I glanced at the others, but nobody was making eye contact. I looked at Jensen again. “Hell, I don’t wanna finish him off. He ought’a be finished off already.”

Then someone said, “What, like you’re all that? ‘Sides, I wasn’t talkin’ to you. Or about you.”

I looked up again, but still no eye contact. I wish they’d all just stay out of it.

It must’a been the tall, wiry guy with greasy, longish black hair. At around six feet tall, he was gangly and dressed in filthy jeans and work boots like the rest of us but with a green and tan camouflage shirt like army guys wear. That hung open over a drab green t-shirt.

Some guys always pull for the big guy, figuring it’ll be an easy win. Maybe Tall Green And Ugly had made a side bet or something. I shook my head and glanced back down at my main concern.

Jensen was rocking forward and back a little. It looked like a prelude to him actually getting up. I frowned again. Why doesn’t he just stay down?

“I was talkin’ about Jensen. He gets up, he’ll mop the floor with you.”

I looked up. I was right. It was the wiry guy. “Look, pal, this has nothin’ to do with you.”

He scowled and his eyes narrowed. “Yeah? I ain’t your pal. If you’d said that about my girl I’d be on you like a monkey up a banyan tree.”

“What?” Do monkeys even climb banyan trees? And what are banyan trees, anyway? But I only wagged a hand at him. “Look, I didn’t say anything about anyone’s girl. You hear me say any names?”

“That don’t matter none.”

Jensen grunted, and I glanced down again. Only his left hand was on the floor, and the muscles in that forearm were bulging. Is he pulling his right foot forward? He is! He’s getting up!

Well, I’ll just have to reacquaint him with the floor. “Jensen, just stay the hell down, man. Or just say it’s over.”

He said nothing, and he kept working at it.

The door opened. The wind caught it for a minute and whipped it from the fleet boss’ right hand. Fletcher. And in his left hand was a cash box.

Jack Fletcher is a round little man. He’s about my height at 5’8” or 5’9”, but he weighs in the vicinity of 300 pounds. He was dressed in his usual dusty black trousers, black shoes, and a white shirt with a black tie under a black coat.

He stopped. He looked at me, looked at Jensen, then stepped back outside and grabbed the looped rope that served as a door pull. He tugged the door against the wind, and when it passed the sweet spot it slammed shut. It slapped the frame like a rifle going off.

He hooked the rope over a peg in the wall. Then he turned around, spread his feet to shoulder width, and put his right hand on his hip and eyed me as he gestured with his chin toward Jensen. “You do that?”

“Yes sir.” I started toward him. “I thought maybe I could draw my pay first so I can—”

“You’re fired.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “I’m sorry?”

“Nope. Too late for that.”

“I wasn’t apologizing, sir. I’m not sure I heard y—”

“I said you’re fired. I’ll write a check and mail your final pay to the address on file.”

I frowned. “But I don’t want a che—”

“Get out. Good hands are hard to find. I can’t have you busting them up.”

To my right, the guy I was first talking to, Henry Malto, raised his hand. “Mr. Fletcher, it wasn’t Nick’s fault. He was only—”

Fletcher scowled. “Malto, right? You’re fired too. Both of you get out.”

I canted my head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

From behind me, Jensen’s voice boomed. “Fletcher, this ain’t none’a your business.”

I ducked my head and spun to my left. I’d forgotten about Jensen.

But he wasn’t coming at me. He was standing, but he was still where he’d been laying on the floor a moment ago. I looked at Fletcher again, but uneasily. I kept Jensen in my periphery.

He was staring at Fletcher and holding his left hand up in front of his chest, his fingers splayed. “Okay, one, I ain’t busted up. And two, I’m gonna finish this. But it ain’t right you don’t give the man his pay.”

Fletcher only sneered. “You aren’t that good a hand, Jensen. One more word and I’ll fire you too.”

Silence dropped over the room like a blanket. Even the big mouth with the stringy hair chose to keep shut.

Fletcher eyed the group, then turned and walked to the little table he uses as a desk every Saturday afternoon. He set the cash box on the table first, then turned it just so, then sat down. The little wooden chair groaned. It complained against the floor as he shifted his weight and pulled the chair an inch closer to the table. Without looking up, he said, “All right, the rest of you queue up.”

But most of the men had already started to line up anyway. For some reason I counted. There were fourteen of them, not counting me, Henry Malto, and Big Steve Jensen.

Fletcher opened the box, counted out some bills for the man on this side of the desk, then glanced left. “Next.”

As the next man in the queue shuffled forward and faced Fletcher, the man who’d been paid opened the door. As it had done for Fletcher, the wind jerked the door from his hand, then gusted into the room. It whipped up few dust devils.

Fletcher dropped the cash he’d been counting back into the box and slammed it shut. “Damn it! Close the door!”

A second later the door slapped the frame.

I looked at Malto.

He only shrugged. Then he arched his eyebrows and gestured like he was lifting a sixteen-ounce weight to his lips.

Why not? I nodded, then looked at Jensen. “Hey Steve, you want a beer? I’m buyin’.”

He looked at Fletcher, then back at me. “Sure. Second round’s on me.”

Fletcher slapped the table. “Now just a damn minute! I fired those two because—”

As Jensen reached me and Malto, he looked at the fleet boss. “Shove it up your ass, Fletcher. I quit.” And as we headed for the door, he said loudly, “I hear Gibson’s hiring. And I heard he pays half again what this asshole pays.” Then he hit the the door with that hamhock of a fist.

The wind blew in and we blew out, on our way to the Golden Pickle. It’s only a half-mile from the docks, and it’s a great place for a few beers with friends. Besides, I was anxious to point out the little gal I’d mentioned earlier to Malto. Well, and to Jensen. And I would accompany that with, “See? It wasn’t your girl after all.”

Malto and I had walked maybe ten yards past the door when I realized Jensen wasn’t with us. I stopped and looked back. Then I laughed.

His knees bent slightly, the muscles in his shoulders and back straining, he was setting a small boulder against the open door.

When he straightened and turned around, he grinned. “Told you I wasn’t done. Now I’m done.”

*******

The catalyst for this story was the tone of Ernest Hemingway, as seen in The Complete Short Stories, Finca Vigia edition. I recommend it.

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