Marked Man II - 02 (19 page)

Bollier was starting to feel a warm, tickling sensation creeping up her inner thighs. She thought about the look that would be on Shannon’s face when she kicked her to the curb.

Just when she was beginning to feel tempted, the Doctor came in.

Shannon’s hair was cropped shorter and dyed a darker shade of red. She was wearing a white smock with her name sewed in cursive lettering over her heart. A stethoscope hung from around her neck. She tried her best to maintain her detached doctor’s timbre, but a slight flutter betrayed her.

“Hello Leslie. What seems to be the problem?”

It was a ridiculous way to start the conversation. Bollier had never been her patient when they were dating, and she had to know that was not the reason for her visit. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have cleared a spot in her calendar so fast. Usually it took two months to book an appointment with the esteemed Doctor Walsh.

Bollier sat up erect. Her legs were crossed.

“Hi Shannon. It’s good to see you.”

The Doctor cleared her throat and made a check on her clipboard.

“It’s um, it’s good to see you too. I was surprised when you called. Are you having some kind of… issue?”

Bollier had to stifle a laugh. When they first met Bollier had found it impossible that there could be someone even more socially awkward than her. And yet Shannon was that and much more. This was going to be even easier than she’d imagined.

“Yes. I am.”

Shannon had taken a seat on a stool with wheels. The detective stood up. Her chest was at Shannon’s eye level.

“What um. What seems to be the problem?”

She could practically see the effect of the fragrance in real time. Bollier licked her lips and eased her weight back against the examination table. She imagined it was how someone would stand if they were trying to look seductive. Perhaps she’d seen a starlet strike the pose in a movie once, yes. Marilyn Monroe in Some Like it Hot, that was where she’d seen it.

“I have this itch lately.”

Doctor Walsh glanced up at Bollier, her eyes widening.

“I see. Where um... Where is this itch um...? Exactly where is it?”

Pouring as much honey into her words as she could manage, Bollier answered.

“Would you like me to show you?”

...

Bollier walked out of Doctor Walsh’s offices fifteen minutes later, twirling a set of house keys around her index finger. On her way to her car she called Agent Clemons, who did not waste time with any small talk.

“Did you get it?”

“Mission accomplished. The place is all ours until this weekend when Shannon comes out.”

“That-a-girl.”

Chapter Ten

In the middle of the night the entire north block at Sing Sing prison was aroused by the sound of a blood curdling scream. The F sharp rang out loud for a moment, then it changed to a wet, choking sound. A gasp and a moan followed and then nothing. The lights came on everywhere and the inmates were roused from their beds.

“What the hell’s going on?” An inmate from up the block shouted.

“They found Simpson. Someone done cut his damn throat open with a fountain pen,” some anonymous prisoner shouted back.

Shirokov lay still in bed. Before the commotion he had already been lying awake, too disturbed by the rumblings in his tummy to fall asleep. Winston shot up and listened intently to the call and response echoing from the cell block.

“No way! Simpson is dead?”

“Simpson BEEN dead. They got Harper too! Same shit, right in the neck.”

Shirokov was rolling his fist over his stomach in a counter-clockwise motion. He moved it slowly from the ascending colon up, around the bottom of his rib cage, then down to his pelvis on the other side. Up, around, and back down again. Winston watched him do this so long that he suspected might become hypnotized if it went on much longer.

The guards were shouting now, telling the inmates to be quiet.

“How the fuck does this happen? TWO? In one night?”

An argument commenced. The particulars were lost on everyone not in the immediate vicinity of where it was happening. Some of the guards were blaming the others, while the prisoners mocked them from the relative safety of their cells. Over the din they could hear the warden’s baritone rising.

“Now listen here all you porch monkeys and spics and chinks and dirty Jews. We are going to find out what happened here tonight. We will find you and we will punish you. I promise you that.”

The clamor died down soon after and the lights went out. Winston spoke to Shirokov.

“Killing guards and shit. That’s off the hook now. You know about Harper and Simpson right? Both them two was on the Aryan Brotherhood’s payroll.”

“Oh. Were they?”

“Yeah.”

Winston could not say for sure but he thought he detected a smile spreading across his cell mate’s face in the dark.

“Not anymore.”

…

The Walsh family cabin squatted on a secluded woodland plot of land not far from Mount Riga State Park at the northwestern tip of Connecticut. Jordan Ross and Detective Bollier had fled there the previous winter after he was ambushed at his home by a trio of Russian gunmen.

While he was staying at the cabin, Jordan recuperated from his injuries and began the intensive training regime that had transformed his body into a sleek killing machine again. During his downtime, he’d played poker and gotten drunk with Doctor Walsh off the extensive scotch collection in the basement bar. He had mostly fond memories of the place. They came flooding back to him as Detective Bollier turned the key and opened the cabin’s back door. The reassuring mix of pine and oak hit his nostrils and he instantly decided that coming back was one of Bollier’s better ideas.

Agent Clemons got settled in the guest room downstairs while Jordan unpacked in the one on the main floor, just off the master bedroom. It was a spare, small room clearly constructed with a child in mind. Tiny winged angels were carved into the single twin bed’s headboard. Jordan had not noticed them during his previous visit.

He had brought so little with him that it only took five minutes to unpack. Jordan’s bag was packed with weapons from the service, trophies taken from dead Russians, a canteen, a fresh pair of underwear and a change of socks. Agent Clemons had promised to take him shopping for a new wardrobe in town once they were settled in.

The Russians did not know about the cabin, but Jordan had learned the hard way too many times that no place was safe, and so Jordan hid a Ruger inside the pillowcase, a Colt Mustang in the closet, a .38 in the sock drawer, and slid the M4 under the bed. Jordan then carried the ancient army green gym bag out of the bedroom and through the house, unloading it and hiding weapons in places that would be easy to reach in an emergency. Jordan put another .38 in the cabinet next to the tea bags, he hid a .22 in the bathroom medicine cabinet, a glock 19 on the mantel over the fireplace, two Uzis downstairs in the bar next to the gin, and he put the AK-47 under the pool table. Jordan also kept a Smith & Wesson and his Yarborough on his person at all times.

When he was through unpacking he found Bollier in the kitchen preparing a cup of tea. She had changed into a bathing suit and was also wearing a bemused expression.

“Are you sure you brought enough guns?”

“Definitely not. When Kyle and I go out shopping for clothes later I think I’m going to get a bow and arrow set, maybe another handgun too.”

“I was joking, Corporal.”

“Rather have too many guns and not need them than to need them and not have them.”

Detective Bollier accepted this without another word and got to work on preparing a four-course dinner. For three days the group had the run of the cabin, enjoying themselves as much as possible before the highly mercurial and immature Doctor Shannon Walsh arrived. In the meantime they played board games and brainstormed for ways of finding Jordan’s sister without reporting back to the NYPD or FBI. They were stuck on that point.

Jordan got along with Shannon best out of the three of them, and might have even called her a friend, but even he had tired of her antics and constant prying over the winter. Agent Clemons tolerated her presence with grunts and nods.

The exact dynamics of Bollier’s relationship with Shannon were a mystery to Jordan. He could not imagine two more dissimilar souls. During his first stay at the cabin they had bickered constantly, whenever they weren’t in bed. It seemed to be the only place that they found an accord together. As the weekend was approaching Jordan sensed a tension rising in the detective. The plan had worked. Bollier had obviously seduced the Doctor easily enough. Now she had to follow through. Jordan doubted that the plan would be good for her emotional well-being, but Bollier was sober, and when she was sober she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, so he said nothing.

Shannon arrived on Friday afternoon, bearing a cooler filled with ice and Miller Lite, and enough chicken wings to feed a platoon. She walked in on Jordan and Agent Clemons playing a game of Battleship at the kitchen table. Shannon dropped the cooler.

Ever the gentleman, Jordan got up and greeted her.

“Heeey Shannon! It’s good to see you. Do you need a hand with that?”

Looking more than just a little confused, Shannon nodded.

“Um. Yes. It’s. Heavy. Hi Jordan. Hi Kyle. Um. Where’s Les?”

On cue Detective Bollier came swaggering into the kitchen. She was wearing a low-cut light blouse and a pair of jean shorts that left the imagination wanting.

“Shannon! You’re here. I thought the weekend would never get here. Oh my god look at all that chicken. I guess we’re grilling tonight, huh boys? Kyle, come take this cooler down to the bar there’s more ice...”

Bollier was about to embrace her old paramour when Shannon screwed her face into a frown.

“Yeah. Um. Les? Can I have a word with you?”

“Sure. Sure. Fine, do you want to speak in private?”

“Um. Yeah. The bedroom.”

The two ladies walked out of the kitchen and through the living room, then they turned left. Someone slammed the bedroom door shut behind them. Shannon had left her summer party package thawing on the kitchen floor. Sheepishly, Jordan and Kyle packed the half-thawed chicken into the refrigerator. The cooler would not fit so they left it on the counter.

Muffled voices came from the master bedroom. One of them was getting louder, more shrill as the time passed. The other stayed calm and even, cooler than a cucumber in a pitcher of ice water. This only seemed to aggravate the other voice. The calmer it was, the angrier the other became.

Agent Clemons asked if Jordan wanted to keep playing.

“So. Should we finish the game?”

“Yeah. Let’s. I think it will be alright. You know how she is.”

“Oh definitely. It will be alright. Probably.”

The FBI man and the former Special Forces Corporal traded misses for a while, trying to ignore the argument between the women. Although they could not hear the exact words both were made extremely uncomfortable by the tenor. Jordan had just landed a hit on Agent Clemons’ destroyer when a screech echoed from the master bedroom.

“NO. BULLSHIT. WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE?”

But by the time Agent Clemons’ destroyer was sunk the racket had subsided. Jordan realized that he had been tensing all of the muscles in his neck. He rubbed at his shoulders, trying to work the knots out. Agent Clemons relaxed but was perturbed at how the game was proceeding. He took another shot in the dark.

“How abooooout…. F….. eight?”

Jordan peaked at his game board and shook his head.

“Wrong again.”

He pinned a white piece to the grid and was about to take a stab at where he figured Agent Clemons’ cruiser to be when he heard a low moan.

“What was that?”

Agent Clemons shrugged.

“No idea.”

“Anyway. Let’s try…. C nine.”

“Damnit. You can’t see my board can y…”

Then Agent Clemons heard it too. A soft murmur, sort of like a baby bird’s squeaky call for its mother, was coming from the master bedroom. Then it subsided. Agent Clemons pinned a red piece to his cruiser.

“No I’m just really exceptional at guess…”

The noise was coming in waves, getting stronger with each pull of the tide. A flutter, a yelp, and then a quick gush of exhaled breaths in rapid succession. Then the unmistakable OH GOD. Jordan stayed still. He had another red pin ready to go in his hand, and he knew exactly where to hit next, but he did not move.

Agent Clemons was staring at his game board but not seeing any of the pieces. Jordan rolled the red pin between his thumb and forefinger. Both of their eyes were threatening to bug out of their heads. From the interior of the cabin the groaning grew into a crescendo. The inarticulate cries evolved and burst into perfectly clear spoken English all at once.

OH GOD OH GOD DON’T STOP DON’T STOP DON’T STOP DON’T STOP.

Jordan spoke up first.

“Maybe we should finish this another time.”

“Yeah. Let’s go for a walk. It’s so nice out. It would be a shame to.”

“Oh of course. You have to enjoy the sun while it’s up.”

“You just have too.”

…

The sun was low in the sky when Agent Clemons and Jordan Ross set out from the cabin. It had been a record setting scorching day in Litchfield County. Of course without any access to TV, newspapers or the internet they did not know this, but could sense it all the same. After just a few dozen paces Agent Clemons felt perspiration on the back of his neck. He was relieved when they reached the line of pine trees set off a hundred yards from the cabin. The shade that enveloped them was complete.

“Suppose we shouldn’t venture too far from your big weapons stash,” Clemons called to Jordan, who was lagging behind.

“I always come prepared. Carrying two as we speak. You want one?”

“Thanks but I think I’ll trust your aim better than mine if we actually get into anything hairy out this way.”