The Count of Carolina, page 15
part #2 of A Clean Up Crew Series
Before Cleea could complete the logic train that Nicole could see barreling down on her with Casey Jones-like velocity, she asked, “Do you remember the detective’s name?”
“Of course I do, girl. You thinking I’m losing my memory now, you rude little…”
“No! No! I didn’t mean that. I was just wondering who he was.”
“He was a young, ambitious sort back then. I don’t think he’d been a detective for too long at that point.”
“Oh!” Nicole said, dropping the poker face enough that a sufficiently-talented sharp might catch the tell. “Maybe he’s still on the force then?”
“On the force!” The Southern scoff again. “Girl, he’s chief of police now. Gil Gleason!”
Nicole thought she had some memory of the name, but prior to the weeks preceding her following Darlene to freedom, she’d had little contact with the police. Either because of her hellish upbringing or in spite of it, she’d never gotten in any trouble with the authorities. And she hadn’t really kept close tabs on Greenville’s municipal structure once it was in her rearview. But, yes, the name rang a bell. Over the course of her time with Cleanup Crew, she’d learned a lot about police mentality, through working with them in some situations, and through working hard to stay off their radar in others. One thing she had determined about decent cops who work a lot of years is that they have long memories and don’t ever stop thinking about the one that got away. She filed the intel in the mental folder labeled “Possible Complications.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I put you in a bad situation.”
Cleea began to laugh raucously. “Girl, life put me in a bad situation long before I ever met your scrawny ass. Go get your family inside, then hide whatever you drove in here. But don’t…”
“…Scratch the Buick. I know!”
Nicole walked back into the cool night air. Dan had gotten out of the car, and was standing beside it, his door still open. Nicole made a mental note to explain to him why that was a bad practice (an illuminated vehicle interior could be seen surprisingly well from a distance, and she was trying to avoid flaunting the presence of J.J., given pending plans).
“We’re in seven,” she said to him. He closed his door, much to Nicole’s satisfaction, and moved to the back of the vehicle, opening the hatch manually as Nicole moved quickly to block J.J.’s door. The window was down and the young woman looked at her mother. “Wait. Don’t get out yet.”
“As if I could with you standing there,” J.J. said a little testily. Nicole smiled at the familiarity of it.
She called back to Dan, who was beginning to pull out the luggage. “Honey, toss me up that green tote-bag.”
After rejecting his first careless offering (“I said ‘green tote-bag,’ not ‘blue backpack!’”), Nicole grabbed the correct bag as it flew towards her, and unzipped it. She extracted a “Sons of Anarchy” hoodie that looked to be about a 3X. “Put this on and pull the hood up, then get right into the room.” She pointed to where Dan was dropping the blue backpack from under his arm as he worked the key into the slot.
“I thought we were trying to get me checked out by this doctor. Now you’re acting like you don’t want me to be seen at all,” she said as she began to pull the vast garment over her slender torso.
“When the time is right, not before.”
J.J. gave a curt nod. “Timing. Of course. Everything would have to be worked out,” she said, almost to herself.
When Nicole was satisfied that she’d be unidentifiable if seen, she stepped back and pulled the rear passenger door open for her daughter. “Right inside,” she said.
“I know!” J.J. replied, and again, Nicole smiled. For some reason, it was comforting her every time her daughter did or said something that was characteristic of her usual attitude prior to this… adventure. The mostly happy, very spoiled college junior. Not the steel-eyed predator. Yes, that was the word. When she’d first seen J.J.’s eyes in the mirror of the car, before she shifted them to meet her mother’s, there were as cold and as shark-like as any Nicole had ever seen on the Discovery Channel. Spoiled J.J. was preferable.
After everything they needed, including a good deal of the hardware that lay hidden beneath a heavy gray blanket, Nicole moved the SUV around to the back of the motel. The grass was a little tall near the building, especially around the 1957 Buick Roadmaster. Nicole parked a respectable distance from the old beauty, then quickly made her way back to the room. She unlocked the door and slipped in, taking a quick look at her surroundings before closing the door and engaging its deadbolt and two chains.
Letting out a sigh of relief at having completed the vital first stage of her plan, whatever that plan would end up being as it continued to unfold, Nicole turned, and for the first time, actually got a look at their motel room. J.J. was standing a few feet from her, smiling, and Cole saw why. In a stark contrast to the crumbling exterior of the motel, room seven was perfectly maintained and delightfully cozy. She had expected to dive head-first into the dumpster, but she hadn’t anticipated finding it full of treasure instead of refuse. The room was far nicer than Nicole’s had been during her first tenure at the motel. It almost seemed impossible that something so lovely could exist in a building that looked like the Motel Z did. Tightening her lips, Nicole thought the little motel room was too good for the whole stinking city.
J.J. gave her arm a comforting squeeze, and she pulled her mind from the black cloud behind which it had gone. As her daughter went and flopped onto the bed next to the one in which Dan was already sleeping, Nicole put her finger under one of the slats in the plastic blind that covered the window and peeked out into the parking lot. Nothing appeared to have changed since they’d arrived, and she let out a second sigh, longer and more laden with all the negativity she need to expel from within her. Just before she removed her finger and let the blind close back down, she muttered to herself, “God, I hate this fucking town.”
15
A Stone, Once Started Rolling…
The first night at the Motel Z was filled with the sleep sounds of three exhausted human beings. Nicole had used the bathroom and came out to find J.J. already asleep. She got into bed next to Dan and was soon hibernating herself.
But for Nicole, as was often the case, the sleep was not restful. It would not be accurate to say she dreamed about Conrad. Rather, her mind painted a series of short, perhaps incomplete but painful and frequently vivid images. Her mind was so overwrought by the accelerating events that had she taken the time to write down what she remembered in a dream-journal, they would have made little sense taken by themselves. But she could feel the seemingly random events were somehow related, and although he did not appear in the dreams, she could feel Conrad’s presence in every one of them, as if he was just off-camera, perhaps seated in a cruel and thorny director’s chair. It was just these sorts of dreams that kept her from ever actually keeping any journal dedicated to their preservation. She was keen to forget them, not to work through the details in search of some hidden or symbolic meaning. The meaning was consistent from scene to scene and from dream to dream, even if it hid just beneath the surface.
She awoke before either of the others and lay silently, waiting for the sun to rise and for the memory of her nightmare to be burned away by it.
Finally, as the lines between the slats of the window shade began to lighten as the sun worked its way high enough into the sky to wash over the motel, she slid out of bed, careful to not wake Dan, and she went into the small bathroom to shower.
Cleea’s attention to the need for hot water turned out to be a blessing, as she stood under the steaming water for a long time, just letting it fall onto her head and trickle down her body. After several minutes of this, she turned and let the water land directly on her back. Again, she stayed motionless, letting the sting of the heat loosen the knotted muscles.
She was just about to reach for the soap when the door to the bathroom opened, and through the frosted glass of the shower stall, she could make out Dan’s form. She watched as he took off his clothes, then moved to let him in as the shower opened.
“Good morning,” he said.
Nicole could usually tell within a few seconds of her husband’s shower invasions how the rest of the visit was going to go. Aside from obvious visual indications, Dan’s voice took on a huskiness on those occasions when he was feeling frisky. Today, both of those indicators pointed to a non-sexual encounter.
Instead, he stood behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as the water ran over them. “I am so sorry for what you went through, Coley. I’d give anything to have been able to stop it from happening.”
Rather than reply verbally, Nicole’s body began to tremble inside of his firm embrace, and she once again began to cry. She’d been doing lots of that in the past few days, and she was aware that she needed to shut that down moving forward. But at this moment, and in this place, she let it happen. For twenty-one years, this man had been her soft place to fall, even before he knew or realized why she need that so desperately. Now he did know, and his constant love and support meant more to her than ever. She turned, still weeping, and let her arms encircle his neck. Even now, as her breasts were pressed tightly against his body, he did not respond amorously. She realized that the only time he could be this close to her and not be sexually aroused was when he was distracted or concerned, and she reasoned he was likely experiencing both of these emotions. Probably many more as well.
Even odder to her was the fact that she felt no arousal either. Dan’s body had always been able to get her there, but she was far too deep into the one situation she’d been hiding from for nearly two-thirds of her life to respond to the feel of him this morning.
When he felt her body gradually cease quaking from the sobs, Dan reached for the bar of soap and began washing his wife. As he worked up a lather, she cooed in response to the wonderful, infinitely kind gesture, and realized yet again that she was in the presence of her soulmate.
Dan finished by kneeling and washing her legs and feet, and when he again stood, she took the soap from him and returned the gesture, washing away, she hoped, as many of his concerns as possible. It was not until they stepped out of the shower and were wrapped in towels that she kissed him. She applauded Darlene’s foresight in suggesting that Dan accompany her on this mission. Nicole thought of the many times over the years that she’d survived a close call or felt more affected than usual by the job she had to do, and remembered how she’d wished Dan was with her.
When the kiss ended, they smiled at one another for a moment, each knowing the other had needed this gentle time very much.
“So what happens next?” Dan asked as he slipped on the clean pair of underwear and knock-around shorts that he’d brought with him into the bathroom.
Nicole remained wrapped in the towel as she considered herself in the mirror. She still looked tired, with a puffiness under her eyes that she did not care for at all. “I have to contact Darlene. We need to find out if getting in to see Lewis is even possible.”
“I still absolutely hate this idea. But I also recognize that it might be necessary, damn it all to hell. Let’s say it does happen. How do we know if we need to get in and help J.J.? Is she going to be wearing a wire or something?”
“A traditional transmitter, the kind you see in the movies, uncovered with a dramatic shirt-ripping right before the unfortunate character meets his end, would not be very practical during a physical exam. Whether he tries anything or not, finding out his patient is wearing a wire is nothing we want to happen.”
“So how then?”
Instead of answering right away, Nicole opened the bathroom door, allowing the steam lingering in the air to dissipate. She walked to her purse and pulled out a black box. It looked to Dan to be the sort jewelry would be sold in, and when Nicole opened it, he was confused about the nature of its contents. There were three objects that in Dan’s experience looked like a wireless earbud, only smaller and made of a mostly transparent, soft plastic material.
“There were developed by an organization with which we’ve worked in the past. They act as both receiver and transmitter. They fit well into the ear canal, and if located during the exam, J.J. can explain it away as a hearing aid. We’ll hear everything that she and the doctor say, and we’ll be waiting for the code phrase.”
“‘Avocados are overrated,’” Dan said, remembering the phrase J.J. had come up with.
Nicole smiled. “The key to a good code phrase is for it to not immediately cause the other person to think something strange might be going on. Unless they were to get into a discussion of the merits of the avocado, that sentence might smell funny to the doctor.”
“Yeah, you said we’d need to work on it. How about ‘That’s not where it hurts.’”
Nicole grimaced but realized it would be the perfect thing for her to say. “You just wrote your first number-one hit,” she told him, quoting Beatle’s producer George Martin, the first time he heard “Please Please Me.”
They heard the sound of J.J. stretching and yawning, and looked as she woke up. Nicole thought she saw a look of confusion pass across her daughter’s face, perhaps from waking in an unfamiliar place, but as she turned and saw her parents standing nearby, she smiled at them.
“Good morning, fellow soldiers,” she said.
Dan felt his stomach churn a little at the statement, but Nicole said, “Good morning, darling. Cleea gave us the better water heater, but you’ll probably still want to let it rest a bit before you hit the shower. Dad and I used a lot of water.”
J.J. grinned mischievously. “Nothing ever changes with you two rabbits,” she said. Nicole ignored the implication, not wanting to get into the complex reasons why it was incorrect. Instead, she said, “Why don’t you see if that coffee pot works?” She pointed to an older drip-style coffee maker. At least the clock on its front was set to the correct time.
As her daughter looked in the room’s small refrigerator, finding a nearly new can of Chock-Full-O-Nuts, Nicole quickly dressed, then picked up her phone. “I suppose I should get this call made. I’d rather be past the looming argument with Darlene sooner than later.” She opened her contacts, tapping on the entry that read “D. Mason.”
The phone rang several times before Darlene answered. “Cole. It’s four in the morning.”
“Time zones are a bitch, aren’t they? Here, the sun is already up, warming the great sewer that is the city of Greenville.”
“Usually when you call me in the middle of the night, it’s to give me unwelcome news.”
“Not the case this time. No, I’m calling to get your help carrying out a plan that you’re going to hate.”
“Well, that’s a form of unwelcome news, I suppose. So thank you for your consistency.”
“Don’t mention it. So here’s the situation: I need you to act as a coach or athletic director for some obscure college in order to set up a consult with Dr. Nathan Lewis for a promising student athlete with a tenacious hamstring problem.”
“FUCK NO!” Darlene’s reaction was so loud that J.J. could hear her as she stood by the bubbling coffee maker, six feet away. Nicole pulled the phone from her ear in the name of preserving the well-being of her tympanum, then calmly continued.
“Thank you. I knew that would be your response. Just as you know that I’m going to now counter with great logic and authority, leaving you ultimately unhappy but incapable of reaching any conclusion other than the one I’m already standing on. Do you need us to go through with the dance, or will you just do what I ask?”
Dan had heard Nicole speak firmly to Darlene before, but never to this degree. J.J. heard the hard edge to her voice as well. Both realized that Nicole was probably allowing a little more frustration into her speech than she intended to, but they knew that she was still not done being upset about the security breach that Darlene had committed.
Darlene knew it too. After a couple of seconds of silence, she let out a sigh of resignation and said, “I’ll call you back with the time and place.” She hung up without saying anything more. The tension between the two women had been palpable, and Nicole looked at the phone to confirm that the call had been ended, then walked to one of the room’s chairs and found the television remote. She turned on the morning news. She was happy to see no mention of the triple murder at the house where they’d recovered J.J., and assumed Conrad, after enough time to be sure the authorities had not been alerted, had sent people to disinfect the scene. He would no doubt be as eager to avoid attention as she was.
After the headlines had been read and the local station had moved on to quaint human interest stories, she went through the cable guide until she found the MLB Network. Dan, she knew, though focused as he was on their current situation, would no doubt be wondering how the Rockies had done in their game the day before.
A diehard fan of the perpetual hard-luck team, he tried to check the score every day and had travelled more than once to Scottsdale to see a game at Salt River Fields, the first Major League spring training facility to be built on Native American land, and before the season opener, the home of the Colorado Rockies. He had season tickets at Coors Field as well, but had not yet caught a home game as the season and their current adventure had kicked off about the same time. He had hopes of being home in time to see them play the Cubs, and of them continuing to play .500 ball until then.
Within a few seconds of his eyes hitting the screen, Dan was completely engrossed in the conversation between Dan Plesac and Harold Reynolds about the mediocre start the New York Yankees were enduring despite appearing on paper as the best team in baseball for the year. Nicole indicated with a sideways nod of her head that J.J. follow her. She walked toward the door and J.J. surprised her by slipping on the TV biker-gang sweatshirt and obscuring her face with the hood without being instructed to do so. Dan did not notice the door open or close.
