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Chapter Four


Three hours later, there was a knock on the hotel room door that roused Mike from a deep sleep, the TV still running on Roseanne reruns. He snorted out of sleep as Eddie’s voice, muffled, carried through the door, “C’mon, you guys, open up. So much for not being able to sleep.”

Mike hauled himself to the door, rolling his neck as he walked, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he groaned. He pulled the door open, “What?” he asked. His eyes landed on Eddie, and a officer with a long nose and a police hat tucked under one arm.

“Finally, jeez,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes as the two of them piled into the room. “Considering the fit being thrown last night over security measures, you’d think you two would be more anxious to get this meeting going.” He came to a stop in the middle of the empty room, the sound of Dan Connor yelling at DJ for whatever rascally thing the kid had done in that episode echoed in the empty room. “Where the fuck is Nick?” Eddie turned to face Mike as he came back in the room after closing the door.

“I dunno,” Mike said, “How the fuck should I know? Ask this guy,” he pointed at the cop.

The officer looked surprised.

“Are you Matthew Scott? Or was it Scott Matthews? I don’t remember. Whichever it was, is that you?” Mike asked.

“I’m Officer Flynn,” he answered. He looked around at Eddie.

Eddie stared at Mike like he had seven heads, “Who is Matthew Scott?”

Mike looked helplessly at Eddie. “I don’t know, I was up all night with Nick babbling on and on and on -- you know how he gets when he’s nervous, it’s like vocal vomit -- and I was half asleep when she came to pick him up, I don’t remember the name. It was either Matthew Scott or Scott Matthews, I don’t remember. Didn’t she tell you who the contact at the department was, for Christ’s sake? There can’t be both a Scott Matthews and a Matthew Scott there, right?”

Eddie blinked, “Didn’t who tell me the name when they came to pick up Nick?” He asked, his voice rising, “Nick went with someone? What?”

It was Mike’s turn to blink at Eddie. “What do you mean who? That chick - that chick cop. The one with the - with the - with the braid…” he waved his hand over his shoulder, “And them glasses, those polarized glasses?” He stared between Eddie and Officer Flynn, who were both staring at him expectantly, their expressions getting more and more concerned. “She was here at like six o’clock?”

Eddie’s voice was tight, tense, “There wasn’t no cop here at six o’clock.”

“She -- she knocked…” Mike waved at the door.

“Did you check her badge? Did you see the badge number?” Officer Flynn reached into his utility belt and produced a notepad. “Get a name at least?”

“Yeah she had a badge, I don’t remember the number. Like I said, it was six in the damn morning and Nick had been up all night yammering about everything from magic eight balls to solar power to zombies.” Mike paused. “Wait. Fuck. There really wasn’t a cop here? That wasn’t a cop? Then who the fuck was it? Where’s Nick?”

Eddie’s eyes were wide, “He just went with her, he didn’t like call somebody to check that was what he was supposed to do or nothin’?”

“She said she was Witness Protection,” Mike stammered, “She said she talked to you, I think.” Suddenly he couldn’t even remember what, exactly, she’d said at all. “She knew about the case, knew he was the witness.”

“More than likely we’re looking at our Bonnie,” Officer Flynn stated, “She knew the details because she’s part of the crime duo we’re after.” He scribbled notes on his pad. “Any physical details you recall, other than the braid and the sunglasses?”

“I dunno, she was brunette. Kinda tall for a chick. I mean she measured up okay against Nick height wise and everything.”

“Did she give you a name?”

“She did, I just…” Mike stammered. He bit his lip, thinking hard. “It was an M, it started with an M. It was hyphenated. M- something. Long names.” He groaned, “Fuck, I can’t believe I let him go with her. I’m the worst security detail ever.” He rapped his forehead with his fist. “Stupid, stupid idiot.”

Officer Flynn pulled a cellphone from his pocket, “I’m gonna go downstairs, find out about security footage in the lobby… Does Nick have a cell phone or any other GPS-enabled devices he might have brought with him?”

“She told him they could be traced, they left them all here, the only thing he brought was his iPod and the clothes he brought in from the tour bus last night,” Mike replied, “And the iPod’s wifi signal’s off, she made him turn it off.”

Officer Flynn shook his head, “They’re smart, these ones, they know what they’re doing.” He turned away and headed for the door at a trot, holding the cell to his ear, rambling out coded details about the new developments of the case.

Mike looked at Eddie, “I can’t believe this,” he said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe this.”

Eddie frowned.

“He better be okay, or I’ll never forgive myself, holy shit,” Mike said, his throat constricting. “I’m the worst bodyguard in the world.”




Marty was waiting for an update. He was sitting in bed in one of the rooms of the hotel, watching TV, another hour before the early risers that had left early would be expected to be gone from the room, their leftover room service breakfast an added bonus. He nibbled on the perfectly tangy bacon strips he’d found and sipped the second half of a mimosa they’d left on the dresser.

It was nearly two in the afternoon and he’d expected Avery to call before noon with an update on their progress. A part of him was starting to worry they’d been picked up somewhere along the way. Surely by now they’d figured out that Nick had indeed been kidnapped and not whisked away into the Witness Protection Program. He wasn’t sure how the authorities went about solving something like that, did they create blocks at state lines, check all the major interstates or what? He just knew Avery had been expected to call him when they reached Eerie, Pennsylvania, and that should’ve been around noon, even allowing for a couple stops she was damn late with the call.

His cell phone vibrated on the sheet next to his hip and he picked it up, recognized Avery’s phone number on the screen, and answered it, “What the fuck took you so long?”

Avery’s voice was low, agitated, and harsh, “You better get that fuckin’ ransom note out as soon as possible because I swear to God if you leave me alone with this guy much longer I’m going to kill him.”

Marty sat up, the hostility in Avery’s voice catching him off guard, “Whoa, slow down there, Princess, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on is I’ve been in the car since six-thirty and he hasn’t shut up. Did you know there are thirteen different club remixes to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing?”

“No…”

“Well I do now,” she hissed, “Because he fucking played - and sang along to - every single one of them. If I ever hear Steve fucking Perry again I’m gonna stab my ear drums out with a dull pencil.”

Marty took a deep breath, “Okay, so you’re having a bad trip --”

“If we ever kidnap another person, you are taking care of them, not me, asshole, not me. Not again.” Avery’s voice was bordering on desperation, like a crazy person about to crack.

“It was your idea to keep him alive,” Marty reminded her.

“That was before I’d spent eight hours in a vehicle with him, wanting nothing more than to push him out and watch him splatter on the highway,” Avery groaned.

“So where are you?”

“Eerie,” she snapped.

“You’re just now getting to Eerie?” Marty’s voice rang in surprise. “How did you make a five and a half hour drive into eight?”

Avery’s voice lowered even further, “That’s how often Mr. Talkative had to take a piss. Every time he saw a tree out the window he had to take a leak on it. He’s worse than a fucking dog.”

“Well, just keep thinkin’ to yourself that a couple days with him is worth several million dollars and a life on Easy Street over in Europe somewhere, bae,” he said, “Just remember the flat in Paris we talked about. Warm bread and brie every morning, cafe au lait, the Eiffel Tower views…”

“That is literally the only thing keeping me from strangling him.”

A knock at the door, followed by a latino accent calling out, “Housekeeping!” made Marty jump up from the bed, grabbing the remaining bacon and putting it into his shirt’s breast pocket, and swallowing the last of the mimosa in one gulp.

“Babe, listen, I gotta go. You stay strong, don’t kill him - not yet anyway - and I’ll get the ransom note out soon, okay?”

Avery sighed out a stream of frustration. “Okay. Hurry, though.”

“I’m hurrying,” he replied. “I’ll call you tonight. Around two.”

“My time or yours?” Avery asked.

But Marty had already hung up.

She sighed again and shoved the phone back into her pocket. They were at a Krispie Kreme and Nick was inside buying donuts and coffee, she could see him through the plate glass store front as she leaned against the car’s hood. She hoped to God he got himself a decaf like she’d told him to. She couldn’t even imagine how bad the chatter would be if he was amped up on caffeine as well as nerves.

Oh how many times she’d felt herself thinking of the gun in the cubby on the door panel of the car, left to her care by Marty, who had thought it best to get the murder weapon out of the state as well as the only witness. She’d planned to toss it into Lake Champlain when they got to Vermont, but now she was reconsidering that. She might need it to put Nick out of her misery.

Especially if he came back with caffeine.





“I was born here,” Nick said. It was a little more than an hour later, almost four in the afternoon Eastern time, and they were on I-86 headed east to I-81 that would take them north to their final stop for the night, Watertown. They were approaching Jamestown, New York. “Lucille Ball was too,” he added, “In the same hospital and everything. My mom was real proud of that, she talked about it all the time, tellin’ me how she mighta been born in the same room and all. It’s a real old hospital, I guess.” He stared out the window.

Avery was biting her lips. She’d figured out somewhere around Cleveland that if she didn’t try to answer him he’d at least take some breathing spaces between soliloquies.

“I dunno why I said was and talked, like she’s dead or somethin’, ‘cos she’s not.”

“Lucille Ball’s been dead for like twenty-six years,” Avery said.

Nick glanced at her. It was the first time she’d talked since Eerie, where she’d demanded to see the receipt for the coffee and donuts to see that he’d ordered decaf, which he had. The sound of her voice kinda surprised him after all the silence. “Well I know that,” he said, “I meant my mom. Lucy’s dead, but my mom’s alive. As far as I know, anyways.”

Avery raised her eyebrow. “As far as you know?” She had a feeling she was gonna regret opening her mouth. This statement had lifestory pending written all over it and she had a feeling that Nick would be quite long winded talking about himself, just judging on the way he looked and the fact that he clearly had a healthy-sized ego. She was probably opening a big ass can of worms that would last all the way to Watertown, only pausing for pee breaks on every other tree.

Nick shrugged.

She glanced at him. “What? You talk literally for nine hours straight and now that I actually got a question for you, you’re speechless? She must be a doozy.”

“I just don’t get along with her well is all.” He looked out the window. “My Grampa Doug used to live somewhere ‘round here. I dunno where. I was too little to remember how to get there. He moved later and stuff, but he used to live here and we’d come for visits sometimes and he taught me how to fish, me and my sisters, BJ and Leslie.” He was quiet for a long moment, took a deep breath. “That was a long time ago, though.” He looked down at his coffee cup.

Avery waited, expecting more. But no more came.

Had he finally run out of shit to say? she wondered, barely daring to be hopeful. But another glance over at him proved it wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say it was that he was pretty choked up and couldn’t speak.

She felt a little bad for the relief she felt at his silence. Kind of.

Finally, the guilt of revelling in his silence got to her and she asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered. He watched as the last exit for Jamestown passed by and then he cleared his throat. “Anyway, where are we going again?”

“Watertown tonight, then the Isle of La Motte in Vermont,” she answered.

“Is La Motte like a city?” he asked.

She scoffed a laugh.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a definite no,” she answered.

“So you’ve been there?” Nick asked.

Avery nodded, “Yeah. Every summer growing up. My grandmother owns a summer house there on the lake. That’s where we’re going.”

“Your grandmother’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool,” Nick said. “Is your grandmother gonna be there?”

“She’s dead,” Avery replied.

“Sorry,” Nick answered. “You said owns, like present tense.”

Avery shrugged. “Well she left it to her cat, so I guess nobody really owns it anymore, but I have a set of keys.”

Nick blinked. “She left it to her cat?” he asked.

“Yes. Nancy Reagan. That’s the cat’s name.”

“As in --”

“Ronald and Nancy Reagan, yes. My grandmother was very much a republican and she loved him as a president and as an actor and yes, she named her cat after his wife. There was a beagle named Ronald, too, originally, but the beagle died before she did, which is probably a good thing otherwise the dog would’ve inherited her everyday house, I’m sure.”

Nick nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of people leaving like fortunes to their pets and stuff. Never knew anyone in real life that did it, though.” He paused. “So…is Nancy Reagan gonna be there?”

“The cat’s dead, too.”

“Oh. Well. At least she’s reunited with Ronald, I guess?” he said. “Sorry about that, too. You said that one present tense also, by the way, you might wanna work on your grammar with the deceased so people know when someone’s dead so they know to offer you condolences.”

“A minute ago you were saying was about your mother,” Avery reminded him, “So hold the judgement.”

“Well, she’s dead to me, so really the tense was okay on my part,” he said with a shrug.

“That’s strong,” Avery said.

Nick sighed, “I know.”

She clutched the wheel, staring straight ahead.

“So what’s La Motte like?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Avery licked her lips, “Well. You ever seen the Andy Griffith show?”

“Sure,” he answered.

“Remember Mayberry?”

Nick nodded, feeling a little scared. “....yeah,” he said hesitantly. “Is La Motte like Mayberry?”

Avery laughed, “La Motte is to Mayberry, as Mayberry is to New York fucking City.”