WALKABOUT 2 - The Back of Beyond (Part 7)

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36

Messerton, Illinois

As a reserve officer in the Hudson County Police Department, Alan Kincaid was an unpaid volunteer, used mostly for assignments such as working at the jail during visitation nights, conducting prisoner transfers, or crowd control at sporting events and festivals. He was a sworn officer, with badge and gun, but received considerably less training than the full-time officers, and he was expected to pay for his own equipment. From time to time, the chief of police expected the reserves to ride along in uniform with full-time deputies.

Tonight, he was paired up with Darryl Washington. The two men worked efficiently together, but there was nothing resembling comradery existing between them. They patrolled the community, alert for anything out of the ordinary, without an unnecessary word spoken between them. Coincidentally, Washington was opposing the current chief, Lonnie Rodgers, in the upcoming election. The department had recently undergone a transition, combining the sheriff department with the police departments of each of the half-dozen municipalities within the county. The rank of chief, like that of sheriff in most counties, was an elected position.

Most of the full-timers were good to work with, but a few, such as Washington, looked down on the reserves, thinking of them as wannabe cops, “holster sniffers” as Kincaid once heard him say.

If he’d wanted to be a cop, Kincaid would have become a cop. He was a businessman. He and his wife, Carol ran a florist shop in the old downtown district. When he wasn’t helping Carol at the store, he was usually riding his horse, Renegade, on wooded trails. Kincaid joined the department a couple years before when approached by Chief Rodgers to organize a mounted patrol reserve unit to assist in search and rescue, patrol parking lots at the county fairgrounds on horseback, and to represent the Hudson County Police Department in parades. Darryl Washington made it clear at one of the monthly reserve meetings which, if elected, upon his taking office, the reserve unit would be disbanded. When asked why, he said simply “It’s a liability.”

The radio broke the silence. “Twelve, Dispatch.”

Washington responded, “Twelve, go ahead.”

“See the man at Fourteen-thirty-six Round Barn Road. Possible ten-sixty-seven.”

“Ten-sixty-seven? What’s that?” Kincaid said.

“Report of death. You should know your codes if you’re going to be in the department.”

Kincaid ignored the admonishment. “Possible ten-sixty-seven? What’s that mean? Possible? He’s either dead or he isn’t.”

“Guess we’ll find out when we get there. It might not even be human,” Washington said. He’d seen enough dead bodies in ten years on the job to know it’s sometimes hard to tell.

“Lights and siren?”

“No need. Just go.”

37

Adelaide Airport

New South Wales, Australia

The flight from Port Lincoln to Adelaide was short and smooth. I divided my attention between the scenic view of the Australian countryside below and the young woman in a yellow silk blouse and a short floral-print skirt sitting directly across from me, her legs crossed provocatively. She caught me eyeing her twice, each time smiling and returning her attention to the book she was reading. I got the feeling she was accustomed to drawing attention, and I was grateful she chose to smile rather than to glare at me. At my age, what more could I ask?

The landing was not a grease job, but we didn’t run off into the grass, so I gave the pilot a six on a scale of one to ten. We exited the runway on a high-speed taxiway, then held short of another runway for a couple minutes, during which time the flight attendants welcomed us to Adelaide, announced the local time, and thanked us for flying with them. Eventually, I saw a Cessna Skyhawk taxi by from left to right, and we continued on to the terminal.

I collected my luggage from the baggage carousel and went outside. There was one remaining cab in the rank to the left of the pedestrian plaza, and I waved to it. As luck would have it, the girl from my flight came running up just as I was giving the driver the address to the hotel. “Cooee!” she called out in an Australian accent. “Excuse me! Would you mind sharing the cab?”

For me, an Australian or a British accent is sexy with any woman, but with her, all the more so. Maybe because it was so different from what I had expected, given my unintended stereotyping of her. I only know that before I could process her request, I was agreeing to it. “Sure,” I said, “be my guest.” I held the door open for her as the driver tossed our bags into the trunk.

“I’m Meixiu,” she said, placing her hand in mine as I helped her into the cab.

“Jared,” I replied. “Jared Mulligan.”

38

Like most men, Mulligan was too easy. Meixiu noticed him glancing at her in the passenger terminal in Port Lincoln. Without being obvious, she made certain to provide him with tantalizing views. Crossing her legs, dangling a shoe while pretending to read from her tablet.

The flight to Adelaide was short, and she continued the tease. Whenever she glanced up, he would look away, acting as if something caught his attention. Twice, they made eye contact, and she smiled. He seemed to be embarrassed the first time. The second time, he visibly relaxed.

At baggage claim, she ignored him completely, watching his reflection in the windows. When he took his bags off the carousel and went outside to catch a cab, she waited ten seconds, then followed. She ran, as best she could in heels, toward him. “Cooee!” she called to him. “Excuse me! Would you mind sharing the cab?” And, just like that, they were on their way together.

39

“Where to, mate?” the cab driver asked.

“I’m going to the Jameson Hotel,” I said. “But please, take this young lady wherever she’s going first.”

“What are the chances?” she said. “That’s where I’m going as well.”

“The Jameson it is, then,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb.

“What brings you to Oz, Jared? Business or pleasure?”

I shrugged and said “A little of both.” which I thought sounded better than ‘I killed a guy and assumed his identity so I could use his money to leave my family to go walkabout. Let them think I’m dead.’ Which of course would have been a condensed version of the truth.

“What sort of business?” she asked, placing a hand on the seat between us and leaning closer. Butterflies flitted around in my stomach. I knew better than to think I had any chance with this girl. Way out of my league. Hell, I couldn’t even pick up a past-her-prime barmaid in Sydney.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “Doing research for a novel.” True that. I’d just taken it up recently. As in, just the past few days.

“An author!” The expression on her face, raised eyebrows and her mouth forming an O, showed surprise and interest. “Have you written anything I might have read?”

“Actually, I’m working on my first novel,” I admitted, then sprinkled a dash of bullshit on it, hoping to impress her, “My publisher expects it to hit the best seller list, and my agent is negotiating the rights to make it into a movie.” Okay, maybe more than a dash of bullshit. “It’s about a ferry pilot … sort of an action / adventure theme.”

“I’m sorry, what kind of pilot?: Meixiu said.

“A ferry pilot. A pilot who delivers airplanes all over the world to new owners. I’m a pilot myself, so that’s what I write about.”

I know what you’re thinking. I don’t like to have people ask me about flying, but for some reason I want everyone to know I’m a pilot.

Question: If you’re at a party and there’s one pilot there, how do you know which one it is?

Answer: He will tell you.

I decided it was time to switch the topic of our conversation away from myself. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re living a life on the run, assuming another person’s identity. “Meixiu is a beautiful name,” I said. “What does it mean?”

She lowered her eyes, then looked back up. “Beautiful grace.”

I nodded. “Very appropriate.”

“Here we are, mates,” the driver said as the cab pulled up in front of the hotel on Hackney Road. “At’ll be eighteen-fifty.”

As I reached for my wallet, Meixiu said, “Let me cover my half.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ve got it,” I replied. I handed the driver a couple of Australian polymer banknotes, a twenty and a five. “Keep the change.” What is it about guys that makes us think we need to do that? Pay for a woman’s half of cab fare, even though she is a stranger?

The front desk clerk, a plump woman with a Dutch boy haircut and an acne-scarred face was friendly enough. “G’day!” she said as we approached the counter. “How may I help you?”

I motioned to Meixiu. “After you.”

She looked at her watch. “You go ahead. I have to make a call.” When I started to protest, she gently placed a hand on my forearm and said, “I insist!”

So, I placed my credit card and passport on the counter. “Jared Mulligan. I have a reservation.”

The clerk took the proffered items and began pecking on the computer keyboard. “Ah yes, here you are, Mr. Mulligan,” she said, then resumed pecking. “You’ll be staying in 314. The lift is down the corridor, to your left.”

“Thank you,” I said as she returned my credit card and passport. “Is there a restaurant or coffee shop here in the hotel?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid not, Mr. Mulligan,” she said. “But there are several close by. Most close fairly early. Just so you know. Also, there’s a chemist around the corner, in case you need anything.”

I had no idea what she meant. “A chemist?”

“I believe you call it a drug store in America. Besides medications, they offer snacks and . . .” she glanced from me to Meixiu, then back again, “other assorted items of convenience.”

“Oh,” I said, “Okay, thank you again.”

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Mulligan.”

As I turned to go, I waved to Meixiu. Still holding her phone to her ear, she smiled and returned the wave. I went to the elevator, aware of a light-hearted feeling inside that I hadn’t known since I was a teenager. I was smiling for the first time in a long time. It felt good, smiling. I stepped onto the elevator and selected 3.

The room was a mini-suite, big enough, but not what you would call spacious, with a kitchenette and living area separated from the bedroom by a wooden door. The tile-floored bathroom was adjacent to the kitchen, and was nothing more than the basic sink and toilet, jammed closely together and a walk-in shower with old style plastic curtains. Nothing fancy, but all I needed.

I was tired, and plopped down on the bed, facing the ceiling, my feet planted on the floor. I lay there, debating the merits of showering before calling it a day. I’d been in my room maybe five minutes when a knock at the door startled me out of my catatonic state. I wasn’t expecting anyone, obviously, and as a precaution, looked through the peephole before opening the door. To my surprise, I saw Meixiu.

“My room won’t be ready for another hour,” she said as I let her in. “Something about a plumbing problem. They’re working on it as we speak. Would it be a terrible imposition if I were to keep my luggage in your room until they can book me in?”

I hesitated a couple of beats, then said, “Sure, I guess . . . Yeah, sure. That would be fine.”

“Oh, thank you! I can go around the corner to a coffee shop, stay out of your way. Let you have your privacy.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said. “Please make yourself comfortable.” I pointed to the chair by the desk. “You’re welcome to wait here.”

She came to me, all pretense now gone, and lightly placed her fingertips on my biceps. I could feel a tingle of electricity running through my body, and I lost all interest in sleep. She leaned in close, nibbled on my ear and whispered, “I adore the smell of a freshly showered man.”

I nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “I won’t be long.”

“Relax,” she said. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush.”

40

I stepped into the bathroom, shucked off my clothes and, grinning like a fool, gave myself a thumbs-up in the mirror.

My breath was shallow, and my heart beat faster with anticipation of what was about to happen. This sort of thing never happened to me. Not ever. Well, okay, there was April. But other than her, even during all those years when I was traveling around the world as a pilot, no women came on to me. And as you know from my experience in Chauncey’s Basement, I’m not the smoothest at picking up women in bars. Why now? And why Meixiu? With her looks, she could have any man she wanted. Why ask why? Just be thankful for good luck when it comes your way.

41

Meixiu waited, listening for the sound of water running in the shower. She scanned the room. The Jameson wasn’t a five-star hotel by any stretch of the imagination. That was obvious the moment they walked into the small lobby. But the place wasn’t a dump—she’d done outcalls to hotels much worse.

Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t be staying anyway. Mulligan had been in the bathroom for nearly a minute. Water was now running. She stood, walked over to the table, took his key card and his wallet, slipping them into her purse.

Meixiu left the room, took the elevator to the lobby, and walked outside onto the street. Seeing the blokes who’d hired her, she approached, handed over the room keycard. “Room three-fourteen,” she said. “He’s in the shower.”

42

 The hot water opened my pores and my entire body tingled with excitement. It had been a long, long time since I’d been with a woman. And now, Meixiu awaited me on the other side of the door. Anticipating the passion soon to come as I scrubbed myself clean, I imagined her, lying on the bed.

I switched the water to a colder setting, closing my pores and enhancing my stimulation. I know that as a man in his sixties, I’m not what I used to be. Nothing I can do about that. The feeling in my loins told me not to worry, and besides, I reminded myself again, Jared Mulligan was only in his forties. I wrapped a towel around my waist, opened the door, and stepped out into the living area. An overwhelming smell, the unmistakable stale, chemical stench of a heavy smoker stopped me.

Meixiu was gone. In her place were two men, wearing sleeveless vests with patches that read “Death Adders MC Australia,” torn, faded denim jeans, and boots. I recognized them from the cruise ship. Peter and Archer.

Shit.

“G’day, Mulligan,” the man sitting at the table said. Archer wore an eye patch and an evil sneer. He held an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and a lighter in one hand. His other hand rested on the horn of a cane at his side. Archer. and I had a history.

I stood there, confused, frustrated, frightened. Not to mention horny. But mostly, I felt like an idiot. My ears burned, my jaw clenched, and I breathed through flaring nostrils

The other man, Peter, was seated in the rolling office chair by the desk. In the short time I’d been acquainted with these two, I’d concluded Peter wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as his partner, but I did sense he was every bit as dangerous. My feelings were confirmed by the semi-automatic pistol with a suppressor in his hand, casually aimed at my torso. “Hello, Peter,” I said. “Nice of you to stop by.” Archer flicked the lighter. I turned to him. “This is a non-smoking room,” I thought it sounded like something Baron Wilder would say.

One corner of Peter’s mouth turned up, forming a hint of a smile. He nodded slightly. “Mulligan.”

Archer stood, using the cane to help himself up. It, and the eyepatch were both reminders of our last encounter. The sneer on his face told me he was not feeling nearly so casual as Peter. Fortunately for me, he wasn’t the one holding a gun.

“Where’s Meixiu?” I said.

“You’re not getting’ any tonight, Mulligan,” Archer said. “She ain’t comin’ back.”

My first thought was for Meixiu’s safety. Not that I could do anything about it. I knew though, she had set me up, handed me over to these men. How could I have thought that someone as young and lovely as Meixiu would have been interested in an old fart like me? There is no fool like an old fool.

I pushed her out of my mind in order to focus on the present moment. I looked to Peter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Dexter Flynn wants to see you,” Archer spoke up before Peter could respond. “But when he’s done with you, you’re mine.”