Already Gone

– 31 –



I pull into the hotel parking lot, exhausted. I look at my watch. It’s past seven, which means I have less than three hours before I meet Lisa.

Right now, all I want to do is lie down.

There are several cars in the lot that weren’t there when I left, but I remind myself that it is a hotel, and most guests won’t show up until later in the day.

It makes me feel better, but there’s an uneasy buzz building at the base of my neck that I can’t ignore.

As I cross the parking lot I hear the river in the distance, and the occasional car passing along the street. When I get close to the building, I notice a man standing alone on the second floor a few rooms down from mine. He’s leaning over the railing, smoking a cigarette, watching me.

I walk to the stairs, telling myself I’m being paranoid, that he’s just another guest. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it gives me the strength to keep moving.

When I get to the top of the stairs, the man at the railing turns and looks at me.

“Evening,” he says.

I nod and pretend to search my pockets for my key.

I walk by him, then look back to see if he’s following. He’s not.

I don’t see the other man until I get to my door.

He’s standing at the far end of the walkway, hidden in shadows. I can’t tell if he’s watching me or not, but it doesn’t matter. He’s there, and that’s all I need to know.

The buzz at the base of my neck starts to feel like an electric shock. I consider turning around and going back down the stairs to my car, but then I see the man with the cigarette staring at me.

My only option is to get into my room. If I can do that, I can buy some time to think.

I take the plastic key from my pocket and slide it into the lock. The light flashes to green, then red.

The door doesn’t unlock.

The man at the far end of the walkway steps out of the shadow and starts toward me. I look over at the man by the railing. He takes a long drag off his cigarette then flicks it, end over end, into the parking lot.

I try the key again.

This time the light changes to green and I hear the lock click. I push the door open and go inside.

There is a man sitting at the table against the wall, facing the front door. He is older, wearing a dark suit with a blue tie. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t stand.

One of the men from outside comes up behind me. He steps into the room and closes the door.

I look at him and say, “What the hell is this?”

He doesn’t answer, so I turn to the man at the table. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

The man watches me for a moment, then reaches down and takes a briefcase from the floor. He sets it on his lap and flips the latches. “Have a seat, Mr. Reese.” He holds his hand over his chair. “We have quite a bit to discuss.”

I shake my head. “Not without a lawyer.”

The man smiles, but there’s something unnatural about it, something sour. Seeing it makes my stomach turn.

“We’re not the police,” he says. “And you certainly don’t need a lawyer.”

“FBI?”

The man shakes his head.

I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t.

“Should I keep guessing?”

A line forms between the man’s eyebrows, then it’s gone just as fast. “Of course, introductions.” He motions to the man behind me. “This is Mr. Hull, and my name is Anthony Briggs. We represent a small, offshore company that I’m sure you’ve never heard of, and we need your help.”

I look back at the man standing in front of the door.

He looks anything but friendly.

“I assume I don’t have a choice.”

Briggs smiles, but when he speaks, his voice is cold.

“There’s always a choice.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. Briggs opens the briefcase on his lap. He takes out several files and sorts through them on the table, then picks one and holds it out to me.

“Take a look.”

I don’t move.

Briggs waggles the folder in the air. “I think you’ll be interested.”

I feel the man behind me step closer, so I start across the room toward the table, moving slow. When I get there, I take the file, but I don’t open it.

Briggs shuts the briefcase and sets it on the floor. He sits back and crosses one leg over the other at the knee and says, “Go on, it’ll help you make your choice.”

I open it, but at my own pace.

I tell myself that no matter what I see, I’m going to keep my emotions in check.

It doesn’t work.

There are a series of photographs inside, each one showing a different angle of Detective Nolan lying facedown in the gravel parking lot at Memorial Park. His head is open and wet.

Seeing the photos brings it all back.

My breath catches in my throat, and when I look up at Briggs, I can tell he sees it in my face.

“How did you get these?”

“We took them.”

“Crime scene photos? You told me you weren’t cops.”

“We’re not,” Briggs says. “And these aren’t crime scene photos in an official sense.”

I look at the photos again, then close the file.

“I didn’t do this.”

“I know,” Briggs says. “We did.”

I look up at him. “You did?”

“We decided Detective Nolan had served his purpose.”

“His purpose?” I step closer to the table. When I do, I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

“We asked Detective Nolan to pick you up and bring you to the park.” He motions to my face. “It looks like he got a bit overzealous.”

I hold up the file. “They’re blaming me for this.”

“That was the idea.”

His voice is casual, uncaring, and it catches me off guard. For a second, there are no words.

“We need your help, Mr. Reese, and this is our way of making sure we get it.”

“By killing a cop?” I hear my voice rise, and I fight to keep myself calm. “Are you crazy?”

“Things were beginning to spiral out of control, due in part to Detective Nolan’s involvement. All we did was step in to contain the situation.” He pauses. “Unfortunately, things have become even more complicated than we expected.”

“And you need my help?”

“That’s correct.”

I hand the file back to Briggs and say, “What exactly do you want?”

“The same thing you want, Mr. Reese.” He points to my hand. “We want to find the person responsible for you losing your finger.”

I smile. I can’t help myself.

“Is something funny?”

I hold up my hand and say, “I’ve tried to figure out who did this since the night it happened. No luck.”

“Then I think we can help one another.”

“You’re not listening,” I say. “I don’t know who did this, or why. If I did, I’d have found them already.”

“Mr. Reese.”

“I’ve gone over everyone I’ve ever known, and nothing makes sense.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t know where to start looking again.”

Briggs turns toward Hull, frowns, then looks back at me and says, “I’m afraid you don’t understand. We already know who he is. The problem is finding out where he is. That’s why we need your help.”

This time I don’t smile.

“You know who he is?”

“Oh yes,” Briggs says. “And he’s not from your past, Mr. Reese. He’s from your wife’s.”