BURY IT WITH THE BODY

 

It just had not occurred to him to make the connection.

 

You know, Howard knew about this all along?

That had to be the assumption.

We each took time to ponder our fates. One cannot throw caution to the wind, and blame the wind. This was a calculation, we each had to make.

 

…in our mutual, Best, Interest…

       

Of course…

There was something surreptitious about their meeting. Neither trusted the other much. Maybe that was it.  Or maybe some added protection for when you really need it? And you probably will. So go in with your eyes open, for Christ-sakes!

Your words are spoken aloud, as if they are thoughts. 

I…didn’t…

As long as you are aware, it is fine with me.

There is no need to keep them to myself?

None. ‘Eyes Open’.

I didn’t mean what it sounded like…

         Good. Now tell me about Howard.

Howard had a civilian job, an aeronautical engineer, and a damn good one, but he was also covert military. A spy working under the noses (and possibly the auspices of…) a ‘private military contractor’, with some ‘strong ties...’

There would be trips that required secrecy…sometimes one week, then three, five….and so on. If there was ever an emergency at home, whatever the reason or rationale, they had a phone number to call in D.C. They were to leave a message. That number would then alert the receiver to the call, with a callback number. Or, get it patched straight through, if possible. He was in the shit, chin deep. He was no mere engineer. He was in the shit.

That ‘old spy’ crap don’t fly in this day and age. “He got a number in D.C….?” So what? Anyone ever try it?

You’re doubting the man?

Probably an answering machine with remote access. Anywhere in the world…Probably had a second…maybe a third, marriage…Or he was an addicted adulterer.

I’ve seen pictures from the far east. Provocative pictures and Howard was in some. He had them, he showed me. I believe him.

Oh I believe him entirely when it comes to ‘the provocative’ nature of those photos. There is no doubt, but what do they have to do with him being a spy, or, maybe just a drunken businessman, acting a fool?

Howard was no one’s fool, sir.

         I said “acting a fool”, there’s a difference, a big one.

So you’re still suggesting he was a spy ?

         Am I?

Well, Yes. You lead me to believe that is how you’re thinking.

         It makes no difference, does it? 

Bury it with the body.

          Bury what?

        To Howard.

        To Howard.

V

THEY LOST HIM

Last June she took a call for Harford. It was what she did, as a receptionist, and she did it well. It was her job.  Anyone meeting her the first time was ready to assume her efficiency without question, and she never gave them reason to doubt. She was professional and very keen. I trust she’s got her facts in order. As for Harford, she was more his personal assistant, given his position in the company, he dominated her time and she kept copious notes. Unfortunately, she is also quite tidy, and hates clutter, so the notes are routinely shredded. It’s her job and she’s good at it. So there is no trail to follow unless it goes through her. Her loyalties are just that, and she abides.
Harford's trip to Bermuda was spontaneous and out-of-character. Apparently there were jokes in the lab about secrecy, larceny, espionage,  peccadillos...everyone so amused at the sheer spontaneity of it all. That was the joke really: he's tarnished his predictability hereabouts! They jested about calling security.
In fact,  Security joked with him on his way out the gate, "you will be coming back, right Doc? you wouldn't be taking any intelligence with you, would ya' Doc? That's the last thing you'll need! Try rum and topless beaches - that should fix it!"
The banter was something Harford enjoyed on a daily basis. It allowed him a mental reset when entering or exiting the facility. Everything within the facility was tightly structured and controlled. No laboratory jocularity allowed, only focus and thoroughness.
And off he went. For a month.
She took the call. It was so unlike him. He wouldn’t be returning. He had no files, nor interest, he wanted to make that perfectly clear. He’d have his lawyer handle the Exit details. He thanked her for her loyalty and friendship, His voice cracked with sincerity. He then bid “goodbye”, and was gone.
There was the initial panic among top management, because that's what they do, damn it!
The mid-managers, many of them women (patronizing, but true), pulled the shit together. 
First thoughts were of an interference - a woman, or women, or a…man. 
Okay. Then, "medication"   - what was he taking? Prescriptions? Anything illicit? 

Mind control was considered, and noted. 

Blackmail.
 
“It’s gotta be sex!”
 
They came in on the weekend. They worked late. They needed to get Harford back and they determined that he never was in Bermuda. 

They also determined that he wasn’t even in the Caribbean…or, for that matter, on the face of the globe.
 


They lost him.

V

Whichever way the ball bounces...

 

Ray did not like his profile. Not the ‘digital profile’ that might contain a bio, and, had a face to it – he liked that picture, it was a good angle, and a fluke, at that. But the truth of the matter was, his ‘Physical’ profile, didn’t suit him.

He saw the slope of the forehead, bulging eyes, the sharp nose, wide mouth, and the ‘receding jaw line’. He had a wide head, with a mass of hair. It was abnormally large for his body.

 He took it all in. Standing, nude, before the mirror, he was not oblivious to the reflection, but, rather, resigned to the obvious. All in good spirits. But at his age…no way. Twenty years a virgin be…last encounter he could recollect… and, a hopeless cause since.

He spoke to himself, often:

Okay, everybody get casual, have a beverage, and relax. Don’t let me freak you out. I’m as normal as they come, and I know how to have a good time. We got tunes, snacks…and hey, Game’s on! Wanna’ watch the game?! Sure let’s watch the game! Great idea!

And such was the evening’s entertainment. It might vary, but only the channel or the event, but not the routine. The routine was set.

Then there came ‘a knocking’ on the door. At first, not recognizable beyond the din of the game, but it grew louder and so persistent, it became a distraction, and he had to turn the sound Down.

He found his bathrobe, threw it half-on, and opened up. Shit.

Standing before him was a striking brunette. (Striking by his standards, which amounted to nil, but in this case, a fair assessment). Finding her staring at his dangling…robe…still half-open, and not the best half, either, he set randomly about to correct the situation, and was ‘presentable’ in about …oh…a minutes time. She did seem to enjoy the show while it lasted. But, alas, he gathered himself,

“No ladies here, if you’re selling something…”is the best he could come up with.

“I’m not.”

“…Church Mission?”

“Ha! Hardly…”

“Then, what do you want?”

“Blunt, but hospitable.”

“Huh…? ”

“Was that the game I heard? That Beverly kid still pitchin’? Kid’s gonna’ carry them to the pennant.”

“The Game? Yeah, …yes, it’s on. Care to watch?”

“You kiddin'?  Pop me a brewski, and plop me down!”

It was the girl of his dreams, and his every desire.

“My, my, my…you know how to surprise a guy…”

“If my introduction has been too rude, I hope you’ll let me make it up. Seventh inning stretch is on me, Darlin’ ”

It was the top of the second, but he was willing to wait it out.

“Whichever way the ball bounces,” she says.

V

THE WRONG RUB

 

This is going to rub some of you wrong, so in advance, I apologize. Fretting is over, I won’t allow it. Times come to face up to my liabilities.

Many of them were my friends…or so I thought, and with time you realize they are dwindling down to a few…or, until, they dump you, and you don’t know yet, I guess that’s my scenario, more times than not. Dumped.

(he rants)

        It’s hot.  Anybody hot? Gees, it’s stifling in here!

   

(…then back to ‘normal’)

That does not, however, come between me and my job, My job is, my Job! Where were we? What was the topic?…I’ll pick it up from there. Clue me in. Wait, I know, “Where was I the night she died?”

(There was a long pause, He stirred back and forth, and grew agitated.)

I don’t have to account for anything. I do not know this person, and she, is not known to me! And I can understand the confusion but …wait…Paige Kent? Is this about Paige Kent?

Oh lord, not Paige…..

(pauses)

It’s a real shame. She was one of those ‘discarded friends’ I ‘portended’ previously, about Paige. Hadn’t seen her in ten months, and ‘lost’ her Face page a couple of months after that. Not exactly a saint, if you prefer sinners. Poor baby.

(he rants)

IS IT HOT? IT’S HOT! Goddamn I’m bein’ cooked alive, I swear!

(…then back…)

Can we close this deal so I can get some air?

Paige was a delightful girl. She was beautiful and intelligent …and worldly, in a mannered way. She was never ‘involved', unless you want to charge her for the ‘one time’. You know…the time. But that was a time when everything was so fucking illegal. War On Crime, my ass. But I can tell from the looks on your faces, that you have no idea of what I speak, so…forget it, For-Get-It!

You might want to get me sober before any more questions…I don’t make much sense  to myself. I’m taking the drunk defense. Let me sleep it off and I’ll talk tomorrow, or, pursue legal counsel. If I had to speak tonight I’d say I was guilty, but I do not offer that up as the Truth. Therefore, I have no choice, but to recant.

Forgot what I said. Can you read the transcript back to me?

V