Free Secret Dead Men by Duane Swierczynski Page A

Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. "An angry FBI agent has confronted me. To buy some time, I passed out in front of him. He probably has smelling salts under my nose as we speak, trying to bring me around. All you have to do is snap awake, deck him, bind him, gag him, lock him away for a while, whatever. Do your stuff. I'll take care of it from there."
    "Mighty white of you," Paul said.
    "Can you help or not?"
    "It'd be my pleasure, Mr. Farmer. God knows, I don't see any action in this freak motel of yours. I'll be right down."
    I was still trying to figure out if Paul was being sarcastic when he appeared beside me. He must have cheated and ported his soul along instead of walking down the Brain Hotel staircase. "When my massah calls, I come-a-runnin'," he said.
    "I appreciate that," I said. "Now all you have to do is step through those doors and say the secret phrase." He gave me a quizzical look. I checked to make sure no one was spying, and then told him. "It's three words: Owatta. Goo. Siam. "
    "You're kidding me."
    "No, I'm serious," I said. And I was. That was the same phrase Robert had taught me back when he first trusted me to take over the physical body from time to time.
    "Jesus Christ. It's a nursery rhyme. A joke. A bad joke."
    "Well, it does the job." I didn't feel like justifying it to him. What did it matter what the phrase was? Do the ridges on a key mean anything? Does the spinning wheel on a telephone have any great cultural significance?
    "Go ahead," I said. "And good luck."
    "You're insane."
    "Just say it."
    "Oh, what a goose I am," he said, then stepped through the front doors and into the real world.
    * * * *
    On the lobby screen, blackness fluttered and finally opened up. Light poured in, then adjusted. We were sitting upright. The view snapped to the left, then the right, where Agent Fieldman was sitting on my motel bed. He was pointing his gun at us.
    Good morning, Fieldman said, somehow looking more imposing up on the silver lobby screen. Have a nice nap?
    The view snapped back to the left again, then right, up, down and behind. The view wobbled. Angrily. What the hell was Paul doing? Neck exercises?
    Finally, a hushed voice: Goddamnit, I'm handcuffed to a chair!
    Fieldman said, You are observant, Mr. Larsen.
    Whoops.
----
    Ten
    The Thing in the Trunk
    Agent Fieldman had grown an attitude over the past eight months. Maybe the experience of having your soul yanked out of your body changed you fundamentally. Made your mind stronger, your senses sharper. Or maybe he had been hanging around Dean Nevins too much.
    So what kind of drug was it? Fieldman asked, pacing around the room.
    I wanted Paul to follow him with his eyes, but he refused and kept staring forward. I probably should have let him off the hook, stepped back into the body and tried to handle this myself ... and I would have, had I a single idea on how to handle this. I hoped he was cooking up something good.
    Fieldman came back into view. He crouched down, and looked us right in the eyes. I asked you a question, Larsen. What ... kind ... of ... drug?
    Drug? What in the devil was he talking about? Did he think Brad Larsen was into trafficking? This was getting weirder by the second. And Fieldman's goofy gumball shirt was really starting to bug me.
    Paul said nothing. I depressed the button on the silver mike and quietly asked: "Are you okay there, buddy?"
    He said nothing.
    Fieldman stood up, then chuckled. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, I'm going to stay quiet and plead the fifth and wait until some lawyer bails my butt out of this. Right? As soon as I keep my trap shut in front of this agent of the law, it'll all be cool. Right? Huh?
    Paul said nothing.
    Well, I've got a surprise for you, said Fieldman in a faux-whisper, as if he were sharing some great secret. I'm not here as an agent of the law. That's right. I filed form EL-6 last week. Official Federal Bureau of Investigation Extended Leave of Absence request.
    This