Like wood
against wood, followed by the sound of my mattress creaking, like someone just
sat him or herself down on my bed.
Sliding back the cocking mechanism on the .45 so slowly I
feel the bullet entering the chamber more than I hear it, I take it lightly
over the wood floor to the apartment’s compact bedroom. The door is closed, but
not entirely. Hiding my body behind the wood door, I try to capture a glimpse
into the room through the narrow crack between the door’s edge and the wood
frame. I see the bed. Rather, not only can I make out the bed, but I can
plainly see that someone is lying in the bed, under the covers.
I thrust the door open, hold the pistol barrel onto the
figure in the bed.
“Don’t move,” I say. “Just slowly pull out your hands, and
then let me see your face. Do it now.”
I see movement coming from under the blanket and sheet. A
drop of sweat rolls from my forehead, down my left cheek, where it remains
suspended under my chin. For all I know, there will come a shotgun blast from
under the blankets and my inside are about to be spattered all over the wall.
Too late now.
Suddenly, a hand emerges from under the covers. Then another
hand. They are beautiful hands. The hands of a beautiful woman. A head emerges.
The head is veiled in shoulder-length brunette hair, and the face is one I
recognize well.
I pull back the pistol and thumb on the safety.
“Christ almighty, Leslie,” I say. “A text warning me of your
arrival might have been nice.”
“That would have spoiled the surprise, Chase Baker. Now
aren’t you glad you’ve entrusted me with a key?”
I wipe the sweat from my chin with the back of my free hand.
“You scared me half to death.”
“I thought the Man in the Yellow Hat doesn’t scare so easily.”
“It’s called grace under pressure.”
“Well,” she says, pulling off the covers to reveal her
entirely naked body. “Are we going to talk? Or are we going to have an
adventure together?”
“I choose adventure,” I say, jumping onto the bed.
15.
Afterwards, we’re drinking red wine from the same plain little
drinking glasses they use in the Italian restaurant downstairs. Taking my time
in order not to skip over any detail, I fill Leslie in on the assignment Keogh
III just laid in my lap. When I’m done I pour more wine and ask my agent what
she thinks.
“First off,” she says, “you were right to take the job. You
need it. But you never negotiated a price and that will be my job.”
“Thought you were done with agenting.”
She cocks her head, flips back her thick hair with her free
hand, sips some more wine.
“I’ve decided to maintain a small list of writers who sell.
I’ll work from out of my apartment.”
“Did I make the cut?” I smile.
“It just so happens you did, Man in the Yellow Hat.” Lifting
up her right hand, she makes a pinching gesture with her thumb and index
finger. “By this much. A smidgeon.”
“Wow, I feel blessed.”
“You are blessed. Very blessed, and I’ll tell you why.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Because I’m not only going to remain your ever loyal and
superlative agent, I’m going to go you one further.”
I’m silent for a minute, wondering just what it is she has
up her sleeve. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“I’m waiting.”
She sets her hand on my naked thigh.
“With the gynie not being entirely happy with me now, and me
not being entirely happy with him, I’m as free as a bird to do anything and go
anywhere I want.”
I’m beginning to see where this is going, and because I can
see where it’s going, I feel my pulse pick up.
“Not a chance,” I say. “Not only do we have no idea who
we’re dealing with in terms of my expedition leaders, Rodney and Carlos, but
we’re heading into territory that is entirely uncharted, even by today’s
digital GPS standards. We don’t know what we’re going to encounter once we get
past Machu Picchu