In the Nick of Time, page 9
“You are a talking tortoise. Aunt Kat was right.”
With the way the rest of his week had gone, he wasn’t surprised at all that a tortoise was speaking to him. He was a little offended that Tim had waited until now to come clean with him though.
Tim started crawling toward the corner of the building.
“Where are you going?” Nick demanded.
“To do my business, where did you think? And if you wouldn’t mind turning around.”
“Turn around?”
Nick realized Tim was looking at him with what could only be a tortoise’s disdain. Wow, life got more interesting every day.
“And shut your mouth or you’re going to get flies.”
Nick shuffled after Tim. When they reached the corner, Tim turned his head in a way that told Nick if the reptile had eyebrows, they would have been raised in his direction.
“Fine.”
Nick turned his back and stared out at all the cars driving up and down the Strip. It wasn’t as busy as it would be after nightfall, but there was a constant stream of traffic.
“You can turn back around now.”
Nick turned around. Tim was in the same position. Had he taken care of business? Nick was going to assume that yes, he had.
“That hay is terrible. Do you think you could scare up some lettuce or maybe even fruit? I also like watermelon.”
“Why are you a talking turtle?”
“I prefer tortoise to turtle. And why do you have the ability to roll back time?”
Nick narrowed his eyes at Tim.
“I don’t know.”
“Touché. Let’s go back to the room.”
“Can I tell Doug you talk?”
“You are a grown adult, are you not? The question is, will Agent Swanson believe you? And how much do you care?”
Agent Swanson. Now Nick squinted at the tortoise. A thought flitted through his mind but he dismissed it. The turtle couldn’t be a SPAM agent. Could he?
He was lifting Tim up again when he remembered that he’d forgotten his key. A loud, frustrated groan escaped him. They were going to have to go in the front door and Nick had no idea how he was going to explain Tim.
As luck would have it, the exit door opened and two men stepped outside. One immediately and vigorously tapped a packet of cigarettes against his palm while the other already had an unlit one stuck between his lips. Nick managed to grab the door before it swung shut again.
“Remind me to never again carry a fifty-pound turtle up six flights of stairs,” Nick said when Doug responded to his knock on their room door. On the way back up, he’d decided against mentioning that Tim talked. Doug wouldn’t believe him anyway, and he realized he wanted Doug to respect him.
“Weight training is good for you.”
Nick set Tim back down by the bed and paused. Heat rushed into his cheeks so quickly he thought he might pass out from it.
“Are you okay?” Doug asked.
Nick sat on the edge of the bed. “Fine. Just fine.”
He was fine, just suddenly thinking about Tim being underneath the bed while Nick and Doug had done The Deed. When Tim had just been a tortoise, Nick hadn’t really thought about where he was. But now that Nick knew Tim was an intelligent, sentient tortoise, everything changed. The earth shifted under his feet, so to speak.
Doug peered at him. The heat faded from Nick’s face. He grinned back at Doug in what was probably an entirely unconvincing manner.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. I don’t believe you, but okay.”
“What’s the plan now, boss?” Nick asked to divert Doug from any more inquiries that might lead to questions about his mental health. And talking turtles. Tortoises. Whatever.
“We’ll walk the Strip and slowly head back toward the club again.”
“Try not to almost fall in traffic this time. Please.”
“That was a fluke.”
It seemed to him that the runner had purposefully pushed Doug into traffic.
“Was it though?”
Nick had been thinking about the odd incident at the fountain the other day. It was better than contemplating a talking tortoise—or worse, dwelling on the fact that he was fast becoming enamored with Agent Doug Swanson. What had started out as amusing and harmless flirting for Nick and then some nice extracurriculars with the assignment was quickly becoming something more.
Why did he do this to himself? Worse, he knew he’d blurt it out loud at some point and Doug would do his best to let him down easily. The conversation would be short and painful.
“What do you mean?”
“What?” Shit, had he said something out loud?
“At the fountain, the Humvee… you were the one who brought it up.”
“Oh, right. I meant that it’s possible he intentionally pushed you.”
“Well,” Doug said slowly, “the guy was trying to get past me on a crowded sidewalk.”
“Yes.” Nick nodded. “But he could more easily have pushed me. He chose to push you. I’m just saying it seemed odd. And we both know that odd things seem to be happening to SPAM agents.”
Doug eyed him thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll take that into consideration.”
“You’re taking me seriously?” Nick was a tad flabbergasted, if that was a thing.
“Yes, I’m taking you seriously. I think,” Doug began, opening the hotel room door and ushering Nick out, “that you are smart and observant no matter what kind of act you put on for people.”
“Huh,” was all Nick could come up with. Also, the comment confirmed he wouldn’t be telling Doug that Tim could communicate. Any respect he’d earned would immediately return to below zero.
“So, where are we headed? Dancing again? Trying our—your—luck at the gaming tables?”
Doug had his phone out but slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans. How did a superhero manage to look so good in jeans? It already wasn’t fair they looked good in Lycra—not that Nick had seen Doug in his superhero heyday, but it just went with the territory, didn’t it?—but Doug filled out jeans and that damn polo shirt like nobody else.
“—where Agent Schoenhut was found.”
Nick blinked the Lycra image away. “What? I’m sorry, I missed that.”
Doug sighed.
“I ordered a Lyft. We’re going to check out the scene where Agent Schoenhut was found.”
Opening their room door, Doug motioned Nick into the hallway. Nick waited until they’d made their way downstairs and outside to ask his questions.
Taking his place next to Doug under a canopy where presumably the rideshare would stop for them, Nick asked, “Did you forget to tell me about Agent Schoenhut?”
Doug looked blank for a minute.
“See?” Nick took the moment offered him. “Senior minute. Moment. Whatever. You definitely shouldn’t be heading off to Montana all by yourself.”
A white Toyota swung into the parking lot. Doug pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen—Nick presumed to make sure they weren’t being picked up by a kidnapper—before he opened one of the back doors and squished himself inside. Nick climbed in after him.
“How do you drive that tiny car of yours?” Nick said as he did his best to clip his seat belt.
“Happily, every time I have to fill up the tank.”
Nick really wanted to ask Doug where the scene was and what they were going to do there, but it was also possible that he’d told Nick already and that Nick hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t space out on purpose; sometimes his ADHD brain just took a little vacation. Why did he have to develop feelings for Doug Swanson? He probably wouldn’t enjoy ADHD brain all the time, so Nick was going to try harder to be at least sort of normal.
“I suppose you have a point.”
Doug confirmed their destination address with the driver, who shot them a what-the-hell look in the rearview mirror but didn’t say anything. Nick had the feeling he didn’t pick up a lot of tourists who wanted to go wherever they were headed.
“Wow,” said Nick, staring out the passenger window at the derelict strip mall where the driver was dropping them off. Several tumbleweeds rolled by them, along with a plastic bag and scraps of paper. They’d ventured into abandoned Vegas. More likely it was the “real” Vegas, whereas the Strip was Vegas dressed up for a night out—forever. Wherever they were now was dirtier and dustier than Old Town had been. At least the neighborhood around Nitti’s seemed like the atmosphere was gritty by design. This was just depressing.
“Out, Nick. The guy has places to go.”
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Nick opened his door and stepped out into the oppressive heat. Even at this time of the day, the air was stifling.
At one point, someone had dreams. A little gas station, a deli—which would have been handy to reload up on candy—a nail spa, and, inexplicably, a pet grooming shop, were all lined up next to each other. The businesses were permanently closed, the windows boarded up and, because plywood was an excellent canvas, now covered with graffiti art.
“Whoever painted those is pretty damn talented,” Nick commented. “Why are we here?” he asked Doug. “Wondering, also, is anyone going to come out here to pick us up or are we going to have to walk back to our hotel? I did not wear the right shoes for this.”
TEN
DOUG
In which Doug reminds himself there is no such thing as coincidence.
Doug stared around at the no-longer-in-business businesses. The For Lease signs were tattered, and hope had clearly been abandoned long ago. He’d wanted to see where authorities had discovered Agent Schoenhut. What was it about this spot? Had it meant something to the killers? Why a coffin? Was it convenience or a message?
The coffin setup was something Doug hadn’t come across before. Not that he’d worked many, or any, violent crime scenes—he’d made them. Was it a violent scene when the murder happened somewhere else?
He blinked. Crap, Nick’s way of thinking was beyond rubbing off on him and now starting to make sense in a way.
“Are we just going to stand here in this god-awful wind? Or is there a plan? There’s no plan, is there? You’re just out here Columbo-ing it, aren’t you? You think”—Nick deepened his voice—“I’m going to look at the scene and know immediately that this was perpetrated by a very angry man with authority issues and a small—”
“Just quiet for a moment. Besides, it’s Sherlock Holmes who can tell stuff like that. Columbo was more of a ‘trick person into confessing after bumbling around with that cigar’ guy, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Both were before my time.”
There was silence. Not complete silence because the wind Nick had pointed out was still doing its thing. Tumbleweeds scraped across the parking lot. A semi roared past, followed by a dusty sedan. Doug noted a few cinder block structures in the distance and a couple of derelict RVs.
A great place for a murder.
Doug risked a look at Nick. His partner had a stupid smile on his face. Doug rewound what Nick had said, nodding and adding his own stupid smile to the mix.
“Yes, Nick, both detectives were before your time. And mine too, even though you seem to think otherwise.”
“I’d like to point out that I was being quiet, and you still haven’t answered my question about what we are doing out here.”
“Let’s take a walk and see what’s around.”
Doug started toward the derelict buildings, knowing that Nick would follow behind him. He wanted to make sure there was no one here or, at least, no one who cared anything about what he and Nick were doing.
They circled the lot, even venturing behind the structures. Doug wasn’t used to all the emptiness. The desert was literally right there. A vast nothing.
Logically, Doug knew it wasn’t empty. He’d watched plenty of Nat Geo, but to a guy who was used to the city, it felt empty. Maybe Nick had a point about retiring to the middle of nowhere.
“Wow,” said Nick, “there’s a lot of nothing out there.”
“Agreed.”
Doug stopped at one end of the tiny shopping center, where crime scene tape fluttered in the wind. This spot would be hard to see from the road. He wondered who had called in the incident.
“What happened here?”
“Agent Schoenhut was found here.”
“Um, no longer alive, I take it?”
“No longer alive.”
“Did you know them?”
Doug nodded. “Yes. He was displayed in an open coffin, his hands crossed over his chest. Apparently, it looked like he’d gone to sleep. He was a mentee of mine. Wizard didn’t say much else.”
“Do you think Wizard knew more than he was telling you? And, seriously, why a coffin here?” Nick’s head moved again as he looked around the area, and, like Doug, found nothing. As almost an afterthought, he added, “As the newest Doug Swanson trainee, should I be worried?”
“As far as Wizard goes, anything is possible. I haven’t talked to April yet, although I’m sure she’s already trying to verify his information. Should you be worried?” Doug wasn’t surprised Nick had made the same connection he had. Someone was targeting people he’d worked with. Or was it coincidence?
Doug hated the word coincidence.
“No reason to worry as long as you stick with me.”
“What did Schoenhut do?”
“I don’t know if it matters, but Mel was slightly magnetic. I think whoever is behind this is getting some kind of sick thrill killing SPAM agents.”
A shiver ran down his spine. SPAM agents he was associated with. Nick was right to be concerned. He tried not to think of the missing Agent Carroll as anything other than alive.
“But why? And why SPAM and not just regular people or, you know, the others?”
“The others are much harder to kill. No offense to SPAM agents.”
“I’m sure none taken. So,” Nick said thoughtfully, “this mysterious killer may be targeting more vulnerable victims? But still not—what do you call regular people?”
“Normals. At least that’s what I’ve always used.”
“So, we’re abnormal. I fit right in.”
Nick sounded a bit shocked by that thought. Doug figured it hadn’t happened often in his life. Pondering his response, Doug stared up at the rapidly darkening sky. He’d forgotten how quickly it got dark in the desert. He was used to longer days in the summer and shorter over the winter, with long, drawn-out sunrises and sunsets.
“If that makes you happy, Nick. Personally, I don’t do labels since they don’t usually fit well. We should get back.”
“Did you see that?” Nick pointed to a stand of cacti on the other side of the lot.
Doug peered into the shadows. “What?”
“Isn’t that a tent?”
It was a tent hidden as well as it could be in the shadow of several huge rocks and a few tall cactus plants. Whoever lived there probably had already talked to authorities, but Doug wanted to make sure.
“Let’s see if anyone is home.”
“We could come back tomorrow when it’s not scary dark.”
“This will just take a second.”
The tent was empty. And it looked to Doug as if the occupant had been gone for a while, maybe even days. He didn’t want to rummage and there didn’t seem to be a reason to, so he left the rumpled sleeping bag and sacks of clothing alone.
“We’ll have to come back out tomorrow.”
“I told you we should’ve had the driver wait,” Nick said for the third time. “I have blisters.”
They’d ended up having to walk several miles to a truck stop. Doug was finally able to get a rideshare car to pick them up there and bring them back to the hotel.
“You were right,” Doug muttered. It’d only been a few days, but he now knew enough to realize those were the only words that would make Nick happy sometimes.
“I was right?!” Nick crowed, then sobered. “I don’t actually like that I was right. I’d rather be wrong and not have blisters on my heels the size of Hawai’i.”
“Has anyone ever said you are a drama queen?” He kept his lips from twitching into a smile as he focused on his footwear.
“No one.”
Doug looked up from untying his shoes.
“My aunt. Sometimes.”
“Why do you live with your aunt anyway?” Doug tried to find the right words and not be offensive. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like you’re happy there.”
“Oh.” Nick flicked his loafers to the side and flopped onto the mattress. “We get along okay. She doesn’t ask much in rent and I help her with maintenance and things like that. She took me in after my parents died—tragic elevator accident, in case you were curious—so I feel like I owe her. And then when I was laid off from the start-up, she let me move back into the basement.”
“Makes sense.”
They were both quiet and Doug thought about what was next. First order of business, regardless of the time, was checking in with management. Spinning to face the desk, he opened his laptop and connected to the secure SPAM network.
The bee-doop sound repeated several times before a chat window popped up. It always bugged Doug that SPAM could see him, but he had no idea what April looked like.
“Agent Swanson, report,” said the slightly tinny voice.
Quickly and succinctly, he went over the events of the last three days, covering everything he’d left out at the last check-in, but skipping the part about sex. They didn’t need to know about that.
“What was Schoenhut doing here?” Doug asked. Behind him, Nick was remarkably quiet.
“Agent Schoenhut was on extended leave. That is all we can share with you.”
“Okay.” Doug didn’t like it, but he figured that extended leave meant he’d possibly been undercover. Or he really had been on leave and just got himself dead. “Agent Sedgewick and I went to the shopping center where he was discovered today. We weren’t able to stay long, but at a glance, we didn’t see any clues as to why that spot was chosen. I’m assuming SPAM now believes his death and the other MIA agents are connected.”
