Not Your Average Man

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

I ended up in a small city at the foothills of the Rockies. It met my basic criteria when it came to size and—from what I found out from an online site—climate. It was also within driving distance of a larger city, in case I needed to get away for a while and enjoy what a big city had to offer.

There were very few motels, but I did find one with decent rates and rented a room for the week. I figured that would give me time to decide if I liked the city, and to find an affordable apartment. If neither of those things happened, I’d move on.

I unpacked the car and arranged to leave the larger of Mick’s cases in the motel’s safe. The rest of my bags I lugged up to my room on the second floor. The first thing I did was put Mick’s other case and my laptop in the room safe. Then I unpacked, hanging my clothes or putting them in the dresser. I took my personal items out of the shaving kit, then squeezed it into what little room was left in the safe before setting the combination and locking it.

I showered, shaved, and put on clean jeans and a shirt, before going out to find somewhere to eat dinner. I ended up at a Mexican restaurant, and being used to the usual fare back where I’d come from, I ordered a burrito, figuring hot meant sort of spicy. Next time I’ll heed the warning, because when they said hot—well, I was surprised I still had taste buds.

After that, I wandered a bit. From what I could tell, it was your average small city. I happened on a section called Old Town, with shops and entertainment, as well as nice older homes off the main drag. I figured a guy could do worse than to settle here. That is, if I could find an apartment. Something I couldn’t look for until morning.

Returning to the motel, I turned on the TV in time to catch some cop show. I was halfway watching it when I got the call. Not as in some higher calling, to go out and preach the gospel to the masses. That is so not me. The call came from someone whose name didn’t show up on the screen. All it said was Unknown. I debated answering then decided I could hang-up if I didn’t want to talk to whoever it was. I figured it wasn’t anyone I knew, since my friends’ names always came up when they called.

The first thing the caller said was, “You need to get rid of your phone and get a burner. That way you can’t be tracked.”

That set me back, because he was right and I felt like an i***t that I hadn’t thought of it myself. After all, I had killed the rat bastard three days ago, so his body had probably been found by now. Even though I thought I hadn’t left any evidence behind, you never know what the cops might be able to put together. I almost admitted the caller as right, but his dictatorial tone pissed me off.

“Who are you to order me around?”

“A friend of Mick’s who wants to keep you safe. Get a new phone, destroy the old one, and call me at this number…” He rattled it off, barely giving me a chance to write it down before he said, “Then we’ll continue this discussion,” and hung up.

My interest was piqued, so I left the motel and went hunting for the nearest convenience store. Half an hour later I was back, having gotten rid of my old phone when I left the store by putting it in the bed of a truck with out-of-state plates. If anyone, like the cops, were using it to track me, hopefully they’d be thrown off course when the truck continued on to…wherever.

I sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and dialed the number the man had given me. He answered immediately, saying, “You’re fast.”

“When necessary,” I responded. “Before we do anything else, I want to know who you are and what your relationship was with Mick.”

There was a low chuckle. “Straight to the point. Mick worked for me.”

“As a bartender?” That had been Mick’s day job, same as mine but for a different club.

“I think you know better,” the man replied.

Playing innocent, I said, “That’s the only job he had.”

“Then why do I have your phone number?”

“He put me down on his employment form as the person to call in case of emergency. I know that for a fact.”

There was a brief pause, then the man said, “He was correct. You’re very careful about what you reveal, just as I am. Let’s cut to the chase. I want to talk to you in person.”

“If I agree to that, which I might not, how far do I have to travel to make it happen?” I knew Mick sometimes went halfway across the country to meet with his boss—which is what I presumed this guy was.

“Two miles, give or take. I’m presently at the motel on the corner of Fifth and Elm. We can meet in the bar, here. Then, when you’re convinced I’m not a threat to you, we can go up to my room.”

“If you’re here in town, why not come to my motel?”

“My room is secured against eavesdroppers.”

“Figures.”

He laughed at that. “I’m registered as Pete Reynolds. You’ll recognize me when you get to the bar, because I’m the only man with gray hair and a mustache.”

“At the moment,” I said.

“True. I’m also wearing a light blue dress shirt.”

I considered telling him I wouldn’t meet him. After all, how did I know he really was what he said? Unless…“Where did Mick go on his last vacation?”

“San Diego,” Reynolds replied without hesitation. “Then up the coast to Carlsbad.”

That was information only Mick, his boss, and I knew. As far as the people Mick worked with at the bar had been concerned, he’d taken three days off to visit one of his sisters in Wichita, since she’d just had her second child. Not that he had any sisters, in Wichita or anywhere else, but that was beside the point.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Very good.”

After we ended the call, I got my gun and holster from the case in the safe, attached the holster, with the gun, inside the back of my waistband, then put on a light jacket to cover them. After reprogramming the combination to the safe, I closed it and took off.

* * * *

I walked into the bar, looked around, and spotted the man I presumed was Reynolds seated at the bar, chatting up the bartender. When I approached, Reynolds smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.” Then to the bartender he said, “This is my son, Wayne, who I was telling you about.”

Reynolds had obviously done his homework, to know that I was calling myself Wayne. Although, when I thought about it, he was probably the man who had made the ID for Mick to give me. I nodded to the bartender, shook his hand when he offered it, and took the stool next to Reynolds.

“Do you want a beer, or something else?” Reynolds asked. I told him beer was fine and he ordered one.

As soon as the bartender moved away to get it, I said quietly, “Your son?”

Reynolds shrugged. “It was better than business partner or lover. Before you ask, I’m straight.”

“Like I care?”

“Just setting parameters.”

The bartender returned, putting a beer bottle in front of me. I took a long pull then asked, “How long have you been in town?”

“I flew in as soon as I knew you were here.”

“My phone,” I replied, again disgusted at my stupidity.

“Yes. Where is it now?”

“Halfway to Timbuktu, hopefully. I figured that way, if anyone is tracking me with it, the way you did, they’d think I moved on.”

“Smart. Better than destroying it, despite what I told you.”

I smirked. “I thought so.”

Reynolds picked up his drink, which looked like a screwdriver, and took a sip. “Are you planning on staying in the city?” he asked.

“If I can find an apartment, and a job.”

“Bartending, I presume.”

“It’s what I’m good at—like Mick.”

“He said that’s how the two of you met. At the bar where he worked.”

“Yep.” I smiled a bit at the memory. We had hit it off almost instantly and things had progressed from there. Who knows, maybe we’d have gotten married at some point. It was something we’d danced around before…before his death. I took deep drink, trying to ease the sudden pain. It might not seem it, to the few people I knew, but I missed him more than I thought possible. Killing Carl helped—to some extent—to make the pain bearable. But it would always be there, deep inside me.

“He was a good man,” Reynolds said quietly, gripping my shoulder.

“In spite of what he did for you, he was,” I agreed.

He chuckled low. “Now that that’s out in the open, why don’t we finish our drinks and go up to my room.”