The Agency

Chapter 1 Kip grabbed his backpack and ran. He kept running even though his lungs burned and his legs ached, until his body rebelled and he collapsed. Even fear and adrenaline couldn’t make him take one step more. He could crawl, however, and he did, into the underbrush. He buried his face in the crook of his arm to cover his gasps for breath. He saw me. If he finds me, he’ll kill me, too. It had all started when Kip was awakened by the sound of a car coming to a stop on the road not too far from where he was camping for the night. Camping was probably a misnomer. Homeless, and tired of trying to survive on the streets in a city where there were tons of kids like him, he’d decided he couldn’t do any worse if he took off for the mountains. He’d figured, since it was late summer, at least he wouldn’t freeze to death. He’d deal with winter when the time came. There were small towns where, if he got lucky and was careful to avoid the local police, he could beg from tourists heading to or from Grand Junction. He’d tell them he was broke and his car had run out of gas or had blown a tire, or whatever. Some of them commiserated with him, giving him enough spare change so that he could buy food or a cheap meal at a diner. Just like in the city, but without the danger of a punk or the cops trying to hassle me. He’d also found out that some small town people were very trusting. They didn’t lock their doors, or their garages, during the day. That was how he’d ended up with a decent waterproof sleeping bag to replace the old raggedy one he’d had, as well as two blankets. He’d crept into a couple of homes when he saw the owners leave and gotten lucky, finding some clothes and a worn winter jacket that didn’t look as if he’d scrounged them out of a dumpster—which was where most of what he’d brought with him had come from. When he wasn’t begging, or what he told himself was ‘borrowing’ what he needed, he was living rough in the forest, staying close enough to one or another of the roads so that he wouldn’t get lost—but far enough away that no one would know he was around. That had worked out fine—until tonight. He’d listened to the car doors open and figured, prayed actually, that whoever was getting out was making a pit stop before moving on. In case that wasn’t what was happening, he’d slithered silently out of the sleeping bag, grabbed his backpack, and crawled under the low-hanging branches of a tall pine. Moments later he’d heard footsteps and someone said, “This should work.” Then a second man was begging, “Don’t kill me. I swear I’ll give you every cent of it. Let me go and I’ll vanish where no one can find me.” A third man said, “That’s the plan. Your body won’t be found until…well, probably never. Not out here.” Kip peeped out from his hiding place. In the dim moonlight he saw two men, big and burly, holding guns. There was a third man wearing nice slacks and a dress shirt. He looked like he’d just come from the office—except for the fact that his hands were tied behind his back. They’re going to kill him and there’s nothing I can do. One of the bruisers put his hand on the victim’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees. “No. Noooooooooo,” the man screamed seconds before the other bruiser put his gun to the back of the man’s head and fired twice. Kip couldn’t help it. He let out a gasp of horror as the man fell face-forward, the back of his head leaking blood and brains. Both killers turned to look his way. “We’ve got a witness,” one of them said, striding toward the pine—and Kip. “Show yourself,” he ordered. Like hell. Kip backed away until he was on the other side of the tree. Then he jumped to his feet at the same moment the second bruiser, the one who had killed the man, came into view a few feet away. They looked at each other for what seemed to Kip like an eternity—and then he ran. A shot rang out and he could have sworn he felt the breeze from the bullet as it barely missed him. He darted through the trees, hearing the men coming after him. He had one advantage. He knew the area and was used to moving through the trees, although not while running for his life. Still, he managed to elude them, not stopping until he couldn’t take another step. Dropping, he crawled deep into the underbrush. Now what do I do? Go to the cops? Like they’d believe me. By now those bastards have probably picked that poor guy up and are dumping his body somewhere else. It’s what I’d do if it was me. And then they’ll come back looking for me. Lots of luck. There’s no way I’m sticking around. For a second he considered going back to get his sleeping bag. Then common sense took hold. One of them could be waiting there, hoping I will. My life isn’t worth a damned sleeping bag. He’d kept going—once he’d rested for a while and changed into a pair of black jeans, a different T-shirt, and his dark blue hoodie—moving farther and farther from the where the murder had happened. He’d stayed well back from the road, afraid the men might be driving up and down looking for him. He figured he’d see their headlights if they were, but wasn’t counting on it. It was close to noon when Kip finally took a chance and snuck into the small town of Elderon, which he knew was at least ten miles from where he’d bedded down the previous night. Cautiously, he made his way to the local diner. He was starving but more importantly he wanted to see if there was a TV there, and turned on. Maybe there will be a news story about the guy being kidnapped, or at least missing. If there was, he’d seen enough of the man’s face he knew he’d recognize him if they showed a photo. He peered out between two buildings, looking for the killers, wishing he’d seen their car. After several minutes he felt safe enough to walk quickly to the diner. There were several customers, some of whom cast leery glances at him as he found a vacant stool at the end of the counter. “You want coffee, honey?” the waitress asked, coming over to him. Kip nodded, taking the menu she handed him. She poured it then went to wait on someone else, giving him a chance to see how much money he had. Not a lot, but enough for a burger, which he ordered when she came back. At that point he turned his attention to the TV set on the wall in the corner of the room. He was in luck. The news was on, starting with a story about something the president had done. He waited through it and several other stories, none of them about a missing man, or someone finding a body in the mountains. He jumped when the waitress put the plate with his burger down on the counter, thanked her, and began eating, his gaze still glued to the TV until the sports came on. “News freak?” he heard someone ask. Turning, he saw a man smiling at him from the next stool. He was maybe in his early forties with piercing blue eyes and a slight bend to his nose as if it had been broken sometime in the past. “You’ve barely taken your eyes off the TV since you sat down.” Kip lifted one shoulder. “I was waiting for the weather,” he replied. “I’m going, umm, hiking, if it doesn’t rain.” “That explains the backpack. You come up from the city?” Nodding, Kip took a bite of his burger, hoping it would keep the man from asking more questions. It didn’t. “You hitched up here? I didn’t see a strange car outside.” “Yeah.” “Okay.” The man stopped bothering him to order his lunch. When he had, he returned his attention to Kip. “Running from family troubles?” “What?” Kip tried for innocence. “No! Like I said, I’m going hiking, I hope.” Resting one elbow on the counter, the man shook his head. “I was watching you, before you came in here. No one dropped you off. You were looking around, from across the street, like you were making sure no one you knew was here. My bet, from the shape your clothes are in, is that you packed up and took off, or were kicked out of your parents’ house. Not yesterday. A while ago. You’ve been living rough, maybe down in Grand Junction, first. Or some other city.” “You’re crazy.” Kip purposely turned to the TV again, just in time to see a ‘Breaking News’ bulletin about a man thought to have been responsible for the disappearance of the payroll from the company where he was employed as a bookkeeper. “Mr. Constantine was last seen leaving work two nights ago,” the reporter said. “He didn’t go home, and didn’t show up for work the next day. If you have any information on his whereabouts, the police request you to call them. Anything you say will be kept confidential.” Then a picture appeared on the screen. Kip sucked in a breath. “You’ve seen him?” the man asked. Kip shook his head hard. “No. He…he reminded me of someone. It’s not him, though.” “Becky,” the man said to the waitress when she arrived with his food. “Can you make that to go instead?” “Sure, sheriff.” Kip tensed, when she called the man ‘sheriff,’ ready to bolt if it seemed like he was going to…To arrest me? For what? He can’t know I saw that Constantine guy being killed. “Kid,” the sheriff said, putting his hand on Kip’s arm. “I have the feeling you and I should have a talk.” “You can’t make me go back home,” Kip replied defiantly. “I’m seventeen. Old enough to be on my own.” “Yeah, maybe, though you look all of fifteen. Anyway, why don’t you come with me?” He smiled. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, as long as you can prove who you are and how old you are.” Kip’s shoulders sank in resignation. “Can I at least finish this?” He held up what remained of his burger. When the sheriff nodded, he did, hoping the man would take his eyes off him long enough for him to get a head start on running from the diner. He glanced at the doorway, gauging his chances. “Don’t even think it,” the sheriff said, chuckling. “I may not look it, but I run pretty damned fast when motivated.” With a sigh, Kip finished the burger and paid for it. Then he picked up his backpack and followed the sheriff from the diner, down the street to a building with a sign on the door saying ‘Sheriff’s Department.’ “Have a seat,” the sheriff said when they were in his office with the door closed. “I’m Mitch Long. You are?” “Kip.” “Okay, Kip. Show me some ID, if you have it.” Kip dug his wallet out of the backpack, handing it to Sheriff Long. After comparing the picture on his driver’s license to Kip, and reading the information, he handed the wallet back. “Yep, you’re over the age of consent, as they say. Are you really afraid your folks might be looking to find you and bring you home?” Kip snorted. “Chances are they threw a party when I left.” “Which was how long ago?” “Almost a year.” Kip began to relax, as much as he could. “So if you’re not worried they might be hunting for you, how come you snuck into town and then the diner? And don’t deny it. I’m not stupid.” “Habit,” Kip replied quickly. “You live on the streets long enough you don’t go anywhere without checking to be sure it’s safe.” “Uh-huh. Want to try again.” Sheriff Long gave him a long, hard look. “My guess is it has something to do with that guy in the news story. The one who ran off with the payroll. Did you see him somewhere around here while you were hiking?” From the tone of his voice, the sheriff had already figured out Kip had been lying about that. Kip stared down at his hands. Do I tell him? If I do, those guys will find me. If I say I didn’t, he’s not going to believe me. Kip took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah, I did see him, or I think it was him. I was camped out about, maybe ten miles from here? Off the road that heads north out of town. I was asleep. I woke up when I heard a car door slam. I kept real quiet, figuring it was someone who needed to take a leak, you know. He did, and I could see his face because of the moon. Not clearly, but enough to say it could have been him.” The sheriff nodded. “Which way did he go when he finished?” “North. He sped out of there like he expected someone, maybe cops, were right on his tail.” “What did the car look like?” “I really didn’t see it. Just him, taking a piss.” “Okay. At least that’s something. I’ll let the Grand Junction police know which way he might be headed.” The sheriff studied him again. “You’re sure that’s it?” “Yes. Honest.” Kip resisted crossing his heart. “Okay. There’s no reason to hold you, since you can’t swear it was him.” Sheriff Long smiled, then. “If you don’t mind a piece of advice, go home. Your folks might have been glad you left when it happened, but I’m still betting if you show up again they’ll be relieved and take you back.” “Yeah, right. Not happening.” The sheriff sighed. “I’ll take your word for it. You’re old enough you could get off the streets, if you really want to. And I don’t mean by hiding out in the mountains. It’s going to start getting a lot colder real soon. You won’t survive up here when it does. If you don’t want to go back home, at least find a city where you can get a job, even if it’s slinging burgers. It’ll take time, but if you put your mind to it you can save and rent a small apartment, go back to school since I figure you didn’t finish high school. Or get your GED instead.” He gripped Kip’s arm. “Make something of yourself, Kip. I think you have what it takes.” “Why?” “You took a chance and got away from how you were living—from home, which I suspect wasn’t a good life or you wouldn’t have run. And from your life on the streets by coming up here. That takes some kind of courage, in my opinion.” “Or stupidity,” Kip replied sourly. “Nope. Courage.” The sheriff smiled. “Don’t argue with me. I’m bigger and older and I’ve been around the block a few times. Here.” He took a card from a holder on his desk. “This has my office phone number and my cell phone. If you need someone to talk to, once you find a place to settle, give me a call. Do you have a phone?” “Yeah, but it doesn’t have any minutes left. It hasn’t for a while.” The sheriff took out his wallet and handed Kip some cash. “Buy some minutes and use the rest for food until you get wherever you decide to go.” “This is too much,” Kip said, when he saw it was three twenties, trying to hand them back. “Keep it. Consider it my attempt to save at least one kid from ending up in jail, or worse.” Kip thanked him profusely. “I will call, I promise.” “See that you do.” Sheriff Long grinned. “I don’t want to put out a BOLO on you. Oh, by the way, stop down the street at Joe’s Barber Shop. It’ll be easier to get a job, wherever you end up, if you don’t look like a wild man.” Kip knew what he meant. At that point, his hair was long enough to touch his shoulder blades. He usually kept it tied back, but…Yeah, wild man is a good description. “Good luck,” the sheriff said, patting him on the back. “I have the feeling you’re going to make something of yourself, once you get settled somewhere.” “Thanks. I’m going to try.”