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“He told you that?”
“He did.”
“Did you see the person?” the commander asked Wendell.
“No. Came at me from behind. I think it was a man, though. A strong man.”
After a brief discussion, Dimitri was released. Several residents from the gym were milling about the hall, curious. He pushed between them and headed to his apartment.
Dangerous. He’d been thinking all afternoon that things were dangerous. More dangerous than they appeared to be on the outside.
Who was this person, and why did they want him? What did they want?
He removed his slacks and his jacket and hung them up. He threw his shirt into the laundry bin by the washer, adding his underwear, and stepped into the shower.
The shower was what sold him on the place. Made him pay the extra three hundred dollars for it, in fact. A good shower was essential. Good for his overall health. It could wash away everything.
He slipped on a pair of red, white, and blue pajama bottoms, a patriotic line of kewpie dolls adorning the fabric everywhere—riding horses, holding flags, doing calisthenics, and marching with rifles. It was a strange pattern, but he’d laughed when he saw them on sale at Walmart and had to buy three sets.
He took a long drink of water. He was missing something. What was it?
Then he remembered the two notes he brought home. Checking his inside pocket of his jacket he brought them out. Someone had attached his name typed out on a file labeler to both cards.
He hesitated before he opened the first one, using a letter opener. He didn’t have gloves, so tried to touch the envelope as little as possible. Using the edge of his sheet, he pulled out a card. It was a beautiful picture of an old building, like some of the apartments he’d seen in Genoa. Or it could have been in France somewhere. Even Prague. Ornate statues, and it was dripping with them, covered the building façade.
He opened the card.
“Help Jordan find me. Need your help. Urgent.”
It was unsigned, but it was her handwriting. He scrambled to open the other card, another picture of an architectural background.
“Help me, Dimitri. I have nowhere else to turn.”
Beneath it was a phone number. It was Moira’s.
Chapter Five
Dimitri was tenminutes early. He chose the middle bench he’d seen the day before and took up temporary residence there.
Jordan Taliaferro arrived on time, looking like he’d slept in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. The way he darted glances to the sides, behind him, and squinted ahead of him convinced Dimitri he was nervous.
That danger thing was going on again.
There were runners and owners with their dogs, since it was Saturday. The extra population gave Dimitri some comfort, but not much.
He had the cards in his jacket pocket but wasn’t sure he was going to show the journalist. And that was another thing. He needed to know more about him this time.
“Where did you go to school?”
“I grew up in Oregon. Started working at the school paper then migrated to the radical rag downtown Portland. Good for learning how to interview people, but bad for my gut. Felt like I was conspiring to overthrow the government.”
That was funny. And a great answer.
“Where did you meet Moira?”
“Oh gosh, maybe five years ago now? We met in San Francisco at a reporter’s convention. They had some great speakers lined up, including the disgraced FBI director—not the current one, the one who was keeping the mistress on the side.”
“Somes. John Somes. He was a piece of work. I met him once too,” said Dimitri.
