Run into Trouble Read online

  She gave him a chance to reconsider his folly. When he started to go under her skirt, it was time for action. She laid her hand on top of his fat one. A friendly gesture on her part showing that she was enjoying his attention. She felt for his chubby little finger, giving him some sensory pleasure. She got a firm grip on it.

  Slowly she started to bend his finger back. For the first few inches he might have seen it as an enjoyable form of sadomasochism. But she kept going. He tolerated it longer than she thought he would. Did she have to break his finger? Suddenly he snatched his hand away and rotated his body toward Drake. He didn’t look at her during the rest of the show.

  ***

  Drake didn’t have his pants completely off when the telephone rang. He made the mistake of trying to hop to the phone with them around his ankles. A spasm in his back caused him to trip and fall forward. His nose hit the top of the nightstand, and he roared in pain. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed, trembling as he waited for the almost unbearable spears shooting through his nose and back to subside.

  The phone continued to ring. He’d better answer it. Was he able to talk? He fumbled for the receiver and picked it up.

  “Drake.”

  “Are you all right?” Melody’s voice sounded frantic.

  Drake cleared his throat and tried to speak above a mumble. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just had a little accident.”

  “Is somebody there?”

  “No.”

  “Drake, somebody went through my things while we were at the show.”

  He was now fully alert. “Did they take anything?”

  “No, nothing’s missing.”

  “Money? Jewelry?”

  “I didn’t leave any money in the room. The jewelry I have with me is worthless. Nothing was nicked. What about your room?”

  Now he understood what she was driving at.

  “Just a minute.”

  Drake set the telephone receiver on the nightstand and crawled across the threadbare rug on his hands and knees to his suitcase. His pants were still around his ankles, but he didn’t know whether he could stand yet, anyway. The suitcase was sitting on the floor against the wall of the motel room where he had left it. It took him a few seconds to open the latches because his hands were still shaking from the pain.

  The differences were subtle, but he could tell that somebody had been in his suitcase. He arranged his clothes in a certain way from habit, left over from the days when he never knew who would be spying on him. Whoever had looked inside the suitcase had taken pains to cover his tracks, but he hadn’t done quite a good enough job.

  Drake crawled back to the phone. “Somebody’s been in my things.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “Wait…”

  A click told him that Melody had hung up. She was only three doors away, so she would be here in a few seconds. Drake didn’t want her to see him like this. He struggled to a sitting position on the bed and pulled up his pants. He didn’t have his fly zipped or his belt buckled when there was a knock on the door.

  “Just a minute.”

  He made it to his feet, zipped his fly after fumbling a bit, and put the tongue of the buckle through the first hole in the belt. He tried to walk to the door without limping. He opened the door and saw Melody, clad in a green bathrobe and barefoot.

  “You look terrible.”

  Drake realized how contorted his face was and tried to smile. “That’s become your standard greeting.”

  Melody pushed past him into the room. “It doesn’t look as if you had a spat with anyone. What happened?”

  “My own stupidity. I fell and hurt my back and nose.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t think I exacerbated anything.”

  “I’ll exacerbate you if you did. Did anything get taken from your room?”

  “Not that I can tell. I have one more place to look.”

  Drake tried to lift the only chair in the room, thought better of that plan, and ended up dragging the chair over to the wall by the window. He carefully stood on it, trying not to let Melody see how much it hurt him to lift his leg. Maybe he had reinjured his back. He pulled a dime out of his pocket and unscrewed the screws that secured the ceiling vent. After he removed the vent, he reached up and pulled down a brown paper bag.

  He handed it to Melody and replaced the vent. “Don’t touch them, but are the envelope and letter there?”

  Melody looked inside the bag. “Yes, still here. Do you think that’s what whoever it was was looking for?”

  “Wouldn’t doubt it. Maybe they suddenly realized that we might be able to trace them.”

  “We couldn’t get a typewriter match, so it must be fingerprints. Of course our prints are all over them.”

  “We won’t add any more.”

  “How can we get them checked for prints without raising all kinds of alarms?”

  “I’ll call Blade. There must be a local agent who can help us.” Drake went over to the phone.

  “Drake, it’s three in the morning in D.C. Blade isn’t going to be happy to hear from you.”

  “So what else is new? At least he’ll probably be home. Unless he’s sleeping over at his girlfriend’s.”

  Drake got a long distance operator and called collect so that nobody from the motel could determine what number he had called. Blade was even grouchier than his usual self, if that were possible, but he accepted the call and listened as Drake told him what he needed. He promised to have an agent contact them the next day. Drake hung up.

  “Whoever did this was a pro. Or at least a semi-pro. No forced entry. Nothing messed up—at least not very much.”

  “If we were normal people, we wouldn’t have known about it—unless the thief had gotten the letter.”

  “I don’t think you should sleep alone. Whoever it was may come back.”

  “Is this your sneaky way of getting me into bed with you?”

  “Melody, I’m serious. I’m also in no condition to do anything. Maybe we can swap our two rooms for one with two beds.”

  “No.” Melody thought for a moment. “I’m not afraid. I don’t think anybody is going to risk being identified. It’s interesting that they know our room numbers. It certainly looks like an inside job. Which means that they could have taken the letter when it was on the bus with our luggage.”

  “That would prove it’s an inside job. We would go directly to Casey.”

  “Maybe we should, anyway.”

  “Not yet. We’d have to talk to him in person. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him soon.”

  “Give me one of your razor blades. If somebody comes into my room, I’ll give him something to remember me by.”

  Drake went into the bathroom and came back with the requested blade.

  “Be careful.”

  “I will. I know how to use this.” Melody gave him a quick hug. “There’s another reason why I can’t stay in the same room with you. I might be the one who couldn’t resist; I might jump your bones.”

  She opened the door just wide enough to slip through the crack and closed it behind her.

  CHAPTER 10

  The ringing telephone woke an irritated Drake out of a sound sleep. Why was Melody calling him? They had agreed that this was their morning to sleep in. The light streaming through the partially opened curtain told him that it was broad daylight outside, so it couldn’t be too early. Better answer the phone. His back gave a twinge as he reached for the receiver, but it wasn’t as bad as last night.

  “Drake.”

  “Blade asked me to contact you.”

  The voice was resonant, like that of a radio announcer. Drake uttered something in reply.

  “I’ll meet you and Melody this morning at ten at a coffee shop on PCH. It’s about a mile from your motel. Here’s the address.”

  Not “Can you meet me?” He’d better write down the address, but he didn’t have pen and paper handy. Drake asked the man to repeat it. He did, his voic
e showing impatience. Then the line went dead before Drake could find out his name and how they would know him. A typical spy operation. Drake had been out of the business for too long. He had no desire to return to it.

  ***

  “PCH?”

  “Pacific Coast Highway.”

  “I thought I was catching on to American English, but you Californians have your own brand.”

  “So do other sections of the U.S. Just like your beloved UK. Although I think in the UK it’s more of a class difference.”

  Drake began whistling “Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?” from My Fair Lady.

  Melody grabbed Drake’s arm to keep him from crossing a street as the light turned red.

  “I could make some comments about class in the U.S. Or ethnic groups. Or what some people call race, although last time I checked we’re all members of the human race.”

  Drake was glad they were walking and not running. It allowed him to stretch his muscles without abusing them. The day off would be very helpful to him. He was already planning to take an afternoon nap. It was another cloudless day of California summer, and Melody had insisted they put on sunscreen, just as if they were going to be out running all day. Even with the sunscreen, their faces and limbs had grown several shades darker since the start of the race. In Drake’s case, it helped hide the bruise on his nose. When he looked in the mirror, the image he saw looked almost like he pictured himself.

  Drake spotted the coffee shop, which looked a lot like small restaurants everywhere. It was far enough from the motel that they were unlikely to see anybody connected with the race. They walked in at one minute to ten and looked around. Before Drake saw anybody who resembled an agent, Melody nudged him. She directed his gaze to the booth in the corner. A man sat with his back to the junction of the two walls wearing mirror sunglasses. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in their direction.

  As they made their way to the booth, Drake spoke under his breath. “Those shades make him look like a California Highway Patrol officer.”

  “No remarks. Remember, he’s doing us a favor.”

  “At least he knows how to keep his back to the wall—unlike Wild Bill Hickok.”

  “Enough.”

  They came up to the booth.

  Melody extended her hand with a smile. “Melody.”

  He shook her hand briefly. “Slick.”

  As Drake shook his hand he wanted to say, “I’m sure you’re slick, but what’s your name?”

  They sat down opposite him. With his short-sleeved sport shirt he looked like any other tourist except for the bulging muscles in his arms. Even his iron-colored short hair contributed to his look of hardness.

  A waitress in an ugly brown uniform immediately bustled up, so Drake ordered coffee and Melody ordered iced tea. Slick was sucking on a tall glass of Coke through a straw. After the waitress filled their cups, there was silence for a minute while Melody put a spoonful of sugar in her glass.

  Melody spoke first. “Thanks for helping us.”

  “Blade said you were good people and to do whatever you asked.”

  It was the same mellifluous voice that Drake had heard on the phone. That was Drake’s cue to open the top of the brown paper bag he was carrying and show Slick the contents.

  “The envelope and note may have fingerprints on them. Well, we know they have our prints, but they may have others. We’re hoping you can connect them to people in the government files.”

  Slick opened an attaché case he had on the seat beside him. He placed the bag in the case and pulled a couple of items out.

  “Since your prints are here, I’m going to fingerprint you now. I know we’ve got your prints on file, but it’s always a pain to look them up, especially since they’re not stored here. This way we can eliminate them from the evidence before we send it back east.”

  Drake wasn’t keen on being fingerprinted, but as Slick said, their prints were already on file, so it didn’t make a lot of difference. He and Melody rolled each of their fingers on the inkpad and left their prints on a card, being careful not to smudge them. Because they were in a corner booth, nobody saw what they were doing.

  Drake tried to wipe the ink off his fingers with a napkin. “Please don’t share the contents of the note with anyone except Blade. You don’t need to do anything about it. We’re taking care of it.”

  Slick raised his eyebrows, as if questioning their ability to take care of the situation, but he didn’t say anything. They agreed that Drake would call Blade to get the results of the fingerprinting. Melody asked how they could get hold of Slick if they needed to talk to him directly.

  Slick gave them each a business card. The cards were for the Christian Bookstore and gave an address in Los Angeles.

  “Call this number and ask for Slick.”

  As he pocketed the card, Drake wondered if it were somebody’s idea of a joke, but he didn’t ask. It was obvious that Slick wasn’t one for small talk. Drake and Melody exchanged looks.

  Melody said, “I need to go to the loo and wash my hands.”

  As Drake reached for his wallet, Slick said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Drake and Melody went to the restrooms. When they came out, Slick was gone.

  ***

  As the runners filed into his motel room, Drake inspected them for physical problems. The only times they had all been together in the past few days were during the morning ride in the bus to the starting point of the day’s run, and that situation didn’t lend itself to general conversation. With all of the Giganticorp employees off for the day, he figured it was a good time to find out how everyone was doing and ask some other questions.

  Aki appeared to be favoring his cut foot, but he didn’t grimace in pain. He and Mike had finished yesterday’s run in last place for the day, but they had finished. The other runners still looked healthy. Drake had to admit that Giganticorp had done a good job picking them.

  They sat on the bed and on the floor, chatting and joking. Some stood and leaned against the wall. Drake offered the only chair to Melody, but she eschewed it, preferring to stand beside him. He tried to count attendees. He raised his hand for silence.

  “Is everyone here?”

  Three of the runners said that their teammates were with their families for the day. Seventeen out of twenty were present. Not bad.

  “What’s the purpose of this meeting?”

  Drake looked at the questioner who was sitting cross-legged on the rug. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know everyone’s name.”

  “Phil.”

  “And your partner is?”

  “Brian.”

  The names rang a bell, but the bodies were interchangeable.

  “Let’s have each of us give our name and indicate our teammate. I’m Drake and this is Melody.”

  “We know who you are.”

  General laughter. However, they did as they were told. That helped a little. Drake suspected that he was the only one, with the possible exception of Melody, who didn’t know all the others.

  “I thought we’d get together without the beanstalk gang to see how everyone is doing, any complaints, that sort of thing. Anybody want to lead off?”

  “This running in sand is for the birds,” Brian said.

  “Especially when we have to run through a flock of seagulls,” someone else cut in.

  “I’m serious. It’s hard work and slows us down.”

  “It slows everybody down equally.”

  “Except those who cheat.”

  All eyes looked at the speaker who Drake identified as Glen.

  Feeling the stares he continued, “I’m not naming names, but several teams have been running on the street when they were supposed to run on the beach.”

  “One team got penalized.”

  That was common knowledge, because any penalties, in the form of minutes added to their times, were posted along with the rankings. Drake remembered that it was the team of Harrison and Danny.<
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  Harrison stood up. He had black hair, and his body had a darker tan than most. “We weren’t the only ones. Others did it too, but they weren’t caught. Fred showed us a picture someone took of us. We didn’t see the photographer. They have people watching us we don’t know about.”

  “Other than Fred, Peaches, and Grace?” Melody asked.

  A five-minute discussion ensued, resulting in agreement that Giganticorp had plainclothes people along the route keeping an eye on the runners. Several of the runners thought they knew what a couple of them looked like.

  Drake ended the talk by saying, “There’s nothing in the rules that says they can’t do this. They’re trying to make sure we’re abiding by the rules.”

  “Speaking of rules, what about the rule that says we have to share a room?” Phil looked at Drake and Melody. “Apparently it doesn’t apply to you two.”

  “He thinks you two should be sleeping together.”

  Brian winked at Melody while the other runners broke up.

  Phil wasn’t laughing. “Melody could room with Grace. Drake could room with…”

  “Peaches?”

  More laughter.

  “We’ll draw straws to see who rooms with Grace.”

  “And Melody.”

  Drake wanted to keep the meeting from degenerating into a bull session. “Another subject. Has anybody had any security problems? Losing things out of rooms, suitcases, et cetera?”

  The room quieted down.

  Danny said, “Why do you ask?”

  “No special reason. Security can be a problem when you’re traveling, especially in a group as large as this one.”

  “We have Peaches to protect us and our things.”

  The mention of Peaches seemed to provoke hilarity. Nobody admitted to losing anything or mentioned that their belongings had been disturbed.

  Drake had one more question. “Has anybody been approached to…alter your running in any way and either been threatened or promised something?”

  When the resulting buzz died down, a man Drake recognized as Winthrop said, “Are you saying that someone is betting on the race?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking.”