The Double Man (Jack Widow Book 15) Page 8

  She moved to his bed and dumped herself down. She said, “No. I just wanted to see you.”

  Widow was left standing in the open doorway. A breeze blew in and shifted his towel around a bit. He shut the door to close out the cold. He walked into the room and stopped past the chair and stood in the middle of the room.

  He asked, “Are you in trouble or something?”

  She leaned back on the bed and leaned on her the palms of her hands. Widow just noticed she had no purse, no bag.

  The girl said, “I saw you at the lounge. Did you see me?”

  Widow paused a beat. Normally, when he was in a situation that sparked his Spidey sense, his mind would run tactical war games, calculating risks, giving him threat assessments, and telling him what to do. He couldn’t help it. It was hammered into him during sixteen years of Navy and Special Operations life. But he wasn’t getting that. His mind ran circles. It was confused.

  He said, “I remember you. But what are you doing here? In my room?”

  The girl sat up at the edge of the bed. She looked up at Widow and stared into his eyes. She said, “The name’s Miley. Like the singer.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “You don’t know who Miley is?”

  “No clue,” Widow said. “Is there something I can help you with, Miley?”

  “What’s your name?”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Miley edged off the bed and stood up. She sauntered over to him and paused a beat. She stared at his torso again and then his sleeve tattoos. She stopped on the American flags on both forearms.

  “I like your tattoos,” she said. She put her hand out and pointed to his left forearm. She stepped in—close—and brushed his arm up to his bicep. She tried to squeeze it, but it didn’t squeeze. The muscle bounced back too fast like it was counteracting the touch.

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “I like that too,” she said. She lifted her other hand and brushed her fingers over his navel.

  “I’m not looking for company.”

  Miley said, “A lonely roughneck like you? I bet you are. Roughnecks are always looking for company.”

  “I can’t afford company,” he said.

  Miley paused a beat. The insinuation soaked into her brain a little slow. Then she said, “I bet you can afford me.”

  “I’m not looking to pay for company, Miley. I don’t find that sort of thing … company. I find it falls under goods and services. I’m not on the market,” Widow said.

  Miley stared at him. Her expression was blank. She kept touching him. She moved her hand from his navel down further to the point where the body part she was touching was way off from the navel.

  Widow grabbed her hands, both of them, and jerked them up, slammed them together, and held them out in front of her like they were handcuffed. He kept them between their bodies for a long second. She stared at his eyes and started to struggle to get free.

  “Hey! You’re hurting me!” she said, but it didn’t stop her. She kept on advancing.

  “You need to leave, Miley.”

  She stopped struggling and inched forward, up on her tiptoes, and rubbed her pelvis on the front of his towel. She thrust once, twice. She nearly knocked the towel off him. She smiled and looked up at him.

  She said, “I know you want me. Part of you definitely does. I can tell, honey.”

  Widow pinned her wrists together, one-handed, pulled her hands straight up, and moved her back like she was a slab of meat on a hook. He jerked her off her feet and shoved her off him, back toward the door—not hard, not enough for her to fall over and hit her head. He wasn’t trying to damage her. He just wanted her to get the picture.

  “Hey!” she shouted.

  Widow followed her to the door. He scooped her coat up off the chair and shoved it into her arms, forcing her to carry it. He escorted her back to the entrance to the bungalow with one hand. He jerked open the door with the other.

  He heaved her and her coat out into the night, not hard but enough to get the point across. Widow closed the door behind her and locked it.

  Five minutes later, he was back in bed, only under the covers, and without the towel this time. He closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

  Outside Widow’s bungalow and back down the path, Miley was greeted by a looming figure from out of the gloom. She stopped cold and stared.

  Peter stepped out of the darkness and walked right up to her. She shivered, just slightly. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  He said, “That was fast.”

  She said nothing. She looked down at the ground.

  Peter put a hand on her chin and pushed her face up so he could see her eyes. “Why so fast?”

  “He’s an asshole!”

  “What happened?”

  Miley said nothing.

  Peter asked again, “What happened?”

  “He didn’t want me,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He kicked me out.”

  “What did you do?” Peter asked.

  “I didn’t do anything. I did what you asked me,” Miley said.

  Peter stared intensely into her eyes.

  She said, “I practically threw myself at him. I even sat on his bed. I touched him. He wasn’t interested. He threw me out. I never had a man do that before.”

  Peter put his other hand on her other shoulder. He held her still and looked down at her. Miley shivered more.

  Peter took a deep breath and asked, “So you left?”

  “I told you he threw me out. I didn’t have a choice. What else was I supposed to do?”

  Peter squeezed her from shoulder to shoulder. He closed his eyes—tight. His cheeks turned red. She knew this look. He was angry.

  She said, “I’m sorry.”

  Peter opened his eyes. He pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her like he was going to give her a bear hug and squeeze her to death. He could do it. Right there. No problem. She’d struggle and fight him, but it would be too late by then. By that point, she would already be in the trap.

  Peter didn’t bear hug her to death. He didn’t kill her at all. He thought about it. She’d failed him. But he wasn’t going to kill her for that. It was a minor setback. That was all. He laid his hand on her head and stroked her hair like she was a pet.

  He whispered, “Forget it. It’s okay. I’ll find out some other way.”

  12

  In the morning, Widow got up early and brushed his teeth one more time and dressed in new underwear and socks and the same clothes from the day before. The jeans, the coat, and the flannel were all dry and wrinkle free. He dressed and double-checked the rucksack to make sure he had all of Cutty’s rented items, and he left the bungalow. He left the key behind him on a table, where there was a sign that clearly laid out this procedure for “hassle-free checkouts.”

  The morning sun was warm, and Widow could see parts of a blue sky beyond the clouds. It was much better than the day before. The birds were out. People were up early. He saw fishermen on boats head out on the water. He saw a new plane fly in and two couples get out. They weren’t Liddy’s guests. They headed to another lodge across the water.

  Widow followed the footpath back to the main foot-traffic walkway and followed it back to Liddy’s Lodge.

  Since he had much more available light, Widow could see more details of the buildings around Bell Harbor. Across, he saw a church and a building next to it that was possibly a school. He couldn’t read the sign from there, but he saw a limited variety of playground equipment: a seesaw, a merry-go-round, and a swing set with an attached slide. It was all fenced in. There were no kids.

  Widow saw the same large dockworkers from the day before and some news ones. Some worked for Liddy and some didn’t. They all ignored him and went about their daily tasks.

  Widow managed his was back to the bar and the lounge. He stood at the bar, kept the rucksack over one shoulder. There was a new bartender working behind the bar. It was a woman
. She didn’t know Widow from Adam. She asked for his order, and he told her coffee—black—and asked for a menu. He glanced over it and ordered scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. She took up the menu, and ten minutes later, Widow was on his second coffee and starting his breakfast. He gobbled it up to where there was nothing left on the plate.

  The bartender took his dish and asked him if he wanted anything else.

  He said, “Are refills on coffee free?”

  “They are,” she replied.

  “Then I’ll take the check now.”

  She nodded, left, and returned with the bill. He looked at it and gasped. The cost for coffee and breakfast was twenty dollars.

  Widow didn’t protest. He had gotten a free room for the night, and he would get a free plane ride back to Kodiak later on. Twenty dollars was a steal if he factored in the value of the entire experience. He took out a wad of cash money and peeled off two ten dollar bills to cover the twenty and he stuck a third ten on top for the bartender’s tip.

  She saw it and said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You’ll earn it because I’ll burn through the coffee refills.”

  She smiled and nodded and left him to sit and think.

  Widow wasn’t alone long because Liddy showed up and tapped him on the shoulder. They greeted each other. Liddy beckoned Widow to join him at one of the lounge tables. They moved to the table that Liddy probably sat at every morning he was in Bell Harbor. They talked a while. It was all morning pleasantries. Widow had a third refill of coffee. Liddy also had coffee.

  Twenty minutes later, Peter walked in through the double doors. He entered right through the center and stood there for a moment. Sunlight beamed in past him. He made eye contact with Liddy and walked over.

  “Good morning, Peter,” Liddy said.

  Peter nodded but didn’t smile. He just stared at Widow and said, “Plane’s ready if you are. We better get going before the weather turns.”

  Widow paused a beat, and then he drained his cup. He stood up out of his chair and lifted the rucksack and slung it over one shoulder. He started to walk away and stopped and turned back. Liddy stayed in his chair and looked up at the two of them.

  Widow asked, “You not coming along?”

  “No. I better stay here,” Liddy said and stood up halfway, keeping his legs under the table. He reached out a hand across the table to Widow.

  Widow took it and shook it.

  Liddy reached out his other hand and grabbed Widow by the bicep and patted him like they were old Navy buddies. He said, “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Don’t mention it. It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for the room. And the coffee.”

  “Likewise. Good luck to you, Jack Widow.”

  Widow nodded and turned away and walked past Peter back to the double doors.

  Peter moved to one side and said something to Liddy. It was about when he would return. Peter moved away and walked past Widow, forcing him to step aside, like it was a contest of which of them would lead the other through the doors. But Peter didn’t go through the doors first. He stopped and held a door open for Widow to pass through.

  Widow exited the lodge and headed down the stairs. Peter walked down the stairs behind Widow and stepped off the bottom one. He crossed the walkways and stepped out in front of Widow, taking the lead.

  “Follow me,” Peter said. “You carry your own bag though.”

  Widow stayed quiet and followed Peter over the walkways and across the grass down to the pier. They stepped onto the dock and walked out to the plane. Along the way, they passed between the same four corn-fed-looking deckhands. None of them spoke. They just stared at him like he was a wandering gunfighter from the Old West who just rode into a town run by a local gang, and they were watching him ride through every step of the way.

  Widow stayed the course and said nothing. He didn’t nod. He didn’t smile.

  At the plane, he reached out, grabbed a strut, stepped onto the float, opened the rear door, and jerked it open. He took off his rucksack and tossed it onto the back bench.

  Peter sneered but said nothing. Widow closed the back door and jerked the front open and dumped himself down in the front passenger seat. Peter got in the pilot seat. Two minutes later, Peter double-checked the meters and dials, and the corn-fed deckhands helped to push the plane off away from the pier.

  A minute later, Widow bumped around in the seat a bit as they took off down the current toward the Gulf of Alaska. Widow put his seat belt on. They were in the air shortly after, and the bumping around stopped. The floatplane climbed higher and higher until it looped around toward the southeast, toward Kodiak. Once the nose faced the right direction and they were in a higher altitude, Peter straightened out the flight path.

  After ten minutes of silence, Widow spoke first.

  “How long does it take to fly to Kodiak?”

  Peter kept his eyes straight and said, “Twenty minutes of airtime left.”

  He stayed quiet for another long minute, and then he spoke again. “You shouldn’t come back.”

  “Why’s that?” Widow asked and looked over at Peter.

  “You just shouldn’t. Strangers aren’t really welcome around here.”

  “Isn’t that how you make your money?”

  “How’s that?”

  “Tourists? I was under the impression that your worked at a lodge?”

  “I do.”

  “So tourists, hunters, fishermen from out of town. That’s your business. We’re all strangers.”

  Peter didn’t look up at him. He just continued to fly the plane.

  They flew on for the rest of the flight time in silence. Finally, Peter shuffled in his seat and looked down at the coastline. The town of Kodiak came into view.

  “We’re going to land,” Peter said. He made the arrangements and the adjustments, and the floatplane’s nose tilted down.

  Widow looked out the window below. He saw low buildings and a few boats out on the water. He saw cars moving around the streets.

  Peter maneuvered the plane out toward the Gulf of Alaska and down, and then looped it around and headed to the water.

  They landed on the water and slowed a hundred meters from shore. Once the floats were settled on the water’s surface, Peter moved the plane toward the shore. A couple of minutes later, they were headed for a pier. Widow saw five guys waiting along the dock. As they got closer, he realized they looked just like the four corn-fed deckhands.

  Including Peter, the ten of them could’ve been from the same family. They might’ve been brothers or cousins. All looked like roughnecks who spent most of their lives at sea.

  The floatplane pulled up alongside the pier, and Peter slowed it and killed the engine. The deckhands grabbed the plane by the struts and held it steady and pulled it into the pier. Two of them roped it off, and one opened the door for Peter.

  No one opened the door for Widow, and he was on the other side of the plane over the water.

  He didn’t wait for Peter or any of his guys. He reached back behind him, grabbed his rucksack, and got out of the plane. He stepped onto the float and grabbed part of the doorframe to haul himself out. He closed the door behind him, and maneuvered around the floatplane, somehow avoiding getting wet.

  One of the guys helped Peter onto the pier, but they all ignored Widow. He made his way around the plane’s tail and onto the pilot side float and hopped onto the pier. None of the deckhands spoke to him, but he knew they were waiting for him to fall into the water. They were probably waiting for a good laugh. They never got it.

  Widow was on the pier. He looked up and saw the five deckhands all step into formation behind Peter. They lined up out of sequence, but basically in a basic wedge formation. It was amateurish and not military trained. They probably saw it on TV.

  It didn’t bother Widow that they were forming up together to stare him down. What bothered him was that they were blocking his path forward up the pier and out of their lives. Beh
ind him was the gulf. The only way to town was to go through them.

  They stared at Widow, each of them, like they were waiting for him to react, to speak first. He didn’t. He didn’t panic or protest. He just stood there, rucksack on his back, hands down by his sides.

  Peter stood at the front of the wedge. He looked into Widow’s eyes. He said, “I appreciate what you did for Mr. Liddy. But we need you to go now.”

  “How am I supposed to do that when you’re in the way?”

  “I just need to make it very clear to you that we don’t know you. And we don’t want to see you again.”

  “What is this?”

  “Like I said, we just don’t like strangers around Mr. Liddy.”

  Widow arched an eyebrow.

  Peter asked, “You understand?”

  Widow stared back. He asked, “You done?”

  Peter stayed where he was for a long second, and then he stepped back and aside. He put his hand out and pointed the way up off the pier and into town.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Widow,” Peter said.

  Widow didn’t acknowledge him. He just picked up his feet and walked past Peter, through his boys, and up the pier back to Kodiak, back to civilization after two weeks in the wilderness alone.

  13

  There was no need for Peter to follow directly behind Widow. He was only about a minute walk ahead of him. Peter strolled up the pier into town along the sidewalks and headed east toward Cutty’s store. That’s where Widow would head first, he figured.

  Peter didn’t see Widow in front of him. He picked up his feet and moved at a fast walk. He veered through people, mostly citizens he had seen before, not that Kodiak was a small village, but it was no metropolitan city. And the same people tended to walk the docks daily.

  Peter stopped on a hill for a brief second and saw Widow up ahead, who glanced back once before walking on. One hand was in his front pocket. The thumb of the other was tucked in front of him between the rucksack’s strap and his chest.

  Peter followed but stayed far enough behind not to be made. He hoped.

  Widow crossed a street and waved at a passerby in a car that started the exchange with a friendly hello, like the passerby knew Widow was a stranger. It was a small-town greeting.