122 Rules (5 page)

“Yes.”

Nothing lined the deserted roads leading into and out of The Cove for almost a hundred miles in either direction except trees, scrub pines, and jagged mountains. But some sixty clicks north, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, Len’s Little Diner eked out a humble existence off of weary travelers too exhausted and desperate to find something decent.

“Okay.” Monica heard her friend shift gears like a well-tuned auto, from surprised to task-oriented problem-solver. “I’m scheduled to work…gotta get out of that… I’ll be there in a couple hours. Maybe a little less.”

Just like that, no questions. Her friend would bend heaven and earth to be there for her. Gratitude and love soothed Monica’s heart.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, Angel’s beat-up VW Beetle bumbled into the parking lot of Len’s Little Diner. Usually when they met, Angel greeted her with a hug and a Texas smile. But today she slid into the booth, somber and without so much as a “hello.” Time to get to business.

“I’m leaving,” Monica said without preamble.

Angel cocked her head, consternation reflecting in her eyes. “What do you mean? You’ve already left. Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I don’t understand.” Angel studied her closely, like a scientist examining an unusual specimen of bacteria. “Mon, you look like crap. What the hell’s going on?”

Monica took a deep breath. “Look, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to, and now some people, some very angry people, would like nothing more than for me to be quiet. Forever. So, I’m going into a program that will protect me from them. In exchange, I have to testify to what I saw, but that won’t be for a long time. Stupid court system takes forever. Kinda funny, me wanting to be a lawyer and complaining about the court system, don’t ya think? Anyway, the government—at least I
think
it’s the government, they’re kinda hush hush about all that, assholes—promises to keep me alive. So we won’t be able to see each other for a long time. Maybe even ever. I just wanted the chance to say goodbye to my soul sister, so that’s why I’m here. To say goodbye.”

Angel blinked several times after the random rush of words b
ombarded her. “What are you talking about? What people? What did you see? Why would anyone want to hurt you? I haven’t seen or heard from you in months, and now you make me meet you out here in BF Egypt telling me you’re going away or underground or whatever because someone, what? Wants you dead? That’s what you’re saying, right? Someone wants to
kill
you? This makes zero sense.” Angel paused and took a deep breath. “Okay, honey, what
exactly
is going on? Start from the beginning, and tell me everything.”

Monica regarded Angel over the diner’s worn, yellow laminate table. She wanted to talk to her friend, not only because she needed to say goodbye but also because someone should know what had happened to her. Besides, she needed someone to talk over the situation with, and no one fit the bill better.

From an academic perspective, the two belonged to different leagues. Monica had natural book smarts. Angel on the other hand… If she were a bulb, her filaments wouldn’t shine as brightly as the rest of the lights in the chandelier. As a knife, her edge would be duller than the other cutlery in the drawer. On the shelves in the grocery, she would be one Dr. Pepper short of a six-pack. Angel had little ambition and tended to pick men for their looks and bad boy attitudes instead of their willingness and ability to make her happy. But her heart overflowed with kindness and patience. Plus, she possessed an uncanny ability to see through bullshit.

Angel had entered the diner as a pigheaded pragmatist, and in this mode, no amount of arguing would sway her from getting to the heart of the matter.

Monica loved this part of her friend’s persona, which had helped forge their lifelong bond. This would make it impossible to try and cover up what had happened. Angel would have just looked at her in that we-are-both-going-to-sit-here-till-you-stop-effing-around way until the truth came out. And out it came.

Angel’s eyes grew huge and round as she listened to Monica’s story about overhearing the conversation in the library, the subsequent trip with the Secret Service, and the interrogation in the little colorless office. “That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You want outrageous? Look at this.” Monica pulled back the curtain on the window next to their booth. Two humungous, black SUVs sat in the parking lot, each with a driver at the wheel.

“Yeah, I saw those when I pulled in. So they are part of …” Angel turned her attention back to the inside of the diner. Monica watched as her friend’s eyes roamed until they froze on the two suit-wearing men standing next to the entrance. “Is that Crew Cut and Granite?”

“In the flesh. Charming, don’t you think?”

Angel glared at them but neither seemed to notice. She craned her neck looking at the other patrons, pausing on each—several stern-looking men and two severe-looking women scattered here and there. No one else.

The isolated diner usually buzzed with gaggles of people on their way somewhere else. On any given day, at any given hour, the place brimmed with road-weary families, truckers, and bikers. All who came to this humble establishment forged a common bond through deep-fried potatoes and fluffy pancakes that bridged otherwise disparate lives. Save a small scattering of misplaced men in suits, the booths sat empty and forlorn. The kitchen was as quiet and vacant as a cave.

Monica watched as understanding dawned on her friend’s face. “Oh, my god,” Angel said.

“Look, honey, I don’t have a lot of time. There isn’t anyone else I care about, so I made them give me this chance to say goodbye.”

“What? No! Mon—” she started.

“It’s not goodbye forever. Just for now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, dear.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. They want me to testify against the goons. First with the grand jury, then the trial, but after he’s convicted, it should be safe for me to go back to my life.”

Crew Cut appeared at the end of the table. “It’s time.”

Monica nodded. “Just one more minute.” He walked back to his post, but his eyes never left the two women.

They slid out of the booth and stood. Monica took Angel’s hands in hers. “I’ll always love you, remember that. You saved me over and over, and there is no way to repay you.”

The other girl, tears streaming down her cheeks, looked on the verge of a breakdown. “I love you, too. I don’t want anything from you; I just don’t want you to go.”

Monica pulled Angel into her arms and whispered. “Give me your best poker face. Do it now and listen closely. I’m leaving a small piece of paper in your hand; it has an email address on it. Don’t look at it until you get home. Get a new email and send it to me. This is against all the rules, so put it in your pocket and never, never, never give it to anyone. Do you understand? My life depends on it.”

Angel nodded, and Monica kissed her friend on the cheek.

They broke apart. Though Angel still had tears running down her face, she had sobered.

That’s a girl.
Sad but relieved, Monica said, “I’ve got to go now. Take care of yourself, and don’t forget what I told you.”

“Be safe and kick ass.”

Monica forced a brave smile as Granite and Crew Cut escorted her to the door. She threw one last look over her shoulder as she left the darkness of the diner and walked into the brilliant afternoon sunshine.

* * *

For the next few months, Monica remained cooped up in a forgotten house in the middle of nowhere. Her goon squad blindfolded her whenever she came or went—the location so super-secret even she couldn’t know where they were. Besides Crew Cut, Granite, and Driver, other well-armed, suit-wearing, poker-faced men had been liberally sprinkled throughout the house. These protectors-from-foes, the last line of defense from those that wished to do Monica harm, lurked in every nook and cranny, 24/7. Bad Facelift stayed in Monica’s room while she slept, and Monica had spotted several more guards on random patrol of the grounds.

Spare no expense for the star witness.

All of these random people looked identical, like they were bred in an incubation chamber deep in a dark, underground lair. Or perhaps they stamped them out in some factory in Taiwan, the press working overtime to churn out as many soulless, plastic goons—complete with accessorizing pistol and earpiece—as possible.

Late one evening, Monica awoke to find Bad Facelift had fallen asleep in her usual chair. After weeks of diligence, the woman had slipped up. Gleeful like a mouse that had caught the cat napping, Monica crept across her bedroom, careful to not make a sound. The other guards sat in the living room, so instead of heading towards the door, she moved to the window. The goons had tried to make their patrol patterns appear random, but it had only taken her a few days to map out their routes in her head. She held her breath. Granite ambled past, and as soon as he disappeared around the corner, she unlatched the lock. Monica eased the window up. Thankfully the vinyl-on-vinyl of the frame made no more than a whisper as the two pieces slid together.

She tugged the small handle of the screen, and it popped out with a gentle
snick
. She glanced back at Bad Facelift, but the agent hadn’t moved. A little puddle of drool had pooled on the woman’s stark white shirt. It would have been sweet had the woman not been such a bitch.

Monica slipped on her pants and shoes then eased herself over the rim of the sill. She expected someone to shout an alarm at any moment, but the night remained silent as she landed on the grass.

She half-crouch walked across the lawn, then stood and sprinted for the bank of trees that edged the far side of the property. She’d almost made it when an alarm blared, and the whole world became bathed in brilliant light. Terror stopped her in her tracks as a dog began to bark, and several dark figures carrying what only could be large guns of some kind emerged from the trees.

An amplified voice boomed, “Freeze. Throw down your weapons and get down on the ground. Now.”

Maybe she could make it to the forest anyway. Monica’s heart galloped, and her feet itched to sprint as she glanced at the weapons aimed in her direction and the men brandishing them. She could run fast…but not faster than well-aimed bullet. They’d mow her down and laugh about it while telling the tale over drinks. Defeated, she did as instructed and lay down on the hard earth, waiting.

Black shiny shoes appeared just in the periphery of her vision.

“Get up,” Crew Cut’s curt voice said.

She peered left and right to find several men with guns pointed at her.

“At ease,” Crew Cut told them. As the men lowered their weapons, he pulled her to her feet and guided her back toward the house, cursing and swearing under his breath. She raised her chin in satisfaction and smugness as they marched. At the very least she’d irritated him almost as much as he irritated her. He pushed her into a chair in the living room, pulled up one of his own, and began the lecture she’d heard a thousand times before. “My job is to keep you safe, but I can’t do that if you keep trying to escape.”

“Yes, mom. But I just wanted to go for a walk. Is that so bad?”

“And last time you said you wanted to get donuts. The time before that, you needed your hair done. I don’t even remember what it was the time before that.”

“I needed Maxi pads. Girls sometimes bleed, you know.” Monica gave him a sarcastic grin.

Crew Cut looked at her with an almost pleading expression in his eyes. “Members of your buddy Laven’s grand jury have had an unusually high number of accidents. Three have died in car accidents. One fell off a cliff while hiking, and another drowned while swimming. This is why you keep having to give the same testimony over and over.”

“I understand that. So the jury’s a little clumsy; are you trying to make a point?”

“We don’t believe those are all accidents. Individually these incidents may not look suspicious, but this group has a very high mortality rate. Look, there are people who want to see you put into the ground. We’ve kept your identity secret for a good reason. I don’t understand why this is such a difficult concept for you.”

“And I want my freedom back. I don’t understand why this is such a difficult concept for
you
.”

“It’s not just that we have to keep you safe from the outside world. Our guys are professionals, but they’re on edge. Everyone is well armed, we have dogs patrolling the grounds, and they don’t know you from a hitman. Plus, you usually pull this crap when it’s dark, so we don’t know it’s you until we’re right up on you.”

“Are you planning to make a point or just talk me to death?” She had just about run out of patience. If he had planned to kill her, he needed to get on with it instead of blathering like an old woman.

“Mistakes will be made.”

“Did you just threaten me?”

Crew Cut sighed. “No, of course not. But this is the last time we go through this.”

Granite walked up and handed Crew Cut a small box. He opened it and pulled out what looked like a large wristwatch.