The Death Agreement (12 page)

"Tell 'em to stop banging," a
woman said. "I'm sleeping."

I knew the voice: Mary
Stallings.

In a state of utter shock and
confusion, I stood but immediately crashed to the floor, cracking
my head. I looked down and saw I only had one leg.

"Fuck," I whispered, scanning the
room while the police continued to pound on the door. My other leg
rested against my bed, far out of reach. It must have been some
party.

"Hand me that, would ya?" I
pointed to my leg.

Mary rolled over, grabbed my
prosthetic by the foot and tossed it to me.

"Thanks."

The police banged on the door
again.

"Just a second," I called out,
then strapped my fake leg to my stub. I got up slowly, unsure of my
balance. When confident I wasn't going to fall back down again, I
limped into the foyer and unbolted the lock, leaving the chain
attached.

I cracked the door open, and
instead of seeing the pair of county cops sent by Yang like I had
expected, I was surprised to see two military police officers
standing at attention.

"Can I help you, Sergeant?" I
asked the higher ranking of the two.

"Colonel Litwell wants you in his
office at zero nine thirty."

"Colonel Litwell could have damn
well called or sent an aide. Why are you here?"

"Do I need to answer that,
L.T.?"

The memory of the soldier at the
front desk shot through my mind, and I knew that punk had said
something about the fax.

"No, Sergeant," I sighed. "I guess
you don't."

"You have ten minutes, sir. We'll
be waiting right here."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

I closed the door gently and
turned around. Mary sat on the edge of the bed. "What's that all
about?"

I shrugged. "I have no
idea."

"You do look a bit
confused."

"I am," I admitted. "And not just
about the guys outside my door, either." I scratched my head.
"Mary, did we…?"

She smiled. "Not for lack of
trying, stud."

I winced. "Oh, god. I'm
sorry."

"Relax, Jon. I'm kidding. You were
a complete gentleman."

"I remember calling you last
night…vaguely."

"You did. A little after 1 a.m.
Offered to give me the interview."

"Shit."

"Yeah, you sounded like you needed
someone to talk to, so instead of asking questions over the phone,
I decided to come here and keep you company."

I looked into the kitchen. The
bottle of amaretto sat drained next to the empty bottles of vodka
and tequila. Six crushed beer cans were on the floor.

Rubbing my eyes, I said, "I had
way too much to drink."

"You think? We ended up staying
awake until four or five."

"Ugh."

"Don't worry, it wasn't all you. I
helped, too. You wouldn't let me drive until I sobered
up."

"I stayed on the couch the whole
time?"

"The whole time."

I shook my head. "At least I
didn't make a complete fool out of myself. Thanks for coming over.
I need to see the base commander. Please stay as long as you
like."

"Is that the loud-mouthed
son-of-a-bitch?"

"Yep."

"Good luck." She smiled, then
rolled back into bed and covered her head with the blankets. "Wake
me up when you get back. We'll get lunch or something."

"
If
I get back," I whispered and walked into the
bathroom.

The shower didn't help clear my
mind. I wanted to turn off my brain, but my thoughts kept returning
to Mary.

"There's a beautiful woman in my
bed. Does it matter how she got there?" I grinned.

That little voice spoke up
again:
The Death Agreement needed you to
speak with her.

The police weren't interested in a
detailed history of my friendship with Taylor, and they already
knew about the events surrounding his death. Even Yang wasn't
interested in the intimate details of his life. All Yang wanted was
facts.

If the futures of so many hadn't
been derailed, I would've put it all in a letter and handed it out
at an after-party to remember the departed—Section VII: Celebrate
Life.

It occurred to me then that there
would be no party. I couldn't bring myself to share what I knew. It
would have tainted the good memories. Taylor would've understood
why the party couldn't happen.

Even so, I needed to tell his
story and satisfy the first few sections which I had been ignoring.
Motives aside, Mary had been the only person to express an interest
in Jesse Taylor. She wanted to know about the man he had been and
about the monster that he had become. It made sense that I had
called her.

I wished I hadn't picked up the
phone and dialed her number in a drunken stupor, though. Clearly I
had said enough, but I worried that perhaps I may have said too
much. Not that it mattered anymore. She came over, we spoke, and
those particular terms of The Death Agreement were
satisfied.

Other good things were happening,
too. I had found proof of my innocence; Yang would catch the guy
that had been pretending to be Howard Taylor; Mary would run her
story. Eventually the whole nightmare would be over. Somehow I'd
made it through the worst, and as crazy as it sounds, I even made a
few friends in the process.

I sighed. There's nothing in the
world like having a huge weight lifted from your shoulders. I felt
as though I could breathe again, and I realized things would be
okay after all. Certainly everything wouldn't be like they used to,
back when I had a surrogate family and two legs, but this new life
could be livable if I tried to make it work.

There was still some more to do
before it would all be over. The Death Agreement's final section
called for a graveside visit. I wanted to finish the whole ordeal
by paying my respects to Lorie and Jon.

I stepped from the steaming
bathroom, and found Mary still sleeping. I put on my dress uniform
as quietly as I could, then slipped out the door, careful to shut
it softly behind me.

The two MP escorts greeted me with
a quick salute and we walked to the commander's office. The door
was closed, so I knocked once and waited.

"Enter," Colonel Litwell called
out in a gruff voice often reserved for career soldiers.

I opened the door and marched to
the center of the room, half turned, and saluted. "Lieutenant
Randon reporting, sir."

Litwell returned the salute. I
dropped my arm and stood at attention.

We weren't alone. Two people
wearing dark suits sat next to Colonel Litwell's globe bar: a
dark-skinned woman and an older man with grey-white hair. Out of
the corner of my eye, I couldn't make out anything else, and
resisted the urge to turn my head. I felt them staring at me but
neither one spoke. Litwell stared too, unflinching. The seconds
ticked by in an uneasy silence.

Normally a commanding officer will
tell you to stand at ease immediately after you salute. If they
don't, it usually means you've got some serious shit stuck on your
shoe and you're going to hear about it.

Drops of sweat formed on my brow.
My leg began to throb and an extremely painful shock ran up my
back. The longer I stood, the more Litwell's treatment ticked me
off. Thirty seconds, one minute, two minutes…I couldn't take it any
longer.

"Sir," I said through gritted
teeth. "May I sit?"

Litwell eyes bulged. "You want to
sit down?"

"If you prefer I can collapse on
your floor? I've gotten quite good at falling."

The woman raised a hand. "This
isn't necessary, Colonel. Let him rest."

"Take a seat," Litwell growled. "I
can hardly wait to hear you explain all this garbage you've brought
to my doorstep, son."

I sat next to the white-haired
man. "I don't even know what this is about, sir."

"Lieutenant Randon," the man said.
"I'm Agent Rossenkants and this is Agent Porter. We're with
C.I.D."

"Criminal Investigation Division?
What do you want with me?"

"We're assisting the FBI and local
P.D. on the Taylor case," Porter said.

"There's something we need to
check, Lieutenant. We're better equipped to handle it than anyone
else."

Rossenkants lifted his briefcase
onto his lap and opened it. Porter leaned over, reached in, and
took out a small device.

"Lift up your leg," Porter said.
"The…um…"

"Fake one?" I asked.

"Yes. The fake one."

I shrugged, then lifted my leg.
Rossenkants grabbed the plastic ankle and held it steady. Porter
switched on the device and waved it around the bottom of my
foot.

"Hmmm," she said. "You can put it
down." Porter turned toward Litwell. "Is it possible he has another
one?"

"No," Litwell said.

"Could he have stolen a different
one?" Rossenkants asked. "Taken a leg from another
serviceman?"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "Care
to tell me what this is about?"

"That's doubtful," Litwell said,
ignoring my question. "They are custom made to fit each soldier."
He looked at me. "Where were you last night,
Lieutenant?"

"In my room, sir. I have a witness
if necessary."

Litwell raised his eyebrow. "A
witness?"

"Who, Lieutenant?" Porter
asked.

"A lady friend kept me company
last night," I said, leaving out the fact she's a reporter. "If you
don't mind, I'd like to know what's going on, or I'd like
permission to leave."

Rossenkants bit on the end of a
pen.

Litwell pointed at Porter. "Tell
him. You two did your test. He's not the guy you're looking
for."

Porter nodded. "You are familiar
with a Detective Weise Yang of the Anne Arundel County Police
Department?"

"Yang? Yeah. He was supposed to
come by today to collect some evidence."

"What evidence are you referring
to?" Rossenkants asked.

"I found some of Taylor's things.
Yang was out of town last night, so he told me to hold on to
them."

"Tell us what you found," Porter
demanded.

"Better yet, show us." Rossenkants
added.

"You're welcome to take it with
you for all I care. I'd be glad to get rid of it."

"We would also like to talk to
your witness. Just to verify you were where you say you were last
night."

"Fine by me." I stood up and
looked at Litwell.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant," Litwell
said. "Clean up the mess. I don't want to hear about any more
problems. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir. Thank
you."

I saluted and walked out of the
office. The two C.I.D. Agents followed.

***

"My room is on the other side of
campus," I said. "I'd like some answers though. You can fill me in
as we walk." Neither of two agents seemed willing to talk, so a few
minutes later I decided to be less than helpful. "Hey," I said,
stopping in the middle of the abandoned street. "What is it with
cops and information?"

Porter scowled. "What do you
mean?"

"If everything is on a
need-to-know basis, no one would ever know a goddamn thing. Arrest
me if you want, but I'm not moving another step unless you tell me
what's going on." I stared at them with my arms crossed,
waiting.

They stared back,
dumbfounded.

"I'm serious. Take me to jail if
you want to keep playing these games."

Rossenkants regained his composure
first. He tapped Porter on the arm and they walked a few paces
away. I heard them whispering but couldn't make out what was said.
A moment later, they walked back over, and Rossenkants said, "What
we tell you can't go any further. Got it?"

"Sure." I spat on the ground, then
walked at a slow pace to ensure neither of them would hold
back.

Porter said, "Detective Yang was
detained last night."

"What?" I asked, surprised. "What
the hell for?"

"Assault. Theft." Porter
said.

"After leaving the scene in
Pennsylvania, there was an incident," Rossenkants said. "Detective
Yang and another individual entered an evidence locker. The
unidentified man assaulted the clerk, stole evidence, then
fled."

I stopped and turned to the C.I.D.
Agents. "You thought it was me! What did Yang say?"

"Yang claimed he had been held
hostage and convinced the officer holding him to remove the cuffs.
He joined the chase for the other man, then slipped away. Innocent
men do not run, Lieutenant." Porter nodded. "As for the other man,
while making his escape, he ran through a muddy field before
fleeing in Detective Yang's vehicle. He got away, but the police
were able to pull his boot prints."