Don't Order Dog (31 page)

“More financially solvent than most economies, more powerful than most governments and more technologically advanced than most militaries, the mature Corporate State will rapidly outgrow every external threat to its existence with one notable exception – competing Corporate States.

In order to defend key assets such as intellectual property, and vital personnel from competitive threat, the Corporate State will employ the same strategies and tactics of any major government or country. With billions of dollars in revenue at stake, clandestine activities ranging from intelligence gathering and sophisticated electronic warfare to coordinated military-style operations will become an everyday reality in the new business ecology.

Ultimately, the competitive actions of the Corporate States will mimic those of any competing predators in the natural world. Alliances will be made, weakness will be studied, and, when the opportunity to dominate presents itself, power will be exercised with swift and lethal precision.”

James H. Stone
“Predictions in the New Business Ecology”

Jeri stood behind the counter and vaguely noticed her heart beating faster as she held the red and blue-edged airmail envelope.  It was thicker than any of those previous, its corner covered with extra airmail stamps and the dull smears of red “RUSH” postmarks. She smiled with excitement and started tearing it open when a voice suddenly cried out across from her.

“Don’t open that!” Tom Coleman screamed as he leaned across the counter and roughly snatched the envelope from her hand. Jeri stared back at him in shock.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked angrily, holding out her hand. “That belongs to me!”

Tom ignored her as he carefully examined the envelope. He shook his head disbelievingly as he held it up to the dim overhead light.

“It can’t be him,” he mumbled. “It just can’t be.”

Jeri watched him cautiously for a moment before looking over at Chip.
“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Chip nodded his head slowly. “I’m afraid I do.”

“Then please, enlighten me,” Jeri demanded.

“Your former pen pal was a terrorist, Jeri,” Tom said matter-of-factly as he dropped the envelope onto the counter.

“A what?” Jeri asked, smiling at the absurdity of Tom’s comment.

“You heard me,” Tom replied flatly. He turned and pointed at the shrine of letters on the far wall. “You see all those letters over there? They weren’t written by a doctor, or an art collector, or some freelance journalist out on assignment. They were written by a killer. By an international goddamn
terrorist
. And when he wasn’t writing letters and taking silly pictures for you, he was murdering innocent people.”

Jeri’s smile slowly faded. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m absolutely serious,” Tom replied.

Jeri looked back and forth at the two men. “Okay, what the hell’s going on here? Is this some kind of practical joke?”

“I think it’s time Jeri heard the full story,” Chip said softly as he stared into his beer. “Wouldn’t you agree, Tom?”

Tom
narrowed his eyes on Chip. “Sure, why not.” He frowned at Jeri and pointed at the barstool next to him. “You may as well come over here and sit down.”

“I’ll stand right here, thanks,” Jeri replied tersely, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

“Suit yourself,” Tom countered. “You want the story? Here’s the story.”

Tom quickly began summarizing his investigation, beginning with his initial discovery of the link between the letters’ origins and the deaths of several Petronus Energy researchers. Jeri’s eyes widened in surprise as he then told her about the death in Kaliningrad that proved his assumption was more than just a theory
. He was just about to tell her about Alex and the SOG team raid in Amsterdam when she suddenly held up her hand.          

“I don’t get it,” Jeri said, shaking her head. “Even if there was some shred of truth to what you’re saying, how could you possibly know all this?”

“It’s my business to know all this,” Tom replied as he reached into his jacket. He pulled out his ICE badge and briefly showed it to her before returning it to his pocket. “I’m not playing with you, Jeri. I’m an agent with the Department of Homeland Security. This is what I do. I know everything there is to know about your pen pal.” He paused and pointed at the envelope on the counter. “And I’m telling you… that letter can’t be from him.”

Jeri picked up the envelope and held it in front of Tom. “What makes you so sure?”

Tom looked at her with a cautious expression. “Because four nights ago I watched him die in his hotel room in Amsterdam.”

Jeri stood frozen for a moment, waiting for the shockwave to pass through her. She squeezed the envelope tightly in her hand before walking over to her barstool and sitting down. A moment later she looked up at Tom with an accusatory stare.

“You used the address he included in the last letter to find him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Tom replied flatly.

Jeri’s eyes flashed to Chip. “And you knew about this?”

Chip nodded. “I did, Jeri. I’m sorry. That’s why I’ve been spending more time here lately. I thought if nothing else I could at least… well, keep my eye on you.”

Jeri glared at him angrily before looking at Tom. “So how did he die?”

“He killed himself,” Tom answered unapologetically. “We had him holed up in his hotel room, surrounded by agents. There was no chance of escape and he knew it. So he detonated a bomb like any other gutless terrorist would do. Luckily none of the agents involved were killed.”

Jeri stared at the envelope in her hand and shook her head. “Then this can’t be from him.” She suddenly ripped the corner open and looked inside. The folded sheets of hotel stationary were covered in a familiar handwriting. Jeri started to remove them, then stopped and looked at Tom.

“Did you see him do it?” she asked.

Tom looked at her quizzically.
“See him do
what
?”

“Did you actually see him detonate the explosive?”

“Yes. Well, I mean… I watched it happen over a live video link from the agents conducting the operation. They were just about to enter his room when the explosion happened.”

“Was the door closed?”

Tom sighed. “Yes, the door was closed.”

“So you did
not
actually see him detonate the explosion – correct?”

Tom shook his head in frustration. “Look Jeri, I see where you’re going with this, but it’s pointless. There were three teams of agents covering the guy when he entered the hotel. They swept the entire place before entering his room. He blew himself to hell, and I saw it happen. Okay?”

“But how did you identify him in the first place?” she asked, her voice holding an edge of doubt. “You can’t tell what he looks like from the photos.”

“His t-shirt,” Tom replied. “He was wearing that same goddamn
Joe’s Last Stand t-shirt when he walked into the hotel, and part of it was still sticking to what was left of his body after the explosion.”  

“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Chip said quietly.

“Hey, she asked the question, didn’t she?” Tom shot back defensively, his eyes still fixed on the envelope in Jeri’s hand. “So… are you going to open it or what?”

Jeri nodded her head as she carefully pulled out the letter and unfolded the crisp white
pages. She glanced at the top right corner of the first page before again looking over at Tom.

“When did you say you killed him?”

Tom looked at her quizzically. “It was last Saturday… the 30th. Why?”

Jeri ignored his question as she started to read, the slightest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

847 Jinan Road
No. 1549 
November 31, 9:27am
Planet Dongying
The Galaxy of China

Jeri –

I’m not going to kid you, Jeri-girl, I’m writing this with more than a touch of the melancholy. Maybe it’s this country. Don’t believe what you’ve read about China
. The only things this country really makes are great walls of concrete and ceilings of smog. Sometimes it’s hard to tell one gray mass from the other. All I know is that the image of you curled up warmly behind that magnificent chocolate-colored old bar reading this humble little letter of fanatical obsession and abject devotion is the only thing keeping me going. Well, that, and the definitive collection of Eugene O’Neill I bought online last night in a drunken moment of weakness. Talk about under-celebrated playwrights! Seriously… have you ever seen
The Iceman Cometh?
   

Getting your letter was like being the pope after finding the Holy Grail. I’ve read it no less than sixteen times. Everything that flowed from your pen from the moment you questioned my intelligence until the final threat of never talking to me again was nothing short of poetry. I doubt that such a marginally warm letter has ever been so well received.

Our kids will be precocious little buggers, Jeri. I know it.

Of course, this letter isn’t intended to be just another long-winded sermon of pharmaceutically-enhanced incidents and accidents on my journey towards self-endarkenment. You have questions that need to be answered.

“Beginning with what you’re up to” I believe was your first request, though you already know the answer. The tequila, the womanizing, the endless travel through the seedier folds of terra firma… isn’t it clear that I’m up to no good?

Not that I’ve had much choice in the matter, Jeri-girl. Spin around this planet as much as I do and you’re forced to pack light. I’m toting enough proverbial baggage as it is without the extra weight of a moral compass. And who needs one anyway? Right and wrong are as mythical as true north itself. It’s all just a matter of degrees, baby
– like points on a map. Some are good, most are bad, but in the end, they’re all worth seeing for yourself.  

This brings us to your second request – the question of why I’m writing you. Of course, you already know the answer to this one too. You see, from that moment I first laid eyes on the beauty behind the bar at Joe’s, I simply and selfishly knew that she was someone worth knowing. I mean, how often do
es one come across the path of a fair-skinned lass with eyes as deep and turbulent as the spring-fed Amazon, a mind as sharp as a thirty-gauge needle, and looks that would put even the dawn-sky view of Victoria Falls to shame? Not often, Jeri. Have I already mentioned that our kids will be gorgeous?

And then there’s your last request… the revelation of my identity. I have to say, this one stumps me, Jeri. Not the question, just the value of the answer. A name? Mine is a name you wouldn’t know. This face? As common as they come. The rest of me baby is just tequila and words. Six feet of random thoughts and a smoking cigarette, wandering the back roads of sanity and society one sinful step at a time. The truth is Jeri, if you’ve read my letters carefully, you know me better than anyone.         

Was that last paragraph as depressing as it sounds? Christ, I better sign off until the Lithium kicks in. Time to find a cozy communist bar that serves Fortaleza and Chinese-made Camel Lights. I swear Jeri, fun is harder to find around here than a virgin in east L.A. 
I’ll be glad when all of this is over.

Ta!

-
         
Mysterious Joe’s Last Stand Guy

P.S. Thanks again for sending the t-shirts, Jeri-girl. Don’t tell the boys in Amsterdam, but I ended up keeping a few for myself.

P.P.S. Please tell me you heeded my advice on the brainy buddies. It’s happening
NOW
. I’ve nabbed three of them so far, but finding the last is proving to be a real bastard.

P.P.P.S. You can’t turn a street corner here without running into a barbequed terrier. Show me canine charcuterie and I’ll show you the culinary abyss. 

Fuck it.
Go ahead, order dog.

“May I read it, Jeri?”

Tom Coleman stretched his arm across the counter and wiggled his fingers impatiently.

Jeri looked up from the letter.
This can’t be happening
she thought
as she stared absently out the front windows at the cold December morning. She shook her head and closed her eyes as a torrent of questions began flooding her mind.
“Jeri…
please
?”
Jeri silently stood and walked down the bar, dropping the letter into Tom’s outstretched hand. He quickly grabbed the pages and started reading, his shoulders slumping lower with every sentence.

“Holy shit... it’s him, isn’t it? The son of a bitch is fucking
alive
.”  
He looked up at Jeri with a disbelieving stare.

“You tell me,” she answered sharply. “You’re the one claiming to be the expert on this guy.”

Tom muttered something under his breath and turned his attention back to the letter. Jeri turned and fixed a venomous stare at Chip.

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

From his corner seat, Chip suddenly sat up straight and cleared his throat.
“Jeri, I’m as sorry as it gets for keeping this from you, but it wasn’t entirely my decision.” He pointed his thumb at Tom, who was too absorbed in the letter to notice.  “Apparently the current thinking of our country’s Homeland Security is that you catch bigger fish with ignorant bait.”  

Jeri glared at Chip for a moment before turning on Tom.
“Is that true?” she asked.

“What?” Tom asked absently.

Jeri reached over and snatched the letter from his hands. “If you knew this guy was a terrorist, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not that simple,
” Tom replied, reaching his hand out impatiently. “Can I have that back?”

“No, you may not.”

Jeri walked to the end of the bar and stood in front of Chip. She laid the letter on the counter and rested her hand over it protectively. “I’ll let
you
read it Chip…
on one condition.”

The older man looked up at Jeri with a pensive stare. He could see the
glow of anger beginning to smolder in eyes. “What condition?” he asked quietly.

“Stop trying to look out for me.”

She pushed the pages of the letter towards him and grabbed his empty beer glass. “I’ve done just fine on my own,” she said as she walked towards the beer tap, her eyes burning into Tom as she walked past. “And I certainly don’t need the protection of the Department of Homeland Security. Not that you guys made any effort to provide it anyway.”

Tom shrugged and waved his hand dismissively through the air. “Look, I understand you’re upset Jeri. But once you calm down, we can talk this whole situation out… including ways we can insure your safety if such a thing is needed.” He pushed his empty beer glass towards her. “Honestly, I don’t think you’re in any real danger.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” Jeri asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Just like it was your professional opinion that this guy was dead, right? Thanks, but your professional opinion means absolutely nothing to me.”

The front door of the saloon suddenly groaned open, stabbing a long blade of cold light into the dim interior as a short, barrel-chested bald man walked in and quickly closed the door behind him. He took off his coat and met the three faces staring back at him with a
wide grin as his stout legs paced towards the bar.

“How’s my best bartender doing, Jeri?” Joe Brown asked as he stepped up to the bar next to Tom.

“Just great, Joe,” Jeri muttered flatly as she walked a fresh pint of beer over to Chip, his attention still fixed on the letter. “How are you?”

“Goddamn weather’s wreaking hell on my joints,” Joe replied, nodding his head bitterly. “Took me twenty minutes
just to get outta the damn bed this morning. Got any hot coffee on?”

“I do,” Jeri replied softly. She grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and walked over to him. Joe watched as she filled his cup before turning to the man sitting next to him.

“Having a nice morning so far?” he asked Tom.

“Not exactly,” Tom replied, staring at his empty glass. Jeri turned without acknowledging him and returned to her seat. Both men gave her a perplexed smile as she opened her book and started to read.

“Jeri,” Joe said finally, “I believe our friend here could use another beer.”

“I’m sure he could, Joe,” Jeri replied without looking up. “But he’s not our friend, and he’s not going to be served another beer from me.”

Joe looked suspiciously at Tom as he scratched his chin. His eyes drifted down the bar to Chip, who was still absorbed in the letter. He turned and looked at Jeri with a lost expression. “What the hell’s going on, Jeri?”

Jeri gave him a weary frown before closing her book and sitting up straight on her barstool. “Let me give you a brief update, Joe. I got another letter from the postman this morning. Unfortunately, I was accosted by the gentleman sitting next to you before I could read it. His name is Tom, but you and I should probably refer to him as
Agent Coleman
. Agent Coleman works for the Department of Homeland Security. He’s also been secretly investigating my mysterious letter writer,” she paused and gave Chip a snide look. “With the help of a senior-aged assistant.”

“Is that true?” Joe said, looking down the bar at Chip. Chip nodded his head.

“Agent Coleman was surprised to see a new letter from our mystery writer this morning,” Jeri continued. “Especially since a team of commandos raided his hotel a few nights ago in Amsterdam and forced him to blow up everything in his room– including himself.” She leaned forward on her stool and whispered mockingly. “You see Joe, my letter writer was a terrorist.”

Joe stared back at Jeri, his eyes wide with shock.

“Or should I say
is
a terrorist?” Jeri said as she stood up and walked towards Chip. “Because if he was dead, I don’t think he’d still be writing letters.” She glared at Tom as she passed. “Anyway, I just found out a few minutes before you walked in that both Chip and Agent Coleman here have been aware of this fact for some time, but decided it was best to keep it from me.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Joe said in a hushed tone of disbelief. He turned and scowled at Chip sitting quietly in his seat. “What the hell were you thinking, Chip? For Chrissake… I thought you looked after Jeri like she was your own daughter!”

Chip looked up from the letter and narrowed his blue eyes on the bar owner. “Don’t start with me, Joe. Why the hell do you think I’ve spent every single day sitting here? To look after
you
?”

“Go easy on him, Joe,” Jeri said as she stopped in front of Chip. She reached out and took the letter from his grasp, squeezing his hand gently before walking back to her corner. “He wasn’t the one who decided to keep me in the dark.”

“Oh really?” Joe said as he took a step back from the counter and turned to Tom. “Then I’m starting to understand why Jeri won’t serve you that beer after all. In fact, I’m wondering why I shouldn’t just throw your ass out of my saloon.”

Tom broke his stare from the letter in Jeri’s hands and glanced over at the bar owner. He hadn’t met Joe before, but he already disliked the heavyset bald man with the shiny head and flashy temper. He gave Joe a smug smile and raised his hands defensively.
“Okay, I think everyone needs to just calm down for a minute. It’s not like I made up the rulebook for investigating terrorism. I was just following protocol.” He turned and looked at Jeri. “Can I at least see the Polaroid, Jeri?” he asked.

Jeri eyed him coldly for a moment before shaking her head.
“There wasn’t one.” 

Tom looked at her skeptically. “Are you sure? I swear I felt a Polaroid in the envelope before you opened it.”

Jeri returned his stare with a contemptuous smile.
“Well, it looks like you were wrong once again, Agent Coleman.”

Tom slammed his fist onto the counter. “Jesus Christ! How do you expect me to do my job when you won’t even share the fucking evidence with me?”

“She just told you there wasn’t a photo,” Joe replied, his voice low and threatening. “And around here, Jeri’s word is a helluva lot stronger than that of some goddamn Federal agent. So unless you have a warrant to search my establishment, I suggest you drop the subject.”

Tom nodded and looked up at Jeri with a piercing stare. “You know what’s funny, Jeri? The reason I came down here this morning was to tell you the truth about all this… to explain everything and tell you that your anonymous pen pal was dead. There’s no rule in the handbook for
that
, no rule that says we have to tell you anything about the murderers and terrorists we protect you from. I just thought you deserved to know.”

“But he’s not dead, is he Tom?” Jeri replied angrily, holding up the letter. “He’s alive and well… and apparently in China now.” She shook her head absently. “Which means he’s also going to kill again, doesn’t it?”

Tom mulled over the question before slowly nodding his head.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jeri said, slipping from her barstool. She ducked under the bar and headed towards the restroom. Joe silently watched her until she was gone, then walked behind the bar and grabbed the letter.

“Joe, are you sure there isn’t a Polaroid sitting inside the envelope over there?” Tom asked expectantly.

Joe looked around and shrugged.
“I don’t even see the envelope.”

Tom nodded and lo
oked off towards the restroom. “Right.”

Both Tom and Chip sat quietly as Joe stood behind the bar and read the letter. When he was done, he tossed the pages on the counter and scratched his bald head.

“Shoulda known this guy was a damn lunatic from the start,” he said as he poured himself another coffee. “What with all that romantic nonsense and those ridiculous coded messages.”

Tom grabbed the letter and began to pull out his notepad when he paused and looked at Joe. “What do you mean,
coded messages
?” he asked.

Joe rolled his eyes at T
om from behind his coffee cup. “Are you kidding me? You really think he’s collecting some damn toys called
brainy buddies
? Give me a fuckin’ break. Whatever he’s collecting, it ain’t toys. And look at the way he always ends each letter with that ‘don’t order dog’ statement. That didn’t strike you as odd?”
Tom looked again at the letter. His eyes slowly widened in shock.

“Jesus Chri
st,” Joe said, shaking his head. “It’s a wonder you ever found him in the first place.”

“He didn’t find him,” Chip muttered, his hands pawing the sweat from his beer glass. “The guy
gave Jeri his hotel address in the last letter.”

Joe chuckled bitterly. “Man, I’ve heard some crazy shit in my days, but this one beats ‘em all.”

Jeri emerged from the restroom and quickly paced back towards the bar, an odd, distant expression on her face.

“You okay, Jeri?” Joe asked as she ducked under the counter and re-emerged next to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied tensely. “But I need to ask a favor. Can you have Owen fill in for me for a few days, starting this afternoon? I could really use a break from this whole situation.”

“You got it,” Joe replied, squeezing her shoulder. “Between Owen and me, we’ve got this place covered. Get outta here.”

Jeri gave him a weak smile before quickly gathering her things. She was about to leave when she glanced at the letter and paused. Joe immediately sensed what she was thinking.

“I won’t put it up, Jeri,” he said quietly. “Hell, maybe it’s time to just rip the whole goddamn shrine down. Hasn’t been getting much attention lately anyway.”

Jeri stared at the letter for a moment, deep in thought, before turning and looking at him with an expression that bordered on fright. “No, don’t do that. Put the letter up, Joe. Put it up and just pretend like nothing has changed. After all, nothing
has
changed.”

Joe looke
d at her curiously and nodded. “Okay, Jeri… if you’re sure that’s what you want me to do.”

“I’m sure.” She turned and waved to Chip. “Maybe you should take a few days off from this place too, old man. There’s not going to be anyone around to look out for.”

Chip looked up at her with a solemn smile. “There’s always someone to look out for, Jeri. Just make sure you stay safe for the next few days.” His blue eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. “Whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

“I will.”

“Do you need a ride, Jeri?” Tom asked, his voice noticeably eager.
“I can take you home if you’d like.”

Jeri didn’t bother to make eye contact with him as she pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag. “No thanks, Agent Coleman. In fact, if I see you so much as turn onto my street
, I’ll have you arrested for stalking. Do you understand?”

“Got it,” Tom replied flatly. He finished scribbling something in his notepad and returned it to his pocket.