The Memory Agent & Fool Me Once Read online

  The Memory Agent

  &

  Fool Me Once

  By Joany Kane

  Copyright 2013 Joany Kane

  All Rights Reserved

  THE MEMORY AGENT

  A Johnny Cash song plays on the jukebox in the corner of the dark and dingy bar. Decades old cigarette grime covers the brand beer lights hanging on the walls and the red vinyl seat covers are torn and tattered. The décor, much like the patrons, is in disrepair.

  Haley, a trailer park tramp, shoots pool with a biker. She’s got the kind of trashy good looks that appeals to lonely guys in dive bars and it’s that time of night when she’s starting to look awfully appealing. Haley is the center of attention.

  Until Claire Gray enters - wearing skin tight jeans, spiked heels, a fringe leather clingy top, and one stunning wide band silver and turquoise bracelet. All male eyes flock to Claire as she struts, with kick-ass style, up to the bar.

  “Bourbon. Neat.” Claire instructs the bartender.

  “Top shelf?”

  “The Eagle Rare will do.”

  “Good looks and good taste.” The bartender cracks while undressing Claire with his eyes.

  Claire ignores the compliment and the leers her sexy outfit and gorgeous looks have inspired. Moose, a bald brawny dude covered in tats, approaches invading Claire's space. He's one big, bulky guy, so not someone to mess with.

  “Hey.” He lasciviously growls at Claire.

  “I'm not here for fun and games so cork the effort.” Claire retorts, shooting Moose down before he has a chance to move up.

  The bartender delivers the bourbon. Claire takes a swig as Moose watches her, bemused by her tough chick 'tude.

  “What are you here for? Some bling maybe?” He inquires.

  This question interests Claire. “Possibly.”

  Moose strums his fingers on the bar displaying a woman's diamond and emerald ring on his pinky.

  Claire looks at the ring, impressed. “Nice.”

  “Does this mean I'm your new BFF?” Moose grins.

  “No. But that ring could be.”

  “I’ve got more buddies to choose from.” Moose boasts as he opens up his jacket revealing a fistful of jewelry protruding out of the inside pocket, the sparkle of diamonds highlighted against the black leather.

  “If you'd like to examine the available merchandise, follow me to my office.” He entices. Moose bellies away from the bar and heads for the exit.

  Claire polishes off her bourbon. Then follows. Haley glares at Claire knowing that Claire has outshined her in the looks, style and vibe departments.

  Outside of the bar Moose struts to the darkest area of the adjacent alley. Claire confidently follows seemingly unconcerned by the shady dude leading her into a shadowy spot.

  “An alley is your office?” Claire quips.

  “Not the best view, but it is private.”

  “How am I supposed to examine the merchandise in the dark?”

  “You're not. I'm going to examine your merchandise first.” Moose snarls as he violently grabs Claire and slams her against the brick wall, pinning her with the full force of his body. Moose is intent on raping her.

  But Claire has different plans. With a heel spike to Moose's shin, a knee to his genitals, and an elbow to his nose Claire effortlessly overpowers the bulky dude.

  She twists his arm around his back nearly dislocating his shoulder as she forces him onto the ground belly first. Moose whimpers in pain.

  Claire handcuffs Moose's hands behind his back. She flashes her badge in his face. “You are under arrest, Herbert.”

  “The name's Moose.” He snaps.

  “That's not the one going on your mug shot.” Claire deadpans.

  Moose sits at a table, ‘cuffed to his chair, in an interrogation room. The florescent lights illuminate the sweat beads on his forehead. He stares at the two-way mirror as if giving the stink eye to whomever is watching him.

  Claire enters. She's now dressed in slacks and a silk blouse; the only remnant from the bar scene is the silver and turquoise bracelet on her wrist. The smokin' hot outfit may be gone but Claire is still sexy and tough.

  “I'm suing for poe-leece brutality.” Moose bellows.

  “Good luck with that.” Claire flashes her identification. “I'm not poe-leece. I'm FBI. Special Agent Claire Gray.”

  Moose gives her the once over. “The clingy top made you much more special, special agent.”

  Ignoring his comment Claire puts a file on the table and takes a seat across from Moose. “You have quite the resume, Herbert.”

  “Only my mama gets to call me that.”

  You don't really have much choice at the moment who calls you what.” Claire opens the file and reviews the contents. “Looks like you're not going to have much choice for a very long time. Fencing stolen merchandise, possession of a class A substance, attempted rape, assault on a law enforcement officer, violation of parole, shall I keep going?”

  “I think I get the drift. What do you want?”

  Claire removes a photo from the file. She pushes it towards Moose. “Him.”

  Moose looks at the face in the photo, the face of Riker Reeves, a face with piercing eyes and a menacing smile. Even in a photo Riker looks like a violent threat.

  Moose mimics Claire. “Good luck with that.”

  “I don't need luck, I need information. Where is he?”

  Moose doesn't answer.

  “We know the jewels that were in your possession came from a jewelry store he robbed.” Claire continues to Moose’s silence. “In that robbery Riker Reeves shot and killed Roberta Sherman, the store owner, right in front of her daughter. Do you know what that makes you?” Claire asks.

  Moose still doesn’t answer, but he is getting twitchy.

  “An accessory after the fact. If we can't get Riker, we've got you. On murder. With such a list of achievements, Herbert, you are going to be enjoying three hots and a cot for the rest of your life.”

  “I don't know where he is. No one does. I doubt God himself even knows. The dude is completely off grid.” Moose unloads.

  “Not good enough.” Claire responds.

  “You don't get it, you don't go to Riker, he comes to you.” Moose adds.

  “Is he planning on coming to you again?”

  “I ain't nuts. I ain't crossing Riker.” Moose growls as if making a last stand.

  “I'd be more concerned about crossing me.” Claire pressures.

  “The dude's a vengeful mean ass. I'll be shanked in prison within a friggin' day if I say anything.”

  “We’ll give you a new identity, put you in solitary confinement.”

  Moose seems be on the fence about spilling the beans.

  “When and where?” Claire commands, her voice and demeanor intimidating.

  “I don't know when, other than soon, but I might know where.” Moose relents. He motions for Claire's pen. Claire hands it to him. He writes a store name and address across the face of Riker Reeves.

  Claire, without knocking, rushes into the office of FBI Deputy Director Whitmore.

  “Sure, come on in.” Whitmore quips as Claire approaches his desk. Whitmore, a retired marine, is heroically handsome. Tender blue eyes and dimples soften his chiseled features and buzz cut. There’s an electric energy between Claire and Whitmore that both admirably tame while on the clock.

  Claire places the photo of Riker Reeves in front of Whitmore. “We've got him.”

  Whitmore picks up the photo and reads the information written across Riker's face. “What is this?”

  “Riker's next target. He's getting cocky. This store employs a security guard.” Claire informs Whitmore.

  �
�Good work.” We'll have Brent Langer go undercover as the store's security guard.”

  Claire is about to make a stink when Whitmore raises his hand to stop her. “I know how much you love going undercover, Claire…”

  Claire, disregarding Whitmore's hand and status, makes a stink anyway. “With all due respect, deputy director, Brent Langer is a probie. This mission is too important and he's too green.”

  “You were green on your first undercover assignment. An assignment for which you received the medal of valor.” Whitmore points out.

  “I've invested three years of my life tracking Riker Reeves. He has always been ten steps ahead of me. I'm not about to blow our one opportunity trusting a probie who hasn't proven himself.”

  “He's proven himself to me, special agent. That's all that matters. I need you in the surveillance van.”

  Claire wants to keep debating, Whitmore doesn't. He shoots her a look. “My decision is not up for debate.”

  Claire, not pleased, storms out of the office. She re-enters a second later, grabs the photo of Riker Reeves from Whitmore's desk, and leaves again. Whitmore shakes his head more bemused than annoyed.

  ******

  Duke Reeves stands alone on the edge of a cliff looking out at the Pacific Ocean. He watches the waves crash on the rocks below appreciating the sound of the breaking surf. The amber sky fades into twilight.

  Duke is sexy as hell. Oozing virility, and with the broadest shoulders that could envelope you in the most secure hug, he looks every bit a hot tough biker dude. His hair is midnight black and wavy, his captivating eyes chestnut brown, there’s a touch of stubble on his face, and his kind expression reveals depth and sensitivity.

  “Well, look who's here.” A man’s voice calls from the path leading up to the overlook.

  Duke turns to see – the menacing face from Claire’s photo. Riker Reeves. His brother. Duke gives Riker a brotherly hug pleased to see his big brother, a big brother he’s hero-worshiped his whole life.

  “It's been a long time, baby brother.” Riker says as he pats Duke on the back finishing up the hug.

  “Three years in. Six months probation.” Duke elaborates.

  “Got out early on good behavior I heard. Mom would have been proud, about the good behavior.” Riker responds as he looks down at a flat fieldstone rock near a tree a few feet back from the edge. “I see our gravestone we placed for her is still here.”

  “You haven't been back since that day?” Duke asks.

  “Didn't feel right without ya, baby brother.” Riker replies, as if saying it only because Duke would want to hear it. “But I figured today you’d show up. This is the first anniversary of mom's death that you are free and clear from jail and parole. No strings on ya.”

  “Feels good.” Duke sighs.

  “I never got a chance to thank you for not ratting me out, for taking the fall.” Riker states, not sounding all that earnest.

  “You're my big brother. I'd never go against you.” Duke shares, sounding completely earnest.

  “I got one more score.” Riker starts, stopping short of saying to settle. “Need some retirement money. Then I'm out for good. Heading south to spend my days fishing and drinking tequila. I want you with me.”

  “Which part? The score or going south?” Duke inquires suspiciously.

  Riker puts his arm around Duke. “Both, baby brother. Both.”

  “I won't serve time again.” Duke insists.

  “I just need you on look out. I promise you won't get your hands dirty.” Riker motions for Duke to follow him. “Come on, let's go.”

  Duke follows Riker down the dirt path to a small parking area. Parked in the dirt lot are an Indian motorcycle and a jeep. Duke approaches the motorcycle while Riker approaches the jeep.

  “I've got someone I'd like you to meet.” Riker calls over to his brother.

  The driver's door of the jeep opens. Out hops...Haley, looking as trashy as she did at the dive bar. There's not an inch of Haley's body or soul that is trustworthy or honorable - a perfect match for Riker. She wears more bling than an A list actress on the red carpet. Which seems at odds with her skanky outfit.

  With complete disregard for Duke, the first thing Haley does is plant a sloppy, impassioned kiss on Riker. Which he returns with an equal amount of fervor.

  Once the kiss has commenced, Riker makes the introductions. “Haley, Duke. Duke, Haley.”

  “I've heard a lot about you.” Haley drawls, lacing her words with slutty innuendo. “Will you fix my Harley, biker mechanic?”

  Duke’s not impressed. He tries to hide his instant distaste for Haley for the sake of his brother. Riker nods at Duke, silently encouraging him to answer her.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Duke politely offers.

  “Haley's my connection to the outside world. She's my eyes and ears.” Riker boasts.

  “And brains.” Haley sasses.

  Riker raises his hand to strike Haley for the comment. She holds her ground, ready to strike back. Riker refrains, instead he gives Haley a devilish push. She pushes him back. These two like to spar, both physically and emotionally.

  “Come on, baby brother, follow us to our safe house.” Riker calls to Duke. With a sinister laugh he adds, “but if you tell anyone where it is, I'm gonna have to kill ya.”

  *****

  Rita Gray works a pushcart in a seaside tourist mall selling silver and turquoise jewelry – like Claire’s bracelet. Rita, nearing sixty, has an old soul Santa Fe artist vibe. She owns her age and stage with grace and pizazz and has no doubt smoked peyote with a tribal chief lover.

  Claire approaches carrying take-out food bags. “Ready for dinner, Aunt Rita?”

  “You bet.” Aunt Rita smiles. “My body and soul hunger for…”

  “…Salsa bean salad with a side of fresh guacamole?” Claire hopes.

  Rita brings her palms together in front of her heart in gratitude and appreciation. “Nameste.”

  Aunt Rita pushes her cart closer to a picnic table near a raised garden area. They take a seat. From the take out bags Claire removes a salad, a grande beef burrito and two bottled waters. She hands a water and the salad to Rita.

  “How was work today?” Rita inquires.

  “Classified.” Claire deadpans as she digs into the burrito with gusto.

  “As usual.” Rita sighs watching Claire relish the burrito. “Did I ever email you that article about heart disease?”

  “You did and I deleted it.” Claire responds while wiping the corner of her lips with a paper napkin. “I won't live in a world without beef burritos.”

  “Your one pleasure in life.”

  “What do you mean my one pleasure?” Claire wants to know.

  “You have your work, you have me and you have that burrito.”

  “That's three pleasures, even though you're not all that pleasurable at this particular moment.” Claire jests with love.

  “You should think about expanding your horizons.” Rita suggests.

  “Not until I catch the bad guys.”

  “You shouldn't be so consumed with the bad. You need to immerse yourself in something peaceful and joyful. I know it's cliche, but it is still sound advice, stop and relish the beauty and fragrance of flowers once in awhile.” Rita encourages.

  Claire's cell phone rings. She looks at the incoming text message. “Speaking of one of my three pleasures, duty calls.”

  Claire and Whitmore stand near a tan chenille couch in front of a gas fueled fireplace undressing each other. Claire unbuttons and removes Whitmore’s white shirt while he plants wet kisses on her neck. The dancing flames from the fireplace surround the couple with a warm glow.

  “About the jewelry store sting.” Claire whispers as she unzips Whitmore’s pants.

  Whitmore responds between kisses. “No matter what you tempt me with tonight, I'm not changing my mind. The only undercover where you belong is under the sheets.”

  “You are such a typical middle-aged white collar wh
ite male who wants to subjugate women.” Claire protests as she pulls his pants down and he steps out of them.

  “I know better. There's no subjugating you, Claire.”

  Claire persists. “Do you really think Brent Langer is right for…”

  “I swear the only reason you sleep with me is so we can talk shop afterwards.” Whitmore teases as he lifts Claire’s silk shirt over her head.

  “You say the sweetest things.” Claire purrs as she kisses Whitmore’s muscular chest.

  “Thank god the bureau has a no fraternization policy, being in a legit relationship with you would be exasperating.” Whitmore whispers passionately in Claire’s ear, not really believing this to be true.

  “Whit, even if there wasn’t a no fraternization policy, you know my feelings about...”

  Whit stifles Claire’s comment by covering her mouth with a kiss. “Let’s not ruin the moment,” he suggests as he pulls her body closer to his. The kiss turns torrid. In a frenzy they remove the remaining pieces of their clothing.

  Whitmore guides Claire down onto the rug. She spreads her legs in anticipation, foreplay is over. He enters her with a commanding thrust. Claire, arching her hips, meets Whitmore’s impassioned thrusts. Their thrusts grow in intensity as thoughts of work, Riker Reeves and their complicated relationship fade from mind.

  *****

  Riker’s jeep, followed by Duke on his motorcycle, pulls up and parks in front of a cabin. The place is completely isolated, remote and surrounded by woods. There’s not a neighbor for miles and miles.

  The cabin is two stories, made of logs, with a wrap around deck. This is a hunter's paradise. Riker and Haley get out of the jeep and head up the stairs to the deck. Duke follows. Duke stands on the deck, looking up into the night sky at the millions of stars.

  “See what a little larceny can buy ya, baby brother?” Riker boasts.

  “He bought me. This place was part of the deal.” Haley adds.

  “It's quiet.” Duke says with appreciation.

  “It won't be once Riker and I get in the bedroom. I'm a screamer.” Haley crows.

  “Damn straight she is.” Riker concurs.