Chapter 4-2
906 Words
Before Mr. Jones left the motel room, Dylan asked him if there was anywhere close by where he could get some decent clothes.
“There’s a thrift shop one street over. They stay open until nine. If you’re hungry, the diner next door to it has edible food, if you’re not picky.”
“Right now, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t eat,” Dylan replied with a low laugh.
“Just don’t forget to arm the security when you leave,” Mr. Jones said. “That way we know when you’re here.”
“In case of emergencies?”
Mr. Jones shrugged. “You could say that. Set it when I leave.”
Dylan nodded, then when the man left, set the alarm and began exploring the room. He had a strong feeling it was probably bugged—not that he’d know one if he saw it. When he finished, he stripped and took a long shower. By the time he finished and was dressed again—sans the hoodie and grungy pants which had been part of his disguise—it close to five. He flipped on the TV and settled down to wait until it was dark outside before going shopping.
He left the room a bit after eight, according to the bedside clock, being certain to arm the security system. He wondered if all the rooms had them, or just the ones Webb and his cronies had set aside for special ‘visitors,’ like the people who bought arms from them.
Making his way cautiously down the side of the motel and across the alley to the next block, he was glad to find out the thrift shop was on his side of the street. With feigned casualness, he walked down and entered. It wasn’t crowded, much to his relief, and no one seemed the least bit interested in him—including the clerk who had his nose buried in a supermarket tabloid. The men’s clothing section was in back, also a plus in Dylan’s opinion, putting it far away from the shop’s front widows.
I think I’ve watched too many movies. I’m getting the hang of this spy stuff.
After finding several pairs of jeans, and some shirts, he went into the dressing room to try them on. He’d just settled on what he’d take when he heard the curtain move behind him. Swinging around, hands fisted, he sighed in surprised relief.
Mars signaled for Dylan to remain quiet, miming that he should give him his phone. Dylan did, watching as Mars opened it. When he finished whatever he was doing to it, Mars put the phone under the clothes Dylan had piled on the lone bench, sliding them over so he could sit. “You’re not going anywhere within several miles of here without their knowing,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And the phone’s got a listening device in it, so speak softly.”
Dylan nodded. “How did you find me?” he barely whispered, sitting on his heels in front of Mars.
“You asked the guy where to shop and he told you. I figured you’d take his advice. Fill me in.”
“To start with, I’m still alive and relatively free.”
Mars chuckled. “A plus in my book.”
“Thanks. Okay.” Dylan quietly described the layout of the warehouse and what he’d seen. “I don’t know anything about guns, but they have plenty of them and some of them look damned lethal.”
“What gun isn’t?”
“Yeah, good point. Anyway, I officially start in the morning. There’s only two ways in that I saw. The main entrance, which has a security scanner like at airports. I don’t know what kind of security is on the one to the loading dock, but you better believe it’s good. I had to empty my pockets and take off anything metal I was wearing before going through the scanner. I was scared they’d find the ear bug.”
“Nope. No metal parts. We do know what we’re doing. And it can’t be picked up by a bug scanner.”
“I figured as much. Well, the not metal part.” Dylan eased down to sit on the floor. “Does any of what I told you help?”
“Yes. The next thing we need is photos.”
“Mars…Damn, they’re not going to let me wander around with a camera. Hell, I’d never get it past their security.”
“Give me your watch.” When Dylan did, Mars said, “It’s also a camera. You turn it on by pressing this button.” He demonstrated.
Dylan frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me to begin with?”
“You had enough on your mind. The last thing you needed to do is worry about them finding this. You reaction if they searched you might have given it away.”
“Might have? I was tense enough when they made me walk through the scanner. If I knew what the watch did…”
“Exactly.” Mars handed it back. “Obviously don’t make a show of taking pictures. Just turn it on and let it do its thing, making sure your shirtsleeve isn’t covering it. Everything it captures will be sent straight to me and Alastair. “
“Okay. I can handle that.”
Mars smiled. “I know you can. You’ve done great so far. Now, you’d better get out of here. Go pay for whatever you’re buying. Do you have enough cash?”
Dylan checked and shrugged. “If I keep it to two jeans, two shirts, and a couple of packs of underwear I saw on one of the shelves. I need money to eat on.”
Taking out his wallet, Mars handed him several bills. “That should tide you over until we pull you out.” After Dylan thanked him, Mars asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Better than I thought I would, and much better now that I’ve talked to you.”
Chuckling, Mars replied, “Always glad to be of service. I’ll stay in touch if and when I can. And remember, I’m always listening. Oh, one last thing, if any buyers come to the warehouse, do your best to get pictures of them. Okay?”
“I will.” Getting up, Dylan gathered together the clothes he was getting. “Thanks,” he murmured as he left the dressing room.
“Welcome,” he heard Mars say before he was out of earshot.
- Writer
