Chapter 36
Here's the last chapter for tonight.
Sorry folks, but I've got to run and catch some zzzzz's
Hidden Secrets
Leona Palmer Haag
Chapter 36
Matt slept very little. He had a job to do. Two,
actually. Find a stupid tax evader to prove to his boss, Mitchell, that he
wasn't a total failure, and find his partner to prove to himself the world
wasn't in total chaos—and to spare the kid he grew up with, and prove he was
still looking out for her.
When morning finally dawned, Matthew Willard Jensen
threw the covers back and sprang out of bed. He yanked open his closet and
stared at his clothes. He chose a black shirt. Dark pants. Not the best
selection, but reminders that he was going to a funeral soon. The Red Devil's.
"You look daunting," Monica said as she
dressed.
He grinned. "I probably dressed too seriously for
what I'll be doing today."
She crossed the room and put her arms around his broad
chest and pulled him close. He reciprocated. "For a Sunday you look fine.
Did you know you prayed in your sleep last night?" she whispered.
"I didn't know I slept."
Monica's head nodded under the weight of his chin.
"You made promises."
"What kind?"
She shrugged. "You mumbled a lot and I missed
most of it, but you promised God you'd find Nick. You promised God you'd give
Jenn a diamond. You promised Jenn she'd take it. You begged her to keep it and
give one to Nick. You talked about diamonds mostly. All night long. Jenn, Nick,
diamonds and promises."
Matt looked down and Monica looked up at him with her
big blue eyes. "Diamonds?" he asked, confused.
Monica nodded. "Diamonds."
His mind spun through all references to diamonds he'd
ever heard of or could think of. "Diamonds," he echoed.
She nodded again. "In your sleep, with your eyes
shut, you said you can see clearly with diamonds."
His lips turned up in a smile. "I think you
dreamed about diamonds, baby, not me. I dream about cleaning guns, fishing,
hunting, having a dog someday, going into the office, and arranging for someone
to come and cut the lawn. I don't dream about jewels. It's not a guy
thing."
Monica smiled. "Honey, you were the one doing the
talking last night. If I'd dreamed about diamonds, I wouldn't have given them
away. Especially to Jenn. You know me. I horde diamonds."
That was true. Matt released his wife and returned to
getting dressed.
The morning ended up being wasted on surveillance that
turned up nothing. Matt tossed it aside for half an hour of worship where
chapel doors shut out the crazy world and hymns distilled over his soul,
offering peace. During the hushed quiet of the sacramental communion, Matt's
thoughts focused on God. Life. Death. Redemption. He fought to stay above the
fears washing over him that Nicholas Washington was really dead.
Dead.
It was too final.
He knew all about dead. The desperation that followed
losing your spouse. Long dark nights. Lifeless days that dragged on endlessly.
Nothing brought joy. Not the sun. Not food. Not entertainment, friends or work.
Nothing. There was nothing but cold aloneness. Terrible aloneness. Jenn wouldn’t
survive.
Matt pushed his mind past that horror and focused on
light. On God. Peace. Hope. Like diamonds. You could see clearly with diamonds.
They were like lights. God was light. Nick pushed his mind even further into
light. He vowed he'd open his eyes and see. See God. See light. See Nick. He'd
find him. Dead or alive, he'd find Nick.
Matt left the service as soon as communion finished
and the sermon began. He ducked out the side door and went back to work.
The afternoon promised nothing, but he’d thought of an
interesting place to survey. He found a bus and rode it for miles, then took a
cab and rode half a dozen miles in another direction. He walked with purpose to
a café where he ordered lunch. He ate in peace. Afterward, Matt sat on a bench
outside, and with a pocketbook he relaxed—or so it appeared. In reality he
watched. It was boringly ordinary. Kids in Sunday shorts played in a fountain
until their mother caught them. With a scoldings they were hustled off. A
little grandmother hobbled along totting a colorful bag over her shoulder. A
man sat in a cab smoking, waiting for his next fare. Tourists snapped pictures.
Peddlers hawked wares. Lovers strolled by. A man stumbled and fell. He sprawled
out on the warm cement, then struggled to rise. He jerked. He lay still.
Fresh out of church Matthew Jensen bit back ugly words
that tried to force their way out of his mouth. He had just renewed his
covenants with God and wanted to enlist Him on his side, not scare him off with
foul language when he needed God most.
He reined in his self-control and shifted his weight
casually, rather than rush to the man’s assistance. The man hadn't tripped on
uneven cobblestones and fallen. Clearly, he'd been shot. Matt's heart pounded
as his eyes searched his surroundings. He pulled his cell phone out and
pretended to dial and talk as he took photos. Not a soul would be left out. But
it probably wouldn't do any good.
Someone soon realized what had really happened and a
shrill scream filled the air. People began rushing about. Some ran to the body
and others scurried away. Some froze half between flight and curiosity. It was
always the same in that type of situation. The helpful, the shocked, the
uncaring, the curious and the frightened all reacted in the way that best
suited them.
There was never a clear-cut answer to what an
assailant's actions would be, so Matt waited and watched. Hoped to spot the
culprit. Some attackers stuck around and acted curious—just to make sure they
successfully completed their job. Some high-tailed it out and never returned.
Some left the scene, but doubled back to check. Some picked off those that
attempted to help the victim or who might have witnessed their actions.
Matt called the incident in, reaching a voice mailbox.
He left a brief message, then warily rose and moved back, acting curious, yet
frightened. From this new vantage point he could observe a little better.
Longer. Be less obvious. Maybe find clues.
A siren wailed in the distance and moved closer as it
slowly made its way through the bustling Sunday afternoon traffic. Finally it
stopped. Matt moved closer as the crowds closed in, to see what he could. To
hear what he could. It was obvious the man was dead. Matt didn't look up, but
he suspected a sniper had targeted him from above. He'd check that out later.
Two shots had taken him down.
With his phone hanging limply at his side, Matt
snapped a few photos. He'd send them into the office. Not that it would mean
anything to them. But it might. He'd use it to prove his job was dangerous when
he asked for a raise.
But the man could be a clue. He was possibly a drug
runner. An unknown key to something they were involved in. Matt looked around
and shook his head, doubting it. Among the millions of people inhabiting Mexico
City, it was practically impossible.
The dead man left in the ambulance without sirens. Matt
moved away with the throngs. He turned a corner and ran smack into a dark
haired man with his head lowered. As he excused himself, a cold blade sank deep
into his chest. Arms circled him from behind and he was dragged into a narrow
gap between the buildings where daylight refused to enter.
End Chapter 36
This time, for real, I'm shutting it down.
Goodnight...
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