Mindtease

Chapter 38

Kirk paused on the sidewalk, reaching into his jacket pocket to glance at the surprise he had found earlier. It was a hotel keycard for room 357 at the Monarch Hotel.

"The jogger," Kirk said aloud to no one in particular. A jogger had earlier bumped him...and resumed his jog after profuse apologies. It was only later that Kirk had found the item in his jacket.

Replacing the keycard, Kirk glanced at the front of the Monarch Hotel...a hotel that imitated the generic hotels and motels with a flashy, kingly logo. Sighing, Kirk went into the hotel for his mysterious rendezvous with whom had put the key into his pocket.

"Whomever...or whatever," Kirk muttered as he entered the lobby.

# # #

Kirk admired the lettering of 3-5-8 in black on the tarnished brass insignia of the door. The corridor was darkly lit, with a lingering musty odor from countless guests and numerous vacuuming over the years.

Pulling the keycard from his pocket, Kirk inserted it into the electronic lock. Quickly pulling the keycard from the lock, the indicator glowed red...then went green. Kirk turned the handle, opening the door. Light spilled out into the corridor invitingly. Kirk walked in, allowing the door to silently close behind him.

After a few moments, Kirk gazed at the brightly lit room. The room was large, with a sitting area, writing desks, two large king-sized beds, several windows--the heavy velvet drapes drawn. In the sitting area of a couch, table, chairs sat three men casually.

"Forrest Kirkland McCord?" a man asked in a deep voice, dressed in a grey suit.

"Kirk," answered Kirk evenly...casually tossing the hotel keycard at the three men. The keycard clattered on the table, and fell onto the carpeted floor.

The man in the grey suit looked at his two companions, dressed in dark, black suits.

Kirk felt out of place in his jeans, faded polo shirt, jacket, and running shoes.

"Well...this is very cliché," Kirk said loudly, his tone sardonic.

"Have a seat," another man said rising and gesturing to a vacant chair.

"Who are you?" Kirk asked demandingly.

"Please sit Kirk," the seated man said as his companion sat down.

Kirk glanced at the trio of strangers and realized they were CIA, FBI, NSA, or some covert black ops agency.

"We just want to talk," the other man said coolly, "but first sit down...please."

Kirk strode to the chair, pulled it some distance from the three men, and sat...ready to spring at a moment's notice.

"Thank you Kirk," the grey-suited man said, "I'm Dr. Winters."

"Doctor of what?" Kirk responded.

Winters smiled, a cool, oily, professional smile...a smile of evasion.

"I have credentials in many fields of study, but I was...or am a psychiatrist."

Kirk nodded to Winters in acknowledgement, noticing a briefcase on the table...the simulated black leather blending into the dark table surface. Some dastardly briefs or reports Kirk mused to himself.

"Would you like something to drink...coffee, cola, a snack?" asked one of the men seated at the table.

The man asking seemed edgy, uncomfortable in a business suit. Military black ops guy Kirk thought inwardly...out of uniform and no longer commanding a unit.

"No...nothing...what do you want?" Kirk demanded with a hint of impatience.

"To talk to you Kirk," said Winters his voice trailing off.