EVIL DEEDS

EVIL DEEDS, PART III, Chapters 11-15

                                                                        CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michael jumped at the sound of the ringing telephone in his off-base apartment. He grabbed the receiver and sat up on the couch. “Hello,” he said, clearing his throat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He searched for the remote to the television, found it on the floor in front of the couch, and pressed the power button, shutting off the set.

“Michael, is that you?”

Michael became immediately alert. “Miriana?”

Miriana giggled. “How are you?” she asked.

“I’d be a lot better if I was there . . . with you. But things are going well. The unit is ready to go.”

“I . . . I vish you vere not leaving so soon. Is there chance you could get away for a day?”

Michael smiled to himself. He loved Miriana’s accent. She sounded like Natasha in the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon series. “No hope of that. I barely get time off at night. Besides, we’re restricted to the Fayetteville area.”

“I knew you vould say that,” Miriana said, giggling again. “I am here in Fayetteville. Can you come to my motel?”

Michael felt a surge of heat go through him; his throat tightened with excitement. “You’re kidding!”

“No, I am not kidding. I am in room 116 at Rebel Inn. I am tired from long bus ride. I am starved. I do not like being alone.” She sounded as though she was scolding him, but then she laughed.

Michael checked his watch. “It’s 9:30; I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He replaced the receiver and made a mad scramble for the bedroom. After changing into a clean shirt and brushing his teeth, he raced out the apartment door, took the steps three at a time to the first floor, ran to his car, and broke several traffic laws while he sped down Persons Avenue, Fayetteville’s main drag. He goosed the Porsche to seventy miles an hour. The brassy lights of the strip joints and fast food restaurants seemed to be one continuous blur. He whipped into the Rebel Inn’s gravel parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of room 116. She opened the door before he could knock.

When the Porsche roared into the parking lot, Vitas knew his hunch had been correct. Two birds instead of one. Killing Danforth’s son would feel just right.

He glared at them while they embraced at the door of her room. When they shut the door, he banged the steering wheel and muttered, “She is mine!”

Vitas opened the car door and hesitated a moment before stepping out onto the loose gravel. He grunted a bear-like sound and stretched his tired frame. Lack of sleep had left him bone-tired. Clenching his hands, he took two paces toward the room, but the door suddenly opened again. He quickly turned his back and just stood there, hoping they wouldn’t notice him. He heard them laugh, the sounds of their feet crunching on the gravel, then the Porsche’s doors opening and closing. A moment later, he heard the throaty tone of the sports car’s engine.

Vitas rushed back to his car and started the engine. The Porsche had turned left out of the parking lot, but by the time Vitas pulled out onto the street, it had disappeared. He exhaled a mighty sigh. He could only hope they would be back. The girl had not taken her suitcase.

He walked to the motel office and paid for a room of his own, purposefully requesting a room on the same side as the girl’s. He would catch a nap while the lovebirds were gone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The clock-radio alarm went off at eleven-thirty p.m. Fully clothed, except for his shoes, Vitas rolled out of bed and peeked through the purple curtains. The Porsche was not in the lot. He fell back onto his bed and used the remote control to turn on the television. He flipped through the channels until he found CNN, and waited patiently through sports and U.S. national news for coverage of the conflict between the Serbs and NATO. It gave him a rush to think about how the little Balkan country had the whole western world by the balls.