Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.
Episode 14 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)
Rich pulled into a parking space at Hiram’s office building. After pulling the key from the ignition, he paused and thought, How did I get here? Did I run any lights? Geez, did I hit anyone?
He hurried to Hiram’s office, and Maxine told him to go right in. Hiram rose from his desk, and a man in a gray jacket and tie stood also. He was clean-looking and had a fresh shave and haircut.
“I’m Ned Ingram. A special agent from the CIA.”
Rich glanced at Hiram and quickly back to the agent. Rich quickly sized him up. These guys are trained liars and deceivers, he thought. I should watch myself. After all the denials, someone finally shows up.
Ingram held out his hand to shake it.
“I’d like to see your ID,” Rich said.
Ingram hesitated and reached into the inside lapel pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a leather holder and handed it to Rich. Rich looked it over and looked Ingram over. He handed the ID back to Ingram.
“How long have you been with the agency?” Rich asked.
“I’m asking the questions here,” Ingram said.
“I understand you have questions,” Rich said. “But my questions come first.”
“Ten and a half years,” Ingram said.
“Have you ever worked in the field?” Rich asked.
Ingram gave Rich a cold stare. Rich sat down, and so did Ingram.
“Did I pass?” Ingram asked.
“Agents say nothing about assignments,” Rich said.
“Why are you and your lawyer calling us and…” Ingram reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a notepad and read from it, “…and asking about a Clyde Akers.”
Hiram leaned forward. “You didn’t come all this way just to find out why we’re calling about this guy Akers. There’s something there.”
“Mr. Holiday,” Ingram said, “you’ve called half a dozen times and so has Larsen. We want to know what’s up.”
“I imagine you guys get all kinds of crackpot calls,” Rich said. “And why are you so interested in this one that you make a personal visit? Every communication from the CIA had indicated to us that Akers is lost in the shuffle, in the field somewhere, or dead.”
“You and Holiday are hardly crackpots,” Ingram said.
“Exactly,” Rich said, “and if we asked for Gomer Pyle, you wouldn’t have come here. Akers is a real person, and it concerns you that we asked about a real person.”
“Okay,” Ingram said, “why do you want to know about Akers?”
“Do you know who I am?” Rich asked.
“No, should I?” Ingram asked.
“I don’t know how the CIA works,” Rich said. “But I have been compensated by them in the past. I have helped with some covert operations which I will not talk about in Hiram’s presence or, for that matter, even in your presence.”
Ingram pressed his lips.
“Have you run my name?” Rich asked.
“Yes,” Ingram said.
“And you found nothing?”
Ingram said nothing.
“Look,” Rich said, “my back is against the wall here. This is my lawyer. Having a lawyer has nothing to do with my involvement with the CIA. My problem is that a few weeks ago, my mom and dad were murdered. And I’m the only suspect. They have no evidence that puts me at the scene when it occurred, but you know as well as I do that you can put anybody anyplace if you want to.”
“How does this affect Akers and the Agency?” Ingram asked.
“I’ve had more than one attempt on my life,” Rich said. “I have names and places. Akers must some sort of record of me. He paid me five thousand dollars. It was probably from a black budget, cover job income, ghost money, or whatever you may choose to call it.”
Ingram straightened up in his chair.
“Hit a nerve?” Rich snarked.
“What is it you want?” Ingram asked.
“I want to know if any of this is tied to anything I was involved in,” Rich said. “If it is, I sure wish in some covert manner you might persuade the local sheriff to back off and pursue some other course and clear my name.”
“I can’t guarantee anything,” Ingram said. “You seem to know more about the workings of the agency than others in a similar position to yours. However, we might be able to swap information.”
“I don’t know what information that I might have that would be useful to you,” Rich said.
“Elbert Percival,” Ingram said.
“Elbert Percival,” Rich repeated. “Never heard of him. Oh, wait. There was someone a few years ahead of me in high school. I think his name was Elbert Percival. If you could get a hold of a school annual, that might help you.”
“You teamed up with him in Africa,” Ingram said. “You made off with a large sum of money.”
“Does it look to you like I made off with a large sum of money?” Rich said. “I drive an Army surplus Jeep.”
“Maybe Percival made off with it,” Ingram said.
“And maybe the earth is flat,” Rich said.
“Where is Elbert Percival?” Ingram insisted.
“The last time I saw Elbert Percival,” Rich said, “was outside the school cafeteria smoking cigarettes with his hood friends. Wait, maybe it wasn’t him. That’s been a while, and I didn’t run with that crowd, so I may have gotten him mixed up with somebody else.”
“You’re playing games,” Ingram said.
“You have the file on me,” Rich said. “You’ve read it. Now those were games.”
Ingram stood. He handed a business card to Rich and one to Hiram.
“Mr. Larsen, if you should have a change of heart, call me. That’s my number on the card. But until you do, there’s no reason to help you.”
Ingram walked out of the room and didn’t shut the door behind him. Rich got up and shut the door. He sat back down in his chair.
Hiram clicked his cheek. “Your tax dollars at work.”
Rich stroked his chin and raised his eyebrows at Hiram. “Are you still my lawyer?”
“More than ever,” Hiram said. “I suppose that envelope you gave me is a complete report on all your dealings with the CIA.”
“I left a lot of things out,” Rich said.
“Things that have to do with Elbert Percival,” Hiram said.
“Exactly,” Rich said. “He’s a good and decent man. He broke free from the craziness he was involved in. He leads a quiet life. He’s married and has a child.”
“He must mean a lot to you,” Hiram said. “Giving him up, it sounds like you could be let off the hook.”
“We’ve been through a lot together,” Rich said. “If not for him, I might be dead. And if not for me, he might be dead. There’s no way I would give him up.”
“So,” Rich smacked his hands on his thighs, “besides Ingram, what else is cookin’?”
“The prosecutor is supposed to call me after lunch,” Hiram said. “He sounded to me like the cat who swallowed the canary. I think he has something. It’s probably nothing. They always promise filet mignon and deliver hamburger.”
“By the way,” Hiram said, “how are you holding out?”
“I’m fine,” Rich said. "The Hillcrest is not exactly the Waldorf Astoria. What I pay a night at the Hillcrest will get me a shoe shine at the Waldorf.”
“If the prosecutor doesn’t charge you in another week, ignore them and take off. Leave them a contact number or tell them you’ll contact them as soon as you settle in.”
“Is that a lawyer speaking or a friend?” Rich asked.
“Both,” Hiram said. “The prosecutor and the sheriff’s department are playing this as secret as my grandma’s cookie recipe. She took it to the grave.”
“That doesn’t stop the newspaper from suggesting,” Rich said. “Some of the stuff they are printing is libelous.”
“That reminds me,” Hiram said. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t want you to think this is escaping my attention. If this goes to trial, because of the libelous nature of those articles, we can ask for a change of venue. We can get this tried on the other side of the state. And after that, we sue for damages. When this is all over, you may own the newspaper.”
Rich tipped his brow. “I’ll be back at the motel. My soap opera is about to start.”
