4. Doug

FOUR

DOUG

Road-trip or road-kill? A lost work by Wm. Shakespeare.

Assignment. Missing agents. Last known location: Las Vegas, NV.

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had Doug wishing he kept antacids at hand.

No pressure. Find the agents, dead or alive. Preferably alive.

At least one was an agent he'd personally trained and signed off on as fit for field duty. What the fuck was going on? Or was he finding drama where there was none? Agents went into dangerous situations all the time. Usually, they returned. Sometimes they didn't.

Sighing, Doug slid his phone back into his car's cup holder.

The very-close-but-avoided debacle at the mall had been interesting. The whole thing had been a test, of course— Thank you for that, April —to see if Nick Sedgewick really could do what SPAM suspected.

The kid could turn back time. Just a little, it appeared, and Nick didn't seem to think it was a big deal. But it was. They'd been able to get inside the chain bookstore before the local police. Doug had been able to whisk Rodney the Rodent away from the scene and take him to the SPAM agents waiting in a black SUV.

Rodney was ex-SPAM, which said a lot—or a little, depending on how a person thought about it. Unlike Doug, Rodney hadn't retired. He'd been escorted off the SPAM premises months ago. That had gone down in Seattle, but Doug had been on the sidelines, and when Rodney moved south, SPAM had been concerned enough to keep an eye on him.

"What happened back there?" Nick asked, looking a tad bewildered.

"We sort of saved the day. That's what SPAM does."

"Okaaaay," Nick said skeptically. "Who was that guy?"

With any luck, Rodney would get the help he needed this time, not just be released back into the general population. Doug chose to ignore Nick's question. There was only so much the kid could take in a day. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw it was about time to head home.

"We have an assignment, starting tomorrow. Pack some clothes. Bring the suit you're wearing now. Maybe don't bring the turtle."

"Don't bring Tim? What am I supposed to do with him? Just leave him to starve?"

"Maybe put him back where you found him?" Doug suggested.

"The parking lot?" Nick's voice rose in indignation. "I'm not heartless."

The like you are was not spoken out loud but heavily implied.

"Look, Sedgewick. We have an assignment, starting tomorrow. In Las Vegas. I don't fly. Not in airplanes, not in any other way. We need to be on the road at oh seven hundred. Do not be late."

"Or what? You're going to fire me?"

Now the kid sounded a bit hopeful. As if, ever so slowly, he was realizing that maybe he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

"Nope. You're hired. It's hard to get fired from SPAM." Unless you were Rodney, of course, but Doug wasn't telling Nick that. "In fact, give me your address and I'll pick you up."

"Report."

Just the single word. April's voice sounded scratchy over the Zoom call. Today her screen showed a shot of Dame Judi Dench playing M in a James Bond flick. Good mood? Or bad mood? To this day, Doug still had no idea.

"It went well. The kid managed to get us there in time."

"Excellent. Tomorrow you're heading to Las Vegas."

Doug chose not to point out he already knew that. He really wanted those retirement benefits.

"Do you have any idea who's behind this?" Doug asked his boss.

"Rumors. Nothing substantiated. No names."

Disturbing. Usually, they had at least some idea of who and what they were up against.

"This is wonderful. I love being sent in with a novice agent against an unknown enemy."

"Are you saying you aren't up to this assignment?"

"No. I am not saying that."

Doug glanced at his precious calendar. T-minus one hundred and eighty-two days at this point . As soon as he was done for the day.

"I'll get to the bottom of this."

"You'll need Agent Sedgewick."

Doug ground his teeth. He hated Vegas. It was hot and full of people. And full of people, he added a second time, just to make it three things he hated. He grimaced when he realized what he'd done; Sedgewick was contagious.

"Agent Carroll is one of the missing."

Dammit . Doug managed—barely—not to pound his fist against his desk.

"Do not let Agent Sedgewick out of your sight."

"Have I ever let you down?"

There was a certain silence. Yes. He had let the agency down the minute he set down his weapon and refused to take any more lives. Long Shot literally couldn't miss his target, so Doug had put his guns down forever. If something, or someone, needed to be taken care of, Doug would use experience, skill, and treachery to get the job done.

Never weapons. Never again.

After a decent night's sleep—because he hadn't killed anyone the day before—Doug arrived promptly at six forty-five a.m. at the address Agent Sedgewick had provided. He didn't want to knock on the front door of the shabby bungalow, but ten minutes after the appointed time, he was considering changing his mind. Sedgewick was still nowhere in sight.

Doug was about to give in and find out for himself what was keeping the younger man when the door opened and his newest partner emerged. He was wearing the suit from yesterday and inexplicably carrying…

Was that the fucking turtle?

Doug opened his door and stepped out on to the parking strip.

"No."

"No, what?" Sedgewick said in a way that told Doug he knew exactly what no meant.

"No to turtles."

"My aunt says Tim can't stay here. She thinks he's possessed. She insists he talked to her last night," Sedgewick called over to where Doug waited. "We can take my car if that's the issue. I'm pretty sure it will make it."

"Pretty sure it will make it? That's not a great endorsement. What did this turtle?—"

"Tim," Sedgewick corrected, approaching Doug and the car. "And he is an endangered desert tortoise. Not a turtle."

Was he going to give in and call this reptile Tim? Or was he going to stand on the sidewalk and argue with Agent Sedgewick while every second meant more traffic on the road?

"Tim," Doug ground out.

Should they take Agent Sedgewick's car instead of his? The Pontiac had legroom. Doug's car was more fuel efficient. Sedgewick's car was over twenty years old. Doug knew his way around a car's engine. Legroom won out.

"We'll take your car. But I'm driving."

"What is it with you and being in charge?" Sedgewick complained.

"I like knowing someone competent is behind the wheel."

Muttering, Sedgewick set the turtle down on the scrubby brown front lawn and dug into his suit jacket pocket, eventually pulling out his car keys. He clicked the fob at the Pontiac parked in the short driveway.

"Load up your stuff," he told Doug. "I'll go get my suitcase. And I'll tell my aunt that your car will be parked on the street for a few days. How long are we going to be gone?"

"Depends on how long our assignment takes us, doesn't it?"

Agent Sedgewick mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like asshole and disappeared back inside the house.

With his roller bag stowed safely in the back of the larger vehicle, Doug moved to the front and got in behind the wheel. He wasn't touching the tortoise. Sedgewick re-emerged from the bungalow with a too-large suitcase, bumped it down the front steps, and threw it in the back with Doug's. Then he carefully picked up Tim—Jesus, Doug was calling the turtle Tim now—and set it on the back seat.

"I think we're good to go now," Sedgewick said, brushing himself off before getting in the front passenger seat.

"Are you sure? You didn't leave your toothbrush or stuffy behind?"

"My what?" He scowled at Doug. "You know what, never mind."

"This article claims that social isolation is one of the biggest dangers facing senior citizens. It was written by several doctors, and they cite a large study of the elderly."

Sedgewick had been quiet for too long. Doug had almost caved and asked how he was doing but had decided to enjoy the silence. Instinct or maybe a premonition told him that Sedgewick wouldn't stay silent for the entire trip.

"Excuse me, what?" Doug was focused on the two semitrucks that were trying their best to make a Pontiac sandwich between cargo container slices. "Motherfuckers, share the fucking road."

Ignoring Doug's outburst, Sedgewick continued, "It says here that social isolation is dangerous. You said yesterday that you plan to move to a cabin somewhere. Your mental capacities will suffer without anyone to interact with."

"My mental capacities are just fine."

"But as a senior citizen, they are diminishing—or they will when you are all by yourself up on this mountain you're talking about."

"The good thing about being alone is I can't kill anyone."

Like Agent Nick Sedgewick for instance. Doug was fully aware Sedgewick was doing his best to needle him, but he wondered how far he'd take it. Two could play this game.

"I suppose," Sedgewick responded somewhat doubtfully. "But I'm not sure that's the upside you think it is. What happens if you fall and can't get up?"

"What happens if I… fall and can't get up?"

The semi on the right drifted into their lane again.

"Motherfucker." Doug punched the gas and got nothing. The speedometer didn't budge.

"Sorry, this car doesn't have a lot of pick up and go. I usually toss a prayer to the patron saint of Pontiacs."

The patron saint of Pontiacs had taken one look at this car and tossed in the towel.

"You're the one who insisted on taking your car," Doug ground out, not loosening his death grip on the steering wheel. He wondered if his molars were going to survive Agent Sedgewick and this drive.

"I like my car. Your car looks like it would be uncomfortable even for clowns."

Sedgewick wasn't wrong. Doug had bought the thing thinking he was being environmentally friendly. Currently, he wanted to trade it in for a huge 4x4. With a V-8 engine.

The semi on the right merged onto the exit lane and departed the highway. Doug breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Back to this article. I found quite a few of them actually. I'm surprised you didn't research all this before you bought your property in nowhere-land. According to the Canadian Medical Society, lonely seniors are more likely to suffer from dementia. I already noted your memory issues yesterday. You know, I'm not convinced this is a good plan on your part."

Doug tuned Sedgewick's voice out. Or did his best to. He was actually tempted to turn the radio on even if it meant listening to Sedgewick's questionable music choices—or worse, talk radio. He hated talk radio.

"Oh, wow, here they say some symptoms are having headaches, feeling ill, having pains, feeling tired, having sleep problems, or lacking motivation. Also, depression, feeling anxious, having panic attacks, or feeling paranoid."

Out of the corner of his eye, Doug saw Sedgewick turn and look at him.

"This is serious. I think you should reconsider."

Driving to Las Vegas normally took Doug about twelve hours, more if he obeyed the speed limit. He pressed his foot against the gas pedal again. He couldn't guarantee Sedgewick would still be alive in ten hours. Doug focused instead on the two-bedroom suite waiting for them. A door between him and Sedgewick was an excellent idea.

"Starting a gym is a much better idea for you. Keeping all those muscles strong and blood flowing—not blood outside your body, of course. You'd get to be around people and help them. Oh! I know, you could start a gym for old people like yourself! You'd be doing yourself and all senior citizens a favor. Yes, that is a great plan."

Repressing the smile that threatened to curve his lips, Doug snuck a quick glance over at Sedgewick. Was he for real? How old did he think Doug was? The corner of Sedgewick's lip twitched upward.

Ass . Narrowing his eyes, Doug refocused on the highway ahead of them.

"Wow," said Nick, his head swiveling around.

"Never been to Vegas before?"

"Nope."

"Ah." Doug didn't know how to respond, what to say to a Vegas virgin. Vegas was… Vegas. You loved it or hated it. Doug hated it. Rich had talked him into taking a mini vacation there just last year, and the trip had obviously been a test Doug failed. Their last hurrah before the sparkly gigolo.

He turned left, managing to get behind a pink limousine packed with what looked like a bachelorette or wedding party. A heavily made-up young woman was standing up and waving from the moon roof while her friends egged her on.

People thronged the sidewalks. Couples, singles, families. Hawkers with stacks of flyers were shoving them at the people who were passing by.

"Oh, what's that?"

The first lines of Viva Las Vegas had started to play and spouts of water shot up into the night sky in front of a glitzy building next to them, dancing to the Elvis song.

"The Bellagio fountain."

"That's so cool. Are we staying there?"

From the tone of his voice, Sedgewick had just become the most recent fan of the dancing fountain. Even Doug had to admit it was alright.

Doug scoffed at the idea of their employer footing the bill at the Bellagio. "SPAM got us a suite in a hotel a little further down."

When he reached the end of the Strip, Doug took a right and veered into the parking lot of the address he'd been given.

"This is it."

This was it? Was SPAM management serious?

Doug stared around at what was clearly not a suite but in fact a room with one queen-sized bed. The desk clerk had informed them that the World of Concrete Convention was in town and the entire city was basically sold out. Their reservations had been bumped or "lost" in favor of the Golden Trowel Awards.

What the fuck?

"But you're in luck. We have a single queen. It doesn't have the best view, but it's all we have," the young woman said.

What the actual fuck?

Doug rubbed his bum leg. He was going to kill April when he got his hands on her. When he finally met her in person.

"Um," Sedgewick said, looking around. "Maybe we can call down for a hideaway bed? But hey, there's a great view of the air-conditioning units." He nodded toward the window with a view of the rooftop next door.

Nick had Tim tucked under one arm, refusing to leave him in the car after he had set him down in the parking lot to "do his business." Tim appeared to be a well-mannered reptile, if there was such a thing.

"We don't have time to deal with this. We need to check out a place called The Ace of Clubs. Lives are at stake." Doug didn't know why SPAM had assigned him this job. He was not good at undercover work and suspected that Sedgewick would be worse. Maybe that was the point? Maybe no one would suspect he and Sedgewick were agents.

"Put the damn—put Tim down and get cleaned up, then we'll check out the scene. I want to know what we're getting ourselves into."

Looking a little lost, Sedgewick set Tim down on the carpet and opened up his suitcase. Doug refused to feel sorry for him. This was the life of a SPAM agent and a person had to roll with the punches. Or whams.

"My suit is pretty wrinkled after ten hours in the car," Sedgewick pointed out.

Doug inspected his new partner. He was rumpled all over. Doug refused to find it charming. It was fucking charming.

"Change into something more club-like."

What that looked like, Doug didn't know. The last time he'd been clubbing, Agent Sedgewick had probably been a toddler.

"What are you going to wear?" Sedgewick asked.

"Why are we debating what I'm going to wear?"

"We aren't. I was curious." Nick looked slightly hurt.

"Just… go change. And hang your suit up while you're at it. We'll send it down to be pressed."

When Sedgewick stepped out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, Doug barely avoided swallowing his tongue. Sinfully tight black jeans and a pink t-shirt with a large kiss print covering the front of it left nothing to Doug's imagination. Or anyone else's. Sedgewick had also done something to his hair that made it look sexy instead of as if he'd gone to bed with it still damp.

Doug's lips parted, but only for a second. He snapped them shut before he could say anything inappropriate.

"That'll do."

Sedgewick's dark eyebrows drew together. "This will do? I think maybe you do need glasses. This is a damn fine outfit."

"I do not need glasses," Doug informed him. "I have 20/10 vision."

"Pfftt, no one has 20/10 vision, you made that up. And anyway, you have reading glasses."

"I do too—" Doug stopped himself. He suspected Sedgewick's other subpower was arguing. "I am not arguing with you about this. We need to get going."

"You're wearing that?" Nick asked in a way that told Doug he wasn't.