On the Run

I was whimpering when Maizie woke me up. I could still hear myself as her wet sloppy kiss nearly dislodged my mustache. Tears were still running down my cheeks as I sat up in bed and started to take stock of my situation.

4:00 a.m.

I’d been dreaming, obviously. I was still caught between that fully submerged state of subconscious synapse firings and objective awareness of my surroundings. The bed wasn’t mine, but no one else was in it with me, except Maizie.

Maizie. I’d spent the night in Dag’s bed. I’d fallen asleep with my face buried in his pillow begging a man who wasn’t there for help in a problem he didn’t know existed. And people who I trusted were trying to arrest me. I felt my head and for a moment didn’t recognize myself.

I ran to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t even recognize myself behind the disguise. My makeup was a little smeared from the tears and sweat, but a little touch-up and it was soon put to rights. I took a sponge bath, careful not to splash any more water on my face or head.

I dried myself off and caught a full-length image of myself in the mirror. Unbelievable that this little bald guy with the mustache and goatee had perky little breasts and a tiny waist. And no other accoutrements. Well, nobody was going to get that close a look at me. I had to figure out what to do and where to go. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be that long before Silas thought to look in Dag’s apartment, if he hadn’t already.

I put my clothes in Dag’s closet. He’d showed me a couple of secret compartments in his closet when I was here over Thanksgiving weekend. He was so proud of all the little gizmos he’d built into the apartment. I couldn’t believe that he hadn’t remembered anything about that day when he woke up, nor did he remember it before he died. I’d felt so intimate with him. He was sharing such secrets with me. I opened one of the hidden drawers to put my photos in and saw his car keys. That gave me an idea.

I dressed and took Maizie out. One thing that Dag taught me about field work was never to leave anything behind that I couldn’t do without. I loaded my pockets with cash, slung my computer bag over my shoulder and made sure that I had my ID. Everything that might give evidence regarding who I was or that I was in disguise was hidden.

Maizie dragged me down the hill toward the office and I reluctantly followed. Her goal, however, was not the office, but the coffee shop on lower Queen Anne near the Seattle Center. I slipped into Tosoni’s the minute the door was unlocked. It might not be a great idea, but I could really use a good cup of coffee.

The barista came around the corner of the counter and stopped short when she saw Maizie.

“Maizie?” she asked. “Is that you girl?” Maizie obligingly waved a paw and sat up to beg for a biscuit that the barista gave to her. She took it to a corner of the coffee shop and lay down to focus on the treat. “Excuse me for asking,” the barista said, “but who are you and what are you doing with Dag’s dog?” I’d prepared for this, but I wasn’t that confident.

“I rented this apartment up the hill and the dog kind of moved in with me,” I said. “I figured she should be walked and she practically dragged me in here. Could I get an Americano?”

She nodded and went to get the drink. I sat beside Maizie and looked at the newspaper. A few minutes later the barista set a drink beside me. I thanked her and took a sip. It was a non-fat latte, and perhaps the best I’d ever tasted.

“Mmmm. That’s good,” I said without thinking. “I mean… I think I ordered an Americano, but this is fine anyway. Thank you.”

“Funny, when you were in here the other night you ordered a non-fat latte. I must have gotten the drinks confused,” she answered.

“I’ve never been in here before,” I said.”

“Look,” she answered. “You are good, but I’m psychic. You don’t have a man’s aura about you, and Maizie just exudes love for you. You are the woman who told me about Dag’s funeral. And I’ve got to thank you for that. He was a good man and I miss him every morning.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I answered. “I’m James Whitcomb. I’ve never been in here before.”

“Deb Riley,” she said. “That’s the name. You see, I don’t remember people’s faces or often their names. I remember their drinks. You walk in and order one drink and I’ve got you for life. Take Dag, for instance. He drank what he liked to call a 50/50. It was basically an Americano, but with the same amount of hot water as of espresso. He liked the crema on top and just used the hot water to keep the coffee hot a while longer while he sipped it. You were a non-fat latte the first time you walked in, and I will always recognize you. You know Dag used to sit in that chair for about half an hour every morning. I’d look at him with the 50/50 every day. I knew when he walked through the door. But I couldn’t tell you a single thing about what his face looked like. Don’t know what it is, I just don’t remember faces.”

“How can I convince you?” I asked.

“Well, if you are going to be in disguise, don’t take Maizie with you. There’s a magic pairing that occurs between a man and his dog. I only say man because you want me to believe you are a man right now,” the barista paused. Jackie. That was her name, I recalled finally. “And there was something about your walk. You seemed hesitant this morning. You didn’t think it was a good idea to come in here.” The door opened and two policemen walked in. “Thank you Mr. Whitcomb,” she said turning away from me and going to get coffee for the officers. I continued reading the paper, glancing over it occasionally to see if they showed signs of recognizing me. There wasn’t a glimmer. They took their coffee in paper cups and left the shop.

I looked over at Jackie and she smiled at me. “You are safe here,” she said. “Anytime.”

I thanked her, paid for my drink and left a generous tip, and left. I never actually admitted to being Deb Riley, but I felt I could trust her. We’ll see.

When Maizie and I got back up to the house, there were two dark sedans pulled up out front and lights were on in Dag’s apartment. I took Maizie’s leash off and pointed to the house.

“Go home, Maizie,” I said. “Go on.” She hesitated a minute, but she seemed to get the message. She headed for the door like a shot. I turned and headed downhill again toward the garage where Dag kept his yellow Mustang.