Apart - 2
Roy followed him to the lobby, calling his name.
"Mattlock! Where are you going?"
He thought it was obvious.
"To find C.J. and talk her out of this."
With that vague explanation he wasn't sure what "this" meant, but he knew Matt couldn't get behind a wheel. He thought that was obvious.
"Look at you! There's no way you're going anywhere. How much did you have to drink last night?"
"I'm not drunk and anyway there's no time to waste. I've got to find C.J. before she does something rash."
Something rash? It wasn't C.J.'s style, unlike her longtime friend and co-worker. But what would cause Matt to be so agitated? Did something happen between these two? What was going on?
Roy felt powerless to stop him as he helplessly watched him go onto the elevator. He retreated into the office to make a phone call.
"Hello… Lt. Hoyt please..."
Matt sped along the familiar streets to C.J.'s house breaking a few traffic laws and garbage cans along the way. His thoughts were a mixture of the words in her letter and the explanation he'd give Los Angeles' finest if he was pulled over.
He made it in one piece and pulled up along the curb of her house not bothering with a good parking job. He climbed out, rushed up to the door and pounded on it furiously, briefly noting the "For Sale" sign in the front yard.
"C.J.!" he called out. "C.J.!"
As he waited, his pulse doubled, than tripled in time. Either she wasn't home or she wasn't answering. So true-to-form, he didn't bother with the spare key on his key ring and kicked the door in with his foot. With his adrenalin in high gear, the motion was so forceful it opened right away.
"C.J.!" he called out again, his voice echoing in the usually cozy house. There wasn't much around except furniture. He ran from room to room, opening closets and drawers, finding them empty. The usual personal items were absent. Her plants were gone. She was gone.
A uniformed cop appeared at the door.
"Hello?" he called out, gently knocking on the busted door. "Mr. Houston?"
Matt turned and leered at him.
"Are you Matt Houston?"
"Who wants to know?" he replied sharply.
"Lt. Hoyt sent me. He got a call from your uncle, said he you were driving impaired."
Matt rolled his eyes and ignored responding to him, seemingly preoccupied. Think, he said to himself. Where could she be?
"The airport," he noted as soon as the idea popped into his head. "I've got to get to the airport!" he exclaimed as he rushed to the door.
"Mr. Houston!" the officer called out. But Matt was too fast and pushed right past him, jumping into the car without opening the door first. He immediately turned the key and sped away, leaving the dumbfounded officer in the dust.
She stared out the window of her airplane seat, picturing Matt heroically storming the runway, fighting his way on the plane and declaring his love for her.
No. Stop.
That wouldn't solve anything. He'd probably only be good to her for a little while, then find another skirt to chase. She was doing the right thing in leaving. In only a matter of weeks, she'd realize she made the right decision and wished she had done it sooner.
Still she second-guessed herself. Was she overreacting? Was she being too hasty? No, she reminded herself. She had tried talking to him, hoping he'd get her subtle hints that she didn't want him marrying Saint Lizzy. Matt knew C.J. better than anyone. Only a cad would refuse to see how much she loved him.
A tear fell on her cheek as she looked out the window.
"So, you're C.J. Parsons," a man suddenly said.
She turned away from the window and looked at the man, taken aback at first by his bold demeanor. She stalled from answering a second, sizing up this handsome man who just interrupted her thoughts.
"Yes…" she said, clearing her throat and wiping away the tear.
"That'll be the last time anyone calls you that. From now on you'll be known as Agent Sunflower."
With short dark hair, cut close as if he was in the military, the man seemed to be oxymoron unto himself as his short well-maintained hair juxtaposed with his three-day old stubble.
"I like sunflowers."
"Good. By the way, welcome to the company. I'm agent Froggie and this is our pilot Scooter," he said, offering his hand.
Froggie? Scooter? The nicknames changed her mood as she found herself almost bursting out laughing.
"Hi. Nice to meet you."
"Hi," Scooter reciprocated, a large, dark-skinned man in his mid thirties with an unlit cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.
"I know my superiors gave you a vague description of the plan a couple of weeks ago…" Froggie started.
"Yes," she said, anticipating more details.
"Well, our plane will be headed east, slated to arrive in London in 11 hours. But we'll actually be arriving near Virginia Beach, over a remote island where we'll put the plane on autopilot. When it runs out of fuel it'll take a swan dive in the Atlantic, hopefully missing the few unlucky fish that happen to be in the area."
"How will we…" she started to ask when Scooter handed her what looked to be a parachute.
"Ever jump out of a plane at five thousand feet?"
She narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. No, out of all her adventures with Matt, she didn't recall any plane jumps. Kidnapped, shot, terrorized, stalked yes. Plane jumps no.
She shook her head.
"Oh well. You look like you're in pretty good shape. We won't be jumping for at least five hours. There's plenty of time to give you all the step-by-step instructions."
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and digesting this news. "Oh, um, Froggie?" she hesitatingly asked, finding it difficult to call such a tall athletic man that nickname.
"Yes…"
"When the Coast Guard finds our plane …"
"They'll all think we're dead. Which will give you a chance to start over with a new identity, which is exactly what's necessary working for us."
Dead. That word shot through her like a bullet. But it didn't seem to phase Froggie as he continued on.
"By the way, we're real glad to have you. You've got quite a resume. Very impressive."
"Thank you."
"You'll be a valuable resource."
Scooter chimed in. "And it won't hurt that you're a good-looking dame either."
Froggie nudged him. "Scoot!"
Scooter dismissed the notion. "What?"
He rolled his eyes. "That's a sexist remark if there ever was one."
She made a face, suppressing a grin, glad Froggie came to her defense before she gave Scooter a short speech about gender equality.
"I'm not being sexist. I'm just saying there's way too many ugly bums in our company. It'll be nice having a female who's easy on the eyes. It'll break up the monotony."
Froggie shook his head and caught C.J.'s facial expression, sharing a smile. She didn't think anything was ugly about either one of them. In a way they reminded her of her late friend Too Mean and Matt.
"Do you have any last minute questions before we take off?" Froggie asked.
"No," she started, then changed her mind. "Wait."
"Yes ..."
"Well I was just thinking … my friends, family…what I'll be putting them through."
"Yes. That's a tough one. We've all been through it. It's unfortunately necessary in our line of work."
She saw his face grow somber for that last statement, wondering what his story was.
"Yes, of course."
"Well, we'll be taking off in ten minutes. Better fasten your seatbelt."