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Warren Kepler
August 23, 1992
Hwy 204 N, Manitoba
--
Kepler was boiling. The back cabin of the Bronco was reaching 32° C, and climbing. Wedged between Maxwell and Jacobi, Kepler felt heat radiating from either side. Hot August air passed through the open window, but at a crawling 56 km/hour, it provided him little relief. Occasionally, a waft of cool air would travel backward from the AC unit. Up ahead, Cutter and Pryce were unbothered, basking in the shower of chilled air.
“I spy with my little eye something that is…red.” Maxwell said, and rested her right arm on, what Kepler presumed to be, the scalding metal of the windowsill.
“The sash on your hat?” Jacobi asked, and shimmied to face the dry expanse of the Canadian prairie. “The siding on that barn?”
“Mr. Jacobi’s seasonally inappropriate sweatshirt?” Cutter said, chiming in.
“No. No. And, close.” Maxwell said.
In the rearview mirror, Kepler caught Pryce’s eye. She scowled at him, and sunk farther down into her seat. Despite her full access to the AC unit, Pryce looked to be as miserable as Kepler felt. Pryce saw no joy in Maxwell’s game of I Spy. Cutter, however, delighted in the distraction. So far, Pryce had kept that misery to herself.
“Uh.” Jacobi said, and examined his state of dress. “Oh! My patch. I’m right. Maxwell? Tell me, I’m right.”
“Yep.” Maxwell said, and Cutter groaned, albeit in a good spirit. “That’s twelve for Jacobi. Five for myself. And three for Mr. Cutter. Jacobi? It’s your turn.”
The game continued, with Jacobi in the lead, for another thirteen minutes. Kepler even joined in for a round, if only to spite Pryce. But, the fun came to an end, as did their three-hour drive, when the Bronco lulled to the side of the road.
“Oh! We’re here.” Cutter said, and confirmed his announcement with a side glance at the GPS. “And ahead of schedule.”
Looking around, Kepler felt uncertain. As far as he could tell, Cutter had stalled the Bronco on a random snippet of the 204. Apart from the low hills in the distance, the only landmark in sight was the luminescent green of a battered mileage sign. It wasn’t much of a destination.
“We’re here already? The High and Lonesome?” Maxwell asked, and fidgeted with the window crank. “But, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were going someplace, you know, indoors.”
“With air conditioning.” Jacobi said. “And a minibar. And maybe a pool. I’m toasting alive back here.”
“In due time.” Cutter said. “But, for now. Here we are.” He offered Maxwell and Jacobi a faux smile. “I know! Why don’t the two of you go retrieve your luggage. You’ll be needing it shortly.”
Maxwell and Jacobi, as instructed, exited the Bronco. Kepler considered following them. He would have, but he had yet to be dismissed. Pryce watched Kepler, impassive, from the front seat. Neither she nor Cutter gave any indication as to whether Kepler should stay put or join his team.
“Sir?” Kepler asked. He leaned toward Cutter, and in doing so, broke the seal of sweat between Kepler’s damp shirt and the faux leather seat. “Is there anything else?”
“I’m glad you asked, Warren.” Cutter said. “Miranda and I will be off soon. But, don’t you worry! I’ve made arrangements for you.” Cutter tapped down twice on the dashboard clock. “We are a bit early, as I’ve said. You might have to wait just a teensy bit. I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you.”
“No sir. Not a problem.” Kepler said. “But, I don’t understand. What are we waiting for?”
“A ride, silly.” Cutter said, and laughed airily. “Unless you expect to walk. Which, I wouldn’t suggest. Not in this weather. It’s quite unbearable out there!”
His answer did little to satisfy Kepler’s curiosity. Cutter was a cryptic man. Reading people was a skill, one that Kepler was still refining. Pryce, however, had it perfected. On cue, Pryce began to translate.
“We’re done here.” Pryce said, and placed her sunglasses atop her head. “Get out.”
He scowled, but heeded Pryce. With no addition from Cutter, Kepler stepped out of the Bronco, and into the glaring heat of the Canadian prairie.
--
Daniel Jacobi
August 23, 1992
???, Manitoba
--
Jacobi couldn’t sit still. He was hot, bored, and more than a little bit irritated. Kepler and Maxwell, however, appeared comfortable. They were perched atop their luggage, unbothered by the abrupt departure of their employer. For Jacobi, their nonchalance was almost as irritating as his current situation.
“He’s trying to kill me.” Jacobi said, pacing frantically along the thin strip of roadside gravel. “Remember Steinbach? I fucked up big. And, Cutter? He never said a word about it.”
“Maybe not to you.” Maxwell said, and grunted decisively. “I had a nice chat with Pryce. She wanted your head. And mine, for not keeping you in line. But, don’t fret. I was able to talk her down to a pinky toe.”
“I’m being serious.” Jacobi said, frowning at Maxwell. “This is his revenge. He’s trying to burn me alive.” Kepler laughed, as if Jacobi had made a joke. “Glad you think this is funny, Sir. I wouldn’t be so smug. If I burn, I’m taking you down with me.”
“You are okay, Jacobi.” Kepler said. “Steinbach was several months ago. If Cutter was going to do anything, he would have done it already.”
Maxwell, cruel as ever, mouthed ‘pinky toe’ in Jacobi’s direction. He took a playful swat at her, to which Maxwell dodged.
“If this isn’t a punishment, then what is it?” Jacobi asked.
“Our job.” Kepler said, and reached into his bag. He pulled out a map, and tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re working yourself up. Look at this, instead.” Kepler gestured to the mileage sign behind him. “If you can, find out where we are. It’ll help.”
In this, Kepler was right. It did help. Jacobi used the mileage to calculate their position. In doing so, he began to calm. He was still hot, but slightly less irritated and bored.
“We’re here.” Jacobi said, and placed his index finger atop their location. “About two and a half kilometers from civilization. With the luggage, I’d say it’d be a half hour to Gonor. That is, if we’re walking?”
To that, Jacobi didn’t get to respond. He was interrupted by deep hum of a nearby engine. It was a tow truck, once painted baby blue, but faded with age. The body was rusted, disintegrating into patches of brittle orange. Jacobi felt it before he heard it. The approach of the tow truck caused a low rumble in his chest.
“This is our ride?” Maxwell asked. Her voice raised loud enough to be heard over the engine.
“Leave it to Cutter.” Jacobi said, and gathered his luggage. “Only the best for SI-5. Isn’t that right, Sir?”
Kepler hummed, low and noncommittal. He didn’t openly criticize Cutter, not in front of Jacobi or Maxwell. Kepler was a professional; it was part of his charm. Kepler, however, did not afford that loyalty to Pryce. His annoyance and distrust of her was implicit. Jacobi was aware of their antagonism, as Kepler had likely intended.
The ‘hook-and-chain’ lulled toward Jacobi, kicking up roadside gravel and bringing with it a perfume of gasoline. On instinct, Jacobi inhaled. He had always found the smell of gasoline comforting. The driver cut the engine, and Jacobi felt the purring in his chest come to an abrupt halt.
A man stepped out. He was in his mid-40’s, with salt and pepper hair, and forearms riddled with thick scar tissue. The man had oil, in droplet form, staining the front of his pinstripe jumpsuit. Combined, these descriptors caught Jacobi’s attention. The driver was most certainly Jacobi’s type: mature and heavily scarred.
Huh. Maybe Kepler was right. Cutter didn’t have it out for him, after all.
“Warren Kepler?” The driver asked, and outstretched a calloused hand. “We’ve just got off the phone. I’m Jimmy, from Boyd Autobody.”
“Ah, yes.” Kepler said, without missing a beat. He took Jimmy’s hand between his own. “I’m glad to see you in person. I like to put the face to the name.”
“I passed by your Buick. The red LeSabre?” Jimmy said, and laughed. “It’s parked half a kilometer up the 204. I don’t know why. But, I expected to find you with it.”
Kepler, despite social convention, did not let go of Jimmy. He held on, encasing either hand. It was quite the contrast. Kepler’s hands, manicured and clean. Jimmy’s hands, rough and soiled. Unlike Jacobi, Jimmy hadn’t yet noticed. He seemed captivated by Kepler, the two of them bonding over Jimmy’s trite humor. Jacobi, seeing through Kepler’s act, frowned. He wasn’t letting Kepler take this one. Jimmy was his.
“Hm. You’d think. Wouldn’t you?” Jacobi asked, smiling broadly at Jimmy. He stepped forward, and placed a hand on Kepler’s shoulder. “But our Warren here isn’t an expected kind of guy.”
Jimmy turned to face Jacobi, as if just noticing him. Jimmy eyed him over, assessing. Kepler took advantage of the distraction, and bore into Jacobi. But, Jacobi wasn’t bending to his will. Not this time.
“Is that right?” Jimmy asked, and subtly maneuvered out of Kepler’s grasp. “And what about you—?”
“Daniel.” Kepler said, giving up. He, metaphorically and physically, stepped out of Jacobi’s way.
“Daniel.” Jimmy said, and returned Jacobi’s broad smile. He leant backward, nonplussed, against the smoldering hood of the pickup. “Are you an expected kind of guy?”
--
Alana Maxwell
August 23, 1992
Selkirk, Manitoba
--
Maxwell had removed her sunhat. She didn’t need it, not now, under the crisp fluorescent lighting of Boyd Autobody. The interior of the shop was bright, but it was no rival to the penetrating heat of the afternoon sun. The shop was small, but mercifully air-conditioned.
Typically, Maxwell hated shopping. She didn’t like the brand of monotony that it entailed. But, without the ‘go ahead’ from Kepler, there wasn’t much else for Maxwell to do. There was but a single aisle, lined with packaging of colorful neon and bold text. Maxwell had already spent the better half of an hour browsing, and occasionally pulling an item off the shelf to examine it. Bringing each item to her nose, she sniffed it. In her boredom, Maxwell found comfort in stimming.
At this point, she too was almost ready to denounce Cutter. Maxwell was really starting to tire of the ‘top 40 hits of today’ as it played on loop over the Boyd Autobody loudspeakers. Not that the holdup was Cutter’s doing. Really, it was Jacobi that was gnawing at her patience.
“Me? I co-own a military surplus in Southdale.” Jacobi said, bowing loftily over the register. He looked comfortable, his body practically pooling over the counter. “I took the place over from my Pop. He passed last year. I couldn’t stomach selling the place. He’d worked there all his life. I had to keep it running, you know? In his memory.”
Maxwell huffed to herself. As usual, the lie didn’t sit well with her. For Maxwell, lying was a way of life. She didn’t take pride in it. It was a requirement of her job, one that she was not very good at. Jacobi, however, lied like it was an exhilarating game. He lied with truth and fantasy.
Maxwell had worked, bunked, and lived with Jacobi for over a decade. She was his best friend, and that title didn’t come without knowing a bit about him. If Jacobi wasn’t with SI-5, he’d fit right in at a military surplus. He might even be happy there. And, as for his RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force) recruiter of a father, Jacobi and he never had much of a relationship. His fictional ‘Pop’ was nothing but wishful thinking.
Between the two of them, Jacobi was the far better liar. Kepler, however, was on a whole different level.
Outwardly, Kepler took no objection to Jacobi’s flirting. After their initial squabble, Kepler had taken a backseat to Jacobi. He had been annoyingly chipper about it too; he did nothing to rush Jacobi along. They had arrived at Boyd Autobody, and Kepler was content to join Maxwell in her boredom. He was an excellent sympathizer.
Not that this was unexpected. Their team dynamic came foremost, and his relationship with Jacobi was secondary. It worked well. SI-5 was a family. Kepler had an identical stake in both Jacobi and Maxwell. He cared for their future, as a unit. Maxwell and Kepler had a different relationship, but they were equally as close.
“You with me, Maxwell?” Kepler asked, and held up a fragrant cube of magenta liquid. “Smell this. Tell me what you think.”
Maxwell inhaled, and promptly pulled away. It was nauseating, heavy and chemical.
“You like it?” Kepler asked.
“No, Sir.” Maxwell said, and rejected the air freshener.
“Pity.” Kepler said, but did not look upset. “A gift for Pryce, then.”
He and Maxwell shared a private smile, comfortable and intimate. Kepler wasn’t often a man of mischief, but Maxwell had been around long enough to see it. Right now, Kepler looked truly relaxed. He shook the air freshener, and sauntered over to the register. At Kepler’s approach, Jacobi immediately withdrew his attention from Jimmy.
“Ready to go?” Jacobi asked, and straightened up.
Kepler placed the toxic cube and a five-dollar bill on the counter. It was an obvious signal. He was ready.
“Well, Jimmy. I’m off.” Jacobi said, and nodded at Kepler. He slid the money and the air freshener farther up the counter. “Thank you for this. Really. It’s been wonderful talking with you.”
“No bother.” Jimmy said, frowning at Kepler for his interruption. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything for the radiator. I’m no mechanic, and Mick doesn’t work on Sunday. But, I’ll give him a call. He’ll be in first thing tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here, bright and early.” Jacobi said, and flicked a finger at a dashboard bobble-head adorning the countertop. “Thank you again for the tow. And for the tip on the Selkirk Motel. I’ve been jiving for a swim all afternoon.” He turned away from Jimmy, and took a step toward his team. “How about it, Maxwell? Ready for a swim?”
Maxwell didn’t answer. He’d ignored her and Kepler, in favor of Jimmy, for nearly an hour. If she was playing her part, she would be upset. For now, the mission would do best without her input.
“Wait!” Jimmy said, and on cue, tried to re-claimed Jacobi’s attention.
He grabbed the air freshener, and rang it up. Afterward, he took the receipt, and flipped it white-side up. Uncapping a nearby pen, Jimmy scribbled a code on the white canvas. From her vantage, Maxwell couldn’t make it out. After a moment, Jimmy held it out for Jacobi to take.
“This is my number.” Jimmy said. “I’m playing cards tonight at The High and Lonesome. It’s a regular thing, VIP only, for Selkirk locals. But, I’d be able to get you in.” He looked over at Maxwell and Kepler, and frowned. “And your friends too, if you wish. Call me, Daniel, if you’re interested.”
Bingo!
There it was. It was the invitation that Kepler, Jacobi, and Maxwell had been waiting for. It was funny, if Maxwell thought about it. The next stage of their mission, written atop the greasy underside of a autobody receipt. Really, knowing them, Maxwell couldn’t have seen it going any other way.
--
Warren Kepler
August 23, 1992
Selkirk, Manitoba
--
Kepler checked into the Selkirk Motel. He was alone, abandoned by the remainder of SI-5. Jacobi had passed him over for the pool. And Maxwell, protesting, had been dragged away by Jacobi. They hadn’t yet traversed half of the parking lot, and Jacobi had already caught wind of the chlorine. Kepler caved to his excitement, and was left to bear the luggage for the next half yard.
Soon afterward, Kepler was glad that Jacobi and Maxwell had left. Climbing the ramp to the main entrance, he spotted the Bronco. It was parked on the near side of the building, adjacent to the front door. It was a blatant sign: Cutter and Pryce were here too. Kepler would have to address that eventually. But, for now, Jacobi and Maxwell could do without knowing. It had been a long day, and both deserved a short respite.
There were twelve rooms, six stacked on top of six. They were arranged in an “L” shape, the front office on the shorter end.
The reception was gaudy, but clean. There was woman, mid-50’s, manning the front desk. While her nametag read ‘Joy’, her expression did not. She held tight to a magazine, and did not put it down upon Kepler’s arrival. A cheerful bell sat upon the counter, and Kepler tapped it to announce himself. Joy, scowling, attended to him.
“For one?” Joy asked, preemptively punching it in.
“No.” Kepler said, holding a faux smile. “I need two. One with a king. And one with two queens.”
It was all very official. On paper, there was a room for him, the boss, and a room for his subordinates. It went quite differently in actuality. But, this was their routine: a room for him and a room for them. It had been their routine long before him and Jacobi had started having sex. And, it would be their routine long after him and Jacobi inevitably stopped. In the meantime, Kepler was happy to share with Jacobi.
Kepler paid Joy, and exited the way he came. Bypassing the Bronco, Kepler turned left and struggled to carry two full suitcases up the staircase. It would have been easier with Maxwell or Jacobi. Without them, Kepler needed to secure himself against the guard railing. Just as quickly, he pulled away, hand burning from an unpleasant sensation. Upon inspection, chips of loose paint clung to the underside of his fingers. He brushed them off, and continued up, wary of the guard rail.
Once at the top, he rested Maxwell and Jacobi’s luggage against the yellow paneling. Kepler unlocked their room, and deposited their belongings inside. Once all three of their luggage was locked away, he joined Maxwell and Jacobi down at the pool.
The pool was on the far side of the parking lot, separated from the main road by a gate of carbon steel. Although he had seen far worse, Kepler did not find the pool impressive. The perimeter of dull cement was cracked and uneven. Kepler had to sidestep through the gate, as it caught on the irregular ground halfway through. Between the slabs of cement, golden dandelions were pushing upward and out, toward the sun. The lining of the pool was stained, and it reeked of chlorine. Despite it all, Maxwell and Jacobi seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Jacobi, stripped down to his boxers, was doing a rather inelegant backstroke. Maxwell while still fully dressed, had cast off her flannel and leather boots. She dangled her feet over the side of the pool, playfully kicking water at Jacobi. Jacobi, laughing, sunk under the surface for protection.
“Nice to see you down here, Sir.” Maxwell said, and patted the cement next to her. “Sit with me?”
Kepler, heeding her, sat down on the damp concrete. Copying Maxwell, he removed his brown loafers and socks. He also rolled up either pant leg, so that they were bunched at his knees. The fabric cut off the circulation to his lower legs, but unlike Jacobi, Kepler wasn’t about to remove his cargo pants for comfort. Jacobi wasn’t known for his modesty, not around Kepler and Maxwell, anyhow. They were a family, and there wasn’t anything Maxwell and Kepler hadn’t seen.
Kepler dipped his toe into the cool water, and absentmindedly knocked his foot against Maxwell’s. He was about to apologize, but didn’t need to. Maxwell didn’t seem to mind. As a response, she knocked her foot against Kepler’s.
“Today went well.” Kepler said, breaking the comfortable silence. “It was, ah, not expedient, but thorough. I’m pleased, and I’m certain Cutter would be too.”
Maxwell snorted, but did not challenge his blatant exaggeration. Cutter was always pleasant, but rarely pleased.
“They’re here, by the way. At the motel.” Kepler said. “But, that doesn’t change anything. From now on, we keep minimal contact with Cutter and Pryce. We aren’t Goddard—just three regular people on a road trip.”
“Understood.” Maxwell said, and shook her head. “I can’t believe it worked. Jacobi’s flirting actually got us into a party, not kicked out of one.”
“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Jacobi said, and paddled past them. “At least I’m a decent liar. Huh, Maxwell? You should have taken notes. Did you see it. How could you not? He was all over me. All that crap about my ‘pop’. I wasn’t sure he’d let me leave with you two. Did you see the look he gave Kepler? It was feral, wasn’t it Sir?”
“Thanks to Jacobi, we have our own way in. " Kepler said, ignoring Jacobi. He hid the fondness in his voice, and adopted a deep and professional tone. “But, we can’t rely on it. If Jimmy doesn’t show up or come through, we need a backup plan.”
“The game doesn’t start until 9.” Maxwell said. “Pryce won’t let Cutter be early. I can scope out the room. I’ll have the place bugged before their arrival.”
“Wait.” Jacobi said, somewhat in alarm. Kepler, instinctually, tensed. “Let me do reconnaissance. I don’t want to be left smuggling again. Not after Steinbach. I’m no good at it.” He pouted, and reached out for Kepler. “Pryce is already after my toe. I don’t want to give her a reason to take the whole foot.”
Jacobi encircled his fingers around Kepler’s calf, and used it to stay afloat. He stopped paddling, and clung to Kepler like a child. The familiarity caught Kepler off guard. It was an intimate gesture, but not an unwelcome one. They weren’t working, just cooling off in a motel pool. It was just Maxwell, Jacobi, and himself. No Cutter. And no Pryce. Kepler could have this. He was allowed to comfort them.
He was allowed to be intimate with them.
“You’re okay, Jacobi.” Maxwell said, and sighed. “Really. I’m sorry. I was joking about the pinky toe thing, okay?” Maxwell said, and smiled. She arched her back, and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. “Kepler’ll run smuggling. We can’t have you do it, anyway. You’ll be busy with Jimmy, remember?”
Jacobi groaned, and pulled himself out of the pool. He muttered something about ‘not being that hot anyway’ as he scaled the wall. While it caught Kepler’s attention, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he outstretched an arm, nonverbally asking for Jacobi’s help up.
“I hope Cutter is right.” Jacobi said. “This ‘High and Lonesome’ place, a manufacturer of ArmaLite? I’m not buying it.”
He pulled Kepler into his side. In doing so, intentionally or not, Jacobi soaked through Kepler’s T-shirt at the point of contact. With the smirk Jacobi gave him, Kepler decided it was intentional.
“I can’t imagine it.” Jacobi said, continuing as if it never happened. “Why would a black-market arms dealer work out of this Podunk town? And what about Jimmy? Guy didn’t seem like a criminal kind of guy.”
“And you do?” Maxwell said, clapping Jacobi on the back. She grabbed her discarded clothing, and turned her back to the pool. “It doesn’t matter to me. So long as Cutter is happy, we’re happy.”
“And paid” Jacobi said, and wrapped a wet arm around Kepler’s neck. “Maybe after this, we can take a real vacation. With air conditioning. And a minibar. And maybe a pool.” Jacobi paused, and surveyed the sad display in front of him. “Er—an actual pool.”
Kepler laughed at that, and Maxwell was quick to join in. The three of them traversed the parking lot together. Behind them, the setting sun painted the sky with pastel orange and pink. It was an unkind reminder: night was almost upon them. The moment couldn’t last; Kepler knew this. They had to get suited up and shipped out. They had work to do.
Kepler had enjoyed himself this afternoon. Really, he enjoyed any time without Miranda Pryce. But, today had been especially relaxing. Jacobi was right. After this, SI-5 deserved a break. A real vacation. Maybe, by this time next week, they really would be ‘just three regular people on a road trip’.
Kepler would see to it.