If Dr. Vickers had been nonplussed with Sergeant O’Connor’s casual attire, he was absolutely appalled at the arrival of a dozen more agents who had consequently arrived in the middle of the night, none of whom seemed even the slightest bit concerned with secrecy. Worse yet, they seemed to be congregating in the parking lot out in front of his museum or collecting at the Playa Seca Motor Inn two lots south.
Having the assistance and authority of Chief Martinez’s organization at his disposal lent his endeavor a gravity that it had lacked for so many years. He had not expected that Chief Martinez would bring the full force of the sizable government agency to bear on the situation. Watching the black SUVs roll through town, Dr. Vickers gritted his teeth and went about his routine as if nothing was amiss, just glad that none of them had yet entered the museum.
As if he had willed it to happen, a pair of the sergeant’s overzealous reinforcement agents, eating their lunches out of little cardboard trays, stopped to loiter in front of his museum as inconspicuous as a billboard. Both in combat boots, black cargo pants, and black t-shirts, they looked like a conscripted army standing watch over his generally ignored local attraction. When he decided that he’d had enough, Dr. Vickers strode confidently to the front of the museum, and swung the front door wide, startling the two agents. “Well don’t hang out in front, here,” he hissed, shooing them from the sidewalk. “I’ll call for you if I need you.”
The agents, interrupted from their comprehensive comparison of the suspension systems and plush interior options for their respective unmarked black utility vehicles, having no idea what he was talking about, responded incognito. “Uh…” said one of them, “Me and my, uh, cousin here were just having lunch.” He nodded amiably.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Yeah,” the other one said, “We’re just in town for a reunion.”
Dr. Vickers shook his head. “You’re not fooling anybody,” Vickers said. “Now just move it along.” He waved them off.
Feeling fairly content to have dismissed them so officiously, Dr. Vickers stepped into the back to make himself a fresh cup of tea. He was only gone for a few minutes. Upon returning to the front counter, he found the view from the front window of his strip mall museum almost entirely blocked by a handful of black clad figures. The first two had attracted the attention of a few more. Clustered like chancre sores, they milled about, surreptitiously tilting their head in his direction or subtly pointing at various items on display in the window.
Dr. Vickers, though generally composed, felt his indignation rising as they not only blocked any potential tourists from stopping in, but also failed entirely at maintaining even a modicum of secrecy. As much as he disliked having to call the chief to intercede, it was obvious that the agents did not understand who they were dealing with. Watching as the small division out front discussed his collection, presumably, he resolved to call Martinez immediately and have them removed or dismissed or whatever.
As he was dialing the phone to call Martinez, the laser sensor whimpered a chime as the first agent opened the door. The collection of agents filed in, filling the front room with their disconcertingly large and foreboding figures. Watching them pick and poke at shelves, Dr. Vickers listened as the phone rang a few times and transferred his call to the chief’s voicemail. Regarding the unwelcome guests he pressed the button to hang up and nodded politely, feigning ignorance. “Good afternoon gentlemen, how may I help you?”
The last agent to enter reached up and pulled the small ball chain cord on the neon sign, extinguishing the “open” sign.