Any Tom, Dick or Harry By Doug Jacquier

Any Tom, Dick or Harry By Doug Jacquier

Alex knew the owner’s agents were following him. They knew that he knew they were following him. They thought it was important that he knew they were following him.

As he drove carefully through the darkness along the narrow road adjoining the pine forest, he would occasionally stop, and they would stop. All part of the game.

As he momentarily disappeared from sight around a bend, it was soon apparent to them that he’d accelerated rapidly to gain some distance and then tramped on the brakes to come to a rapid halt. Leaping from the car, he opened the boot, retrieved a mountain bike, and rode off into the tightly planted forest, where no car could follow. His front lamp could be seen flickering between the trees in a final sign of contempt.

They stopped and searched the stolen car but found nothing to add to their knowledge of him or of where the painting might be. They didn’t try following on foot because they didn’t know if he was armed this time and waiting to ambush them. They’d never known if he was armed or not or if he would ever ambush them. But they decided not to find out tonight. Besides, they didn’t think that was where the painting was.

…

Alex always stole nondescript older model cars with no obvious defects and changed the false plates regularly. He always stole a different one before each job. He didn’t know whether that made a difference, but he was superstitious enough to not want to alter that pattern. Everything else was random, in a considered way.

He never stayed in the same motel twice. He never wore the same-coloured shirt twice. He never wore a hat more than once. He would occasionally let his face run to stubble. At other times his appearance was immaculate. He would never carry more than one ID or licence, or credit card and he never forgot who he was supposed to be today. None of these things were actually necessary but the game amused him.

The agents knew all this but didn’t apprehend him. They were not even sure they had the authority to apprehend him, given that the owner had also stolen the painting. Besides, they believed that one day Alex would make a mistake and lead them to it, and he wouldn’t matter anymore. Not that they planned to kill him or anything. Unless it was absolutely necessary. Which it probably wouldn’t be, once they found it.

…

Alex thought that at some point he would lead them to it and then both he and the agents could all get on with their lives. But making it too easy would be disrespectful to the painting and, in turn, the agents would feel disrespected if finding it wasn’t sufficiently difficult. That was understood by all parties.

So Alex recruited an accomplice. Not a doppelganger. Too cliched. The accomplices dressed and acted similarly but not the same, stayed at the same motels but in different rooms and in the mornings would depart in opposite directions.

This doubled the workload for the agents, and they asked in vain for reinforcements to search twice the number of rooms and follow two different cars without anyone being left alone at his mercy. If, indeed, Alex’s mercy might ever need to be called upon. But they decided it was best to be safe and only followed one car each day and hoped it was the right one, especially if today was the day he, or his accomplice, might lead them to it.

…

A week later, he added a second accomplice. Similar appearance. Same motel. Different rooms. Different cars. Three different directions.

The agents sat in their car and talked about this latest development for a long time. Clearly the situation was unsustainable. They couldn’t keep running around the countryside following every Tom, Dick or Harry. And, they rationalised, at the end of the day, was the painting actually important enough for the owner to devote his resources to it indefinitely? The owner decided, reluctantly but firmly, ‘No’.

…

When Alex realised they’d abandoned their chase, he was furious. How dare they do this without consulting him? What was he supposed to do with his life now?

Without telling his accomplices where he was going, he leapt into his car and set off in pursuit of the agents. They knew he would do that. He knew that they would know he would do that.

So they sped up just to make it interesting.

Author Bio: Doug Jacquier writes from the Fleurieu Peninsula in South Australia. His work has been published in Australia, the US, the UK, Canada, New Zealand, and India. He blogs at Six Crooked Highways and is the editor of the humour site, Witcraft.