Trust Your Gut

AFTER ARTIE WAS DISCHARGED FROM THE EMERGENCY ROOM, SHE and Smythe made their way to the intensive care unit to look in on Dennis. The main corridor leading to ICU had as much personality as a freeway. It was much like a long thoroughfare, winding its way through the hospital’s first floor with several smaller exit hallways shooting off from the main walkway.

Artie peered at the gray walls and then at Smythe. How did Smythe know how to navigate the corridor? she wondered. Everything seemed so gray. The walls were gray, the tile was gray—even the ceiling was bathed in pale hues of gray, all of it leading family and friends onward through identical doorways edged in darker hues of gray. Making their way through yet another hallway, Artie stopped to rest, pain etched across her face.

Smythe whispered into Artie’s ear. “Would you stop acting like such a badass already? Why don’t I find a wheelchair. We can push you.”

Artie smiled and attempted to stretch out her torso, but she came up short. “It’s ok,” she grunted. “Honestly, I’m alright. I won’t be so sore tomorrow if I just keep moving.”

Smythe nodded but watched Artie closely. It was obvious to her Artie was struggling. All anyone had to do was watch her gait. She had shortened her stride, and her walk had been slow enough that a toddler could out-pace her. She also took in halted breaths, which restricted her forward movement.

After her brief pause, Artie pushed on until they arrived a few minutes later to the entrance into ICU. Leaning on Smythe, Artie stood in the doorway to Dennis’s room, observing the nurse as she checked his vital signs.

“I’ve been told that none of his injuries are life-threatening, and his doctor expects he will make a full recovery,” Smythe began. “He took three bullets to his body; one to his shoulder, another nicked his side, and the third lodged into his thigh. His wife was here, but she had calls to make to family. She may or may not be back before we leave.”

Artie nodded before walking in. She stood next to his bed and slowly scanned his body as his muscular chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his breath.

Dennis had been the first person she hired into her agency. A former Navy officer, community service was a family career. His father, brothers, and wife were all in various forms of law enforcement. After his discharge from the Navy, Dennis took up the family trade, working for the local sheriff’s department. However, after a few years, he felt he could better serve the public by protecting the innocent from those who openly threatened others instead of waiting for crime to occur. He had heard enough about gang and syndicate members and their propensity to intimidate a witness into silence.

As far as Dennis was concerned, he could “prevent the bad guy from ever doing harm” by taking on the job as protector, allowing victims and witnesses to come forward and “do the right thing, which included testifying.” A rumor within local law enforcement circles suggested Artie had started her own personal security agency and, more importantly, was hiring. Dennis knew her work as a special agent for the FBI and all but jumped at the chance to work with this giant of a human. She hired him, taught him the ropes, and he eventually became her number two in charge—the designation modified from one of her favorite science fiction television series. That was six years ago.

Artie raised an eyebrow and stared down at Dennis. She thought about her rogue agents. From the moment they met, Artie held an unfavorable hunch about them. After she completed a thorough background investigation, even going so far as to dig into the deep, dark web and finding nothing to confirm her hunch, she allowed Dennis to hire them. Yet, she rarely allowed them to enter into high-profile cases, keeping them at a distance—still digging for information to confirm her suspicion, still untrusting. Dennis, however, had every confidence in them both. He had grown up with one and heard “nothing but good things” about the second.

“It was my fault, Dennis,” she whispered.” I let you talk me into these two, and look at what it cost us.”

Artie sighed as she continued to stare at Dennis. She could give herself any number of excuses why she allowed herself to become swayed by Dennis’s argument to hire them in the first place. After they were hired and given the resources Smythe’s case was using up, she could have told herself she needed additional protection teams and that, despite her reservations, the pair checked out. She also could have told herself that she trusted Dennis implicitly, which she did, and it was just poor judgement on his part. But, in the end, she told herself none of those things. And the poor judgement, she believed, squared on her shoulders alone.

Her body felt heavy, and it ached. She looked up at Dennis’s vital monitors and then again at him before leaning toward him to speak softly into his ear.

“This is the last time, Dennis. This is the last time I allow you to influence me about things I know. Rarely have I not followed my intuition, and I’m at a loss as to why I didn’t listen to it. You may not understand it, believe in it or even agree—”

She abruptly ended her one-sided conversation with him and brushed her fingers through his hair. Artie realized the conversation was pointless—he could not respond. This conversation needed to wait until he had fully recovered. She turned her head toward the door and looked out to the nurses’ station. Two additional teams had arrived to check in on him. Before leaving the floor, she gave instructions to the teams that watched over him.

“I need to know what you know the moment you know. Everything is suspect.”

As Smythe studied Artie, she could see she wore the garment of exhaustion. Her face was drawn, and her color had yet to return. She stole away from Artie momentarily and asked a nurse to provide a wheelchair. Artie eyed Smythe as she rolled the wheelchair before her.

“Get in,” Smythe said dryly.

“I’m ok, baby. I don’t need that.”

Smythe eyes pierced Artie’s. “No, you’re not ok, and honestly, you don’t want to mess with me right now. I’m not in the mood. Get in the wheelchair now, or I’ll have the doctor re-admit you. As far as I’m concerned, you can have a room right next to Dennis. It’ll make visiting you both that much easier.”

Artie stared blankly at Smythe before grinning widely. “Ok, ok. God, you’ve become such a badass. Where’s my kind, tender-hearted, and compassionate Smythe?”

“She took a nap. Badass moth—”

“Smythe!”

“I’m in no mood, Artie. Get in. Now!”

Artie looked down at the wheelchair before easing herself into the seat. Escorted by two members of her security detail, Smythe wheeled Artie through the emergency room exit and into an awaiting SUV. Artie shivered, causing her to groan in pain—her body contracting to an unexpected cold front that moved into the valley. They sat in wearied silence until they reached Smythe’s apartment.

Once they were safely secured in the apartment, Smythe helped Artie out of her clothes.

“Why don’t I sponge bathe you.”

“No, baby. I need to feel the warmth of the water on my body. I’m alright, really. A little sleep, and I’ll be right as rain on a summer’s eve.”

“You’ve become a poet?” Smythe asked as she smirked.

“Hmmph. Hardly.”

Smythe gathered Artie’s clothes and took them to the laundry room, examining each item one by one. As she held Artie’s shirt in her hands, she scanned the blood splattered across the shirt’s chest and sleeve, tracing her index finger over the outline of the bloodstains. She was unsure whose blood it was, and her thoughts drifted to Artie’s condition. The impact of the weapon’s fire against Artie’s vest caused her torso to turn black and blue, and she had a small cut under the left breast. Yet, given the amount of blood on the shirt, Smythe surmised it was Dennis’ blood.

God, all of this feels like a nightmare. Who would have ever thought I would have played any part in it. When will it all…

Smythe wiped away a tear, took in a breath, and let it out slowly. She started the washer, placing the blood-stained clothing into it and closed the lid. She double checked the locks on her front door and eyed the metal rod butted up against the door, trying to fend off the anxiety. She moved to her bedroom and turned down the bed before returning to the bathroom. Artie stood there, standing in the shower and peering at the floor, the water turned off only moments ago.

“Need some help?”

“Yeah, I do. Feeling a bit unsteady.”

Smythe gave a smirk in Artie’s direction. “Should have let me sponge bathe you like I asked.”

She walked to the edge of the tub, grabbed a towel, and gently patted Artie dry. She then offered her a shoulder to lean on as Artie slowly placed each foot onto the bamboo floor mat.

“Glad this mat is high. Makes getting out of the tub that much easier.”

“Didn’t plan it that way when I ordered it, but it does come in handy.”

Smythe assisted Artie as she dressed into a loose-fitting T-shirt and sweatpants before walking her into the bedroom.

“I’ll need only a couple hours of sleep, then we have things to take care of. We’ll go after that,” Artie said as she climbed into bed.

“Go where?”

“It’s a surprise, baby.”

“Well, you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. I’m really angry, Artie. Those weren’t our guys, yet they got into the conference room. And then they tried to kill you and Dennis! All because of me.” Smythe could feel the energy of rage coursing through her body. Her hearing was dulled by the ringing in her ears—the result of the gunfire. The remnant sound of the reverberating gunshots remained as an echo in her body.

“Not because of you. Because of your testimony.”

Artie took in a jagged breath, wincing in pain as she leaned back against the headboard.

“They were our guys, baby—my guys. Both of them.”

Smythe stared at Artie in disbelief.

“They were fairly new to my agency; both came highly recommended and had stellar credentials. They had just come off of another security assignment—small in comparison to your assignment, but given the enormity of your days in court, I brought them on board as additional security. The thing is, when I met with them to fill them in on the assignment, I don’t know, something felt off.”

“That sixth sense energy thing you’ve got going.”

“Yes, exactly. I can’t explain it, but it has never failed me as long as I’ve paid attention to it. Honestly, I should have never hired them. First time I didn’t listen to my intuition.”

Artie sighed.

“All I knew when I met with them was that they felt dirty. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew they were somehow tracking your movements. So, I decided I had to flush them out. The only one I let in on the plan was Dennis. Needless to say, he was wary. Angry, even.” Artie shifted in the bed.

“So, Dennis was in on it. Why was he wary?”

“Well, number one, he believed in them. With my approval, he was the one who hired them. He knew one of them really well. And because both were not involved in your protection until yesterday, Dennis felt confident that they had not leaked your whereabouts when we went to the wedding.

“So, you knew something was wrong with them during the wedding?”

“On our return trip home, I had a hunch. We were followed at will; meaning that the woman following us up the grade knew exactly where we were. And I remembered her from an earlier attempt on your life. When I had my vehicles inspected off the grade that day, they had been tracked. I knew then that someone had either infiltrated my agency or someone in the FBI had leaked information to the syndicate… or perhaps both.”

Smythe continued to listen in shock. It occurred to her as she thought about all of the players involved in her case that Artie had been playing a game of chess. Artie’s opponent was not just the syndicate. That opponent was bad enough. But members of her own team and the FBI were also suspect. She had to strategically get to the truth while keeping Smythe alive. Smythe slowly shook her head. The scope of betrayal by people Artie worked with seemed incomprehensible to her. Out of compassion, she unconsciously placed her hand over her heart and continued to listen.

“Dennis was also wary because there were a few minutes where you were going to be extremely exposed. I put your life at risk,” Artie said, bowing her head for a moment.

“That’s why I had you put on the different vest. It could take several direct hits. It’s state of the art and expensive as hell. Even my teams knew nothing about it. But it was worth the investment.”

Smythe nodded. “You thought they might simply shoot me dead center if they had the chance.”

“God. There was just so much at stake. To be completely honest, for the first time ever, I even had my doubts about Dennis. He seemed to be too enthusiastic about these guys coming on board. Why not, I guess. He did recommend them to my agency. So—”

“So, you held back—even from him.”

“Yes. I was becoming paranoid. I didn’t know who I could trust. Carole was dead, and a new agent was in charge of your case. So, yeah, I held back.” Artie winced as she adjusted her back against the headboard.

“Why don’t I get some water so you can take a pain pill.”

“Not yet. You deserve to hear it all,” Artie said, waving off any attempt by Smythe.

“The plan was to create a security breach that the team would believe. I would voice concern about leaving you in the conference room alone, albeit under lock and key. My hunch was that the two newbies would step up and offer to take you back to the SUV and head home. Dennis, to my surprise and relief, played along. I must admit, I had a secondary plan if he had not played along. But I didn’t have to worry.

“I made the request to the teams over the com unit. I wanted a team to come to my position just outside of the courtroom and grab a note. Sure enough, they stepped up. I convinced them that you would not go with them and to hand you the note.”

“Yeah, I thought that was the oddest thing. I mean, you called me sweetheart! You’ve never called me that. And then that whole thing about walking close to them threw me for a loop.”

“Trust your gut.”

In an instant, Smythe understood. She remembered their conversation at the apartment and immediately realized why Artie asked her to trust her gut, and why she used the term sweetheart instead of baby.

“Even at the apartment, you had already put your plan in motion. But I still don’t understand why you asked me to walk close to them.”

“I knew they wouldn’t fire on you inside of the conference room or the courthouse. They wouldn’t have made it out alive. Instead, I surmised they would wait to get you into one of my SUVs. So, that meant they would have to walk you through secured portions of the courthouse. I was banking on you being reticent and not doing what I wrote. I knew fear would cause you to filter out everything you knew about me and the way I operate, and whatever remained would be a lie. From where I stood as I caught up to the three of you, I was right.”

“Well, yeah. Everything about that note felt off. I even tried to find a side door to run through.”

Smythe looked directly into Artie’s eyes. “Ya know, I hate to think you know me so well.”

“I do. Remember, I was trained as a profiler.”

“Yeah, there’s that. And a sharpshooter. That skill came in handy.”

“Yeah, it did. And… while I was waiting for you to return with news about Dennis, the special investigator in charge of this case paid me a visit. They did some quick digging into my two guys. It appears they were turned by the ring. Both had been former law enforcement. They got caught with their hands in a honey pot a few years back by the syndicate. So, they did some side jobs for them in exchange for the syndicate’s silence.” Artie let out a low audible breath. “Damn it, I knew bett—”

“Stop it, Artie. You’re not perfect.”

Artie looked up at Smythe, locking eyes.

“Remember when you asked me about the firm I worked for?”

“Yeah. I knew something had happened.”

“A witness was killed after the guy beat an extortion conviction. The extortion trial was fairly high-profile. I was not the attorney on record, but I knew about the case. I also suspected the defendant had associations with another group that laundered money in Europe. After the witness was killed, I left the firm. Working for them was now morally indefensible for me. I say all that because while the FBI couldn’t pin the murder on any one person in the ring, the FBI agent I spoke to at the hospital told me my two guys might have been involved in that previous case.”

“You mean that they could have been the ones who killed the extortion witness?”

“Yeah. God, I didn’t know that when I hired them, nor did I know when I brought them on board yesterday and today, but Smythe, my instinct told me something was wrong. I didn’t follow it, and I’m sorry.”

“Honey. How could you have known? Did you have a magic eight ball that showed you the past events of your teams? No. Did you just decide to roll the dice to see how things would turn out? No. That’s not you. Darlin’, you are obsessive about planning. As far as I’m concerned, I’m ok with the result. Not ok with Dennis and you getting hurt, but we’re alive.”

“Smythe, I have always paid attention to my instincts because they have never led me astray. And paying attention to those instincts requires only one thing—one thing. The courage to act on what I know. Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, I find that when I move fearlessly, the more my intuition proves to be spot on.”

Artie huffed and sat in silence. She was unsure what held her back from trusting herself—from trusting her intuition. Like a whisper in the silence of a room, she learned to discern the whisper of her intuition. She never asked questions of it. If her intuition whispered for her to move in a particular direction, she simply moved in that direction. She learned to take reason out of her decision to act because it was not reason that whispered to her. Reason, she learned, would talk her out of following her intuition. No, it was not reason that whispered to her—it was her soul. An intangible part of herself that she did not understand but trusted.

“I’ve asked the FBI to conduct a secondary investigation into all of my guys. I just need to be sure.”

“Ok, then leave it with them. Will this hurt your chances of getting additional assignments from them?”

“I wasn’t supposed to get this one. It was off book by Carole. But no, it will not hurt my chances. The Director seemed satisfied with my role in this case. I have a call with him tomorrow morning.”

Artie glanced at the clock on the steamer trunk.

“Look, It’s after 8 p.m. We missed our flight. I need to call and rebook for the morning.”

Smythe’s heart sank, and a pained frown creased her brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Not me, we. You’ve been through a lot, baby. You’ve been cooped up in your apartment with me for months. Over the past several weeks, we’ve barely even gone out for malasadas. I thought we could go to Leonard’s and pick up a dozen,” Artie said, nodding—her voice conveying a sense of seriousness. She searched Smythe’s eyes, waiting for her to digest the information. Smythe sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes darting from side to side, her frown beginning to lessen.

“I don’t understand. Leonard’s is on Oahu.”

“It is.”

“It’s a long way for just a dozen malasadas, don’t you think?”

Artie remained quiet. Finally, after a few moments, Smythe’s brow completely relaxed, and a smile lit across her eyes.

“We’re going to Oahu?!”

Artie’s voice softened. “Yeah, baby, we’re going to Oahu. I need to rest, and you need a vacation.”

“But what about Dennis? What about the team? Don’t I need to be here if they want more testimony?”

“We’ll check in on Dennis before we leave. He’ll be in good hands with the remainder of my team. Before all of this went down, he was aware we were leaving. He doesn’t know where, but only that we will not be in the valley. Second, closing arguments begin tomorrow, and then it goes to the jury. With that said, the trial is over as far as you’re concerned. Third, I’ve already cleared travel with the FBI and the DA’s office. While they’re unaware of our destination, they know how to reach me.”

“You still don’t trust Dennis, do you?”

Artie raised an eyebrow and let out a slow breath. “He’s my number two. I trust him implicitly. Yet, there’s still an uneasiness. I don’t know where it’s coming from, so I’m keeping things pretty close to my vest until I sort it out.”

Smythe nodded. “And the FBI and DA’s office? Are they on your no trust list?”

Artie remained quiet.

“Ok. So, we won’t know how the trial ends?”

“We’ll know. I asked my team to reach out to me. There is a secondary FBI investigation connected to this case. The expected conviction of the suspect will play a factor in opening up a much larger investigation. At least, that is the hope.”

“Can you say more about that?”

“No. Not if I want to keep you safe. The less you know, the better.” Artie thought about one of her last conversations with Carole. Carole was beginning to connect the dots between open-air GM crops on the island of Kauai and the chemical companies that planted and sprayed those crops with harmful chemicals. Of particular interest to Artie was her own research after her initial conversation with Carole.

The west side of the island, where the open-air crops were located, impacted mostly native Hawaiians and working-class people of color. A lot of the lands the companies operated on were state land—lands stolen from the kingdom of Hawaii. That land was to be held in trust for the betterment of native Hawaiians. And it was those lands that were still contested. Artie would not yet tell Smythe that, in addition to vacationing on the island of Oahu, Artie would take a day trip to Kauai and hopefully meet with local activists and learn more about the information the missing documents contained.

“But, won’t they try to hurt us, even if we’re on the plane?”

“So many questions, baby. Trust me, I got this.”

“You got this. Yes, yes you do. I gotta pack!” Smythe said, suddenly realizing she was not ready. She sprang off the edge of the bed and opened her closet door. Rustling through her dresser, Smythe began to open each drawer.

“You just need shorts, a couple of pairs of long pants, a shirt or two, a swimsuit, T-shirts, and sandals, and they’re already packed. Even your running gear. Everything is packed and in the back of your SUV.”

Smythe turned toward Artie. “You thought of everything.”

“Not everything.”

“Toiletries. You haven’t packed them because I used them this morning. And my running shoes. They’re here in the closet,” Smythe said as she looked down at the shoes.

“That’s true. But toiletries and running shoes aside, you still haven’t said yes.”