"Negative on all the above," Gabriel said. "Last couple weeks before Lawrence died, he had grown secretive about his activities. He usually did when he was on the verge of a new discovery. Two days later I get a mystery email informing me he's dead."
"Who'd the email come from?"
"You know the meaning of mystery? It still is."
"Right. Since we're on the subject what about you your background?" Leonard probed.
"CIA."
Leonard felt as if a cold snake slithered up his spine, his neck hairs bristled. "Oh, great," he said disappointingly.
"Former CIA." Gabriel stressed.
"No such beast," Leonard debated... "Once CIA corrupted, always CIA."
"Your generalizing,' Gabriel said. "Believe it or not there are plenty of uncorrupted people in the company former and latter. Is this going to produce a trust issue between us?"
"Let's just take it a day at a time," Leonard suggested. "It's not my nature to trust easily, and especially anybody even remotely connected with the CIA."
"I get it," Gabriel said. "Time reveals. Anyway, I knew you would come by the house to find anything you could that may have been connected with Lawrence's death. He told me if anything happened to him you would go full blood hound. I hung around the area for a while after I saw that agent go to the front door while his skittish partner remained in the car. By the way that was a slick move planting the Mary Jane on them, but sons of Abraham… did you have to use the entire ounce of the best weed ever produced? That was prime grass, and you just handed it over to the government, for free I might add. They get enough drugs free of charge without your voluntary contribution."
"Hell," Leonard said, "I had no use for the stuff. If you knew I wasn't my brother why'd you give it to me?"
"I don't know," Gabriel said. "Just seemed the generous thing to do at the time. I thought since your brother indulged maybe you did too. Thought you might appreciate a little quality relaxant. Plus, figured sooner or later we'd get together again before the truth came out… but the universe had other plans. Had I known you'd play Mother Theresa with the goods I would've kept it for myself. And what did you do those agents? They're still in some kind of coma."
"They'll come out of it in few days." Leonard said. "It'll take a few more days for their memories to return. They'll be fine."
"Meanwhile," Gabriel said, that little stunt shook the hornets' nest. The company or whoever these people are planning to come down heavy on you now. You're so wanted Osama Bin Laden would be green with envy were he still alive."
"Your source happens to know who killed Lawrence? Leonard ventured.
"Negative."
"Any theories?"
"Only."
"You know why he was killed?"
"More certain about that," Gabriel said confidently. "Lawrence was into some deep shit, I know that. Out of this world Star gate level. Fringe, man.
"Fringe? Leonard said.
"You got a lot to learn." Gabriel replied. "It's going to blow your mind."
"Without the weed?" Leonard felt a need to inject humor in the moment.
"Most Def." Gabriel said, smiling.
"Man, I didn't know Lawrence smoked weed," Leonard said.
"He wasn't a diehard sit in front of the television and nod off Toker. Mostly used it whenever he got stuck on one of his brainiac projects and couldn't figure out what he needed to figure out. He said a few puffs helped to relax him and clarify all the myriad mathematical configurations swirling in that head of his. Every blue moon though he would indulge recreationally."
"Interesting," Leonard said. "So, where we headed?"
"Pennsylvania."
"Pennsylvania? What's out there?"
"Fresh air. Peace. Serenity. Lots of privacy. Just what we'll need to plan a strategy." Gabriel offered a hand to Leonard. "Partners?"
"Looks like I don't have much choice," Leonard said, accepting Gabriel's hand.
"There's always a choice, Leonard. Even when we choose to convince ourselves there isn't."
The young clerk back at the motel Leonard barely escaped from watched in amusement as a platoon of black suit donning clones marched through the motel's lobby door. Looked like an invasion of the Men In Black, except this group wasn't on a mission to hunt and take down extraterrestrials. This was their fifth of many more to come convergences on motels and hotels within a twenty-mile radius of Rego Park, Queens in a desperate effort to locate and apprehend Leonard, whom they now more than ever considered a vital domestic and possibly even a national security threat. Unfortunately for the faux-Men-In-Black in anticipation of their arrival, Gabriel, armed with more than enough cash, generously bribed the motel clerk into developing a severe case of amnesia, and as added incentive he discreetly slipped the motel clerk a half ounce of marijuana. Dominick Pennel, the lead agent approached the clerk. Dominick was built like an NFL lineman and wore a permanent scowl on his not so handsome face that would back down a hungry Grizzly fresh emerged from a cave after a winter hibernation. The other agents stood in solemn sentry. The clerk remained cool or appeared to not be intimidated; after all he was in just-sweetly-bribed-heaven right now, anticipating the end of shift and a date with a rolled blunt and jackpot wad of incentive-cash in his pant pocket. Hell, the mood he was in a pissed off jilted King Kong would not have intimidated him. Agent Dominick flashed his credentials. The Clerk glanced at it with a little smirk on his face. "Dominick Pennel," Dominick announced. Central Intelligence Agency," his bravado was more than over the top, as he quickly presented a photograph of Leonard, a head to waist close-up shot, semi-blurred background of an airport terminal. Leonard appeared to be hailing a taxi or some other vehicle. "Happen to see this man as a guest in your establishment in the last twenty-four hours?" The agent's tone lacked politeness and was a combination of one part query ten parts interrogation. The clerk stared at the photograph for a few seconds before taking it from the agent's hand to pretend closer inspection. Meanwhile, Raven August the second agent, not as ugly and minus the scowl-face helped himself to the guest sign-in, scanning over the last three or four pages.
"All your guests sign this log?" August inquired in a more humane but nonetheless authoritative intonation.
"Duh," the clerk unwisely snarled, "it's a guest sign-in list."
"Don't be a smart ass," August replied. "Well? Answer."