The Enigmatologist by Ben Adams

stood next to him, dressed
in black. It was the first time John had been this close to soldiers that
hadn’t been in video games. He’d seen several in Denver, but they weren’t
young. They were the career types, officers whose responsibilities, the lives
of young men, had aged them.
    An older man with white hair, wearing a blue Air Force
uniform, sat on the bed. His jacket and hat lay on the bed with him, next to
John’s wallet, phone, and gun.
    “I don’t really know what’s going on here,” John said.
“But I’m pretty sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “Colonel Alvin P. Hollister, United States Air Force,” the
man said, a programmed formality. “You and I are going to have a conversation
about your nocturnal activities.”
    One of the soldiers whispered in Colonel Hollister’s ear,
handed him John’s driver’s license and business card.
    “Seriously,” John said, “I think you got the wrong room or
something.”
    “That’s interesting. But you’re more interesting, aren’t
you?” Colonel Hollister said, reading John’s ID. “John Abernathy, Private
Investigator.”
    John scooted against the motel chair, seeing the age
hidden in Colonel Hollister’s eyes. Not wrinkles or crow’s feet, but the
exhaustion of a true believer.
    “Just let me know what you want,” John said. “I’m more
than happy to help out.”
    “That depends,” Colonel Hollister said, “on what you were
doing at that trailer tonight.”
    “That’s what this is about? the guy in the trailer? I
don’t know him, don’t know anything about him. I was just hired to…”
    Colonel Hollister nodded once to the soldier next to John.
The soldier punched John, knocking off his glasses again. His jaw felt like it
had been crushed by a cinderblock and his mouth filled with metallic tasting
blood.
    “What the fuck?” John said, spitting blood on the floor.
“You asked me a question, remember? I’m just trying to give you an answer.”
    “Now, what were you…” Colonel Hollister stopped. He
examined John closely, visually dissecting him. “When I walked in, I could have
sworn you had a broken nose. Sergeant, I thought you said you broke his nose
when you kicked open the door.”
    “I did, sir.” The sergeant leaned in, inspected John. As
he got closer, his features came into focus, his straight jaw, close-cropped
hair, the abandoned look in his eye.
    “John,” Colonel Hollister asked, “were you ever sick as a
child? Ever have any broken bones?”
    “I thought you wanted to know about the trailer.”
    “Why do you wear glasses?”
    “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “I wonder what happens when you leave your glasses off for
a while.” Colonel Hollister tilted his head like he was pondering John’s poor
vision.
    “Look, you want to know about the trailer, let’s talk
about it. The guy’s a slob. You shoulda seen the
place, shit everywhere. Can I just have my glasses back? I get headaches
without them.”
    “Well, we don’t want that.” Colonel Hollister leaned over,
picked up John’s glasses, and placed them on his head. “I normally don’t
conduct interrogations. I’m a scientist. I prefer the lab. Research doesn’t
lie. Not like people. People think they’re clever. I don’t have the patience
for clever. Now, about the trailer…”
    Colonel Hollister motioned to the man standing next to
John. He pulled an iPad out of one of the many
pockets on his vest. He held the screen in front of John. It showed John’s car
from the rear, John crossing the street, going into the trailer park.
    “Yeah, that’s me, going to the guy’s trailer. We
established this.”
    “Fast forward,” Colonel Hollister said.
    The man fast-forwarded the video. John is running from the
trailer park. He removes his hood, and unintentionally looks up, into the
hidden camera. The man paused the video, zoomed in on John’s face.
    “You remember the trailer now?” the colonel said, his
voice sounding