by Matt Rogers
The old neural pathways.
And forge new ones.
But can you really change who you are?
He’d find out.
The bar was populated by a mixed crowd — some locals, some tourists, all in various states of intoxication. Some were further along that path than others. But the space was packed, seething with raucous laughter and raised voices and intense conversation. Slater felt right at home in the midst of it. Even though he was getting used to it, he didn’t like to linger alone with his thoughts for any longer than necessary. He’d struck up conversations in this place with people from all walks of life.
Sometimes, a different perspective was exactly what he needed.
Someone bumped into him, slamming against his shoulder on their way past. He almost flinched, and then grimaced a moment later as warm alcohol spilled down the sleeve of his shirt. A feminine gasp floated over the atmosphere, and he turned in his seat to find a twenty-something Caucasian girl touching her fingers to his arm, her mouth agape in mock horror. He could see the warmth behind her eyes. She was suitably drunk, but holding it together well.
And as they made eye contact, her shock morphed into a smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, almost purring.
American.
He took her hand off his shoulder. It required a little more effort than he anticipated. ‘It’s fine.’
She was cute, too. Dressed in tiny jean shorts that ended at the very top of her thighs, exposing legs honed through years of dedication to a Division I NCAA program. Volleyball, maybe. Her hair was light brown and straight, and it fell elegantly over slim shoulders. She carried herself well, too. She stood straight up. Her pronounced cheekbones moved effortlessly into the smile. No hint of shyness. Slater liked that.
‘I’m not usually that clumsy,’ she said. ‘Sorry, again.’
This time, it seemed like she meant it. She seemed aware of the dangers of Colombia. The country was mostly pleasant at surface level, but everything had its cracks. Especially in South America. Every now and then, the darker side of humanity seeped through.
She’d likely learnt to be wary around strangers.
In direct contrast to his usual frame of mind, Slater hoped she wasn’t alone.
‘You with friends?’ he said.
She nodded coyly. ‘Up the front.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘This bar?’ she said. ‘Or Colombia?’
‘Both.’
‘Two weeks in-country. And we’ve been around here for a couple of days.’
‘Who are you with?’
‘My boyfriend,’ she said, and it seemed to bring her back to reality. Until that point she’d been staring at Slater for an uncomfortable length of time. Her blue eyes bored into him. Surprised to find a fellow countryman in these parts. And, on top of that, there was the fact he was travelling solo, in impeccable shape, and didn’t seem to be a creep in the slightest. But now she realised what she was doing, and averted her gaze momentarily. ‘And our friends.’
‘How many of you?’
‘Four.’
‘You’re looking out for each other, right?’
She smiled. Playfully.
‘What are you, my dad?’
‘I don’t think I’m old enough for that.’
‘No,’ she said, and she returned to the prolonged eye contact, perhaps without even noticing. ‘How old are you?’
‘Old enough,’ he said, and leant forward on both elbows, flashing a luring smile of his own.
Activating old tendencies.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Maybe your boyfriend wouldn’t be happy you’re talking to me.’
She flashed a glance over her shoulder, then turned back with something strange in her eyes. ‘He can’t see.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you care what he thinks.’
‘Maybe I don’t.’
‘You should.’
‘I can make my own choices.’
‘You done anything like this before?’
She paused, once again sobering up to reality, and then said, ‘No.’
And he believed her.
Because he knew he possessed a unique combination of characteristics. He’d lost the humility of ignoring the fact long ago. Ever since he’d first signed up to the secretive government division known as Black Force, womanising had been something that came to him as effortlessly as breathing. And he hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on why until recently. Then he’d been forced to accept the truth — there was a certain subtle confidence that people like him possessed. Unseen, unheard, but resting there just under the surface.
He’d finally been able to pinpoint it.
It was the understanding that nothing in civilian life would ever compare to the indescribable burst of emotions that came with a life or death struggle. Slater had become particularly adept at those situations over the course of his life, and now all he could remember about his life was an endless string of adrenalin-pumping encounters. It made ordinary social settings effortless. He felt totally and utterly in control at all times, and it seeped out of him like a magnet. It attracted people.
Women included.
Even those that ordinarily didn’t stray away from their partners.
The bar swelled in volume as a jovial song blared out of the surround sound speakers, injecting the atmosphere with additional life. Slater beckoned the girl closer.
‘What’s your name?’ he said.
‘Casey,’ the girl said.
She stepped closer, following his commands.
‘You should go back to your boyfriend, Casey.’
She paused, staring at him.
Then she nodded.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘Actually,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘Yes I do.’
She stroked a hand down his shoulder. He was sure the alcohol aided her confidence.
‘You an athlete or something?’ she said.
‘“Or something.”’
‘I’ll be up the front if you want to say hi.’
‘In front of your boyfriend?’
‘He won’t bite.’
‘You all from the same place?’
She nodded. ‘Ohio. We’re at college.’
‘What are you doing all the way out here?’
‘Having fun. You?’
‘Same thing.’
‘All by yourself?’
‘I like being by myself.’
‘I want to join you.’
‘Where?’
‘We could go to the bathrooms.’
Slater smirked. ‘Go back to your boyfriend, Casey.’
And then she said the words that hammered a knot deep in Slater’s gut, because he had enough life experience to know where that path led in a place like this.
She said, ‘Do you know where we can get cocaine?’
5
Slater stared at her, unblinking, suddenly deadly serious.
He said, ‘You don’t want to buy cocaine around these parts.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Come on. It’s Colombia.’
‘I know. But you should have got it in a major city. It’s not all fun and games out here.’
‘You don’t have any?’
He stared at her with newfound understanding. Less of a wild soul. More of a junkie. Especially if she was blatantly running her mouth about it.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any.’
‘You seem mad.’
‘I’m not mad.’
‘Are you against drugs?’
Slater almost laughed. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
He feigned ignorance. ‘Nothing.’
‘If you had some, would you sell it to me?’
‘I’d give it to you for free if it meant you wouldn’t go around asking anyone else for it.’
‘Really? Why?’
Slater sighed. He had experience with all aspects of the human emotional spectrum. He understood personalities. Which meant he knew what would happen after their conversation came to an end, regardless of what he said. He set to work trying to find a way around the hard truth. Then he shrugged begrudgingly, reached out, and gripped her wrist. He pulled her closer to his table.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Just sit down.’
‘Only because you’re hot. Are those contacts or were you born with them?’
He tried not to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘Sit,’ he said.
She sat.
‘No matter what I say,’ he said. ‘You’re going to try and find drugs, aren’t you?’
She stared at him sheepishly. She knew he knew.
‘I’m going to tell you you shouldn’t,’ Slater said. ‘Because of the location. And the people who live around these parts.’
‘You know them?’
‘Not well. But I’ve seen enough.’
‘What have you seen?’
‘Nothing here.’
‘Then what’s to worry about?’
He started recalling every dead, maimed, and mutilated body he’d found over the course of his life. He didn’t have a chance at remembering them all.
‘There’s a lot to worry about,’ he said.
‘This is a lecture, isn’t it? You’re older than I thought you were.’
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But if you want the truth, I don’t care if you die of an overdose. That’s your choice to make. At least that’ll be quick in comparison to … look, just don’t approach anyone weird. Okay?’
The blood started to drain from her face. ‘You’re really weird yourself. I’ll let you drink on your own, then. Shame. This started so well…’
She started to kick the flimsy chair back. Slater snatched her wrist as subtly as he could, and planted her back in the seat.
‘Casey,’ he said. ‘Go to the major cities and buy as much coke as you want. But not out here. You should have brought it with you.’
‘Why?’ she said with a sly smile. ‘You want some? You scared to get it on your own?’
He almost snapped, but he reined in his anger. He glanced around the crowded bar, then shrugged to himself. Perhaps it was paranoia. Perhaps he was projecting what he’d seen in the past onto a situation that didn’t warrant such an extreme reaction.
Then again, maybe not…
He held up his hands. ‘Do what you gotta do.’
‘You sure you don’t want to go to the bathrooms?’ she said.
Even to someone with his history, her overtness shocked him.
‘You on anything right now?’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be trying to score, you idiot.’
‘Just drinking, then?’
‘Yeah.’
‘The four of you all pretty wasted?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Stick to that for the rest of the day.’
‘Whatever, grandpa.’
‘I mean it.’
‘So do I.’
‘Get out of here.’
She kicked the chair back, albeit teasingly. There was a wry smile plastered across her face now. Her mood swings verged on bipolar. Before she left she bent down, curving at her wholly impressive waist, and whispered in his ear, ‘I don’t get rejected that often.’
‘You’re drunk.’
‘So are you,’ she said, indicating his empty glass.
He smiled. ‘A lifetime of drinking. Takes a serious amount to get me feeling anything.’
‘Then let us buy you a round.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We’re in Colombia. Having a good time. Does everything have to be so complicated?’
‘Your boyfriend might not approve.’
‘He’ll love you.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘You’re full of questions, aren’t you?’
‘I’m a curious guy.’
‘You don’t seem that old. You’re American. To them you’ll seem cool as hell. And you look like an Olympian, babe. They’ll love you.’
‘Is that what this is all about?’
‘You seemed like a cool guy. Before all the warning shit. But I’m willing to forget about it.’
‘And why would I want to hang out with the four of you?’
She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. My friend’s single.’
‘I’m probably ten years older than her.’
‘You’re making things really hard for yourself, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not that drunk yet.’
‘Even if you were, I still think you’d be a grump.’
‘Yeah, well…’ Slater said, recalling the madness of his past. ‘People change.’
‘So what about that drink? We haven’t found a fellow countryman in days.’
‘I’ll take it. But I don’t know what you’re expecting from me.’
‘The guys will think you’re a living legend. You give off that vibe.’
‘And if they knew what you’d offered?’
‘Then they’d try to beat you up, probably.’
‘I’d like to see that.’
‘They’re aggressive drunks.’
Slater said nothing. He just smiled.
‘What?’ Casey said.
‘Probably best left unsaid.’
‘You’re mysterious,’ she said. ‘I like you.’
‘So are we pretending this chat never happened?’
‘If you know what’s good for you.’
‘I don’t think I do,’ Slater said, then he leant forward himself and whispered back in her ear. ‘I almost accepted.’
She visibly bit her lip. ‘How close were you?’
‘Very.’
‘What stopped you?’
‘A memory.’
‘Of what?’
‘Let’s save that for another time.’
‘Because of the cocaine thing?’
He nodded. ‘But not because of what you said. Because of something I saw. A while ago.’
‘Don’t want to talk about it?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
‘And it ruined our chances of a romp…?’
‘I just … don’t feel right anymore.’
‘Another drink will fix that.’
‘I take it neither of us should mention how forward you were around your boyfriend.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said with a sly grin, and disappeared into the raucous crowd.
6
Casey’s friends proved pleasant enough.
First came Jake, Casey’s boyfriend. He was a big guy — a football player, probably — with the blonde locks and dashing good looks to match. Stereotypical enough, Slater noted. He greeted Slater with an over-the-top handshake and a beaming grin. His eyes were also muddied with the fog of alcohol. Slater figured the drinking had started long before the group had reached the bar.
Next came Harvey, a slightly less impressive kid with straight brown hair and a plain, unassuming build. But he made up in confidence what he lacked in physical characteristics. He leapt into conversation with Slater without restraint, and Slater decided to oblige them. The last of the group was Whitney, the supposedly single one Casey had talked up moments earlier. She was petite — no taller than five three — with striking green eyes and tanned skin. She attracted attention effortlessly — most of the men in the bar couldn’t take their eyes off her. She shook Slater’s hand politely as she introduced herself, and he noted the intensity of her grip. She lingered on him a little longer than what would be considered normal. Over her shoulder, Slater noticed Casey smiling at him.
He tipped back another glass of vodka Harvey fetched from the bartender, and immediately decided he wouldn’t be trying anything today. A faint memory flared in his subconscious
the second he considered seducing them. The memory of a woman in the Russian Far East.
Natasha.
He’d known her for less than a day before she disappeared. He’d razed Vladivostok to the ground searching for her. And he’d found her.
Far too late.
So he wasn’t subjecting anyone else to the dark magnetic energy that seemingly plagued his existence. He hadn’t set to work tearing it down yet. In fact, if his encounter with the trio of narcos earlier that morning symbolised anything, he was on the precipice of tumbling back into the madness. The Will Slater of old would have somehow talked Casey and Whitney back to his compound within the hour, but superstition nagged at him, and he decided to let it be.
Which meant he should go.
He maintained small talk, drinking and laughing and employing the guise of an ordinary traveller, but the discomfort of his past experiences sat there in his brain, gnawing at him, demanding that he take his miserable wretched bad luck and direct it somewhere else.
But he stayed.
Call it defiance. Call it a transformation. He was tired of running from normalcy. He was fed up with the pain he inadvertently brought to others, but he was more fed up with worrying about it.
He had to admit he was overanalysing every shred of data that reality was feeding him. Jake asked him something, and he shook himself back to the present as he realised he’d zoned out completely.
‘Sorry,’ he said, cradling a beer, deep in the throbbing bliss of alcohol. ‘What was that?’
‘I was saying, dude, what’s the craziest shit you’ve ever done?’
Slater shrugged. ‘I’ve been skydiving a few times.’
Jake’s eyes widened. ‘No way! I’ve always wanted to, bro. Never got around to it. Fuckin’ terrifying, right?’
Slater recalled an endless stream of HALO jumps into hostile territories. The oxygen mask strapped to his face, his breathing laboured and rattling in his ears, his heavy gear strapped to his chest, the floor shaking, the light turning red, someone screaming ‘Go, go, go!’, the plunge into the abyss, the shaky landing, the wars on the ground, the bloodshed and death and fighting and beatings and murder and…
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Pretty scary.’
‘Where’d you do it?’ Harvey said.
‘All over the place.’
‘Come on, man,’ Jake said. ‘You’re not giving away anything, are you? You making this shit up, bro? You can tell us.’