Zero at the Bone

by Jane Seville

  He finally lifted his head and looked at her full in the face, but whatever he planned to say died behind a horrified expression. “Oh my God, what the fuck happened ta you?”

  “Petros had a go at me. I’m fine.”

  “You ain’t fine; you look half-dead. You oughta be in the hospital.”

  “I checked myself out.” She squared her shoulders a little. “Punched that psychopath’s ticket, though.”

  D hesitated, and then smiled a little. “Killed him?”

  “I’d like to take credit for superior strategy, but it was more or less a reflex.”

  “How?”

  “Straight razor to the throat.”

  D looked impressed. “Damn. That’s old-school.”

  “Well, he did go pretty medieval on my face,” she said, grimacing.

  “That’s for fuckin’ sure. You want some ice or somethin’?”

  “I’m okay. They gave me some Darvocet at the hospital.”

  He was silent for another few moments. “Megan, look… whatever debt y’owe me, you done paid it back and then some. You saved my life and Jack’s when you called Churchill. We’d both be lyin’ dead on some warehouse floor right now if ya hadn’t. That ain’t sayin’ nothing ’bout all them times you saved my life before, or how ya helped us out in Tahoe.”

  “A life debt isn’t a mortgage, D. You’re not done after thirty years plus interest. It’s never over; it’ll never be repaid.”

  “Well, then… I owe you one a them life debts now too. So I guess we jus’ keep payin’ each other back ’til somebody cries uncle.”

  “I’m game if you are.”

  “’Fraid I’m gonna be real busy fer the next foreseeable future.”

  “Well, you know how to reach me.” She stood up and extended a hand to help D to his feet. “Let’s not rush off just yet. We could both use a shower, some clean clothes and some food, I’m guessing.”

  D put a hand on his stomach. “I am kinda hungry. Guess… I dunno. Now I know Jack’s safe, well… it’s a load off my mind fer the time bein’.”

  “I brought your things back from Jack’s car. You left it at the warehouse.”

  “Right. Thanks.” He started toward the bathroom, then turned. “You give Jack back his things too?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Good,” he said, nodding. “Hate ta think a him without that doctor bag.”

  ~~~~~

  They ordered a pizza and ate it sitting on the floor by the coffee table, not talking much. Megan was feeling a little wrung out from her confessional. She’d been rehearsing how she’d someday tell D what he’d done for her for years now, but when the time had come all her preparations had gone out the window and the facts had come spilling out in a blunt, declarative flood. She felt hollowed out; the space within herself where she’d stored all her secrets and all those words she knew she’d someday say to him was empty and echoing. It was a good kind of empty, though. Unlike the kind of empty that she knew had taken up residence inside D.

  D drank half a bottle of beer at a swallow. “Goddamn,” he said. “That hit the spot.”

  She nodded, mouth full of pizza. “Grease and carbs always hit the spot.”

  He fiddled with the edge of his paper towel, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Thinkin’ I might crash here tonight if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “I wanna get goin’ but I’m fuckin’ beat. It’s like I been tensed up fer months now and suddenly it’s gone and I’m like some kinda wet noodle, all floppy.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I don’t even know where I’m goin’ first. Might be best fer me ta stick ’round here. I’m gonna need some sources fer what I got planned, though. And the brothers got family workin’ all over; gonna hafta do some travelin’.”

  “You’re still not going to tell me what you’ve got up your sleeve, are you?”

  “Best ya don’t know.”

  She shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  D shook his head. “Yer jus gonna magically show up like ya do anyhow, don’t know why I’m botherin’ ta try’n keep shit from you.”

  Megan grinned, as much as she could with her bruised face. “You want to know how I always find you?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What, you really gonna tell me?”

  “Well, we don’t have many secrets left, do we? Might as well go for broke.”

  “Yeah, I’m dyin’ ta know, actually.”

  She took a deep breath, wondering how he’d take this. “You have a transmitter implanted in your body.”

  His brow furrowed. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yep.”

  “I fuckin’ don’t! Ya think I’d know somethin’ like that!”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “How the hell’m I s’posed ta buy that you somehow implanted a—”

  “Wasn’t me that implanted it. It was your… former employers.”

  “My former… what?”

  “You were special ops, D. Let’s just say that the army likes to keep track of its assets.” D looked gobsmacked. “Let me guess,” she said. “Just before you were promoted to special ops, you had some kind of minor medical procedure that required general anesthesia, right?”

  D was nodding, his brow still furrowed. “Had some bridge work done.”

  “Yeah, that’s a popular one. While you were out they implanted a transmitter in one of your bones, probably your jaw since your gums were already opened up. A small, nonmetallic transmitter with a forty-year lithium power cell. Nontoxic and high frequency, detectable via satellite from virtually anywhere.”

  “Motherfucker,” D said, rubbing his jaw.

  “The device is deactivated when an asset retires, dies, or otherwise leaves, as you did.”

  “But you got it reactivated, right?”

  “I have prevented a lot of assassinations in my time. There are a lot of people at the Pentagon who owe me favors.”

  “Who’s to prevent somebody else from trackin’ me with this fuckin’ thing?” D said, looking like he wanted to rip his jaw out of his skull to be rid of it.

  “Oh, no. The frequency is key-code encrypted. It was actually quite difficult to gain access to it. I made sure no one else ever could, though. I had your encryptions purged from the system once I had them.”

  D still looked troubled. “I don’t like the idea a some bug in my head lettin’ you track me. No offense meant ta you, but I ain’t one ta be on no leash.”

  “I know.” She thought for a moment. “If you want me to shut it down, I will.”

  He opened his mouth quickly, probably to say “hell yes,” then shut it again, thinking. He heaved a mighty sigh. “Better not. You gonna be lookin’ in on Jack, I guess?” She nodded. “You might need ta find me. Was already thinking we oughta set up some kinda weekly check-in, so if I miss it you know somethin’s up. Guess… be good if you was able ta find me,” he said, grudgingly.

  “I think so too.”

  He held her eyes for a moment, and then got up. “I’m gonna sack out. Be leavin’ in the mornin’… if yer okay, that is,” he added.

  She flapped a hand. “I’m fine.” He started to head to the second bedroom. “D?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He turned back. “Shoot.”

  Megan considered her phrasing before speaking. “What is it that you want, ultimately? Once you’re done with the brothers, and say you’ve gotten Jack free of Witsec. What are you hoping for then?”

  He leaned against the wall. “Well, he wants… ya know, a life. A garden and a dog and… normal stuff.”

  She cocked her head. “Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is ta give him what he wants.” He sighed. “I jus’ hope I remember how.” He turned and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him

  ~~~~~

  “Can’t I ride in a wheelchair?”

  “No. You have to go on a gurney.
You just had surgery, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Gurney.”

  “Fine.” But Jack at least insisted on getting out of bed and onto the gurney himself, which he did very slowly and carefully.

  Churchill walked at his side as he was loaded into an elevator and taken to the rooftop helipad, where a medevac helicopter was waiting. “The helicopter will take us to the airport,” Churchill said, “and we’ll fly from there.”

  “I can fly?”

  “The government has planes with medical equipment; it’ll be just like being back in your room.”

  “Swell.” Jack held onto the edges of his gurney, feeling acrophobic all of a sudden, as they loaded him into the helicopter. Churchill got in next to the pilot and a flight nurse climbed in and tucked himself next to the gurney. Jack stared out the window at the Baltimore cityscape. I wonder if he’s still in town, or if he’s halfway across the country. Jack was struck by the absurd hope that D was still in town, and that he might by chance look up and see the helicopter leaving. One last goodbye, even if he didn’t know Jack was on board.

  The nurse was putting a headset on Jack, cutting off most external sound as the rotor blades started up. “You okay, Jack?” Churchill said, tinny through the headset.

  Jack nodded. “I’m okay.” Just shot full of holes and heartbroken. No big thing. He reached out and touched the window glass with one finger as the helicopter lifted off, zooming away from the hospital faster than Jack expected. Within a few minutes, the city was receding as they headed for BWI.

  Goodbye, D. I miss you already.

  ~~~~~

  Jack woke up in yet another hospital room. As before, Churchill was sitting in a chair by the bed, except now it was night, and this wasn’t Baltimore. “Jesus, did I sleep the whole flight?” he rasped.

  Churchill gave a start and dropped the book he’d been reading. “Oh, shit… uh, yeah. The nurse gave you a sedative so you would.”

  “Is this Albany?”

  He grinned. “We were never going to Albany, Jack. We always say we are in case we’re overheard. It’s our little code word.”

  “Oh. Where’s this, then?”

  “Welcome to Portland, Jack. Your new home.”

  “Maine?”

  “Oregon.”

  Jack stared.

  “I know; it’s far.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You’ll be here in the hospital for at least a week before we can take you to your new house.”

  “Where am I going to work? Do I have a name? What about money? How am I—”

  Churchill held up a hand. “Shh. There’ll be time for all those discussions later. Everything’s taken care of; you don’t have to worry.” He got up and came closer. “But if you’d like to know your new name, here it is.” He handed Jack a driver’s license.

  He stared at it, an Oregon license, with his face on it next to a name that was only half his. Jack Davies. Generic. Everyday. Ordinary.

  Safe.

  There had to be a zillion guys named Jack Davies in the country. How would anyone find him with this name?

  Especially people he wanted to find him?

  ~~~~~

  D was checking around for anything he’d forgotten when Megan shuffled out of her room in a bathrobe, looking even more bruised and battered than the night before, if that were possible. He felt another surge of anger at Petros for the job he’d done on his friend.

  Friend. His only friend apart from Jack. And now the only friend he could see whenever he wanted to. After years of being alone, the idea of being so again had lost its appeal, and he was glad that she was in his corner, at least.

  “You heading out?” she said, the words half-swallowed in a huge yawn.

  “Yeah. Headin’ up ta New York. Brothers got a big presence up there; gonna sniff ’round a bit, find a place ta crash, scout things out.”

  “I’ll be here for at least a week. After that, I don’t know. You got my cell.”

  He nodded, patting his pocket for car keys, and coming to an embarrassingly obvious realization. “Oh, fuck. I don’t have a car.”

  She held out her keys. “Take this one. Treasury issue. I’d advise you to swap the plates as fast as you can.” She shrugged off his objection before he’d even voiced it. “They’ll send me another one. Don’t worry about it.”

  He took the keys. “Well… all right.” They stood there by the door in awkward silence for a moment. D felt something else was required, but he was ill at ease in this situation.

  Megan just smiled, then stepped close and hugged him. D hugged back after a moment’s hesitation, being careful of her many injuries. “You take care. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do. And, uh….”

  “Soon as I’m back on my feet I’ll look in on him. You, uh… have a message you want me to give him?”

  D considered that. “No. I cain’t tell Jack nothin’ he don’t already know. Not through no third party, anyhow. Not even if it’s you.”

  “Understood.”

  D let his eyes linger for a moment on her battered face. “Thank you,” he said, hoping she could hear the many layers and vast depths of his gratitude.

  She sighed. “Get out of here before you embarrass both of us,” she said, shoving him out the door. He picked up his bags, one with clothes and one with guns, and headed out.

  He found Megan’s nondescript Taurus in the parking lot and climbed in, that old sense of beginning a new venture lending lift to his rotors as they spun faster and faster. He backed out and turned the car’s nose first to the street, then to the highway, then to mighty I-95, north to New York.

  D shook out his mirrored sunglasses and slid them onto his face, letting the miles accumulate between him and the emotional, wrenching days he’d spent in Baltimore, each click of the odometer stripping him back, closer to who he’d once been, freezing his mind and focusing his thoughts onto one goal, one target, one plan.

  A grim little smile creased his lips as morning broke over Maryland, a smile that meant only one thing: that someone was going to be very, very sorry.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Three months later...

  ~~~~~

  Jack was watching a little boy, about three years old, try to pick up a pumpkin that was at least as big as he was. The boy had curly blond hair and was wearing overalls and a bright red hoodie. His little arms didn’t even reach halfway around the pumpkin, but he was screwing up his face and giving it the old college try.

  A man came up to the boy and crouched at his side. He was wearing jeans and a gray cable-knit turtleneck sweater with expensive-looking leather gloves. He had casual stubble and his hair was mussed in that weekend-suburban-dad way. He owned the world and knew it. “You like that one, sport?” he said to the little boy.

  “Daddy, this one!” said the boy, pointing and looking up at his father, who could do anything, lift anything, give him anything, and towered so high that he blocked the sun. “This big one!”

  “Okay,” the man said, chuckling. A prettily plump woman came up with a wagon in tow, a girl of about six hanging onto her hand. The dad lifted the large pumpkin and put it in the wagon with the two that were already there. “All right, that’ll be plenty for jack-o’-lanterns,” he said. “Let’s find some tiny ones and then we’ll go to Aunt Sharon’s house.”

  “Up!” the little boy cried, bouncing on his tiny feet. The father reached down and swung the boy effortlessly up to his shoulders and hung on to his legs as they walked away, unaware that Jack was watching them go.

  He looked down at the pumpkins scattered all around the field, waiting to be chosen for exalted Halloween duty.

  Why am I here? Why the fuck do I need a pumpkin? I don’t have anyone to help me carve it or tease me about what a bad job I’m making of it.

  He looked around at his fellow pumpkin-shoppers. Families, couples, kids, grandparents. His eyes snagged on a pair of men in jeans and colorful sweaters, j
oking with each other and play-shoving as they debated their pumpkin choices. As he watched, the men caught hands and squeezed briefly, then let go.

  He sighed and picked up a good-sized pumpkin. What the hell. Single people need jack-o’-lanterns too.

  ~~~~~

  “Hey, Jack!”

  Jack looked up from the intimidating pile of books and magazines sitting at the information desk, waiting to be reshelved. Lydia was coming out from the backroom, pulling on her coat. “Yeah?”

  “You’re on recovery tonight?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “Well, we’re going out to Skully’s. Do you want to come?”

  “I’ll be another half-hour at least. Can I meet you there?”

  “Sure,” she said, beaming a wide smile at him. Terrance, the manager, was waiting at the front door to unlock it so Lydia and the other booksellers could leave. “See you in a little while.”

  Jack nodded, tossing her an absent wave as he quickly sorted the books into piles by area of the store. Fiction, sports, kids, history…. He frowned at a large coffee stain on an expensive coffee-table book about stained-glass windows. Another one for the damaged pile, he grumbled to himself. Goddamned customers.

  “I’ll just be twenty minutes or so, Jack,” said Terrance as he headed for the cash office with his arms full of register drawers. “Do what you can.”

  “Okay.”

  “And can you check the tables?” he called from across the store.

  “Sure.” Jack left the desk and went to the rear of the store, where several reading tables sat near the Psychology section. It was a frequent dumping-ground for customer castoffs. Indeed, there were several piles of books and a few empty coffee cups waiting for him. Jack gathered everything up and took it back to the service desk, his mind pleasantly blank.