by Laura Acton
“Kellie’s cooking is worth it, right?” Bram noted Dan’s eyes didn’t match his outward appearance, but he pretended right along with him because, quite frankly, they were all FINE by Dan’s definition.
After everyone else left, Jon peered at Nick. “Going home means you too. You’re not going to find anything in the transcript we haven’t discussed. Sometimes things are beyond our control.”
Nick rubbed his face before leaning back and blowing out a breath. “I worry Pope will find something we missed.”
“He won’t. The man is an ass. At least Gambrill shut him down a bit.” Jon pushed out of his chair and stretched his back. “How about you come over tomorrow for dinner? The boys would love for you to visit.”
Nick shook his head. “Thanks for the invite, but Christiana is in town for three days. I didn’t think we would be able to match schedules, but with us on leave, I’m free to meet whenever she is available.”
Jon’s worry dropped by ninety percent. He still held out hope Nick would find love again. Christiana lasted longer than any other woman in Nick’s life since Janie passed away. “Give me a buzz if plans with her fall through. Jen always makes enough for an extra plate.”
Rising, Nick let out a genuine chuckle. “Doubt that is true with the way Kent eats lately. You might go broke.”
“True, true. Did I tell you that boy ate more waffles than Dan?” Jon started for the exit, and Nick stepped with him.
“Yeah, twelve, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Walter leaned on the wall as each of his officers left the building. Today had been difficult. He truly believed they did the best they could, and they saved fifteen of eighteen hostages. The police spokesperson would make it clear that without Alpha Team, more people could’ve died.
Outside Dan’s Apartment – 10:05 p.m.
As Dan inserted his key, the door across the hall opened. Though not in the mood for company, he stopped and turned, unwilling to be rude to Mrs. Stark.
Eleanor hurried out, leaving her door open. “Dan, I saw the newscast. Are you all alright? Is everyone on your team, okay?”
“Yes, we’re fine.” Dan forced a smile. The dear lady would never guess his true meaning.
“I kept an ear out for you. You haven’t been home much recently. I have some news I wanted to share.” A sad smile crossed Eleanor’s face. “Would you please come in for a cup of tea and cookies? Mr. Waggles would like to visit with you too.”
Though he didn’t want to sip tea or eat anything, Dan nodded. The lonely woman didn’t have family in the area and often only wanted a bit of company, which he could provide. “Let me drop my bag off, and I’ll be right there.”
Dan unlocked his door, opened it a crack, and dumped his go-bag inside before shutting the door and following his neighbor.
Mrs. Stark’s Apartment
He halted at her entryway, his eyes rounding in surprise, staring at all the boxes. “You’re moving?”
Eleanor nodded, her eyes a mix of happy and sad. “Yes. My son returned from Australia and is now living in Mississauga.” As a man in his early fifties came out of one of the bedrooms, Eleanor said, “Denzel, I want you to meet Dan Broderick. Dan, this is my eldest, Denzel Stark.”
Denzel shook Dan’s hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Dan. I want to thank you for all you’ve done for my mother. She sang your praises every time we spoke.”
Still processing the news, Dan decided he tempted fate earlier by wondering if this day could get crappier. The answer … a resounding yes. He would miss the sweet, elderly woman and Mr. Waggles too. Realizing the dead air, Dan responded, “I didn’t do much. Only carried some food up for the pup.”
When his mother went to make tea, Denzel pinned his eyes on the younger man. “I’m aware of what you did. Mom is sharp as a tack but is terrible with handling money. Dad always took care of that aspect. When I went to the market to stop the deliveries, I asked for the balance due. They told me you have been covering most of the cost. I want to repay you.”
“Not necessary. Please don’t tell her.” Dan spied the border collie as the dog lopped down the hallway with a ball in his mouth. The first real smile today came as Dan knelt and received an enthusiastic welcome from his furry friend. “Gonna miss ya, buddy.”
Waggles knocked Dan to the carpet in his zest for attention. He didn’t understand all the brown squares in his place, but his boy came to play, which made him happy.
Eleanor wiped a single tear from her cheek after pouring the water in the kettle to steep the tea and returning to the front room. “We’re going to miss you too. I’ll send you our address, and maybe you can visit us on occasion. Mississauga isn’t too far. Waggles would love for you to come and toss the ball around. He will have a huge yard to roam around in.”
Taking a seat on the couch, Denzel said, “I bought property with a separate bungalow in the back. Been wanting Mom to move out of this building for ages. Going up and down ten flights of stairs isn’t easy on her. The apartment complex was brand new when she and my dad moved in forty-plus years ago. She didn’t want to leave the memories of raising a family here.
“And while I was assigned to the Australian office, I didn’t have much sway.” He flashed a smile at his dear mother. “But I took her to view my new home after I relocated, and well, Waggles fell in love with the huge backyard. With a little persuasion, Mom agreed to come live with my wife and me.”
When his mom went to grab cookies, Denzel quickly said, “Are you certain I can’t repay you?”
Peering up at Denzel after rolling Waggles’ ball, Dan answered, “I’m sure.”
“Then how about a donation to a charity of your choice?”
Though Dan didn’t think he needed to be repaid, believing he received compensation by being able to play with Waggles, he considered the benefit to others. “If you want, Mayfield Soup Kitchen provides meals and a place for the homeless to stay during the winter.”
“Very well. Mayfield it is.” Denzel popped up and moved to carry the tray for his mother. “Mmmm! I missed your cookies, Mom.”
Dan remained on the floor, sitting crossed legged, and soaked up the comfort Mr. Waggles provided as the furry stress reliever curled up in his lap. By the state of Eleanor’s home, Dan figured she would be gone soon. “When are you leaving?”
“Movers come tomorrow, which is why I was hoping to catch you.” Eleanor took a seat in the chair near Dan and reached out a hand, gladdened when he clasped hers. “Dan, you are a godsend, and I will miss our chats over tea. Your mother and father must be quite proud of you. Someday, you will start a family of your own, and I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
Sucking in a breath and plastering on a smile, Dan would never show how much her last words hurt. A wife and children would not be in the cards for him. The only woman he would ever love was with someone new, and he must pretend to be okay with only being her friend. Yeah, today just got crappier.
Echoes from the Past
3
September 24
Dan’s Truck – 6:38 a.m.
Lying in the bed of his truck, one arm tucked behind his head as his only cushion, staring at the lightening sky, Dan figured he managed a total of three hours of sleep between nightmares. After spending a half-hour at Mrs. Stark’s, he went to his apartment. In a worse mood than when he arrived home, thoughts of Lexa and the day’s events wouldn’t leave him alone.
After eating a slice of pizza from a box he left on the counter the day before, he kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed. Drained, he headed to his bedroom and tried to lie on his bed, but after twenty minutes of tossing and turning, and catching a phantom whiff of jasmine off his pillow, he rose and went to his common room.
For over an hour, he stood at his window, staring out at the city lights as painful memories assaulted him. Glancing at his couch, he realized he wouldn’t be able to sleep there either, recalling all the times he sat on the sofa with Lexa, la
ughing, talking, and making out. Becoming angry, he stalked out of his place and to the stairwell, intending to sleep on the roof.
The brisk night air calmed him a bit, until sirens of a fire truck broke the silence, bringing back images of flames and echoes of screams. He hunkered down against the wall, covering his ears, striving to shove the memories back into his box. At some point, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
A strange nightmare woke him a few hours later. The dream started pleasant enough with him and Lexa sharing a romantic meal on the rooftop, the bright moon reflecting in her golden flecked hazel eyes but morphed into something grotesque. Lexa glared at him, pushed him away, told him he was unworthy, and demanded he leave so she and Duke could enjoy their burgers and beers … the food he brought from Jarmal’s.
His apartment roof would no longer be a sanctuary. It, like his bed, shower, couch, kitchen island, and the elevator all reminded him of Lexa, of what he lost and would never have again. The family Mrs. Stark wished for him would never be. Unsure where to attempt sleep again, he wandered down the stairs and out to the parking lot.
Half tempted to hop on his motorcycle and ride like the wind, Dan stopped himself, recognizing it would be stupid and dangerous given his state of mind. The last thing he wanted was to crash and end up in the hospital because that would surely be the icing on the shit-cake of his day.
Instead, he crawled into the truck bed and lay down. He drifted in and out the remainder of the night, waking in a cold sweat several times to the screams of either the hostages or Shy. He needed to get a grip but struggled as never before to tuck the memories away and shut the lid.
Sitting up, Dan sighed. He glanced around and decided he better head back inside before any neighbors discovered him sleeping in his truck. Dan wished to be working because idle time made processing his emotions more difficult. He required something else to focus on, but that wouldn’t be happening while on administrative leave.
Laundromat – 11:20 a.m.
Dan stuffed his dark clothing in one washer and started it. Moving to the only other open machine, three aisles over in the busy laundromat, he put in his lights and swiped the card to start the second load. Lugging his dirty clothes around was a hassle, but he couldn’t face going into his complex’s laundry room. Like other areas, memories of Lexa pervaded the basement, especially in the facilities where Mrs. Stark almost caught him and Lexa in a compromising position during the wee hours of the morning.
Slumping into a chair to wait, Dan yawned and picked up his coffee. He would be running on caffeine today. He fished his phone out of his pocket as it buzzed, and noted the caller. He expected this call ever since glimpsing his face along with Jon’s and Lexa’s splashed across the TV hanging on the wall in the laundromat. Someone videotaped them as they handed over their Remi’s to NRB yesterday and must’ve given the footage to a news outlet.
“Hi, Mudbucket.” Dan used the name as a deflection, not wanting his cousin to worry. “Guess you’re the designated caller.”
“Yep. You made the news in Ottawa. How ya doing, Runt?” Jeff discerned the deflection. He and the rest of the family learned a hell of a lot about Dan while helping to rehab his cousin’s lungs last autumn.
“Not the outcome we wanted.”
“No shit, Sherlock. But not what I asked.”
“Been better,” Dan admitted. “We’re on administrative leave.”
“How long?”
“Not certain. Depends on when the investigation finishes and what they find. The evidence gathered will determine whether we face any charges.” Dan took a sip of his coffee.
“No fucking way! They wouldn’t, would they?” Jeff paced his kitchen.
“They will if Pope finds any break in protocol. I swear, the inspector hates us because we’re TRF.” Dan sighed. “He reminds me a little of Murphy. Believes we receive special treatment. Honestly, I don’t think anything will come of the inquiry. We followed procedure … just a shitty outcome.”
“Any idea why the explosives went off?”
“No. Um, can we talk about something else? I rehashed the details three times yesterday.”
“Three? Why so many?”
“NRB, Pope, and debrief. I don’t recall any of my mission after-action reports being scrutinized to this level.”
“Yeah, the military is different, but I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I got the day off. Want to swing up and hang out?”
“Sorry, no. Told Bram, I would help him assemble a swing set this afternoon.” Dan yawned again.
“Excellent practice. Scott will need help building one in a few years.” Jeff relaxed. Bram will always cover Dan’s six. Bram reminded him of Mason, not only because of his massive physical stature and gentle spirit, but both men demonstrated a fierce protectiveness of his cousin.
Dan glanced over at his first washer and spotted a woman opening the lid. “Hey, my clothes are washing.” He rose and hurried over, but before he could stop her, she poured a bottle of bleach into the machine. “What the hell?!”
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jeff didn’t like the sound of Dan’s voice nor the fact he didn’t respond to him but remained on the line.
Tasheka slammed the top and glared at the cop. Her eyes narrowed, and her face contorted in rage. “You deserve more for killing those people.”
Dan halted as everyone gawked at him and the crazy woman. “What?”
Enough venom to kill the earth’s population five times over laced each of Tasheka’s words, “You heard me. Pigs are nothing but black-booted murderers whose actions are whitewashed by the politico to keep everyone in line. Figured I’d whitewash your uniforms, so they match what’s about to happen.”
“What?” Disbelief colored Dan’s tone.
“Pigs will never be held accountable. Your teammate beat a man in custody, and the guy conveniently dies in lockup, so Palomo doesn’t face charges. You pigs love to terrorize everyone and caused the death of three people, but the Fascists in charge will spin things insisting you didn’t do anything wrong.”
At a loss for how to respond to the outright hatred the woman spewed, Dan drew on his training to remain calm, although he wanted to yell at her she had it all wrong. Before he could figure out how to defuse the volatile situation, an unlikely supporter piped up in the silence.
Thoroughly incensed by the deranged woman’s accusations, recognizing the valiant officer, Carrie came to the man’s defense. “You’re dead wrong. How dare you do something so crass! Police go above and beyond to help us. I know for a fact.” She glared at the idiot as she pointed at Dan. “He saved my daughter and me two years ago during a bank robbery.
“This officer risked his life to save everyone in the bank after one of the cold-blooded criminals murdered a man because he couldn’t kneel. And yesterday they saved fifteen of the eighteen hostages. I don’t care if you espouse stupid opinions, but what you did is a crime. By all rights, this brave constable should file a complaint against you for ruining his uniforms.”
Hurrying from the back after calling 911, having overheard and observed the entire exchange, Dawala couldn’t believe the ignorance of the angry woman. She possessed no clue what true terror was, but he did. He witnessed horrific acts of violence by men seeking political power before being lucky enough to emigrate to Canada from Sudan.
If this woman had seen the things he had, men hacking people apart and setting them on fire while alive, she might not be ranting at this noble lawman. “Madam, please gather your items and leave. You are no longer welcome in my establishment,” Dawala spoke with a heavy accent, proud of himself for learning English.
“You should make this fascist pig leave. He is stinking up this place!” Tasheka sneered.
An elderly lady using her cane and pushing a rolling, plastic tub in front of her moved to the washer and shut it off. She began pulling out the garments, intent on trying to salvage the young man’s clothing.
Two patrolmen entered, having only be
en down the street when the disturbance call came in. “What is the situation here, Broderick?” Constable Marwan Al-Abbas asked as he recognized the blond officer who did his firearm requals in January. A man with a pleasant smile who added him to the shortlist for TRF consideration.
Before Dan could answer, several patrons all pointed at the enraged female and began to explain what she did. Astounded by the show of public support, Dan remained quiet as the constables sorted out the events. When asked if he wanted to file a complaint, Dan declined.
After the hubbub died down and the officers escorted the still fuming woman out, several older ladies took his clothing to a sink and chattered about the best way to remove the bleach from his clothes.
As he dropped into a chair, Dan recalled he had been on the phone with Jeff, and lifted it to his ear. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, what the hell happened? I didn’t catch everything.” Jeff sat on his kitchen stool and ran a hand through his hair. His cousin’s life was never dull. The weirdest things always happened to him.
Dan explained as the ladies rinsed out his garments. They kindly yet firmly rebuffed his half-hearted attempt to stop them. Thankful for their help because quite frankly, he believed his apparel to be a lost cause and resolved himself to having to buy new uniforms.
When he finished and noted the pile of saved items growing, a small smile bloomed. “After yesterday’s outcome and the woman’s diatribe, those coming to my assistance reminds me most people in the world are decent and kind.”
Jeff nodded. “True. It only takes one rotten apple to spoil the pie. So, are your uniforms toast?”
“A few, but not all. Apparently, there is a method for neutralizing the effects of bleach on fabric. Can you put in a requisition for a dozen more of the Arctic weather black undershirts for me? With the prediction this autumn and winter will be the coldest in a hundred years, I added them to my load, so they would be clean and ready. Unfortunately, it appears they didn’t fare too well, and wearing white-splotched undershirts isn’t acceptable.”