by Ethan Cross
Black sat quietly. He knew that Munroe would be expecting him to ask what interest DCIS had in him, but he had always found that silence had a strange way of establishing dominance in situations such as this.
Munroe reached up and removed the sunglasses, placing them on the table with delicate care. The man’s eyes were a piercing blue, but the stare was vacant and cold like that of a dead body, gazing off into nothingness. The eyes were wide and haunting and made Black feel strangely uneasy.
“Do my eyes bother you, Mr. Black?”
He didn’t think he had shown any reaction, especially one that a blind man could have detected. “Not nearly as much as they must bother you.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering about me being an investigator but also being blind. Most people do. They always ask if I have super smelling abilities or ultrasonic hearing or things of that nature.”
“An old blind man used to live next to my family in East St. Louis. The kids in the neighborhood always either treated him like he was an invalid or that he had some kind of superpowers and could hear through walls and figure out what you ate for breakfast just by smelling you. Neither of those things were true. But the bottom line is that I don’t really care about your abilities one way or the other. If you don’t mind, let’s get to the point of why you’re disturbing my rehabilitation.”
“Do you have other important matters to address today, Mr. Black? Things that I’m interrupting?”
“It’s meatloaf day.”
“You must be a big fan.”
“I hate meatloaf. I’d rather eat dirt.”
Neither man spoke for a long moment. Munroe broke the silence first. “It’s my understanding that you’re a former Recon Marine. Is that correct?”
“Why are you here?”
Munroe slammed his fist on the table. The sudden break in the man’s calm exterior startled Black. Munroe looked away and sighed, his jaw clenched. He looked disgusted, but Black got the feeling that he was more upset with himself.
“I’m here because I have a need for two things. A new bodyguard and someone that can help me get through to a man that is pivotal to my current investigation. You, Mr. Black, are in the unique position to fill both of those needs for me. I’m here to offer you a job.”
Jonas laughed. “I have a pretty good career going in the prison laundry. They think I have management potential.”
Munroe clenched his fists. “This is no joke. My partner and best friend was recently killed, and I am going to find those responsible.”
The woman next to Munroe stood up and moved toward the door. Black saw tears forming in her eyes. “Annabelle?” Munroe said.
“I can’t. I’ll be outside,” she said with a shaking voice.
“How long has it been since you lost your friend?” Black said.
“About two days.”
Black felt like a jerk. He supposed that a stint in prison hadn’t done much for his manners. “I’m sorry. But I don’t know how I could help you with anything. I have at least six months left in here. And that’s if I don’t get any extra time added on for an incident that I was recently involved in.”
“I’ve already spoken to the Warden, the Governor, and the Alabama Board of Pardons and Paroles. Your sentence would be commuted, and you would be released into my custody. Technically, you would be an agent working within DCIS, but your only responsibility would be to aid me in this investigation.”
“I don’t buy it. And even if you could get me out, the government doesn’t hire felons. Hell, I couldn’t even legally carry a firearm.”
“Don’t worry about that. Once we have you out, your record will be sealed and marked as classified to the highest level for reasons of national security. Only someone with very high clearance would even know that you’re a felon, and they would have no reason to check.”
Black wasn’t sure what to say or believe. How could this guy have gotten all that done? And in the space of a couple days? “Who are you?” he said.
“I’ve already told you that. But, if you’re asking how I could pull off something like this, the answer is that I’ve made a lot of influential friends over the years and through the course of my investigations. There are many times when the greater good can be better served by suppressing certain knowledge from public consumption. Many people appreciate me for my discretion. Plus, the chairman of the parole board is an old friend of my father.”
“But why me?”
“Where I’m going, I could use a hard man like you.”
“I wouldn’t make a very good babysitter.”
“I’m not looking for someone to wipe my ass, Mr. Black. I’m looking for someone to watch my back. And I believe that you are also perfect for this particular investigation.”
“You mentioned something about getting through to someone.”
“That’s right. John Corrigan. I believe that he was your team leader and a close friend.”
“We were close, but I haven’t spoken to John in years. I was in here when the incident happened with his family, and I haven’t heard from him since all that went down. But John couldn’t have done the things they said. When we were deployed, all he ever wanted was to get back to his family.”
“Men that have fought together usually have a special bond that isn’t easily broken. I think he’ll talk to you.”
“I would never do anything to betray my friend.”
“I’m not asking you to betray him,” Munroe said. “I’m asking you to help him. Corrigan’s execution is scheduled for this weekend. I’m starting to suspect that he may be innocent. At the very least, there’s a lot more to his case than meets the eye. This is a unique opportunity, Mr. Black. I’m giving you a second chance. Even when you get out of here, you’ll have a difficult time finding work. People don’t hire felons, as you said. Most reputable military contractors wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. Your days as a soldier are over. I know a bit about your colorful past, but I also suspect that you don’t want to fall back into that world. I’ve had two friends killed over this case, and I need your help.”
Black still didn’t trust the government man, and Munroe’s comments about his discretion didn’t help to alleviate those concerns. It sounded as if Munroe might be some kind of fixer for the DOD, someone who could make scandals go away. But Black knew that he wasn’t in a position to judge anyone, and if he stayed in Holman, the Southern Brotherhood would eventually find a way to kill him. He may have been able to hold them off for a while, but eventually, they would catch him off guard and bury a shank in his back. And maybe he’d also get a chance to help Corrigan. There really wasn’t much of a choice.
“Okay. When do we leave?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took a while to get Black’s release processed, and once they were on the road, Munroe lied down in the back of their dark GMC Yukon to get some rest. Jonas rode up front with Annabelle. She filled him in on the details of their current case and then told him stories about her brother, who had been Munroe’s partner. Jonas could tell that she was devastated by the loss, and he could empathize with how she was feeling. He had lost his brother as well, but at least she could say that hers had died a hero.
It was a long drive filled with awkward silences and bittersweet memories. But as Georgia and the Carolinas whipped by outside the window, Jonas convinced Annabelle to let him make a stop in Stafford, Virginia to pick up a few of his old things.
He had never seen the house, but he had kept tabs on its residents even from inside the walls of Holman and knew the address. It was a tiny two-bedroom ranch-style surrounded by a small lawn of dried-up, brown grass. The siding was decades old but newly painted. The dark gray shingles had weathered too many storms over too many years and had begun to crack and warp. The doorbell didn’t work, and so he opened the screen and knocked on an old wooden door with a small diamo
nd-shaped window in its center.
A moment later a face appeared in the glass. The look in the small blonde woman’s eyes went from shock to disgust to fury. The door slowly came open, and she stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. Her breathing was fast, her jaw clenched. She looked pretty much the same as Jonas remembered. Short, blonde, and beautiful. Maybe a bit heavier, a few more wrinkles around her eyes.
When she spoke, each word came slowly as if her rage could barely allow her to speak at all. “How dare you come here, Jonas.”
“Hello, Stacey. I just stopped by to see if you still had my old duffle and…maybe see Will. Is he here?”
She slapped him hard across the face and shoved him down the steps and off her porch. “Your duffle is rotting in the old shed around back. I hoped it would rot there forever, just like I hoped you’d rot in prison for the rest of your worthless life. But I guess things never work out the way you hope.”
Black’s gaze didn’t waver under her hateful stare. “No, they don’t.”
“The shed’s unlocked. Get your stuff and leave. If you ever come back here, I’ll call the police and slap you with a restraining order.”
“Listen, I realize you’ll never forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry for everything. I want to be part—”
She turned her back on him, stormed inside the house, and slammed the door.
Jonas watched the clouds rolling through the gray sky for a moment, trying to keep the tears from falling. Never let them see you cry. Then he walked around the side of the small house and through the tiny backyard to an old tool shed that looked like it could fall in on itself at any moment. Inside, he found a myriad of discarded junk—old children’s toys, broken lawn chairs, ripped open bags of grass seed—and stuffed into one corner was his old green duffle. He pulled it free from the rest of the junk and checked the contents. Stacey had apparently never even opened it up; a roll of old clothes still hid his MEU(SOC) pistol, just as he had left it. The big black gun was a .45 caliber based on the M1911, the standard-issue side arm for Recon. But it was also in disrepair and only held seven rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber, something he had never liked about it.
He found a photo beneath the pistol. Its corners had yellowed with age and moisture. It showed him and his brother, Michael, as kids in the old neighborhood. He stuffed the photo into his pocket and packed the gun back into the duffle.
When he climbed into the Yukon, Annabelle didn’t comment on the woman who had slapped him but said, “Is everything okay?”
He swallowed hard and replied, “That actually went better than I was expecting.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Annabelle pulled the vehicle up in front of a small building made from gray weather-beaten block. A large display window filled with an eclectic assortment of junk covered the building’s face, and a green awning hung over the entrance with the words Savoy & Sons Pawnbrokers stenciled in three-foot block letters. A condemned building with a burned-out face and a greasy spoon diner bordered the pawn shop on each side. When Black stepped from the vehicle, the smell of grease mixed with uncollected garbage assaulted him.
“What are we doing here?” he asked his new companions.
Munroe said, “It may take a few days for everything to go through with your paperwork, but you need a weapon and equipment now if you’re going to act as my bodyguard. We’ll get you set up with clothes and a phone after we leave here—you’ll need some suits—but this is the best place to pick up a sidearm without a waiting period and with no questions asked.”
“A pawn shop?”
As she held open the door, Annabelle smiled and said, “Never judge a book by its cover.”
The building’s interior matched a thousand other pawn shops in a thousand other cities. Guitars and amps lined one wall. CDs, DVDs, and games on another. A jewelry case. Tools. Miscellaneous junk that some crackhead had stolen to finance his next fix. A wall behind the counter displayed a limited assortment of long guns. A small display case contained a few old handguns.
A woman with long black hair wearing a blue and white baseball shirt and a Washington Nationals cap stood behind the counter. She frowned at the newcomers. “You’re late,” she said.
Munroe added, “It’s wonderful to see you too, Tobi.”
The woman stepped out from behind the counter and hugged Annabelle. Annabelle gestured at Jonas. “This is the new associate that I told you about. We need you to get him set up. Jonas Black, this is Tobi Savoy.”
Black shook her hand and said, “You don’t look like one of the ‘& Sons’?”
Tobi rolled her eyes. “My dad doesn’t have any sons. He just wishes he did.” She moved toward a door in the corner with a key-code lock marked Employees Only. “Step into my office.”
The group moved down a set of poorly lit concrete stairs and through another set of doors at the bottom. Tobi unlocked this door with a key from her pocket and stepped inside. Black followed and felt the jarring sensation that he had been instantly transported to another world. Tobi Savoy’s quaint little shop—named after her nonexistent brothers—had enough firepower in the basement to kickstart World War III.
The most surprising aspect, however, wasn’t the guns but the atmosphere. Black knew that places like this existed behind the facade of normal businesses, but he had never imagined anything like this. In the movies, hidden weapons caches such as this were dark and lined with steel cages and possessed a utilitarian feel. Savoy’s hidden room reminded Black more of a high-end cigar shop—dark wood grains, lighted glass display cases, red leather high-back chairs, a table in the corner topped with decanters filled with dark liquids and brandy snifters.
Tobi Savoy spread her arms to the room and looked at Black. “Pick your poison. You want a 9mm, .40? Glock, Sig?”
“I hate Glocks. Their grips feel like you’re holding a 2x4. And the Sig Sauer I would want doesn’t have a large enough magazine capacity. What do you have in .45 ACP with a double stack mag that holds more than ten rounds?”
“I like a customer that knows what he wants.” She looked at the case and tapped her fingers against her two front teeth. “Let’s see. 1911s are out. No Glocks. Something with an extended mag wouldn’t be good concealed under your coat. Berettas don’t have the capacity you want. What about Springfield Armory?”
“Never been that impressed.”
“Picky, picky. Are you familiar with Taurus?”
“I’ve shot some of the revolvers.”
“Try this.” She laid a full-framed pistol with a polymer grip and stainless steel slide on the table. It reminded him of a Sig Sauer. “Taurus’s are relatively inexpensive, but they have decent products that come with a lot of bells and whistles. Designed for the Armed Forces. External hammer. Automatic double action restrike. Completely ambidextrous. Safe, fire, decock. Adjustable grip with inserts to fit your hand size. Four inch barrel. And a 12+1 mag capacity.”
Annabelle said, “I thought you Marines were good shots.”
“We are,” he said with pride.
“Then why is magazine capacity such an issue? Isn’t one or two shots enough to take someone down.”
“Yeah, but what if there’s twelve of them?” Black picked up the pistol and sighted down the barrel, got a feel for the weapon. The grip fit his hand like it had been tailored specifically for him. He instantly fell in love. “I’ll take it. I also need a tactical knife and body armor. Actually, make that two sets of body armor, one for me and one for Munroe.”
“None for me, thanks,” the blind man said.
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, right? Well, this is me protecting you.”
“Bullet-resistant vests are too restrictive. I have enough restrictions without adding another. You can go ahead and get it, and I’ll try it. But I’m not promising I’ll wear it.”
Afte
r a bit more back and forth, they decided upon a vest and an open-assisted folding combat knife equipped with a Tungsten-coated blade, seatbelt ripper, and glass breaker.
Munroe said, “Okay, Tobi. What about me? What did Santa bring me for Christmas?”
Tobi placed a sealed cardboard box on the counter. “It’s a bit early for Christmas, but here you go. It wasn’t easy to find these. They’re still in the prototyping stage.”
Black noticed Annabelle looking strangely at Munroe, but she didn’t comment. She paid their bill, and then they all headed back to the car. Annabelle carried the cardboard box under one arm and led Munroe with the other. Black noticed her glancing down at the package every few feet. He could tell that she was having trouble suppressing the urge to tear off the tape and discover what was inside Munroe’s mysterious box. Still, she said nothing as they piled into the Yukon and headed out of DC.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As they entered the quaint little town of Thurmont, MD, a large wooden sign declared the city as the Gateway to the Mountains. They passed car dealerships, small diners, and other locally owned businesses. Thick patches of trees and split rail fences surrounded several of the homes. Jonas Black noticed a few rummage sales occupying the front lawns. They opened the windows, and the smell of burning yard waste floated on the breeze. Bright blue skies. Rolling green mountains in the distance. Black had a hard time reconciling such a picturesque and serene atmosphere as reality against the prison world to which he had become accustomed. He noticed a sign regarding the Catoctin Mountain Park and knew that to be the location of the famous Camp David. He understood why the President would want to visit this area to relax.
They wound down two-lane roads until they reached a rock lane hidden among the trees just north of town. A two-story colonial revival style home sat at the end of the lane in front of a sprawling front yard. Its gray and stone face reminded Black of old cobblestones. A large porch enclosed by white pillars and railing wrapped around the house.