by Joey Ruff
She laughed a bit. “Veggies and bacon. You’re complex.”
“I guess I am,” I said. “Sorry.”
She cocked her head just to the side and watched me, studied me. She looked so much like the singer I didn’t know if she was flirting or getting ready to sing, “Who Will Save Your Soul?” She didn’t sing, instead said, “Don’t apologize. I like it.”
As she started to turn away, I said, “Can I ask a personal question?”
She eyed me curiously, but not in an unfriendly way. “Shoot.”
“Did the, uh…” I pointed to her face, hoping she’d get the idea.
She did. Her fingers found her eye and said, “This?”
“Yeah. Is that a boyfriend?”
She laughed. “No, thank god. I’d beat his ass.” I felt a sigh of relief. “Years ago, sure,” she added. “But not anymore. This is from class. Krav Maga. Girl can’t be too careful these days.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I was a priest. Old habit. Sorry.”
“A priest, huh? You really are complex.” She flashed her crooked teeth at me before saying, “Let me put your order in and I’ll come back with a fresh pot.” Then she sauntered off toward the kitchen.
I watched her go, feeling a bit puzzled by the exchange. I knew she wasn’t flirting with me. The scars prevented that from happening. Some of the girls I’d paid for in the past months couldn’t even look at me, preferring to do it from behind. The waitress was probably just trying to work a bigger tip.
Taking a deep breath, I sat back in the booth, let my head fall back, and closed my eyes. I felt guilty for making that assumption, but I guess I was just thinking back to the last few days. It was what Coyote suggested after all: retrace my steps.
* * *
Monday morning – while only three days ago, felt like a small lifetime by now – I left the town of Valentine, Nebraska. I said goodbye, again, to Danielle, the love of my life. I’m not going to lie. Leaving her again was possibly the single, hardest thing I’d ever done. But I had a quest. It seemed ridiculous to think I could lead a normal life with her, grow old beside her, and then die. Earth was the staging ground for eternity. With no hope of heaven, there was no happily ever after, and if I had no connection to the God of love in the universe, how could I ever hope to truly love another human being. Staying with Danielle would not have been fair to her. It wouldn’t have been honest.
I made the drive that night to Des Moines in six hours. I wanted to drive farther, but I couldn’t. Partly due to exhaustion, but mostly due to the throbbing wound in my right arm where I’d been shot by an arrow. Danielle had managed to clean and sew the wound shut, but the pain was still very present, and I hadn’t had it looked at yet. Not professionally.
One thing the Hand did provide was an excellent PPO. I found a hospital and got the wound inspected. The beginnings of an infection were present, so they prescribed an antibiotic and cleaned the wound again. They took x-rays. Everything looked fine. They said quick action and presence of mind in the midst of such an injury preserved the wound, for the most part.
While in the waiting room, I struck up a conversation with a woman named Janelle. She was a brunette, very pretty despite the bruising she’d acquired from “falling down some stairs.” It was just small talk, but afterward, as I was leaving, I found her outside, waiting for a cab.
It was a humid night, having just finished raining, and the street lights reflected off the puddles in the street and the tears on her cheeks.
“Hey,” I said, walking up to her. “You going to be okay?”
She seemed a bit startled by my presence, only half-turning. She smiled when she realized it was me, and wiped her eyes on her long sleeves. “Hey,” she said with a sniffle. “Yeah. Nothing broken. I…” She looked down and away. “I just need to be a bit more careful next time.”
“We both know what really happened.”
She didn’t say anything. Her shoulders slumped in a defeated motion.
“Is he picking you up?”
She shook her head. “I’m waiting for a cab.”
“My bike’s around the corner. I’d be happy to give you a ride home.”
The noise that came from her tried to be laughter, but it was too filled with pain. After a few seconds, she caught herself and said, “I’m sorry. You’re trying to be nice. I… I’m not used to that.”
“Is that a yes then?”
“No. I can’t. I wish I could. You seem like a really good guy, but if I showed up at the house with some guy…”
“He’d just send you back here again,” I said.
She nodded, and I caught the glint of fresh tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
“How about a hot meal and a drink, then?” I asked.
She started to say something, and I said, “The hospital was busy tonight. It took them a long time to see you. He’d never know the difference. You deserve a little time to yourself.”
Her eyes found mine and she held my gaze for a minute. She seemed to be measuring the sincerity of my words, as though kindness were a rare commodity and instantly to be suspicious of. Eventually, she nodded, if you could call it that. It was a very unsure movement. “He won’t even notice,” she said at last. “He’ll be passed out drunk again by then.”
“Come on,” I said. I put my arm around her shoulders and could feel her body shaking. I couldn’t tell if from fear or excitement. Maybe something else.
We drank enough and enjoyed each other’s company enough that she came back to my hotel with me. I was feeling particularly lonely, and she reminded me just enough of Danielle. She didn’t want to go home yet, and who could blame her.
I woke Tuesday morning, April 1st, the biggest fool of all. The sun hadn’t even come up yet, and I had a pounding headache and a wicked hangover. Worst of all, I felt so ashamed from having just left Danielle and finding myself in bed with another woman, that I couldn’t face myself. I didn’t wake Janelle, just left her sleeping in the hotel room and went across town to a Denny’s where I drank my weight in coffee. I left cab fare on the dresser.
Ten hours on the road found me in Cleveland. Still feeling guilty from the night before, I took a six pack back to my room and ordered room service. I didn’t trust myself anymore.
When I woke yesterday, I actually felt okay. I used the hotel gym and somehow talked myself into a somewhat healthy early lunch before I struck out on the road. I guess I was feeling good because it was supposed to be the day my luck changed.
Construction on the freeway delayed my six hour drive to Philadelphia into seven, which put me in rush hour traffic as I pulled into the city. Not wanting to take my guns and gear to the rally, I checked into my hotel. By the time I’d made it to the convention center, they were just closing up for the day, and the Pope had retired for the evening. Not knowing what else to do and feeling a little defeated, I found myself two blocks away at the Marriott. Their bar was pretty hopping, so I took a stool and drank bourbon for a few hours.
I didn’t used to drink so much, but lately I’d just felt so empty, like there was a gaping hole in my chest. I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen hundreds of people over the years that fought with addictions and substance abuse, and I knew nothing good would come of it in the end, but copious amounts of alcohol helped me sleep at night. Lately, I didn’t just understand the people that came in for confession, I was one of them. The act of drinking was, in many ways, a surefire method of nursing my pain, of keeping my problems front and center. When I drank, it seemed to only enhance my misery, but it also lowered my inhibitions to the other things that distracted me from my troubles. Things like dirty prostitute sex and hard narcotics.
I knew I was well on my way to becoming a functioning alcoholic. It wasn’t something I was proud of. But it continued because I told myself that soon it would all be over. That things would soon be right again.
* * *
&nbs
p; Sitting in the diner, I drained my second cup of coffee and poured myself another. By that time, the waitress had brought my food. We exchanged smiles, and I ate. The omelet was greasy, the bacon was a little overdone, but I didn’t fancy myself much of a food critic, and I wasn’t eating anywhere with a star-rating, so I didn’t complain. It was just sustenance, fuel to get me through what had to happen next.
Coyote said my impersonator had to have seen me. Chances were pretty slim that he and I had run into each other along the road and both just happened to end up here. It was more likely that I had been picked up as a cover after I’d gotten into town. Which meant sometime in the latter half of yesterday.
Because my time at the conference center was so short, and while the idea of being in a crowd, small as it had been by that late hour, didn’t lend itself well to only being seen from one point of view, my mind quickly went to the hotel bar.
From what I could remember, there had been only one person that saw only the good half of me. He was in the bar a total of maybe twenty minutes. As he approached, he’d asked if the seat was available. That’s when I got my first look at him. He was dark-skinned, Middle Eastern, I think. Dark, slicked back hair. There was stubble on his chin, but not enough to be considered a beard. I don’t remember exactly what he was wearing, but nothing that stood out in a room full of business professionals. A buttoned-down shirt, likely, but I didn’t remember a jacket.
I’d only half-turned to him. “No,” I said. “It’s all yours.”
He thanked me and sat. I turned back to my drink, nursing the bourbon on the rocks, framing it between my hands that rested listlessly on the bar top. From the corner of my eye, I saw him signal the bartender with two fingers. He ordered a…I don’t know. Gin, maybe? And soda.
I tried to remember. The details were maybe insignificant, but he seemed like my best suspect.
He had got his drink, said a few words to the woman that sat on his left. She probably said something to him, but I hadn’t really been paying attention.
When I finished my bourbon, I ordered another. Ten minutes, maybe, had passed since he’d sat down. The new drink came in a fresh glass. I picked it up, swirled the ice around, and as I went to take a sip, he’d leaned in closer to me and said, “You in town for the conference? The Catholic thing?”
“Sort of,” I said. “But not really.” I didn’t turn to him.
He’d laughed. “What the hell does that mean? Not big on abstinence?”
I shrugged. “I’m not here for the conference. I’m here for somebody else that’s attending.”
“Hopefully not your girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle.
I looked sideways at him. There had been something about his eyes. What was it? A green sparkle. I had shrugged it off at the time, a trick of the lights or the bourbon. Took a sip of my drink, then turned away. I didn’t feel much like talking and just stared straight ahead. The wall behind the bar was lined with bottles of various liquors, and behind that, there was a mirrored backdrop that had fogged over by years of smudging and neglect. I could just make out the man’s reflection.
Maybe he watched me for a minute, but he didn’t say anything else. Then he finished his drink, slapped a bill on the bar, and stood, walking away. Nobody else sat down, and I only stuck around long enough to finish my drink. I had assumed the bartender had taken my other glass, but it was just as likely that man had taken it. It would explain the fingerprint they’d found.
After that, I went back to my hotel. I kept drinking, eventually called a…let’s call her a companion. Then, well, the cops and…
Now it was Thursday already. Day two of the rally. There wasn’t much time left. Friday, the rally ended, the Pope would get on a plane and go back to Rome. That meant two things. One, the assassin would strike again before then. And two, if I didn’t see the Pope before he left, I likely wouldn’t ever.
* * *
I finished my breakfast and settled up with the check. My phone was ringing before I’d made it back to my bike. It was Hunter. I considered letting it go to voicemail, but sooner or later, I’d have to talk to him. Better to get it out of the way.
I hit the green button with a quick, “Hello.”
“Tell me you’re not in Philly.”
“Okay. I’m not in Philly.”
“Now tell me that’s true.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Word just came through this morning. There’s major shit going on that I don’t want you anywhere near.”
“I know.”
“You know?” He said a name, but it wasn’t mine. Middle initial H. “I need you out of there, now.”
“No,” I said. “I’m on vacation. You gave me time off.”
He sounded like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just took a deep breath. Then he said, “The cops will be coming for you.”
“They already did. Last night.”
“Then how… Nevermind, don’t tell me. Probably better if I don’t know.” He sounded like he was starting to get rattled and took another long, deep breath to steady himself. “Austin, we need you on this thing in Olathe. The best thing you can do right now is be half a country away with an airtight alibi when this assassin strikes again.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“You sure as shit can’t hang around. You’re out of your jurisdiction. Boston’s already dispatched a team to handle this. You do not want to be around when they get there. That’s an order.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “This is the only chance I have, Hunter. I’m not walking away.”
“This is serious shit. An assassin wearing your face just took a shot at the most important religious figure in the free world. You’ll have every fucking person in the world after you if you don’t move quick. Lots of non-people, too, if you catch my drift.”
“I know. I saw the tape. But I think I also saw the guy. He talked to me in the bar last…”
“Really!? You think you saw his face? This asshole is a shapeshifter. He’s not giving you his real face in public. Especially given…” He paused. “You don’t know what you’re up against, do you? Oh fuck. I never should have agreed to let you out there without a partner. Protocol is two agents in the field….”
“I didn’t want a partner. I never had a partner before.”
“Before? When you were a priest, before? Before, you were a recruiter, and solo was part of the job description. Did you forget that? Did you bump your fucking head and forget protocol? You know damn well that all field agents have partners. The fact that you were dealing with some personal shit and didn’t want someone to pal around with… And I fucking listened because we were friends and I just figured you needed a little time since I…”
“Felt sorry for me?”
“Yeah. I felt sorry for you. Is there something wrong with that?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Gideon never would have…” He took a deep breath. “Goddammit. Whatever. That shit’s on me. Now, it looks like I have a rogue agent just because our resources were stretched thin and it was easier for me to give you what you wanted.”
“Hunter…”
“We’ve been fighting these bastards on every front. They’re running rampant in California right now. I’ve got it on good authority that they’re raising hell in Russia and parts of Asia now, too. We’re seeing a massive resurgence in activity, and for them to target such a high-profile target…”
“Wait. You’re saying, you know who’s behind this?”
He was quiet for a second. “Early intel suggests this is Naga.”
“Great.”
“Look, Austin. Get out now. Head to Olathe. I can find it in the budget to slap a bonus onto this one, just for good measure. Sweeten the pot a little bit for you. A little walking around money. It would just be between us, but…”
“What should it profit a man to gain the whole world, and yet lose his own soul,” I said. “I told you. I can’t.”
>
“Quoting the Bible? That’s rich.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re still paying for your whores out of your expense account.”
“I have to go.”
“Austin, think about it. Make the smart play here.”
“I did think about it. All night.”
“I can’t let you stay. You’ll be a rogue agent…”
“Then consider this my resignation,” I said. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. More than you know.”
“Austin, don’t fucking do this…”
I hung up the phone. I could imagine him, in his office back in Portland, shouting and slamming the phone down, kicking something over. Five seconds later, my phone rang again. I rejected the call and turned the phone off, and slid it back into my pocket.
Then I just stood there, leaning against my bike, feeling the gravity of what I had just heard. What I had just done.
This was an official Hand case now. Agents were coming from the Boston office. There would be at least two, per protocol. Something this high priority though, probably bring several teams. Four, six…maybe even eight agents. Unless they were as stretched thin as we were.
Guess it wasn’t we anymore. I felt a pain in my heart about that, but what could I do? What choice did I have? If I had any hope of ever being happy, with or without Danielle, I had to do this. There was no other option for me. I meant what I had told Hunter, and how appropriate that verse I had quoted. My soul was literally on the line with this one. And like the Jewel song went, “Who will save your soul if you won’t save your own?”
So, where did that leave me? Out in the open with no support. Police coming at me from one side, the Hand from another, and probably a pair of Naga on a third. At least a pair of Naga. Hopefully only a pair. Not to mention the Templar bodyguards.
Weighing my odds here, the cops weren’t the least of my worries, if for nothing else than their sheer numbers and ability to work in unison. If they hadn’t already, they’d figure out that I was no longer in lock up. There’d be a manhunt in several hours. That wasn’t accounting for the Secret Service and FBI that were called in as standard protocol anytime the Pope came state-side. Those numbers would increase exponentially now, with every passing hour.