Bringer of Fire

by Jaz Primo

  I gratefully pressed a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving.

  * * *

  Though in jest, Maria had offered some excellent advice to me about practicing, and I had a pretty good idea for a reasonable setting to hone both my current and newfound abilities. While Nevis Corners seemed to exist in a state of continued new construction, it was at a much smaller scale and slower pace than during its inception a decade prior. That left a number of dormant material supply sites just outside of town where large quantities of sand, dirt, and gravel had been staged.

  As I stood in the midst of heaping mounds of dirt and sand that had compressed into dense berms over time, I appreciated the relative quiet around me. The sounds of birds and breezes whipping across untamed grasses and through nearby native oak, elm, and maple trees sounded uncannily soothing.

  It was perfect.

  I retrieved a litany of empty plastic containers from my car trunk, and mentally congratulated myself for recalling the drop-off location for the city’s recycling program. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on duplicating the flame generation technique that Maria had just helped me to manifest.

  I marveled at the continuously licking flames and willed them to build. Fire rose as the tingling sensations in my palm increased and sweat beaded on my forehead.

  Oh, this was good.

  After I extinguished the flames, I held out my palm toward a nearby pile of gravel. A few pieces flew into my hand. I shifted all but one to my other hand and concentrated on projecting a single piece toward one of the plastic bottles placed before a nearby mound of compressed sand.

  Though I missed the target, I came very close. I was reminded of how, as a youth, I’d practiced with the 22 caliber rifle that my father had given me for my birthday. My aim had been remarkably similar. Yet, by the time that I had enlisted in the army many years later, I’d been certified as a marksman.

  I just needed more practice.

  Within the hour, my aim had significantly improved. I rubbed my temples where a slight headache had started to build. While sipping from yet another chilled sports drink container that I’d brought in a cooler, I contemplated a host of concerns.

  My sister and her family, as well as Maria, were safe for the moment, but I had no idea how long that might last as long as Continuance Corporation still had its sights on me.

  Then there was the simple issue of income. My boss, Larry, had been really great about granting me another leave of absence. However, my savings was already running pretty thin, and in a few weeks I’d be hard-pressed to continue paying my bills.

  And it wasn’t as if the FBI had the intention of placing me on their payroll, either. Worse yet, who knew how long the bureau’s investigations might take before Continuance’s operations were able to be shut down, if ever.

  I held my hand out for a nearby chunk of gravel mixed with concrete, and used my talent to cast it off into the distance toward an empty plastic jug.

  It missed the target by mere inches, though the impact kicked up a considerable shower of sand.

  “Where the hell is my life headed now?” I wondered aloud.

  After high school, I’d thought that a career in the army was my destiny. Then after two tours in the Middle East, I determined that I’d had enough of that. That had been more about day-to-day survival and less about developing a career.

  I’d hoped that completing my degree in business administration might open up opportunities in places like Nevis Corners. It seemed as if half the country was counting on these new corporate-sponsored cities as a panacea for stimulating employment in the country. Of course, few if any, of the politicians and government officials who’d enthusiastically supported the land reclamation legislation spoke openly about the growing urban blight in many old, traditional cities as they were abandoned by corporations for their shiny, new replacements.

  It seemed to be the darkly-tinged yin and yang of progress; the elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about.

  Then my cancer diagnosis came along, and life was merely about surviving again.

  With my cancer in remission, I needed to get my life back on track again. The GI Bill had helped to support me financially while working part-time at the tag agency. In the end, it was probably my best bet to return to college and acquire a graduate degree. The GI Bill benefits would help to stabilize my financial situation, as well.

  Regrettably, my recently acquired skill set was dubiously crafted for any traditional career opportunities.

  I sardonically pondered if any nearby circuses were hiring new talent. Better yet, how did I feel about becoming an assassin or a heavy for some crime syndicate?

  Then my thoughts drifted back to more immediate problems. For example, the continued safety of my family was of preeminent importance.

  I finished my sports drink and returned to the task at hand. With lesser effort, I summoned flames into my palm and watched with fascination as they danced and flickered in the breeze.

  “Great, I can be a human cigarette lighter.”

  For reasons I might never fully divine, I’d been given another chance at life, as well as gifts I could’ve barely conceived of only weeks prior. I needed to understand and hone my newfound abilities, as well as determine the best practical use for them.

  A small cross breeze kicked up a momentary twister of sand that spiraled into a vortex and quickly dissipated. An idea struck, and after a few minutes of trial and error, I was able to manifest and build a sizable fire in my palm.

  Concentrating until I felt the stirrings of a headache forming, I spun the flames into a circle. Then I tightened them into a smaller and smaller area, only to feel my entire body break out in a sweat as a throbbing headache painfully erupted. The circle of flames wound into a spherical shape as the spinning continued.

  The sheer strain and concentration required for the effort was considerable and I was only able to maintain the effect for a series of seconds.

  As I took a few minutes to rest and cool off, I stared at the line of plastic containers and bottles placed on the sandbar down range from me. A faint smile crossed my lips and I immediately felt like a kid with a strange, new toy.

  Oh, this is going to be fun.

  And just like the young boy with his new rifle had resolved so many years ago, it was once again time for me to practice.

  * * *

  I finished loading the remainder of the plastic containers, including some that were little more than melted semblances of their former selves, back into my car’s trunk. It had been a few hours since I’d checked in with Agent Sanders, and I wanted to have time to take a shower back at my house before she summoned me back to the office.

  Maybe she had simmered down a bit since I last saw her.

  Traffic was scarce as I made my way down the county road back into town. My mind wandered to the sense of accomplishment I felt following my highly productive target practice session. Maybe knowing I’d been trying to be productive would help improve Sanders’ dour mood somewhat.

  I casually glanced into my rear-view mirror to see a dark sedan maintaining a paced distance behind me.

  Come to think of it, I thought I’d seen a similar vehicle pass by as I had turned into the parking area back at the dormant material supply site. Though some might consider it paranoia, monitoring vehicles and structures was a habit that I’d gotten back into from being overseas. Being aware of your environment just might save your life sometime.

  I unleashed the engine on my Dodge Avenger to put some distance between myself and the car behind me.

  After a few minutes, I noticed the car appear in my rear-view mirror, though it maintained a relatively benign distance behind me.

  Yep, sometimes it paid to monitor your surroundings.

  Once again wantonly disregarding the state law against using a cell phone while driving, I dialed up Agent Sanders. Her voice was crisp when she answered.

  “What’s up, Bringer?” she asked. “And please don’
t tell me you’ve already managed to get into trouble.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you’ve got your sense of humor back, Sanders,” I replied. “Listen, I’m out west of town heading back from a project, and I think I’ve got a tail. Have you got somebody out watching me?”

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” she conceded. “However, no, I don’t. Describe the tail.”

  I looked in my rear-view mirror to confirm the vehicle was still shadowing me.

  “Black sedan, but it’s too far behind me to see how many might be inside,” I said.

  Sanders sighed.

  “Well, Mr. Popularity, given all that’s already happened with you today, it could be either CIA, NSA, or---”

  “Continuance?” I interrupted.

  “Possibly,” she said in a flat voice. “Listen closely, Bringer. I’m sending Agent Foster to meet up with you and escort you back to the office. Where are you exactly?”

  “I’m about three miles west of town on 165th, but I’m on my way to my house to take a shower, so have Foster meet me there,” I said. “Listen, if some bozo wants to follow me around, that’s their prerogative. However, they’d better be prepared for me not to like it.”

  “Wait just a minute, Bringer,” Sanders warned. “Don’t even think about confronting whoever it might be. Just hightail it back to your house and don’t stop for anyone. And this time, no explosions, fires, or gunfights. Got it?”

  “You’re no fun,” I said.

  During the silent pause in our conversation, I spied a quick place to turn around.

  “You’re not listening to me, are you Bringer?”

  I spotted a small courtesy stop ahead.

  “You’re the boss,” I said and hung up the phone.

  I accelerated to put some additional distance between myself and the car behind me. When I arrived at the courtesy stop, the parking lot hosted only an eighteen-wheeler.

  I didn’t stop, instead wheeling my car around to whip back out the exit heading back from where I’d come.

  The black sedan appeared to slow as I approached it, so I accelerated, savoring the power of my Charger’s engine. I quickly discerned two men in the front seat, both wearing dark business suits and shades.

  How cliché of them.

  I rolled down my window, giving them a hard look as I passed. Their brake lights came on as I sped another hundred yards westward. Then I slammed on my brakes and deftly whipped my car back around to the east with a squeal of my tires.

  I hit the accelerator and raced back toward the sedan.

  The sedan’s tail lights promptly went out and the vehicle began accelerating eastward as I gained on it. We quickly exceeded speeds over seventy miles per hour, though the sedan kept accelerating.

  The lamebrains were probably feds of some variety.

  Fortunately, traffic was light until we reached the outskirts of town, so nobody else on the road was threatened by our little melodrama. Still, it was nice to be on the giving, rather than the receiving, end for a change.

  By the time we entered town proper, the sedan sped through a red light to try and lose me and turned onto a northbound side street. However, I stopped at the traffic light and let them go.

  Jerks.

  I’d become a little too popular for my own preference. Then I frowned and wondered if they’d observed me practicing back at the construction materials site.

  Can’t a guy even practice his magic tricks in peace?

  Still, I realized I needed to be a hell of a lot more careful in the future.

  Chapter 16

  By the time I made it home, there were two government-style sedans parked in my driveway. Both Sanders and Foster were leaning against one of the cars with their arms folded before them. They looked like parents who were anxiously waiting for their teenager to show up well after curfew.

  I pulled in front of my house and got out as if nothing had happened.

  “A welcoming committee? Hey, thanks for caring and all,” I chimed.

  Foster shook his head with an amused expression, even as he dialed someone on his cell phone and walked out onto the edge of the driveway to look down the street from the direction I’d come.

  Meanwhile, Sanders waited for me to approach her before she pushed herself away from the car.

  “You sure took your sweet time getting here,” she admonished.

  “It’s great to see you too, Sanders,” I quipped as I continued walking to my front door.

  “Well?” she asked as I unlocked the door and strode into my living room.

  “My new friends weren’t very sociable,” I said. “They sped off soon after we entered the city limits.”

  She frowned at me as I stripped off my shirt and walked into the hallway.

  “That’s it?” she demanded. “And just where are you going?”

  I turned to see her watching me with more than an appraising expression, and I grinned back at her. She quickly diverted her gaze to look out my living room window.

  “Me? I’m gonna’ take a shower, partner,” I said. “Then you can fill me in on what I may have missed while I was gone.”

  As I entered my bedroom, I heard her exclaim, “Rather you’re going to tell me what you were doing out west of town. And we’re not partners, Bringer.”

  “Whatever you say, partner,” I quipped, only to hear her growl as I closed my bedroom door.

  By the time I finished showering and changing into fresh clothes, Agent Foster had left to conduct a field interview related to the investigation. Meanwhile, Agent Sanders was seated at my dining room table scribbling on a notepad while conversing with someone on her cell phone.

  “…need to follow up on the details later. For now, I recommend around the clock protection until further notice. Yes, I’ll ask my supervisor to sign off on the official request this afternoon and then fax it over to your office no later than this evening. Thank you,” she said.

  I retrieved a plastic jug of sports drink from the refrigerator.

  “Naturally, the federal government still faxes things,” I teased. “Haven’t you heard of scanning and emailing attachments? Hell, I was a ground-pounder and I know how to do that.”

  “Funny. I thought that you had drowned in there. Honestly, for a macho guy, you take longer than a woman,” she said.

  “Hey, after years deployed in Godforsaken deserts, I tend to enjoy my showers more,” I said, then took a long swig from my glass.

  “Whatever. And you’re not even going to offer me something to drink?” she prodded. “I think I’ve finally pierced your gentlemanly facade, Bringer.”

  “Well, my apologies, Ms. Sanders,” I offered with a grand gesture of my arm. “Would madam care for something to drink?”

  “No, thanks,” she replied offhandedly.

  I cast her a disparaging look but her attention had already shifted to the notepad before her.

  “I just got off the phone with a captain at the Des Moines PD,” she began.

  I looked up, recognizing that’s where my parents lived, which was also where Lexi and her family were staying.

  “What’s happening in Des Moines?” I asked in a dark tone.

  Sanders looked up at me with a surprised expression, and reassured me, “Everything’s fine. I’m increasing the security precautions for your family, that’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  I relaxed and finished my drink in a couple of quick swigs.

  “While you were off on your own little mission today, I was busy going over the latest update from Chicago,” she began.

  “Did they find out what happened to our shooter?” I asked.

  “Somewhat.”

  I poured another glass of Gatorade.

  “I was wondering why he hadn’t shown up to disrupt our Nevada raid,” I said.

  “As was I,” she said. “It turns out that our shooter may have been more injured than we thought. The Chicago team placed him at a rundown hotel on the south side. Based upon some grainy h
otel video, he’d departed the hotel in haste, and tried to firebomb the room to destroy evidence. Lucky for us, the timer malfunctioned and the device was discovered by a maid. There were bloody hotel towels and residue on the floor and sink area. Forensics believes that our suspect lost quite a bit of blood, suggesting that either one of our rounds managed to wound him or you tossing him through the air caused some injuries. Either way, it bodes well for us if his activities are curtailed while we’re trying to find him.”

  “He’s a professional,” I said. “If he doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find him easily.”

  “Maybe not,” Sanders said. “Still, I’d rather he be on the run versus us always being one step behind trying to keep up with him.”

  “True,” I agreed. “So, what’s next?”

  “Actually, I was considering that while you were primping,” she said with a smug expression.

  I started to counter with something sarcastic but the doorbell interrupted my train of thought. As I walked into the living room, I heard Sander’s chair scoot, and I looked back to see her stand up with her hand approaching her hip.

  “Assassins don’t generally ring the doorbell,” I said.

  “And you haven’t seen as many movies as I have,” she countered. “Try to stand out of my line of fire.”

  I gazed through the peephole in my door.

  “Well, he’s a familiar face,” I said.

  I opened the front door to find my front porch occupied by no less than four people. Clive Bernard looked smart in his tailored suit, and he had a satisfied looking expression on his face. Behind him stood his executive assistant, Sandra Yalesin, who was grasping a small leather documents satchel. Beside her stood two suit-clad gentlemen bearing guarded expressions. Given that one of the men was Scott, his heavy, I anticipated the other was another one of Bernard’s corporate bodyguards.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bringer,” Bernard offered as he reached out to shake my hand. “I hope you won’t mind me dropping by unannounced. Is this a good time for us to chat?”

  “That depends,” Sanders suspiciously replied before I could respond.