by Haris Orkin
His dad would get home from work and, after dinner, he would help him with his homework. Sometimes they’d stay up late, after his mom went to bed, and watch movies on TV. His dad loved action movies with Steve McQueen and Clint Eastwood. They watched westerns and war movies and spy movies. They bonded over James Bond and his dad insisted that the best Bond, in fact, the only Bond that mattered, was Sean Connery. His father thought Roger Moore looked like an old woman. Put a wig on him, some lipstick and a dress and he would make a passable Queen Mother. His dad had a complete collection of the Bond novels in paperback and the boy read them all, multiple times, cover to cover.
His life had been perfect, but now his parents were dead and nothing would ever be perfect again. No one cared whether he lived or died. His foster mother hardly ever talked to him. When she did, it was only to criticize. His foster father always seemed to be irritated. He told the boy he was stupid. He told him he was fat. Whenever his foster father looked at him, the boy could feel the hate. But then everyone hated him. All the girls at school thought he was a dork. Bullies regularly kicked his ass. He was bad at academics, bad at sports, he was bad at everything. He was a failure. A loser. A fat, stupid, ugly, worthless dweeb.
At age thirteen he tried to hang himself, but all he did was dislocate his neck. His foster parents decided he wasn’t worth the trouble and gave him back to the state. He ended up in a group home where he made another unsuccessful attempt to end his life with a box cutter.
He couldn’t even do that right.
At age fourteen he was institutionalized for clinical depression. He withdrew completely and didn’t talk to anyone except for the people on TV; Mr. T and Clint Eastwood and Johnny Carson and Sean Connery and Bruce Lee. They taught him things. They told him how to live. How to be. He mimicked Bruce Lee’s every movement until he could do a perfect back spin kick. He mirrored all the exercise shows and slowly lost weight and sculpted his body until he was solid muscle. He became exactly who he wanted to be; someone confident, masterful, fearless, charming, intelligent, and accomplished. A ladies’ man. A man of action. Someone who could handle any situation. Do anything. Save anyone. Even himself.
A telenovela played on the waiting room TV, but Dulcie paid no attention to it. She was watching Sancho; his eyes closed, his hands clasped in prayer. Dulcie hadn’t prayed since she was fourteen. She was a lapsed Catholic who hadn’t been to confession in ten years. She’d decided back then that it was all just a bunch of bullshit, but maybe she should pray. Just in case. What if he died? What would she do? What would she do if he lived? She was in love with a mental patient, a fucking nutcase, someone who didn’t know who the hell he was.
But then who the fuck does?
She heard sniffling. Sancho was crying again. She crossed to the other side of the waiting room, sat next to him and held his hand. Sancho’s hands were warm. Her hands were never warm. She was always so cold.
“He better not fucking die,” she said.
“That fucking asshole,” Sancho muttered.
“He’s a total fucking psycho.”
“What the hell was he thinking?”
“It’s a miracle he didn’t kill us all.” Dulcie’s eyes burned with tears.
“And that stupid fucking laser pen.”
“What a fucking lunatic.”
“When he tried to burn a hole in that fucking door…” Sancho left the thought unfinished, but the memory made him smile. Dulcie giggled. Which made Sancho laugh. Now they both were laughing. Laughing and crying at the same time. Sancho felt like he was going crazy, which just made him laugh that much harder.
When the doctor walked into the waiting room, they both were laughing their asses off. One look at the doctor’s unsmiling face, however, and the laughter instantly ended. The doctor wore scrubs and his surgical mask hung from his neck. “Your friend’s in recovery. We removed a bullet and from what we can tell, there’s no damage to any major organs.”
Relief flooded through Dulcie like a hit of Crystal Meth. Sancho started to cry again.
“We need to keep him here under observation for a few days. He suffered a very serious trauma and lost a lot of blood, but otherwise he’s fine.”
“So, he’s gonna be okay?” Sancho asked. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor said. “The prognosis is very positive.”
“That fucking asshole,” Dulcie said. She had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
Sancho watched as James slept. He was in a semi-private room on the fifth floor at Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center in Burbank, right across the street from Walt Disney studios. Sancho sat by his side on a chair by the bed. From the window, he could see the Seven Dwarfs holding up the roof of the Team Disney Building. Each dwarf was sculpted out of stone and stood nineteen feet tall. Dopey stood above the rest, holding up the highest part of the building.
Flynn slowly opened his eyes. His arm rested in a sling and his chest and shoulder were swathed in bandages. Sancho saw the initial confusion on his face. But once their eyes met, he could tell Flynn knew exactly where he was.
“Sancho? You’re still here?”
“Dude, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Dulcie laughed. She was sitting on the other side of the bed and Flynn’s face lit up when he saw her. “Dulcinea.”
“Hey,” Dulcie said.
“Darling, you look absolutely ravishing.”
“Well, you don’t. You look like shit.” She stood up and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. He tilted his head at the last second so that her lips connected with his. She didn’t resist and melted into the kiss. When he put his hand on her ass, however, she carefully removed it. “Let’s not go crazy.”
“You don’t think a dying man deserves a last request?”
“Dude, you’re not dying.” Sancho patted him on the arm. “According to the doc, you’re doing fine.”
Flynn took Dulcie’s hand in his. “Perhaps Dulcie and I should try a test run? Make sure all the naughty bits are in working order.”
Sancho grinned. Dulcie shook her head. “I don’t know about you, James.”
“What don’t you know?”
“I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Of course you do,” Flynn said.
“Do I?”
“I’m not the man everyone thinks I am.”
“No?”
“No,” Flynn replied. “But I do know that person. That little boy who lost his family. That fat little boy who had no friends. I knew him very well. He was like a brother to me.” Sancho looked at Dulcie as she held Flynn’s hand. “But he’s gone now. And he’s never coming back and it’s up to the rest of us to go on with our lives. It’s all we can do. Which is why…” Flynn tried to sit up, but the effort made him wince. “Which is why I have to finish this mission.”
“But the feds already arrested everyone involved.”
“Goolardo?”
Sancho nodded. “Mendoza too.” In his mind’s eye, Sancho could see the Federales cutting through the nylon parachute lines. A frazzled Francisco Goolardo hitting the tarmac with a thud. His hair was wild and his face was splattered with bugs. They loaded him on a stretcher as Mendoza was led from the plane in handcuffs.
“Kursky?” Flynn asked.
“Dead.”
Flynn nodded.
“They picked up Mike too,” Dulcie said. “When he finds out I ratted him out...” Her voice almost broke.
“You have nothing to fear from him anymore, Dulcinea. I’m sure he’s going to go away for a very long time. He’s a bastard and a coward and you deserve much better.” Flynn glanced at Sancho. “What about Grossfarber?”
“They gave him the boot,” Sancho smiled at the memory of a humiliated Grossfarber carrying his box of belongings past a gauntlet of mental patients all laughing and hooting and waving good-bye.
“It won’t be the same without N,” Flynn said sadl
y.
Sancho smiled. “Nickelson’s back, dude.”
“Who?”
“N.”
“How is that possible?”
“Got me,” Sancho said. “But he’s already back at work.”
“Well, then, I have to return to headquarters.”
“You’re going back?” Dulcie was surprised.
“Well, of course.”
“But why? Now that you’re out…”
“Out?” Flynn chuckled. “Once you’re in, you’re never out.”
Dulcie looked like she was about to cry. “Why can’t you—”
“Stay with you?”
“What?” Dulcie immediately straightened up. “No, that’s not what I—”
“Dulcie, it’s all right.”
“But I’m not inviting you to—”
“Shh.” Flynn put his finger against her lips. “You need a different sort of man than I am. I’m not right for you at all. You need someone who can be there for you, day in and day out. My life is too dangerous and I can’t afford to love too deeply. It’s just…it’s too risky.” Flynn cradled her face in his hands. “But I’ll always be your friend and if you ever need my help, you’ll know where to find me.” Flynn gently kissed her on the mouth and she just about swooned. He glanced at Sancho. “What day is today?”
“Saturday.”
“Saturday? Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”
“Somewhere where?”
“Didn’t you have a previous engagement?”
“Saturday, right…today’s…Shit! My date! Dammit! What time is it?”
Sancho pulled up in front of a tiny house on Ranchito Avenue in Van Nuys. He stared at the house for a while and checked the address. This was definitely it. So why wasn’t he getting out of the car? He felt light-headed. Queasy. He knew if he didn’t go through with this he could never face Flynn again. All he had to do was open the door. So he did. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to stroll up the front walk and knocked on the door. He heard someone inside moving around and then the front door opened and Sancho saw someone he didn’t immediately recognize. She was beautiful and petite, maybe five feet tall, with long dark hair and a luminous smile.
“Alyssa?”
The girl nodded. “Sancho?”
She looked so different away from the drive-through window. She wasn’t wearing the El Pollo Loco uniform and her hair was down. She was even more beautiful then he remembered. He stood there awkwardly in the new suit Flynn had picked out for him. He had a new hair cut as well, but the brain below the hair was totally blank. He didn’t know what to say and felt himself blush. A sweat broke out under his arms. And then Flynn’s voice echoed in his head. “Women want to give it up, Sancho. The trick is to allow them to.”
Sancho smiled suavely. “You look lovely,” he said.
Now it was Alyssa’s turn to blush. “Thank you.”
Sancho offered her his arm. She smiled and took it and together they headed down the driveway. Flynn’s gleaming Aston Martin DB 7 Advantage Volante was parked at the curb. Cardboard covered the broken driver’s side window and there were a few stray bullet holes, but otherwise the car was flawless. Alyssa couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. “Nice car.”
“I agree,” Sancho said as he opened the passenger door. She climbed in and sat in the soft leather seat. He carefully closed the door and walked around the rear of the car, pumping his fist in the air, mouthing a silent, “Yeaaaaah!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
James Flynn breezed into the activity room wearing a casually elegant Armani suit. The social area was busy with people playing games, watching TV, talking and laughing and breaking balls. Flynn was pleased to see the place back to how it used to be, back before the arrival of the sinister Grossfarber.
Ty, the rotund nineteen-year-old black kid, came running up to him. “James! Hey! How ya doing, motherfucker?”
“Couldn’t be better, Ty.”
Flynn bumped fists with him and Ty plopped himself down on a couch facing the TV. The fact that there was no room for him didn’t even enter his mind. The two people sitting on the sofa squished themselves to either edge as Ty jammed himself between them.
Flynn found Q sitting at a table, playing Uno with three other elderly patients. “Q! You’re alive!” Q glanced up at him and then back at his cards. “Where in God’s name were you?”
“Oxnard,” Q said, without looking up.
“Why Oxnard?”
“Why not?”
“Why not indeed,” Flynn replied as he continued his promenade.
“Hey,” Q said, looking up from his cards. “Have you seen my laser pen?”
But Flynn didn’t hear him as he was already greeting, “Sancho!”
Sancho grinned and shook his hand. “Hey, dude!”
“It’s good to be back.”
“Nickelson was looking for you. I think he wants to talk to you about something.”
Flynn nodded as they walked side by side down the corridor. “So, how’d your date go?”
“Good.”
“Of course it did. How could she possibly resist you?”
Sancho grinned as they walked into the anteroom just outside Dr. Nickelson’s office. Miss Honeywell, Nickelson’s large, no nonsense African-American secretary was back behind her desk, working on some paperwork.
“Honeywell!”
Honeywell looked at Flynn without emotion. “What?”
“You look more delicious than ever.” She rolled her eyes and continued typing and Flynn sat on the edge of her desk. “Did you miss me?”
“You’re sitting on my Ho Ho.”
Flynn looked to see that he had, in fact, nearly flattened her snack cake. “Believe me, darling, when I sit on your Ho Ho you will most definitely know.”
Before Honeywell could make a crack, the door opened and Nickelson walked out with a pretty, young nurse. “If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to—James!”
“N! It’s so good to see you’re safe and sound.”
The pretty nurse looked at Flynn with obvious interest. “James,” said N. “This is Nurse Winston. Today’s her first day.”
Flynn took her hand in his and softly kissed it. “It’s a pleasure.” Nurse Winston was too flustered to speak as Flynn offered her a devilish smile. “I do hope we have a chance to get to know each other better.”
Dr. Nickelson shot Honeywell an “oh, shit,” look and Sancho smirked.
“James, do you have a moment?” Nickelson motioned to his office. “There’s someone here who wants to speak with you. You too, Sancho.”
Flynn and Sancho followed him into his office, where billionaire Randall Beckner waited with a large, unsmiling bodyguard and a female assistant. The assistant was attractive in a serious Harvard MBA “I wear glasses” kind of way. Her entire demeanor changed when Flynn entered the room. She suddenly looked less severe. Color rose to her cheeks as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Mr. Beckner,” Flynn said. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“It’s good to see you too, Flynn. How are you feeling?”
“Excellent, thank you. Very fit.”
“First of all, I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me and my guests.”
“No thanks are necessary, sir. It’s what I do.”
“Well, Mr. Flynn, you do it very well, which is why I’m here. I’d like to offer you a job.”
That startled Flynn and he was rarely, if ever, startled. He glanced at N. Then back at Beckner. “What sort of job?”
“I’d like you to head up security on Angel Island. Mr. Harper severely disappointed me. You, on the other hand, knew just what to do. I can offer you a very generous compensation package. You and your partner.” He motioned to Sancho.
“You wanna hire me too?” Sancho was nonplussed.
“You seem to work together quite well.”
“Yes, we do,” Flynn said. He smirked at Sancho
and then addressed N. “How do you feel about this, sir?”
“It’s an unusual offer. But your last adventure proved to be highly therapeutic. If Mr. Beckner thinks you’re adequately qualified, I wouldn’t want to stand in your way.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always looked after my best interests, sir.”
“I think you’re ready for the world,” Nickelson said. “The question is…is the world ready for you?”
“Well, Mr. Flynn?” Beckner said. “What do you think?”
“I think I belong here, sir. I’m sorry, but I believe my country needs me more than you do. The offer is very flattering, but I’m going to have to turn you down. Sancho’s a free agent. He can do whatever he wants.”
“You think I’d go without you?” Sancho said. “No way in hell, ese.”
Flynn slapped Sancho on the shoulder. “Good. Because I do think we make an excellent team.”
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Beckner reached out. “But I understand.”
“Thank you,” Flynn said as he shook the billionaire’s hand. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”
Flynn then shook the huge bodyguard’s hand and finally the hot female assistant’s. She held on a little longer than necessary, holding his gaze with her big brown eyes. When she let go she left a scrap of paper in Flynn’s hand. Flynn waited for Beckner and his people to leave before he glanced at the paper to see a name and a phone number. Sancho laughed.
Flynn smirked, carefully folded the paper, and dropped it in his pocket.
Nurse Winston was still in Nickelson’s anteroom, filling out paperwork, as Beckner and his team left. The assistant caught Honeywell’s eye and casually asked, “So this Flynn…is he a doctor?”
Honeywell laughed. “No, but girl, you better watch your ass, ‘cause he sure does love to operate.”
~ * ~
Sneak Peek of ONCE IS NEVER ENOUGH after a short message from the author…
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