The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  The back door banged open. Joan had been caught off guard. She whirled, dropping her cup of coffee as her hand went to the pistol at her hip. Linda had turned at the sound of the door as well. She didn’t see Joan’s aggressive stance. Didn’t see her reach for her weapon. Joan realized it was only Duke and JC. She relaxed right before the cup crashed against the floor. Linda turned back at the sound, never seeing Joan’s move.

  Duke looked at Joan. “Jumpy much?”

  “I’m so sorry, Linda,” Joan said, moving for the paper towels. “I’ll clean it up.”

  Linda protested, but JC convinced her to let Joan do it. He led Linda out to the living room to allow Duke to update Joan on what was discussed. Let them find out who was parked in the Camry up the street.

  *****

  Fifteen minutes later, JC, Duke and Joan were going out the door. Jerry had called to say he was held up at the shop. Sorry he missed seeing his cousin, but was glad someone had been there to help his wife, who had by now recovered from the shock of the fire and transitioned to contacting insurance and contractors to rebuild the garage.

  Goodbyes were said. Promises made between JC and Linda. Then it was time for work.

  As the trio walked up the street, JC stopped and turned. As Duke handed him the silenced Beretta, JC put it into the waistband of his pants. Buttoned his coat over it. He hated carrying firearms like that. Loose and dangerous. No proper holster. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stay there for long.

  They continued up the street. The dark blue Camry was still there. Passenger wearing a fedora. Stylish. But out of place in this area. JC wondered if they had set the fire. If they had come for him. Or if they were just random strangers. The way they watched JC and his team told him they weren’t random.

  “Joan?”

  “The car is registered to a leasing company out of Baltimore. They deal primarily with companies from South America. Could be your friends from down south.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  As they passed a parked service truck, JC stopped while Joan and Duke kept walking. He stepped back. Took aim across the hood of the truck. Saw the two guys watching Joan and Duke. Saw their reaction when JC wasn’t there. Two pulls of the trigger and he shot out the front and rear tires on the passenger side of the vehicle. He saw the occupants of the Camry look back to the front of the service truck just in time to hear their tires violently deflate.

  JC, Joan and Duke were running across the street as the man in the passenger seat struggled to draw his weapon. The driver’s face was engulfed in panic. Hands held up in the international symbol of surrender. Either they didn’t have enough guns for him, too, or the passenger didn’t trust him. Likely the latter. Which meant the driver wasn’t in charge.

  Duke and Joan had drawn their weapons, but were not firing. They waited on JC’s lead. Besides, the men in the car had not fired at them. Yet.

  JC shot the man in the passenger seat in the shoulder, making him drop his gun on the ground inside the car. The passenger window shattered, making more sound than the silenced firearm. Duke and Joan took positions on either side of the vehicle’s rear while JC got in the back seat.

  “Gentlemen,” JC said with a wide grin. “Welcome to America. What brings you to the City of Brotherly Love?”

  The driver began a torrent of Spanish while the passenger started cursing in broken English. JC spoke Spanish well enough, but he wanted Duke’s help. He punched the passenger in the side of his neck and backhanded the driver. “Both of you shut up. Speak when spoken to. Duke!”

  Duke translated the command. JC put the silencer against the driver’s head to punctuate the translation. It worked. Both men shut up.

  “Are you Bolivian?”

  Duke translated.

  They both nodded.

  “Who sent you?”

  The answer to that question took longer.

  “They say they don’t know.”

  JC shot the driver in the right shoulder. “Get details.” The man was in pain, but kept as quiet as he could.

  Duke began the questioning. JC followed some of it, but waited for him to finish.

  “They were contacted last night in Bolivia,” Duke reported. “They flew up to Miami on the red-eye and from there to Philadelphia. Picked up this car in short term parking. Guns were in the trunk, location programmed into the navigation system.”

  “Who sent them?”

  “They said they don’t know. A guy on the phone is all they know. Ten thousand to fly up here, another ten thousand when they return.”

  “Their assignment?”

  “Watch the house. Tail you. For twenty-four hours.”

  “What happens if things turn south for them? Who do they contact?”

  Duke asked. “Nobody. They’re on their own.”

  “Bullshit.” JC aimed the Beretta at the left shoulder of the passenger. “He knows.” JC started counting down from three. At the pause between two and one, the passenger spoke.

  “Okay, okay, I have a number.”

  “Excellent English, señor,” JC said, not smiling. “Take out your phone slowly and dial it.”

  The man did. “What do I tell them?”

  “Tell them I found you. Shot you both. Car is disabled. Need help now.”

  The phone was answered and the message relayed. In English. He hung up.

  “They’re coming now,” the passenger said. “Be here in ten minutes.”

  “Good.” He turned to the driver. “You are not the one in charge. I get that. But your friend here is. You don’t even have a gun. But he did.” JC shot the passenger through the back of the seat, the bullets tearing through his chest and slamming into the dash. The driver started to scream, but JC smashed him in the face with his left fist. He went limp.

  “Duke, open the trunk. Find out what they had in there. And see if there’s anything to tie this guy up with.”

  “We should kill them both, JC,” Joan said.

  “No. One needs to report to his boss. I don’t want them to keep coming after us. If I’m right, the guy who hired them will kill the driver when they meet. After he finds out what happened.”

  Duke returned with a roll of duct tape. “This good?”

  “Tape him up. Make him totally immobile.”

  JC got out of the vehicle and went to the trunk. Saw a duffel bag full of weaponry. Two sawed off shotguns, a couple boxes of shells, an AK-47 with a folding stock and several thirty-round clips. Smith and Wesson revolver, probably .357. There was another handgun, Taurus, matching the one the driver tried to pull. Looked like a pair of brass knuckles and a blackjack as well.

  Joan whistled. “That’s a lot of hardware just to watch you.”

  JC zipped it up. Took it.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 13

  Like I Shoulda Done Ten Years Ago

  It was eleven thirty in the morning and The General was walking towards his favorite tea house in New York City. About three blocks walking distance from the UN building. It was a nice place. Quiet. Elegant. Worldly. His two aides walked discretely behind him wearing civilian clothing. They usually wore their standard dress uniforms, but he had requested them to dress civilian today. He had found that people at the UN didn’t always have the greatest impression of the US military. He’d rather their anger or displeasure be directed at him instead of his staff.

  Plus, if Bannister didn’t see them before it was too late, then that would be a nice bonus.

  The General arrived at the tea house, entered and headed towards the back, his favorite area. He turned to tell his aides to sit near the front of the store at separate tables, but they were gone. He looked back outside to see them standing at the front door, faces pressed sideways against the glass. Duke, the big kid from Iraq, was behind one of his aides. A woman he had only seen in file pictures was behind the other. He didn’t need to see the guns they held to know they were there. Which meant that Bannister was already in the tea shop. He turned to loo
k in the back of the shop and saw him sitting there. Waiting. JC indicated to the chair at the table already pulled out for The General. JC’s jaw was set.

  *****

  JC had worked with The General for a number of years, both in Iraq and stateside. Had been both his driver and personal aide. He knew the man’s habits inside and out. Knew which tea house he liked to visit when in New York. Especially his favorite near the United Nations Building. JC had arrived early. Sat in the back to get a good view of the place. Duke and Joan were positioned outside, ready to detain any companions The General might have.

  He had arrived as JC expected, just before eleven thirty. Walked in but didn’t notice JC waiting for him until he was caught in the trap. No way out except straight through. Just as JC had anticipated and planned for.

  The General sighed.

  Then walked to the back of the tea house. JC stood. Hand near his hip, ready to draw.

  “I’m not going to kill you, JC,” The General said. ‘Hell, I’m not even going to fight you.” He extended his hand.

  JC shook it after the briefest of pauses. He had placed the duffel bag from the Bolivians on the table next to them along with a briefcase. The General looked at them, but JC could see no hint of recognition when the old warrior's eyes passed over the duffel bag. A slight frown, another sigh. Perhaps he guessed what was inside.

  They both sat down.

  “Been a long time, General.”

  “Too long, JC. Too long.”

  “Didn’t figure you wanted to see my face ever again. Except to punch it.”

  The General smiled. “I was angry at you for a good many years, that’ true. But in the end, I realized you were right. I was wrong. And I am sorry. The Army lost a good solider that day. And I let down a friend.”

  “Me? Or my father?”

  “Okay, two friends.”

  JC had not expected an apology today. The General he remembered was just as likely to beat the hell out of him as he was to apologize. Perhaps the man was softening in his old age. One way to tell.

  “Tell you what. You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, you sonofabitch.”

  The General exploded from his seat and was halfway across the table before he saw that JC’s Glock had cleared its holster and was aimed at him from under the table. To people watching, he would look like the aggressor. And a fool. The younger man had just tested him.

  “Did I pass?” he asked as he sat back down.

  JC smiled. “I had to know if you were sincere or soft.”

  The General joined in his younger friend’s smile. “Maybe a bit of both, son. Maybe a bit of both.”

  JC continued the smile, but did not holster his weapon. The General glanced down pointedly at the location of the weapon under the table, but made no comment. “Can my guys come inside now?” he asked.

  “Sure.” JC took out his phone with his free hand. Dialed Joan. Hung up without saying anything.

  The General did not turn as the bell above the door jingled. Joan and Duke walked in, each leading an uncomfortable looking man. Joan sat on the right of the tea house with her charge and Duke on the left. JC wanted this to be over soon.

  “First things first. Indonesia,” he said. The opening move.

  The General’s face was impassive. Younger JC would have been uncomfortable. Nervous. Would have kept talking until The General had the upper hand. This JC waited.

  “What do you want to know?” The General replied.

  “Details,” JC said, pressing.

  “Alfredsen called me up, said he needed some help,” The General said, taking a sip of tea, prolonging his answer. “I knew you were the best around, so I gave him your number.”

  “How did you know the code?”

  The General shrugged. “I hear things.”

  JC felt that was as far as he was going to get. He had more important questions right now anyway. “Next. Why me?”

  “The senator?” JC nodded. “Did she tell you why she wants the problem fixed that way?” The General said.

  “She told me she was dying from cancer. Didn’t want it to end slowly. That’s it,” JC said.

  The General paused.

  “More information is better, General.”

  The General nodded. “She was diagnosed two months ago. The doctors don’t know where it started. Could be her stomach, could be her lungs. Regardless, it’s spread through pretty much her entire body now. Just waking up in the morning causes her pain. She can’t take medication because that will numb her too much. Still maintains her schedule just as much as she always did. She wants it all to stop.”

  “That’s an explanation. Not an answer. Why me?”

  “As I said before, you are one of the best at what you do.” JC’s eyebrows curled in towards his blue eyes. “Yeah, I keep tabs on you. Want to know how much you’re screwing up. Turns out not that much. You had some troubles at the start, sure. But you found yourself and got on the right path.”

  JC knew the only time he had any troubles or had been on a path The General would disapprove of was his time in Bolivia. Was The General hinting at Philadelphia? Or just taking a trip down memory lane?

  “I thought it would be better to have someone she knew doing this,” the old warrior continued. “Someone who would be somewhat considerate. Easy to fake a carjacking and gun her down in the street, all messy and bloody. But to make it quiet and painless — that takes a fixer with skill. Someone like you.”

  “OK.” JC paused. “Remember what you told me repeatedly in Afghanistan? Every time we went out on a mission, what was the last thing you said?”

  “No women, no children. I knew you were going to bring that up.”

  “No women. No children. That’s what you drilled into my head. Over and over and over again. Why is this any different?”

  “Different place, different rules. Over there we were trying to win their hearts and minds, son. Hard to do if we’re killing their kids and wives and girlfriends. This is entirely different. You should be able to see that. After all I tried to teach you, you’re still going to stick to some rule from a different time and place?”

  The old argument was about ready to start: are you going to be like your dad, stick to the rules and fall behind, or be like your mother, think progressively and flexibly and advance?

  Not today, JC decided. The days of him lecturing me are over.

  “No, it’s not different. It’s worse. She’s a woman. She’s a sitting senator. She’s an old friend. And you thought I should be the one to kill her? That was your best idea, your best option when an old friend came calling?”

  “Listen, boy, I don’t like her idea any more than you do,” The General said, pushing away his cup of tea. “But she is an old friend. And she’s going to kill herself one way or another. This way, it’s done and done right. You can make it look like it was natural causes, can’t you? Then do it.” The General was getting defensive and upset. JC knew why he was upset, but defensive? The only time he got defensive was when he’d made a bad choice. Was this the bad choice? Or was Philadelphia?

  “Did Mrs. Marcus know about my mom dying?”

  “Of course she did. We all heard about it when it happened. Why?”

  “No reason.” The senator had lied to his face. Why?

  “Is that why you’re reluctant? Because of your mother? Those are two completely different women in two completely different situations.”

  “General, there are a number of reasons why I don’t want to do this. That’s only a small part of it.”

  “Listen, son.” The General leaned forward. JC realized he was going in for the hard sell. “That woman has stood on The Hill and fought for the military one way or another for every day of her elected life. We as soldiers owe her more than we can ever hope to repay. She fought for better armor in the Humvees over in Iraq. She fought for the surge. She fought for better benefits for us. She fought for those things and dozens more.” The General shook his head. “And
every time she fought, she lost a little bit of political capital she had built up for herself. Capital she could have been spending elsewhere. But she fought for us.” Paused. “Now, I know you’re no longer a solider. But you were. A damn good one. So was your daddy. Senator Marcus fought for us. For him. For me. For you. The least we can do is give her the dignity of passing away in a manner of her choosing. Not suffering in pain, hooked up to tubes and machines, withering away to nothing. We owe her this much. Every serviceman or woman does. But you’re going to be the one delivering on our debt.”

  It was a good sell, JC thought. Except for the part where he had to kill a US Senator.

  “You know she’s likely to be president?” he said. “If things all go her way?”

  “She won’t live much past the primaries, JC,” The General replied, frowning. “Let alone the general election.”

  JC fell silent. He had come here looking for answers. Hoping to find a clear way to say yes or no. He had found neither. Which lead him to his second problem: who was trying to kill him?

  “Who did you call in Bolivia?”

  “What are you talking about, boy?”

  “Those guys in Philadelphia. They said you sent them.”

  “Son, I’ve got no damn clue what the hell you are talking about.”

  Bad sign. JC knew The General better than almost anyone on this earth. He knew the man always started to swear more when upset. He also knew he usually avoided answering direct questions when he didn’t want to. Not always. But usually.

  JC leaned forward. “Did you send the guys in Philadelphia to kill me?”

  “Listen to me, son. I know I’ve asked you to do a helluva thing here. But why would I do that and then send some South American flunkies to try and kill you? If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead and it would have been done by some goddamn Americans. You should know better than that.” The man was pissed.

  Impressive acting, JC thought. Still. Could be truthful.