Walk a Mile

by Sarah Madison

  “How’d you guys know each other?” That had to be the longest speech he’d ever heard Flynn make.

  Flynn lifted his index finger off the steering wheel in a sort of wave. “We worked on the school paper together.”

  “Ah, an investigative type, even then.”

  The light was fading from the sky, but Jerry could still see clearly the sardonic glance Flynn shot in his direction. He even caught a hint of ha-ha, you’re so funny before Flynn shut down such thoughts in the soundproof booth.

  Jerry chose to take it as a positive sign, just the same.

  “Anything I need to know? I mean, specifically?”

  Flynn shrugged again. “I don’t think so. Most of the history between us you should be able to pick up on or just wing it. I haven’t seen these guys in years. I can’t imagine this will be too hard.” Or that we’ll stay that long. Flynn’s added thought was ephemeral, though, like a leaf on the wind, skittering past his consciousness and then gone.

  “This will be a piece of cake, then.”

  Flynn shot him a suspicious look. You’d have been in a fine mess if I’d decided to stay at the hotel.

  “A walk in the park.” Jerry hummed lightly, shifting his head gently from side to side.

  “Cut it out. You’re making me nervous.” Flynn was glaring now.

  “A cakewalk. Duck soup. Slam dunk.” FBI agents might not start out superstitious, but even a rookie knew better than to suggest any mission was going to be easy. That was just asking for trouble.

  “Cut it out!” Flynn pushed him on the shoulder.

  “Ow.” Jerry rubbed his bicep in mock-pain. Flynn knew how hard he could push, apparently. “You’re such a brute.” Anything he was tempted to add along the lines of Flynn being an abusive boyfriend died without issue. He couldn’t joke about their relationship, not when it was hanging by a thread.

  Flynn didn’t say anything, and Jerry knew he was conscious of momentarily letting down his guard. Cursing himself, too, if what was bleeding through the soundproof booth was to be believed. Jerry smiled in the darkness of the car.

  When they pulled up in front of the bar, Jerry said, “Remember, you’re my wingman tonight.”

  The look on Flynn’s face was priceless.

  Despite the early hour, the parking lot was full. There were no spaces on the street, either. Flynn circled the block and then turned down a narrow side-alley.

  “You sure about this?” Jerry held his breath that they wouldn’t scrape paint off the rental as they crept along the cracked and rutted pavement.

  “There should be an employees-only lot back here somewhere. We’re not going to be here all that long, and besides, I’ve got an in with the owner.” His voice should have sounded teasing, but Flynn sounded distracted as he drove. “Yeah, still here.” He manipulated the car into the small lot behind the bar, where a couple of cars were parked. Jerry opened his passenger-side door with care, trying not to ding the old green van beside them. Killian’s Bar and Grill was proudly proclaimed in fancy gilt lettering on the side. Friends of the owner or not, Jerry bet he wouldn’t appreciate it if the van got dented. Again.

  “Hey.” Flynn’s voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. Jerry turned to look quizzically over his shoulder. Flynn was shrouded in shadow, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat against the cool summer evening. His posture was rigid, unforgiving.

  “Yeah?” Jerry said nothing else, just waited him out.

  “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s get this over with.”

  The notion Flynn had something to tell him couldn’t be denied, no matter how deep Flynn crawled inside the booth.

  Heat and noise smacked him in the face as they entered the bar. The room was crowded and noisy with Saturday night customers looking to unwind, have a little fun, and maybe get lucky. Killian’s must have had a good grill menu, to draw in people this early, and the smell of cooking steak made Jerry’s mouth water.

  “You look like a dog the way you’re sniffing the air.”

  Jerry gave Flynn his best Flynn-like smile. “Red meat. Your favorite. How can I resist?” He glanced around the room. “So do we seat ourselves or what?”

  Flynn nudged him and indicated a table in the corner, where several people were sitting. Nancy, looking casual-yet-stunning in a black leather jacket, bright red sweater, and jeans, waved to get their attention.

  Jerry lifted his hand in acknowledgement and the two of them began threading their way through the room. Jerry paused without warning, causing Flynn to run into his shoulder.

  “What’s up?” Flynn frowned.

  Jerry shrugged it off. “Nothing. Just a weird thought coming from somewhere nearby.”

  “A threat?” All at once, Flynn was in Doberman-mode. Jerry recognized the alertness of his posture, the ability to spring into action if needed at a moment’s notice, and Jerry had the odd sensation of realizing he, Jerry Parker, could be a badass motherfucker if he chose to be. That he was more than just a brain.

  Jerry let go of his thoughts and scrunched up his face as he looked around, trying to pinpoint the other thought. He shook his head. “No. Just weird.”

  “Well, what was it?” Flynn was exasperated now.

  Exasperation was better than irritation. You couldn’t truly be exasperated with someone unless there was just a little bit of fondness still present. Jerry hoped that was true, at any rate.

  “I’m not sure. You know how it is. Sometimes you just get these stray thoughts. I could have sworn someone recognized me. I mean, recognized you.”

  “Yeah.” Flynn pointed at the table where Nancy had taken a seat. Everyone at the table was looking expectantly in their direction.

  “No. Not your friends. Someone else. I dunno. I couldn’t pin it down. There’s a lot of noise in here.” The gabble of thoughts on top of the actual conversation was enough to give him a headache again.

  Flynn began pushing him toward the table.

  “You know, for someone who didn’t want to come in the first place, you’re awfully anxious to go over there.”

  Bite me.

  Jerry laughed out loud. The irony of the situation caught him off guard, and the ridiculousness of his position struck him as hilarious all of the sudden. He let loose with Flynn’s braying donkey laugh. Flynn turned bright red and punched him again, harder this time. “Stop it! For fuck’s sake, do I really sound like that?”

  “Sound like what?” Jerry grinned at him.

  “A dying Eeyore.”

  Jerry didn’t have a chance to answer. A plump woman in her midthirties with impossibly blonde curls bounced up from the table and headed in their direction.

  “John! Oh my god, I would have known that laugh anywhere. Can I just say you look even better than ever?” She made a growling noise like a big cat and enveloped Jerry in a quick hug, only to push him back at arm’s length to stare at him with a winning smile. “Look at you! Damn, you were always jail bait but you’re seriously hot now!”

  “Thanks, Becky. You haven’t changed a bit.” He didn’t think he was taking a chance here. He recognized her from Flynn’s description.

  She laughed and pushed at Jerry’s shoulder. “You always were such a smooth one. I’ve put on thirty pounds. Two kids will do that to you. Also, I’m blonde now. Do you know what Dolly Parton said when she was asked if she was bothered by dumb blonde jokes?” Becky paused to make sure they were waiting for her delivery. “She said they didn’t bother her at all because she knew she wasn’t dumb. And that she wasn’t blonde, either.” Her smile, wicked and inviting, suddenly faded. “Did I hurt you just now? Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” He refrained from rubbing his shoulder. “Just a little tight from all the driving. Becky, this is my partner, Jerry Parker. We’re in town on business, but he and Nancy thought I should do the social thing.”

  “They thought right. Hello, Jerry. I was Becky Williams before I got married. I’m an Altizer now. I cut loose from my family to be here tonight, so you
two fine gentlemen are going to make me feel like a million dollars.” Becky turned and allowed them to escort her back to the table. Goddamn. Is being handsome a requirement of the FBI these days? “I must say, you don’t look like any Jerry I’ve ever met.” She gave Flynn the once-over, and to Jerry’s amusement, his face turned painfully red.

  “What other Jerrys have you met besides the cartoon mouse?” Jerry’s voice was Flynn-dry, but Becky squealed and smacked Jerry playfully on the chest.

  “It isn’t a common name.” Flynn sounded disturbingly prissy, as though he was doing his best to pretend to be Jerry. “Jerome, that is. It means ‘sacred name.’”

  “His mother was a Bible-thumper.” Jerry jerked his head in Flynn’s direction, delighted to see him turn even redder.

  “Oh, I see.” Becky infused her sentence with knowing emphasis. She patted Flynn on the arm. “That’s okay, sugar, we won’t hold it against you.”

  Jerry liked her already.

  “His middle name is Lee.” Jerry never knew what possessed him to say that. Inevitably, Becky started laughing.

  “Jerry Lee? Really?” She shot Flynn a speculative look. Does he have Great Balls of Fire?

  Jerry quickly turned his laugh into a cough. “I know, what was his mother thinking?” He deliberated avoided Flynn’s eyes for fear he’d lose it entirely.

  Becky made the introductions all around at the table as they took their seats. Flynn’s presence as Special Agent Parker made the introductions necessary, to Jerry’s relief. He’d thought it would be a simple matter to identify Flynn’s friends from his descriptions, but the battering of their thoughts against his shielding made even basic concentration difficult.

  Holy crap. I hardly recognize them. Flynn’s dismay at how much his friends had changed was heartening proof he was human after all. I wonder what they make of me? They all seem to like Jerry, that’s for sure. I might as well be chopped liver. The rest of Flynn’s surprised thoughts were quickly squashed.

  Jerry could have told him. From Nancy’s slightly preening aura of self-congratulation at getting “Flynn” to come, to Tom’s resigned recognition that some guys were born with all the luck, to Carlene’s Holy shit. Why didn’t I go after him in college? It was disturbing and distracting to hear everyone’s thoughts as a sort of echo to their sentences.

  “Nancy says you’re FBI agents.” Tom’s hair was already receding from his forehead, a portent of baldness to come. Just look at John’s hair. Thick as ever. The other guy, too. I bet they get laid wherever they go. His envy wasn’t malignant, just wistful. Bet they never get turned down by the ladies. Must be nice.

  “It’s not like how you see it on television.” Jerry was quick to assure him. “Mostly a lot of boring paperwork, as Jerry can attest to.” He just knew he was going to screw up and call Flynn by his name. He gave his best version of a Flynn-smirk. “I make him do most of it.”

  Flynn grimaced a smile at him. Thank you for including me in a conversation with my friends.

  Jerry sighed and reached for the pitcher of beer.

  “When did you start drinking, John?” Nancy’s concern stopped all conversation, and Jerry realized his mistake. Of course, Flynn avoided alcohol because of his mother’s drinking. Nancy, more than any of the others, would have known that.

  “I don’t.” He finished pouring a glass and pushed it over to Flynn. “I’m hoping Parker will loosen up a bit.”

  “Fat chance of that.” Flynn took the mug with a nasty little smile, as though a sly idea had just come to him. “We both know I’m the Felix Unger in this partnership.”

  “What do you mean, Jerry?” Becky pushed the tray of loaded potato skins within Flynn’s reach.

  Flynn helped himself to one with enthusiasm. “Any great crime-fighting team has to have a combination of brains and trustworthy, but rather dim-witted, brawn. I’m the Holmes to his Watson.” He used the potato skin in his fingers to emphasize his point. The look on his face was sheer devilish glee. There was no way Jerry could shoot this argument down without conceding the Holmes-Watson debate.

  “It’s true.” He took a sip from his glass of water and snagged a potato skin for himself. “Parker is just like Sherlock Holmes. It’s scary sometimes. He’s a regular walking Wikipedia. Not to mention, he has a natural flair for profiling.”

  “Really.” Carlene spoke for the first time. She was a heavyset woman with light brown hair cut in a boyish bob and a look of permanent discontent on her face. “He should do us.”

  “I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” In fact, it made Jerry’s palms go damp. Flynn had the look of a young boy who was just hoping someone would double-dog dare him.

  “Why not? He’s only just met us—well, apart from Nancy.” She couldn’t quite keep a simmering resentment out of her voice as she shot a glance in Nancy’s direction. Of course, she can’t be bothered to eat the appetizer like the rest of us. I bet she orders a fricking salad as well. “I think it would be fun.”

  “Just remember, you asked for it.” Flynn’s grin was openly wicked now.

  “Fl—er, uh, Parker. Give it a rest.”

  “No, come on, Flynn, you heard the lady. It will be fun.” He seemed to lay unusual stress on the name Flynn. Jerry subsided despite feeling this was a bad idea. What was Flynn playing at?

  “I’ll start with Nancy, since she’ll be the easiest.” Flynn gave her a winning smile. Nancy in turn, looked slightly skeptical. “Let’s see. Hardworking, knowledgeable. Respected in her field. Envied by her friends and coworkers, some of whom resent her successes. Not particularly ambitious, however. Prefers to live her life outside of work rather than be married to it.”

  Nancy laughed. “An observant person would have noticed how my coworkers felt about me when you guys were at the museum the other day. John must have told you the other things.”

  Flynn looked nonplussed for a moment and then recovered. “Not at all. Look, some of this I did pick up on the other day. The rest is obvious from the way you’ve chosen to stay with a small local museum rather than move out of the area.”

  “See?” Nancy gave everyone at the table a wry glance. “Nothing to it.”

  “No, nothing at all. Except you recently ended a relationship, have adopted a new cat, and are into competitive archery.”

  “What!” Nancy gasped and turned to Jerry accusingly. “What did you tell him about me?”

  He could feel the hurt and accusation radiating in his direction.

  “Nothing!” Jerry answered in all honesty. He shrugged, palms wide. “I mean, there’s white cat hair on your clothes, but the rest?”

  Flynn sat back in his chair, sipping his beer. “It’s elementary, my dear Flynn. Nancy used to wear a ring on her left hand but she’s recently taken it off. Her skin is paler there. And she has a significant quantity of cat hair on her jeans and sweater, but had none on her work clothing the other day. Hence the presumption the cat is a new addition. As for the archery, she has a callus on the inside tip of her right index finger that can only come from holding an arrow between her fingers in a three fingered grip, the one most preferred for bow-masters.”

  “He’s right.” Nancy gave a breathy little laugh before ducking her head to brush the white cat hairs off her red sweater. Her cheekbones were pink, and she didn’t look particularly happy. Jerry wanted to smack Flynn.

  “Okay, that is creepy.” Becky raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I want you to do me.”

  “Nor me,” Tom added.

  “He’d hardly find you challenging, Tom. Anyone can look at you and tell you’re an accountant, nothing more, nothing less.” Carlene spoke with the disdain that only a woman speaking to her ex could maintain. She flicked her glance over Flynn in narrow-eyed assessment. “Bet you can’t do me.”

  Flynn set down his mug and smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile, and Jerry felt perversely annoyed with him. Damn it, he wanted Flynn’s friends to like “Jerry”! Why was he behaving like such an ass
hole?

  “You’re an interesting mix, to be sure. On the surface, low-key, unassuming, and confident, but with something to prove to the rest of us.”

  “Okay, I think I’ll have that beer now.” Jerry practically lunged for the pitcher.

  “And just how did you arrive at that conclusion?” Carlene’s voice was glacial but her thoughts were volcanic. That little prick. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone here just because he’s an FBI agent. I’ll show him who’s smarter.

  Tom, however, was obviously enjoying the show, poorly concealing a smile behind a couple of fingers touched to his lips.

  Flynn went on relentlessly. “You pride yourself on your economical and practical clothing to show you’re above such petty things as spending money to look nice. Yet you’re wearing a Cartier watch that costs more than a new car. You’re also wearing a medical caduceus pin on your collar, and your earrings are tiny helicopters. My guess is you’re a specialist of some sort, the kind where you make a lot of money, and in your spare time, you travel the world to teach and train physicians in third world countries, in rural, out-of-the-way regions. Am I right?”

  “Very funny. I’m sure you like doing the Sherlock Holmes thing, but I’m also sure someone told you that I’m a neurosurgeon.” Carlene stood up abruptly, her chair screeching on the floor. “If you will excuse me, I have to take a call.” Her phone gripped in a white-knuckled clutch, she stalked in the general direction of the ladies room. No one pointed out that it hadn’t rung.

  “That was a little mean, don’t you think?” Nancy calmly took Jerry’s beer mug out of his hand before he could take a drink.

  Flynn looked upset, something Jerry wasn’t used to seeing. Flynn struggled to control his features. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what came over me. Sometimes I just get into this analysis thing too deep, and I don’t know when to quit. Do you think I should go apologize?”