Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  Anyway, since then, the three of us have an understanding. I went into the bar we knew Ali liked to frequent. I Tasered him and knocked a couple of his crew down while Tommy showed the rest of them our equalizer: the riot gun. No muss, no fuss. Ali eventually came to saying he was going to kill my whole family. We delivered him without incident. I gave Ali my Dad’s last known address in case he decided to make good on his threat.

  Now, here we are, together again. Tommy decided he wanted some late night breakfast, so the three of us headed for the Buttercup Pantry by the train station at Jack London. I ordered some rye toast with coffee. Tess settled for tea. She didn’t say anything until after the waitress brought our food. We’d been doing business long enough it wasn’t really an uncomfortable silence though.

  “I see you’re still getting your head busted for money,” Tess said after Tommy and I started eating.

  “You could call Tommy and leave a message,” I suggested.

  “Slinky only comes to watch so in case you lose she’ll get to gloat,” Tommy added.

  Tess knows not to let us bait her anymore. She smiles.

  “Let’s cut to the chase and save the usual banter for another time.”

  “How may we be of service, Ms. Connagher?” Tommy asks her formally.

  “John speaks Arabic. We have a client’s daughter coming to San Francisco for a visit from Saudi Arabia. Her Father wishes his daughter protected. How much for six days round the clock?”

  Yeah, I speak Arabic, Farsi, Pashtu, Russian, Chinese, French, and Spanish, thanks to immersion training with the Marines and CIA over the years. It’s not on the stat sheet Tess has on me. Even Tommy only knows about the Spanish. To my credit, I don’t blink. I just smile amiably as I rack my brain for how in hell Tess could find something like that out. Tommy chuckles waiting for me to deny it. His face lights up when I don’t. He reaches for his notepad.

  “Oh, Slinky, the price of potatoes just went up. Interpreter/Bodyguard is a very specialized field, especially with exotic languages.” Tommy jots some notes down. He tears out the page and hands it to Tess.

  “Jesus H-!

  “Don’t blaspheme,” I interrupt gently.

  “I didn’t have to tell you I knew he spoke Arabic,” Tess protests. “You didn’t even know, Tommy. I… oh the hell with it… I’ll give them the figure.”

  “Sounds good.” Tommy stands up, pointing at me. “I have to get home tonight. Rachel’s making me take the kids to soccer tomorrow morning because of my no account, lazy, shiftless soul. You get some rest. We got another lamb tomorrow night.”

  “See ya, Tommy.” Tommy has nearly every penny he ever earned. He lives real well with his wife and two teenagers, a girl and a boy.

  “G’night, Slinky,” Tommy tells Tess as he’s leaving.

  “Goodnight, you Pirate!” Tess turns on me. “Well?”

  “Well what? You know Tommy’s my agent.”

  “Want to tell me how a woman living in Saudi Arabia would know to ask for you as a bodyguard by name.”

  “And this lady’s name would be?” Samira Karim. I knew it had to be her but I don’t volunteer anything.

  “Karim is her last name. She told me you were her family’s bodyguard in Afghanistan until they could be moved to Saudi Arabia. You saved their lives.”

  “I wasn’t alone. How did she know to contact you?”

  “The State Department put her in touch with me,” Tess explained. “They know right where you are.”

  Chapter Two: Scapegoat

  True, they still keep in touch, which is why I’m fluent in a multitude of languages, thanks to a one week intensive follow-up training gig every couple months. Tommy thinks I have a mistress in Virginia. They believe they own me. One day I may have to carve a couple of them up. For now, when they ask me to slip in somewhere occasionally, I do it without bellyaching about it. Usually I’m only used when no one wants to see a particular person ever again. This was a new wrinkle. If they contacted Tess, it must be voluntary. Samira was only a skinny eleven year old girl when I went along with them for the trip out of country. Some of us guys and the Northern Alliance had barely gained a foothold when it was decided Samira and her family were to be moved to Saudi Arabia for their protection. Her Father had been the catalyst allowing us to establish a presence in Afghanistan. The Taliban had reportedly sent assassination teams after them. We found out later how accurate our intel was.

  “So, what do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Tess urged. “You can trust me.”

  I wonder if those morons in the State Department knew what they were doing to me. Yeah, they knew. I’ll have to pay them back somehow. I’ll give it some thought.

  “Trust you with what?”

  “You really aren’t some double digit IQ leg-breaker, are you?”

  “Is that what you thought I was?”

  “Can you answer a simple question without asking your own?”

  “Why should I?” I see the cute twist of annoyance and smile at her.

  “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I like you, John,” Tess states with irritating honesty, irritating to me anyway. “It was my fault we started off on the wrong foot. Then, on top of giving you short shrift, I badmouth you for killing the drug dealer, knowing I could have ended up like Pretzel. Don’t bother denying it. I knew when they found him in the back of the junkyard with his guts hanging out it was your work. Thank you.”

  I never figured to hide it from her but I wasn’t about to admit we billed her firm for a couple weeks bodyguard work when I knew the guy I was protecting her from was already dead.

  “Believe what you want, Tess. I like you too. We’ve been over this ground before. I do things a certain way, and you don’t like the way I do things. We’re friends. It’s dangerous for you to start playing Nancy Drew with my life.”

  Tess started to speak but sipped her tea instead. She looked up at me after a few moments of silence. “Could we be more than friends, John?”

  “Seriously… I don’t know,” I counter, wondering where she’s headed. “We don’t fit together well, Tess. Everything I do pisses you off.”

  “Not everything,” Tess replies in her sexy hushed voice that makes my toes curl up. They ain’t the only thing headed upwards. “I could change.”

  Yeah, that’ll happen. My silently interested gaze puts the frown back at the corners of her mouth.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Where are you going with this, Tess? Want to go see a movie with me, hold hands in the park, put puzzles together in front of the fire place-”

  “I want you to come home with me tonight,” Tess cuts me off with the heavy artillery, gazing at her teacup now held in both hands. “I want to make you breakfast tomorrow morning after you’ve turned me inside out again.”

  “I stink… remember?”

  “You’re stalling.” She chuckles, putting her cup down and reaching over to clasp my left hand with her right. “Don’t play hard to get. Did you really think I came out to watch you get your brains kicked in on a lark? I care about you and I… I know you care about me.”

  “Let’s compromise,” I tell her, wondering inwardly if I was trying out for my metro-man stripes. “I’ll see you home tonight, have a coffee with you, and come over for breakfast first thing in the morning. Like Tommy said, I have another fight tomorrow night. We can go out to dinner afterwards if you don’t mind following me back to my place so I can shower first.”

  “Well, that’s two strikes tonight.” Tess sighed and waited as the waitress delivered their bill. “First, Tommy gives me a price from an alternate reality. Then you give me the brush off. You’re not one of those pugs who think sex will weaken their legs, are you?”

  “If it’ll make you feel any better, then yeah, that’s it.”

  “It doesn’t.” Tess stood up, tucking twenties in the folder with the bill. “C’mon, princess,
I’ll make you some coffee at my house. Did Tommy drive you or did you meet him at the fight in that junker you tool around in?”

  “Hey, my old Chevy’s an heirloom,” I protest, following her toward the restaurant exit. We draw a lot of looks - beauty and the beast fans would be my guess. “Tommy drove.”

  “Where the hell do you live? All I have for you is a post office box.”

  “I own a place on Lyon. Do you want to stop there and let me shower first?”

  “It’s almost nine,” Tess informed me, looking at her watch. “You can shower at my place while I make coffee.”

  Not expecting to go out after the fight, all I had on were jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt under my old blue windbreaker. I hadn’t had time to do my usual quick cleanup after the fight because of the gun confrontation. Tess glanced back at me taking stock of my clothing. She laughed.

  “I have some extra large t-shirts at home. You can borrow one.”

  “I’m trying to cut down on the smell factor for you,” I explain, pulling open the driver’s door on her black BMW 35i after she beeps it unlocked.

  “You smell sexy,” Tess tells me as I get an eyeful during her leg swing into the car.

  “Earlier, it was ‘you stink, hard-head’. Now, it’s a pheromone?” I ask rhetorically, closing her door before jogging around to the passenger side. She’s still chuckling over my pheromone dig when I slip in and shut my door. Tess gets the BMW going. She lowers the audio on the CD she’s playing.

  “I didn’t know you knew a word like pheromone.”

  “Ouch,” I retort, pretending hurt and hanging my head.

  “How come there is no John Harding before the date you went into the Marine Corps?” Tess asked, real innocent like.

  “I joined from a little town called Plano, Texas. We didn’t have to have a passport to join from there,” I reply, knowing what’s coming next.

  “No John Harding ever went to school in Plano, Texas.” Tess smiles over at me sweetly.

  Bingo!

  “I was home-schooled.”

  “I’ll bet. Tell me something about yourself.”

  “I’d rather hear about you,” I reply honestly. Hell, there’s not much to tell about my life before the Marines. “I didn’t have a record or anything before I joined if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

  “I graduated in the top third of my class at Harvard law slightly before my twentieth birthday. I have a chance to make partner at the law firm before I’m thirty. Your turn. How many languages do you know?”

  “A few,” I admit reluctantly. “I have a knack for them. How about you?”

  “I speak French and Spanish fluently,” Tess answers in French.

  “Nice,” I compliment her because hearing French from Tess is like listening to classical music.

  “You speak French,” Tess states, proud of herself. “Why does the State Department know right where to find you?”

  “I’m still in the Marine Reserve and I’m not in hiding.”

  “I know you killed a guy in the ring.”

  “The ref was a little slow.” It’s in the public record. I’m beginning to regret my agreeing to coffee at her house. “Why don’t you ask me where I learned how to make you sing out in that high pitched voice just before-”

  “Shut up!” Tess gasps as she smacks my arm. “I’m making intelligent conversation and you start diving in the gutter.”

  “Sounds more like an interrogation to me, Tess.”

  Silence for the remaining moments until Tess pulls into her driveway. She remotes the garage door open and drives the BMW inside. Tess shuts off the car. She turns to me with her hand on my arm.

  “Sorry about the interrogation.”

  “No problem,” I pat her hand. “Make decaf, okay?”

  Her Piedmont place reminds me of the redhead’s house in ‘Desperate Housewives’. I don’t watch much TV… but I like redheads. Every single item looks in place, like a three dimensional puzzle. I take off my shoes before following her into the adjoining kitchen from the garage. A little black kitten ran out from under the kitchen table and pounced on my right socked foot. I started laughing. Tess turned around to see what was so funny. She chuckled and snatched the little cat up.

  “Sorry about that.” Tess roughed the kitten up in her hand. “His name’s Midnight.”

  “Neat,” I reply poking my index sausage around in Midnight’s stomach. He had flipped on his back in Tess’s hands.

  “C’mon, I’ll get you a shirt to take in the bathroom with you.” Tess walked toward her bedroom carrying the purring Midnight with her. She came out a moment later with an extra large white t-shirt and handed it to me. Midnight protested with a swat at my hand when I took it.

  “I’ll be out in a few,” I told her and went in the bathroom.

  The shower felt good. When I came out with my t-shirt and underwear tied up together, I went out to the kitchen and found Tess pouring coffee into two cups. I sat down, feeling real relaxed. Midnight immediately began batting the shoelace on my right tennis shoe. Tess brought over a tray with full coffee cups, saucers, and all the makings. After putting the tray on the table Tess sat down opposite me. She fixed her coffee real comfortable like. I sipped mine, thinking this was real nice. Then the doorbell rang. Tess got this startled but knowing look on her face. Okay… it was nice for a couple minutes there.

  “Excuse me,” Tess said, getting up and going over to open her front door.

  I turned to watch through the kitchen archway leading to the living room. From where I sat, I could see Tess open the door. She stepped aside. Two large suits walked in the doorway carrying briefcases. Tess led them to the kitchen. I’m thinkin’ this is going to be interesting. All those neat little redhead thoughts melted away - leaving only a slight stinging sensation, like when one of those meat eatin’ yellow-jackets porks you in the woods. I lock eyes with the lead suit. His name’s Dennis Strobert. He and I do government business occasionally. He’s never pulled anything like this before so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Tess… I’ll have to think on.

  “Hey, John.” Dennis grins at me real friendly like. He’s about six-two in height and only a small bit desk softened. Dennis looks a lot like an ex-Marine, crew cut sandy hair, and been around the block. We spent some quality time in Afghanistan together. “You ought to get a phone, buddy.”

  “You call T and I get back to you, just like always. Why all this? I’m not in hiding.”

  “We don’t deal with middle men anymore, Harding,” the other suit informs me. He’s a little taller than Dennis and half again as wide, none of it in his stomach.

  “Calm down, Ben,” Dennis tells his partner. “John, this is Ben Reddig. He’s a CIA liaison from the State Department-”

  “Before you go on,” I interrupted him. “Since when do you use civilians as intermediaries?”

  “John, I-”

  “I’m not talking to you, Tess,” I cut her off without taking my eyes off Dennis and his Igor. I can tell she’s all excited, smiling nervously. Apparently, Dennis charmed her into thinking she was being recruited for some clandestine operation.

  “Mind if we sit down, John?”

  “It’s not my house. Why don’t you answer my question first?”

  “Ms. Connagher’s firm does some contracting for us in a peripheral manner.” Dennis sat down in the chair next to mine.

  Reddig starts walking around behind me. I get up, careful not to kick Midnight, hiding next to my shoe.

  “You want to sit, Ben, go on over next to Dennis.” I smile at him charmingly, while keeping his hands in view. “When you get comfortable, keep your hands up on the table where I can see them.”

  “Do as he says, Ben,” Dennis said, the urgency in his voice making an impression on Ben. “Sit over here and tell John what this meeting’s all about.”

  “I don’t like you,” Ben tells me in what he thinks is a menacing growl.

  “That phrase is on a lot of tombston
es,” I reply with an easy grin. I’ve measured him and found ol’ Ben wanting. “If you don’t sit down, I’m leaving. I like Ms. Connagher’s house as it is. I’d rather you didn’t die in it.”

  “Sit down, Ben!” Dennis ordered. “I told you not to make a scene in here, damn it!”

  “We shouldn’t have to take orders from street pugs,” Reddig complains but walks around to his seat.

  I sit down when he does, not taking offense. A lot of government types I’ve dealt with over the years think they can treat me like their own personal hand puppet. I sip my coffee. Tess brings over two more cups and saucers with trembling hands. She then brings over the coffee pot and pours coffee for Dennis and Ben. After meeting Reddig, I understood Dennis’s thinking on setting up a meet here. Our State Department is full of appointed hangers on. Reddig looked younger than Dennis, probably middle to late thirties. He was used to bullying people. Tess sat down again across from me.

  “We want to know everything about Samira Karim, Harding,” Ben tells me.

  “I haven’t seen her since ‘03 when she was eleven. If you know so much about me you ought to know that.”

  “Listen you…” Reddig begins trekking down a trail he may not return from when Dennis cuts him off.

  “What Ben here was getting at, John, is did Karim keep in touch with you after your last time seeing her… a phone call or e-mail?”

  “Not a word.”

  “If that’s true… why the hell is she so hot about getting you to look after her on this trip to the states? What kind of relationship did you have with her when-”

  “There was no relationship, moron,” I break in before I have to make an adjustment in Reddig’s facial features. “When you speak to me, remember something before allowing words to spew out of your pie-hole - if you make stupid comments like linking me with an eleven-year-old girl I’m going to break some important parts on your body.”

  “Are…are you threatening me?” Reddig is aghast. He looks over at a very uncomfortable Dennis. “You better get your boy in line, Strobert.”

  “He’s not my boy, Ben,” Dennis tells him. “If you ignore his warning there aren’t enough people in this room to keep you safe even if I was of a mind to try and stop him, which I’m not. You wanted this meeting. I told you we could obtain John’s help through Ms. Connagher’s firm without direct contact.”