Hell on Earth

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “Turn that record over. We’ve covered our descent into darkness before, Muerto. Besides, we have popcorn.”

  “Oh good, Lord,” Nick mumbled as he approached Eric Strickland’s door.

  Pam opened before he could knock. “Hi, Al, I’ve been hoping you’d come. I confess to checking the peephole every few moments. You look very nice. Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  Nick met everyone, following Gus’s suggestion not to do his short hydraulic press handshake. Entertainingly, his remote viewing audience kept a continuous stream of humorous observances going as Nick received more than a few haughty and disgusted looks. Pam guided him over to say hello at the bar, where Eric was the acting bartender.

  “What’s your pleasure, Al?”

  “Do you have any Yuengling beer?”

  Eric’s smile disappeared for a moment. “Nope. They back conservative politicos. I guess you’re a conservative, being a lifetime military man.”

  “I try not to get involved in politics because I serve America, no matter who is in charge. I just like the taste of Yuengling.”

  Eric’s smile reappeared. “How about a Dos Equis?”

  “Sure, that would be fine.” Nick received his beer, listening to his remote audio entertainment system with amusement.

  “Do you need me to chaperone you, Al? I don’t mind,” Pam told him.

  “No… I’ll be fine, Pam. Your friends seem like great people and I like your mix of music. Is there anyone here you know of that really doesn’t like the military at all?”

  Pam thought about it, glancing at Eric. “I don’t know. Do you, Eric?”

  “Tony hates the military. He’s a lawyer for the ACLU. I saw him avoid your handshake.”

  Nick shrugged. “He said hi. Some people are germaphobes and hate handshakes. He’s the big guy who laughs a lot, right? Tony seems to be the life of the party. I’ll remember what you said though. I don’t want to offend anyone. Having a couple of beers and some munchies won’t bother anyone. I’ll do that.”

  “Everyone else will like you just fine,” Eric said. “If you need anything, swing back here to the bar, Al.”

  “I sure will. Thank you for your hospitality. This is really nice.” Nick ambled away to get close in video recording of all doors, windows, entryways, and decks. He acted in a deliberate manner while engaging each of the party guests with affable interaction. Johnny confirmed each success or asked Nick to turn slightly until the recording revealed what was needed. The state of the art bugs he installed would transmit every word spoken, along with wide angle video in the main living areas he toured without suspicion.

  “I think we have everything, Muerto. Enjoy the beer.”

  “We’ll stay on to guide you though,” Gus added.

  “Wonderful,” Nick muttered. He returned to the bar for another beer, which Eric procured for him in short order. “Thanks, Eric. Do you have to bartend all night?”

  “Yes, but it’s not bad. I interact with everyone and monitor their intake.”

  “Good idea.”

  A woman touched his arm from behind, her long nailed fingers immediately recognizable. “Hi, Al. I thought you would be making the rounds again.”

  The woman, an auburn-haired beauty in her early thirties, dressed in a short, sleeveless, shimmering blue dress, shook his arm slightly. “You’re not avoiding us, are you?”

  Nick smiled with a suave pat of Sue’s hand. “Absolutely not. You’re Tony’s wife, Sue, right?”

  “You have a great grasp of names. I can tell,” Sue answered. “Pam told me you’re Delta Force. You must have seen a lot of action over the last couple decades.”

  Nick shrugged. “My team kept busy. I’m acting as a consultant now.”

  “CIA, right?”

  “They are one of the agencies I consult with. What about you. Are you a political staffer or a federal employee?”

  “I work in Congresswoman Leila Jackson Gree’s office with Pam and Eric. They’re my bosses.”

  “We prefer co-workers,” Eric piped in.

  Nick heard the loud voice and laughter Tony supplied non-stop since the introduction come to a halt. He didn’t have to look around to know the man was on his way over. Nick had handled so many bullies during his lifetime, he spotted Tony the blowhard immediately as a practiced bully. Loud, overbearing, leans into people’s airspace from his over six foot frame, and belligerent in a heartbeat if someone crosses him. A typical ACLU lawyer type, Nick thought.

  “What the hell, Sue? I turn around for a second and you’re off on your own, playing with soldier boy?”

  “Sue came to the bar for a beverage, Tony,” Nick said. “I engaged your wife in conversation over career paths.”

  Eric quickly affirmed Nick’s excuse for Sue, placing a martini in front of her. “There you go, Sue.”

  Nick could tell Sue was used to putting men in Tony’s path for fun and sport. He chuckled unintentionally while listening to the hoots and funny phrases from his remote viewers.

  “What do you think’s so funny, GI Joe?” Tony moved into Nick’s air space.

  Nick sidestepped around him easily, waving a hand in front of his face, making a breeze. “Woe there, Tony. Get a breath mint before you get into kissing distance, partner.”

  Sue and Eric both suppressed laughter at Nick’s remark as others at the party, including Pam, neared the bar. Tony’s hands closed into fists, his face reddening by the second. He looked around at the amused faces and launched a roundhouse right toward Nick’s face. Nick caught his fist in the beartrap grip, twisting and bending. Tony went right to his knees with a yelp.

  “No touching, Tony,” Nick said. One of the other men, named Ted, rushed toward Nick from the side.

  “Let him go!”

  Nick side-kicked Ted, planting the man directly on the floor without releasing Tony. He stared calmly at his audience. “Please don’t do anything I will make you regret.”

  Nick shook Tony’s hand gently as Ted gasped air into his lungs from a fetal position. “See what you’ve caused, Tony. Do you think you can behave?”

  Tony nodded his pain contorted face in the affirmative.

  “Listen carefully. I will release you and then you quietly go to the other side of the room. Sue will bring you a drink to cool you down. If you do anything else, I will kick your teeth down your throat. Understand?”

  Tony again acknowledged the order. Nick released his hand. Tony scrambled to his feet, massaging his hand and resisting any comment with great will power. He did as he was told. Nick helped Ted sit and get air into his lungs. After helping him to his feet, Nick pointed to where Tony sat across the room, trying to get blood to circulate into his hand again.

  “Join Tony. Stay there until I drink my beer and leave.” Nick gave him a gentle push toward Tony. Ted continued to follow the path set for him.

  Nick retrieved his nearly full beer while waving at the other guests. “Just a misunderstanding. Nothing to see here, folks. Sue… please take drinks to Tony and Ted.”

  “That… was awesome!” Sue accepted the already made drinks from Eric. “Tony’s been asking to get an attitude adjustment for years. Thank you for not hurting him badly, Al.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt him at all, but I also don’t take kindly to a sucker punch in the face. I’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Tony’s a lawyer,” Sue warned, “and he’s vindictive as hell.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Sue. When Tony’s head is in a better place, tell him if he sees me anywhere, avoid me at all cost. Would you tell him that for me?”

  Sue stared in open mouthed shock at the Terminator gaze of promised death. “Ah… sure. I’ll tell him.”

  Nick turned to smile at a very uneasy Eric and Pam, holding his beer up. “Is it okay if I finish this?”

  “I…I don’t think we could stop you even if it wasn’t okay, Al,” Eric said. “You are a very bad man.”

  Nick listened to the remote viewing audio
hilarity with a grin. He could hear Jean calling out ‘Oh yeah’ in the background, picturing her pumping a fist with Rachel trying to calm her down. He could hear Quinn laughing at his sister. “Not always, Eric. I didn’t start that. It was probably a bad idea for me to come, but I thank you for the beer. It is very good.”

  “Fuck that. Excuse my French,” Pam said. “Tony’s been a boil on the ass of the world for years. The sanctimonious prick plays the compassionate twit at work and comes home to browbeat anyone in his way. Finish your beer and have another. I’ll go put together a snack plate for you. Stay at the bar with Eric. Nobody’s streaming out of the place indignantly in protest of your presence.”

  “I appreciate your kindness very much, my lady. I would love to have a snack plate, thank you,” Nick said in French, shocking both Pam and Eric. He continued in the language, watching their faces. He could tell they understood what he was saying. “I assumed you both spoke French. I am not trying to be elitist.”

  “No, not at all, Al,” Eric replied in French. “Pam and I do speak French fluently.”

  “Were you somehow stationed in France,” Pam asked in French.

  “I am fluent in many languages, Pam,” Nick replied in the shared language. “One of the prerequisites for being assigned consultant duties with the CIA from an army background is a skill with languages, especially Arabic.”

  People began drifting toward the bar again, hearing Nick speak French as if he were a native. A Chinese employee of Gree’s moved closer to the dangerous man at the bar. Zhang Liang understood French, English, Russian, and his native Mandarin Chinese. He grinned at Nick as he joined the group at the bar.

  “Dog of a white eye! You may fool everyone with your romance language tricks, but you are simply a dog of a white eye.”

  Nick met Zhang’s grin with his own Terminator stare. He answered in the Mandarin dialect Liang spoke to him in. “The last man who called me a dog, I gutted like a fish, sticking his entrails into his mouth as he died.”

  Zhang dropped his drink, which crashed to the floor. He ran for the door, leaving everyone else to stare at his departure in stunned silent stillness. Nick finished off his beer. Eric noticed and put a fresh Dos Equis in front of him.

  Pam threw down towels to soak up the mess. Luckily, they were using plastic. “What the hell did you say to him, Al.”

  “Ask him when you see him again, Pam.” Nick repeated what Zhang had said to him.

  “Jesus, Al, how many languages do you speak?” Sue migrated to the bar with the rest. Nick had turned their weirdo world upside down. Tony and Ted stayed where they were.

  “A few,” Nick replied. “If Zhang had waited a moment, I would have told him I was kidding. Ah… Pam… I still don’t have my dish of snacks.”

  Pam giggled and fled to get Nick’s plate, returning with it in less than a minute, not wanting to miss a single word from their new entertainment piece. “Here you are Obi-wan.”

  “Thank you, my sweet host,” Nick related in Italian.

  His reply drew gasping amusement, which had been his intent. He listened to his remote audience enjoying the interlude, prompting him to tell them what he had said to the fleeing guest, already gone. Nick ate and drank, answering questions about languages only if the one who asked spoke the language. He enjoyed the fact Sue stayed at the bar, leaving Tony and Ted to stay where ordered. They held their drink glasses up in silent plea. Nick motioned them to the bar. They came hesitantly to accept their drinks of choice from Eric, immediately stepping away from the bar to a buffering distance.

  “You don’t happen to play piano too, do you, Al,” Pam asked, joking and giggling at her supposed impossible request, while gesturing at the baby grand piano in the main room.

  Nick thought about what his playing this charade to its end would mean from his remote audience. He smiled, thinking what his skills would do as an example to Jean and Sonny. “Yeah, I play.”

  Eric hurried from around the bar, gesturing with enthusiasm toward the baby grand piano. “Don’t leave us hangin’, Al!”

  Nick enjoyed the stunned silence of his remote audience with internal satisfaction, picturing his friends and family in open mouthed shock. He stood and walked over to the baby grand piano. “Okay… but I’m a little rusty.”

  Nick sat down and blasted into a Fats Domino rendition of ‘Blue Monday’, with not only the piano rendition, but an exceptional imitation of the classic with all the mimicry that had his audience moving and singing with him. The final rife he did on the keyboard sent his audience throng into a bouncing around daze. Nick stood, bowing and accepting the accolades of an inebriated audience while receiving a tornado of response from home.

  Pam ran into him, hugging Nick. “Oh my God… you should be on American Idol! Please play something else you know.”

  Nick held up his empty beer. “Okay, but if I’m going to be the entertainment, I’ll need sustenance. I know a lot by heart. Make a request. Keep it old or contemporary.”

  His acknowledgement elicited a bunch of shouted out picks. Pam hushed them all down. “Play something you like, Al.”

  The murmur of agreement made Nick think. He bowed over the keys, fingering the interlude into ‘My Funny Valentine’. He sang the lyrics in perfect pitch with emotion. By the time he finished, his audience went wild. Nick continued, playing requests he knew, ending with ‘Piano Man’. Standing, Nick shook hands and hugged the entertained party-goers on his way to the bar. Although slightly disappointed neither Worthum nor Gree attended, Nick’s journey down memory lane brought back bittersweet remembrances of when and why he learned how to play the piano. A hushed silence at home made it clear he would have some explaining to do.

  “I have an early day tomorrow,” Nick announced. “Thanks for the invite. I had a great time.”

  Amid the groans and goodbyes, Pam walked Nick to the door. She hugged him again. “I don’t know what to say. You turned our drab little party into an exciting evening of martial arts demonstrations and musical miracles. We want you here every night.”

  Nick chuckled. “I’m a loner, Pam. Nights when I go out to dinner or something are few and far between. My work drives me. I’ll stop in for a beer sometime though if you’d like.”

  “I like. Are you working this weekend?”

  “Yep. I have a few meetings to attend tomorrow. Sunday, I’ll be working here on a project presentation. How about you and Eric?”

  “We usually get out of town for the weekends. I imagine we’ll sleep in tomorrow morning.” Pam hesitated, seeming to be upset she let anything slip as to plans. She then did something she avoided, confided in practically a stranger. “Eric and I are a couple, if you know what I mean. We don’t broadcast it, because rumored romances are dangerous in this city. Too much info, right?”

  “Not at all,” Nick replied. “I assumed you and Eric were a couple. I don’t plan on sharing the information with anyone, although I’d bet many of your friends here already know.”

  Pam sighed. “You’re right. We still keep it on the down low. Goodnight, Al. You were incredible.”

  “Thank you. Bye, Pam.” Nick exited. While walking to his place, the demands for explanations reached a fevered pitch from his cartoon observers. He didn’t answer anything until he entered his place and shut the door. “Calm down. Are you getting the transmissions, Johnny?”

  “Yes. Everyone liked you, except Tony and Ted. They have kept silent though. You were indeed the life of the party.”

  “The important thing will be if Eric and Pam leave for their retreat tomorrow. By the looks of it, they’re not exactly hiding the fact they are together. I’m wondering now why they bother going away to be together if their co-workers and friends already know they’re a couple.”

  “You’re thinking they’re meeting someone in secret they haven’t mentioned yet,” Gus asked. “They’re suspicious of Worthum, Gree, and Breech. Maybe we’ll hear something by the time they leave tomorrow. Did you have time to read through Ly
nn Dostiene’s report on what Audrey Lantos said?”

  “It all fits from what I see. Can you disable their security tomorrow after they leave?”

  “I am already in the system,” Johnny answered.

  “Lantos played more of a key role than I thought she did,” Nick said. “Although from their conversations, Pam and Eric don’t really have any other confidants, these trips mean something. There’s no distance limitations on the transmitter I put in Pam’s purse. Maybe we’ll learn who they’re meeting with on this trip.”

  “No more stalling,” Rachel cut in. “Where the hell did you learn to play piano, and why the hell haven’t we heard about it before?”

  “And you can sing, Dad,” Jean added.

  “I took a contract in Paris. A well-guarded mobster ran afoul of CIA operations in Europe. Our NSA black ops group received the sanction order. He lived in Paris. After a visit to get my bearings on what would be needed, I learned the times he had only a couple of bodyguards with him, was when he visited the nightclub. Jacque Montrose loved live entertainment. His table, reserved at all times for him, was positioned near the grand piano used for live music.”

  When Nick didn’t go on, Rachel went ballistic. “Muerto! Details!”

  “Okay… don’t get crazy. I returned to the states, hired a concert pianist for an incredible amount of money. I needed to learn quickly if I had any talent for it. Once Bert felt I did have what it would take, he agreed on an intense two-month marathon to teach me piano. The singing voice, I’ve always had. I worked it into our lessons until after six weeks, Bert and I became very good friends. He spent the last two weeks of our studies, perfecting my technique with pointers on how to entertain. Then, the only thing left for me involved auditioning for a gig at the Paris nightclub. I grew a goatee, dressed well, and dyed my hair blond, but kept my goatee natural.”

  “So you could change instantly after the job, right Dad?”

  “Sometimes you scare me, kid, and I don’t scare easily.”

  Jean giggled.

  “Anyway, Jean’s right. It took me five more weeks working any club that would let me play to finally get noticed by Jacque’s favorite place. I kept learning new songs during the five-week quest while developing my style. I sang in English, French, and Italian. The Chez Monique sent a recruiter to hire me. My opportunity came during my seventh week. Jacque enjoyed my performance so much, he invited me to his table. I was prepared. I poisoned him with my handshake. He died the next day. I had the antidote. After shaving my goatee, dying my hair back and cutting it short, I crossed the border into Switzerland. Pierre Russo disappeared forever.”