by L. T. Ryan
Chapter 5
I stepped into the hall with the phone buzzing in my hand. No one seemed to notice or care. I answered the call before it diverted to voicemail.
“Jack?”
I hesitated a minute. It’d been over a year since I heard a voice that sounded like my own.
“Sean?” I said.
“How’s my baby brother doing?”
“I’m doing OK. How… How’d you get this number?”
“I’ve got my sources.”
“Who?”
“Is this how you start a conversation after going a year without talking to me?”
“No. You’re right. Sorry, Sean. What’s going on? Is everything OK? Is Dad OK? Did something happen?”
“Dad’s all right. Crazier than a hoot owl, but he’s doing fine. Deborah and Kelly are fine, too. No need to worry about them.”
I glanced at a clock mounted above an office door. I performed a quick time conversion. It was mid-day back home. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened. Sean was a lawyer and a busy guy. He wouldn’t call in the middle of the day for nothing.
“You didn’t call just to chat, Sean. I know you better than that. I mean, unless I blacked out and it’s Christmas already. Just get to the point.”
The door opened behind me. Sasha mouthed, “What’s going on?”
I shook my head and walked away from her. An overhead light was out. The corridor between cubicles and offices grew dim.
“I don’t know how to put this, so I’ll just say it.” He paused. It sounded like he took a drink. “They found Jessie dead last night.”
It felt like a blast wave hit me. “Jessie? Jessie Kline? My old fiancé?”
“That’s the one.” Sean paused a beat. “She’s Jessie Staley now. Or, she was.”
“Jesus.” I felt the blood drain and my knees went weak. I found a wall to lean against for support. “What happened?”
“I don’t know all the details yet, Jack, but I’m hearing suicide.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Jessie had always been a positive, strong woman.”
“When did you last see her?”
I thought about it. “Over ten years, I guess. Well, I saw her at Mom’s funeral. We said hi, but that was it.”
“Things change, Jack. I heard rumors that she wasn’t happy. I spotted her husband at the bar a couple times. He was with other women. I never made much of it. He wasn’t all over any of them or anything. Maybe there was more to it than I realized.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“Three days. You thinking of coming?”
I looked toward Sasha’s office. “I don’t know if that’s possible right now, Sean.”
“I’m sure Jessie’s family would appreciate it. Deb’d like to see you, I know that. Kelly doesn’t even remember you. She knows your picture, but nothing other than that. I’m sure it’s the same way with you and her.” Sean paused. The emotional impact of his words set in. “And I wouldn’t mind a couple days catching up with my baby brother.”
“I…” I couldn’t say yes, and I couldn’t say no.
“Look, think about it for a bit. Talk to whoever you need to talk with. I’ll call you in a bit. You’ve got my number now. If you come to a decision before I get back to you, hit me up.”
“Will do.” I ended the call.
“Jack?” Sasha said.
I walked away from her, found an empty office and went inside. The chair behind the desk was a replica of Sasha’s. I sat down. The chair glided in a half-circle. I looked out over the Thames. An eight-person scull floated by. They worked in unison with the exception of the coxswain who commanded their pace. Nothing in my life worked as fluidly as that team.
Jessie had been a part of my life since I was a kid. We hated each other when we were little. I tormented her from first grade through sixth. Dirt and earthworms turned into signs pinned on her back and crude jokes. One summer I grew up, sort of, and so did she, a lot. Then I fell in love with her. It took three or four years to convince her to give me a shot. I left for the Marines at the age of eighteen. From that point we were on-again off-again for a few years. Eventually we went our separate ways.
Eleven years ago I wound up in a sticky situation outside of D.C. My partner Bear took a bullet. I knew Jessie lived nearby. She was a trauma nurse at the time. I thought the two of us might make a go of it then. It didn’t turn out that way. I almost got her killed. I did get her and her parents threatened by someone high up and out of my reach. We had busted a three-star Army General by the name of Keller. Some folks didn’t respond well to that.
Last time I saw her was at Dulles Airport. She went one way, I went the other. I took a few months off after that. Spent it down in the Keys. She had an open invitation. Never showed. She’d moved on. I did the same.
A rap at the door interrupted my thoughts. I swung around in the chair. Sasha had already opened the door and entered the office.
“What’s going on, Jack?”
“Just got some news from back home.”
“Another job offer?”
“No. I mean back home as in where I’m from.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drifted to my right. I pictured another scull racing by, this one a single or a double.
“There’s been a death. Someone close to me. I know the timing’s not right, but I think I should go back for her funeral.”
I expected her to protest, throw a fit, and demand that I stay.
Instead, she said, “Let’s go get a drink.”
I placed my hands on the desk and stood. “What about Marcia?”
“I sent her home with a couple of our guys. Told her you needed a day to think it over.”
“What’s to think over? I’m not doing it.”
“Don’t rush to a decision like that yet, Jack. That’s a lot of money.”
I shrugged. “It’s not always about the money.”
“She’s a good woman. She deserves the best protection out there.”
I rounded the desk and came to a stop in front of Sasha. She stood a few inches shorter than me and had to look up to make eye contact. She inched forward until we were almost touching. Her perfume mixed with her natural scent. The combination was intoxicating.
“She does,” I said. “And we should arrange it for her. It just can’t be me.”
Sasha sighed and shook her head and put her hands on her hips. She took a step back, brushing against a fake ficus. “Come on, Jack. I’ll drive.”
We exited the office. The artificial fluorescent light did little to enhance my mood. Sasha led the way to the main cubicle corridor and into the elevator lobby. I winked at the first security guard, ignored the second. Sasha swiped for the elevator. We got off at the parking garage.
“Nurse whatever-her-name-is wanted me to come back for the night,” I said as we stepped into the muggy garage.
“You can come back if you’re still feeling bad after we get some food.”
“I’d prefer not to. And when did this turn into dinner?”
Sasha said nothing. She pulled out her keys and hit a button. An Audi beeped twice. Its brake lights and turn signals flashed three times each. The red and orange lights splashed across the concrete floor and ceiling. Sasha walked toward it. I followed her. Our footsteps echoed through the deserted garage.
“Borrowing from the fleet?” I asked.
She shook her head, and said, “Bought it last week.”
“Not bad.” I slid into the leather bucket seat. It smelled new inside. I couldn’t find a smudge or a trace of dirt anywhere. “I’m starting to think you aren’t paying me enough.”
“Who says you’re getting paid anything?” She pushed the ignition button. A hefty eight-cylinder engine roared approvingly. Sasha released the emergency brake and shifted into reverse. A minute later the car was in third gear and we were going fifty down the middle of the road.
The sky in front was seven shades of red and orange. Behind us, storm
clouds loomed. Around us, commercial buildings gave way to row homes. Everything seemed so compact. I thought of the thousands of people who spent their days working away inside of a cramped building, only to go home and spend their nights inside a house sandwiched between two others.
This was no place for the claustrophobic to live.
Fortunately for them there were sunsets like the one tonight, and plenty of places to grab a pint.
Ten minutes passed without a word between Sasha and me. I broke the silence.
“Where are we headed?” I said.
“Just a place I know,” she said.
“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?”
She laughed, didn’t make eye contact. It didn’t comfort me. Ten minutes later she pointed toward a pub. I didn’t catch the name. We parked in back between two cars half the size of the Audi. The sleek new car made the other two look like garbage cans.
I opened my door. The smell of seared meat was strong. I headed for the street to walk around to the front entrance.
“We can go in back here,” Sasha said.
I stopped and turned toward her. She walked toward the back door where two middle-aged men in aprons sat on the hood of a car smoking cigarettes. The guys looked at me, then her. I didn’t think they were going to glance in my direction again.
I jogged across the parking lot and met her by the back door.
The two men returned to their conversation.
“Ready?” Sasha said.
“Sure,” I said.
She pushed the door open and led me through the kitchen. A man behind the grill wearing an apron looked her way. He smiled and nodded. Sasha waved and continued on. I followed her lead. She stopped and turned and knocked on a door cut into the side wall. There was a small window, but I couldn’t see inside.
An older man in his sixties with white hair on his face and head opened the door. He reached out, grabbed Sasha by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. He whispered something into her ear that I couldn’t make out. She laughed. He turned his attention toward me.
“Who’s this?” he said. The joy drained from his face.
“That’s my partner, Jack. The one I told you about.”
I felt confused. My expression probably showed it.
“Jack,” she said. “This is my father.”
I extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You keeping my daughter safe?” he said.
“Sure am.”
“I can’t say the same for him, though,” she said. “He took a nasty one to the back of the head today, Daddy. Think you can spare a couple porterhouses for the two of us?”
“Of course.” He stepped out of the office, grabbed an apron and headed toward the grill.
I caught a glimpse inside before he shut the door. Pictures of Sasha lined the wall, floor to ceiling. They looked to chronicle her life from the time she was an infant. There were newspaper clippings from as recently as a couple weeks ago, featuring Sasha. I saw myself in the background of a picture for one of the articles.
She caught me looking. I offered a consolatory grin. She rolled her eyes, shrugged.
Her father said, “Go get a drink and find a seat. I’ll have these out to you in less than twenty minutes.”
“I like mine medium rare,” I said.
He waved me off. “You’ll take it how I make it.”
Sasha touched my elbow and nodded toward a cream-colored door. The bottom half of it was covered with scuff marks from the staff’s shoes. A result of years of kicking it open.
I followed Sasha out of the kitchen. The bright lights gave way to an intimate setting. The room was dim and cool and soothing. We passed a dozen empty tables on our way to the bar.
“What do you want to drink?” she said.
“Beer is fine.”
“OK,” she said. “Go grab a table. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I glanced around the place. The floors were hardwood, solid and old, with the kind of imperfections that indicated character instead of a flaw in craftsmanship. The walls were decorated with the kind of kitsch you might find in any family-owned restaurant in any city. The tables looked like Sasha’s grandfather might have bought them. The chairs had intricate designs, all hand carved. They were scattered throughout the dining room with no attention paid to their placement. It was anything but uniform. Maybe that’s what her father wanted.
I walked over to a table close to the rear and sat with my back to the kitchen. While the majority of the tables were empty, more than half the barstools were occupied. Sasha was the youngest person up there by twenty years.
She turned around and scanned the room. She spotted me and raised two pints in the air over her head. One looked dark. The other amber. I couldn’t know which was for me. She crossed the floor, eyes on me and avoiding the mismatched maze of tables like she’d walked across the room ten thousand times. She placed both mugs in the middle of the table. I reached for the dark one. She looked disappointed.
“I can take the other,” I said.
“How about we share?” she said.
I nodded. She grabbed a chair, dragged it around and sat down next to me.
“Your father’s going to think we’re a couple,” I said.
“Nah, he knows I can’t sit with my back to the front door. He’ll figure you can’t either.”
Four more barstools now had occupants. “Looks like the bar does good business.”
She nodded. “Those men have been coming here since I was a girl. Four or five nights a week you’ll find a familiar combination of locals littering the place. Daddy’s always treated them right, and they do the same for him. And don’t let the empty tables fool you. It’ll fill up around the time we leave.”
I tapped my finger in time with the song playing. An old Coltrane piece. Dark, sultry and rich.
“Told you before I got my love of jazz from him.”
I smiled, said nothing. My thoughts had drifted back to Jessie. We used to lay on my bed as teenagers listening to my father’s jazz collection. He’d get bent out of shape about it from time to time, but I knew he enjoyed the fact that we shared a love for the same kind of music.
“You’re really going to go, aren’t you?” Sasha said.
“Probably,” I said.
She sighed, reached for her mug and took a drink. Foam coated her upper lip. She used the back of her sleeve to wipe it away. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“Most likely not.”
The door to the kitchen opened. A waitress emerged carrying a small tray. She headed toward our table. I caught a whiff of the steaks on the grill. The waitress’s perfume drowned it out. She smiled at Sasha, gave me a look, and dropped a basket of chips on the table.
Sasha grabbed the basket and placed it between us. I slid it away.
“You don’t like chips?”
“They’re fries. And they have too many carbs.”
She laughed. “Americans.”
I sipped on my carb-laden beer and said nothing.
“Marcia is going to keep insisting that you take over her security.”
“You know how I feel about this.”
“I do, Jack. At the same time, she had a point. You were the only one who knew. You were smart enough to call everyone off. If we’d all been in there, it could have been even worse.”
“You call that smart?” I said. “I nearly died. One of her men did die. Another is paralyzed. Another took a shot to the gut. The only reason the guy in the bathroom didn’t get hurt is because he’s got a weak bladder. In fact, his need to piss is the reason the back of my head is stitched up.” I looked away, took a moment to calm down. “If I’d have had one more person in there, it could have turned out differently and she wouldn’t be going on and on trying to hire me.”
Sasha said nothing. I didn’t need a bunch of lights to know that her cheeks had turned red.
“And where’s she getting this money? Offering me
two million for four weeks? Is she crazy?”
“I’d say the answer to that lies in the fact that she keeps pushing on despite all these attempts on her life.”
“That’s another thing,” I said. “There must be more to this than I know, because I don’t see why they are going after her this hard.”
Sasha’s gaze drifted away. I followed it. A man stood in front of our table. He had slicked back white hair. Looked to be in his sixties, still in good shape, too.
“Yes?” Sasha said.
“Not you,” the old man said. “Him.” He aimed a knobby finger in my direction.
“What?” I said.
“You better sir me,” he said.
I said nothing.
His cheeks turned red. “Stop yelling and start treating the girl with some respect.”
I looked at Sasha. “Relative?”
She shrugged.
“OK,” I said. “Now go back to your dinner.”
The man wandered off to his table. He sat down facing us. He didn’t take his eyes off of me after that.
“Anyway,” Sasha said. “Look, Jack, I understand if you feel you need to go back. Just keep it short, OK? I can get you a private jet into D.C., New York, or Atlanta.”
“Atlanta’s closest.”
“OK, that’s settled then.”
I didn’t know if it was. Here she was applying pressure to get me to stay. At the same time she was willing to help me go. Part of me wondered if she planned to tell the pilot to circle around for five hours and land in London.
Sasha pulled out her cell phone. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
“No need to get up. I’ll grab some fresh air.” I stood and walked to the front door. The hardwood floor felt springy under my steps. Did the place have a basement? What was down there? The questions lingered for a second or two as I pictured the space.
I stepped outside. The air felt cool against my warm cheeks. Thick clouds blocked the moonlight. What time would the storm start? Would it be bad enough to keep the plane from departing? The chances of that were slim.
A trace of cigarette smoke passed by. It had been months since I smoked. My first reaction had been to cough. An old desire popped up, though. Will power, I told myself.
I turned around and opened the door to the pub. The old man who gave me a talking to barreled through the door. He didn’t back down. I stepped back and held the door for him. He puffed his chest with pride. There was no reason to disrupt his moment.