by L. T. Ryan
“Drop me off there,” I said.
“OK,” the guy said.
He pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside the front door. The thick air enveloped me before I placed one foot on the ground. The sedan pulled away after I got out. I turned and watched and waited until it disappeared from sight. Then I waited a few minutes more. Finally, I entered the air-conditioned building.
“Help you?” the guy behind the counter said.
I shook my head without looking back at him. I had no intention of renting a car that night. I pulled out my cell and called Sean.
“Where you at?” I said.
“Macon,” he said. “What about you?”
“Somewhere in Marietta, I think.” I looked over my shoulder at the guy behind the counter.
He nodded.
“Yeah, Marietta.”
“That’s about two hours away still,” Sean said.
I held the phone to my chest. “Anywhere to eat around here?”
“Down the road a block or two,” he said.
I put the phone to my ear. “I’m gonna grab a bite to eat. I’ll let you know the address of the place after I get settled in.”
“OK. Load up on coffee. I’m going to need you to drive home.”
“Past your bedtime?”
He laughed. “I wish. Work’s busy. I’m going to need to do a bit on the laptop on the way back.”
We said goodbye and hung up. I glanced back at the man behind the counter. He’d taken a seat and his gaze was fixed on his computer monitor.
I had a walk of at least two blocks ahead of me. I hesitated to leave. By the time I got anywhere, my shirt would be clinging to my body. I couldn’t wait inside the building for two hours, though. What if the driver had been instructed to double back and check up on me after he checked in?
The door dinged as I stepped back out into the humid air. I crossed the parking lot, slipped between two Ford Focuses and found a sidewalk. Sweat dripped. I hadn’t felt humidity like this in a while.
To the west I saw a couple apartment buildings, a hotel, and the entrance to a neighborhood. Maybe that’s where the driver headed off to. I glanced east. There I spotted a couple options for dining. Vehicles packed Applebee’s parking lot. Sitting at the bar of a crowded restaurant held little appeal. Just as well, though. Across the street was a twenty-four hour Waffle House.
I stepped to the curb. Headlights came at me from both directions. I jogged across the street at the first break in traffic. An old lady and two teenage guys sat on a green bench waiting for the MARTA bus. The guys were too engrossed with their nude magazine to notice me. The old woman placed a second hand on her purse and pulled it into her torso. She glanced up at me. I shrugged and kept going.
The Waffle House’s parking lot was deserted. It appeared that they enjoyed no overflow from Applebee’s tonight. It didn’t take long to figure out why. I took a seat at the counter. The middle-aged rail-thin man beside the grill didn’t budge. He held a spatula in one hand, and a cell phone in the other. He stared at his phone’s screen. His thumb worked overtime. He smiled a couple times. Laughed once. He glanced at me, exhaled, and went back to his message or his Tweet or his Facebook or whatever.
“Billy,” a woman said. “We got a customer.”
I glanced to my left. A woman three times the size and about the same age as Billy walked toward me. The door to the ladies room closed behind her. She had to pass me to get behind the counter. A trail of potpourri scent lingered for a few seconds after she did.
By the time she stood in front of me on the other side of the counter, she’d run out of breath. The potpourri scent had faded. Now she smelled like Johnny Walker and a pack of Camels. Her nametag said her name was Joan.
“What can I get for you?”
“Got pancakes tonight, Joan?”
She didn’t smile at my attempt at humor. “This is the Waffle House, sir. You can get waffles, eggs, sausage—“
I threw up my hands in surrender. “Four eggs, over easy, and six pieces of sausage.”
“Drink?”
“Coffee,” I said. “Endless cup, please.” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes. Must’ve been a long day. As she turned away, she said, “Billy, he wants—“
“I got it,” Billy said. “I got it.” He turned his back to both of us and squirted a fake butter substance on the flat top.
I spun around on my stool, leaned back against the counter, and pulled out my phone to check for messages. I didn’t have any. The address of the place was stenciled on the outside of the front window. I deciphered it and texted it to Sean. Then I pulled up a web browser, checked the news and the weather.
Tomorrow’s forecast called for hot and humid and thunderstorms to roll in during the afternoon. Typical for Florida in the summer.
By eight-thirty, I’d finished my meal and retreated to a booth in the corner with a fresh cup of coffee. The restaurant had filled up, and I figured Billy and Joan could use a couple fresh customers at the counter.
An hour and two mugs later, a new Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. It was black and had halogen headlights that looked blue. The car pulled into the parking spot on the other side of the window. The driver’s door opened. The dome light cut on. I saw my brother for the first time in six years.
Sean nodded at me. I nodded back. He pointed at himself, then at me, then shrugged. I rose, dropped a twenty on the table and placed my half-filled mug on top of it. Sean met me outside, by the front door. It was awkward. We didn’t know whether to shake or to hug. So we stuck our hands in our pockets and did neither.
“You look good,” he said.
“Not as good as you, though,” I said.
“That’s a given.”
“I take that back. You look old.”
Sean laughed. “Take a look in the mirror recently?”
“I try to avoid it if at all possible. Some guy in his late thirties keeps showing up.”
“Wait till you’re forty.” Sean took a step back and opened the driver’s door and ushered me inside.
Sitting down felt like plopping onto a cloud. I thought Sasha’s Audi was nice. It had nothing on the Mercedes. It had to be the most comfortable seat I ever felt. Then again, I might have been tired. The seat didn’t need a single adjustment. It fit like a glove. Ever since the day I turned twelve, people always assumed Sean and I were identical twins. We were the same height, width, weight, but we didn’t look exactly alike. Good for one of us, bad for the other. We each had our own opinion on the matter.
Sean opened the passenger door, got in and leaned back.
“This is nice,” I said.
He held out his hands and shrugged. He didn’t need me to tell him that, but it felt like the right thing to say.
“How do I get onto the highway from here?” I said.
He fiddled with the LCD screen built into the upper part of the dash. A female computer-generated voice came over the speaker system and guided me toward I-285 west.
“This’ll loop us around the city to the south. We’ll hook up with 75 in about thirty minutes.”
“Sounds good.” I fiddled with the radio until I found something both of us would like. “I’m glad to be heading home. I wish it were under different circumstances, but it’s good to see you, Sean.”
He said nothing.
I looked over. Sean had fallen asleep. The press of a button on the steering wheel changed the radio station again. Enough mashes against it returned a station playing smooth jazz. I lowered the volume. Even with the music barely audible, the Mercedes let almost zero road noise in the cabin. Impressive.
Chapter 9
Leon Barber sat behind the wheel of a beat up early nineties Tercel in an Applebee’s parking lot. He’d been there for two hours, watching the man identified to him as Jack Noble. During that time, his target had moved from a stool at the counter to a booth in the corner. Leon noticed that Jack’s eyes moved constantly, always scanning the cro
wd around him, the parking lot, and the street.
Leon didn’t know who Jack was, but he could tell the man was dangerous.
After he’d dropped Noble off at the rental car place, Leon turned the corner and exchanged the Lincoln for the piece of crap he sat in now. He was stuck in the car, too. He had parked across the street and watched. When Jack stepped out and started walking, Leon did a double take. He had been prepared to follow the guy in a car, not on foot.
Fortunately for Leon, Jack didn’t go far. Once the man settled, Leon cut across the street and settled into his current position.
He’d been in contact with his boss, Vera Ferrell, throughout the night. All she told him was to stay put and proceed with caution. She gave him no information on Noble, what he was doing in Marietta, Georgia, or what he was capable of. He didn’t even know what to do if he encountered the man. Sit tight and wait, she had said. And so Leon did. For two long hours.
And now, it appeared that his wait was over.
A Mercedes pulled up and parked opposite Jack’s booth. Noble got up, left the restaurant. A man stepped out of the sedan. When the two met on the sidewalk, they looked like mirror images of one another.
Leon placed another call to Vera.
“He’s getting in a car with a guy that looks just like him.”
Vera said, “I want you to stay with them. Hang back, though. You don’t want to be spotted.”
“Is the other guy his brother?”
Vera didn’t answer.
“Vera?”
“Stay close and call me with updates.”
She hung up. Leon placed his phone in the center console and fired up the whiny four-cylinder engine. He almost lost sight of the Mercedes. The man that drove had a heavy foot. He caught site of them taking the on-ramp for I-75.
Leon caught up and kept at least one car between himself and Noble.
The boring drive led his thoughts to wander. Who was this guy? What was so important about Jack Noble that Leon had to leave a card game in Charlotte to pick the man up at Dobbins AFB?
It wasn’t unusual for Leon to be told nothing. In many ways, it made it easier. Act the part of the good soldier, he told himself. When the time was right, he’d be given the necessary information.
And then it would be time to pull the trigger.
Would Jack Noble be the target?
Or someone else?
Chapter 10
Sean slept for three hours. He’d said he had work to catch up on. I knew he didn’t want to admit he was tired. I used the time to do a lot of thinking. Old friends crept into my thoughts. They always did, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
It had been a couple months since I’d last seen Clarissa. She walked out of my life in D.C. on a spring morning and I hadn’t heard from her since. I knew I would one day, though. It always worked that way with us.
I thought about Bear and Mandy. Where had they settled? The big man wanted her to have a normal life. He felt like they should go someplace where the past couldn’t haunt her. I knew that meant a location far away from me, and it’d be best that I never visit. We decided it was best that I didn’t know. For now, at least. Too much was left unsettled after what we went through with Alex Parkin in London. He’d been there, too. Things had been too close. I put the man’s life at risk too often, and with another life to worry about, that risk was too great for him.
I envied him for it.
I blanked out for a bit and just drove. It didn’t last, though. No matter how much I tried to avoid it, Jessie crossed my mind over and over. I questioned every decision I ever made regarding her, from leaving for bootcamp, to splitting up a few years later. I had one last chance back in ‘02 to make things right. I’d screwed that up too. If I hadn’t let her get away from me that last time, both our lives would have turned out differently.
And she wouldn’t be dead right now.
Sean woke up around the time we entered Valdosta, Georgia. Orange street lights lit up deserted shopping centers and restaurants. Sean yawned, stretched, rolled down his window, stuck his head out, rolled it back up and yawned again.
The blast of wind felt good and gave me a jolt, so I cranked my window down a notch for a second or two.
“Valdosta?” Sean glanced at the clock. “Already?”
I shrugged.
“You sure you want to get pulled over?” he said.
“You left your wallet in the console. Figure if I did, I’d just say I’m you.”
“That’s not gonna fly.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Slow down,” he added.
“Sure thing, Dad.” I slowed down to five over the generous seventy mile per hour speed limit. It felt like going in slow motion the first few minutes. There weren’t many cars on the highway, but the ones that were out started passing me. I hated that.
“Only about two hours from here,” Sean said.
“I remember.”
“You do? I figured it’d be a bit hazy after six years.” He grinned, slightly.
I saw it in time. I chose to skip the bait. Sean had always enjoyed bringing up how long it had been since my last trip home. He’d goad me along until the urge to defend myself arose. A tricky proposition, considering the line of work was always classified or illegal.
Usually the latter.
Until recently.
We crossed the Florida state line. Two groups of palm trees sat on either side of the road and a big sign welcomed us. A half-mile later, Sean gestured toward the rest area. I pulled into the exit lane.
The place was nothing special. Looked like most other rest stops. It had two parking lots, one for truckers and one for the rest of us. A building had been stuck in between the lots. There were enough streetlights to make one think it was daytime. Maybe that had been the point. Weary traveler? Stop here and trick your mind into thinking it’s only two in the afternoon.
We both got out and headed toward the flat-roofed building. Sean went into the restroom. I bought two bottles of water out of a vending machine. They were two bucks a piece. Highway robbery. Literally. Coffee would have been nice, but I didn’t see a machine. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have purchased coffee from it. We could find a fresh pot at the next exit. And if not there, the next one.
I headed back to the car, tossed the water bottles on the front seat. I used the empty parking spot next to me to stretch. A woman walked two big dogs on the sidewalk. One barked at me. The other wagged his tail and ran up to me. I scratched his head and talked to him like he was a baby. The woman smiled, pulled her dog back and walked away.
Sean showed up a minute later. I got in on the passenger side as he approached.
He got in and held the water bottle up like it had come from a polluted river in Africa. “No coffee?”
“No machine.” I didn’t elaborate on what I would have done if there had been one. “We’ll stop and grab some.”
He looked at the clock, shrugged. “I think I can make it the rest of the way. If I drink caffeine now, I’ll never get to sleep.”
“Suit yourself. I’m good either way.”
Ten miles passed in seven minutes. I didn’t see any palm trees. Perhaps the tourism department had planted the ones at the rest area for travelers who needed another visual cue to let them know they’d reached the state.
“Tell me how Dad’s really doing,” I said.
“I told you on the phone, he’s OK,” Sean said.
“You were lying.”
Sean chewed on the inside of his cheek. He’d done it since he was a kid. It meant he was trying to think of a way to say something to lessen the impact of his words. He exhaled through tightly pressed lips, creating a flapping sound.
“He’s not doing well, Jack. His memory is, I don’t know, fragile. Even more so than before. It seems like he deteriorates week by week now. One visit he knows me, the next he doesn’t. Sometimes he calls me by your name, other times I’m his only kid. I honestly don’t know how he’s going to handle seein
g you. He might think you’re me.”
“We should go together then.”
Sean nodded. “We could. I don’t know how he’ll handle that. Last time he saw both of us was Mom’s funeral.” He took a drink of water. “And you know that didn’t end well,” he added.
I thought back to that day and the fight I had with my brother.
Mom had been the one to take care of Dad through his early days of dementia. He’d taken a bullet to the head in Vietnam. Of all the stories the old man told us, he never mentioned that one. We didn’t find out until we were both in our late twenties, after he’d been diagnosed. The doctors had told him that the previous head trauma was the cause.
The first few years weren’t bad. Then things got worse. He started having more trouble remembering. It was little things at first. Toothpaste and pain ointment, things like that. His cognitive functions started to deteriorate. His movements became uncoordinated. A few years before Mom passed, the doctors had said that the dementia had him in a death grip, and it would progress quickly. She took care of him as if her life depended on it.
In the end, it did her in.
Sean knew that he couldn’t take over for her, so he arranged for Dad to be sent to a home. I argued up and down about it and told Sean he should take dad in. I even offered to pay for in-home care. It was selfish of me, and he let me know that. I’d never be around. Hell, I hadn’t since I left for the Marines some thirteen or fourteen years earlier.
The argument escalated, as it always did. We started cutting at each other for various things. His wife said something to me. I said something I shouldn’t have. Next thing I knew, Sean took a swing at me, caught me on the jaw. I hit him back. He went down. His friends jumped me. No one tried to help me out. In the end, four of them went to the hospital and I took the next flight out. Drove to Tampa that night, got on a plane to New York, and never looked back. It took about eighteen months before we spoke again.
In our case, I believe that time had healed the wounds. We seemed to get along fine. So far, at least.
“Anyway,” Sean said. “I doubt he remembers that. Some days he asks when she’s coming down for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. The meal never coordinates with the time I’m there.”