by L. T. Ryan
Once far enough out of sight, I turned right, then left, then worked my way toward I-90. It was time to pay a visit to an old friend.
6
I first met Shane Carrington in October of ’98. He was a career Army Ranger who’d entered the CIA-sponsored program later on following an incident with his CO that left the old bastard wanting to prosecute. Fortunately for Shane, someone higher in the food chain in the Pentagon recognized all Shane had done for his country, and saw that the incident was nothing more than an old coot exerting his power, and eventually he recommended him for our program. He joined me and Bear in Eastern Europe, and we worked together up until 9/11. Shane retired a month or two later and went to work for a security firm that was nothing more than a front for a black-op run by a crazy old prick that narrowly avoided jail time himself. Shane and I fell out of touch for a couple of years, then reconnected in ’04. This pattern continued over the next half-decade.
I drove past his house, pulled to the curb, hopped out. The little house couldn’t have been more than a thousand square feet. It fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. Light gray siding, white shutters, red door. The grass was brown, like everyone else’s, but looked as though he took good care of it during the growing season. A Honda Accord rested peacefully in the short driveway.
The front door opened and a guy I hadn’t seen in years stepped out. I stopped on the walkway. Tried to hide my surprise.
“What? You ain’t ever seen a guy with no legs walking?” He lifted his robe with his cane and revealed two metal legs before taking a couple clunky steps to the edge of the porch.
He’d made it three months with the security firm before being sent to Afghanistan. They were ahead of everyone else, even my unit, part of the Special Activities Division, with members in place before the end of September. Shane’s team was chasing down a lead in the rugged mountains when the guy next to him stepped on a two-decade-old IED. A relic from the Afghan-Soviet war. The guy who’d discovered the explosive was ripped in half, dead before he could blink. Shane took a hell of a beating and ended up losing both legs, one mid-thigh, the other closer to his knee.
“Well, you coming in?” He propped the screen door open with his elbow.
I shook off the surprise and went up to him and shook his hand.
“Good to see you, Shane.”
“Likewise.” His staccato, Chicago accent had only intensified since returning home. “And glad to see I’m still the more handsome of the two of us.”
“Now, I distinctly remember those three women in the Philippines saying otherwise.”
“Jack, I didn’t have the heart to tell you back then, but those weren’t women.” He smiled, then jutted his chin toward the door. His smile faded as his eyes danced back and forth, studying the street. “Let’s get inside.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I just get a little spooked when someone from the old days shows up. Know what I mean?”
I’d had that same experience multiple times. It seemed for every old friend that came back into my life, there was another waiting in the shadows ready to cut off my head. Guys like Shane and I had seen a lot and done even more. Things that had been redacted and crossed out with black marker, if not shredded and burned. Only a handful of folks in the Pentagon had access to the truth ten years ago. At least half of them were now dead, and not all by natural causes. I tried not to dwell on what might have occurred in the hours since I reached out to Shane. It had been years since that particular slice of my life had brought any problems for me.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I don’t keep in contact with anyone from those days.”
He pulled a bottle of Wild Turkey from the cabinet and set two glasses on the counter. “Not even Bear?”
He was referring to the guy who’d been by my side since we were eighteen-year-old know-it-all assholes in Recruit Training. The big man and I had gotten off to a rocky start, but quickly became best friends. When we said we had each other’s back, it wasn’t a figure of speech. He was the only guy I knew would take a bullet, hatchet, machete, or speeding train, for me. And I’d do the same for him.
“Bear and I still work together,” I said.
“Just not on this job.” He slid the bottle and a glass in my direction.
I poured a couple ounces of the whiskey. “You fishing for details?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Looking for a little excitement, I guess. Gets boring sitting in front of a computer typing code all day. Don’t get me wrong, the pay’s good. Especially combined with the hush money the government gave me.” He tapped his cane against his prosthetic. “I mean, I was a Ranger for years before I got in the program. I spent two years out there with you. Even after blowing my legs off I’d have gone into Baghdad in my wheelchair if they’d have let me.”
“I know you miss the action.”
He stared into his glass and nodded, lifting his chin off his chest. “You got no idea, man.”
I could only imagine how he felt. I’d taken my share of lumps over the years, occasionally resulting in a month or two out of commission. And during those times I went stir crazy. It wasn’t in my nature to sit still. I sure as hell couldn’t stare at a computer all day long, cooped up in an office cubicle. I’d end up being one of those guys that walks in and shoots up the damn place because they took the tuna roll off the cafeteria menu.
“I imagine I would, too,” I said.
“Damn right you would.” He downed his drink and exhaled loudly, gritting against the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat. “Enough of that talk. What do you need?”
“Two nines, full-size and a sub-compact, a knife, and a takedown rifle if you’ve got one. Couple holsters. Extra ammo.”
He turned and started toward the hallway with no rhythm to his steps. “Follow me.”
At the end of the corridor was a door with a keypad deadbolt. He punched in the code, pushed the door open and left me alone to gather what I needed. He had a nice selection to choose from. I took my time searching through his armory. For my main piece I chose an H&K VP70. The full-size semi-auto pistol was capable of firing in a three-round burst. A sub-compact Springfield XD-S .45 worked perfectly for my concealed, as it was the same firearm I carried in New York. A custom made .308 takedown rifle that disassembled into five parts and fit in a small black duffel bag. Finally, I grabbed a five-inch survival knife with a leather-wrapped hilt and ankle holster.
“Find everything you need?”
I looked over my shoulder to see Shane in the doorway, seated in his wheelchair.
“Yeah, thanks. As always, you came through big time.”
He looked over my selections and nodded. “Looks like you’re gonna have some fun, huh? Is this something I’m gonna see on the evening news?”
“Not if I do my job right.”
“I’m envious. You know that, right?”
“Well, like you said, you get to be the handsome one. I gotta have something, right?”
Shane’s cheeks rose and his face crinkled as he laughed. “I miss you, man. I wish you spent more time out here.”
I glanced toward the window and took in the barren scene outside. The wind was whipping the bushes and tree branches around. “Not a chance. Too damn cold out here.”
“It’s the lake, man. Wind comes whipping off it and makes it feel twenty degrees colder than it really is.”
I shoved a shoulder holster and the HK in the bag with the .308, and secured the .45 in a holster on my right hip.
“Gonna get going?” he asked.
I nodded.
“How ‘bout one more drink?” he said.
“I think I can manage that.”
We returned to the kitchen and I poured a healthy dose in each glass. We toasted to old times and loose women in Dubai and each took a swig. I felt the alcohol taking the edge off and considered hanging around a bit longer. It’d do me as much good as it would Shane. He eased back in his chair,
smiled.
“This is good, man. It really—”
Someone banged on the front door and his smile faded.
7
Dim light cut through floating dust and cast a long beam across the floor. A shadow moved across it. The pounding on the door started up again.
“You expecting someone?” I said.
“Was gonna ask you the same thing,” Shane said. He wheeled a few feet toward the foyer and stopped.
“Not a soul knows I’m here. I’m traveling on an alias so tight it’s squeaky clean.”
Shane moved forward a few more feet and stopped next to a tall vase near the corner. He stuck his arm in the vase shoulder deep. A moment later he pulled out a revolver with a six-inch barrel. He motioned for me to get out of sight before disappearing into the foyer
The knocks continued, loud and forceful, the way a cop would bang on a door. I second-guessed whether I had been followed from Thanos’s office building. Had I been distracted enough by Ginger that the guy who blocked my exit by standing in front of the rental car had managed to place a tracking device on the vehicle? Had I completely underestimated who I was dealing with?
“Christ almighty, Lexi,” Shane said. The door groaned on its hinges as he pulled it open. “You scared the crap outta me.”
“Scared you?” she said. “You took so damn long to open the door I thought I was gonna have to break it down.”
She had the same hard-edged accent as Shane.
He emerged from the opening first with a smile on his face. He looked relaxed, calm. The revolver rested on his lap. A long, lean shadow stretched beyond his on the floor. A moment later Lexi appeared. Her gaze swept across the room left to right, stopped on me. Her dark eyes matched the roots of her dyed hair. She had a pale complexion, but didn’t most people this time of year?
“Who the hell is this?” she said, keeping her focus on me.
“You knock on the door like a cop,” I said.
Shane chuckled.
“Not a cop,” she said.
“Good,” I said.
“No, it’s worse.” She smiled as she pulled back her black coat revealing a holstered Glock. “FBI.”
I glanced over at Shane and shrugged as though to say what gives.
“Don’t worry,” Lexi said. “I’ve got no interest in busting my cousin. So whatever you two derelicts are up to, just don’t let me see it and we’ll all be fine.”
“Cousin?” I said.
“Don’t see the resemblance?” she said.
“Well, just with how handsome he’s always saying he is, I expected his relatives to be a little more…”
“Homely?” she smiled.
“Lexi definitely got all the looks,” Shane said.
“So, you’re finally admitting I’m the better looking one?” I said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lexi said. “Neither of you is that good looking.” She let her coat fall back in place, covering her sidearm. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes while staring at me. “How do you two know each other? You look familiar, but don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“Military,” I said.
“Ranger?” she asked.
“No, later in his career.” I wondered how much she knew about Shane’s time after the Rangers. Considering her job, he might not have felt comfortable confiding in her.
She nodded slightly. “Pencil pusher, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“What brings you to Chicago?”
“On my way to L.A., but my flight out of New York was delayed. Missed my connection. So, I booked a non-stop for tomorrow morning and figured I’d come see my old buddy.”
“What’d you say your name was?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
She waited a moment, eyebrows arched. “You gonna tell me?”
“I was hoping you’d frisk me for my wallet.”
“Keep dreaming, office boy.”
I ditched the smile and gave her my alias. “Jonah Lamb.”
Her gaze cut toward Shane, perhaps looking for any sign on his face that I’d lied. A moment passed. “Anyway, would you mind if I had a couple minutes alone with my cousin? I need to run something by him.”
I stepped out on the porch and pulled out a cigarette. The lighter wasn’t too cooperative in the cold, hardly generating more than a spark. I snapped the smoke in half and tossed it in the bushes. I’d cut down recently, but still needed the nicotine jolt every once in a while. It’d have to wait.
Lexi’s car was parked in the driveway. I had no doubt she’d run my plates and called the rental agency to get my name. Probably had someone running my alias at that moment to gather any intelligence on me. I knew what would come back. Nothing much at all. It would show I was a Marine, but the files would be inaccessible. Depending on what she knew about Shane, she’d accept this as the way things were, or she’d dig further. I didn’t care either way so long as she didn’t take a further interest in me.
The door opened and Lexi stepped outside. She extended her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Lamb. Shane really appreciates it when his old buddies stop by. Doesn’t seem to happen enough. I guess you can imagine it’s hard to get involved with the community in his current condition. He doesn’t look at himself as handicapped, doesn’t look for support from others with similar problems.”
“I can see that. I know I’d feel that way.”
“If you keep in touch with any of the others—” She paused a beat. “If there are any others left, tell them to give him a call. He’d like that.”
“Will do.” I pulled her hand closer to me. “Why don’t we grab a drink later?”
“Not a chance.”
I shrugged. “Maybe some other time, then.”
“Not likely,” she said with a quick lift of her eyebrows and a smile.
“I didn’t get your full name.”
She released my hand and pushed past me on the way to her car. I watched, half-conceding that she might be a problem, half-excited over the same prospect. I found myself drawn to her and wanted to run into her again.
“She’d flip your world upside down, man.” Shane wheeled himself next to me. “And her last name’s the same as mine.”
Lexi Carrington.
“Think she’ll figure out who I am?” I said
“Would it be a problem for you if she did?”
Lexi backed her vehicle down the driveway into the street. She pulled even with us, waved, then drove off.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably in some ways. Maybe not in others.”
“Still thinking with your dick. Good to see some things don’t change.” He laughed. “Come on back inside. Let’s finish those drinks.”
8
I laid low for the next thirty-six hours. The plan was to wait almost a week, let the encounter in front of Thanos’s office blow over, then complete the job. A cheap motel room close to the Wisconsin border took cash. I paid for three days upfront. It kept me out of sight and off the grid. I slept and read and thought about Shane’s life since his injury. I spent too much time thinking about his cousin Lexi. The last thing I needed was to get involved with an FBI agent.
A small diner across the street provided breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and plenty of cheap coffee. The front and sides were floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a view from the parking lot to the motel. The waitresses didn’t engage in small talk. The regulars left me alone. It was the kind of place I could snag a meal that was so greasy and salty it could’ve been made from road kill and I’d never know.
The motel room’s curtains did a decent enough job of blocking the sunlight. I managed a decent night’s sleep, woke up around nine and headed to the diner for a late breakfast. The same corner booth that afforded me with a view of my door was available. I slid in and looked over the breakfast crowd. There were a few new faces. Nobody stood out as a threat.
My room was dead center on the second flo
or of the U-shaped motel. The cleaning lady emerged from the room next to mine, her long black hair pulled back in a high pony tail. It lifted off her back as she leaned her head forward to check her phone before rapping on my door. After a few moments, she pushed the door open, then turned and flicked her cigarette over the railing before entering the room. Courteous. The door stood open, darkened like an entrance to a bear cave.
The waitress set a plate filled with eggs and bacon down in front of me, then returned a few seconds later with a carafe of coffee. It was the same meal I’d had for lunch and dinner the day before, minus the carafe. Guess she was tired of running back and forth for coffee. She wasn’t kidding when she said I drank it like water. I coated the meal with an extra layer of salt and pepper and dug in. It was the kind of dish that fueled me with energy all day. The American Heart Association didn’t like it, but I was on a shorter timeline than most. Might as well enjoy myself.
I wrapped up my meal and remained seated while waiting for the cleaning lady to finish with my room. Once she left, I paid the bill and headed back across the street, stopping in the office to extend my stay another day. The cleaning lady was standing near the top of the stairs, smoking another cigarette. She smiled and spoke to me in Spanish, asking something about my day. I nodded, said nothing. I scanned the walkway past my room, then glanced down at the parking lot. A new car, a four-door Mercury sedan, had arrived while I was in the office. Two shaded figures occupied the front seats. Couldn’t make out whether they were male or female, but they were both large. Their arms practically rubbed together. Exhaust billowed in the cold air. Maybe they were picking somebody up.
Or perhaps they’d acted on a tip and were waiting for me.