A Second Chance

by Edward Kendrick

  “True,” Ray agreed. “When that happens, we’re generally dealing with a person involved with a gang or some other criminal organization. Then, we might set it up to point the finger at one or more of his associates or the competition. Killing two birds, so to speak.”

  “All right. I can see how that would work. What sort of protection do you offer?”

  “Keeping someone safe if they’re being stalked, for one. As a cop—”

  “Ex-cop,” Ben said sourly.

  “Ex-cop. I’m sure you’re aware there’s not much the police can do until a stalker does something blatant, like attacking his victim or one of the victim’s family or their current boy or girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, which sucks.”

  “Indeed it does. We also protect people who’ve witnessed a crime,” Durand said.

  “Isn’t that something the police or, to take it further, WITSEC does? Or should be doing?”

  “‘Should be’ being the operative words there, Ben,” Ray replied. “Very loosely, WITSEC doesn’t step in until a case is ready to go to trial. And then it only involves protecting someone who’s going to testify against an organized crime figure, a drug trafficker, or someone who committed another federal felony. The police can put a witness in a safe house prior to their agreeing to testify, but there can and have been leaks, leading to the witness being eliminated.”

  “So you do what? Spirit them away before that can happen?” Ben asked.

  “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Normally, we add a second layer of protection that no one, including the police, knows about.”

  “Or,” Durand added with a brief, dark smile, “and this is the optimum solution, we deal with the person or persons the witness was going to testify against before the case goes to trial.”

  “Like I said, vigilante justice.”

  Durand nodded. “If that’s how you choose to look at it.”

  “Presuming you’re going to offer me a spot in your organization, I’ll need time to think about it,” Ben said. “I was born and bred as a cop, thanks to my dad. If he’d been alive when…when everything went down, he’d probably have disowned me.”

  “Rather than believing and supporting you?” Ray asked in obvious disbelief.

  “In his opinion, the police department could do no wrong. They found me guilty, so I would have been as far as he was concerned, even though I was his son.”

  “God save us from fanatics,” Ray muttered.

  Ben smiled dryly. “I agree. Fortunately, he wasn’t around.”

  “Our understanding is he died in the line of duty,” Durand said.

  “You know enough about me, apparently, to know that’s what happened.”

  “We do. All right, I’ll give you time to consider my offer, because I am offering you a job within my organization. I’ll even give you a place to stay, off the streets.”

  Ben cocked his head in question. “Some sleazy motel? Not that it wouldn’t be a step up from my usual accommodations.”

  “No,” Durand replied. “In one of our safe houses.”

  “I suppose I should have figured you have them. Okay, I’ll take you up on it. No promises, but I am leaning toward joining you. After all, it would be better than what I’m doing now.”

  Durand laughed. “I would hope so.”

  Chapter 2

  The safe house wasn’t a house per se but a small apartment on the top floor of a nine-story building in a middle-class neighborhood. It wasn’t anything special as far as the furnishings went—a mismatched sofa and armchair facing a low bookcase with a decent sized TV on top, a small table and two chairs in one corner of the living room, and a full-sized bed and a dresser in the bedroom. The kitchen, off the living area, held older appliances that Ben would have sneered at a year ago. Now, he was happy to have the use of them—and the decent bathroom.

  “Not exactly what you were used to, I’m sure,” Ray said once Ben had looked around.

  “Let’s put it this way,” Ben replied. “Compared to how I’ve been living recently, it’s a palace. Compared to what I had before the shit hit the fan, yeah, it’s not great, but right now I’m not complaining.”

  “There are clean linens and towels in the closet between the bath and bedroom, and we keep the kitchen stocked with basics.”

  “What, no filets mignons and champagne?” Ben kidded.

  Ray laughed. “Not on our dime. The laundry room is down the hall, right past the elevator. Oh.” He took a phone from his messenger bag, handing it to Ben. “It’s a burner with three hours’ worth of minutes. Durand’s and my phone numbers are already programmed in. Even though it’s untraceable, I suggest you don’t call your old friends.”

  “Yeah, right. Like I’ve got any now.” Ben pocketed the phone then went to look out the window opposite the bookcase. “Great view, if you don’t mind rooftops.”

  “One reason we use this apartment. It’s above any surrounding buildings so there’s no chance of anyone taking potshots at you.”

  Ben arched an eyebrow. “I could take me out from that roof.” He pointed to one two buildings to the left and only one story below where he was standing. “With the right rifle, that is.”

  “I’d hope so. That’s one reason we want you on the team. But then, you’re well trained and know what you’re doing.”

  “You think whoever would want a witness dead wouldn’t send the best person they could get their hands on to do the job?”

  “I’m sure they would,” Ray replied. “It would be a hell of a shot, though, and they’d only have one chance.”

  “That’s all it takes,” Ben pointed out.

  “Which is why we warn anyone we put in here to stay away from this window, and why the one in the bedroom has dark drapes that they’re told never to open.”

  Ben studied the window glass and smiled as he said, “You’re not really all that worried anyone in here would get shot, even if there was a rooftop parallel to this apartment.”

  Ray grinned. “You’ve got good eyes.”

  “More that I know what to look for. I’d say the window’s polycarbonate security glass.”

  “It is. Does it make you feel safer?”

  “Damn, Ray, no one’s going to be coming after me.”

  “You have a point. However, once you accept our offer, then all bets are off.”

  “If…I accept.”

  Ray nodded. “My guess is, you will. I think the whole idea intrigues you.”

  “I won’t argue that point. Still, I have to decide if I think I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

  “We believe you can.”

  “But you’re not in my head.”

  “All right, I’ll give you that.” Ray went to the door, turned, and tossed Ben a keyring. “I almost forgot. These are for here and the lobby door.” He also told Ben the code he needed to arm and disarm the security.

  “Thanks. I’ll call as soon as I’ve made my decision.”

  * * * *

  I want to join them, but will I be able to do what they’re asking of me? A question Ben asked himself several times that evening as he got used to having a place to stay. How long he’d be there was debatable. If he did join the organization, he doubted they’d turn the safe house over to him on a permanent basis.

  After he’d been shot, he’d had surgery on his knee to repair the damage as much as was possible, including pins and wires to hold the fractured pieces together until healing occurred. He probably would have come out of it with his knee back to normal, or as normal as possible considering the damage, if he hadn’t lost his insurance when he was kicked off the force. The hospital sent him home with the pins still in his knee, and a brace to keep it immobile. Rehab had been on his shoulders—something he couldn’t afford to pay for so he had dealt with the pain in the only way he could, by self-medicating with OTC meds and alcohol.

  When he’d ended up on the streets he’d had to give those up, relying on willpower alone to fight through the p
ain until, eventually, it became manageable. As he’d told Ray, climbing was something he avoided whenever possible. Kneeling was out of the question unless absolutely necessary—and being a sniper would require he do just that.

  Maybe the organization has insurance and I can get a knee replacement. Wishful thinking, he suspected. Even if they did, it would put him out of commission for at least six months from what a doctor had told him, making him useless for what they were recruiting him to do. So I’ll have deal with the pain the way I have been and hide it from whoever I’ll be working with.

  With that thought, he knew what his answer would be. He would accept Durand’s offer. After all, what have I got to lose, other than my ‘wonderful’ life on the streets?

  * * * *

  Ben called Durand the following morning, but not until after he’d luxuriated in a hot bath until the water turned cold. He’d showered before going to bed, which was also a luxury, but being able to soak in the tub had made him feel…human, he supposed. That and a breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage worked wonders for his self-confidence, so when Durand answered the call Ben was able to say without hesitation, “I’m in.”

  “Excellent,” Durand replied. “I’ll have Ray pick you up in, say, twenty minutes?”

  “All right.”

  As soon as they’d hung up, Ben went into the bedroom to finish dressing. Not that it was too hard since his clothing selection was minimal, to put it mildly. He was already wearing the only halfway decent pair of jeans he owned. As far as shirts were concerned, he had two long-sleeved T-shirts, a well-worn turtleneck, and a blue work shirt he’d rescued from a trash bin behind a clothing store. He’d never worn it because he wanted to have something clean and in good shape in case…In case I ran into a situation like this? Until today, he never had.

  He would have shaved but he didn’t own a razor and hadn’t found one in the bathroom. He did find a pair of scissors in a kitchen drawer, so after his bath he trimmed several inches off his beard. The result, he thought with a brief laugh, made him look like a guy who’d returned from camping trip and had decided he liked the bearded look. The final thing he did before dressing was tie his hair back with a piece of twine he kept in his backpack.

  He’d barely put on his shoes and socks when his phone rang. It was Ray, telling him he was waiting out back. Ben pocketed the phone, grabbed the keys from the dresser, and left, remembering at the last moment to disarm, and then rearm the security system.

  “A whole new you,” Ray remarked when Ben eased into the passenger seat.

  Ben snorted. “Hardly. Just cleaned up and…” He shrugged.

  “I doubt the people you knew on the streets would recognize you.”

  “Then they’d have to be blind.”

  “No. You do look different. Get rid of the beard and mustache all together, put you in a suit and tie, and you could pass as a businessman.”

  “Which I suspect might have to happen at some point,” Ben replied.

  “You never know.”

  A few minutes later Ray parked in a lot between two buildings in the heart of downtown. They entered the smaller one via a door opening onto to a hallway between a clothing store and a book shop. It ended at an elevator—which required a keycard to activate—that they took to the top floor. The doors opened and they stepped into what was obviously a private lobby, rather than a hallway, with only one door, directly opposite the elevator. It had a brass sign with ‘Vanguard Security’ engraved on it, and a thumbprint security pad next to the doorway. Ray pressed his thumb to it and then opened the door.

  “Impressive,” Ben said under his breath as he looked around what appeared to be a reception area. The floor was carpeted, the walls were painted soft beige, and there were several chairs at one side of the room. On the other side was a desk. The man seated behind it gave Ray a one-finger salute. “Durand said you were to go right in when you got here.” He reached under the desk and Ben heard a click. Ray went to one of the doors at the back of the room, opened it, and ushered Ben into a short hallway with doors at either end. They walked to the one on the left and moments later were in a large, well-appointed office.

  Durand got up from behind an antique oak desk, coming around to shake Ben’s hand. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

  “Thank you. I hope I’ll be a useful as you seem to think.”

  “I’m sure you will be. Why don’t we all have a seat—” Durand gestured to a sofa and chairs across from the desk, “—and we’ll talk about it.”

  Ben took one of the chairs, stretching his bad leg out when he was seated, while Durand and Ray settled on the sofa.

  “I’m not going to throw you right into things,” Durand said. “First off, I want to find out if you’ve retained your sniper skills.”

  “If I haven’t?” Ben asked.

  “Then we’ll find something else for you. I have no intention of letting you return to the streets. It would be a waste of a good man.”

  Ben ducked his head at the compliment; not at all certain Durand was right in his assessment, but relieved that he felt that way. Before he could say anything in reply there was a knock on the door.

  Ray went to answer it, ushering in a man that Ben estimated at first glance to be close to his own early thirties. He had short dark hair, blue eyes, and a way of moving that said he had confidence in himself and what he was capable of doing.

  “Ben,” Durand said when the man had taken the other chair, “This is Zach Turner. Zach, Ben Mercer, the man I was telling you about.”

  “The whiz kid with a gun,” Zach said, eyeing Ben.

  Ben shrugged. “It’s yet to be seen if that holds true after all this time.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. As soon as we’re finished I’ll take you out to our shooting range and we’ll see if you’ve still got it.”

  Zach’s expression said he doubted it, which annoyed Ben, although he did his best to hide his reaction.

  “Zach’s the head of our tactical team,” Durand explained. “Ergo, it’s his decision whether you’ll be on it or not.”

  “Understood,” Ben replied shortly.

  “So you know, Ben,” Durand continued, changing the subject, “the entire building, including the shops on the ground floor, belongs to Vanguard. This floor is what you might call the executive suite. It holds my office, as well as Ray’s and Noreen’s. She’s my wife, and my good right arm, in charge of keeping track of everything we’re involved with. She’s out of the building at the moment or I’d have introduced you to her.”

  “She’s a nice lady,” Zach said. “If you don’t mind being bossed around now and then.”

  Ray chuckled. “Don’t listen to him. She’s not bossy, she just knows the people who work for us and who she thinks might be best for which assignment, and gives Durand and Zach her input. Then they take it from there.”

  “So if I don’t pass Zach’s tests I’ll be in some file for other types of jobs?” Ben asked.

  “Exactly,” Durand replied. “I doubt that will happen. Anyway, to continue, the second floor houses our labs and computer experts. The floor below this one has offices for our operatives, when they’re in town, as well as a small gym.”

  Ben nodded. “How much traveling do they do?”

  “They go anywhere in the country where they’re needed, when they’re needed. A job could take a day, or a month or more depending on what it is.”

  “But they all live here in the city?”

  “Yes,” Durand replied. “I prefer to keep them close at hand when they aren’t off on an assignment. Despite what you may be thinking, we’re not a large organization.”

  “In other words,” Ray said, “We don’t have a gazillion people spread across the country in various field offices. We aren’t the FBI or CIA. That said, Vanguard Security does do business as an actual security firm in several large cities. The people who work for them are…I suppose you could say ‘legit.’ They aren’t operatives working direc
tly for Durand the way you’ll be. They do let him know if they come across a situation they think he, and we, should handle personally but that’s all.”

  “Got it. I guess I’ll need to start looking for an apartment,” Ben said. “Not that I can afford one.” Or anything else, including clothes and food.

  “Now that you’re a member of the organization we’ll help you out until your back on your feet again,” Durand told him.

  “I appreciate that more than you know.”

  “All part of the package,” Ray said.

  Zach eyed Ben then said to Durand, “You might want to consider paying for some new clothes for him, too.”

  Durand smiled evilly. “You can make a stop at a department store on your way to the shooting range.”

  Trying not to laugh at the look of dismay that briefly crossed Zach’s face, Ben said, “That’s really not necessary. I’ll survive with what I’ve got until…” He paused. “We do get paid, right?”

  “Yes, you do,” Durand replied. “However, he’ll still take you shopping today. Whatever you get will come out of your first paycheck. Unless there’s anything else you want to ask, I suggest the two of you get moving.”

  “I’m sure I’ll think of a dozen things, in time,” Ben said.

  “Undoubtedly.” Durand stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Report back to me when you’ve come to a decision, Zach.”

  “Of course.”

  * * * *

  “You’re not happy about doing this,” Ben stated as they left the building, heading to the same lot where Ray had parked.

  “If you mean taking you shopping, not really,” Zach replied. “I get you don’t have any money, but this could have waited until you got paid.”

  “Apparently Durand doesn’t agree.” They were at Zach’s car, which was a black jeep that Ben figured had to be at least ten years older than either he or Zach. Although it was mud-spattered at the moment, it was obvious that Zach took good care of it. “Soft top?” he asked as they got in, keeping his bad leg as straight as possible once he was seated.

  “No duh,” Zach muttered, turning the key in the ignition and then putting it in gear. “Do you have a preference on stores?”