The Redeemers

by T. J. Martinell

  “How?”

  “You said you were my girl.”

  “That was true when I said it. You said you didn’t care how things were.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s more than you could possibly comprehend.”

  She tried to kiss him, but he avoided her lips. She frantically searched for any affection in him. She couldn’t find it, though it was still there. He had contained it, suppressed it.

  “Why are you throwing this away?” she said. “We could be together. I love you. I never stopped loving you.”

  “There’s a small problem with your story. Cutman told me he tried to make a deal with Tony, the same deal he’s making with me. Tony turned it down, but I wonder if you didn’t go up there to make the same plea with him as you are with me right now, before they blasted him. I’ll bet you walked in there and made the same promise to him to be together forever. You didn’t take them to him because you wanted to protect me. You did it in the hopes he’d go with you. It’s perfect; both of you get pardons and I’d be left thinking you both were dead and move on. Except it didn’t happen that way, did it? Your plan backfired.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  There was no talking him out of it. The hope that they had a future together vanished like smoke. He already envisioned the scene, seeing Kaylyn throw herself into Tony’s arms as she asks him to betray everything he believes in for her sake. True to his word, Tony rejects the deal. And her.

  Carl then realized why Tony had looked upon him with such pity before deciding to spare his life. Either he had known about his ongoing relationship with Kaylyn, or he had discovered it that day. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it, yet his sense of honor had dictated he spare Carl.

  “You know why I’m doing this?” Carl told Kaylyn. “It’s not just for me, for my own self-preservation. I owe it to Tony. You brought the ISA to his front doorstep and rather than surrender, he went out like a man. Before that, he spared my life. This is about the only way to pay him back.”

  “Carl, please don’t this. We can work this out, you and me.”

  He ran over to the door and pounded on it. “Hurry up, damn you!”

  “We’re coming!” Cutman swore.

  Footsteps approached. He looked back to Kaylyn. There were only a few seconds left. He took hold of her and kissed her, and for that prolonged moment it was as though all animosity and bitterness between them didn’t exist.

  His lips brushing against her ear, he whispered. “Where I am going, you cannot follow.”

  He broke away from her and headed back to the door as Cutman entered with his colleagues. He had a small paper in his hand, a disconcerted look apparent. He didn’t fully grasp Carl’s request, but he perceived the underlying motivation.

  “Your restraining order,” he said softly.

  Carl took it and read it quickly. Everything seemed right. “So why is she still here?” he asked, waving the order at Kaylyn. “Well?”

  Cutman’s associates took Kaylyn and escorted her to the door. She had stopped crying, an air of resignation about her as she gave Carl a longing gaze, and then she was gone.

  He took the order and folded it before putting it in his pocket. Walking over to the table, he hastily signed the paperwork on each page where his signature was required.

  Once it was done he neatly stacked them together and handed it to Cutman. “Now you have it,” he said coldly. “Are you happy? It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  Cutman held the papers down by his side. He seemed overly sympathetic. “You’ll report for work next Monday. We’ll have your records revised in the next few minutes and set up a bank account with some funds, so you’ll be able to get a place to live. We’ll have other online forms you’ll need to complete so you can adjust to living here again.”

  “Very well.”

  Cutman waved at the door. “You’re free to go now.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go when I feel like it.”

  Alone, Carl sat back down at the table and stared off into the hallway ahead of him outside the room. He then took the cup of coffee on the table that had long gone cold and drank it. He was supposed to feel free, and in a physical sense he was. There were no shackles on his legs, no cuffs on his hands. Chains did not bind him to the wall.

  His body was free, but his mind was now enslaved.

  He refused to despair, for he knew if he could withstand the shame and disgrace of working for the ISA; if he could endure the daily moral compromises; if he could somehow cooperate with those who hunted his companions and killed them; if he could do that for twenty-five years without undoing all that work.

  If he could do that, then one day he would redeem himself for it all.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Carl frowned as he surveyed the darkly lit bar. There was nothing new that agitated him. It was the usual Friday night happy hour crowd packing the small joint. Whoever said misery loved company had visited a bar like that.

  There was a rarity that night, a live band playing some new atonal music genre Carl didn’t remember because it wasn’t worth remembering. All the modern songs he had heard since leaving Seattle didn’t compare to their bar songs. There was no joy, no hope, no optimism in the lyrics or the melody.

  The choruses always conveyed a soullessness that complemented well their societal humdrum. No aspiration, no pursuits, no passion. Just living. Not even for themselves. They lived because someone told them to do it.

  A somewhat attractive woman walked by his booth, flashing a short, longing glance as a wordless invitation to join her at the bar counter where she had two pathetic-looking men orbiting her like moons too close to the wrong planet. He acted as though he hadn’t seen her as he instinctively touched the part of his wedding finger where a ring had sat for twenty years before he had stopped wearing it.

  He tried to take his mind off it, but it only caused him to reach habitually for his inside coat pocket for a cigarette. He stopped midway through the unconscious act, recalling that he had long quit smoking for a reason that at that moment wasn’t entirely clear.

  Then he realized what agitated him.

  He looked up at the side of his head. A small film strip device clung to his right temple like a leech or tick sucking the life out of him. It was a Prizm, and at that moment it was sending him a message ostensibly from the woman at the bar. She couldn’t speak to him directly. Somehow, talking to another human being without prior introduction had become a major social faux pau. One was expected to make a formal offer via their Prizms, allow the other the opportunity to accept or decline.

  Shockingly, it wasn’t a legal requirement - not yet. But everyone was supposed to obey the unwritten code.

  Discounting the woman yet again, he sipped on his water disguised as a mixed drink. He toyed with the idea of taking his Prizm off, but decided against it. Once more, there was nothing illegal about removing their Prizms, but technically people were not supposed to go without it for long, and it was suspicious to be seen without it. The last thing he wanted then was to catch anyone’s attention unnecessarily.

  He wiped his mouth and read the time on the wristwatch, stubbornly refusing to use the Prizm clock.

  It was time.

  His heart pace quickened. He took a long breath and distracted himself by stacking the coasters at the end of the booth table. He wasn’t dressed in his nicest suit, just a pair of slacks and a sports jacket. He wasn’t trying to look young, but he didn’t want to seem like he was attempting to impress anyone, either. Finding the right balance had taken him a full hour to figure out while wandering about his wardrobe.

  He eyed the front window to his right. There was a handful of people on the sidewalk. One of them seemed out of place. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. His choices were few. He couldn’t tell him to get lost, but he didn’t like the way he stood there.

  He doubted it was an ISA agent trailing him; he had already taken care of that by setting up his Friday routine weeks in
advance. They would think nothing of him being at the bar.

  He hoped they would be equally disinterested in what he planned to do in his very own home, if all went well.

  The bar went dark temporarily as one of the band members accidentally turned off the main light.

  It came back on.

  Carl blinked.

  Tom appeared in front of him, standing beside the booth. The only way he recognized him in the darkness was his open palm held out briefly to display Norton’s mark.

  “Figured you could stop staring at me out there,” Tom said.

  Carl looked back outside at the sidewalk. The man was gone.

  “You?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Taking off his Prizm and placing it in his pocket, Carl stood up. He was glad the weak lights hid his trembling frame. He and Tom studied each other silently. Aside from a couple pithy notes sent to and from Seattle, it was the first time they had spoken in twenty-five years. Yet now they were together, they were as speechless as if they had just finished a five hour long and exhausted every possible topic.

  Carl tried to smile. So did Tom. Both settled on a solemn head nod and sat down.

  “Want a drink?” Carl asked.

  “They serve anything good here?”

  “Not really. But it won’t kill you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Carl ordered two glasses of brandy off the electronic menu; the only waiters in the bar worked near the counter where customers were willing to pay extra for human service. The drinks arrived via a belt running along the wall.

  Carl took them and handed one to Tom. Each waited for the other to make the toast, but neither said anything as they clutched their glass tightly.

  “How you been, man?” Tom asked.

  “What can I tell you?”

  Tom shrugged. It was remarkable how much he had changed. His jawline had formed into a stone-like edge, his features weathered. He appeared hardened and reserved, with the gaze of a man who had seen too many combat tours but was too old to quit and find another profession.

  He couldn’t read Tom’s mind, but he knew his friend was wondering how it was possible for Carl not to have aged. Inspecting his face in the mirror that morning, even he had observed time had left him with a youthful appearance.

  He hoped Tom didn’t think it was because he had had an easier life. They both had suffered, in their own way.

  Tom finally raised his glass. “Here’s to being alive still.”

  “Here, here.”

  Tom set his glass down and allowed a tight grin to show on his face. “Does he have that baby face, too? He’s got to be, what, eighteen?”

  “Twenty two. And yeah, he looks just like me, then and now.”

  “Holy shit! He’s our age when we bailed!”

  Carl smiled. Thinking of Roy always brightened his mood. His son’s sense of awe and wonder at everything Carl did, especially seemingly eccentric mannerisms and behavior. It hadn’t been intentional, but he had somehow cultivated a bit of idol worship from his only child.

  “What’s he up to?” Tom asked.

  “You won’t believe it, but he’s a journalism apprentice.”

  “You gotta be shitting me….”

  “Nope. He’s hoping to pass his journalism exam and get that license, so he can practice professionally.”

  “Chip off the old block or what?”

  “He’s like me, and he’s not like me,” Carl said thoughtfully as he sipped his brandy. “He’s not a rebel, not a troublemaker like me. He follows the rules. A little shy with the ladies, but God Almighty if they aren’t making it hard for them now. He’s driven, but not like I was. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s like he’s always thinking of how he can make me proud or something, never do anything to embarrass me.”

  Tom put a hand to his chin and chuckled. “Never thought you’d be a dad, eh? But I guess I never figured you’d tie the knot.”

  Carl touched his wedding ring finger again. No explanation was needed for Tom. News of the death of his wife, Brenda had been among their scarce correspondences. Tom had sent his condolences in the form of an anonymous bouquet of flowers at the memorial service.

  Marriage had been the last thing on his mind when Carl had accepted the ISA pardon. That hadn’t stopped him from meeting a young woman six years his junior by happenstance while waiting to cross the street. A spontaneous conversation had escalated into a night out, and somehow everything else had followed from there. He liked to think Brenda was different from all the other women he had met. In many ways, she was. However, he suspected that much of that was due to more sensible expectations he now held.

  Because of that, there had been no deliberation or grandioso plans on his part. Not this time. Everything had taken place suddenly; the casual proposal, the small wedding, the rushed honeymoon. He hadn’t dwelt on it much afterwards, either. Ironically, the that had made their marriage relatively joyful whereas others around them had been either one of mere contentment or resignation.

  “What does Roy think of you working for the ISA?” Tom asked.

  “He doesn’t. I told him I worked as an editor, and before that I did undercover work I can’t talk about.”

  “And he buys that bullshit?”

  “He trusts me.”

  Tom grew solemn. “I hope he doesn’t find out and thinks you tricked him or something.”

  Carl’s voice was stern. “What the hell else was I supposed to tell him? I tell him I work for the ISA he’ll want to know why I did it. If I tell him that much, I won’t be able to lie to him. I’ll end up telling him the whole thing. Then what does he think of me? What if he asks me if that’s how I still am, if that’s how I still think? And then what if he hears all that and wonders what I think of him doing what he’s doing?”

  Sensing he had touched a delicate subject, Tom nodded rapidly in agreement and waved an apologetic hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about being a dad. I can’t imagine it’s easy.”

  “Honestly, I’ve never thought about it much. I’ve always been focused on trying to make it through my own life problems. I’m amazed he came out this good.”

  “I’m sure Brenda helped.”

  Tom was trying his best, but Carl could tell he had arrived with a perceived grievance. And he knew precisely what it was, the same thing he would have held against Tom had their fortunes been reversed.

  “I hope you don’t think I took the easy route,” he said quietly.

  Tom tried to dismiss it, but he couldn’t hide the confusion in his eyes. “I just didn’t think you’d ever do it. I figured you’d prefer street court-style trial and sentence.”

  “I did, too.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Carl leaned forward aggressively, arms crossed. “I did it so we could have this conversation at some point, that’s why. I decided not to play the martyr like others did. I wanted to get back in the game. That’s what kept me going.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Leaning back in his seat, Carl grinned slyly until Tom started to shift around uncomfortably.

  “What’s going on?” Tom asked. “You can’t do anything now. Not with the ISA and all that.”

  Carl’s grin widened. “I retired. It’s official. I am now unemployed.”

  Tom seemed doubtful. “They just let you go?”

  “Yeah. That’s what a pardon means. Celebrated my twenty fifth anniversary with them a few weeks ago. Then I promptly gave them my resignation notice.”

  “But…. but they’ve got to be watching you.”

  Carl pointed at his pocket where his Prizm was tucked neatly inside a lining blocking out all noise. “Those damn things are most of their surveillance. I already checked around; they don’t snoop much. And I’ve had a flawless record for over two decades. Never received a demerit.”

  “Some might call that suspicious.”

  “All the men who remembered me from the old days are gone. Excep
t for Cutman. He’s the deputy director now.”

  “I know. We follow that much at our paper.”

  His tone sounded funny. He also called it “our,” referring to people other than Carl.

  “How is the old girl?” Carl inquired.

  Tom shook his head. “It’s not the same, man. Not the same at all. Everything has changed. We’ve had a new guy in for a while. Name’s McCullen. He’s an egotistical prick. Rebranded the newspaper and named it after himself. There’s nobody left from the old gang who remembers what it was like.”

  “That might be a blessing.”

  Tom kept ranting. “And he’s hiring the worst people. Some of ‘em are decent, but he’s got all these muscle men who run around the building like secret police. You can’t trust anybody unless they prove themselves.”

  “That’s how it always was.”

  “Yeah, but you got to do it on your own. They don’t care if you don’t trust anybody.”

  “Maybe I didn’t miss out on so much, after all.”

  Tom scowled. “I’ve never thought you did what you did because you thought the ISA would be a life-long trip on the beach. It was just hard not being able to talk to you when things were rough, knowing you were working for them.”

  “Well, I’m not anymore,” Carl said. “But there’s a problem with that. I left when they would let me leave, but it was before my retirement kicked in. I had another five years before I qualified for it.”

  “Can’t you go back for another five years.”

  Carl was dead serious. “I’d rather kill myself.”

  “What do you want to do now?”

  “I want back in. I want to pick up where I left off.”

  Tom stared at him for nearly a minute. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

  Suddenly it was as though they were back in their youth. Carl chuckled and sat back with a cocky look. “You think I can’t do this?”

  “I think you’re being watched like a bug in a jar. Why I agreed to come here, I don’t know.”

  “Because I asked you, and I wouldn’t do it if I thought the place wasn’t clean. You’re right about one thing. I’ve got to be careful. That’s why I’m not working as a stringer anymore like I used to. I’ve got to be subtler.”