Children of Paranoia

by Trevor Shane

  “Good work, kid. Very clever. Maybe I’ll make something of you yet.”

  “Anyway, I need to get out of town. I did your job. I’m ready to go back to Montreal.”

  “I’ll send you back to Montreal, kid, but it’s going to take some time. Rent a car. Start heading north. I have a few jobs that I want you to do along the way.” I wanted to argue, but I remembered how far that had gotten me last time. Allen gave me the next code: “Mary Joyce. Kevin Fitzgibbon. Richard Klinker.” Then he hung up.

  Ten

  Allen’s few jobs took me the better part of three weeks and totaled four more bodies. After only two of the killings, I was begging off the job. I told him that I couldn’t do it anymore. I asked him if I could teach a class instead, that I was willing to work doing other things. He told me that I wouldn’t be teaching any classes anytime soon, that I had get my head back on straight before they’d let me influence the next generation again. “We need men teaching tomorrow’s men,” I believe he told me. “Right now, you’re not man enough for that job.” So he kept me killing instead. I was man enough for that.

  First there was a thirty-five-year-old man in Georgia. He was a recently retired assassin for their side. He had just settled down with his new wife and was ready to start a family. His new wife wasn’t born into the War. She married into it. Allen gave me the “option” of taking her out as well. I declined.

  The second killing was a woman in Tennessee. She was just a dispatcher. I asked Allen why we were bothering killing dispatchers. He told me only that this was war and that she worked for the other side and that we wanted everyone who worked for the other side to tremble in fear at the thought of us. “Until they are defeated, every last one of them is a target. They kill ours and we have to strike back.” I assume this meant that one of our dispatchers, one of the joyfulsounding women who shuttled me from place to place when I was calling Intelligence, had been murdered. It seemed a horrible waste to me, on our side and theirs.

  The third was a twenty-one-year-old black kid in Washington, D.C. He was poor. He lived in a tenement house in Southeast D.C. with his entire family. He put up a hell of a fight. It took me two days in a hotel room to recover. I had a small knife wound as well as scratches and bruises all over my body. He’d begun killing for them when he was eighteen and had already amassed a portfolio of murders. He was vicious. Once he knew he wasn’t going to survive, he did his best to take me out with him. Before he died, I asked him why he did it. Why he fought for people who clearly hadn’t given him anything. His response was “They give me hope.” Those were his last words.

  On my second day recovering in the hotel, while still trying to clean my wounds and recuperate, I got a phone call. When the phone in my hotel room rang, I wasn’t sure I should answer it. I didn’t get phone calls. No one was supposed to know where I was. Allen knew but there was no way he was going to break protocol like that. But it kept ringing. A wrong number would have hung up. On the seventh or eighth ring, I picked up the phone.

  “Joe,” an old familiar voice echoed out of the receiver, “for a second there I didn’t think you were going to answer.”

  “Jared,” I replied, “you have no idea how good it is to hear from you. How did you find me?”

  “Forget that,” Jared answered. “Look, I’m in D.C. Do you have any plans tonight?” Plans? What sort of plans would I have?

  “Well, I was going to order room service and maybe watch a movie on pay-per-view,” I said.

  Jared laughed. “Any way you can cancel those plans and meet me for a drink?” Nothing could have stopped me. I was at one of the lowest points I’d ever been. It was like somehow Jared knew that. It was like he knew just when to reach out to me. Jared suggested that we meet at some old bar in Georgetown. The place was a little out of the way, he said, but that was the draw. It would be quiet. We could talk.

  Jared was already sitting in a booth in the back corner of the bar when I walked into the place. It was dark inside. The floor, the bar, and the booths were all made from an old, dark wood. Frank Sinatra was playing on the jukebox. I didn’t need Jared to wave me over to him. I saw him right away. I knew which booth he’d be in, the one farthest away from all the bar’s other patrons. There were maybe half a dozen other people in the place and they were all sitting at the bar watching a basketball game. I walked past them toward Jared’s booth. When he saw me approaching, he got up and gave me a hug. I still wasn’t walking right from my last job. It would take some time for the bruises to heal. “You all right?” Jared asked me as we sat down.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “Just recovering from a tough job.”

  “I heard,” Jared said.

  “Really?” It was an odd thing for Jared to say. We weren’t supposed to know about other people’s jobs. We were only supposed to concentrate on our own.

  “What can I say? I’ve got good connections.” Jared motioned for the waitress. He hadn’t ordered anything yet. She came by to take our order. I kept trying to process what Jared had just told me. Jared ordered a Manhattan. I followed his lead and ordered a scotch on the rocks since, apparently, we were drinking. I waited for the waitress to walk away before saying anything else.

  “Is that why you’re here?” I asked, suddenly confused. “Did they send you here?”

  Jared’s eyes glistened in the dim light of the bar. He smiled. “Don’t sound so paranoid, Joe,” he answered. “I’m here because I wanted to come here. I’m here because I was worried about you. I wanted to see you.” I was happy to hear it. I was happy to spend even a few minutes with someone I could trust. The waitress came by with our drinks.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, Jared. It’s great to see you.” I considered lifting my glass in a toast but then I remembered the last night I went out drinking with Dan and thought better of it. “It’s just been a tough couple weeks.”

  “I know,” Jared said. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you since LBI. I know about Montreal. I know about Naples. It’s been a tough row.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked. “I thought we weren’t supposed to know things about each other. I had to pull teeth just to be able to talk to Michael on the phone after LBI.”

  Jared smiled again. His smile was big enough that even through the darkness I could see the shine on his teeth. “I’ve been promoted, Joe. I don’t just take orders anymore.”

  “Wow,” I answered. “I had no idea.” I turned toward the bar and put my hand up to hail the waitress. “Can I get two shots of tequila?” I called out to her when she was halfway to our booth. “Promoted? That’s crazy.” I have to admit I was a bit jealous. It didn’t seem right that Jared would be promoted before me. We grew up together. We went through training together. I did everything I’d been told. The waitress came by with our tequila shots. I lifted mine, ghosts be damned. “Congrats,” I said.

  “Thanks, man,” Jared answered as we clicked glasses. Then we each threw back our shot in a quick gulp.

  “So what do they have you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m a Fixer,” he said to me. I had heard of the role. I’d never met a Fixer before. It was a still a frontline position, still a soldier’s position, but you weren’t just killing anymore. Beyond that, I didn’t really know what a Fixer did.

  “Okay,” I answered him, leaning against the back of the booth, “you’re a Fixer.” My jealousy was beginning to wane. Slowly, I was becoming happy for my friend.

  “You don’t know what a Fixer does, do you?” Jared laughed.

  “Not a fucking clue,” I answered, shaking my head and taking another sip of my scotch.

  “It’s pretty simple. I’m assigned a list of soldiers and I’m supposed to help them get out of any trouble they get themselves in.”

  “So you don’t have to kill people anymore?” I asked.

  Jared laughed again. “You really think it’s possible to get other soldiers out of trouble without killing people?” I didn’t kno
w. Maybe it was possible. Jared wouldn’t have wanted to give up the killing, though, even if he could have.

  “Well, congrats again. That’s crazy.” I shook my head in disbelief. I should have seen it coming. Jared was the best. He was the most disciplined. He was the most reliable. “You really deserved it,” I said. “But still, how do you know all that shit about me?”

  Jared looked at me. He took a sip of his drink. He knew that it would be hard for me to accept the next thing he said. “I’ve been assigned to you.”

  I laughed. I didn’t know how else to react. When the laughter stopped, I looked at Jared again. “What the hell does that mean?” The string of Sinatra from the jukebox ended. An Otis Redding song began to play.

  “It means that when you get into trouble, I’m supposed to help you out of it.”

  “So are you here on official business or are you here because you wanted to see me?”

  “Both,” Jared answered without any hesitation.

  “So what type of trouble am I supposed to be in?” I asked him.

  “People are just worried about you,” Jared answered. I wondered who these people were who cared so much. It didn’t feel to me like anybody cared.

  “Why are they worried about me?” I asked.

  “Because you’ve had a string of bad luck,” Jared answered. A string of bad luck didn’t really seem to cover it. I didn’t say anything in response. I just sat there. “Look, Joe, don’t be mad at me. I really want to help you. I really want you to be happy for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said for already the second time that night. “But how do you expect to help me get out of a string of bad luck?”

  Jared put his empty glass on the table. He motioned to the waitress to bring us two more drinks. “They offered me the Montreal job.” He was staring down at his hands now. “They didn’t think that it would be good for you after what happened last time. They wanted me to finish it.” I could barely believe my ears. “I refused. I know that job’s important to you. I told them that I’d talk to you. I told them that you just needed a morale boost.” The waitress dropped the new drinks off at our table. I drank half of mine in one gulp. “Listen, Joe”—Jared leaned across the table toward me—“you’ve got a future here. Don’t take me coming here the wrong way. They don’t waste our energy on lost causes. Everybody believes that you’ve got a really bright future. I may have been fast-tracked, but a lot of people think you’re the one with real potential. I hear about it all the time. They say you’ve got a fire that most people just don’t have.”

  I let my muscles relax. “If they’re so high on me, why’d they move Brian off my case?” I used the name Brian with Jared. I knew I could trust him.

  “That wasn’t a punishment, Joe,” Jared said. “I know your new Intel contact probably told you that it was but that’s just because he’s a hard-ass. Brian was taken off your case because the guys upstairs are afraid that they can’t trust him.”

  “What? Do they think he’s a spy?”

  Jared shook his head. “Nobody knows anything for sure,” Jared answered. “So the less said about it, the better. Just know that it wasn’t punishment. In fact, the guy that you’ve got now is the real deal, even if he is a hard-ass. They assigned you to him on purpose. He’s got a reputation for moving people up the ranks quickly. It’s hell dealing with him, but he gets the job done.”

  “What are you telling me, Jared?”

  Jared’s voice suddenly got very serious. “I’m telling you that nobody blames you for what happened in Montreal. In fact, a lot of people were pretty impressed that you saved that guy. I’m telling you that nobody expects you to just be an ordinary soldier for much longer. I’m telling you to keep your chin up and get your job done and things are going to start looking up for you pretty quickly.”

  “That’s your pep talk?” I was finally able to smile at Jared again.

  “That’s what I have,” he answered.

  “So how come you get promoted while me and Michael are still out here busting our humps?”

  Jared laughed. “I got promoted ahead of Michael because Michael, God love him, is a fuckup. He’s good at killing but it’s a savant’s gift. He’s already where he needs to be. He’s already where he’s got the most to offer. I got promoted ahead of you because you need to get your head on straight. Once you do that, you’ll be watching me in your rearview mirror.” Jared took a sip of his drink. Now it was his turn to get jealous. “You should hear the way they talk about you, Joe. They believe in you more than you believe in yourself.” I wanted to ask Jared why. I wanted to ask him exactly what he’d heard. I didn’t have the guts.

  “So are you happy for me, or what?” Jared asked.

  “Come on,” I answered. “You know I am.”

  “Being assigned to you meant a lot to me, Joe, and not just because we’re good friends. It meant a lot to me because of what I think we can achieve together. I really think that we can make a difference.” I know he meant it. “Do you remember that one kill that they let us do as a team?” Jared asked me. I remembered. The two of us hit a safe house with four people inside. Two of them were there to do a job the next day. They never got the chance. “We were like fucking dancers, man. It was a thing of beauty.” It really was. I nodded in agreement.

  “So what do you need me to do?” I asked.

  “Just listen to Allen,” Jared said. “Accept your destiny. Know I’ve got your back. And don’t fuck up.” He laughed. I laughed too. We ordered another round of drinks. I made a promise to myself to start getting rededicated in the morning. I figured I owed that much to Jared.

  “So what’s after Fixer?” I asked.

  “After that, I’ll be in charge of a unit. I’ll start working with Intelligence on strategy.” Jared grinned. He was in his element. I wasn’t sure they were right about me, but Jared was definitely going somewhere.

  “Do they really talk about me like that?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Jared said, nodding. “And you know what? I’ve known you for a long time, Joe, and I don’t blame them. All you need is a little discipline. I know I wouldn’t want to have to fight against you.”

  The next morning, I got my orders for my final kill before being told I could go back to Montreal. The final kill was a black woman in Boston. She was an MIT student. She was a target based solely on her potential. “Cut them off at the root,” Allen said. “Take them out before they can do any real damage to us.”

  That was it. For three weeks, I barely slept, bathed in death and blood. Finally, after the fourth killing, Allen told me he thought I was ready to go back to Montreal. He gave me a week to do the hit, told me not to screw it up this time. He told me not to even call him when the job was done. He’d know. He had his ways. “After that,” he said, “you’ve earned yourself some time. Do whatever you want for two weeks. I don’t care what you do, so long as you don’t cause any trouble. Call me in three weeks. Be ready to work again. And, kid?”

  “Yeah?” I replied. I was worn down, nearly worn through. Not even Jared’s pep talk had been able to pick me up for more than a day. The only thing that had kept me moving over the past three weeks was the thought of getting back to Montreal to be with you.

  “You’ve done a good job. Paul Acker. Herman Taylor. Preston Stokes.” Then Allen hung up.

  During my three weeks on the road, I wanted to call you, but couldn’t. It was all too much to take. After Dan, all the killing felt worse. Good and evil. I had a harder time believing it with every additional body. I tried using Jared’s mantra to keep me going. “Either they’re evil or we are. And I know for damn sure that I’m not evil.” But with each passing day, I became less and less certain that we weren’t all evil, on both sides. Now the only thing that I had to hold on to was the fact that you loved me and the hope that you were still waiting for me.

  I was giddy after Allen told me I was finally headed back to Montreal. Finally, I had the courage to call you again. You answered with a qu
ick hello. “Maria?” I said when you answered the phone. Just hearing your voice gave me hope. Hope for what, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Joe?” you replied. “Is that you? Where have you been? Why haven’t you called?”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied, hoping it was enough of an answer to all your questions for now. “I’ve been meaning to call but I couldn’t. I’ll explain it all to you when I get back to Montreal.”

  “You’re coming back?” you responded.

  “Yeah. I’ll be there tomorrow. Assuming you still want me to come back.”

  You started crying. I had never heard you cry before. Hearing it over the phone was heartbreaking. I wanted to be able to comfort you. “I told you that I’d wait for you. Come quickly,” you replied.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I finally said.

  “Tomorrow,” you echoed. We hung up without either of us saying “I love you” for the first time since we’d first said it. At that moment, the word tomorrow meant the same thing. Nothing else needed to be said.

  Eleven

  They didn’t assign me a safe house this time. The job was deemed too dangerous, especially after I messed it up the last time. I should have been insulted, but I considered it a blessing. Ever since Naples the safe houses had become a burden. I’d find myself staring at my hosts, wondering why, if they were so excited about the War, they weren’t fighting it themselves. Maybe then they’d see things differently. It’s not easy to hold a pom-pom in one hand and a gun in the other. In the heat of battle, if given the choice, most people drop the pom-pom.

  Instead of the safe house, I was given a new identity and told to check into a hotel. When I got to Montreal, I decided that the hotel could wait. They thought I was in Montreal to do a job. I knew better. I headed straight to your apartment. I left the rental car illegally parked around the corner from your place. What the hell did I care? It wasn’t my car. It wasn’t my money that’d be paying the parking tickets. Hell, the car wasn’t even under my name. I parked the car and walked to your building. My heart was beating so fast, I could feel the blood moving in my veins. I got to your door and leaned on the buzzer. I wasn’t going to let go until somebody let me inside. The drone of the buzzer was strangely soothing. Then I heard your voice. “Hello?” It was music.