by Dan Ames
Peter closes his eyes.
He thinks about the upcoming summer. He’ll only have a month or so before he heads out to Marquette University. Training camp starts early.
Even with the fair amount of upperclassmen returning to Marquette, Peter knows he’ll get some good playing time, some good opportunities to show everyone what he can do. And then in his sophomore year, there should be no question that he’ll be made a starter—
The sound of a car slowing and turning into Beth’s driveway rouses him from his half slumber, half vigil.
He swings into a sitting position and peeks out the Explorer’s window at Beth’s driveway. He’s parked a block over, shielded by thick Dutch elm trees lining the boulevard, which are spaced just wide enough for him to get an unobstructed view of Beth’s driveway.
He doesn’t recognize the car.
He glances at his watch.
Four thirty.
Pretty late, Beth, he thinks.
Peter studies the car. It looks like a Taurus. He can make out two shapes: one in the driver’s seat, and a smaller shape, Beth, in the passenger seat. From here, all he can make out are silhouettes.
Peter makes his way to the front seat of the Explorer, turns the keys in the ignition and starts the truck, all without taking his eyes from the car in Beth’s driveway. It appears that they’re talking. About what? It’s four thirty in the morning! What more is there to say to each other than good night?
Now, Peter sees movement in the front of the car.
They’re kissing.
He can see the shapes pressing against each other. A long, hard kiss.
Peter has a jealous anger burgeoning in his stomach. He realizes that he has no right to be jealous, not after his tryst with Vanessa. But still, he’s only human.
Suddenly, the sinking feeling in his stomach turns to rage. At himself. At Beth. At whoever’s behind the wheel of the Taurus.
He slaps his hands against the Explorer’s steering wheel.
And then it all comes together at once.
The car. It looks like a government vehicle.
It’s the goddamn, low-life, scum-sucking recruiter. It isn’t bad enough that he wants to screw with Beth’s future. He has to screw her in the process.
The passenger door of the Taurus opens, and Beth gets out. Peter sinks down behind the wheel, but she doesn’t look in his direction. Peter’s eyes consume her, the way her face looks pale in the faint glow from the Taurus’ headlights. Does she look different? Peter wonders. Like a girl who just had sex?
Impossible to tell.
She goes to the front door of the house, pulls her keys from her purse, and unlocks the door. She reaches for the door, puts her hand on the handle, and then slowly, purposefully, she turns and looks directly at Peter.
His breath catches in his throat.
Blood rushes to his face as his heart hammers in his chest. He doesn’t duck, doesn’t want to create movement. Does she see him? For just an instant, he’s terrified that she’s going to let the door swing shut, pivot, and march directly to him, and then curse him out for spying on her. Make a fool of him in front of the recruiter and whoever else happens to be awake at this time of night.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she turns, seemingly unfazed by the sight of Peter’s Explorer, if in fact she saw it at all, and steps inside the house. When the door closes, the backing lights of the Taurus light up, and the car reverses out into the street, turns, and drives past Peter.
Peter raises back up in his seat and gets a good look at the face of the driver. The dark, handsome face of the driver.
Peter feels a fury so deep and so profound that he can barely breathe.
As the Taurus passes, Peter drops the Explorer into gear, waits a few moments to put some distance between them, and then pulls out onto the street.
It’s time he and the recruiter had a little chat.
Chapter 67
Samuel pulls away from Beth’s house, intoxicated by her smell, her taste, the very feel of her.
He never imagined this feeling. It is a complete surprise to him that here, of all places, goddamned Silver Lake, he would meet somebody like Beth.
He pulls up to a stoplight and looks at the empty streets. It’s impossible to believe. He’s been with lots of women, women from different parts of the world, but they all lacked something.
So after all his travels, he comes back to Silver Lake and falls for someone.
The half smile on his face falls gently away.
He can’t.
He’s got to ship Beth out.
Kiss ’em and ship ’em. That’s the motto, right?
He turns the Taurus back toward his apartment. The streets are deserted and a thin sheet of ice has appeared on the road, free from the constant pulverizing action of countless tires. He handles the car easily and cautiously. He’s in no hurry.
Samuel parks, gets out of the car, feels the bite of the chilly wind, and starts to walk toward his front door.
He hears the sound of the car pulling to a stop and doesn’t bother to look back until he hears the car door slam and the voice call out.
“Hey.”
Samuel turns slowly, already knowing who it’s going to be.
The ex-boyfriend. Samuel feels a range of emotions, but admittedly, one of the more powerful ones is sheer smugness. What kind of complete idiot would fail to see what he had in Beth?
“We have to talk.”
“Who are you and why are you telling me we need to talk at four thirty in the morning?” Samuel says.
The ex-boyfriend comes up and stands close to Samuel. Too close. They stand eye to eye, but Samuel is thicker, more solid, even though the ex-boyfriend has an athletic build.
“I’m the one who’s going to tell you to leave Beth alone. She’s got no business going into the Navy. You’re ruining her future just so you can get another bonus point with your superiors. That’s how it works, right?”
Samuel’s mind comes alive with the logistics and plans and ramifications that this punk’s confrontation could lead to. He makes his decision. It’s the only one he really can make.
He forces an easy smile on his face, holds his hands wide. “I’ve got no plans to pressure Beth into doing anything with her life she doesn’t want to do,” Samuel says. “But why don’t we go inside and talk so the neighbors don’t call the cops.”
The kid starts to protest and grabs Samuel’s arm, but Samuel turns on his heel, wrenches his arm free from the kid’s sudden grasp, unlocks the front door, and steps through. If the kid wants to continue talking, he’s got no choice.
The kid follows Samuel inside.
Samuel flicks on the lights. His apartment isn’t much to look at. A living room with beige carpet, a cheap furniture set, and a small eating area just off the kitchen.
“Want a beer?”
“What do you mean you won’t pressure her? That’s the biggest line of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You’re a recruiter. You have to get a certain number of people or you…don’t get fired…but you get—”
“Reassigned,” Samuel lies easily. The truth is, he’s on the eve of being dishonorably discharged if he doesn’t come through with these recruits. But he’s not about to tell the punk. He’s going to have to finesse this one. He’s taken enough chances already.
“Did you—” the kid asks suddenly.
Samuel exhales. Patience, he tells himself. “Look, why don’t you ask her?”
“I’m asking you, asshole. And I don’t know why, because I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You’re after her to recruit her and then to move on.”
“Why are you so worried? She told me she’s not seeing anyone.”
The kid shuts his mouth.
“She said she was dating someone who turned out to be a jerk,” Samuel continues, a smile on his face, and glee in his heart. “I assume that’s you?”
“Shut up,” the kid says. He gets to his feet, his hands nearly sh
aking, his face flushed with rage. “I’m putting a stop to this,” his voice rises in volume. “I’m telling you, stay away from Beth. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she doesn’t get taken in by you.”
“Too late.” An icy chill has crept down Samuel’s back. The pain in his head is pounding but his vision is clear. He feels strong and invincible.
“Too late for what?”
“Too late for her not to be taken in.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the answer is yes.”
“Yes? To what?”
“Yes,” Samuel says, the words coming softly and coated with sugar. “Yes, I slept with her. She was just waiting for a real man to do her right.”
The kid comes at him, incredibly quick. Much faster than Samuel had anticipated. But he’s ready. His hand is on the knife strapped around his ankle. It’s out in a flash, and Samuel rises, ducking inside the wild punch, ramming the knife home.
It sinks into the kid’s chest, and Samuel rips it up, cutting a swath through the internal organs. The kid gasps, as if he’s been sucker punched, and staggers back. He drops to his knees.
Samuel darts to the kitchen table, pulls off the vinyl tablecloth and sets it on the floor. He pushes the kid onto it. The blood pools onto the vinyl cloth.
The kid looks at him, his pale face a mask of confusion. His mouth moves like he’s trying to ask a question.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her,” Samuel says.
Chapter 68
They were the greatest three hours of sleep she’s ever had.
The sound of her mother knocking around in the kitchen awakens Beth. She opens her eyes slowly and stretches. Her body feels the same, maybe a little sore, but she feels completely different.
She closes her eyes again, and images of Samuel flash through her mind. His strong face, his blue eyes, intense and passionate. His big hands on her body, the feel of his mouth and body on top of hers.
“Beth, are you awake?” Anna’s voice calls up from downstairs.
“Good morning, Mom!” she calls back.
It seems everything is coming together. Not only is she putting her life back together since the knee blew out, but it seems her mother’s back on track, although Beth is careful not to get her hopes up. Still, this is the longest Beth can remember that her mother has stopped drinking.
She swings her feet out of bed, puts the brace on her knee, throws on a pair of sweatpants and then a long-sleeved Silver Lake Eagles shirt, and makes her way downstairs.
The kitchen smells of bagels and coffee. Beth sees her mother at the small table underneath the window, a cup of coffee in front of her, the newspaper folded in her hand. She’s got a thick black marker and is in the act of circling something.
She looks up at Beth. “Now that’s how you start a day,” Anna says. “With a smile.”
Beth feels slightly embarrassed. Was she really smiling?
“What are you doing?” Beth asks, as she goes to the plastic dish stand next to the sink and retrieves a cup. It’s got pictures of wild animals on it and the words: Yellowstone National Park.
“Job hunting,” her mother says.
Beth pours coffee into her cup, adds cream and sugar, and sits down across from her mom. “Really?” she asks.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you. It’s just…what about the nursing home?”
“That job is pathetic,” her mom says, vehemence in her voice.
Beth wants to ask: then why have you been doing it for nearly ten years? Instead she says, “Any luck?”
“A few possibilities. I’ll send some resumés out on Monday.”
Beth wonders if she’s heard right. Resumés? She’s surprised her mom even knows what one is.
“Did you have fun last night?” her mom asks.
“Yeah,” Beth says, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“You got in pretty late.”
The surprises keep coming. It’s the first time in the history of their relationship that her mother has even claimed to know what time she got in, let alone had anything to say about it.
“Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess,” Beth says, shrugging her shoulders and sipping her coffee. “Samuel’s nice.”
Anna folds up the paper and sets it aside.
“Beth, we need to talk.”
“Mom—”
“I know I haven’t been much of a mother.”
Beth sets down her cup so hard a little bit of coffee slurps out onto the table. “Mom, I’m in a really good mood right now and that hasn’t happened in a long time. I’m finally feeling good about things. Don’t ruin it.”
Anna opens her mouth just as the phone rings.
Beth watches as her mom gets up and answers the phone. She turns to Beth. “It’s for you.”
Beth listens, says no repeatedly, then hangs up and goes back to the kitchen table. The smile is gone from her face.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asks.
“It’s Peter,” she says. “He’s missing.”
Chapter 69
Julie Giacalone has never worked with such intense efficiency. She is a whirlwind around the office; she updates the master list of potential recruits, assigns meetings, runs checks on the DEP pool, organizes paperwork for an upcoming NAVCRUITCOM meeting, and spends two hours on a conference call with the national director of naval recruiting, during which she is subjected to the same speech, the same platitudes she’s been hearing for the last four years.
She throws in her usual spiel. She knows her part of the conversation so well she has it down rote: she’s like an actor who’s doing a show for the two hundredth time, able to say her lines with emotion and conviction even when her mind is elsewhere. And the audience never knows.
By lunchtime, she is hungry and ready for a break. She drives out of the office to a sub shop and buys a vegetarian half-sub with a Diet Coke and returns to her office. Paul Rodgers is off giving a lecture at a high school, which is always done carefully as schools have strict policies regarding what recruiters do and say at high schools. Samuel is off doing follow-up and meeting with several new recruits.
Julie tucks into the veggie sandwich, the bread being the best part; the actual vegetables taste old and sour. She never understands why she just doesn’t make her own damn sandwiches at home. Why waste five bucks every day going out? Probably just to get out of the office for a change.
But today, she decides to come back to the office on her lunch hour.
When she polishes off the sandwich and chases it down with her Diet Coke, she swivels her chair back in front of her computer. Her work computer is newer, more powerful and most importantly, much faster than her home computer.
Which is why she has saved some of her research on Samuel for the office.
Not that she is going overboard with this thing. It’s just that reading about Samuel’s history at two o’clock in the morning and drinking whiskey only succeeded in raising more questions.
And why did the name Larry Nevens ring a bell?
She logs back onto the naval personnel website and opens Samuel’s file. She scans through every page searching for any other contact with a Larry Nevens. She then searches the Navy’s active personnel database. If this Nevens was one of Samuel’s BUD/S instructors, surely he’ll be listed here.
The computer processes her request. She sits back and takes a sip of her Diet Coke. She looks out the window. It’s a gray day—no snow, but the roads are white with dried salt, and the cars are all grungy and one uniform color: gray.
The computer beeps, and she looks back at the screen.
No Record Found.
Julie frowns. How can that be? Samuel just went through the training six months ago. Surely Nevens hasn’t left the Navy already.
She absentmindedly drums her fingers on the keyboard’s base. Where to look?
Maybe he retired. She has no idea how old Nevens is. Maybe
he’s a crusty old SEAL who did his last BUD/S training before saying adios to the Navy. Probably golfing in Scottsdale now.
There was a way to check that. Tapping back into the Navy personnel database, she goes to a search engine and asks the database to search for all personnel who have retired from the Navy in the last six months.
Julie hits the enter key and waits. A bar begins slowly making its way across her screen, signifying the search is in progress. The door opens to the outer office, and she leans forward in her chair, catches a flash of white. Her heart momentarily leaps into her throat. Her hands fly to the keyboard—if it’s Samuel coming through the door, she has to cancel the search.
“Hey.”
She looks up.
Paul Rodgers looks at her.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
She breathes an inward sigh of relief. “I—”
“Oh, you ate there again,” he says, gesturing at the paper cup of Diet Coke emblazoned with the sub shop’s logo. “That explains it.”
She laughs, hollow and forced, but Paul goes back to his desk and leaves her alone. It takes a minute for her to calm down, and as she does, she gets mad at herself. What is she so worried about? First of all, she’s just searching personnel records. No big deal. And second of all, even if Samuel were here…so what? What’s he going to do? And why is she suddenly so scared of him?
The computer beeps and a huge list of recent naval retirees fills her screen. She scrolls forward to the list of names beginning with N and gets to where Nevens should be.
He’s not there.
Shit.
So Larry Nevens didn’t retire from the Navy. Goddamnit, she realizes she’s wasting her time. There’s only one way to do this. She’ll have to search the database for all personnel who have ever served in the Navy. She’s sure there will be more than one Larry Nevens but doubts that there will be more than one who served in the role of BUD/S instructor. Those guys are few and far between.
