Jon Fixx

by Jason Squire Fluck

  Donovan sat back, his dark eyes sussing me out. He wasn’t convinced.

  I pushed my case. “I know I’m asking a lot.” I sat back, wondering if I’d misjudged him. Maybe his soul wasn’t as restless as I’d thought. When he’d mentioned his deceased wife, I was sure I’d read him right. After she passed, I guessed he started wandering, not sure what to do. Maybe he’d taken this guard job as a temporary gig until he figured it out. I was hoping my offer would shake him loose. His silence was discouraging. I waited a few more moments for him to speak, but he stayed silent. Finally, I decided to go, hoping if he thought about it, he’d change his mind. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my business card, and slid it across the table.

  “Here’s my information. I’m leaving for New York in a couple of days, so if you change your mind before that, call me. The offer stands.” I turned to go, finally saying what had been hanging in my mind since we’d started talking. “I bet your wife was a special lady. What was her name, if I may ask?”

  “Elenor.”

  “I’ll bet she was beautiful.”

  “Like the sun.”

  I stood at the table out of respect while his wife’s memory hung there between us, and then I walked away. I stepped out into the night air, looked over the car before unlocking it to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. I was definitely becoming paranoid. About to climb into the car, a deep bass holler spun me around. Donovan was standing at the entryway, calling my name.

  I almost ran the distance between us.

  “Is there a possibility I’ll have to crack some heads?”

  “With the way things have been going lately, I’d say there’d be a good possibility of that.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy him. He nodded. “Good. I’ve been here for too long. It’s time I get moving. After you left, I only had to ask myself one question: Would Elenor approve of you? A moment later I saw her beautiful smile. So you must be a good soul, Jon Fixx.” The long scar running over his eye across his forehead glowed with a red intensity. A large black hand reached out toward me and I grabbed it in a firm handshake.

  I had a bodyguard.

  My drive home was far more relaxing than the drive out. I now knew that no one would sneak up on me again, at least not for the next couple of months. I could reassess then and see where I was at, but for now I was covered. Donovan’s size alone would be a deterrent for anyone considering to do me ill, but I had watched the way he moved on his feet, and he was dexterous for a man his size. If push came to shove, I was sure Donovan could manhandle the best of them. I was tapping my emergency savings-retirement fund to pay him, but up ’til now, I’d never had an emergency, and retirement was far, far away. Now seemed as good a time as any to utilize the funds. At the moment, my whole life was one big emergency. Donovan wasn’t only protection against surprise attacks from Nick Nickels Jr.; he would also run interference with Williams and any of his colleagues should that come about. But even more than that, I wanted him with me in New York. Williams’ second visit tonight had raised the warning signal from yellow to a blinking red. Vespucci was on the FBI’s radar. And now, so was I. At least, according to Williams. But was he approaching me on a personal level or on official business? I realized it didn’t matter. Williams worked for the FBI and knew I was working for Vespucci. That was enough. I was in way over my head. My sixth sense told me there was something much bigger going on here, and if I discovered what it was, there would be undeniable consequences for making the discovery.

  I got back to my apartment without incident. I only had to get through the night, and then come morning, Donovan would be at my door. He wanted to go home and tie up some loose ends so that he wouldn’t have to worry about his house while he was gone. I turned my laptop on, pulling up my almost-final draft of “The Coffee Shop Lovers.” I needed to tweak it a bit, but I didn’t feel it needed any major changes. I was wired and knew sleep was far off, so I decided to go back through the draft and finish it. Luci would be over first thing in the morning with his final mock-up for the book, so I could feel good before leaving for New York that at least one big obligation was completed. Sometime during the night, I passed out, head on the desk in front of my computer. A loud knock at the door roused me. I stumbled up out of my chair, tripping as I did so, falling on my face, a sharp pain shooting up from my ribs as I hit the ground. I heard Luci’s voice from the other side of the door.

  “Jon, you okay? What are you doing? I’ve been knocking on the door for a few minutes.”

  “I’m fine,” I croaked. Slowly, I climbed to my hands and knees, crawled over to the door, unlocked it, and let Luci in. I held my hand out to him to help me up. As I stood clearing my head, I stepped into the kitchen to pour a glass of orange juice.

  “Late for you to be sleeping, Jon.”

  I turned to him as I tilted the glass of orange juice down my throat. From the reaction on Luci’s face, all of the previous night’s actions came back to me in a flash. Without a word, I moved to the bathroom to get a look at my face. The bruises had settled in and darkened. The socket around my right eye was swollen, black with some red tinges around it. The dark color seeped up to the right side of my forehead and over to my cheekbone. In an attempt to give my face some semblance of balance, my left cheek was scratched and bruised as well.

  “Jesus, Jon!” Luci exclaimed, as he examined the damage. “What happened? Did you go to another funeral?”

  Laconically, I answered, “Our ‘Internet Love Affair’ family of psychos.”

  He stared at me for several moments to make sure I was serious. Finally, he said, “Are you kidding?”

  “It appears the father has given the son permission to take care of things. They’ve made it their goal in life to get revenge.”

  Luci stared at me, taking it in. He set the mock-up on the table beside the computer. “Did you call the police?”

  “Why? My attackers—”

  “There was more than one?”

  “—two of them. I don’t know who number two was, but I’m sure Nick Jr. was the attack dog. I couldn’t make a positive ID though. They had on ski masks. But I heard his voice. I’m sure it was him.”

  “Jon, this can’t keep happening.”

  I finished off the orange juice. “I agree. And I’ve taken steps to deal with it.”

  “What steps?”

  A knock at the door interrupted us. I pointed to the door in answer to Luci’s question. I pulled it open to reveal Donovan towering in the doorway, carrying a small, military duffel bag over his shoulder. No one spoke. Donovan glanced around my humble abode, he and Luci exchanging a polite nod to one another as he did so. His gaze settled on me as he waited at the threshold.

  “Come on in, Donovan,” I said.

  Donovan stepped inside, giving the tiny apartment a once-over. “Should I collect my money up front?”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry. These are temporary digs. I’ll be moving out of them in time. They’ve served a purpose for me. Donovan, this is my best friend, Luci.”

  Donovan shook Luci’s hand. Luci returned the handshake with a friendly but quizzical look. They made an imposing pair, both well over six feet, one white and lanky, the other black and bulky.

  “Luci, this is Donovan. He’s my new bodyguard.”

  Luci looked from Donovan to me and then back to Donovan. The quizzical look didn’t completely disappear.

  “How do you two know each other?” Luci asked.

  A quick summary of my excursion to Howard Johnson’s gave Luci all the information he needed. Without looking down at Donovan’s arm, Luci said, “Special Forces. How long?”

  “Spent twenty years in the service. Persian Gulf, I and II. A few non-publicized excursions. Not newsworthy ’cause of the political ramifications, if you know what I’m saying.”

  Luci nodded in appreciation. “A lot of action.”r />
  “Too much. Saw more than I needed to.”

  They stared at one another, sizing each other up.

  “You’ll be able to look after Jon?”

  “With my life.”

  “Great pleasure to meet you, Donovan.’

  “Same.”

  “Now that we’ve made acquaintances, I want to give you both a rundown of the craziness going on in my life so you have a clear idea of what could be possible in New York,” I said.

  Luci crossed to my living room, dropping down on his heels, his back against the wall, settling in to listen. He often took that position when we were working out the specifics on a project. Donovan crossed to the only chair in the room, making it disappear as he settled down on top of it. I ran through the last few months chronologically. Much of it Luci was aware of, though I was filling in gaps he wasn’t privy to. I told them about the slow slide between Sara and me, how the distance between us and Sara’s cold nature had begun to impact my writing. That because of it, I was unable to finish the love story for Candy Nickels, and since then her father and brother had decided they needed to punish me in every way possible. Nick Nickels Jr. had taken the route I would expect, crude schoolyard violence. Thus, the current damage on my face. However, moving forward, I was more concerned about Nickels Sr. He had far more pull and power, and his plan of execution would be more sophisticated and debilitating to me. As I said this aloud, I noted to myself there might be little Luci and Donovan could do for me if Nickels Sr. decided to come after me in a nonviolent manner. I pushed the disturbing thought aside and moved on to the breakup with Sara and the dramatic effect it had on my overall nature, explaining the move out, and the month-long hiatus from doing anything other than feeling extremely depressed and sorry for myself and burying myself in this cave of an apartment, that is—I noted with some embarrassment—except for the forays I took to make calls to Sara’s house from untraceable pay phones and the nightly stalking sessions I spent down the block from her apartment to discover who had replaced me. Enter Williams with his threatening visit the morning after my last phone call to Sara from the rest stop off the I-10. I looked at Donovan as I recounted this part of the story, acknowledging our initial introduction.

  I saved the Vespuccis for last, because even though Williams and Nick Nickels Jr. had given me ample reason to hire Donovan, deep down I knew I wanted both Donovan and Luci with me in New York for my final interviews with the Vespucci-Balducci clan. Though Vespucci seemed to like me, it didn’t change the fact that he was a dangerous man and a wild card. I couldn’t say with certainty where he stood. I explained to Luci and Donovan that my gut told me I was being used as a pawn in a bigger game, but I had no idea how or why or what for. I was sure Tony didn’t like his soon-to-be son-in-law, and the feeling was mutual, so this was my greatest concern. I didn’t like Marco Balducci at all and I couldn’t understand what, other than his good looks, Maggie saw in him. I finished my rundown of the Vespucci’s and what my shortened timeline was for the project. I went on to describe Jim Mosconi and what role the reporter had played so far, explaining that he seemed to be the only member of the media who had any current, in-depth understanding of what was going on inside La Cosa Nostra. I left out the eavesdropping episode between Marco and Vespucci and that Mosconi was on their radar. I wasn’t ready to address it, or the implications it represented. I ended my story with the warning I’d received from Mosconi at the end of my last trip, but that I hadn’t heard from him since, though it wasn’t like I’d been trying to reach him.

  Luci asked, “What do you think he meant?”

  “I don’t know. He’s a jumpy guy. Strikes me as a bit of a conspiracy theorist, one of those guys who believes everyone is out to get him and finds intrigue in everything, whether it belongs or not. So I’m not sure what to think of him.” Suddenly, I realized I’d left out one key piece of information. I told them about my second visit from Williams and his interest in my work for Tony Vespucci.

  Donovan raised his hand. “Wait. I just want to make sure I’ve got a handle on this whole thing before I fly back east with you. You’re working for a Mafia boss, but you’re not doing anything illegal for him. By chance, you’re ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend’s cousin works for the FBI, and first he asked you to stop bugging your ex-girlfriend, and now he’s talking to you about your work for this mob guy?”

  I nodded at each correct point Donovan made.

  “Sounds a little too out there to be coincidence.”

  “I know. It all sounds a bit far-fetched, but I can assure you, I’m living it.”

  Luci chimed in, “You forgot to mention one thing, Jon.”

  I turned toward Luci.

  “You didn’t mention how your feelings for the bride-to-be plays into all this.”

  At first I didn’t answer, not sure what to say.

  “Am I wrong?”

  I was silent, considering how to answer that question. Finally, I responded, “I’ve never fallen for one of my clients, and I’m not going to start now. Is that enough for you?”

  Donovan and Luci exchanged a glance.

  “Okay.”

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Luci reached for the stack of material he’d brought for “The Coffee Shop Lovers” story and handed it to me. “This is ready for your approval. If you can give me the final draft, I can FedEx this to the binder. We’ll have it done in time for the wedding.”

  “I just need to go back through it to make sure I’m good with it. We’ll be able to send it off before we get on the plane.”

  “Sounds good.” Luci looked at Donovan. “You can take care of our boy for the day? Make sure he doesn’t get any more bruises?”

  Donovan responded with a slight nod.

  “Good. I’ll be back tonight with a bag for our trip to New York.” Luci began to open the door but turned back to Donovan and me before leaving. I looked up from the computer screen. I knew that look. He was worried. “Jon, do you really think there’s something going on with Vespucci? Something that’s putting you in danger when we go back there?”

  I stared at Luci and then looked at Donovan. I shrugged, indicating Yeah, maybe. Luci accepted my answer with his usual aplomb. He glanced at Donovan. “I’ll flip with you for who gets to take the first bullet for our boy.”

  Donovan deadpanned, “He’s paying me, so I feel obligated. You’ll have to get in line.”

  “Deal.”

  “Not funny, either of you.”

  Although they were making light of the situation, I knew Luci had been in some rough spots over the years, and he took this seriously. Donovan I didn’t know yet, but he didn’t seem like a guy who breezed through life. If I was in danger, my friends were as well. If they were hurt, it would be my fault. I wanted to convince myself that I was being overly dramatic, but the bruises on my face proved that violence could come from any corner. Flashes of my second trip to New York pulsed through my brain, reminding me of what I had seen, what I had discovered. I was not wrong. There was trouble there, trouble I didn’t understand because I couldn’t see the whole picture, but I knew enough to know I didn’t want any of it. I pushed my thoughts aside, focusing on Luci and Donovan.

  “Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” I said.

  “One thing about Jon, here,” Luci said, directing his comment to Donovan. “When it comes to his personal relationships, the guy has the worst judgment ever. He falls in love with all the wrong women for all the wrong reasons. If it involves his own feelings, he makes the worst decisions. Sorry, Jon, it’s true,” he said, looking directly at me. “But when it comes to reading other people, interpreting their thoughts, figuring out what makes them tick, he’s always right on target. If he thinks there’s trouble brewing under the surface back in New York, I’d put my money Jon’s onto something.” He paused for emphasis before continuing. “That FBI agen
t didn’t bring up Tony Vespucci to you to make idle chatter. There’s more there than what you can see. But that’s not your problem, Jon. You were hired to write a love story. We’ll go with you to make sure you stay safe so you can do that. All you have to do is get enough information to write your story, then come back here and do what you were hired to do. You’ll be free of them by the end of December. Right?”

  I shrugged. “I hope.”

  Luci knew that meant I wasn’t sure where we’d be at the end of December. “Fine. Just so I know what I’m signing up for. I’ll see you both tonight.” The door closed on Luci’s back.

  “Your friend studied martial arts?” Donovan asked.

  “He’s master in a form of kung fu, among other things. How did you know?”

  “The way he carries himself. Not a guy I’d want to cross. With him, what do you need me for?”

  “Insurance.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy Donovan. “I’m figuring you got work to do, so I’m just gonna make myself comfortable by the door here.”

  Donovan walked over to the door, settling down in front of it, his duffle bag shoved up against the wood, his frame laid out perpendicular to the door itself, head resting on the duffle. His eyes closed almost immediately.

  I watched him, considering his easy, relaxed nature.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a light sleeper. Anybody tries to come through that door, I’ll be on ’em in a flash.” His eyes remained closed.

  “I’m not worried. For the first time in a long time.”

  I turned my back to Donovan to attend to my nearly finished project. Over the next four hours, into the early afternoon, I read and tweaked and finished “The Coffee Shop Lovers.” It wasn’t my best work, or my most inspired, but it was sufficient, and I knew my product well enough to know that my clients would be happy with it. I saved the final copy and emailed it to Luci, giving him last-minute directions on a few changes I wanted him to make to the final layout. I then spent the next hour poring over the material Luci had left for me to review for the couple: pictures, love letters, little knickknacks the couple held dear. Luci had done a fine job assembling it. After looking it over, I felt a sense of completion. I could put this project to rest.