by Nathan Roden
“I’m okay, MG, thanks. Life goes on, as they say. I haven’t seen much of Jack, and I hope that doesn’t go on much longer. He says that he makes everybody uncomfortable, but I’m ready to have him back. I can’t say ‘to normal’, because normal is over. ”
“He’s throwing himself into his work, but the atmosphere at his office isn’t like it is here,” MG said, “I don’t see how it could be therapeutic—the way he spends the majority of his life there. I’d love to see him find something else to do and get out more often. And speaking of ‘getting out’, just between us, it would be really great if Russell Eckhart did just that.”
“He doesn’t have much of a fan club. What is his major problem, anyway?” Babe asked.
“He’s only in that position because of his step-father,” MG said. “His credentials would never have given him his job and he does everything possible to try to tear Jack down. Jack has support within the Bureau but Eckhart has more influence than he deserves. So, every day is a fight, thanks to that shit-head,” MG batted her long eyelashes and smiled. “So, anything else I need to know about?”
“Well, I know you’re meeting with Jordan when we’re through here. He just told Tom and me about Samantha’s appointment. I don’t know how much you know,” Babe said.
“I just found out last night. This puts us in a tough spot; and right before the holidays, too. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Jack and I are getting together Monday to brainstorm. We need to have something ready for when the wolves come out,” MG said. “Okay, Babe. Neely and Emerson. Files, please?”
Babe handed the files across his desk to MG, who placed them into her briefcase.
“You know the drill. Let’s have it,” MG said.
Babe pulled out a legal pad.
“Neely completed a BA in criminal justice in two and a half years; dual enrollment. He was a modest gamer, mostly RPGs—wasn’t fascinated with shooters and rarely played online. He did two tours in Kuwait and one in Afghanistan—honorable discharge, no discipline, no reprimands. One request for counseling after Afghanistan; good psych evaluation, good exit interview, no meds. He’s quiet and introspective; reads a lot. Seems to take everything seriously.
“Engaged to a high school girlfriend. Protestant, so is the fiancé. The fiance’s parents have been married for thirty seven years. Both of Neely’s parents are married for the second time—his mother for twenty-eight years, his father for twenty one, no step brothers or sisters. No red flags.”
“Emerson: dual enrollment, BA in psychology completed in three years. He’s a more intense gamer with a heavy online shooter footprint. The Bureau pulled down two hours of audio. His entire group was no-nonsense, hard-core, like you were listening to dialog straight from the front lines in Afghanistan. Emerson’s tag was ‘Gut Master’. In the Army he pulled four tours in Baghdad and did two weeks confinement for striking a non-commissioned officer during his second tour; Honorable discharge, passed psych evaluation and exit interview, no meds.
“Two letters in his file from superior officers express concern with his abilities to follow chain of command and established protocols. He is extremely intense and sometimes skittish— moody, dark, tends to speaks in short, staccato sentences. His eyes are always moving and he scans a room constantly. He is very sharp, and exudes authority and control. Parents are still married after thirty-four years; Lifelong Catholics and well respected. For what it’s worth, Emerson was a soloist in his high school choir and had scholarship offers in Drama. I’ve flagged his file for follow-up.”
“Good work,” MG said, passing a folder across the desk.
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Babe said.
“Uh-huh. As I’m sure you remember, we’re always light in November and December,” MG paused. “All right, Mary Poppins; stop using my body. Two interviews in Albany, one each in Buffalo and New Haven for next week. Of course, we’re working around Tom being out for the next two weeks, Jordan making arrangements to relocate, and then the holidays. How about you? Are you leaving town?”
“Just Thanksgiving weekend. I’m flying to Texas to spend the weekend with my dad. He camps out there with some of his RV buddies during the Renaissance festival. He stays in the south during the winter because of his back. We’re trying to make up for a lot of lost years. So, I guess we’ll spend four days buying Ye Olde ale from buxom wenches and peeing against trees.”
“And looking at boobs,” MG said.
“And looking at boobs.”
“I’m going to leave this file with you even though this candidate will not be discharged until mid-March,” MG said.
“Gabriel Athas—parents deceased; raised by paternal grandparents. Enrolled at Boston College at seventeen and completed credits for a Masters in Forensic Psychology with a minor in Criminal Justice at twenty-one. Signed into the Army and placed into a highly classified intelligence unit straight from basic training. Twenty-four months of service, all classified.
“This is where it gets really weird. He has letters of recommendation from his initial unit commander, a colonel, a brigadier general, and even a four star. The four star sounds like he wants to adopt the kid. We’re more than a little curious about the military exit after twenty-four months. Jack wants you on this one and you’re going to need the extra time for the classified records.”
“This one should be fun. Say, MG, will you be talking to Jack today or tomorrow?”
“Yes, probably late this afternoon.”
“Would you ask him to call me?” Babe asked, “I hate bothering him at the office, but how long is long enough? We use to hang out quite a bit, but not since…”
“Of course. I think it would be good for him to start to mingle—maybe even loosen up that board in his ass. In fact, it would do him some good to go look at boobs and pee on trees,” MG said.
Babe laughed.
“I invited him to come with me right after Dad and I made plans. Jack’s spending Thanksgiving with his family in Ohio. What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m not coming with you. My daughter will be here over the semester break. She graduates in the spring and will be taking over the design company.”
There was a pair of light knocks at the door and Millie stuck her head in.
“Will it be okay if I take off a little early? I don’t feel so good.”
Babe said, “Okay by me, Millie. MG?”
“You go ahead Millie. Anything I can do for you?” asked MG.
“No, I’m just tired and a little light-headed. I may be blond by Monday. Thanks. Good night.” Millie said.
“Something is going on here,” said MG.
“It’s none of my business,” Babe said, “but I think she has about had it with Bradley. I hope so.”
“Really,” MG said. “You’re prejudiced against douche bags?”
“God, MG. What’s your background, again? Major in English and Minor in Poetic Language, right?”
“I have to get going, Babe. I’ll have Jack call you. And I’ll use my serious face. Ring Jordan’s office please, and tell him to wake his ass up.”
Thirteen
Babe was trying to put a harness on a wiggling Mr. Pendleton when Jack called.
“Hello, Babe. Sorry it took me so long to call. Miss God ordered me to. ‘Before sundown’, was the words she used, in fact. Anything the matter, son?”
“No, nothing like that Jack. It’s just that we haven’t just hung out since the funeral. I miss that, you know? Just hanging out. What are you doing Saturday night?”
“I’ve been taking work home on the weekends. What did you have in mind?” Jack asked.
“You want to come over, drink a few beers, watch a little football? Mr. Pendleton thinks I’m a hermit. No one has been here since Dad left,” Babe said.
Jack chuckled.
“Mister Pendleton. God, I love that movie. I called Jordan ‘Mister Jordan’ for years. We wore that video out. We’d have a few beers, put the movie on and try to
recite every line of dialog. ‘Bentley! Everett! Whip up a liver and whey shake, right away!’ The rest of the floor would be screaming at us to ‘shut the hell up!’ That’s great that you named your dog after Joe. Perfect.”
“We had a little problem with his name. Joe sounds like ‘no’, which seems to trigger some unpleasant memories. We’ve settled on ‘Mr. Pendleton’. He’s been doing better but he’s a chewer. Sam Adams and pepperoni double cheese sound good to you?” asked Babe.
“Sure. What time?”
“I’ll have my face on by seven.”
Babe and Mr. Pendleton rounded the corner of the sidewalk nearest his house at the same time that Jack pulled along beside them. Mr. Pendleton had the leash taught against his harness for a half mile, spending half of the distance on his hind legs, reared like a race horse. The rest of the time he spent squirting his signature.
Jack lowered the passenger window.
“Is he taking you home or do I need to let myself in?”
“We haven’t discussed it yet. Does he look tired?”
“He looks like MG after two cups of coffee.”
“Holy shit! I’m fucked then. We’ll be there in a minute. I’ll put him on the treadmill.”
Babe reached into the refrigerator and grabbed two beer bottles by the neck. He smiled at the twenty two other bottles that stood at attention, ready for duty. He never stocked this much beer but he couldn’t help thinking that Jack really need to loosen up. Babe sat Jack’s beer on the coffee table because Jack had his hands full of Mr. Pendleton. The dog was struggling to keep his balance while standing on Jack’s lap. He bobbed and weaved his head as he launched an all-out licking assault on Jack’s face.
“Mr. Pendleton!” Babe said in a mocking voice, pretending to scold the puppy. Babe happily endured this treatment from Mr. Pendleton on a daily basis, so he knew that Jack was eating it up— because there are few things on earth more therapeutic than unconditional puppy affection.
“You have to end it when you’ve had enough, Jack. He doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch, but he can go from a hundred to zero in nothing flat. As soon as I get a fire going he’ll be asleep in twenty seconds.”
Jack ended the session by vigorously scratching the dog behind his ears and then helped him untie his legs and get down to the floor.
“Boston College and Syracuse, is that what we’re looking for?” Jack asked. He reached for the remote control, as Babe knelt and stacked logs into the fireplace.
“That’s it,” Babe said. “Everyone else in our neck of the woods is just trying to keep from embarrassing themselves while they wait for basketball season. I want to peek in on the Alabama-Georgia game every once in a while. Millie gets excited when she has somebody to talk Crimson Tide football with.”
Mr. Pendleton assumed his position on his bed in front of the fire. He got up to introduce himself to the pizza delivery boy and periodically went back to the front door, as if wondering why the boy wasn’t joining them.
The game was a good one and kept Jack engaged enough that he didn’t notice the steady flow of full beer bottles that Babe put in front of him. Before long, they were both drunk enough, and peeing often enough, that they were going in the back yard. They let Mr. Pendleton out as they went because having a dog makes it okay to pee outside, especially when you’re drunk.
Jack and Mr. Pendleton returned from the latest excursion as halftime began. The dog went back to sleep immediately. Babe lowered the volume as the talking heads began their rundown of the scores of the day.
“This is great, Babe. Thanks for having me over,” Jack said.
“The pleasure is all mine. We used to do this a lot.”
“Yeah.” Jack said, turning to stare out the glass wall at the moonlit back yard. “You want to hear something crazy?”
“What’s that?”
“It feels like… like she’s here— in this house. Not like a ghost, or anything creepy. I’m drunk, but still—shit. I’m sorry. I should keep my fat mouth shut. ”
“No, don’t be sorry, Jack. I know what you’re talking about. I feel her, too; and not just under the influence.”
Jack sat his beer bottle down and ran his hands through his hair.
“I’ve almost forgotten how to talk like a human being; all the fucking secrets. My life has been nothing but one long, endless chain of secrets—ever since Dad was killed. I can’t even open my mouth without funneling everything through the filter. Is this classified? Does this person have clearance? Does this violate protocol? Does this person need-to-know? Finding secrets, keeping secrets, leaking secrets—do you know how fucked up that is? People are not supposed to live like this. Goddammit. What good do secrets do for anybody, anyway?”
Jack took a deep breath. He picked up his beer and drained it.
Babe was on his feet before Jack emptied the bottle. He was back quickly and placed two full bottles on the table. He said nothing but he sensed that the evening was going precisely where he had hoped it would go.
“If you promise not to arrest me, I’m going to tell you a secret,” Jack said.
Babe raised his right hand. “I hereby solemnly promise not to arrest you, Agent Englemann.”
“What do you know about my dad’s death?” Jack asked.
Babe let out a long breath. “Jill said that he was in a pursuit and something went wrong with the squad car. He was killed in a rollover.”
“Well, that was the official bullshit story; which, if I didn’t say so already, was total bullshit. Dad had been with the sheriff’s department for a few years when they started drilling on his parent’s land. A couple of years later and they’re into serious money. They start hounding Dad to quit his job. But he never wanted to be anything but a cop. ‘You don’t have to be out there risking your life, son!’ they would say. Then my Mother started on him, the same story.
“You would think this would have been a great situation, right? You have big, easy family money now. Easy street. Relax. Hell, just ask anybody. What would your life be like if we threw a couple of million dollars at it? ‘Oh, that would solve aaaallllllll my problems!’ It didn’t work for Dad, though. He started drinking more. A lot more. I used to see him leave for work, drunk as shit. They took his car away but they didn’t know what else to do with him.
“One night he walked to the station as drunk as a skunk. He went into the station—walked right in, opened the box on the wall and took the keys to a car. The only person there was the on-duty dispatcher and she said she didn’t see him. No one really knows what happened after that. The next morning I was riding my bike to a friend’s house and I saw the wreckage around the bridge column. He must have been flying.
“He had gone through the windshield and what was left of him was surrounded by pulverized glass and beer cans. The car was practically vaporized, and these aluminum cans were laying there like they had fallen from the sky. Unbelievable. An hour later I had a blanket around my shoulders in the middle of a circle of people, and they’re all coaching me on the ‘official’ story—say this, don’t say that. Keep the secret: My mother and my grandparents and the sheriff’s department. Keep the fucking secret, kid. And for what? What goddamn good did it do anybody that my father was dead and we fucking lied about everything?”
“Jesus Christ, Jack. That’s— man, you were just a little kid. That’s terrible.”
“No, I’ll tell you what’s terrible. What’s terrible is that I’m just telling you this. Today. I kept a secret from who? From Joshua Owen Babelton— the man that my little Jill loved. The man that loved her and took care of her and gave her a home. A home where she… is.”
Babe bit his lip and stared into space, not knowing what to say.
Jack continued in a raspy whisper. “Why do I have any secrets from you? What the fuck am I afraid of? Am I afraid that the man that I would have begged God to send for my little girl would betray me? Am I that—”
“Lost?”
“You’re not lost, Jack. Y
ou’re a good man that has had a ton of shit dropped in his lap. You’re the best father and the best friend that anybody could ask for.”
“Thank you, son.” Jack took a gulp of beer.
“There you go. Thirty-five to six, Alabama. Roll Tide.”
Babe heaved a sigh of relief that Jack had slammed on the brakes and deflated the intensity. He allowed himself a sly grin that he had administered alcohol as a therapeutic. But Jack was a big boy and it wasn’t like they hadn’t been drunk together before.
“That’s great. I should stop by the bakery Monday morning and have a giant Alabama cookie made for Millie.” Babe said.
“Are you still harassing that poor girl with junk food? You know, if she ever loses control of her weight she’s going to blame you. Forever.” Jack said.
“It’s her own damn fault. She’s as sweet as she can be but when she gets stirred up and starts talking like a drunken sailor on shore leave, it’s just toooo fucking funny,” Babe said.
“That sounds just like MG. Those two could be long, lost sisters, except that there’s no way a stray pound is ever going to stick to that woman’s body.”
Babe leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He whispered, “Holy shit, Jack. Is this where you tell me that MG is a cyborg? Because not only would I believe it, I think I would be relieved.”
Jack opened a beer and sat up in the overstuffed chair.
“Let me tell you about MG. You know how we found her, right?”
“Yeah, she was working on Jordan’s house. He told me about the two of you watching her work.”
“Right. I left her a business card and told her I wanted to talk to her about the business manager job. She called me a couple of days later at four- thirty in the morning. We were setting up an appointment at my office and I kept hearing this squeaking noise. I asked her if it was my phone or hers. She said ‘no, that’s just my treadmill.’ I said, ‘you’re starting early’. She said, ‘I started at two o’clock.’
