by Nathan Roden
“Folks, it’s not that we haven’t seen it all, because we probably have. But this situation has become quite the handful. There are family members voicing the desire to take Mr. Petrelli off of life support, and there are those who will not hear of it. It is often a very heated discussion, and there are so many of them. Under the circumstances, with FBI agents being involved, we want to stay out of the way as much as we can, but we do have other patients and families to consider. We have a large number of law enforcement personnel here, and we understand that this will continue. If anyone can help us with this family it will be very much appreciated.
“On a lighter note, the FBI field office in New York has dispatched the furniture that you see being off-loaded for the extra accommodations. I’ve seen chairs, recliners, and at least a couple of sofa sleepers—a few large televisions and a full size fridge. Caterers are setting up tables… AND, may I have the list, Bonnie? Thanks. I have contact names and numbers from field offices in Albany, Buffalo, and Philadelphia, saying, and I quote, ‘To the families of our fallen, anything that we can do to help, and we mean anything, you call us, we love you guys’.”
Babe saw Millie come in. He was expecting to see her arrive in the cap and sunglass disguise.
Right. Indoors, at night. That wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.
What he saw made him look twice. Or three times. He was used to seeing Millie in minimal makeup and she usually looked like a very pretty girl next-door. Tonight, perhaps because of the remaining discoloration around her eye, she was made up to the nines.
“Wow, Millie. You look great,” Babe tilted his head a little, trying to determine how much bruising was being disguised.
He stopped himself when he realized that he must look like a guy inspecting the bondo job on his Camaro.
“No, I don’t,” Millie said, “I look like a whore. Jesus, I haven’t worn this much cake and paint since Miss ‘Bama—and to a freaking hospital. I heard that Mr. Englemann is out of surgery. How is he?”
“The doctors were very positive. It sounds like he was really lucky. He should be out of ICU in a couple of days,” Babe said.
“I went to the main waiting room but I didn’t know anyone there. There are some very upset people in there. Especially the older ones,” Millie said.
“That‘s the Petrelli family. Dom Petrelli is another agent who was shot. It doesn’t sound like he’s going to make it,” Babe said. “His grandparents are first generation immigrants. Their family has been Catholic since before Jesus was born.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Millie said.
“Anyway, Dom’s grandmother won’t even listen to a discussion about taking him off of life support until she speaks with the Pope. And she’s serious,” Babe said.
Millie exhaled.
“And I guess the rest of the family is just as stubborn.”
“Yeah, and there are a bunch of them here. The Administrator doesn’t know what to do. It sucks, but he might have to kick them all out of here. They’ve taken over the place.”
“So, do they know who did it? Have they caught anybody?” Millie asked as she kicked off her shoes and drew her legs underneath her in a large overstuffed chair.
“I…don’t know,” Babe said. “We’ve been so worried about Jack that I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“ Well, I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. I heard Jordan say that the Director and Deputy Director will be here in the morning. If they haven’t caught them yet, they won’t be able to hide for long,” Millie said.
A hush flowed over the room in a wave as Russell and Belinda Eckhart entered the room. Babe noticed that both of the Eckhart’s eyes were very red. Belinda’s, it was quite obvious, were the product of an alcohol stupor. It actually appeared as if Russell had been crying. He seemed to be fighting back more tears as he spoke with members of the Bureau.
Well, what do you think about that? Babe thought.
And in Bean Town they say, that the ASAC’s small heart grew three sizes, that day.
When the Eckharts got closer to Babe, he saw Russell struggle to contain his emotions. By the time he extended his hand to Babe he had regained his normal smug composure.
“I’m sorry, Babelton” was all he had to say, and then he was gone. Eckhart announced to the room that because he was temporarily in charge he had to get back to the office.
Babe leaned in to whisper to Millie, Tom, and Christie.
“I bet Belinda goes along to measure the windows in Jack’s office, just in case.”
Christie changed into a pair of pink, footed pajamas, and handed another set to Millie. When Millie returned from changing, Christie was seated at the end of a sofa underneath a blanket with her legs drawn up. Millie shoved Tom out of her way and took his place underneath the blanket next to Christie.
“Did you see that fucker’s eyes?” Tom said.
“I can’t believe he was crying. I might even feel sorry for him if he wasn’t a steaming, rotten sack of anal pus,” Tom said.
Christie clasped her hands together under her chin and looked dreamily toward her husband.
“He’s a modern day Shakespeare, I tell you. Milk and honey flows from his lips—like an oasis in a dry and dusty land.”
Millie was about to bury her face in her hands until she remembered her makeup.
The crowd dwindled gradually as the hour grew late. A few took advantage of the furnishings in the back corner of the room, farthest away from the lights. MG, Jordan and Samantha returned.
“Guys, I’m going to tell you what we’ve learned,” Jordan said,
“But this has to stay between us. This is bigger than big and the entire Bureau will have a cow if it leaks.”
He looked around until he received nods from everyone.
“There was about to be an arrest inside the Boston office. A cyber-crime group managed to have an analyst hired, or turned, or maybe even blackmailed. Apparently, he learned that he was burned. His computers were all wiped—FBI-quality wiped.
“It looks like he fucked up, though. Big-time. We didn’t expect to find anything at all but the kid actually left a flash drive full of data plugged into the backside of his workstation. Cyber Division is still going through its contents but they had more than enough to bring the kid down.
“He must have freaked,” Jordan continued.
“He had an illegal M25 sniper rifle. You don’t have to be a pro to get a few hits with something like that, especially if the vics are out in the open and unaware. He got off six rounds and then swallowed two cyanide capsules.”
There was a collective silence that lasted several seconds, until Babe spoke.
“Maybe he wasn’t even targeting Jack. Maybe he just wanted to rack up a body count,” he said.
“I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,” Jordan said.
“But three other agents cleared that door before he opened up. That doesn’t exactly look random. Even if this kid was flipping out because he knew he was toast, it appears that Jack was the real target.”
Samantha Blackledge was teetering from fatigue. MG offered to drop her at her hotel. She planned to return and take Rebecca home. Rebecca had been on the job since five in the morning and had to meet with code inspectors early the next morning.
Samantha did not approach the subject of Jordan coming with her.
She knew better. Samantha went through their luggage in a corner of the room. She handed Jordan pajamas and some slippers.
“Thanks, hon,” he said.
“I’ll load the luggage before I change. MG, where are you parked?”
When Jordan returned to the room, Babe, Tom, and Millie had pulled a sofa and a couple of chairs toward a corner of the room—away from the ‘sleeping zone’. That corner held seven people at the moment, and was ‘walled-in’ by huge side-by-side televisions. Their screens flickered, their volumes set near zero. Anderson Cooper vied for attention alongside Bill O’Reilly.
Jordan stretche
d his immense wingspan and sat down.
“I’m sure I saw a bag of marshmallows on the snack table. Where do you suppose they keep the firewood?”
Millie gave Tom’s spot back to him, and Christie had fallen asleep with her head in her husband’s lap.
“Millie, guess who came on duty about thirty minutes ago,” Babe said.
The gears ground in Millie’s head for a few moments, before her eyes widened. She looked a little shell-shocked.
“It’s cool. They know,” Babe said.
Jordan and Tom nodded toward Millie with their ‘it’s cool, we know’ nods.
“Have you talked to Marshall since…?” Millie asked Babe.
“No. I’m going to check with the ER desk in a little while and see what time he takes lunch. You can come with me if you want.”
“Of course. He’s a sweetheart. And I owe him…a lot,” Millie said.
“So, Jordan—is Jack the only one with good stories from back in the day?” Babe prodded.
“Jack’s stories?” Jordan snorted.
“The only difference between a story told by Jack and a story told by a trained baboon is that Jack doesn’t pick up his crap and throw it across the room. Well, he usually doesn’t.”
Babe, Tom, and Millie were a good audience, though they were forced to use their blankets as mufflers for their laughter at Jordan’s stories. Jordan stopped at one point and threatened to stop the stories if the ‘kids’ could not control themselves.
“I’m going to write this behavior off to nerves,” Jordan said. “But you kids might need professional help.”
Thirty-One
Marshall Gates pulled into the hospital parking garage an hour before his shift began. He had spent the evening driving his mother to visit two of her shut-in friends from church. After he dropped his mother off at home he decided that driving to his own home to stay for only twenty minutes didn’t make much sense.
Marshall rolled down his window. The cool breeze and quiet of the parking garage soothed him. He turned the key to accessory and slipped in a favorite Barry White CD. He leaned the big leather seat back and closed his eyes for a few moments. Marshall relaxed and hummed along as he listened to the first track.
He paused the CD and picked up his phone. Speed dial number one rang his home phone. His wife, Janine, answered on the third ring.
“Marshall, are you on your way home?” she asked.
“Hold on a sec, Janine,” Marshall said.
He turned up the volume on the car stereo before pushing the play button. He began to sing along with Barry White into the phone. He sang the opening line to Barry’s cover of Billy Joel’s ‘Just The Way You Are’.
“That’s sweet, Baby. Are you on your way—” Janine Gates asked.
Marshall and Barry White finished the first verse.
“Oh, Barry. You know what you do to me, Barry,” Janine Gates said in a deadpan voice, yanking her husband’s chain.
Marshall continued, as he usually did after he sang with Barry White, with a deep voiced monologue that he made up as he went along.
“Oh, Baby. Come and sit down beside me, right here by the fire. You know, Baby when I’m holding you so tight, and you’re wearing those fire engine red panties that I love so much…”
“Marshall,” Janine said.
“And I get my hands all up in those fine…”
“Marshall! I got my hands up to the elbows in your daughter’s shitty diaper right now, so why don’t you come on home, Baby? Am I getting you all hot and sweaty, Barry?”
Marshall laughed hard enough to rock the entire vehicle.
“I just dropped Momma off at home so I went ahead and came in to work,” Marshall said. “Give that little darling a kiss goodnight for Daddy.”
“This little darling isn’t getting any kisses while she smells like this, so you better let me off of this phone,” Janine said.
“Okay, then. Goodnight, Baby. Big Daddy loves you.”
“I love you, too, Big Daddy. Bring home some milk in the morning. If you’re lucky you might be able to sing me a little song before Princess makes one of these diapers for you. Now, quit playing karaoke and get your country ass in to work.”
Marshall was still chuckling as he put his keys in his pocket and started to get out of the car. But he had forgotten to roll up his window. He was trying to dig the keys from his pocket when the garage door that led into the building burst open. Marshall froze.
Father Roberts, pastor of a nearby neighborhood parish, screamed at Carl Anderson.
“Dammit, Carl. Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not, Father Roberts,” Carl said.
“You asked me to come and speak with that lady, and that’s exactly what I came here to do. I told you that,” Father Roberts said.
“But Father Roberts, some of her family is furious. They’re threatening legal action. What did you say to her?” Carl asked.
“I told you, Carl. I only spoke with that woman after she left the chapel. I have no idea who she talked to,” Father Roberts said.
Carl and Father Roberts turned to look at Chaplain Grady. He felt accused and yelled as well.
“I was in my office. The only time I laid eyes on that woman was when I visited Four,” Chaplain Grady said, speaking of the fourth floor.
Carl’s secretary, Bonnie, was also in the garage. Her phone rang. She answered it and reentered the building.
Carl collected himself and his breathing slowed. He spoke softly.
“I’m not blaming anyone. But I hope you gentlemen understand—we had forty family members at each other’s throats over the matter of suspending life support for a dying young man. And out of the blue that argument was resolved, because an eighty seven year old woman—in our chapel—spoke with the Angel Gabriel.”
Jordan and Babe checked with the nurses’ station and a couple of FBI agents and police officers. All reports of Jack’s condition were positive. The agents and officers reported no updates on the shooting incident.
“Thank God,” Babe said.
“The Petrellis have settled down, at least for now.”
He and Jordan returned to the waiting room and repeated the updates. Jordan noticed that his audience was waiting for him. He stretched and cleared his throat.
“Jack practically dragged me through school by the collar. He knew that I couldn’t afford to be at UMass, even as an undergrad. After my dad passed there wasn’t much money, and I had a sister and two brothers in high school and another brother in junior high. Jack would sit me down and slap scholarship applications in front of me and then stand there until I filled them out. I don’t even know where they went. Jack sent them off himself.
“I knew Jack’s family had come into oil money, and I know there were some political connections that he never talked about.
“ I started getting checks in the mail from this foundation, that foundation—always enough for tuition, room and board. I found cash in my wallet that I knew he had put there. Sometimes I found money in my textbooks. I asked him about it once.
“He stood up, raised his head to the ceiling, spread out his arms and cried to the heavens, ’Why, God? Why is there money in my wallet? And now that I have your attention, why am I six-foot-four and good looking? Why are perky breasted young women flirting with me? Why? Why? Why?’
“I hit him with a pillow and we never talked about it again; Having Jack as a roommate probably added twenty percent to my GPA. Son of a bitch is that guy sharp.
“My brother Bill called me. He got this big envelope in the mail full of scholarship applications, with a hand written note that said, ‘please make copies of these for you and your brothers and sister. Fill them out and send them to Jordan. Jordan is my friend. Just do it.’
“After graduation we applied at the Bureau, and we were accepted at the same time. About eight years later I started getting calls from home— calls about my mother. She was locking herself out of the house and forgetting to p
ay bills. She fell and broke a hip and an arm.
“My brothers and sister were all in school and the two youngest were still at home. I didn’t know what else to do. She was my Mom and she gave everything for us kids, especially after Dad died.
“I took a leave of absence and moved home to look after her and the two youngest. It was tough, but I resigned from the Bureau. I took a position as counselor at the same high school that I graduated from.
“Jack set me up with a security camera system. That setup streamed over the internet to my laptop— that way I could keep an eye on Mom and still make a living. I was able to be with her when she passed,” Jordan’s voice quivered just a little.
“My baby brother graduated the next spring.
“Jack saw to it that RCI was included in the Federal benefit and retirement plans. The first time I got a retirement statement their records showed me covered continuously—from the first day that I worked at the Bureau. I didn’t want that biting me on the ass later, so I made a call to personnel. The receptionist put me on hold. When she came back, she said, ‘Mr. Blackledge, I am reading from an entry in your file that was placed there by a senior Bureau official.
“‘Tell Mr. Blackledge to mind his own damn business and get back to work.’ ‘Will there be anything else, Mr. Blackledge?’ Jesus. How different would my life have been without Jack?”
Jordan glanced toward the sleeping corner.
“Uh, oh. I hope Goldilocks didn’t fall asleep in somebody’s bed because that is one huge Papa Bear.”
Babe, Tom, and Millie looked around to see Marshall Gates in his lab coat and stethoscope. He tiptoed past the row of recliners and sofa beds looking for a familiar face.
