by Nathan Roden
‘The only other constant through all the years, Ray, has been men standing around a fire and drinking beer’.
God, I think I’ve just created the format for ESPN Number Eight—which also is not math. But, I digress. Sue me.
The couple continued to argue.
They probably just need a happy song. I could teach them one. Sing with me, now.
*Shit, shit, shitty shit.*
*Shit, shit, shit.*
Tune in again tomorrow for Mr. Babe's neighborhood. See ya real soon…
The door at the end of the bar opened.
Gabriel glanced at the couple on his way to Babe’s booth.
Babe swung his legs underneath the table. Gabriel sat down.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Angel Man,” Babe said.
“It is good to see you again, Mr. B— Babe,” Gabriel said.
“I talked to the guy who has your phone number; or his phone number. You know what I mean,” Babe said.
“I wanted to tell you that Jack is home from the hospital and that the Bureau should be contacting you any day.”
“That’s great news. I heard that your stepfather has withdrawn from the Senate race. I’m very sorry,” Gabriel said.
Babe took a long pull on his beer.
“Yeah. Good news in one hand and shit in the other. It’s a damned good thing you told me to call my mother. If we weren’t speaking when this happened— well, I would have felt like a complete ass and it would have been that much more difficult for her.”
“You don’t have to—” Gabriel began.
“How the hell do you do it? Where does this power come from? You don’t really expect me to think you’re just picking up cosmic signal particles out of the air, do you? Are there more of you out there? The friends you play with, maybe?” Babe said, as he leaned across the table.
He squinted into Gabriel’s eyes as if they might have answers written on them.
“I told you before, Babe. There is no magic. People give off all types of signals without ever knowing it: body language, vocal inflections, tics. People refuse to acknowledge their own premonitions, but think nothing of it when animals or insects appear to foretell the future. The planet itself emits energy and frequencies, as does every living thing. And the more we know—”
“The less we know,” Babe finished the thought. “I would tell you that you’re full of shit, except you’re probably less full of shit that anybody I can think of.”
Babe rubbed his eyes with his palms.
“I was so infatuated with human psychology, for a while. I wanted to understand people. Hell, I just wanted to understand myself. I was being taught how to deal with people’s problems at the same time that I was desperate for answers to what was happening right in front of me.
“I know that I wasn’t at my best back then, but somewhere along the way, the education took a left turn. The teaching was moving away from the known, toward the unknown; more and more theory—not so many facts. And no longer any mention of right or wrong.
“Some of the viewpoints that were being referred to as “recognized experts” were more like mushroom-soaked stargazers. I was getting more confused and depressed, even cynical. I originally planned to go all the way to psychiatry, but I couldn’t imagine myself with keys to the pharmacy and a dartboard with drug names where the numbers were supposed to be. Jesus.”
“I had a Mentor who would say that your doubts are not a sign that the field is wrong for you, but rather a sign that you are good for the field,” Gabriel said.
“The education is important but it cannot provide the most essential element. You have a good heart, Mr. Babelton. The field of psychology is fortunate to have you.”
Babe exhaled heavily.
“Thank you,” he said. “You know what? We don’t really change all that much, do we? When you hit an RBI single in a Little League game and you get the applause and slaps on the back—you’re on top of the world for a few minutes. We chase that same feeling the rest of our lives—every last one of us. We could give that to each other every day, but we don’t. So this fool will continue to rush in—”
“Where angels fear to tread. Right?” Gabriel asked.
“What? You didn’t write that?” Babe asked.
“I feel badly that you and those close to you have had to deal with so much pain. I am very… I know that your wife was a very special person,” Gabriel said.
“But—” Babe closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“It is beyond comprehension to lose someone so young. I am very glad that her father is going to be all right,” Gabriel said.
“May I tell you something, in confidence?”
“Of course.”
“The people I am working with have informed me that my joining the Bureau may be postponed; perhaps even canceled.”
“What?” Babe asked.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m just saying that this is a possibility. It may depend on the time frame in which I am contacted. An unforeseen situation in a sensitive location has come up. I probably should not have told you, but I …I wanted to. This is unofficial and classified, however.” Gabriel said.
Babe ran his hands through his hair.
“Never a dull moment with you, is there, Mr. Athas?”
“I believe that I would like to try some dull moments, one day.”
Gabriel reached down to the floor and pulled up a small briefcase. He opened it, pulled out a document sized envelope, and sat the briefcase beside him. He slid the envelope in front of Babe, leaving his hand on top of it.
“What is that?” Babe asked.
“An envelope,” Gabriel said.
“Marvelous inventions. Brilliant concept.”
“Is it for me?” Babe asked.
Gabriel’s face lost all levity.
“Do not open this now. It would be better if you opened it at home. Trust me on this. It is important. Agreed?”
“You’re scaring me again.”
“I’m serious, Babe. Agreed?”
“Of course. Whatever you say.”
Gabriel held his hand across the table.
Babe took Gabriel’s hand and immediately felt dizzy. A felling of vertigo overwhelmed him.
“I’ll never see you again,” Babe whispered.
Gabriel stood.
“You see? It is not magic at all.”
Babe continued to stare at Gabriel.
“Do you ever see—?”
“See what?” Gabriel asked.
Babe smiled.
“Never mind. Be well, my friend,”
Gabriel had taken three steps when Babe said,
“Shadows?”
Gabriel stopped. He turned and walked back to Babe’s side. He placed a hand on top of Babe’s head.
Then he took both of his hands and messed up Babe’s hair.
Babe looked up at him.
“Life is short?” he asked.
A clenched-teeth expletive pierced the air from the booth where the couple continued to argue. The young girl was crying. Babe watched as Gabriel walked toward the booth.
Gabriel leaned slightly toward the couple. His left hand rested on the rear of the booth behind the young man.
Gabriel’s arm split in two the shadow at the man’s back. The shadow squirmed in protest, writhing around the man’s head and neck. It spun around his arms, staking its claim to the man’s body as it avoided Gabriel’s arm.
Gabriel said a few words and clenched his left hand into a fist as he backed away from the booth.
The shadow was his captive.
The young man slid from his side of the booth and onto the seat at the girl’s side. He put his arms around her and she fell sobbing into his chest.
Babe was having trouble breathing.
He looked at Gabriel as the shadow whipped and snapped like a sail in a hurricane, trying to escape Gabriel’s grasp. Gabriel brought his right hand together with his l
eft. The shadow was pulled toward the middle of Gabriel’s hands, shrinking and screaming as it continued to struggle.
When the shadow was totally contained between Gabriel’s hands, a reddish light began to glow there. As it grew brighter Gabriel’s hands came closer and closer together. Babe had to squint and he turned his head away. His peripheral vision caught the last blinding flash of light.
The shadow was gone.
Babe continued to stare at Gabriel’s clasped hands.
“Babe,” Gabriel said softly.
Babe silently stared, open mouthed, at Gabriel’s hands.
“Babe,” Gabriel said again.
Babe blinked several times and looked up at Gabriel’s face.
“Yeah?” Babe said.
“All the freaking time.”
Gabriel turned, and then he was gone.
Babe watched him go.
It was all like a dream. He looked down at the envelope underneath his hands. He realized that he was now afraid of it. It couldn’t be anything ordinary. Look where it had come from. Babe started to open the envelope, there in his booth, but then he stopped.
A few more customers had gathered nearby and he was overcome by a sense of danger. He took the envelope into the men’s room. The room was empty. He locked himself into a stall. He unclasped the envelope and felt inside. His fingers felt the slick surface of glossy photo paper. He slid the photos from the envelope.
“Oh, my God. Oh, shit. Holy Jesus.”
Thirty-Four
Babe tried to contain the intensity of his knocking. It wasn’t that late, but he had not called ahead. He could not imagine trying to talk on the phone right now. He didn’t want to wake the neighbors.
But he was very, very anxious for Jack to open his door.
“Babe, good to see you. What—” Jack said.
He turned as Babe squeezed past him into the house. Babe was nearly hyperventilating, and pacing back and forth.
“What is it, son? You don’t look so good—”
“I think you had better sit down, Jack,” Babe said.
“I’m used to revelations, Babe. Job hazard.”
“I still think…please sit down, Jack.”
“Okay, okay Babe. I’ll sit down. Just breathe, son. Do you need a drink? Or a paper bag?”
Babe shook his head so hard that he was sure he looked psychotic.
Jack kept an eye on Babe as he slid into a dining room chair.
Babe put the envelope in front of Jack and stepped back. He ran his hands through his hair and shifted his weight between his legs.
When Jack shot to his feet he propelled his chair backward, shattering three panes of a divided light window in his dining room.
They didn’t even notice.
Babe tried to appear calm but he noticed Lucy looking at him like she was annoyed. He had looked through a Golf Digest and two issues of Sports Illustrated at a ridiculous speed. He couldn’t have told anyone what was on a single page of any of them. He finally realized that his hands were shaking and he was making a lot of noise.
“Mr. Babelton?” Lucy said.
Babe stood quickly and stepped to Lucy’s desk.
“Don’t get excited,” she said with a little smirk. “Jack hasn’t called yet. You seem a little….wound up. You know what? Down that hall there are some interrogation rooms. They are totally soundproof and serve multiple purposes. We call them ‘scream rooms’. Sometimes it helps, Honey.”
Babe laughed nervously.
“No, no. I’m fine. Thank you, though. Really.”
Lucy shrugged.
“Okay. Suit yourself. I use them.”
“Hey, Jack. Look, I’m sorry I dropped that shit on you but I wasn’t sure—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Babe. You did exactly the right thing. We’ve had a few days to run with this—”
“Can’t you turn this over to someone else? You’ve been back to work for what? A day and a half? I would have given them to Jordan if he was around. Jesus, Jack. You were damn near killed twenty five days ago. I’m going to feel like total shit if you keel over on me now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And I’m running on enough adrenaline to fuel my corpse for a couple of months, anyway. I want you in my office tomorrow afternoon at two. Get a good night’s sleep.”
“Holy shit, Jack. Tomorrow?”
“Show-time.”
“Babe, this is Jerry Snider, with the Accounting and Finance Division. Len Shackleford, Washington Security Division. And David Ferguson, Massachusetts Comptroller’s office. Gentlemen, Joshua Babelton, Research Consultants, Inc.” Jack said.
Jack was without the sling for his left arm but he still used the cane.
“Call me Babe, everybody does,” Babe said.
“Go get him, Len.”
Len Shackleford returned to the office behind Russell Eckhart, who entered the office in a defiant posture with his tie loosened. He carried some papers and glared over the top of his reading glasses. He was in the middle of something and agitated about it.
“What is it, Jack? I was in the middle of…What is Babelton doing…what the hell is this, Jack?”
“I think you will find this worth your time, Russell. Have a seat,” Jack said.
“If you require my attendance then you are capable of notifi—’ Eckhart started to say, but Jack signaled Len Shackleford, who placed his huge hand on Russell Eckhart’s shoulder and shoved him into the chair in front of Jack’s desk.
“I believe your superior requested that you have a seat, Mr. Eckhart,” Shackleford said.
Eckhart lost his bravado at this point.
“I met your stepfather at Quantico several years ago, Russell,” Jack said. “So, I can’t tell you anything that you don’t already know. The man was an asshole. But he had friends. Most assholes have a few asshole friends. That’s what makes the world go ‘round, right Russell? Jerry, here, we’ve been friends for years. We play racquetball once a week. I’m going to beat him one day.”
“You wish,” Jerry Snider said from his at-ease position.
Jack chuckled.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. This shoulder will never be as good as it once was. I can’t really complain, though. I’ll have lots of time to recuperate—Unlike Dominick Petrelli. No, he will have no more days, because some little pricks decided to plant their little criminal operation right here—right under our noses and right in our goddamn backyard. Hiding in our basement and waiting to crawl out at night like cockroaches.”
“What the hell are you doing, Jack? I feel just as bad about Petrelli as any—”
Jack stabbed his cane into the floor and used it to propel himself to his feet.
“You’ve gotten really careful lately, haven’t you, Russell? Not like last year. No, last year you were careless. Careless and fearless, I would say; fueled up the company car in Jersey. Forgot to get cash that day, huh, Russ? Not very smart. We’ve been watching you for a long time. We knew where you had been so we knew where to look.
“Now, of course, that wouldn’t really be any big fucking deal, if it weren’t for these.”
Jack threw down the stack of eight by ten glossy photos on his desk. Several of them slid across the desk and to the floor. But enough of them landed on the desk in front of Russell Eckhart to produce a look of terror.
The high quality, high definition photos showed Russell Eckhart entering and exiting several different hotel rooms accompanied by very obviously under-aged girls—and one boy.
“Finding this hotel was not that difficult—there are enough landmarks in the background. Nor was it difficult to find two others, all listed in the name of a non-existent corporation whose trail leads precisely nowhere. Who would have thought that you would find so many T1 and T3 internet service lines leading into three dirty little budget hotels along the interstate? What could those possibly be for? Jerry?”
Jerry Snider opened a notebook.
“Identity theft, stolen corporate credit
card numbers, phishing programs, keystroke loggers, trojans, illegal gambling sites, underage prostitution: Girls from Thailand, Indonesia, Central America—just about the whole fucking criminal kitchen sink, Jack.”
“Right this minute,” Jack said, “twenty-six little hackers are crying like little girls and pissing into their shoes. And I’m quite sure all of them will recognize Mr. Eckhart, here. Hell, Russell. Did you know that you’re a movie star? We’ve already found sixteen hotel rooms full of high tech surveillance and video recording equipment, so no doubt blackmail and extortion will be added to the list.”
Jack began to yell, something Babe had never heard him do. A vein stood out on Jack’s forehead. His skin turned red and spit flew from his lips.
“Dominick Petrelli is dead. His wife is a widow. His children are without a father and his parents are heartbroken because these fucking criminals got to someone on the inside—someone who had the access to pass Andrew London’s fake credentials and personnel files straight through into our system.”
Jack pushed the PA button on his intercom. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat.
“Attention, attention, all personnel. Outside my office—right now.”
Jack walked from behind his desk toward the door and said to Len Shackleford in a voice filled with venom,
“Get him on his goddamned feet.”
Babe followed the procession from Jack’s office into the area in front of it. He spotted MG, who was standing to his left. Jack nodded to Len Shackleford, who walked over and locked the entrance door. Twenty-eight men and eleven women looked on nervously. No one said anything as they all tried to appear cool.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jack began. “I regret to inform you that Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Russell Eckhart, will be leaving our office today after ten years of service.”
