by Michael Todd
Finally, prompted in part by his mental wandering, he came up with the idea to dress casually. It wasn’t like he looked good in a suit and tie anyway. Not anymore. There was a time way back when proms were still something he actually cared about and he looked rather snappy in a tux. Very James Bond-like, according to his mother.
Those times had passed, and he felt too uncomfortable in a suit and tie. That discomfort would simply not happen tonight. Savage also felt there was no uniform attire he would feel comfortable in and therefore look good in. Even though he hadn’t felt awkward in the ceremonial uniform from his time in the military forces, he doubted that he would be seen anywhere near that particular uniform any time soon. It was the inevitable result of the fact that he was dead to everyone who had ever seen him in one.
It wasn’t a particularly inspiring mindset to be in when he had to head out to have a meal with his ex, but Savage was good at compartmentalization. He could put this mindset aside for the moment. It worried him more that he didn’t even know what he would face with Coleman. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he acknowledged a trace of ice in his veins—much like he usually felt when he knew he was going into combat.
He had no idea why he would feel like that given that this was simply a social meeting. The overflow wasn’t good compartmentalization either. It was essentially drawing on something entirely separate to manage an unrelated issue.
It wasn’t healthy. He knew it but wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Savage dragged himself reluctantly out of his apartment and headed down to his car. He didn’t like that he had time to think about this. It would be obvious to anyone who ever met him that he’d had a workout and cleaned himself up for this. He didn’t like the subtle implications it carried.
A part of him was relieved that he’d dressed casually. Jeans, boots, and a button-up shirt were definitely preferable to a suit. As a last-minute decision, he’d shrugged into a leather jacket Sam had given him as a joke—but which he actually really liked—to complete the outfit with a little something extra. He reached his car all too quickly and paused to look at it with a small smile. His car. It was a pleasant affirmation of how far he had come, even if it wasn’t remotely impressive—certainly, nothing like Anderson’s Mustang.
It was a hybrid. He didn’t care for them but the mileage was decent, which meant fewer trips to the gas station. It was simply a tool to get him from point A to point B. If he ever got his hands on something he could really treat well, that was when things would change.
He stepped inside and reversed out of the garage and into the street. The rush hour was still noticeable but it had died down enough in the inner city to allow him to reach the restaurant Coleman had selected for them without unnecessary delays.
It was a good call as restaurants went, he decided. The bar at the very front attracted considerable attention. Three or four bartenders were there at all times, while the restaurant was in the back. He could see she was already at the bar, halfway through the gin and tonic she’d ordered while she waited.
Savage cleared his throat and took a quick look at himself in some of the nearby reflective surfaces before he pushed inside and tried once again to anticipate what she would say when he reached her.
He should have been able to guess.
“Hey.” She smiled and took a quick sip from her drink. “Do you want to move to the table?”
“Hold your horses there, Coleman,” he said with a chuckle and slid hastily onto the seat a couple of the nearby single men were eyeing. Depending on how patient they were and how the night went, they might actually have their chance later on, he mused.
“Don’t you want to get to the meal?” she asked and regarded him curiously. “I hear the Steak au Poivre here is really good.”
“And I look forward to finding out what the fuck that is,” he said with a nod. “But if this meal will go the way I think it will, we should probably avail ourselves of as much alcohol as we can get our hands on.”
Coleman chuckled and nodded agreement as he waved one of the bartenders over. “Double of bourbon, neat, please.”
“You got it,” the man replied briskly and delivered the drink in a few seconds. Savage paid for it and settled into his seat before he made the double into a single in one sip. It wasn’t something he usually did, but the night wasn’t a usual one, was it?
She appeared to feel the same and drained her gin and tonic and requested another one in quick succession.
“For the meal,” she said with a smile.
He shrugged. “I’m not judging.” He really wasn’t. The only reason why he hadn’t lubricated as quickly himself was because he was on an empty stomach. If there was anything thing worse than talking to your ex about your relationship, it was talking to your ex about your relationship while completely hammered.
They moved to their reserved table by unspoken mutual agreement. The restaurant definitely wasn’t the kind of place he usually went to, but that wasn’t the highest of bars to clear. He was the kind of person who could cook for himself, and when he wanted something different, he would get a burger or a steak at a sports bar and that would be that.
From the menu that listed first course, second course, dessert, and wine, he could tell this was a classier establishment than he was used to. Well, it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it anymore. With the stipend Monroe and Anderson paid to retain his services for when they needed him to apply a little pressure to the opposition, he could afford to eat there once or twice a month.
Both chose the ceviche for a starter, something Coleman had ordered and he simply went along with her choice. She made a show of studying the wine menu and ordered a dry Riesling.
Savage knew it was some kind of white wine, but he didn’t want to appear as though he relied on her for his order.
“I’ll…have a beer,” he said with a firm nod and handed the first-course menu back to the waiter.
The tall, lean man smiled politely in response. “And what kind of beer does the gentleman prefer?”
“Whatever you have on tap,” he insisted and pushed the drinks menu into the man’s hand.
“We have a variety of beers on tap here, sir,” the waiter replied. Savage couldn’t be sure in the dim lighting, but he would have bet the kid was toying with him. Coleman obviously thought the same thing because she stepped in to rescue him.
“Something to go with the ceviche,” she said and with a firm nudge, insisted the server take the menu. “An IPA, for instance.”
“An IPA it is.” The waiter’s smile clearly indicated that he liked her more than Savage and he retreated quickly to relay their order.
“So,” Coleman said once they were alone.
“So,” he replied. “What the hell is a ceviche?”
She laughed and shook her head. “It’s basically fish that has been cured in citric—lime, in this case—liberally spiced and served with a couple of dips like mango and avocado. Something appetizing and light to start the meal off.”
“Couldn’t we have gone to a sushi joint for raw fish?” he asked as their drinks arrived. He did have to admit, the aggressively hoppy taste of the beer she had ordered for him—the IPA?—was a good way to get his appetite going.
“It’s not raw, it’s cured.” She laughed, sipped her wine, and made a pleased face. He wondered for a moment if he should have gone for the wine too. “Besides, this is only a starter. We came here for the steak, right?”
“Right, the steak au pwah?” Savage asked with a grin.
“Poivre,” Coleman corrected. “It’s French, so about two-thirds of the letters in the writing will be silent for some reason.”
“Well, color me impressed.” Savage looked around a little awkwardly. He’d noticed she’d had more or less the same idea as he had and arrived in what looked like a casual outfit. She still looked stunning in a summer dress, and it did remind him of their mission together in the hotel. “I’m…not really used to restaurants like thes
e if it wasn’t obvious already.”
“I only know about it because of my parents, to be honest,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “They liked to put on a show of how classy they were and made sure I knew everything about it too when they entertained guests in their home.”
“That sounds…boring,” he observed but further comment paused when their waiter approached with the food they’d ordered. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he held what resembled an overturned bowl of slices of cured fish tangled in citric sauce. Small, decorative dots of yellow and green represented the dip she had mentioned.
“Bon Appetit,” the waiter said and beat a hasty retreat.
“So…” Savage said and raised an eyebrow.
“It’s better than it looks.” Coleman laughed and used her fork to toy with the fish a little and mix it with the sauces. “Give it a try. This is a classy establishment, so they won’t judge you if you leave most of the food on your plate. We’re here for the steak, remember?”
After a moment, he nodded and followed her example to mix the food with his fork a few times before he tried a small mouthful. It smelled like lime and he grimaced when he first tasted it. The flesh was a little slimy, but it also tasted like lime plus a host of other herbs and spices, which made it light and refreshing if you could get past the fact that you were eating semi-raw fish.
At that point, he could look past a lot of shit. He hadn’t eaten much all day.
His plate was empty in less than five minutes. Coleman wasn’t halfway finished with her course and she grinned at him while he cleaned his plate with some of the bread supplied in a basket.
“What?”
“Well, here I was thinking you might have something against the ceviche,” she replied and her grin widened. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, though.”
“Enjoy might be too strong a word.” Savage waited until his mouth wasn’t full anymore before he spoke and dabbed his mouth clean lightly. “It wasn’t terrible, though, and I’ve certainly had worse. I had a couple of runs in a certain South American jungle where we ran out of food supplies.”
“This won’t be one of those ‘slimy yet satisfying’ stories, is it?” Coleman asked.
He had intended to tell her about how they’d raided a couple of termite mounds and roasted the insects over a hastily built fire for food. Considering the company they were in, however, it might not be the right kind of story to tell. “I…yes, I suppose it was. Although termites end up more crunchy than slimy—which is a word I would apply to this ceviche stuff.”
“Fair enough.” The waiter returned and they placed their order. Once again, they concurred on their meals and both chose the Steak au Poivre she had raved about. He also went with her red wine suggestion for them both, which saved them from having to deal with the condescending waiter.
Savage took a single bite of the steak and closed his eyes. “Well hot fucking damn, that’s a good fucking steak. And I don’t care if it isn’t the right kind of language for this place. When you make a steak this good, you have to expect some red-blooded folks to curse their way to a compliment.”
Coleman couldn’t help a laugh, but she didn’t respond as she chose to focus her attention on consuming the medium-rare piece of meat. The peppercorns formed a tasty crust that complemented the flavor as well as the thick, creamy, cognac-y sauce paired with bacon-wrapped asparagus. This time, she finished before he did, which indicated that they were both equally famished. The second course finished, they allowed themselves a little time to enjoy the wine.
“I need to come here more often,” he said with a chuckle and shook his head as if to almost make it a joke. “So, what have you been up to?”
“Smooth segue there, Jer.” She grinned at him, tilted her head, and took a sip of her wine. “Well, Monroe has run me ragged. When she realized I was one of the few researchers she could trust, she jumped me from one lab opening to the next. Basically, I had to identify fires started by our good friend Carlson and put them out. I heard he’s gone to jail, but that doesn’t seem to have done much to cool the fervor of the dumbasses who take his money.”
Savage shrugged. “It might seem odd to say this, but for some reason, these folks are loyal to the man. For the life of me, I don’t understand why.”
She looked thoughtful as she cleaned her plate with some bread. “You don’t get as high as he did without acquiring a couple of loyal followers, I suppose. Things have quieted over the past few weeks, which is why I was able to come here and report instead of being flown to another lab that needs my help. I assume what you and Anderson have done is working.”
“We…might have made a couple of statements,” he said with a nod. “We stole back stolen material, caught a few rats trying to steal stuff, and sicced a couple of Mexican hit squads on some loyalist board members.”
Coleman grinned. “Am I supposed to know about any of this?”
“Probably not, but it’s not like you’d be able to prove any of it anyway.” He smirked. “Besides, if you tried to do anything about it, Anderson would send me your way.”
There was a hint of an awkward silence between them and he regretted what he’d said almost immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally while the plates were cleared. “It’s not really something to make light of.”
“It’s okay,” she replied. “It’s just…for a second there, I almost forgot what you do for a living. Hell, what we do for a living. God, my life is so much more interesting than I’d like these days.”
“You don’t mean that,” Savage challenged with a grin before he finished his red wine. His phone rang in the silence that followed, and he reached into his pocket to press the button that would send the call to voicemail.
“Well, the jury is still out on that.” She chortled although her expression remained partly serious. “But that’s the official story I’m sticking with anyway.”
He smirked and immediately thought of a comeback but lost it when his phone buzzed again. Irritated, he pressed the voicemail button again and tried to return his attention to Coleman. His phone buzzed once but only once to tell him a text message had arrived.
“Do you need to get that?” she asked.
“Give me a second to see what it is,” he replied and scowled. “It might be Anderson to say he’s fallen and can’t get up.”
He pulled the phone out. The number on both the missed calls was blocked. So was the one behind the text message, but the origin quickly became clear when he read the message.
Answer your fucking phone – Control
“Who is Control?” Coleman asked when he showed her the message.
“Oh, it’s Anja,” Savage replied, pushed out of his seat, and placed his napkin on the table. “It’s…an inside joke we came up with. She felt left out after we started to build a team, so we made it up to make her feel better. I’ll explain the full story later, but I think I need to take this.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll order us dessert.”
“I’d appreciate it.” The device vibrated again and he grimaced. “Get me something with chocolate, okay?”
“Will do.” She smirked as the waiter came over with the dessert menus, and he hurried to the exit while the phone continued to ring.
Chapter Five
He moved outside the bar, away from the road, and finally chose an alley behind the restaurant as a quiet and secluded location appropriate for taking a call from Anja.
When he answered the damn thing and put it to his ear, he could already hear the Russian hacker. She sounded angry and cussed at him for a few seconds in Russian before she reverted to English.
“Goddamnit, Savage. Don’t you answer your fucking phone anymore?” she asked but didn’t slow enough for him to slip an answer past her barrage of assumedly foul language. “What, are you in the middle of something? I think you can take a couple of minutes out of your busy schedule of picking up skanky drunk chicks to answer your damn phone.”
&nb
sp; Savage nodded. “I was…with company.”
“Are you on a date right now?” Anja asked.
“I…no,” Savage said. It wasn’t a lie, not really. He and Coleman had both agreed that it wasn’t a date.
“You do know I can look you up based on the GPS signal on your phone and simply look into the security cameras, right?” she asked and revealed the reason why he really regretted having lied. If he’d simply said he was at a bar hooking up with someone, she probably wouldn’t have gone further than to berate him a little more. That much, at least, was evident by the fact that she hadn’t tried to find a camera view of him already.
“Aw, is that Dr. Coleman? Jessica?” she asked and confirmed that she’d already accessed the camera feeds. “I really liked her. What happened between you two kids anyway?”
“That’s none of your business,” he retorted and paced the alley in irritation. “And before you threaten me with hours wasted on digging through my personal life, might I ask if there was a point to you calling me repeatedly?”
“Oh, right,” the hacker said with a chuckle like she had almost forgotten the matter in light of more intriguing possibilities. “I have sleeper programs in place all over the databases in the US government. The purpose is to make sure they don’t access certain files and break out certain documents I would rather they keep secret. I would explain, but there’s no time for that. The down and dirty of it is that your personal file in the Pentagon has been raided.”
“I have a personal file in the Pentagon?” Savage frowned as he considered that. He’d thought his tracks had been covered more efficiently.
“Well, Jeremiah Savage doesn’t have much in the way of anything like files anywhere,” she said. “You’re welcome for that, by the way, and thanks for taking such good care of your online profiles. It’s surprisingly easy to keep you off the books. Anyway, Savage is a ghost. Jeremiah Johnson, on the other hand, has a number of files in place—as the Pentagon usually does since they like to keep thorough tabs on the killers they’ve spent millions and millions of dollars training and developing.”
