Chaotic Be Jack (The Cap's Place Series Book 5)

by Robert Tarrant

  Waving his hand in the direction of his boat, one of the few that had returned to what was left of the marina, Justin said, “Damn, just when I think I’ve found a home, it gets jerked out from under me.”

  I shook my head and scoffed. “Somehow, I just can’t put you and home in the same sentence.” A few days ago I would never have said anything nearly that direct to Justin, but our shared experience through Hurricane Ella had definitely altered our relationship. I added, “One of your cronies will call needing your help on some adventure halfway around the world and you’ll be gone again.”

  “Adventure. You think those missions are adventures?” A dark cloud had engulfed his face.

  “Well . . .”

  He cut me off. “I can see why you might think that, Jack. You haven’t been there, but take it from me, adventure is the last word I’d use to describe what I do. What I did.” The dark cloud remained as he took a long swallow of his beer.

  With my newfound bravado, I forged ahead. “Justin, the first time I really talked with you, when you were helping me protect Sissy, you said you were finished with that life. Didn’t seem to hold true then and I have my doubts that it’ll hold true now.” I paused a second and then added, “Just being honest with you, Justin. I don’t think you can give up that life. Whatever that life is. I’ll admit that I don’t really know what your life is, but whatever it is, it’s got a death grip on you.” Death was probably not a good word choice, but the Landshark had eroded my usual sensitivity.

  Justin pursed his lips and slipped into a thousand-yard stare. Finally he said, “I appreciate your perspective, Jack. What you say is true. A few years ago I did think I was going to move on, but I slipped right back into the same old routine. Different employers, but same stuff. Maybe it was a sense of duty, maybe it was a need for the adrenaline rush, maybe it was the money.” His voice trailed off as he drew in a deep breath. Then he added, “This time is different.”

  A couple of minutes passed as we both watched a gull floating on the air currents above us. Suddenly Justin started talking again, but it seemed as if he were talking more to himself than to me. “Fly thousands of miles to claw your way through a godforsaken jungle to rescue some civilian who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and what’s the memory you bring back? Killing a fourteen-year-old kid. That’s the memory you bring back. That’s the memory that haunts your dreams most nights.”

  I really had no idea what to say, but then I didn’t entertain for a second that Justin was looking for any help from me. He was merely stating the problem out loud. His problem. Of course, a friend, and somehow I felt that we were friends now, would be there to help wrestle with the problem. I asked, “Something you want to talk about?”

  Justin looked directly at me. His usual stoic expression melted into something much less impenetrable. A deep sadness was clearly visible, though intertwined with something akin to wonder. The sadness had been masked and the wonder looked to be a new experience. He cocked his head slightly and said, “Yeah, sure . . . why the hell not?” He took another long pull on his Landshark and words started tumbling out of him. “The mission was undertaken for the right reasons. An American businessman is snatched off of the streets of a supposedly civilized city in a South American country. Diplomatic inquiries turn up nothing. The local authorities say they’re looking, but they’re notoriously inept. Obviously, the family is frantic. Over time, the family and the employer lose any confidence in the foreign government’s ability to find our missing guy.

  “Finally, thirty days after his disappearance, the employer is contacted by an intermediary who says he has a ransom demand from the captors. The employer contacts the U.S. Government and covert intelligence activities are focused on the intermediary. Unfortunately, contact is so sporadic that little progress is made in identifying the intermediary, much less finding our businessman. Months drag on as the negotiations proceed at a snail’s pace. The collective wisdom of the intelligence gurus is that while the intermediary is a real pro, the kidnappers are amateurs. Probably the reason our guy is still alive. The pro kidnappers in that particular part of the world tend to kill any captives not ransomed within a week or so.” Justin paused and took a drink of his beer. I said nothing.

  “The dragging negotiations actually turned the tide on the whole mess. Periodically, the employer, at the direction of our intelligence guys, would require proof that their employee was still alive. With each proof-of-life message, the intelligence people monitoring communications in that part of the world got closer to finding his location and finally, bingo, they pinpointed his location to a camp of some little-known rebel group deep in the Amazon jungle. An argument ensues in Washington about the best approach to rescue the guy. Whether to turn the intel over to the host government and hope they can pull off the rescue or to send in a covert ops team. The employer now loses confidence in the ability of the Washington bureaucrats to make a good decision, or any decision, and that’s where we come into the story.”

  I was biting my tongue to keep from blurting out questions. I kept telling myself to just listen. This exercise isn’t about my understanding of what happened, it’s about Justin being able to verbalize what’s haunting him. He continued, “I went as part of a small team with the mission of snatching this guy back. We had logistical and communications support from our military, but the idea was to have the actual work done by contractors.” Justin finished draining his beer before adding, “Frankly, I think that’s what the bureaucrats wanted all along, they just didn’t want to propose it, so they drug their feet until the employer made the suggestion.”

  As I handed Justin another beer, I asked, “Why do it that way? Seems more complicated.”

  “Washington’s magic speak, deniability. If something went wrong, it would most likely be with the guys on the ground. Washington could say they weren’t involved, that the employer had gone out and hired a bunch of mercenaries.” He paused long enough to take a drink of his fresh beer.

  “Anyway, nothing did go wrong. Clean insertion. Tough terrain, but we made our way to the camp without a hitch. Made entry, grabbed our guy, and slipped away undetected. Textbook. The damn mission was textbook.” The dark cloud again materialized on his face as he slipped back into the thousand-yard stare.

  I toed a chunk of broken lumber with my foot and asked softly, “If it was textbook and you rescued the guy, what haunts you, Justin?”

  He didn’t speak for a minute as his eyes drifted to the scarred pavement at his feet. Several deep grooves had been gouged into the pavement as Hurricane Ella drove boats from the marina into the parking lot. Finally, he looked up at me with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. A sadness that looked like it extended deep into his soul. He replied, “I was point on the entry into the shack where our guy was being held. I made entry, eliminated his armed guard, and extracted him. At the time I hardly gave it a thought.” Another long pause and then, “Maybe that’s the problem . . . I didn’t really give it a thought. At least not until the guy we rescued asked me why I had to kill a fourteen-year-old kid.”

  It took a minute for his words to register. I asked, “The guy you risked your lives to rescue questioned your actions?”

  Justin nodded and said, “The problem isn’t that he questioned my actions. The problem is that he was right. I probably didn’t need to kill the kid. It was just the most expedient way to deal with the situation. The most expedient way to protect the captive, prevent the kid from sounding the alarm.”

  I ventured into topics I had no experience with. “Sounds like more than just being expedient, Justin. Sounds like there was a great deal at risk. The lives of all of you. The hostage, you, your team. If you had attempted something less lethal, and failed, you would have put everyone at risk. Besides, you said this guy was armed. Fourteen years old, or not, he was a threat to you and the hostage. He was an armed combatant. You had every right to protect yourself and the hostage.”

  Justin nodded. “It’s not the l
egality I’m questioning. Although, it’s a little murky exactly what the rules of engagement would be in this situation. The U.S. wasn’t there, remember. No, it’s not the legality of actions that gives me nightmares. If that was the case, I wouldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep for years. It’s . . . it’s . . . .” The faraway stare came back and his voice softened. “I guess it’s the killing. Not just killing the kid. I can’t take responsibility for the shitty world that put him in that situation. No, I guess having the very guy we rescued question my actions just caused me to look harder at myself. If I’m honest, I’m just tired of killing.”

  “If you hadn’t gone down there, the guy would still be a hostage. Is that what he would have preferred?”

  “Oh, I doubt that. But, frankly, I don’t give a damn what he thinks. His comments only prompted me to think about things I’ve avoided facing for a long time. When I was in the military, I was part of a team. My motivation in killing was protection of those around me. Just like they were dedicated to protecting me. Now, though, I’m just a hired gun. Often doing things that someone in our government wants done, but doesn’t have the guts to take responsibility for.” He stopped speaking and squeezed his eyes shut while his face contorted as if the regret was more than he could bear. I could almost feel the pain radiating from him.

  I was at a loss for words. How could I know what to say—I’ve never faced what he has. Finally, I just said, “Maybe I was wrong, Justin. Maybe you are here to stay.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Tuesday dawned another beautiful South Florida day. It was as if all of the evil the storm had brought us had been forever purged from the skies. At least for the time being. I was finally able to get a rental car lined up and PJ was going to take me to the airport to pick it up. As expected, the demand for rental cars had outstripped the supplies immediately following the storm. Additional units had been rushed to our area and I was finally able to snag one. It would be good to at least have a vehicle, even if I didn’t have a home. Of course, staying with PJ and having her chauffeur me around hadn’t exactly been purgatory.

  Over breakfast this morning, PJ told me that she was going to go up to Gainesville on Wednesday and pick up her in-laws and Angela. She was ill-at-ease as she brought up the topic. There was a time when I would have toyed with her and acted like I expected to continue staying with her, even after Angela’s return. Our relationship still included ample kidding and teasing, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause her any real discomfort. I reached across the table, patted her on the back of the hand and told her I had already talked with Moe about staying with him. My insurance would pay for a hotel, but I didn’t really feel like living the next several months in a hotel. Besides, hotel rooms close by were as scarce as rental cars.

  PJ cocked her head and said, “I’m sure glad to hear that. I feel better now, knowing that you won’t be out on the street.”

  “No problem. Moe told me Sunday, when we were all at Cap’s Place, that I could crash with him as long as I needed to.”

  “And you were going to tell me this when?”

  I grinned. “As soon as you told me I needed to leave. I didn’t want to forfeit even one available night in your bed.”

  “That’s the Jack Nolan I’ve come to know and love.” Her face revealed that the word love startled even her. I decided to interpret it as simply part of an old saying. PJ quickly moved on with, “After one more night, it will probably be good to give my lady parts a rest anyway. They’ve had more activity in the past few days than the last decade.”

  “Maybe if I kiss them, they’ll feel better.”

  “Damn it, Jack, don’t talk like that. You know we need to go out and pick up your rental car. Don’t tease me like that.”

  “I’m not teasing, I’m promising.”

  As one would expect, it took longer than usual to pick up the rental car. While waiting in the slow moving line, I looked around. The stress on the faces of most of those waiting was not indicative of the usual traveler, but of someone who had just had their entire world turned upside down. And these were people who had insurance, or the resources, to begin to deal with the problems. I guessed that there were probably many people out there who had neither.

  After leaving the airport, I drove to Cap’s Place. PJ said she was going to the grocery store to restock her pantry for Angela’s return. I told her I’d swing by Cap’s Place and meet her back at her apartment. It wasn’t quite noon when I arrived at Cap’s, so the level of activity I found caught me by surprise.

  Servpro, the remediation contractor, had a small army of people on site. Two large storage pods, the ones that look like the enclosed freight trucks without wheels, had been placed in the parking lot. Everything salvageable was being placed in the pods. A video and written inventory was being created as each item was removed from the building.

  Using an identification system I’d learned when working construction jobs during the summers while I was in college, I looked for the guy wearing the white hard hat. I found him, and sure enough he was the guy in charge. White hat was a fireplug of a man with biceps straining at his short-sleeved uniform shirt and the forearms of a steel worker. This was obviously a man who had done manual labor his entire life. I introduced myself and he immediately removed his hard hat with his left hand while extending his right. “Hello, Mr. Nolan. My name is John Decker. I’m your Servpro Franchise Professional.” His voice was higher pitched than I expected from a man of his appearance. He handed me a business card and continued, “I’m responsible for all of our services in mitigating the damage to your property.” He ran his hand through his gray brush cut and said, “I’m sorry for your loss here, Mr. Nolan. Your insurance adjuster just left. I met with him and Ms. Williams and we have defined a scope of work that should mitigate your losses to the extent possible, as well as remediate the property in preparation for rebuilding.”

  As usual, Marge was on top of things. I replied, “Looks like you guys are already making progress, but I guess this probably isn’t your first rodeo.”

  Decker shook his head and said, “No, not hardly.” He looked me directly in the eyes. “I’m your guy, Mr. Nolan. Any questions, any concerns, you call me at the number on that card. Anytime, day or night. This is a most difficult time and I intend to do anything within my power to assist you.” His voice carried a sincerity I couldn’t ignore. I felt better than I did when I arrived. Better than I had since I first saw the extent of the damage on Sunday.

  I asked, “Is Marge still here?”

  He put his hard hat back on but casually tipped it back on his head. “No, sir. She left a few minutes ago. I believe she and the insurance adjuster were going somewhere to have lunch and continue their discussions.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. How long do you think your operations will take?”

  Decker cocked his head to one side and replied, “At this point I’m estimating six days, but please understand that could change if we encounter unanticipated problems. I’ll certainly keep you informed as things progress.”

  I waved at the pods sitting in the parking lot. “Well, I’m certainly impressed with how fast you got here and the progress you’ve made.”

  He smiled and said, “Well, thank you. We would have been here sooner, but we came from Nashville. As you can imagine, a storm like this depletes local resources very quickly.”

  “Wow, Nashville. Well, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t have a business card, but if you have something to write, on I’ll give you my cell number.”

  “Ms. Williams already gave me your number when she gave me hers.”

  Of course she did. I said, “Well, she’s probably your first point of contact, anyway.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and his tired eyes twinkled. “Yeah, she may have mentioned that.”

  We shook hands again and I headed back for my rental car.

  When I got back to PJ’s, she was just finishing putting away the groceries. I said, “Hey, let
me take you out for lunch. I don’t expect you to cook three meals a day for me.”

  Smiling, she said, “I certainly don’t mind pulling together something for lunch, but I’ll never turn down an invitation to go out. Any idea where you want to go?”

  “Not really. I had the idea to go out, so thought you could decide where.”

  “Okay, there’s this new little vegan place I’ve wanted to try. It’s not far.” My face must have reflected my reaction to the word vegan, because PJ grinned and said, “Just kidding. It’s actually Cuban. You like Cuban?”

  “If you live in South Florida and don’t like Cuban, you eliminate a lot of restaurants. Cuban’s great. Well, good Cuban’s great. I’ve been to a couple of places I wouldn’t return to.”

  “I’ve heard good things about this place and I know they serve beer.”

  I linked arms with PJ and started toward the door. “Now we’re talking. I’ll drive. I’ve got a car now, you know.”

  The restaurant turned out to be a small place with a very homey atmosphere. The food was good and the beer cold. I told PJ about the activities going on at Cap’s Place and she said she’d be interested in seeing things herself, so we planned to swing by there after lunch.

  In our casual conversation with the server we learned that a couple of the people who worked at the restaurant had lost their homes and virtually everything they owned in the storm. Marge told me that she’d made contact with everyone who worked for us and that they all had come through the storm unscathed. That is, except for a major interruption in their employment. Our business interruption insurance will cover the loss in wages to everyone working at Cap’s Place, but the loss of tips, which are a significant portion of the income of the servers and bartenders, is an area of debate with our insurance carrier. Marge told me that the initial response was, no, but that she felt there was room for negotiation. The reason employee wages are covered is to retain employees during time of business interruption, so that experienced employees can help revenues return to normal as soon as possible after repairs are complete, consequently mitigating the revenue loss exposure for the insurance company. Marge and I intend to make a vigorous argument that the lost tips of our staff are also a necessary expense in reducing the overall loss. We know that most, if not all, of our waitstaff will find other jobs if their wages and tips are not covered. They would have no other choice.