by David Archer
“Good grief,” he said, “I've seen towns that weren't this big, including the one I was born in. I see gas stations, convenience stores—are those real, or just simulations for training?”
“Oh, they're real, that's for sure,” Roger said. “And one thing you need to know, right now, is that not everyone here even knows what goes on. This area shows up on maps as an honest-to-goodness town called Kirtland. One thing you never, ever do, is mention our real purpose in front of anyone you aren't certain is part of it.”
“Well,” Noah said, “in that case, I'm awfully glad you told me. I wish somebody had told me this sooner, in fact.”
Roger laughed. “Chill, dude,” he said. “It's all good. You ready for that burger?”
Noah managed a grin. “Yeah, I guess so. So, where do you fit in with this organization? Or is that one of those questions you can answer, but then you gotta kill me?”
“It isn't quite that bad,” Roger said. “I got myself into a mess, where I owed a bunch of people some money, and let's just say they were pretty serious about trying to collect it. They made a couple of threats against my family, so I decided to make, shall we say, a preemptive strike.”
“You killed them?”
“I did,” Roger said. “Unfortunately, I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was, and left a trail of clues behind that just about any amateur cop could've followed. I was arrested less than twenty-four hours later, and because there were seven victims, I couldn't even plead out. The case was too good against me, so the prosecutors wouldn't deal and said I had to go to trial. A conviction would've meant the death penalty, so when I got a visit from a lawyer who offered to give me another chance, here, I took it.”
Noah watched his face as he was talking, and could tell that Roger had regrets about the killings. “So, what's your job assignment? Are they planning to use you as an assassin?”
Roger shook his head. “No, I lucked out on that,” he said. “They tell me I'm just going to be somebody's muscle, kind of a backup. I still have to have the training, just in case I ever have to, you know, complete a mission—but I hope I don't. You know, sometimes you do what you gotta do, but that doesn't always mean it's easy to live with.”
Noah looked at this young man, and wondered what it would be like to feel remorse over someone you killed, or over anything you did. “Yeah,” he said, “I know just what you mean.”
TEN
Noah bit into the triple-decked burger, and moaned in epicurean delight. “Oh, man,” he said. “Oh, that's delicious. Can't you just taste all the triglycerides?”
Roger laughed and looked over at him. “Not me,” he said. “I can't get past the flavor of the MSG. At least they don't try to shove health food down our throats, here. If there's anything in the world that truly signifies the American way, it's just plain got to be the fast food burger. Let's face it, all those soldiers over there in the war, that's what they're really fighting for. Burgers and fries, and I am not referring to the French variety.”
Noah shrugged, but he was chuckling at the same time. “Hey, I was over there,” he said. “Not all of us dreamed about burgers, there were some of us over there who thought about girls, instead.”
Roger looked at him sideways. “You're gonna sit there and moan about how good that burger is, and try to tell me that wasn't one of the things you thought about while you were in that desert?”
Noah winked at him. “Hey, I said some of us thought about girls. I didn't say I was always one of them. A lot of times, I was focused on burgers and pizza. As far as I'm concerned, burgers and pizza are the two primary food groups, with fried chicken making a good show of coming in third.” Noah took another bite. “How old are you, Roger?”
Roger leaned his head back against the headrest, and grimaced. “I'll be twenty in two weeks,” he said. “I confess this wasn't how I planned on spending my twentieth birthday, but at least I'm getting to have one. The way things were going, I wasn't likely to have had the chance.”
“Things moved that fast? I mean, I'd think it would take them a while to get around to a trial.”
Roger nodded. “It did,” he said. “I sat in the jail cells for three years, while my public defenders kept trying everything they could think of to stall.”
“Three years? Then, I take it you were only sixteen at the time of the murders?”
“Yep,” Roger said. “Because of the number of victims, and what the prosecutor called the ‘animal ferocity’ of the way I killed them, the judge decided that I should be tried as an adult. We tried every possible way to get that decision thrown out, but it didn't work.”
Noah shook his head in sympathy. “Man, I'm sorry. Nobody should have to deal with things like that in their teens.”
“Oh, I did it to myself,” Roger said. “I told you I was a country boy, but I didn't tell you that I had a cousin who was a drug dealer in the city. He came to me with this plan for us to make a bunch of money, by bringing some of his product to the little towns around where I lived. It sounded like fun, and quick bucks, so I went along with it. The trouble was, his end of the business wasn't doing so well, and he was losing money. He was taking some of the money I was bringing in and covering his own ass with it, and then he pointed a finger at me when things came up short. His boss paid me a visit, and explained the situation. He made it clear that my mother and little sister would suffer if I didn't come up with the money, and there was no way I could, so after he left, I stuck a gun in my cousin's face and made him show me where to find him.” He took a bite of his burger, and chewed it up slowly before he went on. “Ten o'clock in the morning, I showed up at his front door and started blasting away with a 12-gauge and a Glock. Once I started, I just couldn't stop, and I killed our supplier, his wife and all five of his kids.”
Noah saw the tears that were running down Roger's face. “Well, I know how terrible that must look to other people, but from what I know about the drug business, it tends to run in families. You may have saved lives fifty years into the future, and it's a safe bet that a lot of innocent people have already died because of that supplier. Your solution might not be the one that's politically correct, but it's probably the only one that could ever really eliminate the drug problem.” Noah paused for a moment. “It may be hard for you to understand that, because you're looking at the deaths of those children as nothing but murder. The thing is, while it may be tragic that they had to die, if they carried on the family business then they would eventually be responsible for hundreds, possibly thousands more deaths. Sometimes you have to look at the greater good, no matter what the consequences to yourself might be.”
Roger quickly wiped away his tears and grinned sheepishly at Noah. “Yeah, well, other people told me that, too, even Doc Parker. That doesn't make it any easier to live with, though.”
Noah thought quickly about the men he had killed, the ones that had led to the murder charges, and tried to feel any remorse, anything that might be considered sadness. With each one, though, all he could sense was the necessity of the shots that he fired. He had felt no desire to harm or kill those men, nor any hatred or animosity, not even anger; the situation had forced his hand, and he had done what had to be done. To Noah, everything came down to a simple black or white. In order to feel remorse, there had to be a gray area, some part of the situation that made you uncertain of your choices.
Noah was never uncertain, so he had no clear idea of how to help Roger deal with his own guilt. All he could do was mouth the same platitudes he'd heard others use in Iraq and the 'Stan, when they were trying to comfort the new guys after their first kills.
“Sometimes,” he said, “you're faced with a choice. You can kill, or you can die, and in this case you had the threats against your family, too. Roger, it sounds to me like you did what you had to do. All you gotta do now is learn how to live with it.”
They finished eating and tossed their trash into one of the nearby cans, and Roger started the truck for the drive back to Al
ley Town. He stayed quiet all the way to the motel, and just waved as Noah got out. A moment later, the truck turned the corner and was out of sight.
Noah fished the key to his room out of his pocket, and let himself in. Like in every motel room, there was a telephone beside the bed, something he hadn't even paid attention to before, but now it had a red light blinking on it. In motels, he knew that meant there was a message, so he picked up the phone and dialed zero for the operator.
A computerized voice said, “Room seven has one new message,” and then he heard, “Noah, this is Allison. You made it through your first day, and I'm glad to say I've had nothing but good reports. Tomorrow, we're going to go ahead and schedule you in for intake and ID, so someone will pick you up at your room at about eight AM. For tonight, kick back and relax. If you need anything, Marco should be around, so you can get him to drive you wherever you need to go.”
Noah hung up the phone and walked over to open the mini fridge. As he suspected, there was nothing in it, so a moment later he walked out the door and over to Marco's room. He knocked, and Marco opened the door a moment later.
“Hey, Noah,” Marco said. “How's it going?”
“Well, the dragon lady left me a message that she's had good reports, so I'm guessing I'm doing okay in that regard,” he said. “I got to see the exciting town of Kirtland today, and I was wondering if I might talk you into a ride over to one of the stores. I'd like to pick up some snacks and stuff.”
Marco grinned. “Settling right in, aren't you? Sure, give me a second to grab my keys.”
Noah walked over to Marco's car and waited, but it was only as few seconds before his friend came out and got behind the wheel. He hit the lock button, and Noah climbed in; then he fired up the car and they were on the way.
“You want a convenience store,” Marco asked, “or something bigger?”
“Convenience store will do just fine. I just want to grab some chips and pop, stuff like that.”
It turned out there was a convenience store not too far away, and Noah took only a few minutes to grab the snacks he wanted. There were a lot of things to choose from, and he paused to look at the coolers full of beer.
“You can have some, if you want,” Marco said. “Or if you prefer, there's a bar down the road. We can stop in for a cold one, if you want to.”
Noah grinned, and carried his purchases to the register. The girl there rang them up quickly, and smiled at him as he swiped his card. A moment later, she handed him his receipt and two bags containing chips, candy bars and a couple of six-packs of root beer.
They got back into the car, and Noah put his purchases into the backseat. “A beer sounds good,” he said, and Marco smiled as he put the car back in gear. A moment later, he parked in front of a little building with a flickering neon sign that read, “Charlie's.”
“Something I forgot to tell you earlier,” Marco said, “is that not everybody here is in on the secret behind this place. We don't talk about anything to do with the organization except with people we're certain are part of it themselves.”
“Yeah,” Noah said, “I got lucky and someone else filled me in on that. It would've been nice to have known that a little earlier, but luckily, I didn't run into a situation where it could blow up in my face.” He grinned and knuckled Marco on the shoulder. “It's okay, come on,” he said. “I'm ready for a cold beer.”
They walked inside, and Noah felt like he had walked into a typical bar in any town in the country. The lights were dim, the fixtures were old, and the air-conditioning was set way too high. Marco led the way to the bar, and they climbed up on a couple stools. An old man, presumably Charlie, walked over to them and grinned, showing all four of his bottom teeth.
“Evenin', boys,” he said. “What can I do you for?”
Noah started to speak, but Marco held up a hand to stop him. “Two beers, in the bottle, no glasses,” Marco said.
The old man chuckled, then turned around and pulled two bottles of Budweiser out of the cooler, popped the caps and set them on the bar. “Four fifty,” he said, and Marco threw a five-dollar bill onto the bar.
“Keep the change,” Marco said, and the old fellow chuckled again as he walked away. Marco turned to Noah. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you, it's always best to stick with bottles, here. The draft stuff seems to be watered down, or maybe it's just that nasty.”
They clinked their bottles together and each took a sip. Noah grinned. “That's good,” he said. “It's been a long time.”
Marco eyed him. “How long were you locked up?”
“About three months,” Noah said. “They didn't waste any time getting me to trial, but our boss lady came and made her pitch before they got around to carrying out my sentence. Since I was just hanging around there, waiting for my chance to be next in line for execution, her offer struck me as a good one.”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, it usually does.” He took a long pull on his bottle. “Although, I have heard that a few people have turned it down. Seems pretty stupid, to me, but then you never know.”
Noah shrugged. “I think it would depend on what the person thought of himself,” he said. “I can see where someone might decide they didn't deserve a second chance. Of course, that wouldn't be me, and obviously it wasn't you, either.”
“Not my problem,” Marco said. “I was just glad I made it through the first few days after I got here.”
Another man walked in and sat down at the bar, only a couple of stools away, so Noah and Marco began to guard what they were saying. They talked about casual things, like Marco's car, and Marco told Noah about some of the more interesting parts of the town of Kirtland. The conversation sounded like one between a couple of old friends, one of whom was local and entertaining the other on a visit.
They ordered a second beer, this time on Noah. The old bartender took his card and swiped it for him, then passed it back without a word. They continued to sit at the bar while they finished them off, and by then, Noah was ready to go back to his room.
“I guess I got a big day ahead of me, tomorrow,” he said as they got back into the car. “Something about going through intake?”
Marco nodded. “Intake isn't too bad,” he said. “By the time you get the offer made to you, they already know more about you than you know about yourself, so it's not like you've got to fill out a lot of paperwork, or anything like that. It's more about them telling you the rules, the basic rules you got to remember and stick to. Then they'll give you your permanent ID, driver's license and all that stuff, and put you officially on the payroll.”
“Yeah? And is the pay any good?”
Marco glanced over at Noah, and then burst out laughing. “It's not bad,” he said. “I'm not sure what your pay grade gets, but I'm making more money each year than I thought I'd ever see in my life. Not trying to brag, but I pull down a little over a hundred thousand a year. That's not bad for being a leg breaker.”
Noah whistled. “Not bad at all,” he said. “The only question left, then, is what in the world can you do with it?”
“Pretty much anything you want to,” Marco said. “Not all of us live here. I don't, but when I'm helping out with a newbie, like you, I get to stay at the motel for free, instead of having to pay for a hotel room downtown.”
“Really? So where do you live?”
Marco grinned. “Middle of nowhere, in Louisiana. I got a little place on the Bayou, where nobody bothers me. I like it that way. Once you've been with the organization for a while, you can apply to live anywhere you want to. They give you a cover job to explain your income, so you can live right out in the open. Me, they got me listed as a truck driver. Every now and then, I really do drive a truck, but it just makes a convenient excuse for why I'm out and gone a lot, so the few neighbors I've got don't get suspicious of anything.”
They got back to the motel, and Noah carried his bags into his room. He put the soft drinks into the refrigerator, then opened the bag of chips and lay back on the bed to watch
some TV.
ELEVEN
Noah had gotten into the habit of waking at five thirty in the morning, the usual time when the lights came on at the prison. His eyes opened, and he rolled over on the big bed, instantly remembering how his circumstances had changed. He sat up, and a moment later he climbed out of the bed and staggered toward the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he came out and grabbed some clean clothes, then went back in to get a shower and shave.
Allison's message had said that someone would pick him up at around eight, so he had plenty of time for breakfast. He slipped out the door, glancing over at Marco's room to see that there were no lights on yet, and then walked to the restaurant alone. He had just gotten his coffee when he heard his name, and turned around.
Allison was walking toward him, and sat down in the chair opposite his. She smiled at him, and he returned it out of habit.
“I thought I'd just come and collect you myself this morning,” she said, “and I figured you'd be over here early for breakfast, so I decided to join you. I haven't eaten here in a while, but I know how good it is so I thought it was well past time to pay a visit.”
Noah picked up his cup and saluted her with it. “Glad to have the company,” he said. “Anything I need to know about today, before we get started?”
A waitress hurried over and took Allison's order, and Noah waited until she was gone before he looked expectantly at his boss.
“Nothing specific,” she said. “We'll be going over some rules and regulations that are in place, and getting your new identity all set up. A lot of it's already been done, but there are some simple things we need to go over.”
