The Good Soldier

by L. T. Ryan

  "What do you want?" I said.

  "You need to get cleaned up. Shower and shave. Got a nice suit?"

  "Why?"

  "They're honoring us tonight."

  "Who?"

  "Some politicians, and who knows who else." He held out his hands. A large grin crossed his face. "Maybe the President."

  "For what?"

  "The kids. Turns out you know who saw your picture on TV."

  "Carrying the boy?"

  "You got it. He thought it might be a good idea to throw us a celebration."

  "Ah, Christ." I poured orange juice into a cup and tipped the bottle to Frank. He shook his head. "They can't invite many people then. Our agency doesn't exist. What the hell is he thinking?"

  "Supposedly they've worked up some cover story. Either we're feebs or some special unit in the police. Not sure, exactly. They won't tell anyone who we are."

  Sure they wouldn't. In my ten plus years of government service, I'd learned the hard way not to trust a politician or superior with a secret. They looked out for themselves first. Hell, they only looked out for themselves. Screw their constituents and screw their employees and screw the people who protected their asses.

  "I'm not going," I said.

  Frank smiled. "The hell you aren't. The kids' parents will be there and they'll want to thank us. Go get a shower and shave. And don't come back out here without a suit on."

  I started toward the hallway. Looked over my shoulder at the smirking Frank, and said, "Screw you."

  Chapter 10

  We sat behind a row of seven tables, butted together end to end and covered with black and white paisley tablecloths. Overhead can lights were aimed in our direction, casting a haze over the crowd gathered to honor us. The attendees sat together in bunches of four or five or six. Their tables were round, each with a single vase in the middle containing an arrangement of flowers that were yellow and red and white and unidentifiable by me.

  Three tables lined up to form the first row. Sixteen white and brown faces smiled at us. Their eyes scanned left to right and back again, like they were at county lockup, trying to identify the man who'd mugged them on a dark street. If not for the smiles, that is. Beyond the first row, I had trouble making out the features on faces. And the row behind that might as well not even have been there, because I couldn't see the people at all, only the dull outlines of the tables.

  Sweat formed on my brow. Was everyone having the same trouble as me? Was this a side effect of the concussion? Or maybe from too much drinking?

  The lights were bright and hot and hit me like tiny bits of molten metal. Then a panicked thought crossed my mind. What if the concussion was gone and something else remained, bleeding in my brain? That was a real thing, I thought. I tried recall everything I'd ever read on head trauma and its after effects. My efforts drew a blank. By this point, my hands began to tremble. My heart pounded against the wall of my chest. I counted the beats for ten seconds and then extrapolated it out. One hundred and forty beats a minute. I reached for the tall glass of water that had been placed in the middle of the table. The outside of the glass was sweating, and the thin layer of condensation coated my palm. Cold and wet, my hand shot back. A reflex I had no control over.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  "Christ, these lights," Frank said, leaning into my shoulder. "Can't see a damn thing after the first row."

  I turned my head a few inches to the left. Frank's smile pushed up into his cheeks.

  "They better cut those lights when food is served," he said.

  My heart rate decreased. The thoughts of panic that clouded my mind dispersed the way steam from a kettle does when it reaches a foot or two above the stove and heads back to the atmosphere. Never gone, only a change of state until ready to be called upon again.

  "No kidding," I said. "One of those assholes could be out there right now, waiting to mow us down."

  Frank nodded. "Same thought's crossed my mind, too."

  A man in the front row stood. He was dressed in a dark suit and wore a conservative red and blue striped necktie. His face was clean-shaven. So was the top of his head. He used his index finger to shove his gold-rimmed glasses up his skinny nose. He approached us. A toothy grin spread across his face. When he reached a spot two feet in front of my table, he spun and faced the crowd.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Let's stand and give a round of applause to the men sitting behind me."

  The crowd rose and began clapping. I felt Frank's hand pulling on my elbow. I looked to the left, then the right and saw the other agents pushing their seats back and standing up to accept the acclaim the audience was heaping upon us.

  Reluctantly, I rose to my feet. I felt more exposed than a few minutes earlier.

  The man extended his arms to the side and motioned for everyone to sit. Once the crowd obliged, he said, "These men risked their lives." He paused a beat, and I wondered what his facial expression looked like at that moment. Jovial with a smile? Or serious with drawn lips? "In fact, two of them lost their lives. They did this to rescue your children. And when a fire broke out, they didn't cut rope and try to save themselves. No, they made sure every child was safe, to the point of leaving their fallen comrades behind."

  Another round of applause swept through the audience. I found it a tad inappropriate. After all, the man had admitted that our operation was a failure because we left our men behind. That had never been acceptable and sure as hell wasn't now. No matter what other outcomes prevailed.

  Once the crowd died down, the man continued, "Due to the nature of their work, we can't congratulate them individually by name."

  I glanced sideways at Frank. He pretended to ignore me.

  "But we can stand once more," the man said, "and offer our sincerest thanks and gratitude for what they have done for us all."

  Again the crowd stood, and again they applauded us. A blond haired boy appeared through the haze of the lights and approached the table. I recognized him not by memory, but by the photos of me carrying him outside. He stopped in front of me and smiled. His two front teeth were missing. One on top, one on the bottom. The light wrapped around his head. His blue eyes stood out like pools of crystal water on a rocky landscape.

  "My mom wants to thank you," he said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper.

  Frank placed his forearm on the table and leaned over. "After we eat, son."

  I held out my hand, palm toward Frank. "It's OK. I'll meet her now."

  The little boy smiled and took three steps back. I got up and walked behind three tables. The little boy mirrored my movements and met me at the end of the row. He held out his hand. I took it, and he led me to the back of the room. Once past the lights, I studied the faces in the room as much as I kept an eye on where the boy was taking me. Nothing seemed out of place. I didn't know anyone in the room, aside from a few politicians. None of them screamed terrorist or killer or asshole. Well, maybe a couple guys had asshole written across their faces, but that was a given anywhere you went.

  A woman got up from her table and walked toward us. She looked nothing like her son. Dark hair, light brown eyes and an olive complexion. She wore a blue form-fitting dress. I thought it agreed with her quite well. It stretched down past mid-thigh, coming to a stop above her knees. Her hands grabbed for the hem and pulled down. My eyes had lingered too long. An after effect of the concussion, I'm sure. I looked up and grinned and apologized. She shook her head and smiled and looked away.

  "I wanted to thank you personally, Mister…?" A curious eyebrow rose up, causing the small square bandage on her forehead to wrinkle.

  "Call me Jack," I said.

  "Jack. OK. Well, Jack, thank you for saving my little Christopher. If not for you… I can't even think about it."

  "Only doing my job." I half-turned to face the front of the room and extended my arm, like I was showcasing a prize package on a game show. "Any of those guys up there would have done the same if they were in the posi
tion I was. Three of them were in the pit with me. I happened to be the last one out. Plus, we have two guys who couldn't make it tonight who deserve more thanks than I do."

  She looked away again, her eyes flooding with tears. She reached up and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, trying to stop their advance before ruining her makeup.

  "But the fact that these young lives were saved, especially this little guy here," I tousled the boy's hair, "justifies it all. And I'm glad we could get together and meet in person, Miss?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry." She extended her hand and said, "Tammy Nockowitz."

  The name didn't match the features. "Married name?" I asked.

  "Yeah, but I'm not married anymore." She bit the bottom of her lip and dipped her head an inch. "So, if you wanted to ask me out…"

  I smiled at her then looked down at her son who had lost interest in our conversation a few minutes ago. My smile faded as I met her stare. "I'm not boyfriend material. You should return to your table."

  Tammy's cheeks turned a shade of red. She averted her eyes, then reached down for her son's hand and pulled him toward their seats.

  I watched her walk away, questioning if I'd done the right thing. Of course I had. I was in no position to be with a woman with a child. I placed myself in harm's way six days out of every seven. It would be irresponsible to get close to a child and then disappear, whether physically or emotionally.

  I took a couple steps back and turned a beat too fast. A pair of hands slammed into my solar plexus, nearly winding me.

  "I'm sorry," I said, trying to avoid looking at whoever I'd hit.

  "Real slick, Jack."

  I stopped trying to get away and looked at the woman in front of me and recognized her as Sarah, the paramedic who had been roped into duty at the SIS.

  "I don't mean now. I mean, this is cool, too. The way you ran into me and tried to act like nothing happened." She smiled and leaned in, placing her mouth inches from my ear. "But the way you rejected that woman, that was classy."

  I stepped back, holding my hands out in front of me to maintain separation. "You don't know the first thing about me, lady."

  She laughed. "I know plenty."

  I turned my head and saw that the majority of the seats around the tables were now empty. A line had formed in front of the tables where the rest of my group sat. "Christ," I muttered. "Come on, let's get a drink."

  Sarah smirked and latched onto my arm. We moved to the back of the room and each took a seat on a barstool. I ordered a shot of Johnny and she ordered a beer. By the time she finished her beer, I'd downed four shots.

  Doc would have been pleased.

  We talked about nothing at all. The kind of mindless chatter people have when they are feeling each other out. I had a feeling that she had a feeling about me. And I found her easy on the eyes and equipped with the kind of tough take-no-crap exterior I found myself regularly attracted to. I wanted to know if it was an act, or if she really was as badass as she seemed.

  She told me she was born and raised in D.C. Went to college at Georgetown, decided to join the fire department instead of going to medical school. She'd been married once, but it didn't even last a year. Apparently the guy couldn't handle the thought of his wife rushing into a burning building.

  I told her a few select things about my past, like how I turned down a football scholarship and joined the Marines. Dumbed down the eight years spent there, but let her know that it led me to where I am now. Told her I'd never been married. Lied and said I'd never been engaged. She didn't need to know.

  After fifteen minutes I began to feel the effects of the alcohol. My head buzzed slightly. She was already done with her second beer and began smiling a bit more.

  I said something that made her laugh. Strands of hair fell across her face. She reached up and tucked them behind her ear, then said, "So how emotionally unavailable are you?"

  "On a scale of one to ten, I'm an eleven. Or a zero, depending on which way your scale slides."

  "I like that in a man."

  "I like a woman who likes that in a man."

  She smiled and leaned in a couple inches. "Want to get out of here? Split a cab somewhere?"

  "Where?"

  She shrugged. "Whoever's house is closest?"

  I nodded then looked around to get my bearings and located the coat check. I felt her fingers slide in between mine. Her palm, cool from holding a beer mug, melted into my hand.

  "Jack." It was the right name, wrong voice.

  I felt deflated. Frank headed toward me, another man close behind. The guy following was older than me, probably mid-forties, maybe early fifties. Hard to tell. His hair was blond, perhaps hiding traces of gray. He was wide in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. Looked like an athlete in a custom tailored gray suit. He had a winning smile and everything about him screamed politician.

  "Man of the hour," Sarah said from behind me.

  I turned and caught her eye. "I'm sorry. As soon as this is over."

  "It's OK. I'll have a few more drinks. You won't mind, will you?"

  I smiled, tossed back another shot and hopped off my barstool. Walked a few feet away from the bar and waited for Frank and his friend.

  "Jack, this is Senator Burnett. He's, uh, he's a friend of ours."

  The Senator smiled his politician's smile and held out his hand. His grip was firm and comforting. "I watch from a distance." His smile broadened and he winked. "And you always provide one hell of a show, Jack."

  I had been prepared to hate the man. After all, he was holding me back from beginning a night with Sarah. But there was something about his smile and his grip and his voice that made me feel at ease with him. I presumed that most people felt that way about him. I assumed that's why he was a successful politician. Half shark, half used car salesman, all bullshit.

  "Let's have a drink." Senator Burnett draped his right arm across my shoulders, his left across Frank's. He guided us toward the bar. I did nothing to stop him. I found myself liking the guy. At the very least, I saw why people voted for him.

  I sat down next to Sarah. Leaned over and whispered, "You sure you don't mind staying a bit longer?"

  "I've got nowhere to go and we can always find a taxi willing take us there," she said. "Plus, I'm off tomorrow. If you're too drunk tonight, we've got the morning."

  I smiled. "I've never been too drunk."

  She laughed and winked and nudged me. The force of her push turned me toward the Senator.

  "You guys did a great job here," Burnett said. "Even if you did overstep some boundaries."

  Frank shrugged. "We talked to the right people. No one threw up a stop sign, so we moved. You think it would have been better to risk losing some of those kids?"

  Burnett finished his beer and gestured for another. "No, of course not. I understand that you had to act fast. Next time something like this happens, clear it through to the top. It makes my life easier and-"

  "Jack," Frank interrupted. "Incoming."

  I swiveled to the left and saw Tammy approaching. "Shit," I said.

  Burnett glanced over his shoulder and stood. "That's a grenade I'm dodging. Hitting the head. Back in a minute boys."

  Tammy leaned against the bar, in between me and Frank. "Jack, that offer still stands." She reached out, grabbed my tie, slipped a business card into my shirt pocket.

  Sarah leaned over my shoulder and said, "Mind taking your hands off my man?"

  Tammy looked at Sarah, then at me. "Not boyfriend material, huh?" She said it matter-of-factly and with no trace of disappointment in her voice.

  I shrugged and held out my hands. Tammy shook her head, then turned and walked toward the door, where her son was standing. I'd have figured she wouldn't let him leave her side after what happened. To each their own, I supposed. There was no need to waste time questioning it.

  After she slipped through the door, I turned to Frank and said, "I'm trying to get out of here. You think you can handle the Senator without me?"


  "Humor him for a few more. He's half pissed now. I'll get a cab for him soon and then you can be on your way."

  Chapter 11

  Burnett spent another half hour talking with us. Mostly praise, some criticism. We took it with smiles plastered on our faces. The alcohol helped. The fact that we needed the man for our funding helped even more. If the SIS disappeared, I'd be looking for work at the Treasury Department. No thanks.

  Finally, Burnett stood and held out his hand. I grabbed it, surprised when he pulled me off the stool and wrapped his other arm around my back.

  "You do good work, Jack," he said. "Good damn work." He took a step back and grabbed my shoulders. His fingers dug in a bit. My initial reaction was to knock his hands away. But I figured he only did it because of the alcohol, so I eased up. He gave me a shake and then let go. Stumbled a bit and nearly fell off the ledge that separated the bar from the rest of the room.

  Frank placed an arm on the Senator's shoulders and guided him toward the door. I heard the man protest that he could drive, and that his car was a block or two away. Frank insisted that he take a taxi. Whether he did or not, I had no idea. Frank didn't say, and I didn't ask when he returned to the bar and sat down next to me.

  "We'll be taking off now," I said.

  Frank reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Stay for a few more minutes."

  I gave him a look, shrugged, said nothing. I had one foot on the floor and the other on the stool's footrest.

  Frank gestured to the side with his head. "Let's make sure our guys get out OK. They're getting a bit rowdy over there."

  The other agents stood in the middle of a mostly empty room. A couple politicians hung around, but the families had wisely dispersed when they sensed things were turning into a party their children shouldn't witness.

  "Rowdy with each other," I said.

  "Does that make it any better? You know how these guys get when they drink."

  I sighed heavily and turned toward Sarah. "A few more minutes?"