by Ric Nero
I jumped up frightened, now finding myself sitting up in bed, inside my lonesome one bedroom apartment on the south side of Chicago unable to sleep. Insomnia has become a loyal acquaintance to keep me up through many a restless nights. Psychiatric doctors diagnose me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, said that I had been exposed to too many traumatizing events from the war. It was ironic that I started having these problems after I’d been honorably discharged almost six years ago, and now I still have side effects from combat, but I guess that’s why they use the word “Post”. At least I got a hundred percent service connection to pay for this place, plus, I had a hefty amount of money still stashed from information trading back during the T.O.C days.
I hear police sirens echo through the night. I get out of bed and walk over to my bedroom window looking down two stories to see a white Tahoe modeled truck with a blue stripe across the middle with flashing lights on top, fly down May, right off 55th Street. Things were crazier nowadays than ever. “The country we fought for, huh, Green?” I said to myself, shaking my head walking to my bed. I sit down on white bed sheets and grab my Bible from my nightstand, and turn on a lamp dimly lighting up a portion of the room. I turn to the book of Matthew. I’ve always been a believer in Jesus Christ, but so much has happened in recent years and either you cling to religion or become so affected and damaged from pain that you believe that in order for so much to happen there is no God. No higher power or no rewarding plane in the afterlife for those who do good in this lifetime. They believe only death is the final destination. I could see why but I couldn’t fall off what I hoped for after this life. A heaven to relieve us from this hellish world. Besides, ever since that certain day so long ago it seems like the only things I been thinking about is God, Auron, Shane and Bazz too. I try to keep in contact through emails with my old unit from time to time, but a lot has happened since then. The U.S. deficit created more and more problems between its debtors over the years, but one more so than others, China. Being the nation’s biggest debtor got a little more than pissed at how long it was taking for America to pay its bill, saying the U.S. has a debt addiction and wants to create a new global reserve currency. I guess political words got thrown around and ended with the fall of allies. Technically, China was never considered capable to war with the U.S. as a nation, but they’ve entangled the help of Russia who’s always been willing to push the button and annihilate us. That was made evident in the Georgiana incident of 2007. We set up missile defenses in Europe and Russia resumed its strategic aviation flights. Other nations have retracted most communications and dealings since then. “And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars; but see that ye are not troubled. These things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.” Matthew 24:6. I’ve read this gospel many a times but the irony of finding myself subject to being in the days this particular scripture mentions is an indescribable feeling.
I place the Bible on the bed as I kneel on the floor. Hands folded and head bowed, I lean my elbows against the bed. “Dear heavenly father, I come before you humble as I know how. Asking that you would guide me when I am lost, shield me when I’m in danger and give me strength when I am weak. Evils have corrupted this world in ways that have blinded men from the light of Your truth, Father. But, I thank You that You showed me the reality of Your blessings of both grace and mercy because I’m still unharmed and in my right my. So many taint the name of God, and see Your name as nothing more than a title that can be placed on whatever they believe to be in charge. But I will forever remember how much You loved the world that you sent Your son and our messiah, Jesus, to save us. And I thank Jesus for his love and sacrifice for us, and will gladly spread his name and glory amongst men. For Your word says: He who confesses the name of Jesus unto man, his name will you confess unto my father (Matt. 10:32).” I continued on in prayer for another half hour, like it says those who seek the Father will pray without ceasing. But what the real reason is that even though I been brave in some bad situations, but knowing what I know the only courage I could ever muster up came from God.
I finish with an Amen and stand to my feet. I walk to my bathroom and look in the mirror, and see my reflection. White tank top and boxers, I even let my goatee grow in, letting that civilian lifestyle take over. I’m beginning to feel tired now, I laugh under my breath at what a preacher told me before I went to the military. “If you ever find yourself unable to sleep, pray. I bet you’ll end up tired then,” he told me. I didn’t get it then, but now, I understand the trick of the enemy. I turn the knob on the right side of the sink and let the cold water run. I cup my hands together, bend down and throw water in my face. I don’t want to sleep anymore. I don’t know why, but it feels like if I go to sleep I’m going to miss something. I turn off the water and hit the light switch. I grab a pair of black jeans and my Timberlands out of my closet. I lift my jacket off the sofa and head out closing the door behind me, going down the two flights of stairs. The morning air was chilly; the wind didn’t help. I sit on the cement and brick porch just to get some air. I look around and remember my grandmother used to live on this street, and how she used to watch me as a child while my mother worked. “Good ol’ Carrie B.,” I say to myself, smiling in thought of her memory. I knew she was in a better place. It’s nothing like it was back then, a lot has changed in Chicago. I can’t say the city has ever been a peaceful one but it definitely has changed for the worse.
I see a newspaper half crumbled up in front of the porch. One of the other tenants must have dropped it after they had no more use for it. Glancing at it only made me curious. I see a picture of some asteroid on the front page. I set my phone down and stretch the paper out and begin to scan through it. It says something about some astronomer named Professor Wormwood, finding a meteor and it being named after him, nothing important at all to entice my attention. Seeing as how I wasn’t really into astronomy, anything beyond Star Trek didn’t interest me. Surprisingly, beside that article it read, “Farewell Holy ArchBishop.” It says that the Pope was presumed dead just a couple days ago and a new Pope would be selected in the future. Under that, a picture of a white man with long black hair and dark brown eyes and a scar from his left eye to his chin. Kind of creepy looking, I guess it’s the demeanor of a cold hearted killer. Black Smith’s article title reads, “Serial Killer Black Smith Caught!” I read a few lines telling how he is suspected of 31 homicides in the state of Texas. He was caught yesterday due to forensic research and having a previous misdemeanor record, his prints were in the database. It continues on about how his name came from his long jet black hair and his last name being Smith.
I throw the newspaper back where I found it and grab my cell phone off the cold porch. I feel it vibrate in my hand, indicating a text message coming in. The number looks familiar but I couldn’t recognize it. But looking at the area code 254 I could pretty much guess who it was. I open the message and it reads, “Take all commands from the tower.” I waited for this moment for six years. I almost couldn’t believe now was the time. It was a code message we used years ago between Bazz, Shane and I. It had to be Bazz that sent it because Shane and I hadn’t spoken since that day. It seems all was about to change now though. We used to send this as a code message meaning we’ll meet up at the T.O.C. But that was when we were all in Texas, who knew where we’d meet since we were so far apart. I send a reply message asking for the location.
Bazz answered, “Miami.”
“South Beach, here I come,” I said to myself. I gathered some clothes together in my green duffle bag and headed to O’hare Airport, catching an eleven o’clock flight to Miami International Airport.
Four hours later I arrive in Miami traveling from the airport to the Ritz Carrollton in South Beach. I figured if I was here I might as well live in the moment, however long the moment was. I had been here once before years ago, but not much has changed over the years. In fact, the city is more congested than ever. You’d never know we were at war with a nation that’s been itching for
revenge since the cold war the way people are smiling and laughing, not thinking every second they’re celebrating, enjoying and appreciating lives there are heroes that pass for those simple benefits. It was hard remembering that I, too, was a civilian now. Accepting the carefree mentality was one thing I could get and I’m kind of glad I didn’t.
I pull into the valet of the broad white building. I remove the keys from the ignition and hand them to a short male with slicked hair. It was hard to tell his ethnicity, but judging by his complexion – and the fact that this is Miami – he was most likely Cuban. I proceed to the double sliding doors that open as I approach them and enter a broad wood polished room. It was like everything in the lobby was made out of some designer dark oak wood. The walls, the floors, the counters, everything. I smell something unremarkably pleasant as I walk towards the receptionist. I approach the counter pulling out my license and credit card just to get it out the way before the receptionist asked me.
“Hello, welcome to the Ritz Carrelton,” an almost childish voice says to me.
I look up and see one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She was of Asian descent with a darker complexion suggesting she may be mixed with African roots. I was stunned by her green eyes that possibly could be contact lenses, but I didn’t care. Good looking was good looking in my eyes. She had a smile too.
She looks me in my eyes and asks, “Sir, how long is your stay?”
I stared at her almost analyzing her remarkable beauty. I almost find myself at a loss for words. I try to regain myself in the midst of the situation. “Uhh! I plan on being here for five days. And let me get something on the first floor by the beach,” I said to the patient young lady.
“Okayyy,” she says extending the last vowel as she swiftly taps keys on the computer. “That comes to three thousand two hundred eighty two dollars and sixty seven cents.” Hearing the total expense come from her glossed delicate lips almost romanced the fact that this place was expensive, but I was already aware. Besides, I kind of wanted to look like a big spender in her eyes. I hand her my license and MasterCard. She accepts it but her eyes shift all focus on the front door, which drew my attention as well. We see a tall man in a black silk dress shirt and black silk pants, and from where I stand, expensive crocodile shoes, getting off of a well-kept black horse. A herd of valet workers rush to welcome him and escort his horse away. The man had a certain look about him. His demeanor said he was on top of the world. But the look in his eyes said owed him something, like the people took what was his and he was coming for revenge. He wore a matching watch, bracelet and necklace that all looked like white gold or platinum with diamonds embedded in them. This was truly out of the norm to see people just sulk in their blissful lives. “Uhh, I’m guessing you guys accommodate every means of travel, huh?” I ask the beautiful receptionist.
“It seems valet has made arrangements,” she answered.
“Arrangements you say?” I ask her, smiling at the thought. “Seems as though they’ll have to do some rearranging and stall construction in the parking garage to accommodate that stallion,” I said.
She smiles in return.
“Actually, they bloody have. And that’s a Clydesdale, not a stallion,” a deep voice says in a slow pace British accent to my right. It was him, the horse rider. He must have crept up on us while we were discussing his means of transportation. He towered over me like a tree. He was English, depicting from his choice of words. He had a strange aura about him. It was like his build was young body builder material, but his face shows so much age. “Good portion and planning has been put into me coming here for quite some time I assure you,” he said with a certain look in his eye, an almost sinister look.
The receptionist hands my credit card back, eyes still locked on him. “And how long will you be staying, Mister….?”
“Commerce. Mr. Commerce. And my stay is well…indefinite, I guess you could say,” Mr. Commerce said. Well that did it, he made sure every aspect about him says he had money, and if you didn’t get the message, he made it clearer by having a name that means money. Commerce.
“Okay, Mr. Commerce, and we will need a credit card on file for your stay, sir,” she said to him with hand extended to him in expectations.
He holds her hand and looks into her eyes almost as though he’d seen her soul and says, “I don’t think that will be at all necessary.”
She retracts her hand and gives him a key card.
He smiles at me and walks off.
“Must be that pimp game,” I say under my breath as I walk off to my room and get situated.
After I place my bags down, I look through my windows at the beach that’s a mere few steps away. I walked a few blocks from the illustrious hotel on the beach to Joe’s Diner, where I was told we would meet up at. I step inside and feel the old fashion theme amplifying the meaning behind the word ‘diner’. The white square tiles on the floor. The metal stools at the counter with the red cushion top. With walls half white at the bottom, and black all the way to the ceiling. And I see they couldn’t leave out the traditions of the jukebox. “Johnny Be Good” echoes inside the wide building and the smell of fresh bacon catches my attention. I look for my old comrades which knowing them means they got a booth somewhere near the back. It was just easier to keep prying ears out of our conversations. Sure enough, I see them in the back corner. I see Bazz holding a white mug in his hand and talking to who I believe to be from the back of his head Shane.
“It’s been a long time,” I said. The two look at me unaware I crept up on them.
“Too long,” said Bazz. Bazz stands up with an extended palm. I welcome his greeting by shaking his hand. He looks the same even after all these years same. Shane looks at me hesitating briefly before he stands to his feet. After he stands he looks emotionless in the face as we shake hands. “How you been, Shane?”
“I can’t complain, can’t complain at all. Listen, I wish I took the opportunity to apologize all those years ago. It was just--” Then just as soon as I said the word “apologize” his arms were quickly wrapped around my back before I realized.
“Tommy Boy!” he yelled out. It was obvious he was more than happy to see me. It was clear he felt the same way I felt about sweeping our past under the rug. I’m having trouble breathing now that this bear had me in his clutches.
“Alright, alright. I missed you too, Shane,” I tell him. At this point I can hear the bones in my back pop. He grins and puts me down. I take a deep breath appreciating the fact of both lungs still being intact. I sit next to Bazz and Shane sits across from us. “So how’s the unit been?” I asked Shane.
“Tch! I got out a little after you did, Thomas,” he said.
“Oh yeah, your E.T.S was only a few months behind mine.
He sips from his own white mug and shakes his head. “Yeah, you got out in what, October and I got out in December the following year. Work at an offshore oil refinery now,” Shane said.
I laugh at the irony. “Ha ha. Just can’t stay away from the stuff, huh?” I asked him not really looking for a reply.
“Yeah,” he says with a grin, leaning back into his booth seat. “Reckon I can’t. We all got paid a ‘lil of nuthin to go to Iraq for the hidden agenda of oil, now I get paid the big bucks to drill it up,” he says, trying to make some comical sense of it.
“There goes that part-time Texan accent. Sometimes you want to talk like regular, others it’s like I’m listening to Yosimmity Sam,” Bazz pointed out.
“Ha ha ha!” I burst into laughter. Shane looks sour in the face like he was a deer looking into a set of headlights.
“Looney Toons, huh?” a familiar voice says at my left.
I turn and see the freckled adult face of Sergeant Birden standing beside me at the edge of the table with a big smile almost animated. He always reminded me of that redhead freckled face kid they used as the old Mad TV mascot. “Bird Man!?” I said, surprised to see him. “Wait, why are you here, Sergeant Birden? Not that I’
m not happy to see my squad leader, but I thought it was kinda a closed party.”
“Scoot over a little will ya, Thomas?” he asks while he slides next to me in the booth.
“He’s not your squad leader any more, Thomas. You’re a civilian now,” Bazz said.
“Yeah, man. You can quit with the sergeant stuff, Jefferey will be just fine.”
“First of all, I’m not a civilian, I’m a combat vet, remember?” I ask them, reiterating that fact in their memory banks.
“True,” Shane said with a raised left eyebrow. “Sergeant Birden has joined the Tower of Commands right before you left Ft. Hood. And has been with us since. But now that we’re here and we had our welcome-back-Thomas session, can we get to it?” Bazz asked us. We all look at one another then back to him. “Right, I know some of you are wondering why I asked you here to Miami. The reason being is there are reports of activity ranging from here to San Juan to Bermuda.”
“The Bermuda Triangle?” Jeffery exclaimed loudly with an amazed face.
I quickly glance around the diner to make sure no ears picked up on the conversation after his outburst. No one paid us any mind.
“Yes,” Bazz answered.
“So what exactly is our concern with that?” I ask.
“Intel…has it there is a facility in the parameters of the Triangle performing some heavy movement,” Bazz says, picking up his coffee mug once more for another sip. Suspense had us all eager to hear what he said next, but this time his sip of coffee seemed almost endless.
