The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  A pencil dangled from his lip as his eyes rolled in his inward chuckle at the amazing clue of a shoe the Carolina troop found, but Jess welcomed the interruption of the telephone.

  “CS Headquarters, Master Training Division, Infantry . . .” Jess spoke. “How can I help you?”

  “You know . . . what happened to the typical hello?” The male voice spoke on the other line. “So official, my man.”

  “Have to. Hadley’s back. How’s it going, James?”

  “Good. Good. Hey, did you get those stupid reports I faxed up to you about John Hadley?”

  Jess paused and thought, ‘John Hadley?’

  “Hello?” James called out.

  “Um, yeah, got them.”

  “What’s the scoop on that?” James asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  “All I know is we are on the lookout for Hadley’s kid who was taken by defectors or something like that.”

  “That’s the scoop.”

  “And you buy that?” James asked.

  “You don’t?”

  The sound of James fluttering his lips carried over. “Please. I think the kid ran away and Hadley’s trying to find him and came up with some lame fuckin story about what happened just so he can get some push out of us. Either that, or, hey, this John person isn’t his kid. I mean, I don’t recall ever hearing about another son. He’s probably some spy from the other side.”

  “What?” Jess had a hit of disbelief in his tone.

  “Yeah, what did you call them? Starters.”

  Starters? Starters. Jess blinked in the sudden flash of memory and vision of Robbie. “Um . . .” He stumbled for words. “Beginnings.

  “That’s it. Thanks.”

  “No,” Jess said.

  “No? No, what? It isn’t Beginnings?’

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s Beginnings, but no on your theories. You get a gold star though, for effort. But Hadley thinks of this kid as his kid and I was here when he disappeared. We have a trail of dead soldiers and we believe they were trying to protect him.”

  James laughed. “He probably knocked off the soldiers to cover his trail.”

  “Why are you having a hard time with this?”

  “It feels odd,” James said. “I can’t explain it. I come from a family who follows their gut and my gut tells me I’m wasting time and man power on this. I don’t like to waste my time and man power. So call it a hunch. Nothing like that crossed your mind?”

  Jess began to respond but hesitated. It was entirely possible that this James person that he spoke to regularly could very easily be reporting back to Hadley. After a sigh, Jess answer. “I just . . . I just go by what I’m told and see.”

  “Pleading the fifth?”

  Jess laughed then turned serious when he looked up and saw George. “Hey, gotta go. Thanks for sending them up. The President’s here.” Preparing to hang up, Jess had to hide his laugh at the ‘poor you’ comment made by James as he brought the phone away from his ear.

  George looked about as distraught as one man could. “Boyens.”

  “Sir.” Jess stood.

  “You can have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Jess waited for George to sit down and then he too did the same.

  “I’m getting worse, I can’t concentrate. This thing has to come to an end soon. I have to know one way or another about Johnny. Have you found anything out?” George motioned his hand to the desk and the papers there.

  “Actually,” Jess said brightly, “a troop in South Carolina reports finding an article of clothing and a shoe they believe belonged to Johnny. Also, another troop in that region found what they believe to be remnants of a mobile camp.”

  “Excellent. We have leads. You were on the phone. Can I ask who you were speaking to? It sounded more personal than business.”

  “Oh, that.” Jess glanced to the phone. “That was James, your Southern region man. He’s funny. We get along.”

  “Good.” George stood up. “That will work out then.”

  “Sir?”

  “You getting along with James is a good thing because you will be working with him face to face. With me and Bertha up here, I need you down there were we’re concentrating the search. So gather the information you need.” George walked to the door. “Pack a bag. You leave in the morning.”

  “Where . . . where am I going, exactly?”

  “Florida. Where else?” George walked out.

  “Where else.” Jess tossed up his hands then baffled, sat down. “Florida?”

  ^^^^

  “I thought this is where I might find you,” Joe said as he walked into the garage. He tapped his clipboard on his thigh as he neared the truck.

  Frank peeked out from under the hood. “Hey.”

  “Are you done with rounds?” Joe asked.

  “For now,” Frank replied. “I couldn’t concentrate so I had Dan do them. Robbie is on my mind, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Frank was on the side of the truck, half under the hood. He stopped working and looked at his father. “Tell me you’re here because you have news about Robbie.”

  “He’s not out of surgery yet. It will be soon though. Soon. Melissa said they were finishing up.”

  Frank exhaled and dropped his head. “That’s good to hear.” Almost as if he were saying a silent prayer, Frank stayed with his head lowered for a moment before resuming his work.

  “What’s wrong with your truck?” Joe questioned.

  “Tyranny is slipping.” Frank shrugged.

  “Did you check the fluids?”

  Frank only glanced at Joe.

  “Sorry.” Joe snickered. “Just pulling out your stock diagnosis.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, since your stock car problem is the transmission, I figured I’d give you the stock cure.” Joe walked to the truck and set the clapboard down. “Since you were sixteen years old and you started fixing cars.” He leaned more into his son. “You fixed them to take your mind off of things. You did that whether they needed it or not and you never were original enough to come up with a better excuse than transmission. No, mind you, were you original enough to come up with anything but fluids as the solution.” Joe chuckled. “At first, when you started that, I thought my car had some sort of leak since it was always losing tyranny fluid. What’s going on?”

  Frank let out a breath.

  Joe nodded. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Yep.” Pulling out from under the hood, Frank picked up a rag and wiped off his hand. “I had one.” He took another breath. “This morning and . . . just a little bit ago.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Everything. Family. Society. Dean. Robbie. Fucked up shit. You name it.”

  “Uh-ha.” Joe nodded again. “Can I help?”

  “No.”

  “I’m better than that bottle.”

  “Dad.” Frank closed his eyes.

  “Problems are always gonna be there.”

  “I know and so this fuckin weakness.” Frank tossed the rag hard. “Sorry. You did know it’s Jimmy’s birthday, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. How can I forget?” Joe nodded. “And it’s . . .”

  “Don’t.” Frank stopped him.

  “Frank.”

  “No, I’ve decided that I made myself a promise that I won’t discuss that situation.”

  “The last we discussed it you were going on a mission to eliminate the problem, that problem meaning your son.”

  “Dad.” Frank closed his eyes. “I can’t talk about it. I won’t talk about it. To me . . . it’s done. He’s dead. Any conversation about him, I don’t want to know. I can no longer waste my fuckin time or energy on it. I failed.”

  “Frank, you didn’t . . .”

  “I . . . I failed.” Frank said then went back to the truck.

  “What if we get more information?”

  “Don’t tell me,” Frank said.

  “If we don’t tell you and you find ou
t, then what? You’ll go blasting that Frank mouth.”

  “What? What Frank mouth?’

  “Don’t give me that shit. You’ll blast us all.”

  “No, I won’t. I promise.” Frank peered under the hood.

  “Do I have your word?” Joe asked as he wrote something down.

  “You do.”

  “Good. Sign this.” Joe handed him the clipboard.

  “What is this?” Frank looked and read. “I, Frank, will not explode or overreact if I am not told something about Johnny. It is my choice.”

  “Sign.”

  “This is weak.”

  “Yeah, well, so’s your word when it comes to affairs of the heart. Sign.” Joe forwarded the pen. “Save me a headache because I know for a fact that we haven’t heard the last.”

  “Fine.” Frank snatched up the pen and scribbled a signature. He began to hand the pen back.

  “Date it.”

  Grunting, Frank did and he pushed the pen and clipboard Joe’s way. “Now, how come you came up?” After moving from the hood, he reached into the truck and started it.

  “To check on you and get your opinion and help on a situation you have been pretty quiet about.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Frank reached back under the hood.. “What’s that?”

  “Dean.”

  Frank froze.

  “You’re worried about it too.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Frank returned to working.

  “Come on, Frank. You aren’t saying anything. Yeah, you’re gloating. Yeah you have Ellen, but even you aren’t that goddamn stupid to think it’s not without a cost. Something’s up. We just don’t know exactly what it is.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Talk to him. Just . . . just talk to him, the two of you. See what you think. Okay?”

  “You know what.” Frank backed up, wiped off his hands, and reached in to turn off the truck. “I will. Here.” He tossed the rag to his father.

  “Is that where you’re going now?”

  “Yes. If anyone can get to the bottom of the Dean thing, it’s me. I need that right now. There’s nothing better than dealing with a fuckin crazy person.” He moved to the garage door.

  “Frank . . . one more thing.”

  ‘What’s that?”

  Joe pointed to the truck. “Transmission fluid?”

  “Yeah,” Frank said softly with a smile. “Tyranny fluid.” With a wink, Frank turned and walked out.

  ^^^^

  The hot water of the shower washed away some of the birthday blues and Johnny vowed the rest of his day wouldn’t be ruined. After all, he was meeting a new friend, a young friend in a town without youth . . . or women.

  Hair wet, face shaved, stomach growling, Johnny walked into the dining room. Meeting Mike’s son Tigger had an air of excitement. Since Mike was cool, Tigger had to be as well. The only thing was Johnny was used to being considered tall. Mike was well over six five. He could only imagine the height and bulk this Tigger kid had as well. At the very least, Johnny knew perhaps he could get some family reminiscent time in by doing some old fashion friendly wrestling. Fake fighting was a dementia quality Johnny missed about his family.

  “What’s wrong?” Mike asked.

  “Where’s your son?” Johnny questioned. “He didn’t leave, did he?.”

  “No. Hey!” Mike yelled toward the kitchen. “Tigger, what the fuck is taking you so long?”

  “I’m finishing up,” Tigger responded. “I’m moving slowly, Dad. I fucked up my elbow on that last crawl space.”

  Mike gave a twitch of his head. “He’s a little clumsy at times.”

  Johnny chuckled. Usually oversized kids were awkward. “He sounds young, Mike.”

  “He is young. So are you. Sit. Tigger, hurry.”

  “So why do you guys call him Tigger?” He pulled out a chair.

  The swinging door to the kitchen opened. “Hey,” Tigger said.

  Johnny looked, then looked, and then looked . . . down. A surprise shriek flew from Johnny and in his stumble of shock, he knocked over the chair. “You . . . You . . . you . . .” Johnny laughed airy. “Oh, shit, you’re a . . .”

  “Don’t say midget.” Tigger lifted a finger. “Are my legs short and stubby? No. Is my body awkwardly oversized? No. Is my head too big and my face . . .”

  Mike cringed. “Okay, enough. I didn’t tell him.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Tigger pulled out the chair. His small body, no bigger than a five year old, barely poked above the edge of the table. He had long blonde hair, pulled back like Mike’s. His face incredibly resembled Mike’s. He even had tiny muscles that graced what Johnny would call the most perfectly petite and tiny frame. “I asked you to warn people. I hate that initial reaction.” Tigger began to sit.

  “You need your booster?” Mike asked.

  Tigger huffed and climbed on the chair. “No I don’t need a booster chair. Why is he laughing?”

  Johnny held up his hand as he sat down. “I’m sorry. It’s a family trait. I’m laughing at my own misconception. I’m Johnny.” He extended his hand.

  “Tigger.” He shook Johnny’s hand.

  Johnny chuckled as the tiny hand got lost is his. “This is great.”

  “Dad,” Tigger scolded.

  “Johnny?” Mike asked. “Everything Okay?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Johnny nodded.

  “Good.” Mike smiled. “I have a feeling you two are gonna get along. Now both of you have a full day today, but tonight . . . tonight, John, in my opinion, you’re still a kid and you were forced to be an adult in a grown up world. Tigger here is a kid, and well, he was raised like a kid. Tonight, it’s just you two. Tigger and I talked. He’s gonna give you a new perspective in this world. You’re gonna see it through his eyes.”

  Tigger gave a nod and an ornery grin to Johnny.

  Johnny saw the look. The pure teenage ‘wait, we’re gonna have a blast’ look on Tigger’s face. Johnny couldn’t wait. He genuinely couldn’t wait.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Round and round was the typical pattern Joe used in rubbing his temples. He would think there was something about sitting behind his desk that caused him to do it more fervently, however Joe never found himself rubbing his temples when he was alone.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Rub. Rub.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap

  Joe rubbed his temples faster.

  Tap-tap . . .

  “All right.” Joe slammed his hand on the desk. “Enough, Danny.”

  The pencil that Danny Hoi used to tap back and forth froze mid hit. “Sorry, but you do know you could talk to me.”

  “Yes, I do know that.”

  “So talk.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Joe asked. “I’m gonna have a meeting with you. I’ll save it.”

  “Why are we having a meeting, Joe? Your mind is elsewhere.”

  “Yes, it is. I need it away from that elsewhere.”

  “So let’s start the meeting.”

  “There’s someone I’m waiting for.”

  “Elliott?”

  “No,” Joe replied. “The meeting is just you and me.”

  “So let’s start and stop when your person gets here.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “Can we discuss matters of little importance?”

  “Danny . . .”

  “Because the women want to strike.”

  “Strike what?” Joe asked.

  “You know, old world union shit.” Danny shrugged. “Unfair treatment to women. They want to negotiate with you.”

  “They do, do they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tough.”

  “But don’t you want to know what they . . .”

  “No.” Joe sighed in relief when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

  “Is this your person?”

  Joe looked up when John Matoose walked in the office.

  “You wanted to see me, Joe?” John asked in
a nervous manner. His hands actually shook a little as he closed the door.

  “Want me to leave, Joe?” Danny questioned.

  “No. You can stay,” Joe replied. “And yes, John, I wanted to see you. Sit down.”

  John did, slowly and apprehensively.

  “John.” Joe leaned back. “You’ve broken the rules here in Beginnings. You were a trusted individual and you broke that. Being a traitor isn’t taken lightly.”

  Danny whistled softly. “Wow, I’m staying for a good one.”

  After giving a glare to Danny, Joe continued. “John. It’s time we had that talk. It’s time we spoke about you . . . and your status in Beginnings.”

  John’s head lowered.

  ^^^^

  Jenny Matoose knew it was cold outside, but she needed some fresh air, plus she had promised herself she would start to get more exercise. So after about six laps around Joe Park, Jenny felt she achieved her physical stamina quota and took a seat on the wall by the flagpole.

  She chuckled a little at how the steam poured from her coffee, yet it tasted cool. And the slice of freshly made bread, which should have been ice cold, was still warm. She was going to enjoy it. The park was empty and Jenny needed a moment to herself, something different while she waited–like everyone else–for news about Robbie.

  The crust separated nicely from the bread and released puffs of smoke. Jenny prepared to take a little bite when, surprised, she saw her husband John.

  John walked slowly, one hand in his coat pocket and when he spotted Jenny, he waved.

  Curiously, Jenny tilted her head. “John?” she spoke in question. “What are you doing here?”

  “Joe . . . Joe wanted to have a meeting with me.” John sat next to her on the wall. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “About?”

  “Well . . . he wanted to have that long overdue talk.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know the talk that had to be put off until they found the other inside person . . . Johnny.”

  “Oh.” Jenny nodded slowly. “I see. And?”

  “Joe said he realizes that I have been training with the UWA. He realizes that I have been wanting to establish residency there, but I am an original here and if I want to return to Beginnings, full force in Security . . . I am welcome.”