C.R. Daems - Kazak 2 - The Unthinkable

by C. R. Daems

  "He's going on an unscheduled vacation. Probably won't return. Her? A foster home most likely unless she decides to stay on the streets." I could feel for her. I had plenty of experience with foster homes, but Jimmy was my responsibility not Susan.

  "She'll stay with me until she can decide what she wants to do. I can afford some clothes and food." He gave me a questioning look. I could feel his dilemma. He was determined to protect her, but knew he couldn't win if I said no. I shrugged. Heroes were a pain.

  ***

  Over the next several days, we bought Susan some new clothes, backpack, and other sundry items she would need to live the homeless life. Jason seemed to think it was somehow my fault. He spent hours talking with Jimmy and Susan. But Jimmy was adamant he would look after her until she knew what she wanted to do, and she was equally adamant she didn't know what she wanted to do and would stay with Jimmy until she did.

  We roamed the streets by day and slept in parks, golf courses, and sometimes vacant-lots or alleys. Jimmy and Susan seemed content. I was bored and cranky. I insisted we spend most our nights in the park, as that was where Jimmy had been attacked. Following some rich guy around was usually boring, but wandering the streets proved mind numbing. Jimmy and Susan enjoyed it.

  It was well after midnight when I heard them. They weren't like the last lot. This group was looking for someone. They were working their way around the park stopping whenever they found a homeless camp. And they were too quiet. I woke Jimmy.

  "I think we found them. As soon as you can see them, let me know if it's them or not. In either case stay well back and look after Susan." I hoped that would keep him from getting in my way.

  "Well, well, boys. We found the rich homeless man. James isn't it. Well, James, we could use a little extra money. College is very expensive now days," a tall athletic looking young man said. He had red-hair and a pale complexion, which was flush with excitement. All three had batons, about two and a half feet long. "And we have a couple of party girls."

  "We could take them back to the frat and clean them up. Then we can have a frat orgy. They certainly aren't virgins," a broad slightly overweight youth said. The other boy was a twin to the first one except for his sandy-color hair. I concluded they were probably into sports of some kind.

  "Well, well, Jimmy. Its the Marx brothers come to entertain us."

  "It's you that's going to entertain me." He took three quick steps towards me and grabbed me around the waist. Unfortunately for him, my arms were raised and weren't pinned. Each arm sung in an arc driving my open palms against his ears. Cupped as they were, the impact ruptured his eardrums. He screamed and then collapsed onto the ground. The other two stood there not sure what to do. The homeless were not supposed to fight. The overweight one recovered first and stepped towards me swinging the baton in an arc towards my head. I stepped into him sideways, facing the arm swinging the baton, and met his arm with my forearms. The sudden impact sent the baton flying. My left hand latched onto his wrist and I drove my right elbow into his eye socket, and again into his jaw, and again into his temple. I slipped under his arm as he fell. The lone standing youth turned to run. I delivered a sidekick to his knee. He went down, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Another sidekick to his temple and all three were quiet. A search of them turned up Jimmy's military ID and disability information. I hit "1" again, almost feeling sorry for Witton.

  "Boss."

  "What now?"

  "I have the three that attacked Jimmy. According to their IDs they are attending a local university and are members of a fraternity."

  "Are they alive?"

  "Yes. I'm hurt you-"

  "Someone will be there in an hour." The phone went dead. I guessed alive meant more work.

  "Alright you two." I waved Jimmy and Susan over to me. They approached carefully like I might attack them at any moment. "You both have a decision to make tonight. If you want to stay together, Jimmy, you have to get a job and Susan, you have to go back to school. If not, then Susan will have to go into the foster care system. I've been there and don't recommend it. But it might be better than living on the streets for the rest of her life. Before long you will turning tricks or on drugs or both, and live in fear of the Mack's of the world, police, and hatred of the general population."

  "How am I supposed to find a job? Who would want to hire a homeless man?"

  "If Susan is willing to go back to school and work hard, then you have to be willing to do your part and provide a safe environment for her. That means getting a job so you can afford a place to live, clothes, food, furniture, and all the other things that go with a normal life. Talk it over. You don't have long. Unless I'm wrong, I'll be leaving soon. That doesn't mean living homeless is safe. It just means the threat from the current round of youth gangs is over." I walked just out of hearing range and sat. An hour later five golf carts appeared and whisked the three youths away.

  ***

  Just as it began to get light, Jimmy and Susan began to get ready to leave. They came over looking coy.

  "We decided to stay together. I'll find work somewhere and Susan will go back to school. No more living homeless," Jimmy said with his arm around Susan's shoulders. I thought it funny that it took saving Susan from a life on the streets, drugs, and prostitution to motivate Jimmy. Yes, Jimmy was a real hero. He was willing to sacrifice his own life to help others in trouble.

  We left the park, visited the Circle K and bought a newspaper, and spent the next few hours searching for jobs. I loaned Jimmy my phone and he spent another hour calling to inquire about each position. By early afternoon, he had set up two interviews and had two other places where no appointment was necessary. Then my phone rang. It was Witton.

  "Hello, you have reached Lynn's Rescue Mission. How may-."

  "Good job." That shut me up. I'd bet I'd caused him a ton of extra work. It was much easier if I had just killed the bad guys. Because I didn't, he had a thousand details to arrange. "The FBI raided the fraternity and found evidence that the homeless were part of an elaborate game. They earned points for various actions against the homeless and were stupid enough to make videos, which were reviewed before points were awarded. There are a variety of charges being brought against the individuals on the tapes, the fraternity is being disbanded, and most will be expelled. Lawyers are lining up to bring lawsuits on behalf of the homeless men and women who were victimized. Your involvement is no longer necessary. You-"

  "Boss, I need a favor." Perfect timing since he said I did a good job.

  "You want to visit Clare?"

  "No...well, yes, but that's not the favor. Jimmy needs a job-" The phone went dead.

  "What did he say, Lynn?" Susan asked.

  "He didn't," I admitted. All the interviews were tomorrow and it was a little late for the other places so we wandered down to the Mission for dinner. Afterward we attended services and had a long conversation with Jason. He had mixed feelings about Jimmy living with Susan. I didn't. Jimmy was a hero. We were just getting ready to leave when Witton called.

  "Lynn, Jimmy has a job with Armor Transport Limited. He's to report to their office tomorrow for training. His new boss is a Silver Star recipient, so they should get along well. And you have a week to visit Clare and give her an interview. The Committee is pleased with the outcome. You may have been right about what they were expecting, or at least hoping would happen. Here's Ann Marie, she'll book your flight to Denver." He snorted and the phone went on hold.

  "Hi, Lynn. I'm sorry but your plane is busy on the east coast. I'll try and get it to you for your return trip from Denver. But without some injuries, I'm not sure." She had a good laugh. That "your plane" joke was getting wide spread. It did seem like I got to use it more than most. She booked me a first class seat two days hence. I needed the extra day to shop. We slept on the golf course that night. With me there, it was safe enough. The next day I found them a small apartment, which I paid for a month's rent, got Susan registered in the local high school
, went shopping for some clothes for me, Susan, and Jimmy. All in all, I spent less than a thousand dollars, which was about the price of a first class ticket to Denver that the Kazaks were paying. And it made me feel good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I had bought a pants suit and a soft leather carry-on bag thinking I would buy a few things in Denver for my stay with Clare. It would also be a good idea to leave a partial wardrobe at her... our condo for the next time I visited. The flight was short and Clare met me at the terminal with a kiss and a bear hug. It felt great to be home.

  "Well, look at you. All dressed up, flying commercial, and no injuries. You aren't injured, are you?"

  "No, love. I may have bruises from sleeping on the ground, calluses on my feet from walking the streets, and in need of TLC-but no injuries."

  "I don't know about the bruises and calluses, but you've come to the right place for TLC." Her face was flushed and had a smile worth killing for. "No injuries and no private plane which I assume means no stories." She immediately held up her hand. "I much prefer it this way."

  "No, you get me with no injuries and a story. One you should love. But let's wait until we reach...our condo. You drive much better when you're concentrating."

  "Coward. And yes, our condo." She looked over at me and smiled-and almost moved into the other lane, which already had a car.

  "Please, Clare, eyes on the road. They're lovely but... Speaking of our condo. I would like to pay my share, since we're sharing our lives."

  "Well...I do still have a mortgage. You could make half the monthly payments if you want. That's about..."

  "You're drifting again. I think the guy in the other lane is as close to the median as he can get."

  "Oh. Around two thousand a month. But you don't have to. I'm earning a good salary now. With my last promotion, I'm now the Features Editor thanks to you and your daring exploits. Anyway, seventy thousand a year now," she said as we thankfully pulled into her assigned parking slot. "There. Safe and sound." She gave a sharp nod of her head.

  "In my job, it's ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent adrenaline-pumping life and death moments. Driving with you is the opposite." I laughed and she punched me. "Now that I can concentrate again, what if I pay the monthly mortgage payments, condo fees, and property taxes, and you keep paying the utilities and keep the place cozy."

  "That's too much!"

  "Clare. You're my soul mate. Nothing is too much. Besides, I earn close to four times your salary, have no housing or medical costs, and all my expenses are paid when I'm away. And I fly free most of the time." Yes, the job paid well.

  "I'd ask for a raise. Witton doesn't pay you enough." She laughed, while I sat there with my mouth open.

  "I've seen you after that one percent of the job. Forget it. I know you're dumb enough to do the job for my salary and no benefits. All right, you pay the mortgage, condo fees, and taxes. I'll keep our home cozy," Clare relented.

  For dinner, she had prepared a meat lasagna with an eggplant side dish, salad, and a chocolate layer cake with a fudgy frosting. It was delicious. Although I won't go out of my way to eat anything, I appreciate good cooking. Afterward, we sat on the couch in each other's arm listening to a CD of Andre Rieu. I'm not into music and can hardly tell one artist from another, but his music was relaxing. I lay there satisfied in many ways.

  "All right, time for that bedtime story. I was going to make you pay for your meals except I think that comes with keeping the condo cozy," she said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  "The Committee in its ultimate wisdom decided I should protect Technical Sergeant James Hearn..." I relived the story in detail. Clare laughed until tears ran down her face, cried over the Jimmy and Susan part, and showed intense interest in the daily lives of the homeless. That night we lay in each other's arms content to be together.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I arrived in Richmond late and by the time I reached the Kazak complex it was well past midnight. I use to think of my two-bedroom suite as home, now I considered it my temporary residence. I woke early and wandered downstairs for breakfast. The room was empty except for Al the Cheetah. He waved.

  "Hi, Lynn, have a seat unless you've come to invite me to another party. The one at the Sovereign Whites of America was fun."

  "As I remember you were a good date," I quipped. Al had accompanied me to the skinheads meeting where we killed several for their attack on my client, Father Joseph. I scanned the menu quickly and ordered coffee, bacon, and eggs.

  "Have you been hibernating? There hasn't been a complaint posted to your board in years. The last one was from the Nevada police. As I remember, you shot some gang banger in the back. Three bullets did seem like bad shooting." He smiled. I thought everyone must have heard I spent time on the Hill but maybe not what I had been doing since. So, I gave him the highlights of my last two assignments. He in turn gave me an entertaining account of his year with a House Representative from Utah. Nothing happened. Al suspected the man's wife had sent him the threatening letters and she would have been justified in killing him.

  Just after eight, I made my way to Witton's office. Ann Marie was already there and handed me a cup of coffee.

  "He's expecting you, go right in."

  "Hi, Boss. Thanks for getting Jimmy a job. He and Susan deserve a fresh start."

  "You were right. The Committee wanted the people after Hearn caught and punished-and hoped you would somehow do something to get Hearn off the streets. I'm glad you succeeded in motivating him, but I'm concerned about the Committee having secret agendas."

  "That's their problem. My job is to protect the client and nothing else. Maybe I should add that to my rules." I grinned.

  "No. You've had a very positive effect on some of your clients. That's good; however, that's not part of your responsibility. I will point that out to the committee, but I know it isn't going to change their thinking. For better or worse, you're their lab rat...well fox.'" He grinned for a moment, then sat worrying his lower lip. He was concerned. I wasn't. Witton had concerns, the Committee had concerns, and I had concerns. They were each different, yet like an overlapping Venn diagram, there existed an area where they intersected and were the same. Witton looked up.

  "There is a General Udella who has had many threatening emails and letters because of his successful efforts to get the president to increase our presence and stepped up activities in Afghanistan, which has resulted in increased US military and Afghan civilian deaths. The Pentagon believes it's one of several Muslim pro-Al-Qaeda groups disguising themselves as anti-war activities. The Pentagon doesn't want you involved-you're still on their active shit-list. However, General Udella knows Sharer and Sorinson and has insisted on having you, ignoring the Pentagon's objections. That has probably moved you up on their list. Udella will be expecting you tomorrow at his home in Baltimore."

  ***

  I had hired a taxi to take me to their house, since I wouldn't need a car. I told the taxi cab driver to wait, just in case, even though this time Udella knew I was a woman and a Kazak, but you never know. The house was a two-story, with dormers on what could be a third floor attic. Two stone stairways, one from the driveway and the other from the sidewalk, led to a long country-like porch and the front entrance. A ten by ten over-hang supported by two twelve-foot columns sheltered the porch.

  I knocked at the front door and a few minutes later a tall athletic looking man in his fifties answered. He wore brown slacks and a beige shirt, which had a military look. He stood ramrod straight with an "I'm in charge" stance and look.

  "You must be the Kazak Lynn. I've heard much about you, both good and bad depending upon the source. Putting it nicely, our security people don't like you; however, the people you've guarded do. Come in, I'd like you to meet my wife and son." He didn't seem to want a response so I followed in his wake without a word. He turned left into a huge living room. A small woman sat on a beige couch and a youth in his late teens sat in a matching chair. The woman had a pleasa
nt smile and rose to greet me. The youth remained seated and was frowning.

  "Mary, I'd like you to meet Kazak Lynn. Lynn this is my wife Mary and the boy sulking in the chair over there is my son, David. He's the one you will be guarding," he said nodding towards the chair.

  "She's a woman. How's she going to protect me? Beside, I don't want her following me around. How is that going to look- a woman guard? My friends-"

  "Quiet David. It's decided, unless you want to be confined to the house."

  "All right," he said after a pause, "but there are places she can't go." He smiled or sneered. I wasn't sure which. He had that cocky attitude many youths develop as they begin to approach adulthood and feel they are free to make their own decision, even though they still depend upon their parent's financial support. Udella turned to me frowning. His wife's eyes darted from him to her son. A confrontation was coming-time for the rules.

  "General, I'm sure Sharer and Sorinson told you about my rules. They are non negotiable. I'm willing to risk my life to protect my client; therefore, I expect my client to help. If they refused to accept my rules, I just leave. I can't protect someone if I can't see him. Since in this case it's your son, I only need your agreement that I can enforce my rules without your son's approval."

  "I'd like to see that-"

  "What are your rules," Mary asked hesitantly. Udella glared at his son.

  "In general, they're simple. The client must be in my sight or alone in a room that has no access I can't guard."

  She stood quietly for a moment. "That could be awkward."

  "If a client's life isn't worth a bit of awkwardness, then why bother with a Kazak. You can hire any bodyguard who will give you all the privacy and space you want."