“I appreciate it. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to wait around a bit, just in case he shows,” I said.
He shrugged, giving me the universal symbol for “no skin off of my back”, as he turned to walk away. Stopping after a couple of steps, he turned back to face me.
“I’m Jim. Let me know if I can get you anything else Bruce,” he said.
I nodded thanks as he turned and walked down the bar returning to his cleaning duties. I ate my second sandwich slower, watching Jim work as I did. It was clear that he took a great deal of pride in his job. He took his time with each glass, making sure that they were spotless. As I watched him I realized two things about the Cold War bar, the first being that they took their alcohol very seriously. The selection was huge and the glasses were spotless, assuring that the only thing you tasted was the drink that you ordered. The second, and arguably more important thing that I learned about Jim was this. He would happily blow your head off in a second if he thought that his boss was in danger. It was rare thing to find that kind of devotion in an employee. As I pondered what it was that Mr. Lazarus might have done to garner such loyalty, I took another bit of my sandwich. The turkey was exceptional.
Chapter 9
The clock on the wall read seven thirty, meaning that I had been sitting here for almost six hours. As it was early spring, sunset fell around this time, so Vlad would soon be on his way. There were now several dozen people gracing the Cold War’s cozy corners. A second bartender and a waitress were now working with Jim, keeping everything flowing smooth. An hour earlier, after I had made my phone call and before all the good seats were gone, I had traded my barstool for a comfy booth in the corner. I was starting to think that Mr. Lazarus would never show up. While I was waiting, I had been letting my mind wander on a myriad of possibilities. Had Jim let him know that I was here, hence causing Lazarus to avoid the place? Was he actually here the whole time, watching me from behind the one-way mirror? Was Jim really Lazarus and faking me out with a Higgins? I had no idea.
When I had made my phone call earlier, using the pay phone by the front door, Freddy had been very short with me. The Team had learned nothing new and apparently they really needed to go and get back to work. It was becoming clear that the events of the afternoon had shaken them up more than they wanted to admit. Watching me kill three people had been unsettling. Which is as it should be. I wish that it upset me. I hated how easily I dealt with death. But this time I had acted to save their lives. I hoped that eventually that fact would help them come to terms with it. After all, the more I learned about my job, the more it seemed that in order to keep people safe, supernatural threats would need to be eliminated. Part of the reason that they hired me, an ex assassin, I’m sure. For now, I knew that I needed to give my Team space.
As I was sitting there in my booth, readjusting my position yet again in a vain attempt to get comfortable, I decided to stretch my legs. I figured that I could pop across the street, hit the McDonalds, and get a little more food in my belly. Jim had been kind enough to supply a third sandwich earlier, but I was getting hungry again and I felt like asking for a fourth might be pushing it. I stood up, stretched a bit, and started towards the front door. I looked over at Jim, intending to get his attention and let him know that I would be back, when I noticed the shift in his posture.
Something behind the bar caught his eye and put a sense of urgency into his facial features. He looked up and glanced around the bar, obviously trying to verify my current position. For a moment I second guessed myself and decided that I was making too much of his movements. There was a chance that he just happened to look over at my booth, noticed that I wasn’t there, and wanted to reestablish my location. But the slightest hint of anxiety in his shoulders put another thought into the back of my mind. What if Jim had just been alerted that the boss was here?
Listening to my gut, I looked towards the back door just as it opened. The man who stepped through was massive, standing somewhere in the neighborhood of six-foot-six, with broad shoulders and an enormous belly. He wore a pair of combat boots, blue jeans, and a tan jacket over a white tee shirt. He had a short brimmed cap on his head and I noted at least two pistols hidden on his person. He had shaggy black hair, a flat nose and a large chin on a round face. I instantly shifted directions and made my way towards him while Jim was very nonchalantly moving parallel to me behind the bar. I wasn’t paying him any mind however, because when I looked the large man in the eyes, I realized that we had met before. We spoke simultaneously.
“Visine!” I stated.
“Black Dragon?” he questioned.
Okay fine, maybe I didn’t have any right making fun of Timothy’s nickname. But mine was given to me, so there. And Visine probably didn’t introduce himself that way in the normal course of a day. But it was the codename that he gave me the first time that we met and I found it so entertaining that I refused to call him anything else. Visine stared at me for a bit, and I could see his mind racing behind his eyes. I wasn’t quite sure what to say either. Opening with “wow, I haven’t seen you since Belgium” just felt wrong. Luckily he decided to break the silence first.
“What are you doing in my bar?” he asked.
“Your bar, but this place…you’re Mr. Lazarus?”
He let a large smile cross his lips, glancing around the bar before gesturing to the door marked private with a tilt of his head. Looking over at Jim, he gave a nod that caused all of the tension to flow out of the bartender’s shoulders. Some signal that I wasn’t a threat I guess. Just before he stepped in the door, he stopped and turned to face me.
“Hungry?” he asked me.
“Yeah, famished,” I smiled.
Visine held up two fingers towards Jim who nodded in response. Then we stepped into the back office. The room was about fifteen by fifteen, boxes of alcohol stacked up against the walls. A small dark hallway ran to the left, taking it length wise down the building behind the bar. I couldn’t see anything from this angle, but I was betting that if I walked down there, I’d be looking out the other side of the mirror. In the right corner of the room there was a large wooden desk, hand carved and very old, papers strewn about all over it. An old feather quill pen sat next to a bottle of ink, giving the office an old-world feel. There was no computer, no television, no phone or any visible electronic device of any kind. He sat at his desk, a large wooden chair hugging his frame. A small movement from his hand let me know that he expected me to take the small seat facing the desk.
“Been a while,” he started.
“Many years,” I agreed, “Feels like a lifetime ago. A very different lifetime.”
When we met, I had been an assassin. My target and his mission happened to coincide. We ended up working together and after it was finished, I assumed that our paths would never again cross. It would seem that life had a different plan. But after sitting in his bar for six hours waiting to save his life, I wasn’t sure we should spend time reminiscing. So I tried to get straight to the point.
“I was hoping to ask you a couple of…”
He held his hand up to stop me, keeping his deep voice relaxed as he spoke.
“My bar,” he stated, “I go first.”
His big wooden chair creaked as he leaned back, his eyes looking me over as if he was deciding where to start. I wanted to argue that I had the badge so I should go first, but there was a bit of a formality here. I was in his place, so if we were going to claim that there was a protocol, it most likely said that the host makes the rules. I relaxed and waited for him to ask his questions.
“SIA huh? How did that happen?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but smile. His first question and I was already at a loss. Where did he get his information?
“How do you know who I work for?” I asked in reply.
He titled his head to the side and raised his eyebrows as he looked at me. The expression was a reminder that it was his turn to ask and my turn to answer. I nodded my head and smi
led, my way of agreeing with him.
“It’s kind of a long story. I’m not sure we have time to get into all of that. Maybe I should start with why I am here,” I offered instead.
“I’m aware of the threat. You dealt with the immediate problem out back, correct? So we have time,” he stated.
I tried to keep the shocked expression off of my face and I failed. It was clear that he knew a hell of a lot more about this situation than I did and I wasn’t going to get anywhere until I answered his questions. His dark eyes, starkly contrasted against his light skin, remained steady as he waited for me to reply.
“Okay, I guess you want the short and skinny of it,” I started, “I was on a wayward stroll through Rock Creek Park one night when I bumped into a vampire. We had a disagreement, so I emphasized my point,” I smiled.
Sure it was a bad pun, but I did see the slightest hint of a smirk at the corner of Visine’s mouth. That in itself was almost a victory. He sat there patiently, waiting for me to continue.
“The next thing I knew,” I said, “The Special Investigations Agency was calling and offered me a job. I figured that I had a lot to atone for and this was as good a chance as any. So here I am, my first case.”
“And now you’re a GHOST,” he said.
I just looked at him and smiled. He wasn’t asking me a question, just pointing out a fact. Before either of us could say anything else, a knock on the door behind me preceded Jim stepping in. He carried a tray of food and drinks, bringing them over to the desk. Visine and I paused our conversation as he placed the items in front of us. Jim waited for a signal from Visine, which was a thank you nod, before he left. Since I wasn’t part of the bar body-language guild, I went the traditional route.
“Thanks Jim,” I said.
“Welcome,” he said as he stepped out of the room.
I waited for Jim to step out and close the door before I said anything else.
“Jim seems like a good dude. Very loyal,” I said.
Visine just smiled.
“How do you know him?” I asked.
“I saved his life in Nam,” Visine replied.
I watched Visine closely, waiting for some signal that he was joking. But he held his gaze steady, nothing in his expression to make me think that he was anything other than serious. I looked over his facial features carefully, trying to better gauge his age. Aside from the large belly, he was in good shape. He wasn’t ripped like a body builder, but even through his coat I could tell that he was covered in functional muscle, bulky muscle. His thick black hair was sticking out every which way from under his hat and it matched the dark beard stubble on his face. There was no sign of his hair thinning and I didn’t see one gray strand in the mess. His skin was healthy and smooth, no blemishes or pockmarks or scars or even shaving cuts. He had deep character lines, but no real wrinkles on his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a thirty-five year old who had lived the healthiest life ever.
“How old are you?” I asked.
He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly as he watched me. Picking up his glass, he took a sip of a golden liquid that I couldn’t identify without a label, and then very casually laid his glass back down on the desk. He sighed heavily before speaking.
“Look BD, you’re going to have a lot of questions. I can understand that. I make it a point to know as much as possible about the people that I deal with. Most of your past however, is inaccessible to me. So I’ll make you a deal. You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine,” he said.
It seemed a bit like a waste of time to me, but then again my goal was to keep him safe. Sharing stories seemed like as good an excuse as any to hang about. Plus, there was a chance that something from his past would give me a clue as to why these people were out to kill him. It was almost funny how little I knew about the man. We went into a deadly situation together, all those years ago, with nothing more than code names to call each other. I was Black Dragon and he was Visine and that was all we knew.
We plunged into battle, trusting our lives in each other’s hands. That kind of bond, forged in the fires of war, is not something that can be explained with words. It’s more than friendship and more than family. I owed him my life and he owed me his. So I could say that it was simple curiosity about his past that made me agree. But the truth is that after what we went through together, I figured the least I could do for the man was tell him my story.
“Deal,” I agreed.
Chapter 10
So I told him everything. How my adoptive parents rescued me as an infant from a secret super-soldier program and stashed me in a hidden Buddhist temple in China. Why the murder of my father prompted me to infiltrate and destroy an entire ninja society. I even admitted that my quest for revenge had cost my mother her life. It was a dark tale and nothing to be proud of, but it made me who I am today. Speaking about the death of my parents even caused me to choke up a bit, but Visine was polite enough not to notice. I took a slow breath.
“And that is the story of Bruce Tiberius Chang.”
Visine raised an eyebrow.
“Dad was into Kung Fu movies and Mom was a Star Trek fan. What are you gonna do?” I shrugged.
He half smiled and finished off his drink before leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers over his belly.
“I guess that means it’s my turn,” he said.
I nodded and got comfortable. Visine was looking down as if his mind was wandering before he finally let out a heavy sigh and met my eyes.
“Ninety years ago I woke up in an army hospital with no memory of who I was,” he started.
In case my wide-eyed stare didn’t make it obvious for you, he had my attention.
“They found me during the Hundred Day Offensive, my body lying among the dead on a French battlefield. There was a huge piece of shrapnel sticking out of my head and both of my legs were missing. Apparently my pulse came as a great shock to everyone,” he smiled.
“Holy crap. How long did it take for your legs to grow back?” I asked.
“Almost ten years. My body healed slower back then, forcing me to miss the dance craze of the twenties,” he frowned.
“Seriously? That’s what upset you about that situation?” I scoffed
Visine smiled, “There will only ever be one twenties. Legs it would seem come and go.”
I didn’t even know how to begin to argue with that logic. Maybe having to watch your legs slowly grow back gives you an unusual perspective. Here’s hoping that I never have to find out.
“My head injury was the real problem,” he continued, “the resulting brain damage caused my memory loss. The brain healed, but the memories never returned. The army knew me as John Smith, a man fighting with the allies for four years. Nothing more of my past has ever been recovered,” he said, taking a sip of his drink before continuing.
“Little of interest happened until World War II. I hadn’t aged a day, so in order to keep my secret I fought with the Allies as John Smith’s son, Thomas. Towards the end of the war, word of my natural toughness reached someone high up. They asked me to partake in an experiment to create a self healing soldier,” he said.
I couldn’t help but lean forward in my chair. Could we be from similar programs? Visine read the expression on my face and answered my unasked question.
“Not like you,” he said, “This involved mini robots which patched up wounds from inside of the body. But like you, I was the only survivor. My natural healing ability is to be thanked as the mini bots didn’t function. The assumption was that the broken bots would pass naturally so no effort was made to remove them. I returned to the war effort, not thinking of robots again for decades.
“The next thirty years I was a soldier, fighting the world over in different conflicts. But after Nam, I started to feel a change. The mini robots had remained in my system and now numbered in the thousands. Empowered by the very energy that keeps me young, they adapted and became more efficient. I wasn’t sure w
hat to make of them, until a sniper bullet a year later showed me what they could do.
“I was tracking a KGB agent across Luxemburg. She had a partner that I didn’t discover until the bullet entered my chest. I found cover and after a minute, the bullet hole had filled with silver, stopping the bleed. I could feel them inside of me, working to patch my muscle, bone, and skin. My usual healing time was cut in half. The nanites, to use a more modern moniker, have continued to shrink their size, improve their methods, and increase their numbers. And in the eighties, when wireless communication became more prominent, they found new abilities,” he said.
“Wait! Are you about to tell me that you can talk to machines?” I asked.
“Among other things,” he smirked, “Up until about ten years ago I worked for the US Government, helping to contain the Red Threat,” he said.
“Um, didn’t the cold war end in the eighties?” I laughed.
Visine gave me a look that seemed to say “did it now small child”. There was clearly amusement on his face at my remark. Then he continued on as if I hadn’t asked anything at all.
“With the new century came my retirement and the bar,” he smiled.
“Wow, ninety years in five minutes. Were we racing?” I smiled.
“Some people run their mouths more than others,” he grinned.
Just because it was true didn’t mean that I had to let it go.
“Oh yeah, well it looks like you got twins in that fat belly,” I said.
Visine stared at me for a good ten seconds, letting the silence fill the room. I held his gaze for a moment and then couldn’t help myself. I mouthed the word huge and looked at his belly. He let out a loud chuckle, a deep guttural thing. The sheer passion of the laugh forced me to join in. We had bantered back and forth just like this in Brussels, our way of dealing with the horrors of killing. Once the laughing died down, Visine patted his belly with his hand before speaking.
G.H.O.S.T. Teams: Book 1 - Magic Page 9
