by D. F. Hart
***
Huh. That was weird, Lizzie thought as she frowned at her cell phone’s now blank screen.
She’d called Donny to tell him about her day; it was a nightly ritual they’d had ever since they’d begun dating since they lived so far apart. And usually, they’d talk for an hour, at least.
Except tonight.
From the moment he answered, he sounded distracted. Evasive. And in a hurry to disconnect the call. After an awkward five minutes, he’d mumbled an excuse, and said goodbye.
“What the hell was that about?” she wondered out loud, dismayed to feel the slow, deep bloom of hurt reverberating through her core.
Shaking her head, she wandered off to her bathroom to shower - and to worry.
***
“They want to give me a retirement party next Thursday,” Joe grumbled as he and his new bride washed their dishes after dinner.
“That’s sweet of them,” she said encouragingly, knowing all too well that Joe hated being the center of attention.
Trish and Joe had tied the knot exactly as they’d planned to – a simple courthouse ceremony, followed two weeks later by a fabulous ten-day all-inclusive resort stay in Grand Cayman. Lizzie had highly recommended the resort, and the newly minted husband and wife had been very pleased to realize she’d actually understated the beauty of their surroundings.
He’d listed his house for sale, fully expecting it to be on the market for a while. It had been a pleasant surprise when it was not only snatched up quickly at just under the price he’d asked for but was followed up with a quick closing.
Now, Joe was just about to move on to the next phase of his professional life – that of private investigator. He had one more round of coursework to complete, then the licensing examination.
And after that, he thought contentedly as he and Trish settled in on the couch, I can go at the pace I want.
***
Finally. Stupid people, he growled in his head as he pulled out of the last clueless property owner’s driveway. Before he’d even reached the first service call location his dispatcher had assigned him three more – none of them even remotely close to one another.
He’d been dealing with the resulting one-two punch of stupidity and bad traffic all afternoon long.
“And every single freaking problem they could have solved on their own if they would just read the freaking manual,” he stated vehemently to himself in the rear-view mirror. “But nooo – too lazy or stupid to figure shit out.”
It wears me out, dealing with ‘how-many-pieces-of-chicken-are-in-a-three-piece-meal’ type questions. It’s a wonder some of these idiots even made it to adulthood. But of course, I’m not allowed to point any of that out. The last thing I need is to get written up again.
He took the opportunity that waiting at the red light provided to rub his hands up and down, up and down his face then back through his hair in frustration, trying to curb the building rage that was usually followed by lashing out violently at anyone or anything around him.
Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t do anything stupid, especially out in public. Hold it in until you get home. Unleash it there.
***
By the time she’d finished her shower, Lizzie had moved away from hurt and over into a little pissed off – and it was evident in her tone when Donny called her back an hour later.
“Hey, honey,” he began. “Sorry about earlier.”
“It’s fine,” she said in a clipped tone.
Aw, hell, I’ve stepped in it now, he realized, and winced. I don’t want to lie to her – I know how much she values honesty – but I don’t want to spoil the surprise, either...
He silently took a deep breath, and said, “I was right in the middle of a dinner meeting with some potential clients.”
Which isn’t a lie, technically.... Rick and Faith have both asked me to look at their policies and make sure what they have is adequate, he reasoned. We just didn’t have that particular conversation tonight, is all...
“Oh,” she replied, and he waited for her to continue.
He was met with silence.
Donny cleared his throat, then said, “How was your day?”
“Beat my personal best time in the one-and-a-half mile,” she conveyed neutrally.
O...kay... sounds like I’m not out of the doghouse yet...
“That’s awesome, Liz!” he said with enthusiasm.
“I thought so, too,” she answered, and he could hear her beginning to thaw a bit.
“So, what else happened today?”
“Not much, really,” she said. “Nathan was up this way and stopped in to check on me.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Fine, it sounded like. Said there’s not much action lately at the Dallas branch.”
“Well, with some of the people he’s chased the last two years, he’s probably grateful for a break.”
Now she laughed, and he felt himself climbing out of the hole he’d dug himself into earlier.
“He said pretty much that exact same thing,” she revealed.
“I miss you,” Donny said simply, and meant it with every fiber of his being.
She sighed. “I miss you too.”
“I want to try to come up for a visit, but I don’t want to distract you.”
“Hey, my weekends are all mine, to use however I see fit. And I’d love to see you this weekend, if you can swing it.”
“Consider it done.”
An hour later Lizzie said, “I love you, and I love talking to you, but I need to get some sleep.”
“I love you too. Talk tomorrow, same time?”
“A bit earlier, perhaps,” she answered, a teasing lilt in her tone that let him know for certain that the brief storm between them had passed.
“And I’ll send you my flight information, okay?”
“Okay.”
Not much longer, honey, Donny told her in his head once they’d disconnected the call. I just hope you’re pleasantly surprised.
***
Once he was safely back in his house, away from prying eyes, he gave in once more to the swell of hate and discontent that had been building all day – all my life, really, he acknowledged.
He squared off against the punching bag listlessly hanging from its chain and began to try to exorcise his constant demons.
He threw punch after punch, solidly connecting, grunting with the effort he placed behind each swing. After thirty minutes his arm muscles began to sing, to cry out for relief.
It pissed him off. He swung even harder.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind a Pandora’s box of all the pain he’d acquired over his lifetime opened, and as always, he greeted the misery that slithered forth by name.
Grant Forrester.
He landed blow after blow on the bag, blind with feral rage, oblivious to the fresh blood dripping from his knuckles that streaked the bag’s surface in an unholy anointing. It was only when a powerful right cross caused a heavy mist of bright red to splash back and hit him in the face that he came out of his trance.
Breathing heavily, dripping with sweat and emotionally and physically exhausted, he staggered to his bathroom to clean up before falling into bed.
CHAPTER NINE
Grant passed the two weeks before meeting Benji by fleshing out the next three articles in his series – and continuing to answer reader emails. His piece on Fort Concho had been featured in the December issue, followed in January by his interview with Stella and his description of Fort Chadbourne’s rich history in detail. Both had been well received, and partly responsible for an uptick in new subscriber rates.
His editor-in-chief had personally written the announcement of Grant’s sudden leave of absence that was included in February’s publication, and the resulting surge of reader interest led to a fan base of sorts for the young writer. Wave after wave of well-wishes for Grant and his family arrived in his inbox on a daily basis, and Grant made it a point to answer each and
every one personally as soon as he could.
When Grant returned to work, he penned a short insert for the magazine’s March issue, stating his appreciation for all the support the readership had shown him, and promising to continue the series in the April issue of The Best of Texas!
After that, his inbox went from occasionally full to regularly overflowing, and his eyebrows raised when he noticed more than one offer to set him up with ‘nice young ladies.’ One fan in particular talked extensively about her college-age, very available granddaughter whose career as a librarian left very little time to meet new people.
Such a shame too, the reader had said. She’s such a sweet girl, my Emily. You two would get along famously, I just know it.
Grant grinned.
“Never in a million years did I envision my writing career taking off would also bring me dating prospects,” he observed out loud, and laughed as he graciously responded to the wannabe matchmaker’s lengthy note.
But he also had several readers asking for another, more in-depth interview with Stella.
That’s a great idea! he thought. She’s so personable. I’ll touch base with her after I finish with the Fort Belknap piece. That’d be a nice six-month follow-up to my first interview with her.
He took a drink of his iced tea and resumed reading and answering his fan mail.
***
Grant Forrester’s career was beginning to soar – and the man bent on ruining his life seethed with every kind word Grant received. He’d hacked Grant’s computer so well that it was like he was looking over Grant’s shoulder at the screen as the writer typed.
“That’s it, keep climbing up that mountain of success, buddy,” he muttered to himself as he watched Grant respond to message after message. “It’ll just make it that much more satisfying when I knock your ass off that pedestal.”
Snarling, he pushed away from his own computer. Makes me sick, he raged in his head. He’s nothing special. What has he actually done to deserve such a good life?
“That should be me,” he hissed, his fists clenched, his vision beginning to cloud with anger. “That should be me.”
He closed his eyes, centered his focus on his breathing, and began to count down from one thousand. It was the one trick he’d been taught in his anger management classes that on occasion actually worked.
When he calmed down again, he deftly minimized the window showing Grant’s activities, and opened a new one.
Time to get back to work. I have a trip to plan.
***
Joe carried the box of personal items he’d cleaned out of his desk to his car on Thursday afternoon. He placed it in the open trunk, shut the lid, then looked at Trish.
“You ready?”
“I am. You?”
Joe winked. “Let’s get this over with,” he told her, and hand-in-hand they went back inside and headed into the breakroom, where Joe’s retirement party was about to start.
“I’d just like to say a few words about Joe Wallace,” the section chief began once everyone had their cups of punch in hand.
Joe fought the urge to roll his eyes, even as he felt his cheeks going pink from everyone in the room gazing at him intently. Trish squeezed his hand in solidarity as his boss lauded Joe’s storied career with the Fort Worth Police Department.
Several minutes later, the section chief wrapped his tribute by lifting his cup in the air and saying, “Best of luck, Joe. You’ll be missed, but you’re gonna make one hell of a P.I.”
A chorus of cheers followed.
Next came the cutting and distribution of pieces of the elegantly designed retirement cake the unit secretary had baked from scratch – but not before Trish got a picture of it. Margaret had fashioned it to mimic Joe’s badge, and she’d nailed it, down to the last detail.
“Margaret, I’m really gonna miss your pastries,” Joe called out sincerely across the room.
She smiled.
“I’m not kidding. She could make a living as a baker,” Joe added as an aside to his wife.
“I know. She brought some cupcakes by the lab a while back. I think they lasted ten minutes, if that long,” Trish replied. “And I’ve heard her bear claws are to die for.”
One by one, Joe’s co-workers came over to say a few congratulatory words before heading back to their desks. Soon, only Joe, Trish, and the section chief remained.
“Thanks for humoring me,” the section chief said. “I know you’re not a fan of the spotlight.”
“That wasn’t too bad, actually,” Joe admitted. “I’m grateful you didn’t ask me to speak.”
“I did think about it, briefly,” came the response. “But I figured I was doing good just to get you to come to this thing.”
Joe grinned.
“When are you taking the exam?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Well then,” the section chief said, clapping him on the shoulder, “make sure you send us your certification details when you have them so I can get you on our resource list. Did you line out your pension paperwork?”
“Already done,” Joe responded. “The only thing left to do to make this retirement official is to hand you these.”
And Joe removed the badge from his pocket and the department-issued Glock from his hip and turned them over.
“See you around, Joe,” the man said, and shook his hand before he too left the breakroom.
Joe looked at Trish.
“Well, honey, how does it feel to be married to a retiree?”
She kissed him.
“Pretty damn good.”
As they made their way back out to the car, Joe’s cell phone buzzed. He checked the notification and smiled as he showed the text to Trish.
Sorry I couldn’t be there for your party, Lizzie had written. I hope they didn’t make you make a speech, since I know you hate that stuff. Anyway, congrats, Joe. I love ya. See you when I get home.
“She doesn’t know we’re coming up for her graduation ceremony, right?” Trish asked.
“Nope,” Joe said proudly. “I asked Nathan to keep quiet about it. I want to surprise her.”
***
“What do you think about this?” Jandy asked when Bella got home from class around noon.
Bella wandered over to the kitchen table where Jandy was reviewing landscaping ideas for her new backyard.
“Ooh, that’s really pretty,” Bella answered, pointing at one picture. “I can totally see that setup behind your house.”
“I thought so, too,” Jandy confirmed. “But I want to add in a water feature right here coming off the deck. A waterfall, perhaps, that ends in a koi pond.”
“Nice! That will be gorgeous. Hey, I’m gonna go pick up Charlie. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m about to head out myself, actually,” Jandy told her. “They got all the cabinetry and fixtures installed, so, we have another walk-through scheduled at one-thirty, and the landscaper should be there by three.”
“Meet you back here,” Bella answered. “I was thinking enchiladas for dinner. I’ll get started on them around five, and we’ll eat at six-thirty. Tony should be home by then, right?”
“Yep, he’s on the seven to five shift this week.”
***
Joe checked into the testing center at one p.m. and made his way to a cubicle. He logged in, read the pre-test instructions, smiled to himself, and clicked ‘Start Exam’.
Two hours later, he politely said goodbye to the testing room’s proctor and walked out to his car, a single printed sheet in his hand.
As soon as he fastened his seat belt, he called Trish.
“Well?” she asked immediately.
“Raw score was a ninety-seven,” he replied, and she could hear the megawatt smile reflected in his tone. “I did it, babe. I’m a private investigator.”
“I knew you could! Let’s go out for dinner tonight to celebrate.”
***
“Nice reflexes,” the instructor pretending to be a terrorist in their s
imulation said. “Can you get off of me now?”
“Sure,” Lizzie said, and let him up.
Once he’d regained his feet, he pointed out Lizzie’s course of action to the rest of the agents-in-training.
“So, what Agent Zimmerman accomplished was textbook – she disarmed and took down her opponent quickly, minimizing the risk to both herself and her team.”
He looked over at the control booth.
“Can we reset, please?” he asked, before turning his attention back to the other trainees that had yet to take their turns. “Who’s up next?”
Once the session was over, a young man fresh out of college that had been condescending to Lizzie since day one snottily said, “Teacher’s pet.”
“Whatever, Jones,” she shot back. “Don’t be pissed at me just because you failed the simulation. You have to check your corners, dude. You’re gonna get yourself or someone else hurt one day if you don’t.”
“Like you know anything,” he smirked as she started to walk away.
Lizzie stopped walking and straightened her shoulders.
“I’ve had enough of this,” she muttered under her breath through clenched teeth.
That’s it, buddy, game on, she thought to herself as she slowly turned back to face him. He won’t know what hit him.
She almost pitied the kid.
Almost.
She smiled sweetly at his crossed arms and smug expression, then unleashed her temper.
“Hey! Jackass. See these?” Lizzie called out, pulling the neck of her t-shirt to the side so that everyone could see the scar on her right shoulder, then pointing to another scar on her right arm at the elbow. “These are from bullets. I was on a warrant team and the first guy through the door didn’t check every freaking corner, and I got shot four times. Two rounds to the chest, one in the arm, and one through my shoulder. The only reason I survived is because I was wearing my armored vest.”
Jones’ jaw dropped wide open in surprise; Lizzie’s background was known only to the instructors, and she’d kept to herself, so this was the first time her classmates had heard anything at all about her history. The entire room went quiet and all eyes were on Lizzie as she continued to speak, her volume climbing with each syllable.
