Noble Beginnings: A Jack Noble Thriller (Jack Noble #1)

by L.T. Ryan

  Chapter 7

  A hard slap across my cheek jarred me from my unconscious state. I opened my eyes. Bear stood over me. His eyebrows pushed down over his eyes. He helped me to my feet and steadied me against the wall. I tensed and checked over the room. Empty. Trails of blood led from the middle of the floor to the door.

  “What the hell happened, Jack?”

  I shook my head. “They wanted to cut my hair.”

  “What?”

  “Retaliation,” I said. “For breaking my cell-mate’s jaw.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  “He swung at me first.”

  Bear took a step back. His lips thinned as he looked me over. “Christ, they did a number on you. How do you feel? Can you walk?”

  I pushed away from the wall. Took a step, steadied myself.

  “Yeah, I think I’m good.”

  I walked to the row of sinks and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Blood trickled from a small gash on the side of my head. My nose was red and swollen, but not broken. That was the worst of it, though. There were no broken bones and no major lacerations. I came out it OK, all things considered.

  “Where’d everyone go?” I said

  “They scattered when I came in.” Bear said.

  “How’d you know?”

  Bear hiked his shoulders. “Word spread pretty quick down there,” he nodded toward the door, “that they were fixing to do a number on you.” He shook his head. “Damn, they sure did. We’ve got to get out of here, Jack.”

  “It’s not that bad.” I ran cold water over my face, grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned out the cut on the side of my head. It’d probably needed stitches, but it’d heal without them, leaving a scar behind of course. Scars were good for my line of work, though. They added an element of intimidation.

  “I’m with you, Bear. Lead the way, and I’ll follow.”

  At that moment the door swung open and a middle aged man dressed in his combat utility uniform stepped in. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping at spots where a struggle had obviously occurred. His eyes set on Bear, then shifted to me. He shook his head.

  “What a mess,” he said.

  I looked at Bear. He nodded at me. We both moved to the center of the room, within arm’s reach of each other.

  The man took a step forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. He pushed his arms out in front of him. “I’m a friend.”

  We said nothing.

  “Abbot sent me. I’m Lt. Col. McDuffie.”

  “Sent you for what?” I trusted nobody at this point.

  “To get you guys the hell out of my Brig,” he said. “Look, this is a mess. I don’t like it. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I don’t like it.”

  His eyes bounced between me, Bear and the bloody mess in the bathroom. He turned, opened the door and stuck an arm out. When he turned around again, he was holding fresh clothes. He tossed a shirt and a pair of pants to Bear.

  “Noble, why don’t you get cleaned up first,” he said, clutching the clothes intended for me.

  I nodded, headed to the back of the room and showered. The hot water stung as it washed over cuts and scrapes. I grimaced against the pain and hurried to finish. Then I put on the fresh clothing, which consisted of camouflage cargo pants and a plain gray t-shirt.

  “I’ve got boots for you guys in the car,” he said.

  “The car?” Bear asked.

  “Yeah, the car,” he replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I told you I’m getting you out of here.” McDuffie turned and opened the door and stopped and looked over his shoulder. “The MPs outside this door are mine. They won’t do anything to you if you stick with me. They’ll follow us and keep you safe.”

  We followed him out of the head without any further questions, heading toward the stairs. We took one flight up and then passed through a security door. We followed the narrow hall to the check-in room where McDuffie retrieved our belongings from the pale skinny MP at the counter. I wondered if anyone else ever manned it, or if Lance Corporal Skinny was the only one. We left the room and continued on, through the wider hall, past the two sets of security doors and all the administrative offices.

  I had to shield my eyes from the sunlight when we stepped outside. As my eyes adjusted, I caught sight of a platoon doing their morning PT jogging by. Their rhythmic pace matched their cadence:

  I know a girl dressed in Red,

  Makes her living in a bed.

  I know a girl dressed black,

  makes her living on her back.

  I know a girl dressed in green,

  and she is nothing but a screwing machine.

  Ooooorah up the hill, Ooooorah down the hill

   

  McDuffie walked around the front of a black Ford Crown Victoria parked against the curb ten feet away. He turned to us. “Get in the back.”

  Bear shifted on his feet and hesitated. He glanced at me, looking for confirmation that it was OK to get in the car.

  I felt the same hesitation. At this point we only had McDuffie’s word. Neither of us knew the man, and Keller hadn’t mentioned him when he visited me the night before. There was the very real possibility that this could be a set up, and both of us knew it. We felt it, instinctively. But in the end, I decided I’d rather take my chances in the car with the middle aged Lt. Col., than with the prisoners and MPs in the brig.

  “Go on,” the MP behind me said with a push to my back.

  “Let’s go, Bear,” I said.

  Bear opened the back door on the passenger side and got in the car.

  I walked around the back of the vehicle and grabbed the handle, but stopped before getting in.

  McDuffie stood with his hand on the open door to the driver’s seat. He studied me for a moment. “Go on, get in.”

  “I can trust you, Lt. Col.?” I said.

  “I’m on your side, Jack,” he said.