“Firing squad?” she echoed, highly amused. “You stole a bike, Agent Falcon. That is hardly worthy of a firing squad.”
James frowned slightly, but remained silent. He observed the team, all of them doing the same to him.
Zephyr had a dossier in front of her, then proceeded to throw a projection up onto the wall behind her. The table in front of the team, lit up in a similar manner, presumably with copies of the projection in smaller
form displayed before each member. On the projection was a picture of Valerie, Patrick, their kids, and James. It was taken three months before Patrick passed.
“Valerie Banrae,” Zephyr said, reading off the dossier. “Three children, widowed. Lives with… her mother. Recently relocated to Washington due to circumstances in Chicago. Still listed as your next of kin.”
Zephyr looked up, studying him. James remained placid. This had nothing to do with Chicago, whatever this was. He cleared his throat and shifted in the uncomfortable white space-chair that grew out of the floor. The image shifted again. This time, it displayed a younger version of himself with his arm thrown around another gentleman, both of them in desert fatigues with a camel in the background. Iraq. The other gentleman died protecting James during their last tour together.
“War veteran,” Zephyr continued. “Served two tours of duty. Honorably discharged for medical reasons and recruited to the A.E.C. shortly thereafter.”
The projection changed again. This time, it was a picture from the 13th Hour. All the staff - Moose, Lindy, Haze, and Tam - their regulars like Virgil and Greg, and the guy that ordered fish sandwiches on Fridays whose name James never learned, all waved and smiled. Even Gen sat among them. Amir took the picture. James had been in town for four weeks. The picture was to commemorate his inclusion into the ‘Chicago family’. He looked down at his lap, leg bouncing with agitation.
“Tamara Marshall and her son have been relocated to a safe house in Utah,” Zephyr said, drawing James’ attention back up to the table. “Greg Haskel has been sent to a halfway house in Georgia near his family - which, I doubt anyone knew he had given how often he was at that bar - - did you know he ran up a three thousand dollar tab in one week??”
James did not know. Zephyr continued.
“I want you to know, Agent Falcon, that what happened to the people who worked there is regrettable and entirely not your fault. Your intervention allowed us to move Joseph Marshall to the safe house in Utah; that matters. Virgil and Hadi both, are still alive if annoyingly absent. That, also, matters. You shoowed a great deal of compassion for human beings that are not generally given that sort of treatment. Such a thing is commendable, and, quite frankly, exactly what we’re looking for.”
“I’m not being court marshaled,” James said finally when Zephyr was done speaking. Zephyr smiled.
“Not today, Agent Falcon,” she replied. “I find myself in a unique position. Karma has chosen to step aside and be more administrative in his duties with the PeaceKeepers than an active member. Which leaves an empty slot.”
James blinked, looking at the elder gentleman that looked eerily like Zephyr the more he looked at the two together. He looked at the others: at Ronin, all in black with slanted, piercing eyes and another woman with neon blue hair that reminded him of Valerie in features. He looked at the gentlemen, all regarding him man to man from seats of power and strength, weighing him for worth and felt his chest tighten painfully under such scrutiny.
“Are…” he began but could not finish the thought because the thought was ludicrous. He was old. He was banged up and sick and… She could not possibly be serious!
“I suggest altering your next of kin, Agent Falcon,” Zephry said. “Things can get… complicated here inside the Stronghold.”
James had nothing to say, his mouth working in silent shock.
“I think that means yes,” Karma added, smiling at James as he gaped like an idiot. Oh yeah, real quality super-hero material he was.
“Yes,” he stammered, then cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“Welcome to the team, Agent Falcon,” Zephyr said. “Now, about that pesky medical issue…”
“What?”
~
Hadi stared at the water lapping up against the shoreline. It licked large rocks and washed back out into the great expanse of blue on a wave of white froth. ‘La JoLa’, Virgil called it, purposely mispronouncing the name just to grate at Hadi’s sensitive ears for the written and spoken word. Despite his horrid accent, Hadi could speak Spanish rather well. He also knew how to properly pronounce every city in the great United States despite the place being all together less than spectacular. La Jolla was beautiful, however, a quiet haven of serenity that was much needed after the chaos of Chicago. He rubbed at his nose, the tip of it cold thanks to the afternoon breeze. The inside tickled, burning slightly from the sniff he’d taken before walking out to the beach. The euphoria washed over him like the waves washed over the rocks, helping him to forget.
He glanced down at the phone in his hand out of habit. Every day he stared at it, dialed a number he knew he could not reach, then shut the phone down. Sometimes, he would dial a number he knew he could reach, hear a voice he knew would bring some comfort or familiarity to the tumultuous turnings of his life but then quickly squashed that notion as well. It was not his phone, not really, though MJ had done an admirable job making it look like his old phone to give him a bit of comfort. She had also railed on him for almost thirty minutes about not contacting anyone outside of their very small, very intimate little circle of ‘friends’ - which meant herself, Virgil, and a girl from East L.A. that helped them get set up in La Jolla shortly after their arrival. Friend of a friend, Virgil had said. She was nice enough and liked to tease Hadi when he was in one of his ‘hazes’. He didn’t mind, it was a nice distraction. A giant beast of a dog languished in the rocky sand beside him, periodically lifting his big head to look over at Hadi. Virgil brought him home less than two weeks prior. Home, it was a word Hadi was not familiar with anymore, not really.
The phone buzzed in his hand, playing an annoying tune that told him who was calling. MJ. He shook his head but grinned all the same. He liked MJ. She reminded him of Amir, may he rest in peace. Hadi shoved that thought away, feeling the lump forming in his throat. He swallowed it down before answering, bringing the phone to his ear which, for some reason, signaled the dog to stand.
“Zeus sit down,” Hadi said even as he brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah MJ?”
“We’re go for supply collection,” she said, her voice blaring out into the open air and directly into Hadi’s ear drum. He flinched, thumbing the volume down a great deal before bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m here. - - No, you screamed into my ear. Why did you put this thing up so loud? - - I do so answer it! - - Whatever, where are V and Connie?”
He received directions and a location. A distraction was required, nothing big, but enough to pull the first responders to the location he’d been given, rather than where V and Connie waited. There was a rendezvous point for after, and ice cream sundaes, or so MJ said. She always had ice cream sundaes after a heist - or brownies with hashish in them, or rum cakes in tiny ramekins. The girl was an insane baker. This was his life now: mercenary for hire in a weird ‘family’ of other mercs and weirdos that didn’t fit in anywhere else. They weren’t bad per say; no one ever got hurt during their jobs, not on purpose anyway. Virgil liked to equate them to Robin Hood and his Merry Me. MJ said they were like Han Solo and Chewie with extra people. Hadi liked that reference better.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, the one Amir used to wear all the time. It was their grandfather’s watch, the first thing the man purchased with money he earned as a boy. It was on Amir’s wrist when he died. Now Hadi had it. MJ checked on his parents and sister periodically to make sure they were still safe. They took little Farah after the incident in Chicago, after they collected Amir’s body for proper burial; there’d
been nothing left to collect of Saleh and Nima. MJ made a good show of erasing Hadi from existence for their benefit, even changed his name: Nadir Adrienne. Hadi didn’t care much for it, so everyone just continued to call him ‘Haze’.
“Yes, I’m listening, geeze,” he said. Zeus stood again, licking his face. “Zeus! Seriously, how did I
get stuck taking care of V’s dog? - - I do not need an emotional support animal, MJ. - - I hear you. - - Two hours. They better be on time this time or I’m setting V’s pants on fire. Stopping for street corn is not a valid excuse to be leaving me hanging. Literally. Do you hear me? - - I’m not kidding, MJ. - - What’s for dinner? - - Ew. Pass. - - See you in a few hours.”
Hadi ended the call then looked at the dog. He was big and slobbery, hairy, exactly something Virgil would find adorable. The dog wasn’t even full grown yet and already reached Hadi’s waist at the shoulder. Zeus tried to lick Hadi’s face again, yipping slightly when he was shoved to the side instead to avoid the slobber. Hadi didn’t have time to change because of dog drool. Dog drool smelled anyway.
“Crazy mutt,” Hadi said, rubbing the dog’s head. He paused, looking back at the water again. He shut his eyes and said a little prayer like he always did before a job. He prayed for peace; prayed for forgiveness; prayed for strength to keep living. When he was finished, he stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets as the burn in the pit of his stomach began to smolder, changing the color of his hazel eyes to a bright, glowing ember. He looked down at the phone again and thumbed in a new number.
“Crush,” he said into the receiver. “Pick up donuts and don’t be late. - - Man, I will light you up like a smoke stack. - - Yeah. - - Hellfire out.”
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