The Fog of Dreams

by Justin Bell

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  Gary Irizarry was not used to being tossed to the floor, but now that it had happened about a dozen times in the past two hours, it was becoming old hat. Didn't mean he liked it, though.

  "Good shot," he mumbled as he pulled himself to his feet, avoiding the extended hand of his instructor.

  "It's okay to take help, Gary," said Wayne, trying to be reassuring, but Irizarry was having none of it. Buried in a remote section of the local medical school, he had been recuperating from his arm amputation for a few weeks, and had been eager to get back on the horse. He just wasn't expecting the horse to throw him so many times in such a short period.

  "Look, Wayne," Gary replied to his slim, but muscular instructor. "I'm used to being the one doing the throwing. You'll have to excuse me if this is going to take a little adjusting."

  "Nothing to be ashamed of, man. You didn't just lose an arm; you lost your dominant arm, and less than a month ago. You're lucky you're even up and battling right now. That shows some real balls."

  "Yeah, ol' Gary's got plenty of balls," came a rasp of a voice from behind the two men. A slender man walked into the training room sporting a thick brown beard and narrow eyes behind slim spectacles. "It's his brains ya gotta worry about."

  "Fuckin Sandidge," Gary said and walked over, reaching out his left hand. The two men shook hands and briefly embraced, then walked back over to Wayne Lewis. "This is my boy from Jersey City. He's going to be my right hand while you're helping me adjust. Cool if he sits in?"

  Wayne nodded. "No problem on my end."

  Ryan Sandidge had an illustrious military career, entering the Marine Corps straight out of high school and spending many of his most impressionable years in the Middle East. A charismatic and innately talented soldier, he built up a strong posse of like-minded men who gathered around him and sought his approval. As soon as he left the Corps, he reached out too many of his closest confidants inside and outside of military circles, and within twelve months, he had formed a third party security and military contracting firm with a hundred and twenty years of combined military experience. While they didn't have the reputation of a firm like Blackwater, this smaller group took many of the dirty jobs that the more high profile company would not, and quickly gained a following amongst agencies on the fringe of black operations.

  "So what the fuck happened to you?" Sandidge asked, giving his right stump a sideways glare.

  "Heh? gang fight, believe it or not. Some crazy cartel mother fucker with a machete."

  One look from Sandidge told Irizarry that he knew he was speaking bullshit, but didn't want to press him on it.

  "What's your gig, Wayne?" Ryan asked the trainer, who had been just standing aside a bit and letting the two friends reminisce.

  "I'm just here trying to get him better. Back in fighting shape."

  The newcomer eyed his old friend. "Fighting shape? You're not retiring, old man?"

  "Hey, shithead, I still have one good arm," Irizarry remarked, lifting that arm, and then extending the middle finger at the end of the same hand.

  Sandidge laughed. "Point taken."

  Irizarry caught the look from his friend and turned to talk to Wayne. "Hey, can you take a fifteen minute break? We gotta catch up here."

  Wayne nodded and a few moments later, he'd left the room.

  The ex-Marine waited until the man disappeared and turned back to his friend. "Okay, so what's the deal here, amigo?"

  Irizarry shook his head slowly. "I can't tell you all of it, man, but trust me. Some hairy shit. You wanted action; I think you could get some in this one."

  "Go on."

  "This is some NSA shit, man. We're going to be pulling some guard duty and some surveillance. Just one guy, William Strickland."

  "Strick? Haven't I heard that name before?" Sandidge cocked his head towards his friend.

  "Yeah, we've heard that name a lot in our circles, but best push it out of your head. Grace doesn't give a shit who he used to be; we're only worried about who he is now."

  "All right."

  "Best thing to do is to run down to the Watch Station and report in. You've got the address, right?"

  Sandidge nodded. "Oh, yeah. Already talked to the guy. He wanted me to stop by and assess your ability first, believe it or not."

  Irizarry laughed a loud, abrupt laugh. "That mother fucker. Can't say I'm surprised."

  "All right," Sandidge, replied, turning towards the exit door. "I'll go meet up with him, and I'll keep you in the loop. Don't work too hard."

  "Mark my words, asshole; you'll be working alongside me in a fucking week. I tell you, I'm getting out of this shithole."

  The two men shared a laugh and Sandidge exited, sliding the glass and metal door cleanly shut behind him.