The Mechanic

by Tom Fowler

  “Bobby’s a little foggy,” Rick said, “but he’s right. The old man had someone else there.”

  “So what?” Max said. “He probably needed a new mechanic with his son missing.”

  Rick shook his head. “This guy ain’t just a mechanic,” he said. “He threw a wrench and damn near took Bobby’s head off. Dropped him like he’d been shot. Next thing I know, he’s on me before I could get my gun. I saw his eyes.” Rick paused and shuddered. “He has a killer’s eyes.”

  Max steepled his fingers under his chin and sat in silence for a moment. Then, he said, “Describe this man.”

  Rick shrugged. “Not too tall . . . five-ten, I guess. Average build but pretty solid. He’s older than us. Maybe late forties or fifty?”

  “White?” Max asked. Rick nodded. Max took his phone out of his pocket. Rick and Bobby sat quietly while he tapped on the screen. A minute later, he turned the screen around. “Is this him?”

  Rick shook his head. “No. The eyes are too light.”

  “They were dark?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like . . . black?”

  “Pretty much,” Rick said. He tried not to think about the stare.

  Max tapped on his phone some more. He swiped a few times, then turned the device around. “Age him up a few years.”

  Rick focused on the photo, and the eyes grabbed him right away. A chill crawled down his back. The picture must have been several years old. The man in it wore an army uniform with warrant officer insignia. His head moved up and down. “It’s him.” Max frowned and put the mobile away. “Who is he?”

  “A problem.”

  “The kind me and Bobby get to solve?”

  “You had a chance already,” Max said.

  “You know this guy,” Bobby said. “Tell us about him.”

  “He serve with you guys?” Rick added.

  “Yeah,” Max said. “We were in the same special ops unit for a while.”

  “What happened?”

  Max took a few seconds to answer. “You know how the colonel ended up in hot water?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This son of a bitch is the reason.”

  “Jesus,” Rick said. “You think he knows what the kid knows?”

  Max shook his head. “They didn’t really overlap.”

  No one said anything for at least a minute. Bobby broke the silence. “What are we gonna do about him?”

  “If he continues to be a problem,” Max said, “we’ll kill him.”

  7

  It was after closing time, but Tyler wanted to finish the car. Following earlier events, Smitty stayed out of the shop, confining himself to his desk. He looked to be in a haze when Tyler tried to talk to him. Rather than deal with his frazzled boss, Tyler found the list of vehicles waiting to be serviced. He wrapped up the day by buffing out a dent on a classic Mustang. Body work had never been his strong suit, but the sheet metal looked unmarred, and no signs of the prior damage would remain once the paint dried.

  “Why don’t you call it a night, Tyler?” Smitty said from the door to the work bays.

  “Just finishing this one car.”

  “You certainly had a productive day.”

  “You don’t pay me to stand around,” Tyler said.

  Smitty grabbed a nearby task chair and lowered himself onto it. “I also don’t pay you to deal with hostile intruders.”

  Tyler wiped his hands on a rag. “Taking out the trash is part of the job.”

  Smitty smiled, though Tyler didn’t see any humor in the older man’s eyes. “You really think you can find my boy?”

  “Like I said, it’s not my specialty.” Tyler found another chair, wheeled it near Smitty, and sat. “I’d be a better fit if you needed me to kick in doors and shoot people . . . but I’ll try.”

  “Why?”

  “You and Jake are in a bad way.” Tyler shrugged. “I won’t say I know your son. It took me a minute to remember talking to him. If he’s in trouble, though, I’d like to see what I can do.”

  “He make an impression on you?” Smitty asked.

  Tyler recalled the encounter. He was about to deploy overseas with special operations again. They would hunt the Taliban. Jake was young, newly promoted to corporal, and eager to fight the nation’s battles. He wanted to move into special ops, and Tyler encouraged him with some practical advice and pointers. He even gave him a name. It seemed like a good idea at the time, though he regretted it now.

  What if I never told Jake to look up Leo Braxton? Tyler thought. He realized Smitty asked him a question. “He did.”

  “Jake was a good soldier.”

  “Smitty, if I’m going to look for him, I need to know what happened. Who he’s running from would be a good place to start.”

  Smitty slapped his hands on his knees. “You want a beer?”

  “We’re off the clock, right?” Tyler asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure, I’d love one.”

  “Me, too.” Smitty walked to an old refrigerator in the corner of the bay and opened the door. He pulled out two longneck bottles and carried them to where the two men sat. Before handing one to Tyler, Smitty used an opener on his keychain to pop the tops.

  Tyler accepted the bottle with a nod. “Thanks.” He took a long pull of it. It was a Belgian beer he’d never heard of. Tyler preferred whiskey, Scotch, and American lager. This brew had a light crisp flavor to it, and drinking it felt good after a long day in the shop.

  “Where were we?” Smitty said.

  “You were going to tell me who Jake’s hiding from.”

  Silence served as Smitty’s reply for a moment. He took a few drinks of beer as if it really were liquid courage. When the bottle was mostly empty, he said, “He’s never come out and told me. For my safety, he says . . . but I know.”

  “You think it’s some of the guys from special ops,” Tyler said.

  “Yeah. Why else would he refuse to tell me?”

  All manners of questions sprang to Tyler’s mind. He’d mentioned Braxton and the unit to Jake, but he didn’t know who the younger soldier served under. A Braxton connection made sense. The man was dirty. Tyler hated the fact it took him so many years to realize it. In the end, the former colonel got what he deserved, but he racked up a lot of collateral damage along the way. Tyler suspected this now included Jake. Rather than bring up his former commanding officer directly, Tyler tried an indirect approach. “Do you know what he did overseas?”

  “A little,” Smitty said. He stared at the beer bottle when he talked. “He couldn’t tell me most of it, of course. I understood.”

  “Where was he deployed?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “Did his mission involve the Taliban?”

  Smitty nodded. “He didn’t tell me much about it, but he did say he was hunting those bastards.”

  “None of this seems unusual,” Tyler said. “I went over there a bunch of times and killed a lot of Taliban soldiers. I’m not in hiding.”

  “Something changed,” Smitty said after a moment. “It wasn’t long into his last tour.” The older man lapsed into silence again.

  “Do you know anything about what happened?”

  “He mentioned they were looking for something. I don’t know what it was . . . Jake never gave me those details. I figured it had something to do with the Taliban, though, and it must’ve been valuable.”

  Now it was Tyler’s turn to sip his beer and contemplate. The timeline worked. After Tyler left the unit, Braxton remained overseas with most of the same men. Maybe he even had a new recruit in eager Corporal Jake Smith. Within a few months, Braxton’s career unraveled, and he landed in Leavenworth where he’d remain for many years to come. He knew a lot of secrets, however. Tyler never made the list of his personal favorites. He missed out on a lot of conversations, even though he heard the rumors. “I think Jake could be in real trouble.”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me something else.”

  “I wish
I could,” Tyler said. He played it close to the vest with his boss. Jake had been careful not to drop Braxton’s name. It was probably a good call, so Tyler respected the decision. “I can’t say I know for certain what he’s involved in, but based on the two assholes who paid us a visit earlier, I’d guess his old unit is pissed at him—and you, by extension.”

  “What could he have done?” Smitty said. “Jake’s a good kid. He wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal.”

  “I suspect his good nature is part of his problem.” Tyler didn’t offer any further explanation, and Smitty didn’t ask for clarification.

  “You think you can find him? Or at least get him out from under with these guys?”

  Tyler’s dream of working as a mechanic was gone. His old life maintained its hooks in him no matter how much he tried to distance himself from it. How would he explain this to Lexi? She’d been after him to quit Patriot Security since before she moved in. After a couple short months of freedom, Tyler got sucked right back in. He couldn’t walk away from Jake, however, especially if he hid from Leo Braxton’s men. Lexi would just have to understand. “I’m pretty sure I could find him.”

  “Can you get him off their radar?” Smitty asked.

  “Maybe, but it’ll probably get bloody.”

  “I don’t want to put you in a bad spot, Tyler. Asking for help makes me feel like a heel, but he’s my boy. I know you said you didn’t want to kill anyone again.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Some people have it coming.”

  Kent Maxwell stared at the image on his screen. He’d hoped never to see John Tyler again. The end of their lucrative special forces platoon had been entirely his fault. Here he was again sticking his nose and his principles in something which didn’t concern him. Maxwell couldn’t allow Tyler to threaten the business. The nascent company worked its first few contracts, and getting it to this point proved hard enough.

  He debated telling Braxton. The man would probably want to know. He was probably the only man in America who hated Tyler more than Maxwell did. The boss had enough on his plate with the company up and running, however. Maxwell would handle the Tyler situation. Personally if he needed to, but they employed enough men who should be able to deal with him.

  Maxwell perused Tyler’s army file. He retired as a Chief Warrant Officer 3. He listed a Baltimore address, and Maxwell confirmed he still lived there. Tyler would be fifty now, a decade older than Maxwell and twice the age of some of their operatives. Putting a middle-aged man down wouldn’t be difficult. Rick Rust and Bobby didn’t expect to encounter resistance when they went to Smitty’s shop to cuff the old man around. They’d be prepared next time, and Maxwell knew they’d want another crack at Tyler.

  He drafted an email to every recipient in the company and attached Tyler’s picture.

  This man is an enemy of our operation. If you remember serving with him, you’re already aware. If you think the name is familiar, it probably is—John Tyler is the man who ruined Leo Braxton’s career and took the rest of us down with him.

  He’s recently come up in one of our domestic operations. For now, I don’t want anyone to seek him out. I’m working on a plan to deal with him once and for all. Once he’s greenlit, he’ll no longer be a problem.

  Maxwell sent the message. He figured the two who failed would want the first crack at killing Tyler, and he planned to offer it to them.

  8

  The next morning, Tyler woke up early as usual. He slipped on a pair of athletic shorts, an old T-shirt, and his running shoes, and he ventured outside. Humidity hung in the air already. Tyler walked a couple blocks to warm up before starting his run. In his last fitness test with Patriot Security, Tyler’s two-mile time matched what he did at age forty in the army. He’d never been especially fast, which helped, but he also worked hard to maintain his fitness as he turned fifty.

  About three miles later, Tyler returned home and picked up the morning paper. After a shower, he walked downstairs and made a pot of coffee. While he ate a bowl of yogurt and perused the local section, Lexi joined him in the kitchen. “Morning, Dad,” she mumbled in a sleepy haze on her way to the freshly-brewed java.

  “You’re up early.”

  Lexi sat at the small table a moment later. “I don’t want to sleep the summer away. Too many bad habits, especially once I have to go to class.”

  “It’s a couple months off,” Tyler said. “You’re eighteen. You’re supposed to sleep until noon.”

  She grinned. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll try for nine. What are you up to today? Going back to the shop?”

  Tyler shook his head. “No. I’m . . . looking into something for Smitty. He’s the owner.”

  A stern look quickly replaced the mirth on Lexi’s face. “Dad . . . what did you get yourself into?”

  “Nothing.” Tyler sipped some coffee, which had grown lukewarm while he ate and chatted. “His son is having a problem, and he asked me if I could help.”

  “Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”

  Tyler stood and added a fresh jolt of hot caffeine to his mug. “Maybe it’s my knack for simple storytelling.”

  Lexi crossed her arms under her chest. “Is someone Smitty knows in trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to break out your Patriot laptop?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said.

  “You’re going to need my help, then.”

  “Probably.”

  “Fine,” Lexi said. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Let’s do a little research first. This could end up being easy.”

  “OK. I want a little breakfast. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  In his office, Tyler took out the laptop Patriot Security issued to all its field agents. It was one of those rugged models you could drop off a dresser and kick around, and it would still work. When Tyler quit the company, he figured he would need to return it. Danny was the type who would make a show of demanding it. However, Cliff, the more silent of the two partners, told him to keep it. They’d enjoyed a good chat about Danny’s management style—or lack thereof—and Tyler hoped some changes would be coming to the company.

  For now, he was glad to have the computer. He only used it when he needed its capabilities. Tyler never became fluent with technology. He could do most of the basics, but complex tasks eluded him, and he had no idea how the blasted machines did what they did. Especially this laptop, which ran something called Linux and provided intimate details of people with a few mouse clicks.

  Tyler logged in and refamiliarized himself with the home screen. It looked and operated sort of like Windows. He brought up the Target Details app, keyed in Jake’s information, and waited. A few seconds later, the program assembled a dossier. If Jake really were a target, there would be plenty of information here to find him or to use against him. Tyler started with the basics.

  Jake rented a studio apartment in the Rosedale area of Baltimore County. He worked for his father part-time, put in an occasional shift at the garage on Fort Meade, and served as an army reservist. Jake earned promotions to sergeant first class almost two years ago after first cycling into special operations as a corporal, then deploying for a year to Afghanistan before returning to his regular post. It told Tyler Jake’s immediate superiors liked the soldier’s performance enough for rapid promotion. Tyler found little other information on this period of his service history which meant much of it was classified.

  Leo Braxton’s career would have come to its abrupt and fitting end during Jake’s time in Afghanistan . . . about two-thirds of the way into it if Tyler did his math correctly. It meant Jake served under the disgraced former colonel for about eight months. If he were now on the run from men formerly under Braxton’s command, what did Jake learn or do in those eight months to put him on the hit list?

  Tyler knew he wouldn’t learn those answers today. He’d probably need to find Jake to hear the truth. Lexi walked into the office, grabbed the second chair, and sat
next to Tyler. “This is the guy you’re trying to find?” Tyler nodded. “What did he do?”

  “Part of the mystery,” Tyler said. “The answer’s almost certainly classified.”

  Lexi pointed to a tab on the screen. “This thing shows you his social media?”

  “Yeah. A couple red team guys developed it. I don’t understand everything it does.”

  “You want me to look it over?”

  Tyler handed her the laptop. “You know those sites a lot better than I do.”

  “They’re not complicated, Dad.”

  “Is MySpace still around?”

  Lexi rolled her eyes and smiled. Tyler watched her click onto the program’s social media tab. Profiles for Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram popped up on the screen. Tyler was familiar with those, at least. Things like Snapchat and Pinterest always threw him for a loop. Lexi perused the data, focusing on the friends and close acquaintances the app identified. Tyler couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of a friend being someone you never met.

  “I think I found a few people,” Lexi said.

  “These are his friends?”

  “Your program picked them as close ones, yeah.”

  “Good,” Tyler said. “I have a place to start.” He reached for the laptop.

  Lexi held onto it. “Now you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

  Tyler read the resolve in his daughter’s eyes. She was at least as much his child as Rachel’s. Trying to take the device from her would be futile. Even if he got it away, Lexi would be pissed, and it would damage their relationship. She deserved an explanation, and Tyler debated how much to tell her. “I’m waiting,” she prompted.

  “All right. Smitty’s son is in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’m still figuring all the details out,” Tyler said. “He was in the army. I met him briefly years ago . . . probably about a decade. He wanted to go into special ops, and I encouraged him. Smitty thinks he’s on the run from some of the guys he used to serve with.”