by S L Shelton
“On Monday, thirty people. La Belle Époque. Go to Nieumarkt. Stop under Jodenbreestrat,” he repeated nervously.
“Very good Mister Visser,” the man said, smiling and patting him on his shoulder. “And in return for this simple service, we will return with your wife, your daughter and your son—unharmed—with a very interesting story to tell when they grow old.”
“You,” Sjaak choked, “you are taking my wife and children?”
“Only borrowing them. For a short period of time,” he replied with a gentle and understanding smile. “But make no mistake,” he continued, his face turning somber, “if you fail me in any way, my friends here will take great joy in raping and then disemboweling each of them, slowly, one at a time, in front of each other, beginning with your son and ending with your wife.”
The shock on Sjaak’s face made it clear that he understood this was not to be fouled up. He nodded quickly, adding, “You have my word. I will do as you say. Please don’t take my children from me.”
“I’m glad we have an understanding, Mister Visser. Your wife and children will be back home by dinnertime on Monday if you satisfy the terms of our agreement,” he said, and then he turned to go out the back door. “Good-bye, Mister Visser. It has been a pleasure doing business with you and your lovely family.”
The other men assisted his wife and children to their feet and then hurried them along toward the back door, following the dark-haired man with the scar on his jaw. As soon as the door closed, Sjaak dropped to the floor and began to weep. He felt this was his punishment for seeing Nella. He resolved that when he saw his wife and children again, he would be a changed man. He would no longer spend his Saturdays with whores. He resolved to give up the hash.
And then a soul-crushing thought occurred to him.
What if I never see them again?
**
8:05 a.m.—Fairfax, Virginia
My phone rang, waking me. I was in a cold sweat, again, having had yet another disturbing dream about my father.
Before answering it, I looked at the time on my iPhone and groaned.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Barb chirped before I even managed a “hello”. But I snapped out of my fog immediately—there was an edge to her voice that I hadn’t heard before. I launched into data collection mode.
Query: What’s up with the tone, Barb?
“Good morning to you as well,” I replied, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
“Do you feel like having breakfast with me?” she asked with an upbeat voice. But beneath it, I felt trouble coming. It was not an invitation—it was a diplomatically constructed command.
“Sure,” I replied as I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. “Holy Natural?”
“Sounds good,” she replied, trying to keep her voice pleasant, but I could tell that whatever was waiting for me would not be. “Nine o’clock?”
“Sure,” I replied, standing into a stretch. “See you in a bit.”
The tension in her voice produced a mirrored sensation in my chest. As I prepared to leave, it built on itself until I found that I was quite worried—as well as a little annoyed.
**
“Do you want another latte?” asked Bridgett, the waitress at my favorite weekend breakfast spot.
“I’m good,” I replied with a smile before looking at Barb. “Do you want more?”
She smiled thinly and shook her head before Bridgett turned.
“Wait,” I called to Bridgett before she left. “Can you tell us why you only have flavored maple syrups for the pancakes?”
I already knew the answer, but I wanted Barb to hear a sample of the preachy sermon about the evils of processed foods.
“It’s not just ‘maple syrup,’” Bridgett said, almost horrified that I hadn’t given credit to their natural line up of local designer syrups. “It’s harvested right over in Loudoun County, and the flavors are specifically blended to go with the sprouted grain pancakes and waffles.”
Barb smiled politely and nodded with her eyebrows raised in mock admiration of the effort.
“And remind me again why sprouted grains are significant?” I asked with a mischievous grin.
Bridgett looked at me with suspicion. “You’re just making fun of me now.”
“Not at all,” I said innocently. “I just wanted Barb to hear it from someone besides me. I can’t seem to convince her.”
Bridgette looked at Barb and smiled. “He’s right,” she said apologetically. “I know how hard it is to kick the grains and sugars, but just about every ailment you’ve ever had can be traced back to them.”
“Right,” Barb replied. “The chemical companies are now the seed producers…I’ve had that argument with the big Ag lobbyists before.”
Bridgett shook her head as I sat back and watched Barb’s focus readjust on Bridgett. Perhaps it was insensitive of me, but I wanted to distract her from whatever reason it was that she had called to meet me. Childish, maybe, but I wasn’t ready to hear it.
“That’s a big part of the problem…particularly the chemicals they put on industrial crops, but that’s not the biggest problem…grains and sugars raise the acid levels in your blood,” Bridgett said, garnering a startled look from Barb. “It’s the perfect environment for bacteria, viruses, and fungi to grow in…and cancer thrives in an acid blood environment.”
The corner of Barb’s mouth pulled down for a split second into a sneer, quickly replaced by a thin smile—she was getting agitated…I could tell. This had been a bad idea.
“Thanks, Bridgett,” I said, interrupting her spiel and Barb’s coming response. “I think I’ll take another latte after all.”
Bridgett stopped abruptly and blinked, realizing she didn’t have a willing congregant in Barb for her street-corner preaching.
“Sure,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she left, Barb glared at me with an agitated half-grin, half-snarl.
“Sorry,” I said sincerely.
“No, you’re not,” she shot back with amusement. “You’ve been saying the same thing for months. You just wanted someone else to help you undermine my comfort foods.”
I chuckled. Actually, I just wanted to get through breakfast without you dropping your bomb on me, I thought.
“You got me,” I replied sheepishly. “But only because I care about you.”
In response, a hurt look swept over her face for the briefest of instants; it was replaced immediately with a smile.
Oh shit, this is more serious than I thought.
I could feel the disconnect build between us as she carefully began dissecting her grapefruit with her spoon.
I’m not ready, Barb. Please don’t do this to me today.
“The grapefruit is bitter,” she stated matter-of-factly as she placed her spoon on the plate. I didn’t know her to complain about trivial things, so it threw up another red flag—she’s in criticizing mode. Am I reading too much into her actions?
“I’m sorry,” I replied soothingly, though inside I could feel the inevitable storm rolling. It was like standing on the shore, watching the waves build before the hurricane. “Do you want me to get Bridgett to bring you some orange slices instead?”
An agitated tug at the corner of her lips told me the answer was “no” before she said anything.
“Scott...how many girls have you brought here to eat bitter grapefruit on a Saturday morning?” she asked gently with a mischievous grin on her face.
Here it comes, I thought. Deflect, deflect.
“A couple,” I replied. “This is my favorite breakfast spot. But you’re the first I’ve brought here more than once. You’re special.” I winked at her, but it had been a weak cover.
Her smile softened a bit, but I had only delayed hearing what was on her mind, not avoided it. Between the building emotional stress and the bad dream, I knew I wasn’t prepared for what she felt she had to say.
I had been dating Barb for about three months—
that in itself was a bit of a record for me the past few years. But now we had entered that clumsy period in the relationship when we were more than dating but still in that fuzzy gray area, unsure about what was next.
“No,” she said absently, responding to my offer of oranges, changing the subject back to food. “It’s not terrible. Just a bit tart.” She paused and scooped another spoonful into her mouth, prompting the puckered sour face. “I should have eaten it before I sipped my latte.”
She sat her spoon down in her bowl before picking up her coffee.
She was a beautiful woman. One of the few women I’d ever dated. Mostly, I went out with girls—the same age, some beautiful, some talented, but almost always frivolous, distracted, shallow girls...not women. Barbara was different. I knew it as soon as I saw her arguing agriculture subsidies with lobbyists at a bar in Georgetown.
“Do you think you’d be interested in heading up to Carderock today? I’ll let you climb first.” I said, baiting her with an invitation wrapped in a dare, hoping to pull a normal day out of this after all.
She tipped her head to the side and smiled at me through suspicious eyes. “Have I changed since we started ‘seeing’ each other?” she asked, using air quotes, referring mockingly to my description of our relationship.
She was working me. I knew this ploy—answering a question with another question that had nothing to do with the first.
I am so screwed, I realized. I have to get you out of here…somewhere private.
“I’m almost certain I’ve seen you in more than one outfit,” I replied, my straight face melting into a mischievous grin. “Yeah! I’m positive I’ve seen you in at least three different things.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling. “Such a witty boy.”
My friend and workmate Bonny—Bonbon to her friends and family—had introduced me to Barb one night at Clyde’s. The bar had been noisy and crowded. Barb had been loudly, though intelligently, explaining to a group of agri-lobbyists why the ratio of nutrition-to-subsidy dollar was backward when used to support grain and soy production—and that the money they were getting for their corporations from the government would be better used expanding food aid. As soon as I realized who her audience was, I respected her.
Bonbon had warned me in advance that if I started a relationship with this one, I’d meet my match with regard to fickle relationship play. There’s nothing like a challenge to pique my interest in something. At the time, I felt that Barb would be just the girl—woman—to try a relationship that was more along the lines of an adult relationship…something with potential to be permanent. I had no idea how unsuited I was for that outcome—nor how I was being herded so effectively.
I met her smile as I got up and then walked over behind her, wrapping my arms around her warmly and protectively.
“You are more wonderful now than you were then,” I said, kissing her on her cheek. “I just didn’t want to give you a big head.”
Sorry, Barb. I have to get you out of here before you ruin my day, I thought, not prepared to have an emotional showdown in my favorite restaurant.
I kissed her cheek again. “I’ll be right back. Think about climbing,” I said before walking away, giving her time to formulate what she wanted to say—and giving me time to brace myself.
Bonbon had joked often in her machine-gun communication style about our quasi-relationship: “The code for the new interface is ready for testing. Not that it’s any better than the old code. But it’s fresher. Probably won’t make it past the end of the month. When’s the wedding? I’ll let Storc know you’re doing QA on it so he’ll relax. He needs to get laid.” Her dialog would pour out in her raspy, mousy voice without so much as a breath between sentences. Sometimes it would be minutes before her whole conversation would sink in.
I stopped in the restroom before paying the bill. I stood in front of the mirror for a moment and looked at my reflection, trying to see if my stress was being reflected in my face…it didn’t seem to be.
I washed my hands, ran them still wet through my hair, and then went to the counter to pay our bill. Bridget winked at me as I signed the credit card slip, drawing a smile to my face.
The attention I received from the opposite sex confused me sometimes. I was certainly no Ryan Reynolds, although I’m taller than average at six feet even. Blue eyes, dark hair, square jaw, strong chin. I could be confused for good-looking—but I could never see myself that way. It had taken all my objectivity just to stop seeing the gangly, awkward nerd I had been in middle school: knobby knees, arms, and legs that had gotten too long, too fast, leaving me clumsy and self-conscious. Throw in the whole computer nerd identity and an aversion to any sort of team sport and I was a self-identified, self-exiled, outcast geek—a difficult self-image to overcome.
When I arrived back at our table, Barb had clearly decided to abandon the grapefruit, having covered it with her napkin. She leaned back in her chair, cradling her latte with both hands.
I watched her from behind for a few seconds before returning to the table.
The only thing that was really allowing me to stay objective about our relationship was her fickleness regarding what she wanted to do between her master’s and doctorate. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be in the area or not, and in the direction this relationship was going, I didn’t want to jump in head first if she was then going to up-and-leave. Plus, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of having to constantly be on guard for her artful manipulation. Eventually, if we stayed together, she would learn how to circumvent my awareness of it. That scared the shit out of me.
So for the moment, I was content to “see” her and introduce her as “my friend, Barb.”
I sat down and smiled at her. She cocked her head to the side, squinted at me, and asked, “Did you pay our bill already?”
I smiled. “No, ma’am. I was thinking we could slip out the back and become fugitives.”
“You did too,” she replied accusingly, but smiling. “You always do that.”
“Well...I am the one with a job, you know.”
She replied by throwing an empty straw wrapper at me.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked.
“Yep. Did you decide if you want to go climbing or not?”
“I’d rather take a walk first, if you don’t mind. Can we walk down by the water at the government center?” she asked with a tone in her voice that made it clear she had organized her thoughts.
“Sure,” I said, smiling, knowing exactly what was coming.
On the short drive to the Fairfax Park Authority and Extension Center, we rode in silence for a few minutes before Barb spoke up.
“Daddy’s leaving for the Netherlands tomorrow,” she said softly, leaving the statement hanging for a few seconds before adding to it. “He asked me if I wanted to come with him.”
She was baiting me to start this “talk” she wanted—I didn’t bite.
“What’s taking your dad to the Netherlands?” I asked.
“I think I mentioned he works for the State Department,” she said. I nodded. “Well, he does legal work. And there was a recent capture of a war criminal—you may have seen it in the news—Jovanovich.”
“Oh, yeah!” I replied. “I did hear about it. What’s your dad have to do with that?”
“The trial at The Hague is going to start soon, and Dad is on the State Department’s legal liaison team.”
“That’s exciting,” I said. “Sounds like something out of James Bond!”
“Eh,” She replied mildly. “It’s mostly lawyer stuff. The exciting part was the capture. Now it’s just lawyers, jurisdiction, judges, and trying to keep the witnesses from changing their stories before the trial starts. He just does legal support. No spy stuff.”
“Still,” I said smiling. “International war criminal, European crime boss—sounds pretty exciting to me.”
We arrived and parked before walking slowly along the park path to the pond and fountain on the
other side of the building, holding hands as we went. As we came around the corner of the tall county building, the air became cooler and moist. The wind was picking moisture off the fountain and gently moving it in our direction. The park and the surrounding trees were in full bloom.
The warmth on my arms and bare legs was a pleasant reminder of coming climbing opportunities. I had been wearing shorts since March, but today it seemed everyone was baring their legs. Barb was in a skirt and blouse—flowing and airy just like the day. I wished I could have focused on the promise the day held. Instead, I was absorbed in emotional preparation for the bad news Barb was about to deliver.
She was quiet for the longest time—or what seemed like the longest time. I was at a loss. Anything I could have said would have come across as awkward silence fodder, so I kept quiet. She leaned over as we walked and put her head on my shoulder, drawing me closer.
We walked leisurely around the pond once without speaking, and then ended up back at the steps in front of the fountain.
“Let’s sit,” she said finally. Without waiting for me to respond, she kicked off her sandals, hiked her skirt up to her knees, and sat on the edge of the fountain, letting her feet dangle in the chilly water, flicking at it with her toes.
I sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. “What’s up?” I asked gently, letting her know by the tone in my voice that I sensed her distress.
She drew her knees up close to her and hugged them, laying her head down sideways on top of them, looking at me. She sat that way for a moment and then gently, lovingly, bumped me with her shoulder.
“I’m sad,” she said simply.
I remained quiet, letting that statement sink in for both of us. After a moment or two, she continued.
“I really like you, Scott Wolfe.”
“I really like you too, Barb Whitney,” I replied with a grin.
“Hush,” she snapped, but she quickly softened it with a smile, pausing for a few beats before continuing. “I really like being with you… I like it too much.”
