by J C Ryan
While he watched Digger’s amusing antics, Rex wondered if the muggers were still in the alley and if the cops and EMTs arrived—there were no sirens he could hear. He knew the thugs in all likelihood would not give up their bad ways and would continue to mug innocent and defenseless people on the streets, but he was sure they’d definitely give a man with a big black dog a wide berth.
He shrugged. Without killing them, there was no way to ensure they wouldn’t do it again, and he was out of the killing business.
“Digger, I think maybe we’d better stay out of bars and dark alleys.”
Digger didn’t bother to answer. He was too busy chasing the Kong, which never bounced where he thought it would.
***
THE NEXT DAY, on the Friday afternoon after school, shortly after Rex had returned to his apartment, there was knock on his door just as he was trying to decide what to do for the rest of the afternoon and the evening. It was a young guy, about eighteen or nineteen by Rex’s estimation, one of the occupants in the complex whom Rex had seen but not spoken to yet.
Rex had eaten some lunch, fed and walked Digger, so he had the entire afternoon ahead of him. But it looked like the kid had something on his mind, so Rex let him in and offered him a bottle of sparkling water, all he had by way of hospitality.
The kid asked if he had any beer, but Rex didn’t, and even if he did, the kid, who introduced himself as Marcel Arts, didn’t look old enough to drink. His name amused Rex, too. He asked about it.
“Oh, that’s my stage name, but I’m going to have it legally changed,” Marcel answered. With a smirk, he added that he was on a three-year sojourn around the world to become proficient in all types of martial arts, not just the kung fu and jiu jitsu he claimed as his black-belt level expertise.
“I see,” Rex answered, not giving away by word or expression what he thought of this little punk’s story.
“You see, I’m planning a career as an actor in action films and I’ll be doing my own stunts, not like those so-called tough guys you see on screen using subs to do that for them,” Marcel continued, oblivious to Rex’s cynical remark. “I figure if Chuck Norris can do it, so can I, with my looks.” He obviously had no sense of his own arrogance, and Rex didn’t educate him. Besides, Rex couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise, as the kid rambled on about his other heroes, Steven Seagal, the Rock, Jean Claude van Damme, and others. Rex wasn’t familiar with the newer names Marcel mentioned. Movies were another of the many things that he hadn’t kept up with since his recruitment to CRC.
“So, did you hear about the excitement in the alley last night?” Marcel continued blabbering without giving Rex a chance to say anything.
Not that Rex would have had much to say in any event, but when he heard this question he blinked, but Marcel wasn’t watching his face. He’d assumed Rex hadn’t heard about the incident and proceeded to provide a blow-by-blow description of the fight, as if he’d been there. Naturally, none of it was what had happened, but that didn’t stop the kid—he had a vivid imagination.
I guess to be an actor a vivid imagination is a good trait.
When Marcel wound down, Rex asked if he’d seen the fight.
“Seen it? I was there, man! I was coming home from Millie Lin’s when I heard the noise. Some poor dumb schlub was getting the shit kicked out of him, so I waded in and sent one of the perps packing. Knocked out the other two with a roundhouse kick to one’s head and a sweet kung fu cross-punch I invented myself to the face of the other. The cops came and thanked me. I’m supposed to be getting a commendation soon, they said.”
By that time, Rex could hardly keep a straight face, but he controlled himself and said, “Wow, that poor soul was lucky you came along.”
“I’ll say. That tourist could have been in real trouble if it wasn’t for me.” Marcel leaned forward and looked around furtively as if to make sure no one would hear what he had to say next. “Just so you know, I can hear what happens in the alley from my apartment, so if you’re ever in trouble out there, just holler and I’ll come and rescue you.”
“Thank you very much,” Rex said, barely suppressing the guffaw that rose as he tried to speak. “I’ll definitely remember that.”
“No problem, man. Us youngsters, we know you old guys don’t think much of us, but let me tell you, my old man would skin me alive if he thought I didn’t take care of people who can’t take care of yourselves. I mean, they’ve got money and all, but they raised me right. In fact, they’re the ones who sent me on this trip, isn’t that cool? They support my dream of being an action superstar.”
Rex had regained control of his demeanor. He answered solemnly, “It is cool indeed. You’re lucky to have them.”
And I’ll bet they’d have paid twice as much to just get you out of their sight.
His face didn’t betray the thought, though. The kid would learn his lesson soon enough, and the embarrassment would be enough punishment. Or, he wouldn’t, and who knew, Rex might be reading the name Marcel Arts on a movie trailer someday.
He’d be sure to avoid seeing the film, though.
“Well, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a date with a hot lady. I just wanted to drop by and introduce myself and offer my services. You know—never fear when Marcel is near.”
“Thanks man, much appreciated. It’s always good to have someone around that could help when one is in need,” Rex replied while struggling to subdue a bout of raucous laughter.
“Remember my offer.” Marcel winked as he got up and headed for the door.
Rex didn’t want to know what kind of a date it was. He just hoped the kid was lucky enough not to contract a disease on top of his hyper-inflated ego.
When the front door closed behind Marcel, Rex turned around to see where Digger was and was surprised to see him fast asleep on the floor in the tiny living room of the apartment. It was the first time since he had met Digger that the dog completely ignored a person. He didn’t even give the would-be action hero a smile, a snarl or a tail wag.
Chapter Seven
JOSH AND MARISSA had barely agreed on a new direction for investigation in India when John Brandt called them off. He urgently wanted to find Rex, but he agreed with them that their hunt wasn’t likely to yield results anytime soon. In the five or six weeks since the explosion in which he’d been presumably killed, they hadn’t been able to at least confirm that Rex was either dead or alive. And something very urgent had come up, which required them to get back to the US on the first flight.
Back in the US, Brandt met them in DC and explained; in the wake of Bruce Carson’s abrupt disappearance, every national three-letter alphabet agency with an investigative mission had been searching for him, with no success. Recently, a few incidents had raised the concern that he was peddling his information about past and ongoing overseas operations, and the CIA had enlisted every resource they had to find and stop him–with extreme prejudice. But so far, no one could find him.
Brandt had watched Carson board a plane for the Marshall Islands, and he’d told everyone who would listen that’s where Carson had really gone, without revealing his hand in the matter. Brandt had been kicking himself every time he thought that he’d run Carson out of town on a rail, so to speak, rather than just terminating him.
But now, the CIA had come to him, desperate for his help, asking for his best team.
In Rex’s absence, for this type of operation, that was Josh and Marissa.
So, he temporarily gave up the hunt for Rex. If he knew Rex like he thought he did, and he was alive, someday, somewhere, something would turn up in the news or in rumor among the world security agencies, that would point to Rex Dalton. Brandt would be waiting and watching for it.
Meanwhile, besides himself, only three other people knew the circumstances of Carson’s disappearance. One was Carson himself. The other was Marissa Bisset and now Josh Farley.
Their brief was short and to the point. Find Carson, bring him back alive, if you can. If you
can’t get him alive, terminate him.
Josh and Marissa understood the mission, loud and clear. They had no further questions about it. But they were puzzled about Brandt dropping the search for Rex.
“Have you heard something you aren’t sharing with us, John?” Marissa asked.
“No. Nothing at all. It’s just that Carson’s whereabouts have become more urgent,” he answered.
Something in his eyes touched Marissa’s compassion, something she’d had to stuff into a separate compartment of her heart to do the work she did. “Will you have us take up the search for Rex again, after we’ve found Carson?”
“I’m not sure that would be productive, not the way we’ve gone about it so far. Let me answer that if or when the time comes.”
“Okay. You know, I like some closure to my missions,” she remarked.
“And you know, you can’t always get what you want,” he said, smiling.
Marissa couldn’t help finishing the quote. “But if you try sometimes, you just might find—you get what you need.”
She and Josh left Brandt’s office with Josh humming the Rolling Stones’ song under his breath. What the United States needed now was Carson’s head, on a platter or on his shoulders was up to him. After that, they’d see about getting Brandt what he needed.
Chapter Eight
AT SCHOOL, REX turned on all his charm and, without breaking any school rules, let his lovely teacher know that he had a special interest in her. He was a little older, a world traveler, and a fascinating example of a language prodigy, which was a special interest of hers. It didn’t take him long to convince her that a guided tour of Bangkok would do wonders to accelerate his grasp of the Thai language—language learning by immersion he called it.
Sunstra gave him one of her heart-stopping smiles, clearly seeing right through his whole scheme, and nevertheless, agreed.
After the first outing, he’d broken the ice enough to get her agreement to do it again. Then he asked if she was available as a private tutor, once his course ended, as he wanted to advance his fluency enough to talk with elderly people who might be able to remember history first-hand, once he started doing out-of-town excursions. As an incentive, and to let her know he had no ulterior motives, he suggested they tour historic sites in and near Bangkok as they conducted his tutoring sessions.
Sunstra told him she’d check with the school. He hadn’t intended for her to do that, but he conceded she should. Happily, the school had no objection to that. They liked Rex, as he’d recommended them to several new acquaintances in the time he’d been there.
On the first of their excursions, they visited the Bangkok National Museum, one of the largest museums in Southeast Asia. Though it wasn’t Rex’s most fruitful way to study history, it did have the advantage of giving him an overview of the area’s history as well as plenty of conversation with the beautiful Sunstra. That was his main objective, anyway. There’d be plenty of time to truly study Thailand’s history when he’d finished school.
And he hoped, plenty of time to explore a deeper friendship with Sunstra when he was no longer her student.
***
THE THREE WEEKS passed quickly, Rex was surprised to find. He’d thought at first he wouldn’t be able to wait for a more intimate relationship, but the enforced restrictions on his time with Sunstra meant they were able to become deeper friends than they would have, if he’d been able to press his romantic interest. She bent the rules enough to accompany him to all the sites of historic interest in the city, and they talked the entire time about his interest in world history and languages. He told her more about himself than he’d ever told anyone, but he remained careful about the details.
He’d concocted a story when he knew he wanted to get to know her better. Like all good lies, it held an element of truth. He was a university lecturer on sabbatical, researching for a book. That was the lie. He was intensely interested in how the history of different regions interacted, how they were different, and how they were the same. That was the truth.
He might have felt bad about lying to her if he hadn’t rationalized why he’d done it. It was to keep her safe from the people who would do her harm if she knew who he was.
There was however, another matter, one which was befuddling—Digger’s objections to Rex and Sunstra touching each other.
What does Digger know that I don’t?
Since being mauled by that vicious dog when he was a child, dog psychology was not something he was ever interested in, except of course to stay away from them as far as possible. But since circumstances forced him and Digger together he had to learn about dogs, or at least about Digger. Not that he bemoaned the fact that they were together now—they’d become best friends—but the reality was he still didn’t know much about dogs. His knowledge extended only as far as Digger, what the dog taught him, and what he’d read online since they teamed up. And Digger was different, anyway. Even he could tell Digger was special—more intelligent than most dogs, not just better trained. Digger could act independently when he needed to, and whenever he did, like the time he’d followed, after Rex had been busted in Saudi Arabia for eating during the daytime during Ramadan, it was exactly the right thing to do. In human terms Digger could be described a genius.
So, Rex couldn’t understand Digger’s blatant animosity whenever he and Sunstra touched each other. At all other times he was happy with Sunstra. He liked it when she petted and talked to him, but the moment Rex and Sunstra got close he’d put his long black snout between them and block them from touching each other.
Do dogs get jealous?
What he could find online indicated they definitely could and did. But Digger hadn’t acted jealous of the women he’d rescued from Saudi Arabia. Admittedly, Rex didn’t get touchy-feely with any of those women the way he did with Sunstra.
Then it struck him.
Could that be the reason? Is it even possible, or have I lost my mind? Digger doesn’t approve of a physical relationship between Sunstra and me?
I have to ask a dog’s permission to date a girl!
What has the world come to? Literally gone to the dogs, it seems.
***
WHEN AT LAST the three weeks of school were past, he was free to hire Sunstra as his private tutor during the afternoons after her classes. They were also free to work on a closer relationship—something which at that stage seemed to be what they both wanted, as far as Rex could interpret Sunstra’s behavior when they were together. Rex celebrated by inviting her to a fine, old restaurant in the center of the city. Anticipating that the evening might end with him and Sunstra getting closer than Digger would like, Rex left Digger at the apartment telling him, “Buddy, it breaks my heart to leave you here, but unfortunately this establishment does not allow dogs, not even ones as clever and good-looking as you.”
The meal was spectacular. Rex urged Sunstra to order any delicacy she wanted and asked her to choose for him. He loved Chinese food, always had, and many Thai dishes had their origins in that cuisine. Others, though, were pure native Thai, some spicy, some creamy with rich coconut milk. He preferred the former.
He felt a little guilty for leaving Digger in the apartment. It would be too bad if it would aggravate Digger’s resentment and he took it out on them the next time he was present when Rex and Sunstra were together.
It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he knows I’m with her right now, even though I didn’t tell him where I was going and with whom. And if he doesn’t now, he will when he smells her scent on me after I kiss her goodnight.
But he couldn’t ruin his evening by thinking or worrying about that. After all, he deserved to be his own man, with or without Digger’s approval.
Dammit, why shouldn’t I choose my own girlfriend?
Rex was surprised to see Sunstra eating with a fork and spoon, though she wielded them differently than an American would. He hadn’t shared a meal with a Thai person before or noticed how they ate. Holding her spoon in her right
hand, Sunstra would guide food into it with the fork, and then bring the spoon to her mouth. He was equally bemused to see his soup delivered with a Chinese spoon—something that resembled a smaller version of the cooking utensil rest his mother had kept on her stove—and a pair of chopsticks.
Where’s my fork, and what am I supposed to do with these chopsticks?
Sunstra must have noticed his confusion, because she encouraged him to scoop the solid bits from his soup into the spoon with the chopsticks, then tilt the spoon to take up some broth with it. After that, Rex decided this was a clever way of doing it, and from now on he’d always eat soup that way if it had chunks of meat or vegetables, or especially noodles. It was much more efficient than chasing things around with just a spoon.
After a very sweet dessert made with sticky rice and coconut cream syrup, Rex’s least favorite of the Thai dishes he’d sampled, they lingered for a while talking, and then Rex noticed Sunstra becoming restless.
“Do you need to get home soon?” he asked.
“Yes. I must be up early for school tomorrow. It has been a lovely evening, and I’d like to do it again, soon.”
Rex agreed, and he was reluctant for it to end, but her signal had been clear. It was time to take her home. Maybe another evening would end differently, after they knew each other better.
They were walking down the street to where he’d parked his tuk-tuk when a few steps ahead, four men came out of a dark alley and spread out across the sidewalk. Rex’s attention had been on the pavement, as he’d learned the sidewalks of Bangkok were rife with ‘booby traps’. He’d steered Sunstra around an almost-invisible guide wire that would have garrotted them, warned her about an electrical cable stretched across the path, and ducked sharply when she warned him he was about to walk into a tangle of low-hanging cables.
