Come What May

Come What May (temporary title)

By: Robert Goldsborough

*This is a work in progress.  Please take it as such and let me know what you think.*

1

      The circle tightened like an embrace.  Not out of love.  More so out of a need.  Fingers squeezed against other fingers.  Hands gripped sweaty palms in an act of desperation.  This circle could not be broken.  The air thickened and grew heavy with perspiration.  Mouths muttered skyward, but the words fell down.  Back to throats closed in absence of thought, lost in concentration.  All eyes were closed.  They had to see.  Nine pairs of eyes looking inward for what had to be found.  It was there, it had to be there.  They all knew it and had known it since birth.  Streams of light tore patterns against the blackness of the subconscious knowing.  All eyes saw it as one.  They were on the right path.  This path, which had taken most of their lives to realize, was finally here.  The patterns rolled and righted pointing in the most obvious of directions, further inward.  They followed the path, knowing how not to trip.  This was more important than they had realized.  Deeper they went.  The light grew into more than just a showing, but into a true understanding.  A thousand suns circled themselves and drew the circle tighter.  Shadows drew themselves in the absence of the truest light.  Here and now it was coming.  No one blinked.



2

         A motorcycle thrummed loud out on the street.  She was dreaming it was a cat sent to bring her home.  A knock on the door scared the cat away, and she was left hearing only the engine.

         “Who…?” she fumbled for the cohesion we all lack at first waking.

The knock came again, a little louder, a little more impatient.

         “For Christ’s sake…”

The door split open with a crash of splintered wood.  Hinges and latches bent and spoiled like cheap tin.  She was found.  Guns and bodies, heavily arrayed in the darkest black, filled the small warehouse apartment.  She pulled up her thin white sheet as a shield between her and the invading horde.  She held a breath for just a moment before cautiously lowering her shield.  The room was empty, but that one was a little too real.  That was too close to now.  She didn’t have much time, an hour at most, but probably just a quick stream of persistent minutes. 

         She was into her knapsack digging for socks and panties, throwing cigarettes and torn scraps of paper out of her way.  Jeans were dragged behind her on the cold concrete floor on her way to the miserably tiny bathroom.  Luckily, when she had crashed into this empty loft two nights ago, the water had still had enough life in it to run.  Now the water was dry and she winced at her reflection in the murky mirror.  A dry toothbrush was better than none at all.  The socks couldn’t find their mates so she chose the red and green ones and decided that Christmas was today.  Her present to her self would be freedom.  Freedom as long as she would quit playing these silly games and hurry.  She knew better and scolded herself.  At least the shoes still matched, she smiled as she pulled the steel buckles tighter around her calf.  No use getting those heavy boots caught on something if she really needed to run.

         The motorcycle outside, that her subconscious was still listening to, pulled away and roared like a panther down the street.  Her skin crawled and she knew she was out of time.  They were probably outside right now.  The fire escape wasn’t on this side of the building.  She had known better, but decided to chide herself later.  The stairwell was close, but with the elevators out, that would also be their only way up to the third floor, where she was.  She had to be quicker.  Oh, what she would have done for a pot of coffee right now.  She needed the cobwebs of sleep gone, and the adrenaline from the first shock of the vision was receding. 

         The street, from her window, was empty, but she knew better.  In just seconds, the men with all their black would be rushing the plywood entrance and smashing their way up the dark stairwell, scaring the cat away.  She threw her backpack over a shoulder with a leather coat half on and darted out the door.  The next apartment was directly across the hall, and had no door.  The window in this room was dirty, but she was able to see the other wing of the building twisting around in a horseshoe across a miserably neglected yard.  A muffled sound of splinters from down in the building’s belly, and they were in.  Her mind’s eye saw their immaculate boots and vests, all unmarked.  Their indeterminate faces peered down the sharp metal of their gun sights.  Quickly, they turned up narrow stairwells and waved the lethal gun muzzles, with just as deadly intent.  She dashed for the stairwell to beat them to the passage.  She was going up.  Why not a little chase, as long as they weren’t sure where she was.

         She took two stairs at a time.  The men’s breath was hot to her imagination.  She could feel that there were more men this time, at least a dozen.  Something else was also there.  She couldn’t work her mind around it.  Why could she not see it; a puzzle for another time.  Right now, Christmas was getting late and she still wanted her present of freedom.  Three more flights and she was on the rooftop.  Luckily, last night she had unblocked the door so she could go out and bask in the cool night air high above the eyes of the street. The rooftop door to the other wing was a short sprint and she slammed the metal door behind her.  The fire escape should be in the middle of the top floor.  She left the stairwell and sprinted again.  Her blood was driving new adrenaline into her brain and limbs.  Not too much, she told herself.  I can’t panic yet.  She was in the middle of the sixth floor hall, looking into open rooms for the metal structure she wanted.  Luck seemed to be on holiday until she glimpsed it, not in a room, but at the end of the hall through a large broken window.  The jacket went over her head as she drove headlong past the shards of glass onto the creaking metal.  Hopefully that was loud enough to get them to go upstairs.  Her mind’s eye agreed and she saw heads in the darkness glance upward.  The fire escape was sturdy and she climbed with the grace that heightened awareness gave her.  At each floor she would pause and glance through the hall window to make sure she could not be seen.  She spied them briefly on the fourth, dashing into the empty rooms, and picked her opportunity to slip past them.  Two floors were left when the metal staircase abandoned her.  Nothing new, who built fire escapes all the way to the street?  Her hands wrapped tightly around the sliding ladder and she gritted her teeth.  How she hated these things.  The metal snarled as it descended and she closed her eyes.  The metal caught and she was shaken loose.  How glamorous it always was to land on your back in some filthy street.  She shook off the stun and the filth.  They would have had to have heard that.  To her feet and flight again.  She saw her Christmas a half a block down and decided that alleys would always be one of her favorite surprises.  A turn down one and you were always gone and free.  Now she was going into the anonymity that only a place that looks like a million other places can grant.



3

      The hours before dawn broke always seemed to stretch on for an infinity to him.  A glorious infinity that allowed time for reflection and contemplation on the events that led him here.  A harsh drone from the alarm clock he had set for 3am after his midnight phone call, the anticipation even before that.  He loved those calls.  The wait between them was almost a little death to him.  Slapping the clock he ceased its drone.  The quiet peck on his wife’s cheek, he was always careful not to stir her awake.  He did not need to pack his gear.  He had done that the night before, as he always did.  He was always ready.  The stillness of his house as he walked down the stairs knowing that today would matter.  Today he was going to be that secret hero again.  Tonight he would sleep with dreams of the victorious.  The call was simple.  A time, a place as it always was.  He never really knew who made the calls, but it never really mattered.  There was someone bad and he was needed to get them.  Get them by any means necessary. 

      He started his Jeep’s engine and warmed himself by the low growl that he allowed to creep into his own system.  It was early.  It always was early when he went to work and nothing started him better than a breakfast.  Not just any breakfast either.  He was a true connoisseur of the first meal of the day.  It was to be a glorious day and it had to start with a glorious breakfast.  His stomach was already waking with thoughts of corned beef hash, eggs and sausage.  He always went to the same place for his work breakfasts.  A greasy spoon buried in the bowels of downtown.  Twenty minutes and he would be indulging in the first meal of his heroic day.  He parked and slipped into his usual booth near the front window.  The head waitress, a woman who had never been very comely, smiled at him and scratched down his order with a knowing wink.  He gave back his normal two finger salute with a smile of perfect white teeth.  He drank two wonderfully bitter cups of black coffee and ate a mound of greasy food that all tasted the same.  Just the way he liked it.  He tossed down a twenty as he always did, not wanting back any change, and walked completely satisfied out to his Jeep.

         The engine growled back to life and he headed further into the cities guts.  The radio was off.  He preferred to listen to the sounds of a city not yet awake.  This tweaked his senses, made him feel more aware.  He couldn’t keep from smiling.  He pulled into a back lot three blocks away from his target address and killed the engine.  He dug through the outside pocket of his gear bag and retrieved a plastic binder.  Flipping through the pages found what he was looking for.  A red and yellow parking pass that explained he was with the company he parked in front of.  He had dozens of these.  He could park and blend into almost anywhere in this town and never be second guessed.  With his gear bag in hand he locked his Jeep behind him and jogged quietly down the abandoned streets.

         The warehouse was just around the next corner when he heard his name come from the shadows.

         “Hey, Mark nice to see ya again,” A hushed voice extended a hand for him to shake.

         “Morley? Why you goodfornuthin…”He shook the outstretched hand.  Could this day get any better, he thought.

Hidden in a darkened storefront there were about a dozen men slipping into bullet proof vests and gun belts.  Some he knew, most he did not.

         “So Morley what’s on today’s agenda.” Mark asked the other man in black.

         “Don’t really know too much.  We’re supposed to receive word anytime. Contact hasn’t been made yet, but you know how the mojam works.”

         “Yah. Hurry up to wait.”

Mark slid into his vest and snapped the belt around it.  His automatic pistol was tucked into a leg holster and his silenced H&K usc slung over his back as he surveyed the team. 

         “Quite a few of us. Got to be something big, right?”

         “Don’t know Mark. Hey, how’s …”

         “Oh, Celia?  She’s fine, ya know. Got this teaching gig and..”

A muted tone came from Morley’s black vest and he reached inside to retrieve a small cell phone.  The dozen men gathered around panting like a pack of anxious dogs.

         “Yes…yes…we’re here.  Absolutely…yes…clear.” Morley pocketed away his phone and turned to the pack of men.

         “Contact with target halted.  We are to wait for a Senior who has top orders; he’ll be here in twenty.  That is all.”

Mark looked down at his black boots and asked himself how many other times had he been forced to wait for a Senior.  He couldn’t remember.  This might have been the first.  He knew today was going to be a great day.

         Twenty long minutes later a car pulled up to where they were standing.  Mark heard the motorcycle he had been listening too drive away.  A tall figure stepped out of the back seat of the black imported car and leaned into the driver’s side window.  There were words, not any Mark could hear, but he knew they were there.  The car crept away into the darkness the figure standing on the sidewalk.  Mark saw the person’s hand move and a bright flash.  A lit cigarette illuminated the face.  The man was young and Mark wondered how anyone became a Senior.  Morley waved the young man over and he stepped into the shadows with the men in unmarked black. 

         “So you’re our Senior,” Morley asked without trying to sound too surprised.

The man in black nodded dragging on what Mark thought was a perfumed cigarette.  He threw away the smoke after another long drag and extended a gloved hand to Morley.

         “Yes, but I am also the organizer of this morning’s undertakings.” The man’s voice was deeper than his appearance seemed to allow and the sweet perfume of the cigarette pervaded every syllable he spoke.  Mark stepped forward with an outstretched arm and identified himself as the lead man.

         “Sir, we are at your disposal.”

         “Good, but I will be leading this infiltration.  All others will fall in behind unless otherwise informed during our sweep.”

         “Yes, sir” Mark stared straight into the young man’s eyes and thought he saw a distance, almost a wandering look that gave the impression that the man was really not all there.

         “When is our target time, sir?” another of the dozen asked.

The young man reached into a pocket of his black vest and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.  He lit the cigarette and reached behind himself.  The gun he brought out was large and nickel, not like Mark’s modern and plastic guns.  The young man’s weapon looked heavy and cumbersome.  He pulled back on the gun giving it a loud metallic locking sound and smiled a jagged toothy smile.  Mark could not look at the man’s face, and felt that the young man had aged twenty years with that smile.

         “We go now.” The man said through his sneer of a mouth.

The men sprinted out of hiding, into the street and around the corner toward the empty warehouse building.  The building was one of those failed real estate ventures that some ten years ago was an eclectic stack of apartments.  Gutted and stripped to the bare bones and then fixed up with modern conveniences so you did not have to feel like you were living in an old meat packing plant.  Mark remembered Amanda and him looking at lofts just like these back when they were first married.  That was now a long time ago, things change. 

         Mark was first to the plywood that was nailed over the front entryway to keep out vagabonds.  He kicked without hesitation and snapped the thick wood in half.  The man, with the cigarette still hanging out of his mouth, looked Mark square in the eyes with a sense of astonishment.  Mark told himself again that this was going to be a great day.

The men broke into two groups.  Mark led his group through the first floor of this wing’s apartments.  The man with the cigarette leapt up through the dingy stairwell with the other half.  All the apartments on the first floor were in terrible disarray and empty.  A sound, sharp and quick came from several floors up.  Mark jerked his head upwards.  So did the man with the cigarette and they headed towards the stairs.  The sound could not have come from any of the first three floors.  It sounded too far up the building.  On the fourth floor Mark twirled two upraised fingers in the air and split the team in half with a decisive chop of the hand.  The men split poking their heads through torn walls and doors.  Mark was feeling his adrenaline flow faster.  The sweat that hid just under his skin pricked its way slowly up the stalks of hair on his body just to be ignored under the black fabric.  The bigger gun, his H&K was stowed for the lighter more maneuverable Glock 18.  The hallways up here were darker with more rooms closed off and he needed the extra hand for the flashlight.  His hair pricked up again and not because of sweat.  There was someone watching him.  Mark reeled on his heels and stared down the hallway towards an unbroken pane of glass.  He missed something.  He knew he had.  When his mind returned to his job the Senior, with another freshly lit cigarette, was standing next to him staring likewise down the hall.

“Damn!” The cigarette dropped ashes against Mark’s arm.

“The target has eluded detection.”

The Senior’s black clothing seemed to merge with the expression on his face giving Mark the distinct impression that this is exactly what a blackhole looks like.

“We will pursue target!” Mark backed away with a halfhearted salute to get away from the darkening figure.

“No. She is free, for now.” More ashes tumbled off the cigarette burning like a lost soul in all that black fury.

Mark let it go and along with it was the image of the man’s darkness.  Nothing but a frustrated sneer remained on the man’s face.  Underneath the face a plan was forming.  Something had to be done and soon.  We should find her first, we have to.  Not with these overeager idiots though.  We will find a way.  There is always a way.





4

      The Hanoverian mare pounded away at the earth with increasing strides.  Vibrations like a live locomotive climbed their way up the rider’s legs.  The muscles of the pair were taunt and sweaty, attuned to every heightened nerve ending.  Sparks formed in their bellies, a lust for the pounding that came from hoof on ground.  The mare picked up speed and the female rider hunched down further into the shallow of the narrow saddle. Their eyes were focused forward, together.  Their hearts were beating in unison.  The final fence was a mere hundred yards and closing.  The last few feet and the mare arched her back and lowered her head.  The rider sank further into the horse’s center of gravity and they both took to flight.  The spark burst throughout their frames shaking out any doubt and feeding it to the flames.  They were burning and time wanted them to burn through.  The front hooves settled on the opposite side of the fence with that old familiar shock that sent the warm flood of adrenaline through both sets of veins.  The fire receded and waited once more, knowing that it would be called upon again later.  The rider knew better than to rein in the mare, the horse knew what had happened.  They came round by instinct to gloat at the achievement.  A wave from the single onlooker followed by an indistinct call through clasped hands.  This was a show of praise from a true fan. 

      The figure grew larger as he approached.  Hands clapped louder, but the mare was well trained and did not move.

      “Amelia, my dear that has got to be the finest jump I’ve seen in years.”

The man was older, but his voice had that edge of youth that defined true charisma.

      “Thank you Professor, but Adelaine has still much to learn.  She dropped her rear hooves and almost tore off her boots, not to mention her new frogs.  And…”

The old man waved away her words for the moment trying to get her to just hear his praise.

      “Forget yourself again, eh?  No one knows better than I that just two months ago this bitter nag could not even accept authority let alone make a jump like that.  Be happy with yourself, and the mare that you have taught.  Taught well.  You were like one on the green.  Don’t scowl at an old man like that, unless you follow it with a smile.”

Amelia looked up from under her short brimmed helmet replacing her faked scowl with a full face smile.  That smile will forever and always melt the old heart that beat in his chest and he knew it to his core.  He was always glad to see his and her mother’s life reflected in Amelia’s face.  One day he would tell her the truth about that, but not today.  Today was already growing late and dark clouds were cresting this side of the mountains threatening rain.  He walked behind the trotting mare lost in his own thoughts like he so often was.  He did not even notice the first drops as they started to speck his gold rimmed glasses.  When he reached the stables Amelia was already scurrying about in the stalls.  Tack and saddles were finding their places.  Food and drink nested into the horses’ troughs.  He loved horses.  Not just because of the rare respect one sometimes finds in their nobility, he loved them because she loved them. 

      “Adelaine is bedded down with her heavy rug so the storm shouldn’t bother her too badly.  You might want to send out one of the hands during the night to make sure that she’s drinking and not too frightened.”

He placed a worn hand around her shoulder and smiled with his aged face, a sign of contentment that placated her.  She took his hand and they ran through the rain to the main house.  She always made him feel young and mischievous when she laughed like she did now in the rain.  He could not help himself.  He felt like he was once more alone with her mother.  That also brought on that deep ache of regret.  The time that he spent with her mother was short and secret.  He never thought that he could have regretted those few precious moments, but he had learned to.  Amelia was the most dreadful blessing he could ever know.  Every time that he felt this way, and it was often in her presence, he could do nothing more than swallow hard against the ache and enjoy his penance.  He knew that his time of secret love was forever gone and he accepted that he could only stand near the mystery of that time.  He smiled at her as she dragged him through the back door giggling as if she herself were too young to know better.

      “Hot tea, Mandril.  The professor is frozen to the bone and he can’t get much warmer standing in here.” 

Her voice searched out the ears of the cook with a melodic lilt that danced around the room and found their mark.  Mandril was snoozing against the cutting boards to the sound of the rain when Amelia’s voice caught her ears.

      “Oh, seer,” Mandril staggered forward with outstretched hands and her stretched Spanish accent.

      “You are so-ak-d.  I git de towels aye start for you sum tea, okay?”

      “I’ll help git de tea Mandril after I git me sum dry clothes.”

Amelia had always played with Mandril like this, ever since she could remember.  Mandril shooed her away playfully as they had so many, many times.

Amelia chased Mandril up the rear servants’ stairs to the second floor cloak room.  Here Amelia had always kept several changes of clothes for just such a circumstance.  Even though this wonderfully old house was not her true home she had always felt like it was.  At least since her mother had died.  She was nine when her mother had succumbed to the cancer.  A sense of sentimentality drew a single tear from her eye which she brushed away with a smile.  No tears, after all she was happy wasn’t she?  Mandril grabbed a set of plush burgundy towels from a low shelf and dashed back down the narrow steps.  Amelia smiled again as Mandril’s thick accent drifted up the stairs in muffled tones.  Her heart was bursting with warmth, but her skin was crawling with wet and chill.  She dug around in the large brown leather bag that the Professor had given her for one of her birthdays.  She pulled out the clothes and cursed herself for not updating this hidden wardrobe more frequently.  Oh well, jeans and t-shirt it is.  The clothes were a couple of years old and she pulled the jeans tight up over the hips she had not had the last time she left them here.  Thankfully the shirt was large enough to pull past the rest of her that she had grown well in those years. 

A chill was still creeping through her skin so she hunted for a sweater.  There was none to find.

      “Mandril. Do you have a sweater I could have?”  Amelia called down the stairs through chattering teeth.

      “Yees. Jus a mo-mont Amelia.”  Mandril had always had problems saying her name so it always sounded more like A-mee-leeya.  Amelia smiled and hugged herself for warmth.  Mandril was about her build, even though she was about ten years her senior, and often borrowed her clothes.  Mandril was up the stairs a few moments later tossing Amelia a rather ugly pink sweater.  All she said was thanks and pulled the rough wool over her head.

Back downstairs Mandril had a teapot boiling on the stove and gave Amelia a disapproving tap of her foot to a broken agreement.

      “Sorry Mandril. I couldn’t come down naked and fix the tea now could I?”

They smiled like sisters at each other.  Mandril went back to her kettle and Amelia left the kitchen to go to her favorite room of the house.  The professor’s study was back up on the second floor, but she took the main stairs this time.  She let her hand caress the polished maple finials and drag up the long curve of dark stained wood.  The front stairwell was massive and always made her feel like a movie star returning home from a long shoot in a distant land.  At the top of the carpeted stairs she turned right and walked the short distance to the open doors of the professor’s study.  They were always open.  Even the eight short years that she had lived here she had never seen these doors closed.  Still she rapped a knuckle on the dark oak out of respect.

      “Oh, come in Amelia. You know better than to knock. Come in my girl and sit. What should we talk about tonight, your training of the horses? How’s your school coming? You know I can not let you drive back to your little apartment in this. You must stay.”

      “Thanks professor, but you know I have to go…”

A crack of lightning lit the room through the high windows.  The thunder followed shaking the glass itself in a statement of fact.  She smiled at the thought of staying here again in her old bed.  He smiled at the thought of keeping her up all night talking her ear off.

They were still sitting there smiling at each other when Mandril crept in with their tea.  Amelia drew another chair in front of the large cherry wood desk for Mandril to sit in.  Mandril served and sat as she had been expected to as long as Amelia could remember.  It had taken quite a bit of time for the professor to get Mandril to actually join him in his tea, but his persistence had finally paid off.  He did not like the idea of being served and then not allowing the server to likewise enjoy.  He was quite the odd chap and that was why so many enjoyed his company.  Amelia secretly wanted to be just as odd.





2



      It was always good to shake off the city’s noise and smells.  The air seemed to thin and freshen just passed the borders.  Country was coming and at not too badly a rate.  Kathryn’s boots dragged and scuttled at the pebbles making the only real audible sounds above the cricket’s revelry.  Got to get some sneakers one of these days, she thought to herself.  She wanted anything to think about as long as it was not about how close she came back there.  The thought about that last vision sent chills up her spine.  She loved walking.  Walking alone had become more than just habit, but a way of life that seemed to fill in the cracks that happened without people there to keep you together.  This was her sacred space.  Out in the open, on the wide never ending expanse of pavement, she could see clearer.  Inside and outside her minds eye played tag with her physical senses in a type of game that released her from what she could not control.  The questions would come with no answers in pursuit.  Yet, she could muse without interference from her other senses.  These senses always seemed to come through when she needed them to most.  Who were those men? Are they always the same? How long do I have before they find me again?  And, as always, the question that haunted her.  How long before they actually catch me?

Her head was spinning.  Too many questions so few answers.  She slowed her pace along the quiet back road.  There is always a back road.  They would look for her on a main road.  Who exactly would look for me on a back road?  Her head was spinning out of control and she wanted something to slow it.  The backpack slid around her shoulder so she could fumble her hands into the tangles of clothes for what she wanted.  She could slow her stride, just not stop it.  Not for long anyways.  Her hand closed around the cardboard package and drew it out.  She eyed the box suspiciously.  The box was placed against her mouth and she opened the lid with her lips.  Snatching with her teeth she pulled out a long cigarette and started patting her jeans to find her lighter.  Left pocket Zippo, right pocket million dollars she teased her self.  Just glad she had not left this one behind in the escape.  Slid the pack back over her shoulder she snapped the metal lighter against her thigh and brought flame up to kiss the cigarette. 

      Ah, now that’s good stuff, she whispered to nonexistent ears.  The smoke curled around her face and descended down her throat with the ease of experience.  Within moments the rush of light headedness was pushing those dark questions away into even darker corners.  She knew that she would have to face those questions again, but not now.  Not here.  Here was just now and the hushed plod of her heavy boots.  The spinning in her head stopped.  She wanted an easy flow of analysis to creep forward.  There was something different about that last raid.  Something she could not put her finger on.  She had not felt this in any of her close calls before.  There was something black and secret.  She had not allowed her self to process it in the middle of her escape, but it was there.  It was there like a slow motion thought when she crept down the fire escape past the sixth floor. Now it was beginning to bother her.  The thought would not go away and she was already hunting for another smoke to help chase it away.  Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.  Maybe next time she felt it, she should just let it have her.  She might get some answers.  Wait a minute.  Stop looking into the abyss, she snapped at her brain.  Answer men don’t chase you down with guns.  Never.

Answer men come to you when you’re most vulnerable.  They come with flowers and sweets.  They talk softly and pretend to listen.  They listen your mother all the way into the loony bin where she can disappear without anybody caring or even knowing.  They tell you things like it’s common and curable.  They tell you that you can still see her on weekends and you are still a family.  Then they place you in foster care with the other delinquent kids that ask too many questions.  They send doctors to give you tests, painful tests that nine year olds don’t understand.  Tests that make you feel bad.  Then when they have seen enough of you and are tired of giving you answers they disappear.  There are no more answers then.  Especially when it comes to those things that are important.  Where’s my mommy? You cry and no one can tell you, or they just won’t.  Then there’s just you and a pile of questions.  Years pass and the questions stay questions.  Blank staring questions that make you mad and act out.  You get old enough to know that someone knows something, old enough to start asking in a louder harsher voice, a voice that someone actually hears and comes to check on.  In your sleep that night before the new answer men get there you dream that they are coming.  The dream is nice and you see them coming with flowers and sweets.  They are coming to talk softly and listen.  You realize, waking up in a sweat, that they are coming to take you to the loony bin.  They are coming to make you disappear, because no one cares if you do.  So you pack what you can and steal fifty bucks from the foster parents and leave.  You hear the complaints and questions in your head from miles away.  You laugh to yourself because the answer men are asking questions.  You still laugh.  Then the tears come.

Kathryn was on her fourth cigarette when she had to wipe the wet from her eyes.  It was good to be alone.  It was good to be able to think.  Maybe one day she could have her answers.  Not tonight.  It was late beyond words and Kathryn wanted food and a place to crash.  Not necessarily in that order and not all at once.  She had time out here.  She always had time out here.  Here was always where she was.  Kathryn was ready for that to change.



3

         The newspapers always had bad news.  At least the coffee would be good.  Coffee was always at its best early in the day.  Besides, his wife would be on her third cup too by now.  Mark read and reread the back page articles of the paper.  He was looking for something, anything, a weird letter, a strange death, anything that could connect him to what happened earlier.  The Senior had been light on information, not so much as a debriefing.  Mark was used to that, but something was still nagging at his brain.  What had they just missed?  He knew that they had just missed it too.  That feeling, crawling through the gutted remains of the sixth floor, it had been there and then it just slipped past them.  A clank of glass and his second helping of greasy-spoon eggs slid under his paper.  To hell with the cholesterol today, he thought, I need to think.  He pushed the eggs around in their grease and picked at them with the dry toast.  His mind was still absorbing the paper.  He needed to see it, whatever it was.  He knew it was hidden here; everything was always hidden here, as long as you knew how to look for it.  Hell, half of his jobs could be read about in the morning paper of that same day.  Of course, identities, locations and details were changed when they could be, but some how something about the job was almost always here.  Not anywhere near the front of the paper, oh no.  It was always buried in the back, near obituaries and stupid pet tricks.  Sometimes you even had to dig through the local neighborhood rags to see something, but it was there.  Missing dogs, domestic violence, electrical fires in abandoned warehouses, train car derailments, the lists of cover stories were endless.  Nobody seemed to need more than the logical conclusions, and that was fine with him.  Nobody wanted to know everything. 

         The local rags were combed, the urban updates, and half of the ‘Times’ piled up next to him in the booth.

         “Where is it?” he asked.

         “Right next to you hon.”

Mark looked up and straight at the waitress who was pointing at the coffee pot.

         “What?”

         “The coffee’s right where I always leave it, hon.”

         “No, no. There’s something in the paper that’s not there.”

         “If you say so, hon, but the coffee’s right there in front of you.”  She walked away leaving the green check under the pot.  ‘Of course it’s right in front of me,’ Mark said to himself.  A thought smacked him clear in the face.  It was right in front of him the whole time.  The building was still where they left it.  Whatever had been there might have left some kind of clue.  All he had to do was go on a little reconnaissance of his own. 

         “Thanks, hon.”  Mark dropped a twenty on the table and gave his waitress a quick two finger salute.  He jumped into the jeep and sped out of the parking lot.  He was back on assignment.  He would have to call his wife later and lie.  Now, it was his time to get some answers.

         The sun was hanging high in the late summer sky when he got back to the lot where he had parked earlier.  The lot was stuffed with the local office jockeys’ cars, so he had to drive a few more blocks away to park.  He walked up from behind the building in plain street clothes and almost walked into someone coming around a corner at him.  The man was dressed in a black suit and sunglasses carrying a large metal briefcase.  Not too unusual in this part of downtown, except the man wore black gloves and in a hurry.  Mark scratched his head and continued around the corner.  Another man in a crisp, black suit was coming out of the rear door.  Mark focused on the sidewalk glancing up when the man came near.  This second man was also carrying a metal briefcase.  Mark walked past the rear entrance to the building glancing up the brick sides.  There were figures casting shadows against the windows on several floors.  Another man, this one with a more casual appearance, was standing outside the broken sixth floor window on the fire escape.  Somebody else knew that there was something unique going on.  A hand grabbed Mark’s shoulder while he was watching.  Mark turned, grabbing a gloved hand in a twist pulling the thumb backwards.  The glove slid off the hand exposing white skin that struck with a gut punch.  All the air raced out of Mark’s lungs and he fell to the pavement at the man’s feet.

         “LaMont. Marcus LaMont?” The man asked.

         “Yes, who the fuck are you?”  A gloved hand came down to help Mark up.  His other hand was tucked into a pocket of his black suit. 

         “My glove, if you please.”  Mark handed over the glove and coughed in more air. 

         “We need to speak with you Mr. LaMont.”

         “Who does?” Mark asked.

         “Follow me sir.”  Mark followed the black suit through the rear door.  They ascended the stairs to the third floor and walked the hall.  At an open doorway the Man in black replaced his glove, picked up a metal briefcase and walked away.

         “Mr. LaMont, what do you think that you are doing here?”  A voice, calm and relaxed came from inside the doorway.  Mark stepped in and saw the man who had been on the fire escape, poking through the twisted sheets of a makeshift bed.

         “I…worked here earlier this morning. I came back to do a quick once over.  Make sure my crew didn’t leave anything behind.”

         “Not likely Mr. Lamont. You know what I think?”  The man rose and extended an ungloved hand.

         “The name’s Harry. Harry Detreetis.”  Harry pumped Mark’s hand.

         “And you Marcus, had a feeling. Didn’t you?”

         “ No. I…”

         “You’re a bad liar Marcus, or is it just Mark? Whatever. You had a feeling this morning and you thought you might do some snooping of your own.”

         “Yes, yes I did. Who are you?”

         “I just said, my name is Harry. Did he punch you too hard? Serves you right, you know. You did attack first. All he was trying to do was get your attention. There was no need to strike.”

         “Wait, I mean who are you with?”

         “Oh you don’t need to know that, just yet. But you will. In time. Right now, though, I think you could be of some help to me, yes?”  Harry’s middle aged face lit up in a large grin.  Mark grinned back out of acceptance.

         “What can I do for you Mr. Detreetis?”

         “Please, Mark, just Harry. I get enough ‘Mr.’ from these jokers.” Another man in a black suit entered, retrieved a metal suitcase and left.

         “You, Mark can just sit down here on this ratty ole’ mattress and tell me how you feel. That’s it for now.”

         “Here? And tell you how I feel?”

         “You’re not a quick study are you Mark. Oh I’m sorry. You’re still a bit confused aren’t you? Have a seat.”  Mark sat on the mattress.

         “Look me square in the eyes.”  Mark looked Harry in the eyes.

         “You do not need to know anything yet. Sorry, but that’s the gist of it. Just sit there for a few moments and I’ll be right back.”  Harry walked out of the room.  Mark heard some quiet verbal exchanges in the hall then closed his eyes.  He did not know why he did it, he just had to comply.  He was always the faithful soldier, his wife would even say so after he got back from what he had claimed was the Gulf.  One day he wanted to tell her the truth, but not any time soon. 

         Mark’s brain reeled back into itself chasing the tail of his confusing day.  The thoughts and confusions leaped one another with no answers.  Maybe he could get some if he did this stunt for Harry.  He doubted it.  Mark’s minds-eye stared at the images they last saw open.  A crumbled room with an abused mattress tangled in webs of mismatched sheets.  He tried to see more of the room, but it was too nondescript.  Wait, his mind said.  There on the floor not two feet from the bed was a pair of black panties.  What were those doing here? His mind asked.  The garment was out of place here, he looked harder, not opening his eyes.  There was a fragrance.  The smell of female flesh pervaded his mind’s nose.  Sweaty, panicked female flesh prickling his neck hair and touching off a small spark of sensuality in his mind’s world.  Then, the scent was pulled out by force.  His nose longed to follow.  The panties were left there, forgotten.  Noises began to fill the ears he wore in his mind.  Rough, pounding noises came closer and closer to his mind’s world.  They were familiar because he had heard them only a few hours ago, just not from this point of view.  The sounds grew louder and he grew restless.  He had to get out of here, now.  A shadow moved down the visible hall.  A head peered through the open doorway.  Too late, he was caught.  The figure entered the room and Mark saw that it was himself in full gear, just as he had been not more than four hours earlier.

         Mark’s eyes flew wide snapping him out of his trance.  Harry was staring at him from inches away.  Mark yelped and backed away from him.

         “Did you see the panties Mark?”

         “What? Yes, but how did you…”

         “I’ve already been over this room a hundred times. Nothing has escaped my nosing.” Mark looked to the side of the bed for the black underwear.  Harry looked puzzled at Mark.

         “And you saw exactly where they were too. Interesting. Did you see anything else? Like, who’s they were?”  Mark shook his head.

         “Too bad. That would have been very helpful to us. After all this time we still don’t know exactly what she looks like.”

         “Who? We were chasing down a woman?”

         “A young woman, more precisely. We’ve been tracking her down for years. We can never seem to get close enough though.”

         “A woman?”  Mark stared in wonder as to why anybody would hire a group of fully armed men to hunt down a young woman.  His face must have given that away.

         “Not just any young woman my dear sir, but a young woman who will one day…oops. Me and my big fat mouth. Do you remember anything else, Mark?”

         “No, not really. That was just a little too strange for me to hold on to.”

         “That’s okay Mark. Now though, I am going to have to ask you to come with me.”

         “Where? I think I should call my wife.”

         “Let me worry about where, and your wife has already been contacted. So please, no more questions.  Nobody really wants to know everything. Right?”





4



         Amelia awoke on the hard couch of crushed velvet in the Professor’s study.  Her back was stiff, but she still managed a smile for the bright morning.  Mandril was sitting in a chair across from her also smiling.

         “Aye got for you sum coffee.  Dee seer is awready got for today.”  Mandril said.

         “Thanks Mandril.  Oh Jesus! What time is it?”

Mandril shied away from Amelia at her curse waving a disapproving hand.

         “What time is it Mandril?”

         “It is past the half of eleven, miss.”

         “Eleven-thirty!  How could you let me sleep so long?”

         “Dee professor said dat you should.  Pleez do not yell at me.  You knowed I am only to tink of you.”

         “Sorry Mandril.  It’s just that I have classes and I don’t need to be late for them.”

         “Sorry, miss.  But da seer said for you to sleep.  Sorry, miss.”

Mandrill went into a fit of dry sobs.  Amelia hugged her and whispered that it was fine and besides she had probably missed too much of her classes to go anyway.  They both sat on the velvet couch in an embrace. 

         The professor had awakened in his overstuffed chair earlier than he had anticipated.  It was still dark outside, but the dawn would not be too far off.  He could always feel sunrise in his bones and the older he got the more he seemed to dread it.  Today was just like any other day, but he still drifted back to thoughts of the previous night.  He had once again basked in the warmth of his daughter.  She was brilliant and beautiful.  He enjoyed her company more than most.  He did not even mind the stiff back from waking up at his desk.  The rush of their conversations and the energy they brought with them filled him every time.  Amelia was still asleep where she laid down in the middle of their debate on the Middle Eastern crisis.  How much like her mother she looked.  A tear of joy traced his lined cheek as he covered her with a throw from the couch.  He pushed up his spectacles and wiped away the wet.  Mandril was watching from the hall with a tray of coffees.  She startled him back to the present and he blushed.

         “Shh.  You mustn’t wake her Mandril.”

         “Yesh, seer.”

They went down to the kitchen and shared a pot of coffee.

         “Are you okayed, seer?”

         “Yes, why do you ask?”

         “Aye seez you cry.  In dee study.  Are you okayed, seer?”

         “Yes, Mandril I am okayed.  Sometimes sentimentality gets the best of us when you get to be my age.  That’s all.”

         “Yesh, and she do look like her momma, no?  Pretty, jus like her momma.”

         “She does, doesn’t she.  I hadn’t noticed.”

The professor winked Mandril a sly look that made her blush.

         “Let Amelia sleep until she’s ready to get up, okay?  Oh, and you might want to make a whole carafe of coffee.  You know how addicted she is to your black Spanish nectar.  I know I am.”

He tossed back his third cup of the hot brew and pulled on his coat.

         “I shouldn’t be too late coming home tonight.  If Amelia’s still here tell her that’s she’s more than invited to stay for dinner.”

         “Yes, seer.  Lot’s of coffee.”

He blew her a mock kiss and walked out into the dark morning.

         His big green jaguar purred to life in the still air.  It was not until he was on the 99 south to Huntingdon that he let himself muse on his day.  The tests had been quite significant in the past few weeks.  He was glad to have had the time off for a little rest, but now he was anxious to see where all this progress had taken him.  The sun was slow in rising over the low mountains of mid Pennsylvania.  The sliver of light illumed gold in the collected waters of the previous night’s storm.  He smiled as he soaked in the beautiful day.  All his trepidation had melted like frost near a flame.  He hoped that Amelia would still be there when he got home.  He had always loved this scenic drive.  His musings flittered away his drive as always only really paying attention to where he was when he met the dirt road that rounded Raystown Lake.  The dirt road bent around the Rothrock state forest to a small gated drive.  That drive was watched twenty-four hours a day by cameras and led down a widening road to a more heavily guarded gate within the trees.  This final gate opened onto the main compound on the south western side of the lake.  The view was stunning from amongst the trees, but he always had a sense of foreboding about the structure.  In the middle of all this nature a building, that looked more civil than serene, stuck out stark and unnatural.  Not that the architects had designed a monster, but that its crass angular structure was completely opposed to the wilderness that surrounded it.

         The jaguar purred to a stop in his reserved spot right out front and he climbed out.  There weren’t many cars here yet this morning, but it was still early.  Two armed men in fatigues parted to let him enter the lobby. 

         “Morning, Jack.”  A happy voice said from behind a desk encompassed by television monitors.

         “Oh, morning Rick.  I didn’t see you buried behind that wall of TV’s.  Staying out of trouble I hope.”

         “Sure thing Jack.  Too early for trouble anyways.”

The young man’s face and fatigues came into view as he stood and advanced on the professor with a hand-held metal detector. 

         “Let me know if you find my keys in there, okay Rick?”

The younger man laughed.

         “Not here Jack, but I think I found your pace maker.”

They both laughed and Jack passed his ID badge through the reader to open the last set of doors.

         He whistled as he walked the halls to his lab.  The whole building seemed to be in as good a mood as he was.  It was still early though and the commanding officers hadn’t arrived yet.  There was always later to hear the heated discussion between workers and protectors.  The military always seemed to get heavier handed the older the soldiers became.  The professor turned the door knob to his lab and went to his desk.  This was not as nice as his desk at home, but this one had seen the work that would one day change the world.

         “Morning Jack.”  A female voice said.

Startled, that he had not noticed his assistant Joyce, he blushed. 

         “Morning, dear.  Are you having a nice morning giving old men heart attacks?”

         “Heart attacks? Oh Professor Moran, I’ll tell you when your old enough to start having heart attacks.”

Joyce talked with a thick Texas drawl that had always sent his heart a flutter and today was no different.

         “What are you doing here so early, my dear?”  He asked.

         “What do you mean early?  When some people take vacations, others of us still have to work you know?  Your papers aren’t going to organize themselves.”

She smiled a white smile that soothed away his blush.



5

         Even though he had been born and lived his entire young life on the coast Jorge hated the water.  The sun on the other hand and the weather was always great, except of course when he was stuck in class.  Not today though, today he had skipped school all together.  It was still summer after all.  At least it still felt like summer, September was still hot.  It just was not fair that he had only two and a half months to enjoy the heat before school took him indoors and wasted his time.  He was not great student, he knew that.  He was not going to go to the medical college in town like his mother had wanted him to.  She was just going to have to be happy with having two sons that could not go to medical school.  His brother did okay for leaving school before graduation.  He may still be living at home, running with a tough crowd, but he worked on cars and that gave him plenty of cash.  Why shouldn’t he follow in his older brother’s footsteps?  So, Momma did not like the ‘Locos’, they were more than just a gang of thugs, they worked and enjoyed life.  Besides, what was so wrong with jacking some tourists anyway?  Momma always complained about the strangers too.  She would just have to get used to the new situation.

         Today was the day.  Jorge knew that he was just going to skate around town on his longboard and think.  That is what Carlos always did to clear his head.  They were brothers, if it worked for one, it should work for both.  He skated the Strand looking for tourists.  He skated Harborside and by noon was getting disappointed.  He wanted someone to jack for a couple of bucks.  His stomach was starting to growl and the restaurants by the pier did not make him less hungry.  A jacking was what he needed to settle his stomach and make a name for himself to the Locos.  If he could catch some tourists unaware for a big score his brother would have to notice and maybe Carlos would take him along with the others to a Houston night out.  There wasn’t anything here in Galveston anyway.  Jorge started to think about his E-rate assisted lunch after third period and heard his belly grind.  At least he would have been fed if he had been at school. 

         One last shot.  He would skate down to the seawall and look for someone he could at least ask for a couple of bucks.  His stomach was telling him that charity would be good enough.  The long stretch of road facing the murky waters of the Gulf of Mexico was called the seawall in Galveston.  Jorge hated the view from here.  There was nothing to see but endless waves of dark water, maybe an occasional bikini.  The tides were endless and sounded like a train doomed to forever cross the globe.  There were smaller piers here that cut out over the water like wooden fingers pointing at the endless waves.  Jorge skated on the opposite side of the seawall close to the line of older tourist traps.  The water just made him too nervous. 

He used to have nightmares when he was younger of a terrible storm blowing in from the gulf and swallowing him up in the dark waters.  He would be dragged from his safe home and batted around in a swirling oblivion nibbled at by strange fish with sharp teeth.  He really hated the water. 

No one was on this side of the street.  The few remaining tourists who were left kept to the gulf side poking in and out of the shell and sport shops.  They were easy pickings too, all older and slow.  Not fast enough to catch a young boy on a big skateboard.    He thought that maybe he should give up.  Go home, see if Carlos was there and could sneak him a sandwich.  Even if he did get caught, he would take his punishment for skipping school and just go back tomorrow.  He knew that he was not too proud yet to take a beating from Momma.  He flipped the tail of his longboard around in an ‘ollie’ jump and headed back up the seawall. 

A bus, one of the last tourist busses of the season, pulled up to the old hotel with the giant plaster crab on it.  The bus had stopped not more than twenty yards up from where Jorge was.  This would be his chance.  These last busses always carried the oldest of the tourists, the ones that could not afford the inflated summer rates.  He coasted slower on his board watching for the people to disembark.  It took a few minutes, but someone finally exited into the salt air blowing in from the water.  Jorge could not tell how old the person was, but he saw that it was a woman and a woman would be easy enough.  He kicked the ground and accelerated his rolling board.  Jorge pushed off again closing the gap between him and his victim with increasing speed.  He was really flying when he veered left to clear the open bus door.  What luck, her bag was laying on the ground at her feet.  This was going to be too easy.  His stomach growled louder as he kicked the ground for one last bought of speed.  He cleared the bus door and leaned down to snatch up the bag.  The woman was dressed in all black and had to have seen him as he approached.  She looked right at his dark brown eyes and extended her arm.  She caught Jorge across the throat winding and knocking him to the pavement.  His board kept going until it entered the street and was plowed under by another bus. 

      “What the hell do you think you were doing?”  She asked.

Jorge gasped for air with his bruised windpipe.

         “I was waiting for you.  I need your help.  Oh, sorry about your throat, but you were going pretty fast.”

She extended her other arm and helped him up.  His gasping was subsiding, but he knew that his throat would be a brilliant purple for his Momma to see.

         “Why…did…you…?”  Jorge coughed.

         “You didn’t give me much choice.  Did ya?”

Jorge stood dazed for a few moments with his head lowered still catching his breath and stared towards his splintered skateboard.

         “Sorry about your ride, but I’ll get you a new one if you help me.  Okay?”

He looked up at her grey eyes and tried to cough out another question.

         “Look buddy.  You came at me, it’s your fault that you were moving that fast.  I just reacted.  I didn’t expect you to be really flying like that.  I just need you to help me find a place to stay for a while and I’ll pay you.  Okay?”

Jorge nodded, afraid of telling her no.

         “Great.  Let’s start with food first.  I’m starving.”  She said.

         The woman in black lifted her pack up and they walked back down the seawall towards a pizza place that Jorge knew.  The food was greasy and good, just the way Jorge liked it.  His throat was still sore and knew it would be for a few days, but he had to ask.

         “How did you know that I was there?”

         “You were making so much racket, I’m surprised the Galveston police didn’t know you were there.”  She said.

Jorge did not like her answer because he knew that he had been quiet.  He had practiced being quieter than the traffic most of his skating life.  Stealth and speed were the two best allies of a tourist-jacker.

         “Besides, I’ve got a flair for these things.”  She said tapping her forehead.

         “Thanks for the pizza, lady.  I should be going home now.”

Jorge felt like the pale woman was just making fun of him and after the loss of his skateboard he was not feeling that forgiving.

         “Wait a second buddy.  We have a deal.  Besides, don’t you want a new skateboard?”

Jorge nodded grudgingly and asked what it was she wanted exactly.

         “I need a place to crash for a while.  Don’t you listen?”

         “Well, there’s lots of hotels on the beach that are real nice…”

         “If I had wanted just an ocean view I would sleep on the beach, but I don’t want to get carried out with the tide.  I need someplace a little lower key.  If you know what I mean, and I thin you know what I mean.”

She stared Jorge down, making him feel all of his fifteen years-old.

         “Well, the Strand has some vacant buildings.  But you don’t really…”

         “Sounds perfect.  We’ll hit that skate shop on the way back and you can show me where.  My name’s Kathryn.  What’s yours?”

She once again extended an arm.  Jorge shook her hand and told her.

3

         The bed was always the emptiest place in the house when Mark was not there to wake up next to.  After seven years of marriage Celia was used to it, but just a little.  She rubbed the rest of her dreams from her eyes and stared at the bright morning that came in through the window.  She pulled on her thick white robe and stumbled to the bathroom.  The water ran hot and it eased the sleep from her body.  A shower was the second best thing about morning.  What she needed now was a cup of coffee.  She wrapped up her hair in a towel and went to the kitchen.  The coffee was purring away with a fresh batch.  Mark had set the timer for her and the coffee filled the room with its thick aroma.  Mark’s thoughtfulness was just one of the reasons she always forgave him for not being there when she awoke.  She poured a cup full of the dark liquid and sat down at their modest kitchen table.  Mark had picked the paper up from the yard and left it for her.  How could she not forgive him? 

      He did not work for himself when they had met; he was still in the military.  He had just gotten back from the middle-east somewhere, a lone soldier on leave.  They had met in a little burger place near downtown Memphis.  This was before the investors had really started to commercialize the area and the soul was still evident in the old buildings.  She had always loved the way Memphis had felt when she was younger.  She had come here once with her high school band.  Celia had grown up in Nebraska, and Memphis was her first love affair with a big city.  After she graduated from The University of Nebraska she still felt the same way about Memphis and decided to give it a go.  She packed up her late model station wagon, kissed the folks goodbye and went to the city of Elvis to renew her love. 

      It was her first night in town when she met Mark.  She did not have a place to stay yet and figured Beale Street was as good a place as any to catch a drink and a burger.  Inside Dyer’s Burgers the walls still reverberated with the sounds and sights of the roots of rock’n roll.  The legends were there peering down at her in black and white repose.  She smiled and half expected to see the King himself smile back from the photos hung on the walls.  Elvis did not smile back, but a young man dressed in beige fatigues did.  He must have thought she was smiling at him and he showed a mouthful of burger in his wide toothy grin.  Celia giggled and had to sit next to him.  They talked for hours over greasy fries and burgers, even shared a milkshake.  They were instant friends and soon to be intimates.  He slept with her that night in her car parked near the Mississippi river banks.  That next morning was the first time she would wake up without him.  After several horrified moments she found his note and reread it all that day.  He said that he had to check in with his superiors, he would be back to get her around eight that night at Dyer’s.  She was at the burger place by six.  She was on her third cup of coffee when he walked in.  He was not wearing his fatigues, but a blue suit.  She stood and flew into his arms.  He swung her around him and they both felt like he had just come from ‘the great war’.  He was down on one knee with a doleful look in his eyes.  She swooned and pulled him back up to his feet.

“Oh Celia, I did it!”  He said.

“Did what Mark?”

“I got restationed.  To here!  If you’ll have me, let’s try it and live here.  I know how badly you wanted to come here.  And, well…I thought…maybe, we could do this together.  What do you think?”

Celia was speechless.  This was all so fast.  She was nodding her head yes all the way to the suburbs where they bought a house and she found a teaching job.  Two years later she was nodding yes again all the way down the aisle.  She was happy.  Mark was happy.  That was when he started disappearing after midnight phone calls.  A year after they were married Mark had gone into some sort of exporting business with a friend of his named Morley.  Sometimes, quite often after that first year, Mark would start getting these late night calls about business.  Celia did not want to interfere with Mark’s ambition, but sometimes she thought about unplugging the phone before they went to bed.  Besides, what would happen if Mark did not answer just once?

Celia was roused from her daydream by a knock on the door.  She tied up her robe, downed her second cup and went to the door.  Morley was standing there in a dark suit.  She invited him in and asked if he had seen Mark this morning.  No, he lied and then asked for a cup of coffee.  She poured Morley a cup and herself a third.  They sat at the modest kitchen table smiling at each other.

“So you don’t know what Mark’s up to this morning?”  Celia asked.

“Not really.  No.”  He said.

The coffee was good and hot.  She hoped that Mark had had his this morning; somehow she thought that he might need it.  She laughed off the premonition.

“Sometimes, I wonder if there is another woman when Mark gets those calls in the middle of the night.  You know?  Late night call, not there in the morning.”  Celia said.

“I guarantee you Celia, Mark is all about business.  There’s not another woman in Mark’s life.  Trust me, I would know.”

“Oh, I know.  I just like to be told sometimes.”

“Celia?”

“Yes, Morley?”

“Could I have some milk for my coffee, please?”

“Sure Morley.”

Celia stood and went to the refrigerator.  She opened the door with her back to Morley.  She could not see the small, neat caliber handgun he had pulled out of his jacket and leveled at the back of her head.

“Celia.”

“Yes, Morley?  I’ve almost got the milk.”

“He loves you Celia.”

Morley squeezed off two quick rounds into Celia’s head.  She did not make a sound.  He was a professional, but he had always hated killing someone he cared for.  Celia lay still; her death was quick and painless.  Morley knew, though, that it would not be painless for him.  He let the single tear trace its way to his mouth before he wiped it away.  He replaced the small gun into its holster and flipped open his cell phone.  The phone buzzed for a minute and a voice answered.

         “It’s done.”  Morley said and closed his phone.

4

         Amelia was done with her coffee.  If she drank one more drop she would be bouncing off of the walls.  She hated to miss her classes; she could not afford to miss them very often.  This was better though.  It had been several years since her and Mandril had been able to just sit and giggle like small girls.  Amelia had missed it and considered today a good excuse to let life interfere with responsibility. 

         She had decided that she felt at home back at the professor’s house today.  Besides, her back was sore from sleeping on the couch and the last thing she wanted to do was put it through even more torture driving to school.  The professor would be home in a few hours.  They would talk some more.  She felt like he needed to.  There was a hidden sorrow to his words last night and she wanted to know why.  It had to be more than his work.  He would not say if it was, but Amelia had the distinct impression that he was lonely.  Maybe it was time to be at the old house more often?  The professor was not getting any younger.  He should have more company; maybe even help finding a good woman.  He would not find one for himself; Amelia did not remember ever seeing him with a female companion.  That is what she should do.

         Mandril came back into the kitchen with her hands behind her back.

         “Miss, guess wot I got.”

         “What is it, Mandril?”

Mandril showed Amelia the bottle of tequila she had behind her back.

         “Wit the seer gone, I tought we could maybe drink for re-el.  So here.”

Amelia looked into the maid’s dark eyes and saw the longing that hid there for her company.

         “Well, what are you waiting for Mandril?  Pour us a couple.  I hope you’ve got limes.”

They smiled like the sisters they always thought themselves.

2

         The skate shop outfitted Jorge with all his demands.  Kathryn smiled and paid.  This was the change she had been looking for.  The coast, maybe it was not the Florida Keys or San Diego’s beaches, but Galveston had its own special charm.  The island was small with a touch of the old New Orleans’s flare in its architecture; they were both founded by the same pirate after all.  Galveston did not have the same busy rush and that was fine by her.  She saw herself holding up in some nice derelict Victorian mansion by night and beachcombing in cut-offs by day.  She hoped that she would get lucky here and have a rest of several months before they once again found her.  Right now she did not want to think about it.  The sky was clear, the sun was bright and she needed to find a place to crash.

         “Okay Jorge.  Take me to the Strand.”  She said.

         Jorge led, skating a slow pace ahead of her.  He was ecstatic when she agreed to pay for the board that he had always wanted.  She even paid for the big wheels that made skating smoother on the pavement.  He would lead her wherever she wanted to go.

         They went back along the seawall, on the side of the street away from the water, towards the older residential side of the island.  The houses were once brightly colored, but now sun faded.  There was a sense of surreal age to the wooden buildings and the faces that peered out at the woman dressed in black walking down the street with a young skater thug.  Kathryn was feeling safer by the minute on this island.  She felt cut off completely from everything that had happened in Memphis a few days ago.  She could not even feel that constant twinge of guilt at feeling safe.  They were crossing through the oldest parts of the island when Kathryn decided to given in to the freedom that being cut off had granted.  Tomorrow, she thought, she would buy a pair of flip-flops.  The residences ended leaving them near the downtown district of Galveston.  Jorge directed her away from the shops of the Strand to a more derelict warehouse area hidden just around the corner.  This was not quite as charming as Kathryn was hoping, but the location was perfect.  They walked down an isolated alley and came to a metal door set in a solid concrete wall.  Jorge took a small piece of angled wire from his pocket and picked the door’s lock.  With an exhalation of stale air the door swung wide.

         “Most of these old buildings have really old locks.  The salt air also helps to make them easy to pick.”  Jorge said with a smug grin.

Kathryn walked into the cool darkness of the concrete building to listen.  Her feet echoed giving her a perception of the space in the dark.  It was good sized with two stories.  They found a wooden set of stairs and ascended.  The stairs were much newer than what the building seemed to be and led up to a second floor that seemed to have been installed at the same time.  This level was well made with solid wood.  There were couches and tables.  It looked like this was going to be an apartment of some kind before the owner’s plans had changed.  This was perfect.

         Jorge climbed onto one of the tables left in the open level and pulled on a hanging canvas.  The cloth tore wide with the falling boy attached and sunlight lit the whole space.  There were rugs and several couches and tables.  There were even two queen sized beds.  What was this place?  Kathryn thought.  Later she would have to investigate.  Right now, though, it was time to nap.

         “Thanks, Jorge.  I think that this will do just fine.”  Kathryn said.

         “Okay.  Thanks for skateboard.  I’ll see you around.”

         “Yes, you will.  Be here tomorrow after you get home from school.  Tell your mom that you’re jacking some tourists.”

Jorge looked shocked at Kathryn, his lip quivered.

         “You need me more?  Man!  I knew you wouldn’t be that easy to loose.”  Jorge said.

         “I just need you to do me a couple of more little things.  I could tell your mom about your career move if you want me to.  I’m sure I could find someone around here who knew you and could tell me where you lived, right?”

Jorge sneered at this blackmail and grunted out an affirmative.

         “Besides Jorge, it’ll be fun having me as a friend.  You’ll see.  Be here tomorrow after school, or I’ll find you.  Okay?  Goodnight.”

Kathryn smiled and pointed at the door.  Jorge was mad, but he knew he would be back.  She had him and they both knew it.

         Kathryn settled in and spread herself around the upstairs apartment.  Her curiosity had been piqued by this room and she had to see what else there was in this building.  She carried the flashlight from her bag along with her cigarettes.  She lit up a smoke at the top of the stairs and gazed into the gloom down below.  She turned on the flashlight and began to wander.  The stairs went up the side of another concrete wall and walked around it.  There was another metal door like the kind on a meat locker.  She pulled the long, silver handle out and the door forced open.  She walked into a large open space made of concrete.  She could not see the other end with her small light so she walked in further.  At the far end of the large room there was another wooden structure that looked like it was built the same time as the stairs and apartment.  This was about four foot tall and flat, nearly complete.  It had a short set of stairs leading up one side and a stack of large wooden cabinets on the other.  The cabinets were full of speakers.  This was going to be a stage, she thought. 

         “I wondered what happened to this club?”  She asked herself.

Part of the mystery solved she wondered out of the large room into the warehouse area.  Sure enough, she found two wooden bars for serving drinks, still nicely dressed with a tiki motif.  She was charmed and felt very lucky at the previous owner’s misfortune.  She looked behind the bars and found some partially full bottles of rum.  She was overjoyed and decided to retire to the apartment and work herself into an inebriated slumber. 

         Half a bottle of dark, sweet rum later Kathryn was asleep and dreaming.  Her mind went black, but she felt someone in her head with her.  It was not unusual for her to feel someone else’s presence in her skull, but this person was in serious distress.  A voice yelled in the black, Kathryn did not recognize.  Her mind danced through the alcohol hoops she had fed it and tried to focus.  It was a woman.  The woman was screaming louder, as if she was coming nearer.  Kathryn’s mind braced against the screams.  The blackness fled and Kathryn saw a modest kitchen in some suburban house somewhere.  There was a young woman, about her age, crying at a small kitchen table over a cup of coffee.  She watched from a distance afraid to approach and disturb the image.  The lady raised her head as if she heard Kathryn appear.  The young woman wore a towel on her head and a thick white robe.  The woman’s eyes looked directly at where Kathryn was standing and her mouth moved.

         “It’s you isn’t it?”  The lady asked.

         “I don’t know what you mean.”  Kathryn said.

The lady blinked and fixed her eyes on Kathryn’s

         “You’re the one that Mark wants, aren’t you?”

Kathryn was lost, feeling that there was something here that she should know and not being able to see it.

         “You’re the one that got me killed!”  The lady screamed.

         “Killed?”  Kathryn asked.

         “I have no life anymore!  Because of you!  And I was carrying his first son.  How could you?”  The lady’s head fell back to her cup of coffee and knocked it over on the table.  The liquid that spilled out was not brown, but a dark red that pooled and clotted.  The young woman’s towel slid from her head to show the tangle of more red mixed with her hair.  There were other shiny things tangled there, but Kathryn knew it was her brains.  The woman had been shot twice in the back of the head and her brains were creeping out. 

         “Look lady.  I don’t know who or what you’re talking about, but…”

         “My husband, Mark, is looking for you.  You touched him and they know that you touched him.  They want you and nothing is going to stop them.  I hope they catch you.”  The lady said.

         “Who are they?”  Kathryn asked.

         “I hope they catch you and kill you!”

         “Who are they?!”  Kathryn yelled.

         “Ask your mother.”  The lady said.

         Kathryn awoke with the moon high in the sky.  She could not quite remember what she had dreamed, but she felt a cold chill creep up her spine.  Another drink of rum would cure whatever that was.

         She could not get back to sleep.  Kathryn figured she might as well see the town.  There were bars along what Jorge had called the Strand and she wanted to see what that was about.  Kathryn broke the lock on the back door and staggered out into the dark alley.  The two partial bottles of rum had done the trick to buzz her mind into wanting more booze.  She felt like having a bender and that was what she was going to do.

3

         Harry pushed Mark outside and into a waiting car.  Three men in black suits sat in the front seat, briefcases in their laps.  The car pulled away from the building and the five men sat in silence.  The car moved out of downtown toward Riverside blvd.  Mark thought about the first day that he had met his wife and wondered when he would see her next.  They followed the 40 west over Mudd Island and left Tennessee behind.  The silence was broken by a cell phone ringing in the front seat.  One of the black suits answered and nodded.  He looked over the seat towards Harry and nodded again before returning the phone to his pocket.  Harry smiled.  Mark spoke up when the car exited in West Memphis and headed towards the airport.

         “Where are we going Harry?”

         “All in do time Mark.  As I said you do not need to know right now.”

         “But, my car, my things; they will be found, there will be questions.”  Mark said.

         “Everything has already been taken care of.  We think of everything.  No loose ends.”  Harry said with a smile.

         Mark thought that this was impossible.  He had always been able to find the loose ends in his cases.  He had already been looking for them this morning at breakfast.  No one could tie up all the loose ends.  Harry lowered his brow toward Mark.  He seemed to be reading Mark’s thoughts.

         “We only leave threads when it suits our purposes, Mr. Lamont.”

         “Am I one of those threads, Mr. Detreetis?”

         “Actually no, Mark.  You are unexpected, true, but not a loose thread.”

         “Unexpected?”

Mark looked into Detreetis’s eyes with a questioning expression.

         “Enough for now, my boy.  We are here.”  Harry said.

         “Where are we going Harry?”

         “I said enough.  Time to sleep.”

Harry removed a small metal device from his coat and pricked it against Mark’s arm.

         The world and its images swam around in front of Mark’s eyes.  He tried to cry out, but could only feel his mouth muttering.  In seconds Mark fell asleep.  Harry smiled and motioned to the men in the front seat.  Mark’s limp body was carried to a private plane inside the adjacent hangar.  The hatch was sealed and the plane taxied.  Harry smiled the whole trip knowing what he was bringing in.  Won’t they be surprised by him, he thought.



6

         The deal was made and the men wanted to celebrate.  After everything that they had been through to get here, nothing sounded better than a cold beer.  The day had started hot, but there was a summer full of hot days behind them.  The planning had been mulled and thought over for weeks.  Intricate plans and contacts had been made.  The more engrossed in their mission they became the more their thirst for its resolution, and cold beer, had grown.  Everyone would be surprised.

         It had been two years ago when Carlos had met Grant at an icehouse in Houston.  The older man had been raging at another member of the Texas Republican Army, fists held above his sweaty head.  Carlos was there to meet with Grant about promoting a more determined TRA.  The other fellow must have arrived early and disagreed with Grant’s extreme views.  Poor soul, Carlos thought.  The younger man was being brow-beaten into his chair.  Carlos walked up and clapped Grant on the shoulder to calm him down.  Grant dropped his arms and looked at Carlos.  Grant was edging his fifties into his sixties with sweat rolling down his dirty brow into his bright blue eyes.  Their hands clasped and the younger man fled.  Carlos sat at the outside bar and motioned a waitress to bring two more coronas.

         “Carlos, I hoped you were coming, but you didn’t have to spoil my fun.”

         “I think he had had enough of your preaching, my friend.”

They smiled at each other and squeezed fresh limes into the yellow beers.

         “So, who else will be here, Grant?”

         “All I’ve heard from is Anthony and Paul.  You know how they always run in a pack.  But, they said they’d be here.  Hey, how’s your padre these days?”

         “My papa is not well.  The doctor’s say that the cancer is inoperable and he lives on borrowed time.”

Carlos looked into his beer for a hidden comfort.  Grant crossed his hands and sighed.

         “He will be proud of you Carlos.  We’ll make sure of that.”

         Twenty minutes of drinking passed before two men in their late thirties walked onto the patio of the bar.  The younger, Paul winked at a pretty waitress in a short skirt and tipped her for two beers.  Anthony was the more reserved and just smoked an unfiltered camel with his hands in his pockets.  Anthony was forever the rebel, after being denied his rebellion from his liberal parents.  They had hoped he would stay away from the dreaded conservatives that their parents had been.  Now, Anthony and Paul were both deeply entrenched in a new conservative party, and about to go even deeper.

         “Pauly, Tony.  Please sit.”  Grant said and waved them over.

Four more yellow beers lined up on the table with their matching green fruit.  They drank and talked about their woes.  The sun set and Grant’s sweat ceased.  Grant was in his element now.  He was a leader, and this was his army.  All those harsh words that the president elect Myers had spat at him would not matter anymore.  Tonight he was going to take charge.

         “So that slow moving president and his ineffectual congress need more than just words to convince them?  So I say we give them what they need.”  Grant said.

“We do not need the Texas Republican Army and their hearts full of lies.  They may say that they want liberty for our great state, but they don’t mean it.  They’re happy getting their lattes and doughnuts from Washington.  They are all politicians of the worst order.  Lies and lies, just to get our money and support for them to hob-knob with the liars from that other country.  We never needed the damned United States; we all know this as Texans.  Why should we play those games?”

Grant paused in mid stream to suck at his beer.

         “What the republic, and president Myers needs is a wake up call.  And if no one’s gonna do it, it might as well be us; the last true Texans that know that we don’t need no other country’s help, not even from that devil the U.S.  That country already has the rest of the world up its ass and we do not need to be a part of that anymore.”

         “Yes sir, Grant.  We’re with you one-hundred percent.”  Paul said and tossed back a clear tequila shot.

         Carlos sat in silence soaking up the brave words and the alcohol.  He knew his father would agree with this.  His father had always been a patriot of Texas and damn proud of it.  He had passed that pride onto his son who turned it into a passion.  He had believed what the Texas Republican Army had said and done.  They had set up and maintained a backup government in Texas for decades, just in case the U.S. ever failed.  President Myers had been elected and seemed like a good man with good morals.  Carlos had even agreed with the president on many points about Texas being allowed to return to being its own independent republic.  Texas had every right to secede from the U.S.; the constitution said so.  With everything that was going on in the world these days and the way it always seemed like it was the U.S.’s fault, secession seemed like a very good idea.  Just because the whole world hated the States did not mean that they had to hate Texas.  Carlos shivered as he thought about the U.S. dragging Texas’ good name through the mud.  After a few years of listening Carlos did not see too much being done about secession by the TRA and began to ask why.  Grant Guidry had found him at a meeting one night that Carlos had walked out of.  Carlos had had enough of not having his questions answered.  Grant began answering the questions instead.  Carlos had liked the strong and hostile answers he was getting.  They drank and complained about the mad politics that never seemed to go anywhere.  Grant would drag him to meetings with others who seemed disgruntled and started to tell his side.  They became a verbally combative force.  Carlos became Grant’s best friend and confidant, getting tossed out of the more liberal TRA meetings together.  They even confronted President Myers about his lack of action.  Myers had them thrown out of his sight.  That was when Grant had had more than enough.  They needed to find others that felt like they also had to act if words were not enough.  Anthony and Paul had been friends since birth and always likewise questioning at the TRA meetings.  Carlos brought them in to their small circle and tried to find others.  The others were easily found          and they met and held their own meetings.  Words and curses at inactivity flew around to form a small army ready for action; but, what kind of action?  They had hunted for months before Grant called this late summer meeting amongst the four of them at the icehouse.

         Grant raised a final beer with a flourish and downed it in a gulp.  He slammed the empty bottle down on the table and sneered.  A secret was about to be revealed and the three other men waited with held breath.

         “We have our solution.  In two years time we will have the attention of not only the TRA, but the entire world.”

Carlos and the two younger men looked through the thickening alcohol glaze at Grant.

         “We will steal a bomb.”

         “A bomb?”  Paul asked.

         “Not just any bomb Pauly, but the bomb!”  Grant said.

         “What bomb?”  Paul asked.

         “The H-bomb boys.  The end-all-be-all H-bomb, of course.  Don’t you guys read your history?  Remember, those that don’t learn from it are doomed to repeat it.”

Grant smiled showing a mouthful of dirty teeth.

         “I read about the bomb being remade in one of my Scientific Americans.  They said that they’ve developed a new type of triggering system that doesn’t need another explosion to set it off, making it more stable and actually useful.”

         “But, Grant.  Wasn’t the H-bomb shelved because of its potential for destroying the whole world?”  Paul asked.

         “Kids these days.  Do you not learn anything in school?  The trigger was the key.  It wasn’t safe or easy to contain the fusion reaction needed to trigger the true thermonuclear explosion of the hydrogen.”  Grant said.

The three men’s eyes bugged and jaws dropped.  Grant was serious. 

         “How are we going to steal an H-bomb from the U.S. government?”  Carlos asked.

         “That’s the beauty of it Carlos.  The government doesn’t have it.  A private company does.  Some company called ETAK something.  They’ve been working with sound to recreate the heat needed to set off the fission reaction.  It’s all kinda neat if you like that science stuff like I do.”

         “Grant you can’t be serious?”  Paul asked.

         “Yes, I am.”

Carlos and Anthony stared at each other in amazement.

         The two years had passed slowly and plan after plan based on loose intelligence had been rejected by the group.  Then with a bit of luck they found out about the testing that would take place in the Gulf of Mexico.  They plotted more diligently, securing more allies for the needs that were building.  Carlos was becoming frustrated by all the added problems that seemed to be compiling with the stealing of the weapon; like what were they going to do with it once they had it?  Grant explained that it did not matter what they did with it as long as everyone knew that they had it.  Carlos shrugged along with Anthony and Paul contacting more allies and connections on the coast.  They were ragged and worn by the time they had reached the coast and secured they’re final need, a boat.  The plans were laid, the allies in place, all they needed to do now was wait.  Well, wait and grab a few cold beers.  Two weeks was still a long way off not to have at least a couple beers.  They deserved it after all.  It was all the work of four average men that were going to bring the notice of the entire world.  If that didn’t earn you a drink, what did?

         Paul led the men back up from the docks towards the little bar he had found the day before.  It was a Friday night and this tourist part of town would be guaranteed to still be open, even this late in the season.  They walked past the old Victorian homes down to the Strand district and into a bar called Yaga’s.  An outside brick wall had collapsed in the prior year’s hurricane, but the owners had left it alone giving it a more outdoor feel.  The ambience was part tiki and part Mexican, something all four men had come to enjoy from this part of the coast.  They ordered some coronas and tequila from the thatched roof bar opened by the fallen wall and sat in the patio furniture that served as tables for the place.  They were all tired and elated.  The mission was nearly done.  They toasted the tequila and slumped into the metal chairs.  Paul watched an attractive dark haired woman cross the stone floor to the thatched bar.  Maybe he could celebrate with more than just booze tonight, he thought.



2

         Kathryn’s brain was slowing its spin as she walked down the Strand and into a bar.  The place looked like it was decorated by a Jamaican refugee with no sense of coordination.  The walls held Mexican rugs of varying colors, the ceiling was draped even vivid banners of soccer teams and other assorted sports.  At least there was a bar.  The wall next to the bar was open as if it had collapsed; Kathryn liked the way it made the place feel so open.  She sat at the bar under its straw roof and wondered why the bar had a roof at all considering that it was mainly inside.  She could not let her mind wonder too long, it wanted more alcohol.  A machine at the back of the bar was spinning a frozen liquid with a sign that read “raspberry margaritas”.  That was exactly what she needed.  She slapped down a five and the bartender handed her a cup that looked more like a bowl on a pedestal than just a cup.  She smiled thanks and tipped the man in shorts and Hawaiian shirt two more dollars.  The straw got in her lip’s way so she just tilted the bowl up and let the icy mixture pour down her throat.  She howled at the brain freeze, but ordered a second with more tequila.  Her second bowl was tipped to her lips when she felt a tap at her shoulder.  Kathryn grunted at the ‘tapper’ and set down her bowl.  She saw a man in his late thirties well sun-burned and badly dressed in baggy mismatched shorts and a t-shirt.  His dark hair was disheveled and he had a dumb ‘I’ve been drinking’ look on his face.

         “Can I help you?”  Kathryn asked.

         “Paul, my name’s Paul.  My friends and I are new here and were wondering if you’d like to come and join us.”

He was not worth Kathryn’s notice, but she had alcohol in her and she was feeling pretty amiable.  She waved the bartender to bring her another bowl of the rich drink to the men’s table and winked.  Paul pulled a chair up and she sat.  The other three men were not much more to look at, but she at least thought she could score some free drinks from these tourists.

         “Hello gents.”  Kathryn said.

         “Well, like I said, I’m Paul.  This is Anthony, Carlos, and General Grant.”

         “General, huh?  Military man?”  Kathryn asked.

         “Oh, no that’s just a nickname we use for him.”  Carlos said.

         “No, if the lovely young lady wants to call me General.  I’d let her.”

         “I’m sure you would.”  Anthony said.

The men’s curiosity was piqued by the pretty young woman that had agreed to join them and they were all starting to sit up straighter in their seats.

         “So where you guys from?”  She asked.

         “Oh, we’re from here in Texas.  Just a bit further north, Houston.”  Paul said.

         “Houston?  Yeah passed through there on my way here.  Not much to see from the bus.  Just way too much concrete and suburbs, didn’t impress me much.”  Kathryn smiled.

         “Yeah, that’s why we try to come here.  Deep-sea fishing, beaches, you know.”  Paul said.

         “So, what do you guys do in Houston?  Raise concrete and children?” 

         “Well, Carlos here is in insurance…”

         “We try to leave all that behind in Houston, if you don’t mind.”  Grant interrupted Paul.

         “What’s your name?”  Paul asked.

         “Oh, Kathryn.”

The bartender brought out another round of coronas and tequila for the table.  The men toasted the shots to Kathryn and passed around the beers. 

         “So what are you doing here in Galveston?”  Anthony asked.

         “Enjoying the water and the refreshment.”  Kathryn said holding up her bowl of alcohol.

         “You from here in Texas?”  Carlos asked.

         “No, just resting for a while.”

         “What a shame.  You know Texas is the best place on the continent to be, right?”  Grant said.

         “Oh yeah?  It’s not bad, but I have yet to see what’s so great about it.”

         “Well, for one, did you know that we’re one of the only states that can actually secede from the union if we want to? “  Grant asked with a smile.

         “Secede, huh?  Now why would anybody want to do that?  The States have everything; what would Texas do without them?”

         “Well, it’s not like we need the U.S.  We have our own power grid, crops, oil and gas, army, everything.”  Paul said.

         “Army?  Oh, you mean like a national guard.”  Kathryn said.

         “No, our own army; and our own government.  For when the U.S.’s government fails.  We can and should be self sufficient.”  Carlos said.

         “When?  You mean if, right?”  Kathryn asked.

         “No, he means when.  The U.S. has pissed off the rest of the world so badly that when the real shit hits the fan we can separate ourselves form those idiots in Washington.  Hell, we might even join the rest of the world in kicking the U.S.’s butt.”  Paul said.

Kathryn was starting to feel a little uncomfortable with this conversation and waved for another margarita.

         “We think it would be good for Texas to be removed from the rest of the states before anything happens.  Have you ever heard of the Texas Republican Army?”  Grant asked.

Kathryn shook her head and stared into her empty bowl.

         “Well, they’re the ones who established the backup government for Texas.  They also proclaim to want to have Texas secede from the U.S., but we believe in the Free Texas Army, which we all belong to.  That is, that we actually try to get Texas to secede from the states.”  Grant continued.

The bartender brought her another drink and she fought with Paul as to who was going to pay for it.  Kathryn won and tipped the bartender gratefully.  She had it to her lips and sucked half of it down before she realized that Grant was waiting on her before he finished his speech.  She looked over the thick rim and was glad to see that the alcohol was working on her brain again.

         “So Kathryn, what do you think?  If you had the choice, would you want to separate yourself and your family from those that were guilty of pissing off the rest of the world?”  Grant asked.

She could feel that he was fishing for something, but the alcohol was working to well at hindering her perception.  Kathryn opened her mouth.

         “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not crazy.  The world is a screwed up place and always will be.  You have to learn to get along in it with everyone because everyone is as screwed up as you and running away is just kind of cowardly.  Don’t you think?”

Kathryn felt her mind reprimand her mouth for being too candid and she winced.  The four men stared at her.  Grant rose from his metal chair and pointed down at her.

         “Crazy?  Cowardly?  If you only knew the lengths to which some men go because of passion and honor…”

         “Honor?  Wouldn’t that mean actually staying and fighting?”  Kathryn’s mouth would not stay shut and now she knew that she was just trying to annoy these men further.

         “Who the hell do you think you are?”  Paul asked.

Anthony reached over and grabbed Kathryn by the throat and tried to lift her from her seat.  Kathryn threw her margarita in his face and kicked out as Grant leaned over the table towards her.  The table toppled as she fell backwards to the stone floor.  Carlos was the only one still seated and he had a look of mixed horror and anger.  Grant was unbalanced by the table and stumbled towards Kathryn as she lay on her back.  She swung her leg and caught the older man’s knee causing him to topple onto Paul who had fallen with the table.  Anthony had the drink out of his eyes and was leaning down to assault Kathryn further.  She rolled out of his way and jumped to her feet.  Paul was up and advancing when the bartender in his Hawaiian shirt walked in between them.

         “What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?”  The bartender asked.

         “She attacked us.”  Anthony accused.

         “One lady attacked the four of you?  I think you guys need to pay up and leave before I call the cops.”

Anthony backed away and helped Grant up to his feet.  Kathryn did not look back as she left the bar through its broken wall and headed for her warehouse.  The alcohol was still pumping through her system, but she wished that she had finished that last raspberry margarita instead of wasting it on Anthony.  She had enough tonight anyway.  Time to go crash, tomorrow she would forget about this.