Midnightmuse: How's this for speedy? ; ) I had this one just about done already, I'm not really that fast… (and I do have a life, even if my husband doesn't seem to think so… what's more important, folding laundry or satisfying one's creativity?)
And to all: Thank you, thank you! I appreciate all reviews, long or short, they really keep me plugging away.
I'd just like to once again (even though he's never going to read this) thank my husband for helping me muddle through some of the rougher plot points and figure out a little bit of getting from point a to point b.
Chapter Fourteen:
Happy Birthday
"Please tell me you have something more interesting to say than nothing's going on," I say to Milo during our morning call on day seven of my island incarceration. I know what you're thinking – it could be worse. We all know that I'm looking at a very long term in a federal penitentiary if this doesn't work out… and I don't think I'm going to hear the ocean in some federal pen… I'm not going to have a balcony, sea air or eggs benedict and fresh coffee served at my bedside… but this is still a fucking prison. I can't do anything – can't go anywhere… and I know it's only been a week – and patience is truly a very fine virtue… but I cannot take much more of this doing nothing – or else I just might loose what's left of my mind (no comments from the peanut gallery…)
Milo has checked in with me, dutifully, twice a day, every day. Mostly, I think, he wants to make sure I haven't offed anyone – and that I'm not sulking in my room all day... No, no I assure him each time we speak, I am taking daily frigging walks – me and my trusty cane… I'm keeping in touch with Dr. Answan (a surprisingly amiable old coot of an Islander whose office smells like brandy and fine cigars. My kind of doc.) I've even begun availing myself of the resort's exorcise room – not that I was ever into the whole body builder routine – it's just that I'm going a little stir crazy and going to the gym is just one more thing to do besides stroll along the beach and read.
"The 'Barillo' Cartel finally has a new boss," Milo tells me, "A guy named Gomez de Jesus. Ring any bells?"
"Nada." But at least it's news… at least it's something… "However – there is an FBI agent – ostensibly retired – who might know more than I would…" I begin…. heh – what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when that conversation takes place… that thought is enough to brighten my whole day… I hang up with Milo, finish my breakfast and take my book (and frigging cane) down to the beach – I've finished Body Count, and I'm about half way through Anonymous Rex…
After a couple of chapters, I take a short walk and then return to the resort to check in with doc Answan (we drink a little brandy, smoke a couple of cigars and I listen to him talk about Life on the Islands… which isn't half as boring as you might think. Remember, I did say old coot…) Afterwards, I head into the dining room for lunch and have my usual. No – my other usual. I am a firm believer of 'when in Rome' – and my usual lunch is some local poultry dish that I have with a shot of spiced rum… dinner of course will be that pig roast… not quite as amazing as pibil… but still quite – nummies.
Still feeling rather good about my day, I head back up to my room to listen to the news…
… and it catches me somewhat off guard when my cell phone rings, just as I'm getting in. Milo's habit has been to phone mid morning and then again in the evening…
"Sands here," I answer, making every effort to keep my tone neutral – in the twenty seconds since the first ring and the time I've answered, I've thought of several reasons for the call; none of them are good.
"Hey there, Cowboy."
Breathe. Just breathe… ok… no panic in her voice… my Christ, her voice… it is just as beautiful as I'd remembered.
"Sheldon?"
"I'm – here – you ok?" I park my butt in the nearest chair before I fall over…
"Milo tells me today's your birthday."
Huh? Oh. Right. I tend to loose track of stuff like that…
When I was a kid, Mom fussed over birthdays (I think she felt guilty because we had nothing – like it was somehow her fault the old man split.) Even after I went off to school, she continued to fuss over birthdays… when I joined the CIA, I finally had all the excuses I needed to stay as far away from my mother's house as possible on – or even anywhere near – my birthday. And, honestly, sometimes I wonder if Mom had ever found out just what it was I was doing with my life, if she really would have made such a celebration out of the anniversary of her bringing my sorry ass into this big ol' ugly world…
"Sheldon?" Beth asks again, "Are you all right?"
"Yeah – yeah, it's my birthday," I manage to pry a few words out of my throat at last… It is so good to hear Beth's voice… but I just – can't seem to speak.
"Cicily would like to say hello."
"Ok."
I listen to the shuffling in the background – and then, "Hello?"
"Hey there," I say to her, barely aware of the smile creeping across my lips. "How's the math coming?"
"Better, I think. I got a hundred percent on my spelling test."
"Well that's good."
"Yeah – but it's Spanish and Spanish is easier than English."
So it is, "Yeah," I don't quite know what to say to her either… when did I get so frigging tongue tied? "How's everything else?"
"Ok. Are you coming back soon?"
"I hope so."
"Me too – here's Mama,"
"Ok – hey – you be good for her, ok?"
"I will," Cicily promises…
More shuffling – and then Beth's voice, "Sorry about that."
"Sorry about what?" I ask, perplexed. It wasn't that painful of a conversation…
Silence – no – she's heading into another room, I can hear her footsteps, "That last question. I'm – sorry – you know – she's a child – she doesn't understand."
Understand what…? And why is Beth so sorry about Cicily asking me if I'm coming back soon…? "That's – ok," I tell her. Of course – I am the world's biggest fuckmook – why would Beth honestly want me to come back… except that I gave my word… but – I have nothing else to give her. Nothing she could possibly want – I know who I am – what I am. Ok, just breathe, I tell myself again. "It's – good to hear your voice," I say tentatively – I have to feel this out – if she doesn't want me to come back… if she doesn't want me to come back, I can live with that, I tell myself.(Ok, I'm lying my ass off – it hurts like Hell to think about her not wanting me to come back – but if that's what she wants…)
"It's – it's good to hear your voice too, Cowboy," she tells me – just – I can't interpret her tone to save my life. "How are you – really?"
"All right – there's still some pain, but –" I shrug. Nurse. Patient. Ok. I can live with that. "Every day it seems to be a little better," until today…
"I'm glad."
"How – how – is everything?" I just want to keep her talking a few minutes longer…
"All right. Everything seems to be – back to normal – I guess. As normal – as my life ever was. Oh – and Hermano asked me to tell you hello, if I heard from you. You seem to have left quite an impression on him."
I smile, just a little, "Tell him I said 'hey'." And… I don't know what else to say… I don't want to say good-bye… Damn it all to Hell and back… I should know better. A kiss is just a kiss – it doesn't mean anything… You'd think would've learned my lesson by now, wouldn't you? Because let me tell you, bravado aside – it hurt like Hell the day Holly walked out on me… it just didn't hurt like this… Ok, fuckmook you know what to do… Hell, Beth has had enough creeps in her life… what would she want with one more, anyway? "I – should probably let you go – but – it was – it was really good to hear your voice," I say in a gentle tone that surprises even me. Because – I really just don't want to let her go.
On the other end of the phone, there's a long pause – then, "I've – missed having you around," she sounds… afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid I'll come back… afraid I'll never come back… what?
"I've missed being around," I admit… it just sort of tumbles out – but once it starts – it's too late to go back… "I've missed you – both of you." Yes, I am committing emotional suicide… but… I really don't want to let go… I'm not ready to just say good-bye, not unless she tells me she doesn't want to see me again.
"Do you really think you'll be back soon?" it's that tiny little voice again… and I really don't know what she's so afraid of… I know what she should be afraid of… but she's said she isn't afraid of me. I have to believe that…
"Beth – I am not a nice guy. I'm not a good man. I – I don't even know what happened that night – not really – but – if you want me to come back – I will. I want to – Christ, do I want to – but – but I am a creep, I'm just not the sort of creep who's ever forced himself on anyone. You just have to tell me what you want." There it is… all of it. And all I can do now is wait…
Silence.
Fuck. Ok – ok you laid it out on the line – and she's going to tell you to go to Hell. But she won't ever be able to say you broke your promise – not if she tells you she never wants to see you again…
"I want you to come back," she says… and…
And, Christ, I really am the world's biggest fuckmook for not seeing – not realizing – sooner… I know what kind of past she has… Beth has made a life long career of… of falling for… falling for all the worst… ok, finishing that sentence would lead to a little more emotional honesty than I'm ready to deal with (hey, at least I can admit it.) "I will do everything that I can to get back as soon as I can – you have my word – it may take me a while – but – I will come back."
"I believe you."
"Ok," I tell her.
"Ok," she echoes – and I can hear the smile in her voice – it makes me smile. Then, "Milo wants to talk to you," she says.
"All right – just – take care of yourselves – you and Cicily – and remember what I said about shooting first and asking questions later."
She favours me with a small laugh, "I will – and – happy birthday, Sheldon."
"Thanks," and… now it is. I even think I can breathe again… just a little.
"Jeff?" Milo's voice.
"Thank you," I tell him, quickly, before losing my nerve.
Milo's chuckle is almost enough to piss me off – mostly because I don't like to be this damned transparent. He knew how much I needed to hear her voice…
"You're welcome," he says. "And – there should be something arriving at your door any minute now – just do me a favour and don't shoot first for a change. This was not easy to arrange."
"What wasn't easy to arrange?"
"You'll – find out."
He was about to say I'd see, "Don't sweat it, there, Sugar Butt – I still say stuff like that all the time – and you'd think that of the two of us, at least I could remember I'm blind."
"I'm – like I said before – I just – look – happy birthday, Jeff. I know it hasn't been the best one you've had."
"It hasn't been the worst one, either," I tell him – and – honestly – hearing her voice again – having her tell me she wants me to come back – yeah, maybe it's not such a bad birthday after all... "You talk to Ramirez yet?"
He chuckles, "All business – even though you're the one telling me I need to live a little."
"I just want this shit over with." Because I have a promise to keep…
"I'll be swinging by Ramirez's place after I leave here."
"Ok – hey – do me another favour – you got a picture of this Valverde guy I shot?"
"Sure – why?"
"Show it to Ramirez – see if he recognizes the guy at all."
"But we already know who Valverde was."
"No – we know who Collins says he was – we don't know if was around the whole time, hanging out with Barillo and his band of merry men – or if Collins really did just send him in to 'bring me home.' Because – This Valverde guy sure found me awfully easily if that latter was the case – and he sure wasn't real friendly about it, if his assignment was to just bring me home for questioning. All things considered, I shouldn't have appeared to be much of a threat – even with my reputation."
Milo chuckles, "All right – I'll check back in later."
There's a knock at my door – apparently Milo hears it on his end…
"That must be your gift – remember, don't shoot first."
"I hope it's nothing more than a fruit basket, Sweet Stuff," I say… because something is telling me I'm not quite going to like this… but then, I'm psychotic, not psychic… I hang up with Milo and walk to the door. "Hello?" I say without opening it – yes, there is a gun in my li'l ol' hand, boys and girls. Because not being psychic, I don't know if it's Milo's 'gift' – or some guy in a ski mask come to rub me out…
"Mr. Sands?"
Well – doesn't really sound like a guy in a ski mask – sounds like a kid (male) barely older than my hyper little concierge. "Yes," I reply cautiously.
"My name is Zach – Mr. Givens sent me –"
I ease open the door – and – what is that sound? Heavy breathing? Ok, if this is some sort of bizarre joke, I may have no choice but to blow Milo's nuts off… and not in any way he's going to appreciate… "Yeah – he told me something was coming – but he didn't really give me much to go on," I tell the kid. The heavy breathing seems to be coming from – knee level? What – a midget prostitute? Milo is so dead…
"Yes, Sir, Mr. Givens indicated that this was something of a surprise – I'd like to introduce you to Spencer, if I may, Sir."
Spencer? Sir? What the fuck…
"Spence – say hello," Zach says – and – I feel… a cold wet nose on my hand… the dog nudges my hand until it's under his head. His shaggy – tall eared – big…head…
Ok, I have never had a pet in my life… and Milo goes and gets me a dog for my birthday? I don't even know how to take care of a goldfish! "Um – I'm not sure –"
"May we come in, Sir?" Zach asks.
"Ah – sure," I holster my weapon and admit them into the room. "Um – look –"
"I am aware of the – special nature of – certain circumstances, Mr. Sands," Zach tells me before I can finish.
"What special nature would that be?" (yep, hand inching towards the Browning again, there kids...)
"You aren't the first – discretionary client – I've ever worked with, Sir. I usually prefer take a little more than the five days Mr. Givens gave me with Spencer – but he came to me already trained as a leader dog and he is truly exceptionally bright. He's picked up on my training very quickly – it'll need some reinforcement over the next week – but I'm sure you'll both do fine."
You ever get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, like there's a cold hard rock sitting right there… I mean… leader dog… as in for the blind… as if the God damned cane isn't bad enough… "Um – excuse me, one moment," I say, with a forced smile (I did sort of imply that I wouldn't shoot the guy…) I step onto the balcony and shut the door behind me. No, I'm not thinking about jumping… for more than ten seconds, anyway. Finally, however, Milo picks up on his end…
"Givens."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No, that's you, remember?"
"This is no time for fun and games, Milo. I don't know the first thing about dogs."
"That's what Zach is for. He's booked into the room across the hall from you – but you've only got him for a week."
"Who is he?"
Milo's chuckle is infuriating, "Do you honestly think you're the first person who's found themselves in the position to need a helper dog with – how did Zach put it – additional, specialized, training –?"
"Where did you find this guy?"
"Unlike you, I have friends."
"Very funny," I'm not amused – I'm pretty sure Milo realizes this. He's a bright boy – although perhaps not as bright as I thought... I mean – a dog? "What did you do – ask around to find the perfect gift for your blind, maimed buddy?" Resentment – yeah, a little. More than a little.
"Jeff – give it a week. If it doesn't work out – you can send them both packing."
A week. Why does that sound like a frigging lifetime right now?
"Look – what else do you have to be doing right now, anyway?" Milo asks – which doesn't do much to lift my mood.
Which – until less than five minutes ago had been pretty darned good… "I don't know, maybe putting the squeeze Suarez?" I say. "Or stringing up Collins like a piñata – that sure sounds like it'd be a heck of a lot of fun. In fact, I can think of all kinds of things I'd rather be doing than – dog sitting – while you're down there having all my fun!"
"I know you'd rather be here than there," he tells me – more of that God damned sincerity… "But – just give yourself another week. You're going to need it."
Hmm….. methinks there's something rotten in Denmark… "What are you not telling me?" Because there was something more in his tone than just that fucking sincerity… something – fishy. (Of course, I could just be paranoid… but…)
But Milo has to know I've got him because he waits an awfully long time before responding. "I talked to Marlina this afternoon – she wants you back in Washington."
Remember I asked if you'd ever had that stone-in-your-gut feeling…? Well, I think I just got a whole damned rock quarry dumped into mine…
"It's not what you think –"
"Like Hell it isn't."
"Jeff – listen to me. It's not what you think. I told you what this was about for me – that hasn't changed – besides, I'll be there when you meet."
"It's not you I'm worried about," I tell him honestly – because – I've been through just enough shit with Milo to almost be able to believe he hasn't knowingly set me up… 'knowingly' of course being the key word. "And what do you mean, you'll be there – I thought you were staying in Mexico to 'be my eyes' there."
"I'm going to leave a couple of people here – and I won't be gone long – but – frankly I don't want to leave the two of you alone together without a chaperone."
"Why – which one of us don't you trust?"
"Look – Jeff – she's not going to screw you over – needs you too much."
"What – why?" Marlina Eddas needs me… he has got to be sampling the local hooch…
"Without you she'll never nail the guys at the top. And – if you think you're having a hard time with this – imagine how Marlina Eddas must be feeling, needing a guy like you."
Ok – that one makes me smile. And damn him, Milo knows just how to play with my buttons (keep your comments to yourself, there, kids)…
"Marlina thinks you're right about squeezing Suarez – but Suarez isn't giving me shit to work with down here. However – if you put in an appearance in Washington – it should start to shake things up a little. Then I come back – see what there is to see – maybe our boy Collins starts to feel a little insecure about his position in all this – and – and we see where it goes."
See where it goes – I don't much care for the sound of that… "I'm just a little concerned about how she wants to take me back." I mean, it could shake things up just as easily if I'm in shackles and a Hannibal Lector mask…
"If I'm wrong – if this is a set up – I'll break you out of prison myself."
I almost laugh. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."
"I know you don't do trust – but – try to have a little faith. I gotta go – I just got to Ramirez's place and it looks like he's home." Milo hangs up without further adieu – not that I don't know the drill. You see your target, you go.
I lean over the railing and take in the scent of the ocean… that song is still in my head… the one about the sailor… if I don't somehow clear my name, I'm – I'm going to be that guy who never comes back and I know it.
A little faith – the only things I have faith in are – hmmm – me, myself and I. And my angels… but… but Milo and I have been through just enough shit that I can almost trust him to keep that promise about breaking me out of prison if it really came down to it… (which of course tells me just how much he believes it won't – as I've said, he's a straight arrow… er… whatever.)
And then there's the thought of Marlina Eddas actually needing me – man, that has got to gall her… not to mention that it puts me in a position of – well, not power (I need her too and I fucking well know it) – but at least it would move me from a position of serious disadvantage to some kind of equal footing. And I like that a Hell of a lot better than where I thought I was… have a little faith, he says… Right.
Ok. Dog sitting. One week. I give it a week and then send Fido packing, right along with his trainer. And, honestly – what else do I have to do but sit around, twiddle my thumbs and stew…
I step back into the room. I hear – both human and canine breathing.
"Would you like to begin now, or in the morning, Sir?" Zach inquires politely.
"First things first – drop the 'Sir' – it makes me twitchy. It's just Sands."
"All right."
I sigh. "I suppose there's no time like the presant." At least I'll be able to tell Milo that I gave it an honest whirl before sending Zach and Fido packing… although, I have to tell you, as we get started, it feels like I'm the one being trained…
…When Milo (finally) calls me back, he tells me just how thrilled Ramirez was to see him – seems ol' Jorge has had enough of the CIA to last a lifetime… that makes me smile, despite the rest of my grumbles. It makes me smile even more that Jorge was able to not only identify this Valverde guy as one of Barillo's goons, but he has some information about de Jesus that might prove useful... I'm a bit less gleeful about the fact that several other people have been to see Jorge recently – including more CIA, FBI, AFN and the local fuzz. It appears yours truly has become a rather popular boy in Mexico… which means I really was right to leave Beth's when I did… (and it probably also means that if I'm going to shake things up a little, I'm better off doing it from D.C. – assuming Eddas really isn't planning to bring me back in chains…)
"You should go shake de Jesus' tree a little, just to see what falls out," I suggest to Milo, keeping my darker thoughts to myself (you know, things like Eddas putting me in an orange jumpsuit and cuffs.)
"First thing in the morning," he assures me. "And no, I'm not going to fart around with de Jesus. I might think a few things need to be cleaned up back home – but I still know how to get the job done."
"That's my boy," I grin at him through the cell phone.
Then asks me about Fido…
"We're – getting along," I reply. The dog is, in fact, sleeping at my feet. Zach tells me that the more time we spend together, the better the 'bonding' will be – whatever that's supposed to mean.
"Give it a week. Zach came very highly recommended," says Milo.
"Just as long as you're sure about that whole discretion thing," is my response to that – I really don't like having some stranger invading my space.
"Have a little faith – I'll talk to you in the morning."
"Ten-four and out, good buddy," I quip back in an intentionally horrible imitation of a trucker. I go back to my book, trying to stay awake as long as I can… Sleep means dreaming… and I know I'm going to have dreams about orange jumpsuits and Hannibal Lector masks… but… maybe the waking up part won't be so bad (because it's the waking up that's been getting to me more than the actual nightmares.) Because even though I'll still wake up alone and in the dark… at least now I know that there's an angel out there who wants me to come back to her… and that makes all the difference in the world…
Finally – exhaustion takes hold of me – I get up and head towards bed, Spencer in my wake. He curls up at the end of it – and – maybe he isn't so bad to have around.
…I won't bore you with the banal details of the next week – Milo shakes de Jesus' tree – nothing much falls out – but there are a few other tid-bits he's following up on while I twiddle my thumbs in the sun…
Not that I'm really doing much thumb twiddling now that I have Zach and Spencer to keep me occupied. Apparently, there's a lot more to this leader dog thing than I'd thought – but – Milo was right, it at least gives me something to do, something to keep my mind off prison cells and angel's wings… (without going into wholly inappropriate detail, my better dreams have taken a decidedly erotic bend… and I am not complaining... as for the others – yep, orange jumpsuits…)
Mid way through the week, Zach tells me we're ready to go into town – which seems to please him (guess Fido isn't the only quick study…)
We take the resort's courtesy car, to the "main square" – fountain, tourists, townies, buyers and sellers of various and sundry goods (and services) – you get the idea. Replace the mariachis with steel drums and it's similar to Mexico – but at least the air doesn't smell like old sweat socks. I'm not sure who's being put through their paces, me or Spencer – but I will tell you one thing: people are (annoyingly) helpful when they see a guy with a cane – but when that same guy with a cane also has a great big German Shepard, they give a little God damned elbow room. So, I suppose if I have to go back to D.C. to shake things up a little, maybe I won't send Fido packing after all… because now I can walk down the street without people tripping over themselves to be fucking helpful.
And in case you've been wondering – that specialized training… it seems Zach makes quite a nice little living for himself training helper dogs in additional duties, such as attacking on command and drug and bomb detection… Spencer didn't have enough time with him to learn the latter two – but I'll settle for attack and several of the commands that go along with it. (There is, I find out, a wee bit more to it than just 'sick 'em!')
At the end of the week, Zach leaves me with his phone number (on a business card in Braille, no less) and tells me that if I need any additional assistance, I shouldn't hesitate to call, especially once I 'get back to civilization'… apparently he's never been to D.C.