cptn-jacks-bonnie-lassThank you! That phone call between Sands and Beth was really important to me… he so needed to be reminded that he has someone out there who really cares about him… and to finally figure out just how scared she really is. (Boys… sometimes you just need to hit them over the head to get them to 'see' the obvious!)
I'd also like to say a thank you to those who haven't reviewed, but have put this on your fave story or update-alert list! That is as much of a compliment as the many kind words of my reviewers – so – thank you! I appreciate it that you want to come back and read some more.
Chapter Fifteen:
Mr. Sands goes to Washington
Four days after Zach leaves, Milo arrives. That's four days more than I'd expected him to take – four days longer than I wanted to wait… but it's four more days for me to get healthy. And while I don't think I'll be tripping the light fantastic any time real soon (yes indeedy, I know how to dance, thank you Greta Sands) those bullet wounds are swiftly becoming little more than an unpleasant memory… too bad I can't say that about the – other injury... But – what I said to Milo is true. He could leave me to rot here on this island for the rest of my life – they'll never grow back. I will never see again… Which is why when Milo 'shows' me what he's brought, I have only his word to go on…
"Black suit – because, I'm sorry, Jeff, nothing you had in your suitcase is going to cut it anywhere but the third world."
"What's wrong with my cloths?" I feign ignorance.
He just laughs – I'm sure he's shaking his head at me. "There's a vest that goes with it – it's dark grey with red pinstripes – black shirt – because I know you – and a red tie – and I see you've had your boots polished," there's approval in his tone.
"If I'm going to go down, I want it to be with my boots on," I tell him with a wicked grin. Now, I feel the need to clarify something for you: I do own a couple suits – even if I seem to have lost track of the jacket to my brown one (which wasn't one of the better suits anyway)… but I do clean up quite nicely – or at least I know how to.
Still chuckling, Milo places something in my lap – it isn't quite wrapped – but it's in a bag… it's kind of big, but lightweight… "I'm almost afraid to ask," I say.
"It's from Beth – she said to tell you happy belated birthday."
Just the sound of her name does something to me (something – something I don't fully understand.) However, without further hesitation, I take the thing from the bag – and begin to feel what it is… I'll be damned. "Tell me it's black," I say of the cowboy hat. I slide it onto my head – a perfect fit… my angel. She really does understand that I'm the bad guy; I don't really need Milo to tell me it's black – I know her.
"Apparently she knows you too well," I can hear the warmth of his smile. "You know – she's an amazing woman, Jeff."
"I – I know that." I think I let more slip into my tone than I probably wanted to… but – I know how incredible she is. I just don't – I don't honestly know why she wants me to come back. But she does. And that is all that I really need to know.
Milo breaks the not quite uncomfortable silence by telling me he's also procured for me a couple more dress shirts – all in dark colours – dark grey suit and a couple of ties. "Sorry, no trout or bowling pins," he tells me of the ties.
My tie collection, you see, runs along the same general lines as my t-shirt collection (remember I said I know how to clean up – I didn't say I did it very often…) "You hate my wardrobe that badly?" I ask him, counterfeit-hurt lanced through my tone.
Now I'm sure he's shaking his head, "Get dressed – we have to be on a plane in two hours."
"We?" I hadn't quite been expecting to fly in together…
"I've checked the passenger manifest four times – it's clear. No one knows I'm here – no one knows you're here. We'll separate on a layover in Miami – and I'll meet you in D.C. tonight – here," he places something in my hand.
Keys… "Where we gonna meet, there Big Boy?" Poor Milo – I don't know why he puts up with me, I really don't.
"A friend's condo. He said you could use it while you were in town – he's going to be out of the country until after the New Year."
"A friend, huh?" I tease him.
I do believe – yes, I think that blush is almost audible…
"Yes, a friend," he tells me – just a little too emphatically.
"Uh-huh. Spill it, Romeo – or is that Juliet?"
"Go take your shower – we have a plane to catch," he tells me in mock exasperation – yes, I actually do know Milo well enough to know the difference between real exasperation and the fake stuff he's usually laying on me.
I stand and snag up my new duds, "So you're saying I'm really not going to be greeted by U.S. marshals the minute I set foot on American soil?" It's only half a joke.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Tomorrow morning Marlina will meet us for breakfast – and then – I go back to Mexico while you hang out in D.C. and shake a few trees."
"Peachy keen, jelly bean," I take myself into the bathroom… and call back out to ask Milo if he'd like to come in and wash my back… his response probably shouldn't be repeated in polite company… but it gives me something to laugh about.
…So – the long and the short of it is that by lunchtime, I'm in Florida. Alone. In the dark. Just a blind man and his dog…
See, this is where it gets scary. Because even if I do trust Milo – and – I do, at least as much as I trust anyone – thiswould be the ideal time and the place for them to come get me, assuming he really isn't in on it. (And that would be any"them" – because there are plenty of "thems" who want me – and not in any way I particularly want to be wanted.)
I have no gun (not even a crotch piece), as airport security is a bitch these days – well, I'm not saying I blame anyone for being jumpy, if they'd been jumpier before the fact, it might not have happened... Which is neither here nor there – here and there is me without a gun, without my badge (I'm traveling under an assumed name) – without so much as a fake mustache or a wig because Milo seemed to think that that might be a Bad Idea… He muttered something about his old high school drama department having better quality wigs I've got… I honestly don't know what he was trying to imply…
But it all goes towards leaving me feeling completely naked as I step off the plane and into the great big black unknown… with what feels like a million other passengers (Milo went on ahead of me, leaving me here, all by myself...) Deep breath. I strain to hear the sounds of men with guns coming to get me… but so far, everything seems normal. Fucking crowded – but normal.
Spencer gets me to the terminal in one piece – I decide to wait until I have a little elbow room before snapping the cane together. And I'm still waiting for those U.S. marshals to come swooping in, clap me in irons and haul me away in an ugly orange jumpsuit… no trial, just an angry judge banging a gavel, shouting at me about small dark cells and keys being thrown away… But… so far all I hear are around me ordinary people, just trying to get to wherever it is they're headed. A friendly lady asks me I need help finding my way – I smile and tell her that I'm fine, thank you…
Next stop: customs. This is not the place I want to be acting jumpy – so I do my best to banish all thoughts of orange jumpsuits and angry judges… Deep breath – give Spencer the signal to move us forward – I find someone and ask directions – they are kind enough to walk me right to where I need to go. How nice. One more breath...
And – honestly, this is hardly the first time I've ever been through customs on an alias. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do more traveling under assumed names than I do in my own name… so much for racking up those sky miles… so really, this should be a regular walk in the park… I wait my turn, continuing to remind myself just how easy this part always is… still no marshals swooping… just a nice customs agent seeing my disability and making every effort to get me through as painlessly as possible… expeditiously, even.
"Have a good holiday, Mr. Crane – welcome home," says the customs agent – male – not really noteworthy otherwise… holiday? Oh. Yeah. Right. It is isn't it… it's Thanksgiving weekend. No wonder there are so many fucking people traveling. They're home for the holidays and all that crap.
Spiffy, maybe after getting settled in, I'll see about 'seeing' my sister… oh won't that be just as much fun as a barrel full of monkeys. (Sarcasm, kiddies, sarcasm… but I suppose I should find out why she's been so hot to get in touch with me. My best guess is that she's either extraordinarily pissed about my dropping off the face of the world for four God damned years – or maybe dear old Dad has decided to put in an appearance and she doesn't know quite what to do with him – especially if he showed up on her doorstep with some sort of sob story. I kinda hope it's the latter… the ol' trigger finger gets a little itchy if you don't work it once in a while…)
Despite that decidedly jolly little thought, however, I ask another passerby if they could kindly direct me to the terminal's convenience outlet; I've been dancing on razor blades for almost twenty-four hours and I am in some serious need of something to settle my stomach. I didn't sleep at all last night – I haven't been able to keep anything down – and it's all nerves. I may lay it on for Milo, so he doesn't know – I may even lay it on for myself… but after the Day of the Dead, I'm having a hard time believing in happy endings – or even slightly happy endings… especially when I keep expecting to have U.S. marshals swoop in and take me away.
Of course, my need to do something to do about the over abundance of acid in my gut leads to a whole new set of dilemmas… allow me to explain:
Now, indulge me here – imagine yourself walking into a small convenience store in the middle of an over-crowded airline terminal… and not being able to see a fucking thing. What are you going to do – feel your way around every shelf until you find what you hope is a bottle of Maalox? There's no way to know for sure, everything really feels about the same in the dark – and only the absolute bare necessities of life are labeled in Braille. (Which I suppose is a good thing – I'd hate to wander into the little girls' bathroom by accident… not that I've ever had the desire… not that I've never been in a lady's bathroom. It ain't all that exciting, guys, trust me…) so back to the current dilemma… the one making me feel so fucking pathetic.
I have no choice but to ask someone to assist me… and then I have to actually trust that they're handing me to what it was I asked for, rather than giving me a bottle of drain cleaner to swallow – and trusting a total stranger only makes my stomach just that much jumpier – ergo, it kicks out more acid. It is an absolutely vicious circle, my friends, an absolutely vicious circle…
I make my purchase – a careful sniff assures me that it isn't Drain-O, so I gulp down a good half the bottle and find a place to park myself. I'm not sure how much better I feel. I have over an hour to wait for my flight out of here. So – with nothing to do but grow a new ulcer and twiddle my thumbs… I decide to try something new. Since I can't people watch, I decide to kick back and people listen. And – I must say – it is almost as satisfying as being able to see…
Some while later I hear the call for my flight – still no marshals… Spencer and I make our way to the gates… we get on… no fuss… just a very nice flight attendant whom I think is flirting with me (which proves how effective the dark glasses are…) and in no time at all, I'm in D.C… (Which I should remind you is a good twenty degrees colder than Florida… but there doesn't seem to be any snow on the ground yet. Bummer. No – I meant that one, I wasn't being sarcastic – for a change. I know, how are you supposed to tell, right? But no, I like snow. I'm not sure how I'm going to feel about it being blind and all… but we lived in Michigan for a while when I was a kid and the thing I liked the most about it was the snow… I honestly meant it when I said I wish they'd sent to Alaska instead of fucking Mexico.)
Now, if you have ever been to Washington D.C., you'll understand what I mean when I say it is one of the most dangerous places on earth. I'm not just talking about it having the esteemed honour of having been named the Murder Capitol of the U.S.A., a few years back – I'm not even talking about the recent terrorism that still has everyone (understandably) jumpy. No, I'm talking about the everyday mayhem – which is only slightly lessened by it being a national frigging holiday.
You cannot walk down any street in downtown D.C. (is there a suburban D.C.? If there is, I have yet to find it) without fear of being plowed down by a crazed bicycle messenger, run over by an irate foreigner posing as a cabby (do you know lucky I am that I speak eight or nine languages?) or just plain getting tromped to death in a human stampede. Ever try stepping into your favourite D.C. Starbucks at nine a.m. for a cup of coffee? Forget it. And I dare you to enter any deli anywhere near lunchtime – you'd have an easier time robbing Fort Knox than you do of getting yourself a sandwich. And Zach referred to D.C. as civilization…? Ha. D.C. is a fucking jungle… but one thing it has plenty of – buzzards – er, cabs… I meant cabs, really I did.
Even so, with the volume of holiday traffic it actually takes me a few moments to find myself a cabby. I tell him in his native tongue where I'd like to go – because I really do not want to be dumped off at the wrong street corner – and finish my Maalox.
My Pakistani cabby gets me to my location without incident and wishes me a happy holiday – I mutter something unintelligible back at him and shove some money into his hand (Zach taught me the trick of folding bills in different ways… I really wasn't the first blind guy he's worked with – lucky me.)
And still no marshals. And if they didn't nab me at the airport… maybe… maybe? Maybe I'm really going to be ok…?
I take a nice deep breath and listen to the world around me very carefully before stepping away from the taxi – nothing out of the ordinary greets my senses. I shoulder my bag – Spencer's lead in one hand, (frigging) cane in the other… and off I go into the wild black yonder… again. I'm getting almost used to this part – the not knowing where I'm going – not knowing what's going to pop out at me next… I sweep the ground in front of me with the cane checking for uneven pavement – of which there is none – and I listen to the sound of my own steps – my heart beat – and for anything else that might prove interesting. No marshals. No guys in ski masks… nothing but the sounds one might expect to hear, just traffic, a few voices… there's a couple walking down the sidewalk behind me – talking about the upcoming holiday (their first Christmas together, how sweet… yes, that one was sarcasm)… oh yeah, a few birds twitter away at me from a tree I pass under…
Three steps take me up to the porch – Milo should be here already – yes, yes, that is music I hear beyond the door – and I would recognize that shit Milo listens to… well, gee, I guess I'd recognize it blind. (Disco is dead, ladies and gentlemen – let it die. Please? Just because Milo hasn't let it die – let it die.) I try the door – unlocked. "You home, Sugar Butt? Or did you just leave the stereo on just to annoy your neighbours?"
"In the kitchen – um – four steps in – to the left."
His directions aren't quite as precise as Beth's… but I manage not to break my neck – or anything else – even as Milo comes rushing to my aid. "Something smells good," I tell him – I put enough sarcasm in my voice so he won't know if it's a compliment or a criticism… it does honestly smell good – but somebody has to keep the boy on his toes. "Need a hand in the kitchen, there Sweet Stuff?" I drop my bag literally at his feet.
"Uh – I've got it."
I laugh, "What, you don't trust a blind man in your boyfriend's kitchen?"
(I have this mental image of him standing there in a polo, Dockers and an apron – like the sort a chef might wear… I could be totally off mark, he could be nude for all I know… oh what a shivery thought… somehow I'm sorta glad I can't see him if that's the case…. Yes, my mood is improving now that I'm back in what I perceive to be friendly territory.)
"Here – let me – help you get acquainted with the lay out – " I feel his hand on my arm.
My Christ – he is fucking dancing on razor blades! (Or maybe I just got used to Beth's easy manner… even when I was being a prick, she wasn't this edgy around me.) "Milo – I'm fine," I tell him – no scathing tone this time. I kneel down and find the release to undo Spencer's harness – his cue that he's off duty for a while. I can tell that Milo is still – fidgety…
"Sorry – I just – I'm sorry, Jeff."
"Would you knock it off already," I tell him. "Or have you forgotten how easily I pinned your ass to a wall?"
I hear a snort of laughter, "You got the jump on me because I had no idea you were – injured." Despite his attempt at joviality, there's a – pain? – underpinning his tone…
"There aren't any new developments I should be aware of now, are there Sweet Stuff?" You know, you haven't double-crossed me since I saw you a few hours ago… because – I want to believe I can trust Milo, but… but. My life is one big "but" right now – and I frigging hate that. It makes it really difficult to maintain any kind of good mood…
"No – no new developments. I really am your friend – and – as crazy as it's going to sound – you're one of the few people I've ever said that too. I don't trust anybody either, you know."
"And yet you trust a twisted fuck like me?" I almost laugh.
"I said it was crazy – but – you know how it goes – can't trust anybody on the inside – and nobody on the outside understands. You're one of the few people I do trust."
My mind is churning this over and over… something's up. I don't like it when something is up…. "Old time's sake doesn't count for shit, remember?" I stand (yes, I was actually kneeling there, giving Spencer a good petting this whole time… it's just a part of the training, kids. I'm not getting all soft and mushy over a dog.) "Guys like us can't afford the luxury of friendship – no matter what kind of nightmares we manage to survive together."
"I told you a lot of things – six years ago – stuff I've never said to anyone else."
"It was twenty six days of torture and uncertainty – we both said a lot of shit – shit we wouldn't have said to any one, under any circumstances. And – you could have been stuck there with anybody." It really was just dumb luck…
"You're right. Not just anybody would have – would have gone out and gotten drunk with me afterwards – especially if they already knew as much about me as you had - before."
I manage a small laugh; what I'm really doing is trying to figure out what he's driving at… because I really did believe him when he told me he was helping me now because I jumped in and helped him sixteen years ago... although, I guess – maybe it does. I have no idea what kind of crap he has to put up with for being gay. "Look – Milo – as much fun as this really is – I need a drink – so – if there is a point, could you just come to it already?" I fish out my pack and light up a cigarette. Milo presses an ashtray into my hands… thank goodness for small favours, the owner of this hacienda smokes. Or at least he has friends who do.
"I guess I'm trying to come up with a way to tell you that when this is over, I'm getting out, retiring. And – I was kind of hoping you wouldn't disappear into the woodwork on me – because I've haven't ever been able to let my guard down around anyone else enough to get drunk with them – even before – getting into this line of work."
"And you see what getting drunk with me got you, now didn't you, Sweet Cheeks?" I tease him – mostly because I really just don't know what else to say… the thought of Milo turning in his badge and gun is just fucking unbelievable… "Come on – we both know real agents never really retire."
"You were right – what you said before. I met someone. This is his place – and – "
"Does he know what you do?"
"He knows. He works out of the same office as Marlina Eddas – that's how I met her – and how I know I can trust her."
"Ah-ha, the lights go on at last," I grin at him. Truth is – truth is I'm happy for Milo. When we were huddled together in that cold dark cell, some six years ago, we talked about the sorts of things we'd do when we got out. Believe me, at the time it was with the certain knowledge that we'd never see the light of day again… but you tell yourself whatever lies you have to, to make it through in situations like that. The one thing Milo said he regretted about his life was not having someone to come home to. I tried to tell him that guys like us don't have homes – we don't have wives/husbands waiting for us – don't have anyone to notify when we die (because for us it's not an 'if', it's a 'when')… but he is a stubborn little fuck and just would not believe me. "So how long you two been together?" I ask him.
"Three years."
I just smile – there isn't much to say. I am not going to admit out loud that I'm happy for him… "So – you got anything to drink in this joint?"
"Why don't you let me show you around first – then we can get drunk."
"Sounds like a plan, Sugar Butt – but I take no responsibility for my actions once you've inebriated me."
He just laughs – I take up the cane in one hand – as much as I hate it, it is useful – and put the other hand on his elbow for the grand tour.
The lay out is fairly standard – kitchen is off to the left, dining room to the right. There's a half bath down stairs – upstairs there are two bedrooms, a master bath – and a very reasonable little guest bath where I set up my personals. (A third bedroom has been converted into a library – not that that room will get much use while I'm here...)
We share a light dinner (that while quite good, wouldn't put Milo's life in any danger even if I was calm enough to do more than just pick at it)… Then Milo drags me out shopping, because if I'm going to hang around here for any length of time, a winter coat is in order… and the order of the day, boys and girls is a black leather duster… yeah, I know, how very – me. Black may not be my favourite colour – but I look damn good in it… I pick up a couple other items – some blue jeans and pullovers (Milo steers me way far away from the t-shirts… I cannot imagine why… but he does let me buy a couple of western-style shirts and a fedora – although I don't know how much wear it's going to get, I like having more than one hat on hand.)
And bless his sweat heart, Milo's even found me a bookstore that carries books in Braille. (I really do prefer reading to listening – I need to be actively engaged in – well whatever I'm engaged in… )
The only reason I get any sleep that night is because I barely slept last night and Milo plies me with copious amounts of brandy when we finally return to his beau's pad (at which point I finally get him to 'spill it')…
Morning comes entirely too soon… see, as much as I want to get this over with – I still dread it because I know that this is it – even if she needs me, Marlina Eddas has my life by the balls – and she has got to know that. This meeting will tell me if I have a life left to worry about – or if it's going to be orange jump suits from here on out. But I promise myself that I will not go down without a fight – and I dress accordingly. The black suit – with the a new black vest I picked up yesterday – no tie – but a dark purple shirt, with the first few buttons undone – cowboy hat – boots – shades – and of course Spencer at my side. I can quite clearly see myself, in my head – and I rather like the image…
And thusly, I walk into the diner, just behind Milo… And I think I can almost hear Eddas' grim appraisal as we approach her table…
They exchange warm pleasantries and then Milo makes the introductions.
"Mr. Sands," she seems to be making every attempt at friendliness. Bravo for her…
"Councilor," I intentionally hold out my hand a few degrees off from where I know she really is.
Eddas compensates without a word and gives my hand a firm – brief shake.
We sit – the waitress comes – without even trying to sort out the menu, I ask if I can get a couple of eggs over with bacon and coffee… coffee. Every time I order a cup of coffee now, I think about Belini… what I wouldn't do to have that fake arm again, just so I could have the satisfaction of having a gun trained on Eddas, without her even knowing about it… not that I really think Milo would let me get away with something like that. But it's a nice thought… nice enough to get me through the small talk we're engaging in while we wait for our breakfast to arrive. (Being not particularly good at small talk, I'm mostly quiet.)
"I don't trust you," Eddas says to me, as our plates are being cleared away.
(My stomach isn't happy about being forced to hold food – but I have never been one to let the other guy know they had me over a barrel – even when we both know that to be the case.) I shrug, "I don't trust anybody. Guess that makes us even." My tone – my whole manner, in fact – remains as blasé as it was through out breakfast. Never let them see you sweat.
"I just want you to understand that if you screw me over –"
"You'll what – make sure I never see the light of day again? Lady – someone beat you to it," I tap at the glasses. "Or did you think these were just for decoration?" My voice has taken on a dangerous edge… never show fear, either – not to an enemy. Not even to a friend. (Next to me, I can feel Milo becoming very uncomfortable – although he's probably glad he decided to chaperone this little meeting – and that we're having it in a public place.)
"I'm not discounting what happened to you, Mr. Sands," she tells me in an even tone – although it's pretty obviously a struggle for her to keep it even. "I just want you to be absolutely clear on my position before we go any further."
"Look – we both know that I am the scum of the earth. I get that. I get it loud and clear – and frankly, I have never disputed the fact that I am the bad guy." I suddenly wish I'd worn my t-shirt that proclaims just that "So – let's just get on with it, shall we? What exactly are the terms and conditions of this little arrangement we're entering into?"
"I am prepared to offer you full immunity in exchange for proof that you were set up by Officers Collins and Suarez. Officer Givens has kindly offered to assist in the matter – and I am comfortable with that." Her tone is all business.
But… I wait. I know there's more – she just doesn't want to say it… which makes me very curious. And I can't tell you how much I need a fucking cigarette right now. It's not just the nicotine I crave, it's the very act of smoking that relaxes me… but Milo tells me there isn't a smoking section from here to the Potomac. (I would so love to shoot everyone involved in making smoking such a fucking sin these days.) "And?" I finally prompt.
"And – I know this – situation – goes up at least as high as the congressional level. I just can't prove it – yet. But with your – assistance – I think I can. So – in addition to immunity, I'm also giving you this," I hear her slide something across the table – sounds like an envelope, you know, the big yellow kind…
"Um – seeing as I'm a little sight-impaired – mind giving me a clue?" I don't even pick it up. I wonder if Milo knew this was coming – I'm not hearing anything from him to give me any clues whatsoever… damn.
"As of this moment, Mr. Sands, you're an investigator in my office. Do not make me regret this."
I think that last is directed at Milo and I collectively… because he's the one who talked her into believing in my innocence… well – innocence and Sheldon Jeffrey Sands don't quite go hand in hand – not that I think you need me to tell you that… but I know you know you know what I mean. "Any special reason you're bringing me into your office?" I ask her… other than to keep an eye on me, that is…
"I've taken care of the warrants – at least in this country. I can't do anything about the Mexican government wanting you. However – as an investigator for my office you shouldn't have any further trouble with any U.S. law enforcement agencies – so long as you play everything by the book and don't break any laws. And – I may be able to – use your unique insight into several other matters while I've got you in my office."
In other words she's going to find some busy work for me, so I'm not tap dancing on her last nerve eight hours a day… but maybe she'll arrange a cute assistant for me (hey, I can't see, but I can sure fanaticize)… "Ok, I'll buy that – but I'm going to need you to get me an expedited permit to carry a concealed weapon."
I think she just dropped her spoon… "I beg your pardon?"
"Surly your hearing is better than my eyesight, Councilor."
"Jeff – " Milo's tone is one of warning…
I cut him off, "You two both want me to play by your rules –fine – I'll play by your rules. You just have to get me that permit on the double – because I'm packing heat," I grab Milo's hand and give him proof… I'm not sure which one of them is suddenly more uncomfortable, her because of my seemingly outrageous request – or Milo because I've just reminded him how fast – and how sneaky – I really am. He had no idea I was packing…
"Just – get it for him," Milo says in her direction – and I'm very sure I can imagine Eddas' expression as she realizes that I am truly going to be a pain in her ass.
"And I will be crossing state lines," I inform my new boss. "But if you ask me real nice, I'll get you the serial numbers off each of my weapons and even a discharged bullet, if that'll make you feel any better about the man with no eyes toting loaded firearms across this great land of ours." Sarcasm? Moi? Oh, I'm serious enough – I'll do it – if nothing else, it'll be an excuse to get to a firing range because let me tell you with the amount of pent up frustration I'm feeling right now, I am ready to do some serious shooting… and my eggs just were not good enough to warrant taking out the cook.
(I can almost hear the look she's giving Milo – they're probably both wondering if I haven't truly lost it….)
With calm deliberation, I stir my coffee and set down the spoon. In a very calm voice, I speak: "I took out three armed gunmen less than an hour after the little 'incident' that left me blind. So – if you think that blind equals helpless, think again, Sister. Oh – and I didn't take out any 'innocent' bystanders while I was at it – just the bad guys." Fuck, do I need a cigarette.
There's a brief silence in which I wonder if I crossed the line… but…
"You will keep me apprised of your movements at all times, Mr. Sands," Eddas' tone is ice. "And you are absolutely not to leave the country for any reason whatsoever, without my – prior knowledge."
Oh good, it looks as if Milo's told her that I just do not respond well to authority figures – yeah, sarcasm – but I also realize she's making the attempt to meet me half way (by insisting on "prior knowledge" rather than "consent")… I favour her with one of my more charming smiles. "Sure thing, Doll-face." (I do know that I happen to need this woman. Christ that galls me – but it's got to gall her worse that she needs me – and she must need me or she wouldn't be making this much of concession.… there is satisfaction in that.) "Now, what about the boys back at Langley?" I inquire – because somebody's bound to get pissed about all this…
"I have an appointment with your director on Monday. You will accompany me – and follow my lead. When you're asked to debrief, you'll leave this meeting, Officer Givens, and our arrangement out of it. Other than that, you should give them a full accounting of everything that happened in Mexico."
"Everything, Doll-face?"
"I am very sure there are details you've left out of your reports hitherto fore, Mr. Sands," she tells me in a tone that quite clearly betrays her annoyance with me. "Whatever those details happen to be, I am really quite certain I'm better off not knowing about them. As you said yourself, you are the scum of the earth – and if I'd had any illusions otherwise, thirty minutes in your company was more than enough to convince me that you've earned every reprimand in you file – and then some. So – when you debrief on Monday, you should give whatever official report you would have given, had things not gone awry."
"And when they ask why I'm arriving in such esteemed company?"
"I brought you in because your agency failed in its obligation to retrieve you from what had become a hostile and volatile situation. As for how I got you out – tell them to come see me."
Talk about wanting to be a fly on a wall… "Ok. I can dig that. Anything else I need to know?"
"I want your superiors to come away with the impression that you've been working in cooperation with my office for longer than – four days. Think you can handle that?"
"With my eyes closed." Yes, I know what I just said… so does she. Hey, you get called a prick and a scum bag often enough, you learn to milk it for all it's worth… besides, I know what she's really asking me to do. She's asking me to put my neck on the chopping block right where Milo's would be, if anyone 'back home' ever thinks they've had a rat sniffing around the ol' cheese. I owe Milo that much. Besides, I've got way bigger teethe than he does… (which doesn't necessarily mean that he likes this – I'm entirely certain we wouldn't be having this little teta tet if he'd had any idea what she was going to ask of me.) I just smile. "Fair enough. And in the mean time?"
"Do whatever you would normally do when you come home. It'll take me at least until Monday to get you a permit – so – just try not to shoot anybody with any witnesses around."
My chuckle is cold – maybe I won't hate working with this woman so much after all… I hold my hand out to her – dead on to where I know she is, "Then it looks as if we have ourselves an accord, Ms. Eddas."
She takes my hand, but she still has something more to say to me: "I have put my whole life into my career – I can and will make your life very unpleasant if you screw me over."
"I only screw over the people who screw me over," I tell her honestly, while still gripping her hand – no, not being a prick, just making a point… which I guess is sometimes the same thing… but not this time. "I know you have something to gain from this – more than you'd gain by hanging my sorry ass out to rot in some federal pen, somewhere, far away from civilization. But believe it or not, I know how to play ball – I just usually chose not to. This time, however, I have a good reason to play by the rules. I want Collins and Suarez flapping in the wind the same way they left me – and there are times when death is just a little too easy." And that is what I want her to shake on… and she does.
"Milo will give you my cell number – I'm staying in town over the weekend. Try to stay out of trouble."
I just chuckle… yeah. Right. I know just what I'm doing with the rest of my weekend…
--------------------------------------------------
I force myself through another day
Can't explain the way today just fell apart like everything
Right in my face
And I try to be the one
I can't accept this all because of you
I've had to walk away
From everything
I'm afraid to be alone
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone
I'm afraid to come back home
Another sleepless night again
Hotel rooms my only friend
And friends like that just don't add up
To anything
And I try so hard to be everything
That I should never take away from you again
'Cause I heard ya say
I'm afraid to be alone
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone
I'm afraid to come back home
I cannot forget
I live with regret
I cannot forget
I live with...
I'll live through this
I can't see through this
I can't do this anymore
I'm afraid to be alone
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone
I'm afraid to come back home
Afraid you'll leave me when I'm gone
I just wish I was back home
Home
-Staind