Chapter Thirty Eight:
Breaking and Entering, 101
…………………
You really didn't see it coming, did you…
You have seen too much – we want to make sure that does not happen again…
No – no – please – not my eyes…oh Christ, not my eyes… (not again – not again… I just can't take this any more… but I can't seem to stop it either…)
The whine of a drill and the sound of a man's screams echo through my head. My voice. My screams.
Not again…
Hot ooze drips down my face… my eyes…
Just make it stop… just make it go away…
Red fades to black…
Please just let me die here, just let me fucking die, right here… but the heat of the sun keeps beating down – I can't see it. I'll never see anything again…not the sun, not the rain, not the clouds, not the snow… snow… I miss winter… I miss the cold… I try to be there instead of here – but I can't get past the heat, past the dust and sand – I'm choking on it, choking on smoke and death, blood oozing out, burning up in the heat of the sun – burning up in darkness…
Because I saw too much.
The darkness holds me close, dragging me down… but the pain never goes away…
Everything smells wrong – foul – clean – wrong.
There's a bed under me – it's soft if not completely comfortable – covers – pillow – this is all fucking wrong… wait, what's this?
There's a gun under my pillow – why would they leave me a gun? (why would they leave me a pillow?) Some kind of head game? Maybe the gun doesn't have any bullets? Maybe it only has one, so I can smoke my own brains out, when I can't take the pain any more… and oh fuck, but everything hurts and nothing makes any sense. Instinct removes the blindfold from my eyes – but it's still dark. Too dark… too fucking dark… seen too much…didn't see it coming… I've seen too much, but I didn't see anything!
Over the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears, I hear the door of my cell open – I level the gun at the intruder – I know it won't work, but I have to do something – Sheldon Jeffrey Sands will not go down like some dog in the street!
"Jeff – Jeff!" Male. Young. Vaguely familiar… scared. He sounds more scared than I am. "It's me – it's Ryan – "
Ryan? Do I know any fucking Ryans? I have to make a conscious effort to keep the gun steady in my hand – I'm shaking. I never fucking shake, not like this! My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, I work for the Central Intelligence Agency…
"Jeff – come on, this isn't funny – put the gun down. Please."
I throw shapes. They catch them… I set the up, I watch them fall… no – no this can't be right – I can't see… I release the safety and cock the hammer back, "Where am I – who are you?" Even my voice is shaky.
"Jeff –"
No – that's who I am – but who calls me Jeff? A hand full of close acquaintances? Family calls me Sheldon – to everyone else I'm Sands. I keep the balance. I'm just walking my beat friend – Mexico's my beat and I'm walking it… friend. Dan Collins. Dan fucking Collins… he did this to me… he's the reason I can't see… (why can't I see?)
"Come on you're really starting to scare me here – put the gun down – please ––"
"Stay back!"
"I didn't move!"
But something did – and a single familiar smell comes my way. Dog? Dog. Spencer. Oh Christ. Spencer. Milo. Beth.
My angel.
Ryan. Tonto. "Moss? That you?" (My voice is still shaky.)
"Yeah – would you – would you please put the gun down?"
Gun – oh – right, gun. Very slowly, I ease the hammer back into place and set the gun on the night table next to me. Spencer hops onto the bed – practically right into my lap. Damn – an eighty pound lap dog, just what I need – but my legs don't hurt, not like I remember them hurting… it was just a nightmare. Just another fucking nightmare…
I run my hands over Spencer's back, trying to convince myself that he's real. That I'm real. That I'm – here? Where the fuck is here – hotel? Yeah, it smells like a hotel. No – it smells like a motel. There is a difference, there, amigos. I'm shaking as I reach for the water bottle I remember setting down – my smokes are next to it.
"Jeff?"
I'm still shaking as I get a cigarette lit up. "Yeah, kid. Sorry," I manage a weak apology.
"Are you all right?"
"I had my fucking eyes drilled out of my head – what the fuck do you think?" I growl at the sheer stupidity of that question. What kind of fucking moron did Eddas give me here?
"I – sorry."
Christ. I'm still shaky from the dream, I didn't mean to jump all over the poor kid (no, I'm not getting all soft on you – but even I have my moments. I realize I scared the bejeezus out of the boy a minute ago, I'm trying to cut him a little slack.) "Look – I – " I turn my head fully in his direction – and – fuck. I only barely remember pulling off the 'blindfold'– and I can imagine what it looked like when I flicked the ol bic there a second ago, to light up my smoke… "Do me a favour and don't toss your cookies on the carpet – room's in my name remember? I don't want to have to pay a fucking cleaning bill."
"I – I'm sorry."
(What really burns me, deep down, is just how fucking pained he sounds – like he hurts just to have to fucking look at me. It's worse than even the way my sister jumped away from me – worse than Milo's involuntary step back. And – then – there's Beth. Beth who can kiss me – touch me – look at me – Beth who took care of me in the dark… ) "Stop fucking apologizing," I snap at the kid. I don't turn my head away, either, there's no point. This is what I am, a freak with no eyes. Fuck me but good because this is exactly what Barillo wanted – and in the end, I guess the prize goes to the man who gets what he wanted. I stamp out my cigarette – it isn't helping. Nothing can help. Nothing can give me my eyes back. Nothing can take away the pain or this horrible exposed feeling I get when I know someone's seen – someone I didn't want to see (I don't even know why I care – maybe it's just vanity. I know I used to be a Hell of a good looking man.)
And you know, I could live without my sight – sure there are a few things I'd really love to see, just once: my angel's green eyes, her smile. Cicily's face when she reads to me. My daughter dancing – even knowing how it'd make me feel to watch, knowing that any one of her toes could be breaking when she goes up on them… Other than missing out on those few things, thought, blind isn't really so bad – but I'm not just blind, am I? Barillo didn't just make sure I'd never 'see too much' again, he made sure no one would ever look at me again, not without getting sick or feeling fucking sorry for me. "Stop staring," I mutter angrily in Tonto's direction. (It's not even him I'm mad at – peeved, but not mad. No, I'm angry at myself for ever trusting anyone… only I know that's not true either. Beth is right, I have to learn to trust at least myself again…but how do I trust myself after the last month? How do I trust anyone…?)
"I – I'm sorry," Tonto says again, real quietly.
I just sigh. Other than shooting him where he stands, there's no way to stop him from being a fucking broken record and I know it. "Just – drop it, ok?"
"Can I – get you anything?"
"No one can get me the things I really want." My eyes. My life.
Silence.
Fucking A. "What time is it?"
"Almost three – "
"Spiffy. Go get dressed. We're going out."
"Where?"
"You'll see – " and I really didn't mean it that way – but I can hear the boy wince anyway. "Plant your feet a sec," I say, to the sound of his hasty retreat. (Wonder if the boy's ever heard that song by the Clash – should I stay or should I go now…) I light up another cigarette, "Come over here and park your ass."
He hesitates. Then – I hear him approach and park himself at the edge of the bed, almost like he's really afraid to get too close to me.
"It's not contagious," I force myself to turn my face directly at him – it's hard to do, but why should I make myself more comfortable, just to take him off the hot seat? I'm real sure Tonto's more uncomfortable with my face than I am.
"I know – I just – I've never seen – I'm sorry – I just didn't have any idea. I mean I know what you said – but – I just – I couldn't imagine – "
I finally wave him silent. It's not that I really want to pull him off the hot seat – but my Christ, enough already. "Look, kid – I need you to get your brain wrapped around the fact that for the next forty eight hours you're going to have to be my eyes – because as you can see, I seem to have left mine behind in Mexico."
I listen to him swallow – probably trying to really digest what I just said.
"Once we get back to D.C., by all means, tell the big boss lady you just can't work with me, I'm sure she'll understand. But until then, I need to know if you can really keep your head on straight."
"I – I think I can do that."
I shake my head at him, "There's no room for 'I think I can' in the field. If you can't hack it – tell me now. I'll figure out some other way to do what I'm here to do." Even if I don't really expect it to get hairy, I can't watch his back and my own. And I really would be no good at driving the get away car all by myself…
"I – I can hack it."
Yeah right. Every time he looks at me – every time he looks at me, he's going to thank God that he doesn't look like I do. "Good," I say with more confidence than I really feel. "Now get yourself dressed."
I listen to him leave on real unsteady sounding feet… and would you believe it's me in the bathroom paying homage to the porcelain god? I think I'll just pass it off as the effects of truck stop hash on my delicate stomach… (and if you believe that one, I've still got that real fine land down in ol' Leezieanna for sale…) I'm glad Beth packed some Maalox in my bag… she really is an angel. My angel.
……………………………………………………………
"What exactly are we doing here?" Tonto wants to know when we finally arrive at our destination – no real easy task, considering I've never been here before.
I know where here is – since Collins was my boss and all, I made sure to commit a few little details to memory, just in case I happened to need them… I just didn't ever expect to have to explain the finer points of illegal search and seizure to a kid so clean he fucking squeaks when he walks… "Breaking and entering," I reply, shoving my cigarette between my lips, so I can have both hands free. I pull a pair of wire cutters from my bag. (Oh yeah, and it's four a.m. and fucking hot as Hell out here.)
"Which you realize is illegal –"
"Fucking duh." I go to work on the chain link fence around the storage yard. Tonto assures me that a) there are no security lights back here, b) there are no surveillance cameras that c) there is a security guard at the front of the yard but he's fast asleep and d) can't see us – nor could he have seen us come up to the fence because we're obscured by other buildings. Let's hope Tonto is as reliable a sidekick as his namesake.
"We could have tried for a search warrant – "
"Based on what? Collins' unit isn't in his name."
"Than how do you even know we have the right place?"
"The nose knows," I touch the side of my schnoz for emphasis. Once I'm sure I've cut a big enough hole, I set the cutters down carefully in the gravely pavement (the place is a real shit hole, I can smell the factories around us – one of them is a paper processing plant. It's one of those things that if you've ever smelled it, you'll never forget… off to the left and just above us, a train rattles past – freight, heavily loaded. No bells dinging – so there aren't any roads that cross the tracks anywhere near us – Tonto said the place was pretty deserted, but it's good to know that he's probably right… ) I don my leather gloves and peel back the fence – then crawl through without picking up the wire cutters, a detail my boy seems to notice (much to my surprise.)
"Ah – "
"Your job is to keep eyes open and your trap shut. Savvy?"
"Yeah, sure," he sounds dubious.
"Put these on," I hand over a pair of latex gloves. "I don't want you leaving any prints behind," I toss my spent cigarette to the ground and call Spencer to follow me through the fence. Tonto brings up the rear.
"Are you sure we shouldn't have just left the dog back at the motel?" He asks.
"What was job description number two again?"
"Keep my trap shut."
"Very good, you're catching on – now since Spencer here can't read, you get to direct me to storage unit number seventy-two-J. Keep your eyes peeled for video cameras and strolling guards – and keep your head down. Never assume that the other guy can't see you, just because you can't see him." Which is probably almost amusing coming from me – or it would be if Tonto weren't so oversensitive to my 'condition'. I think he's trying not to make it obvious since our 'little chat' back at the motel, but he's fucking tap dancing on razor blades and I know it. (I think even if he doesn't ask to get assigned to something easier than babysitting my happy little ass, I may have a word in Eddas' ear about the kid. He just isn't cut out for dealing with a guy like me – and it's getting on my nerves.)
Thankfully, it doesn't take us long to reach our objective. And as antiquated as this whole set up is, breaking in is a synch – even in my 'condition'. I pick the lock in nothing flat and open the door. Not even a fucking alarm – I almost wonder if we have the right place… but if not, at least it'll be close enough to rattle Collins' cage and that's the real point of this little nocturnal raid. Anything useful I actually come away with tonight is just gravy.
"Now what?" Tonto asks.
"Now – I go digging – you can help."
"It's pitch black in here – " (I'm pretty sure he said that without thinking.)
"I am aware that the rest of the world needs light," I hand over the small flashlight I packed into my gear. I'm really not in as much of a foul mood as the little show I'm putting on would suggest – it just annoys the crap out of me that he's this fucking uncomfortable after having seen for himself – he's the one who kept wanting to know what it was really like out there in the field. Well – now he knows, doesn't he?
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything recent – files, folders, envelopes, computer disks – small boxes that might contain something interesting. Just because it looks innocuous doesn't mean it is. Nothing could be something and something could be nothing."
"I – really don't get it."
"Don't think – look. Lists, photos – address books, file folders. Ignore the obvious junk."
"It all looks like junk to me."
This is going to take all fucking night… I slide the door down almost all the way and tell Spencer to 'guard', then join my boy in his search – we really are the blind leading the blind, here… "Just start telling me things that you see. And keep that flashlight aimed away from the door, there Buckaroo."
…With a duffle bag of paper booty (some of it might even be useful), we leave, just a little under an hour after getting there. "Hold up," I say to Tonto after getting the door of the storage unit shut again. I screw the silencer onto the muzzle of one of my guns and shoot out the lock.
"What the – "
"Come on – just in case someone heard that." And I start heading back the way we came…
"Jeff – "
"I know what I'm doing. Now move it," I grab the kid by the collar and drag him a few feet until it really feels like he's following me in earnest.
I don't slow down until after we've gotten into the car – I tell him to drive out, lights out (just like we came in), nice and slow (because I'm pretty sure he's a little panicky by now – I seriously don't think this kid has ever gotten so much as a parking ticket. I wonder if Eddas is hoping he'll rub off on me… ) "When we get back to the motel, grab your gear – we're moving the ol' homestead."
"What?"
"We're going leaving town."
"In the middle of the night?"
"It's not the middle of the night – it's the end of the night – the posterior of the evening, if you like – and the wind is definitely blowing from the south."
"What?"
"Just roll," and I smirk at him wondering if he even gets that one… (rolling stones gather no moss, you know…)
……………………………………………
"So where are we going?" Tonto wants to know, as he dumps his bag into the trunk.
It him a lot longer than I would have liked to get his gear together – makes me think the boy actually unpacked his suitcase. Armatures. "Just hit the highway – any direction will do."
"Have you completely lost your mind?"
"South wind," I tell him, sliding into the passenger seat.
"No it's not – there's no wind at all."
"I am but mad north-north west – but when the wind blows southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." I listen to him get the car started and pull out of the motel lot.
"You realize that makes no sense," he tells me once we've hit the road.
"It didn't make sense to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, either. Look what happened to them," I make a slicing motion across my neck.
"Who?"
"Just drive – and take it slow. We're not in a hurry."
"We just broke into a privately owned facility – and – stole a bunch of stuff – and now we're leaving town in the middle of the night. But not in a hurry?"
"Never do anything that will draw the attention of the local fuzz," I tell him.
"Other than leave behind your finger prints?"
I smirk at him, "Yeah. Wasn't that part fun?"
"I don't get it – your prints are in the system – they have to be, you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon – "
"Kid – use that noggin of yours a minute. Who am I?"
I hear him start to answer – then stop – then start – poor kid probably really does think I've lost it.
"My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. And the DOJ," I add with an even bigger smirk. That one really does still kill me every time I think about it. I mean, me hangin' out with the white hats.
"Which still doesn't give you the right to break the law! Nothing you found tonight could ever be used in court – except as evidence against you – "
"Oh, Christ, Kid – think. When the cops run my prints what's going to come up?"
"Your name – your address – your record if you have one – "
"That would be a negative, there good buddy," I give him my trucker accent.
"But – "
"I'm in the system all right – but I'm a fucking covert operative for the fucking CIA. The local fuzz won't get squat when they run my prints, but the second they do it, the CIA – and probably the feebs – will get flagged. Little red lights will blink, sirens will wail and someone is gonna know that Sheldon Jeffrey Sands broke into a little storage facility out here in Podunk Texas. It shouldn't take more than forty-eight hours for the owner of that storage unit to become aware of what I've done. And he's gonna know why. And he's gonna go nuts. And that, my young friend, is the whole idea."
"So – stealing a bag full of papers –?"
"Hey, you never know when you're gonna get lucky. I mean, we're here, I had to plant my prints – might as well take home a cupie doll, right?"
"But even if it is something – it still can't be used in court – "
"Like I care about what can be used in court. This is about shaking trees and seeing what falls out."
"So – just where are we headed now?"
"D.C."
"You want me to drive back to D.C.? I'm not even headed in the right direction!"
"Good. And, no I don't expect you to drive all the back – but that wasn't what you asked, now was it? You merely inquired where we were headed – and our ultimate destination is indeed Washington D.C." Yes, I am truly an insufferable prick when I'm in a good mood.
With a heavy sigh, Tonto rephrases the question, "Where are we headed – right now?"
"Don't know – can't see. Small detail really – it's the sort of thing that happens when you don't have eyes."
Poor kid – he really has no answer for that, so he just drives in what I'm pretty sure is miserable silence…
………………………………………………………………………
"It's just junk," Ryan tells me as he sifts through our booty; we've settled into a new motel, too soon for me, but according to my boy here, no one is following us. (I'm only so confident in his ability to sniff a tail – but when he told me he was about to fall asleep at the wheel, I let him start looking for a motel – after offering to take the wheel and let him sleep while I drove. Somehow that idea went down just like the Hindenburg, I don't know why…)
But even though I let him pull over I check us into a motel, Beth is right, I'm making the boy earn his keep. Before he can toddle off to his room he has to tell me what all we heisted from Collins' storage locker. (Or to be fair, what all I heisted.) "What kind of junk?" I ask.
"I don't know – it's just – it's junk. Papers – notebooks – junk."
"Could you possibly be any less specific?"
"I really don't know what I'm looking at! I don't know why you had me grab any of this stuff – I really don't know what I'm doing here!"
Well, boyo over there might have a spine in there after all (either that or he's real close to the edge)… "Tell you what – why don't you pick something up and start reading."
"Fine." He does.
I listen. About two sentences in, I light up a cigarette – I really don't believe my luck (maybe those damned gypsies have finally been appeased after all.) "Pay dirt."
"What do you mean – this is just a list of names and addresses – most of it doesn't even make any sense – it's gibberish."
"Exactly why it does make sense."
"You don't make sense."
I just smirk up at him. "South wind, my boy, south wind – you just have to know how to make it talk to you."
I hear the papers hit the bed, hard, "I'm too tired for this – I'm going to bed."
"Fair enough."
"What?"
I smirk some more – apparently my acquiescing to his demand for sleep has caught my boy off guard. "I said – fair enough. We can work on cracking this when we get back to the office."
"What is it – really?"
"Really – my best guess is that it's his dirty laundry list."
"A – what?"
"The list of people Collins has dirt on – personally, I would never keep my dirty laundry list in my storage unity – but hey, to each rat his own little hole, I s'pose." And Collins never was the brightest bulb on the string.
"You're pulling my leg, right?"
"Nope – both hands are right here," I put my cigarette between my lips and wave both hands at him for emphasis, "Right on the ends of my arms where they belong – so I ain't pullin' nothing – no legs, no wool – not even your cute little short and curlies." Poor kid – I really don't know what bugs him more, when I'm in a rotten mood or a good one – and with me there really isn't much in the way of an in between, it's either up or down.
"You people – actually keep – lists –?"
"It's kind of like an insurance policy – half the guys on Collins list probably aren't even citizens of the good ol' U.S. of A. – but the ones who are… now that could be interesting."
"And – you're going to give this all to Eddas?" He sounded awfully suspicious just then. (Why is everybody suspicious of my good intentions lately?)
"Yes – once I have his personal code cracked, I'll share with the big boss lady." I really am a loyal little rat, when you come right down to it, just as long as there's a little cheese in it for me…and Eddas' office smells kinda like Wisconsin from where I'm sitting. "Go get some sleep – I want to be on the road first thing in the a.m."
"It is first thing in the a.m."
"Oh. Right. How about by high noon, Kemo Sabe," I smirk at my little Tonto.
Ryan grumbles – but wishes me a good night anyway (and I refrain from reminding him that it's morning – what the Hell, it really does all look the same to me anyway…) I lock the door after him and scoop everything back into the duffle bag. I have way too much adrenaline in my system to crash now – but it's too early to call home. Home. Damn, I do like the sound of that word...
………………………………………………………………….
There's a man who leads a life of danger
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
With every move he makes another chance he takes
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow
Secret agent man, secret agent man
They've given you a number and taken away your name
Beware of pretty faces that you find
A pretty face can hide an evil mind
Ah, be careful what you say
Or you'll give yourself away
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow
Secret agent man, secret agent man
They've given you a number and taken away your name
Secret agent man, secret agent man
They've given you a number and taken away your name
Swingin' on the Riviera one day
And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day
Oh no, you let the wrong word slip
While kissing persuasive lips
The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow
Secret agent man, secret agent man
They've given you a number and taken away your name
Secret agent man
---
by P.F. Sloan / S. Barri
(performed by lots of people, including Devo and Johnny Rivers)