Lex couldn't believe that he was getting into Awol's Camaro. However, the thought of spending the night trying to get through the police red tape sounded even less appealing. Awol had gone through the authorities with relative ease; there was a reference to pork followed by something about killing all of their families in their sleep and another reference to pork.
Lex stopped abruptly before he got in the car, "I can just call for a ride from here, thanks." He wondered why it took until he had gotten to the Camaro for the thought to occur to him.
"No you can't," Awol got into the car and shut the door. The engine started with Lex still standing outside.
Why not? A look of curiosity marred Lex's features. He checked his phone; he was getting a good signal. What the hell did he mean by that? Damn his endless curiosity. He took the door handle and got in the car. When he shut the door, he asked, "Why can't I?"
Awol put the car into drive without giving any thought to the uniformed officers on foot around them. Fortunately, most of them got away unscathed. "Because," he exhaled loudly, "I have specific orders to take you home and to make sure you get there safe and sound. I'm even supposed to offer to tuck you in."
Lex chuckled, "I think that is going to be unnecessary." Lex had a vision of Awol fluffing one of his pillows before slowly bringing it down over his face. His smile faded. "Did she say anything else?" Lex was trying to be discrete.
"Oh, you know, just making me see that I'm horribly wrong with one freakin' observation," he shook his head.
Lex nodded, he knew the feeling. "What were you wrong about?" although he did have an idea.
Awol gave him a sideways glance. He paused for a moment, "Sins of the father and all that crap. Where would I be if she had judged me like that when she didn't even know me?"
Lex could tell that this was a vague and poor attempt at an apology. He didn't really know if it was honest one or a direct order. "Where would you be?" Lex looked at him for a moment. He wanted the story – a Rhone Chade story – and perhaps with this current state of remorse in the air, he might get it.
"At best, prison," Awol stared ahead as he steered the car along the road. He knew Lex was looking at him again. "I'm no criminal," he added. Lex nodded silently. "I'm not," Awol reaffirmed, his voice slightly more elevated.
Lex knew he had this guy. "You know you have to get on the expressway," Lex seemingly changed the subject.
"I know where I'm going," Awol sneered. He guided his car onto the on-ramp. There was a long pause, "It was a little over a year ago."
He sat on the bench, dress uniform starched and ironed to perfection. He held his hands out in front of him for a moment; he had never seen his own hands shake so much. He flexed his fingers and returned his hands to the uniform hat in his lap. He was running through all the charges in his head. How in the hell had it turned into treason and espionage? And because of that, some counts of first degree murder – just incase. He thought about running, but where would he go? Where could he go?
He stared at the flawless black of his shoes. He felt like he was going to be sick. Sure, this wasn't an official hearing, but he had to be realistic. If he went to trial, he was guilty. And then… He swallowed hard.
He looked up. Through the few people that were walking by, his gaze fell on a woman across the room in all black staring out one of the windows. He knew the scene outside was like his future, dim and cloudy. Her hair was pulled back tight and she stood completely still. If he wasn't so sure that this was the end of him, he might have gone over to talk to her. …How in the hell did she get in here? This was a military building. And she is wearing street clothes and a pair of sunglasses. He looked at what she had on her back – some kind of architect?
She never moved, just standing with her hands folded behind her back. Something about her made him stare. At least it was taking his mind off of things.
The clouds parted outside, sending a shaft of yellow sunlight onto her. Then she moved; she turned her head to look directly at him. At least he thought she was looking at him, the sunglasses made it a little hard to tell.
She started toward him, trench coat trailing behind her. He quickly cast his eyes to his shoes again. He hadn't meant to stare. Suddenly, someone was sitting next to him on the otherwise empty bench. It was her.
He put his hat on, "Forgive me, Ma'am. I was…"
"Staring at me," she finished. She hadn't looked at him, just staring straight ahead.
"There was a lot on my mind and I…" he began. He tried to see what she was looking at in front of them but was unsuccessful.
"The trial," she interrupted.
"It's not a trial, it's just an inquiry," he said looking at her stoic face.
"Whatever, you just cling to that," she said without emotion.
He knew the truth as well as she did. What was happening to him was pretty public. He was sure that she recognized him – damn media. At least like every other scandal, he would be forgotten six months after it was over. Unfortunately, over was his death – he was about 99 sure of that. "It's all I have," he said searching her face for – anything.
For the first time, she turned to face him. He turned away, but she took his chin with her hand and made him face her. He could tell that she was searching his face. She furrowed her brow, "You didn't do it. It's not your fault."
How did she know that by just looking at him? Sure, he denied it before – a lot, but no one believed him. Not with his service record. He was beginning to think that his family didn't even believe him. "And just how do you know that?" he asked bitterly to hide that he was tearing up.
"I can see it in you," she said plainly. She dropped her hand from his chin.
A woman, most likely a secretary of one of the high ranking generals that had offices here, walked up to them – heels clicking on the floor. "Ms. Chade," was all she said.
The woman beside him stood up gracefully. She looked down at him one last time, "Good luck, Jason. I hope that things work out for you." The look on her face told him that she knew it wouldn't. No one on earth could help him now.
"Now, Mr. Wilson, this is just an inquiry regarding the incident that transpired on March 16 of this year," A man in his fifties was saying from behind the long table.
He wondered if it was necessary that he be so far from the table. Maybe it was better that he was sitting in this lone chair in the middle of an empty room. He had a feeling he didn't want to be close to that table with fifteen aging generals on one side. He nodded silently.
"This isn't your first inquiry, is it, Mr. Wilson?" another asked.
"No, Sir," he found his voice. However, none of them were even remotely as important or serious as this one.
In unison, all of the generals opened manila folders that rested in front of them.
"Your service has been – less than exemplary," the one in the center spoke as he looked down, "You don't think the rules apply to you. …Practical jokes on comrades and even commanding officers and a – distaste for authority. Why would you even join the military?"
He knew that last question was rhetorical and that he definitely shouldn't say what was on the tip of his tongue. Why shouldn't he? It's not like it would make a difference anyway. They already have their minds made up.
Another general spoke, "Excluding those facts, I'll be honest, it doesn't look good, Jason." He was rifling through some papers, "You destroyed a multi-million dollar prototype as well as the other men in the vehicle. …How did you even get on this project?"
He realized that he should answer this one, "Downsizing." One simple word that he thought was so great when he was assigned to the project.
All the men at the table shook their heads. The man in the center spoke again, "The reports from the producer of your supposed faulty part have come in." He reached to put on a pair of reading glasses and read a letter that he held out in front of him, "General Norris, it is with great pride that I inform you that a thorough investigation of the process and part in question has revealed no deficiency in either. I look forward to continuing our mutually beneficial and profitable business relationship. Sincerely, Lionel Luthor, CEO Luthor Corporation." He looked up and took off his reading glasses as he set the letter on his pile of papers.
"What about the complaint I filed, questioning the part over two months before the incident?" he said. It was all he had -- his only card to play.
"Mr. Wilson," one of the generals spoke as he shook his head, "There is no record of any complaint."
"What? I filed that report and I spoke with my commanding officer about…" he started to defend.
"The commanding officer that is now dead?" one of them asked.
Jason bowed his head, "Well, yes, but then how…?"
"You do realize that we have evidence that not only could point to espionage, but to treason as well? And thus the murder of those that accompanied you?" General Norris asked.
He didn't know how they even had that kind of evidence; the only people he talked to were his parents and his sister. There was a pang in his chest; he really missed them.
And what happened to his complaint? There must have been some kind of conspiracy – and he was the fall guy. It had to be the fucking "mutually beneficial and profitable relationship" with Luthor Corp. That was all it could be. No one else had anything to lose.
General Norris continued when he didn't respond, "It is the recommendation of this council that you…"
The double doors behind him opened abruptly. Jason turned to the interruption. It was – the woman that was in the lobby? She still had her hands on the double doors, making her trench coat fan out behind her. He heard chairs move and feet shuffle at the table of generals behind him, but he continued to stare at the woman. Poor chick, they were going to call security and…
"Sir," was a chorus of men behind him. …What? He looked back to them and they were – saluting? He looked back to the woman. She walked forward. When she reached Jason's lone chair she put a hand under his arm and pulled up. He reluctantly stood – unable to fathom the saluting men at the table, but she maintained her hold.
"He's innocent," was all she said.
"Perhaps we can talk about this – in private," Norris gestured for her to have a meeting with them at their long table.
Jason felt a pull on his arm; she was pulling him through the door. "Can you do this?" he was clumsily backing up in her direction.
She smiled a closed lipped smile, but only looked to the door from which she had come.
"You do realize that a multi-million dollar piece of machinery was lost. Someone has to answer for…" one of the men started to speak.
She turned on her heels and walked to the center of the room, leaving Jason near the door. She shook her head and in a professional voice said, "A freak accident claimed the life of Jason Wilson this morning. Wilson – facing charges of espionage, murder, and treason – was hit by falling ceiling tile. The fall was attributed to the general decay of military installations throughout the nation – a result of budget cuts forced on the military from Capitol Hill. And now, over to Marty with the weather."
The men at the table looked at one another. Jason saw the looks on their faces – they were putting to bed a huge loss in research, avoiding dealing with the blame – totally scandal free, as well as bringing attention to their need for more funding.
She folded her hands behind her back once more and started for the door. She stopped and held out a hand to Jason as she passed him. It felt like his heart stopped beating and he took it.