Chapter 12: Ragtime Cowboy Jones

The passenger side door of the dark grey Dodge Challenger opened and Clarissa sat in with two cups of coffee. She handed one to Jones as she shut the door. The car was a model from 1974, one Jones had officially requested be shipped over for him while the 216 were in the city.

"Can't even get a cup of coffee here without getting into trouble," Clarissa moaned, propping her feet up on the dashboard and taking a drink. Jones eyed the dirt on the end of her boots but he said nothing.

"What happened?"

"Had my pocket picked when I was waiting," she explained. "Caught the little brat, though."

"Hope you didn't rough him up too bad."

"Nah. Just took the wallet back and threw him a twenty."

"If he's robbing people in the streets, he probably needs it more than you do, anyway."

"That's what I figured," Clarissa agreed. "What's the word? Anything yet?"

Jones looked out the window at the building they were here to watch. They were not close enough to draw attention, having parked at the end of the lane connecting this street to the larger one where the building was. While not directly in sight of it, Jones had a good enough view that he could spot anyone coming or going. So far, though, there were few of either.

"Couple of bozos left through the front door about twenty minutes back. Other than that, it's been all quiet on the western front."

"You think they know we're here?"

"Doubt it," Jones told her. "If they did, the whole building would be dead quiet and any of their people would be sneaking out through some secret tunnel underground. If they're smart, they've got one. What did Emery say they were called, Hotel Moscow or some shit?"

"That's right," Clarissa confirmed. "Soviet loyalists. They work like a mafia but Emery gathered that they used to be paratroopers in the USSR."

"Goddamn Russians. It's like fucking wartime in this city. That stink in the air…giving me all sorts of flashbacks."

"This place?" Clarissa asked, bemused. "It's a warzone waiting to happen, sure, but I don't know."

"Nah, trust me. It's like the run up to a real goddamn war, only the run up never ends here. The whores, the boozing, even the drugs. You shoulda seen some of the boys back in 'Nam. If they weren't sneaking off to the nearest bathroom so they could do a line, they were on the hunt for some poontang."

Jones began to fidget with the dog tags around his neck as he reminisced about his younger years, a different time plagued with some darker memories. This city, in all its decaying splendour, brought a lot of those memories back to him.

"Can't say I blame them, either. Looking back now, I think a lot of them knew they weren't gonna come back."

"Did you lose a lot of people?" Clarissa asked. She had known him for several years, but not once had they discussed specifics about one another's pasts, at least not in detail. She was aware of her boss's military service, but her knowledge ended there. He took a drink of his coffee as he considered her question, his eyes ever vigilant and keeping a careful watch on the building Hotel Moscow used as their headquarters.

"Not in Vietnam," he answered her. That raised more questions, but Clarissa was no fool. She did not want to pry needlessly into his past for fear of aggravating him. It wasn't her place, after all.

"What happened with that guy you went to see?" she asked, changing the subject to something more appealing.

"Nothing happened. I put the fear of god in him, is all. He kept his cool, but I could tell he was spooked."

"Emery did some more digging," Clarissa told him. "Turns out Hotel Moscow aren't the only G.I. Joes in this city. Everyone seems very hush hush about some security division based here. I think they caused some waves a while back."

"We should have known," Jones replied. "The second we set foot here, it was like every serial killer's wet dream. Bound to be a haven for some soldier boys, too."

"It's going to be a long road ahead if you plan on sniffing them all out before getting down to business."

"Don't you worry," Jones assured her. Even he knew they couldn't waste their time hunting every last military deserter down when there was more important work to be done, but that did not mean they couldn't take out one or two in the meantime. "We're gonna set our sights on some small fry assholes, first. After that, we can tell Watsup to proceed with the plan and get this show on the road."

Clarissa finished her coffee and left the cup down beside the gearshift. Then, she placed both hands behind her head and relaxed in the chair.

"It's not going to be easy to go back to the world after this," she admitted. "I was getting to like this place. Damn, sounds weird to say that out loud." Jones chuckled.

"I hear ya, sister," he assented. "A little taste of freedom now and then is good for the soul, but we got more than a taste with Roanapur. Sometimes, I think this assignment was a punishment. Show us what we coulda had if we'd gone down a different path in life." Clarissa had been listening to him with her eyes closed as she relaxed, but she opened one eye now that he had her attention.

"Sounds like you have some regrets," she ventured.

"As Sinatra would say, 'too few to mention.' You can't be in a rush to get back to the grindstone. Pushing pencils and kissing asses."

"Ass kissing was never your style," Clarissa reminded him. "Would have been nice to forget it all a while longer. Not much fun working for the system, is it?" Jones grunted.

"I lost my faith in the 'system' long ago, darling. One thing I learned early on is that it's been rigged from the very beginning. It's only there to make all the nameless bureaucrats of the world feel better about themselves. They line their pockets and the pockets of all the right people to get what they want. They don't care about vagrants like us."

Sensing he had made the mood a tad more awkward, he reached his arm out the open window and poured the rest of his coffee into the road. It had become cold while they had been sitting there, anyway. He dropped the cup down beside Clarissa's and started the engine.

"Ah, screw it. We ain't gonna see shit here. We best move on."

"If you say so," Clarissa replied, closing both eyes once more as they made their way to the next location. They were both oddly quiet during the drive, but neither of them felt much like speaking up either. It went unaddressed by most of the Task Force, but they often felt quite lost. Their roles as official agents of Interpol afforded them a certain level of power and authority, but it didn't take a genius to see that they were far more reminiscent of some of the criminals in this city, a ragtag group of vigilante outlaws who were largely held back by law and procedure. It was a life they had very much resigned themselves to, even if it wasn't the one they were meant for. Davin was the exception, clashing with his companions on occasion due to his obsession with upholding the law and doing things by the book. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty, mind, but there was an obvious disconnect between him and the others.

Jones looked out the window and watched these hapless outcasts of society go about their daily business. He was reminded once again of his past, before he got involved with Interpol. That was a time when his sense of duty and camaraderie overshadowed any unsavoury personality traits. Now, he was too old and violent to hide his ways. But that didn't mean there hadn't been pain in his life.

"I'm gonna level with you," he began as the Dodge Challenger continued along the road towards its next destination. Clarissa took her feet down from the dashboard and came to attention. "This place feels like home to me. More than real home ever did. At least here, the laws are simple, there's no bullshit covering it all up. The system failed my people a long time ago. When I was serving, I wasn't just stationed in Vietnam. They used to send me and a few other hardassess behind enemy lines. Off the books, like this little shindig. But the trouble with coming back from all the bloodshed and carnage of war and pretending you were never there is that the people you work for can do the same."

As he was talking, Jones reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette with one hand. When it was in his mouth, Clarissa reached over with his lighter and lit it for him.

"I watched a lot of boys giving their lives in service to the US of fucking A. You think they got the recognition they deserved? Compensation for their families? Hell, no. You know what they got? Their names on a fucking memorial wall and executive orders to the rest of us to keep our traps shut about what went down out there. Too afraid of pissing off the wrong people. That ain't no way to live, I promise you that." Clarissa had been listening to every word intently. She understood now why he was so dismissive of the regulation he was supposed to follow. He did his job and he did it well, but he had no faith in the system. He didn't just behave like an outlaw, he was one. This city suited him because he had been forced to wade through the shit of the uncivilised world for a simple pat on the back while his fallen comrades were never acknowledged as the heroes they were, their missions covered up by the government for fear of inciting more war. Clarissa knew how unfair the world could be sometimes, but even she had not been expecting that. If anything, she had more respect for Jones now.

"You don't owe nothing to anybody, boss," she told him. "Your boys gave their lives out there fighting for a cause they might not have even believed in. This city…Roanapur…it's like the perfect escape, a black hole at the end of the world. I don't blame you one bit." Jones was quiet at first, but he seemed to appreciate those words.

"Ah, listen to me bringing down the mood like that," Jones said energetically. "Next time I start rambling on, you oughta slap me upside the head."

"Don't tempt me," she shot back playfully.

The car came to a stop almost a block up from one of the tallest buildings in the city. They knew who made his home in the penthouse at the top, as did most others in this city. The Triad's headquarters had been attacked before, but it would have been foolish to even try to do so again with how careful the main criminal organisations were these days. Jones squinted as he spotted a congregation of people near the main doors. He snatched up a binoculars to get a better look.

"Any sign of this Mister Chang?" Clarissa asked. On the contrary, the group of men in suits did not strike Jones as members of the Triad, nor did the tanned woman who accompanied them. Her blonde hair was tied into two pigtails that hung down either side of her neck and there were two guns holstered behind her, Browning Hi Powers from the looks of it.

"Ain't that just curious," Jones said quietly. He handed the binoculars to Clarissa and she took a look herself. "Not one of those bastards is Chinese. And the girl, take a good long look at her if ya please."

"Hmm. Strange. What are they doing hanging around outside the Triad's place?"

"Beats me. But I bet every penny I've got that the girl might have seen military service herself. That's two, now, confirmed. This is getting to be real interesting."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, this is gonna be the last chapter for a while because I've caught up with myself by uploading too much and real life/work stuff has gotten in the way recently. Hopefully, I'll get something up next Friday and, after that, the plan is to upload every Monday and Friday. Until the end of Act 1, which will probably see a longer break while I get Act 2 written. Sorry, lovelies! Rest assured, I'll always come back to finish this off. And btw, it's gonna be so fucking LONG. Like, really long. I've kind of gone crazy planning this thing. I'll be lucky to have it all written by the end of Summer.