Act of Mercy – Chapter One
"Now Art, if he doesn't work out, SOG will happily take him on at Camp Beauregard with the training team. They were chomping at the bit to have him, offered him a position, but he made it clear he wants to be a Deputy Marshal. I had a long talk with him and…"
Here she paused, working up to something. Art knew Cathy well enough to know she wasn't distracted thinking about another task or reading an email, she was lining up her argument. Straightforward and sincere, she was an instant favorite with him during his days at Glynco. An outstanding placement officer, her clear-sighted empathy made her a natural for sliding people into shoes that fit or they could grow into, depending. He trusted her and waited patiently to hear what she had to say.
She started again. "He did very well in the training and I think he deserves a chance. And the fact that he requested Lexington at the beginning… well, honestly, it couldn't have worked out better if I'd manipulated the whole thing. I trust you," she said, unknowingly repeating his thoughts about her. "I trust you to do right by him, and he's from Kentucky so that'll make the adjustment easier."
Art supplied his own pause this time, trying to read the fine print hiding between her words. He wished he were sitting across a table from her instead of on the phone, using his eyes to listen as well as his ears. He was working with a handicap. Best just be blunt, he thought.
"Cathy, what aren't you telling me?" he questioned. "If he doesn't work out is not the usual introduction for a new Deputy. It just doesn't instill confidence."
"I don't want you to be biased."
"I don't want to be blind-sided."
She humphed. He could picture the crinkle across the bridge of her nose that went with it.
"Oh, heck," she exhaled, as close as she would ever come to swearing. "He hasn't even been back a year from his last deployment. The joke is he got on a plane from a base in Afghanistan, landed at Fort Benning and hopped the next available bus to Glynco. Some people here see that as a problem. In fact, just about everyone but me and Tactical. I can't believe I'm on side with them about anything, but…"
"Okay. Why is it a problem?" Art was truly perplexed. "He's been in combat, I assume? So he's calm in a sh…situation. He must have good weapons training. All I see are plusses."
"Art, for most of the soldiers coming back, if they're going to have a reaction to the combat stress, rarely does it show right away. The military now routinely does a second psych assessment six months after the discharge. They've discovered they get a lot more PTSD symptoms starting to pop up then, or even later, sometimes years later."
"Oh." Art was starting to get the picture.
"DOJ was just closing out a hiring announcement and he squeaked his application in. Under the circumstances they requested the long DD214, he agreed, and someone from Tactical got wind of his experience. We got a storm of phone calls and they pushed him through the process and into training."
"But this guy doesn't want to do Tactical?"
"No, he wants to be an investigator. He wants to work with you," she stated.
"Me?" Art replied, astonished. "Why?"
"You met somewhere and apparently you made an impression on him. He said you're the one that convinced him to try out the Marshals Service. So now he's your problem," she explained happily as if this was all Art's fault. "But do me a favor, if you have any concerns about this young man, call me first. I'll handle it."
"Cathy, you always were too soft," Art teased. "You like him, don't you?"
"You know me, Art. I'm a sucker for lost boys. Just look at my husband."
Art hung up chuckling then suddenly stopped, sat and rehashed the conversation. "Well, hell," he snapped out loud, she had manipulated him. He'd bend over backward to see this Deputy through the probationary period just to keep her faith, and she knew it. Dammit, he cursed to himself, who's the sucker?
"Hi, Mom," Rachel answered her phone, her tone resigned. It was only mid-afternoon, which meant that school wasn't finished, which meant that Nick was in trouble again and her mother was calling to tell her about it.
A long sigh through the earpiece, heavy with disappointments, and Rachel unconsciously started humming a Dinah Washington tune, A Bad Case of the Blues. Her mom spoke, "Nick is in trouble again."
"What is it this time?" Rachel asked, closing her eyes and massaging her forehead with a finger and thumb.
"He's been fighting."
"Fighting? Again? Mom, he's only in grade five. How much fighting can you do in grade five?" Rachel was already impatient with the conversation.
"You didn't ask if he was okay," her mother scolded.
Rachel slumped down in her chair and dropped her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Oh, my God, she mouthed. To the phone she said, "Is he okay?"
"He's fine."
"So why are you calling me at the office then?"
"He's been suspended and I can't miss any more work this month. Can you take Monday off?"
"No, Mom. I can't. I've got three cases running just now. You know we're understaffed," she replied.
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" her mother responded. "I can't lose this job."
Rachel caught movement in her periphery and she swung around to investigate. Art was trying to get her attention. She held up a finger, asking for a minute. He nodded and motioned to a chair in his office then made a face at her. She smiled.
"I'll figure something out, Mom. It's okay," she said, glad for the excuse to cut the call short. "I've got to go. Art needs to talk to me. I'll come by after work."
She hung up, grabbed the water bottle on her desk and headed in to see her boss.
Art lifted his eyebrows in sympathy and pouted along with her.
"Your mom?" he asked.
"Is it really that obvious?" Rachel groaned dropping in an undignified heap into a chair. "God, give me patience."
He chuckled. "Is it Nick again?"
"Do you have my phone tapped?"
"Rachel, you've been working for me for so long I know you better than my own daughters." He gave her an appraising look. "Don't you think it's time you put in for a transfer? Your three year probationary period expired four years ago. I could easily get you a good posting. Atlanta? Chicago? Dallas? It'd be a good career move, especially if you want to make it to the next pay grade level, which I know you do. You could have it easy in a year or two somewhere else."
"I appreciate the confidence, but I can't, at least not until Nick is finished school."
Art couldn't decide whether to push it or not. She was his favorite, efficient, dependable, thorough, level-headed, and what she lacked in flair she made up for in courage. He would miss her if she moved on, when she moved on, he corrected. But ultimately it was her choice.
"Well, since you'll be sticking around a little longer I have a job for you. I've got a new Marshal starting on Tuesday, fresh out of Glynco. I'd like to pair him up with you for training," he said, giving her a confident smile.
He didn't get the enthusiastic response he was expecting.
"I can't," she blurted out, prickly and persecuted. "I've got three cases on the go, I'm in court almost every day next week and Mom wants me to take Monday off to look after Nick."
"Okay," he said, hands up and moving, settling the air. "Calm down. Let's see what we can work out."
Rachel sat up a little straighter, tidying her hair, finding the floor interesting. Art ducked his head down, trying to catch her eye and get her to look at him. Finally when he had his face almost on his desk she let out a huff and arched an eyebrow, glared back.
"I think I could count the number of adults in this room on one finger," she snorted, grasping for some dignity.
"Which one?"
She showed him. Art sat back up, smiling and satisfied.
"Bit stressed?" He put the sympathetic face back on but with more sincerity this time. "I know we've been stretched thin here, but I've got another Marshal, an experienced Marshal, transferring in from Dallas Monday to help out. He's only got eighteen months left till retirement and he wants to settle here in Kentucky to be near his daughter. Best part is he thinks I'm doing him a favor taking him in this late in his career. Little does he know."
"Why doesn't he train the new guy?" she offered, hopeful.
"Uh-uh. He'll be fine with the work but he doesn't know the office, the city, the courthouse staff…the best lunch places. He can, however, take one or two of your cases off you," he reassured her. "You keep the Sullivan warrant though. That's your baby. Do you have to be in court Monday?"
Rachel shook her head.
"Fine then. Take Monday off. You've still got personal days left from last year, though I'm not strictly speaking supposed to let you carry them over so don't tell anyone and keep your phone on. You deal with Nick and Tuesday you can start with the new guy."
She still didn't look convinced.
"Rachel, I need you to do this. He's not completely green. He's ex-military, a Ranger with solid combat experience. All you'll have to do is guide him through the Marshal end of things. Why, he can be your personal servant for a few months. Get him doing all the stuff you hate doing."
But Rachel had stopped listening after the phrase 'combat experience.'
"A Ranger?" she spluttered.
Art's phone rang just as she spoke and he picked up, slipping on his glasses and smiling at her encouragingly. If he could have put words to the look on her face they would have left the worst inmates in Big Sandy weeping. He asked the caller to hold a minute, covered the phone with his hand and looked over his rims at her.
"I had a long talk about him with Cathy at Glynco," he explained, sugaring the dose. "She likes him and I know you like Cathy. She says he's good, just a bit mouthy. I'm sure you can handle him. Now go have a relaxing weekend."
"Wouldn't you rather put him with Buckley?" she suggested, naming the biggest Marshal in the office.
Art tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling, like he was seriously considering it.
"Nope," he concluded cheerfully, smiled and waved a dismissal.
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