Story 12

Standard disclaimer: if you want to complain about the hackneyed unbelievable drivel I write, lack of character development, or inflated breast sizes, be my guest. Just know I won't care. I sometimes enjoy reading the commentators that criticize my writing but if you're going to, remember, I already called it drivel. If you can't top that don't bother. Why people insist on displaying their own stupidity for the world to see always baffles me. Let's see the plot sucks, the characters aren't believable, I write like I didn't graduate high school (I didn't by the way), I barely know a noun from a verb, etc. Read at your own risk.

Just a short one to get back in the swing of things. No sex. And yes the "hero" is a homophobic, misogynistic, psychopath, so don't bother pointing it out. Why? Ask Lord Acton.

All the rights to this drivel, such as it is, are reserved to me and any resemblance to any other real or fictional character is purely delusion on the readers part.

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It wasn't protocol but I went anyway. My agent, Jim, had set up the meeting. Usually, he handled all the details of the contract, and I never met the principle placing the order, but this time was different.

"He wants to meet with you, Alex" he said, "he said you would understand after you talked. I know we don't do it this way, but he is a deputy director of the company". So, I agreed to the meet.

He was in the coffee shop when I got there, at a corner table. I could spot at least two other agents at a table near him, providing cover. He was wearing a mask, but then again, so was I. As were the two agents. Occasionally one of them would raise it slightly to sip at his coffee then pull it down again. I don't think any of us were worried about Covid, but these masks were becoming handy items for providing a bit of anonymity in public. A full mask and sunglasses and you could be anyone. I took a seat across from him at the table. "Director" I said.

He nodded. "Alex"? I nodded back. "Thank you for meeting me, I know this isn't how you usually conduct business." He placed a small leather case on the table and put a thumb drive on it.

He looked at me. "Two weeks ago, a college professor at a small liberal arts college out west was mugged outside a restaurant. He was beaten, badly, and is still in the hospital. His wife was knifed in the belly and bled out in the parking lot. All the details are on the thumb drive. I want you to find out who did it and why."

"This isn't my normal sort of assignment" I said, "can't the local authorities or the FBI deal with it" I asked?

"His wife was my baby sister. I have been assigned to some special projects recently and the company needs to know if this attack was a way to get at me. Due to the nature of these projects special measures have been invoked, which gives you carte blanche to take any measures to get answers you deem necessary. Even our friends in the NSA were convinced to give you credentials", he glanced at the leather case on the table, "to provide you cover. You are legally a temporary special agent of the NSA and acting under that authority. Technically the contract is with them as the company doesn't operate domestically."

"But beyond that, there is what I know of you, Alex, and what I know of your work. This was my little sister they butchered. I want everyone connected with her death to pay and I want you to make them pay. If you find a connection to me I need to know, but the real reason I want you is I know you can hurt them, and hurt them in ways no one else can".

I picked up the thumb drive, the leather case, and left. We both knew what that meant, I was accepting the contract.

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Figaro's was a nice medium sized restaurant in the decent part of a nice little college town. Really a small city if we want to be technical. They had a large seating area and a small bar at one end that seemed to cater to the professional crowd. The décor was slightly upscale with fake marble statues and Romanesque touches but not vulgar, it actually had a bit of class. Even the hostess fit the décor with a definite Mediterranean look to her and the overly large breasts to match. I asked her for a table for one, near the back, but also wanted time for a drink at the bar first. She was able to accommodate me nicely and said she would seat me in about fifteen minutes. Perfect for what I had planned.

I ordered a French 125 at the bar which is a simple cocktail made from lemon juice, powdered sugar, cognac, and champagne. When you use the best cognac, ice cold champagne, and a freshly squeezed lemon, there is no better drink. It was a Tuesday night, and the bar was mostly empty. I tipped the kid a twenty when he brought the drink, he seemed appreciative, and asked him a couple questions. I wasn't really looking for any answers, at least not the kind you would expect. My goal was to trigger a different kind of response.

"Isn't this the place that that college professor and his wife were mugged a few weeks back" I asked him?

He looked a little nervous "yes" he responded.

"Were they in here first" I asked him

"I don't know. I don't remember seeing them. I mean I was told they had dinner here, but they didn't come to the bar. Why are you asking"?

He was babbling a little. People who are nervous often babble to cover it up. "No reason just curious I guess. This doesn't look like a high crime area. You get a lot of muggings like this" I asked him.

I wanted to press him a little so I went on before he could answer. "Usually, bartenders know what's going on. You sure you don't know a little more? Maybe something you didn't tell the police?" I put two more twenties on the bar.

"I don't know anything about it" he said.

"Fair enough" I said, picking up the twenties. I could see the hostess heading my way. "I am just getting some dinner" I told him, "If you think of anything let me know before I leave".

I was looking for answers, but I was mainly trying to provoke a response. I settled in my table and spent some time perusing the menu. I ordered a fried calamari appetizer with a veal piccata entrée and a glass of pinot grigio by Livio Felluga. I had had it in Italy once and was pleased to see it on the list here. The quality of the restaurant, or at least the wine cellar, went up a little in my eyes.

I was just finishing my entrée when they arrived. I had seen the tape of the parking lot attack and neither of these two fit the bill. The kids who knifed the girl and beat her husband were skinnier, and more prone to hoodies than dress clothes. These two fit in a little better here, they looked a little older, and heavier. I could tell they were both carrying, and they went to the bar. They played it fairly casual, just speaking to the bartender long enough to order drinks and maybe slip in an extra word or two. After a few minutes one turned slightly towards the other in his chair, just enough to look at me without appearing to look at me, and I knew he had tipped them off.

I finished my piccata, it was pretty good. So far I had accomplished my mission for tonight. I had enjoyed a meal that turned out to be actually quite good. I had rattled the kid at the bar enough to make a phone call. The two thugs that showed up didn't mean anything to me, all I really needed now was the number the kid had called. Like I said I had watched the tape, multiple times, and seen enough to know the attack wasn't random, and the wife wasn't the target. She had gotten in the way, and been gutted, but the beating had been for him. Someone wanted him out of the way, for some reason, and engaged a couple punks to do it for them. The kid was weaker than the thugs, so if I took them out he would crumble like day old bread.

There was a hallway off to my left that led down to the restrooms. I ambled down it, like any diner finishing a good meal would do, and entered. I checked both stalls, empty, and stood with my arms crossed. They gave me about two minutes before they both came in. One went to check the stalls while the other took up a position across from me.

"They're empty" I said.

"What" he asked?

"The stalls, I checked already, they're empty. No need to be redundant".

He looked at me and the other came up on my left.

"I heard you were asking about the murders. What's your interest in them" he asked?

"It's personal. Do you have any information for me"?

"Who are you asking for? Or are you on your own in this" he said?

"Do you have any information for me" I repeated?

"I'm asking the questions here."

"Not of me" I replied and made to leave.

"If you want to walk out of here alive you will answer" he said. It was a clear threat, so legally I could respond as needed. I was planning to anyway, but this just made almost it too easy. It was an invitation.

He stood between me and the door and moved his coat back enough to show the gun in the waistband holster. Why does every thug think he's a big man today because he can carry? A gun is only good if you can get it into play. I didn't need these two, I had the bartender, and thought maybe I could send a message of my own. If nothing else I might make someone nervous and nervous people make mistakes. I hit him, quickly and cleanly, in the throat, crushing his windpipe. He didn't die instantly but he dropped like a stone and being unable to breath I didn't give him more than a minute or two. His partner was caught betwixt and between going for me or going for his gun when I snapped his neck. His death was quicker, I think he was dead before he hit the floor.

I took a minute to search him while his partner was dying. He didn't have much, gun, a license and concealed weapons permit, a few credit cards, $200 in cash, and a phone which I cloned. His partner was about them same until I came across his deputy sheriff credentials. This wasn't going to endear me to the locals. I cloned his phone as well then used it to call 911.

"911 operator can I help you".

"Yes I would like to report two dead bodies".

"Sir can you please identify yourself"?

"Just a concerned citizen. The bodies are in the men's room of the Figaro restaurant on 12^th street. Can you send someone over please? One looks to be a deputy sheriff".

"Sir please stay on the line and identify yourself" she said but I dropped the phone on the body and went back out.

I ordered a coffee, black. One cocktail and a glass of wine were about my limit, and it looked like it might be a long evening. I had been meaning to connect with the local authorities, but now it was going to happen sooner than I planned.

I must admit they were quick. I was barely sipping my coffee when the first pair came through the door and the second pair was right behind them. They were town police, not sheriff's deputies, so I did have that going for me. Two headed for the back, a third took up position by the door, and the fourth went to have a word with the bartender. He was a popular kid tonight.

One of the two stayed in the back but the second was right out and went to the one at the bar. They stood talking for a minute than both came towards me. They didn't look happy, and I could see both had their hands near their guns. One took up a position off to the side while the second approached me from my blind spot. I could see his reflection in the glass across the room, and could have used that to take them out, but at least they showed a modicum of training. And I had no real reason to, yet. I needed to sort out who was the enemy first.

"Sir please put your hands flat on the table" he barked.

I complied. I didn't want to get shot by some trigger-happy kid and I really didn't want to start a war with the local police. At least until I knew what side they were on.

"Put your hands on top of your head" he said "slowly".

I did. I wasn't sure why he didn't start with that, but I just went with the flow. He came in, put the cuff on one wrist, pulled it behind my back, then pulled the other one down and cuffed it as well. Then he had me stand up. The other was still in a covering position. Then he frisked me, removing first the gun at my waistband, then the ankle, then the knife for good measure.

"Careful with those sonny" I said, "each of them costs more than you make in a month. Especially the knife, so I want to make sure I get it back".

"I don't know if you will need them where you're going" he said. "Do you have a permit for these firearms" he asked?

"Inside left breast pocket" I said.

"Turn around please sir" he said. I did. I think he was going to stare me down, he had about two inches on me, but when he looked into my eyes he actually stepped back. Someone once called them the dead pools. Midnight blue, like a fine tuxedo, they appeared black in some lights, especially artificial ones. And they have a look to them, so I have been told anyway. But he stepped up again and reached into my coat pocket and removed the leather case the deputy director had given me.

I could see him looking at it and then puzzling over it. Then he handed it to the older partner, probably the senior man on the team. I could see that several others had entered past the policeman at the door, including two in plain clothes. He crossed the room and showed it to one of them and the two walked back. The plain clothes man looked at me.

"This thing for real" he asked me.

"Call them" I suggested.

"What are you doing here" he asked.

I smiled. I had used this one before, but this was the first time, thanks to the credentials and the temporary assignment to the NSA, that it was actually true.

"Classified" I said.

"Look, I have two dead bodies in the back and one of them is a deputy sheriff. You are going to have to do a little better than that".

"I didn't finish my coffee. Why don't you take the cuffs off and we can talk while I drink it? You can run down my credentials afterwards if you want. By the way, at the moment three of you know who I am, and no one else. If any of you talks about this, to anyone, without my permission, I will see to it that they wake up the next morning in Guantanamo. Now take these off."

He nodded to the younger cop who removed the cuffs. My guns were still on the table but when I sat down I reached for the coffee cup instead. I motioned towards the other chair and the detective sat. I looked at the two uniforms and told them to give us some privacy. I called the younger one back as they started walking away. "See if they can bring us a pot of hot coffee and another cup please" I asked him. He glanced at the detective, got a nod, and walked away.

I have to give him credit. He just sat there waiting, didn't press, he knew I was going to talk when I was ready.

"Detective" I asked?

"Yes, detective Albert Wilson" he said.

"What do you know about the nuclear protection act" I asked him?

"I can't say I have ever heard of it" he responded.

"Basically, it is an act of congress, duly passed in closed session and signed into law by President Truman, that authorizes the president, in consultation with the attorney general and relevant military authorities, to appoint agents to take any and all acts deemed necessary to protect and preserve nuclear secrets and materials. Such actions are only reviewable by a special branch of what is now the FISA court, as the act has been amended several times. Every action taken under the act is classified and covered by the federal secrets act."

I could see the coffee coming so I paused as the girl brought it over. She seemed nervous, the guns were still open on the table, so I slipped her smile and a twenty as a way of thanks. I poured Wilson a cup and topped mine off.

"Simply put every action here tonight is covered under that act. Even questioning me about what happened is illegal and can lead to a long term in jail. What I can tell you the two men in the rest room interfered with me and, as I am legally empowered to do, I stopped that interference. So here is what I want you to do. Call the FBI main office in Washington. Ask the operator for Dept 3432A. When they answer give them the information from my credentials. Then you can decide what to do next".

Now most of that was bullshit, but I knew if he called Washington they would confirm who I was and deny any knowledge of anything else. He got up to walk away, probably to think on what to do.

"And Wilson" I said. He looked at me "have your guys hold the bartender for questioning. Put him under a suicide watch. If anything happens to him at the station I will rain hell on all of you. And bring me his phone".

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I got to the station an hour or so later. I had gotten what I needed from the kids phone, but I am nothing if not thorough. I had Wilson set me up with the kid in an empty room and told him to turn any monitoring off.

The kid sat across from me with a smirk on his face. "I want a lawyer, not saying anything until he gets here" he said. I told Wilson to leave us alone.

"You can't question him without a lawyer" he said.

"Shut the door and see no one disturbs us" I said. I looked at the kid across the table. Slowly the smirk left his face as I stared into his eyes.

I took my credentials out, placed them open on the table, and turned them so he could see them.

"You seem like a smart kid" I said, "you go to the college"? He nodded.

"You know what rendition is" I asked him? He nodded again.

"No, explain it to me" I said.

'That's where you transfer someone to another country to be tortured. But it isn't legal ..." his voice sort of trailed off.

"Not legal, but more relevant to you, it is time consuming, and I don't have time for it. So, I am going to ask you a couple of questions and you will answer, fully, completely, and truthfully. If you don't we will do a local version of rendition. I will have them release you, pick you up myself, and ask the questions again in an environment more, shall we say, conducive to eliciting answers. If you answer now you will most likely survive the night, if not, you probably won't. Do you understand what I am saying"?

He nodded. "Are you going to answer my questions"? Another nod.

"Answer yes or no" I said.

"Yes"

I replaced the credentials in my pocket. "At 7:18 I left the bar for my table, at 7:21 you made a call. Was that call to report that I had been asking questions"?

"Yes"

"Was that call to Sheriff Barnes and did you speak to him directly"?

"Yes"

"Did you call Sheriff Barnes the night of the murder to tell him the professor and his wife were there"?

"The sheriff has me on a possession charge if I don't do what he says I go to jail"

"Did you call Sheriff Barnes the night of the murder to tell him the professor and his wife were there"?

"Yes but I didn't know what" I held up my hand to stop him

"Just yes or no" I said.

"Yes"

The door suddenly flew open, and one very pissed off woman stalked into the room, trailed by a sheepish looking Wilson. "What's going on here? He asked for a lawyer, you can't question him. And the monitors are off, we don't do things like this around here" she spit out

"Outside" I said, pointing to the door. "We can talk in your office" I looked at Wilson "you can lock him back up. Don't let anyone, and I mean anyone, know he is here. No one see's him without my permission."

I heard some spluttering noises from the woman, but I just got up and walked towards her office. I had done enough prelim to know this was the chief of police. I had spent enough time with her to know I didn't like her.