Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
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KuroTenshi

Member Seen 10 mos ago

>FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
>AVA RESIDENCE
>16SEP2019
>1640...///


Ava took in a deep breath as she opened the front door of her home and took it all in. A wave of relief washed over her as she dropped Prince’s leash and let the dog excitedly run around and explore the place.

She stepped inside, her shoulders dropping as the comfort of simply being home settled in. After everything that had happened, all the hell they had been through, after being gone for nearly a month.

Finally. Finally she was back home.

Tears unexpectedly started to well up in her eyes and she blinked her eyes, trying to keep them back but there was a complex surge of emotions welling up in her chest and mostly she just wanted to cry out of happiness.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves.

Dave followed Ava in, noting her reaction. He saw the tension in her stance and he set down their bags, stepping up and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He didn’t say a word; if she wanted to talk, she would. Instead he held her, resting his chin on top of her head and squeezing her to his chest.

Ava started slightly before relaxing back into Dave’s arms, turning around so she could hug him fully. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pressed her face to his chest, uncaring about the glasses still on her face. She let the emotions wash over her, all of the fear that had built up her entire time in Alaska finally finding a release.

It was behind them. It was over.

For now.

Ava sniffed and pulled back slightly, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She said with a small laugh. “I’m happy, I really am. Just...Fuck that assignment.”

“Shh, don’t be sorry,” Dave said. He kissed the top of her head and gave her another squeeze. “But yeah. Fuck that job. Don’t think I’ll be big game huntin’ Alaska anytime soon.”

“No, me either.” She said with a faint chuckle, wiping the tears from her eyes and putting her glasses back on her face. She looked back up at Dave and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you Dave, for everything. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, sugar,” he said softly. He felt a catch in his chest and his eyes stung for a moment. He squeezed them shut. “Ya wanna get our stuff put away, an’ then go get Thor? Bet he’s missed ya.”

Ava frowned up at his reaction and moved her hands up and down his back. “What’s wrong Dave?”

“Nothin’, nothin’,” he chuckled and let her go. “Just happy to see ya home, and happy. I’m okay.”

“Okay.” She said, letting him pull away and glancing around. “Where did Prince go?” She asked before trotting down the hallway and looking into the guest bathroom. “Prince! No! That’s not a water bowl!” She squeaked, jumping into the bathroom to pull the dogs head out of the toilet.

Dave laughed and picked up their bags, heading for Ava’s room as she hunted down the dog.

>...///

Ava kept a firm grip on Prince’s leash as she and Dave walked up the path to Mrs. Grier’s front door. The dalmatian excitedly sniffed every plant and flower along the cobblestone walkway, Ava having to tug on his leash now and again to keep him from eating anything.

She looked up at Dave with a smile, excited and nervous to be introducing her closest friend to her boyfriend. Although she suspected the two of them would get along just fine, it was still a new situation and her response to new situations was to feel anxious.

Also she was worried about how the dogs would react to one another.

Something she quickly found out as she heard Daisy’s familiar barking at the front door and Prince’s ears immediately perked up. With a ‘ruff’ the dalmatian trotted quicker to the door, curious and excited by the sounds of another dog.

“Whoa!” Ava squeaked, quickening her pace to keep up with the excited dog.

Dave sped up as well, keeping pace with Ava, placing a hand near the small of her back as though to steady her. He was smiling, but nervous. He knew that Ava and the famous Mrs. Grier were close, and while he’d never had a problem meeting people he did want to make a good impression. He’d pulled on a clean white T-shirt with his wranglers and run a comb haphazardly through his shaggy hair before promptly covering it with his hat.

“Easy Prince,” Dave chuckled, watching the dog pace in front of the door. “Gonna pull her off her feet, boy.”

“More like pull my arm off.” Ava huffed, brushing at the front of the casual light blue sundress she had put on to combat the heat of the summer evening. She gave Dave one more encouraging smile and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. Then she let go and rang the doorbell.

Daisy’s yapping accelerated and the tippy taps of her claws on the polished wood floors were audible when Mrs Grier opened the door, “Get back, Daisy. Yes, I know you’re excited.”

The older woman opened the door, the pug pushing to the edge but not daring to cross the threshold as she barked and wagged the curly tail. Mrs. Grier shook her head then smiled brightly at the pair.

“Ava! And you must be Dave,” she said, swinging the door wider, her silver hair pulled up in a French twist. She wore pale gray slacks and a silk short sleeved blouse, classic strand of pearls in place around her neck. “And that must be Prince.”

Daisy barked and bounced in place, looking with her bugged eyes at the pair of people and the dog, not sure who to settle on. Prince chuffed a bark but seemed more curious than anything, his whip tail slapping at Dave and Ava’s legs as he sniffed at the fat pug. Daisy backed up as Mrs Grier pushed her aside and invited them in.

“I’m Diana Grier,” she said, offering her hand to Dave after they stepped inside. “I’ve been neighbors with Ava for...what’s it been, dear? Three years?”

She spoke with a soft tidewater Virginia accent, a genteel southern drawl, her features still elegant despite her age. Inside the house the living room was spotless and comfortable, paintings of boats and seashores and a few model ships in bottles sat on shelves of framed photos of her long life.

“Please, come in and make yourself comfortable, the prime rib is still in the oven, I hope y’all are hungry,” she made a gesture for them to sit down on the cream colored sofa.

Dave met Mrs. Grier’s smile with one of his own, accompanying Ava into the house. His eyes played swiftly over the scene, checking corners and deep angles through force of habit even as he grinned and offered his hand.

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am,” he said. “Heard a lot about ya, glad to finally meet.”

After making sure that Prince would get along with Daisy, Ava stepped forward to give her friend a firm hug. She didn’t squeeze too hard, afraid to hurt the older woman, but she definitely gave her as firm a hug as she could. “Hey Diana, thank you for having us over.”

Mrs Grier chuckled and returned her hug, “Oh, it’s my pleasure, of course. And you’re finally calling me by my first name, it only took a few years.”

She laughed softly, stepping back to look at Ava with a critical eye. Mrs Grier smiled slowly then glanced over at Dave. “You’re both very welcome in my home. I hope what you heard about me was good. Oh look, Prince might be here but here comes your Nordic god.”

Thor strolled out of the dining room into the living room, his tail plumed up in the hair and he meowed in a demanding tone as he paused, staring at Ava. Daisy wiggled and pestered the big cat who ignored her as he marched up to his owner and bumped against her shins, then meowing loudly again.

Ava smiled down at the cat, crouching down and picking him up with a grunt of effort. “Well hey there stranger, long time no see.” She said, scratching and petting his long luxurious fur. “I missed you, were you a good boy for Diana?” She asked, cradling the 20lb cat as best she could.

“He was an angel,” Mrs. Grier said, “Why he and Daisy are sharing a bed and chasing each other in the garden. But he missed you, when you first leave he sits by the door in the evening. Eventually he joins us in the kitchen but I think he was waiting for you.”

Prince wagged his tail, Daisy sniffing at him and he returned the favor but now his attention was on the ball of floof in Ava’s arms. He woofed and stuck his nose at Thor who turned and hissed, batting the Dalmation’s nose without claws. This time.

“Thor, no!” Ava said, turning away so Thor wouldn’t hit Prince again. “I was just feeling bad about leaving you.” She sighed, cautiously putting him down. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being rude.” She said, clearing her throat.

She motioned to Dave. “Diana, this is Dave, we met through work and, um, well,” She looked at Dave and smiled with a small blush. “We are seeing each other.” She motioned to Mrs Grier. “And of course, Dave this is Mrs Grier, one of my closest friends and a very understanding cat sitter.”

Dave smiled through the introduction. He reached over and brushed Ava’s arm when she mentioned them being together.

“Happy to meet ya,” he said again. “I hear a bit of the South in your voice. Whereabouts you from, ma’am?”

Mrs Grier nodded again at the introduction then gave Ava a playful sly smile, “So this is who you’ve been hiding from me. I thought I saw you over there last time. Well I am happy for you both.”

She raised a brow at Dave, “I was born in Charleston, South Carolina but we moved up to Virgina when I was still young. Born into a Navy family, married a Navy man. I moved around some but this has been my home for...oh, well too many years now to want to recount.”

The woman smiled, the lines of that habit creasing her skin and she waved them both over. “Please sit, we’ll chat properly at dinner. I need to get that prime rib out of the oven, I am not a gambler but if I was a betting woman I’d bet you’re a man that likes his beef rare or at least medium rare. Ava, would you mind lending me a hand?”

“Sure!” She beamed then switched to glaring down at Thor, the large cat curled up around her legs and glaring at Prince with his tail flicking back and forth. “Be nice.” She chastised the cat before following Mrs Grier to her kitchen.

>...///

The table was set with the good china, the antique porcelain with delicate blue flowering patterns. The prime rib was medium rare, a healthy pink in the middle and sliced with precision, beside it sat the potatoes and the roasted broccoli. A basket of rolls was half empty, the gravy boat docked in front of Dave’s plate.

As they ate, Mrs Grier gently gave Dave the inquisition, “I do remember seeing you before, Dave and not too long ago. I am curious as to where and how you and Ava met.”

She glanced at the redhead, giving her warm smile, “No offense darling, but I remember when you were too nervous to go to a co-worker’s Stranger Things viewing party.”

Ava flushed at the mention of the invitation. That had only been last month, but it felt like years ago. “No, no, that’s fair.” She said with a chuckle, looking to Dave for him to answer the question.

“Oh, we met at work,” Dave said. He and Ava had prepared for this question, discussing believable possibilities until settling on one they felt was right. “We were workin’ at the same site. I’m a security contractor, so I was on the protection detail, and we just kinda hit it off.”

He grinned over at Ava, proud of himself for having remembered the story.

Mrs. Grier smiled at that, looking at Ava with a glint in her hazel eyes, “I see, there is a charm to a man capable of protecting you and still being a gentleman.”

She glanced over at Dave, “I don’t need to ask you what you saw, any man would be very lucky to have Ava’s attention.”

Setting her fork down, she said, “And I am very happy for you both and you’re welcome here. Ava will you be home for some time or are you going to be off again soon?”

Ava returned Dave’s smile, proud at how smoothly he answered the question. She turned to her friend at the question. “Oh, I’m going to be home for a good while. After the last case, we’ve been given leave to...rest and relax.” She said after a brief pause. That wasn’t the reason but that was the good she was choosing to see in the situation. “4 months at least so, you won’t need to be looking after Thor again for awhile.”

Dave reached over beneath the table and squeezed Ava’s leg, still focusing outwardly on his food.

“Gonna spend part of the time here, an’ then go see what’s what in my home state,” Dave said. “Be a good time. Do some hikin’, kick back in the Ozarks. Meet my dog.” He grinned at Ava. “He’s bigger’n she is.”

“So you’ll be home for the holidays, that’s wonderful. And I’m sure your dog misses you as well, Dave, it’s hard to be away from our fur babies,” Mrs Grier said, her expression still warm but a hint of concern came to her eyes, “Not that I don’t mind taking care of Thor but we all miss you. I’ve got a few things to do as well in about two weeks, I might need someone to babysit Daisy for a day or two, if possible. You don’t need to take her if you can’t but come by the house and check on things, feed and walk her.”

Ava perked up, eyes brightening at the chance to repay Mrs Grier for looking after Thor. “Oh I can bring her over, it’s no problem!” She said with a grin. “Especially since her and Thor are friends now. I’d love to watch her for you.”

Daisy, hearing her name, waddled over to the table and stared bug eyed up at both Ava and Mrs Grier, her curling pink tongue lolling out. She shuffled in a circle and yapped once and Prince followed over, his soft ears perked up at the idea of getting some prime rib. Only Thor remained aloof, but his tail twitched and the keen golden eyes narrowed as the dogs begged.

“That’s very nice of you,” Mrs. Grier said, “That’s one less thing to worry about. And look at you, Daisy, you spoiled girl. It’s my fault really. I never let my children feed the dogs from the table.”

She was already cutting a piece of the beef from the slice on her plate, her food had a few bites gone but most still on her plate. “How we spoil our grandchildren.”

Mrs. Grier tossed a piece to Prince who snapped it out of the air and one down to Daisy who let it hit her in the face before snatching it from the floor.

“Speaking of dogs,” she said, watching Prince stare and wag his tail, and she laughed lightly, “I’m sorry I’ve made it worse. But as I was saying, that friend I told you about that manages the farm. They’re willing to take Prince tomorrow, she said they will train him to be what he was born to be and very few of his breed get the chance to do. He’ll be a carriage dog for a reenacting troupe that boards their horses there. They do the whole colonial and Civil war era reenactments and have a carriage. She offered to help train Prince to run alongside them when they do their shows and he’ll have a home at the farm.”

Ava’s face lit up. “That would be great!” She said excitedly, setting her fork down and clapping her hands. “That’ll be just perfect for you Prince, won’t it?” She cooed, Prince walking up to her at the sound of her name, happily wagging his tail at her excitement. “You love running around, yes you do.” She said, ruffling up his ears and scratching his head.

She looked back up at Mrs Grier with a wide smile. “Thank you so much Diana, I can’t begin to pay you back for everything you’ve done to help me.” She said, tears unexpectedly starting to build in her eyes. “I’ll find some way though, I promise.”

“I’m happy to do it,” Mrs Grier replied, “You’ve been a good friend and company for me.”

She smiled but saw the tears in Ava’s eyes and reached over to pat her hand, “No tears, my dear. Or you’ll get me going. I’m just glad you moved in next door. I get lonely sometimes, all my children and grandchildren and none of them live in Virginia let alone close by. One of them is all the way on the other side of the country.”

Mrs Grier gave her a tight lipped smile, “I’ve got my Gardening Club and all those things but I value our friendship, you don’t have to even think about paying me back. If anything, just keep going, I’m so happy you’re not locking yourself away so much.”

She glanced at Dave and back at Ava, touching the delicate chain of her necklace, the heavy gold band hidden under her silk blouse. “That makes me happy. Also your cheesecake, I never did master it as you have.”

Ava laughed, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. “In that case, I’ll be sure to make a cheesecake and bring you a slice.” She smiled, placing her hand on top of Mrs Grier’s. She smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad I moved next door too.”

Dave beamed through their conversation, happy just to see Ava happy. He ate in silence while the two chatted, occasionally taking a surreptitious glance around and then lowering a piece of fat to one dog or the other. At the mention of cheesecake he perked up.

“You make cheesecake?” He asked, hope in his voice.

Ava laughed again and nodded over at Dave. “Yes, I make cheesecake. I need to go shopping anyway and I’ll get the ingredients for it.” She smiled at the both of them. “We could all use a little cheesecake.”

Dave nodded. “Alright well, you’re gonna teach me, an’ I’m gonna make one, so we’ve got two. Cuz I don’t wanna have to fight Diana over cheesecake. Pretty sure she’s gonna win.”

>...///

Ava blinked her eyes as she felt them start to grow heavy. She was snuggled up on the couch with Dave, her belly still full from the feast they had eaten at Mrs Grier’s and with Batman the animated series on; she was surprised she hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

Thor was perched on the back of the couch, keeping a watchful eye on Prince whom was snoring softly on the loveseat. After being chained in a yard all his life, Ava didn’t blame the dog for wanting to sleep on the softest bed available.

She yawned,turning to rest her chin on Dave’s chest and look up at him. “Hi.” She muttered with a small smile.

Dave cracked an eye, his attention drawn by her small movements and the sound of her voice. The food, the couch, and Ava’s body against his had lulled him into a steady nap, undisturbed until she greeted him. He met her smile with a grin of his own.

“Hi,” he said.

She noticed him rousing and rubbed her hand up and down his arm. “Do you want to head to bed?”

“Only if you want to,” Dave said. He yawned expansively, then stretched his shoulders. “I’m good here, watchin’ the show with ya.”

She grinned at his yawn and laid her head down, snuggling up against his chest. “Mm, I like this.” She murmured with a happy sigh. “Let’s just stay here forever. No more Program or anything.”

Dave felt a pang at her words and squeezed her.

“I like this too,” he whispered. He was silent a moment. “We could, you know. After all this is done? I wanna see this out, but after that…” He trailed off.

She looked up at him curiously. “What do you mean? We could what?”

"We could… Quit. Walk away. Live, ya know?" He sighed, looking over at the wall. "No more sneakin' around. No more hurtin' people. No more killin'. Just live."

“…You think they would let us?” She asked Dave quietly, her voice tinted with both hope and doubt. “Let me?”

"I think we ain't no good to 'em if we don't want to be there in the first place," Dave said. "I think they're smart enough to know that. An' I think Donnelley could put in a word. Queen and Ghost too, maybe."

Ava looked at him, eyes holding conflicting emotions. She clearly wanted to believe what he was saying could happen, but there was a pessimistic side of her that was doubtful. “Back in Alaska,” Ava said, her voice soft. “When we all found each other, before Donnelley called Foster, he told us…That that was our only chance to walk away.”

“But once this is over, that might be different,” Dave said. He shook his head. “I gotta believe that. Once we finish this, once we kill who needs killin’, I gotta believe there’s a way out.”

His arms tightened around her. “We can’t spend our lives like this, sugar.”

She smiled at him. “That does sound really nice.” She murmured, her eyes unfocusing and staring off in the distance. She focused back on him and her expression warmed, though it was tempered by a lingering shadow. “I hope we can do that.”

“Me too,” Dave said quietly. He leaned down to kiss her forehead and gave her another squeeze. “Me too.”

Ava shut her eyes at the kiss, resting against Dave’s chest and in his arms as a battle raged inside. A struggle to want to believe that they could eventually get out, but unable to ignore the reality that she had seen.

She tightened her hand on Dave’s shirt and opened her eyes to look up at him. She leaned up and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

He blinked in surprise, but met the kiss all the same, pulling her against him. His hand squeezed her hip as he deepened the kiss, their bodies melding, the firm warmth of her urging him on. After a few moments he pulled back and grinned.

“Should I pause Batman?” He asked, his eyes dancing.

She met his eyes and nodded, pressing her face to his neck and jaw and laying kisses there.

Dave groaned and reached for the remote, fumbling until he found it.

“Pausing Batman.”
Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by idlehands
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idlehands heartless

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>1046 Ocean Dr, Miami FL
>SEPT 2019
>0715...///

Sunlight gleamed off the ocean, white screeching slashes of seagulls hovering in the distance to catch the morning breeze. Billy Patrick leaned on the balcony, dressed in nothing more than a pair of boxers and a cigarette between his lips. His face was drawn and the blood shot eyes hidden behind the aviator sunglasses. Behind him the doors opened to a bedroom cluttered with detris of a transient life and a rumpled, unmade bed.

A figure lay still curled up and Billy tried to remember her name but it escaped him. She had liked his coke and his cock and that had been enough last night. He exhaled the smoke, watching the surf break on the flat expanse of beach. It was a Miami beachfront rental and in the early hours he could watch the sunrise before the early rising retirees arrived with lumpy asses crammed into swimsuits and skinny old men with metal detectors scanned for quarters.

The palm fronds rustled and the sound made him twitch. Billy looked over but it was just a bird, some little brown sparrow, nothing exotic. He waved his cigarette and it snatched one of the discarded butts and flew off. Watching it, he recalled reading somewhere that they lined their nests with cigarette filters, something in them keeping away parasites. A dry chuckle sounded in his throat, there was something ironic there but his brain was too numb to make the connection. He could hardly remember the night before.

“Got one of those for me?”

The voice was raspy with sleep, feminine and he turned, looking at the petite pretty girl and felt himself startle. She looked young, too young for him to have brought home, and panic seized him. Billy kept his composure and reached into the waistband of his boxers, drawing out a pack of Kools and lighter. He handed her one and offered a light as he studied her face. Billy tried to remember where they met and when she met his eyes, fragments started to click into place.

She had dark curls and big brown eyes, some sort of island blend with ripe curves. He watched her take the cigarette and he held the lighter for her. The girl smoked but how she held the cigarette and kept adjusting it told him she had not been smoking long. Billy felt sweat break out on his forehead and he ran a hand over his hair.

“Listen, uh,” he looked her over, she was wearing his old Flying Tigers jersey and he must have given it to her or she went through his closet. He shook his head, the hangover protesting the movement.

“Why don’t you just relax out here, I’ll make us some breakfast,” he said, snuffing out the menthol cigarette. “Think you could eat?”

The girl smiled, a dark curl falling over one eye in a coy manner, “Ok, I like pancakes, blueberry pancakes.”

Blueberry pancakes, Christ.

“I’ll see what I have, you eat meat?” he asked as he paused at the French doors on the balcony.

She giggled, flicking ash in an awkward movement, her full thighs exposed under the hem of the jersey as she sat down in the lawn chair. “I think you should know that after last night,” she said, her tongue flicking.

Billy smiled but his heart was thumping and he closed the door behind him, immediately bolting over to the bed. He tossed covers aside, sending a vibrator sailing over to smack against the floor, the blow turning it on. It began churning around, buzzing in a fury of a hundred angry bees. He grabbed it up and pushed at the buttons, finally turning off the power.

His barefoot skidded and he looked down, repulsed to find his own used condom. Billy grabbed it and stopped at the bathroom to toss it in the toilet. He continued the hunt for the girl’s purse, they always had a purse. He found her underwear and her skirt in the hallway. Then he spotted it, a sequined pocket book on the table and he grabbed it, digging through it until he found a wallet. His mouth felt dry as he opened it, spotting the school ID right away.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed out as he saw her picture on the University of Miami ID and then her driver’s license that listed her age at 20. Too young to be in a club but old enough to fuck. Her name was Camila Cortez. Billy dropped the wallet back in the purse and tossed it over on the bed along with her scattered clothes.

He stood in the middle of the suite, the tropical decor that did not belong to him nor did the furniture. It was a rented condo on the beach he picked up for two weeks at a good deal of a mixture of blackmail and premium coke to the owner as he expected to be called up by the Program soon.

Feeling more confident, he stepped out through the doors, “Frozen waffles do?”

Camila shrugged, “Fresh orange juice?”

“Sunny D.”

With a sigh, she said, “I guess.”

She was pouty and toyed with the waffles and pork links and despite her sitting with the jersey open for him to admire her firm brown flesh, he was quickly losing his taste for having her around as she complained about the plain coffee and lack of fruit. His thoughts for a morning quickie died and he shoved the last waffle in his mouth, scooping up the plate to drop it in the sink.

After breakfast, he got dressed and took his jersey back, despite her pouting. His head throbbed, the ecstasy and cocaine, god knows what else he’d taken at the club. Billy reached to grab the bottle of blue Gatorade, chugging it down as he waited on the red light. Partying was not the same without his team members, men he could trust. Even as he drove to work, it felt odd, this was supposed to be his day job but it felt more like an intrusion into his real career with the Program.

>Weston, FL
>0900...///

The Florida Division of the DEA’s office was nestled in the The division office was much the same, a clean and minimalist style decor, maps up on the wall, desks and monitors paired up and file cabinets jammed into the corners. Federal money kept the DEA office with the almost latest computers and functioning office chairs and a cleaning crew.

¡Acere, qué bolá! Look who’s home early,” a familiar voice called out as Queen entered the office of the undercover task force.

Queen turned and grinned, spotting the hulking Cuban American, his old partner and gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well you know. Duty calls.”

Romero squinted at him, “You look like shit, chico.”

“Thanks, good to see you, too,” Queen said, setting his briefcase on the desk that had been his. It had a thin layer of dust on it and all his pens were stolen from the homemade pencil holder that had been a gift from his mother after she took a pottery class. “Figured y’all could use a taste of me.”

“Oh yeah...”

“Agent Patrick.”

Queen or rather Billy, turned to see the Senior Special Agent looking right at him. He was a short, slightly built man with a stubble of white beard and hard dark eyes. “Come see me.”

Agent Romero shook his head, making a tsking sound and a few others smirked at the fate of their oft missing fellow DEA agent. He left his desk and went to the office, SSA Tompkins perched on his desk as he stepped inside.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re an hour late,” Tompkins said.

“But I’m a week early,’ Queen countered. “Sorry.”

“You look like shit, Patrick. Last time you looked like shit, too. Losing weight, too.”

Queen glanced away, crossing his arms over his chest, “You keeping tabs on my waistline?”

“No, I’m keeping tabs on the health of one of my agents. I know how y’all run in undercover, I let you get a little loose but you have to control it,” Tompkins said gruffly, “You don’t look like you’re controlling shit.”

“I’m fine, just been working a lot for...you know, the other thing,” Queen said, then cleared his throat. “Just a stressful job.”

“No, I don’t know the other thing. And I have to be fine with that, classified is classified. I get that. But you’re running ragged and whatever you’re snorting or popping, you need to slow the fuck down,” Tompkins said, pushing off the desk.

Queen glanced up, ready to deny it but it was useless, the senior agent knew what he was looking at. “It’s just...alright, I got it. No problem.”

“You need to visit a counselor, I got a couple names that will keep your privacy. I don’t want you busted or fired, you know that,” the senior agent rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “I know whatever it is they got you doing, it’s not easy. I wish you’d just quit and come back but I know it ain’t that easy. “

He reached back and took a folder, passing it over to Queen. “Billy, that’s your performance test, it’s two weeks past due. I entered it for you but you’ll need to do the fitness and shooting on your own. This is the last time. Make sure you make time for your day job, you’re still picking up a check and taking up a spot in this office.”

“Shit, thanks,” Queen took the folder and closed his eyes, he had completely forgotten about logging in and doing it online. “I’ll sign up for those tests today. Got anything we’re working on.”

Tompkins sniffed then narrowed his dark eyes, “Maybe. You recall your old friends, the Hell’s Highest?”

Queen held his breath, the name of the motorcycle club that still haunted his otherwise impeccable case record. He had fucked up on purpose but no one could prove it and he wondered if Tompkins suspected it or bought the local cops getting lucky.

“What about them?”

“We’re getting a lot more activity from central Florida. Increased narcotics going through from Louisiana via Texas rather than Miami. Among other things, but our concern is the meth. It’s not just cooking local, we suspect they’re moving coke and that rumor is being repeated down here among the Corporation and some other movers. They keep that shit up they’ll run into them, it’ll be bloody.”

“So, why are you telling me?”

“Might need you again, to go under. Put you on parole from Oregon State and show up, see what’s going on,” Tompkins said, watching him closely.

“I don’t know, boss. I might get recalled for...the thing,” Queen said though the idea of seeing the Hell’s Highest again sent a spark of excitement through him.

“Don’t they tell you when you can be off to actually work?”

“Sometimes, then sometimes shit comes up and we’re needed,” Queen shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I can put out some feelers, make contact to see how they feel about me. Then I can let you know.”

“MMhmm,” the senior agent grunted, “You got a week. Unless you’re called away, of course. I swear they should be compensating this division. Whoever they are.”

Queen shrugged, unsure what to say to that. It was inconvenient for the DEA but since he was a fed working for feds, it never went anywhere other than complaints.

“Agent Patrick, look into that. Let me know,” he said, “You’re records will get updated.”

“Yes, sir,” Queen replied, “I’ll keep you posted.”

> I-98 Hwy,outside Perry,l FL
>SEPT 2019
>0715...///

The Greyhound station was just like a million others across America, a small building with a canopy set on the side of a nowhere road. On an average night the lot would be mostly empty, just a small fleet of busses making pick-ups and drop offs and a handful of cars waiting for passengers. Tonight was not an average night.

Molly Hatchet’s Flirtin’ With Disaster blared from a set of speakers that would have been at home at a rock concert, set into the back of a black van. A pack of miscreants in black-and-red had conquered the northwest corner of the lot, circling it with Harley Davidson motorcycles and beat up trucks. They loitered in packs, drinking beer and passing liquor and joints in the open, secure in the knowledge that barring a federal raid there weren’t enough cops in North Florida to ruin their party.

The passengers waiting for their busses, normally bustling about with luggage and phone calls, were subdued. The homeless were clustered in a tight knot, doing their best to avoid notice. Red-and-Black was in town. The Hell’s Highest. Their devilish patch was known across Florida, and between the bumping music and the flowing liquor nobody dared make a wrong move.

“You’re sure this is the station?” Goat was a short man, middle aged, with a graying goatee that reached to the middle of his chest wound into a tight tail. He was wiry, tattooed, with a hard glare and a scar that ran from temple to jaw on the left side of his face. If those weren’t enough to warn people away, then the PRESIDENT tab on his chest usually did the trick.

Kid, by contrast, was huge. Six-and-a-half feet tall, built like a linebacker. His SGT-AT-ARMS tab fit his build. His clean-shaven, babyish face didn’t.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Kid said. It was the fifth time Goat had asked. Kid was counting. “It’s the only fuckin’ station in the area, man, relax. Have a fuckin’ smoke or somethin’.”

The pickup crew had started as eight people, six patch-holders and two prospects, but as other members pulled into town and got sidetracked on their way to the party it had swelled to 20 people, a small army by Outlaw Biker standards. Three Deputy trucks were parked in the same lot, all of them watching the bikers and all of them powerless to stop the public intoxication and drug use that they were witnessing.

A number of women had made the group larger still, most of them filtering over from among the Greyhound passengers. A few were clearly intent on accompanying the bikers, judging by how they’d tossed their small travel bags into the Club van. Kid snagged one as she walked past, a skinny blonde of dubious legality who already looked like she’d been sampling the local marijuana strain. He threw his arm around her and she melded against him.

“You want me to call him again?” Kid asked. Goat shook his head.

“Give him another...Five, ten minutes, I guess. Then call him,” Goat said. “Wanna meet up with the rest of the guys in case the Locals decide to call in back-up. And before those other idiots drink all the beer.”

Billy sat on the bus, his duffel stowed under his seat as it rolled closer to the station somewhere near the Florida-Georgia line. Queen was left behind in Miami, as was Billy Patrick. Here he was biker, ex-con William Collins, nicknamed for his pretty good looks. It was a valid cover still as he had been deeply ingrained in the Hell’s Highest a few years back before the bust for meth production occurred. For now, he set in his mind the story he built up serving time at the Oregon State pen for old distribution charges. He reviewed the stories over and over, committing them to memory, pushing back anything else other than who William “Hollywood” Collins was.

As the bus approached, he leaned against the window, catching sight of the lines of bikes and big bastards in vests with the dapper smirking devil patch between the rockers. Despite the deception, Hollywood had made good friends among them and despite the guilt and risk, he looked forward to losing himself in the Hell’s Highest and being one of them again.

Air brakes squealed and the bus shuddered to a stop, the driver making no move to get out. “Y’all got luggage underneath?”

A few acknowledged and he grumbled, hefting himself out of the driver’s seat. Hollywood did not and grabbed his duffel, reaching up to touch the joint tucked behind his ear. Brazen for a man skipping parole but so was the Bersa Thunder9 pistol tucked in the small of his back under the denim jacket.

He was dressed in old dirty jeans, a wife beater and the jacket, his bag stuffed with weed and some coke wrapped in jeans and extra socks and t-shirts, a few other items but he traveled light for this. His hair had not been washed in a few days as Greyhound didn’t stop but for one fifteen minutes at a McDonalds certainly not to wash up. Hollywood slid off the seat and turned to the pretty light skinned black girl he had chatted up from where he had hopped the bus in New Orleans.

“Hey Jada, you oughta come party, these are those friends I told you about,” he said, leaning over her with his hand on the headrest, ignoring the people behind him trying to get off.

“Boy, I gotta get to Atlanta, I can’t be stopping. Besides...your friends look dangerous. I ain’t about to get trained and shit,” she replied, tossing the brown curls of her thick hair aside. “I know what you dirty white boys be doing.”

Hollywood grinned and leaned lower, making her shiver a little with the warm wash of breath down her neck. He could see her nipples get hard under the thin tank top over a generous bust. “C’mon, you’ll be alright. You’re with me and I’m the guest of honor. Have some beer and fun, get a story to tell your sister in Atlanta.”

Her dark eyes were a deep shade of hazel and she flashed them with effect, “I guess. But you better get a room somewhere, I want a shower.”

He winked at her, then offered his hand to help her out of the seat.

“Would you fucking move,” a voice shouted behind him.

“Hey, shut the fuck up,” Hollywood turned, his jacket riding up enough that the owner of the voice said no more.

Jada followed him off the bus parting ways to get her bag from the hold underneath while he walked forward in the parking lot bathed in yellow street lights and headlights of idling cars.

Slinging the duffel on his shoulder, he could hear Molly Hatchet blaring and he flung his arms out. “Goddamn look at all y’all beautiful scumbag motherfuckers,” he flashed the dimpled grin that lit his face. “Good to be home, brothers.”

As Hollywood left the bus the gathered bikers erupted, their cheer drawing nervous stares from surrounding civilians. Goat was the first to reach him, the others holding back as the local Pres stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hollywood. The old man squeezed him tight, then pulled back and gave him a gold-toothed grin.

“Lookit you, boy, got skinny in the joint,” Goat laughed. He reached up and patted Hollywood’s cheek with a calloused hand, then pulled him into another hug. “Good to have you back, brother.”

The moment Goat released him Kid took over, the huge man wrapping Hollywood in a spine-cracking bearhug.

“God damn, been too long motherfucker!” He said, his grin broad.

Hollywood hugged the old man, there was more gray in that goatee than he remembered. Goat held that paternal affection that he had lacked so much in his real life and it was something Hollywood craved. He squeezed back and laughed, glancing down at his lean body and shrugged, “Man, fucking Oregon State servin’ fucking tofu and shit. Buncha vegans in the block.”

He grinned at his own joke, swerving past his stress and cocaine induced weight loss. “It’s good to be b-”

His words cut off as he was engulfed by Kid and he returned the embrace as well as he could, slapping the man’s beefy shoulders, “Been way too long, thought they’d never let me out on the leash. Gnawed through that motherfucker quick as I could to get back home.”

Hollywood pulled back after being released, “What they feeding you, goddamn. A whole side of beef?”

He laughed until he saw the Sergeant-at-Arms patch and he furrowed his brow, unspoken meaning there. “Hey, Kid. Congratulations on the promotion...uh, so Damage?”

The question would certainly have some heavy answer, the big man had been their sergeant at arms for years.

Kid grimaced and Goat reached out to give Hollywood’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Cro-Mags,” the old man said. “Outside Ft. Lauderdale, two years ago. We got ‘em back.”

He slapped Hollywood on the shoulder. “C’mon, brother. Heavy talks can wait. We’ll tell you the story tonight. Right now we’re celebratin’, right?”

Hollywood drew in a breath with a grimace, Damage had been a friend. A big, mean cuss but he had a heart, not like a certain other big mean cuss he worked with now. “Damn, sorry to hear that but I ain’t got a doubt you did right by him.”

Putting his hands on his narrow hips, he grinned, “Yeah we are, it’s been so long. I missed y’all, I missed Florida.”

He glanced over at the girl, Jada, who had grabbed her bag but now looked a little lost and worried as the bus was pulling out. Hollywood gave her a little flick of his hand, gesturing towards a knot of women drinking beer. Some wore property vests but most were unadorned and available.

“I sure as fuck missed pussy,” he said with a sly grin. “By the way, I brought some Oregon lawn clippings.”

Reaching up, he took the rolled cigarette from behind his ear and handed it to Goat, “Fucking hippies, man. But it’s good shit.”

Goat took the joint and produced a lighter from his pocket, striking it and inhaling deeply. He bit back a cough, then blew a cloud of smoke.

“Not bad,” he said. He was unwilling to give any Left Coast liberals the honor of declaring their weed good. “C’mon, we got somethin’ for ya.”

He grabbed Hollywood by the collar and dragged him towards the other Highest, Kid falling in beside him. They were clustered around the van, the music still blaring.

“You been gone a long time,” he said as they walked. “But we got somethin’ for ya. Prospect!”
He boomed the last, and a bearded man in his 40s sprinted to the van. He fired it up and pulled forward, and the gathered bikers broke into another cheer as the surprise was revealed.

Hollywood’s Sportster sat on its kickstand, freshly cleaned and polished. His Colors hung from the handlebars.

“Good to have you back, boy,” Goat said, releasing his collar.

Hollywood walked along with them, pleased that the gift was well received by the tribal chief. It felt good to be welcomed with such warmth and he pushed the guilt of it being built on lies down until it was distant and faint. The ability to compartmentalize had been honed over the last five years. His slight smile faded suddenly as the van pulled away and the sudden rush of emotion hit him. Genuine affection and even love, hit him and he grinned but his sea colored eyes glinted with unshed tears.

“Holy shit,” he said, his throat tightening. “Man...that’s her, it’s my girl.”

He turned to Goat and gave him another hug, “Thanks, man. This means a lot.”

Hollywood swiped his eyes, letting the Hell’s Highest leader go. He sniffed and went over to the bike, touching the long arched handlebars of the Harley Sportster with a sense of awe. They kept her in running condition, something that could have been easily sold off or shuffled over to some worthy biker. But it was held for him and Hollywood felt the swell in his chest threaten more tears.

He yanked his jacket off, tossing it over the seat and pulled his vest on. The black leather was soft and well kept, someone had oiled it and made sure it stayed safe from pests that might have chewed it up. He ran his hand down the front, the road name patch with ‘HOLLYWOOD’ in white thread against the red bordered black patch.

He held his arms out and gave a turn so they could see the Hell’s Highest Devil on the back and he grinned, his dimples deep creases. “Thank you, I don’t know what else to say. You’ve done the impossible and shut me up. Y’all are the best fucking brothers I could ever have.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he felt the tears that had been threatening spill out and he let them. No shame but the one deep down that insisted on being present.

The bikers gathered around, all of them shaking Hollywood’s hand, hugging him, welcoming him back. New faces introduced themselves and old ones laughed as they congratulated him on surviving his sentence.

The rumble of engines drifted in on the wind and the group paused, men reaching subtly beneath vests and into waistbands and pockets. Ten bikes pulled into the lot, rolling to a stop near the group, and as the engines cut off Goat waved everyone down, grinning.
“Almost missed us!” He said as the lead figure stepped off his bike and pulled down a red and black bandanna. He walked up and gave the tall man a hug.

“Hollywood, you must be important or somethin’,” Goat said. “Some asshole decided to send the Nomads all the way out here to see you.”

The newcomer grinned as he walked up to Hollywood. They could have been brothers; both had the same dirty-blonde hair and short goatee, with tattoos running from fingertip to jawline. The man laughed as he grabbed Hollywood and pulled him into the tightest hug of the night.

“God damn I’ve missed you, man,” he said, finally pounding him on the back.

Hollywood perked up at the sight of the bikers, the deep rumble and shining headlights making cars change lanes and back away. As they pulled into the parking lot, all wearing the black and red, he smiled at Goat’s comment.

“I’ll be damned,” he laughed, recognizing the face as the bandana was lowered. The face he knew and loved like a brother, the only one that challenged Tex for the place in his heart. “Goddamn Easy, still ain’t settled down.”

He grabbed his shoulders and hugged him tight, his hand gripped the back of Easy’s neck in and the tears threatened again. “I missed you too, brother,” he said, “Sorry I couldn’t write more, you know how shit is inside. But I missed my road dog.”

Hollywood pulled back, still gripping Easy’s hand, looking him over at his bare chest. “Looking good, got a lot of new ink. A couple of love bites?”

He gestured at scars that had not been there before then let his hand go but through an arm around his shoulders, “Really glad you and the boys came up, wouldn’t be a reunion without you, bro. Feels like coming home.”

Jada stood awkwardly with a Bud Light in her hand and her backpack over her shoulder. The women mostly ignored her, the ones with vests that said property of so and so made her raise her brow. No one was going to call her property that’s for damn sure. A skinny blonde around her own age came up, tossing long hair over sunburned shoulders. The tube top clung to her small perky breasts, she seemed childlike compared to Jada’s lush figure.

“That new guy is super hot,” she said, “So is the dude Hollywood, he must be someone”.”

“I’m with him,” Jada said, smiling with a little pride.

The girl looked at her with a little awe until one of the women in a vest, a tall chainsmoking redhead with a soft of Camels stuck between her cleavage, “Honey, y’all ain’t with anyone less you’re someone’s property. You’re free real estate.”

The other women laughed and both girls stared for a moment then the blonde shrugged, “Fuck it, the big guy seems to like me but I wouldn’t mind banging those two and maybe that dude with the black beard.”

Jada raised her brows, “White girl be wildin’. You gonna fuck all them?”

“Sure...if they want,” she said, bouncing her hip out the jean cut offs almost as brief as underwear. “Why the fuck not? Who’s gonna know about it when we go home. They got good drugs and booze, I heard.”

Jada conceded the point, and watched the men embrace as they stood off to the side. She drank the beer even though it tasted like shit. “They are pretty hot though,” she agreed.

Goat allowed the two men a moment. Despite being a Nomad who traveled the breadth of the Highest’s territory, Easy had always seemed to linger when he came through. He and Hollywood had been a pair of hellions, constantly raising trouble at the bars, bringing random women back to the Clubhouse and getting into brawls. Goat and Kid stood back and let them reconnect.

After a few minutes the Pres raised his hand, waving it in a circle.

“Alright, motherfuckers, I’m sober an’ sick of it! Mount up, we’re headin’ to the party!” He walked towards his bike, pointing at the redhead who stood with the two randoms, the skinny blonde and the well-built half-breed that Hollywood had strung along. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the bike, then mounted up himself.

The redhead flicked the cigarette onto the parking lot and trotted towards Goat’s bike. As she passed the young women, she said, “This is where we separate the women from the girls, good luck.”

She mounted behind the Hell’s Highest president and gripped with her well toned thighs against his hips. With a quick movement she reached up and piled the long red hair up and put her helmet on. Cool points meant less when one had kids.

Jada glanced at the blonde, “So you gonna go?”

Hollywood nudged Easy, “I’m gonna collect my fun for the night, that one’s mine.”

He nodded towards Jada, admiring her shape in the halter top and shorts, her thick thighs smooth and bright against the white clothes. He grinned as he approached, taking in the sassy cant of her full hips as she planted a hand on one of them.

“Coming with or catching the next bus?” he asked, clearly pleased with himself after the greeting she witnessed.

“Hollywood?” she said, raising a brow as he plucked the near full beer from her hand.

“Yup, ‘cuz I’m so pretty,” he grinned and chugged the Bud Light, tossing the can into the metal trash barrel. “You can call me that.”

“Okay, William,” she said, then smiled, a blush rising in her caramel skin. “Yeah, I’ll go. Fuck it. But you remember I posted that selfie we took so if I disappear…”

He laughed and put an arm around her, “You’ll be fine, you’re gonna love it. This is my brother, Easy. Easy, this is Jada.”

She looked at him, her eyes bouncing from his tattooed chest to his handsome face and was not sure they weren’t really brothers.

“Easy,” he said, nodding at her. He glanced at the blonde and quirked a brow. “An’ what’s your name, sweetheart? You got a ride yet?”

The blonde tried to look as confident but her youthful features blushed immediately when Easy turned his attention to her. “St..uh...Summer,” she said, grinning back at him. “That’s what they call me.”

She pushed her little chest forward and held her hand out for him to shake. “No ride yet, I kinda don’t want to get stranded.”

Easy took her hand, then tugged her over to him and slipped his arm around her waist.

“Hollywood! When we pull out, you pull up to the front of the Nomads pack with me,” he said. “We ain’t rode together in too long.”

He gave Summer’s hip a squeeze and turned, leading her towards his bike. “Now you ever been on a Harley, Summer? You just sit back there and hold my waist, you’ll be just fine.”

Hollywood grinned at him raising his brow at the blonde now snugged up against him. “I ain’t rode in a long time, period. Time to get my sea legs back.”

Jada glanced at him, “Should I be concerned?”

“Nah, I got this, just do like he said, hold onto my waist and push them titties up on my back,” he laughed, giving her a little side embrace. He could see the pleasure in her face despite her sassy pout.

Summer just beamed a smile from her sun kissed face, the freckles across her nose giving her a more youthful air. “A couple times, my...old man had a motorcycle but it was a Honda.”
She began braiding her hair back to keep it from flying too much, the pale lines from her bikini ran from her shoulders downward to disappear under her tubetop. “I never rode with a real biker either.”

“Well I hope the experience is a good one,” Easy laughed as he led her to his bike. The Street Glide was a big, heavy machine, with saddlebags for hauling luggage, a fairing to keep the wind at bay, and seats designed for thousand-mile runs. His was black, pinstriped in red, with a red 1% diamond decal’ed onto the front of the fairing. The word Reign, part of the Hell’s Highest motto, was stenciled on either saddlebag in Old English lettering that matched the tattoo on the right side of Easy’s neck.

He climbed onto the bike and stood it up, then offered an arm to Summer as support.

Summer bit her plump lower lip and hurried to join him, her crocheted purse banging off her hip and the backpack slung over her shoulders. She wore Converse sneakers without socks, the only shoes she had other than a pair of flip flops in her bag. Climbing on, she eagerly put her arms around his waist, her hands feeling his flat hard stomach.

Hollywood walked over to his girl, the Harley Sportster gleaming in the parking lot lights. It was mostly black and chrome but the tank had red letters “HHF-FHH” and the same 1% diamond decals. It was not the heavier, more comfortable bike but it could carry another person. He straddled it and though he’d ridden with Donnelley several times since meeting him in the Program this was his bike, his war horse.

When he started it, the engine roared to life and the mufflers vibrated with the noise. Purring like a kitten, they had taken care of her and not let her rot in a garage. He caressed the bike then remembered Jada.

“Hop on, just get your bag secure,” he instructed, looking at her over his shoulder. “Watch your legs by the pipes and hold on.”

She did as she was told, wearing her bag like a backpack and managed to get on, squeezing between Hollywood and the backrest. He kicked the stand back with the heel of his boot, playing up the wobble with a laugh even as Jada cursed and squealed, clinging tighter.

“Might need training wheels, Hollywood!” one of the nomads called out, laughing.

“Nah, I just need to go faster,” he said, looking over at Easy. “Ready when you are.”

Easy grinned and gunned his throttle, making his bike roar, and the other Hell’s Highest responded with roaring engines of their own. Goat led, pulling out of the parking lot with Kid on his heels. The rest of the local chapter followed, and the Nomads pulled out after them, Easy leading their pack. His second, a black-bearded brute named Animal, fell back to allow Hollywood to pull his bike into place beside the Nomad leader.

Behind the Nomads came the members from other Chapters, falling in according to their own esoteric rules, until finally the Prospects pulled onto the road with the van bringing up the rear. There were over 30 bikes all told, and as they settled into formation each bike on the right pulled up to the one on the left, so that they rode side by side. It was the most difficult riding formation, and easily the most dangerous, but it was also by far the most visually impressive. As one the bikes accelerated until they were well past the speed limit, bombing down the road towards the nearby campground in a roar of mechanical noise.

He had forgotten, in all the years after leaving the assignment, he had forgotten what a pure joy and thrill it was to ride with his brothers. They were Hollywood’s brothers but his when he embodied that role. He let his mind only take in the roar of engines and dozens of headlights popping on as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Hollywood shot a grin and raised his fist at Animal as he allowed him into their pack and the position beside their leader. He pulled up next to Easy, keeping the pace after a few braking and throttling, keeping up appearances of rustiness on a bike. He had not ridden so close and he felt Jada grip him tight but if she said anything it was lost to the wind and roar of mufflers.

Summer felt a raw thrill when they took off and followed the leader, the rest of the pack surrounding and trailing them. She sat up as much as she dared, her excited whoop not much more than a high pitched yelp as she clung to Easy. Her long straight hair quickly slipped from the haphazard braid and fluttered like a pale banner behind her.

Hollywood thought about the cocaine but for once was content with the excitement of a rally ride. A rally for him and he let himself enjoy the moment, only wishing Donnelley was there to share in it.

The ride was less than 10 minutes on the highway before the open ground gave way to heavy woods on either side. Goat slowed and pulled off onto one of the winding side roads that cut through the trees and the formation thinned. Easy gave Hollywood a small salute and then pulled in front of him as the road narrowed.

“‘Bout another 20 minutes from here,” he called to Summer. He reached back and patted her bare thigh, then allowed his hand to sit there on the smooth skin. “It ain’t really far, but there’s a lotta turns an’ ya gotta go slow. Plus it’s dark, don’t wanna end up kissin’ a tree, do ya?”

Feeling his hand, Summer squeezed him a little tighter, she liked his commanding presence and he was the bad sexy that would have had her Dad chasing him with a shotgun. She spoke in his ear, “I like going fast but I’d rather kiss you than a tree.”

She grinned at her own boldness, curling her fingers against the top of his pants, gripping his belt.

Hollywood followed into the more narrow line, now guiding the bike with practiced ease and he called back to Jada, “Fun isn’t it?”

She considered her answer, it was strange rolling down the highway with a bunch of dirty white boys and the danger fueled the excitement she felt since she had met Hollywood. Jada had never bothered with white boys in Atlanta, but here she was. She laughed at the absurdity, “Yeah, it’s wild, alright. How much farther?”

Hollywood shrugged then said, “Long as it takes, just relax and enjoy it. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Jada hugged up on him, his body was leaner than Easy’s but still hard with a lithe strength. She could see the bikes before them and the long train behind, heading into the unknown rural Florida night. Her sister was going to kill her.

---------

The convoy pushed on in the tight press of the trees, the riders leaning as the road wound here and there on its route to the lake. Suddenly their surroundings opened up, the trees giving way all at once to a broad, flat plain occupied by RV’s and campers. The prime spots, closest to the water, were a riot of noise and light.

A group twice the size of the welcoming committee had set up camp at the lake’s edge. Music blared from different campsites and fires blazed, and members of the Hell’s Highest wandered here and there with drink, drugs, and women. They cheered as the bikes pulled up, men coming over to greet them.

Goat waited for Red to dismount before he dropped his kickstand and climbed off the bike, stretch his back with a grunt. When she’d removed her helmet he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Go on and make sure them other girls have the food goin’,” he said, then slapped her on the rump. “I’ma make sure Hollywood settles in.”

Hollywood had a huge grin as they rolled in, his face ached from smiling so much, it had been awhile since he had felt genuinely happy. Ever since his best friend left THUNDER, life had been a little less fun. Now this life, this was one that was fun and full of love and loyalty. His heart skipped a beat as the last word ran through his mind. His smile only faltered slightly but he covered by turning to call out to Easy, “Club’s grown, man. This looks great.”

As they pulled in, Jada watched with wide hazel eyes, scanning the mostly white crowd but found a couple of black dudes wearing the colors and even more women of various shades. She relaxed a little, she would not be the only one.

Red jumped off the motorcycle, still energetic and filling out the tank top and jeans with maternal curves. She smiled at the affection from Goat and set the helmet on the seat, “You got it boss, man.”

She left and sauntered over towards the pair of large grills going, the cooking RV as they called it. With her arms outstretched, Hollywood could hear her call out, “Where my bitches at?”

She was greeted with a chorus from women in black vests, most of them wearing red tops of some type or another. Jada tapped him and he turned back, “Home sweet home, come on.”

“I didn’t know you had brothas with your brothers,” she quipped as she slid off the bike, mindful of the hot pipes. “Yo, I’m from ATL. I still never seen so many white boys in one place.”

He laughed and dismounted, “We don’t discriminate if that’s what had you worried.”

Jada raised a brow then shrugged in away that made her generous chest bounce. “Glad to know it, you seem like a pretty chill dude so I figured it couldn’t be that bad.”

Hollywood looked at her, her innocent trust tugged at him in more than one way. There was always that part of himself he disliked but used, the one that made people trust him and he enjoyed earning it. It was how he had to operate and sometimes it felt good to bait someone into a trap. Other times, it ate away at his soul.

In this case, he meant her no harm and just enjoyed her appearance and sass. “Well, you’re right. Come on, there’s lots of liquor or whatever you want.”

He approached Easy, giving him a quick almost Predator handshake and grinned at the blonde still perched on his bike. The campgrounds were full of RVs and trucks with campers, even tents. Smoke from the grill and the smell of cooking food from the big RV rose above the stink of weed and the scent of lake water.

“It feels good to be free,” he said in a low tone for Easy to hear.

------------------------------

The party had mellowed after the initial hellos, the countless hugs and handshakes. Red’s girls had kept a steady stream of meat on the grills, and with the Prospects running drinks and drugs to anybody who called, many of the patch-holders were settling into a lazier brand of party, with the hard-charging holdouts separating off to ride donuts, pop wheelies, and do lines while the others smoked and drank.

Easy had done his turn stunting, hauling the front of his heavy touring bike up and riding a wheelie from one end of the campground to the other before letting it down. Summer had cheered him from the sidelines, and when he’d parked the bike he’d pulled her into a firm kiss, slapped her ass, and then led her laughing to one of the fires.

Now the two of them were kicked back at a fire across from Hollywood, sharing a joint and a bottle of Jack, Easy sprawled comfortably in a camp chair with Summer perched on his lap.

“So fuckin’ Oregon, man,” Easy said. “How was that?”

Hollywood had his own chair, he sat slouched and Jada had been invited onto his lap. She sat on his thigh, the firm cushion of her ass was pleasant and he left his hand against her hip as she leaned into his shoulder. He took a drag of the weed, it was good but not as good as his hippy weed. He passed it to Jada and lifted the red solo cup full of melting ice and straight bourbon.

“Oregon, it’s green,” he said then took a sip, raising his brows. “Outside the walls anyway. It ain’t the worst place. AB runs shit, including the guards.”

He snorted a little laugh then gave Jada a gentle squeeze. “Those idiots took my 88 tattoo the wrong way and we had to settle shit, wasn’t much trouble though. Stuck around with some boys from the Dead Men and the Forgotten. Mixed bunch, good dudes.”

Hollywood took the joint from Jada and hit it, “Had a few fights but nothing too bad, you know how it goes. Mostly the boredom was a killer, I should have written more but I was a little messed up about the whole thing. Not being able to stay in Florida with my brothers. Once I got out, they wanted me checking in, drug testing and working. Man, who the fuck would hire me?”

He laughed and let his hand slide between the plump thighs of the girl on his lap. “I worked two weeks at this shitty gas station in Portland. Some faggot with a Tesla got upset we didn’t have a charging station. Then told me the coffee tasted like shit. I made that fucking coffee.”

Gesturing with the joint, he broke into a wide grin. “Jumped the counter and chased him out, then just walked back to the halfway house and packed my shit. Gave you a call.”

He kept the stories vague, not only for his cover but for the girls. Hollywood could tell some gruesome true stories he knew but he wanted them impressed not disgusted. He could feel Jada stiffen slightly when he said he’d jumped his parole and he caressed her leg.

Easy chuckled, then sighed.

“You dumb motherfucker,” he said affectionately. “I knew you bein’ here was too good to be true. Gonna get your ass thrown right back in prison.” He smirked. “Guess we’d better party it up while we can, right?”

He gave Summer a squeeze. “That sound good to you, sweetheart? We’ll just have fun ‘til our boy here gets himself arrested again.”

Hollywood smiled sadly and tilted his head back to blow smoke up to the stars. “Yeah, they let me out 6 years into a 10 year sentence. Man, fucking...being out but not being free to do shit I want. It’s a tease. Like a dog chained up in the yard without a fence, just watching shit happening but stuck. It wasn't for me, so I’ll enjoy the time til they figure it out.”

Jada turned to look at him, “Ain’t you worried about it?”

“Not tonight,” he said, gliding his inked fingers along the smooth reddish brown skin. “I got other things to celebrate, not worry about shit.”

He smiled his dimpled smile and pulled her in a little closer, she was soft and warm, her body molding against his. His mind flashed to the last time he was intimate with anyone and how it had failed, not his drug addled body but his lover’s affection. With a little shake of his head, he leaned into her, “Let’s make tonight count.”

She gazed back at him, drunk and stoned, and smiled, “Let’s just party. Like Easy said.”

Summer giggled, pinching the end of the joint that was almost smoked down. “Hell yeah we do it til Hollywood’s gotta run. I hope it ain’t too soon.”

She was looking across the fire at him and Jada with a curious glint in her blue eyes then turned back to Easy, “How long do these parties last?”

“Kinda depends,” Easy said. “Some dudes might ride for home tomorrow, some might just hang around… Probably be guys here for at least a few days though. An’ my Nomads’ll be around for a bit, we don’t keep to no schedule.”

Summer grinned, leaning into him, “You know, I’m somewhat of a nomad myself. I go where I want, when I want. Fuck schedules.”

Jada was too stoned to care about the runaway’s story but felt a moment of gratitude as she had a home waiting for her return. Hollywood was touching her, the light teasing touches against the sensitive bare skin along with just enough booze to make her feel loose and good made her face warm and her body tingle.

She pressed the side of her breast against his chest, “What were you in for?”

Hollywood paused and turned to her, meeting her gaze, “Nothing big, just drug shit. This was before they legalized it up there. Bad timing.”

He smiled a bit and reached over with his free hand to brush a loose curl away from her face, letting his hand drop to brush the top of her chest.

She made a little noise, a soft sound that was encouraging, “Too bad.I bet you missed a lot of things. Like good food...girls.”

Hollywood’s expression shifted from a pleasant smile to a teasing smirk. “I especially missed eating good girls.”

Jada rolled her eyes but laughed, a pleasant throaty sound that made him grin again. He shot a look over at Easy with his blonde, “So, gotta place out here or we crashing with anyone?”

“Hell, I brought a lil’ tent on my bike,” Easy snorted. “Just big enough for two. But there’s RV’s with floor space all over, an’ nobody’s gonna stop us just sleepin’ by the fire.”

“If there’s an RV where they don’t mind a little rockin’ and rollin’, let’s hit it up,” Hollywood said, giving Jada a kiss in the cheek before pushing her gently from his lap. He paused, then said, “Hold that though, I gotta get our stuff from the bike. Hang tight here.”

He left the girl on the chair and made his way back towards the parking lot, his steps a little unsteady from the Jack but he felt in control. Unlike his time with THUNDER, when as Queen he could be much more lax with his facilities, now he had to be more careful. He reminded himself of this as he dug through his bag and found the small vial of coke and took a bump. The familiar tingling and rush brought his senses awake and he had to force himself not to do anymore and be too trashed to fuck.

Just enough to keep cravings from getting too strong, he promised himself then pocketed it before slinging the two bags over his shoulder to make his way back to their fire.

“Had to powder my nose,” he said, then reached into his pocket for the vial and tossed it to Easy. “Picked that up in Houston, pretty good shit. No fentanyl.”

Easy beamed as he caught the vial, holding it up in the firelight.

“There’s my brother,” he laughed. He gave the vial a shake and patted Summer’s flat stomach. “You ever done any of this? Keep you goin’ all night.”

Summer grinned at them, her eyes glassy already and then shook her head, “I never did, I tried some other stuff though.”

She giggled at his touch and sat up straighter, arching her back slightly, “Can I try it?”

Hollywood brought Jada’s bag and then went into his own, taking out a sack of weed. “Roll us a couple joints,” he told her, “It’s crazy, man. In Oregon they got dispensaries all over, so many custom strains and shit, like this is tropical. Hippies good for something other than just bruising.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Easy said as he uncorked the vial and tapped out a small amount onto the back of his hand. “But we gotta pick things up ‘fore we can start slowin’ ‘em down.”

...///

“Thanks, Red,” Hollywood said, squinting from behind his sunglasses in the late morning light, handing her a couple of twenties. “Long night, you know.”

He grinned and she shook her head with a bemused laugh, both of them looked worse for wear. She reached up and smoothed his wild beard and said, “Only because it was your party. C’mon, girly. We’ll get you some breakfast and to the bus stop.”

Jada gave Hollywood a tired hug and he watched her walk away with extra sway with Goat’s old lady, heading to a minivan Red used to haul their kids around in. He lit a cigarette, standing bare chested in the warm sun. The previous night was a blur of debauchery fueled by booze and drugs and new pussy.

Hollywood wandered back to the trailer, bodies still sprawled across the beds and blankets on the floor. A puppy pile of degenerate bikers and their chicks. Summer was still naked, curled up beside Easy where Jada and he had slept. Hollywood crouched down and hunted for a bottle, finding one with a few sips of bourbon in it and helped himself.

He sat smoking, his foggy head throbbing and he swore softly under his breath, “Goddamn.”

The hangover was on the heels of the one from a few nights ago in Miami, Billy had just turned 32 and was starting to feel it, the recovery time now not so easy. TIme was not something he had a lot of despite the break given to THUNDER.

Finally he reached out and shook Easy, “We need coffee, food. And I need a fucking shower.”

Easy cracked a bloodshot eye and looked around, then carefully extricated his arm from Summer. The girl was out cold and he stood, happy to let her sleep off the night’s exertions. He cast about in the trailer for a moment, finally spotting his gun sitting on the arm of one of the trailer’s built-in sofas. He slipped the blocky CZ into his waistband and stretched.

“Just get in the lake,” he grunted. A soft snort drew his attention to the lithe body lying beside Summer, and he met Tigress’s lidded gaze. “You gettin’ up?”

In response the tattooed woman simply snorted again, closed her eyes, and twined her naked body around Summer’s, snuggling up to the girl.

“Guess not,” Easy grunted.

Hollywood chuckled and took a drag, looking down at them and then shrugged, “Lake it is, time for skinny dippin’.”

He shucked his jeans and kept his boxer briefs on and his boots, grinning around his cigarette as he dug through his bag. “I know I got some fucking Irish Spring in here.”

Hollywood grabbed a fresh shirt and his jeans, tucking them under his arm. “Coming with me? Gonna remind me of prison?”

He laughed at that and stepped out of the trailer, looking towards the line of trees where the lake stretched out. “Better not be full of gators looking for a bite.”

“Ain’t no gators out here,” Easy muttered. He grabbed the remains of a random beer and took a heavy swallow, fighting the pain mounting in his skull. He followed behind Hollywood, closing the trailer door carefully to avoid waking the others inside. “Where’d that dark piece you had last night go?”

Hollywood stretched, his back popping and the inked designs on his skip bright under the sun. “Red took her to the bus stop, she had to get on home,” he said, finding the well worn trail through the shady cypress and oaks. “Too bad, would have done with another round.”

He flashed a grin, his eyes tired but pleased, “She was walking funny, that’s for sure.”

Easy laughed. “Yeah, well, we tore that shit up,” he said. He made a half-hearted attempt at a pelvic thrust, then waved the gesture off. “Fuck, I feel like shit. Hey, what you think of Summer? Thinkin’ I might keep her around a bit.”

The lake appeared through the break in the trees, the water still and steel blue with the morning light glinting off of it. A spring fed lake was inviting and as he pondered Easy’s question he breathed deep. He smiled a bit, then shrugged, “Sure, why not? She’s cute and eager, seems keen on the whole experience. Kinda young but you know, they’re the adventurous ones.”

He huffed a laugh, “They haven’t got their priorities straight yet. But who knows, maybe she’ll turn out to be a bad bitch like Tigress or Red.”

Queen got closer to the water's edge and took off his boots and underwear, hanging the clothes over a fallen log. “She’s fun, that's for sure.”

Picking up the soap, he gave Easy a side eye, “You sure about the gators? Been a minute since I’ve been in a Florida lake.”

Easy kicked out of his boots. “I ain’t been eaten yet,” he said as he took his gun and stuck it in the inner pocket of his Colors. He shucked off his jeans and, vest still in place, waded into the water. “Don’t be a pussy.”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, “Goddamnit.”

Hollywood went into the water, feeling the flat stones under foot give way to soft mud as he reached mid thigh. He looked at him, still in his vest and chuckled, “Those colors don’t run, but they’ll swim.”

He got as deep into the lake as Easy was then took a step further, just to offset the pussy comment. Hollywood began washing up, the classic scent rising from the foam drifting in the water. The sun was warm and the water was still cool from the evening, and as he washed his chest, he looked over at his old friend, “I missed this, just being outside like this. Not to be a pussy about it.”

A dimpled grin formed on his face and he closed his eyes briefly as the hangover reminded him it was still there. “Hell of a party,” he said, trying not to look too hard at Easy. Luckily the headache and the massive amounts of cocaine and booze kept other parts of his body in check. He considered the man a friend and that was it, he wasn’t Donnelley.

“Hell of a reason,” Easy said. He dunked himself, then stretched, spreading his tattooed arms wide. “This is the life, man. The fuckin’ civilians, the cops, they’ll never get it. We just live how we want, no worryin’ about what other people think. Fuck their rules. We’re free.”

Hollywood followed suit, crouching so his head was immersed and he rose, blinking water out of his eyes, his beard dripping. As scrubbed it, he admired Easy and nodded, “Yeah, ain’t that true. I fucking miss it.”

Even without experiencing prison, he missed this carefree lifestyle. It reminded him sometimes of his childhood, always moving around on whatever whim his mother felt. The Program and his day job, they trapped him in their way, a heavy responsibility that weighed on him. He shrugged, rolling his shoulders as if to release the tension. “I’m looking forward to a ride today, get some food and see what trouble we can find.”

Reaching up to wash his hair, he ran his fingers through the shoulder length strands then dunked back down, staying under to rinse it clean. He popped up, wiping his eyes and slicking back his hair. “Might get another tattoo, marking the occasion.”

Once they had finished they made their way back to the camp, eating leftover barbeque for breakfast and cracking beers as they lounged around recovering from the hard partying the night before. Hollywood had listened mostly, hearing the talk about a cocaine shipment moving up from Texas via Mexico, a long way around to avoid dealing with the dozen or so Miami mafias and gangs. Meth had always been their bread and butter, and it still was but this was something new. As he listened to Goat, hearing his doubt and Kid who was in favor, his gaze fell on Easy who was more interested in his new squeeze, the pretty little blonde from the bus station. Easy was easy, he would go either way he felt was right, where the wind took him and where the money could be made.

He took a joint passed to him and enjoyed the attention of Tigress, her fingernails running against the back of his neck when he felt his phone vibrate. He paused, then reached into his pocket and checked.

“Shit,” he muttered, then plucked the joint from his lips and put it in hers. “Take care of that for me.”

Hollywood rose up and stepped away, answering the call from Donnelley, “What’s up? Right now?”

He glanced back at the bikers and thought about his boss waiting for what he would bring them. Fuck him he swore silently, he wouldn’t give them shit. He had already given enough warning about clasing with the south Florida gangs, that’s all he could do without drawing suspicion. Pinned between the two loyalties he sought the escape now offered by his best friend. The thought of doing some sneaky shit with Tex brought a grin to his face and he responded, “You know I’ll be there. Lexington, KY. Well, shit I’ll be there in the morning at some point. I’ll call you when I get closer.”

Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
Raw

KuroTenshi

Member Seen 10 mos ago

>FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
>AVA RESIDENCE
>21SEP2019
>0915...///


Ava panted as she wiped the sweat dripping down her brow away with the back of her hand. She settled her hands on the top of her head, glancing up and over at Dave with a grin as they slowed their hard run to a sedate walk, cooling down after pressing themselves to their limit on their run.

It had been almost a week since they got back to her place, after tearfully seeing Prince off to a new and happy home, they had settled into a lazy routine for a few days. They did little to nothing, except spend time together. Dave napped, she played a few video games, they did some grocery shopping to stock her cabinets back up. The most time consuming and labor intensive activity they did was the day Ava showed Dave how to make a cheesecake.

It still made her giggle thinking a man capable of turning fertilizer into an explosive compound had been perplexed by the chemistry of whipping up the perfect fluffy egg whites.

As nice as it was to put Alaska behind them and settle into a normal routine as a couple sharing a space, it had to come to an end. Alaska had been an eye opening experience for the both of them and as much as Ava hated it, she had to admit that she could no longer sit passively on the sidelines. The nature of their work wouldn’t allow it.

So over the past three days they had been hitting the ground running on their training regiment. They had spent most of a day at the shooting range, brushing up on her reload and reaction times as well as doing general PT. Though they had started to incorporate more dexterous exercises to, once again, hone her reaction time.

It would have been a grim process and she likely would have dwelt more on just WHY she had to do this in the first place if it wasn’t for Dave being by her side.

“What do you think?” She asked him once her breathing had finally settled down enough to speak. “Good run this morning?”

"Good as a run ever is," Dave said, grinning to show he was just playing. He shifted his weight, flexing first one knee and then the other, wincing as they popped. He wasn't old, but years in the mountains had put some mileage on his joints. "Whatcha feelin' for breakfast?"

Dave was an early bird, despite his naps throughout the day, and he'd happily taken over breakfast duties so that Ava could catch a little more sleep during the first week of their time together. While it didn't matter so much now that they'd started running in the mornings, he'd kept up the habit. She returned the favor by making lunch, and dinner was handled by one or the other depending on what they felt like eating.

Ava hummed in thought as they turned a corner onto her street. “How about some eggs and toast? I’ve also got that bowl of fruit in the fridge we should finish off.”

Dave gave her a look. "I'm addin' bacon and sausage to that, cuz ain't no way I can keep myself alive off just fruit and toast." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll help ya with the fruit though."

She laughed, beaming happily at the kiss. “Alright, alright, I’ll eat some bacon and sausage.” She put her hands on her hips as they drew closer up to her house, happy to be closer to a shower. “So, what’s the plan after breakfast, coach? Are we hitting the gun range today or the gym?”

"Gun range," Dave said firmly. "We both gotta keep puttin' rounds out with our pistols. And I wanna rent one of them sub-guns and start you learnin' that."

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t know.” She said nervously. “I’m barely comfortable with my pistol and it’s small and...manageable.”

"You'll be okay," Dave said confidently. "Same kind of bullet, but a bit bigger gun. More accurate, more ammo in the mag, and the bullet's movin' faster, too."

He reached over and gave the back of her neck a squeeze. "I'd never make ya try somethin' I thought ya weren't ready for, sugar."

Ava still looked uncertain but she nodded. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” She paused for a moment then smiled and giggled. “Hehe, shot. I wasn’t even trying for that one.”

Dave broke into a grin, then leaned down and gave her a quick, comically loud kiss. "C'mon, I'm starvin'. If I don't get some food in me I'm gonna fall over."

“Can’t have that, I’m not strong enough to carry you.” She laughed and trotted ahead a bit to her house, past the white fence that enclosed Mrs Grier’s yard and flower garden. “You can get breakfast started if you want,” She said, fishing her keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door. Thor came running up as she stepped inside and she bent down to give his head some skritches. “I’m going to stretch out and then take a shower.”

Dave quirked an eyebrow at the thought of a team-shower, but then shook the idea off. His knees hurt, and more importantly he was hungry. Maybe after the range. He closed the door behind them, paid his due respects to Thor, and then headed for the kitchen.

"Have it ready soon," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair as he passed. “Make sure ya come hungry."

She smiled at the touch and watched him head into the kitchen. “Oh I’m sure I will be.” She then went to the living room area, pushing the coffee table away from the center rug and then went through her post-run stretches. Maybe making it so Dave could see her butt as she bent over, maybe that was just a coincidence.

Quickly she finished and headed for her bedroom, to get some more comfortable and less sweaty clothing on. Thor padded along beside her. He had been remarkably clingy ever since she got back and Prince was taken to his new home. Not that she minded, but it did get to be an issue when they were in bed and Thor was trying to snuggle up with her and got between her and Dave. Or laid in such a way that his tail constantly rested on Dave’s face. Or his entire backend, on one unfortunate night.

Ava stepped into her room and went to her closet, pulling it open and looking inside for something to wear. As she was pondering her wardrobe, she felt Thor brush past her leg and looked down, seeing him sniffing at the black, taped shut bag she had stuck in the corner of her closet and tried to forget about. It was the very same black bag she had gotten back from the Program along with the rest of her belongings. It contained the clothing she wore on that disaster of a mission.

The clothing she had died in.

She shivered, but continued to stare down at it, as though expecting it to start moving on its own. Like a body bag that held something that still yet lived.

Another shudder raced up her spine and she bent down, gently tugging Thor out of her closet and shutting the door. She turned and put her back to it to keep it shut and to lean against, eyes squeezed shut as a tightness settled into her chest and a cold sweat started to break out along her hairline.

Dave walked into the room a few moments later, a spatula in his hand.

“Hey, I’m makin’ some eggs, you want ‘em scrambled, or…” He trailed off, frowning. “Hey, sugar, you okay?”

He walked up and put a hand on her cheek. “You alright, sugar?”

Ava started and looked up at Dave, seeing him there and feeling his hand on her cheek bringing her back to the here and now. “Hey Dave, um, yeah.” She said quietly, running her hand over her face to wipe away the sweat. “Just…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I saw that bag with my...stuff in it.” She cracked open the closet door and peered inside at the black bag wrapped cube. “I’ve been...kinda avoiding it.”

He looked over her shoulder at the closet door. “Yeah, I could understand that,” he said. He fought not to grimace, not to show his own discomfort at the situation. “Well...There ain’t no time limit, ya know? Whenever you’re ready. Or never, if that’s how ya feel. Nobody’s gonna make you open that bag.”

“I can’t just...leave it there though.” She said, shutting the closet door and leaning back against it. She frowned down at the floor. “I think it’s time, I’ve put it off too long.” She raised her eyes up to look into his face. “After breakfast, will you...sit with me?”

Dave smiled and stroked his thumb over her cheek, then pulled her into a hug.

“Course I will,” he said, squeezing her tight. “Let’s get some coffee and some food in us, an’ then we’ll handle it. You an’ me.”

She shut her eyes and sighed, wrapping her arms around him and returning the squeeze. “Okay, we’ll do that. Thank you Dave.”

“Any time.” He kissed the top of her head and held her close for a few moments. “I uh...I like holdin’ you, but I do have food on the stove. We probably oughta go take a look at it, ‘fore I burn your place down.”

“Oh,” Ava stepped back and laughed. “Go, go finish making breakfast, I need to take my shower anyway.” She made a ‘shooing’ motion with her hands. “And, uh, I’ll have sunny side up eggs.”

“Dunno why you’re kickin’ me out for that, but alright,” he grinned. “Sunny side up it is.”

>...///

Ava sipped at her tea, a nice blend of Earl Grey and lavender instead of her usual sugary bomb of coffee. She was anxious enough as it was, she didn’t need the extra boost of sugar and caffeine to make it worse.

The curtains were drawn shut around the living room to make sure no one accidentally saw them looking at bloody clothing, casting the whole room in a muted shadow as sunlight tried it’s best to pierce through the fabric blocking the windows.

She was waiting for Dave to finish up in the shower, hovering in the kitchen with her tea and staring at the black bag of folded clothing sitting on her coffee table. Just picking it up and moving it had been enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck.

She took another sip of her tea and tore her eyes away from it, keeping her breathing steady while she waited for Dave. Once Dave was there, she would feel more stable, feel more safe.

Dave walked in a few moments later, freshly showered and dressed for the day in jeans and a white t-shirt. He crossed the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, running a hand across Ava's shoulders as he passed.

"So," he said as he filled his mug. He forced some levity into his voice, keeping his tone relaxed. Ava needed a rock, and he intended to provide it. "Are you ready?"

He smiled at her as he pulled a chair around the table next to hers, and nodded at the seat beside him. "I'll be right here, sugar. The whole time."

Ava smiled at him, walking over and taking the seat next to him. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be. You sure this won’t be hard for you too?” She asked, a line of worry creasing her brow.

"I'm sure." He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, taking pains to keep his own worries hidden. In truth his heart was already hurting. The thought of the bag's contents scared him half to death, made his stomach twist and his mouth dry. The thought of what this moment would do to Ava was even worse. But it was necessary. They had to confront this together.

Dave kissed her hand and then released it, taking a gentle grip on her shoulder and nodding. "Whenever you're ready, sugar."

She took in a breath and nodded to him, turning to look down at the wrapped up bag of clothing. Steadying her nerves, she ripped off the tape sealing it shut and began to unwrap the plastic. The first piece of clothing she saw was the vest that Donnelley and Laine had so thoughtfully covered with patches they knew she would like.

She sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the vest and many of the patches covered with dry and crusted blood. Her blood.

There was so much of it.

Ava’s eyes began to tear up and she felt her throat tightened. “Oh...no.” She whispered, reaching out to touch one of the bloody patches. “I...I forgot I was wearing that.” Tears started to stream down her face and she took in a shaking breath. “They worked so hard on it.” Her voice cracked and she turned to press her face against Dave’s chest.

Dave wrapped Ava in his arms, squeezing her tight. His own eyes burned, the sight of her blood nearly bringing tears, but he swallowed them for Ava’s sake.

“I know, sugar,” he whispered, stroking a hand through her hair. “I know. I’m here.”

She cried into his shirt, leaning into his warmth and comfort. She was heartbroken to see the vest crafted for her out of the kindness of her friend’s hearts ruined. That combined with the shock at the sight of so much blood…

Ava sobbed for a minute or so before finally sucking in a deep breath and slowly pulling back from Dave. “Okay,” She said shakily, her voice raw and face flushed with tears glistening on her cheeks. “Thank you Dave.” She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes to try and rub away some of the tears.

Dave cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Always,” he said. His thumb stroked her cheek. “Are you...Can ya keep goin’? We can stop.”

“No,” She said, leaning into his hand and turned to kiss his palm. “I can keep going.” She picked up her cooling tea and drained it. She looked at the vest and blinked back the tears. “Maybe, we can save the patches?” She asked Dave, gently picking up the vest to better inspect the state of the patches. “They can be cleaned, right?”

“I bet we can, yeah,” Dave nodded. “I’ll do it for ya. I know some tricks for gettin’ blood outta clothes.” He paused. “I mean, I learned ‘em huntin’ in the mountains. Deer bleed.”

Ava nodded, somewhat distracted as she looked down at the vest, rubbing her thumb over one of the blood encrusted patches. “I...Don’t want to keep the clothes.” She said, sniffing as she looked into the bag at the shirt inside that was also covered in dried, old blood. “What do we do with them?”

"I'll burn 'em," Dave told her. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his arms still wrapped tight around her. "We'll get the patches you want, and then I'll take care of the rest, okay?"

“By yourself?” She asked, looking up at him with a frown. “Are you sure?”

"I'm sure," he said. He gave her a soft kiss and smiled, squeezing her a little. "Might be it'll help me deal with some stuff, too."

“Okay.” She said with a slight, hesitant smile. “I’ll try to salvage the patches and…You get a fire going?”

"Works for me." With a final kiss on the forehead he rose. "An' I'm thinkin' pizza tonight. I need junk and beer after this." Dave gave her shoulder a squeeze and then left, heading for the fireplace to begin his task.

“You and me both.” She smiled at him as he got up before looking back down at the patches and her smile faded. She took a deep breath and got up to fetch a pair of scissors to get to work.

>FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
>AVA RESIDENCE
>24SEP2019
>...///


Dave sighed and leaned against the wall, nodding his head while he surveyed his work. For days Ava had been talking about converting her office into a studio, somewhere she could work on getting back into her painting. She’d bought Ikea furniture and stacked it in the corner, and there it had sat, waiting for the two of them to “get a chance” to work on it. Then she’d announced that she was getting her hair done, and Dave had seen his opportunity.

Over the last few hours he’d put together a desk, easel, and chair, stocking each with some brushes and paints he’d picked up from the local hobby store. A vase of peonies sat on the desk; they were Ava’s favorite flowers, and he thought they might make for a good first subject. Against the wall was a small futon, and he’d moved her book shelf to a more advantageous spot out of the way of the paints before restocking it.

Dave nodded with satisfaction. Overall it looked good, and while he was sure they would make some minor changes on the layout, it was something big off Ava’s plate that would make her happy. That was the main goal, after all.

From one of the discarded boxes, where he had been contentedly enjoying his new lair, Thor suddenly jumped out and trotted out of the combination office and art studio.

A moment later came the sound of the front door opening. “I’m back!” Ava called out. “Dave? You home?”

Dave grinned and stepped into the hall, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and not a small amount of pride evident on his face. “Yeah, c’mere!” He called. “Spare room!”

There was a brief pause before Ava entered the hallway, a nervous smile on her face as she ran a hand through her long, now completely straight red hair.

“Hey,” She said sheepishly. “What do you think? Does it look nice?”

Dave beamed when he saw her hair, his smile broad. “Sure does,” he said, reaching out and running his own fingers through the silky strands. “I think you’re gorgeous, sugar.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “C’mere, I want you to see somethin’.”

Ava’s smile widened even as her cheeks flushed. “Thank you, I really like it too.” She perked up at the mention of a surprise. “Oh? What do you want to show me?”

She stepped up to the doorway and looked inside, her eyes widening as she saw the painting easel in the middle of the room, a comfortable stool and the little stand she ordered from IKEA put together. Complete with new bottles of paints and new paintbrushes.

She stepped further inside and her eyes landed on the soft pink peonies on her desk, right in view of the easel and catching the light from the window nicely.

She turned to Dave with a bright smile. “I love it!” She said, wrapping her arms around him in a firm embrace. “Did you do all of this by yourself?”

He held her close, his heart soaring at her pleasure with the surprise. He shrugged. “I mean, Thor did his part. Supervised, made sure I was putin’ things together right.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it Dave,” She said, looking up at him with bright eyes and a smile full of warmth and affection. “Thank you so much. I,” she started to say something, but stumbled over the words for a moment. “I’m happy, you make me feel very happy, Dave.”

He grinned, feeling a flutter in his stomach as he squeezed her tight. “I’m glad, sugar,” he said, leaning down to place his forehead on hers. “I’m happy, too.” He kissed her, his fingers running through her hair.

She smiled and leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer; enjoying the intimacy and comfort of the embrace.

Dave held her for a while, content just to have her in his arms. After a moment he kissed her neck and then nuzzled her cheek. “So...Bedroom?”

Ava laughed softly at that, her skin flushing with delight as he kissed her neck. “It’s the hair isn’t it?” She teased.

He laughed and picked her up, grinning. “Lil’ bit.” He kissed her again, more deeply this time.

Ava returned the kiss, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She pulled back with a grin. “I think the bedroom sounds like a good idea.”

With a laugh Dave turned, carrying her out into the hall and towards the bedroom door.


>VIRGINIA BEACH
>.25MILES FROM ATLANTIC FUN PARK
>28SEP2019
>...///


The sea salt tinged breeze swept over Ava as she opened up the driver’s side door and stepped out of the car. She smiled at the late afternoon sky filled with soft grey clouds, the rolling of the ocean waves and the golden sands of the beach. Though it was still September, there was a chill in the air brought on by the wind over the water and she enjoyed the briskness of it as it reminded her that autumn was on its way. But she still adjusted the soft cream knitted cardigan she was wearing to block out some of the cold. “Looks like we’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us.” She said looking over to Dave as she saw him exit the car.

"Never minded a walk," Dave beamed, circling the car to put his arm around her waist. The sleeves of his trademark flannel were rolled down in deference to the chill. "Feels nice out here."

“It does,” Ava smiled, grabbing her purse from the car before shutting the door. She locked the car and slipped her purse over her shoulder before turning to look up at Dave. “Want to walk on the sand? Recreate a bit of our first date?”

"Sure do," he said lightly. He steered them towards the beach, his eyes scanning the parking lot beneath the brim of his hat as he did so. He made a mental inventory of the people nearby. What they were wearing, what they were driving. "Then maybe some of that boardwalk food?"

He grinned and patted his belly. "Need to get back up in the mountains soon, put some miles on, or we won't be seein' my abs again."

She laughed and nudged him in the abs with her elbow. “Oh stop, we can see your abs just fine. You ate half a cheesecake in like 3 days, I think you can handle some corndogs and funnel cake.”

"It was really good cheesecake," he sighed wistfully. "Corn dogs sound good, though. Or a big ol' turkey leg."

“Good thing we’ve got a walk to help us out.” She chuckled, leaning her head against his chest as they stepped onto the sands of the beach, still a little warm from the sun that had been shining earlier that day.

At the mention of the mountains, she sighed and wrapped her arm around him to give him a squeeze. “I’m going to miss you, when you leave.” She said softly, looking up at him.

"I'll miss you too, sugar," Dave said. "But it won't be for too long. Ain't nothin' keepin' me away from you."

“I know.” She smiled up at him. “Besides, you need to go home and see your son. I’ve been kind of hogging you and I feel bad about that.”

"See my boy, see my grampa, see my dog," Dave said happily. "And my mountain. Missed them trees."

“Yeah, my quiet suburban street really isn’t your style.” Ava said, looking out toward the water and watching the waves crash into the shore as they walked. “Thor will miss you too, he really likes taking naps with you.” She added with a grin.

"Well, tell him I'll be back, though I know his naps won't be the same without his tail in my face." Dave laughed and squeezed her hip. "I swear, there's a dozen ways he could lay, but it's gotta be on my chest, and it's gotta be ass-first."

“He just does that with you, I don’t know why.” She laughed, pressing her head back against his chest. She lapsed into silence after that, simply enjoying the contact and taking in the scenery as they walked.

There were other people out and about, enjoying the beach in the late afternoon, but they weren’t an intrusive presence at the moment.

She looked up at Dave, watching the breeze blow through his long hair and ruffle his beard. It was a far cry from how she met him, he had had a bit of a scruff to him then but now...Well, she was hardly the same as she had been back then as well.

She mentally shook her head, reflecting in bewilderment how much had changed in the span of a few months. She still felt like herself but she knew there were ways she had changed. Good ways, but there were also bad ways...

She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and focused on Dave next to her and the beach around them.

>...///

The hours seemed to pass by all too quickly as they relaxed and enjoyed themselves in the mild controlled chaos of the small boardwalk amusement park. They ate, with Dave burning through 4 corndogs, a turkey leg and a Belgian Waffle and Ava enjoying a hot dog with a side of curly fries and a funnel cake. Then it had been time to burn off the deep fried foods.

Dave played the shooting gallery game and managed to win Ava a large alpaca plushie in a bow tie and a little lilac hat she had been not so subtlety ogling with desire. Ava tried to return the favor with the dart game and managed to win a small plushie for him. It was about the size of a hand and was a little white and grey speckled owl with a red plaid lumberjack hat. Likely earned more from the game operator admiring her determination than any actual skill in the game.

Next came the rides, with Dave making the daring choice of riding a mechanical bull not long after eating. He managed to hang on just past the 60 second challenge and walked away, proudly, with another little stuffed toy. This one, a cartoonish pile of swirly poop with bull horns, a bull snout and an angry face.

Ava had decided to give the rock climbing wall a try and had a surprisingly fun time scaling the plastic rocks. She didn’t make it to the top, but she still had fun climbing it and celebrated making the halfway point with a small bag of kettle corn.

Just as they were getting ready to call it a day, they both decided to ride the ferris wheel before leaving. The clouds had partially cleared away and so they could start to see the sunset over the ocean in the last waning rays of daylight.

Ava adjusted her purse as an empty gondola car came to rest in front of them on the platform for the ride. She smiled up at him, with her pillow sized alpaca plushie in one hand and the bag of half eaten kettle corn in the other. “Shall we?”

He smiled in answer and pulled open the door, ushering her in with a hand on the small of her back. Then he climbed in with her, taking the seat beside her and putting his arm around her.

Ava beamed up at him, setting her stuff next to her before snuggling against his chest to combat the growing chill in the air as the ferris wheel began to move and lift them up. She rested her head on his shoulder and watched as they climbed up higher, the sunsetting over the ocean starting to come into view.

She let the comfortable silence stretch for them as they rode up. When they finally came to a stop, she looked up at him with a small smile. “I’ve got something for you.” She said, reaching for her purse and flipping it open to pull out a small gift wrapped box, about the size of her palm. “Wait,” She frowned and dug in her purse another second before slapping a blue bow on top of the box. “There. It fell off.” She smiled again and held it up to him. “But, here.”

Dave chuckled and took the package, removing the bow. He grinned and stuck it to the brim of his hat before unwrapping the box.

"What we got here?" He asked as he removed the paper, looking down at the small pocket-sized picture frame it contained.

Inside the thick, silver-edged acrylic was a picture from their hike in Seattle, taken on a hilltop. Dave remembered asking another hiker to take it for them. In the photo he sat on the grass, with Ava leaning back against his chest, his arms around her. She was wearing his hat, laughing beneath the oversized brim as he leaned forward to plant a comical kiss on her cheek. Prince sat beside them, a doggy grin on his face.

He felt his throat catch, and he turned it over.

I'm okay, and can't wait to go on another hike! Ava

Dave blinked away tears and leaned over to wrap his arms tightly around her. "It's perfect," he said, his voice hoarse. "Thank you."

Ava wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck and holding him. “I’m glad. I...I know you have to leave soon and I just...I didn’t want you waking up and wondering if I was...still here.” She said, her own voice growing hoarse as her throat tightened. “I wanted you to know I was okay.”

He squeezed her tight, not quite managing to hold his tears. But the ferris wheel was moving, and they were alone, and he didn't care. Rather than wipe his eyes he kissed her cheek.

"I love you, sugar," he said quietly.

Ava’s breath caught at the admission, her chest welling with multiple emotions as her heart beat fluttered with adrenaline. She gripped onto him tighter as the feelings in her chest whirled together, a storm of happiness and affection mingled with an instinctual response of anxiety and uncertainty at this sudden change of their relationship. With three little words, the dynamic between them had completely shifted.

In the rush of emotions though, she felt something click into place. A realization that had been building in the back of her mind and now came to the front.

She shut her eyes and pressed a kiss to Dave’s cheek, near his ear. “I love you too, Dave.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
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KuroTenshi

Member Seen 10 mos ago

>STAFFORD, VIRGINIA
>LAINE RESIDENCE
>02OCT2019
>0115...///


The knife slipped easy, honed and sharp as it was, snapping the crisp carrot like a small bone. She paused at that, holding the chef’s knife up and then shook her head, going back to the cutting, angled for long thin slices. Laine swiped the into a tupperware bowl, the clock on the oven burning bright red 1:15AM.

She had been in bed but sleep was evasive, even after weeks away from Alaska and UMBRA, her thoughts continued to turn over pieces of information. Laine was back at work, the case given to her of another murder in another place but at night her mind turned to Maria. Turned to Alaska and the memories she could not remember and the woman whose life she had taken over.

After the vegetables had been prepped, she leaned against the counter in the quiet kitchen. She reached for a bottle of red wine and a glass and went back to her study. Where Donnelley had a gun room, she had a home office dedicated to cases that were cold and never left her. Maria’s casefile was there, along with everything she had saved from Black River and Alaska. She began taking out her notes, transcriptions of interviews and began to read.

She sat on the carpet, leaning back against the couch she kept in there when she napped and could not bear the empty bed. Laine drank and reread the prison interview and compared it to the notes from Noatak.

People vanishing, nothing left but their clothes.

Laine picked up the Alaskan driver’s license and stared at the young native woman in the small picture. Her dark eyes stared back, filled with accusation and Laine wondered again what happened to her. Did she cease to exist, her body turned to dust like the bear out on the tundra. Was she somewhere in another place like the shaman had explained, there were many dimensions and he had walked those planes.

She rubbed her thumb across the printed copy of the signature of Alasie Creech. Laine looked at her phone, the temptation to call the Anchorage branch of the FBI or the local cops. Just to see if anyone one had reported her missing. Or was she just another missing native woman, another vanished sex worker.

Laine felt the familiar knot of guilt, that she had somehow unwittingly caused death to this woman and turned her into another statistic. She sighed and set the ID down, taking another drink of wine.

When she woke, Laine was still sitting at her coffee table, her head on her arms and the laptop open but the screen dark. She slowly sat up, groaning at the stiffness in her back and arms and picked up her phone, checking the time. It was nearly 4 am and she dragged herself to her bedroom, flopping into bed without changing her clothes.

Sleep teased at her, when she started to drift the memories would intrude, prodding at her to think about the case. Laine rolled over, sighing heavily, looking at her phone. She wondered briefly where Donnelley was for a late night call. She decided to let him get his sleep and turned the TV on, searching for something to watch and forget. Settling on Pretty in Pink, she finally dozed off before Ducky became too annoying.

She woke up late and rolled over, her phone in hand before she was sitting up. Laine scrolled through her contacts and spotted Ava’s number. She decided she needed company, Laine had spent the weeks just working and coming home to work more on the case from West Virginia. She was running on fumes and it was supposed to be her time off.

Tapping the screen, she could hear the other end ringing. Laine glanced at her clock, it was just after 10 am not an ungodly hour on a Saturday.

The phone rang a few times before it ceased and there was a shuffle of fabric on the other line. “Hey Laine!” Ava answered, her voice bright with delighted surprise. “How are you? It’s been a minute since we last talked!”

The sound of Ava's voice made Laine smile but it also reminded her of what had been left undone in Alaska. She took a deep breath, "I'm alright, I hit the ground running at work once I got back so I've been a little preoccupied. I don't think that helped much but I've decided to take a long weekend. I don't have any plans but we can make some. If you're not busy, I don't want to intrude if Dave's visiting."

She tossed the black comforter aside and sat at the edge of her bed, then took a drink of water from the bottle she kept there. "I was thinking about going into DC, maybe getting a fancy overpriced lunch and just seeing the sights. You know I've lived here for a few years now and hardly ever go to the city. Maybe shopping... definitely some shopping. And a spa visit if there's a chance. What do you say?"

“That sounds like a lot of fun! I’m not busy, Dave left a few days ago.” Ava said, her voice growing soft with a hint of longing as she mentioned Dave’s departure. “We’ve been texting, but I’m trying to give him space so he can have time with his son.” There was the sound of a jingling collar, likely Ava petting Thor. “Going up to DC sounds like it’d be fun, maybe we can drive by the White House and flip off Trump.”

"Sounds like a plan," Laine said, then added, "I think we both need something to occupy our time. It’s tough, I know. Being apart from that special person.”

She cleared her throat then said lightly, “I’ll swing by and pick you up, wear comfortable shoes. We’re gonna play tourist.”

“Should I wear pants or can I get away with busting out my fall outfits?” Ava asked, her tone half joking but there was some genuine excitement to it as well.

Laine chuckled softly, “You can get away with dressing up, we’re going to some decent places so it would do. You know how DC metro area is, everyone in suits. I look forward to seeing your fall wardrobe. And I’ll dress nicer than the last time you saw me. Text me your address, I’ll pick you up.”

“Alright! I can’t wait, I have so much to tell you!” Ava squeaked. “Oh and also I’ll need your gothiness for something, but we can talk about that later! See you in a bit!”

Laine raised an eyebrow, “Now you have me intrigued. See you soon.”

She ended the call and got up to shower and get dressed, deciding to dig through her closet for something more fun and dressy, something that Ava might get a kick out of. Laine stood there, realizing she needed to update her wardrobe, it was all business suits and shit she could wear to a bar to play pool or listen to some old punk band still touring. It had been that long since she had a girlfriend to hang out with, since she had moved from LA. Since the few solid female friends she had made in Quantico had either moved on or got married and never had any time. She also had to consider the chance of running into colleagues so nothing too far out there.

After another ten minutes of rummaging through the neat dark rows of clothing, she found what she wanted. It was something rare among her clothing, an outfit with color. When she finally left the townhome, she wore a black skirt and black stockings with little hearts dotting them and a pair of modest heels. The crushed velvet halter top was a deep plum, a black blazer worn over it was neatly tapered at her waist.

Traffic was light from her place to Ava’s, everyone had already gone into work. When she pulled up, Laine checked her makeup in the rear view mirror, touching up the dark burgundy lipstick. She sent a text to her friend and waited, leaning back in her car, a black Volkswagen GTI hatchback. It was clean and upholstered all in black inside and black rims to match. Laine reached for the cat eye sunglasses and slid them up, waiting for Ava to emerge.

The front door to the house opened and out stepped Ava, dressed in a soft grey dress beneath a long, dusky pink cardigan. Her legs were clad in some mauve leggings with a pair of calf high light brown boots. Her hair was left free flowing, the completely straight strands gently twitching in the breeze as she turned, bent down to give Thor some parting chin skritches, then stepped back to shut and lock the door.

She turned around and smiled at the car, waving enthusiastically as she walked down the porch toward Laine.

Laine took a moment to absorb the difference in Ava’s hair, it was lovely and shining red in the sun but she felt a pang of nostalgia for the wild curls that defied gravity on a humid day. She grinned, “Well look at you.”

She observed the younger woman closely and her grin slipped to a more secretive smile at the glow on Ava’s face. Laine flipped the lock so she could get into the car, “Wow that hair, it looks great. How many were on the team to wrangle your curls?”

Laine chuckled, her own hair had been recently dyed and was deep black, trimmed to a length just brushing her collar bone. Her blazer was hanging on the hook of the backseat so as not to get wrinkled, the velvet plum colored halter top exposing her tattooed arms.

“Uuh, at least two.” Ava said sheepishly as she settled into the car, placing her purse primly on her lap. “And thank you, it’s taken some getting used to, but I like it a lot.” She said, running her fingers through her hair. “You look great too!” She said, focusing back on Laine and looking her over. “I love your makeup.”

Laine smiled crookedly, “Thanks, I figured we could just dress up for each other since our mans are gone.”

She waited for Ava to buckle up before putting the hatchback into drive and pulling away from the curb in a sudden rush of speed. Laine eased back on the gas and cruised to the end of the block. “Love the boots, I almost wore some of mine but I figured you’d get a kick out of the tights.”

Laine pulled her skirt up to show a flash of thigh, the small hearts on her hose visible. “Cute, huh?”

She turned and got out of the neighborhood, hitting a main road that would take her to the 29 rather than get on the 66 which was always crowded. They had time to drive along the smaller roads and avoid the snarls of traffic. Reaching out to turn down the music that was already at a minimum level, Laine asked, “So, have you been back to work yet?”

“No, I work full time for the Program so I’ve basically got 4 months of leave.” Ava answered with a shrug. “I’ve spent most of my time being with Dave and just...not really doing anything.” She chuckled sheepishly. “How have you been? You went back to work right? How’s that going?”

"Oh, well, lucky you," Laine replied. "Yes, right back to work. It's not really that different from what I do in the Program. Trying to find monsters, just of the more human variety. Not exactly a break but...”

She gripped the wheel then glanced at Ava, “Look I’m gonna put this out here but once we get where we’re going to talk about good things, normal things. Our hair, our boyfriends, our favorite 18th century Romantic poets, whatever. Because I spend almost every night looking over our stuff from Alaska and West Virginia. I think about Maria every day, about Alesie...what happened. I know I need a break, I need time away from it but it festers. Like a raw wound that won’t heal.”

She blew out a breath, “Sorry, Ava. I don’t mean to bring it up but...”

Laine shook her head, it was always in the back of her mind and ready to spring into the forefront.

“...It’s alright.” Ava assured her quietly, reaching out and gently touching her arm. “I’m here for you, like you were there for me when I was falling apart in Ohio.”

Laine smiled tightly and had the urge to smoke but ignored it, the morning walks and jogs proved her lungs need for less of the bad habit. Instead she reached over, crossing the wheel to briefly touch Ava's hand on her arm. "Thanks, I'll be alright I'm sure. It's just frustrating. You know, it's one thing for a case to go cold despite our best efforts to find evidence and clues but to have work to do, leads to follow up then having it taken away for no valid reason. It's wrong. Just wrong.

She pressed the gas, the GTI picking up speed with a humming of the engine. Laine wove between traffic, flicking her blinker until finding the on ramp to 66 as the Potomac River became visible.

"I mean it, though," Laine said after a moment of silence. "You've been more helpful to me than you probably know. It's hard for me to admit when I need help. I'm supposed to be the Doc, it's not comfortable for me to feel like I'm burdening someone. But you and the team, you make it easier for me."

Laine glanced at Ava then back at the road, "And I'm grateful."

She wound through the streets of DC, a glimpse of the Washington monument could be seen as they passed office buildings. "Almost there, you're going to love this place. It's one of my favorites. They even have a non-alcoholic drink menu and a selection of tea."

“That sounds nice.” Ava smiled at the mention of an alcohol free and tea menu. She shifted in her seat so she could face Laine better. “And I’m glad that I can help you, Laine, in whatever way I can. You’re never a burden to me or to anyone else, everyone needs a chance to just relax and be genuine with someone.” She gave her what she hoped was a warm and reassuring smile. “Even a Doc.”

Laine nodded, then chuckled a little, “The old phrase ‘physician heal thyself’ doesn’t apply well to a psychologist. I don’t know, maybe some are better at it. But most I’ve met are not.”

She glanced over at Ava, “Thanks. It does feel good to get out of the office and my apartment, which basically is just another office with better furniture. I miss you and the rest, even my co-workers that used to be my team, we bonded through the job and the trauma but even now I feel the distance of what I know and can’t tell them. Like a gulf has opened up between the world and I that I can’t cross. I can only watch it.”

The restaurant in sight, Laine took a deep breath, “Well enough with my morose company, I’m done with that unless you want to talk about it. I’m ready to eat, my stomach is growling.”

Laine parked and unbuckled her seatbelt, looking over at Ava, “I hope you brought your appetite.”

The restaurant was fairly crowded but there were still open tables and Laine asked for a booth and they were led to it by the hostess, Lori, who lay menus on their table. “Anything to drink?” she asked.

Laine did not even glance at the menu, “Ice water and We Definitely Started the Fire. We’re getting the Boozy Brunch.”

The drink sounded like some sort of secret code and it reminded her of Donnelley and his spy games.

“Rum in it?”

“Not yet.”

“And you, Miss?” Lori asked.

Ava looked up from the menu after looking over the ‘Free Spirited’ selection of mocktails. “I’d like the Flowers at First Light please.” She looked over to Laine with a grin. “I have to stay on brand.”

Laine grinned at that, “It’s a good choice.”

Lori smiled at both and said she would give them a few minutes with the menu. When she left, Laine leaned forward a little, “I already know what I’m getting but take your time. You know, Alex and I used to come here a lot. Especially on weekends, they have picnic meals you can buy to go.”

She glanced at the brunch menu then out the window, “I don’t think you met him, did you?”

Laine looked at Ava, “He’s a forensic pathologist, he helped us with the autopsy.”

Ava blinked and frowned in thought for a moment. “He helped with what autopsy? Maria’s?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t remember meeting an Alex, it sounds like it was before my time.”

She nodded, “Yes, Maria’s. Dr. Bakker helped the Bureau a lot as he was a forensic pathologist with Prince William county. He taught at the Academy, too. We dated for about three years until we split ways, but it was just one of those things where we just couldn’t move on to the next step, we were on different paths.”

Laine looked at Ava and made an apologetic gesture, “Anyway, long story short I trusted him to do the work and keep his mouth shut. He did both. He took the money rather than join up and moved in with his new fiance. But that’s just more information than you ever probably wanted to know about someone not even part of my life anymore.”

She huffed a chuckle and spotted Lori loading their drinks up. “If you have any questions, I think I’ve tried everything on the menu.”

“Oh, I’m good, I already decided to get the lobster omelette.” Ava said, setting down her menu and focusing her attention on Laine. “I’m glad everything worked out for you two, you and this Alex. You found happiness on your different paths even if it wasn’t with each other.” She smiled.

"You're right," Laine smiled, a full grin at the thought of Donnelley.

Lori approached and took their order, Ava’s omelette and Laine’s wild mushroom toast before returning shortly with a basket of warm doughnuts. Some were filled with a huckleberry jam and some had maple glaze and bits of thick bacon stuck to the surface and others had more fragrant spicy scents. They were no Dunkins.

Laine took a huckleberry and bit into it, setting it on the saucer and licking her thumb of the thin icing. “We’re supposed to see each other soon but who knows, it’s all on his schedule. But tell me about living with Dave. How was that?”

Ava’s eyes brightened as she set down her maple glaze donut, forgoing the omelette for the moment to indulge in her favorite vice; sweets. “It was great!” She said once she finished chewing through her doughnut. “We took it easy, did some gun training and exercised and, um, well,” She flushed and rubbed her hands over her napkin. She smiled. “He, uh, said he loved me and I told him I loved him.”

Laine grinned at that, leaning forward on her arms, “Finally! I’m so happy for you both. It feels good doesn’t it? It makes things so much better yet...honestly it’s worth the cost that may come. I am glad you’re happy, it feels easier to share it.”

She sipped the cocktail, the mingling of flavors ending with the heat of ginger. “Dave seems like a wonderful man, and he’s very easy on the eyes.”

Laine raised her glass to Ava, “Nice catch.”

The food came without too much of a wait and they took their time eating and talking. Laine asked, “What ever happened with the dog? And how’s your cat? I never really had a pet. My mom pretended to be allergic.”

Ava giggled and rose up her own glass, clinking it against Laine’s. “Thanks, we’re really happy with the development. Though we haven’t discussed what will happen next in our relationship but...We’re happy.” She sipped her own drink, enjoying the refreshing mingling flavors of the strawberry and mint.

She pulled a confused face at the concept of someone pretending to be allergic but answered the question, “Prince went to live on a farm.” She paused and added quickly, “An actual farm! He’s living on the grounds for a stable and he’s going to be trained to run along carriages for historical reenactments since that’s what dalmations were originally bred for.” She beamed. “Dave and I visited him before Dave left, he seemed really happy though he nearly knocked me over when he saw me.” She chuckled and picked up her fork to dig into her omelette. “I started following the farm on instagram just to make sure he’s doing okay. Thor is, of course, relieved to not have a giant hyper dog running around his domain.”

Laine smiled warmly, “As long as you’re both happy, just enjoy it and enjoy each other. That’s what we’re doing.”

She had a mouthful of the egg and garlicky mushrooms when Ava mentioned the farm and her eyes widened. Swallowing her food, she said, “That’s really lucky. Virginia has such cool places like that, I’m happy for a good ending. We don’t get so many but that’s a victory.”

After a few more bites, Laine asked, “As for shopping today, did you have anything particular in mind? I know a few clothes places but I don’t know how much you would like them.”

“I’m up for wherever you like to go, who knows I might find something I’ll like.” Ava grinned before digging into her omelette, humming at the flavors.

Her eyes brightened as though remembering something and pointed her fork at Laine. “I almost forgot, I need your help or your expertise on something! My birthday is coming up and it actually falls close to Halloween, so Dave and I were talking about having a Halloween shindig and inviting the UMBRA and THUNDER crews.” She paused. “Okay he said UMBRA, but I want to invite Queen and I’ll invite Ghost and Poker too. I don’t expect them to show up, but I don’t want to be rude and exclude them.” She shrugged. “But I thought it would be fun.”

Laine raised her brow with interest, “Remember, we’re THUMBRA now. As much as they don’t want it, both our teams are really too small to be functional on their own. I think we could make it work but looking at it from a top down perspective, I can see why they merged us.”

She paused another thought making her examine that idea but she said nothing, instead continuing “I’m sure an invitation will make them feel included, even if they don’t go.”

Laine did not sound regretful at all that they might not show up. Queen would probably be alright, likely he would be trashed and loud. Ghost was starting to bother her, something about his outburst against their teams being united and a few other moments she had stored away. Nothing she could define yet but it made her pay attention to him. And Poker, he was someone Laine would avoid if she could, she had caught him looking and did not like his expression. Laine kept this all to herself and encouraged Ava, “We have to do that, make sure that the team doesn’t naturally fall into the two divides.”

She cut a piece of the mushroom and egg toast and pushed it to the edge of her plate, “Want to try it? The mushrooms are sublime.”

“Sure, thanks!” Ava picked up the small piece and popped it into her mouth, humming again at the taste. “So,” She said after swallowing. “I’ve never thrown a party, let alone a Halloween party. Usually my tradition is to decorate my house a little and then wear a witches hat to give out candy. Then spend the night sipping on tea or soup and watching anything Halloween themed but not horror based.” She paused. “Except Coraline, that’s my favorite horror movie. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you would be interested in helping me plan the party?” She asked slowly before smiling hopefully at Laine.

Laine finished her drink, setting down the glass then clasped her hands, “I would love to help you plan and execute a badass Halloween party, especially for your birthday. We can definitely get something going. So Coraline, is that the sort of theme you’d want? Rather than classic horror gross stuff. Something cute but still spooky. I’m already getting ideas.”

Lori stopped by and cleared the empty plates and asked about refills, Laine asking for a Pretty in Pink. She took another doughnut, pulling it apart, “I’m assuming it’s a party at night, is it going to be a costume party? Are you going to serve drinks or keep it nonalcoholic?”

Ava’s eyes brightened as Laine took to the idea and she smiled broadly. “It’s definitely going to be a costume party and we can do alcohol and nonalcoholic drinks! There’s actually this show coming out and I was thinking about dressing up as…”

>...///

“That was the best brunch I’ve ever had.” Ava sighed as they walked out of the restaurant and back to Laine’s car. “I might have to bring Dave to that place, he’d love it.” She fought off a yawn as the food coma tried to set in and she focused on Laine. “So what’s next for our Girl’s Day?”

Laine patted her stomach and sighed, "You should I think he'd like it, they have some wild game sometimes for dinner. And yeah, I felt like I needed to make up for the Waffle House disappointment."

She grinned and unlocked the doors to the GTI. "Next is doing some clothes shopping, I need some new warm clothes for winter and probably outdoorsy stuff. You know, just in case."

She got into the car and buckled up, looking over at Ava. "Alaska reminded me I don't know shit about hiking or anything to survive outside longer than 24 hours. If that. I've never been into that, I'm a city girl at heart. But the places the Program leads us, we need sturdy boots rather than cute heels."

“Yeah, Dave wants to take me into the mountains to learn survival skills.” Ava sighed, buckling herself in as well. “I mean, I’m excited to spend some alone time with him and I love nature. It’s just extreme camping is...extreme.” She chuckled sheepishly. “The cons of being in love with a Mountain Man.”

Laine started the car and backed out of the parking spot, glancing over her shoulder. The mention of Alaska made her almost expect to feel the thump of a Russian thug under her tire. It was momentary then like a cloud passing it vanished from thought.

"I can imagine," she said, "Donnelley wants to take me to Texas but no mention of camping, so that's nice. But I do have to get past my ignorance and mistrust of myself in nature. Maybe I'll borrow Dave for a weekend."

Laine glanced at Ava as she pulled to a red light, "For a crash course in wilderness training."

“There’s no one better to teach you.” Ava grinned. “So, clothes shopping? I’d be up for that, I could get a new sweater dress or two.” She looked out at the street as they drove by and frowned. “And...maybe a new vest to replace the one I...wore to that mission in Alaska.” She looked over to Laine. “Dave and I finally got around to dealing with the clothes.”

“Please don’t say crash,” Laine said, shaking her head, “I’ll probably slip somewhere and fall down the side of a mountain. But yes, that’s the idea. If he’s alright with it, and you too.”

Her thoughts flicked to Donnelley and his opinion of her spending a weekend alone with another man. He would have to get over it, it was Dave afterall. Solid, loyal, dependable Dave who adored Ava, he would be the only one that would probably get a pass from Donnelley. Maybe. Laine rolled her eyes at his territorial tendencies but her attention was snatched back by the mention of a vest.

Laine looked at her, “I know it must have been difficult. I saw how much that vest meant to you, I know it meant a lot to Donnelley and I when we made it. But it’s just clothes, alright? It can be replaced.”

The light changed to green and she pulled forward. Keeping her eyes on the road she continued, “Seeing the blood...the proof of what happened. It’s still hard to grasp sometimes. I know it happened, I saw the evidence but not remembering it makes it like some nightmare that fades as soon as you wake up.”

Waking up in Alesie Creech’s bed and what that meant. Dulane had mentioned piles of empty clothes where people once were. A shiver touched her skin and she cleared her throat, wondering briefly if Ava ever thought about the biker who she replaced.

“Dave remembers, Donnelley to some extent as well since he was the last one down,” Laine said, gripping the wheel tight for a moment. “We’re the lucky ones, Ava. We don’t have to remember losing those we love.”

“I know.” Ava said, her voice soft as she looked out the window. After a moment she fished out her cellphone and shot Dave a text. ‘Hey, out with Laine for brunch and shopping. I hope you’re having a good day, I love you.’ She finished the text with a smiling emoji surrounded by hearts and put her phone away.

She sighed quietly and turned back to Laine with an attempt at a smile. “Dave and I managed to salvage most of the patches, cleaned the blood off them and everything. Maybe we can pick up some new ones and a vest?”

She grimaced slightly at the thought of Ava's blood all over those cute patches Laine had picked out at the boutique in Idaho. "Sure thing, we'll get it together again, maybe get some new patches. That's what battle vests are for, to evolve with experiences."

“Yeah and we’re certainly getting a lot of experiences lately.” She said with a huff of a chuckle. “But I do love the idea and it made me so happy to get it from you and Donnelley. I’m just sorry that not all of it survived.”

"We did though," Laine said quietly. "That's what matters. But we'll make your vest the cutest rad little thing ever."

She checked the GPS for the directions to CityCenterDC, a huge shopping center close to downtown. Weaving through traffic the little Volkswagen made quick work of it and soon they were rolling into an underground parking garage.

Laine stepped out and once Ava was clear she locked up the car. She glanced around the shadows, listening hard to the cavernous sounds of engine idles echoing off the concrete. She reached and felt the gun in her waistband holster which she covered with the fitted blazer.

"Alright, once we see the mall map we'll make our game plan," Laine gestured for Ava to follow as they made their way into the dazzling bright lit shopping mall.

Laine blinked to let her eyes adjust to the bright artificial light. "Last stop will be the shoe store, since it's the heavy boots. Let's get started, you said sweater dresses?"

Ava nodded, glancing down at her purse when her phone chimed. She fished it out and smiled when she saw that Dave had texted her back. ’On the mountain. Mal's coming out soon. Love you, have fun!’

She texted back a heart and a pine tree before tucking her phone away. “Yeah, some sweater dresses and maybe we can find some stuff for the party since we’re here.”

>...///

After a few hours, Laine dragged herself back to the car after the last stop at the craft store, her feet hurting after not taking her own advice about shoes. The bags and boxes filled the hatchback and the last Michael’s shopping bags were stuffed along the sides.

Laine checked her phone for the time and turned to Ava, “We’re pretty much done, anything special we couldn’t find we can order online. It’s spa time.”

The drive took them to Alexandria, to the Lorien Hotel, a luxurious place that she normally was out of her way but the website sold her on the expensive massage and body treatment. After so many nights in shitty motels for the Program, the stress and bad fast food they deserved the spoiling.

“Look, don’t freak out on the menu, I got this,” Laine said, “I have a little savings account for things like this. I used to do girl days with my friend Mariana but she’s married now and in San Francisco. You don’t mind replacing her do you?”

She smiled at Ava, then pulled up to the valet parking. The spa and resort in the hotel was immaculate and clean, with the typical calming decor of water fountains tinkling and soothing music. Laine checked them in, handing the debit card over to pay for the package and quickly stuffed the receipt in her purse.

A hostess came around and smiled, “Welcome to Kimpton Lorien Spa, we have lockers near the steam room to put away purses and phones.”

Ava shifted on her feet with mild discomfort, her cheeks flushed as Laine insisted on paying for the spa package. Even though she said it was alright, she still felt...unbalanced and unused to being on the receiving end on such a luxurious gift. She smiled at the hostess and turned to Laine. “How about we call this my birthday and Christmas present combo?”

Laine looked her over, pausing for a moment as she observed Ava. “Sure, we can call it that,” she said, “Don’t stress about it, it’s something I always put aside anyway. We deserve to be taken care of, even if it’s just some hot oil and flower wraps.”

The hostess waved them towards the sauna to start off and Laine glanced at Ava’s newly straightened hair, “This will be the ultimate test.”

Ava looked at Laine in confusion until she noticed her staring at her hair and realization clicked. Ava’s eyes widened and she put her hands almost protectively on top of her head and her nice, straight hair.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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The bedroom was small. Light filtered in through the slats of partially opened blinds, illuminating walls of faded and dingy paint, a twin bed with rumbled sheets and mens clothing strewn about a hard, packed down dirt red carpet that resembled cardboard.

The view shifted to a pair of men’s hands busily stuffing rifle magazines into a nondescript black backpack. Once the task was complete, the hands zipped up the bag.

In a rush of green and shadows, the surroundings had changed to a winding mountain road. The car navigating the road drove smoothly, there were few jostles as it drove past scenic trees and mountain views.

Up ahead was a sign, a simple wooden structure that read “Welcome to-” with the name of town or city strangely obscured from view. The words were blurred away, as though a hand had passed through wet paint and smeared the name away into obscurity.

The eerie silence of these disjointed images was suddenly broken by a gunshot.


>FAIRFIELD, VIRGINIA
>MOORE RESIDENCE
>03OCT2019
>1045…///

Ava jerked awake, sitting up straight with a gasp and grasping tightly onto the arms of her desk chair. She quickly looked around her home office, her heart beating in her chest as she looked for signs of a gunman or a bullet hole in her wall.

There was nothing. No shadowy figure in her doorway, no bullet holes in her wall and even the window behind her was still intact. She could hear birds merrily chirping through the glass.

“Mrow.” The rumbling meow made Ava look down, seeing Thor approaching her chair.

“Hey buddy.” Ava sighed, her eyes glancing nervously around her office again. She reached down and stroked his head, finding a measure of calm hearing him purr and feeling his soft fur beneath her fingers.

She opened a drawer beside her desk and removed her handgun she had stashed there. Ignoring the discomfort in her eyes from falling asleep in her contacts, she cautiously left her office to patrol around her home; making sure that it was empty.

Finding everything as she left it, she breathed a little easier, despite the faint tremor she still felt in her hands. She returned to her office, set her pistol on her desk and collapsed back into her desk chair.

Thor jumped into her lap a moment later, purring like a lawn mower and tapping his paw on one of her hands. Ava started to absentmindedly pet him, stroking his fur and bringing herself down from the rush of adrenaline and paranoia.

After a few minutes, she felt collected enough to sit up straight and turn her attention to her computer. She pulled up the Dream Syndicate website and read through some of the recent posts.

They all described the same dream she had just had.

Ava leaned back into her chair, Thor curled up in her lap and rubbed her hand over her face as her mind raced.

Were the dreams happening more frequently? There was that vision she had in Alaska and then another in Anchorage.

What did that mean?

She needed to talk to someone, but both Dave and Laine were gone on their camping trip. She reached over, picked up her phone and called Donnelley.

The phone only gave her the quiet trills of her call for a few moments. It was only after a time wondering if he would pick up that he did, “Ava?” Donnelley asked, his voice somewhere between worry and confusion until he spoke again in a more friendly tone, “What’s up?”

“Hey, uh, how are things?” Ava found herself asking, grimacing as she fought the urge to tell him everything right away.

“Things are, uh,” Donnelley paused, sighed. The mental image of him rubbing his tired face and eyes wouldn’t be that far off, “Things are goin’ alright.”

He sniffled, “Just called to catch up? Haven’t talked to you or Dave in a bit.”

“Not...really.” Ava answered hesitantly. “I had another dream-vision...thing.”

Donnelley’s voice seemed to perk up and any traces of tiredness were long gone, replaced with firm seriousness, “Am I the first person you called about this?”

“Yeah.” She said with a frown, petting Thor with her free hand. “I just woke up from it.”

“Okay, good.” He sounded a bit relieved, “Listen, I was wrappin’ up some work, I can swing by.” He offered.

“If you’d like.” He added, “Bring some beer or somethin’. Watch a movie, help you calm down?”

She blinked but smiled slightly at the offer. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I can’t really...drink beer, so you can have it all to yourself.” She scratched Thor’s back as the smile slipped from her face. “Should I...not tell anyone else about it?”

“Ah, shoot, I’m sorry.” Surely Donnelley was rolling his eyes at himself in his office, “I forgot drinkin’s not your thing.”

He chuckled a bit before he addressed Ava, “You just…” he sighed, “I know how hard it is to keep secrets from everyone around you, I’m sorry about that, Ava.”

Little did Ava know that Donnelley knew all too intimately the art of concealing things about his true self from everyone in a room, everyone in his life. Not just about his employment at the CIA, or the Program, but to the very feelings he’d been born with that so many in his line of work looked down upon. “Nobody but you, me, and our Workin’ Group need to know about your condition. We’re a team, us against the world.”

She relaxed a little. “Okay, I can handle that.” Thor suddenly jumped off her lap and she rolled her eyes at the cat’s fickle nature. “When can I expect you? I can order us something to eat.”

“Ah,” Donnelley paused, “Probably an hour. Order whatever, I’ll eat it.”

>...///

Donnelley’s bike came to a stop next to Ava’s driveway. His cautious eyes scanned up and down the block, as well as the front of the house. He push-checked his .40 and stuffed it in the holster in his waistband, shutting off the somewhat subdued rumble of his Indian Chief. His footsteps brought him to the front door, knocking a couple times and casting another few glances about for any suspicious cars.

Program CI had to be close by. He’d have to be careful with what he and Ava talked about, even inside her own house. They were relentless, fucking parasites whose jobs were keeping the Program’s secrets with the Program, but too many brushes with them had made them nothing but power hungry coattail riders that dug their fingers into everything they could to make themselves seem more important than they were. He looked down at the beers in his hand, unable to keep from at least buying something for himself.

And then he shrugged the shoulder the book bag’s strap rested on. Inside of it were the files. He didn’t trust them in his office, so he kept them close at all times, constantly paranoid of someone knowing somehow, if he wasn’t careful enough. Every glance an accusation. He knocked again, wondering if Ava had a gun on the door as she looked through the peephole. Couldn’t really blame her, “Just me!” He said, just in case.

There was a beat of silence and then the door opened, revealing a slightly flustered Ava dressed in a long grey shirt with blue and pink gradient yoga pants. “Hi! Sorry! Thor was trying to eat the food I ordered.” She said, stepping to the side and opening the door wider to let him in.

However, for the first time since Donnelley had known her, Ava’s hair was not a chaotic cloud of curling red waves and copper corkscrews. Instead, her hair now fell in a perfectly flat sheet down from her head, like a curtain of ruby with the occasional fleck of amber.

“I see you.” She said to the cat, the large feline perched on the back of the couch and staring intently toward the kitchen where a plain white bag with grease spots on the paper sat. She turned back to Donnelley with a smile, holding her arms out to hug him. “How are you?”

“Feelin’ a little overdressed...” He said, looking down at his black polo and tan slacks. He looked at Ava like he’d seen a ghost, or a long lost friend. His heart picked up and he didn’t expect to see Ava so… different looking. His blue ID Badge was still clipped to his pants and he fidgeted with it for a second before he cleared his throat, “…For the occasion… uh, other’n that? Pretty good.”

Tentatively, he reciprocated the hug and then stepped back from Ava again. He was unused to gestures like that, funny, since he’d gotten real used to the gestures he and Laine shared a few nights. A hug should’ve been a handshake to him. He nodded to the food that Thor seemed so preoccupied with, “What’d you get?”

“Sandwiches and fries.” She said, shutting the door behind him once he stepped in, her eyes going curiously toward his backpack. “I got you a rib meat sandwich, I hope that’s alright.” She walked over to the kitchen and started digging out the food while keeping an eye on Thor.

Donnelley’s eyes lit up at the prospect of food in front of him. Working double time at the Company office almost erased his human needs, a machine-like single-mindedness took him over and it was seeping away the further he got from that office chair. “Where from?” He asked, “I got a hankerin’ for most anythin’.”

He smiled at Ava, “I hope you’re doin’ a little better.”

She smiled back, a flicker of exhaustion dancing across her eyes.

Donnelley kept his smile as he crossed to the living room and took a seat, setting his book bag down in front of him. He gestured to one of the couches in the living room, “Well, come on, let’s break bread. Talk about whatever you want to.”

“Yeah, okay.” She said, her smile brightening for a brief moment before she fetched the food from the kitchen counter and brought it over to her coffee table. “You look like you’re coming back from the office.” She noted, sitting down and pulling over her container with her grilled chicken sandwich. “I thought we were all on leave, they let you go to work?”

“Yeah, kinda.” He shrugged, watching Ava set the food on the coffee table, “I can look, but I can’t touch, you know. At least they’re still payin’ me. I just had to, uh, pick up a few things from my desk.”

He smiled, reaching over and sliding the styrofoam container closer to himself and shoving a steak fry in his mouth. He took a second to chew and swallow before he spoke again, “So,” he smiled awkwardly, “We can completely bypass the elephant in the room and just hang out like a couple of besties or we can, um, pounce on the thing and dissect it.”

He shrugged, “I’m cool with anythin’.”

Thor jumped up onto the couch next to Donnelley, the large Norwegian cat sitting down and staring at him as his long fluffy tail flicked back and forth.

Ava took in a breath and looked down at her food. “Probably should get it out of the way.” She smiled tiredly and looked down at her untouched food. “I was seeing out of someone else’s eyes again. Like when Tom...and you were…” She trailed off and sighed heavily. “But it wasn’t as violent as those times. I was seeing through the eyes of a man, I could tell by the hands. I was in his room, a dark and dingy place, not a lot of decoration or personalization anywhere. He was packing up a bunch of rifle magazines into a backpack. Then the dream changed and I or he was riding in a car down a mountain road. The radio wasn’t on, no one was talking, it was very quiet. I saw one of those ‘welcome to’ signs on the side of the road but I couldn’t make out the name of where they were driving into.”

She finally picked up a french fry and stared at it. “Then there was a gunshot and I woke up.” She popped the fry into her mouth and chewed through it mechanically, hardly noticing the taste. “It feels like...these are starting to happen more frequently.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is.” Donnelley gave Ava a consoling smile, remembering how she’d cried into his chest during one of their many stays at a cheap motel. “I’m sorry. But Sobel probably has some sort of… fix. I promise we’ll find somethin’.”

Ava shivered at the mention of Sobel, her mind flashing back to the barn in Alaska. “I guess we can ask, Ipiktok gave me those berries…” She trailed off, thinking about the strangely sad shaman, what he had said to her before everything went wrong. “I’d like a more sustainable solution though, those berries will only help me a certain number of times and I doubt I can grow a new plant from the seeds in them.” She picked up her soda and played with the straw. “Maybe something I can pass on to others…”

Donnelley nodded sullenly at first, reaching over to grab another steak fry before freezing just short of getting one. He looked at Ava, “Others?”

She nodded, furrowing her brow at him. “Yeah, there’s a website for a bunch of kids that have dreams like I do. After I woke up, I pulled it up and they all had the same vision that I did.” She frowned. “Foster didn’t tell you?”

Donnelley didn’t move, just stared at Ava for a second before grabbing a fry and sitting back. He shook his head, “There’s a website?

“Yeah, uh, hang on, I can show you.” She said, shutting her container of food before getting up. “Make sure he doesn’t eat any people food.” She said, pointing to Thor, laying down next to Donnelley and staring at him expectantly. “I mean it.” She told Donnelley, giving him a narrowed eye look before walking out of the room to get her laptop.

Donnelley had his hands up and eyebrows raised, “Yes, miss’m.”

When Ava left the room, he looked down at Thor. The two of them shared a moment then, staring at each other. Thor started a low purr that vibrated Donnelley’s leg as the big cat nuzzled against it, then looked back up at Donnelley. A long, slow blink was all it took after that. Donnelley sighed, ripping a piece off his steak fry and setting it down in front of Thor, who destroyed the evidence like a good accomplice, “Don’t be a snitch, neither, a’right?”

While Thor cozied up to Donnelley in hopes of getting more contraband treats, Ava returned with her laptop tucked under her arm. She sat down next to Donnelley on the couch and opened the computer, the screen turning on to show the Dream Syndicate website.

“Here, this is it.” She said, passing the laptop over to him. “When we got back I checked to see if anyone had visions like I did in Alaska, but it looked like those nightmares were just for me.”

“How the hell…” Donnelley muttered as he read the different post titles, some mentioning events that he recognized. And some he was in, like the dream Ava had about him when he was in Iraq, though through the language and eyes of someone not privy to what he and Ava were- I THINK I HAD A DREAM ABOUT ISIS PRISON, “Jesus… Foster told you about this?”

“Yeah,” She said with a sigh, staring at the screen. “He told me about it after what happened with Tom. I think he thought it would make me feel better to know I wasn’t alone and while that’s nice...There’s nothing I can do. Nothing to help me or these kids.”

“Stop.” Donnelley said, trying to look into Ava’s eyes, voice quiet in the silence of the room that had enveloped them after Ava voiced her anxiety, “We’re doin’ everythin’ we can. None of us understand anythin’ about this… magic shit, but…”

Donnelley frowned, “I still blame myself for so much, Ava.” Donnelley swallowed a lump in his throat remembering the fate of Wetwork Team GRANTOR in Chechnya, and watching the woman in front of him die in Alaska because he wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t fast enough for any of them. He shook his head, “You can’t help them if you don’t know how to help yourself, and if you put that responsibility on yourself it’s goin’ to crush you.”

“I’ve got my team to worry about, and that means you too. We’ll find a way for you.” Donnelley promised, “Okay?”

Ava looked into his eyes, blue like her own, and sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Okay.” She said with a small, albeit tired, smile.

She put a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Try...Not to blame yourself so much either, okay?”

Donnelley looked down at Ava’s small hand on his arm and then smiled at her. He nodded once and said, “I’ll try.” He lay his hand on Ava’s for a moment and then looked to the food, “I would blame myself if we let these sandwiches get too cold.”

He chuckled, “You got a movie in mind for us to watch?”

“You’re the guest, you can pick.” Ava said, happy to get off the topic, for now at least. “I have all the streaming services so you can pick whatever.” She opened up her box of food and fished out a steak. It wasn’t as hot as it was, but still fairly warm with a nice crunch to the outside.

“I’m thinkin’ somethin’ lighthearted after all the bullshit we been through.” Donnelley snorted as he turned on the TV and navigated to Netflix. As was expected from Ava, her watchlist and continue-watching section was filled with Disney movies and other shows and films you’d usually find in a woman’s Netflix account. “Won’t be too hard to find somethin’ lighthearted in this, I guess.”

“Any cheesy action movies? I prefer my vintage in the 80’s, but I’m down for anythin’.” Donnelley smiled.

“Oh I don’t know any action movies off the top of my head, especially from the 80s.” Ava said with a shrug, eating another fry and chewing thoughtfully. “Isn’t there one with Arnold Schwarzenegger and he basically puns his way through killing a bunch of baddies?”

Donnelley rose his brows at Ava, “I believe you’re talkin’ about one of the greatest movies of all time, yes. It is named Commando, and it will live on as a masterpiece of cinema.”

She grinned. “I’ve never seen it and clearly, it’s one of your favorites, so why don’t we watch it?”

He went to searching for it on Netflix and smacked his knee when he found it, “You won’t regret this.”

Ava smiled, happy to see the life return to him. “It’s puns, I never regret puns.”

>...///

Ava picked up the now empty food boxes as the end credits for Commando rolled across the screen. “Alright, I can see why you say that was the greatest movie of all time.” She grinned at Donnelley, heading to the kitchen to dump the boxes in the trash. “I particularly liked the sound track. Are there any other 80s classics I’ve been missing out on?” She asked, glancing out the window in the kitchen and noting that the sun was starting to set.

Feeling a craving set in, she opened up a cupboard and pulled down a sauce pan.

Donnelley followed Ava to the kitchen, not feeling comfortable shouting in her house, and instead stood leaning against the wall and watching her with some curiosity as to what she was doing, “Well, you ever seen Predator?” He asked, “What’cha makin’?”

“I have not seen Predator.” She said with a bit of a shiver. “I always thought it was too...scary, I guess? But it’s over 30 years old now, so, I guess it wouldn’t look as scary.” She looked down as Thor came trotting into the kitchen, but perched himself up on the bench of the breakfast nook so he could be properly aloof. “And I thought I’d make some London Fogs, do you want one?” She asked brightly, turning to an electric kettle on the counter and removing it from it’s little electric base to fill with water.

Donnelley quirked a brow, “London Fog?”

She gave him an equally confused look before realization clicked. “Oh, right, you don’t obsess over tea like I do.” She laughed awkwardly. “It’s an Earl Grey tea latte. So you steep Earl Grey in water, then you fill up the mugs with hot foamy milk, usually mixing in vanilla in some way. Sometimes I boil in dried lavender buds, I call that a Lazy London Fog. And if you make it with espresso it’s called a Dirty London Fog or a London Smog.”

“Oh,” Donnelley’s eyebrows rose and he nodded his head at what he imagined it to taste like, it sounded good enough for him and he wasn’t much of a tea person, “That sounds pretty good. I didn’t know you were a tea person. I mean, it don’t really surprise me, but still.”

He chuckled, “I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.” He trailed off as he watched her work, “So, twenty questions? Who first?”

Ava looked at him, surprised. “Really? Uh,” She scratched her head as she opened the pantry and started collecting things in her arms. A tin of Earl Grey tea, a jar of dried lavender buds, a mason jar labeled ‘vanilla sugar’ and a tin of dark chocolate coco powder. “Well, aside from Commando, what’s your favorite movie?” She set down her ingredients and picked up the lavender. “Do you want to try a regular London or a Lazy London?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Donnelley chuckled, before putting his thinking face on, looking off and away, “Actually, would you accept ‘79? Apocalypse Now. Navy Seals with Charlie Sheen is pretty good too, but that’s ‘90.”

He snapped his fingers, “Conan the Barbarian. Another Schwarzenegger classic.” He nodded, “But, uh, yeah. I like Apocalypse Now. Fun fact, it’s based on an old novel, Heart of Darkness. Never been a huge literature person, but I’ve read a few books. I’ll try this Lazy London, by the way.”

“My taste in books is kinda dark, like my music.” He said, “What about you? What’s Ava’s music tastes?”

Ava furrowed her brow in thought as she set the tea kettle to brew at the appropriate temperature for Earl Grey. “I’m pretty all over the place and it depends on what I’m doing. If I’m working or doing something that needs my focus then I like listening to lofi or video game soundtracks. If I’m exercising or driving then, uh, I usually like...I guess it’d be alternative rock? Probably lame bands by comparison to what you listen too. I’ve been getting into K-Pop lately and, um,” She flushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I like metal covers of Disney songs. They’re fun.”

She cleared her throat and went to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. “What about you? What are these dark music tastes?”

“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” He chuckled, “Mostly punk and metal. I like me some gangster rap too, a lot of Southern artists. What kinda alt-rock we talkin’ about?”

Ava eyed him as she set the milk on the counter. “...I don’t want to say. You’ll make fun of me or judge me, probably both.”

Donnelley smirked, folding his arms and turning his head up at Ava, “Try me.”

She stared at him before sighing. “I like the stuff I listened to back in college, when I was a teenager. Linkin Park, 3 Days Grace, even and especially, My Chemical Romance. I even went through a bit of a punk emo phase,” She flushed in embarrassment. “I was in college and I thought it made me seem more grown up. Don’t judge me or you aren’t getting any tea!”

“Oh, no London Fog for Donnelley? Kinda wanted one of those.” He feigned pouting and then chuckled, “Did you have the whole ensemble? Dressin’ like an edgy teen? I had that phase, but my pictures ain’t at hand.”

He clucked his tongue, smirking, “Yours are.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her own pout threatening to poke out her bottom lip. “What do I get out of this deal?”

Donnelley rolled his jaw, looking up and away for a moment before his eyes settled back on Ava, “Name your price.” Donnelley floated, then his smirk grew to a grin, and he thrust his thumb over his shoulder towards the neighborhood street, “I’ll let you ride my bike.

Her eyes brightened. “Deal!” She said, sticking out her hand for him to shake.

He gave a big old nod, just once and took Ava’s hand. They shook. Donnelley nodded towards her front door, “We’ll take a ride come sun-up.” He smiled, “How’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.” She beamed, stepping away from the kitchen counter and waving to him to follow her. “Come on, it's in my home office.” She said, heading for the hallway with Thor jumping down from his perch to trot along behind her.

Ava lead them down a short hallway where there was a cracked door revealing a guest bathroom to one side and two doors parallel to each other towards the end of the hallway. One door was open, clearly leading to Ava’s bedroom where there was a neatly made bed with an assortment of adorable plushies arranged on it. Including the large cat pillow Laine had gotten her so many weeks ago.

The other door was shut and she opened it to reveal a spacious office. An L shaped desk sat towards the back corner of the room, one side flush to the wall while the other faced the door so the chair behind the desk had a good view of the door. Two monitors sat on the desk along with a number of small knick knacks, including a few succulent plants in decorative pots.

There was a window at the back of the room and noticeably the desk was as far from the window as it could be.

This left the room fairly open, a small grey couch covered in pillows, a blanket was pushed against one wall. Sitting on the couch was Chunk, the fox plushie she won back in Seattle. In one corner of the room was clearly an adult sized bean bag chair, complete with a little stand to place one’s coffee or tea.

Pressed against the other wall was a bookcase filled with different flavors of fiction and non-fiction as well as what appeared to be a normal white dresser. Save from the random smudges and stains of dried paint and other pigments. A jar of paint brushes sat on top of the dresser among an array of framed family pictures. An oil painting of pink peonies in a jar of water was resting on the floor on a small paint covered hand towel, leaning back against the dresser.

Ava walked over to the collection of pictures and selected one from the back. “Alright, here it is.” She said, turning to him with a grimace on her face as she looked at the picture. “Oh, Mid-2000s, why weren’t you cooler?” She asked with a sigh as she handed the frame to Donnelley. “Don’t be too harsh.”

Donnelley took the picture from Ava and then his eyes went to scanning all the details of young Ava. His lip quivered in a smile and he chuckled, “Oh, shit.” He laughed a bit and covered his mouth, wiping at his eye for effect, “Oh, shit. Wow, you were not lyin’.”

“It was the mid-2000s!” Ava exclaimed, her face flushing. “Tim Burton was very popular! And I was 15 and in college, I thought it made me look more mature!”

In the picture, doing her best to look as severe as possible was a teenaged Ava. Her red hair was cut short in a layered pixie cut and looked like it had been straightened, the natural curls and waves already making their return. Her makeup was mainly a thick ring of eyeliner and dark blue eyeshadow.

Her outfit consisted of a bandana around her neck, a pair of striped fingerless gloves that went to her elbows and was layered with beaded bracelets. She also wore a black shirt of the purple Cheshire cat from the Disney Alice in Wonderland animated movie with the quote ‘We’re All Mad Here’ on it. Completing the look was a red pleated, plaid skirt accessorized with a studded and chain covered belt as well as a pair of knee high converse shoes over a pair of striped stockings.

“God, how the hell d’you even get them shoes on?” Donnelley chuckled at the picture, “It’s like Doc Martens, but worse.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ava huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Suffice to say, it wasn’t gracefully.” She held her hand out for the picture. “There, I held up my side of the bargain.”

Donnelley pushed his bottom lip out, “Oh, did I upset you?” Donnelley asked, “You looked very serious and intense. Very mature.”

He handed the picture back, then nodded at the art supplies, “Didn’t know you painted.”

Ava looked at the brushes as she set the picture back on the dresser. “Oh, yeah.” She smiled, looking down at the painting on the floor while brushing her hair behind her ear. “I haven’t touched paints in awhile and I’ve kinda been neglecting my drawing lately.” She motioned to the room. “Dave actually moved stuff around and made this into a bit of an art studio too.” She smiled, looking back down at the painting of pink peonies. “I had been talking about doing it and then he put it together for me. It’s nice to have a space for creating something pretty.”

“Sounds smart,” Donnelley nodded, “Maybe I should have one. Get a big house somewhere, make the basement a Judo studio or somethin’.”

Donnelley chuckled and leaned down to take a good look at Ava’s flower painting, trying with every fiber of his artistically stunted mind to understand why it was good. He already knew that it was, but he stood back up and nodded his acknowledgment that it was, “That’s a really good paintin’.” Donnelley smiled as sincerely as he ever did, though sheepishly, that being the only appraisal he could make of it, “My daughter paints. She draws on her computer too, she’s really good at it.”

He smiled at the memory of her giving him the drawing she’d made as he looked down at Ava’s painting, and the realization that Tilly was more intelligent and talented than he’d ever been. It was astounding, how different she’d become, how she’d grown in his absence. Astounding, but heartbreakingly painful. “Anyways, uh,” Donnelley muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat as he looked back at Ava, “You’re very talented. Got a lot goin’ for you, I see. I’m sure your parents are proud.”

She smiled sheepishly, looking down at the painting. “Thank you and...Yeah, I think they are. I mean, they kind of got lucky with me. Adopting me and it turns out at 5 I could understand math at a high school level.” She chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at all the family pictures on her art dresser. “Hard not to be proud of that.”

Donnelley chuckled, “I know I’d be.” He smiled at Ava and then asked, “You don’t mind me askin’, you don’t remember a lot before your adoption, do you?”

Ava frowned and shook her head slowly. “No, I was only two or three at the time. All I know is that someone found me walking down the side of some back road in West Virginia and no one ever, you know...claimed me.”

She shrugged stiffly, still looking at the pictures of her family and folded her arms over her chest. “I always figured they didn’t want me, my birth parents.” She finally looked at him with a humorless smile. “The fucked up thing? Despite that, I’ve been thinking about trying to find them anyway.”

Donnelley’s face took on a more sympathetic look when Ava admitted her insecurities to him. When she said she’d wanted to find them, he gained back some good humor, “I think anybody in your position would want to know. Before my ma and pa passed they took one of them spit-into-a-tube DNA things.” Donnelley shrugged, “Didn’t really find anythin’ surprisin’ like some Chinese hidin’ in our ancestry. Just Welsh, Irish, little bit of German.”

“My ancestors were coal miners and moonshiners. Go figure where my rebellious streak came from.” He chuckled, “I hope you find some answers. I know you and your computer sleuthin’, won’t be hard to find some.”

“Thanks,” She smiled, some of the warmth returning. “I thought about just doing one of those DNA things honestly, they sometimes help people find lost family members.” She shrugged and grew quiet for a moment.

“You don’t think it’s dumb?” She asked him quietly. “I mean, it’s obvious they didn’t want me, but I thought...With the dreams and the visions...Maybe they would know something.” She shrugged again, her shoulders moving stiffly. “Or they could turn out to be crazy cult people living in the mountains.”

“Well, if they didn’t want you, they really lost out on someone special. Hell, they don’t deserve you anyway.” Donnelley shook his head, then chuckled a little, “I don’t think it’s stupid. Knowin’ where you came from is important, at least tells you what you avoided becomin’. I’m sure Dave said the same, but you ever need any kind of help in your search then I’m here.”

She smiled again, a faint mistiness appearing in her eyes. “Thanks Donnelley, I really appreciate it.” She sniffed and tilted her head to the door. “So, shall we get back to the tea? Maybe put on another 80s classic I completely missed out on.”

Donnelley returned Ava’s smile, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding, “Tea sounds good.” He said, then looked up and away for a moment before returning his gaze to Ava, “How ‘bout you pick the next one? Any ideas?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her fingers glide through her straightened hair as she pondered the question.

“Well, I’ve got an 80s movie of my own. Have you ever seen any of the Ghibli studio films?”

Donnelley shook his head, “Nope.” He shrugged and smiled, “Why not show me my first?”

She smiled. “I think you might like it. It’s called Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.”

“Well, let’s… uh, brew… some tea and get cozy.” Donnelley smiled, maybe not getting the tea lingo right, but his enthusiasm was admirable. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he and Ava left the room to get back to happier, simpler things.

>…///

Donnelley watched the credits roll on the movie. It was late at night by now. Donnelley opened his mouth to say something to Ava until he heard the soft snoring from her on the other couch. He smiled softly at her seemingly dreaming peacefully, no nightmares or visions so far. He knew how hard it was to want to fall asleep when even sleep wasn’t a respite from the world. Even if he couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to see the worst parts of the future, he knew how it was to have to see the worst parts of the past. He’d woken up screaming or crying, sometimes both, more times than he’d care to admit.

He simply looked at her, had to wonder who the hell would pass up a talented genius as a daughter and then looked away from Ava in resignation. He knew someone who did just that. He pulled out his personal phone, the background picture being the one he and Tilly took outside her house, and he smiled. He opened their text messages and sent her a message asking if she liked Studio Ghibli movies and then slipped his phone back into his pocket, looking down at the book bag at his feet. He gulped, throat dry of a sudden at the reminder that he could go to federal prison, or even a black site if it was found out he had unsanitized top secret documents that he was not cleared to view.

Even so, it was a piece of the mystery. An unfinished task in West Virginia. Donnelley didn’t leave things unfinished. He grabbed up the book bag and walked to the room where Ava kept her work desk as quietly as he could. He left the door open, not wanting Ava to think he was snooping through her things. Just the deep state government’s, he thought. And even then, he couldn’t bring himself to open the book bag and view those case files. He simply leaned back in the office chair and stared a hole into the bag as if he could read the documents through the thick canvas. “Fuck…” he sighed, ripping them out of the canvas bag and slapping them on the desk, in full view of his prying eyes. No matter how much he wanted to look away and burn it all, like his clothes in Alaska, so he could pretend it never happened. He growled, “Fuck…

“Donnelley?” Ava’s soft, sleep groggy voice called out before Thor came trotting into the office. A moment later she poked her head in, blinking her eyes blearily at him. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep, but it was no longer the amber cloud it once was. “Hey.” She greeted with a yawn, Thor circling around Donnelley’s legs before jumping up onto his lap with a loud purr.

She scratched the back of her neck, looking at him in bemusement. “What are you doing in here?”

Donnelley jumped almost entirely out of the chair, scraping his knuckles along a sharp corner of the desk in his startle. He looked at Ava, only Ava, in her doorway and staring at him. The question felt like a noose at the gallows, yawning and hungry for his neck. To tell her, or not. “Sorry,” he chuckled nervously, “Didn’t mean to sneak around.”

“Sneak around?” She asked, still confused and half asleep. She looked between him and then the dual monitors on her desk, her waking brain sluggishly trying to fit pieces together. “Did you need to do something on the computer? It’s password protected, so I’d have to log you in.”

Donnelley looked altogether guilty and anxious as he looked at Ava. The files remained on the desk, but he’d made no move to stuff them back into the book bag. They laid plainly open on the desk, marked out in symbols that Ava would recognize as warnings for proper clearances and Special Access Projects that Donnelley definitely didn’t have any right to be viewing. He sat and looked at her like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He had been, “If anyone asks,” Donnelley began, though his voice wasn’t angry, moreso pleading in a way, “I was never here with these.”

“And you never saw them.” He lowered his voice to a harsh rasp.

Ava woke up quickly after that, blinking her eyes rapidly and looking at Donnelley to the files sitting on her desk. Her gut began to twist and curl as anxiety rose in her chest. “What’s going on?” She asked him quietly, looking from the folder to Donnelley. “What did you bring here?”

“I didn’t bring anythin’, Ava, and you’ll tell anyone else that asks the same thing.” Donnelley’s anxiety had turned to frustration, less like guilt and more like an animal backed into a corner. “We both know what could happen.

Ava took a small step back, surprised by the anger rising from Donnelley. In all the time she had known him, he’d never spoken to her like that. She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from him. “Just...are we, is UMBRA, in any more danger from whatever is happening?”

Donnelley looked at Ava as she refused to look at him, standing in the doorway. She was closing off from him and he could tell. He didn’t blame her, the sudden outburst of desperation in getting her to drop the subject was unlike him. And he asked himself how he felt after doing the same to Avery after him acting out. Putting him down and brushing aside his burdens rather than asking what was really going on. Before he died.

If Ava met the same fate, he wouldn’t be able to call himself a leader and mean it ever again. And with what was on her desk, they were closer to that being a reality than Ava truly knew. Donnelley softened, just a hair, “I’m sure us wakin’ up from bein’ killed wasn’t an accident. TRIDENT and those fake NOMADs didn’t all just trip and accidentally shoot us to death.” He said in that same raspy whisper, “The fact is someone already wants us dead because of what we know.”

He looked down at the papers across her desk and frowned deep, growling as he scanned the pages, “Havin’ these files is a treason charge and a death sentence.” Donnelley looked back up at Ava, “We were all in danger the second we said yes to the Program.”

Donnelley looked back at the files, “No goin’ back now.”

Ava’s eyes widened and her head snapped around to look at him. “How did you-no.” She shut her eyes and held up her hands. “No. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything of this. Donnelley, why would you...And you brought it here!?” She shook her head, turning away and running her hands over her hair, as though smoothing down the curls that were no longer there. “Goddamn it, are you trying to get us all black bagged, again!? Because once was enough for me back in Alaska.” She turned back and waved her arm in a general motion of distress. “The Program already blames us for our own deaths back in Alaska, why are you poking the fucking bear?”

“Because, I’d rather know the truth!” Donnelley stood and sent the office chair clattering back into the wall, “One death might have been enough for you, but do you think it’ll be enough for them?

“Do you think you can just lie down and cover your eyes? Pretend that this isn’t real and live a normal fuckin’ life?” Donnelley had his hands balled into fists, resting on his knuckles on the desk as he leaned over it towards Ava, “Unless we finish this ourselves, it’ll finish us.

Ava’s eyes started to well up with tears. “I’ve never been normal!” Ava shouted, her voice cracking. “There is something different about me and there’s no goddamn rhyme or reason for it, so excuse fucking me if I dream about having a normal ass life! Excuse me for thinking it might be possible to retire from all of this, move out of here and go live a nice simple life with the man that I love! And excuse me for being upset when my team lead, a man I look up to for guidance, brings around something that can destroy any chances I have of achieving that!” Tears started to fall down her cheeks and she rubbed her hands over them to wipe away the tears.

“Retire?” Donnelley whispered, reedy, the taste of the word was like a bite of something that was far past its expiration, “Retire?

“Is that how you think this works? After twenty years, you get to settle down and you get to live off a fucking pension?” Donnelley snorted bitterly, “If we could retire, or just quit, hand in a fuckin’ two weeks’ notice wouldn’t you think I’d have done that by now?”

Donnelley’s voice rose, “Instead of wakin’ up every fuckin’ mornin’ thrashin’ and tryin’ to save friends that are already fuckin’ dead!?” Spittle flew from his lips to somewhere on the floor, his teeth gritted as his own eyes blurred over with a film of wet, “I’d be with my daughter and my wife tryin’ to fix what I fucked up, instead of…”

He looked at his palms, his scarred knuckles, his calluses and burns. All he could hear was the blood pumping in his head and the slamming in his chest. The most obvious scar of all looking at Ava from his cheek down to his neck, “Instead of…” for a second, just a snap of fingers, the time it took for lightning to strike, that little girl in Libya was in Ava’s place and holding her brother’s hand and just staring, just staring and waiting for what would come next, “If it fuckin’ worked like that I wouldn’t have had to lie to my own daughter’s face if I said I was a good person!”

“If you wanted to retire, you should’ve walked away when you had the chance in Anchorage and stayed a ghost.” Donnelley’s breath quivered in his throat, but his eyes were hard even if they were flowing. “The only ones made it out of this fuckin’ shit is Maui and Avery.”

She stared at him, tears falling from her eyes. She stared at him, opening her mouth as though to speak, before shutting it and looking away. Without saying a word, she turned and walked away, Thor dutifully following along behind her. She went across the hallway to her bedroom, left the door open long enough for Thor to follow her in, then shut the door loudly behind her.

Donnelley stared at her closed door for a long while after, paralyzed by what had happened in Alaska, and the differences that they had in what its echoes sounded like when they heard it in their dreams and the quiet moments and in the arms of the people they loved, and what it meant for UMBRA to even be in the same room from then on. He swallowed loudly, made louder by his lonesome in that room. He looked down at the files, now wet with drops from his eyes. He frowned, but he knew those files didn’t make him scream at one of the only people on his side.

He wiped at his eyes and grated out, “Fuck…

He went to packing up the files one folder of them at a time, feeling wholly like he’d outstayed his welcome. As the last one was picked up off the desk, his eyes strayed to an uneven stack of papers next to the computer. He put the folder away and looked closer, finding a list of all of UMBRA’s names written in beautifully stroked calligraphy from Ava’s own pen. Doodles of cats and other cute animals on the borders, shopping lists, ideas for party games, the works.

Pictures of Dave and Ava that looked like every other couple. Every couple that was just… normal. Dave sleeping, the two of them in a photobooth, the two of them on the carousel in Seattle, and somewhere on a trail in the Cascades. Scenes of domestic life, life that couldn’t be any further from what life for them was really like. Next to it was a picture of all of them. It was taken what seemed like years ago, but only really a couple months back, standing in the backyard of the Safehouse when they first met Avery, and Jason had brought dinner and drinks for all of them.

All smiles, Donnelley and Laine on opposite ends of the lineup, not quite ready to admit to anyone and not even themselves how close they really were. Which left Ava standing next to him, an arm around his and Dave’s waists and Donnelley’s hand on her shoulder, a beer in the other. Those smiles seemed so genuine, like the ones still feeling the tingle of a fit of hard laughter. Now Donnelley only had a frown as he turned away from the pictures like he couldn’t beat letting them see him like this. He grabbed up the book bag to leave.

It felt like he was running with each step of his downtrodden trudging out of the door. Though, if it was from something or towards something, he couldn’t really tell. Maybe both.
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The Things We Leave Behind, Part I…

Said the Joker to the Thief…

>LEXINGTON, KY
>IHOP
>24SEP2019
>0500...///

Drip coffee, a stack of pancakes, old lady waitresses with caked makeup and Southern hospitality all under the faint buzz of the fluorescent lightbulbs in the ceiling. What wasn’t there to like at IHOPs the world over in the earliest hours of the day. Donnelley sipped his black coffee and continued reading his copy of Heart of Darkness, a book he had the hankering to read ever since he’d mentioned it to Ava during his stay at her house before doubling back into Lexington. Before the argument. Before he poked holes in her dreams. It was a battered copy with a faded cover he’d found at a thrift store along the way. There was probably a metaphor for him somewhere.

He was still dressed and groomed like some sort of sixties Hells Angel as he sat in his window booth, sipping away at his coffee. The waitress, Anna- by her nametag- zipped over to him with a plastered on smile, “Where’s your plus-one, darlin’?” She asked as she grabbed up his plate formerly stacked with pancakes, “You want some more?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Ma’am. I’m stuffed as it is,” Donnelley smiled, playing up the southern good ol’ boy image of a roving biker, “I’ll take some more coffee though.”

“You got it.” She smiled, and was off to fetch him more coffee in a pot.

“Thank y’kindly.” Donnelley smiled back.

The sun was still hiding behind the black humps of low mountains as Queen’s bike roared down the mostly empty highway. He drove past the horse farms with their bright white fences, the faint smell of manure and sweet alfalfa hung in the dew laden air. The only other vehicles out were the 18 wheelers making their cross country hauls and he wove past them with a lazy ease. As he crested a hill he could see the lights of Lexington twinkling and the taillights of commuters coming to town from the spread of suburbia. He continued towards the small city, accompanied by more big rigs rolling in and out of the industrial side of town.

A dimly lit billboard declared there was an IHOP a mile down the road and he set his course, pulling up into the parking lot with a rumble of the Harley Sportster 1200, the black and red paint job shone slick under the parking lot lights. Queen had removed his Hell’s Highest colors once he had crossed into Kentucky, he had left Easy and the other nomads in Georgia and had no reason to call attention to himself. He wore a black leather jacket over a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and worn jeans cuffed over heavy biker boots.

He set the helmet on the back end of the Sportster, brushing a hand over the seat before stepping into the 24/7 restaurant. The familiar smell of imitation maple syrup and grease hung in the air and he spotted Donnelley in a booth. Queen ran his hand over his hair, ruffling out where the helmet had pressed it down before strolling over to it.

“Mind if I sit, sailor?” he said as he slid into the bench across from his old friend.

“Go right on ahead, pardner.” Donnelley smirked as he saw Queen cross the restaurant and over to his booth. He set his book down after dog-earing the page he was on, “You hungry? They got endless pancakes here or whatever. I asked for two menus.”

“Shit yeah I am,” Queen replied, his knee bouncing under the table. “I had to ride most of the night, caught me catching up with some old friends.”

He glanced up at Donnelley, his sea colored eyes dilated and glassy ,”I ain’t slept in a minute and I could kill some pancakes ‘bout now.”

Queen picked up the menu but did not need it, flipping to see what the special was then decided to go with his old reliable. He dropped the menu and turned the coffee cup over to set it near the edge of the table to signal the waitress.

“You know, my mom worked at an IHOP in Tampa...or was it Ocala? Fuck I don’t remember, I just remember she worked overnights and always brought home a shit load of pancakes and eggs,” he said, then grinned, “Sometimes a steak.”

Queen laughed, “She got fired for that but fuck it.”

Donnelley laughed in turn, shaking his head and taking another sip of coffee, turning the bottom of the mug up to get the last of it. The waitress came back and clicked her pen, smiling at the both of them, “Well, how’re you, sweetie? I’m Anne, your server. What can I get you started with, hon’?”

“Coffee,” he said, grinning up at the waitress, “Then I’m gonna have the breakfast sampler, eggs scrambled and with them endless pancakes. Might as well start the second stack now, I’m starvin’.”

Once she left, he shrugged out of the leather jacket, the vintage t-shirt a faded pale blue from Skynyrd’s ‘76 tour that fit his lean body in the style of the time, very snug. He leaned forward on his inked forearms, “How was your time off? Figured you’d start going stir crazy before long.”

“It was nice.” Donnelley smiled, looking out at the parking lot and seeing their two bikes parked next to each other, “Ex-Wife let me see my daughter. Jesus Christ, Queen, you should fuckin’ see her now, she’s grown. Ain’t like the pictures in my notebook no more.”

The waitress came by and set another pot of coffee down for the two of them, Donnelley pouring himself another cup. Much like Queen, he hadn’t slept for a bit. One part because of his habit to avoid sleep, the other part because he was busy calling in favors and setting things up for the two of them. “Yeah, she’s a young lady now.”

He sighed, looking down at his coffee, “But you know I didn’t call you to talk about missed years in an IHOP in Kentucky.”

Queen grinned at that, running a hand over his beard, smoothing down the windblown hairs. “Hey, man, that’s great. So I take it was a good visit, that can be rough, after so much time.”

He shrugged then went back to bouncing his knee, “Well, I don’t mind small talk, I figured I’d at least get my food before we start scheming our way back into West Virginia. Unfinished business we got there.”

The memory of Jay flashed in his mind, watching him slip away after the hotshot and his wily mother, dead from a bullet through her eye. They had just been the start, there were more lives they would probably have to take that he would not regret too much. Queen sniffed and ran a finger over his mustache, “So, where do we begin?”

“I got a place set up for us in Charleston. I don’t want to go in as Feds, maybe just private investigators, make shit up as we go along and stay flexible.” Donnelley sipped at his coffee, “We can stash our bikes in Charleston, I got us another vehicle.”

He glanced at Queen, “Weren’t exactly easy,” he smirked, bringing his coffee up to his mouth again, “Or legal.”

“Check in with Roy, the State CID in charge of the case for the state PD. See if anybody else was around handlin’ our case and touched base with the Stateys.” Donnelley said, “And there’s some things I need answers for from her.”

He set his coffee back down and looked at it, then shook his head, “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to make it out like I ain’t interested in catchin’ up with you.” He frowned, “I just can’t turn my back on this.”

He looked back up at Queen, “And you’re the only one I know and trust who’d go all in with me to get some goddamn answers.” He smiled at Queen, “Thanks for comin’, Billy.”

Queen huffed a soft laugh at it not being legal, “I hope it’s something good. So we’re gonna need some IDs and shit. So you gonna go in FBI with this Statey but we go in poking around Blackriver as a couple of private dicks.”

He grinned as he dumped sugar into the black coffee, “I can dig that. And it ain’t no thing, you know I’m here for you. Free time always gets me in trouble anyway. Better I get into trouble with you than on my own.”

He sniffed and pinched his nose then stirred the coffee before looking to see if they had creamer on the table. “Anyway, this business with the Russians and these backwater Nazis, you still gonna be messing with them, we might maybe think about going in on their level. I can’t play a Russian but I got the other shit down. What’ll be tough I think is the sheriff’s department. You think any would recognize you?”

Donnelley worked his jaw and shrugged, “We just gotta maintain good tradecraft. Change our appearances when we get into Blackriver.” Donnelley scratched at his beard, “We can only change so much, so we’ll have to show up sparingly around those parts.”

“A big fuckin’ firefight in the middle of town can get a man recognized with the Sheriff Department.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “I never learned how they knew we’d be comin’ that time. But I’d be willin’ to bet my left nut that Sergeant McCune in the State Police knows somethin’ about that.”

“We’ll have to see how he’s doin’ sometime while we’re there in good West Virgie. Got some questions. Mainly why Detective Roy warned me about askin’ things about the old families in West Virginia.” He snorted, sipping at his coffee again, “This is completely off the books. I have my Company friends helpin’ me a bit on this, but nobody can know we’re doin’ this. Not Foster, not Poker, not anyone.”

“We’re goin’ to be flyin’ under the radar and if we get popped, there’s no one helpin’ us.” Donnelley turned dead serious as he looked across at Queen, “Last chance.”

Queen nodded slowly, his grin fading under his beard as he listened. He met Tex here without a second thought, he stayed fighting this fight that was slowly breaking him down because he could not leave him. Sometimes that’s all a person had to fight for anymore was those that meant more to him than life and he had very few of those people that he loved that much. He saw the waitress heading their way and said, “It ain’t fun if we ain’t risking it all.”

It was bravado he knew and waited until the pancakes were in front of them and he had put away a piece of bacon before he added, “I know what you’re saying, brother. We’re on our own but I’d not want anyone else to put my ass on the line for. I want to find these fucks behind it all, I know you want justice for the girl, Maria. And God knows how many others like her and those that could end up in the same place. I suspect if we find out who’s behind the bullshit in West Virginia we get a lot closer to finding out who put the hit on us.”

“And a lot closer to puttin’ a fuckin’ bullet in his face.” Donnelley muttered, his latest plate of pancakes in front of him now, “Let’s get some food in us and hit the road. Hopefully my Indian can keep up with your big ol’ Harley.”

>0600...///

Breakfast was good, filled with small talk and laughs while reminiscing about old times. About Amsterdam, about Mexico, about Florida and Queen’s mother taking them in and nursing them back to health after a big bender of cocaine, tequila, and hookers. They paid in cash, like they’d be doing for a while on this extracurricular rogue op the two were running. They were outside now, Donnelley sitting on his bike with a burning American Spirit between his lips. He looked Queen over in his clothes and how they fit him, how he looked like a wild outlaw biker. He averted his eyes at the last second, reminding himself that he and Laine were more official.

The two of them alone with no one else around, the reminiscing about their best of times together stoked some coals in him. Stoked something that would always be there for Billy Patrick, the only man he could say he ever had that specific type of fondness for. So long as he was the only person who knew the truth about his sexuality, and took part in it with him, there would be a bond between them. Accomplices to the things they did to and with each other where no one could see. The parking lot was barren besides the two of them.

“You come from somewhere classified? I know you DEA boys don’t like us Company men knowin’ things about y’all’s antics.” He smirked at Queen, ashing his cigarette and taking another draw.

Standing in the parking lot, Queen smoked one of his Kools and watched the sky grow lighter in the east, the sun rising behind distant hills. He caught Donnelley looking away from him and grinned around the smoldering menthol. The case aside, it was nice to be away from THUNDER and UMBRA and just be with Donnelley on their bikes and ready to go on some clandestine adventure. The definition of their relationship, clandestine adventure. He snorted a laugh and blew out a stream of smoke as he asked about where he had been. Another clandestine adventure thought not the same.

Queen thought of Easy, how quick it had been to pick up the lost threads of their friendship and how it was so simple to pick it back up and relive the lie, basking in affectionate return. He took a drag and glanced at Donnelley, “Nah that’s just overseas, getting all up in our narco business.”

He chuckled then shrugged, “I was visiting some friends, uh...you know those tattoos I got from my undercover days that I’ve never got covered?”

Queen gave him a sheepish grin then gestured at the double H painted in fiery font on the gas tank and the 1% diamond decal centered on the fender. “Maybe I didn’t quite sever those bonds like I should have.”

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, lifting up his shirt to show the THUNDER unit insignia still emblazoned on his ribs, “Some bonds are too hard to.” He dropped the shirt back and smoothed the fabric with a palm, “Not many people I can call friends in this world, man, but the ones I can…”

He took a drag and blew it through his nostrils, shrugging, “I’d kill and die for every one.” He snorted, “Think I proved that last one by now.”

Queen grinned at the unit tattoo and laughed, “Who was the asshole that tattooed that on you?”

His sea colored eyes twinkled at the memory of his own handiwork and the official bringing in of Tex to the THUNDER pack. “I get that,” he agreed, his expression wistful. “It’s like a family, a big fucking drunk violent one but we all had each other’s back. I had theirs…”

Queen grimaced and then sighed, “They’ll never know if I have my way. Let them think I been doing time in Oregon State Pen rather than what I really am.”

He finished his cigarette and picked the butt up after grinding it out against the asphalt. “Ain’t that true? I still can’t wrap my head around all that, not like I remember getting shot or being dead. Waking up a priest? I knew I’d be going to hell.”

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, looking away from Queen to the sunrise, not exactly willing to share how he woke up and what he did with his first few moments of new life, “Yeah,” Donnelley smirked, muttering, “Ain’t we all.”

Donnelley took his last drag and deposited the butt into his ziplock. He firmly kicked down his bike’s kick pedal and heard it roar, that beautiful throaty sound ringing loud in his ears and across the empty parking lot. He swung his leg over his bike and settled into the seat, giving the throttle a couple cranks to hear the engine growl. He turned his head and raised his voice to his good friend, “Time to punch the clock, Billy.”

Queen put his helmet on, a compromise for his mother but with his Raybans and shaggy hair, he made it look cool. His Harley Sportster rumbled to life and he revved the engine, glancing at Tex, “Let’s see if that old bastard can keep up.”

He flashed a grin at him, the playful barb at both the bike and the rider as he hit the gas, recalling briefly the rolling out of Hell’s Highest but it was just the two of them and no dramatic parade. Just two wild ass country boys heading towards the hills.

Donnelley flashed a middle finger at Queen’s back as he screeched out of the parking lot, just before Donnelley did the same and set his bike to work catching up to the newer Harley. He regretted letting Gracy hold onto his Triumph in Texas about now. He hadn’t pushed his old Indian like this in a while, but the old bastard held his own as he slowly came up to pace Queen’s Roadster, and the two of them raced into the distance toward Highway 64 into West Virginia...///

>CHARLESTON, WV
>SELF STORAGE FACILITY
>0900...///

Two riders were approaching the front gate of the self storage facility. Donnelley had paid for a garage big enough for their bikes when they retrieved the vehicle he had gotten Smitty to poke around his contacts for. Police auctions were always a welcome resource. Donnelley cut his Indian’s engine outside the garage and opened the door to reveal a 2015 Ford Taurus SHO in gun metal gray, kitted out with an unmarked police package. He retrieved the keys from inside the wheel well and slapped the hood, “How’s this for low key? Responsible four-door sedan with tac gear stowed in the back and 365 horses under the hood.”

“Sounds like we’re responsible upstanding badge wielding citizens,” Queen snorted, “I wonder whatever happened to that piece of shit Camaro, I hope it got a good home.”

He brushed hand over his shoulder length hair and looked at Donnelley, “Well, we got the car. I reckon we’re gonna have to look a little more responsible?”

Queen gave his beard a tug, he had been growing it since he knew he was going to West Virginia in the first place. “I reckon if I’m gonna look any kinda official I should clean up. Been rolling with dirty white boys too long.”

He winked at Tex and gave him a lascivious smile over the hood of the car. Donnelley smirked as Queen smiled at him, running a hand over his own beard as he nodded, “At least trim it back to a respectable length so we don’t look like a couple of Hells Angels.” Donnelley shrugged, “I am goin’ to miss lookin’ like a dirty white boy though. We’ll keep the changes subtle for when we go back to that set of Deliverance, fuckin’ Blackriver.”

Donnelley unlocked the car and started it, rolling it slowly out of the garage and into the lot so they could stash their bikes inside and not have to worry about them. He rolled down the passenger window, smirking at Queen, “Get in, fucker, we’re goin’ rogue.”

After stashing his bike, Queen grabbed his backpack and tossed it in the back, then hopped into the passenger seat. “Daddy drivin’ today?”

He chuckled and snapped the shoulder belt on and sat back in the Taurus, “I feel like you should be taking me to Little League.”

“Oh, I’ll be takin’ you to school in a second.” Donnelley muttered, leaving that on the air for Queen to ponder over its meaning as he stashed his bike next to Queen’s and shut the door on the garage. He got back in and set them towards the front gate and then past it. The rural backroad was empty this time in the morning, and Donnelley smirked, placing his aviators over his eyes. “Gon’ learn today, son.”

They merged onto the road and Donnelley took it slow for a minute before he knew it was clear, no State Patrol cars hiding in the bushes. There was a long, straight portion of the road with only trees lining it and Donnelley lead-footed the pedal, the engine jumping to life and screaming down the road, air whooping in through the open windows as their backs were pressed into their seats. Donnelley let out a mad shriek of laughter and his best rebel yell as they careened like lightning down the country backroad.

“Promise?” Queen quipped then sat back as they left the city behind. Once they touched the open stretch of highway, the car shot forward and he grabbed at the door where the window vanished inside it.

“Hooo-ly shit!”

Queen laughed and swore, the horse power hidden in the bland suburban car was a hell of a surprise. The mad rush of speed, the trees whipping by in a green blur left his heart pounding and once they slowed, he had to reach down to adjust himself in his jeans.

“Goddamn,” he breathed out, “That’s a sleeper. Shit. I hate to say it, but this bad boy picked up faster than the Camaro.”

“Shoo’, you think Tex likes drivin’ slow?” Donnelley put a hand on Queen’s thigh, the feeling of fast driving and faster living coming back after all this time spent away. He moved his hand away from Queen’s thigh and then cleared his throat, suddenly taken aback by his own behavior. He covered it with a smirk, “This baby’s got a whole shitload of torque and a shitload of horsepower. I like ‘em fast.”

“I know Tex don’t drive slow,” Queen said, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis and glanced at Donnelley when he gripped his thigh for a moment, making him shift in his seat even as Tex withdrew his hand. “You like ‘em hard and fast.”

He grinned crookedly at the suggestion but kept the conversation on the car, “I’m slackin’, I didn’t know about these things. Good pick. We’ll out run the fuzz anyday.”

“Or run down anybody tryin’ to split.” Donnelley grinned, “Goddamn, I want one of these for myself now. Bronco’s a bit too top-heavy for takin’ corners.”

“First things first, let’s get dressed at the motel and then visit Detective Roy. We don’t exactly cut the image of investigators right now,” Donnelley eyed Queen’s Skynyrd shirt and his own black tee with ripped jeans and denim vest, “Just a few questions, in and out. We get trimmed up and see what else we can do if she can give us some leads I ain’t already got.”

He tapped his temple, “Gary Bruster, Hubert O’Grady, and Clem Jackson.” He recited, “Associates of our old friend Jay Mitterick, drug pushers and gunrunners. We need to find a way in with them if we want to find out where the fuckin’ Midazolam and Propofol came from. They’d be the biggest suppliers with a link to the Bratva.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Queen said, “I got some files on those fucks in my laptop. We can go over it at the motel room before meeting Roy.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror and brushed his hand over his beard, “So, you do me and I do you?”

Queen grinned a little at the innuendo, flicking a glance at Tex. He had no trimmer on him but he was willing to bet his right nut that Donnelley had come prepared for tradecraft including disguising their appearances.

Donnelley licked his teeth as he grinned at Queen’s sense of humor. He could tell it’d be hard not to lapse into old habits if he was already grabbing Queen’s thigh. He took a breath, feeling the growing sensation inside of him when Queen looked at him like that, like a Pavlovian response to each other. “Yeah, I’ll do you and you’ll do me.” He smirked, “You know what they say about a sharp-dressed man.”

Soon enough, they were on the doorstep of Charleston. A city Donnelley hadn’t seen in a bit on account of completely avoiding West Virginia on his way to his office at Langley. It was one part not being seen anywhere he’d be recognized, and just not having a taste for tainted mountain air after everything he’d been through there. Thankfully, they didn’t have to go too deep into the city, their little Motel 6 off in the outskirts where they could cut and run and be away at a moment’s notice and where nobody looked too long at new faces. They checked in at the front desk, a single room for the two of them.

Donnelley closed the door behind them as they piled their luggage in a corner, or at least whatever luggage they could reasonably be seen with. The long guns would stay in the trunk for the time being, but he kept his FN close at his hip. He went to laying out the pieces of a crisp Fed suit, “So, what kinda black magic you got for me in that laptop of yours?”

Queen noticed the suit and quirked his lips, “I hope there’s an iron, I kinda stuffed mine into my bag. I love motorcycles but storage space.”

He took out the slacks and blazer, shaking them out and hunted down the fold out ironing board and cheap iron that would take forever to heat up. Turning it on, he glanced over to Donnelley. “You really wanna know what I got on my laptop?”

With a snicker he walked behind him and slapped his ass like they were in a locker room, “You’ve seen all the good stuff anyway.”

Donnelley bit his lip and looked over his shoulder to Queen’s way, watching his own ass as he walked to the closet, “Best not be showin’ some of our pictures on there around, motherfucker.”

Queen grabbed the laptop bag and dropped down onto one of the beds and removed the sleek little Asus computer and turned it on to wait for it to boot up and balanced it on his knee as he pulled up the files. “Before we had to high tail it out of there I ran some checks through the federal arrest records and a friend of mine on the OCDETF dug into some of his Russian files and found some thick borscht.”

He took the laptop and set it on the table so Donnelley could read for himself as Queen ironed his suit and dress shirt. It was charcoal gray, nearly black and simple, nothing as stylish as his Versaci but no one would believe an investigator could afford that. So Nordstrom would do, at least he rarely had to tailor things to fit his lean body.

Donnelley finished putting on his black slacks, albeit nothing else. He was much too transfixed on the computer screen and what information it held for him. He reached behind him and slipped the black button-up over his arms and set to buttoning the shirt as he read, “You know, I ain’t too surprised by this shit. All of ‘em are verified Brotherhood, or Brotherhood affiliates. Mister Bruster, nicknamed Sly, is or was part of the Wolves of Erik.” Donnelley snorted, “White Supremacist hate group. I ever tell you all the times me and my little crew out of Dalhart got our knuckles busted on Nazi skulls out in Dallas?”

“Anyways, fucker got picked up on drug charges. Big ones. Did Fed time and came back very well connected. Namely Big Clem Jackson and Hubert ‘Clovers’ O’Grady, both AB. I bet they set Sly up with Jay.” Donnelley nodded, clucking his tongue and then barked out a laugh, “Look at this fuckin’ nerd.”

Donnelley stepped aside so Queen could see the screen. Gary Bruster looked like an office accountant, thick-rimmed glasses and clean-shaven face, “Apparently, he’s been keepin’ clean unless these ain’t the most recent records… oh, nope,” Donnelley snorted, “Says here he’s part of the Appalachian Sons Club.”

Donnelley pulled out his phone and searched up the club on Google, his brows raising when he not only found a Facebook page, but an Instagram page as well. He pulled up the Facebook, “Appalachian Sons Club, organization that advocates for the preservation of conservative American values in the region commonly known as Appalachia. Several fundraisers, charity events, and more.” Donnelley recited as he scrolled through the pictures and found quite a fair few of them with Gary Bruster in them, “We are proud to welcome our newest Son and Brother, Gary Bruster. He is newly reformed and has been helping the West Virginia branch grow through several outreach programs and rallies. Thank you for the sizable donation, Gary Bruster.”

“Lots of money in that Club. And transparent as all fuck.” Donnelley nodded, “Won’t be too hard to find this Gary Bruster. Says they’ve got an actual office in Clarksburg.”

Queen worked the iron over the suit as he listened, it had been awhile since he read the files but it started to filter back through the haze of post Alaska pills and powder. “Sounds about right, all those fuckwads stick together in and out of prison. Nothing unites people like fear and hate, right?”

He shook his head, working the iron vigorously over a stubborn crease in the wrong place. His expression lightened and he nodded, “Yep you told me, I would have loved to have seen that. Little Tex and his boys rockin’ some skinheads. Long haired and didn’t you say you wore makeup?”

Queen chuckled fondly then shook his head, “Hell you saw my highschool pictures my mom has. Pretty much a clean cut redneck looking jock back then.You probably would have tried to fight me.”

He held his arms up, the bright tattoos flashing as he laughed, “Thank god that was a phase. Ain't it funny...we were both probably rebelling against what our parents expected. ‘Course I might have looked square, but I was still sucking dick and banging pussy.”

He finished the pants and laid them over a chair and went to work on the shirt, “But you’re right, we can find that Sons of Appalachia real quick. Maybe we give Bruster the old shake down after we visit this Roy. And you sure he’s still reliable?”

“She. Maryanne Roy.” Donnelley smirked at Queen and his reminiscing on his younger days. The two of them had their different ways of rebelling at that age, but they still had that little secret rattling around in their back pockets, “And I don’t know, maybe I’d be smitten with young Billy.”

He chuckled, knowing he shouldn’t be enticing Queen like that now that he and Laine were that deep into a relationship with each other. He loved her, and he made a promise to himself and to her when he told her he loved her. His heart was strong, but his flesh and skin were sinful, the past knew. He sighed, “Ain’t it somethin’ though. Sometimes I ask myself if young Donnelley would approve of the things I’ve done and the country I’ve done it for.” He shook his head, softly chuckling, “But, I don’t think I’d be able to get anythin’ through that hard fuckin’ head of his.”

“She?” he raised his brow but was quickly distracted at what Donnelly said after. Queen grinned, the devilish gleam in his pale eyes sparking. “Fight me then fuck me.”

He turned off the iron and went over to lay his hands on Donnelley’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, “Sure, I’d have been smitten, too. We would have been an even odder couple back then.”

Queen let go and sighed, “Yeah, I bet. I don’t think any of us would imagine ourselves where we are today. Or having done things...like we have.”

He tugged his t-shirt up, pausing halfway in thought, “But I think our younger selves would be proud we at least look cool doing it.”

Laughing, he pulled the shirt off and unzipped his jeans, “I think I’m gonna have a shower. Wanna shave me before?”

The mischief was there still in his face when he indicated his beard instead of his open jeans.

Donnelley’s eyes roamed from Queen’s face down to his exposed, flat stomach, the abdominal muscles standing out like bricks with the lack of fat. Even Donnelley had put on some fat in the pursuit of muscle mass he’d gotten, but it only served to fill his sleeves. He wanted to reach out and touch Queen, run his fingers down his stomach and grab him by his manhood, but that was a line he just couldn’t cross. Flirting and innuendo was one thing, actually following through with what he wanted was another. Even with all the history between them. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, let’s do it now.” He said, “You can get me before I shower after you.”

>WV STATE PATROL STATION
>CHARLESTON
>1100…///

The Ford Taurus rolled into the parking lot of the Station, the sight of the two bearded Fed lookalikes turning heads of beat cops and detectives standing around and talking on their breaks. Donnelley and Queen dismounted, shutting their doors, and Donnelley noted some of the looks they were getting from behind his aviators, “You’d think they’d never seen two dudes swingin’ their fake Fed dicks through the front door before.”

Donnelley walked in unheeding of the curious glances he and Queen got, up until they were at the front desk, “I’m here to see Detective Roy, I called ahead.”

“Okay, let me-“

“I know where her office is.” Donnelley cut the young officer off and pushed off from the desk and made his way to Roy. When they found her office, she’d already had three piping hot mugs of shitty drip coffee.

“Oh, you know just how to make a girl feel at home.” Donnelley smirked, taking his aviators off and hanging them on his collar, “How are you, Detective?”

“I was doing better before you showed up again.” Roy smirked, “Haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Was there not another team taking over the case in my absence?” Donnelley was drained of all humor at his question, his suspicions needing to be answered. Roy shook her head, and Donnelley growled out a sigh, “Alright then, business as usual. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Er, well, first,” Donnelley chuckled, gesturing to Queen, “This is my partner, Special Agent Bradley Phillips. I’m showin’ him the ropes on this case, he’s a new face for the Bureau.”

“Well,” Roy gave Queen a good, long once over, “Ain’t you easy on the eyes.”

Roy stood and offered her hand out for a shake, “Detective Maryanne Roy. How are you, Special Agent Phillips?”

Queen had his hair slicked back, it still was probably too long for a proper FBI agent but at least it was tamed and his beard trimmed closer to the skin and combed. He adjusted the Hugo Boss jacket and smoothed the sleeves to tug them down over the tops of his tattooed hands and raised his eyebrow at Donnelley as they entered the office.

Roy was not what he had expected, a middle thirties blonde with a no nonsense air about her and large brown eyes. She wore little makeup and looked like she slept too little and worked too much but had naturally attractive features. When Donnelley introduced him he gave her a nod, silently cursing Tex for the name Brad. What a douche name.

At her observation, Queen grinned, his eyes gleaming with interest. He stood to take her offered hand, the lettering on his skin now on display. He brushed his thumb lightly against her after the shake, just a subtle movement of less than professional touch. ““Might I say the same to you, Detective.” He smoothed his jacket, unbuttoning it to sit back down. “I’m doing very well, thank you. Learning a lot from this man right here.”

He turned and gave Donnelley a nod, all seriousness as he covered the desire to tease. Queen looked back at her, his sea colored eyes lingering on her lips until he had to remind himself it was supposed to be a real button down Fed.

Roy sat back down in her office chair and folded her hands in her lap, “Well, I got coffee ready for you too. I didn’t know how you took it, so I left it black.”

“Usually take mine with whiskey.” Donnelley joked, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I do too, just can’t be drinking around these fools here. Anyway, you said you had a question for me?” Roy quirked a brow, all business now.

“Yeah,” Donnelley pulled out his phone and made sure not to show his entire camera roll. There were pictures in there nobody but him and Laine should ever see. He finally found the picture he’d taken in Warden McKenna’s office and showed it to Roy, “You know some of these people in here?”

Roy’s eyes studied the faces in the picture, going over them a fair few times before she sat back and fixed Donnelley with a stare. She shook her head, “I like you Donnelley. A lot. I can tell you’re doing everything you can for this case,” Roy paused, “But there’s things here that even a Fed like you should be careful with.”

Donnelley fixed Roy with his own stare, “That a threat?”

“A warning.” Roy said. She pointed to his phone, “It’s Sheriff MacOnie. The suit in that picture is the County Prosecutor, his brother, Killian MacOnie. Then there’s Sergeant McCune.”

“I remember I asked you last time, what Sergeant McCune’s deal was. You remember that?” Donnelley pressed, knowing he’d struck a nerve, and maybe if he kept pushing she’d slip something in there.

“I remember I told you to pump the brakes.”

“I can do a lot, but I can’t do that. You know where Warden McKenna is now?” Donnelley asked.

“Retired.” Roy answered.

“Okay, where?”

“The cemetery. Killed. Hit-and-run a day before his flight out of state was scheduled.” Roy shrugged, “Open and shut case. I opened it, they shut it.”

“Who’re they?” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed.

“Some suits. Listen, I’m not going to talk about this. Not here.” Roy’s demeanor grew darker, she shook her head, “Just going to do my job, clock out, go home. And take my coffee with whiskey.”

Donnelley nodded along, though the look on his face told the three of them in the room that he wasn’t happy with Roy’s answer. “Okay.” But it wasn’t, “What can you tell me about Gary Bruster, ex-Wolves of Erik one-percenter, now he’s got his big boy button-up and slacks on with the Appalachian Sons Club. What’s their story?”

“Good ol’ boys club. Not-so-subtle white supremacy. Par for the course here in Dixie.” Roy snorted, “Why do you need Gary?”

“Hoping he can put us on the right track with these people selling drugs. Know where he lives?” Donnelley asked.

Roy booted up her computer and began typing, clicking on whatever she had to on her screen neither he or Queen could see, “Here in Charleston. Runs his own little Appalachian Sons office downtown.” Roy nodded, “I’m sure you can book a meeting with him. He likes his outreach, showing new folk what they can accomplish by realizing they’re white or something.”

“Two of you should be able to waltz right in.” Roy chuckled.

Donnelley stood and smiled to Roy, “Thank you. I’ll remember what you said about being careful.”

Please do.” Roy sighed heavily, rubbing at her face, “That it?”

“Yep. Now I’m off to kick the hornet’s nest.” Donnelley tapped his forehead in a quick salute.

>…///

Donnelley shut his door and just sat there in the driver seat for a moment before scoffing, “Hit-and-run. Some suits.” Donnelley chuckled exasperated, starting the car, “You believe this shit?”

Queen shook his head then nodded, “I believe it. I believe they made it look like that, good way to get rid of someone that might talk. Those suits though, you think they’re part of our club?”

He glanced over at the closed door and said, “Maybe I see if she wants to meet for coffee and whiskey. Maybe she might be more pliable and willing to talk outside the office. You know, relaxed.”

Donnelley depressed the gas pedal and took them out of the parking lot and the disappointment of that interview. He waited a moment, driving down the streets until they were stopped at a red light, “Maybe, maybe, maybe.” Donnelley mouthed a swear under his breath, “You can try. Let’s go talk to Gary first. See if our good ol’ boys have a habit of killing former wardens.”

After the light turned green and they were off down the road again, he snorted, “You just want some pussy with a badge.” Donnelley chuckled.

Queen snorted and grinned, “Well, hell I mean you know...uh, maybe. I think she’s cute, nice lips and pretty eyes plus she knows things. Things I bet she wants to tell but she’s afraid.”

He glanced out the window after the near slip and rapped his knuckle against it. “But yeah, let’s go see Gary Goebels and see if he’ll get chatty. Wanna play bad cop and less bad cop?”

“Oh, boy, do I.” Donnelley grinned with the throaty growl of the engine as he accelerated down the road.

Following the GPS, it didn’t take long to find Gary Bruster’s office. Donnelley parked in one of the spaces available on the side of the street, opening his door and stepping into the sidewalk. He looked from the big ‘Appalachian Sons Club’ sign proudly displayed on the front of the little office space and then to Queen, “How we goin’ to do this?” He asked, “Figure you’re a better talker than me, loosen him up. Play along with the white trash master race bullshit or somethin’.”

“Or we just play the Fed role straight. We got dirt on his old friends, lump him in with them and he’ll squeal like a pig.” Donnelley grinned.

Queen glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh you do?”

He left it that as much as he loved sweet gossip they had a job to do. “Well, I’d go in there as some poor white man who lost his job because of Affirmative Action or because some Mexican did it cheaper. Whatever bullshit they like to blame. If I was cultivating him over time but time ain’t something we got. I say we go in as investigators but play along with his shit, lull him into a sense of security then hit him with it. If we go in guns blazing he’s liable to just clam up, he knows what happens with people that become liabilities.”

Queen thought it over, “Maybe we play along, get him out of the office. Take him somewhere quiet.”

He looked at Donnelley for a long moment, “Did you bring your bag?”

Queen paused and breathed out a rough chuckle and drummed his fingers against the door frame, “Jesus, I’m talking like Poker. Yeah, we’ll do it your way. Lie and offer him immunity, protection, whatever will buy his cooperation.”

“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t like that idea.” Donnelley smirked at Queen, looking at him sidelong, “Let’s play like we’re a couple of good ol’ boys here to discuss a donation to their… charity, or whatever the fuck.”

“The rest’ll come natural.” Donnelley walked forward and grabbed hold of the office door, pulling it open and gesturing him in first, “You enter, you look friendlier.”

As Queen stepped through, Donnelley followed. What greeted them was a tiny waiting room, fake plants in the corners and gray furniture among white walls and carpet. There was a Keurig on a table as well as a water cooler, and across from that was an empty receptionist desk. It looked more like a high end stylist’s place more than a den of thinly veiled racist sentiment. This was how they legitimized, Donnelley thought, let the friendly faces do the marketing and sweet talking. And when they buried themselves into local governments like ticks, there weren’t any stopping the less friendly faces from whipping up an American Kristallnacht. He turned his lip up in contentment at this place.

There was a bell with a note next to it, ‘ring for service.’ Donnelley did just that, and a few moments later, the receptionist appeared from out behind a hallway as she smoothed her skirt down. Didn’t do anything to fix her hair though, and Donnelley knew then what kind of man Gary Bruster was.

“Hi, can I help you gentlemen?” The receptionist chirped, a blue eyed brunette with pretty and delicate features, skin almost like porcelain and nails done up.

Queen glanced at him with a sly smile and entered the door, making an observation of the office as they waited on the receptionist. She was pretty as expected, what buttered a red blooded man’s bun like an example of Aryan womanhood. He smiled slightly, giving her a once over but held her eyes, resisting the cleavage she was showing in the scoop neck blouse.

“My buddy and I are in town on some business and we’re looking into your organization,” he said, reaching up to brush his trimmed beard, ‘We’re looking into donating and speaking to Mr. Bruster, I believe his name was? We’re interested in the organization as we both come from states where we have a large amount of like minded individuals facing the same fight. Would he be available now?”

“Oh, I’ll have to check,” The receptionist beamed, “He does love seeing like-minded people, but there’s just so much of them, you know? He’s got a busy schedule.”

“Oh, we understand. We’ve got a schedule of our own to keep, so hopefully he’s got something today.” Donnelley smiled.

“Oh, of course, of course. It looks like the last slot today is in an hour, but maybe if he sees your contributions as particularly enticing he may invite you for dinner!” The receptionist giggled, “He’s fond of showing new friends just how well our white, conservative community is still doing.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Donnelley replied, mouth full of unappreciated sarcasm. “Well, we’ll be more than happy waiting for him.”

The door opened and two men stepped in, one of them broad and big enough to give Ghost a run for his money. The other one had a face gaunt with age, and even from under his sunglasses, Donnelley could tell his gaze was boring into the two of them, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you two before.” A slight Russian accent buried in his words that one could’ve missed, “I am Fedor, this is Viktor.”

“Oh,” Donnelley seemed almost taken aback, and had it not been for the weight of his Glock drop gun at his waist, he’d have been more nervous, “Hello, gentleman. My name is Christian O’Neill, and this is my business partner… Franklin.”

Donnelley offered his hand out with a small, friendly smile, but Fedor simply stared impassively, “Franklin…?” He asked, expectantly.

“Lee,” Queen responded in his best Virginia drawl, “Franklin Lee, nice to meet y’all.”

Queen did not offer his hand, flexing his fingers so the tattoos on his fingers flashed and neck ink belied the well groomed appearance. He looked the pair over, the Russian accent sending a warning jolt through him. So soon and so blatant, he thought though it did not show on his pleasant expression. “How y’all enjoying West Virginia? Even I gotta admit the scenery here is something special.”

It was small talk but it kept him from staring too hard at the gaunt man with sunglasses though the big Viktor was more the physical threat. “Why we went over that bridge on the New River Gorge, hell of a view. A wonder of American engineering.”

The accent he used had a touch of the tidewater drawl but not enough to sound like he was putting on airs but enough to show he was not from the mountains, at least originally. He put his hands on his narrow hips, making a show of glancing over at the receptionist. “Truly wonderful views.”

“Ain’t they?” The receptionist beamed up from her computer, “Oh, gentlemen, Gary is ready to see you!”

“Thank you.” Fedor did not smile at the receptionist, though his tone seemed like it was as pleasant as it ever got, “I hope you two have a nice day. I’ll remember those names, Misters Lee and O’Neill.”

Donnelley nodded to Fedor as he passed, and having Viktor walk past them was like watching a shark drift just an arm’s length past. He wondered for a bit how Ghost would take the man apart, if he could. The two disappeared behind the hallway and the sound of Gary greeting them at his office door could be heard. He turned to Queen, nodding outside, “Let’s find a place to while the time away, Mister Lee.”

“Laury’s Restaurant on MacCorkle is a great place. One of Mister Bruster’s favorites!” The receptionist said, “I’m sorry, you two probably already know the place, but I went there just yesterday. French cuisine, and it’s so quaint.

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that one in mind.” Donnelley smiled and then headed for the door. He leaned on the reception desk and slid one of many fake business cards that were tied to one of the Program’s shell companies over to her before turning for the door, “Number’s there, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” Queen said as he followed Donnelley out the door. He was already hunting in his blazer for his Kools as he went to the car.

Once he and Queen were inside the car, Donnelley blew out a breath that puffed his cheeks out, “Did you see that fucker and his giant-ass Igor?”

Donnelley snorted, “Should’ve taken a picture and sent it to Ghost.”

“Can’t let those racists see me smoking menthols,” Queen said as he lit a cigarette then grinned, “I bet Ghost would growl at it like a dog seeing its reflection.”

“Probably book a flight right then to come flex his nuts.” Donnelley snorted, the anxiety of the hasty encounter still dissipating, “Can’t take that fucker anywhere. Remember that time with the drunk Armenians at the Bellagio?”

Donnelley shook his head, “Weren’t even talkin’ to us. Next thing we know there’s three unconscious fat old cologne soaked bastards with broken orbitals and I got a broken nose and bruised knuckles.” Donnelley found his cigarettes and lit one, “Still got the scars when I punched a car window tryin’ to get that fucker in the face. Good times.”

Queen laughed at the memory, it was a haze of cocaine and overpriced champagne but then all of their trips to Vegas with Ghost were recalled through that lens. “Fuck those Armenians and their unibrows.”

He flicked the ash out the half rolled down window and said, “He’s there now, Ghost that is. Took his leave to his town. Poor bastards don’t have us as a buffer.”

Queen huffed a chuckle, “Remember the last time we were there? Goddamn triple teamed that escort, she was a trooper. She earned that extra tip.”

“Made her airtight.” Donnelley chuckled, “Almost kinda felt bad. Almost.”

Donnelley pressed the start button on their car and paused, “I’m sure we’ll be very charming for Mister Bruster the White Nationalist, you think we should check out that French place or wait for him to inevitably extend the invitation to us two handsome representatives of… uh,” Donnelley reached down into his blazer’s inner pocket and pulled free one of the business cards, “Representatives of VISCO, Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company.”

He took a card and looked at it, testing the thickness of the stock and asked, “Is that ‘Silian Rail’?”

Queen grinned a little, tapping his finger on the fonts and then tucked the card into his front pocket. “I think we should just hang out, I’d like to see these Russians when they leave.”

He scanned the parking lot to guess which car was theirs. “Maybe after, I don’t want this guy to squirm away if he senses anything off.”

“Good thinking.” Donnelley was scanning the street too, looking for any other personal protection detail for Fedor that seemed to be watching for anything, and finding none, “Looks like Viktor is Fedor’s only PPD. Makes it easy for us.”

Donnelley left the parking space and circled the block, paying special attention to any cars that seemed to be following them. At one point, he went around a roundabout twice only to turn back down the road they’d just come from. He went back to the street Gary Bruster’s office was on, parking in a space further down the street from his front door. “Should be a camera in the back. Snap some when they come out.”

“Yessir,” Queen acknowledged as he twisted in his seat and turned around, reaching back for the camera in its soft case and found it wedged under the seat. With a grunt he grabbed the strap and pulled it up, almost elbowing Donnelley in the head as he turned back to drop into his seat. “Whoops, almost got you there.”

He removed the camera and played with it until he felt comfortable, snapping a few shots of the building and the cars, zooming on their plates. Queen turned and put the camera on Donnelley, “Say dick cheese!”

Donnelley laughed and took another drag of his cigarette, giving Queen his middle finger. It’d be another hour of surveillance on Bruster’s office, but by far not the longest time he and Queen had spent casing someone and their place before they went in and did their thing. Memories of Johannesburg in South Africa and El Paso, Texas came to mind.

“You know, it’s a federal offense to photograph me.” Donnelley smirked, “Of course for a couple hundred bucks and a handy…”

He snorted, nodding down the street to Bruster’s office, “Just keep it trained down there, you swamp chomp-wrasslin’ motherfucker.”

>1HR LATER…///

Like most times spent surveilling a target or their known associates, Queen and Donnelley passed the time with reminiscing, or shit-talking, or what they’d do with their time off. Mostly a combination of all three, and Donnelley was mid-laugh and trying not to get piss all over his pant legs while relieving himself into a water jug when the door of Bruster’s office opened and out stepped Fedor and his big bodyguard, Viktor.

Donnelley’s attention snapped to the two and he urged Queen, “Stop lookin’ at my hog and get those motherfuckers in frame, quick.” Donnelley said, twisting the cap of the jug back on and putting himself away, “Glamor shots, motherfucker, show us your best angle.”

“I told you let me hold it -” Queen started to joke but his attention was quickly diverted and he pulled up the camera, sinking down to get a better angle out the window. The settings at least were still in place for that distance and he braced his elbows as he zoomed in to keep it steady. “Fuck this fuckers sunglasses,” he muttered taking several shots of Fedor. “Dracula looking ass.”

He shifted to take a few of Fedor, catching a clean profile and three quarter view when he turned to open the car door. Once they were in, the temptation to follow was strong and he snapped one last photo of the rear of the vehicle and the license plate. “Wonder where they’ll be off to now?”

Queen set the camera in his lap and went back through the photos, there were some clean decent images and he saved them.

“Given if they didn’t give us their own aliases, we can maybe look them up later. Not many Russians walkin’ around Charleston, I’d think.” Donnelley shook his head, eyes tracking the car as it rolled off down the road and then disappeared with a left turn, “Fucker’s got a bodyguard. Gotta be important, and he just implicated at least Bruster, if not all the fuckin’ West Virginia Appalachian Sons Club with colluding with our best friends the Russians.”

“Whether it’s Nikolai Gorochev’s Bratva or the GRU, I can’t tell.” He clucked his tongue, “At this point, I’m startin’ to think they’re one and the same. Wouldn’t surprise me if the GRU were usin’ the Bratva to do their wetwork stateside.”

Donnelley’s phone began to buzz, and he answered, knowing it had to be that cheery receptionist. “Christian O’Neill, VISCO Intel.”

“Hello, Mister O’Neill! Mister Bruster is ready for you, but I’m afraid you won’t have the full hour. Some pressing business with some partners of his needs addressing,” the receptionist said, her voice the very essence of manufactured professional apology, “But Mister Bruster is very interested in a short meet and greet, plus a dinner meeting at a later time!”

“Well, lucky us! I’ll thank him in person, he won’t regret this. I believe our company can offer a lot to your organization.” Donnelley said through an equally manufactured smile and excitement. “We’ll be just a second, see you when we get there.”

“Sure thing, Mister O’Neill, buh-bye!” And Donnelley ended the call. He replaced his phone and rubbed his hands together, “Fuckin’ showtime. Let’s put on our winning smiles and placate this fuckin’ dick before I push sewing needles in his fingers in a basement.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working together,” Queen agreed, “Too much of a coincidence they seem to be always up each other's asses coming after us.”

He slid out of the car and straightened his jacket with a quick snap. Queen ran his hand over his hair and glanced at Donnelley, “Let’s do it, my white brother. I’m just getting in character. They should be on their knees for our DNA, a ginger and blonde? Shit.”

Strolling forward he added, “I’m gonna let you take the lead but we should corroborate our stories. Ex military, of course. How long we been in business? How many employees we got? Where have we operated? How many times we’ve taken vacations to a Sandals resort on the company dime?”

“Former military. We’ll say the 90s. We’ll say, uh, eighteen-hundred,” Donnelley spoke as he followed Queen down the sidewalk, “Obviously we’ve seen time in the Mid East, DoD money’s damn good. South America, because god knows that place don’t have enough shitheads.”

He looked at Queen, “And vacations aplenty, the hell we look like, public servants? We’re contractors, baby, our dicks’re too big to not swing ‘em.” He whistled, facetiously spouting, “Goddamn, it’s a good day to be a white boy.”

Donnelley tugged on his jacket and smoothed his hair back, “Lucky for us, I’ve got the role of arrogant prick down pat.” Donnelley smirked sidelong at Queen, “You, you were born for it.”

He reached over and opened the door to Bruster’s office, “You first, buddy.”

Queen nodded at the details as he committed them to memory, then chuckled, “I like your arrogant prick.”

He flashed him a sly smile before shifting his expression to an earnest and very straight young white man trying to make America great again. Queen stepped through the door and smiled at the pretty receptionist but his focus was on the office door.

“Thanks, brother,” he said, resisting the urge for a cheeky grin. Queen stepped into the office and recognized the face from the photos. The office was neat and clean like the reception area, with minimalist decoration including framed photos of a smiling blonde wife and kids sitting on the porch where an American flag was mounted. A family man, even the dog was a blonde labrador.

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Bruster,” he said in the soft Virginian accent, “Heard a lot about you and your organization. Thanks for taking your time.”

“Of course, anything for upstanding Americans like you.” Gary Bruster smiled, the words and gesture making Donnelley’s skin crawl already, “I’m told that you two would like to make a donation and talk business.”

“Yes, sir. We believe VISCO has a few things that we can do for your organization.” Donnelley said, then placed his hand on the back of one of two chairs on their side of Bruster’s desk, “May I?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Donnelley sat down in the chair with a smile and a nod, “Anyway, like I was saying, VISCO has a few capabilities and services that you and your organization might be very interested in.”

“Do you now?” Gary Bruster pursed his lips and nodded, “What exactly is VISCO. I haven’t had time to research your company between my last meeting and now.”

“Right,” Donnelley said, “Well, Mister Lee and I are representatives out of the Virginia offices of VISCO, or Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company. Virginia Intel for short.”

“Now, since the early 90’s, VISCO has been fulfilling consultant positions, hands-on contract work, and more for the Department of Defense and the Department of Justice in conflict areas around the globe with the Army, the CIA, Homeland Security, and more.” Donnelley smiled, knowing authoritarians absolutely loved any mention of the military or law enforcement, “We also do a lot of bulk data analysis and business intelligence for entities within the Private sector, I’m talkin’ Microsoft, Apple, and the big boys like Goldman-Sachs.”

Donnelley winked at Bruster, who was curious with a big damn smile, before continuing, “And everyone is very pleased with our work. We haven’t lost a single contract in all of our years of operation.” Donnelley grinned, “Now, as for what we can do for you, we’ve got a lot of pull with a lot of people in DC, and even State and County level in some places.”

“We deal with public image manufacturing,” Donnelley began counting on his fingers, “Threat analysis, cybersecurity, and- my friend and I’s specialty- investigative services and interrogation.”

“Like your very own NSA and FBI rolled into one small package.” Donnelley spread his arms and sat back, “I’m sure you and yours would love that. And, I’d like to invite you out for dinner after your time here in the office today. I understand you have pressing matters to attend to on account of your last guests.”

Gary Bruster listened with rapt attention, surely thinking how all this could be too good to be true. It was, but he didn’t need to know that yet. At the mention of his last meeting, he made a subtle twitch of the face that Donnelley picked up on, before he sighed, “Yeah, those guys. You know, I want to keep this nonprofit as American as possible.” Gary shook his head and leaned back in his chair, “And those Russkies are cramping my goddamn style.”

“Russkies, huh?” Donnelley quirked a brow, “Our competition?”

“Only if you folk do mining too. They want a couple of our boys in public outreach to come rally their workers and uplift morale.” Gary shrugged, “American Dream and all that. Hard work and bootstraps. I’m all for it, except for when it comes to that shit. I’ve been in West Virginia all my life when I wasn’t with the Rangers.”

“A Ranger? Hot damn, I was with the Rangers back in the early-2000s.” Donnelley leaked a little bit of truth into the lie he’d spun about his persona and who he represented, “Always good to meet a fellow vet.”

“A fellow patriot. And like a patriot, I can’t disingenuously send some folks over to Blackriver to whip up some cheer for America when America let this happen to them.” Gary Bruster sighed and shook his head, “Bad taste. I’ve heard about Blackriver, been through at one point… anyhow! You boys got me rambling when I don’t have time to.”

“One last thing, you said mining?” Donnelley latched onto that.

“Yeah, Vera Corp Mineral & Rare Earth. Bought the MacOnie mines way back, they own almost all the land out there.” Gary shrugged, “Of course, I think somebody needs to tell them that land is still America.

“I heard you though, and I’m impressed. If I may, I know a few good places around here we can sit and talk without a time limit.” Gary smiled, standing and sticking his hand out for a shake, “I’ve got your number, I’ll have Sally out there call you and set things up. Let’s hope for later tonight, but I can definitely promise sometime tomorrow.”

“Sounds amazin’, thank you for hearin’ us out, Mister Bruster.” Donnelley reached over and shook Gary’s hand, turning for the door. Donnelley waved his goodbyes at Sally the receptionist as he passed and they went straight for the car.

He shut the door and nodded, “I remember bein’ told that Sly Bruster was Jay’s top gun. Baddest shooter. Seems to have risen into a better position after you clipped Jay’s wings.” Donnelley snorted, “Doesn’t seem too sad his friend died of an overdose. Maybe this is what Jay was doin’, how he networked and washed his money, maybe.”

"I doubt he was broken up about it," Queen agreed, "I'm interested that fella just told us he doesn't like the Russians, now we know why. He's a patriot. Probably, the bratvas have established ways of washing money and likely getting some other locals mixed up in it. But what I'm really curious about is this Vera Corp. And what they're doing with the Russians, are they a Russian based company?"

As if to answer his own question, he took out his phone to Google them. After a few minutes he put his phone against his chest and turned to Donnelley, "You gonna love this. Guess who as of recently owns the Red Dog Mines in good ol' Noatak. They also got some mines on a bumfuck frozen island called Svalbard."

Queen made a drum roll by slapping his thighs, his phone sliding to his lap. "Vera Corp is a joint American and Russian owned conglomerate. It's...not much of a surprise."

He picked his phone back up and tapped the screen, then scrolled down. "Hey, what was that fucker's name? The head of the bratva operating around here."

“Nikolai Gorochev?” Donnelley answered.

"Huh, well the man listed as the owner shares that last name," Queen replied. "Ivgeniy Gorochev. What are the odds? Is that a common last name or just sharing DNA."

He went back to the browser and checked the last name. "Seems it's extremely rare, this particular spelling at least. It's a very good chance considering everything that they're related. Vor v zakone indeed."

“Well then.” Donnelley frowned, “I guess I know where we’re goin’ after havin’ dinner with our gracious host.”
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The Things We Leave Behind, Part II…

Businessmen, They Drink My Wine…

>2100…///

The brakes quietly came to a stop at the restaurant Gary Bruster and Donnelley had arranged to meet at, The Chophouse. An upscale steakhouse Charleston, and Donnelley did have to admit he was craving a thick slab of bloody meat. To cut down on their profile, he and Queen had been ordering from drive thrus and quick gas station cuisine, and even the most hardened killers couldn’t go on like that for long. Ghost was fucking prostitutes while Donnelley and Queen were going rogue. Donnelley made sure to slip the black budget offshore account credit card into his wallet before they’d left, one part tradecraft, one part frugality. He didn’t want to be spending his own money, Holly’d be pestering his grave for child support if he died out here.

They’d replaced their ties and suits with more business casual fare, Donnelley dressed in black slacks, brown leather oxfords that matched his belt, and a dark Navy blue polo. He ran a hand down his beard to smooth out the hairs, “You ready, pardner?”

Checking his hair in the drop down mirror, he smoothed out a few locks that tried to fall forward and then ran a hand over his short beard. “Contractor ready, beard and tats, check,” he said, flexing his lean biceps in the black and white polo shirt. He wore similar black slacks and had his prized ASP subcompact pistol tucked in his waistband under the shirt, the small size made it easily concealed even on his lithe frame.

“Hold up,” he said, flipping up the mirror then glanced at Donnelley, a little light in his eyes gleaming. He took a small vial of coke out of his pocket and tapped out a small bump on the back of his hand, leaning down and holding one nostril closed as he snorted sharply. Queen blinked and rubbed his nose, pinching the bridge, “Hot damn. Want some? This ain’t that bullshit I found in Alaska.”

Donnelley eyed the baggy for a moment, deciding whether or not to indulge. Of course, they were playing rich, well-to-do, arrogant contractor pricks. Best commit, he decided, “Hell yeah, motherfucker.” He took the offered bag and tapped out just a small bump onto his hand, “Oh, it’s been too long.”

He plugged one nostrils and ripped the line, letting his head fall back against the seat’s rest and rubbed his nostrils. He groaned as he felt it take hold slowly at first, and then vigorously shook his head when it picked up, “Woo, yeah!” He laughed, knocking his fist against the steering wheel, “Now I’m ready.”

Queen grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, the numb tingling spreading through his face. “Goddamn right. It’s been too long for a lotta things.”

He gave Tex that look, the one they shared so many times when others weren’t paying them any mind, smoldering and full of promise. Queen stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He strolled into the steak house, giving the dark haired hostess a once over then grinned. She was young and pretty, window dressing for the restaurant but he saw a peek of ink on her tricep under her blouse when she reached up to tuck her pen in her hair.

“Hi, welcome to Chop House. Gotta reservation?” she asked, reaching up to toy with the pen behind her ear.

“Only about the wine menu,” Queen quipped and the girl blinked.

“Sure, we do,” he added, “Under Lee.”

“I don’t see any Underly,” the hostess said, taking her pen out and tapping her lips with it.

Queen sniffed lightly, then chuckled, “Frank Lee.”

“Uh..oh!” she exclaimed, dimples appearing as she smiled and she giggled, her eyes dancing. “I see you here, follow me.”

Queen watched her turn around then glanced at Donnelley, a hint of a smile. They walked through the restaurant and found their table. He looked up at the hostess and her name tag, “Emily, we have a friend joining us, name is Bruster. Can you make sure he finds us?”

“Sure thing, don’t y’all worry,” she said, “Enjoy your steaks.”

Queen watched her walk away and let Donnelley take the booth facing the entry and he watched the kitchen doors. “That girl likes to party,” he said almost off hand. “Hey, you think Sally gives Bruster head in his office while he’s wheeling and dealing for white America? It’s gonna be fun to ruin his night.”

Donnelley snorted as he scanned the restaurant, “You kiddin’ me? You saw her when we walked in fixin’ herself up.” He chuckled, “Pretty sure Gary was balls deep.”

Still scanning the restaurant, Donnelley spotted Gary Bruster arriving. Which was good. Except for the fact that he was flanked by two men who looked like they’d stepped out of an MMA studio and into a couple of suits. Donnelley could see one’s cauliflower ears from orbit, and he looked back to Queen, “Check it out, asshole’s here.” Donnelley nodded to the front door, “With a fuckin’ entourage.”

Queen raised his brows at that, then looked at Donnelley, "Someone's nervous. Too bad we have a booth, looks like one of them is gonna be out on his own. Let's just make sure we ain't trapped."

He stood up and turned as if to make for the restroom as Emily the hostess was bringing Bruster and his plus two.

"Did you want me to bring y'all another chair?" She asked, glancing at the muscle that had not been mentioned being expected.

“Oh, no. It’ll be fine, can you find my two friends here an empty table?” Gary asked the hostess.

“Of course! I’ll find them a table in no time, your guys’ server will be with you in a moment.” And with that, the hostess buzzed off like a worker bee to assist some of the other patrons of the restaurant.

Gary smiled at Donnelley as he sat down in the booth, scooting to take the side adjacent to him, “I’m glad we picked this place. You ever been here before?”

“Don’t believe I have, I’ve spent a lot of time in Turkey on behalf of VISCO. You ever make it out that way, I can show you some places to eat.” Donnelley smiled at Gary as if they were good friends, a practiced way of lying, “So, uh, no. I haven’t, but judging by the looks of this place, has to be good.”

“It is, man. I wouldn’t take you anywhere I wouldn’t eat myself. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, I treat my brothers good.” Gary chuckled, patting Donnelley on the shoulder.

Queen slid back into the booth across from Donnelley, a slight smile on his face when he talked about Turkey. “I wouldn’t drink the water there, though.”

He clasped his hands and rested them on the table as the waitress approached for their drink orders. He ordered sweet iced tea and once she was done, Queen turned back to face Bruster and Donnelley, “I always envied that Ranger scroll. I was in the Navy doing nerdy Navy things while this guy was jumping outta planes and shooting hajji in the face.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley chuckled, “No mission without the intel.”

“Damn straight, us doorkickers love our nerds.” Greg chuckled, looking at Queen, “So, we talked a little bit about your guys’ company. Big government contractor.”

Donnelley nodded, “I’d say more mid-sized in the government. We tend more towards private sector entities, just like you and yours, my man.” Donnelley winked, “So, I told you everything we do for everyone, but what can we do for you.

Gary nodded, looking away from Queen and Donnelley and at his hands folded on the table. He looked like he was thinking, and more than that, mulling things over. Donnelley knew there were things rattling around in Gary Bruster’s head. The death of his best friend, Vera Corp, and his ties to Big Clem and Clovers O’Grady. “There’s some people that I know.” Gary looked up from his hands and stared at Queen, then Donnelley, “You said something about being a private NSA and FBI rolled up into one, right?”

Donnelley glanced at Queen sidelong, then back at Gary, “Sure.”

“Your investigative services. I cut ties with these people to go legitimate, you know, old life.” Gary cleared his throat, “I need to know if they’ve got anything that might hurt me, or the Appalachian Sons Club. We’ve got a rally coming up, and any kind of bad news that could come out about-“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Donnelley turned a bit more serious, “We aren’t formally under contract, I can’t go any further into this without a signature granting us the ability to carry out whatever you need carried out under your authority.”

“Frank, what do you think we should do? How much do you think an investigative action and public image engineering like this would cost?” Donnelley asked. Any arbitrary number would do, really, and he was hoping Queen would milk this asshole for whatever they could get away with.

Queen raised his brows slightly and looked at Bruster, leaning in just a bit to show his interest and the comradery of conspiracy. What Bruster did not see was the small recording device, the good old wire as it was still called, that silently captured whatever the man was going to tell them. “It’s the one thing that can destroy everything you worked for, that’s for sure. Someone with a grudge, some pissed off ex girlfriend or old runnin’ buddy. Not something you wanna skimp on. Sometimes you don’t even know what they might know or who they might have told. One thing I learned in the Navy, we don’t leave it for guessing.”

Gary nodded vigorously, clearing his throat and taking a gulp of his ice water, “Listen, I’m willing to pay. I’m willing to sign whatever you need me to sign.” He said, “For something like this, I can give you… twenty-thousand.”

“On short notice? I can only assume we’ll be working in earnest A-S-A-P, am I correct?” Donnelley’s brows rose. “Because if that’s the case, we’re the only ones on deck for you right now. I can assure you that Mister Lee and I are fully trained investigators. So?”

“Well,” Gary looked away, “Thirty.”

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, “Base price is thirty-thousand, cash. Anything else is a ten percent charge. Depending on what needs covering up and the intensity of this operation…”

“Okay, I get it. So, where do I sign?” Gary asked.

Donnelley pulled out his phone, tapping and sliding his finger, “I’ve got an electronic document here for just such an occasion.” He offered the screen to Gary, “Just sign here on the dotted line, and your problems go poof. Sleep like a baby tonight.”

Gary wasted no time in putting his name on the line, “Thank you. I didn’t know you VISCO folk worked on such short notice.”

Queen grinned slightly at that and glanced at Bruster, “When there’s a fire it needs to be put out. We’re your 911.”

He unclasped his hands and shifted his gaze to the waitress approaching with their drinks and ready to take orders.

“Steak, medium rare with the sauteed mushrooms and red potatoes, thanks,” Queen said, still feeling a little giddy at fifteen thousand dollars that would soon be in his bank account. “And the green beans, those are fresh ones right? Not the canned?”

“Right, fresh ones with garlic and butter,” she turned to Donnelley and smiled at Bruster, “Well, hey there Gary, the usual?”

“Yes, ma’am. Rare.” Gary smiled, weighed down by the loss of thirty large, but happy that he’d soon be worry free on behalf of VISCO’s incredible service.

“And for you, sir?” She looked to Donnelley.

He licked his teeth, “Let me get the filet mignon, rare. Garlic mash, asparagus spears.” Donnelley rolled his jaw and smirked, “And a round of shots. Johnny Walker Blue, we’ve got somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Alright!” The waitress chuckled, offering her hand out for their menus, “You want the shots first, or are they coming out with the food?”

“First, please.” Donnelley smiled, handing over his menu.

The waitress turned on her heel and marched off towards the kitchen, leaving them alone once again. Donnelley turned back to his two friends at the table after giving the waitress’s ample hips an audience as they swayed her away, “Well, now that we’ve got an agreement settled, we need to establish some information. Whatever you can give us on these people you think might be gunnin’ for your career.” Donnelley inclined his head to Gary, “And leave nothin’ out. We need every detail, see if we need to bring any other personnel on.”

Gary looked to the two of them, “It’s a long story. And we’re going to need some privacy.” Gary lowered his voice conspiratorially, “We can meet at my office after dinner.”

Donnelley nodded slow, the plan coming together far more easily than he thought. They didn’t even have to bring out the rohypnol. “Sounds real good, Mister Bruster.”

>…///

Donnelley was laughing as he closed the car door, watching Gary Bruster leave the Chop House’s parking lot. He clapped his hands and drummed them on the steering wheel, “Fifteen-fuckin’-thousand!” Donnelley laughed, “He just paid us fifteen-fuckin’-thousand to grab him by the balls and squeeze.”

He reeled himself in and pressed the ignition button on the Ford, hearing it rumble to life, “We take this on the road and we can make some fuckin’ bank, Queen, my boy.”

“Never been offered that much for it,” Queen chuckled, pleased with their well paid ruse. “Much better than having to use your tool bag. More profitable.”

“Good talking, Tex. You got him going. Of course it’s lucky he was a Ranger. Y’all raw meat eatin’ fuckers,” he said, then pulled up his shirt, checking the charge on the small recording device. He plugged it into the power bank and let it charge while they drove. “It’s always nice when they do the work for you, I’ll just verify what he gives us and we’ll go on. Make a copy of all his incriminating statements, which by the way we need him to say names so don’t let him slide on that.”

Queen paused then said, “It ain’t a criminal case but wouldn’t that make him sweat to know we’d go to the men he’s naming?”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ bankin’ on it. We need some leverage, we’re on our own out here and we need every bit of protection we can get.” Donnelley tried to remember the turns they needed to take to get to Bruster’s office. “We’ll squeeze everythin’ we can and get to work. If he acts up, we give him a taste of how fucked he is.”

“Those Tapout wearin’ McGregor wannabes ain’t goin’ to be able to save his ass when we’re done.” Donnelley pulled into a parking space on the street outside of Bruster’s office. His two goons were posted outside the front door and Donnelley eyed them, “You got one in the chamber in that cute little Barbie pistol of yours?” Donnelley asked, “If he tries to double-cross us, we take those two down and disappear with Gary. Liquidate ‘em in the sticks and leave ‘em for the rats.”

“One way or another, we’re gettin’ dirt on Gary and his friends, force ‘em to tell us who they sold the drugs to. Or who they know sold the drugs.” Donnelley pulled his handgun and gave it a quick push check before holstering it again, “You ready, pardner?”

“Barbie pistol? I don’t need to compensate for anything,” he grinned, then nodded. He held the compact 9mm in his hand, the clear plastic on the grip showed a full magazine was loaded. He slid it back in his waist band then tucked his shirt over it, “Yep, it's ready to go. So am I.”

He sniffed, rubbing his thumb against his nose after snorting a little bit more powder, just to keep the edge. “Fuck it feels good to be a gangsta.”

“Alright,” Donnelley took a breath, “Let’s do this.”

Donnelley opened his door and threw on his fleece coat to cover his IWB holster, walking up to the door of Bruster’s office before his goons stepped in front of it, “No weapons.” One of them said, Cauliflower Ear.

Donnelley looked to Queen and then back to Cauliflower Ear, “You get to keep yours?”

Cauliflower shrugged, “Rules.”

Donnelley paused, staring Cauliflower in the eye for a few long moments. Cauliflower’s friend unfolded his arms and then Donnelley smiled, “Okay.”

The two of them commenced the pat down on Donnelley and then gave him a thumbs up after he handed them his gun. The two converged on Queen.

“Fellas,” he raised his hands, locking his fingers behind his head but kept his legs closer together. In his pants pocket he had a utility folding knife and his keys, “I’m just the intel guy, but have at it.”

Cauliflower commenced the pat down, making doubly sure he had no chance of brushing Queen’s junk. Donnelley could tell from his own patdown that these guys had to be lowest bidder. They didn’t find the punch dagger Donnelley kept by his balls. Donnelley chuckled watching Cauliflower go around Queen searching for weapons like he was afraid something in Queen’s pockets would awaken something in him. He pulled Queen’s ASP free from his waistband and dangled it in his face like they’d done a good job, “Alright, Intel Guy.

Cauliflower slapped Queen’s shoulder a bit harder than needed and then opened the door for the two to step inside. Waiting for them in the main room, leaning on the receptionist desk was Gary. “Friends. Come on,” he waved them on and led them to his office, “Have a seat, we can get to business.”

Queen tried not to roll his eyes, only gave the goon a tight smile, “I want it back when we’re done, it’s a collector’s piece. Don’t go breaking it in those big hands now.”

He dropped his arms and tucked his shirt back in as he followed Donnelley into the office. Dropping into the seat and breathed out, seeming to find the chairs comfortable but it was more of a relief. They had found his gun but not the recorder and it was running at full charge, the flat small device taped to the center of his chest under the navy portion of his polo shirt.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Gary said, nodding to his door, “I can’t be too careful nowadays. If you can’t tell… I’m kind of desperate.”

Gary smiled sheepishly before it disappeared, “The people that want me gone… old friends. Associates, more like. I went to prison on drug charges some time ago, my reputation went very downhill and they introduced me to a man named Jay. Jackson Mitterick.” Gary rested his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled in front of his face, “Jackson actually had my position with the Club before… well, we pride ourselves on abstaining from illegal substances. When it came to light that Jackson died of an overdose, his family’s reputation was dragged through the mud.”

“And then I applied. They took me in, knew that a story of the Club helping to reform a former criminal and put his name back into glory as a veteran? A hero?” Gary chuckled, albeit humorlessly, “They couldn’t pass it up. It was the Club’s name on the line too. They couldn’t have one of their office heads being known to have died of a drug overdose and it was just the story they needed to overshadow Jackson’s death.”

“There’s two men that know about what I once was-“

“And what is that?” Donnelley interrupted, “I need to know everything.”

“I was Jay’s enforcer. I taught his guys to shoot, how to move, everything the Rangers taught me. Jay had two others besides me, and that’s who I’m afraid wants to cut me down.” Gary frowned, looking down at his desk and letting his hands down to rest, “Clemence Jackson handles the drugs for Jay’s Aryan Brotherhood, they call him Big Clem. Hubert O’Grady runs guns. Clovers.”

“Clovers?” Donnelley asked.

“His nickname.” Gary paused, then took a deep breath, “I lied. Last time you were here. Fedor and Viktor, those two Russians. Fedor runs the mines. Viktor is the local Bratva head.”

“They want me to go back to what I was doing before I got my head on straight. The Brotherhood, the Bratva, the mines. You have to understand, it’s not just my career on the line,” Gary shook his head, slow, “It’s my fucking life.”

Queen listened closely, attentive to their client and getting it all recorded. He whistled softly then raised an eyebrow, “You’re not kidding. Bratva and the ABs, I know their game. You said they wanted y’all to rally the workers at the mines, give them the whole pep talk for workin’ hard for God and country. Are they striking? What’s going on there that they’re looking for outside help?”

“You’d have to ask Fedor. I haven’t been to Blackriver for a bit,” Gary shrugged, “I know about the rumors of that place. About David Dulane, the devils in the mines. I don’t know if they’re true, but if I was a miner, I’d be pretty fucking hesitant to go down there again after that shit.”

“Okay, okay.” Donnelley leaned back and scratched at his chin, then began to stroke his beard, “I need everythin’ you have on Hubert and Clem. We can start investigatin’ them after we get addresses and spots where they spend a lot of time.”

Donnelley looked back up at Gary, “As for the Russians. The Bratva,” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “That costs. Brotherhood is one thing, international criminal organizations is another.”

“I need everything taken care of.” Gary said, “If the Appalachian Sons want seats on the State Legislature, and start helping put some sense into this country… I need everything taken care of. Not just for me, but the country.”

“Uh huh.” Donnelley said, a little less enthusiastic in his facade of camaraderie with Gary, “Goin’ toe to toe with the Russians is an extra ten. Forty thousand. Half now, half later, and we’ll get to work.”

Gary frowned, rubbing at his eyes and then nodded, looking away from Donnelley and Queen until he spoke, “Fine.”

“We can accompany whoever the Club sends to the Vera Corp mines, gather some Intel on Fedor if we can. Anythin’ to help you level the playing field.” Donnelley rose his brows, “Sound good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, please, get this done quietly.” Gary pleaded, “I can send you the addresses to Hubert and Clem’s houses, and anywhere they hang out at. Thank you, again.”

Gary rose from his seat and thrust his hand out for them to shake. Donnelley took Gary’s hand first, “Don’t thank me. Thank the Military-Industrial Complex for makin’ me and VISCO.”

>MOTEL 6
>0200…///

Donnelley sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless and dressed in shorts now that they didn’t have to keep up appearances. His laptop was sitting next to him and he’d refresh the page every once in a while, waiting for the forty-four thousand to show up in the Black Budget account. He had a smile on his lips, and a cigarette too, smoked down to only half the stogie. It smoldered there until Donnelley took another drag, taking it with forefinger and thumb and blowing the smoke out. “Come on, hurry the fuck up, Gary.” Donnelley muttered.

It took a few more refreshes until the amount in the account ticked up those thousands of dollars. When it did, Donnelley let out a hearty laugh. Twenty-two thousand, Donnelley and Queen splitting it down the middle and making like bandits in the chaos that seemed to be West Virginia. The only downside was that they’d have to do the real work come tomorrow. Casing Clem and Hubert, then waiting on the call from Gary so that they could go to the Vera Corp mines and find out what a Russian mining company was doing in Alaska, a desolate archipelago, and West Virginia. He pulled up his secure emails linked to the Agency and typed up a request to Smitty for a deep-dive into Vexel Rare Earth and Radko Minerals, as well as Red Dog Mine, and Pyramiden. Hopefully it’d come within a few days. He shut his laptop and then rose from the bed, knocking on the bathroom door, “Hey, fucker, are you hoggin’ the coke?”

Queen finished the quick shower and stood in the cheap motel towel, cutting lines on the small hand mirror. Fucking over twenty grand because his best friend was smart and desperate rich people were willing to throw money at their problems without thinking too hard about it. At the knock he laughed, reaching over to open the door.

“I was just prepping it for you,” Queen said, stepping back and looking over Donnelley in his shorts. “Damn you been beefin’ up haven’t you.”

He passed him the short straw and leaned against the sink, watching him get down on the thin neat lines he had cut. His own body was leaner than he had been five years ago, strong but wiry, without the bulk that he once had. The tattoos distracted from the lack of mass, emphasising the ripple of muscles just under his skin. He put his hand on his hip, the tattooed pistol just below the v-line, pointing towards the target under the towel.

“Suck it up, get it all,” Queen teased. “Gotta celebrate tonight,”

Donnelley stood straight again after ripping a line off the mirror Queen had set up, wiping his nose off on his forearm and mouthing a swear, “Good goddamn.” Donnelley screwed his eyes shut as he pinched his nostrils, “This shit really is good. What asshole you confiscate this from this time?”

He laughed, giving a little shrug. “I got my sources. Miami is great for good coke,” Queen said, leaning in and bending to take his turn. He blinked hard and rubbed his nose, then checked his hand, making sure he wasn’t bleeding again. “You outta see the penthouse I’m renting, gotta view of the ocean.”

Queen closed his eyes then rolled his shoulders, then opened them looking directly at Donnelley. The pale blue green color twinkled with mischief and he gave him a crooked grin. “I gotta admit, I was fucking impressed how you played Bruster. Thanks for spitting even, you always got me.”

He stepped forward, searching Donnelley’s face before closing the distance, pushing him towards the doorway. Queen reached up and cupped the back of his head, going in for a rough, hungry kiss.

Donnelley was taken by surprise as Queen roughly grabbed him. His back collided with a wall, the only thing keeping him from tripping up and falling. As Queen’s lips met his, and the coke was in full swing through his system, he simply melted into it. And then pushed himself into it just as hungrily as Queen, the two of them letting out soft groans. He’d wanted this since he’d seen Queen shirtless the first time in this hotel room, and couldn’t help himself. As he led Queen to the bed, he pushed him onto it and followed him on, leaning over him, but stopping just short of their lips meeting.

He pulled back, ashamed. How would Laine feel if she could see him now. What would his daughter think, knowing her father was snorting drugs and cheating on the woman he loved. He’d told Holly that he was better now, but was he really?

“Fuck.” Donnelley rose from the bed to sit on the edge, cradling his head in his hands, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Queen hit the bed, his towel bravely hanging on and he was reaching down to change that when Donnelley pulled back. He opened his eyes, furrowing his brow as he saw him pulling back to sit at the edge of the bed. Queen pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at him, “What’s wrong? Joey?”

Ever since the time in the basement in Alaska Donnelley had been standoffish. It had been fine on the ship after snatching Carlisle and something changed in that time. “Talk to me.”

“Billy, I have to tell you something.” Donnelley said, still not looking at Queen, his back turned to him and the only thing discernible of his mood was the tone of his voice and subtle rising and falling of his shoulders with his breathing. “I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, down his face and beard, “I’m involved with Laine. The FBI Psychologist on my team.” Donnelley shook his head, “I should’ve told you sooner, but we’ve been involved for a while.”

Queen held his breath, then nodded even though Donnelley had his back to him. Ever since the time in the basement he knew something was different and the idle speculation among THUNDER guessed at it. He felt a rising ache and frustration as he stared at Donnelley’s freckled back.

“I know who she is,” Queen said, then rose off the bed so he could walk around and face Donnelley, holding the towel closed with one hand on his hip, “It’s what you want? She makes you happy?”

Donnelley looked up at Queen, searching his face. It felt like ripping a piece of himself away and giving it back to the man who’d revealed it had been there all along. There was a strong bond with Queen that he had, but he had to face the truth one day. Looking at Queen now versus when they first met, he was skinny in the ways he’d seen addicts become, and he knew the man had seen a lot. They’d seen a good amount of it together, faced it down and come out on the other side in one piece. Kept each other from falling over the edge more than once. But he knew his friend was closer than he’d ever been, and he wasn’t sure he could save him from going over next time.

He swallowed hard, looking away from Queen. He nodded, forcing himself to speak what he needed to, “Yeah.” He said, “She does.”

Queen bit the inside of his lip and nodded again, staying quiet for a beat before he looked down at Donnelley, “I take it she doesn’t know about you...about us.”

“I’ve never told anyone, Billy.” Donnelley looked back up at Queen with misty eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but only croaked out a pitiful little sound he masked by clearing nothing out of his throat. He shook his head, breathily muttering out, “I’m still scared.”

“You and I both know how it is… how it still is for men like us.” Donnelley frowned, “She doesn’t know. About me, about us. Nobody does, but you and me.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” Queen said, the pain flickering in his sea-colored eyes. “I know why. It kinda just has to be that way for us. Had to. I guess...”

He tried to crack a smile but it faltered as he said, “I guess it makes it easier, we don’t have to explain to anyone. It uh...”

Queen swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing under the trimmed beard. “At least you don’t have to hide her, you can be proud. She’s hot and smart...someone you can actually be with.”

He breathed out forcefully then glanced down at himself in his towel. Queen chuckled, then groaned a little, “Well fuck I guess. It was fun while it lasted.”

Queen turned and started back towards the bathroom. Donnelley let out a hollow chuckle, more just a lifeless breath from a mouth that couldn’t smile, “Yeah, it was.” His mouth closed tight in a frown and he cleared his throat again, speaking hoarsely, “I, um, I think I left somethin’… in the car.”

He stood up from the bed and turned away from Queen again as his best friend and the man he once loved, still loved, went for the bathroom. He wiped at his eyes before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and going for the door outside. He closed the door behind him as his head hung low, descending the stairs down to the parking lot and over to the car. He unlocked the driver side door and slipped inside, leaving the door open as he shoved a cigarette between his lips.

He lifted his lighter, but took the cigarette from his mouth to cover his eyes as his lip quivered.

The Things We Leave Behind, Part III…

No Reason to Get Excited…

>DATE TBD
>0700…///

Queen was awake before Donnelley, he had slept little and spent most of the night focusing on his racing heart rather than the man in the bed next to his. He had finished off the lines of coke that had been left on the mirror, drowning his sorrow the only way he had left. He lay there in the dark hovering on the edge, wondering if his heart would burst from too much coke or from loss.

He was dressed now in dark jeans and an undershirt, he had made coffee which he had no appetite for but left it for Donnelley and stepped out to smoke one of his Kools and watch the sun come up over the trees and powerlines that lined the parking lot of the motel.

Donnelley woke up soon after, opening his eyes to the popcorn ceiling of the cheap room. He took a breath once he realized last night had not been a bad dream, and the emotions only slightly blunted by time. He reached over to where he’d left his American Spirits and put one in his mouth, looking to the big window to the outside, seeing the silhouette of Queen on the walkway outside. He sighed, knowing that avoiding Queen was impossible, and put the case in jeopardy anyway.

He put his feelings aside and got up to standing from the bed, walking outside and leaning on the rail next to Queen after lighting his cigarette. It was quiet between the two for a few long moments, but Donnelley decided to break the tension, “How do we want to approach this thing with Clem and Clovers?”

Queen heard the door open and he took a deep drag from the menthol cigarette. He pushed the pain back down and shifted mental gears, he was Queen now. Billy would have to wait until this rogue mission was over.

"Well, they're scumbag hillbilly drug dealers so I figured I'd give them a scumbag hillbilly drug buyer," Queen said, not looking at Donnelley but out at the parking lot, "I can probably talk my way in, I know enough about their organization and how they do shit. Gonna see if they want a new opportunity to make some cash without Russian involvement. You be my backup in case shit goes sideways. What do you think, Mr. Spy?”

Donnelley nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette, “Sounds good. I just stand there and look pretty, got it.” Donnelley smirked, looking sidelong at Queen for a moment then looked back down at the parking lot, “I’ve been around a few gunrunners, I know the deal. Might even score a drop gun off him to thicken the lie if we can butter ‘em up enough.”

Queen glanced at him, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “I figured I’d go in alone, do like I do with the DEA and have you standby and listen and be ready if I need help.”

He finished the cigarette as he nodded, “But you’re right you got that gunrunner experience and a two for one will be more tempting. So we go in together, tag team ‘em.”

Queen snuffed the butt of the cigarette and palmed it, a sly smile coming to his face. “Hell if you can get these assholes to drop a buncha guns and drugs I’ll bl...buy you a beer.”

His smile faltered but he turned away, “Guess we need to dress the part and get something to eat, junkies never start their day this early.”

“We diggin’ the bikes out?” Donnelley quirked his brow, at least a little bit of a mood lift to be back on his Indian.

Queen glanced back and took a deep breath then said, “Hell yeah we are, dirty white boys ride bikes. Professional PIs drive sedans. Let’s talk about loadout and I was thinking about what we know about Jay that might be hard for Big Clem and Clovers to look into quickly.”

“Well,” Donnelley frowned, shrugging as he took a deep drag off his cigarette, “We know he’s a former office head for the Appalachian Sons Club. He had enough money and pull to make the Park Police turn their heads to the Sinaloa, and then the Russians.”

“He had a Park Police Officer by the name of Billy Britt killed in… uh, Charleston, here for threatenin’ to blow the lid off his operation.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “And sick some hillbilly mercenaries from… Georgia, I think, on the Feds that came knockin’.”

“Meanin’ me and UMBRA.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “Not much else.”

Queen clicked his teeth together thinking it over, “Mercs from Georgia, it’s possible but we don’t know much about them. Good chance of fucking it up. These guys do time with Jay? Hell we just act like he met us in a bar and we got chatty and he gave us his contact information for a deal but he died before we could make contact. It’s asking them to trust strangers but...”

He grinned but it did not touch his eyes, “We’re good at that.”

Donnelley huffed a chuckle through his nostrils before he grew quiet, his smirk fading as he looked out at the sunrise. The moment grew quiet until Donnelley spoke, “Jay, Vera Corp, the Bratva, GRU. Blackriver Killers and David Dulane.” He shook his head slow as slow, “Billy Britt and Frank Wilkins. Clyde Baughman and Maria Vasquez. Blackriver.

“Everythin’s rotted out in this fuckin’ place.” Donnelley spat.

“Yep,” Queen agreed, “Like gangrene, just creeping steadily and rotting everything it touches. Something worse than just the grinding poverty and poisoned water, something darker.”

His gaze was unfocused, somewhere miles from where they stood and he absently lifted his hand as if to smoke but remembered he had finished the cigarette. Queen dropped his hand then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The depth of the rot had not been measured yet but here they were, the two of them about to stick their hands right in.

“Let’s get ready then, time to save another piece of the world,” Queen turned and went into the motel room holding the door for Donnelley so he would not have to swipe his card.

Donnelley pinched his cherry out, but kept the cigarette butt out of habit, “Or burn it all down if we have to.”

>1100…///

The air had been thick between them at breakfast. Hardly a word other than the scheming on how to fulfill the hollow contract they’d signed with Gary Bruster. Maybe it was better that way, focus on the goal and nothing else. But it felt like his throat closed up every time they met eyes, knowing he’d never kiss him again, and he had his regrets for not at least going the whole way with him last night. It would’ve just made the pain worse for Donnelley, betraying Laine’s trust. He’d done it once in Vegas, he promised to never do it again. Maybe he was better at not letting people down, but then why did it feel like he was dying?

He nipped off his flask as he threw the Ford into park in front of the storage garage he’d rented. He climbed out of the driver seat and made his way to the door, unlocking it and lifting it open on its track to reveal the two bikes resting there like they’d left them. He and Queen had dressed the part of gunrunning, drug trafficking criminals from out of town. Donnelley had left his vest, instead only wearing the worn leather jacket over a plain black tee and black jeans. His aviators were up on his forehead and he lit the cigarette between his lips while he got back into the Ford. He let Queen get his bike while he pulled out his phone and got Gary on the line. Once he heard him pick up, he spoke, “Chris with VISCO. I need somethin’ to get us in with Clem and Hubert.”

“What? I thought you would just surveil them-“

“We’re hands on. You wanted this done right or done sloppy?” Donnelley asked, his tone all business and barren in friendliness, “The longer we wait, the longer they’ll have time to plot.”

There was a pause, silence filtering in on the other end of the call with that quiet hiss, “Okay.” Gary muttered, “You’re right. Uh, us and Jay always had a password set up with everyone who worked with us.”

“And that is?”

“Gott mitt uns.” Bruster said, “Nazi German Army thing. Birth of a Nation was a favorite with our boys, so we’d say our job was to protect the Southern Country.”

Donnelley rolled his eyes and silently wore his disgust on his face, “Okay. We’ll have this handled, Gary.”

“Good, thank you.”

Donnelley hung up the phone, slipped it back in his pocket and took a long drag off his cigarette, then another nip off his flask, “You know, you ever told me I’d be doin’ favors for Klansmen and Nazis, I’d knock the head off your shoulders.” Donnelley shook his head and hocked a gob of phlegm into the lot, “Gonna feel so good when we pull it out from under ‘em.”

Queen had not eaten much at breakfast, toast and coffee leaving most of the food on his plate. It hurt to look at Donnelley and he held that in, there was a job to do. A big one that might get him killed all over again and no chance for a mulligan like the last one. The coke binge the night before left him still wired but in an exhausted way and he had no appetite. Once they left and got to the storage unit, he felt a little better as they were doing things rather than sitting there trying to evade anything personal.

It felt strange and the tension in his stomach and chest would not relax. Queen wanted to tell him how much he would miss him, that he stayed alive in the eyes of the Program for him. Without their connection he would have been lost long ago but he knew anything said about that would just make Donnelley feel guilty then maybe resentful. He had to find his new equilibrium, the new boundary he had to keep in mind when there used to be none. It would take time which they sorely lacked.

Queen glanced up at him and nodded, “Well, gotta lay with dogs sometimes.”

He ran his hand over the Harley Sportster and thought about Easy and Goat, the other friends he had among Hell’s Highest. Correction. The friends Hollywood had, not Queen and certainly not Agent Billy Patrick.

Queen dressed like biker scum, just short of wearing the colors but he would not go representing the club without them. He wore a worn leather jacket without patches instead over another t-shirt, this one bearing a vintage logo of the Charlie Daniel’s band proclaiming "The South's Gonna Do It" with a confederate battle flag flying behind the letters.

“Jay sure got his,” Queen said, forcing himself to sound chipper so he would not be a fucking downer. No one liked that. “Ol’ boy got it nice and easy. Hell of a way to go if I do say so myself.”

“That’s the best part ain’t it? Setting these fuckers up and knocking them down, getting ours at the same time,” he said, then dug into the pocket of the tight jeans. He put a couple of the pills he dug out into his mouth, dry swallowing them, taking them to even out his unstable emotions. “So you got like the secret clubhouse password? No negroes allowed or something?”

He rolled the hated word off his tongue with a surly southern drawl, one he had heard enough growing up in northern Florida. Queen disliked it but if he showed hesitation saying the things that would have been natural to assholes like Jay it would cause suspicion.

“Separate but Equal.” Donnelley snorted, then shook his head, “Gott mitt uns. God is with us, or some bullshit. Gary said Jay and them would say it was their job to protect the Southern Country.”

“Slip that in somewhere. You sure you want to go in alone while I wait outside?” He asked.

“Got mittens? What kinda shit is that? Oh right, Nat-zis,” Queen said, the country in his drawl thickening.

Queen glanced at Donnelley, a petulant part of him wanted to say yes to show he didn’t need him, that this was the sort of thing he handled for the DEA before. But despite his hurt, Donnelley was someone he would always trust at his side. “I can handle it,” he said, adjusting the side mirror on the arched handle bars, “But I mean, if you wanted to try and get that gun drop, that’s sorta your thing, spook.”

Donnelley dragged off his cigarette and took a moment to think. Whether or not to go in with Queen, or let him do his thing. He trusted him, but he didn’t trust those two Nazis not to blast Queen in the face if they even sensed something was up. But he had to trust him. He looked back at Queen and nodded, “Break a leg, motherfucker. I’ll be outside.” Donnelley put his aviators over his eyes and gave the gas pedal a couple pushes to make the engine roar, and gave Queen a wink, “Gott mitt uns.”

And Donnelley was off toward the storage facility gate.

>1140…///

Queen’s Harley rumbled through the mostly empty streets on the outskirts of Charleston, Donnelley following two cars down in the SHO, trunk full of tac gear and speakers bumping a FEAR song. Low income neighborhoods they called these, but Donnelley had grown up in one and trudged through more than a few from Texas to Baghdad to know that shithole was a more apt description. Most here would agree. They stopped at a red light and Donnelley scanned the road and sidewalks with hard eyes behind his aviators. A man caked in street dirt was sleeping in front of a convenience store, a pack of youths was on the other side of the street and were eyeing him and Queen. Whites and Hispanics.

Donnelley only snorted and shook his head as he looked away. Time was, any one of those kids could’ve been him. And it was like he could see their thoughts, a violence barely hidden for all the world outside these streets. The light turned green and Donnelley accelerated down the road, letting the sad scenes pass him on their way to Clem and Hubert’s drug house. When they got into the neighborhoods and away from the storefronts and strip malls, he knew they were in the right place. Boards in windows, hollowed out houses covered in graffiti.

Queen turned up the dead-end street that in a nicer neighborhood would be called a cul-de-sac. His gaze shifted from behind his sunglasses, he saw the house described by Donnelley. It was similar to the house they raided, Jay’s mother’s house. That had been a shit show and his gut tightened, he was not wearing his vest, it was in the trunk of the Ford along with his Scorpion. He rolled to a stop in front of the rundown house and immediately the dark hole of the open door caught his attention.

“Shit,” he muttered, picking up his phone. “Hey, looks like we’re late to the party.”

Queen kept an eye on the house as Donnelley closed the few blocks and pulled beside him.

“Cops already raid this place?” Donnelley asked, cutting his engine and looking at Queen, “Might mean trouble for our client if they talk.”

“Maybe,” Queen said, leaning on the handlebars, resting his boot against the street, “Whoever did it knows how to kick a door. Wanna take a peek? See what we can find.”

He scanned the area, looking for anyone that might be hanging out watching the house. Dismounting from the bike, he pulled the helmet off and hung it from the handlebars. Queen checked his weapons, the small hand gun secured in the small of his back.

“Wanna take the fun guns?” he asked, stepping around his bike to move to the back of the car to get into the trunk. Inside were their soft vests like he wore on plain clothes raids and more firepower.

Donnelley popped the trunk, revealing the arsenal in the large compartment, “Already ahead of you.” He smirked as he pushed aside his Serbu shotgun to get to the AK, “I brought my shotgun, but it looks like we don’t have to blow the hinges. I’m point.”

Donnelley shut the Ford’s door and looked both ways down the street for anyone watching. Knowing places like this, no one would tell even if there was a big, damn firefight. Maybe there already was, but Donnelley couldn’t see any holes in the walls as he and Queen made their approach. The lawn outside was brown and dead, the whole area was quiet, which made Donnelley’s hairs stand on end. It was a small house, so not much to clear, but Donnelley and Queen would have to be fast and violent if there was anyone still in there. After they stacked, Donnelley kept his TP9 at low ready, waiting for Queen to give him the ready-go squeeze on his shoulder.

When he did, they both rushed in, focusing on their halves of the room. The house opened into a living room and dining room, a television that looked too good for this area was on the floor, screen off and broken, the two folding chairs in front of it were on the ground as if whoever was in them had gotten up in a hurry. The dining room, the table was smashed in half and a table leg was left embedded in some poor fool’s face laying between the two halves of the destroyed table. The kitchen was similarly empty, and further into the house were the bedrooms and bathroom. Donnelley couldn’t hear anything else in the house, “Hallway, front.” Donnelley muttered out to Queen, doors on either side of the hallway, but staggered enough they wouldn’t have to worry about crossfire. Donnelley moved on the first door on the left side of the hallway, “Making entry.”

Donnelley turned the knob and threw the door open as he rushed in to find a small bathroom, empty, “Small room,” Donnelley called to Queen outside, moving the shower curtain away to see the shower, “Clear.”

“Second door, you’re point.” Donnelley said.

Queen moved forward, the folding stock of the CZ Scorpion he picked up from Kid tucked against him and raised up, the body left on the table told them it was not cops that raided this house. No time to see how long he might have been there, Queen followed Donnelley as he cleared the room then shifted up in front of him to take the next room. Likely a bedroom, based on the layout of the small suburban houses he had been in, and not the main bedroom.

He reached for the knob and flung the door open when Donnelley gave him the ready-go tap on the shoulder and faced the corner of the room keeping watch to the right as he side-stepped to the left. There was a twin bed there against the wall, the bedding was spare, a cheap fleece blanket and a pillow and the carpet muffling their steps was that colorless beige all rentals seemed to have. Along the wall was the flimsy accordion door to a closet and Queen trained the pistol on it as Donnelley took his position.

Donnelley’s eyes were trained on the closet, just waiting for rounds to come through it. He wasted no time in moving on the closet as Queen held security on the doorway. Donnelley opened the closet to find it empty, not even clothes on hangers to obscure anyone inside, “Room clear. Move to second bedroom, I’m point.”

They left the room and Donnelley took point on the door, throwing it open when Queen tapped his shoulder. Before he could take his first step in, a voice called out, “Friendly! Friendly!”

“Hands! Hands!” Donnelley shouted as he moved inside the room, weapon trained on a man about his height. The man inside the room immediately dropped to his knees and stuck his hands high in the air. Dressed in a fleece jacket, white tee, jeans and Adidas, he didn’t quite look the type to hang around Aryan Brotherhood drug houses. Short black hair and long stubble, the two held gazes while Queen moved to secure him.

Queen kept his gun pointed at the man, his heart pounding at the surprise not just finding someone but that they surrendered, his finger slowly lightening on the trigger as he moved around him. He tucked the gun against his arm as he used a free hand to do a brief frisk, running under his arms and around his waist band, tossing aside a small Glock.

He slung the Scorpion back, letting it hang from his strap as he reached for flex cuffs in his back pocket and took one of the man’s wrists, ‘Behind your back, let’s go.”

He zipped them on, checking to see if they were secure and proceeded to check the man’s ankles under his jeans and the pockets of his jacket and jeans. “Am I gonna find anything else other than your squirt pistol?”

“No, my friend.” The man spoke with a soft accent, and Donnelley thought about where he came from, racking his brain.

“Russian?” Donnelley asked as Queen frisked the man.

“Yes! But not bad guy. I have seen you,” The man said, struggling to lift his head from the floor and look at Donnelley. Despite his current situation, he was smiling. “You are with American agency? Program! I know the one named Laine!”

Donnelley stepped forward, his finger on the trigger of his gun as he trained it on the man’s head, “How?” Donnelley growled out with beared teeth and narrowed eyes.

“Renko! I am Renko! I gave them tracker and helped them with the girl!” The man named Renko pleaded, “I am not enemy.”

“Easy, Tex,” Queen said when saw the flash of danger in his blue eyes. He looked down at the man he had heard mentioned by Laine and Ava. Glancing up at Donnelley, he asked, “You know about that?”

“Where’s Clem and Hubert?” Donnelley asked, no warmth or camaraderie in his voice.

“Clem is outside.” Renko said.

“Where?”

“You didn’t see him?” Renko asked, his voice genuinely confused, “On table?”

“That was Clem?” Donnelley glanced at Queen for a second, “You did that?”

“No! The man who did it is going after Hubert!” Renko said. “I can take you to him before he dies!”

“No deal.” Donnelley said, getting to one knee beside Renko and placing a rough hand on the back of his neck, squeezing hard for a moment and making Renko wince, “Renko, how good of friends are we?”

“We have just met, but-“

“Exactly. How do I know I can trust you?” Donnelley asked, “You and I, we’re spies. You and I, we both know faith is bullshit and trust is built by bein’ useful. So, be useful to me or I’ll let you find out how bad I can be.”

He leaned closer to Renko, “Because, I’m not Laine.” He patted his TP9 to punctuate his statement. “Somebody puts a gun to your head, tell them where Hubert is or soak the carpet with your brain? Which one, quick.”

“Club Sanguin! He runs security at Club Sanguin!” Renko raised his voice, his eyes screwed shut, “I am telling you, I am not enemy! Do not shoot me!”

Donnelley was quiet for a few long moments, staring down at Renko. Take him with them or not? Trust him or not? Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Why are you here?”

“GRU tells me to save Clem, I try. GRU tells me to save Hubert, I am trying too. If you need Hubert alive, I give him to you, tell GRU I fail.” Renko bargained, trying to look up at Donnelley again with one eye open, “But I need something from you. Both of us useful to each other, I give tracker and girl, what do you give me?”

“What does the GRU want with Hubert?” Donnelley asked.

“The GRU wants Hubert alive. Hubert gives Bratva guns, Bratva does does not work for GRU, does not like Propavsheye. GRU does not like this, Propavsheye come for Hubert to kill him, GRU does not like this either. Hubert is meeting with Police Sergeant McCune.” Renko said, “I give you both men, I will have debt to you. But too much debt and no repayment, the GRU will know what I am doing for you!”

“Who the fuck is Propavsheye?” Donnelley asked, then looked to Queen, “Who the fuck is Propavsheye?”

“Ukraine mafia! Like Bratva, but different. Still mean, but works for GRU sometime!” Renko said, “Like attack dog for GRU.”

“Okay, so we get Hubert and McCune out of this?” Donnelley asked, grinning now, “Two-fer. I like it, thank you, Renko.”

“No bullet?” Renko smiled up at Donnelley, face still in the carpet.

“For now.” Donnelley shrugged.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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The Things We Leave Behind, Part IV

Stop Talkin’ Falsely Now…

>UN CLUB SANGUIN
>1220…///

The three of them arrived at the club, stopping a couple hundred meters down the street. Around this time, the club wasn’t open to the public, probably just being used as a hangout for Hubert and his thugs. It was a typical high-end strip club, nothing on the outside to show its true nature, just flashing neon signs that marketed it as a lounge and bar. Gentleman’s Club. As if that was any better. Just meant the girls had an equal chance of putting out for money with a lower chance of giving you something the wife would notice. Donnelley knew a lot about that, as shameful as it was to admit, “So, how were you goin’ to get in?” He turned his head to look at Renko in the passenger seat, “Because, I’m pretty sure they ain’t goin’ to let us just mosey on through the front door.”

“Side door. I speak password, we go in.” Renko said.

“They’re expectin’ you?”

“They expect Dmitri

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, “Easy enough. You do anythin’ funny, I’ll blow the back of your head out.”

“Understood, my friend.” Renko smiled and nodded. “Follow.”

Donnelley pulled the neck gaiter over his mouth and nose, following close behind with Queen at his side, the three of them looking like an odd trio. If anyone asked, they were Renko’s muscle. They approached the side door through an alleyway, Renko knocking twice, pausing, then knocking twice again. The side door opened to reveal a thickset man in his forties with a long beard and bald head, his gut hanging over his belt in the suit he wore, “What?”

“It is Dmitri. Here for Hubert.” Renko said, giving the lie easily. “Vory v Zakone, friend to the Tadjbegskye.”

Beard-Gut nodded, stepping aside and holding the door open for the three of them. What was inside wasn’t the club floor itself, just the halls with the maintenance rooms, changing room for the girls, and the staff’s offices. “Anything starts feeling off, we go for Hubert and McCune. Plug the rest.” Donnelley muttered to Queen.

The rest does not include me, right?” Renko asked from over his shoulder.

Donnelley clapped Renko’s shoulder and squeezed as if they were good friends, “‘Course not, buddy.

Queen eyed the club as they pulled up and muttered, “Club Sanguine. If blood starts spraying out of the sprinkler system I’m going to be very upset.”

He followed Donnelley and Renko, the alley empty but for some strewn trash and empty liquor boxes. Queen had also pulled up the gaitor, now the pair looked like some bodyguards likely hired at the lower end of the bidding scale. He nodded slightly at Donnelley’s instruction, his Scorpion tucked under his leather jacket.

Adrenaline kept him focused but behind that he felt the creeping exhaustion of being awake for nearly 48 hours minus a nap. He would need something soon, either sleep or another upper. Adderall maybe, cocaine probably. He didn’t bring any meth since Ghost wasn’t around to possibly want it. He forced his thoughts away from the nagging need and looked at Renko, wondering what his game was but left that for Donnelley, that was super spy shit.

The security around this hour was sparse. Odd, considering Hubert had a hit out on him. He wondered if Hubert knew that Clem was dead, or that he was going to be in a couple hours if they didn’t get him out of this place in time. At least there wouldn’t be many guards to shoot if things went sideways. They went up a set of stairs and Renko knocked on another door, this one wood instead of metal like the ones down below. The door opened and a man who could’ve been the clone of Beard-Gut stood in the doorway, “What?”

Donnelley wondered if they had a script. Renko smiled, “Here for Hubert. Vory v Zakone, friend to the Bratva.”

“Let him in!” They heard a voice yell from inside, and Beard-Gut II looked them all over, grunted, and then waved them in.

The office inside matched the club floor that could be seen from a long panel of windows that looked down upon the stage and tables. The desk was about twice as large as it needed to be, the decor was dark and expensive, lots of gold trim. In the corner on a long sectional couch sat Hubert and McCune, this time outside of a Police Sergeant’s uniform. “What do you want?” McCune asked, looking all of them up and down with a hint of contempt, “We’re discussing something.”

“Hubert is in danger. Rival of Bratva is coming to kill you.” Renko ignored McCune, and so did everyone else, which made the other man bristle.

“How do you know?”

Renko pulled his phone and stepped over to Hubert, scrolling through pictures of Clem’s corpse. Hubert looked at it with some sense of shock before turning away and putting his drink down, ice clinking in the glass, “Holy fucking shit.” His voice quivered, “Jesus fuck… where’d you get that?”

“Tried to save him. Could not. Trying to save you now.” Renko nodded, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“What about me?” McCune spat.

“You were not mentioned.” Renko shrugged, then glanced at Donnelley and Queen, “But you may come. We must leave, now.”

Hubert rose without protest, gathering his coat and his gun. McCune downed the last of his drink and did the same. Hubert spoke up in his frenzied search around his office for things he needed, “Where are we going?” He asked, taking a couple rolls of cash from his desk.

“Somewhere safe from killers.”

The sound of small arms fire echoed down the halls and Donnelley pulled his AK from his coat, pointing it at the door, “How many exits we got?”

“Just that one.” Hubert drew his handgun and racked the slide, staring at the door as more shots were fired in the halls beneath them, the sound of men screaming their last.

Queen drew the Scorpion from under his arm and unfolded the stock, listening to the small arms fire not too far away. The walls suddenly felt paper thin and he swore internally as neither he or Tex had a plate carrier. He glanced at the glass panels but no one was in the club yet, at least that was one thing they did not have to worry about. He thumbed off the safety and said, “Let’s not wait on them.”

The clack of Tex’s AK stock being unfolded was heard. He looked at Queen, a small smirk on his lips, “Real cowboy shit.”

“I am nervous.” Renko voiced as he drew his Glock, looking to Tex, “You are sure?”

“Not really.”

“Yeehaw time!” Queen said in a sing song voice, whatever cowboy shit Tex had in mind was better than getting funnelled into the hallway between the goons and the exit and who knew if they had someone watching the door.

Tex turned and drew his FNS from its holster, aiming at the large viewing windows that showed the stage and club floor below. He squeezed off four shots across one of the panels of glass, marched to the desk and picked up the chair.

“That’s real leather!” Hubert snapped.

Tex just went on his way, lifted it over his head and then smashed all that weight and real leather through the weakened window, sending shards of glass big and small clinking and clattering on the stage below about ten feet down. Tex smiled wolf teeth at the others, “Yeehaw.”

Tex squatted and then hung off the edge before dropping down. McCune was the first one to follow after Tex.

Queen turned his face when the chair hit the glass and waved Hubert forward, “Come on down, the price is right.”

He waited for the man to drop down then turned to Renko, “Go on, I’m bringing up the rear..”

He stepped to the edge, glancing down before he crouched, his gloved hands gripping the edge before he let himself drop. Queen hit the floor and rolled, bouncing into a crouch with his gun held up. “We clear?”

As if to answer Queen’s question, the door on the other side of the room that led into the employee only areas was thrown open, clattering on the wall on the other side as one of the security people Hubert had hired stumbled through and sprawled onto his face. The sound of pounding footsteps running down the hall was heard before someone in a fitted suit came careening through, jumping high into the air and pulping the guard’s head with the heel of his shoe as he landed. Tex was taken aback by the seemingly superhuman maneuver and strength, only to able to muster a tepid, “What the fuck...”

Beard-Gut II growled like an angry bear as he charged at the stranger, who Tex could see was wearing one black leather glove and sunglasses. The gloved hand cocked back and delivered a lightning quick hook that sent Beard-Gut II into a half spin into the ground, the sound of his neck breaking as it hit the floor was audible. Tex wasted no time in grabbing McCune’s collar and shoving him towards the front door as he himself ran, he knew to pick his battles.

Queen gawked for a moment then was moving, repeating, "Nope. Nope not doing that."

He laid his finger on the trigger and moved his Scorpion up to his chest and rushed behind Renko, almost giving the Russian a flat tire by stepping on his heel.

"Move, whatever the fuck that is I ain't getting close," he said, turning to cover their retreat.

Tex had McCune’s nape gripped in one hand, his other on the grip of his AK as he led him to the Ford, opening the back door and shoving him inside before Renko did the same with Hubert. Tex jumped in the driver seat while Renko took the passenger seat. Tex smashed his finger into the Ford’s start button and floored the gas pedal, white smoke spewing out from the tires for a brief moment before the SHO took off at full speed down the road.

Queen was on his Sportster, glancing back as it roared to life. Now he knew how Clem ended up smashed through the table. “No fair, they got a well dressed Hulk,” he said to the wind as the bike roared after the car.

>FLANNEGAN INN
>TEN MILES OUTSIDE MERCY
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY
>1530…///

Donnelley tipped up one of the slats of the blinds in the hotel room. It was quiet in the halls, eerily so, but the Flannegan had been abandoned since the Nineties. Tourism to Blackriver was sparse, and no one left Blackriver if they were born here. This left the crumbling building to rot on the side of the highway into White Tree and Mercy. A perfect place to hide. A perfect place to never be found. A place where no one would hear you scream. Donnelley let the slat fall back into place and turned away from it, letting his hand rest on his AK still slung on his chest. Hubert and McCune were stowed away in another room, no doubt wondering why they’d decided to hide so far away from Charleston even though Hubert knew a dozen other places in the city they could go to.

It was just him, Queen, and Renko in this room. Donnelley sighed, “Well, the Terminator ain’t comin’ ‘round yet.” He said. “I’ll go around and check the area. Anythin’s off, you’ll know by the screamin’.”

Donnelley chuckled almost humorlessly as he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Renko and Queen alone.

Queen watched him go with a casual, “Deuces,” that belied his nervous energy. He hated sitting and waiting and tried not to pace the faded carpet of the motel room. The Scorpion was still hanging around his neck, his hand resting on it and he tapped his fingers. The bed called to him but if he tried to nap, if he even dared to, he’d not wake up for hours. Just another bump or two and he could make it, just stretching the reserves of adrenaline to make it to when they could rest.

Instead of heading to the bathroom he turned and looked at Renko, “So you had some good timing popping up when ol’ Tex wasn’t around, just dealing with the ladies, you dog you.”

His smile teased across his lips but did not touch his bloodshot eyes. “You can tell me, I ain’t no big bad CIA man. That wasn’t a coincidence was it?”

“Believe it or not, I am not spider,” Renko was sat in a dusty chair in the dusty corner of this dusty hotel room. He had his Glock in his lap, and was absently staring at the closed blinds as if he could stare through them and see the trees, “Not everything I do is the weaving of a web.”

He looked to Queen, and his eyes held a weight, “I know CIA has no reason to trust me. Russia and America old rivals, I know.” He pointed to himself and then to Queen, “But we are not enemies.”

“I am from the Ukraine. Kherson. I lived with my Babushka, my grandmother. Sweet lady.” Renko smiled and looked away, back to the window, “Sweetest.”

“She died when I was young. Killed because she was Jew.” Renko’s smile disappeared, “Taken to Ahava Orphanage. Means love, Ahava. Funny thing, like bad joke, I have not felt love in a very long time. I grow up lonely, and here I am still.”

“So you and me? We are not enemies.” Renko shook his head.

Queen rested his ass against the scarred dresser, stopping his fidgeting to listen to Renko. He gave a slight smirk but looked away, “Yeah, well who’s a friend and who’s an enemy is really up for debate these days.”

He glanced back over at the Ukrainian, looking him over. “Orphanage. I wasn’t there for all that went down and I only read Dr. Laine’s report but that girl, the one you brought to them. She’s the one we took from Jay.”

Queen frowned slightly, his sea colored eyes seemed more gray, a storm gathering behind his furrowed brow. He recalled how frail she was and how she cried when he tried taking off the headphones. How they kept her locked up like a dog that wasn’t housebroken.

Da.” Renko nodded, still staring out the window, “She was taken from there by Tadjbegskye Bratva. Bratva sells them to someone, like GRU. She is here, so this means that an American is buying them.”

He frowned, shaking his head, “For what reason, this is still a mystery.” Renko looked to Queen, “I give her to you, because I trust you. Or I hope I can.”

“I hope I can trust in you and your friends for many things, but,” He shrugged, “Hope floats like anchor. I guess we are both hoping one can trust the other. I told this Doctor Laine that I am still a patriot to my country. Russia, because she adopt me, I owe much to her. But for me to cover my eyes to this? The trafficking of children? It is too much for her to ask of me.”

“Who can trust who. Nobody trust nobody. Nobody is who they say they are, not really. Every good deed come with price. Life of a spy, bah,” He shook his head and shivered as if he tasted something sour, “I do not wish to live a life like this any longer.”

Queen reached into his pocket and took out the slightly crushed green box, removing a cigarette, then held it out for Renko, “I can’t say I blame you for not being able to look away from trafficking children. Takes a lot of balls to do it right under the noses of a bratva. You think they're doing all this for some American pedo? Something in that report about that girl, not being normal.”

He raised an eyebrow, striking the disposable lighter and holding it to the end of his cigarette. Smoking inside always was not a habit but the hell if he was going to stand outside like a damn target.

When Renko spoke about trust, Queen coughed and shook his head, an ironic smirk forming under his trimmed beard. “Yeah, well ain’t that true. I wouldn’t trust me. Maybe you’re right to trust Laine and them, they’re not...broken in, so to speak.”

He took a drag then pointed at Renko, “But just know, I wouldn’t go hurting kids. I think I might have done the same as you. Or at least I’d like to think so. I’d like to think I’ve done a few good things in my life to counter all the bad. Though it might not be seen like that to others.”

His thoughts instantly went to Easy and Goat, how he had blown his own case to save them from federal time. He nearly lost the trust of his own colleagues to save friends he had made under a fake name and identity. Queen still was not sure what to make of it, only at the time he had no heart to betray them. But they were not good men, not in the law abiding sense but they had become like brothers. Lies upon lies, always balancing on that razor’s edge of side stepping and jiving. How he and Tex lived a lie under the noses of THUNDER for five years, their little secret but that was over, now he had to lie that it didn’t tear him up inside to lose Donnelley in that way.

“I feel you on that, it gets a little exhausting, don't it? Never trust anyone, hardly trust yourself,” Queen agreed, then blew out the smoke between his teeth. “Bright side is, you won’t die bored. If running down these bratvas tryna sell kids for whatever reason and having their hands in murdering others. Well, guess that might tip the scales in the end, maybe.”

Renko smiled, huffed a chuckle and looked at Queen. His eyes went over him from head to toe, snagging on the tattoos on his hands. His eyes were soft and they held Queen’s gaze, searching the bloodshot eyes, “Some men would take dying bored before dying in an alley, scared and alone, just like they lived.” Renko sighed, “But, yes. I suppose doing this for the children may let me die with a soul not too heavy.”

Renko frowned again, before he looked back at Queen with that same look in his eye, “You are close.” He cleared his throat, looking back at the window, “You… and the one you call Tex.”

“That’s a fair point,” Queen conceded, speaking around the Kools in his teeth, checking his phone just in case. He reached up and took a drag, flicking the ash in his cupped hand. “I hope you do find some peace, some of us...”

He paused and swallowed hard, thinking about the cocaine and pills now weighing in his pocket, the call to feel better and wake up without effort. “Hell, I don’t even know what I would do with myself if I wasn’t runnin’ and gunnin’. Been doing it awhile.”

Queen grinned that old bravado, THUNDER speaking through him. The question about Tex caught him off guard and he hesitated a moment, his cocky expression slipping and he looked down, catching himself and shrugged, “Yeah, well we go back. Been doing this thing together, he’s a very good friend of mine. I trust him with my life.”

He ran his thumb over the safety and fiddled with it, making sure it was still set to off. “You can trust him, I’m here because of him, this is his mission.”

“I can see it,” Renko said, almost like he didn’t hear Queen. He looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumped and his eyes moved over the middle distance like he was recalling something. Something that made him hurt, “Trust. Closeness. Something good there.”

He sounded like he was speaking to himself in an empty room, his fingers idly fidgeting with each other as he sat there and thought. He looked at Queen, “It warms me to see it.” Renko cleared his throat and looked away, “I wish you both luck…”

“With your mission.” Renko added, shaking his head and folding his hands together.

Queen huffed a laugh, a bitter tinge to it and he tried to mask that. He scratched at his brow and brought his cigarette to his lips. “Well, thanks. We’ll need it.”

He looked at Renko and felt the empathy of loneliness, no matter how much of the joker he played and how gregarious he was there were very few he would ever call friend or brother and most of them did not know who he really was. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Renko. I really do. It helps, when you got it.”

Queen took a drag, drawing on the cigarette so hard his cheeks hollowed and then he snorted the smoke through his nose.

Donnelley arrived after the sound of his footsteps in the old, empty hotel. He looked between the two of them, one hand in his pocket and the other resting on his AK. His eyes hung on Queen’s, noting the redness there, “You need sleep, pardner.” He said, then put his attention on the both of them, speaking low enough only they could hear, “We’ll sleep here in shifts. Not too long, need to make sure our two friends in the other room don’t start gettin’ uppity.”

Queen narrowed his gaze, wanting to argue against sleeping but gave in, a slight twinkle in his tired eyes as he fell back into their old comfortable routine for a moment.

“Only if you tuck me in,” he replied in the same low voice, arching his brow. He caught himself and just shrugged, adding sheepishly, “Yeah, sure. Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“Anythin’ for my boy.” He chuckled, then clucked his tongue, smelling the cigarette smoke before he even got in the room and decided to light up one of his own, “Who wants to hogtie these piggies with me ‘fore we get some rest?”

The Things We Leave Behind, Part V

The Cold Distance…

>FLANNEGAN INN
>DATE TBD(Next Day)
>0800…///

Renko was watching the front door in the lobby downstairs. The Terminator hadn’t shown up all night, but Donnelley still wasn’t willing to go to sleep. The only thing they’d fed McCune and Hubert was water and crackers that they’d bought at the nearest gas station convenience store five miles down the road, back towards Charleston. He whiled his time away looking for public records on Clyde Baughman while Queen watched their two captives. He finally found his kids, Clyde’s son lived in Fort Bragg, but his daughter was still relatively close by in Lexington, Kentucky. He texted Queen and Renko to get back to the room.

He left the two men still cuffed, allowed a bottle of water and a bathroom break. Queen had sat in front of them, an open box of donuts and he had only eaten one powdered one. The sweet soft bread was not sitting well with the coffee but he made a show of it while they had their allotment of dry crackers.

“Bacon and eggs waiting on me, boys,” Queen said, checking the text from Donnelley. “Y’all just sit tight, maybe we’ll bring you some leftovers.”

He gave McCune a playful pat on the face, leaving the powdered sugar thumbprint on his cheek.

“Asshhole,” he muttered.

“That’s the other guy,” Queen quipped as he left the room, stuffing the key card in his pocket and carrying the cardboard tote back to the room.

He stepped in and handed the box to Renko, “Good old American donuts, enjoy.”

“Sufganiyah?” Renko took the box from Queen only to groan in disappointment.

Queen looked Donnelley over, he was still dressed in the same clothes and his red hair was tousled. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I need someone to stay with the assholes next door, and one to come with me to visit Baughman’s daughter.” Donnelley looked up from his phone, “Still waitin’ on a favor I called in for the old man’s employment records and the DD-214s of him and the people in his old Army unit. We can still ask his daughter in the meantime.”

He winked at Queen, “No flirtin’.”

“Flirt? What sort of scoundrel do I look like,” Queen said, holding his cup of coffee to his chest, looking just like the scoundrel that he was with the white undershirt and his bright colored tattoos over his wiry muscles. He glanced at Renko, their conversation still on his mind, “Take him, I’ll mind the kids.”

Queen gave Renko a pat on the shoulder and stepped aside. “Figure, y’all could use some time to talk.”

>SOMEWHERE ALONG I-64
>TOWARDS LEXINGTON, KY
>1000…///

Donnelley and Renko’s drive had been silent. Any sort of forthcoming or niceties Renko had with Queen seemed to shrivel in Donnelley’s long shadow. The two spies sat shoulder to shoulder in the Ford Taurus, quiet music going in the background, the crashing of drums and screaming guitars turned down to a whisper. Renko looked out the window at the passing cars, leaving Donnelley alone with whatever thoughts he had. Donnelley looked across at Renko for a moment and then returned his eyes to the road ahead. There was still roughly an hour to go and they hadn’t spoken for two. Donnelley quietly cleared his throat, glancing at Renko, “It isn’t personal.”

“Hm?” Renko took his eyes off the cars passing and looked at Donnelley, eyes scanning his face.

The muscles in Donnelley’s temple worked as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Laine was an FBI psychologist, maybe not a spy, but her job was reading people. There was still that part of him that distrusted Renko on principle. They’d taught him how to gauge someone’s motivations after only just a couple meetings, how to read people, find out why they did what they did. And no matter how much he looked at Renko, he couldn’t shake the feeling of a game being played. Whether the winner in it was Renko himself or the Russian government was anyone’s guess. A double agent, maybe. “Me not trusting you,” Donnelley expounded, drawing his lips thin and shaking his head, “Switch our roles in this, would you trust me?”

Renko looked at Donnelley for a long moment, blinking once and then shrugging as he looked at the road, “Perhaps not.” Renko nodded, “But America is not Russia. Bad people on both sides, yes? But good too.”

Donnelley’s turn to nod in agreement, “True.”

“There comes a time in every loyal patriot’s service where he must question how much he is willing to enable, to do for his country,” Renko frowned, eyes hardening, “He must ask himself if duty to country is more important than duty to humanity. No matter what oath he has taken, making the choice to break it for something greater.”

“The girl.” Donnelley looked sidelong at Renko, “She came from an orphanage. Brought to America for some reason.”

“Yes.” Renko said, “Even if she is the only one I can save from bad men, it will be enough. Maybe. Who can say how much will be enough to outweigh everything you and I have done in the eyes of God?”

Donnelley shook his head, a lopsided frown as he sighed, “I don’t think God cares anymore.” He said, “You and me, we’ve seen enough to know that God’s had enough chances to fix this bullshit. I’ve lost too much to think God’s even awake.”

Donnelley’s frown deepened, “If he was even there at all.”

“I have lost plenty too.” Renko said, nodding slow as his eyes went back to watching cars pass. The moment grew quiet then, as that little moment of the wall between them being chipped away at faded. Passed just as quickly as the trees, and just as unnoticed and forgotten. Until Renko spoke again, “Fadeyka.”

Donnelley seemed unfazed, driving in silence for a moment, “What does that mean?”

“Brave.” Renko said, “I knew someone named Fadeyka long time ago. He died, somewhere in Chechnya.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Donnelley barely threw a veneer of sincerity over the words.

“He was… a good friend. When he died, I made a promise to make things right, and leave being a spy when all was done.” Renko ran his fingers through his hair, “This is why I help you.”

“How’d he die?” Donnelley asked, somewhat curious. Something about Renko opening the door just a small bit made Donnelley want to peek through it.

“He lost someone very important to him. And then...” Renko drew in a breath and sighed, then mimed putting a gun to his own head. “Fadeyka. Brave. But sometimes all by yourself is not enough, even if you are brave.”

Donnelley quirked a brow at that, taking a moment to consider what he’d say. He knew a few who’d done that. Taken the 9mm retirement plan. Whether it was his time in the Army or the Program, sometimes the stress mounted so much, and every door you see is closed. No one answers no matter how hard you pound on each one to ask if they could just please lighten your load even a single ounce, and you wonder sometimes if whoever’s on the other side is just waiting for you to go away. Watching you slowly die through the peephole, so they can go back to watching their television shows.

“Yeah.” Donnelley nodded once. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

>LEXINGTON, KY
>1100…///

It was a nice enough property in the hills, reminded Donnelley of Holly and Mark’s house. There was a large lawn, horses roaming and grazing in their pasture there. A scenic slice of country living. The front gate was a little more modern, a talkbox with a camera from where the owner of the house could see whoever was there. Donnelley pressed the call button on the talkbox, and a man’s voice came through, “What do you want?”

Donnelley spoke at the camera, “Hi, there. I’m Joseph Blaine with-“

The talkbox buzzed and the gate swung open slowly. Donnelley looked back at Renko still in the passenger seat and he shrugged. Donnelley got back in the car and let it amble along on the long dirt driveway towards Sharon Baughman’s house. They parked in a gravel area next to a green Ford Ranger and a Chevy pickup, their fancy sedan looking out of place next to the two older vehicles. As Donnelley and Renko dismounted, he noticed an old man sitting on the porch, not looking at them but at the hills rolling off and away back towards West Virginia. He could smell fresh hay that had just been mowed, and it took him back to those days spent at his Uncle Foley’s learning to ride his horses.

“Stay with the car.” Donnelley told Renko, and Renko nodded.

Donnelley’s shoes crunched in the gravel on his way to the front porch, the steps creaking under him. As he reached for the door, he heard the old man grumble something, “Huh?”

Donnelley looked at the old man, and recognition hit him like he was trying to kiss a freight train full of it. The old golden retriever was next to him, laying on the porch at his feet. The old man spoke again, “Said, you folk lookin’ for Sharon?” The old man asked, taking his hand from under the blanket to reveal he was gripping a Colt 1911. An old pistol, but eight .45 hollowpoints at this distance would do the job, “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

Donnelley slowly brought up his hands and inclined his head towards the old man, “I remember you.” He said, “Lemonbrook Apartments. April. After Clyde died.”

The old man nodded once, slow as slow with narrowed eyes. Killer’s eyes. Donnelley recognized those eyes anywhere, and the two of them had an understanding, “Clyde was a good friend. It’s a shame,” the old man retrieved a cigarette from a box of Lucky Strikes, placing one between his lips and lighting it with a zippo, MAC-V SOG insignia emblazoned on it, “You fuckin’ assholes were getting rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence of?”

“Not out here, dumbfuck, inside. Or did you forget about your training when they picked you up?” The old man struggled to standing, Donnelley offered his hand, but he only growled at it. “Special Forces. Special needs. Fuckin’ new assholes nowadays, I swear to god.”

Donnelley quirked a brow at that, face screwed up with confusion, “How’d you know…”

“It’s on your fuckin’ vest, asshat. Clocked you in Lexington when you rode that fuckin’ Indian into town actin’ all spooky like no one’d notice.” The old man smirked, “You gonna come in here or what?”

Donnelley stepped through the doorway and into the living room of the quaint house, a small house on a homestead he had to wonder when it was built. He heard the creak of floorboards that didn’t come from him, the sound of a weapon being manipulated to his left and his hand struck out instinctively, wrapping around the barrel shroud of an AR and forcing it away from his head. He cocked back a fist at the man he turned to see and the old man yelled out, “Stop that fuckin’ bullshit right now or I’ll shoot the both of you!”

“You’re gonna let this fuckin’ asshole into my sister’s house after he killed-“

“He didn’t kill Clyde, you fuckin’ moron!” The old man snarled, Colt still in hand, and he turned his unforgiving gaze on Donnelley, “He just cleaned up the fuckin’ mess.

The man Donnelley had almost clocked in the mouth was younger than him, maybe five years or more. An angry expression, and rage in his eyes. Everyone here was armed, and Donnelley was not an exception, “Michael.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Michael Baughman stepped closer to Donnelley.

“It was in my briefing,” Donnelley looked Michael up and down, a little different than the picture Foster had given them way back in April, “I’m sorry… about your-“

“Just shut the fuck up and take a seat.” Michael turned away from Donnelley and did the same, taking the wooden chair he’d set up in front of the window facing out towards the driveway and the gate beyond.

Donnelley did what he was told, sitting on the couch adjacent to the television set and entertainment center before the old man came back with a bottle of Wild Turkey and two glasses, whiskey stones inside. The old man glanced at Donnelley, “You like whiskey.”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t a question. It’s all we got, so today you like whiskey.” The old man lowered himself growling into his seat and the golden retriever dutifully placed himself next to him, panting with his tongue lolling about. “Why are you lookin’ for my best friend’s daughter?”

“Answer careful-“

“Would you shut the fuck up? Let the man speak,” The old man fixed Michael with a stare that could freeze hearts, “Jesus Christ. Go on, before my asshole godson shits out his mouth again.”

“I was looking into Clyde’s old associates, IRS coworkers, former unit members.” Donnelley looked from Michael back to the old man, “Clyde was part of the Program-“

“No, he wasn’t.” The old man spoke frankly, matter of fact, “The Program is just another part of the fuckin’ government so deep in the state’s ass it can’t tell which way’s in and which way’s out.”

The old man took another drag, “Pretty soon, it’s gonna get so tangled up in there it’ll choke to death.”

The old man stared at Donnelley, pouring a generous glass of whiskey and sliding it towards him, before doing the same for himself, “Not everyone came in from the cold. Not everyone trusts the government to do Delta Green’s job after what the government let Majestic get away with.” The old man shook his head, sipping at his whiskey and growling, “You want to know what Delta Green is, son, you’re lookin’ at it. An old salt can barely get the fuck up out of bed, and some young buck discharged from the service, peekin’ out a window with a gun.”

“Two sides of the same coin. Me and him. You and me.” The old man glowered into his drink and then took another, “Clyde Baughman is what happens when you start askin’ the right questions without takin’ the right precautions.”

“Frank.” The old man said, “Frank Gamble. It’s my name. Served with Clyde in Vietnam and Cambodia, Laos.”

“Joseph-“

“Donnelley. Fifth Group. Staff Sergeant. Let me guess, OGA now?”

Donnelley narrowed his eyes at Frank. How he knew any of that was anyone’s guess, but he didn’t like how much was just an open book for Frank. “Yeah.”

“Uh huh.” Frank snorted, chuckling as he shook his head, “You fuckin’ G-Men. You really wanna know who killed Clyde Baughman?”

Donnelley nodded.

“Okay.” Frank turned serious, “Let me tell you a story…”

>NEW YORK, NY
>SHANGHAI KITCHEN
>9JUL2019
>0020

He rode the subway down to Chinatown in his tux, alone except for a homeless man asleep on the bench at the other end of the car. He watched his reflection in the dark window, a pale face with black eyes.

He got off at Canal, wandering east to the dingy little Chinese place- still open at midnight- where he knew he'd find 'Cousin Louis' slurping down tea.

His phone beeped, he picked up the call.

"Overman speaking."

"Yes, I'm going to meet him now."

"They'll agree to that? You're sure? They've never-"

"Understood. Have the Curator prepare my case then, he'll know the reagents I need. I'll pick it up when I'm done here."

Overman ended the call and stepped into the steamy, savory warmth of Shanghai Kitchen. The host drowsily nodded him to the table in the back corner, where Steve Foster sat glowering.

The Chinese joint was quiet, only open at this hour because Foster had slipped the owner a considerable sum of money. Or what the rickety man saw as considerable. Everything was money. It was the perfect setting for him to sell his soul to the devil for a drop of hope in avoiding the inevitable, irritably shooing away the waitress and asking only for water and tea to be served before they clocked out and went home. A deal eagerly upheld by the sleepy staff, as per the black budget agreement with the owner since 2005.

They called it horse trading in their field. Asset for asset, a good prize for a good price. Any man would be a fool if they thought Russia or any other former Soviet country would’ve given Snowden safehaven out of the kindness of their hearts. Putin was a man sans heart, ex-KGB. A figure of an evil organization at the head of a nation. And now he probably had a fair few of America’s secrets rattling around in his and his council’s heads. What Foster wouldn’t give to be bartering in secrets with the Russians, rather than the negotiations he was about to undertake with a… rather different adversary, and for rather higher stakes.

Per the rules of horse trading, a manilla folder with hard copies and printouts of pictures he’d taken of various case files at the ironclad BLACKBOX- the airtight, heavily secured storage house and archive for the Program’s most sensitive assets and files- sat weighty and accusing at his side in the booth. He could just get up, leave, go home and never speak about this to anyone. But when his contact entered the front door of the Shanghai Kitchen and locked eyes with him, he knew this deal was grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him down into his seat. He smiled, always good at hiding everything. He gestured to the seat in front of him and spoke up, “Please. Sit.” He gestured to the seat opposite himself, “You must be…”

“Bill Overman,” said the newcomer, sitting, “You’re the famous Foster. I’ve heard some wild stories about you, from your old colleagues. Bennings especially had some tales, may he rest in peace.”

Overman’s eyes fell for a moment on the folder between them before returning to meet Foster’s gaze.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Foster?”

“It’s your company doing the most for me.” Foster decided to not indulge in any of the flattery. He was somewhat storied. You don’t put your boots on the ground for Operation JAWBREAKER in the Agency and not earn a few pats on the back, nor live through the days when he and the people like him were illegally fighting back the apocalypse without some war stories, “What you are doing, what I need you to do is finalize the deal I had made.”

At that, he slapped the manila folder on the table, guilt and regret and unsurety lashing his being when it left his fingers, the sound of it on the table like a gunshot. Though it probably didn’t even stir a mouse, “These are for March. Everything we have on the case.” He sighed, looked at the table and then grabbed up his tea, sipping at it, “What exactly is it that you do? They told me you’d fix what I needed fixed.”

“You must have peculiar kinds of problems, if my higher ups sent me to fix them for you,” said Overman, raising an eyebrow. He turned his teacup around in long fingered hands.

“I’m a scholar. One who’s spent a long time studying the kinds of things men like you busy yourselves destroying,” said Overman, “and in the course of my studies I’ve acquired a certain mastery of the, ah, occult sciences, you might call them. Useful skills to have when facing occult threats- though I know the Program doesn’t approve. Pretends to keep its hands clean.”

Overman took a drink of tea, and his gaze fell again on the folder sitting before him on the table. He made no move to open it.

“What do you need fixed, Mr. Foster?”

“A lot.” Foster sighed, though for the case? “A live specimen has been confirmed to be roaming the West Virginia backwoods in Blackriver county. The Program would rather keep the operation as low visibility as possible.”

Overman flipped open the folder, glancing over the blurry pictures and Program dossiers within as Foster spoke, “I see.”

“Bombing the forest isn’t an option. Sending in a kill team has been met with failure. I fear the Russians have sent their own specialists already.” He shook his head, “I made a deal with March. Solve this problem for the Program, I… let you have some secrets.”

“Well, well,” said Overman, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes still scanning the open folder, “well, well. Very interesting. We can discuss payment later. I know you can be relied on to keep your word. Tell me about your team. They are still alive, I assume?”

Foster nodded, keeping the grimace away from his face at the mention of even further payment down the line, “Wetwork Team BLACKBEARD was the first to come into contact with the specimen. There was only one survivor and he’s been absorbed into my Working Group- UMBRA.” Foster explained, sipping at his tea, “UMBRA’s Team Lead is Joseph Donnelley, a Paramilitary Officer with the Agency. The rest are Federal Law Enforcement. Bureau.”

“We did have two KIA.” Foster left the rest unsaid.

“There are Russians involved, you said?” asked Overman, ignoring Foster’s aside about the dead, “They certainly don’t share your Program’s qualms about, ah, dabbling in things beyond their understanding...which, I don’t need to tell you…”

“I believe the Russians may even be the reason the specimen is there in the first place, if not… other meddlers.” Foster frowned, “That’s all I have on the situation. Anything else is just useless speculation.”

Overman sat back, flipping the folder closed.

“The specimen can be dealt with,” he said, “That, Foster, is the easy part. And it won’t be easy. But why it’s there, that’ll be a dark rabbit hole to go down. And deep. That’s the real problem, though: who or, ah, what, let the damned thing loose. The files mentioned murders? Tell me about them.”

Foster nodded, pursing his lips as he put down his tea, “Yes,” he sighed, “It was the initial call I got from my contact. We responded, Donnelley and I, under the guise of an FBI response. The victim was skinned completely. Later medical examination revealed that there weren’t even micro-abrasions from a knife. Dental records pinged on a cold case from Seattle. Maria Vasquez, snatched about seven years ago by Sinaloa cartel when she was twelve.”

“This was before we knew about other variables like the Russians. We opened the case under the assumption that it was a local killer and we were there under the authority that the victim was skinned, there were no tire tracks or footprints leading to the scene, either. Oddities that peaked my contact’s interest.” Foster frowned, “Her respiratory organs needed for speech were surgically removed as well. Buried bones discovered under recently turned earth at the scene made us aware that this was not the first. The Program wants it to be the last.”

“Multiple victims, all skinned and missing vocal cords,” said Overman, and sucked his teeth, “You’ve got anyone working on a profile of the killer?”

“One of our agents, a profiler with the FBI’s BAU has been leading the questioning of anybody we can reasonably get to talk or wants to.” Foster shrugged, “Other than that, we’re trying to keep our profile in West Virginia pretty low. Minimal use of non-Program resources. Less questions that way.”

Less questions. Spoken like a true Program officer,” said Overman with a slight smile, “Cover up what you can’t fix.”

Foster smirked and gave Overman a once over. He knew a lot about him before he even spoke a word, ironic. Everything the Agency and the Program did was kept behind tight lips until you were talking to your buddy by the water cooler. “What were you doing before March, if you don’t mind me asking.” Foster let a little smirk tweak the corner of his lip up, “You’ve heard stories of me. I don’t even know you. I suppose that’s a good thing in our line of work, but I like to at least know something about the people I work with.”

“Worked for the Agency, same as you,” said Overman, “though in the lab more than in the field. Seen more of the frontlines at March, and I’ve collaborated with the Program some. Look up the Dallas ‘17 case files. My name was probably redacted but I worked with the Program Handler on bringing the killer- well, killers, it turned out- in.”

Overman paused and tilted his head, considering something, before he spoke again, “I’ll be honest with you, Foster, I left the Agency during the reshuffle in twenty-oh-two ‘cause I don’t agree with how the Program runs things- the obsession with secrecy, making ignorance into a virtue. I’ve seen your people become unhinged, not just because of the nature of the work, but from lack of support, a lack of understanding what they were dealing with. But this West Virginia thing is your show, not mine, and you can rely on me to do what you’ve hired me for.”

“Why do you think I’ve hired you? Some of the hardliners from the cowboy days still distrust March because of the reshuffle and the… conflict.” Foster pursed his lips, “But, you and I are of the same mind. To a degree. I’ve seen too many killed by their own guns than what those guns have put down.”

He sighed, looking away from Overman to the headlights reflecting outside, the traffic, the shuffle of a million little lives like gnats. Worried only about if they would make that light before it turned red. He shook his head, “I appreciate secrecy for the common man. They shouldn’t ever have to see what we’ve seen.” He looked back to Overman, “But there’s no excuses for those who took their exit into their own hands. How goddamn long have we been at this? The Program, Delta Green.” he hissed, “Maybe we won’t stop this, but we can make sure whoever comes in next has an idea how.”

“Alright, Foster,” said Overman, “Where shall I begin?”

Foster looked away from Overman for a moment, “There’s a man named Gregory Carlisle…”


>…///

“Foster…” Donnelley breathed, reaching for his drink and taking out his pack of cigarettes, “It was Foster…

“It’s always been Foster. Majestic wasn’t destroyed when Delta Green purged them in Ninety-Nine,” Frank pointed at Donnelley with his cigarette between his fingers, “They went to ground. Changed. Merged. How do you think Delta Green got its hunting license back? They took on some of Majestic to pad out its legitimacy.”

“Foster’s the mole.”

“Foster’s ex-Majestic.” Frank growled. “Clyde and I had an Op in Blackriver dealing with kidnappings, disappearing hikers, missing children in the Eighties.”

“Thought it was a cult, at first. Easy out, nine times out of ten. But what we found wasn’t right. It wasn’t a cult, it was Majestic-12, it was the government.” Frank leaned forward, “We burned it the fuck down. Delta Green slashed and burned everything Majestic created while they hunted us since the Goddamn seventies. The very country we were saving wanting to silence us and bury us in shallow graves.”

“Took twenty fuckin’ years, but they caught up to Clyde. They dug up his wife, sent her after him, but he put her in that fuckin’ cabin even though I told him to put her down.” Frank dragged hard off his cigarette and ashed it into a coffee cup, “Twenty-Nineteen, March. Foster meets with Breckenridge and March Tech, and they’ve been goin’ down the list of everyone they can get to without the government knowin’.”

“Clyde’s turn. And you cleaned up the fuckin’ mess.” Frank looked at Donnelley with an animal hatred in his eyes that slowly dissipated, “I’m goin’ to let you leave here on one fuckin’ condition.”

Frank held his 1911 on his lap and pointed it at Donnelley. Michael stood up from his chair and his AR was in his hands. Donnelley wasn’t even close to being able to refuse, “What is it?”

“You take the files I have on Foster and the Majestic-12 remnants to the Director of your little Program. It’s sealed, magic, you try to open it and you’ll die the same way Clyde did. Director’s eyes only.” Frank had a small smirk then, “Who do you think’s gonna come clean up after you?”

“And?”

“Kill Foster.” Frank said, “And kill him good.

The Things We Leave Behind…

Two Riders…

>FLANNEGAN INN
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY
>1340…///

Hubert’s stomach squeezed in on itself again, letting out a rumble as he moaned. McCune was in worse shape, he’d dry-heaved up some bile in the absence of food. They’d stopped talking about escape plans after the crackers and water stopped doing the trick for their hunger. They were keeping them weak, so they couldn’t run, so they couldn’t lie, so they were soft and desperate. Whoever these people were, they’d done this before. They couldn’t be Feds, Feds weren’t this cruel. Maybe the Bratva had turned on them, pushing the Brotherhood and the Appalachian Sons out of the drug market. A monopoly.

“Fuck you!” Hubert screamed at the top of his lungs, “Fuck you! You wanna kill me, motherfuckers? Come in here and fuckin’ do it!

Queen stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his nose with tissue and checking it, frowning slightly at the blood still speckling it. He picked up his cup and noisily slurped the last of the Sprite, the ice rattling around in it. The food delivery had been to the other room, a local place with sandwiches. He took a few bites of the thick turkey sub then set it aside, not feeling hungry but knowing it would drive Hubert and McClune crazy to smell it and see it so close yet so far.

Queen sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his hands on the knees of the old blue jeans he wore. “Now you know you ain’t supposed to be hollerin’ like that,” he said, “You wanna talk, we’ll talk.”

He shook the ice again and opened the lid, draining the last of it. “Let’s talk. You know how these things go.”

He shifted his pale eyes towards them, then set the cup on the floor. Queen stood up, stretching and rubbing his hand along his flat stomach under the wifebeater. He looked at Hubert, narrowing his gaze as he reached for his Kools, “Wanna know how Jay died?”

Hubert fixed Queen with a hard stare, deep frown set in a hollowed out face. It had only been some hours since they’d last ate, but the hunger was already beginning to take hold. He would’ve done anything for some of that food. He swallowed, the sound of it so dry it was audible, “How, you piece of shit?”

Queen snorted softly, “Piece of shit. That ain’t nice. You know, Jay had some old habits.”

He turned to face them directly, the night he killed Jay replaying in his mind as he looked at their hunger hollow faces. He lit his cigarette, then tossed the pack of Kools on the bed. “He and I had a talk once, about it. What I never did get was how you fucking lot got your hands on some designer shit. Real hospital grade scripts like Midazolam and Propofol. We never got to talk about that.”

Queen took a drag and sniffed hard, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you tell me about that, I’d feel a lot better about you both. I’ve known Brotherhood, I ain’t even seen y’all deal shit like that. Getting it from the Russians was my guess. But why don’t you tell me some names. Might make me feel better after you called me a piece of shit.”

He grinned, then glanced over at the white paper bag with the other half of an untouched sandwich still in it and the other half sitting only missing a few bites. On the table was the box of saltines and a couple bottles of water. Queen looked back at the and said nothing, he knew they knew it was there. He could see the gleam in their eyes though not as feverish as Jay’s had been when he was cooking the heroin on a spoon. Not yet.

“Don’t tell him shit, Hugh.” McCune groaned from his corner, “Not a single fuckin’ thing.”

“I know that!” Hubert snapped at the Police Sergeant. Already acting like a couple of dogs on the chain with food in sight. “I’m just hungry.”

“Don’t tell him. They’ll find out we’re gone and come lookin’.”

Hubert doubled over again and grimaced, holding back a heave. The empty stomachs were getting too much, and Hubert was going to be the first to break, “You give me food, I’ll tell you.”

“You dumb fuckin’ piece of shit! You say a word, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” McCune spat, lunging uselessly at Hubert as he was cuffed to the radiator.

“Just give me a little, please.” Hubert pleaded. “I’m so fuckin’ thirsty, them little sips of water ain’t enough. I’ll die before I can tell you anythin’, man, please!

Queen stood up, cigarette between his lips and gave a casual but swift kick to McCune’s shin when he started struggling, “Come on now, you all don’t wanna get found as much as I don’t want him finding you. You forget about Big Clem so fast?”

He moved over to the table and picked up a bottle of water, the plastic beading sweat as he had taken them out of the small refrigerator not long before. “Don’t worry about him, Hubert. He can’t do anything to help you or hurt you.”

Queen stepped over and crouched just within reach of Hubert with the bottle of water. “I can though. So tell me about these sources and why they’re so fucking special.”

He opened the cap, the faint snapping of the tiny plastic seal audible to the thirsty men. “Hubert, I don’t blame you, I hate being thirsty. Tongue starts swelling up and drying out, that cotton feeling. Yuck. Then of course, there's organ failure but I wouldn’t do you like that. Not yet.”

“So gimme names and I’ll give you water,” Queen held it up and sloshed it lightly, a few drops spilling onto his hand.

At that point, even McCune seemed transfixed. When Queen looked his way, he snapped his attentions somewhere else, making out like he was tougher than his body’s natural need to function. Hubert was being much more obedient, “Okay.” Hubert said, “Okay. We got it from one of Jay’s bitches. She stole it from a hospital, she’s got friends there that needed a little extra money. McCune made sure nobody told.”

“I’m thirsty, please, just a little bit. Just enough to wet my mouth so I can talk.” Already his words were starting to slur, the diuretics that Donnelley had force fed them with the caffeine pills were doing their job, “Please, I’ll tell you the rest if I can get some of that.”

Queen tilted his head slightly, “Interesting. But you didn’t answer my question. I said names. No names, no water.”

He sighed, then shook his head, then judged the desperation in Hubert’s face, his cracked dried lips and said, “Y’all are lucky you’re stuck with me and not the ginger.”

Holding up the bottle he offered Hubert a drink, still maintaining possession of it. Hubert reached up with his wrists cuffed together and merely brushed the bottle with his palms. He looked at his hands worriedly, seemingly staring at them as his fingers jutted out immobile from his hands, “What’s wrong with my fingers?” He breathed, “Wh-what’s wrong with my fingers! They ain’t movin’!”

Queen clicked his tongue against his teeth, furrowing his brow. “Dehydration. Your body isn’t liking this not having water thing. Here, I’ll hold the bottle and you drink. Slow now or you’ll inhale it.”

He chuckled and grinned, though it did not touch his eyes, “Wouldn’t that be some shit.”

Hubert tipped his head back as Queen gave him some water. Just enough to wet his mouth, like he’d requested, but the look in his eyes was hurt and desperate when Queen took his bottle. Hubert swallowed loud, licking his lips, “Debbie Graves.” He looked at Queen, then the bottle in his hand, and back at Queen, “Debbie Graves got the drugs.”

Hubert paused, looking at the bottle with a thirst in his eyes that made him look almost animal, “We gave it to some… some big guy. Had… some type of shit all over his face and his neck. Like black cauliflower.”

Queen withdrew the bottle, “Debbie Graves. She works at a hospital or something? Jay was her dealer? Boyfriend?”

The next thing made Queen’s gaze sharpen and snap to Hubert. “Black cauliflower? What the fuck you mean? Tattoos or...lumpier? Details and I’ll let you drink properly.”

Hubert shook his head, “Like growths. Some of the old folk in White Tree got it, miners. Can even see it on the dogs sometimes.” He said, “Clem said he had a woman with him. Night time when they met.”

“He never got the big guy’s name but the woman, she’s, uh…” Hubert’s eyes went dead for a second, before his face screwed up and he shook his head, “I can’t remember.”

“You’d better not fuckin’ remember, motherfucker.” McCune growled, staring daggers at Hubert and Queen, “I ain’t breakin’.”

At that point the sound of the SHO’s engine was heard outside, tires on concrete as it parked in the lot, doors opening and closing. The sound of the lobby doors being opened and after a while, Donnelley was in the doorway. His face held no humor, just two icy orbs set in his face that stared malice into Hubert and McCune.

“They talkin’?” Donnelley asked.

When he heard the door, Queen sighed, “Daddy’s home. Y’all shoulda talked for your uncle, I’m a lot nicer.”

He stood up, the bottle of water still in hand and faced Donnelley. He saw the thunderous look in his face and shrugged, “Hubert’s getting the idea but still needs help jogging his memory. McCune’s being a McCunt.”

Queen studied Donnelley from the corner of his eye, noting the tension and what seemed like lines he did not recognize in the familiar face. “Hubert told me about the chick that got the drugs, a piece of Jay’s. He was just about to tell me the name of the woman with the man they met to give them the Midazolam and Propofol. Some dude with weird growths. Coal cancer or some shit.”

He turned back to Hubert, holding the water then giving a slight head tilt in Donnelley’s direction. “Ain’t that right?”

Hubert nodded emphatically. McCune only scowled and looked away. Donnelley frowned and took a step into the room, hiking up the legs of his pants before squatting in front of Hubert, “Let me see your hands.” Hubert lifted his hands, the fingers still obstinately straight, Donnelley looked at them, “Curl your fingers.”

Hubert tried, and then tried harder while he bit his lip in concentration, only able to make one quiver for a second. Donnelley nodded, “Losing fine motor control. The good news is there’s nothing wrong with your muscles.” Donnelley looked from Hubert’s fingers to the man’s eyes, Donnelley’s gaze still cold and flat, predatory, “The bad news is that the caffeine pills and diuretics we shoved down your throat have purged your electrolytes through your piss. Your nerves aren’t receiving signals from your brain to move. Soon, you’ll probably slip into unconsciousness, and then you’ll die.”

Donnelley stood again, his knees popping with the effort, “And I’ll masturbate and then sleep like a baby after I leave you out here in a shallow grave.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “But, don’t worry. I stopped at the store, bought some water.”

Donnelley turned his head and called for Renko, the man arriving with a large jug of water, several gallons large, and a pack of towels. Donnelley turned back to Hubert and McCune, “Should be enough.”

“Why don’t you take some time.” Donnelley turned to Queen, “We’ll just be a bit.”

Queen knew what he was up to and raised his brow. Waterboarding was something they had used before on recalcitrant assets. McCune could benefit from it, stubborn proud bastard but he had worked on Hubert and the man was ready to spill without the influence of the threat from McClune, “Hubert and I were in a conversation, he knows what trouble he’s in. Don’t you?”

He glanced at Hubert who nodded and Queen held the water, “See? He’ll talk, tell us the name of the woman with the cauliflower man. I’ll give him his water like I promised. McCunt here, that’s another story. He’s been an obstinate cuss and intruded on our conversation.”

Donnelley turned to Queen, looking him up and down with a violence in his eyes that Tex usually reserved for those on the other side of his gun. After a moment, he relented, his face lightening a tad and he clapped Queen’s shoulder, “Sure.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “McCune needs to have a private talk with me and Renko anyway.”

He turned and slapped his hands on Hubert’s shoulders, grabbing up fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up before throwing him stumbling into the hallway and into a wall. Watching with a concerning amount of contempt as Hubert sprawled onto his face. He looked at Queen, nodding to the door, “Go ahead.”

Queen caught the glint in those blue eyes and braced himself when Donnelley lifted his hand. The moment passed but the threat was still there, bundled in the muscles and sinew and in the dark expression on Donnelley’s face. Queen accepted the eviction and went to pick Hubert up, the casual cruelty was something he had seen before in Tex, usually under the watchful shark eyes of Ghost but it was there. They all had it in them to some degree so he said nothing and hauled the handcuffed man to his feet, looking down the hallway to make sure no one was walking out at an inopportune time to get ice.

Queen unlocked the door and pushed a stumbling Hubert in and followed him, shutting the door behind him. “Sit,” he pulled out the chair that was placed beside a small table. He gave Hubert a sip of water as he had promised then pulled it back.

“Now let’s continue our talk,” Queen said, leaning against the dresser. “I got food and water in that fridge, Gatorade, too. You’ll need it, your body is screaming for it about now. Don’t be fooled, McCune’s in just as bad a shape but he’s gonna be a damn sight worse now that my partner’s got him. He’ll talk, don’t you worry. And now he ain’t gotta know what you tell me. It’s just us, Hugh.”

He leaned forward, meeting the dull eyes of the man, “You’ll want it to stay like that, me and you. You don’t want that ginger asshole mad at you. So tell me, what was the woman’s name that y’all gave the drugs.”

Hubert was breathing hard, eyes quivering as they stared off at that face obscured by the mist of memory. A hulking silhouette in the headlights, a woman with wild eyes and a sick aura. “Doctor…”

Hubert looked at the door as the sound of McCune yelling and a muffled Donnelley screamed something broke into their room, a barely contained violence. A danger next door. Hubert swallowed…

“Doctor Levy.”

>1700…///

Hubert sipped from his Gatorade again, somewhat softening over the couple hours that Queen had him. Queen was okay, not violent, not the worst person he’d ever been around. Queen was busying himself with something in the bathroom, Hubert wasn’t really concerned with what he was doing, simply sipped away at his Gatorade. He’d tried chugging it the first time he got it, but his gut wretched it up soon after. Queen had told him to sip instead, and he was eternally grateful. Already, his fingers were becoming more obedient, the headaches were lessening. He felt more lucid.

Just in time for Renko to burst through the door, holding his nose, and sporting a split lip. Renko looked around the room and then went to the bathroom, “Queen!” He pounded the door, “Queen, my friend!”

He snorted and rubbed his nose, his eyes shining and the dark pupil expanding to cover his pale iris and his face was numb, blessed numbness and sparks of energy at the same time. Queen had a line left and when Renko’s voice startled him he had knocked it over into the sink, the small mirror clattering.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaving it as he swung the door open. “What’s going on?”

One look at Renko’s face and Queen was moving out the door, calling to him, “Keep an eye on him.”

It only took him a few moments to slide the card to the room where the noise of violence could be heard muffled through the walls. Queen stepped inside and looked around, the room was empty but the sounds pointed him towards the bathroom.

“Tex!” Queen called and rushed to the bathroom. Donnelley was hunched over, his hands on McCune’s throat and the man was struggling to breathe but making the gurgling he had heard.

“Stop this shit,” Queen grabbed him from behind, gripping his shoulders. He pulled at him, then got a better hold on his upper arms, feeling the flexing of his biceps in his grip, the determined strength that would be difficult to counter. “Fuck, Tex, let him go!”

Queen shifted his weight, putting his knee behind Tex and releasing his arms when he could not get him to let go of McCune’s neck. Queen slipped his arms underneath Tex’s to attempt to wrench him up in a full nelson to counter his greater strength and weight. Coke fueled, Queen pulled back hard, grunting as he did.

Feeling someone behind him, Tex tried to spin around, but was stopped when he felt Queen’s arms snake under his. Surprisingly strong, Tex tried to grab Queen, but couldn’t manage to reach him. Instead, they struggled against each other, Tex planting his boot against the kitchen counter and kicking off, slamming Queen against the wall, but still he hung on until Tex relented. He instead sagged against Queen, still pinning him against the wall.

Once Queen let go, Donnelley turned, his breathing haggard from the intense grappling session. The only thing that held him back was that it was Queen. And that was what made Donnelley the most guilty, not just because he could’ve killed their detainee, but because even he knew he was off the handle. The stress was mounting, and he could feel it in his chest, in his shoulders. In his head. A dull ache that couldn’t be pinpointed that even infected his thoughts, turning them all to worries.

Donnelley looked at Queen, searching his face, seeing the confusion. The shock, the worry, “I’m sorry.” Donnelley placed his hands on Queen, pulling him into a hug instead of some rabid chokehold, “I know who it is.”

He whispered in Queen’s ear, his voice coming through clenched teeth, “I know who the mole is.

Hitting the wall knocked Queen’s head back with a thunk but cocaine and adrenaline left him feeling little, though he would have a knot later. He caught his breath when he let Tex go, eyeing him warily even though he had calmed down. He met Donnelley’s eyes, standing up straight when he reached for him.

“What happened?” he started to ask when he was pulled into the hug. Queen felt a pang in his chest and held him tight, almost clinging to him for a moment before catching himself and remembering. He turned his head, his face close to Donnelley’s, “The mole...”

He tensed and stared at him, “Someone close ain’t it?”

Donnelley came out of the hug, holding Queen by his shoulders and looking into his eyes. How many times had they shared moments like this when things were especially hard? How many times had they reminded each other that the sun would come up again? How many times had they all been there during the debriefs and shared in the hurt when THUNDER lost people, or had been too late when running QRFs?

Donnelley nodded at the door and then left the room, waiting for Queen to follow as they went to their room. Renko was looking at Donnelley when he came in, holding a tissue to his nose and lip. Donnelley looked back and then frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“You were stressed.”

“It wasn’t acceptable.” Donnelley said, voice firm, “I owe you… some, uh, vodka.”

“It would be appreciated.” Renko smiled.

Donnelley pointed to Hubert, “Get him out of here.”

Renko nodded and did what was told, maybe relieved to spend more time absent from Donnelley’s presence. He might have acted like it was no big deal, but Donnelley knew he’d hurt him. More than physically. After Avery, Donnelley never wanted to leave things on bad terms with anyone before the day was over. When they were alone, Donnelley leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“It is someone close.”

Queen crossed his arms across his chest, giving Renko a sympathetic look at the busted nose. He waited until he took Hubert away to step a little closer to Donnelley, “How close? Is it fucking Poker? Honestly I wouldn’t put it past him, that shady fuck.”

Donnelley shook his head, looking down at his shoes, still dressed like some tactical hoodlum, “Foster.”

Queen was half joking about Poker but when Donnelley said Foster, it felt like cold water in the face. He stared at Donnelley, “You’re shitting me. Fucking Foster? How, why? We’re his team...we...”

He slouched and ran his hands through his hair, turning slightly away from Donnelley, “Goddamnit. What the fuck?!”

He kicked an empty water bottle and it careened off the dresser and hit the wall. “How did you find out?”

Queen looked back at him, hurt and anger simmering in his sea colored eyes. He trusted Donnelley, more than anyone on the team or running their show. Even if they were over as a couple or whatever they had been, he still trusted Donnelley with his life. His hurt compounded, Foster betrayed them, sent them out to get killed. He grit his teeth, grinding them before he asked, his voice tight, “Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, “I don’t know, but there’s pictures. There’s a transcript in the folder that Frank Gamble gave me.”

He looked at Queen, knowing he wouldn’t know who Frank was, “He’s an old agent. Him and Clyde. Foster killed Clyde, took me from THUNDER to head a team of people who wouldn’t know anythin’ about this world we’re in to clean up after Clyde’s death so no one would know.”

“We were his fuckin’ accomplices.” Donnelley closed his eyes, muscles flexing in his jaw as he fought the urge to throw something, break something. “The Program is… Majestic…”

Donnelley’s mouth worked to form the words, but he knew it would be too much to explain. They didn’t have time. There was a Ukrainian terminator, Russian spies, Russian mob, and maybe even their own gunning after them. “It doesn’t matter right now.” Donnelley snorted bitter, “Maybe I’ll do a fuckin’ PowerPoint brief if we don’t all get hunted down and the government commits our suicides.”

Donnelley frowned deep, falling quiet for a few moments. He breathed out a long sigh, eyes screwed shut, “What did Hugh say?”

Queen stared at him as he spoke, the news still resonating through him, echoing like an empty 55 gallon drum tipped over. Foster had been their case officer for years. Had it always been this way or was it recently that the bastard had found it profitable to burn his team and the ones from UMBRA, new people that had no idea what they were walking into. The anger surged in him and mingled with a crushing sadness that even in his jaded heart he never entertained a serious betrayal by the man directly responsible for their safety.

Ghost. Queen swallowed dryly. They had to get to him before Foster decided to turn him loose on them. It would be too easy but if Ghost knew about the betrayal he would kill Foster and those around him. That was one thing Queen was certain of about the man, Ghost did not take betrayal with any sort of forgiveness. He remembered the flat dark eyes warning him the first time they met and the sounds of a grinder on bone.

He held that thought as Donnelley asked about Hubert and Queen could smell whiskey wafting from him. God knows he could have used a drink. He shook his head, trying to gather himself as the paranoid thoughts began to bounce around in his coked up brain.

"A PowerPoint would be helpful since we were just the knucklehead muscle. Hugh said they uh, they gave the drugs to a big guy with black 'cauliflower' erupting out of his skin, some kinda growth miners apparently develop around here and a woman, said her name was Dr. Levy," he said, the case files he had read weeks ago now farther from his thoughts.

Donnelley’s eyes snapped up to Queen and there was a renewed fire in those blue orbs, “What?

Queen met his enraged stare, “Dr. Levy, I presume. You know who she is?”

“Get Hubert, have Renko get McCune,” Donnelley made to leave, keys in hand, “Stuff McCune in the trunk, I’ll get the car ready.”

He nodded, the cabin coming back to mind, the skin he had helped pack away and he felt a prickling up his neck. Queen went over to Hubert, “Break’s over, we’re going on a field trip.”

Securing his cuffs, Queen took the Gatorade and shot a look at the man, “I suggest you behave, you ain’t getting away from us. I want your full cooperation, got it?”

Helping him up, Queen said quietly, close to Hubert’s ear, “Don’t take my kindness for weakness or I won’t make it so easy like I did for Jay.”

He guided him into the hallway, knocking on the door to relay the message to Renko. Hubert looked at Queen with wide eyes, “Y-you?”

Queen clenched his teeth then looked over at Hubert, “Yeah.”

He felt a moment of regret admitting it in the fit of frustration over Foster and everything else. “Yeah, heroin’s tricky like that.”

He knocked again, “Let’s go, bus is leaving.”

A loud thump shook the door after Queen’s knock, the door opened and Renko crashed through, slamming McCune into the wall on the other side of the hallway, “I am sorry, he is very stubborn.”

“Fuck you, Ivan.

“That is not my name.” Renko growled, “I have told you this already.”
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>1730…///

The SHO was screaming down the mountain highway, taking turns with screeching wheels. The sun had gone down, swallowed by the peaks until they made it into White Tree’s border. Sparse driveways miles apart and the husks of old cars slowly being reclaimed by the vines. When they got to a suitable clearing in the side of the highway he almost shot off the side of the road and into the mountain forests, slamming his foot into the brakes and skidding into the dirt and gravel.

The only light was the SHO’s headlights as Donnelley grabbed Hubert and dragged him out of the car, throwing him into the ground. Hubert clambered away from Donnelley until he caught up with him, the metal and polymer of the Glock jabbing into the back of his neck, “Tell me everything.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you told the other guy!” Donnelley roared, “Who did you sell the drugs to?”

“Levy! Doctor Levy!” Hubert screamed, “Don’t do me like Jay! Please! I don’t have Clem, I don’t have Jay!”

“How do you know it was her?”

“What?”

“How. Do. You. Know!

“Because the Russians wanted us to sell to her! They set it up!”

Donnelley growled, lifting Hubert up and shoving his face back in the dirt, “Gary Bruster, what were you planning?”

“Nothing! I swear to fucking god! Did he put you up to this!? Did he hire you to kill Jay and come after us?” Hubert asked.

Donnelley pressed the barrel of his handgun into Hubert’s neck, “That was all Jay. He brought this shit on himself when he tried to have us killed for investigating Maria’s death.”

“That was Levy too! It wasn’t us! The Russians wanted us to kill you and kill Levy!” Hubert was breathing hard, his breath blowing up dust, “It was makin’ things hard for business in the end. He’s goin’ to burn you, you know that? Gary’s goin’ to fuckin’ sell you the fuck out. Probably already has, tyin’ loose ends.”

“Trust me, partner.” Donnelley shook his head, “I’m better at it. Tell me what the Russians are up to, Vera Corp and the Bratva.”

“Ask Gary. Him and his fuckin’ Club are in bed with them. They killed the fuckin’ Warden. Good ol’ Eric McKenna, he’s trustworthy, he’s good for it.” Hubert chuckled, “Ask about David Dulane in White Tree.”

“What do they say about Dulane?” Donnelley hissed, voice cold.

Hubert snorted and laughed, “The Sheriff ain’t on vacation, I’ll tell you that.”

“What does that mean?” Donnelley growled, jostling Hubert’s head in the dirt, “What the fuck does that mean?

Queen watched from beside the car, standing with Renko. When Hubert laughed he stepped forward, giving Hubert a swift kick against his kidney. “What’s funny? Better start asking questions or we’re gonna lose interest in you. Maybe McCune’s tired of the trunk.”

He squatted down on the other side of Hubert, “Getting cocky now that you ain’t about to die of thirst, better remember what that felt like.”

Hubert writhed on the ground, recoiling from Queen’s kick that no doubt compounded on the stress that dehydration had done on his kidneys. Donnelley watched impassively. Hubert dragged in a quivering breath, “Vera Corp’s got labs at the old MacOnie mines, near the old manor.” Hubert wheezed, “The Sheriff went in and a fight started over somethin’, the mine guards took him. Breckenridge Security, some Blackwater type motherfuckers.”

“Grabbed one of the miners, disappeared the both of ‘em. They break people at that manor. Anybody fucks up bad enough, they go to the manor.” Hubert grunted, trying to shift on the ground, “Sheriff and Dulane went in. Dulane came back out… scrambled.

“Talkin’ about makin’ a promise. Sayin’ death wakes the Sleeper, about how our skin ain’t our own, and other crazy ass shit.”

“What’s in these labs?” Donnelley hissed.

“Never been stupid enough to have to go in one. Some of our boys say they got scientists doin’ experiments on miners and whoever the Bratva don’t like.” Hubert tried looking at Queen and Donnelley, but Donnelley’s weight on him wouldn’t let him, “Maybe I can, I dunno, maybe I can sneak you in.”

“You know, they always try to bargain.” Donnelley said, “Jay tried to pay us off. And a whole lot of other shitheads tried too. What you don’t understand, is we don’t do it for the money.”

“Okay? What’s it gonna be then?”

“We do it to see pieces of shit like you die. You ain’t never gettin’ found by your family, boy.” Donnelley lifted himself up and Hubert flopped on his side and seeing Donnelley sight up, he opened his mouth and shook his head to protest, “This one’s for Maria.”

Donnelley’s Glock barked into the night, once to blow the back of Hubert’s head out, and the other two leaving hollowpoints in his heart.

Our skin ain’t our own, the words left Queen feeling a crawling sensation up his neck and scalp, the memory of incense wafting was so strong he almost turned to see where it came from. The confessional booth and another man’s life he had inhabited. He glanced down at his bare arm, the black and bright colored ink distinctive but he had to look.

Queen could hear Hubert pleading, sneaking them in to surely rat them out after and leave them to the tender mercies of whoever broke Dulane and made black cauliflower sprout from a man’s skin. When Donnelley spoke he looked up, in time to see him raise his gun. The honed instinct said this asset had used up his usefulness and was no longer needed and Queen stood by as the shots rang out.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s one.”

Donnelley slipped his Glock back in its holster, tucking the tail of his coat over it to hide it once more. He turned for the car, opening the trunk with the key fob and McCune’s struggling form and muffled screams were evident just as soon as the trunk door flipped up. Donnelley grabbed him and dragged him over to Hubert’s corpse, a halo of dark blood blooming from him, “You wanna see a dead body?”

McCune was dropped next to Hubert and looked at Donnelley with a fair bit of anger that dissipated into a startled and helpless yelp when he saw Hubert’s dead eyes staring through him. McCune tried to wriggle away until Donnelley ripped the duct tape from his mouth, “Help! Hel-guh!”

Donnelley’s Glock plugged his mouth, and the old police sergeant looked back at Donnelley with a newfound obedience, “One reason. That’s all I need to not give Hubert another friend in hell.”

He slowly withdrew the Glock from McCune’s mouth and let him clear his throat, “I’m in charge of security for Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter and her husband.”

Donnelley quirked a brow and looked to Queen, “Alright.”

Queen tucked his hands halfway in the pockets of his jeans, watching the scene with a feigned casualness. He glanced around, listening for anything that might alert him to approaching vehicles or footsteps.

“So where are they?” Queen asked, with a little shrug. “They gotta place in the hills?”

“The manor, the MacOnie manor.” McCune said, looking between Queen and Donnelley.

“How many do they have with them?” Renko asked, suddenly taking an interest, “Who is at the manor besides them?”

“Natalya and Viktor Ivanov. The head of their personal protection detail is a man named Vyacheslav Demid.” McCune said, “We received them months ago, the River Valleys Retreat meeting was postponed indefinitely.”

“Because of us?” Donnelley asked.

“And the GRU.” McCune nodded at Renko, “Bratva and GRU don’t get along.”

“This is true.” Renko said, “My mission here is to keep Americans from the Bratva. The GRU wants what the Bratva found in Blackriver for themselves.”

Donnelley looked to McCune, “I got your wallet. I got your address. I know you have a wife and a daughter.”

“You fuckin’ wouldn’t!”

“You don’t know what the fuck I wouldn’t do, McCune. Push me.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “How close are the Bratva to Levy?”

He stepped over, roughly turning McCune onto his face and kneeling with his knee on the side of his head. He took his Glock and wiped his own prints off of it as best he could before pressing it into McCune’s hands, wrapping his fingers around it before placing it in a plastic evidence bag just large enough to fit the Glock, “How’s the Department and the missus and little girl goin’ to react knowin’ you killed Hubert for the Bratva?”

“Fuck you!” McCune spat, a hollow little thing seeing the position he was in right now.

“Just remember I’ve got this gun and your prints any time you think about steppin’ off the path I want you on.” Donnelley shifted to straddling McCune’s back, pressing his forearm down into the back of McCune’s neck, leaning down to whisper, “And just remember I know where the missus and that little girl live.”

McCune was silent and Donnelley leaned closer, “Push me, McCune.”

>…///

They crept to a stop along the road to Levy’s practice. They hadn’t seen another car at all on the roads, almost like Blackriver had up and left overnight. The sky and everywhere around the a thick, black sheet, the sounds of crickets and owls permeated the dark night. Donnelley cut the engine and opened his door, going to the backseat where his and Queen’s plate carriers were. He slipped his over his shoulder and rapped his knuckles on the patch like he’d done plenty of times before, Night Time is the Right Time.

Donnelley slipped the TP9’s sling over his head, the small machine pistol kept on his lap the whole drive into Blackriver. He looked to Queen with a quiet burning tenacity in his eyes, “You ready, partner?”

Queen tightened the strap of the carrier, the patch with the yellow smiling face cynical and bright against the charcoal gray material. The CZ Scorpion hung over his chest and he looked at Donnelley, then put a gloved hand on his shoulder giving him a squeeze. “Let’s go find this bitch. I got you.”

He pulled up the gaiter, THUNDER’s trademark skull that covered the lower half of his face and the dark baseball cap turned backward covered his dark blonde hair.

Donnelley nodded, clapping Queen on the shoulder and putting his Thrasher cap over his head. They advanced on Levy’s Quonset hut, about a hundred meters down the road. They crouched among the trees, no light coming from the hut. “Perimeter clear. No visual.” He said, “I’m point, moving to front door.”

After some time, they made their approach on the hut, each covering their sectors to the door. Donnelley felt around the cracks in the door jamb, not feeling any apparent signs of traps. He stepped aside for Queen to kick in the door. When he was ready, he pat Queen’s shoulder. When Queen booted in the door, the two rushed in, Donnelley in the front. They went around the room with their flashlights the only thing penetrating the thick darkness, checking the cabinets and behind tables until Donnelley made his call, “Clear.” He whispered into his mic, “Door front. Stack.”

Donnelley pat Queen’s shoulder again, the other man checking the doorknob before twisting it and throwing it open. What greeted Donnelley inside was a wall of polaroid pictures, the room evidently a photo development room, “Small room, clear.” He spoke, going to the wall of photos, slowly scanning the pictures with his gunlight, “Oh my fuckin’ god…”

Queen stepped in on the other side, clearing the opposite side of the room before he followed Donnelley’s line of sight. The dark room was lit with the glow of a red lamp, their small gun lights shining beams that illuminated points on the wall. Glimpses of terrified female faces, girls he hoped were dead at the time with entire limbs degloved, their torsos flayed from the muscle and fat. He inhaled sharply, the eyes were all wide and staring and he had seen enough to know the terror was very real.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, “This bitch must be the same that was at the cabin. Agent Laine’s report, two different sets of scrubs.”

He breathed out slowly, then swept the light around the room, hunting for a door. The light caught a reflection on the convex glass of an old TV/VCR combo sitting on a stand in the corner. The tapes stacked on a shelf beside it and handwritten labels were visible.

“Shit,” he muttered and he knew he did not want to see what was on those tapes. His stomach clenched and he glanced at Donnelley, even in the dim light he sensed where he was near him.

“We were here.” Donnelley whispered through clenched teeth, still looking at the photos, “We were right fucking here and she answered the goddamn door for us. We left Bakker alone with this murdering bitch.”

Donnelley swallowed, his mouth dry as he looked about the room. He caught sight of the tapes, “We need to take those. Come on, let’s search the rest of this room.”

Donnelley opened one of the cabinets and spotted what might be journals. Taking one out, he read the label, and it was written as such, cold and scientific language for the act of murder. “Experiment Logbooks. These too.”

From outside came the sound of tires crunching on gravel, doors opening and closing, and boots scuffing in the dirt getting closer to the door. Donnelley heard them outside, a male voice speaking to some others, “Ruckus 1-1, all stations, door has been kicked in. Moving to clear target building.” Donnelley looked to Queen and thumbed his fire selector to auto, “Stack on me. If you’re in there, come out with your hands up!”

“Get those fuckin’ tapes quick. I got you covered.” Donnelley said, taking position by the door, leaning out just enough to get a clear sight picture on the room. With one hand, he held his TP9, in the other he held a primed flashbang.

Queen shrugged off the pack he normally carried to gather intel, his gun slung back against his hip as he gathered tapes, holding a small flashlight between his teeth to give himself some extra light, the red glow brighter than the darkroom lamps. He was reaching into the cabinets when he heard the voice from outside. He turned and continued grabbing the journals as quickly as he could, the tapes clattering together in the bag.

As soon as he heard the first step through the door, Donnelley slid the flashbang across the floor and hid behind the wall. As soon as the loud bang was heard, he leaned out and let out a string of cracking nine-millimeter into the first black clad hit squad he saw. They were all in disarray, clutching at their eyes and stumbling forward intent on getting to cover. Donnelley had enough time to sight up on another and blow his head open with another burst of his weapon before ducking back. A set of holes stitched themselves across the flimsy drywall and plywood with the sound of a pattering M4, “Queen, you good?”

The world exploded behind him and it took all he had to keep his focus, yanking open drawers as gunfire erupted right behind him. Queen ducked and crouched, yanking open the bottom drawers to check if they had missed anything. The return fire was close but despite what happened in Alaska, he trusted Donnelley to have his back.

“Yeah,” he murmured around the flashlight then spat it out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m good. Almost done.”

In the bottom drawer there was a box, an old boot box and he opened it. Queen reached in and pulled out a book, the cover looked hand stitched and in the dim light there was a strange marking, like a child experimenting with lines and shapes, nothing meaningful. He shoved it in the bag, laying it on top of the journals. It gave him a bad feeling but everything in this room was unsettling.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said in a low voice, hefting the bag onto his back, “I got everything.”

Queen picked up his Scorpion and drew it up, readying himself. Another burst of fire cut towards them, blasting holes in the water basin and sending streams of it leaking. Donnelley unhooked and then primed another grenade, sliding it across the floor like the last. When it banged out, he rose and cleared out of the room with Queen close at his back. He raised his TP9 and squeezed off a triplet into the head and neck of another of the hit squad while Queen did the same to another. “Renko, bring the car up!” Donnelley raised his voice into his mic.

In no matter of time, the SHO was screeching to a stop in front of the hut, spinning around so the passenger seats were easy to access from their flight out of the Quonset hut. Donnelley leaned out and sprayed into the second black SUV parked outside, more of the hit squad dismounting, “Move, Queen!”

Queen was moving, the bulk of the bag bouncing against him as he sprinted towards the car. He grabbed the back door handle and turned wrenching it open as he held up the Scorpion with one hand and fired to help cover Donnelley getting to the car.

He dropped the gun at his side, still gripping it tight as he threw himself into the back, using his boot to pull the door closed. “Well, shit,” he said, pushing himself up enough to train his Scorpion through the back windshield. “Nice to see you, Renko.”

“This is not nice time for me!” Renko called from the driver seat, reaching to open the passenger door and desperately watching Donnelley run for the car as bullets whizzed by.

Donnelley crashed into the passenger seat unceremoniously and pulled the door shut, “Go!”

Renko stomped the gas and the tires kicked up dirt as they fishtailed out of the Quonset hut’s yard. As they made it into the road, a hulking mass of a man stepped out into their path, seemingly sacrificing himself as the SHO smashed into him. Donnelley had the wind knocked out of him as flew forward into the dash, Renko yelling out as his seatbelt kept him from doing the same. They’d rolled over the man, but the SHO seemed to be limping, almost as if they’d plowed into a buffalo.

Queen did not see what they hit but felt it, thrown against the back of the passenger seat and then to the floor, tangled in his pack and the strap of the gun. “Shit!”

He pushed himself up, feeling the car struggling and looked out the window and then the back windshield. “Y’all alright?”

Queen tasted blood, and touched his mouth, feeling where his teeth had cut into the inside of his lip when he had hit the back of Donnelley’s seat. He spat and wiped his mouth, “What the fuck was that?”

“I…” Donnelley righted himself in his seat, touching a gash on his forehead and hissing, “Don’t know…”

Donnelley’s voice trailed off as they saw what they hit. It was the same huge man, picking himself up from the road almost no worse for wear. As the huge man shook his arms, Donnelley could hear the blunt pops and grind of bones shifting back in place. A low moaning came from the huge man as the black SUV full of the other half of the hit squad skidded to a stop in front of him. The men inside dismounted and screamed at the huge man to get on the ground and drop any weapons.

One of them approached, making the mistake of getting just a bit too close and the huge man covered the ten meters too quick for the hitman to react. The huge man wrapped a hand the size of a shovel’s head around the man’s face and threw him screaming off the road and into a tree. The other hitmen, three in total, opened fire. Their bullets ripped chunks from the huge man, but he came on like a bull, and faster than one. He drove one huge shoulder into one, sending him tumbling across the road, and then took hold of another’s plate carrier. He slammed that one into the side of the SUV hard enough to dent the chassis in and break the back window. He picked him up by one hand and brained him with his other smashing fist.

The last one was running towards them, even going so far as to helplessly struggle with Queen’s door in the back, “Jesus Christ!”

But the huge man was already on him, taking him by the nape and smashing his head into the SHO’s back window, sending beads of glass stinging at Queen. Renko was frozen in place, mouth agape as he watched the huge man shove his thick fingers into the hitman’s mouth, pulling as easily as someone opening a pistachio shell and relieving the man of his jaw, a gurgling scream and flapping tongue, uselessly kicking legs his last throes.

Donnelley scrambled over Renko to open the man’s door, pushing Renko out before he felt the big hand wrap around his ankle, “Shit-“

And he was being pulled out, hands slapping for a hold, but he was made weightless anyway. He could feel the wind whooping past before he felt the road.

Queen watched the same scene in horror, the huge man moving so fast it felt unreal, like a bad CGI rendering made from someone that did not understand bulk shouldn’t move like that. But his gaze was drawn to the blackened nodules, the growths erupting along its face and neck when the lights of the car illuminated the ruined features of the monstrous man.

The hitman’s hot blood splattered through the broken window and Queen bit back a scream as he watched the hitman’s jaw ripped away. He scrambled back, the pack hitting the driver side back door and he reached back to find the handle when he saw Donnelly ripped from the car.

“Fuck!” Queen shouted as his friend vanished from the car. Without thinking, he aimed through the broken window at the dark bulk and fired off several 9 mm rounds,from the Scorpion deafening in the confines of the car.

Reaching back he opened the door and fell out, rolling over and pushing himself up as the pack on his back shifted, the tapes making a muted jostling sound. Queen knelt behind the back wheel and sighted up again on the monster, unleashing the rest of his 20 round magazine. “Hold on, Tex!”

“What is this thing?” Renko breathed, holding his Glock that seemed as useful as a nerf gun at this point.

The car jostled, and then began moving as the huge beast of a man pushed it away with some effort. Renko turned to run towards where he’d seen Donnelley fly off behind the SUV, looking back and sending haphazard shots at the monster. When he saw Donnelley, he was trying to stand, getting to his feet before stumbling onto his side again. Renko took hold of him, hooking his arms under Donnelley’s armpits and leaning him against the ruined SUV.

“Holy shit.” Donnelley slurred, eyes heavy and head swimming as he regained some amount of consciousness, “We ain’t killin’ that thing.”

Queen was changing magazines when the car shoved sideways against him, almost knocking him on his ass. He pushed up and fired a few more useless shots at the hillbilly Frankenstein’s monster and ran back towards Renko and Donnelley. He took a knee and kept an eye on the huge man.

“I’m just tickling him with this 9mm,” Queen said, then glanced over, his pale eyes showing concern as he saw Donnelley slumped against the SUV. “How you doing, Tex? Anything broken?”

“My legs ain’t, we need to fuckin’ get out of here.” Donnelley was still catching his breath, but he shoved Renko away and down the road, where the other man took the hint and began running. Donnelley took a few testing steps away from the SUV, still finding his legs a tad wobbly, but they were his only one out of here. “Come on.”

He began his worryingly slow trot, trying not to drift to either side of the road with his head pulsing, the daze wanting to pull him left or right. He looked back to see Queen running behind him, and the much more worrying monster bounding right at them with the force of a grizzly.

Queen ran, keeping himself from overtaking Donnelley who seemed still dazed. He turned and could see the thing tracking them and coming, moving too fast and he fired another burst to at least give the monster something to think about as the rounds smacked his ruined blackened face. “We can’t just run down the road, it’ll be on us,” he called out to Renko and Donnelley.

He reached for the flashbang on his own plate carrier and pulled the pin, turning and throwing it sidearmed as if he was still playing shortstop. Trusting the grenade to hit at the feet or into the solar plexus of the advancing hulking man, Queen turned without watching it to keep pace with Donnelley.

The bang rang out, only adding to the noise of the night. The monster charged on unheeding and the pounding footsteps only got louder until Donnelley could almost feel it’s hulking presence making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He grabbed Queen and pulled him forward of himself, turning in the same motion with his TP9 and sprayed into the hulking beast of a man. Right before he saw the huge man’s fist held high, he closed his eyes and accepted what was to come, hoping Queen and Renko could get away.

But it did not, the beast let go another low grunt as what sounded like a boulder collided into him, smashing the air from his lungs. Donnelley opened his eyes again to see the same suited man from Hubert’s club who’d ran through his bouncers like a wrecking ball. The huge man was on his back, the Terminator straddling the beast’s chest and raining blows the speed of which Donnelley almost couldn’t comprehend. The beast reached up and grabbed hold of the Terminator’s suit jacket, slamming him into the concrete and rolling on top of him. The beast reared up with both boulder fists clasped and brought them down in an effort to smash his head.

The Terminator reached up and caught the hands, the both of them shaking from the force of their strength, until the cracking of bone was heard and the beast was left with both wrists flopping with useless hands on the ends of them. The smell of ozone and electrical burn filled the air, seeping into their surroundings like an invisible fog and the Terminator tore one of the beast’s own dangling hands from his wrist and drove the sharp bone through his face once, twice, three times and then four. The beast fell to the side, and the Terminator rose to his feet, looking at Donnelley as he was standing there gawking at him.

“Boyat'sya stoit tol'ko yesli ty russkiy.” Donnelley heard the Terminator speak, “I am a friend… of circumstance.”

“Not Russian!” Renko rose his hands up in peace, “Am from Ukraine.”

Queen turned to grab Donnelley when he pulled him forward, a shot of anger ran through him as his friend tried to sacrifice himself. He knew it was just like Tex to do so but the man had a kid and now a girlfriend, he reminded himself. Donnelley had more to lose, and Queen had very little.

Queen reached to snatch Donnelley back in front of him when he saw the showdown of the Terminator and the Hulk. His mouth fell open and he slowed then stopped after a few paces, unable to look away.

“Holy mother of fuck,” he swore, the awe overwhelming the helplessness that he felt in the face of those foes who their weapons did little against.

The Terminator’s laugh was deep and sincere, the smile reaching his one eye left uncovered by the eyepatch he wore. He wiped at it after he calmed down, taking a couple breaths, “I like your friend’s words. They are funny.”

Donnelley looked from the Terminator to Queen and Renko, and then back, “Why?”

“Well, he said ‘holy mother of fuck’, you know? Creative way to say curse word-“

“No, why are we friends.” Even with the friendly behavior and the declaration of them being friends, he still caught that it was only through circumstance. Friends, for now. His grip tightened on his TP9, though they’d likely do little to deter the Slav, “You were going to kill us in that club in Charleston.”

“I said no such thing.” The Terminator shook his head, shrugging, “If I did, I am sorry. You know, this is only job, I work for Propavsheye because they hire me to go after Bratva. I hate Bratva.”

Queen stared still trying to comprehend how the monster was beat to a pulp then he grinned, scratching at his head, “Right. No one likes bratva, not even other bratvas. So Propavsheye hired you? What does someth...someone like you go for? Just curious. Also...what the hell are you?”

Terminator looked at the three of them, a silence permeated the air in between until Terminator spoke, “I will tell you everything.” He spoke low and gravely, “But not here.”

Donnelley nodded, “Well…” he looked behind himself at the battlefield the road had become, bodies strewn everywhere and two ruined vehicles, “I guess we can still walk.”

He heard banging from the trunk of the SHO and looked at it skeptically, before he raised his brows, “Oh, yeah.” Donnelley held out his hand for Renko to toss him the keys, snatching them out of the air. He opened the trunk, the door coming open and McCune flopping out screaming, “Meet the head of Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter’s security.”

Nikolai…” Terminator rumbled, a deep growl emanating from his throat heavy with an animal hatred, “We have much to talk about.”

>1945…///

It took a while, and Donnelley’s Adidas shoes were even starting to become uncomfortable on the walk back to the Flannegan Inn. When they got back inside, Donnelley didn’t even feel the need to brutalize McCune by throwing him inside onto his face. He simply led him upstairs to their room, roughly shoved him tripping onto the bed before sitting in the dusty, cracked leather chair in the corner. His TP9 was still in his lap as he looked at the assembled men in the room, “Alright.” Donnelley sighed, “Let’s talk. Whoever wants to go first can go first.”

Renko and Terminator spoke at the same time before they looked at each other, then had a quiet back and forth between themselves in Russian before they both chuckled. Terminator clapped Queen on the shoulder a tad harder than most were used to, shaking him like they’d known each other for years and the bonds were strong, “Why don’t you ask your questions first?” Terminator said, smiling friendly and raising his brows, “Oh, my name is Alexei Popov. I apologize.”

Queen grunted at the force, but saw no maliciousness in it, just the pure strength of the man. He glanced at Renko then at the man calling himself Alexei. He was weary from the adrenaline fueled escape and the long walk but their new friend seemed none worse for wear after the fight. “Queen. That’s Tex,” he said, nodding at Donnelley before looking back at Alexei. “We gotta lot of questions but I just wanna know first, what are you? I figured big boy back there was one of their experiments but are you, something more?”

Alexei took his hand from Queen’s shoulder, “I am but a man.” Alexei shrugged, “With… very special… gifts.

He said the last word with some bitterness, “I was Afghantsy. Soviet soldier in Afghanistan, VDV.” Alexei lost some of his joviality, “One day, we come across a village, we were attacked by Mujahideen. I was wounded. I woke up in strange place, I do not know how long I was asleep.”

“I saw my comrades trading things with strange looking locals. They looked human, but they were not. Soon, it was not just things, but people.” Alexei spat, “Girls. Young Afghans, in return for gold, and other unnatural things. I tried to stop them, the VDV were supposed to serve with honor, not being criminals. They beat me, I almost died.”

“I was awoken by a voice which had no body. He said he would give me back my hand and my eye in return for eternal service to him, an eternal hunt against the Black God, and all who serve him. To break everything he makes.” Alexei wore a dark frown, looking down at his gloved hand, “And now, I am here. The Bratva were once my comrades, my brothers. Now, they are my enemies. And I will work for anyone who will let me kill them wherever I can.”

Alexei eyed Donnelley, his scar most of all, “I know you know the sting of betrayal.”

Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “The hell you think you know?”

“Your friend. Steven Foster.”

Donnelley rose from his seat, fists clenched, but knowing that if it really came down to it he’d be short work for Alexei. Still, that sharp piece of him buried deep made him stand and stare back at Alexei, “How do you know him?”

Alexei’s eye turned soft, a look of sympathy upon his face, “I know more than you remember. I remember what they made you not.”

Donnelley faltered, looking at Queen and then back at Alexei, “Al-…Alright, I fuckin’ pass on the questions.” He sat back down, refusing to look back at Alexei and the others.

Queen sat himself at the end of the bed that McCune was still sprawled on. He rested his forearms on his knees, listening to the story and when Alexei looked at Donnelley, he followed the man’s gaze. The burn had been there since he had known him, he knew where it had come from and what it had cost him, that brand to wear. The implication of Alexei’s story, the fact there were others fighting against this darkness they had so often felt alone in fighting piqued his interest.

“You call it the Black God?” Queen spoke up, “Is it the same that is called the Sleeper? The thing down in the mines they’re trying to wake up, the thing wanting sacrifice of lives.”

Not just lives but death, brutal deaths to bring the victims to horrific pain. Like a psychic meal as real as flesh. Queen sat up and reached for his pack of Kools, patting at his pockets but forgot where he had left them. He sighed, then continued, “Look, there’s a lot we don’t know. In the Program...or whatever we’re supposed to be. We get glimpses of things...like flashing a penlight off and on in the dark.”

The pictures in the red light came to his mind and he picked up the pack and found his cigarettes in one of the side pockets. The tapes and journals were there and they would be poured over tonight. He glanced around him and held off lighting the cigarette.

“What’s it all about, Alexei? What’s Renko saving that girl from, what are we trying to break up? Other than bringing murderers to their justice,” Queen asked, furrowing his brow.

Alexei looked at Queen, up and down, “There are things in the shadows of the world’s dark corners.” Alexei drew in a breath and sighed, “Things too evil to speak the names of. You would not want to understand the things I do. But you will, if you keep digging.”

Queen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck under his hair, “Right. Just point us at the target. Nevermind who’s pulling our fucking strings. ‘Scuse me.”

He stood up and went to the bathroom. He had to piss but he was damn near sober and this was too much. Queen finished and washed his hands, then dug around in his pocket. He pulled the crumpled bag out, the few pills of vicodin and xanax and the remainder of an 8 ball. There were two more in his belongings. Never leave home without it.

Queen looked at it, the weight of the night and the previous night and a sudden spike of loneliness hit him. Donnelley was in the other room but it was not the same comfort. Then he felt guilty for feeling the loss again, they were never an official thing and he should feel glad for his friend. And what did that all mean when they were balls deep in hillbilly hell with the Russian and the monsters. So evil they could not know what it is they risked their lives and sanity over.

He leaned over the sink, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Finally he turned on the water, popping two Xanax and washing them down with a handful of water but he could not bear to flush the stash. It held him too hard and at least it would not leave him until he decided it was time. Queen wiped at his eyes, surprised and irritated at the tears there.

He washed his face and stepped out, looking over the men, his gaze lingering only briefly on Donnelley, well practiced at not making it obvious he was the object of his attention. Queen sat back down on the other bed, “So, Renko. Is that what they tell you on your side? You can’t know. Just to do or die, yadda, yadda.”

Renko shrugged, “Mainly.”

“What if we want to know?” Donnelley said, looking up from his lap, “I’ve lost friends over this shit. Seen plenty die.”

Donnelley glanced at Queen, and back at Alexei, “I died.” Donnelley growled, “I’m fightin’ a war against somethin’ I barely understand. And when we come home from it, nobody knows. Nobody calls us heroes. When I die somewhere, they might not even tell anyone the truth about it.”

“I’ll just be a star on a wall in Virginia.” Donnelley frowned bitterly, “The Black God, the Sleeper, whatever the fuck you want to call it… Fuck it. As long as that fuckin’ sun rises and this green ball of shit keeps turnin’, my job’s done.”

Donnelley rose from his seat and walked to the door, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the wall. Alexei looked after Donnelley, and the closed door he left. He sighed, “There are truths. You all will learn them.” Alexei shook his head, “And you will wish you had not.”

Queen watched Donnelley leave then glanced at Alexei, "You're probably right."

>…///

It was Donnelley’s turn to watch the lobby. The decor of this place was frozen in the 80’s, a ghost in time forever standing in a forgotten place in America. A place where everyone agreed not to look, too ugly. He sat alone in the lobby, not knowing if anyone else was asleep, only that he couldn’t. It was like that most nights, but this one stung more than others. In quiet moments like this, he regretted telling Queen. Telling Billy Patrick that what they had was no more, making him feel like anything he’d have with him would be second best to Laine. With someone he wouldn’t have to explain, wouldn’t have to hide, look over his shoulder.

The only man who’d ever seen the side of him that wasn’t what everyone else expected of him. And any sorry wouldn’t be enough. He sighed in the silence of the hotel lobby, alone until he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Alexei came into the lobby and took a seat across from Donnelley, placing his feet on the low coffee table. The two men sat in silence until Donnelley glanced at Alexei lounging in his suit, “What did you mean?”

“Hm?”

“They made me forget.” Donnelley asked, voice low and rough in the quiet of the halls in this destitute place, “Who are they? What did they make me forget?”

Alexei huffed a chuckle, nodding in understanding, “You have the same dream every night. Or most nights.” He said, “Chechnya. Afghanistan.”

Alexei pointed to Donnelley and then to himself, “Afghantsy, us both.” Alexei smiled, though it was full of sadness, “You do not remember Chechnya, because they do not want you to remember Chechnya. What was the last thing you remember?”

Donnelley looked away, staring at the stained carpet for a few long moments, “Crossing into Georgia. My clothes were tattered, dirty, bloody.” Donnelley spoke, though his mind was distant, “They picked me up there, traveled by night into Turkey and then back into Europe.”

“How did you get there?”

“I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, looking back at Alexei as he brought himself back into the present, “I don’t remember.”

“When you sleep,” Alexei withdrew a simple ziploc bag and took a small, dried fruit from it, the same fruit that Ipiktok had given Ava, “Eat the meat of this, spit the pit out. I will come with you in the dream, and I will tell you the truth they took from you.”

Donnelley looked at the dried fruit in Alexei’s palm. Did he really want to know? What could be worse than knowing Foster was a traitor this whole time? What if it was just more of the same, just another confirmation that he was wrong all this time. Donnelley took the fruit from Alexei’s palm. “I’ll know the truth?” He looked back at Alexei and saw him nod. He looked back at the fruit, “Okay.”

He popped it in his mouth, focusing on what he remembered from Chechnya as he chewed. He turned his head and spit the pit across the room, “Tired of bein’ fuckin’ lied…” The room began to vibrate, subtle at first, “to…”

The vibrating intensified by the second, until Donnelley could feel his own body vibrating, his very eyes shaking with it, not knowing if it was real. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve thought this was going to be the worst acid trip he was embarking on. He heard Alexei speak, looking over to him sidelong, unable to work his neck, “I probably would have relaxed more before this.”

“Well-“ he spoke before he was cut off by the intense feeling of falling, his stomach jumping up to his throat as he screamed, not knowing if he really was or it was all in his head. It felt real, too real to not be. He saw the room fall away from him, shrinking upwards into a sky of pitch in a world of shadow, shrinking and shrinking until it was a pinprick and then nothing at all.

He screamed until he couldn’t, the air out of his lungs and as he breathed in, he found himself more calm. Still confused, still a bit frenzied, but only looking around and seeing only black. He lifted his hand to his face, seeing his fingers wriggle when he made them, though he was also naked. “What…”

He looked below himself, still falling, but now more accustomed to it. Until he saw what he was falling towards. It was like a star below, a point in the sky, and then it grew to a picture he slowly began to recognize. “No,” he shook his head to nobody, as if his protests would fall on any ears but his own, “No, no. Stop!”

But he couldn’t go back, the view of Chechnya. The mountains outside the windshield of the Ural, Peake and Guzman coming into view, “No, not this!”

But it was too late, and his hearing became muddled like he’d jumped into a pool, and he was there again…///

\\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin.

Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.”

“We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for telling me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if FSB caught wind of a Marine Raider, a CIA Officer and an ISA Operator illegally crossing into Russia.”

Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending not to hear yet another contest of Who’s-A-Better-Asshole. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?”

“What?” Peake barked, his head whipping to the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“

Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor.

“We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out.

Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Peake further down the road. He only made it resting on his hands and knees before gunfire ripped his neck and face open.

“No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Peake, “No!

…///

\\\…Donnelley heaved in a breath as he fell away again, happy to be out of there, but soul crushed to pieces to have been back at all. He heard Alexei’s voice come from all around him, “This is what you see?”

“Fuck you!”

“You are the one who ate it. We should make this worth it for you. I do not have many of these fruits. They only sprout every fifty years or so.” Alexei spoke as if they talking with each other from either side of a table at a farmers market, “Ready yourself.”

“No! Please, not again!” Donnelley could feel himself almost be pushed into it, falling faster, and faster, and faster until he felt like he was about to pass out. The black grew more oppressive, shrinking in from every side, “Oh my god, no…”

…///

\\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective.

“Few more miles until we can get to the extraction point Foster set up for us.” Donnelley said, narrowed eyes on the road, if you could even call it one.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin.

Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.”

“We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for tellin’ me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if Breckenridge caught us tryin’ to escape with a March Tech whistleblower.”

The whistleblower in question gulped audibly from the backseat. What Wetwork Team GRANTOR had found in that mountain monastery wasn’t what they were expecting. There was no cult, there was no monster, there were only labs and chairs, and beds where they ripped villagers’ minds apart to stitch them back together again in any way they wanted. It disgusted all of them, including Dr. Feldenkrais. The petite blonde thirty-something pushed her glasses up her face. Donnelley smiled at her from the passenger seat, though she didn’t look much in the mood for smiles, “When the UN or whoever we can get these documents to finds these, March Tech isn’t going to be able to hurt these innocents anymore.”

“We’ll get you out of Chechnya safely, Yuliya. I promise.” Donnelley said with some resolve. Yuliya placed her hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on her own and squeezed reassuringly.

“You’re a good man. My brother Fadeyka would like you. Perhaps I will take you to meet him.” Yuliya said, withdrawing her hand after a moment, “This doesn’t just effect the CIA, or America, or Russia. They’re doing these experiments everywhere. It all ends soon.”

Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending they weren’t about to open up a case full of treason. Donnelley knew as well as everyone inside this truck that trying to end March Tech could just as easily end them. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?”

“What?” Peake asked, his head searching the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“

Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor.

“We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out.

Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Yuliya further down the road. She only made it to her hands and knees as she reached out to Donnelley.

Donnelley struggled to his feet, swaying in place and almost stumbling over the cliff before he righted himself. His face was numb, but he could smell cooking meat, hear his cheek sizzling. His side hurt, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood from the bullet wounds. “Yuliya…”

Yuliya grabbed onto the suitcase that contained all the case files and reports of March Tech’s experiments on the people in the remote village. She clutched it to her chest and got to her feet just before Donnelley could see the men in camouflage uniforms, the Breckenridge hit squad, come walking around the bend.

“No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Yuliya, “No!

Yuliya turned in time for one of the Breckenridge contractors to raise his weapon and send a round through her face, bits of brain and bone flying. Donnelley dropped to his knees, “No!”

The Breckenridge soldiers kept advancing, stepping over Yuliya’s faceless corpse. One of them removed his mask to reveal a familiar face. “I’m sorry, Joe.” Foster said, “I can’t afford you and GRANTOR ruining this. For what it’s worth, this whole plan of yours really was noble.”

Donnelley’s lip quivered in contempt as tears began to sting at his eyes. He looked at Foster, his friend, one of the only people in the Program he trusted and the person he told about March Tech’s place in the disappearances in Chechnya, “Why?” His voice quivered behind gritted teeth.

“You said it yourself, Joe. Anything for the greater good, for humanity to see another sunrise, and another, and another.” Foster shook his head and shrugged, “Can you imagine what we can do with an army of agents and operators that we can simply just reset before they can eat one of their own bullets? How many friends do you think I’ve lost that way? That you’ve lost that way?”

“It’s not right!” Donnelley roared, “You can’t just do these things to people!

“Like I said, Joseph,” Foster pursed his lips, “I’m sorry-”

Fuck you.” Donnelley reached down and drew his handgun as fast as he could, but not faster than the bullets that ripped into him. He fell back, trying to plug the holes as he groaned at the burning.

“What should we do?” One of the Breckenridge contractors asked.

Foster was staring down at Donnelley’s limp form, “Clean this up. And take Joseph to the beds. We’ll see how well this works against traumatic violence.” Foster walked to Donnelley’s side as he dragged in wheezing, grating breaths. Rocks and grass crunched under Foster’s boots as he knelt before him, and placed a hand on Donnelley’s shoulder that he tried to shrug away from, “You’re a tough bastard, Joseph. This is an opportunity to prove how useful you can be to your country.”

“Don’t do that to me, you fuckin’ monster.” Donnelley grit his teeth and growled, “I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill you bad, you motherfucker. You fuckin’ cocksuckin’ piece of shit, I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you get in my head.”

“You won’t even feel a thing.” Foster patted Donnelley’s shoulder, “Be like it never happened at all.

…///

\\\…Donnelley was back in the hotel lobby.

He slowly turned his head to look at Alexei.

“What…”

“The truth.” Alexei spoke low.

“They erased me.”

“A part of you.”

Donnelley looked at the carpet again, not knowing what to do, and somewhat even afraid to move for fear of falling through the carpet and back into his dreams. He swallowed, mouth feeling like he’d chewed a mouthful of sand. “Holy shit…” he whispered, “I… need to go.”

“I will watch lobby.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” Donnelley said, “I’ll get Renko.”

Donnelley rose from his seat, slow, cautious. He looked around the lobby, down at himself to make sure his clothes were still on. Turning for the hallway and the stairs up to the floor their room was on, he couldn’t help but to hurry away from the lobby. He climbed the stairs quietly as he could, as if he’d wake his nightmares and they’d drag him into them drowning again. Walked the halls quietly as if a door would open and someone would snatch him inside, getting to the room, he knocked a bit harder than needed. Didn’t even wait for Queen to answer, just pounded with his open palm again, “Open the fuck up!” There was a fear in him, coming from everywhere, stabbing at him and making him feel a deep need to run, “Queen, please!

Queen’s eyes snapped open from a doze he had not realized he had fallen into. He was still on the bed, laying back with his feet still on the floor. He was up, head spinning a little as he forced himself out of the fog of Xanax and he held a hand up to Renko to motion that he had it. Queen took the small 9mm handgun off the table where he had left it, holding it at his side.

He opened the door, shocked to see the ashen color of Donnelley’s face and the blue gaze filled with fear and something else he hardly recognized, something edging on panic. “What happened?” He swung the door open so he could enter, checking behind Donnelley left and right but nothing was there.

Queen shut the door, going to him, putting his hand on Donnelley’s shoulder, “Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“He killed GRANTOR.” Donnelley spoke, placing his hands on Queen’s shoulders, “It was March Tech. It was fucking Foster and March Tech.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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>CHARLESTON, WV
>WV STATE POLICE STATION
>0900…///
>[NEXT DAY]

It was an odd feeling for Maryanne Roy at the station today. Getting another visit from a Federal Agent to talk about the Carlisle kidnapping that had happened some time ago in New York. There seemed to be quite the buzz about it, and she wondered if fate had placed her just so on the board. At a crossroads in her career, to retire and be done with it all, or to stay the course and see where the road ended with all of this. See if it really was all connected. If a murdered girl, a murdered ex-Warden, and the Carlisle kidnapping were all connected, and how.

She swallowed through a dry mouth, almost not able to taste her coffee as she endlessly stared at the walls of her office in the precinct. It seemed just yesterday she was busting low-level prostitution operations and small-time drug dealers the Feds didn’t have time to touch. Now the Feds were all over little old West Virginia, and they were all coming to her for some goddamn reason.

There came a knock at her door, and she swallowed again, staring and wondering how quietly she could slip out the window until another few knocks came. She cleared her throat, “Yeah, come in.”

Special Agent Garcia stepped into the office, he was a thin short man with dark hair slicked neatly and thick brows that were set in a permanent furrow. “Detective Roy, thank you for seeing me.”

He wore a dark gray suit and a navy tie, his FBI ID clipped to the breast pocket. His accent was noticeably not from the area, a hint of Brooklyn colored his speech. “Agent Garcia, from the NYC field office, we spoke on the phone. May I?”

Garcia pulled the chair out and sat down, holding his file in his lap. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Detective.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roy nodded and gave a tight smile when Garcia helped himself to a seat. She had her hands around her mug, a device, at least something that wasn’t her desk to keep Garcia at bay, “I didn’t get much from you on our initial conversation. How can I help you, exactly?”

Agent Garcia returned the polite smile and opened the folder, “First off, you know I’m investigating a cold case disappearance of a high profile victim. And more importantly the two police officers killed responding to the 911 calls. There were also two dead bodyguards. It was a mess.”

He blinked, the hallway walls splashed with gore and blood came back, the stink of shit from torn guts and how the carpet had squished under his loafers. Garcia had the pictures in the folder but he did not need to look at them to remember. “Detective, I’ve combed through a lot of evidence and tips, one that led me here. I won’t bore you with all the details as I’m sure you have enough to do but I need to ask you about...”

Garcia cleared his throat, “A man that presented himself as Special Agent John Davidson.”

Roy seemed to freeze in place, as if she had been frozen in time. Her breathing had stopped until she drew in a loud breath through her nose and shook her head, “I… don’t understand.” She rubbed at her face, “What’s going on?”

Agent Garcia watched her with dark eyes, heavy bags adding years to his features. “This man, he’s not FBI. I don’t know what he is to be frank, but I do know I was given a tip that he was at the scene of the crime and I’ve followed up on it. I did a lot of weeding through Davidsons in the bureau but this John, he’s a blip. He’s not from any field office here. The employment records were scarce and I found nothing connecting him to this case which we don’t have anything on either. But the tip I had says you know why he was here, he might have been part of a professional hit team that disappeared this photographer who was tied to trafficking children and the murder two police officers. They didn’t just catch a stray bullet, they were shot with purpose.”

“So,” Roy looked away for a second and took a sip of her coffee before shaking her head even more, “Jesus Christ. So, this John Davidson is taking the case away from the real Feds to bury it?”

She sighed, “Holy shit. He was just here, a few days ago. He had another guy with him, had a lot of tattoos, but I didn’t ask questions.” She said, “He asked me about Jackson Mitterick’s old associates. We found Jackson after he OD’d in a fucking motel bathroom some time back. Clem was found a day ago with a table leg in his fucking head.”

“You think someone’s trying to keep the Federal Government out of this investigation?” Roy quirked a brow, “Why?”

Garcia took the pen out from his inner pocket and wrote the names down, then glanced up, “A table leg in his head?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, because I have a missing man and four bodies and no suspects until now. This Davidson and you said a tattooed man? Noticeably tattooed even wearing a suit? Got a name or any other descriptions,” Garcia asked, tapping his pen, the source had not mentioned another man but it made sense Davidson would not have been on his own. There had to be another or even a team considering the carnage at the mansion. “And Mitterick? Who was he?”

“I’m trying to remember his name. Both introduced themselves to me as special agents in the Bureau.” Roy drummed her fingers on the desk before looking back to Garcia, “Bradley Phillips. Both names are fake, obviously. John Davidson is a ginger, has a beard, about six foot. Scar on his face. Bradley’s a couple inches shorter, blonde, tattoos. Beard too.”

“Both of ‘em have shoulder length hair, slicked back.” Roy sucked her teeth, “Jay, Jackson Mitterick. He was the local head of the Charleston Appalachian Sons Club, you know the types.”

“Daughters of the Confederacy type bullshit, even have an Appalachian Youth Club. More like Hitler Youth. Boyscouts with a smattering of white pride.” Roy snorted, “Jackson’s friend, Gary Bruster took over the Charleston office after he… vacated the position. Gary’s a Wolves of Erik member, motorcycle gang recruits from military and recently separated veterans, Neo-Volkists. Odin and Thor and all that. Little boy thinks he’s gone legit.”

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” Roy stood suddenly, “We had a report that Jackson’s mama’s house exploded. People heard gunshots there beforehand, figured it was just local methhead bullshit. If this is as deep as you’re making me think it is…”

“Somebody’s busy plugging a lot of leaks.” Roy muttered.

Garcia listened intently, making notes and rubbing his finger under his lower lip, a habit when he was thinking. “White power groups, not surprised there but as far as I knew Carlisle had nothing to do with that. He was a photographer, used it to ‘discover’ new talent and what we suspect was traffic the victims to organized mafia, Russians or Ukranians were the main suspects. They’re big in the area and they make a lot of money off the sex trade, mostly bringing in girls from Europe but I wouldn’t doubt they would dip into the local scene if it made them a profit. Any idea if those boys had Russian connections? It’s a long shot out here in the boondocks, uh, no offense, Detective.”

“The meth house exploded, pretty sure that investigation went deep,” he said dryly, “These men, Davidson was looking into them. You got guys shot, one ODed, one with a friggin’ table leg in his head, and I got a couple of Carlisle’s bodyguards torn apart like gore filled rag dolls.”

He handed the folder over to her, “See Davidson and whoever he’s working with are professionals. If it’s what I’m starting to suspect, they’re making it all look like things they’re not. Accidents, crimes of passion...a gorilla attack. What have you.”

Garcia’s accent grew thicker along with suspicion and anger at this mystery man. “A ginger you said,” he said finally, “You know, we have no footage of the incident at the mansion. A guy like Carlisle, in bed with dangerous mafia types and has hired bodyguards but mysteriously his security cameras all managed not to work at the time of the attack. Police body and car cams were stolen. Tying up loose ends alright.”

“So, what’s your next step? We can ask Bruster what he knows, I’m sure he’ll be elated to see a State Detective and a Federal Agent in his lobby.” Roy floated.

"Especially one that's a lighter shade of brown," Agent Garcia gestured with his wrist to show off the medium olive coloring of his hand. "I think we'll have to start there before we go digging into forensics, if there is much. Let's pay him a visit, I appreciate you coming along, Detective. I know how insular it can be."

Roy picked up her jacket from the back of her chair and slipped it on, “Alright, let’s get this show on the road and catch this snake fucking piece of shit.” She spat, the humor edging over to actual anger towards the end, “Can’t believe he actually made it this far with the department at his back. I’m sorry, Garcia. It’s a huge failure, and the only thing I can do is help you fix this fuck up.”

Agent Mark Garcia nodded, then tilted his head, “He’s had a lot of people fooled, no doubt he’s a professional, don’t take it too hard. Why would you suspect him to be anything else than what he claimed?”

He stood up and tucked the file folder under his arm, “We’ll get him, if he’s even whiffed the gunpowder off those dead officers we’ll nail him to the wall.”

Roy looked away from Garcia and nodded. He was right, she knew that, but to think that girl they’d found in the woods wouldn’t get the justice she deserved, all because someone felt it would hurt their interests. Perhaps it was the same ones who’d put her there, and up until now she rested easy thinking the Feds were handling it on their end. She was a goddamned fool. She looked back at Garcia, “I hope he pulls a fucking gun.” She said, the implication of what she’d have to do if that happened hung in the air between them, “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

…///

\\\…It wasn’t an eventful drive. The fact they were on the hunt for a team of professional killers, and a very dangerous one at that, hung heavy over their heads. They were stopped at a red light, Roy’s cheek resting on her hand, the other on the steering wheel of the Dodge Charger Interceptor. She sighed, “You know anything about the case I met him on?” She asked, “It might give you a context, help with your investigation.”

Garcia was looking out his window when she spoke and glanced over, “I know what I was working on. Building a trafficking case on Carlisle until it was scattered to the wind. We had been watching his mansion. I know about the Russians but I never knew the connection here. As for the case here, I had a colleague from Quantico ask about information on Carlisle but she was very cagey about any details why. I don’t know if she was working something down here or what, she never said. I’m technically working on the trafficking case and there’s other teams investigating the murders but I know this asshole better than any of them. He was in bed with Russians who had kept it pretty quiet, for Russians. The Tadjbegskye Bratva he was possibly selling girls to...well they’re slippery. To say the least. There’s also suspicion that they killed one of our own agents and his wife, over another murder investigation.”

He turned to look at Roy, “We’re seriously looking to pound these guys and now we got this...Davidson fuck screwing us over, too.”

“Sounds…” Roy shook her head, placing her hands on the wheel and sitting up as the light turned green. She didn’t have many words about this situation, she’d never been pulled into investigating an international human trafficking syndicate, “Sounds shitty. I’m sorry about the agent you lost.”

Roy frowned, “We’ll get Davidson.”

She pulled them into a spot on the street, getting out and pointing up the row of shops and other businesses, “It’ll be up there. Hopefully he’s happy to see us.” Roy rested her palm on the butt of her handgun, “Because I sure will be happy to see him.”

The brisk walk to the front door of the ASC office almost seemed in vain. Roy reached over and pulled on the handle, expecting the door to swing outward like it was supposed to. But, it seemed locked during business hours. She pulled it again, brows furrowing, “What the fuck, Bruster…”

The receptionist appeared inside, rounding the corner with a large smile that would’ve lit up the room until she saw who it was. She stopped for a second, hesitated, but knew when the police came knocking she’d better answer. She produced the keys from her suit pants and unlocked the door, swinging it open, “Hello! How are you?”

“I’m fine. Here for Bruster.” Roy said, not flattered by the receptionist’s bubbly greeting. “Detective Roy, State Police.”

“Oh,” the receptionist’s smile faltered, stepping aside and waving them in, “Okay, he’s busy with a phone call, but he can definitely see you after. Please, have a seat.”

“Sure.” Roy said, not following her direction toward the seats as the receptionist once again disappeared down the hall towards Bruster’s office.

The waiting room itself looked high end, modern. White walls, dark hardwood floor. Glass shelves showed some meaningless trinkets probably gotten at a Pier 1. Just something to spice up the visuals in the room besides the ficus trees, and the large screen mounted on the wall playing a slideshow of happy, smiling white Anglo families. Roy sighed, “And they say ignorance doesn’t pay.”

Special Agent Garcia glanced at the slideshow and breathed heavily through his nose, a dismissal of her observation. “It hasn’t been ignorance since the ‘70s, they know. Desperate to keep their hold at the top, they just lost the hoods and put on a suit. It’s a lot easier to hate and blame than think critically and admit being wrong. Then there are just those jerks that like inflicting pain and indiginity on others.”

He turned and raised his eyebrows at her, but did not apologize. The FBI ran investigations against people like Bruster and Garcia was going to take notes. If he did have connections to a bratva human trafficking or gun running, then he would bring it back to the Bureau.

Garcia leaned a little towards Roy, “So, do you think he’s gonna prefer to talk to you because you’re white or me because I’m a man? The struggles.”

“I guess whatever’s easier for the hamster wheel in his skull. Of course, you know how AB and those guys are.” Roy shrugged, “Happy to play nice with the Mexican cartels when it benefits them.”

Garcia gave a crooked smile at her remark, “Too bad I’m not Mexican.”

The sound of a door opening and closing, the tack-tack-tack of the receptionist’s high heels on the hardwood floor signaled her approach. Her smile was still plastered on with red lipstick and she graciously waved them down the hall, “Mister Bruster is ready to see you now.”

Roy returned her smile and went for the hall, a glance cast at the closed door of a meeting room, no doubt when the ASC had their annual I Hate Minorities and You Should Too seminars. She rapped her knuckles on the office door, not able to see through the hazy glass panel that was set in every door in this place. Bruster himself answered and smiled at Roy, “Hello, Detective, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, knowing that ex-convicted felon Gary Bruster has gone legit.” Roy put her hand out for Gary to shake, “This is my new friend, Special Agent Mark Garcia.”

“Agent Garcia, pleased to meet you.” To his credit, Gary offered much the same smile he had for Roy, as well as his hand for a shake.

He followed her to the office, giving the secretary a good look over, more to see how she responded than any real interest. He had a Dominican wife that would knife him if he cheated and he would have deserved it.

Garcia smoothed his jacket over his holster as the door opened and he reached to shake Bruster’s hand, imagining for a second slapping cuffs on it instead. One day, it would catch up to him. He would not stay clean, this racist charity organization was not legit in his eyes and Bruster would fuck up and hopefully on a federal level.

He smiled, his dark eyes examining the man’s face for any signs past the bland pleasantness. “Thanks for seeing us, we know you must be very busy.”

Very,” Bruster chuckled, “It’s always an uphill battle trying to get some good Americans back into government. Maybe make your job a little easier, toughen up on crime.”

Bruster smiled at Roy and Garcia both, ironic, knowing what he’d been up to in the past. Roy was unconvinced that he’d ever really change past his wardrobe, biker attire to a button-up. But Roy could see it. Or thought she could, anyway. She pushed the thoughts of Davidson swindling the case out from under her to the back of her mind as they all took their seats in Bruster’s office. The same ficus trees and other decor, and a folded flag in a frame next to pictures of him in a uniform up on shelves behind his desk.

She wondered what his fellow Rangers in the Regiment would think about how he felt about some of them. “So, I know this must be a very sensitive question, Mister Bruster.” Roy began, folding her hands on her lap, “But, I need you to think back to before your friend and predecessor Jackson Mitterick… passed. We’re currently trying to investigate a little further into his death in light of recent events. Can you think of anyone he was on particularly bad terms with?”

“Recent events?” Bruster looked at Roy and then to Garcia, a little twinge of nerve in his eye, “His death is a federal case now?”

Garcia steepled his fingers, “His death and who might have had a hand in it. His associates.”

He smiled tightly at Bruster, his dark eyes gleaming at the nervousness. The man looked big and tough even in his suit, a former Army Ranger but even they had weaknesses. “Associates that may have had business that crossed the West Virginia borders, of course.”

“I don’t know,” Bruster shrugged, looking between the two lawmen on the other side of his desk, “I honestly couldn’t tell you. You could check in with Clem-“

“Dead.” Roy cut him off, leaning back in her seat and pursing her lips, searching Bruster’s face for any hint of further nerve.

“Wh-what?” Bruster shuddered, as if the news had sapped the air from his lungs. He swallowed, coughing into his fist, “Jesus Christ, how?”

“Murder.” Roy raised her brows, “There’s a common connection between everyone we’ve found dead.”

Roy inclined her head towards Bruster, “Jay’s old friends.” Roy sighed, looking to Garcia, “You want to ask him about our mystery man? Cut to the chase?”

Garcia sat up, looking directly at Bruster, “Ever meet with a man named John Davidson, a ginger, maybe with a man called Phillips, noticeable tattoos?”

Bruster looked at Garcia for a moment, seeming to think about his next words carefully, “No. Those names don’t really ring a bell.” Bruster cleared his throat, leaning back and shrugging, “I’m sorry, no. I could always ask around the other members of the Club, if that helps?”

“Nobody matching that description at all?” Roy asked, her brows furrowing a tad, “Scar on the cheek?”

At that Bruster’s eyes seemed to be repelled by Roy’s aura for a good few seconds, not going anywhere near her. He shifted in his chair, “No, I’m sorry.” He said, a smile flashing across his lips, “You think this man and his friend are going around and killing people? Killed Jay and Clem?”

“Nothing at all?” Garcia asked, raising a brow. “Well, we’re investigating. There’s a lot of little threads we’re finding that seem to lead to the same braid. That's the thing in West Virginia, you all ended up connected. You think really hard now about Davidson. He’s presented himself as a professional, perhaps even an FBI agent. He’s a dangerous man and whatever he’s doing, it’ll come back to your doorstep, sooner or later. I’d bet money on it.”

Bruster looked to Garcia and simply nodded, “Okay.” He said, “I will. Is there anything else I can help you two with?”

Garcia looked over at Roy, he was having no luck with the man. He seemed rattled when they first mentioned Davidson, now he had a chance to recover. Maybe she could turn on the home town charm.

Roy fixed Bruster with a stare, not mean, not accusatory, just a stare. To see if he’d squirm a little more. Some people were nervous just at the sight of a badge, no real reason to it. Others, those were the ones with very real reasons buried just behind the eyes. Roy nodded, “Listen, I know what you must be thinking. I know what you’ve done in the past, everyone in the fucking precinct does, that’s what records are for.” Roy shrugged, shaking her head, “But seeing as we’ve got a very dangerous person crossing state lines and murdering people who are otherwise innocent in my eyes? That’s a goddamn felony. A felony a lot worse than anything you, or Jay, or Clem has ever done that I know about.”

Roy stood, placing her hands on Bruster’s desk and fixing him with that stare, seeing if he’d squirm. Squirm, even just a little. “So, have you seen a man with a scar on his cheek accompanied by another with tattoos?”

Gary Bruster just sat in his chair, staring back at Roy. They held their little contest for a few seconds before Bruster shook his head, “No.”

“Okay.” Roy pushed off from his desk and turned for the door, nodding to Garcia for him to follow. She smoothed her suit jacket down and said over her shoulder, “If you do see him, please tell me. Appalachian Sons Club office manager helps stop hitman, or serial killer, or whatever the fuck this guy we’re after is.”

Roy opened the door, pulling it aside so Garcia could step through before her, “Take care, Mister Bruster.” Roy smiled tightly, gesturing around the office, “And good luck with this… whatever you say it is.”

Garcia stood and smoothed his jacket, watching Bruster as Roy spoke to him. He would be a tough one, if he did indeed have contact. If he had not, then he was overdue with the pattern this Davidson was setting. He gave Bruster a polite nod and turned, heading out the door the detective held. He walked quickly through the reception area, not bothering with another look at the woman up front.

Outside, he took a deep breath and wished he had not stopped smoking. When Roy emerged he looked at her as he reached for the passenger side door. “Tough cookie, that one.”

Roy opened the driver door and slipped in before Garcia, starting the car and taking a deep breath, her face scrunched up like a snarling dog. She shook her head and blew out the breath, “Not as tough as he thinks.” Roy said, “He’s seen them.”

Roy’s phone began to ring, the annoying tone emanating from her pants pocket before she grabbed it and held it to her ear, “West Virginia State Police, Detective Maryanne Roy… Really?” Roy’s brows furrowed, “I’m on my way.”

Roy slipped her phone back into her pocket and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her knuckles white and fists clenched around the leather so hard the steering wheel creaked, “We’re out of known associates for that motherfucker Mitterick.” Roy said, “Park Police just fucking found Hubert O’Grady’s body deep in the sticks off of a highway into Blackriver.”

She looked to Garcia, “You want to bet me Davidson and his fucking friend are in Blackriver?”

Agent Garcia shook his head, swinging the door open to get inside. “They don’t waste time. Let’s go take a look and hopefully the park police didn’t walk all over our crime scene.”

As they drove, Garcia reached into his pocket for the peppermint gum that had taken the place of cigarettes a decade before. He took a piece and offered one to Roy then chewed his furiously as he thought over the brief interview with Bruster. His jaw worked as he recalled the fluster at Roy’s mention of Davidson, that had to be it. He did know but he was not some street thug or some soft civilian that would crumble easy. Despite his wishes, Garcia knew Bruster was going to be hard to break. Maybe they could get him after this, when he saw another one of his buddies dead.

>…///

“That was Roy,” Donnelley said, still looking out the big panel window of the tiny sandwich shop, just across the street from the ASC office, “Sure as shit.”

“Roy?” Renko asked around a mouthful of a Cuban sandwich, wiping his mouth and bulging cheeks with a napkin.

“State Detective.” Donnelley answered, sipping off his bottle of beer, the bitter Red Hook making him grimace at one corner of his mouth. “And some other suit. Got a feelin’ we ain’t goin’ to be friends.”

He slapped two twenties on the table and stood, downing the rest of his beer. Renko watched him, still chewing on a bit he’d taken out of his sandwich, “Leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“I am not finished.”

“Take it with you then.” Donnelley turned for the door and walked some distance down the street to the beat-up brown 1980 Honda Civic wagon they’d gotten from Alexei. No one asked where he’d brought it back from, and Donnelley didn’t really care. He hopped into the passenger seat next to Queen. Alexei was menacing McCune in the back.

“Anythin’ on the scanner?” Donnelley asked.

Queen sat behind the wheel, still a little sore he never got to drive the SHO before they had to ditch it. A cigarette burned, dangling between his fingers as he rested his arm on the door frame, windows rolled down. He spotted Donnelley and Renko returning and he knew why, he had seen the same car and the same blonde with a badge and some G-man. He knew a Fed when he saw one.

He took a drag as they got into the car, blowing the smoke out the window. He eyed Renko in the rearview mirror as the tang of mustard and pickles made his mouth water. “Gonna give me a bite?”

Queen grinned at him then turned his attention to Donnelley, “Yep, don’t think I’ll ever get that coffee date. Locals found Hubert, I’m sure they’ll be zipping over there to take over the scene. Good thing neither one of us did the shooting.”

“Fuck you.” McCune grumbled from the back.

“No,” Donnelley adjusted the rearview so he could see the bald, squared-jaw asshole state cop, “Fuck you.

McCune scowled and looked away out the window. Donnelley turned back to Queen, “The Russkies have McCune. You and me can go fuck with Gary.” Donnelley had his wolf grin, smelling prey on the wind, “He’s gonna be desperate. We’re gonna go convince him he needs VISCO more than VISCO needs him. We have him by the throat, he can’t say no to shit.”

Queen nodded at that, putting out his cigarette and looked at Donnelley for his ziploc bag. “Let’s do it, let them have fun with McCune. I really wanna watch that shithead Hubert squirm. He thinks he can get out of all this without it following him. He’s a piece of shit and that never changed.”

He reached up and smoothed his hair back, then rubbed his face as if it would rid him of the fatigued circles under his eyes. Sleep had been evasive unless he passed out, unrestful but there were always chemicals to prop himself up. “So we're gonna hop over and see what they wanted with our client?”

“Damn straight.” Donnelley grinned the wider, opening his door again and heading straight for Bruster’s office. With Queen in tow, Donnelley threw open the office door, smoothing back his hair and grinning something mischievous as Sally the receptionist squeaked in startlement at their raucous arrival.

“Gary in?”

“Wha… uh, yes.” Sally smiled nervously. Obviously the State Police, a Fed, and now two supposedly Private Spies marching in and out of Gary Bruster’s ASC office was about as much excitement Sally could handle.

“Thanks.” Donnelley said simply, sauntering over to the back where Gary’s office was and throwing the door open in much the same fashion. What greeted Donnelley and Queen’s eyes couldn’t have been better unless they’d found him sucking Bratva cock in the back of a limo.

“Holy shit-“ Gary was frozen with eyes the size of saucers with a couple lines of white the length of Donnelley’s fingers.

Donnelley pointed and chuckled like the neighbor kid who’d caught Gary doing something he shouldn’t. In a way, he kind of was, “Oh-hoooo,” Donnelley fished his phone out and snapped a quick picture of Gary hurriedly trying to put away the incriminating nose candy, “What’s the matter, Bruster, something got you nervous?”

Queen slid between Donnelley and the door, the impish smile returning to his face when he saw Bruster’s guilty expression. The flash from Donnelley’s phone made him blink and he dragged his gaze from the lines back to Bruster. He tisked, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Naughty, naughty.”

He circled around to his side, snatching the mirror, the fine powder scattering over it. Queen took a taste, rubbing it on his gums and stepped back, still gripping the mirror. “Mediocre at best, is that what you’re getting in these parts? What a bummer to get busted for shitty coke.”

“What the fuck is this?” Bruster flipped from shock to anger, like a little boy who got caught with his hands too far in the jar.

“You,” he pointed at Donnelley and then jabbed the finger into his own chest, “work for me. I paid you-“

“No.” Donnelley had lost his smile then, shaking his head in a slow motion from left to right, a sharpness in his eyes, “No, Gary Bruster. I work for me.

Donnelley sat himself down in the chair in front of Gary’s desk, reaching his legs up to rest on the rich mahogany or whatever the fuck wood this desk was made of. He pulled the pistol from his holster hidden under his coat and rested it in his lap, “Matter fact, you work for me too now. I know just how deep you are with the Russians, I know how and why your stupid Nazi shitfuck friend Clem was killed.” Donnelley stared flat eyes boring into Gary’s own, “I saved your buddy Hubert from this whole Eastern Promises Bratva-Propavsheye turf war love triangle y’all got goin’ on in this bullshit mountain state.”

Bruster’s lip twitched with fury, “I suggest you walk on out of here before I call-“

“The police? You mean McCune?” Donnelley asked, “McCune, right? The dirty cop you got turnin’ tricks for the AB and now the Russians too? The dirty cop I got in the back of my car right now that I could frame for the murder of Hubert O’Grady whenever the fuck I want?

Donnelley got back to standing and hunched over Bruster’s desk, resting on the knuckles of his one hand and the other still placed on the handgun as it came to rest on Bruster’s desk, barrel yawning menacingly in Bruster’s direction, “Because, when Jay stopped bein’ useful for me, my friend and I threw him away like a fuckin’ napkin.”

“So, in a way, we made you, Gary. You’re not makin’ waves here, you’re just one of our ripples. You didn’t climb into this throne, you tripped.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “And if you don’t want to trip into your grave like Hubert, Clem, and Jay you’ll shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to do.”

“And what is that?” Bruster swallowed.

“You’re goin’ to make another twenty-thousand dollar payment to the account I gave you, and another two-thousand every month.” Donnelley smirked at the storm brewing behind Bruster’s eyes.

“As for what you get out of all this? I don’t leak the pictures I took to the media and expose your role in Russian drug traffickin’.” Donnelley shrugged, “You get to keep playin’ bigshot in your men’s wearhouse outfit and smoke cigars with old, white fucks on weekend golf trips, knowin’ you’re safe from me as long as you keep marchin’ to my drum.”

“Am I understood?” Bruster nodded at Donnelley’s question, “Then where’s your fuckin’ checkbook and why am I not seein’ you write in it?”

“Who the fuck are you two?”

“We’re the worst of the worst, Gary. The biggest criminals and extortionists that would make you and every delusional tweaker conspiracy theorist in every meth house and internet forum blush with the shit we’ve gotten away with.” Donnelley frowned, “We’re the government.

>…///

Donnelley fell into the passenger seat of the Honda Civic, making the suspension rock and shut his door. He sighed, “Had to happen sometime.” Donnelley said, shaking his head. Aliases were meant to be used up and burned away, but he usually decided when and how it happened. From Gary’s mouth, Roy and Garcia didn’t have many leads, but he didn’t want to wait around to see if they’d find some. “My only question is how the fuck the FBI caught wind of the Carlisle kidnapping and connected it to us? Or John Davidson and Bradley Phillips anyhow.”

Queen lit a cigarette then started the car, he had resisted confiscating the coke, shitty or not, it was free cocaine. Instead, he had left poor Bruster to reconcile his new place in life with the subpar powder. At Donnelley’s question, he shrugged slightly, turning the wheel as he backed out of the parking spot. He glanced at him, the Kools clamped in his teeth as he pulled into the street. He reached up, blowing the smoke out the open window, “You don’t know, do you, how the FBI might have connected us with Carlisle. None at all?”

Queen shifted his gaze and cleared his throat, “I ain’t gonna say it.”

“Well, you’d better say it later,” Donnelley growled, looked sidelong at Queen, not exactly wanting to have this conversation with the present company, “We’ll figure this shit out.”

Queen nodded slowly, not wanting to have the conversation at all. “Sure thing, boss.”

He glanced at the rear view mirror, looking at Renko beside McCune, “He behaving himself back there?”

Alexei slapped a hand down on McCune’s shoulder, squeezing so tight McCune’s face scrunched up. He let out a grunt through gritted teeth, “Yes.

“That’s good.” Donnelley said, looking out the window, “We’ve got unfinished business we need to hash out with you, McCune.”

“That so?”

Donnelley looked in the rearview towards McCune, “You, me, and my good friend in the driver’s seat here are gonna have a nice little visit to what I know you can’t live without.”

“No…” McCune‘a eyes widened, “You motherfucker, you said as long as I was useful to you…”

“We’ll have to see, friendo.” Donnelley turned the rearview away from his eyes back to Queen’s. He could hear McCune’s panic in his breaths behind him.

The Things We Leave Behind…

The Hour’s Getting Late…

>HILLSDALE, WV
>OUTSIDE CHARLESTON
>MCCUNE HOUSEHOLD
>1200…///

It was just the three of them inside the car, situated on the quiet and empty suburb streets of Hillsdale. Donnelley had elected to drive while McCune sat in the passenger seat, urged not to try anything funny by the barrel of the ASP poking the back of his head. It was an unspoken arrangement that the windshield would be painted with McCune’s last thoughts if he didn’t listen to Donnelley. The sky outside was blue, spattered with errant clouds of white, temperature was mild. Just right. Seemed a shame to be holding a man hostage today with the threat of death.

“Which one’s yours?” Donnelley asked.

McCune pointed out a white house with green trim, a single-story quaint cottage. A blonde woman in her forties was watering the lawn in a modest dress with a floral pattern made of warm colors. Her belly looked to be protruding, swelling with a baby as her hand rested on it. Donnelley felt that pang of regret, guilt striking at his heart, but he’d had lots of practice pretending he didn’t even feel it. “What’s her name?” Donnelley asked, fingering the Steyr handgun in his lap.

“Why?”

“Because, you got a gun to your head and I could roll past your house and dump your faceless corpse on the front lawn if you don’t tell me.” Donnelley spoke matter-of-factly, looking at McCune for a long moment before returning his gaze to his wife in the yard, shrugging, “Or somethin’ like that.”

“Mary.” McCune answered, satisfied with the reason. “She’s showin’ now. Got another one on the way.”

“I can see that.” Donnelley nodded, “You think that’ll make it hard enough for me not to come back here and burn down your house while she’s sleepin’ if you fuck with me?”

Donnelley looked back at Queen, “What do you think?”

“I think we’re giving this fuck too much time to think about it,” Queen said, his voice still light but there was an edge to it, an impatience. “It wouldn’t be the first time we wiped a man’s line from this earth.”

He poked the barrel against the back of McCune’s head, brushing the tender spot where the brainstem would be obliterated. McCune flinched, leaning his head forward in vain in an effort to get away from the gun.

Donnelley produced a phone from the center console. He flipped it open, dialing a number he wouldn’t explain how he got. Across the way, Mary McCune looked around until she found her phone, answering it. McCune could hear her on the other end, “Hello? Hello?”

McCune looked to Donnelley, who pushed the phone towards McCune. He took it, and pressed it to his ear. Whatever Mary was saying on the other end, they couldn’t hear. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Matt… yeah… No, my phone’s dead, I had to borrow one from one of the guys… yeah… oh-uh-oh, you got that? Yeah… well, I’ll see you in a bit. We can talk all about it… bye, baby. Love you, tell Jenny too.”

Donnelley took the phone from McCune and broke it in half, removing the battery and dropping it in a Tupperware of water in the backseat. “Jenny.

“Here’s the deal,” Donnelley said, still watching McCune’s wife, “Everythin’ I said until now still stands. You even give me a suspicion that you’re about to fuck me, I’ll give the right people all the evidence I need to frame you for the murder of Hubert O’Grady.”

“I’ll link you to the Bratva and you’ll be rottin’ away in a Federal Pen.” Donnelley frowned, “And your wife and daughter’ll be all alone out here with the wolves. Wolves like us.”

“If you keep bein’ a good boy,” Donnelley perked up just a tad, “Your daughter gets ten thousand dollars lump-sum, and another two stacks monthly. College fund, so that she doesn’t have to be like you.

“So she doesn’t end up like Maria. Snatched from her parents and tricked out to whoever had cash.” Donnelley stared daggers into McCune’s face, “Think they’ll charge more for her, or no? Nobody deserves that. Right, McCune?”

“Yeah.” McCune muttered, looking longingly at his wife, “How do I know if I do whatever you’re asking, the Russians aren’t just going to do to me what you’re saying you will?”

“Just a risk you’ll have to take. You’ll be servin’ your country, McCune. Makin’ sure you got at least a little bit of an argument when Saint Peter tries to turn you away from the pearly gates.” Donnelley nudged McCune, who did nothing. There was a time when he was top dog, big man on the block stomping down the sidewalks because he was untouchable. Until Donnelley and Queen showed him how vulnerable he really was when he fucked with people who routinely did away with the law and the constitution in the name of national security against the terror of what lay in waiting beyond, “All you have to do is remember you got a leash. And we’re on the other end of it.”

“Can you do that?” Donnelley asked. McCune nodded.

“You wanna break the news of who’s nice enough to pay for McCune’s daughter’s college?” Donnelley spoke to Queen.

Queen leaned in, “Why none other than your old buddy, Bruster. Putting his millions to good use, I’d say. I think we deserve some gratitude, your daughter got lucky and will benefit despite the fact her father turned his head when girls like her were being trafficked right under his nose, right in his jurisdiction.”

He smiled, more of a baring of teeth and looked into the rearview mirror to meet McCune’s gaze, “Girls just like her, only they didn’t get to go to college. They got drugged and raped and sold to men, some murdered and mutilated before their sweet sixteen. Ain’t it just that lucky, deputy?”

Queen sank back but kept the gun trained on the back of his head. He hated McCune more than the rest, the man was a cop and he let those things happen to line his pockets. His finger flexed slightly on the trigger and he had to take a deep breath and wished for a Xanax. For a pile of coke or anything to drown out the sight of the hanging skin in that cabin like a goddamn bathrobe set out to dry.

“You just remember that I’ve killed men for less than everythin’ you’ve done and I sleep like a baby.” Donnelley lied, but McCune didn’t have to know that, “Better and worse men. Which one you think you are? How heavy you think makin’ your family dress in black and your buddies at the station givin’ you the twenty-one gun gonna make me?”

McCune already knew the answer, just stared at his wife more like a distraction from the rabid dogs around him than any sort of loving gaze. A hard, dry swallow was his answer, and it was enough for Donnelley, “Now go. Kiss your wife’s belly, hug her. Tuck your daughter into bed tonight, read her a story.”

McCune nodded stiffly, reaching to the car door and opening it, closing it behind him as he walked that thousand miles across the street to his front lawn. He jogged over to his wife and crashed into her with a crushing embrace, kissing her more deeply now that he had a damn good reason to live life better than he ever had the past few years. It almost made Donnelley shed a tear. If he had any left.

McCune turned to watch the Honda Civic make a U-turn in the suburb street and speed away. He was quiet. More quiet than Mary had ever seen him as he stared and watched the car go. “Baby, what’s the matter?” Mary asked, laying a hand on his chest and leaning to peer into his eyes.

McCune’s lips twitched, and he drew in a quivering breath. “Baby?” Mary whispered, placing a hand on McCune’s cheek as he screwed his eyes shut, “Oh, baby…”

“I love you, Mary, I’m so sorry.”

>…///

“You think we convinced him?” Donnelley asked after Queen had clambered back into the passenger seat as they drove down the Charleston streets. No good humor left to spare.

Queen tucked the ASP in his waistband, pulling the shirt over it before buckling in. “I think if he’s that fucking dense, I’ll need a bigger caliber to put one through his head. Yeah, I’m sure he got it. Not that he fucking deserves it, but he got it.”

He sighed and glanced at Donnelley briefly, Renko quiet in the back. “You think he’ll be of any real use or did you just feel sorry for Deputy Dad?”

Queen looked out at the suburban neighborhood and was struck by a sudden memory of another blonde woman in her front yard. Only this one was bringing in groceries and only mother to a cat, a pretty young woman who wore the badge of the US Border Patrol and was dutiful. She did her job while McCune looked away and she paid while he profited. Agent...her name slipped his mind and he fought to grasp it.

She had pried around a case taken from her by the Program and made the mistake of speaking to a reporter, she had done what she thought was the right thing but it had been wrong. Queen felt the weight of guilt in his chest, the press of it so heavy he had to force a deep breath. He had staked out her house and learned who she was and her routine, her face was clear yet her name danced from the fog of suppression. He had set it up and unleashed Ghost on her and McCune hugged his wife.

He reached into his pocket, not caring about the Russian. He fumbled around, grabbing whatever came to his finger tips. A bar of Xanax. He should have taken Bruster’s shitty coke, fuck why didn’t he? Queen tossed the pill in his mouth and tried to dry swallow it, finding it stuck and he coughed.

“Renko, got any soda left in that cup?” he asked, tasting the bitterness of the dissolving pill.

“If he wasn’t any use to us I would’ve left him with Hubert on the side of that road.” Donnelley said as Renko reached around and shook the ice cubes in the fast food cup for Queen to take it, “He don’t deserve pity. But he’s the head of Natalya’s security while she’s stateside, his information’s worth it.”

Donnelley shook his head, muttering, “Ain’t the first deal I made with crooked fucks.”

Queen took the cup, opening the lid to drain the melted ice water and force down the tab. He sucked in a few cubes and crunched them, glancing at the rearview mirror at Renko, “Thanks, bud.”

He settled back against his seat, Queen grunted, “That’s right. Useful. Gotta stay useful to stay alive.”

Reaching for a cigarette, he felt the pack and it was empty. Had it been that long since he stopped on the ride from Florida to Kentucky. Queen crumpled the green box and tossed it at his feet.

Weber

The agent's name came back to him as he dropped the trash. Agent Kristen Weber, US Border Patrol. A modest house in the outskirts of Phoenix and a fat gray cat in the window.

Queen glanced at Donnelley, “Can I bum a cigarette?”

Donnelley took his own pack from his pocket and tossed it in Queen’s lap, “Go crazy, man.” Donnelley forced a smirk to try to add some levity to the car ride after threatening to kill a man and his whole family if he didn’t submit to blackmail. He noticed the troubled look on Queen’s brow, and he sometimes forgot just how this life could affect his friend when Queen always acted like nothing touched him. He should’ve known better, “You look… pensive, brother.”

Queen lit the cigarette and took a drag, muffling a cough and he hissed at the strong flavor without the familiar menthol. “Oh, you know,” he said, “Just remembering.”

He looked out the window, conscious of Renko in the backseat. Aware of Donnelley’s attention on him, Queen kept his gaze ahead. The closeness they had shared for years had fractured, he still hurt from the rejection, even if he knew it was likely inevitable, after five years it had felt like something he could always count on and now it was gone. “Thinking about THUNDER things.”

“We can talk about it later.” Donnelley said quietly, knowing full well that his own time in THUNDER was no vacation.

“What is THUNDER?” Renko asked from the backseat.

“It’s that loud thing after lightning, don’t worry about it.” Donnelley brushed Renko off, who didn’t seem to take it too personally as he shrugged and looked out the window, loudly slurping down more of the coke in the empty soda cup. “I’m sorry if… you felt like I left you back there, with THUNDER.”

Queen shrugged, “You got promoted, you deserved it. You needed your own team.”

He put the window down a bit to flick the ashes and took another drag. Queen felt the clenching in his chest that he got when he thought about how he lost Tex when he left the team and now as a lover. Nothing stays the same, he reminded himself. “Well, there’s hardly a THUNDER left, we’ll see how it goes.”

Queen glanced back at Renko, recalling their conversation and the sudden loneliness clawed at him. The thought about starting over with a brand new team, even further from Donnelley and their past felt daunting but maybe it would end up being the best. There was only Ghost and Poker, but they were devils he knew and that knew him.

He smiled slyly, then added, “But if I did, I hope I get lucky enough to get a team full of hot ass like you did.”

“Yeah,” Donnelley returned the little smirk, “I did luck out with that didn’t I?”

He smiled as they drove back to the storage facility he and Queen had left their bikes at. As they grew closer, so too did Donnelley’s sadness start to set back in. He couldn’t help but to remember everything they’d done the past few days. They’d left a tangled web here, one of murder and blackmail to prop up a rogue and highly illegal operation to somehow pit a few people against an international conspiracy and come out on top. Donnelley was a risk-taker, and at one point he really did have a deathwish that fueled his career with the Program, and had earned himself a reputation as a crazy cowboy… but even he had his doubts about this plan of his.

Once they’d made it past the gate and ambled up to the storage garage their bikes were in, he cut the engine and just sat in the driver seat. He took in a breath and let it out slow, shaking his head, “I’ll never know why the fuck you trust me enough to do this shit with me, Queen,” Donnelley snorted ruefully, “But, damn, am I glad you do.”

He got out of the car and lifted the door of the garage open after unlocking it, their two beauties of bikes still intact and waiting for them behind the garage door. Renko was still in the car, and as Queen sided up with Donnelley at the garage, he put his hands on his hips. “Obviously, we can’t be seen around here for a good while. Or with each other.” Donnelley worked his jaw, wanting to say what was just at the tip of his tongue, but what felt so painful to choke back every time, “What… So, what’re you plannin’ on doin’ with that bigshot money we squeezed from Bruster?”

Queen looked at Donnelley for a long moment, his sea colored eyes searching his face. “You don’t know?” he asked, the Xanax now evening him out but the pain was there, muted and dulled but there. “I trust you because...”

He swallowed hard and put his hand in his pocket, the words that he should have said long ago remained caught in his throat. It was too late now and he fished out his baggie, finding another bar of the benzidine. “Ah, you know me. I’ll give some to my mom and blow the rest on coke and hookers. What else would I do?”

Queen popped the tab and looked down at the bag, the coke was gone but he still had the pills from Alaska. “What about you?”

Donnelley frowned, shrugged, “I got a couple ideas.” The memories of the lonely highways covered in red dirt in West Texas came to him on a breeze, and he had a small smile then, “Probably go down south and visit the only person in Texas thought I was a good kid.”

“Tell your ma I said hi. And I miss her pancakes.” Donnelley chuckled softly as he looked over at Queen standing on his left. His eyes held on Queen for a good while, his smile faltering every second until he was just staring at him. He swallowed, and wrung his hands over each other, “Queen, Billy…”

Donnelley’s mouth tried to form around the words though the sound was nowhere, until he sighed, “I…” He looked down at his boots, then stared off to the side of Queen, “I’m gonna miss you. I hope… just stay safe, Billy. Or as safe as you ever fuckin’ stay.”

Queen drew in a breath, trying to keep himself composed even with the help of Xanax. It hurt with each word Donnelley spoke and he felt a bubble of anger trying to rise. He glanced at him, then shook his head, “You know I’m gonna miss you but this is your choice, I ain’t got much of a say. I know what I am to you. What I was and I can’t compete.”

He took out his keys and grabbed the helmet hanging off the handle bars, his chest tight and he hated the trembling in his hands as he gripped the handle bars to back the bike out. Queen grit his teeth then sighed, “Whatever happens, just know that...I love you. I’ll be here for you, just...like you said, we gotta be apart.”

Queen put his helmet on, hiding his eyes that welled up. He pulled the bike out the door and climbed on, starting it up.

While Queen’s engine roared to life, Renko stepped up next to Donnelley, his hand clapping down on his shoulder and pulling him away from the moment he and Queen had shared, bittersweet as it was. “My friend. I will be here with Alexei, we will keep the pieces on the board, yes?” Renko clapped Donnelley again, this time on his back and gave a smile of brotherly camaraderie, “We will give justice where it is deserved.”

“She’s still out there.” Donnelley looked at Renko, “Levy.

“We will find her. We will kill her.” Renko said with as much seriousness as Donnelley had ever seen come over the Russian.

Renko waved to the both of them as he went back to the Civic, shifting into drive and going off on his way wherever he hid when waiting for someone from UMBRA to show up in West Virginia. Now, Donnelley was alone in the parking lot of the storage complex, so quiet now. None of Queen’s laughing, none of Renko’s broken, accented English. Just Donnelley. He walked to his bike and sat down, straddling the machine, slipping his flask out of his vest pocket and taking a few long pulls. He looked back out in the direction where Queen had sped off and searched the wind for the sound of his bike. No luck. He sighed, taking hold of his bike’s handlebars and frowned.

“I love you too.”

He raised his boot and kicked it down forcefully, the faithful Indian Chief roaring to life and anger, giving Donnelley some measure of its sympathy as it sat growling in hunger for the road, and the miles to chew away at until he was far enough away from here he could pretend he didn’t remember it at all. He cranked the throttle after shifting into gear and set himself towards the highway.
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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Truth…


>STAY 4 LESS MOTEL, FREDERICKSBURG, VA
>14OCT2019
>0100...///

Another rental car, another shitty motel, another secret meeting with Donnelley. Laine lit her clove cigarette as she shut the Impala’s door with her hip, tapping the key fob to lock it. She was dressed in black jeans and heeled boots, the lace trimmed blouse hidden under her fitted leather jacket. She walked across the parking lot, the buzzing lights not doing much to flatter the peeling paint on the blue doors of the motel. Rounding the corner of the outer building, she spotted the green bench he said to look for.

She glanced at his text again, to make sure she had read it right. If the tack is still there meet me in room 315. Laine blew smoke out and rolled her eyes as his game, a hint of a smile touching her burgundy lips. He could have just come to her townhouse, they could be relaxing right now in front of the fake fireplace with a bottle of mediocre wine.

Laine got closer to the bench, half expecting him to jump out at her and laugh that she had followed such ridiculous instructions. All was silent however, a distant roaring motor of some overcharged engine and a sputtering backfire that made her duck her head instinctively. Her heart raced and she found she was kneeling next to the bench without even realizing she had moved so quickly.

She sighed at the reaction, Laine knew it was from the exposure to gunfights and everything they had been through but also the training she was receiving. Cigarette pressed between her lips, she looked across the bench and saw it. A yellow pushpin jammed into the wooden seat.

Laine popped it free and glanced around, standing up she pocketed the innocuous tack and made her way back to the motel, hunting for room 315. She passed through the archway where the soda and ice machines were and continued down until she found it near the end.

She put out her clove cigarette, picking up the butt to save as she had adopted the habit from Donnelley. Laine used to think it was paranoia but now she realized it was appropriate caution. She knocked three times and waited, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, toying with the tack. She could feel the weight of her 9mm sitting inside of her waistband, the new holster for the throw away gun was still stiff but easier to conceal than her FBI issued equipment.

The doorknob turned and opened after the sound of the lock and chain being undone. What greeted Laine was the man she knew, and loved, except for the weight of a couple sleepless nights and a boulder of stress resting across his back. He smiled at her, a tired little thing, but sincere as it could be. “Really good seein’ you.”

Laine met the bloodshot blue eyes and could see the fatigue, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the yellow tack, holding it up for him. “Is this your idea of vacation?” she said, then softened, “It’s good to see you too. What’s going on?”

She stepped inside the room when he backed up, glancing around at the decor that seemed to favor orange and looked like it had not been updated since the Carter administration. Cigarette burns in the carpet and drywall patched holes barely concealed under a coat of paint and an old tube tv bolted to the wall completed the no tell motel look.

Once the door closed and was locked she turned to Donnelley and moved to embrace him. He looked like he needed it and she had missed him. “We could have just met at my place.”

Donnelley let the subject rest while he squeezed Laine in an embrace that made it seem like they hadn’t met in years. He let her go then and fell into one of the chairs, looking up at her. For a moment, he wondered how he should frame it, and then his tired mind stretched that moment out into an uncomfortable silence. Donnelley broke himself from the spell only to sigh and shake his head, eyes on the floor, “If you knew where I just came in from, you’d know why I couldn’t just come to your place.”

He said that, knowing she just wouldn’t understand until he just came up and out with it, but how could he? It wasn’t something he ever imagined doing, or wanted to. His lips moved, but whatever mumble came out of them fell short of Laine’s ears.

Laine raised her eyebrow at him as sat down, his whole body seemed to be pressed with the weight of the world. She stepped over to him, not understanding the mutter. Laine knelt before him, rather than loom over and put her hands against his thighs. “What is it? You can tell me, what have you been getting up to?”

His drooping head raised, his eyes raising with it to meet Laine’s and there was a newfound wetness forming just under them. He swallowed hard, dry, “You were right.” His voice was small, none of the smirking bravado or brashness of the country boy punk she’d come to know, “I couldn’t, or didn’t want to see it… but, you were right.”

He frowned, “Foster did this. It was all him.

Laine stared up at him for a moment, then slapped her hands against his thighs. “I fucking knew it. I knew it, I knew I should trust my instincts.”

She stood up, the expression in her face not joy at being right but a fierce vindication flashing in her green eyes. “That two faced bastard, I knew something was off. What happened, how did you even find out?”

Laine turned back to Donnelley, the sudden realization of the cost of the information. “And, I’m sorry I was right, I didn’t want to be. I know he meant more to you than he ever did to us.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, then kissed the top of his head, kneeling back down. “Tell me everything.”

“It should be in the book bag. Everythin’ you need to know.” He said, nodding to the simple black bag on the foot of the bed, “Foster made a deal with March Tech. He had Clyde Baughman killed, and he took me from THUNDER to head a team of people who wouldn’t spot the red flags. Wouldn’t dig deeper. Wouldn’t ask questions, because they were so new they wouldn’t know what questions to ask.

“Or so he… they thought.” Donnelley’s lip quivered in a frown, a thing of contempt, “They fuckin’ played us. And when we started gettin’ close… they had us killed.”

Laine went over to the back pack and pulled it up onto the bed, listening as she unzipped it. She began digging through the contents as she spoke, “March Tech? You mean, the private plane, the sushi guy?”

She pulled a file and looked at Donnelley, her gaze sharp, “Well, they made a damn mistake getting an FBI agent on their team. We’re not exactly known for giving up the chase.”

Laine paused, her thoughts turning to Tom who tread too close to the Russians and their other teammates killed by the monster in the mountain. She paused, “You know, I wondered about Baughman’s death. I never got an autopsy report, I should have asked for one but it wasn’t my task. We were so busy cleaning up after the Program. Unless he had sudden natural death like a heart attack or was murdered, he would never have left his wife like that. He literally made a deal with the devil to bring her back.”

She sighed, “They probably would have had a fake one anyway, they know how to do that. Anyway, let’s see what you got.”

Laine sat on the end of the bed opening the first file and began to read. Donnelley watched her, seeing her eyes go over the pages of whatever she was reading. No matter what she picked in there, it would be a revelation. There wouldn’t be any going back.

“No.” Donnelley said, “It wasn’t Clyde’s deal. It was forced on him. Levy… Doctor Germaine did that to Marlene. Whatever woke up… it wasn’t her.”

Laine paused, rereading a passage and slowly looked up and over at Donnelley. “Levy? Doctor fucking Levy did this. She killed Maria, too. And the others...the small scrubs. Medical knowledge, it was a doctor. I was wrong, so wrong.”

She looked back at the file on her lap and restrained the urge to throw it across the room. “That bitch!”

Laine’s green eyes blazed, “She was right fucking there that whole time! Enjoying every moment under that sour face attitude. Jesus, she had Alex there all alone. How did you find these, all these files, that information about Foster and Levy?”

Donnelley stood, finding his pack of cigarettes and lighting one, drawing in a deep drag and blowing it out as he looked at Laine. His eyes settling on hers, “I got tired of bein’ in the dark.” He said, “About Clyde, about Foster, about Blackriver.”

“So I went back.” Donnelley frowned, “Queen and I went back. And we jumped up to our necks in that muddied water and pulled those files right there straight out of that lyin’ fuckin’ bitch’s hut in the woods.”

“Vera Corp, the company that bought the MacOnie mines, they’re out there doin’ somethin’ in the mountains, and it ain’t just minin’. And I have half a mind to think they wanted those files as bad as I did.” He took another drag, blowing it through his nostrils, “Because they shot at us. The Doctor wasn’t there.”

He looked away from Laine, shaking his head slow, “We killed her big partner. Germaine, Levy, whatever she’s callin’ herself…” Donnelley’s lips curled back in a quiet snarl, “She’s still out there.

Laine stared at him for a moment, her mouth open slightly. The large partner, the big scrubs and gloves, everything laid out for her in the files she now had in her hands. Maria’s killers, they gave her over to whatever entity they were dealing with. Something like Ithaqua but in the West Virginia hills, something granting dark wishes for power. This doctor using the town and the tourists, the trafficked girls for her experiments. She flipped the page, a photograph of a horror staring back at her. Laine breathed in sharply, then said, “I wish I had gone with you, to see her hut, to examine everything. Don’t go back without me, Donnelley.”

She sat up and leaned forward, “I want this bitch to pay for Maria and Mrs. Baughman, and all the others she has tortured in life and after death but first, I want answers directly from her mouth. I want to go to those labs Vera Corp has, I want to see for myself.”

Laine paused, then asked, “How long until Foster gets wind of your field trip?”

“Hopefully fuckin’ never.” Donnelley shrugged, “But, I can’t know until they’re knockin’ on my door or catch me in my sleep…”

“If you know what I mean.” Donnelley let that lie for a moment, “I’m not goin’ to lie, we have some answers, but that bag is the biggest target on all of our heads. It’s too soon for anyone to know what Queen and I did, but they might soon.”

He paused, taking another drag and flicking the ashes, “I saw a Fed with Detective Roy.” He mentioned, “Garcia.”

Laine felt a prickle of foreboding along the back of her neck, the idea Donnelley would be marked for death if Foster found out. She looked at the files, flipping through the one in her lap, she would be up all night reading and absorbing the contents, the first few pages already had her outraged and it would not get better.

“I know what you mean, we can’t let that happen,” she said, “So don’t go off on your own anytime soon.”

“Why was a Fed with Roy?” she asked, narrowing her eyes for a moment when he mentioned the name. A brief flicker of memory, it felt like years but it had been only months since that phone call. Garcia was a common enough name but the coincidence tugged at her.

“Garcia, what was his first name, do you know?” she asked slowly, “What did he look like?”

Donnelley leaned himself against the wall, looking up and away as he took another drag off his cigarette. After a moment of thinking back, he looked at Laine, “Little shorter than me. Latino, obviously. Black hair slicked back. Had an air about him, could see it in the way he walked and everythin’.” Donnelley nodded, clucking his tongue, “Like anythin’ he sunk his teeth into he’d finish off or die tryin’.”

He smirked a little bit, “I admire that. It’s too bad he pointed himself in the wrong direction with all that gumption he’s got. Hell, I’d recruit him myself if I wasn’t sure he’d throw me in the back of a Crown Vic.” He turned back to serious and cocked his head at Laine, “He knew where to go to, he knew who to go to, he knew what to ask. Jackson Mitterick’s name came up.”

“Whoever told him what they told him, it was some damn good info.” Donnelley nodded.

Laine looked up at him, the recognition registering with her as he described the agent. She cleared her throat, “Sounds like Mark Garcia, out of the New York office. I worked with him on a joint task force once, he’s a bloodhound alright. He was investigating that photographer, Carlisle, for trafficking underage girls and young women. Luring them in with the whole ‘you could be the next big model’ and what he did with them after he was done. Selling them to the bratva.”

She turned and looked down at her hands, clenching them, “He was a predator, one who thought he wasn’t getting his hands dirty. Look, Garcia called me that night, when your team attacked his home and those cops got killed. I didn’t tell him anything if that’s what you’re thinking. I only had requested some information from him about Carlisle, I told him I was working on a missing persons case.”

Donnelley shook his head, putting a hand up and waving off whatever thought Laine had about Donnelley’s suspicions, real or fake, “I wouldn’t think that. Not just because the resultin’ RICO case would take you with us and everyone else.” He snorted, “If the guy’s good like you said, I’m not in any rush to do anything my momma wouldn’t approve of.”

He sighed, “Look, I’ve got a guy somewhere. He can hold copies of those files and find a place to stash them. If we get… caught, or worse, those all go to the press.” He said, “And anyone else who can do any kind of damage with them. If we go out, all the bastards who even dipped a toe in this mess we’re in are followin’ us down.”

“I was plannin’ on goin’ to meet him before we lay low. Call everyone over and have the big talk.” Donnelley looked at Laine, studied her features and remembered everything in Alaska down to the glassy eyes full of nothing staring at the sky. He swallowed, taking another drag, “I hope you’re all in with me, Laine. There’s no more shamans gonna bring us back, and that phone call in the SUV’s already made.”

Laine stood up, still gripping the file before tucking it under her arm. She stayed quiet, looking at Donnelley for a long moment before she moved towards him. She met his eyes and reached for his hand, “I’ve been with you since you put that jacket around my shoulders. If we go down, we go down together.”

Donnelley’s lips curled into a smile, his smirking demeanor returning, “I love you.

Laine pulled him closer, leaning up to kiss him and sighed, “Do we still have time? Remember, we talked about going to Texas. How long until the world ends?”

“Who knows. Which is why we should hurry up and do somethin’ anyways.” Donnelley smiled, leaning down to kiss Laine’s forehead, “Fuck it, let’s get to Texas. We can lay low there.”

“We can go to my place, let me pack,” she said, a little hint of a smile touching her lips. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I love it when you say that.” His smirk grew a bit.

...///

Laine locked the door behind them when they entered her townhome, the large apartment that had become a money drain as she spent so much time away. Her last roommate had got married and moved out, leaving her with too much space and rent but she enjoyed the peace and hated moving.

“I have wine, if you want a drink,” she said, tossing her keys on the counter. “Vodka in the freezer, I was going to buy whiskey to keep here for you but I hadn’t got around to doing it.”

Laine went to the refrigerator, “Are you hungry? I have plenty of leftovers, I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

Donnelley was stood behind her in the kitchen, not quite knowing what to do with himself in the moment as he looked around her apartment. It was odd that he’d had memories here now, when looking back he thought the only memories would’ve been splattered on the wall of an alley after a particularly hard night of drinking after one too many bad Ops in places the world swept their shitty parts into to impress the tourists.

He shook himself from that line of thought and snorted at the almost overflowing amount of Tupperware in Laine’s refrigerator. He wanted to answer, but her behind bent over in front of him as she rifled through the fridge momentarily distracted him, “Um…” he bit his lip, looking to the side and admiring the immaculately cleaned sink, “Uh, no, I’m full. Not really in the, uh, eatin’ kind of mood with the recent events.”

It was hard, getting away from that slide back into darkness that always pulled him in. It was like the abyss was hunting for him. But he was with Laine, and they were alone, and that was enough for him. Best to focus on that than anything else, “Could think of a few things I’d have room for though.” he chuckled, low and husky.

Laine slid the Tupperware back into the fridge and closed it, opening the freezer instead to remove the half empty bottle of vodka. She turned and caught his eye, knowing the look and the timber of his voice.

"I could suggest a few, but first I'd like to toast your return from hell," she said, reaching over to a round decorative tray that had a set of shot glasses with skulls and spiderwebs painted on them, matching that of the tray. It had been a Halloween set she bought one year for a party and just kept it.

She poured two cold shots and handed him one, "Welcome home."

Laine knocked hers back and waited for him to finish his before moving in for a kiss, her arms wrapping around him. He put his empty shot glass on the counter, his own arms going around her as he returned her kiss. They stayed like that for a moment before Donnelley broke the kiss and just held Laine, his face nuzzling into her neck. He breathed her in deep, her own natural smell and whatever body wash she’d used earlier that day. It really did smell like home.

“I couldn’t ask for a warmer welcome.” He said through a soft smile.

Laine hugged him, her fingers running up and down his back, her thoughts briefly flickering to the danger he had stirred and the fact he had made it back and with proof. He was brave and resourceful, she admired it, no matter what he managed to make it out. Each time was a spin of the cylinder, she knew. Squeezing him a little tighter, she whispered, "I love you."

Pulling back slightly so she could look into his eyes, Laine reached up, cupping his scarred cheek. "We can mess around, my parents aren't home," she teased, the empty townhouse almost seemed to echo the lonely life of it's occupier. The minimalist decor of black and a touch of Halloween here and there. The sleek electronics on the entertainment center and lack of clutter. The black and white framed movie posters and one small print of a painting with thick black strokes and one band was red tinted. It had a professional air despite the somber simplicity.

She took his hand to lead him to the couch. Donnelley was happily led into her living room with the biggest smile he’d had since he and Queen had squeezed more than eighty-thousand out of a Nazi piece of shit. The smile barely faded when he plopped down into the black suede, looking up at Laine. He took a long moment just drinking her in with his eyes, and then held her gaze. He gave her his kissy face, “Haven’t been much of a good boy lately. Sneakin’ out to West Virgie while I’m grounded. Seein’ as I’m on your couch,” He smirked, “What you gonna do to me, Doctor?”

Laine crossed her legs, she was still in her jeans but had removed her boots, a pair of black and purple socks with bats printed on them on her feet. It had been a novelty purchase when she and Ava had spent a day hanging out and shopping for her upcoming party. Laine wiggled her toes then tucked one foot underneath her and turned to Donnelley, catching his teasing expression.

She took a deep breath, her face taking on the serious cool mask of Dr. Laine. Her green eyes gleamed despite her stern mouth when she spoke, “I am going to violate the code of ethics for doctor-patient relations.”

Laine smiled slightly, “But first, did you do anything else on your summer vacation you would like to talk about? As if discovering the true faces behind a murderously evil cabal and the enemy in our midst weren’t enough.”

He could tell her about murdering Hubert O’Grady like a dog on a lonely Blackriver highway. He could tell her about the dream, about Yuliya Feldenkrais, and how he watched her and his entire team die at the hands of March Tech and Foster trying to smuggle documents that would bury March Tech forever. Always tempting fate, but a buzz came from his personal phone and his hand went to check it lightning quick. The phone screen was lit up, and the picture he had taken with Tilly stared back at him. His own face with one of the most genuine smiles it’d been graced by, and Tilly’s bright, blue eyes and dimples. He found himself smiling at the screen.

Laine waited out his silence patiently as she always did but when he looked at his phone she leaned towards him. "What are you smiling at like that? Seeing another fed behind my back?"

Donnelley smirked a bit, “I saw her in Washington after you left.” Donnelley teased, “I gotta say, she’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

He watched Laine’s face go through the myriad of emotions, most of them negative. When he felt he’d had his fun and it was almost about to earn him a smack upside his head, he showed her the screen, “She’s grown up, ain’t she? Last time I saw that face, she was knee high to a grasshopper.”

Laine's eyes narrowed at him and she had her hand on a velvet throw pillow, gripping it when he turned the phone around. Her annoyance melted away and she gasped with surprise.

"This is Tilly? She's so grown," Laine held the phone and looked between father and daughter. The pride and love in Donnelley's eyes reminded her of her own dad. It was a strange thing to remember Donnelley had this other family, he rarely ever mentioned it but the one time, the last time they were at her place.

"She's so beautiful, look at that cheeky smile. She looks a lot like you, her eyes especially," Laine felt her throat clench with emotion, happy for the man she loved to reconnect with his only child. It took her a moment but she asked, "The visit went well? How do you feel?"

Donnelley nodded, a satisfied smile still on his lips as he took one last look at the screen before putting it away, “Yeah. Holly says I can see her as long as Tilly wants me to. Some… conditions attached, but…” He shrugged, “She skates. She likes marine biology and octopuses. She’s a hell of an artist too, let me tell you.”

He looked at Laine, holding her gaze and letting his eyes roam over her. Everything about her, it made him feel like not everything was horrible. “I want you to meet her one day.” He said, “I mean, if that’s alright with you. She’d think you’re cool. I know I do.”

Laine smiled as he described Tilly, resisting the urge to correct him on the plural of octopus. His drawl was endearing and she could listen to him read instructions on how to break down and clean a Glock 19.

She blinked at the thought of meeting his daughter, possibly his ex wife. It would be awkward at first maybe but the idea of getting to know his daughter was not unappealing.

"Maybe, but I'll let you have a few visits alone before introducing me," Laine said thoughtfully, "Once the novelty has worn off and you are establishing that normalcy. Too much new can be overwhelming sometimes."

Laine moved closer to Donnelley, wanting to feel him. "But I would love to one day. She sounds like a great kid."

Donnelley reached to her, slipping his fingers between hers and guiding her onto straddling his lap, “It was a shock, Laine. The first time I saw her in the kitchen, all grown as she is.” His eyes were distant, remembering the waves of different feelings, each one crashing into him in that moment, “She’s damn beautiful, she’s smart, she’s talented. I just… That man that ruined everythin’ those years ago was a damn fool.

His hands rested on Laine’s hips and then moved to caress and knead her thighs, “Meetin’ you’s probably the best thing to come out of all that mess.” He smiled.

Laine shifted her weight to her knees on either side of his hips and rested her ass against his thighs. She watched the emotions play across his scarred features.

"We all can be fools," she said, kissing Donnelley's forehead. "It's the realization and acceptance that makes a difference and if possible, to make up for our mistakes."

Her lips found his, brushing a soft kiss against them, then said, "I'm glad, too. And I'm glad the timing was right for us. A few months earlier and I would have been a taken woman."

Laine smiled against his mouth, kissing him again, "Then what would you have done?"

“Probably cried my woes to the whole world atop the tallest buildin’ I could find.” Donnelley chuckled, giving another small kiss on Laine’s lips, “And then go home and masturbate or somethin’, I’unno.”

He bit his lip, feeling himself grow with the intimacy they were showing each other, the lack of space, the contact. After everything in West Virginia, he needed this, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a psychologist as effective as you, Doctor.”

Laine chuckled at that, tipping her head so their brows touched and she could see the striations of the blue hues in his eyes. "What a gentleman you are, not going after a woman on another man's arm."

She shifted against him, feeling his reaction and Laine almost laughed, her chuckle lost under another kiss. Pulling back she said, "You respond very well to my methods. Just don't report me to the APA."

Laine reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her manicured nails lightly dragging along his scalp as she kissed him again, this time with more hunger. Donnelley moaned against her lips, momentarily breaking it, “And lose this? Never.

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him and returned her starving kisses, all manner of conversation thrown away. His other hand busying itself with kneading up and up her thigh, “Goddamn, I love you.”

>…///

“I could go for a cigarette ‘bout now.” He chuckled, reaching over and massaging Laine’s naked thigh up and down. He noticed the new firmness there, “Been hittin’ the weights, huh?”

Laine chuckled at him, her eyes twinkling, "A cigarette sounds good but no smoking in my place. I'd be guillotined or something according to my lease."

She sighed softly at his caress and where his hand strayed. Laine smiled as he noticed the change, "Yeah, I've been using the Academy gym and doing some lifting and running. More lifting than running to be honest. Hitting the gun range, too. My old instructor is still kicking around, he was more than happy to let me go loose with that submachine gun."

Laine stayed silent for a beat, "I know we'll need it. Next month I believe Ghost wants to start Ava and I training."

She glanced away from Donnelley for a brief moment then shrugged, "You say he's good right. A professional. I trust you."

The sound of her voice was not completely convincing and there was now a preoccupied air about her even as she lay naked on the couch. Donnelley moved again to lay on top of her, sensing it in her voice that she was having her doubts, “He is. Not like Poker. He wants you to train with him, he wants you to train with him, no hidden meanin’s.” Donnelley reassured, giving her a light kiss, “I wouldn’t even let Poker in the same room with you alone if I could help it.”

He smiled, “You’re all mine.

Laine could not help but smile a little at that and reached up to hold Donnelley. "Without question," she assured him, "I don't think get he would be stupid enough to try anything."

Her thighs pressed against his hips, then she ran her hands over his shoulders. "I always feel safe with you," she said, then kissed his cheek. "One way or another, I know you'll have a plan. You're very resourceful. Besides you're going to be in charge of this spliced working team. Right?"

Mhmm,” Donnelley smirked, “Big man in town.”

“Now, come on,” Donnelley said, getting to his feet and stretching his arms up to the ceiling and grunting as his shoulder popped, “We gotta pack for our fun trip.”

Laine gave him a closed mouth smile, watching as he stretched, taking her gaze down his body. "Mhmm, big man indeed."

She pushed herself up, smoothing her tousled hair. Laine ran her fingers down his chest to the top of his pubic bone. “I need to clean up before we get to that."

Laine grinned at him before walking away to the first floor half bath and took care of what she needed to. When she emerged, she picked up the clothes tossed on the floor. “Oh, I have a surprise for you. Wait here.”

She held a hand up and ran up the stairs, heedless of her nudity. Laine pushed her bedroom door open and went to the closet, finding the large dented box that she had hauled around since Idaho.

“You can come up!” she called out, standing naked but for the black cowgirl boots, her hands on her hips in a power pose.

Donnelley was chuckling as his footsteps creaked on the stairs, wondering just what Laine had made a fuss about. When he rounded the corner, still similarly nude, he still had that smirk on his face. His brow quirked as he looked Laine over, noticing the boots on her feet. His smirk grew to a smile as he gave a breathy chuckle, “Goodness me, cowgirl.” Donnelley crossed the small distance between them and wrapped his arm around the small of Laine’s back, tugging her into him, “Gonna hafta find you somethin’ to ride.”

Laine laughed and hugged him around his neck, leaning up to kiss him. “I was hoping for a big chestnut stallion,” she said, kissing him. “I know we just got done, but you make me want to hurt.”

She stuck her foot out, admiring the black leather with the intricate embroidery. “I bought them up in Moscow, everyone was kicking back but I felt like getting out. I went to the Appaloosa Museum and looked into trail rides. Then I stopped at a Western store, I saw these in the window and I knew I needed to get them to impress you.”

Donnelley chuckled a bit, taking a look for himself at the shiny black leather, the intricate stitching of the pattern along it. He nodded, “Well, you done it. Goin’ to have to get a pair myself while we’re down there.” He kissed Laine on the cheek and stepped back from her so he could go get his clothes from downstairs, “Cant have you outdoin’ me now, can I? Maybe we visit my uncle’s place, get you in the saddle a bit.”

“How’s that sound?” He asked, stopping in the doorway and leaning on the jamb with a smile on his face, “Ever ridden?”

Laine smiled at the gentle kiss before he slipped from her arms. She moved to sit on the edge of her bed to remove the boots but glanced up at his attention.

"A few times," Laine said, crossing her leg over the other and reaching down to tug at the boot. "I wouldn't say no to that. I enjoy riding."

Her green eyes twinkled at him as she removed the first boot and set it down. Donnelley’s eyes twinkled in kind as he chuckled softly, “Don’t I know.” He pushed off the door jamb and turned for the stairs, “I’ve already got most of my shit packed. Holler if you need help.”

>GREYHOUND BUS STATION, DALHART TX
>16OCT2019
>1430...///

The town was a dark scab on a flat golden prairie where the late summer stretched on with baking heat. The dog days should have been past and a hint of autumn in the air but not here. A change in season was never gentle or subtle. Spring brought hail and tornadoes, tearing across the farms and grassland. Autumn arrived late, on black clouds from the north forming on the horizon. A border land with nothing but flat miles between here and the frozen tundra far to the north.

Laine stood with her bags, the oppressive heat around them seemed to vibrate with the screams of cicadas. The clicks followed by whirrs that rose in pitch until they broke and repeated. It made her feel anxious, there was tension in this place. A humming cord ready to snap at any moment, just given the chance and right time.

Dust was still kicking up after the bus had pulled away from the so-called station, a bus bench just outside the center of town. Laine was dressed in black jeans and her cowgirl boots, a vintage black western blouse with white piping and embroidered floral across the upper back and past the collar along her clavicle.

Laine toyed with a pearl button, tempted to roll up her sleeves but she wanted to keep a neat appearance at least until they got where they were going. She turned to Donnelley, watching him behind her Ray Bans as he took in the site of his home town. She brushed her hair back as the wind shifted from west to north, blowing in deep breaths across the warm dirt and asphalt.

There seemed to be a different air around Donnelley that radiated out from him the closer they got to Dalhart. They stood alone and quiet, the Greyhound station next to the train tracks that ran through the town. Sparse traffic passed by them on the dusty roads. No one really came to Dalhart. His eyes passed over the flat prairie around and settled on the tiny hints of buildings farther down the road. For a bit, he chewed through the memories he’d had here, almost all of them some degree of bitter. As if to punctuate that, there were only more of the same signs stuck into the side of the road, showing support for every politician of the ilk Donnelley had hoped he would’ve left behind long ago. Now one was in the fucking White House. He looked at Laine, “It gets better.” He smirked. “Should find us a ride, don’t much feel like walkin’ everywhere in town like a couple vagrants.”

He took another look at the road and countryside spread out before them. He forgot how flat this place was, could watch your dog run away for three days. Or watch about zero cars coming up. He sniffed, “That said…” he turned towards town and offered his hand out for Laine to hold, “Would you accompany me, miss’m?”

Laine smoothed her blouse and huffed, "I hardly look like a vagrant."

She glanced at her reflection in his aviators, Laine's idea of having fun with the vintage western theme made her look like a stranded Hollywood cowgirl and completely out of place. She smoothed down the wind ruffled dark hair, tucking it behind her ears.

Taking his hand, she added, "But I think it's better we find a car or something. There's a lot of space out here."

Her boot heels clicked against the cracked asphalt as they walked, Laine looking around, mostly at the people they might pass to see if they might realize their old deputy was back in their midst. Donnelley himself was making busy hoping they wouldn’t. The kids might have called him Robocop endearingly, but there were a fair few people here that had family and friends he had sent to jail or roughed up for any number of reasons that warranted it. Down in Texas, it was oddly similar to the Afghans and their Pashtunwali- Me and my brothers against my cousins. My brothers, cousins, and me against the world.

It didn’t matter if all of them were all manner of shitty, they were still your blood. Donnelley could respect the loyalty. Poker and Ghost were evil fucks, and he still fought beside them and earned their respect. But they weren’t here, so his eyes were cautious. The look of a wolf among territory that hadn’t been his in a very long time. “Hard to believe this was my entire world at one point.”

He said, looking at the washed out buildings, the warehouses and machine shops on the outskirts of town. Somewhere not far, there were girls turning tricks for truckers and other blue-collars with money and too much built up lust. Somewhere next to those prostitutes were some Mexicans or whiteboys selling meth. It would take some walking to get to the center of town and maybe see some culture that wouldn’t make him want to distract Laine from it, “We can find a place to eat and I’ll call my uncle to pick us up. Bring us to the ranch, show us the countryside.”

Laine glanced over at him, then out at the town with its dried up lawns and pick ups parked along curbs. “It’s...interesting, seeing this with you. Fitting the stories to a real place. It’s hard to imagine just having this, no wonder you were chomping at the bit.”

She bumped her hip against his gently, “It has a certain charm. You know, LA is a huge city but in reality it’s really a bunch of small towns lumped together, each with distinct borders and people from each place have that same loyalty I think of people from small towns as having. Some of them never leave their neighborhoods. Live and die in the same dozen blocks.”

Laine squeezed his hand, “You were destined for so much more, but I want to see the places that helped make Joseph Donnelley. Your old highschool, the places you used to hide to smoke weed and where you had house parties.”

Donnelley smiled at Laine’s enthusiasm in the face of his embarrassment, a hint of shame. He leaned down to kiss her softly, “I guess I’ll be givin’ you the tour.” He smiled, “If I know where we are, I can show you where my band played our first house show.”

Her green eyes lit up when he kissed her, the newness of it all still made her pulse race. Laine returned his smile as she said, “Show me where Joey was shredding riffs with Reagan's Grave."

>…///

“Huh…” Donnelley scratched at his chin beneath his beard, taking a moment to stroke it. “I guess places change after more’n a decade.”

What Donnelley and Laine were staring at was an empty lot. Even the two houses next to it had been bulldozed to make way for some new project on the properties, chain link fence surrounding the stubborn tufts of grass slowly dying in the dry dirt. They’d been skirting the entire town for the last twenty minutes through shady side streets and alleyways just to get here. He looked up and down the street, looking still just as confused, wondering if they’d taken a wrong turn or he’d misremembered the way. Sure enough, this was it. The house was gone, “Well, fuck…”

“I guess a lot’s changed while I was gone.” Donnelley muttered, his voice sounding wilted. Gone were the days of the tiny punk scene in tiny Dalhart. Back when, Donnelley felt like it would be here forever, that their legacy would let the generations after to follow in footsteps that didn’t lead them to wifebeaters and beating their wives. For all their angst, they were just as naive. “Let’s just… find somewhere to eat or somethin’.”

Laine watched Donnelley from the corner of her eye, the empty lot where the short fierce years of his youth had been spent. Dust devils kicked up as the cooling breeze came in against the hot wind. On the horizon to the north the dark clouds continued to gather and she could see the occasional flicker of lightning in the distance but no thunder.

She put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing the tense muscle there. “Nothing gold can stay,” she recalled the movie she and her friends had watched so many times.

Laine took his hand, her fingers slipping through his. A puff of wind caught her hair and played it across her face and she pushed it down. “Show me your local Dairy Queen. I heard there’s always one in these small towns.”

Donnelley swallowed, a working of his throat that seemed thunderous against the quiet moment there, staring at a history now buried. “Only if they didn’t tear that down too…” He muttered, bitter.

He squeezed Laine’s hand in his and sighed, looking to her and giving her a small smile. Out of the triumphs of the past pushed down by the torrents of time always stomping on, there was something new he’d found. Someone new. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, “Let’s get some ice cream.”

>…///

They sat at one of the wood tables on the outside patio of the Dairy Queen, the establishment sitting and waiting for Donnelley in the same place it had always been. Wearing new colors and having had some work done in her old age, but the old queen was stubbornly still standing. He guessed the taste for the new and shining had yet to spread from the center of Dalhart. The outskirts had only seen the hands of gentrification tightened into a fist to knock down the undesirable history of the place.

Town hall and everywhere else close to it seemed to have a new shine, and so did the Dairy Queen. The teenagers manning the counters and the drive-thru were still just that- teenagers- but the culture that had molded them had changed so much. He remembered the way his girlfriend at the time had dressed, all blacks and dark eyeliner, red hair falling long and straight down to her hips. Now these teens may have had wild-colored hair, but it was all just… not punk. Not quite goth, not quite punk, not quite cowboy… not quite anything. A thought occurred to him, and it was perhaps the scariest one he’d had yet in all his years.

“I don’t understand these kids.” He murmured around a mouthful of cookie dough blizzard as he looked out at a group of them hanging around the parking lot. It wasn’t bitter, in that way old men had been proclaiming their fear and anger at change, it was like a realization. A dreadful revelation. A recognizing that times were no longer his. “You know, they dye their hair, they have the style… but when they open their mouths, I can’t understand half the shit pours out of it.”

“I remember my high school ex worked here some time ago, and I recognize it a little bit, she could be plucked from the eighties and dropped in here with ‘em, but they’d be speakin’ two different languages…” He stuck his spoon into his ice cream to get another bite and then shook his head, “I’m fuckin’ old. Laine, did you know when you agreed to all this?” He had a little self-deprecating smile at that, but the sentiment really was sincere underneath it.

Laine watched the kids around them as they spoke, the same sort of irony of still feeling young but in their heads, their own youth. Not what was current and what had passed would never be recaptured, not even when inevitably fashion would cycle back and take inspiration from the past. From their past.

She took a bite with the long handled red spoon, savoring the Heath bar crumbs mixed into the ersatz ice cream. Laine gazed at Donnelley as he came to his personal revelation, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I know, I can do math,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “I love you, it’s not your age or your looks, it’s who you are as a person. And your glutes.”

Laine chuckled and leaned forward, shifting the cup aside so she could focus in on him, “We all have that moment, I’ve had it before. I still love things I did when I was a girl and I won’t leave them behind because it might be seen as immature. I can’t just rub these tattoos off. One day I’ll have gray hair and ink. Just like you will, you’ll still be that punk from Dalhart deep down.”

The silence fell between them, the idea of growing old was not so secure anymore to Laine but she left aside her fears. “I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

Laine put her hand out to him, her pale skin against the wooden table, “Besides, now I’ll always be the young one.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley gave a quirk of his brow and a thoughtful look up and away like he was wondering over how they were splitting the take from this thing, “What do I get, then?”

Laine took a bite of her ice cream, curling her tongue against the spoon. Her smile shifted from affectionate to carnal, "You get to bang a hot younger girlfriend, of course."

She kicked him gently with her boot, tapping his foot as she took another slow bite of the melting Blizzard. Donnelley smirked and bit his lip, the smirk only growing as the toe of her boot thumped his, “I’ll take it.”

After they finished eating, they continued the walk up the street. The wind picked up, cooling now as the dark clouds moved closer, filling in the blue hot sky. A faint rumble of thunder could be heard among the several flashes of heat lightning.

The gas station was a sprawling lot of a store, a car repair, and a drive thru car wash along with a bank of gas pumps. As the first drops began to fall, Laine and Donnelley stepped under the canopy.

"What's the plan now?" she asked, watching the rain falling in sudden heavy sheets beyond the pumps. "We're not walking in this."

“Come on,” Donnelley smiled at her over his shoulder as he stepped forward and at least let his arm touch the rain. “Used to do it all the time.”

It might have been the same rain as anywhere else in the world, but it was the first thing here that he remembered and didn’t have bad memories of. First thing here that had at least run over to see him now he was back, and with thunderous applause too, heavy drips punching the concrete. When he saw Laine wasn’t too keen on braving the torrent, his smile shrank a bit, but still held some mirth, “I figure I call my uncle up. Short notice, but he’ll be happy to see me.” He said, then sided up with Laine again to watch the rain and hold her hand, “See us. He’ll like the company, gets lonely on the ranch.”

Laine raised her brow at him, “I’m not going to meet your uncle with wet jeans and make up running down my face.”

She watched the torrent of rain, how fast it had swept in and unloaded. It reminded her of the monsoon season in southern California when they would get caught out in it occasionally during August and let it drench them. Kids back then, just as Donnelley was probably remembering.

Thunder rumbled closer now, cracking sharp right after the flash of lightning and vibrating the air around them. Water poured off the corners of the canopy, the wind whipping it back at them as they waited. “Do these usually take long? Hell of a rain,” she said, now standing closer to him, her hand slipping into his.

She could see a few people pull in to wait out the storm but they did not look worried, covering their heads to make a run for the convenience store. Donnelley shrugged like it wasn’t anything to him, “Just wait a few minutes.” He said, looking at the roiling clouds and furious rain, “Summer storms down here don’t last long. Twice as hard, twice as quick. We can get some snacks here if you want, I can call my uncle after.”

He smiled at the convenience store like he was seeing an old friend. Or at least a place he and some old friends had gotten drunk and taken part in any manner of debauchery and mischief, “Good ol’ Toot’n Totum, baby. You need somethin’- anythin’- you’ll find it here.”

He stood with his hands on his hips as he nodded and grinned at that old sign. Or at least the new sign, with the old name. He sniffed then, “If anythin’s you need is gas and cheap junk food, ‘least.”

Laine raised an eyebrow at that, “Anything? You think they’ll have cloves?”

The rain almost on cue began to slack and within minutes was done. The cloud burst rolled south and the sun pierced the gray clouds, the rainbow sheen of oil slicks on the parking lot gleaming in the light. Water dripped from the overhead canopy as Laine stepped out, ducking a drop. “Let’s take a look then.”

Inside the Toot’n Totum was a large convenience store with shelves crammed with all sorts of junk food, travel items, automotive basics, and the random shit that one might forget at the grocery store. She picked up a round pecan candy, the homemade praline stamped with a sticker ‘Made In Texas’.

She brought the candies and some trail mix and bottles of water and a Snickers up to the counter. Glancing at Donnelley, “I’m gonna get a scratch off ticket and see how bad my luck is.”

“You got put into a team with me,” Donnelley muttered, smirking as he placed a protein bar and a Bang energy drink on the counter next to a bag of Salsitas chips, “Sure you don’t know your luck already?”

The one thing Toot'n didn't have was the clove cigarettes but they suggested the Smoke Shop in town. Laine paid cash out of habit, taking her five dollar scratch off and tucking it into her bag. "I would say that was pretty lucky, among other things," she said, the memory of another gas station far to the north and an unlikely reunion came to mind. "I made sure to take a Snickers, you know how I get hangry."

“Darn toot’n,” Donnelley said, smirking at the chubby, sparse bearded teenager as he dropped a bill and some coins in his hand unamused, “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

He snatched up his little plastic bag full of goodies and they headed for the door. As they made their way into the parking lot, the soles of their shoes squelching in the wet asphalt was the only sound they made. Donnelley looked at Laine, wriggling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and biting one out, lighting it, “You really mean that? You feel lucky you met me?”

Laine took a quarter from her change and dug out the scratch off ticket from her bag as they walked. She glanced at him, cigarette between his lips and that searching squint of his blue eyes.

She met his gaze and smiled a little, her voice soft when she said, "You're so cool."

Feeling the heat rose to her cheeks she added, "Of course I feel lucky. I remember you standing there with that thrasher cap. It's when I really took notice, not that you didn't have a presence in a suit buy that caught my eye. And of course when you saved me from Marlene and put your jacket on my shoulders and kept me from shaking apart."

Laine looked up at him, "I remember when we were in that motel room together, alone the first time and you rolled your shirt sleeves up. I wanted you, I could have thrown myself at you at that moment, did you know that? I am damn lucky to have you now."

Donnelley had twisted his face into a badly done act of someone on the verge of tears, the half-assed quivering lip that was more just a slow scrape of his bottom lip against his top teeth the thing to bring the ensemble together. He flinched and let out a cackle as Laine dug a playful punch into his shoulder. He softened then, looking at Laine in the light of the gas station’s neon signs, the clouds lending a darkness still to the scene. He had to say, there could be worse people to be in his old hometown with. And that’d probably be all of them except for her, “I love you.” And he pulled her into a tight embrace and a deep kiss.

Laine shook her head and laughed softly as he took the light hit of her fist, "You ass. I was being serious."

She moved into his arms when he pulled her close, returning his kiss regardless of others in the parking lot. Laine looked up at him, then gave his beard a little tug. "I love you, too, old man."

After pressing against him again, she murmured, "Are you going to call your uncle?"

“Best watch it with that old man stuff.” Donnelley wagged a finger at Laine, chuckling as he shoved a hand in the pocket of his jeans to slip out his phone. He took some time finding his uncle’s number. Knowing that old, stubborn bastard it was the same one and would always be until he was six feet in the red dirt of the countryside.

It took a couple rings, and Donnelley almost thought he wouldn’t pick up at all until he heard the other end pick up. He sounded like he still had sleep in his voice, “What’chu callin’ me at this damn hour for, son?”

“It’s three in the afternoon, old man.” Donnelley snorted, looking up at that dark, gray sheet of clouds. It was fast moving away down south or to Oklahoma, waiting it’s turn for the beating.

“Oh.” Was all Donnelley’s uncle said, “Well, a’right, still ain’t answered my darn question.”

“I’m hopin’ you got room at the ranch. For me, and another.” Donnelley asked, sheepish smile on his face and a dumb hope in his voice that old Uncle Ted could spare the time for him these days. The impromptu trip to Texas was just that, and far from it to just expect to be housed on such short notice was Donnelley.

A long silence on the other end that took Donnelley’s heart and squeezed. Had his uncle had any hard feelings about him being a rare sight? Uncle Ted grunted, grumbled something under his breath and then said, “Yeah, okay, anythin’ for my golden goddamn nephew.” Even if it was harsh, he could hear the smile in that old man’s cigarette-worn voice, “Where’bout are you? And who’s this other I’m ‘bout to be entertainin’?”

“A girl-“

“A girl!” Uncle Ted sputtered in laughter raucous enough Laine might even hear from his phone, “Well, ain’t that a damn relief, son. I knew what the talk about town was with you and your friends way back, and I thought Holly was a good cover.”

“Yeah, a’right, old man.” Donnelley made a quick glance Laine’s way, hoping she didn’t hear, “I’m here in Dalhart, Toot’n Totum over next to the Dairy Queen.”

“Yeah, I’ll be a quick second. Fancy that, though, ol’ Francine needs her some gas too.” Uncle Ted and that old-as-dirt Chevy.

“Thanks, Uncle.” Donnelley smiled, hoping ol’ Francine was still up for the trip.

“No problem, son. You know I’m there when y’need.”

Donnelley kept that smile, knowing Uncle Ted always meant every word he threw past his teeth. He’d taken him in for a couple months when he was a kid, just so his father wouldn’t strangle him for stealing his gun that fateful night, “I know, Uncle. I’ll be seein’ ya.”

>…///

It really wasn’t a long wait. But every second Donnelley was anxious. What would his uncle say about the look of him now, the scar, the harder look in his eyes. All the things he’d seen and done worn plainly in scars, ones you could easily pick out amongst the flesh, and those you couldn’t. He sat on the curb, his hand in Laine’s. He swallowed another gulp of Bang down even if the caffeine wasn’t helping his nerves any and smiled at the woman by his side, giving her hand a squeeze.

“He’ll love you.” Donnelley said, as if she was the more nervous out of the two of them.

Laine could hear Donnelley's side of the conversation but watched his body language and face closer without being intrusive. A prodigal son returning, there was an apprehensive expectancy as he spoke into the phone.

She took a seat on the curb, the new cowboy boots were starting to make her feet hurt after the walk through town. When he joined her, Laine took his hand and held it on her thigh, returning the squeeze.

"I hope I got the right boots," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure there's subtle intricacies to cowboy fashion I won't understand. What if these Idaho boots somehow violate the Texas aesthetic?"

Laine bumped her shoulder against his, giving his hand another squeeze. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

Ol’ Francine was true to her name. In that she was old. She was loud, she stank of exhaust, she was big and unapologetic about it. The red paint used to be uniform, but now the hood was a dull gray, and the door they could see was tan. Uncle Ted had been replacing parts on that truck in lieu of letting her die, and Donnelley reckoned at this point, it probably didn’t have an original piece in it. The horn honked twice when they saw him, and he pulled up next to a gas pump. After a few moments, he came walking over. Uncle Ted once had the same red hair as Donnelley, though the beard was traded for a long mustache. The mustache was still there, as always, but the hair was dried out and gray as the hood on Ol’ Francine.

His features were well worn, craggy, and harsh from years in the sun and wind. His eyes were as Donnelley remembered, the sly eyes of a joker, always smiling even if the lips weren’t, like every time he walked up to you he had the perfect joke ready to fling, “Howdy,” he said, in full rancher splendor of blue jeans, flannel, Carharrt coat, and the eponymous boots and hat, which he tipped Laine’s way. Always the Southern gentleman, “You must be this ‘other’ I’ve heard so much ‘bout. Now that I’m in the flesh, may I ask you your name?”

He smiled, probably the same smile he’d made his wife fall for, maybe not pearly anymore, but full of humor as it always was. The slight gut probably wasn’t present at the time either, “All hat, no brains over here neglected to tell me.” He smiled and winked at Donnelley.

Laine smoothed her vintage western blouse down to her waist, clasping her hands together as the beat up truck creaked and grunted to a stop. She watched the man emerge, an almost modern cowboy, tall and lean and the blue eyes that peered at her felt a little familiar.

When he asked her name, she offered her hand to shake, "I am that ‘other’. Heather Laine, nice to meet you."

“Gotta say,” He smiled at Laine as he took her hand and gently shook, “You’re quite somethin’, Miss Laine. Hopefully, my boy Joey here ain’t been too much of a headache. Has he calmed down since I last saw him?”

“I’m right here.” Donnelley grumbled, but still smiling to see a truly good man smiling to see him.

“D’you hear that?” Ted quirked his brow.

Laine let her title stay unsaid, the old timers sometimes had suspicious reactions to psychologists. She smiled back at Uncle Ted, tilting her head slightly, "He's not too much of a headache, and as far as calmed down I'm not sure but maybe I've been a little influence on him."

She gave Donnelley a sly little look and a hint of a smile, then turned back to Ted. "Must be the wind. I don't think the wind ever stops blowing up here."

Laine reached back for Donnelley’s hand and shook her head, “A lot of times blowing hot air.”

“Oh, y’all’re a couple’a jokers.” Donnelley rolled his eyes with a smile as he took Laine’s hand in his.

Uncle Ted raised his brows as he took Donnelley in. His eyes went from boots to brow, and he gave a little nod, “Army sure did a number on that brother of mine.”

“Much the same experience, gotta say.” Donnelley shrugged.

“It’s good to see you back after all this time, son. You got no idea what you learn to miss when everyone else is… you know.Dead. Uncle Ted’s smile faltered a bit. No matter how much of an asshole his brother, Donnelley’s father, had been after he came back from Vietnam he was still just that. Ted’s brother. Uncle Ted pulled his smile back up and offered his hand out to Donnelley, “Army takes a lot from a man. Takes a different kind to do it for as long as you are. Or did.”

Donnelley took Uncle Ted’s hand, but was almost unexpectedly pulled into a tight embrace, the air in his chest pounded out by Uncle Ted’s surprisingly heavy hands. The man was slim, but solid. Uncle Ted held him out by his shoulders, “Gotta say, you’re bigger’n than that lil’ bastard gettin’ stuck in everybody’s craw I once knew.”

“They feed me good.” Donnelley winked and Uncle Ted gave him one more deceptively solid smack on his shoulder before he stepped back.

“So, what’s first on the agenda now that ol’ Francine’s all filled up? Y’all wantin’ to grab a bit in town, or go out on the range and cook us up some good cowboy eatin’?” Uncle Ted stood back, smiling just to have some people to entertain.

Laine observed their interaction from a corner of her eye, not staring to allow them a semi private moment. The mention of Mr. Donnelley brought back the memory of the canned sausages. It had stuck with her for some reason, maybe the absurdity of the pathetic image or just the sadness of a man so crippled by his demons to deny a simple pleasure of trying something outside his tiny world.

At the mention of food, she was still full from Dairy Queen but tapped her booted foot and said, “I didn’t wear these to strut around a McDonalds, I would love to go to your ranch and try cowboy cooking, Mr. Donnelley.”

Uncle Ted chuckled, “Now that’s my girl. I still got some steaks need eatin’ I got from Tuck’s shop.” Uncle Ted raised his brow, “‘Course, I also got some deer meat. Some snake, if you’re adventurous, shot one in my pasture and got the idea to go lookin’ for a few more just to try it.”

Donnelley was thinking about that snake, hadn’t had it since training with those Marines in the Phillipines a few years back. He looked at Laine and shrugged, “Lady’s choice. Could go huntin’ for rabbit too, whatever you want.”

Laine raised her brows at the idea of snake and glanced at Donnelley, “Sounds like there’s enough meat to choose from without killing bunnies. I would like to try venison, I had some elk jerky in...once. It was good.”

She held her tongue on Alaska, not wanting to dredge up the dark memories from that place. Squeezing Donnelley’s hand, she said, “You said something about riding though?”

He smiled, imagining riding out with his uncle and Laine on the prairies, “Uncle Ted’s got a fair few horses, right?”

“Sure do!” Uncle Ted piped up, just as excited to be in the saddle again, “We’ll take a ride out to the country, get a fire goin’ and look at the big sky above. Night time’s darn beautiful ‘round these parts, not as many lights as ‘round Dallas.”

“I would enjoy that,” Laine said, even if camping was not high on her list of fun. The idea of the open sky and the pleasure on the old man’s face at the chance to show off the natural beauty of his land was enough. “I don’t get to see the stars too often where I’m from, too much light pollution among other sorts. Just the brightest, you know?”

She eyed Francine then glanced back at the Toot’n Totum, “Do we need anything else before we go? Mr. Donnelley, would you care for a six pack or anything?”

“Of Dr. Pepper, maybe. I mix it with my whiskey.” Uncle Ted smiled, then caught himself, “Goodness, where’re my manners. Miss Laine, my name is Ted Donnelley, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Laine nodded her head once, a little smile forming at the mention of whiskey. Of course it was whiskey. “It is nice to meet you too, Ted. I’ll run and get that soda.”

She turned to go back into the store, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement as she walked. The sidewalk was already drying as the sun made its presence known, the shift of breeze and the rain washed air felt cooler against her skin. Even a faint presence of autumn made her mood shift upward, a change was coming.

>TED DONNELLEY RANCH
>6 MILES SOUTHEAST OF DALHART
>1645

Ted and Donnelley each pushed a door swinging open, leaving Laine standing in the middle of the open doorway of the tall-roof stable. The inside was well-lit, and the floors were clean and meticulously kept. It was clear by the organized tools and such that even in Ted’s old age and loneliness that he didn’t let himself bow to time’s hand ceaselessly graying his hair and hunching his back. As Donnelley eyed the few horses that Ted still kept and the pristine conditions they lived in, he knew this was probably what kept Ted above the ground, if he knew his uncle.

Each of the stables, even the ones empty now, had a brass nameplate inscribed with each one’s name. As was their luck, there were three left in the stable, one chestnut and two black. Ted pointed to the chestnut, “This beauty’s name is Cassidy,” Ted walked over to the horse and lay a hand on her, petting her muzzle, “She’s ‘bout as faithful as a horse can ever get, stamina like a damn Olympian, could probably run her all the way to Brazil and back, tell you what.”

“That one there’s Comanche, and Josey’s the other’n.” Ted tipped his hat to the two old friends of his, “Decide ‘tween ya which one’s either of yours and we’ll get ready to head out. I’m fixin’ to take y’all to me and Elizabeth’s old spot.”

Donnelley looked at Ted and found him with that same smile, but a far off look. He’d missed his aunt by a fair few years, he knew. Wasn’t the only thing lost to time since he’d been away for damn near a decade now. He gave Comanche a parting pat on his side as he huffed, going to plant a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, “Thank you, Uncle. You takin’ us in means a lot.” Donnelley smiled, “Let’s make up for some lost time.”

“Reckon we should, son.” Uncle Ted looked away from his memories and clapped Donnelley’s shoulder, “Now, let’s get to it. Miss Laine, how’re you gettin’ along, you in need of help, you just come on and ask me y’hear?”

Laine admired the clean stable as she walked through it, the horses taking notice of the pair of strangers. She looked at Donnelley patting Comanche so she chose the other black gelding.

"I don't know how to saddle or anything," she admitted when Ted asked how she was doing. "The times I've been riding it was done for me. Anything you can tell me about Josey."

“Named after Josey Wales, but ain’t half as mean. He’ll let you ride him, won’t have to worry ‘bout him buckin’ you.” Uncle Ted smiled as he stroked Josey’s muzzle, the steed responding in kind with a bob of his head, “Won’t have a problem with him long as you don’t beat him or somethin’.”

Uncle Ted walked away to retrieve a saddle, Josey’s very own, by his name stitched into the seat in kitsch Western font. He went about securing it around Josey while explaining the process to Laine as she watched, the horse being used to it by now. In no time at all, Josey was ready to ride, and Uncle Ted smiled, “Next time, you’ll saddle the boy up while I tell you what to do. ‘Fore long, you’ll be a real as real cowgirl.”

“Won’t be just a girl with some boots.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and winked at Laine as he hefted his own saddle up onto Comanche, securing it as if he’d been doing it every day for the eight years he’d been gone from Texas, “We got ourselves a gang now.”

Laine eyed Josey warily, the black horse snorting softly, she stroked her hand along the glossy neck. He had a small swirl of white hair between his eyes, a faint star and she gave it a scratch as he lowered his head. She smiled at Ted’s comment, “A real California cowgirl.”

Once the horses were tacked, they were led out of the barn and into the sunlight of the afternoon. The sky had been swept clean of clouds, the storm just a memory to the earth that had rapidly absorbed what rain it could and the runoff had travelled the path of least resistance down into creeks and arroyos that criss crossed the plains. Now an achingly blue sky arched above them, the sun making its trip westward.

Laine managed to swing into the saddle after only two hops for momentum and settled into it, checking the stirrup length with Ted’s assistance. She looked over at Donnelley, “Tex rides again with Red Ted and Doc.”

Donnelley gave his best roguish grin and his kissy faces to Laine. Uncle Ted was smiling between the two, and he looked at Laine, “Doc, huh?” He finished adjusting the stirrups to Laine’s length and stood back, “Never took… Tex as someone who’d be able to rope in the interest of a Doc. You a, uh, like a surgeon or somesuch?”

Laine chuckled at Donnelley's reaction, a faint blush rising in her pale face. She smiled slightly at his uncle’s question, “Nothing so useful, I’m afraid. I’m a head doc with the Bureau.”

“Psychologist, okay,” That good humor always in his eyes spread to his grin, and it grew that much more with the next words just on his lips, “That’s good. He needs one.” He chuckled, nodding at Donnelley.

“Yeah, most likely. You were there for it, Uncle.” Donnelley sheepishly smiled and scratched at his beard.

“Yeah, I was.” Uncle Ted shook his head at the memory of that young punk. Teaching Joseph Donnelley manners back then was like breaking a stubborn horse. Uncle Ted learned to take the small victories where he could, and by the end of it, he’d been more of a father to Donnelley than his dad ever was. “I still remember you showin’ up on my doorstep after ol’ Pa gave you the boot.”

Uncle Ted looked at Laine, “Damn fool got dropped off by Sheriff Gracy. Well, he was a Deputy back then, but I had Joey standin’ on my front porch couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Uncle Ted was smiling now, unlike then, as Donnelley remembered, “Gracy explained to me what happened. Said Earl didn’t even want him back. I had a mind to turn him away right there, but the boy’s my blood.”

“Couldn’t see him sleepin’ on the sidewalks like some of them bums in the city. ‘Sides, after he told me the story, I had to take him in.” Uncle Ted looked at Donnelley and Donnelley looked back, “Taught this here heathen some good manners. Weren’t a nice man all the time, but a damn sight better’n whatever was at home.”

Donnelley smiled at his uncle, nodding, “Taught me what it was to be a man. Ain’t just the clothes, or the big talk, or the boots. It’s gettin’ up and makin’ sure you keep gettin’ up.”

“Even if it’s just to see another sunrise.” Uncle Ted hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and smiled at Laine, “Never had one of my own, but I reckon I can house train a stray damn good, can’t I?”

Laine listened and watched the unspoken expressions playing out over the men's faces. Donnelley was complicated but she had known that and what she was in for when she took his hand in the car that day. Or at least she thought she had, but she was willing to work at it.

She smiled a little, resting her hands on the horn of the western saddle. "I think you did a fine job, Ted. It's amazing what a positive parental type figure in a boy's life can do. He could have gone down a much different path."

Her own extensive experience studying the backgrounds of perpetrators and victims of heinous crimes had taught her that a boy with Donnelley's upbringing could have been a lot worse off. Either in prison or a statistic, but instead he was here. Saving the fucking world one day at a time.

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Uncle Ted nodded at the two, “Well, enough talkin’. Figure you’re both wantin’ to get out on the trails.”

Donnelley opened up Comanche’s stable and led him out, reins in his fist. He stuck one foot in the stirrups and mounted up as Uncle Ted opened Josey’s stable and led the horse out before mounting Cassidy, “I got all the stuff for us layin’ out at me and Elizabeth’s spot. Stuff’s been sittin’ for a bit, so hopefully it’s still there.” Ted laughed as he urged Cassidy on and out the main doors.

“You ready for this ride, cowgirl?” Donnelley said, siding up next to Laine.

Laine glanced over at him, “I’m ready, just keep close in case I need help.”

They left the barn and headed down the caliche path until they passed the gate that separated the homestead and the wide open pasture. Everywhere it was flat dun colored land with clumps of spiny yucca and grey-green sage dotting the plain. The grass was short and sparse after a long dry summer, the ripening seed heads the same color as the dusty earth.

Laine examined it with an eye, comparing it to southern California where hills and mountains bumped up between desert and ocean. Here there was so much nothing and the wind whipped across it, the constant companion in the great empty. She looked at Donnelley riding beside her, a rugged man carved by the nature of this land and the hard people it would take to want to stubbornly stake a living in the high plains.

And at Ted just ahead of them, a lone rider against the backdrop of big sky and prairie, the cowboy ideal. Laine could see why Donnelley retained the name Tex, it was not just his accent. He was a cowboy, a man expecting himself to be able to handle anything that came his way through sheer stubbornness and grit and do it his own way.

Laine mused on the idea as they rode, letting them talk as they would and Ted giving them the guided tour, pointing out any interesting thing that would have passed by her eyes unseen. The vague depressions in the dust of antelope prints or the small holes dotting the land as they passed through a prairie dog town. She shifted in the saddle, squeezing her legs to make Josey pick up the pace. The black gelding was a gentle ride but he sensed her inexperience and would stop to crop at the clumps of grass rather than stay at a steady pace.

She clucked her tongue at him as the horse lifted his head and without warning Josey snorted loudly and bolted, crow hopping in a bucking sideways motion. Laine fell forward onto the neck of the gelding, grabbing at his mane and holding her legs hard against him even as she felt herself lifted from the saddle.

“Whoa! Shit,” she cursed, clinging to the horn before letting go as Josey kicked his heels again and began to move faster. Laine hit the ground and rolled, dust coating her black blouse and jeans. As she lay there, catching her breath, she heard the sound.

T-t-t-tssssss

A sizzling rattle somewhere in the cluster of yucca that made her freeze. She had never heard it before but somewhere in her caveman brain knew it was dangerous. Josey had known it too by the slithering movement and now the prairie dogs barked short high pitched sounds, telling each other the danger that lurked.

From Donnelley’s place in the saddle, he could see the rattlesnake hidden in the tall grass. Just a hint of it, well-hid by the color of its scales and skin. And he didn’t like how close it was to Laine. No doubt, it didn’t either. Donnelley tugged his shirt up to expose the butt of his FN handgun, sliding it from the kydex holster at his side. Uncle Ted was already cautiously approaching, slow as slow, with his hands up as if the rattlesnake was armed too. He’d dismounted the second he’d heard Laine’s troubles. With Donnelley’s handgun trained square at whatever he could see of the snake in the brush, Uncle Ted slowly came to one knee on the other side of the trail from Laine.

“Now, I’m gonna have you crawl to me, a’right? Real slow-like now, okay?” Uncle Ted tried on a smile for Laine’s benefit, though Donnelley wasn’t too much in the mood for one.

“I got it in my sights.” He growled, though Comanche was shifting uncomfortably away from the deathly sound.

Uncle Ted shook his head, “No, no. He ain’t in our land, we’re in his.” Uncle Ted waved Laine over to him, “Real slow, you’re fine.”

Laine used her elbows and knees to belly crawl towards Ted, her muscles quivering with the desire to jump up and run. Slowly she made her way to him and glanced back, the coiled snake shaking its long rattle. It was out of striking range now, at least she hoped.

“You got it, come on.” Uncle Ted smiled, taking Laine’s hand and helping her to her feet now she was away from the snake. “Now let’s get you back in the saddle.”

Laine pulled herself up with his help, dusting off her jeans and looking back nervously at the coiled serpent. It was far enough now and seemed to have no desire to come after her, all the while rattling its tail and watching.

With a boost from Ted, she swung back into the saddle several yards away. Josey snorted warily and she stroked his neck, trying to calm her own nerves that he picked up and compounded his own.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said as Ted moved to his horse. They were back on the trail that he led them on, the flatness of the plain giving way to an undulation in the land that was invisible from a distance.

Laine rubbed her elbow, it ached where she had hit it on a stone, no doubt leaving a bruise. There was a lone tree, stunted and with sprawling branches it hunched against the incessant wind. It grew over a deep cut in the earth, a creek bed that would fill only after the sudden storms and for just a brief time. It was already almost dry now, the clay cracking in the sun.

It seemed to be a landmark for Ted as he turned toward it. Donnelley followed, bringing up the rear and trying to steady himself from the encounter. To think, he made it out of West Virginia none too worse for wear and here he was now, getting jumpy from a brush with a snake no longer than his arm. When they crossed the dry creek Uncle Ted lowered himself from his saddle at the top of a hill. A fire pit with blackened chunks of wood and a pile of fresh logs just next to it.

“You want to get us a fire, son?” Uncle Ted smiled over at Donnelley before he started to unpack things from his saddlebags.

Donnelley dropped from his saddle, Comanche wasting no time in busying himself with sniffing around the short grass. He offered his hand to Laine so he could help her out of the saddle, a true southern gentleman.

Laine stretched her back once down from the horse and felt the soreness from the fall settling in. There would be bruises under her blouse, she could feel it. She stood back as Donnelley prepared a fire, trying not to be in the way when Ted tended to the horses. She found a spot to settle down and sit, making sure it was clear of any critters that might have claimed it since the last visit of humanity.

A mixture of fat wood and feather-sticks made a good fire, and after a few minutes Donnelley put the first of the logs over the small flames and hoped they’d grow. He sat next to Laine, his arms around his knees as he breathed in the smell of campfire smoke, something he hadn’t smelled in quite a while. All around them was quiet, no cars, no people except for them. Cicadas on the wind, and he’d noticed that Uncle Ted had brought his guitar case. A real cowboy campfire on the plains, for sure. He looked at Laine and smiled, softly bumping her shoulder with his, “How you like Texas so far?”

Laine rolled up her sleeves, tucking the cuffs in and watched the flames grow as the sun drew down in the west. The whirring insects in the last heat of the day mingled with the crackling dead wood. She glanced over at Donnelley and leaned a little towards him, “It’s just like the movies.”

She smiled, her hand slipping to cover his on his knee for a moment while Ted busied himself. Laine added, “I am glad you shared this with me, I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice to be away from everything for a little while. Seeing this place, it helps me understand where you came from, cowboy.”

Chuckling in a low tone, she squeezed his hand and let go, pulling back to lay her hands against her thighs. “Your uncle makes it easy, I wonder how it’ll be when you meet my family.”

“I’ll turn up the charm real good.” He winked at her as he watched Uncle Ted set up with his makeshift pan and pot. Getting ready to cook up some dinner. He smirked at Laine, “Should I tell ‘em I’m a dashin’ international spy for the CIA that swept you off your feet, or somethin’ more believable… like, uh, a firefighter or somethin’?”

“Gotta admit, I don’t really look like office manager material.” He chuckled.

Laine rolled her eyes and leaned into him again, “It doesn’t really matter, my dad will just want to know if you treat me right and my mother will find any fault or make one up unless you flatter her. She was critical of Alex despite him being a doctor until we broke up and she made sure to lament how I had messed up and not married a doctor.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his blue, “She’s not easy to get along with but I can give you a few hints. I’ll make a cheat sheet on how to get on my mom’s good side.”

“A cheat sheet for a person. She sounds lovely.” Donnelley snorted, “I’m sure she’s gonna love this simple country boy from the plains.”

Laine clasped her hands in her lap, “You laugh, but you’ll thank me later. I told you about her. She’s a lot. You can make up whatever you want to tell her, you have my permission. Just be honest with my Dad, he’s going to love you if you love me and treat me right.”

She paused for a moment, then reached for her lighter and the pack of cigarettes wedged in her pocket. Lighting up, she added, “If you’re real lucky, you’ll get to meet my Pappa Eerikki. You two would probably get along, you got enough war stories to swap anyway. I mean, he’ll still hate you when he meets you but he hates everyone until they earn a reason not to be disliked.”

Laine blew smoke out and grinned slightly, raising her eyebrows at Donnelley, “And I’m his favorite grandchild.”

Donnelley whistled and puffed out his cheeks, “Got a lot to live up to then. I’ll have to apologize for not bein’ some kind of fancy doctor or entrepreneur.” He chuckled, “I’m just simple Joseph, sorry ‘bout that.”

Laine leaned over and kissed his bearded cheek, holding her clove cigarette away from him. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s just my mom and I’ve stopped really caring about her opinion of things a long time ago. I just keep the peace for my dad’s sake. Don’t worry about it.”

She met his eyes briefly, it was mostly true about her mother but there was still a small part deep down that wanted the approval of the woman that birthed her.

>DONNELLEY RANCH
>1900…///

It had been a nice dinner, as odd of a choice the meat was. Snake had a gamey flavor, strong notes that even though it tasted of chicken and beef, it still had its own uniqueness to it. Donnelley didn’t mind, having long ago gotten used to eating stranger things when desperate, but if it was on a restaurant menu he wasn’t sure he’d have picked it out. More about the experience, anyway. It was paired with Mexican rice and refried beans Uncle Ted had made himself, and he’d regaled them with the story of how he’d learned to make it.

Traveling to Mexico and running off with a Señorita, being chased through Juarez by her family until he was finally forced to give it all up and cross back into Texas when the actual law got involved. Even with all that adventure behind him, when the conversation turned to Donnelley’s Aunt Ellie, Ted had a look in his eye that wasn’t there talking about his adventures in Mexico. Donnelley smiled along with his Uncle Ted, remembering how sweet of a woman his Aunt Ellie was. If Heaven was real, Donnelley knew she’d be up there, without a doubt.

“And Tecumseh, that mean bastard of a horse, you could see him gallopin’ along with Joey hangin’ on for dear life.” Uncle Ted could hardly get the words past his smiling lips without erupting into another fit of laughter, “I- I’m talkin’ ‘bout he was draggin’ the poor boy. Joey was cussin’ and spittin’, and Ellie was beggin’ me to ride out and get that horse lassoed so her poor boy didn’t get his head kicked off.”

“Oh, Lord, I could hardly hear her over my laughin’ watchin’ the whole show.” Uncle Ted quieted down and he and Donnelley spent a moment just sitting and smiling. “Yeah, That’s the story of Joseph Donnelley, young cowpoke tryin’ to break his first horse without it breakin’ him.”

“My Aunt Ellie didn’t know whether to beat the hell outta her husband or fuss over my bruises. She was doin’ both, really.” Donnelley chuckled, his Panhandle accent returning en force with the whiskey and the feeling of being home. “Then she gave me a talkin’-to ‘bout takin’ the Lord’s name in vain like that.”

“Yeah, big heart, that woman. We never did have any children of our own, so she took to raisin’ this knucklehead like tall grass takes a spark.” Uncle Ted nodded, “Sometimes, her beggin’ me to give the boy a chance were the only reason he had a roof over his head.”

Donnelley looked away, somewhat guilty for the hard times he’d put his Aunt and Uncle through, “Yeah. I really do ‘preciate it.”

“I know you do. Ellie really did, she loved you, son.” Uncle Ted smiled. “I do. Like you were our own.”

Uncle Ted sighed, looking off and away for a few moments before he looked to Laine, “I gotta ask, how did you two meet?”

Laine watched Donnelley during the story, a smile touching her lips as she pictured the young punk holding on for dear life on the back of a wild horse. The story about his Aunt Ellie was new, a nurturing figure in his rough and tumble life she had not figured into the equation. So this was where his chance had been, between his aunt and uncle and their compassion and love for a wayward boy.

Ted’s question caught her off guard and she glanced over at Donnelley, wondering what lie they would have to spin. What did Ted know of his nephew’s work and how much would he let him know about.

“Oh,” Donnelley was equally caught off guard by Laine’s silence, and her looking to him for support, “Well, after I got out of the Army, I started doin’ a little bit of consultin’. Security and whatnot for the State Department.”

“There was a meetin’ goin’ on in Quantico, big stuff that pretty much goes over my head anyway. I was workin’ security detail for some of the State folk there and that’s how we met.” Donnelley said, the wheel’s turning in his head like he was laying tracks right in front of the train as it sped down the rails. It was obvious he was used to lying, to anyone and everyone. He reached over and took Laine’s hand in his, smiling, “She was teachin’ a course and we got to talkin’ on one of our breaks. Turns out we like the same music, rest is history.”

“Ain’t that right?” Donnelley squeezed Laine’s hand.

The lie sat heavy and Laine forced herself to smile as if recalling it fondly. Not even close to the reality but she could not lay that burden down here. She squeezed Donnelley's hand, looking at him and the smooth way he lied to his beloved uncle. She shrugged a little and added, "That's pretty much it. We just clicked."

Laine released his hand when she felt her phone start to vibrate in her pocket and pulled it out. She saw who it was and smiled a little warmer, pushing back from the table. "Excuse me, I need to take this call," she said, sliding her finger over the phone to answer it. "Hey, Ava. What's up?"

Donnelley’s heart dropped into his stomach as he heard Laine greet Ava on the other end of the phone. He swallowed, retrieving his pack of cigarettes from his coat and shoving one between his lips, “I’ll be outside for a quick second.”

“I’ll come with you.” Uncle Ted have Donnelley a smile as he rose from his chair.

Donnelley fixed his uncle with a stare for a moment before he nodded, forcing back what had fallen off of the nervous smile, “Sure thing, then.”

>…///

“Hey Laine.” Ava greeted, some energy in her voice but she sounded very, very tired. “Uh, is this a good time for you to talk?”

Laine glanced over at Donnelley and Ted, then stood up from her chair. The tone was not the usual bubbly voice and she knew already something was off.

"Sure, just give me a moment to step outside," she said, walking towards the front door to let herself out. Laine stood on the porch, the moths fluttering around the light above her.

"We have privacy now," Laine said, looking out past the glow of light into the darkness of the yard and the field beyond.

"What's going on?"

...Okay, I don’t know how to say this well.” Ava said with a long sigh, her tone nervous with just a tinge of guilt coloring her voice. “I-I don’t think I can go through with the party. I’m so sorry. I’ll hang onto the stuff we bought, maybe we can use it for next,” Her breath caught for a moment as she hesitated. “...next year. Maybe.

Laine listened and frowned slightly, waiting until Ava was done before responding. “Are you worried about the pressure to pull off a perfect party? I know it can be stressful but there’s no need for perfection, just everyone being there and having fun is good enough. It doesn’t have to go on all night either.”

She waited a moment, the anxiety of putting together a party and being the center of attention might be a reason but with the reality of UMBRA it could be something else, “Are you alright? How’ve you been sleeping lately?”

Not great.” Ava answered honestly to her question about her sleeping. “And it’s not the pressure of the party, I didn’t even think about it being perfect. I just wanted everyone to have fun.” Another heavy sigh came over the phone, one born of exhaustion and perhaps a small amount of lingering anger. “Donnelley visited me a while ago and we hung out for a bit, but we got into a...really bad argument. About the future.” She sniffed softly. “I just...I’m not in a party kind of place right now and I don’t...I’m not ready to see Donnelley after what happened.”

Laine frowned at that, reaching for her pack of cloves and Ava would hear the metallic click of her zippo lighter and a breathy inhalation and exhalation. “What did he say exactly?”

In the darkness around the ranch house, crickets chirped now that the cicadas had grown quiet. In the distance, the yipping of coyotes was on the wind and the peace of the homestead was as fragile as anything. Shadows stretched from the porch and Laine leaned back against the door frame, “Was it about Alaska?”

There was a long pause. “...He said Alaska was my only chance to leave and have a normal life.” Ava said quietly, her voice rough with the sting of old hurt emotions. “Our first night back, Dave and I were talking about maybe being able to walk away after the case was over, retiring or something and just living easy and normal lives. Maybe even living together. I would like that.” Her voice cracked.

“Donnelley screamed at me how if it was possible to retire, he’d have done it a long time ago. He said that if I wanted a normal life, I should have stayed a ghost.” Her voice trembled, fresh tears likely streaming down her cheeks based on the raw emotion in her voice. “I couldn’t do that Laine, you saw how Dave was after what happened. I couldn’t leave him in that Hell, I couldn’t let my family think I was dead. I just couldn’t Laine, that wasn’t the life I wanted.”

She sniffed loudy and took in a deep breath to steady herself. “And the worst part was, Donnelley just left after that. I went to my bedroom to collect myself and when I came back out, he was just gone. The last thing he said to me was that the only ones that made it out were Maui and Avery. Then he just...he left me. Alone. And he hasn’t tried to talk to me since.”

There was another pause as Ava sniffed and fought to keep her breathing even and words clear. “I don’t know what to do Laine. The future is so dark and I feel like the one little point of light of hope I had is gone and I’m just left in the abyss. What is the point of another sunrise, if every day ends in the same bleak darkness?”

Laine took a deep drag on her clove cigarette, the crackling sound audible in the country night. The Alaska incident reared its ugly head again, a true catch 22 they had faced but there had to be some other ending to it all. It could not have just been that chance or inevitable death but there were powers at work that Ava did not know about.

Finally, she sighed out a ring of fragrant smoke and spoke into the phone, “I’m sorry he said that to you, because I don’t think it’s true. He’s been fighting this fight so long...look, there’s things going on that I can’t talk about over the phone, even a secure line like this. Did he tell you anything else? We have a chance, I think, it’s slim and will be hard fought but it’s a chance. As long as we’re alive, there’s hope, Ava. We were given a second chance, and it won’t be in vain.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to believe it, she had to. The death of the woman she replaced in life was only one that hung on her. There were so many dead and future victims, there was their own future hanging now by a thread. But the thread existed. “Ava, it won’t be easy but we’re going to fight for it because we deserve it. That's all we can do.”

Her voice grew huskier, “Don’t give up, we are all we have.”

Laine grit her teeth, the desire to go inside and yank Donnelley out of his chair in front of Ted or not. The cigarette trembled between her fingers as she waited for Ava to reply.

Ava breathed deeply over the other side of the phone, the faint tinkling of Thor’s collar joining the sound before the large cat meowed. “Hi Thor,” Ava said with a soft huff of relief, no doubt petting the cat as he came to comfort her. “We talked about some other stuff but that was kind of it. I don’t know what you’re talking about but if there’s a chance to end this...point me in a direction and I’ll get to work.” She said, her soft and emotionally raw voice suddenly hardening.

Laine drew on the cigarette, the cherry glowing bright and said softly, “Once I know, I’ll tell you. We’ll need absolute security, only UMBRA can know about what we do.”

“Alright,” Ava breathed out, the harshness leaving her voice with the exhale. “Thank you Laine for listening. I’m sorry about the party, I really did want to throw it but now...I think I just want to go see Dave, see his mountain he’s been talking so much about. Maybe make holiday plans with my family.”

“Go see Dave,” Laine said, “Doctor’s orders. See him, enjoy that time and don’t worry about the party, we’ll celebrate when this is all over.”

She paused then added in a low voice, “And Ava, when I say only UMBRA knows, I mean only us. You, Dave, Donnelley, myself...for now.”

“I understand.” She said, her voice matching Laine’s grave tone. Her voice softened again, “Thank you again, Laine. Really.”

>…///

Donnelley stepped outside through the back door at the dining area and onto the back porch. A rocking chair that he let his Uncle rest in while he took his seat on an overturned pail. The moment grew quiet between them for a moment as Donnelley lit his cigarette. “You got one for me?” His Uncle Ted asked, a brow raised at him.

“You still smoke?”

Uncle Ted shrugged, “Time to time.”

“A’right.” Donnelley handed his uncle the pack and he took one from it, tossing it lightly back to Donnelley for him to snatch it out of the air. He handed over his lighter, and the moment was quiet again as he took it back and slipped the lighter into his pocket.

It was just the two of them watching what was left of the sunset. Already, wailing coyotes could be heard somewhere far off, and the wind rustled it’s way through the tall grass. Cricket song chirping from everywhere. Donnelley took a breath, closed his eyes and smelled the hay, the grass, the dirt, and the smell of burning tobacco.

“She would’ve been absolutely ecstatic to have you here, you know?” Donnelley heard his Uncle Ted and opened his eyes, looking at his uncle, shadows from the porch’s light making the deep lines in his face stand out. “My Ellie. Your aunt.”

Donnelley looked away from Uncle Ted and down to his cigarette, taking another drag. He nodded, “I know.”

“She missed you.” Uncle Ted said, “When her mind started goin’ she’d ask me where you were. Why you stopped comin’ in for supper.”

“Catch her sometimes hollerin’ for you to come in from the stables and come get some food in you.” He huffed a chuckle, remembering how even when she wasn’t all there, she still held onto some of the memories she loved most. “She’d have loved to meet Laine, too.”

“What is this?” Donnelley asked, the alcohol that had once given him a feeling of fuzzy numbness, a heaviness in his limbs now stoking the fire in him.

When Uncle Ted fixed him with his own stare, that fire died down. Just a little, “You and I both know I didn’t just bring you here so you could have your woman ride horses.” Uncle Ted pointed the cigarette at Donnelley, “You got a lot to explain to me, son. I swear, I have half a mind to cuff your dang ear.”

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a few long, pregnant moments. That old stare, the look Uncle Ted got in his eye whenever Donnelley really offended him. Few and far between, but just as heavy as the thunder and rain of a storm. Uncle Ted shook his head, “But, you and me, we’re too old for that nonsense. I just wanna know, son,” Uncle Ted had a quiver to his voice then, and he looked away from Donnelley blinking. He cleared his throat and took another drag, “I just wanna know why I had to explain to your auntie, the woman who raised you, why you weren’t there.

“She asked for you. In the hospital, she wouldn’t stop askin’ me to make sure to tell you that she was there,” Ted swallowed a lump in his throat, shaking his head, “I ain’t no damn liar, boy, and you know as much as me I ain’t.”

“But, I lied to my wife that I would tell you.” Uncle Ted dragged in a breath, then dragged off the cigarette and grimaced at it, “Now I remember why I stopped with these.”

He pinched the cherry out and pocketed the barely smoked cigarette, “I ain’t goin’ to sit here and beat you over the head with heartache. I am glad you’re here with me.” Uncle Ted looked at Donnelley with a soft smile, “You don’t have to tell me if you can’t. But, I expect to hear somethin’ from you.”

It grew quiet again as Donnelley took that in. He sniffled, and didn’t trust his voice to speak what with the squeezing ache in his chest and the wetness in his eyes he clenched his teeth to fight back. He looked out at the darkening sky, a strip of bloody orange on the horizon. “Any time now, son.” Uncle Ted smiled, “I ain’t mad. Can’t really smack you, you ain’t a kid no more, and I promised I wouldn’t be like your daddy. We’re just talkin’.”

Donnelley sighed, “My dad, when he came back from Vietnam. He wasn’t the same, like you told me, used to be nicer.” Donnelley remembered all those years spent trapped under Sergeant John Donnelley’s boot. Didn’t much like those memories, “Afghanistan ain’t much nicer a place than ‘Nam.”

“I didn’t come back much nicer’n my dad. You remember Holly and Tilly. I done things to fuck all that up.” Donnelley wrung his hands and took another drag, “After that I ran. Got discharged honorably as they’d let me, went and hooked up with the first place’d take me. Ran all over anywhere weren’t here.”

Uncle Ted sighed, “Eight years. Hell of a lot of runnin’.”

“Yeah.” Donnelley said, “Didn’t really wanna be reminded of anythin’ I used to be. Anywhere I used to go.”

“You think you changed any with all that travelin’?”

Donnelley frowned. If he had, it wasn’t for the better, mostly. Laine was the first time in eight years he’d made an effort not to be the piece of shit lying, whoring killer he felt he deserved to die being. He knew the answer, a simple no, or a shake of the head would suffice even. Instead he just shrugged. At least that wasn’t quite a lie. “I don’t know.” He spoke quietly on the night air, “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry I never came back.”

Uncle Ted gave him a consoling smile, a small one, just the slightest uptick at the corner of his lip, “I’m sorry too, son.” He said, just as quiet, “But you’re here now. That’s what matters. The Army- a war- changes a man, just like your pa. Makes you good at only a few things. Man’s only got so much time to get good at somethin’.”

“Best be careful what you get good at doin’.” Uncle Ted fidgeted with his own hands, “You got time. A second chance with Laine. Make the most of it, ‘fore you’re my age and stuck.”

Donnelley felt like it was too late for that. Stuck was the one thing he was. In his ways, in his habits, in his head. In this unseen forever war, and with the people fighting it. In the Program. He appreciated it anyway, “Thanks, uncle.”

“I should be gettin’ to bed. Hardly the night owl I used to be.” Uncle Ted chuckled as he got to standing, “Help yourselves to anythin’ in the house. Y’all’re family, you know that.”

“G’night, son.” Uncle Ted smiled and took one last look at Donnelley, then the sliver of sunset before disappearing back into the house. Donnelley stood and took his uncle’s seat, dragging off his cigarette and watching the night crawl in.

>…///

Laine hung up her phone and finished her cigarette, the sound of the back door opening and closing caught her attention. She walked inside and saw Ted and indicated Donnelley was outside. She went through the house and paused at the back door, her hand on the knob. The sadness and despair in Ava’s voice and she knew how callous Donnelley could be at times. But to tell her there was no hope, snuffing out the sliver of meaning to hold onto was more than Laine could put up with.

She yanked open the door and stepped outside, her green eyes snapping to the man seated in the rocking chair. Anger and hurt surged through her and she reached out, grabbing his shoulder in a tight grip, “We need to talk. Now.”

Donnelley furrowed his brow when Laine planted her hand in a tight grip on his arm. He looked from her hand to her eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. He stared at her for a moment, then nodded, “You wanna do this right here, or what?”

It was that look on his face, in his eyes that made her tense, fingers digging into his shoulder. As if he just was waiting for some reason she might storm over to him. Laine took breath, her normal cool demeanor once again tested by the presumptiveness of his question. He expected it every time, that she would tear into him and she had held back, most times. Donnelley tested her patience and temper like no one else and that expression on his face that said he was expecting this made her cheeks flush hot.

“Not here, I don’t want to bother your uncle,” she said, feeling the tension in her voice nearly tremble. “In the barn.”

Releasing his shoulder, she walked quickly away from him, the boot heels clicking occasionally against a stone as she left the circle of porch light and entered the darkness of the barn. The sound of the horses sleeping and shuffling made her want to turn away, not to disturb the poor animals but it was too late. Laine turned to face the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

Donnelley slipped between the doors of the barn trailing after Laine. Cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he stood before her. The look on her face reminded him of Holly, in those moments where she told him she’d have to explain to their daughter why her daddy couldn’t show up to her class concerts, or to a birthday party, or to a hundred other things. He felt like he should be begging for Laine’s forgiveness, for Ava’s, but that sharp piece of iron in him wouldn’t let him. Never let him back down, even when he should’ve.

He swallowed, covering it up with a hard drag off his cigarette. He frowned, “She told you what happened.” It wasn’t a question, he already knew what would happen, “What did she say about what happened?”

Laine stared at him, then looked way towards the door behind him and across at an empty stall. “What did she say happened? You should know. Well for one thing she doesn’t want a birthday party that she was really excited to throw because now she feels like there’s not fucking point to celebrating anything since what little sunshine, what sliver of hope she was holding onto was casually yanked away by you. Tossed to the side and you left her in that dark hole of hopelessness.”

Her arms down to her sides, her pale fingers curling in fists. “You don’t get that right, no matter what shit you’ve seen and what reality you probably know exists for us. You don’t get to fucking take that little dream of normality and throw it aside, then just walk away.”

The swelling of outrage made her chest tight, it was not just for Ava but herself she realized. Laine had hardly dared breathe the thought about life after UMBRA, for this reason. Hope was fragile and could be deceptive, but people needed it. How Laine had held onto another sunrise like a life preserver through this whole ordeal and yet, as Ava said, what was the point if they could never get past the night.

“That was fucked up,” she swore, stepping up to Donnelley.

Laine’s eyes blazed and she suddenly shoved against his chest in a hard swift motion, her voice now raised, “Tell me what in the hell possessed you to do that? You know how it would hit her!”

Donnelley took a step back as Laine shoved him, looking away from her and down at his boots for the second time that night as his chest ached. From the shoving, and from everything else. He took one last drag and then curled a fist around the cigarette, pocketing it after it had gone out and bringing his hands back to hang at his side. He shook his head, “I’m not a liar.” Donnelley said, quiet, “At least not when the truth is needed. Should I have waited?”

He looked back at Laine, “Should I have waited until it’s years from now and we’re all gray in the hair, and Ava says ‘boy, can’t wait for this to finally be over?’” Donnelley asked, shrugging, “Because, I’ve been at this for almost ten years, and there’s still no grand strategy. There’s no glorious battles, there’s no flankin’ maneuvers, no occupation.”

“Or should I have waited to say it at someone’s funeral? Or write it on my fuckin’ headstone for you to read?” He threw his hands out helplessly. “We’re just rushin’ to plug leaks in a fuckin’ dam.”

“She deserves to know the truth. All of us do. And it hurts.” Donnelley harshly whispered the last word, “I’m sorry. But, I’m not a liar.”

Laine stared at him, her eyes narrowing as he spoke. “You’re full of shit. Did you ever even try to leave? Because I somehow doubt you ever did. This has been your life, if it wasn’t the Army or the CIA. It was always something you were chasing, did you ever once truly think about settling back down? With what, the broken family you left?”

A flash of fury ran through Donnelley’s eyes at Laine’s jab. He wanted to lash out, but he could never be that man. Could never be John Donnelley and he could never make Laine into that broken smile his mother tried to keep. He’d ran away from a lot. From his father, leaving his mother behind. From Texas, leaving his Uncle Ted and Aunt Ellie. From everything he used to be. From everywhere he used to go. And he hadn’t changed even a bit. “Don’t ever hit me with that, Laine.” He said simply, no fury, no anger, just a reedy whisper, “Don’t. What do you want from me?”

She had hurt him and Laine knew it would, there was much more she could have said or dug into. But it hurt her as she jabbed him for a reaction. Hot tears threatened and she blinked hard, furious that she might cry when the rage poured out. Laine ran her hands through her short dark hair, taking a deep breath, “You say we can’t ever get out but what about Clyde, he was retired wasn’t he? In a manner of speaking, if his wife hadn’t been...he was technically retired wasn’t he?”

Her voice raised an octave, the normal cool husky tone now gone. “You know damn well none of us would vanish after Alaska, but I refuse to believe that we’re stuck in this until we die. Now you tell me the truth, not your truth. Not fucking Foster’s truth. People do make it out, I have to believe that.”

He remembered Frank Gamble and Michael Baughman. He remembered what Frank said, how Clyde had been Delta Green until the very end. He looked at Laine, searched her face with eyes that glistened in the light. He swallowed, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. He looked away from her and shook his head at the ground. He whispered only one thing, no more bravado, nothing could be less Donnelley in the way his voice whispered out just a simple, single phrase.

“I’m not a liar.”

Laine looked him over, the ache in her throat as tears threatened grew. She sniffed, then put her hands on her hips, glancing down at herself. At the silly western wear and she wanted to rip the damn shirt off and throw the boots. It meant nothing. The mask of normality had already slipped from their trip. It was nothing but a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

She nodded, then said, “Right.”

Laine looked at him for a long time, the burning anger at their reality once again slamming them in the face and her love for him made her want to run over and hug him, to try and absorb his pain and make it better. But she was tired, a bone deep weariness had settled in, and Laine walked away.

“I’ll see if Ted has some extra blankets for the couch,” she muttered as she moved towards the barn door.
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>HEATHER LAINE RESIDENCE, STAFFORD COUNTY, VA
>18OCT2019
>1030...///

Laine folded the clothes she had washed for Donnelley, standing in the small utility room next to the garage. She could almost hear him walking around that old Indian, checking the condition of the bike before taking it on the long cross country trek. Slowly she put his shirts and jeans together, smoothing her hand over the faded Fear logo. It was the same shirt he had worn in West Virginia when UMBRA had first been assembled.

The team was different than that night in the cabin, after they had raided Clyde’s apartment to rinse away anything related to the Program. Before they went to his cabin and the world changed forever. Of those there that night, only she and Donnelley were still in the fight. Jason was somewhere else, doing who knew what. Laurie and Tom were dead but there was Gomez. She got out, somewhere after the showdown with Mrs Baughman’s reanimated corpse and the finding Maria’s body, the SWAT officer had gotten out of the Program.

At least as far as Laine had heard, she left. It had to be possible then and Laine grasped that thread, putting down the clothes before heading to the garage. Stepping through the door, she saw Donnelley there and the mixed emotions rekindled into a dull pain at him for how careless he had been with Ava. Not to mention how the tense quiet had strained them since that night in Texas.

“You think the old bike will make it that far?” Laine asked, letting the door close behind her.

Donnelley stood beside his Indian, the bike older than he was. His father’s old bike. Whatever metaphor was over his head, the bike had done him more good than his father ever did. He could take a punch and keep going, he guessed, but that was about it. He didn’t take his eyes away from it when Laine spoke to him. He’d lost Queen- Billy- as a lover, and as much as he tried to fool himself that their friendship would be just like it was, he knew it wouldn’t. “Made it once already.” He said to Laine, like he was talking to a stranger, a yawning gap between them that made him feel like just another face on the street to her, “She’ll hold.”

The rider was still a question, though. To tell the truth, he was fearful he’d ruined everything with Laine, not to mention Ava. And whatever Dave would say. Fucking up. Maybe that was another thing the old man taught him, but then again that seemed like a cheap way to shirk responsibility.

Laine stepped closer, running her fingers over the seat and along the fuel tank then let her hand fall away. The weight on her chest was heavy, the words she wanted to say to make it all go away and pretend for a little while longer that they were just happy lovers. But if he was no liar, neither was she, at least she would like to think so.

“Why did you do it?” Laine asked, looking up at him. “Don’t give me that shit about telling the truth. What really compelled you to crush that little happiness she was holding onto and then walk away?”

“Fear.” Donnelley frowned, “Hurt. At everything. Everything about this, the Program, the future.”

Our future. I had my dreams chewed up in the meat grinder of the life I lived the second I said yes to Foster.” He shook his head, sticking his hands in his jean pockets, “Shortsighted and angry. When he found me, I was drunker’n shit in a motel in Eastern Washington along the highway.”

“The only things I packed was a gun and a bullet.” He muttered, eyes getting distant, “I was on about my sixth shot of whiskey when he knocked on the door. And then eight years later I’ve done things that would surely put me in hell.”

“When I met Queen, it was in Langley and about that time I was back at square one. I’d lost my team in Chechnya. I thought it was an accident, just a little fuck up with op-sec.” Donnelley let that lie or else he’d end up just spiraling back down, “I wanted to leave. I didn’t tell anyone, I just walked out one day. They found me in another no-name, cheap motel.”

“Foster said it took Ghost and Maui to get the gun out of my hands and drag me out by my wrists and ankles.” Donnelley sighed, “And then we got an assignment to throw a retirement party for someone one day.”

“Didn’t know what it meant.” He said, “Ghost was excited. Which I’d learned a long time ago, that’s never a good thing. We caught the guy in a Kentucky gas station at midnight, put a bag over his head, drove twenty miles and then blew his brains out.”

“The whole time he was sayin’ he couldn’t do it anymore, how he’d lost his wife and kids, and he just wanted to go home. A young homicide detective from New York.” Donnelley’s frown turned something dark, not sad, but almost a snarl, “I remember thinkin’ at the time, what a fuckin’ weak piece of shit. Everyone in that van, in THUNDER, had lost so fuckin’ much. But here we were the past two years doin’ our fuckin’ jobs!

Donnelley’s fists were at his side and he didn’t even remember moving. He swallowed, slipping them shamefully back into their pockets as if they’d come alive and strangle him, “But, I remember thinkin’ when we got back how after all this time I’d spent doin’ these things, I forgot what it was to not be. Thinkin’ how maybe some men just like me and THUNDER would snatch me up while I was gettin’ gas and do what I never got to do to myself.” Donnelley closed his eyes and hung his head, “And when Ava talked about retirin’, it struck that same chord, like I just hadn’t gotten around to tellin’ my daughter I loved her after all the years I spent away.”

“Because, I was a piece of shit who was jealous of someone who hadn’t fallen low as me yet.” Donnelley looked at Laine and his lip quivered, “And I left, because that’s what I… It’s all I could do. I didn’t want to look her in the eye and tell her I’m what’s waitin’. I’m your future.”

“But you made me fuckin’ do that in Texas, because that’s what you do.” He said, like he had any reason to be angry at her, and it wasn’t all the other way around at all, “Better’n anyone, is gettin’ me to tell the fuckin’ truth, and I’m sorry.

Laine stayed silent, listening even when the story about Ghost and THUNDER made her stomach turn, her instincts about that team had gone from whispers to screams over the last few months. How she had tried to see Donnelley as different from them but there was that part that would always be THUNDER. That part of him she could never truly touch.

She looked at him for a long moment after he fell silent, then crossed her arms, “Do you think that hope is just another evil, something that will just extend our torment? Hm, maybe you read Hesiod’s thoughts on Pandora’s Box and why hope was left inside it. Doing Ava a favor by eliminating that in her life or was it really just petty jealousy. Let her suffer like you do, teach her that lesson she would have learned anyway if it’s as bleak as you say it is. But you had to do it,” Laine said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice before she paused. “You are going to make it right with her, but we’ll talk about that later.”

Leaning forward, she peered at him, “I need you to tell me something. Where is Serena Gomez? The SWAT officer, she never came back. She’s the only one I don’t have an account for and it was implied she was allowed to leave when the work did not suit her tastes.”

“I don’t know.” Donnelley shrugged, “But, I hope she got away while she could.”

“Even if you retire from the FBI, the calls don’t stop.” Donnelley shook his head, “I don’t know if I can ever make it right with Ava. I don’t know if anythin’ can be the same. You don’t learn and see everythin’ you do in the Program and just leave. We’re a commodity, Laine. A weapon, a canary, you last long enough in this shit and they’ll never let a good thing go to waste.”

“Not until you’re used up and somebody comes to take out the garbage.” He muttered, “You should’ve just never came when they called.”

Laine looked at him, then shook her head slightly, "I think that's something they didn't have in the brochure. Maybe none of us understood just what we were giving up. I didn't think I had that much to lose, all I wanted was to know more."

She fell silent for a moment, "You did warn me about that."

“Maybe I should’ve pushed harder.” He said, shrugging, “Fudged the paperwork. Lost the reports. I don’t know, or maybe you’d still be in this and I’d be havin’ this conversation with some other team.”

“I don’t know how you will either but we have to find something,” Laine said, “You know what this is coming to, where we’re going.”

She stepped a little closer to him, “Dr. Levy and the rest, Foster and March Tech. I know we have a chance to stop them all and a very good chance of dying while doing it. I can’t say I have come to terms with that, logically I know but I have to believe we can come out the other side. If I don’t, then what is this all for?”

Laine looked at Donnelley, at his scarred face, the lines showing his age and the strain of a life of violence and regrets. Her heart ached but she held herself away. “The work I do for the Bureau, so many times I wanted to walk away, it was chipping away at my soul but I knew that I had the talent for it. And if I didn’t do it, who would? Put the burden on my colleagues, I already did that once when I left Unit Three.”

Despite her own rules about smoking inside, she found herself hunting for the black box of Djarums in her pocket. It was the garage that didn’t count. She opened it and used her lips to pull one of the black cigarettes out and looked at Donnelley. “You’re gonna make it right with Ava, she’s already got abandonment issues and anxiety and we need her in the game. And more importantly, she’s our friend, our family.”

Her green eyes met Donnelley’s blue as she searched for her lighter, “Right? I know you’ve had other teams and maybe one day you’ll have another but right now we’re all we have.”

“I won’t have another team, Laine.” Donnelley spoke matter of factly, easily finding and pulling his lighter from his pocket and offering it to her, “Only way I’m leavin’ this one is in a body bag.”

The recent proof not withstanding, he had that same look of seriousness he had when there was something needed doing, “I’m not lettin’ everyone down like Alaska. Never again.” He said, flicking the lighter on, “I owe it to you.”

“To Ava.” Donnelley breathed, hesitant even to speak her name with the same mouth he’d torn her down with. “I’m a Team Lead. I can’t afford to fail any of you.”

Laine nodded, feeling her lighter as she closed her fingers to pull it out when she saw him offer. She hesitated, a momentary thought of pushing him away, making it easier for the hard work that was coming. Pushing him away for being that bearer of bad news yet again.

She looked at the flame then leaned in, lighting the clove as she drew in a deep breath. Laine held her own lighter, flipping the lid to it as she considered her next words. Slowly she blew out a fragrant plume then met Donnelley’s eyes.

“Promise me something,” she said, her voice husky from the smoke. “If it’s possible, even a slim chance that some of us can get out, we get Dave and Ava out. They’re...not like us. They got a real chance to live a life after this.”

He looked at Laine as he slipped his lighter back in his pocket. He considered her words, though if any of that was within his power, he didn’t know. He searched her eyes, those same eyes he’d looked into a hundred times and every time he felt that need to hold her close. He doubted she’d let him now. “And you don’t?” He asked, “You don’t want to walk away from all this and maybe one day forget there’s people like me out there doin’ things you’d rather not think on?”

Laine looked at him, a sad smile forming on her lips, “But I think on those things everyday. I can never forget what people can do to each other. I swore an oath, to help rid the world of monsters and that’s what we’re doing. It’s just a lot deadlier than I assumed it would ever be.”

She raised the cigarette to her lips and took a drag, trembling slightly. “I’ve been tainted too much to ever move on.”

Donnelley took a breath and sighed it out through his nose. Who was he to judge Laine worse or better, her soul heavy or light. One thing Donnelley did know, Laine had never crossed that unforgivable line like he had in Libya. Nor would she ever know he did so long as he could keep the secret. He gave her a tight frown and shook his head as he swung one leg over his bike, “You’re still alive, Laine.” He said, “And you haven’t done the things I have. Nothing’s too late for you.”

Laine shrugged, folding her arms tight against herself. “So you’re the barometer of behavior that can’t be forgiven? Maybe it’s not what I’ve done but what I’ve seen that’s enough.”

She flicked the ash on the concrete floor and looked at Donnelley, “You know why I didn’t marry Alex?”

After a moment, Laine put the cigarette to her lips, “Because he wanted a normal life, to have a wife and kids. I couldn’t do that, after seeing what I’ve seen I can’t ever bring a child into this world and especially keep doing the job I was doing. And that was before I knew all this evil shit existed. My purpose is to fight it the best way I know how, I don’t know how to not do that. Or how anything else could be as important.”

Donnelley nodded, slipping his Aviators on and readying himself to stomp down on the kick-pedal. He looked at Laine through the impenetrable tint of his lenses. She was right, in the end. They both would probably endlessly flounder in domestic normality and end up going right back into the dark when normal wouldn’t be enough. Donnelley knew that much. For a while, it was the only thing keeping him going, “Fine.” He shook his head and snorted humorlessly, “I warned you about stickin’ with me on this. Don’t say I didn’t.”

He softened then, at least wanting some feeling that wasn’t shame or anger, or hurt to hang over this goodbye of theirs. “I’ll be seein’ you.” He spoke, “I love you, Laine.”

Laine looked at him for a long moment, unable to see his eyes but she studied the set of his shoulders and how he gripped the motorcycle. “You did warn me,” she admitted, taking a drag. She blew the smoke out and stepped a little closer, “And I love you, too.”

Part of her wanted to jump on the bike behind him, wrap her arms around his waist, and let go wherever he might take her. Laine held herself still instead and added, “Call me when you stop somewhere.”

“I will.” He said, then stomping down on the kick-pedal and drowning out any other noise between them, like a final end to the conversation ushering him out. He walked the bike around and took one last look at Laine, waving to her before he revved the engine and took off away from her apartment.

Laine watched him go, standing in the open door of her garage until long after Donnelley had vanished from sight. She finished her cigarette before heading back inside. The apartment was quiet, the unsettled feeling Laine had only magnified. After a moment, she turned the stereo on and changed her clothes, putting on work out clothes. Training with Ghost was just around the corner and that would not change, no matter what happened between herself and Donnelley.

>LEXINGTON, KY
>18OCT2019
>1830…///

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” Were the first words from Frank Gamble’s mouth that greeted Donnelley. In Frank’s defense, Donnelley wasn’t too much in a smiling mood and he could feel his brows were knit together and a frown set deep in his face.

“You got a place for me, or what?” Donnelley asked, not entertaining Frank’s casual lack of manners either way.

“Ain’t gonna be here.”

“Fine.”

“Ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“Okay.” Donnelley’s brows knitted together, “So, where the fuck is it?”

Frank Gamble looked Donnelley up and down in silence, then his lip turned up with something closer to a sneer than a smirk as he snorted and shook his head, “Don’t worry ‘bout your bike, Michael’ll take care of it.”

“He gonna slash the tires and shit in the gas tank?” Donnelley quirked a brow, recalling how Michael Baughman hadn’t given him the warmest of welcomes the last time he was here.

“Not unless he wants my boot in his ass. Long as we’re workin’ together, we’re friends.” Frank Gamble closed the door behind him and stopped to stare at Donnelley. He wondered if he’d ever smiled in the last decade or if he forgot what those felt like, “But that don’t mean we’re friends. I know who you folk are, and I ain’t got no good opinions. You’ll have a ride.”

“So I hear.” Donnelley stared back, giving Frank a once over for himself, “I’m not the government conspiracy, I’m just the government.

“Hm.” Frank just stared back, and they stood like that for a few moments until Frank turned his head and walked to his truck, an old green Ford Ranger. When Frank unlocked the doors, Donnelley slipped into the passenger seat after tossing his duffel bag of clothes and guns in the back, keeping his plate carrier in hand.

“You expectin’ a gun fight comin’ here?” Frank asked as he shifted into reverse, then first gear as they ambled away from the homestead and towards wherever Frank had set them up at, “‘Cause it’d be a hell of a waste to give you all those files to just blow your head off.”

“I don’t think I know what to expect anymore.” Donnelley muttered in response.

“Them’s the times.” Frank muttered back, “Shit, can’t remember when them’s weren’t. You spend this long at it, you start to forget what normal feels like.”

“Mm.” Donnelley grunted, not quite enticed by talking shop with anyone, much less talking at all.

It took about an hour to get to with Frank driving like he was trying to get to this place before he finally died of old age any minute. There wasn’t much else to be had in the way of conversation. It was a quiet drive the whole way, nothing but the hum of the tires on the road out of the outskirts of Lexington and towards somewhere north. Passing trees in the fading sunlight were the only things watching them. The occasional house passed, the people out here not quite wanting neighbors if they could help it this deep in the country.

Frank slowed down when they’d gotten to a stretch of fence only broken up by a locked gate. Frank got out of the truck, rummaged in his pockets for a second before pulling free a set of jingling keys. He slipped one of them into the thick padlocks and brought them both out, pushing the gate open. He got back inside the truck and they continued on down the road, trading asphalt for crunching gravel and potholes. It was obvious Frank didn’t spare a thought to visitors on this road’s upkeep. Something told Donnelley that Frank didn’t come here often anymore.

“Used to use this place as a little club house. Get together after an Opera and knock back a few drinks before goin’ our separate ways again.” Frank grumbled, “Jen don’t leave the house much no more. Not these days. Saul’s dead. Ate one of his bullets.”

“That’s the official story, at least.” Frank glanced at Donnelley, then looked back at the road just in time for another big pothole to rock the truck, “After that, Clyde got that look in his eye.”

“Same kinda one you had on my Goddaughter’s porch earlier.” Frank said, “And then he died too.”

“How far did he get?” Donnelley asked, wondering if Clyde really was close enough to threaten Foster, or if he was just lucky enough to be next on Foster’s list.

“Close enough to take those pictures and videos I gave you. Clyde just wouldn’t stop. I let him do it all alone, and now look what’s happened.” Frank growled, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this shit. I got no one else, or I’d be gunnin’ for Foster myself.”

“You’re lucky you got me.”

Frank side-eyed Donnelley and snorted, “Fuckin’ better be.” Frank said, not too impressed with Donnelley’s bravado, “Home, sweet home. Ain’t she a beaut?”

Donnelley could see the tiny shack illuminated in the headlights of Frank’s truck. A small cabin built more like it was supposed to fit in an alleyway and not a sprawling property, “This?”

“Oh, sorry, the palace is out back.” Frank grumbled, “Yes, this. You need a place to lay low, this is it. I’d tell you to sleep tight, but… well, you ain’t really got a choice.”

Donnelley sighed. He’d stayed in worse places. Tiny huts about the size of this one in Afghanistan with no running water or plumbing. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Frank pointing the way for Taliban to come chop his head off while he slept. Donnelley opened the door, but stopped when Frank spoke, “What’s your next move?”

Donnelley kept his eyes on the house as he thought for a few moments. He dug his pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit it, “Let me worry about that.”

“Oh, I can tell I’m in good hands.” Frank sneered, handing over the keys to the tiny house, “That was Clyde’s dossier, everything he could gather on Foster. Make sure it does its job, and do my friend justice. Get the fuck out of my truck.”

Donnelley flashed a look at Frank and then closed the truck door, grabbing his duffel out of the bed and lugging it in one hand with his plate carrier in the other to the door of the little cabin. He set his duffel down and unlocked the door, pushing it open with the toe of his boot and stepping inside. There was no magic to the place, it wasn’t the interior of a mansion squeezed into the confines of an illusion of an unassuming shack in the middle of nowhere. It was just hyper efficient use of what little space there was. There was a kitchen, a tiny living room with no television, and a ladder that led up to a bed so close to the ceiling he’d be picking roof shingles and drywall out of his teeth if he woke with a start.

“Alright.” Donnelley set his duffel down in the corner and the plate carrier on top of it.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and let himself fall into the small couch situated in the excuse for a living room. Scrolling to Laine’s contact, he pressed it, hearing the trilling dial tone before it went to voicemail. He rolled his eyes and sighed, half expecting it already, but just as hurt if hadn’t been. He couldn’t blame her. “Hey, Laine. I can’t really tell you where I’m at, but I made it alright. I, uh… I’ll see you.” He said, opening his mouth and finding himself at a loss for words for once, “I love you.”

He hung up, then scrolled to another contact. One he hadn’t called or talked to in years. He pressed it, and waited for the other end to pick up, “I’m cashing in that favor. I’ll tell you where soon.”

He hung up, tossing his phone next to him and slouching over onto his elbows resting on his thighs, just staring at the floor. He’d pushed about everyone he could away with just a few words and some ill-timing. But, if anyone could get the files on Foster to the right place, it’d be the man he hadn’t called in years. He just hoped he could still trust him, and hoped more that he could trust anyone in the Program. He hadn’t felt this alone against the tide in years. He had to say, it wasn’t something he missed. He laid back across the couch, his legs dangling over the other side it was so small. He sighed the only thing he could out onto the dusty air.

Fuck.

He tucked his hand beneath his head and closed his eyes, but he knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight. Like it ever did. He growled and sat up, getting to his feet and searching for a light switch in this dusty shack. His boots made the floor creak in his search, but the only thing he found was a camping lantern. He switched it on, pretty much the entire little shack being illuminated in a sickly blue light where he could see the dust stirred to life by the first visitor in years, but shadows still pressed themselves into the corners and hid behind counters and the tiny dinner table.

It was on the table that he saw it. A picture of four people, taken a long time ago. He could see a young Frank Gamble next to a young Clyde Baughman. He assumed the other two were Jen and Saul. Written in sharpie and flowing, looping cursive were the words, Bad Company. Next to the picture was a bottle of Jack Daniels, still half full. He grabbed the bottle and screwed the cap off, sitting at the table and looking at Clyde’s face frozen in time with a smile. He toasted the man in the picture and tipped the bottle up, taking a long pull, and then another. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and decided to light a cigarette.

“We’ll get ‘em.” Donnelley said to Clyde, cigarette between his lips as he flicked his lighter on, knowing he was far past caring about smoking inside. “Every single one.”

As time went on, just sitting at the table with no one but Clyde’s picture and a bottle of Jack for company, he just drank, smoked, and read the dossier that Clyde had compiled before it all caught up to him. Mostly drank and smoked. Couldn’t find a good reason not to.

>CIA HQ
>GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE
>LANGLEY, MCLEAN, VA
>29OCT2019
>0830…///

His ID still worked. That was a good sign, although the guard at the gate gave Donnelley a good, long stare while he rolled past in the Saturn, the car painted a drab and lifeless tan. Hardly the sporty type of car Donnelley usually hotrodded into the parking lot on those sparse occasions he was required to check in at Langley. Make sure he hadn’t gone native out there. He found an empty space and stepped out, shutting the door as he scanned the vast parking lot.

He was dressed in the usual business casual, hidden under the pea coat he’d decided to throw on, persuaded by the chill. He wasn’t lucky enough to park near the entrance to the CIA Offices, so he had to make the trek all the way from the back rows to the front door. He scanned his ID at the security stand, but the glass gate wouldn’t slide open, flashing red and giving him the denial tone. Three low hums. He tried again and the guard at the camera monitors finally noticed. He got up from his seat and stood behind the glass doors, “Can I help you?”

“Joseph Donnelley.” He said, “My badge isn’t working. Haven’t been here in a while.”

“Uh huh.” The guard eyed him wearily before turning back to his desk and tapping on an unseen screen before the gates opened manually. “Visit the front desk, get that sorted out before someone else isn’t as nice as me.”

“Sure thing.” Donnelley muttered, nodding his thanks and continuing on. He walked through the large entrance hall, but stopped at the sight of the CIA memorial wall. There were two more stars there, fresher than the rest. Probably no one knew who they were for. Probably no one knew one of them was for the man staring right at it, like he was looking at his own headstone.

He swallowed, ripping his gaze away about as easily as looking away from a car crash and continued deeper into the building, heading for the front lobby desk where a black woman sat filling some form out. She scribbled whatever sentence she was working on before turning to face Donnelley and she put on a smile, “Hello, sir, what can I do for you?”

“I need my badge updated. Didn’t work at the front gate.”

“Well… how did you get in?”

“The guard opened the gates for me.” Donnelley shrugged.

“Oh, Miller, that-… okay, alright.” She chuckled, though her hands threatened to snap her pen in half, “Can I get your name?”

“Joseph Donnelley.”

“Okay, I’ll have to look your ID up in the system. Can I see your badge?”

He handed it over and the receptionist took it, tapping away at her keyboard until she stopped, her brows went up, “Says here you’ve been, uh…”

“Yeah, screw up with the system.” Donnelley smirked, trying his best to be nonchalant.

“Huh. Well, okay then. Take a temp badge, it’s a blue, so you won’t have full access. It’s for contractors, but that’ll give you good enough access, I hope.” She said, “What section?”

“Operations. SAC.”

“Alright.” The receptionist rifled through a card organizer at her workstation and handed over a blue badge, “Have a good day.”

“Thank you kindly.” He turned from the desk and headed for the elevator vestibules. He scanned his badge through side door with a placard that read simply Security Studies Group. A single freight elevator waited inside and he stepped inside of it, scanning his badge and pressing one of two buttons that were on the panel. Down. When the elevator door opened to the Black Floors, the Program’s offices within the CIA offices, he walked to the front desk and the chipper young blonde looked at him with a smile. Different one than last time, “Hello, may I assist you, sir?” She asked in a beautifully rehearsed tone.

“I need to set up a meeting with someone, any rooms available?”

“It looks like room three is available from nine to twelve. Does that work?”

“Excellently.”

“Good,” The intern smiled with her pearly white teeth, red lipstick. Her hair blonde and put up in a bun, blue eyes kind and untouched by the worst parts of what went on in this very building. Almost had the urge to ask when she was off, but nothing was really truly ended with Laine, “What name should I put down in the reservation list?”

“Joseph Donnelley.”

“Okay, I’ll just put that down, make sure the card scanner only gives you…” The intern stopped with her mouth open, mid-sentence, “Joseph Donnelley.

“Yes.”

“Your ID card should’ve been… it says you’re…”

“Yeah. Mistake in the system, it happens.” Donnelley frowned, knowing full well what it said about him in the system.

“Okay…” The intern cleared her throat, continuing on hesitantly, but continuing, “Who else is attending? I need to give them access too.”

“Is Steven Foster still at the offices?” He asked nonchalant, both hoping he was and wasn’t at the office. It’d be an awkward reunion.

“Let me see.” She tapped on her keyboard and clicked a few times on her mouse, “It says he’s on assignment.”

Donnelley nodded, brows furrowing, “Okay.” He shrugged, “Rich Creecy, Intelligence.”

The intern went back to tapping and clicking before she smiled again, “He’s here. Okay, there we go.” She looked at Donnelley, “Anything else, Mister Donnelley?”

“No, that’s good enough. Thank you.”

“Okay, have a nice day!”

He wished he was, or could, but he simply smiled back, “You too.”

>0920…///

Donnelley sat alone in the meeting room. The screen on the wall wasn’t even turned on, so the small room with a long table and chairs enough for ten people sat completely dark. Donnelley found it a bit more relaxing than the noise of the office’s outside. He hadn’t been sleeping much, just reading Clyde’s dossier on the conspiracy that threatened the Program. Of backroom deals, double agents, secret projects. Majestic 12, Project DREAMGATE, March Technologies. There was a rot in the deepest parts of the government, the military, the intelligence community.

As the door beeped, opened, and the motion-activated lights came on, Richard Creecy stepped in and closed the door behind himself. His big eyes, deep set with dark bags, cast themselves over the room and all the empty space framing Donnelley. He was a younger guy, narrow shoulders and twig arms more used to digging around in servers and computer towers than taking apart rifles. He was on permanent loan from the NRO and shoved into a dark operations center using SIGINT and IMINT from satellites and relays monitoring the world on the NSA and NRO’s dime for hypergeometric threats and unnatural incursion vectors. Scientific, official words for what Donnelley knew as those writhing, gnashing things from beyond.

He was also a drug addict from West Virginia. Amphetamines. It was an open secret that a lot of the Program’s shooters were not exactly role models, but those outside of the Office of Operations liked to crack down on people who thought they could get away with the cowboy shit that happened on the Working Groups and Wetwork Teams. Donnelley spoke, “Richard Creecy.” He said it with an air of finality, like the judge reading his name out of the list of those sentenced for the headman’s axe, “Office of Intelligence, Imagery Analyst and Targetin’ Officer.”

“Um, yeah.” Richard swallowed, “Can I ask why I’m here?”

Donnelley slapped two things onto the table. A bag of adderall he’d gotten from Queen back in West Virginia. And a set of photos taken with a high quality camera zoomed in from a teal Saturn parked down the street from a drug house in Sterling. The same drug house that Richard Creecy had visited three days ago. “Take a look at those.” Donnelley said. Richard just stood there, and Donnelley smirked, “I won’t bite.”

Richard took a few steps forward, awkward and slow in his short sleeve button up and tie. He took one of the pictures and saw himself going into a house after receiving a patdown from a very scary looking individual. “How… why?”

“Because, I need somethin’ from you, and I need you to make sure nobody finds out what that thing is or who asked for it.” Donnelley smiled, reaching up and plucking the picture from Richard’s hand. “You either leave here with that bag as a partin’ gift, or I give those pictures to CI and let them run all over you. I’m sure John would love an easy case like you.”

Richard swallowed again, “Wh-what do you need, man?”

“I need a dossier on every Tadjbegskye Bratva syndicate on the east coast from New York to Florida.” Donnelley said, losing the smile. “Can you do that for me… friend?

Richard stared long at Donnelley, then nodded a couple times, “Yeah, I know some people who can do that.”

“You’re goin’ to make sure it finds its way to the name I send you in a text. And give them this note.” Donnelley slid a piece of paper he pulled from his coat pocket towards Richard, “I know you’ll be able to do this, and I’ll be very thankful for it.”

Donnelley grabbed up the photos and pushed the bag of pills towards Richard, “Now, what do you say?”

“Uh,” Richard eyed the bag suspiciously, before taking it and pocketing it, “Thank… you.”

“Good boy. Now git. I got this place for a few more hours and I’m pretty fuckin’ beat.” Donnelley leaned back in the office chair and then spoke to Richard just before he opened the door, “Oh, and Richard?”

“Yeah?”

“If you think of turnin’ me over to CI, there’s a man named Ghost I know who’d be more’n happy to make sure your body’s found floatin’ face down in the Potomac.” Donnelley closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head and his feet up on the table, “If they find it at all. Especially if you run. He likes that.”

He heard Richard gulp, “Okay.”

“Turn the light off, will you?”

And Donnelley was alone in the dark again.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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Here’s To You…


>RESIDENCE OF KIN DANG
>CALLSIGN: POKER
>HUNTER’S POINT
>SAN FRANCISCO, CA
>4NOV2019
>0940…///

Kin was in that state between sleeping and waking, not paralyzed, but not recognizing he could move yet. Or not wanting to. He drew in a breath and sighed it out through his nostrils, the house smelling of dust, weed, and spilt beer. It took him a second to realize there was a buzzing coming from somewhere on his left, but it wasn’t important to him yet. He didn’t want to wake, really didn’t want to sleep either. Life was addicting like that sometimes, you spend enough time doing it and it seems like any alternative doesn’t even exist.

Not until he was on the police force, and even further dried up when he was on the California Bureau of Investigation. His first homicide investigation was the worst. He remembered his phone and opened his eyes, snatching it up and expecting it to be Foster or Ghost telling him to suit up and kill someone again. It was someone else, that name he both loathed and loved. Sometimes both at the same time. But then again, he only missed the old Jasmine. And she was dead, for all he cared.

“Hey.” He answered.

“You know how long I’ve been calling you, pinche pendejo?” The woman on the other line spat acid at him, “How are you? Still doing… whatever you do?”

“Not today, at least.” Kin grumbled, reaching up to his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he groaned. “Why?”

“You have Maria.”

“Okay. Why?

“Because, she’s your fucking daughter, puto. You’re going to hop in your stupid ranfla and pick her up, and show her a good time while I’m out with my boyfriend.” Kin growled, and he could hear Jasmine growl back and spit a string of colorful language he couldn’t fucking understand out of her heavily lined Mexican Chola lips.

“It’s in the fucking shop. You drop her the fuck off.” He said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t growl because he had to take Maria. Taking Maria for the day wasn’t even an inconvenience for him. Hell, he’d press Foster to get him out of the game and have Ghost take THUNDER over if it meant he could take Maria out of that stupid mother of her’s hands and never give her back. Always snorting meth and coke to the point Poker wondered how the fuck she even had a nose anymore. Almost made him want to give the green light to some Norteños to come around and beat her and her boyfriend up, but then where would Maria be?

With him, sure, but Maria wouldn’t be the same after seeing her mother like that. Maria didn’t know what it was that her mother did, what her father did when they were away. At least the consolation there was Kin was cleaning up the world Maria was forced into eight years ago one psychotic piece of shit at a time. Same kind of person as when he was taking them to prison with the Bureau, different crime. And a much more efficient, permanent solution. Sometimes he wanted to take it to the streets here.

“Hey, are you listening to me, Vato? Pinche guey?” Jasmine yelled, and he heard her draw on a cigarette, “In one hour, okay? I’ll drop her off, but don’t bother me after that.”

“Whatever you fucking want.” Poker growled, then grumbled under his breath, “Piece of shit.

“What’d you say, motherfuck-click.

Kin sat up in bed and tossed his phone away from him, every muscle seizing as something shifted on his stomach. The bullet hole, Bear coming back to life even after his face was blown right the fuck off in front of everybody to see. He put a hand over it and then checked, it was healing well, but he still felt the pain of it even if he didn’t see the blood. They’d dug the bullet out of him and he kept it as a trophy, it was there on his desk, with the others. Next to the big Bowie knife that sicario tried to gut him with.

He sighed, there was a house to clean, and he’d be damned if he hosted Maria in this place and let her see him living like this. He picked the beer bottle up from the ground, leftover from last night, and took a swig. He rolled it around his mouth to wet it and then got to his feet.

>1100…///

He was just cleaning up the kitchen, the last of the house needing cleaning, and shoving another beer bottle and empty pack of cigarettes into the full trash bag he was carrying when he heard Jasmine pulling up with Maria. The engine cut off and he carried the trash bag out the front door, standing on his small porch and looking at the car. With one hand, he brought out his cigarettes, bit one out and then lit it after putting it away and finding his lighter in the same pocket of his jeans. For some reason Jasmine and her stupid fucking boyfriend in his stupid fucking suit were walking with Maria hand-in-hand up to his porch’s steps.

“Oye, mano.” Jasmine’s boyfriend nodded up at him, only to receive a hard stare from Kin as he took another drag and blew it out just close enough to his face that he had to stop and think if it was intentional or not. It was. He wasn’t his fucking mano.

“Hey, Kin.” Jasmine was acting nice now, like she did when someone was there to see, all smiles and batting eyelids. It was a shame he was there to see for five years until she slowly decided to drop the fucking act, “Maria missed you, didn’t you?”

Maria smiled and nodded, the only person there that Kin spared his hard image to smile at, “Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi, daddy.” Maria beamed.

Kin noticed Jasmine and her boyfriend- Jose, he remembered- Jasmine and Jose’s faces shift in quiet, unspoken embarrassment. Kin knew Maria would never call Jose her dad. The girl was loyal, gotten from him. Everything else, her looks besides her Asian eyes, she got from her mother. “Why don’t you go inside, baby.” Jasmine urged her on with a gentle push to her shoulder, no doubt relieved to be rid of her for a couple nights. “I don’t want you smoking that in front of my daughter. Not with her in the same room, not in the car, not anywhere.”

“Those are like nails in the coffin, Vato.” Jose had lost the smile, probably finally catching up to the fact years later after meeting Kin that he hated his rotten fucking drug dealer guts.

“That’s the fuckin’ point.” Poker blew another cloud of smoke directly at his face this time and flicked the cigarette into his chest, knowing he wouldn’t start anything in a neighborhood that wasn’t his. Or in front of Kin’s daughter.

Kin only smiled that smile as Jasmine put her hand on Jose’s shoulder as he growled. As if he’d even a chance of touching him. Kin had stared down and killed far more dangerous men. “This it?” He asked Jasmine, wholly ignoring Jose.

“I guess so.” Jasmine said. “And why don’t you stop being such a fucking asshole, Kin, you set up a really good example for Maria and-“

Kin stopped listening when he shut the door behind him and left Jasmine on his porch. He smiled at Maria, “How are you, pretty girl?”

“I’m okay.” Maria shrugged, then smiled at Kin, “What do you wanna do today?”

“We can pick up my car, go cruising. Listen to that Smokey Robinson song you like.”

When we’re cruisin’ tuh-gethah!” Maria swayed and nodded her head as she sang.

“That one.” Kin smiled. Maria was the only person in the world who could make him do that. The only one left in the world he’d do it for.

>1700…///

Kin and Maria sat in his Buick Riviera listening to Chicano soul and other artists. He’d played Smokey Robinson’s Cruisin’ at least eleven times just for Maria while they drove through San Francisco to get ice cream and a new pair of shoes. Maria spooned another bite of ice cream into her smiling mouth, nodding along to the twelfth time Smokey Robinson played. No matter how much he loved Maria, he didn’t have the same love for Smokey Robinson, “I pick the next two songs.”

“Okay!” Maria said, looking at her new Chucks as she kicked her feet idly and sucked on her spoon.

Kin smiled and looked away from Maria as he swallowed another mouthful of ice cream. Something in his rearview caught his eye in the parking lot, another car behind them full of people wearing sunglasses, one row back. The two in the front seats of the Honda Accord were staring right at them, and he could feel it. “Let’s,” Kin shifted into drive and rolled out of the parking lot, “Let’s get home, okay?”

“Okay, I wanted to go to a movie though.” Maria pouted as they drove.

“I know, how about tomorrow night?” Kin answered, looking in his rearview intermittently. He couldn’t see the car anymore and breathed easier. Before long, were back at home, rolling into his driveway and then into the garage.

He cut the engine and then slid across the hood on his rear to make Maria laugh and clap as he opened her door for her, “Princess.” He offered his hand out to her and she took it, smiling bashfully.

He held her hand as they entered back into his house from the garage door. Kin let Maria run off down a hallway so she could put her backpack away in his room. “Hey, can we watch a movie I brought?” Maria asked, hiding it behind her back.

“Frozen?”

Maria showed it to him, and sure enough, it was Frozen, “‘Cause we didn’t get to watch a new movie.” She asked quietly. “Please?

“Only if you sing to me.” Kin winked. Maria’s smile widened and she nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, okay. Put it in.”

>1840…///

Seemed like the marathon of kid’s movies was finally over, Kin thought, as he felt Maria snoring against him. He got off the couch and scooped her up easily to put her on the bed in his room. Walking back out into his kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and then lit up a cigarette, falling back into his old couch and switching on whatever was good on cable. After a few hours, he shut off the television and made his way back to the bedroom, laying down next to Maria and shutting his eyes as she shifted in her sleep, scooting her back closer to him.

He was dozing when he heard it, just in a light sleep. Something scratching at the door, jiggling the handle. He sat up, going to his desk and opening a drawer, finding his .45 inside, suppressor already screwed on. He looked back at Maria softly snoring on the bed and his frown deepened. Whoever was trying to get in picked the wrong night. He walked out into the hallway leading to the living room and listened close to the noise, the jiggling of the doorknob, the sound of his porch creaking under shifting weight. The seconds crawled by as Poker just stood still as a board and breathing in, out, in, out in the hallway.

The messing with the doorknob stopped, then the squealing of the hinges as it was opened. Poker’s eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. He punched out with his handgun and trained it on the end of the hallway, waiting for whoever it was to walk inside. It was quiet. No footsteps. Just the sounds of the crickets outside and a soft, cold breeze he could feel as the door was yawning open now. The first step came in, slow, even. He put just the slightest pressure on his handgun’s trigger, the trusty HK sitting easy in his grip. The first one came around the corner holding some sort of club and the suppressor rendered the explosion of his trigger squeeze into a loud pop, blowing the assailants brains onto the wall.

The second one pushed him over and bounded towards him. Poker stepped back and Mozambique Drilled him, two in the chest, one in the head and he fell just short of his feet. Poker left him leaking into the carpet as he ducked inside to grab the huge Bowie and closed his bedroom door. A feeble defense for incoming rounds, but he bounded into the bathroom. Another came around the corner and sent a shotgun blast straight at him, catching his shoulder. Poker grit his teeth as he threw himself into the bathtub and waited. Blocked in, Goddamnit. The light from the living room came in through the doorway leaving a pillar of it glowing in. Streetlights from the outside hit the window near the shower behind and above him.

Another round of waiting, hearing footsteps and whispers until he heard Maria start crying in his bedroom. He heard one of them speak, saying something he couldn’t understand. Russian? He scrambled up and leaned out of the doorway, sighting up on one and dumping the last four rounds of his mag into his back. He threw the pistol smacking into the last one’s face as he brought the Bowie knife up and screamed through gritted teeth. The huge Russian caught his arm just as the point poked into his shoulder, making him grunt. Poker brought his head back and sent his forehead cracking into the Russian’s nose, the two of them stumbling into the living room.

They struggled with each other over the knife, Poker not making any progress against the strength of this bear-like Russian. He grit his teeth, biting down on them so hard they might shatter, “You motherfuckers, you messed with the wrong fuckin’ one, you motherfuckers!

He brought his whole weight down, jolting the knife down once, twice, closer and closer. Until it was just poking the Russian’s chest, then sank deeper, and then deeper, the Russian grunting out a curse through a throat filling with blood, pink teeth bared and eyes wild. One more thrust, and the Bowie was buried to the hilt in that barrel chest of his. Poker stood, breathing hard, looking down at the Russian. He snorted something into his face and spat it smacking into the Russian’s cheek. Then he heard someone at the door, turning to see a skinny Russian with a shaved head and a handgun pointed right at him.

Fuck,” He heard the shot, felt the punch of it in his side, right into his ribs, right into his lungs. He stumbled back and tried to catch the TV, his hand only sliding uselessly across the screen as he fell on his back. He drew in a reedy, shaking breath as he looked from his red chest and up at the tall Russian, “They’ll come for you, motherfucker. You and your fuckin’ family.

“I have many brothers. And you will still be dead.”

Poker frowned deep and stared with unerring hatred at the Russian’s face, who stared back impassively. He raised his hand, middle finger extended, “Fuck-“

>…///

Maria flinched and whimpered when she heard the last huge bang come from the living room. Was dad alright? She didn’t know, she was too busy hiding in the corner after he closed the door, hands over her ears and praying someone would come and help. Was dad alright?

When the door opened, she clasped her hands over her mouth and made to crawl under the bed, but she was frozen still in the corner. Watching, just watching the door open slow as slow, like everything was happening in slow motion, but she knew it wasn’t. She was scared. Was dad alright?

Someone stepped through the door, leaving themselves shadowed by the light coming in from the living room. He was skinny and his head almost touched the top of the door jamb. He held something long in his hand, a gun, probably. She knew because Jose’s looked like that, but this person was taller than Jose by a lot. She found she was shaking, and then he was walking into the room and he crouched in front of her, smelling like cigarettes, which only reminded her of how dad smelled, was dad alright?

“Hello, pretty girl.” The huge man was smiling, something sad about it, and he had an accent so thick she could barely understand what he was saying, “I need you to do favor for me, okay?”

Maria opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She nodded instead. The man nodded back, “Okay, you take this,” he took her small hand in his huge one and pressed a little slip of paper as big as the ones inside the fortune cookies at the restaurant she and dad went to that day, “And, you make sure whoever comes in after me gets this note. Very important, you understand?”

She nodded again.

“Good.” He pat her on the head and it took everything not to scream. He rose to his feet and she shut her eyes. She heard him walk back out, but before he did, he said, “You must not leave room, okay? You will not like what you see. Goodbye, princess.”

She said nothing. Just held that little paper in her shaking fist and kept her eyes closed until she couldn’t hear the big man walking away anymore. Was dad alright?
Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by ODAberration
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>CIA HEADQUARTERS
>LANGLEY, VA
>04NOV2019
>1100...///


Bajbala sat against a low concrete wall clasping a phone in one hand with earbuds draped down her wool coat bundled chest. In the other was a cooling cup of watered-down hot cocoa, more to defend her hands from biting gusts that sweeped into the courtyard from Langley’s overcast skies. The surrounding trees were stripped bare. Still and gray during this shadowless time of day.

The slim briefcase to her side contained stapled messes of collaborative work. Weeks worth of sifted actionable intelligence delegated to her section. Getting it all digital and pitching the work was some “Mike’s” job. The same Mike that expanded her playlist currently feeding warm tunes to her chill-nipped ears. Kiss of the wind, one of his tracks started. It was hard, then, she recoiled with the eruption of sweltering volume. Bajbala hastily fumbled with any available fingers on the touch screen to cut the noise, spilling the cocoa over her hand.

She groaned, pondering how much of a first-world girl she’s become despite having spent most of her working life abroad.

A long wool black pea coat and a matching beanie were the order of the day. Dark wayfarers watched from a bench further down the jogging path. Feds, contractors, spooks of all kinds were probably sprinkled all over this park either making the most of some downtime or tailing someone who was. It wasn’t DC, but it was close enough to it that Donnelley always made sure to look over his shoulder. There were still Russians, and traitors. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, a somewhat difficult task with gloves, but he made it work.

His steps brought him over to the dusky-skinned woman some ways away until they were shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the same scene of barren trees reaching up to the sky as if they were begging it for sun. And like everyone else’s prayers, they went unanswered.

“I feel like I should apologize.” Donnelley said, frowning and taking a drag off his cigarette, waiting for Bajbala to answer, if she wanted. Just like most times at home, he masked his accent behind that implacable Newscaster American. “No briefing, just volun-told onto this assignment.”

Donnelley looked at what Bajbala was fussing over and produced a handkerchief from a pocket of his coat, “Here.”

His words, abrupt but cool-ly spoken, pulled Bajbalas gaze up and around like a guilty pup, caught in her moment of embarrassment. It was the first time she's seen him at the home station. There was little to no correspondence from the team in Alaska but she knew it was real. She was already slotted an auxiliary assignment several months in advance, details barred. She popped an earbud out and looked at him clueless.

She offered a quiet smile then took his offering to wipe down her fingers. It seemed like he was the kind of guy who carried everything on him, ready for anything, always, even a spill. Somewhere between charmingly useful and annoying. “No... It’s nothing. I’ve been told what to do every day of my life. At least the Agency gives good treats.”

Bajbala looked between the experienced creases that formed on his face as he smoked and the spotted mess on her hands she wiped. “I don’t see you walking around, you are a busy man?”

“As busy as you,” Donnelley smirked at Bajbala, not oblivious to the suitcase next to her feet, “Waiting for someone? I’m not interrupting some secret, clandestine hand-off, am I?”

He whispered the last words, having at least a modicum of manners and a facetious tone, seeing as he may very well be actually stomping through a carefully planned brush pass or dead drop. Some highly classified information that would show up as a headline on some BBC segment, a South American or African nation’s leader suddenly being deposed or dying. “I’m not, am I?” He suddenly urged, a sheepish look on his face.

She chuckled, hiding a measure of stupor. A funny guy, funnier than her. “No hand off. But you sir, you are right on time right where you need to be.” She patted the concrete between them and finished cleaning her hands. “All that’s left is…” Bajbala daintily offered the kerchief back to him, smiling.

“The cue.”

Donnelley returned the smile, taking the kerchief back and folding it. He’d brought it out of his coat folded square, now he’d put it back folded in a triangle, “Eight years.” He said, letting it sit on the open air as he took another drag, “You’d think that’d be enough time to get used to all this cloak and dagger.”

He blew out the smoke, shaking his head, “Never really do.”

This world they both knew was ever-changing. The only difference may be that Bajbala was shaped by it in her childhood, grown into a woman by the lies of spooks and insurgents; the reason they staked her out to participate in this secret world.

“How could you when everyday is not like the last.” The scent of smoke and the thick of his voice brought her back to the resurrection scenario, still on the edge of her belief. “ You know what I’ll never get used to?” She eyed the briefcase for a moment before knocking it with her foot. “I’m pretty good with this stuff but it’s not much fun.”

“Yeah?” Donnelley quirked a brow Baj’s way, then went back to scanning the passersby idly, not expecting a pistol being whipped out this close to headquarters… but old habits, “Just stick with me, there’ll be enough fun to go around.”

"I am stuck with you." She smirked "But, hey, I have to go. Any longer and someone will really be thinking I'm dropping leads on this stuff." She slid off the concrete and snatched up her briefcase, patting down the wrinkles in her coat.

She turned back to him and his cigarette, a string of smoke pulled with the wind. "Can we meet later? I actually have something to ask you."

Donnelley shrugged, frowning slightly just so while tilting his head, “Don’t see why not. I can find something to do around here.” He took another drag, “You’ve got my number. Burners, P2P encryption, you know the deal.”

She pulled a pen and a crumpled receipt from her pocket, nodding as she scribbled something down against her palm.

TYSON MALL BARNESNOBLE 6PM, in rough hand writing with flecked characters.

“Let’s start with this.” Bajbala folded the paper and handed it to him with a half smile then hurriedly marched off.

Donnelley watched her go for a few moments, looking down at the scribbled note after. He nodded, stuffing the note into his pocket and going the other direction in search of something to do that wasn’t real work.

>1801...///

The sun had just set in DC and car lights occasionally flashed across the broad windows of the bookstore. Bajbala watched another patron enter through the sliding doors, handing the shoulders of a child as he toddled past the curios on display. She sunk back into her perch that was tucked in the back of a lonely aisle. A seating area where she dragged over a bean-chair from the children's corner. It was just within eyeshot of the door through the wrought-iron railing of the second floor.

She wondered how punctual her new team lead would be, how he was likely bred for this sort of life. Despite his exterior pleasantry, like Ghost and Poker, a mind machined to instinctually make choices useful to this shadowy organization of whose lap she fell upon. A human mind broken into something else.

Bajbala thumbed another page in the book in her own lap, not quite comprehending the full context as her thoughts meandered.

Down below on the first floor, the front door opened to a man stepping through with cautious eyes. Although he smiled to a random passerby when his child skidded to a halt before bumping into his legs, no doubt staring at the big, scarred man. The father ushered his child away, mouthing, “Sorry.

Donnelley shrugged his forgiveness and went back to scanning the patrons. Once he caught sight of Bajbala lounging up at the second floor like a cat he made his way upstairs, taking a seat next to her. He watched her for a moment as she scanned the pages, “Apologies,” Donnelley gave a small smile, “Fashionably late.”

Bajbala returned the expression, unbothered. "Thank you for coming.” She pulled a leg up beneath her and leaned towards him. “I have this you might like.”

She slapped the wide book, Recipes of Our Ancestors, closed and placed it up on the end table next to Donnelley, inching it towards him once more with the tips of her fingers like it were a present. From the corner between its contents protruded a bundle of papers. Piecemeal bits of dossiers and reports, some of the constituents dead, including a CIA asset KIA deep within the FATA more than decade ago. Another, former GRU, in touch with Bazir, affiliation and whereabouts unknown. Then holes; operations struggling to avoid influence by tribal conflicts and evidence that Bazir himself had allegiance to an unknown agency, never confirmed.

She studied his face and hands waiting to see if it rekindled any memories.

What began as an entertained smirk and a glance at her passing over the book had slowly transitioned to one of trouble, a storm brewing in his blue eyes, ripples of memory returning. Of a long ruck, the Afghan commandos and their interpreters refusing to venture into that part of the mountains, the wailing… the wailing, most of all. He swallowed, slowly closing the book and placing it back on the table between them. Suddenly, Bajbala didn’t hold the same friendliness and calm nature he’d pinned on her at first.

It wasn’t anger in his eyes, at least not for her. The look of a man who’d escaped something only for it to be shoved in his face again. He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking Bajbala up and down, “Where’d you get these?”

The unease rang the way she hoped. Bajbala shook her head and in similar disbelief at its surfacing. “Hiding in plain sight. They don’t clean out at Special Projects like the rest of the agency, they’re on loan! Sort of…” she shifted in the seat and shrugged, “in any conventional sense none of this is relevant to anyone there except us.” She estimated of her new organization.

“You see,” she started, “I hear insider, and I,” touching one hand to her chest, “ as an insider see.” She pulled over the book and flipped it open, well clear of eyes and cameras in the dimly lit corner of the store. Her day’s behind the veil of the Taliban provided her many insights, afforded only by the luck of her involvement with the CIA.

“Here.” She traced her fingers along Bazir’s details, footnotes. “His deals with the Mullah; in Khyber and Orakzai,” She listed some villages in thick Afghan. “It’s very directed. Sure there was strategic value to what he provided - to draw coalition attention from here.” She pulled a page free. An MGRS map scan with strategic symbology and highlights on all but a few inconspicuous ridges and draws, likely ones Donnelley had seen. She planted a finger on one unaccounted zone inked with her hand-writing the grid coordinates of the airstrike. She watched his eyes digest what she showed him.

“It must have been easy.” She rolled a gaze at the image and bit her lip. “Give them the objective they want to keep them from the one they don’t know. I say this because I saw al-Khalwadi with... them, he didn’t look their enemy.”

Donnelley quirked a brow, an excitement in his pulse, though not one like a child at the sight of his presents under the tree. More like one running from the neighborhood dogs. He spoke with a hushed intensity, “Bazir? You saw him? Before he was…” Donnelley looked away for a moment and shook his head, “How long were you tracking him? Who put you on the case…”

He snorted humorlessly, “And you said you had a question for me.

Bajbala was taken aback by the sudden flood of questions. “Yeah… Before he was - I. Yeah. I didn’t see what happened exactly.” She reached back in her mind trying to summon the experience, the feelings. She remembered the distant sound of explosions, and the calling noises. She broke off the target when it was handed over to Donnelley’s ODA. Bajbala looked out towards the lights beaming by the storefront as if it would trigger something, then back to Donnelley, smirking.

“It was different then, I just did as I was told. I worked for another man affiliated with CIA somehow. But it must have been three- four months?” The serious tones of their conversation clouded her resolve to ask about the noises back then, her intent of the exchange. “Honestly, I thought you knew.”

“I guess I didn’t need to.” Donnelley shrugged, chuckling softly and looking at the book between them, “They kept a lot from us. The only thing we were briefed on was who we were looking for and where he’d be.”

He shook his head ever so slightly, “When we told the Commandos and the interpreters we were heading that way,” he frowned, “They refused. Said they would rather desert, go back to their villages and their homes in the city.”

“I still don’t even know where we even were exactly… besides it being Pakistan, illegally.” Donnelley said.

“About as much as I knew. But it's right there in the file, some of it anyway.” Bajbala echoed his discontent. “I don’t remember much, but I think I understand why they wouldn’t go. And others.” She recalled fighters disbanding on the cultist’s trek at some point, where she and Pazir fell from their shoulders to their shadows.

A lurching sensation crawled through her body trying to suppress an immature desire to blurt about still illogical experiences.

“There are no ladies in the outskirts, the only reason I made it so far.” She crushed her vulnerability, hopeful that it would go away and haunt her another day.

“So,” Donnelley looked at her, eyes fixed on hers and searching. Searching for any sign of memory, trying to find a window into whatever memories were coming to her, “You said you had a question?”

He looked away and nodded at the book, “Or did I already answer it? That I was there?”

She met eyes with him, stuck and uncomfortable for a moment. "Yeah, um, nothing else really. Just, what did you find there? With Bazir. What happened?" Prying, distantly.

Donnelley drew in a breath, folding his hands in his lap and staring at the book. Even just seeing the maps made it feel as if the place was assaulting his senses, an otherworldly dread, and the echoes of blood-drunk monsters wearing people’s skin. “He’s dead.” Donnelley shrugged, “But, you already know that. He was… sacrificed, like an animal to… Something.

He shook his head and looked away, scanning the other patrons in hopes none of them were eavesdropping. None, he turned back, “Was he important to you in some way, or…?”

The mission changed Bajbala and she felt it was the same for him by the way he spoke. A side of the coin she was better off without seeing then.

Bajbala chuckled shortly with a ponderous expression. "No soul left in that damned place is important to me.” The spite left her tongue like a serpent crawling in the open. She shot him an impish glance. “Unless, you want them to be, Qurbaana.” She postured up in the bean-chair, holding her crossed shin with both hands. Like Pazir when she was a girl, Donnelley was her new op-daddy. A joke, but a few months of work and she aims to please like a ball-driven dog with commands, drooling for a purpose.

“Hey, want to walk around the mall?” Some anticipation in her voice for a simple place she seldom visits.

Donnelley searched his mind for the word in his library of Pashto, his face the same stoney mask of remembrance until he finally found the word he’d heard. He looked to Bajbala at her choice of word for their dynamic, a jolt from frown to a fatherly smirk. Tilly might find her funny, he did. At Bajbala’s idea of a walk around the mall, he nodded and then stood, “Don’t forget your book.”

Still, he eyed the other patrons wearily, though most were idly scanning books and looking like they were too lost in their own lives to ever care what Donnelley and Bajbala could possibly be talking about. If only Donnelley could go back to that place of ignorance, warm and dark like a womb.

“Of course!” She said gleefully, swiping it into an opaque plastic bag she produced from beside her.

>…///

As they walked through the mall access a rush of crowd noise surrounded them. Hundreds were out to spend their holiday gift cards that Saturday evening. Bajbala peered through the many windows and their most enticing offers as she felt Donnelley was coolly cautious enough.

She scoffed at some stylistic oversized tie dye shirt. Coming from a world of function, many unique styles and cultures were beyond her and the guilt she felt for judging. Then she found herself wanting for something like a new handbag— the slim jade one hanging off a bust in a little designer shop on its last legs. Considered was how cleanly her carry piece would fit in it’s chic fold.

“Everything has been... ‘sit tight’ and ‘you’ll see’ since Alaska.” She emphasized the remarks. “I like suspense but you guys keep secrets like it's cool.” There was frustration in her nuanced body language as she watched ahead. “How do I prepare for this?”

Donnelley was busy eyeing some of the items in the store, looking for something Laine would like that he could surprise her with. Tilly also, but she didn’t seem the type to leave the house in anything other than a hoodie and some jeans. Too much like her father, though she barely really knew who he was. There were a few knit beanies Tilly might like, and a black handbag for Laine. Now that he’d been busy extorting people in West Virginia, money wasn’t as much of an object as it used to be.

“Uh,” Donnelley said, still cringing at the price tag of a handbag despite his recent off the books earnings, “Uh, yeah.”

He chuckled sheepishly, “I’ll admit I was there to shepherd the others during their first time. I didn’t tell them much then either,” He looked to Bajbala as he walked back to her side to see what had gotten her scoffing earlier, “Given our current locale, I’m not sure how much I should really tell you.”

“Question is, I guess,” He looked at Bajbala sidelong, “How much do you need to know right now.

She knew the game and got the expected answer. “I hate that. I’m a big girl, aren’t I.” she conceded and pulled a small sleeve of gum from her pocket, slipping a turquoise stick in her mouth. She extended a piece to Donnelley.

Trusted not to sleep around but made to beg for any information, she figured that was his job for the sake of the team.

Donnelley waved the gum off politely, “We could always find a quiet corner and I could explain everything to you at once.” He shrugged, “You’d be drinking through a firehose and leave with just more questions.”

Donnelley looked the crowd over and his eyes transfixed on one spot in particular. Across the way, a man in his fifties stood from sitting on a bench and closed his book, walking in their general direction as if he’d remembered he had business elsewhere. Perhaps he did. Donnelley looked back to Bajbala as the man passed them with his eyes firmly forward before disappearing into the crowd, “Just give me an easy question.” He smirked, “Like, maybe… hey, Donnelley, when do me and all my new friends get to play together?”

Bajbala laughed, as if he nailed exactly what and how she was thinking. "Yeah, when? Let me guess, I'll know when I need to."

The relative safety of being off-duty in a US city left her complacent as to why Donnelley was cautious. If it wasn't her document reveal she was unaware, settled that she doesn't need to know 'right now'. The man he eyed strolled by without a look from Bajbala as she recalled the names and faces from the encounter in Anchorage. Those she liked, the frightening few, and that moody one, "Arkansas".

“You never know,” Donnelley said, looking back at the thin herd of shoppers, a river flowing in opposite directions, “Could be sooner than you think. I’ve never gotten to read your dossier, you know that?”

He asked, and then nodded towards the crowd, “How about a show of what you guys do over in Special Projects? Find me someone, before I do.”

The motley teams in her branch largely used to procure deniable arms, transportation or support personnel for guys like Donnelley, it was also a think-tank and clandestine strategy petri dish. Where unsustainable projects like RED BULB are exploited.

Bajbala looked up at him quizzically. It seemed only Foster was in the real loop with the arrangement, now they were playing games with strangers.

She followed his eyes out to the passing shoppers. "Sure, this is a challenge… or a job?"

“Consider it both.” Donnelley smirked.

"I'll play. Who do you want?" She asked simply, her mind gearing up to work.

Donnelley reached back in his mind for the man he saw just a minute ago, trying to find a reason why he’d be here, and now of all times. West Virginia was wrapped as tightly as he and Queen could make it, but one could never be too sure.

“Male, late fifties,” Donnelley began, “Beard and hair gray. Heavy build. He had a thick pea coat when I saw him, but he might’ve ditched it.”

“He knows we’re here.” Donnelley admitted, “But we’ve got him two to one.”

Bajbala was enlightened. To be prepared 24/7/365, she thought she left that life behind and it started months ago. She was behind.

"Good, I wanted to stop in this shop. Is he aware you saw him? " she scanned the crowd ahead, then held out the bookstore bag in Donnelley's path as she intended to turn them to the shop. She glanced across the crowds before her eyes lit up at the accessory boutique.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, let’s hope he didn’t.” Donnelley said, “It’ll make it easy for us.”

Donnelley accepted the rerouting to the shop, stepping inside with Bajbala on his heels, “How would you approach this?”

She was silent for a moment while looking over a wrack. With little contemplation she lifted up a simple beige scarf and adorned it around her neck, pleased. “Drag him, split and press from both sides until we find him.” She said as if it was one of few options she’d consider in this circumstance.

“From there, how close do you want to get?”

Donnelley took a moment himself to consider a course of action. There wasn’t any reason to simply set up countersurveillance if they weren’t going to confront their pursuer. After all, if Donnelley was willing to let himself lose this game they could simply cut and run, “Assuming he’s not giving up and repositioning himself at another vantage point,” Donnelley sucked his teeth, “I want to get close enough we’re squeezing the breath out of him.”

“Evade and confront.” Donnelley echoed the words he’d heard at The Farm and The Point years ago.

Bajbala felt a pang of excitement. Her new crew did Administrative leave right. "Makes sense. Apparently Alaska was quiet business, so this must be laying low for you guys.” She spoke nonchalantly, recalling Foster’s directive for the teams.

“Ok, I’m going to get this, then point us in the right direction? We’ll choke your old man.” She reassured him while caressing the budget scarf and pulled out her wallet. She played a possible route in her head; the less crowded department store, sitting at the benches, being staggered and tracking him near enough to a bathroom or maintenance hall. Once she grabbed the watcher’s attention Donnelley could snatch him from the far side, or stare him down an arms reach away.

“Sounds… adequate.” Donnelley nodded, turning for the store entrance back into the mall to see the passing couples and other shoppers, walkers, and people watchers… and especially one in particular, “We ready?”

Bajbala finished her exchange with the cashier. A quick flip of cash, quarters and receipt then she bagged the scarf in with her books.

"Yeah. We're ready." She looked at Donnelley briefly while following him out. “I’ll stay behind some. Give me a short ring if you spot buddy and hold the phone in his direction. Get somewhere quiet. If you’re lucky I’ll ring you back and you better come out to mingle!” She pursed her lips at him as she cut from his side and walked off.

Bajbala cut across the concourse and took a short escalator ride up to the food court, peering around at the nearby stores and many faces. None quite matching the description, oblivious to the two operatives. She approached a childishly themed corner shop overlooking Donnelley, plotting her moves to follow him. Using mostly hand gestures, she ordered two extra large tropical slushies from the enthusiastic teenage worker.

For Donnelley’s part, he assumed the role of just another window shopper, giving a pursed smile to a passing gentleman on his own way to somewhere else. His eyes remained fixated on the crowds, flitting here and there and going over the faces he passed. He knew Bajbala was above him, but he made an effort to not give her away with glances upwards. He wasn’t anywhere to be found. Donnelley hit a vestibule choked with traffic when his eyes gravitated towards one man in that tightly packed knot of people, having just as much of a hard time getting through. By the time they’d broken from the human tide, Donnelley had nearly lost him in a gaggle of passing college students, laughing at some unheard joke.

He watched him turn and settle into their wake, walking back into the vestibule. Had he been spotted? Already compromised? If he was, there was no point in pretending he wasn’t following him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Baj, the call immediately connected to his Bluetooth earpiece, “Got him.” He said, the fake smile audible in his voice, acting like he was calling a family member or somesuch. He snapped a quick photo, not quite getting a look at his face, but the clothes would hopefully be enough, “I got a photo too, he’s following those smiling students, I’m a good distance behind.”

The phone buzzed in Bajbala’s hand. She opened a photo of random shoppers all crossing over the focal point. An older man by the gray in his hair, distinctly the only one fitting Donnelley’s description. They were still in her line of sight, and as he said, behind a row of younger people emerging at the end of the concourse was their man.

“Perfect.” She responded, delighted. “On it.”

For a few moments she watched the man from her table, an obscure angle through the walkway glass above as people walked between them. The man glanced around himself with natural curiosity but kept a steady pace. She observed until she identified an expression mixed with his act, a brief tell to where he was headed. Bajbala left her two drinks and strolled off on a path to intercept him.

Donnelley watched Bajbala descend the downward escalator at the leisurely pace it had locked her to. Still, he was behind the man himself and he had yet to notice Donnelley. They were heading straight to the mall’s front doors, and soon he’d have the whole breadth of the outside streets to slip any tails he had. “We let him get outside, we’re losing him again.” He said, “If he gets to those doors before you, I’m going to have to do this sloppy.”

Bajbala curbed a family with a stroller offering an apologetic smile. She caught him in the side of her eye across the concourse with the same tell for the exit ahead. At Donnelley’s remark she stepped it out and broke visual, eventually gaining a lead on the man and merging to his side of the walkway. Bundles of energetic crowds aided in disguising her movements. She walked at what she guessed was his pace, relying on Donnelley to be her eyes.

“How’s he look, behind me?.” She drew nearer to the Mall exit and measured her pace back, allowing the target to walk himself closer.

“He’s gaining, he’ll be within reach in five, four, three,” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed more by the second watching the man get closer and closer to Bajbala. Hopefully he wouldn’t put up much of a fight. At the very last moment, he snapped, “He’s on you.

Bajbala could hear the faint shuffle of steps to her rear as the crowd had dissipated near the exit. At Donnelley’s call she stuttered and turned back abruptly into the man's path. There was a brief awkward moment where he tried to pass but then she locked eyes with him, he was going nowhere.

As soon as Bajbala turned, the man reached into his coat to pull something. As Bajbala worked to restrain him with her new scarf, Donnelley bumped into his back, jabbing the blade of his Benchmade punch dagger tickling the small of his back, just at the base of his spine. He grunted, but the resisting stopped there.

“Oh, excuse me!” Donnelley laughed in show to any nosy onlookers. Leaning forward into the man’s ear, Donnelley growled through gritted teeth, “Walk.

Without a word, the man did as he was told. Donnelley turned him around and headed back into the mall, the disinterested crowds too busy living their own boring lives to notice.

Bajbala wrenched a knot tightly around the mans neck, almost leading him like a long lost friend. She clung onto it from the other side and huddled close to conceal the blade.

“On the right up ahead.” A corridor they had passed earlier.

Donnelley angled them towards it, his eyes scanning the crowds with the expression of a man who was just out for a stroll in the mall. Once they were inside the corridor and away from the cameras, Donnelley pushed the man stumbling through the bathroom doors. Thankfully, they were alone, no one pissing or shitting to ruin their party. Donnelley sheathed his push dagger in its place on his belt, next to the Steyr handgun.

The older man didn’t put up much resistance, probably knowing they could murder him in this bathroom and make it look like an accident. “I know you,” The older man nodded at Donnelley, then pointed at Bajbala, “You’re the mystery.”

“Taken, sorry.” Bajbala quipped. Them being a mystery to each other didn’t seem such a bad thing to her.

She took advantage of the daring flash of Donnelley’s sidearm to pat the man down. Eyeing him cautiously she moved in and reached past his coat pulling free a subcompact, which she pocketed before removing his wallet, keys, phone, and a folding blade. She undid her scarf, stepped back, gave Donnelley a nod, then proceeded to remove the phone's battery and clear the pistol.

“Really? You two?” The man scoffed.

Donnelley snorted, “She’s got better taste.”

“I’m going to get that gun back, right?” The old man asked, everything about him much too nonchalant about this interaction than most. He placed his hands on his hips and looked between the two of them, “But, seriously. Who is she?”

Bajbala passed a look over both of them then she cast her gaze towards Donnelley like she had just been caught in a charade. “What is this?” She asked. Bajbala was beginning to believe suspicion of even her team would be the new norm. As long as it didn’t get her killed.

“My name’s Sam.”

“Sam Dee.” Donnelley finished, looking the man up and down and chuckling, “He was one of my instructors at The Point. Helped me shave some off my draw time almost a decade back. Now look at him, stalking two friends out for a stroll at the mall.”

“Fuck you.” Sam spat, a tiny bit of that feigned offense probably hitting close to home. Such are men past their prime. “I take it you’ve got a new team?”

“I take it you’ve got a new number?” Donnelley shot back, “I called you about a favor a week ago, you didn’t pick up.”

“I don’t trust that much anymore. There’s a mole, you know?” Sam quirked a brow, then pointed to Bajbala, “Could even be her.

Bajbala connected her experience with the situation. “Could be.” She filled in nonchalantly. “So, who’s onto us— or me?” She handed back Sam’s wallet and keys but kept the rest until they would leave. She took a brief peak into the corridor, vacant, keeping her attention with them.

“Funny.” Sam said, busy with pocketing his returned belongings in their rightful places, “What’s the favor?”

“I’ve recently come into some… you know, incriminating documents for a certain company we both know.” Donnelley sucked his teeth and shrugged, “I need you to hold onto these documents.”

“How do you know I’m not the mole?”

“Because, you might hate your job, but you don’t hate the goal. Protecting America, protecting the world.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded along, considering his options, “What’s the catch?”

“If any of us are caught with any of this shit, we’re being put to death for treason.” Donnelley raised his brows, “Still in?”

“You’re seriously following this guy?” Sam asked Bajbala.

“I’m on salary. You trained him.” She returned, smug, and leaned against the faux marble sink counter. She played the backseat, keeping her cards only where they needed to be, at Donnelley’s discretion.

Sam simply shook his head at Bajbala’s impishness. He folded his arms and leaned his shoulder on the wall, “So, what is it?”

“I know who the mole is.”

What?” Sam jumped to attention, taking a step closer to Donnelley, “How?”

“I can’t tell you. The less you know about these documents, the better.” Donnelley shrugged, “You know how it is. I just need you to hold these until I find a way to use them. I need you to try to get in the Director’s ear, tell him you have documents that can get us the mole and plug that leak.”

Donnelley frowned, “And try to get me a meeting with him.”

“That’s fucking impossible. He doesn’t crawl out of his cave for just anyone.

“And I’m not just anyone. We’re not. We’re the ones who can fix this shit.” Donnelley looked at Bajbala, leaning on the counter, “I don’t have much time, can you fucking do this for me, Sam?”

Sam took his time, scratched at his beard and sighed, “I need something to sweeten the deal.”

“What’s that?”

“You come when I call.”

Donnelley narrowed his eyes, drew his lips thin. He took his own moment now, “Fine.”
Donnelley said, “It’s not like we have shit to do anyway.”

“Trust me, you’ll have some.” Sam said.

“You’re going to take over as our Case Officer?”

“Just listen for my fucking call. Am I free to go now?”

“You still need the documents-“

Fine.” Sam growled, “Where?”

“We’ll set up a dead drop.” Donnelley shrugged, “Keep our contact to a minimum. I know that’s how you like these things. And we’ll wait for your call.”

“You’d better.” Sam said, brushing past Donnelley to get to Bajbala. He held his hand out, “The rest of my shit, please.

She reached into her pockets and handed him his weapons. Last producing the magazine, she seated the unchambered round and with an ounce of reluctance handed it to him.

"Thanks for your time." She said simply.

Sam gave her a good look over, then eyed up Donnelley. Knowing Sam, he was probably going over how much he wanted to beat them over the head. He gave a small frown and turned for the door, disappearing behind it. Donnelley sighed audibly in the empty restroom, “I think we did well.” Donnelley nodded, “What about you?”

“For a saturday night in DC, yeah! Is this how you greet all your friends?” Bajbala said with a smirk. She waved out the wrinkles in the scarf and sorted it loosely around her neck.

“Only the special ones.” Donnelley gave his own smirk. He was starting to like having Bajbala here, no one else on UMBRA would’ve been able to get someone as clean as he and Bajbala just did. THUNDER, maybe, but no one could do it quite just like he wanted, “We should take a drive, get some coffee, see the sights. Hand off that bag full of treason and espionage charges to Sam.”

He nodded, they were getting closer to the end of this, but the seas were still choppy as all hell. There was an end. Donnelley just had to keep telling himself it wouldn’t be the one where they all ended up tripping and shooting themselves twice in the chest and once in the head. He rubbed his stomach, looking at Bajbala, “Kinda hungry.”

“Your treat?” She flashed her eyebrows and guided herself out of the restroom as another man walked in, unbothered by the trespassing female.

>…///

Donnelley and Bajbala sat in the small coffee shop-slash-wine bar. Donnelley had always been partial to reds, but beyond that, the art and sophistication of wine simply just rolled off of him as water to a duck’s feathers. It wasn’t long ago, looking back, that Holly had put in him a love for wine with the spaghetti and other pasta dishes they’d make to compromise with Tilly’s young and simple tastebuds. It was what he thought back to after sipping the dry Merlot he’d ordered. He took his eyes off the passing people on the street and looked at Bajbala, “So,” he began, “I can see why you’re with us. The mall situation was handled cleanly.”

He nodded, running a hand down his beard, trimmed back and subdued since last year in West Virginia, “I can tell from your accent that America is not your first home, and English not your first language.” He smiled, hoping he wasn’t offending her with his questions, and then spoke in fairly good Pashto, “But, I can also tell you’ve been speaking it as long I’ve been speaking Pashto.

Bajbala watched a sugar cube dissolve around the stirring stick in her tea, her hair fastened back with a large clip. She gave Donnelley an affirming glance. "You sound good!" She exclaimed, disregarding any minute oddities in pronunciation. Herself, hardly distinguishing her speech from other native English speakers after extensive use.

Then in her native tongue, "You also sound like every first date I've had since I've been here." She nodded with a smirk and tilted her steaming mug towards him. "Tell me how you started doing… " she uttered an Arabic expression for cleaning the mess god left for them. The hunting. The war. Of all the secretive soldiers of the coalition, the operators she laid tracks for, she never knew them personally.

Donnelley snorted and shook his head at Bajbala’s comment on first dates. His eyes left hers again when she asked the inevitable, still wearing his own smirk. Now she was starting to sound like every first date too, though somehow, her line of questioning didn’t seem so patronizing given the worlds they both shared. He nodded, “If I told you what I tell everyone else, you’d know I was lying. The whole, ‘I did it all for my country.’” His smirk had lost some of its humor, “I just wanted to get away from my shitty home. Dad’s… abuse. Mom’s quiet complicity. So I joined the Army soon as I could.”

He looked at Bajbala, the side of his face where his scar could be faintly seen through his otherwise thick red beard facing her, “Now look at me.” He smiled, “I practically don’t exist and I’ve got a smartass calling me her Quurbana.”

“Good answer?” He asked.

Bajabala chuckled and took a sip. "Good." She clasped the mug and played her fingers once around the edges. "Familiar story." She said ponderously. "I figure you're lying about half the time anyway. Still the most honest I've worked with." Sarcasm parting from her lips softly, vanishing in the warm roasted calm of the shop.

"And, it's qurbaana. Baana, with an alif." She mused.

"I've always worked this way, you know how it is. Being a woman over there." She fidgeted with the mixer, entertained by her thoughts. Working. "We're not fighters, we just obey. If we are not to give them sons, well," She shrugged, "we live to die for who we belong. " she lifted her mug to Donnelley again, lightly, "Qurbaana."

Qurbaana.” Donnelley returned the toast, redeeming his pronunciation before sipping at his wine, “Do you ever miss it? I mean, the parts worth missing. Sometimes I’d watch the sunrises and sunsets turn the valley walls pink or orange. It was my first time being outside of the country, being honest.”

“If it weren’t for the people shooting at me, I might’ve gone back. The food, too.” He chuckled, “Street food in Kabul. I miss it.”

Bajbala reached back far in memory and tried to pull from pleasant ones. With an aloof smile she opened. "Yes! So much personality that comes with the food. I remember a friend that would bring me soooo much naan every week, we would use it to feed our goats." She still searched. "I think I miss the hills. There were these hills by a lake, the first water like this I've ever seen. They were covered in a soft green one spring, like another world. I wish I could have rolled down them." She paused and gave him a coy smile. "I still do."

"It's nice to hear what you can appreciate. For a while it was— there was fear. I think it stopped being home when I was a little girl. More a… " She delivered another Afghan expression. A poetic linking of fate and shackles. Everything she valued was lost in her country. "I might mistake you miss the shooting. " She held the humor as she held the tea to her lips.

Donnelley shrugged, giving a soft snort at her joke. She was only half right, there was always the specters of reality that came with chasing every fight that would have you. He’d seen his fair share of flag-draped pine boxes, and known the people inside a lot of them. He sighed, “Not as much as I used to, being honest.”

He maintained his smile, knowing Bajbala knew as well- or perhaps even better- that your feet don’t touch Afghanistan without finding the blood just under the surface. Centuries of it, “I don’t blame you for coming here. I can only assume the Company plucked you out of there for being such a good asset.”

“For what it’s worth,” Donnelley gave a soft smile, “Glad you were. You seem like a good person.”

“Awe.” Bajbala regurgitated the hand to chest gesture. “Sure, you bad boys like having your good girls.” far from her identity, on either end of an operation it was her job to seem like a good person. She felt a similar sentiment towards Donnelley, as a person and leader.

Donnelley snorted, “There it is.”

Several pedestrians in business attire stopped in front of the coffee bar and smoked in view. “Really though, I’m excited to work with you and your team,” Bajbala turned her head quizzically at Donnelley. “But, I hope you’re ready. You have that sealed lips until the last second policy, it’s not going to stop me from being all over you for answers.” She stated mellifluously. Like a cat staring at its owner before slapping something off a countertop. Information was power on the ground, doubly if working alone.

“Hard to leak anything if you don’t know anything, I guess.” He said, “They only point us at the problem and our only objective is fix it. Makes for a lot of fun.

“I think my daughter would like you. You’re both smartasses.” He chuckled, gulping the last of his wine down and setting the glass back on the table, debating whether to have another or not.

Bajbala got it, but she had nerve. If there isn't somebody saying she isn't allowed to know, she'll try their ear off.

"Oh. You're needing a babysitter or something?" She asked, caught off guard.

“No, I’m sure her mother has that covered. And her mother’s husband.” Donnelley said, probably a little too bitterly to match the humor of the rest of the conversation. He recovered as quickly as he could, “No, what I’m needing is someone who can get me what you can get me. Like those presents in that suitcase you had. Whoever’s getting those birthday cards is going to be very happy.”

“Oh,” He said, nodding out the window they sat next to, “Look who’s right on time.”

Outside, Sam was crossing the street towards the coffee shop wine bar. He entered through the front, making his way towards the stand to order, then sat down at the other end of the dining area he and Bajbala were sitting and making good conversation in. When the barista at the counter called out the dry cappuccino to-go for William, Donnelley knew that Sam hadn’t been followed. Knowing Sam, he made doubly sure he wasn’t. The man was the type to not shy away from confronting his own tails and then splitting their heads open in an alleyway with a brick.

So, Donnelley trusted him on that. Sam grabbed his cappuccino, returned it to his table, then went to the men’s bathroom, where the files Donnelley had stolen and compiled were stuffed into ziploc bags and left in the tank of the middle stall’s toilet. Sam didn’t even look at them as he passed, files stuffed in his backpack as he took his dry cappuccino and left.

“Hopefully this all works out.” Donnelley thought out loud, his voice betraying his worry. Not just for himself, but for his team. His family. Holly, Tilly, and even Mark, if only because he’d raised Tilly better than a younger Donnelley ever could. Or wanted to.

"Hopefully. I hope that wasn't the basis on picking me." Bajbala began, following with the last of her tea. "It will work out because we’ll make it." She said, eager to work, green about the horrors she has yet to witness.

There was some hardness behind Donnelley's eyes.

"Have another. I'll drive." Bajbala offered, signalling the wait staff by pointing to his glass.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by idlehands
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> Boston Mountains, Boone County
> Dave MacCready’s Cabin
>10.OCT.2019
> 0915..///

The fog had burned away by this time as they passed northbound over the Buffalo River and crossed the county line. The hills of the Ozarks were still thick and green, with only a few hints of gold showing in some early turning hickory trees. Beneath the lush foliage, shale mountains rose from the river and folded over, buckled and worn down with eons of time. It was a lovely country that never failed to inspire Mal Freeman, each time he saw it as something new, a balm from Fayetteville that he shared with his Dad.

He watched out the window as the trees rushed past, his mother flying the silver Mercedes S Class along the lazy winding roads. Kaliah had memories of these mountains as well, brief but powerful memories of a time when she thought love might conquer all. It might have ended but it resulted in the boy beside her who she and Dave both loved with a fierceness.

It was a small sign, “Welcome to Boone County. Keep Boone County Beautiful.” that caught her eye as they swept past it. She gripped the steering wheel a little harder, a brief flash of what that sign really meant in Boone County. Keep it Beautiful, keep it White, keep it Christian. Keep it that way by any means necessary. The MacCready clan, Dave’s estranged family, were a keeper of this promise. She knew all too well and even if it had been years ago, she never forgot the look in the eye of his father when he knew what she was to Dave.

The brief memory surfaced and she glanced at Mal who was staring out the window, his light brown skin and tight curls a blend but he would always be black in the eyes of these people. But he was Dave’s boy, he was protected by that, Kaliah always had to remind herself when she let Mal go to his father’s house. It was in the hills, away from the town where malice existed under a thin veneer that she could breath a little better.

Kaliah turned off the thin ribbon of highway and onto an unpaved road, gravel crunching under the sedan’s tires. Bella whined in the backseat, pushing her large square head between the window and Mal’s headrest. They were getting close and somewhere in her dog brain she might have recognized the landscape or more likely sensed the growing anticipation in her boy.

“Don’t forget to call me,” Kaliah said, making the curving turn as the gradient turned steep but the car handled it with ease, the road scanning technology adjusting for bumps. It was a different ride than banging along in Dave’s pickup.

“Aren’t you going to be busy?” Mal replied, unable to keep the hint of disapproval from his voice.

“I’m never too busy for you,” she replied, her brow furrowing slightly under the perfectly applied makeup. . “You know that, don’t act like that. I thought you liked Daniel.”

Mal shrugged, he liked Daniel as a person, but the idea that he and his mother were serious enough that he met the man and he had stayed over at their house gave him trepidation. Despite his father’s absence lately, Mal had hoped they might reconcile, especially after Dave had stayed over the last time. But it was always the same, the flame burned hot and died quick, then they would part and find someone to fill that empty space. Mal was fooling himself again, he was getting too old to keep thinking their little family might be under the same roof one day. It had been this way his whole life.

“Yeah, he’s cool, I guess,” he said, “But you really like him don’t you?”

Kaliah pressed her full lips together then nodded, “Yeah, I really do.”

“Do you love him?”

She paused then shook her head, “That’s a loaded word, boy. And I don’t know yet. But I do like him a lot and he likes you, Mal. He wants to be there for you.”

“I have a Dad,” Mal said, slouching into his seat. “At least I think I still do.”

Kaliah sighed, “Stop that feeling sorry for yourself, your dad loves you. He just has some things going on and can’t be there like he was, you know this.”

“I know.”

Silence fell between them and Mal shifted, his sullen expression lifting when he recognized the creek that flowed downhill, the black and gray stones glistening under the spray of water. They were almost there and the excitement at finally seeing Dave after so long overroad his stubborn anger at being abandoned when he needed him.

“Almost there,” he said, leaning forward and Bella wagged her whip tail, slapping at the tumbled blanket that covered the leather seats in a vain attempt to protect them from her claws.

They pulled towards the cabin, the old pick up with the camper in place parked out front but no sign of Dave. Kaliah had hardly put the car into park when Mal was out the door, his lanky frame taller than he was the last time he had been up here. When they found that body and whatever happened had sucked his Dad into some dark plot that he could not begin to guess at.

Mal rubbed his hand against his jeans, he could still feel the bone that he had picked up. The fact it was human still bothered him though he never let on, he wasn’t a pussy. He called Bella who clambered through the gap between the seat and door before he could bring the seat down and she ran in circles, sniffing the ground then pulled her head up, tongue lolling out.

Kaliah shook her head as she stepped out, “That dog.”

She opened the trunk and began to take out the food she packed and Mal’s bag as the boy ran to look for his dad.

Around the back of the house, Dave stared down the line of a carbon arrow. The recurve bow he held was a custom job, made years before in his grandfather's workshop, and while he owned a half-dozen others, two of which he'd made himself, this was the one he loved best. The draw was only 45 pounds, just enough to drop a whitetail at 30 yards, but it was the first one he'd made with his grampa, and the one he always went back to.

Dave took a breath and drew, eyeing the gap between arrow and target as he'd been taught. The target, a foam deer with an outline around the killzone, was weathered from years of use. While Dave's tactical skills lay solidly with the rifle, he'd always preferred hunting with a bow. There was more challenge, more technique, and over the years he'd become one hell of an archer.

Right now, though, only one arrow showed on the target, stuck firmly in the neck of the foam deer. Four more stuck nose-up in the grass around it.

Dave took another breath and then released, allowing the string to slip from his fingers. The arrow crossed the distance in a flash, striking high and glancing off the back of the target to disappear into the trees behind it. Dave swore and lowered the bow, his eyes hard.

He stared at the target, frustration building, and then dropped the bow. His hand flashed to his thigh, the Sig holstered there seeming to leap into his hand, the other finding the grip as the weapon rose. Three quick shots rang out and foam flew. After a moment he shoved the gun back into the holster. Two black holes showed in the ten-ring. The third had blown through the deer's painted-on eye. He sighed and closed the retention on his holster, looking over at Rufus, who watched from the shade of the back porch.

"What're you lookin' at," Dave grumbled. Rufus yawned, clearly unimpressed. Then he suddenly perked up. The big dog growled once, a low rumble, then leapt from the porch and vanished into the trees.

"Shit," Dave muttered. He left his bow where it lay, jogging to the corner of the house and slipping a fresh magazine into his Sig. He peeked around it, his blood thundering, and then sighed as he spotted Kaliah's car. When he saw the door open and Mal stepped out his heart twisted. Without a second thought he ran around the house, jogging towards his son.

The sudden staccato of gunshots made Kaliah look up sharply, her eyes snapping to her son but he was not alarmed or injured. Mal stood with Bella who was barking at the noise then bouncing around when the large mastiff appeared.

“Rufus!” Mal called and could not keep Bella from racing over, running circles around the beast of a dog and making puppy play bows, whipping her tail back and forth submissively. The pit bull mix was all energy and dumb happy but Rufus waited stoically, sniffing at her when she got close but made no move to engage her play.

Mal caught a glimpse of movement and saw Dave emerge, his beard and longer hair was still something he was not used to seeing. But it was his eyes, those eyes that he was so familiar with that struck him. Mal did not know how to articulate it, but the sensation he felt made him stand still rather than run to Dave. He waited, giving a small wave of recognition.

“Hey Dad,” he said, then looked back at his mother, almost instinctual reassurance that she was still there. The boy turned to face Dave again, the stranger that was a shadow behind his father’s eyes still lurked. He shifted his weight then said, “Mom brought sandwiches.”

Dave slowed, seeing the unexpected wariness in Mal’s eyes. He felt his gut clench at the sight of it, but he forced it aside, and the moment he heard Mal’s voice he broke into a grin. He pulled Mal into a fierce hug, squeezing him tightly.

“Sandwiches’ll wait,” he said, crushing Mal to his chest.

Mal returned the hug, the comfort of the familiar affectionate gesture brushed away his initial reaction. He had missed his Dad and the resentment and anger melted for now, he still had questions but it could wait.

Bella jumped around, pawing at Dave and Mal until Kaliah pulled her away and put a hand on Mal’s shoulder. The boy pulled back and his mother looked up at Dave, examining him for a moment before smiling. “It’s good to see you in one piece,” she said, “I’m going to need to be running soon, can we talk?”

She glanced at Mal who knew that look and he sighed, shuffling over to pet Rufus and scratch behind his floppy ears.

“Yeah, sure,” Dave said, reluctantly releasing Mal. He gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze, then turned his attention to Kaliah. He motioned her aside with a jerk of his head, walking a few steps away to keep the conversation private. “What’s up?”

Kaliah walked with him, watching him from the side of her eye. “A few things, like I understand you’re doing some secret agent things but our son needs you. He got into a fight last month, put another boy in the hospital. Lucky for Mal his mother is a pitbull of an attorney. He was defending himself but I saw the other boy.”

She turned and faced Dave, “He beat that kid past anything self defense should have covered, being a minor and the instigating factor that the boy he fought had been using racial slurs and started it that kept Mal out of juvy.”

Dave looked over towards Mal, shock plain in his eyes. The idea of his son beating somebody that badly was...troubling. Particularly given the things that Dave had recently discovered he himself was capable of. He looked back at Kaliah.

“I’ll...Uh...I’ll talk to him,” Dave mumbled. “I don’t...You know I ain’t…” He glanced back at Mal. While he hadn’t told Mal to solve his problems with violence, he had been the one to teach the boy to fight. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Mhmm,” Kaliah hummed, the doubt still in the raise of her brow. “Another thing, I’ve been seeing someone. He’s a lawyer from DC and well, he’s over this weekend. He’s met Mal.”

She took a deep breath, running her hand over the thick curls, “You know I don’t just introduce any date to Mal. Daniel’s a good man and I think we might be seeing each other for sometime.”

Her dark eyes found Dave’s blue, even now the pull was there, distant under her affection for the new love but it would likely never leave her. “I thought I’d let you know.”

Dave nodded. While there was some distant spark of pain at the knowledge Kaliah was with someone, more than anything he felt relief. He sighed and smiled.

“I appreciate it,” he said. “I uh...I’ve actually met somebody, too. Someone on my team. You’d like her.” He grinned. “Another smart one, somehow fallin’ for the Arkansas backwoods charm.”

“Is that so?” Kaliah said, “I can’t imagine how she might have fallen for your charm.”

She smiled a little, she knew that backwoods charm all too well. “Is it serious?”

“Pretty serious,” he nodded. “It’s moved kinda fast, but uh...You know. Nature of what we’re doin’, I guess.” Dave shrugged. “Not sure when I’ll have her up here, things are kinda crazy with...Well, with what’s goin’ on.”

He shook his head, glaring at the ground. “I hate all these secrets, I do. That ain’t me, you know that.”

Kaliah crossed her arms under her breasts, “Yes, I know it’s not you. I also understand the nature of NDAs. I just hope it’s worth it.”

Her dark gaze held him before she softened, “And she better treat you right or she’ll have me to answer to.”

Dave laughed and reached up to tug at his beard, then ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’ll be sure an’ let her know,” he said. He pointed a finger at her. “An’ the same goes for this Daniel guy. He messes around, you lemme know.”

She reached up and patted his shoulder, “You’ll be the first to know. But Daniel’s good, he was teaching Mal to play lacrosse and we’ve worked together for the past year.”

Kaliah tilted her head, looking up at Dave, “But he’s never going to replace you.”

Dave nodded, looking back over at Mal.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Look, like I said, I’ll talk to Mal about...About the fight. See where his head was at.”

“Good, do that,” she said, “He needs to get that off his chest, it’s been a month and he’s been doing better but he needs you. I’ll be back Sunday evening to pick him up.”

She stepped away from him and went to Mal, hugging him and giving him a kiss on his cheek. He was already tall enough that she could no longer reach the top of his head. After murmuring a few words, she had him get his bag and the cooler before climbing into the Mercedes.

Mal waved and watched until the silver car vanished around the curve of the dirt road. He turned and Bella ran after him, barking as she spotted a squirrel and gave chase. The boy laughed, “You can’t give it a warning, you’ll never catch it.”

He smiled brightly at Dave, “So what are we going to do? I wanted to shoot guns but you know how Mom is. She wouldn’t let Dan take me to the range, he offered, which was pretty cool.”

Dave felt his throat catch again at the sight of his son's smile. He walked over and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, gave it a firm squeeze.

"We can do anything you wanna do, bubba," he said. "Just lemme go put my bow away, and then I'm all yours."

Mal tagged along behind Dave, not letting him out of sight even as the bow was put up. Bow hunting was something he still had not mastered and truth be told, had less interest in than guns. The twang was just not as fun as the bang.

“I thought maybe some target practice, can I use the AK?” he asked, “Can you teach me how to put a fuse in some C-4?”

Mal knew he was probably pushing it especially since he knew his mother told him about the fight. He tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and added, “Just for fun, you know. Maybe get some pumpkins and blow them up.”

Dave grinned, though he hesitated for a moment. "We can do the AK, get some pistol work in. We'll have to see about the explosives though, bubba."

He gave Mal's shoulder a squeeze. "I was thinkin', before it gets real cold, maybe we can do some wildman shit. Remember how we built that rough shelter that time? Maybe we can do that. Go live off the land for a few days."

It wasn't a firm no so Mal accepted it and then looked up at the trees, the leaves in the high reaches of the Boston mountains were turning gold and red among the still lush green. In a couple of weeks the woods would be ablaze in color and the nights would be chilly enough to bundle up.

“I remember,” he said, “Where will we go? Stick around here like last time or go off into the mountains?”

Mal reached down to pet Bella who was bumping against him and the memory of the bone clutched in his hand came back and he rubbed his palm vigorously against her smooth coat. All that was over, it was gone thanks to his dad. He trusted this was so and the worst they might see was some fat blackbear still gorging on berries.

“We’ll go up a ways,” Dave said, nodding deeper into the wilderness. He looked up at the mountain, seeming to be lost for a moment in thought. “Yeah. Up a ways, I think. And we’ll bring a couple rifles. I think you’re about old enough to carry your own.”

He looked over at Mal and smiled. “How’s that sound? I’ll let ya pack the Romanian.”

“Hell yeah,” the boy grinned, “When do we get started, we still have time.”

He checked his phone and glanced at Dave, studying his bearded face for a moment, “Yeah it’s only like ten.”

“Five hours too late,” Dave laughed. “Be past noon by the time we got up there, and then we’d still hafta get a shelter built.” He patted Mal on the back, coaxing him towards the house. “We’ll get our gear together, an’ leave at dawn, so we don’t wind up sleepin’ in the cold. Meantime, figure we’ll do a little shootin’ and fill our bellies before we spend a few days eatin’ rabbits and greens.”

...///

Mal brushed his teeth, washing it down with the well water pumped up to the cabin. It was the last of the running water he would see for a few days and had taken a decently warm shower before changing to the flannel pajamas. He headed back into the narrow hall that cut between the bathroom and the doors to the two bedrooms. Rounding the corner he could see the back of Dave’s head where he sat on the sagging old sofa.

“Bathroom’s free,” he announced and plopped next to him. “Can we watch Predator?”

Dave stifled a yawn, but nodded, gesturing towards the TV. It was a comparatively modern one, something he’d gotten for Mal when the boy had expressed interest in movies during his visits. The TV and the DVD player gave them something to do when the mountain weather turned rough and not even Dave felt like being outside. Beneath the TV was a cabinet with a sizable DVD collection.

“It’s in there somewhere,” Dave said. His basement was organized; ammunition palletized by caliber, guns hung according to use, explosive components safely separated and stored in their inert forms. Any military armory NCO would be proud of the job Dave had done on his private and highly illegal armory. The movie cabinet met none of those expectations.

As Mal went for the movie Dave walked to his liquor cabinet, taking out a bottle of No. 7 and pouring a measure into a glass. After a moment he poured a second one, this one smaller.

“We gotta have us a talk though, son,” he said, walking back to the sofa. He set his whiskey on the side table, beside the same .357 he’d pointed at that government man so many months ago. The other he set on the coffee table.

Mal popped the DVD in the player and turned to grab the remote control from the coffee table. He saw the glass and lifted his gaze to Dave who sounded more serious than his usual light tone. The boy moved over and sat down, then picked up the glass of whiskey and looked into it.

“Uh, sure,” Mal said, turning the glass in his hand, “What about? The hike tomorrow? Building the shelter, I remember how to do the lean-to, digging it out and stuff.”

Dave snorted. “Nice try,” he said. He held his own glass, his blue eyes locked on Mal. He looked troubled, but not angry. “Who taught you how to fight?”

Mal's dark brown eyes wavered but stayed on his father's gaze. He swallowed hard, the subject of the fight was bound to come up, he knew it was just a matter of time. A shadow of the anger he felt after the fight, when Dave could not or would not come, raised a little in his chest before he sighed, his shoulders sagging only slightly, "You did."

Dave nodded. “I did,” he said. “You remember why? You remember what I told you?”

He answered for the boy, looking down into his glass. “I told you that we only fight when it means protectin’ ourselves, or somebody weaker’n us. Ain’t that right?”

Mal nodded slowly, rubbing his thumb against the rim of the glass. "Yeah, and I was defending myself. And my friend."

The boy turned to look at Dave, his youthful face showing the similar handsome features he inherited from the man beside him. "There was more of them than us, they started it."

“That’s what your mom said,” Dave nodded again. “She said you started out defendin’ yourself. What happened after that?”

Mal furrowed his brow, a darkness in his expression, "Do you just want to know what I did wrong? Because that asshole ended up in the hospital. Well, I had to keep him from getting back up, fuck him!"

His heart was racing and the images of blood and the sound of ribs breaking echoed through him. "We weren't doing anything wrong, just playing some one on one at the park. Stephan and me, you remember him? He's a big kid but he doesn't like fighting, he won't even go out for football."

Mal looked at the glass and he saw the amber liquid trembling from the shake in his hand. He took a drink, instantly shuddering and coughing from the liquid fire that coursed through his chest.

Dave let the outburst slide, though his jaw tightened. He waited for Mal to shake off the burn of the whiskey, his own mind chewing through the likely course of events.

“Tell me what happened,” he said. Dave reached up and pushed his hand beneath his hat, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “I...know I ain’t been around. Not like usual, and I got reasons for that. But talk to me.”

Mal put the glass down and sat back, not looking at Dave but at a spot on the wall. "I know you got reasons."

After a moment he began to explain, still looking at the wall. "We were playing basketball at the park and these dudes rolled up on us. Started talking shit, how it was their park and we should get the fuck out. Stephan wanted to leave but I just..."

Mal shrugged, looking down at the wood plank floors. "I got really pissed off and told them to fuck off. They didn't like that. They called us names... said we were fags and shit."

A flush crept up his face as he spoke about belittling them. "They called us niggers, Dad."

His dark eyes shifted to Dave, "So I said that his mom didn't seem to have a problem with us so why did he? Then he swung on me."

A hint of dimples appeared in his face as recalled how he got them to react. So predictable and so dumb.

"We fought, then his friends went over and tried to push Stephan but he just curled up and they started kicking him," Mal continued, his mouth dry as cotton. "This guy I was fighting, he'd brought his skateboard and swung it at me, caught me in the face. The wheel hit me just below my eye, gave me a fracture the doctor said. After that he swung again but I ducked and went under, tried to throw him with a grapple."

He rubbed his eyes, "I don't know Dad, I just saw red. And I grabbed his board and hit him back. And I kept hitting him til he stopped struggling and then I jumped up on his ribs, dropped on them with my knees. I heard them break. That's what got me to stop. I could hear his friends yelling about the cops coming."

He leaned back into the cushions and crossed his arms.

Dave listened as his son spoke, his teeth clenching at that word. That fucking word. In his younger days, Dave likely would’ve gone just as far as Mal had. Hell, these days he might have gone further. He had a brief mental flash bloody steel and shook the image away.

“I get it,” he said when Mal had finished speaking. “Really, bubba, I do. I know how hard it is.” He paused. “Well, no. I don’t know, an’ that’s the truth. I’ll never go through the same things you do. That’s...That’s somethin’ I can’t take from you, and I’m so goddamn sorry I can’t.”

He reached over and put his hand on Mal’s shoulder, squeezed it tight. “But you gotta keep control. No matter how much you wanna hurt ‘em worse, you can’t go too far. The same racist shit that makes ‘em treat you that way?” He looked over, found Mal’s gaze and held it. “That’ll haunt you later, too. Cops, courts, they don’t work in nobody’s favor, but especially yours. That’s why you gotta stay out of ‘em. An’ I know it’s hard, an’ I know that MacCready blood in you don’t take shit, and it don’t let you stand by when…” He shook his head.

“You gotta be careful. That’s all. Promise me,” he said. “You don’t want to go too far one day and wind up with blood on your hands. It’ll never come off. I know.”

Mal looked up at his dad and took a deep breath, then nodded. "That's pretty much what Mom said. I'll get the worse end of things with the cops and in the system because all they see is I got darker skin. I'm black. Don't matter if my Dad's white, my grandparents...I'll just be a black kid in their eyes."

He glanced away from Dave when he mentioned the blood. "Yeah...I mean, I didn't want to kill him of course but make him hurt. Make him feel scared. So he wouldn't mess with us or anyone else."

Mal sank back against the cushions of the sofa. "Mom was pretty upset."

“I’m sure,” Dave murmured. “Mothers don’t like seein’ their boys be violent. An’ your mama doesn’t have that MacCready fire you got from me. She’s a sweet one, always has been. Even if she does have steel in her spine.” He shot Mal a quick grin. His grin faded and he looked back down at his whiskey, and the calloused hands that held the glass.

“I just don’t want you to go too far,” he said. “You don’t keep that temper, then someday...Someday you might look at yourself, an’ wonder who you are. Now. Promise me.”

He looked back at his son, his steel-blue eyes searching Mal’s face. “Say the words.”

Mal turned to look back at Dave and the memory of the expression on the big white boy with the skateboard he had beaten down came back. First the sneer then the tears and the change from bully to victim had excited something in Mal. It felt like justice but once it was over, he only felt angry and sick inside.

The boy slowly nodded, giving into the trust he had in his father’s wisdom. “Yeah...I promise.”

Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by ODAberration
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ODAberration

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>...///

The noise of distant traffic carried through the vacant avenues of a nameless town. Bajbalas skin was cool, the feverish sensation of the sun absent as nothing ticked overhead in a clear blue sky. She strolled along the sidewalk until an instinctual urge to stop overcame her.

At her feet was a small figure. A misshapen toy with fixed limbs, wound tightly in soiled yarn, a totem of sorts. She squatted down to pick it up, then with little thought passed it to the emptiness at her side as if it belonged there.

Two tiny hands clutched the doll and embraced it against sun-bleached olive clothes, then reached for Bajbala. She secured the toddler’s hand within hers and stood up smiling, looking down at her son’s bright visage; a scant warm glow that defeated the vespertine shadows cast about the ground, formed as if tiny clouds were rapidly hovering above.

As they walked, occasionally, she would stop and let his young mind absorb the sensations of their aimless journey. The yellow lines of the street began to vanish beneath a waxing sheet of sand the further they went. At some unknown point their environment shifted; buildings reduced to dirt, wood and mud compounds sprouting from open lots amidst pockets of parched trees.

They passed beside an archaic stone pillar mounted on the end of a mud wall and could see beyond the town limits. Unblemished rolling hills. Far off, a glistening dark ocean stretched across the horizon; meeting the hills at some unseen shore or cliff. The sound of a distant highway still loomed.

-it is bigger than the pictures. Hear that?” the voice of a man came to her in pashto.

I don’t hear anything.” she responded after a few moments. “You mean… the cars?

Bajbala released the little boy's hand, allowing him to explore a patch of weeds breaking through the dirt. Now nestled atop the spur of a low mountain which the town folded over.

Exactly, sounds just like that. Keep doing well and maybe you will get to see it one day.

Promise?

The voice chuckled. “Inshallah.” The spectre heavily patted her shoulder . “But, you will see that nothing can be all beautiful.”

You always say things like that.” She remarked, shaking her head.

The toddler plucked grassroots and stems from the dirt, harmless insects scuttered free trying to escape him.

Have I been wrong?

She drew a blank stare. “Never,” peering back towards him she saw nothing, “but I know you’re a liar.

Only when looking away again did she sense something vaguely human behind her.

To help you learn.

Her son hurriedly returned with silent footsteps, seeking some sort of recognition by exposing his palms. The sound of the ocean had gone and so did the voice. Bajbala knelt down and inspected his hands, smearing off the sediment as she looked for cuts. He was a patient boy, she thought, sweet and never cried.

The smile on her face was short-lived as she saw him inaudibly mouthing something. Where his eyes belonged seemed more like mirrors as his gaze was a reflection of what was behind her, beyond him, or in her, she couldn't tell.

Ambiguous forms huddled over a broken mass, yanking at it between them, tearing away bits in a frenzy. As she stared deeper one of them lifted its head upright and looked at her. A grisly feral mutt, face obscure in slick dark fluid. It watched her for a brief moment before rejoining the other forms like it was, yet, uninterested.

Once broken from paralysis she then noticed there was more clarity to the dog-thing than ever her own son’s face. Eerily plain, unfocused, at times translucent.

Musa?” she uttered.

>GREAT FALLS, VIRGINIA
>02DEC2019
>0315...///


Bajbala opened her eyes to the static ambient glow of her laptop which lay on the floor. The blanket was slumping half off the bed and goosebumps covered her bare legs. Lauren, being the more energy conscious of the two, kept the temperature just in range of discomfort. Enough to sober Baj from the hangover she poured down her throat hours prior. When Bajbala shifted to sit up, a book loosed from the tangled sheets and tumbled on the floor. One of several Russian prints she possessed, most piled on an otherwise tidy desk. She had been bolstering her vocabulary and pronunciation, supplemented by audiobooks and contemporary regional music. The muttering of which garnered some teasing from her housemate throughout the evenings.

Bajbala slipped on a wrinkled white dress-shirt from the floor and crossed her arms, making her way to the kitchen through the still coolness of the house. She found Lauren already there sitting cross legged, quietly at her desktop in what would have been a dining area made into an office. The light cast blue on her blonde hair. She was more scantily dressed than Bajbala and nursing some tall glass that used to be a mixed drink, watered down several times over. She was perusing some articles and punching in key strokes every so often. Her work offered a great degree of flexibility in her schedule. There was silence between them as Bajbala prepared a lazy cup of tea and set it in the microwave.

"What's got you up?" Lauren droned, her eyes fixed to the computer.

"Work, you know." Bajbala squeezed in before yawning. There was more silence until the microwave filled out the room with a beep. She sipped at the tea, pleasantly warm and bitter and took a seat on the island stool. Lauren finally broke from the hypnotic cycle at her desk and noticed Baj ruffling her hair.

"You're dreaming again." She stated. She knew she had Bajbala's attention when her head tilted over. "You sleep like a rock, the only way you're up like you've been the past few days is, well… "

"Yeah, maybe." Baj said, somewhat disheartened to face it.

Lauren twisted to face her. "That's not good, Baj, you were a wreck last time. What's going on?"

"I don't know, like I said, work."

"You're always away, working. Go on vacation or something. Jeez, they give you that at least?" She labored as she couldn't recall a single time Bajbala took more than a weekend to relax.

"I don't think that will be for a while now, " Baj giggled out in a tired way then approached Lauren's side, sitting against the desk with her tea. She kissed her palm and patted the side of Lauren's cheek, "besides, every day with you, Lala, is a vacation. " said with a hint of sarcasm, acknowledging the trouble her friend gets them into at times.

“I’m sure.” She responded lethargically. “You want to talk about it?”

Bajbala shook her head. “It’s ok, I don’t really remember it.”

"Well, just don't shell up on me. I know how you are, keep me in the loop please?" She gave an empathetic smirk then squeezed the hand at her cheek. Baj nodded in return.

They had known each other nearly 8 years after a near immediate connection. Aside from Bajbala's assignments they were inseparable. As her only friend, she may have been more a crutch, a place to hide from a broader social world.

"Go back to bed," Lauren ordered, "finish your tea, get your rest, and um, keep the door open so I can throw something at you if you start screaming."

Bajbala smiled at her, a chuckle swelling but too tired to be produced. She went to do as she was told and before entering the dark threshold of her room she looked back.

"Lala, how long have you been at that?"

Already Lauren was fixated on the columns of text on her screen. She took a second to respond.

"Um, this morning. Go to bed."
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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>SEATTLE, WA
>MONDAY.04.NOV.2019
>1824…///

Thankfully, the streets weren’t packed at this hour in Seattle on a Monday. Holly had seen Mark when the streets were choking on traffic, and in those moments, Mark seemed to be such an angry misanthrope. Mark didn’t usually swear, but in those times, Mark wasn’t usually Mark. He smiled over at Holly in the passenger seat as they stopped at a red light. He’d made everyone save their appetites for dinner, but in the end he’d let them have a quick snack before leaving to stoke their appetites… and make sure Holly didn’t get too snappy at him or Tilly. Her stomach was growing still, and if he thought there was no hiding it when Joseph came over for dinner, there was really no hiding it now.

He reached over and lay a hand over Holly’s while it rested on her own stomach. They still hadn’t decided on a name, and Mark wanted to name their child Hudson, after his uncle who’d passed away when he was younger. One of the only people who’d told him to do what Mark wanted, and damn the world- and his father- if they didn’t like it.

“I love you, baby.” He said to Holly, smile growing wider as she looked at him.

Holly was feeling the movement of their unborn child when Mark put her hand over hers and she smiled at him, quipping back, “Me or the baby baby?”

The teasing tone was light, the yogurt had done the trick of keeping the hangry beast at bay. Mark snorted and shook his head at Holly, eyeing the road for a second as he said, “Both.” He glanced at Holly again with a smile before looking in the rearview mirror at Tilly, “How about you? How are you doing back there?”

Tilly lifted her head from her phone and popped out one ear bud, “Oh what? I’m good.”

Holly glanced at the rearview mirror, “What are you watching?”

“Just some skate stuff on Tik-Tok,” the girl replied, going back to flipping through her phone, then sent one of the short video of a guy wiping out in a hilariously painful way on a guard rail after trying to show off all set to an old JFA song to Joe Dad with a laughing emoji.

“Well, make sure you put that up when we get to the restaurant,” Holly said after a moment, “I don’t want you texting the whole time while we eat.”

Tilly huffed a breath, blowing a strand of blond hair from her face, “Yeah, yeah. I can only stand so much talk about your stupid clients.”

Holly tried not to laugh but failed, “Fine, no work talk. I promise.”

“Yes,” Mark smiled into the rearview mirror at his daughter, “No work talk. We’ve got plenty more we can talk about. Like how you’ve got straight-A’s, how you aced that test, how all those extracurriculars are paying off and all those applications to Universities might just come back as acceptance letters.”

Mark glanced at Holly as he flicked on the turn signal and turned onto another street, “Can you imagine? Our Doctor Grier, exploring the ocean, or treating cancer, or… doing some other stuff that doctors do.”

Tilly rolled her eyes but her cheeks turned pink with embarrassed pride. She went back to her phone to see if her text had been responded to but it was still unread. She flicked through her app again, then finally asked, “I got invited to a party this Saturday, can I go?”

Her voice was that of a child trying to sound casual but clearly it was not. “It’s not a big deal, just some people I know hanging out.”

“Have I met these people hanging out?” Mark quirked a brow in the rearview.

Tilly paused and shrugged, “I think you met a couple of them. Max and Lacey, they go to school with me. Mom, you know Lacey’s mom, she’s the one that always does the gluten-free snacks and makes sure everyone knows about it.”

She avoided mentioning that most of the people there were friends of Max’s older sister who was a sophomore at University of Washington and other former high school friends of the young woman who were rumored to be bringing kegs and a local band was already booked. Max’s parents had a big house and they had drained their pool for the winter which was going to now be perfect for skating.

“You know Max’s family,” she said, glancing at the rearview mirror. “They have that big house on Pine Bluff Street, at the cul-de-sac. His dad works for Boeing or something. Some engineer.”

Mark opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. After these years, he knew when his daughter was biting her explanations just short. Even so, he shrugged, “Yeah,” he said, “I know his dad. Mick’s a good guy.”

He pursed his lips and then looked at Holly, “What do you say?”

Holly glanced up at the rearview mirror, noticing how Tilly kept her head down and at her phone, the same she had asked her to put away. “I know Lacy’s mother and Max’s mom, she really likes her wine. Are his parents going to actually be there for this party?”

Tilly looked aside, out the window as they drove, the gray hue of the city would get no better as autumn turned to winter. “I dunno, I assume so. It’s their house.”

“Uh, huh,” Holly replied, raising an eyebrow. “Then you wouldn’t mind me calling them and asking.”

Tilly rolled her eyes then looked up, “Yeah if you have to, whatever. You never trust me even though I don’t do anything to make you not trust me. But sure, call them and ask.”

She threw her hands up in an exaggerated shrug and then shook her head, not wanting to fight with her mom before dinner. Tilly put her earbuds in and went to her playlist.

“Young lady,” Holly said, turning around to look at her, “Don’t pull that attitude. I have every right to know who my sixteen year old daughter is going to be hanging around.”

Tilly rolled her eyes again, this time hidden behind the fall of pale blonde hair as she bent her head over her phone in her hands. “Fine.”

Holly turned back and looked at Mark as he drove. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Tilly sent a text to her biological dad, following up the video he still had not responded to. “Hey Joe-Dad, did you and mom ever go to parties when you were my age? Like real parties, not like cake and ice cream bullshit. Or was she always this fun?”

Mark looked at Tilly in the rearview, just a glance, but he knew that posture. After riding that high of knowing his daughter would be a benefit to any university that would accept her, he did feel a bit of pity for that face in that backseat. He cleared his throat, looking at the road as he slowed to a halt at a red light. No cars were around at this part of the city, which wasn’t too weird for a Monday. He glanced at Holly, “If we say yes, and that’s an if,” Mark said, his voice a bit projected so Tilly could hear him over that loud rock music, “You’ll text us about what you’re doing, and you’ll answer when we call. Just to check in. Am I understood?”

Holly looked at Mark and gave a minute nod of acknowledgement to what he said. She could see Tilly’s eyes light up and her heart clenched. She was nearly an adult and she would have to let go soon. But they had another on the way, maybe the mistakes she made would not happen again. At least she knew Mark would not be the force of natural disaster in their lives as Joseph had been.

“And it’s not you I don’t trust,” Holly said, glancing back at her daughter.

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” Tilly replied, “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Tilly pulled the ear buds out and wrapped them around her hand, “I get that. But I’m careful and yeah, I would text you and check in, I know the drill.”

“Just stay safe and stay out of trouble.” Mark chimed in with that caring dad-voice, “We love you, Tilly.”

She brushed her hair back from her face, the bright blue Donnelley eyes looking back at Mark and Holly, “I know, I love you, too. And I don’t want to get in trouble...not like real trouble anyway.”

Tilly spoke before Holly could, “I get it.”

Holly sighed then smirked, shaking her head “Alright smarty-pants. It’s fine by me as long as you do what your dad just told you.”

“Our little girl,” Mark teased in a song-song voice, “Growing up so fast.

Mark peeked at the GPS. Shouldn’t be long now, he thought. A string of green lights down the street made him feel just a tad dangerous, and he sped up only a couple miles per hour just to get every green light he could. They were making good time to the fancy steak house, and he began to hum along to the song coming through on the radio. He couldn’t help but to smile at Tilly in the rearview, until he saw her double-take to the window to her left. Mark looked too, and it was too quick.

He saw headlights, then he saw nothing.

>LEES LICK, VA…///

Donnelley opened his eyes and the world rushed back in with a torrent of silence and memory. The panic was still gripping his chest, he’d sat straight up on the tiny couch he’d crawled into in the tiny house he was living in while the world mounted against him. He stood, rushing steps into the kitchen, not that it took many steps to cross the tiny house. He grabbed up the bottle of whiskey and took a swig, and then another, and he wiped at his mouth and growled, before taking another. He bent double and grabbed his hair as he painted almost helplessly, a tight fistful of it and growled, “Fuck. Fuck.

He fell back onto the floor with a grunt, fishing out his pack of cigarettes, and lighting one up, staring at the floor. He dragged in a breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it go. A few more of those, a few more drags, and a couple more swigs had him right enough to stand up again. Here he was, he thought, in another empty house. Another bottle of whiskey, and two women who wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t help but laugh, bitterly. There was a joke in there somewhere.

His ears perked up at the sound of his phone buzzing on the floor. He staggered to his feet and then dropped to his knees in front of his phone. It wasn’t even daylight out, he noticed, and he wondered why Tilly was calling him. Fuck, he was drunk. What would she say? That mom was right? No, he wouldn’t disappoint her. This was it, this was the last time. This girl was one of the only things he’d ever kept living for. He swallowed and then picked up his phone and answered the call in a very well-honed sober voice, “How you doin’, lil’ girl?” He asked with a smile.

The voice on the other end was not that bright sassy young woman but one of a scared girl, “I’m not doing that great. There was an accident.”

Her breath hitched and she sighed into the receiver, “Mom and Dad are ok, but we’re all in the hospital.”

There was a hesitancy there and she said even softer, “They’re not really ok, but they’re alive.”

Donnelley’s smile died, and he swallowed. He stared at the wall for a few moments, the panic starting to reach back in. He let out a quivering breath, “What?” He said lamely, hardly the confident leader that knew where to go. The past few days proved him otherwise, anyway, “What do you mean? It’s okay, just tell me what happened, sweetie.”

Tilly hesitated then spoke up, her voice more firm and normal as she recited what had happened, as she had told the police who took the report and how she kept playing it over in her mind, a torture but one she kept doing to herself so she would not forget any details. Her father was involved, that much she knew but how much and why was a mystery.

“We were driving to go out to eat, that steak place, Jak’s Grill...” she trailed off for a moment, then came back, “We were almost there I think, there wasn’t much traffic and that song was playing, Montero. I looked up and saw a truck just coming at us, nothing but headlights. They were set up high, even if it was pitch black outside I know it was a big ass truck. Two white guys, I could see just that from their console lights and the glare. It was so fast, but I remember that. I remember, Dad. I didn’t hear brakes, the cop asked me that. I don’t remember any brakes and I heard them say there were no skid marks on the road like they tried to stop.”

A breathless pause on the other end as she caught herself, a soft wheeze of pain could be heard. “We’re all hurt but they got the worst of it. My arm and some ribs are broken, it hurts but they said it should heal just fine. Got a bump on the head.”

There was a tension in her voice and a catch, she paused again before speaking. “Mom lost the baby. He would have been my little brother.”

It was then she broke down, Tilly unable to keep the sobs hidden even under the press of her hand. Donnelley could only listen, his grip on his phone growing tighter the more Tilly recited the same deadpan lines she gave the cops like some sort of badly rehearsed movie lines, flat and void of emotion. Or like someone whose mind was still reeling with fresh trauma. When he heard Tilly choking on sobs, and knowing that he couldn’t be there right now, in an instant, he almost started with his own tears.

He’d been hoping it was just some kind of elaborate prank, but when Tilly said that Holly had lost her baby, and that there was no screech of tires or screaming brakes… Probably just drunk drivers. Probably, he kept telling himself.

“Baby,” Donnelley’s voice was shaking and breathy, “Baby, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry, I wish I could be there right now.”

“Is…” Donnelley swallowed, not wanting to pile on another person asking her to remember what she wanted to forget, but he had to know. There was a voice in the back of his head, a quiet, little fear, “Is there anythin’ else? Anythin’? What did they look like, the drivers?”

Tilly stopped crying but her voice sounded raw and it rose in pitch with the simmering anger. “You can’t be, I get it. Nothing ever changes.”

There was silence and she finally said, “It was about you. I found a note, one of them put it in my jacket pocket while I was knocked out...I didn’t show it to the cops or even mom and dad. It said ‘tell Joseph Donnelley to stop’.”

Her voice quivered and she sniffled, “I can’t...Mom had to be sedated. A medical coma they call it. She’s hurt real bad, she doesn’t know...”

Tilly broke down again and held the phone away, but her sobs were still audible. Donnelley bit back the hurt at Tilly’s outburst. Her justified anger at him for not being there. Off chasing conspiracies and murderers, too busy for his own daughter. And now look what it did to her. That little fear in the back of his head grew louder, and sharper, and then it grew into an anger of its own. A knife stabbing into his chest. How dare they hurt his daughter, instead of coming to him and locking eyes, and seeing who made it out.

He clamped his jaw shut, thinking up a few swears and dragged in a breath, held it, and then let it go. “I’m sorry that this happened.” He said, “I’m goin’ to make this…”

Right? Right wouldn’t be the word. Not for any of this. There was nothing about this that he could make right, not for Tilly, not for Holly, not for Mark. They were all just stuck between him and Foster, Nikolai Gorochev and his Bratva, and the GRU. In danger, and not even knowing it until it smashed into them. He breathed, “I’m goin’ to fix this. I promise you, Tilly, I’m fixin’ this.” He had a frown, but it softened, “Please, belie-… just, please, have some faith in me that I’m never lettin’ this happen again.”

His breath caught, “And I promise I’ll be there in person with you when this is all over.” He swallowed, “If you’ll still want me.”

Tilly was quiet as he spoke, the tension almost palatable. “Just stop, stop whatever it is you’re doing that’s pissed them off this much. I’m scared.”

She sniffed the repeated, “I’m scared, Daddy. What if they come back when you’re trying to fix everything?”

He swallowed again, dry and hoarse, burning. He couldn’t stop this. Not to him. Whatever Foster was doing, whatever the Bratva was doing… he was one of the only people he trusted to end it. Not just burying his head to the girls already lost, and the girls waiting to be, but ending that cycle forever. But the shaking in Tilly’s voice, he couldn’t help but to spare a thought towards booking a plane ticket, but then even the Feds would know where he was and where he was going.

He shook his head, even though Tilly couldn’t see it, “They won’t ever get to you again, baby.” He said, “I’ll be with you again soon.”

He paused, his lips moving but without words, and then he said it. What he should’ve said while he could. What he should say… just in case this would be his last service to the world, “I love you, Tilly.”

“I love you too, Joe-Dad,” she said, her voice not trembling as much. “Please... this all really sucks, I hate it. I just want to wake up but then I remember it’s not a dream.”

Tilly sighed heavily and said, “I gotta go. Please, please don’t do anything to...you know. I want to see you again, like we talked about. Bye, Dad.”

Donnelley nodded unseen, closing his eyes, “I know, you’ll see me again, and we’ll go on that ride on my bike.” Donnelley didn’t have to try hard to force a smile on his face, hoping it’d at least take an ounce of the pain and fear away from his daughter, “I’ll see you, bye, Tilly.”

He hung up the phone and stood, taking it from his face and just staring at the screen. That picture of him and his little girl, not so little anymore. He thought about Holly, and Mark. Holly in a coma, and her baby lost. He swallowed rising bile, and then his grip crushed around the neck of the whiskey bottle and the cigarette between his fingers, still smoldering.

He hauled in a breath, but it hitched before it had any hope of filling his lungs as he choked on the guilt, and the fear, and the anger. And then chased it all with a long pull of whiskey. He cocked back his arm and sent the whiskey bottle flying across the room to smack into the wall, leaving a good crack in it. He turned and flipped the small coffee table in a fury he hadn’t felt for so long, and that felt so trapping, and so futile, but so lacking in alternatives. If he could, he’d sprout wings and fly to Washington. If he could, he’d burn all of this like an Angel drunk on righteous fury if there was only a hair of a chance the sun would rise one more time and whoever came after wouldn’t be as evil as man, or make the same mistakes. Or just burn this house down, hug the flames, and hope the same for whoever came after him.

By the end of it all, chairs were toppled, tables were on their side or overturned, and he sat on his knees with his face in his hands. With nothing else to break, maybe even Frank Gamble could hear him all the way back in Lexington when he screamed in desperation.

Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by KuroTenshi
Raw

KuroTenshi

Member Seen 10 mos ago

> Boston Mountains, Boone County
> Dave MacCready’s Cabin
>7.NOV.2019
> 2034 CDT..///


Night had fallen in the Ozarks. Dave had spent the day in his basement, cleaning weapons and going over his stores. The weapons were already as clean as they could be, his supplies more or less untouched since he'd started with the Program, but it was cathartic, a way to pass the time and occupy himself with a mindless task that helped keep him from thinking too much about recent events. About Alaska, about West Virginia. About Russian secret agents and how the list of people he could trust seemed to get smaller and smaller every day.

With the last rifle reassembled and hung on its pegs, he tromped up the steps to the living room. Rufus raised his head from his bed, in front of the wood stove. It wasn't yet cold enough to need a fire, but seeing the large black appliance reminded him that he needed to check his firewood stocks. He still had time to get some cut, to replace what he and Ava had used during her birthday visit. While they hadn't needed the fire, it added a romantic ambience that he hadn't been able to resist. He grinned at the memory and resolved to text her later, to see how she was settling back in.

Dave's first stop was his liquor cabinet, where he poured himself a measure of Jack before settling into his overstuffed old couch. The house was dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner, and he sighed as he sat in the silent cabin and took his first sip of whiskey, feeling it burn its way down his throat. He looked over at his phone, sitting on the end table with his .357 and the tv remote. It was late out east. Ava was probably in bed. The call would wait till morning.

He looked across the room at the DVD cabinet, debating on finding an old favorite to pass the last few hours before bed. The large windows on either side of the TV allowed a view of the moonlit forest, and he looked from the treeline to the TV. A walk might be nice. He hadn't done that in a while, strolled the forest in the moonlight.

As he raised his glass the window on the right cracked, the sound loud in the silent house. The wasp-like whine of a bullet zipped past his head and Dave reacted on instinct, throwing himself to the floor as Rufus began to bark. More rounds came in, stitching the sofa where he'd been sitting, and Dave swore as glass shattered, covering his head as his brain tried to catch up with the rapidly escalating situation. Then his fear turned to rage, and he moved.

He low-crawled to the end-table, yanking it hard so his gun fell to the floor, his training with Ghost coming back to him. First things first - the light. He rolled onto his back, the roar of the big revolver deafening as he put a round through the lamp and cast the room in darkness. The incoming rounds paused as the unseen shooter lost his advantage, and Dave was on his feet, sprinting for the back of the house. He put his back to the solid outer wall.

Inside he was trapped. The shooter had the advantage of maneuverability, line of sight, everything. They could shoot him as he moved to a window, they could burn the fucking house down. They were in the trees, where they could shoot and relocate at will, whereas Dave was limited to a few hundred square feet of living room and kitchen, or one of the small bedrooms.

His lip curled. The trees. His trees, on his mountain. Dave growled and eyed the back door. He'd have to move fast. A half-dozen rounds smashed in the other window back in the living room, exploratory shots. Dave heard Ghost's growl in his head. Amateur.
Gritting his teeth, threw open the back door and pelted for the treeline. Shots immediately came his way, tearing up the sod around him, but he threw himself into the shadow of the trees before stopping with his back to a large oak.

One shooter, Ghost growled in his head. Not a very good one. A wannabe sniper with an assault rifle, most likely.

Dave took a breath, hefting the revolver in his hand and wishing he had stopped to grab a long gun.

Don't be a pussy. You have a gun and a knife. I could do it with a sharp stick. Go kill the motherfucker.

Dave breathed a scared chuckle, then felt the anger come back. Ghost was right. It was time to kill the motherfucker. He took a breath and set off, angling towards the likely point of origin for the shots. The woods were dark, but he knew this terrain, and moved almost by instinct, the dim light of the waxing moon more than enough to see by.

His steps were slow, unhurried. This wasn't a fight, it was a hunt. He just needed to find the bastard and end this. He had five rounds in his gun, enough for one man if he was careful.

Don't be careful. Be good.

The crunching of twigs made Dave pause. Someone was close, moving his way. The way sound carried at night he could be a dozen yards out or a hundred. Dave swallowed a curse and closed his eyes, summoning his mental map of the area. Then he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and broke into another sprint, away from the house and deeper into the woods. He fired two shots in the vague direction of his enemy and was rewarded by a staccato volley of dull pops, only 30 yards away.

Suppressor.

No shit, Dave growled at the voice in his head.

The rounds chased him until the mag ran dry, Dave weaving from tree to tree. He crashed through brush, trampling bushes underfoot and snapping branches off trees as he followed the half-formed plan that was coalescing in his mind.

One hundred yards. Two hundred. Two-fifty...There.

The downhill slope suddenly gave way to a dramatic drop, twelve feet down to a slow-moving creek. He skidded to a stop, then doubled back.

This creek ran year round. It was a good watering hole, with a game trail that followed it up from the south. He'd killed deer here over the years, hiding himself in a narrow cut that was half concealed by heavy brush. He went there now, his panicked flight replaced by the careful movements of a hunter. His booted feet were silent as he slipped into the draw, melting into the deep shadows behind the bushes. He cocked his revolver, then settled in to wait.

Time seemed to slow. Dave's ears strained, the night sounds of the forest almost deafening. Then a branch broke, twigs dragged across heavy clothing, and Dave's breath caught.

He saw the man five minutes later. His silhouette materialized slowly, drifting towards the creek. He was quiet, cautious, his gaze on the ground as he followed the trail Dave had left. As he reached the drop-off he paused and raised his rifle, an AK by the silhouette, and played it over the foliage on the far side.

No cover. No concealment. Standing in the open. Get him.

Dave raised his revolver, lined up his sights, and fired a single shot. The deafening crack set his ears ringing, the foot-long muzzle flash left spots in front of his eyes, and the 200 grain hollowpoint found its mark, striking the man's lower back just beneath a large bulk that could only be a plate carrier. It pulverized the man's spine and he dropped with a keening wail that Dave heard even over the buzzing in his ears.

Dave sprinted from cover, diving onto the man. He was down, likely paralized, but he wasn't dead. Dave's aggression was met in kind and the mountain man swore as a gloved fist found his temple, stars bursting as hardened knuckles met flush with his skull. Another blow caught him in the mouth before he cocked back and hammered the heavy frame of his revolver into the man's face. It took two more blows before the man slumped back, panting.

"Who," Dave growled, the words muffled. He spat blood in the man's face and tried again. "Who sent you, motherfucker?"

"Does it matter?" The man's voice was deep, with the distinctly Eastern European lilt that Dave was growing to hate. "You are dead anyway. You kill me? Fine. More will come."

"Let 'em," Dave snarled. He put his gun to the man's temple and pulled the trigger, sending him to Hell with another clap of thunder.

He sat for a moment in the darkness, catching his breath, until another voice sounded in the depths of his mind.

Fuck are you doin', boy? If there's one there's two. I taught you better'n that.

"Shut up, Old Man," Dave grumbled. "You ain't welcome in my head."

He stuck the revolver in his waistband, stripped the dead Russian's rifle from his slack hands. A look down the sight confirmed his earlier suspicions; the far bank stood out clearly in the green hues of the night vision scope.

Dave pocketed two magazines, sighed, and started back into the woods. The night wasn't over. First he had to clear the property. Then he had to pack. Home wasn't safe; it was time to hit the road. Donnelley would know where to go, if he was alive. If they came after him, they might come for the others.

Dave swallowed a surge of fear, a sudden terror that Ava may have been attacked as well. He pushed it down. Clear the homestead. Hit the road. Call Ava. Call Donnelley. Then what?

Then we go hunting.

For once, Dave found himself agreeing with Ghost's assessment. It was time to go hunting.

>FITNESS FORMULA GYM, VA
>2247 EDT
>07NOV2019...///


Ava looked around the dark parking lot with pools of light from bright fluorescent lamp posts illuminating the asphalt, but it also created long deep shadows and fucked up her ability to peer into those shadows. Anyone could be lurking in them and she didn’t trust her ability to spot a potential attacker or stalker yet.

Her breath fogged in front of her in the chilly autumn night as she held her gym bag close to her body and walked quickly toward the safety of her car. She hated working out at night, she didn’t understand why Ghost suggested it for her. Maybe to help get used to being on her toes? Be alert to her surroundings?

It was certainly working at making her more paranoid. Over the past few days she had felt an itch between her shoulder blades and a chill on the back of her neck; like she was being watched.

She had looked for the source of the creepy feeling, but never saw anyone following her or watching her. She reasoned that it was just her anxiety getting the better of her. Not enough sleep, too much unresolved emotions stirred up by Donnelley and his biting words. Too many unresolved answers with the case and little trust left to go around.

She made it to her car unscatched, double checked her back seat was empty before tossing her gym bag in the back and getting in the driver seat. She locked the doors and took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, feeling safer now that there was a barrier of glass and metal between herself and the outside world.

Although she knew logically that her car couldn’t protect her from much of anything...She still enjoyed the security if brought; even if it was false.

Ava ran her hand over her face, leaning back in her seat and sighing up to the ceiling. “...I hate this.” She muttered, slipping her keys into the ignition and bringing her car to life with the nice, quiet purr of her hybrid engine.

As she was pulling out of her parking space, her phone began to blare with Johnny Cash’s, God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Dave’s personalized ringtone for her phone. She looked at the touch screen on her console and smiled instanting seeing Dave’s name.

Happily she touched the ‘accept call’ button and said with a smile, “Heeey Mountain Man.”

"Ava! Thank you, God." Dave's voice was strained, the rush of relief he felt clear even over the phone. "Where are you? You need to get out of the house, now!"

Ava’s heart immediately dropped into her stomach and her hands went white knuckle on her steering wheel. “I’m just leaving the gym, I’m not even at home. What’s going on Dave? What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice as she looked up into her rearview mirror.

"Russians. One attacked me on the mountain. I'm fine, I got him, but I don't know if they're comin' for anybody else. We gotta assume they will." There was a grunt and clatter, as though he was moving something heavy. "We gotta go to ground."

“To ground?” Ava repeated, her mind racing as she felt a cold sweat break out over her skin hearing that Dave had been attacked. He was fine, she told herself, but he still could have been killed and she would have had no idea. Been thousands of miles away and useless to do anything to help him.

She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts as she focused on driving. “Right, right, okay.” She said, taking a deep breath. “What’s the plan? We get our stuff and meet at the place we talked about?”

"Yeah, we follow the plan." There was another grunt, a louder thud. "Grab what you need and start movin'. I'll meet ya where we talked about."

“Right, okay.” She said, uncaring that she was starting to sound like a broken record. “Those fuckers.” She growled, feeling a seed of anger start to form in her chest as the situation started to really set in. Ava took in another breath and tried to breathe out past the anger, focusing on the conversation and Dave’s voice. Dave, whom she could have lost.

“Dave, I’m glad you’re alright.” She said, her voice softening. “Are you hurt?”

"Got a shiner and he knocked a tooth out. I'm fine. He's dead."

She grimaced. “Good.” She said simply, without even consciously deciding to say it. She was beginning to detest these men that were making their lives and the lives of so many innocent people a living hell. “Alright, I’m going to get home and grab my stuff.” Hopefully there wasn’t anyone waiting for her. “Should we call the others? Laine? Donnelley?”

"I'll handle contacts, you just get gone. We'll meet, then figure out step two."

“Alright.” She said with a frown, as she looked in her mirrors again for any tails. “Can...will you call me again? Should I call you when I’m leaving?”

"We'll talk every hour, sugar." His voice was gentle, though still carried some nerves with it. "You let me know when you're on the move, we'll keep each other updated. Okay?"

She relaxed after hearing that. “Okay, good, that helps a lot.” She swallowed thickly as she began taking streets that would get her home. “I’m almost home, um, Dave...If anything...If I don’t...I love you, okay? I never thought I would love a person the way I do you.”

"I love you too, sugar. So, so much. You go into that house gun out, you hear me? I wish I could be there, but you go in with that gun out and you kill anybody in your way, and you come back to me. Don't be scared. Be mad. Because I'm mad, and any sumbitch between me an' you is a dead man. So you do the same, and you meet me."

Ava felt tears well up in her eyes, a storm of emotions swirling in her chest. “I will Dave.” She promised him, her voice tight, but as steady and clear as she could make it. “I’ll meet with you, come hell or high water.”

"Good girl. We got this, sugar. You got this. I'll see you soon." There was the sound of a door slamming, then a vehicle door opening. "Rufus, load up. I love you, Ava. I'll text you soon."

“I love you too Dave, I’ll meet you, I promise. Be safe.” She said, reluctant to say goodbye.

"Always. See you soon."

Ava hesitantly, but finally tapped the screen to end the call, sniffling to herself as she pulled into her neighborhood. “Okay, get it together Avaline.” She muttered to herself, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “The others aren’t here, it’s all on you.”

Her heart sounded like thunder in her ears as she pulled up to her dark house, parking on the street so she could drive off easier in case anything happened. It would be a sprint from her front door but she felt like she could manage it.

She stared at her house, taking in a deep breath as she opened up the center compartment and pulled out her Glock 26. She tried to keep her hands steady as she loaded in a clip, her eyes on her dark windows as she tried to detect any movement in the darkness.

If it was up to her, she would be driving off right now but she couldn’t. Thor was there. There was sensitive information inside of her home, she had to collect it, erase it and then go. Not to mention all the cash she had been slowly building up since Dave and her made this emergency plan. Her go bag was already in the trunk of her car along with some other emergency supplies, but she didn’t have everything.

Ava stared at her house for a few heartbeats more before taking in a breath. She pressed her hand to her chest, where the wooden dragonfly pendant on a leather cord Dave had carved for her was resting beneath her shirt. She gave it a squeeze through the fabric to try and bring herself some measure of strength and courage before readying her Glock and climbing out of her car.

It was dark and she lived on a quiet little street, so no one would be looking outside and seeing as she slowly approached her front door with her gun at her side. She kept herself low to keep out of view of the windows and as she pressed her back to the wall beside the door she paused again.

Her mind raced as she tried to remember how Dave taught her to clear a room and heart pounding in her chest she reached over to the doorknob. She tested it and found it unlocked, making her break out in a cold sweat. Taking in one more breath, she swung the door open, jerking her hand back and holding her breath as she waited.

Silence answered her and after a few seconds of not being shot at, she stepped into the doorway, leading with her gun. She moved to the side quickly so she wasn’t backlit by the open door.

The living room was still, there were no sounds, but she could tell something wasn’t right. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could tell that things were not as she had left them.

The silence was broken by a faint thump and Ava tensed for a moment before she heard the jingling sound of Thor’s collar. Not long after, she saw the large cat run up to her, butting up against her legs and meowing.

Ava instantly relaxed, lowering down her gun and reaching down to pet Thor’s back. “Hey buddy.” She whispered. If Thor was running up to her, that meant there wasn’t anyone in the house. If there was an intruder, he would have been hiding or more than likely, killed.

She sighed and reached over, shutting the front door and firmly locking it. She flipped on the light switch and stifled a surprised scream.

Her home was completely destroyed.

The furniture in her living room had been tossed or broken, pillows ripped apart, her television was smashed. All of the pictures were shattered and on the ground, the watercolors she had gotten from Mrs. Grier were smashed and ripped to shreds. Her kitchen looked like a tornado had gone through it and it was littered in the colorful glass and ceramic of her dishes.

She stared in stunned silence for a moment before she ran across the house and down the hallway to her office. She pulled up into the open doorway and found a similar scene as the front of her house.

Everything was smashed and destroyed, her paints spattered across the ground, mingled with broken glass from family pictures and all the paintings she had been working on destroyed. Her computer monitors were on the ground, screens completely ruined and as she raced around the desk, she saw that the tower was gone.

“Damnit!” She shouted and kicked at her broken office chair. Thankfully, she mostly used that computer for gaming and sometimes drawing, especially as she had grown more paranoid about the kind of information she had and how to securely store it. She had programs that regularly scrubbed the harddrive of certain files and documents, but that didn’t take away the anger and fear.

She rushed out of the office and into her bedroom, skitting out of the way to avoid Thor as he nervously followed her, meowing the whole time. She found it completely tossed like the rest of her house but she ignored it and went straight for her closet.

Clothes were scattered around, boxes and empty suitcases and bags were open and tossed. However, what was untouched was an inconspicuous air vent tucked off to the side in the corner of the closet. Ava held her breath as she brought out her house keys and on the keychain was a little token that looked like a lollipop.

She waved it over the vent and a small green light flashed on, allowing her to slide open the door of the hidden compartment.

Ava let out a long, relieved sigh as she saw her laptop bag, the small makeup bag full of cash and a few external harddrives were still there. She pulled out the bag, double checked her laptop was still there as well as the deactivated tracking device, still within its little plastic bottle.

“I didn’t go to MIT for nothing you fucking dicks.” She muttered to herself, collecting everything from the safe and placing it all in the laptop bag.

Thor padded up next to her and rubbed against her, his body tense and twitchy as he sought comfort. Ava smiled as she stroked his back and scratched his ears. “Good boy Thor, you stayed out of the way.” She reached over and shut the secret safe back up, waving the lollipop token over it to engage the lock again. In case they came back, she wanted that secret to remain a secret.

She scratched Thor’s chin and sighed down at him. “Alright buddy, we’re going to get some stuff and then we’re going to be going on a little trip.”

>...///

It was when she was making the final trip to her car, Thor and her belongings already safely inside and making one last pass through the ruins of her once cozy little home that she found it. Resting innocently on the counter top in her kitchen was a plain white envelope.

Cautious and hopeful that maybe there might be evidence on it, she fetched her rubber gloves cleaning gloves and slipped it open. Inside was a folded sheet of paper, with a single phrase in unassuming font glaring back at her.

Tell Joseph Donnelley to stop.

She read it over two more times and resisted the urge to rip it to shreds. “Like I can tell that man to do anything.” She muttered, folding it back up and putting it into the envelope. She fetched a Ziplock bag to place the envelope inside, to preserve any evidence that might be on it. She left the rubber gloves on the sink and went to her front door, pausing to look back at her humble little home.

It had been a safe haven for her for years, especially after she joined UMBRA, it had been a welcome shelter from the horrors of the things she had seen.

But now that haven was gone, ripped away from her as cruelly and as easily as her life had been back in Alaska.

She clenched her hands into fists as anger surged through her and took in a deep breath. Whatever was happening, it was time for it to come to an end.

She shut off the lights and shut the door.

>...///

With Thor and everything she could think of as important packed in the car, Ava pulled away from her house and parked instead in front of Mrs. Grier’s home. She didn’t feel right leaving her friend without saying goodbye, particularly if she didn’t know when or if she would be coming back.

She parked in a way that it would be easy for her to get in her car and go and left Thor meowing in the car. The poor cat probably thought he was going to the vet, as though his day hadn’t been bad enough.

Ava smiled slightly at the thought, walking up the familiar flower lined path up to the front door. She felt a pang of guilt as she knocked on the door, waking her friend at such a late hour, but she told herself she would be quick about it. Not soon after she knocked, she heard Daisy begin to bark in her usual excited manner; Ava perfectly picturing the potato of a dog bouncing around on her twiggy legs.

The sound of the pug barking was soon joined with a murmur of a tired voice and the sound of a latch being slid open. Mrs. Grier was in her robe, tied tight around her thin body and her silvery hair was fluffed around her head. Her face was pale and gaunt in the harsh porch light and dark circles under her eyes like bruises that were usually masked by her carefully applied make up were visible. Her expression shifted to concern when she looked at Ava.

“What happened?” she asked, without her usual polite greeting, the instincts of a long life rising up as she searched the young woman’s face. “Are you alright? Come inside, my dear. I’ll put on tea.”

Mrs. Grier pushed Daisy back with her slippered foot and stepped aside for Ava to enter the house if she wished.

Ava smiled in relief to see her friend was alright. “Thank you Diana but I can’t come in, I’m actually in a bit of a rush.” She said, her smile slipping away as she looked over at her dark home and thought of the destruction inside. “I…Something came up. An emergency and I have to leave and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m taking Thor with me so you don’t have to worry about him. I just wanted to say goodbye to you before I leave.”

The old woman looked over Ava then back at her, the light harsh on her features that showed her age in a way she had tried to hide. The tiredness in Mrs Grier's eyes gave her a momentary hollow look before she smiled, lines creasing in her still elegant face. "I see," she said, her soft voice sounded tight, constrained. "You had visitors."

She lowered her voice, glancing again past Ava. "I called the police but none ever came. Whatever you need to do, take care of yourself. Remember that."

Ava’s heart dropped and she looked at her friend in concern. “I know.” She said, her voice quiet and throat tight. “I’m so sorry you saw that Diana. Are you alright?”

Mrs Grier struggled to smile, looking over Ava then said, "I'll be fine, don’t you worry.”

She held herself straighter, trying not to lean too heavily on the door frame. “Dear Ava, I want you to have a good life. Make a life with your Dave, whatever it is you’re going through now. Life is too short to deny yourself love and everything it can bring you.”

Her eyes misted over and she reached, brushing a strand of copper hair back from Ava’s face. Her fingers were delicate, skin like thin tissue and there was only a hint of tremble in them. Mrs. Grier then dropped her hand, “I don’t think we’ll see each other again. But you will be in my prayers.”

Ava sucked in a quiet breath and her eyes began to fill with tears. She moved forward and gave her friend a hug, not squeezing too tightly, just embracing the woman that had become like a surrogate grandmother to her. “I’m so sorry Diana. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. I hope we will see each other again.” She looked up at her and pulled back slightly. “Start your holiday plans early, go visit your children and your grandchildren, okay?”

Mrs Grier hugged her in return, then sighed softly, “I’ve already begun my holiday plans, gifts wrapped and put in the closet. I have something for you but you have to open it as close to Christmas as you can alright?”

She made a gesture for Ava to wait and Daisy tip tapped after the older woman when she walked away to the hall closet. After some rummaging, she returned with a small flat box wrapped in gold and green paper with a neat hand tied bow of green shining ribbon. “Here, take that with you.”

Mrs. Grier held out the gift, her eyes already damp. “I hope you like it.”

Ava gently took the box, holding it to her chest for a moment as she composed herself to keep from breaking down completely. “Thank you.” She said quietly. “For everything.” She hugged her one last time, reluctant to believe this would be the last time they would see each other. “Be safe, take care of yourself and enjoy your holidays alright? I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Mrs Grier smiled again, some of the weariness leaving her features, “I will, Christmas was always my favorite holiday. And I will make that pumpkin cheesecake you were going to show me for Thanksgiving. I think you sent me the recipe by email.”

She looked at Ava, “Don’t forget the wonders of chamomile, dear. Or a nice pot of Earl Grey and some fresh shortbread.”

As she hugged her again she said softly, “And don’t let them drive the good out of you, the joy. You’re a ray of sunshine, no matter how dark the clouds.”

With a peck on Ava’s cheek, Mrs Grier pulled back and held the door, “Have a safe trip, tell Dave that I said hello. He’s a good man, my dear. I can already tell.”

Ava nodded and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I will Diana. Thank you and goodnight.” She tried to smile up at her one last time, still holding the gift to her chest. After a moment of hesitation she turned and walked away, feeling a sense of finality with each step she took away from her formerly comfortable life.

> Boone County, AR
>7.NOV.2019
>2154 CDT


Dave pocketed his phone after Ava hung up, heading for his truck. Fear for Ava weighed heavy on him, anxiety and rage clutching at his heart, but as he pulled the driver's side door open and heaved himself into the seat, he took a shuddering breath.

His big pickup sat low, weighed down with ordinance. The camper attached to the flatbed was modified years ago; he'd ripped out the small kitchenette and dining table. In their place were steel lockers and storage cabinets. He'd filled them, emptying a chunk of his basement stash for what was to come. The lockers held six rifles, three Bulgarian AK's and three HK416's, all with shortened barrels, red-dot optics, and other attachments, all chambered in 5.56x45. There was a crate of magazines for each, 10,000 rounds, and suppressors for each rifle. Six 9mm pistols, Glocks and Sigs, hung in the locker doors, and another 5,000 rounds of 9x19 rode with the rest of the ammo.

20 pounds of C4, a roll of detcord, and blasting caps sat in the other cabinet. He'd brought four plate carriers, since he didn't know if the others had any. Too big for the locker, an M249 SAW sat in a crate under the tool bench he'd installed in place of the kitchen table, with two boxes of linked 5.56 to feed it. In all, it represented a solid chunk of his personal stash, and was enough for a hefty prison sentence if he got busted with it.

He sat behind the wheel for a moment, Rufus panting beside him, then jumped out and ran back to the house. He returned a moment later with his Go-Bag of clothes and wilderness gear, a .308 hunting rifle and a small box of 200 rounds for that. Satisfied, he checked his personal carry gun for the fifth time. The weather was getting colder, and he'd strapped a covert vest on under a RealTree hoodie. Three 15-round extended mags for his compact Sig rode on his belt, and his Buck 105 hung in its sheath.

"Good as we're gonna get, buddy," he said, reaching over and giving Rufus a scratch. "C'mon. Let's roll."

He fired up the truck and pulled off down the road, fishing out his phone a moment later. He dialed Donnelley's number from memory and listened to it ring.

>LEXINGTON, KY
>BAUGHMAN RANCH
>2216…///


Donnelley was busy stuffing all of the gear he’d brought to West Virginia for his and Queen’s escape into the little Mazda truck that Frank had made Donnelley switch the Saturn with. Frank was big into never being noticed, and that included keeping a small rotating fleet of vehicles he could ditch at a moment’s notice, as well as a stack of plates he’d switch up every so often, all from different States. The Mazda’s was a set from North Carolina, and they wouldn’t hold up if they were pulled up in the system, so Frank had told Donnelley to drive careful.

Especially with the AAC Honey Badger, the TP9, VP9 manually operated pistol he was keeping for the back of Foster’s skull, and the other wholly illegal contents he’d brought piecemeal from his house in WA. He closed the tail gate just in time to feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. He checked to see who it was, and recognized Dave’s number. He lit the cigarette dangling from his lip and answered, “Are you good?”

Dave snorted into the phone. "Better than the dead Russian layin' in my woods. It's go time, brother. They just sent a fuckin' sniper after me on my own land."

“Yeah.” Was all Donnelley responded with. He had no hard words, no bravado, just a purpose. They’d hurt his daughter, and no one could keep that wrath from making Tex bubble to the surface like acid. He dragged hard off his cigarette and retrieved his flask, unscrewing the top, “How far are you from Kentucky?”

"'Bout nine hours. I already called Ava, me'n her made a go-plan we're followin'. Cookeville, Tennessee. Halfway point between my place an' hers. You'll get there first, me an' her will arrive at about the same time as each other."

“Don’t move from there until I tell you. Don’t tell me where in Cookeville you’re stayin’, don’t tell me anythin’.” Donnelley spoke with a seriousness, then pulled from his flask, “Piss in bottles if you have to.”

"Got it. I'm bringin' some shit with me. I gotta make a short detour, but it's on my way." Dave paused for a moment. "We're gonna get these motherfuckers. Right?"

Donnelley stood behind the Mazda truck, flask gripped tight and cigarette smoldering. He could hear his daughter’s voice in his ear, the fear, the confusion. He swallowed, and growled out, “No choice but to.

"Then let's do it right. We hunt 'em all down. No more reactive bullshit man. It's our turn to play offense."

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>LEXINGTON, VA
>THUR.07.NOV.2019
>0737…///

Whatever sleep Donnelley had got was fitful and restless, and after the call from Tilly, he’d packed all his shit. He’d thrown his combat boots on, laced them right, and carried everything he had all the way back to Frank Gamble’s goddaughter’s house. Clyde Baughman’s daughter’s house, the man who had started what Donnelley was trying to finish for good. At least, that was the idea. In reality, a County Sheriff Deputy had taken him for some transient and picked him up. Donnelley still had the bruises, but then Frank Gamble showed up in the nick of time somehow and slipped the Deputy a brick of cash. They drove back, and Frank had told him that trick was starting lose its effectiveness as the years went on.

And that Donnelley smelled like shit and cigarettes. But nothing more. Donnelley knew Frank had days like this. So they rode in his truck all the way back to the outskirts of Lexington to his goddaughter’s house so Donnelley could shower, and Frank kept him well away from the liquor cabinet. Donnelley told him what happened, and Frank looked at him like he knew everything he was going to say already while they stood on his porch and smoked cigarettes after he was done packing all his things away in the Mazda truck.

After that, there was really nothing left to say. The time for action was now. Nothing else would be worth anything. Nothing else would make this all right. Donnelley’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he hoped it was Tilly before he remembered Tilly’s number was nowhere near his work phone. He answered, “Sam.”

“They read it.”

“They read all of the dossiers?

“No, but what they have read, they don’t like.” Sam paused, hauling in a breath, and Donnelley knew what was coming, “I’m on my way to Frank’s.”

And Sam hung up. Donnelley slipped his phone in his pocket and sighed. Frank spoke, eyes fixed on the horizon, “Maybe this time, they’ll fuckin’ listen.

Donnelley nodded, eyes fixed on the same thing as Frank, “Maybe.”

It was another half hour before they saw Sam in the not-so-subtly blacked out SUV. For all the secrecy the Program had, they really liked their blacked out SUVs. Frank snorted at that, but Donnelley just stared at it as it ambled up the road and stopped. The driver door of the SUV opened and Sam stepped out, a storm brewing in his eyes and heavy frown as he marched up to the porch with fists balled.

Not even a hello as Sam cleared the couple steps of the porch and grabbed Donnelley’s collar, forcing him back into the wall, “Donnelley, what the fuck did you do!?”

“I did what was right!” Donnelley growled back through gritted teeth, sending flecks of spit over Sam’s shoulder.

“Right? What you thought was right?” Sam’s voice rose almost to a screech as he throttled Donnelley against the wall, murder in his eyes, “Do you have any idea how far this goes? How many dead and hospitalized?”

“Poker’s dead-“

“Poker doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface, motherfucker!” Sam let Donnelley go, quite uncharacteristic until Donnelley noticed why.

Frank was on his feet and had his .45 jammed into Sam’s ribs. Sam carefully rose his hands, all the while staring daggers at Donnelley. Frank spoke first, “Best be careful. You shake him too much, that tiny pea brain of his might get broken, and then where’d we be, huh?”

“You remember what I said would happen if you ever pointed a gun at me again, Frank.” Sam said, but still not doing anything.

“Well, I’m pointin’ one now.” Frank had a vicious smile on his face, “Why don’t you remind me, you fuckin’ traitor.”

“I had my reasons for coming in from the cold.” Sam left it at that, and Frank stepped away to sit again. The fury of old men may have burned twice as hot, but it damn sure only lasted half as long. Bum knees and arthritis’ll do that. Sam lowered his hands, though Donnelley could tell they were still aching for violence, “It’s a lot more than Poker, Donnelley. Directors want to meet at Sobel’s.”

“When?” Donnelley asked, stepping away from the wall.

“Yesterday. Get the fuck in the truck.” Sam turned away from him and walked back to the SUV, slamming his door shut.

Donnelley looked back at Frank, still had his Colt on his lap, but his finger off the trigger. Frank wasn’t looking at Donnelley, but Donnelley still spoke, “I thought we weren’t friends.”

“We’re not.” Frank said simply, “You’re just the only guy I got for this now.”

Donnelley nodded as he looked away and stepped off the porch, “Alright.”

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S HOMESTEAD
>FRI.08.NOV.2019
>1445…///

Miles and hours. No sleep. They needed to get to Fairfield quick, the Directors wouldn’t wait. There were scant few words exchanged between Sam and Donnelley, no matter how they’d become friends over the course of Sam taking a stupid fucking alcoholic with a death wish and training him back up to be the soul snatching killer the Program needed him to be. Now, as the miles had drained to just the few last drops and they had stopped at the last gas station out of the town of Fairfield, and Sobel’s place beyond it, Donnelley had to wonder.

“Why did Foster do it?” Donnelley asked, shaking his head as Sam was filling up his tank while Donnelley left his truck doing the same.

“That’s what we have to find out.” Sam said, “Did you forget what this was about? You’re the one who called me, Donnelley-“

“No.” Donnelley shook his head again, looking at Sam, “Why me? He could’ve gone to anybody else in the Company, sheepdipped some fuckin’ JSOC asshole or somethin’.”

Donnelley frowned, “Why me, and why then? When I was…”

“When you were what? About to take the easy way? When you’d lost everything and would grasp onto the first thing that would have you?” Sam said, glancing sidelong at Donnelley, “When you wouldn’t think too hard about the why? When you were nothing and easy to make into whatever he wanted?”

“He could’ve killed me in Chechnya.”

“I heard about Chechnya. You were the only one who got out. Always wondered how, I figured something was up.” Sam said, “I trained you best I could, but I knew either you were just unkillable or… someone else was responsible.”

“He could have done it then.” Donnelley shook his head, “Why didn’t he do it?”

“I don’t fucking know, but we can make sure he really fucking regrets not.” Sam’s voice rose, “So, stop moping around and get your fucking head in the game, asshole. This isn’t just about you.

They were pulling away from Fairfield and out into the countryside where Sobel’s house lay. They drove up the long driveway and into Sobel’s gravel lot. Donnelley got out and retrieved his pack from the back of Sam’s SUV, walking to the porch where a tabby cat sat and watched him. He wasn’t a stranger to cats, but this one. It was like the eyes knew something, something more than a cat should. Something about Donnelley, and anyone it stared at. Sobel’s door opened and there stood the man himself, just staring at Donnelley like the cat was. Blank, as if he was expecting something. Blank, as if you were just meat, and blood, and bone.

“Sobel.” Donnelley nodded.

“Joseph.” Sobel nodded back, his face suddenly full of emotion like he was greeting a friend he hadn’t seen for years, “I’m glad you came. It’s been a long time. Come in, the Directors are on the way, but they’re busy as always. Oakes really wants to meet you.”

“Flattered.” Donnelley mumbled as he followed Sobel inside, but had to stop. Something was off. It was like the air didn’t quite sit right, the angles somewhat askew, the geometry just wrong enough to notice. He wondered who and why this house was built, and when. He shrugged it off quick enough and followed Sobel to a guest room that he still felt shouldn’t even be where it was, and dropped his bags in a corner.

“I have dinner on the stove. Venison, fresh. You’ll like it, like last time we were together.” Last time they were together, they were waterboarding ISIS in Mosul and the places around it, and Donnelley would never forget the screams one particularly tough nut to crack made when they had to bring in Sobel to make some progress. But Sobel was just smiling in the doorway.

“Okay.” Was all Donnelley said though.

Sobel gave another nod, “You can do whatever you need to freshen up.”

“You’re not goin’ to show me around?” Donnelley asked.

“No need. You know where everything is.” Sobel still had his smile as he turned away from Donnelley to go back to the kitchen. It was the funniest thing, or most unnerving more like, but as Donnelley walked straight to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he had to admit he did know where everything was in the house.

He swallowed, shook his head and sighed. He rested his hands on the sink, then turned it on to the coldest water it could give him before splashing and rubbing his face almost to the bone. Just to try to get himself back, get that single-mindedness back to the forefront. Get Tex back, the man with nothing to lose and no care in the world except for the next shithead to kill in the next shithole war zone.

Sobel’s friendly voice came from the kitchen down the hall, “Dinner’s ready!”

>1824…///

Donnelley was at the back porch, just staring out at the country and trying to forget everything except for the cigarette in his hand. There was a whiskey bottle at his feet. Sobel didn’t drink, but he kept it around for any guests, so he let Donnelley have the thing to himself. Whether or not Sobel knew that it was as much a mistake as it was, or if he just didn’t care, Donnelley couldn’t tell and didn’t ask. He took another drag, and he heard the door open and close, footsteps.

“I see you’re brooding again.” Sobel’s voice. The man himself took his moment before siding up with him. He had a rifle in his hands, an M110 CSASS.

“What kinda varmints you get around here?” Donnelley quirked a brow at Sobel’s gun.

“Hopefully none on two legs.” Sobel said, “Yet.”

The two of them stood there for a while. Sobel closed his eyes as he sniffed at the air, then opened them again, “Had to get away from all of it. At least as far as I could. You never really get to get away from it.”

“The city?”

“You know what I mean.” Sobel shook his head. “It was only a matter of time with Foster. Some just don’t let it go. They all see the consequences for it sooner or later.”

“Let it go?” Donnelley asked, “What?”

“Majestic.” Sobel sighed softly, “Sore losers. I’ve known a few. Never lasted long.”

Donnelley looked at Sobel, younger than him. What did Sobel know about the ones who came in from the cold, about the Program’s roots that Donnelley didn’t? He decided not to ask. “You know, I was with Foster in Chechnya.” Donnelley sighed, “They killed everyone. Made me forget all about it, and whatever they were doing there.”

“GRANTOR. We all heard about Chechnya, the ones who needed to know.” Sobel nodded, “I was there. The debriefing.”

“I don’t know why Foster came to get me in Eastern Washington. Why he wouldn’t just let me kill myself after Libya.” Donnelley shook his head as if he didn’t even hear Sobel talk, “Why I keep getting pulled in, and coming back. Why I’m still here after all that.”

“I knew you were telling everything you could after Chechnya. No matter what they did to you, Joseph…” Sobel frowned, shaking his head, “At least you can still feel human after that. At least you don’t remember. Way back, when Oakes told me to suit up after I’d disappeared, not to mention how she even found me… It gave me purpose again.”

“I was selling the only skills I had to whoever would have me. I thought I’d end up doing what all the others did and just retiring myself, but,” Sobel winced a bit, “When Oakes told me what was coming back then, that I could make them pay for what they did to me? I didn’t need any more convincing.” Sobel nodded, silent for a few long moments. “I don’t ask why. Never have. Stopped caring, because the answer never really mattered to me. Maybe I don’t want it. But, I know what my purpose is, and that’s the most victory I’ll ever have.”

“What’s your purpose?” Donnelley asked, not really understanding why he was waxing poetic with a sociopath killer, but not turning down the company of someone he knew and trusted.

“Whatever I decide it is.” Sobel frowned, “And what I’ve decided it is since Oh-One, is killing everything Majestic ever touched before it kills me.”

Donnelley looked at Sobel, not quite understanding how the man fit into the world, but knowing that somehow, he’d jammed himself into it and wouldn’t be pulled free until he said so. The world didn’t make sense before to Donnelley before the Program, and it made even less sense after. But he did know that a good rifle and a hard enemy helped make sense of the chaos for just a bit. You had to find purpose wherever you could. At least Sobel did. Donnelley just nodded, and took another hard drag off his cigarette, still not quite content with anything.

“What did they do to me?” Donnelley asked, getting the obvious sense that they’d done something to Sobel too. “Majestic, March Tech? Foster?”

Sobel frowned, and stayed painfully silent as Donnelley could see Sobel working at the answer, and not quite finding one he would like, “Gave you a purpose.” Sobel looked at Donnelley, “Didn’t they? Seeing everything you’ve done to be here now?”

Donnelley swallowed, looking away from Sobel’s eyes to the horizon. “Sure.” Donnelley stayed silent and took the last drag off his cigarette, before pinching out the cherry and pocketing the filter. “Send a message to UMBRA and what’s left of THUNDER while I’m here. They’re activated, get their asses to Fairfield.”

“I don’t think I have enough room for all of them.” Sobel looked at Donnelley with his brow quirked.

“They can get a hotel if they have to. Pitch a fuckin’ tent outside, just as long as they’re here.” Donnelley growled. “We have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it before Foster disappears. Maybe he already has.”

“We’ll find him.” Sobel nodded.

“I know we will.” Donnelley grabbed up the bottle and stepped back inside, going straight for the guest room he was staying in.

>SEVEN MILES FROM FAIRFIELD, ID
>SAT.09.NOV.2019
>1827

The air was dead and still. The sound of crickets filtered in from everywhere as the sun began to dip below the hills. Coyotes yelping and hollering in the distance perked Donnelley’s ears as he dragged off his cigarette. It was just him and Sam standing a few hundred meters from the packed dirt road, like two men come to the crossroads to bargain with the devil. He could smell the heat in the air, baking dirt and brush stirred up by the winds sweeping across the vast countryside.

“You’re sure-”

Yes.” Donnelley answered Sam, not turning to him to answer. Deep down, he had that fear. If they could get Poker, he wondered if they could get to Ghost. He pushed it aside, “He’ll be here.

“We’re running out of only-hopes here.” Sam grumbled.

“You want me to do this, you’ll want THUNDER.” Donnelley said, then mumbled, “Or what’s left of it.”

The shocks of the 2011 Jeep Cherokee handled the ruts in the road with ease, providing a smooth, comfortable ride. It was a surprisingly pleasant vehicle; Ghost had long been suspicious of Jeep products after owning a lemon of a Wrangler during high school, but the Grand Cherokee was winning him over.

He glanced again at the GPS unit he’d bought at a gas station, matching it with the coordinates Tex had given him in their brief phone call since he’d left Vegas. He was close. He pulled over to the side of the road and slipped out of the vehicle, closing the door quietly and shedding the jacket that he’d worn over his tactical vest for the last ten miles. He put on his helmet, pulled up his mask, and brass-checked his rifle, then stepped into the woods, fading into the growing shadows.

Donnelley felt a breeze waft through the sparse trees of whatever passed as a forest this side of the Cascades. He could smell something beneath the dirt and grass, subtle notes. He lay a hand on the butt of his FN and depressed the thumb brake, pulling it free. Sam looked over at Donnelley and followed suit, similarly sniffing the air, and putting a hand to his ear to amplify whatever noise he could hear that wasn’t the wildlife.

With the weight of his gun in his hand, Donnelley scanned the darkness around them with his handgun at low ready, “Is that fuckin’ Armani?”

Ghost stepped from the trees, mentally cursing both his lack of success and their lack of cultural knowledge.

“It’s Creed Aventus,” he growled, lowering his rifle. “Armani is for posers. I actually have money.”

He’d picked up more than just gear from his stash outside of Henderson, Nevada. His party clothes had been replaced by his usual grays and dark blues, his vest settled over one of the hundreds of dark hoodies he preferred during urban operations. He tracked from Tex to the stranger and back, then reached up and pulled down his skull-emblazed mask.

“Well? I’m here.”

“Yeah, your fucking cologne introduced you.” Sam grumbled, “Shit’s like an air horn for the olfactory senses.”

Donnelley glanced at Sam, standing beside him and slapping his gun back into its holster. He sighed, “We’re wanted. There’s a meeting of important people at Sobel’s house.” Donnelley spoke, replacing his own handgun and slipping the retention back over his gun. “Catch a ride with us?”

“There’s a shower at Sobel’s.” Sam gave Ghost a once over, “Maybe you can try again after.”

Ghost ignored Sam, save for giving him a hard glare before looking back over his shoulder. He actually liked his new Jeep. Still, it was hot. There were bodies on it, thanks to his hasty escape.

“I guess,” he grumbled. “I’m parked down the road, about two klicks. But everything I need is in my pack. We can leave it, the cops will find it sooner or later.”

“They gonna be lookin’ for you this far north?” Donnelley quirked a brow, wondering just what Ghost had to do to get out of Vegas. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, “Then get in the car, let’s go.”

>…///

As they ambled up the road, Donnelley could see the black SUVs and the security detail for the bigwigs. They were here, and it was real now. Sam wasn’t talking out of his ass then, and Foster really was as grave of a threat as Donnelley was getting the feeling for. “Should we bow?”

“Funny.” Sam said, deadpan.

The GMC Yukon came to a stop behind the other clones of it. One of the security detail eyed them from the porch as Donnelley dismounted from the passenger seat. The inner circle could talk freely. The three of them converged in front of the Yukon, “Don’t waste their time. This might be personal for you, but they need to know you can pull the trigger when it comes to it.” Sam looked at both Donnelley and Ghost, “Can you?”

Ghost gave Sam a genuinely confused look, his gaze going from Tex to the old man and back. He seemed at a loss for words. It had been decades since anyone had doubted that he could kill a man.

“...Motherfucker, I’m Ghost,” he finally said, shaking his head. “I can kill anyone. Let’s go.”

Donnelley and Ghost made for the door, but Sam grabbed hold of Donnelley’s shoulder, halting him with a strong grip. It eased when he stopped and looked at him, murder in his eyes at the touch, or maybe the insinuation that he still felt anything friendly for Foster. Sam inclined his head, as if stating the question again. Donnelley’s brows knitted together and he shrugged Sam’s hand off of his shoulder as he followed Ghost. Sam followed after. One of the security detail reached over and opened the door for Ghost and the rest as they stepped onto the porch and then through the door.

Inside, the house was just a bit more spacey than outside, and Ghost might’ve felt a slight sense of vertigo stepping inside. Donnelley did. The dimensions seemed… off, and it wasn’t just creative use of space. His eyes going about the rafters and stairs brought him to looking into the kitchen at an assortment of men- and a token pair of women- standing and sitting in the kitchen and dining room. Donnelley caught eyes with one, and he could recognize that look in his eyes.

It made Tex rip himself to the surface, his shoulders beginning to pin back, and the only thing he’d left to do was bare his teeth. The feeling of two packs of wolves meeting. There was an emptiness in those eyes, and Tex knew that he’d seen and done the same things he had. And he never liked meeting people who understood. They’d convinced him to do things he couldn’t get away from no matter the years he’d put between himself and them. He nodded. The man nodded back. He saw one face he recognized at a dinner table, no matter the lines of age now set in his face that’d been carved there by the years eroding away at him.

They’d met in Somalia, and Donnelley had helped stab his best friend twenty times each before throwing him overboard. His best friend had been dead for twenty minutes before he started moving again. After Somalia, Tex knew however he thought the world worked was wrong. The Marine Raider stood and walked up to Tex, his team turning to stare at Tex and Ghost. He stood a head taller than Tex, but he looked up at him impassively as the Raider’s deep voice rumbled, “Is it true?”

DD, that was his callsign, Tex remembered. Dead Dave. Tex nodded. That was all that was needed, and DD turned away from him after clapping his shoulder and walking back to his comrades to continue whatever card game they were playing on Sobel’s dinner table as if Tex and Ghost weren’t there.

The sense of spatial discomfort passed quickly for Ghost. He noted it, grimaced, and shoved it into a dark hole in the back of his brain like he did everything else that bothered him. Once he’d made the decision to accept that physics wasn’t behaving he simply moved on.

The faces around the room were mostly strangers, though Ghost recognized a few old dogs he’d worked with throughout his nearly 20 years of Program service. Weathered, scarred, suspicious. He understood. Unlike Tex, these were Ghost’s people. A number of them probably met the same clinical qualifications he did, and none of them felt the need to pretend to be anything other than what they were; killers. He found it refreshing.

“Ghost.” The baritone voice drew the operator’s attention and he turned, spotting a familiar face coming his way. Five-five, compact, packing practical gear over civilian clothing, Ghost nodded a greeting.

“Ronin,” he said. He extended a hand and the two shook. Ghost knew very little about Ronin; he was some sort of Asian, with an accent that Ghost now associated with Laine and probably meant he was from somewhere in Southern California. He looked to be between 35 and 50, Ghost could never tell with Asians.

“Good to see you,” Ronin said, releasing his grip and giving him a sympathetic look. “Sorry about all this.”

“Happens,” Ghost grunted. “You here as backup?”

“Me and the rest of the boys.” Ronin jerked his head to where Working Group KAIJU sat. Ghost knew very little about Ronin, just like he knew very little about any of the other operators outside of THUNDER. What he did know was what mattered; Ronin was a Tier 1 shooter, fluent in Tagalog, and was one of the only men Ghost would hesitate to knife fight. That was all he cared about.

“Glad to have you,” Ghost said truthfully. He wanted Foster for himself, but he was a realist; there would be a lot of guns around the traitorous bastard, and Ghost wasn’t in the game to lose just because he went in under-gunned.

“Living room.” Sam called out to the two making friends with the guns in the house.

Tex turned away from the kitchen and walked down the hall and into the living room, where a man with quite the belly who looked more suited to briefing rooms than the football field now that he was in his older age sat. Across the room was a woman in her forties, looking like her intense aura was what was repelling the man all the way to the other corner of the room. Out of the two, Tex had to say he had a better impression of the woman. She was leaned against the wall, a good five-ten, and her build spoke of being honed by hard training and hard fights in a hard life. Her hair was cropped short, so it couldn’t be grabbed, and was fading from blonde to gray. She squinted at them, her lips pursed.

“So,” the woman looked between Ghost and Tex, “This is all of what’s left of THUNDER. Where’s the junkie?”

While the woman was busy looking as severe as possible, the man nodded. He had pallid skin, and a tired, professional smile that didn’t quite reach his bagged eyes. His hair was black, but thinned and graying. He held his hand up to the two other men, “Gentlemen, my name is Abraham Mannen, Director of Operations.”

The woman made no such gesture, simply turning her chin up at them, “Katherine Oakes. Director of Security.”

Ghost watched Ronin settle in his with team, noting the presence of a slim Asian female among them before returning his attention to the duo at the front of the room. He narrowed his eyes at the woman’s tone, but kept his mouth shut. If they really were Directors, then things had moved well beyond his domain. It was best to shut up, kill who he was told to kill, and hope he was the one who got to eat Foster’s eyes when they caught the cocksucker.

“Foster’s gone off the rails.” Katherine said, frowning, “And I understand that you two were the closest men he had at his side. There’s a delicate balance that the Program likes and needs to keep. Foster is upsetting that balance.”

“I’d say.” Tex nodded.

Abraham snorted softly, nodding in agreement, “The Director doesn’t like this. This is starting to bleed over into the public eye.”

“Your friend, Kin Dang. I think you call him something like Thumper, Cruncher…”

Poker.” Tex enunciated, his eyes narrowing. No matter his opinions of the man, he was the closest thing he had to a friend or family after GRANTOR. He’d have Poker’s name remembered.

“Poker, sure. He wasn’t the only one. We’ve had several agents put into the ICU, put under investigation, and put into the fucking morgue, with the same note.” Katherine paused, eyes boring into Donnelley, “Tell you to stop. What were you doing that got Foster so upset, I wonder.”

“Calling him on his bullshit. Foster is ex-Maj-“

“Majestic.” Katherine Oakes cut in, nodding, “Foster isn’t working alone. He’s a Case Officer, whoever gave him the case files he stole and then traded to whoever he traded it to… is higher up than him, and is very much my concern.

“We’re not asking you to stop, Joseph.” Abraham spoke up, “We want you, The Director wants you to find Foster, and find Foster’s friends, and find Foster’s contacts.”

“And we’re promoting you to Case Officer. You’ll have UMBRA, you’ll have THUNDER, and the rest of those swinging dicks in there,” Katherine nodded over to the kitchen full of butchers, “And you’ll have a blank check. To do whatever you need to do to fix all of this.”

“You’re sure?” Tex quirked a brow, searching the two of their faces, “Me?”

“We need people who can go to dark places, Donnelley.” Abraham spoke.

Tex’s brows furrowed, “Ghost is my second.”

“Done.” Katherine nodded.

“And I put whoever else I need on the team.” Tex said, “Whoever.

“Whoever.” Echoed Abraham, “Just get this done. You and your task force answer to no one but me, Katherine, and The Director.”

“And when you find Foster-“

“He’s dead.” Tex cut in. “And everyone else who ever even smiled at him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Katherine smiled for the first time since they’d began, just the smallest upward curve of the corner of her lip, and Tex felt like those were to be prized as something rare. “We’ll be returning to Virginia now that we’ve reached an understanding and you know what we need from you.”

They stood, walking past Tex and Ghost until they both heard the front door open and shut again. And then the sound of a GMC Yukon turning over, and its wheels rolling over a gravel parking lot to fade away into the night.

Tex drew in a breath and looked to Ghost, “Me and you.”

Ghost grunted an affirmative, watching Oakes leave. After a moment he turned his shark's gaze on Tex.

"I wasn't sure, until now," he admitted. His empty eyes hinted at the meaning behind his words. "But they wouldn't have scrambled a response like this over bullshit."

He nodded his head and extended a fist. "Alright, Tex. Let's go kill Foster."

Tex knocked his fist against Ghost’s, and just like that, it was like he was back in Libya. Back in THUNDER. Back to being the man who’d bleed the whole world dry and scream for more. He had a purpose, and a goal again. Kill.

“Make sure everyone’s as ready as they look. I’m goin’ to make some house calls.” He said, looking over all the stoney-eyed killers assembled just for him to set loose upon their enemies, “And then we head south.

>Blue house on Whiteville
>Ash, North Carolina
>MON.11.NOV.2019
>1103...///

A head of slick long hair over squared dark shades leaned from the window of a glued together ‘89 Chevy Baja. Hair-metal wailed from the vehicle as it reversed into the carport, screeching clear of a kayak strewn on its side against the attached shed.

The modest blue house was barebones, smelling of ocean and mud and a quarter mile deep from the main road. It was the smallest of his three properties, the one he typically spends time alone in to relax and be a slob. Even in Montana he deals with the friendly local riff raff and friends from service who come to stay on part of his land at a retreat. It was part of some non-profit veteran recovery program. All bullshit, but an excuse to build funds for shooting parties with the boys. Helped grow the network with fewer additional expenses.

Holt cut the engine and footed the door open with a creek of old paint and steel. He wore a light linen button up and swim trunks, barefoot after kicking them off in the truck. The cooler air this time of year didn’t bother him. He grabbed two bags in one hand and in the other a half-through beer. He touched down in North Carolina that morning and was making his rounds. Drop off the bags, grab three months of mail, drop by his favorite bar to see “Tits” Tiffany as she opens, then grab grub and a six pack for the night.

In one swift chug Croc finished the beer and dropped the bottle off the side of the stoop in a trash bin and unlocked his door. He belched then froze in the entryway. A man sat on a stool at the kitchen bar. A burning sensation spread through his body like he should sub-second-draw a north-coast brew and lob it at the intruder's face. He didn’t express it on his shaded stone-face, as he realized—

“Motha fucker.”

Rough hands cracked open another pistachio from the bowl on the counter and popped them into a smiling set of lips. Long hair kept out of his face by a set of aviators pushed up to his forehead, heavy-bearded, and a big scar on the cheek if you took the time to look deep enough. The stranger was still smiling even as he swigged off of one of Croc’s many, many beers in the fridge. You’d have thought that’s all the man put into his body besides protein powder. Maybe he even mixed the two.

“Howdy, fucker.” Donnelley said, now that he knew he wasn’t going to be greeted by a bullet through his face for going through all the trouble of surprising an old acquaintance in the spookiest of ways. Past the small greeting, he shut up so Croc could take in the ghost in his bar stool.

"Fuck. Tex?" Croc let the screen door slam shut behind him. The nerve agency folk had always fascinated him. He pulled his shades off and tucked them in his shirt pocket, carrying a dumbfounded smirk as he approached Donnelley, reaching in a solid brotherly shake.

"You ain't dead yet?"

“Nothin’ kills me.” Donnelley smirked that old bravado, voice full of West Texas drawl, but let it go unsaid that as the years went by, he could do without so many of the things trying. He returned the shake, and gave the other man a once over, “Lucky you showed up. I was worried I’d slipped into the wrong house and one of these rednecks over here’d bury me in his backyard.”

He chuckled, knowing he was a hair’s breadth away from Croc doing just the same if he took a little while longer recognizing him, “How you livin’, man?”

Croc pulled a cold case of beer out of the bag along with several gourmet sandwiches and snacks, setting them out for them. He cracked open a bottle. "It's been fair, man. Retired a few years back and now it's payday." He winked over his delight in two years of bank-rolls and took a swig.

After separating from the Army he took to contracting, landing a permanent gig with some fellow 160th pilots. If he wasn't treading over the Congo canopy he was taxiing sheikhs around the Persian Gulf. Then, there were the DG calls. Dealing with Tex meant the latter. People like them were all business, they didn't have time to visit old acquaintances.

"What about you my man, the fuck you doing in my house? Nobody s'posed to know I even come here. " He chuckled coarsely.

“I’ve got my ways.” Donnelley said, a cryptic reminder that Delta Green could find anyone and drag them back when they needed. Even when they didn’t want to go, “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.”

He smirked, though he knew that Croc knew as well as anyone that there were very few reasons Donnelley quietly breaks into your house to surprise you in your living room. Lucky for Croc that there was no reason DG had to throw him a retirement party. A cute nickname for something far from it, “And I need a favor.” He said, his smirk fading away, “I pulled you out of the wreckage of that bird, you saved me from those militants in Mosul.”

He clucked his tongue, the way he always did before getting to the point of things, “That debt’s settled, but I figure there’s been enough time passed I can start rackin’ up new ones from you.” He looked at Croc, “I figure you already know what I’m about to ask a former Night Stalker.”

"C'mon now. I ain't Moosama Bin Jacko like you're dealing in Panjshir, askin' favors." He remembers vividly the time in Mosul. Texs' sort were the company he kept. Keeps his blood flowing and his mind off health problems and an empty 401k. He selected a tightly wrapped sandwich.

"Capitalism baby, debts what I do. You need something," Croc said, more uppity than usual. Then he slapped the sandwich to his chest several times, gesturing to himself, until it was now visibly deformed, "you come to me. You know, if I can do it." He tore open the wrapper and took a big bite, compensating for the mess he made of it.

“I’d hope you could do it.” Donnelley snorted, taking another long pull from the beer he’d stolen. Add that into the debt too, “I need a pilot still flies, got a clearance, and ain’t a pussy.”

He chuckled, sipping from the bottle again, getting low, “It’s important. Way more important than whatever company’s payin’ you to be a sky-chauffeur to rich assholes or bush pilotin’.” Donnelley explained, treading closer still to the meat of it, “And it ain’t exactly… legal. No sanction. This is just us. THUNDER, few others.”

“And as good of pay as I can get you.” Donnelley quirked a brow, “How ‘bout it?”

Croc grimaced through another sip of beer. It was a solid team he’d be working with. “I just get home for some leave, now you’re hittin’ me with talk at all the right angles.” The exclusivity reeling in his interest. Operahouse pay was competitive to the UAE premium rates, he didn’t have a reason to say no. “I’m flattered man, but what kind of op are we talking about? Takes some time to get things together— especially if this goes international.”

Donnelley kept himself from smiling. Croc was edging closer to saying yes, even with the details coming piecemeal and dropping on his shoulders from high up. He raised his brows when Croc talked about international, “It is. I need someone with contacts that can get us undocumented out of the US.” He downed the rest of the beer and looked at Croc, “And back into The Shit. I’m huntin’ someone.”

"Always a hunt, brotha." Croc said straight, chasing down another big bite.

He thought back, visually struggling to let go of opportunities to blow money this time stateside. As if Tex was challenging him, no wasn't even an option. "Destination? Timeline?”

“It’s all up in the air for now.” Donnelley shrugged, “Just do your best to get everythin’ ready. Worst can happen is you do and you’re early.”

Donnelley gulped down the last of the beer bottle and set it down wobbling to a stillness on the counter, “The Program gave me a blank check for this one, Croc.” He smirked, though his eyes held a weight, an edge, like Tex was peeking out through his pupils.

The same Tex that had had a couple little children staring down his barrel and a Ghost breathing down his neck in Libya. The same Tex who had brutalized a helpless man in the woods under the thin pretense of getting him talking. The same Tex that had run amok in West Virginia and set it all quietly ablaze, the same Tex who’d come back from Afghanistan years ago with a hunger for blood and not much else, who took the first hand outstretched that would let him wade in it. The same Tex who wouldn’t just bite the same hand, but chomp it off with a frothing mouth, “You don’t want to know how desperate they have to be to give a man like me a sanction to do whatever the fuck I need to make sure we’re still behind the curtain.”

Croc chewed around his mouth for leftover bits. He slammed his bottle then dropped it and his guest’s empty in the trash, pulling out two fresh ones. He cracked them open on some fixture beneath the counter simultaneously and passed one over. “Sounds serious alright.” He said, figuring the meaning behind this personal visit.

Few men dealt their cards like Tex in Crocs experience. Even among the hardcore soldiers and spies, no better blend. He’d have been pleased to work with him more in the past, but good pilots in this scene were a commodity spread thin. Operations fluctuate with the climate of international relations; could be in Columbia one week, the next it's off to Turkmenistan to fly one mission where there are no assets. Other issues, like air interdiction, meant retention was low— likely half those recruited are in foreign prisons, shot down, or worse. The ones that perform, survive, and evade like Croc are put on special order by teams like THUNDER.

“Must be an exceptionally grave threat, “ he quoted, mocking clearance ratings, “kind where they can’t afford failure. If I learned anything back then, man, “ His lip curled at one side as he took a heavy swig. “You’re no risk, you get it done. Collateral be damned.”

Donnelley leaned his bottle Croc’s way and they clinked the necks of them. Nothing like sharing drinks while discussing how to make the world burn. More like setting a controlled blaze so the fire couldn’t eat the houses. It remained to be said, the fire they’d be setting would be in everyone’s front yards. But when the time comes, what Foster said to Donnelley when he asked, and what Donnelley said to UMBRA when they were too deep in it to ever turn back again- We do the horrific to stop the apocalyptic.

But that could wait a little while longer, far as Donnelley was concerned, “All that big talk set aside,” he shrugged, “No reason we should rush to the fight. Let’s just sit back and get drunk, got a lot of years worth of it to catch up on, ain’t we?”

Croc chuckled. “Sure thing, my man. Get me the accounting code, then uh… Three weeks and a day. I’ll have us ready for almost anywhere. Extra day’s for the reeling hangover you owe me.” He slid his sunglasses back on and grabbed his stuff, beckoning Donnelly to follow with his sandwich hand.

“Oh, I gotta show yah. Remember that hentai mural? Got a rifle in the back cerakoted in it. Fucking art, homie.”
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Leidenschaft
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead

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Last One Out…

Turn off the lights…

>SOMEWHERE IN EASTERN OREGON
>TUE.12.NOV.2019

”If I’m goin’ to do this for you and Mannen, I need you to promise me somethin’.”

“What?”

“In writing.”

“Okay.”


Donnelley sat on the edge of the bed, hair dyed blonde and his dyed beard long, looking through colored contacts as he busied himself with assembling the VP9 after cleaning it. He also had his Steyr handgun sitting next to him. That one was already cleaned and ready, just like always. The serial number was scratched off, took it off a Program man he and Ghost had caught up to in an alleyway back when he was still THUNDER. Still just Tex. It wasn’t the guy’s lucky day, and he learned what it was to make an enemy of the Program. Like Donnelley always knew, like he’d said, you don’t get out of this alive.

”I want you to promise me that, and send me the documents.”

“I will. You’ll have them.” Oakes paused, “But you know you’ll have to do something for me.”

“What is it?”


Donnelley looked at the window just as they lit up bright white from the headlights of a silver 2012 Toyota Corolla. The vehicle he was told his partner- his new guy- was meeting him in. He stood, slipping the Steyr into his holster and tugging the coat he was wearing over it. The VP9, he kept in his book bag. No need to rush for it. Not this time. He pulled one slat of the blinds down and saw the silhouette of a man sitting in the driver seat, framed by the darkening sky.

He took his finger away from the blinds and took a breath. He undid the locks and rested his hand on the doorknob. He looked at the motel room, nothing of his left behind. In a few hours, after he and the other man had left the motel, a cleaner hired by the Program would come to clean up and make sure no one would ever know Joseph Donnelley was ever here. Funny. They’d do the same thing when it was time for him to retire too.

He didn’t smile at that, just opened the door and stepped outside.

”His name’s William Walker. Bill Walker. Did a lot of dirt for the Office of Security, kept away from the real deal Program as much as possible.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

“He still knows too much. He can still be placed on every Op we’ve sent him on, and he’s been refusing calls.”

“How rude.”

“Very. I don’t like being ignored, and neither does the Program.”

“What about the new guy?”

“What
about [i]the new guy?”

“What’s his name?”

“Call him-“

“Bob.” Donnelley said, closing the passenger door of the Corolla and buckling in while they backed out of the parking space.

“Jonas.” Bob nodded at him. He was very new. Not as new as some, but still new enough to be nervous. Seasoned enough to hide it, but not from Donnelley. Donnelley could see it hiding in the corners of his eyes, the same look he had his first operation. A regular day at the races, as they called it when you were vetting a new Agent.

“So, they said you’d tell me about the job.” Bob said, merging onto the country road stretching off into nothing.

“My job is making sure the dinner guest’s retirement party goes smoothly,” Donnelley spoke, looking out at the passing hills and tall grass, “Your job can be shutting the fuck up unless I ask you something.”

And so he did. No music, no conversation, just the tires singing across the dusty back road until they finally got to the place.

”What can I expect?”

“A tough as nails old killer ready to make sure he doesn’t go out alone.”

“Par for the course.”

“Exactly. Nothing you haven’t done before. I’ll send you a picture, make sure it’s a Pos ID”

“Consider it done. You’ll know when.”

“Make it quiet.”

“Always.”


Donnelley stepped out of the Corolla and his boots scraped into the dirt. He closed the door, looking at Bob as he too got out of the car. Bob took a step forward and Donnelley called his name, “Bob. The fuck are you doing?”

“The job, right?”

“Your job was to meet me, pick me up, and bring me here. That’s enough lessons for a fuckin’ new guy, now keep the engine runnin’.” Donnelley spat off to the side, hooking his gaze into Bob’s with something sharp. “Won’t be long.”

Bob looked back at Donnelley, not exactly wanting to test his luck, or ruin his chances at being whatever he thought he’d be in the Program. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be much. No one ever really is. But that was between Bill Walker and him, let Bob be blissfully stupid for a little bit longer.

Donnelley walked up the driveway, noting any vehicles. Two, a Harley Sportster that reminded him of Queen, though this one was black and white. The other was a rusty Ford pickup. He knew how to approach this, especially now that they hadn’t taken fire the second they rolled onto the driveway. The lights of the house were on downstairs, but he couldn’t see a thing. The TV was on, playing some kid’s show. That made him quirk a brow and almost stop in his tracks. Was this the right place? Had Bob unsurprisingly fucked up?

Or was this perhaps some elaborate trap Oakes had rigged, and he was just stumbling into it like the idiot he was. He stood in front of the door, still hesitating. He wanted to turn around and ask Bob himself if he’d fucked up with the directions. But he knew Bob really wasn’t that stupid. So he knocked. And then he heard the door open, not even locked in the first place, and standing there was a little girl. Six, maybe. But young, was all he knew.

“Hi.” She smiled at him, and gave a little wave.

“Um…”

“Who is it, Frankie?” William stepped into view from the kitchen, looking just like the picture he’d gotten from Oakes, but smiling. He was an old man with graying hair, receding up and away from his forehead, but otherwise kept trim and neat. His eyes were kind, in that way some men who’d done lots of unkind things had, “Oh, Harry, you’re here!”

Donnelley quirked a brow, but he was too taken aback to even mutter anything. Instead, he just stood there and nodded. William chuckled, “Well, don’t just stand there, come on in.”

Now he was really starting to feel like something was wrong about this. Donnelley looked from the girl and then at William. And he stepped inside. He doubted William would try anything with his granddaughter so close. The granddaughter Oakes said absolutely fucking nothing about. William pointed at the dinner table, “Don’t be shy, Harry, sit down. You want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m…” Donnelley just shook his head and swallowed, feeling his Steyr in one holster and the VP9 in the inner pocket of his coat. “I’m… fine.”

“You sure? Got red wine, goes good with pasta.” William clapped Donnelley on the shoulder, and then watched Frankie skip back into the living room to resume her show. It was then that William squeezed Donnelley’s shoulder, hard. But there was no anger in his eyes, “Not here. Not now. Not in front of her.”

William nodded outside, “Your friend want any dinner?”

“He can wait.” Donnelley felt a bit of relief, as strange as that was to feel. It was just a normal job, as strange as killing a man was normal. But normal wasn’t something Donnelley knew anymore, not for a long time. “We can eat first. I’ll be your Harry.”

“Good.”

“You poison it, or the wine?”

“And have you vomit your bloody stomach lining onto the table my granddaughter’s eating at?” William had a point, and Donnelley just nodded in agreement, “It’s just pasta. It’s just wine. It’s just dinner.”

Except it wasn’t just dinner, but Frankie didn’t need to know that. William turned and walked into the living room and smiled at Frankie, who smiled back at him, and then at Donnelley, “How do you know my grampa?”

“We worked together. Well, not together-together, but doing the same thing as each other. Janitors, cleaning things up that need cleaning.” William looked at Donnelley, “Right, Harry?”

Donnelley looked from William and then to Frankie, forcing that very sincere smile to grow across his lips, “Sure did!” Donnelley said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Frankie. Your grandpa talks about you a lot.”

Frankie just giggled and looked back at her show, but William had the remote in his hand and shut the TV off. Frankie groaned, looking at her grandpa, “But-“

“It’ll be there when we’re done. Dinner time, our favorite!” William picked Frankie up and tickled her stomach, making her squeal and thrash about in his arms as he chuckled along.

Even that made Donnelley’s smile just a bit too sincere for his liking. William looked at him, but if he thought he could charm his way out of this, using his granddaughter as a ward, he was out of luck. But Donnelley knew that William was just enjoying his last few moments with Frankie. It was the same thing Donnelley would’ve done, had William come calling after him. Donnelley’s smile faltered just a bit as he turned away from them and sat at the table.

Dinner was normal, if not still a bit awkward with the elephant in the room. Donnelley barely touched his plate, every move he made, no matter how small let him feel the pistols he had on him. When the dishes were put up, and Frankie was put to bed, Donnelley and William were left standing in the kitchen. They were quiet, both looking away from each other, but keeping each other in their peripherals out of instinct and habit.

“I’m tired.” William spoke, “Tired of doing work for the Program. Tired of looking people in the eyes and only seeing confusion. It’s always confusion, like they didn’t expect it to happen when it did.”

William shook his head, “At least I do.” William took a breath, “I’m not going to fight you. Not with Frankie here. Don’t even know if I would if she wasn’t. I’m tired.” He said again.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Donnelley said, not interested in waxing poetic with an old man about to be dead.

William just nodded and then waved Donnelley to come walk with him. They went out the back, shutting the door. William took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered one to Donnelley. He took one, placing it between his lips, but leaving it unlit. “Well,” William said, “Ready as I’ll ever be. You got a knife, or a gun?”

“Gun.”

“Suppressed?”

“Very.” Donnelley reached into his coat and pulled the VP9 free.

“Had one like that.” William nodded, “I’ll look you right in the eyes. Wouldn’t have it any other way, I ain’t a lame horse.”

Donnelley said nothing, just raised the pistol and sighted up on William’s T-box. Quick, clean, quiet. That was the job. Do this, and he could walk away knowing his favor would be done. Just this job, and he could go back to the real work. The work he could at least try to justify. Just a few pounds of pressure. A few pounds that wouldn’t come. Donnelley lowered the pistol, just a hair at first, and then lowered his arm back to his side, grimacing.

“You know what they’ll do if you don’t follow through.” William said, his voice almost disappointed.

“Yeah.” Donnelley muttered. “Maybe I’m tired too.”

“They won’t care.” William shook his head, “You’re not doing anyone a favor with this, friend.”

“Maybe.” Donnelley swallowed.

William took one last puff, “Okay-“

And then William’s face splattered onto the dirt in wet chunks after a loud pop like a hose breaking, the rest of him following after, dropping in no way that could be described as romantic or dramatic. Just his legs going out from under him, folding in on himself to lay fetal in the dust. Motionless. Dead. Lots of blood.

“Well, job’s done.” Bob lowered his pistol and then holstered it inside his coat, “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Donnelley just looked at William’s body. His hand was gripping his pistol tight, white knuckles and shaking hand. He holstered his VP9, but his eyes were still on William’s faceless corpse dumping blood into the earth.

“Okay, anyone else in the house?” Bob urged, not getting answers out of Donnelley. He grumbled, “I’ll go check.”

Bob walked over to the sliding glass door, but before he could open it, Donnelley spoke, “Hey, Bob.”

“Yeah?”

Donnelley unholstered his VP9, picking out Bob’s T-box as easily as he’d pick out the side of a house. Bob raised his hands, then Tex smiled that wolf’s grin of his and let the pistol dangle from his forefinger, still in the trigger guard. Just a little joke, “Take it.” Tex said, “It’s just the kid inside.”

“I…” Bob seemed shocked, looking at the pistol and then back to Tex.

“Can’t?” Tex asked, raising a brow. “They said no witnesses. You wanna do this right, right?”

Bob swallowed. Tex knew he wouldn’t take it, so he spun it back in his hand and put it back in the holster, “Clean up the house. Kitchen, dining room.”

After Bob left to do as he was told, Donnelley stepped over William’s corpse as he slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves and shouldered past Bob. Bob took his time with the house, making sure every trace of his and Tex’s being there wouldn’t ever be found out. A couple hours, maybe. The Program would send another cleaner here, just to be sure. As for Tex, he slowly went up the stairs, one by one. The door to the master bedroom was open, so was the bathroom at the end of the hallway. That left the only closed door to be Frankie’s, a bunch of flowers and vines painstakingly painted by William long before he was a brainless corpse leaking the memory of doing it into the soil.

He lay a hand on the girl’s door and opened it. Frankie was laying in bed with a stuffed bear held tight in her arms, snoring softly. For a moment, he saw Tilly in that bed. He pushed it aside and stepped into her room. No witnesses, Oakes had told him. No witnesses, Tex had said to Bob. Frankie’s eyes fluttered open and she looked at Tex, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to replace it with no small amount of confusion, “Where’s grampa?”

>…///

Tex and Bob were driving to an abandoned house somewhere further east, towards Idaho. William’s body was in the trunk, and the scene was cleaned enough that it would take an actual crime scene investigation team to piece together what happened, not whatever first responder would come to the house when the time came. Bob didn’t say anything, just gave Tex some wary glances after what had gone down. “It’s done?”

Tex nodded, just once. That was enough for Bob, who muttered a very soft Jesus Christ under his breath, just loud enough to tickle at the edges of Tex’s hearing. You want something done right, you want Tex. He didn’t spend years doing what he did to leave things half-done. Everyone on THUNDER knew. Ghost and Tex for when the real low things needed doing. They pulled up, and the abandoned house and the barn next to it was illuminated by the headlights of the Corolla. Time to get to work, take the last picture of William’s face and then chop him up, leave him for the Program cleaner to spread across as much of the West Coast he could cover in a couple days.

It took about an hour, fast work for practiced hands. When they’d gotten it all bagged and sealed, Tex and Bob sat inside the barn, the lanterns still shining wet across the PPE they’d donned from the trunk of the Corolla. Bob still wouldn’t look at him. Tex couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror sometimes when he woke up and stumbled into the bathroom. But that was the price. Anything for another sunrise. Do what no one else can, or should have to.

“You really did it?” Bob asked. Maybe he didn’t believe Tex. Maybe he didn’t want to.

But, Tex looked back at him with those flat predator eyes of his and just frowned, “You saying I’m a pussy?” Tex asked, “How many years you think I’ve been doin’ this shit?”

“I dunno.” Bob shook his head, mouth hanging open and dumb.

Tex snorted, shaking his head with a smirk as he looked at the bags of William piled up in the corner, “You don’t start toughin’ up, maybe you see me again.” Tex looked back at Bob, “But good job with tonight.”

“Yeah.” Bob almost choked on the words, hands still shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips.

“We should get out of here.” Tex stood up.

“Yeah.” Bob said again, and then stood too.

They shed the PPE and left it with the sealed bags. The cleaner would know what to with them. Their part was done and over. Tex was sitting on the hood of the Corolla, waiting for Bob to get the last of his PPE off and begin his slow zombie walk toward the Toyota. “Hey, Bob.”

“What?”

“How do you feel?” Tex asked.

“Huh?”

“You feel good?” Tex asked further, “Killing someone you don’t even know?”

“I… don’t really know.” Bob admitted.

Tex stood from his seat on the hood, the Toyota creaking as the suspension righted itself, and Tex laid a hand on Bob’s shoulder, his nitrile gloves still on. He squeezed a bit, “Maybe you should feel like shit.”

Bob furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t quite make their way past the Benchmade punch dagger Tex shoved through his windpipe. Bob gagged on his own blood as Tex caught his weight, stumbling back. Quick as a few claps, Tex brought the dagger out and in, out and in, making sure his arteries were wide open. So much blood, on his hands, on Bob’s chin and neck, and chest. Tex slipped the dagger back in the sheath and hauled Bob’s body to the barn, dumping him next to William.

Frankie would give the description of a man who looked different enough from Donnelley that he’d never be caught when the police came and found her in her closet clutching her grandpa’s phone, just like the times before. The case would go cold, and there wouldn’t ever be closure for Frankie, but Donnelley was too tired of it all to think about that. He took off his bloody gloves, found his phone in his pocket, next to his lighter. He dialed the number, and gave the simple phrase when he heard the other end pick up, “Done.”

“New guy?”

“Didn’t make it.”

Oakes paused, then continued, unbothered, “Alright.”

He hung up, lit the cigarette William had given him. He slipped into the Corolla, shutting the door and turning the engine over, driving off into the night to leave the car in a long-term parking lot of an airport and be gone before anyone knew he was even here. He hoped Frankie would be alright.
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