Children of Paranoia (8 page)

“Yeah,” I replied. “I'm going to follow you in a minute.” I wanted another minute to put my thoughts together. “This was good, Jared,” I said to him as he pulled the screen door open. “I needed this. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Joe,” Jared said. His voice was strong. “Sometimes you just need to be reminded, you know? We're doing a good thing, Joe. I know it. You know it too. I know you do. Don't let yourself doubt it. If you start to feel doubt, you have to bury it. When you do what we do, doubt'll get you killed.” Jared was serious, as serious as I had ever heard him in my life.

“I know,” I replied. He was right. The problem was that burying the doubt wasn't as simple as Jared made it sound.

 

 

As we had agreed the day before, Jared and I let Michael plan our evening on the second night. He spent half the day talking about it while all I tried to do was while away the hours on the porch, watching the day go by. I left the house once in the middle the day to go jump into the ocean and cool down. It felt good to be in the ocean. It felt good to be reminded how small I was.

So that night we headed to the southern end of Beach Haven for dinner. We didn't have reservations, but Michael figured he could get us a table at one of the fancy restaurants on the bay by greasing the hostess. Besides, he liked using his attempted bribe as an opening gambit to try to get the hostess's number. The plan was for an upscale dinner followed by a trip to an overcrowded Beach Haven bar with live music and drunk girls. “College girls,” Michael kept intoning, like the words were full of magic. Michael dressed in his summer best, donning a bright red, floral print Hawaiian shirt and a pair of linen pants. He wore enough cologne to subdue an elephant. Michael hadn't grown up with me and Jared. I didn't meet Michael until two weeks after my sixteenth birthday. That was the day of my initiation. That was the day Michael and I sat next to each other while some stranger told us that people wanted to kill us and that, if we didn't want to die, we'd have to kill them first. We went in innocent and came out something completely other than innocent—not experienced, just not innocent anymore. When the class disbanded, each of us was specifically told not to contact or seek out anyone else from the class. It's dangerous, we were told. It could get people killed. Michael didn't care. He found me. He couldn't handle his new knowledge alone. He barely had any family left. He didn't have anyone that could really help him prepare for what was next. Michael needed friends. No rules were going to stop him from finding them. He chose me, whether I wanted to be chosen or not. A couple weeks after Michael found me, I found out that Jared was one of us too.

“You guys ready for a crazy night?” Michael clapped his hands together and began rubbing them like he was trying to stay warm.

“Smells like you are,” I responded, laughing.

Jared walked up to Michael, took a big whiff, and looked at him. “You're staying at least ten feet away from me all night.”

“This is my lucky cologne,” Michael said. “You guys'll see, once the booze starts flowing and the music starts pumping, women will be drawn to this scent.”

“Like flies to shit,” Jared said. “Can we eat before I get another whiff of Michael and I lose my appetite?” We could walk to the street where all the good restaurants were. We had to cross over the island, but that didn't take long. The island was only three blocks wide. We made our way over to the bay and walked another ten blocks south to get to the restaurant Michael wanted to try. We walked past the amusement park and the water slides and at least three miniature golf courses. Beach Haven was teeming with families, little kids, flashing lights, and ringing bells. The music from the carousel could be heard for blocks. We walked past at least ten kids playing Skee-Ball. The restaurant wasn't right on the strip, so by the time we reached it, the streets had quieted down quite a bit. We could still look behind us and see the lights on the top of the Ferris wheel but the street in front of us was quiet. It was a small street with three or four seafood restaurants facing the bay. Michael made us walk by each restaurant and look inside before picking one. He made his choice based on which hostess he thought was the most attractive. The place he chose was pricy and crowded but Michael was able to get us a table. Sometimes, he just got the job done.

“You get her number too?” I asked after the hostess showed us to our table and started walking away. Michael didn't say anything. He just smiled a big goofy smile.

“I'm not sitting next to Michael,” Jared said before we sat down. “I want to be able to smell my food.” I don't even think he was kidding anymore. Our table was in the back corner of the restaurant, only a few feet away from the railing separating the restaurant from the bay. From our table, we could sit and eat and look at the reflection of the stars rippling in the water. When the wind shifted just right, the smell of Michael's cologne would be mercifully replaced by the salty smell of the bay. It was just starting to get dark when we ordered our drinks. I was sitting with my back to the wall. Michael was on my left-hand side with his back to the water and facing the entrance of the restaurant. Jared was on my right-hand side, his back to the door, facing the water. I had a straight view of most of the restaurant. While I'd have to strain to see the entrance, I could see all of the seating area and could make out about half of the bar. The room was in high spirits. The light outside was fading quickly. The room was full of the sounds of glasses clinking, silverware rapping against plates, and pointless vacation chatter. We ordered our food, fish, clams, crab claws. We ignored the prices and just let loose. I'm glad we did, since it was the last meal that the three of us would ever have together. Besides, we never did pay the bill.

When we got our drinks, Michael lifted his glass and said, “So, boys, what should we drink to?”

“World peace,” I offered, and we all laughed. It was an old joke, older than we were. I'd heard my parents say it. We tried to avoid talking about the War but our conversation kept circling back to it. It always did. Each of us told the others about rumors we'd heard—recent victories, recent defeats, people we knew who'd been promoted up the ranks, people we knew who'd been killed. We didn't talk about why we fought. We'd had that conversation too many times already. It never went anywhere. We'd all heard the theories, some theories more than others. In one, there were originally five groups fighting each other. We were the only two left. In another, we had once been slaves and our enemy the slave masters. When we revolted, we won our freedom and they let us go. The problem was that as soon as we left, they turned around and began enslaving other people. So we came back to fight them once and for all, to end their reign, to keep the world free. That's the version we heard the most—probably because it was the one where we were the most heroic. We all believed that someday we'd be told the whole story. The rumor was that if you rose high enough in the ranks, they told you everything. Sometimes that was the only reason I cared about being promoted.

The food came and we just kept talking. The talk slowly turned from the War to us reminiscing about the good times we'd had when we were young and carefree. Even with the War hanging over our heads, when we were seventeen we felt like we'd be seventeen forever. Those were some of the best times of my life. Then, one at a time, we turned eighteen.

When we were about halfway through our meal, she walked in. Michael had been watching the traffic going in and out of the restaurant since the minute we sat down, hoping he could get two girls' phone numbers before we even got to the bar. He noticed her right away. She was hard to forget. “Hey, your little friend is here,” he said to me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. It took me a few seconds before it dawned on me. Michael was lifting his hand to wave her over to our table when my reflexes kicked in. I grabbed his hand before he was able to get it above his shoulder and slammed it down into the table. It made a loud banging sound against the wood. A few of the people at the surrounding tables turned and glared at us.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that for?” Michael asked, twisting his wrist, checking to see if I had broken something.

“No waving,” I ordered. “Answer my question. Who is my little friend?” I didn't dare look for myself.

“That hot Asian woman from the bar last night,” Michael replied. “What the fuck's your problem? Did you strike out that bad?”

“Has she seen us?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet. My gut was talking to me again. I was determined to listen to it this time. This was wrong. There were no coincidences, not in our line of work.

“I don't know,” Michael answered. His voice dropped, following my lead. “I can't really tell. If she has, she's not acting like she has.”

“Act like you haven't seen her,” I said under my breath. “Better yet, act like you don't even recognize her.” It was another order. I didn't pretend that it wasn't.

“Seriously, Joe, what's going on here?” Jared asked.

I began shaking my head, trying to decipher what this could all mean. “Bad feelings,” I replied. “I just got a bad vibe from her, that's all. She was asking me a lot of questions.”

“Questions about what?” Jared pressed. It didn't take him long to become deadly serious. It never did.

“About Brooklyn,” I replied. The word immediately resonated with both my friends.

“What about Brooklyn?” Jared pressed further. He leaned back in his chair, faking a smile in case people were watching us. We all began acting as casual as possible. Only our words were full of panic. We just had to hope that no one was listening.

“Nothing specific. She was smooth about it. That's what worries me. She kept asking me about how much time I spent in New York and then she just slipped in how much she loved Brooklyn and asked me if I'd ever been there.”

“Well, that doesn't tell us much,” Michael replied. “Sounds like normal conversation to me.”

“Yeah, it sounded that way to me too. But it didn't feel normal.” I looked at Michael again. “What's she doing now?” Michael was the only one who could watch her without it being obvious that we'd spotted her.

“She's sitting at the bar. She ordered a drink.”

“What's she drinking?” It was an important question. If she was drinking alcohol, then we would know that I was overreacting. If she were on the job, she'd stay sober.

“Clear drink. Regular glass. Lime,” Michael replied. “Could be gin or vodka. Could be club soda.” Michael knew the score too.

“Why didn't you say something last night?” Jared asked.

“Because last night, it didn't feel right. Tonight, two nights in a row—tonight it feels dangerous. What's she doing, Michael?”

“Not much, just sitting there, nursing her drink. A couple times, though, she's made eye contact with the big black dude in the corner.”

“You ever see him before?” I asked Michael.

“Nope. First time. Can you make him out?”

I picked up my beer, pretended to take a sip, and leaned back in my chair to see if I could get a good look at the man standing in the corner. Then I saw him. I recognized him immediately. “We're made,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked. “You know that guy?”

“Yeah, that's my cabbie. He drove me here from Atlantic City. We're made. No doubt about it.” I nearly took a real swig of beer. It was a reflex. Instead, I just pressed the bottle to my lips, not letting a drop slip through. Then I placed the beer back on the table. I didn't know what would be in store that night, but I knew that I needed to keep all my faculties. “So, what's our plan?” I asked. Michael and I both looked to Jared. That's how it was. Michael was the party. Jared had the plans. I still haven't figured out what my part was.

“Does she know about us?” Jared asked, motioning to him and Michael.

“Well, if she didn't before, she probably would have guessed by now since we're sitting at the same fucking table.” I said. “But, yeah, I told her last night that you guys were my friends.”

“We're going to have to split up,” Jared said without any hesitation.

“There's another guy at the other end of the bar,” Michael interrupted. “He's definitely with her too. Late thirties, white, gray before his time but in pretty good shape, small scar under his left eye.” I again took a fake sip from my drink but I couldn't get a good look at the new guy. From what I could see, I didn't recognize him. “Splitting up sounds like a bat-shit stupid idea to me,” Michael said. His face betrayed his emotions for the first time since we'd started playing our little game of pretend.

“Easy, Michael,” I said. “Let's not give anything away just yet. Why do you think we should split up, Jared?”

“It's the only chance we have here. We can't fight them. We have to run. If we run together we all get caught.”

“I don't see why we can't fight them,” Michael replied. “We split up and the odds of all three of us making it out are pretty slim.” Michael looked at me when he said this. We all figured the same thing. Catherine, or whatever her name was, came looking for me. I was the primary target.

“We can't fight them, Michael,” Jared responded. “There are three of them that we know about. There may be more. There are definitely only three of us. Plus, they came here looking for us, so we know that they're going to be armed. Are you armed, Michael?” Jared was just stating the facts.

“I've got my scuba knife,” Michael said, resignation creeping into his voice. One knife between us with a two-inch blade, it wasn't enough.