The Good Soldier (23 page)

"I'm going on a trip for three months. But I've got a new cell phone and will be available if you need anything." I put my new phone up on the counter. It was a hell of a phone. It connected to the internet and could even send emails. The guy that sold it to me was completely geeked out about it. I really didn't care, but since I would be traveling, I figured it would be a good thing to have. Maybe the email part would help me to reconnect with Jessie. Although, at that moment, I was struggling to recall much about her.

Clarissa turned and smiled.

"If you want to tag along, you're welcome to do so," I said.

She laughed and walked over to the counter and leaned into it, facing me. I had to fight back the urge to kiss her.

"I haven't seen you in, what, four or five years now? And you want to walk in and sweep me off my feet?"

I smiled and looked away. "It's not that. I promised your dad I'd take care of you. Watch over you."

"Honey, I've been watching over myself for years. I'll be OK."

"Well, give me your email address so I can keep up with you."

She laughed and snatched my phone off the counter. A minute later she set it back down in front of me. "It's in there now."

Great
, I thought.
Now I just need to figure out how to access it.

A minute later she set a plate with two eggs and five strips of bacon in front of me. I ate it quickly and then got to my feet. I wrote my phone number down and left it on the middle of the counter.

"I'll be in touch," I said.

She met me at the door and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her mouth lingered there for longer than it should have. I thought about turning my head and brushing her lips with mine. I wanted to turn my head. In the end, I didn't. It didn't feel right. Too close to her father's death.

"See ya," she said as she closed the door behind me.

It turned out I didn't travel all that much. I took a plane to Miami, a cab across a few bridges and found a small apartment above a bar for rent in the Keys. Two and a half relaxing months passed in the blink of an eye. The place was above a locals bar. At least the majority of its patrons were locals. I made a few friends. My hair grew longer, as did my beard. It felt awkward, but I went with it.

I kept in touch with Clarissa. We talked or emailed once a week. She had moved on and seemed to be doing well for herself. Her father's life insurance policy paid nicely and would take care of her for a while. I encouraged her to use the money to go to college. She planned to spend it all on a two year journey through Europe.

I had emailed Jessie soon after arriving here and asked her to join me. She only replied with a maybe and an apology for deleting the file and not burning it to the CD. She feared for her parents' safety. Martinez and Keller had threatened her that day they held her hostage. I was pissed that I had trusted her enough to handle the CD. Should have done it myself or at least watched over the process. I told her not to worry about it. Under the circumstances, I understood. Gave her a deadline to come to the Keys and told her that after that point I'd be unavailable. I don't know if that statement had any truth to it or not, but I couldn't go on waiting forever.

The deadline loomed, now just a few hours away.

I sat outside at a table on the bar's patio. On either side of me was an empty bistro table. A few people joined me throughout the day. They'd stay anywhere from a couple minutes up to an hour. It just depended on who and where the conversation went. I stayed sober during most of the day and only started drinking around two that afternoon. At four I didn't feel drunk, but I certainly felt the effects of the alcohol.

"Noble," a voice called through the open window just above my head.

"Yeah," I said without looking back or standing.

"Got a call for you."

I looked at my watch. Four fifteen.

"Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Take a message." I didn't feel like talking.

My spot had a nice view of the water. Not a full view, but decent enough. It was early June. The sun stayed out until close to nine at night. I had every intention of sitting there until then. I had told Jessie six p.m. But I'd wait until nine. Or until I drank enough that I couldn't sit upright anymore.

As the next two hours passed, I found myself looking further and further down the street in an effort to spot her.

"Today's the day, eh, Noble?"

I smiled at the elderly couple who sat down at the table with me. Ralph had been a computer salesman in upstate New York. He and Marcy had been married for forty years. They left the cold a few years back for the laid-back lifestyle the Keys could offer those with the money to afford it.

Marcy straightened Ralph's blue Hawaiian print button up shirt and then leaned toward me.

"She'll show, Jackie."

Most people here simply called me Noble. For some reason, Marcy saw me as the son or grandson she never had and insisted on calling me Jackie. I stopped protesting after the first week. It was quite obvious she wasn't changing her stance.

"We'll see."

"Don't get his hopes up, Marcy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ralph," I said.

We talked for half an hour about nothing in particular. They offered to pay for my drinks. I declined and paid for theirs. It was a game of sorts, who could throw their hands up and protest the longest and the loudest. Four times out of five, they won. Tonight they let me take the glory.

Ralph looked down at his watch. "Six p.m. We should go and leave you to your woman." He winked and helped Marcy out her chair. The couple joined hands and slipped through the open entrance of the bar and joined the rest of the Key West crowd who had become my family.

Six o'clock passed, and there was no sign of Jessie. I leaned back in my seat and stared out at the ocean. I lost myself in the crystal blue waters and sounds of locals and tourists on the street and beach. I had dropped into such a deep zone that I didn't notice someone standing in front of me.

I shifted my gaze and looked at the person. It wasn't who I hoped it would be.

"Jack Noble." Not a question. The man knew me. He stood with his hands on his hips. His jacket pushed just enough to the side that I could see the handle of his pistol. What I didn't see was a badge. He had to be a fed, though. Who the hell would be in Key West dressed in a suit in the middle of June? I found myself wishing I still carried a gun with me everywhere I went. Unfortunately, it didn't jive with swim trunks and a tank top.

"Do I know you, friend?" I'd taken to calling strangers friend. Everyone down here was a friend. I couldn't help thinking this was the life I could have had during off seasons and after my pro football career.

"I've got a proposition for you."

"Does it involve handcuffs and a nine by nine cell? If so, I'm not interested."

He laughed and pulled out a chair. "May I?"

"Have at it."

He sat down and looked up at the open window. "Uh, sure, whatever he's having." He looked back at me and smiled.

I looked away.

"This has nothing to do with handcuffs or cells. I want to offer you a job."

"Doing what?"

"Well, that's complicated. You see-"

"Let me save you the time. No." I grabbed my glass and took a sip. "I'm not interested in working."

"You've got two weeks left until your government hand out ends."

"Hey," I said as I pointed at him. "I worked hard for that money. Went three years without a vacation. Don't go around telling me it's a freebie. And keep your damn voice down."

"Apologies, on all counts." He stood and took his drink from the bartender's outstretched hand. "Ten years or so with us and you'll never have to worry about money again."

"Who are you?"

"Name's Frank."

I waited for him to tell me his last name. He didn't.

"Who do you work for?"

"That's classified."

"Not the FBI. No badge."

He nodded

"CIA wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"Correct again."

"NSA?"

He shook his head.

"Then who-"

"I'll save you some time, Noble. The only way you'll find out is if you join."

I looked around the street and didn't notice anyone.

"What's the job description?"

"Professional killer."

I lifted an eyebrow. He smiled. It wasn't the smile of someone that just told a joke. He meant business. It made sense. All my training had led to this.

"Who told you about me?"

"I, uh, I really can't tell you that."

"Marlowe."

He shrugged.

It was Marlowe.

"I need a bit to decide."

"You've got two minutes, Jack. After that, I leave."

My mind started on the
what if
game. What if Jessie showed up? What if she didn't? I was terrified of both. But the thing that kept pushing its way to the front of my mind was that I wanted to join Frank and his mystery organization. I wanted to be a part of the team. I craned my neck and looked down both sides of the street. I didn't see her. I knew I wouldn't see her. Not here. Not anywhere, never again.

"I'm in," I said.

Frank stood and extended his hand. I reached up and shook it. He smiled at me for a moment and pulled a card from his pocket. He let go of my hand and pulled a pen from inside his jacket and wrote something down on the card.

"Two weeks," he said and then he turned and left.

I placed the card on the table, then finished my drink while keeping my eyes open and aware. I kept up hope that Jessie would show up. She didn't. At nine p.m., after a glorious sunset full of deep reds, oranges and pinks, I stood and grabbed the card off the table. It took a few minutes for my drunken eyes to focus. I read the note out loud.

"July 1st. East 64th Street and Park Avenue. Ten in the morning." Below that line it said, "Welcome aboard, Noble."

THE END

A DEADLY DISTANCE

JACK NOBLE No. 2

BY: L.T. RYAN

PUBLISHED BY: LIQUID MIND MEDIA, LLC

COPYRIGHT © 2013

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

December 19, 2004

Six feet. A deadly distance. Especially when one man has a gun aimed at another. Close enough to take missing out of the equation. Far enough away that the target has slightly more than a zero percent chance of making a move, whether to disarm the assailant or duck and cover.

The guy I'd been hunting in the dusty and dimly lit warehouse found me first. I had taken a set of splintered wooden stairs to the catwalk that wrapped the interior edges of the building and cut across the center of the large rectangular room. I hustled up the steps, two at a time. The old wooden boards sagged and creaked and moaned, but held under my weight. The catwalk was stronger, sturdier. It didn't move in response to me. No bouncing. No side-to-side sway. One foot fell in front of the other as I sidestepped along the catwalk. I let my feet hit the floor from the outside in, minimizing the noise. Still, the planks gave off a slight thump in response to my boots hitting the wood. I knew if I wasn't careful, he'd hear me.

And he did.

Fortunately, I heard his footsteps, too. Unfortunately, I only heard them a second before he spoke.

"Stop," he said. His accent was thick, perhaps South American. "Drop your gun."

I froze and lifted my hands, letting the gun swing like a pendulum, upside down and with only my index finger holding it up by the trigger guard.

"Drop it," he said.

I dipped my finger to the side and let the gun slide off and over the railing. It hit the floor with a thud, managing to keep from discharging a round. The cold handle of my backup piece rested reassuringly against my lower back, sending chills through me as the cold metal touched my sweaty skin.

"Now turn around," he said.

I turned in a half-circle and got my first good look at the man I'd been chasing for the last twenty minutes. He stood approximately five foot nine and weighed probably one-eighty. He wore a tan jacket and black knit cap. Sparse dark hair covered his cheeks and chin. His eyes matched his hair. He stood six feet away, a pistol held close to his chest and aimed at me.

A distance of six feet increased his odds of being deadly accurate.

A distance of six feet reduced my chances of effectively neutralizing him.

Even at six-two, my reach wasn't enough to land an effective blow in this situation.

"Who the hell are you?" he said.

"I'm the man who was sent to kill you," I said.

"By who?"

"What?"

"Who's your boss?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to write him a letter to recommend he fires you."

I chuckled. The guy had a sense of humor, only the look on his face said he wasn't joking.

"Why's that?" I said.

"Because you failed this class, asshole." He lifted the barrel of the gun and waved it back and forth, like a mother scolding her toddler.

"Only problem," I said, "is this is only recess. Playtime for you."

The man forced a laugh. "You're the one following me, so you must have some idea who I am."

"Not really." And that was the truth. Frank Skinner and I had acted on a single piece of information that said a man fitting the guy's description would be waiting at a bus stop.

"Well, let me give you the abridged version," he said. "I'm someone you shouldn't be following. You should have done your homework first. Now it's too late for you."

I smiled. "First, enough with the school analogies. Second, it's never too late for me."

His eyes narrowed. He brought his left hand up and wiped his cheek with his palm. His eyes darted upward and mine followed along. Light shone through a tiny hole in the roof. Bright, but gray. Rainwater dripped through the hole and spattered the man's face. He cursed under his breath as a bead of water slapped against his cheek. He'd have to move and his next step would seal my fate.