Day at the Beach Ch 41

Chapter 41

Three weeks had passed since the night Brad and Susan had been taken down by tranquilizer guns and the weapons systems data had been removed from Recon's collar. It was as if all of those involved were holding their collective breath, waiting to see what was going to happen. All had been so carefully planned, and then at the very last second a mystery man stepped in and changed everything. Who was this person, and just as importantly, how did he know the secret location of the weapons systems information? The amount of people who knew what was happening, or that even anything was happening, was incredibly small. The group consisted of the Director, Special Agent Armando Martinez and Brad and Susan. A small, handpicked team of agents who worked directly under Armando had a limited knowledge of the operation. Everybody involved was beyond suspicion. All they could do was wait until the holder of the authentic memory stick surfaced, and that's what worried them. Where and how would he surface? They studied all intelligence information that came in daily, hoping to see some sign of weapons activity, but none presented itself. All they could do was wait, and waiting was the hardest part.

Armando had his suspicions who the culprit was, especially since time had passed without hearing a word the holder of the memory stick. There was only one person that he could think of that would think it out and come up with the right conclusion. Joseph Eichmann. What made Eichmann a person of priority on Armando's list of suspects was the fact that he did not kill Brad and Susan. If it had been Alberto's men, he would have insisted that all participants end up dead. Eichmann always preferred any alternative to killing people if he could. As he had gotten older he had become even more opposed to permanent elimination.

Joseph Eichmann was one of the best investigators the agency ever had. Once Eichmann had a case, he pursued it like a bloodhound on the scent of a trail. Being reluctant to kill his adversaries made Joseph a less than effective agent in the field. He had to be retired.

What also made Joseph a person of consideration was the fact that the holder of the real weapons information had not yet surfaced. Through what Armando had heard from Brad's conversations with Joseph, and the bits and pieces he was able to pick up through agency networks, he knew that Joseph was contracted to the The Committee. As mysterious a group as they were, he knew that these were some of the most powerful people in the world working in unison to keep a functioning global economy operating. These people were far from angelic, but they did operate from a set of values that would be more positive than detrimental to the world. Advanced weapons systems in the hands of third world dictators was about as detrimental as you could get.

Who ever had the real memory stick apparently knew the big picture. Somehow, he knew that part of this operation was a sting to find the mole within the agency, and he had quietly held off, allowing the sting to complete itself. Which it did exactly three weeks from the night that Brad, Susan and Recon woke up on the living room floor of Susan's house.

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Alberto De La Cruz was content with the knowledge that he was now the largest arms dealer in the world. He was a multibillionaire in the prestigious position of being favored by very wealthy, third world countries. The underworld that he looked at as his world, now, really was his world. He owned it, and God help anybody who got in his way. He had ownership of this lofty and dangerous position for about a week when he got the call. The amount of money that he received was so large that it had to be transferred to various accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. This financial transaction was completed once the weapon's files were open by the buyers and saw that it looked authentic. One week later, the buyer's knew that it was bogus information and not a single weapons system on the memory stick was producible or operative.

The president of the oil rich country that had given Alberto such a large amount of money preferred to be referred to by his humble title, Commandant. The Commandant had been exactly that when he took over his country in a military coup, eliminating all adversaries in his government quickly and brutally.

Alberto had never spoken to the Commandant directly, but had communicated through negotiators. The call that Alberto got on his private line a week after becoming a multibillionaire was no different, which may have been fortunate for Alberto in the sense that he did not have to hear the Commandant's anger or the death sentence that he had imposed on Alberto. If he had heard the Commandant's anger he may have been compelled to run, hide on some distant pacific island with his billions of dollars, but even Alberto knew that there was no place to hide, for even though the Commandant was a the leader of a country, he was also a power house in the underworld in which Alberto dwelt. He would be found, he would be put to death, and probably tortured first. The only way out of this was to throw the Commandant a bone, protect his own butt. As he listened to the calm, diplomatic voice on the other end of the phone, he realized this.

The voice was saying, “You do realize there are consequences for such inappropriate actions, Mr. De La Cruz. You may gain some redemption from the Commandant by returning all the money, plus interest and penalty fees to compensate for a bad business deal.”

Alberto's heart jumped with the realization of what the man was saying. It was being taken away from him in the snap of a finger. He would be lucky to have a few million left. Maybe just enough to do a small arms deal, to start all over again at the bottom of the ladder. He gritted his teeth at the prospect of such a loss, but at the same time, he would at least still be alive. He could build it back up again.

“Yeah. Sure.” Alberto said nervously. “This has been a big mistake, sir. I have been duped to the same extent as you have.” Alberto's mind was working quickly. He had to pass this lethal ball to someone else, for whoever held it was a dead person.

“This whole operation” Alberto continued, “was controlled and put together by the inside man who obtained the information.”

“So, Mr. De La Cruz, you are telling me that you are not the main person in this operation.”

“Yes, sir. That's what I'm telling you. I just co-ordinate the people involved.” Alberto responded, trying to keep the stress and tension out of his voice, for he knew that his life was not worth a nickle at that point. “A man named Sam Levitt is the main operative. He put this whole thing together and gave me the information, which I passed on to you.

“Sam Levitt is the Assistant Director of a secret American agency within Homeland Security.

“Hmm. That is interesting.” The voice commented. “You are just the facilitator, yet you are the one who holds all of the money.”

“Well, yes.” Alberto said uncomfortably. “I haven't distributed it yet.”

The long, silent pause that filled the air told Alberto that the man did not believe a word he said. “Responsibility changes hands in the eyes of accountability, does it not, Mr. De La Cruz?”

“Mr. Levitt is a very powerful man in the American government, sir. I don't know what his game is, but he accepted the position of working with us and dictated the amount of money that he expected to get for his part.

He's the nucleus to this whole operation. If there is a break in the chain, it has to be him. Maybe he's working as a double agent, trying to play it from both sides for twice the money. Everybody else has done their job to the letter.”

“I see. I'm going to put you on hold for a minute.” The man said, and did so without waiting for a response. He came back on the line a couple of minutes later. “We are going to arrange for a private plane to pick up Mr. Levitt and he will be brought to your hacienda in Baja. We will discuss the resolving of this problem to The Commandant's satisfaction at that time.”

“What if Levitt refuses to go to Baja?” Alberto asked.

The man's laugh was short and lacked signs of humor. “His presence at this meeting is not a request.” The man said.

“Okay, I get the picture.” Alberto said, his mind racing. “But, we're covered. Right? I mean, I'm going to get the money back to you plus interest, and I'm giving you the secret guy who screwed this all up. So, we're covered. Right?”

Instead of answering Alberto, the man said, “Don't try to set us up by having your gunmen ready to attack. It would just compound a bad situation, and get your men, and you, killed. Do we have an understanding, Mr. De La Cruz?”

Alberto took a moment to respond, as, that was exactly what he was thinking of. He could have ten men here with automatic weapons in a very short time, but the Commandant could have a hundred soldiers here in the same amount of time, and nobody would ever know they were foreign combatants. They would kill everybody in sight and be gone in minutes, out to sea as quickly as they came in, on a naval ship in international waters. Alberto's situation was tenuous at best, but he had been in tough spots before and survived. He would it this time also. He just had to sacrifice a good asset, Sam Levitt. But, what the hell. This is business. Sacrifices happen. Sam Levitt was the best inside man Alberto every had. But, the current circumstances, which was basically Alberto saving his own life, called for extreme measures. In business, Alberto looked at people as no less a commodity as the products that he sold. That perspective, plus armed guards, allowed him nights of restful sleep free of haunting ghosts.

“I completely understand, sir.” Alberto responded to the unveiled threat. “You will find me to be most co-operative.”

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 40

Chapter 40

Joseph still did not move when he heard the Land Rover pull to the curb. He could see the dim glow of the headlights through the heavy curtain that crossed the window of the living as the vehicle came to a stop and the engine shut off. When he heard the doors of the truck open and close and heard the voices of Brad and Susan he slipped the night vision goggles into place on his head and picked up the first item on the table in front of him.

He was hoping that this would go as planned. He had very carefully gone through each step of his plan. He thought about Brad and Susan while he was waiting. They seemed like a nice enough of a couple. He knew they had been drawn into this by circumstances, especially Brad, and sincerely hoped that the two of them would survive this operation, or, in fact, survive the night. Unfortunately there was always collateral damage. That's what the agency called it when innocent bystanders or people who got sucked up into the vortex of intrigue ended up dead. Joseph Eichmann was not above killing people. He had done it many times.

When Recon entered the front door, he did so with his nose as his guide. The room was pitch black. It only took the well trained dog a second to assess the situation and know that someone was in there. But, a second was too long. Joseph sat waiting for Recon, knowing he would be the first one through the door. Joseph shot him immediately, dropping the dog to the floor with a quiet thump. He picked up the second weapon and fired that at Brad as he entered the house with the same results. He had to wait a moment for Susan, as she hesitated at the door, calling Brad's name with a worried tone, but she entered too and he shot her in the neck just as he had Brad and Recon. He then picked up a .357 pistol and held it steadily in front of him, pointing it at the three bodies green bodies glowing through the night vision goggles on the floor. They did not move and he let loose a sigh of relief. He did not want to use the gun. It was too loud, too messy, and absolutely too final.

Grunting from the stiffness of old bones too long in one position he rose slowly to his feet and turned a lamp light on. He inspected all three bodies before opening the clasp on Recon's collar and removing the highly classified weapons information.

“Clever idea.” he said to Brad's prone and limp body. Joseph then removed the tranquilizer darts from the necks of his three victims and placed them back into the leather bag with the other equipment that he had removed earlier. Picking up his bag he stopped at the door for a moment before exiting the house. He studied the three of them, Brad, Susan and Recon, for a long moment.

Joseph never had the opportunity to settle down and have a family. He envied them their potential for the future. He wondered what their children would look like and what it would be like to watch them grow through the years. What it would be like to grow old and familiar with each other as he hoped that they would. The time has passed Joseph by, but he could still have relative comfort, a degree of satisfaction from the life that he had led.

“You kids have a good life.” He said as he walked out the door. “Stay out of trouble.” They were oblivious of his concerns and comments as they lay unconscious.

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 39

Chapter 39

     Brad and Susan had lingered after dinner at The Cat's, but now, content after a wonderful meal, good conversation and a couple of margarita's, they got back on highway 17 going down the hill into Los Gatos. Even Recon's guard was down as he sat on the back seat, licking his chops contentedly after his own steak dinner.
     “What happens now?” Susan asked as they came under the lights of the village.
     “Well, all the heavy stuff should be over with.” Brad responded as he took the Los Gatos turn-off.      “We'll still need to keep our guard up, but I don't see us as being in the danger we were before. Granted, the bad guys are still out there, but their reasons for wanting us aren't as prevalent as they were.”
     “So you think that we're safe?” Susan asked.
     “We're relatively safe. The circumstances aren't as extreme as they were before. Spike and his buddies might want us, but Alberto has what he wants, or, at least thinks he does, and what Alberto wants is all that counts. By the time he finds out that he doesn't have it, he'll have a lot bigger problems then revenge against us.”
     “I guess that gives me some form of relief, though, it doesn't sound quite as solid as I would like it to.” Susan said.
     “We should be good for tonight. We'll go to your house and clean it up. I don't see a reason for anybody going there tonight, and even if they do, we're armed and have Recon, who is a very good and lethal alarm system.” Susan looked in the back seat at Recon who lazily slapped his tail against the leather at the sound of his name.
     “He doesn't look very lethal at the moment.” Susan commented as she reached back and scratched his ear.
     “His nature is a peaceful one.” Brad said. “But he knows his job.”
     Brad drove passed Susan's house, both of them studying the house for activity, looking in parked cars and in the shadows of the sidewalk as they came to the top of the hill and turned around.
     “Looks very calm, doesn't it?” Brad said as he started back down the hill.
     “Yes.” Susan replied. “I don't see a soul anywhere.”
     “I didn't think we would. This is probably the safest place in town for us right now. Nobody would ever think we would come here tonight after what we just went through.” Brad said as he pulled to the curb in front of Susan's. They stared silently at the darkened house for a moment. Nothing moved. All was silent. No curtains stirred from curious psychos lurking inside waiting for them.
     “Well - - “ Susan said.
     “Yes. I know what you mean. It looks all right, but paranoia kind of clings to the moment doesn't it?”
     “For good reason.” Susan said as she opened the door. “But we can't just sit here all night wondering if it's okay to go in.”
    There was no reason for stealth as they walked up to the house. Just pulling the Land Rover up to the curb, turning off the headlights and engine, opening and loudly closing the doors announced their arrival and shattered the peace of the still, silent night that filled the neighborhood.
     “We'll send Recon in first just to play it safe.” Brad suggested.
     “Sounds good to me.” Susan said.
     Street lights failed to penetrate the large oak trees that lined the curb of the street, leaving sidewalks and curbside lawn strips in a dappling mosaic of dim artificial light and total darkness. As they walked up the walkway to Susan's front porch they could see that the front door was cracked open in the yellow lamp lights of the street.
     “Looks like Spikes goons were here and left without closing the door.” Brad commented as he drew his gun.
     “Yes. Very sloppy and untidy of them. I wonder what their mothers would think.” Susan said, also drawing her gun.
     Stopping at the entrance, Brad opened the door partially with his foot. They stood back and waited, looking into the blackness of the interior from the sides of the door.
     “Recon.” Brad said. “Check.” Recon immediately entered the house, disappearing into the darkness. Listening carefully, Brad heard nothing but a subtle thump, almost discernible in the quiet night. Recon did not make a sound or return to the door. Brad chambered a round. “Stay here.” he said.
     “I don't think so.” Susan said following him quickly into the pitch black living room. Susan heard a thump as she went to one side and Brad to the other upon entering the house.
     “What was that sound, Brad?” she asked the darkness. “Are you alright?” At that moment she felt a sharp pain, like a needle entering her body, and then a loss of motor control and the closing down of her mind as she fell to the floor.

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

     Joseph Eichmann was not only a methodical man, and also a very patient one. After receiving an update from his handlers from The Committee, Eichmann knew it was time to make his move. He had to be in the right place at the right time. He was almost completely certain where the real memory stick was. He had done his process of elimination and narrowed it down to only one spot left.
     After receiving the update, Joseph went to Susan's and parked a block away, almost to the top of the hill. He watched two men come in an SUV and enter Susan's house as if they owned it. They might look like agents to the untrained eye, but Joseph knew what they were within moments after seeing them. They were the goons of Alberto De La Cruz.
     The two men exited the house within moments, arguing like a couple of teenage siblings, one of them carrying a paper bag. Not moving from his spot, Joseph quietly watched the two men get in their vehicle and drive away. After they left he did not move, but sighed reluctantly, settled back and waited an hour before another vehicle pulled to the curb. This vehicle was also an SUV, from which four men quickly exited with weapons drawn. They entered the house with the professional caution of police. Joseph had no doubt that these were federal agents, and he still did not move from his location. After about ten minutes the agents came out and stood on the front lawn while one of them reported in on a cell phone. They also returned to their vehicle and drove away, empty handed. Shortly after they left, Joseph got out of his car. Carrying a leather bag, he took his time walking down the dark street, as if he were just an old man out for an evening stroll. When he came to Susan's walkway he turned into it and casually walked up to the door. He thought he would have to pick the lock, which he was expert at doing and the door would have proven only a minor problem, but the door was ajar. A sigh of general irritation with the human race at large escaped him as he entered the house. 'People are such inconsiderate pigs these days', he thought. 'They don't even have the courtesy to close the door all the way after breaking in to someones house'.
     Joseph also left the door slightly ajar as he closed it. He did not venture any farther into the house or turn the lights on, but instead, reached into the bag that he carried and pulled out night vision goggles and put them on. The living room lit up in shades of green. After surveying the room, Joseph moved a small table and chair so that they directly faced the front door and sat ten feet back from its entrance, making it impossible to see him if someone were to open the door and look inside.
Sitting down on the chair, Joseph opened his leather bag again and removed the weapons that he would need for the evenings work. He checked each item and then placed it in neat order on the table, knowing where each one was at and making sure it was readily available for the quick action that he was sure he would have to take when the front door opened. When everything was exactly as he wanted it, he turned off his night vision goggles, sat back and folded his hands in his lap, waiting with the patience of a spider who had just spun a web.
     Trying to decipher what goes through a spider's mind as it clings unmoving for hours and sometimes days at the center of its web would be as difficult as understanding the thought processes of an entity living on another planet in another galaxy. Joseph Eichmann sat that still. His eyes half closed, almost as if in a meditative state, he remained attentively aware of every subtle sound. What went through his mind as he sat spider still was not difficult to figure out, and was, in fact, very easy for any human to understand.
     In the more than three decades that Joseph had worked as an international spy for the United States, he had many opportunities to stash away small fortunes that passed through his hands. But, Joseph had been an idealist. A man who worked for the greater good, and truly believed in the high moral value that his country displayed to the rest of the world. He struggled against the changing personality of America that he saw taking place over the last half of his career. 'Politics as usual' went from being a joke to a serious problem as both parties drifted so far to the right and left they were like two separate continents being pulled apart by tectonic plates. Corruption and pay-off were lightly veiled and laws passed to make them acceptable and legal.
     This wasn't what Joseph had spent over thirty years of his life trying to save. This was not freedom. This was not a caring government who worked for the benefit of all. But, it was like family. They may irritate you and you wouldn't have anything to do with them if you weren't related, but you are. It was still family.  My country is my family. It's a thought that ran through his head in many forms over the years. When he was involved in operations that repelled him as a human being, he had to bring to mind that this was for family – America.
     Now, an old man with a cane to support a stiff leg that still carried a bullet from a long ago operation, Joseph felt somewhat disgruntled. For all that he had done, he was unceremoniously ushered to the door and sent away with a small pension and Social Security and told he was lucky to get those. He had passed up millions of dollars only to end up living on a budget. The Committee was paying him handsomely for his part, but not what his thirty years of dedication was worth.
     These are the things that Joseph thought about as he sat in the darkness of Susan's living room, weapons arrayed in front of him on a table – waiting.






All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 38

Chapter 38

“Okay, Spike.” Bill said into the cell phone. “We have the jewelry box. Where shall we meet you?” Bill and his partner sat in their SUV in front of Susan's darkened house as he spoke on the phone.

“Get on highway17 going into the mountains and turn on Bear Creek Road just after Lexington Dam. Do you know where that is?” Spike asked.

“Yeah. I've seen the turn-off.” Bill responded. “That's kind of out of the way, isn't it?”

“No. It's just up the hill a couple of miles from where you are right now. We don't want a lot of people around who can identify us or put us together. Discretion is our goal, Bill.”

“Okay. So, what do you want us to do at Bear Creek Road?”

“Turn left and go about a hundred yards. You'll see a large clearing. Pull over and park there and wait for me. I'm on my way right now and will be there within a half hour.”

“It's pitch black dark up there. There isn't a human around for a mile.”

“What's your point?” Spike asked.

“Well, I've been told that there's bears up there.”

“Not as many as there was when Bear Creek Road got its name. Plus, what the hell do you care? You both have guns.”

“You're the boss, Spike, but I just don't like it. I don't like being out in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere in the middle of a forest where animals might look upon me as a meal.”

“I thought you were a tough guy.” Spike said tauntingly.

“I'm a city boy, and that's where I like to be. I'll be as tough as you need with people and buildings around.”

“Yeah. Well, you're getting paid real well for following orders, and your orders are to meet me on Bear Creek Road.”

“Yeah. I've got it. We'll be there when you arrive.” Bill hung up and mumbled as he started the SUV.

“Dude is treating me like I'm some kind of wimp because I don't like to out in the middle of the wilderness. Woods just aren't a natural place for humans to be. You can fucking die out there. That's why we have cities.”

“Jesus, Bill. Lighten up. Are you saying you've never gone fishing or hunting or even hiking?”

“Yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Well, just stay in the fucking car, man. It's like a capsule of civilization out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Okay. Yeah. That will work.” Bill said with a tone of relief.

The lights of Los Gatos gave way to only the lights of the freeway as they passed the famous Cat's restaurant, it's facade lost in decades of wild vegetation and at the moment, containing Brad and Susan who sat inside enjoying oak fired cooked steaks and margarita’s.

The pitch black of a moonless night left Lexington Dam an unknown mystery to their left as they passed it. On this dark night only the impatient rushing of headlights offered any illumination and sense of civilization for Bill. The cement highway was existence. All else was a mystery, an illusion that drew upon ones childhood fears and imagination. Bill's eyes clung to the passing dashes in the middle of the highway as if they stitched the earth together in a world lost to blackness.

For once, his partners ramblings were more appreciated, as it helped take his mind off the fear in the surrounding darkness. Bill wasn't sure what he feared out there. Maybe it was as simple as fearing the dark – contemplating the unknown with a vivid imagination. There could be things out there right now, on the either side of the road, waiting for someone to break down and get out of their car. He glanced to the side of the road, looking for golden, carnivorous eyes. Afraid they would see his eyes looking at them and start a chase, like a lion chasing a pack of herd animal. Looking for weakest one, seeing the sense of loss in the eyes of his next victim. Seeing the eye as nothing more than meat looking back at him.
He felt like a Wildebeest, quickly growing old and slow in the heard of rambling car. and the lion would catch him, catch the entire car, tear it apart – open it like it was nothing more than candy bar wrapping, Bill the meal inside that the lion wants.

Bill turned his head from the darkness at the side of the road and focused on the lights of the highway. “What do you plan to do after this job is done?” He asked his partner as a distraction from the darkness. He didn't really care what the crazy son-of-a-bitch was going to do.

“I'm going to take my twenty grand and go back to Miami. Though this doesn't freak me out as much as it does you, it's still a little too much wilderness for me. I don't like steep, high mountains and forest so tall that you have to look straight up to see the sky.”

A sign illuminated in the headlights on the ride side of the road, 'Bear Creek Road'. “Here we are.” Bill stated as he slowed down for the turn.

The off ramp turned sharply into a steep U as it came up to Bear Creek Road. Here, there were no passing headlights to offer Bill or his partner the comfortable illusion of surrounding civilization, the safety of numbers. Bill fondled the butt of his pistol in the shoulder holster as if it were a security blanket.

“This is bullshit.” Bill said irritably. “Spike could have picked any of a million spots to meet us in the valley that was secluded.”

“Yeah. Well, he didn't, though. Did he?” his partner said. “Look, we give the box to him, get our money and get the fuck out of here. This is almost over for us.”

“Yeah. I guess you're right. The whole thing just feel a little weird to me. This part – this meeting in the sticks just doesn't make sense. I don't feel good about it.”

“Okay, let's be cautious. Nothing wrong with that. If you think Spike is going to pull a fast one, keep an eye out. If he does something weird, we'll kill him.”

“You had better reconsider a move like that. You're talking about killing Alberto De La Cruz's main henchman, which is a guaranteed death sentence. We protect ourselves if we have to, but we can't just whack him.”

“Okay, let's play it by ear and see what happens.”

The narrow road wound it's way through a blackness as dark as death. Bill could feel his heart pounding in his throat. He tried to swallow it down as he saw the clearing appear in the minimal world of his headlights. He touched the butt of his pistol again, but it offered no sense of security. No amount of weapons could help him at this point, for his fear was of the supernatural that he felt dwelt in the forest. Weapons were useless against such things, because his dangers were made of fears.

“Here it is.” he said with a calmness he didn't feel.

Pulling off into the clearing he shut off the engine and turned the lights off. Almost immediately he turned the lights back on and started the engine.

“What are you doing, Bill”

“What the hell does it look like I'm doing. I want the headlights on. I want to see what's around us, plus it will be easier for Spike to see us.”

His partner laughed. “What the hell you talking about? We're the only ones out here. There isn't another human being for miles. He can't help but see us.”

Bill's soul jarred with the statements, 'only ones out here', no one for miles.' Bill feared the concept as much as he feared death, which one could consider odd, since distributing death was his occupation. Bill knew he would die in a place like this. A place that didn't exist, was nothing but blackness, an endless silence punctuated only by the occasional sound of screams of those being eaten by monsters, and the roars and snarls as they devoured any and all who entered their world.

Bill removed his gun from the holster and placed it on the seat next to him, safety off, a round chambered.

“You seem a little nervous, Bill. That isn't like you.”

“Yeah. I am a little nervous. I'll be okay once we give this damned box to Spike, get paid and get back to the city.”

In the rear view mirror, Bill could see climbing headlights capture the branches of redwood trees on the road behind him. The lights twisted across the bottom of the trees, getting brighter as the car ascended the steep road. As the lights came into view, the car pulled directly behind Bill and his partner. “Bout fuckin time.” Bill mumbled. He did not get out of the car, but rolled his window down as Spike slammed his door and walked up to the drivers window.

“Hey, Spike.” Bill said nervously. “I gotta tell you, man, this is one weird fucking place to have our meeting.”

“Yeah.” Spike said casually. “You know the rule, Bill. No witnesses. Where's the box?”

His partner reached in the back seat and handed Spike a paper bag. Spike pulled the box out and turned a flashlight on it. He inspected the sides and pressed on the bottom until he heard a dull click. The false bottom slid open, revealing an extremely well done fake of the most expensive and dangerous memory stick in the world.

“That's what you wanted. Right?” Bill asked.

“That's right.” Spike said, reaching under his jacket at the back of his belt.

“Great.” Bill said with a slight sigh of relief. “Give us our money and we'll be heading back to Florida.”

“It would be my pleasure to do that, Bill, because you guys did a pretty good job for a couple of idiots. But, you know the rule.” Suddenly there was a semi-automatic in his hand pointed at Bill's shocked face. “No witnesses.” He fired directly into Bill's forehead, moved the weapon slightly and made another head shot to the passenger. “But, I'll hold on to the forty grand for you two.” He said with a smile to the two dead men.

Spike turned off the headlights of their car and the engine also. He removed their weapons, their I.D.'s, and everything else that could possibly identify them. He then wiped all parts of the car down that might carry his fingerprints. Once he was satisfied that the scene was sanitized enough to slow an investigation to a crawl, he reached across Bill's lifeless body and put the car into neutral. The pullover where they were parked was on fairly flat land, and Bill's car did not roll back. Spike got into his rented Ford sedan and eased the car into the bumper of the one before him. The car gave to the nudge quite easily and slowly started rolling to the edge. Spike gassed the Ford a little harder, making the one holding the two bodies move more quickly to the edge. It went over silently, only complaining as it tore branches from trees and crushed against rocks as it pummeled to the darkest depths of the deep forest. Before morning, it will have been discovered the wolves, bears and coyotes, Bill's most terrorizing nightmare becoming a reality, but, fortunately for him, one that he would never realize. It was also fortunate that Bill was oblivious of what happened to him, because not only did he and his partner offer some local carnivores what would probably be a culinary treat in the wild, carnivorous animal world, he spent a year in what would been a frightening abyss of darkness.

When they were found it was by a group of college students on a nature hike to experience God's creation. They discovered that sometimes God's creations come in frightening forms and rusted car.

The bodies had been well picked over by local diners, and the skull of one had obviously been removed as a remembrance souvenir by one of them, and now probably graces the creatures, liar, or den, or burrow, or whatever the hell they live in,

The first assessment the police made of the situation was that a couple of tourists lost control of their car and went off the side of the road into the steep canyon. It happens more than the local cops would like to admit, but it had all of the right signs. It seemed odd that they couldn't find anything on missing persons about them, and not knowing where they were from literally brought things to a halt, but modern technology being what it is, they knew it was on a matter of time and patience before they would have an identification.

Because the police thought it was an accident, they took their time running any forensic studies, but once they did their interest perked up measurably. The remaining skull contained bullet holes, one entering, one leaving in a big spread. They guess it was .45 caliber. The damage looked as if the bullet was a hollow point. Big boom and very messy.

It was eventually discovered that the two men were a couple of minor criminals from the east coast. The case was never solved.

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 37

Chapter 37

Special Agent Armando Martinez knocked on the Director's door. When he heard the command, “Come.” he entered the office.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Armando said, unconsciously taking a position of parade rest as he stood in front of his old army commander.

“Yes. Everything is in motion.” Ted Wagner, Director of Special Branch, Anti-terrorism Task Force said to the agent.

“Very good, sir. Do we know whether or not the mole has taken the bait yet?” Armando inquired.

“No. But, I have to assume that he has. Have you heard from Brad and Susan?” The Director asked.

“The last I heard from them they were playing cat and mouse with Alberto's goons. Frankly, I'm not sure who was the cat and who was the mouse. Susan put one of them in the hospital.”

Ted chuckled. “That young lady is deceptively dangerous – and smart.

“Okay, Armando, I want you to call the San Francisco office and have them send a team to Susan's house to extract the jewelry box, which, if we are at all lucky, will not be there.”

“They're going to wonder why you don't send a team from San Jose, which is much closer.”

“Yes, they probably will. But all they have to know is that the orders come from the Director. They're trained to follow orders, not question them. Especially when the orders come from me.

“Make sure that this is done right away, just in case our mystery man decides to check up on us to see if we are following protocol.”

“Yes sir.”

As Armando left Ted's office he literally bumped into Sam Levitt, Assistant Director of the agency.

Ignoring Sam's look of surprise, Armando said, “Excuse me, Assistant Director.”

Sam Levitt's face had a definite look of stress as he peered at the agent.

“What are you doing, Agent Martinez?” Sam asked with a touch of nervousness to his tone. Armando thought this curious and studied the man for a minute. Something was bothering him, obviously stressing him out.

“Is there something wrong, Assistant Director – something I can help you with?”

“Don't answer my question with a question, Agent. I asked you what you are doing.”

Armando paused before speaking. “Well, sir. I work here. The Director, your and my boss, requested that I come to office to discuss an operation.”

“What did you talk about?” Sam asked him nervously.

“I can't tell you that, sir. It's under a need to know blanket.”

Sam look at Armando, flustered. “Goddammit, Agent, I asked you a fucking question, and I expect you to answer it.”

“Yes sir. I did answer your question.” Armando responded calmly.

“You insolent prick.” Sam Levitt spit out from a contorted face. “I'll have your ass. Before I'm done with you you'll be looking for a mule back to Mexico.”

Armando moved so quickly that Sam stepped back in fear. He stood very close to the Assistant Director, their noses almost touching. “Listen to me carefully, Levitt.” Armando said with a chilling, quiet calm. “You just crossed the line with a subordinate. You made a racial slur. Do you want to know where I can go with that in internal affairs?” Not waiting for Sam to answer, Armando went on. “If you have noticed, Mr. Assistant Director, I have treated you with protocol respect. I do that due to you being of superior rank to me. So, I'm showing your rank all due respect, as you are suppose to do with me as an officer with this agency.

“Now, in reality, I don't respect you at all as a man. You've done nothing to earn that. As a man you're a back stabbing, opportunist, and I'd just as soon snap you like a twig as look at you.

“Oh, and by-the-way, my family has lived in the United States since the 1700's. Can you make a claim like that? I'm a graduate of UCLA, which means I'm not riding a mule anywhere, you racist asshole.” He paused and said, “Oh, excuse me. I meant, you racist asshole, sir.

“Now, if there's nothing more that I can do for you, and I'm pretty sure there isn't, I'll go back to work doing exactly what I am ordered to do.” He turned and briskly walked away from the shocked and shaken Assistant Director before he could respond.

As Armando returned to his desk he wondered what was going on with Levitt. The guy did move around like a nervous bird most of the time, but this was different. He couldn't control himself, which was out of character. He was obviously at a very high level of stress. Armando could think of only one thing that would be stressing an internal agent to that level at this moment, and asking about a private meeting with the Director like that was also out of character.

Armando picked up the phone and hit the internal line for the Director's office. When Ted answered Armando said, “I hate to toss this ball back to him, but I just had a very strange conversation with Sam Levitt, and I have a gut feeling that he may be our man.”

“I'll tell you the same thing I told him.” Ted responded. “Show me some proof of wrong - “ Armando cut him off.

“No, listen to me, Ted. I said a gut feeling.” Armando then relayed the encounter he had with Levitt outside the Director's office door.

“Hmm, that is strange. If he is the mole and he just passed the information along, he could be at a high stress level.” Ted said contemplatively. “Well, we don't want to shake any cages at this point. The sting operation is sort of an entity unto itself now. It's rolling under it's own weight. Let it roll and see who it picks up.”

“Yes sir.”

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

The twenty minute wait for a table in the restaurant section of The Cat's turned into a forty minute wait, which inspired the ordering of a second round of margarita's. By the time they were shown to their table, Susan had a grin on her face that wouldn't go away. She took Brad's arm and held on to it endearingly as they were guided through the array of tables by the waitress to their own. The dining room had dim overhead lighting, giving the candles on each table an inviting ambiance. Salads and hot french bread waited for them at a neatly set table for two as they were seated.

Brad looked over at Susan, who looked back at him, still smiling. “You look almost unreasonably happy.” He said to her.

“Yes.” she said, taking his hand in hers. “I am happy. Maybe even unreasonably happy. I might be margarita happy, but happy none the less.

“I am having dinner in a nice restaurant with a handsome man who I am very happy to be with. I'm really enjoying myself. I don't usually do this sort of thing.”

“You don't?” he asked with a surprised tone. “A good looking woman like you? Interesting and smart? A woman with class, ignoring the fact that you are also dangerous.”

“You see?” she said, as if his words validated her position. “I couldn't ask for a more perfect man. You think that I'm interesting. I actually live a very boring life, which means I'm probably pretty boring. I work, and that's about all that I do.”

“I have to admit, I haven't seen that side of you.” Brad said with a grin.

“That's because I have decided to change my life – become who I really am, rather than who I think I should be for societies approval.”

“Ah! Points of self-truth. A moment of revelation. A cleansing of the soul.” Brad said.

“Yep. All of those.” Susan said. “How about another margarita.”

After their dinner, Brad took a doggie bag, literally, out to Recon, who was very happy to devour his own chopped up steak and wrapped it up with his favorite beverage – water, of which he showed his approval by dripping water from his jowls all over the ground.

“Not very tidy, is he?” Susan noted as Recon tried to wipe his jowls on Brad. “No, but he's smart about it. Watch him, he'll use you like a napkin.”

“Here.” Susan said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a wad of Kleenex. Brad wiped the dogs mouth, for which he gratefully wagged his tail.

“See? He is tidy.” Brad said. “He's just not well equipped to handle it.”

The direct line cell phone to Armando rang in Brad's shirt pocket. “I think this is the call we've been waiting for. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “What's up?”

“Hello to you too.” Armando said. “What are you doing?”

“We're waiting for your call. So, did they take the bait?” Brad asked.

“I have to assume so. The extraction team has informed me that the jewelry box that I described is not there.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brad said. “Now, wouldn't that make Susan's house a location of absolutely no interest?”

“I would have to think so.” Armando said. “There should no longer be anything of interest there for us or the bad guys.” He pause before saying, “But still be cautious if you're thinking of going back there. We don't really know if there was any more elements to this. I mean, don't forget Eichmann. Just because he seems to have disappeared doesn't mean a thing.”

Brad laughed. “Eichmann. I forgot all about him with all this other stuff going on. I'm not too worried about him, but I'll keep an eye of caution open.”

“Don't take him too lightly, Brad. I know him.”

“Okay, okay. I'll watch for him.”

“By-the-way,” Armando said, changing the subject, “The San Francisco team said that Susan's house looks like it's been turned over thoroughly.”

“Yeah. I know. We saw it. We're probably going to spend the night there and we'll clean it up in the morning.”

“Okay.” Armando said, followed by a short silence. “Like I said, be careful. My, 'something isn't quite right', itch is itching. This operation is still in transaction. I know Alberto doesn't have the information yet, and the mole is still in place. So, I remain a little nervous until this is in the drawer.”

“You're a good cop, Armando.”

“You're an old friend.” Armando responded, “and I'd like you to remain so.”

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch 36

Chapter 36

“Come on.” Bill said as he turned from their pursuit of Brad and Susan and stepped to the curb, waiting for traffic to give him an opening.

“Hey! Wait a minute.” His partner said, not budging. “Where the hell we going? They're right in front of us.”

“We don't need them anymore.” Bill said.

“Well – we can't do that.” his partner stammered in stubborn frustration.

Bill turned and stared at him curiously. “Can't do what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“These two have put us through a lot of crap.” he said. “They have some payback coming. I want to painfully squeeze every bit of information out of these two and then kill them in my own special way.”

Bill glanced around at the crowd of people who swarmed around them, moving up and down the walkway like ants with a focused purpose. They were not listening to what the two men said to each other, and Bill realized that a discussion of murder and mayhem on this sidewalk was no less reclusive than standing alone in a forest.

“Listen to me, you psychotic fuck, we are not doing this to satisfy your sick desires.” Bill said quietly. “We are getting paid to follow Spikes orders. His orders do not include these two.” He said nodding towards Brad and Susan who still stood at the display window a half a block away watching them. “At least not at the moment. Maybe you'll get lucky and Spike will let you torture and kill them later.”

A look of hopefulness crossed his face. “Do you think so, Bill? I would really like that if he did.”

Bill looked at his partner with serious concern. 'Pure psycho.' Bill thought. 'I'll never make a professional out of a crazy shit like him.'

Reluctantly accepting the situation, psycho turned to Brad and Susan, pointed a finger and cocked it like a gun. Susan smiled back at him, raised her hand high in the air and showed him her middle finger.

“I will kill that arrogant birch.” he mumbled as Bill dragged him across the street.

“Looks like there has been a major change in plans.” Susan commented as they watched the two men go into the parking lot. “Shall we go catch them before they get away?”

“Nope.” Brad said. “Let them go. I would bet money that they just got a call to go to your house and retrieve the jewelry box. I would say our plan is in motion.”

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

Alberto De La Cruz leaned back in his easy chair on the veranda, watching as two, young women with large bare breasts laughingly tossed a beach ball back and forth on the pristine, white sanded beach directly in front of him. Two other young women, completely naked ran towards the ball tossers from the ocean, their bodies glistening from a swim in the warm Pacific waters. All four of them sported complete tans, attesting to much time in the sun wearing absolutely nothing. It was as Alberto liked it, and Alberto De La Cruz always got exactly what he liked. The girls, totally aware that they were their for his enjoyment, turned and waved to him, making sure that their breasts moved seductively with each wave.

The young women knew that they had the beach entirely to themselves. God help anyone who accidentally wandered on to this strip of ocean front, for just beyond the veranda on the beach side, almost out of sight, stood a large muscular man with an AK 47 automatic rifle hanging from a strap on his shoulder, a 30 clip magazine curved menacingly from its center. The young man didn't seem that interested in watching the women, as if he saw them do this daily and had lost interest over time. His interest was on the horizon of the sea and either direction of the long, sandy beach.

As entertaining as Alberto found the buxom young ladies, at the moment he seemed to barely be aware of their existence. His attention was completely focused on the individual to whom he was speaking. “That is correct, Mister Secretary. The information device has been retrieved and will be in my hands by tonight.” He paused as he listened. “Yes sir. We can make those arrangements, once, of course, my fees have been deposited in the Cayman account.” He paused again. “The man who arranged the gathering of this information is very high up in a secret American agency. This could not be more accurate.”

Alberto's face turned a flush of red and he waited a moment before responding. “Yes, Mister Secretary, I am quite aware of the consequences of diverting from our established plan or not living up to our agreement. Remember, sir, I am a professional arms dealer, and even though this is a bit different, essentially it is still an arms transaction, which I have proven to you and others in the past, that I always conduct with honor.”

Without losing a beat Alberto continued, “Now, as I am essentially in possession of the information at this point, as my men are now delivering it to me, I expect one half of 1.2 billion dollars to be deposited in the account that I just mentioned. The other half will be deposited upon your people receiving and inspecting the material for authenticity. Do we agree?” He paused. “Wonderful, Mister Secretary. You will hear from me soon, and it is good to do business with you. Please give my best to your President, the Commandant.”

Alberto placed the phone on the mosaic tiled table top and sighed contentedly as he snapped his fingers and said, “An espresso, Manuel.”

Without looking over his shoulder, Alberto knew that the young man with the Glock 9 mm semi-automatic pistol in a shoulder holster had silently nodded and turned to prepare his boss an espresso on the full outside espresso bar that was next to the twenty foot, fully stocked wet bar that ran across the back of the veranda. With confidence, Alberto sat back in his chair, knowing that his team was efficiently working towards his goal. Fortunately for Alberto, he did not know Bill or his partner. They did dirty work, which was Spikes responsibility to see completed successfully. At the moment they were arguing over what to do with Brad and Susan, wheels were moving on an international level in very secret circles. Wheels that would crush Bill and his partner like the smallest insects on the sidewalk if they screwed up in the most minor way. They were not aware of that. If they were they would have been moving much faster with extreme focus.

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

Brad and Susan knew where the two men were going. At least they were pretty sure. Reluctant as Susan was, they let the two men move on to the sting operation project that Susan had set up with the agency. She wanted these people off of her back and she wanted to bust the operation that had cost her a brother.

Finally free of all pursuers, Brad and Susan returned to the Land Rover and got back on highway 17. They drove up to The Cat's, a restaurant just below Lexington Dam, the last flat area before the looming mountain.

The Cat's had sat in the same spot long before the 4-laned highway in front of it existed, or even the

2 laned highway before that. When the road to Santa Cruz was a wide dirt swath through the forest, \wagon trains would pull over into the wide dirt parking lot of The Cat's. Their horses could be watered and rested before the long, winding climb over the steep, forested mountain. Travelers and wagon masters could get a bite to eat and have a stiff drink before continuing their journey. That was over a hundred years ago. Now, off to the side of the highway, a cyclone fence separated The Cat's property line from the highway. Over the years crawling vines had taken over the fence and The Cat's was nothing more than glimpses of an old building through the thick vegetation to the quickly passing traffic. This was a 'locals' bar and restaurant. Nobody else would know how to find it.

When you walk inside, the bar still looks the same as it had for most of the 20^th century. Back in the 1930's or 40's an owner built a small stage off in the corner and set up some small speakers. A thousand jazz trio's have played in that corner over the years.

In it's earliest, most wild west days, the upstairs was a booming brothel, offering the weary traveler more comforts than a good meal, which The Cat's offered as the decades passed without a single variation in the menu. To the right of the bar was a restaurant that had obviously been added as an afterthought not long after the place was built.

Horses and wagons had been replaced by sports cars and Land Rovers. Hot, dusty travelers who smelled like sweat, leather and horses had been replaced by suntanned yuppies and tourists who smelled of cocoanut and lotions. The old dirt lot was a paved parking lot with spaces neatly placed out so that people don't even have to think when parking their cars.

This was one of Brad's favorite places to eat. Their menu was pretty basic; steaks, chicken and ribs, but it was all oak grilled, and they had the best blue cheese dressing in the world. Some people came in to order a big salad just for the dressing.

The food was great. The ambiance friendly, the music always good. The upstairs whore house had ceased to exist decades ago. Hitching rails and hay barns had succumbed to blankets of cement. Only the building and the food remained stubbornly the same as it had been in the long ago past.

At the bar Brad requested a dinner table for two and than found a bar table a little larger than a corvette steering wheel near the small music stage.

“Why are bar tables so damned small?” Susan asked rhetorically.

Brad answered anyway. “They don't want you to eat in here.”

A waitress walked up and they both ordered Margarita’s. As they sat back and relaxed in the old world pub ambiance, a man started setting up his musical equipment on the small stage for the evening entertainment. He was a tall thin man, blonde hair and a goatee. He looked to be about Brads age – in his mid-thirties. He glanced over at their table as he worked, nodded in recognition and said, “Hey, Brad.” He reached over and shook Brad's hand before continuing his work. “I heard that you retired with a chest full of medals after secretly saving the world and moved back home. Somebody said you're working your dad's old ranch again.”

Brad shrugged. “That's right, Tom. Once you save the world a few times, there isn't much else to do but ranching.”

Tom chuckled. “Who's the beautiful lady, and what is she doing with someone like you?”

“Susan, this is Tom Clemments. Unless they fired him, he's the local high school music teacher and one hell of a jazz guitarist. Tom and I went to high school together.”

Tom nodded at Susan and said to Brad, “So what are you doing these days?”

“Well, Susan and I are secret agents for a branch of Homeland Security, and we're having a quiet dinner break while working an assignment to save to the world from devastating destruction.”

Tom laughed as he picked up his guitar. “You were always a funny guy with a wild imagination.” he said before running through a riff of cords on the guitar as he tuned the strings. Tom leaned back on his stool and started his set, which was easy jazz tunes, perfect background music for a room of intimate conversation.

Susan leaned towards Brad and said, “Should you be telling people things like that? It seems like this isn't something the Director would want people to know.

Brad laughed. “Are you kidding? Who would believe a story like that?”

The waitress came with their drinks and took their dinner orders, telling them that it would be about twenty minutes before a table is available. They settled back into the comfort of the guitar music and let the margarita's warm their insides and relax the tensions of the day. Brad stretched forward and crossed his legs. Turning his head to Susan he said, “My dad used to stop here with the family for dinner when we would be coming home from trips to San Jose. I can remember him telling me that his parents brought him here when he was a kid also.”

“Well,” Susan said, “believe it or not my father brought the family here also when I was a kid.” They both smiled at the common element of their childhoods.

“That was kind of bizarre, the way those goons found us at the Pruneyard today.” Susan said contemplatively. “I hope we don't have a repeat performance in this place.”

“I don't think we will.” Brad said. “That was a coincidence. I thought about it afterward. You know, the hospital is right next door, practically, and I think they had to drop their other guy off their. It looked like you hurt him pretty bad.”

“I guess I should feel badly about that, but I don't.” Susan said. “As close as I can tell, the end plan of these people is to kill us.”

“Yep. It does seem that way. Also, if these people didn't actually kill your brother, they certainly will if they can find him alive, and anyone associated with him. These aren't the kind of people who like to leave witnesses.”

Susan looked at Brad in silence as they listened to the music. She put her hand on his. “As dangerous as our situation has been, you seem to take it with relatively good stride. You've offered me a lot of strength with a show of your own. I don't know if could have handled this without you.”

“That's just good training.” Brad said with a grin. “I'm an officer. We aren't suppose to show fear. Only confidence. In reality I've been scared shitless through most of this.”

“Why would you do this?” She asked. “Why would you put your life in such danger for someone you hardly know?”

“I've spent the last twenty years putting my life in danger by orders, concerning people that I didn't know at all, none of them as good looking or as charming as you.”

She laughed. “Sure, make a joke of it. I would think you're trying to seduce me if you hadn't already done so.”

“Okay, you want a straight answer?” he stopped and thought a minute. “Actually, I'm not sure if I can give you one. Maybe I suffer from the cowboy in the white hat syndrome. You know, saving the lady in distress. The only problem with that perspective, is that I think you've saved me more than I've saved you since this started. You're a crack shot with a gun, a karate expert, smart and you don't panic under pressure. I couldn't ask for much more than that from someone with whom I was working an operation.”

“Frankly, I had no idea that I was capable of all that I have done since this started.” She looked at him. “So, let me ask you again, why are you still here?” she asked.

“I don't know, Susan. You set off emotional explosions in me that I forgot I was capable of having. I find I want to get to know you better, hopefully in a more peaceful setting. For that to happen it's very important to keep you alive.”

“I must admit, I have similar feelings, and want to keep you alive also.” she said.

He took her hand and said, “I think I'm getting excited. You want to cancel dinner?”

“No, you animal. I'm starving. I want a steak, baked potato and a salad.”

“Don't forget the french bread.” Brad added.

“And french bread.” She repeated after Brad. “I want a big basket of hot, french bread.”

She took a sip of her drink and then studied the glass, flicking bits of salt off of the rim. “You know, I've thought a lot about how we met. All of it seems so bizarre to me.” she said looking over at him, as he studied her in the light of the candle on the table. “You were there on the side of the road out in the middle of no where fixing a fence. I've driven down that road a thousand times and have never seem a human being, but yet there you were right when I needed you to be there. And!” she added with enthusiasm as she took another drink, “It had to be you. It couldn't have been anybody else. Anybody else wouldn't have worked.

“I was as clueless as you were what was going on. I thought I was in danger of a stalker but not the desperate danger on the level that it is.” She forced a sardonic laugh. “At that time I couldn't even imagine the things that have happened since then.”

She looked at him again. “Think about it. I needed someone exactly like you. Anybody else would have been killed almost immediately, and by now, I would be dead too.”

Brad nodded his head slowly in agreement and felt he had to say something. “Yep.' he said quietly.

“Yep?!” She said in astonishment and then couldn't help but laugh. “Yep, is all you have to say to such mind blowing coincidences and events? What a cowboy response.”

He shrugged. “I don't know what else to say. I mean, what you said is exactly what happened. I admit it does seem a bit bizarre. I've thought about it a little bit myself, but I have no great revelations to give you. We could get mystical and metaphoric and talk about the attractions of energy, or how sometimes things happen that were meant to be, but we can't really be sure of those, can we. They might be true, or it may have been luck or just how the cards fell at that moment.”

“God, Brad, you are such a realist for a guy who looks like you do.”

He smiled and leaned towards her, taking her hand into his. “I would gladly discuss our bizarreness from any metaphysical direction you would like to explore, but I won't let it give me a headache trying to figure it out. Honestly, I'm glad that you stopped that day when I was fixing the fence. I would never have met you otherwise, and that's a very depressing thought to me.”

She smiled at him, “Even with all that you have been through since meeting me?”

“Are you kidding? I had no idea how boring my life had become until you entered it.”

They both laughed and she punched him playfully on the arm. She took another sip of the margarita. Susan was feeling pretty good.

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.