Only the edges of the light shining down from the streetlamp touched the front end of the car, leaving the entire cab of the vehicle bathed in black. It was as close as he could get to the action down the street while still keeping safely out of the mix.

With his left elbow resting on the door, Douglas looked out at the street ahead, his right hand clutching the gun in the passenger seat. Each time a car passes by or pulls to a stop, his eyes narrow, zeroing in and taking in every inch. Nothing. Yet.

On the sidewalk just ahead on his right, three women stand, alternating between pacing in the same path back and forth and swaying from side to side in the same spot. Even someone without Douglas’s “experience” would be able to easily identify their profession based on the assortment of black leather, high heels, alluring mid-riffs and stockings.

Not surprisingly, the ladies appear to be pretty much the only business operating in the area. On the left side of the street, the building that once housed a coffee shop is missing two of its four walls. A few yards away, the plywood-covered windows and graffiti-marred door are the remains of a video store. Only the bar on the corner shows any signs of life, and its clientele consists primarily of the street walkers and the residents in the desolate apartments on the three floors above it.

The wait continues, and Douglas turns his attention to the passenger seat, where the gun is hardly alone. Spread out across the red fabric are three 8″ x 10″ photo prints, each bearing the face of a man from the shoulders up.

The photo on the left shows a man with long brown hair, a brown beard with a hint of grey in parts. In the middle photo, it shows a man with shorter hair, a strawberry blonde that’s tight cut around the sides, clean shaven with rectangle-shaped glasses on the bridge of his nose. In the final photo, the man peering back at Douglas has a shaved head, while a charcoal black goatee surrounds his lips.

For Douglas, it’s the eyes that give the man away, the hint of carelessness and disregard that no changes can hide.

Hours have passed and still nothing worth checking into for Douglas. He thinks for a few moments about calling on another favor, but he’s not sure he’ll get what he needs, even though he knows for certain he’ll pay for it regardless.

“Hey there!”

The knock on the passenger window worked in tandem with the voice to startle him. As Douglas turned, peering back at him through the window was a female face, bright red hair cascading down the sides to her shoulders. And, not surprisingly, an appealing smile.

Douglas tried to wave her away, at the same time piling the photos on top of the handgun and pull them out of the way in one pile.

“Oh come on, I just want to talk,” the girl said as she cocked her head to the side. “That’s not a crime yet, right?”

Douglas thought for a moment, then motioned her in. In his mind, it was worth taking a few minutes to blow her off rather than cause a scene and attract attention from the others.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat, pointing her knees in Douglas’s direction. A red miniskirt went halfway down her thighs, a black blouse cut low and revealing the lace of her bra underneath. “So, do you always come down here to watch? I’ve seen a lot of kinks, but that’s a new one.”

Douglas turned to his right, her smile widening as his eyes trailed over her. Judging by the slender figure and the eyeliner and lipstick applied even more liberally than usual, he guessed her to be no more than 16 or 17.

“You’re awfully young to be here,” he said, watching her smile immediately fade to a smirk.

“You’re gonna be my dad too, huh?” she said as she rolled her eyes and turned to face forward. “It’s funny how all of you say the same thing, but still can’t turn down putting your dick inside of me.”

“I’m not all of them,” Douglas said, an old image flashing in his head. “I’m just wondering what you’re doing. What  plans you…”

“Plans? You think if I had plans I’d be doing this?” she shouted before he could finish. “Listen, you obviously have your own problems. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here yourself with that shit in the passenger seat.”

As her finger pointed to the photos, Douglas glanced back, considering his options.

“Now if you’re not interested, I’ll find someone who is.”
As she reached for the door handle, Douglas put a hand on her thigh. “Wait. How much do you usually get for a date?”

She turned back, the smile returning to its previous glow. “Depends. What did you have in mind honey?”

*****

“Has anyone ever told you how strange you are?”

As the young woman named Kara took a drag from her cigarette, Douglas leaned back in the booth and took a long drink from the glass of beer. With the glass tipped up, Douglas looks out from their corner of the room and is pleased to find the bar packed with college students. The benefits of making a stop so near campus.

Not waiting for a response, Kara continued after flicking her cigarette over the ashtray. “You’re going to give me $10,000 without even so much as a blowjob? Nothing?”

“Right,” Douglas said with a nod.

“I mean, you know that’s weird, right?” she said holding her hands out to the side. Underneath the table, her legs were crossed, but the top leg continued to bounce wildly on top of the other. “Who does that? There’s gotta be something you’re not telling me.”

“Look,” Douglas said again, this time setting the beer down and looking straight into her eyes. “I just want to talk to you. I know…” His pause lasted much longer than he wanted, but there was no choice. “I knew…someone a lot like you. I made a mistake and I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

“Okay, so you get to redeem yourself or whatever,” Kara said as she stamped out the cigarette. “And I do what exactly? Follow you around town for a few days, listening to you lecture to me all day?”

“First,” Douglas began, but stopped as he noticed a figure walk through the door. Unlike the college kids in their long sleeve tees and hoodies, this man strode in with khakis, a dark blue shirt and tie and a sportcoat. The man stood for a moment inside the door, as Douglas looked past Kara intently.

Just as Aaron slowly pulled the pistol from his side and edged to the end of the booth, the man turned to the bartender and asked “Mind if I use your phone? I’m having some car problems and my cell is dead.”

The bartender nodded and waved the man to the other side of the bar and Douglas slid back to his left.

“Sorry,” he said, looking back to Kara, who was lighting up another cigarette. “First, you get 10 grand. I know if you’re working in that area, that’s a lot of money for you.”

As she rolls her eyes in a huff again, he continued, saying “And I’m not going to lecture you. Just talk to you. We’ll keep each other company for the next few days and then I’m leaving town and you can forget we ever met if you so choose.”

Kara eyed him for a few moments, her left hand running back through her head as she looked away for just a second then returned to locking eyes with him once more.

“Okay then, I guess I’m in,” she said with a shrug. “I do need the money and you don’t seem a total creep. Weird, but not a creep.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. A second later, he slid over on the bench and took a swig from the beer before standing. “I’ll be back in a minute. Then we can talk about what you’re pretending you didn’t see in the car.”

As she nods with a smile, Douglas walks ahead and then takes a left down a short hallway before pushing open the door to the men’s room. Standing in front of a sink, Aaron puts his hands against the wall, steadying himself as he stares straight ahead. The same image pops into his head from earlier in the car, the soft, beaming face looking back at him with a smile. His hand reaching out and cupping one of her cheeks as her hand reached up to hold his wrist.

Closing his eyes, Douglas hangs his head, his hands reaching down to twist the faucet handle. The cool water causes his hands to shiver as they splash it upon his face, jarring his mind to that tingling and away from everything else.

Carefully avoiding the mirror again, Douglas walks over and grabs a paper towel. As he brushes it across his face, the bathroom door creaks open again.

The next sound was the wincing rub of metal being unsheathed.

Douglas turned just in time to duck the first swipe of the knife. The man in the dark blue shirt and khakis reversed his motion and just missed catching Douglas across the midsection. Before he could make a third attempt, Douglas’s right fist drove into the side of his jaw, followed by a left uppercut to his stomach.

With the man doubled over, Douglas sent him sprawling backward by lifting his knee swiftly to his temple. Slumped back against the wall on one knee, the man appeared only semi-conscious, blood flowing freely from his lip.

“Who sent you?” Douglas asked as he advanced toward the man. Not finished yet, the man tried to move forward but Douglas reached up with his left hand to grasp the attacker’s right wrist to keep the knife at bay, while his right hand grabbed the man by the throat.

“You don’t look like one of his guys,” Douglas said as he squeezed harder. “So WHO…SENT….YOU?”

The man slowly started to form words. “You….can’t….” He paused with his voice fading then blurted out, “You can’t…trust….anyone.” As the final word left his mouth, the man bared his teeth in a grin, streaks of red mixing in with the white.

Douglas stared in his eyes for a moment, then brought his knee up to the man’s midsection once more before driving his head down slamming into the sink. His attacker prone and motionless on the tile floor, Douglas exited the bathroom and hurried back to the booth to find Kara absent-mindedly texting on her phone.

“We need to leave. Now.”

Every middle finger aimed in their direction was a welcome pat on the back. Each time a soda flew through the air in their direction, it was like taking a hot, soothing shower at the end of a long day in the factory. And all the screams of “You suck,” of “I hope you die,” of “Go to hell,” all merge into one booming “THANK YOU” by night’s end.

In the squared circle, the referee holds two gold championship belts, handing one to a man standing with his right arm raised in the air and his left arm holding the back of his head as he grimaces in pain. A second later, he hands the other belt to a man on one knee, leaning against the ropes, his blonde hair drenched in sweat and covering his face. The first man pushes the referee to the side and hooks his left arm to his partner’s elbow to help him up.

“Your winners of the bout….and STILL American Wrestling Federation tag team champions….Jordan Cage….Sean T. Dylan….the FRAT BOYS!”

As the announcer’s words fill the arena, the boos from the crowd increase exponentially, a tidal wave of negativity that swallows up all other sounds until it leaves a ringing in the thousands of ears packed inside.

With the fair-haired Cage now to his feet, the tag champs grandstand one more time in the center of the ring, shoving the belts toward all four sides of the ring for all the crowd to see. Standing over one of their fallen opponents, Dylan leans down and jabs him in the chest with his finger as he tells him in no uncertain terms just how little the Frat Boys think of their high-flying challengers.

Titles in hand, Cage and Dylan make their way back up the ramp, mischievous grins greeting every cursing fan, as the sounds of Rage Against the Machine serenade them to the backstage area.

Once through the curtain, Cage saw Jack Berning standing by the monitors and immediately went to shake his hand. Berning, who had wrestled in the 1970s and 1980s as the “Texas Outlaw” Jack Burns, was the agent for the tag title match, making it customary for the participants to show appreciation after a big match, particularly one like this.

“Thanks as always, Jack,” said Cage. “That was a great call on the table spot with Ricky. Crowd ate that up. Gave us all good heat for the finish.”

“You guys are the ones that pulled it off,” Berning said with a wave of the hand, deflecting the credit as usual. “Those kids are good out there, but you two work your asses off. I don’t wanna give you big goddamn heads, but Jesus Christ, none of these other guys can touch you two out there.”

“Think that means we can ask for a raise?” Dylan tossed out with a half smile.

“Hey, I said you guys can work,” Berning said with a knowing smile. “I didn’t say you could draw worth a shit.”

Berning slapped both men on the back with a laugh and then headed off to the side.

*****

A short time later, Cage and Dylan are back in the locker room, peeling off their gear as a few other wrestlers mill about. At non-televised shows like this one, many of their fellow grapplers have already headed out following their own matches by this time. Except for the young guys, of course. When the bosses tell them to shut up, pay attention and learn on the job, it’s not a suggestion.

The door swings open and two young men walk in, their hair short and dark, sweat glistening on every inch of skin showing, and tattoos covering almost as much. It’s the high flyers from earlier – Ricky and Randy, the 21st Century Cowboys. (Real names – Andy Randall and Mark Collins)

Moving just as gingerly as their counterparts from earlier, the duo step forward and shake hands with Cage and Dylan, letting out a deep breath and managing a grin.

“My adrenaline’s still going crazy,” said Randy as he took a seat and began pulling off his boots. “I think that’s all that kept me going. I was so amped that I was gassed right off the bat.”

“Gotta keep that in check, man,” Dylan said as he pulled a bag from the floor nearby. “Happens to everyone in their first few big matches like this. But you’ve gotta adjust, especially when we get to TV or pay-per-view. No one wants to see some babyface challenger sucking wind 2 minutes in.”

Randy nodded as Cage slapped Ricky on the shoulder.

“Keep going with that move off the rail,” Cage told the youngster, an odd thought given the age of the ‘veteran.’ “Once you perfect that, that’s gonna be a signature spot. Big.”

“Yeah, I thought it would come off better,” Ricky said rubbing his arm. “I just knew I needed to try something after they shit on the elbow.”

“That’s gonna happen sometimes,” Cage said with a wave of the hand. “You just have to understand the crowd man. You did it perfect but around here, this place, they don’t want textbook. They’re gonna shit on anything that looks too textbook. You do it all the way but just with a little twist and then they’ll pop for it big time. Then it feels real to them.”

“You gotta remember,” Dylan said as he yanked on a pair of jeans, “These guys who come out here, they’re marks for themselves just as much as any of us. They think they’re starring in the show too. You give ‘em a reason and they’ll act like it. You show ‘em that you’re better than they are in every goddamn way, then they’ll be all yours.”

The challengers couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the comments, even if they were true. The Frat Boys might not have had them outumbered much in age, but in terms of ring years and understanding, they were light years beyond.

Cage finally stood up himself, finished buttoning his shirt and threw his bag over his shoulder just as Dylan slipped on his sweatshirt.

“Anyway, fellas, we’re gonna haul ass to Peoria so we can get some fun in before we gotta call it a night,” Cage said as they headed for the door. “You meeting up with us and the boys?”

Ricky and Randy hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth at each other before Randy said, “I dunno man. It’s an earlier show tomorrow, isn’t it? You’re still crashing the bar tonight?”

“Nothing crazy man,” Dylan said with a shrug. “Just a couple beers. It’s not gonna be a big thing.”

After another brief moment of silence, Ricky nodded and said,  “Yeah, we’re in.”
“Awesome,” Cage said as he opened the door. “See you guys at O’Flannery’s. We got the first round.”

*****

If it wasn’t for all the other noise in the room, the sudden explosion of Kurt Cobain’s piercing voice emanating from the cell phone on the nightstand might have been incredibly jarring. Instead, it was just part of the symphony at first.

The TV pulsed with thunderous applause seemingly every few minutes, as one of the regular talk show audiences cheered madly for each over-the-top question to the usual panel of freakshow guests. In the bathroom, both the faucet and bathtub spewed water at a strong current, most likely going on several consecutive hours. And in one of the beds, Cage’s throat and nose produced the kind of high-pitched snore that could easily pass for the sounds of a prehistoric animal such as the Pterodactyl or T-Rex.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the sight on the other bed. Sprawled out on his back, Dylan still wore the same sweater he slipped on before leaving the locker room. However, beyond that his only stitches of clothing belonged to the two black socks on his feet. In between, only skin and hair.

“Jesus, answer the phone,” Dylan muttered at first, then his voice began to rise and repeated, “ANSWER THE PHONE!”

Cage’s right hand slapped around on the bed, then the nightstand, narrowly missing the phone.

Dylan, still unmoved from the bed, his eyes still shut, shouted again. “Find the phone. HOW CAN IT BE THIS HARD TO FIND THE PHONE!”

“It’s hiding god dammit!” Cage struck back. Finally, he tossed the sheet to the side and rolled over to see the phone and grabbed it, not noticing who was calling.

“Who goes there???” he said with a smirk. There was a pause at first, then a deep voice spoke deliberately.

“Cage, get Dylan and get down here to the arena now. Mr. Danielson wants to see the two of you. Immediately.”

Field Report: X-00145-AB
Report Prepared By: Captain Alex Simmons
Location: Classified
Project: Classified

At 0735 local time, I reported to the corner of Mason & 4th for observation of a suspected dropoff. The goal was to target suspected terrorist code name Black Eagle and her movements.

Previous documentation compiled through earlier assignments indicated distinct pattern to target’s weekday morning:

1 – 10-mile run through nearby neighborhood and park
2 – Post-run breakfast stop at midpoint returning from park to apartment.
3 – Additional weight training exercise using apparatus in apartment.
4 – Shower and dress
5 – Depart for employment at Harkins & Associates

At approximately 0754, Black Eagle emerged from main entrance to her building in running attire and headed east in normal route through neighborhood to park. I followed the subject at approximately 25 meter trailing distance throughout run without incident. In subject’s return to apartment building, breakfast stop was brief, consuming only coffee and a muffin of unknown content. Noted that on the entire run and return, subject did not interact with anyone else.

After returning to the apartment, Black Eagle returned to the street approximately 45 minutes later and entered taxicab for journey to her office. Again, the trip was uneventful as the cab proceeded straight to the office and Black Eagle entered through normal office doors. My position in opposite office building afforded me continue surveillance of Black Eagle in her corner office throughout the morning.

At approximately 1035, three subjects entered Black Eagle’s office. All appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. First subject was a male, approximately 60-65 years of age, wearing dark-rimmed glasses, dark suit and carrying a briefcase. Second subject was a female, approximately 25-30 years of age, wearing maroon suit with skirt shortened above knee. Final subject was a male, approximately 30-35 years of age, wearing sunglasses, grey suit. Third subject remained standing throughout meeting, walking along window and peering out at the surrounding buildings and ground below. At one point, subject turned head to side revealing an ear piece. After careful consideration, it’s my belief this man to be the bodyguard of the other two subjects.

The meeting concluded at roughly 1115, with Black Eagle shaking hands with the three guests before they departed her office. I was beginning to jot down notes from the meeting when I saw Black Eagle retrieve a folded up piece of paper from the floor. After reading it, she immediately looked at her watch and then grabbed her day planner before crumpling the paper up in her hand and tossing it in the trash.

With the piece of paper in mind, I remained locked on all of subject’s movements and followed closely behind as she left the building at mid-day for lunch. I was not surprised when she bypassed her usual lunch restaurant near the building. However, I was not expecting her route to take her so far south that she moved beyond 46th Street. The streets were mostly deserted as expected, with the usual fare of young men in sweatshirts and hoods on the steps of graffiti covered buildings only slightly outnumbering the various people burrowing into boxes on the sidewalk as single cars drove by at various intervals.

Black Eagle’s walk began to slow down until she came to a stop just in front of a bench adjacent to a rundown fountain at the entrance to a long-forgotten park. Checking her watch again, subject sat down on the bench. She was noticeably nervous, head turning in all directions, obviously searching for someone. Moments later, a figure in black appeared from the park. This person was wearing a hoodie as well, but not the kind often found in this part of town. It appeared to be a track sweatsuit of some kind, the hood pulled tight around the person’s head. From my vantage point, the face was not visible, but by the body shape and stance, I assumed the person to be female.

Black Eagle and the female talked for several minutes. Both appeared agitated, as fingers pointed and palms were held up to the sky at various points. Finally, the second figure pushed forward what appeared to be a CD in Black Eagle’s direction. Subject took the disc and appeared to begin questioning the female figure about the contents. Then, the female presented Black Eagle with something else – two sheets of paper that appeared to be photographs. Unfortunately, I could not see what the photos depicted. Black Eagle immediately put both the CD and photographs into her briefcase.

At this point, the female started to leave but Black Eagle reached out to grab her arm. In doing so, Black Eagle pulled the female in close and the two kissed for several seconds. The passionate kiss made it obvious that this was more than a simple flirtation. What the kiss also did was afford me the opportunity to see the woman’s face, as the moment of intimacy allowed her guard to come down.

I was only mildly surprised when the face I saw was the same female face I had seen only two hours or so prior in Black Eagle’s office.

At this time, I find this meeting and the subsequent secrecy with which the two departed the meeting site to lend credence to our continuing theory that a plot is underway as described in previous dispatches. More surveillance of Black Eagle is needed, along with a search for more information on the second woman, who may be part of the female terrorist organization our informant has described.

Next course of action will include infiltrating Black Eagle’s apartment and office to place audio and visual recording devices to learn more about the possible threat and those involved. Additional reports forthcoming as more information is gathered.

The hand belongs to a man who appears to be in his mid-30s, his dark hair splayed out on his pillow. His chest rises and falls normally, though the bandage on his left bicep and tear in his shirt near the right shoulder appear anything but typical.

The clock switches to 9:00 and suddenly the silence is broken by a male voice on the radio.

“…anyone was injured or not. Here’s Rita Barker with the latest.”

The man’s eyes fly open, shifting back and forth before he sits up immediately. He runs his hand back through his hair as a female voice takes over.

“According to investigators, there is still no word on the original source of yesterday’s…”

Silence takes over once again as the man’s right hand strikes a button on the clock radio. Remaining still in the bed, he looks around the room, eyeing the clothes, the suitcase, the scissors next to the torn package of bandages.

Again the emptiness air is the shattered by noise, this time a rattling coming from the desk across the room, a sound accompanied by a small light, the illumination of his cell phone.

Gingerly sliding off the bed and walking across the floor, he takes hold of the phone to see the display. An incoming call from Theresa. His thumb hovers over the “answer” key for a few seconds, then he presses down on another key. Clearing through, he sees another message. 17 missed calls. He doesn’t even need to check the call log.

Instead, he cycles through his contacts. Finding the one he wants, he presses down, then holds the phone up. Seconds pass.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are we set?” Another pause. “That’s why I called you. I need to know if we’re set.” His eyes remain forward, unmoving. Thinking about everything, everything except this call. “Good. I’ll see you at 10 then.”

Setting the phone down, he takes a seat on the bed, pulling the pants from the chair and sliding them on, followed shortly by a pair of boots from the floor. As he pulls himself back up straight, he looks to the hole in his shirt on the right, opening and closing his fist with a wince.

“It was worth it.” At least that’s what his voice inside says. Belated reassurance usually works. For guys like him at least.

Standing up, he turns to the dresser, grabbing his keys and wallet. His eyes dash across the mirror on the wall in front of him, but not even long enough for a glance. From the suitcase, he pulls a dark jacket. Reaching into the pocket, he finds the cold steel. A different kind of reassurance. But another that usually works.

Putting on the jacket, he heads for the door. A cool breeze rushes in as it swings open. Standing in the doorway, his eyes circle the motel parking lot before he closes the door behind him and steps toward the sedan a few feet away.

Just as the car’s tires hit the pavement of the county highway, the vibration is back. Theresa. Again. This time he doesn’t press any buttons. Instead he leaves the buttons on the highway behind him, scattered in pieces with the rest of it.

                                                     *****

Walking into the diner, it was only natural to survey area – the tables, chairs, stools, kitchen. A sparse crowd of patrons on hand for breakfast at 10 a.m. Two men in overalls on bar stools. Another in a beige sweater sipping coffee at a booth along the window.

Behind the counter, three servers stand comparing fingernails and bruises. One looks up clicks on her smile while raising a coffee pourer.

“Hey sugar,” she mouthed between snaps of gum. “You sit wherever you want, okay? I’ll be over in a minute with some coffee.”

Walking straight ahead, he settles at a corner table, shifting in his seat to keep the entrance and the remaining tables in his sights, along with the window stretching down the wall to his right. No window in the back, only three more tables, all empty.

As the server strolls his way, he trails his eyes to her and back to the two men on the stools, back to the man in the beige sweater. The man’s eyes stay straight ahead on his paper. Still sipping coffee.

“My name’s Irene and here’s a menu if you…”

“I’m fine,” he broke in, his gaze circling back to the overall twins just in time to see one nudge the other.

“Are you sure? We’ve got the best…”

“Just coffee.” The other one slowly twisted his head to the side seemingly just enough to catch a glimpse. Maybe they’re just curious. Maybe it’s just paranoia. Or maybe it’s the norm.

“Oh come on,” she tried again, pushing the menu toward him. “Just take a look and see…”

As she did so, he finally tilted his head toward her, looking beyond the menu soiled with yesterday’s coffee and iced tea, his eyes now fixed solely on hers. “Just. Coffee.”

“Okay, then,” she said in a huff before turning to walk back behind the counter, resuming her chat with her comrades, now making faces about the stranger in the corner. Just as she walks away, the overall boys stand up from their stools, one reaching into his pocket as the other sneaks another glance.

Seeing this, he shifts his weight again, this time giving him the chance to grasp the steel. Waiting. Ready.

Instead, the men fish their wallets out of their overalls, slap a few crinkled bills onto the counter and move toward the door, this time not even hinting at a look back. He watches them go, reminding him how hard it is to know, how easy it could be to miss.

As they open the door, beige sweater looks up, ever so briefly. As fast as his eyes returned to the saucer in front of him, it was obviously a mistake. A natural reaction he somehow couldn’t keep down. In doing so, the beige sweater was now the center of attention. And now every inch of him was being dissected. His neatly pressed slacks and polished leather shoes, crossed with a beige sweater with a small hole in the shoulder, a worn look that appeared born from several years in a hamper.

And topped off by a bulge near his right hip.

His analysis is broken as the door swings open. In walks another man, stepping inside with the same deliberate pacing that he did, pausing as he looks forward to meet his eyes. A moment later, he moves to the corner, his Italian leather shoes making loud thuds as he draws closer.

Seeing a second chance, Irene closes in again.

“Coffee sir?

“Yes, I believe I will,” the new face says. As she fills his cup, he remains fixed on the man ahead of him. “And I think I can speak for us both when I say that’ll be it for a while. We’ll be just fine over here.”

Irene’s sigh echoes as she leaves the table, while the new patron removes his long coat and takes a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“I have to give you credit,” he says with a chuckle as he pours sugar into the cup amid the rising steam. “A lot of men make promises. A lot of men make threats. Usually, it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

He laughs again as his spoon circles the cup, a few clinks piercing the silence. His tablemate keeps his eye ahead, his right hand still stroking the steel.

“But you….well, you sure as hell made good on yours. This one’s going down in the history books. I have never…”

Before he can finish, his opposite leans in. “Let’s skip the highlight show, Billy.” His eyes hold steady with Billy’s as his left arm moves forward on the table to point to the beige sweater.

“You said just the two of us at the diner. Now, you get your friend over there out of here so we can handle our business. I don’t like surprises.”

“Hey, you listen to me, asshole,” Billy returned now pointing his right finger forward. “I am doing you a god damn favor here. You’re the one who needs ME, not the other way around. Don’t you forget who I am and everything that comes with that.”

Both men stare ahead, their lips frozen, eyes darting. The silence stretches on, continuing until Billy’s left hand drifts down to the bench beside him. He reaches into his coat, pulling out a letter-sized manila envelope.

“Now, let’s talk about you…” He pauses momentarily as he pulls the envelope flap open and drags out several papers, including a birth certificate. “…Mr. Douglas. Mr. Aaron Douglas. Well, at least that’s who you are now. Everything is here. It’s all as real as it gets. You won’t have any trouble.”

The man now known as Aaron Douglas reaches out to pull the documents closer, his eyes scrolling through every word, inspecting every inch.

“Hey, trust me, it’s all legit,” Billy says as he takes another sip. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be safe and sound in Mexico, drinking cheap tequila with even cheaper whores.”

As Douglas returns the papers to the envelope and stands with it in hand, he takes one more look around, including a swing past beige sweater. Taking off toward the door, his face remains straight ahead to the exit but he says, “I’m not going to Mexico yet.”

Billy puts his palms up, swings around in his chair and yells after him, “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Just before he shoves the door open to exit, Douglas responds softly, almost to himself.

“I still have one more thing to do.”

Many of you who know me are probably aware that I have started a blog a couple of times before. After some initial success – and engendering a few laughs from the peanut gallery – those ventures fizzled out. Why? Well, in a lot of ways, I don’t find myself all that interesting to write about.

Sure, I’m game for keeping active on Facebook and doing my share of tweeting – @jarrodrollins if you’re curious – but those media are in short bursts. When blogging, I felt the need to be a little more verbose, tell more of a story, offer more analysis. And a lot of times, I just simply didn’t feel like doing that pertaining to a weekend of mine in Indy or my Indiana Hoosiers or even my Redlegs.

Instead, I want to do something different, something I am much more committed to – short fiction. What I plan to do with this blog is share with you short stories from the lives of numerous different characters. I want to tell these stories in pieces, multiple posts over a period of time. Sometimes they will be linear and other times not. I think a good mix keeps both the reader and the writer on their toes.

Obviously, I’m hoping to receive feedback along the way from all of you. That will only help my own understanding of these characters and what’s going on in their lives. Certainly, I have a general idea of where they’re headed, what obstacles will be in front of them, what their goals are, but I want the stories to be fluid. I want them to evolve as we move along. That’s natural. That’s art.

So, assuming I haven’t bored you to death yet in the preceding paragraphs, please stay tuned for the first installment coming soon. I’m excited, and I hope you’ll enjoy this experience with me.