Authors: Roger Barry
‘Well, I don’t know, Rachel’.
‘You could probably do with a bit of distraction. I’m wearing those boots, you know, the ones you like?’
‘Well, ok, maybe ‘.
‘Great, see you around two then?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine, see you then’.
Tom rose from his bed, and went to the fridge. He wanted to make sure there were no more strawberries.
He was back behind his desk the following Monday morning.
The phone began to purr gently in its cradle.
‘Hi Thomas, it’s your mother’
Great
, he thought.
‘Oh, hi mom, how are you keeping?’
‘Oh, I’m ok, I guess. I haven’t seen you since the funeral. I was wondering how you were getting on’.
‘Well, I’ve been busy, mom, you know’.
‘I was talking to Christine afterwards’ she continued. ‘She looked well, didn’t she. She really is a lovely girl, Tom, very pleasant. I’ve always liked Christine. I was hoping she might be the one, you know, for you to settle down with’.
‘But I’m still only a lad, mom. Plenty of time for that later’.
‘Your father and I had you when we were your age. You’re not as young as you think. And she’s such a nice girl’.
‘Yes, I know mom, we’ll see’.
‘Why don’t you drop over this evening after work, maybe bring Christine. I’ll cook something nice. You’re brother does be missing most of the time, God knows where. The house is awful quiet lately. I know your father wasn’t here much towards the end, with him being in hospital and everything, but it still feels emptier now, with him gone’.
‘I know, mom, but it’s pretty hectic here at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. I’ll give you a call, ok?’
‘Oh, ok, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then’
He tried to focus on work, but found it difficult. People were a nuisance, he thought, always dragging him down, becoming a burden. He’d be quite happy if they’d all just fuck off, and leave him alone, let him get on with his life. His father, Christine, his mother, all looking for a piece of him. Why can’t they be more like me, he thought. I can get by without help from anyone. You won’t catch me looking for assistance, being a burden to others. I can stand on my own two feet.
His father’s burial, and its implications were intruding on his thoughts, but the surfacing of his mysterious uncle was another source of curiosity and distraction. Tom’s phone rang again.
‘Hello Tom, Will Harmon here’
Will Harmon was operations commander, Mark Fielding’s boss. Although he was the main man of the section, Tom always found him approachable and amenable. A slightly rotund and good humoured person in his early sixties, he never seemed to let his position get in the way of being approachable.
‘I’d like you to drop up and see me Tom, if you have a minute’.
Tom knocked and entered. Will Harmon stood up from behind his desk as Tom approached, and extended a hand.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your father Tom, Mike was a good man and a sad loss’.
‘Did you know him?’ Tom asked, surprised.
‘I met Mike a number of times at the golf club. Played with him a couple of times, if memory serves. Met your mother too, Mary isn’t it? lovely down to earth woman. How is she coping? She’s ok I hope?’
‘Yes, she’s fine, well given the circumstances obviously’.
‘I would have liked to attend the funeral Tom, but I was out of town last week. Only found out about Mikes passing this morning. And how are you, Tom, you ok?’
‘Not too bad thanks, getting there’
‘That’s good, that’s good, life goes on, eh? Anyway, there’s another reason I wanted to see you.
I’ve heard good reports about your work behind the screen, and I was wondering how you’d feel about getting a bit of field experience, going out and about and getting a flavour of some of the other work we do. Nothing too high risk obviously. I know it might be a bit soon after your father’s death, if it is just say so, and we can postpone till another time. It would mean a promotion of course, another few dollars in the pocket never hurts. If you want to have a think about it, and get back to me later, that’s no problem’.
‘No, that sounds fine by me. I’d be interested in a new challenge. Whenever you feel like giving me the opportunity, I’m ready’.
‘That’s great Tom, we can always do with more good men out in the field’.
Will Harmon stood up. ‘I’ll keep you posted. You can be first sub, and commiserations again about Mike’.
Lowanski’s phone rang
‘It’s Mark’.
‘Oh, hi boss, what’s up?’
‘I’m after getting a call from Harmon. He wants Feeney to go sub on the next available outing. Said he wants him to get a bit of field experience. Then I hear Letterman isn’t in. So guess when the next available outing is? , only our meeting with Li, that’s when’.
‘But boss, we don’t want that Feeney asshole nosing around in our business. Can we not postpone taking Feeney ‘till the next time? Fuck’
‘ If Harmon got word that we went out a man short, the same day he instructed me to include Feeney on the next available op, he might get curious. We don’t need curious. No, our best option is to bring him along. We’ll just have to make sure he’s kept well away from anything of interest. It’s an inconvenience, nothing more. You just make sure he’s kept out of the loop’.
‘Ok boss, I’ll keep a watch on him’.
Click.
‘Sorry to hear about your father, Tom’
It was Chad, his one and only confidant in the workplace.
They had joined up around the same time, and their friendship was cemented when they discovered they both had the same taste in music and a similar sense of humour, coupled with a loathing for Lowanski and a wariness of Fielding. Charles Longston was a wiry character. He had wiry, mid-length dark brown hair and a wiry physique, wore glasses, and had poor dress sense. He and Tom seemed complete opposites. Tom ribbed him frequently about his name. Wasn’t he Lord of some manor somewhere? Didn’t he have a title, Sir Charles Longston maybe? Chad took it all in good spirit. He liked Tom’s company, especially when they headed out to a bar for the occasional wind-down after work. He viewed Tom as a bit of a babe magnet. Tom had Christine, and seldom played around, or so Chad thought, which was good news for him, because he could always pick up the scraps if the ladies were disappointed.
‘Oh, hi Chad, thanks’ answered Tom.
Chad reached over, and casually picked up a book lying on Tom’s desk, flicking through it.
‘Crazy Horse and Custer’ by Stephen E Ambrose.
‘Y’know Tom, you must be the only one left in the civilised world who actually still reads books. Haven’t you heard of the internet?’
‘Just because the only books you have are full of pictures and crayon marks. You ignoramus’ answered Tom. ‘You should try it sometime,’ he continued, ‘you might actually learn something’.
‘Such as?’
‘You know they say about this guy, Crazy Horse, that a spaceship could’ve dropped him down naked in the middle of the Oglala Grasslands, and within a week he’d have food, clothes, and somewhere to live’
‘Olgalaga Grasslands, what’s that?’
‘Oglala, you idiot. It’s where the Oglala Sioux Indian tribe lived. It’s in Nebraska’.
‘Well, there you are, then’ Chad answered, ‘sure who the hell would want to go to Nebraska?’
‘I give up on you. Anything much happen while I’ve been gone?’ Tom asked wearily.
‘All quiet here, although there seems to be a bit of action happening upstairs’.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Tom.
‘Well, I don’t know anything for definite, but that big prick Lowanski seems to be strutting around even more cocky and arrogant than usual, if that’s possible’.
Stan Lowanski was the operations co-ordinator on the fifth floor, although both Tom and Chad long suspected he was involved in more ‘direct’ situations. He was built like a quarter-back, and his beady little eyes seemed to be constantly shifting, as if trying to compensate for their size and take in everything at once. He appeared to have no neck whatsoever, just a very large head welded onto enormous shoulders. He was also known to report directly to one man, and one man only, Mark Fielding. Fielding was the operations controller for the Boston area. Lowanski was his pit-bull.
It was mid-day when Tom became aware of a shadow being cast across his desk. He looked up, startled. Lowanski stood before him, those beady eyes, constantly scanning everything in front of him.
‘Close down that porno site, or whatever you lazy bastards do be ogling half the fucking day, you’re going out in the real world, sonny boy’.
‘What?’
‘There there now, don’t be wetting your panties. You’re only going out to make up the numbers, is all. That arsehole Letterman called in sick, and we’re short a body. You’ll do’
‘What do I need to bring?’ Tom asked nervously.
‘Just bring your dopey self’ Lowanski snapped back.
‘Do I need to do anything before I go, em, this is all new to me’
‘Yeah, you can kiss Longston goodbye, and tell her you’ll be home for tea if you like’ growled Lowanski, before breaking into a guffaw.
Before he had time to think, Tom was in the lift with Lowanski, and two other tough-looking suits he thought he’d seen before around the building, but wasn’t sure. Lowanski leaned over close to Tom’s ear. Tom could smell the stale garlic on his breath.
‘Did you remember to pack your piece’ he whispered.
‘I don’t have one, I’m not issued...’ Tom began to blurt out.
Another guffaw from Lowanski. The two suits in the lift just smirked.
Tom found himself sitting beside one of the suits, in the back of a black sedan as it sped from the underground car-park into the sunlit streets of Boston. Lowanski was the front passenger, while the other suit drove. He was trying to gather his senses. What the hell was he doing in a car with these monkeys? Where was he going? Eventually, he plucked up some courage.
‘Am I allowed to ask where we’re going, or what we’re doing?’ he said.
‘Not really’ snapped back Lowanski.
He seemed to be enjoying Tom’s uncertainty. Then he relented. He was getting into his role now, enjoying the discomfort plainly etched on Toms face. What harm would it do to throw the weak-kneed little shit a few curve balls, keep him guessing?
‘We’re off to hook up with the boss’ he said casually.
‘He’s a meeting with some slant-eyed little Chink fucker who’s head man of a factory outside Shanghai. Factory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though. Turns out they don’t make rubber ducks or fake ipods after all. The Chink wants to go all Yankee Doodle Dandy and join Uncle Sam, in exchange for the low-down on what they really make. That’s all you’re getting, Feeney. Now shut the fuck up for a while’.
The car sped out past the suburbs, and into the open countryside. Tom’s sense of direction had never been brilliant, but with so many things swimming around in his head, he couldn’t give his location now if his life depended on it. Heading north he guessed, judging from the direction of the sun, but that was about it. They took a left off the highway, and headed down a black top road until they came to a small gathering of buildings. Towards the end of these, at a three storey glass-fronted office-type structure, the car came to a halt. In the car park, by the side of another black sedan, stood Fielding. Apart from a red Ford rental parked on the opposite side of the lot, there were no other cars to be seen.
“Right, shift you’re asses” ordered Lowanski, before making a bee line for Fielding. The two of them exchanged words quietly, glancing at Tom a number of times.
‘Remember to keep that idiot at arms length’ began Fielding, gesturing towards Tom.
‘Also, don’t bring him back to the office, drop him home instead when we’re finished. Tell him he has the rest of the day off. And when you get back, give that retard Longston some Mickey Mouse errant to run, to keep him off base for the afternoon’.
What’s all that about, boss?’
‘It’s just a little backup idea I have, should this meeting with Li go pear shaped’.
They all proceeded to the reception area of the building. There was nobody on reception. In fact, there was nobody to be seen anywhere. Tom felt more uneasy than ever.