Authors: Jane Seville
Hear what?
Jack’s face blank.
I don’t hear anything.
Ya gotta hear her! It’s so loud… it’s getting louder….
I can make it stop.
Jack’s lips on his and all is quiet, all is peace, but now there are faces rising from the grass, grass like a meadow with trees and the faces are all around him….
D jerked awake, hearing his own moans as they died out, hands on him shaking him. “Wha… the fuck….”
138 | Jane Seville
Jack was leaning over him. “It’s okay,” he said, sounding eerily as he had in the dream. “You were having another nightmare.”
D sagged back against the cushions.
Motherfucker.
“Shit,” he muttered, swiping at his damp brow. Jack was stroking his belly like you’d gentle a horse. “M’okay,” he grunted.
“Jill again?” Jack said. D looked over at him. Jack shrugged. “You were saying her name, like you always do.”
D nodded. “Same as always.” He sighed. “I wish it’d stop. Sorry if it’s botherin’
you. Cain’t be fun ta keep getting woke up by my damn nightmares.” Jack said nothing, just kept making slow circles with his hand. D looked up at him and saw tears in his eyes. “Jack… what?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“C’mon, what?”
Jack met his eyes. “It’s just… it was different this time.”
“It was?”
“Usually you thrash around, and call for Jill, and sometimes you cry a little.”
“And?”
Jack slid closer and laid his hand on D’s face. “This time, after you said Jill’s name….” He hesitated, his jaw working. “You called for me.” D said nothing. The look on Jack’s face was too much for him. He just let Jack snuggle close to him and keep his illusions, illusions he wished he could share.
“D?” Jack said, after a long pause.
“Hmm?”
“Will you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Teach me to fight.”
JACK was bouncing on the balls of his feet in the backyard, jabbing at the air like a boxer. D shook his head as he set out the pads he’d gotten at the sporting-goods store that morning. “Okay, Sugar Ray. We ain’t takin’ corners here.” He began buckling himself into the body pads.
“You told me once what kind of fighting you use. Mango something?” D laughed. “Krav
Maga.
”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s Hebrew for ‘close contact.’ It’s an Israeli fighting style. Them Israelis don’t fuck around. I guess a couple thousand years a livin’ in a war zone’ll do that to ya.”
“So how do I start? You going to teach me some fancy moves?”
“There aren’t any.”
Jack stopped bouncing and frowned. “What do you mean, there aren’t any?”
“No forms, no choreographed moves. This ain’t a sport, like karate or judo. It’s survival. And it’s somethin’ different for everybody who learns it.” Jack was looking a little dubious. “Oh,” he said.
“This ain’t sportsmanlike, Jack. Three basic principles. One, don’t care about how much ya hurt the other guy. Two, cause as much damage as possible and run, and three, don’t drag it out: do what you gotta do and get gone. Ya grab whatever’s handy, ya take Zero at the Bone | 139
the initiative away from whoever’s on ya, and ya turn the fight on yer attacker as quick as ya can.”
“But… what do I
do?
”
“Whaddya think? Punch, kick, poke, pull. Whatever you can think of. Go for the eyes, the crotch, wherever’s the most sensitive.”
“That’s fighting dirty, isn’t it?”
D straightened up. “You get that notion outta yer head right now, ya hear? That’s a buncha honor-soaked bullshit from them Eastern fightin’ forms. I ain’t sayin’ they’re bad, or worthless, but they’re clean-and-tidy sportsman’s fightin’. The quickest way ta get dead in real life is ta worry ’bout fightin’ ‘fair,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “The only dirty thing you can do in a fight is let yerself get killed or hurt. All this assumes the other guy’s wantin’ you dead. You wanta not be dead? You better do whatever you gotta do ta make
him
dead, or at least hurt bad enough that he cain’t get ya.
You wanna learn pretty moves and high kicks and worry ’bout yer honor? Go join a dojo.
You wanna learn how not ta get dead? That, I can teach ya.” Jack sighed. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“That’s ’cause ya watched too many movies growin’ up. Honor’s great, fair’s all well ’n’ good, and if ya let that get in yer way when yer fightin’ fer yer life, you’ll be a real honorable corpse.”
“Yeah, I guess I get that, but… how do I… I mean, what do I do?” D sighed. “Jack, ya got the same ideas in yer head every other person gets when they first learn ta fight. You don’t need no fancy ballet moves or special precision ways ta lift yer fuckin’ leg or no particular way ta position yer damn elbow. Jus’ react. Defend, then attack. Jus’ fuckin’ have at it.”
“And… that’s it?”
He nodded. “That’s it.”
“But that sounds so… simple.”
“Well, if I’m gonna teach ya, it’s my job ta make it not simple until ya feel like ya know what yer doin’.” D buckled the last pads in place over his shins. “Now that I look like the fuckin’ Michelin tire man, you ready ta kick my ass?” Jack smirked. “I can think of one or two things I’d rather do to it, but yeah.” D felt himself flush. “All right, smartass. We’ll see how that mouth a yers is doing in an hour or so.”
JACK was drenched in sweat, but he thought he was getting it.
The first time had been… humiliating. D had even warned him. “I’m gonna come at ya,” he’d said. And he’d made what even Jack could see was a clumsy, lumbering near-slow-motion lunge… and Jack had still skittered out of the way and backed off like a scared kitten. D had just hauled him off the ground and told him to try it again. Jack didn’t know whether to be happy that he wasn’t mocking him or disturbed that D wasn’t surprised by his wimpiness.
Now, Jack braced himself and tried to tell his brain to react, not avoid. D swung an arm toward him and Jack grabbed it blindly, staggering a little with the force behind it.
He saw that this left D’s side open, so he flailed a leg out and kicked him in the kidneys.
D doubled over and Jack yanked on his arm as hard as he could, bringing him down and 140 | Jane Seville
around, then he punched his chest and pushed him down on the ground. “Ow!” he said, shaking out his hand.
D got up. “That… wasn’t too bad,” he said.
“That hurt!”
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
“You were going easy on me.”
“What, you want I oughta turn it up to eleven on your first day?” Jack sighed, chagrined. “No, I guess not.”
D was unbuckling his body pads. “That’s enough fightin’ fer now.” Jack nodded. “I’m exhausted.”
“Yer gonna be real fuckin’ sore too.”
“Great.”
D paused and looked at him, cocking his head. “Hmm.”
“What? Oh god, what are you going to make me do now?”
“Nah, jus thinkin’… maybe can help ya with the sore part.”
“Oh yeah?” That sounded promising.
“Give ya a rubdown or somethin’.”
Jack grinned. “Oh yeah?” he repeated, giving the words a flirty curl this time.
D shook a finger at him. “Don’t get cute. Purely therapeutic, a course.” Jack sobered, nodding. “Of course. Therapeutic. You got it.” Out of the body pads now, D stepped closer, shaking his head and smirking. “Damn doctors,” he muttered, then put his hand behind Jack’s neck and pulled him in for a brief, hard kiss before continuing into the house.
D PULLED the car into a vacant parking lot and took out his cell phone. Had to make this brief; Jack wouldn’t buy that it took him half an hour to run out for ice cream. Plus he’d be expected back for
CSI.
He dialed the number and waited. “Churchill.”
“Reportin’ in as ordered,” he said, snarling over the last two words.
He heard Churchill sigh. “You know, it’s been a month. You could ease up on the attitude a little.”
“Jack already call ya? He said he was gonna do it tonight.”
“Yeah, just got off the phone with him. He said everything’s calm.”
“Yep. Ain’t seen shit.”
“You almost sound disappointed.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Well, if you’re missing the excitement, I have some news for you.” D sat up straighter. “Trial date?”
“Yeah. Two weeks from Monday.”
Shit.
“That’s kinda… fast, ain’t it?”
“The prosecutors are hauling ass on this one. Jack’s not the only witness, and the faster they can get to trial the less chance one of the others will turn up dead. You’ll need to be in Baltimore on the twenty-third.”
“We’ll have to leave in a week, then. Take better part of a week ta drive it.”
“We could arrange secure transport by air.”
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“No. Any secured transport takin’ off or comin’ inta town might be spotted, and I cain’t be seen ta be helpin’ him. Fact, we’ll hafta arrange fer you guys ta pick him up outside a town, like in Frederick or Annapolis, and let me come inta town on my own so he ain’t seen ta be in nobody’s company.”
“Good idea.”
“You shoulda thought a that,” D said, sharply. He was trusting Jack’s safety to this man, to some degree, and the fact that he wasn’t anticipating these kinds of concerns wasn’t reassuring.
“And you’re too damn paranoid.”
“It’s got us this far, ain’t it?”
Churchill was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it has. Listen, I want you to know that I do appreciate what you’re doing for Jack. We all do. Frankly, we’re not prepared to deal with the kinds of threats that have come up in this case.”
“I know. That’s why I exist. ’Cause y’all ain’t prepared.”
“I’ve spoken to your contact at the Bureau. He says your assistance has saved dozens of lives.”
D sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Drop in the fuckin’
bucket.”
“He’s hoping you’ll come work for them full time… after.”
“After what?”
“After Jack’s testimony and he’s settled in his new identity. I mean, you can’t continue as a freelancer.”
“That’s for fuckin’ sure.”
“Stan’s been talking to his superiors about creating a position for you.”
“Well, that’s real considerate a him ta do without consultin’ me.”
“You saying you wouldn’t want it?”
“I’m gonna have a shitload a stuff a my own ta deal with, ya know. Whoever it was put me up ta do Jack’s murder still wants me dead. Besides, I uh… got some plans fer the brothers once the trial’s over.”
“They’ll be in jail.”
“Yeah, well I’ll believe that when I see it. Even if they are, it ain’t jus’ them ya gotta worry about.”
“What are you thinking?”
D sighed. “I got no intention a lettin’ Jack give up his name and his career. I aim ta make sure he can keep his name, his life, and still be safe.”
“D, there’s no way… I can’t hear what I think you’re saying.”
“You don’t know what I’m sayin’. You don’t know nothin’. Now listen. The second Jack’s seen in Baltimore the hits are gonna start flyin’ around fast ’n’ furious. You keep an eye out for Petros. You got vitals on him?”
“Yeah, he’s in the Bureau database.”
“You look real hard fer him. Arrest him fer anythin’ ya can think of. Jaywalkin’ if ya hafta. Get him off them fuckin’ streets because he will be their final solution if nobody else gets ta Jack.”
“What’ll you be doing?”
“You let me worry about the other hits. I still got connections, and a few other identities I can whip out.”
Churchill hesitated. “This is really personal for you now, isn’t it?” D fiddled with his keychain. “Yeah.”
142 | Jane Seville
Another silence that felt like questions that weren’t being voiced. “Well… I told Jack about the trial date. He still doesn’t know you’re talking to me?”
“No.”
“What reason is there to keep that from him?”
“Because we’re gonna hafta separate here pretty soon, and he’ll be with you. We’re gonna hafta make a clean break. He’ll be under yer protection then, and he cain’t think I’m still pullin’ the strings.”
“You
aren’t.
”
D chuckled. “You don’t even think there
are
strings, do ya?” He hung up and sat for a moment, thinking.
He jumped several inches when the phone rang in his hand. He looked at it, expecting to see that it was Jack, but the number was unknown. A shrill squeal of fear went up his spine. “Hello?”
“Calling phone sex lines again?”
D blew air through his teeth, his relief at hearing that digitally masked voice hitting hard. “Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit outta me.”
“I was waiting until you were off the phone.”
D sat straight up, looking all around.
X could see him.
He could not see anyone, or much of anything at all. It was pitch black out. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Nearby.”
“Now yer creepin’ me out.”
“Sorry. You know how it is.”
“You been here the whole time?”
“No. I’ve popped in a couple of times a week to check up on you. Jack’s getting pretty good at the handfighting, isn’t he?”
D shut his eyes, shuddering at the thought of being observed at their private hideaway, even if it was by a friend. “You gotta spy on us like that?”
“Better me than Petros.”
“He ain’t found us, has he?”
“No. He thinks you’re still in Nevada somewhere. The brothers found out Jack had fled Vegas and he tracked you guys to the cabin. His boys tore it apart.” D sighed. “Shit. That belonged ta Jack’s father-in-law.”
“Don’t worry; I covered it. Faked an electrical fire and burned it to the ground. Mr.
Hapscomb will collect a tidy insurance settlement and be none the wiser.” D felt surprisingly melancholy at the thought of their idyllic cabin on the lake, where he’d first touched Jack, a smoking ruin of cinders. “Well… thanks, I guess.”
“I do what I can.”
“We’ll be leavin’ for Baltimore next week.”
“I know.”
“Shit, were you listenin’ in?”
“Churchill’s a good guy. You can trust him.”
“You know him?” D asked, perking up at this clue to X’s identity. If he knew Churchill, perhaps he, too, worked in some government chop shop.
“In a way.”