“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I said the next the time they come into my bar and cause trouble, they’ll leave in a body bag. But I wouldn’t read too much into that. Confrontations like that are usually won by words and a strong physical presence, not by actual violence. I was just saying what I needed to in order to make my point.”
“But you did use violence…” says the agent on the right.
I nod again. “That’s right, but only because one of them pulled a gun on me. I grew concerned for the safety of the people in my bar, so I imposed what force I deemed necessary at the time.”
I look quickly at Raynor, who’s sitting looking genuinely sorry that he’s putting me through this.
“Okay,” says the first agent again. “You’re not a suspect for the shooting.”
“So why are you here? There’s no need to tell me I didn’t do it — I already knew that.”
“Adrian, the men that were found murdered were on our watch list. They had known links to a suspected terrorist named Yalafi Hussein. Does that name ring any bells with you?”
I shake my head.
“Not surprising,” says the second agent. “He’s notoriously camera-shy, and keeps a low profile at all times. However, he’s thought to have orchestrated multiple attacks around the world over the last few years.”
“That’s all very tragic, but why are you telling me?”
They get nervous and look at the sheriff before responding.
“Adrian, we… have your file,” says the first agent. “We know what happened in San Francisco a few years ago…”
“We understand you’ve started over down here…” says the second, looking at the sheriff again, who stands up, presumably sensing the awkward reluctance of the agents.
“Adrian, this ain’t none of my business now these boys are here,” says Raynor. “I know you’re a private person. If you’d prefer me to wait outside, I won’t take offense.”
I think for a minute. If they have my FBI file, and they know about San Francisco, then they know exactly who I am. Or, who I used to be, anyway. I don’t want any mention of Adrian Hell in Texas — I’ve worked hard to bury him, and done a damn good job. I’m not about to jeopardize that now. “Sorry, John. Would you mind?”
He retrieves his hat from the table and nods as he leaves. I watch him go back out to the bar. He’s one of the good guys, Sheriff Raynor. I feel bad asking him to leave, but it’s necessary.
I look back at the agents. “I appreciate your discretion,” I say. “Now, get to your point so I can get on with my life.”
The first agent stepped forward. “Adrian, we believe those men were here to recruit you.”
I frown. “They said they wanted to offer me a position in their organization, but I didn’t ask for more details. What were they trying to recruit me for?”
“Well, we don’t honestly know. There’s a lot of chatter about a terrorist network hiring a lot of heavyweights. If that’s true, we can only surmise there’s a large attack being planned, but we have next-to-nothing to work with. We don’t know if the CIA has any more to go on, because they’re not sharing anything with us.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, their files are out of date. I’m retired.”
The agent at the back steps forward this time. “Maybe it’s not as easy as you think to get out of that line of work?” he offers, sounding surprisingly sympathetic.
I take a deep breath and think about how good a point that is. “What’s the bottom line here, guys? Why come and see me?”
“Just… be careful,” says the first agent. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with here yet, but it’s likely they won’t take too kindly to being refused and then attacked. We don’t know who shot those men last night, but the smart money would be on this terrorist network assuming it was you. Which means you might not have seen the last of them.”
“Okay, well, I’m glad you fellas came to see me, and seriously, if there’s anything I can do to help you out, let me know. But don’t worry about me. I can handle myself, and rest assured, I won’t be signing up to any extreme causes or anything any time soon.”
They both nod, and we all file out back into the bar. The agents head for the door, and Raynor, who must’ve been sitting at the bar waiting, stands to follow them. He turns to me and says, “I hope everything’s alright, Adrian.”
“You got nothin’ to worry about, Sheriff, you have my word,” I reply.
He nods and puts on his hat. “See you around.”
No one in the bar seems to have paid any attention. Except Tori. She heads straight for me. I sit on a stool and rest an arm on the counter.
“Phil, get me a beer, would you?” I ask him.
He obliges without a word, and I take a long pull on the bottle he passes me.
“What was all that about?” asks Tori as she approaches. “You alright, baby?”
“It was nothin’ to worry about,” I say, trying to sound as relaxed and dismissive as I can. “The FBI is investigating the shooting, and the sheriff thought it’d help them if they spoke with me.”
She looks at me for a minute, and then smiles. “My superhero action man working with the FBI! I’m so hot for you right now…” she winks and kisses my cheek before walking off with an empty tray in her hand. She puts an exaggerated wiggle in her hips, knowing damn well I’m watching her.
I smile and think briefly about the good times that inevitably lie ahead for me once we close up for the night. But I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to what those agents just said to me.
Maybe it’s not as easy as you think to get out of that line of work…
What the hell would a network of terrorists want with me?
I have an uneasy feeling I’ll be finding out soon enough.
6
I take another sip of my coffee as I sit at the bar. Styx is at my feet, looking very sleepy. It’s after five — I didn’t sleep very well. We had a good night last night — it was busy right up until closing time. Tori had dragged me to bed as soon as we'd locked up. But I can’t stop my mind from worrying about what the FBI said to me. The last thing I want to do is put this town in any danger.
Especially Tori…
God, I love her. She lights a fire inside me that hasn’t burned in a long time. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.
I need to clear my mind and stop worrying…
I walk back upstairs and into the bedroom. Tori’s still sleeping. When I get out of bed, she does this thing where she stretches and rolls over to the middle, spreading herself out, seemingly aware that I’m no longer there. I look at her for a moment before putting my jogging pants and running shoes on. I pull a T-shirt on and quietly make my way back downstairs and through into the bar.
“Coming for a run, Styx?”
He looks at me and does that thing animals do when they cock their head slightly on an angle when they stare, as if asking if you’re joking.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say to him. “Come for a run, you lazy mutt.”
He growls at me for a second, then stands and stretches before walking over to the door. He looks back at me, as if to say, Come on then, let’s get this over with…
He’s a pretty cool dog.
I step outside. The very first rays of the morning sun streak across the sky as it readies itself to rise for another day. Styx appears next to me, looking around and sniffing the air. I stretch my legs for a few moments, and then set off jogging down the street. I can tell Styx is running slower than he’d like to, so he can keep pace beside me.