Keeping her back to him, Melanie said, “I’m leaving, Jazz. I’m going to take the kids and go with Jeannie to New Jersey.”
Jazz paused considering his wife’s statement.
“What for?”
“She needs my help. Jeannie’s brother is going to come down and help her move. I’m going to put all the kids in the van and drive them up there. I’ll even visit your Mom on the way. I’ll stay with Jeannie and watch the kids during the day and help her get settled each night.”
“Well, I’ll take leave and come with you.”
“No, Jazz. She does not want another daddy around right now. And besides… we need time apart. In fact, I may not be coming back.”
Jazz stared at his wife. He heard a ringing sound in his ears. He did not expect this response from her.
“You’re leaving me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what is going to happen. I just know we need some space for awhile. I do know this, I’m not living this life anymore.”
For the men of Det Four, the funeral was not enough. For three days after the service, the men of Detachment Four rarely spoke. Jazz wondered how long it would be before they got out of their funk.
He emerged from the locker room after shifting into civilian clothes. Denke and Ashland were in the hallway already.
“Hey, LT. What are you doing tonight?” asked Denke.
“Nothing. I was just going home.”
“Your wife is gone right? With Jeannie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if we come over for a few beers?”
“Sure. You guys are welcome anytime.”
“I mean all of us, sir. I think the guys need to, ah… tie one on.”
“Uh, yeah, come over.”
Jazz did not feel like drinking. When Keating arrived Jazz’s first beer was only half empty and warm. Keating was followed by Quinn, Sinclair, and Delgado. Then Ashland came bearing a large jug of clear liquid and several mason jars.
“What’s that, Ash?” asked Quinn.
“Porch wine, my brother.”
“Ah you mean like, ‘Made under the porch, drank upon it.?’”
“You got it,” said Ash.
He handed a jar to Jazz. “Drink up, LT.”
“Damn this is harsh shit, Ash,” said Delgado.
Ashland was aggressive filling and re-filling their jars. Jazz nursed his. After almost an hour of watching his det work themselves into becoming furniture he noticed that Denke was not there yet.
“Hey, where is Senior Chief?”
“I dunno,” slurred Delgado, “but I saw him on the way over and he said that he’d be late.
They were all in the backyard smoking cigars and drinking Ash’s porch wine when Denke finally arrived. He peeked his head through the sliding glass door.
“Hey fellas, come in here a second.”
As they all filed into the Jascinski living room they looked at two green kit bags in the middle of the floor. Immediately they knew what was in the bags.
“That’s T-Ball’s gear, ain’t it?” said Quinn.
“Yeah, it is,” said Denke. “Jeannie didn’t want it. I gave the wetsuit and other dive stuff to the Texas State Aquarium. This is all of his field gear. I didn’t want to throw it out.”
“Well, I don’t want any of it,” said Keating.
“I do,” responded Jazz.
He reached into the bag and pulled out a K-bar knife that Ball wore in the field and on the demo range. It had a leather pouch with his crimpers attached.
“I’ll keep this to remember him by.”
Jazz walked into his room and tossed the knife into his kit bag in the bottom of his closet. By the time he returned to the living room, the rest of T-Ball’s kit was divvied up and the drinking resumed. Jazz continued to play host. He kept himself busy lighting cigars, throwing away empties, and microwaving appetizers.
Ash kept forcing the white lightning on Jazz. Finally when Ash tried to pour another Jazz said, “I’m fine, Johnny. I’ve gotta beer.”
Ash grinned at him in an odd way.
“You hammered yet, LT?”
“Yeah, Ash, I’m toast,” he lied.
As his teammates slipped further and further into a stupor, the evening became surreal for Jazz. He noted that unlike him, the alcohol seemed to wash away the pain of losing a teammate for the other men of Det Four. Watching them become a little free of T-Ball made Jazz realize even more that he needed to remove the heavy weight created by Martin and West, De Luca and Koss, and now T-Ball. To make matters worse, Melanie was certainly going to leave him if he did not get out of the Navy.
Jazz was not sure how what the cure was. He wished that he could talk to the Admiral one more time and get a last morsel of advice. If only he had a knife like his father, an albatross that he could bring back to life so that it could fly away bearing his shame and failure.
After seeing the last of his teammates to the door Jazz found himself sitting on his bed, holding his father’s knife… or was it his knife? It sang as he drew it from its sheath.
Elena and her roommate had a delightful dinner. Frances took her to a fantastic French restaurant to help her forget about work. Elena could not remember the last time she felt so relaxed. She sipped the last of the second bottle of wine they consumed. Since ordering dessert, they said nothing, just enjoyed the evening. She smiled to herself thinking of the chocolate mousse about to emerge from the kitchen.
I’ve almost forgotten about Jazz.
Then Elena heard a “beep” coming from her bag. Frances immediately recognized the look on her face.
“Oh babe, no, don’t. Don’t answer it.”
“Relax. It’s probably the guys at the Jascinski place checking in.”
She pulled the phone from her purse.
“Cruz, here.”
“Elena, it’s Cam.”
“Good evening, Cameron. How are you?”
“Elena, listen to me. We just got the labs back on the Ingleside case.”
“Yes, and…”
“The explosives came from a naval magazine at Norfolk.”
“Cam, we always knew they were military.”
“Norfolk, Elena, Norfolk!”
In the Portland hotel, only Special Agent Kilkenney was awake. He sat at the window, peering at the Jascinski dwelling. Through the earphones on his head he could hear Jascinski snoring. He flipped a switch to the monitor in the kitchen.
From his peripheral vision he caught some movement. He looked at his watch; a midnight walker?
There was something about the man that he recognized. He flipped through the binder on the table next to him. That was it; it looked like one of the det members.
One of the boys coming back for another drink?
Elena hung up on Cam. She stood and pulled her wallet from her pocketbook.
“Elena, for God’s sakes sit down! What’s wrong?” Frances said.
She ignored her roommate’s lamentations and spilled the contents of her wallet onto the table. Money, receipts, scraps of paper, and business cards mixed like straw before her. Violently, she shuffled through them.
“Come on, come on. Where is it!”
In tune with Elena’s panic, Frances was visibly embarrassed. Elena ignored the stares that she did not see, but felt from the other patrons as she looked for Jascinski’s business card.
“Elena, I don’t understand. Let me help you.”
Though she found it in thirty seconds, it felt too late. She dialed the number on her cell phone.
Something interrupted Jazz’s sleep. He did not truly wake up, but he became conscious and opened his eyes. There was a ringing in his ears. Was it from the everclear? No… he did not have that much to drink.