Chapter 28

As the minutes ticked by, James found his attention span waning. He was grateful his shift was almost over, not only to be free of his Cobalt prison cell, but because he worried his wavering ability to focus could compromise the mission if he missed something important. Though, as he looked once more at the tally of cars that had gone by and still, only one pedestrian, he doubted there would be much to miss. That was, of course, the classic stakeout trap, and he knew it. Stakeouts were notorious for being comprised of nothing, then nothing, then more nothing, then all at once, a case is either made or blown. He’d never been on this type of stakeout before, but he’d done his fair share of sitting, watching, waiting, and reporting. Even with all his practice though, six hours is a long time to sit in a driveway. His mind began to wander first to pleasant, casual thoughts about what he intended to eat when his shift ended, then (and more importantly) what he intended to drink, but it wasn’t long before his mind slipped back down the rabbit hole of anxiety, nausea and self-loathing that was Honduras.

The message he’d gotten from Eve had been so invigorating at first, refreshing all the strong emotions he’d tried so hard to squelch. He missed her like he missed the feeling of summer; nearly impossible for him to articulate, even to himself, but he knew the feeling he had when she was with him, the warmth she provided him. He wondered if he missed her so desperately because she was the last, the only, good thing in his life. It was a silly concern. James may have been out of the dating game for a while, but he knew love. James loved Eve. There was no question anymore. Love is a powerful motivator, on par perhaps with hate, and James knew that despite his exhaustion, despite the importance of the task at hand, despite the agency, and anything else that might stand between the two of them, he needed her in his life and he’d do anything he could to get her there.

His phone vibrated on his lap, it was Jack again. There was fifteen minutes left in James’ shift and Jack was on deck to replace him. It would be too conspicuous for Jack to pull up in a car and simply replace James, so Jack arranged for another agent to park further down the street and keep an eye out while James took the Cobalt around the corner, debriefed, and switched cars with Jack. James felt a wave or relief wash over him as the longest, most boring six hours of his, as of late, rather exciting new job came to a close. He switched over to the driver’s seat of the car, started it up, and casually backed out, the taste of top shelf vodka already on his lips.

“You didn’t jerk off in there did you?” Jack asked as James pulled up alongside him in a nearby gas station.

“Nah, your mom wouldn’t send any pics,” James replied casually, “here’s your notebook back. It’s got the info on every car that came down the street, none stopped but a few rolled through pretty slowly.”

“Roger. Go get some rest brother, you’re back on in twelve hours.” Jack’s sincerity was worrisome. Or rather, it showed that he was worried about James.

“You bring snacks and stuff?” James asked as he reached back for the Gatorade bottle he’d filled halfway with urine.

“You kidding?” Jack climbed out of the car and reached back in for his pizza box.

“You bring the porn too?” James laughed.

“All up here, bro.” He tapped on the side of his head and walked around the two cars to take his seat in the Cobalt. James reciprocated by opening the driver’s door of the Lincoln Town Car Jack had arrived in and sitting down.

“Take it easy man, don’t work too hard.” James saluted from the seat of the Lincoln and Jack returned to the gesture. James turned the key and pulled out of the driveway, intent to find a bar between him and his new home in the hotel.

James arrived in his room a few hours later. He had hoped a few stiff drinks would wash away the steady stream of images of Honduras he’d been plagued with since he’d been in the Cobalt, but all it seemed to do tonight was make it worse. He dropped his keys on the floor near the desk and the clinging of metal on the ground surprised him. Get your shit together, you’re not that drunk, he scolded himself as he loosened his tie. He’d intended to shower and get to bed, knowing he’d have to be back on the street and ready for a new shift at ten the next morning, but alcohol and anguish are a funny fuel; he was anything but tired. He tapped at his pistol in its holster, a bad habit he was getting better about, then pulled the two nips of vodka out of the mini-fridge housekeeping had been good enough to restock. He grabbed a can of Coke, there was no Ginger Ale left, and stuffed them into his pockets and headed out the door for a late night stroll.

There was a painful separation between the crisp night air and his conscious mind, buried somewhere deep within the warm, stifling shroud of perception and self-indulgent misery. There was no way to know any more if the way he felt had anything to do with real hardship or if he was just drunk. Even Eve, the woman he longed for, was a source of pain. He hated himself for the position he had put her in, for the position he’d put himself in. He hated that he let his feelings for her cloud his judgment. He hated knowing that he might have been able to save the lives of all those people if he’d just been able to ignore the way Eve made him feel. Somehow, the one good thing that had happened to James Carter in over two years was the source of his most pure self-loathing. If only he could have done his job, he’d still be in Honduras reading newspapers and two thousand families would be whole. All it would have cost him was the woman he loved.

And he hated himself even more because he was happy he still had her.

He exhausted the two nips within minutes, and recognized the wave of intoxication as it washed over him as the barrier between operational buzz and downright drunk came and went. The cold night air was started to seep in through his wool coat and bite at him. Even through his drunken haze, he knew it would be best for him to go back inside. As he waited for the elevator to reach his floor, he decided to make the same mistake countless men had before when they’d had too much to drink too late at night: he was going to e-mail Eve. His synapses fired with excitement as he sped down the hallway and into his room; he’d tell her he loved her, he’d tell her he needed her, he’d tell her to come see him.

James woke up as the sun shining through the open blinds reached his face. He’d passed out on his laptop, which was now dead, and the headache pounding just behind his eyes with the rhythm of his heartbeat made him wish he was too. He knew he was drinking too much as he did it. Metabolizing alcohol is a simple, biological function and he’d thought he could out muscle science. He was wrong, and now he was nothing more than a taught drum, being beaten on by the poison of his preference. He rolled over, all he could do was hold the urine in and pray for unconsciousness to return to him. He’d never pissed his pants, despite all his drinking, but he silently decided he didn’t care if it happened now, if only he could sleep through the pain. Vodka, James realized, was bad for you. As he longed for sleep, or death, the part of his brain he hadn’t killed yet reminded him that he had a post to stand. Shit, he thought, what time is it? He rolled over once more and despite the strongest of objections from his eyes, managed to muscle one open in the direction of the alarm clock on the bed side table; it was seven thirty. He could still sleep for at least another hour. Thank you Lord, James prayed, I’ll build you a church tomorrow. As James drifted back to sleep, his last thoughts were that he should set the alarm.

James’ phone began to buzz on the desk. It was set to silent, but the plastic vibrating against the wood might as well have been a jack hammer to James’ dehydrated and still alcohol soaked brain. He raised his head and moaned in protest, but as he opened his eyes, the realization that he may have over slept overwhelmed his misery and he was up and out of bed before he could be sure what time it was. Fortunately, or perhaps tragically, it had only been forty minutes and James was in no better condition. He stumbled to the phone, the number on the caller ID wasn’t familiar, nor was it tied to a contact already in the phone. He swiped his finger across the bottom of it and answered in his best, most professional and sober voice.

“Hello?”

“Jimmy!” It was Eve. How did she get this number? What did he do last night? James panicked.

“Hang up the phone.” He spoke firmly and prayed she’d oblige without argument. To her credit, she did. He hurriedly redressed in last night’s suit and took off out the door. He skipped the elevator, opting to run down the three flights of stairs instead, then into the business center of the hotel where he found two empty computers, a fax machine and no phones. He ran around the corner to the front desk, which was currently unmanned, presumably because of the shift changeover, and grabbed the phone off the counter. He dialed the number on the caller ID of his phone, but it didn’t ring. Frustrated, he looked at the phone in disgust, as though it was conspiring against him and noticed a small white label on the handle: “Dial 9 to call out.” James almost smiled at the combination of his idiocy and good luck, before hitting nine and dialing once more.

“Hello?” It felt so good just to hear her voice.

“Eve… listen, I don’t know what I said to you last night… but this is serious.” James whispered into the phone, “You can’t call me.”

“I’m sorry… I just go so excited when you told me you wanted to meet. I know you said only to use it for emergencies, I promise I won’t do it again,” the concern in her voice cocooned him like a warm blanket. She was worried that he would be mad at her, as though he was even capable.

“I… I asked you to come here?” He stuttered.

“Yes James… you don’t remember? You e-mailed me and asked me to come…” Now the concern in her voice wasn’t over his feelings, but rather fear.

“I’m sorry, I was in a bad place last night. Listen…”

“I’m almost to the city, I just need to know where to meet you when I get there,” she interrupted. James froze. What the hell have I done?

“I’ll call you in thirty minutes with an address, okay?” He hoped that would be enough time to make a plan.

“Okay James… I love you.” He could feel her lips as they formed those words. Her breath on his neck.

“I love you too, Eve… and I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and headed back for the elevator. There would be no time for hangover’s this morning, which was a tragedy in its own right. There had been a holocaust in his head last night, and spending the day in solemn, silent, unconscious mourning would have been the only appropriate response. Sadly instead, a few cups of coffee and a handful of Motrin would have to do.

As he drove his Town Car down the street he kept his eyes peeled for a shady looking corner store: the type that sells the disposable, pre-paid cell phones drug dealers referred to as “burners.” He looked down at his watch, its beauty caught him off guard, a representation of this new world he was still such a stranger in. He never imagined feeling so foreign in his own country. He never imagined he’d be knee deep in a terrorist conspiracy while running around town looking for a way to communicate with a beautiful woman that loved him either. Some things about this new life, he considered, might seem pretty cool if there weren’t always so many lives hanging in the balance. Therein, he supposed, was the rub.

He parked his car in the handicapped spot in front of a small store called “Randy’s Bodega.” There was an assortment of bongs in the window, partially blocked by faded signs for their other services, which included cashing checks, buying gold, and payday loans. Perfect, James thought. Five minutes later he was back in the car, transcribing Eve’s phone number from his issued iPhone to his cheap, new phone. His head cooler now, he realized he couldn’t provide Eve with the address of his stakeout location (which he noted he had only forty five minutes to get to) nor could he direct her to the hotel. What the hell was I thinking? He asked himself as he hit send. He hoped a solution would present itself through conversation, but mostly, he just couldn’t wait to hear her voice.

“Hello?” There it was.

“Listen, I’m gonna be tied up for about six hours, I can’t really talk too much about it, but can you meet me after?” James jumped right into the conversation.

“Um, yeah… sure, it’s just that…”

“I know… I miss you too. I started missing you before I even took my eyes off of you, but it’s really the only way,” he was already pleading. Get a hold of yourself, he scolded himself internally.

“Okay James. I trust you. Where do you want to meet?” Her voice steadied. He smiled a little, knowing how hard she was trying, knowing how much he meant to her. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it was amazing.

“I’ll have more time to talk in a little while and I’ll call with details, okay?” He forced himself to calm down, there was nothing to panic about.

“Okay, I’m going to find somewhere to get some sleep in the meantime. I can’t wait to see you,” she sounded like his girlfriend in high school and it was damned endearing.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

“I love you too,” her sweet voice was pregnant with meaning; her feelings for him, her frustration and excitement, her exhaustion. She felt alive in a way James might never feel again; all of the intrigue with none of the soul crushing misery his profession provided. He hung up the phone and pressed it against his lips for a moment, considering the situation and his feelings for Eve. When this job was done, he’d leave the agency and they could be together. All of the intrigue, far less soul crushing, and a warm, shared bed. He closed his eyes for a second, granting himself the opportunity to see the future he longed for and quell the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him it could never be. It could, and he’d make it happen. His other phone vibrated in his pocket. Time to get to work.