WES
I rolled over in near darkness, noting the sliver of light coming from the hallway just as the bedroom door shut. I’d woken earlier when Patsy had snuck quietly into his own bedroom to use the bathroom. It’d taken me a few seconds to remember where I was. But then everything had come rushing back to me when I realized I was lying in a bed smelling of clean sheets, cuddled up under warm covers rather than freezing half to death in my car. That’d happened way too many times over the last year to ever get easier. It was even worse in summer when it felt horrible to keep the windows rolled up and the day’s heat trapped in the car since it didn’t feel safe leaving them open.
The worst thing about being homeless was wondering what the hell I should be doing all day long. Not having a job when I was used to being a mathematician, which challenged my brain every day, was terrible. Instead, I found out that the only kinds of jobs available to me while I went on job interviews, were the labor-intensive ones. That kind of work came with its own set of problems. Being filthy from doing inventory in an old warehouse or sorting electronic components in a fire sale, which I’d done at one such Labor Ready call out, hadn’t been the problem. I never had an issue with doing what had to be done.
The problem came when keeping clean or showering regularly wasn’t an option and I was sure it was why so many homeless people couldn’t find work. It had truly opened my eyes to the plight of the unhoused. Keeping clothing washed and cleaned when there was no place clean to store it, was another problem with job interviews and I was more fortunatethan many, at least having a vehicle. I constantly worried that it would be towed, though, which is why I’d put up with the verbal abuse I’d endured from cops who’d rather lookpastme thanatme. They’d much rather label me as a troublemaker or be suspicious of my mental health, than treat me as all humans deserved to be treated and allow me dignity.
Cops and working folks thought homeless folks were disgusting, unable to look beyond what we smelled like or how old our clothes were. In my case, I wasn’t homeless for the lack of trying to find work. I sat awake nights praying for the chance to work again. I supposed my work ethic had been built into me from an early age. When I’d been a kid, I’d helped my father out with building projects. The summer I turned fourteen, he’d decided the only way to stop my mother from nagging about her lack of a third bedroom, was to add one to the house. My father—a draftsman—drew the plans, had them approved by the city, and hired me for a few dollars an hour to help him build it.
I wasn’t very good at it, but I’d never felt so accomplished after we’d finished. I’d also saved up a hell of a lot of money since Dad had worked me from dawn to dusk every day but Sunday. My mother insisted we take the day off for Mass.
At first, I’d really resented spending time away from my friends which I thought I was entitled to, as would most American teenagers. Plus my mom’s assessment that it would be character building just pissed me off. But about halfway through the project, I’d realized how much I was enjoying the work of what was basic engineering even though I was already leaning toward being a pure mathematician.
Of course, I was a big kid even at fourteen and gratefully accepted a second sandwich and bag of chips from my mom when Dad and I took a break for lunch. That summer also taughtme how to save money, which was how I’d eventually ended up paying for college along with scholarships.
I stayed in Patsy’s bed as I heard him moving around outside the bedroom and didn’t get up until I heard the front door shut. I padded to the door and gingerly opened it, poking my head out to make sure I’d heard right. I wasn’t sure why I’d pretended like I was asleep after I woke up, but it probably had something to do with how hard my dick had become just thinking about the smaller man with his Irish accent.
I wanted to ask him questions just so I could hear him answer. I’d met lots of guys with accents but there was something so adorable about the way Patsy talked. I was sure I could listen to him for hours and hours. Perhaps taking him up on his offer wasn’t such a bad idea, but the last thing I wanted to do was to overstay my welcome, especially when I wanted to endear myself to the man, not make him sick and tired of me.
I walked out into the living room wearing only the boxers and undershirt I’d slept in and squatted down to start digging through the boxes on the floor. It wasn’t until I started moving that I remembered I’d been shot as the pain rippled through my arm making me groan.
The bandage still looked clean and intact, and I decided to leave it alone. I finished grabbing clean clothes and walked over to the table where I’d left two bottles of medication. One held pain pills I didn’t want to take, and the other was filled with antibiotics I knew Ihadto finish. I shook one of the antibiotics out and walked over to the refrigerator, hoping to find some juice. The minute I opened it, I spotted an extra-large, bright pink Post-It note stuck to a container.
This is the chili we had last night, Wes. Feel free to heat it up or make yourself a sandwich. Bread’s in the freezer and lunchmeat is down there.
There was an arrow pointing to a drawer which, sure enough, was stuffed with all kinds of lunchmeat and a couple of choices of sliced cheese including my favorite, Swiss. I grinned. I’d loved eating Swiss cheese since I was a little guy with fingers small enough to poke through the natural holes made by bacteria producing gas during the fermentation process.
I found a pitcher of orange juice and poured myself a glass to take my pill before sneaking a slice of Swiss. I greedily folded the whole thing into my mouth and headed straight to the bathroom with my clothes and toothbrush. I made up the bed and took another hot bath—since they’d been few and far between of late—then headed straight back to the fridge again.
I felt guilt wash over me as I pondered Patsy’s kind offer to stay with him until I was back on my feet. He didn’t even know me, but he somehow trusted me to be a good man. He was a law enforcement officer…hell, he was an FBI agent. Why would he put so much stock in me? Did Patsy have some sort of agenda I wasn’t aware of? I didn’t think so. I was most probably overthinking everything. I was a man used to dealing in logic and hard facts.
One of my professors had hovered over me as I squinted at a book trying to understand linear transformations and vector spaces.“Study hard, Chaudry. It’ll all add up in the end.”I’d laughed the pun off at the time, and found out later, he’d been right.
I hoped he was right in this situation also. Would Patsy Good add up? I shook my head, logically knowing time would tell…if I stayed here long enough to figure the man out…and there Iwas again, overthinking everything. I shoved all thoughts aside and pulled out a couple of eggs, frying them, knowing I needed more than juice and a slice of cheese on my stomach with the antibiotics.
I didn’t want to feel like I was taking advantage of Patsy’s hospitality so when I was finished, and had cleaned up, I made a cup of coffee, taking it with me to the kitchen table. I stood staring down at the stack of magazines we’d pushed aside to eat the night before. Glancing around the rest of the living room, an idea formed in my mind. I grinned, knowing exactly what I was going to occupy myself with the rest of the day.
PATSY
Mars drove our BearCat into the staging area a block away from the house three hours later. He parked in the back of the big DIY store’s car park, well away from other cars, sheltered by huge trees; it would draw little attention. Candy met us at the back with Lincoln Snow, looking us over as our boots hit asphalt.
“Let’s make it quick,” Candy said. “As we discussed, Snow’s team is already in unmarked vehicles with a sightline to the house. They’ll go in and make arrests as soon as you’ve cleared the house and have the suspects subdued. Remember the most important thing.”
“There’s no I in team!” we all shouted.
Candy smiled as he nodded. “Good. You all know what to do, but if you have further questions, ask them now.” He glanced around, and I followed suit, looking at my brothers. No one else seemed to have any queries. Candy had laid out the plan back at the office, going over all possible contingencies, and we’d all been allowed to have input on where to set up and how toproceed. Still, there was one thing that hadn’t been addressed. I cleared my throat.
“What about the media, Captain? Someone’s bound to tip them off to the raid.”
Candy wore a pensive look as he glanced in my direction. “I hold out very little hope that at least some of our actions won’t be caught on cell cameras and draw media attention, Good, but that’s not your problem. All you have to worry about is doing your duty, but should you somehow come into contact with the media after the Op, remain professional…the way you always do.”
“Media attention is unavoidable, Captain Sorensen,” SAC Donovan Bradley said as he walked up to us. “Leave the vultures to me.” He shook Candy and Snow’s hands before glancing around the lot and then back at us. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you this morning, Captain.”
The boss straightened. “Not at all, sir.”
Bradley nodded. “I have a feeling it’s going to blow up as soon as people figure out what’s going on. The last thing I want you worrying about is the media. Just catch those bastards.”
“Will do, SAC.” Candy nodded sharply before turning back to us. “Let’s go.”
