“Mitch, I think I saw something the other day, heard something, that I wasn’t supposed to. I think I saw it, and someone saw me, and I can’t get it out of my head.” He stared at his brother, Mitch’s mouth opening and closing.
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah. It was the day you almost got whacked by that car. I left the commander’s office and went out to the beach. I started to come back but the grass is really tall right now and I was reminiscing.
“I went to get up and leave but heard some people arguing. Two people.”
“Okay. That’s happens,” said Mitchell.
“No, Mitch. It was Bora and Thompson. Bora said, verbatim, ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think. You find that fucking woman and kill her’.”
“Thompson replied, ‘She’s just a stupid fucking reporter, Jim. She doesn’t know a damn thing.’Bora then said, ‘she’s poking her nose into shit she doesn’t understand. But it’s my shit. Mine. If she finds out anything that happened in Bolivia, I’m fucked!’”
“Then Thompson said, ‘Fine. Fine. I’ll start looking for her. Sometimes you’re a fucking pussy for a Marine.’Then he just laughed. He laughed and I got up a few minutes later and walked in the opposite direction. But he saw me, Mitch. I could feel it. And the thing is, I think that happened before someone tried to hit you. I think they thought you were me.”
“Fuck, brother. It’s all good on timing. The commander said Bora wanted to see you. I left and almost got hit but that was after you had been there. Shit, shit, shit,” frowned Mitchell. “Who’s the woman?”
“I have no clue. I couldn’t stand it if he went after you for whatever it is he thinks I heard, Mitch.”
“Hey, superman,” smirked Mitchell. “I’m the same as you. Trained. We’ll figure this out. Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and grab some dinner.”
Brooks nodded as they stood, brushing as much sand from their asses as possible. When they reached the Jeep, they were surprised to see the woman that had almost hit them sitting in her car across the street, still crying.
“Damn. Something is really wrong with her,” said Brooks. “Hold on.”
He walked across the street and approached the car from the front. Holding up both hands, he stepped to the driver’s side window and lightly tapped.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said sniffling.
“No offense, ma’am, but women don’t cry like that when they’re okay. Can I help with something? Change a tire? Call a tow?” he asked.
“No, no,” she said shaking her head. He looked over at her passenger seat and saw a notebook with a lot of chicken scratch on it that he didn’t recognize and couldn’t read.
What he did recognize, what slammed him in the face were three names. Bora. Thompson. Granger.
She looked up and saw the recognition on his face and immediately tried to close the window.
“Nope,” he said reached in and opening the door.
Mitchell watched his brother and knew something was wrong. He never acted so forcefully with a woman.
“Damn,” he muttered running toward them. “Brooks? What are you doing?”
“Look at the notebook,” he said to his brother, holding the driver’s door open.
“Oh, God, you’re with him aren’t you?”
“With who?” asked Brooks.
“Don’t be coy. You see the names. He’s got men at my apartment. They’ve been following me everywhere. I can’t get ahold of my editor. No one is available to help me.”
“We are,” said Mitchell staring at his brother. Brooks took in a deep breath and nodded.
“I think you and I are caught in the same pit,” said Brooks. “Get everything of value out of your car.”
“Why?”
“You’re coming with us,” he said reaching for her hand.
