HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent) (4 page)

“Exactly,” Dennis confirmed. “There is one more thing. We’ve had reports from inside sources in the community about a cell operating in Fremont.”

“Using Samira as cover, I might hear something since no one will know I speak a few different dialects.” I take a sip of my lukewarm coffee, mulling over the job.

“The girl’s nearly twenty now. We don’t want you-”

“You need to get this clown some life insurance with you as the beneficiary, Dennis,” I cut Ben off.

Dennis grinned. “I’m thinking about it. We’ll send you a new satellite phone and computer notebook with satellite uplink. All data we get you get. You recon the spots Ms. Karim will be speaking at and tell us where you want our people situated. Any cosmetic changes in accommodations, call Ms. Connagher. Her firm will handle them. Do we have a deal, John?”

“I have a choice?” I perk up, all happy faced. Dennis laughs.

“We all have choices, John,” Dennis points out after chortling for a few seconds. “Of course your country might need to call up a few Marine reserve troops to bolster our presence in Afghanistan. You knowing the language and all might put your name at the top of the list.”

“Of course if there was such a call up, I’d have to devote all my time to the Marine Corps. I would then forego anymore liaisons with certain agencies which will go unnamed. It might be a great tradeoff. You know, Denny, now that I think-”

“Fine… fine, you want the job or not? I’ll give you the choice.”

“What?” Ben’s upset. He launches out of his chair, leaning down to get in Strobert’s face. “You don’t have the juice to offer choices. Harding does the fuckin’ job or we ship his ass over to East Bumfuck, Afghanistan.”

Dennis takes out his cell-phone and connects with someone. “I tried to be reasonable. Tell Reddig here what rung on the ladder he is in relation to John Harding.”

Dennis hands the phone to Ben, all smiles. Reddig takes the phone and turns away. We all hear him muttering yes sir’s into the phone. He then hands it back to Dennis. Red-faced, Reddig turns on me, poking his right index finger in my face.

“This ain’t over by a long shot, Harding!”

I stand up. Dennis catches a glimpse of my face and hops up out of his chair too, hands moving in placating fashion. Tess also moves out of her chair and backs away toward the sink.

“That’s enough,” Dennis says. “Let’s go, Ben.”

“Sit down and finish your coffee, Denny,” I tell him without taking my eyes off Benny boy. “I’ll walk Benjy to your car and let him have a go on the way.”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Dennis grumbled, sitting back down. “Don’t kill him, John.”

“Walk out front. Pick a spot you won’t get too dirty falling down on,” I tell Ben. “I’ll be right out.”

Ben throws a straight right hand at me. I catch it in my left. He throws a left hook. I catch that one in my right. I have Reddig locked in position across the table. He figures out he can’t move or break my grip - then I start squeezing. The rage on his face turns into tight lipped pain in seconds as small crackling noises start issuing from his wrists.

“John…” Dennis says, watching the set-to with professional interest.

I hear Tess gasping for breath in the background. I release Reddig. He falls back in his chair, holding his arms up like a surgeon waiting for a nurse to put gloves on his hands. Ben weakly works his fingers, staring up at me in disbelief.

“Still want some?” I give him an out. It’s been a long night.

Ben looks down and shakes his head no. He ain’t as dumb as he looks. Dennis mouths a thank you and helps Ben to his feet.

“We’ll be in touch. Think on it, John. We need you on this,” Dennis tells me. “Goodnight, Ms. Connagher.”

“Goo…goodnight,” Tess stammers.

“I’ll need some warning. I know you won’t want to advertise too soon but can you give me some time to recon the sites?”

“Would a week be enough between speaking engagements?” Dennis asks from the front door.

“Barely.”

“I’ll have a package for you tomorrow through Ms. Connagher.”

Chapter Three

Ishmael Ali Returns

Dennis closes the door behind him. Midnight runs to the door after it shuts pouncing sideways at it as if he chased the visitors out. Tess goes over to her sink and pulls a bottle of Jack Daniel’s out from the cupboard below while I sit back down. She takes a glass down from the cupboard left of the sink and pores herself a double. Tess gulps the Jack down like a happy hour hooker. She looks at me questioningly as she pours another.

“Want one?”

“No thanks.” I do my best thinking when I’m clear headed. “How long you been watching me for them?”

“Since the time I slept with you,” Tess admitted, sipping her Jack. I’m happy she knows better than to lie. “They were mad I wasn’t seeing you anymore. The firm came up with the idea to sign you to a contract.”

“So you keep tabs on me while the firm stays in the good graces of our government… sweet.”

“I’m sorry, John.” Tess looks at me, her eyes starting to glaze a little.

I get up. “No harm done. I’ll call a cab.”

“No!” Tess is up and moving around the table to grab my arm. “Don’t go. You can stay tonight.”

“Sorry.” I grin down at Tess while gripping her shoulders gently. “I’m not staying tonight. When you get my package leave it with Tommy or wait for me tomorrow night after the fight. It’s in the same place as tonight. Can I use your phone?”

She’s pissed, but hands me the kitchen phone. I know Yellow Cab’s number by heart. They tell me ten minutes. I tell them I’ll be out front. Midnight tries to block my way. I give him a good roughing up, leaving him purring on his back. Tess hurriedly pours herself another and follows me out front.

“I know why you didn’t tell me a lot about your background now,” Tess tells me, as she sips her drink, shifting from one foot to the other.

“It appears you’ve known my background for quite awhile. Take some advice, Tess. Don’t let Dennis talk you into gigs like the one tonight. If your firm does an up and up legal consulting service for the government then there’s no harm done. Don’t let it get beyond that.”

“Why would you care?” Tess asks me with a little more attitude than necessary. I figure the Jack she’s chugalugged since our visitors left is behind it.

“I care if something happens to you, Tess,” I reply truthfully.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You thought that the night those guys took you into the alley too. I’m trying to tell you the same hard put down could happen if you’re not careful with Dennis and his little section of the government.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve!” Tess pokes me with her right index finger for emphasis, barely avoiding a drink spill from her left. “You go out street brawling as a hobby and I’m the daredevil idiot?!”

“Think it through, Tess. My livelihood depends on staying sharp. Chances are I won’t die in the street, but if-”

“Blah… blah… blah…” Tess cuts me off. “You do it for kicks when you probably have enough skills to make six figures a year without getting your head busted.”

“You win, Tess.” I turn away to face the street, hoping the cab gets here soon.

“Nailed you, huh?” Tess lets the liquor add smugness to her attitude.

“Actually… you’re getting funnier with every remark. I’m afraid if I start laughing, you’ll get even more pissed off.”

“Why you arrogant worm!”

I start laughing. Yellow Cab arrives a moment later.

“Goodnight, Tess.” I slid into the cab’s backseat like I was entering the getaway car from a bank heist.

“John… wait… I…” Tess is trying to come up with a coherent thought. I just wave and the cab pulls away.

I have a few problems to work out now. Allowing Tess to complicate them will not be one of the options. Samira’s being used, but I serve only one master. My country takes care of me. I take care of my country. Sometimes I have to adjust the attitudes of people working for my country in relation to what I’ll do for them. Everything has flaws. If I can keep Samira alive, while getting info on a terrorist cell, made up of guys who shouldn’t have been allowed in America to begin with, then great, sign me up. The fact the idiots I’m working for think nothing of involving civilians and law firms in our business probably makes sense to somebody. Last, but not least, the thought has crossed my mind maybe one of the geniuses higher up has decided me and Samira are expendable for a greater cause. That doesn’t work for me. Shipping out to Afghanistan for another tour is starting to be more appealing.

The cab pulls up in front of my little three bedroom place on Lyon Avenue in Oakland. Tommy’s the only one ever been here. I make pretty good money with much of it socked away in case I have to disappear. I don’t spend it on places I sleep. I tip the cabbie good and get out. Even Tommy kids me about living in the demilitarized zone of East Oakland. It’s not so bad. My neighbors leave me alone. The place suits me. I own an old 1979 Chevy Malibu which nobody bothers. I keep anything of value locked in a safe up in the crawl space attic.

Some of my neighbors had trouble with break-ins which the Oakland PD didn’t seem to think amounted to much. They know who does all the stuff but they don’t have the backing to do anything about it. I don’t care much for the PD’s let bygones be bygones outlook so I did some detective work. It didn’t take me long to find out what bunch of lowlifes were pulling the jobs. I found out where the leader slept. I sliced and diced him and left a note for the rest to stay away from my area pinned on his chest. No more neighborhood problems. I have a couple weaknesses. I like music and a few TV shows so I have a nice 1080P LCD TV on the wall set up with a first class sound system and Blu-Ray disc player. It would be disappointing coming home and finding I no longer had them.

Tomorrow’s Friday, still a workday. I’m expecting even my questionable neighborhood to be quiet. Unfortunately, tonight was just not my night. A six pack of mixed race goons are waiting for me on the sidewalk. I see a few of my neighbors peeking out their doors and windows. I grin appreciatively. One of the guys is Ishmael Ali. He’s such an idiot. I don’t know how he got out but the last place the moron should be is here. I wave.

“Hi, guys. What’s up?”

“Told you I’d come for you, Harding,” Ali tells me. “We goin’ to teach you some respect.”

“Should’ve tried this with a rifle, Ish.” I shake my head while moving in closer. They may think I want to keep my distance. I don’t.

“Harding… John Harding…” one of the guys says. He backs out of the semicircle with his hands out in placating fashion. “I’ve seen him fight over on the wharf. I got no beef with him, partner. Unless you plan on shooting him, you better step off.”

“I got that…” the guy next to him says, reaching under his shirt.

I move in real quick. My short right drops him like he was hit by a car while I wrench his Glock nine mil out with my left. Spinning around, I’m suddenly holding the nine mil on them. They’re all getting second thoughts, even Ali. Of course that won’t do him any good. He should’ve taken my Dad’s address and tried settling up with him. One way or another, Ali will not be looking over my shoulder again. I show them the business end of the nine mil.

“What’d you guys plan to do in front of my house?” I’m curious. “Did you all figure to have a group stomp?”

“We… we wasn’t thinkin’,” the guy who’d seen me fight said.

“Anybody else packin’? Pull up the shirts and spin around, especially you, Ish.”

They do what I say. Ali’s on the verge of a meltdown. I guess his unconscious buddy still sleeping on the sidewalk didn’t make an impression.

“Big man… holdin’ us down the barrel,” Ali says.

My easy going nature is gone. I don’t like this punk. I pop the clip out and clear the chamber. I heave the clip before tossing the Glock to the one who saw me fight.

“Hold this,” I tell him. “I play this straight if the rest of you keep your hands where I can see them. Anybody else takes a hand and I’ll have to open up. We clear?”

The guys look down at their unconscious comrade and then over at the seething Ali. They’re looking at each other for confirmation when the one who knows me nods in compliance.

“I’m cool with that. You want this man, brother, here’s your chance,” he tells Ali.

Ali is so mad he’s dancin’ on his feet. This guy really wants me.

“Come get some, Ish.” I beckon him on with my hands.

It’s over in seconds. I’m not playing anymore. Ali throws the first punch. I slip under and behind him. His neck snaps with the sickening sound of life leaving its host. I’m pumped, because frankly… I don’t give a shit. I drop the punk and step away from the still twitching body. One of my neighbors called the cops. I hear sirens drawing near. I hear the sound of a chopper too. Some of the guys are ready to bolt.

“If you guys run they’ll probably stop you.” I turn to the guy holding his friend’s Glock. “Better put the piece on the sidewalk. Just tell the PD the truth.”

The guy looks at the Glock like he didn’t know how it ended up in his hand. He drops it. The friend I dusted is groaning and sitting up. I hold my hands up. The others follow my lead as three squad cars drive up. The cops exit the first squad car, guns drawn, and their backups do the same. I know the two cops in the first car. One is Earl Taylor. Earl and I were in the Corps at the same time. He starts laughing when he recognizes me, his white teeth gleaming in contrast to his nearly ebony skin. Earl puts his piece away. He moves over to get a closer look at Ali’s body, still chuckling.