Noble Intentions: Season Three (14 page)

“The way things ended. You mean you
telling me ‘Sorry babe, I gotta run’?”

“I never said that. I’d never call
you babe.”

She laughed and the tension between
them melted, the equivalent of an inch off an iceberg.

“How long will you be in town?” she
asked.

“I don’t…” Jack paused, rubbed his
chin. “Not long, I don’t think at least.”

“Oh well, probably for the best.
We’re getting ready to take off for a few days.”

“Where are you—”

The door opened and both Erin and
Jack turned their heads toward the sound.

“This is—”

“Hannah,” Jack finished Erin’s
sentence. The girl that had occupied the seat next to him for six hours on a
plane, then later a cab, was unmistakable. The fact that she showed up in the
house had him wondering if her story on the flight had been a cover.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” Erin
said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We sat next to
each other on the flight over.”

“What a small world,” Hannah said.
“How do you know Erin?”

Jack smiled and looked toward Erin,
who blushed. He said, “Long story. I’m actually here on a visit to Dottie, who
I’m guessing is your employer?”

“Yeah, sure is.” Hannah smiled
wide. “And I should probably go see if she needs me to do anything before we
leave.”

As she left, the door opened once
again. A young girl stepped inside. She wore a yellow and white checkered sun
dress with blue buttons and a fake carnation sewn in just below the right
shoulder. The outfit complimented her blond hair and blue eyes. Jack figured
she was five. And shy. She avoided looking at Jack directly and took cover
behind Erin. Her small arms threaded around Erin’s right thigh.

“Mummy,” the girl said. “Who is
this?”

“You’re a mother?” Jack said.

Erin smiled, shrugged, lifted her
eyebrows.

“So, you’re married then?” He
dropped his gaze to her waist, looking for her left ring finger.

“No,” she said.

“Mia.”

Jack turned and saw Dottie standing
at the kitchen door.

She said, “Come in here, Mia. Let
your mother talk with her friend.”

They waited while the little girl
skipped toward the kitchen. Before she reached Dottie, she looked back and
smiled at Jack. Then just as quickly, turned around and bolted past her
great-aunt.

“So, that’s my daughter, Mia.”

“She’s adorable.”

“Yes, she is.”

“What is she, five?”

“She’s quite the character.”

“I bet. Probably acts just like
you. Looks like you. You probably know that.”

“Mostly.”

“She doesn’t have your eyes.”

“She has her father’s eyes.”

“Who was her father?”

“She likes the park, playing
football, soccer that is. Natural athlete, like her father. She’s faster than
all the boys, even the ones two or three years older. She plays soccer against
kids three years older than her. You believe that?”

Jack smiled, said nothing.

“She’s not five. She’s six. Six and
a half, actually.”

Jack said nothing. His smile faded.
He took a step back.

“I didn’t know,” Erin said. “When
we had that stupid argument, I barely remember what was said anymore. I guess
something along the lines of not being able to be with a man who did the things
you did. Jack, I was scared, that’s all. I had no idea it would send you away.
And I didn’t know then. I didn’t know about her. If I had, things would have
been different.”

“This…I…What?” His heart beat
inside his chest faster than he ever recalled. He’d faced down armed men, been
captured, tortured, beaten. Nothing had ever frightened and excited him as much
as this moment. Chills raced down his spine. The flesh of his arms and thighs
prickled. Tears swallowed up his eyes.

“She was born seven months after
you left.”

“She’s…?”

“Yes, Mia is your daughter, Jack.”

“Bear?”

Bear looked up from the book in his
lap and smiled at Mandy. “Yeah?”

“How much longer are we gonna stay
here?”

He shared the girl’s frustration at
being cooped up in the small motel room. When they’d left D.C., he had every
intention of heading north. But a gut instinct told him drive south and go
someplace he’d never been. Four hours into the trip, he made a random right
turn. Now, they were an hour east of Memphis, Tennessee. He had no idea how
long they’d stay, or where they’d go next. He didn’t want to touch any of his
bank accounts. Not yet. Not until he was sure they were in the clear. And that,
he knew, could take some time.

Bear knew where he wanted to go,
though. Paris. Back to Kat’s.

“Please tell me?” Mandy mocked a
pout.

“I don’t know,” Bear said. “As long
as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?”

He wanted to answer truthfully. But
he couldn’t open himself up to anyone like that, least of all an eleven year
old girl.

“It,” he said. “Didn’t you hear me?
Got wax in your ears?”

“Whatever.” Mandy turned her back
to him and resumed playing on the Game Boy he’d purchased for her in
Charlottesville.

He flipped his book open, found the
right page, but disruption interfered in the form of shouts outside his door.

“What the hell is that?” he said,
rising from his chair. He glanced at his watch. Not even eight in the morning
yet. He stepped between the two queen beds, slid open the nightstand drawer,
retrieved his pistol. He tucked the handgun into the waistband of his khaki
cargo shorts then adjusted his Hawaiian shirt so it covered the handle while
still allowing him quick access.

“What’s the matter?” Mandy said.
“Who is that?”

“I want you to walk behind me. But
when you get to the bathroom, go inside and shut and lock the door.”

“Bear, you’re scaring me.”

He knelt, dipped his head, made eye
contact at her level. “It’s probably nothing, sweetie. Just being extra
careful. OK?”

“OK,” she said.

He knew she had put on her brave
face for him. Sometimes he wondered if being around her helped the girl. He
feared that the situations he put her in would do more to mess her up later in
life. Maybe she’d be better off at a boarding school in France or Switzerland
or wherever people send their kids when they have too much money and not enough
patience.

Bear started toward the door, Mandy
in tow. She clutched his left hand. He felt her breath, hot and quick, against
his forearm. He glanced to his right, at the mirror, and saw her reaching for
his shirt tail with one hand. There was a slight tug downward when she grabbed
hold of it. He stopped in front of the bathroom, looked over his shoulder.

“All right, go in,” he whispered.

She nodded, said nothing. Her small
frame slipped out from behind him and disappeared into the bathroom. Most kids
would have flung the door closed, oblivious to their surroundings. But not
Mandy. Bear had taught her well. She carefully closed the door and turned the
handle so that the latch didn’t make a sound.

Good girl,
thought Bear.

He crossed the remaining five feet
in a couple steps, turned sideways at the waist. The voices outside rose. He
cupped his hand to the door and placed his ear to his hand.

“I’m tired of your crap, Stevie,”
one man said. “I want my friggin’ money, and I want it now.”

“I don’t have it,” Stevie said. “I
need another week, Don.”

“That’s what you said two weeks
ago,” Don said. “Yet here I am, still three large short.”

The words and cadence were the same
as he would hear in New York. The accents were full of southern twang, the
words drawn out. This amused Bear. He found himself smiling despite the
uncertainty of the situation.

He slid his foot to the left. His
large frame followed. He positioned his right eye in front of the peephole.
Normally, he would not have done this. The moment his face crossed in front of the
small hole, it would darken on the outside, alerting anyone there to his
presence. However, he felt sure that the men on the other side of the door were
nothing more than common hood rats.

And Bear was a professional
exterminator when it came to that kind of vermin.

One man stood tall, loose, relaxed.
He leaned his elbow and forearm against the weathered wooden railing, crossed
his left leg over his right. He gestured a lot with his right hand as he spoke.
His hair was dark, slicked back. He wore imitation designer sunglasses. After
years in New York, Bear could spot them from twenty feet away. This guy was
Don.

The other guy, Stevie, stood four
feet away, just out of Don’s reach. He alternated from the balls of his feet to
his heels, like he was ready to take off in a sprint. His hair was short,
thinning, brown. His face was thin, the skin covering it pocked and scarred. He
squinted against the bright sunlight. Bear figured that since the guy couldn’t
afford to pay his buddy back, Stevie must have figured it best to not wear his
imitation designer sunglasses around Don.

Bear noticed one more thing. Stevie
had had a bulge above the rear of his left hip. His left index and middle
fingers twitched non-stop.

Bear cursed under his breath.

He flicked the security lock. It
swung from right to left with a tiny squeak. He cracked the door open. The
chatter on the other side stopped. Both men turned their heads toward him. He
placed his mouth close to the gap. Turned his head to the side in an attempt to
keep it out of sight.

“You guys mind taking your argument
somewhere else?” he said.

“Screw you,” Don said. “Close your
goddamn door before I smash your face with it.”

Bear shut the door. Took a step
back. Clenched his fists.

The door muffled the sound of Don’s
laughter. The guy managed to stop long enough to say, “That guy’s more of a
pussy than you are, Stevie.”

Bear walked toward the back of the
room. He bounced around and shook his hands, like a fighter preparing for a
match. But in this case, Bear was trying to calm down. He promised himself that
he’d change. He needed to leave his old ways behind. He knew that. Straight was
the only way forward. Petty incidents like this would only serve to get him
into trouble.

But he couldn’t shake the guy’s
smug voice from his head.

“Screw that punk.”

He bolted for the door, whipped it
open.

Both men turned, wide eyed. Bear
dwarfed them.

“I told you to take it somewhere
else.”

Don shook his head and reverted
back to form. “You must really want me to smash your head against the door.”

Bear stepped forward. He stood
inches from the man, towered over the guy. “Listen runt, I can do more than
smash your face in. I can give you two solid weeks of pain so intense you’ll
wish I’d simply pulled a trigger and ended your pathetic little life.”

Don didn’t back down. He shoved
Bear in the chest.

The big man didn’t budge. He cocked
his right arm back, poised to strike.

“Bear?”

Mandy.

Bear unclenched his fists, held his
hands out in front of him. He took a step back, shook his head at Don, and continued
backward into the hotel room.

The fear on Don’s face faded. A
smile replaced the grimace he wore moments ago. He said, “Damn pussy.”

It took everything he had for Bear
to close the door.

“What happened?” Mandy said.

“What are you doing outside of the
bathroom?” Bear said. He clasped his shaking hands together.

“I heard you stomping by, and the
door whip open, and yelling. I was scared.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep
breath, exhaled slowly. He knew Mandy had been frightened throughout the
ordeal. As scared as she looked at that moment, he knew it had to be three
times worse while hiding behind the door.

“OK,” Bear said. “Look, it’s going
to be OK. Just a couple guys having an argument out there. They’ll be gone in
a—”

BOOM!

“Son of a bitch,” Bear yelled. He
pushed Mandy into the bathroom and pulled the door closed. A second shot rang
out. Bear pulled his pistol. He lunged toward the door and pulled it open
instead of checking through the peephole first.

Stevie stood over Don’s wriggling
body. He aimed the gun at Don’s head.

“You just couldn’t wait, could ya?
You had to go and threaten my sister. Well, fuck you, Don.”

Don stammered, pleaded for his
life. He didn’t appear to be able to use his arms or legs. He had no chance of
escaping. Stevie stepped forward stood over the man’s chest. He leaned over,
grabbed the back of Don’s head with his left hand, placed the barrel of his
pistol on the guy’s forehead.

Don tried to lift his arms,
couldn’t. He had no control over his limbs. Electrical impulses caused his body
to convulse. Bear figured one of the bullets severed the guy’s spine.

Stevie pulled the trigger a third
time. Blood and brain and skull exploded and hovered in the air like a mushroom
cloud. Bear felt it coat the exposed skin of his hands and arms and legs.

“Son of a bitch,” Bear said.

Stevie turned the gun on him. It
shook in the guy’s hands.

“You don’t want to do this,” Bear
said.

The faint sound of sirens grew
louder. Stevie swiveled his head around, looked up and down the walkway, over
the railing at the parking lot, out at the road.

“Just run, man,” Bear said.

Stevie dropped his pistol and took
off running. He made it halfway down the stairs, then hopped over the railing.
He collapsed on the ground, stayed there for a minute, then got up. The sirens
grew louder, but Bear couldn’t see the police cruisers yet. Stevie jumped into
a 1980s Firebird or Trans Am. The vehicle roared to life. It darted forward,
then whipped around in a semi-circle, kicking up dust and smoke and bits of
gravel as it peeled out of the parking lot.