December 2019 – John Settger

(The holiday season looms. My posting frequency may be erratic through the end of the year. It is so good to be my own boss on this. I will try for something different on the next post. There is such a thing as too much casserole)

The drive took us off the main highway and onto a secondary road until noon. We were in the heart of farm country and the world suddenly seemed far away. Mal took a side road for several minutes, coming to a place called Bhrycal Corners, with all of an independent gas station, family restaurant and antique shop to differentiate it from any other country crossroad. Mal slowed and pulled into the gas station.

“This doesn’t look much like a meeting place,” I observed.

“No,” Mal said, getting out of the car. “We could use some gas and more food, though.”

The meeting was clearly some time into the future. I didn’t object. After gassing the car, Mal parked and insisted we try the local cuisine. The Quiet Corners Family Restaurant was true to its name, we were the only guests and it was not yet one o’clock. The menu was limited but Mal found a way to order a feast. An appetiser of cheesy garlic bread was followed with a hot turkey sandwich and an order of apple pie for desert. I was hungry enough to order a similar quantity of food.

“It always makes me sad to see places like this,” she said while stirring the sugar into her coffee. “The people work hard to build a business, even out in the boondocks, and it too often sits empty. The owners don’t want to make a million dollars, they only want to make a decent living. Sad.”

Her attempt at chit chat felt forced, awkward. I didn’t care much for talking when I only wanted to find out more about why I was being called in, and what was wrong with Corbin. Mal did not take the hint, or chose to ignore it.

“I hope places like this last forever,” Mal went on. “It’s not fair that they go out of business and fail. There must be a way to fix that, you know?”

“Places like this tend to fail because they are not properly planned or managed,” I said, anxious for the silence of our car trip. “I could care less if they make it or not. Not my problem.”

“Charming,” Mal said, flashing her smile for the first time in a while. “You should write a motivational column or something.”

“I’m not feeling very chatty,” I grumbled. “This was not how my day was supposed to go.”

“Ah, yes. You were supposed to go back to your boss and make a delivery; a worthy use of your skills and responsible contribution to society. Somehow, I am not bothered about disturbing your day.”

“You can spare me the crap about doing the world a favour,” I said, feeling resentful again. “I did enough. All I wanted was a full extraction, and they couldn’t do it, so I left. It’s a free country, the last time I checked.”

“Then why didn’t you take a labour job? Or anything other than crime?” Mal rose to the challenge.

“Because labour jobs that pay well don’t exist, and the pension the program offers doesn’t exist,” I shot back. “And I lost too much time playing secret agent to jump back into a normal life”

“Let me get this straight,” she said, getting more agitated, “you want a pension for ten years of work? Fuck! How about a gold watch and a retirement party? You can’t be that selfish.”

“Oh, but I can.”

“You would be dead if it weren’t for Corbin,” she said, crossing into sensitive territory. “The only reason you can handle this insane life of yours is because of him, too. You know how he is, how do you think he feels about your career choice after what he gave you?”

I was pissed off by this point. “I got over that a while back. Corbin saved my life, and I can only thank him for it, but I didn’t sign up to be a slave. I’m not only one to leave the program, either.” The truth went deeper than this, really, but I just wanted to stop talking about it. Mal had opposed my leaving from the moment I first mentioned it, before I chose a criminal life.

“Don’t give me that bull shit!” she kept on going. “Paul became a police officer and Nancy got an office job.”

“Listen, Mal,” I said, working very hard to keep my voice down, “I just don’t give a shit. I haven’t given a shit for while. So how about not talking about it?”

Our server saved me from more distress with the prompt arrival of our garlic bread. I engaged in a brief, and awkward, conversation with the woman. She was a chubby lady in her early fifties with pleasant features and work-worn hands. Mal’s earlier point about the plight of little businesses like this hit me, just a little, when I looked at the woman. She was polite, and friendly, but clearly wanted to leave our table. Mal was bubbling over, searing anger obvious in her eyes; stoked hotter as I obviously extended a meaningless conversation with our server.

Mal leaned in after the server was out of earshot, looking like pure venom. “You don’t want to fucking talk?” she hissed. “Fine. Then you can save it for the meeting because I’m done talking, too.”

“That’s the best thing you’ve said since you showed up,” I said, not contented to let her off too easily.

“Fuck you,” she responded.

Our meal was very ordinary, other than being too salty. True to her word, Mal not only stayed quiet but she never once looked at me. She even told the server that I would be paying. I had clearly struck a nerve.

The rest of the drive took us into a remote area of southern Ontario; even the farming seemed to peter out. At one point, it was clear that Mal was doubling back and circling a certain area to check if we were being followed. Some of the roads we took were hard on the car, not being much better than pairs of ruts in the bush. The car was a right-off, anyway, as Mal had put out several cigarettes on the dash since lunch. It was nearly dusk when she finally turned down a particularly rough track. The overgrown track jostled us in the car, the undercarriage taking a beating as branches scratched the exterior. Mal drove on with a satisfied look on her face as the car took a beating. When the bush around us cleared, we were at the edge of cliff. Mal stopped the car and got out. I had a bad feeling about her intentions toward the car and got out quickly. As expected, Mal gave the car a shove over the edge, ending about fifty feet below and into watery grave.

She didn’t even look back as she headed into the surrounding woods. I had one final temptation to run for it before I followed her in. She kept a quick pace, not quite jogging, through the woods until we broke into a field dotted with patches of bush. It felt like an abandoned farm area, dotted with stones, thistles and trees. In the early twilight, it felt very remote, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Our path kept us in the direction of a distant barn. The closer we got, the clearer it was that the place was nearly a ruin. It was deathly quiet, other than the crickets and occasional bird chirping. When we were about fifty feet from the barn, Mal slowed her pace and changed her course to circle around. I followed carefully, it being obvious that we had reached the meeting place. A complete circle later, we went toward the barn. The door hung open enough to slip through; the outside twilight just barely illuminating the interior through the damaged roof and walls. I immediately noted the smells of gun oil, perspiration and fabric. Years of living a dangerous life made me want to reach for my weapon, which might have been fatal in the company I was meeting with.

A tiny light, the same colour made by fireflies, flashed before us in some unknown, coded pattern. I was familiar with this type of coded communication, only the code had probably changed many times since I had last used it. Mal signaled back with a penlight of her own, the firefly colour matching. We moved forward to what looked like a tent, turning out to be an ancient tractor under a tarp. Beneath the tractor was a trap door to a cramped basement below. The basement was only just high enough to stand straight in. The lights were dim, but I recognised everyone there. Palmer, Smith, Jarredsson and several others I knew too well. Good, upstanding members of the program. In all, there were a dozen of them; I estimated another two or three in the barn above us. I was acknowledged with a combination of silent nods and a variety of mumbled greetings; none of it felt terribly friendly.

(Just adding a bit more to the last post here. Enjoy)

I had parked in an alley between a hardware store and a junk shop. When I reached the car, Mallory was already behind the wheel, smiling mischievously and certainly pleased with herself.

“Hop in,” she said through the open window, before I could speak, “I’m driving.”

“Like hell you are,” I snapped. “Get out.”

“Listen, Peters,” she said, smirking. “If you really want to make a scene on a quiet, northern morning, after seriously fucking up a pair of local gangsters, go for it. Otherwise, I’m driving.”

She had me, and knew it. The last thing I could afford was unwanted attention. Besides, a physical fight between the two of us would be more than noticeable.

I got in and buckled up, instructing Mal to do the same. “You already look like a freak,” I told her, “so we won’t be giving the police any more reasons to stop us today.”

“Fine,” she said, and laughed. She started the car out of town, driving by Foundation Street. Two cruisers had already arrived, cherries blazing and sirens silent.

“They sure took their time,” she commented.

“For a town like this, they did alright,” I said. “No gunshots or screaming reported. They were like lightning.”

We drove in silence for a while. Mal kept us heading to the main roads out of town while I nervously tried to appreciate the rural scenery. I was content to stay quiet; I didn’t want to know why she was here. Before we reached the last turnoff to the major highway, she pulled into a coffee shop drive thru.

“We’re barely twenty minutes out of town,” I spoke up. “This is a bad idea.”

“I’m hungry now,” Mal said, as if I had not spoken. “And we were already seen by several people. You must be peckish, too, unless you stuffed yourself this morning.”

A dozen doughnuts and two coffees with three sugars were ordered. Mal smiled at the disinterested clerk like we were out for a Sunday drive. She hit the highway and set the cruise at one twenty. She started packing down the doughnuts.

“Sure you don’t want one?” she asked after the sixth one disappeared. “They aren’t the best, but I’ve had a lot worse.”

“I’m fine. Just keep your eyes on the road.” The coffee just tasted like sugar. The calorie value was the only thing that mattered.

Mallory left two in the box for me. I would be hungry soon and she knew it.

“You know,” she continued, sipping her coffee, “if I ever revert to normal I think I’m going to let myself go. I couldn’t manage a diet if I tried. Food is just too good, you know, especially the crap stuff. How could I live on healthy food?” She paused to light a cigarette.

“This is a rental,” I spoke harshly.

She looked at me with a smile, cigarette hanging from her lips. She took a few insolent puffs before stubbing it out on the dash. “There,” she challenged. “Happy now?”

I rubbed my temples. I had forgotten how difficult Mal could be when she wanted to. I settled myself enough to accept two important facts: Mal was here to tell me something and I probably didn’t want to know it. The rest were details. The sooner I got this out of the way, the more likely she was to go away.

“Okay,” I spoke calmly, rubbing the frustration from my temples, “what is it? Why did you come here?”

“Long story,” she said, a hint of seriousness creeping in. “It’s a good thing we have time. There is a crisis, but not the usual kind. This one affects us directly. The timing of it sucks, too, so all the rogues are being called in.”

“This sounds awfully familiar, Mal. Am I going to get the usual lines about saving the world and living up to my potential?” These were the type of lines they fed you, making it feel like a superhero moment when they needed your skills in action. It was rarely a minor intervention or casual job; high pressure was the intended motivator, as though it were enticing.

“Except this is the real deal,” Mal answered, a distant look on her face spooking me at the same time. “I’m not shitting you in any way.”

“You went through all this trouble,” I said, ready to call her bluff, “so I’ll nibble at the bait. Let’s hear it.”

Mal pursed her lips slightly before speaking. “The Program, our cooperative arrangement with the federal security agencies, and even our own necks are in deep trouble. Technically, it affects us all, which is why they are calling everyone in.”

“What kind of threat are we talking about?”

“I’m not supposed to give you any more than I already have,” Mal sighed. “Unfortunately, you are as predictable as hell and I know you’ll fight me the whole way if I don’t do better. So here is the teaser: the government is making moves to eliminate the program and us with it.”

“That talk was in the wind even before I left,” I countered. “Corbin has always handled that end, anyway. You have to do better than that.”

“Corbin is…” The word caught in her throat, her tone somber. “…is not well.” She popped another cigarette into her mouth and lit it. This time I said nothing. She took a long drag and continued.

“I won’t go into much more detail, Peters. The information about our elimination came to us accidentally. There is more to it, of course. All I can say is that the intelligence we have right now is extremely legit.”

“What is wrong with Corbin?” I asked abruptly.

“You already know more than you should,” she snapped back. “Just go with this for once, will you?”

I wasn’t feeling like going back. It was a part of my life that I remembered too well and despised too much. Still, Corbin was Corbin. He was something of a father figure to the members of the program. In most cases, he had either saved our lives or made them worth living. It was unlikely that Mal would use his health as a ploy to bring me in, not like this. I was stuck, and however much I hated it, I knew it.

“Fine,” I said, angrier than intended, “I will go.”

“Good.”

“Where exactly is this meeting?” I asked, more gently.

“Not far, actually,” she said. “Just enjoy the drive.”

This was not likely to happen. I had too much to think about to just enjoy a drive to an unknown place, to meet people I would rather avoid and see a man I cared about in a state of illness. My plans for an easy fortune and a quiet retirement seemed gone already. What the hell could I do? Even if I could ditch Mal, with violence or not, neither of which were foregone conclusions, where would I go? Where could I hide that they wouldn’t find me, eventually? And then, how would I feel about abandoning Corbin when he might need me? It was not worth thinking about. I reclined the seat slightly and reached for the remaining doughnuts. I had a feeling I would need the calories.

Month: December 2019

Even More Casserole

More Casserole