Shay Savage - Otherwise Unharmed

“Getting close to a girl,” Rinaldo said, “can be a good thing.  If you were someone else—someone less complicated—the worst that can happen is you don’t work out.  You’re a complicated man, Arden, and you are in a complicated position.  Bitches make it even more complicated.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

“You’re aware,” he mocked.  “Will that change anything when someone finds out you give a shit?  What better to hold over your head than a warm cunt, huh?  You take better care not to show your affection for her.  You’ve done a shit job on that front with that pup of yours.”

It didn’t matter in the end.  They tried to use Bridgett against me, but whatever we had between us wasn’t more important than my loyalty to Rinaldo Moretti.  It didn’t stop me from killing her for her betrayal.

But with Lia?  That was another subject.  If she did something like Bridgett had done, I wasn’t sure how I would react.  Bridgett was a convenient fuck and useful for helping me sleep, but Lia meant something completely different—something I couldn’t put into words or even thoughts.

Regardless of the outcome, I couldn’t betray Rinaldo.  Never that.  It wasn’t just about a paycheck or the fact that he gave me a job and a reason to be out walking around in the world—it was a lot more than that.  Like my unnamed feelings for Lia, I couldn’t express why I felt the loyalty I did, but it wasn’t something I could drop because of the threat of a prison sentence.

I wasn’t sure I could even drop it for Lia’s sake.

I shook my head and leaned against the cell wall to stare out the windows at the cars and people far below.  It was too difficult to think in this place.  I needed to get outside and maybe get in a little target practice to get my mind really functioning again.

I wondered if I’d ever see my Barrett again.

It was most certainly taken in as evidence and very possibly lost to me at this point.  I could get another one, but that one had been with me for a long time—bought it outright when I was discharged.  It had taken most of the money I had at the time, but it was the only way I could stay focused.  I needed the feel of the cool metal in my hands as my finger pulled back on the trigger and the recoil pressed hard against my shoulder.  Watching rounds go into a target through the scope was the only time I felt at peace.

Well, maybe peace wasn’t exactly the right word, but it stopped me from panicking.

I sighed and brought myself back to the present long enough to consider who I knew in Greco’s organization well enough to approach them and convince them my loyalties were now up for grabs.  I couldn’t come up with any of the people who hadn’t had the barrel of my Beretta pointed at their faces during one intense encounter or another.  I’d also killed off the cousin of Greco’s mistress once upon a time, though he didn’t know it was me.

The guard called to out to me—it was time to eat what they tried to pass off as food around here.  I wasn’t hungry and would have rather stayed in my cell and plotted in silence, but skipping meals wasn’t an option.  Despite the need to come up with a plan, I needed my resources in the outside world.

Nothing could be done from here, so I was just going to have to wait.

I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised when Masterson came to my cell and informed me that I had been let out on bond.  He’d only been told of an unscheduled hearing which went favorably for me, but I doubted the meeting had even taken place.  Trent’s resources were on the ball, no doubt about that.

I was going to have to play all of this really, really carefully.

First things first.

“Can I make a call?”

“It’s not my fucking decision,” Masterson grumbled as he led me out of the unit.  “You can ask the warden.”

The unit supervisor let me call while my things were brought out of their storage area.  The phone only rang twice before I heard a familiar voice on the other end.

“Mark Duncan.”

“Hello, it’s Evan Arden.  I need a favor.”

“Of course, Evan—what do you need?”

“You remember the girl who came here?”  I rolled my eyes at myself and shook my head.  I was the deranged one; of course, he would remember.  “I was just hoping you had her contact information.  I don’t have my phone here.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Could you call her and ask her to come and get me?”

“Get you?”  He paused before continuing.  “Evan, where are you?”

I could practically see his face as he contemplated whether or not I had escaped and was now on the run.  I wondered if he was picking up his landline to call the cops on his escaped patient.

“I’m still at the MCC,” I told him.  “I’m being released.”

“Released?”

“Yeah.”  I never understood people’s desire to repeat words like that, but I tried not to let it annoy me.  It was probably the last thing he was expecting to hear from me.  “Can you call her?”

“Yes, I can,” he said.  “I just can’t believe no one contacted me.  When was this?”

“Just a little while ago, special hearing or something.  I don’t know. I just know I want out.”

“I can get you.”

“No, really—if you could call her and have her come, that would be great.  I need to sleep, but I’ll come and see you soon.”

I wasn’t going to, but he’d figure that out soon enough.

With the phone handed back to some woman behind a desk, I was taken to a small room and left alone with a cardboard box containing everything I had on me when I was brought in.  I reached in and pulled out the Marine-issue fatigues.  I didn’t want to put them back on, but I couldn’t exactly go out still wearing prison orange, so I quickly removed the jumpsuit.  I wasn’t about to put on the underwear I had been wearing at the time, so I left it in the box and pulled on the tan, camouflage-pattern pants commando-style.  My watch was next, then a pale grey T-shirt followed by the socks.  For some reason, the idea of dirty footwear didn’t seem as nasty to me as the boxers.  My boots and hat were in the box as well, and when I pulled them out, something dropped to the floor with a metallic clang.

My dog tags.

I picked them up and ran my finger over the raised letters.

ARDEN

EVAN N. USMC

047289

A NEG

CATHOLIC

I took a deep breath and tried to push away the plethora of memories the cool metal tried to conjure.  For the most part it worked—the tags only evoked pleasant memories.  The only real regret I had was labeling myself as Catholic, though as a seventeen-year-old, the response to the question had been automatic.

If there was a God, He didn’t have any love for me, so fuck Him.

I slipped the metal chain around my neck and tucked the tags inside my T-shirt before I laced up my boots, donned the hat, and left the room.  I had to sign a few more papers, but the process didn’t take that long.  I hoped that Lia had received my message by now and also that she wasn’t waiting for me for too long.

Without any other direction, I headed outside.  I looked up and down Van Buren Street but didn’t see any sign of Lia parked anywhere.  I walked to the corner of Van Buren and South Clark, but I didn’t see anyone there, either.  There didn’t seem to be any actual parking on the street close to the entrance, so it was hard to tell where she might have to go to park a car.

I dropped my ass to wait on a cement wall used as the foundation of a flower garden.

And wait.

After a while, I was beginning to get a little nervous.  Would Trent have already taken action, believing that I wouldn’t follow through with my end of this deal?  Would he have grabbed her and detained her just to have more leverage over me?

I leaned over, took off the hat, and dropped my head into one hand.

How long would it be before Rinaldo knew I had been released?  How long after that before he came looking for me?  At what point would he realize I wasn’t coming to him, send out a search party of sorts, and realize I was batting for the other team?

That was the most difficult part of all of this: he would have no idea that I was doing this to protect him.  There wasn’t going to be an easy way to get that message to him without alerting both Greco and Trent.

“Hey, Marine!”

I flinched, glanced to my right, and saw a guy in jeans and a sweatshirt approaching.  He reached down and grabbed my arm to shake my hand.

“I just want to thank you for your service,” he said in a thick southern accent.  “My cousin was a Marine, and you guys are the best!”

I didn’t have much time to react before he was off across the street, so I shook my head a little and watched, wondering if he had any idea what he was really saying, and if he’d still thank me if he knew everything.  When I first returned from active duty, a bunch of people said similar things to me, and I still I didn’t understand why they did.  I figured most of it was because I was in Virginia at the time, and they kept putting my picture up on television.

I needed to get the fuck out of these clothes.

There was a trash can near the wall where I sat, and a noise coming from it caught my attention.  A small rat made its way up a plastic bag and sat along the rim of the can, looking at me.

“Getting takeout?” I asked it.

The rodent looked to the sound of my voice before it scurried back down into the bottom of the can.

Looking up and down the sidewalk and the street, I still didn’t see any sign of Lia.  I checked my watch.  It had been a full forty minutes since I had contacted Mark to call her.  I wondered how far away she lived and if she had been caught in traffic or something.