Like Grownups Do (14 page)

“I wish he would get a job somewhere else. It would make everything— easier.”

“There’s the taxi,” Babe said.

The taxi pulled up in front of Millie’s apartment building and Babe walked her to the door.

“Thanks again, Babe.”

“I’m glad you had a good time, Millie. We’ll see you in—” Babe looked at his watch, and winced. “A few hours.”

“I’ll make coffee and you bring the aspirin. And if you show up with goddamn donuts I’m going to turn one into a suppository, and we’re going to play doctor.”

Babe patted Millie on the cheek and said, “Do you promise, darling?”

Millie patted Babe on the cheek and said, “Goodnight, Mr. Asshole, Sir.”

Fifteen

M
illie, Tom, and Babe stood with their exposed forearms side-by-side across Millie’s desk. Tom was declared the winner of the ‘tan’ competition in a landslide, as should have happened following two weeks in the tropics. Millie was given a strong second place assisted by the unseasonably warm and sunny weather at this year’s Iron Bowl, the annual meeting of rival football powerhouses Alabama and Auburn, played that year in Tuscaloosa.

“I don’t see a tan line, Millie,” Tom said, “Do Alabama girls go to football games naked? Show me a tan line or I’m moving to Alabama. Tomorrow.”

Millie pondered the question for a moment.

“I—don’t think I can.”

“A respectable third place finish, Babe,” Tom said. “From just four days in Texas?”

Babe rolled down his sleeve and reached for his jacket.

“Yeah.”

“So, how did that go?” Tom asked.

“It was awesome. My Uncle Zach and his family were there. I never realized it, but when you mix my Dad, Uncle Zach and alcohol together, that is a formula for laughing your ass off. Uncle Zach is just a big kid and he is made for the role of medieval barbarian. Everybody had costumes, which I was not expecting. They wouldn’t let me off the hook, either,” Babe said. He pulled some photographs from his jacket pocket.

Millie and Tom laughed.

“Oh, my God! Babe—are you an elf? I always wondered if you were circumcised,” Tom said.

“I’m Robin Hood, you asshole.”

Tom held the picture up close to his face, squinting.

“No. Maybe Little John.”

Babe and Tom engaged in a few moments of one of their favorite activities—an effeminate slap-fighting match.

“You know, this is precisely the reason they installed security cameras in here last week,” Millie said.

Babe and Tom halted in mid-fight and began scanning the walls and ceiling.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Millie?” Tom said as he backpedaled toward a corner.

“You’re shitting us, right?” Babe said, “Millie?”

He backed into a doorway.

“Millie. You had better be joking goddammit,” Tom said.

Millie smiled as she shook her head.

“Can’t do the time, don’t do the crime, children. Calm the fuck down. Jesus.”

“Fuck you, Vandermeer,” Tom said, pouting. ”That is
not
cool.”

“Not funny, Millie. Not fair,” Babe said, breathing heavily.

Tom and Babe said in unison, “Not fair. Not fair.”

“Uh,
gentlemen
, aside from our other adult activities, we have RSVP requests for the Bureau Christmas parties. These came late so we need to act on them today,” Millie said.

The Bureau held an official Christmas party each December, two Saturday nights before Christmas. This was known as the ‘O’, for ‘official’, and was held at a nearby community center ballroom. It was open to Bureau members and families, and strictly non-alcoholic. This party ran from seven p.m. until ten-thirty p.m.

A second Christmas party was held the same night, sponsored by a group of unnamed individuals. This party was not officially affiliated with the Bureau although the invitation list was the same. This party was held only a few blocks away from the Official party and ran from ten p.m. until about four a.m.

This party was referred to as the ‘U’, or ‘unofficial’. Taxis were sequestered to deliver attendees to and from the ‘U’, and no one was permitted to arrive in or leave in a personal vehicle.

This was the second year that Babe, Tom, and Millie received invitations. Jordan always received them because he was a former Special Agent and because of his relationship with Jack. There was some opposition to extending the invitations to the rest of the staff of Research Consultants, Inc., due to the confidential nature of the business. Russell Eckhart was vehemently opposed to the RCI’s inclusion but he gave in after learning that some of the other Agents were referring to him as Ebenezer Scrooge.

Eckhart had nothing to protest last year. Tom and Christie were out of town visiting Christie’s parents and Jill had been too ill for Babe to attend. Millie was still dealing with Bradley’s interrogations and made excuses for her absence.

“Put Christie and me down for both. She still thinks that signing that NDA makes her a ‘secret agent’, and that provides me with ‘certain benefits’ if you catch my drift,” Tom said.

“It must be quite a relief to not have to pretend that you’re the janitor in a whorehouse anymore,” Babe said.

“She never believed that one. I told her I was a staff writer for the Teletubbies,” Tom said.

“What about you, Babe?” Millie asked.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be Jack’s date, so go ahead and RSVP me. How about you, Millie?”

“You’re kidding, right? Do you—? No. No fucking way.”

Millie put a finger to her forehead, exhaled, and momentarily buried her face in her hands. She pulled her hands away, and turned on her workstation.

“No.”

Jack picked Babe up on the way to the ‘O’ party and surprised him when he stopped in front of Millie’s apartment.

“Really?” Babe asked.

“Really,” Jack said.

”Do you want me to—”

“No, no. I’ll go get her. This is good. Great,” Babe said.

Jack opened his car door at the community center at the same time as a colleague and his wife. They took a few minutes to exchange greetings. Babe held the car door for Millie and took her hand as she exited.

“Don’t get me wrong, Millie. I’m glad you’re here, but what changed your mind?” Babe asked.

“Mr. Englemann. The same day I made our RSVPs he called me. I didn’t want to say anything about Bradley but he must have heard about him from somewhere. Like you, maybe?”

“Hey. I didn’t say a damn thing.”

“Lighten up, Babe. I was just kidding. Anyway, I didn’t want to hurt Mr. Englemann’s feelings. I know he was the one responsible for us being invited. He’s such a nice man. I wasn’t about to tell Bradley about it, so please, our little secret, huh?”

“Mums the word. Secret Agent Babelton is on the case, fair lady. And, by the way, you do looka mahvelous.”

“You’re looking somewhere north of dog shit, yourself, Mr. Babelton.”

Babe and Millie found Tom and Christie, who had just run into Jordan and Samantha. When Jack arrived he greeted several people and then started on introductions.

“God, that Eckhart is a human barbiturate,” Tom whispered to Babe.

“He reminds me of Beetlejuice. I heard a couple of the younger Feebs calling him Scrooge. What about Ebenezer Beetlejuice? That has a nice ring to it, you think? Posters, coffee mugs, t-shirts? Big marketing opportunity there, buddy.”

“Okay, Tom. Let’s establish some ground rules. We’re not in our office, so you can’t have me yakking like a damned hyena in here, okay? If we can’t behave in here, how are we going to hold up at the ‘U’?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Think mature thoughts,” Tom pouted.

“Check out Mrs. Eckhart,” Babe said.

Belinda Eckhart was a slender woman in her mid-fifties and what some people might refer to as ‘bony’. She wore heavy makeup and clothes that were intended for a much younger woman. She walked unstably on too-high heels and it appeared that while this event served no alcohol, she had gotten a running start on the way. Mrs. Eckhart currently had two very young agents cornered and as she laughed between sips of her drink, she found cause to put a hand on one of the men and then the other— touching and sometimes holding their arms. Her eyes twinkled over the rim of her glass as she performed tongue gymnastics with a cherry stem.

“Today on Wild Kingdom,” Babe whispered. “Observe as the female cougar preens, squirts and sprays her essence—thus triggering the mating ritual.”

Tom snorted and then elbowed Babe sharply.

“What the fuck, Babe? You just spanked me over that shit.”

“I know. You can’t take me anywhere,” Babe said.

Babe and Tom caught up with Millie and Christie. They were talking to an agent and his wife who had relocated from Florida. Millie was in the middle of retaliation against the agent, who had informed her that his Gators were going to take the SEC title away from Alabama this year. Millie pointed a finger at his chest.

“When your little
beach
boys learn to play a little
defense,
then you can step on the field with the big boys, Gator Man.”

Christie and the poor guy’s wife looked at Millie like she had grown a third eye.

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t bring up ‘Bama football,” Babe said to the agent.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. Just don’t let her hit me,” the agent smiled.

“Do you remember me, Mr. Babelton?”

“Yeah, I do. Don’t tell me…ahhhh, Jim?”

“Very good.”

He held out his hand.

“Jim Singletary. This is my wife, Hannah. Hannah, I met Mr. Babelton when I was interviewing with the Bureau.”

Babe spotted Jack across the room. A crew cut agent hurried up to Jack and whispered into his ear. Jack walked over to Russell Eckhart and whispered into his ear while scanning the room. He did the same to Jordan and then walked over to Babe. Jack took his keys from his pocket and pressed them into Babe’s hand.

“I’m going to have to leave,” Jack said.

“I’m going to catch a ride with Eckhart. Please apologize to Millie for me and see that she gets home okay.”

Babe looked down at the keys.

“My license expired a couple of years ago.”

“You’ll be okay, Babe. You remember how to drive, right?”

“I’m an excellent driver. And I always drive on Saturday. What’s going on? Anything I can do?”

“No. The agent we have on administrative duty; the shooting incident with the little girl?”

“Yeah?”

“He just ate his gun.”

Sixteen

A
pr 18

Just another night of snatch and grab. We want to make sure we don’t get blown away or have our throats cut by grandma while we’re sleeping. It is about one in the morning. They move slower the later it gets— better for everybody that way. Hadji said nothing and got out of the way. Momma won’t shut the fuck up—squealing and crying like a dumb bitch. Then, that kid. Stupid fucking kid; maybe thirteen, fourteen years old. He tries to run. What the fuck for? Are you a fucking terrorist major or something? Stupid shit. We got about the greenest squad in country, a bunch of fucking pussy mamma’s boys, and you don’t want to be freaking them out.

Langtry lit the kid up—half a fucking clip before three guys took him to the floor. Holy shit. We got screaming, crying, alarms, neighbors, all holy hell breaking loose. Somebody yelled defcon something and I kicked down a door. There’s a little girl maybe five years old, gurgling for her two last seconds. Hit in the throat. The round went right through the wall. Her eyes were wide open, looking at me. More of our unit showing up and pulled us outside. Scrambling around, shushing us, and shoving water at us. I started to drink. What the hell? Whiskey. Whiskey makes me puke. So I did. They put us in a room and a Colonel walks in. He says, Men, this is war. Things happen in war. Ugly things. But not tonight. Tonight never happened. Try to forget about it because it never happened. Don’t talk about it because it never happened. People with pay grades that we can’t touch will say it never happened. You are all good men. We have a job to do.

Dec 14

Relax, Morgan said. These are little fish—little fish that give up the big fish to save their asses. Just relax and follow your training. These little fish will shit their pants when they see our windbreakers, let alone our guns. Relax. Right. You should have talked to Vincent instead of me, you arrogant fuck. But he wouldn’t have listened to you. You know why? Because Vincent is such a stupid little fish that he doesn’t even know the first law of drug running, ‘You don’t use the shit you push’. Vincent was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree when he blew your fucking knee off, Morgan! How you like that?