SEAL's Promise - Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 01 (21 page)

Banks was younger than he’d imagined and much larger. He towered over T.J. by a good four inches and had a handshake that could crack walnuts. The African-American gentleman wore a black suit and quickly retrieved T.J.’s luggage from the carousel, then insisted he carry the bag to the car.

T.J. was concerned people would think Mr. Banks was in his employ, but it seemed to matter little to Banks, whose steady gait was damned hard to keep up with. He drove a dark-colored Chevy sedan that was old, but very well cared for.

“I’m afraid the air doesn’t work too good. The heater does, not that we need that today.”

T.J. was sweating before they hit the first right turn. “I left a reservation at the Rinwood Suites, and it’s kind of on the way, I think. Mind if I check in?”

“Well sir, I’d be rude, wouldn’t I, if I asked you to cancel your reservation? But I was planning on you staying with me at the parsonage so as not to be a financial hardship.”

T.J. had to smile. Banks was a wily country preacher all right. He’d be a captive audience over dinner and breakfast, and that would give the minister two chances to save his soul. Well, that was okay. The man did save him some money on a rental car. The least he could do was listen to a couple of sermons. And who knew? Maybe some of it would take. Not like T.J. had much of a spiritual life.

“So you’re a Navy guy, then. That right, Mr. Talbot?”

“Travis, if I’m not allowed to call you Mr. Banks, you sure as hell—sorry, you sure as heck can’t call me Mr. Talbot. Can we get that straight, please?”

“Yessir, I get you plain. How long you been in the Navy?”

“Ten years.”

“So you’re gonna make a career out of it, then?”

“I haven’t thought about that much. Playing it day by day. Had a rough tour last time over.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t your fault. Mine neither. War is messy.”

“That it is, son.”

“Travis, how old are you?”

“I’m almost thirty-six.”

“So why you call me son? We’re practically brothers as far as age. Not like I could be your son.”

Banks was overcome by a deep belly laugh, letting go his straight demeanor and dropping his guard a bit. T.J. guessed he had some wild days behind him.

“Yeah, but we look alike. Gotta admit that.”

They both laughed. T.J. liked Banks more and more as they drove to the outskirts of Nashville.

“How’d my dad find out about me?”

“I have no idea. He doesn’t have access to anything on the internet, but he gets calls. Not many, but a few.”

“My mother one of those calls?”

“Can’t say, T.J. I really couldn’t say. Remember, I’m only there three days a week.” Banks hesitated and then he sighed. “I can tell you he only found out about where you lived recently, so I’m guessing it was a visitor or a phone call.”

“So, who visits him?”

“Never seen a one. Not one.”

“What’s killing him, if I can ask that?”

“I don’t suppose it would violate anything. Kidney failure. He’s gone about as far as he can go. He’s not a candidate for a transplant, unless you wanted to give him one of yours.”

“You’re not serious?”

“You mean would I expect you’d give your dad a kidney so he could die in a jail cell? No sir, I wouldn’t bet on that one. Besides, he’s way too sick now. If he knew about anyone he was a blood relative to, he’d have told the doctors at the hospital before now. But we hardly ever get those approved, even when we find a donor match.”

“You’re not considering one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” Banks had turned off the highway and was idling down a two-lane country road. The large prison facility was hard to miss, looking like a college campus.

“What if he wanted to die?”

“Well, I’ll let you ask him yourself.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‡

B
ANKS SHOWED HIS
prison ID at the external guard station. The heavy chain-link fence rolled shut behind them, temporarily sealing them in so the credentials could be verified before the second gate opened. After that, there was another perimeter fence around the prison hospital, this time with a guard shack, again denying them entry until their verification was run up the flagpole.

Travis parked in the staff parking lot, as opposed to the completely vacant visitor lot much closer to the front entrance.

“They’re gonna check your person, so if you have anything you normally carry that could be construed to be as a weapon, you’d best leave it in my trunk.”

T.J. removed his SigSauer and placed it in his canvas duffel before Banks slammed the lid closed.

“You got your wallet, right?”

T.J. nodded.

“They’ll keep that with your I.D. until you turn in your visitor badge. Never leave any money in it, I always recommend.

“I got credit cards mainly. A few bucks.”

“I think you’re good. Staff here is all paid, no honor farm workers, so I think you’re safe, but I don’t mind opening the trunk if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t until you started talking about all this.”

“Fair enough. Forewarned is forearmed.” Banks flashed him a bright white smile, and T.J. noticed for the first time he had one gold tooth in the front, one of his canines.

“That’s an impressive crown you got there.”

“Well, there’s a story behind that, too. Stories. Everywhere we got stories, all
kinda
stories here.” Banks waved his hands through the air like he was arranging a large flower display.

The two men mounted the four shallow concrete steps, and then T.J. remembered he needed to check in with his LPO. Most of the Team was in Las Vegas for Fredo and Mia’s wedding.

“You get there okay? You okay?” Kyle asked.

“I’m fine. I’m at the hospital now. Looks like I’ll be able to see him in a few. Give my best to Fredo and Mia.”

“Will do. How’re the little one and Shannon doing?”

“About as good as can be expected. I mean Shannon’s doing great. Courtney is going in the right direction, they say. Shannon’s mom and dad came down to be with her.”

“Awesome. So I gotta tell you they posted a picture of Magnus on the local television station. Haven’t seen it on the national stations, thank God. But it was that picture of the two of you at the Warrior’s run, remember?”

“They posted my picture on TV?” T.J. felt powerless being so far away from Shannon and the baby. The thought that his face might bring them danger scared him.

“Yes, I’m afraid they did. I think it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes you, or uses that recognition software and they dig out your name. I need you to keep a low profile and be properly warned. Hoping these are a couple of nuts working on their own, but if not, you keep your eyes peeled for any signs someone recognizes you who shouldn’t, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Okay, be careful, and thanks for checking in.”

“No problem. I’m going to stay over at this reverend’s house. He works with the inmates.” T.J. looked over at Travis, who tilted his head to him in acknowledgement. “I’ll be coming back tomorrow. You staying over in Vegas after the wedding?”

“No. This isn’t a good time for a couple of days R&R for me.”

“Gotcha. Well, again, give my best—”

“T.J. you sound real good. Glad you’re doing this. But don’t linger there, okay?”

“No, I’m definitely coming home tomorrow.”

After the call was over, T.J. thanked Travis for waiting. They continued their journey through a set of automatic doors that opened to a reception area. Unlike the hospital in San Diego, this one was completely devoid of female nurses or staff. He chuckled to himself that he was right about the smell too. Straight institutional eau de pee/vomit/bleach, just like juvenile hall, or at least the ones he’d “visited” in Texas and Nevada.

His guide brought them down a wide corridor with rubber bumpers as wainscoting, stopping at the first door on the right with a sign on it that read,
Chaplain.
Travis unlocked the solid core door with the brass handle, and inside T.J. actually felt like he was experiencing déjà vu. The room was filled with gray file cabinets along one short wall, a well-worn and stained leather couch on the other. The file cabinets had large red inventory stickers, just as he’d envisioned.

“You keep files on your flock?”

Travis chuckled. “No. Those would be death records. I guess they thought no one would want to break into the chaplain’s office, and the chaplain, with a direct line to the man upstairs, wouldn’t mind housing the last written evidence that these souls ever existed.” He walked over to one cabinet with a large dent in the bottom file drawer as if it had been kicked in on purpose. His hand placed on top, he gently tapped with his palm to some imaginary rhythm. “These are my flock, in a way. The ones that flew the coop.” His gold tooth gleamed in the morning sunlight filtering through the missing mini blinds like a spotlight.

He could have been the Grim Reaper himself.

Banks placed a call and informed someone on the other line they were headed down to see one Bobbie Ray Stokes. As he followed the large chaplain down the hallway and into the elevator, T.J. thought that he should have some kind of reaction to the sound of his real name, and found he did not. He was relieved to discover he didn’t fit into Bobbie Ray’s world, even though a tiny part of Stokes was imbedded in T.J.’s DNA.

Travis didn’t say a word as the old elevator machinery groaned and slowly went from the first floor to the second. They could have walked the stairs faster.

As the doors opened, Travis examined the hallway, first right, then left, and then moved out of the way so T.J. could exit the tiny elevator car, much the same as T.J.’d blocked women and children behind him when he was on a rescue mission or was trying to get the injured to safety in a war zone. Well, he guessed sometimes this was a war zone. Despite his hardened heart, he found a little uptick in his right upper lip, the beginnings of a smile, at the vision of his father running down the hallway, or the stairs, or ducking into the elevator with his butt hanging out in all its glory.

The first bone-chilling scream came just as T.J. had turned the corner with Travis, on their way through a set of double swinging doors someone had the poor taste to paint in a blue sky and clouds motif. Only thing worse than that would be if someone had painted black wrought iron gates and labeled the outside
Hell.
Now that would have been funny. And it would have complemented the scream that came from a scrawny man in the first room to the right just past the doors. An attendant was attempting to calm him down, perhaps medicate him.

Travis was probably immune to it now, having been through these doors more times than T.J. wanted to think about. He kept walking, so T.J. followed quickly, shortening the gap Banks’ long legs created when he wasn’t paying attention. He had to admit, he was relieved the screamer wasn’t his dad. He kept telling himself it would be all right, no matter what he saw, no matter how surprised or caught off guard he might be.

But that was before he entered the room. Travis stepped aside, and T.J. was face to face with his past. The graying man had sunken cheeks, his skin quite orange, and he had a feeding tube down his nose. They’d restrained him to the bed with 3” nylon straps like the TRX units they worked out on when they were deployed. One strap was pulled tight across his chest and under both arms, fastened to the bed frame underneath with special welded hooks probably designed for that purpose. What bothered T.J. most was that both the man’s ankles were cuffed to the metal foot rail. The bottoms of his feet were blackened. Red welts had formed where he’d apparently tried to move. They were doing a good job keeping him in one place, in the same position. Probably the position he’d die in.

But that left his arms free, with one hooked up to an IV. With his unencumbered side, T.J. watched a bony finger rise from the bed and point at him.

Gray-white stubble covered the man’s face, more than a few days’, maybe even a week’s growth. His liver-colored lips were spotted with dark stains that looked like droplets of blood, and there was a dark brown blood stain the size of a silver dollar on his gown, over his heart. The bony finger continued to rise as his lips pulled back into something that would have looked like a smile if he weighed more than eighty pounds. The man was tall, which made him look like death itself.

“That’s him,” he said with difficulty. “That’s my boy. You takin’ me home today, son?” The man’s raspy voice was what T.J. had expected, but it still was uncomfortable to hear.

T.J. looked at Travis, who was focused on the dying man. “Bobbie Ray, he’s come to visit with you. We’ve talked about this. You can go home anytime you’re ready. You speak your peace now. I’ll leave you two alone for a spell.” Travis backed up and motioned for T.J. to sit by the bed in a metal chair that had chipped beige paint.

His father was able to follow along as T.J. sat, adjusting his focus a little slow and late, but winding up having full eye contact when T.J. sat. There were tears in the man’s eyes. T.J. worked hard not to give him the satisfaction of seeing his own, but couldn’t stop them from welling up and spilling over his lower lids. And fuck if his lower lip didn’t start quivering too. He held his mouth shut, feeling the rush of emotion, the years of pain, the years of wonder and how he’d told himself every day of his life how he hated this man.

But he could not call upon that hate to control his tears. So, he just gave up and let them stream down his face.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‡

T
HE WEDDING PARTY
clustered around the closed door of the wedding chapel in the Bellagio, which was decorated with flowers and had all the luxurious details of a much larger setting. Through the windows they could see another wedding in progress, the flowers and padded chairs drenched in the colorful hues of ambient light were worthy of any beautiful cathedral in Europe. The fact that it was small and intimate actually added to the festive mood. It wasn’t like any Las Vegas venue Kyle had ever been to before. And he’d been to a lot of them. It was the favored destination for his Team guys, who often got married and divorced quickly.