Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

“You broke my fuckin’ wrist,” he wailed.

Rogers raised a fist to deliver a blow to the head that would have almost certainly killed the man. The spot on his head was burning like somebody had set it on fire with an acetylene torch.

No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it!

“Hey, man, come on, back off!”

Rogers stared up at the black guy.

“You proved your point, dude, okay?”

Rogers let go of the wrist and took a step back.

Instantly, on a sign from the black guy, two of the other men stepped up to take their shot.

Rogers didn’t wait for either of them to take a swing. He grabbed the shirt of the bigger one, lifted him off his feet, and threw him against the wall. The man hit the brick hard and slumped down. When the other launched himself low at Rogers’s belly, he brought a knee up and caught him right on the chin. The man fell to the pavement screaming with a mouthful of broken teeth.

Rogers stepped back and adjusted his hat.

“Come back when you’re old enough,” he said to the men who were still standing.

The other guys helped their injured friends up.

The black guy said, “Oh, we’ll be back all right. Count on it, you son of a bitch!”

The group stalked off, with several of them supporting their injured buddies. The man with the broken wrist looked back at Rogers and screamed obscenities.

The other people in line looked stunned by what they had just witnessed. Even the ones who were obviously in the military. Some left. Most stayed.

Within fifteen minutes Rogers had passed all those twenty-one and older into the bar. All the rest were sent on their way. After seeing what Rogers could do, no one else gave him any trouble.

“Dude’s a damn freak,” one man muttered to his friend as they were turned away.

A minute later a stretch limo drove up and the driver got out, came around, and opened the door. Ten people got out. They were all in their twenties and thirties, split equally between men and women, dressed in casual clothes that would break the bank of most people.

One of the men from the group came up to Rogers. He was tall, good-looking, with thick, curly brown hair, and he wore a carefree, arrogant expression.

“Name’s Josh Quentin. My party’s on the VIP list.”

Rogers looked down at his list and said, “I’ll need to see ID from everyone.”

“You’re new.”

“First night.”

“What’s your name?”

“Paul.”

“Okay, Paul, fair enough. But from now on, remember us. We’re regulars. And I don’t like to wait.”

He slipped a hundred-dollar bill into Rogers’s hand.

They all showed ID and Rogers checked the names off on the screen on his phone.

“Have a good time, Mr. Quentin.”

Quentin turned to look at him and smiled. “I always do.” He grabbed the gorgeous woman next to him, who returned the grope with a smile and a flirty hip bump.

Some guys seem to have the Midas touch , thought Rogers. And I wouldn’t mind bashing in the brains of every single one of the pricks.

He poked his head inside the door in time to see the group head up the stairs and into a room.

Rogers had not gone up there when he was inside the bar. It had been roped off. He did note that there was a security man posted at the bottom of the stairs who had let Quentin and his group pass.

Rogers wondered why people would come to a bar and then not go to the bar. Maybe they had their own personal one up there. Maybe they had something more than the peons below got.

As he was about to close the door he saw Helen Myers pass by the security man and head up the stairs. She went into the same room.

Rogers closed the door.

Four times that night he was called into the bar to handle a disturbance.

Four times he vise-gripped the arm of the offender just enough to get his drunken attention and led the person quietly out the door.

Twice he saw Myers watching him from the upper hallway. She seemed pleased with how he was handling things.

The place was packed until one a.m. with hundreds of drinkers, dancers, bad karaoke, and men grabbing ass and women sometimes letting them. Then people began leaving. At two he and another security man eased out the last few stragglers. Then the cleanup crew came in and started stacking chairs and mopping slickened floors. The bleach would probably come out in the morning, Rogers figured.

He didn’t know how many drinks had been poured over the course of six hours, but he felt the Grunt had just made a ton of money.

He was sitting at the bar drinking a glass of water when Myers came over and sat next to him. She pulled out an e-cigarette and put the end between her lips.

“How was your first night?”

“Pretty much what I expected,” he replied.

“I heard there was an altercation in line. With some big guys.”

“They didn’t understand the rules. So I gave a lesson. But I did it as nicely as I could. Like you said.”

“I saw you do a couple of ejections from in here. They were well done.”

“Thanks.” Rogers took a drink of water and set his glass down. “Josh Quentin?”

Myers pulled out the e-cig from her mouth. “What about him?”

“What does he do to qualify as a VIP?”

“He owns his own company. Super smart. He’s not a billionaire yet, but he will be. And he’s barely thirty. A real mover and shaker.”

“Good for him. Nice group of friends with him.”

“He has lots of friends.”

“Yeah, I saw him playing grab-ass with one of them. But she didn’t seem to mind.”

She shrugged. “He gets what he pays for.”

“Almost a billionaire, huh? Then you’d think they’d be going to some fancy-ass club for high rollers.”

She frowned at this comment. “This isn’t Vegas. And we’re not just a bar, Paul. We cater to lots of different interests and tastes. Some fancier than others. Good night.” She rose to leave.

“What about my money?”

She turned back to him. “Payday is every Friday.”

“The thing is I need some cash now.”

She eyed him closely. Then she walked around the bar, opened the cash register, counted out two fifties, ten twenties, ten tens, and the rest fives and ones. She wrapped a rubber band around the cash and tossed it to him.

He slipped it inside his pocket. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But that’s a one-off. From now on payday is Friday.”

“Understood.”

“And even though you’re not officially on the payroll, we’ll be taking out something for FICA and income taxes. I’m not getting screwed by the IRS.”

“What does that leave me, then?”

“Enough. Unless you want to fill out the paperwork? Full name, Social Security number, all that.”

“No, I don’t want to do that.”

“Fine. Just so you know, I’ve never paid an employee under the table. I’m not a fan.”

“So why me?”

She leaned against the bar. “You looked like somebody who needed a break.”

“I appreciate that. So how’s Karl?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. And remember, he’s your boss.”

“Never forgot it. See you tomorrow. Boss .”

Rogers rose and left.

It was nearly three in the morning.

It was time for him to go to work.

ROGERS PARKED THE van well off the grounds of Fort Monroe and finished the trek on foot. This early in the morning, he was the only one out and about.

The salt air hit him from the channel, and far out in the water he could see the white lights of a passing ship. It was cool, quiet, and peaceful.

Depending on how things went, that could all change very quickly.

He knew exactly where he was going and wanted to get there quickly and unobtrusively. There were few who could move with more stealth than Rogers. That had been beaten into him for so long he could think of no other way.