Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

But Nick barely heard him. He stepped around the shell casings and headed outside to slip away on his own. Maybe weather the panic attack before the place was swarming with FBI agents. Nick already knew the questions that would be asked and he was already tired of answering them.

As he approached the open doorway, Nick saw Truth’s body flat on his back, eyes shocked open. There were three bullet holes in his chest directly over his heart. Nick was relieved to know he went fast. He knelt down and touched Truth’s face with his fingertips. There was nothing to say. He could not have felt any more helpless than he did at that moment.

Sirens closed fast from two separate directions. The press would have a great time portraying America as a safer place because of Rashid’s capture. But Nick knew better. There was something much more malicious going on. Rashid Baser didn’t go through all the trouble to sneak into the United States to exact revenge on a single FBI agent. It wouldn’t stop the press though. At least in the short term. They’ll raise the freedom flag high and swagger with delight. In the world of terrorism there was no one bigger than Rashid Baser. No one.

Except Kemel Kharrazi.

Nick left Dr. Alan Morgan’s office on Pratt Street just after noon. It was three days since the shootout and regulation mandated a session with a professional counselor whenever bullets left a chamber. The affected had seventy-two hours to complete the session. Matt went first, then waited in the car for his partner. Nick’s session took longer than Matt’s. There was too much psychological damage to go over in just one visit, so Nick agreed to return when the time was right. Which meant never.

Nick got in the car and started the engine. He drove a gray Ford sedan with soot clinging so masterfully to its exterior it appeared to create a designer pattern. This was not born out of neglect as much as an attempt to blend in.

He drove west on Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Baltimore field office. Matt sat in the passenger seat with an open lunch box on his lap. He held up an apple and inspected it like he was about to dust it for prints.

“What kind of apple is this?” Matt asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Nick said.

“You do talk to your wife at night don’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, don’t you tell her what I like and don’t like?”

“Listen, do you know why she makes you lunch whenever I have any kind of doctors appointment?”

“Why?”

“Because, she thinks you’ll sit in that waiting area eating lunch, while I’m getting my teeth cleaned and you’ll protect me from terrorists that might barge in and try to kill me.”

“Are you serious?” Matt chuckled.

Nick nodded. “However, what she doesn’t know is that you sit in the car and read Playboy, so if a terrorist ever did come in you’d have a hard-on so big you’d probably sit there with a smirk on your face and point directly to the office I was in.”

Matt took a bite from the apple and chewed slowly. “Playboy has excellent interviews.”

Nick rolled his eyes. He stopped the car at a light and hung his elbow out the window.

“What’s this meeting about?” Nick asked.

“All I know is, it’s a Red Ball special, and nothing good ever comes out of a Red Ball.”

A young black kid wearing a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap approached the car holding a stack of newspapers. “Wanna paper, Mister?”

Nick reached for his wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to the kid. “Are you an Orioles fan?”

The kid handed him a copy of the Baltimore Sun, “You bet.” He dug his hands into his pocket for change.

“That’s okay, keep it,” Nick said.

“Thanks, Officer,” the kid smiled, then wandered toward the next car in line.

Matt laughed. “We may as well have a siren on the roof.”

Nick glanced at the front page. A soldier poked his head out from a U.S. tank surrounded by a mob of angry Turkish civilians. Their faces were twisted into sinister shapes. Their mouths open, assaulting the soldier with venomous emissions, while a U.S. flag burned in the background. Nick dropped the newspaper onto Matt’s lap and accelerated through the intersection. “Looks like the boys are getting a warm welcome in Turkey.”

Matt gripped the paper and shook his head. “They don’t belong there in the first place.”

“You know that and I know that, but try telling that to the President’s pollsters.”

“The Kurds have every right to fight back. Just because Turkey is part of NATO, doesn’t mean we should always side with them.”

“It’s all politics,” Nick said. “The Turks slaughter thousands of innocent Kurds and when the Kurds retaliate, we show up and claim that innocent Turks are being killed. Shit, everyone’s innocent.” He turned to Matt, “Except you.”

Matt gave him an aw-shucks grin. It reminded Nick of the night they’d met nine years earlier when Matt was still a sharpshooter with the FBI’s SWAT team. Matt chose to purchase a 10-millimeter semiautomatic pistol with his own funds and had an opportunity to use it that night while leaving a bar in West Baltimore. He saw a man in a blue FBI windbreaker crouched behind a Volkswagen dodging shots from another man crouched three cars ahead of him. The man in the FBI windbreaker was Nick. It was his first year with the Bureau and he found himself chasing down a wily gun smuggler by himself.

Across the street Matt had acquired a perfect angle. From thirty yards away he blew out the right kneecap of the assailant, sending him to the ground immobile and wailing with pain. Nick swiftly took advantage of his good fortune and cuffed his prisoner. When Matt approached, Nick asked him for identification. “They never asked Superman for any ID when he saved the day,” Matt quipped, holding up his credentials. It was Nick’s introduction to the aw-shucks grin.

A few months later Nick’s partner retired and he needed a replacement. Matt was the first phone call he made.

Now, Nick glanced over at Matt who was slowly working his way through the newspaper. “Anything about Rashid, yet?”

“That’s what I’m looking for.”

“If it was there it would be on the front page.”

“You would think,” Matt said. He folded the paper and reached back to drop it on the back seat. “How does Walt keep that stuff locked up so well?”

“He’s the best I’ve ever seen at controlling the flow of information.”

Matt pulled a baggie of assorted cheese cubes from the lunch pail and held up a cube to Nick.

“No. Thanks.”

Matt popped a cube in his mouth and began a slow chew. “So, what did Dr. Morgan have to say?”

“He said I don’t see the birds and the trees.”

“What?”

“He says I don’t spend enough time noticing the world of nature around me.” Nick shrugged. “Go figure.”

“Did you tell him that staring at sparrows while doing our line of work could get you killed?”

“He wouldn’t understand.”

Matt ate another cheese cube. “Did you go into your dysfunctional family?”

Nick glanced at his partner. “What dysfunctional family?”

“Oh, come on. Your cousin is connected to the Capelli’s and your brother is a compulsive gambler out in Vegas.”

Nick frowned. “Phil’s not a compulsive gambler. He’s just on a prolonged losing streak.”

“Yeah, a twelve year losing streak.”

Nick smiled. “That’s about right. He’ll spin out of it eventually.”

Matt examined the contents of a power bar he took from the lunch box. He appeared dissatisfied and returned it to the box. “Too many carbs,” he said.

“I’ll mention it to Julie.”