Mary McDonald - No good deed

Jim blinked. His stance softened and after a beat, he stuck out his hand. “Jim Sheridan.”

He stared at the hand. His plea was meant to erase the last few minutes, not their whole past. Mark wasn’t ready to forget those fifteen months, but he’d go along for now. He’d do whatever it took to fix this if it meant not having another tragedy hanging around his neck. Swallowing hard, he clasped the other man’s hand. “Mark Taylor.”

The handshake introduction did more than calm the waters. With a shake of his hand, Jim gave Mark back something he’d been missing since being arrested. His dignity.

They returned to their chairs as the waitress arrived with their pizza. She paused in puzzlement as if sensing the residual tension in the air. “Um, cheese and sausage, right?”

Eyes burning, Mark avoided eye contact with everyone and covered his emotion by putting the photos back in the bag before the waitress saw them.

Jessie moved the water glasses out of the way so the waitress could put the hot pizza in the center of the table. “Yes, that’s correct. It looks great.”

What the hell had just happened? One minute Jim was sure Taylor was going to attack him, but the next, anguish flashed in the man’s eyes followed by something else. Resolve? Jim took the spatula and lifted a slice of pizza onto Jessie’s plate. He slid the utensil under another and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he nodded towards Taylor’s plate. The guy looked wrung out, but he accepted the pizza and poured water for all of them while Jim served up the food.

“This is good pizza.” Jessica dabbed at her mouth.

Taylor glanced at her but didn’t react to the statement. He looked distracted and hardly touched his food.

“Yeah. It is. I’ll have to remember to come here more often. Who’d have thought an Irish pub would have decent pizza?” Jim took a sip of water and wished it was beer.

She glanced at Taylor briefly, and apparently communicated something to him because he nodded and took a bite. Turning back to Jim, she shrugged. “No kidding. But hey, it’s Chicago. We love our pizza.”

Jim took another slice. The pub was busy, and background noise covered the uneasy silence that hung over the group as they ate. Taylor’s leg bounced under the table, occasionally it bumped into the bottom. It was something that seemed beyond Taylor’s control. Every time they’d interrogated him, the leg would jump. At first, Jim had taken it for a sign that the guy was lying, but later, realized it was stress related. The fact it was going like a piston now meant the guy was extremely keyed up. When it seemed the other two were finished, Jim balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “It’s time to get down to business. Level with me. What’s this all about?” He gestured to the paper bag on the fourth chair.

Taylor sighed and reached for the bag. “I have no reason to lie to you, and every reason to keep this to myself.” His mouth twisted and he gave a shake of his head. “I hope I don’t regret it.” He withdrew the photos and went to put them on the table, but the pizza pan was in the way, so he stood and came around next to Jim’s chair. “Forget about the camera for a minute. Just look at the pictures. Really look.”

“Okay, fine.” He’d go along with him. When he’d first looked, all he’d noticed were bodies and blood, but this time he took note of the setting. It looked familiar. He picked up one photo and angled it towards the light. It appeared to be a gangway. The victims were every age and race, but he saw a theme, a commonality. Most were wearing Cubs gear-T-shirts, jerseys or hats.

Taylor pointed in the upper left corner of the photo. “See the white flag? The one with the ‘W’ on it?”

Jim squinted. It was hard to make out but he could just see it. “Yeah.”

“Well, the good news is, the Cubs win tonight. The bad news is, nobody’s going to care.”

“Okay, so you did some photo editing. It’s a damn fine job too, Taylor. You might think about doing something useful with your talents.” Jim glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in thirty minutes.

“Goddamn it! Would ya listen to me? Why would I go to all this trouble? Huh? To take another chance that you’d lock me up?” Taylor turned away, his hands on his hips, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He waved a hand at Jim. “Shit. Whatever.” He snatched up the photos and returned to his seat.

Jessica folded her arms and leaned on the table. “Mark’s telling the truth. I’ve seen it. I’m the most skeptical person you’ll ever meet, but sometimes we have to admit that we don’t have the answer, do we? There are still mysteries in the world.” She waved a hand towards the photos. “Do you think I want to risk my career? Hell no. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. But, this is real.”

Jim shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

She shook her head and darted a look at Taylor, who was sorting through the pictures before returning her focus to Jim. “Look, even if you don’t believe us, could you at least arrange for tighter security at Wrigley Field tonight? Tell them you got information from a source you can’t reveal. You’ve been doing this a long time. They’ll believe you.”

He almost considered her suggestion. If nothing else, it’d be a good training exercise, but training exercises took planning and cost money. There were channels to go through, he coudn’t just announce one on a whim.

Mark leaned across the table and spun a picture in front of Jim, stabbing a finger on it. “Before you go accusing me of having anything to do with what’s going to happen in about eight hours, I suggest you take one more look at photo four.”

Jim leaned forward and glanced at it. It was more of the same but from a different angle. There was no flag in the corner. “You forgot to add the flag to this one.” He smirked at Taylor. Busted.

“You’re a real son of a bitch aren’t you?” Taylor jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, arms akimbo.

Jim tried not to flinch, sure that the other man was about to round the table and slug him. He’d been expecting it. It’s what he’d have done if the tables had been turned, only he wouldn’t have made up a crazy story to get Taylor here. No, he’d have just found the guy and let him have it.

Taylor sucked in a deep breath, and blew it out, his shoulders and hands relaxing as though he’d commanded his body to relax. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I tried. I shouldn’t have even shown him that last one. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve his fate.”

Jessica jumped up and circled to Taylor, taking his arm and leading him a few steps away. She spoke in a low voice, but Jim heard her. “You don’t mean that, Mark. I saw you agonizing over this. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Taylor looked away from her, off to the right, his mouth set in a hard line. The muscles in his neck and jaw flexed. He turned and looked at her for several seconds before finally nodding. Jessica’s fingers tightened on his arm, briefly before Taylor returned to the table. He tapped a finger on the photo. “See anyone you recognize in there? The one lying in a pool of blood behind the old lady?”

Jim sighed but examined the photo yet again. He bent to take a closer look. Cold washed over him and the hairs on his arms stood on end. “That’s me.”

In the picture, his eyes were wide, but the way he lay, and the bullet hole in his forehead indicated that he was dead. He’d seen enough dead bodies in pictures to recognize one… even when it was his own. “How’d you do that?”

Taylor moved to the chair beside him. “I don’t do anything. The camera does. But, I have dreams.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and set it in front of Jim. “I wrote down all the details I could remember.” He sat leaning forward expectantly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His eyes, wide with hope, darted from Jim to the pictures. “I’ve got no reason to make this up, and I sure as hell have no part in what’s going to happen if we don’t act.” His gaze met Jim’s. “I swear to God.”