Max Collins - Executive Order

“Married couple. Rings on both. Hers is a huge fricking diamond, so they have some money.”

“What about her body language?”

Rogers nodded at the prompt. “Defensive, arms crossed, brow furrowed.”

“Right. She’s pissed off. Any idea about what?”

She glanced at Reeder. “Oh, come on.”

“It’s there,” he said.

She sneaked a look at the couple. The man was fiddling with his wedding ring, slipping it off, slipping it back on. “Ah... They’re talking divorce.”

“They are,” Reeder agreed.

The woman smiled, but her eyes were teary and she used the napkin to blot them away. A waitress came and they ordered something without looking at the menu.

Kevin swung by and warmed their coffee. Smiles were exchanged. Then Kevin was gone, and Rogers asked Reeder, “How’d I do?”

“I’ll tell you after you sum it up for me.”

“They’re a couple deciding whether or not to split. He’s in favor, she’s not.”

“That’s one option,” Reeder said.

She glanced at them again, as discreetly as possible. “What am I not seeing?”

“His watch.”

Another glance, though it didn’t give her much. “What about his watch?”

“It’s cheap — a Timex or something.”

“So?”

“You said they’ve got money. His suit is inexpensive, off-the-rack. Shoes are worn. Yet she has a honking diamond ring, a professional manicure, and a hairdo that cost more than his suit.”

“Then... they don’t have money?” Rogers asked, unsure where this was going. “Or maybe they do but she spends it all?”

“They’re married... just not to each other.”

She goggled at him. “Where do you get that?”

“She has a lot of money, he has none.”

“That still doesn’t mean they’re not husband and wife.”

The waitress brought the couple coffee — probably all they ordered.

He shrugged. “Professional manicure, expensive hairdo. But she’s not wearing makeup. He’s wearing a worn, wrinkled suit. Been at work all day, right?”

“Okay...”

“Everything about her says ‘perfect’ — yet she left the house without makeup.”

“Which means,” Rogers said, “she left in a hurry.”

“Yup,” Reeder said.

Rogers sat forward, gesturing with an open hand. “He called her. Needed to talk to her and they met here because no one knows them. Just to be safe, they took a booth near the kitchen, away from the windows.”

“Right. Mrs. America normally would never be caught dead in a place like this, but if she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t sit near the kitchen.”

“So I was way off about the divorce,” Rogers said.

“Not entirely. Married man has finally told Mrs.-Somebody-Else he’s going to leave his wife... so the star-crossed couple can finally be together.”

Rogers shook a fist. “And she’s pissed, because that isn’t what she wants at all! She’s got the money she wants in her current setup. This guy is strictly recreational.”

Reeder nodded. “If he had any smarts he would go home to his wife.”

“Does he? Will he?”

“Naw. When he slips the ring off? His eyes narrow for a split second, a micro-expression that says he’s determined to act. He’s made his decision.”

She glanced at them again — discreetly — and this time she caught it. “... Poor SOB.”

When she sent her eyes back to Reeder, his weren’t on hers, rather on the TV in the opposite corner. She looked over her shoulder at what had caught her friend’s attention. A red Breaking News banner flashed across the screen and quietly ominous words scrolled across: Russia invades Azbekistan .

“Well, hell,” Reeder muttered.

One of the other customers said, “Hey, Pinky, turn up the sound, will ya?”

Behind the register, Pinky picked up the remote, pointed it, and did as she was asked.

A blonde newsreader was saying, “ ... have overwhelmed the Azbekistani army. The United Nations is making vigorous protests, but at this point, the Russians remain in control of the beleaguered country. In a related story, unconfirmed by CNN, four American citizens are said to be missing from the Azbekistani capital of Troyanda. ”

Reeder and Rogers traded a look.

The newsreader said, “ Further updates as this story develops. ”

“CIA?” Rogers asked.

Shrugging, Reeder said, “I hope not. If the four are Company, and alive, we’re going to want them back. If they’re dead, then someone, probably the Russians, will be blamed... and the hawks will smell blood in the water.”

She sighed. “Why does the world have to be such a shitty place?”

“World’s fine. It’s people that’s the problem.”

That made her laugh, but it caught in her throat. “You can be one cynical son of a bitch sometimes, Joe Reeder. Me, I prefer to cling to the hope that things can be better. Naive, I know.”

He shook his head. “You’re not naive, Patti. Don’t sell yourself short. We’ve seen enough bad shit go down, both of us, that you have to cling to whatever hope you can. Be greedy about it. You’ve seen what happens when cynicism takes over.”

She’d never heard this kind of thing from him before. “ You have hope, Joe?”

He stared into his coffee for a moment, then brought his eyes up, locked on hers. “Don’t tell anybody.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

His grin was disarming and for once not at all guarded. “You know what John Philpot Curran said?”

“What, to Mama whozit?”

“Different eras — like us. John Philpot Curran, Irish judge and orator?”

She just stared at him.

“I’m paraphrasing,” Reeder said, “but in essence, Curran said the price of liberty is eternal vigilance.”

“I hear you,” she said.

“Eternal vigilance is our job, and because I have a high opinion of you and me, I’m hopeful. We do our job, then maybe, end of the day, some liberty will be left.”

“Pretty deep, Joe.”

He shrugged. “I get reflective every time Russia invades someplace. Dessert?”

“My fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”

Joe Reeder sat up in bed, pillows propped behind him, Nero Wolfe novel propped before him ( Might As Well Be Dead ), but he wasn’t reading, despite Archie Goodwin’s compelling narrative voice. Instead, Amanda Yellich dominated his thoughts — a petite redhead, as sunny and funny and fun as she was intellectually above him.

And she had liked Reeder a lot.

He had liked her, too. They had a number of nice nights together and a few afternoons, but after a promising easygoing start, she came to want more than he was prepared to give right now. Not that he’d broken it off — Amanda did that, when she realized Reeder was still in love with his ex-wife, Melanie.

Amanda hadn’t been wrong about that, and he’d hurt her, if unintentionally. He still regretted that he couldn’t give the woman what she needed emotionally, and the physical side, however rewarding, hadn’t been enough. In recent weeks, though, there’d been many times he wondered if he should call Amanda and try again. He’d never quite done that. And now — now she was gone.

On the nightstand, his cell chirped. So few people had the number — and once he’d paid dearly for ignoring a call — that he’d made a point of answering, or at least checking out, every one. When it rang the second time, he eyeballed the caller ID — UNKNOWN.