A Second Chance

“How did you end up on the streets?” the man asked, squatting beside Ben on the pavement in front of the shop where he was panhandling. “Walked out of my house and there they were,” Ben replied, hoping he’d take the hint and either shut up or better yet move on. “Hey, come on. It’s a serious question.” Ben shrugged. “What’s it to you, anyway?” His smile was ingratiating as he replied, “I’m nosy?” “I’ll give you that,” Ben agreed before saluting a man who dropped some change into his cup. “Okay, let’s start again. How long have you been homeless?” “Again, none of your damned business.” The man leaned back against the wall, studying Ban, who did his best to ignore his scrutiny—and his presence. Then he said, very softly, “You were a good cop, once upon a time, Mercer.” Mercer was Ben’s surname and the man was right, he had been a good cop until everything went south. “What happened?” the man asked. “If you know who I am, you know damned well what happened,” Ben growled. He nodded. “You got shot by your partner while the two of you were trying to bring down a drug dealer. He claimed you were taking a payoff and he caught you in the act. He said you and he pulled your guns at the same time, he managed to wound you because your shot went wild, and then he killed the dealer in self-defense.” “Nice story, if you believe him,” Ben spat out. “Unfortunately for you, the IA investigators did, despite you telling them that your partner was the one on the take, working for the dealer. When you tried to arrest them, he killed the guy seconds before you made a grab for his gun, which is why his shot hit your knee instead of killing you.” “Fuckers,” Ben said angrily. “Every last one of them. Him, IA, my superiors. I was labeled a dirty cop. Even though they didn’t have the proof they needed to back it up, other than my partner’s word, they shoved me out on my ass.” “Then your wife divorced you,” the man said. “You’ve done your research.” Ben eyed him warily. “Why?” “Later. Let’s finish your story, first.” “Not much more to it, which you probably know. I was down, way down, and began drinking to drown my sorrows and the pain. She didn’t like it, told me to straighten up or else, I didn’t, she walked out and filed for divorce. I don’t really blame her. Our marriage had been a sham from the beginning. The problem was, she had a damned good lawyer and I didn’t because I couldn’t afford one, so she got everything except my clothes and the car.” “That must have pissed you off.” “You think?” Ben frowned at him at that point, asking, “You got a name?” “You can call me Ray.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that your real name?” “Yeah.” “Got a last one to go with it?” “Yes, but I’ll keep it to myself for the time being.” “Whatever.” Ben nodded his thanks to a woman who put two bills in his cup as she said, “May Jesus’ blessings be with you, young man.” “Haven’t been so far,” he said under his breath. Ray snickered before saying, “You were drinking heavily, and had only the clothes on your back and your car. Then what?” “Lived in the car until it was impounded, stopped drinking because I couldn’t even afford rotgut wine, and here I am, footloose-and-fancy-free with what I’ve got in my backpack and my sleeping bag.” “And this.” He tapped Ben’s knee. Ben grimaced. Not that his touching it hurt, but he was making a point that Ben didn’t like but had to accept. His partner had shot him in the knee. It was the bastard’s bad luck, or good luck Ben supposed, that it hit him there, but his partner had been in panic mode. If it had hit anywhere else, Ben might have retaliated. “They say kneecapping, and that’s basically what he did to me, causes the worst pain imaginable,” Ben said. “I can personally attest to that. I went down, screaming in agony. The doctors did the best they could to reconstruct my knee but as they told me at the time, a kneecap can never be fully restored. It didn’t leave me incapacitated but I’m lame, now, and I’ll never be able to walk or run the way I used to. Another byproduct of what happened,” he muttered sourly. “How badly does it handicap you?” Ray asked. Ben replied with a slight smile, “Depends on how you mean that. It’s great for the pity factor when I’m panhandling. Not so good when I’m trying to find a safe place to crash for the night.” “I’m sure.” “Look, Ray, I appreciate the attention, I guess you could call it, but what the hell’s going on with you?” “I’m trying to decide if you might be the kind of man I’m looking for.” “In what respect?” Ben asked, his gaze wary. “You have no ties, no one you’re responsible to or for, for starters.” “True. I’m not happy about it, but…” He shrugged. “If you were given a chance to change that, would you?” Ben’s initial instinct was to say “Damned right I would.” But he didn’t. He knew there had to be something more to Ray’s interest in him than his being some kind of do-gooder. He didn’t ask, though. Not at that moment. Instead he picked up the cup, putting the change and bills, all three of them, in his jacket pocket. Ray was standing by then and held out his hand. Ben ignored it as he got to his feet. Not an easy project but he’d done it so often in the past year that he had his movements down pat—hand on the wall for support, push up with his good leg until he was erect, then put his weight on his other leg as well. “You’re a stubborn bastard,” Ray said as he watched. “Yep.” Ben bent to pick up his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and then said, “Let’s take this conversation somewhere more private.” “Such as?” Ben shrugged. “I could say the nearest alley, but I doubt you’d like the ambiance. You can buy me lunch down there.” He gestured toward a fast-food restaurant that he knew didn’t care who you were or how you were dressed as long as you were sober, didn’t stink, and bought something. “It’s mid-afternoon so I figure we’ll be able to find a table.” Ray agreed, they walked—well, Ben limped but it’s how he moved—down to the restaurant. When they were at the counter, Ray told him to get whatever he wanted. Ben took him at his word and ordered two large burgers with the works, fries, a shake, and a brownie. Ray was more circumspect, as Ben thought of it, only getting a regular burger and coffee. They found a table along one wall, away from the windows, and Ben dug in, scarfing down the first burger before he came up for air. “How long since you had a decent meal?” Ray asked. “I forget, but it’s been a while.” He ate a couple of fries, took a drink, and then said, “Why me?” “Because you were a good cop who got a raw deal.” “No s**t,” Ben replied bitterly. “That didn’t answer my question, but before you do, how did you find me? Wander the streets and there I was?” Ray chuckled. “Not quite that bad. We put out the word, a week or so ago, that we were looking for you. Someone saw you in the area a couple of days later and let us know. After that it was just a case of my coming down here, hoping you hadn’t moved on.” “‘We,’ ‘us’? You work for…for what? An organization I presume.” With a nod, Ray said, “We’ll get to that in a moment. Part of your record while you were on the force said you were a crack shot. Think you still are?” Ben spread his hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve held a gun, to say the least of firing one, so it’s hard to tell. That said, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be. It’s all in hand-eye coordination and mine was damned good.” “It’s also your mindset,” Ray said. “You might be able to hit the bull’s-eye every time, but if you freeze when you have to deal with a person who is about to kill you or someone else, all the training in the world won’t keep you or their target alive.” “Very true. Since you’ve obviously read my record, you know I had no problem in that respect. I was due to become part of the SWAT team as one of their snipers when all that s**t happened.” “We know. Next thing. As I said, when we learned where you were most recently I came down here to find you, which obviously I have. I followed you yesterday and this morning. You don’t seem to have too much trouble getting around, despite the limp.” Ben shrugged. “On the ground, no. Climbing up to a roof is another story. I can do it, but it takes time and stresses my knee more than I like.” “What about running?” “I can, in a pinch.” Ben smiled wryly. “Like when I’m trying to avoid being hassled by the cops or punks. Not that I run from the punks unless there’s too many of them. I stand my ground when it’s one or two. I still throw a mean punch and I’m good with a makeshift weapon like a piece of pipe or hunk of wood.” “That’s good to know.” Ray leaned back, eyeing him. When he didn’t say anything, Ben picked up his second burger, which was starting to get cold, and made quick work of finishing it off. “So?” Ben said, tired of Ray’s silent scrutiny. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” “Am I going to want to meet them?” Ben smiled briefly. “I’d rather not end up a prisoner of a s*x ring, or what have you.” Ray laughed. “Trust me, that won’t happen. The organization I work for is strictly legit, although the branch I’m with isn’t out in the open.” Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions, but it’s black ops or some such?” “I suppose some people might label us as that, although we only operate within the States.” Intrigued, although Ben wasn’t about to admit it quite yet, he said, “I’m willing to meet your boss, I presume, but it has to be somewhere public.” “No problem.” Ray took out his phone to make a call. When it was answered, he spoke so quietly Ben couldn’t hear him above the voices of the people at the tables close to them. After he hung up, he said, “He’ll meet us in the modern art gallery at the museum in twenty minutes.” “He couldn’t have made it the Renaissance gallery?” Ben groused, not that he cared one way or the other. The venue was public enough he’d feel safe, and private enough that no one would bother them. “I’m sure he’ll be open to going up there if you insist,” Ray replied. “Shall we?” * * * * “Mercer, this is Mr. Durand,” Ray said, introducing Ben to a middle-aged, distinguished looking man who had been studying a painting Ben recognized as one by Braque. “Mr. Mercer, a pleasure,” Durand said, holding out his hand. Ben shook it—after all it would have been impolite not to—saying as he did, “I doubt that pleasure is the right word.” Durand chuckled, gesturing to a bench in the middle of the gallery. Other than a couple walking slowly from painting to painting, they were the only people there. Ben decided that made it safe enough to talk, if they kept their voices low. “It is a pleasure,” Durand said when they were seated. “I know quite a bit about you, all of it relevant to why I wanted to meet you.” Ben remained silent, waiting for him to continue. “I know Ray had already questioned you in regard to your skills with firearms.” “He asked if I thought I’d lost my edge over the last year or so. I told him that I honestly couldn’t say.” Durand glanced at Ray, who was seated on Ben’s other side. Ray nodded. Why, Ben had no idea. Then Durand said, “You’re clean, now?” “I don’t drink, if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t since soon after I ended up on the streets.” Ben smiled, adding, “It wasn’t in my budget.” “If you were offered a drink, would you accept it?” “Meaning would I fall back into the habit?” Ben looked dead at him. “I never considered myself to be more than a heavy drinker. My ex thought differently. Since she was looking at it from the outside she told me, more often than I like to think about, that I had a problem. To quote her, ‘You’re a damned alcoholic, Ben. Get help or get out.’ In the end, she was the one who left. Not that I blame her.” “Even though you loved her?” Ben shrugged. “I’m not sure I ever loved her. Ours was a marriage of convenience. She wanted to get out an untenable situation at home; I wanted to prove I could…” He stopped talking, staring down at the floor. “Could what, Ben?” Durand asked softly. “Be the man everyone thought I was. The man I wanted to be.” Ben raised his head to meet Durand’s gaze. “Straight.” Durand’s reply was to smile and say, “Interesting. Did you succeed?” “I was able to perform my husbandly duties, if that’s what you’re asking.” “You know it’s not.” “No one I work…worked with questioned my sexuality.” “That’s still not answering my question.” Ben almost got up and left. Perhaps he would have if something in Durand’s tone of voice hadn’t said he was genuinely interested in what Ben’s reply would be, and that he wouldn’t condemn him no matter what he said. “No, I didn’t succeed,” Ben said quietly. “It’s hard to convince yourself you’re something you’re not when you know deep inside exactly what you are.” “I might debate that, in some cases. Not in yours, however. You strike me as an honest man who wrestled with a problem and thought you’d found the solution, albeit the wrong one. The fact you’re admitting it now, to complete strangers, speaks well for you.” Ben snorted. “It would have spoken better of me if I’d admitted it to people I knew and worked with.” “True, but fear of contempt, if you will, can keep even the most honest man from revealing a deep secret.” “Especially in an environment as toxically masculine as the average police force,” Ray said. “And your organization isn’t?” Ben asked in disbelief, considering what he thought it probably was, and what the people who worked there did. “Not it the least,” Durand replied before Ray could. “We have men, women, straight and gay, all races and creeds working for us.” Ben decided it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty. “Doing what?” “On the one hand, protecting those who need our help. On the other, eliminating those who deserve it. That doesn’t always mean killing them, but it’s a viable option when necessary.” “That was straight to the point.” Durand smiled. “Would you have preferred it if I beat around the bush?” “Not really.” Ben got up, going over to one of the paintings. Not that he looked at it, but it gave him a reason to separate himself from them so that he could think about what Durand had said. Could I kill in cold blood? I have the feeling that would be something they’d expect of me if the situation warranted it. If things had been different and I’d become a part of the SWAT team I undoubtedly would have had to take someone out. I was chosen because I was an expert marksman and sniper. I had no problems with that because it would have been in the line of duty as a police officer. I’m quite certain that whatever this organization is that Durand heads it’s far from legitimate in that way. “Vigilante justice?” Ben asked when he rejoined them. “Some people would probably see it as such,” Durand replied. “I see it as handling problems no one else can, at least not legally. It’s rarely necessary to kill a target, but when it is, that’s what we do.” “How do you manage to get away with it?” “Ray, would you like to field that question?” Durand asked. “Of course.” Ray paused before saying, “We are quite good at making a death look accidental, for starters.” “Kind of hard to do if the victim ends up with a bullet in their head or heart,” Ben replied. “True,” Ray agreed. “When that happens, we’re generally dealing with a person involved with a gang or some other criminal organization. Then, we might set it up to point the finger at one or more of his associates or the competition. Killing two birds, so to speak.” “All right. I can see how that would work. What sort of protection do you offer?” “Keeping someone safe if they’re being stalked, for one. As a cop—” “Ex-cop,” Ben said sourly. “Ex-cop. I’m sure you’re aware there’s not much the police can do until a stalker does something blatant, like attacking his victim or one of the victim’s family or their current boy or girlfriend.” “Yeah, which sucks.” “Indeed it does. We also protect people who’ve witnessed a crime,” Durand said. “Isn’t that something the police or, to take it further, WITSEC does? Or should be doing?” “‘Should be’ being the operative words there, Ben,” Ray replied. “Very loosely, WITSEC doesn’t step in until a case is ready to go to trial. And then it only involves protecting someone who’s going to testify against an organized crime figure, a drug trafficker, or someone who committed another federal felony. The police can put a witness in a safe house prior to their agreeing to testify, but there can and have been leaks, leading to the witness being eliminated.” “So you do what? Spirit them away before that can happen?” Ben asked. “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Normally, we add a second layer of protection that no one, including the police, knows about.” “Or,” Durand added with a brief, dark smile, “and this is the optimum solution, we deal with the person or persons the witness was going to testify against before the case goes to trial.” “Like I said, vigilante justice.” Durand nodded. “If that’s how you choose to look at it.” “Presuming you’re going to offer me a spot in your organization, I’ll need time to think about it,” Ben said. “I was born and bred as a cop, thanks to my dad. If he’d been alive when…when everything went down, he’d probably have disowned me.” “Rather than believing and supporting you?” Ray asked in obvious disbelief. “In his opinion, the police department could do no wrong. They found me guilty, so I would have been as far as he was concerned, even though I was his son.” “God save us from fanatics,” Ray muttered. Ben smiled dryly. “I agree. Fortunately, he wasn’t around.” “Our understanding is he died in the line of duty,” Durand said. “You know enough about me, apparently, to know that’s what happened.” “We do. All right, I’ll give you time to consider my offer, because I am offering you a job within my organization. I’ll even give you a place to stay, off the streets.” Ben c****d his head in question. “Some sleazy motel? Not that it wouldn’t be a step up from my usual accommodations.” “No,” Durand replied. “In one of our safe houses.” “I suppose I should have figured you have them. Okay, I’ll take you up on it. No promises, but I am leaning toward joining you. After all, it would be better than what I’m doing now.” Durand laughed. “I would hope so.”