The three men stand back as the hatch
opens—farther away than necessary, in my opinion, since the raised
door could provide some relief from the rain, but they don’t take
advantage of it. Instead they wear clear plastic ponchos with hoods
pulled up over their heads and they watch us exit the Semper
Fi, exchanging wary glances when I seal the hatch behind me.
“Only four?” one of them asks. He’s shorter than the other two and
stands slightly in front of them, as if in charge. A mess of poorly
chopped locks above his dark eyes lead down into thick sideburns
that point to a smooth chin dripping with rain. He squints in the
downpour and frowns at us, and I recognize his thin voice
immediately. Ellington, has to be, and if I hadn’t seen his
med file myself, I wouldn’t believe this ma
