Encrypted Connection

Blaise: Four

 Where he expected a kid, truly a teenager, sat a grown man. The file said he wasn't much older than Blaise, but the distance between them seemed a lot broader than it did now.

He was also pretty solid. For someone who stayed indoors like Joey professed to, he assumed that he'd be all knees and elbows, spaghetti arms and gangly legs, but that wasn't the case at all.

Blaise could tell even as he lifted himself up from the chair that he had some toned biceps, a nice chest, and that was true, he likely has the legs to go with that kind of physique.

But he wasn't going to comment on that right now.

He also wasn't going to laugh at any of the ridiculous things Joey had said.

They had serious business to discuss.

Blaise knew Joey's type. Humor was his coping mechanism for the shit he'd gone through in his life. That was fine. Blaise wouldn't bust his balls for it, at least not now. That wasn't why he was here.

"Fine by me," he said, tossing the teddy bear to the man, "Listen, you and I need to come to an understanding, and I know you're better behind your screens and your gadgets, but that's not how this works."

Blaise found another rolling chair, pushed it up to where Joey sat, then took a seat.
"I know you got skin in the game here," he said, sitting back with a sigh, "Trust me, I take your safety just as seriously as I take Silvo's or Jade's or Randy's. On this team, we don't throw anybody under the bus. We don't leave men behind. You can make a joke out of that all day long, but it's a code. It's what we live by."

Blaise took a look at the kid's screen. There were windows and text too small to read or understand, websites open, none of which he recognized. In the field, a man with skills was valued. Just because Joey wasn't the kind of skilled soldier he was used to didn't mean he wasn't just as valuable.

He'd have to come to terms with that and be better about how he reacted.

"Your story is yours to tell, and when you're ready, I'll listen. All of us have been betrayed at some point. That's why we're in this operation," Blaise said, "We report to very few people for that reason. We work outside of the law in ways that no other agency can. I know you trust Silvo, and he trusts you. That's good enough for now."

And it would have to be. Trust was earned, not given and surely not forced. Blaise realized that.

"Truth is," he said, choosing his words carefully, "we're a man short. These days, with the way crime is more technological, we need an extra set of hands on the keyboard, or whatever euphemism you want to use. I didn't want to say this in front of the rest of the team, but I'd like to see if you're a good fit for us."

He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair, leaning back in the chair that barely leaned.

"Yeah, you pissed me off today. Not gonna lie," he admitted, "but you did good work. Silvo was right. You got us farther along than we've been able to get in six months. I've opened far too many shipping containers with dead children in it to last a lifetime. For once, I'd like to get there before they die."

He looked around, the memorabilia, the posters and trash and clothes strewn everywhere, but underneath that all, everything seemed to have its place. Blaise had seen chaos, filth, but this was just the opposite. However, as much as this was his space, it didn't seem like a home. From his file, Blaise knew he didn't have any family, had been on probation for quite some time, and it was telling.

"Certain things have to be said, in front of certain people, for reasons I can't really explain," he said, looking back at Joey, "I'm gonna level with you: I need you close for a lot of reasons. But I'm not going to make you stay at the safe house. Now, that doesn't mean that later things aren't going to change. My first priority is to keep you safe. My second is to complete the mission. IF either of those require you close, that order will come down and you won't have a choice. Right now, you do. At some point you gotta make a choice to either trust us or not. When you make that choice, I have a place for you."

Blaise tried to remember what else he was going to say, but he couldn't.

That likely meant his time was up.

He stood, took a look around, and nodded.

"If you need anything, you let Silvo know and we'll get it for you. That means anything. If it'll help you do your job better, it'll be approved."

He reached out, shook Joey's hand, then put his ball cap back on and left.

The bridge across to the other apartment seemed sturdy, but he made a mental note to get something else a little more inconspicuous.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he walked along the streets, back to where he'd parked his truck.

Blaise moved into the third floor apartment, slowly, most of it at night, then started making it a real safehouse. The empty apartment became the arsenal, Silvo's server room, and the hub for the surveillance monitors.

Blaise took a job around the corner at the docks, slinging fish in the morning and draining ice bins and refilling them at night. It was dirty work, but not so bad. The money went to the team account to pay for incidentals and food. Everyone contributed.

The warrants were being issued, the right people were being briefed, and so far, Joey's information was turning out to be more and more credible the more they dug. By this time, Blaise realized that Joey was right--putting himself into a position to pedal information was useless. They were going to have to have a better strategy.

When Blaise wasn't working or working the case, he spent time at Julie's with the boys. It just made the things that didn't make sense go away, and Julie needed the help. He'd already fixed the back pasture fence, took the boys shopping for little league gear, and started renovating the two car garage into one to make the third room so the boys can eventually have their own space.

Julie tried to pay him, but Blaise acted like he was hard of hearing or covertly had the money transferred back into her bank account.

At night, when the day was done and Blaise was about to go home, that was the worst. Julie cried sometimes. Sometimes she'd reach out and run her hand over his arm, like women do. Suggestive. Blaise knew she got lonely, but he felt nothing. He cared for her because Sam had. He cared for the boys because they reminded him of Sam. Because he'd made a promise.

It was ten o'clock, and Blaise knew he'd have to go home soon. Julie came in, leaned against the door frame, staring at him.

He tried not to look up, but it was inevitable.

"I got work in the morning. I gotta get going. Just make sure the boys don't come in here. This drywall is gonna be wet for about forty-eight hours. Alright?"

Julie nodded, Blaise stood, and when she pushed off the doorframe and walked toward him, his stomach sank.

She did the same thing she'd done the last few nights. Her hands found their way to his chest, she stepped into his body, and it took everything Blaise had not to step backwards.

"I don't understand. Don't you find me attractive?" she said quietly.

"It's not that," Blaise answered, putting his hands on her wrists.

"Then what is it?" she asked, but before he could answer, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

They were soft, and she tasted like spearmint. He could smell her perfume this close, feel the way her chest pressed into his, but all he could think about was Sam.

Julie pulled back, feeling him not respond, then stepped back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry," she said, almost choking on the words, "Damn you. And him. Damn you both."

And then she walked out.

Blaise did the same, barely making it to his truck before he let himself crumble, sitting there in the dark.

He couldn't stay. That was the job. He couldn't handle this right now, so he went back to the house and drank himself to sleep, but if he was honest, he just passed out.