Face the Music

Chapter 3

As I made my way back to the beach, my mind automatically assessed the brawl I'd had with Ella. My commanding officer in the army always told us that without the ability to self-evaluate we'd never be worth anything. He told us over and over, and with his nagging a habit was born. After every bar fight, wrestling match, or training routine, I carefully evaluated every move my opponent had made and my every response to that motion. I scolded myself for following Ella in the first place, for nearly allowing her to hit me with the rock - I should have been ready for it - and for approaching her in a way that made her feel threatened. I commended myself for keeping her from hurting herself, or from hurting me. 

I silently thanked my commanding officers for whipping me into shape. If they hadn't, Ella would've cracked my skull open with that rock.

But it's because they did that you're here at all, I reminded myself. I thought back to the journey that led me here.

I'd been a troubled teen, trespassing, stealing, vandalizing, and when I finally got caught, the judge cut me a deal - the army or jail. I chose the army. Turns out I was a very good soldier. I excelled in basic training, and was especially gifted at collecting intel. I did so well, in fact, that stories about me traveled up the chain of command all the way to the CIA director, John Brennan. The director told me that they needed a soldier like me to help out in the intelligence department so the President pulled a few strings, got me out of the army and into the CIA.

I was 19 when I joined the CIA-disciplined, intimidating, muscular, and no longer a juvenile delinquent. That was 6 years ago. I was still disciplined, though a bit of smart ass. I'd worked hard to stay in shape after I left the army so I imagined that I was still pretty intimidating if I wanted to be.

I pulled out my phone and checked the battery. It was over half full so I figured I could risk wasting some battery power by browsing through my assignment overview again.

I opened my inbox and read through my mission. I'd already memorized it of course, but I didn't feel like trying to sleep.

The familiar phrases danced across my vision. CAPTURE TARGET. GATHER INTEL. All things I'd done a hundred times or more.

I was on a big assignment. We were chasing a ghost of a drug lord from Miami. His real name, from before his drug dealing days, was Joseph Loretto. He'd changed it numerous times and had enough fake ID's to keep him under the radar for the 20 years the CIA had been chasing him.

Loretto had gotten pretty good at smuggling heroin from Central America into the U.S through Miami. We'd nearly caught him in Florida two years ago but he was a manipulative man, a puppet master, and he played me like a marionette puppet. He'd slipped away after that, but he left me hurting, angry, and motivated.

Two years later, I ran into one of his old acquaintances who, with a little persuasion, told me that Loretto had last been seen in Los Angeles. That's what I was doing in California. Collins and I made a hell of a team and, once he landed, we were going to find out all we could about Loretto and figure out how to take him down.

The only problem was that Loretto had connections in almost every state and in most of the countries in Central America. He spoke 6 languages and could disappear faster than we could track him. We were pretty sure that his uncle was a mob boss on the East Coast too, although that was only a rumor.

Though he'd started dealing drugs when I was only about 4 years old, I knew everything about him that there was to know. I'd memorized his profile. Caucasian male, blue eyes, black hair, 5 feet 11 inches tall, 175 pounds. There had been a picture in the file too, but it was 20 years old and outdated and I never used it. I remembered what he looked life from the single memory I had of him from the Miami operation. The only time we'd been face to face. I closed my eyes, but Kelly's face flashed across my lids so I opened them again.

I sighed and tucked my phone back into my pocket. I laid down on my beach towel and waited for sleep to drag me under.

***

It didn't come. My mind was racing with thoughts of Loretto, and of the Miami job. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get Ella out of my head. There was something about her that made me want to open up and that scared me.

I was supposed to be the tough guy. Emotionally closed off with calculating and ruthless behavior. There were very few people who I actually cared about, and Ella was strangely close to making the list.

I knew there was plenty she wasn't telling me. I wanted to know what her secrets were, but there was no way she would tell me anything until I earned her trust.

You should probably start by telling her your real name, I thought to myself.

I wanted to talk to her. I knew I wouldn't sleep until I did, or maybe I'd settle for finding her house.

Your officers were right, I thought, you really don't have self control.

I sighed and got up anyway, ready to find out where Ella lived. I followed the nearly invisible footpath up and down hills. It was hard to see in the daylight, and the light of the moon didn't offer much for visibility. I did my best to stay on the trail, but, after walking for 10 minutes I was sure that I'd gotten off the path.

I decided to get on top of the next hill and take a look around before turning back. When I got there, I was rewarded with the glow of lights coming from a small, rundown beach house. I silently crept down the hill, getting closer to the little shack. I was taking it really slow, not wanting Ella to see me again while I thought I was being invisible.

I stayed 50 yards away while I circled the house and peeked in the windows as best I could, looking for a glimpse of Ella. When I got to the back, I saw her. She was outside, getting ready to clean up after her run. There was a shower head extending from the side of the house, and the shower was surrounded by narrow planks of wood that reached shoulder height.

Ella, wrapped in only a towel, turned on the water and tested the temperature with her hand. She pulled the elastic out of her hair and ran her fingers through the brown curls. My eyes followed the line of her jaw, down her neck and over her white shoulders which seemed to almost glow in the moonlight.

I remembered tracing that exact path on Kelly's body. 

I shook myself out of the trance and retreated, as quickly as I dared, into the brush. When I was sure I wouldn't be heard I took off at a dead sprint to the beach. I didn't worry about finding the footpath, I just pounded furiously through the bushes.

By the time I reached the beach I was panting and fuming, still feeling nauseated. I didn't know what had gotten into me, but I was about ready to strangle myself. I leaned against the pier and tried to get control of my emotions.

"What the hell are you doing, Aimes?" I asked myself. "Pull yourself together." I couldn't let myself lose focus, and I sure as shit couldn't be an asshole who stalked waitresses. The longer I thought about sneaking up on Ella's house the more ashamed I felt.

Shaking my head, I laid down on the beach towel that served as my bed, and tried not to focus on the deep disappointment and disgust that I felt for myself. I closed my eyes and did my best to sleep.