Chapter
“HEY!”
THE SHOUT from the end of the alley veers Archie’s attention from his target to the shout’s source. He senses a lunge; he kicks toward his target without seeing him. Archie hears a whoosh, a dull floppy thud, and a sigh of helplessness. Out of the corner of his left eye, he glances towards his target flopped against the bricks as he peeks around the bin and, with his main vision, trains his focus on the alley’s mouth. Two figures. Shades against the glare of the street.
Archie steps back towards the wall and looks down at his deflated target. He curls his lip and growls: “Get up.”
The ex sobs. He raises his hands up to his face, his shoulders shaking, his body curling in towards the dirty crack between bricks and asphalt. He lifts his head, and his face stained with tears, he cries: “Why?”
“Hey Archie, are you there?” Andrew’s voice floats down the alley towards Archie. He stills himself and raises a finger to his closed lips. The ex gulps in his tears.
“Archie?” Andrew draws closer. His footsteps echo in another pair of footsteps as he marches down the alley. The ex’s tears dry; his eyes brighten with anger; redness crawls through his cheeks along the blue lines of his veins. He stands up shakily, clenching his fists and lowering his head like a bull. Archie trains his pistol on his target’s forehead and whispers: “I don’t miss.” The ex’s eyes dart to behind Archie’s right shoulder. He smiles cunningly and raises his arms, fists extended. His legs straighten.
“There you are, Archie,” Andrew says in an easy voice. Archie doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move his eyes. He remains trained on his target, the threat that won’t leave him alone.
“Leave,” Archie commands in a low tone. “This is not your concern.”
“You are my concern, Archie,” Andrew replies. Archie hears him shift his booted feet apart into the familiar “at ease” stance. Archie tightens his grip on his Sig. He watches his target’s eyes dart from himself to Andrew, hears the target speak: “He started it.”
Archie feels a whisper of air behind him as Andrew says: “It looks like something is going on here. Tell me what happened, Archie.”
“Him!” Archie feels his target’s shout shoot food-fouled air across his right cheek. “Why you asking him? He’s got the gun. Can’t you tell he’s the one started it!”
Andrew replies, “Yes, I see that. It’s a Sig Sauer P320, isn’t it Archie?”
“Why you talking to him!”
Archie shifts his weight and begins to squeeze the trigger. It’s a familiar effortful pull. He knows how much pressure to apply and when to anticipate the bullet leaving its chamber, to speed through the thin black muzzle hidden in the shaft of nickel steel, to smash air molecules apart and the sound barrier, and to explode the head of his target. Archie tires of waiting. He wants this to end, and to end now. He’s tired of feeling. He wants all feelings to end, and to end now. He no longer wants to think, to remember. He wants thoughts and memories to end, and to end now. Andrew’s words glide into his consciousness. “He has the pistol, and I believe he’s about to shoot.”
Archie sees his target’s eyes widen in concert with his mouth opening into a round circle, revealing his nicotine-stained teeth. What did Nadine ever see in the target? He’ll be doing the world a favour by eliminating this threat.
“Ridding the world of this man won’t solve the problem, Specialist.”
Archie blinks and stops exerting pressure on the trigger. His shoulders relax infinitesimally.
“Can we talk about it, Specialist?”
Archie says nothing and refocuses on his target. His shoulders reposition to support his arms holding the gun.
Andrew calmly continues: “It won’t take long. Talking doesn’t have to take long, and you can still shoot him.” Archie hears a squeak but listens to Andrew. “I’d like to understand first what’s going on. I am the commanding officer here.”
Archie draws his brows together, trying to follow Andrew but not wanting to lose sight of his target down the barrel of his pistol. The target is situated at the white point between the back two white points of his pistol’s night sight. He can train his pistol clearly on the target in the gloom of this alley.
The target won’t shut up: “He still has his gun on me! You’re not doing anything!”
Archie relaxes his brows. He knows what to do and begins exerting slow, steady pressure on the trigger again. In his right peripheral vision, Archie sees Andrew raise his right hand in a relaxed gesture, palm out towards his target. Archie doesn’t stop.
Andrew says: “I’d like to talk, Specialist, about this threat. Can we talk first?”
Archie willfully switches his entire focus to the threat. Andrew raises the volume of his voice but keeps his tone calm. “Specialist, I’m not familiar with this threat. Explain him to me.”
Against his will, Archie obeys Andrew. He stops squeezing the trigger and replies: “Yes, sir. He’s my target.”
“Who’s your target?”
Archie blinks.
“Who is this man?”
“Man?”
“Yes. I want to understand. Who is this man? You can tell me, Specialist.”
Archie swallows as he stares at the face of his target that slowly changes into an identity. Nadine’s Ex. He speaks it.
“I remember you were concerned about him. Tell me more.”
“He believes we had an affair. He is pursuing me.”
“I see. Why is he pursuing you, Specialist?”
Salty moisture drips into Archie’s eyes. Archie shakes his head to clear his vision. His target charges him, and Archie squeezes the trigger fully. The bullet fires past his target’s face, scoring a blood trail along his cheek, and enters the brick wall. The target screams, clamps his hand against his left cheek, and jumps backwards. Blood oozes through the cracks between his fingers. His jaw drops, but no sound comes out anymore from him.
Archie says in a bloodless voice: “Missed.” Anger seeps in. “I don’t miss. Ever.”
Andrew replies as Archie quickly returns to shooting position: “No, you don’t miss, Specialist. Let’s talk about that.”
“What’s there to talk about.”
“About why you missed. The threat is immobilized.”
“He’s standing, sir.”
“Yes, he is, Specialist. But he’s not moving.”
Archie scans the human mass in the sight of his Sig while listening to the whispers of litter skittering along the asphalt, the far-off hum of traffic, his commanding officer’s even breathing, a shout of laughter and answering voices moving past the alley mouth. Andrew is correct. The target is frozen in a caricature of The Scream, the only movement, fresh blood flowing bright-red ribbons over his fingers. Crimsoning drops hover in ever lengthening gooey strands from his pinky finger before they release themselves and plummet to the ground. Archie follows the drops’ paths briefly and notices how worn the target’s sneakers are.
Andrew’s voice breaks into Archie’s surveillance. “Who is this man, Archie?”
Archie assesses the sneakers. Worn, scuffed, unkempt, lazy. Cheesy foot odour separates from rotting meat, wet boxes, and rain-washed asphalt. He lifts his eyes back quickly to the man’s face. The Scream remains suspended in time. The Scream transforms in his perception into familiar features. His commanding officer waits, his breathing even, his stance unhurried. Archie processes the features and his internal assessment of the sneakers. The Scream is Nadine’s ex. Those are the shoes of Nadine’s ex. He’s beaten the ex before. He can do so again.
Archie nods inside himself.
It’s safe for him to talk. For a minute. The pounding rhythm of must end, must end, must end, my story must end, isn’t lessening. How long can he hold himself against it?
Andrew asks: “Can we talk, Specialist? Tell me what happened.”
Archie says: “He came after me again, sir.”
“What did he do, Specialist?”
“He threw me into this alley, sir.”
“I see. He caught you off guard.” Andrew states it flatly, calmly.
Archie hears judgement. “I apologize, sir.”
Andrew replies: “Nothing to apologize for, Specialist. It’s a busy city. The best cannot always distinguish threats from friends.”
“Yes, sir.” Archie’s self-flagellation underlies his obedient tone.
Andrew says: “Even though he caught you by surprise, you got the upper hand, didn’t you?”
Archie cocks his head. Andrew waits. “Yes, sir, I did, sir.”
“I’d expect no less from you, Specialist. You’re well trained.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We all get surprised, Specialist, but it’s what you do afterwards that counts. And you came through.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You isolated the threat so that he couldn’t harm anyone. You’ve protected the public and Nadine, Specialist.”
Archie says with birthing confidence and thought. “Yes, sir.”
“You isolated him to protect the public. You took control, Specialist.”
“I did, sir.” Archie shifts his position so that he can see Andrew a little easier while maintaining eyes on the ex, a blobby, contained threat. Andrew’s face is open. No judgement lurks in it. No lie. Behind Andrew, Archie recognizes the second shade. David is standing down the alley, arms hanging loose, hands relaxed. David’s entire stance is like that of a man watching dogs playing in a park. Archie returns his attention to Andrew and the ex.
“Now that you’ve isolated him, we have time, don’t we, Specialist?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Look around you, you’ve done well. No one is at risk here, isn’t that right, Specialist?”
Archie steals a look beyond Andrew; he carefully turns his head to survey the other direction while keeping his senses alert for any movement. “Correct, sir.”
“We have more than a minute to talk, then, Specialist?”
Archie admits reluctantly: “I guess so, sir.”
“Good,” Andrew says positively, putting calmness, praise, and good feelings into that word as much as he can. His energy flows into Archie. A thought eases into Archie’s head that maybe he can spare a few minutes more. Maybe there’s no rush. The thought struggles against the onslaught of must end, must end, must end emanating from deep inside him, but the thought prevails.
Andrew says: “So let’s talk about that control, Specialist. Can we do that?”
“Yes, sir,” Archie replies, latching on to Andrew’s words, being held by Andrew’s unthreatening blue eyes. He adds: “I want to eliminate the threat, sir.” Archie yearns for approval from his commanding officer.
“Why?” Andrew asks with simple curiosity.
Archie frowns in confusion at the unexpected question. No thoughts come. Yet the thudding thought, must end, must end, must end, he and the threat must go, doesn’t let up. It gallops around and around and around in his head.
“Why, Specialist, tell me why you want to eliminate the threat.”
Archie stares with confusion at the crimson-stained face before him. “He’s a threat, sir.”
Andrew raises his right arm, palm outward, toward the threat. “Nadine’s ex is no threat, Specialist. He’s frozen and can’t harm anyone.”
Archie shakes his head. “That’s not true, sir. He’s pursued me three times today.”
“I see. Tell me about the first time.”
Archie shakes his head.
Andrew asks him again: “Tell me about the first time, Specialist. Help me understand the sequence of events.”
Archie says nothing.
“You know how we plan a successful assault, Specialist? The commanding officer must have all the facts in order to assess the situation and strategize the attack. Correct, Specialist?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Tell me about the first time.”
Archie does. In a detached voice, he tells the brick wall how the ex had found him and banged on his door and how he’d gotten rid of him.
Andrew praises him. “You executed your plan well, Specialist. You got rid of the threat and protected your men in the rooming house. Good job, Specialist.”
Archie swells with pride, and his face relaxes a mite. Andrew builds on that. “Tell me about the second time.”
Archie does, and as he does, he moves his primary focus from the ex to Andrew’s open face.
Andrew nods his head in approval. “Good job, Specialist, good job,” Andrew effuses, his blue eyes smiling and relaxed. Archie lifts the edges of his lips in return. His torso relaxes, and he drops his arms a little.
But then a movement. Archie’s face hardens. His eyes lock back on the ex. “But he’s still here, sir. I haven’t eliminated him.”
“That’s true, Specialist,” Andrew replies. “Let’s talk about how to eliminate him without harming you.”
“Why, sir?”
“Because we, David, Nadine, and I, don’t want to see you harmed, Archie.”
Archie blinks as sweat rolls into his eyes. Pools of moisture expand under his arms and along the length of his belt encircling his waist. He shakes the salty drops out of his eyes; he eases his legs further apart and lifts his shoulders up to his ears and relaxes them back into position. The sweat, though, won’t stop spurting from his skin.
Sunlight shafts into the alley, lighting up the brick wall and the man standing frozen before him. Bird song penetrates his hearing. Insistent chirps of happiness fill the air above him. Cars hiss along the street at the end of the alley. A loose manhole cover clank-clanks as a car drives over it.
Andrew repeats: “We don’t want to see you harmed, Archie. You’re a good soldier. We need good soldiers.”
“I’m not,” Archie growls.
“What makes you say that? You were an asset to our team in Afghanistan. You guarded our backs while we negotiated with the village elders. You learnt our strengths and taught us your US-honed skills. We welcomed you to Canada because we like you and respect you. You are part of us, and we you.”
“Remember when I got us stuck, and you were the one…”
“We all have that happen to us. Mistakes happen no matter how well trained. It’s what you do afterwards to make things right that matters. What happened in your Combat Team went against what you stood for and who we fought for. You stood up for what was right against men who pulled out all the stops to make you believe their hate and fear was the best way. You’re an honest soldier. We were glad to have you join our platoon as a Specialist from the US Army. You were and are an asset to our team. We can’t afford to lose you. We don’t want to lose you.”
Archie quakes. His brow wrinkles; his face contorts. Time to end this vies with the desire to give over to another.
“It’s time to give me the pistol, Specialist. I will take over.”
Archie looks over at Andrew. The idea of handing responsibility to him appeals to Archie. He doesn’t want to die. He simply wants it to end.
“No one has to die today, Specialist.” Andrew says in a soft voice. “Not you, not him. I will handle this for you, Archie, just give me the pistol.”
Weariness and relief crash into each other and splash up into Archie’s mind. They clear his eyes, and he sees the ex is just a pathetic man. He nods and drops his arms. Andrew throws a warning glance toward Nadine’s ex. But the ex has learnt his lesson and doesn’t twitch. Archie continues to hold his Sig in his right hand, but his forefinger is no longer on the trigger but lying alongside the trigger guard. Archie stares at the ground.
“Specialist, give me the pistol.” Andrew holds out his right hand, palm up, fingers open. Archie lifts his eyes from the fractured asphalt to Andrew’s relaxed face and firm eyes. Archie doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want to give up the option. He can trust Andrew; if Andrew says he will take care of the ex, then he will. But he cannot give up his combat pistol. A man must always have an option. Swiftly, Archie holsters his Sig in his concealed carry, skirts around Andrew, and strides down the alley towards the street. David steps in front of him; Archie halts; Andrew says loudly but calmly, “Let him go, David. He’s safe when there’s no threat.”
David eyes Archie. Archie returns his stare impassively, the need to escape scratching at him but not breaking his expressionlessness. David shakes his head but steps to the side. Archie resumes striding to the street. Archie hears the ex yelling: “Are you going to let him go like that?” And Andrew’s firm voice replying: “He won’t harm you now. I told him I’m taking care of you, and I will. Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? Are you crazy? You need to lock him up.”
“Let’s talk about what happened here first. Tell me about Nadine and your breakup.”
“She broke up with me. It has to be his fault!”
As Archie exits the alley and enters the blaring street, Archie last hears Andrew asking in his calm, commanding voice: “Tell me about it, about your breakup, about today.” And the ex’s reply: “Okay. I will if that will get you to go after him faster! She—.”