On Saturday during our lunch break, I strolled down to the restaurant hoping to see her. When she wasn’t there, I showed up again at dinner time. I nonchalantly asked about her and was told she didn’t actually work there all the time. The night before, she was just covering for someone. So that was it. She was gone like the wind again. Oh sure, I could go out to her family’s home to see if she was still there. I could look her up in the directory. As much as I wanted to do all that, I remembered she’d left me. After eight years, I was a blip in her past. I sat in my office, and pulled out the letter I’d received from her that told me it was over. She was so done with me that she’d typed it. The only personal bit of herself that she’d added was her signature.
“Fuck.” I was a moron to carry it with me. I held my hand out to toss it in the trash, but like I had done many times before, I changed my mind, folding it back up and putting in my wallet. I was either a glutton for punishment or needing the constant reminder that people could fuck you up emotionally. Even people you trusted.
On Monday morning, I put on a suit which Cyrus insisted made us look more professional. For me, it was like exchanging one uniform for another, although the suit did feel a bit more uncomfortable than in military clothes.
“Don’t you ever want to express yourself?” I asked him as I sat in his office preparing for the day.
“You can.” He lifted his pant leg showing off a psychedelic colored sock. “Business on the outside, party on the feet.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Speaking of parties, you look like hell my friend,” he said.
“Yeah well, I didn’t sleep very well the last few nights. Lots going on, you know?”
He nodded. “It’s not easy coming home, or so I’ve heard. You know you might think about finding a more permanent place. Put down roots.”
“Says my hotel room neighbor.”
“I have a call into an agent to look at some land outside the city. A house with room for horses.”
I laughed. “You’re a city boy. Do you know how to care for horses?”
“No, but how hard could it be? This is my next big adventure, Jude. You need to find yours.”
I took that to heart. I had to stop living in the past. “You’re right.”
The buzz over the door told us someone had entered the waiting area. We rose and strode out to meet our client, Tom Lassen.
“Come into our conference room, Mr. Lassen,” Cyrus said.
“Would you like some coffee or something?” I offered.
“No thank you.” Mr. Lassen looked around the office and then took a seat. “Spiffy place you have here.”
“Thank you.” Cyrus sat down at the end of the table and I sat between them.
“How can we help you, Mr. Lassen?” I asked.
“I own a string of retail stores and recently have had an uptick in thefts.”
“Do you currently have security systems in place?” Cyrus asked.
“We do. Cameras and I increased the number of security guards when the thefts started. I hired them through another firm.”
“And what do they say?” I asked him.
“They can’t seem to figure it out either. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.”
“Do you think it’s an inside job,” Cyrus asked.
“I think it’s possible, but different people are working each time something goes missing.”
I noted what he was saying on my yellow legal pad. “Have you gone to the police?” I asked.
Mr. Lassen sat back and shrugged. “Sure, but it’s not a priority for them. Every time I call, I get the same old line that they’re still investigating but they don’t have anything to share.”
“I wonder if they think you’re involved,” Cyrus said.
“Me? I own the place, why would I steal from myself? What sort of security firm are you?” Mr. Lassen’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“We’re consultants. And the reason the police might think you’re stealing is for insurance or to sell to the black market or…I don’t know but it happens. We’re not saying that’s what you’re doing. We’re just tossing out ideas on why you’re not getting information from the police,” I explained.
“It’s possible the thief or thieves have an in with the police. Whatever it is, we’re here to help you, Mr. Lassen. Could we have copies of the surveillance tapes to review?” Cyrus asked.
“It would help to talk to store managers and staff as well,” I added.
“We’ve done all that already.”
“And clearly it didn’t work, which is why you’re here. Maybe we’ll be able to see something or get information that the others didn’t,” I said.
Mr. Lassen nodded. “Yes, alright. I’ll make sure you get all the video and a list of all employees.” He stood. “What is your background, boys?”
I bristled a bit at being called a boy, but Mr. Lassen had quite a few years on us, so I suppose to him we seemed young.
“We’re former SEALs,” Cyrus said, standing and escorting Mr. Lassen out. I followed behind them.
“SEALs, eh. Don’t you extract terrorists or blow up things underwater.”
I laughed. “Among other things. We also do surveillance, reconnaissance missions, and intel gathering.”
“Huh. They say you’re the best of the best,” Mr. Lassen said.
“We think so, but there are other special forces that might disagree,” Cyrus said.
“You’re still young, why’d you get out?” Mr. Lassen asked as we reached the door.
“We both are looking for a quieter life these days,” Cyrus said.
“Bismarck is a nice city for that. You boys from here?”
“I am,” I said. “Born and raised.”
“Hometown boy is a Navy SEAL. Your mama must be proud.”
I smiled and nodded, but since I hadn’t talked to my mother in years, or my father for that matter, I wouldn’t know if she was proud. I did know she left North Dakota, running off with some man to Florida. My father ran off to California, no doubt to put as much distance from her as he could.
“By the way, it seems to me that if a terrorist wants to take a Navy SEAL down, he can make him wear a suit. You especially look like you’re being strangled,” Mr. Lassen said with a nod to me. “You should wear what makes you feel comfortable and strong. Oh, and maybe get someone out here in front to welcome your clients.”
“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Lassen,” Cyrus said, shaking the man’s hand.
I shook Mr. Lassen’s hand and watched him leave. Then I took my tie off and tossed it at Cyrus.
He laughed and loosened his own tie. “Hey, I thought it would make us look professional.”
“We’re in the security business, we should look lethal,” I said.
“Well, we don’t want to scare people. How about we compromise. We could get polo shirts with our name and logo or something. Wear it with khakis—”
“How about jeans.”
He arched a brow. “We need to be taken seriously.”
“As long as I don’t have to wear a tie, I’m good.” I walked back to the little kitchenette with him. “So, what do you think about Mr. Lassen’s problem?”