Chapter Twenty-Three
Ghost
Looking over the most recent report from Rasp and Cesar’s most recent run, I mark the file closed and place the case file on the edge of my desk. I’ll need to email my contact in the MI6 and let him know the rescue was a success and his niece is currently on a first-class plane ride home. According to Caesar's report, there wasn't a lot of fire with this case. The kidnappers, two amateur gangster-wannabes that barely knew their ass from a nine mil, much less the barrel of Caesar’s Barrett fifty cal. Easy job, and luckily, the girl wasn't harmed.
Those are always the best jobs. Though I know my men would disagree, and maybe I would have thought differently in my younger days, too. The riskier missions were always more thrilling, dangerous, and exciting. Those missions… nothing made you feel more alive. I can say now, with my full chest, that my view has changed. My bunny has given me a new outlook on life. Also makes me realize I'm not as young as I once was. I love the thought of knowing my boys and I rid these streets of the nastiest demons walking this earth.
“Prez,” Omen’s voice and two knocks on my open door pull me out of my thoughts and have me focusing back in and giving him a chin lift, letting him know it's all good to come in and sit.
“Can't stop thinking about her, can you, old man? Even when reviewing the world's most dangerous and epic mission reports. Reports most men would kill their own mamas to read.” He smirks at me as he sits in the seat across from my desk and props his ankle on his knee.
“She’s one amazing fucking woman. I might just be a little obsessed.” I smirk back, causing him to chuckle.
“Yeah, only a little bit.” He shakes his head.
“Just wait, it’ll happen to you, and then it will be my turn to bust your balls,” I threaten, and watch as the humor falls from his face.
I suspected there was something, or more accurately, I should say someone, Omen couldn't leave in his old life. He’s got some little tells that had me thinking, and I’m sure he has no idea I even have a clue, probably thinking he’s hidden it well, even to himself. Still, I pick up on things other people don’t. I feel like this mood shift might just be connected to his past.
“Nah, Prez, don't think that hand is in the cards for me. I’m happy for you and can honestly say I’ve never seen you so happy, but I missed my chance. She’s long gone now, a ghost in the wind. Plus, I’m dead, remember?” He gives me a smile laced with absolutely zero humor.
This life is a hard one. One most people couldn’t handle or choose for themselves. Leaving behind everyone you’ve ever loved. Having those people believe you’re gone permanently and never coming back. Putting the people you love most in this world through the pain of losing you. It would drive most people crazy. Not many are strong enough to resist the urge to contact their loved ones. Most fail. They think letting one person here or there know can do no harm. It always does harm. It puts everyone, your family, your team, and yourself in danger.
My transition was a lot easier, and I’ve been on the luckier side of being “deceased” on paper. Since my daughter, or rather her husband, was the one to find me alive after being “killed” by that fucker Reyes, I never had to hide the truth from her. Well, if you don't count the years the bastard held me, but I was locked away, so it doesn't count. Other than Piper, I don't have anyone I was ever close to, unless you count my contacts worldwide. Those people never knew my true identity; I only knew as much about them as they wanted me to know. Or at least as much as I want to dig and find out. Some things are just better left to the unknown.
“The future isn't written in stone, Omen. We never know what the next day holds. Before Tizzy came into my life, I probably would have kicked your ass for letting your past distract you from the next mission, but you know what having that woman in my life has taught me?”
“What's that Prez?”
“There's always going to be another mission. Always gonna be someone in trouble, some bad guy to take out, always a need to keep this world safe, but if you ain't got someone out there you're doing it for, you’ll just end up losing yourself. You need an anchor to humanity. I never would have guessed it, and for a lot of years, mine was Piper without even realizing it, but still, even with Piper, I lost my humanity. Tizzy, she seems to somehow, if not restore, at least repair it a bit. You need that, Omen, more than you may realize right now,” I tell him.
“That's deep, Prez,” he says, smirking, but I can see it in his eyes. I’ve hit a nerve. I’ll let him get away with the casualness he’s trying really hard to play. Still, if Tizzys taught me anything its that this life ain't worth livin’ if you're doing it alone.
“Alright fucker. What do you say we head upstairs and check out what the old fart-bags have tucked behind the counter? Betcha it's some good shit,” I say, smiling and rising from my seat.
“Betcha ten it ain't under the sink anymore. Caesar sniffed out the good stuff about a week ago. They’ll have found a new place for it. Sure you got time for a drink? I didn't mean to come in and distract you.”
“Not at all. Just finished up a report and needed a good place to stop,” I say as we head through the common room and up the back stairs to the bowling alley upstairs. We make small talk as we make it to the bar and go in search of the old hard stuff.
“So, when you gonna make it official?” he asks, jumping up and checking the top of the cabinets.
“Actually, got Piper and Halle working on her cut. I need to find a ring, but I have some ideas in mind,” I tell him honestly. There's nothing I want more in this life than to spend the rest of it with that woman, so why the hell wait? I may not have done it right the first time, but come hell or high water, I’ll get it right this time.
“Aha!” Omen yells out as he pulls a bottle out of the old, dusty cookie jar shoved on the back of the counter behind some suspicious-looking limes. I grab the glasses, and the door bangs open just as we get our first drinks poured.
We both draw our weapons and then put them away again seconds later. We hear the old coots yelling and fussing as they make their way through the door. When I look up, I see Fossil with the collar of some ragged-looking guy pushing him toward the bar. I lift my brows, confused, until the face gets closer. A familiar face.
“Ghost, remember Lambert? He’s gonna be staying with us for a while,” Fossil says, lumbering to his usual seat.
“That's right. You want to drink your life away, dumb fuck? You're going to do it right here with us two old fuckers. And you're not going to enjoy one minute of it,” Hag grumps.
I’m still stuck looking at Lambert, who is completely unphased as he gives me a chin lift and a “Wassup Ghost, good to see ya.”
“Well, we probably ain't living longer than Christmas. Think one of you two lazy fucks can pour us a damn glass?” Fossil barks at us.
“Hell, at least give us a damn beer. If we don't die of heart attacks, you asses will have us dying of thirst,” Hag adds as I roll my eyes. These two may act the part of two old, retired, disabled, and unassuming old men, but they are some of the most skilled and dangerous fuckers out there. They taught Lambert and me everything we know.
I take in my old friend and comrade as Omen gets all three of them a drink. His haggard appearance tells me that the years haven't been good for him. He’s lost his way a bit, but I can also tell he hasn't fully let himself go. There’s still some fire in his bones, and I’m determined to pull it the fuck out.