My Friend Death

The governor-elect stood at the podium ready to address his supporters. It was a hard-fought election, but Stan knew that he would win. Actually, he had no doubt in his mind that he would win. He had it on good authority that he was a shoe-in to become the next governor of California.

Now, instead of just Stan Goodwin the Lafayette High School head custodian, he was Governor Stan Goodwin of California. He still found it hard to believe that it was only a year ago that he was pushing a broom while those snotty little bastards made his life miserable.

He wanted to use his new-found power to exact revenge on a lot of different people, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that. He raised his hands to ask for quiet and then leaned forward to address the huge crowd that had gathered.

“I just want to thank Senator Constantine for a great campaign and wish him the best of luck! But as for me, g I’m going to Sacramento!”

The crowd went crazy as they started to kick around the balloons that had fallen from the ceiling only an hour earlier when Senator Franklin Constantine had conceded the race for governor of California. In his address to the media, Senator Constantine said he was “mystified by the choice of the people,” but he admitted that he had to do what the people of California wanted.

Governor-elect Goodwin waited for the crowd to quiet down again, and then he finished his acceptance speech to his supporters.

“I want to thank my family, especially my wife, for their love and support. I want to thank my staff and everyone who made this possible. Now it is on to Sacramento to make the changes that you asked me to make!”

More confetti fell from the ceiling as “We Are The Champions” blared over the sound system. Stan wondered if anyone asked Queen if his campaign could use that song, but then he realized that it really didn’t matter.

The first person to meet Stan as he got off the stage was his campaign manager Albert Young. Albert was an ambitious guy, but he wasn’t Stan’s choice for the campaign. Everything to do with Stan’s campaign was hand-picked by Mr. Ankou. Albert approached Stan and handed him a towel. Then Albert leaned in to tell Stan that Mr. Ankou was waiting for Stan in the back office.

Stan’s demeanor suddenly got very solemn. Now it was starting to sink in that it was time to pay the piper. It was time for Stan to keep all of the promises he made to Mr. Ankou in exchange for becoming the most powerful man in California. Mr. Ankou promised Stan that the Presidency of the United States was next, but that would have to wait a couple of years.

As Stan opened the door to the back office, Mr. Ankou was sitting behind the desk with his hands folded in front of him. Stan slowly walked into the office and closed the door behind him.

“Stanley. Please, sit down.”

Stan sat and then started to sweat a little bit. He wasn’t really sure what Mr. Ankou was going to do next. Stan stammered out the question that had been burning into his mind for weeks.

“Okay, so, now what?”

“So articulate Stanley! That is why I chose you! Now you just need to keep doing what I tell you and I will deliver you to the White House.”

“When we first met, you talked about bringing your people back. What does that mean?”

“Stanley, the less you know right now, the better off you will be.”

“Are you really over 1,000 years old?”

“Yes, Stanley! I am. Well over. And now that I have you in a position of power, I am going to show you exactly how I managed to stay looking so young all of these years.”

"I don't suppose that it has anything to do with banging twenty-year old, college co-eds?" Stanley muttered.

"Please, Stanley, some decorum. You're a professional. Of course no co-eds, despite your best attempts to prove otherwise. You're lucky you haven't been caught. Or maybe you have and the right people have been paid off. At any rate, Stanley, it's time to learn my secrets."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," Stanley replied. Mr. Ankou poured a glass of cognac for himself and another for Stanley. He handed it to Stanley and then sat down on a couch in the center of the room. He motioned for the governor-elect to sit at the matching couch across from him.

"Well, Stanley, it's a little too late for that. Why don't you finish your drink, then please remove all your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"Strip. Naked."

"Uh…I'm not really sure that I feel…"

"Please, Stanley. Don't flatter yourself. It's just all part of the process." Ankou watched as unease filled the face of the new California governor. Stanley slowly set down his glass on the table between the couches and loosened his tie.

"I'm not sure…"

"Of course not. Please. Remain dressed. I was merely demonstrating the power I have over you."

"Who are you?"

"As an educated man, I'm sure you realize that 'Ankou' is Gaelic for 'Death.' Well. that's who I am. Death. I have many names in many tongues, but I am best known simply as Death."

"Am I going to die?" Stanley stammered. He reached for his glass and finished off the rest of the glass. Ankou smirked from behind his own glass.

"Yes. We all are. Even me. Which is why we're here right now."

"I mean, am I dying right now?"

"Let's not to get too far ahead of ourselves, Stanley. My body is starting to wear out. I am immortal…"

"You're the devil?" Stanley asked sheepishly. All the bravado of the man who had just clinched the election for governor of the state of California was gone and replaced with the uncertainty of an adolescent boy on his first date.

"No. I said my name meant 'Death,' not 'Fiendishly Handsome Harvester of Lost Souls.' Just listen to what I'm telling you." Ankou said with a bit of impatience.

"Sorry."

"As I was saying, my body is starting to wear out. I'm looking for a new body to take over to continue my duties as Death. I've chosen you as my next incarnation," Ankou continued.

"But…"

"Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. There's nothing you can do about this. You are going to die. In three years, at your next physical, the doctor will find a tumor in your brain. You will die in office. And then I will take over your body and continue with my existence. You see, these bodies only last about 1200 years. After that time, the body rapidly begins to disintegrate and die."

"You can see the future? I'm sorry for all the questions. I'm having a hard time with this."

"I cannot see into the future. I am immortal, even if my body is not. As an immortal, time is eternal. I can pop in and out of various epochs in your past, present and future. Every once in a while my other incarnations meet up at the same event in history. Which, of course, is how we got the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It was the one time that four of us showed up at the same place. It's the end of the world, for God's sake! Who wouldn’t want to see that? Especially Death? In those days I still rode horses. And the poor writer of ‘Revelations’ who had the vision mistakenly called us by these other names, which has stuck. I lose all the credit."

"You rode horses? What do you ride now?"

"Yes. I used to ride a flaming steed. It used to burn my ass. With new human technology, I have upgraded my horses to a Fat Boy Harley."

"With flames on the tank?" Stanley asked. He walked across the room to refill his glass with cognac. He took a pull from the glass and topped it off again.

"Yes, with flames on the tank. And let me tell you, when I show up to take the dead away, chicks really dig those flames. Hey, would you fill me up?" Ankou held his glass out to Stanley. The governor-elect served his benefactor a second drink and headed back to the couch.

"It's a beautiful machine," Stanley commented.

"It is. And now we must get back to the matter at hand. You are going to die in three years. I will make you the most powerful governor in California history in the time we have left. Well, maybe second most powerful, but you'll do it without steroids. I will even pave your way to the White House, just as I promised."

"What is going to happen to me?"

"Well, that's a very interesting story," Ankou answered.

“As I told you,” Ankou continued, “on the occasion of your next physical, just before you take office, your doctor will find a tumor in your brain. You’ll be given just weeks to live but I’m going to hold off from reaping you for another two years and 10 months after that.”

“What? Why?”

“Stanley. Would you kindly shut the fuck up and listen for a change?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I …”

“Really. Just shut up.”

Stanley and Ankou both took a sip of their cognac and stared intently at one another for 30 seconds. Stanley wanted to talk and Ankou wanted to exert his influence of the humble-janitor-turned-governor-elect.

“Thank you,” Ankou continued. “You see, I am immortal. But I am not omnipotent. I have only one real gift. I can choose how and when people will die. Or how long they will live. I have some other minor abilities, mind you, like convincing people to do my bidding in exchange for certain favors. It is how you have ascended to the role you have now.”

“Okay …”

Ankou stared intently at Stan, silently reminding him to keep quiet.

“I have made you the poster boy for hope in the world. If a lowly janitor can become governor of California then anyone can do anything. You may think this a good thing for humanity, but truly there is no greater evil than hope. People will attempt all sorts of irrational and stupid things. Just tonight, for example, with the knowledge that you have pulled off the impossible, hundreds of men across the country will take it as a sign to ‘go for it,’ and finally ask the girls of their dreams to dinner or drinks or whatever. They’ll all be shot down. Every one of them. For hope is a fool’s game. It convinces people to believe in the impossible.”

Ankou sat back in his leather chair and swirled his cognac in his glass. Taking a sip, he unleashed a smirk the size of San Andreas Fault.

“People will run red lights, play chicken, try to jump over cliffs on bicycles. Your winning tonight will bring about more deaths in the next three years than the Third Reich. Your ‘hope’ will actually bring chaos unseen in centuries.”

“But I …” Stanley attempted to interject.

Shooting up from his chair, Ankou shouted, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. This isn’t about you. It was never about you. And you should consider yourself lucky that I’m not only allowing you to keep your meager existence but promoting you to something so much greater than you could ever wish to be. If you open your mouth one more fucking time before I am done, I will strike you down right here and now. No governor. No wife. No kids. No fucking co-eds. Just me. Death. Now. Do you under-fucking-stand?”

Stan’s eyes stood as wide as saucers, but he dared not speak.

“Your election tonight brought hope. The announcement of your brain tumor will be seen as a setback at first but my allowing you to live for years past the doctors’ diagnosis will actually make you a heroic character, able to fight through all odds. Your legacy will near that of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and many other people whose lives I’ve ended only when I felt it appropriate.”

“After your brain cancer diagnosis, you will take time to ‘consider your future,’ after which you will announce that you will press on. In a year, you’ll announce that you’re running for president. You’ll win. You’ll die in office and when you’re buried, I’ll take over your physical form. With some alterations, mind you, so I’m not mistaken for you. I’ll get a ‘new lease on life,’ if you will, and you’ll have the legacy your parents always wanted you to have.”

“Now. Do you have any questions?”

Stanley was a little hesitant, but when Ankou shot Stanley a slight smile with an inviting nod, Stanley knew that he could speak.

“Ok, yeah. I have a question. Why don’t you just take over my body instead of all of this commotion? I mean, why did you make me governor just to eventually kill me?”

“That, my dear boy, is a very good question. I like games. Do you like games, Stanley?”

Stanley looked blankly at Ankou and then just nodded.

“Of course you do. Hope is a game to me Stanley. I give the human race hope, then I take it away. It is what I do. Your ability to live on past your diagnosis will give people hope. Then I will take that hope away. It helps me to create the sense of disparity that I need in order to feel comfortable on this loathsome planet. I create hope by using a figure that beats the odds, then I take that hope away. It is what I do. Abraham Lincoln was one of my greatest achievements. The world really thought he was going to change things, and then I took him away.”

Stanley looked solemn for a while and then slowly stood up.

“Look, Mr. Ankou. Is it okay if I just . . .  go for a walk?”

“Of course, Stanley. Just be back in one hour. We have appointments to keep. Oh, and Stanley. Don’t try to run. I may not be omnipotent, but I do own your soul. If you run, I will find you. And when I find you, the deal is off and you are dead.”

Stanley slowly wandered out the back exit of the hotel where his victory rally was being held and started walking down the street. Some people recognized him and wanted to have pictures taken with him. But no one really bothered him. He always thought that being a celebrity would be different.

He wasn’t really paying attention, but he suddenly found himself standing at the archway entrance to a park.

This park looks familiar. Stanley has seen this park on television before. Isn’t this the park where Santa Claus was killed? Or something twisted like that? Some little girl was killed here too. He remembered that story from a year or two ago.

It was a pleasant enough evening and there were people walking through the park just minding their own business. Stanley walked towards the fountain where some street vendors were packing up after an evening of selling their wares.

Stanley just watched them pack up their tables. He started to wonder what life would be like with a brain tumor. Then he wondered if his wife really loved him, or if Ankou has her under some kind of spell. Stanley was contemplating the foundation of his marriage when he heard a female voice answer his unasked question.

“She loves you, baby. You just have to be patient, that’s all. Come talk to mama, I know what’s on your mind.”

Stanley turned around and saw what looked like a homeless woman sitting on one of the park benches next to a shopping cart that had an array of goodies in it. She was older looking and, much to his surprise, she actually looked rather pleasant.

“How…how did you know what I was thinking?” Stanley asked.

“Baby, you don’t have to do what that man says. He is lying to you. He is not who he say he is.”

“What? What man? How do you . . .”

“Look, mama knows everything. That man is a deity, but he is not no god of death. Think about it baby: Wouldn’t the god of death be all-knowing? Of course he would. That man ain’t all-knowing. He isn’t who he say he is.”

“Well, who is he then?”

“He’s Loki, baby. And you need to stop him before he uses you to kill millions of people.”

“Millions of people?”

“He’s not going to wait until you are dead to try and possess your body, baby. He is going to wait until you are inaugurated as governor. Then all hell’s gonna break loose.”

“What do I do?”

“You need to find my boy. He wanders this park and he is the only one who can defeat Loki in a fair fight.”

“Your boy?”

“Oh yeah, baby. I gots me one helluva boy!”

Stanley awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Next to him, his wife's sleeping form never stirred. Maybe it was all a dream and I'm still just a janitor and a crappy city school rather than the governor-elect. Maybe it would be just as easy if it all was just a dream.

"Sorry Stan, but it's not a dream," a voice called out of the darkness. A match flickered and burst into flame before being put to cigar. It was Ankou sitting in the chair in the corner. Stanley leaned back into the pillow that was propped against the headboard. He glanced over to his wife a second time.

"Don’t worry about her. She won't wake up for this. I guarantee it. Though I do have to admit, the victory sex was definitely something to see. I didn't know you could still do things at your age."

"Y-y-you were watching?" Stanley stammered.

"Stanley, please. It's hard to get dates when you only show up when they're dead to take their hearts to be weighed. You disappoint me, Stanley. Talking to strange, homeless women in the park? That boy of hers wouldn't think twice about ripping your arms right off from your torso if the mood hit. And really, a crazy homeless person? They can't be the best character witnesses."

"She said you were no God. She said you were Loki."

"Again, Stanley, are you going to listen to that old woman or to the one who brought you to the position you now hold?  You must remember, Loki often appears as an old woman to the people he torments. And I must apologize for my outburst earlier. I generally am a much nicer guy. Sometimes, it does get frustrating to deal with only dead or dying people, though. Sometimes I just want to be the free-loving, all-around good guy that deep down, I really am. And I'd like to get laid," Ankou waved his cigar nonchalantly as he spoke.

Stanley glanced out the window. Rain ran in rivulets down the hotel window. Occasional flashes of lightning streaked across the darkened sky. Ankou remained in the chair, blithely blowing smoke towards Stanley.

"Let me set your mind at ease, my friend. Of course I'm not omnipotent. There's only one cat daddy who holds those cards. It ain't me, but I think you know who I'm talking about. I also don't need your body until you're already dead. I may be Death, but I can't actually kill people. There's a timetable, you see. I can't change that. Once your name comes up, I show up. Sure there are people who have tried to cheat me, but I always win."

"I don't understand. You're like two different people. Sometimes you're really a great guy, like now. And other times, you're just plain evil and mean," Stanley questioned the apparition in the corner. He was still frightened of the man, if he really was a man, but the relative ease of Ankou's present personality gave him a little more bravery.

"Yeah. Sometime when I don't take my meds regularly, I get crankier than normal and just get a little nuts."

"Wait. What? Meds? You're Death. A demi-god. Why would you need meds?"

"Because I'm Death. I deal with dead people day in and day out. All the time. You try to walk in my shoes for a day and I guarantee you'll max out your insurance-approved psych visits. It's not easy being me. I'm bad ass. But I also have feelings. You want to know something? There's someone else who needs meds. I mean, have you actually ever read the Old and New Testaments? Yahweh is on one hell of a bender in the Old Testament."

"Oh, my God." Stanley muttered.

"Yeah. Mine, too. Listen, Stanley. I like you. You're a good kid. I really don't want to see you die, but you're on my list," Ankou pulled a tattered notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened it to a random page. "See right here, Stanley Horowitz Goodwin."

"Stanley Horowitz Goodwin? That's not me. I'm Stanislaus Henri Goodwin."

"What?" Ankou said with obvious doubt and surprise.

"Stanislaus Henri Goodwin. I have no idea who Stanley Horowitz Goodwin is."

"Well, fuck me. That's never happened before."

“Okay, Stanley,” Ankou said after a long pause, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go find the right Stan Goodwin, make him governor and … Shit, no. Wait. That won’t work. We’re going to … I have no idea what we’re going to do.”

“So? You’re kind of an idiot,” Stan said. “You pulled the wrong strings and got the wrong guy elected as governor and now WE have to fix it, is that it?”

“Well, aside from the idiot part, yeah, that’s pretty much accurate,” Ankou said back sheepishly.

“And yet, here’s me thinking that I don’t have to listen to a word you say,” Stan said. “Your contract is null and void. You didn’t even have my name right.”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ankou chimed in, the sheepishness replaced by force, “No. Our contract is good. The dates might just be a little off. But I made you. And I can still break you. And you still belong to me.”

“Except, if I’m not going to die by the time you shrivel up, what good does that do you?” Stan asked, having thought about their earlier conversation. “Seems to me that you better go find some other body to inhabit. It also seems to me that I know your big dark secret and in fact, I own YOU.”

“Um.”

“So here’s what YOU’RE going to do. You go off and kill some people - or whatever it is that you do. I’m going to wake my wife up for round two. And you leave me the hell alone.”

Stanley looked over at his wife and back to Ankou. In that brief moment, Ankou was gone.

Cue Barry White.

The next morning, Stanislaus Henri Goodwin woke up feeling like a million bucks. He wanted to tell his wife everything that had transpired in the course of the last 12 months but thought he’d better wait. Or just not. She might think he was crazy. Hell, he thought he was crazy. Maybe he was crazy. But he’s free. And he’s the governor-elect of California.

A knock on the door rips him from his pleasant thoughts.

“Stanley Goodwin?,” the man at the door asks.

“I’m Stan Goodwin, yes. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Goodwin, I’m Karl Forte. I believe you know my boss Mr. Ankou.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Stan interjected. “Ankou and I no longer have a business relationship. He forgot to dot his i’s and cross his t’s and our contract ended last night.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know,” Forte said. “See it’s not so much that Mr. Ankou didn’t dot his i’s and cross his t’s it’s that I may have misled him. By which I mean, I misled him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m sick of his games and I’m sick of his plans to take over the world. And I’m sick of that stupid motorcycle. And I’m tired. And I just want to die.”

“Well, that took a morbid turn,” the governor-elect said.

“So,” Forte continued, I was hoping that since Mr. Ankou was so willing to screw up your life, you might be willing to exact a little revenge.”

“I don’t know,” Stan said.

“Here’s what I’m hoping we can do. I want to run out the clock. I want to make sure my boss spends the next few years searching for - but not finding - a new body to inhabit. And once his current form degenerates to the point at which he’s weak enough, we can kill him.”

“Wait a minute, here,” Stan said. “I don’t know about killing. That. That just doesn’t seem like the type of thing I’d be capable of.”

“First of all, Mr. Goodwin, he was going to kill you. Secondly, in case you missed the memo, you’re the governor elect of California. One of the most powerful men in the country. You can do whatever you want. And third, if we kill death …”

Stan really did contemplate the possibility of killing Death, but then the logistics of not having the rules of Death apply just did not sit well with him. Besides, Stan had other ideas.

“No, I am just not interested.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you not want to exact revenge on the man who set you up to die a painful death?”

“Because,” Stan said as he walked back towards the couch in his room and lit a cigarette. “You are not Death.”

At that statement, the form in the doorway morphed into Ankou and he had a large smile on his face.

“Well Stanley, you certainly passed the loyalty test. But I am afraid that you are wrong about who I am. I am, most assuredly, Death.”

“You know, Loki.”

Ankou stiffened at the sound of his real name being spoken by a mortal.

“I believed all of your little stories, but a lot of things just did not make any sense. Why would Death need a human form? That bothered me from the moment you said it.”

“Well…I…”

“Shut the fuck up until I am done! Do you understand Loki?”

Loki looked reserved as he stood in the hotel room doorway. “Of course, Stanley. Can I at least come in and sit down?”

“No, just stand there.”

Loki leaned against the door frame and tried to maintain his composure. Then Stan continued.

“No, none of what you said made sense. The only person who made any sense was the old lady in the park. You see, Death IS omnipotent and Death does kill people. It is his job. You know how I know that?”

Loki shook his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“Because Death told me so. I went back to that park yesterday afternoon and talked to that old woman. She has a lot of friends in some very high places. Death actually looked a lot like G. Gordon Liddy. Which I thought was odd. But Death apologized for everything I had been through. He said he could not interfere because, well, he just doesn’t interfere with lives. He only takes them. But when the old lady convinced me of who you were, Death felt compelled to apologize to me, in person.”

“Well Stanley, you can’t believe…”

“Have I said it in a language you understand? Shut the fuck up!”

“Yes, of course.”

“When Death was done apologizing and after he had left, I did NOT shake his hand by the way, the old lady introduced me to her boy. He’s a cute kid and he just loves to play.”

At that moment, Loki sensed that there was something hulking behind him. He could hear it breathing and he could feel the breath on the back of his neck. Loki did not dare turn around, but he also knew that running was a really bad idea.

“Play chase?”

Stan smiled and Loki turned to address the old woman’s “boy.” He was a huge monster with horns on his head and hands that could palm a beach ball. Loki found himself looking straight into the boy’s face. The boy was smiling, with trails of slobber coming from the corners of his mouth. Then the boy spoke again, with a gravelly voice that Loki recognized right away.

“We play chase. You have head start.”

Loki turned back to Stan with a look of fear on his face.

“This isn’t over Stanley! Not by a long shot!”

Stan just closed the door with his foot and waved to Loki as the door was closing. Once the door was closed, Stan heard the boy roar, Loki scream and the sounds of the chase being underway.

Love and betrayal

Arthur had been sitting in his car for what seemed like an eternity. His beat up silver Ford Taurus idled, burning gas and releasing toxins into the air in the otherwise beautiful suburban neighborhood. Birds chirped and the sun was overhead in its full glory. Aside from his junked up car on Sycamore Street, the scene was something you might see in a painting. Or an Ansel Adams photo.

Arthur’s decision to sit there, or rather his indecision causing him to sit there, was beginning to weigh on him just as much as the original reason he had come to this house he had been to a thousand times before. Usually, though, he just pulled up, jumped out, skipped up the stone steps and rang the bell. Usually he had no reason for trepidation. Today was different, though.

What Arthur had just learned less than an hour ago changed everything. So much, in fact, that it seemed like he learned it a lifetime ago. And now everything that had made sense to him while he was eating breakfast this morning seemed like a lie. When you find something you had complete faith in isn’t the truth, it makes you wonder if anything you “know” is real or if it’s all an elaborate scheme designed by a cruel God to simply mess with your head.

So Arthur sat. And he thought. And he smoked. And he talked to himself out loud, preparing for a conversation he was none-too-excited about having. He prepared for conversations like chess masters prepared for matches. He was writing a “choose your own adventure” book out loud, imagining all the responses his accusations may have and how to properly reply to those responses. Thinking. Smoking. Talking to himself. Trying to work up the nerve to get out of the car, walk up those stupid steps and ring that God damned bell for what may be the last time.

He thought to himself how odd this must look to the neighbors passing by. His car being there wasn't odd in and of itself, even if it didn't fit in with the Lexuses and BMWs. The oddity was in the fact that he was sitting in it. And talking to himself. He chuckled at this thought before moving on to the next: He was kind of surprised no one had approached him. Or even called the police. He must look like a lunatic.

One more cigarette and then he was going in. One more song and then he was getting out of the car and walking up those steps. He had to do it. He couldn't wait any longer. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

Arthur took a deep breath, reached outside the car window to open the door from the outside — the only way it opened — stood up straight and slammed the door shut — the only way it closed. He took purposeful steps around the front of the car, past the nicely manicured shrubbery lining the sidewalk, and up the steps. Another deep breath. A stick of gum. And he rang the bell.

As he waited for the inevitable confrontation that came with every one of these visits to commence, he noticed the neighbor’s 19-year-old daughter out for her morning jog. He tried not to make eye contact with her, but he always failed miserably. She smiles warmly enough, but he knew she was just being nice. She was, after all, half his age. He smiled back and then turned towards the door again. Just as he reached for the doorbell a second time, he heard the click of the lock and watched the doorknob as it turned.

The door flung open and Arthur was face to face with Renita, yet again. Each time he saw her, he understands why he was initially attracted to her. Unfortunately it took him ten torturous years of a failed marriage to learn that a great rack and a round ass do not make a solid relationship. Plus she just sounded like a bitch. That wasn't something he just noticed now; it is something he always thought.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur! You smell like a fucking cigarette factory!”

“Nice to see you too, Nita.”

“You’re late again.”

“Don’t want to break my perfect record.”

Arthur stepped back as Renita exhaled her customary sigh at his smart-ass remarks. He still hadn't found a way to tell her that she had garlic breath in the morning. Of all of the things she could do with her mouth, brushing her teeth was not one of them. At least not on a regular basis.

Renita was just about to turn and yell back to the kitchen when Arthur reached out and touched her shoulder. She stopped instantly because Arthur hadn't touched her in years. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was just that he didn't.

She whipped her head around to scream at him for touching her for the first time in years, but her expression melted from pure anger to deep concern as soon as she looked into his eyes. Arthur was not a crier. He rarely showed any emotion at all. So that is why the small pools of what could only be tears welling up at the base of each of his eyes made her stop.

For a few brief but uncomfortable seconds, she stared at his face looking for an explanation and he kept looking past her with an emotional gaze that was foreign to her. She wanted to say something completely inappropriate and unnecessary, but she just couldn't. For the first time in a very long time, Renita actually gave a shit about Arthur’s feelings. She just had to find out what was going on.

“Nita, I need to talk to you before I talk to the kids. This is something that is really important.”

She just kind of nodded without changing the look on her face and then slowly walked out to the porch and closed the door behind her. Arthur half-expected Renita’s husband Frank to throw open the door and say something stupid, but Frank was in Italy on business. At least, that is what he told Renita. Sometimes she had a heart, but that did not stop her from sounding like such a bitch.

“What’s the matter Arthur?”

Arthur sat down on the patio couch and motioned for Renita to sit next to him. It was obvious that he was entering uncomfortable territory, mostly because he wanted Renita to sit next to him. After she slowly sat down, Arthur looked at the floor, took a deep breath and then started to cry.

"Talk to me, Arthur, please," Renita said hurriedly. Concern wrinkled her brow and she absently rubbed his shoulder. Arthur stared over her head through the window to the living room. A wracked sigh rattled his body.

"Well, I was out with my friend, Ford, and he gave me this towel because of a new bypass..."

"You're such an asshole!" She slapped his arm and crossed her hands in her lap as all empathy left her.

"Come on, Nita. You know I deal with stress with humor," Arthur replied half-hardheartedly.

"Yeah, that's what I used to love about you. You and your stories. And they got old after awhile, especially when I couldn't tell the difference between stories and the truth. And frankly, I think you lost that ability, too. So lost in your own little world."

Arthur focused on a photo on the wall inside the house. Inexplicably, it was a photo of the family on it. Not of Renita and her new family, but of their family. Back when they were happy. It was a vacation they had taken to North Pole, NY to visit Santa Claus. Arthur had flagged down another young family to take a quick snapshot. It seemed odd to be taking a picture in front of the North Pole wearing shorts and sunglasses, but it was a happy time. Arthur's smile was genuine, with his arm draped around his older daughter's shoulders. Renita was holding hands with their younger daughter who seemed eager to run off an pet the reindeer. Renita had just a hint of baby bump, from the child Who Would Never Be.

Why did Renita have that picture displayed in a house where she lived with Frank, a successful world traveler with no resume other than having family money? Was it for the girls, or to remember the days when she was truly happy? At any rate, those were the last happy days in their family. Did it all fall apart because of the loss of the baby, or was Arthur's growing morose about life in general and fits of daydreaming the cause of their drifting apart?

A loud thump and girls giggling from inside the house broke his reverie. He turned his gaze back to Renita, who was quickly losing patience with him. That look of exasperation would soon be followed by a voice two octaves higher than normal conversational tones. And then Arthur would do the same thing every time the situation arose: avoid confrontation and bolt. Really, what was the use of arguing when you were never going to win? He took another deep breath and tried to begin again.

"Renita, I have a serious problem. I'm going to need your help. I have no idea what to do."

"Do about what?" she asked, again recognizing the pain in his face as something real. Her hand went back to his shoulder absentmindedly. Arthur could feel the warmth of her hand radiate through his skin and through his body. Despite the last couple years, he would always love her in a way that couldn't be put into mere words. It gave him courage to know that somewhere, deep inside, she still had some feelings for him. She was the mother of his children and would always be a part of his life.

“Well, Nita,” he began. “You know I've been online dating … ”

“Jesus Christ, Arthur,” Renita jumped in. “Are you seriously sitting here on my porch crying over some stupid bitch?”

Arthur breathed. He expected that retort. He knew he was going to have to lose a few pawns before getting to any of the important chess pieces in today’s conversation.

“So,” he continued. “A while ago I met this girl online. Nice girl. Pretty. Our age. Lives here in the city. Divorced. Has two kids. Steady job. Can form full sentences. You know, every guys dream.”

“Okay …” Renita’s patience had grown very thin and Arthur had to think his moves very carefully.

“So we've been chatting,” he said. “And you know on my dating profile I don’t use my real name or photo. I don’t want some psycho stalker chick to find me and force me into a threesome or something.”

Renita stood and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Arthur said. “Really. I swear to God, this is important. To me. To you. To the kids.”

Against her better judgement Arthur’s former wife sat back down on the porch couch.

“So we've been chatting …”

“Get to it, Art,” Renita said forcefully.

He swallowed hard and reached for a cigarette then remembered that he wasn't welcome to smoke at “her house.” He hated when she called it that. It used to be “their house.” But those were different days a million years ago.

“Nita, I like this girl. A lot. In fact, I’m afraid I might be in love,” Arthur blurted out.

Renita, contain her exasperation, asked, “So why is this a problem? I've been trying to get you to find someone for years. The kids and I want you to be happy. And really, Frank would feel so much more at ease if you had a woman in your life that wasn't me.”

“Well, there’s a problem,” Arthur jumped back in. “See, I’m not the only person online that uses a fake name and photo. And this girl also used a fake name and photo.”

“So, what? She’s ugly?” Renita asked in that same bitchy tone Arthur so despised.

“No,” Art began again, feeling his pawns fall one by one but knowing still that he had this chess match in hand. Again, he expected Renita’s response. “No, she’s gorgeous. In fact, she looks a lot like you.”

Arthur paused, hoping Renita would take the compliment. Or blush. Or smile. Or do anything other than what she was doing, which was glaring at him with that tone of voice that made him want to bolt.

“Anyway,” he said, “We finally had a chance to meet for coffee this morning. Our first meeting. And I get to the coffee shop and your sister was there. And she was the only one there. And I thought, ‘well this is awkward’ but decided to kill time waiting for ‘Jessica’ by talking to your sister.”

“Yeah, that does sound awkward, but it hardly explains the crying,” Renita snipped.

“So you sister tells me she’s waiting for someone. Someone she met online,” Arthur said, his voice trailing as if it was afraid to come out.

Renita’s words were nearly unintelligible. “Oh. My. Are. You. Wait. You can’t be. Screw this. Screw you. You cannot date my sister. There’s no way in hell.”

“But,” Arthur butted in.

“No buts,” Art. “This is not even something you should have considered. I can’t believe you came to my house to even. I can’t. Oh, you've got some nerve, mister.”

“I told you, Nita, I think I love her,” he said.

“No,” Renita said — in her bitch voice.

“I’m not asking permission, Nita. This isn't something I planned for. But … I don’t know.” Arthur’s voice trailed again. He wasn't sure if he had any pieces left on the chessboard, but he felt he had won nonetheless.

Renita sat back down on the patio couch and grabbed Arthur’s hand. He jumped a little because he was definitely not expecting it. He looked up and he could see that Renita had a very serious look on her face. He knew he had no more moves left, but he also knew what her next move was going to be.

“Arthur, Sara is not part of this. She knows nothing of the Bureau and she knows nothing of our mission. We are already damn lucky that the Chief let us walk away from our assignment without any repercussions. If you start bringing in people who have no idea…”

“I know! I know! What about Frank! He doesn't seem to have any kind of real job, yet he is never around. He’s not Bureau. So what gives?”

“None of your business, Arthur. And you know it! You cannot bring Sara into this. You could get my sister killed and I won’t let that happen.”

Arthur knew Renita was right. Renita was let off the mission, but Arthur was still left trying to pick up the pieces and close the case. It was part of the agreement that allowed the two of them to escape a real relationship that developed over a long-term assignment. It happens from time to time, and it always ends the same way.

“Arthur. What is going on with Petra?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you are not sure? You’re only job is to catch him in the act and then turn him over to the Bureau!”

“I think he skipped town. I lost him last week and I have not been able to find him since.”

“Arthur, why are you such a screw up? You used to be one of the best agents we had. You could find anyone and then help create an air-tight case that would put the bad guy away for a long time. You can’t even keep up with the world’s most dangerous diamond smuggler anymore? Arthur, he’s the one who has been financing a big chunk of these terrorist cells in the United States.”

Arthur always hated it when Renita would bitch at him about how he did his job. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he lost track of Petra right around the same time that he started talking to Sara. He wondered if it was not a coincidence, but he had no proof. Then there was the very real problem of him being in love with Sara.

Sara was always around, but Arthur never paid much attention to her. His job was to form a partnership with Renita, which obviously went very well at first. Sara was just the little sister who was always there. It wasn't until he saw her in that coffee shop that he actually started talking to her and realized how funny and interesting she really is. She didn't have that bitchy voice either, which was a bonus.

“Arthur, you need to forget Sara and get back to finding Petra before someone else dies.”

Someone else. That hurt. Renita always blamed the Portland incident on Arthur, even though it wasn't his fault.

“Uh huh. Look, Renita. I cannot help but think that Sara has a connection to this.”

“Bullshit Arthur! That would mean our cover is blown and everyone is in deep shit. You, me, the kids ... everyone! You break it off with Sara and you get back to your damn job!”

"Renita, I'm serious. She seems to know things that she has no right to even speculate, much less know in detail." Arthur paused a moment. "She knows about Project Doppelganger."

"What? Are you fucking serious? What did you tell her? It had to be you. She's not that smart. For God's sake she doesn't just play the dumb blonde, she wears it like a badge."

"All I'm saying is that she knows that Saddam was whisked out of Iraq just before the hanging and replaced with a body double. She knows the U.S. did it. And she thinks he's hiding somewhere in Canada."

"Wow. That's a little too close for comfort." Renita sat up a little straighter, suddenly filled with worry for her little sister. Sara was the better looking of the two sisters, but although she was graced with the same brains as Renita, she preferred to play dumb and let her looks and charm ease her travels through life.

"It's all her deductive reasoning coming into play."

"Deductive reasoning? She writes children's mystery novels! I don't they're really that deep, Hardy Boy. I'm betting you let something slip with all that smooth pillow talk of yours. Trying to impress her, I bet, with all your dangerous adventures. Such a manly man," Renita replied derisively. The octaves were starting to pitch again leading to the escalation that Arthur was trying to avoid. Sometimes, though, he was a glutton for punishment. And today was just one of those days.

"She is under the impression that Frank is an operative, and not for us."

"Don't let your hatred of Frank taint an otherwise good man."

"Come on, Nita. You're smarter than that. You were the brains of this operation. Did you ever vet the guy before you jumped into his bed?"

"That's not fair. It was over between you and I."

"I've got some info from one of our moles in Europe. He is of the same impression." Arthur continued. As much as he would love to give her the old "I told you so," he was seriously dreading having to expose her new husband for the fraud he really was.

"Bullshit." Renita said angrily. She leaned her body away from her ex-husband and crossed her arms. She was prepared to battle him if he stepped across the line in the sand one more time.

"Francois believes that Frank is a mole for the other side. How else do you explain his frequent trips abroad? He's got no job that I've ever seen and he says he's got family money. Yet anytime he's asked about that family, he's evasive. And it's Francois coming up with this, not me. You remember Francois?"

"Oh...Yes. I remember Francois." Renita said softly, She smiled a bit and fingered the necklace she had worn since her field days in France before the kids were born. Sometimes you just had to give all for God and country. Lord knows Francois had given her a little religion. Arthur had been furious, but at the time their relationship hadn't progressed to where he felt it should be. She was sowing her wild oats on Uncle Sam's dime while trying to keep it safe.

"Yeah...Anyway, maybe you should slip one foot back into the game and get the background on Frank. If I do it, it will seem more like revenge than actual intelligence."

Renita nodded silently. He was right. If Arthur was the one doing the digging, she'd hate him forever and stay blind to the nagging questions she'd had about Frank in the back of her mind. It always seemed so astounding that Arthur could see through the lies for the truth so easily. Maybe it was because he was such a skilled liar himself. Renita's stance toward Arthur softened. He was right. Of course he was right. She should have checked out Frank's story especially since he never invited her or the kids to any of his travels around the globe. Even their short honeymoon was only to the Poconos. Frank's excuse was that he'd seen enough of the world. He just wanted to spend some time with his new wife in a hotel room.

Arthur took Renita's silence as an affirmation of his revelations. He stared out over the neighborhood. It used to be his neighborhood. He remembered when he first saw the bungalow and knew immediately that Renita would love it. She would make it into a nurturing nest for their new family. Now years later, he'd been pushed out of that nest and had to learn to fly all on his own. He felt like an outsider on the tree-lined street with a rusted out jalopy and last year's haircut. Still, it was the best place for his daughters. They didn't need to live in the roach infested apartment behind a less than reputable bar. They didn't need to see what happened in the shadows after last call, and they didn't need to watch their father studying the bottom of beer mugs. He glanced out at his wreck of a car, wondering how many people were taking note of his infiltration into their slice of paradise. That's when he noticed it.

"Hey, Renita, when did you start letting the kids draw in the street with chalk?"

"What? Never. They stay in the driveway behind the gate. And really, don't you think they're a bit too old for chalk drawing?" Renita watched as Arthur jumped to his feet and jogged to the curb. He looked intently at the ground then back up to the house. Renita frowned and followed him to the road.

"This is an Iranian assassin's mark and it's pointed directly at your house," Arthur said solemnly.

"What!?! But the Iranians have been our allies for nearly 15 years. Even that Whack-A-Mole  Ahmadinejad was our ally through all that bluster. Why an Iranian symbol?"

"I'm not sure, but all I know is that it's here and you're in danger."

Standing in the middle of Sycamore Street, Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. With his eyes still closed, he began pointing. At the ground. The house. Down the street. In the air. Then he opened his eyes and barked at Renita.

“Kids. Bags. Car. Now. We need to go.”

Renita barked back, “Arthur, the girls and I have a good life here. And if we run now, we’ll always be running. And the kids don’t even know …”

A bullet flew past Renita’s head.

“Nita! Now! Forget the bags. Just get the kids, get in the car and go.”

She ducked and ruan to the door, stopping at the threshold and turning back to Arthur, still standing upright in the middle of the tree-lined street, gun drawn and eyes closed again as if he’s trying to listen intently.

“Not without you,” she said to him, suddenly realizing that she needs him in her life as much as he always tells her he needs her.

“Go now. I’ll be fine,” he said calmly.

As Renita ran inside to grab their two children and take them to safety, Arthur spotted a rifle scope sticking out over the top of a hedgerow three houses down. He took a shot and the scope disappeared. A split second later, he saw the well-manicured head of the young neighbor girl he saw earlier droop from the side of the bushes.

“I should have seen that coming,” he said to himself. “It’s always the good looking bitches that fool me.”

Another shot, this one aimed at Arthur — and connecting with his left forearm.

“Fuck. Where did that come from?” he said out loud before seeing an open window at the neighbor’s house and a familiar scowl inside it.

Gushing blood from his arm and heading for cover behind his Taurus, Arthur yelled into his former home, “Nita! Hurry up! Oh, and Frank’s not in Italy, by the way.”

No longer seeing Frank’s countenance in the window, Arthur scanned the neighbor’s home. But instead of seeing Frank, he saw Sara peering at him, gun drawn.

Another shot rang out, missing Arthur, but flying by so close, it singed his cheek.

“I hate killing people I like,” he thought.

The garage door opened and Renita’s Audi A4 peeled from the landing. She flew out the driveway, nearly striking Arthur’s car. Flinging the passenger-side door open, she yelled, “Get in!”

“Can’t, Nita. Gotta take care of some ‘family issues,’ “ he yelled back.

“Dad!” The girls yelled in unison.

“Just go,” Arthur yelled. “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”

As the A4 took off down the street, another shot came from the neighbor house, striking the side of the sedan, but not hitting anyone.

Arthur stood up straight, took aim and shot Frank dead center. His ex’s new husband fell from the second-story window, landing lifelessly in a juvenile apple tree at the front of the Smith’s home.

“Frank!” A woman’s voice bellowed from the home - as Sara appeared in the window.

Wasting no time, Arthur took out his potential new mate, as well.

“I hate killing people I like!” he screamed at the heavens, once again standing in the middle of Sycamore Street.

Squad cars simultaneously appeared from the north and the south, boxing Arthur in.

“Put your weapon on the ground and your hands in the air,” one of the patrolmen demands Arthur.

He complied, dropping his government issued Glock 23 gently to the ground.

“I’m a federal agent,” he explains to the police, reaching into his inner jacket pocket “Just let me get my ...”

Not taking any chances, the cop fired a shot at Arthur, hitting him cleanly in the shoulder.

Arthur fell to the ground, bleeding profusely as the police surrounded him.

“At least the girls got away,” he mutters.

Looking up at the cop who shot him, Arthur squinted.

“Petra,” he whispers faintly. Reaching for his gun, Arthur is shot again, dying instantly.

“For now, Agent Canterbury,” Petra said. “They got away for now.”