Landfall - 9. Hanging On by Fingernails

We showered, cleaned up, picked up our clean clothes from the front desk, met Jonathan and Greg in the lobby, and headed to Sunday “Brunch on the Beach”. A local hotel set up all their catering outside, including bar, guests encouraged to be dressy but barefoot in the sand. Linen tablecloths and nicer tableware completed a scene under a bevy of umbrellas shading the dining guests.

Dave was uncharacteristically quiet all morning, both while we were getting dressed, and even now while we were eating. Conversation was moving with everyone, but there was an obvious tension at the table. Dave excused himself to go to the men's room and Greg leaned over moments later and looked me in the eye.

“Everything ok with you two?”

You two. That mean what I think he's asking about?

“Yeah, we had a great time out with you guys last night. Lots of fun! And thanks for driving.”

“Look, Barry, we know the night didn't end at the bar for you guys. We heard you.” And he cocked an eyebrow up after shooting a glance at Jonathan. “You ok?” And they both smiled.

Fuck. Fuck.

I'm beet red, I'm sure, brain has gone to mush. Need to clear the lump out of my throat, reach for a glass of water—to buy some time for a reasonable response—and accidentally knock it over. Greg and Jonathan jump up to avoid the water spilling everywhere, a waiter appears almost instantly with a towel to mop up the mess I made. Dave arrives back in the middle of all this.

It's all cleaned up, everyone's seated. And I'm still red-faced. Jonathan and Greg look at me expectantly, Dave's looking back and forth between them and me with a “what-the-fuck” look, and I'm stuck. Don't know what to say.

After several pregnant minutes, Dave finally asks, “OK, guys, what the fuck is going on?”

“Just checking on Barry, Dave. Making sure he's ok after a wild night.” Long pause. In a quiet voice, Jonathan continues. “ We heard you guys last night; after all, we are in the next room. And we'd just finished making monkey noises ourselves.” Jonathan and Greg both grin at that description.

Dave's turn for the tomato-face look.

After a long pause, he looks over, cheeks still red, smiles, and says, “Hey, just consenting adults hard at work.” I nod.

Finally get out some words, “It's all good.”

Greg, sitting next to me at the table grabs my hand. “Hey, it's cool. We kinda had you figured for a guy on the straight and narrow (he makes air quotes around the phrase), but you've been comfortable with everything here so far, including us. Look, we don't know anything about you other than you're under our protection, and doesn't matter what you do, but you need to know we're your friends, too. And if we can help you, or even just listen, we're here for you. Got it?” Jonathan's looking and nodding as Greg finishes.

Damnit, why does that burst of friendship almost make me want to cry? Have I ever really had friends like this before? I'm touched to the core.

Finally get to clear my throat. Dave is looking at me, obviously concerned, with Jonathan and Greg just.....waiting. Clear my throat again, look around to make sure no one else can hear, and speak in a low voice. And honesty is the best policy, right?

“Look, guys, this is kinda tough to talk about, but.....I've always considered myself straight. Yeah, I played with a couple of guys in college but nothing serious—just typical experimental stuff. But, I'm re-examining lots of things in my life, and I'm discovering I'm not as straight as I thought I might be.”

“Part of that discovery is because of the three of you. Dave is my friend, and I'm appreciating the growing friendship with you two. You've all been nothing but professional. You're all good guys. And you're all comfortable in your own skins. I thought I was there, but your presence and friendship is helping me learn I wasn't, and I'm moving forward.”

“I did exactly what I wanted to do last night, and Dave was a gentlemen and let me take things at my own pace.” Reached over, grabbed his hand, squeezed it. “He's been a rock for me, professionally and personally. He means a lot to me. And you guys are moving right up there, too.”

“I'm ok with everything so far; in fact, feel pretty damn good about it. And if I've got issues, I'll discuss 'em with you. Now, any questions before we hit the dessert table? And no, I'm not discussing specifics of what we did last night.” And I grinned.

With that last line, everyone at the table laughed, the tension was gone. Looked at Dave, and he's beaming. Whatever cloud was over him earlier had vanished.

“Now, let's hit the desserts.”

After brunch we all walked on the beach, enjoying the sounds, peeling off the shirts to work on the tans, and I'm feeling relaxed.

Dave moved up beside me as Jonathan and Greg walked a few yards ahead. “You mean all that you said back there?”

Looked him squarely in they eye. “Yup, I did. And everything I said about you. You are my rock, and you mean a helluva lot to me. Don't know where all this is headed, but I sure as fuck like it now.” I grabbed his hand, pulled him next to me, and kissed him.

I just fucking kissed a guy in public on a beach and I loved it.

“Satisfied I'm telling the truth now?” I grinned.

“Do that again, and convince me.” We both laughed....and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around holding hands. Greg and Jonathan nodded in approval.

Made an early evening of it, just relaxing with drinks by the pool. And Dave and I climbed in bed that night, cuddled naked, and just slept. And yeah, it was satisfying.

Woke up at 7:15 am Monday, Dave is gone. Found a note saying he'd be back around 9. I got cleaned up for the day, went and grabbed coffee down in the lobby, sat by the pool and waited. Jonathan and Greg joined me around 8:30 or so, and we chatted and relaxed with breakfast pastries.

Dave appeared around 9:15 or so, and was in full professional mode. Pouring a cup of coffee, offered to refill everyone's cup, then sat down.

“Jonathan and Greg, you need to stay here for a few minutes and let me update you, along with Barry. There's a lot to go over this morning, so have as much java as ya need to roll with all of this.”

“First, I need to update Jonathan and Greg on this case. We've deliberately kept 'em in the dark at this point, but their plans are changing, and it's important they know everything.” With that, Dave fills 'em in on my past, Jackie's death, my turning state's evidence, and mentioned, without going into details, the plan to take me into witness protection using a plan I'd created. “His name really isn't Barry Evans; he's Frank Cavauto.” They both nodded, obviously not surprised.

“Barry, first of all, the prosecution is going well. Security is in place on all the witnesses, and jury impanelment will be completed by Wednesday. All jurors will have security with their families until the trial starts. They'll be sequestered once trial starts and under court protection, but their families will continue to have protection from the Bureau through the trial. That's just to prevent intimidation.”

“We've kicked up protection on your boys, too. We've now got two additional agents for a total of four with them at all times. The two original agents are living in the house with them, two more are in the house across the street. They'll be staying there at the house at school during the trial—the house in Dallas will remain unoccupied. They're planning to go to Padre Island as a break during Memorial Day weekend, and based on how things are going based on our security analysis, we'll make a determination whether they'll go back to the house at school or stay a few days there at Padre. And yes, Barry, you'll get to talk with them Wednesday night. Their tests will be done by then.”

“There's more good news—Jonathan and Greg, you'll be going back to Dallas with us. I want you on my team to help take care of Barry. We'll fly out of here Monday evening. Because it's Memorial Day evening, we should be able to get into Dallas and to our accommodations relatively inconspicuously.”

“The trial will start Tuesday morning, and Barry, you'll be taking the stand first thing. We'll get your testimony out of the way, get the cross examination finished, and start your witness protection plan as soon as possible. We're anticipating the trial will last 3 weeks to a month. And the timing of your plan's implementation is under direct control of the Assistant Director; not even I know when all that will happen. It's that closely guarded a secret.”

“Here's the bad news, guys: Barry, your bankster buddies are desperate. They see the noose closing around 'em, and they're panicking. They've floated a trial balloon with the federal prosecutor for a plea deal. He's playing hardball since he's smelling the blood in the water, but you never know what can happen with that.”

“They're desperate enough for you to be gone that the hit contract on you has been upped to $2 million dollars.” Greg let out a low whistle. “What that means for us is that we need to be extra vigilant in taking care of Barry here. Anything suspicious, we act first, and ask questions later. As usual, you'll stay armed at all times, carry an extra clip with you, and Barry isn't to be left alone—ever. Clear?” Greg and Jonathan nodded. “We'll still go out some and relax, but we're gonna be super careful, OK? And no random shopping excursions; we just can't afford to be that visible.”

“Now, any questions?”

Wow. I'm drained just from hearing all this. Greg and Jonathan just shake their heads “no”, and look at me.

“I'll be ok, guys. Just a lot to take in. Do it one day at a time, huh?” Tried to smile, but it was a flat smile—and they could see it. I stood just to stretch from sitting through all of this.

“Look, Barry, we're gonna be here for you. You wanna talk, you wanna just hang out and not be alone...whatever you want, we'll do, ok? We're gonna make sure it all works out fine, you'll see.” And with that Greg, the self-admitted touch-er of the couple, came over and grabbed me in a hug. He was joined by Jonathan and David, and we just stood there for a few minutes. The sense of friendship and brotherhood was overwhelming. Knowing that these guys would fight and maybe die for me was staggering, and I fought off the sniffles.

“I don't know what to say, guys....but thanks. I owe you my life.”

The next couple of days had a pall on 'em, primarily because of me. We all knew what we were up against, but their professionalism let 'em deal with it all ok, I guess, but it was doing a number in my head.

Did get to talk to the boys on Wednesday night. Dave set up a secure line, using a satellite phone linked to a similar phone provided to the boys. It was every bit the emotionally charged call you'd expect it to be. The boys had lots of questions for and about me; they talked about some of the things carried in the news and asked about their accuracy.

“Dad, did you ever have someone killed?” Cory asked in a hesitant voice, and you could hear the terror underlying the question.

“No, son, I didn't. And I didn't order anyone to do that, either. Some folks may have gotten beaten up pretty badly, but that was done by others within the bank collecting the debts. My crimes were strictly financial. And I'm sorry for 'em, it just kinda snowballed on me, but I kept on doing it—I thought I was in too deep. And then all that changed when your mom.....was killed. She's the only one I'm responsible for.” I started to cry. Apparently loudly enough that Dave came in the room and held me while I finished talking.

“Ok, Dad.” You could hear the relief in Corey's voice.

Trey cut in. “Who's Dave?”

Caught me off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“We have packages here that say not to open 'em till we talk with you, and the note is signed 'Dave'.”

“Dave is my FBI handler, and he's become a good friend and someone really special to me. Go ahead and open 'em.” I could hear the sounds of paper ripping.

“Damn, Dad, this is great! Cory was on the line again, Trey yelling agreement from a distance.

“Boys, I wanted you to have those from me. This may be the last time we get to chat for a long, long time, depending on how things go in Dallas. I want ya to hang on to those, and remember me with 'em.”

“Dad are you saying that like you aren't coming back...what are you saying? What are you not telling us?” Corey starts to cry. Trey grabs the phone and he's sniffling, too.

“You better fucking stop talking like that, Dad.” He's getting louder, almost shouting. “You're not telling us something, I fucking know it.” Long pause, then in almost a whisper, “We're gonna all be together again.....aren't we?” Trey's crying, too. Hell, I'm crying. Again. Damnit, I wanted to be strong for my boys.

“I'd like to think so, son, but everything is so messed up right now. Just keep doing what you're doing. Follow the FBI guys to the letter. And every now and then, think of your old man, ok? I need to go now, hope I can talk with you boys again soon. Know I love you.” Long pause. I can barely speak. “Bye for now boys.”

“Bye, Dad. We love you and we'll see you soon.'

I could only sit there and cry. Dave sat there with his arms wrapped around me, rocking me like a kid, reassuring me it'd be ok.

After a few minutes, he stepped away, washed my face with a warm washcloth, and took me outside by the pool. He poured three fingers of Jack over ice, and passed it to me, along with a pack of cigarettes and lighter. We sat in silence for a long time, me just drinking and smoking. Bastard is smart enough to know when to push in and when to pull out with me; gotta give him credit.

Jonathan and Greg came out to join us. Dave poured a drink for both of them and himself. No one said a word, but their presence was a comfort.

After a while, I stood. “Guys, I'll be ok. Just a tough phone call. Thanks for hanging with me. I'm gonna hit the sack.” And we all went back to our rooms.

Strip down, crawl in bed, cuddle against Dave. Start to shake. “Tell me I'm not losing it. Tell me I'm doing the right thing. Make me believe it's all gonna be ok.” Tears rolling down my cheeks, but at least not sobbing—done enough of that tonight. I'm hanging on, but it's with my fingernails.

Dave just pulls me in closer, kisses the top of my head. Squeezes me hard. Leans in for a full kiss on the lips. And strokes my back. “It's gonna be ok, Barry. I'm gonna make sure of it.”

Sleep comes eventually—but it does finally come.

We hung around the B&B the next three days. Really wasn't in the mood to go out, and it suited the guys just fine to make sure I was in a secure environment.

By Sunday, I was stir-crazy again, and in a better mood. I suggest brunch and then going to Sunday afternoon Tea Dance. Greg and Jonathan readily agreed; they were ready for action, too.

We'd finished brunch, and fought the crowd into the bar. I grabbed a vacant stool, ordered drinks for the group, and was waiting on 'em, when I noticed a couple of guys looking my way, one of 'em pointing at me. Bartender brought the drinks, I settled up with him, started passing drinks to Jonathan and Greg—Dave had disappeared---and turned to find one of the guys who'd been pointing standing there beside me. Mid-20's, clean-cut, shorts, tank top, sneakers.

“Hey, aren't you from Dallas? You're that banker, right? The one that worked for the mob? Hey, what are you doing here?” He's grinning, already got something of a buzz going.

“Nah, man, I'm from Minneapolis, here on vacation with my boyfriend. You got me confused with someone else.” Hoped this lie would work, but the Dallas boy isn't giving up.

“Nah, man, you look just like him! Hey, let's take a pic, if nothing else my buddies in Dallas will freak if they think I'm running with the mob. Be cool on Facebook.” He grabs his iPhone, swings around next to me, and is getting ready to do a selfie with me.

Right at that moment, Dave comes up, immediately spots what's happening, and acts like he's buzzed, too—and bumps hard into the guy. Guy drops the phone, and it slides somewhere under the row of barstools.

“Hey, buddy, sorry about that, lemme help ya look for it,” Dave slurs.

“Get the fuck away from me. Hope it's not broken, you jerk—if it is, you're paying for it!” Mr. Dallas is pissed, but focused elsewhere, bent over looking underneath the stools.

“Let's get out of here,” Jonathan whispers in my ear as he grabs my arm. Greg grabs the other arm, and they're manhandling me out of there as Dave follows quickly. We're soon back at the Suburban where I'm shoved in back with Dave jumping in beside me, headed back quickly by an alternate route to the B&B and its safety.

I hope it's not an omen of the trip to Dallas tomorrow night.