Landfall - 19. What Are We Walking Toward?

Have I fucked it all up?

Yesterday was such a cluster-fuck. Felt like shit all day before—really down. Crazy dreams that night about Jackie and the boys. One minute they're here and the next, they're gone. Faces fading in and out. Overwhelming sadness. Then Dave comes in yesterday morning after that lousy night, being his usual attentive self, and I totally dumped on him. You'd think this mess was all his fault. Almost like an alien had taken over my body. Oddly detached from it all—like I was watching a drama scene from a bad soap opera, powerless to stop it.

Talking with Doc yesterday really helped me get some of my perspective back. What he said about understanding the grief/loss/acceptance progress in dealing with these things makes sense; guess I'm still in grief/loss over all of this. Thankfully, Dave accepted my apology for the jackass behavior and things were kinda back to normal last night.

But things are different—I just know it.

Dave is still his loving attentive self. Talks to me, reassures me, gives me the casual touches that are still electric. He'll occasionally flash that megawatt smile and I fucking damn near melt. But.....he's still watching me, focused on me—almost like he's waiting for me to meltdown, or explode into a hurricane of emotions, constantly expanding, covering territories that'd been clear before. Thought I'd gotten past that hurricane in Dallas, but guess that was the eye of the storm making landfall, and this is the winds picking back up again on the backside of the storm as the calm eye moves away.

He's waiting for me to break. Disappointed him. Not the man he thinks I am.

Thank God, Doc will be here in a couple of hours—I really need to talk through all this more; it's still not gelled, and I'm still a mess. Maybe he'll talk with Dave, too; maybe he can fix this distance between us.

Maybe I've fucked it up so badly there is no us anymore.

Doc can't get here soon enough today.

Interesting to see what the Assistant Director has to say, too. Sounds like something big. He'll be here late this afternoon, after Doc finishes with me.

At 11:30am or so, Doc arrives, Dave's about to excuse himself from the room, but Doc stops him. “Let's grab a bite to eat first. I didn't have time for breakfast before I left Dallas, and I'm ready to eat my luggage.” He grins, and everyone agrees it's a good idea.

I grab my sunglasses and baseball cap, we head out to a sandwich place near the beach, maybe a mile or so from the bed and breakfast, Dave driving Doc's rental car.

Lunch was great, good food, relaxed conversation.

Doc kind of wraps up the conversation, looks at Dave. “Can you give us some time, Dave? Barry and I are going to walk on the beach and talk for a while.”

“Sure, Doc. I'll head back to the room, you guys take as much time as you need. I need to do some stuff anyway. And, the Assistant Director should be here around 4pm or so to meet with Barry and me. Barry, you've got your phone, right? Give a call when y'all are done, I'll swing back and pick you up.”

Dave leaves, and Doc looks at me. “Let's walk and talk, huh, Barry? Different kind of therapy, right?” He grins, and starts taking off his shoes and socks, stuffing the socks in his shoes, rolling his Dockers' legs up, carrying his shoes in one hand as we head to the beach. I kick off the flipflops, and we start walking in the sand.

Doc's presence is like someone pulled a Chatty Cathy string. Babbling. Covering some of the same stuff as yesterday on the phone. Throwing in new stuff, including the gap I'm feeling with Dave. At a couple of points in the conversation having to fight back crying. Doc nods and listens, asks occasional questions, keeps me talking.

We'd been walking and taking maybe an hour or so. I'd talked enough I was thirsty, the sun was hot. I'd already taken off my t-shirt, and Doc had tucked his golf shirt in the waistband of his pants.

“Let's get a drink, Barry. We can both use it, and cool off, and talk about some of the stuff you've mentioned.” There's a little deck up ahead, on the back of a restaurant or something, and we head there.

After ordering iced tea for both of us, Doc starts talking. Reviewing key points I'd mentioned. Listening, he'd invite my thoughts as he went, and I found myself both feeling like issues were being resolved and feeling much better—the weight was lightening. Found myself agreeing with Doc's observations. Made sense.

“Two things though, Barry. First, I really don't think you have anything to worry about with Dave, but I'll talk with him and we'll do a joint session with both of you. Right now, assume there's no problem, act that way, and talk with him about all of it. He's a big boy, he can handle it, and your concerns will only make you feel that you aren't making progress if you aren't talking with him. It becomes kind of self-fulfiling prophecy—you think you've got a problem, so you do.

“Secondly, right now, I'm going to prescribe something to help even out your emotions a little. It's not a big thing, it's just a temporary thing to help you while you think through everything. Once you get your heart agreeing with your head, you won't need 'em anymore. Are you ok with both of those?”

I nod yes, and Doc smiles.

“Good. I'll take care of that this afternoon, and get the medication over to you before dinner tonight. Now, give Dave a call—I'm damn sure not walking back in this heat.” He laughs an easy laugh, and we do just casual chat until Dave arrives.

“By the way, guys, I'll be staying at the bed and breakfast one floor up from you. If you need me, just track me down. I'll be primarily there around the pool, but I've got my cell if I wander off to the beach. Ok?” Dave and I both nod as Dave drives us back to the B&B.

Head up to our rooms, check the time once inside, and it's 3:30pm. Spent a helluva long time with Doc, but worth it. Feeling much better; surprisingly I'm not bothered by Doc's giving me drugs—never been one to do any kind of drugs beyond recreational experimentation in college, and always kinda viewed anyone who did drugs regularly as needing a crutch. If I need 'em, I need 'em—and trust Doc enough to accept that.

“Dave, I'm hot and sweaty, gonna hit the shower before the Assistant Director gets here. He's still on schedule for 4pm?”

“Yup, it'll be about 4. I'm not thinking of this as that formal of a meeting. Go ahead, I'd already showered while you and Doc were out.”

“About that, Dave, I'm sorry I....” Dave cuts me off with a stern look and a wave of his hand.

“Barry, damnit, stop apologizing! You were having a bad couple of days, you needed to vent, and I'm glad ya trusted me enough to do that with me. It's not changed anything about us at all—it only makes me more determined to take care of you. And that's not because it's my job—it's because I love you. In fact, truth be told, I'm feeling a little guilty—if I'd been paying better attention, you wouldn't be hurting so much now. And I'm watching more, 'cause I'm not going to let that happen again. So no more apologies, ok?”

I can only nod yes.

Bastard just said so much with all of that. I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch to have my big lawman.

Quickly shower, and get dressed. As I'm pulling on a fresh t-shirt, the room phone rings. Dave answers, chats for a few minutes.

“The A.D is waiting for us by the pool. You ready, Barry?”

“Yup, let's go.”

Sid is sitting by the pool. He's obviously already checked in, and changed clothes, since he's in t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He's picked up a six pack, since there's no bar here at the B&B, and has already opened one. After shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, Dave and I both grab a beer, and sit.

“Barry, you're looking well. You've picked up some color, and seem to have done well with your surgical procedure. Any discomfort?”

“I'm doing ok, Sid. No discomfort, just working to get used to the new face. First time I saw it, I wasn't in the best frame of mind, and I freaked, but it's getting better—Doc is helping with that.” Sid nods his understanding.

“And David, you're looking fit. Obviously, the Dallas event didn't create serious problems for you.”

“No, sir.”

“Well, guys, let me cut to the chase here. Barry, this first part directly affects you. The second part affects you, David.

“Barry, we'd found you a job in Montana. You'd become a finance and lease manager for a heavy equipment firm outside of Billings. With the increase in oil field work there, they've got a thriving business, you'd be able to make a good living; the cost of living is less than what you had in Dallas, and there's the potential for you to buy into the business as a partner if you'd like to at some point in the future. Of course, as part of our agreement with you, we'd pay for your initial living expenses while relocating there, and get you a car, up to the limits in your agreement. It'd be a solid life choice.

“But, in the last couple of weeks we've had another option that's popped up. The owners of a gay bar in one of the New Orleans suburbs have decided to sell—their health is poor, and they're moving to Florida with the mother of one of the guys. It's a fully operational bar, solid low-key business, and you'd become the new owner/operator of it.

“Wait, damnit! I don't know the first thing about running a bar...I've enjoyed 'em, but knowing operations? Think that may be out of my league.” Sid just waves his hand after my interruption and continues.

“Here's the thing, Barry—the bar pretty much runs itself. The lead bartender has been there for ten years, and acts as bar manager. There are a couple of other part-time bartenders there, who've also been there for several years. You would be there to keep an eye on the financials, glad-hand customers, keep the social side of the business going, along with profitability. We have no doubt you'd do well with this. You wouldn't necessarily have to actually work behind the bar unless you want to do so.

“The reason for our interest is that New Orleans has always had an active mob influence, and they're pretty open about it. They're involved in a variety of interests, several of which impact the bar and restaurant businesses. New Orleans is known world-wide as a foodie town, and they've been able to get their hooks into a wide variety of secondary operations that all started out from their restaurant/bar services.

“In this case, the son of the local mob leader and his wife are known to frequent the bar. We need eyes and ears there to pick up on things said and done when they're in—he's been known to be pretty mouthy and boastful after a handfull of drinks. We also know that some of their businesses provide services to the bar.

“Barry, you'd become our eyes and ears there. You'd be staying out late, waiting for him and his wife to come in with their cronies. You'd keep an eye out for their operations within your business and monitor the agreements for the services their companies provide the bar. And, you'd do nothing more than update us on what's said and done--if anything looks out of line or doesn't feel right to you, report it.

“In return for your agreement of assistance to us, we'd help with the bar's acquisition costs, and provide you with a monthly stipend to help cover some of the bar's expenses.

“Obviously, there are pros and cons to either location. Montana would offer a quieter life, and be in your previous line of finance. Billings is obviously not as well known as being a party town like New Orleans. You'd be able to pursue a typical suburban life. And you'd be able to carve out a good stable life there.

“New Orleans offers a lot, and there's no denying the fun attitude and approach to life. Certainly civic and cultural opportunities exist there that may not match up with Montana. But, you'd also be primarily in a gay environment—if you're comfortable with that—and although it would be low key, your involvement with us, if it ever came out, could be dangerous; far more dangerous than in Billings. Your earning potential could be far higher, simply due to the profits you'd get as owner of the bar.

“So here's the other factor: Another buyer has stepped up to the plate, and may be making an offer on the bar. Our window of opportunity is closing on this. As a result, I'm going to ask that you think about all of this, Barry, and then give me a decision by Sunday night at 8pm. We can quickly finalize a deal on Monday for the bar purchase. The Billings job will be open in another week.”

Sid sees the look of surprise and confusion on my face—helluva lot to think through in the next couple of days.

“Look, Barry, I know this is a lot to hit you with at once. But I want to give you all the options that I can for your life ahead; just promise you'll think about it, and let me know what you want to do.”

Stunned silence. Lots to process.

“You mentioned part of this affected Dave....” The director nodded and turned to Dave to continue.

“David, you've been a great asset in our Dallas office. We believe you're due for a promotion. If Barry does accept the New Orleans offer, we'll move you to the New Orleans field office, and you'll become the lead project manager on this entire case. We currently have 15 operatives/informants specific to this case, and you'll become responsible for gathering their information and coordinating the case up through successful prosecution. If that means you need additional resources, the Bureau would stand behind you. Barry would be reporting directly to you.

“And, from a personal level, if Barry accepts the offer for the bar, you and he would be able to continue to pursue your relationship with him there.”

“And if Barry decides on Billings?” Dave has an eyebrow cocked over narrowed eyes, focused intently on the Assistant Director. Looks briefly at me, then shifts focus back to the A.D.

Is that anger I see in his eyes?

“Well, if he chooses to go to Montana, you'll have your choice of either staying in Dallas, with your advancement in the future as another suitable promotion comes up. Or you can take the Lead Project manager and transfer to New Orleans; we need the manager to live there full time. Or, the third option is to transfer in your current position to the Salt Lake City field office, which would be the closest we can get you to Barry, although it's eight-and-a-half hours to drive to him by car. We don't currently have an opening in Salt Lake City, or in any of the Montana operations offices, so you'd have to wait on that opening to occur. Again, that's based on your call about how you want to pursue your personal lives as compared to your professional lives.

Understand now the look of anger.

The Bureau has set me up to force me to New Orleans and is using Dave as leverage to “make” me go there.

Bastards.

“It isn't enough you've caused me to give up my life and my sons? Wipe out my identity? Now you're trying to use Dave to manipulate me to take this job as your informant. Son-of-a-bitch....” I'm so angry, my voice is just a growl.

The A.D. holds up his hand in a “stop” motion. “No, no, no.” He's shaking his head. “I'm just presenting the options as I see them. And in my thinking, New Orleans would give you the chance to stay together, and you'd be providing a valuable service. David is not a hostage to your choice. You'd both benefit more—in my analysis—with the selection of New Orleans.” He smiles, trying to defuse my anger.

No anger defusion here—or on Dave's part. Dave is biting his lip trying to keep from exploding. Never seen him this angry.

“Sid, this is totally unfair of you to put this kind of pressure on Barry. He's got enough on his plate. To tie me to his decision is way beyond what I'd expected from a professional—or from a friend.” Dave's eyes are flashing fire as he stands while Sid's face is flat; expressionless.

“Barry and I will think about this over the weekend. And we'll get back to you before your deadline. I believe this meeting is over. Thanks for the beer.”

And with that, my big lug of a lawman grabs my hand, turns, and we walk away as Sid sits speechless.

But what are we walking toward?