The New Kid (MM prequel PG-13) Part 1

May 25, 2009 19:29



Traditionally, Middlemen preferred to see potential apprentices in life-or-death situations before making any kind of job offer.  Nothing could substitute for getting a firsthand look at him (or her, the Middleman amended) under the gun. Now he took a deep breath and waited for the right psychological moment before he stepped in.

A bar-room game of eight-ball wasn't anything like stressful enough to make that call. But it was a start. The Middleman got his bad leg under him and moved forward as his candidate sank the last ball.

The Middleman said a name, didn't offer his own in return. "Nice grouping." The kid's eyes barely flickered up from the table. If he recognized the reference he didn't care. "Can I play? Twenty dollars a ball." He got a noncommittal noise back that he took as a yes.

'Kid' shouldn't have been the right word. The younger man was a bit past twenty-six, and had spent most of his adult life in the physical and emotional pressure cooker of the Navy's SEAL program. It still fit. Wide-eyed, a bit of a snub nose, clear unlined features. He'd probably been carded the first time he'd come to the bar. One of the snapshots in his file, from before the trouble, had caught a radiant, guileless grin that made him look like a very tall twelve. I don't know if you can get all that back, but I think the job could save your life.

The kid looked thinner across the chest and arms than he had in his last military photos. The muscle mass hadn't gone slack but it was reduced, bones showing a little at wrists and elbows. He couldn't be making much pool sharking, even though he didn't seem to be drinking it. The one beer on the corner of the table was missing so little it was probably evaporation. He wasn't smoking, either. He hadn't before his almost-honorable discharge from the SEALs, but ten weeks was plenty of time for a motivated man to pick up bad habits. If he was trying the self-destructive route, he was picky about means.

But he hadn't done anything else, either. Even with his Navy record grubby around the edges, the SEAL name and skills could have made him several kinds of living. Or an ordinary job; his military-legal troubles were settled. Instead, he'd gotten a by-the-week hotel room all of fifty miles down the coast from his old base. Just far enough that he didn't expect to see familiar faces, the Middleman judged.

The older man sank two shots in a row.  It was a trivial feat of hand-eye coordination for someone with his training. He suspected the same of his opponent. Purposely missed on the next shot, because standing still hurt his leg more than moving around. "Your turn."

The former SEAL aimed three shots with machine-like accuracy before he looked up. "You were in here last night, and Wednesday, but you're not from around here. And you seem unusually interested in pool." A pause. "If that's a pass, I'd feel terrible breaking your other leg."

"You and me both." That fight wouldn't be a foregone conclusion even now; he'd learned a lot from Sensei Ping. But no need to get off-topic. "I want to talk to you. I need your help."

The light brown eyes didn't react. "If you're a reporter? Not going to feel terrible at all."

The Middleman fell back on borrowed words. "Reputation is what other people think about you. Honor is what you know about yourself."

That started a crack in the younger man's armor of indifference. His expression was human for a second, and hurting. "I'm screwed either way." The kid shut down again, fixed his eyes back on the pool table. "Look, you're not the first with a sales pitch. You're about the fifth. 'International consultants.' 'Private offensive and defensive operations.' I'm not a mercenary."

What are you, that's the question. "Neither am I. But it's an absorbing job, lots of variety. Tonight -- you notice it's full moon? -- it's about somebody's escaped pet wolf. Captive-raised, so it has no fear of human beings. There's also reason to think it might be rabid. I need to take this thing down tonight. I could use backup."

A one-sided sneer. It didn't suit the kid at all. "Because nobody does animal control for a living. That's the stupidest story I've ever heard."

"And yet it's true." All but one adjective. "Let me put it this way, kid. You've got skills that are practically unique. I want to give you a chance to use them for the good of mankind." The kid's lip curled still more at the dramatic wording. "Try it once. It might be interesting."

No answer. The Middleman tightened the screws. "Or you can get yourself a couple of hundred dollars sharking pool. And come back next night and do it again. And again. What could I have up my sleeve worse than that?"

That argument, for all the wrong reasons, tipped the balance. "Interesting? I'll hold you to that." The kid put down his pool cue.

fan fiction

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