LJ Idol Season 9 Week 6 - The Evil That Men Do
o/` "So think of me while you're safe at home tonight
Think of me while you hold your loved ones tight
I'm someone you might never need
But before you drift off to sleep
When you pray the Lord a soul to keep
Think of me" o/`
-- "Think of Me" performed by Tracy Lawrence
"We are given our lives, our fear, our broken bones, and broken hearts. Breaks create openings that were not there before, and in that space grow the seeds for new creation."
-- Rebecca Wells, Little Altars Everywhere
Several years ago, the agency for whom Dee works had a serious problem: person or persons unknown were locating their agents and killing both them and their families. Threats occurred and most of those who might be likely targets were relocated or reassigned.
The same person or persons (eventually identified) were caught after months of research, profiling, negotiating across law enforcement agencies, and strategic planning. I don't believe the case ever made the news media but I might be wrong; we were too busy ducking and covering to check. Some of you may remember that Dee worked that case and that I received the phone call no beloved of law enforcement ever wants to get; they shot him through a gap in the Kevlar and nearly killed him.
Someone higher up than the particular division Dee works for decided, in his or her infinite wisdom, that the would-be assassin and mass murderer was of more value in other cases than he was in a maximum security prison awaiting the death sentence. Considering the perpetrator's background in military tactics and law enforcement, this was likely a bad idea. People can and do slip through the cracks in our great bureaucracy.
About the only thing crime dramas on television get right is the notification from victim services regarding the whereabouts (or lack thereof) of the monster who committed the crime against you. I received recently, just when Dee's boss had begun talking about reassigning our MIB, a small white card letting me know that our bad guy had somehow slipped his leash.
Yeah, you heard right: no one knows where the bastard is, where he's headed, or what he might do next.
Deputy Director Fallon, way up in Quantico, processed the paperwork herself to keep our MIB on surveillance and protection detail until further notice. That included a fair chunk of resources, such as the RV they live in (carefully hidden at the back of our property) and...let's just say my home could probably double as an ammo locker. If needed, our MIB can even call for assistance to Camp Blanding.
Once the anger subsided (just how in Kali's blessed black tits do you lose a man who killed two agents and their families and attempted to murder another?!) and the terror wore off, I realized this posed a hardship for our MIB too. Both of them have families and small children. I think we've arranged for Craymar's to join us a few times around holidays and school vacations, but Kaz...his wife doesn't approve of his occupation and has been pressing for retirement. We've seen her and his three children once. She didn't say anything to anyone and pointedly refused to allow her children to play with ours.
Kaz is a big man, bull necked and broad shouldered with a body which holds not one spare ounce of fat. He's always been polite but reserved although when it comes to his assignment here he's fiercely protective of Dee and all his dependents. Once a crazy homeless man followed me around the farmer's market bothering me about coming to Jesus and learning to walk again. Kaz simply looked at the guy before inhaling and preparing to bellow. He didn't need to because the man saw all those muscles rippling and took off faster than a comet.
All business, even during those rare down times when the three of them --- Dee, Craymar, and Kaz --- would play a friendly game of poker at my kitchen table, I don't think I ever saw him smile and I know I've never heard him laugh. Dee usually wins by counting cards, but Kaz wiped the floor with him because his face is completely unreadable.
You can understand, then, why I was so surprised to find this man, head in his hands, sitting on my deck and looking for all the world like he'd lost absolutely everything of value to him. I wouldn't have ventured out anyhow (using crutches exhausts me and it's a big production to get my wheelchair in and out of the house) but I felt I at least needed to save him from the hummingbirds, which were swirling around him in agitation because he was blocking their access to the Arabian jasmine.
"Kaz?" I sat down next to him on the bench. His shoulders were shaking and tears slipped through his stubby fingers to darken the denim of his jeans in abstract patterns. A lighter band of skin on one hand caught my attention and I realized that I had never, since he'd been assigned here, seen him take off his wedding band. "Can I get you some coffee or something?"
"No, thanks, Miss Kitty." He batted away a curious bumble bee and muttered, "My wife didn't like the assignment extension. She wants a divorce."
"I'm sorry. What can we do?" The divorce rate is pretty high in law enforcement; I could only imagine it must be that much worse in federal agencies. Most of these men don't seem able to leave their work in the workplace and the hours were beyond oddball. I'd put Dee on planes in the wee hours of the morning, carefully avoided piles of envelopes marked "EVIDENCE" stacked on my coffee table, and fielded some strange and cryptic calls. I guess most women don't have my tolerance for the bizarre and macabre.
"She wants custody of the kids, says I'm not home enough and my job is too dangerous."
I bite my tongue. Now is simply not the time to mention that we know what we're getting into when we attach ourselves to these men and that his wife has no damned excuse to either leave him or take his children away. Kaz is a good father and a good provider --- I've seen the huge care packages he sends via our anonymous post box --- and I know most of his checks go to her. I had to badger Dee and Mr. Shapeshifter last week to take the man shopping and buy him some new jeans and shirts. His had sprouted holes in embarrassing places...where he hadn't torn them working on the fencing for FoxHeart Acres.
When something like this breaks under stress, you don't try repairing it. I knew he'd have to go to court and he'd have to fight for at least partial custody of his children. If we got the right judge, he might award full custody based on her mental instability and isolation. No, this wasn't something a priest or marriage counselor would be able to correct. She'd only leave him later or cheat on him if she hadn't already.
I don't tell him any of what he already knows. Instead, I offer a new foundation on which to build a better bridge. "Kaz, I can't fix your marriage. If she's doing this now, she's been thinking about it for a while." I patted his broad back, rubbing it the way I did when Vandy had one of his night terrors. "You have family here. You're not alone and you never will be."
From inside, I hear Roz yelling, "Uncle Kaz, Uncle Kaz, come play blocks with us!"
He straightens, swipes at his face with the tail of his flannel shirt. "There's a princess calling my name."
"Go inside and play, then, before they start throwing the blocks instead of building with them."
Kaz has a beautiful, boyish smile.
Think of me while you hold your loved ones tight
I'm someone you might never need
But before you drift off to sleep
When you pray the Lord a soul to keep
Think of me" o/`
-- "Think of Me" performed by Tracy Lawrence
"We are given our lives, our fear, our broken bones, and broken hearts. Breaks create openings that were not there before, and in that space grow the seeds for new creation."
-- Rebecca Wells, Little Altars Everywhere
Several years ago, the agency for whom Dee works had a serious problem: person or persons unknown were locating their agents and killing both them and their families. Threats occurred and most of those who might be likely targets were relocated or reassigned.
The same person or persons (eventually identified) were caught after months of research, profiling, negotiating across law enforcement agencies, and strategic planning. I don't believe the case ever made the news media but I might be wrong; we were too busy ducking and covering to check. Some of you may remember that Dee worked that case and that I received the phone call no beloved of law enforcement ever wants to get; they shot him through a gap in the Kevlar and nearly killed him.
Someone higher up than the particular division Dee works for decided, in his or her infinite wisdom, that the would-be assassin and mass murderer was of more value in other cases than he was in a maximum security prison awaiting the death sentence. Considering the perpetrator's background in military tactics and law enforcement, this was likely a bad idea. People can and do slip through the cracks in our great bureaucracy.
About the only thing crime dramas on television get right is the notification from victim services regarding the whereabouts (or lack thereof) of the monster who committed the crime against you. I received recently, just when Dee's boss had begun talking about reassigning our MIB, a small white card letting me know that our bad guy had somehow slipped his leash.
Yeah, you heard right: no one knows where the bastard is, where he's headed, or what he might do next.
Deputy Director Fallon, way up in Quantico, processed the paperwork herself to keep our MIB on surveillance and protection detail until further notice. That included a fair chunk of resources, such as the RV they live in (carefully hidden at the back of our property) and...let's just say my home could probably double as an ammo locker. If needed, our MIB can even call for assistance to Camp Blanding.
Once the anger subsided (just how in Kali's blessed black tits do you lose a man who killed two agents and their families and attempted to murder another?!) and the terror wore off, I realized this posed a hardship for our MIB too. Both of them have families and small children. I think we've arranged for Craymar's to join us a few times around holidays and school vacations, but Kaz...his wife doesn't approve of his occupation and has been pressing for retirement. We've seen her and his three children once. She didn't say anything to anyone and pointedly refused to allow her children to play with ours.
Kaz is a big man, bull necked and broad shouldered with a body which holds not one spare ounce of fat. He's always been polite but reserved although when it comes to his assignment here he's fiercely protective of Dee and all his dependents. Once a crazy homeless man followed me around the farmer's market bothering me about coming to Jesus and learning to walk again. Kaz simply looked at the guy before inhaling and preparing to bellow. He didn't need to because the man saw all those muscles rippling and took off faster than a comet.
All business, even during those rare down times when the three of them --- Dee, Craymar, and Kaz --- would play a friendly game of poker at my kitchen table, I don't think I ever saw him smile and I know I've never heard him laugh. Dee usually wins by counting cards, but Kaz wiped the floor with him because his face is completely unreadable.
You can understand, then, why I was so surprised to find this man, head in his hands, sitting on my deck and looking for all the world like he'd lost absolutely everything of value to him. I wouldn't have ventured out anyhow (using crutches exhausts me and it's a big production to get my wheelchair in and out of the house) but I felt I at least needed to save him from the hummingbirds, which were swirling around him in agitation because he was blocking their access to the Arabian jasmine.
"Kaz?" I sat down next to him on the bench. His shoulders were shaking and tears slipped through his stubby fingers to darken the denim of his jeans in abstract patterns. A lighter band of skin on one hand caught my attention and I realized that I had never, since he'd been assigned here, seen him take off his wedding band. "Can I get you some coffee or something?"
"No, thanks, Miss Kitty." He batted away a curious bumble bee and muttered, "My wife didn't like the assignment extension. She wants a divorce."
"I'm sorry. What can we do?" The divorce rate is pretty high in law enforcement; I could only imagine it must be that much worse in federal agencies. Most of these men don't seem able to leave their work in the workplace and the hours were beyond oddball. I'd put Dee on planes in the wee hours of the morning, carefully avoided piles of envelopes marked "EVIDENCE" stacked on my coffee table, and fielded some strange and cryptic calls. I guess most women don't have my tolerance for the bizarre and macabre.
"She wants custody of the kids, says I'm not home enough and my job is too dangerous."
I bite my tongue. Now is simply not the time to mention that we know what we're getting into when we attach ourselves to these men and that his wife has no damned excuse to either leave him or take his children away. Kaz is a good father and a good provider --- I've seen the huge care packages he sends via our anonymous post box --- and I know most of his checks go to her. I had to badger Dee and Mr. Shapeshifter last week to take the man shopping and buy him some new jeans and shirts. His had sprouted holes in embarrassing places...where he hadn't torn them working on the fencing for FoxHeart Acres.
When something like this breaks under stress, you don't try repairing it. I knew he'd have to go to court and he'd have to fight for at least partial custody of his children. If we got the right judge, he might award full custody based on her mental instability and isolation. No, this wasn't something a priest or marriage counselor would be able to correct. She'd only leave him later or cheat on him if she hadn't already.
I don't tell him any of what he already knows. Instead, I offer a new foundation on which to build a better bridge. "Kaz, I can't fix your marriage. If she's doing this now, she's been thinking about it for a while." I patted his broad back, rubbing it the way I did when Vandy had one of his night terrors. "You have family here. You're not alone and you never will be."
From inside, I hear Roz yelling, "Uncle Kaz, Uncle Kaz, come play blocks with us!"
He straightens, swipes at his face with the tail of his flannel shirt. "There's a princess calling my name."
"Go inside and play, then, before they start throwing the blocks instead of building with them."
Kaz has a beautiful, boyish smile.