The Equalisers. Debra Webb
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Who’re you?” Anders challenged, “an employment service representative?”
Chicago’s population amounted to about four million people. Finding one former army major who didn’t want to be found would have taken some time and initiative under normal circumstances. Since tracking Anders to this place, his regular hangout since arriving in Chicago three months prior, hadn’t been that difficult, Jim had to assume he wanted to be found despite his get-lost attitude. Anders had taken a room in a nearby motel that served more as a halfway house than anything one might find in a travel guide. He accepted temporary jobs that required only hard labor and no real sense of purpose. He never stayed on long enough to make friends. So far as Jim could see, he spent most of his time making enemies.
“A mutual friend mentioned you were in town seeking a new career direction.”
This got ex-Major Anders’s attention. For the past two years his MO appeared to include moving on once he’d worn out his welcome. Whether he actually tried to pull his life together after settling in each new location was unknown, but the end result was always the same.
“You must have me confused with someone else, Mr. Colby.” He allowed his gaze to zero in fully on Jim’s so that there was no misunderstanding as to the finality of his words. “I don’t have any friends.”
Spencer Anders would have walked away then and there with no further discussion, Jim decided, if he hadn’t played the ace up his sleeve.
“Lucas Camp tells me you’re the best in covert and low-visibility operations.”
Anders hesitated. For three beats Jim wasn’t sure if he would turn around or if he would just walk on out. But then he executed an about-face and moved back to the stool he’d vacated.
When Anders’s gaze rested on Jim’s once more, he said, “I’ve never worked directly for or with Mr. Camp. I’m surprised he even knows my name. The way I heard it he’s retired now.”
That was true.
“What’s your connection to him?” Anders wanted to know.
Jim had expected that one.
“He married Victoria Colby, my mother.”
Anders’s eyes narrowed, but not with suspicion. “You’re from the Colby Agency?” The name appeared to connect fully for him then.
Jim wasn’t surprised that the man recognized his mother’s name or that of her agency. The Colby Agency was one of the top private investigations agencies in the country. A man with a background like Anders would consider P.I. firms when searching for employment. In his case, however, that same background prevented him from applying to most.
“I’m not here representing the Colby Agency.”
The anticipation that had tapered Anders’s focus vanished. “I’m certain you’re a busy man, Mr. Colby. Why don’t we cut through all the crap and get straight to the point?”
Jim liked this guy already. “I’ve recently opened my own firm, Mr. Anders. You have the training I’m looking for as well as extensive experience in the Middle East. Considering current events and the Middle East’s ongoing status as a hot spot politically as well as economically, I need that kind of experience on my team. I have a vacancy and I’d like you to fill it.”
Anders motioned for the bartender to refill his empty tumbler. “You drinking anything?” he said to Jim.
Jim shook his head. That he wasn’t even momentarily tempted gave him great satisfaction. That Anders would offer suggested interest in his proposition.
The bartender sidled over and splashed a couple of fingers of bourbon into the other man’s empty glass. When he’d moved out of earshot to take care of the next customer, Anders said, “Why open another P.I. firm? You have a problem working for your mother?”
Jim got those questions often, especially from the investigators at the Colby Agency. He would have been welcome there by all on staff. Victoria Colby-Camp had expected Jim to take over one day. But he had other plans. No… not plans… needs. He needed to do this. And that need had nothing to do with any inability to work with or for his mother.
“What I have in mind doesn’t fit the mold, Mr. Anders. I’m afraid my mother would be startled at some of the methods I might choose to utilize.”
Still visibly skeptical, Anders sipped his drink before suggesting, “Perhaps Mr. Camp didn’t completely fill you in on my less-than-desirable work history.”
Jim resisted the impulse to argue that if he wanted to compare histories he would gladly give him a run for his money on who had the ugliest past. But he would save that for another time.
“I’m aware of the circumstances surrounding the way you separated from military service if that’s what you mean.” And it was, of course. Spencer Anders had a stellar record other than that final nasty smudge. Discounting, of course, a number of misdemeanor disorderly conducts in public establishments very much like this one since leaving the military.
The suspicion Jim had expected to see earlier made its appearance at that point. He understood. Most prospective employers would be put off by the idea of a general military discharge. It wasn’t quite a dishonorable discharge, but it carried an equally unattractive stigma. But Jim knew something most didn’t, Spencer Anders had been railroaded by a superior officer.
The fact that his betrayal couldn’t be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt was the reason he’d been charged with the lesser offences of insubordination and conduct unbecoming of an officer rather than being shipped off to spend a life sentence in a military prison. Those seemingly lesser charges had carried a stiff, humiliating penance of their own. Anders had been stripped of rank, all the way down to a first lieutenant, and then generally discharged when he opted to resign rather than accept the charges and grovel as expected.
Then again, to a man like Anders, being labeled a traitor to his country was pretty much a life sentence in itself.
“Then I have to question just what sort of firm you plan to operate, Mr. Colby.”
Jim appreciated his frankness.
“Did your source also tell you,” Anders went on before Jim could respond to his last statement, “about my difficulties since leaving military service?”
Spencer Anders had separated from the U.S. Army two years ago. Since then he’d spent most of his time in dives not unlike this one, attempting to obliterate the past; only the towns changed. His blood alcohol level lingered above the legal limit more often than not, Jim would wager. He also recognized the strategy. Been there, done that. But booze wasn’t the answer to Anders’s problems. Telling him so wouldn’t help. This was something he had to come to terms with on his own.
“As long as you stay sober on the job, I don’t care what you do in your free time.” Jim, of all people, understood what made a man like Anders turn to the bottle for a solace found no other place. The bad habit was taken up for a single, unhealthy reason and would be dumped for the same. He wouldn’t need any twelve-step program, all he needed was his self-worth back.
That would come in time given the right circumstances.
Anders finished off the bourbon. “Just because I was forced out of the army doesn’t mean I’m interested in a life of anything beyond the occasional barroom brawl. Believe it or not, high crimes aren’t my style.”
Jim almost laughed at that. “There are times,” he admitted, “when working within the law won’t get the job done. But I’m not talking about breaking the law for the sake of breaking it, Mr. Anders. I’m only talking about going slightly beyond it and perhaps ignoring some aspects of it when the need arises.”
“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Colby. As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m not sure I’m the man you’re looking for.”
Jim took a business card from his coat pocket and laid it on the bar. “Call me if you