Wit-Sec Fail

By Will Decker

In the first 5 episodes of Mac, as a writer I’ve kept him on a short moral leash. He was always pulling savagely against the restraints, but he stayed in bounds. In this episode, Mac is off the leash. To protect his heart and his psychic, Mac has to let go, and that includes letting go of Eddy and all the feelings he has for her. If he approaches her rescue any other way, he will not survive the fallout of something happening to her. This is possibly the last story in the series. But never a cliff hanger. The MAC series can be read in any order, but you might prefer the order in which they were written.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Decker
• Release date: May 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463114308

Will Decker

Hello,There have been some dramatic changes going on in my life and because of them I am finding that I now have more available time. Yeah, that's a laugh. Now it seems like my days are even more hectic than they were before. Hence, I have decided instead of using the narrow sighted approach to marketing my books, I am going to use a much simpler approach. No longer will my books be available through Amazon markets, but instead, my plan is to make them all available through the Smashwords site as well as their affiliated markets for FREE. However, this will take time so if you have read any of my books and are looking to read more of them, bear with me, I promise you they are coming. I hope this works for my dedicated (few) readers. On a different topic, as you can see, most of my writing efforts have been serials.With that said, you will never find a Cliff Hanger amongst my works. All of the stories have beginnings and endings and can stand on their own. Their common thread might be the characters and in some cases, the planet, but all are Stand-Alone novels! I really despise Cliff Hangers with a passion. Can you tell?Thanks for taking the time to get to know me a little better, WillHope you have a great day.Sincerely, Will Decker

Book preview

In the first 5 episodes of Mac, as a writer I’ve kept him on a short moral leash. He was always pulling savagely against the restraints, but for the most part, he stayed in bounds. Yet, even then, there were some who would argue this point and claim that Mac was nothing more than a dog looking for a bitch in heat. I won’t apologize to those of you who feel that way. Deal with it.

In this episode, Mac is off the proverbial leash. To protect his heart and his psyche, Mac has to let go and that includes letting go of Eddy and all the feelings he has for her. If he approaches her rescue in any other way, he will not survive the fallout of something bad happening to her.

Now I know many of you will find his behavior deplorable and for good reason. Suck it up Buttercup! Mac is a man with a very tender heart buried beneath years of witnessing atrocities inflicted on the innocent and not so innocent. The things he has seen would curl the toes of most normal people. For this reason, he does what he has always done to survive, he follows his instincts, even when they lead him into uncharted waters. No woman has ever affected Mac the way Eddy has. It goes without saying they are soulmates. So in order to protect himself psychologically from what might happen to him if something happens to Eddy, he pulls a shade down over his heart and moves forward as if he doesn’t care, even allowing himself to dive into the dark depths of another woman’s wiles.

And so I say, read on my faithful reader and be prepared for the unexpected, because where Mac is concerned, the unexpected is the norm.

Somewhere in Oregon

Against the advice of our attorneys and despite the US Marshal’s ranting and raving over our failure to follow directives of the Witness Protection Program, we can’t just up and leave without paying our debts first. Thus, Eddy and I find ourselves on a lonesome stretch of highway heading toward Vegas. Of course, Greg and Gina, our attorneys, are also very good friends and were only objecting because of the close call that Eddy and I had just survived during an unexpected confrontation with a drug cartel that felt I’d wronged them in the past. Though I know it not to be true, someone credited me with killing the son of one of their lords higher up in the cartel hierarchy. Hence, a bounty was put on my head and a few rambunctious underlings decided to prove their mettle at my expense. And though we all survived, Eddy and I spent some time recuperating in an Oregon hospital.

Today, bright and early before the sun crested the horizon, we have been released. Now, unlike the US Marshal in charge of our safety, Greg and Gina know we are not the type to simply sit back and relax when there is a debt to be paid, Wit-Sec or not. We don’t hide from our enemies, they hide from us. Greg and Gina understand that if anyone should be concerned, it’s the people that we go after and not the other way around.

The man we’re going to Vegas for isn’t what one would call a friend, per se. But he did us a solid when we were in need of help and for that reason alone, we are returning the favor. His name is Norm and he owns a tavern in a small town on the Oregon coast. When he came to me in the hospital where Eddy and I were recouping from our injuries, he told me that although he didn’t get along that well with his ex-wife, she always made sure to keep him involved in their son’s upbringing. He went on to explain how his ex-wife believes very strongly that a boy should know his father, and for that reason if none other, he became overtly concerned when she didn’t contact him for his regularly scheduled parental visit. Instead, all he got was a frantic phone call from Vegas stating that she was in trouble and worried about Mickey, their son. Then the line went dead and he hasn’t been able to reach her or his 6 year old son since.

Driving south on the highway with Eddy, the woman that has come to mean more to me than life itself sitting in the passenger’s seat and staring out the side window at the endless expanse of tawny desert and sage brush, I turn the radio down so we can talk. When we were released from the hospital, we rented a car from the nearest rental agency in Roseburg, Oregon, and hit the road for Vegas without so much as an idea of what we were going to do once we got there.

Larry, my trusted friend and co-conspirator on many cases, slipped me a burner phone when he and Lisa, a woman that he met on one of our cases and fell head over heels for, left the hospital for the last time before going into Witness Protection. Having worked for the government in many capacities for so many years, we weren’t about to let a little thing like witness protection get in the way of staying in touch. It went without saying that if either of us ever needed help, the other would come on the run, no questions asked.

Hey, Eddy, I say, studying her short blonde curls until she turns away from the window to meet my gaze. You look like you’re a thousand miles away. Care to share your thoughts with me?

She smiles a contented smile at me before acknowledging my suspicions. Just day dreaming.

I smile back, thinking ahead to what the night will bring. It’s going to be our first night alone since leaving the hospital, and although I’m still weak and recuperating from multiple gunshot wounds, as is Eddy, a slow dance between the sheets is just what the doctor ordered.

Do you have any idea where to begin when we get to Vegas? she finally asks over the sound of the air conditioner blowing cooled air through the vents.

Norm gave me the name and address of an ex-sister-in-law by the name of Tricia Fells that lives in Vegas. He said that his ex-wife never had much to do with her sister because of her sister’s lifestyle, but I figure it’s a starting point. We can stop in and find out if she’s heard from her sister and nephew or not. Then go from there.

Are we going to drive all day? I know we’ve only been on the road a few hours since leaving the hospital, but I’m already exhausted and I’ve been doing nothing but sitting here.

Yeah, getting shot kind of takes the steam out of you, if you know what I mean, I smile over at her. Next town we come to we’ll stop and get us something to eat and then find a room for the night.

Sounds good, she says, and then turns back to continue staring out the side window while my own thoughts turn to all the things we’re going to need.

Fortunately, money isn’t going to be one of our needs thanks to a wealthy benefactor we helped out not so long ago. We each received close to half a million in cash for our services, most of which will never see the inside of a bank for obvious reasons. And we’ll determine what weapons will be needed when we get deeper into the case.

Case.

We’re in witness protection and supposedly assuming new identities while trying to stay on the down low and I’m already referring to this favor as a case. Moreover, of all the places to lay low, Vegas isn’t one of them. With contracts out on both Eddy and me, we should be looking for a small town somewhere in the mid-west like Minnesota or someplace equally far off the radar. Instead, we are heading smack dab into the hornet’s nest of family connections with eyes everywhere.

Startling me out of my own day dreams, Eddy asks, What’s her name?

Who?

Norm’s ex. I heard him refer to his son, Mickey, several times. But I never heard him mention his ex’s name.

Sally, his ex-wife. Sally Jenkins. She went back to using her maiden name when they divorced. Mickey uses Norm’s last name of Unger. Sally’s sister has a Vegas address and works in a club somewhere near the strip. Not sure if she’s divorced or if her husband just up and left. But according to Norm, she lives alone and entertains a steady stream of different men. He didn’t go so far as to say whether she charged or gave it away.

Mac! Eddy hisses, giving me a humbling glare while coming to the defense of a woman that she doesn’t even know. Maybe she just hasn’t found Mr. Right yet.

With a smirk, I look away and smugly reply, Well, it sounds as if she sure as hell is giving it her all.

Eddy spins on me, smacking my right arm with her closed fist before I can defend myself. Before she can pull away, though, I have hold of her arm with my right hand, and while the car swerves across the empty highway, I break out laughing uncontrollably.

Bringing the sedan back into line on our side of the road, I laughingly cry out, Hey, that hurt.

You can be such an ass sometimes. Just because some guy that probably doesn’t even like her says that she sleeps with a lot of men, you assume she’s a hooker or worse.

You’re right. That was uncalled for, I abashedly reply.

When I release my grip on her arm, she turns to stare back out the side window. It’s only just past noon and the temperature outside the window is pushing 100 degrees Fahrenheit with nary a cloud in sight. We left the Roseburg, Oregon VA center around 0700 traveling south on I-5 before taking state route 58 east to 31 south. For the most part, we were traveling through hills and woods until we hit the eastern side of the Cascade mountain range. Now it’s just flat desert and sage brush with the occasional big rig heading in the opposite direction.

After several minutes of silence, I ask if she would mind checking the map and seeing what’s ahead. Without a word, she opens the glove box and pulls out a state map. After unfolding it between her knees and the dash, she says softly, Paisley.

Oregon?

Duh.

Okay, let me rephrase that. How much further?

Looks like it’s just up the road a bit. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.

As she refolds the map and throws it back into the glove box, I study her for a minute before saying, I’m sorry, Eddy. That was rude of me to speak that way when I don’t know the person and only have biased bullshit to base my appraisal on. It wasn’t called for on my part.

It’s all right, she says, giving me a weak smile. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. I guess, I’m just tired and hungry and that makes me irritable.

We’ll remedy that real soon, dear.

True to her words, a small grouping of buildings suddenly sprouts on the highway ahead of us. The first thing to catch my attention is a long rustic storefront on the right hand side of the highway with signs adorning the front. Among the establishments that jump out with more prominent signs, I notice right off a mercantile store and next to it a Pioneer Saloon and Restaurant. Judging by the number of old and new pickup trucks parked outside the saloon and restaurant, I figure it must be the best place in town to grab some grub and maybe even something to wash it down with.

Squeezing the sedan in between a newer Ford and a classic Chevrolet pickup, I look up to see a hand painted sign stating that breakfast is served all day. Subconsciously, I think this is my kind of place.

Not much here, Eddy absently comments as she gathers up her purse and pushes the passenger’s door open.

Stepping out and turning around to take in the entire town, I can’t help but notice that most of the buildings are looking run down and in need of some kind of repair. Whether it be paint or just a general cleaning, they give the illusion of lost hopes and dreams. Despite the bright sunshine and warmth, it’s depressing.

Glancing in Eddy’s direction as I step toward the entrance, our gazes lock for a moment and I read the same thoughts in her eyes. Pulling the door open and letting her step ahead of me, I whisper softly in her ear as she goes by, We’ll see how we feel after we’ve eaten.

It isn’t necessary for me to explain that I’m referring to whether or not we’ll be spending any more time in this town than it takes to eat and be on our way.

The lighting is dim and the artificially cool air is redolent with cigar smoke and fried food. While Eddy takes an inconspicuous step to the right, I take an equal one to the left so that we aren’t silhouetted in the doorway by the light from outside. Old habits that don’t need thought as we wait for our eyes to adjust before making our way further into the interior.

There is a short, darker hallway leading to what must be the saloon on the right. To the left it’s marginally brighter as it opens into a small area with tables along the right wall and a short counter along the left. Hanging on the end of the counter is another hand painted sign indicating for patrons to please take a seat. The restaurant side, though slightly brighter, is deserted. With a hand in the small of her back, I guide Eddy to the table farthest from the door but where we can both turn our backs to a wall while keeping an eye on the front door. Although it never registered in my thoughts when we pulled up, I notice now that there aren’t any windows. All the lighting is artificial, a couple of long fluorescent fixtures hanging at least ten feet above our heads with dusty tin tiles a couple of feet above them.

We have barely seated ourselves when a middle-aged woman with a slender build and grey hair comes scurrying out of the hallway leading into the bar.

Hello, folks, she says happily, pausing only long enough at the short lunch counter near the front to grab a couple of menus and napkins with silverware. The bar just opened and Bobby is late as usual. That’s our bartender. I’m covering for her until she gets here. It’s usually not much of a problem during the week. We don’t usually see that many customers after the local lunch crowd and most of them eat at the bar. Except for a trucker passing through, now and again, we don’t get many people up front here. Pulling out a pad and pen, she hurriedly continues, Are you all ready to order? When we don’t answer fast enough for her, she hastily continues, I’ll tell you what, I’ll just run back over and check on the guys real quick and then I’ll be right back while you make up your mind. The lunch special is on the board over there and we serve breakfasts all day. She pauses to catch her breath, and then says, Okay. So take your time and I’ll be right back.

Just before she reaches the hallway, she spins around and asks with a smile, Coffee?

Please, I call out to her backside as she disappears down the hall.

Fortunately, we don’t have a long wait before she returns with an air pot and 2 heavy ceramic mugs. Cream and sugar is on the counter there, if you don’t mind helping yourselves, she says hurriedly with an apologetic smile and a nod in the general direction of the lunch counter before turning and disappearing back down the hall.

Poor woman seems to be the only one working, I comment wryly.

There must be quite a crowd in the bar, judging by all the vehicles outside, Eddy adds with a note of empathy for the poor woman while filling the mugs with coffee.

Taking my cup, I sip cautiously at the steaming liquid and am immediately surprised by the rich, robust flavor. If the food’s half as good as the coffee, we’re in for a real treat, I say over the rim of my mug before taking a swallow. Setting my mug on the table, I rise while looking around in search of a sign indicating the restrooms.

As if reading my mind, Eddy says, They’re probably on the bar side.

Yeah, I agree, not seeing anything in my cursory search of the restaurant proper. I’ll be right back. You want me to bring you anything from the bar?

No, I’m good. I just want something to eat, hopefully today, she grins before placing her mug to her lips.

The heels of my boots thump loudly down the short hallway leading into a darker, smoke-filled room with a bar to the left, a small dance floor with several tables placed around it, and farther toward the rear, low hanging parlor lights highlighting a couple of pool tables. When I see two doors on the far wall past the bar with a jukebox positioned between them like a sentry, I continue moving in that direction.

My passing causes several of the patrons seated at the bar to turn and look, almost as if they are expecting more of their drinking buddies to show. I nod politely and keep moving. Just before I reach the door to the right of the jukebox with a placard signifying it’s the men’s room, I glance furtively around the bar, noting that the non-smoking laws obviously don’t apply to a place this far out in the middle of nowhere.

My glance takes in seven men lined up along the bar and the grey haired lady wiping the bartop with a white terrycloth towel. She glances at me with a smile as I stroll past. All the men perched on stools at the bar are wearing some manner of work apparel ranging from jeans and plaid shirts to coveralls and plaid shirts. Most of the men are nursing tap beers in sweating mason jars while a couple have longnecks on coasters. Clearly hard working men that know the value of a dollar. Behind the bar is the usual display of finer whiskeys and such as well as the usual neon advertising signs typical of any liquor dispensing establishment.

To my surprise, the restroom is relatively clean with the faint fragrance of pine hanging in the air. After taking care of business, I’m standing in front of the sink with wet hands when I see myself staring back at me from the mirror. My stay in the hospital took a few pounds off my six-foot-four frame and my face appears gaunter than I was aware. Moreover, I’m already showing a dark shadow lining my squared off jaw despite having just shaved before heading out this morning. Then I realize that the hair on my face only appears darker because my skin is so pale from being locked up indoors while recouping from my injuries.

Damn, you look like shit, I mumble to myself before turning away and pulling several brown paper towels out of the dispenser mounted on the wall to the right of the sink and drying my hands.

When I head back through the bar toward the restaurant, no one turns to pay me any mind. The grey haired lady is still behind the bar and gives me a tentative smile when I make eye contact with her. Yet, she doesn’t make a move in the direction of the restaurant side of the business. Oh well, at least we have coffee, I think to myself.

As my boots clump loudly up the short, plank-floor hallway, I look expectantly around the corner in the direction of our table for Eddy’s smile. But instead of seeing Eddy smiling back at me, I see an empty table with 2 mugs of coffee and an air pot.

Instinctively, I push open the front door and glance outside. Seeing nothing moving, I let it swing shut and continue on to our table while thinking that she must have decided to use the restroom also. When I see her purse abandoned on the chair next to the one she’d been sitting on, my heart climbs up my throat and I suddenly can’t breathe. Frozen in place for mere seconds that drag like hours, I’m aware of a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead when I abruptly hear the front door opening and spin around, expecting to see Eddy.

But instead of Eddy, a nice looking woman in her mid to late forties, wearing tight denim jeans and a cowboy style shirt with a black cowboy hat perched atop a head of shoulder length, auburn hair strides in looking harried. Pulling off a pair of dark shades, she pauses when she sees me staring at her, the look on my face one of desperation and panic.

Sir, are you okay? she asks, stopping in her tracks while dropping the shades into a purse hanging off her right shoulder.

Scooping up Eddy’s purse, I hurry toward her, startling her into backing up against the wall while raising her hands in a defensive posture, a look of fear sprouting in her clear eyes. Did you see anyone when you came in? I demand, grabbing her firmly by the upper arm and dragging her back out through the door to the street.

Frantically, I look in both directions. The highway is empty, not a single moving car in sight for as far as the eye can see.

Sir, you’re scaring me.

The sound of her voice right next to me reminds me that I’m still gripping her forearm. Without her sunglasses on, I notice her eyes are hazel with flecks of gold. And though she could have pulled away from me and screamed for help, drawing the attention of the patrons sitting just inside the bar, she doesn’t. Instead, she meets my gaze and returns it. The fear of just moments prior has been replaced with concern.

I’m sorry, I apologize, my mind racing. Can you do something for me?

Sure, but let me check in first. I’m already running late for work, she replies with a tenuous smile.

When she doesn’t move for a moment, I realize that I’m still gripping her arm. Embarrassedly, I apologize again, releasing her arm and following her back inside and down the short hallway to the bar.

It’s about time, calls out the grey haired waitress from behind the bar, giving Bobby an impatient look as she throws down the bar towel that she’d been wiping glasses with and storms out from behind the bar, intent on returning to the restaurant.

As she passes me, I stop her with a hand on her arm and ask if she noticed the lady with me going through the bar to the restroom.

No, can’t say as I have, she replies curtly, her demeanor impatient. As you can see, I’ve been kind of busy here.

With that said, she brushes off my hand and continues down the short hallway to the restaurant. Turning toward the bar, I notice all the men have pivoted on their stools and are looking in my direction, clearly ready to come to the grey haired waitress’s aid if she needs it.

Taking advantage of the situation, I raise my voice and say, While I have your attention, did anyone notice a woman with curly blonde hair come through here?

Nope, says a large man in tan Carhart coveralls.

When no one else responds, I ask again, Are you sure?

Trust me, Mr., I think we’d remember a woman if she came through here. Wouldn’t we boys? he says loudly, smiling good naturedly toward the stranger, namely me.

Looking with pleading eyes toward the barmaid, I ask as calmly as I can, Would you mind checking the ladies room?

She didn’t come through here, the man says again, only more forcefully and the smile now gone as if I’ve accused him of lying.

When I look back at him, my eyes giving away my growing anger and impatience, he turns on the stool and faces forward. The others to either side of him immediately follow suit. Looking toward Bobby, my eyes silently pleading with her, she smiles wanly and says, Give me a minute.

Wordlessly, I nod my thanks and take a step toward the middle of the dance floor, setting myself in a position to see straight into the ladies room when she opens the door.

Anyone need anything? she asks her patrons at the bar. When all she gets for a response is ‘no thanks’ and ‘I’m good’, she picks up the dropped bar towel and goes around the far end of the bar, dropping the towel in a basket just for dirty towels.

Glancing at me, she strides to the ladies restroom door to the left of the jukebox and pushes her way through. Before it can swing shut behind her, I close the distance and plant a foot near the hinge side to stop it swinging.

Anything? I ask as