The Mystery Man

Cal plunked down on one of the many plastic chairs in the employee cafeteria, setting his cellophane wrapped hamburger, fries, and can of soda carefully in front of him. Eating lunch was the highlight of his day. Lunch was a mere thirty minutes long, but it was thirty minutes to himself, with no demands and cranky customers calling him. Be careful what you wish for, he thought wearily. A few scant months ago, he would have done anything, paid any price, to lead such a boring, humdrum life. At that time, he was at death’s door, finding himself not only in danger from a deep bullet wound, but also the target of a bloodthirsty motorcycle gang, the Carrion Eaters, or Carrions for short.

Cal had once been one of them. He had been proud to be a Carrion enforcer, a muscleman collecting debts. He had soon discovered, however, that the gang had merely been using him for his physical prowess. He had been nothing more than a hired gun. Although he would have done anything for his fellow Carrions, it seemed that no one in the gang reciprocated. They didn’t have his back. In fact it was quite the opposite, a fact he had painfully learned when his fellow gang members had scattered and ran after the shootout, while he lay dazed and bleeding in the streets all alone.

Since they had deserted him, he had done what he considered to be the only logical thing in response. He became a narc, something he had once vowed he would never do. After he was shot and the feds were pushing him for a plea deal, he ratted out his fellow gang members. Once he started talking, it was as if a dam had burst. He quickly divulged in excruciating detail all of the gang’s criminal activities and enterprises. The police soon discovered that he was a goldmine of information. As the Carrion enforcer, Cal knew everything and everyone. He had connected all the dots for the men in blue. In the Carrion gang and hierarchy, he knew exactly who had done what and to whom.

In return, the feds had rewarded him with a new life. After the sweep by the FBI and the police’s gang task force, based solely on his information, Cal had gone deep undercover. He was, without a doubt, a marked man. The Carrions would quickly realize who had turned on them and turned them in. Should he have lingered in plain sight, he would have become bloody roadkill himself, left for other Carrion Eaters to feast upon. To avoid that gruesome ending, Cal joined the witness protection program. He was now living under an assumed name. He was no longer Cal. He was Carl.

His new path in life had also led him to his current job, working as a faceless nobody, a customer service rep for a large insurance company in Chicagoland. No one in his new life knew he was a former drug dealer and gang member. Nor could anyone from his past locate him. 

It was no use rehashing the past, he thought bitterly. It was time to move on. He just needed to strike a balance, somehow. Life would never again be as exciting and dangerous as it had once been. But at least he was safe. That was the main thing. He would have to get his kicks elsewhere and not as part of a freewheeling motorcycle gang. He was still a young man, after all, in the prime of his life. There had to be something new and thrilling out there, somewhere, that the world had still to offer him. 

Just as he was thinking this, an attractive blond sat down across from him with a small sigh. Like him, she also looked somewhat weary. Like she wanted to escape another boring work day. Nevertheless, despite her somewhat aggrieved look, she was still fresh faced and pretty. He surreptitiously glanced her way. She was almost at his eye level, which made her about the same height as him. He had always liked tall, leggy women.

For some weird reason, he had a momentary vision, an image popping into his brain. In his mind’s eye, she was seated behind him on his Harley, her inner thighs pressing against the back of his legs, her hands grasping him firmly around the waist, her head nestling snugly into his leather clad shoulders. Although safety probably dictated that she should be wearing a helmet, he could only envision her long, blond hair billowing freely in the breeze. A Harley Viking princess. His Harley princess. 

She must have felt his glance, or maybe she sensed his wandering thoughts, for she looked up at him, her face reddening. Sensing her discomfort, he decided to speak. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

“Hello!”, he said warmly, trying not to sound like a creeper or a strange man. “How are you?”

“Good, how are you?", she replied. 

“Not bad. Sorry I don’t think I’ve met you yet. I’m kind of new here. I’m Carl.”

“I’m Sherrie,” she said with a slight smile. “I’m in sales. What department do you work in?”

“Customer service,” he answered with a groan.

“Oh, poor you,” she sympathized. “All those crabby customers . . . “

“Tell me about it," he said.

“Yeah, how’d you get stuck working here? You said you’re new, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve only been with the company for about a month. How about you?”

“About four years now. I started working again once both my kids were in school full time.”

Kids. Damn. He tried to look at her ring finger, without her noticing. Was she still married? A married woman simply would not fit into his Viking princess, motorcycle riding fantasy. 

“So how many kids do you have?” He was fishing for information, trying not to be obvious.

“Two. A boy and a girl. Do you have kids?”

“No, I’ve never been married. Maybe someday . . . “ his voice trailed off.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, but he wanted to make it seem like he liked children. Especially since she had two. In truth, he had never really thought about fatherhood. He had simply been too busy being a Carrion. The Carrions were not exactly a family friendly bunch.

“Well, I live for my kids,” she replied. “It gets really lonely when they’re not around. The weekends they go to their father’s house, I mean.” 

After she said that, she blushed again. Surely, he must think that she was dropping a hint that she was single. Divorced. The man sitting across from her was undeniably attractive, being stereotypically tall, dark and handsome. Being somewhat tall herself, she appreciated a tall man. He also had a somewhat dangerous air about him, like he had smoldering energy. A panther about to strike. Maybe it was because he appeared so muscular. His shoulders were broad, and his biceps strained the light blue material of his shirt. Most office workers weren’t as built as him. Nor as tan. He was swarthy actually, like a modern day pirate. He didn’t look in the slightest like someone who should be working in customer service. 

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Taking a deep breath and deciding to take an uncharacteristic plunge into flirting, Sherrie spoke up. It wasn’t every work day that she spotted a man as attractive as he was. 

“No offense, but you don’t look like someone who should be working in an office. You look more like a construction worker or a football player or something.” She didn’t dare say pirate. He would think she was off her rocker. 

Carl smiled. “Well thanks, I think.”

“No really! How’d you end up working here?” Sherrie inquired innocently.

“It’s a long story.” He paused. His deep, dark secret lay uncomfortably between them. 

“Well, we got half an hour, and I’m all ears,” she replied. “You tell me your life story and I’ll tell you mine.”

His life story? What should he say to that?

“Oh, it’s actually pretty boring,” he said dismissively. “I’d rather hear all about you.”

“No fair, I asked you first,” she protested.

“Ok, if you insist. I’m 38, never married, no kids. Moved here for a fresh start. A friend referred me to the job.”

His friend, the FBI agent. Cal had decided to keep his story short and simple, straightforward, playing it close to the chest. Surely, no woman would want to hear that the man she might be interested in was a former gang banger. 

“That’s the condensed version,” she surmised. “I feel like there’s more to your story.”

If she only knew. 

“Turnabout is fair play. I’d rather hear all about you. I’m kind of boring, actually.”

“Somehow, I doubt that, Mr. Mystery Man. No worries. I’ll be eating here tomorrow. I’ll get all your secrets out of you then,” she teased.

Cal felt a spark flickering between them. He liked a feisty woman who challenged him. Especially one as attractive as she was.

“You can certainly try,” he said mockingly. He looked deeply into her bright blue eyes. “I love a good challenge.”