You May Find Yourself

When I hear that song Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads, I think of Thrax. Very few manage to extract themselves from our business, but Thrax got out and I reckon every day he must ask himself, “Well how did I get here?”

Round about now he will be feeling the days are getting longer. Maybe he feels like he’s drowning at the bottom of an ocean of suburban mediocrity. Initially he’ll welcome that feeling. He’ll call it penance for the past life we led together. But Thrax is plenty smart. He knows people in our line of business are not owed beautiful lives. He thrives on guilt so my guess is he’ll be in his gethsemane phase by now. He still sees the faces of dead souls appearing in his line of vision. The occasional civilian collateral damage that went with the job, haunts his nightmares.

He wakes, sweating blood, shouting, “My God, what have I done?”

He’s trapped in a life of same old same old, and by now he realizes he’s no further ahead in the forgiveness stakes.

Bad guys pay us to take care of badder guys. We are the hired help. That’s not how Thrax sees it I guess. When Thrax asks his God what has done, he doesn’t mean his career of killing bad men, he means, why did he ever think there was a way out.

Thrax is inclined to combine deep thinking with alcoholic excess – at least until the next job comes along to give him a new focus. Given his lean towards self-hate and retribution, my money was on him joining a monastic order when he left. Even money it would be one the old school silent ones with plenty of self-flagellation.

If that’s where he wound up I could reason with him. Where was your God when you were being tortured that hotbed of a country we weren’t supposed to be in? Did you hear him laughing when we watched four good men beheaded? When you stare into the abyss of your soul, I reckon all you are going to hear is an echo, brother.

I’d just be telling him whatever he already knows, he’d hang up his cassock and armor up for our next job.

But when my cyber guy tracks him down using whatever dark web software he has at his disposal he finds Thrax residing deep in suburbia with a beautiful wife. Beauty squeezed into a rhinestone jacket and and an “I love Jesus” tee-shirt. She has a fondness for the evangelical and although Thrax started out thinking he wanted the girl, her slick as snake oil preacher friends reeled him in. Fling your money at a God botherer and past sins wash away.

Thrax he falls in love hard and this girl has hooked him like a waterlogged bass. My cvber guy has a file on her too. She was quite the party girl before she embraced Jesus. She’s tied to a multi-million dollar ministry ran by a Minister as shady as Slim Mathers III. Sister Honey, as she calls herself now, sings like a nightingale and preaches the gospel with a fervor that has the flock lining up to hand over their life savings.

Thrax is less involved with the church it appears and has taken a job at an Olive Oil business. For a smart guy, Thrax often misses irony. The name of the business is Olive Branch. Symbol of peace. Goddamn if they didn’t have a logo with a dove. The man who singlehandedly killed a half dozen heavily armed soldiers of fortune to rescue of a hat trick of diplomats, now chews a pencil and signs off with a made up job title - Culture Operations Manager.

If you’re the product of generations of Thracian mercenaries, damn straight you will not be chewing that pencil until retirement. He’s played the role of Joe Average long enough, its time to mount a rescue mission.

#

Thrax changes his routine frequently but like most folk, there is still one daily ritual he can’t just shuck off. He is a caffeine addict. Moreso now because there’s not a lot to get the adrenalin pumping when you’re Head of Culture Operations.

He starts the day with a Starbucks Blonde Roast coffee at 360 mg caffeine per serving before he leaves the house. Before clocking in at the Olive Branch he runs six laps of the park, then stops by for an Oleato Golden Foam Iced Shaken Espresso With Toffeenut (255 mg) to sip while he scrolls the internet. Finally, he orders a straight up Nitro Cold Brew clocking in at 280 mg of caffeine to guzzle down between Starbucks and the office. That’s how much it takes to get him through the office door these days

He uses a coffee alias so when they call his order: “Nitro Cold Brew for Spartacus” I sidle across the coffee shop, out from behind the pillar I’ve been lurking behind, and catch his tattooed forearm.

“I am Spartacus.”

I hi-five the Starbucks guy who has been waiting for another customer to get the joke, while Thrax stares at me with an expression that makes it clear I am as welcome as a breeze blowing through an outhouse at a picnic. He shakes my hand off, snatches his coffee and starts walking.

“No,” he says before I can say anything. “No, I’m not going back. Not going back for you or anyone else.”

“Did I ask you to come back? No, I just happen to be in town finishing up some business and happened upon you by coincidence.” He scoffs, still walking fast. “And what is this, a wedding ring? My invitation seems to have got lost in the mail.”

“You weren’t invited. I can’t…” he finally comes to a halt. We are outside The Olive Branch corporate office. A big gay old rainbow is erected on the roof in flickering neon lights above the dove logo. Its wings flap slowly in the wind. Class act. “I can’t have you mixed up with my life now.”

“I’m family.” Seems he needs reminding although when I look at his eyes, they’re my eyes. Same red hair. Even our freckles follow the same pattern. He has a scar above his right eye and I have one on my chin. That’s the only way you used to be able to tell us apart.

“I can’t – I can’t reconnect with you or any of the others.” He closes his eyes like this gives him pain, bless his heart. “It’s good seeing you. I mean it.” There’s a long pause, then he says quick like he knows he shouldn’t say this. “I wanted you there, I wanted to call you before the wedding. Sorry, man, it felt wrong you not being there.”

Ah Thrax, not as far gone as I feared. He wanted someone to talk him out of it. Maybe if we hadn’t parted on such poor terms he would have called, and I could have saved him some time and effort and a broken heart when I steer him back to his real vocation.

“But no,” he says with a degree of force almost like he means it. “I’m not going back. I want this life. I’m… happy.”

He hurries, through the revolving doors to his office. I leave him to whatever hyper caffeinated anxiety he is experiencing now. Whatever gets him through another day of doing whatever the hell his job is. Happy, my ass. You’re welcome, buddy.

#

 “Hey, honey, I’m home. What a day. I tell you what.. the absolute fudge are you doing here in my dining room.” Thrax greets Sister Honey with considerably more affection than he reserves for me. And fudge? What the hell is that? Fudge?

“You have a brother you never thought to mention.” Sister Honey starts in an icy tone. “Twins even. It appears that twins do run in the family.”

“I met your twins,” I tell Thrax. “Cute kids. But, Thrax, she has a point, you might have given her some warning.” I clink my glass with Sister Honey.

Sister Honey takes a gulp of her spiked sweet tea. Profanity is out but this house is not teetotal.

“Any other details from your family tree you might have omitted?” Sister Honey asks.

That’s quite the opening for an extended discussion. Surely Thrax would have shared how in a drunken rage our Daddy shot and killed our mother for two timing him. That was after he had strangled her lover in a jealous rage. Then he outran the law before getting peppered with bullets by the law just outside of Tallahassee. Then there’s our Grandfather who started his own private militia. Our Aunt Joyce who runs a house of ladies for the man with refined taste and…

No? From the aghast expression and head shaking in my direction I guess there hasn’t been the kind of sharing that one might expect from a happily married couple.

In fairness, it’s not just on Thrax’ side, I happen to know there are an awful lot of dark secrets that Sister Honey is keeping a lid on.

The Nanny brings the twins in to say goodnight before bedtime, then Sister Honey serves up dinner. I keep up convivial conversation throughout all three courses while Thrax sulks and glares at me. By dessert Honey has downed several more of those spiked sweet teas and the conversation turns from convivial to downright flirtatious. Recalling how things went with my Daddy and the angry stares coming from Thrax’s end of the table, I think it may be time to take my leave.

I have some other business to finish up while I am in town, so I bid farewell to the lovely Sister Honey and since no invitation from Thrax is forthcoming, I invite myself to lunch tomorrow.

#

It takes a little longer than expected to wrap up my other business which involves an exchange of information with a rogue Albanian operative. I had been misinformed that he would become loose tongued while inebriated so I had no option but to resort to pliers. Crude but effective. I left the Albanian gargling his own blood, filed my report and returned to my hotel room. I didn’t have to switch the light on to know that Thrax was waiting for me in the dark.

“You come to my house. You sit at my table. You meet my children?” Thrax has been stewing like an inebriated prune for a good few hours and worked up a lather of indignation. “How dare you reinsert yourself into my life. My family is off limits.”

He catches me with a sharp upper cut to the jaw. I don’t respond. Thrax has to get this out of his system before we can have a reasonable conversation.

“I have built a good life. I have respect in the community. How dare you come crashing in without warning!”

I pick myself off the floor again and dust myself off. He’s showing no sign of winding down and I need to speak my piece before he dislocates my jaw.

“You’re fooling yourself,” I tell him nice and slow because sometimes with Thrax you got to take your time. “You are playing a part you’re not fit to play. You are not a husband or father material. You know where we come from. What you are is a leader. The most inventive killer I know. There isn’t anything you can’t accomplish and you have a way that makes men want to follow you anywhere.”

“I don’t want that life anymore.” Thrax slaps my cheeks with each word. I dodge the next punch because this is getting tiresome.

 “You’re brilliant at strategy. You can come up with a plan on the spot in any situation. Come back to the business you’re good at. I need you.” That gives him pause. “You pulled me out of the house when our father shot our mother and kept me safe. You made sure we stayed together. You picked the business we’re in and you are damn good at it. The business has changed. We spend more time consulting on security than “fixing” problems these days. We have credibility now. We have to stay clean and you’re the one guy I can think of that will make that happen.” He doesn’t speak but I know he loves this business and if there’s a little less killing, he certainly won’t complain. I guess if he wants Corporate legitimacy I have some convincing to do. “We have an employee code of conduct now.” He almost cracks a smile. “A mission statement.” I see him start to relax and the smile is genuine and theres a fondness that has taken a while to warm up. “Come back, you will wind up the same as our father if you try to carry on this way.”

His expression darkens and I don’t want to do this to him but there’s no other way to persuade him.

“She’s cleaned out your savings.”

Thrax looks at me blankly. I pull out the statements from my suitcase and hand them to him. He knows they’re not fake and his face is fixed in an expression of disbelief.

“A rooster one day, a feather duster the next. She’s using you Thrax.” He shakes his head but he knows something has been wrong a good while because he’s not arguing. “How often do you check your Nanny cam?”

He knows what I’m going to do next and he shakes his head

It hurts me to do this, really it does.

I set up my laptop and hold it up for him to watch. Sister Honey has more than a pastoral relationship with the Reverend Slim Shady it would seem. In fact, she seems to be flocking most of the flock as it were. Told you she was a party girl.

Thrax hands the laptop back to me wordlessly. I wonder if he’s in shock then I see his glazed bloodshot eyes and its like staring at my Daddy all over again.

“Just come with me now…” I start to say - and he knocks me cold.

#

I wash off the blood, move my jaw to check it isn’t dislocated. That aint pleasant but I’m reassured painful though it is, my jaw is still attached. I pack up the room and then head to Thrax’s house. The door is unlocked. He’s upstairs in a bedroom, wringing his hands, bent over sister Honey who lies on the floor, purple bruising on her neck.

“Did the children hear anything?” I ask.

“Oh Jesus, stop,” Thrax said. “You don’t touch my kids. They heard nothing. I lost control. She’s not dead. I need to call an ambulance. I need to…”

“Get outside and wait for me. I’ll take care of this,” I tell him. He shakes his head, but I take his hand and lead him out of the house like he’s a little kid. “I’ll call an ambulance but you need to wait here.” He nods slowly.

“This is not my beautiful life,” he says, gazing into the distance.

“You’re not cut out for this,” I tell him. “You fall too hard in love and you have rotten taste in women. It’s your one weakness. Stick to what you know, buddy. Come on, this’ll work out. I’ll call the ambulance and you come with me.”

He nods, beaten, defeated. Then he murmurs, “That’s not my fatal flaw. I think, brother you are my hamartia.”

I stare him down and that last spark of belligerence dies away.

When I get back to the room, Sister Honey is starting to stir. I affix the silencer and finish the job. She cheated on my brother so she left me with no option. I listen hard for any sign the children are awake. Silence. Still, I’m the details guy. Thrax is all action. I pick up the loose ends. I go down to the children’s room, They appear to be asleep but I don’t generally trust appearances, I raise the gun, they don’t stir. Maybe the nanny slips them rum at bedtime to ensure a good nights sleep. Well, getting drugged by the help has worked to their advantage tonight. I blow my nephews a kiss and join Thrax outside.

“I’m no better than our father. I got so angry… “ He pauses and shakes his head. “I really thought I could do this.” He looks at me, his eyes are glazed with shock and tears. “I wanted to be Joe Normal.”

“That’s not our life, brother,” I tell him. “We’re lucky in that we know what we are good at and we need to just keep doing it. You can give up on any notion of living a good and noble life. That’s not for you. Besides once you get back to the business, you’ll remember how much you love what we do.”

He follows me docile as a dove to the car and we drive slowly because I can hear approaching sirens so perhaps the children were playing possum. Smart kids. Maybe I will look them up again in a few years. If they take after their old man, maybe I can suggest some career options.

End