Renegade - 13 Page 5

  Pete’s hand waved through the air, indicating the bar. “I’ve got a lot of cash being generated from my businesses. Only recently did we finally find a bank with a sturdy vault. I always feel like these proceeds are at risk when being moved, counted, and stored. It’s very difficult to identify men that I can trust. I need someone to head up that part of my endeavors. I need a guy who I know won’t skim or run off to Central America with my dough.”

  “So, you want me to drive an armored car? Protect and move around your cash?”

  Shaking his head, Pete explained, “Oh, no. The job is much, much more than that. We are opening new facilities, and they aren’t always in the best part of town. Sheriff Watts and his crew are good men, but there aren’t enough of them to go around. More and more, I must depend on private security to ensure that my equipment doesn’t wander off or that a cash drawer doesn’t disappear. We’ve been lucky so far, only petty incidents here and there, but I’m expanding rapidly and need to shore up that side of the business. I can’t think of anyone more qualified to take on those responsibilities.”

  Before Bishop could respond, Pete tilted his head and added, “I seem to remember that once upon a time you did something similar for HBR back in the day. Didn’t you say your job was protecting that corporation's assets in some of the world’s most dangerous places? Now, I know that conversation was a few years back. But if I recall it correctly, you sounded like that was a rewarding and lucrative career.”

  Bishop’s mind traveled back in time, that segment of his life now seeming like ancient history. It was an age when the Colonel was just a colonel, where air travel was an everyday event, and international commerce was commonplace. “Yes, I did like my job,” the Texan had to admit. “It was something new and challenging every day.”

  “So,” Pete brightened. “Why not come aboard and do the same thing for me? I need someone with your experience and discipline. You’d be the perfect fit.”

  The offer was tempting. Bishop had always liked and respected Pete. He really didn’t have anything else lined up. He was confident that he could perform the duties as described.

  Sensing his friend’s consideration, Pete sweetened the deal. “Vice President of Corporate Security,” he whispered, increasing the temptation.

  Bishop grunted, taking another sip of his breakfast brew. “Now, Pete.”

  “It pays well, too,” continued the older man. “How about … oh … let’s say….”

  Rather than finishing his sentence, Pete pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled a number on a napkin. Shoving the square of paper across the table, he waited with a sly grin while Bishop read the figure.

  As anticipated, Bishop’s eyebrows launched skyward like they had been shot out of a cannon. “A month? Seriously?”

  Grinning with the knowledge that he was about to snare his prey, Pete retorted, “Oh, no, Bishop. That’s a week.”

  “Holy shit, Pete. That’s a … that’s a lot of money.”

  Nodding vigorously and closing in for the kill, Pete said, “Of course, there will be some travel involved. You’ll be given an expense account for that. I also can arrange a quarterly profit sharing bonus. Why don’t you go back and talk this over with Terri? I’m going to be in Alpha in a few days, and if either of you has questions, we can sit down then and hash this out.”

  Before the Texan could respond, Pete glanced at his watch and cried, “Oh, shit. I’m late! Gotta run.” As he rose from the table, he added, “I will get in touch when I get to Alpha. Please, Bishop, consider taking this job. It will solve one of my bigger headaches, and it would be a great move for you and your family.”

  Bishop rose and extended his hand. “I’m thrilled to even be considered, Pete. I’ll see you in a few days. Be careful, old friend.”

  And with that, the bar owner hustled to the back room. A minute later, Bishop observed two SUVs roll out from behind Pete’s Place and speed off to the east.

  Smiling broadly, the Texan felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly, over a cup of java and greasy eggs, his entire outlook on life had changed. While he had a million questions about the job, existing staff, and the gory details of what was expected and required, Pete clearly believed Bishop was a good fit. The money was off the scale.

  When he approached the register to pay for his meal, the waitress waved him off. “On the house,” she sang with a smile. The Texan left a generous tip and then swaggered confidently toward his pickup. He hadn’t been so excited and optimistic since Hunter was born.

  He almost stopped to buy Terri a pricey trinket as he passed through the market. “Hang on there, Cowboy,” he grunted. “You don’t have the job just yet. Don’t count those chickens before they hatch.”

  Bishop’s drive back to Alpha passed quickly, the Texan entertaining himself by rehearsing his presentation to his wife.

  “Terri’s like you,” he explained to the empty cab. “She’s not always the first to embrace change.”

  About the only negative the Texan could derive from his morning was that he didn’t have much information. Not only had Pete been in a hurry, Bishop had found himself at the rare loss for words.

  “The element of surprise got you again,” he chuckled.

  There was an unmistakable energy in the Texan’s step as he locked the truck and sprang toward the front porch. In a flash, he darkened the threshold, tempted to shout out his arrival, but holding back at the last moment. Hunter might be napping, which meant mom might be catching a quick snooze herself. “Disturbing that woman’s sleep isn’t the way to announce this new opportunity,” he quipped.

  That concern was quickly dismissed, however, by the sound of Hunter’s excited voice gushing in from the backyard.

  The Texan warned his wife with a robust, “Hi, Honey, I’m home,” before stepping behind the house.

  Terri was chasing the pint-sized bundle of energy around the swing set, the green, plastic squirt gun in her hand pumping a nearly steady stream of water. Given the soaked condition of her blouse, dad was sure the battle had been raging for some time.

  “Hi!” she responded breathlessly, dodging a return volley from Hunter’s orange weapon. “How was the hunting trip? Did you catch anything?”

  He started to correct her use of a fishing reference but then decided against it. “I never made it. Long story.”

  “Oh. Where have you been?” she asked while darting behind the slide for cover.

  “Pete’s Place. I got detoured by a construction crew at the ranch, so I headed over to Meraton.”

  Much to Hunter’s disappointment, Terri immediately stepped toward her husband, rose on her tiptoes, and pecked him on the lips. Bishop knew instantly that his breath was being tested for alcohol.

  She confirmed, “Well, at least you’ve not been out drinking your troubles away.”

  Pretending to be insulted, Bishop straightened his back and squared his shoulders, “Troubles? Who has troubles? I have a wife who greets me at the door in a wet T-shirt and looks damn hot doing so. What more could the average Joe Nobody want?”

  His strategy worked, his unscripted response taking her off her game. Terri, stepping back and staring down at her ample chest, lost her train of thought. Before she could counter, he added, “Besides, I was interviewing for a new job so I could keep my trophy wife happy and content.”

  She didn’t have to vocalize the next question, her eyes saying it all.

  “Pete offered me a job, Vice President of Security.”

  “But you have a job,” she said, a din of melancholy flashing across her normally vibrant eyes. “You didn’t turn in your resignation yet, did you?”

  “No. But that’s going to be a whole lot easier to do now,” he announced with a grin.

  Digging out the napkin with Pete’s handwriting, Bishop waved the offer in the air with a distinct flourish before dangling the slightly smeared ink just out of his spouse’s reach. “Of course, I had to make sure th
e money was right,” he bragged, grinning at his wife.

  Now, clearly intrigued, Terri snatched at the air with a lightning fast strike in an obvious attempt at procuring the napkin. Bishop was mightily satisfied with the response, pleased with her interest. He tried desperately to stick with his rehearsed plan, tempering the appearance of his own enthusiasm. He smiled innocently while he stoically passed her the paper. “This is the salary he offered,” Bishop stated flatly, using the same tone in which he talked about the day’s weather.

  “This,” she giggled as she confiscated the makeshift document, “is a napkin, my love.”

  Bishop beamed with the pride of a man whose worth had just been corporately confirmed. Never speaking a word, he simply shifted the paper to allow Terri the best vantage for reading the offer.

  It was clear that no human resource manager from times past has constructed this document. A single number was penned on the paper. Her eyes opened wide when she read it. “A month?”

  With a waggle of his eyebrows, Bishop gloated, “Oh, no, Terri. That,” he said, poking the mouth wiper with his index finger, “is a week’s wages.”

  “What?” she managed during a deep inhalation. “Why would he pay….”

  Again, Bishop feigned injury. “Some people put a proper, realistic value on my skills, darling. That’s why.”

  “That’s more than we make in a year now,” she said in a hushed tone, turning away from him.

  His wife’s reaction sent Bishop’s alarm bells ringing at maximum volume, her face colored with an expression of deep concern. As was typical, he didn’t read her correctly, fumbling for the words he thought would reassure her. “Pete said it wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous as what I do now. He promised there wouldn’t be as much travel or gunplay.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. There’s … there’s something else.”

  He stepped toward her, spinning her around and pulling her close. “What? What could possibly be wrong?”

  “Diana asked me to be her campaign manager. I was going to tell you last night, but you seemed upset. She told me about the spot Nick was going to offer you, and how it would mean you would be working here in Alpha. I thought that our new responsibilities would allow one of us to be here with Hunter most of the time. Now, if you take this new gig with Pete, I’m not sure what that means. I was hoping you would reconsider Nick’s offer today while you were hunting.”

  Bishop understood the dilemma, not only what it meant to Hunter, but to Terri’s own career. Like so many couples before and after the collapse, he and his wife struggled to balance their responsibilities as parents with the demands of being providers. “We can work this out. There are a lot of working couples around, and they make it through,” he reassured.

  “Really?” she responded skeptically. “Because I don’t want Hunter’s development and well-being to suffer – not one iota.”

  “Pete is supposed to be in town in a few days and promised to get in touch. I didn’t give him an answer yet, so let’s take our time and think this through. Between our two new bosses, surely we can create an acceptable arrangement.”

  “One thing’s for certain,” Terri said, glancing at the napkin still in Bishop’s hand. “We’ll be able to afford a babysitter.”

  “Or two,” Bishop laughed, glad to see his wife moving back to the positive side of the ledger.

  Chapter 4

  Bishop peered at himself in the mirror, double-checking everything was ship-shape. Terri had taken special care in ironing his shirt, his pants creased with military precision. He’d even managed to rub a dull shine on his boots.

  With a deep sigh, the Texan stared at the letter lying on the dresser and then inserted the single sheet into his pocket.

  The meeting with Pete had gone well. Even Terri, after playing a game of 100 questions, had admitted that it seemed like the perfect career move for them. She and Pete had always been close, and now the former bartender was going to play an even more important role in their lives.

  The decision had been made.

  Now it was time to resign from the SAINT program, and Bishop was surprised at the emotions that welled up inside his chest.

  He’d never been one to become emotional about a job. For all his adult life, it had been easy to separate professional from private undertakings. He did a full day’s work and expected a full day’s pay. It was that simple and clean-cut. Even his short stint in the Army had been nothing more than honoring a commitment. The military had paid for his college degree in exchange for four years of service. He’d delivered as best he could.

  Working for the Alliance, however, was different. There was an element of serving the greater good in leading a SAINT team. He was making a small contribution to society’s future. He was helping protect those who couldn’t defend themselves. It had been fulfilling at times, extremely frustrating on occasion, but never dull.

  Bishop grunted, trying hard to remind himself of all the bullshit. Just like any other government job, there was the constant stream of excessive paperwork, non-critical meetings, and seemingly wasteful processes. Just like the Army, the bureaucracy in Alpha had its share of, ‘Hurry up and wait,’ and ‘Required chicken shit.’

  “You look very professional. Why, if I wasn’t a happily married woman, you might turn my eye, young man,” Terri flirted from the doorway.

  Laughing, Bishop played along. “Does your husband travel often?”

  The teasing didn’t last, Terri growing serious as she studied her husband’s face. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. What about you?”

  She nodded, “My only regret is that Nick and Diana are our best friends. Somehow, I feel like we are letting them down.”

  Bishop agreed, the exact same feeling having overshadowed his morning. “Nick is a pro. He’ll understand. Besides, true friends would want the best for us. No one has done more for the Alliance than we have, darling. We should be making this move free of guilt or remorse.”

  She approached him, pretending to pick a piece of lint from his shoulder and then staring deeply into his eyes. “Then why don’t you feel that way?”

  Smiling down at his mate, Bishop replied, “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about you? Have you made up your mind about becoming Diana’s campaign manager?” he asked.

  “I’m going over there this afternoon to talk it through with her. I thought I would give the dust you’re about to kick up a little time to settle. If we can work things out concerning Hunter, then I’d like to take the job.”

  “I think you would be good at it,” he reassured her. “I just don’t want my move to interfere … or for my decision to compel you to accept her offer out of guilt.”

  Shaking her head, Terri replied, “No, that’s not going to happen. Other than the fact that we’re still going to share parenting responsibilities, I don’t see how your turning down Nick’s offer has any impact on my working with Diana.”

  Glancing at his watch, Bishop stiffened. “Gotta go. My meeting is in 15 minutes. I don’t want to be late.”

  “Good luck,” she said, rising to kiss his cheek.

  Bishop arrived at Nick’s building five minutes early, leaving the calm street and entering what could only be described as barely controlled chaos.

  What had once been the headquarters of a regional bank had now been repurposed to house the Alliance’s security apparatus. Modeled after the old US Department of Homeland Security, Nick’s organization included military, intelligence, law enforcement, and other departments under a single umbrella. It was a massive undertaking, nearly doubling in size and scope every six months. Common wisdom held that if you carried a gun in an official capacity for the Alliance, your chain of command started in this building.

  Once past the security checkpoint at the main lobby, Bishop strolled into the bullpen, a large, open space divided by rows of half-height cubicles. There was the always-
present background hum of hushed conversations, accented by the flurry of personnel rushing here and there, many of them burdened with armloads of folders, others hustling to some critical meeting.

  Some of the desks were occupied by civilian staff, others hosting men and women in military and police uniforms. The Texan passed by the communications room with its banks of CB, HAM, military and law enforcement radios, nodding politely to the occasional passerby as he progressed further into the bowels of the vast operation.

  Climbing the stairs to the second floor, Bishop proceeded down a long hallway, each of the closed doors designated by a small sign. There were conference rooms, regional logistics centers, and the private offices of the executive staff and appointees.