Silhouette

XXII

Carl’s office is behind an abandoned petrol station on a federal highway on the outskirts of Maryland.

Dave enjoys twenty minutes of the smooth road after the chaos of the city traffic. He parks before a rusting fuel dispenser, the nozzle dangles on the floor.

He locks his car and goes to the square building at the back. A white signboard says ‘Apex Security’.
Dave knocks on the heavy brown door. He hears voices from within the office and glances at the window next to him, there are two figures moving about. The knob turns and the door swings open.

He steps aside and nods at the man who comes out. His face is drawn in a tight frown. He scowls at Dave from beneath his thick brows. Dave watches him leave, his suit is slightly rumpled at the back.

“Get in here, Dave.” Says Carl from the doorway. He is holding a glass of something in his hand. His eyes are glittering. “Nice of you to finally show up.”

Dave follows him into the office. It is a large space built more for comfort than anything else. There is a long black leather sofa on a lush red rug in the middle. At one end is a large plasma TV showing a movie. Dave shrugs off his suit and drapes it on the sofa. “I had to see where you worked. It doesn’t look bad.”

Carl goes to his work table. It is a pile of papers and files. He types a few keys lazily on his laptop and closes it. “Man cannot live on bread alone, eh?”

Dave shrugs and sits. He feels the air conditioner cooling the sweat on his neck. He goes to the small fridge humming quietly by the corner. It is stocked with rows and rows of beer and wine. He spots a bottle of Maltina among the mix and snatches it.

Carl limps to the sofa. Points at Dave’s waist holster. “Let me see the beauty you’re carrying.”

Dave takes his gun out and hands it to him. “Sp 2022,” he says. He unscrews the maroon bottle cap and takes a sip. “9mm, department issued and easy to clean.”

Carl grins, ejects the magazine with a flick of his fingers. “It’s quite good but I’m more of a Glocks and Rugers guy.” He slides the gun to Dave. “The last time I held something like that was in Mogadishu.”

“Sounds like you miss it.”

“I had unfinished business.”

“There is no end to anything there. The Somalis have been fighting their civil war for years. America could only do so much in 1993.” Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. The scars on his back are itching. “For us it was a mission, for them it is a way of life.”

Carl shakes his head. “I got out in time. Even if it cost me a leg.”

“We are the lucky ones,” says Dave.

Carl snorts into his cup. “Are we? Sometimes I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat in the middle of the night.”

Dave clears his throat, shifts in his seat. “I sleep alright. Therapy helps.”

“How many of us do you think got out?”

“I don’t know. Last I heard the casualties were 256 from the 73rd Battalion.”

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

Carl raises his glass. “A toast to those who got out and those who didn’t.”

Dave raises his bottle and clinks it against Carl’s glass. “So, what exactly do you do here?”

“Ah! Just close protection work, bodyguards, convoy security, that kind of thing. There is no absence of jobs in this line of work. Someone important with a little something in his bank account feels he needs some protection, he calls us up.”