Page 64 of Fire for Effect

“Come on, you know I don’t make social calls.”

“That I do. I guess you have good timing. I was about to call Sheriff Whitlaw to get information, but since you’re here, I can just dump this steaming pile of shit on you.” He pulled his feet down off the table, and leaned forward to the folder he’d been reading when I got in.

“Lovely,” I said, wrinkling my nose at his metaphor.

“I got something interesting from an old associate of mine. In fact, you just missed him. The guy goes by the name of Brett Bradley.”

“Brett Bradley? Really?” I snorted. “Was Chris America taken?”

I brought my feet down and propped my elbows on his desk, the cigar still between my index and middle finger.

Noam chuckled at my remark and opened the folder. He bit his lower lip as if he was thinking about something.

He swung his knees to the side, so that his back was to the front window.

“Your boyfriend outside… is he a long tabber?” He was asking if Griff was a Special Forces guy. I gave a nod.

I followed suit, turning away from the window and facing the back wall. Noam was making sure that Griff couldn’t read our lips or look at the folder.

“You kids and your silly games,” Noam chuckled, as he turned the folder so I could read it. The target’s name was Mike Trout. Older guy, bit of a beer gut. He had a round face, a weak chin, and a fat, dangling lower lip that was a tell-tale sign of too much dipping.

“My friend, Brett Bradley,” He motioned bunny ear quotes around the name, “works for an agency that contracts with the Company and those fancy pants in Washington.”

Noam was totally unimpressed with the whole thing. I wonder what he would think of Kai, the fancy pants outside. The Griffith family was more Washington than the Kennedys.

“This Mike Trout is here with that new bike gang and those small-dick compensators between their legs - no offense–”

“None taken.” I laughed, quickly eyeing my Ducati that was parked outside.

Noam had no love for motorcycles. He thought they were too loud, inefficient, and flashy.

“It’s one thing for you young people to ride around on those organ donor creators, but a guy my age?” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s a sure sign of a man whose life isn’t worth living.”

I didn’t agree with him. I tolerated his old man ramblings though because he paid me to.

“So what did Mike Trout do wrong?” I asked, looking down at the picture again.

“Oh, you know. Something vague about wanting to overthrow the government, undermine democracy and take back the country or… whatever.” Noam turned his hand in the air to make his point. “Et cetra, et cetra, so on and so forth. He doesn’t like the current president, or his nominees, and wants to blow something up on American soil to make sure everyone knows it –”

“Ah, democracy by explosives,” I chuckled. “Worked for that McVeigh guy.”

“Ah, yes, McVeigh,” Noam smirked. “That happened before you were born, didn’t it?”

“No!” I protested. “I was like… two at the time, or something.”

“So you don’t even remember it,” he said, throwing his head back in a belly laugh. “Ah, you kids these days. You make me feel old.”

“It's not my fault you were in the Army when Christ was a Corporal,'' I said with a smirk.

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady,” he said, and I braced myself for his sarcasm. “Christ was a Sergeant by the time I made it to Group.”

Noam loved talking Army. He had been skeptical when I came in. He didn’t believe me when I said I had been a Green Beret, until I rattled off my class number. He called two days later after he verified my credentials, and it hadn’t been an issue since. Hell, he even stopped giving Ronan assignments in favor of me anytime I let him know I needed a quick injection of cash.

Long tabbers had to stick together. That was his thing.

“So, Mike…” I tapped the picture. “Can I get a little bit more about him? I mean, he was a Navy SEAL. He can’t be hard to find. Don’t they all get discharged with a how-to guide on their own book deal and a podcast?” I looked at Mike’s picture and wondered how difficult he could be. “I mean, you know how to tell if someone was a Navy SEAL, right?”

“They’ll tell you,” Noam said with a laugh. “Kinda like a Vegan or an influencer.”

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