Chapter 7

The next morning, Aaron opened his eyes. Disoriented, he leaned up to see the digital clock. Garrett was not beside him. It was four a.m.

Panic set in. He leapt off the bed and raced into the short hallway. A dim light was on in a room at the end of the hall. Aaron crept towards it and found Garrett exercising. The man had a rubber mat and was doing sit-ups. It appeared Garrett was able to keep remarkably fit without the help of weights or a gym. There was a chin-up bar on an open closet door frame.

Aaron crossed his arms, watching this incredible man train. Four a.m.? Holy moly.

Garrett stared at him as he finished his sit-ups. All Garrett wore were tiny gym shorts.

“Carry on, soldier.” Aaron wanted to watch. He was naked, and his cock stood at attention.

With a wry smile on his lips, Garrett stood at the closet door and held the bar, doing chin-ups, his knees bent to keep his feet off the floor. He was so ripped, Aaron gazed at his back muscles and the size of his shoulders. Mama mia.

“You do this every morning?” Aaron touched his dick and could easily jerk off and come watching him.

“Yes. And most nights.” Garrett dropped to the floor and proceeded to do nearly a hundred pushups.

Aaron looked at his own torso. He was trim but certainly not cut like that.

Once Garrett had done one hundred pushups, he sat on the mat and looked at him, and then at his dick.

Aaron stopped touching himself. “I’ll be in bed.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

Garrett didn’t react, but he sort of smiled.

Aaron returned to the bedroom and lay down under the sheet. The house was kept cool with central A/C and ceiling fans.

As he waited, hoping for some morning sex, Aaron fantasized living here with this amazing man, maybe even marrying him.

But it was illegal to marry a man.

Heck. Who was he kidding? Garrett could get anyone he wanted, man or woman. He obviously chose to be alone.

Aaron didn’t know if he blamed him. His own track record of ‘boyfriends’ was dismal.

He’d had sex since he was in foster care at sixteen, but now that he was twenty-seven, other than the encounters in jail, he really couldn’t call anyone a ‘partner’.

When Garrett returned to the bedroom, he gave Aaron a sexy smile.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Aaron spread his legs wide after he tossed off the sheet.

Garrett, his skin shining from perspiration, his muscles solid and sinewy, removed his shorts. He had nothing under them.

Aaron glanced at the nightstand for the condoms and lube. The specter of AIDs spreading through the gay community was always a factor. He’d lost friends over the last decade.

He always used protection. Always. In prison they performed mostly oral and hand-jobs unless someone smuggled condoms in.

He handed Garrett the wrapped rubber and set the lube beside him.

Garrett rolled the condom on his thick erection, working the tight latex over his big dick. Aaron held the base of his cock and squeezed it, trying not to climax from the visual stimulation.

Once he’d used the gel, Garrett urged Aaron to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. Aaron eased Garrett’s cock into his body and once they were connected, they gazed at each other. The hot pulsating and throbbing was pure bliss.

They kissed passionately. After the smooch, Aaron began moving up and down on Garrett’s dick while Garrett fondled Aaron’s cock.

“Oh, geez.” Aaron lost himself on Garrett’s good looks, that tat, and the internal stimulation. He came and shot his jizz all over them both.

Garrett seemed to love the sight and thrust up from below. Hard throbbing came from Garrett’s cock as Aaron continued to get pleasure waves from the climax. After he’d come, Garrett rested his forehead on Aaron’s shoulder, catching his breath.

He heard the hot military dude say, “Jesus…”

Yeah. I know. It’s amazing . Aaron felt Garrett’s cock slowly retracting out of his body as it softened. They stayed still, holding each other as dawn gradually illuminated the room.

~

Garrett had devised a tactical plan. He had a quick cup of coffee at five a.m. and then packed clean clothing for himself in a small duffle bag. Arming himself, Garrett gave Aaron the same instructions. Stay put.

Aaron nodded. Looking terrified.

Garrett left the house with a trunk loaded with a shovel, full gas can, a plastic tarp, and spare clothing. He had to continue the farce. There was only one way out of this mess.

Today he was going to let the director know he had killed Aaron Zefron.

He had a ruse and just had to perpetrate it.

Garrett intended on going back to Aaron’s apartment building, this time with the keys to Aaron’s old sedan. But first…

He had some dirty business to complete to make sure the director, local police, and other agencies were convinced Aaron Zefron was indeed ‘neutralized’.

He left his car a few blocks away from Aaron’s apartment house, then took Aaron’s car, loading it with his supplies, and then driving to a cemetery.

~

After lying in bed until he couldn’t stand it any longer, Aaron paced the home anxiously. While Garrett was occupied, Aaron did laundry, changed bedding, vacuumed, dusted, washed floors… hell, it beat doing nothing.

Garrett wasn’t a slob. Far from it. But he was a working man. Aaron didn’t mind cleaning. He’d been assigned laundry detail in prison and his foster homes made him help with household chores.

So?

He tidied the place. Spic and span. It made him feel useful and helped Garrett. That’s all that mattered.

~

While Aaron’s sedan was parked behind a mausoleum in a rundown city cemetery, one with numerous unmarked graves for John and Jane Does, Garrett dug up a fresh one. Tall, waving cedar and aspen trees concealed his act. Most unclaimed bodies were cremated but occasionally one was buried in a cardboard box or funeral shroud.

He smelled the corpse before he located it. It had been swaddled in a shroud and placed inside a cardboard box. Garrett spread out the plastic sheet and removed the decomposing body from the ground, tossing it into the trunk. He then covered the hole with the loose dirt, sweating at the heat and building humidity of the June morning. Gnats wanted his blood, so he swatted at them while he worked. It was before seven a.m. and most of the activity was on the city streets, not the sidewalks.

Once the unmarked anonymous grave was back to the way he’d found it, he put the shovel into the trunk with the body and drove to the worst area of Baltimore. One with blocks and blocks of abandoned rowhouses, decaying trash, shattered glass windows, and graffiti-covered crumbling brick walls used for drug addicts, rats, and cockroaches.

This area of the city was so derelict, red diamond markers were placed on the doors to warn firemen or other first responders not to enter. The three-level terrace housing was abandoned, most of the windows were either covered by wood or open to the elements. Gang graffiti was like a snaking mural, sprayed on every fa?ade of the abandoned neighborhood.

Having been wearing gloves, Garrett threw the rotted old shovel into a pile of dumped trash, rusted dishwashers, smashed TVs, rubber tires, needles, bottles, cans, and human waste. The reek was overwhelming and would worsen in the midday heat.

He sat the corpse in the driver’s seat of Aaron’s sedan, then took the gasoline container out of the backseat and doused the interior with its contents.

After another look up and down the deserted alley framed on either side by crumbling abandoned rowhouses and strewn with shells of stripped stolen cars Garrett set Aaron’s sedan alight, starting with the corpse.

As the flames grew and spread quickly with the accelerant, Garrett removed his pistol from his holster and shot the body twice in the head. The noise ricochetted into the humid air and a dog barked from far off.

Garrett made sure the entire car was engulfed, then walked off, out of the alley, knowing it would take at least an hour before the police were called. A car fire in an alley in this part of town wasn’t a priority. It was as common as a car theft.

He’d set the scene. Aaron Zefron was now dead. His corpse beyond identification, and two bullets from Garrett’s gun were lodged in his head.

~

Aaron turned the TV on, scanned channels, then turned it off. He then tried the radio . Losing My Religion by R.E.M. aired. Aaron went back to pacing.

The house was spotless, he’d dusted, vacuumed, did two loads of laundry, clothing as well as sheets and towels, emptied the dishwasher, and now he was slowly losing his mind.

He stood at the study door and stared at the computer.

Fascinating.

Sitting in the swivel chair, Aaron turned it on. It made a ‘beep’ sound which startled him. He looked around the room for hidden cameras, but that was stupid.

The screen asked for a sign in. Sign in?

He tapped a few keys on the keyboard and the computer kept making mad noises at him. “Okay. So you need a secret squirrel code. Whatever.”

He shut it off. He wanted to know if Garrett was okay. That plan? That insane plan?

How on earth was Garrett going to pull it off?

When Aaron pushed him for details, Garrett went tightlipped.

Special Forces. No doubt no amount of torture would not get that man to flip. Dude must have seen some things.

Things that would traumatize me if I ever saw them.

Aaron gave an exaggerated shiver at the task Garrett had set out to do. He rocked on the swivel chair and looked at the books on shelves and the framed stuff on the walls.

A tiny photo on the bookshelf got his attention. He stood and picked it up. It was a five by seven-inch photo of a small group of men in uniform, led by a man of color. The team was mixed, black, white, and Hispanic.

Aaron was clueless when it came to the military. He was a slacker. A loser.

What a waste I am. I should have joined the army.

He set the frame back and inspected the books again. It was a far cry from his erotic fiction. Taking the Art of the Samari from the shelf, Aaron sat back on the chair and read the back blurb as Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill aired on the living room radio.

While Aaron skimmed the book, he muttered, “Isn’t it ironic?”

~

Garrett sat in his car and drove to a gas station. He parked and entered the minimart, finding the restroom. Inside it, he washed his hands and checked his face. He straightened his appearance and had changed his clothing while inside his car. He had parked behind a vacant church so he would not be seen.

The clothing he had worn while doing the dirty deed he wrapped in a trash bag and threw out in a retail business’ dumpster far away from the crime scene.

Off in the distance sirens wailed. It took nearly an hour. By now the body would be charred beyond recognition, just as he’d planned, yet his bullets would be located.

Garrett left the men’s room and avoided the surveillance cameras. Back inside his car, he drove right to his office to make that phone call inside the SCIF.

After a successful mission, Garrett would always let the director, or whomever had hired him, know the job was complete. To do anything else would raise suspicion.

Parking in the lot, he walked casually into the building, showing his ID to numerous guards.

Security in these places wasn’t overly tight. No metal detectors, just guards asking for ID. Lax.

Stupid.

After the Oklahoma City bombing, you’d think they’d learn. Not yet. Maybe another huge disaster would teach them not to ignore intelligence warnings and information. Time would tell.

He used the SCIF near his office. Once inside the private space, he called the director.

When the phone engaged, Garrett said, “Colorado.”

“I’ve been waiting for your call.”

“Mission complete. The subject has been neutralized.”

“So, he didn’t leave the country?”

“He did not, sir. He parked at the airport to throw me off the scent. But the subject returned to his home. So, his plan didn’t work.”

“Excellent! Excellent!”

“Local PD are responding to a car fire. Victim’s remains will be inside it. I assume you’ll remove the ballistics results from their data base.”

“Consider it done.”

Garrett glanced behind him at the two workers also inside this safe space. Neither were listening or paying attention to him, both working on computers.

“I would very much like to reward you for your fine service.”

Garrett leaned his shoulder against the wall where the phone was hanging. “I’m honored.”

“Come to my place. I’ll have a nice dinner for you.”

Garrett removed a pad and pencil from his pocket. “Thank you, sir. Location, date, and time?” This is just what I wanted.

He was given all three.

“You’re a fine man. A credit to the service. I’ll see to it you’re rewarded.”

“I’m flattered. But I’m just doing my job, sir.”

“We’ll meet soon. Bring a guest if you would like. I imagine you have a girlfriend.”

“Thank you, sir.” Garrett hung up the phone and left the SCIF.

He entered a room with television monitors airing news from around the globe. Men in uniform were watching, some putting data into computers. Garrett zeroed in on a local station.

The Baltimore media was on the scene of the car fire.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching the newscaster’s eyes shine with glee at having such a gruesome story to share.

‘ It’s unknown at this time who the victim is. This area of Baltimore is known for its high crime rate. The police and arson investigators are on the scene. But it appears to be just a series of drug related homicides plaguing the area.’

Garrett left the room, then made his way to the stairs to the exit. His next stop was the referral his lieutenant colonel had made. Fingers crossed that contact was as trustworthy as his CO. Because Lieutenant Colonel Theo Conrad had been retired for half a decade.

And intel got cold real fast.

~

Aaron fell asleep on Garrett’s bed. After doing everything he could to keep occupied, he had begun reading the book he’d removed from the shelf and nodded off.

His nap was fitful since every noise, every barking dog, made him jump and panic. He ended up leaping off the bed several times to peek outside, not seeing anything but the postman, neighbors mowing lawns or gardening, and delivery trucks.

It sure would be nice to have a way to communicate with Garrett.

He’d seen news reports of an IBM smartphone. But it was over a thousand dollars, and he sure couldn’t afford it. He had no idea if Garrett used one.

Whatever. He’d been told not to answer the phone anyway.

Aaron rolled over on the soft pillow, smelling the laundry soap from the freshly washed sheets, craving Garrett to come home.

He worried about him.

But that was crazy, right? If anyone could take care of themselves, it was Garrett Finnigan.

~

Garrett worked in his office to cover his tracks from over the last forty-eight hours, then he left the building. Even though he had pleased the director and finished his task, he was wary of spies; operators following him, bugging his phones, using video surveillance to track him.

Being gay he was a target for blackmail, for ousting from his position as a mercenary and cleanup man for dirty jobs, like the one he’d just finished.

His sex life he kept private. Or at least as private as he could. He didn’t date. He didn’t go out to restaurants with friends. He didn’t purchase items via the computer, since they could be tracked. He never viewed gay photos or gay porn on the internet.

In the service he’d kept to himself.

The only man that knew he was gay was Lieutenant Colonel Theo Conrad. The two of them trusted each other.

Theo had worked hard to become their commanding officer. Being an African American soldier, he earned every bit of his promotions.

Garrett admired the hell out of him.

Driving to the federal building, circling it to make sure he was not tailed, but there should be no reason he was, Garrett entered a secure parking lot. He had a decal he placed on his dashboard and ID to show the attendant at the booth.

Once he was allowed in, Garrett parked and checked his watch. No doubt Aaron would be going insane wondering how he was. But he warned Aaron about answering phones. Maybe he’d get one of those cellular phones. Some day. Operator’s vehicles came with telephonic equipment, but that was just for the top tier. He was not one of those. He was more like Dirty Harry.

He entered the building and stood at an elevator, entering it when it arrived at the lobby. With the intel from Lieutenant Colonel Conrad, Garrett rose up to the fifth floor. He exited it and looked at the numbers on the office doors.

Glancing behind him and around the area, hearing the tapping of typewriter and computer keypads, Garrett located the office.

On the outside of the wall was a sign. ‘Office of Accountability’.

Garrett inspected his outfit, a suit jacket, tie, and dress slacks. He tucked his shirt in deeper into his pants and made sure his belt buckle was centered, then entered the offices. Concealed on his waist was a holster, his weapon, and his ID badge.

A woman behind a desk looked up at him. She seemed to be a secretary, sitting behind a computer. “May I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Ms Sandra Ginsberg. Garrett Finnigan.”

The woman’s gaze went to Garrett’s gun and ID when he flashed his credentials, then she said, “One moment.” She picked up a phone on her desk. “There’s a Garrett Finnigan here to see you. Yes, ma’am.” She hung up and said, “Go right in. Through that door.”

“Thank you.” Garrett approached a door and tapped it, then turned the knob.

An older woman in a navy-blue skirt and blazer over a white shirt, stood from her desk. She had the gleam of military to her, which Garrett appreciated.

“Ma’am?”

“Come in, Garrett.”

He closed the door behind him and approached her with his hand outstretched. “Thank you for seeing me.”

She clasped his hand and shook with strength. “No problem. Please. Have a seat.”

Garrett sat across from her desk as she resumed her spot behind it. “I have a big problem, ma’am. And I don’t know who I can trust.”

“Who referred you to me?” the intelligent woman asked.

“Lieutenant Colonel Theo Conrad.”

A smile came to her face. “I see. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“In confidence? Off the record?”

“Yes.”

Garrett took a deep breath, and said, “Last Monday, I received a call from the director…”