From the front steps of the brownstone, Dylan Corcoran headed east on W. 93rd toward Columbus Avenue and his car. Honey locust leaves crackled underfoot, as he walked the mosaic that ornamented the Upper West Side street and testified to the arrival of another autumn in Manhattan, dappling the city’s amalgam of man-made and natural glory in brushstrokes of gold, garnet and russet as the city’s aural ambiance of traffic, voices and rustling trees, lulled him deeper and deeper into thought. Sidestepping other strolling sleepwalkers, he stared ahead blankly, hands in pockets, as the smoke curling from the hand-rolled cigarette in the right side of his mouth, spread meditation to all in his wake.
“How’s it going, Dylan?” A simple greeting from Barry Rand, his long-time agent and assistant, was all it took to burst Dylan’s monastic bubble.
“Uhhh... fine, Barry... okay.”
Barry’s 5’8”, 230 pound frame, immaculately dressed in a chalk-striped suit complete with pocket square, seemed to have dropped from the sky in front of him, suddenly dominating Dylan’s field of vision; the two of them creating a crazy juxtaposition for all passers-by to see. The men couldn't have looked more different. Dylan was as slender as Barry was spherical and, clad in jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, his manner of dress as casual as Barry’s was formal.
“I thought that was your Benz back there. You here for a meeting?” Barry said, sweeping the long hairs of his comb-over back into place.
“Yeah, I guess you could call it that, “ Dylan smiled. “Wasn’t long ago it was just called hanging out. When did they become meetings?”
“I suppose it was when the money at stake reached eight figures,” Barry laughed.
“Yep, money changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s hope not everything.”
“I was relaying a request from Colonel Zakharchenko,” Dylan said, shooting a glance up and down the street and adopting a lower tone.
“Problems in the Rascht again, I assume,” said Barry.
“Of course, that’ll never change.”
“It’s our cash cow, that place,” Barry laughed.
Ignoring the comment, Dylan changed the subject. “Listen Barry, please be careful how you involve Mike Mariposa in our military work.”
“I don’t know why you worry about him so much. That guy has made us so much money and he’s always done exactly what we ask of him.”
“I’m surprised at you, Barry. You haven’t been paying attention and that’s usually your strength. You should talk to Kenyon Gaskins about Mike. Of course Kenyon won’t be able tell you much since that slug he took to the back of the head left him the drooling, incontinent mess that his wife cleans up after in Kinderhook.”
“Most people think his own people did that.”
The expression on Dylan’s face begged Barry not to insult his intelligence. “Funny then that he’s been bragging about it to anyone who’ll listen. I’ve seen enough of that old-school mobster example-making bullshit and we really don’t want to play in that world. Our military friends get spooked easy enough and that Colombian bastard could bring down the whole operation with one psychotic move like that Gaskins thing.”
“We can handle him,” said Barry firmly.
“No, you can’t, Barry. No one can. You’re looking at the balance sheet and all you can see is his production. I’ve worked with those South American fuckers and their machismo shit’s got no place in our business. And beyond that our military guys are more than just business. The boss man and I go way back with them and there’s no way they should be exposed to Mariposa and his cronies.”
“So noted, I’ll mention your concerns to him,” said Barry flatly, gesturing with his eyes toward the second floor of the brownstone.
“I’m sure you will.”
“Are you available for dinner tonight?” asked Barry. “We’re supposed to meet Mike at McSorely’s. Maybe you two should clear the air, because you will be working together - so says the boss.”
“Call me,” Dylan replied calmly, already resuming the meditative state that Barry had interrupted just minutes before.
---
“Jesus! Dylan’s got a burr up his ass with Mike, doesn’t he??” An obviously frustrated Barry exclaimed as he entered the study on the second floor of the brownstone. “What happened to him? I can’t remember him being like this before.”
“I don’t know. It’s been like a three-month soul-searching bender with him. When he’s around, I’m never sure whether he’s actually around, if you take my meaning. Always wants to talk about the past, about Katie and Cara, old vacations, you know? And when he does he looks like he’s a million miles away. He should be writing romance novels instead of those military doorstops. I love the guy, but holy shit! sometimes I just can’t take it. Just do what I ask and spare me the moral analysis.”
“Where did his confidence go? asked Barry. “I can’t remember him being concerned about anything or anyone. Why is he suddenly so concerned about Mike?”
“Oh, it’s not a matter of confidence. As far as I can see, he’s more confident than ever. He’s confident that we are wrong and to tell you the truth, that worries me. Dylan’s extremely astute. If he’s seeing something in Mike that’s so bad, maybe I’m missing something. ”
“We will keep him sealed off from the military side of the house,” assured Barry.
“Yes, and he’s got to keep his drug-running the hell away from us. I absolutely will not have any association with that shit. We’re bringing him in to manage our non-military stuff and that’s it. From what I’ve seen he does an incredible job keeping the receipts coming in without resorting to terror tactics like the cartels. He’s the only house-broken Colombian I’ve ever met. The way he handled that Geissen thing netted us a shit-load of money when we should’ve taken a beating.”
“We’ve got a firm grip on Geissen’s balls now,” snorted Barry.
“Make sure you follow-up by paying off Councilman Guerieri like Mike said, the whole deal’ll fall apart if you don’t.”
“Who do you think you’re dealing with? Of course I’ll pay him off.”
“Dammit! This shit gets to be a pain in the ass! I know how Dylan feels, all I want to do is get back to my writing.”
“Take it easy, man. That’s what you’ve got me and Mike for.”
“So are we set up for McSorely’s tonight?”
“Yes, boss. Table for four at nine.”
“We’ll get the two bulls in the same room and see if they can work it out.”
“Should make for amusing dinner conversation.”
“Oh yeah.”
Barry was quiet for a time, looking as if he had something on his mind and was casting about for the nerve to say it.
“C’mon, Barry, just say it.”
“This is a tough one, but it’s been on my mind for a while.” Barry paused before continuing. “What is it that Dylan is contributing to this business? I mean, even before this latest moodiness, I’m not sure how he enhances our bottom-line.”
The boss laughed, “Barry, I love you, buddy! We all love you! You’re practically family. But always remember I’d get rid of you before I’d even criticize Dylan’s shoes.”
“Well thanks for that vote of confidence,” replied Barry sheepishly. “I think.”
---
Arriving at his Central Park East condo about an hour before she did, Dylan walked in, dropped his bag, kicked off his boots and shuffled across the room to his computer to turn on some music. Nick Drake’s whispered crooning seemed to dissolve his living room into Olmsted’s urban wood several floors below. Beyond the park, the buildings of the midtown skyline stood adrift in the amber rays of the waning sun, that spilled across the green expanse and swamped the room. Dylan forgot himself, enthralled in the eerie majesty of the panorama for a while before throwing his jacket aside and sitting down at the keyboard.
“Where did I leave this mess?” he thought, trying to cajole his mind back to the point he’d left his manuscript a week ago. His writing times had been so disjointed over the last few months that he knew his work had little chance of being worth a damn. In reality, he had given the project up for lost, but couldn’t bring himself to stop plugging away at it, as if by quitting he would end his own life.
A text message alert sounded and he grabbed his phone, relieved to have something come between him and resuming work. “I love you, Dad!!!”, it read. A smile took control of his face in place of the quizzical look that people so often mentioned to him. It was from Katie. He called her.
“Hi, honey!”
“I knew you’d call,” Katie laughed. “So predictable.”
“I hope not. That’s death to a writer.”
“It’s okay, Dad, only geeks read your stuff anyway.”
“Thanks, honey. Always there to give dear old Dad an encouraging word.”
“No problem. It’s a my job to keep your head from getting too big. And besides who else is a geek like you going to write for? What’s it about anyway?”
“Napoleon’s Italian Campaign.”
“Wow, that’s horrible! Tapping in to another huge market, I see.”
“Although, at present, I’m not sure it’s about anything.”
“Why’s that?”
“Let’s just say my writing times are infrequent, at best.”
“Why can’t you write interesting books like Cara’s dad?” Katie said, repeating a remark that she had made at age twelve which had become a standard joke between them.
“He’s just a more interesting guy,” Dylan shot back in mock hostility. “Like you ever read any of his crap either. ”
“I know,” Katie giggled. “I much prefer TV, as you know. But we are studying one of his books, The Animal East, in American Lit class. I haven’t told anyone that I grew up with him.”
Dylan laughed.
“Oh yeah, please thank Allyson for the boots. Is she there?” Katie asked.
“She just got off work, should be here soon.”
“When are you two getting married?”
“Never.”
“C’mon. Allyson is the only one of your girlfriends I’ve even remotely liked.”
“I know, I just wanted to hear what you really thought. How’s Cara?”
“Popular as ever. She could put together a circus with all the clowns that follow her around. Oh, here she comes now.”
“Okay, honey. Nice talking to you. Love you, baby.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
---
Allyson pressed her body into the warm spot Dylan had left on the sheets, resting her head on the pillow he had just vacated.
“Get your Irish ass back here, I’m cold.”
“You’re always cold. Doesn’t matter when or where.” Dylan said as he came back into the room with two glasses of Jameson. “This should warm you up.”
“Thank God I found you then, you’re always warm.”
“Hey, it was me that found you.”
“You couldn’t find Central Park, my love.”
Dylan laughed.
“I wish you didn’t have to go out tonight. We could stay here all night.” Allyson said seductively.
“Inviting, but I’m afraid there’s no getting out of this one.”
“You are truly at his beck and call.”
“Yes. This is true. I’m his bitch.”
“No, you’re not. You’re mine.”
“You must not mind being with second best then. I mean, after all, you’ve had the side-by-side taste test. You did date him for a while and, as his best friend, I can tell you that you had your hooks in him. He was a mess when you cut him loose. I mean, for about 24 hours.”
“I find your second-bestness to be cute and endearing,” Allyson laughed. “And besides, Mr. FirstBest scared the shit out of me. The way you and so many of his friends seem look at him with almost medieval loyalty. It’s scary. No woman could deal with that. And, as for Cara, she’s just as terrifying.”
“Awww, what’s the matter with Cara?”
“She’s still a child to you. But she’s Daddy’s girl to the core. Everyone who comes in contact with either of them will pay the price. You, on the other hand, have all his best qualities, but you are so generous and so thoughtful - to a fault really - and when I look in your eyes, I can see that you understand what it’s like to be a mere human being like me.”
“High praise indeed, my love. But there’s nothing “mere” about you,” Dylan said, looking down at her naked body, cuddled up next to him, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and sighed as if overwhelmed.
Allyson smiled. “May I tell you something in complete confidence?”
“Go right ahead, darling.”
“You are certainly not second best in this particular arena.”
“You make it easy.”
“I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too, lover. And what’s even more unbelievable, Katie actually likes you too. For, as you know, she hates anyone who even gets close to me.”
“Wow. Yeah. That’s pretty unbelievable.” She paused, then looked up at him seriously. “So when can we do some sailing? I’m not talking about wandering up and down the Hudson on a summer’s day. I’m talking about a big trip, a long trip, like two months in the Caribbean. I’m sick of all the talk about the trips you guys took in the good old days. You said you wanted to do that with me. I want to see the legendary Dylan Corcoran at the helm.”
The expression on his face changed. He looked lost in thought, regretful and almost sad. Allyson could almost feel his body tighten. “If you only knew how much I want to do that. But I don’t know when that’s going to happen again. Sailing was my whole world for years. Most people live on land and vacation on the sea; it’s the other way ‘round for me. I never feel completely at home unless I’m sailing.” His gaze seemed to be drawn further and further away and a look of hopelessness crept into his expressive green eyes. “But now, I feel like I’m on a lee shore. Stuck on this god-damned, motherfucker of an island.”
“Ah, my melancholy Irishman,” said Allyson, trying to joke, while inwardly concerned, helplessly watching him drift off from her. She pulled herself toward him. “You know, any decision you make, anywhere you want to go, I’m with you - if you want me. I know you’re sick of this place. Sick of your work and whatever it is that you and the boss do. Maybe sick of him. I can’t understand your attachment to him.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s gotta be hard for any outsider to understand, but it’s all in the history we have together. He’s means more to me than a brother ever could. And it’s not just me feeling that way. All of us, who served with him, owe him so much. In the Balkans, in 1992, he took a squad of us into the foothills of Srebrenica to kill Radislav Krstic. This was a completely secret operation, to the Army it wasn’t even happening, but the Serbs seemed to know everything about it. We were deep in the hills, trying to work our way behind them where they weren’t well-defended.
“Everything was going perfectly, we thought, until they came directly at us. We thought we were invisible. Obviously, we weren’t. They came at night and shot the shit out of us. We were all wounded. There was no way it could be avoided. There wasn’t a cubic inch of our position that wasn’t completely shot up. I was hit with so much shrapnel that I looked like Swiss cheese and had taken a round directly through the calf and another grazed the back of my head. I was bleeding like a motherfucker. And everyone was messed up just as bad. Two of us were dead. There was blood all over the place. We didn’t figure we had any choice but to surrender and see if they would let us live, which was doubtful at best. But, he wasn’t having any of it. Those of us who were conscious enough to fight, did. The wounded and dead were divided up between us to look after. We worked our way into a defiladed position and fought like animals.
“He dragged us along the whole way. Told us we were all coming out of there no matter what. After a while, we inflicted so many casualties on them that they backed off to regroup and came back at us with reinforcements, but we had gotten out of there by then. They followed us for three days, but we outran them. We didn’t stop to rest once. We brought our dead with us. Bar none, the Balkans are easily the most murderous terrain on the planet. There wasn’t one of us that he didn’t carry on his back, push along, cajole, yell at to keep moving. And we made it out. We should’ve died ten times over. There were a dozen of us, the ten of us that weren’t killed in the initial assault are alive today only because of him. He did all this with bullet fragments in his thigh and armpit.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The look in his eyes had her spellbound. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she ran her hands over the still angry-looking scars that notched his muscular arm.
“And that was only one example. Talk to the guys who have been with him in dire circumstances. He seems to have almost unlimited capacity to infuse others with his strength. To carry men. When he’s around you don’t worry about the outcome of the task at hand. He takes care of that. You can concentrate on what you do best; he takes the rest on his shoulders. Maybe that’ll give you an idea why I could never leave him with unfinished business.”
“Unfinished business?” she asked, wincing, unsure that she wanted an answer. “What is it that you do? There are all sorts of rumors. I used to think that the fact that the two of you are ex-military with successful writing careers and dedicated fans, had led to the kind of crazy myths that I hear. Criminal activity. Gun-running. Soldier-of-fortune stuff.”
“The gist of what you hear is true - there’s really no point in saying any more than that. It wasn’t too long ago that I wouldn’t have dreamed of even saying this much to you. But, to tell you the truth, I’ve stopped caring. I’ve lost all judgment in these matters - and he knows it. It was never supposed to go this far. It was a means to an end. And now it’s the end. Perhaps. I don’t know. You never know, when you start something, whether it’ll become your life’s work. I know that now. I didn’t know that then. And I’m not sure if even he can handle what it’s become. He’s unsure of himself. And that’s something I’ve never seen in him before. I can see it in his eyes. He always was a drinker, the amount he can put away is incredible, but lately I haven’t seen him that he’s not at least partially tanked. He always heads for the bottle when he’s stressed or his conscience is bothering him.”
Seeing how it had affected her, he paused, then laughed, lamely trying to lighten the atmosphere, but finding he didn’t have the will to. “I’m okay. Some things can’t be helped. Some things work their way so deeply into your soul, you can’t just decide to leave them. You can only meet them head-on and hope that they let go of you.”
“That’s bullshit! Someone like you can do whatever he decides and take whatever consequences come of it.” Then pausing, “I assume you’re talking about him.”
“Maybe that was true a few years back, but not anymore. When the butcher’s bill comes, you pay it.” He stopped, let the seriousness drop from his face and looked at her with a smile. “Whatever comes, I love you.”
His phone rang.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Dylan said. Then turning to Allyson, “I gotta go.”
