He sat at the bar studying the rows of polished glasses and novelty advertising ornaments arranged against the mirror encrusted carved oak. It was an old bar. It had been there for many years. Nothing much had changed since the day it was opened at the turn of the last century.
The wail of a steel guitar wound its way through his nerve endings as some unknown singer bemoaned his ill-fated love affair. His more sophisticated musical palette should have been offended by the basic three-chord tune but somehow the oversimplification of life present in the melody was just what his troubled soul needed at the moment.
He was on his third brandy. A $50 shot, it was the most expensive the bar stocked. The bartender mentioned that the bottle had sat dusty and untouched for years. The stub of his $25 dollar cigar, also a novelty item in this bar, was burned from one end, and chewed from the other. All that remained was a three-inch stub held between his thumb and first finger.
It was a bad habit he’d become reacquainted with, but who the hell cared, it gave him a shallow form of comfort. He’d lost his chosen career, and probably a second one. Landing a C-130 on a carrier didn’t exactly qualify him as a low profile agent. He’d lost the only woman he really wanted to that weasel of a spy. What difference did it make if he enjoyed a few guilty, unhealthy pleasures? He just wasn’t in the mood for the honorable, high moral, ethics that had driven his life.
The girl on the barstool next to him had flirted with him for the past fifteen minutes and he’d flirted back, more an automatic response than a direct mission. Flirting came easily and he was close to allowing it to take him further. The thought occurred he’d probably get rolled for his efforts, given his luck lately.
Smiling in her direction again, and answering her leading question with a bold suggestion, he froze when he heard a voice at his back.
“Is this what you’ve come to Rabb? Picking up bimbos in bars?” The voice grating on his ears was that of his chief nemesis, the bumbling spook who had engineered his last run of bad fortune.
He spun, nearly spilling his drink.
“What the hell do you care, Webb? And watch your mouth about the lady.” He snarled at the man. Rabb had to give him points, he didn’t back away, merely held his ground staring Rabb down.
Webb snorted impolitely at Harm’s warning and answered caustically. “I don’t. It’s better for me. I’m just here to make sure you truly are in self-destruct mode.” The spy answered with a smarmy grin. “You might say I’m reveling in your defeat.”
“I may be down, Webb, but I’m not defeated. Not by a long shot,” Rabb replied with fighting surliness.
“Well I think you are, and it gives me a clear path. Now she’ll be mine entirely,” the spook crowed.
“What the hell are you talking about, Webb? You know, you’re getting on my nerves. Why don’t you just go away?” Realizing his responses were becoming boring and repetitive, Rabb turned back to the blonde, but she’d lost interest. She had moved several stools down, to a young wannabe cowboy type in jeans and one of those fancy shirts with pearl buttons.
“Don’t turn your back on me, Rabb,” Webb challenged, poking the taller man on the shoulder blade. “I came here to settle this with you.”
“Settle what?” Rabb was too surprised to react to the offensive touch. As far as he was concerned, everything was settled.
“Sarah. I want her for my own, and I want you out of the way so I can have her.” To Clayton Webb the explanation seemed superfluous.
“You do have her.” Rabb was still puzzled. “Go away Webb, you’re being tiresome,” he dismissed the spy, and turned back to his drink, lifting it for a sip.
“Not until I beat you for her,” Webb declared hotly, grabbing Harm’s arm and spilling his drink.
Slowly Harm turned to look at the man as though he’d lost his mind. Brushing the drops of liquor from his shirtfront, he flicked them in Clay’s directions.
“Let me get this straight,” Harm responded in a dangerously low tone. “You want to fight me for Mac?” he asked, talking in small words as though to a simple-minded child.
“Precisely,” Webb declared, the hot emotion of some long forgotten primal instinct twisting his features. “I’m going to whip your ass once and for all, then she’ll be mine.”
“And if I were to beat you? That’s conceding I’ll fight you, of course. What then, Webb?” Harm asked in the same quietly dangerous tone.
“Then she’s yours,” Webb shrugged fatalistically. “But it won’t happen. I have more than you suspect, Rabb.” The challenge was clear.
“You’re out of your mind. Mac isn’t a trophy; she’s not some prize at a carnival. Some doll you win if you hit the mark. What’s the matter with you Webb, have you been spending too much time in third world countries? We don’t treat women like that any more,” Rabb was incredulous now.
“All I know,” Webb responded. “Is that if I don’t whip you for her, you’ll always be out there somewhere. If I win then she’s mine for good.”
“And what about what she wants?” Harm asked, beginning to wonder if that relationship wasn’t as settled as he believed.
Webb waved his hand in that annoying habit of dismissal he’d adopted lately. “Doesn’t matter. This is between us Rabb. What’s the matter? You chicken to fight me?” Webb stepped closer, comically tilting his head to look into the taller man’s eyes, but the look was serious, and the intent was clear.
Without warning, he laid a quick punch into Harm’s midsection. Harm’s reaction was immediate. He grabbed Webb’s shoulder and hauled back for a fist in the other man’s face.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” the bartender’s voice boomed, as the burly man hurried from behind the bar and grabbed both of them by the shirtsleeve. “Outside now or I’m calling the cops. I don’t give a damn if you kill each other, but you aren’t breaking stuff in my bar.”
He gave them both a hearty shove towards the door and they half-stumbled, half-fell, through the opening. Tumbling, but barely keeping their balance, they turned to face each other.
“C’mon Webb, this is silly. Mac’s a woman with her own mind. She’s already chosen you. Let’s not get stupid,” Harm tried again. He didn’t mind a good bar fight for a good reason, but this seemed gratuitous at best.
“Who you calling stupid?” Webb responded with a dialogue like the worst movie Harm had ever seen. Shocked at the change in this historically dapper spy, he responded in kind.
“You. You pansy assed SOB.” The last word was hardly out of his mouth when Harm felt the other man’s foot contact with his ribs. He wasn’t certain if he heard them crack, but he lost breath for a minute. “Damn you,” Harm responded as he hauled off and delivered a punch to Webb’s jaw.
Webb staggered, but didn’t fall. He responded with a move worthy of a Marine, and the next thing Rabb knew he felt a blow to the back of his knee and his legs collapsed. He went down hard with barely the chance to protect his head from the tarmac.
Apparently Webb was serious, and Rabb had underestimated his somewhat less than toned appearance. Perhaps, that too, was a ruse of spy-craft. Gathering himself, he sprang to his feet just as Webb launched in Rabb’s direction. They ran full into each other wrestling, grabbing, punching, pushing, twisting, and punching again. Like a pair of teen-age boys fighting in the schoolyard, none of either man’s trained techniques came into play after the first blow.
It was nothing more than sheer testosterone that kept them going as blow after blow fell. Webb’s tricky moves were balanced by Rabb’s longer reach and larger stature. It kept them evenly matched. Neither was winning, but they were both a long way from losing. The name-calling had given way to grunts, groans, and an occasional cry of sharp pain, as they worked to inflict damage on each other.
Finally, a lucky blow put a nearly exhausted Webb on his back and Rabb stood over him panting and dripping perspiration.
“Well go ahead, what are you waiting for, finish me off,” Webb taunted from his bleeding mouth. Rabb looked at him with his one good eye, the other nearly swollen shut.
“Don’t be stupid Webb, its over. I hope you feel better.” He took a step to turn and go, when he heard a voice and the clack of heels coming from the parking lot.
“Harm, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The voice of Lt Colonel Sarah Mackenzie cracked through the air like a whip.
“He started it, Mac,” Harm excused, the way a young boy would to the principle when a schoolyard fight broke up.
“Don’t be stupid, Harm. Why would he do that?” She sank to her knees beside the smiling spy.
Harm stood up straight and backed a step away. It had been a setup, another of Webb’s nasty little tricks, and it had obviously had the exact effect he had planned.
Turning to leave, he was stunned when he heard Clay declare, “He’s right Sarah, I did.”
Harm stood motionless, listening to the response. “Don’t be silly Clay. Why would you do that? Harm is five inches taller than you, and outweighs you by fifty pounds. Did you suddenly have a need to commit suicide?” she asked incredulously.
“No. I needed to win you,” he replied with questionable male logic.
“You what?” She pulled back slightly. Harm had turned halfway back, to watch with curiosity where this was going.
“I needed to win you, so I baited him into fighting me. That way you’d be mine,” he answered with impeccable reason.
The look on her face gave Harm the quick thought that for Webb to express this sentiment to Mac was even more suicidal than attacking him.
“And you went along with this idiocy?” She looked at Harm as though she wished to take him apart with her bare hands.
Harm just spread his hands and hunched his shoulders, characteristically at a loss for words.
“No,” Webb gave the deprecating answer. “Not until I hit him twice, and kicked him in the stomach,” he explained proudly.
“You did what?” She rose quickly, dropping his head from her lap. It nearly hit the pavement, but his control showed he wasn’t as badly hurt as he’d appeared. Climbing agilely, if sorely, to his feet, he faced her.
“He was being a coward, he wouldn’t fight me. Sure, he’s brave enough flying at thirty thousand feet in his jet powered titanium armor loaded with warheads, but he wouldn’t even fight me man to man for you, Sarah. I had to prove to you that I was more of a man than he is so you’d be mine,” his face was alight with the clarity of his simple assessment.
“You’re insane.” She looked at him with the uncomplicated loathing one reserves for things that crawl in dark places.
“Don’t be silly, Sarah. Now that I won, you’ll be mine. Now come along like a good little girl and tend your warrior’s wounds. ” He grasped her wrist and started to lead her away.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Webb?” She shook her hand free forcefully. “You’ll survive those bruises, but I think you’d better have your head examined. And you,” she rounded on Rabb. “You’re just nuts for going along with this. I would have expected better of you,” she accused.
“Perhaps,” he replied coolly, “but a person can only take so much, Mac, and I’m getting truly sick of being called names tonight. I apologize, Webb. I hope I haven’t hurt you,” he remarked as he turned to re-enter the building.
“Not at all, Rabb. After all, I won. Come on Sarah, my wounds need tending.” Webb poked at her again, as Rabb disappeared back into the bar.
Walking back to the stool he had occupied, Harm downed the refilled glass of brandy in one gulp, threw several bills on the bar, including a generous tip, and stubbed out the cigar. He heard the roar of a powerful engine tear from the parking lot, and assumed it was Mac and Webb. Good, they deserved each other he thought.
“Hey big boy, would you like some help tending your wounds?” The blonde sidled up to him with an offer that included more than nursing. This display of ‘manliness’ had apparently been exciting for her.
“No thanks,” he looked down at her. “More women in my life is definitely not what I need right now.” Turning on his heel he headed out the door, bent on an appointment with an all night drug store.
As he entered his apartment carrying the bag of first aid items, he was assaulted by the late summer stuffiness. Though it was October, the weather had remained warm, and his apartment was miserable in the evenings. This, as much as anything, had led him to the bar to drown his sorrows. Turning on a couple of fans and opening some windows, he created a cross draft of the cooling night air by leaving the front door open.
He stripped off his torn bloody shirt and threw it in the general direction of the laundry basket, figuring he’d fish it out and toss it in the garbage tomorrow. He headed for the bathroom with the plastic sack of bandages, antiseptics, and cold compresses.
He hadn’t surveyed his wounds before this and had simply purchase what the night clerk at Walgreen’s had recommended. There was enough stuff in the bag to dress an entire platoon of Marines after a pitched battle, but he ‘humphed’ to himself, if he was going to hang out in bars he might need the supplies again. Dressing the few cuts and cleaning the scrapes and bruises, he broke open the cold pack and gingerly applied it to his swollen and blackening eye, as he wandered back into the kitchen. He certainly didn’t need more alcohol, in fact he might just swear off forever, but he did need a bottle of water.
“That isn’t going to be pretty for a while. Shouldn’t you see a doctor?” He heard from the doorway. He was proud of the fact that he hadn’t flinched at the sound of her voice.
“What are you doing here, Mac, gloating?” he asked tiredly.
“That’s one of the stupider things you’ve said, Harm,” she replied levelly. She wasn’t here to fight.
“Is this anything new Mac? Here we are once again trading barbs. And I told you I’m tired of being called names for tonight. Try me again tomorrow.” He walked towards the couch without inviting her in.
“Sorry, Harm,” she replied with just a hint of contriteness. “It was a bit of a surprise finding the two of you fighting like that.”
“Where’s your boyfriend? Why are you here?” he repeated.
“If you mean Webb, I’m going to tell you one last time, Harm, please listen carefully. He isn’t my boyfriend, he never was, and after seeing what happened tonight, he never will be. As to where he is, I believe his mother ordered her car around as I was leaving, so she could take him to a private clinic. I’m here to see if you’re okay.” Her voice softened a little.
“I’ve been worse. Does it excite you to have men fighting for you? You’re the third woman tonight who’s offered to tend my wounds,” he commented acerbically.
“Stop it, Harm. No, this behavior doesn’t turn me on, and no, I’m not here to tend your wounds. I am here to find out what happened and why. I’m not sure if I believe Webb could behave so badly, but I’m certain I never thought you could, so I want to know why. And don’t give me that ‘winning the hand of the fair maiden’ crap if you want to survive the night,” she warned.
He smiled a little past his swollen face at her sudden ire.
“Possibly a conflict of outlook, is the best way to describe it, Mac,” he sighed and tossed himself down on the couch. She took the chair across from him.
“I’m not sure I understand. It doesn’t make sense.” She looked more open to hearing what he had to say and at least she’d stopped calling him names.
“Webb said I had to fight him so he could win you. I told him no, you aren’t a carnival prize. He kept poking at me, then he threw a punch. The bartender tossed us both outside, and when we landed Clay kicked me in the stomach. Next thing I knew we were beating the crap out of each other, then you broke it up. If you can make sense of that let me know in the morning. My head is splitting and I want to go to sleep.” He closed his eyes in an open invitation for her to go.
“You’re right Harm, it doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry you got into this because of me,” Mac rose somewhat disconsolate, and started for the door.
“Don’t blame yourself, Mac,” he said softly, taking her hand as she turned. “This came out of Webb’s head. I don’t know why or where it came from, but it wasn’t your fault.”
She stopped and hesitated for a moment, then took a step back. Sitting on the edge of the couch beside him, she put her hand over his and lifted the ice pack. That looks kind of bad Harm. I think you should see a doctor.
He looked at her for a long moment. “I’ll be okay, Mac, but thanks. I just want to sleep. I have a nasty interview in the morning and I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Does this have anything to do with your current heroics?” she smiled softly.
“You know about that?” he asked, stunned.
“It’s all over the news. Couldn’t miss it,” she grinned, but there was a hint of pride in her eyes. “Saved the day again didn’t you, flyboy?”
“I didn’t exactly plan it that way, Mac,” he sighed, bone weary.
“I know, Harm. That’s what makes it so great. You never do plan these things, they just happen to you and you always seem to find a way to pull them out. I guess,” she chewed on her lips for a minute, and blinked her eyes rapidly, “I guess some of us sort of count on you to do it, even if it makes us angry when you do. That doesn’t make sense either, does it?”
“Not a bit,” he smiled. For the first time tonight, he wondered just what Webb’s motives had actually been with this little game. The spook had almost deliberately sandbagged his attempted relationship with Mac. At least Mac’s last comment had clarified things a little.
“Um…Mac…would you… that is, do you mind…?” he stumbled, uncertain if he should ask.
“What, Harm? What’s wrong?” She was instantly concerned. Harm never asked for anything he could do himself. She turned the hand that somehow still held hers, inexpertly checking his pulse, then laid her other hand on his head to see if he was feverish.
“It’s just…I guess if you didn’t mind, I could use a couple aspirins.” He could get them himself, but he was just too tired to move.
“Harm, are you dizzy? Do you feel like you can’t stay awake? Maybe you have a concussion,” Mac worried.
“No, Mac, I didn’t hit my head on anything except Webb’s fist. But I can…” he started to rise, realizing he shouldn’t have asked.
“Not on your life, flyboy. Stay put.” She pushed him back down. “Two aspirins it is, no, Tylenol would be better, then off to bed with you,” she ordered.
As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered at the sudden concern he saw in her eyes for him. Was it always there and he had just missed it?
It was the first time in over a year that he’d had a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t until morning, when he awoke to find her dressed in one of his t-shirts, tucked up against him and sleeping soundly, that he understood why he had slept so well.
End