Ben ground his jaw shut and looked away. The breath was whistling in and out of his nostrils.
“Yeah, maybe now you’re starting to see it. You’ve got anger inside you, son. Maybe it’s all-natural, or maybe something happened along the way and made it worse. Either way, it’s in your nature to seek out enemies and destroy them. It’s what you do. It’s what you’re good at. Some people play the piano, some people race cars. You destroy enemies. And that’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with it. The country needs men like you and I wish we had more. But you need direction. You need that violence to be channeled. Because if somebody’s not authorizing enemies on your behalf, you’re going to go out and create some on your own, like an attack dog off its leash. You think what happened in Manila was a one-off? It wasn’t. It was the beginning of the rest of your life.”
Ben realized he was gripping the edge of the table, to steady himself or throw it aside he wasn’t even sure anymore. He opened his hands and flexed his fingers and concentrated again on slowing his breathing.
He knew Hort was right. If any of it had been bullshit, he’d have laughed it off. The way it was enraging him, though… why would that be?
Because the truth hurts.
“No one else talks to me like that,” he said after a moment. “No one.”
Hort nodded. “No one else cares enough to take the chance.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want you to stop this foolishness. There’s a major shit storm heading our way right now and I need your help to stop it. So I need you to stop acting out like a wounded adolescent. I need you to be more self-aware and to show more self-control. Can I count on you for that?”
Ben wiped his lips with the back of a hand. He’d already spent so much time thinking, the hell with the unit, he was out, he could never trust Hort again… and here was the man himself, telling him not only that he was back in if he wanted, but acting like he’d never even left. Telling him he was needed.
It was confusing as hell. But also…
It felt good. So good.
A rivulet of sweat ran down into his eye. He blinked. “Give me that handkerchief, will you?”
Hort handed it to him. Ben unfolded it and wiped his face.
He gave the handkerchief back to Hort. “You said something about a shit storm?”
Hort nodded and stood. “I did. But first, let’s get you the hell out of here.”
JA Konrath’s Works Available on Kindle
Whiskey Sour
Bloody Mary
Rusty Nail
Dirty Martini
Fuzzy Navel
Cherry Bomb
Afraid
Origin
The List
Disturb
Jack Daniels Stories (Collected Stories)
Crime Stories (Collected Stories)
Horror Stories (Collected Stories)
Truck Stop
Suckers by JA Konrath and Jeff Strand
SERIAL UNCUT by Blake Crouch and Jack Kilborn
Floaters by JA Konrath and Henry Perez
Dumb Jokes & Vulgar Poems
Endurance
Trapped
Shaken
Draculas by JA Konrath, Blake Crouch, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson
Banana Hammock
Copyright © 2009 by Joe Konrath
Introduction copyright © 2009 by Joe Konrath
Cover art copyright © 2009 by Carl Graves
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joe Konrath.
October 2009
The formatting and interior design of this ebook was done by Rob Siders at http://www.52Novels.com.
The cover art was done by Carl Graves at http://extendedimagery.blogspot.com.
Print and audiobook versions of Jack Daniels Stories are also available.