Page 27 of Cyn
“Having fun yet?”Joe asked Cyn as she stepped up to the bar next to him and ordered a beer. They’d established their roles as archeologist and assistant within a couple of friendly conversations and a game of pool, then moved on to doing their best to dig up some gossip.
“One more beer and I think it will be time to call it a night,” Cyn responded. She’d succeeded in getting a few tidbits of information about McElroy, but as none of his teammates were in the pub, the intel was pretty removed and mostly about his drinking habits—beer—and who he hung out with—his team.
“Want to ditch this crowd and sit outside?”
The outdoor patio was mostly empty and getting a little bit of fresh air sounded appealing. She glanced back at the room and scanned the crowd. No new people had arrived and, between her and Joe, they’d pretty much covered everyone in the bar who might have had something to say about McElroy.
She nodded in response to his question, and they walked outside, taking a seat against the wall a few tables away from the door.
“Get anything interesting from the women you talked to?” she asked once they’d taken their seats.
He lifted a shoulder. “Only two of them knew him—or admitted to it. Said he was a little on the creepy side; always watching the women but rarely, if ever, talking to any of them.”
“Like we’d expect if he was an incel,” Cyn said. Joe raised his bottle for a drink, and her eyes involuntarily dropped to his fingers. The man had nice fingers and definitely knew how to use them. She looked back up, and he smiled.
She laughed. “I’ll give you that smile. You deserve it.” And he did. She’d gone off like a rocket in his arms, and even though a few hours had passed, remembering it still made her a little squirmy.
“What about you?” he asked. “Did you learn anything?”
“Like you, not much. Although it was interesting that the men I talked to all had about the same lukewarm sentiments. They were all shocked at his death, of course, but as to who he was as a person, none of them even seemed to know him well enough to offer anything other than surface observation,” she said.
“Hard to tell if the lack of intel is because they truly don’t know or because they aren’t talking.”
Cyn took a sip of her beer, then set the bottle down. “I think the former. There’s something kind of anti-social about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s the combination of the incel indicators, what Mac said about him, and the general sense I picked up from the guys I talked to tonight. I don’t think any of them knew McElroy well, and none of them seem to care too much that they didn’t. Like he wasn’t worth getting to know.”
“He had a friend group in Massachusetts, though. We should look into them when we get home. Especially the ones he kept in touch with from ROTC after he dropped out,” Joe said.
Cyn nodded, then, by silent agreement, they both finished their beers and rose. Dropping the bottles at the bar on their way out, they walked back to the hotel. Djibouti in the summer was pretty much hell, but Cyn had to admit that being able to walk around in shorts and a tank top in January, even if only for a few days, was a welcome reprieve.
Much to her disappointment—none of which she’d admit to—when they returned to the hotel, Joe disappeared into his room without even so much as a goodnight kiss. Cyn stood in her own room and debated, for about thirty seconds, whether to go knock on his door. It was tempting, and after what he’d told her in his room before they’d left, she wondered what she might walk in on if she did knock. Not anything she’d mind, that was for damn sure.
Then reality got its claws into her and instead, she pulled her computer out. Losing herself in Joe for a few hours would have been a great distraction, but it was time to dig into what kind of company James McElroy kept.
* * *
At seven o’clock the following morning, she and Joe were waiting in the lobby when Kelvin Crammer pulled up in one Jeep and Mac in another. She and Joe had grabbed a quick bite to eat and shared the intel they’d each dug up after saying good night the night before. Based on what they’d discovered, she was beginning to suspect that being an incel was only one facet of McElroy’s life. The other? Well, if the chat groups his friend participated in were anything to go by, McElroy was no stranger to white extremism.
“Good morning, Mac,” Cyn said when she and Joe stepped outside.
“Cyn.” He nodded a greeting. “I trust you and Joe slept well?”
“A few beers at the pub did the job,” Joe answered.
“I have a few things to talk to Harris about,” Mac said with a nod to Joe. “Why don’t you and Private Crammer ride in the front Jeep, and Harris and I will follow? We’re not expecting any trouble between here and the sites you sent me, but both vehicles are armored and fully equipped. Private Crammer, you have the directions?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man answered.
“Excellent,” Mac said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get a move on so we’re back before the heat of the day.”
Without another word, the four piled into the two cars, and fifteen minutes later, they were caravanning south toward Somalia.
“How long have you been in the Army, Private Crammer?” Cyn asked. She glanced out the window and took in the familiar desert scenery. It had been a few years since she’d been to Djibouti, but the stark landscape never failed to catch her attention.
“A little over a year, ma’am,” he answered.
“I’m sorry you got pulled to be my chauffeur today. Probably not the most exciting assignment.”
“We’ve had a couple other scientists and archeologists come through and we do our best. It’s not the worst assignment, that’s for sure.” The young man smiled and when he did, he looked every one of his twenty-one years young.
