Page 2 of Saltwater Promises
Luckily, there were no actual injuries, but the police announced that there was one person killed during the shooting. The news ran with it, reporting that “gang-related violence” resulted in the death of “a white male in his late sixties,” and soon it was blasted all over the city.
Mike didn’t appreciate being labeled in his late sixties when he was only sixty-one, but he told himself that his Gary Bomba character intentionally looked rough.
The hope was that they could finally lay “Gary” to rest. Mike liked the idea of his persona being dead. Maybe Lenny would stop looking for him, making it easier for him to investigate things on his own. He could also live a normal life. Eventually.
But even Mike didn’t realize how far this story would go. When he reported to the New York office to provide his statement, he underwent a full debrief and was told that he was part of an “exciting new prototype.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, fidgeting with the awkward guest badge.
“Well, it might be easier to show you.”
The agent led him to a different floor, where a team stood around a table, waiting for him. Mike approached slowly. The table looked like it had a dead body on it, covered in a sheet. That didn’t make any sense, though. What was this?
“Agent Grady, say hello to Gary Bomba.”
The sheet flew up, displaying the cold, lifeless “corpse” of Gary Bomba.
Mike stared at the dummy as goosebumps rippled across his arms.
“Doesn’t he look great?” the agent asked, beaming. “We used a new silicon mixture for the skin. It stays cool to the touch, and should fool anyone who comes to Gary’s funeral.”
“Gary’s funeral?” Mike repeated, walking around the table to get another angle. The other bystanders moved out of his way.
“Yes, it’s planned for tomorrow, so it was a time crunch getting the face to look right, but I think we did pretty well.”
Mike nodded. It felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He reached out a hand and poked the cheek of the dummy. The skin was soft, yet pliable. It made his stomach turn.
“Great work, guys. It’s horrible.”
The agent laughed. “The funeral parlor is prepped. Cameras and mics everywhere.”
Mike couldn’t stop staring at his dead face. “Uh huh.”
“We’re interested to see who shows up.”
“I bet.” Mike cleared his throat and turned around. That was enough innovation for one day. “Would I be able to talk to Ned?”
“Ah, sure. I’ll see if he’s available.”
See if he’s available? One of his former agents was almost shot and killed, and Ned didn’t think it’d be wise to be involved in the planning or debrief? Or to say ‘hello, glad you’re not actually dead?’
Typical Ned. All glory, no grit, and the worst supervisor Mike ever had.
He held his tongue and nodded.
Mike waited in a conference room for two and a half hours before word came through that Ned was going to call him on the secure line.
How generous of him.
“Mike! I heard you had an oopsie.”
An oopsie. Ah, yes, conversations with Ned. How had he forgotten what this was like? He hadn’t been gone that long.
Mike leaned back in his chair. “I would say it was more like an attempt on my life. But yes.”
Ned let out his characteristic forced laugh. “Glad to hear you’re okay.”
“Thank you. Did you read my report?”
