Little White Lies

interrupting me this week?

“Ah, sir? He’s already heading your way. I wasn’t able to stop him.”

Wyatt whirled out of his chair, around his desk and pulled his weapon from its holster. Barrelling past Sheila didn’t bode well. Footsteps echoed down the hall as his visitor approached. Wyatt peeked around the corner.

Stuart, dressed in solid black, his hair mussed, walked toward him.

Wyatt re-holstered his gun.

Stuart’s smile grew as he approached.

Wyatt moved into the hallway to provide a proper welcome. “Stu-”

Stuart’s fist collided with his nose.

Wyatt’s head met the door frame. His vision wavered. He inched back toward the opening and reached for his gun.

“Leave it,” Stuart said. “I’m not going to hit you again.” He took a step toward Wyatt before he added, “I don’t think.”

Nose in hand, drops of red seeped onto his palm and down the arm of his jacket. “Dammit!” Wyatt tilted his head backward in the hopes of stopping the flow.

Stuart gave a light chuckle. “You know you’re supposed to go the other way, right?”

“Fuck off.” As much as he’d wanted to hit back, he simply couldn’t. He still held too much of their forgotten friendship within him.

Wyatt walked backward into his office, back around his desk and dropped in his chair. Stuart followed, taking the seat opposite. All lankiness gone, Stuart stretched his too-long legs out and relaxed his elbows on the arms.

“What do you want?” Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m tellin’ ya, man, lean forward.” Stuart stood and pushed Wyatt’s head to the desk with one hand.

The heartbeat in Wyatt’s nostrils began to wane. He stuffed his nose with tissues. Head against the surface of his desk, he let it rest. “Whan are you doon ’ere?’”

“You screwed up my op.”

“Tanks to myn bonss.”

Stuart laughed. “Thanks?”

Wyatt sat back up and pulled out the tissues. “Talk to my boss.”

“I did. He blames your team.”

“He told me to hire them.”

“I know.” Stuart laughed again. “I’d have done the same.”

“Then why?” Wyatt asked. “Why are you here?”

“Because it’s been a long time.”

“Nearly sixteen years.”

“What happened, man? Why have we spent half our lives doing the same thing yet with no sense of partnership?”

“You know the answer to that,” Wyatt said.

Stuart leaned forward in his chair. “Julie and I divorced four years ago.”

Didn’t know you were married to her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Stuart leaned back again. “No big deal. It was three years. We’d met up at a bar one night, kinda hooked up, moved forward fast and married. I was ready to ditch her ’bout a month in. She actually put in for the divorce.” He waved a hand as if he didn’t really care. “She’s an idiot, just like you always said-well not said, but we all knew in high school. Think I might have been reliving my youth. Stupid overall decision on my part.” Stuart’s ramblings continued without pause. “Thank god we didn’t have kids. Can you imagine? I mean, me and Julie? With this job?”

Wyatt shook his head. “You come for small talk, Stuart?”

“No.” He stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced in Wyatt’s office. “I need your help.”

Lovely.

“I messed up the op in Montreal. We lost the connection when Kevin woke up in bed with both Candie and me.”

Wyatt smiled at the memory of how he’d set them up. “So the punch was for that?”

Stuart laughed. “Yeah. I owed you that one. Now we’re even.”

“What do you need help with?”

He stood behind the chair, hands on its back. “I want to work wi-I mean, for you. They want to can me over the screw-up. I’ve not been happy for a few years in my department, and our brief reunion brought back a lot of memories.”

“Not all the memories are good.”

“What do you want from me? An apology? Which I already provided, I should add.” He pointed an accusatory finger in Wyatt’s direction. “You want money? I got plenty of that, with the exception of Julie’s alimony. The woman is a real bitch.”

Wyatt shook his head.

“What then? What can I do to make up for sixteen years of lost friendship?”

“Tell me about Charley.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Stuart threw his hands up in the air. “I already told you what you wanted to know.”

“You told me she was Mira. How did you learn that?”

“I tailed her. That was all. I followed Leena-Lily-to the airport that next day.”

“Not in South America?” Wyatt noted the shock in Stuart’s eyes. He’d slipped.

“No, before. But, I did catch up with her in South America, and that was accidental.”

“Then where did they go?”

Stuart hesitated. “In South America?”

“No. That next day. You didn’t tell me then, did you? For six weeks, I tried to find her-for six weeks! You joined the Army, up and left me to look on my own. My best friend-the guy who I’d been there for. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. You gave up on me, Stuart. You gave up.”

“I’m sorry, man. Everyone told me it was in your best inter-”

“Oh cut the crap, Stuart. You were my friend. My friend. Not everyone else’s. Who were you to decide what I should or shouldn’t know?”

Stuart hung his head-the same familiar, despondent way he used to.

“So tell me now. Tell me everything you know about Charley.”

***

Wyatt drove the familiar roads with Stuart in the lead. Why he’d agreed to go, he didn’t know. Between Stuart and his Mom, he’d been suckered into it. Wyatt opted to take his own car for an easier getaway, should he need it-which he expected he would.

At first, he’d been downright pissed. He’d thrown his favorite mug into the wall where it shattered and gouged a hole he’d have to patch later. Sheila had run from her desk but left in a huff when she’d seen the mess. He’d be damned if he’d admit any curiosity.

The ride up Turner Point hadn’t changed. Only a few houses clung to the harsh grade of curved asphalt. He knew the one at the top to be the most prominent and beautiful-it always had been.

Torn with memories, Wyatt punched the gas pedal, braking hard when he got too close to Stuart’s SUV. He groused how his friend’s vehicle should have been able to handle the mountainous landscape better than his Mustang, though if he’d been in front, he’d have taken the curves far too fast to burn off some of his anger.

Stuart had told him what happened years before but not how he’d gotten involved again. What Wyatt hadn’t understood, he’d ask, and he’d damn-well get answers. He didn’t care if they accomplished the purpose of their visit or not; he had his own mission. If Stuart really wanted a job, Charley’d best be completely and absolutely honest. He’d leave Stuart to set the guilt trip if he had to.

The crawled pace around the curves stoked Wyatt’s pent-up frustration. He knew his friend did it on purpose,