Damascus Road by Charlie Cole Page B

of men. Suits.
One of them saw me coming and told his compatriots. The man with his back to me
turned to look. It was the Senator, Blake Harrison. The man I had attacked only
hours earlier.
    “No… no… no…” I said. “Take me back to my cell. No way. Take
me back to my cell right now.”
    I backed away, but Mike caught my arm. I was in no shape to
flee or struggle so I stopped, but tried to distance myself from the men,
leaning away from them like a child unwilling to enter the dentist’s office.
    Harrison was walking toward me.
    “Sir, I really don’t think you should—“
    This from the Secret Service agent at his side. Harrison
calmed him with a smile and a ‘wait here’ gesture before turning his attention
back to me.
    “Mr. Marlowe, please hear me out,” Harrison said.
    Around his neck, I could see the reddened flesh, already
beginning to bruise where I grabbed him. I cringed, already regretting speaking
harshly to him.
    “Sir…” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought…”
    I struggled to find the words, the easy explanation.
    “You were lied to, Mr. Marlowe,” Harrison said gravely. “You
lost your father, and his murderer lied to you, deceived you, in fact. You were
distraught.”
    Harrison was standing closer to me than common sense would
have dictated. He had no fear of me, even though I’d nearly killed him hours
before. His face was sincere, eyes open, honest, and without guile.
    “Yes…yes, sir,” I managed.
    “Please understand, Mr. Marlowe,” Harrison said. “I don’t
mean to diminish what you’ve gone through, but I think that in some small way,
I understand.”
    I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore; I was staring down
at my boots.
    “Why are you doing this?” I said.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I don’t deserve this. I tried to kill you,” I said. “Why
would you want to help me?”
    Senator Harrison looked from me to Mike to his own Secret
Service agents.
    “Well, it’s the right thing to do,” he said, as if the
answer was obvious to everyone else in the room.
    “I don’t get you, man,” I said.
    Harrison threw his head back and laughed deep and loud. He
clapped me on the shoulder, giving me a start.
    “Shall we?” he said and gestured for the door.
    I looked at Mike, who in turn looked back at me.
    “You going to be alright?” he asked.
    I considered the ramifications of his question. My friend,
my father… I’d lost two people in my life and in retaliation, lashed out at an
innocent man. On top of everything else, there was a madman out there
somewhere, pulling the strings. He’d killed my father, and I had absolutely no
leads, nothing to go on.
    Then I realized that Mike wasn’t talking about the big
picture. He wasn’t enquiring into my metaphysical well-being. He was only
talking about the situation at hand.
    “I’ll be alright, man,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
    We shook hands, and he watched me go with them. I wondered
how often this happened in his daily life. Not often, I wagered. Few Senators
would forgive their assassins, let alone swing by County Lock-up to bail them
out.
    Harrison signed paperwork, and talked to the desk sergeant
as we waited. I noticed that one of the Secret Service agents was looking at
me, eyes narrowed. I was no less of a threat to them, I realized. Blake
Harrison bailed me out, but I was still a threat in their eyes and therefore
under the microscope.
    “Shall we go?” Senator Harrison asked, walking back toward
us. “Oh, they returned this.”
    Harrison held out a plastic property bag that held my
wallet, keys, phone, pocket litter, and my knife. The agent closest to him
grabbed the bag before I could reach for it.
    “Sir, for your safety, it would be best if you let me review
any items before you hand them over to--,” His eyes flicked to me, but the word
eluded him. Attacker? Charity case?
    The agent plucked the knife from the property bag, pocketed
the knife quickly, then