Secret Agent Man

Edited by Deep Blue C

*****

Jim Cravens stood in the motel doorway, breathing in the beach air, the salty tang waking him further from his sleep as he looked at his car parked just a few feet away, the morning mist dripping from the maroon paint. He debated whether to walk or drive to the diner down the street and mentally flipping a coin, decided that driving was better in the early morning foggy darkness.

He slid behind the wheel of his Malibu, locked the doors, checked his mirrors and backed away from the motel, listening to Ronny and the Daytonas sing about their GTO. Five minutes later, he pulled into the diner's parking lot and after parking far from the other two cars in the lot, slowly walked in, making sure his personal .45 automatic was hidden on his hip beneath his untucked green shirt.

The waitress, wearing a pink apron, took him several Formica tables down from the door and he sat down on the red bench seat.

Even though it was only 5:30 in the morning, he asked for iced tea while he read the menu before deciding on a waffle with two eggs over easy and hash browns.

As the waitress brought his drink over, he gave his order and then looked out the window to the mostly empty parking lot. It had been several years since he had traveled this far north from Los Angeles and he could see Morro Rock in the brightening distance, the fog starting to dissipate.

A light silver-blue Camry pulled into the lot and an elderly couple slowly moved into the diner, sitting at the next table over, the man leaning his cane against the booth. The waitress brought Jim's food and he put honey on his waffle, watching the butter melt into golden puddles that ran to the eggs. His attention was caught by two men that walked in, faces hidden behind pig masks, the gun in the taller one's hand waking him all the way. He slowly reached down and eased out his own, keeping it below the table, hoping that he wouldn't have to use it.

The waitress dropped the dishes she was carrying, the hash browns sliding across the floor and catching everyone's eye. The robbers moved closer, blocking Jim's view of the woman but seeing the gun move up and point in her direction.

"Give us the money, bitch."

The gun waved around, left to right and back again, then was aimed at the ceiling as two bullets tore into the plaster. Whether from nervousness or drugs, Jim didn't know but the willingness to fire the gun escalated the situation. The waitress was pushed toward the register, the robber now having his arm around her waist, the gun aimed at her head. She opened it and pulled out the paltry few dollars present, shakily giving the money over. The anger at such a small amount was evident as the robber pushed her down to the floor, aiming the gun at her.

Jim had seen enough, yelled "Hey!" and ducked as the robber aimed the gun at him and put a bullet through the window, glass shattering onto the table as the window collapsed. Jim quickly brought his automatic up and fired two shots, bringing both to the floor, the one with the gun dead with a bullet to the head, blood splattering over the wall, the other one hit in the stomach. Jim quickly walked over to the two, kicking the robber's gun away, then brought his cell phone out and called 9-1-1, giving the name of the diner and quickly explaining what had happened; five minutes later a police cruiser and then an ambulance arrived.

What had started out as a quiet morning had become a complicated mess. Identifying himself and showing his FBI credentials, he sat back down and finished his iced tea. The police had closed off the parking lot and the ambulance stayed after the second robber died from his wounds, the paramedics attending to the waitress.

"There's nothing you could have done, given what was happening," said the young officer. "I think these two boys had been sticking up several diners over the last month. You just saved us the cost of a trial."

Jim called the Los Angeles FBI office and explained what had happened, knowing that a mountain of paperwork would be waiting for him when he arrived back in LA. Vacation time was looking a lot like work.

An hour later, after following the young policeman to the station, Jim was giving his statement to the sergeant .

"You didn't identify yourself? You didn't know they were teenagers?" The officer stopped typing on his laptop and looked at the FBI agent.

"There wasn't time. I felt he was going to shoot her, so I just yelled at him and shot after he fired at me."

"I understand. It happens. Too bad it was a couple of boys." He put the document to the printer and after pulling out the papers, gave a copy to Jim to sign. "We'll call you if anything else comes up."

He thought about going back to the diner to get the rest of his breakfast but decided that it was probably closed for the day.

Returning to the motel, he plopped down on the bed and put his arm over his eyes, wishing the day had gone better for all involved. It was the worst vacation he had ever had.

A little over two hours later, he woke, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It was almost noon and he still hadn't had much to eat. After running his hands through his hair and then splashing some cool water on his face, he left the room and drove toward the beach to find somewhere to eat. Up ahead he saw the Galley Seafood Grill and decided to stop there. The restaurant was quickly filling up and he felt lucky to get a table with only a few minutes wait. Looking over the menu, he decided to have the salmon.

A half-hour later, he was done with lunch and thought he would return to Los Angeles, his vacation having lost its appeal. Although he had shot and killed several lawbreakers before, this time it felt different. He didn't know why, just that it did. Maybe it was the age of the two or the uselessness of it all. At times, this time in particular, he felt he was trying to stem the tide with just a small bucket and he was tired.

A short while later, he was driving south on the 101 coast highway headed back to LA and later that evening, reached home in Hawthorne. He had inherited the house from his parents, along with two classic muscle cars. They had been killed in a car accident, a wrong-way driver hitting them head-on the Fourth of July weekend a few years earlier. The emptiness of their loss still hurt him deeply and he kept to himself, not seeking any companionship since the accident. Between the house, the lawsuit and the insurance, he was well off enough that he didn't need to work if he didn't want to.

Maybe it was time to change his life and try something different.

The next morning he was at his old Catholic high school, talking to the principal about getting a teaching position. As luck would have it, two positions were opening up, one due to retirement and the other due to a coming baby. His biology degree allowed him to move in without too much trouble, just a short summer to come up to speed with the advancements made over the last fifteen years and the promise to get a Master's degree in an appropriate field.

Now, the hard part, turning in his termination papers with the FBI downtown.

*****

"You're kidding! You can't quit, we need you here." His boss was upset, more so than Jim had expected.

"I'm sorry, but I've had it. Sometimes I feel like it's just a futile business. It's time for me to go." Filling out the paperwork took several hours, complicated by the shooting in Morro Bay, and he turned in his badge, service weapon and credentials, keeping his automatic, his personal weapon. He looked one last time at the office and walked out.

He drove over to Loyola Marymount University near the beach and signed up to audit a general biology course to refresh his knowledge and then went to the high school to fill out the remaining paperwork. He was given the keys to the lab and went in to see what changes he wanted to make. The first thing he wanted to do, he knew, was to bring in some large aquarium displays, something the lab lacked. After checking the storeroom, he saw what he needed to do and then headed to the local pet store to order five large 60 gallon aquariums. This was going to be fun, he thought.

That night, he went online to get a California Scientific Collector Permit which would allow him to go to the beach and collect specimens for the lab.

The next day, Jim went to Home Depot and ordered the lumber and plywood necessary to build the supports for the tanks and arrange for the delivery.

Two weeks later, he was sitting in a classroom at Loyola, taking notes as the professor spoke. This was going to be easy, he thought, as his long ago knowledge came back to him. The general information hadn't changed much at all and he could see that it would just be a matter of remembering what he had learned fifteen years earlier.

The summer was spent between the college and getting the lab situated, lesson plans written and afternoon trips to the tide pools below San Pedro and breakwaters near Venice to get his saltwater specimens. He felt good the first time in a long while.

*****

The middle of August arrived finally, bringing with it the first of several faculty meetings to usher in the new school year and the introduction of the two new teachers to the rest. The first day's lunch was a steak bar-be-que and handshakes all along as people came over to say "hello" or "welcome back". Jim was interested in meeting the school librarian, an attractive tall Asian woman dressed in black having rimless glasses but didn't get the chance to say more than "good morning".

Later that afternoon, he was feeding the starfishes small shrimp he had bought at the grocery store when John Kline, the physics teacher, knocked on the open door and came in.

"Hey, thought I'd give you a chance to join me in my room. I'm building a new model rocket for the class, the last one didn't end up too well." He laughed and walked over to the first aquarium. "This is pretty neat. Brother Charles didn't do much past what was in the book."

"Model rockets, huh? Sounds cool, sure. You haven't shot down any planes or anything, have you?"

"Not on purpose. I'm..."

He was interrupted by several more faculty members arriving, noisily walking into the lab. "We thought we'd see what the new guy has done with the place."

Jim spent the next twenty minutes explaining his plans for the year, showing them the improvements he had made in the short time he had prior to the opening of school. He had hoped that Amy Chin was among his new visitors but no such luck, she had spent the afternoon in the library. Maybe tomorrow, he thought, after everyone had left and John helped him close the windows that faced the street.

The two men walked next door to the physics lab and Jim saw a five foot tall model V-2 rocket sitting on one of the tables. He looked closely at it, asking, "How high do you think it will go?"

"With a small engine, probably about five hundred feet. I don't want to lose it over the fence. Wouldn't do to make the neighbors unhappy."

"I've got some NASA DVDs you could use, if you want."

"Thanks. Is it true that you were in the FBI?"

"Yeah, for fifteen years, got in after New York happened but it finally got to be too much. Time for something new. Look, it's been nice talking with you but I'm a little tired and want to go home. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"Sure, see you tomorrow."

Jim walked out and went to his car, then slowly drove home, hoping that he had made the right decision in leaving the Bureau, hoping he wouldn't miss the adrenalin rush.

*****

He was awake the next morning well before the alarm and he turned on the radio and lay there, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. After shaving and showering, he dressed, picking out a bright red tie, far different from the dark ones he had worn for years. He knew breakfast was being served at the school, so he headed out, making sure the alarm was on in the house.

He was disappointed that Amy was nowhere to be seen and then saddened to hear that she had quit, giving no reason, just leaving. He wondered what had happened.

"If you know anyone who can serve as librarian," the principal said, "let me know. We're in a bit of a bind here, now."

The rest of the day was like the earlier one, filled with department meetings and general information. Jim went back to the lab to check on his sea life and finish his lesson plans for the semester, using his summer college class as a pattern. He had used the internet to purchase science DVDs from PBS and worked them into his schedule but still didn't know what to do about his lonely personal life. The disappearance of the librarian had caught him confused, wondering why she would just up and leave and it was the talk among the rest of the teachers during lunch, this time pizza from the restaurant that also serviced the school cafeteria.

Two nights later, Jim was introduced at the PTA meeting to those that bothered to come, usually the freshmen and sophomore parents for whom the school was still a new and exciting thing to be with. It was at that meeting that the new librarian was announced, the mother of a sophomore girl. Her husband had died in Afghanistan two years earlier, the victim of a roadside bomb that also killed three others, and it was necessary to go back to work to fill the emptiness that the day held for her.

*****

Monday arrived and with it came all the students, the younger ones excited, the older one attempting to put on a mature face, a bit of the "been there, done that" look. Jim tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he passed out the class syllabus to each student, giving them a chance to look over it, the whole year spelled out, day by day. He felt that the need for daily homework was important, especially for the sophomores who might tend to live up to the reputation of "wise fools".

A low rumble of groans came from the back of the room as someone read that homework was due the next day. He started the year off with Chapter 25, Charles Darwin and Evolution, and the film "Inherit the Wind". The next three days took the students back to 1925 and southern Tennessee as the Scopes Monkey Trial unraveled before the students, most of them caught up in the drama.

When the film was finally over on Thursday, hands went up across the room as questions peppered him about the trial and how much of it was true. He had accomplished what he wanted: getting them to think.

"Mr. Cravens, my mother, the new librarian, would like to talk to you after school, if that's OK."

"Miss Brownly, that would be fine; please tell her I'll see her there after school." He wondered what he had done already; school was still in the first week. He watched the cheerleader walk away.

*****

At three o'clock, he walked down the long hallway to the next building where the library was located and walked in, still wondering what had happened.

"Ah, Mr. Cravens, thank you for coming. I was hoping to speak with you about my daughter, Susan. She wants to be a doctor when she finishes college and I was hoping that you could help her towards that end."

A look of relief must have passed over his face, for the woman smiled. "I must have sent you the wrong message, you looked so nervous."

"Who? Me? No, I'm fine. I'll be glad to help her but the class is more of a general biology class, not necessarily geared directly to medicine."

"Well, maybe she'll like to become a biologist instead. I just want to see her succeed. Would it be forward of me to invite you to dinner tomorrow?"

"I'd like that. There's no football game so we've got it free."

"Great. Here's my address. It's only a few blocks from Rosecrans Avenue."

He knew the address well, it was only a few streets over from where he lived. Saying goodbye, he drove over to Barnes and Noble in Torrance and bought several books on preparing for the SAT to bring to the dinner.

Friday found him talking about Darwin and how the young naturalist had found it hard to study before leaving for the five-year voyage around the world that eventually set the scientific world on its head. He reminded his students that Monday would have a quiz on "Inherit the Wind" and wished them a nice weekend.

*****

He easily found the Brownlys' home a few streets over from his own and walked up to the front door, carefully carrying the books he had purchased for the girl. He recognized the house model as being similar to his own. Ringing the bell, he stood back from the screen door, waiting. The sound of feet brought his attention back to the door and it opened, young Sandra smiling as she unlocked the screen door and said, "Welcome to our house, Mr. Cravens."

"These are for you," he said, handing over the workbooks. "Should help you, I think."

A voice came from inside the room. "Come in, please. Sandra, let him in."

The girl blushed and moved aside, letting him in and then closing and locking the two doors. "We're having spaghetti and meatballs. My mom makes great meatballs." She didn't seem to have any shyness considering he was one of her teachers and Jim was glad, hoping to find out from her which students would possibly be a problem in class.

"Looks like the two of us are the newbies this year; I'm glad the position opened up. Besides, it lets me keep an eye on Sandra." Mary smiled.

"Mom!"

Mary Brownly laughed and then led the three of them into the dining room. "Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. Would you like something to drink, Mr. Cravens?"

"Water is fine, thank you. Call me Jim."

He sat down in the indicated chair and quietly looked at the house, tidy but sparse in its furnishings.

"I haven't been back to the high school since I graduated and yet it was like I had never left. I guess I had a good time while I was there."

"My old school is in Jersey," Mary replied, "and I haven't been back there since I got married. We moved to California when my husband was stationed at Camp Pendleton and then we moved here when he was killed."

She stopped talking, the memory still hard, a sadness flashed across her face.

"I'm sorry for you," Jim said, feeling the sadness and hoping that the evening wouldn't be full of bad memories. "I left the FBI," he started, wishing to change the subject, "it was time for a change."

"The FBI... that must have been exciting," said Sandra. "Did you every kill anyone?"

"Sandra! That's not nice... I'm sorry, Jim, I don't know where she gets it, sometimes."

He didn't know whether to answer or not but Mary left the room to get dinner, so he let it slide.

*****

"Thank you for dinner," he said graciously, "everything was delicious. I'll see you Monday." He slowly walked to his car, amazed at how quickly the evening had gone. Sandra's questions about his FBI career took up most of the conversation and he had little time to talk to Mary. Oh, well, he thought, there's always Monday.

*****

Sunday afternoon brought an hour of "refreshing" reading about bacteria and viruses and then he caught a late football game on television but he lost interest after the second quarter due to the lopsided score. He closed up the house and got in his car, driving to the See's Candies in Manhattan Beach and buying a two-pound box as a thank you for Mary.

After coming home, he decided to go to bed, knowing that once things started going at school, he would have late nights facing him until he was "seasoned".

*****

Monday brought with it the quiz on "Inherit the Wind": seven essay questions regarding the attitudes of people toward evolution, the final one asking the students to give their own opinion. After collecting the papers, he started talking about bacteria and viruses, emphasizing the current beliefs of where they came from and finally reminding the students about their homework.