Starting Over Ch. 02

Not much sex in this chapter, just the story.

Main Characters:

LTC (Retired) John Jackson, 5'11", 180, 45 years old.

Marie Jackson, John's widow, 5'8", 140, 44 years old.

Angelica Jackson, John and Marie's daughter, 5'5", 125, 19 years old.

Mary Bradford, bartender, 5'5", 120, 34 years old.

Juliet Margolin, waitress, 5'4", 145, 24 years old.

Samantha (Sam) Walker, 5'6", 130 pounds, 39 years old.

Joyce Walker, Sam's daughter, 5'4", 120 pounds, 19 years old.

Marion Walker, Sam's daughter, 5'4", 115 pounds, 17 years old.

SFC (Retired) Craig Smithson, 6', 190, 46 years old.

Jeanne (aka Jasmine) Welch, 5'5", 110, 20 years old.

Previously:

A couple of minutes later I could tell Mary was asleep. I reviewed my night and was amazed at what had occurred in the three weeks since I moved here.

As I finally drifted off to sleep I looked at the ring on my finger and was glad that I had had my wife as long as I did, but also glad that Mary had come to me tonight.

Sunday, 23 September 2012, John's apartment, Seattle, Washington.

As I woke, I found that I was alone and that it was later than I expected. It had been a while since I slept so well. I guess I had Mary to thank for that. I slowly rolled myself out of bed and rose to a standing position. It was more effort than I expected. I was pretty worn out from the last week. I pulled my robe from the back of the door and went in search of Mary.

As I entered the kitchen I realized that there was no Mary. She was gone. Lying on the table was a note she had written. Uh-oh! A morning note from a lover. Maybe my joke last night from the Rod Stewart song was not so funny. I picked it up to read it. Was it going to be as cliché as I expected? Her penmanship was very good and, yes, it was just as cliché as I expected.

-----

Dear John,

Sorry about last night. I was feeling sorry for myself and got carried away. Please forgive me for doing this. It's not what I meant to have happen. I'm sorry if I made my relationship with Dave seem to be over, because I don't think it is. I really need to go talk to Dave and see if there's anything left there before I move on. I hope that your initial offer to just be friends is still there.

Mary

------

I put the note down. Damn! My first sex since losing my wife and she runs back to her boyfriend. That's not really an ego-booster.

I decided to keep up my physical conditioning if I was going to have sex with these younger women, so I went for a long bike ride. It felt good to get the blood pumping and work up a sweat. Even in the somewhat cool weather, I got a good sweat going.

When I got home, I showered and then puttered around and cleaned up the place. It was about 2pm and I was doing some laundry in the small washer and dryer set in the apartment when I heard banging. I went and looked out my front door peephole and there was a guy banging on the door across the hall and yelling for Sam. It was definitely Sam's apartment, but she didn't appear to be home. The guy didn't give up though and kept banging and getting rather worked up. After about 15 minutes of this, I decided I had had enough. I opened the door and stared at him for a second.

"I don't think anyone is home."

He turned to face me. He was about 6', skinny, maybe mid-30s, with a scraggly beard and long, stringy hair. He gave me a menacing glare. He was wired, definitely on some sort of chemical enhancement, and his eyes looked wild. "Fuck off!" He turned back and pounded on the door some more.

I closed my door. I was pissed at this asshole now so I went to my lock box. I withdrew my Glock19 and a magazine. I slapped it in and, after thinking about it, worked the slide to put one in the pipe. I was not going to face someone who was jacked up unless my weapon was ready to go. I walked back over to my door and opened it again, hiding the gun behind my back.

"I still don't think anyone is home." I said it calmly, hoping this guy would take the hint and it wouldn't come to anything, but I was prepared anyway.

He turned to me. "I thought I told you to fuck off!"

I pulled the Glock into view and made it obvious when I flipped off the safety. His eyes went wider, if that was possible. I started speaking in a kind of flippant tone. "And I think you are being rude and uncooperative. If you want to be more cooperative, then I think I can put this away. If not, you are going to have a very bad day and I'm going to have to explain to the cops what a fuckwad you were. I would hate to have to do all that paperwork and explain myself to them for hours on end, but you know what?" I stopped being so nonchalant and changed to a more commanding voice. "One way or the other you are leaving. I don't care if it's on your own power or after I have to call an ambulance, but you are leaving. You have ten seconds." He just stared. I waited for about 5 seconds and then started a countdown. "5... 4... 3..." He bolted down the stairs toward the front door.

As he reached the last landing he yelled something about coming back to take care of me. Fuck! Why did I have to threaten a lowlife like him? He was now going to be a continual problem and I was going to have to do something about it. I shouldn't have let my anger get the best of me, but I was also afraid for the three women in that apartment. I can't imagine what business he had with them, but maybe Sam was not the best at choosing her male companions.

I waited in my apartment for a while, keeping the weapon readily available. I finally decided to go out. I had made sure that I applied for a permit for carrying the weapon, but I had not received the approval yet and I was very wary of carrying it anywhere. If I had to go into a bar or restaurant, many of them had further restrictions and I didn't want to have to worry about that.

I went out to my car, a used nondescript Honda that I had purchased just to have something to drive. I still had one other car that I was going to have to sell or transport out here soon. I had to find a place to park it. I couldn't leave it outside in this weather. It was a 1965 Mustang convertible that I had purchased on a lark. It had some mileage on it and didn't have all original parts, so it was not a show car. But it was fully restored and painted so it looked good. It was also fun to drive and I had always wanted one. When I moved out here I left it back in Virginia with my daughter. She was working in that area during the summer and spent a lot of time there when out of school. She said she had no problem living there. I think it was a comfort to her because all of her childhood friends were there, but it had been torture for me.

I drove over to a movie theater and found a movie to occupy me for a while. I wanted to get out of the apartment and see something on the big screen, so I found an action film that was at least somewhat entertaining and enjoyed some popcorn. After the movie, I wondered if I should head home. I figured I had to at some point, so I left and got home when it was around 8pm. It was just getting dark and I made sure to hurry my way upstairs to my apartment. I went inside, locked the door and retrieved my weapon.

I was hoping I was not going to regret it too much, but I already did a little. I grew up with a bit of a chip on my shoulder and hated it when anyone got pushed around. I hated it when people were treated unfairly and that's part of what drew me to the military. I had wanted to do something that I thought was "right" for the country and military service was something I felt right about, and also felt that many more people should do. It worked for me. I got a degree out of it, an advanced degree, and several tours in foreign countries, some of which were a blast. There were also a couple of "other" tours where I was sent unaccompanied to deal with assholes. Those were not fun, but anyone who has been in those situations realizes that the feeling of accomplishment and camaraderie with the other soldiers was something that could not be duplicated anywhere else.

So there I was, sitting on the couch, surfing on my laptop, the TV on, not really paying much attention to either when there was a loud knock at the door. Very loud. It made me jump. I picked up my 9mm Glock and walked into the second apartment and looked thru the peephole. Nothing was visible. I cracked open the door slightly and was able to peek around the jamb to see who was there. There were three guys. One was the guy from that morning and the other two were bigger. One was a massive body builder type and the other a mean looking tattooed man with a crowbar. I ducked back inside and made my way to my kitchen. I held my gun in my right hand and punched in 911 on my cell with my left, leaving it ready to dial immediately if things went bad. "Who is it?" I said it in a sing-song voice.

The door was hammered with something heavy three times before it burst open. I was standing behind the kitchen counter with the weapon leveled at the door. My cell phone was next to me and I had dialed 911 as soon as the first blow had struck. The operator was asking something, so I picked it up and spoke when the three men stopped and stared at my gun. "There are three men who just broke into my apartment and I'm getting ready to shoot them. Please send the police and an ambulance."

The three stared at me. The very large body builder looked closely at me. "You don't want to do that, man. There are many more of us, and we will find a way to get to you. We'll make sure you don't ever threaten one of my men again."

"Guess I'll have to buy more ammo."

The large tattooed guy held up his hands. "Whoa! Whoa! Let's calm down here. We just need to know why you threatened our boy Jack here." There's the leader.

I stared at him and thumbed the hammer back. "You have a funny way of just 'stopping by' to ask that question. Your boy Jack here is a major fucking idiot, and because I asked him to leave when he was pounding on the door across the way for a half hour, you come back and break down my door. I'll have to have the entire door and frame replaced. Are you going to pay for that?" Without a word being spoken, they started spreading out a little and I stood up straighter. "Move too far away from each other and I'm going to shoot at least one of you to be able to focus my attention on the other two. I suggest you exit the way you came or I'm going to shoot and worry about the police later."

They stopped and the other two looked at the tattooed man. He was so cocksure and full of himself that he grinned and challenged me. "You got the balls to pull that trigger, little man."

The sound of a gun going off is loud enough that everything else seems real quiet for a moment afterwards; all you hear is a ringing in your ears. When I pulled the trigger it was aimed between the tattooed man's legs. I was trying to miss him, but if I hit him, so what. I would worry about that later. Evidently, I missed, but he knew where it went. They all stopped moving and the other two looked down at the ground between the tattooed man's legs where the bullet had entered the floor. The fear in their eyes was apparent, but the tattooed man just looked angry. I decided to bait him a little.

"Anything else you want to say, smart-ass?"

He stared at me and motioned for the other two to get out. "That was not a smart move. I'll find a way to fuck you up, you piece of shit."

I smiled. "We'll see won't we?" Oh, well, we were well past the point of me getting out of this without completely pissing them off.

Suddenly, before they could get out onto the landing there was banging and shouting and lots of noise as the cops swarmed up the stairs. I put my gun on the counter as they reached the landing and put my hands up. The tattooed man just stared at me, his glare full of menace. The other two were not as calm and acquiesced to the cops' commands immediately. The tattooed man just stood there and stared at me as they took him and cuffed him. Then another cop came in and looked at me and the gun. He told me to put my hands on the counter and I did so. He took my Glock, did a quick search of my person, and then handcuffed me. He picked up my phone and shut off the connection to the 911 operator. I guess there was no avoiding this.

We got to the police station and I didn't see the other guys. They must have arrived before me because I could see the cars they had been transported in. I was muscled out of the car and into the station. They processed me like any other suspect. They took and inventoried my wallet and keys, which was all I had in my pockets. I was photographed and fingerprinted and then taken into an "interview" room where I was handcuffed to the table. After about 30 more minutes a detective came into the room. At least I thought it was a detective because he was in street clothes with his badge displayed from his belt.

"Are you John Jackson, Lieutenant Colonel, U. S. Army, retired?"

"That's correct."

He held up my Glock. "Is this your weapon?"

I looked at it. "Appears to be."

"I see you just applied two weeks ago for a concealed weapon license."

"Correct."

He stared. "Nothing to add?"

"Like what? You didn't ask me a question."

"So, it's going to be like that, eh?"

"Like what? You didn't ask me any other questions. The fact of the matter is that three guys tried to break into my apartment and attack me. I didn't shoot them. I even tried to talk them out of it. You probably have a recording of the entire incident, so why is it taking so long for me to get some attention and get out of here? You haven't even taken a statement yet."

He smiled and acted like he was going to hold this over me. "You're pretty sure of yourself. You still discharged a weapon illegally and can be charged with that. We'll have to see what the other perps have to say before we can make a decision. One of them said you tried to kill him."

"Well, then, when is someone going to take my statement?"

"We'll get to that."

It was late, I wasn't happy, and I decided I had had enough of this. I couldn't figure out why he was stalling me, so I said in my most sardonic voice. "Well, in that case, you'd better call me a lawyer. I can see you and I are not going to get anywhere."

He glared at me. "Okay, big shot. We'll see."

He left and I only waited a couple of more minutes before three men came in. One was the same detective as the first time, but the other two were a little older and one had a gold badge. He was the boss, I figured. He spoke first.

"Are you the LTC John Jackson who was in Afghanistan with the 101st in 2002-2003?"

I looked at him warily. He looked a little familiar, but I knew I hadn't met him before. Where was this coming from? "Yes, I am."

He waved my initial protagonist over. "Uncuff him." He did so reluctantly. The senior detective continued by sticking out his hand to introduce himself. "I'm Jeff Smithson. My brother Craig served with you there and told me some things about you."

Oh, Smithson. SFC Craig Smithson had been a rock solid NCO in my battalion and I had been out observing with his platoon when we were ambushed. He and I had both taken shots during that exchange and his platoon leader had been killed, but we both survived -- with bullet wounds. I shook his hand and tried to smile. "Okay. Thanks for taking the cuffs off." I didn't want to talk about the incident in Afghanistan.

"Well, we aren't going to get too excited about the discharge of a firearm towards a major drug dealer and his henchmen. The 911 call is pretty clear about what happened and how you tried to warn them off. You were, after all, in your own apartment."

"Drug dealer, huh?"

"Yes. It seems that the guys you pissed off are part of the major drug shipment group in this town. They arrange for the shipment of items coming into port for distribution throughout the northwest. Maybe you can tell me how you got on their bad side."

"Do I need a lawyer? Are you going to charge me with anything?"

He looked hurt by the suggestion. "We have no intention of charging you with any criminal charges. I cannot account for the lawyer of the assholes you met. They may try to file civil charges just to piss you off and try to get the criminal charges against them lowered."

I shrugged. "The skinny, scraggly one was beating on the door of the family across the hall from me. After about 30 minutes of him pounding on the door I opened the door and told him that they probably weren't home. He was a fucking jerk about it and seemed threatening and high so I retrieved my Glock and went back and asked him to leave, making sure he saw the weapon. About 6 hours later, the three you got showed up. I guess I bruised his macho ego enough that they were going to kick my ass. I was holding the Glock on them when they broke into my apartment to teach me a lesson."

He smiled. "I figured it was something like that. You've only been in town for a few weeks." He looked at his watch and then turned to the first guy. "Kick him loose. We had a larger than normal response to some other incidents tonight so he can come back tomorrow to make his official statement." He turned back to me. "Do you want to file any charges against them?"

"What are my options?"

"Well, we have the 911 call where we can hear them breaking down your door. Then we have the conversation where he threatens you. We also, however, have you discharging your weapon in their direction, which the defense will be able to use against their charges and you."

"I'll take my chances. Charge them."

The first detective just had to speak up and it seemed like he was just trying to maintain some semblance of pride. "They will make the case that you tried to kill them."

The senior detective looked at him and scowled. I decided to put my two cents in against him. "If I had tried to kill someone in that room, from 10 feet, someone would be dead now. I'm not going to miss three people from 10 feet with a Glock."

But he couldn't shut up and obviously didn't think about what he was saying. "Everyone gets rattled when they are threatened. Maybe you just missed."

His boss let him have it. "Shut up, Gary. You have no idea who you are talking to. John and my brother fought together in Afghanistan and John is probably more qualified with a handgun than most of our police force. He even has a Silver Star to prove it."

The younger detective stared at me. I look so average and unassuming that I guess he was shocked by the revelation. I think many people are surprised nowadays by the looks of the people earning combat awards. Most do not look like Schwarzenegger or Stallone; we're just average guys doing our job until we find ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, I was firing an automatic weapon during that battle and never touched my handgun, but I wasn't going to mention that.

I didn't say anything. It was something that I had tried to get away from, but when you are in the military, everyone knows just by looking at your chest when you wear Class As what you have and have not done. The Silver Star and Purple Heart were obvious giveaways that I had done something more than just served my time in a combat zone. I had been shot in the left shoulder just outside where my body armor was. Jeff's brother had been shot in the left leg, just above the knee. Jeff looked at me and could see my unease. I'm sure he got the same thing from his brother. Talking about that battle brought back more than we wanted to remember. We saved 20 guys, they said, but we also lost 6. It was those 6 that had haunted me for a couple of years afterwards. I had thought I was over it, but now I was sweating again, feeling uneasy in that room.

Jeff saw it and stood up. "Let's get out of here." He stood up. The younger detective, who had never introduced himself, released me.