An Imperfect Couple Ch. 02

By this time the cop had called it in, and turned to me.

"Listen, I need to tell you that you can't just go around breaking bones in this bar. It is bad for business." He paused just long enough for Rae to interrupt.

"Officer, the man was harassing me and he attacked Rick. Rick was only defending himself." Rachael's protest was greatly appreciated by me, but simply tossed aside by the cop.

"Relax, ma'am, I saw the whole thing. Your boyfriend is not in trouble." And his comment was even more appreciated by me. The cop paused, and then continued. "I am going to need a report, but it will only take a few minutes. After that, you will be free to go." He paused again when he noticed the electronic gizmo on the bar next to Rae light up and buzz and vibrate itself across the bar. "Are you eating here tonight?"

"Well, detective, we were hoping to, until that pig grabbed me and started crowding me." Rae almost spat out her answer to the detective. Clearly, she was no fan of the local bullies. And apparently, neither was the cop.

"The two of you local?" We both shook our heads, and answered 'visitors' simultaneously.

"I am sorry you had to meet the man. He is a regular down at the station. A long series of charges, all of them related to beating up some guy after grabbing the girl. You know the kind: thinks he is charming and that no matter what she says she really does want to spend the night with him. A local football hero with lots of cheerleaders following him around. Just a punk kid, but he is getting older now and doesn't realize how serious these fights can be. And from what I saw, he was about to get his ass seriously kicked. Where did you learn to fight like that?" The cop looked at me with something that might have been admiration. I looked at Rae and then at the cop.

"Actually, detective, that really wasn't fighting. He pushed me and then he tried to hit me. I just reacted. I didn't realize what I had done until it was all over." I was worried about what Rae would think and how she might respond. I didn't want her seeing me as some sort of trained assassin or something. Hell, things had just started going well between us and then this ass hole jumped into the ring and started things.

"Tell you what. I was watching him since he arrived, so I saw the nine beers he had before he noticed you. And I watched as he moved in on you before your boyfriend here arrived. And I saw what happened between the two of them. So, why don't I let the two of you have your dinner. I can file my report without you, and if I need anything from you, I will call you. Just give me your names and addresses and where you are staying locally. I will take care of the rest." He grinned at me and winked.

"Thank you, detective. I realize you are doing us a favor, and we both really appreciate it." My response was filled with relief and was quite genuine, and I shook his hand just a little too energetically.

"Seriously, my brother owns this place, and he would shoot me if I made you miss your dinner reservation." He grinned at me, and then took our names and addresses and where we were staying. Then he shooed us up the stairs to the second floor of the restaurant.

As we walked onto the second floor, we were met by the hostess and immediately led to our table. The location was perfect. We were right next to the glass wall looking toward the ocean, even if we couldn't actually see the ocean. But the inlet between St. Augustine and St. Augustine Beach was our scenery, and quite acceptable. It was getting dark and the fishing boats were coming in from the ocean. We could see the lights of the traffic crossing the bridge as they returned from the beach, and there was still some light in the sky from the sunset on the other side of the restaurant, which was out of our view.

As I held the chair for Rae to sit, I unintentionally looked down over her shoulder and saw the most wonderful view of her cleavage. I couldn't really see her nipples, but her areolae were on display. Not for the first time, I felt an urge down deep and felt just a little guilty about it. We are NOT here for that, I chastised myself. Then I seated myself across from her. I looked at her expectantly and paused. Then I just opened my mouth without thinking.

"Okay, I know you want to say something, so say it." I almost blurted out the words, and realized that I was really concerned about what she thought of me hurting the obnoxious jerk downstairs. I didn't know her well enough to predict her response, and I was getting more than a little stressed over her reaction.

"What?" Rae's expression showed nothing, and was not quite what I expected.

"You are afraid you are having dinner with a trained killer and you are trying to figure out a way to leave. It's okay. Just say it." There was resignation in my voice as I stated the last.

"Okay, I am thinking about who and what you are. And I was wondering about your training. But I was NOT thinking about how to leave. I was thinking about how lucky I am to have had you there. And I was thinking about how well you handled that ass hole. Truthfully? I am impressed." Rae was grinning broadly, but there was more that just a grin on her face. There was a depth and even a wonder that I could just glimpse, and I had a feeling she was trying to hide even more feelings.

This was not what I expected, and I found an unexpected excitement within that threatened to overflow into my body language. But I did not want to seem too excited at this moment.

"Oh, well, uh, that's nice."

"That's nice? You were expecting me to dump you and run away out of fear and I tell you just the opposite, and all you can say is that's nice? Try again, dummy!" I almost jerked at her words until I saw her eyes. They positively sparkled, even glowed with excitement and a high level of gratitude.

Just then, the server arrived to take our drink order. Rae looked at me and almost nodded, so I asked for a bottle of the same Honig wine we had been drinking for the last couple of hours. Damn, I thought silently, how long has it been? And I began to show a grin of my own.

"I understand I should thank you for avoiding an unpleasant scene in my restaurant." The voice came from behind me, and I turned slightly in my seat so I could see the source.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jose Antello and I own this establishment." I introduced the two of us in response. "We are very popular and we attract a lot of people, especially on weekends, and especially downstairs. Unfortunately, we sometimes attract the type of people we would rather not frequent our establishment. It only takes a few violent episodes and, out of fear, some women would rather go somewhere else. If the women go somewhere else, the men will follow them there and we will all soon be out of work. You were a great help to me tonight, Mr. Reynolds. And I thank you." He gave a slight bow and then looked at me with a very sincere smile.

"I just kicked a man's ass in plain view of everyone and you are thanking me? I am not sure I understand." I was a little confused. Usually a bar fight is bad news to the bar owner.

"Yes, but it is HOW you 'kicked his ass,' as you say, that I appreciate. You did so subtly and effectively without things exploding into punching and kicking and breaking things. The few women who saw your altercation did not feel fear. Perhaps excitement? I am confident that they felt safer and not threatened. Si?" This last was directed at Rae, who nodded in clear agreement.

"It was the quiet efficiency of your actions that turned what could have been an ugly scene into something people will tell their friends about tomorrow. We will have more customers here tomorrow and again next week because of you. Muchas gracias, señor." And he bowed again. I wasn't sure exactly what to say.

"Well, I am glad things worked out well. For both of us. But I need to be truthful with you and say I really was not concerned about your restaurant. My only concern was Rae. With a little concern for my face and my ribs, of course," I added with a chuckle. All three of us laughed at that last comment.

"And it showed. I have owned many bars, Mr. Reynolds, and I have seen many bar fights. It is the rare man who dispenses only enough violence to accomplish justice, without throwing in extra violence to impress the people around him. Tonight, you showed both wisdom and courage and, with that, discretion. I am impressed, and I am thankful." I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with all the praise, and I looked down at my wine.

"And so, as a token of my appreciation, I wish to pay for your dinner and drinks. Here is the money you gave the bar tender downstairs," and he produced the twenty I had left behind, "and the rest of your evening is on me. Please enjoy the best that my humble establishment has to offer with my heartfelt appreciation."

"Well, I certainly thank you, but you don't have to do that..." He interrupted me.

"I came to America more than twenty years ago and one of the things I appreciate most about America is the fact that we are free to do what we want. And I want to do this, if you will allow me." I gulped, and nodded my thanks, and he continued. "I understand that the two of you are visiting our city?" We both nodded. "Then please allow me to extend my thanks to the rest of your visit. As long as you are here in St. Augustine, if you visit my establishment you shall enjoy anything you want with my thanks." We exchanged smiles all around.

"That would be awesome because I love your place!" I hoped my appreciation was clear, both in my words and on my face.

"You have perhaps been here before?" His question had honest interest.

"I have been here every time I come to St. Augustine. That would be at least a dozen times. I love this place. And Rachael has been here before, too. So we really appreciate your offer." He looked a little surprised and asked a question.

"You have not been here together?" I grinned at the subtlety of his query.

"No, we just met three hours ago," Rae stepped into the conversation with the answer to his question. Jose looked at the two of us and smiled his most gracious smile so far.

"Then I trust your experience downstairs and upstairs will enhance your new friendship in every possible way. Please, enjoy your evening. I will try to return later to inquire if your meal was prepared to your satisfaction." He smiled and bowed once more and walked away.

"Wow! That was generous of him." Rae looked at me with her eyes wide open in surprise. I was again at a loss for words, and I again just blurted out what was on my mind.

"Yes, very generous, considering what I expect to be your bar tab." Of course, I regretted it as soon as I said it, feeling somewhat stupid. I reminded myself once again that my attempts to inject humor are not always successful or well-received. She looked at me for a couple of seconds and then burst out laughing.

"I love how you can be so silly and even awkward at times, and at other times so smooth and charming. I am beginning to see that you are a very interesting man." She actually giggled at that, so I was hoping it was a compliment and not a regret, and I actually smiled back at her. "This is turning into an evening to remember." And I couldn't help but consider how it could have been a nightmare to remember. Then I chided myself. It wasn't as if I really didn't have the confidence of knowing how things would end before I faced the man downstairs. He was obviously a bully and a brawler, and untrained brawlers will always lose to someone with training. I had been totally confident in engaging the man. While accidents can happen, and anyone can get lucky, it was still safe to say I was confident when I stepped up to the man.

"So, I was wondering about your training. Where did you learn that stuff?" Apparently, Rae was not to be deterred from her earlier question. But I was saved from having to respond by the quiet appearance of our server. And it was obvious from her expression that she was either impressed that the owner had stopped at our table and talked with us, or else she had heard some version of what happened downstairs. She poured a glass of wine for each of us, and then offered us each a menu and waited patiently for our order. I looked at Rae for a moment.

"Have you ever had Chicken Marsala?" She nodded and a grin spread over her face. "Well, this place makes the best Chicken Marsala I have ever eaten. Order what you want, but that is what I am ordering. And, of course, we will have to order another wine to match it." And we both grinned at that. I turned to the server and asked, "What do you have for a nice Merlot?" She gave several options and I selected a Chateau St. Michele Merlot.

As we discussed the dinner options and we ordered, I was pleased that Rae had ordered the Chicken Marsala as I had suggested. The server walked away with a knowing look at Rae.

"So the Honig was no longer good enough?" Rae's face held a questioning smile.

"Truthfully, I am shooting in the dark here. I suspect the Marsala and mushroom sauce is a little too strong for the Honig, it being a light and fruity wine. So I was trying something new. Feel free to have either wine. Who knows, I may taste the Merlot and decide it was a poor choice." I chuckled. "It won't be the first time I chose the wrong wine for a meal." Rae paused, another question on her face.

"So, what makes a wine the right wine?"

"Well, for the wine snobs in the world, that is a complex question involving a detailed answer. For most people, red wine goes with red meat and white wine goes with everything else. But as with most things in life, the truth is somewhere between the extremes. Personally, I often drink what I feel like drinking, regardless of the food." I hoped that answer satisfied her because I had just run out of expertise on the subject.

"And I agree with you," she nodded. "My palate is not so sophisticated that I cannot enjoy an excellent wine unless it matches the meal. The perfect example was your Honig Savignon Blanc. I love it and would have been just fine drinking it with my Chicken Marsala." I looked closely, and she seemed to be sincere and not chastising me for ordering the Merlot.

"Yes, it would have been just fine. But I think you will find that the Merlot does something really good for the mushroom sauce. Let's try both and see if I am right."

"So, back to your skills. I am sorry to sound like a broken record on this, but I sense there is a story to tell. If you don't mind telling me the story, I would love to hear it. As I said earlier, you seem to be a very interesting man." The sincerity in her voice persuaded me to open up. So I paused for a moment to choose my words, and then I told her.

"Okay, you are right. There is a story, but I have never told anyone the story before. Not my family and not my friends. So I would ask that you keep this between us, if you don't mind." She quickly nodded, her face showing a sense of expectancy. "At first, I never told anyone because of national security. I didn't want to go to prison over bragging about something I was not allowed to tell anyone. But it has been thirty years and I doubt our national security will be threatened if I share it." I paused and took a deep breath.

"Once upon a time, a long time ago..." She grinned and rolled her eyes at me. "Back during the Viet Nam activities, the Liberal Congress discovered that America's security agencies were doing things it did not like. So it enacted some new laws restricting all our security agencies from doing things the agencies believed were necessary for the safety of America. Since the laws made it illegal for government agencies to do these things, and the agencies still believed they were extremely important activities, these agencies merely subcontracted the activities to independent groups so nothing could get traced back to them. I was part of one of those groups." I paused because I could see Rae's eyes beginning to widen.

"No, we were not a wet works group." Her question was clear, even if unasked. "Wet works is slang for killing. My group did not contract to kill people." I noticed an emotional response, but I could not identify it, so I went on. "My group specialized in what is usually called snatch and grab operations. Let me give you a short history lesson.

"After the dust settled from Viet Nam, drugs became a real issue in America. Some people claimed it was a natural result of the CIA bringing drugs from Southeast Asia into America, and there is some truth to that. But mostly, our drug problem came from South and Central America. Marijuana and Cocaine became the drugs of choice for many Americans, and almost all of that came north through our southern borders. Growers became smugglers, and smugglers became cartels. The Drug Enforcement Agency became America's front line defense against these people south of us. But with BILLIONS hanging in the balance, the southern cartels became more sophisticated out of necessity. And the DEA became more effective through the excellent application of technology. So, rather than invest in lots of technology, the cartels went back to a common practice down there - kidnapping. The cartels began kidnapping DEA agents, and then DEA families. The lead agent watching a specific freighter steaming through the Gulf of Mexico might receive a package by FedEx. In it would be pictures of his family, and maybe a severed finger from one of them." Rachael shuddered over that mental image.

"So, after a number of these horrible experiences, the DEA hired my group to sneak in and rescue those agents or family members, and then the lead DEA agent was free to do his job." Rae pondered that for a moment, and then asked a logical question.

"Why did the DEA hire this out rather than go in itself and get them out?"

"Excellent question, and one which I asked. The answer rests with Congress. In its concern over controlling intelligence agencies, Congress had enacted laws that were more broad and more restricting than wisdom would dictate. As a result, the DEA was not allowed to enter a country that had not first invited it, and could not engage in any activities without first getting permission from the host country, and then filing requests through the American Ambassador to that country, which often took weeks. While most of the people involved would have given permission for these missions most of the time, the urgency of the situation often suggested that the time it would take to go through proper diplomatic channels to get permission would result in the agents or family members being tortured or most likely murdered. Often the time between the FedEx package arriving and the operation to intercept the drug shipment would be mere hours. And it would take days and sometimes weeks to go through the American State Department and play the political games required in order to get permission to go get the hostages. Permission was simply not a practical option. Especially because the people in those countries necessary to grant the DEA permission were often being paid by the drug cartels. Yet for an American DEA team to enter a country without express permission from the host country could be interpreted as an act of war. America was faced with an impossible problem, and Congress really didn't care as long as it had control. So, DEA had to contract these operations to us. We had a team of five ex-military and me. I was included because of my skills in walking through jungles, and because I was an excellent long range shooter. So, from early 1977 to the summer of 1980, we ran missions to free Americans from the bad guys. And we would get special training from time to time, usually from the military, to help us carry out our missions. That is where I learned how to - shall we say - 'convince' people to do things without having to shoot them." With her eyes still wide as saucers, she thought about that for a minute, and then asked a question.