Kaleidoscope Eyes Pt. 02

Kaleidoscope Eyes, Pt. 02 by Flavian

Copyright © 2020 by Flavian

PART 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Any references to sex by characters in this story involve ONLY persons 18 years of age or older. Warning! There is reference to Non-Consensual sex—if that is not to your liking, then feel free to pass on this story; I will understand. Also, there are some mild racial references that are not necessarily PC, but, unfortunately, reflect attitudes that still exist in rural Virginia.

Kudos to blackrandl1958 and her crew, including Qhml1, Stev2244, DFWBeast, Laptopwriter, HDK, Girlinthemoon, and SleeperyJim, for giving my initial draft of this story a thorough review—and a very-well-deserved slicing-and-dicing. Thanks to all of you; but especially Randi for inviting me along on this adventure and for being honest with me. She really insists on trying to make me a better writer and I appreciate it. ~ Flavian.

****

"I know I am just your mother, but shouldn't you at least pay attention when your boss is speaking to you?" Althea—Mom—asked me.

She always wanted me to call her 'Althea' in the business setting, but I still had to think about it for half a second each time in order to get the titles straight, depending on the circumstances and the presence of others.

"Sorry, Mom," I said as I put my fork down. She had really set up a delightful meal: lobster at the Freemason Abbey Restaurant in downtown Norfolk.

"I just had something happen today that sort of put me back on my ass..." At a frown from her, I corrected, "I mean, my backside." I kicked myself internally at that moment. I had decided not to tell her anything about today... or about her already potentially being a grandma... or anything. After my blunder, I realized that her curiosity would be piqued.

"Oh?" she asked. "And what would have had such an impact on you?" Even though she was the head of a major Defense contractor operation, she was still a mother and wanted to know all about—and protect—her baby, if possible.

Well, I wanted to protect her, too, even if just from the disappointment of hearing of the possibility of having a major addition to her life and then finding out that the news was not factual—or permissible—in the first place. I couldn't do that to her. So, I did not lie, but I dissembled in a way to deflect her from the potential hurt.

"That proposal that we bid on at Little Creek Amphibious Base?" I said, truthfully, but actually as a non sequitur, "It looks as if we will be going up against BAE. We may have to push for a partnership and sub to them."

She sighed and then, taking the bait, began to strategize off the top of her head as to how we should approach that bid. I think that she intuited that I was only partly paying attention, because she stopped and put her fork down after a few minutes of talking about contracting strategies.

"What is it, Russ?" she asked. "Are you having second thoughts about doing this type of work?"

I sighed and smiled before answering. "No, Mom. It just seems as if there are a lot of pieces to the puzzle that have to fit into place just right, and at the right time, in order for this type of work to succeed. But..." I waved my hand around slightly, "you have definitely got a good foothold, and an excellent reputation in this area. So, our company should continue to do well; provided we are honest, timely, and we keep our ears open to go for new opportunities or to learn as early as possible about different directions that the Department of Defense is leaning, based on the politics and on Congressional pressure.

"Plus, believe me; two turns in the Sandbox were enough. Even though I was just an aircraft mechanic, we still had our moments of adrenaline-rushing panic. Like the two mortar attacks, and then, when we had those Green-on-Blue attacks inside the wire just over a year ago." Afghan nationals, who we had thought were friendly, would turn on our guys and open fire without warning sometimes, having been secretly radicalized. That type of insider threat was just major scary!

"And then that one scary mission that I got Hey-You-ed for on my first tour... you know, saving those guys in that convoy..." I had never told her the details of that one, beyond meeting Sandy Crawford during that effort, and I hoped that I would never have to. She would be plenty upset if she knew.

"Nope! I'd had enough, and when they asked me to Re-Up; even offering me a bonus, I was glad to get out and come to work for you and Dad. And the pay and benefits here really suit me, too, along with being more the master of my own time, now," I concluded.

"And master of your own facial hair?" she asked with a teasing smile. Mom had always preferred me clean-shaven. She did not approve of my goatee and mustache.

"Yes, Mom, even that," I said back to her with a grin. I knew that this would just be a phase, and that I would eventually shave them off, perhaps within the next few weeks.

As we left the restaurant, Mom headed to her car and, as I turned toward mine, I said, "I am staying at Dad's in Williamsburg tonight; then, it is off to see Sandy tomorrow at Fort Eustis."

"Say hello to your dad; and also say hello to Sandy for me," she said, turning back and giving me a kiss on the cheek. "And tell him not to be a stranger."

"I will, Mom." I looked at my watch, figured that the traffic clog at the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel would be down just to a minor slowdown, and headed out toward my dad's place.

****

The next morning, I was sitting in bleachers next to a pool on Fort Eustis, just south of Williamsburg, now part of the Joint Base Langley-Eustis complex that included Langley Air Force Base about twenty miles away.

"This is just so unique. This doesn't happen anywhere else that I am aware of, at least not here in the U.S.," said Sandy Crawford. He and I in were in our civilian suits, along with Major Tim Dawson in his Army Combat Uniform and black Army beret with his MP brassard, as we all sat in the gallery. Together, we watched the change of command ceremony for the 569th Engineer Dive Detachment.

What was so unique was the venue. They actually read the orders over a loud speaker to the crowd, and over the speakers inside the dive helmets of the ceremony's participants; the guidon bearer, the First Sergeant, a dive-qualified senior officer, and the outgoing and incoming Detachment Commanders.

Yep! They did it all underwater at the unit's dive pool. After all, these were the Army's specialists in salvage diving, and they had to show off their capabilities in a spectacular way.

"Yeah, this is so cool!" responded Major Tim Dawson, the same Military Police Corps officer whom Sandy and I had rescued in Afghanistan. He was now the Deputy Provost Marshal for the post. "Hey, what are we doing for lunch, you guys?"

"Well," I said with a smile as I brought out by corporate AMEX card and flashed it. "I thought that we would dine with the Colonel. And I will pay." They all chuckled and we left after the ceremony.

Over lunch at Colonel Sanders' Kentucky Fried Chicken place just off post, we spent about a half hour just catching up.

Tim was doing well, having made Major since we had seen him in the Sandbox years before; but he felt that he was probably going to pull the pin right at the twenty-year mark. He wanted to be young enough to be considered for employment with the BATF, or the DEA; or maybe even the FBI, after he retired from the Army. Who knew?

Sandy was also enjoying himself working for my mom (and me now, I guess) ever since a jump injury had gotten him bounced from military flying and, by his choice, from the Army as a whole, by an overly zealous military flight surgeon. I never had seen the logic of making aviators also be jump qualified, myself, but Special Operations units all had their mystique and traditions to uphold.

Sandy now oversaw the contract that we were part of on Fort Eustis, subbing to Lockheed-Martin, for training young Fifteen-Romeo helicopter fixers—yep, just like I had been until earlier in the year.

The difference was that Sandy had managed to keep his security clearance up to snuff, and also helped with training the Soldiers who maintained the Boeing-Hughes MH-6M Little Bird, the light helicopter of choice for our old unit, the Night Stalkers. The secure hangar at Felker Army Airfield here at Fort Eustis had two of the non-attack, troop-carrier variants for use in training the young Soldiers who would be maintaining them back at Campbell and when deployed.

"So, Russ," said Tim to me, changing the subject, "what has been going on in your life since you got out and went into contract work?"

I gave them the basic rundown; how I had survived two turns in 'The Dirt' and did not want anything more to do with that business, directly. I also told him that I eventually wanted to settle down, marry well, and have a passel of kids. At this point, I paused as the image of dimples and multi-colored eyes suddenly came to mind. I must have zoned out for a noticeable time.

"Earth to Russ!" said Sandy. "You tune out or something?"

"I guess I did," I said. I decided to tell my two former battle buddies what I had experienced the day before in Simonton. I told them of the story of mayhem and heartbreak that I had had years before when I had first encountered the town of Simonton.

I related that the event in question had occurred well after the battle action that had brought the three of us all together in Afghanistan, along with Sandy's brother, Darryl, but before I had joined the Night Stalkers during my second enlistment.

"And you think this little girl is yours?" Tim asked. Sandy had looked away and was unusually quiet.

"I can't be one-hundred-percent sure without a DNA test, but my gut says yeah," I confirmed, as I picked up my tall cup to take a sip of sweet iced tea. "What's got you so quiet, man?" This was directed at Sandy.

Taking a deep breath, Sandy began. "You guys cannot breathe a word of what I am about to tell you. Clear?" Seeing our nods, he continued.

"You remember my brother, Darryl?" asked Sandy. We nodded again, remembering the powerful Special Forces Soldier with whom we had fought in that one unusual hot action over in Afghanistan roughly six years earlier.

"About a year before I was 'medically retired'," Sandy began, using the air-finger quotes, "my brother, Darryl, had gotten out and moved up here to Virginia; to Chesapeake, actually." To Sandy and his family in Alabama, anyplace north of Birmingham is considered, 'Up There'. Well, 'Up Here', in the case of where we were having the discussion.

"Darryl was able to land a pretty good position with the Virginia State Police. As such, he is working for the Drug Enforcement Section of the Virginia State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation or BCI, and he is based out of Field Office Five in Chesapeake.

"As brothers do, we keep in touch, and we tell each other things that other folks don't have a real need to know.

"Russ, you really need to keep this on the QT; you too, Tim. If word got around, it could put Darryl not only in a hot spot with his bosses. It could endanger him and some members of his team. Clear?" Tim and I once again gave the north-south nods.

"Right now, he is working with a law enforcement joint task force on a major opioid ring takedown operation. It is taking place across most of Southside Virginia, with that town of Simonton that you mentioned, Russ, right in the middle of everything. From what he tells me, it is just about to come to a head."

"You can count on me to keep quiet about this, Buddy," I assured Sandy. That did not mean that I could let things... just... go.

After what I had heard from that store clerk the other day, I just knew that, with any law enforcement actions involving Simonton, Boyd Simon was sure to up to his elbows in all that was going on with the illegal activities in that town. That meant that Ruthanne could be affected, as could that older lady I had encountered with her grandchild... a little girl who just might be my own daughter.

I needed to do... something. But, what?

"Sandy, after seeing that little girl, and knowing the danger that may be in store for her and her family, and... maybe Ruthanne; I feel as if I need to head down there and see if there is something I can do to convince them to get the hell away before anything dangerous breaks. Ya know what I mean?" Seeing him frown, I continued.

"I will be careful. I won't give anything away to anyone I don't feel is absolutely trustworthy. I will do my best to stay out of the way of Darryl and his folks. Maybe you could just give him a head's up for me, and let him contact me if he needs to? Believe me, I don't want to burn a 'battle brother'."

It was in Afghanistan where circumstances had brought about a special relationship with those two brothers by blood that made us all brothers of battle for life. As chance would have it, it had also folded Tim Dawson into our 'family group' as well.

****

I had determined that I was not just going to let matters sit still when I had finally reconnected in a way with the town where I had had one of the most fulfilling events of my life, followed by one of the most traumatic. Now, years later, as reflected in the sparkling eyes of a four-year-old little girl, an event that might hold some promise.

Yep! There I was in Simonton, staying in the only motel in town, out near U.S. 58. Mom had approved my time off, and I had told her that I would try to get a little business done while I was 'relaxing.' I had said that I would keep my eyes open for some warehouse space for that transshipment point that she and Dad had wanted to establish well outside the port areas, but near where the east-west transit route crossed the north-south Interstate highways.

I had already done a quick search for realtors who dealt with commercial property. Lo and behold, one of them was a company called 'Chancey Realty.' It would appear that the family of one of the 'Amigos' was in the real estate business!

I had an appointment the next day at Chancey Realty, but thanks to the 'amenities' of the dump in which I was staying, I figured that I would probably not be as well rested as I should be.

****

It appeared that the poor insulation in this older style motel allowed one to hear every squeak, rattle, and moan in the adjoining rooms, and even noises from the room above mine. The bed in the room above me was getting quite the workout that night.

Earlier, I had heard footsteps on the metal stairs leading up to the second level, which just happened to be outside my door. I could even hear the knock and the murmuring noises of people talking above me before it was quiet for a few minutes, and then I heard, most likely, one shoe after another hitting the floor. Soon after that, I heard the bed give out with a big groaning creak as evidently two bodies fell onto it. The rhythmic movement and accompanying squeaks indicated that the two lovers were really going at it with some energy.

I heard what sounded like a woman demanding repeatedly that her lover, "Fuck me hard!" followed after a few minutes by a loud masculine groan, but there were no feminine sounds of completion or satisfaction. It sounded as if he had gotten his, but had left her hanging—inconsiderate bastard, I thought with a smirk. I rolled over and would have gone to sleep; except that I heard the door closing upstairs a few minutes later, followed by footsteps descending the metal stairs, and then followed by a conversation between two men outside my motel room door.

"Hey," said one man, "how is she? Is she as hot as she looked at the truck stop?"

"Yeah," said the other. "She has one hell of a body; and she really gets into the fucking. But, Man; I gotta tell you. It is almost as if she is a robot. She goes wild with all the motions, and gets into the fucking with demands that you fuck her, but she doesn't seem to be able to cum. She moans a bit, but with what seems to be frustration rather than with pleasure. But, hey, at least she has a really tight pussy and some great hooters to suck on and squeeze. And, Man! What an ass!"

"Well," said the other man, "my turn, I guess."

And then, I was subjected to another round of the noises of similar action as before from upstairs. After that was over, there was a break in the noise for about two hours, during which time I dozed. Then, I was awakened by another set of footsteps heading up for a round of human joining in the search for the temporary pleasures of hot motel sex with some (evidently quite attractive and active) whore 'on the job' in a motel near a truck stop.

After the third round of the night, I heard the footsteps leave and then, as I was just about to go to sleep again, I thought I heard what sounded like a woman's sobs. I listened, but did not hear any more, so I drifted off. The morning would be coming all too soon for me.

****

Thanks to Hardee's on the highway, a short walk away from the motel, I had a pretty good breakfast. The breakfast burritos and the coffee had given me the satisfaction that my empty stomach needed, along with the caffeine pick-me-up following my poor night's slumber, what little there was of it.

Returning across the motel's parking lot, I noticed a dark blue Chevrolet Camaro Z/28; the more modern version, like the yellow and black one used in the 'Transformers' movies, rather than the classic muscle car. It was parked one space over from the front of my motel room, and near the metal stairs leading up to the second-floor walkway.

This car had in interesting adornment on the back windshield. The owner evidently had originally mounted a decal announcing a preference for the beach wear, apparel and other gear produced by the company identified in the strange font style as, "Salt Life." Someone had made an edit to the decal with white paint and a fine brush—which the car's owner had not bothered to clean up or repair—so that it was left to read, "Slut Life."

As I shifted my gaze from the car, I noticed someone on the exterior walkway of the motel's second floor—a very attractive woman. She was leaning on the top rail with one foot propped up on the lower rail. She was on a cell phone while contemplating my approach to my first-floor room. If I were to squint, I could probably see her no-doubt-naked pussy, the way her leg was elevated and her robe hung open; but I made an effort not to stare directly.

The robe that she was wearing was short and thin. This woman was absolutely gorgeous, despite being just-awakened; and barely-dressed, with no make-up, or brushed hair. Oh, and evidently just-fucked as well. After all, she was just outside the room from which I had heard all the noises of sex during the previous night.

I noticed that, as she listened to the cell phone, she watched me—almost hungrily—as I walked by, until I could not see her directly anymore, without craning my neck and raising my head—which I did not do. I just looked at my door and kept walking.

When I entered my room, I finally released the breath that I had been holding ever since I had first noticed her in my approach to my room. I had to go to the bathroom and rinse my face before taking a few minutes to check that my blue contact lenses were in place to conceal my actual eye color and patterns.

Until I had finished checking out the situation here in Simonton concerning that little girl, Mara, who just might be my daughter, I was disguising my eyes and keeping my longer hair, as well as keeping my goatee and mustache in place. I did not want anyone from that long-ago night of adventure to recognize me. I was eager to see who I might be able to recognize in this town who had contributed to my current state of affairs, as I had already been successful in recognizing Deputy Sam Chaves a few days ago.