filled with junkies and gangs.
Mr. Wagner had hired Ed to do odd jobs that the old man’s limbs couldn’t handle anymore. When he finished the work, they’d sit on the front porch. The old guy always made him something to eat and they’d talk for a while. Ed had liked the gruff old fart. Hanging out with Mr. Wagner gave him a sense of security.
At seventeen, Ed overdosed. Wasn’t his mother who came to the hospital. Strung out on heroine most days, his mom didn’t give a shit about much. Mr. Wagner had picked him up and taken care of him.
Ed was already hanging with a gang, prison a foregone conclusion. Lucky for him, he could run like the wind and had avoided the cops. He’d never been charged or sent to juvie, the training ground for a life of crime.
Once he’d recovered from the overdose, Mr. Wagner handed him a brochure.
“What’s this?” he’d asked.
“I know you can read.” Mr. Wagner sipped from the glass he’d always used when he had a snort of whiskey each day. He glanced at the Navy recruitment brochure. “That’s your get-out-of-jail-free card, son. It’s time. Before it’s too late. I’ll drive you down to the recruiting center tomorrow.”
“Hey!” Two of Ed’s gang brothers had sauntered up the old man’s walkway. “Come on, man. We got a thing.”
Old Mr. Wagner struggled to stand up and gripped the rickety porch bannister. “You boys move on. Ed’s not going anywhere. He’s still recoverin’.”
Dutch and Nick had swallowed street life and enjoyed the flavor. Nick had shouted, “Fuck you, Old Man.”
Mr. Wagner snorted. “I’m too old to fuck, boy. Now get off my property.”
Cracker had jerked his head at his buddies. “I’ll see ya tomorrow”.
But he never did. Nor had he ever seen Mr. Wagner again after he’d put Ed on the bus for basic training.
Ed never got the chance to thank him for saving his life.
About two years later, he’d seen a small article from his hometown paper. Old Man Wagner went down fighting when punks broke into his place one night. Mr. Wagner shot one of ‘em before they’d stabbed him to death.
Since leaving Detroit, first the Navy and then the SEALs had become his family. His brothers.
Sitting in this shithole reminded him too much of a life he might have had. The server brought him his beer. He picked it up and strode to Melodie’s table. She noticed him and her pretty dark eyes glanced upward.
“The longer you stare at that napkin, the quicker you lose the battle,” he said.
“Whatever you want, I’m not interested.” She scooped up the napkin and shoved it in her purse, rising at the same time.
“I’m living proof there’s always a second chance, Melodie.”
Her gaze shot to his with surprise. “How do you know my name?”
Cracker scanned a look over his shoulder. “Your anonymity is safe with me. I’m not here to blackmail you or get you in my bed. Just want to talk.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Ed eased into the wooden chair, hoping she’d follow suit. “You remind me of my sister.” He paused. “My twin.”
Not even his team knew about Cher. When it came to his past, he didn’t divulge. Frogs usually knew everything about each other, but his squad had gotten the summarized version. He grew up in Detroit. No one asked more when he didn’t offer.
“If you’re looking for her, it’s not me,” Melodie stated, still standing but not leaving either.
He shook his head. “Didn’t think you were. Just imagined she’d look something like you. She had thick, long hair and pretty eyes.”
“Where is she?” Melodie clutched her purse under her right arm.
Cracker shrugged. “Don’t know. Cher disappeared a week after she turned eleven.”
Chandler’s sister stiffened.
He gripped the empty chair adjacent to his and turned it. Her response indicated she knew about her father’s side job trafficking humans. “Relax. Your old man had nothing to do with my sister’s disappearance.”
A gust of air escaped her mouth. “What do you want?”
What did he want? He wasn’t certain. All he knew is that he recognized a scarred soul when he saw one. In his profession, he wasn’t close to the people whose lives he’d saved. Although he was here to help CDR Hunter get intel, maybe he could help Melodie at the same time.
“I’m not a magician. Can’t force you to flush whatever the dealer just sold you down the drain. But I do understand medicating trauma to dull the pain. I look in your eyes