breath. You squeeze a quarter so tight the eagle screams.”
“Ah, come on, now. My wife and kids bleed me dry.”
“You don’t give a shit about your family!” Cain shouted.
“At least I have one,” Tom said without thinking.
Cain clenched his fist and launched it at Tom’s face. It connected with a thud, and Tom knocked over two barstools as he fell to the floor.
“This is all your fault,” Cain barked at Tom. “You’re fucking with my life and career, and you don’t even give a shit.”
“I think you broke my nose,” Tom exclaimed as blood trickled out his nostrils.
“You’re lucky to still have teeth in that head of yours,” Cain said between angered breaths.
“I’ve got nobody on my side, Cain. Not even you anymore.”
“Own it. You made your bed. Now lie in it,” Cain said before turning and heading toward the exit.
Tom yelled out, “We were all off duty! The media is blowing this out of proportion.”
“It’s always someone else’s fault with you. Clean up your mess!”
Chapter 18
Cain stormed out of Old Ebbitt Grill and paused on the wide sidewalk. His blood was pumping, and his hands were trembling. His head swam with frenzy and he felt the effects of his drinks. He looked left and right. Traffic was picking up. He looked skyward and saw several dark clouds hovering overhead. A downpour was threatening. He had completely lost his cool and punched his partner, something he thought would never happen.
He swung his leg over his motorcycle. He dropped it into gear, rolled the throttle, and sped away. He navigated the windy streets and impatiently paused for a group of Asian tourists in the crosswalk at the Lincoln Memorial. There were at least fifty of them, and they were not in a hurry. They were snapping photos and talking with one another. Cain twisted the throttle several times and the Harley-Davidson’s engine roared, frightening the tourists. He then sped right through a narrow opening in the crowd.
He was cranky and full of rage. I’m not supposed to be dodging pedestrians on my bike! I’m supposed to be protecting the president. He relies on me, and I’ve let him down.
He skidded to a halt in his driveway, running into the wall and putting a softball-size hole in the drywall. He flipped down the kickstand and killed the engine. He threw the cover over the Harley and went inside to treat the migraine that was pounding his head like a jackhammer. He wanted to see a doctor about them—they seemed to be increasing in frequency—but he hadn’t made the time yet.
He slung his leather bomber jacket over a kitchen stool, grabbed a glass, and filled it with some water from the tap. He put the glass down and started rubbing his temples to ease the pressure. I need a Tylenol PM.
As he headed to the bathroom, he accidentally kicked over a box. Framed pictures spilled out onto the living room floor. One was a wedding picture—his wedding picture.
He grabbed the picture and marveled at it. In the photo, he wore his naval service dress whites, and Claire beamed with angelic beauty in her lace wedding dress. They were staged in front of St. Louis Cathedral, across from Jackson Square in the French Quarter of New Orleans. He and Claire had been hugging and flirting, to the frustration of the cameraman trying to capture their perfect moments.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. Claire Bear told me it was bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day, but I convinced her that was antiquated foolishness. He closed his eyes and immediately went back to that occasion.
They had secretly met up that morning right before sunrise at Café du Monde, which was open for business twenty-four hours a day. Foghorns blasted through the air as ships navigated the Mississippi River. They heard the chatter and footsteps of a few nearby tourists making their way back to hotels after staying up all night exploring the dark side of New Orleans. They took in the aroma of coffee percolating and the smell of sugar. They snacked on beignets—fresh ones right out of the fryer and doused with powdered sugar. When Claire laughed, her hair blew in the wind, and he’d catch a hint of her shampoo. They had dreams. Dreams to start a family and grow old together.
“I hope I can fit into my wedding dress after eating these little devils,” Claire had joked.
He had kissed her comfortably. “I will always love you.” He