Love Thy Enemy - Conclusion

This is the last and final chapter to this story. Thanks for reading the first part of the story and for all the responses.

I will submit another part to 'Why' as soon as I have finished editing it.

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Chapter Ten

Did I watch the video? Fuck no! I was never going to watch another home made video. Instead, I handed the DVD over to my divorce attorney and he watched it. He had to watch it anyway to determine the legality of it. Actually, he hired a consulting attorney, and they both decided the video's legality. Satisfied as to the recording's proper legality, they made copies of the video and sent them off to the various people that needed to be informed. Including Richards, who I hadn't seen or spoken to since that fucked up morning.

Ambivalence is what I felt toward Shela's decision of donating her body to science. I had no control over what would happen to her body, and although that seemed wrong to me, I can't deny that I also felt relief knowing I wouldn't have to deal with the details, and the memories that would no doubt spring up.

Also, part of my indecisiveness was the distinctive lack of the wake and burial that comes with a traditional funeral. There is something strangely surreal about not having a body to bury. In some ways, it's like the death never occurred, and it played out more as a rehearsal, during the only notation of Shela's passing, her memorial. Everyone who'd known Shela attended. Even her family came, although they kept their distance from the other attendees, most especially me.

In the end, I felt that Shela wasn't really gone. That she would continue to plague me.

The one person I'd not seen at the memorial was Richards. It was a good thing. I didn't want to talk to that son of bitch ever again. However, the universe enjoys playing a good joke every now and then, on us insignificant and powerless humans. Just to remind us just how insignificant and powerless we truly are.

I had asked my divorce attorney to run the gambit between myself and the police concerning their capture of that guy Gary Strausberg and anything else concerning myself. Initially he refused but eventually, despite his misgivings, he agreed. Months went by, Amber had recovered from her weakened state almost immediately upon beginning therapy. Then she received her leg. Amber was now walking nearly effortlessly with her prosthetic. Naturally, that made everyone involved, happy. Including, yours truly. Until...

"How was your trip, Joe?" asked Amber, as she prepared dinner for us.

Her parents had finally returned home to North Carolina. So it was just Amber and I at our place.

"It went well, but I didn't like having to go to the office on the same day of my return. I'd much rather have been here with you, baby." I said, as I made to wrap my arms around her. She giggled and stepped aside rather agilely, causing me to miss kissing her on the nape of her neck.

"Hey! What gives, baby?" I asked, somewhat surprised she could move so quickly on her prosthetic leg.

"Nothing, Joe. I just want to finish dinner." she said a little testily.

Amber and I had yet to tie the knot. I was ready, but it was at her insistence we wait. Amber's reasoning; she wanted to be able to walk and stand on her own at our wedding, and to be able to dance at our reception. I thought she was ready, but she argued she wasn't. It had become an old argument that I had no hope of winning.

"Okay. Okay. So how goes the therapy? Have they said anything about when you'll be done with it?" I asked, returning to the old argument.

A troubled look passed across her face before shaking her head in exasperation. "No, Joe. They haven't. Anyway, I don't feel as if I'm ready. Now, can we talk about something else?"

Sighing with resignation, I used the same ammo as I had multiple times before. Of course, I worded it differently before each use. "Perhaps, you're holding on to the therapy sessions because as long as you keep going, you don't have to make any decisions. Or, commit to other things."

"Go wash up, Honey. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes." she said sweetly.

Amber had neatly deflected my salvo, by simply ignoring it. I wasn't defeated yet, but I keenly felt the need to develop a different approach, so rather than argue, I went to do what I'd been told.

By the way, I had spoken to Lucia a couple of times, trying to convince her to work for me. I'd offered to pay for her entire family to come to the US, as added inducement. But, she remained unmoved. She was not going to live and work so far from her home country. Despite Lucia's continued refusal, I hadn't given up on her, yet.

For awhile, after Shela's death, Amber had become distant toward me. Eventually, Amber explained, in great detail, the slow but certain progression of Shela's mental and emotional downfall. I could see the pain on her face and hear it in her voice as she spoke quietly about it. There was even a whimsical note in her voice when she spoke of her and Shela's friendship and it's inevitable dissolution.

About a month after the memorial, Amber returned to her old self. For the most part. There was still something amiss, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

I should take the time out at this point to grudgingly admit that Amber and I had yet to involve ourselves with the physical aspect of our relationship. I was way past wanting to. However, Amber was reluctant to commit to that as well. So, we slept in separate bedrooms and enjoyed much the same level of intimacy as we had in Paris. Not to say we didn't get hot and heavy sometimes, but Amber always managed to control herself well enough to dash cold water on my raging needs and mindless desires. As she had become fond of saying, "No means no, Joe!"

By this time, if anyone had bothered to look up the term 'blue-balls', no doubt the definition would have stated, 'Reference Joe Pleasent'

Amber gave me all sorts of excuses for not having sex, her two main stays being she wanted to wait until we'd married, and embarrassment at having a missing leg. I was crazy in love with the woman, leg or no leg, so I bid my time.

As we sat eating and conversing about nothing of import, my phone rang.

Normally, I look at who's calling, but my mind had wandered as Amber spoke of her day and without thought, I answered.

It was Richards.

~N~

"Okay, Lieutenant. I'm here."

Here was Barney's Tavern and Grill, a rather popular watering hole in the Bronx. As with most places in the Bronx it was an old building, partitioned into a couple spaces, barely modernized and off-handedly converted to its present use. It was a shotgun of a space, that is to say, it was narrow and long. One wall had a row of booths and the opposite wall had a long bar top.

Richards sat at the bar, sipping at a amber colored fluid out of a shot glass. At my announcement, he let out a loud whoosh of air and carefully placed the shot glass down. I noticed three empty shot glasses near the half full one.

Without looking at me, Richards asked rather demandingly. Or maybe it was challengingly. "Sit. Wanna drink?"

I sat and called out to the nearby bartender, "Scotch. Neat."

We sat wrapped in silence, until I had my drink. Richards lifted his glass, obviously waiting on me. I followed suit.

"Slainte!" he proclaimed, and with that downed all the amber fluid in one smooth swallow. As did I. I'd heard the word before. It was used as an old Irish toast, alluding roughly 'to your good health.'

While he gestured at the bartender for refills, I asked him what was so important that we had to meet at a bar.

In answer, Richards asked a strange question, "How are you and your girlfriend getting along?"

The hairs on my nape sprang straight up. I don't know why, but of a sudden I felt I was in dangerous waters. So I shrugged, replying cautiously, "Okay. Why do you ask?"

Ignoring my question, Richards asked a couple of others. "Has she been acting strange? Doing anything unusual?"

The bartender placed fresh drinks in front of us, Richards grabbed his, lifting it once again. "To no better friend and no worse enemy, than yourself."

As soon as our glasses hit the bar top, he asked, "Well?"

"What's this about, Lieutenant?" I was tired of Richards' cat and mouse game and I wanted straight answers.

Visibly angered at my impudence, Richards heaved a a great sigh, and just as obviously relaxed. "Answer my question, Joe, and I'll explain."

I wasn't sure how to answer that, since I wasn't sure of my misgivings that I'd felt toward Amber. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What do you mean?"

Struggling to mentally formulate a rationale for what I considered odd, I said, "I'm not sure. I can't put my finger on it. I've tried, but nothing. Amber seems different. I just don't know how."

Richards gave me a sharp look. "Do you think she's cheating on you?"

"What?! No!" I said surprised.

He'd ask the question very nonchalantly, almost innocently, but regardless of his intent, the result was the immediate onset of doubt. Not that I had had doubt concerning Amber's fidelity, only that, because of Shela's actions, it was never far from the surface. And now, it rose like a submarine blasting out of the sea.

I tried to squash it, to force it back, and something must have shown on my face, for Richards nodded, saying, "It figures."

Confused, I said, "What figures? Do you know something?" Somewhat apprehensively, I continued. "Look, she's acting coy, even a little distant. At first, I thought it was due to Shela's death. But, it's been six months."

Richards looked at me, his grim face softening slightly. "Joe, I like you, despite you being a Grade 'A' asshole. Then again, I'm a Grade double 'A' asshole. So, I'm going to tell you what I know. First, you need to know that the information is classified. By that, I mean, you can't go spreading it, not even to your girlfriend. It stays with you. Got it?" Richards face squinched up as he voiced, 'classified', like it was some unholy word. Maybe it was.

After seeing my uncertain and confused nod, Richards went on. "I'm trusting you, Joe, because if this gets out, it means my career and prison for both of us. If we're lucky. Understand?"

I began to nod, but at his sudden frown, I spoke up, "Yes, I understand. Lips sealed. Mum's the word."

Nodding approval at my response, Richards gestured toward the bar, where two cold bottles of beer sat. The shot glasses had been cleared away. We drank, only without a toast.

Then Richards began his story and the reason I was there.

"A couple of weeks back, I was at One Pee Pee, as a case I'd been working on coincided with a case involving TTAG. We had just finished a preliminary-"

Before Richards could go on I asked, "What's tag?"

Annoyed, at the interruption, he snapped, "Terrorism Threat Analysis Group. Can I continue?"

"Sorry. Sure."

With a menacing eye meant to quell any further interruption, he took up where he left off. "We'd just finished up with a information exchange session, when we took a break. During the break, one of the detectives assigned to TTAG came up to me and asked a few questions about Gary Strausberg. The detective had run across Strausberg's name during one of his investigations. His investigation also linked back to my investigation. He then shown me several photographs of Gary. Get this, they were recent photographs."

I wasn't exactly sure what that implied, but assumed that it was a good thing, at least based on Richards' excited reaction. Still, it sounded far more serious than I expected. "Where were the photographs taken? And, why is a anti-terrorist group interested in Strausberg? Is he involved with terrorists?"

Richards was sipping at his beer as I rapid fired my questions.

"He was somewhere in Lower Manhattan. No one is particularly interested in Strausberg as a terrorist, but he's been seen with a couple of people known to be members of domestic terrorist groups. We think he's trying to get out of the country, and terrorists are good at infiltrating their people back and forth. It makes sense that he'd try to contact a terrorist group to help him get out of the United States."

I took a long pull from the bottle and saw it was nearly empty. I also noticed my hand trembling slightly as it held the bottle.

This was too much. It was unbelievable and I almost said as much. But, in some way I knew Richards wasn't bullshitting. Gary running around with terrorists was almost incomprehensible in my world view. People, normal, everyday people simply didn't do that. Then again, normal people are the ones who do commit heinous acts, murdering loved ones, as Gary had nearly done with two women.

Then another thought struck me.

Richards had remained silent as I processed what he'd told me, but perked up as I sat up straight.

"Wait! Since he's trying to get out of town does that mean Gary knows the cops are after him? Or...damn! Is he trying to use terrorists to kill Amber?"

Rubbing his chin contemplatively, the Lieutenant slowly said, "I wish I could answer the first question with more than a I don't know. The truth is, he might know, and once he gets whatever escape plan set, then he just might try to go after your girlfriend. He's probably desperate, and that makes him very dangerous."

Before I could respond to his statement, he went on without a pause.

"No, he won't be recruiting any terrorists to help him with getting to Amber. For one thing, terrorists don't operate that way. They want a prime target with multiple causalities that combined will be of such a magnitude that the event will be on national media. For them, it's all about making a big splash and causing terror."

"Goddamn! What are you doing to stop him? Fuck! You know where he is. Or was. I mean, come on. Here you are sitting, drinking beer, telling me all this like you haven't a care in the world." I guess I'd raised my voice, because a few heads turned our way.

"Easy, Joe. I didn't say that we weren't going to go after him. And we never stopped looking for him. But, with the Feds and the NYPD anti-terrorist task force involved, I don't have any control of how the situation is going to be handled. I'm not involved with anti-terrorism, so I'm off the case."

I shook my head in denial and disbelief, saying, "So who do I have to talk to about this?"

"No one! I told you all that in confidence. One word out of you and we're both going down. So keep your trap shut!"

He was right! And now I'd damned Amber. We both sat, stewing in silence percolating in our own thoughts. I did notice that instead of beer the bartender had set out two coffees. Black.

"There's more. One of the persons Strausberg has been seen with, works at the same physical therapy clinic your girlfriend goes to. The other detective shown me part of a report." He held up his hand, saying, "Let me finish.", just as I was about to interrupt him loudly.

"The guy, his name is Trey Pooley. He's a prosthetic leg therapist and is your girlfriend's therapist. The task force and my own department is keeping a close eye on him, especially when Ms. Morton is with him. And before you ask, there's nothing going on between them. Anyways, not of a romantic nature. That's why I asked if you knew anything. But, don't go getting all crazy and run off half cocked to confront your girlfriend. Okay?"

What the hell? "So, what am I supposed to do? Why did you tell me all this if you didn't want me to do anything?"

"Look. I have a suggestion. Why don't you and your girlfriend get out of town. No fan fare, no glamor, no planning. Just get up and get out. Stay gone until- Well, until it's over."

I was ready to reject Richards' suggestion offhand simply out of spite, but as the idea sunk in, playing around in my mind, it began to seem more and more reasonable. It would also give Amber and myself a better chance to reconnect, as I was definitely sensing a widening rift between us.

But, where to go? Then it struck me as suddenly and unexpected as a winning lottery ticket.

"Yeah. Actually, that sounds like a damn fine idea, Lieutenant! Thanks. I think we'll do just that."

"Good. And Pleasent- Don't fuck me over on this. I know we've had some problems between us, but- Well, we're on to the asshole, and soon this case will be closed. We probably won't see each other again. So, whatever you're feeling and thinking, put it behind you. For both our sakes. Okay?"

Actually, I wasn't as angry as Richards thought. I'd had time to get over a few things. I would never like the guy, but I could live with that. I think he could too.

"Sure, Lieutenant Richards. I agree. Just catch the motherfucker! Okay? I don't want him to ever have a chance to harm Amber. Call me when it's over. When you've got him, or he's dead."

Sliding off the bar stool, he stretched and rubbed his face, saying, "Well, I guess this is it. Good luck. I'll call you as soon as we have Strausberg in custody. Or, he's dead."

Knowing our meeting was done, I also stood.

Then he did something that utterly took me by surprise. He stuck his hand out to shake.

At times we're programmed to automatically respond in kind, especially in exchanging greetings. In my line of work it was ordinarily assumed one would shake hands without much thought given to the gesture. It was just one of many business formalities that meant very little to most people. Yet, right at that moment, it was a gesture that represented many things, and cemented other things together. With heavy thought I grasped his hand and shook it firmly.

He gave me a slight smile, which for some reason, I thought looked sad.

As he released my hand I unpocketed my billfold to pay for the drinks and coffee, but he waved me off, saying he had it

I shrugged and left. As I walked to my car, thoughts of the past and the present passed through my mind in a disturbing and confusing parade.

~N~

It wasn't easy convincing Amber that we should take off for awhile. She balked at the idea and knowing what I know knew it also wasn't easy to not accuse her of things. Things that might just have her arguing against going anywhere that took her away from her therapist.

"Seriously, I think this is a great opportunity to go places and do things we might otherwise never get a chance to do. My work has giving me three weeks off, and with as many flyer miles I've accumulated it won't cost all that much."

"I know Joe. It sounds great, but my therapy and -" began Amber for the umpteenth time.

"Listen, we both know that you're as far a long as you can get. I know you've been going to therapy because," Had I detected a look of concern on her face? "you don't feel you're ready. The thing is, we all know you're more than ready. Come on, Amber, even your parents are beginning to wonder what's going on."

She shook her head in denial, but at least she wasn't openly arguing anymore.

"I'll make you a deal. Let's go and if you feel you need more therapy upon our return, I won't stand in your way. I won't argue about it and I won't try to convince you otherwise. Fair enough?"

"I don't know, Joe. What if-"

"Please, Amber. What if the sun doesn't rise in the morning? What if aliens landed on the White House lawn tomorrow? What I'm saying, worrying about things that haven't happened and will probably never happen is a waste of time and breath."

Amber searchingly looked at me, her eyes trying to discern some hidden meaning in mine.

"Where would we go, Joe? That is, if I agree to go."

I smiled my best smile, one that shown not because of mirth, but because of triumph. I had her!

"I was thinking of France. Paris, maybe."

"Oh." Her face changed from honest curiosity to closed uncertainty. "Why there?"

"I thought we could see those sights you didn't get a chance to visit when you were there last. And, if we play our cards right, we might get an invite to a very exclusive dining experience. Come on, what do you say?"