Likely Suspects by G.K. Parks Page B

and the explosion both happened outside MT. Was it someone with a beef with the company or a beef with Martin?
    They don’t know where he lives. The thought flashed across my mind like lightning. Obviously, I didn’t know this for a fact, but it would make more sense to attack someone at a private residence than in broad daylight in front of potentially hundreds of witnesses. I grabbed the dry erase note board I kept on my fridge and scribbled out the thought. Another thought struck me. Unless the attacks are supposed to be in public to scare Martin into stepping down from his job. Maybe isolate him at home and finish him off. Too much speculation on my part. I went back to the original thought; they didn’t know where he lived.
    I started back over. Everything’s been at work. I was sitting on my bed now, and I lay against the pillows. I missed my pillow and the comfort of my own bed. Okay, everything happened at work. Can the motive be work related? The only work related thing I was aware of was the Dubai acquisition. Evidently, there must be more going on than just one acquisition. I needed to ask what other big projects were in the works at MT. I added that to my note board before closing my eyes to try to clear my head. 
    Opening my eyes, I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. “Dammit,” I swore and got out of bed. I had fallen asleep. These late nights and early mornings were counterproductive. I picked up my note board and everything I brought with me, locked my apartment, and drove back to Martin’s compound. It was a little after one a.m., and I hoped Mark was still filling in as bodyguard and wasn’t too pissed about the inconvenience.
    I arr ived at Martin’s quickly, given the almost nonexistent traffic, and I used the remote to pull into the garage. I shut the door and took the steps up to the main level two at a time. I didn’t see Mark’s car and suspected he must have left for the night. The house was dark, and I was paranoid about tripping some new unforeseen security measure. But no alarms blared as I entered the living room. The table lamp was on, and Martin was sitting on the couch. His arm was outstretched over the back of the sofa, a half empty glass in his hand and an almost empty bottle of single malt on the coffee table.
    “Sorry, I was checking on some things and lost track of time. Did Mark leave?”
    “S’okay,” he slurred. He tilted his drink-holding hand, as if to examine his watch, and spilled the contents onto the couch cushion. “What time is it?” In his intoxicated state, he was unable to focus or notice the spilled drink.
    “I think it’s time fo r you to get some sleep.”
    “No. ” He looked up with those green eyes, reminding me of a wounded animal. “I’m going to finish my drink first.” He put the glass on the table and poured the rest of the bottle into it. I sat down on the non-soppy cushion and figured I’d wait him out.
    “ Y’know what?” he slurred, his tone semi-angry. “They already fucking won.”
    I really didn’t like drunken people, but when running low on sodium pentothal, drunk could be helpful in finding out some truths. Although, I would have preferred a quiet night of him sleeping and me staring at the surveillance feed, especially after our fight earlier.
    “Who?” I tentatively asked.
    “Whoever. ” He took a sip. “The faceless, letter writing, hotdog bombing bastards, and I liked those hotdogs, too.” I swallowed, trying to avoid focusing on the casualties. We sat sullenly for a moment.
    “We’re going to stop them. ” I didn’t want to go into details and start asking questions when he was in this state; it was enough trouble trying to get him to focus and stay on topic when he was sober.
    “Yeah, Mark said that , too.” He slurred the s badly. “Mark’s a good guy. Did he ever tell you about Panama?”
    “No.” I was getting curious now. “What happened in Panama?”
    “It’s been almost ten years now.