on the television to the Armed
Forces Network. It was 7 p.m. in Germany
on a Sunday, meaning back in the States it was kickoff time for the early NFL
games. The game he cared about involved his
beloved Tennessee Titans. Damien had
watched them since they were the Oilers, stealing his allegiance from the
Dallas Cowboys after the way their new owner had treated Tom Landry more than
twenty years earlier. But now it was all
about the Titans, and they were about to have an epic battle with the upstart, high-flying
Texans. His phone rang.
Ellis found the
cordless where he always left it. “Captain Ellis, here.”
The voice on the
other end of the line was Staff Sergeant Peter Sorgi. His Chicago accent was overpowering; Ellis
loved it. “Seriously, sir? You even answer as Captain when you’re at
home?”
“ Lotta nerve calling me just as the Titans are kicking off, Sarge .” Peter Sorgi
was his investigator and chief assistant. The two men had the Army’s version of a father-son relationship.
“Well, it’s the
only time I knew you would definitely be home. I just wanted to tell you to go to France and have a good time, and
don’t think about work back here. You
haven’t had leave in over a year, and…well…I know you need it.”
Ellis sat on the
edge of the bed, allowing his mind to go forward a moment. “Oh, I plan to relax, Peter. I plan to drink some good wine, to eat some aged
cheese, to see some beautiful sights. Got me a new book to read, a thick’n , and a
backup in case I finish it. Gonna sleep late… gonna do what I
please without Uncle Sam lookin ’ over my shoulder.”
“ Gonna meet some fine-looking women,” Sorgi added.
Ellis forced a
fake chuckle, knowing Peter meant well. “I’m not quite ready for that, Peter. But thank you.” There was an
awkward pause. “You’ve got my schedule
and I’ll have my phone on. You call me
if you need me.”
“I won’t be
calling you, sir. Just go relax. In
fact…get drunk, why don’t you?”
Ellis let out a
laugh. “If I do, I won’t be able to
appreciate the fruit of the vine that the French have so laboriously cultivated
for thousands of years. No sir, that wine
is there to be enjoyed, savored, with a clear head.”
“Get drunk anyway,
sir,” Sorgi said with conviction. “Do it
for me.”
“No promises, but
you never know.”
“I’ll miss having you
around, pissing off the chief.”
“Thanks Peter, he
probably needs the break from me too.” They said brief goodbyes.
Ellis, a veteran
officer in the U.S. Army Criminal Investigations Division, known commonly by
its acronym CID, thumbed the phone off and placed it on the dresser. His eyes cut to the favorite picture of his
wife Rose. He picked it up, staring at
her soft smile, his bottom lip trembling. Tears rimmed his eyes, making him blink them away.
Based in Frankfurt,
Ellis was one of U.S. Army Europe’s top investigators. Tall and slightly hunched and, at fifty-three
years old, he was also the oldest Army captain in the entire European command. In his early years, he had worked as a Biloxi
cop, finishing college during his off hours. Then, in 1990, when Desert Shield kicked off, Damien Ellis (who missed
Vietnam by less than a decade) joined the Army, gaining an appointment at
Officer’s Candidate School in Fort Benning , Georgia. It was there, in church, that the hard-working
African-American soldier met his wife Rose, marrying her the day after
graduation. After a quick tour of the
desert during the waning days of Desert Storm, the older military policeman
lieutenant was stationed at Fort Bragg, catching the eyes of his superiors as a
steel-trap, methodical bloodhound of an investigator. It wasn’t much time until he was transferred
to CID, honing his detective skills while working vice, fraud, and eventually major
crime.
His career had
been stellar, but it was nearly
Forces Network. It was 7 p.m. in Germany
on a Sunday, meaning back in the States it was kickoff time for the early NFL
games. The game he cared about involved his
beloved Tennessee Titans. Damien had
watched them since they were the Oilers, stealing his allegiance from the
Dallas Cowboys after the way their new owner had treated Tom Landry more than
twenty years earlier. But now it was all
about the Titans, and they were about to have an epic battle with the upstart, high-flying
Texans. His phone rang.
Ellis found the
cordless where he always left it. “Captain Ellis, here.”
The voice on the
other end of the line was Staff Sergeant Peter Sorgi. His Chicago accent was overpowering; Ellis
loved it. “Seriously, sir? You even answer as Captain when you’re at
home?”
“ Lotta nerve calling me just as the Titans are kicking off, Sarge .” Peter Sorgi
was his investigator and chief assistant. The two men had the Army’s version of a father-son relationship.
“Well, it’s the
only time I knew you would definitely be home. I just wanted to tell you to go to France and have a good time, and
don’t think about work back here. You
haven’t had leave in over a year, and…well…I know you need it.”
Ellis sat on the
edge of the bed, allowing his mind to go forward a moment. “Oh, I plan to relax, Peter. I plan to drink some good wine, to eat some aged
cheese, to see some beautiful sights. Got me a new book to read, a thick’n , and a
backup in case I finish it. Gonna sleep late… gonna do what I
please without Uncle Sam lookin ’ over my shoulder.”
“ Gonna meet some fine-looking women,” Sorgi added.
Ellis forced a
fake chuckle, knowing Peter meant well. “I’m not quite ready for that, Peter. But thank you.” There was an
awkward pause. “You’ve got my schedule
and I’ll have my phone on. You call me
if you need me.”
“I won’t be
calling you, sir. Just go relax. In
fact…get drunk, why don’t you?”
Ellis let out a
laugh. “If I do, I won’t be able to
appreciate the fruit of the vine that the French have so laboriously cultivated
for thousands of years. No sir, that wine
is there to be enjoyed, savored, with a clear head.”
“Get drunk anyway,
sir,” Sorgi said with conviction. “Do it
for me.”
“No promises, but
you never know.”
“I’ll miss having you
around, pissing off the chief.”
“Thanks Peter, he
probably needs the break from me too.” They said brief goodbyes.
Ellis, a veteran
officer in the U.S. Army Criminal Investigations Division, known commonly by
its acronym CID, thumbed the phone off and placed it on the dresser. His eyes cut to the favorite picture of his
wife Rose. He picked it up, staring at
her soft smile, his bottom lip trembling. Tears rimmed his eyes, making him blink them away.
Based in Frankfurt,
Ellis was one of U.S. Army Europe’s top investigators. Tall and slightly hunched and, at fifty-three
years old, he was also the oldest Army captain in the entire European command. In his early years, he had worked as a Biloxi
cop, finishing college during his off hours. Then, in 1990, when Desert Shield kicked off, Damien Ellis (who missed
Vietnam by less than a decade) joined the Army, gaining an appointment at
Officer’s Candidate School in Fort Benning , Georgia. It was there, in church, that the hard-working
African-American soldier met his wife Rose, marrying her the day after
graduation. After a quick tour of the
desert during the waning days of Desert Storm, the older military policeman
lieutenant was stationed at Fort Bragg, catching the eyes of his superiors as a
steel-trap, methodical bloodhound of an investigator. It wasn’t much time until he was transferred
to CID, honing his detective skills while working vice, fraud, and eventually major
crime.
His career had
been stellar, but it was nearly
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