Too Wylde by Marcus Wynne

you, you'll trust ol' Hank, even though you haven't seen
me for a long timey-time. Yes?
    Are you Hank?
    Who the fuck else knows your history, bro?
Nobody but your swim-buddy.
    How...
    Another time, Jimmy John. I kinda need to cut
to the chase here. So here's some info dump, you absorb all you
can, just like they told us, switch to that infallible internal
auditory mode the NLP guru gave you. In other words, just listen
the fuck up. Got it?
    I understand.
    Good. Knew you would. You and me, Jimmy. We
got history. And you know what? As far as I'm concerned, it's not
just a good history, it's a great history. Okay, so you left me to
burn...
    I didn't fucking leave you!
    Hmmm. I remember you liked all those samurai
movies. Remember that one you made me watch when we were cooling
our heels in Bogota? Or was it Lima, fuck, I'm getting old, I can't
remember. RASHOMON. Toshiro fucking Mifune. I love that guy.
Remember that movie, Jimmy John?
    Yes.
    So you get my point?
    Yes.
    Memory is a funny thing. Everybody has their
own version. So I got mine, and you got yours. Granted, we were
both pretty fucked up at the time. Getting shot *and* getting
burned? Damn, I'd say I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, but I
have and I do and I probably always will. But that's not you, Jimmy
John. Never been you, never will be you. At the risk of being
maudlin, you're like the brother I never had. So with you, I guess
I have one, right? Never mind, I told you to listen. Jimmy John, I
was never the philosopher you were. Me, I'm just a practical guy
that has a gift for blowing shit the hell up, and a seriously
messed up set of ethical standards that continues to fail the test
in the shifting landscape of this here Global War on Terror, you
feel me? Loyalty is kind of an abstract to me unless there's a body
attached, and bro, you're about the only body that's got that
attachment for me. But maybe we'll get a chance to get all weepy
about it some other time, take turns washing each other's back in
the shower and so on. So cut to the chase time, Jimmy John: I work
for some people. Those people have you on their radar. I am not
privy as to *why* you are on their radar, but I can tell you this:
their intention is not good. Actually, seriously fucked up. Someone
who did *not* do their due diligence (or maybe they did, bro, and
they might be trying to test me and/or you, you know the hall of
mirrors drill) asked me to find you and put you down. Period. End
of story. So Jimmy, these people, they're .gov, kinda, and .mil,
kinda, and private sector, kinda -- all at the same time. If you
follow my meaning. So I'm here to tell you, I'm not pushing the
button on you. At least not today. But I can't go near you and I
can't help you directly. Capisce? So whatever you got in the way of
PERSEC better crank up as high as you got it. Because I'm going to
have to at least make the attempt, though, knowing me, it will be a
near miss of the smoky kind. And then, exit stage left. Got it?
    Hank, we need...
    I know we fucking need. We both fucking need.
Right now you fucking need to walk down to the bandshell and place,
not drop, place that fucking package in the recycling bin, and then
trot the fuck back to the coffee shop and pick up that piece of
shit FJ Cruiser of yours and get out of here. We'll have that day,
Jimmy John. But right now, you're an Innocent Bystander in a very
bad version of Lawyers, Guns and Money. Do it. Now.
    And Mr. Smith, hard guy that he was, turned
off his gear, sat back with his collar turned up, tilted his head
back and dumped eye rinse into his eye sockets till the pink fluid
ran down his face, while the only person he loved in the whole
world did exactly as he had told him to do.
     
    Jimmy John Wylde
    My hands shook on the wheel.
    Dang, Jimmy, you shake like a dog shitting
peach pits...
    That's what Hank would say. The whole
conversation.
    Through the windshield I watched a Lake City
PD cruiser roll by; then a mom with a stroller walking down