Try Harder

July 2

Buff had driven for several hours, headed north. He had no predetermined destination; he just wanted to put as much space between himself and Toronto as he could. Once outside the city, he stuck to the side roads, driving past sleepy farms and untended woodland. He didn't speed, drive recklessly, or anything else that would attract attention. It was bad enough he was in such a flashy car.

It was a constant struggle to remain conscious. Every part of him ached. He'd broken several bones and lost a lot of blood.

Shortly after midnight, he simply couldn't drive anymore. He found a secluded park and pulled into it, hiding the BMW behind a large, leafy bush. Wounded and sweaty, Buff turned the car off, slid his chair back and fell asleep.

He awoke a few hours later, as the sun rose over the surrounding trees. The rest had done very little to heal his broken body. It was just as sore as it had been the night before.

He continued to ignore it. He still had work to do.

Buff drove down the road until he found a closed roadside diner with a pay phone in the parking lot. The red sports car skidded to a halt beside it. Buff jumped out, climbed into the phone booth and called up his contact at the F.B.I.

It started ringing. The handset trembled as Buff's arm shook uncontrollably.

"Agent Johnson's office," a familiar man's voice answered. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to Ronald Johnson, please," Buff said.

"This is he. Who is this?"

"It's Buff."

"Buff?!" he screamed, exploding in rage. "Goddammit, where are you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"You stupid son of a bitch! You've got some balls calling me after the shit you pulled last night! When you fuck up, you fuck up big. Do you have any idea how big you fucked up last night? Really big, Buff. It's bad. You just knocked up the ugliest girl in town."

"It wasn't my fault!" Buff protested. "It was my partner. I was double-crossed."

"A double-cross? Who are you, James Cagney? A good man died last night. A man you were contracted to protect. And yet you made it out and he didn't. If anyone was double-crossed, Buff, I'd say it was me."

"Hey, the only reason I was there at all was because of you, asshole. A lot of good men died last night, not just your agent. I tried to save him. I didn't want anyone to die. There was this lawyer in the building who thought he was Chuck Norris..."

"What?" the agent interrupted. "Who the hell is Chuck Norris?"

"You can't be serious," Buff scoffed, incredulous. "You really don't know who Chuck Norris is?"

"I don't care who Chuck Norris is! I don't want to hear any more excuses, Buff. You fucked up, and you've got one chance to redeem yourself. Tell me my officer didn't die for nothing. Tell me you recovered some of that paperwork. Tell me you brought back some shred of evidence."

Buff sighed loudly.

"Nope," he said, defeated.

"Nothing? You came back with nothing?"

"Hey, you don't understand..."

"Oh, I understand, alright. I understand that a yearlong investigation got flushed down the toilet, one of my best was killed, and all the evidence went up in flames. It's also my understanding that this is entirely your fault."

"I barely got out of there alive!"

There was a pause. Agent Johnson didn't want to talk to him anymore. As far as he was concerned, Buff was working for the Montagne family.