G.I. Joe: Agent Blue Jaye and the Beasts of Lakeside

Chapter 2

Fake wood paneling lined the walls of the Blood Moon Tavern, situated in a defunct shopping center in downtown Farmingham, Massachusetts. Inside, the pub was adorned with classic beer signs and a wide array of sports memorabilia, evidence of a never-ending love affair with all teams Boston. The bar top was laminated with hundreds of sports cards from teams and eras long past. Retired Warrant Officer Dashiell Faireborn, code name Flint, sat at the far end of the bar, a bottle of beer and a shot resting squarely between the yellowing cards of J. Sitching and A. Tippett.

Flint stared at the small flip phone now resting on the bar. The phone remained silent. Just a few moments earlier, it rang for the first time in over a decade. Flint was taking his time processing everything that happened. He had not heard or seen Ben since Alison's funeral, mainly due to efforts on his part. He quickly threw back the shot and took a long pull from the bottle, continuing to stare at his phone. The barkeep walked up for a refill and looked to Flint with concern. Flint stared back at him with an expression of stoic gloom.

"You ok Sam? You want another?" The barkeep made a gesture, offering another drink. Flint nodded. "Your burger will be ready soon." The bartender said before walking away.

Flint made note of the interaction. The bartender, Josh was his name, was always trying to get him to talk, open up, let loose as he would say. Nice kid, but Flint was not in the position or mental state to begin making friends. He liked things the way they were, quiet and alone. Heading out to watch the Sox and having a few beers was the only social thing he did. In private, he was reserved to reading classics and remembering times when things were different, when people he loved weren't dead.

Now in an instant, Flint felt like his whole world had changed. It was by pure morbid habit he kept Alison's phone in the inner pocket of his worn bomber jacket. "Please, whoever this is, we need help! A boy is dying, please!" Ben had said on the other end of the line.

Flint had immediately recognized Ben's voice, but when Ben mentioned Alison, he didn't know how to respond. Almost thirteen years had passed since he had heard from anyone in Alison's family, let alone someone actually speaking her name.

Flint looked back down at the phone. When he was first recruited to his old team, all recruits were given a phone, number, and a location to memorize in case they ever had to get off the grid or signal for help. A few years before she was killed, Alison shared with him where she kept her phone and the coordinates to her location. She wanted to let him know that if anything ever happened to her, for him to go to that location and wait.

After the funeral, Flint knew she was never coming back, but when he retired for good, he decided to go to her location to be close to her again, however he could. That location turned out to be the Blood Moon Tavern, and after Flint first sat down at the end of the bar years ago, he never left. The place reminded him of Alison, and if she was still alive, Flint imaged her dragging him there to watch games and relax.

Flint looked down at the phone again. It finally rang. But it wasn't Alison who was on the other end of the line, it was her cousin Ben. At some point, Alison must have given Ben the number to her phone. Alison had been dead for thirteen years, so why would he try to call her number now? Regardless of that answer, it was obvious to Flint that Ben was in trouble and was desperately trying to reach out to anyone, even to his long dead cousin.

The urge to help surprised Flint as it rose from the bottom of his gut. Flint knew Alison loved her cousin Ben like a brother, and they even visited him a few times up in Vermont during the early years of his literary fame. While the military was Flint's main focus, Alison would always find him tucked away in a corner of the cafeteria, deeply engrossed in a novel. Books were how Alison got deep inside Flint, through all the layers that had grown around his innocence and purity. It was Alison who gave Flint Ben's collection of short stories. He must have read it over a dozen times.

Flint desperately tried to suppress his current wave of emotion. Reserved to a secluded lifestyle, he avoided scenarios where he could be in a position to help. In a distant life, Flint couldn't imagine not jumping in to assist in any situation, but pain and time had worn down those particular desires.

The barkeep plopped a plate down in front of Flint consisting of a medium rare burger between two pieces of white bread, a small green bag of Owl Potato Chips, and three gherkins. "Dinner is served," said the barkeep, bowing, and slowly walking backward.

"Thanks." Flint responded emotionlessly as he picked up one of the gherkins and snapped off a piece. What should I do? Flint asked himself as he took a bite out of the burger. He looked up at the TV. The Sox were in the top of the eighth, up a couple runs. Alison loved watching the Sox.

He remembered when they would go into the city and walk to the ballpark through the Fens at least twice a summer, maybe more. She would lean in and rest her head on his shoulder out in the sunny centerfield bleachers. Any time there was any action, she would practically rip him out of his seat as she either cheered or sneered the players and umpires. Alison loved a lot of things like the Sox, the military, books, and especially her cousin Ben.

At that moment, Flint realized that Ben was one of the only pieces of Alison he had left. Guilt suddenly crept into Flint's consciousness for not doing more to respond when Ben called. As he finished his burger, Flint thought that even though he was pushing sixty and well past his prime, he had to help.

Picking up the small flip phone, Flint dialed a six-digit code. There was a click, and then another succession of clicks as the line tried to connect.

"Identification number?" A woman's voice asked. Flint spoke the eleven-digit code he was given when he was first recruited. There was a long pause.

"Can you please repeat?" The woman asked. Flint repeated the number again. There was a longer pause and the woman's voice returned to the call. "Verified. One moment please." There was another succession of clicks and then a new female voice came on the line.

"This is Communications Officer Breaker, please restate your identification number." The voice said. Flint was a little annoyed having to restate his ID for a third time.

"I already gave my identification number twice. Also, I worked with Breaker, and he didn't have a female voice." Flint responded. After a long pause the female voice returned.

"I am Breaker's daughter." The voice responded confidently. "Is this really Warrant Officer Flint? Our records state you are retired. How did you get this number?"

"We all get these numbers. They last as long as we do." Flint replied sarcastically. "I am evoking article 687 of the Joe Team Charter, for temporary reinstatement to follow up on a possible enemy threat."

Flint rambled off a series of numbers. He could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. "I need access to a vehicle as soon as possible." Flint said and relayed a nearby location quickly hanging up.

If the code he gave was still valid, he knew Breaker's daughter would have no choice but to follow protocol and provide him the resources he needed. Within twenty-four hours though, he would have to report back and answer to whomever was now in charge. Flint motioned to the barkeep who hurried over with a nervous smile.

"Josh, I'd like to settle up." The bartender smiled wide and set the bill down in front of Flint.

"You coming in for the Sox Yanks tomorrow night? Going to be a great series." Josh said leaning over the bar resting on his elbows.

"Actually, I'm heading out of town to help an old friend." Flint replied. At that realization, Flint stood up, gave a slight nod to the bartender, and was out the door on his way to Lakeside, Vermont.