I Used to Be a Spy

Sunglasses

"Remember when we met?" Hughes chuckled.
Michael smirked and peered at his friend who sat crouching against the horse barn door.
"How could I forget? I was awfully jumpy at the time yet I liked you."
The two shared a chuckle, a hint of his friend's misery fading from his features slightly. Hughes added, "I thought you looked really weird wearing sunglasses in a dark bar. Figured you were some shady dude."
Michael shrugged. "It's a Miami thing."
"Well, precisely why it was weird, this ain't Miami..."
                                   +++++
Michael sipped on his water, the thought of anything with alcohol caused his stomach to churn. He had his sunglasses on but didn't want to take them off, no couldn't take them off. Though surrounded by strangers, he didn't want anyone to know he'd been crying.
"Is this spot taken?" A man nearing his mid thirties pointed to the stool next to Michael.
There were loads of open seats yet this man wanted a seat next to him. A chill ran down his spine. The man was clean cut, tired looking and pulling out a thin wallet, he had to be a policeman.
"Yes it is."
"Oh okay. I supposed the other one on the other side of you is free?"
Michael sighed and rolled his eyes, but realized the man wouldn't notice that.
"What do you want, officer...?"
The man grinned. "Hughes. And you are? I haven't seen you around here before."
Michael cleared his throat. "I moved to the area recently. I've been working at a horse breeding farm. Soon I'll be starting my own. Do you want a horse?" Why was he sharing so much information with this stranger. He cleared his throat then asked with a stern tone, "What do you want?"
Hughes smiled and sat on the first seat he asked about. "Honestly, I'm off duty, but you look suspicious."
"Thanks?" Michael was close to getting up and walking away, but he needed to know if somehow, someway, someone was on to him. "Look... I recently lost my mother... "
"Mo chomhbrin ort agus a do mhuintir{My condolences to you and your family}." The man seemed genuine. A flicker of his own sadness flashed across his features, then disappeared before he could ask about it. "I'm gonna take a note to wear some sunnies next time I'm grieving in a bar."
Michael couldn't help but smile, it was small, but it helped majorly.
"You know, water doesn't really help much either..."
"Well, I need to go home to my son and wife. They're grieving as well..."
Hughes nodded his head. "Well, I'll see you next week Sunglasses."
Michael nodded and left, a weird feeling of calm settling upon him.
                                +++++
Michael smiled fondly at the memory of his first interaction with Hughes. Every week for the next five years, he met with Hughes at those two bar stools and had simple, civil chats about life with the guard.
A realization hit Michael. "When did your wife die?"
Hughes sounded far even though he was only several feet from Michael, likely deep in memories as well. "It was only six months prior."
"You never mentioned her..." Michael almost felt hurt that his friend withheld such deep information.
"No... I wasn't good at talking about it at that point. I'm still not. Plus, I didn't have a cool pair of sunglasses to hide behind," Hughes grinned.
Michael nodded his head, completely understanding the feeling. After a breeze blew through the barn, then quieted down, Michael asked, "What was her name?"
"Eillish."
"That's a pretty name," Michael stated.
Hughes stood and dusted off his pants. "She's been gone a long time, Michael. I'll move on one Kavanaugh is behind bars for good." He turned to leave.
"Why is O'Sullivan after you, Beacan?"
Hughes stopped in his tracks. He let out a breath but didn't answer.
"How is he involved in all of this?" Michael prodded.
"I've been trying to solve her murder this entire time and find somthing to take Kavanaugh down."
"Don't you think O'Sullivan would've helped you take Kavanaugh down?" The reality was unraveling as Michael asked the question.
Hughes whipped around, eyes wild. "It wasn't Kavanaugh... it was O'Sullivan. He... why would he kill my wife?"
"My guess? O'Sullivan was hiring Kavanaugh to do some dirty work for him, and you were right on their tail," Michael crossed his arms and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, Hughes."
Hughes put his hands in the pockets of his suit that was still covered in dust. "Thanks...and you can call me Beacan."