A metal door swings opens. Jake steps into the warehouse.
"Ship made it to dock. Everyone got out clean. I debriefed the team and sent them on their way."
"The debrief was supposed to happen here. This is what I'm talking about, you just have to push back every step."
"It's not like they were going to tell you anything different. Plus didn't want to waste any more of their time."
"That's not the point, Jake. There's an order to this. It's not just run and gun and hope it all falls into place!"
"I told you, if we waited, we'd have gotten nothing. Why the hell are you so mad? We got everyone on that ship. Big-time dealers, traffickers, guys who are ruining lives. And now they're off the street. Isn't that what we're trying to do here?"
"You think the FBI couldn't have taken them down anytime?! I had to pull serious strings just to leave them in play."
"And now they're behind bars, so what's the big deal?"
"The big deal is we've got nothing. We let them run for months—for what? To get dirt on the Brotherhood. And now we've got nothing. This was supposed to be huge for us..." She sighs, pressing a hand to her head.
"I still don't get why you're so upset. What's so important about this drive?"
"It's not the drive. It's what's on it. That was supposed to give us something, anything we could show the higher-ups to prove we're making progress with this investigation."
"I mean we still have time to find something. I mean yeah we took a hit, but it's not like we've been compromised or anything."
"We're all out of time! This was our last shot to deliver something that mattered… They're shutting us down."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Five years, and what do we got to show for it? A couple small-time thugs off the street. That and—"
She pauses.
"And we managed to a great agent killed..."
Jake starts pacing.
"They can't do that! Not when we're this close! There has to be something we can do. Just give us another month and we'll find some lead. Something—"
"There's no more time!"
She exhales, steadying herself. "This was it. Funding's cut. We can't bring in anyone else. It's over, Jake."
"So that's it? We just walk away from the Brotherhood? From everything we've been doing?"
"Everyone we've got dirt on will be brought in. They'll squeeze them for whatever they can, but it won't stop anything. Maybe it slows them down for a few months, but they'll be back up and running in no time. At least Tyler and his crew will finally go away."
"So this was all for nothing?..."
She doesn't respond. She moves to the side of her desk, bracing herself against it.
"Seems that way."
Jake stands there, stunned.
She pulls out a cigarette and tries to light it.
"Damn thing. Come on—click, click…"
She throws the lighter to the floor.
She drops to her knees, back against the desk, and starts to sob.
Jake moves over to her.
"Five damn years… and we couldn't— we couldn't do a thing for him."
Tears pour down her face, the cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.
He picks up the lighter and flicks it to life. The flame steadies as he lights her cigarette.
Then drops beside her, eyes up at the ceiling.
"You think he's up there, watching all of this?"
She takes a drag, holding it in for a moment before exhaling.
Jake reaches over and takes the cigarette from her lips.
"I bet he's yelling at us to get our heads out of our asses."
He lifts it to his lips, takes a slow inhale, then exhales and hands it back.
Samantha lets out a small laugh as she wipes her eyes.
"He'd lose his mind if he saw us sharing one of these. He hated cigarettes."
She takes it from his hand and pulls another drag.
A few quiet moments pass between them.
"So that's really it, huh?"
"Unless we get something wrapped up nice and neat tonight."
She stands to her feet, brushing the dirt off her clothes.
"Let's head out, it's getting late."
Jake nods, rising to his feet.
They walk out of the warehouse, the lights shutting down one by one behind them.
They step out. The metal door clangs shut behind them.
"They'll figure it out. I'm sure… Not sure what my superior's going to do with you though. Probably witness protection. Got anywhere in mind? Bahamas? Cabo?"
"Haven't really thought about it. Wasn't expecting to start over this soon."
"You never thought about it? Life after all this?"
"Not really. Didn't care about anything but the mission. Now it's over…"
"I guess Mom always talked about going to Hawaii."
A flicker of something crosses his eyes before he shifts.
"What about you? What are you gonna do after all this?"
"Maybe I'll retire. I always told Marcus I'd run off to Costa Rica, meet some Latin guy, and spend the rest of my life drinking margaritas. Dance some salsa, tan on the beach."
"Doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I'll join you."
"Eh, that's just some fever dream from when I was your age. Marcus was the only one crazy enough to actually encourage it."
She sighs. "They'll probably stick me somewhere else. I'll end up directing traffic in New York, for all I know."
She looks around, taking it all in.
"Anyway… it's been a good run, kid. If you ever need anything, just give me a call. Doesn't matter where you are."
She rests a hand on his shoulder, then pulls him into a hug.
"I'll reach out tomorrow with details on what's next. Just stay put till then."
"Try not to end up directing traffic."
He holds his arms around her.
"Take care, Sam."
She pulls away.
"That's Samantha to you." She wipes at her eye. "Technically, I'm still your ranking officer."
"Only for another night."
She smiles, then turns and walks off.
Jake watches her until she disappears.
Sorry I couldn't do more…
He turns and walks away.
As he walks down the street, music thumps from a club, and flashes of light spill onto the sidewalk.
He comes to a stop just outside the doors.
Could use drink.
He walks in.
Music blares overhead as he makes his way to the bar.
He leans against it, motioning for the bartender.
The bartender catches sight of him and heads over.
"What'll it be tonight?" he leans in.
"Tequila."
"Salt? Lime?"
"Just the bottle. And a glass."
"You opening a tab or—"
Jake slaps some cash on the table.
"Just bring the bottle."
"Sounds good." The bartender collects the cash and moves down the bar.
Jake rubs the back of his neck.
We're just walking away… after all that?
The barkeep places the bottle and glass down in front of him.
"Here you go."
Jake pours a shot and downs it. The burn barely registers.
Five years down the drain.
He pours another.
The hell was it all for?
Downs it.
As he reaches to pour another shot, someone steps up beside him.
"Need help finishing that bottle?"
A girl, nearly a foot shorter than him, stands at his side.
"I think I can manage it." Jake says, eyes still forward.
"Well then, I guess I'll have to get my own." She waves over the bartender.
She leans in again, a hint of a smile.
"So, what's the occasion?"
"End of a long run," he says, quick and brief.
The bartender comes back over.
"What can I get you?"
"I'll have a shot of whatever he's having."
The bartender pulls a bottle from the rack, pours her a shot, then moves off.
"Well, here's to the end of a long run." She knocks the shot back.
"Blegh—how are you drinking this straight?"
She leans over the bar, yelling.
"Can I get another? Bring some lime and salt, too, please!"
Jake finally glances at her as she leans over the bar.
She's barely dressed, skin catching the light.
A small tattoo rests at the base of her spine.
His eyes linger—longer than he means to.
He shifts his gaze as she leans back.
"Man, this place is understaffed."
"Here."
Jake reaches for the bottle and pours her a shot.
"Had a change of heart? I hope checking out my ass isn't what did it."
He coughs, caught off guard.
"What made you go with that butterfly? Most girls go with a Monarch or something a little more minimal."
He pours himself another.
"It's my favorite. My dad used to take me to insectariums when I was little. I'd always look for these. Wait… please don't tell me you're gonna go full Silence of the Lambs on me. Kill me, then throw a butterfly in my mouth."
"Ha… that's not really my style."
She leans back a little, a hint of alarm in her eyes.
"Uh… okay… so what are they to you?"
"Someone I knew. They liked them."
The bartender arrives with the salt and limes.
"They're moths, by the way. In the movie," he says, a small laugh slipping out.
"That's not helping your case." She laughs, settling back.
"You know, tequila's meant to loosen you up. Have a little fun. This is… kind of depressing. Here—follow me."
She puts some salt on her tongue, then looks over, waiting for him to follow.
He just stares at her.
"Come on," she says, sticking her tongue out.
Jake lets out another laugh. "You look ridiculous."
"Just do it! And don't forget your lime!"
He sighs, then follows her lead, sprinkling salt onto his tongue.
"Now, the shot."
They both down their shots. Hers goes down much rougher. She winces.
"Then you finish with the lime."
The woman squeezes the lime into her mouth. She nods for Jake to follow.
He goes along with it.
"Ahh! Now that's how tequila should be drunk! Now we're having some fun." She starts swaying to the beat. "Doesn't it make you want to just dance?!"
"No, not reall—"
Before he knows it, the tiny woman is dragging him towards the dance floor.
He stops her advance, planting his feet.
"C'mon, don't be shy! I hate guys who just sit at the bar while there's a party going on!"
"Then why'd you come up to me?!"
"Because you looked sad and lonely. Now enough talk! We dance."
She pulls him along, and he gives in, tequila fogging his judgment.
They dance for a few songs, the music carrying them along.
They finally slip away from the crowd.
"Wow, you really can move!"
Jake shrugs at her, a faint redness creeping across his cheeks.
"Don't be shy now. Haha!"
"Hey, let's go outside! I could use some air."
Jake nods and follows her toward the doors.
They make their way outside of the club.
They drift to the side of the building and settle onto the curb.
The city around them is quiet.
For a few moments, they just sit in silence.
"So… are you feeling better now?"
Jake shrugs looking out at the street.
"Who knows."
"You're a lot quieter out here."
"There's less noise."
She tilts her head.
"What happened? Things were just about to get good. I was going to ask if we were going to your place or mine. Then you'd say something like, 'Doesn't matter to me.'"
"Wow, you really had all this planned out."
"Yeah, well… that's how these things usually go."
"Can't say I've had many nights like this."
She watches him for a second.
"Yeah… I guessed as much. You don't really seem like the type."
Jake breathes out softly.
"And what type is that?"
She leans in, guiding his head toward hers.
"The type that's here for… this."
She leans in, pressing her lips to his.
"So, I'll ask now."
"My place or yours?"
He swallows, glances at her, then away.
"I… don't even know your name."
"Who says you have to?"
Jake glances at the streetlight, then back at her, jaw tight.
"I…I should go."
She grins, brushing her hand along his arm.
"Is this you trying to be a "good" guy… or is that how you really feel?"
He takes a long breath, then slowly pushes himself up.
"It's like you said, I'm just not the type. It's best we let tonight end here."
She lets out a sigh, "Yeah… that's probably best. Wouldn't want to be kicking you out of my spot in the morning anyway."
"I doubt that's what our morning would look like." He smirks.
Her cheeks flush, a shiver runs down her spine.
"It was nice meeting you, whoever you are. And thanks for tonight."
He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, then starts down the sidewalk.
"Last chance! Take it, or I walk!"
Jake chuckles as he steps further down the sidewalk.
The door swings open, and Jake stumbles inside. It clicks shut behind him.
God the room is spinning.
Now I remember why I never go out.
He walks down the hallway, his eyes briefly catching the pictures on the dresser.
A picture of him and his mother takes the center spot.
He pauses, his breath catching as he takes in the image.
Sorry Mom.
That bastard really ruined everything for us…
He moves past, stepping deeper into the apartment.
He walks into the living room and collapses onto the couch, his boots still on.
He freezes for a moment, then shoots up and grabs the nearest basket, letting it all out.
He tosses it aside and flops back onto the couch.
I'm never drinking again.
He lays there in the dark, silence all around him. The room swaying underneath him.
A vibration hums in his pocket, breaking the quiet.
Who the hell?
He digs into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
Tyler 1 new message
The swaying picks up. He tosses the phone aside and reaches back for the basket.
God damn it.
He falls back again, fumbling for his phone, eyes closed.
He finally grabs it, flipping it open as he struggles to stay conscious.
8 AM. I need you there—
The phone slips from his hand.
He's out.