04 I Know You

04 I Know You

I walked home with more exhaustion than usual. The day's events were starting to get to me and I couldn't wait to get home and maybe, catch enough hot water to wash the day off my body. As I walked by a hotdog booth, I nearly cringed. I hadn’t eaten and the hotdog was smelling incredibly nice. But I resisted, reminding myself that I would need the last $100 bill I have to find another place, preferably one that takes a 100 for two months.

Fortunately, the middle of the day was not the time when everybody and their grandmothers living in this building would come home and get a hot shower. Thus I was granted my wish of what little comfort I could get. While I was savoring my PB and J sandwich, there was a knock on my door. I frowned, wondering who it would be knocking at this time of the day. I had never invited any of my friends from work, and if they know the building's phone, located conveniently at the ‘reception area’ where the building manager could listen to about every single word said to and from the telephone, it would be because I had put it in the employment data form.

But it was, indeed, the manager. She informed me of a call from “a guy. He won't tell me his name, though. Have you made any debts anywhere? What were you thinking, giving your number to a debt collector? If he came here to collect, I’ll turn you in to the police!” and yadda yadda. By the time I finally got to the telephone, I finally managed to block out most of the building manager’s relentless nag about God knows what.

“Hello? Who is this?” I didn't think of bothering with pleasantries.

“It’s Matt. Just walk out of the building to the phone booth on your left. I’m there. Now.” he ordered. I was still staring indignantly at the phone when I realized that he had hung up a while ago.

“Who was it?” the building manager asked curiously.

“None of your business.” I got the feeling that if I were to return to my room and get my coat, she would follow me and ask me questions until I gave in and reply. At least by going outside, I would have several seconds to concoct an answer she would accept.

Matthew Sharkey was indeed waiting at the phone booth several buildings away. He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans, a little different than the smart business suit he had this morning. I slowed my pace a little so I could study him a little more. As I got nearer, I also noticed that he was wearing a different sunglasses. And a smile when I got a few feet away from him.

“You have lunch yet?” he asked casually. I stopped in confusion. Well, it took him quite some time to come up with a pick up line, alright. “I need to get your statement in, and I don't feel like doing it in front of the cops.” he added. Oh, that's why.

I shook my head. “I was about to, then you called.” I explained.

“Sorry for not going in and pick you up. Your landlady isn't exactly the type that reacts well to cops-type.” he smirked.

“Good choice. I don't think she’ll let me off the hook for the rest of the month, either, if you'd tell her you were there to get my statement.” I told him as I fell into steps next to him. “I... Um...” I hesitated as he stopped in front of a sidewalk deli.

He eyed me curiously, then smiled some more. I liked his smile. But I liked his smile better when he takes his shades off. The blue of his eyes and crow's feet made him look more human.

“Don't worry, I’m buying.” he told me as if he was reading my mind. He then ushered me to a sidewalk seat. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked. I shook my head and tried to look away as he light up. But my reserve failed when he offered me his pack of cigarette.

“Thanks,” I said as he lit up my cigarette. “I was trying to quit...” I said, feeling like a heel.

“Right, yesterday.” he quipped. Now that got me curious. Right after the waitress took our orders of a meal that could've cost me a month's worth of meals, I decided to turn the table on him.

“How and why do you know so much about me, anyway?” I asked, leaning forward and tried to look for his eyes. Our seat on the sidewalk means that he would not need to take off his shades. That bothered me a lot - not only that I wanted to see his calming blues, I also had the suspicion that the glasses were X-Ray visions and could see through my flimsy T-Shirt. “Are those glasses X-ray?” I finally couldn't hold my tongue anymore.

He chuckled. “No they're not. I’m photosensitive,” he explained. But he took off the glasses anyway and replaced them in his shirt's buttons, pulling his neckline a little lower and gave me more view of his chest hair.

“Shouldn't have picked a sidewalk table, then,” I offered helpfully.

He shrugged. “I’m also a heavy smoker. And to answer your initial question...” he sighed before continuing. “Finding you was quite incidental. Knowing you, however, was not. I was the marine cadet your father was protecting when he got killed.” his answer was not what I expected. Fortunately, iced tea was the first thing the waitress placed on our table before we ordered. I gulped it liberally before I could re-synchronize my heartbeat with my breathing and made an assurance that there was still a connection between the earth under my feet and my feet.

“They never found the cadet...” I croaked, in spite of the amount of liquid I'd swallowed.

He nodded understandingly. “Because I wasn't a cadet, and I was shipped out the very next day.” he said. “They never found me because I didn't exist.” well, that sure explains the person sitting before me now, telling me he’d witnessed my father's death.

My glare must have been more descriptively revealing than the menu. Because he continued unabashingly. “I was a marine cadet. But I wasn't stationed in any marine command posts. If they’d looked on the list of medical staff, they would’ve found me. Only they never did.”

“No way,” I managed to gasp.

“No way, what?” at that moment, the waitress chose to show up with our food. And I was literally looking at them hungrily. They looked mighty good, even the small glob of coleslaw on the side looked good. I fought myself to not gobble at them the instant the waitress turned around, and instead I picked a fry to nibble at.

“No way you could’ve been a medical staff. You can't be much older than I,” I said.

“We’re the same age.” He admitted. “Although Jason said you looked a decade younger,” he grinned.

“Then you couldn't be more than eighteen back then. I don't know much about marines and navy and such. But I know you can't be a doctor when you’re eighteen.” I argued.

He studied me intently as he chewed on his sandwich. “I was actually a fully qualified physician by then.” he said.

“Sure...” I rolled my eyes. “So you must be a genius. A MENSA type of person.”

“A Mega, actually, higher than MENSA. I am one of the few Mega and/or MENSA ‘type’ of persons who became full-fledged physician. Everybody else usually chose the research route,” he continued unabashingly. “I was a doctor first, marine second.”

As fascinated as I was, I couldn't stop eating. Sandwiches do feel incredibly heavenly if you haven't had any in the past year. But eventually, I stuffed enough into myself to stop and ask, “Why didn't you ever come out?”

He rubbed his chin warily and I noticed a shade of stubble on it. So he was human, after all, and not some robot with no feelings. “I didn't need to. They caught the perp and, if I’m not mistaken, had him executed some time ago. Quite quick when you think of it. The Brothers in Blues don’t like keeping cop's killers alive too long, I guess.” he grinned.

I digested the new information alongside the meal I just had. He was right. Cops tend to get down harder on the killer of one of their own. There was basically no need for him to show up simply to pin the final nail the coffin.

When I looked down, I was amazed to notice that I had barely eaten half of my meal - in spite of my current fullness. I toyed with the food for a moment and felt guilty thinking that I would have to leave it to a dumpster somewhere. When I looked up to Matthew, he was still studying me intently.

“Do you mind if I pack this for a doggy bag?” I asked before I could think of how potentially embarassing it was. Especially since his own plate was cleaned off. But I couldn’t bear to think of the upcoming hungry nights with nothing but a memory of this sandwich. To his credit, he smiled.

“My momma always told me not to waste food, too,” he said as he called the waitress and asked her to pack the remnants of my meal. “and this place has quite a large portion, anyway. I usually see a bunch of girls sharing a plate.” he explained. He was nearly literally a foot taller than I and twice as wide, although his flesh must be mostly muscles and not pudge like mine. Having him finishing a meal that would take a number of girls to finish would not be much of a feat. All that, and he was still offering me dessert, which I regretfully decline.

“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that... I tend to throw up if I get too full...” I explained. To his cocked eyebrows, I quickly explained. “No bulimia, honest. Just like, acid reflux, you know? If my stomach is too full and I can't digest the meal yet, it goes back up.” he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, some people are like that naturally.” he eyed me amusedly. “The funny thing is that they usually are ones who never have problems with their weight.” he said. I had to slowly digest the words to ascertain that there was no mocking tone underneath it.

“I should’ve been offended, I think...” I pondered out loud. “But you just bought me a very nice meal. So I’ll let that one slide,” I took the arm he offered to get out of the chair.

“No worries.” he said, handing me my doggie bags. “Honestly,” he continued while I was still kind of gawking at him. That probably meant that I should refine my gawking technique. Or else he might be one of the more common men who did not think it’s strange for women to gawk.

“Yes?” I prompted when he didn’t continue after a few steps. He was already wearing his shades, but my position at his side gave me a clear view of his eyes. And the crinkling of the crow’s feet at its corners could only mean that he was holding back a laugh. That, or trying to stop the glare of the afternoon sun.

“I got chewed up for endangering the lives of a civillian.” he admitted flatly. I might be mistaken, but for someone who was chewed, presumably by a superior officer, he did not seem to be too  concerned.

“A civillian?” I caught something. “What about Mark Owens?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I meant two civillians. But you were the apparent one and Owens was collateral.” he clarified. “The... Person who chewed me thought that Owens was one of my people or any other cop-type person.”

“I see... so this lunch-slash-supper was like an apology?” I hinted. That brought a chuckle from him.

“Guilty as charged. Annnd...” he paused as we reached several steps from my building. “...a warning. Here’s my number...” he gave me a blank card. “I can't write my name on here, nor should you. If I don't pick up, Jason will, and you can tell him whatever it is you want to tell me.”

I snorted. “You know where I got my calls, right? From that ‘receptionist office’ down the hall,” I made it a point to make air quotes on the offending words.

He smirked. “Yes, but if you can make a call from there, that would also mean you’ll be seen and viewed by at least one person - which will make you virtually safe.”

“Safe from what?”

For a long time, he didn't answer. And when he did, it sure seemed as if he didn't want to. “From things... Just give me a call if anything out of the ordinary happened.” he said.

I studied him, cocking my head to the side a little to get a better look of him. If I didn't know better, I would think he was truly making a pass at me. But I didn't know better. For all I know, he might just be looking out for me for other reasons. Reasons I’m not sure I'd want to know.