Finne turned off Canal Road onto Arizona Avenue heading
north from the river. Prior to MacArthur
Boulevard he turned left into a quiet but exclusive neighborhood of small brick
houses built in the 1940s and parked the armored (and likely tracked) SUV along
the street. Grabbing the envelope given
to him by Jack prior to the assault on the CIA bunker, he turned to Sarah and
commanded, “Let’s Go!”
Sarah exited the tattered truck on the passenger and saw the
extent of the damage caused by the barrage of gunfire they had just
escaped. “There must me a hundred bullet
holes in this thing. How did we get out alive?”
“It’s well armored,” Finne replied, “and likely tracked by
GPS, so let’s ditch it quickly.”
Sarah followed Finne through the neighborhood up to the
business district along MacArthur Boulevard where Finne hailed a taxi heading
west out of the city. Once inside the cab, Finne explained in a consoling but
serious tone, “we need some cover for the night. I know where we can go.” With that assurance, Finne instructed the
driver to go to The Three Rings which was part restaurant, part pub, and fully
a halfway-house of sorts for a regular clan of society’s dregs that Finne knew
all too well.
The cab made the short journey west and back toward the
river in just a few minutes and pulled into the tree-lined gravel parking lot
that surrounded ‘The Rings.’
“Are you sure you want to go here?” The driver asked with a
sense of concern for their safety.
“Yep. This is the place.” Finne responded handing the driver
a twenty dollar bill – four times the price of the fair registered on the
meter. “Keep the change.”
‘The Rings’ was very much an oddity in the area. It had once been a TGI Fridays and had
retained the red and white striped outside decor that was a signature of the
restaurant chain. Unlike most of the restaurants
associated with the TGIF brand that are fronted with the traditional striped
awning, ‘The Rings’ appeared to be a shoddily constructed wooden deck covered
by an eye-sore of a tent that resembled that of a traveling sideshow.
“What is this place?” Sarah asked as they approached the
rear entrance.
“This place is safe. No one here is out to get us.” Finne
replied as he led Sarah up the wooden staircase.
“But…everyone here knows me as Charlie, not Finne. It’s one
of my cover IDs. I’ll call you Cathy while we’re here.” Finne instructed.
Finne opened the door without waiting for Sarah to
acknowledge him.
“Chuck! You son-of-a-bitch, where have you been hiding?” was
the greeting they received from a portly middle-aged bar matron upon entering.
“Just got back in town, Helen. How the hell are you?” Finne
responded without hesitation.
“Still here, living the dream.”
“Helen, this is Cathy and we’d like to duck our heads for a
bit. Is the back house occupied?”
“Occupied, no. Ready for guest definitely not.”
“We don’t need anything special, just a place to be alone.”
Finne said in a teasing voice as he pulled Sarah close to his side.
Helen held a questioning stare for several uncomfortable
moments before replying. “Well if you just want a place to shag, fine. But, I
need a few minutes to open up the room and ready it. Grab a seat at the bar. Sammy will get you a
drink while I freshen up the room for you two lovers.”
Finne and Sarah proceeded into the darkened tent towards the
well-aged mahogany bar and several familiar patrons from Finne’s under-cover
past. After shaking hands and greeting
several colorful characters posted up at Sammy’s bar who called Finne Charlie,
Charles, or Chuck, the two chose a pair of barstools towards the end where Finne
knew he could watch both entrances – just in case.
