(Thanks to Shawhollow for taking so much time to edit so many of my stories. Thank you.)
*Your private life and public life are never separate because the brain never stops thinking*
"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" I hint to Echo as my car pulls away from the charity event.
"I can't right now," she furrows her brow. "I need to think a few things over." There is a lull in the conversation for over a minute then, "Dominic, do you have any family?"
"Ah, no," I answer. "Dad did his drunk driver thing and Mom got septicemia after she got hurt on her job. There are no brothers or sisters. Why are you asking?"
"The world is a dangerous place, Dominic, and Michael Harrow is a dangerous man," Echo warns me kindly.
"The guy is a bully and a thug...a well-connected, rich one but I've dealt with his kind before," I grin, trying to put her at ease. You be a super-smart charity case at a prestigious school for the insanely rich then stack it on by jumping two grades at a time and see how often you get stomped on for the sake of amusement of kids who didn't know that lawyers existed in schools of less than three.
"And you just told him that you can prove that the man we met tonight is not the real Michael Harrow," she points out. I shrug; it isn't my problem.
"Dom, has it occurred to you that if he isn't the real Michael Harrow then what happened to that guy thirteen years ago and if he's not Michael Harrow then who is he?" Echo prods.
"It's not my problem," I inform her; an answer that doesn't go over well with her.
"I...forget about it," she groans. There is another long silence as I drive closer to her home.
"So, beyond the fist-fight, how did you enjoy our second date?" I inquire. Our first date involved her using police entrapment to force me to my place, tricked me into handcuffing her hands behind her back and stripping her before engaging in oral sex.
"Yes, beyond cold-cocking a woman who put you on your ass, fighting with your ex-girlfriend and watching you be molested by your boss while dancing the waltz, I had a good time," Echo gets snarky.
"That was a black tie affair," I give her a pained smile. "Wait until you see that crowd at Happy Hour."
"Is your life filled with working 9 to 5, parties, fast cars and whatever woman finds you attractive?" Echo shakes her head. "Don't you have any tangible attachments?"
"I care about Brad Pierce all the time and Rachel some of the time," I counter. "I tried to care about Stephanie but all we really were was a perfect couple with none of the fire. Then there is you; I haven't decided how I feel about Echo Ashaz yet."
"At least you are acquainted with honesty, but you still aren't having sex with me tonight," she informs me. I take a deep sigh because in my original plan I was supposed to have swept her off her feet by now.
I get back to her place and she's developed a good head of steam and is gone from my car before I'm even out of my seat. I still go after her because high-brow boarding schools teach you how to be polite on the surface, especially if you are a scholarship kid. After racing up two flights of stairs she slows down by the door to her apartment.
"Good night Echo," I say as I extend my hand. "I apologize for not showing you a better time tonight." She turns and regards my hand, following up the line of my arm and shoulder to my eyes and I can't determine what she makes of me.
"Why didn't you report me for that stunt that you refer to as our first date?" she inquires.
"Pity," I answer. That pisses her off terribly.
"Thanks," she bites off her curt reply.
"It's not what you think," I explain. "When I was young I was a really small for my age; add to that I was a dirt-poor kid in a school where the other students couldn't decide what continent they would spend Christmas on plus I was a 'freaking genius' and you can imagine how unpopular I was." Echo nods with some level of comprehension.
"Benjamin Corbin – I was getting my weekly beating in my dormitory bathroom when he walked in. He was sixteen, I was ten and my attackers were ten or eleven years old. He had no idea who I was and he wasn't even supposed to be there but he had come over to visit his younger brother and heard the noise. He beat the crap out of those five guys."
"We ended up in the Headmaster's office because some of those other kids' parents were richer than Corbin's and, well, I was a nobody. I couldn't figure out why he did it so I broke down and asked him. Did you know what he said when I asked him why he would put his neck out for me and taken on so much trouble?" I relate.
"It had better have been something important," Echo suggests.
"He said the world wasn't supposed to work that way – the strong tormenting the weak". He said that "it wasn't up to the weak to seek justice but for the strong to ensure it, I recall like it was yesterday. "I thought that was the dumbest, most naïve thing I'd ever heard. I thought he was mental."
"Oh," Echo sounded disappointed in my assessment.
"I helped his kid brother with his studies until I opted to go to college early; long after Ben left. He went to Annapolis and then flew aircraft for the Navy – not jet fighters but still. Since that day in the Headmaster's office I have never talked to him," I finished up, "but there are times in my life I ask myself what Ben would do. You were one of those times. I call it pity because I don't want to think about what else it could be."
"You never told him what an impact he had on your life?" she says in a different voice.
"Ben didn't do what he did for me. He did it because it was what he felt was right," I answer. "What could I tell him that he didn't already know?"
"Damn it Dom, why do you keep surprising me?" she now sounds both happy and upset.
"I don't know but now that you are in a better mood, can I talk you into going out with me tomorrow?" I press my luck.
"How about I call you tomorrow and see if we can do something for tomorrow night?" she counters.
"Cool; I can live with that," I grin. She steps up and gives me a tight hug, a kiss on my cheek before pulling out her keys so she can go inside. She's half way through the door when she looks over her shoulder.
"Dominic, if anyone asks about me, tell them my name is Aisha Bashir, a second generation Syrian-American and that Echo is a nickname you use for me," she requests.
That seems a weird thing to ask. I usually keep in reserve my long-practiced skills of deception.
"Are you going to tell me why?" I question.
"I can't right now," Echo assures me, "but it may turn out to be nothing." It is not lost on me that cops carry guns for a reason and there must be over a hundred TV shows and movies that show why undercover officers use false names.
