Free MIND FIELDS by Brad Aiken Page A

his job as possible.
      It was a chilly Saturday night with the wind whipping up the Fallsway from the Inner Harbor.  Rocky had had to take Harold Bradley, the White House chief of staff, out to Camp David that afternoon, but he had the rest of the weekend off.  He had been Mr. Bradley’s chauffeur for almost two years now.  His military background and squeaky-clean driving record had won him the job.  His personality had kept it for him.  Rocky was a quiet sort, but not afraid to speak his mind when he found it necessary.  Mr. Bradley liked the solitude of sitting in a car driven by Rocky Stankowski, and he appreciated even more the rare instance when Rocky would give him the working-man’s view on an issue that the political elite seemed to overlook.  It didn’t happen often, but when Rocky spoke, it usually resulted in helping the chief of staff to avoid finding new trouble.  There was no shortage of trouble at the White House these days.
    Rocky dropped off Mr. Bradley at about four o’clock that afternoon.  Once his task was completed, he figured that he might as well indulge himself.  He arrived in downtown Baltimore at about six.  The days were getting short, and it was already dark by the time he parked the car on Holliday Street. 
    Belle’s Place was his favorite hangout.  It was kind of quiet for a gentlemen’s club, but not too elitist.  The guys in there were working class stiffs like him, but by and large, they were good men who were just looking to escape their lives for a while.  Belle’s girls weren’t the high-priced, best-that-surgery-can-create type, but they were still pretty classy.  They were the kind of women whose company Rocky liked to be in with or without their clothes on, but he preferred without.
    He braced himself against the breeze and wrapped his coat tightly around his body.  Belle recognized him as soon as he came through the door.
    “Hey, Rock, good to see ya, hon.”  She helped him off with his coat.  “Getting a little nippy, huh?”
    “Cold as a witch’s tit out there tonight, Belle.”
    She hung his coat on the rack.  “Come on, I’ll get you some hot coffee.  A little Irish Whiskey in it?”
    “Sounds good, Belle.  Thanks”
    She led him over to a stage-front table by the walkway that the girls were prancing down.  It was a quiet night, and he was glad to sit alone.  He didn’t notice the three men who entered just after he did.  They were newcomers, and Belle didn’t give them a second thought.  She sat them at a table across the stage from Rocky. 
    The show began, and Rocky sat back, sipping his Irish coffee and enjoying the view.  The three men across the stage were just faded images amongst the wisps of smoke that filled the room, and they blended into the sparse crowd.  The music was sultry jazz, and the smell of tobacco and perfume intoxicated Rocky more than the liquor.  He was engrossed in the gyrations of the young lady on stage; everything else in the room was just part of the haze.  During working hours, Rocky noticed everything, but while at Belle’s he liked to shut the world out, as if there were only him and the girl on the stage.  He never noticed the three men, but they noticed him.
    As usual, Rocky didn’t drink much that night.  Even when off duty, one drink was his limit.  He liked his job too much to risk losing his license over something as stupid as a drunk-driving bust.  It would be a long drive back to Washington that night, and after the first coffee, Rocky took it straight, without the whiskey.
    The evening passed quickly.  Belle’s Place had worked its magic once again, and by midnight, a week’s worth of stress had melted away.  He called Belle over.
    “Leavin’ already, hon?”
    “Fraid so, Belle.  It’s been a long day.”  He didn’t like to say too much about himself around here, not even to Belle.  Not too many of the guys did, for obvious reasons.  Belle even figured that name, Rocky,