Free The Fall by R. J. Pineiro Page A

stood a short-haired woman wearing dark lipstick that matched her biker attire, down to the boots and fingernail polish. Those amazing lips that he remembered from long ago turned into a little frown as she tilted her head and raised her right eyebrow at him.
    â€œHey, Bonnie,” he said, calling Angela Taylor by her old hacker name. “Long time.”
    â€œI’m in trouble, Art.”
    He nodded at his former girlfriend from a lifetime ago, then said, “You were in trouble the moment you chose to trust The Man. Is he trying to stick it to you?”
    She took a deep breath while looking back at the street again, where her bike was parked. Finally, she said, “Yep. Deep and hard. I’m probably all over the news by now.”
    â€œHave you been to the shop?”
    â€œWas planning to hit them up later. I need to get some info first.”
    â€œWhat kind of info?”
    â€œI think the military has taken my husband.”
    Art-Z slowly compressed his lips while regarding the woman who had broken his heart in another life.
    â€œDrive around back,” he finally said. “I’ll meet you in the garage. Let’s get that old bike out of sight first. Then we’ll talk.”
    *   *   *
    Jack couldn’t believe it when the truck’s brake lights came on, followed by its right blinker as it pulled onto the shoulder, its massive tires kicking up gravel, its diesel grumbling. It was a Peterbilt without a hitched trailer.
    He ran to the side of the tall cabin, opened the door, and stepped up and into the spacious interior, where the smell of tobacco, coffee, and cheap cologne struck him like a fist.
    â€œCome on in, son!” the driver shouted, a man well into his sixties, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, a matching beard, and wearing faded jeans and a tank top. His arms, quite firm for his age, sported an assortment of military tattoos, including a USMC on his exposed right shoulder with an eagle perched over the Earth and an anchor through it. Beneath it another tattoo read VIETNAM ERA VETERAN .
    â€œThanks for stopping.”
    â€œMy pleasure,” he replied while chewing something Jack realized was tobacco when he smiled at him. “Where you headed?”
    â€œAnywhere near Cocoa Beach will work,” he replied with some hesitation since he still wasn’t sure where he was.
    â€œYou’re in luck, son. I just dropped off a load in Orlando and am headed down to the docks in Miami to pick up the next one, so I can drop you off on the way.”
    â€œPerfect, thanks,” he replied, realizing that at least he had landed more or less where he was supposed to, which still didn’t explain why there was no one here to—
    â€œWhat are you hunting with that suit anyway, son?”
    Jack gave the odd but friendly stranger his best attempt at a smile as he unstrapped the backpack-helmet and set it inside the large foot well before sitting down and closing the door. “No hunting. It’s just the latest in hiking gear.”
    â€œHiking my ass,” he replied as he steered the rig back onto the road, working through the gears with practiced ease. The Peterbilt accelerated into the night, headlights washing the darkness. “But that’s all right. You look like one of the good guys.”
    â€œThat’s good, I guess,” Jack replied. “Who are the bad guys?”
    â€œOh,” he said, briefly lifting both hands off the wheel before steering the rig around a bend in the road as he stared straight ahead, his jaw pulsating through his beard as he chewed. “That’s a long list, son. A very long list.”
    â€œFor starters?” Jack prodded him, anxious to get this guy off the topic of his suit since he was contractually obligated to keep it a secret. It was one thing to mouth off to General Hastings. It was an entirely different thing to leak highly classified military secrets. While there was