The Ballad of Cyrus Bridges

Cyrus awoke to a sharp banging sound that he immediately assumed was the neighbor's dog. "That's it, I'm shootin' that sumbitch..." he grumbled to himself, rising from the mattress on the floor that served as his bed. He reached under a nearby pile of soiled clothes and felt around till his hand closed around the grip of a .22 caliber pistol. Checking to make sure it was loaded, he unclicked the safety and rose to his feet. Last night's drunken reverie still swam in his head as he steadied himself. Narrowing his eyes, he stalked over to the window, pulling aside the dirty old towel that covered it. There was the old lab his neighbor called Poncho, chained to the front porch steps of the trailer next to his, just as always, but the dog didn't appear to be awake. Frowning, Cyrus wondered momentarily if this was some kind of trick (that dog was very tricky, as he'd told the police and the manager of the trailer park more than once), but was interrupted by the same persistent banging sound as before. The dog jerked awake, raising it's head up just as Cyrus turned away from the window.

Recognizing the sound must be coming from the door, Cyrus clicked the safety back into place on his gun. He set the gun down and pulled on a pair of blue jeans, and started to tuck the gun into his front waist band before remembering his cousin T-Mac who had ended his own family line with an accidental misfire of a gun stuck down the front of his pants. Feeling suddenly cautious, Cyrus instead tucked the gun into the back of his pants.

Shirtless and still mostly drunk, Cyrus made his way down the short, cluttered hallway of his trailer home, pausing at the window nearest the front door to peek through the barely hanging Venetian blinds. Parked in front of the trailer he saw a black Dodge Charger with dark tinted windows and the plain aluminum wheels that marked it as a fleet vehicle of some kind. "Police" Cyrus murmured to himself, emphasis on the "po". He tried to crane his neck but couldn't see whoever was standing on the steps in front of the door. Stashing his gun in the nearest box (there were a lot), he tip toed his way to the front of the trailer and attempted to see through the crack between the door and the wall.

Standing at the door was a youngish looking woman, maybe around 30 years old. She was well kept, clean looking with raven hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a black coat with a white button up shirt and black slacks with black sunglasses on her face. She glanced at her phone then back to the door as she shifted from foot to foot. Cyrus puzzled for a moment, then decided she couldn't be much of a threat. Maybe she was responding to his Craigslist ad?

Slicking his thinning hair back, Cyrus put his hand on the doorknob and pulled it back just far enough to be seen, cautiously leaving the chain lock in place just in case this was another one of those damn bill collectors.

"Yea?" he asked with a suspicious tone. The woman moved her head from side to side, obviously trying to see through the narrow opening.

"Hello, are you Cyrus Bridges?" she asked, glancing down at her phone before saying the name.

Cyrus snorted. "Depends on who's askin' sweet thang."

The woman removed her sunglasses with one hand and exposed a previously hidden name tag that hung around her neck. "Agent Jacquelyn Foster, Secret Service. I believe you are in possession of something vital to national security."

Cyrus frowned. "I don't give a shit about my extended warranty. I don't even got that truck no more, my old lady took it when she run off with that Indian from the store". He began to shut the door but Agent Foster pushed back against it.

"Sir, I'm not- Uh, I'm with the United States Secret Service. Are you aware that the President was in town yesterday to view the hurricane damage?".

Cyrus shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know, I aint got cablevision no more. Them damn crooks at Comcast can suck my-"

The woman held up her hand. "Sir, it doesn't matter. Did you or did you not perform community service on highway 3033 yesterday between the hours of 9 AM and 1 PM?"

Cyrus puzzled for a moment. "Uh, yea, I think yesterday I did, yea. I got the slip of paper they give me somewhere. You need it? Did my parole officer send you?"

The woman shook her hand. "No, no...I'm with the Secret Service. The President's security detail? Look, it doesn't matter. A small black book got... misplaced. We have reason to believe you picked it up."

Cyrus thought. Genuinely thought. Very hard. He furrowed his brow and arched one bushy grey eyebrow and rolled his eyes back. Had he picked up a...

"Ahh. Uh. Yea, maybe I seen a little somethin somethin." A gap-toothed grin crossed his grizzled, unshaven face. "Why?"

The Agent visibly exhaled, but maintained her severe demeanor. "Ok, Mr. Bridges, you need to turn that book over to me immediately."

Cyrus chuckled. "Yea? How come?"

The Agent squinted. "Because it's a matter of National Security" she responded flatly. "And if you don't turn it over right now, I'll retrieve a warrant to search your home from top to bottom and hold you in custody until the item is recovered."

Cyrus laughed. "Yea good luck. If you was gonna search you'da already had a warrant and been here with a whole van fulla police." The Agent's countenance softened momentarily and her eyes widened for just a fraction of a second. "Yea, I aint bright but I know how the police work." Emphasis on the "po" once again.

Agent Foster cleared her throat. "Well." She began and paused. "Be that as it may." She continued, paused again and shifted from foot to foot again. "Well you'll need to turn over the book immediately."

Cyrus shrugged. "Ain't got it."

"DAMMIT I KNOW YOU HAVE IT!" the woman snapped back. Her nostrils flared and for an instant a scowl marred her face. Regaining her composure almost immediately, she continued, her voice calm. "The book was... misplaced as the President's convoy passed your work detail on highway 3033. It has a tracking device embedded in it that has been temporarily disabled, but before it was disabled, it was tracked to this location."

Cyrus stared at her, his hazy olive colored eyes boring holes through her. Agent Foster stared back until she felt uncomfortable and looked away. "Listen. I've been uh... Authorized to offer a reward for the book's return."

Cyrus cocked his head to one side. "A reward?" (emphasis on the "RE").

Agent Foster reached into her coat pocket and removed a check book. "Look, how does a hundred dollars sound?"

"A hunnerd dollars?" Cyrus guffawed. "Hell I'll smoke a hunnerd dollars wortha cigarette in a week.

Agent Foster frowned. "Five hundred."

Cyrus snorted. "Shiidddd." He started to close the door, but Agent Foster jammed her foot in the door.

"A thousand dollars. I'll give you a thousand dollars right now for the book." A note of familiar note crept into her voice. Cyrus, though not an intelligent man, was cunning, and he knew a desperate woman when he saw one. He specialized in desperate women. They were basically the only ones who would look at him.

"You sure do want this book dontcha sweet thang?"

"It's a matter of national security" she repeated, trying to recover her professional voice.

"Uh huh. Here's what I think. I think you screwed up and lost it. I think the reason it smacked me yesterday by the side of the road was 'cause you set it down somewhere drove off. And," Cyrus added with a wicked smile, "You need it back real bad."

Agent Foster narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?" came her response, almost a whisper.

Cyrus' lips curled into a predatory grin. "Twenty Thousand."

Foster's jaw dropped. She stammered. "I... I can't...I mean..."

Cyrus shrugged. "Take it or leave it. Come back when you're ready to..." he began to close the door again before she threw her shoulder into it.

"OK!" she shouted, breathless. "Fine, fine, dammit". She produced her checkbook again, scribbling in it furiously. "Just get me the damn book".

Cyrus laughed as she handed him the check. He held up one finger and closed the door. Agent Foster heard the sound of the chain lock sliding, and the door swung open again. "Come on in" Cyrus said in mock sincerity, sweeping his hand forward.

Foster stepped into the dimly lit single-wide trailer. It smelled strongly of unwashed dogs and unemptied cat boxes, though she saw no signs of pets. Cyrus walked over to the coffee table and snapped up a little black book, about the size of a Gideon bible. "Here ya go" he said, tossing the book to Agent Foster. Foster snatched the book out of the air with the deft hands of the college athlete she had once been. Opening it and confirming it was what she was after, she nodded and tucked it away into her coat.

"Did you read it?" she asked with casual indifference.

"Can't read" Cyrus responded, opening the refrigerator. "Want a beer?"

"No thanks. Gotta be going" the Agent responded, taking her hand off the gun that rested beneath her coat against the left side of her abdomen. "Mention this to anyone and I cancel the check and you'll be arrested" she added, turning to leave.

Cyrus gulped his first swallow of beer and followed her to the door. As she made her way down the steps, he said "Hey, lady". She turned and looked over her shoulder, regarding him with marble features. "What's in that book anyhow?"

In a moment that reminded Cyrus of one of those cop shows he used to watch before he stopped paying his cable bill, Agent Foster put her black sunglasses back on and responded "That's classified" before getting in her car.

Cyrus laughed and downed his beer before stumbling back into his trailer. Twenty thousand dollars. Unbelievable. As he stared at the check in disbelief, one of the corners suddenly flaked off. He grunted in confusion as another corner of the check, then a bigger chunk flaked off, turning an ashy brown color as it silently disintegrated, the flakes evaporating into invisible particles before his eyes.

"That rotten lyin'" Cyrus' was cut off mid-swear by a racking cough. A smell like pepper filled his nostrils and his lungs were suddenly on fire. He struggled to catch his breath, doubling over and putting both hands on the coffee table to support himself. "I'll kill that..." he wheezed, dropping to his knees. He could feel his throat closing up. His eyes began to bulge as he clutched his throat.

****

Outside, sitting in her government issued Dodge Charger, Agent Jacquelyn Foster checked her phone. In two more minutes Cyrus Bridges would be dead. His body, when it was found, would show all the signs of a drug overdose, and given what little she knew about Cyrus, no one would be surprised. She would check back in to make sure he was dead, but she was already certain. The chemical reaction between the paper and the ink always produced the desired result, and any inhalation of the particulates produced from the crumbling paper was fatal. Within minutes it would dissipate harmlessly into the air and there would be no evidence whatsoever of her visit. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, she reached back into her coat pocket, pulling out the book. He had said he didn't read the book- that he couldn't read- but that was a risk she couldn't take. This could have been a major incident. There was no other way to make sure nothing came of it. Besides, she reasoned, the world wouldn't miss Cyrus Bridges.

Flipping through the book, she shook her head. What the hell was this thing anyway, she wondered to herself and why was it her job to keep it up with it? She flipped through the pages and pages of handwritten notes. They were mostly lists of names, mostly female though with an occasional male sprinkled in. Comments like "Huge cans" and "Nice butt" were notated next to their names. She flipped to the page with her own name on it, with the word "KNOCKERS!" spelled out in crude lettering next to it. Beneath her name was a caricature of herself- a pretty good likeness too, she mused- with comically over-sized breasts.

Just then her phone rang. She looked at the screen before answering, cleared her throat and slid the screen to receive the call. "This is Agent Foster."

The voice on the other end responded. "Is it done?"

"Affirmative. The package is recovered."

"Alright. Now get that cute ass back here, I need protection" the voice responded with a laugh.

Agent Foster rolled her eyes and tried to mask her disgust. "Yes Madame President. I'll be back within the hour."

***** The End*****