Ash
Chapter 2: Ash
Phil beamed at his team. “Thank you, that’s very sweet.” He steadfastly ignored the blushes that rose up in the room, though he found it altogether charming. Sentimentality aside, it was time to work. “Let me fill you in on what I know. Unfortunately, it’s not much.”
“Tell us what you do know,” Steve pulled up a chair to the table and, once they were all sitting together, leveled a serious look at Phil. It was nothing new - Steve was usually serious. “We need all the information so we can work out a plan.”
“Agreed,” Natasha said, briskly. “A plan and then action. We will not fail.”
Phil folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a moment to sort through his thoughts and suspicions and memories.
“The journalist who broke the story about Club Cod and has the witness is known as Max Lobo, but his real name is Maxwell Glenreed. He’s an old friend of mine.” That earned him a few curious looks. “I haven’t seen Max in years, not since before I was recruited to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he clearly went on to become a journalist. Somehow, he came to know about Club Cod and got in contact with the witness. What I need is time to do a little more research about Max. I need to find out as much about Max as I can before I go to see him. First of all - how did he find out about all this? He’s not the type of person to frequent a place like Club Cod. He’d be more likely to break the teeth of anyone who’d go there.”
With the teddy bear sitting in his lap, Steve reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his head. What an innocent moment - Captain America with a teddy bear looking so wonderfully guileless. “It’s a bit of a coincidence that you know him. It sure is a small world.”
Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like coincidences. Is he safe? Soldiers can be dangerous.” Bruce gave Phil a fleeting apologetic look. He didn’t mean any insult. Soldiers were dangerous, in Bruce’s experience. They had guns and they chased him and people got hurt and sometimes he was the one to hurt them.
The attitude was a pity, but understandable. Phil knew that Bruce didn’t paint everyone with the same brush, but it was hard for Bruce to look beyond the uniform. So Phil took no offense and decided he would talk to Bruce later and maybe attempt to have Bruce meet a few old war buddies. After all, Bruce liked Steve and Steve was a war veteran, so maybe if he met a few more he’d feel more at easy. “It’s been ten years since I last saw Max, but he was always a very good man. Loud and sometimes a bit tactless, but good. I don’t imagine he’s changed that much.”
Tony wandered into the living area and then back. His restless energy made him swing his arms back and forth a few times before he apparently realized what he was doing and stuck his hands in his pockets with a look of determination. Still, for the moment, Tony asked, “How’d you two meet?”
“I met him in Iraq, in the war. We were marines and we’d served together for some time. Just before we were set to go home, a friend was hurt. Max and I both tried to help, but there wasn’t much we could do. We went home and kept in touch for a little while, but, life happens and we went our separate ways. He went on to go through the police academy and become an award winning writer while I found my life... well... here.”
“And it’s a good thing you did,” Tony declared “If you weren’t here with us, you’d do something silly like going to see him on your own and then you’d get killed or something and if that happened, I’d have deal with Fury on my own and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
Clint gave Phil a smile. “So it’s a good thing you’ve got us here to help you. It’s a good thing for Fury, at least.”
“Your friend,” Bruce spoke up. “Did he recover?”
How like Bruce to worry for someone he’d never met. Perhaps it was his medical training or perhaps it was how long he’d spent living as someone no one worried for. Phil wouldn’t guess. “He... ah. His name was Griffin. He was very young, the youngest out of all of us. He was troubled by the realities of war and, unfortunately started in with drugs.”
Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Phil feared that Steve would be critical of Griffin. Steve was so strong and so very sure of what was right and wrong and carrying out his duty, but not everyone could be that strong. He was ashamed of his doubt when Steve said, “War’s hard on everyone. I’ve seen more than one good person turn to some vice to help them get through it. I’m sorry your friend suffered.”
“Thank you.” Of course Steve’s natural compassion and his own experiences in war would help him to understand. “Griffin really wasn’t much more than a kid. I’m not sure he was even nineteen. He did his best, never caused trouble, but it was real hard on him. Max tried to help him, I tried.” Phil could only give a helpless shrug as he remembered Griffin sitting on his cot, writing poetry. He then remembered Griffin laying in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling drooling pitifully. “Poor kid. One night, he walked into camp, picked up his gun, and killed four of our own people. He only stopped because Max shot him - once in each leg. We tried to speak to him but he only ever said, “Banana Fish”. Never anything else. He didn’t look at anyone or react to anyone talking to him. He was clearly awake, but... well. It was as if he were trapped inside himself. The last I heard, he’d been given a medical discharge and put in a hospital as he obviously couldn’t take care of himself. Anyway, the whole incident was real hard for Max. He took it personally and blamed himself for not looking after Griffin better. He started having terrible nightmares and flashbacks. I’m fairly certain he had PTSD, too. After his time was up, he left the military. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Phil,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “If you would like, I could try to find Mister Griffin Callenreese.”
“Thank you, but maybe later. I’m sure he’s being taken care of as he’s in a hospital. What I need to do is concentrate on keeping Max and his witness alive.”
“I can help with that, at least.” Tony drummed his fingers on the table top. “Bring the witness here. With J.A.R.V.I.S. in control, no one can get in or out, so your witness will be perfectly safe. Of course, they’ll be confined.” His face was dark, very unhappy. “The witness must be someone who worked at Club Cod and turned against them when they thought it would serve them best. I won’t have that kind of person just wandering around freely. I’ll have to bleach whatever room I put them in as is.”
“Are you sure?” Tony was an intensely private person, despite how much of his life was in the public eye. To give anyone even limited access to his home was asking a lot. “You don’t have to do this. I think we all suspect that this witness was involved and no one’s going to feel any sympathy to them. This is your home - you do not have to let someone like that in here.”
Tony looked down at the table. “It’s the safest place and if their testimony will help bring so many people to justice and provide some closure for the families those kids might have left behind, then I’ll provide the protection. So long as they can’t wander around. I can put up with them.”
“We’ll all help,” Clint said.
Phil, smiled and sat back in his seat, perfectly content. He hadn’t meant to involve any of them - God knew he didn’t want to bring up any bad memories for any of his team - but it looked like they wouldn’t give him the option. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how wonderful his team was, no matter how other S.H.I.E.L.D. handlers gossiped that The Avengers were nothing but nuts floating in a bowl of lunatic sauce with a “We are the crazies” flashing neon sign above them. What did the other handles know? Clearly, they were a bunch of lumps. One day, Phil was sure, the whole world would see how wonderful his team was. Until then, at least they had him.
“Thank you, everyone,” Phil said. “We need to find Max Glenreed, convince him to let us speak to his witness. This shouldn’t be all that troublesome - Fury gave me Max’s phone number and address. So, let’s get this rolling. J.A.R.V.I.S., please call the number we have for Max.”
Naturally, it wasn’t that easy.
J.A.R.V.I.S. did dial, but a computerized voice answered with, “This number is no longer in service.”
“Then we go for a visit,” Clint said. “What was the address, again?”
“Pardon me for interrupting,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “But I should tell you that a cursory investigation shows that the address is not the home of Mister Glenreed, but of a Mrs. Rebecca Baumann. According to the landlord’s records I’m able to access, Mister Glenreed did live there, but hasn’t been seen in over a year, so the landlord rented it to someone else.”
“That’s not good,” Clint said. “So Fury doesn’t know where the journalist is.”
Tony’s eyes lit up. “Can I tell Fury his intelligence networks is falling down on the job?”
Phil absently nodded. It always made Tony happy to needle Fury.
J.A.R.V.I.S. looked at police records and reported that when Max had made his accusations, the officer filing out the paperwork had listed his address as ‘unknown due to safety concerns’, which was something Phil had never seen on a police report. They all searched for information about Max Lobo, but all that brought up was his professional credits, nothing personal at all.
Tony found some information on his phone and read aloud to the team. “Mister Maxwell Glenreed was incarcerated due to a physical altercation between himself and a police officer two years ago. When his lawyer arranged to get him out on bail, Mister Glenreed disappeared. Mister Glenreed’s previous address, the one he used before Mrs. Baumann’s apartment, was in Los Angeles where he lived with his wife and son. He and his wife divorced.” He paused. “Would he go to California? With all this stuff happening, you’d think he’d stay in New York.”
“That would be logical.” Natasha had also taken out her phone and used it to search the internet. “Most people aren’t logical, however.” She stopped and read what was on her screen before she said, “There was an incident several months ago when police records indicate that Mister Glenreed showed up at his ex-wife’s home.”
“What sort of incident?” Bruce asked.
“Mrs. Jessica Glenreed, Max’s ex-wife, was raped.” She said it with such disturbing calm, as if it were a common, everyday occurrence, that Phil felt his urge to destroy the people who’d trained her flare up. He pushed it aside as it was clearly unhelpful at that moment. Natasha continued, “Apparently, she was on the telephone with a lawyer friend at the time and told him to call the police when three men barged into her home. Incidentally, that same lawyer is the man who got Max out of prison on bail. The police arrived at Mrs. Glenreed’s home too late to catch the men, but the police report does briefly mention that the victim’s husband turned up at the scene. According to him, one of the suspects called him on Mrs. Glenreed’s cell phone and made threats. However, when the police went to question Mr. Glenreed, he had gone and they weren’t able to find him. If Mrs. Glenreed knew where he went, she didn’t say.”
Clint added, “It wouldn’t have been too hard for your friend to disappear, Phil. His military record shows he’s had a lot of training with that sort of thing, not to mention his training from the police academy. If he wants to hide, we’ll really have to hunt for him.”
“We’ll find him, won’t we, J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony had one of his small computer pads in hand and was moving his fingers rapidly over it. “No one just disappears. Search for the wife. If he went to her once, they might still be close. If we can find her, maybe she’ll know where Max is and can tell him we need to speak with him. Is she still in California?”
J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up. “Mrs. Jessica Glenreed currently goes by the name Ms. Jessica Randy. Her home in California was sold several weeks ago and I do not find her name on any current apartment rental or home deed.”
Phil tapped his chin with his index finger. “Can you track either of them with video recordings? A lot of places in New York have security cameras these days.”
“Indeed.” A large image of Max and his ex-wife, along with a little boy appeared as J.A.R.V.I.S. threw a hologram image up. He fell silent for a time before he said, “I believe I have found Ms. Randy.” The image of the little family was replaced by a video recording of Ms. Randy walking towards a building. She was a beautiful woman, undeniably. She was tall and statuesque with very long, fair hair. She walked like a woman on a mission, her head held high and her back straight. She strode, as if she were a military leader victorious over a worthy foe. They all watched while she walked down the sidewalk and into one of the biggest buildings in the city. It was an apartment house, but one of the types that gleamed in the sun, with a doorman to open and close the door for the residents. It looked nearly as opulent as Tony’s tower.
“I think I own that one,” Tony said. “Maybe. I forget, sometimes, but I’m pretty sure that’s one of mine. It’s not cheap, either. Journalists must get paid pretty well if they can get an apartment in there.”
Fifteen minutes was all it took for Phil, with Clint and Natasha as his back-up, to leave the tower to find Ms. Randy.
***
They had a rough plan. Clint would be watching from a distance to keep an eye on the area. Natasha, dressed in her least memorable costume, would be posted nearby, but far enough away to avoid suspicion. The last thing they needed was to frighten Ms. Randy. Phil, dressed in his usual black suit and tie, would make contact with Ms. Randy. With any luck she would see the logic in having The Avengers give protection for both Max and the witness. He was even considering offering protection for Ms. Randy in case any enemy might try to use her in a plan to stop Max. It really should have been very simple.
Phil went to the apartment house and took the elevator up to the top floor where, after a little investigation on Tony’s part, they’d discovered that Ms. Randy lived in one of the top two apartments under the name of Mrs. Winston. The apartment building really was very grand. Thick carpets in the halls, tasteful art on the walls. It was elegant, but not over-the-top. When he finally stood outside the right apartment, he took a few seconds to go over what he would say to Ms. Randy before he knocked.
The door opened, just a hair, but Phil saw a chain still kept it locked. At first he saw no one in the opening in the doorway, but then he looked down and saw that two large, dark blue eyes peered out at him. A child. A little boy no older than six. The boy had a head full of shaggy brown hair and frowned up at Phil. There were freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. It had to be Max and Ms. Randy’s son, Michael. There hadn’t been much about him in the research they’d done, but it made sense that the boy would be there with his mother.
Phil put on his most friendly smile. “Hello, young man. May I - ”
“No strangers.” The boy closed the door.
Phil blinked at the door, then knocked, again.
The same small voice called out, “No strangers! Go away!”
“I’m sorry, but I’d like to speak with a grown-up, please. Is your mom home?”
The door didn’t open, again, and Phil heard a dead-bolt being slid into place. Smart boy. Phil knocked, again, and said, “I don’t mean to scare you. You’re Michael, aren’t you? I’m looking for your mom. Can you ask her to - ”
“The Hell?!”
The unexpected voice coming from down the hall by the elevator, startled Phil so much that he spun around. Years of fighting had left him with strong reflexes regarding such things and he felt a brief flash of disappointment in himself that he hadn’t heard the newcomer. He found himself facing a teenager, a skinny boy with a shaggy mop of bright blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. The boy couldn’t have been older than eighteen-years-old. He wore wire-rim glasses and dressed smartly in pressed khaki trousers and a green sweater-vest over a collared white shirt. All-in-all, he seemed like a rich college student on his way to a class. Then mild looking boy opened his mouth and the illusion was lost.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came from the boy in a sort of growled hiss. His eyes were narrowed, his whole body tensed in a way that Phil had seen in soldiers conditioned to fight at a moment’s notice. He began to stalk towards Phil, his arms swinging at his sides with his hands balled into fists. He glared in a decidedly malevolent way. “Who are you?”
In his ear, where the communication device Tony had designed to be almost invisible was securely located, Phil heard Clint say, “You need help? He looked harmless enough when he walked into the building.”
“There’s no need to worry,” Phil kept his voice calm and soft as he spoke to both Clint and the newcomer with the same sentence. The last thing he wanted was for Clint and Natasha to come rushing in to fight with a kid. “I’m just here to talk to someone. Are you a neighbor?”
“Talk?” The boy snorted. “Gimme a break. I heard you trying to get the kid to open the door. You some kinda pervert?”
Phil choked and was, for a moment, at a loss for words. No one had ever thought such a thing about him! “What? No! Of course not! You see- ”
The boy sneered at Phil as he stepped by him and rapped on the door and said, very kindly, “Hey? Kid?”
“Ash, there’s a man outside!” Michael’s little voice called out.
“Yeah, I got him. You go tell mommy that I’m dealing with it. Don’t open the door. Got it?”
“Yes, Ash.”
The boy, Ash, focused on Phil with a lot less kindness than he’d shown Michael. “I’ll ask again - who are you and what are you doing here?”
“My name is Phil Coulson and I’m just trying to track down and old army buddy named Max. Honestly.” It was honest. Perhaps it wasn’t the whole truth, but there was no need to get the boy involved.
Ash’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He stood utterly still and stared. “A buddy? Sure. Right.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but the door directly across the hall suddenly opened and Ash smiled, all sweetness and charm. “Hello, Mrs. Coleman. Nice to see you.”
“Hello, Chris.” Mrs. Coleman must have been nearly eighty-years-old and stared Phil down as sternly as any drill sergeant. She was a tiny woman, slender and short, with curled white hair and a cane to walk with. “I heard raised voices. Is everything alright out here?”
Ash - or Chris or whatever his name was - chuckled. “Yes. We’re fine.” He jerked his thumb towards Phil. “This guy’s a little lost. I think he’s looking for the building next door.”
Her eyes focused on Phil and her hand tightened on her cane. Phil suspected she might hit him with it. “Are you sure? I can call the police.”
“No, no.” Ash waved away her concern with remarkable charisma. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.”
She sniffed. “Well, if you’re sure, dear. How’s your mother?” She gestured with her cane to the door Phil knew was the apartment Ms. Randy and her son lived. “Has your father been home, lately?”
“She’s fine and I think dad will be by tonight.”
“Good. It’s not good for your mother to be left alone in that apartment all day and night with no company but your little brother and you. Your father should take her out or at least be home so she can go out on her own.” Mrs. Coleman shook her cane at Ash. “You tell your father to take good care of his family or I’ll have words with him!”
“He takes care of us very well. Honestly.”
Mrs. Coleman snorted, as though she didn’t believe him, but went back into her apartment without further arguing.
Ash’s personality went back to harsh for Phil just as quickly as it had flipped to sweet for Mrs. Coleman. He jabbed a finger towards the elevator. “Get walking.” For a moment, Phil considered. He need to speak with Ms. Randy, but he didn’t want to cause a scene with the boy and worry any more listening neighbors. He started walking. Ash followed Phil right back to the street, keeping silent the entire time until they were on the sidewalk. Ash raised one hand over his head then let it drop back to his side. It was clearly a signal as, at that very moment, two more teenagers appeared. They were complete opposites - one very large and tall, while the other was small and skinny.
“Problem, Boss?” The small one asked Ash. His clothes were a step away from being rags. He wore overalls with one strap hanging loose because the button was missing. His long strawberry-blonde hair hung in a dirty, sloppy braid down his back. He had four missing front teeth, but he did have two sharp canines that looked like fangs.
“Yeah, this bozo thought it would be a good idea to go around scaring a little kid.”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Phil said, at last. “I’m not trying to scare anyone, but I need to speak with Ms. Randy urgently. Do you know her?”
“Ms. Randy, huh?” Ash stuck his hands in his pocket. If anything, his expression grew even more frosty. “I thought you were looking for Max.”
“I am, but I can’t find him so I was hoping Ms. Randy could help me.”
The second teenager, tall and huge with a surprisingly gentle face, asked, “Who’s Ms. Randy?” He, like his friend, dressed very poorly. His jeans had been torn and patched several times. His shirt had been white, once, but was a mix of old stains. The two of them were the very image of poverty and, yet, they snapped to attention at a single word from Ash with the well-trained obedience of soldiers.
Ash answered, “It’s Jessica, you dummy. Bones,” he said to the smaller of his two friends. “Go get the old man and tell him to meet me at the park. He knows which one.”
At the command, Bones scurried off. Ash turned a hard look on the remaining teenager. “What are you waiting for, Kong? Go with him.”
“Yes, Boss.” Kong then ran after his friend.
It was only Phil and Ash left on the street. Ash hadn’t eased up a bit. He circled around Phil, prowling like a wild animal, like a leopard on the hunt. He looked Phil up and down and if Phil hadn’t known that Natasha and Clint were nearby, watching him for any sign of distress, he might have been worried. That, in itself, put him on high alert. He was a trained soldier, a veteran with years of experience fighting. There was no reason at all that a skinny teenager, who looked more bone than muscle, should worry him. And, yet, he was worried.
“And what do you want with Ms. Randy, huh?” Ash asked. “She doesn’t need to be bothered and the kid doesn’t need any more scares. So, what’s your business?”
“Nothing I can talk to you about.”
Ash’s expression didn’t change. He reached out and gave Phil a shove on the shoulder. “Get walking.”
“Where am I going?”
“Just walk. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Despite the urgency of their current mission, Phil couldn’t deny the tendril of curiosity. Ash looked like a mild college student, but had a very rough way of talking and, apparently, had a small gang. Phil would have bet money that Bones and Kong were street kids, homeless or, at the very least, living well below the poverty line. He had no idea what Ash’s connection was to Ms. Randy, but he wanted to know. There was clearly some connection, but Phil needed more information.
Ash led Phil only a short distance. They went down a sidewalk for about two blocks, then turned left and ended up in park. It was a sorry little place - one broken swing and a rusty slide. The grass had dead patches and while there had once been a stately black iron fence surrounding the little park, it had become so dilapidated with age that there was nothing left of it but a few upright poles surrounded by tall weeds. Ash pointed at a bench and Phil sat. Ash didn’t sit. He also kept a good six-foot distance between the two of them. He paced and wandered up and down, but never once let himself get in arm’s reach of Phil. On one of his passes by Phil, Phil happened to noticed a lump under the boy’s shirt, just at the small of his back. A gun. It was easy to spot for someone who knew what they were looking for and Phil had no doubt at all that both Clint and Natasha, wherever they were, had already spotted it and were at attention.
Phil waited for a time in silence, but his intuition kept poking at him, telling him that the boy important. He couldn’t figure out how. Mrs. Coleman had called Ms. Randy Ash’s mother, but Phil hadn’t seen any evidence in his research that proved Max had any children other than Michael. Yet, Ash knew the family well enough for Michael to trust him. Mrs. Coleman had also called Ash ‘Chris’ which Phil wanted to investigate. Phil tried, again. “I’ve told you who I am. Won’t you introduce yourself?”
Ash said nothing.
“Mrs. Coleman called you ‘Chris’ but your friends and Michael call you ‘Ash’.”
Still, no reply.
“Can I at least ask how you know Mister Glenreed and Ms. Randy? I know they only have one son.” Phil kept his eyes on the boy and when he still didn’t get an answer, he said, “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. Max is an old friend I want to help him.”
The silent treatment was getting frustrating. The boy entirely ignored him, just kept pacing. For all that he spoke, Phil might as well have not been there. If he couldn’t get answers, then there was no point in hanging around and delaying his search for Max. If necessary, he would be able to get away from the boy, of course, but he really didn’t want to take the chance of hurting a kid who, apparently, thought Phil was a dangerous person putting a nice family in jeopardy, even if Ash’s method’s were a bit rough.
Before Phil had to decide what to do about the situation a voice rang out, “Hey!” The shout made Phil turn his head and he saw, not just Bones and Kong, but a group of seven teenage boys approaching. “Boss, we got him!” They were a questionable looking group and none of the boys were in any better shape than Bones and Kong - torn clothes, unkempt hair, and a rough, hard look to their expressions. They were boys - they should have been in school, Phil thought - but they way they carried themselves and the undeniable united front they showed was dangerous. They were dangerous. The boys came swaggering into the park and, as they reached where Phil sat, their group parted and, the center, was Max Glenreed.
Max was thinner than Phil remember, but still big and strong looking. There were worry lines around his eyes and the slightest touch of grey at his temples. He wore a cheap suit and hadn’t shaved for at least three days. It was impossible to miss how tired he looked. He had a scar on the left side of his face that Phil didn’t remember. And, most surprisingly, from the expression of shock on his face, Max remembered Phil, as well.
“Thanks for calling me, Ash.” Max looked around at the other teenagers. “We’ll be alright. You kids go have fun and behave somewhere.”
As one, all the teenagers turned and looked at Ash. They waited in silence until Ash slowly nodded and only then did they disperse, leaving Phil with only Max and Ash.
A moment dragged by in which Phil turned his attention to Max and waited to see how Max would react. While Phil was very pleased to see his old friend, there was no telling how Max would react after years apart, especially when Max was in the middle of such a stressful, dangerous situation.
Max broke out with a grin. “Phil!” He rushed in and grabbed Phil’s hand, shaking it happily. Phil smiled back and all was well. For a brief flash of a moment, the mission he was on took a backseat and Phil joyfully reunited with his old friend. Finally, Max stepped back, still smiling, and asked, “What are you doing here? You’re the last person I expected to see.”
“Business, I’m afraid. We should speak in private.”
Max glanced over at Ash and that caught Phil’s attention. The boy couldn’t possibly be older than eighteen, at most, and yet, the look Max gave him was almost as if he were consulting an equal. The boy shrugged then turned his face away. “Ash,” Max said. “Why don’t you go check on Michael? Tell Jessica I’ll be right back.”
Ash frowned. “Hey!” He snapped and it must have been some sort of command as Bones and Kong stepped into view. “You two go check on Jessica and the kid. Don’t leave ‘til I tell you to.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Ash added, before they could walk away, “Anything happens to them and I’ll kill you both.”
“Yes, Boss.” And then they were gone, apparently taking the threat as the most normal thing in the world.
Ash crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Max. “Now she’ll know what’s going on. Go on and talk.”
“Thanks,” Max told Ash. “This,” he gestured at Phil. “Is an old war buddy. He knew Griffin.”
That, Phil saw, startled the boy.
With every single moment that passed, Phil was becoming more and more curious - desperately curious - about Ash. To have Griffin’s name suddenly bring such a look of grief and pain to Ash’s face only made that curiosity burn hotter. “You know Griffin Callenreese?” Phil had only ever known one person named Griffin and that had definitely not been a name he’d expected Max to mention. “How?”
The emotions on Ash’s face vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by such coldness that it could have frozen a penguin. “You can take him to my place, Max.”
So they followed Ash through the city, far from the luxurious apartment house Ms. Randy was in, and to a neighborhood that had seen better days. The apartment house they took Phil to was a disaster. There was garbage around the front steps and in the halls inside. The whole place smelled of filth. The walls, ceiling, and carpet were all stained with years of cigarette smoke and other things Phil didn’t want to think about. They saw only one neighbor who started to open their door, took a quick look at Ash, then ducked back inside. Phil heard the slide of a deadbolt being put into place before they passed. Ash let them into a room that was shockingly tidy.
It was small, no question. There was one other door in the room, which Phil presumed was a bathroom door. There was a sink, but no stove and the only refrigerator was a tiny thing meant for college dorm rooms, just big enough for a few sodas and maybe some left-over pizza. There was a twin sized bed pushed up against a wall and near the foot of the bed was a small desk with a stack of books on it. One of the books caught Phil’s attention - Molecular Biology. He raised an eyebrow. The only other thing in the room was a little table with a chair. The room was clean from top to bottom. The floor was swept, the bed was made with military precision. There were no empty food wrappers laying around, as one might expect from a teenager. Phil didn’t even see any dirty laundry laying around.
Ash sat on the bed and gestured to the chair at the table. “Make yourself at home.” He said nothing when Max sat on the corner of the bed nearest to the chair and waited for Phil to sit.
“When I said private,” Phil sat after he’d turned the chair around so he could face Max. “I mean that I can only talk to Max.”
Ash narrowed his eyes then let out a little chuckle. “Yeah? Well, this is MY place, so I’m not going anywhere. Besides, even if I do, Max will tell me everything after you leave, anyway.” Then he leaned his back against the wall and seemed to relax. “Max, he said his name’s Phil Couson. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Max answered without hesitation before he turned his attention back to Phil and his happy, friendly expression had gone tense. Wary, but not angry. “What’s this about, Phil? Be straight with me.”
“I am here to talk to you about Club Cod. I want to help. We want to help.” Phil made sure to keep his hands in front of him. Medical reports from before Max had left the service had suggested that the tragic incident with Griffin had left Max with PTSD, though he’d never gone to get officially diagnosed or, as far as Phil could find, gone for any sort of therapy. War was bad enough, but to see a close friend and comrade murder friends without warning or reason, was enough to put even the most down-to-earth person on a psychiatrist’s couch for years. So he kept his hands in clear-sight, completely visible as he suspected that it might make Max feel more at ease, even if it was only subconsciously. “How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“The boy at the apartment... Congratulations on becoming a father. He seemed sensible; didn’t want to talk to strangers or let a stranger in the home.”
Max’s face turned away, a little. “About a year ago, some strangers arrived at his home. They... did bad things to his mother and forced him to watch. My boy doesn’t like strangers. Especially not strange men.”
Phil knew, of course. He’d done all the research he was able to about Max’s family and, as he’d had J.A.R.V.I.S. at his disposal, he was able to do a lot of research. Jessica, who had been divorced from Max at the time, had been home alone with her son, Michael. The police report stated that three men had broken into the house and gang-raped her in front of her six-year-old son. She’s spent almost six months in therapy and little Michael still wouldn’t talk about it. That Michael would be frightened of strangers was entirely understandable. “I’m sorry if I scared him. I could suggest an excellent therapist.”
“Thanks, but he won’t talk about it. Not yet.” Max went quiet for a moment. He looked down at his hands folded on the table, then up at Phil. He glanced at Ash, then said, “Griffin’s dead.”
Dead? Phil felt his whole body go numb. That should have been in Griffin’s medical file he’d dug up while doing research on Max. “What?”
“Last year he was shot in the chest. He was found at a local hospital’s emergency room’s entrance, but was d.o.a. and there was nothing they could do.”
“Shot? The last information I’d had was that he couldn’t walk or respond to outside stimulus. How did he get shot?”
“I suppose you’ll find out when the trial starts, like everyone else. He’s part of the story. Now, we both know you’re not here for idle conversation so tell me what’s on your mind.”
Phil told Max everything he knew. Told him what he’d seen on the news, the safety concerns he had for the witness, how very badly everything could go, and he offered asylum in Avenger’s Tower for the witness. All the time Phil was talking, both Max and Ash stayed quiet. Phil ended by earnestly asking, “Will you tell me what you know about the situation?”
Max actually laughed. “Not for all the tea in China. Hey, you know how it is - I tell you, you tell a friend, and suddenly my house is on fire and my witness has a knife between his ribs.”
It was offensive to have anyone think he would betray them, but Phil held that at bay, knowing that Max has his reasons. “I wouldn’t do such a thing. When the report went public about Club Cod a friend at S.H.I.E.L.D. and I decided it was best to offer protection. You know what danger your witness is in, don’t you?”
Max stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled up at the ceiling. “Sure I do. My witness does, too. The whole world is set to open fire and we’re right in the bull’s eye. But it’s nothing new. For the past year or so I’ve been shot, drugged, beaten, threatened, kidnapped... and I didn’t get it near so bad as other people.” His smile fell at all once and he stared at Phil, completely serious. “If you did your research, then you should be able to put the pieces together. This garbage has been going on a lot longer than anyone knows and there are poisoned tentacles that have crept into every level of society, all around the world. I know a lot better than you do about the danger.”
“Then you also understand that it’s not just you and your witness that are in danger. I respect your willingness to see this through to the end, but it’s just not possible to do it alone. We’re worried that if your witness doesn’t get assassinated before the trial, what he says will probably cause mass chaos around the world. Depending on who your witness names on the stand, there might be riots, people getting killed, destabilizing societies. S.H.I.E.L.D. and The Avengers are willing and able to give your witness the protection needed to get them to trial.”
“I know you mean well.” Max rubbed the back on his neck in an unconscious gesture that Phil remembered so well from the war. “But...it’s a matter of trust. Ya see, I have a whole list of people I’m going to put in prison, but there must be hundreds more that I don’t know the names of and those people think they’re in danger.”
“And that makes them dangerous,” Phil said.
“Right. I don’t know who all the enemy are, so how do I know your friend at S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t involved in this? How do I know your friend wasn’t a customer of Club Cod?”
The idea of Fury supporting such a thing... no. It was an impossibility, but Max didn’t know Fury.
Max went on, “How about the other people who work at S.H.I.E.L.D.? Can you promise me - swear to me on your honor - that no one involved in your little operation is going to be on my list of names?”
Phil wanted to say ‘yes’, but knew that he couldn’t, in all honesty, speak for every single member of S.H.I.E.L.D.
“Max,” Phil leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Do you trust me?”
Max didn’t answer for a minute and that hurt. Then he ran a hand over his brown hair and sighed. “Yeah. I guess.
You did right by Griff and not many others wanted to. Not then. Not after what he did.”
“Then let me help. I want you to succeed. I watched when they brought those tiny body bags out of Club Cod. I live close enough that I could see it from my window. I want to help and I do know people, very good people that I trust to the end of the world. They will help and I swear on my life that they are honest and not one of their names will be on your list. Please, Max, you need help.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Max said, “I’d like to have help, but it’s not me who has to trust you. My witness... he doesn’t trust a lot of people.”
A man, then. It was more information than Phil had started with and he inwardly celebrated that tiny bit of information. “Will you tell me his name? I can talk to him, convince him...”
Max started to laugh. “Good God! Convince him? No one convinces him to do a damned thing! Look, I’ll have a word with him and see if he’s willing to meet you, but don’t get your hopes up.”
And Phil could see that it was the end of the conversation. So he nodded and stood up. “Thank you for talking with me. How can I get in contact with you, again?”
“You won’t. I’ll contact you.”
“Do you need my number?”
Max looked like he would laugh. “Phil, the whole world knows where you live, now. I think I can find the phone number for Tony Stark’s tower.” He stood up to leave and walked Phil to the door while Ash stayed behind. They went out on the sidewalk together and shook hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you sooner rather than later with an answer.”
As Max started to walk away, Phil called out to him, “One last thing - Ash. Who is he?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Max chuckled as he kept walking. “He’s my son.”
To be continued...