Running on Empty by Roger Barry Page B

getting a nine to five with those arms. Unlike Tom, going on five years now with the Government.
    ‘So, who’re you working with then, Tom’ he’d sometimes be asked.
    ‘The Government’ he’d reply.
    No elaboration. That was as far as you could go.
    It wasn’t that he was involved in some form of clandestine operation. Tom was no counter-terrorist. He just sat at his computer screen, analysing data, checking for patterns in all the randomness that’s flying around out there. He was a desk jock. He suspected there were people who worked in that drab, grey, non-descript building in Boston who were all those things. But you just didn’t ask questions. Need to know basis, no more. Still, you weren’t expected to work too hard, and the money was pretty good too, enough to be living in a nice little apartment in Allston. Could be worse, a lot worse. Nice roof over your head, and a bit more too.
    Christine stood slightly apart from the main body of people, looking suitably solemn. Those three years they’d been going together had flown in, and dragged in, both at the same time, if that’s possible. Rachel sorta filled in the gaps. Going together. Going where?
    Tom hadn’t figured that one out yet. He liked Christine, sure, but that was just about all he was sure of in their relationship. Love? He wanted to love, he could be as touchy-feely as the next guy, he just didn’t know if he wanted to spend the rest of his days playing house with Christine.
    No lightning bolts. Not yet anyway.
    She looked pretty though, he had to admit that. Well, she did today, anyway. Standing there in a calf length navy coat and long suede boots, her auburn hair tied back in an austere ponytail, and her hazel eyes taking in the surroundings. She could definitely look the business when she put in the effort , thought Tom. The trouble was, sometimes she didn’t bother with the effort at all. That was part of it maybe. Tom had seen her looking a bit the worse for wear, once or twice too often for his liking. Maybe he was in love with the idea of being in love. Maybe he’d watched too many rom-coms, seen too many beautiful women in beautiful clothes, after the makeup artist had done their stuff. What the hell would those silver screen beauty queens look like first thing in the morning, after working their way through a bottle of Californian Red the night before? Not too glamorous, he was sure of that.
    As Tom shifted his eyes from Christine, someone else caught his attention. Standing behind her, even more removed from the gathering, stood a man, early-sixties maybe, steely grey hair, six foot tall or so, and stocky. Clothes a bit strange, almost like they were from another decade. He had the look of someone you wouldn’t want to tangle with, even with his advancing years. But it was his eyes that were his most distinctive feature. Those eyes, looked like they could pierce quarter-inch plate. And they were staring over at Tom. He began to feel a bit uneasy, shifting from foot to foot, in the full glare of those dangerous eyes. Then, the eyes moved on to someone else. Thank Christ for that , he thought.
    Tom moved quickly as soon as the service ended, getting back to the house to greet the mourners as they arrived, the dubious duty of being the elder son. Hugs were duly given, hands were shaken, and condolences muttered. Barely aware of who he was greeting, his eyes glazed over as he stared off into the mid-distance. Maybe the funeral affected him more than he had thought, or let on.
    Tom felt guilty, there was no denying it. He felt guilty because he was glad the old man was dead. The last year or so had been a pain. Countless visits to the hospital, just to sit there, and watch him die. Guilt, and relief, that’s what he felt. He was sorry his father was dead, but it was also a relief, to get back to normality. He’d his own life to live, hadn’t he? Nobody could blame him for wanting to gain control of his own existence again, without