Page 3 of Statler

Holy fuck.

This was starting to sound real.

Statler scrambled in his pocket for his phone, drawing it out before scrolling through and hitting the number of a man he hadn’t spoken to in at least five years.

It connected after the first ring.

“Stat,” the man answered jovially.

Yup.

That was his LT, all the way. When not in the middle of a crisis, he’d always sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Yeah, LT. It’s me. You⁠—”

Pershank didn’t let him finish.

“I guess Dark has made contact. Did it take you more than two minutes to call me once he told you who he was?”

“Uh, maybe one and a half?” Statler offered, then groaned. He could already see where this was going.

“Dammit. The man’s good. Luckily, all we had was a gentlemen’s bet. No money. But bragging rights, you know…” He sighed. “I would have loved pulling at least one over on this guy.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Statler snorted.

He was now amused. Sort of. This felt kind of like a set-up.

“I guess that means you can ID him for me.”

“Yup. Ugly son of a bitch,” Pershank laughed. “Perpetually clenched jaw, black eyes that could freeze the tits off a polar bear, and hair that’s all salt and pepper now, since the bastard is finally showing his age.”

Statler wasn’t sure about the age thing. It looked like the man in front of him couldn’t be any older than fifty. Which wasn’t ancient by any means.

“I think you’ve described him to a T,” Stat finally concurred. “So, what he’s here for is legit?”

“It is.” Pershank became serious. “Listen carefully to what he’s proposing, but know that he’s already up and running with something similar on the West Coast.”

“Sounds…intriguing,” Statler admitted.

“Just hear him out. And if you’re on the fence and need an ear, I’m always available.” Pershank chuckled. “Now, if I know Dark, he already thinks we’ve been talking too long, and he’s grinding his teeth. So, I’ll let you go. It was nice talking to you, no matter how briefly. Call me sometime and let me know how things are going once you’re up and running.”

And with that semi-cryptic statement, Statler’s old LT hung up.

“You ready to talk now?” Dark asked.

“I guess I am. You can follow me back to my house.”

Dark nodded. “I know where it is.”

* * *

That had been eight years ago.

Dark had spun Statler an offer he couldn’t refuse.

It seemed that once Dark had turned fifty—which had been just a little over a year previous to him approaching Stat—he’d decided that his lone-wolf days of pursuing justice needed to be put behind him. With approval from a higher-up—a much higher up whom he wouldn’t name—Dark had set up an office which he staffed with a handful of vetted soldiers who were no longer capable of field service. They ran the intelligence end of things for his clandestine venture.

Dark had subsequently recruited a team of ex-soldiers in Oregon who had also, post-service, gone into construction like Stat.