Like a Sore Thumb

~ originally published to Newsvine on November 24, 2009 ~

Some people demand more scrutiny than others. Then there's that old saying which poses that just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Ah, the grand Boogey Man incarnate rears his shadowy head. They. Them. Those entities who are not you.

They were at it again. Again? Hell, They are never not at it, whatever "it" is.

Jesse had been aware of covert eyes and ears since junior high school. Periodic visits from dark-suited agents asking personal questions about loved ones were par for the course. Did she know if so-and-so is frequently drunk or uses drugs? Is the subject having any financial difficulties? Is there a gambling problem? Does this person go to strip clubs, or ever hire prostitutes? Even if any of those scenarios were relevant, Jesse certainly never would have indicated as much to some federal wanna-be goons.

In public the goons were usually subtle, nearly indistinguishable from regular folks in a crowd, depending on the venue. Still, if one paid attention They could be spotted. After all, who else would be stupid enough to wear Florsheims with faded denims and a knock-off Grateful Dead concert tee to a NORML meeting? At those kinds of functions there might occasionally be only one of Them. Usually They traveled in pairs. Just like nuns, Jesse had mused on many occasions.

A certain level of paranoia can be a healthy device for self-preservation. Compound these levels between two individuals whose pre-couple lives have both been impacted by Them since childhood and things can get pretty intense. Jesse discovered this the hard way.

The funeral home was quite crowded when Jesse and her mate arrived. The two were greeted warmly outside the entrance by a few family members. Once inside the atrium Jesse and her sweetheart each signed the guest book. A relative directed her to an impressive display table laden with mementos of the deceased's personal and professional life. There They were at the table, supervising the appreciation of a dead man's remarkable achievements.

Jesse's late grandfather had been an highly awarded career NSA employee. Her mate's late father had been a career military trouble-shooter, active throughout southeast Asia during the Vietnam War era. Plus, there remained the close ties with others who could not discuss their professional lives, thanks to tight security clearances. It didn't help matters that Jesse's mate had personally drawn Their attention more than once. Nor did it help that, as an over-zealous rookie investigator, one of Them had relentlessly interrogated her mate more than a decade prior.

Jesse knew of the infamous crackdown. He was in his teens when it happened. They swarmed on multiple locations, cutting a swath of chaos. Professional conduct and constitutional rights be damned; all were considered guilty if for no other reason than association.

"Sundowner," he whispered into Jesse's ear, subtly cocking his head in Their direction. She nodded, casually guiding him towards a favorite uncle. During the service They lined Themselves along the rear wall, obvious strangers observing that which was none of Their business.

At the podium Jesse introduced herself for the benefit of her grandfather's friends. At the rear of the room she noticed two of Them scanning the guest book.

Jesse addressed her family, speaking cryptically of a long-standing rift in need of resolution. That's when she noticed one of Them gesture to another, as if to indicate identification of her mate. Thank goodness that Their attention following the memorial was focused on answering attendees' questions, and collecting table display items that were on loan from the agency. Jesse and her mate slipped away unnoticed.

"Do you think They recognized me? You know, Him?" asked Jesse's mate.

Jesse lit a cigarette, shrugged her shoulders, then put the van into drive. "I'm not 100% sure, baby, but if They did, They now know me, too."