Chapter 6: 'I Need Your Help'

Ivey looked at Mistle and flashed a wry smile. At the urging of a direct “Goodbye now” from a flight attendant, the two men began to walk down the causeway from the plane into the airport terminal.

We have a situation here? You’re the only one I trust? Those were Ivey’s words just moments ago, but what did they mean?

Mistle began to think about his days with Ivey. The two had been Marines together during the first Gulf War. They were standard-issue jarheads, except they had a specialty—the two men now reunited in a Minneapolis airport were once bomb technicians. When troops feared a mine might be on the road, they were the ones who raced ahead and diffused it, putting their lives everyday in the hands of a higher power—and a few delicate wires.

A few months into the campaign, Mistle was transferred to a different unit, and that was the last time he saw Ivey, until today. He had heard Ivey was badly hurt in a roadside mishap, but he didn’t know the extent of the injury until the man seated next to him on the plane introduced himself.

As they waited at the baggage claim area together, Ivey leaned in and whispered to Mistle.

“I understand your skepticism, and I can’t say much here,” Ivey said, glancing furtively around the airport. “But you gotta trust me—I need your help.”

 The bags still hadn’t come down the chute, and this man he hadn’t seen for years was starting to sound like a nut.

“I’m going home,” Mistle said flatly. His bag was in hand now and he was heading toward the exit.

Ivey raced after him.

“Look, man, let me give you a ride home. We can talk a bit more, too,” Ivey said.

Just then, he pointed toward a young woman standing outside the airport. She was pretty, but in a bookish way. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly, and Mistle thought her glasses were a bit too big for her face. She was dressed professionally and carried herself in a quiet but confident manner. Mistle couldn’t help but feel she was trustworthy and kind. Mistle looked at her and then back at Ivey. He didn’t mind the free ride home, and he couldn’t help but wonder why Ivey had sought him out.

“This is my niece,” Ivey said.

“Hi, I’m Meredith. Nice to meet you,” the woman said with a wide smile. “Hank told me a lot about you.”

Her words hit Mistle in the chest. He turned to Ivey and shot him a stiff glare.

“Look,” Ivey said. “I tracked you down because—“

“Tracked me down?” Mistle asked. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I’m a P.I. these days—have been since I left the service,” Ivey said. “Kind of hard to land a nine-to-five with this.” Ivey nodded to his right arm, the one missing a hand.

Mistle was still absorbing the fact that this was no chance meeting when he accepted an open door into the back seat of a black sedan. Ivey rode shotgun, with Ivey’s niece at the wheel. The car pulled away from the terminal, away from the airport, and onto Interstate 494.

Ivey turned back toward his old Marine friend.

“Remember what we used to do in the Gulf?” Ivey asked. “Can you still do it?”

Mistle narrowed his eyes and let out a dismissive breath.

“Do what?” Mistle asked. “We’re not in the Gulf anymore, in case you were confused about that.”

“There’s been a threat—at the Mall of America, of all places,” Ivey said. “Can you believe it? Somebody wants to blow up Christmas.”

Mistle motioned with his eyes at Meredith, then back to Ivey, who waved off Mistle’s concern.

“Oh, she’s cool,” Ivey said. “Meredith’s the one who called me here.”

Mistle gave turn-by-turn directions to his house in Richfield and, 10 minutes later, their car pulled into his driveway. It was a little rambler—big enough for a wife and kid, but not big enough to dream of more. It was just one of the reasons Mistle was on the rocks with Holly, who yearned for a countryside cottage.

Mistle grabbed his luggage and went to the door. His 9-year-old daughter, Kayla, raced outside and jumped into his arms, the excitement stretched across her face. Holly stood in the doorway, taking in the scene with a mix of relief and trepidation. She glanced at the black sedan and the grizzled character in the front passenger seat.

Ivey leaned out the window.

“Tim, I do really need your help,” Ivey said, then turned to Holly. “Don’t worry—I’ll have him back in time to open presents.”

Holly’s jaw dropped open.

“What? Who are you?” she said.

“Daddy, are you leaving?” Kayla asked. “You just got here.”

“Tim, what in the world is going on here?” Holly asked. “You’d better come inside this house right now.”

“Tim, I need you,” Ivey said.

“We need you,” Holly said, rushing up to her husband and putting her arm around their daughter.

***

EDITOR’S NOTE: November is National Novel Writing Month, and we need you to help Minnesota Patch write a holiday novella. Here's how it will go: We’ll post a new chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next four weeks, each written by one of the Local Editors from a Patch in the Southwest Metro.

Our Patch writers will incorporate your ideas into the next chapter. Take our poll or contribute your thoughts below for plot twists, character names or settings for scenes. Through a lot of fun, improvisation and unpredictability, by Dec. 16, we’ll end up with a finished holiday novella.

Our next chapter will appear Wednesday, Nov. 30.