"Wait here," Jag said. "I won't be long."

The cab driver nodded, shifted the car into park and began working the sudoku in the morning paper. Jag stepped out of the cab and took a long look at the mansion. It could have used a coat of paint and the landscaping had gone wild. A broken window was mended with duct tape and cardboard. He didn't want to be here, but a lifetime of mistakes racked up a lifetime of responsibilities. He approached the door and rang the bell. He immediately heard activity within the house, but it still took a while for the door to open.

"Jag, darling. So good of you to come."

It was Deirdre. Wife number two. Her flesh was taut thanks to face lifts and botox. Her lips were unnaturally plump, and her breasts were artificially firm. She had paid a lot of money over the years in a quest to evade the aging process and maintain her beauty only to wind up looking like pathetic hell.

"Hey, Deirdre, you’re looking good." They hugged and she kissed him on both cheeks. Then she led them into the living room where she took a position behind the bar.

"What can I get you, Jag?"

Except for the bar, the living room was barren. Indentations in the carpet marked where furniture once stood. "Nothing for me, thanks," Jag said. "I’m not thirsty."

Deirdre stared at Jag as if he were a stranger. "Not thirsty? You? When has that ever stopped you from drinking?"

"I just don’t have a lot of time here. There’s a thing I have to be at in a bit."

"What kind of thing."

"Just a thing," Jag said.

"Pity," Deirdre said. "I was hoping to have time to catch up."

Jag shook his head. "No. You didn’t invite me over to sit and chat. What do you want, Deirdre?"

"That’s right. You’ve never been one for foreplay have you? Just get right down to the dirty business." She poured a glass of bourbon. "The Pentagon stopped cutting me checks right after they let you go."

"No shit?" Jag walked over to the bar, picked up Deirdre’s bourbon and took a sip. He could tell where this was heading, but he wanted it to play out. He could do foreplay if he wanted. "So, you’re living off your savings now?"

"There are no savings."

"The Pentagon pays you an indecent buttload of cash and you don’t keep any of it?"

"A certain lifestyle is expected when you have money. That took a lot of it. That and my ex had some investment opportunities that turned sour."

"Which ex?"

Deirdre laughed. "Pretty much all of them I guess."

Jag shook his head. "How does someone piss away that kind of money?"

"Don’t get all judgey, Jag. It doesn’t work coming from you."

"Whatever," Jag said. "Hit me with it. What do you want?"

"I’m used to a certain lifestyle. I’d like to be able to maintain it."

Jag just stared and waited.

"I want you to support me financially."

Soldier Boy laughed. "Well, good luck with that. You aren’t getting a damned dime."

"Jag, I was your wife!"

"Yeah, for about one week a million years ago. You were paid enough money to be set for life. It’s not my fault it’s gone."

"Please, Jag, don’t make me beg. I know you got a lot of money from endorsements and stuff. I just want a bit of it. You owe me."

Jag had received an indecent amount of money over the years, but he lived his life like he would never see retirement. The money was gone. He partied away a chunk, and gave some to strangers in fits of Elvis-like largess, but most of it went to his charities bringing food, water and shelter to the third world. He could have gotten a lot of press over the years for his philanthropy, but he insisted on remaining anonymous. Few things bugged him more than somebody expecting a lot of press for their selfless charity.

"The money’s gone, Dee."

Deirdre started. "Surely, not all of it."

"What I have left is in a trust fund for my grandkid. You ain’t getting any of that."

"What about your Conquistadors money?"

"What I have left is in a trust fund for my grandkid. You ain’t getting any of that."

"Endorsements?"

"What I have left…"

"Oh, shut the hell up." Deirdre hid her face in her hands and wiped away a tear. "I’m scared, Jag. I’m losing the house. I don’t know what to do."

"Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll have to start living like a normal person." Jag turned and made his way to the front door.

"I could have been a fucking nurse."

Jag paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"I was going to nursing school when we met."

"I remember."

"Then you turned my life upside down, dropped a crapload of money on me and left me to deal with it."

"You telling me it’s my fault you never finished your degree? I left you with enough money to go to school. Jesus Christ, I left you with enough money to buy your own fucking hospital."

"That kind of money changes a person."

"Only if you let it. Where was your god damned backbone, Dee?" He was in her face now.

Angry tears stained her face. "You’re saying that to me? You?" Get the hell out of my house."

"Happy to." He stormed halfway to the door then stopped. "Listen, I treated you like crap once way in the past. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about that, but the life you lived since then is all you. All you!

He gave her a long, appraising look, and considered how she tried in vain to maintain her youth. "Christ, you look like shit."

Jag marched out the door and slammed it behind him hard enough to crack it from top to bottom. Dee watched from the window as Jag’s cab pulled down the street. She found her phone and hit speed dial.

"Mr. Geoffery?" she said, pausing to control herself. "I’m ready to work with you."