MOTIVATION Dew refused to cry. Just wasn’t going to happen. It wanted to come out, and he had trouble fighting it back, but no way in hell. He wasn’t in this business to make friends. It hurt, sure it did, but Malcolm Johnson wasn’t his first friend to die in the line of duty. How much of this did he have to deal with? How much could he take? How many more people did he have to see die? How many more people…did he have to kill? He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He needed to reconnect. Dew picked up his small cell phone, the normal one, and dialed. It rang three times before she answered. “Hello?” “Hi, Cynthia, it’s Dew.” “Oh, hi, how are you?” Her words carried history, decades of back story, if you will. Dew and Cynthia had hated each other once, hated each other with a passion that went even beyond what he felt for the enemy during a battle.
