Blind Copy (The Technicians Series Book 5)

by Olivia Gaines

  Raphael Ian Hoyt didn’t do creepy. He tagged along behind them, consumed in his thoughts and focusing in on work matters. Monday would begin a new day, a new week, and new time to get his head clear. A few days away from them would give the man a bit of perspective. That’s what he needed−perspective.

  Perspective was ringing his phone as soon as he arrived in the house. He sent the girls up to shower and change as he answered the call. The deep voice on the other end had little to say.

  “Tuesday, Charlotte, three p.m., Wallace Grummitt, Whitehall Centre Green II, Waterbean Coffee,” the deep male voice said and the call ended.

  Hilton Head to Charlotte was a four-and-a-half-hour drive. Flight time was an hour and 15 minutes, but he would need to rent a car in order to get his equipment. The coffee shop was a very public place for an employment termination which meant he would need a silencer and his grey suit. It was the only one tactically cut to shield the weapon with the silencer without giving it away.

  Raphael never asked what the employees did. It wasn’t his job. He was given 50,000 reasons to make the people go away. An hour before the termination, the one getting snuffed would be provided three sentences to ensure the employee understood the infraction. Most of the time, the shit they did was illegal, immoral, and ill-timed. The potential for more damage was often halted by death. He was the dealer of death.

  Willow saw the change in his face. She reached out to touch his arm, asking, “Raphael, is everything okay?”

  “I have to leave tomorrow mid-morning,” he confessed. “Let me show you around this laptop, set your codes for the security system, and get you a bit of cash just in case.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Willow said, noticing the shift again in his body language from protector to almost a predator.

  “It’s okay. If all goes well, I should be back Wednesday, Thursday at the latest,” he said with a wry smile. “Come on, let me introduce you to my Prime Membership.”

  RAPHAEL LOADED THE shop, ready to roll out in the morning after the housekeeper arrived. From the safe he removed a small stack of 20s and gave them to Willow. Thinking better of it, he gave each girl a 20 as well, not knowing if they knew the value of money after living in a community environment.

  He ordered a subscription to Disney+ and pulled up Monsters Inc, for the girls to watch. The bright colors danced on the screen as their eyes watched and listened to every nuanced joke that until this point he too had overlooked. His heart was racing. Tuesday he would kill a man. Wednesday he’d drive home. Thursday he’d be at the dinner table eating mashed potatoes and possibly meatloaf. Naw, Willow didn’t seem like the meatloaf type.

  “Damn it, I can’t keep a clear thought in my frickin head,” he grumbled, heading up the stairs to his bedroom and closing the door.

  His mainline phone he used to call the Operator at The Company. He needed guidance and help. The only man he would trust to give him advice and was within driving distance of Charlotte, Raphael needed to see in person. It was a gamble. Hopefully when he made the call and requested an appointment, it would fare better for all involved. Normally when he showed up, people thought he was coming to kill them, which he usually was, but he didn’t want to take that chance with this guy. That dude would kill him first then ask what he wanted. The Operator at The Company would be a conduit. She could patch him through to the Technician he wanted to speak to without ruffling any feathers.

  “Operator,” a nasally voice came over the line.

  “Mr. Exit seeking a connection request to The Mann,” Raphael said.

  “Please hold for the connect,” the lady said, as he waited listening to the ringing. The line clicked and a voice came over the phone.

  “I am The Mann,” he said.

  “This is the Exit,” Raphael replied.

  “What the fuck you want?” Mr. Mann said quickly. He didn’t like other Technicians calling him; it messed with his calm. They were all sociopaths, usually toying with sociopathic ideas and wanting to involve him. That game he didn’t play.

  “Coffee, conversation. Advice between friends,” Raphael said.

  “We aren’t friends,” Mann told him.

  “I could use one and a face to face chat, no weapons, no games,” he said, knowing a full disclosure would be needed to get close to The Mann. The sharpshooter of the bunch wasn’t one to take chances, especially not with another Technician. He was too smart to run the risk.

  “What the hell you need advice about?”

  “Archangel planted a woman and two kids in my damned house. Don’t know how long they’re staying and don’t know if I want them to leave. Gotta go to work on Tuesday. Want to come your way on Tuesday evening, maybe have dinner. Plan to be back home on Thursday,” Raphael said. “It doesn’t feel good. Loads of emotions. Kinda want to make this work. Kinda want to run for the hills and get all of them out of my house. I like them though. They’ve had a hard time. I can give them a better life, but I don’t exactly know how. I’m asking for help.”

  “Sending coordinates, bring no weapons,” Mann said. “You staying the night?”

  “Fuck no, that would be too friendly, don’t know if I’m going to like you that much or what you might have to say,” Raphael said.

  “I can respect that,” Mann said and disconnected the line. A second later, coordinates came to his phone from a 762 extension. He looked up the area code on the number. It was Blairsville.

  He wanted to make a good impression on Mr. Mann and his wife. He found himself in the wine cellar off of the butler pantry. Raphael also pointed out to Willow that it was there.

  “My father was an amateur sommelier. Anything on the back wall, don’t touch. Anything on the right wall, is probably worth more than my vehicle; and it is customed. The left wall is good for sipping, if you’re so inclined,” he said, as she stared into the arch shaped closet, loaded from floor to ceiling with wine.

  Raphael pulled down a bottle of Opus One and placed it in a wine carrier. Had he not been looking at Willow, he would have missed the spark in her eyes. It made him smile that she exhibited a bit of possessiveness.

  “I have to stop and have a conversation with a co-worker. This will be a good gift to break the ice,” he said.

  “That’s a really nice gift for a man to give to another man,” she said, arching one eyebrow.

  “Really, Willow?”

  “Yes, really,” she said, squinting at him.

  “If I wasn’t kind of stressed out right now, I would think your jealously was kind of endearing, but it’s not, so cool it,” he said. “I have a difficult job. It would not bode well for me to be distracted and make mistakes in what I do for a living.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I dunno, the thought of you opening that bottle of delicious wine with some woman with long red fingernails made me get all catty. I have no right. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “When I get back, we’ll talk,” he said softly.

  “When you get back, we’re doing more than talking,” she said, poking him in the belly with her fingertip.

  “Jesus, be merciful in my hour of need,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. He had no right to ask for mercy when he sent people to Hell on a weekly basis. Granted he knew himself to be a bad guy, but in his heart, he wasn’t a bad man. Taking advantage of what was at his fingertips would make him a real bad sort.

  Six years or not, he was not a that kind of man. A bit of distance to clear his head would help. An opportunity to see inside of Mr. Mann’s home and how he made it work would be helpful. It would help a great deal.

  WILLOW TRIED CAREFULLY to get a grip on her emotions. She had no rights to his time, or who he spent it with, but a bottle of Opus One given to another man was kind of, well, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d read him wrong and he batted for the other team. In his eyes on the beach, she saw a flash of interest that he quickly tamped down.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, “he’s not into Black women.”

  Her
heart sank lower than it had when Proderick had taken her wallet, keys, and vehicle. She felt stupid for once again allowing herself to trust and getting it all wrong. At the laptop, she clicked a few keys to begin ordering things she and the girls would need once their documents came through.

  They wouldn’t be staying with Mr. Hoyt.

  “California sounds nice, the girls could see the country, and we could possibly do a cross country drive,” she mumbled, not knowing Raphael had overheard her words. All of her words.

  HE’D BEEN A NAVY SEAL. They traveled the world and stopped in almost every port that had a dock. In his lifetime, he’d never considered what kinds of women were his type. Normally, if a woman liked him, he liked her back.

  He’d fooled around with a Korean woman one year when his Crew worked out of Busan. There was a Japanese woman and an Afghani lady, but to his memory, he’d never actually been with or dated a Black woman.

  “Hmm,” he mumbled, trying to maintain his focus. “It’s not that I wasn’t interested, I just assumed there wasn’t one who was interested in me.”

  A slow smile crept across his lips. There was one interested now.

  It was complicated.

  It could get messy.

  Just need to clear my head before I do a dumb thing.

  She’s too young.

  She’s going to want a child of her own.

  I don’t know.

  I really just don’t know about any of this.

  Raphael left it alone. He couldn’t get any resolution tonight and wasn’t going to try. He had promised Willow they would talk when he returned. And they would.

  MONDAY MORNING BROUGHT a flurry of activity. The girls were pouting that he was leaving. The pecan waffles hit his stomach like manna from Heaven, and he didn’t even know he had pecans in the house. One last time, he covered all the bases as the front door opened, ushering in a stoic face woman in her early fifties who seemed genuinely shocked to see people in the Hoyt home.

  “Marla Musckovic, the housekeeper,” he said to Willow. “Marla, these are my house guests. I have no idea how long they will be staying, so in the meantime, continue to shop for me as you have been.”

  “And the houveskeepin’?” she asked with a thick Slavic accent.

  “My bedroom, bath, and my laundry. The rest Willow and the girls shall handle,” he told her.

  “Your office, the library, the vacuuming?”

  “The office you can tackle, the rest, as I said will be handled by Willow and the girls,” he said, passing her a thick envelope.

  “I take care of for you,” Marla said, giving Willow and the girls a once over, and sat the bags of groceries on the counter. “I put away.”

  “Or you can leave them, and I can put the items away,” Willow said, stepping forward to establish dominance as the Alpha female in the house. “Matter of fact, I have this, we will be out of your way in a moment.”

  Marla almost snarled at Willow, who took it in stride. “Girls, Raphael is about to leave. Come say goodbye to Daddy,” she said, looking Marla in the face.

  The girls bounded down the stairs, running straight for Raphael, who took a knee to accept hugs and kisses.

  “I’ll be back Wednesday, maybe Thursday. Obey your Mom, and don’t give her any trouble,” he warned.

  “Will you bring me back a small present?” Karli asked. “I mean if you have enough money. If you can’t I understand.” She handed him the 20 he had just given to her.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said hugging her tightly and waiting for the butterfly of a flutter kiss to touch his cheek, giving her back the bill.

  Dusty Rose kissed the other cheek, and he hugged both girls. Releasing them, he got to his feet, looking at the Mom. He opened his arms and Willow stepped inside, holding on for dear life, inhaling his scent, and wanting him back home before he’d even left. “You be safe out there, and we will see you on Thursday,” she told him, laying her ear against his chest.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, releasing her and heading out the side door.

  It was 10:00 a.m. If he pushed it, he could be in Charlotte by two in the afternoon. The fastest route was 1-95 to I-26 to I-77. This afternoon the Boss would send word of the cause of termination. He truly didn’t like to know, but five years ago he’d been sent to terminate the employment of Phillip Weston, whom he caught in the act of violating not only the trust of his employers, but the trust of being a decent human. The termination impacted him in a way he hadn’t expected.

  Mr. Exit turned in his resignation.

  “Oh no, you can’t do that. A man with your specialized skills is a treasure and an asset. We will up your pay to 50 an assignment,” the Boss told him.

  “This is not a salary negotiation! You didn’t warn me of what I was dealing with, and honestly, it is messing with my head. The anger I’m feeling right now is not healthy. I can’t get the images out of my mind’s eye,” Raphael said honestly.

  “You need to talk to someone,” the Boss replied. “Where are you?”

  “Just outside of Roanoke,” he lied.

  “I’m going to set you up with a counselor in Richmond, first thing in the morning. Talk to him. Stay in Richmond for a few days. Go see him every day and let him guide you from the darkness,” the Boss said.

  “And if he can’t? You sending somebody to terminate me? I resigned remember,” Raphael said.

  “No, I need you, Mr. Exit. We’re going to take care of you so you can continue as one of our top Technicians. See the Doctor. I’ll be in touch,” the Boss added.

  Raphael saw the doctor every day for a solid week. At the end of the week he felt better knowing that such a predator was no longer on the planet and hurting children. He hated men who hurt children. He didn’t care for the ones who hurt women either.

  “It’s my job,” he said to himself as he drove the four hours in silence. The further he got from home, the less he thought about them. His mind was on Wallace Grummitt. In an hour, he would know what Wallace did to make his employer want him dead versus just off the payroll.

  Usually, it turned into a scandal that could ruin an organization and not permit the company any turn around. Stock prices would drop and all the hard work and reputation of said business ended. He didn’t double check; he didn’t ask questions. Normally, if time permitted, he would give the employee an opportunity to provide a statement of allocution but nine times out of 10, the blowhards would start huffing and puffing, which only hastened the arrival of a well-placed bullet.

  One bullet and he could get home to his family.

  “My family,” he said, almost smiling.

  Chapter Eight – Transcript

  WALLACE GRUMMITT WAS a peeper, the worst kind of peeper who bandied about the term voyeur on the level of being a creepy extortionist. In Raphael’s line of work, details made all the difference. When he stayed in a hotel, he always covered the peephole since it was a two-way piece of glass. Wallace had discovered how to attach a camera to the peephole and record guests walking around the rooms naked.

  He was also a stupid man. A simple man who recorded guests during a hotel stay where he worked as a security manager wasn’t very smart, but neither was Grummitt. He chose to video the guests who stayed in the presidential suite, which usually were celebrities and dignitaries. The footage, although grainy, was still clear enough for Mr. Grummitt to use for blackmail purposes. However, once the two-timing snake accepted the payments, he still sold the photos to the highest bidder.

  It didn’t take long for the people who paid Mr. Grummitt to recognize the carpet patterns or room setups in the major hotel chain. Tomorrow, based on what he would be told by his employer, he would give the man a reminder of human decency. The Operator usually called him at least 24 hours before the job to provide the details of the type of criminal Mr. Exit would face.

  “The employer sees no need to conversate with Mr. Grummitt,” Raphael was told by the Operator.

  “Conversate is not a w
ord,” he said, ending the call.

  It wasn’t much, but it helped. Once he had done it for his country, not asking, taking orders, and ridding the world of the malfeasance the good old gub’ment of the U.S. of A, said needed get gone. He did the same thing for a living now. He just got paid much better. Two more years and Raphael planned a nice exit. The Swiss Bank accounts were healthy. The accounts in the Caymans were good, and the few bank accounts in America had wealthy portfolios, thanks to his father’s shrewd investments.

  “I’m good,” he said, pulling into the hotel chain where Mr. Grummitt worked. Checking into the hotel, he made it to his room on the third floor, close to the stairwell. Inside the basic room, a piece of black tape went over the peephole. Next, he removed his sweeping equipment, going over the room for microphones and hidden camera devices.

  “Well lookee here,” he said, pulling the minuscule camera from behind the picture frame. The eye of the camera was hidden in the green landscape of the painting. “Fucking peepers.”

  Raphael didn’t bother to unpack his bag, instead he left it beside the bed, the front label facing the window. Checking his watch, he saw it was a quarter to three. The coffee shop was less than two miles away and peepers were creatures of habit. Today, he would scope out the coffee shop, ingress to enter the property, and egress to exit the shopping center. Doors were also at the top of his list. He needed to know the right way to come into the shop, plant a bullet in a man, and leave without being noticed.

  “Time to go to work, Mr. Exit,” he said, taking the stairs of the hotel down to the side entrance.

  Driving at a normal speed, he reached the coffee shop in less than seven minutes. He parked mid-way between the bean roasters and what looked like a sewing shop with a huge going out of business sale.

  “Hmm, as if the universe is speaking to me,” he smiled, walking down the sidewalk to get a cup of coffee so he could be up all night feeling paranoid as fuck about life. The doorbell chimed when he entered, and he was greeted by a group of millennial hipsters with a chintzy phrase of welcome.