Blind Copy (The Technicians Series Book 5)

by Olivia Gaines

  “Good afternoon,” he said to the lady who appeared a lot less frazzled today.

  “How are you doing? Are we ready to load up?”

  “Almost. I just want to take a look around and make sure I’m not missing anything they might need,” Raphael said.

  “Mr. Hoyt, in the back, I have six bolts of fabric that I really have no desire to sell, but I can’t keep them myself. My house is just not big enough to accommodate all the stuff I think I want to do, versus what I actually have time to do,” she told him.

  “You are preaching to the choir,” he replied. “I feel pretty much the same way, but my wife Willow is creative at heart. My heart is lighter getting her these items because I know she will use them well.”

  “Come to the back and let me show you what I have,” she said, leading him in the storeroom right off the main sales floor. The bolts of fabric were bright in color, festive and perfect as far as he was concerned.

  “These are amazing. How much for the lot?”

  “I’m going to throw in three if you buy three,” she said, pointing at a bolt of white fabric covered in rainbows. The lady opened the Fabric to reveal a giant unicorn in the center of the panel.

  Raphael’s mouth fell open in appreciation. He found himself chuckling at the thought of Karli seeing the material. She was going to love it.

  “This, I’m throwing in as well,” she said with a wink.

  Twenty minutes had passed by the time he did an additional walkthrough, made the final purchases, and was ready to load up.

  “Before we load up, let me grab a coffee, and then once loaded I can head out,” he said, offering her a smile.

  “No problem,” she said, bagging up the notions, patterns, and smaller items he’d purchased. Mr. Hoyt spent another grand in total, bringing his full purchase up to nearly 10 Gs. She would make him a cup of coffee, force herself to lactate for the milk, and anything else, if he wanted.

  “Be right back,” he said, still wearing his suit jacket.

  Out the front door and down the sidewalk he went, coming through the coffee shop door. A similar banter between a different barista from yesterday and a different young woman at the counter occurred, as he placed his order for a decaf Americano, and two cookies. The watch chimed three minutes after three and Wallace Grummitt made his way to the bathroom as Raphael placed his order.

  Taking his number and finding several people in line ahead of him, Raphael made his way to the bathroom. The same scent filled the room, which worked in his favor. No one wanted to relieve themselves in a bathroom that smelled like a cattle truck had parked next to the sink.

  “Wallace?” he said softly.

  “Yes, who’s there? I’m sorry. I need to do a courtesy flush,” Wallace replied.

  “Your employers are aware of what you’ve been doing and are terminating your employment,” Mr. Exit said.

  “Hold on, hold on a minute there,” Wallace said, scuffling as if he were deciding if he should wipe, flush, or get off the shitter.

  “Your chance to do the right thing has expired. The waiting is over, Mr. Grummitt,” Raphael said, marching into the adjacent stall. He stepped up on the toilet seat, looked over the stall, pointed the weapon down at Wallace Grummitt, and pulled the trigger. He climbed down, careful to keep his shoes dry, flushed the commode, and washed his hands.

  Raphael left the bathroom as his number was being called for his order, which he picked up, offered a thanks, threw a tip in the jar, and then exited the side door. He strolled with ease to the sewing shop, stopping to unlock the truck and remove his jacket, tie and gun holster. The holster was placed in the floor compartment and the seats were flattened to accommodate the new machine and fabric.

  “Okay, I brought you cookies,” he told the sweet lady in the sewing shop. Together they loaded his SUV, and he offered a sincere thank you, sliding behind the wheel. Aiming the nose at the 485 southbound towards Spartanburg South Carolina where he began the drive to meet The Mann.

  RAPHAEL DROVE IN SILENCE, his thoughts louder than any physical body or headless voice to blare through the radio. Internally, he felt a sort of nervousness about meeting The Mann since few people knew anything about him. He wanted to add that to his list of conversation points, that the members of Beauty’s Crew didn’t know each other. The thoughts were broken by the ringing of his phone.

  He tapped the screen for the unlisted number, “Mr. Exit.”

  “Nicely done.” the male voice said, “Where are you?”

  “Just crossed over into South Carolina,” he replied, not explaining where in South Carolina he was.

  “Got an issue that has arisen in Greenville. Needs to look like an accident,” the male voice said.

  Raphael quickly said, “Accidents are done by Falling Rocks.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, but I thought that you might want to pick up a little extra on the way home,” the familiar male voice said.

  “I’m good,” Raphael stated. Waiting on the quietness in the phone line to come to an end as it usually did.

  “Hmm, interested in being the Devil and heading down to Georgia?” the male voice asked.

  “Not really, why?”

  “Got male kiddie diddler in charge of a boxing program in Dunwoody. His employer wants a couple of drops of never again placed in the old man’s electrolyte bottle,” the male voice said.

  “Again, it’s not my thing to Merge into someone else’s lane. You need the right guy for the job,” Raphael said.

  “Hey, just checking,” the voice said. “Payment sent to your account.”

  “Have a good evening,” Raphael said, ending the call, thinking that was weird. The voice on the line knew all of the Technicians. All of the Technicians worked for the voice on the line. He personally reported to the voice and not Beauty like the others. It didn’t feel right.

  An hour later, it still didn’t feel right. The Cleaner being taken out of play in a very wrong way, now he was being asked to do a Merge and Falling Rocks job. He didn’t like it at all. In his line of work, coincidences didn’t just happen. The universe had to align in order for the stars to shine on his street. He mulled it over a bit more, adding more items to his list to discuss with The Mann.

  Just when he was ready to relieve his bladder, he entered Owltown, a hop and skip away from Blairsville. The sun was starting to set as he made his way up the mountain, passing a half rusted blue mailbox which read Neary, making Raphael do a double take. Continuing the climb, he almost passed the driveway, noticing the red dot on the GPS had come to a stop. Backing up, he came to the gate, and thinking better of climbing out to open it himself, he dialed the number.

  “This is The Mann.”

  “Mr. Exit is at the gate,” he replied. He heard a series of clicks and buzzes as the gate slowly opened.

  “Stay on the path and drive to the house. I’ll meet you at the porch,” Mann told him.

  “Roger that,” Raphael said, disconnecting the call and driving on the hardened clay drive intermittent with gravel. He looked down at the roadway noticing specks along the side of the driveway were actually metal barbs. “Shit, those will tear the hell out of a tire.”

  The slower he drove, the more he noticed the booby traps along the property. Raphael pulled around the curve to see a cabin he wasn’t expecting. The front looked simple enough, with several modern additions added and a porch that seemed to wrap around the house. He parked the vehicle, opening the door slowly and stepping out with his arms raised. In slow motion, he turned showing his front and sides and pulled up his pants legs.

  “You’re dramatic as hell, aren’t ya?” Mann said, watching him move.

  “Well, I don’t want any misunderstandings,” Raphael replied. “I have to get my notebook, and I brought a bottle of wine for you and the Missus.”

  “Bring your overnight bag in as well. At night, trying to navigate down this mountain ain’t easy. I don’t recommend it,” he said.

  “You okay with me stayin
g overnight?”

  “I wouldn’t have offered it if I weren’t okay with it. Besides, I wanted to talk to you as well,” he said, waiting for Mr. Exit to come inside. “Leave the bag by the door. Bathroom is down the hall to the left. Dinner is ready.”

  “Thanks,” Raphael said, noting all the modern appliances. He passed over the bottle of wine. “Oh, I brought this as a thank you.”

  Mann opened the wine container as Mr. Exit made his way down the hall. “Oh, we fancy, huh? This will go well with the chops I grilled.”

  “Or you can save it to drink on a special occasion,” Mr. Exit called back. Anxious to get into the bathroom, he closed the door, wondering where Mann’s family was hiding. By the time he finished his business and came out, wife, son, and a very rotund three-year-old were all at the table.

  “This is my wife Sharon and my sons Rocky and Nate Jr,” he said. “Family, this is Mr. Exit.”

  “Pleasure to meet you all, and thank you, Mrs. Mann, for allowing me this unorthodox meeting,” he said. “However, things are feeling off and I wanted to chat, which I will wait until after dinner to approach.”

  Sharon asked, “Have you met Mr. Yield and his wife Millicent? We had the pleasure of going to Disneyworld with them last year. It was a blast.”

  “Yeah, Chad and I are best buds,” Rocky said. “We can’t wait to go to the water park next week.”

  Raphael smiled, “I didn’t know we did that kind of thing, or is that something new between you, Stop and Yield, being family men now?”

  “Family changes your focus and makes you more careful when you work. It also means planning family vacations,” Mann said. “It gives the kids something to look forward to and the wives a common communication bond with another woman who understands the world we live in.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Raphael said.

  “It is. You go to work, don’t bring the job home, and love your family,” Mann said. “We could have done this conversation over the phone.”

  “I said the same thing to Willow,” Raphael said, clearing his throat, “but she told me my gut instinct was to come in person and bring that bottle of wine, so here I am. However, there are other matters after dinner that I want to discuss as well.”

  “Willow, is that her name?”

  Raphael found himself blushing as he took out his phone. “Sorry, but I have to show off photos.”

  He slid his finger across the screen. “This is Dusty Rose, and she’s 14. They grew up on a compound outside of Louisville, so I have to reintegrate them into the world. The boy next door, Stan Jr., has already made his way over to my house. When I get home, I’m going to show Mr. Stan my Henry Rifle and see if I can get a Hershey squirt to appear in his britches. She won’t think he’s so cute when he poops his pants.”

  Mann tried not to crack a smile.

  “This is Karli, and she’s 10,” Raphael said, grinning from ear to ear, “and she’s my little Pooh Bear. I’m confident that a 50-year-old Black woman is residing in her little body because she is a sassy mouthed hot mess.”

  Sharon cleared her throat. “Mr. Exit, is that how you categorize all Black women?”

  “Of course not,” he said, sliding his finger across the screen again, bringing up the photo of Willow. “She gets it from her Mama.”

  The expression left his face as he showed the photo of Willow to them. Both Sharon and Mann noticed the change in his expression. Sharon said nothing and looked at her husband to open the door to discuss the topic at hand.

  “So, what’s the problem, you love the girls but can’t see yourself loving the mother, and how is she Dusty’s Mom?” Mann asked.

  “Technically, she’s not either of their biological mothers. The guy who ran the compound kind of kidnapped her for six years and made her take care of the girls. Karli got away, ended up in my truck, and had me go rescue her Mom and Dusty,” he said, cutting into the pork chop. “Let’s see, I picked up Karli on Friday afternoon, the mom and sister on Saturday, and my house is full and buzzing on Sunday. I left for work on Monday.”

  “Oh shit, you mean like this past weekend, Sunday? Two days ago, Sunday?” Mann said, surprised.

  “Yes, but they have lived on that compound and know nothing of this world, well Willow does, but six years is a long time away from society,” he said. “My heart tells me to protect them and do all I can to help.”

  “But you’re not down with the swirl?” Sharon asked.

  Raphael looked up at Sharon. “I don’t know what that means?’

  “It means you’re willing to try a romance with a Black woman or a woman of color,” Sharon said.

  Raphael frowned. He looked at the photo of Willow and frowned some more. He did like her a great deal. This was awkward for him to say in mixed company. The preference would have been to have the conversation without Mrs. Mann’s ears privy to that which was being spoken. His cheeks burned in embarrassment.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete, spit it out,” Mann said.

  “I’m too old for her,” Raphael said. “I’m twice her age and old enough to be her father. Plus, I don’t want her to feel obligated to me and become stuck. In a year or two when all the dust has settled and she goes to work and runs across a Dexter St. Jacques and leaves me and takes the girls, then I’m going to be on the downside of 50 wondering what I’ve done wrong. Or worse, I’m going to put a bullet in both her and Dexter and keep the girls.”

  Rocky looked across the table at him, his facial expression comical. “Daddy, can I be excused?”

  “Sure, son,” Mann said, pressing his lips together as Rocky took his plate to the family room and looking at his wife. “See, sociopaths. Every goddamn one of them.”

  The three-year-old, who had been gnawing on a pork chop bone, looked up, agreeing with his father, and echoing the sentiments, shaking his head full of curly black hair. “Damn sociopaths.”

  “You aren’t any better,” Raphael spoke to Mann, ignoring the child. “You just do it from a distance. I make it personal and tell the offenders why I’ve come for them. I will tell Dexter St. Jacques why I came for his ass as well.”

  “Exit, let me see that pic again,” Mann said, focusing in on the screen. He used his index and thumb to enlarge the photo. “She’s not in her 20s. She’s in her 30s.”

  “Uh-Uh,” Exit said scowling, grabbing the phone and looking at the image again.

  Sharon spoke up, “Let me see your Willow, Mr. Exit.”

  He passed her the phone. Like her husband, she enlarged the image, looking at the neck, hands, and the eyes. “She’s a vegetarian and in her late 30s. I would say she was probably closer to 40,” Sharon said.

  Raphael reached up to his face to remove the glasses he wasn’t wearing, making Mr. Mann burst into laughter.

  “Dude, you aren’t wearing any glasses. You know that, right?”

  “If I were, this is where I would take those suckers off to get the full scope of what you’re saying to me,” he said, reaching for the phone. “How in the name of Ester’s beard can you tell from a photo that she’s a vegetarian and damned near 40?”

  “The skin and eyes,” Sharon said, “especially around her neck. That’s how you tell age on a woman of color, her hands and her neck. The eyes are also a dead giveaway. Look how white the solera are. She hasn’t eaten meat in a while.”

  He sat there, perplexed. If Willow was indeed closer to 40, that changed everything. She would also want a child of her own and soon. He didn’t have any children. At least none that he knew about. It would be nice to have one of his own, a little Michelin man like Nate Jr.

  “I just read all of that across your face,” Mann said. “So why didn’t you simply ask her age?”

  “You never ask a woman her age. That is just rude,” he said, appalled that Mann would make the suggestion.

  “But wanting to put her out and keep the kids is not?”

  “I wanted to keep her too but I didn’t want to feel like a perv. I hate perverts w
ith a passion,” he said, feeling for his holster which was in the car.

  Sharon respected his honesty, “Mr. Exit, now that you know her age, does this change how you plan to go forward?”

  “It changes a great deal, but going forward in the conversation requires that I speak with your husband in private,” he said. “The meal was lovely, thank you. I would love to have you guys come down to my place. I’m right on the beach in Hilton Head.”

  Nate Jr began to play in his potatoes, causing Sharon to get up from the table. “Coffee and dessert gentleman?”

  “None for me. Thank you again,” Raphael said.

  “You’re mighty dang gone polite to be a hitman,” Mann told him. “Come on, we’ll go into my office to continue this conversation.”

  “Let’s clear the table first. I don’t want your wife to come back to table full of dirty dishes,” Raphael said, facing the scowling face of the Mann. “What? It would be rude.”

  “Dude, seriously? Bring your ass on into my office,” Mann chuckled.

  “No dude, if at all possible, I would like to be invited back with my family, and that is not going to happen if I’m treating your wife like the help,” Raphael said, “I’ll clear the table and be right with you.”

  Mr. Mann watched him collect the plates. Exit inquired if he had an animal to eat the scraps, and hearing no, he scraped the plates into the trash. After rinsing them fully, he placed the items in the dishwasher. Satisfied, he dried his hands and followed his co-worker to the office.

  Thus far, Mr. Mann liked Exit.

  Chapter 10 – Dupe

  IT FELT LIKE CHRISTMAS morning to both high end members of the Company, craving to unwrap the presents but not wanting to spoil the joy of discovery. There was a great deal to unpack, discuss, and dissect. Mr. Exit wanted to go first.