“May I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why Ian Grant, Celaine Stevens and Blake Cohen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why were we chosen? How were we chosen?”
She looked at me for a moment, contemplating her answer as though choosing which one to give. “I honestly don’t know,” she replied in a whisper, forcing me to believe that she‘d chosen the lie over the truth. “Victor is more or less responsible for that, and I believe he relies on his own sources. From what I’ve been told, it seems to be related to your social security numbers and totally at random. Victor has Inez or Caine check out a bunch of random people and he makes the final selection himself.”
“What if one of these random people he chooses declines? They would know a little too much information, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s what your gun is for.” Cameron appeared in the sitting room.
I felt my blood begin to boil as it rose to my face. “What does he mean by that?” I turned back around towards Kara. Her head was in her hands, her eyes fixed to the floor.
“They haven’t told you yet? Blake never told you? Wow, he must really have had it bad for you…classic.”
Suddenly, it dawned on me. Of course, it all made sense. It wasn’t that no one had ever declined their offer…it was more like they couldn’t decline it. Looking coldly at Kara, I was too furious to speak. So much for having choices in life.
Without taking her eyes off the floor she spoke in an apologetic whisper. “We didn’t know you then, Celaine…we…we have to look out for our program here. We can’t jeopardize the good work we’ve done. We can’t jeopardize the progress we’ve made.”
“I’m not killing Ian Grant. I won’t do it. I’m not a murderer.”
“No, you aren’t a murderer.” Victor joined us in the sitting room, his presence only angering me further. “You’re merely sacrificing one innocent life for the benefit of millions of innocent lives.”
“You can package your bullshit up any way you want, but at the end of the day, it’s still just shit, Victor.”
Cameron’s eyes widened, his head bobbing from me to Victor and back again in disbelief, as though challenging Victor was a cardinal sin.
“That’s quite a colorful analogy, but, Ms. Stevens, at the end of the day, you still work for me, and you will follow my instructions to the letter.”
The urge to punch him surged through me, and it took all I had to suppress it. In an attempt to avoid further irritation, I turned my back to walk down the hallway, only to be halted by Victor’s voice, launching his own brand of kryptonite in my direction. “You wouldn’t want your family’s death or Blake’s to have been in vain, would you?”
****
Later that evening, I was on the road heading toward Norfolk, the 9mm Glock firmly situated in place on the holster at my hip. I had never been to Norfolk, but from the photographs I once saw of the Virginia Beach area from Lucy’s family vacations, it seemed like a beautiful area, an added bonus. Besides, it was on the ocean and away from the confines of the Epicenter.
Ian Grant. I’d never met him, yet I already knew so much about him. He was tall, standing at 6’2”, brown hair, green eyes, a handsome, photogenic man just a couple of years younger than me. Never married and an only child, he had no immediate family, and had been estranged from his mother for the last several years. His father had been killed in the blast at the Flamingo Casino and Resort in Atlantic City just days prior to my family’s murder.
An exceedingly intelligent, yet underachieving individual—which was noted as possibly having been the catalyst for the animosity between him and his mother—instead of going to college, he took a job bartending at a local novelty bar about a mile from the naval pier. Where he’s been for the last four years, and where he’d be tonight until curfew when, after work, he’d return to his studio apartment, just mere blocks from the bar.
After nearly four hours of driving, I was in Norfolk. Passing from Maryland into Virginia, my vehicle had captured inquisitive stares from the border patrol, who’d waived me through after scanning the government-issued license plate that granted me adequate clearance for interstate travel. I didn’t have a game plan. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Ian or how I would broach the subject and doubted that I would be half as convincing as Blake had been with me. Then again, at that time, I hadn’t been jaded like I was now.
It was getting late, but there was still a couple of hours left until curfew. Back home, the streets would have already emptied by now. Norfolk was an entirely different story. Approaching the city limits, I was taken back in time ten years to a place where the institution of a curfew was unheard of; where excitement and mischievous fun abounded on the streets without fear of reprimand. But, despite catching a glimmer of life in the eyes of those who were making the most of an enforced situation, I could still tell that in the back of their minds, they knew that any kind of fun they were going to have tonight would be regulated.
It was dusk, the sun’s rays having lost their daily battle with the Earth’s rotation. The sky was painted with all manners of blues, oranges, and dusty pinks, and over the ocean, the deep purple of nightfall was making its decent foray onto shore. Lights from local businesses flickered on, creating faux daylight in the short interval between twilight and curfew.
I came upon the street where supposedly, based upon the information Caine was able to dig up, Ian’s bar was located. This particular strip was home to what appeared to be numerous hot spots in the Norfolk area, including multiple bars, restaurants and night clubs. Scanning both sides of the street, I easily located the Concord Bar and Grill. It was one of those cutesy beach-themed bars that was usually seen in popular tourist towns, and I suspected that its ambiance served only to strip Ian, or any other male employee for that matter, of his masculinity as he walked through its doors day after day. As an added touch, outside of the establishment, a Beach Boys song blared through a speaker connected to the building. For the love of God, please, don’t let that be playing on the inside, too.
Finding an alleyway a few streets down from the bar, I stowed the car away out of sight and headed back down the sidewalk. Feeling sorry for me, or so I had surmised, Kara had gone out and purchased “street clothes” for me to use. It was a nice gesture; however, she’d completely misjudged my height and torso length. And as I walked down the street, I found myself constantly rolling my pant leg up with one hand so as not to stumble on the absurd length of the jeans, while pulling my baby blue t-shirt down with the other hand. Yeah, I looked really credible as a government agent. The good news was that I completely fit in with the crowd setting at the Concord, where many of the female patrons were also donning shirts that were a tad too short, but, not surprisingly, they were nowhere near as modest as I was.
Much to my chagrin, the same music that assaulted the eardrums of those outside the bar was also merrily battering those inside as well, Miraculously finding an empty stool, I awkwardly sat down at the bar, where I quickly noticed that the theme of the place had also infected its employees. All were donning incredibly laughable, fake tans coupled with even more laughable attire that consisted of unfortunate Hawaiian shirts and multi-colored leis.
“What can I get for ya, hun?” a bubbly bleached blonde asked from behind the bar.
“May I just have a glass of lemon water, please?”
She gave me a ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ look as she forced a smile and a ‘sure thing’ response to my request.
There goes your tip, toots, I thought to myself, as I returned to scouring the bar for my target. I may not have had a plan or much of anything figured out, but I did know that, if I was to get a “no” response from him, there was no way I was going to put a bullet in his head. Let one of them come back down and take care of that, because it wouldn’t be me.
The not-so-perky-anymore blonde returned with a glass of water that I was almost certain had been spat
in or subjected to other gross scenarios. “Thank you,” I greeted her. I wouldn’t be drinking the water. She gave me a nod, and I swore I could see her roll her eyes as she turned back towards the other end of the bar.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” I called after her. Being called ma’am always had a way of irritating us younger women. And I took great pleasure in irritating this particular one.
“Yes?” she replied, faking another smile. “Is everything all right with your water?”
Because messing up water is possible? I shook my head in disbelief, continuing my inquiry, “No, no, the water is great, but would you mind telling me whether Ian Grant is working tonight, by chance?”
She studied me, the look of annoyance giving way to a look of curiosity, hurt and anger rolled into one. It appeared she was no fan of Mr. Grant‘s. “That rat bastard?” she replied, confirming my speculations. “Yeah. He’s over at the other end of the bar.” She pointed at the end of the bar to the same handsome man I’d seen in the photograph back at headquarters. He was doing bar tricks with shot glasses, entertaining a crowd of young women who all seemed completely smitten by him.
“How much have they had to drink?”
“Surprisingly, not that much. He’s just that good.” She looked me up and down again. “If I were you, I’d be careful.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. Would you mind sending him over here when he’s done entertaining the children?”
“Sure, but don’t be surprised if he ignores you and forgets your name later. He has a habit of doing that.”
“Duly noted.”
Blonde ambition sulked her way down to the end of the bar, tapping Ian on the shoulder. It took her three taps, the last being just two degrees shy of a punch, before he acknowledged her. He turned around, uttering something that, from reading his lips, appeared to resemble a ‘What’ response with an irritated look on his face. The blonde bartender pointed down to me, mouthing a few words into his ear. Ian stared at me with a look that resembled intrigue mixed with an expression that screamed, ‘Oh, crap! Where do I know her from?’ After a couple of seconds of contemplation, he waved at me and then spoke into the blonde bartender’s ear, turning back to the eager women he’d enraptured at the bar. The blonde walked back over to my stool.
“He said to tell you he’ll be over in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
She continued to look at me for a moment until finally speaking again. “You know he doesn’t remember you.” She seemed satisfied with herself for having made that last statement to me. “That’s what he does. You’re all wonderful and amazing until he gets you in bed and then…you’re irrelevant,” she sighed.
“Well, I will never know that as I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with him.”
She looked at me surprised, instantly perking up. “Oh…” she replied, and then the embarrassment kicked in. “Oh…” I smiled at her, causing her to walk away with a face as red as the Grenadine she served behind the bar.
I observed Ian, realizing that I’d have my work cut out for me tonight. There was little doubt he loved showing off and no doubt he loved the attention from the ladies. They were oohing and ahhing as he threw random bottles of liquor into the air, spinning them around from hand to hand in a mini juggling act, pouring shots with reckless abandon. They egged him on for more, of which he was happy to oblige. And when his impromptu performance drew to a close, he took a bow and gave a sly wink to his adoring fans, who awarded him with applause and cat calls the likes of which were only heard at construction sites. The blonde bartender rolled her eyes while the other male bartenders stopped what they were doing to take it all in, envious expressions overcoming their faces.
Ian placed the liquor bottles back on the shelf, looking over at me to make sure I was still there. He smiled at me. It was a smile that could make even the sourest person’s mood brighten. I was sure it only added to his popularity with the ladies, providing him with ridiculous tips. His eyes observed me, piercing right through me, as he stuck his index finger in the air, giving me the universal symbol for just a second. Turning the tap in the sink, he washed away the sticky film from the cocktail of alcohol that’d spilled on his hands. Once clean enough for his approval, he turned the water off and, drying his hands on his pants, walked over to my place at the bar. On his face was a look of concentration as if he were using every brain cell left in his head to figure out where he’d met me previously.
“Don’t worry,” I said to him when he was standing before me, “you’ve never met me before.”
The look of concentration left his face, and I could almost see his brain relaxing. “Oh, good,” he replied with a sigh of relief. “I was worried this was going to get awkward.”
“There’s nothing more awkward than basically admitting to a woman you’ve never met before that you’re somewhat of a cad.” He wasn’t amused with my sarcasm. “Do you mind if we move to a booth or somewhere else to talk?”
“Well, I guess that would all depend on who you are and what exactly you want to talk about.”
“I’m a process server, and I want to speak with you about a complaint for child support I was sent here to serve you with.”
His eyes widened with nervous agony. With the way he was gazing around the room, I figured he was planning an exit strategy before he passed out.
“Whoa there, Casanova, I’m kidding.”
“Oh, thank God! I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes.” He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “I’ve had one hell of a good time.”
“I bet you have.”
I stood up from my bar stool, motioning him to a booth near the back of the restaurant section of the bar. When I turned around to see whether or not he was following me, I was surprised to see that, not only was he following me, but his eyes were stuck to my backside like velcro. Perhaps, I could find it in me to shoot someone after all. I picked a booth completely isolated from the other patrons, with the nearest neighbor being five booths away. Taking my sleeve, I wiped away remnants of french fries and shredded napkin pieces off the table.
“Isn’t this your job?”
“I’m not a waiter, I’m a bartender.”
“Of course. How silly of me.” I shook my head as I took a seat in the booth.
“Okay, you’ve got my undivided attention.”
“Exactly how many women have you said that to?”
“How about you come back to my place and I’ll tell you.” He winked at me slyly in his attempt at flustering me. Although, I was sure his tricks had worked on many other women, they did absolutely nothing for me.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so.”
His demeanor changed. Receiving a declination from a woman was not something he was used to. “Who are you anyway….what’s your name…why are you here? I can’t sit here very long. My manager has already given me the evil eye.”
“Well, Ian Grant, my name is Celaine, and I’m here to make you an offer.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot about you. For instance, I know you live only a couple of blocks from here in a small studio apartment. I know that you and your mother no longer speak to each other, which may explain your obvious womanizing issue.” He stared at me, eyes full of suspicion, an air of discomfort projecting from him. Before he had a chance to speak, I hammered the final nail into the coffin. “Finally, and most importantly, I know that your father was killed by The Man in Black.” I’d struck an obvious chord with him. Visibly agitated, he began to get up from the table before he took a deep breath, calmed himself, and sat back down again.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” He glanced back over at the bar area. “Just a minute,” he called, while making the gesture meaning the same to the frazzled manager, a gawky red-headed man who wasn’t much older than himself.
I shook my head. “No. This isn’t a joke. That is one subject I wouldn’t joke about. My entire family was wiped out by that
bastard.” I looked back up at him, noticing that I’d regained his undivided attention. “What would you do if you had the power to catch him; to make him pay for what he did and to ensure he wouldn’t do to another family what he did to yours? Would you sacrifice your life, your hopes, and your dreams just to make him pay for the destruction he’s caused? Would you be brave enough to face him?”
“I would do anything to get my father back. After his death, I promised him that I would make my existence worth something.” There was a slight crack in his voice. It struck me then that this may have been one of the first times he’d ever really opened up about the impact of his father’s death and the effect it had on him.
“If I were to tell you that I could give you the tools to live up to the promise you made to your father, would you take them?”
He nodded. “Yeah…definitely.”
“You’d have to leave here, your home, your job, your life. You could have no contact with the outside world. It would be as though you’d disappeared off the face of the planet.” Ian stared at me deep in thought. “I’ll give you seventy-two hours to think about it and then I’ll be back. Tell no one of our encounter here tonight or there will be consequences.” Just as I was about to get up, leaving him behind, the manager came over.
“Ian, break time is over.” He was the type of person who talked with his hands. I had to duck after narrowly avoiding being clocked in the head a few times. “You know this is the fifth break you’ve taken on your shift tonight…I’ve got half a mind to…”
“Shut your yap, Harold.” I turned my head swiftly back toward Ian in shock.
“What did you say to me?” Harold’s face was deep red. With the way his body was shaking, I was worried he was going to have a stroke.
“You heard me, Harold. I quit.”
“But…but…your shift…this won’t look good on a resume.”
Ian held his middle finger up in the air for all to see throughout the bar, and kept it up there as he grabbed his wallet and keys from behind the bar, finally allowing his hand to come back down as he walked through the door, exiting the establishment for the last time. We walked down the sidewalk together to his apartment.
Enigma Black Page 30
