“Oh,” Chief Biddle interjected, “a creative psycho. Makes me feel better about him already. I definitely disapprove of him, Father.”
Father Paul gently rubbed his chin as he listened. “He was personally selected into the Outer Circle, like everyone else. To disapprove of the boy is to undermine the orders of the Master. That’s ill-advised, my friend.”
“I know,” Biddle sighed, “but no one nearly as young as him has ever been chosen before. I don’t doubt the Master in the slightest, but this kid is different from any of us. What we do is uncanny, but our agency still has its rules and methods in order to maintain control of the system. The boy’s nature however, is chaotic… unpredictable. I’ve had to clean up a few of his messes before. Do you remember last year? The young woman he met at a bar and went home with? He called me after he was done with her. When my men went to her place… well, I won’t describe the crime scene, but it wasn’t pretty. It was a pain in the ass covering up for him.”
“He likes to have his fun, no doubt,” the priest commented. “We have to overlook his faults. They have been used as assets in the past, and can be still. Don’t forget that we used him and his violent methods in the past to bring fear against those that interfered with our ceremonies, in the previous Dark Year.”
“Ah yes,” Madsen nodded with a satisfied smile, “his first major assignment. I believe his manner of taking care of that nuisance is what attracted the Master’s attention to him in the first place.”
“Yes Stephen,” Father Paul concurred, “he mentioned to me that he thoroughly admired the boy’s work in that particular incident.”
“So did I,” Madsen replied as his smile widened. “I can’t begin to tell you how gratifying it was to watch him teach that obnoxious young Keeper such a hard lesson. I almost envied the boy’s creativity.” The professor gently stroked a small scar on his right cheek, remembering how the “obnoxious young man” whom he was referring to shot him in the face with a high-powered paintball gun, and how he wished he could have seen that man’s face when he used the boy, favored by the Master, to take his revenge.
Father Paul chuckled as he also reflected back on the same incident. “At any rate, the plan for our next sacrifice has already been set in motion, and the boy plays a key role. We need his talents on this one. Don’t worry, I think we can keep him loyal to us as long as we continue to give him the proper incentive. We’ll ask Diana to take care of him when she arrives.”
“Diana has arrived,” a silky feminine voice spoke from behind the park bench. The men turned to see the elegant, beautiful woman approaching with a smile that both made her seem more attractive and dangerous. “Hello, gentlemen.”
The priest rose from the park bench to welcome the woman’s presence. “Ah, hello my dear,” he greeted with a friendly smile. “Your timing is impeccable as usual.”
“Diana,” Professor Madsen acknowledged, not rising from his seat. Chief Biddle merely nodded to her.
The woman returned the men’s greeting, casually embracing Father Paul and giving him a gentle peck on his cheek. “Good to see you all so shortly after our recent success,” she mentioned. “How are you?” She leaned down to Madsen and gave his cheek a tiny kiss as well. It was then that she noticed the group of dead pigeons laying on the grass and walkway nearby. “You boys been having fun without me?” she laughed.
“Hardly,” Father Paul answered. “Just a small demonstration.”
“And how are you, Diana?” Madsen inquired. “Still toying with the minds of your clients?”
“Business as usual Stephen,” she replied. “I won’t deny that I enjoy my work, but in the end, it’s all done for the good of the Agency.”
“You certainly excel at what you do, my dear,” Madsen complimented.
Diana smiled at her colleague. “So what is it you were talking about, Father? Who do you need me to take care of?”
“Nothing much,” he shrugged, still smiling. “We just need you to give a little pep talk to our young friend in the Outer Circle. But come, there is plenty to discuss. I think, since everyone is here now, that we should take a walk as we go over the particulars. We wouldn’t want any curious passerby to notice these poor birds while we’re here.” The priest extended his arm toward the concrete path. “Shall we?”
Chapter VI
Robert “Moonie” Cirillo never pictured himself reading bedtime stories to children, especially children that weren’t his own. Nevertheless, in the guest bedroom of his quaint custom ranch house, nestled together on a queen-sized air mattress, lay a young girl and boy, another man’s daughter and son, listening intently to his oral reading of a short chapter from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, a favorite of theirs that they brought with them. Upon the request of their real father, or at least their legal one (among many other requests), he had been reading a little bit to them every night before it was time for them to go to sleep. He always let them watch a little TV first while snacking on Oreo cookies with milk, though not part of the daily itinerary left by their father, but when the children informed him that their Dad wouldn’t approve, he simply winked at them saying, “I won’t tell if you won’t.” To this they had no dispute.
After their snack, he would have them brush their teeth thoroughly before getting dressed in their pajamas and then into bed. Once they were settled, he would begin reading to them. Though he enjoyed every moment with them, he couldn’t fathom taking this responsibility of caring for two children permanently. He did consider the fact however, that this could very well be the case should Dad not return for them.
When he felt he had reached an appropriate stopping point in the story, Moonie gently closed the book and told the children that was all for now. As usual, one of them, the girl more often than the boy, would ask, “Can you read just a little more, Uncle Moonie?” And as usual, he would smile and tell them no, and that they needed their sleep. After he hugged them both and said “goodnight,” he turned off the light switch, closed the door to the bedroom, then immediately went to his refrigerator for a beer. A sturdy metal-framed door connected his small kitchen to a wooden porch, located at the rear of the house. He quietly slid several long bolts in the door to the “unlock” position, opened the door, and slipped outside to have his beer and a cigarette. It was a decently cool, but mild evening in the remote wooded area of Toms River, New Jersey, and he was comfortable enough not to need a jacket while he sat outside. As he pulled out his lighter to start enjoying his smoke, he began to wonder when and if the kids’ father would be back for them.
Moonie currently had two cell phones in his possession. The first was his own pre-paid phone that he had only had for a couple of months. He would never keep the same phone (nor number) for more than half a year before he trashed it and purchased a new one. It was how he liked it. Only the people who really mattered to him would deal with the hassle of keeping up with his constant changing of contact information. Anyone else would eventually lose touch with him, which was just fine for him. He wasn’t one to keep a large circle of friends or acquaintances, at least not anymore. The second phone was also a prepaid; more temporary than his personal one. It was given to him by the same person who asked him to watch the two children for a while, one of the very few dear friends that he bothered to keep in touch with. This particular phone was brand new, purchased the day the kids were dropped off at his place, and would certainly, he knew too well, be disposed of the day they would leave. It would be disposed of earlier if any other person called him on that phone other than the kids’ father.
Moonie had taken this phone from his kitchen counter and brought it outside with him. He placed it, next to his cold bottle of Miller Lite, on the white, plastic end table that rested near a matching chair across from his own; only his own chair did not match the rest of the outside furniture. His own chair accompanied him everywhere he went.
Though it was predictably routine for him to sit on the balcony every night with a beer and a smoke, he d
idn’t always bring the phone out with him. But tonight he had just a slight feeling. As usual, for the same unexplained way that he always knew which college teams to bet on during March Madness, Moonie’s tickle of a feeling was accurate. He had only a few sips of his beverage when the phone vibrated, indicating that a call was coming through. He took another sip of his beer and a quick drag of his cigarette before picking it up to check the caller I.D. The display read “Unknown Caller.” The phone had passed the first test. Had a name or number shown up, he would not have answered it and would have had to destroy it immediately. He waited for one more vibration before pressing “Talk” to conduct the second test. He put the phone to his ear, but said nothing; only waited.
After three seconds, a familiar voice spoke on the phone: “It’s me, shithead.”
Moonie smiled. “Heyyyyy, fuck-face!
“Just checking in,” the man on the line responded.
“About freaking time! You’ve been gone for three days!”
“Well,” the man answered, “you know how it is. The less I call, the safer.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just want to know you’re still kicking, man.”
“How are the kids?”
Moonie took a quick peek inside through the glass door. “They’re good. They’re sleeping. I’m keeping them up to date on their school work like you asked. Pretty smart little buggers. Keeping things as routine as I can, giving them three square meals, making sure they’re brushing their teeth, washing behind their ears, all that shit.”
“You’re not giving them a bunch of sweets are you?”
Moonie paused for a second. “Nah. Carrot sticks and peeled apple slices every scheduled snack time.”
“Liar,” the man grunted. “I’m going to send you the dentist bill, you know.”
Moonie stifled a laugh. “Relax, ya big-eared twat, I’m taking care of ‘em.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that. I hope they’re not cramping your style too much.”
“Nah,” Moonie brushed off, “you know me. I got no style.”
“No argument here,” the man, his dear friend replied with dry humor in his voice.
If the man were standing before him, Moonie would have playfully given his friend the finger. Instead, he changed the topic to more important matters. “So, were you able to get in touch with you-know-who?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “Took me a while, but finally...”
“No shit,” Moonie commented, partially not believing his ears. “Bet that was one hell of a reunion. Is she still a hottie? Was she happy to see you?”
“Uh… yes and no.”
“Yes she’s still a hottie, but no she wasn’t happy to see you?”
“Both yes and no to, ‘was she happy to see me.’ I’m not answering the first question.”
“You know, jackass, you’re no fun anymore.”
“Can you blame me?” the man spoke blandly.
“Not really. But I’ll always have hope that you’ll one day be able to pull that stick out of your ass, and be the dopey, fun-loving retard you used to be.”
“Are we changing the subject now?”
“No, no. Go on, tell me; how was your date?”
“Better than I hoped,” the man responded.
“Yeah? I bet she just melted looking into those annoyingly bright, blue eyes of yours. So did she put out or what?”
“Well, if you’re gonna word it that way, no. But I did get to first base.”
Moonie became quiet and took a long drag from his cigarette. “No shit,” was all he could think to say. He knew what “first base” meant, based on the situation; his friend was not referring to what it might have meant during their college days. Tonight, they were “speaking in code.”
“No shit,” the man echoed, knowing that Moonie was picking up what he was throwing down. He and his best friend were so connected, they could both keep up with the hidden meaning behind a complete and thorough conversation that, to any other ears, would sound as if the topic were of no importance at all. It would be dangerous not to speak in code in such times as these. They were both positive that the phone line was secure, but one could never be too careful.
“So,” Moonie continued, “what now? You gonna try for more play?”
“You know me,” his friend answered. “Once I get set, I’ll try to steal second.”
“I hope you’ve got a big lead.”
“She gave me the green light, man. My lead’s good.”
“Yeah?” Moonie snorted. “You sure? I mean is it a good lead, or is she just leading you on?”
His friend on the other line was quiet for a minute. He either was considering Moonie’s suggestion, or just irritated by his doubt. Moonie was sensing it was the first of the two. After a couple of seconds, the man answered: “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m on first base either way.”
“Good point,” Moonie agreed. “Think you’ll make it all the way to home plate?”
“Well… she’s not easy. It’ll take a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? You pussy! I’d seal the deal in a few days!”
“Of course you would,” his friend spoke with even more sarcasm. “You’re such a ladies’ man.”
“I know,” he responded coolly. “But what about you? Think you got what it takes to score?”
The man on the other line again paused before answering. He could tell what Moonie was getting at. “I’m a good ball player, man.”
Moonie did not pause before his response: “You haven’t played ball in a long time, Mickey Mantle. At least not in the Big Leagues. And this chick is definitely out of your league. If you make it to home plate with her, you’re a lucky mother!”
The man paused again. “Like I said, I’m already on first. Nothing left to do but play the bases now.”
“Yeah,” Moonie replied shortly.
“Look,” his friend said after a slight awkward silence, “let me just focus on stealing second. One base at a time huh?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Moonie said, letting out a sigh. “So… a few weeks?”
“You’re a ball player too, Clemens. You know how it works.”
Moonie sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to get used to having ‘kid-duty’ until then.”
“I know,” his friend admitted. “Thanks, man.”
“You know they’ve been asking about you every day. You sure you don’t want to talk to them?”
“Of course I do,” his friend answered quickly, “but not while I’m playing ball. No distractions. Just tell them I’ll be back soon, and that I miss them.”
Moonie didn’t respond to this. He felt, like his friend was feeling, that talking too much about Alex and Emily over the phone was not the best idea, even if the line was secure. They already knew well enough to refrain from mentioning any names out loud. He knew the conversation was coming to an end anyway, so he decided to revert the conversation back to the topic at hand and close with his last words of wisdom: “Hey, Mickey.”
“Yeah Roger?”
“Watch your lead, huh? Last thing you want to do is get your dopey-ass picked off before you even make your play.”
“Roger, Roger,” his friend answered in a more light-hearted tone. Moonie laughed at the Airplane! movie reference. “Hey, Rocket, that reminds me.”
“Yeah, Mick?”
“If you’re gonna let the kids watch any movies, keep it PG or less, okay?”
Moonie shook his head. “So no pornos? Good thing you told me, because I was gonna have ‘em choose between Pump Friction or A Tale of Two Titties tomorrow, after we get back from the freakin’ petting zoo.”
A pause on the other line. Finally, his friend responded: “Dick.” Then he disconnected the call. Moonie smirked as he closed the phone and put it back on the table.
It didn’t take long before his smirk left his face as he went over the conversation he just had with his best friend. He sat there, staring blankly into the dark woods that surrounded his back
porch. At last, he let out a sigh and lit another cigarette. It was the first time in months he had two back-to-back.
Chapter VII
The concrete walkway through the town park was peaceful and secluded on this particular Monday afternoon. It was a rather clear day, but the cold, brisk breeze that whistled through the nearby trees made for a not so pleasant visit, and only an occasional dog walker or jogger would pass by the four colleagues as they conversed about their dark plans. Even the nearby playground, which would usually be overwhelmed by stay-at-home mothers with their toddlers, too young for school, in an otherwise warmer climate, was devoid of such activity. Professor Madsen and Chief Biddle walked side by side, in silence behind Father Paul and Diana, who were discussing their concern of the young man in the Outer Circle, whom they had previously spoken of at the bench.
“So,” Father Paul continued, “since the boy seems to favor you Diana, we’d appreciate it if you could have a word with him about his apparent contempt with his current role in the Agency.”
Diana kept pace with the priest as he addressed her. “I don’t think he’ll be any trouble, Paul,” she said confidently. “I think he just needs a little personal attention. It’s simply a matter of keeping him… interested.”
“It’s a matter of keeping him under control,” Chief Biddle chimed in from behind her. “What worries me is that the kid is getting more unpredictable.”
Diana laughed. “He frightens you, does he Bill?”
The police chief did not reply to the psychiatrist’s condescending tone. She was known for looking down on anyone whom she considered below her in status, which consisted of everyone but the other four agents besides herself, who achieved the level of Primary Circle within the Agency. It annoyed him to no end, but instead of speaking back at her with his own unfriendly tone of voice, he turned to Professor Madsen beside him, hoping for some agreement from him, one she would consider an equal.
Madsen picked up on Biddle’s facial gesture at him and spoke up: “He has a point, Diana,” he spoke soothingly so as not to cause an argument. “I think ‘frightened’ is not the most precise use of language in this case. Rather, the boy makes him feel… makes us both feel uneasy.”
Agents of Shadow (The Keepers of White Book 1) Page 11
