“Can it wait?”
She looked at him with a worried look.
He nodded. “Of course we can go now, I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one that should be sorry. I should have got it last night.” She bit her lip and stared back out the window as Matt started off down the street. “It’s the only thing I really value and I left it there.”
Matt glanced at her and saw the concern in her face. “It’s ok. We’ll go there now.”
Matt had the address of the security guard in his phone. They can question him later. For now his friend was upset.
So they headed towards Brighton to inspect Cynthia’s house and collect her mysterious item of value.
Chapter 8
Cynthia’s apartment looked the same as it had the night before.
Nothing had changed. The blind was pulled down over the broken window and tape held it closed.
The floor was littered with clothes and bedding and on top of that was the burst tubes of oil paint. There were hundreds of colours which were nearly all damaged. The spillage combined with the footprints made the single room apartment look like an artist’s palette.
The sight made Cynthia stop for only a moment before she rushed towards a crumpled travel bag that she had kept under the bed.
She straightened it out and was about to unzip the pocket when she realized that the pocket was already open.
She plunged her hand inside and felt about for the familiar little book with the cover held together with rubber bands.
Nothing.
She felt her heart race as she felt inside every other pocket on the bag. It was not there. She threw the bag out of the way and searched the floor around the bed, and then began overturning the mattress so she could search under it.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. She sat on the floor with her silk-gloved hands cradling her face. “No, no, no…”
Matt stood in the centre of the room surveying the mess. He noticed how scared and distraught Cynthia was.
“It’ll be ok, Cynthy.”
There were tears in her eyes. “No, Matt, you don’t understand. They took my diary.”
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed. He was about to tell her that it was not important in the scheme of things, and then he remembered what she had said last night. “Your personal diary?” She nodded dumbly. He looked at the destruction around him and at the different footprints. “And you said nothing else was missing?”
She nodded again.
Goose bumps crept up Matt’s spine. First the two bikies on the road, then the dead accountant and now a group of people broke into Deadfall’s home and only stole a personal diary that must contain something important.
He knelt down and examined one of the prints.
Definitely a skate shoe.
Probably a young, spry man if he gauged the gait correctly. He rubbed his chin as he examined the distance between matching footprints of the same right shoe. Then he did the math. This was a man of six feet and two inches, give or take an inch.
He turned to Cynthia who had been sitting on the floor staring at the empty bag.
“I’m glad you brought me here Cynthy.”
Her red-rimmed eyes looked up at him.
“This is what I’ve come up with,” he came to stand in front of her, “We were followed from the desert by two droogs that didn’t belong to Doyle, right?”
Cynthia wiped a tear off her cheek. “Yeah.”
“We have just been asked to look into the public murder of another one of Carlyle’s employees, Johnny the accountant. And we find that a group of young men have broken into your apartment of all the apartments in Brighton. And the only thing they took was a personal diary that, judging from the look of you, contains important information that you don’t want out. Am I right?”
Cynthia looked away and slowly nodded.
“They took the diary on purpose Cynthy. That’s why they were here. They were looking for something to use against you. They know about your power and they are afraid.”
“There isn’t anyone that really knows…” she began.
“That’s why they took it. They know a little. They know about you killing people when you touch them. But they want, or need to know more before they try to bring you down.”
Cynthia screwed up her nose. “Why? Do they want me dead?”
“It isn’t you. They need to get you out of the way to get to Bronson.”
Cynthia felt foolish. It all made perfect sense. The chase from the desert the dead accountant and her missing diary. A new criminal group was removing Bronson Carlyle from the Melbourne scene, starting with those that work for him. It was a straightforward plan.
She got up and dried her eyes.
Matt gave her a half smile.
Cynthia chuckled when she saw his expression. “I’ve been such a girl.”
Matt laughed. That was usually what she called him. “I’m just glad it wasn’t me for a change.” His smile quickly vanished when he thought about his own home. They would be after him next. “We can’t stay at my place Cynthy, and we can’t tell Bronson.”
“Why can’t we tell Bronson?”
“He would respond by using all his resources to hunt down this group and that would expose everyone, including himself. We need to do this on our own.” He looked around at the messy room and back to Cynthia. “You better see if there is anything you want in here and we’ll take it now. We should steer clear for a while. My place too.”
Cynthia nodded and grabbed the bag she had discarded and they both picked through the mess looking for clothes and other things that were worth keeping.
***
Cynthia stopped the car out the front of the red brick house.
“This is twelve,” she nodded towards the brass number nailed to the gate.
It was a typical red brick, three-bedroom home, built in the sixties. They were very common in the suburbs, so it was often hard to tell one from another. This one had a dry looking front garden and the grass was not mowed recently. It belonged to someone who didn’t take a lot of pride in the appearance of their home.
“That must be it then.” Matt said as he undid his seat belt and slid his phone into his pocket. “Let’s see if this guy is home.”
They both wandered up to the front door and Cynthia banged on the security door, which rattled loudly.
No response.
Cynthia banged again and they were greeted with silence.
“Maybe he’s around the back or in the garage…” Matt left the porch and Cynthia followed him through a low gate around to the back door.
It was also locked.
“Maybe he thought he’d better stay away from the house if he was a key witness. It could make him a target.” Matt raised his brows. “It’s smart thinking really.”
Cynthia began to walk back around to the front when she saw something through a window.
She stopped and pressed her face against the glass for a closer look.
“What is it?” Matt said as he did the same. And in the doorway of a room inside there was a shoe standing on its end. They both knew that the only way a shoe will stand in that way is if it was still on a foot.
“He wasn’t that smart afteral.” Cynthia said.
Matt went back around to the back door and examined the lock and the closest window. “Shit…”
Cynthia smiled; she finally had a use for her lock pick kit. She pulled it out of the breast pocket of her coat.
As she knelt down and began to probe the lock with the tools Matt leaned against the wall and watched with interest.
The long coats they both wore were proven to be adequate for their line of work. They covered the build of the wearer and they had numerous pockets for things like Cynthia’s lock picking kit and Matt’s gun and knife.
There was a click and Cynthia looked up at her partner.
It was done.
She opened the door and they both stepped inside warily. Matt had his gun out in front of
him and Cynthia tensed her body, ready to defend herself. She preferred her hand to hand to the silenced pistol that Mat used.
“Clear.” Matt hissed.
Cynthia followed his voice to the corridor where he knelt over the body of the security guard.
Cynthia looked the body. He was in plain clothes and his skin still had colour. “Dead?”
“Yeah. Very recently.”
“How recently is ‘very’?” Cynthia looked around the room for a hidden killer that might be waiting to jump out.
“Hour, if that…”
She wandered into the kitchen and looked for anything useful. It was empty. Then she made her way to the lounge room where she found the man’s wallet on the coffee table next to a mug.
She stirred the contents of the mug with her little finger. It was only just warm. She gauged maybe thirty minutes old.
Then she went to the kitchen and grabbed a tissue to handle the wallet. She didn’t need the police finding her prints.
She fingered through some of the cards. His name was Steve Haddon. And he had a video store membership and gym membership. Nothing useful.
Cynthia used the camera on her phone to take pictures of all the cards and the cup of tea.
“Cynthy?” Matt called from the corridor.
Cynthia placed the wallet back where she found it and went to see what Matt had found.
Matt was still kneeling down with his camera phone still in his hand. He looked up at her with a look of grave concern.
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia said looking at the corpse for the answer.
Matt slid the phone into his pocket and pointed to a small mark inside the man’s collar.
“Is that the wound?”
“That is cause of death.” Matt confirmed.
Cynthia knelt down beside her partner for a closer look. “What is that?”
“Tony said Johnny was killed with a stab to the heart.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“He didn’t say how they were stabbed to the heart.”
Cynthia looked at the tiny hole in shock. “Are you telling me that is a mortal wound? That he was stabbed from up here,” she ran an invisible line from the tiny wound above the man’s collar bone down the left side of his chest, “down to here?”
“I think so. Look.” He unbuttoned the dead man’s shirt enough that his chest was visible. It looked a little dark and swollen. “I think the killer used something long and thin, and once the weapon penetrated the collar it was thrust down, probably a few times to puncture the heart.”
“That’s very tidy, Matt. This doesn’t look like a gang killing. This looks professional.” She glanced at the tiny wound again. “Very professional.”
They both stood to leave, they had seen what they needed to see.
“What did you find?” Matt asked Cynthia as she knelt down to lock the door again the way they had found it.
“A cup of tea, still a little warm. And a wallet.” There was a click as the lock turned over.
“Warm? That means less than an hour. He must have been killed…”
“…While we were at my place.” She finished.
Matt unscrewed the silencer from his piece and slid the pistol back into its holster under his coat.
“We could have stopped it.” Cynthia said putting the kit away in her pocket and heading for the car.
“We could have ended up the same way as well. I know you can handle yourself better than most Cynthia, but we don’t know who we are dealing with.”
“I agree,” Cynthia climbed into the drivers seat.
“I think we should keep Bronson in the dark too. He might try and make a move that will get him killed if we tell him a professional assassin is picking off his employees.”
Cynthia nodded and started the car. They would need to lay low until they knew exactly what they were up against.
Chapter 9
Cynthia was lying on the couch of the hotel room where she and Matt had decided to stay.
They were going to get separate rooms and then they decided that they were both safer if they were watching out for each other. Matt was shaving in the bathroom before dinner so he didn’t hear Cynthia’s phone beep as she received an text.
Cynthia reached out and groped about the coffee table without opening her eyes till she found her phone.
She squinted at the screen and was surprised to see a message from an unknown number.
Hey, it’s Tony.
Meet me for dinner, I’m begging.
Pretty please. The Ice-Bar 7:00.
Cynthia sat up on the couch and stared at the message.
Tony Carlyle had asked her out. She was fairly sure that was what the message was telling her. Her boss’s son was asking her out for dinner.
She never went on dates. Ever.
“What’s up?” Matt said from the doorway. He was standing there drying his face.
Cynthia smiled at him. “I’m pretty sure Tony Carlyle just asked me out for dinner.”
Matt shook his head and smiled before turning back to the bathroom. “So do you want to go?”
Cynthia had not been on a date since she was at Art School. That wasn’t the best experience she’d ever had.
“I… I don’t know. How did he get my number?”
“…Yeah sorry about that…” Matt stuck his head around the corner with an apologetic look.
“You? Seriously? You’re pimping me out now?” She shook her head.
“Hey, I said I’m sorry! I made a deal with Tony. Your number, in exchange for that security guard’s address. I figured you could only say yes or no.”
Cynthia sat staring at the message. There was something about him…
“You are thinking about it aren’t you?” Matt teased as he put on a casual blue t-shirt.
Cynthia half smiled. “Maybe…”
“Wow,” Matt wandered in and got a bottle of water out of the bar fridge. “You haven’t been on a date since I’ve known you!”
“So?”
“So I’ve known you for five years, Cynthy!”
“I don’t like dating. I don’t like getting close to people. You know…with what I am.”
“What you are is human, like the rest of us.”
“Post-Human, is what is the technical name for my condition…” Cynthia said leaning back and closing her eyes.
“Technicalities. You are as human as I am, only you can do something I can’t. I can kick your arse at basket ball, that doesn’t mean I should be unhappy on purpose.” Matt smiled and took a mouthful of water. “You spend too much of your time feeling gloomy.”
“I do not!” She sat, eyes wide.
“I’ve seen your paintings Cynthy. There are no Monet’s in there. They are dark and broody.” Matt shrugged.
“I know…”
“Have some fun.” Matt smiled and picked up his room key. “Besides, if I meet someone at the bar I won’t have to introduce them to you when I bring them back here.”
Cynthia threw a cushion, which hit him in the shoulder as he ducked out the door. She looked at the message again and brooded. Tony was a good-looking guy and he was nice enough. There was also something about him that made her feel…
She took a deep breath and replied.
See you then.
Then she went to the bathroom to try and spruce herself up. She thought she should at least try and look the part.
***
At this time of night the Ice-Bar was pretty quiet.
There was a guy on a stool in the back corner playing some blues on and old battered guitar and there were two couples having meals. The barman was the same guy. He stood polishing a glass while he talked with a familiar man in a powder blue shirt and black dress pants. It was Tony.
He had clearly shaved and done his hair as well. He was slick and quite handsome.
Tony had caught sight of her as she entered and smiled broadly.
Cynthia found his smile to be infectious and respond
ed with one of her own as she approached the bar.
“Well, look at you!” Tony looked her up and down and nodded his approval.
“When men do that on a date it is generally considered impolite.” Cynthia said crossing her arms, which only amplified the effect of the low neckline of her dress.
Tony raised his arms in defence. “Hey, with what Dad told me about you, I just wasn’t expecting you to own a dress.”
“What?” She laughed.
“Come on, you’re Dad’s right hand girl! I would expect you to be a stone cold hard arse.” Then he smiled. “But I’m very pleased to see this side of you, Cynthia.”
“Thank you, I guess.” Men didn’t compliment Cynthia often. Her job was usually about intimidating them. But despite her self-doubt, Cynthia was quite a beautiful woman. She just didn’t spend any time putting on makeup or getting her hair done every other week.
“Can I get you a drink?” Tony asked her as he climbed off the barstool.
“Beer’s fine.”
Tony ordered their drinks and led her to a quiet table up the back near the music. It was a booth of dark red vinyl with a solid wood table between them.
“So,” Cynthia began after a deep breath, “why ask me out?”
“You’re gorgeous. That’s why.”
“Seriously?” She was embarrassed, but she remained focused and showed no sign.
“Well that’s half the reason. Plus, I know who you are, and I find you fascinating.”
“How much do you know exactly? I don’t know if I should be flattered or freaked out.”
Tony laughed and rubbed at his chin. “Umm…not much, I guess. I know you are quiet, but you are calculating and that you have a certain…talent for taking care of ‘problems’.”
“By ‘talent’ are you referring to what I do for your Dad?”
“Yeah, he said you did something with your hands and the ‘problems’ were gone. It’s amazing.”
Cynthia half smiled and looked at the wood grain. “It’s not amazing.”
Tony leaned in closer. “Then tell me about it. I promise I’ll keep it to myself.” He gave his best puppy eyes and charming smile.
Cynthia sighed and picked at the table, her fingers still in the long black gloves.
Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story Page 5
