by Ann Raina
Then Lester compared his looks to Michael’s and knew all the reasons. Opposite to Greenburg, Tessler was slender, the wiry type with muscles in the right places, nice and harmless looking in a suit. He was the type of man who appealed to men and women alike without the touch of homosexuality. Michael always stated he was cursed with a crooked nose. Not as bad as an eagle’s beak—though some of the pupils at school had said so and mocked the puny child with more than words—but bad enough to ruin an otherwise good-looking face. Still, Michael always got invitations by women, much to the chagrin of the mockers nearby. Those ladies who didn’t take him to be drop dead gorgeous changed their minds when he smiled.
Lester had asked Michael how he managed to have women on his hands other only dreamed of and Michael had shrugged it off with a smile. With envy that was only held in check by friendship, Lester realized that Michael never thought about his appeal. He simply enjoyed female attention without the backwash of bragging to his friends. Michael took his chances, hoping that one day the right woman would come along.
Lester would have given an arm and a leg to be like him. “Okay, okay, I shouldn’t say that, but look at it from a positive angle. You’ve always wanted a responsible position, something worth it. Your words. Not mine.”
* * * *
Michael turned to leave. He didn’t like his words back at him. Lester followed, ignoring the other colleagues’ gloating.
“So why don’t you live up to the occasion and find out what it’s about? The job description doesn’t say that you have to have sex with all customers coming along, right?”
Michael pushed the door open and went for the small café on second floor. On the stairs, he turned. Lester almost bumped into him. “Listen, this isn’t just for the fun of it. I’ve never done anything like that before. Live another man’s life and forget what I am while I play handyman or whatever—convincingly. And still keep my eyes open and break into basements, rooms and what else more, I don’t know, and keep my cover. And I just don’t like everybody assuming—and that includes Patch—that I’m into casual sex! He’s using this against me!”
“Wait a minute, pal, are you afraid of ruining the job or of having too many women on your heels?”
“Can the mockery.” Michael ran a hand through his already tousled hair, thinking. Lester was the only guy he was honest with to the bone. “You know what I did so far. Short time ops, going here one day and being on another location two days later. It wasn’t a lie that I’ve never worked undercover the way Patch demands!”
“Hum, Miranda’s reply wasn’t that bad either. Ah, right, right,” Lester hastened to add when Michael turned with an angry glare. He followed him upstairs. “She was wrong in a certain way, but that doesn’t matter now. Bellard trusts you. Hey, that’s more important than you think! And you did a good job so far. I mean, you were excellent, even got a handshake from the great white chief. Listen, if you were dumb they’d have had your ass in a basket long ago.”
Still, Michael’s face didn’t lighten up. He thought of a vice and him in between. He couldn’t even name a time when this would be over!
“Concentrate on what’s important. You’ll get a complete new history, and then you get employed as a handyman. Piece o’ cake. Right, Mighty?”
“Maybe, yes.”
“That’s the right attitude!”
Michael shot his friend a short-lived, lopsided grin. “Who knows what they search for? Maybe I don’t fit their profile and they look for an old man with gray hair.”
They reached the café. Michael greeted two ladies who gave him bright, shining glances usually reserved for film stars. One of them lowered her eyes and blushed.
“Hell, then they would’ve taken George, that old dork. No, no, you’ve got all qualifications needed.” Lester smiled at the same two ladies, but they turned to their coffee mugs instead. He sighed. Maybe he should do something about his portly figure. “Why don’t you just let it flow? You’re predestined for that job! And I don’t mean it the way Patch might’ve meant it. If he meant it like that.”
They got two mugs with steaming coffee. Michael was still angry and had trouble keeping his voice low. “Bellard sends me because he thinks that I will sleep with everyone getting close to me. That’s the main reason! He assumes that it would be easy for me to sell my body. Like…swimming for others.”
* * * *
Lester’s brows twitched. Rumor had it that Michael had been in more beds than a traveling salesman, but Lester wasn’t willing to believe it. Given his own scarce success with women, he would have been too jealous to breathe.
They sat down. Michael lit a cigarette while Lester warmed his hands on the mug. His voice was sincere. “I think you shouldn’t just look at that more-than-escort-service thingy. Concentrate on surveillance. How many employees? From which countries? Asia? Middle East? And what about that brother-in-law? Does he do crooked jobs? How does he earn money? What’s his task on the premises?”
Michael sipped coffee and shook his head. “Bellard expects me to get closer to Lady Summerston. She’s the key to all of this. I’m sure of that.”
Lester nodded emphatically. “Then that’s what you’ll do. Don’t underestimate yourself, Mighty. You’ve not been trained for nothing.”
“Training, yeah. What good it will do.”
“Do you know something about plumbing?”
Chapter 2
Michael knocked on the door—reading Virginia Enterprises—and entered upon the call to come in.
Two men and a woman waited for him in the sparsely, yet expensively furnished office. It held a modern chrome desk with a glass top, some cupboards with folders and extra chairs with chrome armrests, shiny and new. The drapes at the windows fell heavy, matching the dark blue of the carpet. The office did not appear to be frequently used. It was clean, almost sterile. Michael had seen sets for interrogations prepared the same way, meant to never distract from the subject. The people waiting for him were dressed as if they had stepped out of the latest fashion magazine. Their smiles were meant to be honest and inviting. Yet, Michael’s hair stood on end. He sensed in a flash that there was more to it than a simple interview for the position as a handyman on Lady Summerston’s estate. The room was vibrating with nervous energy and the smiles could not hide that there had been an argument before he had entered.
He shook hands with everyone and was asked to sit down in front of the large desk, decorated with a stack of manila envelopes, some files, pens and two large telephones – one buzzed quietly, but was ignored. The woman pushed aside the box with envelopes and half sat on the edge, smiling a non-telling smile she had put on the moment she had said her name—Liza Monroe. She was a blonde in her thirties, long-legged, good looking, an eye-catcher. Michael noticed her very blue eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. She wore her hair in an artful bun without loose strands, fitting the business two-piece in dark red and black, completed with a laced white blouse and black high heels, which cost more than his suit. After all, Michael knew about women and their preference for expensive footwear. Her leg swung back and forth while she spoke.
“You told us, Mr. Hathaway, that you worked as a handyman before.”
“Yes.” Michael nodded submissively, only shedding a glance or two at her heart-shaped face, then at the men. He felt scrutinized even though they tried to give him friendly glances. “I worked at several firms, kept the gardens in order, planted trees and mowed the lawns.” He made a gesture with his left hand. “Some repairs, too. Everything that was necessary, so to say. I never had complaints.”
“What about other work? Could you also work as an electrician?” The question came from the stout man to the right of Michael, Peter Donahue. His thick neck and shoulders almost burst the dress shirt and tailored jacket. With the crew cut, hard chin and beady eyes, he looked like a wrestler.
Michael knew on sight he was the muscles to the trio, the one who would throw him out if he got rude. Maybe he had been added due to b
ad experience, but gut feeling told the agent that he was always present like a threatening shadow.
Michael kept to himself that he thought muscle man a brick short of a load. The question sounded rehearsed, his face was all too earnest. “Yes, I did that, too. If it wasn’t too complicated. I’m not a fully trained electrician.” He added a shy smile, trying to fit into the role of a hard-working man looking for a new employment.
“The area you have to take care of is very large. Do you think you can handle hard work and do shifts at unusual hours?”
Michael looked from the muscle man back to the Ms. Monroe. He read curiosity in her face that seemed out of place. After all, I will only be a handyman, the one guy you call when the waste-pipe is blocked or the faucet leaks, right? “I’m used to work odd hours,” he hastened to reply. “That’s no problem for me.”
Ms. Monroe took off her glasses and looked Michael straight in the eyes. “If you sign a contract with our firm, Mr. Hathaway, you should know you will be sworn to secrecy. That means that nothing you see or hear will leave the buildings. If you speak about your tasks or persons you meet on the premises, you will be fired without warning.”
Michael frowned and shook his head, hoping to portray a man of little self-confidence. He warmed up to his assignment. “Sorry to ask, but…what would there be to tell? I mean, I go where you send me and repair what’s broken or water the garden.”
“A large area of the estate is used as a wellness and recreation farm,” the second man—he had introduced himself as George Summerston—said. He had sat down in the broad chair behind the desk. His hair was gray, well cut, fitting his appearance—expensive suit with vest, black, shining shoes and noble tie with a golden tie tack. His manicured hands lay folded on his flat belly, indicating he did some workout at the age of about fifty. His look was very concerned, more befitting for a judge than a manager. His full, pleasant voice fit the appearance. “Such a farm has many guests every day, and it cannot be avoided that you have to work while guests are present. Therefore you will not only be as discreet as possible, but keep everything you see or hear to yourself. We do not wish one of our guests to be mentioned in a local newspaper.” His smile was thin and short-lived. “We assure our guests that they have total privacy and like to keep it that way.”
“I understand.”
“Your last employment ended a month ago. Why?”
“I moved to West Virginia.”
Ms. Monroe raised a perfect brow. “Did you have trouble with your former employer?”
Michael cocked his head as if he had to think about the answer carefully. He had developed his personal record as detailed as possible with Bellard, including flaws that would make it more believable. “We had an argument,” he stated quietly and looked at his folded hands in his lap. “He wanted me to rush through some repairs and use material that wasn’t okay and I said that I couldn’t work like this.” He looked up, pleading with his eyes. “See, it wasn’t my fault. He hadn’t bought the right lacquer. It would’ve looked like shit. Sorry, ma’am.”
“I see.” Ms. Monroe still had that smile on her powdered face. “So you could start right away?”
“I’d be happy to.”
The man behind the desk leaned forward to place his folded hands on the polished glass. “You will live on the premises in a separate house. It’s small, but equipped with everything you need. Bathroom, kitchen, one bedroom, living room. All furnished. You live alone, right?” He didn’t wait for Michael to nod. After all, the papers in front of him held all details of Matthew Hathaway’s life. “And there are no fiancées, girlfriends and kids about to move in with you?” Michael shook his head emphatically as if the mere idea was absurd. Summerston nodded while Donahue coughed to hide a grin. “Just wanted to make sure. Payment is due every last day of the month, additional payment will be granted for night and weekend work. Did you read the contract we sent you?”
Michael nodded. He had been astonished at the length of it, including paragraphs that would deliver him to prosecution if he mentioned parts of his occupation in public. If he had not known better, he would have assumed he applied for work at an attorney’s office.
“Good.” He had a copy ready for Michael. “Please, sign on the bottom line, both papers.”
Michael had practiced to sign as Matthew Hathaway for half the weekend, feeling stupid to shiver with the thought of becoming someone completely different. Do I know about plumbing? About carpeting? Can I repair a broken pipe? He had always been a quick learner and hoped that the technical part of his training as an agent would suffice. He put his new name on the line and gave back the copies.
“Thank you, Mr. Hathaway. You know how to reach the estate?” He made it a question.
Michael almost laughed. Bellard would have roasted him if he hadn’t been able to locate every single room in every house in a day. Every detail that had been available via blueprints or satellite image had been there to study. “Yes, I know how to get there. Whom do I report to?”
“Me.” Ms. Monroe’s smile widened. She put her glasses back on. “I will show you the house and the estate, Mr. Hathaway.”
They shook hands and Michael stood.
“Hope, you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will. Goodbye for now.”
“Goodbye.”
Muscle man walked Michael to the door and shut it firmly behind him.
Outside, Michael let go of his breath. He was in. Somehow.
* * * *
Ms. Monroe turned to the man at the desk. Her voice lost all sweet politeness. “What do you think about him, George?”
“An apt fellow, if you ask me.” George lit a cigarette and blew out smoke through his nose. “I checked his background. Neat.”
“Too neat?”
“No, not like that. I talked to his last employer and he confirmed the story. They went into a shouting match and Hathaway got the pink slip the next day. Mr. Miller said he couldn’t tolerate someone working against him.” George Summerston smiled wanly, amused at Liza’s agitation. It was always the same. She behaved as if she owned the place, but would never be more than Lady Summerston’s stooge. If he wanted, he could have told her stories about the old lady that would have changed her view and brought more color to her face. However, he wasn’t that brave. “If he dots the i’s and keeps his mouth shut he’s the right man for the job.” He lifted his brows when Ms. Monroe still stared at him. “Now what, Liza? Don’t you think he’s trustworthy?”
“I cannot tell. I’m just afraid of people who might run to the local papers and blurt out the news. We were close to that before.”
George lifted his manicured hands. His expression turned sour. “I’m well aware of that, Liza. But I still say we give him a chance. We need a new man, you know that well. He’s quite good-looking, too, don’t you think?” he added with the hint of a smile.
“Looks don’t matter.” She gazed at the closed door. “My only concern is the guests. I don’t want some stupid pervert to ruin our business.”
* * * *
Lester Greenburg had been delighted to go shopping with Michael and buy stuff a handyman would have in his closet. He had warmed up that much to the idea of living and working undercover that Michael had finally given up and left the shopping to Lester while he waited at a coffee shop.
Lester had returned with five bags full of clothes, new shoes and accessories Michael would never have thought of. Special agents were well paid. They did not buy at K-Mart.
Lester’s joy of details spared his friend lots of questions while he unpacked his stuff at the small house Ms. Monroe showed him.
“Very nice,” he said though he found his new home small and oppressing. It was built low and narrow and stood at the end of a line of large pine trees shading the house completely. The furniture was intact but old as if a lot of people had come and gone without ever changing or adding a piece. Around the dining table, the carpet was already thin from too many feet marching f
rom the kitchen to the living room. The walls were decorated with non-telling pictures of landscapes and houses.
Michael turned to Ms. Monroe after putting a stack of T-shirts into a drawer. “How do I get my tasks?”
“A list of duties will be provided every morning by a staff member. Further tasks might be added during the day or night, if necessary. Excluding your free days, you have to be available around the clock.” She handed him a light gray overall.
“My working outfit, I suppose?”
“Indeed.” She stood and waited. “Would you, please, put it on?”
“I thought I started work tomorrow.”
“And I just asked you to put it on to see if it fits.”
Michael fought a silent duel with himself and lost. If he wanted to appeal to the lady, he should not start nitpicking on the first day. He shook out of his leather jacket, shoes and jeans and hesitated a moment when Ms. Monroe licked her lips as if waiting for a good show to start. He thought better of it than commenting on her scrutiny and put on the overall. It was tight over his butt, but long enough to fit over his shoulders. He closed the zipper and briefly checked his appearance in a mirror next to the entrance door.
“It’s a size too small, I’d say.”
“No.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tilting her head. “No,” she said again when he opened his mouth to argue. “I think, it fits perfectly well.” She got a look at his backside, then at his front again. “You’ll get two more overalls tomorrow. Let me give you a tour through the houses you have to maintain.”
