The door was unlocked and pulled in, and from behind it a very young, lanky man peered. Sweat clung to his short, rough beard.
“Amidon?” Andy asked.
“Summers?” the thin man asked in response, trying to stay on top of his domain.
Andy smirked at the lack of creativity his boss possessed. “Andy,” he simply introduced before pushing past the skittish man into the living room.
“Steven,” his host replied.
The place was a stereotypical description of the term “man-cave.” Plates and silverware occupied more area on the surfaces of tables, desks, and trays than anything, but still their numbers failed in comparison to the quantity of cups littered about, several of which still had ample amounts of liquid in them. Curtains were placed over all of the windows to prevent any sunlight from contaminating the otherwise bleak atmosphere of the room. Or perhaps it was to prevent any glares on the television screen which, from the position of the furniture, got a lot of attention.
“I guess they told you that I'm a man,” Andy commented, noting the lack of any attempt to tidy up for his visit.
“You guess?” Steven returned to the original discussion. “Are you the guy from the tabloids?”
Again Andy smirked to himself about his boss's lies. He nodded. “Here about Haley Flynn,” he said.
Steven sighed in relief, concerned that he had just let a random stranger into his room. Andy was still a stranger, but at least he was an expected stranger. “I've already begun collecting information about Miss Flynn,” he began. “I'll be honest, we're going to have to be very lucky to expose any dirt on her. She seems to have no skeletons in her closet, so to speak.”
“Dig more and we'll find them,” Andy said. “What do you know about her now?”
Steven was a little startled for some reason. Perhaps he hardly exposed himself to conversations. He looked as if he had been put on the spot. Still, his reputation did tone a true color as he replied through awkward delivery. “She's twenty-six years old, born and raised in Montreal –”
“She's not American?” Andy asked with interest.
“She wasn't until she got her citizenship two summers ago,” Steven was quick to answer. “She graduated high school with alright grades but flourished at the University of Colorado in Boulder. She got her bachelor's in humanities and began volunteering in Denver at several homeless shelters. From there, she was offered a position in human services in New York City, which she stayed at until about two months ago, when she arrived here. Her step brother Jacob lives here and she's been staying with him while investigating rumors of illegal – and immoral – economic practices being used on local resources. She's caught a whiff of something big, something worth exposing.”
Andy hummed as he thought it all over. “So she's a saint?”
Steven nodded.
Andy turned back around to hang his coat by the door. “Then we will have to dig deep,” he reiterated.
-Chapter Four-
Haley
Andy discovered that Steven lived the life of a hermit on his second day in the house. Little Andy did would interest him as he sat in his recliner, scribbling away in a journal as the television blared at him. Andy would try to engage him in conversation, but Steven would only reply to his questioning as closed-ended as he could before turning back to his preoccupations. He sipped on cheap white wine that he poured from a box into a mug. He sat in the glow of the screen, drunk.
Andy began having his doubts about his data collector after the second day during which Steven didn't leave his locked bedroom until the late afternoon. Dishes piled up while Andy agreed to wash them in exchange for the roof above his head. He felt that even that was a sour deal on his behalf. It was on this second evening that he sprung into motion, dressing in the privacy of his guest room into a casual suit. Brown, without a tie and patches on the elbows. Like a college professor.
“Steven,” he addressed his host as he slid up behind the chair unnoticed. The half-aware, half-sober man jumped but was interrupted before he could protest the surprise. “How did you get that information about Flynn?”
“I,” Steven started.
“Did you just find it on the Internet?” Andy asked.
Steven started making exasperated giggles, signifying his offense. Then he clammed up for a moment and confessed, “For starters.”
“Do you even know where she lives?” Andy interrogated.
“Yes, of course,” Steven replied. “Her brother has an apartment in the Five Points community on Elite Street.”
“Which apartment?”
“Well I -- I don't know that yet – ”
“Why not?”
Steven jumped on the defensive. “The apartment number isn't listed, just his P.O. box number. The phone book doesn't list – ”
Andy was upset. “You used the phone book?” he demanded. “The phone book!”
He turned away, stamping in his jet black polished dress shoes to the door. He fumed inside his head, cursing the man on the plane for his apparent insult. He had thought himself more professional than this amateur performance. He needed someone with experience. Someone motivated. Smart.
“Where are you going?” Steven asked as he watched Andy reach for the door handle.
“I'm going to go do some research on Flynn,” Andy stated.
Again, Steven's face was constricted in offense. “I'm the data collector,” he commented.
Stepping away from the door, Andy turned to face the man, tightening the muscles in his face to terrify. To show the killer inside. It was a grimace to make little schoolgirls out of warriors. Steven shook.
“If that's what you call it,” Andy started, releasing each word through his hissing teeth, “then I demand you do it.” He lurched forward which set Steven in a defensive pose. “You will waste neither my time, my patience, nor any more of our employer's finances sitting about on your ass. Otherwise, I'll walk out this door.”
Steven's eyes darted around for something to defend himself with. Andy could see the fear and discomfort in his pupils. He tried to speak. Fear shook his voice. “If you do that,” he started, failing to maintain calm in his tone, “I'll tell Mr. Graves.”
This stopped Andy in his menacing thoughts. His face fell soft of the violent intent he displayed and into true surprise. “That's his name?” he asked.
Something frightened Steven about the man's sudden change of mood than the previous rage directed at him. He said, “The man with the plane?” He relaxed when Andy nodded. “Yes. Leroy Graves.”
Andy was impressed. He had worked for the man on the plane for almost nine years and never before had heard his name. When he dared to ask it once, Graves replied that knowing it jeopardized their work together. Yet this amateur, as he referred to Steven before, figured it out.
“How long have you worked for him?” Andy asked. Curiosity drove his tone instead of dominance.
“Five months,” Steven replied. He seemed unsure what Andy was getting at.
Again, Andy was impressed.
“I even know where he lives,” Steven chimed in, realizing that he lifted off the bad foot that they had started out on. “The name of his wife. His mistress, where she lives. What kind of car he drives. His favorite restaurant.”
“Do you know what company he represents?” Andy interrupted, seeing now an opportunity.
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“I can't say,” Steven said, repositioning himself defensively. He really did not want to piss off his guest again.
“Why not?” Andy was getting upset again.
“Orders,” Steven replied. “In fact, I've said too much. Please, Mr. Summers, don't put me in any worse of a position than I am already in. Knowing only makes this harder.”
Andy sighed. He knew that he couldn't get any more from the man. He paused at the door. “How did you find all of this out?” he asked.
“Most
of that, actually, was Google,” Steven replied. “I get one lead and I keep pulling and pulling until all the roots are torn from the dirt. Every stone unturned reveals what the world under it looks like. I will collect every drop of information I can find about a subject before I can make any assumptions about it. Yes, yes, I know what I can see with my eyes, but I want to know what a witness has to say about Haley Flynn. What the Internet has to say. Phone books. That is where I have to start.”
Again, Andy sighed. Too quick to anger, he judged himself. Steven proved himself full of surprises, at least, on this evening. He was right, considering they dealt with such a sensitive case as this. If he planned to kill this woman without anyone, even Steven, knowing she had been murdered, he needed every detail about her that he could pull together. Something could give himself away without ever thinking about it if it weren't for the expertise Steven had to offer him. Something like that could mean the death of him, the only fitting punishment for a failed killer.
Steven is going to save my life, he decided.
“Come on,” he said, nodding his head to the door. “Let's research.”
Andy found himself thankful to have Steven with him as they drove through the city, creeping toward the Five Points apartment complex along the bleak and misnamed Elite Street. Steven had a car. He hadn't thought it through, but Andy would have to sit in a tree or something to stake out the building. In New England. In the winter.
It wasn't exactly a ghetto, but Elite Street wore it share of dilapidation. Several buildings were boarded up and closed to future activity. Groups of young tattooed men, few white people among them, chatted around in loose, warm clothing. Gang bangers. Or so Andy could only assume. He almost scolded himself on being too quick to judge. But he was an assassin. He had to be quick on everything.
Good killer, not so good man, he thought.
Steven pulled the car up by the Five Star apartments, taking care to look inconspicuous and empty. The car could not be left running so they had brought blankets. Steven had to point this out to Andy, in a way crushing his excitement about the car's heater.
“You do this often?” Andy asked with the first sign of humor he had allowed to slip through to Steven.
“Often enough,” Steven answered.
For a moment they sat in silence, anticipating any change that could take place. Every bit of movement or color attracted Andy's attention. Everything seemed to be much more interesting than it was in reality. That feeling dissolved as they waited in the dark, hoping it had not been too late to catch her. The clock read only five in the evening. Either way, they must wait. Hopefully they would catch her coming home from her day of activities, but they would be patient until she came back out if that's what they had to do. Andy sighed to himself when he realized how restless the whole ordeal made him. Not often did his assignments require this much care. He had even a few jobs that were, “this is what he looks like, here's a gun, now go at it.”
“So this is her brother's place?” Andy asked as the silence drug on.
Steven nodded, chewing on some gum he had brought. “One of these,” he gestured.
“What does he do?” Andy continued.
“Oh, well he's a cop,” Steven answered. “One of the head lieutenants of the LPD.”
Andy nodded as he leaned back in his seat and looked at the building, wondering which of the doors they were waiting to see open.
He felt the true weight of his dedication when Steven shook him awake some time after.
“Hey, stop snoring,” Steven said, shaking the hitman's shoulder. “You're making my thoughts too loud to hear.”
“Has she come out?” Andy asked, pulling himself back into the shape of the seat and wiping away a trace bit of drool from his lips.
Steven pursed his own together and shook his head, displaying that even he became impatient with the situation. Andy didn't know how much time had gone by. Darkness swirled outside the car, so he hadn't slept the entire night. In fact, it could have only been a few minutes. He had no idea when he had fallen asleep. It was two in the morning now.
“Is it possible that she knows we're here?” Andy asked, putting all of his tone to the task of making it sound like a hypothetical question and not his immediate assumption.
“No,” Steven replied. Andy knew that that was the answer. Nothing provided evidence behind that, only that he knew Steven to be a professional.
Several hours passed with Andy fighting a losing battle against unconsciousness. Steven jostled methodically in his seat, shaking the car as they sat in complete silence. The sun rose. Andy felt worn and much older than he had the night before.
Then Steven's posture piqued Andy's interest, saving him from falling asleep again. The data collector sat straight up, sitting on his knuckles and holding his mouth open as if he was about to speak. Andy sat forward as well and peered out the windshield at the Five Points.
A door opened and a woman slipped from behind it.
“There she is,” Steven whispered. It was no less exciting for him as it was for Andy. He always loved remembering that he had the perseverance of a hunter. Along with that also came the obsession with his prey.
A brunette woman, petite in stature and girlish in fashion, emerged from apartment one with a red and purple backpack strapped over each shoulder. When she bent over a bike at a rack and began working on a lock, Andy could see a bright white peace symbol stitched into the backpack. He sat forward on impulse, jolted like a man experiencing Déjà vu. It left him with the feeling that something waited on the tip of his tongue. But it had fled him.
She bikes, Andy noted. Perhaps an accident?
He couldn't make out any distinctive features about her other than her size and the abundance of bright colors she wore. Knowing that she biked made her easy to keep track of as they began to tail her, but it became difficult to do in Steven's car without drawing attention. Andy did not want to lose her trail.
They had to pull over after passing her once so that they did not get too far ahead of her. Andy looked over at Steven as the nervous young man poured scribbles into a notepad with furious precision. He hesitated to speak, worried he might derail Steven's train of thought. As the data collector wrote, Andy saw Haley pedal right past the car through his window. She turned and caught a brief look into the man's eyes. Andy froze as she rode by. Steven did not look up.
“Let's follow her,” Andy suggested once he saw a break in the writing.
“Not in this,” Steven replied in a tone that hinted that Andy would agree, which he did. Still, he wanted to know how they would keep up with her. Steven looked around outside as if he hadn't seen it in quite a while, which was likely true with the concentration he put into his writing. He started the car and then eased it onto the road. He took the same course as Flynn. They drove right past her a second time. She glanced back over at the car and Andy tried to cover his eyes but moved too slow. He did his best to be unrecognizable. It wasn't so much about being dressed or posed inconspicuous as much as it was about being boring. There should be no reason to remember their faces.
They pulled into the parking lot of a laundromat a few blocks away. Steven grabbed every bit of clothing that he could find within the vehicle, handing what he couldn't carry to Andy. He didn't quite follow the rouse, but still entered the building after the stalker. Steven went to a machine in the right corner, closest to the window. He started jamming the clothes and blankets into the device and then rummaged through his pocket for coins. He pulled out an insignificant looking pile and asked Andy if he had any change. He thanked him once two quarters dropped into his palm and then began working the machine.
“She'll pass by in about a minute, give or take,” Steven said. “Here, take this and go outside.” He handed Andy a Camel filter.
“I don't smoke,” Andy told him.
Steven smiled a tight smile at him, like a parent preparing to explain the rules. “Well then, find something wort
h doing outside so you can get a view of where she's going,” he said. “Come on, you don't have to inhale, just puff it.” He turned back to the machine, checking the settings. “Or act like you're doing something illegal.”
Andy did smoke. It wasn't a fact that he was proud of, but neither was his job and like this, his job was no body's business. He was in the process of quitting when he arrived in Lumnin but he knew that one cigarette was a small sacrifice to make. Still, he felt awkward as he smoked. Like someone who didn't really know what he was doing.
Then the bike rode by. It was a townie, the wide seated sit-on-this-and-you'll-get-somewhere type of bicycle. The frame was slathered in flower decals, the whites of the daisies blending with the neon blue of the metal. It was a distinctive vehicle.
The woman who rode such a distinctive bike was a small structured white girl. She did not resembled an adult other than her curves and her mature eyes. Her cheeks softened against the bone unlike the pillow-like cheek of a baby so many women strove to keep. Lochs of shimmering brown hair framed her features in the early morning breeze. She looked like she should have been a model of some kind, the eyeliner and mascara applied to draw out the crystal blue hue of her irises. Those eyes burned into Andy's as she looked at him for a third time. He ignored her as much as he could, the image of her face still on the inside of his eyelids. He watched her take a sudden right about a block down and dismount from her bike. Andy flicked his cherried Camel into the parking lot and slipped back into the laundromat through the flimsy glass doors.
“Did she go by?” Steven asked, perched upon the edge of the machine he used.
Andy nodded. “She parked her bike just a block down.”
“Good, I was a little worried she had turned,” Steven commented. He jumped off of the shaking device. “Alright, so I need you to stay here and look like we didn't abandon my laundry. I am going to tail her on foot.”
A Guardian Angel Page 3
