A Guardian Angel

by Williams, Phoenix

  Andy struggled for words. His face crumpled into defeat.

  “I'm a fair man. Consider your original payment as the fee I will pay you to keep silent about anything you know,” Mr. Graves said. “About everything.”

  He beckoned to the stewardess who had walked in on the scene froze in uncomfortable horror. When she found the courage to approach him, she was ordered to grab the weapons Andy had concealed on his person. After hesitating, she obliged. Her face was apologetic as she frisked the hitman. She had no idea what she was doing, but nonetheless she discovered and removed Andy's handgun. She bowed and handed the weapon to Mr. Graves, holding it like it was a dead fish.

  Leroy stared into Andy's eyes. The indent just beside his lips conveyed the whole message of the situation to the perceptive assassin. Mr. Graves was in control.

  “You have twenty-four hours in Chicago. If you're late to the runway...” His voice trailed off.

  “I understand,” Andy said.

  “Good.”

  As soon as he got in his apartment, Andy began to pace. Anxiety was paramount and he wanted nothing more than to get outside and run free. Perhaps just sprint in one direction and never turn around. He didn't even remove his jacket before stepping back out of the apartment and onto the snowy streets. He could see his breath as he walked.

  Never before had he had the desire to own a vehicle, seeing them as cumbersome and imprisoning. He would just take advantage of the public transportation that the city had to offer. This time, however, he desired nothing more than to be alone. He didn't want anyone to speak to him, no one to acknowledge his existence. He just watched their bleak faces as he walked to his bank.

  Paranoid, the hitman glanced over his shoulder. Every face, every slowing vehicle drew his gaze. Any one of them could be on Graves' payroll, just following him and recording everything he did. If only he could figure out who it was, he could lose them. Shake free of his tail and go find Homer. But there were so many people. Hundreds, all just as suspicious as the next, shuffling in gigantic herds on the sidewalks. Even the traffic light cameras worried Andy. Could Graves be watching him from them? He stared at one before slipping into his bank and walking up to the shortest line.

  He withdrew as much money as he could. Andy's bank account had been set up with special permissions to allow for tremendous withdrawals in the case of an emergency. The thick plastic briefcases with the combination lock that he paid extra for felt heavy. That much money was a strain to carry.

  Andy had no doubt in his mind that Leroy Graves and his associates were aware of every step he took. It wasn't paranoia anymore; it was acceptance. He wondered what the man thought. If he worried to see Andy withdraw such a large sum of money or rather was confused to its purpose. Maybe he thought nothing of it, assuming that Andy intended to purchase something expensive for himself to quell his sorrows. He cared little as he arrived back at his apartment.

  His own home felt like a prison. The more he thought about it, the more it creeped him out. He had never picked out or purchased any of his furniture. In fact, he had never even moved any of his pieces in or arranged them about. It was all as it was now when he had walked into the apartment the first time. Any of them could be recording him. He was not alone.

  His plan had been to shake his tail and deliver the money straight to Homer. That's who Andy wanted to have it. To take it all off of his hands and build for himself the life he deserves. He had the idea many times in the last ten years since he had begun his lucrative work. There were plenty of selfish reasons that kept him from doing it, but plenty of rational ones as well. He worried that the money would get Homer in trouble. Perhaps that he couldn't be trusted with such a large amount, but it was more of the fact that in order to give him the money he would have to confess what he was to the only one who had been there for him. He couldn't risk it. Any slip of information would put Homer in danger.

  Now, however, there was no coming back. No matter what choice he made, he would be a fugitive. Graves would not leave him alone once he completed his task. Once Haley was dead, he would still be a slave or he would become a corpse. He would never see his friend again. He wouldn't even get to say goodbye. There was only one way to deliver his message. He fetched a notepad from one of his drawers and uncapped a pen. With misty eyes, he wrote.

  “Addressing the person or persons who discover this message. This paper shall serve as the final will and testament of Andrew Walter Winter. I leave behind the rights to my studio apartment and the contents of the included locked briefcase to Mr. Homer Nour, my oldest friend. Only he will know the combination. Think about the date we spoke about ten years ago. This is not an admission of guilt or a confession of any kind. Please respect my wishes.”

  He stopped, thinking. He brought the notepad out into the hall of his apartment building and knocked on the door of his neighbor across the hall. A woman just a few years older than Andy himself opened the door. Her boyfriend could be seen peering at the doorway from the couch in the living room.

  “Hello,” Andy greeted her. “My name is Andy, I live just across the hall here.” He offered his hand.

  She shook it, confused. “Oh, hi Andy. I'm Trish,” she introduced herself. “How can I help you?”

  “Well, see, I've just whipped myself up a pretty nice will and I need two witnesses to sign it as I do,” Andy explained. He laid on the charm now. “Might I ask you and your boyfriend to fill in the role for me? It would be very much appreciated.”

  She looked at him with hesitation. A look in her eye relayed that she thought he might be yanking her chain, but his unwavering and positive demeanor proved to remove it. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Dead serious,” Andy replied.

  The woman looked back inside at her partner who heard every word. He shrugged at her look for support. She turned back to Andy. “Yeah, I guess so,” she replied. “Are you okay?”

  “You could say that,” Andy responded as he walked into Trish's apartment and got the business done with.

  He returned to his own apartment across the hall with the signed will. He attached it to the briefcase which he stowed underneath his bed. He went to the sink to wash his hands. As he dried them, he addressed the entire room, empty though it seemed. “I'll do it,” he said aloud. “Don't worry.”

  Max's grave was cast over in the shadow of the storm clouds that had crept over Rosehill. Andy placed his bouquet of twelve yellow tulips on the dirt next to the eleven that had already withered like the skeleton they were for.

  This time, he left all twelve as he walked away from the grave for the last time.

  This was the first time that Andy had ever seen the two very serious looking men in suits who frisked him as he got out on the airstrip. Both of Mr. Graves's bodyguards, the white man and the Hispanic, were bald. Andy observed his own reflection in the white man's tanned scalp as his ankles were searched for weapons. They found the three-eighty auto that he kept holstered around his shoulder in no time at all.

  “I'm a hitman, guys,” he explained when they confiscated it. “Duh, I have a gun.”

  “Do you have any others?” the Hispanic man asked.

  “Yes, a Smith and Wesson six-nine-six in the back of my pants,” he answered, “a Derringer in my left shoe, and a kris dagger strapped to my genitals.”

  The white guard began searching Andy's shoes when he pushed him over with his bare foot. “Idiot,” Andy spat at him.

  A gun appeared in the Hispanic man's hand, pointed at Andy's head. The white man had drawn one too from where he lay on the ground when Leroy Graves appeared on the ramp of the plane.

  “He's kidding,” he told his men, gesturing at them to stow away their firearms. “Come on, Mr. Winter. You've got a job to do.”

  The flight was uncomfortable and awkward, silent in nature and malicious in feeling. The only thing Andy said to his employer was his promise to kill Haley Flynn. Mr. Graves said even less, only humming in
response. Once they had landed, he only needed to gesture at his guards before they tossed Andy off of the plane.

  There was no taxi waiting for him on the runway this time. Instead, he phoned Steven who got lost on one of the turns along the way. He picked Andy up an hour and a half later.

  “How did it go?” was the the first thing Steven said to the assassin when he climbed into his car.

  “The plan is the same,” Andy replied, showing more of his anguish than he intended to. Steven picked up on it.

  “What did he say?” he asked.

  “That the plan is the same,” Andy said, and with that Steven asked nothing more of him and they drove back to the house in silence.

  “I want to join you on surveillance,” Andy said once he had taken his coat off and hung it by the door. There was a desperate tone in his voice.

  “Andy, you know she's already seen you,” Steven replied. “It's risky. If she were to see you – ”

  “Please,” Andy interrupted. Steven was silenced by the look on Andy's face. “Steven, please.”

  The data collector sighed as he peered into his new friend's eyes. “Okay,” Steven said. Then he gave a warm smile, something that Andy didn't expect due to his own rotten mood. “I'll be glad to have you.”

  Andy didn't hear Steven when he spoke. Or rather, he didn't listen. Every word was loud enough but none of them made it to his brain because he was too busy staring out of the window, through the apartment's glass door, at Haley Flynn.

  “Andy!” Steven said, raising his volume to a level that he felt uncomfortable with. Andy looked over at him. The data collector waited for recognition in Andy's eyes. “What kind of dirt do you even imagine we'll ever find on her?” he repeated.

  He forgot that this was what Steven thought the two of them were doing in the first place. “Probably nothing,” he answered. He was being honest. There was nothing he could ever imagine them finding out about her that would do anything to put a dent into her perfect reputation. “Graves will probably end up having me make up some bullshit that could be confirmed by our vague details. Like that man there,” he pointed out the man Haley now hugged in front of the glass. “At first glance, it looks like there might be some sort of scandalous relationship going on here, if you knew nothing about her. That's the kind of stories writers like me go off on.”

  “Yeah, but like I said, that's her brother,” Steven said.

  “Exactly. We know that because we've gone the extra mile and investigated. But if you were to capture this scene and omit that information, what else would you see?” Andy explained. “Assumptions are always wrong,” he looked to his friend. “One way or another.”

  “We need something much more substantial to give Graves,” Steven was quick to answer. “Come on, don't you care?” He didn't like his task simplified so much.

  An idea hit Andy as a memory returned to him at the moment. “She gave me her number,” he started. “She asked me for a date.”

  Steven was skeptical. “She what?” he mumbled.

  Andy retrieved the indicated note and showed Steven. “Number. Date. I'm going to call her,” Andy decided.

  “Why didn't you mention this before?” Steven sat up in his car seat, staring at his new friend. He seemed to consider him, pondering something about him that he seemed to like as he started the car. “Okay,” he broke the silence with a little sparkle in his eyes. “Have her tell you everything herself.”

  -Chapter Seven-

  Dinner

  Haley Flynn was beautiful. She had slipped into an exquisite ruby dress that hugged at her curves but left most of her more intimate features a mystery. Small silver flames dangled from her ears, a unique earring Andy had never seen before. She was dressed up in a gorgeous outfit, which Andy used as an icebreaker.

  “I was beginning to think you would never call,” she said in response. She grabbed her bag from behind the door and then stepped out into the brisk air, closing it behind her. “I'm glad you did.”

  “Me too,” Andy said, leading her over to Steven's car. It had to be cleaned out, a grueling task that he was more than glad he performed at this point. She had to be impressed.

  “This is my brother's apartment,” she said through the passenger window. “I'd introduce you, but he's out on duty right now.” She climbed into the car after receiving a smile in response. “Where did you have in mind?” she asked. Her scent filled the car.

  “A small restaurant with a lot of Italian food,” Andy said. He did well as a flirt, finding little trouble in pretending to be what he was not. “Hopefully with a lack of crying children.” Steven had picked the place.

  “Ooh,” she hummed, impressed. “That's a perfect balance. You are a good first date.” They smiled at each other and drove off into the young Lumnin night.

  “I have to ask,” Andy said, doing his best to exercise his grasp on the art of conversing, “what made you ask me out?”

  Haley smiled with her beautiful-without-lipstick lips, a comfortable sign. Andy was surprised by her warmth toward him. Her ignorant trust. “You're cute and you're intelligent,” she explained. “It's a vibe I get. They haven't been wrong yet, so don't be the first.”

  They laughed. “Trust me,” Andy said, feeling evil, “I certainly won't try to be.”

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Chicago,” Andy replied, glancing over at her. “Since I was born.”

  “You don't have a Chicago accent,” Haley commented.

  Andy looked over at her. He had not lied, but she was right. “I travel a lot. I guess I don't hear it enough.” This was true.

  “Is this it here?” she asked, pointing out the red canopy that sheltered the entrance to Pastafaria. He nodded in response and parked the car in one of the several better spots. Good, he thought, it'll be quiet.

  Romance is regulated.

  “Two?” the hostess asked. She was an older red-haired woman with warm vitality. A happy employee.

  “Yes please,” Andy said. “Corner table, if you can.”

  “Sure thing,” was her answer, then she lead them through the green-carpeted room with two menus cradled in her arm.

  The place was dead with only three other tables occupied out of the two dozen. She brought them to a half-sized table draped in a deep purple cloth and decorated with an already lit candle. She set the menus down and said that she would be back to take their drink orders personally. They thanked her and opened up their menus.

  “Get anything delicious that you want,” he said.

  “What if I wanted a bag of rocks?” she replied. “Something not delicious.”

  “Well then you clearly can't have it,” Andy replied. “Although, it depends on the kind of bag.”

  She laughed. He smiled at that.

  “You're a bit of a weirdo,” Haley commented, getting her silverware oriented. “I like that.”

  Andy only had a shrug to reply with as he began looking more attentively at his menu. “I'm thinking that I'll have some hash-browns smothered in green chili with a side of,” he turned the page, “macaroni.”

  “Hash browns for dinner?” Haley echoed, flipping through the menu. “Where do you even see that?”

  He didn't. Steven had told him that it was an off-menu dish that they offered and gave it a raving review. He didn't much fancy pasta as it was. “Nowhere,” he answered. “I'm just going to tell the waitress that that is what I want and hope I get something along those lines.”

  Haley's eyes glistened as she chuckled. Everything about her face seemed to smile at once as she peered into his eyes dreamily. He couldn't keep himself from getting lost in them as they smiled. Such beautiful eyes.

  “This is really nice, Andy,” she thanked him. “Thank you so much. I'm already having fun.” Her white teeth were seemingly perfect, shining through her lips as she spoke.

  “Is your job fun?” Andy transitioned.

  She scoffed. “I wou
ldn't say that it's fun,” she replied. “But it's good work.”

  “What do you do?”

  Haley seemed to search for the words. “I'm a journalist. I do a lot of snooping around and expose bad people doing bad stuff,” she answered. She was distracted by movement behind Andy.

  The hostess arrived back at their table. “Can I get you any drinks?” she asked, a notepad absent from her hands. She could undoubtedly remember their order being that they were the only ones that she was serving. There was one other waiter who seemed to have the others under control. Andy was certain that she may be the manager as well. We should feel honored, he thought.

  “A glass of the house red please,” Haley requested.

  The hostess turned to Andy. “Champagne?” He semi-asked, having not looked at the menu to see if they served it.

  He was in luck. “Certainly,” the hostess beamed and then disappeared.

  “How about you?” Haley asked. Andy had half forgotten what they were talking about. “What do you do?”

  Andy didn't take too long to come up with his story. “Well, I guess you could say I'm a journalist, too,” he began. “Well, not really, more of a columnist.”

  “Ooh, are you any good?” Haley asked, leaning over her folded arms.

  Andy laughed. “No,” he joked. “I don't really know, but I don't make much doing that. Fortunately, I don't need much.” Even he was impressed by his lies.

  “Why does that bring you to Lumnin?” Haley asked. The interest in her eyes was strong.

  Andy smiled as he thought. “It doesn't really. I wanted a quiet place to write my novel.”

  She was in awe. He felt rather ashamed that none of it was true. Could she be this interested in him if she knew who he really was? If she knew why he was really here? He tried not to think about it. He just tried to enjoy the evening.