“Order for Chad,” the barista calls out.
I get up and gather our drinks. Clarence smiles when I hand him his. “Thank you.” He removes the lid and blows on the hot coffee.
“Doris and I came here four or five times a week. We loved seeing the different people coming and going. People watching, she called it.”
I remember Clarence’s wife; Lindsay gave up her chair, so Doris could sit.
Clarence blows on his coffee and sips. “We used to make up stories about the people we’d watch. ‘Oh, that’s Suzy Jane with her husband, William. They’re getting coffee before they rob the bank next door.’” He smiles, but his eyes are sad.
“Doris sounds like a fun lady.”
“Yes, she was. She really was.” He draws in a long breath and lets it out. “She died a week ago. Alone in the hospital. I couldn’t even be with her.” A single tear glides down his cheek to his chin. He wipes it away. “Nothing worse than dying alone.”
A hollowness forms inside my chest, and guilt swirls in my stomach.
“That Grim Fever.” His tender voice turns dark, angry. “That's why I couldn’t be with her.”
I don’t know if I should leave or console this man I just met. Lindsay would console him. So would Leanne. I’m not as good as either of them; I didn’t deserve either of them.
“We joked about living to be a hundred,” Clarence says, his light and tender voice back. “When she first passed, I thought there was no way I’d want to live that long alone.” He sips. “But she would want me to. She wouldn’t want me to give up just because she’s gone.” He looks me in the eye. “During our last conversation, she said, ‘We only get one life, so you’d better live it making the people who love you proud.’ And she’s right. She’s gone, but I can still make her proud.”
A warmth floods over me. It takes all I have to hold back a volcano of emotion. “Those are wise words,” I say with a creaky voice.
Clarence nods. “Doris was a wise woman.”
We sit in silence, sipping our hot drinks. Clarence looks around. The only other customers are two teenage girls staring at their phones.
Clarence nods toward the girls. “Those two,” he says under his breath. “They’re waiting for a message from the CIA. Their mission.”
I smile. “One of the baristas is a Ukrainian spy. But which one?”
Clarence looks at the employees behind the counter. “Oh, it’s the blond in the glasses. No doubt about it.”
A bored twenty-something leans on his elbows, blond hair flopping over one lens of his tortoise-shell glasses.
I nod. “It’s definitely him.”
Clarence laughs, an unexpected booming laugh that doesn’t fit his appearance. I laugh, too, to the point of watery eyes. After gathering myself, I check the time. “Ah, I need to get going. It was great meeting you, Clarence.”
“Likewise. Thanks for the coffee and the company.”
“You’re very welcome. I’m sorry to hear about Doris.”
He nods. “I’ll keep coming here and playing the people watching the game. It would make her proud.”
“I’m sure it would. Okay, take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
I nod and stroll toward the exit. I pull out my phone and call Ada. It’s time to make Lindsay and Leanne proud.
25
The deboarding process goes fast since the flight was less than half full. It’s terrible that the airline industry hasn’t recovered from the lockdowns of the Grim Fever outbreak, but I won’t complain about having an entire row to myself.
I ponder the impact of the virus when it strikes me that, despite all the damage I’ve caused, my blood will not only help create a vaccine but will also help to revitalize the entire economy. I frown. It’s a nice thought, but not one I have any business taking credit for.
I order a Lyft from my phone and scan the airport. Stores and restaurants in the terminal are closed, an odd sight for a Monday afternoon. Pittsburgh isn’t the biggest city by any stretch, but it’s not a sleepy flyover town, and seeing the airport this empty creates a hollowness in my gut. It makes me miss the usual sights of people slaloming through crowds to catch their flight or travelers huddled in front of a monitor searching for their departure gate. Normal times when, with the typical hustle and bustle of any airport, germs spread from person to person at an alarming rate. I’m cautious when the symptoms flare, but how many people passed the virus without knowing?
I stand in the middle of the baggage claim. Only one belt is moving, about a dozen people around it waiting for their luggage. Guilt slithers into my thoughts, knowing that I had a huge part in the spread of this miserable virus.
My phone buzzes and pulls me out of my darkness. My ride is approaching, so I step outside.
The Lyft driver stops at the curb—Ken in a white Prius. He rolls down the window. “Chad?”
“That’s me.”
Ken gets out and pops the trunk. “Oh, no bags?”
“Nope. Just here for the day.”
I get in the backseat while Ken plops into the driver’s seat. The clear plastic barrier between the front and back gives me the impression of the back of a cop car.
Ken looks at me in the rearview mirror. “So, you’re heading to Creston Widmer Pharmaceuticals, huh? Business meeting?”
“Yep.” I don’t feel like giving the full explanation.
“Where you coming in from?”
Most days, I wouldn’t mind a chatty driver, but I’m in no mood to have a full conversation with a stranger. “Spokane.”
“Ah, nice. My brother-in-law’s from Seattle.”
I don’t pay any attention to Ken’s one-sided conversation. The plastic divider muffles his words anyway. I pull out my phone as we enter the Fort Pitt Tunnel and scroll through old photos. Selfies of Leanne and me, pictures she took of me goofing off while playing mini-golf, shots of her doing cartwheels in the grass by the river.
I can’t believe I’m back in our city. I miss her, and I’ve never been more alone. This is more difficult than I imagined. I clear my throat to fight back the emotion building in my throat.
“Ah, damn it,” Ken says.
Yellow flashing lights bounce off the tunnel walls.
“They’ve got a lane closed up ahead. Sorry.”
“No problem.” I’m supposed to meet Ada in thirty minutes. I send a message telling her I’ll be late and close my eyes.
An hour later, we come out of the tunnel, and my heart does a double-pump. The tall downtown buildings stand stark against the steel-gray sky. I didn’t think I’d miss this city, but I’m home.
Ken eases through traffic. We drive past the soccer fields Leanne and I played at. The bars and restaurants we frequented with our friends. The park where we’d lie in the grass and imagine one day chasing children. So many memories turned to ghosts.
We pass the turnoff that would take us to my old neighborhood. I’m half-tempted to ask Ken to take a detour, but I want to meet with Ada and get this over with. Being in Pittsburgh now gives me the same bubble-gut I had as a kid, ditching school and begging to get into trouble. A minute later, we pull onto a small side-street and stop in front of a gray building that has the architectural flair of a shoebox.
“I guess this is it,” Ken says.
“Thanks. Have a good one.”
“You too.”
I pull out my phone and give Ken five stars and a twenty percent tip, then walk into the double glass doors. The lobby is drab, nothing more than a desk and two fake potted trees. Not what I’d expect from a pharmaceutical company. I don’t know what I should have expected, but this isn’t it. A security guard sits at the desk, looking at his phone. With his thin mustache and pimples, I’d guess he’s less than two years out of high school.
“Excuse me? I’m here to see Ada Curry.”
The guard looks up and pulls out his earbuds. “Hey. How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Ada Curry.”
/> He pushes a button on his desk phone. “Someone’s here for Ada. She’ll be out in a minute,” he says without looking up. He pops his earbuds back in, and his attention retreats to his phone screen.
I don’t bother thanking him.
I find a corner to stand in since there are no chairs. Two minutes pass before a door opens behind the charming security guard. A woman with wavy brown hair streaked with strands of gray comes out. “Chad? I’m Ada.” She smiles and waves me toward her. “Thank you so much for doing this!”
Her appearance does not match her young and bubbly voice. I expected an excitable cheerleader type, but Ada is older than she sounds, maybe in her early fifties. She has a warm smile and big brown eyes. More soccer mom than cheerleader. I guess today’s theme is misplaced expectations.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say. “Traffic in the tunnel.”
“No problem! Let’s go.” I follow Ada into a hallway. She carries a small brown leather bag with both hands. “I’m so excited to get working on your blood! This is going to be great. How was your flight?”
“Pretty empty.”
“Yeah, not too many people traveling these days.”
We pass dozens of doors. No windows, no signs.
“The building is a bit more modest than I expected.”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughs. “We’ve only been in business about two years. Peter Creston, he’s our CEO, started the company after working at another big pharma place that I will not name.” She looks over her shoulder at me and smirks. “He came up with an arthritis medication and wanted to sell it on his own means rather than watch the big company take all the credit. So, he got a loan from his mother-in-law and started this. If we get the SVE-1 vaccine nailed down, I’m sure we’ll move into a nicer facility.” She smiles again.
We reach the end of the hall, and Ada pushes open a door. We descend a flight of stairs, then go through another door and into a parking garage.
“Where are we going?”
“Well, with your concerns about the…legal stuff, I thought we’d do this off the books, so to speak. We’ll go to my house, draw your blood, and that’s it.”
“Okay.” This is weird. But I’d rather not go to prison, so I go along with it. “I appreciate you considering that.”
“Of course!” She slows her pace. “And, not to scare you, but I’m not sure if Agent Choi is having the lab watched. So, I thought we’d be extra safe.”
If that’s supposed to make me feel better, she failed.
Ada picks up her pace again. I search the garage, trying to guess which car is hers. There are around three dozen cars. Ada keeps walking straight, passing all the SUVs and minivans. Perhaps she drives a luxury car. Or a sports car. Tesla. She’s going to surprise me with a Tesla. Instead, we come to a staircase, and Ada walks up. I follow her, and at the top, we find another door. She opens it, and we’re on a small side street.
“We’re not driving?” I say.
“Nope. My place is right over there.” She points across a small park, where a quaint cluster of townhouses lies.
I follow Ada across the street and onto a walking path laid out in the grass.
“You’re sure you won’t get in any trouble for doing this?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think so. If I can get two vials of blood back to my lab, everything will be fine. And don’t worry, I’ll sterilize everything.” She smiles.
“Okay.”
Her phone rings. She looks at the screen and tuts. “Hello? … Yes, I’m working on it … I know, I’ll get it done as soon as I can … No, you don’t need to … Okay. Got it.”
Ada puts her phone away. “Sorry, the lab supervisor keeps pestering me about a report.” She points to a brick home sandwiched between a blue unit and a yellow unit. “This is it,” Ada says. The hinges squeal as she opens the door. “Home sweet home.”
I follow her inside.
26
I’m seated at Ada’s kitchen table while she preps for my withdrawal. A French door opens to a small backyard on my left, and a paneled window to my right exposes the room to a flood of sunshine. There are dark red curtains on the door and window, chicken and cow knick-knacks here and there, an old metal jug in the corner. The space is modest, but it’s homey.
“Just about ready.” Ada pulls on light blue medical gloves.
Her phone rings. She looks at the screen and tuts. “Ugh, leave me alone,” she says to herself as she ties a small band a few inches above my elbow. She presses on my vein and swabs my arm with an alcohol wipe.
Her phone rings again.
Ada sighs. “Sorry about that,” she says. She tries to sound calm, but now she’s agitated.
“No worries,” I say, though I’m not sure I want her anywhere near my exposed skin with a needle now.
She moves the needle toward my arm. “Okay, you’re going to feel—”
Someone bangs on the front door.
“Ah, damn it!” Ada sets the needle on the table and unwraps the tourniquet. “I’ll be right back.” Gone is her warm smile and cheery demeanor. She gets up and leaves the kitchen through the front hallway. This day can’t get any stranger.
A faint shuffling near the back door steals my attention. I turn to find Choi standing inside the doorway, her gun raised, and a finger to her lips. My heart rate triples. I flinch, but there’s no way for me to get up and around the corner before she shoots. So I sit back and raise my hands.
“What the hell?” Ada says from the front room.
Choi steps closer and stops five feet away from me. She glances at the items on the table. Ada’s bag, the syringe, wipes, and vials. She raises a finger and cocks her head back at a slight angle.
Ada’s footsteps grow louder. “There was no one th—” She comes around the corner, and when she sees Choi, she bolts back toward the front door.
Choi doesn’t move, her face set like an iron statue.
The front door bangs against the wall.
“What the hell?” Ada screams. “Let me go!”
Who the hell else is here?
Choi grips her gun with both hands and aims it toward the kitchen entrance off of the hallway.
Something thuds against the other side of the wall, followed by other unidentifiable commotion. “Get your hands off—” Ada says before her voice shifts to muffled grunts.
Seconds later, a massive man comes into the kitchen. He’s wearing a gray suit, and his hair is shaved close enough to display fat rolls on his scalp. He’s got a grip on Ada, his meaty hands enveloping her shoulders. At some point during the struggle, he handcuffed her and stuffed something in her mouth to keep her quiet. She wiggles free and tries to run, but he grabs her and brings her in tight.
“Thank you, Miguel,” Choi says. “Take her in.”
Miguel nods once and takes Ada away. I’m not sure if I’m more scared for her or myself.
Choi stares at me, her gun now lowered to her side.
I was wrong; today is far more bizarre than I could have ever imagined.
27
Choi holsters her gun behind her back. I might get out the back door before her draw, but I don’t know if there’s another Miguel outside. Besides, I have nowhere to run. I can only hope that Choi isn’t interested in anything that results in my death.
Choi stares into my eyes, her face showing no emotion. “Hello again, Mr. Chaucer.”
“Are you here to arrest me?”
Choi’s eyebrows pinch together. She shakes her head. “No.”
“What agency are you with? FBI?”
She presses her lips together in a tight line. “I’m here for Ada Curry.”
“Ada? Why? What the hell is this?”
“Do you remember, Mr. Chaucer, when we first met? I told you there was more going on than you realized.”
“You gave me a concussion last time I saw you, so my memory is a little shaky.” The words fall out before I can filter myself. Sarcasm will not help me in this situation.
A coy smile forms on Choi’s face. “Allow me to go back. Had you heard of Creston Widmer Pharmaceuticals before Ms. Curry contacted you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Most people haven’t. In the interest of time, I’ll summarize. Peter Creston, the company’s founder and CEO, hired my firm to help with contact tracing when the SVE-1 virus was first released. I discovered some inconsistencies and realized I needed to investigate Mr. Creston and his company.”
“Wait, your firm? Are you a lawyer?”
“No.” She draws in a deep breath through her nostrils. “I specialize in…fixing things.”
So she’s not government. Interesting.
“So,” I say, “contact tracing is tracking down infected people, right? You were trying to find the people infected by the guy—Ada’s coworker who was accidentally infected?”
“We’ll revisit that point, but yes, that’s the general idea.”
“So that’s why you were tracking Lindsay down in Spokane?”
“Yes. But when I learned that you, too, were infected, I found the trail that leads you back here.”
“And what about that McNulty guy? Ada said you killed him and turned on them.”
“Your police officer friend killed him.”
“And you almost killed the officer.” Heat bubbles beneath my skin at the thought of Ron lying there bloodied and near death.
“If I wanted someone dead, I wouldn’t shoot them in the shoulder.” Her coy smile returns. “This is all hypothetical, of course.”
I don’t know what to believe or who to trust. I rub the stubble on my face.
“What were the inconsistencies?” I say.
“Mm, yes. Ada told you how the SVE-1 virus, Grim Fever, got out into the public?”
“Yeah, her lab assistant was accidentally infected and spread it to a few people, including me.”
“Infected, but not by accident.”
A cold lump forms in my chest like an ice cube lodged in my esophagus. “What do you mean? He spread it on purpose?”
Grim Fever Page 15
