Sixteen Sunsets

by Mark Gardner

  “But you acted when no one else would.”

  Kristof shook his head. “I didn’t even want to save anyone that day. I hate people. My wife made me do it.” When Naomi didn’t respond, he continued. “She left me today at your restaurant. I think...” Kristof paused as Naomi flopped back onto her bed. “I believe she’s better for it, though. I know that you think you want me, but...” Kristof heard a light snore from behind.

  He turned, and Naomi was fast asleep. Standing, he shook his head and started for the door. The door burst open, and a young couple was kissing and pawing at each other. Their eyes went wide and they scampered out of the room. Kristof wasn’t sure if he heard it correctly, but one of them made a comment about him being Naomi’s father. At least, she has a father, he thought as he walked to the landing to survey the partygoers. The couples were thinning out, and only stags were left. More than one tried looking past him to the sleeping form of Naomi. Kristof sighed and walked back into Naomi’s room, closing the door. Once again, he couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard cheering from the party. He clicked the lock on the door and looked at Naomi.

  Kristof scooped her up in his arms and pulled back the sheets. He laid her down, but before he could get up, she rolled over and hugged his arm. There wasn’t anything sexual about it. In fact, Kristof felt more like a cherished stuffed animal than a sexual partner. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Kristof woke to a strange rumbling sound and a numb arm. He looked over to see Naomi laying on his arm, head back, tongue hanging out and snoring louder than Krystal ever did. He considered how he kept comparing Naomi to Krystal. The room smelled slightly of vomit and alcohol.

  He slid his arm from under the sleeping eighteen-year-old. Her bare knee peeked out from under the sheet. Kristof arranged the sheet to cover it. He flexed his fingers and made a fist, trying to get a normal feeling back into his arm.

  Normal, thought Kristof, what does normal even mean anymore? I’m just glad I didn’t have sex with her. The thought of him being a dirty old man in the midst of a mid-life crisis appalled him.

  “Mid-life?” Naomi stirred at his vocalized thought but didn’t wake.

  One more sunset, he thought, hardly ‘mid’ life. He opened the door to Naomi’s room, looked at her again, locked the door and pulled it closed behind him.

  The noises of a busy city wafted in through the barred window of the jail cell. The noise wasn’t what woke Joaquin; it was the smell. It smelled like a taco cart was parked under his window. Joaquin got up and stood on his toes to try looking out the window.

  “Don’t try anything.”

  Joaquin spun and saw a uniformed officer sitting just outside his cell. Before Joaquin could respond, a door at the end of the hall opened and the cop that found him after Anne massacred the Sixth Street Kings walked through.

  “This isn’t our guy, Wilkins.”

  The uniformed cop stood. “You sure, Detective? We’ve been keeping watch on this guy all night.”

  “Are you complaining about the O-T?”

  Officer Wilkins grinned. “Not at all.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, differential ends in fifteen minutes.” He stood. “Anything else you need from me?”

  “No, Wilkins. I’ll process this guy; you get out of here before the differential bonus expires.”

  “Thanks, Detective.” Wilkins made a beeline for the door, and Massey waited until the door was closed and latched. He turned toward Joaquin in the holding cell. “You’ve got to be the dumbest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of tracking down.”

  “Fuck you, yo.”

  “Every scene you came across you left incriminating evidence everywhere.”

  Joaquin crossed his arms defiantly.

  “Everywhere.” Massey repeated before he produced a set of keys to the cell door. “I’m gonna walk your punk ass out of here.” Massey stuck the key in the lock. “If I even see you doing something stupid on the street, I’ll bring you in, and the evidence I’ve misplaced will miraculously find its way back.”

  “Why you doin’ this, yo?”

  “You’re in the way. I’ve got better things to do with my time than follow some moron gangbanger around collecting evidence.”

  “Bitch, please!”

  “See? You’re a dumbass. Insulting the cop who’s letting you go isn’t the smartest thing to do.”

  “Yo, whatever.”

  Massey leaned closer to the bars. “I can’t officially tell you this, but you should get out of town. Out of the country might be better.”

  “Out of the country, huh?” Joaquin pictured his stash of money.

  “Mexico, Canada or Oregon?”

  “Oregon’s another state; you retard. I’ll save you a week of trying to figure it out. The gangs in Mexico will chew you up. Try Canada, they’re nicer up there.”

  Massey swung the door open, and Joaquin walked out.

  “I’m serious. Get out of town.”

  Joaquin nodded, and Massey escorted him down the hall to outtake processing.

  Anne woke to the smell of coffee. “Mmmm, qahwa.” She reached for the mug a gloved hand offered.

  “Qahwa?” asked Justin.

  Anne cradled the steaming mug with both hands. She inhaled the aroma and smiled. “It’s Arabic: qahhwat al-bun. It means ‘bean wine.’”

  “How old is coffee, for real?”

  “History pretty much has that one right.” She sipped the strong, dark liquid. “The usage isn’t quite right, though.”

  Anne patted the bed beside her, and Justin sipped from his cup before sitting beside his boss and sometimes lover.

  “It was after I abandoned my quest to destroy Ögedei.”

  “Genghis Khan’s son?”

  Anne nodded. “He was still Temüjin then. The title of Khan was more of an insult than an actual title.” Anne sat up, drew her knees to her chest and drank more coffee. “Melville certainly did a number on that story.” She shook her head at the memory. “Anyway, I wandered Asia and Europe for about a hundred years. The Jade Palace was in ruin; my forces all abandoned me.”

  Justin tried to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but a stern look from Anne stopped his attempt to comfort her.

  “I eventually found myself in Africa. The Sufis used it as a medicine to revive exhausted warriors fallen in battle. The Egyptians used mead to knock out their slaves at night and coffee to wake them in the morning.”

  “Their slaves?” Justin interrupted.

  Anne scowled. “Get out of my room, boy.”

  Justin stiffened his back, but he complied. “I’ll be outside,” he declared before stepping through the door. Anne drank more coffee before flopping back onto her ornate bed.

  The day had so much potential, she thought. She sipped her coffee again and looked to Justin’s shadow on the other side of her door. She threw off the covers and shivered, her naked body responding to the cool air.

  “Justin!” she called out, “Come back in here.”

  Quietus

  “Damn it, Andre, get off the escalator hand rails, you’re gonna kick someone!”

  Kristof didn’t so much hear the words from the exasperated mother but read her lips from the other side of the open-air mall. I could get used to this super vision thing, he thought. He mostly kept his wandering eye on a purely professional manner, but with a varying array of people, he found himself intensely examining some of the other mall patrons.

  Andre heeded his mother’s words and stood timidly behind her.

  The hustle and bustle of the mall patrons initially made Kristof feel normal, but reading the lips of a person more than a hundred feet away reminded him that he was anything but normal. The grumble in his stomach and the lenticular rays of sunlight reminded him that his time was almost up.

  Krystal may have abandoned me, but you haven’t, he thought as he saw the sun move from directly overhead to a westerly jaunt.

  Across the mall, he saw his destination: a clothier
. He was aware the shop existed but never had reason to enter. Until now, he thought as he maneuvered around a humanity that seemed oblivious to the wonders around them. Too many people attached to their phones. He suspected if any of the people wearing out their thumbs could see what he saw, they would throw the damn things away.

  He walked through the fancy arch to the clothier and meandered toward a suit he saw from across the mall. It was on a mannequin and mounted above the eye line. He walked to the back of the clothier, never taking his eyes from the suit.

  “What’re you, about a nineteen-inch neck?”

  Kristof turned to see a man in a well-tailored suit examine him from head to toe.

  “I haven’t been fitted for a suit since I got married.”

  The man produced a tape measure. “You look like a fifty-two-inch chest and what, a thirty-eight waist? Let’s get accurate measurements. Take off your jacket.”

  Kristof complied with the salesman.

  “Johannes is the name and clothing is my game. Hold your arm to the side, please.”

  Johannes continued to run the yellow tape measure against various body parts. “What manner of suit do you need today?”

  “It’s for a funeral.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, someone close?”

  “I hope so, it’s for me.”

  Johannes stopped taking measurements. “For you, sir?”

  “I’ve got terminal brain cancer. My wife’s overwhelmed, so I thought I could get this taken care of for her.”

  “That’s...” Johannes stopped, not knowing the proper response. “That’s considerate of you.”

  “Hell, yeah. She dumped me yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t know how to proceed.”

  “You could finish measuring him,” a feminine voice sounded out from behind them.

  Kristof and Johannes turned to see an attractive woman in a business suit. She wore red and her accessories matched. “With your build,” she continued, “you could get away with single or double breasted. I recommend a double in a charcoal with a light red and blue pinstripe.”

  Johannes nodded at the woman’s assessment.

  “Thank you...?”

  “Anne.” She extended her hand, and Kristof shook it.

  “Kristof.” Kristof gave Anne the same once-over Johannes had given him. “You into fashion?”

  Anne smiled. “Not really, I just appreciate well-tailored clothing.”

  “I’ll bet.” Kristof’s eyes were drawn to Anne’s handbag. It was slight, but he was sure he could make out the impression of a pistol against the red leather.

  “I don’t think I can afford the kind of suit you’d like, though.”

  “Nonsense! A man has to look good for his funeral.” She turned and read Johannes’s name tag. “Johannes, is it?”

  “Yes, Ma’am”

  “I think a Tom Ford would do nicely. You do those, right?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Anne reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of bills. She counted off thirty bills, folded them over and stuffed them into Johannes’s suit coat pocket. She waved a pair of men’s leather gloves at him. “That should cover these gloves and a suit for Kristof here.”

  “I can’t accept that, Anne.”

  “Nonsense.” She tapped Kristof on the shoulder with the gloves. “I’m an eccentric woman. Before I was wealthy, I was just weird. You may retain the surplus for yourself, Johannes.” Anne turned and sashayed out of the clothier. Kristof and Johannes watched her leave.

  “Did that woman...?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Johannes replied, “She just bought you a two thousand dollar suit and all the accouterments.” Johannes looked at Kristof’s feet. “You wear a twelve wide?”

  “Excuse me, have you seen my son?” The same distraught mother from the escalator interrupted the two men. “His name’s Andre.”

  Kristof looked around the clothier and noticed the shadows of each rack of clothing. One had shadows that didn’t quite match the rest. “Check in the shirt display,” he told the anxious mother. “Please try to keep a better eye on him in the future.”

  The mother scowled at Kristof, but she retrieved Andre from the clothing rack nonetheless. As she dragged Andre away by the arm, the boy turned and waved at Kristof and Johannes.

  “Do you wish to follow Miss Anne’s suggestion?”

  “If you can have it ready in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Kristof examined the green archway leading to the park. It was wrought iron freshly painted green. It seemed odd to Kristof to focus so much attention maintaining a park that no one visited. No one but the homeless, he thought. Every city had an indigent population, but they hid well. Kristof had been to Las Vegas once and found himself at the railroad tracks. The sea of tents and boxes made his stomach turn. He remembered being embarrassed for the people living there and saddened that people had to live that way. Humanity, he had thought.

  Humanity wasn’t any different in his city. He could see a figure hiding in the shrubbery. The telltale signs of the homeless population were everywhere. He made his way to a park bench, just as freshly painted as the arch. He carried a bag from the same restaurant Naomi worked at. It was a different location: He couldn’t bear to see Naomi again – not after the night before. Kristof smoothed his new suit, sat and opened the bag. The scent of his favorite burger wafted up. His mouth watered in anticipation. He was aware of eyes following his movements, but he didn’t care. He would enjoy his final meal.

  Alexander watched from the bushes. There were three men in the park that didn’t belong there this close to sunset. It wasn’t long ago he would include himself in that tally.

  Alexander graduated at the top of his class in theoretical mathematics. He had worked briefly with the National Security Agency, but like many brilliant people, he quickly bored of the tedium of a government job. Whereas most people would slog through the daily grind for the job security and retirement, Alexander yearned for something more. He tried his hand at private investigation and was quite skilled at figuring out any secret or regret.

  As Alexander learned more and more, he became convinced of conspiracies and dangers everywhere. His wife took his son after he lost his private intelligence position at a rather prestigious corporation. He leaked evidence of the company’s wrongdoing. Rather than being celebrated for his forthrightness, the company fired and sued him. Ever the ability to understand connections others miss, Alexander insisted he divorce his wife to protect her and his son from the impending financial devastation.

  After his wife split, Alexander had no problem tracking her down. He wanted to confront her, but a suspicious sedan with government plates seemed ever vigilant. Alexander knew he wasn’t the only one capable of tracking his wife down. He watched the movements and as one sedan replaced the next, he knew he couldn’t get to his wife without being seen.

  One of the ‘out of place’ men in the park that night arrived in a similar sedan. He carried himself well and a slight shuffle revealed a weight on his ankle. Likely a firearm, thought Alexander. The second man wore a leather jacket and gloves. It didn’t take an expert at observation to tell the gloves were brand new. The man kept adjusting them as if they hadn’t been broken in. That man didn’t appear to be armed, but he walked with confidence that indicated he knew how to handle himself.

  The third man, thought Alexander. The third man is a riddle. He obviously saw Alexander hiding in the bushes, but paid him no mind. He wore an expensive suit but carried a bag from an establishment that laughingly called itself a restaurant. Although the man walked tall, he lacked a certain aristocracy that matched his clothing choice. Alexander stepped out from the bush and approached the third man. I need to understand this riddle, he thought.

  “Excuse, me,” he called out to the man in the suit.

  The man was about to withdrawal a burger from the bag, but he stopped as Alexander called out. Alexander
walked to the bench and sat next to the man.

  “The name’s Alexander.”

  The man nodded. “Kristof.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive my impertinence, but may I have that sandwich?”

  Kristof appeared to consider the request for a moment, shrugged and handed over the bag. Alexander tore into the burger and within seconds, it was gone. Kristof gave up his soda. With equal expedience, it disappeared as well.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Kristof asked.

  “This...” Alexander produced a knife and stabbed Kristof in the abdomen. Alexander knew the wound would puncture the diaphragm and prevent the man from calling for help. As Kristof’s lungs filled with blood slowly drowning him, Alexander began pulling the shoes off his feet.

  “You can take Alexander’s body, but leave Kristof.”

  “You think you can order me around? You’re not my boss anymore. You’re not even part of our organization now.”

  “Then you know what’ll happen if I take these gloves off, dick.”

  “It’s Riccard.”

  “I wasn’t calling you by name,” sassed Justin.

  Riccard stepped forward. “How’s this gonna go down?”

  “What’re your orders?”

  “Retrieve the subject if he shows powers.”

  “He can’t very well show powers since he’s dead.”

  Riccard smiled. “I guess you’re right.” He turned his back to Justin. “I suppose you can clean up the mess,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Damn it!” hissed Justin. He grabbed Alexander by his filthy jacket and slung him over his shoulder. He walked him over to another bench and sat him down. Justin stood watch over Kristof until the sun came up.

  “Move along now.”

  Kristof was aware of something jabbing him in the ribs. A cop’s nightstick, he thought. Without opening his eyes, Kristof replied. “I’m free to use this public park I pay taxes on.”

  “I doubt you pay taxes,” was a gruff response.

  Kristof opened his eyes. “Let me guess, you see a man in a two thousand dollar suit who happened to fall asleep on a park bench and your first assumption is, what?”