The Professor

by Rachel Renee

  “Now that we are both aware of the weapons, what do you want me to do?”

  I know what I’m going to do, but want to hear what Moretti thinks. “Let Santi pull you in. Ask him questions about the guns. Find out as much as you can.”

  “That’s the plan.” This guy must think I have no idea what I’m doing and it’s starting to make me mad.

  “It’s hard to trust in this industry. You will find that out. Rubio was one of us and he’s playing our agency like a fool. Or at least he’s trying to. So, I apologize for not being completely open with you. I haven’t been able to be for a long time now. Never know who’s really working for the right side.”

  No truer statement has ever been said by this man.

  18

  Present Day

  In the midst of racing home to collect my things, I try to reach Eliza on her cell. When she doesn’t answer after the third try, I know she must be in the middle of something she can’t get away from. I leave her a message stating that I’m leaving immediately and heading to Italy. I tell her as much as I can without leaving too many discerning details on a phone message. Our lines are supposed to be secure, but one can never be too careful. If I pack my suitcase quickly, I may be able to stop by the station to see if she’s in. I’d love to see her before I leave. Tried to get the boss to let me wait until tomorrow, but he said I need to get there as soon as possible.

  Despite now knowing what’s in the package, we still don’t know why it was sent. I can take a few guesses and I’d probably be correct on at least one of them. With the war on terror, the number of agents on high alert is astronomical and they are scattered all throughout the world. One wouldn’t necessarily think that Italy would be a hot spot for it, but the weapons have to come from somewhere. Places that aren’t suspected are the more likely culprits.

  Once in the apartment, the cats wreak havoc on trying to get my things together. After laying the suitcase on the bed, I grab a few things from the dresser, placing them in the case. The cats immediately make themselves at home on my underwear. I shoo them away but within moments of opening the closet door, I hear scratching upon the canvas. “Draco, stop.”

  I know he is the culprit but he doesn’t listen. I mean, do cats ever listen? After grabbing a few pairs of pants and a couple of shirts, I shoo the cats out once more and put my items in the bag.

  Twenty minutes after arriving home, I’m ready to embark on my journey. I stop in the florist shop on my way down the stairs. My apartment is on a main street in the heart of the historic district of Savannah. Beneath me is the florist, and a woman who has become like a mother figure to me.

  The bell rings, alerting Martha to my arrival. A smile appears on her face the moment she notices me. “Mornin’,” I say as she walks quickly to get to me.

  “What are you up to?” She wraps her arms around me and I embrace her in a bear hug.

  Before I can answer, I see the woman look behind me and a frown appears on her face.

  “Got a mission. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away this time.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

  “Thank you. I’m hoping to stop at the precinct to see Eliza.”

  “She’ll appreciate that.”

  “I know she will. Can you put our little flower arrangement in place? A new bouquet every week that I’m gone?”

  “You don’t even have to ask. Of course I will.”

  The two of us grin, knowingly. “Well, I better go if I want to see Eliza before I head out.” The woman hugs me once more. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You do the same. Stay safe.” She gives me a little wave as I move away.

  “I plan on it.” I smile at Martha once more before grabbing up the case that I carried in behind me. Her grin is lopsided, and I can see the concern in her eyes. She worries about me, more than I can say about my own mother. She’s always kind of done her own thing, even when I was younger. After my parents divorced and she remarried, I may hear from her on a holiday or my birthday, but other than that, there are not many words. I can’t say that I’m any better. Once I started a life of my own, I haven’t been great about keeping in touch with her either.

  It takes me another twenty minutes to get to the station. I search the parking lot for Eliza’s BMW, but I don’t see it anywhere. I still take my chances and park my own vehicle so I can check her office and see if by chance I just missed her car.

  Going through security is easy. I’m here so often that everyone knows me and the security guard on duty is an old family friend of Eliza’s. “Hey Chuck, how’s it going?” I ask the older gentleman.

  “Doing well,” he answers. “Miss Eliza is not here. They left about an hour ago. Had a scene they needed to get to.”

  I feel the sigh before it escapes. “I was hoping to catch her before I jet off. You know where they went?” I’m hoping it’s not far and I can still steal a minute away. Wouldn’t be my first time on a crime scene.

  “Not sure. Want me to check the computer?”

  “Would you?”

  He moves left, bending down to type on the keyboard. “Not far. Jefferson,” is the answer.

  “I appreciate it, Chuck. Have a nice day.”

  “You too, Liam. Be safe out there.”

  Racing back the way I came, I’m to Jefferson in fifteen minutes. I won’t have more than five to talk to Eliza, but that will have to suffice. Before I get to the scene, I see the tape and the Savannah PD police cars before I spot Eliza’s.

  After parking, I make my way to the tape and talk to the officer standing guard. “Could you get Detective Sheppard?”

  The officer eyes me up and down before answering. “Hey, Liam. Eliza is right inside the apartment.”

  I don’t recognize the officer, but apparently, he knows who I am. “Thanks, man.” I look to his badge and notice the name Orlowsky, etched upon it. I’ve heard Eliza mention the name, so it’s nice to finally put a face to that. “Nice to meet you.” I reach my left hand out to shake his.

  “You too. Eliza talks about you quite often.”

  I chuckle. “Good or bad?”

  “Always good.” He laughs, lifting the tape so I can go under. “You know the drill. Don’t go in, but you can go up to the door and call for her. She shouldn’t be too far beyond the entrance. Body’s right beyond it.”

  I thank the man once more and march right up to the apartment like I know what I’m doing. As I approach, Cooper, Eliza’s best friend and fellow detective, exits. “Hey, Coop. Eliza in there?”

  He looks up, eyes wide before he realizes it’s me. “Oh, hey. Yeah. I’ll get her.” Coop turns and heads in the direction he’d just come from. It was kind of weird for me at first that Eliza’s best friend is a guy. I didn’t know that I wanted to deal with the possibility of my lady deciding she was in love with her best friend. After one dinner together, I decided that I’d waited long enough for a relationship with this woman, and I was willing to take that chance. After getting to know Cooper and Eliza together, the dynamic that the two of them share, I felt I was pretty safe to move forward and completely let myself get lost in Eliza.

  “Liam, what are you doing here?” Eliza looks worried as she removes the bloodied gloves from her hands.

  “I’ve got to leave. Italy,” I whisper into her ear, pulling her close to me.

  “The package?”

  “Yes.” Her lips meet mine, soft and inviting. “I don’t know…”

  “How long you’ll be gone.” She finishes my sentence. “I know. I’ll miss you.” Her mouth covers mine once more.

  “Not as much as I’ll miss you,” I tell her after pulling back. “I’ll contact you when I can.”

  We continue the spiel that we’ve grown accustomed to upon my departure. I’m so thankful that she believes in me and trusts that I’ll be faithful and more importantly, will come back to her.

  I see her in the distance, her dark-haired ponytail whipping in the breeze. I realize how close we’
ve become in the last year, how much faith I also have in her. This trip is going to be a test. The players in Rome, the past that I thought I left behind, is going to come full circle and I can only hope that once it’s unleashed, it can be wrangled again as I believed it was, until now.

  19

  2007

  It has been interesting being a professor, teaching English to a bunch of college-aged kids, not too much younger than myself. Within the School of Humanities and Education, I teach beginning students trying to get prerequisites out of the way, all the way up to those who need a complete understanding of the English language to prepare them for their careers. There are some students who come in with knowledge of the language but can barely speak it. While others are quite fluent but have very little knowledge.

  For well over a month now I’ve been moonlighting as a professor at the University of Florence. The university itself is a multi-campus institution, its buildings spread throughout Florence. If you’re looking for me, you’ll find me in Via Alfani amidst museums and churches, in the heart of Florence. I’d researched the place and investigated my apartment. I had to make it appear that I knew everything about Florence. Upon arrival, I was impressed by the magnitude of the buildings I’m surrounded by and was glad that I was only with Moretti and not Santi the first time I stepped foot in this city. If you think Rome is magnificent, you’d be amiss to not think some of the same thoughts about Florence.

  I’ve been noted as the brilliant new professor who teaches during the day, taking my students on walks throughout the city, making them converse only in English as we explore the museums and libraries within our grasp. Not only do I step outside of what other professors are doing, I can be seen out and about in the evenings, attending parties where many students can be found. The only catch is they think I party, but I’ve become quite sly and only appear to partake. The students whom I’m in contact with don’t notice that I never finish a drink, dumping one out when I get the chance before grabbing up something fresh in the sights of one of Santi’s other friends. I do spend a lot of time with Santi and wherever he goes, that’s where you’ll find me. At first, I tried to distance myself, but Santi can be very persuasive and I want to stay on his good side, so I played along. I may act like I don’t always have all my wits about me, or that I’m hungover in the face of a Rubio supporter, but I’m constantly at the top of my game. I won’t succumb to Santi and his ways again, if I can help myself.

  Most nights that we go out, Santi will bring someone home with him. He keeps telling me I should reconnect with the girlfriend I broke it off with before staying in Rome over summer. He hates that I will not bring girls home with me. He says I need to get back together with her or move on because I’m becoming such a bore to live with.

  I have a two-bedroom apartment within the campus grounds, steps away from the building that I’m teaching in. My lease said that I would be sharing with another professor, but the CIA saw to the fact that they couldn’t let that happen. Not sure how they took care of it, but I no longer have a supposed professor roommate here in Florence. So that leaves an open room, and yes, Santi has been staying in it. He hasn’t officially moved in, but he might as well. He has his own apartment, just down the street, but he says he likes my space better. Which makes no sense, because his apartment is huge, with all the amenities. I don’t argue; it’s easier to keep tabs on him if he stays with me.

  The relationship that the two of us are creating feels odd. I have come to enjoy spending time with him. He’s quite funny, and despite his penchant for many women, he treats them kindly, lavishing them in nice things, if only for a few hours. His attitude is changing too. Just the other night he bought a bottle of champagne and had it sent to the table of a couple who were celebrating an anniversary. I was completely surprised by the gesture, and Santi acted like it was no big deal. He said even though he didn’t desire to be with just one woman, he thought that once someone found that, they should hold on to it. I like to think that my way of life is wearing off on him. Although, I don’t want to give myself too much credit. The fact is, he’s growing on me and I know that shouldn’t happen if I want to do what I came here to do with minimal complications.

  There are times when I think I have his complete confidence, when he talks to me about his father and the guns he’s bringing in. Those are the times that I feel bad about misguiding him. Then there are other times where I fear he still doesn’t completely trust me and I’m reminded that I’m here to do a job, not make a friend, and I only need him to share enough information to help me complete my mission.

  Last night, Santi was on the phone; I heard him whispering to whomever was on the other line. I couldn’t hear what he was saying so I moved a little closer. The moment he saw me, he hopped up and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Santi also goes off and meets with this black-haired man every Tuesday and Thursday. I suspect that he works for Rubio, but Santi won’t let me meet him. I’ve followed him a couple of times but I’ve never been able to get close enough to them to hear the conversation.

  I keep playing my part. One day, hopefully sooner rather than later, I will get my foot all the way in the door with Santi and find what I need to take down Paolo Rubio. That’s the only way I will complete this mission and return home.

  Every Monday I reconnect with Charlie, Moretti, or Sophia, whoever’s turn it is to check in with me. I enjoy when it’s Sophia’s turn. She shares more intel than the other two. Plus, she talks to me about more than just what I have on Santi. She is genuine, not just when it suits her.

  Charlie is my second favorite person to talk to. For the most part, I trust him, and he trusts me, but there is still a little distance in our conversation; things that we’re holding back.

  He made a full recovery from his broken fibula. There’s a little wobble to his step after just recently getting the cast removed. Physical therapy should help him get full mobility back, but that may take some time, they tell him. He informs me of his progress through email messages.

  The relationship I’ve built with Charlie is much like a real father and son. Sometimes when I hear from him, I think of my own father. I want to call him, to email him, just to check in. Since he and my mother separated, the two of us were starting to grow closer. We may not have talked every day, honestly, maybe only every other week, but the strain of our relationship during my teenage years disappeared. Things may have actually been better, our relationship stronger, if my parents had separated earlier. The fact that they were always bickering caused me to want to stay away, which in turn added to the distance in our parent/child relationship.

  In many ways, it has helped to distance myself from my team; from the men and woman who are supposed to be helping me complete this task. Even though we check in with one another, I don’t feel so underfoot when I’m on my own. I can do my own thing, live my own life, create my own character. In some ways, I like who I’m becoming, but in others, I’m worried I may have a hard time finding myself again after this. But maybe that’s the point. Or at least part of it. I’m to create a new person, a new part of me with each case and the old me, the one I was in Georgia, will only be a tiny piece of the man I’m to become.

  “Nic, what are you doing up so early?” Santi is strolling out of his bedroom in only his underwear, his hair all over the place but a smile plastered across his face.

  “Class.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot what day it is.”

  “The better question is, what are you doing up so early?”

  “Class,” he answers with a chuckle. “No, I have a meeting with Padre. He has something he needs me to do.”

  “What’s that?” I try to be nonchalant about my questioning and I’m hoping he may answer in his tired state.

  “I’ll tell you about it tonight over dinner. I may need your help.”

  I feel my brows raise as I try to contain the adrenaline rush going through me. “You never need my help. Must be something big
.”

  “It is.” He smirks. “Well, I had better make myself presentable.” Santi turns with a wink and disappears back through his bedroom door.

  After my three classes, I make my way to McDonald’s to grab a late lunch to tide me over until meeting up with Santi this evening. Every once in a while, it’s nice to have a taste of home. Although some of the options are different, there are many things the same. The Big Mac for instance, which is what I order. Plus, it’s where I find a lot of the college students congregating and a good place to overhear conversations.

  As I’m chowing down on my burger and fries, I notice the black-haired man who Santi meets with on Tuesdays and Thursdays sauntering into the establishment. There is an air of arrogance surrounding him as he goes up to the counter and orders his meal. He turns his body to stare out over the crowd as he waits for his meal to be served, with what appears to be a toothpick that he is rolling along his bottom lip. I check my watch. It is Tuesday, but I know for a fact that Santi won’t be here for their normal meeting time. He told me he had to go to Rome to get what his father had for him and wouldn’t be back until 19:00. That must mean the man lives nearby and it’s just a coincidence that we happen to be at the same place at the same time.

  When his eyes catch my gaze, I don’t turn away, but instead put a fry to my mouth and nod my head in his direction. If he comes my way, I can just tell him that I thought he looked familiar. I’m really hoping he comes this way.

  I go back to my lunch and pretend that I’m not interested in who the gentleman is or what he’s doing here. As I place the last of my burger in my mouth, a brown tray is thrust upon my table.

  “Posso essere qui?” I look up to see kind blue eyes staring down at me. The black-haired man is hovering over the tray on the table, asking kindly to sit.