The Entitled

by Nancy Boyarsky

  She fretted about her life becoming public property again. She knew she wouldn’t be judged kindly for being a good shot, especially in the UK where handguns were illegal. And the Annie Oakley comparison was ridiculous. Oakley shot at clay pigeons, not people.

  When she woke, it was daylight. Reinhardt was still asleep, his breakfast sitting untouched on the tray table beside his bed. Nicole dressed and went down to the cafeteria in hopes of finding something appetizing to eat. She ended up with toast and tea. When she returned to the room, he was still asleep. She figured his burst of energy the night before had exhausted him.

  She sat by his bed, reading the newspapers she’d bought at the hospital gift shop. There were embarrassing additions to the stories about her, including information about her failed marriage, the divorce, and an inheritance she’d received from a man who was murdered. This time the source appeared to be her boss, Jerry. She was annoyed that he’d granted an interview to a tabloid reporter and revealed these details, which other news outlets would no doubt pick up. He’d said she was the best investigator at Colbert & Smith, and went on to describe yet another case in which she’d tracked down a ring of kidnappers who’d killed two of their victims.

  Reading between the lines, she could see Jerry was thrilled by this attention. It guaranteed an uptick in his business, perhaps a big one. While she couldn’t blame him for wanting the notoriety, she wished he hadn’t done it.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost 10:30 a.m. That meant it was 6:30 p.m. in L.A. Not wanting to wake Reinhardt, she went into the corridor to put in a call to Jerry. She didn’t mention his interview. Instead she told him she couldn’t return to work immediately. She explained that a close friend had been seriously injured, and she’d have to stay in London until her friend was out of the hospital and able to manage things.

  She was cautious not to reveal anything personal, especially now when Jerry was so enamored with publicity.

  “I have to stay at least a few weeks, maybe more,” Nicole said. “I’m sorry if that leaves you short-handed, but it can’t be helped.”

  “No worries,” Jerry said. “I can farm the work out to subcontractors. Your job is safe, believe me. You’ve done some great work, Nicole. Gene Fletcher called to tell me what a fabulous job you did with their daughter, and I can’t pretend I’m not pleased with the publicity this case has brought our firm.”

  Nicole had just hung up when her phone rang. It was a man with a generic American accent. She didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Nicole? Something’s about to happen on Brick Lane. You won’t want to miss it.”

  “Who is this?” She wondered if it might be a reporter.

  “It’s me—Yo. You should know me by now.”

  “I would if you didn’t keep switching accents on me.”

  He laughed. “That’s my stock in trade. It keeps people on their toes. About this thing on Brick Lane, we have to leave soon. The fireworks will begin a little later, but we’ll want a front row seat.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not going anywhere to watch fireworks.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally. Something exciting is about to go down. Surely you can leave Reinhardt for a couple hours. I promise it will be worth it. I’ll pick you up at 11:30. Meet me at the curb by the hospital’s emergency entrance.”

  Before she could object, he hung up. Then she wondered how he knew where she was and that she was with Reinhardt. She tried to call him back to refuse his invitation, but he didn’t pick up. She felt conflicted. Yo had sounded genuinely excited, and this stirred her curiosity about what he wanted her to see.

  She looked over at Reinhardt, who was still asleep. After some inner debate, she decided it wouldn’t hurt if she went out for a while. She’d leave a note in case he woke up.

  Yo arrived promptly at 11:30. He was driving an expensive-looking silver SUV. Once again he’d altered his appearance. He’d was wearing a tailored black sportscoat over a white shirt, top button undone. What made the outfit stand out was his black cowboy hat. Once she got in the car, she noticed he was wearing jeans tucked into a snazzy pair of black cowboy boots.

  Nicole made no comment on his outfit, but wondered what these frequent makeovers said about him. To her, his changing appearance was disorienting. Each time, she felt as if she was meeting someone new, while he treated her like an old acquaintance.

  “So what’s this about?” she said.

  “It’s a surprise!” He smiled at her. “Isn’t this glorious weather?”

  Nicole looked around, for the first time noticing the overcast sky, the dark clouds looming in the distance. She didn’t answer, assuming his question was both rhetorical and ironic. This was his way of letting her know he wasn’t going to tell her.

  He was silent while he focused on weaving between lanes of heavy traffic.

  Finally he said, “Sacha Bahar called. She wants to talk to you, but didn’t have the number of the burner you were using. You might give her a call.”

  “I tossed the burner when the media started calling—” She looked at him. “I just realized you called me on my new number. I won’t ask how you got it.”

  He just smiled. He parked on a side street, then came around to open her door.

  Now on foot, they turned the corner onto Brick Lane. Since it wasn’t market day, the street was quiet. They walked a few blocks before Yo turned into one of the many curry cafes that lined the street. Without waiting for a waiter to seat them, he motioned Nicole to follow him to a front corner table with a view of the street. Now Nicole knew exactly where they were. Ahmed’s convenience store was across the street on the next block. Roll-down security gates covered the windows. It appeared to be closed and deserted.

  Yo glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a little time before it starts. Let’s have something to eat. The curry here is excellent. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait for the main event.”

  Nicole ordered prawn curry, rice, and a coke. Yo placed his order in a language she didn’t recognize. She thought it might be Hindi since the clientele included several women dressed in saris.

  While they waited for their food, Nicole said, “I can’t help wondering about the way you constantly change your look. Do you mind enlightening me?”

  “It’s like I told you about my accents. These costumes keep people off balance. Take today, for example. I’m wearing the hat and boots, and I could throw in a convincing Texas accent if I felt like it. People I’ve met before won’t recognize me at first. They might think I look familiar, but can’t place me. This gives me an advantage. I can ask questions as if I’m meeting them for the first time. People think I’m someone new. Maybe they trust this person more than the one they met before, or the reverse. I often find out more about the other guy than I would otherwise. And I love clothes. I get off on dressing up like someone else and becoming that person. It’s a kick! You know those guys who secretly dress up in women’s clothes? I’m not into that, but I completely get it. It’s like you get the day off from being yourself. As for the accents, I know a surprising number of languages—pick them up just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “They call people like me hyperpolyglots. I think I already told you. When I was young I had theatrical aspirations.”

  Their food arrived. Nicole noticed that the dishes he’d ordered in Hindi, or whatever it was, included no less than a dozen small plates and a platter holding an entire fish, head and all.

  “All this is meant to be shared,” Yo said. “Dig in.

  Nicole took a small portion from each of the plates. She skipped the fish. Although she liked seafood, she couldn’t bring herself to eat a creature that was staring at her.

  “Forgive me,” Yo said. “I forgot to ask how your MI6 boyfriend is doing. I heard he’d been shot.”

  “He’s going to be okay. But where did you hear he was wounded? It wasn’t in the news. And what makes you think he’s MI6?”

  “I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable
. But I know a lot about Ronald Reinhardt. Had some dealings with him a while back. And in case you didn’t know, MI6 agents don’t go around telling people they’re spies. Covert operatives like Reinhardt lead lonely lives, and they end up alone—no friends, no family. Same goes for undercover cops.”

  Nicole could hardly contain her curiosity. Yo appeared to know more about Reinhardt than she did. She was about to question him when something struck her. He’d mentioned the loneliness of undercover cops. Was he talking about himself? If he was undercover, he’d never admit it. Posing as a police informant while blackmailing Ahmed would be a clever ruse. It gave Yo a negative credibility with Ahmed, who’d believe an informant—if well-enough compensated—would never report him. The arrangement also allowed Yo to stick around the neighborhood and keep track of what was going on with the forbearance of a criminal kingpin.

  “You seem to know everyone’s secrets,” she said. “Why do you suppose Ahmed didn’t have you killed like he did Sami and Mohammed?”

  “Because I’m the man. If Ahmed made an attempt on my life—which would never succeed, by the way—the police would be all over him, and Ahmed knows it.”

  “OK. I assume you’re talking about being a police informant. Reinhardt mentioned the possibility when I brought up your name. So here’s another question. Weren’t the police angry you didn’t tell them about Ahmed’s human trafficking ring?”

  “How do you know I didn’t?”

  “Did you?”

  Once again, Yo didn’t answer. Instead he turned to look at the still-deserted convenience store.

  “Ahmed tried to have me killed,” Nicole said. “A man attempted to push me in front of a train, but I stepped aside just in time. After that, someone was following me, but he didn’t seem interested in anything but keeping track of my whereabouts.”

  “That’s because I told Ahmed you’re an undercover cop and he’d better leave you alone. At first he didn’t believe they’d sent a pretty little thing like you undercover. I told him that was the point. An undercover has to be the one you’d least suspect.”

  As he talked, Yo was expertly filleting the fish. He placed the head and attached spine and bones on another dish, and put some fish on her plate. She took a small bite. It was delicious.

  “You’re convinced Reinhardt is MI6,” she said. “I’ve had my suspicions, but he always denies it. What makes you think he’s a spy?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Yo laughed. “But it’s true. I’m also pretty sure you’re hoping he’ll say he’s ready to give up the life and settle down.”

  “Well, is he? You seem to know everything else.”

  “In matters of the heart, I’m clueless. Never had much luck in that department.” Yo smiled at her, eyes sparkling.

  Nicole wondered if he was flirting with her.

  “Reading between the lines,” he said, “I assume you’d never put up with someone who’s always on-call, disappears for long stretches, and whose life is regularly at risk. I mean, who’d want that?”

  He went quiet at the sound of approaching sirens. No fewer than twenty patrol cars descended on the street from both directions. Uniformed cops got out of their vehicles, heading for Ahmed’s store. They lined up on either side of the front door, which was covered with a heavy metal security gate. Officers armed with red battering rams smashed through, and the lot of them disappeared inside. A few minutes later, several emerged from the building with Ahmed and four of his associates, hands cuffed behind their backs.

  It wasn’t long before other officers began carrying out cartons, probably filled with files, perhaps even some of Ahmed’s laundered money.

  While this was going on, police were setting up a barrier with blue and white tape that said Police Line Do Not Cross. It stretched from one side of the store’s entrance to several patrol cars parked in the street, and back to the building on the other side of the entry. They were just in time to keep a gathering crowd away from the working officers.

  As Nicole and Yo walked out of the café, she saw that most of the spectators were actually reporters with their microphone-equipped cameras. Three TV vans were double-parked nearby, and a news helicopter was circling overhead. One of the reporters glanced at Nicole and shouted her name. The mob turned and hurried toward her and Yo.

  The two of them stepped back into the restaurant. Yo locked the door.

  She turned to him, frowning. “This is what happens when you’re mentioned on the evening news.” Then something occurred to her. “Were you the one who provided my name to the tabloid? They were offering a reward.”

  “Me? I consider you a friend. I’d never rat out a friend. Truly. You have my sympathy. I think I’d like being famous. Clearly, you don’t.”

  Nicole wasn’t sure she believed him. But it didn’t really matter who had identified her to the tabloids. It was too late to do anything about it.

  A waiter was standing near Nicole, regarding the crowd warily.

  “Is there another way out?” Nicole asked him.

  He gestured toward the rear of the restaurant. She hurried to the back door and opened it. It led to an alley.

  Yo handed the waiter some money before hurrying after her.

  “I’ll get the SUV and pull up back here. Hide in the loo in case those ghouls get in. Wait five minutes before you come out. By then I’ll be in the alley waiting.” He left by the back door.

  Nicole went into a room marked W.C. and locked herself in. After five minutes, she came out, left through the alley door, and climbed into Yo’s vehicle.

  When she walked into Reinhardt’s room, he was sitting up, eating something from a takeout container. Except for the hospital gown and a heavy five-o’clock shadow, he looked like his old self. He seemed delighted to see her.

  “Hey, you,” he said. “Someone had the most delicious curry delivered a few minutes ago. Was it you?”

  “It must have been Yo.”

  “You were with Yo?”

  She explained how he’d called and told her something was about to happen.

  “Talking to him, I got the feeling he’s not a police informant like you said. I’ll bet he’s a cop who’s been working undercover on this case. And by the way, he says you’re MI6.”

  “He’s misinformed—about me, that is. If Yo actually is an undercover member of the police force, that would be a closely guarded secret. Very few in the Met would even know.”

  “What about his assertion that you’re a spy?”

  “That’s just plain silly. Typical Yo, he loves to overdramatize.”

  “Okay, then explain exactly what you do, because I still don’t get it. You’ve said you’re a private security consultant. What is that? Why would it take you away at a moment’s notice and make you unreachable for months. That’s why we split up. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember. You broke my heart. My work involves emergencies—complicated situations that need immediate attention. Sometimes they take months of negotiations.”

  She felt a surge of annoyance. He was still being evasive.

  “Sorry, but I still don’t understand. Can you be more specific?”

  “I work for a firm that handles difficult situations abroad, like kidnap response and hostage negotiation.” Before she could ask another question, he said, “Not to change the subject, but I want to know if everything is resolved with Abigail. She’s been reunited with her parents, and they’re going home. The murders have been solved, and the human traffickers have been arrested. Yeah?”

  Nicole wasn’t at all satisfied with his description of his work, but she let it slide.

  “That’s not quite everything,” she said. “Yo said Sacha wanted to talk to me. I tried calling her from downstairs and got a message that her number was no longer in service.” She noticed something was missing from the room. “Hey, where’s my cot? I want to stay here until you’re released.”

  He smiled. “You don’t need to worry. I’m going home this afternoon.”


  “Did the doctor say he was going to discharge you?”

  “I don’t need his permission.”

  “You can’t leave until the doctor says it’s okay.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  There was a knock on the door. Nicole opened it, and a messenger handed her a plain white envelope with her name on it, along with Reinhardt’s room number. She stood in the doorway, tore the envelope open, and read the contents.

  Nicole:

  I want to thank you for all you’ve done. I’m sorry I walked away without proper thanks and a goodbye, but I was freaked out about the witness protection thing. I was sure they were about to arrest me for the blackmail scheme. But now that Ahmed has been arrested, they let me go. They don’t think I need protection anymore, but I can’t believe they caught all the men who worked with him. And what if he gets off and they let him out? He’ll have me killed. I wanted to let you know I’m leaving London. I’ll be changing my name and moving somewhere no one can find me.

  Thanks for everything,

  — Sacha

  Nicole read the note over several times. Sacha had gotten off easy. Still it must be terrible feeling hunted and forced to run.

  When Nicole looked up, she was surprised to see that Reinhardt was dressed, sitting on a chair while he put on his shoes and socks.

  “Hey. Really, Reinhardt. You’ve been seriously injured. You need to stay until the doctor thinks you’re well enough to leave.”

  “I’m not a prisoner. I can leave any time I want. I’m feeling much better today.” He went to the tiny closet and took out a garment bag.

  Inside was a brown tweed jacket. He handed Nicole her trench coat. Nicole realized his personal assistant must have delivered the clothes while she was out with Yo.

  “Well, come on.” He walked into the corridor.

  Nicole followed, trying to reason with him. A nurse spotted the two of them headed for the elevator and ran after them.

  “Sir! Mister—uh—Reinhardt! Where are you going? You have to wait until you’re discharged.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I decided I’d rather recover at home.”