by Len Melvin
Traffic was in gridlock on a Friday afternoon as people poured forth from the London Underground that ran beneath the station and melded with the diaspora of commuters and travelers catching a train out of town for the weekend. Simon searched the cabs for the one carrying Leanda. He saw her cab in line and waited, trying to time his departure from the bakery to coincide with her arrival. He nodded to the woman behind the counter who had yet to smile and then bolted out the door and, after reminding himself to look to the right, crossed the street. He put his hand on the handle of the taxi and opened it just as it came to a stop.
“You’re all wet,” Leanda greeted him. She slung a backpack across her shoulder as she stuck the umbrella out the door and opened it. She held it over both their heads and kissed Simon on the mouth. “Good timing.”
“I forgot my umbrella.” Simon dipped below her umbrella and took the backpack from her. He slipped it over his shoulder as he put his hand over hers on the shaft of the umbrella. “You brought my stuff?”
Leanda smiled broadly. “I did. I even washed your dirty clothes.” They huddled together under the canopy of the umbrella and shuffled in an awkward walk to the back of the cab. “It’s all in the trunk.”
The cab driver opened the trunk, holding a large umbrella over the opening of the trunk. “Gaugh’it?” he asked in a clipped, cockney accent
Simon grabbed the suitcase from the open trunk and set it on the wet pavement and paused to wipe his eyes. As he did, he turned to the side and saw the man with the brown bowler hat walk by and get in line for the bus. “Hey,” he yelled at the man. The man glanced at him and then hurried to the line that was moving onto the bus. “Just a second.” Simon handed the umbrella to Leanda. “Take this.”
“What are you doing?”
“I know that guy.”
“What?” Leanda’s face scrunched in puzzlement.
“Just a second. I’ve been looking for that guy.” He took a step toward the line. The man stared back at him, hesitating, then quickly turned away and hopped on the bus. The doors closed behind him.
“Hey,” Simon yelled. The bus pulled away from the station and Simon ran toward it, waving at the driver. “Hey.” A piercing metallic screech and a high-pitched scream stopped Simon in his tracks. He whirled around. Leanda’s upper body thrashed about, her arms waving violently, her body caught between the carriages of two cabs. She screamed again, a look of anguish on her face.
Simon sprinted back to Leanda, and grabbed the bumper, trying to separate the cabs with his hands. The driver of the second car bolted from his cab. “Blimey.” He stood transfixed, his face etched in horror.
“Back it up! Back it up!” Simon screamed. The driver jumped back into the cab and threw it into reverse, its wheels spinning smoke as he backed up, and hit the cab behind him.
Leanda collapsed and Simon caught her and eased her to the pavement. “Blimey, I thought I had it in reverse,” the cabdriver said, emerging from the car again. “I thought it was in reverse,” he repeated to the gathering crowd.
“Simon,” Leanda said softly.
“Leanda, it’s gonna be okay.” Simon wiped drops of rain from her face. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated. Simon half-turned to the crowd huddled around them. “Is there a doctor?” He didn't wait for an answer. He placed a hand under Leanda’s head and lifted her, leaning down, until his face was next to hers. “It’s gonna be okay, Leanda. I promise,” he whispered.
Leanda gasped. She lifted a tremulous hand and placed it on Simon’s cheek. She tried to speak but nothing came out.
Simon tapped her on the cheek with the palm of his hand. “Leanda. Leanda,” he said, his voice rising.
Leanda’s eyes fluttered in momentary confusion. She raised a hand and placed it on the side of Simon’s face. “I’m sorry, Simon.” She gazed at him for a few seconds longer and then her hand fell to the ground. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes.
“Leanda. Leanda.” Simon shook her gently. “Leanda,” he screamed. Leanda!”
He put his lips to hers and began CPR. A crowd stood, silent in the rain, as over and over he placed his lips on hers and blew and then pushed against her chest with his hand.
Simon felt a firm hand on his shoulder and looked up into the face of a policeman who had tears in his eyes. He placed strong hands under Simon’s arms and lifted him up from the pavement.
Paramedics surrounded Leanda and tried to revive her. Finally, one of them turned to Simon, his face solemn and gave an almost imperceptible shake with his head. They all rose and stood in silence.
Simon gazed down at the resplendent face, the ends of her mouth pointed upwards and her eyes closed, as if she were only sleeping and enjoying a dream. The cab driver dropped to one knee, placed a hand over his face and intermittently cried and prayed. The onlookers and emergency personnel stood in a semi-circle around the figure lying on the pavement, the steady patter of the rain the only sound.
Simon knelt beside Leanda and lifted her head off the pavement. Drops of water ran down her face as he kissed her on her lips. He eased her head back onto the pavement, buried his head into her chest, and for the first time since he was a child, began to cry.
Chapter Twelve
“Knight to d4.”
Beaux glanced up from the chess board and surveyed the restaurant. Every table was taken. Groups of people stood in the doorway, hands in their pockets, shifting from one leg to another as others lounged in the hall on chairs and benches, waiting and watching for a sign of a table about to empty. A girl stood behind a podium, a list of names on a pad in front of her, half of them marked through. She yelled a last name to the assembled crowd, waiting for someone to claim the next table. Beaux touched Bobby on the shoulder. “I better go help her. She’s new.”
Bobby grunted without looking up. He moved a bishop cautiously across the board and then deposited it carefully onto a black square. He held a hand poised above the piece and then slowly removed it, still studying the board.
Beaux clasped the hostess’ shoulder and whispered instructions. The hostess nodded, then stepped down the hall and outside, calling out the next name in line.
Beaux retreated back to the bar, picking an occasional empty glass off a table, leaning over to talk to a regular, a comforting hand on their shoulder, and taking an occasional order. She stood next to Bobby again, her back planted against the bar, arms crossed, watching the wait staff scurry about, some with plates held high, others opening bottles of wine with a flourish and still others hurriedly bussing tables. A man held an arm high and Beaux moved at once to his table, listened for a moment and hustled over to Mae Helen. A waiter was dispatched to the table with a Bud Light in his hand.
“Beaux,” Bobby said. He motioned to the board.
Beaux studied the chess board. “Knight takes e6.”
In the corner booth on the right side of the room, Malouf sat with his friends. She had been too busy to speak when he came in, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him since. They had been there half an hour, the five of them, with only Malouf ordering something to eat. Malouf turned to her and smiled and then returned his attention to his friends.
They are so weird, Beaux thought. Bobby made a move and nudged Beaux with an elbow. She bent over, scanned the board and moved a piece. Bobby leaned over, a hand to his chin, as he studied the move. He picked up his rook, moved it across the board and then sighed and pulled it back. “Give me a second,” he mumbled.
“Sure,” she said. Across the restaurant, the hostess escorted a party of two to their seats. She sat them at the booth next to Malouf and his friends. Beaux stood erect, the chess game forgotten. The two sat opposite each other and as soon as the hostess moved away, began talking in hushed tones, their heads leaning over the table toward the other.
“I’ll be back.” Beaux left Bobby without waiting for a response and nearly sprinted to Malouf’s table. “Hey, guys, we need this table.”
Malouf went still, a
big piece of pork chop on a fork, poised in front of his mouth. He lay it on the plate and wiped a napkin across his mouth. “What?” The others had been talking and had not noticed Beaux’s approach to the booth. Their heads jerked up and turned to Beaux.
“We have a full restaurant and a long waiting line, and you guys are just sitting.”
Malouf motioned with both hands to his beer and the plate of pork chops in front of him on the table. “I’m eating,” he said.
Beaux hooked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the bar. “There’s a seat over by Bobby where you can finish. Meanwhile,” she continued, cutting off his protest, “I need this table. And you guys are just sitting here talking.”
The men seated at the table looked from Beaux to Malouf. Malouf smiled and made a slight motion with his hand to the man sitting across from him. “I guess you stitching her arm up didn’t get us any extra latitude.”
No one moved and Beaux gave them an exasperated sigh. She grabbed Malouf’s plate and his beer. “This will be waiting for you at the bar.” She stepped back. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Fine,” Malouf said. He stood, then turned back to his companions. “I’m going to finish my meal at the bar and then I’ll meet with you guys at the hotel.” The other men hesitated, waiting for further direction. “We’ll talk about things there.”
Beaux waited with the plate and beer in her hands, while the men made their way through the crowd gathered at the door. “Those guys are so weird.” She started toward the bar and Malouf followed her. She placed the plate and beer on the bar in front of the empty seat next to Bobby and tapped him on the shoulder. “You got company.”
Bobby turned from the board, glanced at Malouf for a brief moment over the rim of his glasses, grunted, and then turned back to the chess board.
Malouf sat down and turned to Beaux. “What are you doing? Why are you acting like this?”
Beaux waved at the hostess and pointed to the empty booth. “You know, I do have a business to run and you guys were all just sitting there.”
“Yeah, but…”
Beaux interrupted. “And I thought you might be talking about the mission.”
“What do you mean?”
“The people that just got seated next to you are two of the people you've been following. And, I thought they might overhear you.”
Malouf blinked. “What? Where?”
Beaux moved in front of him blocking his view. “Don’t look, but the people sitting in the booth next to your booth are some of the guys you’ve been following.”
Malouf craned his neck to see around her, but she shifted and blocked him again. “All right,” he muttered, “I get it.” He moved his head slightly, scanning the room, then turned his head in a deliberate manner and glanced at the booth. “McCown,” he said in a low tone of voice.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Malouf said. “How do you know that? How do you know they’re some of the people we were following?”
“I saw the man without a mask the first night, just before he joined the group. The girl I could tell by the way she walked.”
“The way she walked?”
“Yeah, it’s really distinctive.”
“How?”
“She walks with her toes pointed inward and she’s really solid built and athletic. And I saw some blonde dreadlocks coming from under the mask. And this girl’s got blonde dreadlocks and she was with him, so it seemed logical.”
I bet that’s Cori. Malouf took a discreet peek over his shoulder at the two conspirators. He had seen pictures, but it was different up close and to see them interacting with each other was fascinating. Damn, if he’d brought the video clip that attached to his ear, he would have gotten some good footage. He cut a chunk of meat from the pork chop, put it in his mouth and chewed while he watched the conspirators engage in conversation.
“Hey, you still here?”
“Sorry, I was thinking.” He swallowed and took a sip of beer. “You have a good memory.”
Beaux shrugged. “It runs in my family. My uncle is the same way. He never forgets anything.”
Bobby tapped Beaux on the arm, and she turned to the chess board. She put her thumb and index finger on either side of her chin. “Mmmm,” she muttered under her breath. Bobby sat back in his chair, with the contented look of a cat who had just finished his meal. He folded his hands behind his head and smiled as he leaned back in his seat. Beaux frowned, then picked her queen up, hesitating, and moved it the length of the board. Bobby unfolded his hands and leaned forward, the smile gone.
Malouf held his beer in one hand and stared across the room at the two people in the booth.
“You’re staring again.”
“You’re right. It’s just that…” Malouf’s voice trailed away.
“So, why are you following those guys?”
“Why, you know.” Malouf tipped his beer and took a swallow. “The mission.”
“No, really. Why?”
“I really can’t tell you.”
“Tell me,” she insisted, her voice rising. “I want to know why.”
Bobby glanced up from the board and Malouf’s face darkened. “Quiet, okay?”
“No. You tell me right now or I’m gonna go over to that table and tell them that you’ve been following them.” Beaux took a step toward them.
Malouf grabbed her by the forearm. “Don’t.”
Beaux wrestled her forearm from Malouf’s grasp and hit him in the chest with the palm of her hand. “Don’t grab me,” she snapped. “I don’t like to be grabbed.”
“Sorry.” Malouf raised both palms to Beaux. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s really important.”
“Okay, I get it. It’s important,” Beaux said impatiently. “Then tell me.”
“Watch out. He might have that crazy black baton with him,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the board. A small grin formed around the tips of Beaux’s mouth and then a wide smile crossed her face and she put a hand over her mouth and started laughing. She turned away and bent over in a full belly laugh.
“That was funny,” she said as she wiped a hand across her eyes. She placed a hand abruptly on Malouf’s shoulder and wheeled him around so that his attention was on her. “There’s something I want you to know,” she whispered in his ear.
“What?”
“I don’t sleep around.”
“What?”
“I said I don’t sleep around.” Beaux pulled back and stared into the blue-tinted eyes. “You understand?” Malouf moved his head in an up and down motion. “I never do what I did with you the other night.”
Malouf nodded. “Okay.”
“The thing is, I was drawn to you. In a weird way.” Beaux released his arm. “And I do what I want.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, it meant a lot to me, us being together.” Malouf nodded again. “But the thing is, I trusted you. Now, I think you should trust me.”
“I can’t tell you. Sorry.”
“I saved your life the other night”
“While I was saving yours.”
“True.”
Bobby nudged Beaux with his elbow and motioned toward the board. She glanced at him and then looked back at Malouf. “You told me to trust you with that gash on my arm. And I did. Now, it’s time you trusted me.”
“I trust you, Beaux. I do.” Malouf placed his hand on Beaux’s hand. “But this is like a life or death thing and it’s really not my secret to tell.”
Beaux shook her head. “That won’t do. You tell me right now why or, I swear to God, I’m going to go over there and tell them that you and the weird guys have been following them.”
“You wouldn’t do…”
Beaux interrupted. “I will. I promise you that.”
Malouf studied the two conspirators who were, most likely, discussing the coming assassination attempt. The undoing of that attempt or the failure to follow through would or could affect everything.
He turned back
to Beaux, undecided as to what to do. He fingered the baton in his coat pocket. There was no way he could let her approach them. “Beaux, I can’t let you do that. It might change everything. There’s more at stake than you know. Please, trust me on this.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘change everything’?”
“I mean everything, in the broadest sense. Please?”
Beaux put her hand into her pocket. She rummaged around for a moment before producing a shiny, round object. She turned it over in her hand a couple of times and then, held it up to Malouf. “Does it have anything to do with this?”
Malouf jerked his head back, startled. He took the coin from her hand. “Where’d you get this?”
“Off of the table next to your bed.”
“You took something from my room?”
“Yes, because it didn’t make any sense. I wanted to ask you about it, but you were asleep, so I thought I’d ask you later.”
Malouf turned the coin over in his hand, then ran a finger across the image on the front. “It was a present from my father,” he said softly. He turned the coin over again and then placed it on the bar. “He told me that if I always kept this coin with me, I would never be broke.”
“Who is the man on the coin?”
“He’s …” Malouf hesitated and stuttered, “…a leader.”
“A leader of what? I’ve never heard of him.” Beaux took the coin from the bar and squinted down at it as she read the name. “Livingston,” she said more to herself than to Malouf. “Who is that?”