by C. G. Cooper
“Hello, Natasha,” he somehow got out.
“I must say, Eddie, you’ve done a horrible job with your business, but you’ve somehow managed to raise a lovely young lady. Then again, who knows how much of that came inherently from her mother.”
Both of our bodies tensed, and I sensed that Walker might panic.
“Is she there? Is Anna okay?” he asked, his voice thick with desperation.
“Oh, she’s fine. She was quite exhausted from her little ordeal. I told her to take a cat nap and then I’d take her shopping.”
“I need her back, Natasha. She belongs with me.”
A low chuckle came over the line and she said, “I’ll have to think about that, Eddie. Papa’s been pestering me about getting Anna back. This might be the perfect time. I could show her the business. From what I’ve seen of her, she seems very bright, maybe almost as smart as me.”
“Natasha, please. She’s all I have. If you take her from me…”
“No!” The word cracked in our ears like a high power rifle. “You were given one simple task, one mindless duty that would ensure your livelihood and the funding for your puny church. But what did you do? You somehow allowed my daughter to find out.” She chuckled again, her tone mellowing. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Eddie? Still the simple boy from backwoods North Dakota.”
“Montana,” Walker corrected.
“Whatever. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” She sighed and said, “Well, I must go. There’s so much to do. Please have your phone handy, Eddie. I’m sure you’ll be receiving another delivery very soon.”
“Let me talk to Anna,” Walker said, gripping the phone so hard it knocked into my head. “Natasha? Natasha!”
“She hung up,” I said.
He stared at me like a beaten man, and for the second time that day I got a glimpse into his world. I could see her comment about ever falling for him hit hard. He had loved her deeply. I’d never known that kind of love for a woman. There’d never been time. Between training and deployments, I’d never found the right match.
I empathized with his situation. How would I have turned out if I’d been born in Walker’s body? How is a kid raised in Montana?
I never had the loving upbringing like a lot of friends, but at least I’d found the Corps. It shaped me into the man I was, for good or bad. It gave me three hot meals a day, training, and a family. More than anything, it taught me how to tough it out, that any obstacle could be overcome. Maybe the pastor had never had that. It made the anger I’d felt for him lessen half a step.
“Hey, I need to borrow a razor and a comb.”
My request shook him from his misery.
“What? Why?” he asked.
I grinned, hoping my attitude would soon pass confidence onto the only ally I had at the moment.
“I’m going to get a job.”
+++
In addition to the razor, shaving cream and comb, Pastor Walker also scrounged up a two year old Buick from a neighbor. He even ran to her house to get it while I got ready.
When I stepped out of the guest house, the car was idling and thankfully looked a thousand times more reliable than the pickup truck. Walker was in the driver’s seat and motioned for me to get in. Instead, I walked over to the driver’s side and told him to get out.
“I can drive,” he said.
“I’m going by myself.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry, Pastor, I’m a good driver,” I said, sliding into the squeaky clean leather seat. “Stay here and man the phones. I’ll call you when I get a new cell.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s happening?”
I nodded and shifted the car into drive.
“Daniel?” he said.
“Yeah?”
Hesitation there, like he wanted to ask me something critical, something that would turn the tide in our favor. But he didn’t. He just said, “You clean up good.”
I smiled, gave him a reaffirming nod, and took off down the driveway.
The address we found for Sunshine Car Wash wasn’t actually in the city of Boston at all. It was in a suburb called Amesbury, a well-to-do area that lay north of the city and the Merrimack River. Google said it was about an hour drive from Old Orchard Beach. From the pictures on Google, it seemed like the last place a criminal organization would set up shop. Then again, looks could be deceiving. I was proof of that fact, and I was about to make it even better.
There was a Wal-Mart on the way, just off of Interstate 95. No way a respectful community like Amesbury would house a Wal-Mart. God forbid.
This Wal-Mart was a mirror image to the many I’d been in over the years. The aisles were clean, well kept, and shoppers bustled back and forth. No one gave me a second glance as I gathered what I needed. This was a scouting mission, so even though I would’ve loved to start in the outdoors department, I stuck to the men’s clothing section.
I tried everything on, exchanged a large for a medium t-shirt, and then paid with cash. After changing in the restroom, I ditched my old clothes in the bottom of the waste basket. My boots were in the plastic shopping bag. I’d need those later.
I gave myself one last look in the mirror, running a hand through my blonde hair then over my clean shaven face. Passable.
My first drive by took me through the center of downtown Amesbury. It felt like going back in time. Lots of two story brick buildings and matching sidewalks. I wondered how many time-period movies had been filmed there. I could easily imagine Ben Franklin clicking down the way or John Adams strolling around the traditional traffic circle. Time had given way to money. You could smell it. Old money. Maybe back to the American Revolution type money.
I’d never had much money, but it didn’t bother me. This was just another town on my endless journey. The only difference was that this town had a destination, a target. I found my objective a block off the main square. Another block and a half down from there, Sunshine Car Wash sat gleaming and new. They’d knocked down a house to finish construction. I could see that much from the look of the residential strip surrounding it.
The car wash slipped by and I cruised on. I’d seen a public parking lot a few blocks back and decided to stash the car there. The car wasn’t part of my disguise.
I walked into Sunshine Car Wash fifteen minutes later, in stylish baggy pants, a fluorescent t-shirt and skater kicks. The place was empty except for a chubby girl behind the counter who was chatting away on the store’s phone line with one eye on the soap opera on the corner television. She didn’t even hear me come in she was talking so loudly.
I was glad it was a girl behind the counter. It wasn’t that women were more gullible; in fact, a lot of times they were more suspicious than their male counterparts. But this one was a perfect play. She’d been pretty once, and she spoke with the air of someone who’d been important, even if that was only head cheerleader.
Her clothes were cute but two sizes too small and matched her overdone makeup that screamed, “Look at me!” A discarded brown bakery wrapper sat on the desk in front of her, a super-sized coffee next to it.
Late twenties, I thought. Well past her prime. Perfect.
I had to cough in my hand twice to get her attention. The second cough earned me an annoyed look as she whipped her head around. The look changed to interest, and then she said into the phone, “Let me call you back, Claire.”
She sat the phone back in its cradle gently. My face shifted into an easy smile.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I ran a hand through my hair like I was embarrassed and trying to keep cool.
“Yeah. I was wondering if you guys are hiring.”
She tapped a long fingernail against her lips and looked me up and down.
“Are you new in town?”
“Uh huh.”
She actually licked her lips and said, “What kind of experience do you have?”
I shrugged like I didn’t want to answer, and then said, �
�I was in the Marines.”
Oh, she fluttered at that. She even blushed.
“I looove Marines. You’re all so handsome. Did you go to war?”
Why did civilians always think that was an appropriate question? I ignored the bitterness in my gut and shrugged again like I didn’t want to talk about it.
She smiled wider. I wondered if she thought she’d just caught her knight in shining armor, a real hero. Sorry, lady, that’s not me.
“Well, thank you so much for your service,” she said sweetly, like she really cared. It was another throwaway comment that had quickly pervaded American culture. I hated hearing it.
“Thanks,” I said. “So, about a job?”
She waved her hands in the air and reached down and opened a drawer, shuffling papers until she produced a single sheet.
“I’m Florence, by the way,” she said, extending her puffy hand.
I shook it, and said, “Like Florence Nightingale.” She scrunched her face in confusion, so I added, “She was a nurse, took care of soldiers and stuff. Really famous.”
Her eyes brightened at once. “Oh, I’ll have to Google that!”
She would too, if for no other reason than to further her own self-importance, something to brag about. I smiled.
“What did you say your name was, honey?” she asked.
“Sorry. My name’s Brad.” We shook hands again. This time I held onto hers a little bit longer, even giving her a little squeeze at the end. I saw her shiver.
You might think it was a cruel trick, something I shouldn’t do, but when the mission calls for a guy to use his natural gifts, namely a good looking face, I am not above doing it. Besides, she reminded me of a girl in middle school who’d hounded me for weeks, always coming up with some clever taunt to giggle about with her friends. I had run into that girl years later. Let’s just say she’d aged about as well as Florence. It made it easy to use every ounce of charm I had.
Her gaze lingered on my face, and then shifted to my arms, then back to my face. She smiled, this time almost shyly.
“Well, Brad, right now is kind of our slow time. Not much going on. The guys we do have working spend more time playing cards in the back than drying cars.” She tapped her lips again, all business now. “But I’m the assistant manager, and one of the guys said he might be quitting soon. How long will you be in town?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, I just got here. Been traveling a lot, but I ran out of money. Need to restock my cash, you know?”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Tell you what, why don’t I give you a quick tour and tell you about our payroll plan as we walk?”
I nodded eagerly. She’d just said the magic words.
The place wasn’t big, but she somehow stretched the tour into thirty minutes. During that time she used every opportunity to touch my arm, or guide me through a door by pushing my lower back. Her touch never lingered, but it was always there. Florence’s exhaustive description of the place included every employee’s name, the exact process for washing towels, and the precise number of gallons used for each of the five packages available for car washes.
Sprinkled throughout the tour were little comments about her wicked ex-boyfriend, how good she was at karaoke and that she might try out for one of those singing shows. Finally, she talked about how she’d not only been a cheerleader, but even Homecoming Queen. Like I said, past her prime.
She showed me every closet, nook and wash bay. The place couldn’t have been more than two thousand square feet, but she milked every inch.
There was only one room we didn’t go into and I asked her about it.
“Oh, that’s the owner’s private office. He doesn’t like anyone going in there.”
I pretended like I didn’t care, but the beast shivered inside. I was close.
When the tour was over, Florence gave me the application reluctantly (I’d told her that I still had to get a new driver’s license before I could properly apply). The door dinged when the first customer since I’d been there walked in. Florence looked annoyed, but did her best to plaster a fake smile on her face.
“I’ll be right with you,” she said to the man, who nodded and sidled up to the counter.
“So you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked me.
“As long as the DMV doesn’t give me a hard time,” I joked. “I’ll even see if I can get it done today.” There was hope in her eyes, like I’d just made her day, again. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom before I go?”
Her eyebrow arched lasciviously, teasing, and then she smiled. “Sure. You remember where it is?”
How could I not? It was one of only three actual rooms in the place.
“Yeah, thanks.”
The bathroom smelled like peaches and I heard the air freshener puff after I locked the door. I figured I had five minutes. Hopefully it wouldn’t take near that long. This was only a recon, after all.
I’d been surprised to see that the interior had all drop ceilings. Someone once told me it had to do with energy conservation, but to me it was just one more place to get away, hide, or go from room to room. It was exactly what I’d been hoping for.
I popped the ceiling panel that was closest to the outer wall and pulled myself up. It still smelled new in the three foot space, like a construction site. The tiles would never hold my weight, so I crawled over the tops of where the walls supported part of the ceiling. A minute later I was looking down at the tiles covering the locked office, the owner’s space. That’s when I got my first surprise. These squares weren’t set in the ceiling like the others. The tiles over the owner’s office were secured by steel and the screws were set from below. No way was I getting through unless I busted one out. Not a good idea.
Time ticked by as I considered my options. Then it hit me. My lock pick kit.
Thirty seconds later I’d managed to jimmy a tiny hole in the chalky mineral fiber tile.
Three minutes, rang the timer in my head.
Luck was with me again. There was no one in the office, but the lights were on. A desk with a computer in the corner. A lounge chair. My one eye shifted to the opposite side of the room. I froze. It might’ve seemed innocent to someone else. A joke really. But my vision saw it as something else. As I looked at the fancy dart board, white numbers half-erased from the scoring tables on either side, my gaze rested on one thing, mounted to the center of the board. No, not mounted; pinned with three darts adorned with Russian flag fletches. It was the smiling face of a man I knew, his black pastor’s garb impossible to miss.
Pastor Ed Walker was in deeper shit than I’d thought.
I heard the knocking on the bathroom door before I got back to the open tile. Hurrying that way, I cursed at myself for not buying a phone at Wal-Mart. If I had I could’ve called Walker.
Right now I had another problem. The knocking grew more insistent than before. I imagined one of the workers fetching the key and bursting in, stranding me in three feet of dead space, or worse, dropping in at the exact time he walked in.
I eased down and shifted the tile into place, calling, “Almost done,” as I stepped off the toilet. Unzipping my fly and skewing my shirt like I’d just gotten up, I flushed the toilet and moved to the door. When I opened it, Florence’s face greeted me. “Hey, sorry,” I said.
She wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, there was a glimmer in her eyes. She looked down at my unzipped fly. My hand reached down and zipped it.
“I was just coming to see if you needed any help,” she purred, her swollen lips pouty and glossed. Her hand reached out and she unzipped my fly. “So, do you need any help?” She really played it up, even batting her eyes at me.
I grinned and grabbed her brazen hand, bringing it to my lips.
“Rain check?” I asked, kissing the back of her hand. Her mouth dropped open and she nodded mutely. “I’ll be back in the morning. Maybe you can show me around town.” Another nod. No words. I kissed her hand again and then moved past the sex-starved as
sistant manager.
There were things to do, and none of them involved Florence Nightingale.
Chapter 14
Open. Close.
Open. Close.
Her eyes clicked through the rhythm, snapshots of the same spot of the thick crown molding overhead. She was supposed to be sleeping. There were a lot of things she was “supposed” to do.
She was supposed to do what she was told.
She was supposed to act like a normal teenager.
She was supposed to…
Anna huffed in frustration, her mind drifting back to the image of her mother: sleek, elegant, powerful. She’d watched as drivers and helpers deferred to Miss Varushkin. She’d even heard one man call her Duchess. The excitement in her belly tingled just thinking about that word. Could her mother really be royalty? She looked like it. Natasha Varushkin was exactly how Anna had imagined the regal aristocracy of pre-World War I Russia, before Lenin, Stalin and the rest of the Communists.
She’d read plenty on her family’s homeland. There seemed to be so much beauty combined with a healthy slathering of corruption and secrecy. But that had never frightened Anna. The opposite was true. Her study of the Cold War only heightened the pull.
Of course, she wanted to go to Paris, Rome and the rest of the world’s landmark centers of culture, but she’d always secretly wanted to go to Moscow, and maybe even take a dog sled through Siberia, wrapped in expensive furs, the frigid wind her constant companion.
She’d never told her father about those dreams. While he supported her “normal” dreams, any discussion of her mother or her mother’s familial past met with a funny comment that diverted the conversation away from his painful memories.
But now she was close to her mother. She was in her mother’s guest room in her expensive condo overlooking Boston Harbor. It wasn’t Moscow, or even St. Petersburg, but it felt a universe away from Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
That made her think about her dad and how worried he must be. But her mom said she’d take care of it, that they would spend time together, just the girls. Her mother said the decision was hers as to where she went afterwards.