For the Trees

by Brett Baker

  “I’ll take your word for it. Jesus Christ, she looks young. I bagged groceries at the local supermarket when I was in high school. Kids these days are hired assassins.”

  “I don’t think she’s quite that young, but she’s not far off. She put up a hell of fight. Tenacious. I thought she had me a few times, but we kept going.”

  “I doubt she saw the toilet brush coming,” Stanley said with a wink.

  “Yeah, probably not. I was rather proud of that.”

  “As you should be.”

  “Believe it or not, she’s not the reason I called you over. Do you know Abner Chamberlain?”

  “Not personally,” Stanley said. “I guess no one knows him anymore.”

  “You know he’s dead?”

  “Of course, it was in the paper this morning. Police are investigating, but it sounds like he came back from his run and interrupted some burglars and paid the price. Single shot to the forehead. Why do you ask?”

  “At the funeral home the other night an officer from California came to see me. He’s working the Chamberlain case. He said when they found the body they also found a slip of paper with my name on it. It had my name, address, and the word restrain on it. Nothing else.”

  “Restrain? What the hell does that mean?”

  “I was hoping you knew,” I said. “I’d never heard of the guy until Hertz, the cop, told me about him. Apparently he knew me though.”

  “Have you worked environmental cases before?”

  “Nothing strictly environmental. I mean you know most of these cases have so many moving parts it’s tough to keep track of them, so it’s possible, but I definitely haven’t had anything to do with Chamberlain.”

  “And what did Hertz have to say about that?”

  “Nothing. I think I convinced him that I’m a dead end. And truthfully, I am. I have no idea why he knows my name.”

  “I don’t know anything more than what I read in the paper. Seemed to take his environmental stuff seriously. I’m sure he made a fair number of enemies with it. Cross the wrong businessman and it’s easy to find yourself on the wrong end of a bullet. I suspect Hertz thinks it’s more than just a burglary gone bad if he came out here to see you. Makes sense that they wouldn’t divulge that information to the public. I assume Hertz doesn’t know about The Summit?”

  “He didn’t act like he did. Unless he finds someone else who knows why Chamberlain knew my name, and understood what restrain means, then I don’t think it’s going anywhere. And even if he does connect the dots on that, it’s not necessarily related to his murder, or any of my stuff from the week.”

  “What are you going to do?” Stanley asked.

  “Do you have suggestions? It wouldn’t hurt to check in with Polestar and see what they have on Chamberlain.”

  “Right. And keep me updated on what’s going on with your parents, too. Seems suspicious to me that the police haven’t talked to you yet.”

  “I think that’s your innate distrust getting the better of you,” I said. “I think they’re doing the best they can down there. Small town Alabama isn’t common territory for activities related to The Summit.”

  “No, but I wouldn’t think of it as a fertile recruiting ground either, but that’s where we found one of the best agents in the whole organization.” Stanley winked at me and smiled. “Nice work on this,” he said, kicking Toilet Brush’s foot. “Not much of a welcome home, but seems that you handled yourself nicely. I’ll make a few calls, pay a few visits, and see if I can find anything about Chamberlain, or the teenage assassin here. I’ll call you here, but this is probably the last visit I’ll make. We don’t want this to become a habit. Nice place by the way.”

  We walked through the apartment, to the front door. As I opened the door, I asked, “What are you doing in Chicago anyway?”

  “How do you know I’m not always in Chicago?” he asked.

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  “Let’s leave it at that. Besides, even if I were just visiting, you know I can’t tell you why I’m here.”

  “I just thought maybe you were doing the touristy thing. Navy Pier, Michigan Avenue, deep-dish pizza.”

  Stanley threw his arms to the side, and looked himself up and down. “Do I look like I do the touristy thing?” I laughed. “Take care of yourself, Mia. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about all of this. Too many things coming from too many directions. The whole thing can turn into a big clusterfuck in no time. By the way, when was the last time you got a new refrigerator?”

  “What? I have no idea. Never. This is the one in the place when I bought it. Why?”

  “We’ll have a new refrigerator delivered this afternoon. Leave the dead ponytail right where she is until the refrigerator arrives. We’ll have the delivery guys take care of her with your old fridge. Polestar might want a look at her, maybe see if they can figure out who she is.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said, amazed at The Summit’s efficiency. “Is that a standard practice?”

  “That’s all we are, Mia, a secret appliance company. Didn’t you know that? What the hell kind of work have you been doing the past twenty years?”

  “I ask myself that question all the time,” I said.

  Stanley let out a boisterous laugh, and waved. “Good to visit with you, but don’t try to contact Polestar from here. They won’t even answer the call unless you’re calling from the Roost. I know you understand.”

  “I do,” I said. “What about the delivery? What time should I expect it?”

  “We’ll have them deliver around five o’clock. That should give you enough time to get yourself cleaned up, talk to Polestar, and get back here, barring anything unforeseen.”

  “Everything’s unforeseen these days,” I said, as I closed the door.

  20

  Chapter 20

  Since Toilet Brush interrupted my plans for a shower and a nap, and since I hadn’t yet eaten, I decided to take care of first things first. A shower improves even the worst day, and I didn’t intend to let a dead body keep me from feeling better. I once killed a man in an apartment in Miami, and then pulled his body out of the tub, washed his blood down the drain, and then soaked my sore muscles for an hour while he bled on an Oriental rug worth tens of thousands of dollars. I had no problem dragging a gun-toting murderess with a toilet brush sticking out of her mouth by her feet so I could shower in peace. The narrow hallway presented a slight problem as I tried to navigate the corner of the bathroom while dragging her through the doorway, but a little force and a lot of finesse got the job done. I dragged her to the kitchen, on the other side of the counter, so the delivery men could remove my old refrigerator, along with her, before installing the new one.

  I reveled in the steam of the hot shower with the door open so that no one could surprise me. I didn’t expect Toilet Brush to rise from the dead, but the last few days had shown that I might be attacked at any time, so it wouldn’t have surprised me at all if some other malicious thug forced his way through my front door and tried to give me the Norman Bates treatment. Much to my satisfaction, I finished the shower without incident and got dressed.

  On the way to the Roost I stopped at a vegetarian grill restaurant that opened just a few months before, but had quickly become one of my favorite places in the city. The college guy who took the orders always flirted me with, which made me wonder if he thought I was his age, or if he just found older women attractive. I rarely dated anyone, but dating someone fifteen years younger than me was out of the question. Still, he made me laugh, and he knew the menu frontward and backward and always had good recommendations. He saw me as soon as I walked in, and gave me the casual nod that implied “I see you, but I’m too cool to wave.” I smiled back, refusing to nod, but judging him not worthy of a wave either.

  I stood in line behind a woman with two small kids, and a man with a beard that looked about half as good as he thought it did. As the college guy took their orders, he glanced at me every few seconds, and rolled his eyes
once, as if to say, “Can you believe these people who can’t decide why they want to order?” He remained polite though, and greeted me with a faux-annoyed voice.

  “Oh great, what do you want?”

  “That’s no way to greet a customer,” I said.

  “Customer? You didn’t even pay last time. I reserve kindness for those who pay. It helps the tip jar.”

  I looked at the counter and didn’t see a tip jar. I checked my memory for the past few months and couldn’t recall ever seeing a tip jar. “What tip jar?” I asked.

  “Danny, someone stole our goddamn tip jar again,” he called to the back. “Second time this week. The damn thing sits right there,” he pointed to a spot right next to the register, a foot away from where he stood. “Some sort of thieving Houdini has managed to steal it right out from under my nose. I don’t know how they’re doing it. We had thirty-two dollars in there the last time I counted today, which was about two hours ago. We’ve got to be up to fifty by now.”

  “Except it’s not there,” I pointed out.

  “Right, except it’s not there. Hey, here’s an idea. How about you replenish what was in the tip jar, and I’ll be ultra nice to you. I won’t even charge you again. Deal?”

  “These sandwiches are good, and I appreciate the freebie last time, but fifty bucks for a sandwich seems like highway robbery.”

  “Hey, no one’s twisting your arm. Do what you want.”

  “I’ll pass,” I said. “Just charge me regular price. Maybe I’ll give you a dollar to start a new tip jar.”

  “Ooh, a whole dollar. I’ll be retired before I know it.”

  “Never mind. I’ll keep my dollar.”

  “You do that. Besides, just seeing you is tip enough.”

  “Do you harass every female customer that comes in here?”

  “No, just the customers as pretty as you. Which means just you.”

  “Watch it, you’ll be in big trouble if I report you.”

  “You’re going to report me?” he asked. “After all the nice things I’ve said about you these past few months. I thought we had something here. Never mind. Just my imagination, I guess. Fine. Let’s keep it all business and boring. What can I get for you today ma’am?”

  “Ma’am? Am I a senior citizen now?”

  “Just being polite, ma’am. And I don’t know, are you a senior citizen? I have trouble judging the age of people older than me.”

  “Well now you’ve blown it,” I said.

  “Blown what?” he asked.

  “I guess you’ll never know.”

  “Okay, I take back the ma’am. You’re most definitely not a ma’am. Ma’ams don’t look like you.”

  “Too late. Just give me the grilled quinoa and veggie burger. Add avocado, please.”

  “Good choice. That’s my favorite.” No matter what I ordered he always told me I’d ordered his favorite. “Just so you know, I’m about to go on break. So if you can wait six minutes I’ll have lunch with you. I know you’ve been begging me for months to sit and eat with you.”

  “Hmm. I don’t remember asking you at all.”

  “Yeah, but I know you wanted to ask me. And it’s practically the same thing. So, just six minutes.” He nodded repeatedly, as if he could transmit the right answer to me through his actions.

  “Thanks for the invite, but I’m actually getting this to go. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

  “Maybe next time?” he asked.

  “Awfully presumptuous of you to assume that I’ll be back after the way I’ve been treated today.”

  “Oh, you’ll be back,” he said. “The food’s too good. We could curse you and insult you and you’d still be back. The food is that good. Throw in my stunning looks and wicked charm and I suspect you’ll just walk out that door and turn around and come right back in.”

  “Where’d you get such confidence?” I asked.

  “Try living as me for a day and see if you’re not just as confident as me. When you’re like this you can’t help but be confident.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, and made sure he saw me do it. “Thanks for the sandwich,” I said, and moved down the counter to wait for my food. He began talking to the next customer, a woman closer to his age, and remained entirely polite and professional with her. I could feel him looking at me, but I didn’t look his way. I waited for my sandwich and left the restaurant, never looking his way again.

  The Roost was only a few blocks away. As I walked, I was surprised that the college guy was on my mind. I had no real interest in him, as maintaining a relationship while working for The Summit was next to impossible, but I did enjoy our banter, and the guy knew how to charm. It occurred to me as I approached the alley that led to the Roost that he was one of the few people I could be reasonably sure didn’t intend to kill me. Our ongoing flirtation had lasted months, and it’s unlikely that anyone who planned to attack me would spend so much time executing a plan.

  As I walked down the alley, the sound of squealing tires startled me back into the reality of the moment. I’d walked from the restaurant to the alley in a daze, unaware of my surroundings, not paying attention to anything. The ease with which I permitted my mind to checkout made me uneasy. My ability to focus on my surroundings had helped me avoid danger more times than I can count, and zoning out for even the few minutes while I was walking meant that I’d carelessly left myself open to attack.

  I stopped by the wall that extended perpendicularly from the building, and looked back down the alley. No one followed me by foot, and I saw a number of cars pass on the street at the end of the alley, none of which slowed or seemed to have any interest in my activities.

  I inserted into the large steel door the metal bar that acted as both a key and a handle, and let myself inside. The Roost looked absolutely undisturbed since I’d last been there, except the two dozen red roses had been replaced with a fresh set. The fragrance permeated the entire apartment, and I guessed that no one had entered since the flowers had been delivered. Toilet Brush girl had reminded me never to assume anything about an apartment though, so I gave the place a thorough going-over before permitting myself to relax.

  After a quick examination of the street scene below, which seemed completely benign, I picked up the phone and dialed the Polestar contact number I’d memorized. The number hadn’t changed in my entire time working at The Summit, and in a world of programmed cell phones, it was one of the few numbers with a permanent spot in my brain, along with the phone number from my childhood home, the first number I ever learned.

  Someone at Polestar answered the phone before the first ring even finished. “Hello?” A male voice sounded authoritative and serious.

  “This is Mia Mathis. I’m calling from Chicago. I’ve had a number of encounters the past few days, and I need everything you can find about Abner Chamberlain.”

  “Why do you need this information?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Chamberlain had some kind of connection to me of which I wasn’t aware. I’m trying to track down that connection.”

  “Mia, you are aware that Chamberlain’s dead, aren’t you?”

  “Acutely aware, yes. When he died Chamberlain left behind a piece of paper with my name and address on it, and the word restrain. I’m trying to find out what the word restrain means in this context, and how he knew I existed.”

  “How did you find out about this? Are you working on something related to Chamberlain?”

  “I’m not supposed to be working at all,” I said. “I’m decommissioned this month, but it hasn’t worked out like that.”

  “It rarely does. We’ve been reviewing our information on Chamberlain since we found out about his death. We haven’t had any direct involvement with him, either positively or negatively. A few of our agents have had encounters with him as part of other missions, but it’s not clear yet if any of those encounters are related to his death. It’s certainly surprising that he knew you. I talked to another agent yesterday wit
h questions about Chamberlain. He’d heard about Chamberlain’s death and thought it sounded like an execution. He’s working on tracking down some guy named Mr. Mount, and apparently the circumstances surrounding Chamberlain’s death fit with what Mount usually does.”

  “Who’s Mount?” I asked.

  “This agent thinks he’s an assassin. Freelance.”

  “What’s The Summit’s interest in him?” The Summit isn’t a law enforcement organization. We don’t pursue bad guys for no reason. There’s plenty of law enforcement in the world and tracking bad guys keeps them busy. The Summit was founded on the premise that some situations are so dire that the established law enforcement and statutory framework cannot effectively resolve them in a manner timely enough to benefit society. So The Summit exists beyond the law. Because we’re not reigned in by the normal boundaries of the law, we have to be careful about how we operate, which means discerning which threats need to be eliminated immediately, and which can be handled by law enforcement, and, thus, take much longer to resolve. Accepting every murder, rape, or embezzlement case would open us up to too much scrutiny. We accept a variety of cases for a variety of reasons, but understanding the motivation for each investigation is paramount to our success and protection.

  “You mean beyond him being an assassin?”

  “Yes.” I waited for a response, but heard only silence on the other end of the line. All of my interactions with Polestar proceeded quickly, and efficiently. They had no time or interest in small talk. They dealt in information, and any word that did not contain information was a word wasted. So the silence had a meaning. “Is this meta?”

  “It is.”

  “For the agents?”

  “Precisely.”

  I’d heard of meta investigations in the past, and I’d even had peripheral involvement on a couple of them, but I’d never run a distinctly meta mission. Meta missions were those solely for the protection of The Summit. Occasionally we’d discover that some person or entity possessed information about The Summit that could be used to compromise an agent or the entire organization. Those missions immediately became top priority, and the agents who worked on them understood that they were working to protect the entire organization. I’d heard legendary stories of the intensity and earnestness of those missions.