He lay on his back on the sagging mattress and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts unfocused. After ten minutes or so, he realized it wasn’t his own thoughts that were stopping him from sleeping, however, but instead a feeling, like he was being watched. But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? He was the only one in here!
Sitting up, he looked around the room, sensing that something was wrong. A few quiet sounds caught his attention, and his gaze moved over to the door. Was someone waiting on the other side?
As if in response, there was a sudden, instant movement – the sound of a key being jabbed in the lock.
"Who’s there?" he called out, his voice raspy. He got up to open the door, but it was too late. Whoever it was had gone.
Now completely unable to sleep, John thought he’d make the most of his time alone in the cabin (Tony was working his shift). He had a look through some of his papers and personal files, searching for anything that would give more information on his background. He had to make sure he had enough information about him as possible, even including his family members. For instance, his brother’s birthday was 20 March 1957.
Every little detail was important, and John needed to know everything. After a while of rummaging around, he had enough data to open a bank account in his name, and even borrow money from his bank. It really was quite easy. Deep down, he found it quite amusing that he could use a different identity. He pictured himself in San Francisco, walking around with this huge secret. It appealed to him.
He felt excited, and the best part was, he knew that as long as Tony stayed on the ship, he wouldn’t need any of his papers, freeing up John to use them as he wished.
He did feel a little guilty, however; Tony wasn’t very popular, and he didn’t have many friends, so John started to make an extra effort to be friendly towards Tony whenever he could. Of course, this also helped John out too – by talking to him as much as he could, he could find out more things about him, about his identity.
He’d offer to walk with him to his shift, talking the whole time about his past and getting Tony to open up about his. John would ask questions about his family, what he did before working on the ship, whether he had any scars or any secrets. He offered up information about himself too – otherwise he’d never have got much out of Tony – but most of what he revealed were lies, or at least a vast embellishment of the truth.
It was clear that Tony had confined himself to his own little world, and it was only now that he started to feel like he had a friend whom he could trust. It was hard sometimes, as John didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he knew this was the only chance he had of staying in the US.
So he continued to befriend him, talking and laughing with him as he learned all about his new pal.
He was ready.
It was early February when the ship sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco Bay. By now John was ready to leave the ship, and as he gazed out at the iconic bridge, he felt like he was sailing into a new life. He didn’t have that much money – only $200 – but he was sure he would find work. It would be enough. He had the one small suitcase, which was good, as it would not make him look too conspicuous when he departed. The rest of what he needed – the information about Tony – was safe and sound, all locked up in his brain.
It was a misty morning, the slight breeze making John shiver slightly as he tugged his baseball cap lower over his eyes. A bit different to Miami, he thought to himself as he walked along, holding his head down so he wouldn’t be recognized.
A wave of panic hit him as he wondered if she might be there to meet him, or was that just a quick romantic thought? Maybe he was going to be surprised. Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge and seeing the hills in the background and the spectacular view, this city looked like his kind of place. There was something different yet appealing about all of it. Despite his fears, he felt excited.
As he walked down the gangway, John thought he could see her, and as he made his way down the harbor, he started to wonder if he’d done the right thing. He noticed some crew members and Captain Bowman walking towards him, and he smiled and nodded at them as he passed – the walkway was very narrow and it would have been difficult to avoid them.
Moments later he heard a honk, and as his head whipped around, he couldn't help but smile when he saw Drinda in a taxi. He opened the passenger door and when Drinda got out, she opened her arms to hug him.
"I’m really sorry I’m late," she said, looking up at him and smiling.
He responded with a kiss. "That's okay. It was worth the wait."
"Did you have a nice trip from Miami? Was the weather nice?” She held his hand, beaming at him as she waited for him to answer.
“Yes, yes," he said, looking around him. “I’m glad to be here now though!”
“Oh, me too,” she said. “I’ve been counting down the hours! It’s come around quickly, though, don’t you think?” She couldn’t stop talking. She had really looked forward to him coming, she’d been waiting for this moment, it was so good to see him… but something about her words sounded hollow to John. He had a strange feeling in his gut. Was she really happy to see him? Something felt wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.
A traffic accident meant that it took a while to get out of the harbor, and John kept sneaking looks at Drinda as they slowly got onto the freeway. She seemed very excited, pointing at things out the window and explaining when they passed a landmark of interest. Eventually, he started to relax and enjoy the scenery.
Taking a break from her tourist role, she noticed John staring at her and returned his gaze with a smile. “Are you OK?” she asked, seeming genuinely concerned.
His suspicions of her lessened a little. “I’m fine, it’s just a little weird being here, with you.”
She laughed. “Weird but good, right?”
He nodded, laughing with her. Talking to her – just being with her even – was easy. Really easy.
Eventually the taxi pulled up on a quiet street, and Drinda paid the driver before getting out. She lived in a nice part of town above a little bakery, on the corner of Union Street.
"I want to show you around," she said, once the taxi had driven off. "But first, would you like to unpack?"
"I haven’t brought much," he told her, gesturing at his single suitcase as she let him in to her place.
It was neat and tidy, and on the roughly plastered wall in the corner, John recognized the framed photographs of the cruise ship. He smiled, before noticing that Drinda was watching him intently. She’d clearly expected him to spot the photographs. John smiled back approvingly.
"And the other photograph?" he asked, pointing at a picture of a man, who was staring at the camera with only a hint of a smile on his face.
"That's my dad."
"Seriously? You look a lot like him," replied John, still staring at the image on the wall.
"He's got wavy hair," she said, "but it used to be pitch black, like mine. I also have his eyes and a lot of other stuff, like his weird super pointy elbows."
John laughed, moving his gaze to Drinda. “Your elbows look fine to me.”
After John had been given a tour of the house, they sat down at the kitchen table for a ‘quick coffee’ and ended up talking for hours on end. So much for Drinda showing me around the neighborhood, thought John, although he didn’t mind really. He was having fun.
"John, you look so tired!" Drinda suddenly announced, before standing up and guiding him to the bedroom.
Next morning, Drinda was up early. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, John,” she whispered. “After breakfast, I have to go to work."
She changed into a red and black low-cut top with a black skirt. John smiled; she looked a sight.
"Just make yourself at home," she said, smiling at him.
"I will," said John. "But I may venture outside and have a look around too. Lots to do. Maybe we could meet later?"
“Of course, but find some time to relax!” she purred, as she br
ought him in for a hug.
John frowned as he pulled back from her. "I will, it’s just that all of this is a little too much for me," he said. "I need to find a job, and fast."
Drinda nodded, before grabbing a paper from the table and thrusting it into his hands. "Try these places here," she replied, showing him the restaurant guide in the San Francisco Chronicle.
She had one of those square handbags and, like most women, she crammed as much as she could into it, far more than it looked like it could actually hold.
He walked downstairs with her and waited at the tram stop, peering down the hill in fascination. He could hear the tram bell ringing at the bottom of the hill, and as it slowly climbed, he wondered if it was going to make it. Maybe it’s just going to roll back, John thought.
"They usually get really full and most of the time you have to stand,” she said as the tram pulled up. “Just for once, this one looks empty."
John smiled and gave her a quick kiss before she hopped on and looked out at him. “Good luck with the job hunt!”
He smiled back, and when she was gone he looked at his surroundings. With the newspaper in his hand, he set off down the hill.
That night, John got a call to go for an interview the next day on a moored seafood boat, and the next morning, he arrived early and waited at a small table.
"Tony?" the man approaching him asked, extending a hand.
"Yeah, that’s me," he replied, slowly rising to his feet and returning the handshake. It felt a little strange to be called Tony, but he was sure he’d soon get used to it.
"I appreciate you coming today," said the man. "Can I get you a drink or anything?"
John shook his head. “No, thank you.”
After a few questions, the boss appeared to be impressed. He was smiling at John anyway, and nodded quite a few times as he gave his answers.
"Tony, thank you for coming," he said after the main part of the interview was over. "Can you start tomorrow?"
John breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Yes, I can," he replied, smiling. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
As John walked away from the boat, he started thinking about his new identity. One day soon he hoped to blend in, but for now he still felt like a fraud. The law of averages told him that he should tread carefully as, sooner or later, something could go wrong, and he would end up in a jam. That thought was now at the back of his mind, and it was going to stay there for a long time to come.
Now that he had a job sorted, John realized he needed to find his own space, and an apartment down Pope Street had just become available. On Thursday – his first day off – he moved into the place, which was small with a simple floor plan. Beyond the tiny bedroom, the living room was furnished in Salvation Army chic. There was a cigarette-scarred table, and the room’s sole hint of architectural charm came from the shallow bay window facing the street.
For the remainder of the week, John kept up his routine, and on Monday, he arranged to meet Drinda. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost lunchtime, so he passed the old ferry building clock tower before making his way up the hill. He was a little early and, as he was walking towards her, he could see Drinda talking to someone. This guy was in his late forties, with sleek jet-black hair and large sunglasses – the same guy John had seen her with on the cruise ship. Another man, dark-suited with extremely glamorous blond hair, was sitting with them. She looked as if she had been poured into her pink-creamy dress.
John stopped for a moment and watched, and to his embarrassment, the pinprick of tears suddenly formed in his eyes. It really made him wonder what was going on. They all seemed very friendly, as if they knew one another well.
He waited until their meeting was over and then casually went over to meet Drinda. He asked her how her day had been.
"Really nice," she replied. "So, how do you like San Fran? What have you seen? Have you bought a road map of the streets yet?"
"Mostly I've just seen the inside of bars," he replied, still thinking of the mystery men Drinda had been with.
"Well, that's just sad. Makes me glad I've met you today. You shouldn't sit in bars without me."
John slung his bag over his shoulder and suggested they walk for a while.
As they walked down the hill, she asked how his new job was going. “Do you enjoy it?”
John shrugged. “It’s okay, it’s work. I’m just glad to be earning some money.”
"I must come for lunch one day," she said, as she linked her arm through his. "But today we can lunch in the park."
They found a suitable patch of grass and sat down. Once they got comfortable, he decided to ask about the two men she’d been talking to. “So I saw you talking to two guys before,” he said as casually as he could. “They friends of yours? Who are they?”
She suddenly went quiet, and after a few seconds, she whispered, "No one. Actually, it's a long story… and now’s not the time."
John gave her a meaningful look and her mouth snapped shut. He clearly wanted to pursue the topic, as he said, “I’ve got time now.”
He picked up his bag again and glanced around at the groups of people nearby as he waited for her answer. He didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation, but he couldn't quite shrug off the uneasiness he felt.
He could see she was nervous, so he suggested they get a drink – he’d spotted a bar on the other side of the street. She agreed, and after walking over to the building, he pulled back on one of the doors and held it open for her. When they were seated at the corner table, he called the waiter over and ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. The waiter promptly returned with the ice bucket containing the bottle.
Reacting purely on instinct, he brought up the topic again. "I’ve seen this guy twice now – first on the ship, and then again half an hour ago, so you’d better give me an answer."
Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored right into him as she made him wait. “Okay,” she said. “The man’s name is Pedro and he is from Argentina.”
John frowned. He knew next to nothing about the country, apart from the fact that it was currently at war with his own – fighting over a handful of rocky, rain-drenched islands somewhere in the South Atlantic. Not that John cared. He felt no particular loyalty to ‘Blighty’, never had.
“So,” said John. “How do you know this ‘Pedro’?”
“He’s… he’s a work friend.”
John stared long and hard into Drinda’s eyes, making her squirm uncomfortably. He could tell that she was lying, but what was she trying to hide?
“What?” she said finally. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
John merely shook his head and reached for the wine bottle. Drinda put her hand over her glass, so John refilled his own nearly to the brim. Maybe she was worried about getting tipsy and letting something slip. Whatever, thought John. It was an effort for him to even look at her.
"Perhaps we can talk later?" She said after a few moments of silence. “I’ve got to get back to the office.”
"Of course," replied John, the usual warmth in his voice gone.
“Why don’t you wait for me at my place?” she said, smiling, as she stood up. After a brief hesitation, she leaned over and kissed him, and then she was gone.
God, he was so stupid. Tossing his keys onto the table, he went straight to the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisting off the cap and guzzling half of it before collapsing into a chair at the table. He didn't want to make excuses or apologize. He wasn't even sure he had anything to apologize for. Lots of thoughts were going through John’s mind and, if he was being honest, he was actually exhausted and could do with some sleep. He had a lot of questions to ask her, but they could wait. He went to bed.
Drinda woke John up early the next morning. She brought him a coffee and sat on the end of his bed. They were both quiet, and a tension was beginning to grow that John didn't like. Not at all.
All things considered, this probably wasn't the best way to initiate their
relationship, or whatever it was they had going on.
"I feel guilty," she said eventually.
He paused for a moment, before replying with, "Just tell me."
“Well…” she stared at the floor, unable to even look at him.
John was starting to feel a little uneasy and out of his depth. "So, my suspicions were right," he said. "There was something between you and him?"
"Look, it’s not what you think," she replied quietly.
"So what is it?"
"Pedro was in the Argentine army, a long time ago. He defected because he didn’t agree with the way things were." Of course, It was a well calculated lie.
“And what didn’t he agree with?" asked John, curious despite himself.
The Assassin's Keeper Page 8