by Krista Cairn
She pulled it off and took the makeup case to the bathroom, unfolding it. It didn’t look like a war chest. There were no reds, blue, purples, or other adornment colours. This was all about shading. Espionage was at the heart of battle, after all. A well-informed leader made better decisions, and a good spy knew how to get that information.
She pulled out a broad brush and started, first applying a leveling base across her whole face and neck. Then came the real fun. It took her half an hour. Slow from neglected skills, she knew, but still effective. She still knew how to achieve the look she needed. She checked her lines using hand mirrors reflecting other mirrors to see her face from the side.
She changed her clothes, put on the long, black-haired wig, and stood in front of the mirror, pleased with the transformation. If that were enough to settle her nerves, she’d be off and running. She shook her arms out. Stepping back, she wished someone who didn’t know Dylan was on the other side of the door. That would have been the perfect test. Oh, well.
She went back to the chest for her disguise was held and pulled out her old motorcycle-style leather jacket and shoes. The jacket wasn’t a thick leather, instead it was something more suited to cycling. Still, she enjoyed the idea that it still being whether would help protect her in a crash. The other bonus for this coat, was that it was reversible.
The inside was sky-blue fabric, helping her if she needed to quickly change identities.
Her phone buzzed. Checking it, she saw a text from Rene. ‘Carol went back to reopen the café. I can’t get there yet. Check on her.’
“Now? Seriously?” Simone snapped. Still, it was Carol. With a sigh, Simone stuffed her phone in a pocket. Carol would be a good test, but Simone’s old and new lives weren’t allowed to cross paths. That degree of separation was to protect everyone. She picked her phone up, thinking she’d pass this on to Karen.
‘Can you and Neil go help Carol get the café running again? She’s back and needs help.’ Karen might be flighty, but she had a good heart.
Simone slipped on her shoes and locked the apartment behind her. She thought about texting Mitch but realized she still didn’t have his contact information. She shouldn’t have the cell phone. She went back to her door and stuck it through the mail drop. Okay, now she should be ready. Her old bike and helmet waited, hidden in a storage container just outside of a warehouse a couple blocks away.
She had to remember, the ones she was most in danger from looked ordinary. That’s how they did their job. Blend in, look ordinary, slip through unnoticed. She could do that, most of the time. Some people said she was too good-looking to be unnoticed, which made her laugh. Beauty was so subjective that they could only have been flirting for the practice.
As she entered the black market district, she was shocked, pleasantly, at how calm she felt. This felt a little like coming home. Maybe because she understood the rules here.
There was no way for her to come to harm here. That helped. She just had a few questions and that wouldn’t take long.
No, she didn’t have the tracker under her skin, but she was sure she’d be recognized.
The tracker had never worked on her anyway. She went on a series of increasingly narrow alleyways until she reached the door at a dead end. It was right out of the movies. Do the secret knock, answer the question asked by guy behind a little sliding peephole, then walk into a different world.
She wasn’t disappointed. When she was asked what the nature of her business was, she had no idea the code was to get in.
She swung off her bike and knocked.
“Tell Hemlock that Dylan wants a chat.”
“Angel?” The male voice seemed to have doubts, but that was Hemlock’s nickname for her. Simone smiled. It had to be him.
“Come on Pops,” she used her nickname for him. “I don’t want to get spotted out here.”
She heard the sound of metal on metal as the interior brace bar slid. The door opened and a sandy-grey haired older man, about 4 feet tall, indicated she should come in.
“Hey pops, how have you been?” She asked, as she parked her bike by the door, on the inside. The little gateway room had the same flowered wallpaper and old-fashioned light fixtures.
He wasn’t a doorman as much as he was a gatekeeper. Respect him, or your career was over, and quite likely your life. He was wearing his usual black suit jacket, T-shirt, and jeans. “I see your style hasn’t changed.”
“I see you haven’t learned to keep your observations to yourself yet. How’s that working for you on the outside?”
His lop-sided smile was good to see again.
“Mixed results. Context is everything.” She shrugged.
“Come. Sit over here, and let’s discuss your options. I hesitate to send you off to Parallax just yet. He is changed.”
“Really, all I want is some information. I didn’t know if you would let me in to talk to you. I know I left you in a lurch. It was that, or die.”
“I know you’ve got your issues. It hurts that you didn’t trust me more.” His voice cracked, but he winked. Someone must be listening in, she realized. “What information are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for someone.” She might as well check in on Melody while she was here.
“A couple of people, actually. I think one of them is working for the network. The other one is definitely working for him or herself.” Did she remember Melody’s undercover name?
“There’s a scientist that likes taking risks, particularly with other people’s lives. They’re testing radiation on live targets. Do you know where I could find such a person?”
Hemlock rapped his fingertips along the table, rhythmically for a moment. He tilted his head to one side and smiled. “Ah, well, this is gonna cost you errands. For this information, you’ll need to agree to do three drops for me. No questions asked, as usual.”
She paused. “Are you sure I’ve used up all my favours?”
“I used all of your residual favours to help you disappear. You are literally back with a clean slate, except for your reputation.”
“Is that good or bad?” she chuckled.
“Only time will tell. So, three jobs?”
“Fine, but no trackers. You know they don’t work on me anyway.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works and you know it. No one will trust you otherwise.”
“All right.” She could get it out her arm easy enough. For some reason, it fell like a dead weight when she ghosted. All she had to do was hop away once and it was gone. Then she goes solid again and crush it. “I don’t have a cell phone anymore.”
Hemlock opened the drawer on his desk. “You can borrow this one. I’m sure you’ll get the three drops done quickly enough. Just slide the phone back through the opening in the door when you’re done with it.”
Simone gave a smirk when she recognized her old phone. “I didn’t realize you were the sentimental type.”
“Practical. See? Here you are, needing it back,” he grumbled.
“Ah, practical. Of course.”
“Get out of here before someone spots you. I’ll use code 17 when I text you, so ignore anything else that pops up. I should have something shortly. It’s been busy.”
She was tempted to give him a hug. He’d been good to her, and still was, although she ducked out on him. Still, she had warned him. He’d helped. She didn’t care what his mount said. His actions were what mattered and he proved reliable every time.
“See ya, Pops,” she retrieved her bike as he pushed the door open.
“Play it safe, Angel. I’m not going to live forever.” He nudged her out the door and closed it.
The veiled warning made her nervous. As she strapped her helmet back on and mounted her bike, she heard the brace bar slid back into place, securing the door. There was a back way out, but she’d forgotten which panel to push to get through. Better to just get moving. She’d ask next time she saw him.
She took a winding way home, ghos
ting when she could, for as long as she could.
Better not to be followed, since she couldn’t change out of her disguise yet. She’d left “Simone” at home. And she wanted to stay as Dylan. She felt free, strong, independent up on her bike like this.
As she rode toward home, another cyclist passed her, heading the other way. They gave a quick, low whistle then trilled as they passed her. A courier cue meaning trouble straight ahead, turn to avoid. Who had recognized her?
Simone turned left at the next intersection, heeding the cyclist’s warning. She caught herself riding toward her old apartment and brought the bike to a stop. Should she go see if it was available to rent? She could take it for the month. She had enough money in the bank that she could do it, easily. She barely spent anything she’d earned, except on this bike.
That was one step towards leading a double-life. Part of her thrilled at the thought.
Being “Simone” didn’t feel like a secret identity once it became her only one, but eventually there would be bleed-over. She’d seen enough movies to know that a secret identity eventually got someone tortured or killed. She didn’t want that in her backstory.
She rode toward her current home instead, stopping at the storage crate long enough to stash her bike and helmet. She pulled her jacket off and turned it inside out before putting it back on, then pulled her wig off, folding it as neatly as she could before tucking it inside her jacket, under her arm. Next she picked up a package of baby wipes and cleaned her face. The entire process took less than three minutes.
She locked the crate and left a different way than she came in, ducking into a series of connected shadows and ghosting as completely as she could without pushing like away. A dark moving spot would catch more attention than her normal ghost.
Sneaking around the back of the café, she realized she loved it here too. What was going on in her head? She couldn’t love both lives, could she? Live as both Dylan and Simone? She shook her head and stepped out into the light of the sidewalk.
Déjà vu hit her as she walked past the front plate glass window and saw Mitch sitting at the same table as the first time she saw him. He even had his watch back on, and the same shirt. He was worried, again. Was he concerned about her, or someone else this time?
She walked in and sat across from him at his table.
“Howdy, stranger.”
He frowned. Maybe she should have checked a mirror before sitting.
“Funny,” he said. “Are you done errands for today?”
She shook her head. “I’m waiting for a couple texts. Doing something for an old friend.” He waited, but she wasn’t going to explain. After a minute it felt awkward. She got up.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” she said. As she walked past, he reached out and caught her wrist. Off balance, she hoped to the side and bumped his chair. “What?” She was a little nervous, unsure of what he was about to say.
“Hang on. You’re not quite solid yet.”
“Oh,” she blushed. Good thing she sat first, then. Hopefully he didn’t ask why she was faded. She really didn’t want to lie to him. If she said she went looking for the scientist, he’d probably be angry. If he had gone without her, she would’ve been irritated, so it was a fair assumption.
He let her wrist go. “Two cream, no sugar,” she said.
He nodded but stood up. “Let’s eat at home. Your friends have things well in hand here.”
Butterflies suddenly filled her stomach. “If you don’t mind, we can meet at my place.
Dustin hasn’t seen me for more than a couple minutes since he arrived. I don’t want him saying things a worry my parents.”
He took her hand as they walked out. On the other side of the exit, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’m not going to ask what you were doing today, but you fade fast right now. You might want to wait before you go outside again.”
She didn’t say anything, trusting him. He wouldn’t lie about that. His meeting Justin was the other reason for her butterflies. She didn’t have anything to worry about that way, as long as Justin didn’t believe she was jumping in without looking. Jumping in is exactly what she wasn’t doing.
They were near her house when her phone buzzed. She stopped and checked the message. It was from Hemlock. “That didn’t take long,” she muttered under her breath.
“Another errand?” Mitch asked.
“It won’t take long.” Except for the makeup part, she thought to herself before remembering no one would see her face for this. She didn’t even need the wig at this point.
Sunglasses, helmet, change her jacket again, and she’d be set. “If you want to wait at my place, you can. Just don’t mind anything my brother says.” This would give her a chance to tuck the wig away as well.
“What if I tag along?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be on a bike. It’ll take 10 minutes, maybe 15. If you came, it would take longer and might cause questions.”
He didn’t ask for an explanation, possibly sensing her irritation.
She squeezed his hand, holding it snugly. “I’ll be fine.”
She let them into her apartment, and was mildly relieved a note from Justin on her kitchen table. “Job’s done. Guess we can visit next time. Remember to call mom sometime.
- Justin.”
She went to the chest hidden in her bedroom and quickly tossed the wig in. Checking her other cell phone, she saw a text from René thanking her for sending Karen and Neil over.
Everything is working out, she thought. She just had to survive three deliveries and keep her two worlds from discovering each other. How hard could that be?
When she walked out, Mitch was taking inventory of her kitchen.
“Don’t have too much fun in there,” she joked. “It’s still my kitchen.”
He waved her off, not looking her direction. From the side, he seemed worried and it caused a twinge in her gut. It’s not like she was actually deceiving him. This was for his own protection.
Chapter 20 // A Oh
She finished the first pickup and delivery without incident. As she was leaving the drop spot, a new text came in. Looking down, she saw the same syntax. She tucked the signature card for the drop she’d juts finished inside her jacket and rode to the new pickup spot.
Dodging shadows and alleys, she knew she was being followed. They were likely testing her skills, to ensure she was still up to the task. Not her problem. It didn’t take long to lose them and complete her second drop. One more, and Hemlock would owe her a favour. She would be able to find the scientist. He might even give her some ideas on how to stop him from experimenting on Mitch, and on her. This was her goal. This was worth it.
A third message came in. Reading it, she frowned. There was something odd about the syntax. Was this another test? She entered one word, ‘fake’ and hit reply.
She leaned on her bike, waiting to see if there would be a real delivery coming up.
Suddenly she wondered why Hemlock had this phone fully charged and ready to go before she even went to meet with him. That was a little odd.
So, what else was odd right now? Come to think of it, having texts come in almost back-to-back was highly irregular. That they were both close by time and region also felt wrong. Nervous about standing still, she got on her bike and rode to the signature card mailbox. It looked like a public mailbox but it hadn’t been an actual mailbox in a long time.
Presumably, whoever came to pick the cards up took any regular mail they found to the post office to keep questions at bay.
Then it hit her. He hadn’t insisted on injecting a tracker. Yes, it was pointless with her, but it was still protocol. Hemlock was big on protocol. The second time her tracker had fallen out, she sewed it into her jacket lining, hoping he’d accept that. He hadn’t asked, so she left it. She pulled her jacket off and felt the lining. The tracker was still there.
Calm your imagination down, she scolded herself. He’s probably still tracking this one.
That might also explain why he was only mildly surprised when she knocked on the door.
The batteries in them lasted ten years, like a pacemaker battery, he’d said. Staring at her jacket, she realized the courier side was kind of like a fingerprint, too. Different patches adorned it in a pattern that made it distinctively hers, including two that only couriers wore.
Had she been out of the business too long? She had lost her nerve, and gained paranoia. In a way, it was paranoia that drove her out in the first place. She’d need to put a leash on that. And focus.
She put her jacket back on, courier side out. The third call should be coming fairly, soon she hoped. In the meantime, she cycled around the different neighbourhoods where the deliveries typically happened, re-familiarizing herself with the layout and shortcuts.
Part of her was hoping to bump into a courier she knew from back then. Turnover was pretty high, though. The inter-courier competitions could turn, if not deadly, at least painful. She’d found herself on the traction side of a hospital bed at least once. She’d visited several friends with high hospital bills as well.
It was barely lunch time when she decided to stop going in circles and eat something.
She pulled a protein bar out of a pocket and leaned up against the side of a building. She checked her phone, wishing she could carry her other cell phone. At least that would pass the time, as she texted friends. Out of boredom, she went into one of the phones subfolders and scrolled through photos.
Most of them were just pretty shots. None of the couriers one of their faces on film, so to speak. Anonymity was their security. As she scrolled through, she noticed a pattern of pictures that she didn’t remembered taking. Interesting. There was a distance shot followed by a close-up shot on different buildings.