Color Me Grey: Book One of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles

by J. C. Phelps

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked.

  “I’m a certified and licensed doctor so don’t worry,” he replied. That made me feel slightly better about him when he pulled out a scalpel and syringe.

  He filled the syringe with a liquid and asked me if I was allergic to Novocain or any related drugs. I told him no and he stuck the needle right in my leg at the wound sight. I flinched with the pain but it was already starting to subside.

  Abdullah Salah was in the corner of the room, red faced and looking like a cornered animal. Mr. White’s face had worry lines throughout and he was hovering over the back of the couch. Mr. Black was sitting in a chair in front of the desk all signs of concern gone, but with a somewhat proud look on his face.

  “I’m going to give this some time to kick in fully.” Mr. Blue said to me. He stood up and walked to the back of the couch. He took Mr. White by the shoulders and told him to sit down and quit worrying because he knew what he was doing.

  “I know that,” Mr. White replied indignantly and moved to the chair next to Mr. Black.

  The door to Mr. White’s office had been left open and we watched Mr. Red and Mr. Green come in the door. Mr. Red wore a mad look on his face, but Mr. Green was as serene as they got. They had totally different walks. Mr. Red was cocky with his head held high and Mr. Green was like a cat slinking across the room. They seemed almost to be the opposite of each other.

  “Where’s Mr. Brown?” I asked no one in particular.

  Mr. Red answered me in a fluid and clear voice. “He’s back at the club retrieving our equipment from DeLange.” Then he went straight to Salah and brought him to a comfortable chair. He began speaking to him quietly. Salah answered his questions with a shaky voice and frequent looks to me. I couldn’t hear what exactly they were saying, but hoped they were making progress.

  Mr. Blue walked back to me on the couch and knelt down to my leg. He pushed on the wound and got no response from me. Then I watched him feel over to where the bullet sat and I felt no pain there either.

  “Okay,” he said and reached for his scalpel. I watched him take the end of it and make an incision about half an inch wide and not at all too deep. Then he pushed the bullet out. He handed me the bullet and said,

  “Good job. The bullet’s in nice shape too. You should be back to normal in a couple of days.” He placed the needle and syringe in a plastic bag and closed it. Then he reached over and applied something to my incision. He explained it was like super glue and would keep the cut closed. Then he applied some sort of ointment to the entrance wound.

  “I can’t glue the entrance wound shut because it needs to flush itself out. But in a day or so, if it looks good I might do that for you. It will minimize the scarring.” Then he wrapped a bandage around my leg with instructions to change it twice a day and reapply the ointment each time.

  “Now this next part is the hard part,” he said. He stood up and helped me to my feet and led me to the bathroom. When we got inside he shut the door and said, “You need a tetanus shot. I could have given it to you out there, but I didn’t know if you would be comfortable. I can give it to you in your arm or your butt, your choice.”

  “What a choice. The arm,” I said pulling my shirt down over my shoulder so he could get to my arm.

  “Not good enough,” he said. “I need you to take your arm out of your sleeve and pull your shirt out of the way. You should be able to keep yourself covered that way still.”

  I did as I was instructed and he gave me the shot. It hurt almost as bad as the bullet had, almost. I still remembered the last time I had a tetanus shot and my arm had ached for a week afterwards. Something else to look forward to, I thought to myself.

  “You handled that well. It’s good to know blood doesn’t make you pass out.” I sensed a bit of humor in his words but wasn’t sure because he didn’t show it in his face. I had put my arm back into my shirt and was smoothing it out when he opened the door to the bathroom. All eyes in the room were on us as we walked out of the room. Mr. Blue brought his medical bag back to the closet it had originated from and I walked without a limp back to the couch.

  Mr. Red was still talking to the informant and Mr. Brown was now present. He looked to me with that smile on his face again. I tried but couldn’t resist smiling back at him.

  I listened in on the conversation that was being held between the rest of the men. I would have been more interested in what Mr. Red and Salah were talking about but they had changed from English to some other language.

  The other men were discussing the shooting and the chase. It was the general consensus that the bullet had been meant for Salah and not me, which was a relief. Then Mr. Green told them about the chase.

  After a while, they had slowed to let the perpetrators think they had lost them and were able to follow them to a building not far from our office. They called in some other men that periodically worked for them to sit and wait for the people inside to make a move. The backup had orders to report in any changes and to continue to follow the men if they left the building.

  Then the mood lightened and Mr. Brown said to me, “You holding up okay over there?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I replied.

  He walked over to me and showed me a scar on his arm. It was barely noticeable. “See this here?” he asked. “Blue over there did a good job on this one. You probably won’t even be able to see your scar without looking for it.” He smiled at me some more.

  Mr. Green walked up to me and said, “Since nobody is going to introduce us, I will introduce myself. I’m Mr. Green. It’s nice to finally meet the prodigy girl,” he said with a wink. “I hear you got yourself a hell of a buck.”

  “I guess,” I said not sure what to think of this little man in front of me. None of these men were unattractive, but Mr. Green seemed to be hardly there. He was skinny and didn’t have the muscle tone the other men had. He was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans that hung on him. He didn’t look starved but he definitely didn’t look buff either.

  Mr. White interrupted and said, “Gabriella was to pick up the skin and bring it back this evening before she went home. I told her to put it in one of the closets.” He was moving to the other side of the room. The first door he opened held my deerskin. All the men had gathered around it as Mr. White laid it out on the floor. Mr. Black came to stand next to me while the other men oohed and aahed over the dead animal.

  “Good job back there,” he said. “You did better than most men,” he added.

  “I hear women handle pain better than men,” I said.

  “They must,” he said back with a smile.

  I looked to the cluster of men in the middle of the office and Mr. Red and Salah had joined in the admiration of my kill. Salah had regained his composure and came up to me.

  “Ms. Stanton, I am truly sorry for the way I acted in the van. I hope you can forgive me,” he said with his head bowed.

  “Not a big deal. I’m sorry I snapped at you too,” I replied.

  “I hope I have been of some help to you in the search for your father. Mr. Red said he is going to help me find a place where I can be safe now that my cousin’s crazy followers have found me out.”

  “Good,” I said with genuine relief. Not so much for the man I used to know as Jones, but because I hoped he had been of some help. I wondered what he had told Mr. Red but decided to wait until they were all done playing with the dead deer before I asked any questions.

  “I can’t believe you took a bullet for me. I appreciate it,” Salah added.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Mr. Black let out his glorious laugh at my last statement. The whole room quieted at the sound. Everyone had turned and had looks of expectation. They wanted to know what was so funny that it actually got a laugh from Mr. Black.

  Mr. White spoke first saying, “Mr. Red, it’s time for us to get down to business. Would you please go tuck in the informant?”
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  Mr. Red came and collected Salah and left the room with him. The other men took seats around the room. Mr. Black gathered up the deer and put it back into the closet. Mr. Blue came to the couch and sat next to me, telling me I should keep my leg elevated. We waited for Mr. Red’s return, which didn’t take more than a few minutes.

  *****

  Chapter Sixteen

  It didn’t take long at all for Mr. Red to walk back into the office. He must have stashed The Lion’s cousin somewhere close by. I watched him saunter into the office and decided Gabriella had been right. He did have an air about him that screamed he thought he was better than all the rest.

  After he had sat down, Mr. White asked him to fill us in on what information Abdullah Salah had given him.

  Mr. Red started by telling us Salah had given him several locations we could check out. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Mr. White, explaining it was a list of these locations. He also said Mr. White would find some names on the list that might be of some help to us now and possibly in the future as well.

  “Did you get the impression Salah was entirely forthcoming on this?” Mr. White asked him.

  “Yes, I did. He’s quite timid and I don’t think he would have been able to lie efficiently,” Mr. Red replied.

  “Alright, everyone,” Mr. White said. “You should go get some rest. I want you all back here early tomorrow morning.”

  We all started to say our goodnights. Mr. Blue came up to me and handed me a bottle of pills.

  “These are antibiotics. Take one pill three times a day. You can start tonight before you go to bed, then I recommend taking one with every meal.” He reminded me to keep off my leg as much as possible and to keep it elevated before he walked for the door.

  My Mustang was still in the parking lot, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to drive it home. I started to make my way to the door when Mr. White came up to me.

  “You and I can start work tonight. If you feel up to it,” he said with a glance at my bandaged leg.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I was glad to be able to do something other than wait. I hated waiting.

  “Alright, let me get some things together, then we’ll go to my place, he said.

  His place? He had seemed professional when he said it, but my imagination started to chug along in full gear. I was a nervous wreck by the time he said, “You ready?”

  No, I’m not ready, I thought, but said, “Yep, let’s go.” We walked out of the office together toward the elevator. He matched my pace. I imagine he did this for the benefit of my leg. I was grateful, but didn’t say anything.

  Inside the elevator he pushed the button for the eighth floor. I wondered if I had misunderstood him when he said we were going to his place. Maybe he didn’t mean his home, just another place he called his own.

  The elevator ride was a short one since we only went up one floor. He stepped out first and automatically placed his hand in front of the doors so they wouldn’t close on me. I had stopped inside the elevator and was looking around suspiciously. The doors had opened onto a small room that was painted a cream color. There was a beautiful door ahead of us. It was offset to the left of the elevator by a few feet. The door had beautiful molding around the frame and supported a small, brass peephole.

  “Are you coming?” he asked in a droll voice.

  “Yeah, I was just looking,” I said. He smiled at me as I limped out of the elevator. With the first step I had tried to add a little extra swing to my hips, but decided against it.

  Mr. White pulled his keys out of his pocket and opened the door into a huge apartment. This obviously was his home. If he just used it for another home, I couldn’t even imagine what his main home would look like. My parents had a nice home and I always thought of it in terms of a mansion, even though it was actually pretty modest. With their worth, they could have had a much larger, more opulent home, but they were comfortable with what they had and I was glad to not have grown up in a museum home.

  Mr. White had a similar concept to his home. It was within comparison to my parents’ home. It was mostly open. We walked in and he shut the door behind me while I took it all in. I had stepped from the elevator to a cream colored carpet and then to a tiled entryway. There was a mirror to my right with a small table waiting for the keys or the mail to be set upon it. To my left was a door; I assumed it was a closet. There were three stairs leading down from the front door to the main part of the apartment. I struggled down them because there was no railing. Mr. White offered assistance, but I declined. I maybe should have taken it, but I didn’t want to show any weakness. I had to lead with my injured leg because it hurt more to bend it than to put weight on it. I made it down one step at a time and it took me three times longer than it should have.

  It gave me a chance to take in the sites. Mr. White had a plush dark gray carpet on the stairs and into the first room. If I had seen the carpet in a store I might have thought it would have given a room a gloomy feeling, but the feeling this room gave off was one of total comfort. The room was a recessed living room with a couch and entertainment system; which included a large screen television and a nice stereo and other electronics. It included some tasteful tables and cabinets and a couple of chairs that matched the fabric on the couch.

  I could see into the kitchen too. It was on the other side of the living room. There were three stairs up into the kitchen area and it had a similar tile to the entryway, white with a gray marbled affect. The kitchen was a bit enclosed because the appliances need walls behind them, but there was a large island on the far end of the kitchen. The island was surrounded by high-backed barstools. The frames were metal and the backs had an intricate open design with loops and curls. The cushions were a light gray color that went well with the tile.

  The apartment seemed to mainly be the two rooms. The far wall to my right had three doors. I could see into two of the rooms well enough to determine one was a bedroom and the other was a bathroom. Both were quite large. The third door was closed. Mr. White led me to that door, unlocked it and we went in.

  The room looked like a spy’s dream. There were TV monitors on part of one wall, with a couple computers available. It was a large area and felt cold, unlike the rest of the apartment. The room also held various other items such as filing cabinets and tables and chairs.

  All the monitors and computers were turned off, so Mr. White walked to one of the computers and switched it on. He motioned me to the chair in front of it and said, “You can use this computer. I need you to track down these places and names for me.” He placed the list Mr. Red had given him on the desk next to the keyboard.

  “Okay,” I said as I sat in the chair.

  “I have access to satellite feeds all over the world and limited access to government data bases. Use what you need. Get to work and I’ll go fix us something to eat,” he said as he turned to go back to the kitchen.

  I got to work on the places first. If I could access satellites without worrying about getting into trouble I might even be able to see if my dad was there. I just had to be in the right place at the right time.

  Mr. White left the door open and I could hear him working in the kitchen. I hadn’t even noticed I was hungry until he mentioned making us something. Now my stomach was growling.

  I continued to check out all the different places while he made cooking noises in the background. I was able to figure out how to locate the position of every single person at any given place, but if they were inside buildings I wasn’t able to determine whether or not one of these people was my dad.

  Mr. White returned and said, “How’s it going?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not finding anything that’s helpful yet,” I said, discouraged.

  “Well come on out and we’ll eat, maybe that will help,” he said.

  I stood up away from the computer screen and limped after him to the kitchen. He helped me up the stairs to the island, even after I had tried to pull away.

  “I don’
t want to stand around for half an hour while you try to get up the stairs,” he said. “I’m hungry and I want to eat it while it’s hot.”

  Mr. White had made us hot sandwiches with roast beef, sautéed onions and green peppers, all topped with Swiss cheese. I was about to reach for my sandwich when he reminded me of my antibiotics that Mr. Blue had given me.

  I sighed and began to get off the chair.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I left them by the computer in the other room,” I said tiredly.

  “I’ll get them,” he said, already on his way.

  During the brief moment he was away I realized I wasn’t as affected by him as I had been before. Don’t get me wrong, I still thought he was as sexy as they get, but I was able to control my thoughts away from the sex, for the most part.

  Sometimes, just a glimpse of him brought on a hot flash, but it seemed now he was becoming something more than just a face and a body. Up until today, I had never allowed myself to think of him as a person.

  He returned just as I was philosophizing and wouldn’t you know it, I got a hot flash. He handed me a single pill and set the bottle next to me. I swallowed it down and then reached for my food. This was better than the egg concoction he had made at the cabin and I finished it in no time. Mr. White had finished before me, but he was still sitting at the island. After I was done he took the plates and put them in the dishwasher. I waited until he finished so he could help me down the stairs again.

  The dishwasher was humming me a lullaby when he came around to my side of the island. He helped me off the chair and back to my seat at the computer.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “A little,” I said with a tired smile.

  He reached over and brought another chair up to the desk. At first I thought he was going to sit in it next to me but he told me to put my leg up on it. Then he left the room again.