Pawn's Gambit

by Darin Kennedy

  “A second time?” A crawling sensation played along Steven’s scalp at the mere thought of another encounter with the woman in the black dress.

  “Your opponent is playing quite aggressively this time,” the stranger continued, “and seems to be ignoring the rules at his whim. This steps up our timetable considerably.”

  “Timetable? What are you—”

  The driver accelerated through a left turn, sending Steven careening into the door. “I can guess many of the questions running through your mind, though the most important ones are those you have yet to consider.”

  The cab’s engine whined as the driver sped beneath a yellow light and narrowly avoided an oncoming garbage truck. The truck’s headlamps filled the cab with light and something that had nagged at Steven sprung to the forefront of his mind. Despite multiple turns and the lights of dozens of vehicles, he couldn’t recall seeing so much as a glimpse of the driver’s face. He craned his neck in an effort to catch the man’s profile or perhaps a reflection in the rear view mirror, but regardless of the lighting or angle, the driver’s features remained hidden in shadow.

  Except his eyes. Those piercing grey eyes.

  “Who are you?” Steven asked.

  The driver met Steven’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “Names as a convention are funny things, but for now, you may call me Grey. More importantly, I am someone in need of your particular services.”

  “My services?” Steven let out a solitary chuckle. “I work for an employment agency. You want me to find you a job?”

  Grey laughed. “No, Steven. This job is yours, the first of many. I have several open positions to fill and I am seeking individuals who meet my very exacting requirements.”

  “Right.” Steven rolled the man’s words over in his mind. “And that crazy bitch who tried to flash-fry me. Who was she?”

  “A representative of your opponent, and not someone to trifle with.”

  “What the hell does she want with me, anyway? I’ve never even seen her before.”

  “You are not being pursued for anything you have done, Steven, but for the road you are about to walk.”

  “And you’re not listening to a word I’m saying. I haven’t agreed to any part of this.” Steven peered out the window as the car slowed in an unfamiliar neighborhood. “I don’t even know what this is.”

  “Trust that all your questions will be answered in due time, but first we must get you to safety.” The cab pulled to the curb along a dimly lit side street. “If memory serves me, your dinner plans this evening were interrupted. You must be famished.” Grey exited the cab and proceeded up a narrow alley.

  His warring instincts telling him simultaneously to make a run for it and to trust the enigmatic stranger, Steven followed Grey into the murky alley. A solitary streetlamp flickered to their rear, its intermittent illumination barely able to penetrate the hazy mist playing about his rescuer’s feet. Cloaked in a full-length duster, the man known as Grey remained a mystery. An inch or two taller than Steven, his shifting form melded with the shadows like an out of focus image on a movie screen. As they reached the other end of the alley, Grey stopped before a dilapidated green door and brushed the dust from an old wooden sign marked “Stage Exit.”

  “We’re going to a theater?”

  “This door leads to a safe location, albeit in a roundabout sort of way.” Grey rummaged in the pocket of his well-worn gabardine coat and produced an old-fashioned skeleton key along with a bundle Steven couldn’t identify in the dim haze. He brushed the door twice with the bundle, leaving an “X” in the dust and cobwebs, and placed the two-pronged key into the lock. Shooting a quick glance back at the mouth of the alley, he turned the key. The aged tumblers resisted briefly, but in the end, relented.

  The door swung open, but instead of a darkened room or musty stairwell or even the inside of a building at all, the doorway opened onto a cobblestone street. Damp air with a hint of chill poured through the open door. Grey stepped through without hesitation and waited on the other side. Steven followed, feeling like Alice at the rabbit hole, all the while doubting his own senses. An abrupt drop in temperature coupled with the pungent smell of salt water made it clear they were no longer in Chicago. Outside the doorway waited not the murky alleyway they had just left, but the inside of a coffee shop after hours, lights off with chairs upside down on the tables. Grey closed the ornate glass and wood door behind them and again turned the key.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Locking up.” Grey’s matter of fact tone held a touch of levity. “It is common courtesy, is it not?” He pocketed the key and proceeded down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Steven followed in silence, jogging to keep up. The odd pair passed block after block of shops along the cobblestone street, the storefronts a strange mixture of contemporary and vintage. Occasionally, between some of the buildings, Steven glimpsed a large body of water he had a sneaking suspicion wasn’t Lake Michigan.

  “Where are we?” Steven asked.

  “This is Old Port. Nice town. Quite pleasant this time of year.”

  “Old Port?”

  “The oldest section of Portland. Have you never visited Maine before?”

  “We’re in Maine? Are you kidding me?”

  “You tell me, Steven. When was the last time you took an oceanside stroll in Chicago?”

  Steven stopped at the next intersection and peered out at the water. “Point taken. You’ve got to admit, though, this is all a little…”

  “Insane? Do not fear. All will be made clear soon enough.”

  Grey headed inland, leaving the main street of shops and restaurants behind, and again, Steven followed. Strangely, though the streets held a smattering of joggers, dog walkers and couples out for an evening stroll, no one acknowledged their presence. Some would politely step out of the way or head to the opposite side of the street, but not one made eye contact with either of them.

  “It’s strange, Grey. It’s like these people can’t…” Steven’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of shadows shimmering off Grey’s coat like raindrops. He looked to the side and his mysterious rescuer all but vanished, only to reappear when Steven refocused on the man’s form.

  “How the hell are you doing that?”

  “Hold that thought, Steven. We have arrived.”

  They stood before a white two-story house with black shutters, a quaint front porch with several hanging ferns, and the obligatory pair of rocking chairs.

  “At last.” Grey’s boots, loud upon the cobblestone walkway, echoed on the warped wood of the porch steps as he approached the front door. Even there, beneath the porch’s lone incandescent bulb, his face remained hidden.

  Despite the late hour, lights shone from several rooms of the house. The unmistakable wail of a Louis Armstrong solo emanated from an open window. The dulcet jazz tones sent Steven back half a decade to a much happier time.

  The senior dance at Georgetown. The jazz band from New Orleans. The feel of Katherine’s velvet dress beneath his fingers, the two of them shifting in time to the music.

  Grey knocked three times on the wooden door, jolting Steven back to the present. The music stopped, leaving only the distant whistle of a train to break the stillness. “It has been far too long,” Grey whispered.

  Footsteps approached from within, followed by a gruff voice from behind the door. “Who in the blue blazes is knocking at this hour?”

  Grey chuckled. “You might say, ‘a long-expected party’.”

  “Holy saints,” proclaimed the voice from beyond the door. “Could it be?” The door cracked an inch, and a pair of eyes scrutinized Grey from below a brass chain.

  “Hello, Arthur.”

  The door clicked shut for a moment and then flew open to reveal a man in his eighties grinning broadly. His build slight, he wore his thick, white hair combed neatly to one side. Dressed in old jeans and a flannel shirt, his well-used apron proclaimed in faded red letters “Kiss the Cook.” He regarded Grey w
ith glad recognition and seemed oblivious to Steven’s existence.

  “Unbelievable. Rex Caesius standing on my doorstep.” Tears formed at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. “It’s been quite a while.”

  “It has indeed,” Grey said. “You look well.”

  “You too, Rex, though I see your preferred appellation is finally starting to catch up with you.” Arthur laughed. “About damn time.” He glanced back into the house. “I hope you’re hungry. We didn’t get a proper dinner tonight, and Ruth is just finishing up our evening snack.”

  “I am well, thank you, though my companion could probably use some refreshment.”

  Arthur squinted past Grey and caught Steven’s eye. “Wait. Is that—”

  “This is a new associate of mine,” Grey interrupted. “His name is Steven Bauer. We met earlier this evening to discuss a business proposition, but our rendezvous was interrupted. We needed a place away from certain prying individuals to discuss the specifics. I apologize for the lateness of our call, but yours was the first place that came to mind and, as I remember, you usually have some scraps lying around for hungry passersby.”

  “Scraps?” Arthur pushed past Grey and shook Steven’s hand. “Good evening, young man. I’m Arthur Pedone. Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Steven was sure they’d never met, though a glint of recognition and a hint of gratitude shone in the man’s old eyes.

  “Well, come on inside. Don’t be shy. Scraps. The very thought.” He put his hand to his mouth and called down the hall. “Ruth?”

  A plump woman of Arthur’s vintage stepped into the hall from an adjoining room. A simple apron and the mouthwatering smell of cooking meat suggested she had been busy in the kitchen. Her face screwed up when she saw the three of them, her eyes squinting over the pair of rectangular glasses perched precariously on her nose. “Well, love? Are you going to leave them standing on the porch or invite them in?”

  “But I—” Arthur stammered.

  “Please excuse my husband’s poor manners.” Ruth shot them all a wink. “Come inside, all of you. It’s damp out tonight, and we don’t want anyone catching colds.” Grey beckoned for Steven to enter before disappearing with Arthur into the next room. Steven moved to join them but stopped at the old woman’s raised hand.

  “Don’t mind those two,” she said with a knowing grin. “They have some catching up to do. Please make yourself at home.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “I’m Ruth.”

  “Steven.” His gaze wandered around the room. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Ruth fiddled with her necklace, a simple silver chain, her fingers absently stroking the dragonfly-shaped pendant that rested above her heart.

  Steven swallowed. “Do you?”

  Ruth took Steven’s hands, her long-suffering smile implying she understood his life had become anything but ordinary. “I’d best not say. You’ll get your answers soon enough, most of which I suspect you’ll wish you could give back.”

  Her hands were calloused but warm. As the two of them stood there, another bit of déjà vu filtered through Steven’s thoughts, as if he had stood with her before just like this, but in another place, another time.

  “I’m sorry, Ruth.” Steven locked gazes with the old woman. “Have we met?”

  Arthur stepped back into the hall. “The teapot is whistling, love, and I suspect the corned beef is almost ready.”

  Ruth dropped Steven’s hands and turned to face her husband. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine.” Arthur’s expression suggested otherwise. “I just have a few things to take care of outside.” He embraced his wife and gently kissed her wrinkled forehead.

  “I’ll go finish up, then.” Ruth shot Steven an anxious look and headed down the hall for the kitchen. Arthur cracked the front door and peered out into the darkness before stepping out onto the porch.

  “Wait,” Steven said. “Where are you going?”

  Arthur turned and met Steven’s nervous gaze. “You can go ahead into the next room. He’s ready for you.” The old man forced his lips into a tight smile and pulled the door closed behind him. The deadbolt lock turned from outside.

  “Looks like I’m not going anywhere.” Steven’s eyes passed from the locked door to the opposite doorway that apparently led to all the answers his mind craved. “Ready for me, huh?” A sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips. “The real question is whether I’m ready for him.”

  4

  Grey

  Steven stepped through the arched doorway into a den furnished with three mismatched chairs and a well-worn leather sofa. A pair of bookshelves sagged under the weight of hundreds of volumes. A small Panasonic television complete with rabbit ears sat abandoned in the corner, the screen so covered with dust, he suspected it hadn’t been turned on since Clinton sat in the Oval Office. He turned to call for Ruth and found a grey duster draped across the back of the old sofa. Just a few feet away, his mysterious rescuer stared intently at a framed black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall.

  He hadn’t been there a second before. Steven rubbed at his eyes. How could he have missed the man?

  No longer cloaked in canvas and shadow, Grey sported a charcoal and white-checkered tunic that hung midway down his thighs, cinched at the waist with a woven leather belt. His jet-black, shoulder-length locks accentuated the few strands of white at his temples. Made of grey leather, his well-worn boots shone with a high luster.

  “Shark skin.” Grey’s eyes didn’t budge from the photograph.

  Steven took a step closer. “Excuse me?”

  “The boots. They are fashioned from shark skin.”

  “That’s… interesting. What’s up with the picture?”

  Grey turned and sat in a battered claw-footed chair where a pair of lace doilies decorated the armrests. “My apologies. I was reminiscing on happier times.”

  Captivated by Grey’s steely gaze, Steven took a seat on the sofa opposite his strange rescuer. The weathered lines of the man’s face spoke volumes, while his aquiline nose and square chin suggested nobility.

  “I was thinking. I never really thanked you for—”

  “No thanks are required, Steven.” Grey spoke with authority though an undercurrent of weariness colored every word. “Your importance in the coming days necessitated every risk I have taken this evening.”

  “I don’t get it.” Steven buried his face in his hands. “Floating women, black fire, exploding security guards, not to mention our little interstate jaunt an hour ago. Please tell me I’m lying in a gutter somewhere dreaming all this.”

  “If only this were a dream. As difficult as it may be for you to believe, all you have seen tonight is real.” A rueful grimace spread across his face. “Far too real.”

  “There has to be some sort of explanation, then. Something that makes sense.” Steven shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from trembling. “Why is all this happening? What do you want from me?”

  “As I said in the cab, I have need of your services.”

  Steven’s stomach knotted. “And if I don’t accept?”

  “It is not your choice.” Grey stroked his sparse beard. “This position chooses you, not the other way around.”

  “I’m guessing the woman in black doesn’t want me to take the job.”

  Grey studied the floor, his brow furrowed. “I am still unclear as to how she found you. By every convention, you should have been untouchable, at least until the others were gathered. My best thought is that despite all my precautions, the enemy became aware of your identity through me. I am truly sorry your life was endangered before you were ready.”

  “Like I was ever going to be ready for a supermodel assassin sporting a flamethrower? Not to mention I’ve never laid eyes on you before tonight.”

  “Oh, we have indeed met, Steven Bauer, though I sincerely doubt you would remember. I have approached you in friendly guise on multiple occasions, much as I did earlier this
evening through your friend Jonas. I hoped to avoid alarming you until I had confirmed you were in fact the man for the job. Tonight’s events unfortunately demonstrate that my efforts to maintain your anonymity have failed.”

  “You think?” Steven’s eyes grew wide. “Consider me officially alarmed. That woman—whatever she was—knew exactly who I was. She killed all those people trying to get to me.” He pondered for a moment. “Is this a CIA thing or something like that?”

  Grey shook his head. “You saw what your pursuer could do this evening. Try as you might, you will find no explanation that makes sense to you in the world you know. Your paradigm must shift. If you wish to understand tonight’s events and your role in the coming struggle, you will have to open your mind to possibilities you have never considered.”

  A sniff from the hall caught their attention. Perched at the edge of the arched doorway stood Ruth, her face half-hidden in shadow.

  “Food’s ready, boys.” A quiet insistence filled her words. “You can wash up in the back.”

  As Ruth vanished back down the hall, Grey rose. “Shall we continue our discussion over dinner? Ruth is quite the cook.”

  Though Steven bristled at the interruption, he found it difficult to argue with the rumbling of his stomach as the aroma of corned beef wafted into the room. He followed Grey down a hallway filled with fifty years of framed photographs to the Pedone dining room.

  Clearly the showplace of the home, white columns on either side of the doorway opened on walls of deep magenta and a cherry hardwood floor. A simple wrought-iron light fixture hung over a small oval table with four place settings. Four glasses of iced tea and an impressive assortment of rolls and croissants occupied the center of the table.

  “Have a seat,” Ruth said. “Arthur should be back any moment.”

  As Steven and Grey took their places around the table, a jangle of keys at the front door brought a relieved smile to Ruth’s face. A moment later, Arthur joined them.