Haven AU: Visitors, pt 1
Jul. 7th, 2013 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amichan“Duke?” he queries.
“Yeah. I'm about to make land and I have your stuff. Do you want me to bring it up there or come and get it?”
“I'll come to you. Thank you. You haven't changed boats or anything?”
“Nah. They'll have to bury me in this one.”
He makes an odd noise, “I'll be there in a few.”
I hang up and begin the banking turn and slowing the speed so that I can coast up to the dock and then drop anchor before I begin dragging things out onto deck that are for Dave. A medium sized crate is the main thing, and there's a smaller box that's more fragile which I leave in its hidey hole for the time being.
As I'm pulling out the gangplank and lowering it the dock I see Dave walking up. He takes the end of the plank and pulls it down to the ground. I pull the crate towards the plank and then carry it down to him.
“Don't worry I have the rest.”
He nods as I set the crate down by his feet.
“Aren't you warm?” he asks, pulling at the sleeve of my shirt. I pull my arm back and adjust it down, the white fabric, “You're making me hot just looking at you.”
I shake my head, “You're just old.”
“Speaking of things that are old, Vince wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“Of course he does,” I mutter, “You want this in your car, I assume?”
Dave nods. I pick the crate back up and he leads me to the vehicle, “There were some people looking for you,” he says.
“They weren't Russian were they?”
He gives me a curious look, “No.”
“Alright then. Who?”
“A giant and a tiny woman,” he says, “Not from Haven but they sound fairly local,” he opens the trunk and I put the crate inside, “The other?” he asks.
I lead him up on deck, “Wait here,” I go back inside the cabin and retrieve the rectangular, white, cardboard box and my business phone, and bring the box on deck to Dave. He takes the box reverently and opens it moving aside layers of tissue paper to look at the contents. Then he closes everything back up and nods to me.
“Brilliant,” he says, “I'll be back in a moment,” he goes back down to the car and into the glove compartment and gets out an envelope as I'm checking messages, a short but pissy voice mail from the Russian client. I should be able to get hold of someone. Dave waves the hand with the envelope in it towards me and I walk down the gang plank to take it.
“Vince,” he says, “Won't want to be kept waiting.”
“Right,” I nod, dialing the number on my phone, “I look forward to doing business with you again.”
“Yes,” he says, “Probably next month. If it's possible.”
I'm about to ask why but someone has picked up on the other end so I just wave, walking back up on deck to count the money while greeting the client in their native tongue. Dave drives off but I see two people walking towards the docks and figure they must be the ones that Dave described as the giant and the tiny woman, because they can't not be. He is probably taller than me, and she is over a foot shorter than him. He moves military, protective, watching, everything screams danger.
I go back inside so that I can sort things out with the Russian and point out to him that his stupid fucking middle man didn't show up on time and that's why he doesn't have his damn stuff, that I was there more than an hour either side of the pick up time and that he needs to sort it or I'm more than happy to find another buyer. I tell him I'm in Canada at the moment given it's close enough, and that if he can sort something I can meet someone and pass things off. If not he's shit out of luck and can find someone else. He grumbles at me and tries to get to me by saying unsavory things about my mother but is thrown off when I inform him that if he could track her down she would probably do those things and quite cheaply too. He says he'll get back to me within the next two days. There's a reason I don't carry food products. I point out to him that there'll be a storage fee given I can't carry anything else while I've still got his shit on the boat, to see if he'll just quit and let me sell it on, but he doesn't. He hangs up.
I stash the phone and go to get changed. Vince called me in and all. Good chance there's a Job. Safest to go in with gear already much as I...anyway. Between that, the Russian and being back in Haven I'm brewing quite the headache, but I've been up for several hours already compared to the average morning and haven't found my wings yet so no wonder I'm feeling like shit.
I take off my shirt and cook things up in the bed room. My left arm is the most cooperative today though it takes a while to find a spot. I soak up the leftover into a few cigarettes that I put back on the right side of the packet before getting a fresh shirt, and going to the Crocker box for the journal which I leave out on the desk, two blades and I take the gun from the night stand, lock picks and gloves are the next thing, and two hair ties around my wrist.
I really hope I'm wrong and it's just some stupid check in. Some discussion about something I haven't thought of. Guard bull shit would be so welcome, for once.
Jacket, sunglasses, cigarettes and lighter on inside pocket, hair untucked from inside, then track down keys and find regular phone which is on the counter along with Dave's money envelope which I stash in the hidey hole I got his scrimshaw out of. I half expect there to be some annoyed messages from Vince or more likely some Guard flunky who got the short end, but no; the phone is clear.
The visitors have not come up on deck or knocked on the door in the mean time either. They're still on ground by the gang plank I realize as I lock the door and pull the sunglasses down against the brightened morning, breathing in the new calm before walking down the gangplank.
“Can I help you folks?” I ask them before I get to the actual dock, looking from one to the other. The big guy, broad, blond and bearded is actually looking slightly wary himself now, watching, but clearly isn't the one in charge either. He glances down at her and she takes a step forward.
She has dark hair, and slight form, cute. There's something...slightly familiar, but I can't place it, “Duke Crocker?” she queries in a way that says she already knows she's right.
“So I'm told,” I answer, lighting up. The guy looks a little—almost like he's never seen someone smoke before, “And you are?”
“You can call me 'Jennifer',” she says. Hm. One of those. Could be hassle. Could be profitable. Then she points to the wall standing next to her, “This is 'Dwight'. He answers to me.”
Dwight nods at me. I nod back.
“Alright, Jennifer,” I say, “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have an appointment to get to.”
“That's fine,” she says, “I can do both.”
As I set off up the street she falls in next to me and Dwight behind like a big protective wall.
“Out of curiosity how did you come by my name? You're not local.”
“Jody recommended you,” she remarks.
“Really?” I query, considering that she and I haven't worked with each other since...
“This is nothing like New Orleans,” she continues. We're getting close to the Guard house, and I can feel my pocket vibrating with texts which I have a feeling are coming from someone inside, “I know you have contacts, and we're looking for some information.”
“Hm,” I consent.
“Depending on what comes back we might be looking to buy your time for some additional services. Cash, of course.”
“Cash is my preferred currency.” More vibrating from the phone in my pocket. I stub the cigarette out under my shoe and retrieve my phone, “Sorry about this.”
7, no 8 messages now.
“And for the initial information, of course,” she says.
“Of course,” I scroll through the messages quickly, “Much as I prefer talking about this sort of business. This other appointment has a real stick up his ass so I should go see him before he ruptures something. There are some pretty nice cafes and things around so why don't you and your Dwight go to one of them and I'll catch up with you after I see him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she says, “We'll see you in a little while.”
%%%%
I cross the street and walk one building down to the Guard office. Side entrance, of course. Mike Gallagher is sitting at a desk with his feet up with an open book and a cell phone rested inside of it. He looks up when I come down the corridor. I slide my glasses up on top of my head and give him a sort of nod.
“Duke,” he says, “About time,” he leans over from where he's sitting and bats at the door behind him with the book, “Crocker's here!” he shouts.
“Send him in!” Vince yells back.
Gallagher turns and looks at me with the “I trust you understand what that means” look.
“I'm not stupid.” I retort.
“That's not what I was worried about,” Gallagher mutters.
I push open Vince's door. He's sitting at the desk and pulls his glasses down his nose as I walk in. He waves me to the chair in front and I sit down across from him.
“So, good of you to make it,” he says, with soft sarcasm.
I lean back in the chair and put my foot on my leg, “I haven't been back all that long,” I point out, “I had things to drop off and then possible clients to talk to forgive me for wanting to talk to them and try to find things out given they're not from Haven but sorta...well, she looked sorta...and you know, money.”
“Sorta?” he asks, “Was there an adjective there, perhaps?”
“Familiar, perhaps?” I wave a hand at him, “So, do I want to ask where the fire is?”
Vince pulls a folder from the basket on his side of the desk and drops it in front of me, “Probably not.”
I tap the folder so that it falls on to my leg and flip it open. A woman's picture clipped to one side on the top of a badly blown up copy of her driver's license which has two phone numbers written on it, house number and cell number.Nicole Meadows. 452 Beechdale Road.
She looks familiar too.
On the opposite side of the folder is clipped a sheaf of more official looking papers, medical records, I flip through them but I can't focus on the print very much other than some are from a hospital outside of Derry and some are from a hospital in New Hampshire.
“A...target?”
He nods, “Standard plus 25% given the situation.”
“Situation?”
“We need this done as soon as possible. You can see how many incidents there've been,” he points to the medical record side. When she and her husband were in New Hampshire on holiday she sent three people to the hospital. When she was at a business meeting in Derry last week six and one died. That's how we sorted out it was her and not...but we can't chance especially now.”
“...the Troubles are back?”
He nods, “The affect radius of her Troub...”
Well, on the upside I don't have to abduct her and take her somewhere out of town. I shouldn't laugh. I have to drop the folder on the table to cover my mouth.
“Are you listening to me?” he slams his fist on the table.
“Isn't it mostly just find the woman? Kill the woman?” I mutter, folding up her driver's license picture and putting it in the inside pocket of my jacket behind the cigarette packet, “Oh, and do it quietly because it saves us having to pay the Cleaner.”
Vince gives me a withering look, “Her Trouble causes sickness, violent convulsions. It appears to be triggered by stress, vacations, work...well co-workers are stressful for anyone but she's been on leave since the incident in Derry.”
“Being murdered perhaps?” I ask, “Well, I'll be sure to not announce myself like I was going to.”
There's that withering look again, “Fine. Just get on then. Call in when everything's done and let me know...” he trails off.
I stand up, “Does Gallagher have the burners or do you?”
He looks at me, blankly.
“I'll check with Gallagher,” then something. I stop at the door, “You said something before I think...about how you knew it was her and not...? Is there anyone else I need to watch out for other than the husband?”
Vince hesitates.
“Vincent?”
“They have two children,” he says, finally.
“Oh, fuck you, Vince. Fuck you!”
“It's a school day!” I hear as I leave, flicking him off while the door slowly closes, it's on one of those time hinges so it can't be slammed, “They won't be at the house until after three!”
Gallagher doesn't say anything to me but his outstretched hand has a small flip phone in it which is chiming through it's start-up music. I snatch it and put it in my pants pocket.
“Always a pleasure!” Gallagher calls behind me as I open the side door and leave.
Yeah, fuck you too.
Ah, crap, I realize as I find myself one of the laced cigarettes, now I have to try and sort out which way the potential new clients went and—or the Jennifer could be right over there coming up the street towards me. I give her a half-wave after lighting up and stashing the fire away.
“That was good timing,” she remarks, “We found a cute little cafe up the—you look...displeased.”
“Eh, just...” I wave a hand towards the Guard building, “it's...pers…and being back in Haven. I'm always pissed when I'm back in Haven, but with the meeting their Job has to get bumped to the top of the pile,” I mime with my hands, “I understand if you need to find someone else.”
“It's not as urgent as all that. Perhaps we can discuss it later, after your current...errand?”
“Alright,” I nod, “that's mighty decent. I should be clear by...this afternoon,” damn well better be, and back out the other side, “We could meet around 3 or 4 back at the bo...” did I pack up all the Russian's shit? “I mean--”
“Captain Trip's and then we can adjourn to some place less public to discuss the finer details if it seems an agreement is going to be made?” she offers.
“Thank you. Yes,” I shake my head, “So, 3:30 at Trip's then?”
“Sounds good,” she extends her hand and I shake it. She seems hesitant for a moment, “are you okay?” she asks, quietly.
“Yeah. Yeah, it's fine,” it's weird, her touch. I extract my hand, “all good, why?”
“And there's nothing I can help you with?” there's something about her expression, obviously there's nothing she can do, and clearly she knows it, and her offering is weird and there's just...
“No. No,” I say, probably too hastily, but this morning just needs to be over with, “I've got to get going to my,” what did she say? “errand. I'll see you and your boyfriend later.”
I could swear I hear “not my boyfriend” as I cross the street.
%%%%
It's another cigarette before I'm at the street where the house is. I walk down past it and up the other side. There's a car in the driveway and it's a fairly nice house with two floors and a garage. From the wall of the house across the street I take out the burner phone and the piece of paper and reluctantly hope that she's the sort that answers the phone for unknown numbers if she's home as I dial the land line.
The line rings for a while but then just when I'm zoning out staring at the branches of the trees in her yard swaying in the wind I hear, “Hello?”
And almost forget that I'm supposed to be pretending to be Indian, “Ah, yes,” I say in my best fake outsourced tech support, “Hello, madam, this is, uh, Steve, with Cardholder Services we noticed some strange activity on your credit card and wanted to check with you. You are...Nicole Meadows, yes?” I make sure to mispronounce it. I look at the house, it's hard to see through to the house and still stay mostly behind the tree.
“Uh...yes...” she says, but thankfully sounds suspicious, “Which credit card is this, did you say?”
“Yes, madam,” I pick the one that most people don't use, “this is your Discover card, yes?” If she does have it the odds of the random four digits I pick being the last four of her card are rare and I can randomly disconnect anyway. I know she's there now.
“I don't have a Discover card,” she hangs up.
Okay, so she's there. Now, I just have to get in there to her. I go back across the road towards the tree, taking the hair thing off my wrist and with a deep breath tying everything up out of the way and down my shirt for safe measure, and then putting the gloves on. I look through the tree branches and can't see sign of anyone on this side of the house, rather than jumping the wall I just slip up the driveway and around the side of the house. I can't hear anyone moving around, and thankfully no dog starts barking or anything like that. I do see a some kind of small animal, I'm assuming is a cat, jump down from the front window though.
I'm looking for a back door with the intent of picking the lock when I see a glass sliding door, and push it to see if there's a chance. It slides open and I have to shake my head, but then this is Haven people aren't so worried about burglaries.
I close the door slowly behind me and listen. I can hear someone moving about upstairs and the sound of a voice. Either she's talking to herself like a crazy person or she's on the phone with someone else.
An investigation of downstairs yields a bathroom with tub which gives me an unfortunate idea. I start running the water if it attracts her attention that's helpful. I walk back towards the stairs. Still talking but the voice does seem closer. I can make out snippets of complaint about being stuck at home and apparently 'Bren' doesn't get it and 'Bren' will never get it.
I find a knife in the kitchen and then find something fragile and knock it off the counter onto the tile floor in there.
“Oh, God damn it!” I hear, “I'm gonna let you go. Sarah's cat just knocked something over downstairs. I'll call you back later after I shower.”
Well, shit.
No, wait. She's coming downstairs. I move so that I'm standing to the side of the staircase, slipping the kitchen knife into the same strap as one of my other knives so I can grab her when she comes within reach. Hand over her mouth and nose and other arm wrapped around hers to keep her still until she goes limp. Her cell phone clattering to the floor.
“Sssh,” I whisper, “I'm really sorry,” I move my hand. I can still feel her breathing. I carry her to the bathroom. Fortunately she's in yoga pants and a tank top so it's going to be easy enough to do what needs to be done, and no stripping. That would be so wrong. I pull the kitchen knife back out of my pocket and transfer it to my left hand. She's balanced on one shoulder. The water is warm, to me and the tub will probably over flow some when I set her in it, but she's supposed to be suicidal so what's it matter.
I carefully lay her in the tub. My left arm tucked so that it's under both arm pits and across her chest, the other, knife still in hand. The water rouses her with a jolt and she struggles then but I have her gripped tightly against my chest.
“What are you doing? Let me go!”
“I can't. I'm sorry.”
Her hands claw at my arm but the jacket is thick. I grab the knife quickly with my right hand and take hold of one of hers holding it there and adjusting my position behind her.
“Let me go!”
I should have drugged her. Didn't think to check for things. Stupid of me. So many people have fancy prescriptions in their house. Would have made this easier. Doped up and slit wrists. Making doubly sure she died, very thorough suicide. Too late now. I manage to get the one wrist slit. It's a wobbly mess of a line, but whatever, and there's the rush and the headiness because there's blood all in the water and it's all over.
Keep calm. Keep calm.
Don't break her neck. The bath tub. Anything else in the room.
Her head is under the water and she's kicking at me before I realize exactly what I'm doing and pull her up. Original plan. Nose, mouth covered and neck against my body. Careful. Careful. Hold her hands, cut the other wrist. The rush shifts. The red swirling patterns in the water sparkling their way across the floor like so many sprites.
She's gone.
Have to get out of here.
Out.
Out.
The kitchen knife. I put it back in her hand, wrapping the fingers around it and letting it drop to the floor. Jingling bells.
Kick her phone as I'm walking through the house.
As I pick it up and see the picture on it.
Fuck. Her kids don't need to come home and find her.
I send a bunch of text messages to her husband with different beggings of please come home. I need you. Hopefully he can have his phone on at work or checks it soon and then slide it into the bathroom and then leave, sliding the glass door closed again.
I think I knock something else over; but fuck it too late now, and I go out the back gate and down that street instead back towards town, I hope. I don't remember what street this is. Hm, shit papers. I pull them out of my pocket and sit down. The ground hits hard, but it's very soft. It's so sparkly when I run it, but I can't feel it, oh right, gloves. I put them away. Burning papers, that's what I was doing. I get out the lighter and set them on fire in a little hole in the dirt that I made. It's warm and squooshy and I poke at it with my finger as I watch the little fireflies of white float up into the sky and blow at them here and there, making sure everything goes up in smoke.
Don't need dead lady's driver's license in my pocket or her phone number. I break apart the burner phone too and burn what of that I can. Burning the burner phone. That humors me for a while. Burning the burner phone. I bet Vince wouldn't find that funny. He'd just glare at me. Vince. VINCE. Need to call Vince.
I find my actual phone and mash Vince's face while pulling myself up on the fence after getting the pieces of cell phone that wouldn't burn back into my jacket pocket; bound to be a trash can somewhere. The street is super uneven. They really need to work on that. I keep my hand on the various fences as I go along. Vince finally answers the phone.
“What is it, Duke?”
“Your job is done, asshole.”
“What? I have company. I can't stay on the phone.”
“I said your job is done,” I stop walking and lean back against the fence, “You know your very urgent, super important job. It's done. You're clear. She committed suicide. Congratulations.”
“Oh,” he says, “Right. Well. Thank you.”
“Yeah. Sure. You're fucking welcome.” I put my phone away and start the walk again.