TCQ: Nemesis - Accessories (Part II)
The bell tinkled as the door opened. Pops was busy cutting the day’s fruit and looked up at the sound. He cursed as he cut himself. He stuck his finger in his mouth and stared as the newcomer walked slowly to the bar.“Hi, Pops.”
Pops grunted, then took his finger out of his mouth. “Hi, Jen.” He glanced at the small collection of regulars at the bar but for once they seemed content to not comment. “What brings you here?”
Jen Dixon turned her head this way and that. “I thought that Luke might be working.”Pops shook his head and retrieved a towel from the bar. “Nope. He didn’t show last night and hasn’t checked in.” He shoved his finger into the towel and leaned forward to whisper. “Figured he was on, you know, hero stuff business.”
Jen smiled wistfully. “Yeah. Probably.”
The two of them stood there quietly for several moments before Pops cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. He usually does.”
Jen nodded, her blond hair falling in front of her eyes. “No doubt,” she agreed, pushing the locks behind her ear. Again the awkward pause.
“So…”
Pops smirked his way into a smile. “So what brings you around? I thought you two were through.”
Jen smiled at the familiar lack of subtlety. “We are. I just…well, it’s silly. I lost a bracelet my mother gave me and I thought…well, I thought maybe it was at his place or something.”
Pops nodded. “I’ll be sure and ask him about it.”
“Thank you,” Jen smiled. She turned to leave. “Thank you, Pops.”
“No problem, darlin’. Good seeing you again.”
Jen took another step, paused, then turned back around. “It’s just that I’ve left him several messages in the last day or two and I haven’t heard back from him. He’s not normally like that.”
Pops felt his guts clench. He’d been thinking the same thing. “Yeah. Ain’t like him not to show up, either. Not without a heads up, at least.” He cast a sidelong glance at the regulars and jerked his head at Jen. They stepped down to the other side of the bar.
“Do you think he’s in trouble?” Jen asked, real concern on her face.
“I don’t know,” Pops admitted. “I think I would’ve heard something, but I get confused as to who knows his secret. Maybe no one in The Con—you know, the club—knows who he really is.” Seeing Jen’s growing distress he reached out and patted her hand. “Hey. It’s Luke. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
The door chimed again and both Pops and Jen looked up expectantly. Luke was known for his dramatic entrances and it would be just like him to turn up exactly when they were talking about him.
It wasn’t Luke, however, but a smaller man in need of a shave. And a haircut. And likely a bath.. He seemed nervous even being there, but after several darting looks about the room he hurried over to Pops.
“You Pops?” he asked without preamble.
Pops glared at the young man for intruding. “Yeah. What of it?”
The smaller man nodded to himself and opened his mouth to speak. He glanced at Jen, then took a second, longer look. He smiled, revealing that he needed to brush his teeth, as well.
“Hi,” he said hoarsely. Jen offered a nervous half-smile in return. Pops cleared his throat meaningfully.
“Huh?” The man nodded. “Oh, right. You’re Pops, right?”
Pops sighed. Well, rumbled, really. “Yes,” he said again.
The man nodded. “Okay, look. I’m a guy, right? I don’t know nothin’ or nobody, but someone told me that if ever there was a problem and hadn’t heard from him to come here and leave a message.”
Pops and Jen exchanged glances. Jen was clearly in the dark. Pops squinted at the man.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The man sighed as if he was talking to an idiot. “This guy, he goes around saving people, right? Catching bad guys and stuff? Well, we know each other.” He considered for a moment. “I guess you could say we’re friends. Good friends, in fact. Like, buddies. We hang out and stuff.”
Pops cleared his throat again. The man held up a dirty hand.
“Right. Right. Anyway, this friend of mine, usually we set up meetings and stuff through the interweb thing, you know? Computers and stuff? He posts messages, I post messages, everybody posts messages, but we know how to make sure to get the good ones. Code words and stuff, you know?” He waited for a response to his revelation of insight but neither Pops nor Jen seemed interested. He stared at Jen for a good long while before leaning toward Pops.
“You sure she should be hearing all this?” he asked conspiratorially.
“You haven’t said a fucking thing yet,” Pops clarified.
“Right.” The man nodded. “Right. Anyway, this friend of mine, he ain’t left no messages for me lately, and I been leaving him a bunch. I hear things, y’see. People talk, and sometimes I hear it, and if it’s good stuff I tell this buddy of mine, only he ain’t pickin’ up, if you know what I mean. And now I hear that there are people talking about him and it ain’t in a good way, if you catch my drift.”
Pops’ face went through a mild contortion of expressions, all of them looking pained and angry.
“And you came here why?” he prompted.
“Right.” The man nodded. “Because this friend of mine, he told me a while back that if anything ever went wrong that I should come here and leave him a message. Said that the people here—you, I guess he meant—were friends and that I could trust them. You. I could trust you.” He squinted at Pops and looked around the bar.
“So,” he said, leaning forward again. “Can I? Trust you?”
Pops chewed on his lip. “If you mean our friend dresses funny and beats people up, then yeah, you can trust me.”
The man nodded. “Good. Good.” He nodded again. “That’s good.”
The three of them stood there in silence for a minute before Pops cleared his throat. The man looked up questioningly.
“The message?” Pops prompted.
“Oh! Right. Right. The message.” He nodded. Pops shook his head. “The message is this; someone’s after him.”
“That’s it?”
The man blinked. “Well…yeah.”
“Just, ‘someone is after him’? Not who, not where, nothin’ but that?”
The man blinked again. “Well…yeah. Yeah. That’s all I got.” He shrugged. “It’s a mafia thing, man. They don’t talk.”
“Mafia?”
“Yeah.” The man blinked. “Didn’t I say that? Someone in the mafia is after him.”
Pops closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again the man was staring at a still-nervous Jen. He cleared his throat.
“Who are you?”
“What?” The man looked away from Jen. “Frankie Jacks, man. I’m Frankie Jacks.”
Pops grunted. He knew that name. One of Luke’s contacts on the street. Petty thief, some time middleman for bigger fish. Mostly harmless.
“He’s probably busy on a case or something,” Pops said. “But I’ll give him the message when I see him.”
Frankie Jacks nodded. “Good. That’s good. I just—“ The door chime sounded again and Frankie cut off, his head jerking around. His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.
The woman was dressed as if she was doing a photo shoot for a ski company; model looks, tight pants, furry boots, down jacket that managed to enhance rather than conceal her shape, and a small hat that let her dark hair hang freely. Jen’s breath caught in her throat. Pops glanced between Frankie and Jen and back to the woman, making the connection almost instantly.
“Qismat.”
The woman inclined her head with a smile. “Hello, Pops.” She had a hint of an accent. She reached out a hand. “Nice to finally—formally—meet you.” Pops ignored the hand and after a moment she dropped it. She tsked. “So serious, too.”Qismat turned to Frankie. “Hello, Mister Jacks. I trust you are doing well?” Frankie continued to stare at her, mouth open. She laughed softly and patted his cheek. “Good enough,” she said, still smiling. With casual ease she turned the other direction.
“And Miss Dixon.” She let that hang for a moment. “No hard feelings?”
Jen struggled to contain her growing fear and anger. “No hard feelings?” She moved as if to take a step forward. “You almost killed me!”
Qismat held up a hand. “Quietly, Akht. You’ll rouse suspicious ears.”
Pops looked back to the regulars. One of them looked a question at him and he nodded, receiving a nod in return. The man muttered something and the men went back to talking amongst themselves and watching the news.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jen asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
“I am here to help, of course.” Qismat made it sound as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Hang on,” Pops said. “Just what is going on here?”
Qismat smiled. “Nemesis is missing,” she said simply. “The lovely Miss Dixon, here, has been unable to reach him by phone. He has yet to call you,” she said to Pops. “And Mister Jacks, his usual street contact, has been unable to raise him through the usual channels. And I happen to know that he is not on Conquistador business. They are all accounted for but him.”
Pops eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know that?”
The assassin cocked her head. “A girl does not reveal all her secrets,” she said coyly, then slid a knowing glance to Jen. “Is that not right?” Pops was surprised to see Jen flush a little.
“So—“
Qismat held up a hand to forestall further comment, then leaned forward until her lips were nearly touching Frankie’s ear. With a gentle touch she reached over and pushed his mouth closed. “I am not here for you,” she whispered, then leaned back and smiled. Frankie swallowed loudly and nodded.
“We must help him,” she said to the others. “We must find him and help him.”
“Maybe so,” Pops allowed, “But tell me why I shouldn’t just call the cops to have you arrested.”
Qismat seemed puzzled by the question. “Because I am here to help,” she said simply.
“Is that so? And why would I believe you?”
The assassin turned to Jen. “If I tell you that I am here to help find Nemesis—Luke—and to help him if I can, would you believe me?”
There was a long silence. Finally Jen lowered her head. “Yes,” she whispered. When she looked up her eyes were glistening. “Yes. I believe you.” She took a deep ragged breath. “I—“ She stopped, swallowed. “I think we can trust her,” she said to Pops. She looked at him with pleading eyes. “With this, I think we can trust her.”
Pops nodded. He looked around at the two women and the street hood, then cleared his throat.
“Okay, we need to figure out—“
The door chimed again, revealing a stocky, nerdish man with glasses and a lab coat under his trench. He made eye contact with Pops, ignoring the other three, and quickly strode over. Pops recognized him as a semi-regular.“I’m looking for Pops,” the man said, coming to a stop at the bar. He touched his glasses on his nose. “I have a message for a friend and was told to leave it with Pops. Is that you?”
Pops glanced down. On the lab coat under the trench was a name badge. It read simply, “Dr. C. Garfield”. He looked at the small group next to him and smiled nervously. “Hi.”
Qismat smiled. Jen sat down on a stool and Frankie smiled at the newcomer and held up a hand in greeting. Pops just sighed and shook his head.
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Comments
Nice piece. You're good at
Nice piece. You're good at the cliffhangers.
--
Imagination is the seed of intelligence. Nourish it and watch it grow.
aarg
Finish this already!
I liked it muchly, but strongly object to Pops thinking the Conquistadors don't care. We care!
Stone gets spirited away to another galaxy, JACE is kidnapped, Avatar goes to Houston for days. ...we care!
Sure, we care. We are all
Sure, we care. We are all about caring. Caring is a vital part of our existance.
So..., what do we care about again?
cliffhangers
It's not just the cliffhangers, it's the whole way you divide up your stories into perfect chapters. These series really are like reading a novel or watching a good TV show.
And it's really neat to see all the supporting characters coming together. (This gang needs a catchy name, but I'm drawing a blank.)