01:07 - Escape: Leaving It All Behind

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Chapter 7

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So with ‘that thought’ still lingering in mind as Grey left the garage, he decided upon using the main front entrance that was dead center of the long brick front that could be seen. He needed to stretch his legs anyway, walking the distance. The rear wings of the house – making up the backwards facing “K” - were only visible by air, from the den or courtyard. Entering the front door unlock code on the Weiser electronic deadbolt, and depressing the unlock button, Grey turned the knob only after touching his secondary security tag that accompanied him everywhere he went. Now inside the main foyer, he closed the door and latched the deadbolt once again. Quickly down the hall to the second door on his left, he opened the closet door. Depressing the back wall, after sliding apart a few jackets hanging within, the false wall opened into the closet, leaving enough space for him to enter - head bent to clear the hanger rod – into what appeared another dimly lit closet within.

It was within this inner closet, bathed by red light from the overhead LED light strip, where Grey shucked his jacket onto a peg near the inner door. Immediately thereafter, he removed his Bianci leather shoulder holster rig that held one easily concealed Glock 26, a Gen 5 subcompact – with two spare magazines riding opposite the pistol holster in their own sheaths holding 9mm hollow-points each. From his waist, he removed his other semi-automatic pistol, this one also a Glock – the 19 series compact model – loaded with steel core 9mm ammunition, not hollow-points, in its single magazine in the 19’s magwell. He placed both side arms onto a padded, peg-board on the wall to the left of the false wall door. Below the padded peg-board was a shelf on which sat extra magazines for each of these particular side-arms, as well for his Sig Sauer Navy edition - chambered in .45 caliber - also displayed on the wall. He always kept a selection of colour-coded loaded magazines – not clips as the often ignorant call them – set aside for purposes only he knew. The same was true for the four long guns on the opposite wall to the right of the door entry: an Armalite Rifle (AR), 15 series, semi-automatic - AR-15 as it is commonly called - with four spare magazines pre-loaded with NATO 5.56 set on the cabinet top under the rifle; a Dominion Arms Grizzly Shotgun with four magazines, two mags each with 12 gauge double-ought (00) buck-shot or solid slug; a Mossberg 500 pump shotgun with a 28 inch barrel and modified choke; and, finally his newest acquisition, a Marlin 22 bolt action, with two magazines, with which he hoped to catch himself some rabbits or grouse soon and re-stock the freezers off the kitchen.

Grey was just starting to check the security log on the video feed, gate visitor and perimeter record on his “security closet” computer when he noticed on one of the monitors a familiar vehicle pull up outside his gate. He heard the buzzer from the gate intercom in the closet since he hadn’t muted the soundproof closet quite yet, so he leaned over and responded to the gate intercom, by toggling a switch and speaking into a headset microphone he retrieved off the security monitor console. “Yes - ”

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Willow laughed softly, moving away from her phone.

“What of that handsome man you always talk to—-that Italian?” asked Chris.

Willow felt her cheeks go warm, hearing Chris inquire about Red. “He’s my friend. You don’t need to talk to him.”

“I’d like to get him to be my friend too.”

This time she laughed louder, and he heard it.

“You aren’t gay.”

“I know, I know.”

“Neither is he.”

“He’s special; beyond limits and human sorts of things. Like, he doesn’t use labels. Right?”

Willow immediately regretted talking about Red to Chris. She felt a bit jealous that someone else was interested in him. Not that she was romantically interested in Red. She just felt like their relationship was intense and intimate, and not for anyone else to share.

“Listen, I have to finish up now. But can I stop by tomorrow and grab your clubs and range ball?”

“Yes, you can; lovely chat. We’ll be in touch. I’m making you another mix.” He sighed softly. “I will also show you proper technique. A Ben Hogan style swing.”

“I’m not sure what that is. I’m not looking to impress him. Just improve my game - barely. So I won’t be embarrassed.”

Willow decided to stay on the line, feeling like Chris might’ve had something more to say. She had already laid out a day old newspaper, the backside of it up, so she than laid Suzie-Q in its holster down, next to the cleaning supplies she needed. The spare magazine she left in her purse.

She only owned two of the Glock 19 series magazines which limited her but that was fine. She never had real need to shoot anyone - yet. At least the 19 series magazines sat flush into the mag well, whereas a 17 series - she knew - would protrude a significant amount.

Willow took her pistol out of its holster. First, she ejected the magazine; and then, locked back the slide removing an already chambered 9mm cartridge and set the pistol down. She then ejected each 9mm cartridge - one after another - from the removed magazine and laid all the cartridges with the magazine next to the pistol. She still felt the need to follow her practiced method for Suzie-Q's maintenance, drummed into her as it was by her father.

Only after the pistol was unloaded, did she start with stripping it down to the slide, barrel, recoil spring assembly and frame-receiver.

Methodically and almost like a strange ritual, she placed all of her tools to help lubricate and properly clean her old trusty Suzie-Q near the stripped Glock.

Hearing Chris continue to talk about golfing legends and their innate recipe for the perfect swing gave her a visceral, almost metronome type of concentration. It was almost as though his deep, dry voice was a part of every click, breath and heartbeat of her being as she worked on cleaning Suzie-Q.

The larger sized cleaning patch she cut into three smaller sections. A foam tipped “Q-tip”-like cleaning pick she set aside. The good quality brass cleaning rod with a screw-on, brass bore brush suitable to the 9mm bore and chamber of her gun she then laid on her lap while she brought closer the screw-on, slotted tip meant for the cleaning patches. The two-ended, nylon, gun cleaning toothbrush she set to far side of the pistol components near the gun cleaner solvent and lubricant oil. The lint-free cleaning rag she placed over her left thigh.

Within moments, Willow became so hyper focussed on the stripping and cleaning process, she didn’t realize she was getting another call.

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At the main office of the Telephone Services Contractor Center (TSCC) owner, seventy-one years young, Karina Prestovyka - Ms. Prestovyka to her employees and majority of contractors - at her solely owned TSCC, rose from her office chair, went to a nearby cabinet and removed a bottle. Still young in appearance, with a touch of grey running through her thick, shoulder length, blondish white hair tied up and back flat to her head in a pretzel twist, she easily grabbed the attention of most men within close proximity - even those twenty to thirty years younger given her strong Slavic features. Karina could, as she had in times past, pass herself off as latino, also given her language skills. Grabbing her ankle length mink fur - long as she was tall since she was near only five foot, one - she quickly pulled it on and darted out the side door. Heading to her vehicle, not bothering to palm the remote fob in her jacket pocket, her fingers reached under the door handle deactivating the secondary security measure to her Range Rover and pulled the door open. Seconds later, she was zooming out of the parking lot into the country and its fresher air, though that hardly mattered with her reaching for a Benson and Hedges 100 Slim, lighting it up from a new arc lighter she'd recently purchased.

Twenty minutes later, Karina, now sitting in her white 2020 Range Rover, leaned out the driver window, pressing a gate intercom buzzer. "Yes - Karina?" could be heard Grey's voice. "Grey, dahling; open the dom gate! We've some business to discuss."

The intercom went silent and the solid galvanized metal gate opened, while simultaneously cow rails slid across the pressure plate just inside the gate on the road.

Karina sped her Range Rover down the winding driveway on Grey's estate and then up a knoll to a single level house - a yellowed brick, rancher shaped in the form of s capital "K" - where after pulling up and around in the circle drive-way in front, pointing back from where she came, she placed it park and climbed out with the bottle in hand.

Lithe and well toned, with no laugh lines to her erstwhile slavic features, or facial expression, she stood at the entrance to Grey's country home. One knock was all it took for the door to be opened, Grey welcoming her in with an affectionate hug to which he had to lean down since he himself was measurably taller at six foot, one. A polite kiss planted on her right cheek, as well, and Karina was suited enough to hand her fur to him.

"Ah, what treasure do you bring this time, to induce my favour; Karina?"

"Ah, nothing slips your keen eye, now; does it, Grey? But yes. I brought a little treat for the both of us to savour, while we talk a little about your last contract and the next I already have lined up."

Grey glances down to the long bottle of amber fluid dangling from Karina's out-stretched left hand. Well, he thinks, to himself - I don't believe she's opened it yet.

"Okay, let's go into the den. You know the way. Plus, where the bar and the glasses are kept. I'll be with you in a minute."

As Karina steps out of the foyer through the second door-way on her right, Grey continues two doors down on his left to quickly open and double-check that the inner, back-wall, door he previously secured before Karina's entry into the house, is in fact fully closed and latched. With no sign of movement, he hangs up Karina's fur in the same location and steps back out, quickly joining Karina in the den, who it appears has already started pouring the amber liquid into glasses.

"Her Grey; please, this you will like. Similar but much nicer than what we shared in Budapest." The accent of Karina's respectably pronouncing the word correctly - Bood-ah-pesch.

"So, you seek to ensnare me again with Sljivovica, Karina?" Grey pulling the bottle across the bar with his left hand, turning to read off the label "Bak's Sliwowica. This is a new one, Karina. Is the amber more indicative of better quality similar to Tequila distilleries?"

"You could say that, dahling. Go ahead. Taste."

Grey does his typical single malt Scotch, or Anejo or Reposado Tequila swirl and sniff, then downs it in single shot, feeling its flavour on his taste-buds and the alcohol burn in his throat.

"I am surprised, Karina. That was delicious. Pour me another, would you, please. Not nearly as terrible as the stuff we got terribly hammered on in Buda."

"Of course, Grey," Karina replies with a twinkle in her eyes, betraying her inner emotion almost immediately to Grey Mane.

"Well, as much as I will enjoy this Bak's Sliwowica," Grey correctly getting every syllablic pronuncation of the Polish word, "I'm not going to allow myself to get drunk and bed you once again. We're friends now; professionals in our fields; and, in every sense of respect to each other. Plus, you live in - my country - now, which, were it not for me, would not have occurred. So, please, can we move along past the chit-chat and onto the topics at hand."

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Willow reminded herself why she was doing all of this. Chris had told her of some possible shady practices that were going on behind the scenes; a flaw in the digital cash scheme called double-spending. It was said so flippantly because he added he had no proof as of yet. She tried to convince herself that it was her mission to take down her dad’s shitty ways. But she didn’t even try to say it to Red – at the café. Red knew better.

She stopped her whole stripping process as she saw her caller ID.

“Chris, I actually really need to go - now. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. Good night!”

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"Oh, Grey; well, I doubt I need be bored by the details of your last contract quite yet. However, it is finished. I'm quite certain you will file with my office a report - by encrypted email - when you are ready. This new contract though, I believe, should interest you in more ways than one."

"How so, Karina? How could this new contract be any more, interesting as you say, to me than the last?" Grey very much reflecting back to the recent phone conversation with his previous employer, and the near encounter with Hamish and Bobby.

"I dun't know that I want to rune all the serprise that awaits you," Karina says with her left eye raising a bit. "Soofice it to say, this next project will be closer to home, not requiring much travel on your part."

"Oh, really? So, just how close? And -" Grey takes another sip from another glass poured by Karina "where is this mystery client; or, more importantly, where will we have first contact?"

"The client has been told to meet you at a driving range in Squamish. Her friend - someone you may remember but I shall not say - contacted me on her behalf. Oh, silly me! I've already said too much. Now you know something of the client's gender." Karina laughs wryly. "But, to keep the specifications of this contract to a minimum on my end - presently, I should say - she requests your assistance with achieving an objective. Then, at the end of the assignment, you shall do what you do best and help her escape - undetected." Karina, keeping a straight face as much as she can, hides well her knowledge of another danger that awaits but knowing Grey as she does, is not worried about his well being.

Reflecting on what's been said, looking over his glass out the center, den window, toward the Pacific ocean beyond the tree tops of the Jack Pines some 300 yards distant from the low sloping hill out the back of his home, Grey ponders the contract offer. "Driving range in Squamish." said in a low voiced confirmation. "What date and time?"

"Next Thursday - October 28th - 9am;" Karina firmly states.

"Call her back and tell her 8am. That should work better - for security - for both of us," is Grey's flat reply.

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Willow switched over the line and answered immediately. “Hey; Red,” She said in a huff, almost feeling out of breath, which puzzled her. She had been sitting down on the floor this whole time.

“Hello dear. I need to inform you of a slight change in our plan.”

She growled, “Let me guess! Now we’re meeting at a damned bowling alley.”

Red gasped dramatically! “Have I caught you at a bad moment? Are you rather engrossed with Suzie-Q?”

She blinked in awe, wondering if he could read minds. “Ahh - I’m okay. What’s going on, Red?”

“The contractor needs to meet you at eight in the morning now, love.”

“Why?”

“Guess he wants you all to his lonesome self, I suspect - for security.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Okay. Alright.” She sighed.

“Why don’t we meet up again, once more before you have your meeting. I’ll take you somewhere nice. Just want you to relax. As you know everything financially speaking is taken care of from my end, the funds are in escrow to be dispersed to the company, contractor and myself.”

She wanted to grind her teeth a bit, but she realized that she was making herself more stressed than she needed. Her father may be dying - terminal stage stomach cancer - but it didn’t mean she had to act like she was too.

“Yes Red; I’d love to.”

A small chuckle; “Ah, that’s the spirit.”

It made her want to vomit. Spirit! What does that even mean, she wondered? She thought of what Chris said, about that idea of creating the blueprint photo negative of your personality. She started to wonder what it’d look like. Mainly, more specifically, what her soul would look like. There wouldn’t be clear darkness and light. She pictured a muddled set of hues: oranges and browns, and piercing whites; all jumbled up and right through the middle, a strike of red. Not even original, or anything bad or good. Just be a set of negatives that wouldn’t ever produce a real picture - a ghost negative.

She got off the phone quickly with Red, even though she wanted to hear him go on longer. She knew she would cancel with Red at the last moment. She just told herself she’d go to feel normal for just that brief moment.

Ghosts don’t get to die. They have to just exist - a dead weight, a dead heart - she thought, closing her eyes tightly.

Not being tethered to anyone or anything had their benefits too

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