 
Puppet on a String

Copyright 2018 Bradley Pearce

Published by Bradley Pearce at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Unless stated by the author, this story is fictitious and a product of the author's imagination. With the exception of God, all the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to:

Julie and Marilyn

Angels by any other name
Table of Contents

Frank

Marilyn

Mister Smith

Thomas

Senator Luxon

Grimm

Mirror Man

An Offer You Can't Refuse

Flint

Apartment 5C

He's a Spy

Julie

Home Again

Sweet Tongue Bad Man

I Want Out

Jack

My Lips are Sealed

Charlie Finch

Reservations for Two

Mister Black

Fifth Avenue

Lady in Red

Just the Boss

Strawberry Fields

Finish Your Coffee First

We The People...

Giuseppe and Joanna

I'll be back

Like Father like Son

Max Pecks

Meet Fritz

La Bamma

Señor Pecks

Flores is Bait

Everyone's Favorite

I am a Saint

Transfer Complete

Who was that woman?

'56 Riviera coupe

Plan B

Vincent Chong

Who's been a naughty boy then?

Of all the lousy beer Joints

Medic!

You Two Know Each Other?

Isabelle! Isabelle!

About Bradley Pearce
Frank

Above the bar the televisions are showing the game.

Frank is not watching them, he is hardly focusing. Through the windows the fading day, First Avenue is turning gray. Rain lashes the streets. To live in Seattle, you have to love the rain. And Frank loved Seattle.

The inclement weather outside rivalled the inclement thoughts going through his mind. Mid-forties and forced among the ranks of the unemployed. Drifting hopelessly towards the welfare line with each passing failed job application. Had the information age finally caught up with him? Or was it just another passing recession. Perpetuated by another profit taking merchant bank on another punctured Ponzi scheme. Robbing the poor to pay themselves. Displacing workers and families onto the streets. His redundancy payout would last a few months.

Assuming he did not piss it away first.

"Fuck 'em." He curses beneath his breath.

Staring into the short glass for an answer.

As though he was searching for something. Something scared he had lost. His dignity. The large ice cube that embodied God had now melted to half its size and rattled freely against the sides of the known universe. The ever diluting cosmos of bourbon had become watery and had lost its dark matter.

If nothing appeared on the horizon soon, he would have to join the welfare line. The thought depressed him. He had two choices. Sit rocking in a corner. Or suck it up get on with his life. If not for himself, then at least for his three kids.

Finding sanctuary at a bar on First Avenue, Jeffersons. Shaman and High-Priest of the bar was Tomo. Dispensing penance and absolution, in Frank's case, Bourbon. Crazy glue that held his life together. Numbing his senses and dumbing his mind to whatever he was trying to desperately cling on to. Or was trying to forget. Deferring any dependency issues, until after the next drink. Surrounding himself with fellow journeymen. Each with their own sad tales of despair and misfortune. Each more pitiful than his own.

To look at Frank, you would have thought he was a returned veteran suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress. But few knew the emotional scars he bore. An ex-wife from Hell unwilling to find closure, she would gnaw at what remain of him. Unemployment only irritated the unseen wounds. Lawyers burnt his money quicker than he could drink it.

Whatever was left, was found at the bottom of his glass. In the end, Frank simply gave up and surrendered.

Drawing a line in the sand, he stepped over it.

And got on with his life. Each day, hoping to find the strength to take one more breathe. Take one more step. Forward, towards something he was sure out there. Just around the next corner. Knowing in his heart one day his ex would find the closure she tried so hard to deny. If only to torment Frank longer. If only to appease her to know he was suffering.

But that day had yet arrived.

"So what did you do to piss her off?" Asked Tomo hoping to avoid the same mistake.

"I cut some card I shouldn't have... And she ain't forgiven me since." He rattled off.

Confusing Tomo further.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'll have another... That what it means." Raising his near empty glass.

Tomo backed off to give him some space. It was going to be a dark day in the office. Old wounds were beginning to bleed. Frank took the final swallow, hoping the bourbon would cauterize them. Never one to blame others for his trouble. He had only himself to blame. And resumed his close up observation of God. Transparent, and slowly melting. To hide in shame.

Even God could not figure women out.

He had thought about writing a book if only to free the dark thoughts from the cage of his mind.

What had begun as a rom-com of flirtatious laugher, in time became a mystery with clandestine meetings and sinister agendas to rid him from the family. The devil would reclaim his daughter at any cost, and profit from his grandchildren's misfortune. It was not personal, it was business. Ultimately the tale would end as a tragedy. A tragedy that would mess with most people's head. As it had messed with his. He could not wish that upon people.

Anyway, Accountants do not write books. He was a numbers man. An analyst, not a wordsmith. He would leave the horror story to Stephen King.

Frank grinned at the thought.

'Good luck with that!' Turning to one side as though to inform him.

Fearing even Stephen would cower at the thought and soon be drinking with him.

'You deserve a purple heart man.' Consoled an angelic Stephen.

Taking a sip of the Tennessee tea. Frank sighed deeply. Killing the thought, Stephen and the half dozen angels that were sitting too close.

Sniffing the bourbon laced smelling salts to revive himself. The cube of ice had now melted to that of a pebble. God had given up on him. But he'd be back. Washing the remainder of the drink about the bottom of the glass. Now the color of pale piss. Gulping it down. He contemplates another.

With little thought he looks over to the barmaid.

"One for the road thanks Chelsea." Frank raises the glass and rattles the pathetic remainder of God about the sides.

It would only be his fourth, or seventh for the day, it all depended how you looked at it.

Not that he was counting. He was not going anywhere in a hurry. Numbing the dark thoughts for another hour. Closing eyes, Frank imagined a small candle flickering in an immense darkness. Hope. Of a future beyond the now. He would not surrender to the darkness so easily. Something would turn up some. It had to. This, was just a temporal blimp on the economic horizon.

Chelsea pushes a drink a glass in front of him.

"Thanks Chelsea..." Smelling the strong aromas. Nostrils twitching at the fresh earthly fumes, "...Cheers boys." Salutes his angelic friends.

Chelsea looks up to see who Frank was talking to. Only to find him talking to himself.

Taking a mouthful, allowed it to waltz over his tongue before swallowing the elixir that had kept him medicated the past months. How long had he been out of work he wondered? He had lost track of the months that had passed since his redundancy.

'Five, six, seven? ...' He pondered, '... Had it been that long?'

"Hmm." Weighing the time period. Knowing after a year he would be seen as damaged goods.

Some absences could be conveniently explained away as holidays. Time out. Sooner or later the reality of his situation could not be buried so easily.

Patrons hurriedly exited the bar to the safe haven of their parked vehicles.

Suddenly a gust of wind rushes in through the open doors as though to escape the foul weather outside. Sending a cold draft through past him. The icy air slapped his face. And he reaches for his drink for insulation.

Heavy rain and hail pelted the bar's windows. A log fire at the far end flared with flames. Consuming the remains of the draft. The dimming day outside had surrendered to the darkness. Reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of the bar that cocooned him from the reality of the cruel world outside.

'Maybe one for the road.' He thinks, delaying the need to get moving.

His mind searches for life lines. Those that would help him if things turned for the worse.

'Family? What family? ... They may as well have been strangers.' He thought.

What would his father say right now?

'Toughen up... And have another drink.' Hearing his father's voice in his mind. Grinning, he took another swallow.

The television commentary became agitated, catching everyone's attention.

Frank looks up to see a fight had broken out.

"What are the chances of that?" He asked himself, watching two opposing Ice Hooky players fist each other repetitively in the head. As though it was some brutal mating ritual.

Referees stood back and allowed padded Neanderthals to punch the other senseless. Before eventually pulling them apart. With no apparent injury. The game resumed as though the fight had never happened and the clock counted down the final seconds. Seattle T-Birds win as the final hooter blows. The crowd erupts in a frenzy of chants.

Tomo flicks through the channels to find something to keep the bar's few patrons entertained for a while longer. Bums in seats spelt drinks in hands. And money in his register.

"T-Birds won again... They could go all the way this year." Tomo predicts his forecast. "I could put a fiver on them for you if you like... They'll be paying good odds."

"Yeah, I'll be in." Reaching for a wallet.

Looking about the spacious bar, Frank sees a young couple near the log fire.

Looking every bit in love. Full of hope and a future ahead of them.

'Good luck to them.' He wishes them.

Wondering what trials and tribulations would bestow them. Wondering why is it that some people breezed through life effortlessly. While others stumble and fall? Holding hands. The couple laughed and looked into each other's eyes. Love. Would he have done anything differently if he had his time again? The honest answer would be no.

Accepting that no matter what he had done. The outcome would have always be the same.

Turning around further. Sees a man sitting at a corner booth reading a newspaper. Frank had never really noticed the man before. Content with a red wine. Reading a newspaper. Comfortable. Seemly without a worry in the world. Frank tried to unravel the man's profession. Sharp dark suit. Brief case. Black polished shoes. Lawyers, perhaps. An accountant or business man passing through. Stopping in for a drink before retiring for the evening.

Pondering the man further. Obviously employed. Perhaps self-employed. Then concedes, perhaps the man was unemployed. Running on fumes like himself. Putting on a façade of respectability to fit in.

Frank found himself becoming cynical again. His analytical mind could not help picking away at someone's life. Who was he to judge, when his own life was in tatters?

Returning to his drink, the ice had melted to weaken the taste of bourbon.

His tongue played with the flavors. Grinning with satisfaction as he found the subtle adulterated taste again. The dark thoughts had retreated to the darkened crevices of his mind and feeling a warmth seeped in his bones.

Inhaling deeply, he sighs.

"You okay Frank? You killed a few with that one." Tomo asked looking over to him.

"Yeah... A lot on my mind." He admits.

"You know there's always work here if you want one. It isn't much... But it will keep you off the streets."

"Thanks mate... But I still have a few irons in the fire... I appreciate the offer."

Working bar and flipping burgers was minimum wage. A far cry from his former profession. Still if he had to bite the bullet, he would. It would have to be the last resort.

Did he really have irons he had in the fire? He still had money in the bank. But knew the vultures would be circling. Assuming the credit card people get to him first. It felt like he was under attack from all quarters. How long could he keep them at bay? Bills would soon erode whatever nest egg he had stashed away. Beggars could not be choses.

Minimum wage was not going to cut it to match his commitments. He needed real work and real money. And real soon. Taking out a note book Frank examines the list of recent applications he had made online. Running his eyes down the scribbled listings. Marking the number of stars he would give to their potential success.

It was not looking good, with most receiving barely two or three stars.

"Hmm" He thought, surmising up his chances at any of them.

Did twenty years of experience count for nothing?

Was he too long in the tooth to be compete with the younger generation? Had he gone past his use by date? Or were the others simply better qualified? His mind was still sharp. But he had to accept that he was getting old. He could feel it in his bones and flat-footed step.

"I'm not dead yet. You don't get me that easy." Frank mutters to himself.

"You good over there?" Tomo inquires.

"Yeah. Yeah. All good... Just thinking aloud?"

Frank knew there was still fight left in him. Experience counted for something. Sucking in a deep breath and sighed again.

Tomo looks up in time to catch him.

"One of those days eh?"

"Yeah." Concedes Frank feeling deflated. The dark thoughts had returned to circle him.

Noting his glass was now empty. He orders another to keep the wolves at bay.

"One more for the road. It looks shocking out there."

"Seasons changing. Be glad to see the back of this winter... It's been brutal."

"You got to love the rain to live in Seattle." Frank added.

Tomo pushes another glass in front of him. Splashing an extra shot on top.

"One for the road Frank... On me."

"Thanks mate... They all help." Feeling a warmth of gratitude come over him.

Tomo was alright. He valued people. Understood them. Bartenders were like clergy who tend to the lost sheep that have wondered from the path. Albeit from First Avenue outside. The bar, no more than an open confessional. Where sins were confessed and hearts are laid bare. Redemption could be found at the bottom of a shot glass.

Today the blood of Christ was bourbon. His body, Walkers crisps.

Instinctively Frank looks around and sees the man in the corner booth staring at him.

Longer than usual. Their eyes make contact. Registering the other's presence. The man gives him a subtle nod and resumes reading his newspaper. Flicking it to allow the pages to fall open.

Frank returns to his drink.

Perhaps he had overheard the conversation with Tomo. He appeared unobtrusive. Kindly. Leaving it there. Frank had bigger worry on his mind. Marilyn.

What to do with Marilyn? ...
Marilyn

Marilyn, a petite Latin American beauty, with long black hair and brown eyes.

Frank had meet her a year earlier at a Casino. Sitting alone at a long bar overlooking the tables. Both quietly enjoying their drinks. Frank was not a man to hit on women. He preferred keeping to himself. After the fall out with his ex-wife he certainly did not want a repeat performance.

But some things in life we have no control over. As if the Universe had conspired to push Frank's life in a specific direction. It could not be avoided and Marilyn initiated the conversation.

For some unknown reason they began talking.

"What are you doing?" She had asked curiously.

"Oh... Just taking numbers down."

"What for?"

"It's cheaper than playing... I get to see if I can win without losing money... It's what we Accountants do for fun... So what's your name?" Defecting the conversation back to her.

"Marilyn." She smiled, flashing hazel brown eyes.

Exchanging smiles and thoughts that suggested that perhaps there could be more to their temporal collision.

"That's a nice name... I'm Frank." Lightly shaking her delicate hand.

Further small talk revealed Marilyn was married.

With a husband still in Mexico, she waited tables at a Mexican restaurant sending back whatever she could afford to her family Tijuana. It was a relationship Frank had trouble understanding. But one which Marilyn had little trouble accepting.

Within a month of casual meetings they had fallen into bed and became lovers. Breaking Frank's sexual drought. And finding a peace he had long since forgotten. For Marilyn the relationship satisfied her own sexual frustrations.

Moving in with Frank soon after their affair began. His redundancy caused little disruption to their relationship. But what was their relationship? Being Catholic, Marilyn would be unwilling to divorce. The writing was on the wall unless something happened to her husband. No doubt he had a mistress tending to his own carnal digressions, thought Frank.

It was better not to think about the entangled affairs. Knowing it could end at any time. Frank enjoyed the best of both worlds. A sexual arrangement, without the commitment.

Marilyn filled a hole in Frank' life. As no doubt he filled one in hers.

Worries of his ex-wife faded as he found himself falling in love with Marilyn. This time he had nothing to lose, despite his ex-wife taking everything the first time. The emotional bank was empty.

Marilyn was the perfect lover. Sensual. Sensitive. Seductive. Everything he ever wanted in a woman. Everything his ex-wife was not.

Compared with Marilyn. There was no comparison.

Frank glimpses the mirror on the wall and sees the reflection of the man in the dark suit looking at him.

Who was he? IRS? Debt collector?

Frank gulps a mouthful of the neat bourbon before the ice had a chance to dilute the holy spirit. And turns about hoping to catch the man staring. Now resuming his newspaper.

"Psst... Tomo..." Frank catches his attention.

Tomo moves closer polishing a glass in his hand.

"What's up? You want another one already?"

"Nah... I'm good... What's with the guy in the dark suit? Keeps looking at me." Frank whispers trying to keep his voice down.

Tomo looks over to the man sitting quietly in the booth.

"Don't know... Been here a few times now... Just sits there and reads the paper. Keeps to himself... Always looking about at people. Don't take it personally... Unless he hits on you... Want me to have a word with him?"

"Nah. Nah. I'm good... Just get a feeling I'm going to be served with something."

"What you been up to?" Tomo grinned wondering why Frank would be a wanted man.

"Nothing I swear.... Just a feeling." Then wondered if he had been.

"Well... Get that drink down you... Looks more like one of them secret agents if you ask me... Maybe he thinks you're looking at him." Tomo suggested turning the tables on Frank's paranoid thoughts.

"Yeah, maybe one more before I head off. Marilyn will be waiting." Suggests Frank hoping to shake the suspicious thoughts.

"Okay... But it's your last one... You have to drive. Though I doubt the cops will be out in this weather..." Said Tomo pouring two fingers into Frank' glass and a fresh cube of ice. "...I hope that's not your dinner."

"Wish it was." Frank relishes the thought.

The day had passed like any other that week.

Checking his mobile for emails and missed calls. Nothing displayed to suggest he had missed anything other than another drink. Perhaps he would jump on line later. Hit the employment sites, sending out his Resume to all and sundry. Hoping someone would take the bait and see some worth in him. The market was already saturated with unemployed accountants. Younger, smarter, and cheaper.

He had already cut his rate to that of ten years ago. And still had no takers.

"Damn Merchant Bankers... Fucken wankers... If I had a gun... I'd..." Frank began wishful thinking.

"Careful what you wish for Frank." Said Tomo passing.

Looking to rain smeared windows. Lights of passing vehicles suggested it was late and he that would soon be joining them. Seeing his glass had emptied itself again, pushes it forward and releases it from his grip. Throwing money on the counter to cover his tab. Slides off the bar stool which had held him in place for the past four hours, stands to regain his balance.

"You okay to drive?" Asked Tomo with concern, "... I can call you a cab."

"I've been called worse..." Frank joked, "...Yeah-nah... I good. Just getting my sea legs... Catch you tomorrow." Pulling on a heavy jacket. And secures it to face the bleak weather howling outside.

Turning briefly he looks back over his shoulder to the man in the booth.

Now looking directly at him. Observing his departure. The man nods and resumes his paper, as if to wish him farewell. Frank dismisses the gesture. Keen to get to his car and home in one piece.

'Cops wouldn't be out in this.' He thought. As long as he did not hit anyone on the way home he had escape their attention for the evening.

Pulling up the thick collars of the coat, opens the bar door and is immediately struck in the face by a wall of cold air. Looking about to where he thought he had last parked his car.

A cherry red '56 Buick.

It was not too hard to spot among the imports. His last prized possession. The one thing he had managed to retain from the train wreck of a marriage. Digging hands into pockets to find some comfort from the biting wind.

And to find his keys.

Just then looks up and sees a squad car cruise pass. Frank watches cautiously if the officers had seen him. Driving on unaware of the intoxicated pedestrian fumbling for his keys on the sidewalk. He was the least of their worries. And they were the least of his. Opening the Buick's door slides himself onto the red leather bench seat. Closing the door behind him and shutting out the brutally cold buffering wind. Cocooned inside the beast's metal belly gathers his concentration. Fumbling again with the keys finds the ignition slot and slides the key in effortlessly. And turns the key. A V8 rumbles to life first time. Purring softly as a sedated foot rocks the accelerator. A harmonic rumble shakes the body of the vehicle as the torque of the engine awaited to be unleashed.

"Take me home Sweetie." Frank asked of his classic love.

Windshield wipers blinked in unison like long eye lashes back and forth.

Smearing tears that fell like rain, from side to side. Lights flooded the immediate drenched road ahead. Sending tracker beams in search of cat eyes. Frank joined the dots. Traffic crawled as heavy rain hindered driver's visibility. Above him, the sound of muffled rain pounded on the roof. It had withstood the elements of weather thrown at it over time.

The Buick knew the back roads back to his apartment better than Frank did.

Straining to focus his eyes on the road ahead. Struggling to see through the driving rain. Wondering if he had had one too many as the Buick drifted into the adjacent lane. Correcting it at the last moment. A car horn sounds in protest. Frank ignores the rude awakening and forgives the driver for their indiscretion with a verbal warning this time.

"Fuck off!" He calls out to the closed window beside him.

The other driver flips him a birdie and accelerates passed him.

"Fuck you too." Frank curses back.

Now was not to time to engage in social intercourse. The last thing Frank needed was a cop asking him to blow into a breathalyzer. After a series of turns down side streets the Buick finally parks outside an apartment building.

The lights were on. Marilyn was home.

Killing the engine and lights. Taking in the silence, recollects on the man at the bar? Intuition was telling him there was something more than just a stranger passing through town. The thought unsettled him.

"Hmm..." Shrugged Frank, summing up everything he knew about the man. "...We'll see if you're there tomorrow."

Assessing the weather outside the window, opens the door and peels himself from the seat like a banana skin. Adjusting his jacket to prevent the bite of the wind and rain leaking through. And hurries inside the apartment building.

Climbing the flight of stairs to the first floor apartment.

"Honey I'm home!' He calls out.

"Just in here bad man." Marilyn calls back.

Finding Marilyn in the kitchen over a pot, stirring gently.

"Hey sweetie... How was your day?" He asked kissing the top of her head.

"Good... How was yours?" She asked knowing. Smelling the bourbon on his breath.

"Same as ever..." Wrapping his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. "...It's turned nasty out there."

"You're nasty... And cold!" She protests.

"I know... And you're warm and lovely." Reluctant to let her go.

"Go wash up while I dish up." She orders him.

"You're no fun." Frank protests.

"Later bad man." Shrugging him away.

"Okay, I'm holding you to it."

"You always do." She responds with a grin.

Frank heads to the bathroom and splashes his face with warm water to wash away the cold.

Hoping also to awaken himself from the bourbon induced slumber. And looks at a reflection in the mirror.

"Who are you?" He asked the man staring back at him.

The answer never came. The Man in the Mirror knew as much as he did. Yet the Man in the Mirror was responsible for where Frank found himself.

"It's on the table!" Marilyn calls out from the kitchen.

"I'm coming!" Calls back Frank, "I'm coming..."

The Man in the Mirror watches him leave...
Mister Smith

Looking over his paper to catch Frank leave the bar. And nods.

Frank does not acknowledge the gesture and heads out the door pulling up the collars of his coat. The man in the dark suit resumed his paper to read of the unfolding events on Capitol Hill. Passing unnoticed by the man on the street.

But not to man in the dark suit.

The man in the dark suit takes a sip of red wine from a glass. Savoring the rich characters before swallowing. Frank had been under observation for several months. Overhearing countless discussions between Frank and the barman, he had pieced together Frank's situation. And the type of man Frank was.

Or was capable of becoming.

From a brief case, the man pulls a large black diary. And with a fountain pen begins to scribe the day's observation. Making note of the conversations Frank had had with the barman, Tomo. His observations would soon be coming to an end. Closing the book. Returns it to the briefcase. He knew enough about Frank's routine to know he would be back tomorrow. And the next day.

Knowing where to find him when the time came.

Profiling Frank over the past months had taken patience. But patience was something the man in the dark suit had in abundance.

It was now time to approach the barman.

"Another?" Tomo asked automatically looking up to see the man in the dark suit standing at the bar before him.

"I'm good thank you. But I was hoping you could help me..." The man in the dark suit asked.

"How so?" Tomo asked curiously.

"That gentleman who was just here... How well do you know him?" The man in the dark suit probes carefully.

"That's kind of private isn't it? ... If you don't mind me saying." Taken back by the inquiry.

Tomo eyes the gentleman with contempt. Confirming Frank's suspicions. Perhaps he was right about the man.

"You a Private Investigator or something?" Tomo inquires.

"Not quite... But I could be in a position to help him out... If you know what I mean?" The man in the dark suit reaches into his pocket and slides a hundred dollar bill over the bar towards Tomo.

Tomo's eyes fall to see a Benjamin under the man's fingers.

'No harm in a little banter...' Tomo told himself. Unlike his clergy brethren, he had not taken a vow of silence. "... How can I help?" Sliding the note from view and stealthfully pocketed it.

"I appreciate that... That man you were talking to... Frank... What's his situation?" The man in the dark suit began.

"Ah Frank... Frank Drake... He's a regular here... Even before he lost his job... Been some months now... Got made redundant from what I heard... An accountant or manager of some sort... Seems to be having trouble finding work ever since... Hangs out in here to pass the time. The recession has hit him hard here... A hit a lot of people hard... What of him?"

"Family?" The man in the dark suit continued unperturbed.

"Not really... Messy divorce and all that... Three kids... All grown now... An ex-wife from hell so I hear... Did a real head job on him ... And the kids... If you know what I mean?"

But the man in the dark suit did not. He had never been married. The Agency was family. He was an only child himself. The way the Agency preferred their employees. In some way Frank was an exception to the Agency's rule.

Something the man in the dark suit hoped he would not regret.

"Girl-friends... Boy friends?" He continued.

"He's not gay if you're asking... Not that would worry me these days... He has a live in girl-friend. Mexican lady... Marilyn."

"Really?" The man in the dark suit sounded intrigued. He would have to look into that.

"A real beauty if you ask me." Tomo qualified.

"I see... You've been very helpful Tomo... Thank you for your time."

Suspiciously Tomo looks at the man in the dark suit. How did he know his name? Recalling he could have over heard Frank talking.

"I didn't catch your name", Tomo asked curiously.

"Smith... John Smith." Smith looks at Tomo as to suggest no further questions were warranted.

A moment of silence ensued as Tomo registered the name. He had been paid well for the scant information he had volunteered already.

"Anything else you need to know... You know where to find me." Said Tomo returning to polishing a glass.

"Best our conversation remains between us Thomas." Smith advises with cold eyes looking at Tomo's.

"Of course..." Replies Tomo hesitantly. "...My lips are sealed."

Smith returns to his table and pulls a tablet from his brief case.

Booting it to life. Waits for it to configure itself to a private encrypted network. Tapping in Frank's details. Scans the search results and discovers several Frank Drakes in the Seattle region. Narrowing his search down to accountants. Two remain. Drilling into each, he views the driver's license photos.

"Got you!" Smith whispers under his breath.

Smith drills further down. Social Security number. Police records, convictions none. Tax records, an amount owing. Employment record, Company Accountant. Laid off 28 October 2017. Restructuring. Five months ago.

'Explains the drinking.' Thought Smith.

Bank records. Two accounts. One held two thousand, the other with five and half. The remainder of his redundancy. That will go soon enough. Assuming Smith did not clear it out for him before then. Then searches for an address. And discovers an apartment on the east side of town in Frank's name. Not far from the bar.

Cross referencing Marilyn's name with the address. But nothing appears. Possibly an illegal alien. They tend to stay off the radar. Then runs a search on Frank's phone number, a list of calls scroll down the screen. Several calls to Mexico. The name Mendez appear.

'Marilyn Mendez.' Smith noted the name.

No visas. No Green Card. No Social Security Number appeared for her. As he expected.

Killing the link, the tablet goes dead. And returns it to the brief case. Smith was methodical. In his business it was the difference between life and death. Having assessed Frank as a man of principle. His current circumstances made him vulnerable. A perfect recruit prospect. Whether he was willing or not was another question. He would allow Frank another month before approaching him. What leverage could he find out about Marilyn?

Nothing was really beyond Smith's tentacles.

Smith sips on the exquisite New Zealand red wine. And continued to read of the growing political scandal developing in Washington. Mister Black was expecting his presence there tomorrow to deal with the scandal. A redeye flight was scheduled for the next morning.

Smith decided to finish up and leave. Tomo looks up to see Smith leaving without responding.

Waving down the first available cab.

"Hilton, Sixth Avenue," Smith calls out and settles into the rear seat of the yellow cab.

Wind buffers the vehicle and rain lashes the windscreen. Indifferent to the weather outside, Smith contemplates his next move. His work in Seattle was near completion. He would be back in a month's time to make Frank an offer he could not refuse. He could monitor Frank's activities from Washington.

Any employment opportunities between now and then that would loosen his grip on Frank could be stifled at the touch of his tablet. Tweaking his credit rating and police records with misdemeanors would discourage companies. Entangling Frank in the agency's web being drawn about him.

And Smith would be there to save him.

Arriving at the Hotel the doorman taps his hat to acknowledge Smith.

A regular guest at the Hotel. The brilliant lighting of the foyers contested with the doused darkness of the streets outside. Heading instinctively for the elevator. He waits. An elevator dings. Doors open and he presses the top floor. Few stayed at this level. His solitary life devoid of female company. Personal relationships had passed him by like a ship in the night.

Clinical. Regimented. Devoid of any emotion and feeling.

The Agency had become an extension of his personality. Believing that the security of the nation depended on him. Attaining pride in keeping the nation safe from misfits and degenerates. Transferred and promoted between security agencies before culminating in his current role. Recruitment and assassinations.

The agency he worked for did not exist officially on paper. And he answered to one person. And one person only. Mister Black. If Smith was invisible. Then Black was a ghost. With unlimited access to funds and undetectable access to government databases. NSA, DOD, FBI, CIA, and IRS. And countless banking systems.

Nothing was beyond his reach. Interference. Or manipulation.

Calling room service. Orders a meal to his room. Turning on the television in time to catch the unfolding scandal in Washington. A Senator had been caught with his pants down. Literally. Unfortunately with a high class Escort. And not is faithful wife of thirty three years. Images show Senator Luxon embracing his wife. Playing happy families.

Denying all false improprieties being alleged about him. Smith's skin crawled. It was not the first time the Senator had digressed from being the loving husband, to loving philanderer. But was the first time he had been publicly caught. Smith knew the private lives of most Senators and Congressmen. And what went on behind closed hotel doors. It was his job to know. The incident could not be sweep under the carpet as had his previous scandalous affairs.

It was time Luxon was eliminated from the public equation. The reformation of decency would come at a price.

Smith hears a knock at the door and kills the television. A Waiter enters pushing a trolley before him. A polished silver cloche covers his meal. A bottle of vintage red wine and glass sit nearby.

"Will that be all Sir?" The Waiter askes.

"That will be all thank you" Smith advises.

"Very good Sir." The waiter who leaves without being tipped.

Smith lifts the cloche and examines the meal. And pours himself a glass of the dark Merlot before taking a place at the dining table.

Smith feels a sensation in his pocket. There could only be one caller. Mister Black.

"Sir." Smith answers.

"Everything in order?" Black asked distantly.

"Everything's in place... Drake will be on board soon." Smith advises.

"Very good... And the Senator?"

"I have an Asset on route."

"Very well... Make it clean. I don't want it any loose ends."

"Of course Sir... Thank you Sir."

"Thank you Smith." Black ends the call.

On hearing the disconnection, Smith stares at the mobile's screen. Mesmerized by the colorful digital icons. Black's authoritative voice reminded Smith of his father's.

Which he dared not question.

Smith's mind contemplates Frank as a recruit. An asset.

He fitted the profile. Money greased the squeakiest wheels and displaced the most obstinate of morals. Everyone had their price. Smith had the resources to answer all of Frank's prayers. The financial vultures would soon be circling. Deporting Marilyn was another persuasive measure. Men would do almost anything for love. Senator Luxon would soon be dying proof of that.

Smith now turned his immediate attention to the meal before him.

'Very nice.' He thought, deferring the Senator's imminent death until after dessert...
Thomas

The Asset arrived in Washington D.C. to meet with Smith to receive instructions of his next assignment.

Blending in with the unsuspecting populous made his way to the Hotel Smith had arranged. Smith arranged all details of an Asset's assignment. All that was required of the Asset was to turn up. Execute the package. And leave.

A meeting had been set at a small café on the West Side. Cafe Le Petit.

Thomas had sold his soul to the Devil. Or in this case Smith. The first kill was the hardest. They always were. Nonetheless, he pulled the trigger on the unknown stranger. A spy Smith had told him. Selling secrets to the communists.

Smith had arranged it all. The place, the time and weapon.

All Thomas had to do was show up at the prescribed time, point and shoot. Then walk calmly away. The thought that he was acting in the nation's interest, made the killing a little easier. Smith's private number ensured communication was always one way. Just as Black always called Smith. Always down the chain of command. And never up.

There was something about Smith that put Thomas on edge. Smith had found him at a bar a year earlier feeling sorry for himself. And offered him a job and a life style beyond his wildest dreams. An initial upfront payment secured his services.

All in the name of National Security. Who was he to say no?

Knowing Smith would arrive in his own time. Thomas takes a sip of coffee and looks out at the park opposite and children playing. The sun had risen a little higher and there was a tingle of warmth in the air. Patches of snow lay littered the ground. Melting slowly away as spring took hold. Returning color to trees. And life to the streets.

The door opens and a bell sounds an arrival. Thomas looks up and see a man in a dark suit walk in. Smith.

"Thomas, how are you?" Asked Smith quietly.

"Good... Thank you Sir." Thomas responds to his handler.

"Settled in okay?"

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."

A waitress appears beside Smith and inquires if he would like a coffee?

"I'm good thank you... I won't be staying long. But thank you." Smith waits for the Waitress to leave before continuing his discussion. Reaches into the side pocket of his jacket to pull out a small bottle of tablets.

Discreetly covering the bottle with the newspaper and slides it towards Thomas.

"Two of these in his coffee will induce a massive heart attack... You know the drill soldier."

"Yes Sir."

"Everything has been arranged... Your Security Pass...Your name is Max Pecks... Tell them Mister Smith from catering sent you... They'll be expecting... Be there by seven... You've been assigned to the Senator's table."

Smith slides the identity card over to him who examines the image embedded onto it.

"You've been given full security clearance... No one should question you."

"Yes Sir." Thomas coldly accepts the orders.

"Get in. Get out. Go home. I'll call you if we have any issues. Otherwise you won't hear from me. Understand?"

"Yes Sir. In. Out. Home... Thank you Sir." Thomas iterates the orders.

Smith looks about for eavesdroppers. There were few people about that time of the morning.

Thomas looks at Smith and senses a distance. As though he was lost in some complex thought. Smith returns to the table and recognizes Thomas. And the purpose of his visit.

"Thank you Thomas... I'll be in touch." Gathering his faculties again. Beginning to stand.

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir... Leave it to me." Watching Smith about to leave.

Leaving as quietly as he has entered, the doorbell barely sounds his departure.

Adjusting collars and hat, Smith walks to a waiting cab and disappears into the traffic. Thomas watches him drive away. Wondering who Smith was and the power that he held over life and death. It felt good to have Smith as a friend. It also felt dangerous. To take orders without questioning why. His bank account did not complain.

Thomas felt untouchable with Smith pulling the strings.

Finishing his coffee, examines the bottle of tablets. Two small white tablets rattled inside the small opaque plastic bottle. Thomas pockets the bottle. Shoving them in deep so as not to lose them. With ten hours to kill before the banquet, he would pass the time site seeing. Already familiar with Washington from a previous assignment. An itinerant Mobster blackmailing a Congressman. The body never to be discovered. Well, not in his life time at least. Buried beneath tons of concrete at a construction site.

Thomas waved down a passing cab and asked to be taken back to his hotel before embarking on his excursion of the city.

"Where's everyone?" Frank asked Tomo, seeing the bar deserted.

"You're it... Have a seat... The usual?" Asked Tomo.

"Thanks mate... Just the one today."

"Let's just see how this one goes down okay before you make any commitment." Pushing a bourbon in front of him.

"Cheers mate."

Forgetting the vow of silence he had made to Smith, Tomo informs Frank of his sedate inquiries.

"That guy in the suit was asking after you after you left..." Tomo blurted out. "...Said his name was Smith... John Smith... Doesn't sound right... But then who knows?"

"What did he want?" Wondering how much he had told him.

"Not a lot... Just wanted to know your situation... Said he might be in a position to help you... That's about it." Said Tomo leaving out Marilyn and Benjamin.

"What you tell him?" Frank glares at Tomo, with eyes that that said he would know if he as lying.

"Just said you're looking for work and you come here to pass the time... Must have heard us talking yesterday."

"Thanks for the heads up... He been in today?"

"Nah... I'll let you if he shows up again."

"Thanks... I'd be interested to have a chat with him... Especially if he has work... God I could do with some about now. Sitting around waiting is the worse part... You think it is all bourbon and skittles... It messes with your head... Waiting for the phone to ring..." Frank caught himself before he became a broken record, "... Sorry man... I'm rattling on again aren't I?"

"You're all good Frank... You have a right to be... So how's the beautiful Marilyn? You should bring her in here more often... Maybe she's got a sister."

"No sister thank goodness... But she does have a husband if you're interested..." Frank disclosed a piece of information he had been withholding from Tomo up until now. "...No chance of divorce... She's Catholic." Frank added.

"Woah man... What you going to do about it?"

"Not much I can do... But enjoy the ride I suppose." Frank lifts his glass and toasts Tomo.

"I suppose so... Who knows he might have an accident one day... If you know what I mean... Then you'll be set."

"I like you're thinking big guy... I'd be so lucky."

"Oh well... Enjoy it while you can as you say... Who knows something might come up... Any news on job front?"

"I'm sitting here aren't I? ..." Gesturing his surroundings. "...What you see is the summation of my life."

"Can't be that bad Frank... You have Marilyn and the kids. .. Don't forget... You have your health." He begins to remind Frank.

And with that timely remark Frank coughs. Wondering if he was coming down with something.

"Sometimes I wonder Tomo." Sipping a spoonful of bourbon as if medicine. Then another spoonful for good measure.

"You know there's always a job here mate... Happy to have you flipping burgers."

"I'll keep that in mind thanks Tomo... But I'm not quite ready for that." Dismissing the offer as quickly as it was made.

Tomo returns to racking glasses and Frank returns his focus on the large ice cube in his glass.

God was proving difficult today. The force was strong in this glass, wondering how many shots Tomo had poured. Rattling God from side to side. Sounding a musical beat he was all too familiar with.

'Rattle-rattle-rattle-rattle.'

Mid-afternoon on a mid-week day. A good chance the phone could ring. Having applied for several more jobs that week. Applications gave him hope. But with each passing day of silence, spelt bad news.

Frank always lived in the now. The phone would always ring today. It had to...
Senator Luxon

Just as Frank was finishing his bourbon and about to order his second, Thomas now dressed as a Waiter, arrives at the Senator's banquet.

Presenting himself to security guards who directed him to the kitchen to await further instructions. Pots and pans clattered as steam erupted from beneath rattling lids. Odors of seasoned proportions filled Thomas' nostrils. Standing among other waiters. All dressed alike. And for a moment he had forgotten the mission. And his name.

"Max Pecks?!" A loud voice calls out his name.

"Yes Sir! Here!" Thomas responds belatedly remembering his name.

"Over here!" The voice barks again.

A Head Waiter. Short and stout stood before him. His monkey suit straining at the buttons.

"You'll be serving tables ten to fifteen. Understood?"

"Yes Sir!" Thomas responds sharply and confidently.

"I like your attitude son... You'll do well here if you do as you're told."

"Thank you Sir!"

"Get your butt out to the tables and start serving drinks... You've been assigned Senator Luxon's table... Don't fuck it up! Understood?" The Head Waiter glared at Thomas.

"No Sir... Yes Sir!" Unsure of which.

"Get out of my sight!" The Head Waiter yelps.

Thomas hurries through the flapping doors and onto the banquet floor. A disparity to the chaos and clatter of the kitchen. Taken back by the orderly setting and inaudible voices engaged in conversation. And goes in search of his assigned tables.

"Ten to fifteen." He mutters to himself.

A trolley of bottles is suddenly thrust in front of him, then instructed to seek out parched dignitaries.

Silence fell over the room of muffled voices.

Fine speeches of ostentatious words would be layered upon those present. Soon to be followed by fine cuisine. Luxon was attending the dinner alone. His wife choosing not to make a public appearance, in light of the growing scandal. The Senator on the other hand had no choice.

Giving a stirring speech on a proposed Privacy Bill. Empowering the Government with greater surveillance abilities. Weeding out terrorists and the undesirables that threatened the Nation's security. More so the undesirables. Terrorists on the other hand were good for business and an essential cog in the nation's war economy. A terrorist would never bring down a Government.

But an undesirable could.

Any indictment of the illicit affair with a woman old enough to be his daughter were expunged by the rousing ovation.

Thomas had only ever seen the Senator in the papers and television. Able now to observe him in the flesh, he was more, three dimensional. Loud, overweight, and abhorrent. Spouting political rhetoric to please those that feathered his nest. A worst, he was a narcissist. At best, a buffoon. Having charmed and bullied his way up the political ranks to the upmost level of incompetency.

Short of being President. And that position was already taken.

Thomas could find no likeable quality to the man. Setting aside his personal appraisal, Thomas went about clearing tables of dishes. Then headed back to the kitchen with a full trolley load of plates and cutlery.

"Well done Max..." The Head Waiter commends Thomas. "...Take a break before your next shift."

"Thank you Sir." Heading to the alley way outside to light a cigarette.

He had been meaning to quit. But working for Smith had made it was almost impossible. Security staff stood about in dark suits, white shirts and dark glasses looking bored. Ear pieces giving their identities away. Periodically talking into their sleeves. Ensuring no one got in that should not. But it was all a little too late. Smith had created a crack for Thomas to seep through. Taking in the last draw of his cigarette stubs the butt out on the frozen ground and walks back inside.

It was time.

10:00PM and Thomas pushed a trolley down a long hallway.

Stolid security men guard the elevator doors. Inspecting security passes and people alike. Thomas is stopped and searched. Waving a metal detector wand over him they find nothing other than his car keys and loose change. They allow him through. A trolley wheel squeaks periodically as it rocks side to side. Rattling a silver coffee pot and white ceramic cups.

Thomas eyes the room numbers trying to find 1021.

"1023... 1022... 1021, gotcha." Finding the door.

Halting the trolley, adjusts his jacket. And reconfirms the room number. Knocking three sharp taps on the door. And waits. Moments later the door opens and the Senator appears standing in a white bath robe. Transformed from the black tuxedo.

Bare white feet in place of polished black shoes.

"Come in... Come in man... Don't just stand there!" Luxon bellows abruptly looking up and down the hall way.

Thomas hears a voice coming from the bathroom. His wife perhaps. But the voice sounds somewhat too young. Then a giggling scantily dressed woman appears. Too young to be anything but call-girl.

"Put some clothes on! ..." Luxon quickly suggests. "...We have a visitor... Over there young man." Luxon directs Thomas with the trolley.

"Yes sir." Quietly pushing the trolley with the squeaky wheel towards the lounge suite.

Luxon follows the young lady into the bedroom.

More giggles could be heard followed by what sounded like a distorted neigh. With the stallion pre-occupied with the filly, it was the opportunity Thomas was looking for. Pouring a cup of black coffee, discreetly drops the two tablets into it. Watching them dissolve. Standing quietly beside the trolley and waited for the Senator to return.

The giggling stopped and Luxon reappeared, his robe more ruffled and open than before.

"Ah_ thank you young man." Falling onto the couch.

"It is my pleasure. Was there anything else you required?"

"No. That will be all for now." Said Luxon as he takes a hearty sip of the black elixir of death.

Feeling it seep into his veins. Rejuvenating life into him and reclined back.

"Thank you Sir." Thomas calmly walks from the room taking the squeaky trolley with him.

The door closes behind him. His task was complete. It was time to leave. Pushing the trolley with its squeaky wheel, Thomas returned to the kitchen and walked calmly out the back door without looking back. The guards paid him no attention. Waving down a cab departed the scene and headed downtown to an Irish bar he had discovered during the day, O'Malley's.

Where he could plan his escape.

The young filly trots seductively from the bed room.

Her robe opening as if to tease the Senator further. Luxon watched on eagerly. Anticipating getting his hands on the youthful creature before him. Her robe falls away and she knells between the Senator's legs. Pulling them apart. Stirring his manhood and quickening his pulse. Feeling the warmth and wetness of her mouth massaging him. The Senator groans deeply and the filly momentarily looks up. Then resumes the resuscitation between the Senator's loins.

Hearing more groans and rapid breathing by the Senator. His hands reach down to grip the woman's head. Forcing it up and down. Or away. The woman is consumed with lust. Luxon is consumed with death. Clutching his chest he moans painfully. Eyes rolling in his head. The woman looks up and is pleased with her performance. Leaving him naked and limp to enjoy the apparent orgasm before taking herself to the shower.

"See you soon big boy." Said the filly licking her lips.

It had not taken long for the news channels to pick up on the emergency unfolding at the Senator's hotel.

Overhead television screens showed an ambulance taking a body bag through a hotel foyer. And a distraught young lady in a white bath robe being consoled by detectives trying to question her. It was being reported as an apparent heart attack put down to stress.

His wife was not available for comment.

'Smith would be pleased...' Thought Thomas watching on from the bar, '...Another one chalked up to the good guys'.

The crowd watching the breaking news soon dispersed once the game came back on.

Sipping on the Pina-Colada savoring the fruity flavor. Sucking the maraschino cherry as though it were a lollie-pop. Thomas would celebrate the anniversary of his recruitment with a night on the town. Making the most of his time in Washington before heading back to Flint.

A place that few people visited and even fewer stayed.

"Another thanks," Thomas catches the barman's attention.

Sliding a twenty for his troubles. Thomas sat back and scanned the bar.

'Attractive young ladies for the picking.' He thought.

He had money to burn, so why not enjoy it. Catching the eye of an attractive brunette walking pass.

"Well_ hello_... Can I buy you a drink? ... Champagne perhaps?" Throwing out an opening lines...
Grimm

Smith moved among the crowd that had gathered to glimpse the Senator's body was being taken to the awaiting ambulance.

A fitting end to the sexual predator that Luxon had become. The humiliation of his lascivious affairs had died with him. The Privacy Bill would pass unstained by Luxon's indiscretions. Satisfied Thomas had completed the assignment, he wires the balance to his account. Fifty up front. Fifty on completion.

Followed by a brief text message acknowledging the transfer.

'Transfer complete.' Stated the message.

No more need be said. Thomas understood the meaning. His bank account had gathered no moss. In twelve months he had accumulated over half a million. Money he had never dreamt of earning a year before.

Just then Smith's mobile vibrates. The private number suggests only one person.

"Sir." Smith addresses his mentor, Mister Black.

"Congratulations..." The caller commends Smith, "...Thomas has proven himself yet again."

"Thank you Sir."

"It will be a shame to lose him."

"Yes... Unfortunate... But he has come to the end of his usefulness."

"Lincoln Park... Tomorrow morning... Ten... We can discuss Drake." Black instructed.

"Yes Sir... Tomorrow." Smith responded hesitantly.

The lines go dead.

About the time Thomas was finishing his second Pina-Colada, Frank was about to peel himself from a bar stool and head home.

The tempestuous weather of the past couple of days had passed. His mobile had remained silent. Re-confirming his belief that recruitment agencies had long since discarded him. Preferring to place him in the too hard basket.

Like weed killer the bourbon inhibited the thought from taking root in his mind.

"Catch you tomorrow Tomo." Calls out about to leave.

"Yeah... You too Frank... Take care out there." Returning to racking glasses.

The spring weather had brought the patrons back to the bar.

Grimm was not so much a regular. He was more of a fixture. Not one for sitting about doing nothing. He took to standing in the shadows at the far end of the bar. And hinged himself against the high altar. A bottle of bud at hand. First appearances would suggest he had lived a hard life. As if he had waltzed with the Blue Lady, and the Devil had cut in. As though he had seen things people should not. No one dared to ask. Preferring to keep their distance. Just as Grim kept his. Finding a solace in his own company.

Garbed in a black and white plaid shirt covering a black tee glorifying Guns and Roses. A black and white bandana tied off about a snake skin boot. A thick silver wallet chain garlanded at his side. A black backward facing baseball cap pinned with an Alex Rose badge completed the heavy-metal guise. Everything about Grimm was dark.

Everything, but his pale stove pipe blue jeans.

"What's with Frank?" Grimm asked curiously looking over to Tomo.

"Same shit, different day... Still looking for work."

"Something will come up... He's a smart man." Sharing a rare thought.

"Yeah... Hope so. Don't like seeing him drinking his redundancy away... A waste of good money."

"What about me?" Grimm asked as if he's excluded.

"You're different Grimm."

"Thanks man... I think." Leaving him wondering.

"Maybe Marilyn can talk some sense into him." Suggests Tomo.

"Yeah... Nice lady that one... He's lucky to have found her."

"She's married, you know?" Said Tomo keen to pass on some gossip.

"No fucken way!" Grimm's eyes light up with the salacious news.

"Yes fucken way!"

"Well fuck me! ... The lucky bastard... Where's the husband?"

"Mexico... Where else."

A silence fell over Grimm as he took in Frank's scandalous relationship.

"Lucky bastard is all I can say." Nodding his head. Twitches a nostril and sniffs.

Fading from the conversation as a repressed thought surfaces to aggravate his mind.

The Buick drove Frank home and parked him outside his apartment. No lights on tonight.

'Marilyn must be working.' He thought.

He would have the place to himself until them. A liquid dinner awaited him. Perhaps a cube of ice for solids. Throwing himself on the couch in time to catch the breaking news erupting from Washington on the television. Senator Luxon had suffered an apparent heart attack in a hotel room. Images flashed across the screen. A red banner at the base of the screen scrolled details of scandalous affairs.

For a brief moment he thought he saw the man in the dark suit standing among the onlookers watching on.

"Nah... Can't be..." Said Frank under his breath. Taking a heavy sip of the drink he had poured himself, "...Good ridden you filthy bastard." Sending Luxon off to hell with a touching eulogy.

Flicking through channels before settling on an old movie. With dinner in one hand and the remote in the other, and waited for Marilyn to return home.

07:00AM and Smith awoke to a bright Washington morning.

Room service brought him breakfast and the morning newspaper. News of the Senator's death splashed over covered the front page. A picture of a young woman in a bath robe. Closing the case for the prosecuting public. Cause of the death heart failure by exertion. By the time the autopsy report would came back, there would be little trace of the drug.

And Thomas would be long gone.

Smith dressed as he always had. Unchanged since joining the Agency. Black framed glasses. Dark suit, white shirt, black tie, and polished black shoes. A dark hat topped off the uniform. Gathering the black briefcase he headed out.

Lincoln Park was on the other side of town. Too far to walk.

Though Smith did enjoy a brisk walk. Today would be different. He was meeting Mister Black. Being punctual was important to Black. Smith waved down the cab.

"Lincoln Park." Smith instructs the driver.

Winding its way through the mid-morning traffic the cab arrives with twenty minutes to spare. Patches of green show through the decaying snow that covered the ground. Oak trees budded with leaves. A squirrel scurried about. Though usually indifferent to most seasons. Smith relished the warmth of spring after the harsh winter months.

Finding a seat on nearby bench. He patiently for Black to arrive. Joggers ran by oblivious to him. With a spring in their step that he had long since lost. Taking the paper continues to read about Senator's demise and adultery.

Sensing the presence of an arriving vehicle he looks up. A long black polished limousine pulls quietly to the curb. A window opens ever so slightly and a frail white hand could be seen gesturing for him to approach. Smith opens the door to expose a dark interior and enters another world.

'Thud.' Closing the heavy door behind him.

Through the dim lit compartment Smith could make out features of an old man sitting opposite. Sunglasses shrouded his eyes from the morning light filtering through the tinted windows. A white shirt silhouetted a dark suit. The air clouded with smoke.

Streaming from a recently lit cigarette.

"Smith" Begins Black.

"Sir." Acknowledges Smith looking down. Unwilling to make eye contact with Black.

"Tell me about Drake." Black begins his cross examination.

"Middle age. Unemployed. Educated."

"I see."

"IRS and Credit Card debt... Living with an illegal immigrant."

"Hmm... And Thomas?"

"I think Thomas has come to the end of his tenure."

"I think so too." Black parallels Smiths thoughts.

"I'll have Drake take care of him..." Smith proposes his plan.

"Very good."

"Thank you Sir."

"Once Drake is blooded... I have an assignment for him..." Black pauses, "...The Banker... Seems he has gone too far this time... Something needs to be done to expose him for what he is."

"Yes Sir... I understand Sir." Accepts Smith.

"I will be in touch." Black taps the glass barrier to the driver.

The limousine pulls to the curb. And Smith exists without further words being exchanged. A jogger startles a flock of pigeons distracting Smith momentarily. Looking to the curb to discover Black had disappeared as quietly as he had arrived. The limousine now lost among the passing yellow cabs and vehicles. Leaving Smith alone on the sidewalk. Taking his place on the bench again to contemplate Thomas' and Frank's fate.

Smith only ever had one Asset on the payroll at one time.

Making the bookkeeping simple. Their tenure was always brief. A year at most before being was terminated. Usually by the next recruit. Indicting their commitment. Allured by the sweet bouquet of easy money. Only to become stuck to Smith's fly paper.

Smith was not one to become sentimental about an Asset's departure. Having the ability to recycle Agency funds, less anything the Asset may have spent. Many saving for the day they retired. But none ever would. Smith had made sure of that. Terminating them before thoughts of leaving had crossed their minds.

Returning to the hotel to examines his diary.

Reviewing the timetable he had for Frank. Planning to be back in Seattle in two weeks' time. Letting him simmer a little longer. Smith knew Frank's behavior better than Frank did. Frank was predictable. Habitual. Smith could manipulate anyone he choose simply by dangling the right incentives.

Or poking a sensitive pressure point.

Frank's debts were moderately substantial. The IRS and credit card companies would soon be calling. Assuming Frank was on their radar. Smith could put Frank on their radars at the touch of a screen.

'Perhaps a reminder notice might unsettle his happy nest... Keep him on his toes.' Thought Smith.

Booting his tablet to life, accesses the IRS database within a few key strokes. And initiates a demand notice to be sent to Frank's apartment.

'That should start the ball rolling... Make him squirm a little.' Thought Smith maliciously.

Having Frank wonder as to when they would strike and sink their claws into his precious savings. Smith grins at the troublesome thought. At the press of a key, Smith had the ability to conjure up angels and demons at will.

Or make them disappear.

Frank would be his personal puppet on a string. And he imagined Frank jiggering helplessly as he pulled on the strings.

"Dance Frank... Dance!" Smith laughed to himself.

Then fell silent.

Time had passed before he came back to the room.

Thinking he heard someone at the door. Wondering if it was Black. He waited a moment longer. The footsteps passed by and there is silence again. Opening the door he peers down the hallway to see a waiter with a trolley about to knock on an apartment door.

Closing the door, reclines on the couch to contemplate his next move, Thomas...
Mirror Man

Weeks passed no noticeable changes to Frank's life.

His mobile remained silent, and Marilyn went about her waitressing. Drowning in habitual boredom, life continued to overlook him, and sailed by without interest.

Then one day a letter arrived.

"There's a letter for you." Calls Marilyn from the kitchen as Frank walked in the door.

"Oh." Catching Frank by surprise. Thinking a company had made the effort to reply to one of his dozen applications.

On seeing the envelope. And all hope shattered. The IRS. The last letter he wanted to see. He stared at. Weighed it in his hand. Gauging its thickness, he assesses the contents. Thin. A letter of some kind. Perhaps a warning. A worse, a notice. Statements would usually be thicker. Like a forensic surgeon, he had dissected a number of these over the years. And decided, like many letters before, he would not bother to open this one.

Folding it in half, and then half again. Before burying it deep into his pocket. He would flush it next time he was having a bowel movement. Knowing if they were really after him, they would come knocking.

"What was it sweetie?" Marilyn asked innocently.

"Nothing much... Just a statement." Frank belays her curiosity, not wanting burden her with his problems. Knowing the issues she faced if immigration ever caught up with her.

Being out of work was only temporary, Frank told himself.

Spooning Marilyn from behind, warps his arms around.

"You smell nice." He complements her.

"Go wash up. You're all grubby." Shunning him away.

He begins to kiss the top of her head, then her neck.

"Wash up bad man!" She warns him again.

Splashing the cold water over his face, Mirror Man stared at him.

Frank stared back at the Man in the Mirror.

"What am I supposed to do?" Frank argues with the Mirror Man.

Taking the folded letter from his pocket, begins to tear it repeatedly and throws it into the toilet bowl. Allowing it to soak with water and watched it sink. And flushed the intrusion from his life.

The man in mirror watches on unmoved.

"Can't do anything about it 'til you get a job." Reminds the Mirror Man.

"Yeah I know." Frank agrees.

"Something will show up soon. In the meantime... You need to look after her... And your kids... Especially Jack."

"Yeah I know." Looking towards the kitchen hoping Marilyn wasn't over-hearing any of the conversation.

"Have a drink to calm your nerves. Frank... Tomorrow's your lucky day."

"Always tomorrow... Why never today?" Frank questions.

"Get out of here." The Mirror Man tells Frank and watches him leave.

"Who you talking to sweetie?" Marilyn asked setting the table.

"No one... Just myself..." Frank answers. "...Do you want a drink?"

"Just a small one."

Frank pours her glass of wine, and a bourbon for himself. Before taking his place at the dinner table to await his dinner. Same routine, different nights for the past seven months. Closing his eyes he makes a wish. Or a prayer. Asking that tomorrow would be different. That something would turn up to lift him from the pothole he found himself stuck.

"Amen." Frank mutters just as the meal arrives.

"I did not know you were religious Frank..." Said Marilyn catching the salutation. "...Maybe you could come to church this Sunday... Clean your soul bad man."

"Too late for me I'm afraid... But at least you'll be saved."

"I'll say a prayer for you as I do every week."

"Thanks sweetie."

"Any word from the agencies?"

"Nah nothing... I called several today... All say the same thing... Too many people, not enough jobs... They say it's slowly improving... Just takes time."

"I will ask God for a job for you..." Marilyn explains. As if God had a vacancy.

"Thank you sweetie... Put a good word in for me with the big guy."

"I will. You wait and see... God answers all my prayers..." She begins to exclaim. "...See how I come to America... And find work and money for my family back home... I ask God and He provides."

"Yes He did... Maybe He could help me too." Frank looks at Marilyn. Taking in her beauty. Her innocence.

And her smile.

"Now eat bad man... You will need your strength tonight." Marilyn warns him.

Frank's eyes light up with anticipation. As if the previous evening had not drained him enough. In his mid-forties and apparently at his sexual peak. Marilyn was a good ten years his junior and a sexual dynamo. She ignited his libido in a way that his ex-wife never could. In some ways it was a relief to visit the bar to escape her insatiable carnal appetite. He wondered how her husband had handled her sexual demands. Perhaps he had insisted she go to America?

It would not have surprised him.

10:00AM and Frank peels himself from bed.

Marilyn had been up for hours and had left him sleeping. Exhausted by an evening of loving making, drags himself to the shower hoping it would awaken him. A cold cup of black coffee waited for him on the table.

A welcome sight.

Skimming the newspaper searches the headlines for anything that would warn him of another world crisis. Nothing. The President had not upset anyone within the past twenty four hours. That was a good sign. But then. The day was just beginning.

'Give him time.' Thought Frank.

Flicking to the Classifies Frank pursues the job listing. Thin pickings. It was too early for his eyes to focus on the fine print. He would have a look at the bar. When he had time. Taking a gulp of the cold tar brew he stirs to life. The bitterness strikes his senses and feels parts of his body returning to him.

Jumping on line. Searches for opportunities that had appeared overnight. Like fishing, the more hooks he had out, the more nibbles he got. For every fifty jobs he applied for, he would get a couple of bites. Though mostly unsuccessful, they gave him hope. Knowing one company would eventually take the hook. It was a percentage game. He just had to keep fishing.

And keep throwing out the hooks.

01:00PM and the Buick parked itself in a vacant space outside Jeffersons.

Frank strolls in, seeing Tomo racking glasses and Grimm leaning on the far end of the bar. His eyes transfixed on the wall of bottles in front of him.

'Nothing changes.' Thought Frank.

"Grimm." Franks acknowledges his presence.

Grimm nods his head faintly to acknowledge Frank's arrival. Then resumed his thoughts. Not wishing to be drawn from a thought that had captured his imagination.

Frank drags himself onto his stool. Throwing the newspaper to one side for later.

"All good?" Asked Tomo. Shifting his eyes suspiciously to the far corner as if to suggest Frank should look that way.

"Yeah... All good..." Relied Frank casually looking in the inferred direction. "...Oh I see."

Now seeing the man in the dark suit sitting at a corner booth. A red wine at hand and a newspaper in the other.

"How long?" Asked Frank quietly.

"About an hour... Same glass as when he got here... Big spender."

"Remind me to buy him another... One day." Franks jokes.

Frank examined Smith. There was something about him that made Frank uncomfortable. After yesterday's letter he wondered if he was IRS. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Then recalled Tomo saying the man had asked after him. Smith then intrigued Frank. There was no point stirring up a hornet's nest. He had more important issues to address than some stranger in town.

"First one on the house." Said Tomo placing a bourbon in front of him.

"Thanks man... They all help." Replies Frank taking up the paper and scanning the pages for headlines.

"Marilyn working today?"

"Yeah... Glad someone is... Still waiting to hear back on a few applications but... No news is generally bad news." Responds Frank philosophically.

"You'll be fine Frank... You always land on your feet."

"You'd think so... But this time around has been worse... Generally it would only take a couple of months... Now it's coming up to seven... I'm going to need something soon..." But before he could finish a voice spoke beside him.

"Perhaps I could assist." Interrupts Smith with a calm voice of authority.

Having appeared from nowhere. Catching Tomo by surprise as well. Frank turns about to see Smith now standing beside him looking out of place. As though he would be more at home in an office, than a bar.

"Forgive my intrusion... But I could not help over hearing that you were looking for work."

Smith paused to gauge Frank's response, then continued.

"My name is Smith... John Smith." Without extending his hand.

Frank looked back at Tomo who shrugged his shoulders and carried on polishing glasses, before turning his attention back to Smith.

"Keep talking." Frank instructs Smith hesitantly.

"Perhaps you would be so kind to join me in my office where we could talk privately." Asked Smith. Indicating the booth.

Frank hesitates, unsure of the Smith's motives. Their relationship until now had been distant, if not non-existent up until now. Frank's mind was in overdrive. His intuition told him to stay put. But his ears were eager to hear what Smith had to offer. It had to be something when compared to the nothing of the past seven months.

All he had to do was listen, he told himself.

Sliding off the saddle brown stool. Leaving his drink and paper and paper on the bar. Smith looks over to Tomo and indicates another bourbon and wine were in order. Tomo splashes an extra shot into Frank's short glass.

Smith slides into the booth.

A brief case nestled at the end of the red bench seat. Opening it, pulls out a file. A dossier. Frank's life summed up in a few pages. Frank takes a seat opposite. An unusual job interview he thought. But one he might enjoy. Not often you got to drink at these things. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Frank made himself comfortable. Looking out the window of the bar, feeling the warmth of the filtering sun on his skin and putting him at ease. Maybe today would be the day after all.

Wondering if his prayer had been heard.

"Frank Drake... That is your name." Spoke Smith officially, bringing Frank to attention.

"That's right..." Frank responses tentatively unsure who Smith was working for. Re-thinking that Smith was actually an IRS official about to confront him.

"Just checking..." Mused Smith seeing Frank sit up, "...Let me begin by saying I have been observing you for some time."

"Really, have you? ... Why? Who are you? What do you want?" Responds Frank firing questions back.

"Relax Frank... I'm not who you think I may be."

"Then who are you?" He prompts keen to identify his personal stalker.

Just then Tomo arrived with the drinks.

"Enjoy." Placing the drinks before them.

Smith slides a twenty in Tomo's direction.

"Keep the change." Advised Smith.

Tomo heads back to the bar to leave them to continue.

Smith savors the glass of dark cherry red Merlot and Franks takes a hit of the golden bourbon that was quickly calming his nerves and anxiety.

"I work for an Agency... A very special kind of Agency..." Smith begins.

"IRS?" Suggests Frank looking at Smith with suspicion.

"Oh... No. No... Though I do deal with them from time to time." Smith grins at the private joke and resumes his train of thought, "...No, I work for an Agency shall we say that does not publically exist ... If you know what I mean?" Hoping Frank would join the dots.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what you mean... You need an Accountant for an Agency that doesn't exist?" Asked Frank, becoming confused.

"Not so much an Accountant... Though that would be a good cover I suppose..." Said Smith thinking through the possibilities.

"Cover? ... What are you talking about?" Becoming more confused.

"Let me explain..."

"I wish you would." Frank was becoming a little frustrated with the continue riddles.

"My Agency handles National Security on behalf of the Government." Smith opens his wallet and reveals his identification card and badge.

Leveling his brief case open enough for Frank to see a holstered pistol. Frank is taken back at the sight of the weapon. And the authority of the man sitting opposite. In some way, he would rather have had an IRS official sitting in his place. That he could understand. But not Smith.

Obscure questions ran through Franks mind.

"What do you want with me?" Franks searches for answers.

"One of my tasked with the Agency is to recruitment."

"You need an Accountant?"

"Not quite... But you are in desperate need of work are you not?"

"I wouldn't say desperate..." Frank lied, "...How did you know that?"

"It's my job to know everything about you Frank." Smith advised calmly.

"Everything?" Frank's eye brow's pinched together. Focusing his stare on the man in the dark suit sitting opposite.

"Everything... How is Marilyn?" Smith asked hitting a nerve.

"What the fuck? You leave her out of this... You touch her and by God I'll touch you... I don't give a fuck who you are... I'll hunt you down and hurt you so badly..." Frank exploded at Smith.

Tomo looked up at the eruption taking place at the booth. Frank could handle himself. Obviously Smith had pushed a button he should not have. Smith took the verbal barrage and waited for Frank to stop. It was pleasing to know he had a dark side.

But was he capable of killing?

Then Frank fell silent.

"My apologies Frank... I did not mean it in that sense. Just that I really do know everything about you. The Agency knows just about everything it chooses to know about anyone... For example... Take your good friend over there... Tomo... Otherwise known as David Llewelyn Tomlinson... Originally from Manchester... Pays his taxes... Or most of them... Has a minor gambling habit... Every Tuesday at eleven PM... Calls a sex line and chats with Lola... And he voted Republican in the last election... And he currently holds six hundred and thirty-one dollars and fifty four cents in his bank account."

Smith paused to keep the information sink in.

"It's my job to know about people." Smith informed Frank.

Frank looked over to Tomo to reconcile the information. And then glared back at Smith. John Smith. Not his real name of course. An agency like his would use bogus names. There was silence as Smith waited for Frank to speak.

"So what do you know about me?"

"Like I said... Everything..." Smith began. "...Did you get your IRS letter yesterday?" Smith asked knowing the answer.

"You know I did?" Said Frank quickly joining the dots.

Smith grinned, pleased that Frank was smart enough to understand his position.

"Was that you was it? ... A party trick?" Frank asked curiously.

"Something like that... I just wanted to get your attention. I promise I won't do it again..." Smith did not finish the implied warning.

"So how can I help you?" Asked Frank, wanting to get to the purpose of Smith's visit.

"It is I who am in a position to help you Frank..." Said Smith searching for the right words, "... Financially."

There were other words, but financial was the one that most people understood best. Especially an accountant like Frank.

Frank sat up slightly on hearing the word.

"What's the catch?" He asked suspiciously.

"No catch. You come work for me and I will keep the wolves from your door." Smith completes the sales pitch.

"You can do that?" Frank eyed Smith.

"I can anything Frank..." Said Smith, looking deadly serious.

"What do I have to do, if I'm not an Accountant?"

"There will be some travel involved... Import-Export... Dispatch mostly shall we say... All expenses paid of course... But let's not worry about details for now.... We can discuss those at another time... I will be town again next week. We can talk then should you still be interested... You would be doing the Nation a great service."

"Oh I'm certainly interested..." Frank responded. "...Give me a week to think about it. Though there isn't much to go at this stage."

"We'll talk again soon Frank... I must be off. I have to head back to Washington to write up my report."

"Thank you for your time Mister... Smith. I appreciate the offer."

"I can make the IRS go away Frank... And Marilyn's Visa magically appear..."

"You can do that?" Franks eyes light up at the prospects.

"Of course... Think about it... I'll be in touch with a place and time to meet."

"What about here?" Asked Frank looking about the empty bar.

"Too many ears for my liking Frank... I have your number... Unless you prefer a letter?" Smith allowed himself some amusement.

"No... A call will be fine." Frank cringed at the thought of another letter.

Smith leaves his half-full glass of wine unfinished and slides from the booth. Extending his hand to Frank who takes shakes it. Cementing their discussion and commitment to meet again. Leaving Frank to his drink, exists the bar to wave down a passing cab.

"Hilton, Sixth Avenue" Smith informs the driver.

Stage two out of the way. He would reel Frank in next week. Letting the thought of financial freedom take hold first. Just as it had with Thomas. They all came around in the end.

Money that effect on people.

Frank returns his stool at the bar to resume his paper.

Grimm was still transfixed on something only he could see. Tomo wanders over to Frank, keen to gleam what had gone down between him and the Smith.

"So... What was that all about? You get a job?" Tomo probes Frank keenly.

"What's your girl-friend's name?" Asked Frank testing just how much Smith knew.

"Sally... Why you ask?" Tomo acts surprised taken back by the question.

"Not Lola?" Suggests Frank inquisitively.

A strange silence came over Tomo.

"How do you know about Lola?" Asked Tomo beginning to look embarrassed.

"Ha! ... He's got your number mate." Frank chuckles to himself, taking a sip from the extra strength bourbon.

"What was that all about?" Inquires Tomo being found out.

"Can't say... All hush hush, if you know what I mean... Wants me to come work for him... Told him I'd think about it."

"Take it man. You'd be silly not to... What would you be doing?" Tomo asked.

"That's the thing... He did not exactly say... Dispatch of some kind."

"I guess Fed-Ex isn't good enough for them... Top secret stuff I suppose."

"Yeah I guess so."

"Man... You could be like a secret agent."

"Won't be much of a secret if you know about it."

"My lips are sealed..." Declares Tomo taking a vow of silence for the time being. "... Another?"

"Yeah why not... I may as well celebrate something today... Smith? ... You think that's his real name?"

"Nah_. Has to be made up... No one is called John Smith... Are they?"

"Don't know... But he's back next week to get an answer from me... I'll keep you posted."

The bourbon tasted tenfold sweeter, the aromas smelt tenfold more appealing.

Perhaps he was turning a corner. Perhaps today was the day he had been waiting for. Perhaps Marilyn's prayer had been answered. Frank imagined a world of possibilities.

Getting his life back again. A fresh start. It was the hope he had been waiting for. Tonight he would celebrate and take Marilyn out on the town. The job was his for the taking. How hard could it be?

It was not like he had to kill anyone...
An Offer You Can't Refuse

"You going somewhere tonight? ... Maybe your other girl-friend?" Marilyn asked seeing Frank grooming himself in the mirror and looking dapper.

"No... Gave her the night off... Thought we would go out for dinner and celebrate." A smile growing on his face.

"Celebrate? ... You get a job?" Marilyn's eyes light up to as big as saucers with a smile growing wider.

"Something like that... You know you look so beautiful when you smile."

"You say I look ugly when I don't?" A Mexican pout forming on her face.

"No... I did not mean that? ..." Frank tried to back himself out of a corner he was being pushed into. "...You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me Marilyn."

Going over to her to wrap his arms around her and kissing her forehead.

"So you get a job?" She asked looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"Yes... I think I have a job."

"Think? You don't know?" Marilyn's face contorts to a puzzle look.

"It's mine if I want it they said."

"So you said yes... No?"

"I have a week to decide... But yes... I want it."

"Oh you Americanos so strange."

"Go put on that red dress I like so much. I'll fix you a wine." Heading to the kitchen in search of a bottle.

Sometime later Marilyn reappears looking a million dollars. And then some.

The dress accentuating her petite frame and curves. Cruelty for other men to see, but to Frank she was beauty on heels. The thought of her husband never entered his mind once the whole evening. Finding a little Italian place that served his favorite dish, chicken fettuccini.

It was his night to celebrate.

Arriving home in the early hours of the morning they fell into bed and made love. Excising the demons of the past seven plus months. Moon light shone through the open curtains illuminating Marilyn's perfect body. A small faint scar ran across part of her lower belly from an old operation she had told him. He had not question it further. Happy she had survived and that she was with him. In some way it completed her. We all have imperfections. Even God.

This was Marilyn's.

Moon light lingered over them. Until it too surrendered to the two lovers exhausted passions. Falling asleep in each other's arms. Tomorrow was another day.

A day now Frank welcomed.

Awaking at first light made breakfast for Marilyn.

And decided today he would go for a jog. Something he had lost interest in seven months earlier. Back then, he had no purpose, but today he did. New life flowed through middle aged veins. There was a spring again in his step. And began to see the beauty in the things around him. Long since buried beneath the bitterness and despair of his redundancy. And his ex-wife's anger.

A week was a long time to wait. But Frank wanted to be ready for when Smith returned. Behaving like a man possessed. Sorting through the wardrobe, identified shirts and suits and shoes. The dust that had gathered surprised him. Washing and dry cleaning. Polishing black shoes. Finding time to visit Jeffersons for a few drinks. Staying long enough to be home in time for Marilyn.

Tomo had sensed a change of routine. Takings were down.

Frank's mobile had been silent for months, and he wondered if it was broken.

Then one week to the day that he had spoken with Smith, it rang.

"Private Number." The screen displayed.

Unsure whether to answer it in fear it was the IRS. Taking a deep breath he answered it.

"Frank Drake speaking."

"Hello Frank... Smith speaking." Answered Smith sharply.

"Mister Smith Sir... It's good to hear from you." Frank trod carefully hoping his proposal was still on the table.

"Have you decided my offer?" Smith asked knowingly.

"I have and I would like to accept it... If it's still on the table... But I am still unsure what you want me to do?" Frank throws out the question hoping to get some lead on his role with the Agency.

"Let's meet up this afternoon? Why don't you pick me up from the bar at say two, and you can take me for a drive in that car of yours."

"That's fine by me." Accepted Frank.

"I'll see you outside the bar at two."

"Thank you Sir... I'll see you then." Frank killed the call.

With a few hours to kill and he flicked on the television. Casablanca was playing. Black and white, cloak and dagger. De Noir.

'Much like Smith.' He thought.

The movie only roused questions in Frank's mind. Who was Smith? Who did answer to? What was with the gun? What was the Agency? What was required of him? Had he celebrated too early?

He was about to find out.

Pulling the sleek cherry red '56 Buick alongside the curb.

Silver gills lined its side. Smith stood out on the sidewalk waiting. Brief case in hand and dressed as he always had. A dark suit with a dark hat. Large black sunglasses completed the disguise. If he was trying to look inconspicuous, it was not working. Reminding Frank of Men-In-Black. But Smith looked out of place. Dismissing the thought as quickly as it surfaced, Smith did not look like the alien chasing type.

The Buick's rumbling purr softens as Frank allows the engine to idle. Smith opens the passenger door and climbs into the large metallic beast. Examining its interior and the smell of the leather seats.

"Frank." Smith jabs.

"Mister Smith." Frank counter jabs.

"Thought we might take a drive down to the waterfront... It's quiet down there... We can talk in peace." Smith instructed.

"Very well." Frank throws the Buick into drive and pulls smoothly away from the bar.

Smith was in no rush to speak. Frank turns the radio on, hoping it was okay by him. Music filled the void and displaced the silence that lingered uncomfortably in the air.

Sparking Smith to life.

"You've had this vehicle a long time... Before your marriage broke up I believe." Smith spoke with weighted words.

"That's right... You've done your homework..." Said Frank a little annoyed at Smith's intrusion into his personal life.

Just how far down the rabbit-hole had he gone? He would have to assume he had gone all the way.

"I like to know these things... It helps form a profile of the individual..." Smith caught himself in time, or so he thought.

"Recruited a lot have you?" Questioned Frank, wondering just how many Smith had in his employment.

"A few... A wonderful vehicle... Only wish I had the time for a similar enjoyment." Reflected Smith, before defecting Frank's questioning.

"They do take time and maintenance. But they are a thing of beauty... Almost there." Frank sees the waterfront ahead of him.

"Over there would be fine..." Smith indicates a place where they could park.

Away from other vehicles and prying eyes. And prying ears. Frank eases the Buick up to the curb. Allowing the engine to quietly turn over as pressure gauges needles rocked within glass dials. Killing the ignition, pulls back on the lengthy hand break.

'Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click... Click.'

Locking the heavy Buick in place.

The two men looked about, both with differing views of the world.

One saw the beauty and wonder of the bay. The other saw suspicion and mistrust at those walking by. Moored fishing boats lined the wharf. Rhythmically bobbing up and down on the water. Devoid of any life. Other than seagulls that darted about fighting a piece of food one had found.

Confident they were alone, Smith spoke.

"Thank you for your time Mister Drake."

"Please call me Frank." Frank asked hoping to keep it informal.

"There are some things in my organizations that cannot be said in public bars... If you know what I mean."

"I think I am starting to understand..." Coming to terms with the secrecy of Smith's covert operation, "...Just who do you work for?"

"A branch of National Security that is answerable to only the President..." Smith began to lie. "...With full authority, funding and resources... Operating independently from the other agencies, NSA, or Homeland Security."

"Does the Agency have a name?" Frank asked curiously.

"We operate by no name Frank... The fact we exit is sufficient enough... We are invisible..." Smith explains, "...I am invisible... You are invisible."

"Why me? ... Why choose me?" Beginning to wonder how he fitted into Smith's clandestine Agency.

"Quite simple Frank... You are a man in need... As I am... Few people pay attention to an Accountant... It would be a perfect cover for you to move about."

"Cover? ... Move about?" Frank enquires knowing Smith had said there would be travel.

"Yes... From place to place, now and again... Only for a few days at a time... Will that be a problem?"

"No. No... I don't think so." Wondering if Marilyn would understand his absence.

"I have arranged an errand for you next week... In Flint actually... You know the place?"

"Heard of the place... Been on the news... Water contamination, or something like that."

"That's right... I have already wired your account some money. The balance will be paid at completion of the assignment... These are your air tickets and hotel details." Smith opens his brief case and pulls an envelope and hands it to him.

Frank eyes the concealed gun.

"What's with weapon?" Asked Frank curiously.

"National Security remember Frank." Smith instills the cold nature of the industry.

"Right... No chance I would need one?" Frank enquires.

"No. You won't need one... Best you don't get caught with one in your possession. But if you ever do get arrested... For whatever reason... Know that I have the ability to cut through any red tape."

"How do I get hold of you?"

"You don't... I will know exactly where you are at any minute of the day..." Indicting Frank's mobile. "...I will contact you?" Smith advises.

"What's happening in Flint I need to know about?"

"I will call you when you after you have settled in at the Hotel with further instructions... Understood?"

"Sort of." Frank reluctantly accepts Smith's instructions.

"Thank you for the ride... I will walk from here." Smith closes his briefcase and exists the Buick.

Leaving Frank wondering what awaited him in Flint.

"Not a word to anyone... Understood?"

"Understood." Frank confirms.

Driving slowly away, leaving Smith alone on the sidewalk.

Watching Smith disappears in the rear vision mirror. Frank heads back to the bar. He would check his bank account knowing Smith was clever enough to have the account number. How much was it and why would there need to be a second payment on completion?

Completion of what he wondered?

Frank felt the envelope Smith had given him. It was thick enough to contain tickets and a hotel reservation. Parking up outside the bar he shoves envelope into pocket and pulls himself from the Buick.

Relieved that the meeting was over, and his life could get back to normal for the day...
Flint

"Saw you pull up earlier, then take off again with that Smith fella..." Tomo calls out. "...You're not cheating on me are you?"

"You know I only have eyes for you Tomo." Frank lied.

"I bet you say that to all the barmen." Wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"But you're my favorite."

"I feel touched... Almost violated... So, what was that all about?" Tomo gestured out the window.

"Just a business meeting. Nothing exciting."

"Oh... The usual?" Tomo asked.

"You have to ask? ... Really?" Pulling the envelope out from his jacket.

Despite a growing phobia of mail, this was one envelope he was keen to open.

Still, he opened it carefully unsure what to expect. Only to find the expected. A return ticket and a hotel reservation as Smith had told him. And five hundred in cash.

Checking is bank account balance on his mobile he discovers a disturbing amount had been deposited. Fifty thousand dollars.

"That's got to be a mistake." Thought Frank aloud.

Smith must have added an extra zero on the end by accident. There was no way to get hold of him until Smith made contact with him. Tomo arrives with the bourbon in time to settle his nerves. Intuition was telling him one thing. The money was telling another. Wondering how much more money would be deposited after Flint.

What was in Flint that warranted that sort of payment?

Savoring the stiff drink. A large ice cube stared back at Frank where once God had sat. Any worries of mounting bills and surviving had evaporated upon Smith's small deposit. Frank allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. Doubts still lingered as to Smith's motive. Money had changed hands. Smith had been a man of his word.

Frank re-examined the tickets and hotel reservation in more detail. Staying one night and flying back the next morning. The name on the ticket stated Max Pecks. Must be a cover name for some reason. Rationalizing he was working for a secret agency, why not have a cover name. Made sense. The money was beginning to unhinge Frank's apprehension and decided he would have another drink.

"What's on the lunch menu Tomo?" Feeling a meal was in order to celebrate.

"Menu is beside you... You feeling hungry?"

"Just a little... The morning jogs are burning my energy."

"Morning jogs? ... What's come over you recently? ... Talking to strangers... A new job... And now you're running? You sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm good thanks man... How about a plate of eggs, stake and chips... Tell Andy not to hold back on the grease."

"That's my boy... Coming right up." Said Tomo knowing fine culinary cuisine.

Looking up at the televisions sees the continual fallout of the Senator Luxon affair scrolling across the screen. Luxon was just the tip of the ice berg thought Frank. Undermining the integrity of the democratic system that housed a mysterious branch of national security that Frank now found himself part of.

Which part, he was unsure.

The day arrived for Frank to travel to Flint.

He had told Marilyn he was heading out of town overnight on business and he would be back late the following evening. Arriving at Seattle International felt strange. It had been years since he had last flown. Now it was in his job description. Presenting his ticket at the counter, the woman advised him of his VIP status and how the airline staff would pamper his every comfort. Taking his seat in business class, the attendant brought him a scotch whiskey. Unsure what to make of the Celtic cousin. On tasting it, hesitated to think what Tomo had been serving until now.

Leaving Seattle at one that afternoon he would eventually arrive in Flint by ten in the evening local time. His accountant mind grappled with the math. Then surrendered the algebraic conundrum to the comfort overcoming him and the scotch leaching into his blood stream.

Flying over Flint, and seeing the city lights below.

Making out lights of vehicles and office buildings. Glowing brightly to one side, the city could be seen in the distance to the east.

"Downtown, East-Third Street. Copthorne Hotel." Frank calls out to the cab driver.

"Yes Sir." Responds the driver knowing the Hotel.

After several turns the cab pulls up outside a plain looking hotel building. The street looked deserted despite the cars parked long the curb.

Peeling himself from the cab. An overnight bag in hand.

"Keep the change." Said Frank paying the driver.

Looking up at the tall hotel he gauges the number of floors and but gives up counting. A gust of cold air pushed Frank towards the entrance as if to usher him inside.

"Can I help you Sir?" Asked the Manager seeing Frank approaching.

"I have a reservation." Presenting the doorman with the letter Smith had given him.

"Of course Mister Pecks, welcome... We've been expecting you... I am Mister Prentice, the Hotel's Manager... If you have any concerns about your stay... I will only be too happy to assist you."

"Thank you very much." Accepts Frank.

Prentice taps a bell on the counter and a Bellboy appears.

"Take Mister Pecks his room please... Enjoy your stay Mister Pecks."

Prentice beamed a smile and returned to his solitary position at the foyer entrance.

"Thank very much." Frank responded.

An elevator sounds and the doors open.

Entering, the Bellboy presses ten, and the elevator rises. Before opening onto a large hallway. Frank follows the Bellboy obediently who opens a door before handing him the key. And finds himself in a spacious room. No expense had been spared by Smith.

"Are you sure this is my room?" Frank asked curiously.

Frank checked his key and the room number on the door. As if there had been no mistake.

"Yes Mister Pecks." Responds the Bellboy standing quietly still.

Frank then twigged that the Bellboy was waiting for a tip.

"Sorry... There you go." Handing the boy a note from his pocket.

"Thank you Mister Pecks... Enjoy your stay." Nods the Bellboy, leaving him in the large room.

Now thinking he should have brought Marilyn. Large windows give a view of the city.

Frank's mobile vibrates with an incoming call. Who would be calling him?

'Private number' Displays on the screen.

"Hello?" Frank answers.

"Frank." The voice enquires.

"Mister Smith." Frank identifies the voice.

"You've settled in then?"

"Just arrived."

"Very good... I won't disturb you. Just wanted to check you arrived safely. I will be in contact again tomorrow morning with instructions."

"Thank you Sir. I will wait for your call."

"Good night Frank."

"Good night Sir." And the phones went dead.

Frank spied the mini-bar and made himself a drink. Falling into a large soft arm chair. Relieved to have arrived. Anxious to know what Smith had in stall for him. Whatever it was, it could not be as dreadful as the ten hour haul across the country he had just undergone.

"Are you sure he will be up to it?" Asked Black softly sitting in a chair opposite Smith.

A small single lamp illuminated the dim room. Black's visit was spontaneous. Appearing un-expectantly that evening. Black looks about Smith's adequate hotel suite, gauging its adequacy.

"We'll know tomorrow..." Smith counters his argument. "...We have him by the short and curlys if he doesn't... A man will do anything for love."

"What do you know about love?" Asked Black striking a nerve with Smith. Sounding much like the voice of his father's.

The Agency was Smith's only love. He breathed it. He ate it. He drink it. He slept it. And he dreamed it.

But he had never known love.

"Love is a powerful thing Smith... Women have turned the most stubborn of keys. What makes you think he's the one?"

"I just know." Said Smith relying on his gut instinct.

He had been right with Thomas. After a little coaxing. But his predecessor Emmet on the other hand, needed no persuasion. Despite his Irish Catholic upbringing. Or perhaps because of it. The left-footer took to killing like a duck took to water. As though he had been ordained by Smith to dispatch the souls of the wicked to God. Emmet mirrored Smith's protestation of undesirables. He was the closest Smith ever had to being a son. It was a sad day for Smith when it came time for Emmet to retire.

Making the kill himself. It was personal.

Each recruit had jumped through the loops liked trained animals. Frank would be no different.

Black avoided probing further, his sentiments were the same a Smith's.

Best to keep one's distance from women. Black rolled the glass of dark Merlot in his hand. Warming its contents and inhaling the subtle deep aromas of the bouquet. Smith could see Black scrutinizing him from the corner of his eye. Smoke drifted up from the cigarette in Black's boney fingers. A haze of smoke filled the room. As a former smoker, the passive smoke was like an old friend revisiting. Smith reminisced the past acquaintance and inhaled deeply.

Closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Leaving Black to watch on...
Apartment 5C

07:00AM and the sun's rays reached into the room.

Frank's mobile alarm sounded. Pulling him from a dream of Marilyn. Rolling over to cuddle her. Only to find an only empty space and a cold pillow. Eyes open slowly and take in the foreign room. The décor of the room was not his own. Then realized he was a long way from home. Sitting upright, feels the tiredness of his body.

Still operating on Settle time, three hours behind. Coffee was his first priority. That, and a shower to wake his senses. Looking out the windows over the city scape of apartment buildings. The City center somewhere in the distance. There was a knock at the door.

Smith perhaps thought Frank.

"Room service." A voice calls out and the door opens.

The Bellboy pushes a trolley into the room. Carrying a shining silver cloche and pot of steaming coffee. A local newspaper next to it. Frank tips the Bellboy and watches him leave. Surprised by the breakfast, he would have been just as happy with something from the mini-bar.

'When in Rome' He thought.

Lifting the cloche discovers a plate of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, hash browns and fried tomatoes.

With a note from Smith, 'Enjoy.'

Pouring a black coffee Frank savors the first hit for the day. And scanned the morning paper. Same news different city. It could well have been the Seattle Times. News and scandals were the same. Only the names change. Curiously he checked the job section and found several that would have interested him back home.

Enjoying the moment Frank allowed himself to reflect on the past seven months. The universe had a funny way of messing with people. Then remembered where he was. But not why he was there. Gazing out the window again hoping to found the answer among the shabby city sky line.

Uncertain as to when Smith call next. He would have to wait.

Turning the television on, more for company and background noise.

The morning news reported that a Merchant Bank in New York was under investigation for having its fingers in the till. Trading Bearer Bonds at inflated prices. Both the Securities and Exchange Commission and Financial Industry Regulatory Authorities were having trouble getting allegations stick to the Bank's Chairman and CEO, Marcus Metcalfe.

Having amassed a fortune, while other banks were crumbling around him. His bank was well positioned to take advantage of their financial ruin. Nicknamed The Magician. Billions upon billions had been wiped from the Stock Market. Thousands upon thousands of jobs had been lost. Defaulted mortgages soon swept up by Metcalfe's bank. Something was awry.

The SEC was having trouble pinning the tail on the rat.

Surfing to a sports channel in time to catch the Ice-Hockey. The Seattle Thunderbirds were looking to take the Western Conference Championship for another year. The Stanley Cup was theirs for the taking in June if they held on that long. But first they had to face the Edmonton Oilers. Fierce rivalry between the two meant there would be blood left on the rink today.

Last man standing would be the winner.

Retrieving a bottle from the mini-bar Frank sat back in time to hear the bell sound for the first round. Like an ice age battle field, brawly helmeted solders slide swiftly in ever decreasing circles. Relentlessly chasing down the elusive puck. Players cutting down opponents that crossed their path.

T-Birds out-flank the Oilers. MacLean passes to Andrusiak who smashes the puck under the diving Oiler's goaltender. Another Zack attack. One–nil after five minutes. What a start for the T-Birds! The crowd go wild. Cheerleaders dance an exotic frenzy. The Oiler fans go quiet. Shaken but not out. They rouse their team to go after the T-Birds and slaughter them.

"Go you bastards!" Cheered Frank from the warmth of his armchair.

His mobile rings and the screen displays Private Number. It could only mean one person.

"Mister Smith." Answers Frank turning down the television volume.

"Enjoying the game I see." Responds Smith.

Frank looks out the window and wonders how Smith knew. But then Smith knows everything. Franks turns his attention back to the television where a fight had broken out.

'What were the chances of that?' He thought.

"Yeah... T-Birds are playing the Oilers, but then you probably already knew that... Wouldn't know the score would you?" Frank asked curiously, wondering how much Smith really did know.

"Unfortunately not..." Smith begins. "...Did you rest well?"

"Yes I did actually... Thank you." Frank responds, still keeping an eye on the game that had resumed.

"I have a small task for you to undertake. It won't take long if all goes to schedule." Smith waits for Frank to respond.

"I'm listening."

"Under the bed you will find a briefcase. Inside the brief case are a few items you will be needing... At ten thirty this morning exactly I need you to go across to the apartment building opposite... Do you see it outside your window?"

"Yes. The tall white building?"

"That is the one." Smith confirms.

"I want you to go to room 5C on the fifth floor. An access key is in the brief case.... I have demobilized the security cameras. No one will see you arrive or leave... Trust me."

Trust him? Why would he want the security camera's turned off? What did Smith want him to do? And not be seen?

"In the brief case you will find a room key. The gentleman that lives there will not be home. He will be out for about an hour or so. Are you with me so far Frank?"

"I'm not sure what you want me to do Mister Smith... If the man is out... What am I doing in his apartment?"

"You are going to change a light bulb Frank." Smith explains plainly.

"I'm what? ... Light bulb? You can't have brought me all this way to change a light bulb?"

There is a moment silence as Smith contemplates Frank's reaction.

"Just part of the assignment... I will call you at ten forty-five exactly. Stay in the room until I call... Understand?"

"Kind of." Responds Frank confused at the request that he had been brought all that way to simply change a light bulb. In the name of National Security?

"Enjoy the game Frank." Smith hangs up.

The game was no longer of any interest to Frank.

Looking under the bed and discovers the briefcase Smith spoke about. Sliding it out he places it on the bed and opens it hesitantly thinking it could explode. Anything was possible with Smith. Inside he sees the light bulb as Smith had stated. And two keys. One to the building. One to the room. 5C. Frank pondered who lived there, and that required their light bulb changed? Could they not do it themselves? It was going to be an expensive utility bill.

Closing the case Frank checks the time, 08:37AM.

It was going to be a long morning thought Frank. Coffee would not cut it. Another visit to the mini-bar was in order. Settling back in front of the television hoping it would pass the time and distract him from the unusual task that he had been seconded to perform.

The game had been tied up. The Oilers had fought back. The home crowd had become more vocally abusive towards to visiting team. It was getting ugly. Frank swallowed the drink in one, hoping it would mellow him to understand Smith's purpose.

'Light bulbs. Really? There has to be something more than that?' He thought.

Maybe he would be asked to look around the guy's room. Secret papers or something. The thought eased Frank's mind sufficiently to ease back into the game. A fight had broken out. Something must have been said about the other player's sister. Or mother. It was all on. The referees stood back and gave to two contenders their privacy. Bloody and bruised they were pulled apart and sent to the box to cool down. The end of the first period hooter sounded and Frank checked the time.

The clock on the wall showed an hour had passed. And another hour to wait. Frank's anxiety creates a paradox, allowing time to slow down around him. The final hooter blows and the T-Birds survive with a three-two victory. The result goes unnoticed by Frank. Staring at the television expecting the game to continue. Any reason to avoid going to the apartment and into the unknown.

"That's what you signed up for Frank..." He told himself. "...Toughen up... Grow some balls."

It was time.

Taking the brief case he strolled from the room like a business man going to a meeting. Looking every part the accountant.

"Good morning Mister Pecks. Out for a walk?" The Doorman asked.

"Business unfortunately." Frank replies, looking up and down the street for Smith.

Perhaps watching from a parked vehicle. But sees no one.

'He's here somewhere.' Thought Frank.

He could smell him.

And he was.

Having coffee with Thomas at Café on the other side of town in the East Village.

"Well done on the Luxon assignment. Mister Black was very pleased." Smith condemns Thomas.

"Thank you Sir."

"Have a deserved break. I have another assignment in the pipeline. A certain Merchant Banker creating ripples in the financial space-time continuum... Shall we say?" Smith baits Thomas.

"Ah yes... Metcalfe... The Magician. Know him well. Just say the word."

"Thank you Thomas I knew I could count on you." Smith stroked his young charge.

Smith reflected on losing Thomas so soon. Rarely did he keep an asset more than a year. Extending their exposure. Exposure that would expose Smith. Fresh assets left few tracks for investigators and law enforcement authorities to follow.

What they did find, Smith could bury or erase from their databases.

"Do you follow Ice-Hockey Thomas?" Smith inquired hoping to change the topic and pass the time.

"A little... T-Birds are playing the Oilers... Should be a big game." Said Thomas.

"So I hear... So I hear." Smith checks his watch. "...Excuse me for just a moment, I need to make a call... Don't go away." Smith advises...
He's a Spy

Frank stood and looked up at the apartment building.

Looking every part a tenant, other people come and go around him. Ignoring him. Black eyes on the ceiling peer down at him. He turns away from them, hoping what Smith said was true. Hoping he had not made another bad choice in his life.

"Stay calm... Breathe." Frank reminded himself anxiously.

The elevator doors open and he hurries in away from sight of the cameras. A young woman follows him in. Ten years his junior and dressed in a short black leather skirt. A psychedelic tie-dyed tee shirt fitted tightly and revealed more than Frank could have wished for. Pony tails only added to the youthful titillation.

"Five please." She asked Frank in a quaint French accent. Continuing to chew gum.

Frank presses five and then seven. He would back track to five after reaching seven. Hoping the woman had cleared the hallway by the time he returned.

"You're new to the building?" The young woman asked keenly.

"Just visiting a friend." Said Frank avoiding eye contact.

"Oh." Said the girl eyeing Frank over.

The elevator bell sounds its arrival at the fifth floor.

"This is me..." The doors open and the woman gets out, "... Be seeing ya!" Taking one last flirting look at Frank.

"Yeah... You to." Frank responds automatically, trying to remain composed.

Distracted by the woman that had short circuited the blood flow from his brain to another part of his body. The elevator doors closed and began its crawl to seventh floor. Opened and close without him exiting. Pressing five again, he waits.

A ding sounds. Doors open again, only to discover the woman from before standing there waiting to enter.

"You again... We have to stop meeting like this." She responds to Frank's sudden reappearance.

"Yeah I reckon... I had the wrong floor... Should have been five. Silly me..." Confessing a lie.

"Silly me... I've left my keys in the car... See you around I hope." Reciprocates the young woman.

"Yeah... You to." Exchanging a smile as the doors close behind him. But not before catching sight of her green eyes and the alluring scent of her perfume.

Shaking the woman from his mind. Frank looks up and down the hall way in search for 5C. Finding it takes the key and opens the door.

Unsure if the man was home, he enters.

Clean and sparsely furnished, the apartment belonged to someone well organized thought Frank. Looking up at the ceiling he sees a light bulb. Not wasting any time he opens the brief case. Standing on a nearby chair to reach the light fitting. Carefully unscrewing the existing bulb and replacing with the Smith's bulb. What was so special about this one he thought? Surveillance perhaps? Frank examines the bulb, but it appeared like any other.

Satisfied he had done as required, he was about to flick the switch to test it. When his mobile vibrates with an incoming call displaying a private caller ID. Smith.

"Mister Smith... I've changed the bulb. Any plumbing you want done while I'm here?" Franks asked humorously. But not tickling Smith's funny bone.

"Well... Now that you mention it... There is... I need you to detach the gas line from the wall... We want it to look like... An accident."

"Accident? What are you talking about?" Frank asked now concerned with his involvement.

"Detach the gas line from wall... And walk away Frank..." Smith calmly directs him.

"You can't be serious!?" Exclaims Frank, quickly becoming aware of Smith's lethal intentions.

"I am deadly seriously Frank... You want Marilyn to be there when you get home tonight? Immigration can be at her door within the hour... One call from me and she'll be on the first flight home... Bye-bye Marilyn... Bye-bye happy life... The IRS will be clearing out your accounts within the hour." Smith calmly threatens.

A voice sounding no empathy.

"You leave Marilyn out of this you sick bastard!" Frank threatens back.

"Careful Frank... Remember you're my puppet... I pull the strings here... You dance for me and I will look after you... Otherwise it's not a going to be a bright future for you... I can make your life hell... Any time I like..." Smith warns. "...What's it to be?"

Then falls silent awaiting Frank's answer. Frank falls quiet as well. Thinking about how Smith had him over a barrel. There was always a catch.

It was all too good to be true.

"I'll do it... But you'll leave Marilyn out of this understand." Frank sells his soul to the devil for the woman he loves.

"Completely Frank... Remember it's all in the name of National Security."

"What's this guy done to deserve this?" Trying to reconcile his conscience.

"He is a spy Frank... Selling military secrets to the Communists if you must know." Smith lies. "...You don't want to be responsible for our boys dying overseas ... Because you did not remove the cause... Would you Frank?" Smith personalizes the blame.

"Of course not..." Began Frank, before Smith interrupted him.

"I am a patriot Mister Drake... As you should be too... You're either with us... Or against us..." Smith began to lecture Frank.

"Don't peddle that pond scum!" Frank contested the patriotic ploy.

Frank went quiet again. Smith held all the cards. There was nothing he could do. Smith could implode his world at any moment, and he knew it. Unable to imagine a life without Marilyn. He could not have her deported because of him.

Instinctively he wanted to run, but he had no place to hide. No place where Smith could not find him.

"Okay... I'll do it..." Frank concedes to Smith's demands.

"Take a towel and pull the gas line from the wall... Avoid leaving prints."

"I understand." Frank accepts the order.

"Thank you Frank... You'll be doing the country a great service... Leave calmly and don't talk to anyone... Cameras are off... Go for a walk in the park for a couple hours before returning to your hotel room... Your flight is at five this evening I believe... I will see in Seattle next week... The balance of the money will be wired after the assignment is complete."

"I don't want your blood money." Frank insists.

"We'll see... Have a safe flight home Frank." Smith hangs up leaving Frank dead on the line.

Finding the gas line attached to the wall socket. Taking a kitchen towel carefully detaches it. High pressure odorless gas immediately spews into the room. And would soon fill the entire apartment. It was time to leave. Wiping his prints from items he thought he had touched. Looking about, surveyed the room and the invisible killer lying in wait.

A spy? That eased his conscience a little.

Closing the door behind him Frank make his way to the elevator. They open, and the young women he had encountered earlier appears.

"Hello stranger... Fancy seeing you again... Leaving so soon?"

"Yeah, the guy was not home after all."

"Oh that's no good... You could always visit me for a while... I'm in Room 5F... F for Freddy... Don't be a stranger." The young woman suggests taking a liking to Frank.

"I'll remember that next time I'm in town... I have to catch a flight." Wanting leave.

As intriguing as it was to be hit on by a sexually charged temptress. This was not the time to pursue the temptation. He wanted to leave before the man in 5C returned. Before something bad happened.

"I look forward to it..." The woman walks off with a smile on her face. "...Have a safe flight!"

"Yeah." Watching her suggestive body walk away and wondering what could have been.

The elevator doors closed. And four walls cage him in like a prison cell. The cell he would be in if he was caught. Exiting into the foyer avoids looking up at the cameras. Had Smith really disabled them?

What did he have on Smith? Then it dawns on him, Jeffersons' cameras. He could get a picture of Smith from the security cameras.

"Two can play at that game Smith... If I'm going down, you're coming with me." Said Frank to himself forming a grin.

Reaching the street he walks to the corner and waves down the first available cab.

"Where to Mister?" The driver asked.

"A park somewhere."

"Which one? We have a few in town."

"Surprise me." Suggests Frank wanting to distance himself from what was about to happen...
Julie

The cab pulls up outside the gates to a park some distance from the hotel.

Frank peels himself from it and looks about thinking people were watching him. Willing the cab to leave. Wondering if the cabbie would remember him if ever questioned by the police. Walking a random pathway, is drawn towards to a random bench beside an idyllic pond.

His legs could no longer support the guilt he was carrying. Feeling the coldness of the wooden bench as he sat. The morning dew had still to dry, but Frank sat down anyway. That would be the least of his worries. Dazed, looked about and saw that he was alone. A white swam guilds smoothly on the surface of the calm water. Oblivious to the threatening world around it.

Numb, his mind in desperate denial as to what he had just done. And what was about to happen. Wondering if he should go back and undo what he had just set in motion. Was there time to warn the young woman in 5F?

"F for Freddy." He recites the phrase like a nursery rhyme.

It was too late.

He could not risk showing his face again. Implicating himself further. If only he had taken the woman's number. To warn her. To leave the building. His mind played out the impending disaster. Knowing he was the one that would cause it. Wishing that it was all just a bad dream. That he would wake up back in Seattle, with Marilyn by his side. But the park looked nothing like Seattle. An eerie feeling of guilt came over him.

He was about to kill another human being.

Shoving hands deep into his pockets as though to hide himself. His head sunk to his chest and he stared into the space before him. Letting his mind to go blank. He slipped from this world into another. A sanctuary. Grimm's world.

"National Security... The boys overseas." Frank muttered to himself, reaffirming Smith's words.

He could not let them die because of a traitor. A spy. Frank had doubts. An intuition that said, Smith was not all he said he was.

Yet here he sat. Entangled in Smith's web.

"God help me." He uttered a prayer beneath his breath.

Taking in the serenity of the lake. The graceful swam. The Weeping willows dipping long thin limbs into the dark waters. The blue cloudless sky. The idyllic sun suspended in the sky by the hand of God.

Then suddenly Frank's world imploded.

Without warning, an explosion was suddenly heard echoing over the park.

Pulling him from his warm sanctuary. Sounding from the direction of the apartment building. Closing his eyes he visualized the moment. Recalling the apartment as he remembered it. Clean. Intact. A door opening. The man reaching for the light switch. Then... A bright light... After that, he could not imagine. There was nothing.

The guilt, however patriotic, would not allow him to move.

His mind began to play out the moment like a broken record. Over and over and over and over again in his head.

Wailing sirens squawked. Rushing urgently to the disaster. The carnage. Who else was harmed? What incident people had Smith written off as collateral damage? Friendly fire? All in the name of National Security?

The idyllic scenery was no longer idyllic. Closing his eyes again. He had become the deliverer of death. How could he face Marilyn? He had saved her from deportation. But at the cost of a man's life. A man responsible for the lives of soldiers overseas.

The moral scales of Frank's mind leveled. As patriotism balanced the immoral sin.

Frank waited an hour before walking back to the hotel.

It would be a long walk, but one that would consume time. Procrastinating the inevitable. Dark smoke ascended the heavens, an indication of which way to head. Cab's slowed down hawking for fares, only to be waved on. He was in no rush to get back to his hotel.

Turning the corner onto the street, discovers fire trucks still dousing water onto the fifth level apartment. Its window's blown out. Cloudy gray smoke smoldered from the open scars. Outside walls blackened with charring. On the street an ambulance was in attendance to the injured. Frank looks about for the young woman he had meet in the elevator.

But she sees him first. And waves out to Frank. Rushing over to him still wrapped in a blanket.

"What happened?" Frank asked looking up at the building.

"Gas explosion... Some guy must have left the gas on... Didn't make it... He's dead... Thomas... I think his name was."

"Anyone else hurt?"

"Not really... Just shock and smoke... We all got out in time....Hope your friend was okay?"

"Yeah I hope so... I better give call him."

"What about your flight?"

"Not until five... Need to check out of the hotel here... Would you like to come up for a drink while I wait?"

"Sure... Why not... It will beat hanging out here on the street."

"What's your name?" Frank asked.

"Juliet... But people call me Julie."

"I'm Frank..." Slipping out his name inadvertently, "...Nice to meet you Julie."

"Nice to meet you to Frank." Happy to have re-connected with him.

"Your accent, what is that?"

"French... But I moved to states years ago... Can't seem to sake it."

"Don't... It's nice."

'What the hell are you doing Frank? ...' He warns himself, '...What would Marilyn say if she ever found out?'

'It's good enough for her... It's good enough for you... Besides Smith could fuck it up any time.' His mind countered its own thoughts, '... Leave me alone will you.' He argued back to himself.

"You okay?" Asked Julie seeing Frank looking troubled.

"I'm good thanks Julie... Just a few things on my mind. Let's get you upstairs. Freshen you up... Get you that drink... I certainly need one."

"Okay." Responds Julie following close behind.

"Make yourself at home. I have a few hours before I need to be at the airport."

Julie goes to the window and looks down at the carnage below. Smoke still smoldering from Fifth floor window. Debris and rubble scattered on the street below. Extended fire ladders and water cannons hosing the interior. Bellowing steam among the smoke.

"Mind if I have a shower, I'm feeling rather dirty with all that smoke." Julie asked.

"Sure... Over there. Towel and robes."

What was he doing allowing the woman into his life. Into his room? Marilyn was more than enough for him.

'She's not permanent...' His conscious argued, '... Julie is young, but...'

He had not completed the thought when Julie reappeared from the bathroom wearing a white robe.

Standing before him she takes his hand and pulls slowly to bathroom. With little or no resistance, he allows himself to be undressed. Frank unties the robe and reveals Julie's very naked body.

Youthful, firm, desirable. She kisses him. And he kisses her back. With harbored passion.

'What the hell.' Now justifying the infidelity.

Hands explore each other's body. As Julie pulls Frank into the shower. Water rushes over them, cooling their heated foreplay. Julies' hands roam his taunt body and found what he was looking for. He cups her breasts and squeezes the already swollen nipples. Heavy breathing is drowned out by the sound of water rushing over them.

Kneeling before him, she looks up with large green eyes. Her pony tails wet and limp. Rocking her back and forth. Water running down his body and onto hers. Thoughts of Marilyn appear in his mind. Allowing her to watch on. Adding to the sensual adventure.

'Enough.' Thought Frank. It was time to return the favor and kills the water.

Leading her dripping onto the large bed. Consumed with passion, two complete strangers made love.

Julie groaned dirty French words as Frank trust into her from every position. Before falling exhausted beside her. Sirens outside squawked in protest to their infidelity.

Thomas was dead. The country was safe. Marilyn was safe. Julie was safe.

And Frank was satisfied.

"Stay another day." Julie asked pulling Franks arms around her, not wanting him to leave.

"I wish I could..." He replies searching for words that would allow him to stay longer. "...But I have to get back..."

'Or do I? ..." He thought. '...What was back there that was so urgent?'

"Maybe one more day." He surrendered the thought.

Julie rolls over and kisses him with a smile. Happiness radiated from her. As if a sadness had been lifted. Looking into his eyes, she tried to read Frank's mind.

"You're a dark one Frank." She makes her assessment of him.

Sitting on top of him. Begins to grind her heated loins along Frank's rubbing post. Now stirring back to life.

"Are all French girls as bad as you?"

"Of course..." Declares Julie. "...Have you not been to France?"

"No. Not really... Only what I read about."

"We must go one day... You will love it. I will show you everything."

Rubbing and pressing her breasts on Frank's face. His mouth and tongue searching for her nipples and suckling them.

"Good boy." Moans Julie, grinding herself onto him.

Any thought of Marilyn had been wash away in the shower. The bed banged repeatedly against the wall. Frank wondered if the neighbor was home. But it was all a little too late. Frank shuttered before collapsing onto the bed.

The two lovers lay side by side staring at the ceiling. Panting in unison.

"Unbelievable." Frank manages to say between the quickened breaths.

Thinking he was reasonably fit, but discovering what the youthful Julie had taken out for him. "How old are you... can I ask?" Wondering the legality of the circumstances.

"Old enough..." Relied Julie, smiling with satisfaction. "...You?"

"Too old." Laughs Frank.

Laying in each other's arms and the day outside began to dim.

Suddenly Frank is awoken.

"Oh shit!" Said Frank, remembering Marilyn would be expecting him.

"What's the matter?" Worried something was wrong between them.

"Ah... I better extend my room reservation... You stay here... Help yourself to mini bar... I'll head down to the front desk."

"You could do that from the phone here."

"I suppose... But the... The company I work for booked the room for one night... Business and all that... Tonight would be personal. If you know what I mean." He contrived an excuse to leave.

"Oh I see... You better go sort it out."

"You be okay for a while?" Asked Frank.

"I'll be fine Frank... You go... But come back okay."

"Don't go away yourself." He counters Julie affection.

Throwing on clothes, tidies himself to be presentable and heads downstairs to the hotel foyer.

Now safe from Julie's ears, he calls Marilyn.

"Hello sweetie... Bad man here."

"How is your trip?"

"Good, very good... So much so I have to stay another night... You don't mind?" Said Frank hoping Marilyn doesn't see through hi lies.

"Maybe you have a girl-friend there?" Marilyn begins to tease.

"None in Flint... Only in Seattle... Her name is Marilyn... You might know her." Said Frank appealing to Marilyn's sensitivity. "...Say hello for me... Tell her I love her and I'll be home soon."

"You have sweet tongue bad man... But I will tell her... See you soon."

"Bye sweetie." And Frank kills the call. That was close.

Then his mobile vibrates with an incoming message. Frank opens it.

"Transfer complete."

Anxiously Frank checks his bank account as to what had been transferred. The first deposit of fifty thousand was already too much. Then Frank sees a second amount had been deposited.

"Christ!" Frank curses to the amount.

'A hundred thousand to kill someone?' Thought Frank.

Not wanting to keep it, the thought of losing it also caused him as much mental anguish. The moral scales of his conscious leveled again. Weighing the good with the bad. A hundred thousand would wipe his debts. Give him a life again. No pressure of having to find a job for a while. Endless possibilities fill his mind.

Frank approaches the front desk to book an additional night's stay.

"That's already been arranged Mister Pecks." Advises Prentice, the Hotel Manager.

"I'm sorry I don't understand..." Asked Frank confused.

"Mister Smith has arranged it for you... Enjoy your stay." The Manager smiles as if he knew the reason of the extension. A perverted smile creeped across his face.

Frank looks about the lobby expecting to see Smith standing there. Where was he? How did he know? Then sees the cameras on the ceiling. Smith sees everything.

'The bastard...' Frank concedes the damning thought. '...Two can play at that game.'

Frank had been blooded and Smith had his number.

Right down to Julie in his room. Was she working for Smith too? Trying to reconcile her movements. Unable to find a connection. Her behavior had been... Seductive at best. Dismissing the rouge thought returned to the room. Julie had made herself comfortable on the bed. A glass of white wine in her hand. Reminding Frank of Marilyn.

"All sorted..." Said Frank. "...What do you fancy to eat?"

"You." Julies suggests.

"For dessert... How about dinner?"

"Can't go out. My clothes are at my place. Probably smoke stained by now."

"They probably do room service here... We can shopping for some new clothes tomorrow... How does that sound?"

"You know your way to a girl's heart... Can you afford it?" Julie asked curiously.

"Apparently I can." Grinned Frank...
Home again

From high in his hide-away, safe from prying eyes, Frank looks to the street below.

And the charred exterior of the apartment building. Watching as Police and Fire Investigators stepped carefully through the rumble for indication as to its cause. Searching for evidence as to the cause of the massive gas explosion. Frank backs away from the window.

"Perhaps I should get back to my place. They may want to question me."

"I'm sure they come knocking in their own time once the clean up the mess... They have your number no doubt." Reluctant to lose Julie to them. Unsure what she would tell them. Delaying her from declaring his presence.

"Yeah I suppose." She shrugs, curling up in the bed. The midday sun seeping into the room.

"How about we get a bite down town before we head out shopping?"

"You don't have to you know."

"I know... But I want to." Pulling Julie to him and folds around her.

Feeling the warmth of her body against his and kisses the top of her head. As if it he were holding Marilyn. Some habits don't change he thinks to himself.

Julie turns to face him.

"I hope your friend was alright... You should call him."

"Oh..." Caught off guard. "...He'll be fine. He's probably thinks I've gone back to Seattle by now. He's got enough on his plate without me annoying him again."

"What room was he in?" Julie puts him on the spot.

"Oh mm_..." He hesitates searching for an unknown room number.

"Not that creep in Room 5A I hope?" Throws him a life time.

"Do you know him?" Grabbing it with both hands he pulls himself in.

"Oh_ he's a creep! ... How do you know him?"

"A friend of a friend... Of a friend..." Distancing himself as far as he could from the immediate relationship. "...I was just doing the friend a favor by stopping by... Fortunately he wasn't in."

"You've got some funny friends Frank..." Said Julie, "...But I'm glad you did otherwise our paths would have crossed... Serendipity." And she kisses him.

"Excuse me?" Puzzled by the word.

"Don't you believe in serendipity? ... Destiny... Fate?"

"Not really... A coincidence maybe."

"The universe doesn't do coincidence Frank... The wheels of the universe are turning... It threw us together it didn't it? ... Don't fight it."

"Oh I don't intend to." Surrendering to her new age French philosophy. "...You think things happen for a reason?"

"Of course... Don't you?"

"Not really... It's all just one big chaotic cosmic mess as far as I'm concerned." Then wondered if he should check his horoscope. Conceding that God had long since deserted him after his marriage had fallen apart.

"So you think you just go through life aimlessly?" Probed Julie hecklessly.

"That's about it... Yeah... Why not?" Accepts Frank.

"Oh my poor lost Frank... You have so much to learn."

"Obviously, maybe you can teach me... Master."

"Be careful what you wish for Grasshopper... I going to take a quick shower... You can join me if you want?"

"I'll be right behind you..."

"I hope so..." Peeling herself from his embrace.

Turning on the television to see the local morning news coving the apartment fire. Yellow tape marked out the area with investigators picking at the rumble. Much as he had seen from his window. Reports had come in regarding the death of a Thomas O'Connor. A self-employed consultant. No other person had been physically harmed. The extent of the damage confined to Thomas' apartment. The cause of the explosion was put down to a faulty gas link.

Investigators were unsure what had sparked the explosion.

'The light bulb you fools! ...' Thought Frank. '...The light bulb!'

The reporter announced that investigators were also having puzzled as to why the security tapes of the building had been off at the time of the explosion.

'Smith... Ha.' Frank grinned and shook his head in disbelief.

"You coming Frank?" Calls out Julie from the shower.

"I coming, I'm coming..." He calls back, disrobing himself, "...I'm coming."

And it would not be much longer before he actually did. Much to Julies' satisfaction.

Exhausted by sessions of love-making.

They laid in each other's arms staring at the ceiling. Again. The next morning he would be leaving. How would this relationship work he wondered? A casual fling? Julie seem to think otherwise. Promises were made in the heat of the moment. Promises to call. Promises to visit.

Commitments which Frank now regretted. There was Marilyn to consider.

Though being two thousand miles apart, mobiles and the internet would connect them instantly. Frank imagined how he was going to juggle two women. One woman was enough in his life. Two maybe what every man wishes for, but in reality it was logistical nightmare. Somehow he had to make it work. What had he done to deserve this?

Was it Julie's karma coming back to bite him in the butt for killing Thomas?

'Thomas was a spy. He deserved to die.' Frank told himself again, trying to shake off the guilt.

A few days ago his life was simple. Now he was a hundred thousand in the bank, two lovers, and the blood of a dead spy on his hands. His mind bounced between the trinity of guilt's.

Before succumbing to sexual exhaustion and falling asleep beside Julie's very naked body.

Though Julie had sapped him physically, she had rejuvenated his spirit.

His life had become a precarious roller coaster after the past seven months. Unexpected twists and turns, climbs and dives appeared at the least likely of moments. Julie was one of them. Smith was the other. And Marilyn? He would have to see about Marilyn.

All three were on his mind as the airliner flew west.

11:00AM Seattle time and the sound of the wheels signaled that he was home again.

Frank found himself arriving four hours after he had left Flint. It was time to face the music. Unsure what the future held.

What was Julie? A fling? Or something more?

What was Smith? That question could get someone killed. Literally.

The jury of his conscious was still out deliberating his part in Thomas' death.

The cherry red Buick was parked where he had left it a few days earlier.

It stood out among the cheap rusting Japanese imports. Made from American steel, it was built to last. On turning the key it coughed a cloud of foggy phlegm and came to life. As though it was annoyed to have been awoken from its slumber.

With the air rushing over him through the window, he could smell the sea breeze drifting down the coast from Alaska. It felt good to be home. Flint felt cramped and dirty by comparison. Almost contaminated. Julie offering the only relief to the nightmare he wished to forget.

Nearing noon, Marilyn would be working the day shift until four that afternoon. He decided he would head to Jeffersons for a couple of drinks to settle his nerves. And catch up with the Tomo knowing he would spill the beans at the first opportunity of any passing gossip.

The bar had not move since his last visit.

His park remained vacant. No one had taken up residency. Pulling the Buick to the curve. Letting the engine turn over to work the creaks out of the old girl's joints after a few days sitting idle. Frank gave the throttle a final tap, to signal Tomo of his arrival.

On entering the bar Frank looks about for Smith. Tomo saw his tentativeness and spoke first.

"He's not here." As if to give the all clear.

"Thanks for the warning." Seeing the empty booths.

"I thought he was your boss? ... What wrong? You two fall out of love already?"

"I wish." Said Frank pulling himself onto his trusty wooden stool.

Hearing the stool creak, as did his bones, relieved to be home again.

"Put your feet up... I'll get you one on the house."

"Make it a double then."

"What do you think I've been serving up until now?" Asked Tomo looking up with a puzzled look on his face.

"Then double that... I'm going to need it." Eager to get the glass in his hand.

"So how was Flint? I thought you said you were coming back yesterday..." Pushing the drink towards him.

"Flint was Flint... Exciting place... Thought I'd stay another day, catch up with an old friend out that way."

"Didn't know you had any friends Frank?" Tomo joked.

"Not a lot... I've got you don't I? ... Did you catch the news?"

"Yeah... Saw some apartment building had a gas explosion or something."

"Yeah... Right opposite my hotel."

"Woah! ... Don't blame you being shaken by that."

"Nah... All good mate... Some poor sod got killed though." Keeping the details to himself.

"Business for Smith go okay?"

"That went as expected... Happy to be back home again."

"Marilyn would have missed you."

"She'll be home later... Get a few of these into me before I have to face down her thousand questions."

"Can only imagine... Good luck with that."

"Any gossip this side while I've been away?"

"Nah... Same shite... Different day. Haven't seen your mate Smith around here since last week since you took off with him last week... You two park up somewhere?" Tomo asked.

"Something like that. I suspect he was in Flint."

"Suspect? ... Don't you know?"

"He's that kind of boss."

"What kind of business you guys into?"

"Dispatch mostly." Frank advises cryptically.

"Oh..." Feeling it was all a little beyond him and leaving it there. "...You want top up?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?" Asked Franks sliding his glass towards Tomo.

"Technically he's Jewish..." Said Tomo with a rare piece of knowledge.

"Really?" Confessed Frank pushing an empty glass towards him.

"Something to do with the Pope being the personification of Christ." Tomo expounds his wisdom.

"I did not know that... I'll keep that in mind next time."

Frank settled back into the bar as if he had never left the place. The overhead televisions played an Ice-Hooky match. Reminding Frank.

"Did you catch the Bird's game the other day?" Asked Frank.

"Yeah, wow... What a game... You?"

"Yeah, most of it... Birds could go all the way this year."

"Let's hope so... Let's not jinx them too soon..." Tomo tapped the wooden bar top then his head to counter Frank's premature evaluation.

Rocking the ice cube around the glass, God was fidgeting today. Not wanting to sit still.

Frank looks about the bar that had been his home away from home. The second bourbon bleed into his veins and a warmth came over him. Retrospective wisdom sweated through the pours of his skin. He wondered what Smith had in mind for him next?

Then suddenly a thought came to him.

"Tomo!" Frank calls out urgently.

"That one was fast..." Suspecting Frank had finished his drink already.

"Yeah-nah... Just been thinking about your mate Smith."

"My mate? ..." Tomo asked surprised.

"You have security cameras here?"

"I hope so... Though why I want to record you and Grimm drinking is beyond me... Haven't checked them for a while... Why you asking?" Suspecting Frank was up to something.

"Could not get me a photo of Smith could you?"

"Might take some time to dig it out of the system... Don't see why not... I'll have a look later for you... You want a six by four glossy to frame up, or one for your wallet?" Tomo jokes.

"Surprise me... And keep it on the hush will you... There's more to that guy than meets the eye." Returning to his drink.

Thoughts of Thomas and the explosion keep playing over and over in his head.

No matter how hard he tried to dislodge the scene from his mind of Thomas arriving home and flicking the switch. He just couldn't.

'I could have saved him. Why didn't I?' Frank keep asking himself.

Would anyone else done any differently? Was it about the money? Was it about Marilyn? Was Thomas really a spy as Smith had said? It was all a little too late to do otherwise now. Though the money helped ease his doubts. He wanted to throw the thirty pieces of silver back at Smith. And return to his old life.

A week ago he was happy with his miserable lot. Then Smith had appeared on the scene. Now his life would never been the same.

Just then Grimm walks in. Breaking Frank's train of thought. Walking past Frank to take up residence at the bar.

"Frank." Said Grimm.

"Grimm." Said Frank, ending the conversation between them.

Then a prolonged silence ensued as Grimm assumed his stance at the end of the bar and stares blindly into space.

Tomo brings over a bottle of bud and places it before him. No one was sure what Grimm had done for a living and no one ever dared to ask. His menacing appearance screamed, 'keep the fuck away unless you had something worthy to say... Otherwise fuck off and don't annoy me.'

He reminded Frank of his father. If it were not for the fact that Grimm was about Frank's age and covered head to his toes in tattoos. He could easily pass for his father.

Imagining the two standing side by side in silence.

Frank returned to his glass then stared up at the television playing the game. No score going into the second period.

'Boring.' Thought Frank with little interest in either side playing.

"Better get back home and unpack."

"You don't want another for the road?" Tomo asked thinking something was wrong with Frank.

"Yeah-nah I'm good... Thinking of turning over a new leaf." Offered Frank, unsure if he was.

"You sick or something?"

"Something like that... Don't forget those tapes."

"No worries... I have them by tomorrow... See you then."

"Cheers mate." Walking from the bar.

Still dazed by thoughts of Thomas' death.

'He was a spy... He was a spy.' Repeating the indictment to himself, 'He was a spy.' ...
Sweet Tongue Bad Man

Momentarily, Grimm pulls himself from his thoughts and looks over to see Frank leaving.

Waiting for Grimm to speak was like waiting for a vinyl record to play. You could sense the needle had dropped, then you waited for him to speak.

It was always worth the wait.

"What tapes?" He asked curiously.

"Oh... Frank wants to get a picture of that Smith guy he's working for... Something strange going on, he reckons..." Informs Tomo.

"Yeah... That guy looks dodgy as fuck to me... And Frank... He don't sound right... Something spooked him in Flint... But hey, what the fuck do I know."

"He was staying at the Hotel opposite the apartment building that blew up..." Tomo leaked the freshly ground gossip.

"Yeah, that would do it." And with that comment Grimm faded from the conversation and returned to his happy place. Rocking gently in time to a tune that had been fucking with his head all day. The name of the band's drummer was eluding him.

It was on tip of his tongue.

"Ah fuck it." He mutters to himself, he would google it later. Taking another swig of Bud.

The Buick drove Frank home and pulled into the reserved park.

And looks up at the apartment building. Was anyone home? Wondering how he could look Marilyn in the eyes as if nothing had happened.

Women could sense these things. They knew when a man was lying. Or had cheated on them. They could detect the smell of another woman. Undetectable to a man, obvious to woman. The faint residual scent of perfume. A strand of long blonde hair there. The slightest change in behavior. The extinguished fire of passion in their love making.

Frank was a marked man.

His conscience clattered like pots and pans. Thomas' death eclipsed the infidelity. Julie was just a fling he told himself. Let her go. Taking a deep breath he pulled himself from the Buick ready to face the Grand Inquisitor.

Dante la Marilyn.

"Honey... I'm home!" He calls out hoping for silence which did not come.

"In the kitchen bad man." A voice calls back.

"I'm fucked." He utters beneath his breath and finds Marilyn over a pot stirring slowly.

Wrapping his arms around her he felt the familiar warmth and firmness of her body. And kisses her on the top of the head. Smelling the strong spicy odors of chilly steaming from a large pot. Hoping that would conceal any latent scents of another woman.

"How was your trip bad man?" She asked.

"The trip was good... Tiring. Did not want to stay the added night." Frank lied kissing the top of her head again.

"And your girlfriend?" Marilyn enquired.

"She's good... She asked me to say hi." Frank played along in time.

"Go wash her off you bad man... Dinner will be ready soon." Said Marilyn shaking herself free from his bondage.

Splashing cold water on his face trying to bring himself back to earth. The past forty-eight hours was like bad hangover he could not shake.

"What have you done Frank?" Mirror Man shock his head back at him.

But Frank did not have the answer. Smith, Thomas and Julie. A week ago, none of these people existed. Tomo, Grimm and Marilyn were about as exciting as it got. Now he was a government hit man. With a lover in Flint. And a hundred grand sitting in his bank account.

'A hundred fucking thousand dollars and no doubt more to come!' Mirror Man grinned back with glee.

'Jesus Frank? What the hell were you thinking? ... Would you do it again? ..." The Mirror Man fired twisted questions at him.

'Why not? Imagine what you could do with a hundred thousand... Two hundred thousand. Tax free! ... Smith controls the IRS.' Mirror Man echoed Frank's thoughts.

Rocking back and forth. Arms leaning heavily on the basin. Staring directly back at the Man in the Mirror. Then covering his face. Knowing he had done wrong.

He had killed a man.

Even if it had been sanctioned by the Government. Even if he was a spy. Wondering where and when it would it end? Could he ever get out?

He no longer recognized the man in the mirror. A stranger stared back. Their eyes met momentarily, before the connection was lost. Neither wanted to know the other.

Whoever it was. It was not him.

"Go away!" Frank told him, looking away.

"Dinner's ready bad man!" Marilyn calls out.

"Coming sweetie... Coming." Leaving Mirror Man to himself.

Pouring himself a stiff drink Frank skulls it before Marilyn had noticed. Then poured himself another.

"You want one." He asked knowing the answer.

"You know I don't drink that stuff... Just a wine for me bad man... You okay? You look... Different." Marilyn sensed a change in Frank.

"Just tired... The jet lag is catching up on me." Hoping that would satisfy her curiosity.

"What did you do over there?" She asked again.

"Oh just meet with a guy and drop off some... Samples. Light bulbs actually."

"Light bulbs? ... Could not they just courier them?"

"These were a special kind of light bulb. High tech... If you know what I mean."

"Oh."

"Did you see the news about the explosion there?"

"It was all over the news here... Did you see it?"

"My hotel was right next to it."

"Oh you poor baby... No wonder you look worried... You weren't hurt were you?"

"No, no... I was well away from it when it happened... Came back to the hotel with fire trucks everywhere..." He begins to explain.

"A man got killed you know."

"So I heard... Quite sad... Could have been more... I'm still a bit fazed by it all."

"Oh my poor baby." Touching Frank on the arm to console him.

Frank chews slowly on his meal. Taking another swallow of bourbon to steady his nerves. Hoping it would revitalize his appetite. Forcing himself to finish the meal. Before throwing himself into his armchair for the evening.

Marilyn nursed his emotional wounds.

"It's okay baby... It was not like it was your fault." She said handing him another drink.

"Yeah... I know." Frank lied.

That evening in bed it was Marilyn who initiated the sex.

Hoping to pull him from the dark place he found himself. She thought he could smell another woman on him but dismissed it as cologne. He tried to perform. Taking Marilyn in all the positions he knew were theirs. Hoping he would not take her in positions that were Julies. Allowing Marilyn to lead the way and he followed obediently. Thoughts of Julie faded as Marilyn consumed his lustful affection.

Was he now cheating on Julie? The thought excited him and found a renewed energy to satisfy Marilyn's sexual yearnings.

"Oh bad man! ..." Marilyn collapsed beside him, "... I hope you were gentler with your girlfriend." Then snuggled herself against him.

Content her lover had returned home.

"Only one girlfriend for me." He panted.

Kissing her on the top of her head. His mind at ease that Marilyn was his one true love. Julie was just a one off fling. A chance encounter. Never to be seen again.

"Sweet tongue bad man." Said Marilyn falling asleep...
I want out

Tomo and Grimm watched on confused as Frank resumed his habitual routine of visiting the bar and checking the papers for jobs.

Unsure if he was still working for Smith. It had been over a week since he had returned from Flint. And Frank was not looking forward to their meeting Smith on his next reappearance. Words would be exchanged. But not at the bar. Some things needed to be said in private. Away from Tomo's prying ears.

"I thought you had a job?" Tomo asked inquisitively.

"I do... Sort of... Part time... If you know what I mean.... Won't hurt looking for another."

"Yeah, yeah... I suppose." Trying to reconcile Frank's situation. "...So this Smith fella just throws you a bone every so often then?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Pay okay?"

"Well enough to keep me in a life style I've become accustomed to and support you." Responds Frank raising his glass for another.

"And thankfully so..." Said Tomo, "...I'd have to close the doors if you and Grimm stop coming."

"How'd you get on with the tapes?" Frank asked now remembering.

"Funny you should mention that... But they seemed to have been off at the time he visited... I checked them all... And every time he was here the tapes are blank... It's as if he's a fucken ghost." Responds Tomo confused as to the mystery.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? ..." Said Frank of the mystery. "...Oh well it was worth a crack." Dismissing the notion to trap Smith.

"Ben's had a look at the machine and thinks he's got them fixed."

"Thanks mate... Let me know if you ever get a picture... But I very much doubt you will." Frank conceded Smith's abilities.

Smith was good. Very good.

Uncertain how he did it, Frank really did not want to know. If Smith had that much power then in some ways he was in safe hands from authorities that may be after him. On the other hand. Smith had him right where he wanted him. By the balls. And Frank had enough people with their hands on his balls. Without Smith's boney fingers on them as well.

The door opens but Frank doesn't notice.

Engrossed in the job section, scanning the scant positions listed. Pickings were few and he made a mental note of a couple he would jump on line later to apply for. Hearing Tomo make a coughing grunt and looks up to see what the matter was with him. Tomo tilts his head back. Suggesting to look behind him. Frank knew who it was. A depressing feeling came over him. Followed by a dull ache in his gut. And it was not the bourbon.

Or the grease from Andy's cooking.

Staring into his glass to find the answer. But even God had decided to melt quickly and hide from Smith. Frank's nostrils flared and felt a tightness in his chest. Anxiety of the impending confrontation. Looking over his shoulder, sees Smith quietly settling himself into the corner booth. Smith looks up to the bar, past Frank, indicating he would like his red wine.

Tomo slides the wine glass in front of Frank.

"I think he wants you to take it over." Suggests Tomo slyly looking over to Smith.

Smith grins.

Frank waited. He was not Smith's lackey. But the hundred grand in his bank account, said he was. Cementing the unspoken master-servant bond. The few seconds seemed like an eternity. Taking a heavy sigh, Frank surrendered. Sooner or later he would have to face him. This was the time.

Then gestured one for himself.

"Double-double." Instructs Frank wanting something to settle his nerves.

"I'll bring it over."

Frank pulls himself from the pull and approaches Smith who indicates he should take a seat.

"Thank you Frank... Most kind of you..." Said Smith quietly. "...How you doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing!? ..." Retorts Frank beneath his breath, "...I just killed someone..." Hoping Tomo had not heard.

"Now, now Frank... That's all in the past..." Said Smith dismissing the death as historical. "And forgotten."

"The past? ... Forgotten? ... It was just last week!"

"A week is a long time in our line of business." Sites Smith.

"Line of Business?... What kind of Business is that?" Growing frustrated by Smith's coldness.

"National Security Frank... National Security."

"I want out! ... I can't be part of this... This... National Security as you call it."

"Oh but I'm afraid that's a little impossible Frank... You're already in too deep to leave so... Easily." Smith sips on his wine. Besides, no one ever got out, alive.

Allowing rich Marlborough vino to roll over his tongue. Savoring the textured characters.

"Hmm... Very nice... You should try this someday... It's from New Zealand of all places."

Frank was about to explode when Tomo arrives with him the bourbon. A glass three-quarter filled. Placing it before Frank, Tomo sensed a tension that suggested he best leave the two bulls to themselves. This was no place for a steer.

Frank waited for Tomo to fall from ear shot and continued.

"I don't care about the bloody wine, the IRS, or Marilyn's for that matter... We'll manage without you interfering our lives. We have up until now." Frank locked horns with the old bull.

"I wish it was that easy Frank. But since Flint... The hole you're digging for yourself, just got a little deeper... So to speak."

"You can't pin that on me..." Frank began, but then faltered.

What did Smith have up his sleeve?

Opening his brief case, Smith pulls out a large yellow envelope. Sliding it in front of Frank. Frank looks at the envelope and then at Smith. Smith glared impassively back at Frank. It could well have been a high stake card game. Smith's face gave nothing away.

But Frank's face had more tells than a child's story book.

Frank blinks first. And hesitantly opens the envelope. Looking inside to see photographs. Large black and white security camera photographs. Neatly stamped with date and time of capture. One shows him entering the lobby of Thomas' apartment. Another shows him leaving an hour before explosion. The final series of photographs were more crushing. Intimate images of Julie and him, kissing and hugging in public.

Smith did not like it as much as Frank. This was the nasty side of his line of business. Necessity nonetheless. Sliding the incriminating photos back into the envelope. He had seen enough. Then pushed them back to Smith. Sitting quiet. Waiting for Frank to come to terms with his predicament. His entrapment. Investigating authorities would be interested in Frank's presence at the building. Just before the explosion. Marilyn would be devastated to see Frank in the arms of another woman.

Either way, he was totally fucked.

"I thought you said the cameras were out?" Franks asked as if Smith had lied to him.

"They were... But not to me." Grinned Smith. Pulling strings others could not.

"What do you want Smith?" Knowing he was cornered.

"Just your loyalty Frank... Just your blind loyalty." Smith savors his wine unruffled by Frank's anger. Sniffing its boutique.

He had seen it all before. Thomas was not different. With the exception of Emmet, they all fell into line. Eventually.

"You will leave when I allow you to leave Frank..." Informed Smith, reminiscing Thomas' parting. "Until then... You belong to me. When I tell you to jump... You jump... All you need to know is, how high... And when to come down... Understood?"

Frank did not answer. He understood completely Smith had his balls in a vice.

Taking Frank's silence as acceptance.

"I'll be in touch in a few weeks. Enjoy the break. I will have another assignment for you. Don't try leaving town. Don't make me have to find you." Smith grin gleefully at the challenge.

"Is that all?" Frank asked with an annoyed tone.

"That is all... I will be in contact. Have a nice day Frank." Smith grinned again and opened the paper. A signal that Frank should return to the bar.

Sliding sideways from the booth to leave.

More frustrated than when he had first sat down. Smith held all the cards. And knew exactly what Frank was holding. Going back to the bar to reclaim his stool. Now cold from his absence. The bourbon was not as appealing as it could have been. A change was as good as a holiday he thought.

Tomo approaches to get the low-down on what had gone down between the two.

"You got any Glen Fiddich?" Asked Frank recalling scotch he had on the flight to Flint.

"On the good stuff now eh? ..." Tomo eyes Frank's face. It was no time for questions, "...Yeah... I have a bottle lying about somewhere... Not cheap you know."

"Thanks mate... I can afford it."

Watching Tomo reach for the top shelf. And wiping it the dust off the bottle, pours the liquid amber over ice. Immediately smelling the smooth aromas.

"Unlike you Frank?"

"One of those days." Remarks Frank.

"Bad day in the office eh?" Tomo looks over to Smith's booth consumed by his newspaper.

"Yeah... Something like that." Replied Frank despondently.

Telling Tomo more would mean doing forty years to life. Tomo was hopeless at keeping secrets. His lips may have been sealed, but so was the Titanic. And that didn't work out too well for the ice cube it hit.

Frank sniffs glass. Taking in the silky aromas of the single malt. Less brutal than the harsh southern bourbon he had been faithful to for years. If he was going to do hard time, he may as well enjoy the good times while he still had them. The taste was worth the price.

Shame he had not discovered it earlier.

"You all good Frank?" Tomo asked checking in on his patient on his rounds.

"All good mate... Can't talk much... Business, you know."

"Yeah I understand... Hush hush...You know I'm here if you need to talk." Offers Tomo.

"I'll keep that in mind." Frank lied.

He could hardly imagine discussing it with Tomo with Smith's capability of killing people. At will, or so it seemed. And have Tomo caught in the cross fire.

The least Tomo knew the better.

Smith's mobile vibrates. There only be one caller.

"Smith." He answers.

"Well done Smith... Drake came through." Black words reverberating in Smith mind.

"Thank you Sir." Smith accepts the praise.

"Will he be ready for the Banker?" Black asked with concern.

"I think so... I have a few preliminary preparations to be make, but I am confident he will step up when it matters."

"Very well. Make the arrangements. I'll be contact." Black hangs up leaving Smith with silence.

"Thank you Sir." Replies Smith to the dead line.

Smith's mind switches to Metcalfe.

The Merchant banker rarely left New York. Preferring to stay in his penthouse apartment. Surrounding himself by body guards. And his weakness, young beautiful women. Simply killing Metcalfe, would be too easy. Smith wanted to make a statement to other merchant bankers waiting in the wings to take his place.

It needed to be a very public statement.

Smith had formulated a macabre death worthy of Caesar himself. But would Frank be up to the task? With Smith pulling the strings behind the dark curtains, anything was possible.

The new sedative streaming through veins, stemming Frank's growing anxiety.

With each glass, worries lifted from his shoulders. Thoughts of Smith abated and for a brief moment he felt at peace with himself. Without a care in the world. Then his mobile rings. Pulling him from the enchanted wonderland. Who was calling? An agency?

But see's Julie's number appearing on the screen.

"Oh shit!" Frank says to himself. Should answer it? Knowing it couldn't avoid it forever.

"Hey babe!" Frank tries to sound excited about the call.

"Hi... Thought I'd call since I hadn't heard from you... You okay over there?" Hoping she had not interrupted him. Wondering if she should have called at all.

"I'm good... You?"

"I'm okay... Missing you."

"I miss you too..." Frank ricochets back the response. "...What time is it there?"

"Nearly ten... Must be late-afternoon there now?" Julie speculates.

"Yeah coming up four..." Searching for a reason for the call. "...What's happening there?"

"Not a lot. Just thinking about you...Wondering if you were returning sometime soon."

Frank didn't have the answers. Julie had barely been on his mind since he had returned home. Marilyn had distracted his attention.

"Might have something coming up in the few weeks..." He begins, then catches himself.

'What am I saying? ...' He thinks to himself, '...Jesus Frank!'

"I could come there?" She offers.

"I move around a lot babe... Not sure if I can pin down my schedule..." Frank lied.

Tomo looks up and wonders who Frank was talking to.

"Don't ask." Covering the mouth piece and shaking his head.

"Oh." Julie's hopes deflated.

"Best I stop by on my way through... I keep you posted once I know my itinerary... Okay?"

"Drop me a text okay... I'm getting lonely over here all by myself... I need you."

"I need you too...I'll send you a text... How's your place after the explosion?" Hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Smoke damage... Even the new clothes smell of smoke."

"Oh that's terrible... Any cause found yet?" Frank probed.

"Just a loose gas fitting... A tragic accident waiting to happen... Poor Thomas."

"Yeah... Poor Thomas." Frank parrots, trying to empathize with her.

"Okay lover... It's getting late... I better let you go. Love you..." Letting Frank go.

"Love you too sweetie." And for a moment he could imagine her in his arms. And the lines went dead with dial tone.

"Love you sweetie? ..." Said Tomo approaching mouthing the words to Frank. "...What was that all about big boy?"

"Don't ask." Frank responds, reluctant to go into details with the one person who would tell everyone at the first chance he got.

"Really?"

'If it was not Marilyn, then who the hell was it?' Thought Tomo.

"I don't know what happened to you in Flint Frank... But it sounds like a whole lot of trouble if Marilyn ever finds out." Piecing together the snippets of conversation he had overheard.

"The least you know the better mate..." Warns Frank. "...One day I'll tell you... But until then... Your lips are sealed okay?" Frank looks sternly at Tomo suggesting there'd be consequences.

"My lips are sealed." Tomo parrots the commitment.

Looking up he sees Smith had left the bar without paying.

"The bastard's done a runner!" Tomo exclaims in surprise.

"I'll fix his tab." Said Frank.

"You suddenly made of money?" Asked Tomo surprisingly.

"Nah... Said I'd fix the tab for him." Frank lied.

"Did you see him leave?" Looking about the bar for Smith.

"He's bloody ghost... Bet you a hundred bucks your security cameras won't have him on it." Wagered Frank. Already knowing the outcome.

"Rubbish... I just had them fixed... I'll take that wager."

"A wise man wouldn't." Advised Frank.

"Just have your money ready." Suggested Tomo confidently.

"Don't say I did not warn you."

"Tomorrow... We'll see who's right."

"You know where to find me."

Frank's mobile rings again from his pocket.

"Not again?" Said Frank.

"How many girl-friends you got?" Asked Tomo jokingly.

Frank sees the caller ID and answers the call.

"Hello sweetie... How are you?" Loudly and proudly. Stunning Tomo again.

"Jesus Frank!" Exclaims Tomo walking away in disgust.

"It's just Jack you sick bastard!" Frank calls out to him walking away.

"Say hi for me!" Tomo calls back.

"Uncle Tomo says hi... Where are you?" Frank begins to ask his son.

"Just in town... Spring break... Wondering if I could crash at your place?" Asked Jack.

"Sounds great. Plenty of room, Marilyn would love to see you."

"Sweet as...I'll swing by this evening."

"If you're passing the bar before then, stop on in... Tomo here would be keen to catch up."

"Sweet as. See you soon." Responds Jack.

"You too..."

"Love you Dad."

"Love you more." Declared Frank to his only son...
Jack

Frank kills the call and tries to remember when he last saw Jack.

It could have been a few months ago. Could be longer. Either way it was always a good to hang out with him. Despite his mother's alienation games to keep them apart. Jack had survived battles that had raged for nearly twenty years. But somehow the war would never be over. Like Korea, there would only ever be an armistice, with one side refusing to yield.

And it was not him.

His kids were his blood. And blood was thicker than water. Something his ex-wife could never take away. His daughters were proving a little more difficult to get close to. Liz and Becky. Frank loved Becky's confidence and free going spirit. Everybody wanted to be her friend. Her independence reminded him of himself. She made him smile. All his kids did really.

Divorce had sentenced him to purgatory. And what had not killed him, only made him stronger. Taking each emotional punch, then offered the other cheek. One step forward, two steps back. Unsure when he would find himself back on his feet again. Frank's eyes glazed over in thought. Much as Grimm's did. Like a rabbit caught in a hypnotic trance of the bright lights hurtling towards them.

So beautiful...

"You okay man?" Tomo asked seeing Frank lost. And pulling him from the oncoming headlights.

"Sorry mate... Must have nodded off... Just thinking about the kids."

"So how's Jack?" Asked Tomo.

"He's good I think... Spring break apparently... Staying at my place."

"You're pretty close to that one."

"Yeah... We have a connection... Something I never had with my dad... But then those were different times."

"Yeah... I know what you mean." Recalling his relationship with his father.

"How's the girls?"

"Don't hear much from them... But then, no news is good news I guess... They'll come around when they're ready."

"You're a patient man Frank Drake... She ever re-marry?"

"Yeah I think so."

"You don't know?"

"Don't know don't care actually... So long as I don't have to be married to the bitch." Declares Frank.

"Yeah... Think of the poor sod that has to be married to her eh?"

"Good luck them I say... Best thing she ever did for me was kick me out... Cheers!"

Frank raises his glass to salute his freedom from the bondage of matrimony.

"Free at last... And amazing three kids to show for it."

"Yeah, some guys get a life sentence. At least you got paroled." Offered Tomo seeing the bright side.

"Couldn't imagine still being married... Ball and chain, trouble and strife... You won't catch me doing that again... I'm off women wagon for life." Frank declares.

"Speaking of which... What about Marilyn?"

"That's never going to happen... She doesn't count." Dismissing his Catholic lover.

"And the one in Flint?" Reminds Tomo.

"Just a fling... Just a fling." Compartmenting Julie.

"One for the road." Tomo slides another glass in front of Frank.

"Thanks mate... They all help." Taking a mouthful of the Scottish cough syrup.

First Avenue outside was growing gray again. It was almost time to head home.

Resuming thoughts of Smith and another assignment in a few weeks. There was not much he could do until then but hang off the bar and scour the paper for jobs until then.

"You ever thought about returning to school?" Tomo suggested out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" Confused by the question.

"You know... Learn another skill? ... Incase this gig with that Smith fella doesn't work out?"

"Never really given it any thought... I'm a bit old to go back to school mate ... Aren't I?"

"Nah, no one is too old... Friend of mine Kevin... Kevin Brown. You know him."

"Yeah, yeah Brownie... What of him?"

"Did night classes and studied IT... Computer stuff."

"I have heard of it Tomo... It is Seattle you know." Reminded Frank.

"Oh yeah, sorry... Anyways, he got all certificated or whatever they get and he's landed a consulting job going around fixing computers all over the city... He's rolling in the dough now."

"It's not always about the money Tomo." Recalling the hundred grand in his bank account.

"Just saying... Just saying... Keep your options open."

"I'll keep it in mine..." Said Frank appreciatively. "...And with that piece of advice I better off to the young lady."

"Which one?" Jokes Tomo.

"Don't start... I haven't got time to explain."

"Get outta here you ladies' man!"

"You'd be so lucky."

"I wish."

"No you wouldn't..." Warns Frank leaving the bar, "... Check those camera's."

"Ben's onto it... Just have your money ready."

The day outside had darkened as Frank fumbled for keys deep in a pocket.

Feeling the warmth of the keys from his body. The voluptuous cherry red Buick waited patiently for him. As it did most days for its master. Through the inclement winter months. Its loyalty never faltered. The Buick possessed a timeless odor. Red leather upholstery. Hand crafted precision engineering. A time machine that had survived the decaying decades. Like his children, the Buick was one love the ex-wife could not take away from him.

It was his first child. His first love.

Inserting the key. It turns effortlessly, before catching. A starter engine groaned as it turned over the heavy V8 nail-head engine. Eight cylinders fire in sequence. Stirring the beast from its slumber. Stretching its metallic rods. And sounding a rumbling yawn. Thunder to those passing by. Power vibrated through the chassis. Massaging Frank as he sat with his hands on the steering wheel.

Thoughts of whether he should be driving never entered his head.

"Take me home." He commanded the Buick. Throwing it into drive and exiting the reserved parking space.

Merging with the flow of traffic heading east. Intimidating lesser cars to get out of its way. Clearing a path home. Pulling to the Buick to the curb. Frank sees another car in his regular parking space. Jack's thought Frank. Looking up to see the lights to the apartment were on.

Despite the good intention of the visit, Frank was confident that Jack was probably after money to tie over until school began again. He had no problem with helping out his kids. That's what fathers were for. Frank had money to spare. Thanks to Smith's deposits. Money would come and go.

But time with his kids was something money could not buy.

"Honey... I'm home." Frank calls out hoping someone would answer.

But only silence called back.

"Anyone home?" He asked again confused as to why the lights were on.

"We're in here Frank..." Marilyn calls out from the lounge. "...Just showing Jack the photo album of when he was a kid."

"Hey dad..." Said Jack looking up smiling. "...Great photo's... Glad you kept these."

"One of the few things I got to keep." Reminiscing of the lopsided division of the divorce settlement.

"Dinner will be ready soon you two." Marilyn reminds them.

"Thanks sweetie." Said Frank.

"You fancy a cider... Think I have one in the fridge."

"Yes please!"

"Better get to the table before Marilyn tracks us down... I'll get you that drink."

It was strange having a third person at the table, but Jack fitted like a glove.

Jack's presence distracted Frank's mind from Flint and Thomas and Julie. His mobile poked him in the ribs twice as though to remind him. He would ignore it for now. Some things could wait. Julie was one of them.

Unless it was Smith. He checked.

"Who is it bad man." Marilyn asked.

"No one sweetie... Just the boss. He can wait..." Frank lies seeing Julie's number. "...How's Liz and Becks?" Asked Frank sidetracking the attention from the text message.

"Good I think. Don't hear much from them... Liz is busy working. Beck is down south somewhere."

"Liz... She's an Architect isn't she?" Inquires Marilyn.

"That's right..." Said Frank, "...She's the brainy one in the family... No offense Jack."

"None taken Dad." Conceding his sister's brilliance. She seemed to excel at whatever she applied herself to.

"Beck's the party animal... And a smart one at that."

Fearing his daughter's exploits, there was some things fathers did not want to know about. Letting the conversation end there.

"What are you up to these days Jack? Your father tells me very little." Marilyn eyes towards Frank.

"You never ask." Frank pleaded his defense.

"Just started at Seattle State... Graphic Design." Said Jack proudly.

"You wanted to do Graphic design once Frank?" Asked Marilyn probing Frank's distant past.

"Once... But that was a long time ago. Not meant to be I suppose... Life has a funny way of working out." Reflecting on what could have been. "I ended up being the one thing I swore I would never be... An Accountant... Just like my father and my brothers... Somethings you are set in stone I guess... How's school going?"

"Busy. Assignments coming out my ears."

"Good... It's supposed to be... Just do your best and have fun... Okay? ... You making friends?"

"Yeah. Managed to team up with some other students. We hang out and discuss what we're working on."

"You know I'm here for you any time okay?"

"Yeah I know. Thanks."

"How's your mother?" Frank had to ask.

"Driving me crazy." Responds Jack.

"Nothing's change... She drove me crazy too." Frank chuckled at the thought.

"You have a girl-friend Jack?" Marilyn keenly probes.

"Leave the lad alone Marilyn." Said Frank defending him.

"No... I'm good." Jack defends himself.

"I have a niece in Tijuana if you're interested... Maria... You would like her." Marilyn suggests.

"I appreciate the offer... But I'm good." Smiles Jack.

"You're not gay are you? ... Its okay if you were you know... These days." Asked Marilyn, puzzled why a handsome young man like Jack did not have a girlfriend.

"No... I don't think so." Harry quietly chuckled to himself.

Frank had kept out of the conversation. Jack could handle himself.

"Well let me know if you're interested I can introduce you."

"Marilyn said you had a new job dad?" Asked Jack, trying to escape Marilyn's match making.

"Just some contract work... Hopefully only short term."

"Why you say that? ... Good to have a job... No?" Responds Marilyn confused.

"It's okay for now." Deflected Frank.

Julie's text weighed heavily in his pocket. The more he thought about it the heavier it became.

Knowing he would have to break it off. Hopefully it would die a natural death. Long distant relationships never work out. How had he become entangled in a web of lies?

"What's that you're drinking now? ... That new?" Seeing a different bottle appear in Frank's liquor cabinet.

Frank examined the glass in his hand. Rocking it gently, watching the ice cube swirl about the golden liquid.

"Yeah, thought I might trade up. You should try some."

"You know I don't drink that stuff bad man." Said Marilyn overlooking that Jack was present.

Jack grinned and refrained himself from giggling.

"How long you sticking around for?" Asked Frank.

"About a week until the second semester begins. Get away from Mommy for a while... If that's okay by you?"

"You can stay as long as you like sweetie..." Declared Frank happy to have his son home. "...As long as you like. You're always welcome."

"Thanks Dad." Grinned Jack.

Marilyn's opinion did not come in to the decision.

This was his home. His children were welcome any time for as long as they liked. His door would always be open.

And that applied to Marilyn too...
My lips are sealed

Tomo slides a Benjamin in front of Frank.

"What's that for?" Asked Frank curiously forgetting the wager from the day before.

"Your boss Smith did not show up on the tapes... They were all blank again... Thought Ben he'd fixed them." Said Tomo still puzzled by the fault.

"Nah keep it mate... I've got plenty. Besides it wouldn't be fair... I had inside information."

"Oh... Ghee thanks Frank... You're a gentlemen and a sport."

"Don't tell anyone... I'd hate my reputation to be damaged."

"My lips are sealed." Boosts Tomo.

"Yeah... I very much doubt that."

"Hey... What is that supposed to mean?" Tomo looks up surprised by the innuendo.

"It means I'll have a Glen Fiddich on the rocks on you thanks mate."

"Coming right up... I'll have to get Ben back to fix it again..." Tomo begins.

"I wouldn't bother. It's probably just a glitch... Check it again tonight... I got a feeling it will be working just fine." Knowing that Smith would be absent.

"Okay... If you say so... You seem to know a lot about my security cameras."

"Just a hunch Tomo... Just a hunch." Informs Frank knowingly.

"We'll see." Sliding a short glass in front of Frank.

Scanning the classifieds for new listings.

Frank circled the interesting ones with a red pen specially reserved for the purpose.

"Not sure why you're still looking now that you're working for Smith." Tomo asked.

"It's not something I want to be doing forever." Responds Frank.

"Monies good isn't it?"

"Not always about the money Tomo... One has to be able to sleep at night." Wondering if he had said too much.

"What exactly do you do? ..." Not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Frank thought for a moment, wondering how to describe what he did without mentioning that he killed people.

"Not a lot." He eventually answered.

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly that... Not a lot." Spelling it out again.

Tomo let the question drop. If Frank did not want to talk about, then he had a good reason. He would open up in his own time.

They always did at Tomo's altar.

"How's Jack? What's he up to?" Asked Tomo changing tact.

"Good... In town for a week before the new semester starts... I'll try and drag him in this weekend. Along with Marilyn if she's not working."

"How'd you get such smart good looking kids?" Teased Tomo.

"Married a smart good looking woman..." Replies Frank throwing him off guard. "...Otherwise you better ask their father."

"I thought you hated the bitch?"

"I do... But they must have their mother's brains."

"Why you say that?"

"Cos I still got all mine." Remarks Frank savoring the whiskey.

Like a gun slinger at high noon. The bar doors open and silhouettes a lanky cowboy in boots.

"Grimm." Welcomes Frank.

"Frank." Welcomes Grimm swaggering past.

The protracted conversation ends there.

Frank turns his attention to the finance section reads a headline embroiling a Merchant Banker. Marcus Metcalfe. Banking was not Frank's area of expertise. If it was anyone's. Like Alice's Wonderland it had its own set of mystical rules and regulations. Which did not seem to apply to the outside world. Billions were traded every day. In every conceivable, and inconceivable way. The SEC watch dog ready to pounce at the first sleight of hand.

'Metcalfe the Magician.' The investors called him.

Nobody knew how he did it. Pulling off some of the greatest financial illusions of modern times. Second only to his ability to escape conviction. Frank dismissed the article as just another merchant banker sodomizing the American people. With politicians in his pocket, it would be almost impossible for the SEC to catch him with his fingers rimming the public register.

"Any sport on Tomo?" Frank calls out, hoping something more interesting.

Grimm had zoned out on the space in front of him.

"Shit!" Mutters Frank to himself. Now remembering Julie's text from the previous night.

"You okay?" Asked Tomo. Pulling Grimm from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah. Just remembered I had to do something." Taking out his mobile.

"Hey sweetie, about to sleep. Thinking of you. XOXO." The message read.

'It was a little late to respond to that now...' He thought, '...Or was it?'

Should he respond? Or should he ignore it and hope Julie gets the hint? He did not want to hurt her. He did not want to hurt Marilyn either. Women. Having been kicked out by one, only to be sandwiched between two more.

'Shit'. He thought again.

The chances of him ever going to Flint again were practically zero. Of her finding him in Seattle, less than that. He would do what any man would do. Ignore her. The thought was short lived and he texted her back, as another part of his anatomy took control of his decision making.

"Hey babe. Sorry for the delay. Mobile battery went dead. Hope you slept okay without me?" Frank texted, then paused.

'Really?' He thought about the last sentence.

'It's what she wants to hear... You're safe two thousand miles away... Why not.' Pressing send.

'What was the time there now? ...' He thought, '... Early evening'.

Hopefully she was pissed off for not replying last night and had written him off. Just then, the mobile vibrates.

"Buzz... Buzz... Buzz... Buzz Buzz... Buzz" Like an annoying fly that would not go away.

"Shit!" Mutters Frank again. Catching Grimm's attentive gaze.

"That's ok babe... Understand you're a busy... How's your day?" Read her reply.

Frank did not really want to get into a game of ping-pong messaging. Less so with Tomo and Grimm watching on.

He was trapped.

"Busy... How was yours?" Sent Frank.

"Boring. I miss you... When you coming back?" She pined for him.

Frank thought for a moment, juggling an imaginary itinerary in his mind. If Smith had an assignment for him in a few weeks then he could well be travelling again.

"Could have a business trip your way in a few weeks... Can you hold on that long?" Sent Frank.

"No. But I guess I'll have too. You'll pay for it when you arrive." She warned him.

"I know... Just be gentle on me okay... I'll keep you posted of dates."

"I'll send you my email address."

"Send it through... Texting is not my thing... Old school." Frank admitted.

"You old fuddy-duddy. LOL."

"Catch you soon."

"You too XOXO " Julie signs off.

'I'm too old for this.' He thought pocking the mobile.

Frank opens the newspaper to distract his mind away from Julie. Hoping the article of Metcalfe the Magician would prove to be as effective as a cold shower.

He hated bankers. But who didn't?

12:00AM New York City.

Smith looks up at the golden stepping stone glass tower on Fifth Avenue. It was an impressive building overlooking Central Park. Reflecting the surrounding office lights. Silhouetting itself against an ebony sky, void of stars lost in the haze of street lights. Accommodating the rich and famous.

Accommodating the man of the hour, Marcus Metcalfe.

In four weeks' time, the Merchant Bankers Association would be honoring him at an award dinner at this very building. If there was honor among thieves, this would be it. Telecast live for the nation to see a glimpse of a true financial genius.

Smith had studied Metcalfe's routines to the minute most detail. From what time he rose in the morning, to the exact time he went to bed. Every minute of Metcalfe's day had been monitored, recorded and analyzed. Access codes to the building had been acquired. Together with a ghost copy of his calendar.

Smith knew where Metcalfe would be before Metcalfe did.

"Everything in place?" Asked Black standing in the shadows beside him.

"Yes Sir." Smith responds.

"Very good... Drake... Is he ready?"

"He will be." Smith relays his confidence.

The two men looking almost identical. Dark trench coats shielding them from the channeled New York winter breeze. Dark rimmed glasses and brief cases making them look more like spies than Wall Street businessmen. Standing beneath a dim street lamp, they blended into with the gray side walk. More so Black than Smith. And as quickly as Black had arrived, he vanished.

Waving down a cab, Smith returns to his hotel to continue Metcalfe's surveillance.

Preparations for the award ceremony had been underway for months before. Smith had scoured the invitation list from the organizer's computer. Blue prints showed the banquet hall's layout and seating position of guests. Security would be heavy, unlike that of Senator Luxon's dismal guard. The President would be attending. Secret Service would be everywhere.

Smith had options.

A narrow corridor in which to operate. And line of sight. That, and a steady hand. Hoping Frank had that steady hand. Television cameras would make it a very public execution.

Metcalfe's death meant very little to Smith, it was the aftermath that he was anticipating most.

Without Metcalfe about, his house of cards would fall. Exposing the elaborate Ponzi schemes that held up his glorified Merchant Bank. The Magician's trick would be revealed. It would no longer be magic.

But simply an illusion.

"They will thank us for this." Said Smith grinning to himself...
Charlie Finch

07:00AM CIA Head Quarters, Langley, Fairfax County, Virginia.

"What do we know Gentlemen?" Asked Quinn, the Director of Operations of the two anxious special agents sitting before her.

"Toxicology reports show that Senator Luxon was poisoned..." Responds Agent Finch eyeing the report conclusions, "...Making it appear as a heart attack."

Finch goes quiet, having delivered the bad news.

There was no good news. Tension hung in the air waiting for the Quinn to respond. Reviewing the thick file before her. Photographs of Luxon's half naked body sprawled out across a large couch. The Call-Girl could add nothing others already knew.

If she knew anything at all to begin with.

"A waiter had been seen delivering room service just before his death... Surveillance cameras had been turned off in all areas the waiter had been." States Burgess.

"This is too sophisticated for an amateur, gentlemen..." Pausing to consider the alternatives, "...Why were the cameras off at the time?" She asked.

"Someone back-doored them." Responded Burgess.

"We're the only ones capable of that... Was it us?"

"Not us Ma'am... Not that I'm aware of... But we're working with NSA to narrow down the source. There are only two people capable of hacking a security system like that."

"And?" Quinn asked impatiently.

"One is dead... And the other... Has gone AWOL. We can't find him anywhere. He's off the grid."

"Who is he?" Quinn asked looking over bi-focal glasses at Burgess. Brow lines knitted together like buckled railway tracks.

"Smith... John Smith..." Responds Burgess, as if mentioning death's name, "...Smith ma'am."

"Jesus Christ! ..." Exclaims the Quinn to herself. "...Why was I not informed earlier?" Clearly agitated by the oversight.

"We wanted to rule out others given Smith's breakdown."

"I should have been informed the moment he went off the grid... Do you know how dangerous this man can be?" Quinn erupts. The two agents looking innocently back at her.

"No Ma'am." Responds Burgess before thinking.

Other than being a burnt out former agent that had been suspended for health reasons. They looked blankly back at the Director.

"Smith has the ability to access any system... He was one of the Department's top agents until a nervous breakdown had him suspended from duty. You can't imagine the damage he begin to do... Or what he is capable of... Luxon could just be the tip of the ice berg." Quinn contemplates.

"The waiter did not fit Smith's description so we assumed it was not him..." Finch began to say.

"Don't assume anything about Smith... He's astute, clever... He'll have you chasing shadows in the dark if he wants... That's how good he is. You understand?" Quinn cautions them.

"Yes Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am." Finch apologizes.

"If this guy leaves no foot print... How do we track him down?" Burgess asked curiously.

"Start by going through past unsolved cases with blank surveillance tapes... Cross reference with any unauthorized access to any national databases. And pray that he has left a stale digital crumb somewhere... Liaise with the NSA on that. Fill them in on what you know. They'll be interested in finding Smith as much as we are." Instructed the Quinn.

"Yes Ma'am."

"Keep me informed of progress this time... We want to catch him before he strikes again. And believe me gentlemen... He will strike again..." Warned Quinn. "...It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when."

"Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am." Replied Burgess standing to leave.

Returning to their desks they faced each other and contemplating the massive task at hand.

Smith was going to prove more difficult to find than a needle in a hay stack.

"You search the cases files for missing surveillance tapes and I'll run a diagnostic on unauthorized database accesses." Instructs Finch.

"Onto it." Responds Burgess examining Smith's personnel file, littered with assigned cases.

A black and white photograph showed a be-speckled old man in his mid-fifties, appearing beyond his years. Looking like an old man waiting for a bus. Advanced proficiencies in cyber intelligence and electrical engineering had positioned Smith in a class of his own. Along with one other. And they were dead. Thankfully.

Finch continues to read Smith's case file. A series of failed assignments. Collateral deaths. Smith had been brought in for psychological assessment. Finding he had suffered a nervous breakdown, and was immediately suspended from the Agency. And placed him in psychiatric care.

There the Agency hoped he would stay. Within a few months, Smith had been discharged and put back on the streets. And was back in business.

"Jesus... I hope all these aren't his." Responds Burgess seeing the list of over 60 cases listed involving blank security tapes.

"Just focus the high profile cases."

"With an exception of a few... They're all high profile... What am I looking for exactly?" Asked Burgess confused.

"A bloody ghost..." Jokes Finch. "...I hope you're not afraid of them."

Burgess scans for patterns and regularities. Going through the files one at a time.

After three hours of searching Burgess had found zilch. Zero. Nada. Nothing.

Exhausted, he sits back and sips on the now cold bitter coffee.

"Nothing... They're all over the place. All different modes of operandi... He's a bloody ghost like you say."

"From what I read, that's how he operates... Off the radar... It's him alright." Advises Finch confirming his fears.

"How'd you get on with the access?"

"He's been busy alright... IRS and Bank records. Can't be a hundred percent certain it's him, but why don't we cross-reference these with your data and see what matches... Run them over to Tech Division... They might be able to make more sense of them." Advises Burgess.

"Good idea, they might get lucky." Concedes Finch grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

"Where you going?" Asked Burgess.

"Flint." Responds Finch.

"Flint? What's there?"

"Not sure. Just a hunch. The last case file happened just after the Senator. Seems odd Smith would take out a no-body and kill the tapes... So what made this guy so special?" Asked Finch suspiciously.

"Wait for me. I'm coming with you." Burgess rushes to keep up.

01:20PM and an Agency's Learjet touches down at the Flint, Michigan.

A large black SUV waits by the side of the tarmac for the two special agents. Driving through the uncluttered streets of the small city was easy. The polished SUV stood out among run down vehicles. A city having suffered its share of unemployment and economic downturn.

Pulling up outside Thomas' former apartment building, SUV doors open. The two agents make their way inside, surveying the surrounding buildings. Down the road Burgess could see a service station. Thinking their cameras would have a distant view of the apartment building.

"Why don't you go inside? I'll check out the Service Station." Burgess instructs.

Finch spots the distant station and nods for Burgess to proceed.

Walking into the entrance Finch sees the security camera's on the ceilings. A door displays the label Managers Office. And knocks three time soundly. And waits. Nothing. Knocking again, hoping someone was about. The door suddenly opens and a middle aged man with graying hair and thick rim glasses stands before him.

"Can I help?" The manager asked examining Finch carefully.

"Mister Pentice? Special Agent Finch. CIA." Responds Finch showing his credentials.

"That's right... Is it about the fire? ... I thought the investigators had finished." Prentice asked.

"They did... We're just following up new leads. May I look at the apartment?"

"Of course. Just one moment... I'll get the key."

The door closes leaving Finch alone in the foyer as Julie walks in carrying grocery bags. She looks over to him. The suit reminds her of Frank. And briefly she pines for him. Pressing the elevator button and waits.

Prentice returns with the key.

"This way please." He suggests the agent to follow. "Julie... How are you?"

"I'm good Mister Prentice. You?" Asked Julie, uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Can't complain... This is Agent Finch from the C.I.A." Accentuating each letter as though they each meant something, "... He's investigating Thomas' gas explosion."

"Oh I thought they had done that already?" Julie asked inquisitively.

"We're just here to follow up a lead." Remarked Finch.

"We?" Asked Julie looking about.

"Oh... My partner, he's just outside for a moment." Responds Finch.

"Well if you want to know anything, I'm in 5F... F for Freddy." She said with a flirting smile.

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Unsure what to make of her smile. Her tie-dyed tee shirt leaving little to his imagination. Elevator doors open and they enter. The Manager presses five and the doors slowly close behind them. And slowly ascends to the fifth floor.

Opening onto an empty smoked stained corridor.

"This is it." Prentice announces.

Standing back from the make shift renovations. Julie walks past the boarded up entrance. The new paint work could not hide the hideous event that had taken place there but a few weeks before. And made her way to her own smoke stained apartment.

"Why were the cameras turned off?" Finch asked Prentice.

"That's the funny thing... They weren't. They were operational when the investigators looked at them... Somehow they had gone dead when it mattered most." Said Prentice puzzled by the bizarre behavior. "...I was out at the time of the explosion and the camera's operating system is in my office... No one would have access to them. There was no sign of forced entry... I told this to the investigators at the time."

"I understand Mister Prentice... I read that too. Just wanted to clarify the report... How well did you know Thomas?"

"He had been a tenant here for a while... Almost a year... Always paid his rent on time and in cash... I had no problems with him. A nice young man. Shame he's ... Gone."

"Yes. I see... Did he get on with the other tenants?" Finch asked.

"I think so... No complaints if you know what I mean... I think he was a friend of Julie... The young lady in 5F that was just here."

"Thank you Mister Prentice. If I have any further questions I know where to find you. Oh... Before you go..."

Finch pulls out a picture of Smith from his pocket.

"Have you ever seen this gentleman?" Holding out a small black and white glossy image of Smith.

Prentice examines the photograph of Smith, looking more like a school teacher than a wanted felon. And began to shake his head slowly before handing it back to Finch.

"I'm sorry... I usually have a good eye for faces but his... I can't recall. Sorry." Prentice offers an apologetic response.

That's okay... If you ever do please let me know. Here my card." Finch offers.

The elevator dings its arrival.

"I must get back to the front desk." Said the manager about to enter.

"I understand... I'll knock on a few doors if you don't mind." Suggests Finch.

"Of course."

'F for Freddy... I'll save you for last', Finch thinks to himself looking down the hallway to Julie's room.

Knocking on the first apartment Finch is greeted by an interesting anxious gentleman. Almost fidgeting.

Unsure what to make of him, Finch shows his badge and introduces himself.

"The police have already questioned me about that." The man begins to protest to the intrusion.

"That maybe the case. They were the angels... I'm God." Finch jokes.

But the humor was lost on the young gentleman of 5A.

"May I come in?" Finch asked knowing the answer.

"Well... If you must. I don't think I can add any more than what I have already told your people." Looking anxiously about his apartment as if he had left something lying about that he should not have.

A strange sweet pungent scent hung in the air as Finch entered the room. There seemed to be no apparent source to the illicit odor. Smith was his focus, not a minor drug bust. He would let this one slip. Pulling out the photo again and shows the man who examines it before shaking his head.

The answer was evident before he spoke.

"No... Can't say I recall the man... Not to say he was not here. I just never saw him that's all."

"I understand. Did you see or hear anything suspicious before or after the explosion?" Finch asked.

"Not really... I was pretty well spaced out when it happened... If you know what I mean..." Then wondered if he had said too much.

"I understand..." Cooperation was in his vested interest, "...How well did you know Thomas?"

"Was that his name?" The man declares his ignorance, satisfying Finch he was not going to get much else from him.

"I think that is about all for now... Mister...?"

"Webb... Noah Webb."

"Here's my card. If think of something Mister Webb." Said Finch turning to leave.

Finch worked his way down the hallway, interviewing tenants.

Each with the same story. Or lack thereof. And eventually comes to 5F and knocks. Expecting the resident to be at home.

The door opened quickly.

"Come on in." Julie tells him, as if he was an old friend come to visit.

"I'm Special Agent Finch with the CIA... I'm investigating the explosion a few weeks ago. Do you have a moment for some questions?" Looking about the room. A faint scent of smoke still lingered from the furnishings.

And it wasn't the sweet pungent kind.

"Would you like a coffee?" Julie offers.

"Thank you that would be nice." Admits Finch, wondering how Burgess was going with his assignment at the service station.

Perhaps Matt had drawn the short straw this time.

"Black one sugar thanks."

"Coming right up... Make yourself comfortable." A voice echoes from the kitchen.

Moments later Julies appears with two mugs. Seating himself down, he browses the room.

"Thanks." Taking the mug in his hand.

"How can I help?" Julie asked looking over the sharply dressed Finch in his dark suit and tie.

A gold badge hung from a belt, a holstered gun showing beneath his jacket.

"You're Julie, right?" Finch asked to confirm her name.

"That's right... And you're Agent Finch." She played with him.

Finch dismissed the candor and continued. Pulling the photo from his pocket a final time.

"Have you seen this gentleman about the building at any time leading up to or after the explosion?" Finch hands Julie the photo to examine more closely.

"Can't say I have... Is he responsible for the explosion?" Julie looks anxiously at the photo.

Smith's narrow small eyes staring back at her. Reminding her of a school teacher she once had.

"We're just eliminating suspects at this stage... How well did you know Thomas?"

"We were on talking terms, nothing more than that... Our paths would cross in the hallways and elevator. I've never been inside his apartment if that's what you mean."

"Did he appear different in anyway before the explosion?" He asked, finally finding a tenant that knew Thomas.

"No more than anyone else I suppose... Not sure what he did for a living... One doesn't ask these things do they... I know his job took him out of town... You should talk to his boss... Mister Smith." Julie suggested freely.

The name stopped Finch in his tracks. There was an awkward silence as he absorbed the information.

"Smith you say? ... You sure you haven't seen the man in the photograph?" Finch handed the photograph back to Julie.

"Is that Smith?" Beginning to feel an eerie chill come over her.

She examined the photo more closely, taking in Smith aging features. A cold emotionless face of evil. She burnt the image into her mind.

"No... I pretty sure he hasn't been around here before... I'd remember a face like that."

The next question took her off guard.

"Was there any one else that visited the apartment building before or since that was out of place?" Finch asked routinely.

Knowing Frank had appeared on the scene that day. Should she involve him? How much did the man in 5A tell Finch? And if he had, should she? The thought of Frank being involved was ludicrous. Implicating him as a suspect was just as absurd. She was treading a fine line.

Either way, her relationship would implicate her with Frank.

"Can't say I can recall." She lied. Hoping Finch would leave it there.

"I see... Are you sure?" Finch pressed again. Sensing her facial expressions had changed from the care free young lady she was a few moments ago.

Perhaps the photo of Smith had frightened her.

"Yeah... I sure..." Julie responded looking at Smith's photo in her hands beginning to quiver. Then handed it back to Finch. "...Have your coffee before it goes cold." Hoping to deflect Finch's questioning.

"Thank you... Very nice." Finches finishes what he could of the coffee and stands.

"If anything comes to mind. Please call me any time of the day or night... Okay?" Handing her a card.

"Will do..." Responds Julie, examining the lettering and the embossed CIA logo. "...I hope you find the guy who did this to Thomas."

"So do I... I'll show myself out." Finch offers.

Julie sits quietly staring out the window. Recalling the events of the day.

From the short time she was with Frank, she had summed him up as an honest man. With a kind heart. The thought that he had anything to do with Thomas' death was preposterous. Shaking her head in disbelief. And denial.

Smith. That is who did this to Thomas. Recalling Smith's photo. The black and white image of a psychotic killer etched into her mind. This she could reconcile.

But not Frank.

Finch showed himself out and headed down to the foyer and found Burgess was questioning Prentice again who was looking agitated.

"Thank for your time Mister Prentice..." Burgess dismisses Prentice back to the safety of his office, "...Nothing here." Seeing Finch arriving in the foyer.

"I know. Same upstairs. No one saw anything of Smith... But I know he was here, I can smell him..." Finch inhales through nostril as if to confirm his belief, "...How'd you get on with the service station?"

"They're getting the tapes for us. We'll have them within a week."

"A week?"

"Yeah I know. They're offsite at some data warehouse in Virginia of all places.

"Oh well... Something might show up on them. Smith is not going anywhere."

"Where to now?" Asked Burgess keen to get back.

"One more stop... There's a hotel on the other side of this building. It's just a hunch. Perhaps Smith stayed there. I want a list of guests around that time and their surveillance tapes."

The hotel manager was no wiser nor helpful than what Prentice had been.

Guests had long since moved on. The surveillance tapes proved worthless. Smith had erased the bookings of that evening from existence. However, reception still maintained a hand written register. It was start.

Smith's name was not evident. Finch did not expect Smith to be that foolish. Daring perhaps. But not foolish. His photograph rang no bells with the staff. Saying they would have remembered if he had stayed there. Another blank. Almost.

The fact Smith thought it important to have eased the Hotel's booking register and tapes made it important to the investigation. It was vital crumb.

"We better get back to back to Langley and write the report up for Quinn. She'll be wanting to see progress. I want to throw her a bone to chew on." Suggests Finch.

"Hear you on that." Responds Burgess climbing into the SUV...
Reservations for Two

Weeks past unnoticed to Frank.

Going about his daily routine that went unchanged. And if it did, it went unnoticed. Emails had replaced the text messages. Making Julie more manageable. And minimalizing the likelihood of Marilyn discovering an untimely message. The odd text surfacing when she was feeling lonely. Or sexually irritable.

Somehow he managed to balance the two heated relationships, for now. Knowing one day, one of those relationships would have to come to an unfortunate end. Like a bandage. One would have to be ripped off. There was no slow or nice way to do it.

Maybe he would rip both off. And simply walk away.

Julie was growing on him. Sharing her thoughts. Her aspirations. Her feelings. As Frank shared his ambitions and dreams with her. Something he had never done with Marilyn. Realizing he knew very little of her. Other than her cooking and sexual appetite. And that she was married and a family in Mexico.

Her world was closed off to him. Her sole purpose in Seattle, was not for Frank, but to find work and send money back to home. Separation from her husband a cultural disparity he had trouble getting his head around. He could never send Marilyn off to another country. He would follow here to the ends of the earth.

If she was his wife. But she was not his wife. She was someone else's.

The thought hit him like a bucket cold water. With ice. There was an understanding between them that they would not move beyond what it was. Friends with benefits. Frank satisfied Marilyn's need as much as she had satisfied his. Their relationship was heading down a dead end road. Sooner or later they would come to an end.

He imagined the Buick skidding to a sudden halt and leaving her onto the sidewalk before driving off. Could he be so cold? In the end. She would either leave him and return to her family, or find another man. And Frank would be left standing alone on the train platform waving her goodbye.

He was flogging a dead horse in a race he could never expect to win.

A dark thought idea crossed his mind. Eliminate her husband. And have Marilyn all to himself. How would he do it? If he ever got caught. Could he live with himself? The loss of his kids forever. Alienated, not by his ex-wife. But by his own actions. He let the deadly thought fade from his mind.

Julie was getting under his skin. The urge to see her again was growing. Her seductive emails teasing him. Taking his own sexual frustrations out on Marilyn. Often he would fantasize both of them in bed with him.

Taking turns to relieve his and their own sexual yearnings.

10:00AM and Frank laid on the bed looking up at the ceiling.

Marilyn had gone to work. His body clock had it down to the minute.

"Time to get up." Forcing himself to sit upright.

Marilyn had sapped his energy again. Once before they had slept. And once again in the middle of the night. Then questioned whether having both of his lovers together was a wise idea. Shaking the erotic thought from his mind and headed to the showers.

"You dirty bastard Frank." Said Mirror Man.

"I know. I know... Don't you start!" Frank stared back at himself.

"You're getting old Frank... Leave that sort of thing to the young bulls."

"Give it a rest will you." Frank warned the Mirror man, reaching for his toothbrush.

Hoping the sound would drown out the voice in his head.

"Just saying Frank." Getting in the last word.

Frank turned his back on the Man in the Mirror who continued to watch him.

In the shower, the force of the water revitalized his senses. Like needles pricking him. Pulling him from a delusional slumber to the reality of the world about him. His mind recollecting the depressing predicament that was his life. Still unemployed. Though free from debt. With Smith on his back. Unsure which was the greatest of the three evils.

Smith was certainly in contention.

"What will be, will be." Frank sang to himself.

A mental image of Doris Day singing and smiling appeared in his head.

Sensing a something good would come along. And there was something beyond the now. What he was going through was transitory. The pain between the good times. The key was not to give up.

"Keep going. Something will turn up... Your name is Frank Drake... You are successful." He told himself, reaffirming his self-belief.

"Stop kidding yourself Frank... You're washed up. No one wants you... Not even Marilyn." The Mirror Man called out, watching Frank dry himself off.

Mirror Man's last comment cut the deepest.

He was just a convenient stepping stone to getting want she wanted. But then, did he truly want her? Maybe she was a temporary stepping stone to where he was going. Maybe Julie was right. Sometimes people come along when you least expect them.

"Yeah you're right..." Frank concedes looking back at his reflection. "...But for now... It is what it is. May as well enjoy the ride."

"Where do you think you're going?" Mirror Man asked.

"The bar... You coming?" Replied Frank.

"I'll see you there." Man Mirror replies, combing his hair.

Frank grabs the morning paper and swallowing down the last of the cold coffee. And heads out the door.

He would have brunch at the bar.

Smith sat thumbing the newspaper. A cup of steaming black coffee sat to one side.

Tomo was edgy with his presence. Still waters ran deep. And Tomo was feeling over his head. Leaving it to Frank to deal with him. Smith was Frank's boss, not his. Tomo goes to the office and watches the electrician fiddle with the surveillance machine.

"Buggered if I know mate..." Ben declares, unsure what the fault is. "...You say it was working yesterday?"

"Yeah... Damn thing seems to have a mind of its own." Remarks Tomo looking on puzzled.

"I've checked all the circuits... It's all good, see..." Pointing out a series of flashing lights. "... Nothing is being recorded... Mind if I take it back to the shop?" Asked Ben.

"May as well. It's of no use here." Concedes Tomo giving up on the machine as well.

"I'll get it back to you tomorrow okay... Just don't get robbed until then."

"I'll try not to... They'll have to get passed Frank and Grimm first."

"Yeah... Frank would be a push over ... Just put a drink in his hand and he'll practically open the register for them... He couldn't hurt a fly... Grimm on the other hand."

That was a thought no one wanted to contemplate.

"Tell me about it...Don't like the look of Frank's boss though."

"Who's that? I thought he was out of work?"

"He is sort of..." Tomo begins before wondering what Frank actually did for Smith. "...Does a bit of part-time work for that guy sitting in the far booth... Gentleman in the dark suit over there... Mostly dispatch from what I hear... Not sure how Frank fits in... But I guess they have beans to count like everyone else."

"Good to know he's got some work on the go. The job market is pretty tough at the moment... Even for us Sparkys."

"When's Jo coming in? I haven't seen her for a while?"

"She's at some swanky Lawyers convention in Delaware... Lapping up the Pilsners... She'll be back this weekend."

"It'd be good to see her... Craig's is coming in for the game... T-Birds playing Blazers. Should be a big match."

"Yeah... Birds are smoking at the moment... Right, I better be off. I'll get this back to you tomorrow."

"Sweet as... Cheers mate." Leaving Ben to get on with it.

Tomo returns to the bar in time to hear the rumbling sound of Frank's Buick pull up to the curb.

'This should be interesting.' He thought, with one eye on Smith. And the other on the door.

"Andy! ... Frank's here... Better get his bacon and eggs order in now."

"Right-o!" A large voice calls back from the kitchen.

Bar doors open and Frank on autopilot heads to his stool. The newspaper folded under his arm. Making the gesture to suggest his usual order for breakfast.

"Already onto it Frank." Said Frank slipping a cup of black coffee in front on him.

Tomo was unsure how to break the news to him.

"Don't want to be the bearer of bad news Frank, but...Your boss is here."

The announcement was like a devastating punch to Frank's face.

Spinning his head around on the impact of hearing it. Then slumped. Leaving Tomo wondering if he should have mentioned it all. Frank takes a deep sigh. Smith had been gone for weeks. Any hope that Smith was gone for good, now dispelled.

He had returned.

Smith would summoned him when was ready. And not before he had finished his breakfast. Neither men were in any hurry. Taking a swallow of coffee hoping that would help. But it didn't. It only made the reality worse.

The last thing he wanted was to feel alert.

What did Smith want now? As the weeks had passed, he had hoped the other assignment had fallen by the way side. The incident in Flint flared in his mind. Sitting solitary on a cold damp bench. Echoes of the explosion drifting across the suburbs. Imagining Thomas' apartment exploding in a fire ball.

The sirens. The debris. Julie. Like a bad dream he could not shake.

Brunch arrived. Frank just stared down at the plate. He had lost his appetite.

"Don't blame you..." Noticed Tomo, "... Get something into you." He told Frank like a concerned mother, "...This might help." Sliding a neat scotch beside the plate.

"Thanks mate." Appreciating the gesture.

Taking a sip, it did what the coffee could not. Numb him from the pain sitting in the far booth. Cutting into the plate of grease, Smith's presence faded. And hunger returned. Intermittently taking mouthfuls of scotch to help wash down the saturated fats.

Before pushing the plate forward.

Smith had waited for Frank to finish. Then signaled Tomo for another coffee and to send Frank over. Tomo took Frank's plate, lifting his eyes to indicate his boss wanted to see him. He understood the look on Tomo's face. Taking the last swallow. Turned and faced Smith. Continuing to read his paper and waited for Frank to approach.

The ball was in Smith's court. It was always in Smith's court.

"Smith." Acknowledged Frank standing before the Smith's table.

"Frank" Acknowledged Smith. Gesturing he should take a seat opposite.

Reluctantly Frank slid along the bench seat to face him.

"What do you want?" Frank asked plainly, as if in a hurry to leave.

"Come, come Frank. You know what I want... I want your loyalty and obedience... Is that too much to ask?"

"Enough with the games Smith? ... Who do I get to blow up this week?" Franks beseeches quietly, hoping Tomo hadn't heard him.

"No one gets blown up this time Frank. Thomas was a one-off... Mister Black was very impressed with you."

"This time? I'm not doing your killing anymore for you Smith... Understand?"

"I know how you feel Frank... But in the interests of National Security I'm afraid you must."

"We've had this conversation before Smith..." Frank began to say before being cut off.

"Yes... And if I seem to recall I have photographs of you at the scene of the crime... You are my puppet Frank... You will dance when I tell you too."

Smith fell silent as Tomo approached with the fresh cup of coffee.

"Thank you." He said politely with a faint smile of content. Watching Tomo walk away.

Frank knew he had no leverage over Smith. Nothing incriminating that would resolve his guilt. Big brother had him by the balls and all he could do was squeak every time Smith squeezed them.

"In two weeks you will be going to New York... Have you ever been before Frank?" Smith asked in an inquisitive tone.

"You mean you don't know?" Frank asked surprised.

"Of course I do... You were there five years ago on an Accountant's convention." Stating his authority of what he knew about Frank.

"That's right." Frank confirmed. "...You've done your homework." Frank conceded.

"In our line of business we have to do our homework..." Said Smith leaving it there. "...Here are your tickets and hotel reservations... I will be in touch with details when you arrive... You will arrive on the Thursday evening and leave on the Monday morning... Don't want you to be seen rushing in and rushing out... New York is lovely this time of year..." Throwing in the phrase, then continued, "...You could take your lady friend from Flint... I have made the hotel reservations for two." Pushing the yellow envelope in Frank's direction.

"Leave her out of it. She's innocent to all this." Frank warns Smith.

"After Thomas' accident I think she is in this as much as you are I'm afraid Frank."

"Accident?" Questions Frank curiously.

"That's what the police reports state..." Confirms Smith. "And if it doesn't... It soon will... The agency has the resources to make things go away... Or they can make your life difficult... Your choice Frank."

Smith takes another sip of his coffee.

"I'll be in touch... You can go now." Gestured Smith, dismissing Frank from his presence.

Shoving the envelope into his jacket pocket Frank slides out from the booth. Whatever courage he had before he sat down, he had left in the glass on the bar.

Taking his stool again Tomo slides a new glass of courage in front of him.

"I guess you'll be picking up his tab again?" Asked Tomo reading Frank's face.

"I guess so." Said Frank.

Tomo looks up and sees an empty booth.

"How does he do that? I never heard him leave." Tomo asked looking about the bar.

"You'll never see him arriving either... How did Ben get on with your machine?" Asked Frank hoping for a break.

"He's taken it back to the work shop for a closer look. But he's as puzzled as everyone else."

"Doesn't surprise me." Advises Frank. Wondering if he should tell Tomo of his upcoming business trip to New York.

But decides otherwise. The least Tomo knew the better.

The thought of inviting Julie was enticing. Smith was not one for kind gestures. Everything would have a purpose behind it. Or did it? Or was he just stroking him?

This was not going to be a vacation. He was being sent to kill somebody. Who? Another spy? In another accident? So long as he did not have to pull the trigger. Look into the whites of the person's eyes. Frank could almost consider the thought.

Killing was best done from a distance.

'Spy... Accident.' Thought Frank. These words appealed to him. Helped him sleep at night.

That, and Marilyn's tiring sexual workouts.

Jack was now back with his mother.

With five thousand dollars quietly deposited to his bank account. Marilyn could always do with the break from him. Indifferent to his presence, or absence about the apartment.

The thought of taking Julie was becoming appealing. Allowing him a chance to see if the chemistry was still there. How well did he really know her? Could they live under the same roof for four days? Long distance relationships seldom worked out. Emails and texts can never substitute for the real thing.

There was only one way to find out. He had the money. Why not enjoy it?

Pulling the envelope form his pocket, examines the contents. A thousand dollars cash. A white plastic access card with a large four digit number written in black felt-pen. An air ticket for one and a Hotel reservation for two under the name Max Pecks again.

But surprised to see the name of the Hotel. The Plaza. That would not come cheap for Smith.

He begins to tap out a text message to Julie.

"Heading to NY in two weeks. Wondering if you wanted to. My treat." Frank sends the message.

Within moments of sending Frank receives a text message.

"You bet I would babe! XOXO"

"I'll email you the details tonight."

"I'll watch out for it."

"You do that sweetie. Miss you."

"Miss you too. XOXO"

Okay. That was sorted. He would inform Marilyn that evening. Give her plenty of time to get use to the fact he would be away.

"Right... Down to business." Said Frank to himself, scanning the classifieds for vacancies.

And his glass for whiskey.

Opening the job section, reviews the new listings.

One in particular catches his eye. A software company looking for a Finance Manager.

"Hmm." Interesting he thought. He hadn't seen that before.

Curious, he read more. Frank circled it several times with the red pen more so than he had others before. This one appealed to him.

There would be a hundred applicants, but he had to try.

"You find one?" Asked Tomo seeing Frank circling the advert.

"Yeah... Just one..." Now examining his glass. "...I think this has a hole in it?"

Gesturing to Tomo is was time for a refill...
Mister Black

Finch aligned the pile of pale blue files in front of him.

Not so much as a compulsive disorder, but because he was nervous. Everything they had on Smith was in those files. The two agents sat anxiously waiting for Director Quinn to arrive. Though Smith had been thorough, he had left a digital trail in his wake.

Quinn enters the room, carrying a single pale blue file of her own.

"What do we know gentlemen?" She begins to ask directly.

"Of the sixty cases we profiled, we were able to match fifty-eight to various National databases access involving breached access..." Finch elaborated his initial findings.

"And? ..." Quinn asked wanting to know more.

"Over the past weeks have visited each of the sights and re-questioned witnesses... With the exception of one, no-one has seen or heard of Smith... The exception being a resident who had heard a victim had worked for a Smith... With that in mind, it would appear that Smith is recruiting rouge assets to do his dirty work for him..." Finch paused before delivering the gruesome news, "... Then coldly eliminates them and replacing them with another... From the pattern of non-strategic kills... We estimate he has had up to six assets over the past five years..."

"Can we trace the source of his connection?" Quinn inquires.

Finch looks over to Burgess hoping he would pick up where he left off.

"No Ma'am, as you know Smith was head of Cyber Intelligence... He pretty well designed and wrote much of the entire system... One can only imagine the trap doors he has built into it... We have engineers working around the clock looking for rouge code... But even they are having trouble differentiating what is legitimate, and what is not." Burgess delivered the bad news.

"Can we trace his location?" Quinn iterates the question.

"Short answer... No Ma'am..." Burgess confesses. "...Smith accesses databases through a hundred plus randomly changing relay points... Superior to any military encryption... But..."

"But what?" Quinn's ears prick up, her eyes open wider anxious to hear more.

"Though it's difficult to distinguish between advanced hackers and Smith... What we do know is that Smith profiles the target beforehand... Accessing their IRS, bank records, and security systems." Burgess advised.

Quinn weighs the information in her mind. It was a kink in Smith's armor. Making him vulnerable the agency's piercing jabs. Anticipating where Smith would strike next could give them a cue of where to find him. Or his Asset. Unlikely to catch Smith red handed. If they could capture and interrogate the asset, then perhaps they could reveal Smith's where about. It was a long shot.

It was all they had to go on.

"I assume you've been filtering his activities to date... Do we have any idea who Smith's next victim will be?" Quinn asked hoping for a lead.

"Not at the moment Ma'am... We should have something within the week... There are over a thousand external hacks a day... Many from the Ukraine... Many by our own Agencies." Burgess reluctantly admitted, "... The tech boys are onto it as we speak."

Quinn scrutinized the report that Finch and Burgess had prepared for her. Smith was in a league of his own. How to catch a man that had designed the very system used to spy on the public. His cyber encryption was leading edge. Others struggled to keep up. Having developed a form of arterial intelligence that could adapt and evolve intuitively if integrated. With the ability to rewrite its own code. Overcoming firewalls thrown in its way. Bouncing chaotically off random satellites. Smith was a ghost in the CIA machinery.

A duality. Appearing in two places at once, but only existing at one. Which was neither here. Nor there. If it ever existed in the first instance.

'Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.' Quinn taped a pencil on the hard polished wooden table.

"Where are you hiding Smith? ... I wonder if Mister Black has anything to do with this..." She thought aloud. "...Have a list on my desk by the end of the week... And God help us Smith doesn't strike before then." Quinn ordered.

"Excuse me Ma'am... Mister Black?" Asked Finch curiously.

"You'll need to visit Virginia County Psych Unit... Speak to a Doctor Van der Meijden. He oversaw Smith's treatment. He might be able to establish Smith's current state of mind... And he'll be able to fill you in as to who Mister Black is." Deferring the conversation to the good doctor.

"Yes Ma'am." They responded in unison standing to leave.

"And Gentlemen..." Said Quinn getting their attention, "...Good job... That's all."

"Thank you Ma'am."

"Oh, and Finch... My place tonight." Quinn requested. "...Be prepared to go down."

"Yes Ma'am... I look forward to it." Finch grimaced a worried face.

Mid-week, mid-afternoon.

Frank had hinged himself against the high altar to watch the game on the overhead televisions. Grimm stood silent at the other end of the bar trying to shake off a suppressed thought haunting him. Taking a mouthful of Bud hoping to flush it from his mind.

"New York eh?" Said Tomo envious of Frank's junket to the big apple.

"Yeah... A flying visit. In and out. No time for sight-seeing...." Responds Frank not wanting to go into details. "...I'll be back by Monday."

"How's Marilyn feel about you disappearing for the weekend?"

"She's okay with it... I don't think she even notices... Anyway it will give her some time to herself without me under her feet."

"Fair enough... You got a lady-friend hid away in New York as well?" Asked Tomo curiously.

"Something like that..." Said Frank keeping him wondering. "...How did Ben get on with your tape machine?"

"Nothing wrong with it apparently."

"Don't bank on it working when Smith is about." Advised Frank.

Grimm's ears pricked up at the inferred reference to Smith.

Mentally digesting the information before blending back into the background again like a Chameleon. Breaking news began to unfold on the televisions catching Frank and Tomo's attention...

"And this just to hand... Reports are coming from Munich Germany... Where renowned Industrialist and Relic Collector Julian Braun was found in a railway rest room suffering a gunshot wound... At what appears to be an attempt on his life... The suspect has yet to be identified... It appears security cameras at the scene had been demobilized... Braun is reported to be in a stable condition... His press secretary is offering no comment at this stage..."

"Looks like you're not the only one to be having camera issues." Commented Frank.

"Yeah looks like it." Responded Tomo scratching his head, wondering what to make of it all.

As was Frank.

Speculating just how far Smith tentacles reached.

Above the bar the televisions were showing a game.

The Spokane Chiefs were hammering the Vancouver Giants three-nil at the end of the first period. Frustrations had erupted, and two players exchanged hefty blows with little effect to the other. Referees eventually pulled them apart and sent them to their respective penalty boxes licking bruised and bloody wounds. Like popcorn, the brawl was part of the entertainment package the crowd had paid to see. The game resumed again a fierce flowing pace. Frank watched eagerly as the puck rocketed from one end to the other. The Giants were fighting back. With the Chiefs playing at home, the Giants would have trouble recovering. The hooter sounds the end of the period and weary players skate back to the changing rooms.

That was his cue to leave.

"I better be off mate... I'll catch you Monday. Keep my seat warm." Informs Frank sliding off the wooden stool.

He needed to pack. His mind stilling grappling with the unknown. Unsure of what Smith had install for him. With Smith was pulling the strings, Frank could only but dance to his tune.

"Don't you want one for the road?" Asked Tomo curiously.

"I'll have it when I get back... If I get back." Contemplated the thought there was a real possibility of being caught.

The consequences of the trip beyond his imagination. It was all in Smith's hands. The Agency's hand. As far as Frank was concerned he was working for the Government. For National Security of the country. He was above the law.

With that thought, and the moral scales of his mind righted again.

He decided otherwise.

"Maybe I will have that one for the road." Hoping to delay the inevitable a little longer.

"That a boy... Coming right up." Said Tomo.

The cube of ice could be heard rattling into the fresh glass.

The polished black SUV pulled up outside the Virginia Institute for the Insane.

Once the former residence of John Smith. Finch and Burgess looked up at the plain white building. Looking every part a mental institution. Their dark suits looked out of place to the white over coats of the clinicians standing about smoking outside.

Inside, the furnishings were not as they had expected. Soft carpet had supplanted linoleum tiled floors of yester year. Showing credential to at reception asked to see a Doctor Van der Meijden.

"One moment please, I'll page him..." A receptionist replied picking up a telephone and dialing a brief number, "...Take a seat would you... He'll be with you shortly... He's just with a patient at the moment." Indicating a row chairs along the wall.

Sedated patients wandered passively along the corridor.

'Zombies.' Thought Finch observing one sleepwalk pass him.

Content in their own internal world and oblivious to those about them. Smith had been here. Burnt out after years of dedicated service to the Agency. Long hours. Late nights. Finch wondered if he would end up here one day. The stress of the job had taken a toll on him over the years.

Just then, a large figure in a large white coat overshadows the two agents.

Several colored pens protrude from his pocket. Appearing as ribbons from tours of duty served in some foreign wards.

"Gentleman... I'm Doctor Van der Meijden... How can I be of assistance?"

Finch flashes his credentials to the doctor who briefly examines it out of curiosity.

"Hm!" Responds Van der Meijden amused by the credentials.

"Perhaps there is somewhere we can talk privately?" Finch asked.

"Certainly. My office is just this was."

The Doctor gestured for them to follow him.

"It's about a former patient here under your supervision... A Mister Smith... John Smith." Begins Burgess.

"Ah yes, Mister Smith ... I remember him well. A very smart man... How is he these days? He hasn't attended his annual check-ups."

Burgess looks about for ears that could be listening. Only to see patients indifferent to anything happening about them.

Indifferent to themselves.

"That's the thing... He's gone missing. We don't know where he is." Burgess confesses.

"Hmm..." Van der Meijden expressed his concern at the predicament. "...I see... How can I be of help then?"

"What could you tell us about his condition and state of mind?" Asked Finch now taking their seats.

Van der Meijden slides open a drawer of a large gray metal filing cabinet and searched for Smith's records.

"Here it is." Pulling out a thick jacket of psych reports, taking a chair behind a desk cluttered with other bulky jackets.

"Is he a psychopath?" Asked Finch trying to pin a label on Smith.

Van der Meijden looked over the notations and scribbles he had made during Smith's stay at the institute. Reading his findings aloud to re-familiarize himself with Smith's diagnosis.

"Displays signs of narcissistic personality disorder... Delusional... Dissociative identity disorder... Machiavellianism."

"What the hell is that?" Asked Burgess blinded by the medical terms.

Fearing it was contagious.

"It's a personality trait where a person is focused on their own interests... They will manipulate, deceive and exploit others to achieve their own goals... Narcissism however displays a sense of self-importance... Living in a fantasy world that supports their delusions of grandeur."

"Oh I see." Responds Burgess still obvious to the explanation.

"In Smith's case, he needs constant praise and admiration... I guess that is where Mister Black comes in... As for his psychopathic tendencies this would be displayed by superficial charm... Pathological lying... His ability to exploit and manipulate others... Lacking any remorse... An unwillingness to accept responsibility for actions."

The Doctor scrutinized the two agents. Both looking weary and fatigued. Wondering if he should prescribe them something for them?

Then added.

"In a nutshell gentlemen... Hmm..." Catching himself, "...Excuse the pun... What you are dealing with gentlemen is a cold calculating individual... Devoid of empathy." Van der Meijden sighs and closes the file and pushes it among the others that littered his desk.

Wondering how Smith ever got released. The computer printout showing he had passed all tests to a satisfactory level. And only Van der Meijden had access to those records.

Or so he thought.

"Who's Mister Black?" Asked Finch curiously.

"Ah yes... Mister Black. He paid Smith several visits during his stay with us..." Van der Meijden chose his words carefully. "...He is a very interesting character..." Then paused again to consider how much Black had played in Smith's disappearance. "...Black, sooths and strokes Smith's narcissistic ego."

"Do you have a photograph of this Mister Black?" Burgess asked keenly to begin a search.

"You don't know do you?" Van der Meijden asked amusingly.

"Know what?" Finch responds.

"Smith is Black... Black is Smith... Mister Black exists only in Smith's mind." The doctor reveals humorously. Fingers open about his head as to suggest Black's mystical residence.

"You're telling us that Black is a figment of Smith's imagination?" Asked Finch in astonishment.

He had heard of multiple personalities, but had never in his entire career encountered one.

Until now.

"To Smith... Black is very real... To the point that Black is actually sensitive to bright light... Stemming from his childhood, and being locked in dark cupboards... Black would manifest himself in a dimmed or darkened rooms... He's an authoritative individual... Likes to smoke... Whereas Smith does not."

"Black is controlling Smith?" Asked Finch.

"Most certainly... Smith fears Black... Black protects Smith... Remember gentlemen... Smith is a highly intelligent man... When tested he had an IQ of over 160... About that of Einstein... He's a very clever man." The doctor noted the only admiration he had for Smith.

"How did Smith ever get released?" Asked Burgess coming to terms with the severity of Smith's mental illness.

"That's the funny thing... I don't understand it myself... The computer system showed he had satisfied all criteria for release... He was gone before my arrival the next day... I was swamped with other cases and was never alerted to his release." The doctor responded, confused by Smith's early release.

"Computers you say..."Adds Burgess. "...Did Smith have access to any computers while he was admitted here?" Asked Finch slyly looking over to Burges thinking the same thoughts.

"Of cos... It's all part of the therapy to rehabilitate patients back into society again." Replied Van der Meijden. "...Why do you ask?"

"Unwittingly... I think you handed him the keys so to speak... You weren't to know... As you say we're dealing with a very clever man." Suggested Finch.

"Mind if our tech boys take a look at them?" Burgess asked.

"I'd be surprised if they haven't already." Mused Van der Meijden.

"Touché that Doc... But you never heard that from me." Mused Burgess back to him.

"Smith suffers from a multiple personality disorder... No doubt stemming back to parental issues as a child... Triggered by having been beaten by his mother... As a defense mechanism... Black was conjured up in Smith's mind to shield him from the pain..." Van der Meijden attempts to explain Smith's behavior further, "... If Smith is off his medication... What you will be dealing with gentleman, is a very calculating individual... And very unpredictable...And very unstable... I hope you find him before something bad happens." Advised Van der Meijden.

"We might already be too late..." Finch wondered, looking over to Burgess.

"Thank you for your time Doctor." Burgess ended the interview standing to leave.

"Good luck Gentlemen... You're going to need it... Let me escort you out. I wouldn't want you to be mistaken as patients... This way." Joked Van der Meijden hoping to instill some humor into their visit.

The humor washed over both agents who looked at each other fearing they would be.

Back in the SUV they were a little wiser as to Smith's state of mine and alter ego, Mister Black.

They were no closer to knowing of his where about.

"We better get back and write this up... Have the Tech boys check out the back end of the psych facilities records. Then get onto filtering Smith potential targets." Said Finch.

"Read you on that." Responded Burgess.

"Hopefully something will stand out... Otherwise we're in the dark as to his next move." Said Finch looking for a lead. Anything that would point them in Smith's general direction. Just a crumb. That's all he wanted.

Like Oliver Twist, he just wanted a little more.

"What about the asset?" Asked Burgess.

"Smith changes his assets every twelve months. And if he is as good as manipulating them as the good doctor suggests, they would be unaware of Smith's mental state... The last one, Thomas, did not show up on any travel searches... Smith operates them under an alias no doubt... If we can catch his asset we have a chance of catching Smith... At this stage Smith's cyber trial is all we have to go on." Finch vocalizes his thoughts.

"Read you on that." Parroted Burgess throwing the large black SUV into drive.

The room was cloaked in a darkness. The air a haze of smoke.

A weak bulb shone from the nearby kitchen. Throwing a dim light into the lounge. In a corner arm chair, shrouded by shadow, Black sat quietly. Smoking.

A cigarette between his boney fingers.

"I will be very proud of you if you can pull this one off." Stroked Black.

"Everything is in place... Frank will be ready." Smith timidly replied, anxious to please Black.

"Will he be able to pull the trigger when the time comes?" Black enquires looking at Smith with beady eyes.

"I believe he has no choice." Replies Smith.

"You know the consequences if he doesn't..." Black warns wheezing for breath. Fighting back the urge to cough.

"Yes Sir..." Smith responds timidly. "... I am sure Metcalfe's house of cards will fall... And he'll be exposed for the fraud he really is."

"In the end people will thank us." Black mimic's Smith exact thoughts.

Before fading from sight.

Smith gazes transfixed into the darkened corner.

His lips are moving but no sound is heard. As the voices in his head continue to chatter.

A cigarette smoldering between boney fingertips...
Fifth Avenue

Frank arranged for Julie's flights to arrive at about the same time as his to New York.

Though in two minds about bringing her, something told him that Marilyn was not going to be around forever. Landing at LaGuardia just after ten that evening. Unsure if Julie had arrived and was waiting for him in the lobby bar as arranged.

Pulling his travel bag from the conveyer belt. Arrival boards show the flight from Flint had already landed. Extending the suitcase arm tows the bag behind him. Threading a path among the weary late night travelers. Having not seen her in nearly two months, doubts had formed in his mind. And tried to visualize her face.

Rounding a corner to the main foyer, discovers people moving like ants in all directions. Arriving and departing. Some standing still. Black suited chauffer drivers held large white cards with names written on them.

Among them stood Julie with her own card that read "FRANK". With a giant red heart drawn next to it. Waving out, he catches Julie's attention. And she rushes towards him. A trolley wheel suitcase bag trailing behind her.

"Frank, Frank mon chéri!" Calling out in French.

People stepped aside to allow the French filly through. Nothing was going to keep her from her man a moment longer.

"Julie!" Said Frank holding up his hand to halt her. Not wanting to make a scheme.

But it was too late.

Julie had already caught everyone's attention. Jumping up on him, almost knocking him backwards with her momentum. Kissing him repeatedly. Like a puppy greeting its master returning home. Frank restrained her in case she took the affection to the next level.

"Hello sweetie!" Managing to pull himself away enough to see her face.

She was as beautiful as he had remembered her. Her green eyes as mysterious as the first time he had seen her. He grinned. Knowing that decision to meet her was the right. Taking her by the hand leads her to the taxi rank outside.

And waited in the long queue of passengers.

"I'm so excited to be here! ... I've never been to New York." She exclaimed. Bouncing up and down on her toes.

"Well... You're here now." Frank stated the obvious.

"Where we staying?" She asked curiously.

"I've organized a nice back-packer hostel... If that's okay with you." Stringing her along.

Speculating how far he could suspend the surprise.

"Sounds good to me... So long as I'm with you." Responded Julie nonetheless excited.

'Hmm.' Thought Frank, Surprised she had not questioned his choice of accommodation.

Then added.

"It's got a big pond opposite... You'll love it. It got five stars in the reviews." Teasing her further.

"A big pond? ... Where is this place? In the country somewhere?"

"Something like that." Grinned Frank leading her to the taxi rank outside.

A yellow cab pulled up, and they tossed their bags in the trunk.

"Fifth and Fifty-Eighth thanks driver." Frank quietly informed the driver, giving him a sly wink to keep the location under wraps.

"Yes Sir." The driver grinned.

Julie snuggled up against Frank on the back seat. It was late.

The bright lights of Queens flashed past the window. The cab flowed quietly through the borough and onto the motorway heading to the city. Julie could see the Manhattan city scape lit up in the distance ahead of her.

"I thought we were going to the country side?" Asked Julie innocently.

"We are... It's just on the other side of the city." Lied Frank.

"Oh." Looking out the window.

The immense presence of New York flooding her visual senses.

"Oh! ... Look! ... A bridge!" Julie sounded amazed.

The huge structure engulfed them. Julie pressed face against the window.

The cab ran smoothly over Queensboro Bridge. And into the city.

And headed onto Fifty-Ninth towards Central Park. Julie felt lost. The concrete jungle moving about outside. The jungle was alive. Even at that late hour of the evening. Flint had long since been put to bed. Nameless numbered streets flashed by. The cab turned a corner and then another.

A large limestone building pulled up beside the stationery cab.

"We're here." Said Frank looking up at the twenty story historic landmark.

The building that had brought the former owner to the brink of bankruptcy. Only to be saved by a restructuring scheme at the eleventh hour. Or Chapter.

Frank could never remember which.

"It's a fancy back-packers! ..." Exclaimed Julie, "...I can see why it had five stars."

Frank grinned, wondering if Julie was serious. Or if she was now pulling his leg.

"Better get you inside..." Frank paid the driver, "...Keep the change."

"Thanks." Called back the driver before driving away.

Leaving Frank and Julie like lost sheep on the board New York sidewalk.

An ornate awning overhung a black and white checked pavement. Red carpet and brass hand rails suggested this was far from any ordinary back-packers hovel. Julie's mouth hung open as she took in the luxurious world she was about to step into.

"Frank... You sure you got the right place?" She asked wondering.

"Yeap... It's the right place... Welcome to The Plaza sweetie." Hoping the surprise was not lost on her.

"The Plaza?!" She looked around her.

She had heard about. Had read about it. But to be staying there?

"Can you afford it?" She asked quietly hoping those about them would not hear.

"I hope so. Otherwise we'll be washing dishes for a very long time."

Taking her by the hand, led her through the grand entrance and onto a polished marble floor. Crystal chandeliers hung from above. Julie felt like a princess.

And Frank was her prince.

"It's amazing! Thank you babe." Kissing him.

Reception had been expecting him. Smith had organized everything.

A Porter took their bags and showed them their room. A corner suite, on the top floor. Reserved for VIP guests. The room was beyond Julie's imagination. A large bouquet of flowers featured on the central coffee table. Open curtains gave a view of a drenched moonlit Central Park. Looking down Julie could make out the flood lit pond.

"You weren't kidding about the pond were you?"

"Would I lie to you?" Said Frank grinning.

"I know you would... You're going to pay for this tonight." She teased him.

"You hungry? We can get something delivered to the room." Finding a menu on the dining table.

"Can we?" Asked Julie surprised.

"The staff have been put on notice of your arrival... Why don't you have a look? ... I'll go freshen up... It's been a long day." Said Frank having travelled six hours non-stop.

And then some.

"I've got a better idea... Why don't I help you freshen up? ... We could get a drink from the mini-bar." Said Julie looking towards the kitchen.

"I like the thinking sweetie... But I don't think they do mini-bars at The Plaza." Informed Frank.

"They don't?" She asked disappointedly.

"I wouldn't think so... Go have a look?" Frank suggested.

Moments later there was an excited scream from kitchen.

"O-M-G!" Called out Julie, pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge.

She was in heaven.

"It's the real stuff too!" Looking at the label.

"I'd expect nothing less." The accountant in him assessing the cost of their stay. Thankfully on the Government's tab.

Scented candles lit a deep fragrant bubble bath while Frank was about to turn the shower on.

"Oh no you don't." Turning the shower off and pulling Frank into the large scented tub.

Two glasses of champagne sat on the tiled edge. He could not have been further out of his element. Submersed in bubbles and stained with smelling salts. But somehow that did not matter. Julie looked amazingly beautiful. Distracting his mind from the mysterious assignment Smith had for him.

For now, he would lose himself amongst the bubbles and champagne. It was heaven. A far cry from a bar-stool at Jeffersons. It would still early evening there. He tried to imagine Tomo behind the bar. But with Julie strategically covered in bubbles the thought did not last long. Blowing the bubbles away, to reveal a swollen sensitive pink buds. Julie grinned. Teasing him to suckle her. Slippery bodies slid over each other. And it was only a matter of time before they slide into each other.

"Oh Frank... Frank... Frank!" Julie moaned.

The agitation creating more bubbles.

"Oh mon Dieu!" Exclaiming her passion.

English could never describe what was whelming up inside her. Her breath taken away from her with each agitation.

The dawn sun bleed into the room, staining the room with light.

Two naked bodies laid across the huge double bed. Julie laid like a star-fish. An arm and a leg slung over Frank limp body. Taxed by Julie's wanton desires.

Stirring to life, eyes begin to open.

'French girls'. Thought Frank, fearing if they were all like that.

Pulling himself from the bed, he checks the time. It was nearly eleven. His body clock still operating on Seattle time. Julie was operating on Julie time. Relishing the luxurious bed and the warmth of the sun's caressing rays over her body.

Frank kisses her. Only to awaken her. And she reaches for him.

But he manages to escape her sensual grasp.

"Hmmm..." She groans in frustration, having allowed her prey escape.

Returning from the shower discovers an empty bed.

Julie appears from the kitchen wearing a white robe. And a coffee in hand. A maid had delivered breakfast while he was showering. Pouring Frank a cup before disrobing in front of him. Teasing him with a sight reserved only for him.

Kissing him as she passed, then disappeared into the bathroom.

Frank looks out over Central Park of green fields and trees. Lakes and walkways. Stretching as far as the eye could see. People moved about. Some walking. Some roller blading. Some jogging. Some taking pictures. It all seemed like a fairy tale.

But if Smith was involved, it was likely be a Brothers Grimm Fairy Tale. There was never a happy ending. And something or someone, always ended up dead at the end of it.

"Welcome to New York Frank." He told himself.

Julie returned wearing only a white towel wrapped about her hair.

Unnoticed by Frank, distracted by the morning television report of the upcoming award ceremony dinner for Metcalfe the Magician. The banker with the Midas touch. Everything he touched turned to gold. Frank had read about him, but had forgotten how close they were to the event being staged a block over on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Six Street. The President would be in attendance and Frank hoped he might like to get a glimpse of the leader of the free-world.

"What you want to do today sweetie?" Asked Frank watching her dress.

"Maybe some shopping and some sight-seeing." Said Julie having thought about her stay.

"That sounds nice." Settled Frank. He had the money. They may as well enjoy it.

How expensive could New York be?

His mobile vibrated and he saw a text message had arrived from a private number. The timing was lousy, but then Smith had no concept of discretion.

"Transfer completed." The message read.

Frank checked his online account. An amount of fifty-thousand dollars had been deposited. He suspected another fifty would be deposited after whatever Smith had plan was done. It was outside his control. He was Smith's puppet. Until he found a way to cut the strings. But how?

"You okay Frank?" Asked Julie, seeing he was fazed by the message.

"Yeah, yeah. Just the boss. Checking I had arrived safely." Frank lied.

He hated lying to her, but he was living a giant lie. Until he found a way out.

"You ready to do some shopping princess?" Deflected Frank.

"I like the sound of that!" Exclaimed Julie, excited by Fifth Avenue some twenty stories below.

The late spring midday sun cast shadows of the sky scrapers onto the sidewalk.

As they stepped from the Hotel, a sympathy of sounds greeted them. Jack hammers belted at concrete slabs. Cabs and vehicles sounded their horns. Jostling for position on the congested streets. It was a city groaning under the weight of the perpetual concrete construction.

Julie took in the kaleidoscope of color and wonderment of it all. An adrenaline rush for the uninitiated. Feeling claustrophobic, skyscrapers towered over shadowed her.

She pulled herself close to Frank.

"You okay sweetie?"

"It's amazing!" She exclaimed Julie in a daze.

"Let's take a wander down Fifth Avenue and see what we can find."

"Can we afford it?" She asked.

"I think so." Recollecting his balance.

Rounding the corner onto Fifth Avenue.

What Frank saw meant nothing to him. But to Julie, it was closest she could have been to Paris.

"Oh mon Dieu! Je suis mort et suis allé au paradis!" Declared Julie looking amazed. Staring down the boulevard of every woman's dreams.

"I don't know what you just said... But it's a good thing... Right?" Unsure of what to make of it.

"Very good Frank... Very, very good..." Pulling Frank by the hand hoping he could keep up. "...Where to begin?!"

"Why don't we just work our way down the street... We always have tomorrow." Frank advised. Hoping there would be something left in his bank account.

"Oh Tiffany's! Let's start there!" Spying the store from across the street.

Two giant ornamental diamond brooches adorned the building's façade.

Next door, standing defiant, a golden glassed high-rise tower. Reaching skyward. Both architectural achievements of their times. A marriage between of old and young. A union that mirrored many New York's mismatched marriages.

The Merchant Bankers ceremony was to be held in there the following evening. Dark suited security men talking into their sleeves. Supervising workmen erecting large metal railed barriers at the entrance. The sidewalks were abuzz with tourists, mobiles taking pictures of anything and everything that was Fifth Avenue.

Julie could not get inside Tiffany's fast enough. Eyes lit up like saucers.

Pulling Frank along like a lagging Labrador. The security guards had seen this a million times. As they had the bewildered worried look of the male companion? Appearing strangely out of place.

"Oh... We must have lunch here... Okay?" Asked Julie turning look at Frank.

"Why not?" Frank remarked. Lunch was probably going to be the cheapest thing to hit his account.

Looking about the massive interior. Julie had a sixth sense of where to go. As though it were in her genes. Frank would go with the flow. Taking the escalator to the next floor, meandering along aisles of glass counters of watches, brooches, necklaces, bracelets.

As Julie was being dazzled by diamonds and gems. Frank was being dazzled by the prices. The accountant in him finding it difficult to reconcile the disparity. Coming to a floor that halted Julie in her tracks.

Shoes.

"Oh Frank... Look at all the shoes!" Like a child in a candy stores for the first time.

"Yes... Look at them all." Taken back by the number of styles and colors.

"I'll just be a minute." Said Julie disappearing among the displays.

"I very much doubt that... You go ahead, I'll just be over here." Said Frank finding him a solitary corner out of the way.

And watched as Julie ply the subtle art of shoe selection every women learns from their mothers and magazines.

The minute had stretched to an hour. Finally appearing before Frank with a box.

"I found these red heels... I have just the dress to go with them." Showing Frank the shoes, as if to justify the selection.

It was all lost on Frank whose own shoes came in only one color. Much had the Model-T Ford. Black.

"Let me get those for you." Offering to pay.

"You don't have to."

"I insist sweetie... As a gift from me to you."

"Don't you want to see the price first?"

"Probably be best I don't." He joked. Accepting whatever price they was, it worth it.

"Thank you babe." Pecking him on the lips.

Frank paid the store attendant and offered the oversized bag to Julie whose eyes lit up with joy.

"For me? ..." Acting surprise by the gift. "...I hope they fit."

"I hope so too." Leaving him wondering.

Much as Forrest Gump had suddenly stopped running across America. Julie stopped walking about Tiffany's.

"You okay?" Asked Frank troubled by what had caused the sudden inactivity.

"I'm hungry... Let's find the café" Said Julie.

"Come on you... Breakfast at Tiffany's! ..." She exclaimed, excited by the prospect. "...This way, I spied the cafe down stairs before we came up."

"I coming!" Said Frank being dragged along behind her...
Lady in Red

The massive gravitational pull of Tiffany's upon women creates a space-time anomaly.

Inside the store time had stood still. While on the outside, time had passed by as normal. Re-emerging upon a sundrenched street Julie pulled Frank by the arm. Anxious to visit another store.

"Come on you... There's more! ..." Julie leading the way. "...Oh Prada!" She called out, pulling him onto the road.

"Careful sweetie... Watch out for the traffic!" Catching her in time.

Operating on automatic shopping mode, she had gotten the pulse of the city. And timing of the traffic. Prada was soon followed by Abercrombie and Finch. Another precarious, but timely crossing, would see them to Gucci on the other side. They had been out for less than three hours. And barely gone a hundred yards down Fifth Avenue.

"Aren't you going to buy anything?" Asked Frank surprised by Julie's will-power, or sensibility.

"I've got you Frank. That all I want." She said, clutching her shoe bag and heading to the Gucci entrance.

A security guard assessed her potential credit worthiness.

A Tiffany shopping bag in one hand and a finance facility in the other. She had met the credit criteria. And waved them into the scared store. It was time for Frank to pay closer attention. The one thing women valued more than shoes, were handbags. Neither of which Frank had a personal interest.

And figured it was a girl thing.

"Oh! ... That's nice!" Said Julie looking at a hand bag.

The comment flew over Frank's head. A hand-bag was a hand-bag. One would just be paying for the label. But to a woman, the label was the handbag. The floor was huge. Walls arranged tastefully with an array bags of varying designs.

But it all meant nothing to Frank. Blank.

"Which is your favorite?" He asked, hoping to get a lead on an item.

"They all lovely... Oh_ I love_ that crocodile skin one... Oh Frank... I'm in heaven." Grinned Julie, looking around.

Sighting a stand in a far corner, she rushes over to investigate further. Leaving Frank in her wake. He seizes the opportunity and nods to the sales attendant.

"That bag there." Indicating the crocodile skin item Julie had taken a fancy to.

This was one place where you did not ask the price. Taking out his bank card. Now flush with funds. Quietly taken back by the price on the receipt. Frank was not religious, but he could not help uttering a short silent prayer, 'Jesus!'

"Can you hold onto it until the lady returns? ... Thanks." Hoping she had not seen him make the purchase.

"Certainly Sir... Thank you Sir..." The sales attendant politely replied. "...I am sure the lady will be pleased."

"I hope so too." Unsure if he had done the right thing and that some other bag had not yet caught Julie's attention.

He headed in the last known direction he had seen her disappear. Finding her among a display of bags around her. Her mind juggled situations she could ever use anyone of them.

"There you go! ... I thought I lost you..." Frank joked, "...You ready to go somewhere special?"

"Where?" Julie asked, her eyes lighting up again.

"Empire State Building."

"Let's go!" Exclaimed Julie, forsaking the paradise about her.

Passing the counter, the attendant caught Julie's attention.

"Excuse me Madam... Haven't you forgotten something?" The attendant asked politely.

Julie looks to Frank as if there was a protocol she was unaware of. The attendant lifts the large glossy gift bag from behind the counter and presents it to her. In large lettering, "Gucci" branded unapologetically on the side. Telegraphing to other women that this women had taste for the finer luxuries in life.

As they should too.

"Got you!" Whispers Frank into her ear. Kissing the side of her head.

"Oh Frank... Thank you." Said Julie taking the bag from the attendant.

"Don't you know what bag it is?" Wondering why she hadn't looked in the bag.

"I already know..." She replied. And seeing the vacant space on the wall. "...It was very naughty of you... But I still love you."

"That's good to know..." Said Frank confused. "...Don't lose that. It cost an arm and a leg."

"I hope so." She said, proud as Punch.

Walking onto the street brandishing the shopping bag.

Hailing a cab, pulled themselves inside.

Julie clutched the gift bags in her arms as if they were priceless treasures.

"Empire State Building please." Frank called out.

"Righto." A voice called back from behind a perplex screen.

Fifth Avenue divided East from West of the city. What should have been a straight drive down the Avenue to the building, had become a series of deviations. The driver knew too well. As did Frank. But decided not to question the driver's motive. This was Julie's day.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside the Old Lady of New York.

"Keep the change." Said Frank paying the driver before he drove off to pick up other unsuspecting tourists.

They looked up in astonishment at the one hundred and two story historical landmark. Mouths gapping opening.

"Let go inside! ..." Said Julie like an excited child. The gift bags flapping by her sides, "...Tickets are over here Frank." Pulling by his arm.

Frank followed obediently and bought two tickets to the observation deck. Following others like sheep into a large elevator. Hushed excitement filled the compartment as it raised the eighty floors. Julie looked as though she was having the time of her life.

Feeling relieved she was happy.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator sounds its arrival. Large doors open and people ejaculate over the open air observation deck in all directions. Metal grills offered protection from a perilous fall. A spring breeze offered a refreshing coolness. Taking in three-sixty degree views of a City that never slept.

Frank pointed out landmarks he recognized. Or guessed what they might have been. Central Park could be seen in the distance to the north, just beyond the Hotel where they were staying. The Park would be another adventure tomorrow thought Frank.

The Hudson River flowed on the west side. The East River aptly named, on the east. The Chrysler Building, once the tallest building in its day, now was dwarfed by surrounding buildings. Queens and Brooklyn lay a stone throw to the east. Jersey, across to the west.

Bridges clamped Manhattan in place. The immense size of the city was overwhelming. Frank wrapped his arms around Julie. As if to protect her from it. And Julie wrapped her arms around her gift bags.

The four of them were inseparable.

A thought of Marilyn surfaced. But Frank felt no guilt. He tried. Had he reconciled their relationship? Simply fulfilling a need in each other's life. It was physical, not emotional. But with Julie it was different, it was love. Without her, nothing made sense. He squeezed her tighter. And kissed the top of her head.

"I love you." Frank whispered the words in her ear.

Words he had long since suppressed. Other than to his own children.

"I love you too Frank." Responded Julie, pulling his arms closer. Wishing the moment would never end.

The two lovers stood quietly reading each other's thoughts. Allowing the breeze to blow through their hair and the warmth of the sun upon them. They were on top of the world. Nothing could that away from them.

"Time to go sweetie... It's getting late." Said Frank reluctantly.

Feeling a chill in the late spring air. The sun would set in a few hours. It had been a tiring day and it was time to head back.

"I could do with a long hot soak." Said Julie feeling the same.

Laying her head on his shoulder, hoping the moment would last forever. Taking her mobile out, she took pictures of the city below. Then asked a passing tourist to take one of her and Frank together.

"That's a nice one..." Examining the image on her screen. "...I'll send it to you." Tapping the screen to send the image into cyber-space to him.

Arriving back at the Hotel, Julie collapsed on the bed. The gift bags still in her hands.

"I'll run you that bath sweetie." Noticing she was exhausted.

"Don't forget the bath salts!" She called out.

But Frank had no idea about bath salts, or bubbles. And poured what he thought was a sufficient amount into the water. Then a tab more to make sure. Returning only to find her pouring herself a glass of champagne.

"Don't drink too much... I've made reservations for us for dinner." Feeling pleased with himself.

"Oh where we going babe?" Excited by the next treat.

"The Oak Room... It's just been renovated... We're very lucky to get in. Being VIP guests we have the honor."

"That would be nice... I've got just the dress to wear?" Heading to the bath room in time to see the tub erupting in bubbles. "...You sure you put in enough bubbles and bath salts?"

"Think so." Replied Frank, turning on the TV in time to catch an Ice-Hockey match.

A fight had just broken out.

'What were the chances of that?' He thought.

The office was lit with fluorescence bulbs.

One flickered in irritation at the late hour. Finch and Burgess hunched over a large table. Covered with the countless reports technicians had provided. Surprised by the number of computer hacks that took place every day. With billions of dollars waiting to be scoured from innocent people's accounts, hacking had become not just a business.

It had become an industry.

Having burnt the midnight oil for the past two weeks. Hoping to find the crumbs that Finch knew were there. Somewhere. Names kept cropping up and Finch scribbled them on a large white board. A wall peppered with post-it notes of every color. Hits that Smith could well have executed. A bin over flowed with discarded paper cups, Burgess goes to fetch two more fresh cups. Leaving Finch alone to find the crumb in the haystack.

Then he saw it.

One name came up that outshone all the others. Again and again. Not just once. Or twice. But over twenty times in the past three months. Finch sat staring at the report. Now covered in red circles, much like Frank's job prospects.

The more he thought about it the more he wanted to disbelieve what he had uncovered. His mind played out how it could go down. Time was not on his side. Where was Burgess when he wanted him?

Just then he returned carrying two steaming cups.

"What's wrong?" Seeing Finch staring up to the ceiling deep in thought.

"I think I found Smith's next target... And if I right I don't think we have much time." Finch began still working through the scenarios on how Smith could attempt the coup.

"Who?" He asked inquisitively.

"Metcalfe." Making his point a hard fact.

"Metcalfe? ... The banker Metcalfe? ..." Trying come to grips with the motive. "...Why?"

"I don't know why... See here... And here... All of these. The frequency increases over time... Smith's up to something."

Finch pointed to red circles indicating the repeated hacks on Metcalfe's servers.

"Bank records and security systems. Diaries and emails... All hacked." Said Finch hoping Burgess was catching up fast.

"Isn't there an award dinner for him tomorrow night in New York?" Asked Burgess piecing the puzzle together.

"That's right."

"How? ..." Asked Burgess. "...How would he do it? ... The place would be crawling with security... The President will be there... Secret Service... There's no way Smith could penetrate that amount of security. Everyone would have been vetted beforehand."

"I hear what you're saying... But you did not hear what good doctor said... Smith was calculating and unpredictable... We should expect Smith to do the unexpected."

Finch stared at the peppered wall of colored notes. Weighing up the options.

"We better get Quinn on the line... We don't have much time... I want to hear her thoughts, she'll want to know." Lifting the hand and dialing a brief number.

"Quinn speaking... What have you got for me?" Said Quinn expecting the call.

"Metcalfe... The Merchant Banker." Finch informed his superior.

There was silence on the line while Quinn had the same calibrated the same thoughts.

"I see... No other probable targets?" She asked to clarify Finch's selection.

"He stands like dog balls compared to the others Ma'am... Excuse my French."

"Understood..." Going silent again. "...You're obviously aware of the dinner being held tomorrow evening... Smith will likely strike then... Otherwise Metcalfe would already be dead... Liaise with the FBI and Secret Service. Fill them in with what you know."

"Yes Ma'am." Looking across to Burgess hearing everything on speaker phone.

"Smith has had time to plan this for some time... We haven't... Let's hope we can get to him before he gets to Metcalfe."

"Should we inform Metcalfe Ma'am?" Asked Finch.

"No... The dinner can't be cancelled because of a perceived risk. Best he behave as normal... I want our men on the ground there as well. Any issues have them contact me directly understand?"

"Yes Ma'am." Said Burgess and Finch in unison.

"I'll inform The President of our presence... It can be his call if he still wishes to attend... Good work Gentlemen." Said Quinn hanging up.

A dead dial tone came back through the speaker phone.

"I'll contact the Secret Service, you liaise with the FBI... Have Nancy from logistics pull together a team... We're heading to New York this evening." Instructed Finch.

"This evening?" Remarks Burgess surprised.

"Every minute counts... Smith has the jump on us. We have to shut him down before he shuts Metcalfe down... Possibly live on national television."

"He wouldn't be that vain would he? ..." Then recalled the doctor's comments. "...Then again, maybe he would be crazy enough to do that."

"We leave in the hour..." Informed Finch lifting the receiver to arrange the Agency's private jet. "...We can fill the other Agencies on route."

"I read you on that" Said Burgess gathering the case files.

The coffees could wait.

Just as the wheels of the CIA Learjet touched the tarmac a remote air-strip on the outskirts of New York City, Julie stepped out in her new red heels, with Frank and the Gucci hand bag on her arms as accessories.

Looking every part Hollywood celebrities. Both dashing and glamourous. Julie's tight fitting red dress accentuated her natural beauty and youthful curves. Heads turned as she entered historical Oak Room. Candle lit tables created a celestial illusion of stars. Hushed voices could be heard over the soft piano playing in the background.

Like a gentleman Frank pulled the red velvet chair out for Julie. If he was out of his league, it did not show. Marilyn and Smith could not have been further from his mind. Julie would occupy his entire thoughts that evening. He sees the menu is in French. Julie smiled to herself.

"Perhaps you would like to order for us?" Suggested Frank, feeling a little out of his depth.

"Champagne please." She informed the waiter standing nearby.

She waited for the waiter to leave before telling Frank that is was wine menu he was looking at. The menu in English was sitting underneath.

"Thank God for that. I was a little worried we'd be eating snails." Picking the menu to examine the selections.

"What's wrong with snails?" She asked curiously.

No prices were shown. Why would they? This was The Plaza.

'When in Rome.' He told to himself...
Just the Boss

Midnight. New York City.

Finch and Burgess had wasted little time setting up a command center. And updating Security about the potential danger Smith posed to Metcalfe. All leave had been cancelled and extra crews were brought in. Re-checking the back grounds of all service staff. Nothing would be left to chance. Agents assigned to surrounding buildings in case Smith got a shot away. The glass of the golden edifice provided little protection from an assassin's bullet.

"I want marksmen on top of every building within sight of the Tower." Instructed Finch.

"Already onto it..." Responded Burgess. "...Perhaps Metcalfe was not the target... Maybe he's just a red herring? ... Diverting our attention away from the President." He speculated, grappling with how Smith could strike.

"I thought of that too... We can't spread our bases too thin here. They're both under the same roof, so we'll treat them the same... The President's safety always take's priority over that of a civilian." Finch recites the CIA manual verbatim.

"Copy you on that." Said Burgess.

With less than twenty-four hours to get ahead of Smith's next move.

The show must go on. The nation would be watching. Nothing must be seen to alert the public, nor Metcalfe. The President had been informed, but felt impervious to the treat. Having faced down bigger monsters in the past. Fast becoming known as the Teflon President. Nothing could stick to him.

Nothing but his ex-wives.

Security men searched every floor. Every room. Not leaving a cushion unturned, or an empty closet unopened. Security camera's had been checked and re-checked. Tested and re-tested. There could be no way Smith would be able to tamper with surveillance systems. Or so they thought. Ignorant to what he was capable of.

It would have saved them time and man power if they had simply turned it off for him.

Returning to their suite, Frank and Julie fell onto the bed to make passionate love.

Before falling asleep in each other's arms. The evening had been magical. Obvious to the crisis unfolding just a hundred meters away.

10:10AM and two sleepy bodies lay limp on the fine cotton bed sheets.

The room flooded with the rays from the rising sun. Julie opened her eyes first and saw Frank beside her. She grinned. Wondering how long the flame would burn. Before the spark was gone. She sensed a connection. Something that said he was different. That he was the one.

That their souls had found each other again after eons of being apart.

Speculating he had a girl friend of some kind in Seattle. Why wouldn't he? He did not seem like the kind of man that would hang off a bar all day. He was smart and good looking. A catch for any women smart enough to sink their claws into him. Is that what she was doing? Sinking her claws into him? Perhaps.

If she did not, then someone half her age would.

Leaning over, she kisses his shoulder and Frank stirs from a snooze feeling the warmth of her breath on the wet kiss left behind.

"Hmm." He whimpers with pleasure at the kiss.

Pulling herself from the bed she runs herself a deep bath hoping to revive the spent energy of their sexual excursions of the previous evening.

Franks eyes flicker. Opening gradually to the sound running water. He knew that sound too well, and rolled over to reclaim what was once his. As though to spoil the moment of tranquility, his mobile vibrated beside him on the side table. It could only be one person he thought.

Marilyn never called when he was away on business.

"Smith." Frank answered pulling himself to the side of the bed.

Regaining his sense of balance. His eyes struggling to adjust to the bright sunlight.

"Morning Frank. Hope I did not wake you?" Smith asked already knowing the answer.

"Of course not... Been up for hours." Frank lied for expediency.

"Listen carefully... I will only say this once... A package will arrive for you at midday. It will be delivered to you at your room... Understood?" Smith asked to confirm the instruction.

"Understood." Acknowledged Frank.

"Do not open it until the time."

"What time?" Asking confused.

"The time I tell you too. I will call you at eight PM ... Understood?"

"Understood." Re-confirming the instructions.

"Have a nice day Frank. Don't make plans for the evening."

"Understood." Reiterating reluctantly.

Smith hung up his end. Frank kills his end. And sits dazed staring into space.

Taking in the foreign surroundings. His day shattered by the untimely call. Wondering what Smith had in mind. A package of some kind? A call at eight? None of it made sense.

It never did with Smith.

"Who was that babe?" Asked Julie returning from the bathroom in a white robe and a white towel around her head.

"Just the boss... I need to catch up with him at eight this evening... Is that okay with you?" Frank asked knowing she could not say otherwise.

"That's okay sweetie, we have the afternoon. Maybe we could take a walk around Central Park... Check out the pond." Suggested Julie.

"Thanks sweetie, I'll make it up to up tomorrow." Said Frank.

"I think you've already made up for it from yesterday." Giggled Julie jumping on the bed and pushing him onto his back, before sitting on top of him.

"Oops... A wall robe malfunction." Apologizes Julie as her bath robe accidentally opens.

Exposing her perky breasts and stirring up Frank's yearnings.

Frank gets the upper hand and pushes her over onto her back. Kissing her lips and her neck. Before slowly kissing his way down her body. Over her breasts and sensitive swelling nipples. Lowering himself further to continue the sensual journey. Probing and kissing her loins. Her legs wrapped around him. Her eyes roll in her head.

"Oh Frank! Frank! ... Oh my God... Oh... Ooh!" Julie moans with arousing pleasure.

Her back arched and her fingers gripped the bed sheets as a wave of orgasm overcame. Her body convulsing as it rang the length of her body.

Satisfied with his efforts. Pulls himself from her raptured embrace and heads to the bathroom, leaving Julie spent and wasted.

"You bastard!" She calls out, as he walks away.

"You're welcome!" He calls back.

At noon, just as Smith had said, there was a knock at the door.

Frank opens it he finds a Porter holding a large black brief case in one hand. Offering it to Frank to take. Acting under Smith's instructions, departs before Frank had a chance to tip him. The case felt heavy and he hesitated to guess its contents. Certainly not light bulbs. Combination locks keeping its contents from being seen. He would have to await further instructions. Sliding it under the bed before Julie saw it and began asking questions he had no answers to.

Julie re-appeared from the bathroom as just as he switched the television on. Hoping to catch the outcome of the previous evening's T-Bird match with the Kamloops Blazers. Surfing through the channels before striking the trail end of the tape on ESPN...

"... And what a fairy tale season the T-Birds are having this season... Can they do any wrong? Trailing by four goals after the end of the second period... rookie Jake Lee slipped two past the Blazers keeper with five minutes to play... Leaving it to Andrusiak to close the game out in extra time... Some are saying they can all the way this year and take out the Western Conference..."

Frank killed the television and turned his attention to some one more important. Julie.

"Did we win?" She asked. His team was her team.

"Of course... Easily."

"That's good then."

"Let go out, I'm famished... Maybe a walk around the Park. There's a few things I'd like to see." Said Frank keen to get going.

The Park would distract his mind from the brief case and Smith's voice creeping into his mind. The cold authoritative tone. A shortness in his breath. As if he was breathing for two.

"There's a hot-dog stand on the corner... Let's grab one with the works! ... I've always wanted one." Asked Julie excited at the prospect.

Shoving the bun into her mouth. Her cheeks bulged.

Sauces leaked from the sides of Julie's mouth. Frank on the other hand was more controlled, and had paced himself. Wiping the excess from her mouth like child, she looks over to Frank who had only half finished his. Fearful she was eyeing up the remainder of his bun.

"You must have been hungry."

"They're delicious! Can we get another?" She asked eagerly.

"After our walk... Let this one go down first shall we?" Leading her across the street towards the large pond.

"Oh look... Ducks!" Dragging Frank behind her to get a closer look.

Situated below street level The Pond offered the perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The symphonic sounds of the city were lost among the Crabapple and Forsythia trees. Birds of every migratory species had taken up residency. Much as the human migratory species had taken up residency in the concrete jungle outside.

They had stepped into another world.

A tranquil peace come over Frank as he strolled with Julie on his arm. The sun leaked through the trees onto them. And they went where the spring zephyr breeze blew them. A stone bridge appeared. Tourists were taking photographs of views back to the city.

Julie among one of them.

"There's our Hotel!" She pointed out.

Frank took in the sight of the grand old Hotel and looked around.

"How'd you like to see a Zoo?" He asked hoping to keep her moving.

"A Zoo? Here in the middle of New York City?" She asked held disbelieving him.

"You've never heard of Central Park Zoo?" Looking at her hoping she was joking.

"No... Of course not... I am French... Oui?" She defended herself.

"Oui... You are indeed." Finding her guilty on all charges.

"This way young lady." Taking her by the hand, leads her over the bridge to the other side.

Coming to an entrance, a large musical clock sounded and Julie takes a video of it while it lasted. Meandering about, they moved between the exhibits housed in green vined brick buildings that blended them into the park's lush green surroundings.

"Oh they so cute!" Seeing a pair of grizzly bear cubs. Taking their photographs.

"I don't think they'd be so cute if you came across their mother in the wild." Warned Frank.

Tamarin monkeys and Wyoming toads. Thick-billed parrots, Red Pandas, and Penguins.

Though Julie could not get enough Frank was beginning to tire of the enclosed environment.

"You fancy a coffee? ..." He asked, "... I know just know the place... It's a little bit of a walk, but there's no rush is there."

"No rush today." Said Julie, holding onto Frank's arm...
Strawberry Fields

Sensing the sun at his back they headed north along innumerable branching pathways.

Joggers passed them heading in both directions. People sat on benches taking in the tranquility. Arriving at a boating club. Julie looked puzzled by the boats and wondered if this was another one of Frank's diversions.

"We're here." He declared looking for the entrance.

"This is it?" She asked puzzled by the exterior.

"Wait 'til you see inside." Leading her through a large open wooden door. A waitress greeted them and escorted them to a window table, over-looking the lake with a flotilla of small row boats moving about.

"It's beautiful Frank... You're full of surprises." Giving him a peck of a kiss.

After walking for the past two hours. The rest was an enjoyable reprieve. Taking in the idyllic view of the lake and the trees. And the coffee.

If New York had a heart it was Central Park.

"What time did you say you meeting your boss?" She asked getting a fix on the time they had left in the park.

"Not 'til eight... It's a business dinner." Frank lied to cover his absence, "... You could order room service and watch a movie."

"Okay."

"I won't be long, should be back by ten if I'm not... Detained." Rethinking his choice of words.

"That'll be nice... Get in an early night."

"We can have a lazy Sunday... How would you like that?" Asked Frank.

"Sounds good to me... New York can wear a girl down." Julie sipped on the sweet Irish coffee. Enjoying the moment. It was all too good to be true. Wishful the bubble would never burst. Prolonging the return a smoked stained apartment in Flint. And to a life without Frank.

"Come on you. We better start heading back. I'll take you the long way. There's a place I want to visit. It's personal." Frank confesses.

"Oh." Leaving Julie wondering.

Leaving the Boat House they came upon a large red brick opening. At its center a huge fountain. In the middle of which stood a large bronze of an angel. People had gathered about it to take photographs. Street performers had attracted people around them, soliciting their loose change.

"Stand beside the fountain Frank! ..." She called out, waving a hand, directing him into position. "...There!" Telling him to a halt.

Julie asks a passing stranger to take a picture of her and Frank together. It would not have surprised Frank if the man had run off. But he did not and handed the camera back to Julie who repaid him with her smile.

"Merci Beaucoup..." She examined the picture. "... Perfect!"

Showing Frank, he thought they made a good looking couple.

"This way slow poke." He calls out hoping she would catch up.

Another pathway lead to another fountain, then to another pathway.

Frank walked pass the fountains. Leaving Julie looking over her shoulder as they walked by them. He was on a mission. Rounding a corner, he finds what he had come to pay homage to. Beneath a quiet shady patch in a remote corner of Central Park. Goose bumps and a chill ran over his body.

Across the road stood the Dakota Building.

Memories of that fateful day came rushing back to him. He was just a kid, but remembered it vividly. His mother was in tears at the news. It was the day the world stood as one and wept. Frank stared at the black and white mosaic honoring John Lennon.

Frank stood silent. In reverence.

Julie could see something was troubling him. It was as if he was visiting a grave. She read the small plaque and the words Strawberry Fields.

Some things in life are wrong. And John's death was one of them. Envisioning the man he would have been today. A man of peace. He spoke of love. Only one other man came close to him. And they crucified him too.

Perhaps the world was not ready for either of them.

"You okay Frank?" Asked Julie.

"Yeah... Just thinking... What loss. He offered us hope..." Unable to finish what he wanted to say. His eyes begin to whelm with tears. Some things cannot be conveyed with words.

They can only be imagined.

Frank visualizes John's be-speckled face and cheeky grin.

"Thanks John." Looking down at the mosaic grinning himself.

And turns to walk slowly away.

Julie spies a large open sunny field and pulls Frank from the shadows.

People had planted themselves over it. Some with picnics and dogs chasing Frisbees. Finding a patch of grass to call their own, she tugs at Frank's arm to sit beside her.

"Let's just stay here for a while... It's such a beautiful day." Laying down beside Frank.

The smell of freshly cut grass. Bringing back childhood memories for them both. A grin appeared on Frank's face. Julie kissed him. If this was heaven, then she could stay here forever.

Wary of the time, his mind drifted between Julie and the assignment that Smith had planned. And the mobile in his pocket. Imagining who the target was this time. Another spy? Another bomb? The brief case certainly suggested it by the weight.

Blanketed by the late afternoon sun, they allowed the rest of the day pass them by.

"We better be getting back..." Frank stirred to life realizing the time. "...Come on bones." Feeling rejuvenated.

Pulling Julie to her feet, brushes the grass from themselves.

Back at the hotel suite Frank turns on the television. And is greeted with a live report of special guests and Merchant Bankers already arriving on the red carpet for the award dinner. Secret Service was everywhere. Pedestrians had gathered hoping to catch a glimpse of the President.

Frank hated Merchant bankers and killed the television.

Julie headed to the bathroom and began running a foaming bath of bubbles. Allowing Frank his shower. If it meant him not being late for his meeting. Submersing herself up to her chin in bubbles. Surrendering to the heavenly fragrances of the scented candles.

"You be okay ordering dinner?" He asked seeing only a head appearing through the bubbles.

"I'll be fine... Don't be late for your boss okay?"

"I'm on my way. I'll just grab my coat." He leans down and kisses her. Bubbles attach themselves to his cheeks and she brushes them away.

"Call me when you're heading back okay."

"Okay. Enjoy yourself sweetie."

"Love you Frank!" She calls out.

"Love you too sweetie." He calls back.

Throwing his jacket over his arm, reaches under the bed and pulls out the black brief case. Feeling the weight it still contained. Hesitant of its contents, tries not to bump it. Looking back to the bathroom to see flickering candles from the door way.

"I'm off! I'll be back soon sweetie." About to leave into the unknown.

"Have fun!" Echoes back Julie.

Frank closes the door behind him unclear of what lay ahead in the next two hours.

Waiting in the Plaza's cafe for Smith to call. Incapable of eating.

Somehow he had lost his appetite...
Finish Your Coffee First

Finch watched over the two dozen split-screens monitors within the control booth.

Relaying activity as it happened outside, in high definition black and white. From the ground floor, to the large banquet hall on the Thirty-Seventh floor. Even rest-rooms had secret cameras. Nothing was left to chance. Stairwells and elevators had men posted throughout. Constant real-time facial profiling would alert security of those that did not belong.

Distinguished guests were taking their seats in the banquet hall. The echelon of New York and Massachusetts wealthiest had been invited. Diamonds sparkled from trophy wives, as aging husbands puffed on large illicit Cuban cigars. Impermeable to non-smoking restrictions. Champagne corks popped. Rare liqueurs in crystal tumblers. To them, it was just another ordinary day in their extra-ordinary lives.

Finch talks into his sleeve, pressing a finger against his ear piece.

"Anything to report?" Asking Burgess.

"Nothing out of the usual. Tourists taking photos. Waiting for the President... Anything your end." Responding into his sleeve.

"All quiet... Too quiet for my liking. He's out there somewhere, keep looking..." Ordered Finch, his eyes scanning the screens overhead. "...Where are you Smith?"

Suddenly there was a commotion erupting at the entrance.

"What's happening?!" Finch calls, afraid Smith had struck.

"The President's motorcade has arrived... They're stopping." Reports Burgess.

Finch is not listening.

Seeing it all unfold before him on the monitors overhead. Security men scan the people fenced behind barriers.

Given notice, they were clear to proceed. One agent opens the limousine's door. And the leader of the Free World steps out. Followed by his glamourous wife. Looking every part, the First Lady of America. Departing from protocol, the President greets the crowd now cheering his arrival. Soaking up the admiration.

"What's he doing?!" Finch shouted down his sleeve.

"What do you think he's doing? ... He being himself." Burgess mused.

"Get his people to get him inside now... We haven't got time for self-gratifications." Ordered Finch.

The order going unnoticed. The President worked the crowd like the showman he was. Shaking hands with those who could not reach. After what seemed like an eternity, the President reached the Foyer. But not before turning to give one last wave to the excited crowd.

"He may be leader of the free world.... But get him the fuck out of it... And get him inside!" Finch cried out, before falling back in his seat.

Relieved the first stage was over.

The President and First lady are ushered into a secure express elevator. That would take them to the man of the hour, Marcus Metcalfe. Resting in his penthouse condominium a further twenty floors above the banquet hall. Remaining there until the last moment, before attending to self-glorified speeches and lavish gourmet meals. The award ceremony would follow shortly after.

Finch's fingers tapped on the desk. Like playing cards, he evaluated each monitor. Which to keep, which to throw out.

None of them were worth keeping.

"What would Quinn do?" He asked himself.

Waiting Staff were on edge. Their every move being watched. If they stood still too long, instructions were relayed to undercover guests. Sharp shooters scanned each other's building for heat signatures and any untoward movement. A logistical nightmare waiting to happen. Office blocks alit with cleaners working all hours. Apartments with tenants going about their Saturday evenings. Dark rooms with televisions flickering. Telescopic sights roamed from window to window hoping not to see what they feared most.

"Check out the twenty-second floor on the Dilworth Building... There's a couple having a domestic... Should I put him out of his misery?" Asked one Sharp Shooter.

"I like you're thinking... But stayed focused." Team leader responds.

"Yes Sir." Continuing to scan the building with the deadly cross hairs.

08:15PM and Frank's mobile vibrates.

His heart racing in his chest. Mild sweat on his forehead. His eyes scanned the café, hoping Julie would not appear from no-where.

"Smith. What next?" Frank gets to the point.

"I want you to take a walk." Smith begins.

"Where to." Frank plays along.

"Corner of Sixth Ave and West Fifty-Sixth... Go along Fifty-Eight. Avoid Fifth Avenue, there's too many cameras there even for my liking." Smith chuckled.

But Frank could not see the funny side.

"Use the white card I gave you access to the entire building. Take the service elevator... Go to the maintenance room on the thirty-seventh floor. Wait for my call in exactly thirty minutes from now. That should give you enough time to get there. Understood?" Instructed Smith.

"Understood." Said Frank none the wiser as to the target.

"Don't forget to wipe your prints from anything you touch. We wouldn't want authorities tracking you down and asking questions. Now would we? ... I've taken care of all the security cameras... Oh and Frank..." Smith warned.

"What?" Asked Frank impatiently.

"...Finish your coffee first." Smith hung up, leaving Frank wondering if he was being watched.

Looking up he sees several cameras in the corners pointing directly at him. Sliding the mobile back into his pocket he finished the coffee. Which could well be his last.

"Corner of Sixth Ave and West Fifty-Sixth." He repeated to himself.

Stepping out, he looked up and down the street. The evening had closed in and the sky was black as ink. Street lighting and traffic head lights lit the sidewalk. Drowning out the canopy of stars that evening. Overhead traffic cameras were pointing away from him. Towards Fifth Avenue. Seeing it had been barricaded off. Police on horse-back patrolled the outer perimeter of the crowd that had gathered to get a glimpse of proceedings.

Turning about, calmly walks away from Fifth Avenue. Traffic flowed incessantly in New York City. Finding a gap, crosses over the one way street and made his way to the tall black glass office building Smith had indicated.

A Street was cluttered with boutique stores.

Starbucks on the corner looked inviting. Frank resisted the temptation. Waiting for a break in the traffic, he crossed over.

Swiping the white card down a scanner embedded into the door. A clicking sound could be heard as locks release the door. Pushing the door open, walks calmly inside. Not wanting to look back to draw people's attention to himself. Behaving like a weary employee forced to work on a Saturday evening. Glossy black eyeball cameras peer down from the ceiling. If they were on, then it was too late for Frank to look away.

Behind him he hears the door open. A woman walks past him to one of the ATM machines that lined the wall. His nerves are on edge.

'Find the elevators.' He told himself.

Looking about to see a series of elevator doors to the side of the machines. One marked Service Only. Frank punches the up button and waits. Hearing the door open sees the young lady exist with her cash.

She turns and smiles at Frank.

Frank smiles back and looks away.

The elevator took forever to arrive. Doors open and he hurries inside from sight. The brief case in his hand feeling heavier by the minute. Gold buttons beamed with bright numbers. Pressing thirty-seven, the door closes and feels the compartment gradually move. Watching the floors scroll on the crystal display.

Flashing each consecutive floor as it passed.

Eight... Seventeen... Twenty-three... Thirty-two.

'Will it ever get there?' He thought, his breath quickening with each floor passed.

Silently wishing the elevator never would. He thought about Julie in the bubble bath and wished he was beneath the bubbles.

Hiding from Smith.

'Ding.' The elevator sounds its arrival. And it comes to a halt.

Doors open onto a darkened foyer. Frank stepped out wondering if there would be enough light to see. Lift doors close behind him, engulfing in complete darkness. Uncertain which way was which. Only the buttons on the wall gave away some frame of reference. Pulling out his mobile and activates it. The screen dimly illuminates the space before him. Holding it up he makes out a door with a small red light. He waves the access card over it.

A green light replaces the red and the door releases its lock.

Pulling down on the cold metal handle, tentatively walks inside. Finding himself inside a large open room. Dimly lit by the glow New York lights below. A lunar radiance providing further ambient lighting.

The smell of paints, dust and cleaning agents hung in the air.

From the windows, a city lit up like a Christmas tree. Its streets and avenues streaming with white headlights and red tail lights. Office buildings, shopping stores, and bill boards glow with their own palette of colors. The enchantment was suddenly stifled when the phone in Franks hand vibrated.

Pulling him from Monet's wonderland.

"Smith." Frank spoke.

"Frank? ..." Spoke Smith almost questioning Frank's whereabouts. "...You're there?"

"I'm here... Where-ever here is." Frank looked about the storage area.

Eyes becoming adjusted to the weak light.

"Good. Open the brief case." Instructs Smith.

"I can't I don't have the combination." Professed Frank looking down at the brass combination locks.

"The number is on the card I gave you." Advised Smith calmly.

"Very clever." Said Frank feeling silly he hadn't made the connection. "...Hold on."

Placing the case on a bench, rolled the numbers into position. Slowly slid the latches sideways.

'Clunk! ... Clunk!'

Slowly, he opened the case, fearful it would explode. Thoughts of Thomas came rushing back to him. With the case already half open, he would have been dead already. And opens the case fully.

After the initial shock, Frank examines what appears to be disassembled rifle.

"Is that what I think it? ... I've never used one before." Asked Frank avoiding the thought of what was to come.

"Come, come Frank... I know too well you served in the National Guard... You were top of your class on the rifle range."

"That was twenty years ago!"

"It's like riding a bike Frank... Now assemble it." Ordered Smith pushing Frank into a corner.

"How?" Staring at the pieces within the case.

"You'll figure it... Be quick about it... You don't have much time."

Frank pulled the body of the rifle from its dark foam insets. The metal feeling heavy and cold. Taking the barrel attached it to where he thought it should go.

A bayonet locking system secured it in place. Followed by a sharp resounding. Click!

The rifle butt slid into place. Click!

Leaving the telescopic sight and a single large bullet with a gold colored tip.

Attaching the scope, Click!

Pulling the bolt open. Clunk!

Inserting the bullet into the chamber. Click, click!

Slams the bolt closed. Clunk!

Frank was not thinking. He followed instructions. The only way he could hold it together. Too much was at stake, Marilyn, Julie, his kids.

And the least of his worries, himself.

"Done." Responded Frank, awaiting the next instruction.

"See the narrow window to the left?"

"I see it."

"Open it... Off you go now." Instructed Smith. Watching the television broadcast of the award ceremony in almost complete darkness. Black sitting beside him, smoking.

Frank pushed open the narrow window barely six inches wide. Cold evening air rushed in through the small opening.

"Done... Now what?" Asked Frank.

"We wait." Said Smith.

"Wait? For what?"

"For my next instruction... Be patient Frank... It will all be over soon." Smith tried to soothe Frank.

Then hung up.

Leaving Frank in the darkened service room.

Only the sound of the whistling breeze passing the opened window. A siren squawked its warning from the streets far. As if to remind Frank of the consequences of being caught. Sitting with his back to the wall. The rifle vertical between his legs. Trying to calm his breathing. Feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He only had one chance to get it right.

There would be no chance of a second shot...
We The People...

"Is Drake ready?" Asked Black wheezing, a cigarette smoldering between boney fingers.

"He's ready." Replied Smith.

"Good." Stroked Black.

Smith watched the television as key speakers praised Metcalfe. And his self-serving accomplishments. The President stood and layered praise upon praise upon him. Stopping short of appointing him to treasury. Followed by rousing applause and now it was time for the President of the Merchant Bankers Association to award Metcalfe the greatest honor ever bestowed on any individual in the bank fraternity.

More fine words were encrusted upon him. Metcalfe lapped up the accolades, like a kitten lapping a saucer of cream for the first time.

Smith dials Frank's number. Taking longer than usual to answer.

"Frank. How are we doing?" Asked Smith aware of Frank's reluctance.

"Let's get it over with... Who is it can I ask?"

"Of course you can Frank... Of course you can... But it would be better if you took a look yourself." Suggested Smith grinning to himself.

Black grinning beside him.

"See the party going on in the far building?"

Frank searches for the building through the scope's sight. A narrow gap between two distant buildings ahead provided a partial view of the brightly lit floor.

"I see it..." Said Frank. His eye surveyed the main table situated above the others. Then stopped suddenly. "...No! ... Not the President!"

"No Frank... He has his moments... But not the President... See the man standing beside him about to receive the award... Metcalfe."

Frank recognizes Metcalfe from the papers and Television. Despite his dislike of Merchant Bankers, Frank had to question why.

"Why him? He's not a spy is he?" Asked Frank puzzled by Smith's target.

"Not that I am aware of... He's worse than a spy Frank... He's an embezzler, a swindler, a fraud... A thief of public funds. Take your pick... He has stolen billions upon billions. His Super Funds and Investments are all a sham. A balloon just waiting to pop... We are about to expose him Frank... And pop his balloon... Would you want a man like that to have home detention for seven years Frank? ... Only to walk away with billions squirrelled away in foreign banks? ... Protected by corrupt colleagues... Look at them Frank... Just look at them... Pouring accolades upon his corruption... Raping decent hard working Americans of their hard earnt savings... Take him out... Take him out soldier." Ordered Smith.

Smith would not need to warn him about Marilyn or Julie. This was personal to all Americans. Including Frank. Smith hung up. He would watch the outcome of Frank's decision live on public television. Smith had hit a nerve.

Frank detested bankers.

He knew too well how the system worked. Having seen it too many times. His own redundancy caused by a bank that had sneezed. Forcing millions onto welfare. Metcalfe was just the tip of the ice berg. Frank closed his eyes. The cross hairs targeted between Metcalfe's eyes.

Metcalfe accepted the award. Raising his hands in gesture of victory and appreciation. He had won. Having fooled everyone into believing he was a magician. Frank scanned the room and saw the who's who of banking. Every piece of filth was there. Along with their lap dog wives. Adorned in jewelry and furs. Frank repositions the scope back onto Metcalfe. And allowed him his final words.

This kill was not business. It was personal.

For him, and all hard working tax paying Americans. Steadying himself as he had been taught. Bracing himself, breathing slowly. Allowing his heart rate to drop. Seeing Metcalfe stand there spouting lies was too much for Frank.

"We the People..." Frank spoke the final judgement under his breath, "... Have spoken." Exhaling slowly as he gently squeezed the trigger.

A sudden jolt punched his shoulder. The explosive sound of the single shot was lost among the symphony of sounds of the jungle below. Towering concrete limbs echoing the percussion in all directions.

The bullet left the barrel at supersonic speed. Mach three point five. Half a moment later, the soft gold tip struck the glass window. Exposing its hollow point underneath. Creating a small neat hole and a sudden a sharp 'crack' of sound. The sonic shock wave that followed immediately after made a much uglier hole. And thunderous sound of its arrival. Shattering the large plate glass window into a million pieces. Sending glass crystals flying over guests sitting nearby by and those looking up from the street below.

It was all over in a blink of an eye, if that.

The bullet striking Metcalfe's forehead, creating a small black hole as he was midway through a sentence he would never complete. Fragmenting on impact. Taking the back of his head as it exited. Metcalfe stood momentarily motionless.

Suddenly speechless. His mind had gone blank.

A trickle of blood ran down his face. Over his nose and quivering lips before dripping onto the award in his arms. Guests watch on as Metcalfe stood motionless. Looking out to those watching on as though he was about to speak. But the words never came.

His body wobbled for a momentarily as it battled the reflex to stand. Then collapsed to the floor under its own weight to the floor. Stilling grasping the blood stained award. Even in death, no one would take the award from him.

Security dived over the President and the First Lady. Pushing them to the floor and shielding them from the next bullet. Women screamed in panic and dived under tables, fearful of the sudden attack. Their diamonds scattered among the shattered glass crystals.

"Fuck! ..." Cried out Finch. "...Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! ... Where did that shot come from?" Screaming into his sleeve to Burgess.

"We don't know... It could be a number of buildings." Answered Burgess looking about for an indication from other agents on the scene.

"Shut them down!" Ordered Finch.

"All of them?" Asked Burgess.

"All of them!" Shouted Finch.

"We don't have the man power to do that in time. They should have been shut down twenty four hours ago."

"Shut down what you can! ..." Finch compromised. "...Call in the NYPD... The National Guard if you have to... Quinn can square it with the Mayor later... This is a cluster-fuck Burgess... Our asses are on the line here."

There was nothing Burgess would say to appease his superior. They had failed to protect Metcalfe and Quinn would want someone's head for it.

The President and First Lady were rushed under heavy guard from the building to a waiting armored limousine. Medics worked on Metcalfe but it was hard to resuscitate someone with much of their head missing. Conceding defeat, covered his face with a table cloth. Armed secret service men stood with their weapons pointing up. Looking at each other as to what had just happened.

Black strokes Smith for the success of another kill.

One less undesirable. The fall out would be huge. A media feeding frenzy would soon ensue. Beginning with Metcalfe's lionized reputation. And his fall from grace. In the end having lost all sympathy.

His obituary would be the only thing people would like about him.

Frank closed the window.

Wiping his prints away as he did so. Having seen Metcalfe's head explode. And a cloud of pink mist spray white shirts of secret service agents standing behind him. Without thinking, disassembles the rifle quicker than he had assembled it. And repacking it just as quickly. Wiping away compromising prints.

"Stay calm... Stay calm." He told himself as he reaches street level again.

Without looking up at the cameras he exists the building. Feeling the rush of warm air raising from the pavement. Then calmly re-tracks his steps back the hotel. Walking with stooped head, Frank moved with the crowd. Nearing Fifth Avenue, he could hear the sirens of emergency vehicles. Police had cordoned off the Avenue.

Strolling calmly into the lobby of The Plaza he looked like a businessman returning from a meeting.

Making eye contact with no-one. Wanting only to get back to his suite and shower the past two hours away.

Frank feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, just as the elevator doors were about to open.

'Shit... This is it." He thinks.

"Mister Pecks?" An authoritative voice asked.

Frank turns and see the Porter that had delivered the briefcase to him that day.

"Yes?" Frank replied hesitantly.

"Mister Smith suggested you should leave your briefcase with us... If you understand." Conveyed the Porter.

"Yes... Yes of course." Handing the brief case over. Relieved of the burden of how he was to dispose of it.

"Thank you Mister Pecks... Have a nice evening Mister Pecks." Offered the Porter walking away.

"You too." Replied Frank as the elevator doors opened.

"Honey I'm home!" Called out Frank hoping to recalibrate his calmness.

Seeing Julie on the couch curled up on the couch eating popcorn.

"Watch you watching?" He asked curiously.

His question was met with silence.

Julie was riveted to the screen with the breaking news of Metcalfe's death. Frank moved closer and could see the television with images of the Tower lit up in spot lights. People were pointing up to the floor of where it had happened. Julie sat with her knees up to her chin. Her arms holding them close.

As if in fear something.

"What's happened?" Asked Frank knowingly.

"Metcalfe the banker has been shot..." Julie replied, her eyes glued to the television.

"Who shot him?" Frank played along.

"They don't know... It came from outside."

"Outside?" Questioned Frank.

"Ssh! ... I want to hear this." Eager to hear the next piece of gruesome detail from the reporter.

Frank sat down beside her and tried to focus on the television. What was being reported? Had anyone seen a suspect? Sitting silently still. Knowing everything. Saying nothing. This was not the time begin to talk. The wrong word, or opinion, could give him away.

"Would you mind if I had a shower and head to bed sweetie... Been a long day. I'm tired...." Asked Frank wearily, peeling himself away from the couch.

"Sshh!" Julie responded indifferent to his presence.

Frank eased himself to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face hoping to revitalize his senses.

Mirror Man looked back at him.

"What have you done Frank?" Mirror Man asked.

"Don't you know? You were there." Frank replied.

"Not me... I was here the whole time... I've got an alibi... Which is more than you have."

Frank did not have an answer. Yet he knew the answer. Unsure if he had done the right thing. In the name of National Security. In the name of the Agency? Doing Smith's dirty work? He had plenty of questions. But no answers.

Ignoring the Man in the Mirror, he turned the shower on. Misting up the mirror with the overflowing steam.

"You can't hide from me Frank!" Mirror Man called out before disappearing behind the fogging glass.

Throwing off clothes as if to rid himself of the sin. Letting the water run over his head and over his body. And stood there. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes. Then felt an arm around him. A head against his back. He grinned. Feeling safe when Julie had her arms around him.

Turning about and wraps his arms around her.

"Hey you." Begins Frank.

"Sorry." She said, kissing him.

"Sorry for what?" He asked curiously.

"I got caught up with the television of some silly banker." She said.

"That's okay." Dismissing the excuse.

"How was your meeting?"

"Very... Productive. I think we achieved what we wanted to." Trying to find the right words.

"How's the Banker?" Asked Frank playfully.

"Like all Bankers should be... Dead." Declaring her personal opinion of them.

Frank kisses her forehead. That's one thing they could agree on.

"Let's get you to bed sweetie." He said.

"How'd you get that bruise on your shoulder babe?" Julie asked seeing a discoloration developing on Frank's right shoulder.

Frank looks down at it and gives it a rub, thinking it would wash off. Then recalls the recoil of the rifle butt striking him.

"Oh... I bumped into an elevator door as it was closing. I didn't see it in time." Hoping that would explain it away.

"You okay."

"I hadn't really notice it until you pointed it out." He looks down at it.

Julie kisses the deepening bruise.

Feeling something swell between his legs. She kisses him again and again. Biting his lip and rubbing her breasts over his chest. Letting the steaming water flow over their naked bodies. Frank's mobile vibrated with an incoming text message. Too pre-occupied with Julie to have noticed it.

Smith with a wine in one hand, and Black with a cigarette in the other.

Smith was already selecting Frank's next target. Several came to mind, but only one stood out ahead of others. He would allow Frank a period to enjoy the fruits of his labor. To reconcile the decapitating justice that had been served. Time would heal Frank's doubts. Each kill would become easier for him.

"It will be a shame to lose him when the time comes." Remarks Black over sunglasses in the darkened room.

"Yes it always is to lose a good one..." Recalling Emmet, wondering how he would have fared. "... I am growing quite fond of Frank." Smith reflected taking a sip of wine.

"What have we got on the shooter's location?" Sort Finch desperately from the agents around him.

Agents shake their heads. Reluctant to report bad news.

Finch's mobile rang. The number could only be the Quinn's.

"Ma'am.... No Ma'am... Yes Ma'am... Yes Ma'am... First thing Ma'am." Finch repeated into the mouth piece before hanging up.

Then looks over to Burgess in discussion with other agents.

"No one's going home tonight until we find the shooter's location ... Understood... Start with those two buildings... There and there." Instructs Finch pointing them out. "Then work backwards from there. I want line of sight on all buildings... Understand?"

"Yes Sir." Sang a chorus of agreeance.

And a nodding of heads. Their eyes focused on Finch.

"The Director wants a report on her desk first thing in the morning... I want a head on a silver platter for her... And I don't want it to be mine... Understood?" Warned Finch.

"Yes Sir..." A chorus rang out again. "...Burgess... You're with me... I want all security tapes for a five block radius south. Immediately. We're burning the night oil on this one."

"I read you on that..." Confirmed Burgess, wondering where to begin...
Giuseppe and Joanna

07:00AM in a private board room on Fifth Avenue.

Director Quinn sat behind the stolid board table, looking every part Chairman of the Board. Finch and Burgess sat opposite, looking very much uneasy. Fidgeting, and wondering how their boss would respond to their failure to protect Metcalfe, to capture Smith.

Or his Asset.

"Gentleman... Report... Give me the good news first." Quinn ordered her subordinates.

"Ma'am..." Finch began hesitantly, "...We know the building the shot was fired from... Forensic think it was a service floor..." Finch paused. "...Smith closed down five city blocks... We have no eyes on who did this."

"Five city blocks?! ..." Quinn exclaimed, realizing the extent of Smith abilities.

"Anything outside that is just too large to screen... We didn't take the building into account as we didn't think it had line of sight... There was barely two meters between then... He must have known the seating positions." Speculated Finch.

"Of course he knew the seating positions... The President was sitting right next to Metcalfe... Lucky he was not the target... It seems Smith still has a few morals rolling about in his head."

"Yes Ma'am." Finch agreed.

"You did your best gentlemen... But Smith is always going to be one step ahead of you..." Quinn begins to think aloud. "...Have Forensic go over the building with a fine tooth comb... Leave nothing unturned, understood?"

"Yes Ma'am." They replied in Unison.

"The President is safe... And laughing about apparently."

"Laughing?" Asked Burgess curiously.

"Yeah... It appears he never really liked Metcalfe... Apparently they had history, bad blood so to speak... But you never heard it from me, understood?" Warned Quinn.

"Yes Ma'am." Came the unison reply.

"Keep me updated of everything." Ordered Quinn.

"Yes Ma'am."

"Now that we know his game plan... Start tracking his next target..." Suggested Quinn standing to leave. "...This meeting is adjourned."

It was Julie who woke first.

Frank was too physically drained. Rolling over she kisses him before pulling herself from the bed and totters to the bathroom to run a shower. Frank's eyes flickered open to the bright glare of the sunlight flooding into the room. Causing him to abruptly close them again. Pulling a sheet over his head.

Like a vampire crawling from an assault of sunlight that threatened to burn him to a crisp.

"Come on bones... Get up. I want to go out today. It's our last full day and I want to see more before we leave... Come on! ..." Pulling away the sheets. "...Or maybe we could just stay in bed all day..." She suggests seeing Frank's naked body.

"I'm up! I'm up!" Surrenders Frank, desperate to escape another incapacitating workout. The body was willing, but the mind was having reservations about the French sexual libido. God help French men if all the women were like her.

Levering himself to sit upright. Forcing his eyes to open. Taking in the room and the bright light that accompanied it. Looking over to his phone he sees a message had been received.

It could only be Smith.

"Hmm." He mutters to himself. Quickly checking the message, another transfer. He wouldn't check the balance, imagining an additional fifty thousand upon the last.

Julie pulls him to his feet and leads him into the shower. Mirror Man watches him pass.

"Morning Frank... Remember what you did last night? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" The Mirror Man laughed, jealously watching Julie pull his reflection into the shower.

"Hey, wait for me!"

Frank ignored him, as Julie turned the tap lever on full, exciting Frank with a rush of cold water.

"Jesus Christ!" Frank cries out shocked by the sudden climate change.

So much for global warming. Frank had entered the ice age.

"Sorry babe... It's for your own good." She informs him.

Gradually the water warmed and steam filled the room.

"You bastard Drake!" Mirror Man cursed fogging from view.

Leaving Julie alone with Frank.

Julie ordered room service and switched the television on, hoping to catch an update of the previous night's drama.

Peering out the window to the street below. Seeing a police cauldron blocking off the entrance. Squad cars and SUV vehicles peppered the road side like large black beetles. Flashing colored lights from their metallic bodies.

News reports were still being broadcast, less frequent than the previous evening, as Americans got back to their daily diet of Sports, News and Tabloid Gossip. Reporting nothing Julie had not heard before.

Killing the television and Metcalfe's death, already becoming old news.

Stepping from the bathroom, Frank feels revitalized. Events of the previous evening flashed across his mind. But none of it could stick. Strangely his mind had already departmentalized the ordeal to what it was. Pest control.

Coffee was more on his mind than Metcalfe.

"What you thinking about doing today sweetie?" Asked Frank hogging into the bacon and eggs. Having not eaten in the past sixteen hours.

"You must be hungry." Seeing him finish before her and then looking around for seconds.

"Hmm!" Grunts Frank like a caveman, looking around for a stray passing wildebeest.

"We could go on one of those carriage rides today... You know... The ones in the movies with the horses." Suggested Julie hoping he was listening.

Frank looks up. Grease around his mouth and crumbs on his him unshaved chin.

"Just look at you!" Wiping his face like a small child.

And with no resistance, Frank soaked up the attention.

"Sounds like a plan." Thinking of no better way to spend a lazy Sunday.

Not needing to check out until the next morning, they may as well take in the sights at a leisurely pace.

"We can rest up here 'til noon and then wander out for the afternoon... We might see a nice restaurant on the way... I fancy Italian." Said Frank already thinking out his next meal.

"They did feed you last night?"

"Just finger food... Nothing substantial." Frank lied.

"Some business dinner!"

"We closed out a big deal." Frank said cryptically.

It was Frank's turn to turn on the television, and began flicking in search of a sports channel.

Finding only NBA basketball, sport he was not really follow. Oklahoma Thunder were playing Utah Jazz in a playoff series. Frank recognized a player. Steve Adams. The giant of a man from an island nation somewhere in the south pacific. With seconds to go Adams wrenches the ball from an opponent's hands, before charging up the court as graceful as lumbering elephant.

And being chased by a pack of agitated tattooed hyenas.

Jumping in the air, slam-dunks the ball violently through the hoop for the winning goal. Swinging from the hoop like a massive orangutan. The crowd goes wild as the final tooter sounds. With the match was over, the hyenas retreat to lick their wounds.

That was about all Frank could take of the game, killing the television. Unless it involved ice and a meat clever, it did not constitute a sport. And with that thought, poured himself a drink.

Dropping a large cube of God into it.

The drink placed him in a mood to face the day. To face life. Desensitizing the events of the previous evening. Now becoming fragmented and disconnected. Any guilt, short circuited by Smith's mysterious protection.

"Come on bones!" Begs Julie pulling Frank lethargically to his feet.

In the lobby Frank looks about for the Porter who had taken the brief case from him.

Nowhere to be seen. Julie pulls Frank reluctantly towards Fifth Avenue. Keen to see the crime scene. Looking up at the golden glass tower. Over thirty stories above, a dark cavity of a shattered window. Making out a strip of yellow plastic strung across the frames, fluttering in the midday breeze.

Officers on the sidewalk ushered curious passersby to stand back.

"Move along ... Nothing to see here." An Officer yelped, holding out his arms as though to prevent people from entering.

Standing with his mouth gapping open as if to counter the strain of looking up, Frank slipped into an a hypnotic trance. Recalling flashes of what he had seen through the telescopic sight.

"Come on bones!" Julie calls out pulling Frank from the dark thoughts.

Julie had seen enough.

The novelty of the killing had faded as it had for many, now returning to cyber-space and social networks to chat to people they will never meet. Across the street, the Sherman Monument had caught Julie's attention as it had a large group of tourists. Enthusiastically taking photos and feeding over feed pigeons that could get enough of a good thing. As if to not miss out on a photo, Julie snaps a Kodak moment of the monument.

Frank followed instinctively behind. Catching a glance of Sixth Avenue, memories resurfaced. Then looked towards the Park. Hoping its serenity would pacify his guilt. Spying a paper stand, contemplates buying one. Knowing it would contain nothing of what he knew first hand. A large colored picture of Metcalfe twisted body appeared on the front page of one paper. Taken by an opportunist. Nothing was sacred even in death.

Looking about, he discovers Julie had vanished. Then spies a horse and carriage with Julie talking to a horse, in French.

"I think it likes you." Said Frank watching the horse nuzzling its head against Julie's.

"Come and pat it." She asked, seeing him standing some distant back.

"Yeah-nah... I'm good thanks." Replying apprehensively.

Some people did not gel with horses and Frank was one of them. The horse sensed it, lifting its head in agitation on hearing of his voice.

"Là là... Bonne fille..." Julie sooths the beast. "...Son seul Franc, It's only Frank." Stroking the horses flank. "...Good girl."

The horse settles again with her softly spoken words.

"Would you like a ride?" A gentle Italian voice asked from the seat above them.

An elderly gentleman wearing a blue Fedora hat looked down at them.

"Yes please! ..." Exclaims Julie excitedly. "...Come on Frank!"

Frank gingerly climbs into the large open white carriage and sits back. Allowing the well wore leather seats capture him.

"Welcome to New York City! ... I am your driver Giuseppe. And this is Joanna."

Clicking his tongue, calls out a command.

"Forza Joanna! Brava ragazza!" Steering the carriage onto a Central Park pathway.

The city disappeared behind them as the golden canopy of the Walnuts trees offered shade.

Sunlight leaked through the branches. The rhythmic sound of Joanna's hooves on the oyster shell path. Giuseppe unobtrusively narrated what most other tourist guides overlooked. Allowing the lovers behind him their special moment together.

If cupid had a first name, it would surely have been Giuseppe.

Nestling herself close to Frank. Julie wondered what the future held for them as their brief time together was coming to an end. Their last full day together before she would need to return to Flint. Not a thought she wanted to contemplate. Hoping the magic of the moment would last a little longer.

Then gives a small sigh.

"A penny for your thoughts." Asked Frank hearing the melancholy sigh.

"Us?" Responds Julie, wondering if she had said too much.

"What about us?" Asked Frank curiously.

"We can't keep meeting like this... Can we?" Julie said despondently.

"Of course not... I just need more time to sort things out." Searching for the right words. The right thoughts. "...I need to find a job..." Cutting himself short, realizing he was painting himself into a corner.

"You already have a job Frank... What are you talking about?" Confused turning to look at him.

"What I'm trying to say is I don't think the job is for me... All the travel. I want something closer to home. To the kids. Seattle." Looking for an answer.

"Oh." Unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Overhearing the faint conversation Giuseppe knows there would be no proposal on this trip. There would be no notch cut on the side board today. His fingers would run over the countless proposals.

Love could not be counted. Only felt.

"I want you in my life Julie... After this weekend I know I can't live without you." Confessed Frank, saying the words she wanted to hear.

Giuseppe grins to himself. Perhaps there was hope for these two lovers after all. And he would see them another special day. Clicking his tongue, Joanna picks up the pace slightly, as if her master had caught her napping.

"Brava ragazza... Brava ragazza..." Gently tapping the reins on her hind end. "...Good girl."

"I could come to Seattle if you like?" Hoping to advance the impasse.

"What about your job?" Frank asked taken back by her initiative.

"I'll get another one in Seattle." She counters quickly.

"Give me a couple months okay. I have things to sort out first."

Frank's mind drifted to Smith and Marilyn. Both would be difficult to budge from their positions. Smith more so than Marilyn. Smith was capable of wreaking havoc on his life. Marilyn was something that could be switched off at any time.

But could he be so cruel to throw her onto the street?

"Okay... You're on notice babe." Kissing him on the cheek and pulling herself close to him.

The lazy Sunday afternoon washed over them.

After what seemed like hours they returned to where they had first begun their journey. Frank slipped Giuseppe a Benjamin in appreciation while Julie went to say goodbye to Joanna. Feeding her a large carrot Giuseppe had given her.

"Sois une bonne fille jusqu'à mon retour... Okay?" Julie kisses Joanna and finds Frank on the side walk a safe distant away.

"Thank you... It was wonderful." Said Frank, waving goodbye.

Returning to the Hotel, Julie ran a long hot deep bath.

Hiding among the thick bubbles from Frank. Their relationship was at a crucial point. It could tip either way. Her innate intuition told her to hang in there. Somehow it would work out. It had to. Their souls had touched.

Frank appears in the door way holding two flute glasses. Fizzing with champagne. And wearing nothing but a smile.

"You can read my mine." And reaches for what she thought was a flute glass.

Frank sinks into the bath at the other end facing her. Trying to read a woman's mind, which as any man knows, is impossible.

Julie on the other hand was having more success...
I'll be back

"Your girl-friend beat you up?" Asked Marilyn examining the purple bruise on Frank's shoulder.

"Yeah... She throws a hell of a punch... Better watch out for her." Warned Frank playing along.

"I can handle myself." Warned Marilyn.

"I bumped into a closing elevator door." Hoping to evade any questioning.

But Marilyn was not listening, she had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Your dinner will be ready soon... Go wash up bad man." Dismissing Frank's infidelity.

Splashing cold water on his face to bring himself back to Seattle time. It would be midnight in New York. Feeling sleepy despite having only been away a few days. Mirror Man did not say a word.

He just stared back at Frank shaking his head.

"What?" Frank asked.

"You know what you have to do Frank." Mirror Man tells him.

Frank focuses a stare at the Man in the Mirror. Mirror Man was right. He was always right. He was there the day is marriage fell apart.

And when Frank cried. Mirror Man had cried with him.

"Not today." Dismissing the talk he would need to have with Marilyn. Feeling guilty of betraying Julie.

"Not today." Mirror Man agreed with Frank. He had seen Julie in New York. Her reflection had captivated him as much as it had Frank. She was a keeper. Appreciating the conundrum Frank was facing.

It was not a matter of choosing one over the other. It was about letting go of Marilyn.

"This came for you when you were away." Marilyn hands Frank a letter.

Frank takes it reluctantly and examines the large white envelope for the markings of the IRS. The thought still haunted him. Seeing the return address of a software company he had applied for a role with.

Holding it, but not opening it. Afraid of the news it might contain.

"Give it here... You'll be all day..." Teased Marilyn sensing Frank's reluctance. "...What is it would you and mail?"

Frank begins to eat as Marilyn tears open the envelope. Unfolding the letter that it contained, she silently reads it to herself. Franks eyes watching her facial expressions for bad news.

Letters always spent trouble in Frank's life.

"And?" Frank asked trying to read Marilyn's poker face for clues.

"And...You should read it yourself..." Passing it back to him satisfied she had all the details memorized. "...Don't be late this time!" She tells him.

"Late? Late for what? ..." Beginning to read the letter. "...It's an interview! Jesus!" Discovers Frank with a surprise.

"Language Frank! Not the Lord's name. Please." Marilyn censored him.

"Sorry. Forgot." He stared at the letter confused.

He had shot his chances last time by arriving late to an interview several months earlier. This time he would allow himself plenty of time for any delays.

That evening sleep could not take hold. The letter had sparked life into him. This might be the opportunity he was looking for. To get away from Smith. Frank's mind went into overdrive.

And as if to read Frank's mind, Marilyn added her thoughts.

"Your girl-friend in New York will be happy. Maybe she not beat you up next time?"

"You're my only girl-friend."

"You have sweet tongue bad man." Calling his bluff. Rolling over to cuddle him.

The next day, the Buick pulls Frank to the curb with a new found hope in his eyes.

It looked different than before. Sunlight bounced off the windows' polished chrome trim. He waited for exiting patrons before entering, before pulling open the large swinging doors to make a grand entrance.

Bright exterior light silhouetted his body in the doorway.

Pausing momentarily to take in the familiar aromas of cedar. Eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting and the dark wooden features as he searched for the man that would face him down.

Tomo recognizes the gun-slinger filling the doorway.

"Well, well... Howdy partner... You're back!" He calls reaching for a short glass.

"Seems so doesn't it?" Looking about the bar.

"How was the big apple?"

"Big... Amazing." Frank sums up the entire experience.

"Your boss hasn't been back since last time." Informed Tomo making an observation.

"He'll be back. You can count on that... And you can count on your tape machine not working either." Warned Frank.

"Ben's had it fixed. I'd be happy to take a wager on that."

"It wouldn't be fair mate." Already knowing the outcome.

"We'll see..." Ever hopeful of a collect. "...Happy to put a fiver on it if you want." Offered Tomo in his Manchester accent.

"Put me down..." Said Frank. "...Don't say I didn't warn you."

Pushing the short glass under his nose, inhales the earthly characters. He was home again. Wondering if he should text Julie about the upcoming interview. Reminding him to inform Tomo.

"Oh... Managed to score an interview with a company down town." Frank informed the shaman.

"That's good news... All the best Frank. What about your current job?"

"I'll flick it... Won't need it anymore. I like staying put."

"What? And miss out on all the travelling and fancy hotels? ... And fancy ladies_?" Tomo accentuated the word for his own benefit.

"It's not all its cut out to be mate... Trust me... It's a real killer." Suggests Frank.

"Speaking of which... Did you see that Merchant Banker that got whacked on the weekend?" Keen to get first hand details.

"Yeah... We were staying close to where it happened... Caught most of it on the news... Apparently they never caught the guy who did it."

"We? ... Who'd you stay with lover-boy?" Tomo teased him.

"The boss and I." Lied Frank.

"If you say so." Responded Tomo looking at him.

Frank avoided the eye contact.

"Trouble seems to follow you around doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Pulling Frank from God rattling against the sides of his glass.

"Well I mean... That guy in Flint, and now the Banker dude... I hope you have a good alibi if they come asking questions." Questioned Tomo.

"I'll just say I was with you." Putting Tomo on the spot.

"Fair enough... Now that we have our stories straight... Did you catch the T-Birds match on Saturday? ... Mate! What a thriller in Malila that was!"

"Yeah, I caught the end of the game. We're looking good for the title...Touch wood." Tapping the bar, then the side of his head.

Frank savors the familiar drink. And familiar sounds of the street seeped into the bar. Logging truck growled their diesel engines. It was like he had never left.

Just then his mobile vibrates.

'Bloody Smith.' Thinks Frank instinctively, looking at the private number appearing on the screen.

"Smith." Frank retorts.

"I'm sorry... I was after a Frank Drake." Asked an official sounding voice.

"Ah... Speaking sorry." Back tracking his tone, hoping he had not shot a chance at another interview.

"Mister Drake... I'm Detective Worland of the Seattle Police Department... Do you have a moment to speak?"

Suddenly Frank felt helpless.

Time slowed down as adrenaline vomited violently into his system. A primal urge to fight or flight erupted in him. To face the consequences.

Or leave everything he ever loved behind.

"How can I help you Officer." Frank responds calmly.

Fearing the intention of the call. Tomo catches the word and looks up. Wondering if Frank's flimsy alibi would hold up. Tomo would squeal like a stuck pig if put under questioning.

"You have a son called Jack?" The Detective began, throwing Frank off guard.

Redirecting his worries in the opposite direction.

"That's right. What's happened?" Concerned for his son.

"He's been arrested... He's here at the station if you want to bail him out."

"On what charge?" Asked Frank.

"Possession of marijuana."

"Jack doesn't do drugs...I thought it had been legalized?" Frank defended his son.

"He's under twenty-one... I'd be happy to release him into your custody until the trial..." The Detective advised. "...Said he had rather you came down than his mother's."

"That's understandable... I'll be there right away... Is he okay?"

"He's fine... Just a little shaken as you can imagine. Seems like a good kid. Just got caught in with the wrong crowd I guess... We'll talk more when you get here."

"Thanks Detective... I'll be there shortly." Hanging up.

A stunned look appeared on his face as he tried to rationalize Jack's involvement with drugs.

"Oh you silly bugger Jack." Frank Said to himself.

"Did you say Detective? They coming for you already?" Asked Tomo thinking the earlier joke had back fired on him.

"Not me... Jack."

"Jack? He wouldn't hurt a fly." Defended Tomo.

"Marijuana apparently... I'm heading down there down to bail him out." Frank skulled the last swallow and stood hoping his legs would hold up.

"I thought they legalized that stuff?" Asked Tomo.

"Not if you're under twenty-one." Informed Frank shaking his head.

Money was not going to be a problem since Smith had begun bank rolling him.

He could afford good lawyer. Nonetheless Frank checked his bank account after Julies' shopping expedition had put a small dent in it. Seeing Smith's second deposit had only swelled his account by an additional fifty thousand.

"Jesus!" Exclaiming to himself, then remembered what Marilyn had told him.

"Not more bad news Frank? ... I would have stayed in bed if I were you mate."

"I wish I had now... I'll see you later. Keep my seat warm..." Turning towards the doors to leave, ".... I'll be back." ...
Like Father like Son

Parking the Buick in an allotted park for visitors.

The cherry red Buick stood out among pale blue and white Patrol cars that lined the lot. Frank look out at the large ominous Police Precinct. Large dark windows punctuated the lime stone walls like big black eyes. Venetian blinds hung like pale eye lashes. The State Flag fluttered in the sea breeze beside the Stars and Stripes.

Somewhere inside a young man sat in a cell waiting for his father to bail him out. Probably more fearful of his mother than felons around him. Frank wondered if he should let him stew a little longer. The experience would serve a good lesson not to mess with drugs.

Life was hard enough without them.

Peeling himself from the Buick, climbs the wide stone steps leading up to large revolving glass doors. And he enters a foreign world. A dark wooden rostrum greeted him. Perched behind this on high, an officer staring down on him like God on judgement day.

Fearful he could read his thoughts, Frank thinks of Jack.

"Can I help you Sir?" The Duty Sergeant asked.

"I'm here for Jack Drake... He's my son." Stepping closer, looking up at the uniformed officer.

"Sign here... And here. And he's all yours..." Pointing to the two stickers attached to a form that put Jack under Frank's care. "...The Detective will examine the charges... He's right over there." Now pointing to a far corner.

Frank looks over to a desk and sees Jack sitting quietly beside an officer.

Passing handcuffed felons looking batted and bruised.

Frank caught himself questioning their career choice. Their eyes meet as if to exchange thoughts, then disengage as they allow him to pass. As if he was one of them, and they knew his dark secrets.

"Detective Worland?" Asked Frank catching Jack's attention.

"Mister Drake?"

"That's right..." Frank turned to Jack. "...You okay?"

"Dad... You're here. Thanks for coming... I was afraid they would call mom." Standing and keen to leave.

"Not so fast Buck-Weed... I want to have a chat with the Detective here. Why don't you go wait in the car... It's just outside." Frank threw Jack the keys.

Waiting for him to leave, Frank took his still warm seat.

"So what's the situation Detective? ... Jack doesn't do drugs. You can see he's a good kid."

"I see that... That's why he's sitting out here with me than the cells... And not among the thugs we have back there."

"Thanks for that... What happened?"

"A frat party that got out of control... A neighbor called us in to settle it down. In the process of shaking everyone down... Your son had a small amount of marijuana in his possession... Claims someone had shoved it in his pocket at the last moment... But facts are facts. It's against the law for someone under twenty one to possess it... Despite the recent law reforms."

"What's charges is he facing?"

"Just possession charges at this stage. There was a small amount in his system, but that wouldn't count unless he'd been driving... Several of his so called friends ran off and left him to take the rap."

Frank examines the papers he had signed. Court date had been set in a month's time.

"What's he facing if he is convicted?"

"A fine and a slap on the wrist... And a criminal record he will carry with him for life... But he's in good company... Bill Gates has one." Said Worland hoping to defuse Frank's concerns.

"Really?" Surprised by the odd fact.

"Yeah. Strange world isn't it... There's hope for Jack yet... Find yourself a good Lawyer and let them worry about the paper work."

"Thanks Detective... I appreciate your time." Standing and extending his hand.

"You're welcome Mister Drake. Take care of Jack and I'll see you in court." Worland did not stand.

Weighted down by case files covering every spare space of his desk.

Jack sat with a long face in the Buick. Worried about the strip his father was about to rip off him.

"You okay sweetie?" Taking Jack off guard.

Jack sat quiet unsure of his future. The Detective had told him of the criminal record and his mind had imagined the worse.

"I'll get you the best Lawyer Jack."

"Can you afford it? You're not working."

"I've some money tucked away for emergencies."

"Thanks Dad."

"Leave it to me okay? ... And not a word to your mother."

"That I can guarantee... Can I crash at your place?"

"Oh course you can. You don't have to ask... You know my door is always open to you guys."

"That means a lot... I'm sorry."

"What for?" Asked Frank, having already dismissed Jack's predicament.

"For having to bail me out." Said Jack remorsefully.

"Hey... Don't worry about it. Shit happens." Said Frank defusing Jack's concerns.

In Frank's day it could well have been him sitting where Jack had been sitting. His own adolescent years were not without a blemish.

Growing pains every kid has to go through.

"You're not angry with me?" Confused by his father's calm reaction to being arrested.

"I love you too much to ever be angry with you Jack... I hope this teaches you a lesson not to hang out with those people who call themselves your friend... And dessert you to take the rap... Don't ever do drugs Jack... I've never seen any good come of anyone who ever took them. Okay?"

Frank delivered his sermon. Leaving it to his children to make their own path in life. He would always be there to glue them back together with love when their lives fell apart.

"I hear you Dad... Thanks for being there for me. I'd rather have stayed at the Station than face Mom." Jack reflected.

"So would I... No one should have to face your mother... Why don't we visit Uncle Tomo and enjoy a cider together?"

"Sounds great." Feeling relieved.

"Other than the bust... How was the party? ... Must have been a riot to get the police to attend uninvited?" Frank mused with a grin.

"It was crazy... You should have seen it..." Jack began.

"Oh... I can well imagine." Frank laughed, recalling the wild parties of his day.

"How you doing young cock? ..." Tomo asked seeing Jack looking visibly shaken by the ordeal. "...I heard you go busted!"

"Give the boy a break will ya' Tomo... We've all been there..." Frank warned. "...A cider for Jack and the usual for me thanks mate." Resuming his now cold stool.

"How was your trip?" Asked Jack sipping on the cider.

"Good... You would have liked it... I'll take you there one day... After your exams okay."

"Sweet as." Sipping on the cider and beginning to feel its calming effects.

'Like father like son'. Thought Tomo watching on.

Somehow unnoticed to anyone, including the security cameras, Smith had entered the bar. And assumed his corner booth. Tomo looks up and sees him sitting there.

'How's he do that?' Tomo wonders to himself.

Making eye contact with Frank who understood his frozen stare.

"Not now." Muttered Frank to himself. Not with his son at the bar.

Looking to the television hoping that would distract his mind further. Tomo pours Smith a wine and takes it over to him. Even Tomo had been placed under Smith's enigmatic spell.

Frank waited.

Knowing he would be summoned. Like two gun fighters about to draw. His mind anticipated Smith's next move. Then Tomo nods to Frank who closes his eyes in denial at the signal.

It was time.

"Stay here Jack... I just have to see a man." Hoping to have a few days grace from Smith's presence.

Taking his glass with him takes the seat opposite and looks directly at Smith. Taking slow shallow breaths he waited for Smith to speak.

"Frank..." Began Smith then looked over to Jack. "...Is that your son? Jack?" He asked.

"That's right." Replied Frank feeling tired and not in the mood to discourse his family.

"Seems he's been a naughty boy... So my sources tell me." Smith taunts Frank.

"What do you want Smith? It's too soon for another... Assignment... Isn't it?" Frank asked diverting Smith's attention from Jack."

"It's never too early Frank... But for now you can have some time to yourself... I'll be touch... Mister Black has asked me to pass on his gratitude of a job well done. "...You received the transfer?"

"I did notice that... It should come in handy for Jack's Lawyer." Seeing the upside doing the Agency's dirty work.

"I've already taken care of that." Responded Smith having cut a few strings of his own.

"What have you done?" Frank asked coldly, unsure if Smith had done more harm than good.

"Just taken care of some paper work... So to speak." Smith began, "...I'm sure Jack will be receiving a letter shortly notifying him not to attend his court hearing." Smith grinned, pleased with himself.

Frank was unsure what to think. Smith's ability to tamper with records. His own IRS record had been completely wiped. Now a clean slate. God only knew what he had done with Jack's police report.

"Thanks for that." Offers Frank unsurely. His mind having turned three-sixty degrees in a matter of an hour.

"I'll be in touch Frank. Enjoy your son's freedom... I envy you." And a father-son relationship he never had.

Frank slid from the booth and returned to his stool at the bar, leaving Smith looking into space. Lips moved as though talking to someone.

"You okay Dad? ... Look like you've seen a ghost." Said Jack observing his father was silent and dazed after his discussion with the strange man, "... Who was that guy?" Looking over his shoulder at Smith who was raising his glass to acknowledge him.

Jack tilted his head back in return gesture.

"Just an old work colleague." Stretching the truth.

Not mentioning what Smith had done for Jack.

He would wait to see the letter for himself. Until then he would have to assume Jack was still going to Court. The wheels of due process would turn, until Frank was told otherwise.

"Don't go soft on me now Smith." Warned Black sitting opposite.

Seeing Smith in admiration of Frank's son. Dark glasses cover Black's eyes. Fine black leather gloves covered long boney fingers. A cigarette smoldered between two of them.

"Hey! ..." Calls out Tomo suddenly from the bar. "...You can't smoke in here! ... Take that outside if you want to do that!"

Tomo did not care whose boss Smith was, he was not going to tolerate cigarette smoke stinking out his bar. Black throws the cigarette onto the floor and crushes it under his feet and leaves. Leaving Smith alone again.

"I didn't know he smokes?" Said Tomo looking at Frank.

"There's a lot of things you don't know want to know about that guy." Frank warned.

"Bet I got him of the tape this time." Tomo called out confidently go to check the machine.

"Don't forget we have a fiver on it." Remarked Frank already knowing the outcome.

"Don't go away Frank... I'm coming to collect this time."

Moments later Tomo could be heard yelling in frustration from the back office.

"That bastard!"

"You're welcome." Frank calls back.

Lifting his glass to acknowledge the compliment.

"What was that about?" Asked Jack looking towards the office and back to his Father for the answer.

"A ghost..." Replied Frank with a grin. "Just a ghost." ...
Max Pecks

"What do you mean you can't find it? It has to be there! ... I have a case to present... Have another look!" Worland yelled down the phone at the Evidence Officer before slamming the receiver down for all to hear.

Re-reading the case file. He recalled the frightened young man that was left holding the drugs. After his so called mates had run off. Feeling sorry for the lad, but the law was the law and it was not Worland's place to bend it.

The phone rang and he lifted it expecting to hear that the evidence bag of cannabis had been found.

"Well?" He snapped.

"It's not here... It's been destroyed... Last week." The Officer announced the bad news.

"What do you mean it's been destroyed? ... If I don't have that evidence I don't have a case... How did it get destroyed without my sign off?" Worland bellowed again, causing heads to turn.

"I'm staring at the list of all evidence to be destroyed... And that bag was on it... I assumed you knew about it?" Tring to defend himself.

"Oh coarse I didn't know about it... Shit!" Worland fumed under the collar. "...I want to see that list for my own eyes. I'm coming down! ... Don't move!" Slamming down the phone again.

Attracting the attention of the officers and felons around him.

It was not his nature for him to lose his cool, but this was the first time he had lost evidence. Clambering down the stairs to the evidence room. Rushing along narrow corridors, he arrives at a grilled screen.

The Cage.

The evidence Officer was reluctant to let him inside. Feeling safe behind the grilled counter. That was until Worland opened the door with his security pass. Cornered, the officer fumbled for the listing out hoping to fend off Worland's verbal barrage.

"See for yourself." Holding the list up to shield himself.

"Anything else on here that should not have been destroyed?"

"No... Just yours." Came the hesitant reply.

Worland sighed heavily, and weighed up the consequences. Perhaps fortune had stepped in for the young man.

And he pondered the consequences.

"You're one lucky bugger Jack Drake..." Then grinned. "...Oh well, If anyone deserves a break, it was him... I'll have to write a letter explaining our position... Get the Tech boys onto how this happened... It could have been a lot worse than a just minor possession charge... Understood?" Accepting the situation he could do very little about.

"Yes Sir." Whimpered the Clerk reaching for the phone.

The days passed without change to Frank's daily routine.

Then one morning a letter arrived. Addressed to Jack. Frank examined the official envelope, the crest of the Seattle Police Department stamped in the corner. Tapping it in his hand several times to gauge the weight of the contents within. Unsure if Smith had done what he said he would. Hesitantly he opens it. And pulls the letter from within.

His eyes scan the typed letter taking in the key facts...

In the matter of Seattle Police Department vs Jack James Drake.

Case # 875323: Underage possession of marijuana.

Due to a technical error... The evidence of the above stated case has been accidently destroyed. As such all charges have been subsequently dropped. It is advised however that Jack should exercise due caution with whom he associates with in the future.

Signed,

Detective Worland,

(Arresting Officer)

Frank grinned. Smith had pulled it off.

Folding the letter back inside the envelope, and place it on the dining table for Jack to find that evening. Allowing him to sweat a little longer. Then imagined his relief. And an unbridled future. Jack had suffered enough with an unloving mother.

He need not be burdened with a criminal record as well.

The day seemed warmer than the day before.

The sun had risen a little higher and sky a little deeper blue as the Buick drove itself down the First Avenue to Jeffersons. With the windows wound down and an elbow leaning on the edge. The radio played an old Rock & Roll song, Shake Rattle and Roll. And he found himself in a nostalgic mood. Transported back in time in his '56 Buick. Pulling up outside the bar. Idled the engine and waited for the song to finish.

Nothing would rush him today.

Today was a good day, as if his life was on the turn. He had an interview lined up. Jack's charges had been dropped. He was feeling on top of the world. He could smell it all in the air and wanted to wallow in it as long as he could. Tapping the throttle in time with the music, the three hundred and sixty four cubic inch engine rumbled like thunder.

From inside, Tomo looked towards the window and saw only blue skies. That was not thunder. That was Frank. Killing the engine, tucked the morning's newspaper under his arm and proceeded inside.

Smith had lodged himself in his corner booth. Drinking a coffee and reading a newspaper with growing fissures of Metcalfe's corrupt empire. Beginning as trickles of suspicion. Building to a stream of allegations. Until finally, unleashing a torrent of deceitfulness and fraud.

Whatever euphoria Frank was feeling when he entered the bar vanished instantly on seeing Smith.

Sliding onto his stool knowing he would be subpoenaed. Not until he had had his breakfast. And washed it down with a stiff drink. The two bulls knew the rules of engagement.

With the old bull always in charge.

The overhead televisions screened the breaking news. Metcalfe's empire was crumbling as investor's sort their money. Only to find the cupboards were bare. Humiliating the financial watch dogs as to how he had evaded detection for so long. Any sadness people had first felt, was being replaced by anger and retribution. His death now a just reward for a life of fraud. Billions upon billions of investor's dollars had been swindled. Suckered into investing. Promised insane returns on their money.

It was all too good to be true.

Frank watched on and recalled what Smith had said. Now coming true. He had doubts about Smith. He couldn't put his finger on it. Turning to look over to Smith who appeared to be talking to someone opposite. But there was no one there. Lips moved in quiet conversation. Smith looked over to Frank, catching him in mid-conversation. The two men stared each other down before Frank blinked first.

As if by a tractor beam, Frank stood and walked over to Smith. Sliding along the red leather seat opposite Smith watching on.

"Smith." Began Frank.

"Frank." Began Smith.

"You were right about Metcalfe I see." Confessed Frank.

"Yes... The Agency had its sources... You did the country a great service Frank..." Smith stroked Frank's conscious.

"Don't start with that..." Frank cut Smith short, "... I did what you told me to do."

He did not need to be stroked for killing another human being. Even if it was Metcalfe.

"I have another little assignment for you... A small trip to Mexico." Smith advised. Stopping to gauge Frank's reaction.

"Mexico? What's down there?" Frank asked suspiciously.

"Just a ... Drug Lord." Replied Smith.

"When?" Asked Frank worried the timing would conflict with his interview.

"In a weeks' time... Is that going to be a problem? It's not like you have to be anywhere do you Frank?" Asked Smith.

"No I guess not." Frank lied. Realizing that there some things about his private life Smith may not know. Or that Smith's cyber tentacles did not extend to physical mail.

Smith reached into jacket pocket and pulled out a yellow envelope. Sliding it smoothly across the polished surface. Without looking Frank slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket.

"Thanks for what you did for Jack..." Frank lowered himself to Smith in appreciation. "...It means a lot to know he'll be alright."

"You're welcome..." Accepted Smith. "...Drugs are poisoning our nation Frank."

Hoping the connection would strengthen Frank's resolve to complete the assignment.

"Anyway... Thanks again." Excusing himself.

"We'll talk again soon." Smith returned to his paper.

Frank returned to his wooden stool. Tomo slid a short glass in front of him.

"Aren't you going to check your tapes?" Asked Frank.

"Nah... Ben has it down at his workshop. Damned if he can find the problem with them." Shaking his head in disbelief.

"Whatever helps you sleep mate." Consoles Frank.

"Gentleman..." Quinn begins. "...That was a complete disaster for us in New York... Talk to me... Tell me you have something..." Looking sternly over the top of her glasses pinched midway down her nose.

"Nothing Ma'am." Finch honestly answered.

The truth was the only thing they had on Smith, was nothing.

"We're back to square one again..." Then recalled, "Oh... We had a name come up from one of the surrounding hotels... A Max Pecks... It could be nothing, but it stood out like dog's balls... I had it run through the national security database and it came back blank... Probably Smith's Asset."

"Security tapes?" Asked Quinn knowing the probable answer.

"Nothing... All blank for a five city block radius.... How does he do it?" Finch asked worried about Smith's reach.

"He wrote the protocol and backdoors. No one questioned him... Now we're paying the price... If this ever gets out..." She stops to think about the media piranhas that would feed on the Agency's bones. "...If you think the media are feasting on Metcalfe... You can only imagine the field day they would have with us."

Then redirects her thoughts.

"Find out who this Max Pecks is and bring him in..." Quinn instructed. "...What have you got on his next target?"

"We've got about fifty suspects... None of importance on the political or business horizon... I swear he is just playing with us."

"Of course he is..." Quinn grinned shaking her head.

She had worked with him personally before he had burnt himself out. And knew exactly what he was capable of.

"We thought we had his digital signature in Seattle, but it turned out to be a minor drug possession hack... Too small for him." Said Finch dismissing the hack.

"Probably just a local hacker trolling the police departments records... Focus on the big fish for now." Remarks Quinn dismissing the connection.

"Seems Metcalfe was not as Saintly after all." Finch offered a change of conversation.

"What Merchant Banker is?" Retorts Quinn.

"It's got to be in the billions of dollars." Burgess contemplates the size of the fraud.

"Maybe more... We'll leave that to the Security Commission to unravel his Ponzi schemes. It's our job to unravel Smith... The President still wants answers as to why he was covered in Metcalfe's brains... That will be all gentlemen... Keep me posted of developments. Understood?"

"Yes Ma'am." The two Special Agents responded in unison standing to leave the Director's office.

Just then her phone sounded.

"Quinn..." She abruptly answers the interruption to her day. Listening to the voice on the other end. "...Yes Mister President."

Halting Finch and Burgess in their tracks.

"Our people are working hard on it as we speak." Quinn responds to the barrage of questions.

There was an easy silence as Quinn listened on to the rhetoric coming down the line at her. Much of it hollow. Much of it pretentious.

Picking out the key words.

"Yes Mister President... Right away Mister President." Quinn waits for the caller to hang up first before replacing the receiver.

Seeing Finch and Burgess about to leave.

"One moment Gentlemen... Not so fast."

Burgess turns anxiously about and joins Finch now standing before Quinn's ominous desk.

"Yes Ma'am?" They asked in unison.

"The President is now thinking..." She began straining for credibility, "... That the bullet was meant for him and not Metcalfe."

She wondered what was going through his mind to be so vain.

"He wants a progress report on Smith... Write it up and keep it simple... I don't want any big words he wouldn't understand... Make it clear it all points to Metcalfe."

"Yes Ma'am." They replied in unison.

"Dismissed." Sending her underlings from her office a second time in a many minutes.

"We on for Tuesday?" Quinn calls out to Finch about to leave.

"Smith couldn't stop me being there." Finch responds keenly.

"I look forward to taking you down."

"Likewise Ma'am... Likewise."

Quinn swiveled on the large leather chair and looked out the window to the trees.

Threatening gray skies shrouded the illustrious Agency buildings that day. Democracy had already dealt the Nation a bad hand.

But it was game she knew all too well...
Meet Fritz

Frank would be cutting it fine to get down to Mexico and back in time for the interview.

Wanting no delays, hoping Smith had done his homework. This was no time to doubt his ability to get him over the line and back again. Business Class tickets to LAX. A rental car to Tijuana. A stylish Hotel would afford Frank the comforts and coolness of home.

This time there would be no Julie to accompany him. Mexico was a dangerous place at the best of times. This was not the time to take a French girlfriend to a Mexican bull fight. New York he could handle.

Corruption in Mexico was a way of life. He would have enough trouble staying alive himself without having to look after Julie as well. Maybe he should take his ex-wife. But then he would not wish that on the Mexicans. They would build a wall if they knew she was coming.

Frank had half lied to Marilyn about the trip. Saying he was heading to Los Angelis. Leaving out the other half of the trip to Tijuana, her home town. Somethings did not need to be discussed. Marilyn went about her daily routine, indifferent to Frank's absences.

Parking the Buick at the Airport car park was becoming second nature to Frank. And made his way through the busy terminal. Holiday makers congested the check-in lines. Frank's VIP status gave him priority and streamlined his processing.

"This way Mister Pecks..." A ticketing woman advised, showing Frank to a luxurious lounge reserved for VIP guests. "...The bar is over there if you can for a drink?"

"Don't mind if I do." Said Frank looking to settle his nerves.

After eleven hundred miles and three hours in the air, wheels squelched on the hot cracked tarmac.

Signaling the planes arrival at LAX. Awaking Frank from his nap. It had been years since he had been in California, little alone Los Angeles. Once covered in orange droves a century before. Now a sprawled urbanized landscape desecrated by man. Spreading like a malignant cancer over its surface. Smog had replaced oranges as the main export.

LA's fine, the sun shines, most the time. And then some.

Immigrants chased the American dream. Only to find themselves being chased back across the border. A handful of wannabes would survive tinsel town. If you were not someone. You were no-one. And if you were someone, you were probably a drug dealer. Casting couches lined the Boulevard of broken dreams. Starlets worked for tips. Looking for a break. Looking to be discovered.

But Frank was not there to be discovered. That was the last thing he wanted to be. He was just passing through, as any smart person would do.

Transiting the airport Frank signals a cab to pull over to take him to a rental company Smith had arranged.

"Rolling Hills." Frank instructs the driver.

"Nothing out there Mister... You sure that's right?"

The driver looks at Frank wondering why he would not take a rental car from one of the Airport.

"That's where I have to head." States Frank.

"You from out of town?" The cabbie asked gauging Frank through his rear vision mirror.

"Seattle." Frank replies keeping it short.

"That explains a lot." Dismissed the driver driving off into the steady flow of traffic.

Forty minutes later the cab idles down a long narrow dusty road and arrive at what looks like an abandoned car depot.

Frank wonders if he was in the right place. Rusting wire irons gates hung on squeaking hinges. A swirling breeze kicked up mini spirals of dust that raced off across the yard.

Signage bore numerous bullet holes. As if to testify its warning...

'Trespassers will be shot... Beware of the dog'

"We're here." Barks the cabbie wanting to leave.

The place gave him the creeps. He had lived in LA for years, but never come to this depot. There was something wrong about the place. Eyes peel the area for activity.

"Keep the change." Frank paid the driver.

And watched as he drove away. A dust cloud bellowed behind him in his urgency to leave. Stirring up spirals of dust with him in his wake. Frank surveys the yard. The office appeared dilapidated and disused. Re-checking the hand written note Smith had included in the envelope.

This was the place alright.

Approaching the derelict shack with some caution. If there was a dog about, best to let it sleep. Suddenly, as though the thought had awoken the beast. A loud bark was heard coming from the rear of the shack.

Freezing in his tracks, waited for the barking to stop.

Taking more steps, the barking begins again. Figuring he if had not seen the dog by now, it was likely to be chained up. And continued towards the shed. Wooden steps creaked under his weight. Exciting the dog's barking further with each step. Reaching the top, wipes the dust from the window to peer inside. A room dark and dusty. It had not been used for months, if not years. Had Smith got it wrong for once? He tries door knob, but it's locked.

Sensing someone behind him. Turns about and sees Smith standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Smith." Said Frank, surprised to see him.

Like a ghost, his aberration that would appear without notice.

"Frank..." Replied Smith calmly. "...This way." Instructing Frank to follow to behind the shed.

Aggressive barking sounded again.

"Careful... There's a dog behind there..." Frank began seeing Smith disappear around the corner.

The barking fell silent. Frank arrives a few moments later to find Smith patting a large black German Alsatian.

"Meet Fritz." Said Smith.

Handing Fritz a large biscuit.

"He won't hurt if you're with me..." Urging Frank to step forward. "...He wants to sniff you."

Frank steps closer and holds out his hand towards Fritz's drooling jaws. Sniffing it before licking away the sweat from his fingers.

"I think he likes you..." Smith suggested, patting Fitz on the head. Rewarding him with another biscuit, "...This way Frank."

Lighting a cigarette. Coughing at the irritation.

Fritz eyed Frank's every movement. Staying close to Smith seemed a safe measure. Rows of automobiles greeted them. Some new. Some old. Smith stopped beside one. Frank looked about, seeing Fritz had gone under the shed for shade.

His master had paid him a rare visit.

"Take this one." Instructed Smith handing the keys to Frank.

"Could not I have simply taken a rental from the airport?" Unsure of the reason.

"This one can't be traced back to us... It's fully fueled and should get you there and back."

"Should?" Asked Frank.

"You know Mexico Frank..." Smith suggested, inhaling a deep draw from his cigarette. And coughs as though he were not use to it.

"Hmm." Frank agreed.

"There's a map on the passenger seat."

"Who's the guy?" Asked Frank, wanting more details on the Drug Lord.

"Just a bad man doing bad things to our country Frank... The assignment will straight forward... Nothing you haven't done before... I will call you tomorrow after you settle in." Instructed Smith walking away.

Frank examined the black Cadillac.

Probably the only color they ever came in given the original founder of the company was so fond of the ebony hue. Turning about, hoping to catch Smith walking away. But he had disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived.

A smoldering cigarette butt on the ground the only sign of their presence.

Throwing his bag into the back seat, he could smell a scent of stale air. Smudged with fuel vapors and oil. On turning the key, the straight six cylinders turned over smoothly and silently. It did not have the harmonic rumble of his Buick. It sounded like it knew what it was doing. This was a gentleman's car. But Frank was no gentleman.

And he let it idle to get the old girl's juices flowing.

Examining the map. Smith had marked off a path that deviated from the motorway and the traffic cameras. Frank familiarized himself with the directions. The hundred and forty mile journey would usually take two hours. With Smith's diversions would add another hour. He would arrive by late afternoon, still light. Not wanting to be driving lost at night in Tijuana.

Throwing the Cadillac into drive gradually pulls out and eased passed the shed where Fitz lay napping in the shade. Now unperturbed by Frank's presence. The Cadillac accelerated through the open gates, in its wake dust bellowed into the air. Leaving Smith and Fritz behind him.

Heading into the unknown. Passport in jacket pocket. An overnight bag on the back seat. And no idea when or how the next hit would take place. The thought did not trouble him. This was a drug lord. And Frank hated drugs. It was killing America. It was killing the youth. It was a perpetual problem. Dispatching one drug lord, would only encourage another opportunist fill dead man's shoes.

That was Smith's problem, not Frank's.

Frank's mobile vibrates. Checking it, sees a text message from Smith. Another transfer had been made. The amount was no longer of interest for him. He knew exactly what he would use it for. If all went well, this would be his last mission. Frank had grown in confidence. Smith could always be eliminated if he pushed him into a corner. It's not like he had not killed anyone before. But who was Mister Black. Where was he? Would he pull on Frank's strings? Letting the dark thought fade from his mind, he tuned the radio to one of a thousand local stations.

Stumbling on Jonesy's Jukebox that was hammering out ole time Rock & Roll.

Feeling more comfortable, Frank eased himself into the seat. His arm hinged on the open window. Air conditioning was wonderful, but he it was artificial. Passing through run down suburbs of immigrant drones that worked the LA hive. The Californian sea breeze rushing over him, as he weaved under and over freeways.

In search of the junction that would take him south, Corona...
La Bamma

"Anything back on Max Pecks?" Asked Finch.

"There just too many of them... Who would have thought with a name like that?"

"Probably why Smith chose the name... Keep looking." Finch instructed.

"I'll get the Tech guys to run an algorithm on all Pecks and correlate their location to the kills... Hopefully we can narrow the number of suspects." Working away from behind a screen.

"Good idea."

"Might have something here." Burgess calls out.

"That was quick." Responds Finch looking up again.

"No... Not Pecks... Someone else."

"What you got?" Finch asked curiously.

"Juan Carlos Flores... Remember him?" Asked Burgess waiting for him to register. "...El Toro" He adds to complete the clue.

"The Bull... What about him? He's locked up in Mexico. What's he got to do Smith?"

"His name keeps coming up on Smith's hacks... He's up to something with Flores."

"It's outside our jurisdiction... You can advise DEA if you like... But there isn't much we can do about a guy already in prison serving time."

"That's the thing... He's about to be released." Catching Finch's attention.

"How does that happen?"

"It's not what you know, but who you know... Or in Flores case... Who you pay." Responded Burgess.

"When?" Asked Finch curiously anticipating Smith's next move.

"Next Monday morning..." Burgess added, "...Why's Smith interested in a Drug Lord?"

"Can't you see? ... He's cleansing the country of the undesirables... Immoral politicians... Corrupt Merchant Bankers... And Drug Lords flooding the country with narcotics."

"He's been on a crusade this whole time... They weren't just random hits... Smith's been targeting them for elimination... He thinks he's doing the Nation a service... Jesus! ... When will he stop?"

"The truth is Matt... He won't, until we stop him."

"So what do about Flores? ... Prevent Smith from killing the head of a drug cartel?" Asked Burgess, seeing the irony.

"If we have to... If it means stopping to Smith..." Finch advises knowing it would mean putting Flores back on the streets to peddle drugs again.

"Advise DEA on the ground there to be on the lookout for Smith... I'll contact the Director and fill her in... Pack your bags we being to Tijuana in the hour." Snapped Finch eager to get going.

Finch's mind was already mapping strategy meetings with officials. Knowing the fallout over the proposed wall would impinge on their co-operation. The degree of that co-operation would depend on the degree of corruption involved.

DEA would have a better sense for who they could trust. It went against Finch's better judgement, but he had to catch Smith before he stuck again. If he didn't, Smith would scour the country like a scythe-wielding personification of Death. And like Death, Smith always had jump on them. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

But Finch knew the little prick would be there somewhere.

The blistering mid-afternoon sun created heat waves off the tarmac of the road.

Traffic was sparse on the back roads Smith had chosen. After forty minutes of suburban driving, the Cadillac rolled into Corona. Turning south onto a road that ran parallel with the State Highway. Weaving the Cadillac under and over it. Taking a little longer. Evading the prying eyes and cameras. That suited Frank just fine. He was in no rush to get to there.

With the Cadillac set on cruise control, Frank had long since closed the window and switched on the air conditioning. Principles were one thing, comfort was another. After two hours and repetitive rock and roll songs, the Cadillac reached Temecula. Slowing down to take in the sights of the isolated settlement of Southern California. Hillside vineyards and golf courses suggested some wealth. Nineteenth century buildings suggested it had been around for a while. Antiques shops and restaurants completed the idyllic sleepy township.

The Cadillac was growing him. Was he being unfaithful to the Buick?

He could not imagine the two living in harmony with each other in the same garage. The Buick would win any argument there. Was it any different to Marilyn and Julie? Was he being unfaithful to Marilyn? Unsure who would could out on top. Conceding that the French pout would be no match against Marilyn's Latino temperament.

Marilyn had arrived unexpectedly at a time in his life when he was at his lowest. When his world was falling apart soon after his redundancy. Fulfilling a sexual void since his divorce. But she was married. And a Catholic one at that. With no chance of parole. It was a hopeless situation that would only end when one of them left.

Then Julie had appeared in his life. Accidently, or by chance. Whatever it was, she had taken hold of his heart in a way Marilyn never could. Marilyn was lust. Julie was love. The time had come when he would need to choose. For as much as men try to understand women, they never would.

Somehow he knew the decision would be made for him.

Arriving at Pala Mesa, a spaghetti junction of intertwined highways. Staying on the Old Highway which would eventually change name again. Taking him into Escondido. Just thirty miles northeast of Downtown San Diego. An hour's drive north of Tijuana. Why he hadn't simply flown into San Diego was mystery. Smith always had his reasons to leave state authorities guessing. Making them work for their money. Leaving as fewer crumbs in his wake as he could.

With Border Control approaching, Frank felt for the passport in his pocket. Toying with the purpose for his visit. Was it business? Or was it pleasure? Business would require answers he did not have. Pleasure was a lot easier to explain.

Pleasure it would be.

Allowing the streets of San Diego to pass by outside. Unwilling to wind down the window having grown to like the refreshing cold air within the car. Barely a cloud in the blue sky that had blanketed him the entire journey.

It was going to be another long dry summer in southern California.

Ahead of him, a growing queue of vehicles.

Slowing down, the Cadillac crawled behind a recreational vehicle the size of a bus. A massive camper van pulled in behind him. Sandwiching him between two thick slices of metal toast. There was no turning around. Even if he wanted to. Vehicles stuttered forward. Patrol dogs sniffed for drugs and human stowaways. A frightening thought crossed Frank's mind.

He had not checked the trunk of the car.

'Forget about the trunk! ... Forget about the trunk!' Frank told himself.

But he could not. The more he tried, the more he thought about it. His heart hammered in his chest with the uncertainty of what laid ahead. Taking deep breaths. Trying to calm himself. Accepting he could nothing, but trust man he distrusted most. Smith.

US Border Control Officers approached the Cadillac.

Dogs pulling at their leashes. Lured by a familiar scent. Stopping at the rear tire the sniffed it eagerly. The dog lifted a leg and urinated on it. As if to mark their spot. Erasing the scent of another. An officer taps the window and Frank lowers the window. Feeling a rush of heated air enter the vehicle.

"Sorry about that..." The Officer responded. "...Passport please... Reason for our visit?"

"Pleasure." Lied Frank, as calmly as he could.

"You down for the festival? Big fireworks display tomorrow evening. Might go myself." Engages the Officer not gauging him as a drug mule.

"Did not know there was one. Just down to see the sights." Said Frank honestly.

"You've got to check it out... You have a nice day Mister... Drake." Said the officer handing him back his passport.

"You to. Thank you Officer."

Frank took a breath of warm fresh air to calm himself. Winding the window up, allowing the compartment to become cold again. Watching the border control officer grow smaller in his rear vision mirror.

As if the ghost of Ritchie Valens had come to welcome him to Mexico, La Bamma began to play.

Turning up the volume, Frank unleashed the Spanish rattlesnake song. Singing the words he knew aloud. Making up the ones he didn't.

Turning heads of those that could hear him torturing the song.
Señor Pecks

Sprawling itself like a cancerous growth, before coming to an abrupt halt at the US border.

A thin wire fence separated the two great nations. Holding back nearly two million people. Holding back the have nots from the haves. Ironically, between those that wanted work, and those that did not. On one side an almost barren landscape.

And on the other, a rambling sprawl of roads and buildings. Squeezing life into the limited space available. On the American side, crime could be measured by the square mile. And on the other by the square foot. Tijuana made America seem peaceful by comparison.

If any country needed the Second Amendment, it was Mexico.

Turf wars raged sporadically between rival drug cartels. Each battling for control of trafficking of human and narcotic contrabands. Holy merciless criminals. Bearing a cross and rosemary beads in one hand. And guns in the other.

Following Smiths instructions to the letter, the Cadillac clung to river like a baby clung to an umbilical cord for eight miles. Driving with the flow of traffic. Not wanting to pull over and ask for directions. Before arriving in the rundown suburb of Los Santos.

And turned down a designated side street.

Eyes peeled for the Hotel Laguna.

Slowing the Cadillac to a crawl to read the multiple bill boards. Looking for the identifiable words and presence of a Hotel. A large white building loomed on his left. The signage in large lettering indicated he had arrived at his destination. Pulling into a vacant space, killed the engine.

Two hours and forty seven minutes and some change in seconds. Taking a moment to check the mirrors for suspicious loitering individuals. The main office to one side. Pulling the envelope from his pocket, examines the booking and the name it was under, Max Pecks.

Then opened the door.

Feeling the dry Tijuana air burn his lungs after the Artic air of the Cadillac. Absorbing the initial heat wave, pulled himself from the vehicle. Retrieved his bag from the back seat and headed inside. Where he hoped it would be cooler.

The Hotel's reception was little different to the exterior. Other than an overhead fan. Sweat formed around Frank's stained collar. And headed to reception.

"Americana... No? ... Señor Pecks?" Asked beautiful a dark haired Señorita that reminded him of Marilyn.

"Sí." Answered Frank in his best Spanish.

"Bienvenido... Welcome... We've been expecting you... Emanuel! Emanuel!" She barks abruptly into a side room... Señor Pecks is here! Quickly now!"

A frustrated young man appears having pulled from his television. His day interrupted by a guest. Wearing a uniform one size too large, takes Frank's bag from his hand.

"Emanuel..." She halts the lanky adolescent lad and passes him a black suitcase from underneath the counter. Leaning sideways under the lopsided weight.

Frank recognizes the brief case as from New York, but shows no surprise.

"I'll take that Emanuel... You can take this bag, okay?" Offering the lighter overnight bag in exchange.

"Gracias Señor Pecks..." Said Emanuel walking off, instructing Frank would follow. "...This way Señor Pecks."

Smith had secured the penthouse suite. Though this was Mexico. And the definition penthouse was open to interpretation. Walking into the open spacious lounge with white washed walls. Large open windows provided an ample ventilation and a central fan rotated lethargically. Wobbling on its axel.

'Not quite the Plaza, but it would do.' Thought Frank.

"Thank you Emanuel." Said Frank tipping for his troubles. American currency was always welcome.

Sliding the briefcase under the bed from sight. The weight suggested a familiar content.

Frank went in search of the minibar.

Settling into a wicker chair on the balcony and surveyed his domain. An abstract of cubism and scanty town architecture. Sitting back in a wicker chair on the patio savored the Scottish iced tea after the long drive.

Sighing deeply, thoughts of Julie surfaced. Wondering what she was doing. Without thought to the time difference he reached for the mobile and calls her. Listening to the dial tone. Hoping it would be answered. Hoping to hear her voice.

"Bonjour." A sleepy voice answers, then yawns.

"Bonjour mademoiselle... Hope I didn't wake you?" Frank apologizes.

"Oui... Of course you did." She responds wearily.

"Sorry sweetie... I was just thinking of you. Needed to hear you voice."

"Hmm..." A sleepy voice replies. "I miss you..."

"I miss you too."

"Where are you?" The voice asked.

"Mexico." Replies Frank.

"Mexico? What's down there?"

"Just business sweetie, just business... You go back to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow okay."

"'Kay..." The voice replies, "...Love you."

"Love you too." Frank replies and hears the click on the other end.

Feeling more at ease now having Julie's voice. Looking out to the horizon. And sees a dirty blue haze, stained by smoke and fumes of a crowded city. Safe seven floors above the world below. He would wait for Smith's call. Until then he was on his own.

A cool breeze blew over the balcony, fanning Frank and pulling him into a deep sleep.

Frank finds himself awakening to a day that had darkened and a city blanketed with stars.

The air was no different than the afternoons. Drums pulsated in unison from below as party goers celebrated. Lethargically he walks inside. His legs feel heavy and move slowly. As if they were asleep. Pulling the black case from under the bed opens it and begins to re-assemble the rifle.

Smelling a fragrance of gun oil.

Pulling open the rifle's bolt slides the single cartridge into position before slamming it shut with force. 'Clunk!'

Tilting his head side to side to ease the tension of his neck. Feeling the weight, shoulders the weapon and begins to scan the star spangled city outside. His eyes prying into open windows. Seeing people going about their lives. Unaware of the lethal voyeur watching them.

Behind him, he hears a growing commotion of shouting voices coming from outside his door.

Suddenly the door bursts open and black vested Agents rush in. Guns raised and pointed at Frank.

"He's got a gun! He's got a gun!" Shouts one of the men.

"No!" Responds Frank in panic.

But it's all too late.

A hail of automatic fire strikes Franks unprotected body.

Ripping through him like tissue paper. Punching him so violently he feels no pain. Slumping to his knees, bullets continue to strike him. Struggling to hold it any longer, the rifle falls from his hands. The violent noise that had filled the confined space suddenly fell silent. Frank topples to the floor. Impotent.

Blood and life weeping around his body.

On drawing his last breath, he thinks not of his kids. And not of Marilyn. His final thought were of Julie. The decision that had been troubling him had been made for him. He had let her down. And closed his eye a final time to surrender to the darkness that was engulfing him.

A bright light suddenly appears.

Then disappears. His eyes open. Then close. Protesting the invasion of the setting sun now hanging low on the horizon. Shining directly at him. Gasping for breath, Frank sits upright. Feels his body for bloody wounds.

Looking back at the door. Still very much intact. The case still very much under the bed. His heart pounding heavily in his chest. A glass now shattered on the terracotta tiles. Having woken him from the disturbing dream. Taking a moment to regain his senses. A mind confused as to what had just happened. Pulling himself from the wicker chair, pours himself another drink.

Stronger than the last.

Turning on the television surfed through the multitude of channels. Mostly in Spanish.

Before stumbling upon an English speaking news show. News of Metcalfe's demise had reached Tijuana. More discoveries of his fraudulent schemes were being exposed by the day. His web of corruption extended not only both sides of the Atlantic, but also the length and breadth of the Americas. Now hated internationally.

There was place he could hide. Even the devil himself had personally chained the gates to hell. No matter what Dante had said. Merchant bankers were not welcomed.

Protestors had gathered outside his New York offices chanting retribution. And disgust at the SEC. Frank killed the channel as quickly as he had killed Metcalfe. Thinking he should go out that evening. If only to excise the demons that had momentarily possessed him.

Lifts the phone and dials reception.

"Si Señor Pecks." A female voice answers.

"You do room service?" Asked Frank.

"Si Señor."

"Can you send something up?"

"What would like?" The voice asked.

"Why don't you surprise me?" Having savored many of Marilyn's dishes.

"Si Señor. Emanuel will be up shorty... Will that be all Señor Pecks?"

"That will be all thank you." Replies Frank.

"Gracious Señor."

Frank looks out over the sky line to the west.

The setting sun now below the horizon and the sky now dimming. City lights begin to shine. And stars appear above. Much as it had in his dream. Turning to look at the door. Unsure what he had experienced.

Resumes the view of the city that rolled out forever before him. In the distance he spies a large compound, not seen during the day. A row of spot lights ringed its perimeter. High walls pegged with tall lights searching inwards. Looking like a football stadium, but without seating. Dismissing the peculiar structure Frank goes inside and pours himself another drink.

The heat of evening ate into his bullet riddled dehydrated soul...
Flores is bait

DEA offices, somewhere in downtown Tijuana.

An overhead fan wobbled frantically on a rotor struggling to circulate the already dry warm air.

"Damn it's hot down here!" Burgess complains. Sweating profusely, wiping his forehead. His shirt saturated with sweat.

Finch was not fairing much better. Virginia had been hot, but Tijuana was unbearable. DEA agents in tight fitting uniforms showed no sign of the uncomfortable conditions, other than the underarm patches of sweat. Debriefing the agents regarding Smith's probable next target.

"It's not possible." Remarks Sanchez, the lead DEA agent. Dismissing the suggestion that The Bull could be gotten to.

You couldn't get within a meter of him inside the jail... If this Smith guy will strike it, has to be on outside."

"When's The Bull due to be released?" Asked Burgess refreshing his memory.

"Monday morning... Seven AM." Responds the Agent.

"Who signed that off?" Asked Finch annoyed at the release.

"Another bribed Judge... Who else... That's how the justice system works down here... Anything can be bought with enough money."

"Smith will strike The Bull anytime he likes... Don't underestimate him... He took out a Merchant Banker with the President of the United States of America sitting right next to him! ... Just on a month ago!"

A silence ensued as agents took in the chilling facts.

"Your precious Bull is kitten by comparison... Smith does this for fun gentleman... Now listen up ... We don't have much time. He is already here... Him or his Asset... They could be anywhere within a five block radius of the Flores... Smith will turn off your surveillance like taking candy from a baby... And Gentleman ... You are babies when dealing with Smith."

Finch stopped talking and let the reality of who and what Smith was sink in.

"And please... Don't make me have to explain who Mister Black is."

Confusing the agents even further. Remaining silent.

"Tell me about the situation here..." Ordered Finch wanting to be debrief thoroughly. "...Who and what am I facing?"

Sanchez stepped forward and approached a large map of the area of Tijuana rolled out on the equally large table.

Highlighting regions under Flores' control. Pointing out rival cartels positions. Explaining in combat language the stubborn noxious weed that Flores had become.

"On his home turf, Flores' Cartel has proven difficult to uproot... The new generation Cartel has proven more resilient than the old... Because of its willingness to work with other cooperative rival cartels.... Not to mention their mobile networks." Tapping the smart phone in his pocket.

"Jesus... You get rid of one and another takes its place." Burgess surmises.

"That's about it." Said Sanchez, "Wiretaps revealed that hats were protecting intended murder victims."

"Hats?" Asked Burgess curiously.

"Police... Every time they attempt to make the kill, the police would arrive in time... Thankfully, they've never discovered the informant."

Finch contemplated their precarious lives. Discovery would spell an instant gruesome death... And be left hanging from a bridge as a reminder to others."

"We nabbed one Cartel lieutenant, Pedro Rodríguez... He headed the Cartel's human smuggling, drug trafficking and car theft... It took eleven years and ten million dollars...But we got him... Minus the cash of course."

"That's American taxpayer's money well spent." Joked Burgess.

Sanchez did not see the funny side and stared him down, having lost men during the assault to capture Rodríguez.

"Sorry." Apologized Burgess sensing he was out of place.

There was an awkward silence before the Sanchez continued.

"On June last year, we nabbed a Carlos El Oto Sosa trying to leave the country with two hundred and fifty dollars in drug money shoved down his pants... With two of his lieutenants snatched under his nose it was only a matter of time before Flores handed himself in.

"Handed himself in? ... Why would he do that?" Exclaimed Burgess.

"He does a deal with the Chief Justice of all people..." Sanchez shakes his head in disbelief, "...And pleads to a lessor criminal charge."

"He's a murdering thieving drug dealer." Asked Finch confused as to how the Mexican judicial system worked.

"It's the way things work down here... If you ask me..." Sanchez hesitated before he spoke, there was no nice way to say what he intended, "...If it was me... I'd let your friend Smith to have a crack at him... It would solve a lot of our problems."

Finch took in the advice. There was the larger picture to consider. Letting Smith kill Flores was collateral damage to what Smith was capable of doing.

"I'd like to agree with you..." Finch began before adding, "...Flores is expendable... But you never heard that from me... If it means catching Smith, I won't lose any sleep over a dead drug dealer. Smith is our objective, not Flores."

Everyone appeared to be on the same page. And nodded quietly. It wouldn't be spoken, but they all shared the common goal. The agent continued to complete the briefing.

"No matter what we throw at the Cartel it survives... Cut one limb off, two more grow... There's fierce competition to control the Tijuana Plaza..."

"Plaza?" Asked Burgess trying to keep up with the lingo.

"Trafficking corridor." The agent replies. "The Cartel charges a piso... A toll on the other Cartel's illegal drug shipments through Flores territory... These guys operate like a small country... With the Judiciary and Politicians in their back pockets... Or they may as well be."

"Fuck me." Curses Finch coming to grips with the over whelming power of Flores' empire.

DEA were fighting not only a criminal organization, but a small country with resources beyond his own. Informants on every corner.

"Forget Flores... We're after Smith... Flores is just bait. "

"I read you on that Charlie." Retorts Burgess accepting the plan.

"What do you want us to do?" Asked Sanchez.

"I want a two block surveillance of the area... The moment Flores steps out of the jail Monday morning... I want you to be on him like white on rice... Understood."

"And inside the jail?" Asked the lead agent.

"There's not we can do about that... For as much as I would like Smith to step inside that hell hole, he wouldn't survive two seconds."

Then imagined Smith psychotic nature and thought perhaps he would.

"Have pictures of Smith shown to the prison guards just in case." Finch added as caution.

"Yes Sir." Sanchez responded.

"Set up your perimeters Gentleman... Smith is already here and he's already second guessed our every move." Warned Finch, deflating everyone's expectations.

"He has?" Another agent askes wondering who Smith was.

"Yeah... He's probably watching us right now..." Said Finch now noticing the security camera in the briefing room. "...We have just over forty eight hours before the bait steps out of that jail."

"Sir." DEA agents answer in unison shuffling from the room.

Finch leaned on the large central table and examined the overhead aerial photograph of the prison compound and surrounding blocks.

Streets appeared as cob-webs hanging off main arterials. Main gates situated on the northern side. Somewhere inside the ramshackle maze of a prison was Flores' cell. An open prison. It had no locked cells. Allowing prisoners to wonder about. Wives would come and perform conjugal rights in front of other prisoners under make shift tents. Or in the open. Children would run about as if a day care center. With thieves, murders and drug dealers around them. As though they were uncles.

The unregulated unconventional system worked. Prisoners were happy. Occasionally a riot would break out between rival cartels over a minor dispute. Resulting in deaths authorities could live with. Over time life would return to normal. Loyalty and money brought privileges.

Disloyalty spelt a brutal death to anyone who betrayed the brotherhood of the cartel.

"Let's get back to the Hotel... I need to shower... I hope Emanuel has restocked the mini-bar." Said Burgess stacking the files into his briefcase.

"I read you on that... There's some big firework display tonight... Day of the Dead or something like that."

"Yeah... They're big on that down here..." Muses Burgess. "...Shame it's not Smith."

"Wishful thinking Matt... Let's get out of this sauna." Said Finch wiping his forehead of sweat.

"Where's Frank?" Asked Grimm seeing an empty stool.

"Mexico... Apparently." Chelsea responds looking up from racking glasses.

"Mexico? What the fuck's down there?" He asked curiously.

"Mexicans I'm guessing..." Trying to be funny and seeing Grimm was not amused, then added, "...Work I suppose. His boss Smith has him going all over the country."

"Smith? What's his first name? ..." Grimm begins to ask, "...Not John I hope?"

"That's right... Why do you know him?"

"Who doesn't?" Chuckled Grimm returning to his bud, regurgitating a dark thought that had been troubling him.

Tomo had called in sick.

Laid low with a hangover from hell after another bender on the town. Chelsea looked out to First Avenue, the sun beat down its relentless heat.

Chelsea feared Frank was not fairing much better in Mexico...
Everyone's Favorite

Frank awoke with a hangover from hell. Or in this instance, Tijuana.

At the time it had been a good idea.

If his brain was capable of thinking, he would have now regretted the decision. Having stumbled upon tavern and vacant stool. Assuming the only position he knew and ordered a drink.

The barman did not understand Scottish.

"Tequila." Saying the word in Spanish.

And that was last thing he remembered.

Tequila can only described as a blend of kerosene and general anesthetic. With the after-effect of embalming fluid. Unsure how he had made it back to the hotel. Images of a donkey and a flirtatious woman flash in his mind. Dismissing them as quickly as if to deny them.

Eye lids peel open. The sunlight violently strikes the back of his eyeballs. Immediately blinding him. And he slams them shut again. His mouth tasted like a sewer. His mind spinning. His eyes rolling faster than a neutron star.

Drums beat out the Samba on the inside of his skull.

"Ohh_ fuck me." He moans.

"Not again..." A female voice beside him moans beside. "...Go away bad man."

An arm reaches across Frank from behind.

"Oh Jesus, Mother Mary of God." Frank cusses. Marilyn's warning buried beneath the countless shot glasses.

The soft warm body presses itself against him. Frank remembers nothing. Other than Emanuel bringing a plate of extra spicy nachos to his room before he had left last evening. Flashes of memory come back to him, as if incapable of being held.

A bar called Diablos. Sounded a harmless at the time.

And a woman.... Marcia... Maria... Mary... The name bounced off in the inside of his skull like a ping pong ball. The name hurt. Flashes of streets... Lights... Masked faces raced across his mind. But that's all they were. Flashes. Nothing took grip long enough to constitute an actual memory.

Opening eyes a second time. Squinting with extreme effort to focus on his watch. The big hand the little hand which was which? It was all too hard. Closing eyes again descended surrendered to the pleasurable darkness again.

Julie and Marilyn were as far from his mind, as Seattle was from Tijuana.

Asked if he knew his own name, he would have had to have guessed. It could have been Marcia... Maria... Mary... For as much he cared. The mobile vibrated. Thinking it was his brain vibrating. Hoping he would die before it did. The vibrating stopped. Peace again.

The women behind him felt hot and sweaty. Her hands still reaching over his body. Too weak to counter Frank rolled over onto his back. Discovering a women not too dissimilar to Marilyn. Resting her head on his shoulder. Knowing he would regret it later. Pulling herself on top of him. Her breasts hung freely over Franks face. Allowing him to take her one final time. Too weak and too late to argue otherwise.

'What the hell...' Thought Frank. '...What happens in Tijuana, stays in Tijuana.'

Midday and Frank peels himself from bed and heads to take a cold shower.

The mysterious woman leaving as mysteriously as she had mysteriously arrived.

Frank stared at Mirror Man who looked worse than he did.

"Jesus Frank... What did you do to me? ... I feel like a piece of reflected shit." Mirror Man groaned.

"You can't complain... I'm shitting rings of fires and God knows what I caught off that one." Recoiled Frank.

"Best you dip it in some kerosene and set light to it before Marilyn catches something too."

"Ssh... Not so loud..." Frank asked quietly. "...My head is splitting."

"I'm going back to bed." Whimpers Mirror Man leaving Frank to himself.

Frank stared into the mirror but saw no-one. Throwing cold water onto his face hoping his reflection would return. Taking himself to the shower to wash the previous evening off.

Collapsing into the wicker chair on the balcony. Dark glasses over his eyes.

Nothing could neutralize his tequila-soaked brain. Regret was something Frank seldom suffered from, but he was beginning to have second thoughts.

"Never again." He cursed himself. Words he had cursed often in past lives. And would no doubt use again sometime in the near future.

A swallow of whiskey washes down several pain killers. A hair of the dog that had bit him. But by a different mother. Reclining in the wicker chair and surveyed his domain. In the distance, the compound now blending into to the cubism of shanty buildings about it.

Three floors below him Finch and Burgess are drinking iced water.

They had been up for hours, unable to sleep in the sweltering heat. They too sat on wicker chairs overlooking a set of buildings that blocked their view of the strange compound that Frank was looking over.

"What's the plan of attack today Charlie?" Asked Burgess keen to get going.

"Thought we'd pay your friend The Bull a visit... Have a little chat."

"Can't be serious? You want to go inside that... Thing? Is it safe for us?" Burgess asked anxiously looking towards the compound.

"DEA Sanchez has arranged it all. We'll be fine... Said we'd probably safer on the inside than the outside actually..." Finch warned, "...I want all angles covered... Even Smith couldn't get to him there... For as much as I would like him to... Save a drug dealer to catch Smith... How ironic was that?" He asked.

"I copy you on that Charlie." Responds Burgess getting to his feet.

"Hey Matt... Get 'us another one thanks mate... More ice this time... It's going to be a stinker today..." Finch holds up an empty glass, "...This one has a hole in it." Looking out over the balcony at the shanty town that spread out into the distance.

Heat waves shimmered off roads and rusty tin roofs. Turning the otherwise brilliant blue sky to a dirty haze. The jail compound would offer little by way of air conditioning. A labyrinth of seedy corridors, overcrowded cells, and open windows.

Residence to Juan Carlos Flores. A.K.A. El Toro. A.K.A. The Bull.

Frank's mobile vibrates again.

This time not in his head.

"Smith." Frank painfully answers.

"How we feeling today Frank? Isn't it a beautiful bright day?" Said Smith pushing Frank's light sensitive buttons.

"Too bright for my liking." Squinting his eyes behind the dark glasses.

"I'll call you at nine tonight... Welcome to Mexico..." Smith advises. "...Get your rest Frank... You look tired." Then hangs up.

Frank peers about, thinking he would see Smith watching on from a nearby building. But sees nothing. And sits back to enjoy the quietness. The drums inside his head had fallen silent. If the celebrations that evening was for the walking dead. The Frank would certainly be among them. He was operating on Tijuana time. Bizarre flashbacks of the previous evening resurfaced.

"No... Not possible." Thought Frank, recalling the donkey again.

And drifted into a slumber that would consume the afternoon.

A knock at the door awoke Frank from the twilight zone he had fallen into.

Turning his head only to see Emanuel standing behind him with a greasy plate of bacon and eggs. Sunny side up, the way he liked them.

"You can read my mind Emanuel... How'd you know?"

"Complements of the Mister Smith" Advised Emanuel.

Smith's name brought Frank back to the world quicker than the cold shower.

"I hope you're feeling well after your evening Señor Pecks." Emanuel asked discreetly seeing him was under the weather.

"Not really..." Began Frank, "...By a chance Emanuel... Do you recall... Anything about last night?" Hoping to gleam something of his behavior.

"You back around three-thirty this morning... With a certain... Woman." Replied Emanuel.

"Oh... Sorry." Frank begins to apologize.

"That's okay Señor Peck's... What happens in Tijuana, stays in Tijuana." Emanuel grins.

Frank was not the first, nor would be the last, to have fallen under the Tequila spell.

"Please... Enjoy Señor." Emanuel offers.

"Thank you Emanuel." Reaching for his wallet to tip him.

"That's okay Señor Pecks... It's been taken care of."

Dismissing the need for a tip. Smith having rewarded him well with strict instructions not to disturb Señor Pecks.

Frank heard the door closing behind him as he left. Looking at the greasy plate of eggs and bacon, decided it was too early for solids other than a coffee bean. Throwing one in his mouth like a peanut. Chewing on it. Hoping the aphrodisiac would spark his brain to life. The sharp bitter taste attune with the scotch.

Life was returning to his body.

Elevator doors open and Frank is surprised by two gentleman about to enter.

Looking like Jehovah Witnesses, minis their bibles.

"Gentlemen." Said Frank greeting his fellow Americans. Peering over his sunglasses to get a better view of them.

"Afternoon..." Burgess responds for them both. "...What brings you to TJ?" Engaging in conversation.

"What brings anyone?" Answers Frank dragging a residual hangover with him.

"Read you to that..." Remarks Burgess turning to Finch with a grin hearing the strain in Frank's voice. "...Big celebration tonight."

"Hope they keep the noise down... My head feels like it's been kicked by a mule."

Imagery of the mule returned and he quickly regretted he had done that. Frank eyes a weapon beneath Burgess' jacket. A badge is attached to his belt. Frank froze as though trapped in a cage. Hesitant to engage in further conversation. His mind racing with questions.

Appearing relaxed, they seem to have little interest in him. Or so it seemed.

"And you guys? ... Down for the fireworks?" Frank probed.

"I wish..." Said Burgess, "...Business." Leaving it at that, before adding, "...Maybe later." Turning to Finch hoping they would be finished in time.

"We'll see." Responded Finch focusing on the elevator lights counting down.

"Shame. I hear it's quite a show... But a word of warning." Frank advised from experience.

"What's that?" Ask Burgess keenly.

"Stay off the Tequila... It will melt your brain... I know."

Frank pushed the dark glasses up the bridge of his nose securing them tightly into position. Elevator doors opened. Flooding them with dazzling sunlight.

"Woah!" Exclaimed Frank. "You guys have a nice day."

"You too." Said Burgess extending his hand.

"Frank..." Responded Frank automatically, but it was too late to take it back.

"Matt..." Reciprocated Burgess, "...This is Charlie."

Charlie nodded an official nod and held a poker face. He had matters on his mind that did not warrant being discussed with a civilian.

"Time to go Matt... Be seeing you around... Frank." Finch walked off.

His pistol clearly visible, credentials hanging around his neck on a chain. Frank could make the large lettering. "C.I.A.". Watching them walk away. And disappear from sight before approaching the front desk.

"Those guys... Staying here?" Frank asked hesitantly.

"Of course Señor Pecks...Is there a problem?" Maria asked.

"No. No. Just wondering what the CIA was doing in Tijuana."

"Drugs... It's always drugs... Cartels operate out there..." Maria looks in the direction of the street, "Very dangerous place Señor Pecks, you must be careful... Please Señor."

"Thank you Maria... I will." He assured her watching the two agents drive off.

Was he not supposed to be one of them? A Company man? Or so he thought. What was he if he wasn't? He did not have a badge.

But he certainly have a gun.

Stepping into the bright sun light, he was about to find out if the vixen that had bitten him last night was a vampire.

And awaited to burst into flames. Nothing. Disappointed, inhaled a breath of the warm dry. Lungs protested the assault. Unsure how he had gotten back the night before. The Cadillac was still parked in its lot. Still in one piece. Recalling a sense of direction and headed for the nearest bar.

A large green neon cactus protrudes from a wall. Green wooded swinging saloon doors flap as patrons enter to escape the heat on the street. Frank pushes the doors open and is hit by a wall of cool air. Rattling overhead fans twirled at an unhurried pace.

Nothing in Mexico moved in any rush.

"El_ Franco_!" Trumpeted an elongated holler from behind the bar, as if he had entered a bull ring.

Sensing he may had been there before. He enters.

None of it looked familiar. Faces turn to watch him enter take a stool at the bar. Smiling and nodding as if they knew something he did not. Three women at the end of the bar giggled to themselves. Their eyes trained on Frank. Recognizing one as the woman from his bed that morning.

Behind the bar stood a stocky Mexican with a roughly shaved black handle bars mustache. Pouring a Tequila shot in front of him.

"On the house El Franco! ..." Seeing Frank was looking lost. "...You don't remember do you?"

"Not a lot..." He confesses wearily looking about the strange faces. If they were laughing, they were doing it behind their grins.

Throwing the shot to the back of his throat. Tasting the kerosene burn to his stomach.

"Was hoping you could fill in the blanks... Who was that woman?" Looking to the far end of the bar.

Frank's head begins to ache again. As if jack hammers had resumed work on the inside of his skull.

"Maria... She's everyone's favorite. She took you home after a night on the town."

"Everyone's?" Asked Frank imagining who hadn't been there.

A large man sweating in an undersized shirt caught Frank's eye and grinned contently at him. Somethings should not be imagined.

"You had a good time... No?" Asked the barman stroking the thick black greasy mustache over his chin trying to read Frank's facial torment.

Seeing he had absolutely no memory of the events of the evening.

"The donkey?" Pedro asked humorously.

"What donkey?" Asked Frank nervously. Unsure if he wanted to know.

"Not to worry Franco... What happens in Tijuana stays, in Tijuana! ... Let your Uncle Pedro tell you about it... You're a real ladies man ... You're a bad man! ... What a night!" Boosted Pedro, sliding another shot in front of Frank who stared at it. And wondered if he should.

The first shot had already convinced him it was okay to have another. Frank sat back while his distantly related Uncle Pedro informed him of the previous evening escapades. Which in the end were not as bad as Frank had imagined. Brain cells that were too weak to keep up, were left behind. Maria had taken care of him, in more than one way. And taken him back home.

As she did all of her part time lovers.

"Pace yourself El Franco... You have a big night tonight." Warned Pedro.

Frank momentarily stared blankly at Pedro, wondering how he knew about his assignment. A puzzled look came over Pedro wondering what he had said to have stunned his new friend.

"Tonight... The Night of the Dead! You must come and watch the fireworks and parades... Maria will be here." Reminded Pedro.

"Of course... The Parade... Yeah... I'll be there..." Said Frank peeling himself from the stool that had become as comfortable as his stool at Jeffersons. "...Night of the dead... I should fit right in."

Bar doors flapped behind him as he left.

Pushing the dark glasses over sore eyes he headed back in the direction of the hotel. Blending in with hungover tourists that had also suffered the Tijuana snakebite. Feeling four of his five senses. But unsure which one was still missing. It hurt to think about it. He would go back to his hotel room and have a cold shower. An afternoon siesta. To await Smith's call.

Thoughts of the two agents crossed his mind. But roused no concern in him. Drugs. What else would people do in Tijuana? Searching the street for watching cartel eyes. They were everywhere. Everyone was looking at him.

He was on their turf now, and was not there to take sides.

Reminding himself to behave normally and look like a lost American tourist.

Spread money about and be everyone's friend. And he might be allowed to leave alive...
I am a Saint

Outside, the huge concrete compound resembled a fort.

Armed guards in faded green uniforms watched down from towers. Automatic weapons hanging from shoulders. Ready for any trouble. They would shoot first, and talk afterwards. Finding sanctuary beneath slivers of shade. At the entrance guards vetted visitors coming and going. Exchanging cigarettes and cash for solicited favors. Smuggling contraband into the shanty penitentiary.

Business was looking good for the guards who had drawn lots for the duty.

A dust covered black SUV pulled up outside the compound.

Looking out of place among army jeeps and tired rusting vehicles parked nearby. Large white plastic identity badges hanging around their necks. Finch and Burgess stepped from the vehicle into the harsh environment. Guards watched their every move. Suspicious of the Americano's presence. Unable to protest. They would allow them to pass.

Inside the walls of the compound, they would be on their own.

Despite political differences, both sides agreed on one thing. Drugs were corrupting both countries. The one thing politician's hated more than corruption, was competition.

"Leave your weapons here gentleman..." The front desk instructed the agents. "...There's enough weapons in there without adding yours to their arsenal."

Burgess looked at Sanchez hoping to the officer was joking, but Sanchez's stern look suggested he was not.

"Put these on." Said Sanchez handing them heavy black vests.

Tearing at the Velcro straps, Burgess pulls it over his head, and secured the vest. Slapping at it with hands, as if he were being struck by bullets. Hoping it would protect him within.

"This way Gentleman... Flores has been advised of your visit... Do not engage with anyone along the way..." Sanchez instructed the two Agents, "...These guys are itching to start something... They haven't had a riot in months... And that left fifteen inmates dead... All over a half a pack of cigarettes." Warned Sanchez walking down a narrow corridor towards a heavy solid metal door.

A grill in a door opened and gave a glimpse of the hell that laid beyond.

The first thing to hit Burgess was not a fist, but he wished it had been. That he could have handled. It was the stench. A cocktail of urine, body odor and testosterone. Men huddled in groups. More for safety than for company.

Suddenly something rushed past Burgess brushing his leg. Looking down to see a small child running along the corridor. A woman leaned against an open doorway in a suggestive manner. She catches Burgess' eye and smiles as he strides pass. Through a doorway, catches a glimpse of a couple engaged in sex on a mattress on the floor. The woman underneath moaning like a whore. A sweaty fat man on top grunting like a pig.

Burgess saw more than he cared for and returned his focus on Finch ahead of him.

Uniformed armed guards escorted at the front and rear of the trio, their fingers on triggers. Unsure where their loyalties lay. The authorities. Or with the Cartel that supplemented their meager pay packets. They were there more for show, than protection. Prisoners eyed their passing, noting their clean clothes, their authority. Knowing any other place, the tables would be turned.

Unsure if he would find their way back, Burgess looks over his shoulder and sees inmates closing ranks behind them. Curiously watching them. Sniffing the air like a pack of wolves on the prowl. Burgess's pulse quickens creating more sweat about his already saturated body.

Stopping before a freshly painted white wooden door.

One of only a few doors in the prison. Reserved for elite Cartel members. Behind this door was Juan Carlos Flores. The Bull. Head of the Flores Cartel. The most powerful cartel in Mexico. Two men stood either side of the door, heavy pistols shoved under their thick leather belts. An unease came over Burgess. Finding himself in a cesspit of armed criminals.

Assessing he was but one of three, against God knows how many of them.

"How do these guys get guns?" Burgess asked Sanchez.

But Sanchez was not in the mood for discussion. His eyes focused on the bulky guards, gauging their options if things went south. Their chances did not look good.

"Señor Finch, Señor Burgess and Señor Sanchez." An escort guard announces their arrival.

Cold impassive faces gave nothing away. Two guards look the trio over. One turns and opens the door as the other watches the small group enter. His hand on the grip of is weapon, ready for any sudden moves from the uninvited.

The room was unlike others they had seen on the way. There was an order and cleanliness about it. Smelling less offensive than those they had passed. A small man in a white shirt sits behind a large dark wooden desk covered with papers. An open laptop to one side. A crystal decanter on a side cabinet sparkled in the direct sunlight streaming through the open grilled window lighting the whitewashed room brightly. An overhead fan rotated at its own pace. Standing behind the small man in the white shirt. Two bulky men. Both with an automatic weapons hanging by his side.

With a name like 'The Bull', Finch was expecting someone more impressive than the diminutive man that sat behind the desk.

Whatever Flores' size, his power was immense. Controlling his Empire from this very room. Under the very noses of those holding him in captivity.

"Señor Finch..." Flores spoke first, not standing. "...A drink perhaps?" Flores offers gesturing the decanter.

"We're good thank you Señor Flores." Replies Finch not checking with Burgess or Sanchez.

"What brings you to see me? ..." Asked Flores curiously, "...Who is this man Smith who wants to kill me?" Spitting out Smith's name as if it was a bad taste in his mouth.

"So you've heard?" Questions Finch.

"I hear everything Señor Finch... Not even my men can find this... Smith." Clicking his fingers to indicate a drink to be poured for him.

A glass is placed in front of him. Ice rattles against the tumbler's sides. Flores sniffs the vapors and takes a swallow of the golden liquid.

"You sure you don't want one?" Raising his glass.

"Not while we're on duty... Thank you all the same." Finch declines the offer again.

"Of course... You Gringo's have rules... Forgive me, I forget my manners." Flores admires Finch's discipline, not easily bought.

Unlike those around him. Wondering who he could trust more.

"What's this Smith want with me? I don't even know this man... How I offend him?"

"It's personal... A vendetta so to speak."

Finch explains the briefest way he could leaving out the obvious that Flores was a murderous self-serving drug dealer wreaking havoc across the Americas.

"Vendetta? I help the poor! Schooling! Food! Money... I am a Saint!" Flores begins to glorify himself.

It is then Finch believes Flores and Smith were not too unalike. Believing what they were doing was divine. Unaware of the destruction they were manifesting in their wake.

"You're due for release on Monday morning... We believe Smith will strike then. We need to keep you safe."

"You? ... Keep me safe?" Flores scoffs. The thought made his ribs ache.

The two henchmen either side could not help chuckling themselves.

"Are you serious? ... You think you can protect me? ..." Flores saw the irony in the proposition. "...I am sorry gentlemen... I would prefer to take my chances with this Señor Smith... My men can protect me better than any hat can. Why do you think I'm here for? ... A holiday?" Gesturing his hands about the room.

"Nonetheless... We have doubled the guards and escorts Monday morning... Roof tops have been covered..." Advises Finch, "...After that... You're on your own."

"As you wish Señor Finch... But you're wasting your time." Flores stared back at Finch, gauging the man's stupidity. He would deal with Smith in a very Mexican way. Flores smirked at the thought, "... Last chance at a drink Señor Finch... It's a fine single malt, very hard to find ... But I have my sources as you see... I will send you a bottle for your troubles." Flores offered, dismissing Finch's principles.

"We're fine thank you Señor Flores... I'll see you Monday morning." Finch stands to leave.

Sanchez stands steadfast behind Finch, a concealed weapon under his vest. And prepared for anything. Eyeing the two goons standing behind Flores, deciphering subtle movements as to would draw first.

A Mexican standoff lingered in the air. Like the bad smell of the room.

"As you wish Señor Finch... I hope you find your Señor Smith." Jests Flores breaking the tension.

"I hope so too... You're the bait... And it never ends well for the bait." Finch counters with a sharp jab to Flores' ego.

Stunning Flores briefly before grinning and seeing the funny side.

Re-securing weapons after they had stepped out of the prison.

Much to Burgess' relief. Inhaling the dry warm air of the passing breeze. And flushing out the stench of the prison.

"What do we do now?" He asked.

"We wait... He's out there somewhere... Double check lookouts on all roof tops... Flores men will no doubt have the streets covered."

"Getting late Charlie... Let's get out of here. I want to catch the parade. We may as well enjoy ourselves a little." Suggested Burgess.

"It's not a holiday Matt... Smith is here, I can smell him."

But Burgess could not smell anything, the disgusting odors of the prison had stained his nostrils. Like a bad porn clip, the sight of the couple having sex flashed in his mind.

Playing over and over again.

The setting sun had slipped its fingers into Frank's room and poked his eye lids.

Waking him from his siesta. An overhead fan massaged his near naked body with ripples of air. Eyes gradually open. His initial thoughts was that he was not alone. Fearing Maria had returned. Rolling over he discovers an empty bed. Frank rolls over and sighs a relief. Having reconciled with the sequence of events of the previous evening that had led to his dilapidated condition.

And how he had managed to return to the hotel. Albeit in two pieces.

A faint ache resided behind one eye. Reaching for the painkillers. Washed one down with a mouthful of melted ice water. The placid clear liquid left a foul taste. Frank took a coffee bean and bit on it.

The day was dimming with the sun was sinking below horizon. Another half hour and it would be completely dark. His mobile shows no missed calls. Satisfied Smith was still at bay. He would eat before going out. Committed to returning in one piece.

Stepping into the shower, the cold water cooled his overheated body. The coffee bean was effective as an expresso. Feeling alive, he had regain all of his six senses. Rocking gently under the shower head. Thoughts of Julie wrapping her arms around him surfaced and he grinned. This would be his last job for Smith. There was more important things in his life than killing people. He had a plan to alleviate himself of the guilt.

And the conspiracy he had entangled himself.

"This would be the last time... The last one." Frank told himself pulling himself from the shower.

Mirror Man laughed at him as he passed.

"Don't fool yourself Frank... You love it... The money. The girls... The killing... Don't give it all up for... Love." Mirror Man whispered in Frank's head.

But Frank was not listening. Distracted by the mobile now vibrating on the side table.

Hesitating he answers it.

"Smith."

"Frank..." Smith pinged back, "...How you feeling?"

"Better." Answered Frank confidently. Smith could sense the surety in his voice.

"Nine o'clock tonight... Go to the roof top... I will call you then with instructions." Smith said coldly as fact.

"Seems we have a certain Agency staying in the hotel. You still wish to proceed?" Asked Frank wondering how thoroughly Smith had planned the assignment.

"Ah yes... Agents Finch and Burgess... I know them well... I booked them three floors below you."

"You booked them in the same hotel? ... How? ... Why?" Frank had to ask.

"I wanted them where I can see them... Don't worry Frank, they're not after you." Smith lied. "Nine o'clock... Roof top... West side... Copy soldier?" Smith re-confirmed the order.

"Copy that."

And the phones went dead leaving Frank hanging precariously, wondering what to expect.

Smith knew more about the CIA's operation to track him down than they did.

Playing them like a cat with a mouse. Tapping them here. Pushing them there. Teasing them to run so he could chase and pounce on them again. It was all a game to him. They were too inept to look above their own noses to find Frank.

Black drew on the cigarette. The sharp pungent fumes irritating Smith's nostrils. Holding it in, as if to digest it. Before exhaling a long plume of smoke into the air. Black squinted at the blades of sun light leaking through gaps of the closed curtains. Momentarily sipping on a large glass of dark red wine.

Smith had left the room, leaving Black alone to himself. A tablet on his lap displayed a dampened glow of information.

One by one, security cameras fell impotent.

Everything would be timed to perfection.

A distraction was required. And what none better than the massive parade celebrating the dead. Timed to erupt onto the streets below at eight o'clock. Exploding thunderous fireworks at nine thirty. By strange chance, an anonymous shipment of pyrotechnics had been received by organizers who reveled at the opportunity to put on the best show in years. Black sat back in the wicker chair as Smith entered the room. Opening the curtains and windows.

Allowing the smoke and Black to dissipate...
Transfer complete

As if by chance, the mobile vibrates again.

Frank looks over to the screen on the side table. It continues to vibrate and move about on the polish wooden surface. Leaning over wondering if it was Smith again.

But sees Julie's number.

"Hey sweetie." Frank answers in a tired voice.

"Hey babe. Thought I'd call you. See what mischief you're up to."

"Not a lot..." Franks responds to the obvious, "...A little hung over from last night." Then wondered if he had said too much.

"What did you do last night?" Julie asked probing carefully.

"When in Rome." Frank responded in his defense, hoping Julie would understand.

"I thought you were in Tijuana?" Julie pulls Frank's leg.

"I am... What I meant was..."

"I know what you meant... Just wanted to hear your voice... Wish I was with you... I miss you." Julies whispers in a sleepy voice.

"I wish you were too." Imagining her beside him.

"What time is it there..." The soft voice enquired fighting back the sandman.

"Nearly eight... You?" Frank asked softly back sensing her tiredness and frustration.

"Late..." Came the meek reply. "... Hmm-Mm." The sandman was beginning to win the battle.

"Time to sleep sweetie... Call you soon... Love you."

"Love you too... Hmm-Mm."

"Sweet dreams babe." And Frank released her to float away on a cloud.

Waiting for the disconnection before hanging up his end. Julie fitted like a glove. Life wouldn't make sense without her. She completed him.

Any tension he was harboring about the assignment dissolved.

Pouring himself a drink, turned the television on in hope of anything that would pass the time. Flicking through games shows, and black and white television series from the sixties. Somehow Lucille Ball was not as funny in Spanish. Flicking over again a news channel appears. Though the reporter rambled on in the foreign language, the large image behind him needed no translation.

Metcalfe. Images of a shattered window flashed on the screen. A body bag leaving the entrance. What appeared to be telephone numbers, scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Tallies of the billions Metcalfe had swindled from the unsuspecting public. Dwarfing the Mexican economy and their GDP. Meaningless to the average Mexican.

Angry chanting protesters shook placards, continued to gather outside Metcalfe's bank. Angry not only at Metcalfe, but the system that had protected him. Another cover up for the haves. Another sodomization for the have-nots.

Frank killed the TV only to hear sounds of trumpets and people singing coming up from the streets below. Fire crackers detonated randomly from all quarters of the city. Peering over the balcony to find streets filled with people. Reminding him of the protesters on the TV. These were less malicious. Or were they? This was Mexico.

Celebrating death. Celebrating deceased ancestors who had returned to visit them. Dressed as skeletons and ghouls. Dancing and jiggering like puppets. More fire crackers sounded nearby. Louder. Sounding like gun fire. As to remind him of the gun in the briefcase.

Frank pulls the case from under the bed and rolls the tumblers to unlock it.

'Click-click.' Opening the case sees the familiar sight.

A single gold tipped bullet sat in its foam niche. The smell of gun oil drifted into his nostrils. Running his fingers over the dark steel feels the coldness of the blue-gray metal. Death. Maybe he was beginning to enjoy killing Smith's undesirables. Having his own personal favorites. Former bosses that had shafted him down. But his mind could not venture down that dark pathway. Letting the retribution fade. As thoughts of Smith's imminent assignment pushed it way to the forefront of Frank's mind.

As though to say, it was more important.

Checking his watch. It was almost nine. Closing the case and secures the locks again.

'Click-click.'

Standing back he looks at the black case laying on the bed. On the outside it was just a benign briefcase. On the inside, an instrument of death.

The night air chilled as the heat dissipated to through cloudless skies. Frank pulls on a dark jacket and prepares to enter the night. Feeling the weight of the case in his hand. Checks his watch one last time. Five minutes to nine. Opening the door he peers into the hallway. The two agents would be down stairs. He would avoid them before he left the next morning.

A stair well at the end of the hall way singled a way to the roof. Walking calmly to the door and turns the handle. Hesitant if it was locked.

It opens.

A dim bulb lit the dusty stairwell. Echoing the sounds from the street below. The door creaks as closes and he looks up the flight of stairs to the roof. Disused for ages, dust and sand coursed beneath the soles of his shoes. And he steps out to an evening of exploding stars.

Large air-conditioning boxes rattled in unison. Pumping out its hot air. In contrast to the chill of the evening.

Checking his watch again. One minute to nine.

Tapping a chest pocket for the presence of his mobile. Sky rockets sailed into night sky, sending colorful sparkling tails in all directions. Followed by exploding percussions. Feverish manic celebration clogged the street below. Possessed dancers in search of the undead that had come to visit.

Feeling his mobile vibrate Frank pulls it out.

"Smith."

"Frank."

"What next?" Frank asked for concise instructions.

"The west side of the building... You will see a compound lit by lights." Smith waited for Frank to confirm.

"I see it." Frank acknowledges from the elevated position.

"See the large grilled window to the left?"

Taking the scope from the case Frank peers through it and scans the compound. Before settling on a large open grilled window. He could see several individuals inside. One with an automatic weapon hanging off his shoulder.

"I see it."

"The small man in the white shirt sitting at the desk." Smith points out Flores as though he were watching over his shoulder.

"I see him... Is that target?" Asked Frank.

"Juan Carlos Flores... Head of the Flores Cartel... Responsible for being in more cocaine into America than anyone else in its history."

"When?" Asked Frank looking for specifics.

"In about thirty minutes... I want to send him off with a bang... If you know what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean." Confessed Frank uncertain of Smith's cryptic instruction.

"You will when he shows his face to the window... Trust me... He'll be watching." And with those final enigmatic words Smith hung up.

Frank looked at the brightly lit compound through the scope. Scanning the windows, saw children running about. Half naked women on their knees. A man being beaten senseless in another room. It was Dante's hell on an earthly scale. Incapable of doing anything about it, Frank surrendered to the Smith's will.

Assembling the rifle, found a position between two air units. Insulated from the chill of the night air. Sky rockets exploded over head. Fire crackers detonated below. Madness had broken loose. The city was under attack.

Nine thirty he calculated.

Checking his watch every five minutes, time passed like waiting for a kettle to boil.

As though to awake abruptly from a coma, a series of deafening explosions burst in the sky above him.

Like battleship guns pounding Normandy beaches. Shaking the building and the air around him.

'This must be it.' Now connecting Smith's clues.

"You cunning bastard."

Frank shouldered the rifle. Forgetting the aftermath of the last recoil. Focusing the cross hairs of the scope on the distant compound. Searching for the large grilled window. Finding it, observes those within peering to the curious display of colored explosions. Enormous kaleidoscopic spider legs spread themselves across the sky. Captivating those caught under the hypnotic enchantment.

Flores had become one of them.

Standing on a chair to get a better view from the window. Smiling like a child as each death knell sounded. Frank listened intently for the rhythmic timing of the explosions, sensing its pace.

"Boom! ... Boom! ... Boom!"

Gently squeezing the hair trigger at exactly the right moment.

"Boom! ... Boom! ... Boom!" Synchronizing his timing perfectly. The percussion of the shoot lost among the thundering pyrotechnics.

The rifle jolts violently into Franks shoulder. Cursing to himself briefly. His eyes never off the scope. Catching the diminutive head explode. Covering the two goons standing nearby with bloods and brain fragments. Before collapsing from the chair onto the floor at the feet of the men.

Frank watched on as panic ensued within the room. Fearful of another shot. One of the men returns automatic fire outside the window in the hope fending off the assault. Spraying bullets indiscriminately at random buildings and windows. Unconcerned as to who or what they struck. Overhead, the violent display continues uninterrupted and would do so for another hour.

Smith had spared no expense to send Flores off in style.

Composing himself Frank calmly disassembles the rifle. Had killing become so easy? Feeling nothing for Flores. A trafficker of drugs and souls. One less for mankind to worry about. Knowing that in time, another would fill the void that he had left.

Returning to his room, slid the case under the bed.

With the assignment completed, it was time to switch off. Frank would drink to forget. Something that seem came naturally to him in Tijuana. One place came to mind. Uncle Pedro's.

Frank's mobile vibrated with a message.

"Transfer complete." The message read.

Frank deleted the message and readied himself for the evening. Mirror Man stayed silent. Eyeballing Frank like a stranger. Who was he? This man who could kill for money?

"Cat got your tongue?" Frank asked his reflection slashing cold water on his face.

"Don't drink too much tonight... I don't want to end up shit faced like last night..." The Mirror Man finally spoke fearful of another binge session and hangover from hell.

"We'll see..." Answered Frank. "...You behave yourself while I'm out." Walking away leaving Mirror Man to watch him disappear.

"Hold up! ... I'm coming with you!" Now having second thoughts about leaving Frank unchaperoned.

"El Franco!" A loud voice hollered from behind the bar.

"Frank!" Another voice shouts out over the noisy party revelers.

"Matt is it? ... What are you doing here? Where's your mate?" Frank asked looking about.

"Just getting drinks... Where you been?"

"Doing the rounds... Had a bad memory of this place from last night..." Lied Frank.

"Ah! Return to the scene of the crime eh? ... You need a hair of the dog my friend!"

And with that Finch appears with a tray of tequila shots.

"Jesus!" Exclaimed Frank, seeing the number of shot glasses on the tray.

"No... I'm Charlie." Finch corrects the mistaken identity. And looking rather inebriated.

"Good one Charlie!" Burgess calls out.

"Cheers!" Salutes Frank, lifting a shot glass and throwing back the kerosene.

The first one always burned.

He would stick with the two agents. The best alibi anyone could have. Maria sat on the end of the bar observing him. Feeling her eyes on him. Exchanging glances and smiles between the shots that kept coming. Each one softening his resolve to be unfaithful.

Loud explosions continued overhead.

"These guys really know how to celebrate!" Informed Burgess becoming lubricated.

"They sure do." Said Frank.

"Aren't you on duty?" Frank asked curiously.

"We're just baby-sitting someone... They should be tucked up in bed by now." Burgess divulges.

"They're missing one hell of a party." Remarked Frank.

Just then Maria arrives to intercept Frank. Sensing an opportunity to wake up in one piece the next morning. Frank turns quickly to Burgess.

"Matt... Let me introduce Maria... She loves to dance."

Like a moth attracted to a pair of flickering flames. Burgess is drawn by Maria's voluptuous swelling breasts.

"Oh! ... Maria is it?" Burgess asked inquisitively.

"I hope there is no Misses Matt back home?" Asked Frank turning to Finch.

"Not yet there isn't... But give it time..." He chuckles, seeing another side to his partner...
Who was that woman?

Sunday morning, and Frank awoke a lot differently than he had the morning before.

Having left Charlie and Matt to enjoy the festivities while he called it an early night. Keeping well clear of the tequila rattlesnake's bite. The briefcase had mysteriously disappeared from his room by the time he had returned.

Checking out early.

In part to avoid the two agents, but moreover to allow him time to search for an address. Cruising the Cadillac nervously through dilapidated neighborhoods. Eyeing streets and assessing the danger should he make a wrong turn. A street sign confirmed he is in the right location.

Or so he thought.

Dogs barked continually at each other. Restrained by iron chains. A group of young men in white sweat stained singlets sat on steps smoking. Sharing what seemed to be a cigarette.

Frank crawled the car slowly to the curb. Parking up quietly so as not to attract attention. Watching a rundown apartment building from the distance. Uncertain if he had the right place. Checking the vehicle's mirrors now and again for suspicious passersby. Time ticked slowly by. The heat of the mid-morning day beating down on the black roof of the Cadillac. On the verge of giving up, when suddenly a man appears.

Calling out to someone following.

"Isabelle! Isabelle! We'll be late for church! ... Hurry up!"

A small child appears from the open doorway wearing a white cotton dress. Her Sunday best. A red ribbon tied off in a bow around her long dark head of hair. And scampers down the steps into the arms of her father who picks her up and throws her in the air.

"Daddy! Daddy!" She calls out squealing and giggling.

Holding her close, her father kisses her.

The moment he saw her. Frank knew she was Marilyn's child. A carbon copy to the minute detail. Her eyes. Her smile. There was no mistaking her.

Frank has seen enough. He had made his decision.

The phone rang and sang and screamed out in protest.

And because it could, it did it again, as though to waken the sleeping agent. Magnifying its painful intent with every ringing iteration. Dragging Finch from the bizarre dream. Accompanied by a hangover from hell.

'Ohh...Why was it so bright? ... Why does my head hurt? ... Why does my mouth taste like a sewer?' He thought inaudibly to himself.

Too many questions and not enough brains cells to answer them. He just wanted to roll over and die. Checking his watch. Squinting against the bright light to focus on the hands and their positions. Possibly ten to two, or ten past ten?

The incessant ringing continued.

Lifting the handset if only to cease the intrusion of the obstinate painful noise.

"Finch." A weak dry voice answers.

A clear unstained voice relays the situation that had developed at the prison over night

"Oh shit! ... Shit!" Finch cursed. Each word impaling his brain with a sharp pain as he spoke them.

The hangover would be nothing compared to the grilling Quinn would give them.

Twice now Smith had outwitted them.

"Shit! ..." Finch exclaimed painfully, "...We're coming down..." And hung up. "...Shit! ... Oh ah." Finch groaned, regretting having spoken at all.

Shedding himself from the bed. Staggers to the shower hoping to resurrect what had not been left at the bar. The cold water shocked him. But that was what he intended. Without fighting it, letting the force of the water bash him back to life.

Painkillers would do the rest.

"Mattie... You up yet?" Finch calls out. The sound of his own voice hurt his head.

But to no reply. If he felt bad, he wondered how bad Matt must have been feeling, having consumed twice as much. Wondering what had happened to the woman that he was with.

Drying himself off, walks out of the bathroom only to discover a naked woman heading towards him. Stepping aside to avoid a collision with her. Too late for introductions. Finch looks into Burgess's room and sees him spread naked over the bed. There was some things a partner should not see in their life.

And that was one of them.

"Wakey. Wakey... Big boy... We have a situation down at the prison."

Matt tried to open his eyes. Then closed them again. His mind churning the previous night's events like butter. Trying to grin. But it used too many muscles. And sighs instead.

"My head hurts..." Matt complains. "...Who was that woman we meet last night?"

"I don't know... Why don't you ask her when you have your shower?"

Burgess's eyes opened wide. Flashes of memory and bare flesh appear in his mind.

"Oh shit!"

"That's the least of our concerns Romeo... Flores has been shot... Time to rock and roll... Get your kit on."

Within the hour the two agents had pulled their SUV up outside the prison.

Wearing dark glasses to cover sensitive eyes. Baseball caps added little protection from erupting solar flares. Extra shot coffees in hand. Sanchez leaned against his vehicle. Looking as perky as a freshly picked daisy and welcomed the bright blue skies. Detecting a laziness in their character Sanchez mused himself as to how they might be feeling.

"What's the situation?" Finch asked sluggishly.

"About nine thirty last evening Flores was shot in his cell." Sanchez stated the facts clinically.

"Someone on the inside got to him? ... Who?" Asked Finch surprised as to how anyone could get close enough.

"No... The shot came from outside... Through his cell window." Sanchez let the facts sink in, then added, "...During the fireworks display... A lot of noise. Easy to cover the shot... Where-ever it came from." Looking about the buildings around them.

"Shit! ..." Cursed Finch again. "...Can we get inside to the cell?"

"No chance... Too dangerous... You walk in there again and they'll think you had something to do with it after yesterday's visit... The place is on lock down. A riot could erupt at any moment... Flores men blame the other cartel's men... They bringing him out shortly."

Finch breathed deeply. Exhaling slowly to capture the sighs' full benefit. His mind calibrating trajectory and probable building within range. Not accepting defeat, he would not give up on Smith so easily. It had become personal.

No matter how much his head hurt to think it.

"Let's meet back at HQ and go over the options." Ordered Finch.

"Don't you want to see Flores?" Asked Burgess.

"Dead men don't tell no tales... He's of no use to us now..." Remarks Finch of the bait.

Just then a gurney appears at the prison gates.

Wobbling across the uneven surface to the awaiting ambulance. Finch stares at the diminutive sized body covered by a white sheet. Visualizing Flores underneath. Blood stains on the sheets suggest a violent end. Watching as the gurney's legs fold and slide inside the rear of the ambulance. Before driving away in a cloud of dust. Hitting a pot hole. Shaking Flores from his divine eternal rest.

"Let's get out of here. We're losing time. Smith's asset has the jump on us by twelve plus hours." Finch calculated.

"What do we know?" Asked Finch examining the map on the large table.

"We were covering the wrong buildings... On the wrong bloody day! ... We fucked up boys... And Quinn will want some answers... What are we going to tell her?"

"Without Forensics being able to go into Flores' cell we're unable to assess the direction as accurately... But..." Sanchez paused to offer some hope, "... But we do have these buildings..." Pointing to three high raise apartment blocks and one hotel building."

"That's our building! ..." Remarks Burgess. "...He wouldn't have...?"

"Why not? That's Smith for you... Do what we least expect... That's where we'll begin... Sanchez, get your men to go over the apartment building... Room by room if you have to."

"Yes sir."

"Mattie ... Where were you last night around Nine Thirty?" Jokes Finch.

"I honestly can't remember..." Responds Burgess holding his head. The painkillers having little effect.

"Well at least you, me and... Frank have an alibi... What time did Frank arrive? ... You remember?"

"Just after us... He was with us all evening." Said Burgess dismissing the absurd thought Frank could have done it.

"Yeah you're right..." Pulling on his sun glasses.

It was wrong of him to think of Frank being involved. He was such a nice guy. Besides, he was with them all evening.

"Can I see the register?" Finch asked Maria standing behind the reception.

But she just stared back at Finch. Unmoved by his request. He had no jurisdiction in Mexico. And he was Americana. Coming down here and pushing others around.

'What country builds a wall to pen in their own people?' She thought to herself.

"Perhaps this might help?" Finch pushes a hundred dollar note across the counter.

Maria's eyes betray her loyalty and reaches for it before Emanuel returned to see it. Quickly pocketing it. Turns the register around and pushes it towards Finch. Then steps back as if she wants nothing to do with what happens next.

Finch gradually runs his finger down the list of guests, deciphering Maria's hand writing. Suddenly stopping at a name that had haunted him for months.

Max Pecks.

His finger runs over to the room number, 7F.

"F for Freddy." Finch thinks to himself, bring back memories of the flirtatious young lady in Flint. Grinning momentarily.

Just three floors above where he was staying. Pausing to take in the proximity. He was here. That explained the change of booking at the last moment. Smith had wanted them in the same hotel as if to say, 'you can't catch me even when I'm under your own nose.'

"The bastard." Finch mutters to himself.

Maria said nothing. She had been well paid to remain silent. Knowing Smith's reach if she did not. Running his finger down the list again. Seeking out another name he expected to see. But it was absent. Again his finger runs up and down the schedule. It was not there. Confused he looks at Maria suspiciously.

"Excuse me Miss." Finch searches for the words he doesn't want to ask. "Señor Frank? ... Si? ... What room? ... Señor Frank?"

"No Señor Frank stay here... Only them... Si?" She points to the list of names on the register.

"You sure no Señor Frank stay here?" Finch asked again gauging her facial expressions. But her response was the same. She really did not know who Frank was.

"Señor Pecks? Señor Frank? Si?"

A confused look came over Maria's face, unsure what to make of the duplicity.

"Si ... Señor Pecks... Room 7F." Pointing again at the register.

She really did not understand what Finch was driving at.

"You have a key for Room 7F? ... Si?" Finch asked hoping the laundered inducement would extend to a key.

Maria opens a drawer and searches for the key. Handing it to him tentatively, her mind wary of how far she should co-operate. A large black briefcase sat beneath the counter at her feet.

"Gracious." Finch acknowledges and awaits the elevator.

Eyes scan the reception for cameras. Crude but effective. The cabling suggesting a feed to a central CPU.

"Your cameras?" Finch asked.

"Not working... Broken." Responded Maria dis-heartedly. Mostly for show these days. The cost to repair beyond the benefit they would provide.

"Of course they are..." Finch accepted.

If they were not broken, they would certainly have been deactivated.

The elevator sounds its arrival and Finch enters, pressing the seven and waited.

"F for Freddy ... F for Freddy." Finch repeated to himself.

Pulling a gun from the holster loads a bullet into the chamber. Unsure what to expect when he got there. Elevator doors open and he peers out into the hallway. With Burgess with Sanchez searching the other apartments. Finch was on his own.

Looking for someone he did not want to be looking for.

Wishing it was anyone else but Frank. Stepping gingerly out of the lift, both hands cradle the gun pointed to the floor. Ready to be raised at any moment. Quietly making his way down the hall. And waits to one side of the door.

Hearing noises coming from within 7F.

"Fuck!" He mutters to himself.

Wanting backup. Knowing he would have to do this alone.

"Please don't let it be Frank."

Sucking in a breath prepares himself for the encounter. The rush of adrenaline flooding his system. Numbing whatever hangover remained. Hearing the door about to open, stands back a step and raises his gun.

Emanuel appears pushing a squealing cleaning trolley.

"Emanuel! ... What are you doing here?"

"Don't shoot me!" Pleads Emanuel raising his hands.

"Put your hands down Emanuel... Señor Frank here?" Asked Finch still gripping his gun with intent.

"No Señor Franks... This Señor Pecks' room..." Emanuel reveals his ignorance.

"Fuck!" Finch curses annoyed.

Easing into the room unsure what to expect.

Standing at the balcony he could clearly see the compound. Flores' window obscured by the compound wall.

'Higher.' Finch thought.

Leaving the room, looks about the hallway and spies fire-escape. Gripping the leveled gun he walks slowly to the door way of the stair way. Unsure if Frank was still about.

Opening the door, it creaks with disuse. Peering up. Peering down. Steps into the stairwell. The single bulb glowed. Holding dimly onto life. The smell of concrete dust burned his lungs. Sounds bounced off the walls. Smudged foots steps marred the stairs suggesting recent use.

Cautiously, with reluctant steps to the roof top. What was he expecting to find? Frank standing there? That would be wishful thinking. Opening the exterior door to have fresh air slap his face. Venting nostrils of the arid stairwell dust.

Pillars of air conditioning units stood regimented soldiers. Rattling as though marching in unison. Walking to the edge of the building, Finch could see it all. The perfect shooting position. How could Frank not have missed? Recreating the events of that night... Tombstones hiding the shooter from view... Loud fireworks exploding overhead... The bait drawn to the window... Sticking his head up at the opportune moment.

And Bang... Lights out.

It was a turkey shoot and Flores was the turkey. Playing into Smith's, and Frank's hands.

Could it really have been Frank? Finch's mind battles with the absurd accusation. And shakes the ludicrous thought free. Smith had done it again.

Standing where Frank had stood. Taking in the view of the shanty city. Hearing the sound of the door behind him opening and closing shut. Reaching for his gun again, turns about to take aim.

Only to find Burgess approaching him.

"Emanuel said I might find you up here." Raising his arms.

"He's gone." Finch holsters his gun and resumes his contemplation of events.

"Who's gone?" Asked Burgess behind the play.

"Max Pecks ... Frank... Whatever name he goes by." Said Finch feeling betrayed and cheated.

"Not Frank... It can't be..." Burgess denied the indictment. "...Are we sure it's him? It could just be a coincidence."

"There's no Frank on the register, I've just checked... But there was a Max Pecks registered."

Burgess could not deny his partner's intuition. Or the facts.

"Contact Border Control... Have them stop anyone by the name of Max Pecks or ... Frank..." Finch ordered, knowing it would be an impossible task to accomplish.

"That's a big ask. There could be thousands."

"Don't I know?" Finch replied despondently wondering how he would write it up for Quinn, "...Third time lucky perhaps..." Trying to see the funny side to a situation, "... We're getting closer... We know what Pecks looks like... But somehow I don't think we'll find Frank in our databases... After today."

Finch kicked a stone over the edge and wondered if he stood have. Waiting for an insult to echo up below. That never came.

"Let's get back home... Quinn will want to know what happened."

Wondering how he would explain the drinking with the asset. The truth was always the best defense in Finch's book.

Frank tuned the Cadillac's radio into a local San Diego station.

Cranking up the volume on a song he thought he recognized. Singing along with the lyrics he knew. Making up those he did not.

His mind made up. This was his last assignment. His days of killing were over. Mexico was too close for comfort. No matter how good Smith was in erasing his existence. He would make it on his own from now on. Job or no job. Smith would just have to find someone else to do his dirty work.

As for Marilyn. He had plans to her...
'56 Riviera coupe

Frank examined himself in the mirror. Looking sharp. Mirror Man did not recognize him.

Frank barely recognized himself. Had he drifted that far from who he once was?

"Who the hell are you? ... What have you done with Frank?" Asked Mirror Man asked examining the strangely dressed man staring back at him.

Frank ignored him. Feeling six inches taller. Feeling a self-worth he had not felt in over half a year. His chest filled with air. He felt alive. The only thing missing was a job to go with the navy blue suit. Polished black shoes. Looking every inch a Finance Manager. Man Mirror watched him leave. Unsure what to make of it.

"Don't waste your time Frank! ..." Mirror Man warned, "...Look at me when I'm talking to you! ... No one wants to employ you... You're too old... You're too slow you drunk bastard!"

But Frank was not listening.

"You'll be back Frank... Mark my words! ..." Mirror Man called out as the sound of the door closed behind Frank, "...Hey wait up! ... I'm coming with you! ... I'll see you in the car!"

The cherry red white walled tired Buick pulled into a park reserved for visitors.

Taking up two parks. Its polished silver gills sparkled. Frank stared at the ominous large white office building. Its tinted windows revealing nothing of its interior. And the eyes staring back at him. Checking his watch. He was early.

A good omen from the employment Gods.

If they wanted him to be late, they would have thrown obstacles in his way to delay him. He went over his Resume one last time. Familiarizing himself with the questions they could throw at him.

Checking himself in the mirror, the Mirror Man gave some last minute advice.

"You can do this Frank... Keep your answers short... To the point... Don't digress as you usually do... And straighten your tie!"

Satisfied he had psyched himself enough. Ready as he would ever be. Takes a deep breath, straighten his tie, and pulled himself from the cell to face the inquisition.

"Relax... Just be yourself... You can do this job with your eyes closed." He repeated to himself.

Looking up again at the office building, he throws caution to the wind, and walks inside.

And waits anxiously at reception, taking in the modern decor.

Reminding himself that he had been short listed. They must have seen something on his Resume they liked. Having had applied for over thirty jobs just to get his foot in the door of one of them.

'What will be will.' He recited to abate his growing anxiety.

Taking another a deep sigh to settle his nerves. Mirror Man watched quietly on from behind the glass wall.

A man in a tee-shirt enters the room and introduces himself.

"Frank I presume?" Asked the man, extending his hand.

"That's right..." Frank began to stand.

"Hi... I'm Nick McKinnon. Good to meet you Frank... Thanks for coming in... You'll be meeting with myself and Sarah Albright from HR."

"Thank you... It's been a while."

"Don't worry Frank... It's been a while for a lot of people recently. Come with me."

Leading Frank along a series of corridors.

"By the way... Is that your Buick taking up two parks outside?" Asked Nick curiously.

"Yes it is... Sorry... I can shift it if you like." Said Frank worried.

"Oh no that's okay... Is it what I think it is? ... A '56 Buick Super Riviera coupe?" Asked Nick curiously, then adding its specification's, "... Three-sixty-four V8?"

"You know your cars." Taking back by the interest.

"My father had one just like it when I was growing up... Yours brought back some fond memories for me... It's a classic... Have you had it long?"

"About twenty years... Got it some after my graduation."

"Mind if I take a look after the interview?"

"Not at all." Feeling his nervousness subside.

Glass walls revealed people focused on computer screens. He could only imagine the spreadsheets and reports they were looking over. It was a world he had once known. He was one of them. They just did not know it.

"Impressive." Said Mirror Man walking beside Frank. Before disappearing into solid walled offices before reappearing again on another glass wall.

"In here thanks Frank... Take a seat. Sarah will be joining us shorty. .. Coffee perhaps?" Nick asked.

"That'd be great thank you... If it's no trouble?

"No trouble... How do you have it?"

"Black one sugar if that's okay?"

"I'll be right back." And Nick disappear leaving Frank alone.

Frank looked around at the room's decor.

Large modern art hung on the walls. There was space to breath here. It did not have the stuffy feel of his last job. Somehow this company had moved with the times and enjoyed life. A vague feeling of satisfaction came back to him. As though he belonged within these walls.

As if he had come home.

Reflecting on Jeffersons and how it had been his office for the past eight months. A place to park his mind body and soul in neutral while the world had passed him by.

The door opens and a beautiful red head with freckles steps into the room.

"You must be Frank... I'm Sarah Albright... Head of HR... Nick will be with us shortly." Extending her hand.

"Yes he's just gone to fetch some coffees... I think." Replied Frank.

Surprised by the sight of the young woman sitting across the table of him.

"I have the completed forms." Pushing several pages towards her.

"Thanks for that... And thank you for coming in. Nick was very impressed with your Resume."

"Thank you for the opportunity. It's been a while." Replying automatically.

Grateful to be among the living again. Albeit for an hour if the interview went to plan. Just then Nick walks in carrying a tray ceramic glass mugs steaming with coffee.

"Here you go Frank... Black one sugar." Placing a mug before him. It was not the same as the short glass Tomo would slide in front of him. But it would do.

Noticing that Nick had brought no pen or paper with him. Thinking that was the way the man operated.

"So why don't we begin by letting me explain something about the company..." Begins Nick sitting back and looking at ease.

His confidence and charm beginning rub off onto Frank.

"Gentlemen..." Quinn began sternly.

The tone of her voice suggested she had read their report and wanted an explanation.

"Ma'am." Finch acknowledges their presence.

"Explain how this happened? ... How two of America's finest agents... And I use that term loosely... End up drinking with Smith's asset?"

"It's all in the report Ma'am..." Revealed Finch, not sparing the detail.

"Amuse me anyway." Quinn stuck a pin into Finch's rag doll.

Finch fidgets briefly in his chair at the question as Quinn swivels around to take in the view of greenery outside. Her mind occupied with another self-serving nuisance.

"The President... Still thinks he was the target... Wishful thinking for most people... But a waste of a good bullet if you ask me."

"Smith is playing with us Ma'am... He knows our every move before we do... Our Hotel reservations were changed on route... By Smith, he wanted us there...His asset above our own noses."

"I agree... So what do we know now that we did not before?"

"I am confident Smith did not mean for us to bump into the Frank... Max Pecks... That was pure chance... And I suspect Frank is his real name... He slipped up on meeting him in the elevator... We've circulated identikit images of him around the country. ... We have a name and a face."

"Nothing in the system? ..." Quinn asked. "...The border crossing must have some record?"

"Nothing... Smith wiped any proof of Frank's passing... There was no sign of his Cadillac on any of the major highways."

"Are we any closer to stone-walling Smith's access?" Quinn asked

"The tech guys are working on it Ma'am... His algorithm keeps changing... He's everywhere... And nowhere... But we are closing him down, one server at a time." Burgess reports.

"Good... Circulate sketches of this Frank to all Agencies... Run facials on everyone and anyone transiting airports and railways... And above all else... Track down his next target." Said Quinn dismissing two of the Agency's finest.

"Yes Ma'am." Came the unison reply standing to leave.

"Finch... You in tonight?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away Ma'am."

"Dismissed." Quinn ordered them from her office.

"How'd the interview go?" Asked Tomo seeing Frank pull himself back onto his wooden saddle.

A short glass soon appears before him.

"Okay... I guess." Responds Frank mentally drained.

"Just okay?" Asked Tomo wanting to know more.

"I ticked all the right boxes... Said all the right buzz words... Even took the boss for a ride in the car... If that doesn't clinch the deal, nothing will."

"You never take me for a ride in your car." Exclaims Tomo.

"If you paid a hundred grand for flipping burgers I would." Suggests Frank.

"Minimum wage here Frank."

"For that... I'll let you look at it."

"Thanks man... You're all heart... When will they let you know?"

"Don't know... They said a couple of weeks...The ball is really in their court. The wheels of industry turn slowly Tomo... You should know." Said Frank looking about the empty bar.

Grimm cuts a solitary figure at the far end of the bar. As if frozen in time.

Taking in his profile, Frank wonders who he really was. No one really knew. They called him Grimm, but was that his real name? Must be a nick name he figured. It suited him. Enigmatic. A name that said do not fuck with me. Engaging only when he felt inclined to. Otherwise he kept pretty well much kept to himself.

Did not seem to work.

Must have money tucked away if he could afford to visit here most days. Maybe he had been laid off too and was just threading water until something else came along. Could be a silver spoon trust-baby. With millions stashed away somewhere. Dripped feed to him each week. Keeping him in buds.

Who was he question Grimm's situation, when his own life was in tatters? Some people struggle their whole lives trying to vindicate their lives by being successful. Grimm had vindicated his by being authentic.

'Good on you Grimm', Frank thinks enviously to himself.

"Any games on?" Frank calls out diverting attention away from Grimm.

"What you see is what there is." Calls back Tomo.

"Beach volley-ball... Really?" Frank protests.

"You don't see Grimm complaining do you?"

Grimm's appreciation of beach volley was all over his face.

An insatiable grin and focused concentration.

"You know the rules Grimm?" Frank asked curiously.

"There can't be many if their bathing suits are anything to go by."

Looking up Frank sees scantily clad females jumping and diving all over the sand. There may have been a ball involved. Not that anyone would have noticed. The sight reminded him of Sarah from the interview. Imagining her in a bikini two sizes too small.

Frank grinned too and focused his concentration on the screen.

"See... I knew you'd like it." Said Tomo returning to top up Frank's empty glass.

Something had been troubling Frank.

The recent interview had only irritated the itch more. The volley ball helped distract him from it. The weighted pendulum of guilt swung back again to the troubling thought. He had to tell someone.

And against his better judgement, that someone may as well be Tomo.

"Hey... You got a moment." Said Frank looking to the vacant corner booth.

"Yeah sure... One moment..." Tomo turns to the office, "...Chelsea!"

"What's up?" Said Chelsea sticking her head out.

"Hold the fort for five minutes? Just taking a short break."

Frank slides out of the saddle and heads to the corner booth.

Tomo's confessional. And slides along the seat, out of ear shot of Grimm and the bar.

"What's up big guy? ... You okay?" Tomo began probing for clues. Thinking it must be serious if needs to talk about it.

"Smith." Frank began.

"I haven't seen him for weeks."

"Don't suppose you will again for a few more... But he'll be back."

"What about him?" Tomo probed again.

"I want out... I can't do it anymore." Frank cryptically answers.

"Can't do what anymore?" Tomo looks at Frank with concern.

"Can't say... You wouldn't want to know."

"Try me..." Tomo encourages him.

"No you don't..." Said Frank shaking his head. "...I'm not who you think I am."

"What are you if not a travelling salesman?"

"Agency." Frank simplifies the answer.

"As in CIA agency?" Tomo leans forward and asked quietly.

"Something like that." Looking to the bar, hoping no one had heard them.

"Shit." Tomo tallies his surprise.

"Why do you think your cameras never work when Smith is here?"

"Ha! ... That explains it." Recalling the failed recordings. "...No wonder you wouldn't take my money."

"Yeah."

"So why don't you just quit... Resign or do whatever they do to get out?"

"I wish it was that easy... Somehow I don't think it works that way with Smith... He operates below the radar... And I mean off the radar... He knows everything about you, me... And no doubt Grimm there..." Said Frank. "...If that's possible."

"He may be the only person who knows anything about Grimm." Joked Tomo looking over to him.

Grimm was fixated out on the television. The score was irrelevant to him.

'Just keep playing.' His only thought.

"Going to hand my notice in next time he's here... You can watch."

"That should be interesting."

"Yeah it will be." Chuckled Frank.

"So you are like a secret agent or something? ... Do you get a gun?"

"Sometimes." Frank gets it off his conscience.

"Shit... You kill anyone?" Tomo presses his luck.

Frank remained silent staring into Tomo's eyes. Conveying illicit the answer. The two men had an unspoken understanding. What was said at the booth, stayed at the booth.

More so now that Frank sometimes had a gun.

"Oh... Shit." Tomo wished he now had not asked.

"We good about this?" Asked Frank seeking to keep sins between themselves. Relieved to have verbalized his inner demons.

"Of course Frank... My lips are sealed."

"Good... Keep them that way...." Warned Frank with an 'I mean it' look in his eyes.

"I'm not looking forward to Smith returning..." Remarks Tomo. Looking over his shoulder towards the door as if he could walk in at any moment. Chatting with Frank, in his booth. Talking to his agent.

"Neither am I..." Replied Frank sliding from the booth. "...Thanks for the chat... I better head off... Marilyn will be expecting me."

"You take care big guy... I'm here if you need me." Offered Tomo returning to the bar.

Frank slips out the door unnoticed.

The sound of the Buick rumbled outside catching Tomo's and Grimm's attention as it drove away.

"What was that all about? ..." Asked Grimm curiously, "...You two planning to elope?"

"My lips are sealed." Said Tomo trying to polish a glass.

"That will be day..." Knowing Tomo better than most people. "...Tell you Uncle Grimm all young man."

"Well... Since you asked..." Tomo began, craving in at the first the chance to spill the beans. "... But it has to stay between us... Okay? ... If Frank finds out..." He hesitated, "...I'm dead."

"Don't be ridiculous... Frank wouldn't hurt a fly."

"You don't know the Frank I know." Looking to Smith's empty booth.

"What's he done?" Asked Grimm leaning forward attentively.

"Frank's a Company man."

"I know that." Grimm leaned back, disappointed at the pathetic news.

"No... Not that kind of Company man... The other kind... The Agency..." Tomo helped him join the dots.

"As in ..." He began to say but did not finish.

"That's right..."

"I don't understand... He's an accountant."

"You know that guy Smith that keeps coming in here... He's one of them too... Seems to have recruited Frank... And it's not to do his tax returns... If you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure if I do..." Grimm lied.

"Let's just say they sometimes give him a gun instead of a calculator... But you never heard it from me."

"Oh? ..." A grave look came over face. His mind unravelling the events that had puzzled him the past few months. Now making sense, "... Best we keep this to ourselves okay?" Warned Grimm.

"My lips are sealed." Pledged Tomo a second time in as many minutes.

"We wouldn't want Smith knowing what we know... Okay?" The tone of his voice had shifted to one of authority, "...I best be off... I need to make a call."

"What is it with you guys today?" Looking about the empty bar.

His two best patrons having deserted him...
Plan B

"It seems that Frank has admirers." Remarks Black, drawing deeply on the cigarette. Coughing lightly at the irritation before inhaling another deep draw.

"So it would seem." Smith busily tapes at a tablet before him.

"Might be time we cut him free... Before...."

"Not yet... They got lucky... I'll have a word with him."

"They're unplugging you Smith... It's only a matter of time before they shut you out completely."

"Not yet, they haven't..." Smith protested the self-criticism, "...I have them just where I want them."

"I'm just saying..." Black stubs the cigarette into an ashtray of dead butts, "...Don't say I did not warn you."

Smith dismisses the intrusive thought, focusing on his screen. Tapping fluently. Swiping like an orchestral conductor waving his baton. It had been weeks since the Flores had been dispatched to his maker. The increased interest in Frank made Smith suspicious.

A little nervous. Perhaps neurotic.

Reaching for a small bottle of tablets. Shaking two into his hand, swallows them with a mouthful of red wine. Sketches of Frank were being circulated faster than a presidential tweet. And that was saying something.

Who had Frank been talking to in Tijuana? Maybe he had made a mistake placing the two agents in the same hotel. Perhaps he would send them on a wild goose chase around the country. Laying digital crumbs for his former underlings to follow. Frank's images had all but been distorted to belay detection.

Maybe Black was right. Maybe Frank had outstayed his welcome. Maybe it was time for Frank to let go. Smith had a contingency plan for such circumstances. Plan B.

Plan Bolton.

In a bar not too dissimilar to Jeffersons. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

From a corner booth, Smith observed a man. A man not too dissimilar to Frank. A man in his mid-forties. A man past his prime. The robotic age had caught up with him. Fiction had become fact as terminator drones replaced and ejaculated him onto life's scrap heap.

His Payout would last another month or so. Assuming he did not drink it before then. His only prized possessions, the switch blade in his pocket and the Harley Davidson parked out front. Rimming the lip of his bottle of bud with a finger. His mind drifted between redundant thoughts.

Much as Frank's had done.

Much as any man left wondering what the future held for them. Havng long since forgotten what day it was. Every day was Sunday. Sacrificing blood and sweat and tears to the steel mill his entire working life. Just as has his father, and his father before him. And for what?

Gazing into the bottle as if it were a telescope, hoping to see the answer. Seeing nothing. The bottle was empty. God had deserted him.

Though not sophisticated like Frank, in many respects, they were identical.

'He would do.' Thought Smith.

A product of the juvenile working class. He was needy. And more importantly, expendable.

"It isn't right! ..." Bolton protested to Sal the barman, "... I worked there for twenty fucken years! ... And this is the gratitude I get?"

Taking a hefty mouthful of beer from the fresh bottle that had been pushed in front of him. Washing it about his mouth, before swallowing hard and belching loudly. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and a thick white moustache.

Sal walked away. He found it difficult to empathize with Bolton's situation. He was working. It was not his problem.

"Perhaps I could assist." Consoled Smith appearing from nowhere.

Bolton turns about to see Smith looking out of place. As if he belonged more in an office than a bar. Befuddled, Bolton's face screws up as he tried to focus on the man in the dark suit standing beside him.

"Who the fuck are you? ..." He blurts out hoping the man would go away. Sooner rather than later.

"Forgive the intrusion... But I could not help overhearing your conversation with the good barman..." Smith paused as he dangled the bait. Then continued, "...My name is Smith ... John Smith."

"Of course it is." Joked Bolton looking back at Sal who shrugged his shoulders and carried on racking glasses.

Bolton turned his attention back to Smith. Nostrils twitching as though Smith smelt nice. Eyes squint, before a forefinger pushes a tired pair of smudged lens glasses up the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the man.

"What are you saying?" Bolton asked apprehensively, eyeing Smith over as if perhaps he was looking for sexual favors.

"Perhaps you would be so kind to join me where we could talk more ... Privately." Suggested Smith indicating the booth in a far corner.

Bolton's intuition told him Smith had money. He could smell it on Smith. Sliding from the stool, he followed. Taking his bottle of Bud with him. Looking back to Sal suggesting he should watch this.

Feeling for the switch blade in his pocket.

"You won't be needing that." Remarked Smith.

Taking Bolton off guard wondering how he knew.

Smith resumes his seat, and Bolton takes the seat opposite. Unsure what to expect. Smith looks to Sal, indicating another beer and a wine would be in order. Opening the brief case, pulls out a file. A dossier. Bolton's life summed up on a single page.

Bolton glimpses a holstered pistol inside the case.

"John Bolton... That is your name." Spoke Smith, bringing Bolton to attention, thinking he was sort of debt collector.

"That's right..." Bolton replies surprised. "...Who wants to know? ... What's this about?"

"Just checking... Let me begin by saying I have been observing you for some time."

"What do you want?" Asked Bolton becoming agitated, probing Smith's intentions. If this was an interview it did not feel like one.

"Relax John... I'm not who you think I am."

"Then who the hell are you?" Demands Bolton becoming irritable.

Just then Sal arrived with the drinks.

"Enjoy." Placing the drinks before them.

"Keep the change." And sliding a twenty in the Sal's direction.

Smith savors the fresh taste of the pinot noir as Bolton sniffs the Bud's bitter effervescence. Nostrils flaring. Taking a mouthful before wiping his mouth with a beer stained denim sleeve.

"I work for an Agency... A very special kind of Agency..." Smith begins the sales pitch.

"What kind of Agency?" Looking at Smith with suspicion.

"An invisible Agency that handles National Security on behalf of the Government." Smith opens his wallet and reveals his identification card and badge.

"What do you want with me?" Bolton probes for answers.

"One of my task with the Agency is to recruit new members."

"You need a steel worker?"

"Not quite... But you are in need of work are you not?"

"How did you know that?"

"I know everything about you John." Smith advised.

"Everything?"

"Everything... How's your mother's medical bills?" Smith asked hitting a nerve.

"What the fuck? ... You leave her out of this... I don't care who you are Mister..." Bolton roared at Smith.

Sal looked up at the erupting exchange.

Smith had pushed a button he wanted pushed. Seeing Bolton had a dark side to him like Frank. But was he capable of killing, like Frank?

"My apologies John..." Relented Smith in a calming voice. "...The Agency really does know everything about you... We know just about everything about anyone we choose to know about... For example... Take your friend over there... Sal... Otherwise known as Salvador Theodorus Quax... Has three hundred and fifty-five dollars and fifty two cents in his bank account... And voted Democrats party in the last election..." Smith paused to keep the information sink in. "...It's my job to know about people John."

Bolton stared at Smith unsure what to make of him.

Smith had seen the look a dozen times before. A silence ensued as Smith waited for him to speak.

"What do you know about me?" Bolton asked curiously, wondering where the conversation was leading.

"Like I said... Everything..." Smith began. "...Did you get your Debt Collection notice the other day?" Smith asked knowing the answer.

"That was you?" Bolton asked, restraining himself from reaching for his switchblade.

"I'm afraid so... I wanted to get your attention."

"You got it... So what do you want? ... Mister Smith... Was it?" Getting to the point.

"Think of it as how I can help you John." Smith applied the right words that Bolton could identify with, "... Financially..." Then clarified the meaning with less syllables. "...Money."

Bolton's ears pricked up at the word he understood. A word that spelt his survival.

"What's the catch?" Asked Bolton suspiciously.

"No catch... You work for me and I will keep the wolves from your door..." Smith delivered his sales pitch. "...I can make your mother's medical bills magically disappear."

"Hmm... You can do that?"

Smith grinned as if to say he could.

Bolton weighed the offer in his Bud soaked mind.

"What would I have to do?" Asking cautiously. Pondering the gun in briefcase.

"There will be some travel involved... Import-Export-Dispatch... So to speak... All expenses paid of course... Would you be interested?"

"I'm certainly interested... Mister... Smith... Sir." Taking a sip of his beer, now tasting more tantalizing and sweeter.

"We can discuss details at another time... I will be back again this time next week... We can talk again then... You would be doing the Nation a great service.... I need to head back to Washington to write up my report."

"I understand." Bolton lied. His mind unable to grapple Smith's sudden unsolicited appearance.

Smith stands to leave, his glass of wine unfinished. Extending his hand to Bolton as if to cement their contract of intent.

Leaving Bolton to his beer.

"Hey Sal..." Probes Bolton, "...You got a middle name?"

"Yeah... Theodorus... Who's asking?" Responded Sal curious by the question.

"Just wondering..." Returning his attention to the bottle of Bud, peeling the skin from the bottle's glass bones in frustration.

"You?" Asked Sal.

"Nah... Parents never had time for one." Bolton lied.

Smith would allow the temptation to take root in Bolton's mind.

Just as it had with Thomas. Just as it had with Frank. They all came around in the end. Money had a way of doing that to people.

Bolton would be no different...
Vincent Chong

"What have you got Matt?" Asked Finch answering his mobile, assessing two cards hidden from prying eyes.

"A couple of leads on Smith." Baits Burgess over the phone.

"I'll fold." Said Finch throwing his two aces face up onto the table.

Through the haze of cigarette smoke, a groan erupts around the dimly lit table like a bad Mexican wave.

Standing to leave the table. Quinn's eyes anxiously follow him.

"Speak to me." Prompts Finch drawn from the friendly poker game.

"There's something happening in Pittsburgh... Smith's been making an unusually high number of hacks into a one John Bolton... Unemployed steel worker... Layoff a few months ago... Maybe his next recruit?" Offers Burgess.

"Maybe... Follow it up just in case... Place Bolton under surveillance... Stay down wind... I don't want Smith to know we know we're about."

"Copy that." Responds Burgess.

"What was the second lead?" Asked Finch curiously, looking back at the table. The pot had grown and he was anxious for a slice of the action.

"Vincent Chong." Burgess spits the name out.

"Who the hell is he?"

"A wealthy Chinese businessman... Smith's signature is over him... Obviously done something to get on Smith's naughty list." Burgess surmises the facts.

"Where's he based?" Asked Finch.

"That's the thing... He moves about... Never stays at the same place for any longer than three days before moving on... Perhaps Smith isn't the only one he's pissed off."

"Find out what you can about Chong and have it on my desk tomorrow morning... Quinn will want an update and I want to have both barrels locked and loaded... Understood?"

"Read you load and clear Charlie... Get back to your game..." Apologies Burgess. "...How you doing?"

"Don't ask."

"Good luck." Wishes Burgess.

"Thanks... See you tomorrow morning." Killing the call.

"Who's in? ... Who's out?" A voice asked through the haze and dim lighting.

"I'm out." Calls Quinn.

A small stack of chips in front of her. A cigarette smoldering between her fingers.

"That Burgess?" She asked.

"Yeah... Seems Smith is on the move again... You'll have a full report by noon."

"No shop here Ladies... I am sure your precious Smith can wait until tomorrow morning... Your deal Charlie." Another Director interjects pushing a worn deck of cards in front of him.

"How'd you get on last night?" Asked Burgess looking sharp and sounding fresh.

"Quinn cleaned the table out... She does it every time." Replies Finch, looking tired and sounding beaten.

"That's why she's the boss Charlie."

"What have you got on Chong?"

"Triade connections... Seems he ratted out an associate... Moves about from one sleep-out to another, keeping one step ahead... Never in one place for too long... Shouldn't be too hard for Smith to find."

"But can we find Chong?" Asked Finch wondering how to keep one step of Smith.

"I've got the tech boys onto it... Currently he's in LA... Tomorrow Chicago... He holds property all over and beyond... Flies private jet."

"Get hold of Chong's people... Update them on Smith's intentions... Tell them we can't protect him unless he's willing to co-operate..." Instructs Finch.

"And if he doesn't want to co-operate?" Asked Burgess inquisitively.

"Then be it on his head... We're here to serve and protect, not babysit."

"And if he does?"

"Then triangulate Chong's itinerary with Smith's signatures... Where they cross is where Smith is likely to strike... Keep his people fully informed."

"Copy that." Responds Burgess.

"And Bolton? ..." Asked Finch, "...What have we got on him?"

"There really isn't much to add from last night... No priors... He's a patsy in Smith's game... Much like Thomas and ..." Burgess hesitates momentarily. He did not want to say the name, but he said anyway, "...Frank." Then added his thoughts, "...You know Smith will kill Frank at some point?"

"Yeah... I know... Let's hope we get to his Frank before Smith or Bolton does... We have men on the ground there?"

"As we speak... We've tapped Bolton's phone and home computer... We have men set up in the adjacent apartment. Nothing goes in or out with us knowing about it... Spends a lot of time at bar drinking all day."

"I want to bring him in, but let's leave him out there for a while... I don't want to spook Smith unnecessarily... Write it up for Quinn... We have a midday meeting in her office."

"Copy that." Responds Burgess.

"You hear anything back from that interview the other week ago?" Calls out Tomo from the office.

"Nah... They said they'd be in touch by letter of all things." Said Frank. Frank hated letters. They only meant bad news for him.

"Give it time... No news is good news." Advised Tomo gave a fiver of wisdom.

"That's what they say..." Frank lied. "...Our little conversation the other day... You haven't spoken to anyone I hope?"

"My lips are sealed Frank... You know me." Lied Tomo.

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about... I do know you." Said Frank looking about the unusually quiet bar. "...Where is everyone?"

"There's a Hip-Hop festival in town."

"Oh... Why?" Said Frank puzzled by the music.

"Who knows? ... Apparently some people like it... I can put some on if you like."

"Don't you dare? ..." Warns Frank. "...Any play-offs on?"

"No Play-Offs... Will the Finals do? ... Warriors are playing Cavs... Game two..."

Tomo flicks the remote as the television screens come to life and flash passing channels.

"There you go... Fourth quarter... Caught it just in time." Tomo returns to polishing and racking glasses.

Frank looks up at the overhead televisions.

Not his favorite sport, but it was fast and furious enough to hold his attention. Warriors were up one seventeen to ninety seven, with a dollar and change to play. It was heading only one way. Nothing could spoil it for the Warriors from here. Already leading the series by one.

Frank hears the bar door open and close and dismisses it. Eyes keenly focused on Curry about to launch an effortless three pointer. Regurgitating a mouth-guard to smile and punches a fist into the air. Smelling victory at hand. The crowd went into apoplexy sensing it too. Suddenly LeBron thunders up the court. The ball in hand and an opponent's face in the other. Leaps up and slam-dunks a frustrated reply.

"Two points won't cut it." Muttered Frank to himself.

With seconds leaking from the clock, Cavs call time out. Frank takes a sip from his fresh glass. And catches Tomo's eye looking at him. It was a look he knew too well by now.

A look that said, 'don't look around'.

"Fuck." Frank said under his breath dropping his head in annoyance of the intrusion.

Tomo could sense Frank's frustration and steps back. Their earlier conversation now resonating a warning more than ever. Turning his back on him to continue racking glasses, as if he had not said a word. Taking a heavy sigh, braced himself for the confrontation. Looking up one last time at the game. Still time out.

Something he was about to call himself. Would Smith sound the final hooter?

Sliding from the stool, salvaged his balance and turned to face Smith sitting at the booth preoccupied with his tablet.

Swiping left and right, as if on Tinder searching for a date. But somehow Frank did not see Smith as the dating type of guy. He tried to imagine who would find him attractive. Letting the repulsive thought drop from his mind.

Taking his bourbon with him, goes over to the booth.

"We need talk." Said Frank loud enough for Tomo to hear.

"Indeed we do... Take a seat." Gesturing the space opposite.

Tomo arrives with a glass of red wine and places it before Smith.

"Thank you Thomas." Smith acknowledges the unsolicited gesture.

Waiting for Tomo to return to the bar before continuing their conversation.

"Seems there is a lot of interest in you Frank... Talk to anyone while you were down in Tijuana?" Asked Smith continuing to swipe his tablet, looking up occasionally to catch Frank's attention.

"A couple CIA agents at the Hotel... We had a few drinks... Afterwards."

"Really? That's interesting... Did they? ..." Smith began to ask.

"No..." Retorted Frank. "...They were none the wiser... Why?"

"It seems they have managed to put one and one together and it adds up to you Frank."

"What?" Frank asked somewhat anxious.

"Nothing I haven't managed to erase? ..." Smith placed the tablet inside his briefcase. "...You are nothing now but a disfigured ghost in their machinery now... Relax."

"I thought you said we work for the Government Agency? Why they after me?"

"You do Frank..." Smith lied, "... But our Agency operates outside the usual guidelines... If you know what I mean."

"Somehow I don't... Anyways, I want out... I don't want to do this anymore." Frank came to the point.

"Oh... It's not that simple Frank... There's paperwork... Forms to complete... You can't just up and leave." Smith taunted Frank. "... Have I not paid you well enough? ... Would you like more?" Teased Smith.

"You can have your blood money back for all I care." Frank pressed home the point.

"No. No. You keep it... You've earnt it." Suggested Smith, capable of recouping the balance of the funds at any time.

"I'll see what Mister Black has to say and get back to you... It won't be easy, but I am sure we could come to an understanding." Responded Smith.

Frank had become a nuisance. A nuisance that needed to be removed. Smith's mind drifted to Bolton usefulness in formulating Frank's unfortunate constructive dismissal.

"Thank you." Said Frank relieved.

Frank took a swallow from his glass. Unaware of the deadly consequences of the Smith's decision.

"I understand... Leave it to me Frank... I'll take care of it..." Knowing what he had to do. "...I'll be in touch."

"Thanks." Frank pulls himself from the booth to his feet and walks back to his stool.

Looking up in time to hear the final hooter sound. Warriors win by a margin and half. And then so. Too easy thought Frank. They could go all the way.

But then that's what he thought about the T-Birds. Only to come second.

Taking his place on his wooden pedestal, Frank swivels about hoping to find that Smith had left. But he was still sitting there. Muttering something to himself.

As if he were having a conversation with someone sitting opposite.

"Told you so..." Said Black fighting the urge to smoke. "...Will Bolton be up to the task?"

"We'll see... It's all in the execution." Smith played with the pun.

"And the Feds?" Asked Black curiously.

"I've have them on a goose chase... Vincent Chong will keep them occupied for weeks... They'll eventually get bored with him... Then we'll strike."

"Let's get out of here... I need a cigarette." Protests Black.

Reaching for the packet from his pocket.

"Not in here you don't!" Warns Tomo from the far end of the bar watching on.

"Sorry Thomas." Responds Black politely. A voice strangely different to that of Smiths.

Tomo takes a second look at Smith.

Pulling on a dark hat and sunglasses and gloves.

Black made a mental note to add Thomas to the growing list of undesirables...
Who's been a naughty boy then?

A young woman stands lopsided in the bar's doorway, silhouetted against the setting summer sun.

A heavy suitcase weighing her down. Her whole life in one bag. Tomo looks up and sees the woman standing there. Unable to make out her shadowed features. Undecidedly she enters the bar, looking about as though she was lost. Placing the bag down senses a familiarity about the place. Pulling herself onto Frank's stool feels a residual warmth.

Left by the previous person sitting there just moments earlier.

"Can I help you Miss?" Asked Tomo seeing the woman was looking lost and disoriented.

"I saw the sign in the window for help... You still hiring?"

"Got any experience in a kitchen?"

"A little... I worked once in a kitchen... In Paris." The woman answers.

"Oh really... Interesting." Tomo fathoms the disparity to the grease factory out back.

Detecting a hint of French accent in her voice.

"I'm willing to do anything... I'm a good worker. I have references if you like to see them..." She offers reaching inside her hand bag.

"That won't be necessary... When can you start?"

"Right away." She keenly responds.

"What's your name sweetie?"

"Julie" She replies looking about the empty bar. A long way from home. Unsure if she was doing the right thing.

"Nice to meet you Julie... People call me Tomo... I'm the Bar Manager... You any problems you come see me okay?"

"Okay... Thank you."

"You have anywhere to stay? ... If you don't mind me asking?" Seeing the suitcase at her feet.

"Not yet... I've just arrived... Saw your sign..." She repeated.

"There's a room upstairs if you want it. Rent will come off your wages of course... But it's clean and cheap."

"Merci beaucoup." Julie responded with excitement in her voice.

Tomo was unsure what it meant, but the smile meant it must have been good.

"Chelsea!" Tomo calls out to the back office.

Chelsea sticks her head out and sees Tomo with a strange woman. What caught her eye first, was the Gucci handbag hanging off her arm.

'It must be a knock off.' She thought.

"Chelsea this is Julie.... Julie this is Chelsea... Julie will be joining us." Tomo makes the brief introductions.

"Bonjour Chelsea." Responds Julie taking Chelsea by surprise.

"Bienvenue à Juie." Replies Chelsea.

"You speak French... Non?"

"Petit... It's nice to meet Julie... Let me show you to your room."

Tomo was seeing another side to Chelsea. Already Julie was in fitting in.

"Thank you." Replies Julie following Chelsea up the stairs.

"So_, what brings you to town? ..." Chelsea asked curiously, "...You're a long way from France."

"I've lived in Flint for several years... Then a met a man and..." She could not complete the sentence. Unsure how to say what she was doing.

"Sounds romantic! ..." Teases Chelsea. "...Internet?"

"No... An elevator... He lives here in Seattle..." She begins, "...I thought I might surprise him."

"Oh? ... He doesn't know you're here? ... What if he's married?"

"I think he is." Replies Julie.

"Oh... How do you know?"

"A woman just knows these things... You know?"

Somehow Chelsea was unsure if she did. Maybe French women did. But not American women.

"But I know he's not happy..."

"How do you know?" Probing the love affair further.

"The way he kisses me... The way he talks to me... This man is sad... But when we are together... Nothing makes sense." Julie tries to explain.

"What's his name?" Chelsea asked.

"Frank." Julie responds.

"Oh... You know his last name?" Asked Chelsea hoping to dismiss the only Frank she knew.

"Pecks... I think." Julie replied a little puzzled.

"You think? ... How well do you know him?"

"Well enough. We spent some days together in New York... It was so romantic... We stayed at The Plaza and he bought me this." Julie shows her the handbag.

"This is real?" Chelsea's eyes light up like saucers.

And touches the bag as though it were a sacred holy relic.

"He must really love you."

No man had ever bought Chelsea a hand bag. Let alone a knock off.

"Tomorrow I will call him and surprise him."

"And his wife?"

"She will be happy for him..." Julie enlightens Chelsea to French thinking. "...In France we have a saying... If a man cannot leap for love... Then he must be pushed."

"In this country we call it a felony. And you have the right to remain silent... But hey, good luck with that..." Suggests Chelsea. "...Why don't you get unpacked? And come down when you're ready and we'll talk more over dinner."

"Okay... I'll see you soon."

Sitting on the end of the double bed feeling lonesome. The room's vacant disused odors filled her nostrils. The warmth of sunlight streaming through the open window. Radiating a reassurance she was doing the right thing. In her heart she knew Frank would never make the leap of faith to take their relationship to the next level.

Providence was telling her he needed to be pushed.

Frank pulls himself onto his stool.

A strange smell was drifting from the direction of the kitchen. An odor of appealing food. The titillating culinary scent causing his nostril's to twitch as he sniffed the air. Looking to Tomo for conformation of the anomaly that had aroused his dormant nasal senses.

"What's that?" Frank continues to sniff with a puzzled look growing on his face.

"We got a new chef in last night... She's helping Andy out with a recipe he's had troubled with."

"I wouldn't mind some of that." Frank places his order early.

"I'll get her to bring you a plate out when it's ready... Nice girl... Not your type though... She's French."

"French... In your kitchen? Is she safe with all that grease?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing... French eh?" Thoughts of Julie come to mind. Reaching for his phone dials her number and waits for it to answer. But goes to voice mail.

Swiveling about so as not to arouse Tomo's attention. And he leaves a quiet message.

"Only me... I was just thinking of you... Call when you're free... Love you." Frank hangs up and swivels back to face the bar.

Seeing Tomo standing in front of him.

"Anyone I know? ..." With a grin on his face. "...You're secret is safe with me lover boy... My lips are sealed."

"I very much doubt that."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing... French eh?"

"Yeah... She arrived last night... Saw the sign... She's staying upstairs if you're interested."

"Thanks... But I have enough on my plate."

"What's one more to you mate? ..." Suggested Tomo, pushing a glass in front of him. "...You gigolo you!"

Thoughts of what to do about Marilyn had entered his head since his conversation with Smith.

Arrangements would need to be made. It was all in the timing. A sound of plates rattling on shelves could be heard coming from behind the bar. Frank anticipated the arrival of his meal. Hoping it would taste as good as it smelled. Muffled voices talked to each other. A female voice sounding familiar, conversed with Tomo.

Looking up to the television to catch the start of the return match between the Cavs and the Warriors. Not noticing the young lady pushing her way backwards through the kitchen door. She turns around just as he looks down to see her standing there.

Julie freezes in her tracks. Frank stares frozen at her.

Looking at each other with disbelieving eyes. Unsure what to say. Or how she was there. With his meal in her hand. Wondering how much Tomo knew of their relationship.

Only Chelsea could pick up their body language.

"This should be interesting." She whispers slyly to Tomo.

The comment passing over his head.

"I never picked you as a Gucci type of guy Frank." Chelsea breaks the silence.

The comment was lost on Tomo, watching on perplexed by the standoff.

"I'd prefer if it stayed that way." Frank suggests still looking at Julie.

"This is Frank... He's one of our regulars shall we say... This is..." Tomo begins the introductions.

"Julie... I know... How did you?" Frank begins to ask her.

"I thought I'd surprise you... Surprise!" Julie announces with a smile, placing the meal on the bar.

"You two know each other?" Asked Tomo looking around to Chelsea who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Yeah." Admits Frank.

"I just tried to call you."

"I was working."

"I can see that."

"Oh!" Responds Tomo as the penny finally fell.

"Tomo... I need you in the office." Chelsea suggests pulling Tomo by the arm.

"What's in there?" Tomo asked curiously.

"You are." Pulling by the sleeve.

Removing her apron Julie walks around to the front of the bar. Biting her bottom lip. Hoping she had not made a mistake coming.

"You are surprised ... Oui?" Julie asked hoping for a sign.

"Very surprised... You should have called first... I could have picked you up..." Frank searches for lost words.

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise." Julie defended her arrival.

She moves closer to stand between Frank's legs. His hands reach for her waist pulling her closer. The lovers look into each other's eyes. Was it really Julie? Had she come all that way for him? Yet there she stood. Staring at each other, their lips met. Kissing as though it was the first time. Breaths exchanged and promises whispered.

"Get a room you two!" Tomo calls out from the office. Watching them on the surveillance cameras.

"That's Tomo." Said Frank shaking his head chuckling.

"I know... We've met."

"He said you're staying upstairs? ... You be alright up there?"

"For now..." Answered Julie.

"I could sort you out a better place if you want..." Then realized he had deflected from his place.

"It's okay. I understand, about your... Wife."

"My wife? ... Who told you that? ... I don't have a wife."

"Another girlfriend then? ... Non?" Julie exchanges blows.

"It's complicated..." Frank struggles for words.

"Do you love me Frank Pecks?" Julie pushes Frank for a commitment.

"Pecks? ..." Taken back by the name, "...Of course I love you."

"Your name is not Pecks?" Standing back to look at Frank, "...Who are you Frank if not Mister Pecks? ... What other secrets you keeping from me?" A pout comes over her face.

Eyeing Frank up and down as though he were a stranger.

"I can explain... But not now... Not here... Please Julie... I love you more than anything in the world."

Looking into her searching eyes hoping for a reprieve from the questioning.

"Tonight... I will explain everything... I promise."

Julie steps forward and kisses him. Capturing the sincerity in his kiss.

"Tonight Mister Franks... I will know if you are lying."

Julie pushes the plate in front of Frank.

"Now eat." And returns to the kitchen.

"What was that all about big guy?" Asked Tomo hoping to gleam the inside story.

"Don't ask... You don't want to know... What time does she get off?"

"At six."

"I'll swing by at eight and pick her up... We need to have that talk about Marilyn."

"I'm keeping out of that." Suggests Tomo walking away.

He had been in love once and could never figure out how women ticked. Frank had two on the go and was drowning in trouble. Preferring his women by the hour, rather than lump sum on separation. Lola was the only woman for him. He never had any issues with her, unless his credit card was rejected.

Looking down at the meal, appealing as it was, Frank had lost his appetite. Picking at it with his fork.

Nibbling at the edges, before pushing it away.

"What's wrong with it? ..." Asked Tomo, "...Don't worry about that... I'll finish it."

Chelsea appears from the office and walks casually over to Frank. Struggling to restrain herself from grinning.

"Gucci eh? ... You never brought me a Gucci hand bag." Teased Chelsea.

Stopping to face Frank. Her elbows resting on the bar, hands support her face looking directly at him.

"You know about that eh?" Frank asked, wondering how much else Chelsea knew.

"Girls talk... Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk." Verbally poking his buttons.

"I heard you the first time."

"How's Marilyn?"

"She fine... I'll give her your regards."

"Who's been a naughty boy then?" Chelsea grins.

"Chelsea please... I'm not in the mood at the moment. I have a few things to sort out... If you only knew half of it..."

"Sorry... I did not mean to..." Sympathizes Chelsea.

"Sorry Chels'. It's complicated..." Frank tries to explain what no words could, "...One day. Not today... Please."

"Okay..." Accepts Chelsea about to walk away. "...I'm here if you want to talk... Okay?"

"Thanks... Keep an eye on her?"

"Oh... I think she can handle herself... She's French." Smiles Chelsea walking back to the office.

Frank's tries to see through the walls into the kitchen. But all he saw was a row for bottles on a shelf and the Man Mirror shaking his head.

"Oh boy..." Mirror Man sighed. "...What have you done Frank?"

Frank wondered how she could work knowing he was sitting at the bar. Pulling himself from the stool he begins to leave.

"You're off early?" Tomo hollers from the back.

"Yeah... Got a lot on my mind... I'll be back later." Advises Frank not looking back.

Out back in the kitchen, Julie rolls out French pastries with Andy watching on.

The sound of the Buick rumbled outside. Julie looks out the rear window to see blue skies. It sounded like thunder.

'That's strange.' She thought...
Of all the lousy beer Joints

Pulling the Buick to the curb. This was it. Jeffersons.

Once a sanctuary. Had finally become a place to fear. Idling the Buick's engine heavily as though to attract someone's attention.

The bar doors opens and out steps a woman looking like a Seattle summer breeze.

"Tomo said that was you."

"Yeah, get in... I'll show you around before it gets dark."

"This your car Mister Pecks?" Julie begins the questioning.

"Yes it is... And the name is Drake... Frank Drake."

"Where we going Mister Drake?"

"Downtown and then to the water front... I know a nice little Italian place."

Julie slides over the bench seat to beside Frank. She had tormented him enough for the day.

"You look amazing." Remarks Frank.

"Thanks... Chelsea picked it out for me..." Said Julie, "...I didn't know that was your bar... The one you spoke about in New York ... It was just by chance the bus stopped outside... I saw the sign and walked in... What are the chances of that?"

"Of all the lousy beer joints in all of Seattle, you find this one... Someone must be watching over you."

"Yeah... My grandfather." She informs him.

"I guess I better tell you about Marilyn."

"Who's that? ... Your girlfriend?"

"I'm not sure what she is exactly."

"You confuse me Frank Drake... You don't have a wife... You don't have a girlfriend... Maybe you pay her... Non?"

"No. No. Nothing like that."

"I have time." Suggested Julie.

"She's married..."

Frank waited for Julie to bite.

"Married?" She echoed the infidelity.

"It was before you came on the scene."

"Where is her husband?"

"Mexico."

"Mexico?" Julie echoed again.

"I met her at the Casino one evening... She works at a restaurant nearby and sends the money backs to her family... It's a relationship of..."

"Convenience." Julie completes his remark.

"I suppose." Frank reconciled the word.

"I know." Julie answers.

"You know?"

"Oh course... Tomo told me everything... I just needed to hear it from you." She grinned and added, "...It's quite common in France for married people to take lovers."

"Really? ... You don't mind?" Taken back by her candid acceptance.

"Of course not... You are a good man Frank." Resting her head on his shoulder.

"What am I going to about Marilyn?" Frank asked seeking advice.

"If you truly love her... You would set her free." Said Julie looking out the window at the changing vista.

"And you?" Asked Frank.

"If you truly love me... You would never let me go." She informs him.

And with that simple reasoning, the burden he had been carrying for months had been lifted. Leaving only Smith. The sooner he was gone, the sooner Frank could get on with his life.

Cruising First Avenue, the Buick drove into the sunset. Seattle flashed by Julie's window. The Space Needle reminding her of the Eiffel Tower. And home. Standing tall and magnificent.

Leaning out the window, the exhilaration of the cool evening air rushing over her.

"Stay with me tonight..." Julie whispered in Frank's ear, "...I have a key... Tomo and Chelsea would have locked up by now."

"I don't know... Marilyn will be expecting me home..." Said Frank.

"Don't worry about Marilyn... A woman knows when a man has a lover... She'll understand."

There was no answer to that. Only women could ever understand how women think. Men barely understood themselves.

And Frank surrendered to the superior wisdom.

Parking the Buick outside the bar, idled the engine before killing it.

Julie pulled Frank half reluctantly, half willingly from the car. Like a school boy being lead. Sneaking around with a girl. Julie fumbles for the key and unlocks the door that Frank had entered freely for years. Unnoticed floor boards squeaked in the dark. He had never seen the place after hours. It felt uninhabited. It felt empty.

Taking him by the hand, leads him upstairs to her room. And closes the door behind her. The light remained off. Moonlight illuminated the small room. Sounds of the street drifted through the open window. Lifting Julie's dress over her head, revealing her bare body now clothed in the soft moon light.

Julie slowly undresses Frank.

"Have we meet?" He asked.

"Let's assume we haven't." And she kisses him.

They did it fast, then took it slow.

Before two exhausted bodies lay in each other's arm's reflecting the day's events.

"A Franc for your thoughts." Julie asked.

"I need to sort things out with Smith... I've had enough... I just want out." Confesses Frank.

"Who's that?" Asked Julie curiously.

"The guy I kind of work for."

"That's funny."

"What is?"

"Thomas... The guy who died at my apartment building use to work for a Smith as well... He use to travel like you.... Hmm." A soft tired voice replied feeling the warmth of Frank's body against hers.

Not making any connection to Frank.

But Frank had made the connection.

His mind piecing together the dark puzzle. Wrapping his arms over Julie as if to protect her from the gold tipped assassin's bullet. He looks to the open window. His mind drifted to that fatal day. Had Thomas had been recruited like him? Had he wanted out? Had Smith given it to him? A guilt came over him like never before. A sickening ache in his belly.

Realizing now that Smith had used him. Had lied to him.

"We just got a led on Smith and Frank." Barks Finch from behind his screen, hanging up the phone.

"Did we get a hit in the identikit pictures?" Inquired Matt.

"Something like that." Replied Finch leaving it there.

"Where?" Burgess looks up from behind a mountain of printouts covering his desk.

"Seattle of all places."

"Tech boys did not mentioned anything from there? ..." Burgess flicked through papers on his desk searching reports. "... Wasn't there a minor drug case up there?" Reaching for the file.

"You won't find it there... I've got my sources... I want Surveillance and Swat Teams ready to go within the hour... Coordinate with local police... This will be our best chance yet to nab Smith once and for all."

"What about Chong?"

"Let his people can handle him for now... He's made is bed..." Responded Finch.

"You know we have nothing on Frank? ... We can't arrest him simply on the suspicion of staying at the same hotel as us."

"Yeah I know... But he doesn't know that... Frank's the bait."

"It did not work out to well for that last time... If I recall rightly."

"Well... Flores stuck his head up when he should not have... Let's hope Frank is smart enough to keep his down."

"I hope so." Remarks Burgess gathering his jacket.

"I'll call Quinn and fill her in on the Op... You get Nancy and the teams together... I'll meet you at the plane."

Burgess was not comfortable with setting Frank up. But orders were orders.

"Keep your bloody head down Frank." Burgess muttered to himself.

"Copy that." Responded Finch overhearing his partner's silent prayer...
Medic!

"Line 'em up Sal." Blurts out Bolton entering the bar with a smile as wide as his face.

"What we celebrating John?"

"It's payday!" Bolton exclaims with delight. It had been a long time between pay-day drinks. Lately the cash flow had all been one way. Over the bar to Sal's register.

"But you haven't done anything yet?" Remarks Sal confused.

"I know... What kind of job pays upfront eh?" He asked left wondering.

His mother's medical bills had been paid in full. And then some. His bank account now flush with cash.

"Man... Take it when you can... You deserve a break John." Sal encourages him. Knowing it would eventually end up in his register.

"Cheers Sal." Raises a bottle to salute him, taking a fresh cold swallow.

The clock on the wall ticked into the evening. Bolton looked to the door every time it opened. Expecting Smith to appear at any moment. Tomorrow. Smith will come tomorrow, Bolton assured himself.

"Another thanks Sal... My bottle seems to have a hole in it." Wiping a beer stain sleeve across his mouth and thick white moustache. Nudging a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose with a grubby forefinger.

04:00PM and Frank had taken his place on stool at the bar.

Grimm had settled in at the far end eyeing over a fresh batch of Danish pastries Julie had just brought out. Jack sipped on a cider while he and his father watched game seven of NBA final. Cavs were on a roll and had clawed back a three nil deficit to tie the series. Curry had run out of magic.

But Warriors held home court advantage.

All eyes were glued to the overhead televisions. Even the surveillance team across the Avenue failed to notice Smith entering the bar and taking a seat at the booth.

Frank looks over to Tomo and sees he has that look in his eye. Any tranquility he may have been feeling, immediately evaporated.

"Fuck it." Frank curses under his breath, catching Jack's attention.

The sooner he got this over with the better.

Grimm looks up to see Frank walk over to sit opposite Smith.

"Frank."

"Smith."

"I've spoken with Mister Black and he's kindly agreed to your resignation."

"That's very good of him... Thank him for me when you see him next."

"I'll do that." Acknowledges Smith looking momentarily to the seat beside him.

Julie appears from the kitchen with a plate of food and sees Frank talking to a man in a dark suit privately.

"Hmm." She said to herself as an eerie feeling of déjà vu came over her.

The face of the man seems familiar. As if she had seen him before somewhere. But unable to place it.

"That's Smith." Said Tomo walking pass her.

Suddenly the name and face registered in her mind. Recalling the Agent showing her the photograph. She wanted to warn Frank, but how?

Smith could sense someone staring at him.

"I see Julie has decided to visit..." Smith extended his tentacles of interest. "...That's nice." Offering a rare moment of sentiment.

"I'm surprised you did not know."

"Perhaps I did." Contested Smith.

Frank stands to leave, and then remembered what he wanted to tell Smith. As if to warn him to keep his distance.

"I know about Thomas." Said Frank coolly looking directly at Smith.

"That's unfortunate..." Replied Smith.

Grimm watches on from his secluded corner of the bar. And mutters something to himself. As though he had taken to talking to invisible people.

Suddenly in the distance outside, sirens begin to whoop and squawk and holler.

Sounding their imminent threat. Smith peers through the blinds to see several large black SUVs approaching. Red-blue lights snarling through chrome grill teeth. Headlights flashing violently. Skidding to a screeching halt. Blocking the front of the bar and First Avenue.

Agents in dark vests spewed from the doors and scurried to assault positions. Automatic weapons leveled on the front of Jeffersons windows and doors. People inside looked out to the chaos erupting on the street outside. Wondering what had caused the commotion.

Recognizing the SUVs, Smith looks back at Frank. Their eyes meet for the last time.

"What have you done Frank?" Opening his briefcase and reaching for the gun. Now leveled at Frank beneath his newspaper.

"I don't understand... It wasn't me... I didn't do this." Frank pleads for his life. Looking down at the barrel pointed at him. Surprised as Smith was at the events developing outside.

"Shoot him Smith! ... Shoot him! And get out of here!" Yells Black sitting beside him.

And without a thought of his own, Smith pulls the trigger.

"Boom!"

The percussion reverberates loudly within the bar. Striking Frank in the chest. Sending him sideways onto the floor.

Startling everyone to dive for cover.

"Frank!" Julie screams. Witnessing her worst fear.

'Boom! Boom! Boom!' Three more thunderous shots rang it in quick succession.

But not from Smith's gun.

Smith turns momentarily to see Grimm stepping from the shadows. The barrel of his 38 Magnum still smoking and leveled at him. Before slumping dead onto the table. A pool of blood now spreading slowly across its surface.

Men in dark vests storm the bar. Bold white letters telegraphed their Agency. C.I.A. Weapons shouldered. Willing anyone to oppose them. Grimm raises his hands in surrender. A gun in one hand. An open wallet revealing a badge in the other.

"Officers!" Declares Grimm calmly.

"Grimm? ..." A uniformed officer questions. "...He's one of ours!" Calling out to the men to lower their weapons.

Julie and Jack rush over to Frank laying awkwardly on the floor. A hand clutching his shoulder with blood seeping through his fingers.

His face grimaced with pain.

"You two okay?" Frank asked looking up at the faces looking down at him.

"Don't worry about us... You're the one that's been shot!" Excalimed Jack seeing his father's eyes fighting the pain.

"I'll live... I think..." Were Frank's last words, before passing out.

"Medic! ... Medic! ..." Grimm calls out. "...Medic!"

As though to detect its master's death, Smith's tablet begins to smolder.

Leaking traces of smoke into the air. Taking his secrets with him to his grave. Black watched on unmoved. Incapable of speech. Unsure if he too was dead. And like a moth drawn towards a brilliant white light, begins to fade away.

"What do we do about Bolton?" Asked Burgess.

"Not much we can do now that Smith is..." Finch eyes Smith's inert body. "... Dead."

"And Frank?"

"Ditto... That's if he survives." Watching Medics frantically work on him.

Chelsea struggles to hold Julie back.

"Let the medic's work on him... He's in good hands." Trying to console her.

"Frank! Frank!" She cries out over the mayhem of voices...
You two know each Other?

Awaking several days later in hospital.

An arm in a sling and a shoulder heavily bandaged. Sedated with painkillers, Frank's eyes opened sluggishly. Adjusting gradually to the brilliant sunlight filtering through the windows. Julie looked on anxiously. Jack sat in the corner reading a magazine.

Grimm stood at the end of the bed staring down at him.

"You back with us Frank?" He asked, the first to notice Frank wakening.

"Yeah... How long have I been out?" Asked Frank in a groggy voice.

"Just a few days... The bullet was in deep. ... It's in the jar on the side table." Grimm indicates. "...Something of a memento for you... Doc thought you might like to keep it... You're a lucky man Frank Drake."

"Yeah." Strains Frank squinting to see the crushed bullet. Imaging it inside him. Flashes of the moment come back to him. A sudden sharp punch and intense burning pain.

Then darkness.

"Is Jack and Julie okay?" He asked searching the room.

"He's right over their..." Looking to Jack in the corner.

Julie takes Franks good hand and holds it. A smile growing on her face.

"And Smith?" Asked Frank looking to Grimm. His detective badge hanging from his belt.

"Dead... He won't be showing up on any surveillance tapes again. If he ever did in the first place... You should have come to me sooner... I could have helped." Suggested Grimm, sounding more official than he ever had at the bar.

"How was I to know you were a cop? You didn't exactly flash your badge or wave you gun about... Not till it mattered."

"No one ever asked... I'm retired these days." And he wondered just how retired he really was.

Forever looking over his shoulder for low life wanting retribution. Twenty years in the service had burnt him. He had seen dark days and darker nights. Of things that still haunted him.

All in the call of duty.

"How did you know?" Frank asked catching Grimm in time before he zoned out.

"Tomo of course."

"Of course... Can always trust Tomo to keep a secret."

The pain in his chest and shoulder becoming more evident.

"I made some enquires... It didn't take long to discover he was one of America's most wanted... He had been a loose cannon with the Agency for some years... Until now... Had a personality disorder of some kind. .. You're lucky Tomo told me when he did... Or it could have turned out a whole lot different."

"I owe you for saving my life."

"You don't owe me nothing Frank... All in the line of duty... Anyways... I know you would've done the same for me." Grimm grinned.

"Yeah-right... Still if it was not for you." Frank groaned.

He imagined the carnage if Smith had unloaded his gun. Just then an eerie chill hung in the air. As if the ghost of Smith had entered the room to pay Frank a visit.

"What happens now?" Asked Frank. Fearing it was not over.

It was only a matter of time before he found himself behind bars. For life.

"Special Agent Finch from the CIA will be here soon to ask you some questions."

As though to have summoned another ghost, the door opens and Finch enters.

"Frank!" A familiar voice calls out.

"Charlie?" Frank surprised to see him.

"You two know each other?" Asked Grimm confused as though they were old school buddies.

"Distantly..." Answers Finch half smiling. "...How you feeling?" Gauging the mood of the room.

"Felt worse." Said Frank recalling Tijuana.

"Our whole investigation hinges on your testimony Frank." Finch looks slyly at him. Emphasizing words Frank should pay attention to.

Hoping he caught his drift.

"What do you know about Max Peck?" Finch begins.

"Who's he?" Frank lies.

"What can you tell me about Marcus Metcalfe?"

"Only what I read in the papers... Heard he upset a lot of people."

"Juan Carlos Flores?" Finch rattled off another name.

"Charlie... You of all people must know... What happens in Tijuana ... Stays in Tijuana."

"Ain't that right?" Finch recalls the evening.

Some things were best not spoken about.

"How about John Smith?" Finch throws out the final name.

"Use to come to the bar and chat about the weather." Frank watches Finch's reactions.

Finch pulls his poker face. A tell showing in the corner of his grin.

"You know... There's no record of you entering Mexico... Or leaving for that matter... In fact ... There's no record of you ever having gone anywhere Frank."

"Been at the bar the whole time... You can ask Tomo..." Then added, "...You can check the tapes."

"We did..." Finch paused intentionally, making Frank squirm a little longer. "...He said the same thing... As did Detective Robert Grimm here... Tapes were blank... Seems you've got a rock solid alibi Frank."

"You have a name?" Frank looked surprised at Grimm.

"Of course." Said Grimm looking surprised by the allegation.

"How's Matt?" Turning to Finch to change tact.

"He's good. ... They're expecting their first child."

"Maria didn't waste time."

"Neither did Matt for that matter."

"Is he sure it's his?"

"If it isn't... It is now." Envisioning the thought.

"What happens now?" Frank looks for closure.

"Smith deleted all records... So unless you... 'Fess up Frank ... We really can't charge you with anything... Everything points to Smith and he's dead... He won't be talking too soon."

"Really?" Relieved he would not be spending the rest of his life in jail.

"If you do recall anything... I'm sure you would give us a call."

"Of course." Frank lies.

"You're a very lucky man Frank Drake... If I were you I'd go buy a lotto ticket." Said Finch about to leave.

"So I keep hearing... Might just do that..." Thinking aloud. "...Say hi to Matt for me."

"You take care of yourself Frank... And if you need anything... You have my number... Okay?"

"Will do... Thanks again."

"Oh... There's the small embarrassing matter of one of our own going rouge... If we could keep this between ourselves. If you know what I mean?" Suggested Finch from the doorway.

"It would be a pleasure... My lips are sealed." Promised Frank.

Which reminded him of someone.

"How's Tomo coping without me?" Asked Frank turning to Grimm.

"Lonely... Moping... Pining for the fiords... But he'll live."

"Doctor said you have another week before they can discharge you." Advised Julie.

"Thank goodness it was not my drinking arm."

"Yeah... Tomo would go out of business... (ha). Better let you get some rest. I'll see you back at the bar next week if you're up to it." Remarked Grimm.

"I'll be there... And Marilyn?" Asked Frank, wondering why she was absent.

"Working." Replied Julie. Summing up the relationship in one word.

"O_kay then... And the car?" Asked Frank with more concern.

"Parked outside ready when you are... Jack's been turning it over." Said Grimm.

"Have you now?" Looking over to see him grinning to himself.

Not wanting to lift his head from the magazine. Frank shakes his head with disbelief. Somehow it was in good hands.

"Ah_!" A sharp pain reminded him why he was in hospital.

"Don't move babe. Get some rest... We'll be back tomorrow. Okay?" Julie tells him.

And kisses him.

"Thanks sweetie..." Watching them leave. "...Hey Jack!" Frank calls out to him at the last moment.

"What's up?" Asked Jack looking back.

"Love you." Frank calls out softly.

"Love you too Dad." Jack smiled back.

"What about me?" Asked Julie feeling left out.

"I'm sure Jack loves you too." ...
Isabelle! Isabelle!

Skidding the Buick to a screeching halt outside Marilyn's restaurant, Frank toots the horn repeatedly.

Diners look up from under the large white umbrellas as to the cause of the commotion. Marilyn appears at the entrance, surprised to see him there.

Revving the engine loudly and checking his watch.

"What's up Frank? ... What's happened?" She asked anxiously as to his sudden appearance.

"Get in!" He calls out in a rush to be somewhere.

Marilyn climbs in obediently unaware of what was happening.

"We're running late." Frank exclaims.

"Late for what? ... Where we going?" She asked surprised by the sudden appearance.

"The train station." Frank states coldly.

"What about my bags?" Looking back watching her life in America falling apart into the distance behind her.

"No time for bags." Said Frank accelerating away. Wheels squealing, plumes of exhaust erupting behind them.

"Oh? ..." Marilyn whimpers.

Her head droops, and shoulders slump. She knew the day would come to leave. But did not imagine it would be so sudden.

So cold.

Standing silent among the drift of people transiting the platform.

The lovers cut a solitary pair. One impatient. The other in shock. One feeling confused. Betrayed. Bravely fighting back her tears. The other knowing he had to be strong. He loved her dearly. Almost as much as Julie. But it was time to part ways. It had to be done quickly. Like ripping off a bandage.

Pulling a thick worn envelope from his pocket, he hands it to her.

"What's this?" Looking at the envelope.

Examining its contents. The key to Frank's apartment, and a check for the balance his account containing Smith's deposits.

And a Green Card with her name on it.

"But I thought..." Struggling to comprehend her predicament.

"Well... You thought wrong."

"I don't understand..." Confused by the sudden turn of events.

"You will soon..." Seeing the approaching train pulling into the station.

Pulling her close one last time gently kisses her forehead. Smelling her hair and the scent that was Marilyn.

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me Marilyn... Thank you for saving me." Releasing her, he steps back.

Leaving her to stand alone. Frightened and not knowing what to expect next.

The train moaned to a halt, squeaking and hissing in relief after the long dusty journey north.

Tired ghostly faces peered from inside the darkness. One in particular. A small nose pressed against the large dark window. As though sniffing eagerly for something. Small eyes dart about. Searching the platform for someone special.

Then fixate on a woman.

A small breath fogs the glass. A small hand wipes it clear to get a better view. Suddenly the face vanishes into the enclosed darkness, and almost as sudden, a young girl appears at the doorway. Looking her Sunday best. Dressed in her white cotton dress. A bright red ribbon tied off a bow about her head. Springing down steps, the child runs as fast as her legs could carry her.

Pushing through the towering tide of human obstacles moving toward her.

"Isabelle! Isabelle! Slow down! ... Wait!" A father's voice beseeches hopelessly from behind.

But the words were lost on the child. Nothing could hold her back.

Marilyn's ear's pricked up hearing the strange familiar name over the clamor of commuters. Turning hesitantly back to Frank watching quietly from a distant corner.

Forever protective of her.

"You'll be fine... Go ahead." Mouthing the words to her. Nodding gently towards the voice calling out.

Suddenly through the shuffling bodies Isabelle appears before her mother. Unbelieving eyes greet each other. Seeing but not believing. Marilyn is in tears.

With a smile as wide as Isabelle's.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Isabelle enthusiastically rushes forward and hugs her mother.

"Isabelle!" Cries Marilyn, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

A man lugging two heavy leather suitcases containing their entire worldly possessions arrives to complete the family reunion. Placing them down, unsure if he too believes what he sees. The family of three embrace as one.

Turning to look behind to catch Frank. But he was gone.

"Let's go home." Said Marilyn.

The drive back to Jeffersons was numb.

As if the Buick knew where to go without Frank having steer it. Either his mind was on auto-pilot. Or the Buick's was. The Space Needle reached for invisible stars. Feeling the warmth of the late summer sun. There was something in the air.

Something that said, everything was going to be okay.

The Buick parked itself outside Jeffersons. Carefully levering himself from the driver's seat. Frank walks reluctantly to the doors and stares blankly at them. As though he were a stranger. A path he had trodden a thousand times, yet it felt like the first time.

Suddenly the doors burst open and Tomo appears.

"You coming in or not? ..." He exclaims. "...We're all waiting for you!"

"Who?" Frank asked surprised.

"Only one way to find out... Get your ass inside!"

Entering the bar, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Turning to look at the booth where it had all unfolded. Expecting to see Smith still sitting there. Seeing it empty. Fragments of the day flashed in his mind's eye. It had all happened so fast. Yet it played out in slow motion at the time as the adrenaline coursed through his veins... Sirens wailing... Smith's shot... A burning... Shouting voices... More reverberating gun fire... Then passing out... It was surreal. Much like his dream in Tijuana.

"Surprise!" Jack calls out pulling his father from the dark thoughts.

"Hey! ... That's my stool!" Frank protests the trespass.

"Finders keepers." Jack stakes his claim before resuming an apple cider.

Grimm had assumed his position at the end of the bar as if were just another day. The smirk on his face spoke louder than words.

"You packing?" Asked Frank.

"Should I be?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Good to have you back Frank."

"Thanks Grimm... It's good to be back... Let me get you a drink."

"Already sorted... Tomo's put one on your tab for me... Cheers man." Raising a bottle saluting him.

"Thanks for your help with Marilyn's Green Card."

"Called your mate Charlie Finch... He was the one that pulled some strings... If you know what I mean."

"I think I do... Thank him for me when you see them next."

Grimm nods, returning to his bottle of Bud and an inhaling an enigmatic thought.

Tomo pushes a bourbon into Frank's hand to toast his return.

Swallowing it whole. It went down without touching the sides. The first one always did. Mixed with pain killers, he was going to feel a whole lot better. Taking the stool next to Julie feels cold familiar contours.

"Have we meet?" Frank introduced himself.

"I don't know... Let's assume we haven't."

And she kisses him as though for the first time.

"Welcome home Frank."

"Is it done?" He asked?

"Oui... Jack packed your stuff and moved it to the new place."

"And Isabelle's room?"

"It's adorable..." Said Julie. "...She'll love it... You did the right thing you know."

"I know." Frank sighs, finding the closure he wanted with Marilyn.

Franks sees Julie flicking through a glossy travel brochure unsure as to why.

"What you doing? ... Going somewhere?" He asked curiously.

"Thinking you need a holiday." She informed him of her idea.

"Did you now?" He questions her intentions.

"I did." She informs him.

"And, where might I be going?" Curiously interested.

"Paris... France of course."

"I know where Paris is." Looking to Tomo, as if was in on the scheme.

"I'm happy to go if you don't want to... You can tend the bar if you like."

"That'd be dangerous... Could you imagine Frank behind the bar? ... It'd be open season on drinks." Suggests Grimm animating himself to life.

"Yeah... On second thoughts..." Tomo retracts the offer.

"What about the apartment? ... The Buick?" Asked Frank concerned for his prized possession.

"Jack said he could house-sit while we're away." Looking to Jack grinning from earlier.

"Has he now? ... Seems a lot of discussion has been going on while I've been away... That okay with that Jack?"

"Yes please... If it means I get away from mom for a while..." Looking forward to the freedom. "...Oh I almost forgot, this came for you this morning while I was packing." Handing his father an envelope.

Frank examined it carefully. No amount of pain killers could annul the phobia. The return address was from the company he had had an interview with. Having not heard back, he had assumed no news was bad news.

'Another rejection letter.' He thinks to himself, dismissing his chances.

"Oh give it here! ... You'll be all day at the rate you're going...What is it with you and mail?" Julie pulls the letter from Frank's dying hands and tears it open.

A shocked expression come over her face as she reads it.

"Shit!" She mutters in French under her breath.

"What is it?" Asked Frank anxiously fearing the worse.

The very reason he never opened mail.

Julie drops the letter in her lap and stares at Frank's puzzled face. Allowing him to suffer a few moments longer.

"You got the job! ... They've been trying to contact you. You're mobile must have been off while you were in hospital... You big Dumbo." Julie smiles and hugs him.

"Hey! Get a room you two!" Jokes Tomo.

"Said here they're allocating you two car parks... Why would they do that?" She asked curiously.

"It's a long story." Frank grinned seeing the funny side.

"Liz said she might be coming to visit soon." Added Jack.

"The more the merrier." Said Frank dazed by the turn of events.

His door was always open to his kids. Only three people in the world could call him dad, and having them around somehow completed him.

The wheel had come full circle.

He had the job. He had the girl. He was free of debt. Marilyn was re-united with her family. And Smith was out of his life.

The dull ache in his shoulder reminded him how lucky he had been.

"I'm still planning the holiday!" Cautioned Julie waving the holiday brochure in front of Frank.

"Anything you say sweetie." Surrendering himself to her.

'Puppet on a String.' Began to play on the radio, catching Frank's attention.

Recalling how Smith had said he was his puppet. And how entangled he had become. Cutting himself free just in time. Chance events had saved him. Looking over to Grimm. Seeing him in entirely different light. Who would have taken him for a veteran undercover officer?

Looking at him now, it all made sense.

"Thanks man." Frank said towards him.

Without looking over, Grimm gave a subtle nod. As if sensing the gratitude. The needle lifted and the music that was Grimm faded into the shadows.

"You okay Frank?" Asked Tomo seeing Frank with a grin growing on his face.

"I'm good mate... Never been better..." Reflecting the recent events. "...Never been better." Holding up his glass and examining it, "...My glass seems to have a hole in it."

Frank and Julie stroll lazily hand in hand through the Parisian streets.

They found themselves beneath the Eiffel Tower. Julie notices a boy following behind them. A wicker bird cage slung over his shoulder.

"Frank!" Whispered Julie, pulling his attention from the towering structure above him.

"What's up sweetie?" Feeling anxious about the moment.

"I think the boy behind us is following us." She said suspiciously.

Frank turns quietly to the side and notices the boy. Giving him a sly wink. The boy turns away, as though having been seen.

"Nah... He's probably just a street urchin looking for spare change." Frank lied. Then contemplates what he is about to do. Something he swore he would never do again. Once had been enough. Unwilling to risk another disappointment. But somehow, Julie was different. Taking in a deep breath for courage. Looks into Julie's eyes. Slowly, he knelt down on one knee.

Impervious to the crowd of people watching on.

"Frank... What are you doing?" Julie asked quietly, sensing people were watching them.

And quickly realizes his intentions.

"Oh my God...Oh mon Dieu!" Julie exclaims.

"Veux-tu espouser? ..." Frank pronounces slowly, but carefully. Having practiced the proposal a thousand times with the Man in the Mirror, "...Did I get the right?"

"Oui! Oui! ..." A joyful voice answered through the tears. "...Perfect." Pulling Frank to his feet and kissing him.

On cue, the boy opened the wicker cage releasing two white doves into the air...

About the Author

Born a long time ago in the small township of Foxton New Zealand, Bradley's first book was a Self-Help book E is for Effort. That led to his debut novel The Ring. And so began the "End of Days" trilogy. One book lead to another, and as they say the rest is history. His books reflects his keen interest in comparative religion, spirituality, adventure and romance. When not writing he enjoys innovating new products, hearty workouts and hanging out with his three amazingly intelligent and beautiful children Harry, Emily and Rebecca. Then again, he could be found at his local enjoying a craft beer with good friends.

Please visit your favorite eBook store to discover other books by Bradley Pearce:

E is for Effort

Fisherman's Ring

The Mist

Lady in Red

Puppet on a String

Alfie

Three Wishes
