Into the Shadows (6 page)

The receptionist chuckled. "Yes, sir, you
could say that. I'll connect you."

RESTAURANT

Just over 48 hours later, on a crisp Sunday
afternoon, a limousine pulled up in front of my house. It showed up
right on time. Straightening my suit, I stepped out to go have a
business dinner with Ms. Rondeau that I agreed to after talking
with her. She insisted on sending a car to pick me up. I was also
promised compensation for my time even if I declined her job offer.
Hell, I couldn't say no to that.

I waved to Miss Loretta, who was on her porch
for her afternoon cigarette, and got in the stretch sedan. The
driver headed north into downtown and pulled up in front of a
stylish high rise commercial building. "Not doubting you, man," I
said to the driver, "but I don't think there's a restaurant in
here, unless you count a cafeteria or something."

He turned and grinned at me. "This is the
place, sir. There will be someone inside to escort you. Oh, and I
know you said you can open your own door, but someone might be
watching. Not to go against your wishes, sir, but I'd rather not
get in trouble."

He seemed really worried about it. "No
problem; do your thing." I didn't know any chauffeurs, but he
seemed like a nice guy. If I had the money, I would've tipped him.
Well, probably.

A uniformed guard met me at the doors of the
building and let me in. Once in the big, empty lobby, a nicely
dressed young woman escorted me to the elevators. She used a
security card that allowed access to the top floors. On the 36th
floor, we exited into a lavish reception area. Offices were to the
left. Off to the right, though, was a set of large wooden double
doors - my destination, as I found out. While the young lady spoke
into an intercom in the wall next to the doors, I noticed two
cameras pointed at us. Ms. Rondeau said it was an exclusive
restaurant, but I wasn't expecting that level of security.

After the door locks clicked, the young lady
(I forgot her name) told me to just follow the hallway. After I
stepped in, the big doors shut behind me with a heavy thump. In the
hallway that turned right then left, there weren't any tables or
doors; just nice carpet, subdued lighting, and weird art on the
walls.

Around the last corner was a large, two-story
tall room. It was a restaurant, and, holy shit, I was out of my
element. The entire wall to my right was windows that looked out
over downtown; I arrived just past sundown, and it was a damn nice
view. Everything else about the place was elegant and tasteful.
Only about one third of the tables were occupied, but everyone in
there looked like they stepped out of fashion magazines. Even in my
best suit, I felt like a bum in comparison.

There wasn't a maître d'; just two very
well-dressed guys that asked who invited me. One of them led me
over to the one of the booths against the far wall, where a woman
was seated. She had auburn hair pulled into a fancy bun, looked to
be in her mid-thirties, and wore a nice dress with a silk shawl
around her shoulders. She was attractive, but her features were a
little thin and angular for my liking. But, shit, I wasn't there
for a date.

CONVERSATION

"Mr. Beck, thank you for coming. I'm
Dominique Rondeau. Please, have a seat," she said with a genuine
smile. Maybe because of the atmosphere, I expected her to be stiff
and formal.

"Thanks for inviting me." I slid into the
empty booth seat. The guy who brought me over took our drink orders
and walked off. "When you said it was an exclusive place, Ms.
Rondeau, I still didn't picture anything like this. I'm used to
burger joints and pub grub."

"I enjoy indulging in opulence on occasion,
Mr. Beck," she said in the same subtle French accent that I heard
on the phone. "I hope you enjoy it as well, and perhaps you'll come
to prefer it in the future. Access to this establishment is one of
the benefits of the position my company is offering you."

"Yeah, about that . . . I had some questions,
if you don't mind."

Our drinks were delivered along with
leather-bound menus. Once we were alone again, she said, "I'd be
concerned if you didn't. Go right ahead."

"Okay, first off, why me?"

Ms. Rondeau looked at me pointedly. "Is there
a reason you feel you shouldn't have been chosen?"

"Well, one thing is . . . I'm not down on my
looks, okay? But let's face it: my scars don't exactly make me one
of the beautiful people," I said as I vaguely gestured to the other
restaurant patrons.

"I find your scars rather exotic, to be
honest, Mr. Beck, so I don't find it to be an issue. Appearances,
however, have very little to do with why you were sought out.
You're handsome, but it's your skills and other factors that are of
interest."

"Well, um, thanks, that's nice of you to say.
But on the phone, you said that you worked in the art field and
that the position you wanted me for was to be executive protection
for various people in that community, yourself included." I paused
for a gulp of my drink. "Ms. Rondeau, I know nothing about art or
the culture that surrounds it. Artists don't need much security
besides a copyright lawyer, do they?"

One side of her mouth curled into a smirk.
After a sip of club soda, she replied, "And perhaps protection from
their own egos, but no, Realm Management wouldn't be employing you
to act as an artist's keeper. Let's order, and I'll give some
details over dinner, alright?"

Dinner sounded good to me. It was one of
those fancy menus with no prices, and the choice of steak was
limited to filet mignon. Crap, no rib-eye? When we'd both decided,
Ms. Rondeau waived a waiter over. While he took our orders, she
asked for a very specific bottle of wine to come with the meals. I
knew wine like I knew art.

While we waited, Ms. Rondeau explained that
Realm Management was a patron company to numerous artists, and
owned many of the local art galleries. It was a contributor to the
city's large art college, and had strong influence in most of the
regional museums. The company's reach went beyond just the arts,
though. It was involved with architecture, civil planning, realty,
healthcare, industrial and commercial development, and was getting
into the food services industry. Damn.

"I remember you saying that you're the
administrator over the art galleries that your company owns,
right?" I asked as our meals were delivered.

"Yes, I oversee various personnel, local and
regional artists, and showings. I also have the final say on most
sales and acquisitions."

"That's all pretty impressive, Ms. Rondeau.
So I have to ask, and sorry if it comes out kinda rude, but why are
you the one interviewing me? I'm sure you've got plenty of people
under you to do it."

"That's rather simple," she said while
shooing the waiter away and poured her own glass of wine. "My
employer told me to hire you personally. Underlings typically
handle such matters, true, but I can't say that I mind. This gets
me out of my routine and out of my office, and, honestly, I find it
refreshing that you don't walk on eggshells with me the way most of
my employees do. Here," she grabbed my empty wine glass and filled
it, "you simply must try some."

"I'm not much of a wine guy, but I'll give it
a shot." I took a sip, and my taste buds almost had an orgasm. It
was like nothing I'd ever tasted before; fruity, honeyed, strong,
had a mild kick, went down like velvet and made my mouth tingle. I
took another taste. And then another.

Ms. Rondeau smiled at whatever expression was
on my face. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "Now, as I was
saying, my employer takes security seriously, and is well-versed
with your file. She had some access to your information because of
her past and present dealings with Silas Security. She was also
made aware of the events at the home of Stanley Everett, whom she
has had financial arrangements with in the past. While very
unfortunate that two of your people were lost, I'm told you were
quite impressive."

I set my wine glass down. "Everett opened his
mouth, did he?" I asked rhetorically with a frown.

"A Mr. Crane at Silas spoke highly of you as
well. That only strengthened my employer's opinion of you, Mr.
Beck. A greater interest to my employer was your military
career."

I finished a bite of steak and washed it down
with the awesome wine. "A lot of people are veterans."

"Yes, but not many have your specific
training. As I've come to understand it, force recon mostly deals
with survival, stealth, and gathering intelligence. The file I was
given says you excelled at it, as well as various forms of
self-defense. My employer finds that quite useful."

"Okay, first, can I get another glass of that
Wine? And secondly, who exactly is your employer?"

Ms. Rondeau gestured for me to help myself to
the wine while she chewed a bite of her own meal. "My employer
desires privacy as much as you do, Mr. Beck. I can, however,
guarantee a personal meeting if you decide to become part of Realm
Management. Since I can't speak much more on that matter, what if
we discuss what exactly would be expected of you, as well as your
compensation package?"

After all of her big words, it boiled down to
me being versatile in the company's need of me. I might be asked to
blend in at parties, a private museum hosting or two, and a few
gallery showcases. A majority of my time, though, was to be an EP
for some executives of Realm Management, including the mystery
employer. When not given orders on a company phone, Ms. Rondeau
would be my contact for duties that included package inspection,
delivery of important materials, and surveillance on certain
individuals and small factions that "had no love for the company",
as she put it.

The compensation package wasn't too shabby.
My salary would have been nearly double what I was making at
Keegan's and Silas Security combined. Other perks were a company
credit card, a company car, a stipend for a new wardrobe, an
insurance package, moderately high security clearance, and the use
of a downtown loft. I wasn't too thrilled with the loft offer; I
liked my little house.

A little while after we finished our meals
and the wine bottle was empty, I thanked Ms. Rondeau for the
delicious meal and the good company. I asked for a day or two to
think about the offer. She agreed to my request without any
hesitation, and handed me her card to contact her directly. The
same chauffeur took me home; I tipped him a Jackson and got inside
to get out of my suit. I sat back and thought about if I was ready
for a big change. I fell asleep and dreamed about a gorgeous blonde
with amber eyes.

CHANGE

The next day was warm for early February, so
I decided to walk to Keegan's around lunch time. On the way, I
called John Crane. He asked how I was, told me that Mr. Everett
added big tips to the fee, and that I should take it easy until I
was fully healed. His concern for me made me feel even shittier
when I mentioned that I was debating another job offer. It was only
fair to tell him since I didn't know how much notice I might be
able to give if I took it.

Not being very familiar with any of the
normal Monday lunch crowd, I sat at the end of the bar and ordered
a drink and a plate of hot wings. Keeg's wife Deb came out from the
office and joined me. I told her the same thing I told Crane. She
asked more about the job offer and, as I described it, I realized
just how good of an offer it was. I also realized how safe I felt
in my comfort zones, and would have to get used to new routines.
Another new thing, just when I'd settled in.

My situation wasn't exactly what I'd planned
when I got out of the Marines. I did six years of active duty, and
the last two at home as a reserve. With my type of training and
experience, there weren't going to be a lot of civilian jobs
waiting for me. The Corps wanted me to re-up. After I got ripped up
by an IED that also took out two of my men, I'd had enough. I sat
back in a bed, bandaged on my left side from knee to noggin, and
phoned my mom that I was coming home. She was always a worrier, so
I never told her about any of my wounds.

I came home to a much different situation
from when I left. With my dad not being around for a long time, my
mom had mellowed out considerably. See, my dad was a part-time
abusive prick; we never knew when he might get in a foul mood, so
it kept us edgy. After my brother Al died in a car wreck when he
was eighteen, my dad's darker moods came out more often. If he was
calm, my mom was all smiles and the scent of Pledge filled the
house with her happy-cleaning thing. If he was being a dick, she
withdrew and spent more time in the kitchen or out in the garden. I
joined her when it was safe.

After years of verbal and emotional abuse, my
mom and I were granted a miracle. I was seventeen when dear ol' dad
had a massive heart attack. He and I were in the basement working
on a water pipe when it happened. I stood over him and waited until
I was sure he was dead before I told my mom or dialed 911. My dad
was buried over ten years ago in a cemetery that had cheap plots. I
paid a little extra for his small headstone to have an epitaph:
'Josef R. Beck - 1953-2004 - No big loss'.

Since my mom's passing, and my two month
bender afterwards, I got my jobs at both Silas and Keegan's and
relaxed into a routine. Deb knew the basics of my past after I got
out of the Marines - my missions were still classified, so I never
talked about 'em - and realized that I was feeling insecure, or
whatever you want to call it. She reminded me that change could be
a good thing, and another opportunity like the one I was offered
probably wouldn't come around again. I shouldn't have listened to
her.

SARAH

As I walked down my block going home from
Keegan's, I saw a small, black delivery van parked in front of my
house. When I got closer, one of the two guys in the van got out.
He was a chubby guy who wore a black coat with the Realm Management
logo on it. He just stood by the van and smiled.