The Guardian (27 page)

“Nonsense! I’ll have none of that.” He made a stern face. “You, my dear, are a customer. And I provide a service. Therefore, you and your friend here are the most important things in my life right now. What is it you need?”

Was this guy for real? She had heard that the English were unbelievably friendly, but this guy was over the top. Regardless, he was delightful. “I saw a suit in the window. It was very handsome. Is it available? And how much is it?”

The man placed his finger on his chin and looked as if he were trying to recall the exact suit, despite there being only one in the window. Jason still perched, stiff as a board, on the box. He shifted, catching Winfield’s attention. “You may step down now, sir. I believe we have exactly what you need.” Then to Anna, “I love that suit. And there’s only two of them left.” The corners of his mouth softened and his brow crinkled. “Actually, come to think of it, there were only two made. Yes, I’m sure of it! Only two.”

This time Anna couldn’t help herself. She let out a hearty laugh.

“Now then,” said Mr. Winfield. He moved over to the side wall and slid back a panel that revealed the front window. The mannequin wearing the suit had its back to them. He leaned in and retrieved it. He stepped back out and placed it in the center of the room. He looked over to Jason. “How tall are you?”

Jason looked at him incredulously. The man had just measured him head to toe. “I don’t know,” he said. “Six foot, six foot one?”

“Yes,” the man smiled. “Very tall, young man. Right! That suit will never do.”

“What?” Anna asked, disappointed. “What do you mean?”

Winfield waved her off. “Oh, not this one, dear.” He pointed to the mannequin. “The other one. The one I was going to have this lad try on. This one”—he pointed at the charcoal-gray jacket—”is magnificent! It will look spectacular on you.”

Anna and Jason watched as the old man went to work, undressing the mannequin. In no time, he had the suit off and folded neatly over his arm. He ushered Jason back onto the box in the rear of the room and handed him the jacket.

“Try this on,” he said.

It was a little short in the sleeves, but otherwise, it fit great.

“Now the pants.” Winfield tossed them up to Jason, who stood there looking blank. “The pants, lad, try them on.”

Anna giggled. “Don’t mind me. I’ll turn around.”

Winfield turned around and looked startled to see her standing there. “Oh right! I forgot. In here, lad.” He opened a door behind him revealing a changing room. “Good gracious! A man deserves some privacy, doesn’t he?”

Jason tried the pants on while Anna and Mr. Winfield discussed the price of the suit. He told her that business had been good this month and he was feeling very generous. He told her that the suit would normally sell for around 600 pounds. It wasn’t one of the items that the sign in the window suggested was 60 percent off. He then told her that he was, however, having more fun with them than he’d had all day. He told them that Americans fascinated him. He told her he would let them have the suit for 280 pounds.

“And don’t tell your boyfriend that I gave you such a good deal,” he said in a whisper. “You can take the extra money and go get something nice for yourself.”

Anna looked a little embarrassed. “Um, he’s not really my boyfriend.”

Winfield looked appalled. “Nonsense! I’ve seen young couples come in here for thirty years, young lady. If that boy in there isn’t head over heels for you, then I quit!”

Anna smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

Winfield was about to respond when Jason came back out. He had the pants on, along with the jacket. He stepped back up onto the box and waited for the little man to start making his marks and pinning the cuffs. It took all of two minutes for Winfield to finish.

“There,” he said. “You may go and change, young man. I will have your suit ready for you in about an hour. Give or take ten minutes. I do have tea coming along in about fifteen minutes.”

Jason stepped off the box and back into the changing room. Anna went to the front, waited for Winfield to write up a sales receipt, and then paid him. She thought about what Winfield had said. She remembered what she was thinking when she peeked her head into Jason’s classroom a couple of days ago and saw him for the first time. She had thought that he was one of the nicest-looking guys she’d seen in a long time. And if she were anywhere else doing anything else, she would have made a point to at least talk to him and find out if he was an idiot or not.

Jason came out of the dressing room and met them at the counter. Anna had already picked out a shirt and tie to match the suit, the same ones they had seen in the window. She handed them to Jason and thanked Mr. Winfield. She assured him that he was the most interesting person she’d met in her entire time in England. He shook Jason’s hand and then nodded to Anna with a smirk, leaning in and whispering in her ear, “Head over heels, I tell you. Don’t you forget it!”

Anna gave him a slight nod and moved toward the door. Jason thanked the man and hurried to catch Anna. As they left the store, Jason was fumbling with the bags, trying to get them situated the way he wanted to carry them.

“You all right there?” she asked, giving him a hard time.

“Yeah, I guess. What’d he say to you back there?”

“Oh nothing. Let’s go find me a nice dress while we wait on your pants.”

They started walking down the street. Jason was holding the bags in his hand that was between them. Anna stepped around to the other side.

“You afraid I’m going to knock you in the back of the legs or something?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” she said. “I just couldn’t do this from over there.”

She reached down and took his hand in hers. They interlocked their fingers and walked on. Jason looked over at her, and his smile met hers. They walked down the street holding hands as if they had been together like that for years.

J
onathan sat in Remy’s apartment, staring at the coffee table and what was left of the money she’d stolen. Normally he wouldn’t listen to medical advice, but this time was different. Just the short trip to the bank and back had left him feeling as if he’d run a marathon. Every square inch of his body ached, and he was exhausted. He could lie back and probably fall asleep in seconds. But he wouldn’t.

He had to get Edmond’s lifeless body out of the middle of the floor and into the kitchen. Remy had a chest freezer in the back of the room. He spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning it out. He threw out cartons of ice cream, frozen dinners, and all sorts of meats like they were yesterday’s newspaper.

He set his crutches aside and pulled a chair over to the giant box. He sat down so he could take the pressure off his legs. He bent over and rolled Edmond so that he was on his stomach. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and heaved his dead weight up until the front half of his body was inside the freezer. From there he just flipped his legs over, watched the crumpled body fall the rest of the way in, and then closed the lid. Now he wouldn’t have to smell the foul odor while waiting for Waukeem and his team to get there. He fumbled into the bathroom and grabbed some towels. Then he looked around under the sink for some cleaning supplies. Finding what he needed, he hobbled his way back into the other room to finish cleaning up the blood.

If he was exhausted before, he was borderline comatose now. His heart pounded. His breathing was labored, and sweat poured from his brow. He wanted to lie down. Take a quick nap. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He still had one more thing to do. Another phone call. This one he was already regretting. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Wickham. Nevertheless, that’s exactly what he was about to do.

“Hello, this is Cardinal Wickham.”

“Louis, it’s me. We need to talk.” He waited for the eruption he was sure was soon to come.

“I can’t really talk right now,” Wickham said pleasantly. “Why don’t I call you back in about twenty minutes or so?”

Jonathan pulled the phone away and looked at it quizzically. “That’s not possible. My phone is dead. I’m calling from another number. Tell me when I can call you back.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“All right. I’ll call you in five minutes.”

Jonathan hung up the phone and leaned back on his crutches. Now that was weird. Never in the history of his talking to that odious man had he heard a tone like the one he had just witnessed. What was going on? Either something was very, very wrong, or something was very, very good. He hoped it was the latter.

Five minutes later, he redialed. “We need to talk,” he said again when Wickham answered.

“So talk.”

“I’ve got a problem.”

“And what kind of problem would that be?”

“I’ve been benched.”

“What do you mean,
benched?”

“You know. Benched. Taken out of the game. Put on the sidelines. Out of commission.”

There was silence for a moment. Then a big sigh. Finally, Wickham spoke. His tone changed. It went from polite to disappointed.

“Jonathan, why do you always have to ruin the perfect day? Did I do something to you in an earlier life? Is this some kind of elaborate scheme to get me back for some wrong I’ve done you? What is it? Revenge? Tell me. Because right now, this moment that I’m trying to enjoy is the pinnacle of my life’s work so far. And you are ruining it.”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. I’ll be out of pocket for at least a few days. A week at most.”

“Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

“Probably seething. Foaming at the mouth. But I can’t change it. That’s the way it is.”

“No Jonathan, I’m not seething. Nor am I foaming at the mouth. Actually, I’m celebrating. It seems our beloved pope has passed away.”

Jonathan had never been a spiritual man. He never cared for going to church. Whenever he would find himself in a conversation about faith or religion, he would just shrug it off. The fact that the most famous and powerful religious figure in the world was dead wouldn’t normally mean anything to him. But this was different.

In the span of two seconds, his entire view of Cardinal Louis Wickham changed. He wasn’t just dealing with a determined employer. He was dealing with a lunatic. Wickham had killed the pope.

“How’d he die?”

“He’s been sick.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Jonathan. Tell me about your problem.”

“I told you already. I’m down for at least a week.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, let’s just say I had to get a second opinion on a medical issue.”

“Get a third one if you have to. I want my scroll.” “And you’ll get it,” Jonathan snapped. “Just not for another week.”

There was silence on the line for several seconds. Finally, Jonathan heard Wickham cursing under his breath.

“Here’s the thing,” Jonathan said matter-of-factly, “I’m gone for a week. You don’t like it, find someone else to get your stupid scroll. Otherwise, pay me my money, like a good boss, and deal with it!”

Jonathan heard the labored breathing on the other end of the line. “You have a week,” Wickham spat. The line went dead.

Jonathan hung up the phone and made his way back to the couch. He sat down and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He was over it. He hated everything about that stupid little scroll. He didn’t care what it was for, what it did, or who it benefited. He hated Wickham. The man was a sleazy, rude weasel. And he hated being bested by an amateur. That’s what the girl was—an amateur. And so far, it was a million to nothing in the girl’s favor.

He would take the week to get better. Then he’d take care of this scroll business once and for all. He didn’t care who he had to beat up, run over, or flat-out kill to get it done. Then he would tell Wickham to shove it. He smiled to himself. That part was going to be fun.

One other thing, too. He was done. No more. This was going to be his last job. He was tired. He was getting old. And he was rich. And after he found Remy … well, he decided to play that one by ear.

The Vatican

Wickham hung up the phone and shook his head. Jonathan had once again ruined his day. Couldn’t he have just one victory without someone or something getting in the way?

He pulled the collar of his jacket up over his face and walked back out into the cold. He crossed the courtyard and stepped back into his building. Fumbling for his keys, he undid the lock and moved inside. A voice startled him, and he dropped his keys on the floor.

“Bravo, Louis! Bravo!” the voice said.

Wickham turned around slowly to face his visitor. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, Louis, I think I’ve tolerated your insubordination long enough. I guess you’ve forgotten who your master is.” Lucifer moved close to Wickham and stuck out his hand, palm down. “Kiss my hand, Louis. Show me you still serve me.”

Wickham began to tremble as he bent at the waist and took hold of Lucifer’s hand. Lucifer quickly pulled it away from him and slapped him hard across the face.

Lucifer grabbed Wickham by his hair and screamed, “You kneel when you pay homage to me, you stupid monkey!”

Without saying a word, Wickham quickly knelt to one knee and kissed Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer smiled and stepped back. “Little trained monkeys. That’s all you are. You know that? Your whole species. Little trained monkeys. I still, to this day, do not understand why He even bothered with you. I mean, weren’t we good enough for Him? Didn’t we love Him? Isn’t that what He created us for? And me!” He threw his arms up in the air. “Do you know that I was the most beautiful one of all?” He started pacing around in a circle. “I was the angel of worship. My entire body was one giant musical instrument. Every word I spoke came out like a concerto that even your Mozart would envy. He loved me. I was the angel of light. I was spectacular.”

He paused again, stopped walking, and bent over so that he was right in front of Wickham’s face. Then he began screaming again. “And I knew it! I was the most spectacular thing He’d ever created! Nothing could even come close to what I was!” He paused and lowered his voice again. “And that was the problem. I knew it. And I liked it. And if I was so spectacular, why couldn’t I be like Him? Well, you know what, Louis? I am spectacular. And I may not have the power He has, but I’ve got the means to stop His cute little fairy tale.” He stopped and snapped his fingers with a disappointed look on his face. “Oh wait. That’s right. I don’t. Because”—and now he started screaming again—”you haven’t gotten me my scroll!”