“Hello Agent Hawkins,” the grey haired, mustachioed man greeted her warmly.

“Hope you enjoyed your dinner, Frank,” Hawkins smiled.

“It was great, thanks for the break,” Frank reached into a brown paper bag and extracted a wax-paper cup, which he handed to her with a mock bow. “Your milkshake, as promised.”

“You have made my night,” she grinned, jamming the plastic straw in through the top with a satisfying squeak.

“Oh, I know just how you feel,” Frank commiserated. “They never serve real food at these things.”

“That’s the truth,” she slurped on the straw. “Cake was good though.”

Frank seemed to notice Ryan there for the first time.

“Well, hello,” the older man smiled warmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything for you, but the lovely lady here didn’t tell me that she’d be having company. French fry?”

Frank extended a paper bag,

“Thanks,” he smiled, popping a few of them into his mouth. “And don’t worry about it; this was sort of an impromptu visit. Can I ask you a question, Frank?”

“You must be another agent, then,” Frank chuckled.

“I am, how can you tell?”

“Oh, these society types never bother to ask me anything. I’m lucky they even acknowledge my existence.”

“Even Mr. Pauling?”

“Oh no,” Frank quickly corrected himself. “Mr. Pauling is always very personable. He’s a good man, not like some of those others. I am sure glad you were able to bring back his son. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, the poor kid.”

“That brings me to my question, actually. I was just wondering, how long have you known Mr. Pauling?”

“Oh, I’ve worked at the mansion on and off since he first bought it as a vacation house a few of years ago. Been here more since he moved in permanently.”

“But you weren’t on duty the night of the abduction?”

“Oh no, Agent…” Frank hesitated.

Ryan suddenly realized he had never introduced himself.

“I’m sorry, it’s Ryan Stone.”

“Agent Stone,” Frank continued. “Before the… before, I only worked there for special events, like this party. The rest of the time, Mr. Pauling had the security system unmanned, said he didn’t like people watching them all the time. After his son went missing though, he hired full time guards. Now there’s always someone on duty here in this room. If someone was here that night, this never would have happened.”

“No?”

“Of course not. They would have noticed the system being disarmed and the cameras being shut off, then they would have locked down the house. Whoever did this certainly got lucky.”

“So it would seem,” Hawkins murmured softly.

Frank sat back down in his chair and glanced at his monitors,

“Looks like the party is beginning to wrap up.”

Ryan looked over and saw that the crowd was beginning to thin out. He stood up quickly and turned to Hawkins,

“We’ve got to get back out there. With people leaving, they will definitely notice that we are missing.”

Hawkins groaned.

“Look, just stay next to me, smile, and try not to act like you’re too eager to leave. If you let me do the talking and we’ll be out of here in 15 minutes. Deal?” he urged.

Hawkins hesitated, but finally relented.

“Fine, 15 minutes. Let’s go.”

Hawkins stood up and tried to smooth the dress around her legs, but the wrinkles in the skirt were well set in by this point.

“Mary is going to kill you for doing that to her dress,” Ryan muttered.

“Oh, this will iron right out,” Hawkins replied flippantly.

“Can you even iron that type of fabric?

“How should I know? Can you?”

“I don’t know, either.”

“Don’t worry about it, then,” she brushed it off. “Thanks for the use of your office, Frank.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“No problem, Agent Hawkins. Thanks for the dinner break,” he grinned and waved as they headed back out to say their goodbyes.

True to his word, Ryan navigated them through the crowd with ease, stopping only to say a brief goodbye to their host and then they were finally able to head home. As Hawkins pulled the car up in front of Ryan’s building, he turned to her,

“So, what’s on for tomorrow?” he asked.

“We still have all the material you brought back from Martin’s place. Hopefully, it will give us a lead on where to find him.”

“Or to who is helping him,” he added.

“But first I need to get some real food and maybe I’ll burn these shoes before they hurt any more people than they already have,” she grumbled. “It is a matter of justice. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you,” Ryan tossed her a wave and headed into his building. He figured that it was probably time to finish reading her file.

The fog had rolled in off the lake as the night cooled down and standing under the streetlight, it was difficult to see more the a few feet into the distance. Andre Martin could hear the lapping of the water against the docks, which told him that the lake was close by, though he couldn’t see it. As he stood, waiting, he whiled away the time regretting the decisions that had led him to this moment. It was supposed to be an easy payday, but it was now apparent that he had gotten in way over his head. Duane, he was certain, must be in prison. He hadn’t heard from him in days. The red-headed agent had almost caught him back there at the manor. He’d lost the kid and barely escaped capture himself. Now, he was out in the cold, there was no one he could turn to and there was nowhere he could safely go. He didn’t even have the money to leave the country. He had contacted the only person he thought would be able to help him, but it was a significant risk. The man was, in Andre’s opinion, some kind of crazy, and there was no telling how he would react to this impromptu summons. Finally, a hazy globe of light pierced the gloom. The motorcyclist saw Martin in the circle of light and pulled his cherry red Kawasaki up to the curb. He dismounted but did not remove his tinted helmet. He stalked up to Martin,

“Why did you call me?” his voice was muffled by the face shield, but the irritation was clear.

“I’m in trouble,” Martin began. “They know who I am, they are looking for me. I can’t go home, can’t go to friends, and I can’t use any of my credit cards. I am in a bad situation.”

“So… what do you want me to do about it?” the other man replied coldly.

“I just need some money,” Martin pleaded. “I mean, you owe me.”

The rider had a gun to his head before Martin could even register where the man had pulled it from.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he pressed the barrel into Martin’s temple. “Not yet. Yet, you called me here, dragged me into your problems, Andre, even though you were explicitly instructed never to contact me again. That was a mistake. It proves I can’t trust you.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Andre raised his hands in surrender. “This isn’t necessary. You know I would never betray you. No one will ever know that I called you. I didn’t leave a single trace, I promise. I just didn’t know who else to go to. You don’t want me to end up in prison, do you?”

The rider hesitated. But the gun remained firmly jammed into Martin’s flesh.

“Look, you don’t have to do this; I will never contact you again. Please,” he whimpered.

Slowly, the rider lowered his gun,

“You aren’t even worth the bullet, let alone the cleanup. So, I’ll let the breach of protocol go, just this once. But don’t ever forget that this is the only second chance I will offer you. If you disobey my instructions again,” he caressed his gun fondly. “I will mulch up your corpse and use it as lawn fertilizer. Do we understand each other?”

Andre gulped; too terrified to speak, he just nodded silently. The rider, seeing that his message had gotten through, reached into his pocket and retrieved a key.

“I will help you, Andre. But only to keep you out of prison. Beyond this, you are on your own. I want nothing more to do with you. If you dare contact me again, I will consider that a violation and mete out a fitting punishment.”

“So, you’ll give me the money?” Andre asked.

“I can give you a hundred dollars, but that’s all for now.”

“A hundred?!” Andre was indignant. “I can’t even afford to go to stay in a ratbag motel for that! I need to get out of town, I need more money than that.”

“What did you do with the money I already gave you?”

“I put a down payment on a car,” Andre admitted. “I was supposed to pick it up soon. But I can’t go there now, the cops might already know about it.”

“You didn’t use your real name, did you?”

“No, and I paid in cash. But I still can’t risk it.”

“At least you aren’t completely brain dead. Don’t worry about having a place to stay,” the rider handed him the key. “This will unlock the back entrance to the warehouse on the corner, you remember the one, right? Where we met before,” the rider paused until Martin nodded. “It is abandoned, and no one will be able to link it to you, so it’s safe. There are enough rations there to last you a month. You just need to stay there and lay low for a few weeks. Don’t leave for any reason. I will contact you when it’s safe.”

“Thank you! You won’t regret this,” Andre gripped the key tightly.

“I already do,” the rider scoffed. “Do not get caught. And do not make me come back here for you.”

Andre was relieved. He would have rather had the money, but a place to hide was what he needed most. They could only keep up a full-scale search for him for so long. The Pauling boy was fine, so this would blow over, eventually. If he could hold out long enough, they would scale back their efforts and he would be able to slip away.

“There is just one more complication.”

“What?” the rider snarled.

Andre’s hand was shaking as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gun that he had taken off the female agent. He had thought about pawning it for cash, but it was a cop’s gun, and that was more heat than he wanted to risk.

“Where did you get this?” the rider took the firearm and studied it intently.

“Some cop they sent after me. The bitch pushed me out a window,” he muttered darkly.

“Really?” there was something strange about the rider’s tone when he replied. “What did she look like?”

“I don’t know,” Andre muttered. “She had red hair. Does it matter? She was a cop. I don’t know what to do with the damn thing.”

“I’ll take care of it,” the rider pocketed the weapon quickly. “Is there anything else?”

The threat in his voice was unmistakable.

“What about the rest of the cash you owe me?” Andre knew he shouldn’t bring it up, but he really did need the money if he was going to survive.

“That payment was conditional; you knew that from the beginning. If you meet the conditions, you’ll get the rest of the money.”

“But I…”

“It is not up for discussion,” the rider interrupted harshly. “You know the terms and you promised not to bring it up. Do I need to remind you?”

Andre shook his head.

“You’ll contact me when I get the money?” he asked.

“You’ll be the first to know,” the rider turned and walked away into the fog. “Lose my number, Martin,” he called over his shoulder.

Andre watched as the rider revved his motorcycle and roared off into the night. Then, he turned and ran for the warehouse.