This is the third installment in Sam's story as she becomes more and more involved with John Reese and Harold Finch, and what they do.
I recommend reading "Dark Horse" and "Good Intentions: Part One" first before continuing in order to get the full gist of the story.
Thanks, and enjoy!
Part Two
"Hi, I'm Kevin. It's nice to meet you. This whole time limit thing is kind of stressful, but here we go. I like rock climbing, football, and movies. I'm looking for something serious. I like to say that up front, because I've had some girls get scared away in the past after we've been dating for a while. Then it's the whole 'just friends' thing, which we all know is code for 'I don't want to date you anymore'.
"Why can't they just say that, you know? Has that ever happened to you?"
She set her phone down and looked up when the guy paused for breath. "I usually try to get out of situations like that early on. It's not fair to either party, letting it drag."
"I totally agree." Kevin stooped a little in his seat to get a look at the name tag on her blouse. "Samantha. That's pretty."
"Thank you," Sam said.
A bell rang outside their little cubicle and Sam picked up her phone and walked through the curtain. She stepped out into a temporary corridor of curtains. Girls were exiting from each one, Eva from the one next to her.
"This is ridiculous," Sam said as they moved to the next curtained hole. "It's like a brothel in here with the drapes everywhere and everything. I can't believe I let you drag me here on a Saturday of all days! It's nice outside. We should have taken Ben for a walk instead of going to this stupid thing."
Eva rolled her eyes and pointed accusingly at Sam. "That's it, right there. Do you see what you just did? You would rather spend your single woman time with me and my child than with a full grown and interesting man."
"Oh, now they have to be interesting? That narrows the field a bit," Sam muttered.
Eva pushed Sam into the next curtained cubicle. Sam sighed and sat down. She propped her chin up on her hand when she sat at the table, and stared at the man – she used the term loosely – seated across from her.
He smiled at her, making his chin a little more prominent in the overall shape of his face. "I'm Brent," he said in a low voice.
"Sam," she replied.
"You have pretty hair, Sam."
"Thank you, Brent."
"Do you have any hobbies?"
Sam thought for a moment. "I like to read, and I write for a living, so…"
"Novels?"
"Eventually, yes."
"I like to read too," Brent cleared his throat and pulled on the collar of his shirt.
"And what do you read, Brent?"
"I like historical fiction and some sci-fi."
Sam nodded in approval. At least he had a brain. That was something, right? "What do you do for a living, Brent?"
"I'm kind of in between jobs right now. But I'm trying to get into video game design."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "So you have a degree in graphic design or something?"
"Oh no, I'm more of a freelance, go where the wind takes me kind of guy."
"So you're hoping to get into designing video games without any degree and by sheer luck?"
Brent blinked at her as though he didn't understand her point. The times up bell could not have been slower to ring.
Sam practically ran out of Brent's booth and shot Eva the worst look she could possibly muster before going through the next curtain.
She plopped down in the chair and stared at the guy sitting across from her. This one wasn't bad looking, but that didn't mean a damn thing.
"Hi," he stood and offered her his hand, which she took in a handshake. "Pleasure to meet you… Samantha. I'm Tony."
Sam smiled genuinely. "Hi Tony."
He sat down on his side of the table. "It's kind of comforting, knowing that there are other people desperate enough to come to one of these things, if you'll forgive the word."
"I guess it is," Sam said, waiting to find a flaw somewhere.
"So, okay, I'll start," Tony said, placing his hands flat on the table. "I take apart and rebuild engines for a living, so I'm really into cars, anything that uses gasoline to run. I am ashamed to say it, but I watch Wheel of Fortune every night without fail, and I suck at it."
Sam chuckled.
"I should to warn you that I'm way into brunettes, because they're honest."
"How do you know that?" Sam asked.
"What?"
"How do you know brunettes are honest? That's kind of a general statement to make. I could print my own money at home, and you would have no idea."
"Do you print your own –"
Sam sighed. "Okay, Tony. How much of that crap was the truth?"
Tony's voice cracked as he tried to come up with an answer.
"You've been practicing that whole spiel, haven't you? And you change it to fit the next girl who opens that curtain. What do you say to blondes, I wonder? Or redheads?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about. I was being honest."
Sam leaned forward on the table, her eyes flashing at poor Tony. "Really? You're sticking with that? You hardly looked at me while you were talking, and your hands were pressed onto the table to keep from wiping your palms on your pants like an eight-year-old."
Sam eyed him for a moment, a rat caught in her trap. "Do you like guns, Tony?"
"What?"
"Guns. Do you know how to use a gun? I do."
"Actually, I'm kind of against – "
"Have you ever been shot at? I have! Trust me, you'll change your opinion about learning to use a gun if someone shoots one at you."
Sam stood just as the bell rang. She glared at Tony once more and shoved the curtain aside on her way out.
Eva grabbed her arm before she went into the next booth like a bull out of a shoot. "Sam, I think everyone just heard that tirade," she said calmly.
"So?" Sam shrugged. "I just saved about a dozen girls from trying to date that moron."
"They're not all morons, Sam."
Sam's shoulders slumped as she looked pathetically at her friend. "No, they're not."
"I'm sorry I brought you here. I should have figured you weren't over – "
"There's nothing to get over. Don't worry about it." Sam said and went through the next curtain.
She glanced up and relaxed at the sight of the man who stood to greet her like a gentleman. Sam sat down at the table. She folded her arms upon the table top and rested her forehead on them.
"Do you find that this strange process of elimination works for some people?" Finch spoke to the top of her head as she sat down.
"I have no idea." Sam's voice was muffled.
"It seems almost like a graduate student's psych project."
Sam laughed and lifted her head. "How are you, Harold?"
"Well as always. I've had an interesting time in this booth."
"Have you found your soul mate?"
"Whatever that may mean, I don't believe so."
Sam sat up and brushed her hair away from her face. "I didn't think you were in for this sort of thing."
"I could say the same for you."
"Eva dragged me here."
Finch folded his hands upon the table top. "Oh. Is she… back on the market, as it were?"
"No. She just wants me to be more active in it, I guess."
Finch looked around the small space and sniffed. "This is hardly the way to go about it."
Sam nodded. "I completely agree."
"Will you take a walk with me, Miss Tudin? There is something we need to discuss." Finch stood as if she already answered.
"Yes, and I keep telling you, call me Sam."
Sam stood with him and they walked out of the cubicle. Sam peeked into the cubicle next door, and hissed to gain Eva's attention. "Hey! I found my soul mate. I'll see you later."
"What?"
Sam grinned as she let the curtain fall, and left the building with Finch.
Finch offered his arm to Sam. She took it and they walked at Finch's stiff, but steady pace in the late winter afternoon.
The air was still chilly, but the sun had more warmth to it. Sam pulled the collar of her coat closer around her neck as they walked across the street to the park.
"What did you want to discuss?" Sam asked, relieved that she was freed from the prison of speed dating.
"Did Mr. Reese ever explain to you how we know about the crimes that are going to take place?"
Sam shook her head. "No. He just said he had a source."
"That source is always pulling up new names for us to investigate. The scenarios, you see, we have to figure out for ourselves." Finch glanced sidelong at her.
"You get a name and you don't know why?"
"We know that they will be involved in a premeditated murder in one way or another. But that is all we know at first."
"That's why John does surveillance first," Sam said, mostly to herself, fitting one of the pieces into the jigsaw puzzle.
"Precisely."
"How is John?"
"He is doing as well as can be expected after an encounter with an abusive husband who owned a collection of baseball bats."
Sam winced sympathetically. "Is he all right?"
"He's better off than the husband."
Finch stopped them when they reached a bench, and sat down. Sam sat next to him, folding her hands in her lap, the wind lifting her hair as she moved her head.
"He is what we need to discuss, Miss Tudin."
Sam clenched her fists nervously. She bit her lip, looking warily at Finch.
He seemed to understand. "You should know that when you were being held captive some weeks ago I heard your conversation with Elias… in its entirety. I won't drudge up any specifics of that conversation as they are none of my business."
"Thank you," Sam said quietly.
Finch pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Sam. It was a photograph. Sam held it in her fingers and looked up at him.
"But… this is John," she said. It was an older photograph, he was younger, in military uniform, and had a different look about him that she couldn't quite decipher. Sam smiled.
"Technically, and legally, this man is dead. He went missing two years ago and was declared dead. However, our source brought him up as the next name, his original name, of course, but still the same man."
Sam looked at him expectantly, but Finch shook his head. "It is not my place to give that away."
Sam continued studying the photo. "So, if your source is right – "
"It's always right."
"Then John is going to be involved in a murder."
"The killer, perhaps the victim," Finch confirmed.
"Wait, wait. You said premeditated. John would have to make a plan to kill someone and carry it out."
"Which do you think is more likely, Miss Tudin? I'd be grateful for your opinion."
"Does he know about this?"
"Absolutely not. I plan on sending him on a wild goose chase in the meantime while we figure this out."
Sam stood and began pacing in front of the park bench as she thought out loud, waving the photograph in front of her. "So, he's dead. Who knows he's alive now?"
Finch tilted his head and thought. "H.R., Elias, a section of the CIA and the FBI – "
"The CIA?" Sam shouted.
"Mr. Reese's past is a complicated one," Finch said coolly, his eyes flicking about suspiciously. "He is an ex agent."
Sam took a moment to absorb the information. She thought that he had military training, sure, but a CIA agent? A spy? Actually, that sort of fit. "What's H.R.?"
"It is a euphemism for an organization of backwards city police officers. They have been poking around about Mr. Reese lately."
Sam stared at Finch as though he'd gone mad. "Well, I think we've figured out which is more likely, murderer or victim. Harold, we have to tell him. You have to tell him."
"He will only continue on as he always does."
"And what do you expect me to do? Kidnap him and lock him in a closet for the next two weeks?"
"I am asking you, Sam, to help me keep an eye on him. I already have our contacts in the police force working on finding the perpetrators. But, until then…"
"Spy on the spy." Sam flapped her arms in the air helplessly. "Great."
