Chapter Four
"Thanks for driving me home, Mr. Bart-Balki."
Balki glanced at Napoleon in the passenger seat and smiled. "Get out of the city! It's no problem-o. You've had a hard day."
It was true. Larry had been running him ragged all day. Napoleon's new shirt had coffee stains, ink stains and even a small blood stain. He had fallen down the stairs, gotten stuck in the elevator and to add salt to the wound, his car wouldn't start. Balki wasn't sure how much more the poor man could take. At least he had convinced Larry that Napoleon was only their personal assistant during work hours. His cousin had wanted to order Napoleon to go grocery shopping for them after work. Balki had to put his foot down on that one, so Larry begrudgingly took his car to the supermarket.
"When does Mr. Wainwright Jr. come back from his surgery?" Napoleon asked.
"I have no idea, but I'm sure it won't be longer than three weeks," Balki replied, hearing a moan from his passenger in response.
"No offense to your cousin, but he is a slave-driver!"
Balki shook his head. "Oh, po-po. Cousin can't drive slaves. Or even have them, because that would be illegal. But I will talk to Cousin about being so hard on you. Sometimes all that authority goes to his neck and he goes over the border."
"Thanks, Balki. I would appreciate that. You turn left at this next street here and I'm in the grey apartments on the right."
Balki smiled and turned left. "Okay. You live here by yourself or does your family live here, too?"
Napoleon gathered his things as Balki turned into the apartment's parking area. "I live by myself but my uncle lives about forty-five minutes away. Thanks again, Balki. You're a life-saver."
"Oh, I love those little fruity candies!" Balki exclaimed as Napoleon exited his car. "Goodnight and sweet dreams!"
As Napoleon waved and Balki watched as he entered his apartment door safely, Balki backed out of the parking space and turned back to go home. "He's such a nice boy. Cousin really should loosen up his grip with him."
Napoleon entered his dark apartment, thankful to finally be alone and safe.
"It's about time."
Napoleon jumped, dropping his things. Not him. Not now. "How d-did you get in my apartment?"
"Easy. I broke in. And waited. Nice place you got. Now, call your uncle. He has a lot to tell you. But remember; no names," the man said.
"Okay," Napoleon whispered, turning on the light. Not that it mattered to the hooded man sitting in the chair by the door. Barely breathing, he grabbed his home phone and dialed his uncle. After two rings, he picked up.
"Leon! Boy am I glad you called. I have so much to tell you and right now, you are one of the few people I can trust right now," his uncle answered, sounding relieved to see hi name on the Caller ID.
Napoleon glanced at the man in the hood and gulped. This guy was good. Too good. "Uh, hi, Uncle Greg. H-how's your friend Bianca doing? Any better?"
As Greg went into long and vivid details about what was going on, Napoleon hung on every word as if his life depended on it. Because quite frankly, it did.
Bianca went down the list again to make sure she had gotten all the items. After all, she had been too distracted the first time she had gone shopping. She couldn't stop thinking about how nice it was to have Bryan back in her life. She had barely even thought about Larry and Balki or that dumb DVD Serge had been hounding her to watch. Her main priority was to get home, put up the groceries and then go over to Bryan's place to spend the rest of the evening. "Good. Everything that is on the list is in the cart," she nodded, going to the check-out line. As she waited, she checked out the gossip magazines in the stands and laughed at the blurry picture of the captured Bigfoot.
"Good afternoon. Did you find everything alright?" the middle-aged clerk with a red beehive asked nasally.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks."
"You got a lot of lemons here. You planning to put up a lemonade stand?" the woman queried sarcastically.
"I have a friend who likes lemons," Bianca answered shortly, sliding her credit card in the machine the second the total rang up.
"Well, you're in a hurry," the clerk observed.
"Yes. Yes, I am. Now could you just hand me my bags?"
The clerk sighed. "Sure."
Bianca exhaled as she grabbed her groceries and hurried towards the exit, not watching ahead of her.
Suddenly, she ran into someone, nearly knocking them down. "Oh, I am so sorry. Are you o-" she began but stopped short when the stranger's eyes locked onto hers. It couldn't be!
Larry started to tell the woman to watch where she was going, but when he looked in her eyes, he felt an entirely different emotion wash over him. "I-I'm fine. Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked, feeling a very strange moment of déjà vu.
The woman looked at him nervously, almost as if she were terrified. "No, no, I don't believe so."
Larry looked at her again. "Are you sure? You seem so familiar to me. Did you go to the Chicago Chronicle newspaper for something?"
"No. I've never seen you before. I'm sorry; I have to go!" the woman replied quickly before running out.
"Well, what's your name?" he asked, but he was too late. She had already disappeared. Turning back around, he shook his head. "I know I've met her somewhere before," he whispered. "But where? That's going to drive me crazy." Larry Appleton knew he might not have the greatest memory anymore, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt, he had met that mysterious and beautiful woman before. And he was not going to rest until he knew who she was.