I wake up late, greeted by yet another gray sky and the bracing cold of the room. Delphine is nowhere to be seen, so I rush to the bathroom and hurriedly run a hot shower. In the big hall, the fire is out, which explains the temperature in the house. On the dinning table, I find an Italian coffee maker, the beverage still hot and I pour a cup, helping myself to what looks freshly baked bread. I slather it with butter, taking a bite with satisfaction, and grab my mug, and decide to glance outside.
I find Delphine on the porch, sitting on the bench next to the front door, cradling a mug of coffee, and wrapped in a blanket I recognize as one of those thrown over the couch. The German Shepherd is laying at her feet, as if guarding her. Delphine's eyes leave a distant point in the horizon to look at me briefly when she senses my presence.
"Good morning," she greets in a low voice.
I move slowly, carefully keeping my distance from the dog and take a seat on the opposite side of the bench. "Morning," I answer. "Where's John?"
"Tending to his chickens," she answers casually, her eyes on the yard and I follow her gaze.
"You're not serious…" I chuckle.
"Very serious," she answers. "He has fully embraced the simple life, even baked the bread this morning."
"Could you?" I ask, my mind still unable to entirely focus on only one thought. "Leave it all behind and live in the middle of nowhere, without a care in the world, other than feeding the chickens and milking the cows," I explain when she raises a brow at me.
She laughs so hard that Zoey raises her head. "I don't think I could ever milk a cow."
I twist my lips. "You know what I mean…"
"Yes, I do." She nods. "But no. I don't think I could. I think it would drive me insane living like this."
"You need the action," I comment and sip at my coffee, watching John exit the small barn, the chickens following him to play in the yard that's been cleared of the snow that had fallen during the night.
"No, not exactly," she responds. "I just don't think I could tune out everything that's happening around me to live peacefully like this."
"Yeah… I think I agree with you," I say. "Running from problems won't make them go away."
She looks at me frowning. "Then why did you ask?"
"Curious," I shrug.
"Yes, that has always been your weakness," Delphine says, her gaze steady upon me, a small smirk on her lips.
"I don't see it as weakness," I disagree in a low voice, looking down into my cup and it's dark liquid. "Quite the opposite, actually."
"Perhaps it could be both," Delphine concedes for a moment, glancing back to our host.
We remain silent for several minutes, watching John work to clean more of the snow from his property, drinking our coffee. Delphine seems withdrawn into her thoughts, while my mind remains confused.
"About last night…" I start without really know how to finish.
"We don't need to discuss it," Delphine interrupts me almost instantly. "I respect your decision and we should leave it at that."
She doesn't give me the opportunity to respond, immediately getting to her feet, and draping the blanket on the bench before walking in John's direction, Zoey following.
I observe her as she approaches the man and talks to him, her hands tucked under her arms, and I have to chuckle to myself at the irony of the situation. How she's guilty of exactly what we were talking about, ignoring our problem, pushing it aside, and not wanting to address it. Soon, this shit will blow over, and I think it would be wise to talk about it before my prediction comes true. Still, I wonder, if she hadn't stopped me, what would I have said? So, Delphine, you know, last night… it's not like I wasn't in the mood for it. It just so happens that the signs you give me are really fucking with my head, and I really wasn't sure how to deal with it, but that doesn't mean that I don't want you terribly. So, rain check, yeah? Would I really be able to be so honest with her? Probably not. Most likely the conversation would derail somewhere and things would end up worse than they were when we began.
And could we still work together after that talk? Would we really be able to put that aside and move forward? Especially since we have a serious issue with trust and honesty; both of us. Delphine might have chosen the coward's way out, but it was the best decision if we only consider our true purpose here. And honestly, that should really be the only thing in our minds.
Besides, classifying our relationship will open the door to more complex problems, the sort of problems we shouldn't be discussing, because I suspect neither of us wants to further complicate a situation that's already fucked up. Delphine is constantly lying to me by omission, but I'm no better. I keep complaining how I don't know who she is, or what her goal is, or who she's working for, but I'm guilty of the same thing. She doesn't know me, doesn't know my intentions, doesn't know about Ms. S and my partners. Although I'm sure she has her suspicions about me, same as I do about her. We are the same in our deception, and that's where our similarities begin and end. Delphine seems to live much more comfortably with this situation, not asking the questions I know she has. She's much more subtle in her approach, carefully navigating the waters around the answers without asking directly, expecting to catch me off guard at some point. I admire her method; calculating and tactical, a predator carefully observing its prey, not attacking, but patiently waiting for it to fall into the trap laid to catch it.
"What are you smirking at?" Delphine asks when she stops next to me.
"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "I think you've got another admirer," I comment, gesturing to the dog behind her.
She laughs and bends to pet the dog's black torso. "Zoey has good instincts for humans," Delphine soothes and the dog cocks her ears at hearing her name. "I'm going into town," she informs me, straightening her back.
"Do I get to know why?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm.
"I need clothes if we are staying another night, which seems to be the case. John says it will take him at least a full day to go over Oskar's notes," she explains.
"Oh… Okay," I say nodding. "Do you want me to go with?"
"That won't be necessary," Delphine answers, shaking her head. "I shouldn't take too long and it's better if you stay and get him to work eventually."
I look past Delphine and at the man, who's fully engrossed in his chickens that act like pets, following him around everywhere he goes.
"Do you need me to bring you something?" She asks as if an afterthought, already halfway through the door and peeking her head back at me.
"No, I'm good," I answer and she nods just before disappearing inside.
This time the dog stays outside, her tail wagging slowly, staring at the closed door and then at me with deep brown eyes.
"She'll break your fucking heart," I say to the animal, carefully stretching my hand to brush my fingers over the smooth hair between the ears. "You better trust my word on that."
After a while Delphine comes back out, keys in hand, and in moments, is speeding off the property in our beat up car after John opens the gate for her. Next, the man walks in my direction, eyes on me and an enigmatic smile on his lips. He groans as he bends his knees to sit next to me.
"Quite a curious character that bodyguard of yours," he comments, stretching his legs forward, the dog finding her space beneath them.
"You tell me…" I mumble, unsure of what he assumes Delphine is to me, but certain that he doesn't seem to mind her presence in his house, however unexpected. "She told me you might take all day to go over the notes," I prompt subtly, not wanting to sound too pressing.
"Yes, maybe a bit longer. I'll know better once I start," John says. "Let me just rest for a little while."
We're silent for a moment, the birdsong and the chickens are all the noise we hear. No people, no traffic, just absolute calmness, and I do understand what has attracted him to this place. But I still fail to see how someone would be satisfied with so little.
"How long have you been living here?" I ask, looking at him.
"Ohh… I'd say about five years," he responds with his stare still ahead.
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Why not?" John raises his shoulders looking back at me. "It's quiet, I have everything I need, and there's no one around to piss me off. Other than the occasional visit, like yourself."
"What about your family… friends..?"
"No family," he answers. "And very few friends. As I'm sure you're aware, this line of work isn't the best for your social life," he continues and there's no hint of resentment, as if he has accepted this a long time ago. "Besides, it's not like I never leave here. I do go out and visit some people now and then. I just like to have a place I can return and hide if I want to."
"So not a lot of people know about this place or where to find you?" I watch him get up when I finish my question and wonder if I've pushed too hard. Some people would rather not to discuss their personal life with practical strangers.
"The people I want to find me know how, like Siobhan, for example," he says, opening the door. "C'mon, let's go back inside."
I wait for the dog to follow him and walk inside after the two of them, welcoming the shelter from the wind that's already starting to pick up. Soon it will start to snow again and I hope Delphine's back by then. I do not care for her driving around roads she doesn't know in a car that's the next thing to a death trap.
"I make my house available when people need it," he says, collecting his pipe before he sits on the couch and starting the ritual of lightening it up. "A safehouse of sorts. I don't really get involved anymore though, I don't take sides. I'll help as much as I can as long as it doesn't affect me or my peaceful way of life."
"Is S paying for your hospitality?" I ask; it doesn't seem like John is the kind of person who'd get easily offended.
"I do it as a favor for friends," he answers after a hit of the pipe. "The last few years has seen an increase interest in this area. The Russian mafia has regained some influence after decades where it seemed like it was ready to disappear. This is true especially in Ukraine, and the border is so close that if you're not careful, you'll cross it without even realizing it." He carries on, shifting to prop his feet on the small coffee table in front of the couch, and the dog jumps up to rest her head on his lap. "I do know the service I provide is quite valuable under the present circumstances, but I wouldn't do it for people I don't trust, regardless of any profit from it."
"Because that would attract unwanted attention to your little slice of heaven," I finish his reasoning and he nods.
"When we find something we love, we try to preserve it, protect it," John says, scratching Zoey's head. "It's human nature."
He goes quiet, a contemplative look upon his features as he smokes his pipe and absently runs his free hand through his companion's fur. I feel hesitant about interrupting his thoughts and eventually choose not to. Only when he finishes smoking does he get up, tapping the dog's head, and stretches his back. Moving around the house, John quickly starts a new fire, clears the table, and carries what was left from breakfast to the kitchen. When he returns, he finds the briefcase on the computer desk and goes to the same table, taking a few blank sheets of paper with him and sits on a chair.
I leave him to work and go to the bedroom. Once there I search for my phones. The one I use to contact S is still inside one of the pockets of my coat, and in the other I find the bullets I'd collected from the trunk of our previous car. After staring blankly at them for a few seconds, I leave them on top of the vanity. My other phone, the one I pretend to use, is still inside my luggage, turned off.
The ring tone sounds a few times without answer and I check the hours, thinking it might still be too early in the States.
"Hello?" The voice sounds completely alert when I get my answer.
"Daniel, I'm sorry about calling so early…"
"It's quite alright. I've been up for a while," he wastes no time in cutting me off. "How are things, Cosima? I was starting to worry."
"I've run into some problems," I say, but offer nothing else, wanting to see what he knows.
"I heard about the… incident in Warsaw," he tells me in a somber tone. "It's all over the news about the journalist. Such an awful thing," he comments, but doesn't sound disturbed at all.
More important than his state of mind is the fact that he didn't hesitate to connect Oskar's assassination with the problems I mentioned I was having. Although, he was the one who provided the newspaper clips signed by the murdered journalist, so that's a reasonable explanation for this. He probably knew I would try to get in contact with Oskar and somehow that leaves me feeling more restless about his fate.
"Yes, it's unfortunate," I say in a monotone, not letting him know how I'm feeling or what thoughts are currently crossing my mind. "I figured he would be a good way for me to get in touch with some of Mr. Baczkowski's previous business partners, like we've discussed. But I think I have another way in."
"You never met with him?" He could be fooling me, but he does sound genuinely surprised.
"I was going to meet him later that day… hmm… the day before yesterday." I have to think about it, it seems like so long ago, the events far too many for such short period of time. "I had contacted the newspaper and we were supposed to meet for drinks that night."
Silence on the other end of the line and I know I have to give him something more in order for my story to sound truthful. The longer I remain quiet the worse it will get.
"Right now I'm in the area where Mariusz grew up." I decide to disclose some information, a half-truth. "I figure I should try to interview some people in the area, maybe they'll tell me something that turns me in the right direction. He's fairly known around here from what I hear, and he had to start somewhere, so why not try his birthplace?"
"So, you're no longer in Warsaw," he says.
"Not for the next few days, no." I'm careful with my words. "I plan to return as soon as I'm done here, but it might take me two, three days. I'm not sure."
"Take as long as you need. The work you have here can wait, that cannot!" He says.
"Of course, I don't need to tell you that your suspicions about him are most likely true, given the fate of the journalist." I test him. "If you prefer I could return now and you can make your decision based on that fact alone."
"I want real facts, Cosima, not rumors!" He sounds adamant, as I expected. "I don't care how long it takes for you to find out or what you have to do to get them. Just do it!"
"If that's what you want, I'll get it for you," I answer with determination.
"Very well! Call me if you have something new or need anything," he says, his voice calm again.
I hang up and turn off the phone to keep curious eyes from discovering the call.
There are a few things that don't quite add up. I would be suspicious about Daniel's involvement in the problems I'm having, but that wouldn't make much sense. He probably knew that I would've sought out Oskar, and could have me followed to smoke him out and have him killed. But why would he send a bunch of Russian goons to collect the briefcase? It was already in my possession and I work for him. Why would he have two teams looking out for the same thing and once one of them have it -me, in this case - have the other attack me and try to recover information that he assumed he already has.
The Russians don't work for him, but they do seem to want to work with him, which is why they approached Daniel in the first place. Perhaps they think Daniel would refuse to work with them if he finds out what he's looking for; something in Baczkowski's past that would tarnish their chances of working with an influential American businessman. Delphine mentioned that she suspects Daniel doesn't know what he's getting himself into, and she's most likely right. The Russians, on the other hand, seem to want it to stay that way.
Of course this opens the door to something that concerns me greatly. It appears that the Russians know I'm here at Daniel's request, not that it would be hard to find out. I'm using his company's credit card to pay for my plane ticket and my stay in the hotel. I better start using cash, but the damage is done. They know I'm here and they're probably tracking the credit card's movements.
My reasoning seems logical and I have very little doubts about my assumptions. What I still haven't figured out is where Delphine fits in in all this. If she's not with the Russians, and she clearly isn't since they didn't seem to hesitate to shoot at her, and her allegiances are not with her fiancé, since he doesn't even know she's here with me, then what? She appears to want access to the same information. She wants to know why Mariusz is interested in doing business with the Websters. But why? Once we get this information, what will she do with it?
Daniel wants to know if it's safe to work with Mariusz. The Russians want Daniel to remain ignorant regarding their connection with Mariusz in order to have access to the American businessman. But what does Delphine want?
I'm stretched out on the bed, contemplating this dilemma, when Delphine comes in, carrying several bags. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is wild from the wind. She leaves the bags on the side of the bed I left empty, where she slept last night and takes off her coat.
I raise my arms and rest my head on them to look at her. "I called Daniel," I tell her right off the bat and she only hums, going over the bags. "That's it? Huh? No, oh, how's he doing?"
"I'm sure he is fine, I called him a few days ago." From one of the bags she pulls a pair of underwear and from the another a pair of jeans and a black, wool turtleneck. "I need a shower."
"I had to tell him I was no longer in Warsaw," I inform her rather casually.
This time she stops to look hard at me. "You shouldn't have done that."
"If he'd called the hotel looking for me and they told him I haven't been there for days, it would be worse," I say, sitting up and crossing my legs.
"And you told him you were…" She prompts, her eyes still locked on me.
I bite my lower lip, and look at my hands, wrapped around my ankles, but don't answer her.
I hear her take a deep breath. "I hope you know what you're doing, Cosima."
"I didn't give him a specific location," I assure her. "Just told him I was in the area. Searching his past. I had to give him something and it's not a big stretch to assume this would be my next move."
She hums again and leaves the room with clothes in hand. I throw myself back and sigh, not really sure how to take her ambiguous reaction to my news. It's not like I'm in a position of strength, but Delphine seems uninterested in fighting me on this. Although, I won't be fooled, I won't take this as a sign that something has changed. She reacts differently when the subject is her fiancé, always a bit softer, her response almost insipid when compared to other issues.
I hear the shower in the bathroom and get to my feet, shaking Daniel's presence from my mind. I don't want to contemplate the man's existence any more than necessary, which, in a perfect world, would be never.
The small bathroom is already filled with a deep, warm fog when I enter. Delphine, behind the translucent shower stall, stops her movements when she hears me come in, but almost immediately resumes them.
"He also knew about the journalist, and assumed I met him," I continue our conversation, leaning against the glass-doomed linen cabinet.
"Yes, you were rather predictable," she comments.
"Gee, thanks!" I say with an edge.
"I would've done the same though," Delphine admits in a conciliatory way. "He was your only clue."
"So you think Daniel has nothing to do with Oskar's death," I ask and it feels like I'm asking for her approval, somehow. That if she agrees with me I can have a clear conscience.
"You think you're responsible for what happened to the journalist?" Delphine asks in a soft voice, her hands stop massaging the shampoo in her hair.
I'm slightly taken aback to how easily she reads my mind. "If he has someone following me…" I mumble. "It's kinda hard not to think about it."
"He doesn't!" Delphine says with certainty. "You're the only contact he has in here."
"And you know that how?" My voice gains some strength.
"I just do!" She answers emphatically. "Could you pass me a towel, please?"
I turn around, open one of the glass doors and get one of the large, carefully folded towels. Delphine opens a sliver of the shower stall and stretches out one hand where I place the towel. I can see the shape of her body as she towels herself, blurry and undefined, and part of me wonders if the polite thing to do after last night would be to turn around and give her some privacy. She's wrapped within the towel when she fully opens the door, her golden curls limp with the weight of the water dripping onto her naked shoulders and my presence doesn't seem to bother her the least.
"Oskar was a marked man, Cosima," Delphine says, stepping out of the shower, waiting for me to end my visual exploration. "If it wasn't now, it would happen eventually. I'm sure even he knew that. You had no part in it, okay?"
My lips form a thin line as I press them together and nod a few times. Part of me wants to embrace what she's telling me, knows there's truth to it. Oskar was well aware of the danger he was in, he even said as much, and had seemed to accept it. Still, I can't help but feel partially responsible for what happened, and despite my tacit agreement with Delphine's words, I'm not fully convinced.
"Good," she says in a low voice and gives me a small smile. "Now get out of here so I can dress."
"I'm not stopping you." The words come out of my mouth without being filtered by my brain and yet, I'm curious about how they'll be received.
Delphine's bright eyes narrow slightly, but she's smirking. Not at all uncomfortable by my observation. If nothing else, she seems amused.
"Too bad you didn't think like that last night."
I would think she was condemning my actions last night if it weren't for the teasing intonation of her voice, or the way she leans her head closer, her nose brushing against mine. I stretch my neck, but all I get for my effort is a light touch of her lips on mine and she's retreating.
"I understand why you did it, though," she says in a much casual voice.
Her hand reaches pass me to get to the cabinet and I have to move so she can collect a smaller towel to wrap around her hair. I watch her for a few seconds, her movements as easy, as graceful as ever, the towel around her torso slips lower with her motions, but it doesn't seem like it's going anywhere. When I meet Delphine's eyes again, after noticing her pause, she has an arched brow, the hint of a smirk on the corner of her lip. Even so, the only thing she does is move her eyes to the door and then back at me. She will not ask twice for me to leave.
A/N: judging by the decorations already around town and the annoying music in commercial spaces, Christmas is just around the corner... Yay! I have the habit of posting a small cophine story related to the season. So, in the Christmas spirit (or with whichever spirit you celebrate this season), I'm opened to suggestions. If you have a good idea for a short story, hit me up in the comments, reviews or private messages and I'll select one of the prompts or mash a bunch of them together. The winner gets a brownie!