A Pretender fanfic
by Maggy
R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com
Please do not archive without permission
I'm sorry about the odd spacing. I tried to update my e-mail address on each chapter, and somehow the line-spacing went awry.
CHAPTER 4: No Man Is an Island
Miss Parker opened her eyes to find sunlight filtering through the stained glass window in her living room, and her Scotch glass still half-full beside her on the couch cushion. She was momentarily amazed that she hadn't tipped it over in her nightmare-- except that she knew it hadn't been a nightmare.
The morning silence was abruptly broken by an odd ringing, and it took her a moment to place its source. She had turned off her cellphone when she got home, knowing that the one voice she wanted most to answer her customarily terse "What?" had been silenced forever--at her hands.
It was her home's landline that was ringing. Parker
reached over to the sofa table with an unsteady arm to pick it up.
"Hello?"
"Is this Miss Parker?"
When she heard the hurried, somewhat nasal voice of a stranger, Parker realized that she had been holding her breath, foolishly hoping...
"Who the hell is this?" she snarled.
"It don't make any difference who I am at this point in time, lady. Are you Miss Parker, or is this the wrong tree I'm barkin' at?"
She closed her eyes. "Yes, I'm Miss Parker. What the hell do you want?"
"What's with all the cursing? Could we have a little less cursing, and a little more attention to this very important phone call, please?"
"Spit it out or I'm going to hang up," she snapped.
"All right-- all right. I have instructions from the J-man. To be delivered in the untimely event of his premature demise."
"The J-man?" Parker swallowed against the knot that twisted in her stomach. "Do you mean Jarod?"
"Who else, lady? You with me, or do I call the next name on the list? Jeez, I don't even know if it's a man or a woman-- somebody named B--Broots?" The voice held a peculiar note of tension.
"No. You don't have to call anyone else," she said quickly. "I'm with you. But I'd like to know who it is I'm-- with. You know my name. What's yours?"
Her strange caller was silent for a moment; then he giggled, giving Parker a moment to wonder what kind of lunatic she was dealing with.
"You can call me-- Mr.-- Argyle."
"All right, Mr. Argyle," she said, closing her eyes wearily. "What do you want?"
"The instructions say for you to meet me at--"
"Meet you? What the h-- why should I meet you? How do I know you're not just some crackpot who wants to hurt me?"
"You don't-- but I ain't."
"And how do I know you even--" she hesitated over the verb "--knew Jarod?"
"Why would I call you if I didn't know him? That's crazy."
"Not where I come from, it isn't," Parker remarked.
"Well, it's up to you, lady. J-man's note says to meet me at the top of his building, tomorrow night."
"His building? What the-- how could you-- That doesn't make any sense, Mr. Argyle."
"Sure it does. There's a special note for me, explaining what he meant, but if you don't get it, it says I'm supposed to wait a minute for you to figure it out. 57. 56. 55. 54..."
In fact, Parker had understood the reference almost immediately,
but the whole situation was too surreal. If this was some posthumous
gag of Jarod's--
"Stop counting and just read me the note, Mr. Argyle."
Parker forced a note of patience into her voice in spite of her tension.
There was another pause. "Well, let me see. You know it doesn't say nothin' about not readin' it-- OK." He cleared his throat. "'Dear Argyle' -- There's some personal stuff at the beginning. We go way back, J-man and me. We been to Jersey, Vegas..."
"Could you reminisce later, please?" Parker asked sweetly.
"In a hurry? All right, then," Argyle snapped. "It says: 'Call Miss Parker and tell her you have a red notebook for her. It's in the red box. Tell her to meet you-- alone-- at the top of my building and you will give her the information in the envelope. She may have been celebrating, so give her a minute to figure it out. She will figure it out. And even if she has been celebrating-- no, especially if she has been celebrating-- I know she will come, because I know her better than anyone.'"
After a moment, Parker realized Mr. Argyle had stopped reading.
"Is that it?" she asked quietly.
"Except for the note telling me where to meet you. What does he mean about the celebrating? Were you celebrating? Are you one of them Centre bitches chasing him so you could put him back in a cage?"
His question caught her unawares. "What do you know about the Centre?"
"More than I want to know, lady. And how is Brigitte?"
"She died in childbirth," Parker said shortly. "What time are we supposed to have this little rendez-vous? And how will I know you?"
"Be there at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't worry, I'll know you. J-man left me a description." With a strange giggle, Mr. Argyle hung up.
Parker stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before hanging it up absently. Who the hell was Mr. Argyle? Undoubtedly, another one of Jarod's "weak and helpless" rescuees.
Trust Jarod to leave her one more mystery, even after--
The pain knifed through her again, this time doubling
her over. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to slide off the
couch and kneel on the floor. Holding her stomach, she realized how
much better she felt not to be fighting gravity. After a moment, from
her nearly prone position, she was able to see things in a new light.
Jarod was gone, that much was certain. But if some strangely nasal-voiced
man named after yet another God-forsaken Scottish island said he'd left her
a message, she owed it to him to get it-- even if it killed her.
It was an option which seemed less and less like a bad idea.