Still don't have a title I am sorry to say. I'm sure one will come to me. A
big "thank you" to Skyfire4, who reviewed the first chapter. I am very
pleased that you liked it. I have an idea where this is going but whether
or not it gets there without a detour I don't know.
*-*-*-*-*
Anthony stood in the front yard of the old house. So many memories were still held on that one small piece of land. He remembered how he had left the orphanage. He had always wanted to see the world but his first day away he had been robbed and stumbled upon the old house. Dimitri had been working in the small garden trimming the hedges when he found Anthony beaten and bruised from his attackers. The old man had taken pity on him and taught him how to defend himself. Anthony would always regret that he hadn't been able to defend Dimitri when the time came.
Walking up the small walk he noticed that the garage door wasn't open as Dimitri had always left it, as it had been when he visited the old Russian for the cure for Dylan. Out of a wistful nostalgia he raised the garage door. Then removing the key from his pocket he unlocked the front door and entered. The house smelled of musty from being closed up without ventilation. Sitting down on the couch he picked up a stack of papers and began sorting though them in doing so lost track of the time.
*-*-*-*-*
Dylan sped along the costal highway singing to the radio hoping that Anthony hadn't had too much to do alone. She knew he liked being alone and sometimes that bothered her. She too liked her privacy but couldn't imagine her life without her friends and to a greater extent, him. She started thinking about the case and making a mental list of people to talk to. Soon arriving at the old house she pulled up in the driveway which was overgrown with a tangle of vines.
She got out of the car and walked up the over grown walkway to the front door. She had only been there once before and that was when Anthony had shown her the house after the lawyer had contacted him with the news that he had inherited the place. The house had much potential under the peeling paint and unhinged shutters. As she went to knock on the front door she noticed that it was open so she pushed it gently and went inside. "Anthony," she called out looking around. There was no reply but she didn't really expect one from him, it was more for her safety, to let him know that she was there. She peered into the rooms; the cluttered parlor, the small guest bath, the library that was even more cluttered than the parlor if possible, and the kitchen/dining area. Anthony wasn't to be found.
Dylan heard noises coming from the basement and started down there. She stopped as she heard the sound of breaking glass. "Anthony," she called out cautiously and continued down the stairs. As she reached the bottom she saw him sweeping up a pile of glass into a dustpan. He turned to look at her "Are you okay?" He simply nodded and she put her arms around him. "Good, when I didn't see you up stairs I started to worry."
"I'm fine," he said a distantly and dumping the pan into the trash.
Dylan looked around the gray basement at the racks of vials and beakers, at the microscopes and computers and the traces of police tape still on the floor. "This was his lab?" Again Anthony nodded. "And where he died?"
"Over there," said Anthony pointing to the table against which Dimitri had been leaning back against. In his minds eye he saw the old man holding the sword with his killer skewered on it.
"It wasn't you fault you know," she said. Logically Anthony did know that but he couldn't help feeling that had he been a little quicker he could have stopped his friend from being shot. "Let's save this for later," she said placing her arm around his waist. He inhaled the scent of her hair. "There looks like there is a lot to do upstairs." Together they mounted the stairs as she began telling them about her new case.
"So we need to find out who stole the eggs and get them back before our client has to return them to Russia."
"Do you have any leads?" asked Anthony. He enjoyed hearing her talk about the case. It gave him something to think about other than the task at hand. He handed her a stack of papers tied neatly with a ribbon to look through.
"Not really. I'm planning on checking out collectors tomorrow. Whoever stole them will probably sell them. Keep or throw away?" she asked showing him a pile of old electric bills.
"Throw away," he replied. "Try Neville Rutherford."
Dylan looked up from her pile and at Anthony. "Neville Rutherford? Who is he?"
Anthony wasn't too sure how much he should tell her about Rutherford. Part of him felt as though he was betraying an acquaintance by sending her and the angels to him. "A collector."
"Well I figured that. What does he collect?" she asked setting the papers aside. Anthony didn't answer he just picked up her pile and began to go through it. He felt her eyes burning into him and picked up a pen and one of the old envelopes from the trash and wrote, "Women, wine, and art; in that order."
"So we aren't talking now," she asked feeling angry that he apparently felt he couldn't talk to her about this.
Anthony while he enjoyed his time with Dylan had only been out of the business two weeks. It wasn't easy for him and she wasn't making it easier. He hadn't thought about Neville's womanizing ways when he suggested that she go there. "I shouldn't have said anything," he scribbled.
"It a lead we probably would have had otherwise. I don't see what the big deal is." Then his note caught her eye and she understood he was concerned for her. "You think that he will try something?" she asked with a small smile. "That is so sweet. I can take care of myself though."
Anthony picked up the pen again. He could have told her but he was still uncomfortable expressing himself vocally. "Yes and I know you can." He knew too well that she could. "Neville is a long time business associate." Before Dylan he never would have thought of betraying someone who he had worked for many times and respected.
"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked.
"How to explain?" he thought to himself. Neville Rutherford wasn't a friend. An assassin couldn't afford to have friends, at least not in the sense that Dylan meant not like her friendships with Natalie and Alex, but Neville and he got along and the jobs he had been employed for from the man were well paid and plentiful. "He brokered my services a few times and hired me for several jobs of his own."
"Do I want to know what kinds of jobs?" she asked.
He looked at her and decided to come clean, "Eric Knox and Vivian Ward."
"What do you mean?"
Anthony was sorry he tried to help. This wasn't something he wanted her to know about he hoped he wouldn't have to get into his short affair with Vivian Wood. He was hoping that they could both get passed his past. He set the pen aside and spoke. "He introduced me to Vivian Wood who was looking for an associate to assist in Knox's plan to kill Charlie."
"Was she part of one of his collections?" asked Dylan. She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Part of her didn't want to know any of this and just run with the lead on Rutherford but the other part couldn't let it go. Despite their relationship he was still a mystery to her.
"Just a guest." He said and hoped that he didn't have to go on. "If you want I'll take you to meet him. I don't want you going alone." He diverted his eyes. He had a hard time expressing his feelings and embarrassed easily by them.
Dylan leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for the lead and yes, I want to meet him. Can you arrange it?" He nodded. "For tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrow in question. "Please?" He nodded again. He would do it and silently asked the picture of Dimitri on the end table when he became such a push over. Anthony reached for the phone and dialed a number and took the cordless phone to the other room.
*-*-*-*-*
Neville Rutherford was a fifty year old man with graying temples. He had at one point been known as Lord Rutherford but his antics had the Queen revoke his title in a very private hushed manner. In fact they had given him the nickname of "Ruthless Rutherford". He could have cared less about the royals and their titles, and if anyone asked he would have recited to them his usual line of "I do quite well in my hobbies to live comfortably without the monarchical balderdash." He was seated in his study going over the Wall Street Journal when his butler interrupted him with a light knock on the door.
"Sir?" asked Rutherford's butler poking his head in. "A phone call for you."
"Well tell them I'm bloody busy," he snapped at his servant and rustled his paper loudly as to get his point across.
"I think you may want this call, Sir. It is from your silent friend."
"My silent friend? Oh right. Yes I'll take it." The butler brought the cordless on a silver platter and handed it to him. Rutherford picked up the phone and waved him out of the room. "Anthony, bloke is that you?" The phone chimed a beep from the "1" key being pushed. "My goodness I had thought you died. I think most of our associates thought you died after the whole theater incident. I assume you are well or you wouldn't be calling would you? Of course not. So are you looking for a job?" He waited and heard a "2" meaning no beep in his ear. "Too bad I have one that could be perfect for you. An associate of mine out of Milan .oh but I digress."
Anthony was glad the man realized he was off on a tangent. There was nothing like Neville Rutherford talking your ear off. He only hoped that the man could remember the codes. From his side of the call he typed in 411 which meant he needed information and then 911 which meant urgent.
"Let me see..could you repeat that?" asked Neville and Anthony did. "Well we could get together on Wednesday does that work for you old chap?" Neville soon heard the "2" in his ear. "Well I don't know when other than then I am available. I have meetings with buyers this week."
Getting tired Anthony walked to the fax machine and placed a piece of paper on which he had written a message. He dialed his associates fax number and hoped that finally he would get what he wanted from the man.
"Hold on a fax is coming though," cried Rutherford excitedly. He picked up the received Fax and read it. "'I need some eggs. I want to meet tomorrow morning.' You want to meet tomorrow morning? Breakfast?"
Anthony slapped his forehead. "I need Russian eggs," he wrote. "Tomorrow we will talk." With that he hung up the phone and hoped that was enough to himself and Dylan in. If not they would have to wait until Wednesday and he would have to live with an angry angel until then.
*-*-*-*-*
Anthony stood in the front yard of the old house. So many memories were still held on that one small piece of land. He remembered how he had left the orphanage. He had always wanted to see the world but his first day away he had been robbed and stumbled upon the old house. Dimitri had been working in the small garden trimming the hedges when he found Anthony beaten and bruised from his attackers. The old man had taken pity on him and taught him how to defend himself. Anthony would always regret that he hadn't been able to defend Dimitri when the time came.
Walking up the small walk he noticed that the garage door wasn't open as Dimitri had always left it, as it had been when he visited the old Russian for the cure for Dylan. Out of a wistful nostalgia he raised the garage door. Then removing the key from his pocket he unlocked the front door and entered. The house smelled of musty from being closed up without ventilation. Sitting down on the couch he picked up a stack of papers and began sorting though them in doing so lost track of the time.
*-*-*-*-*
Dylan sped along the costal highway singing to the radio hoping that Anthony hadn't had too much to do alone. She knew he liked being alone and sometimes that bothered her. She too liked her privacy but couldn't imagine her life without her friends and to a greater extent, him. She started thinking about the case and making a mental list of people to talk to. Soon arriving at the old house she pulled up in the driveway which was overgrown with a tangle of vines.
She got out of the car and walked up the over grown walkway to the front door. She had only been there once before and that was when Anthony had shown her the house after the lawyer had contacted him with the news that he had inherited the place. The house had much potential under the peeling paint and unhinged shutters. As she went to knock on the front door she noticed that it was open so she pushed it gently and went inside. "Anthony," she called out looking around. There was no reply but she didn't really expect one from him, it was more for her safety, to let him know that she was there. She peered into the rooms; the cluttered parlor, the small guest bath, the library that was even more cluttered than the parlor if possible, and the kitchen/dining area. Anthony wasn't to be found.
Dylan heard noises coming from the basement and started down there. She stopped as she heard the sound of breaking glass. "Anthony," she called out cautiously and continued down the stairs. As she reached the bottom she saw him sweeping up a pile of glass into a dustpan. He turned to look at her "Are you okay?" He simply nodded and she put her arms around him. "Good, when I didn't see you up stairs I started to worry."
"I'm fine," he said a distantly and dumping the pan into the trash.
Dylan looked around the gray basement at the racks of vials and beakers, at the microscopes and computers and the traces of police tape still on the floor. "This was his lab?" Again Anthony nodded. "And where he died?"
"Over there," said Anthony pointing to the table against which Dimitri had been leaning back against. In his minds eye he saw the old man holding the sword with his killer skewered on it.
"It wasn't you fault you know," she said. Logically Anthony did know that but he couldn't help feeling that had he been a little quicker he could have stopped his friend from being shot. "Let's save this for later," she said placing her arm around his waist. He inhaled the scent of her hair. "There looks like there is a lot to do upstairs." Together they mounted the stairs as she began telling them about her new case.
"So we need to find out who stole the eggs and get them back before our client has to return them to Russia."
"Do you have any leads?" asked Anthony. He enjoyed hearing her talk about the case. It gave him something to think about other than the task at hand. He handed her a stack of papers tied neatly with a ribbon to look through.
"Not really. I'm planning on checking out collectors tomorrow. Whoever stole them will probably sell them. Keep or throw away?" she asked showing him a pile of old electric bills.
"Throw away," he replied. "Try Neville Rutherford."
Dylan looked up from her pile and at Anthony. "Neville Rutherford? Who is he?"
Anthony wasn't too sure how much he should tell her about Rutherford. Part of him felt as though he was betraying an acquaintance by sending her and the angels to him. "A collector."
"Well I figured that. What does he collect?" she asked setting the papers aside. Anthony didn't answer he just picked up her pile and began to go through it. He felt her eyes burning into him and picked up a pen and one of the old envelopes from the trash and wrote, "Women, wine, and art; in that order."
"So we aren't talking now," she asked feeling angry that he apparently felt he couldn't talk to her about this.
Anthony while he enjoyed his time with Dylan had only been out of the business two weeks. It wasn't easy for him and she wasn't making it easier. He hadn't thought about Neville's womanizing ways when he suggested that she go there. "I shouldn't have said anything," he scribbled.
"It a lead we probably would have had otherwise. I don't see what the big deal is." Then his note caught her eye and she understood he was concerned for her. "You think that he will try something?" she asked with a small smile. "That is so sweet. I can take care of myself though."
Anthony picked up the pen again. He could have told her but he was still uncomfortable expressing himself vocally. "Yes and I know you can." He knew too well that she could. "Neville is a long time business associate." Before Dylan he never would have thought of betraying someone who he had worked for many times and respected.
"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked.
"How to explain?" he thought to himself. Neville Rutherford wasn't a friend. An assassin couldn't afford to have friends, at least not in the sense that Dylan meant not like her friendships with Natalie and Alex, but Neville and he got along and the jobs he had been employed for from the man were well paid and plentiful. "He brokered my services a few times and hired me for several jobs of his own."
"Do I want to know what kinds of jobs?" she asked.
He looked at her and decided to come clean, "Eric Knox and Vivian Ward."
"What do you mean?"
Anthony was sorry he tried to help. This wasn't something he wanted her to know about he hoped he wouldn't have to get into his short affair with Vivian Wood. He was hoping that they could both get passed his past. He set the pen aside and spoke. "He introduced me to Vivian Wood who was looking for an associate to assist in Knox's plan to kill Charlie."
"Was she part of one of his collections?" asked Dylan. She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Part of her didn't want to know any of this and just run with the lead on Rutherford but the other part couldn't let it go. Despite their relationship he was still a mystery to her.
"Just a guest." He said and hoped that he didn't have to go on. "If you want I'll take you to meet him. I don't want you going alone." He diverted his eyes. He had a hard time expressing his feelings and embarrassed easily by them.
Dylan leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for the lead and yes, I want to meet him. Can you arrange it?" He nodded. "For tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrow in question. "Please?" He nodded again. He would do it and silently asked the picture of Dimitri on the end table when he became such a push over. Anthony reached for the phone and dialed a number and took the cordless phone to the other room.
*-*-*-*-*
Neville Rutherford was a fifty year old man with graying temples. He had at one point been known as Lord Rutherford but his antics had the Queen revoke his title in a very private hushed manner. In fact they had given him the nickname of "Ruthless Rutherford". He could have cared less about the royals and their titles, and if anyone asked he would have recited to them his usual line of "I do quite well in my hobbies to live comfortably without the monarchical balderdash." He was seated in his study going over the Wall Street Journal when his butler interrupted him with a light knock on the door.
"Sir?" asked Rutherford's butler poking his head in. "A phone call for you."
"Well tell them I'm bloody busy," he snapped at his servant and rustled his paper loudly as to get his point across.
"I think you may want this call, Sir. It is from your silent friend."
"My silent friend? Oh right. Yes I'll take it." The butler brought the cordless on a silver platter and handed it to him. Rutherford picked up the phone and waved him out of the room. "Anthony, bloke is that you?" The phone chimed a beep from the "1" key being pushed. "My goodness I had thought you died. I think most of our associates thought you died after the whole theater incident. I assume you are well or you wouldn't be calling would you? Of course not. So are you looking for a job?" He waited and heard a "2" meaning no beep in his ear. "Too bad I have one that could be perfect for you. An associate of mine out of Milan .oh but I digress."
Anthony was glad the man realized he was off on a tangent. There was nothing like Neville Rutherford talking your ear off. He only hoped that the man could remember the codes. From his side of the call he typed in 411 which meant he needed information and then 911 which meant urgent.
"Let me see..could you repeat that?" asked Neville and Anthony did. "Well we could get together on Wednesday does that work for you old chap?" Neville soon heard the "2" in his ear. "Well I don't know when other than then I am available. I have meetings with buyers this week."
Getting tired Anthony walked to the fax machine and placed a piece of paper on which he had written a message. He dialed his associates fax number and hoped that finally he would get what he wanted from the man.
"Hold on a fax is coming though," cried Rutherford excitedly. He picked up the received Fax and read it. "'I need some eggs. I want to meet tomorrow morning.' You want to meet tomorrow morning? Breakfast?"
Anthony slapped his forehead. "I need Russian eggs," he wrote. "Tomorrow we will talk." With that he hung up the phone and hoped that was enough to himself and Dylan in. If not they would have to wait until Wednesday and he would have to live with an angry angel until then.