Dancing In The Shadows
Chapter Two: Secrets Held No More
It was a cold Sunday morning after the 8:30am mass, which had ended on spot time at 9:45am. Ecklie had moved himself over to the church hall when the pastor had wanted to lock up the church building. He'd been about to pack up and clean his flute but the man had been in a hurry so he had been forced to oblige and move over to the second building.
Drawing himself up a seat from the side of the room, to the middle, the man looked from the music case in his left hand, to the watch sitting around his right arm. He then lifted the small instrument case itself, onto his lap with it positioned so he could open the lid away from him. There were a few people generally just milling around near the servery, with its open roller door, referred to commonly as "the hatch in the wall". It was morning tea time so they were drinking tea and coffee and eating biscuits and the like that had been provided by the people on roster that day.
Without second glance Ecklie knew that there was an over 50 chance that the people standing there chatting were older than he was. Not many "new young folk" came to their church; anybody who was younger was a relative, a child or grandchild of one of the older men or woman of the congregation. It didn't really matter to him, at all, whether young people came to mass and carried on the tradition. He knew that every year or so they would get a few new participants, recent movers to the area, and that kept them going.
Of course, there was only one downside to the fact that the church had mainly an older population with young comers, leavers and stayers. Seeing that Ecklie was, by far, the youngest long term stayer and goer to the church, amongst a few of the old women, he was avidly considered to be the church's baby and he hated it to no end. Nobody should still have been treating him like a baby that needed protecting. He was an independent and he didn't need some fruit cake nut bats running around pinching his cheeks and telling him how grown up and strong he was about everything that had happened to him in the past.
They tried to think about what effect it had on him, but, they were from a previous generation. What weren't housewives were nurses, what weren't nurses were librarians or some other stereotypical job that the generation before them had ordered them to have. None of them were psychologists and those who didn't comfort him and molly coddle him, when he didn't want any of that crap, just told him to get on with it. The latter were the harder of the two types of people, and, even though they had a fine line in-between themselves, it could be seen easily by him, at least.
What was even worse, was, because they knew the ins and outs of his personal life, namely through his aunt, they called him up, late at night, when they got worried about this or that or somebody, "possibly", sneaking around their house. He was no plank minded cop, he was a damn CSI, he didn't, and was not, authorized, to do arrests, if anything. Though it wasn't surprising how daft some of the woman could be, they were all as cracked up as the next one, picky, clean, and concerned over miscellaneous duties. He was clean, and kept his house in a perfectly clean state, but he didn't go around dusting everything every two seconds, that was going way too far.
Positioning both hands on either end of the case, with his thumbs on the front, Ecklie carefully flicked open each of the two clasps that held the flute case closed. He did them one at a time, the left one first and then the right, before opening up the musical instrument case. Proceeding, in fluent motion, the man gripped the bottom half of the case with one hand and did the same with the top half, and, still seated, bent over at the waist. Carefully lowering the Flute case onto the floor, he opened it and took out the mouthpiece pipe and the flute cleaning rod, complete with a freshly washed cloth. The man then straightened up and proceeded to finally, at last, begin the cleaning process.
Naturally, after playing the instrument for over half of his life, he knew, that if he didn't clean it properly, or not at all, for that matter, that he would get a mold build up. That was something that he had never let happen and didn't intend to let happen ever as long as the instrument was under his jurisdiction.
Firstly the 8 inch long cleaning rod was inserted, cloth strip end, into the mouthpiece pipe and was fastidiously wiped and turned around to get out every possible spot of moisture that could have been there. Satisfied, the man replaced the piece in the case and took out the main body of the flute before drawing the cloth in and around the piece in which he could look in one end, and see through and out the other. This was, because, the middle piece, was, in some light respects, hollow.
To finish up, Ecklie replaced the midsection of his instrument in its appropriate place in the crushed velvet lined, plush interior of the case, and, then, took out the final piece to clean, the foot joint. Wiping the cloth through the foot joint and being just as thorough and careful as he had with all the other pieces, the man made sure he avoided damaging the delicate key connection. Yet, he took the cloth, a few times, through the small hole on one end of the object. The objective was to clean all areas that were available to be cleaned with the cleaning rod and it's strip of cloth. All areas meant everywhere inside the flute, and he, was going to fill the objective to the full 100.
Leaning forward, Ecklie laid the last piece of the flute back into its proper place in the instrument case. He then placed the cleaning rod back into its own, individual, "carved out", countersunk place in the smallish rectangular box with a handle. Shutting the lid, the man flipped the clasps slowly shut one by one, left one first, right one last. He then picked up the case by the handle and sat up in his chair once more, still with the same blank sort of face that he almost always wore. The hard, black plastic flute case, flute now safe and clean, hung by his side for a few moments before Ecklie stood up with one swift, clean cut movement and turned around towards the door of the church hall. As soon as he was standing and had finished turning, the man promptly starting to head towards the door. Pausing in the doorway, he craned his neck around a bit and looked back over his shoulder at the group of tea and coffee drinking church goers. In particular, the woman who normally locked up.
"I need the keys for the hall for later Judith. I've checked and it's not booked today at all. I'll be back in a couple of seconds to get them from you." Ecklie said before he let his head turn back to its normal position. After he had done that, the tall, balding man continued onwards. Moving completely through the doorway he then headed out to his car. As he went, the man withdrew his keys out the side pocket of his pants with his spare hand.
Opening the boot of the car, he placed the instrument case at the very back of the nearly empty space and surveyed the placing of the object before shutting the boot door and locking it. On any other occasion, that being if he was actually heading home straight away, he would have put the case in the passenger seat. However, just at that time, he wasn't going home, so, because of that fact, it was staying in the boot. With its crime rate levels, leaving the flute case in plain view in a city such as Las Vegas, would only spell trouble. The car was under shade and it was a cool day, so it would be completely fine, safe and out of view.
As he put his keys back in his pocket and began to walk back towards the building, Ecklie's ears alerted him to the starting up of a harsh crowing sound. Head turning so he looked upwards, the man found the source, a bird, non other than the crow to be exact. Some Greeks were very superstitious, he wasn't. However, that didn't stop the words "Sto Kalo… Sto Kalo… Kala Nea na me Feris", from flashing through his mind. Loosely translated it meant go well into the day and bring me good news. Crows were considered omens of bad news, misfortune and death. When a person saw or heard a crow cawing, they were meant to say that. He wasn't superstitious, but it didn't stop the words flashing through his mind as he drew on an inexhaustible fountain of knowledge.
Entering the hall again, Ecklie fixed himself a cup of black coffee, no sugar, and a biscuit. After getting the set of hall keys off the woman, he put them in his pants pocket along with his own personal set of keys. The man then spent the next few minutes talking to the remaining morning teat attendees. It paid well to keep up appearances, people left him alone more often if they thought him to be their idea of "ok." If he played the part and looked to be the man that they thought he should be, then his life was easier around those group of people.
None of those people were close friends, in particular. After all, he wasn't a man much for friends, more acquaintances or contacts. He made relations to those people that were useful to him, especially when he played his cards right and got on their good side. But they were his friends to. Some people said business couldn't be mixed with pleasure, but he did exactly that, friends and contacts were one and the same. It worked better, smoother even, if they got something back.
His definition though, of friends, was very similar to his definition of contacts, people who he was friendly with in order to make networks. Those bridges that he had made and continued to make, would ensure that his future was a good, secure one. If someone had to be fired, for instance, it wouldn't be him, and his chances of being the scapegoat for something were very slim. It was the way the Dayshift Supervisor liked things to go, at the end of the day it made him the better man.
Felicia laughed as she put the strap of the shoulder bag back on her right shoulder. It had started to slip off, maybe she'd packed too many things in there, but it was the kind of bag that could handle it. They'd intended to spend the whole day out, so, it seemed to make sense, to pack for the trip. Las Vegas, was, like a trip to them, even if they were just doing small things like shopping or walking, it was so busy, so new, so bright. It shared some similarities with their old home, but, it was still vastly, so very vastly, different.
The woman stifled another laugh and watched as her son gesticulated wildly with his hands, in imitation of the flustered waiter that had so recently served them their lunch. The poor man, from what she'd been able to read off his lips, as he stood on the other side of the room, a large number of the other waiters were out sick or attending to family matters. Somehow, the mother and son pair had been able to overcome the bout of guilt caused by the waiter's woes. The change in mood was clear, as they had begun to compare the waving of his arms to an excited octopus.
Back in his seat, reading a book, as he heard the first happy strains of laughter, Ecklie placed his bookmark on the page that he was on, closed the novel, and looked up. His head then swiveled quickly to the right and his eyes focused on the door. If the woman had any sense, she'd take the one that was open and walk through it. He'd even made sure the door was kept open especially for the purpose of letting her find it quickly, so they could get down to business. Even if it was the front door and not the back entrance. The man's head stayed turned and he continued to listen, the second, older sounding laugh, only serving to make his lips twist into a thin, firm, disapproving line. Then his head turned back to it's normal position.
The Homicide stopped and watched the open door, just out of sight of anybody who may have been looking through any one of the large windows that adorned the hall. Xavier, who was walking alongside his mother, on her left side, carefully reached up with his right hand and gently grasped her left. Raising up his head so he could meet her eyes, he found her head already turned towards him, questioning, wanting reassurance.
Felicia smiled a little and licked her lips as her son gave her the same look as she was giving him. Kneeling down on both knees, the woman was aware of the coldness of the paving underneath them as she hugged the young boy. Despite the fact that it was a sunny day, the stones were cold. The ones she rested on were protected from the heat by an overhanging roof, which certainly did not give them much of a welcoming feel if there ever was meant to be one. Apart from that, the loose skirt she was wearing provided only so much shelter from the warning temperature.
As the Homicide hugged her son, she pressed her face softly into his neck.
Only when she felt him do the same, pressing his face into the mass of her curls that hung down loose, did the woman smile and let a chuckle ripple through her throat.
Ecklie had all the patience in the world, in his job he had to have patience, patience for the victim, for the evidence, patience for the suspect. It was not the evidence trinity that he was so aware of when being patient in his job, he was not linking suspect, victim and crime scene, but it was a trinity all the same. He had to have patience between the victim and the evidence, the evidence and the suspect and the suspect and the victim. While the woman didn't fit into any of those two trinities, he could still have patience. Sometimes though, patience needed to egg on the happenings around it.
"¡date prisa!" the man said quickly, but clearly and loudly also. She may have been hard of hearing, but that didn't give her an excuse to waste his time.
That time, it was the small boy's turn to move his head. Complete with brown curls of hair, it bobbed up when he heard the voice from inside the building. Moving away from the hug, he relayed the message quickly to his mother and told her who it had come from. The mother nodded quietly as her son's lips moved, and, then, stood up when he had finished speaking.
As they walked through the open door into the hall, Felicia had her son's hand in her own again. Except that, that time, just before entering the doorway, it had been her who had reached to grasp it, her left in his right. They both wanted comfort, that was clear to both people, woman and boy. What the man had said last night made them somewhat afraid of what he would say at their second meeting that morning. Would he be as mean as before? As cruel? As cold hearted? As scary? So many questions, so little answers. Unlike a crime, Felicia had no option to research about the subject, find out something about the man. She only had a face, a personality, and a single name to go on and none of that amounted to terribly much at all.
"I didn't know you could speak Spanish." the Homicide said as she walked across the wooden floor. She could feel her footsteps as they fell, quiet as she could make them, but still quick, still striding with confidence. While she may have still held her son's hand for comfort, the woman was confident, strong even. She wasn't that easy to defeat, he wasn't going to win and she was going to try and be not as afraid of him.
They both stopped near the man, to his right side.
Ecklie waited until he heard the woman stop. Then, and only then, did the man give one of his sly smirks and lean forward. Forearms on his legs, he set the book down on the floor in front of him and turned his head away from her, to the left and kept that position.
"The name Malika has Arabic origins, but your accent sounds Spanish, Cuban even." the man said, his mouth completely out of sight of the woman. There was one way of telling how hard of hearing she actually was. He believed her tale, somewhat, but it was his job, after all, to try and go one step further when he only knew so much information and did not believe that he had the full story as of yet.
Seeing his chance in the man's head being turned away, Xavier took his hand away from his mother's own hand and began to sign out what the man had said to her. His hands moved quickly and without hesitation. They moved on and around each other in a captivating dance that was heavily laced with the urgency to get the message across. Felicia's eyes were cast slightly downwards as she watched, not wanting to draw that much attention to herself, or her problem, even if the man wasn't looking at her. Only two seconds had passed before Ecklie's head swung around to face the woman, and, he snapped his eyes on her, and the little boy, who he had caught in mid sign.
Xavier's look became mildly startled when he saw the man's eyes lock onto him and his mother. His hands fell silently to his sides, immediately, obediently following his brain without question. Felicia's expression was off a different variety to the small boy's, it was like a lot of expressions had tried to squash themselves through a very small doorway, all at once, and had gotten stuck in the process. She looked a tiny bit shocked, a fraction sad, a smidgeon remorseful and just the smallest, smallest amount, knowing. She knew that he knew what she knew, or something like that.
"Let's cut to the chase." the balding man said as he straightened up in the chair and then stood up. Taking the few steps needed to reach the woman, Ecklie stopped at a comfortable distance from her. There were perhaps two heads between them and she had already been near him.
"Exactly, how "hard of hearing" are you?" the man continued, still in his smooth, silky, clear cut, no fuss tone. So easy to understand was his way of speaking at that moment, that, even the emphasis he put into those few select words, was as crystal clear as the clear, colourless glass itself.
"Profoundly deaf. Can I make myself any clearer? Any easier to understand? I'll try. Totally, unable, to hear, sound." the woman replied in perfect timing with the beat of the conversation. It was quick, and sharp, with distinct edges. And, if he didn't make the next move, then the turn would be hers and she would.
With a nod, Felicia walked away from the man and over to her right, to the chairs stacked up against the wall, all stacks next to each other in a straight line. Taking two chairs from one stack, the woman set them down on the floor and put them next to each other. As her son sat down, she put her bag on the free chair and ruffled his hair with a smile, which only grew in happiness as it was returned by him. Moving back to the man, the Homicide brushed her right hand across his cheek. Looking for and watching his reaction, she led him further out onto the floor with her spare hand, away from his chair, away from her son.
The pair spent the next few hours dancing. The sun had stated to head downwards in the sky before they stopped moving. As they departed from the hall, both people exchanged addresses and phone numbers and agreed to meet up on the next Sunday. As it turned out the man had a wonderful memory, which was extremely accurate, and had transcribed the dance down to paper. He'd also bought a cd that had the song they had danced to on it, all of this happening overnight. The man was the kind of man who tried very hard to ward others away, but could be easily seen into all the same. He was only human after all.