Notes: Watch for the in-joke! Many thanks to Kaze and Lisa for plot help!
Chapter Eight
Despite being shaken, everyone was unhurt--for which they were grateful. The car was firmly implanted in the snowbank, and very visible to other vehicles, so they opted to remain inside instead of stepping out into the ice and snow and the biting temperatures.
While waiting for the tow truck, Cloud decided to call Vincent at the hospital to explain their problem and see if he would be able to go undercover at the restaurant just for a short while. Luckily, Vincent was between patients. When he came to the phone, he sounded impassive as usual, yet there was something akin to weariness in his voice. It had been a long day, filled with police as well as patients. But he sat down at his desk, listening as Cloud described the problem and what they had thought of as a possible solution.
"I could try," Vincent said at last. "But I wouldn't be able to go until evening."
Cloud nodded. "Yeah, I figured. That's fine; we need to get back to the company when this mess is taken care of." He glanced around at the others. Sephiroth had leaned back in the seat, listening to the conversation. Angeal had his arms crossed and was staring out the window, but he was likely attentive as well. Zack had propped himself up on the inside of the door and was looking in Cloud's direction. And Dalton and Azazel seemed interested too. Gunju had made himself invisible again, but he was no doubt there. Which was really unnerving, when Cloud stopped to think about it. The creep could even spy on them at work or at home sometimes, and they would never know it.
"I have to get to my next appointment," Vincent told him, pushing back his chair at the desk. "I don't need to tell you to be careful."
"Yeah. Okay, thanks a lot," Cloud said.
He hung up, leaning back in the seat. "He says he'll do it," he reported.
"Great!" Zack grinned. "I hope he'll have better luck than we did."
"Indeed." Dalton looked to Sephiroth. "Once the other limousine arrives, I believe we will be taking our leave and returning to Fragmented Triangle. Since the problem stems from our company buildings, we should be able to learn something by searching there."
Sephiroth grunted. "Good luck." That was their own plan as well, not that he expected to find anything much. The smugglers had proven themselves to be very cautious, yet of course they still made mistakes. It had been foolish of them to not delete Marcel's record before, for one thing. But it had been fortunate for Sephiroth and the others.
Dalton smirked. "How odd it is, to hear you say that to me," he commented.
"How odd it is, to realize you have amnesia," Gunju returned from somewhere in the car. "You sound so much like your usual self."
"If he didn't, that would be frightening," Azazel answered.
Zack shifted. What a weird group. And yet in some way they almost sounded like they were bantering, like Zack did with Seph and Cloud. That really seemed surreal.
Somewhere deep down, maybe they were still human after all.
The rest of the day passed by without anything extraordinary happening. Sephiroth and the others made a thorough search of Jenova Corp, without luck, and still had to find time to tend to the usual company affairs, which had been mostly neglected today. When it was finally time to go home, everyone was relieved.
Vincent had gone home as well. For him, "home" was a very quiet, reclusive old mansion that he had bought and was slowly refurbishing. The neighbors were mainly elderly couples who had lived there all their lives. They had been a bit tense when they had seen the dark-haired, pale-skinned, young-looking man moving into the vacant manor, wondering whether he was part of a more rebellious subculture who would bring a lot of noise and chaos to the peaceful street. But upon seeing that he preferred to be left alone and rarely even had visitors, they were torn between whether to relax or whether to wonder if he was still strange. Those who had spoken to him had learned of his doctor profession, however, and a couple had begun to trust him enough that they had decided he would be their physician.
Some part of him was darkly amused, wondering what they would think if they knew he was really not that much younger than them. He looked to be around thirty, but Hojo's experiments--as well as Lucrecia's desperate attempt to save his life--had left him in that state. He had lost thirty years of his life, but no one would know it just by looking at him.
Now he was standing in the master bedroom. It was the only bedroom he had done anything with so far; he was not expecting to ever have need of the others. Having guests or permanent tenants were things he did not plan to do. It sometimes surprised him how the reclusive Sephiroth could want to live in a house with so many other people. But Sephiroth's house was bigger than this one. And Sephiroth had been estranged from his friends for so long that maybe he preferred to not live alone.
Despite the long day at the hospital, and how inviting the bed now looked, Vincent was quite willing to begin the assignment he had promised Cloud he would take. It was strange, but perhaps some part of him had actually been anticipating it. He had not gone on any sort of undercover operation since he had been a Turk. It would be a nice change of pace. After dressing in a dark suit, he slipped a gun inside his suit jacket. His favored Cerberus would not work in this case; it would be too hard to conceal. But he had bought a revolver a while back, just in case he would ever need it. This could be one of those times.
When he walked into Ambrogio's a short while later, he took a moment to study the room. It was as Cloud had described it, and oddly enough, the thin, balding man who had been drinking wine in the early afternoon seemed to be back--or he had never left. He was sitting in a corner, pouring a glass of wine to have with the large meal he had ordered. Was he expecting company? That was quite a bit of food for one man to attempt eating. Perhaps he was somehow important in the equation. Vincent would have to keep a close watch on him.
"Good evening, and welcome to Ambrogio's!"
Vincent turned at the voice of the host. The man was coming over to him with a pleasant smile. He did not give any indication that he recognized Vincent, nor that he was suspicious at all. Good--Vincent was blending in with the crowd.
The crimson-eyed man gave a curt nod. "I want a table away from all the others," he said. He had pondered over the many different possibilities of what to do both while at the hospital and on his way driving here, and he had determined to eat a meal first, then ask for the maitre d' and the owner to compliment them. It would give him a good cover, and time to observe anything unusual. When the maitre d' and the owner came, then Vincent would get to the real reason for his presence.
The headwaiter was already starting to lead Vincent to the right. "We have a very good table right over here, sir," he said.
Vincent followed him around the tables and past a half-railing to a corner table. Was this the same one where Cloud and the others had been brought? If so, it was likely just a coincidence because of its secluded location. But he should remain on guard anyway. Maybe this was even where people were brought that the staff wanted to closely watch.
"There were some other guests today who wanted a secluded table," the host said now, "and they seemed to quite like this one's location. Will it work for you, sir?"
"Yes." Vincent took a seat at the back of the table, enabling him to have the best view of the surrounding area.
"Feel free to examine the menu. The waiter will be with you shortly," the other man said. At Vincent's responsive nod, the host departed. He did not stop to speak to any of the other staff present in the main room, as he had done after Cloud and the others had come. Instead he vanished into the kitchen.
Vincent did take up the menu, but looking it over was mostly an excuse to study the other tables. There was no one sitting at the one in front of him to his right, beyond the half-railing, but there was another to the left with one occupant. That person slowly turned around, sensing eyes watching him. He bore short auburn hair and was wearing a black suit with a red bowtie. A glass of champagne was in his hand.
"I wasn't expecting guests," he commented.
What Vincent noticed most of all were the sea-green eyes. There was no doubt--they looked sharp with mako. This man was not from Earth.
"Who are you?" Vincent retorted.
The other man smirked. "Gackt," he said, taking a sip from the champagne.
Vincent frowned. "Gackt . . . or Project G?" he said. It was a wild stab, but this man looked to be about the right age. And he matched vague descriptions Vincent had read for Project G. There was no way Vincent would believe this person was not connected with Shinra, when he bore those eyes. Vincent was not about to believe that he was the Japanese singer Gackt, either. He did not even look Japanese.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Gackt, or Project G, or whoever he was, set the goblet down on the table. "The cuisine here is quite exquisite. You won't be disappointed."
"Is there anything else here that's 'quite exquisite'?" Vincent asked. "Or out of the ordinary?"
"I couldn't say. I haven't observed anything of the sort, except for that man in the opposite corner." The auburn head nodded towards the wine-obsessed patron with the large meal.
"Has he been here long?" Vincent wondered, following the mako-green gaze. By now the man was starting in on the pasta dish he had ordered. And he checked his watch every few moments.
"He was here when I arrived," Project Gackt answered. "That wasn't so long ago." He looked back to his champagne.
"He acts as though he's waiting for someone." Vincent was not certain what to make of this character. Was he on their side, the enemy's side, or only on his own side? And what was his real name?
"He does, doesn't he." G picked up his own menu. "The waiter is coming."
Vincent turned his attention back to his own menu. As the waiter approached, he gave his order in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. The waiter nodded and swiftly walked away, scribbling on his notepad.
"He isn't very talkative," G observed. He did not turn back to completely face Vincent. Instead he spoke into the menu, to make it less obvious that they were conversing.
"Why are you here?" Vincent frowned.
"It came highly recommended," was the smiling reply. Vincent was not going to get anything out of him except what he wanted and intended to say.
"You aren't here for the food," Vincent grunted.
"Neither are you," G said, "Mr. Valentine."
Vincent's eyes narrowed further. So his identity was known. This was getting worse all the time.
"What's your point?" he said at last.
"I just wanted to let you know I know who you are," G said. "You may need my help at some time."
"I don't have any reason to trust you," Vincent retorted.
"I know," G said, taking another sip from his goblet. "However, I am investigating these people too. I wasn't expecting to see anyone else here, but when you came in I realized what you were up to." He studied the bubbly liquid, refusing to say more. A waitress was passing by the tables, coming to a stop at his.
"Excuse me, sir," she greeted. "Mr. Latham over there wants to talk to you." She nodded to the man who was now chomping into his Italian sandwich. Though he was focused on eating, he peered over the top of the bread at G's table.
"I see," G commented, not seeming surprised. "Thank you." He pushed back his chair, walking across the red carpet without speaking or looking back to Vincent. But the waitress shot a glance at him before hurrying away.
Vincent's eyes narrowed. Why did that man want to talk to G? Who was G? And why had that waitress looked so nervous? Did she know something about what was going on here? Or did even she know Vincent's purpose in coming?
It was not long before his meal arrived. As he ate, he tried to shoot inconspicuous glances at Mr. Latham's table across the way. The man seemed nervous and tense, while G remained relaxed and smooth. At one point G reached over to steal an olive from the centerpiece on the table. Completely flustered by the sudden action, Mr. Latham promptly spilled wine on himself. He stared at the mess, aghast, while G called for a waitress to assist.
Why was Mr. Latham so uptight? Had he expected G to grab at him instead of an olive? And if so, why would he? Nothing was making sense.
A sound to his right brought his attention in that direction. The waitress from earlier was slipping into a seat next to him.
"I don't know what you think you're going to find," she said, "but the police have already been here."
He looked at her. "I'm not the police."
"But you were sent by those people from earlier, weren't you?" she persisted. "I'm sure I saw a picture of you in the paper with those Jenova Corp guys."
He frowned. The only time he had been in a picture with them was when Jenova Corp had agreed to sponsor the hospital's fundraiser. That had been some time back, so he had hoped that no one here would remember it.
"Why are you so anxious?" he asked. "Unless something actually is amiss, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."
"I just don't want this place to get a lot of negative publicity," she defended herself. "The customers earlier were really worried when they saw the police here. Something like that has never happened before."
Vincent grunted. "Is the owner of this restaurant here?" he asked.
A blink. "Yes," she said with hesitance. "Why?"
"I want to see him." Vincent's tone was matter-of-fact.
She gaped. "What are you going to talk to him about?" she frowned.
"If there's nothing wrong, then there won't be anything to talk about," he returned. "I want to compliment him on the food."
Before she could reply, a loud crash came from Mr. Latham's table. He had just slammed his hand upon it.
"This man is trying to kill me!" he screamed.
All eyes in the room turned to look. Mr. Latham had sprang to his feet, pointing with a shaking finger at G. The auburn-haired man was frowning.
"This is an outrage," he said, rising as well. "You called me to your table. I had no such intentions, and you are aware of it."
"Why would I call you to my table?!" Mr. Latham retorted. He stumbled forward in his rage, which was clearly brought on at least partially by the immense amount of wine he had consumed.
G stepped back. "The red-haired waitress delivered the message to me," he said. "If anyone is in doubt, they can question her."
Vincent turned to look to the right. The woman had vanished. And by now all available staff members were crowding around the scene, unsure of what to think or do. One waiter reached to restrain Mr. Latham as he tried to throw a drunken punch at G.
"Please, sir!" the waiter exclaimed. "You're making a scene!"
Mr. Latham pulled himself free. "You're going after me, when he's the one you should be driving back? I swear to you, he wanted to put poison in my food!"
"Why would I want to do that?" G frowned.
"How would I know what goes through your twisted mind?!" Mr. Latham cried, throwing his hands into the air.
"There was a waitress."
Now all eyes turned to look at Vincent. The crimson-eyed man had stood, walking over to the crowd. His voice was flat and matter-of-fact.
"I heard her tell this man that Mr. Latham wanted to see him," Vincent continued.
"It's a lie!" Mr. Latham screamed.
Vincent fixed him with a hard stare. "If you didn't send the message, who did?" he said.
Mr. Latham sputtered. "I . . . I . . . I don't know!" he snapped. "Someone who wants to kill me!"
"Get this man a cab," Vincent heard the host say in an undertone to another waitress. "He's had far too much to drink to even think about driving home himself."
But Mr. Latham overheard the comment. "Don't you dare!" he yelled at the shocked woman. "They'll get me alone in the cab and then . . ." He made a sound of finality, swiping his finger across his throat.
The crimson eyes narrowed further. Was this man paranoid? Or did he have a reason for his insistence that someone wanted him dead? He could be an important lead, especially since he had been there earlier as well.
"Don't bother about the cab," Vincent said, and looked to Mr. Latham. "I'll drive you home."
The middle-aged man blinked, as if seeing him for the first time. "You?" he said. "Who are you?"
"We can talk on the way," Vincent said. "But I need to see the owner first."
"See here!" a new voice exclaimed. "What's all this?"
Again everyone turned. An authoritative figure in a dark suit was coming out from a door marked "Offices." His scowl was spread across his face, making him look all the more unfriendly.
Amidst a chatter of voices, the basic story somehow got repeated well enough for him to grasp the gist of it. "Alright!" he bellowed, holding up his hands. "We'll get to the bottom of this. So some waitress said Mr. Gackt was to go to Mr. Latham, because Mr. Latham wanted to see him. And Mr. Latham says he didn't say that at all."
"That's right!" Mr. Latham proclaimed with a hiccup.
"Who was the waitress?" the newcomer persisted.
"She was tall, with dark red curls," G said. "Some of them were piled on her head and others were hanging down around her shoulders."
The man frowned in confusion. "I don't have any waitress like that working here," he said.
Vincent stepped forward. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Guiseppe Ashe, the owner of this establishment," was the answer. "And who are you?" He looked Vincent up and down. "You seem to be trying to get things back in order around here."
"I'm trying to get to the bottom of this," Vincent said. "It interrupted my meal."
"Well, I'll make sure you and everyone else are compensated for this disturbance," Mr. Ashe said. "Mr. Latham is a frequent guest here, but he's never gone into such a fit before." He eyed the other man's wine-stained suit jacket in disapproval. "I don't doubt that had something to do with it, if not everything."
"On the other hand, what if by some chance he actually has good reason to be so paranoid?" G spoke. "Perhaps someone actually is trying to kill him."
"And who on earth would?" Ashe retorted.
"Maybe we need to try to find out," G said. "This waitress business is certainly odd in any case. You must admit that."
Mr. Ashe gave an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose so," he conceded.
G looked to Mr. Latham. "Well, do you have some specific reason to think someone wants to kill you?" he asked.
The man glowered. "Of course," he slurred. "Because of the whole mess with Linda and the company."
Vincent fixed him with a stern look. Cloud had mentioned the woman at the bookstore named Linda, who had behaved oddly and seemed to have a grudge against businessmen. Was this just a coincidence, or was Mr. Latham referring to her?
"Oh, he's babbling nonsense," Ashe snorted. "Sir, you don't have to worry about driving him home. Just enjoy the rest of your meal and we'll take care of him." He looked to Vincent.
"Actually, I want to talk to you about something," Vincent said. "In private."
Ashe blinked. "Well, then, let's go into my office," he said with a gesture.
"Let's sit over here," Vincent said instead, moving back towards his table. He did not want to let Mr. Latham out of his sight. Nor did he know that he could trust G to watch Mr. Latham.
"Hmm . . . yes, let's," Ashe said, though surprised. "Then you can resume eating." He followed Vincent to the table. "I do hope this experience won't negatively impact your opinion of Ambrogio's," he said.
Vincent sat down. "Who is Ambrogio?" he asked flatly, ignoring Ashe's comment.
"My cousin," was the reply. "I inherited this restaurant from him and didn't bother to change the name."
"You inherited it?" Vincent repeated with a frown.
Ashe nodded. "He, unfortunately, died mysteriously in a house fire. But let's not discuss such unpleasant subjects." He sat down as well.
"I have more for you." Vincent gave him a stern look. "I heard the police were here earlier."
Ashe's eyes registered surprise. "They were," he admitted. "Something about a suspect calling from the phone booth outside. I don't know, it all seemed ridiculous to me. Did they think the man would hide in here? And that no one would notice? We would never allow such uncouth people on the premises."
"You wouldn't be able to tell he was a criminal if he knew how to blend in," Vincent grunted.
"But that's the thing--I've found that they don't blend in!" Ashe exclaimed with a wide sweep of his arm. "Criminals always manage to stand out." He frowned. "Such as that Latham person."
"You think he's involved in something illegal?" Vincent watched Ashe with narrowed eyes. The man had been quick to dismiss Mr. Latham's comments about Linda. Had he been giving his honest opinion, or had he been trying to discredit Mr. Latham for some reason?
"Well, I don't know for sure, of course," Ashe hurried to say. "But when someone comes in and makes an uproar by accusing another patron of trying to kill him, I don't take it lightly."
"Isn't Mr. Latham a frequent patron?" Vincent said.
Ashe blinked. "Well, yes . . ."
"Then from a businessman's standpoint, you shouldn't be so quick to pass judgment on him." Vincent leaned forward over the table, further lowering his voice. "And you should have been more careful. Your stooge shouldn't have called Mr. Thorton from the booth right outside."
"My . . ." Ashe's mouth dropped open. "I don't like what you're insinuating!"
"I know you're using this building as a hideout," Vincent said. "And you know where Jessica Thorton is right now."
"This is an outrage." Ashe's eyes sparked with flames as he leaned over to stare back at Vincent. "I could sue you for these statements."
"Not if the police find out I'm right." Vincent regarded him coldly. "I'm going to tell them everything, unless you start seeing things my way."
"You're trying to blackmail me, aren't you?" Ashe's voice was steel. "Well, it won't work. Who do you think the police will believe more--an upright businessman such as myself, or a common mercenary like you?"
At least he did not seem to know Vincent's identity. Which brought to mind the mystery of the non-existent waitress again. Or was Ashe only lying about not knowing who she was in order to throw suspicion off of himself? Vincent could ask some of the employees about her, but supposing they were all in on this together none of them would admit to knowing anything about her.
"I'm very convincing." Vincent was unmoved. "I'm sure once they see the photographs, they'll believe me over you."
A flicker of something passed through Ashe's eyes, but then it was gone. "And you're expecting me to agree to hand you money without even seeing these alleged photographs?" Ashe retorted.
"No," Vincent said. "I can bring the photographs. I just want to make sure we're on the same page."
"And we most certainly are not!" Ashe said, getting to his feet. "I am insulted by what you are saying. You couldn't have any photographs because there is nothing to capture. I have not committed any wrongdoings. I will have to ask you to leave."
Vincent pushed back his chair. "Instead of going to the police, maybe I'll sell the photographs to a newspaper," he said as he rose. "Ambrogio's might be all over the front page tomorrow morning."
"Your empty threats mean nothing," Ashe said. "And if you're still interested in taking Mr. Latham home, I suggest you do so. Then I can be rid of you both!"
Vincent looked back to where Mr. Latham had removed his jacket and was watching while a waitress tried to remove some of the wine stain. G was standing nearby, his arms crossed.
"He's occupied right now," Vincent said. Somehow he needed to find a way to discover whether Ashe knew anything about G. Asking the wrong question could potentially blow his cover open and make it obvious that he really did not know anything for certain.
As it turned out, he did not have to ask.
"I suppose that Mr. Gackt is a friend of yours," Ashe said now, his tone still frozen.
"I've never met him before," Vincent answered.
"I don't believe that any more than you believe that I'm not a criminal," Ashe said with haughtiness. "Two strange people coming in completely independent of each other? Maybe you're even both in cahoots with Latham in a plot to try to ruin me!" He looked back to Vincent. "That is it, isn't it? You're from one of my competitors."
"No," Vincent grunted. As he watched, the waitress straightened, seeming to have decided that she had done all she could for the time being. Mr. Latham shakily picked up his suit jacket.
"Think about what I said," Vincent said over his shoulder to Ashe as he walked forward. He could feel the man's eyes boring into his back as he went.
G looked up as Vincent approached. "All ready to go?" he asked. "Our friend is about to burst a blood vessel."
Mr. Latham shakily draped the coat over his arm. "I want to get out of here," he said.
"Let's go," Vincent said, stepping over next to him.
"Have fun," G purred.
Vincent threw him a suspicious look as they headed for the door. He could not very well ask him anything while Mr. Latham was right here. But he had the odd feeling that he would be seeing this auburn-haired man again.
Genesis observed as Vincent led the intoxicated man outside. Now he would need to inconspicuously follow them. Ashe was likely planning to do that very same thing, but for a very different reason. He would wait until Mr. Latham was safe at home, and then some of his men would pounce on Vincent with the intent to kill. Just in case Vincent was telling the truth about the photographs, Ashe would not risk it getting out.
Of course, Genesis knew of Vincent's reputation. He was not concerned for the other man's safety; Vincent could protect himself. But this could be an important element in the mystery. He would not let it slip away from him.
As the crowd dispersed, he melted in among them. It was good that he had already paid his bill; now he could just quietly slip outside. Coming to the side door, he opened it with a casual air and stepped into the night wind. The sky was overcast by this point, the breeze gathering speed. It might snow. Just ahead he could hear Vincent speaking to Mr. Latham, asking where he lived. The answer was too slurred for Genesis to make it out from this distance.
Keeping to the shadows, he came to the car he had rented for tonight. As Vincent and Mr. Latham got inside Vincent's car, Genesis slid into his own. He waited until Vincent was driving away before starting his own engine. And sure enough, as he began to pull out of the parking space, a dark car came into view from around the corner, intent on following Vincent.
The three cars turned onto the next block. Genesis frowned, looking to the first car. Did Vincent know about this? He needed to try to lose the third car. But hopefully in the process, he would not also lose Genesis.
Vincent looked in the rear-view mirror as he turned the corner. A deep frown graced his features. Two other cars had turned as well. Was that a coincidence or not? He could not see what either driver looked like, though one of them could possibly be G. That would not be a surprise.
"What is it?!" Mr. Latham exclaimed, seeing Vincent staring into the mirror.
"I don't know," Vincent said. As an experiment, he turned right at the next corner and left at the one after it. The cars were still there. And he had no intention of mincing words. "I think we're being followed."
Mr. Latham went pale. "I should have known this wouldn't work!" he moaned. "They won't stop until I'm dead!"
"It might not even be you they're after," Vincent retorted. He swerved around a parked car and then around the next corner. He was going as fast as he dared on partially residential streets this late at night. Mostly the only buildings that were not businesses were high-rise apartment buildings, but every now and then there was also a large old house, something that no one had wanted to have torn down because of its historic value. Many of the businesses were still open, and some people watched curiously as the three cars passed by in a row.
"But why would they want you?" Mr. Latham said in amazement.
"Just a hunch," Vincent grunted. He turned to the left and into a parking garage before the pursuers could see. But even while weaving amongst the parked cars, he could hear two engines coming in after him. Neither driver had been fooled by his sudden disappearance.
"Tell me about Linda and the company," he said as he looked for a back exit.
"Right now?!" Mr. Latham gasped.
"There might not be a good time later," Vincent said.
"It's not a good time now," Mr. Latham frowned. His eyes widened in horror as one of the cars was suddenly right in front of them. The passenger side window rolled down and an arm and hand emerged. The index finger pulled the trigger of the gun the hand was holding.
Vincent swerved to the right, the tires squealing on the concrete. The other car was coming up from behind, but instead of shooting as well, its occupant suddenly got in between the two cars. Vincent caught a brief glimpse of auburn hair as he drove past. He was right--that one was G. And he seemed to be trying to help. Did that mean he could be trusted? Or did he simply have a separate agenda, but not necessarily a safer one?
"I need to know," he said to Mr. Latham, his tone flat and unimpressed.
The balding man was clutching the sides of the seat, his flesh chalk white. "I was an accountant for a company," he all but wailed. "They were doing illegal stuff with the funds--embezzling, you know--and I knew I needed to blow the whistle on them. Linda was the secretary for the president, but I knew she wouldn't have been involved, so I went to ask her what she knew about it. She didn't know anything, but she believed me when I showed her my calculations and other evidence. . . ."
He trailed off, letting out an alarmed cry as Vincent tore through a back exit. A second car was lying in wait for them right outside. As they went by, more bullets peppered the ground near their tires. Vincent kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the end of the alley several yards away. He sped out into the middle of a busy semaphore. A red car honked as it was forced to swerve out of their path.
"What happened then?" he asked.
Mr. Latham stared. "Doesn't this bother you at all?!" he cried, gesturing to the angry drivers.
Vincent ignored the query. "What happened." Two more cars blared their horns, narrowly missing hitting both each other and Vincent's car. Vincent took the opportunity to disappear down a side street.
"The company was stopped, but there was a big scandal!" Mr. Latham bawled, tightly shutting his eyes against the scene around them. "And when the president and the other guilty parties were arrested, his vice-president vowed to take his revenge on me and on Linda too!"
"So you think that's what's happening now," Vincent said. This street seemed to be quiet, but it would be foolish to let down his guard.
"It must be!" Mr. Latham exclaimed.
"If you really believe that, maybe you should consider going somewhere other than your home," Vincent said. "They might be waiting for you there."
Mr. Latham opened his eyes once more. "You're right!" he gasped. "What should I do?!"
"Get a hotel room for now," Vincent suggested, "and don't use your real name.
"What company was this?"
"Domino Appliances," Mr. Latham said. "The president was Del Vinci, a man rumored to have connections to an underworld family."
The name was unfamiliar to Vincent. When he got home and called Cloud to report on the evening, they would have to do some research on the company and the man. Finding out if the Linda at the bookstore was the same one would be a help, too. If she was, and if she was willing, she could be more helpful than any amount of research.
"You don't know for sure?" Vincent said.
"No," Mr. Latham said. He was cautiously starting to relax. For the last blocks they had not been chased. Maybe they had lost their pursuers. "His lawyers got him off, though."
Vincent frowned. "Even with all of the evidence against him?"
"He claimed that he didn't know anything about it!" Mr. Latham said. "And that the ones who were involved were trying to frame him. Unfortunately, none of the evidence did point to him directly, and he walked." He sighed. "But I'm sure he was involved. . . ."
"Where is he now?" Vincent asked. He was taking Mr. Latham to a hotel, as he had suggested. It would be ridiculous to take him home, after the display of gunfire. The shooters had probably been after him and not Mr. Latham, but he was not going to take a chance. If this story was true, then the man probably did have a reason to worry.
"I don't know," Mr. Latham said. "The company fell apart after the scandal, but I've also heard rumors that Del Vinci always has his fingers in many pies at once, so to speak. So I'm guessing he's secretly with another one."
That was likely. Vincent drove in silence for a moment. "At the restaurant, you kept looking at your watch," he said. "If you weren't expecting Mr. Gackt, were you waiting for someone else?"
Now Mr. Latham was silent. "No," he said then. "Not exactly."
"What then?" Vincent retorted.
"Linda was supposed to call me," he admitted. "But the time came and went and she didn't." He took out his phone and looked through the messages. "No one's tried to call."
Vincent frowned. "What was she going to call you about?" he asked.
"She said she had new information on Del Vinci," Mr. Latham said. "She's still been trying to bring him down, and she wanted my help."
"Does she work in a bookstore?" There was the hotel, up ahead. Vincent turned to go down the other side of the block. They would enter through the back way.
Mr. Latham blinked. "I don't really know," he said. "Is it important?"
"It could be." Vincent stayed alert as he entered the back parking lot. So far, so good. Maybe G had managed to keep both cars at bay long enough that now they were cruising all over the city in confusion. After Mr. Latham was settled in a room, Vincent would call Cloud. There was a lot to discuss.
Just as had been the case last night, Zack was plopped on the couch in the living room at home. He crossed his arms, idly staring out the window as he listened to the other sounds around him. Aerith and Tifa were washing the dinner dishes. Seph had gone to his home office and was typing on the computer. Cloud was waiting for a report from Vincent, and in the meantime Marlene had wanted him to play ponies with her. Of course, Cloud being Cloud, he found that quite awkward--but he actually wasn't that bad, when he really got into it. Zack smirked as he glanced at the sight of them walking the ponies across the floor. Cloud really was good with kids.
Something flashed out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, looking back to the window. Now all was dark. Could he have seen what it had looked like? Yes, there it was again! A light from across the street. He leaped up, running over to the window. It was just a small beam of light from inside, like before. This time it had passed through the area where the kitchen was probably located.
He looked over his shoulder. He did not want to tell Marlene what was up, but he was fully determined to get out of the house and go over there. If he left right now, maybe he could catch the sneak.
"I'm gonna take a quick walk, okay?" he announced.
Cloud blinked, looking up from where he was kneeling on the rug with a blue pony. That look in Zack's eyes was unmistakable. This was not just a simple walk, and there would not be any talking him out of it. "Okay. But don't be too long," he said. "Vincent's probably going to call soon."
"Right!" Zack saluted, then headed to the door. After slipping into his shoes and grabbing his coat, he hauled the door open and stepped onto the porch. The winter air nipped at his face, but he was too intent on getting across the street to pay attention. He jogged down the steps and over the walkway, feeling in his pocket for his keychain flashlight. He would probably need it, if he actually managed to get inside.
Once he crossed the street, he came to the house by way of the shadows. Everything looked dark, but surely the person could not have gotten away that fast. He frowned, walking over near the kitchen window and keeping himself just below it. Would the side door be unlocked? Maybe what they had here was a food thief, if there was any food to steal. He reached up, silently pulling open the storm door and grabbing for the wooden door's knob. It did not turn. So either the intruder had not come in this way, or they had locked the door after getting inside.
He slipped away, going around to the front porch. It was a big, wide porch with large windows looking out over it. Someone could hide in the living room and watch him coming up on the porch. But he would have to take the chance.
He studied the steps as he ascended. There was still snow in places, but mostly there was ice. It would be impossible to record footsteps in the ice. He sighed, reaching the porch and making his way to the front door. It was locked too.
His hands went to his hips. This place seemed to be sealed up like a drum. Someone had to be in there, and they did not want to be found out. Should he risk breaking in the door to find who it was? The police had not found anything missing. Maybe nothing was amiss and Zack would just cause trouble if he tried to get inside. Maybe he would even get blamed for something.
He was just meddling, really. Why couldn't he let this go?
. . . Maybe because something really was not right. A shadow darted past the window to his left, running towards the back of the house. Was there another door there? It was time to find out.
He whirled, grabbing the banister as he leaped down the icy steps. The person obviously knew he was out here, so there was no point in trying to be quiet any more. He dashed around to the very back of the house, just in time to see a window being opened. It was a long drop to the ground, even just from the main floor, but the trespasser did not care. Without warning he launched himself from the open space and landed in a crouch on the snow.
In an instant Zack was at the person's side, grabbing an arm. "Okay!" he said. "How about you tell me why you're hanging out in these people's house?"
The form stiffened. "Let me go!" a voice snapped.
Zack stared in disbelief as the person straightened up. He was a lot shorter than Zack had been expecting. A mop of dirty blond hair was falling over the intruder's forehead, but the flashing blue eyes and freckles were very visible.
He was looking at a young boy.