To a spy, there's no such thing as a coincidence. Just as with late-night advertising, if it looks too good to be true, it probably is, and it also probably means someone's out to get you. You learn to mistrust anything that seems like it's being dropped into your lap, right when you need it. In my experience, anything dropped into your lap most likely has an explosive device attached.
The first indication he had that something was different was the hammering coming from outside his flat, very early one Friday morning. He opened his security door and cautiously poked his head out to scan the area. Nothing visible. He stepped out onto the metal landing, swiveling his head to locate the source of the construction, and found that it emanated from the downstairs apartment, former home to the drug dealer he'd ousted as a favor to his landlord, Oleg. The front door was closed, but he could see a dark shape in the window to the left of it.
Michael chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. This couldn't be a good development, any way he looked at it. At the very least, he had a new neighbor with the potential to be nosy and cramp his lifestyle, and at the very worst, it was an unfriendly trying to get close to him in a not-so-subtle way.
He turned back to his door and shut it behind him, leaning against it briefly as he thought; he'd talk to Oleg later to see what was going on.
**
"Hey, Mikey, what's with the new neighbor?" Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the downstairs apartment, as he walked in. "Anything we need to be concerned about?"
"That's what I called you about, Sam. I need you to get some background on her…check her out…see if you can find out what her story is."
"Do I get a name, or am I supposed to come up with that, too?" Sam asked in exasperation.
"All Oleg could tell me is that she showed up two days ago in response to his bartending ad for Club Warehouse. She offered to work for tips and a place to live, but she didn't give him a name other than 'Zan.' He was fine with that, seeing as how he's getting an employee basically for free." (What he didn't mention was that Oleg had said, "I hope she's less trouble than the last person I rented to." He still apparently hadn't gotten over the door bomb.)
Sam rolled his eyes. "How the hell am I going to check into her…knock on her door and ask her to answer questions for the census? How about a license plate?"
The ex-spy shook his head. "She doesn't seem to have transportation, at least none that I've seen."
"You gotta give me a little more to go on here, Mikey. Even my contacts have limits, you know."
Michael looked at him silently and then said, "I'll see if I can find out anything for you to go on. It's time for Mr. Friendly Neighbor to pay a visit."
**
He was cleaning out the Charger when a beat-up Hyundai pulled up by the gate to let out a tall woman with short-cropped dark hair. She opened the rear door, picked up some plastic grocery bags, shut it, and then bent down to peer into the passenger window. "Thanks again for the ride, Anna. I'll see you tonight." The driver waved as she pulled away.
She turned toward the gate and started through, flicking Michael a glance as she headed for the ground-floor flat. Her face, lean and drawn, with serious circles under her eyes, didn't change; she didn't even acknowledge she had seen him, just kept walking steadily toward her goal.
Michael walked around the car and headed toward her with his hand out. "Here, let me help you with those bags. I'm your upstairs neighbor, Michael. I've been meaning to introduce myself."
To his surprise, the woman, who was only a few inches shorter than he was, detoured around him and his outstretched hand, ignoring both his offer of help and his implicit request for an introduction. Reaching her door, she looked down for a moment, scanning the concrete step in front of it, and then turned the handle and walked in, shutting it firmly behind her.
A voice behind him spun him around: "That was smooth. I think she likes you, Michael." Fiona's eyes glittered a little maliciously as she scanned his dumbfounded face. "Maybe you're losing your touch. Have you ever considered that?"
He narrowed his eyes at her in warning on his way past her to the stairs. "I'm just trying to get a little information…like who she is and what she's doing here. She's an unknown quantity; I don't need a mystery neighbor right now."
She sauntered after him into his dim apartment. "How hard can that be? She doesn't even lock her door. Want me to search her place?"
He thought about it for a moment. "She's bartending tonight for Oleg until about 3. Sam can hit the club and see if he can learn anything from her for his source to go on; I'll tell him to call you if it looks like she's about to leave."
"Mikey, I'm gonna need a little money to throw around tonight. Mojitos don't come cheap, you know."
Michael sighed and peeled off some bills from a wad in his pocket, handing them over to Sam.
"Thanks. I'll put this to good use."
Michael gave him a look, and Fiona said sweetly, "Michael, you'd better let Oleg know you need to get Sam past the bouncers tonight. I don't think they allow tacky Hawaiian shirts and creased jeans at Club Warehouse. And I'd better join you when I'm done snooping. There's nothing more pathetic than an older man drinking alone at a dance club."
Sam glared in response, and then the trio turned to a discussion of Michael's next move with Carla.