Chapter Five (Old Habits Die Hard…)
Reese had watched the sleek auto pull up to the curb. He also watched the street for several minutes. The cars came and went for it was early morning in New York but none seemed overly interested in a middle aged man unloading items from his trunk. The younger man left his perch by the window, going to help out.
Reese opened the heavy door facing, stepping back to allow his colleague to enter the house. "You're loaded down, Harold." He took a few of the heavier looking parcels, but his eyes once again, swept the street before closing the entrance.
"I wasn't followed, Mr. Reese." Finch said, putting his bags on the divan, removing his gloves and coat slowly for his joints were acting up today. It was clammy and cold outside and since the accident; his body rebelled against such an environment. "You've taught me well. I know the routine by now."
"Habit." Reese took no offense at the rather churlish attitude displayed. "You do all this shopping by yourself? I'm proud of you, Finch. Stouter men have tried and failed such a mission."
"I thought about calling Detective Carter for assistance but I couldn't foist such a menial task off without appearing gauche, not to mention, completely devoid of any sensitivity what-so-ever."
Reese weathered the 'look'. Finch somehow considered him at fault in this situation. "You're a very sensitive guy, Finch..who doesn't know that?" He rummaged through the bags. "Chocolate AND powered!" he lifted impressed eyes. "Case in point." He sat the donuts aside, going back to his browsing.
"You said that Ms. Fellows came out of the house with only the clothes on her back, is that correct?" Finch retrieved the larger of the shopping bags he had lain on the sofa.. "I took a chance on the size."
Reese glanced inside. "A coat." He smiled up at the man. "You have a good heart, Harold. I forgot all about her needing one."
"It's not exactly balmy breezes out there these days."
Finch had moved on though, Reese could tell by his detached attitude. The other man was wondering the rooms, rather melancholy now, glancing about, touching things, which signaled a catastrophic meltdown in the emotional department.. for a man like Finch.
"Something wrong, Harold?"
"I had forgotten I owned this building. At one time," Finch mused, studying a fragile figurine he had picked up off a nearby shelf, turning the delicate statue over in his hands. "I had considered making it our permanent residence."
Reese sensed a great sadness behind the enigmatical statement. "It's a nice place." Then his mind clicked. "… 'Our?'..are you talking about Gra.."
Voices traipsed down from above, the sound of footfalls on the carpeted staircase announcing the presence of others which broke the moment, both men giving over their attention to the new arrivals on the scene. Harold replaced the small statue to it's rightful spot.
Taylor Davidivitch proceeded her friend, rounding the sharp bend in the corridor, her keen eyes taking in the new guy, then transferring her questioning inquiry to John Reese.
Finch stood quietly by, waiting politely for proper introductions.
"I did try to sleep, Davy, really.. but I kept reliving that horrib.." Cordelia continued the conversation, blissfully unaware of what waited just around the river's bend.
Finch transferred his interest to the second female, a little curious to see if Ms. Fellows' interview videos did her justice. She was an attractive woman who he thought conducted herself well in a public venue. He was, however, unprepared for the reaction HE received.
The girl,for she was hardly a 'woman', upon second sight, meeting her in the flesh, so to speak, as now..especially when put upside the tall, elegant version standing beside her. The contrast between Taylor Davidivitch and Cordelia Fellows was a striking one.
He took in the grey sweat pants and green tee-shirt with it's..colorfully expressed colloquialism sprawled across the front.
The 'girl'..halted her tirade midsentence, her eyes widening, her mouth falling agape. She stared at Finch in something akin to awe, her gaze transfixed, so much so, Harold became a little uncomfortable under such direct scrutiny. He sought an explanation for such bazaar behavior.
He turned his entire body sideways, well, the top half, his eyes seeking out John Reese.
The man stepped, snapping his fingers in front of Cordelia's face, "..Ground control to Major Tom."
Which brought an instant response and decidedly pink flush to the girl's cheeks. She blinked, finally shifting her gaze, suddenly embarrassed, awkward.
"OH!" she stated breathlessly, acutely aware she was suddenly the center of attention. "I..eh.."
"You ok, sweety?" Davidivitch frowned critically, her anger directed toward Finch, the obvious cause of Cordelia's distress.
"Y-Yes." The girl strived desperately for a semblance of decorum. "Yes, of c-course." She dismissed all the 'fuss', still unable to hold Finch's direct gaze for any real length of time, though. She cleared her throat self-consciously, trying a smile for all concerned. "I didn't expect anyone else..I'm a little underdressed." She laughed feebly, knowing the excuse was a piss poor one but the truth was even more ludicrous.
"Finch brought you some things." Reese smoothed over the tension, his confident, easy tone helping Cordelia to focus on something other than the man standing directly in her line of vision.
"Ohh!" she was genuinely contrite suddenly, forced to confront Finch's generosity. The awkwardness returned two-fold. "Oh, how..nice of you, Mr. Finch. I..I will reimburse you, of course." She took the pre-offered bags clumsily. "I do have money..really."
"He knows that, silly." Taylor rolled her eyes.
"They are reusable." Finch thought small talk might put the girl at ease. "The bags. Earth friendly." Why she was so ill-at-ease, was anyone's guess. "Reimbursement is not required but a reason to explain the recent attempt on your life would be greatly appreciated."
"Reese has grilled us enough on that subject. We've told you all we know." Davidivitch's hostility was partially a protective reaction for her friend who was still pale, distracted and not herself. She blamed the only logical source.. "And just who are you and your little friend here?" she demanded. "We should go to the cops if what you say is happening..is happening. It's their job to handle things like this, isn't it?"
"Do you doubt someone is trying to harm your friend?" Finch could be direct as well.
Reese was curious to see how the battle would go, going to fetch more coffee, leaving his boss to do what Finch did best..intimidate people.
"We certainly have no hold over you, Ms. Davidivitch. You are welcome to leave if you truly believe us to be unscrupulous opportunists 'out to', in some unbeknownst way, deceive you." He spoke in that soft, inoffensive tone, in unhurried, measured sentences.
Reese blew on his coffee, remaining silent, taking no sides. It was important both women realize the danger existed.
Davidivitch had spent the night comforting her friend, so she knew something terrible had gone down. Cordelia looked to her for guidance even now. The kid was clearly shook up. Not to dismiss the marks on her body, the bruising, the red, unsightly scratches about her throat which were tangible proof something bad was in the wind.
"..The police are involved." Harold changed tactics, giving the woman time to calm her temperament, not to mention, a gracious way out. "Not only Detective Fusco, whom you have met but later today, Detective Carter will be standing watch while Mr. Reese and myself delve a little deeper into the particulars of the case."
Taylor was still undecided, clearly.
"Our methods net faster results." Harold made their case. "Mr. Reese is a very capable individual. The fact we are not constrained by official rules and regulations, as the police, allow us to operate in ways more efficiently productive for..people like you and ."
"People like 'us'." Taylor repeated, cocking her head to one side. "Just how many of 'us' are out here floating around? It's your job to save our asses from the bad guys? What do YOU get out of it all?"
"The realization that good people aren't harmed by.." Harold's steady gaze was an unflinching one, holding Taylor's willfully. "..The 'bad guy's, and also." He considered the question overly long. "We like to think we're doing something right and decent for those who find themselves..overwhelmed by life's unexpected twists and turns."
"Altruistic to a fault, hum?"
"Such people exist, Madame." Harold's patience was waning. "Perhaps not in the circles in which you frequent. Think of me as a bored, rich guy with too much time on his hands." He smiled pleasantly to soften the insult. "But, again..as I said. If it's the police you wish, Mr. Reese will drive you to the nearest precinct." He glanced at Cordelia Fellows. "Free of charge, of course."
Reese was consulted. "You're the boss."
"..Mr. Finch." Cordelia stepped forward timidly, addressing the man hesitantly. "..Davy is just looking out for me. She doesn't mean any..thing."
"Don't I?" the woman chafed a tad, her pride stung by what she considered Finch's superior attitude.
Cordelia laid a shaky hand on the other woman's arm, her green eyes beseeching Taylor. "..They are trying to help us."
"We don't KNOW these guys, Delia!" Taylor snapped the obvious.
"I know Mr. Reese risked his own life last night and..he didn't have to do that, Taylor." Cordelia turned back to Finch. "Mr. Finch, I don't know what's happening but..I'm scared..really..REALLY scared. Can you make this all stop?"
"Yes." Finch's tone and manner softened somewhat. "We certainly can, Ms. Fellows..absolutely. We have no ulterior motives, I assure you. Please feel free to check on Detective Fusco and Carter's credentials." He motioned to the phone on the bar. "You are safe with Mr. Reese and eventually we will figure out what is wrong with this scenario and you will have your lives back. I promise you." He inclined his head minutely. "You have my word."
"Which you can take to the bank, ladies..any bank." Reese shifted a warning glance. "And you, trouble maker..draw in your claws..I like you better all soft and sassy."
Finch lifted a brow but allowed his colleague to work his magic with the other woman who already seemed in a better mood suddenly, smiling coyly at Reese.
"Where's my coffee, Tall Guy?" Taylor asked, going to search in the newly arrived bags. "any Colombian in her..OHH!" she produced the canister. "There IS a god." She sought out the Sunbeam brewmaster , pouring Reese's thick, dark liquid into a cup, for that is all there was left. "Eww..how can you drink that stuff. It looks like mud warmed over."
Cordelia seemed settle a little as well, but she still had difficulty meeting Finch's direct gaze. "..You both are very kind, I'm..not sure we can ever repay you for.." she seemed lost on how to finish such a sentence. She lifted troubled eyes. "This is insane, Mr. Reese..why is someone..why did that man.."
Reese put his cup aside, his hand covering her cold one. "Stop worrying now. I've got it covered." He lowered his head, bending, for he was very much taller than she and her long hair had fallen forward, obscuring her face. She fiddled nervously with her graduation ring. He fished for a smile, grey/blue eyes connecting with emerald ones. "Ok?"
Cordelia smiled wistfully. "I trust you, Mr. Reese."
"Yeah,well, that sweet talk won't work on me, Oh, Caped Crusader." Taylor too,had watched the scene unfold, waiting now, for her coffee to brew, leaning her shapely form against the kitchen counter top, arms folded, her expression, wry. "Take something a lot stronger.."
"Like Colombian coffee?" Reese never backed down from a challenge.
"Scotch." Davidvitch corrected evenly. "But coffee will do in a pinch." She went to secure a cup of the aromatic blend, too tempting to ignore. She gave Finch a look on her way to the cupboard.
"..You are the 'other man'." Cordelia tried a smile bringing Harold back from his mental sparring with Davidivitch. He could feel the younger woman's stare throughout the entire exchange between Reese and her friend.
"Excuse me?" Harold was momentarily lost.
"On the other end of the cell." She motioned to John Reese, clearly attempting to revise the first impression she gave. "Mr. Reese referred to you a few times.. 'Finch'." She smiled again, softly. "It's kinda weird, what you two do, I mean. Nice." She corrected hastily. "..Amazing, actually but.." she let it go as Finch didn't seem disposed to pursue the subject any further. "Do you..work for the government?"
"No." Finch sat the record straight on that one quickly enough. "And you, Ms. Fellows..what is it YOU 'do'?" Something in his tone told her he already knew and was not overly impressed.
Reese noted how efficiently Harold turned the tables on the young girl, for he knew Finch was well aware of almost every aspect of the woman's life by now.
"Oh, I.." Cordelia was suddenly embarrassed to say. "I.. write a little, Mr. Finch but the things which interest people today could, in no way, pass for true literature, believe me."
"I do." Finch..did. "John?" he motioned the other man over. "If you will excuse us for a moment, Ms. Fellows?"
"Don't let us keep you." Taylor had heard the exchange, upset for Cordelia. "You know? She probably has made more money in her short existence than you will ever see, buddy. Don't look down your nose at.."
"No, Davy." Cordelia laughed self-consciously. "He didn't mean that.." she dismissed airily. "Let's face it. I am not Tolstoy..heck, I'm not even Jackie Collins..by no means. Reality check here." She chuckled again to ease the growing tension. "Is that coffee for everyone or are you going to horde it all for yourself."
Reese followed his employer dutifully with a soft, "Ladies." Finch made for the living room front windows, a safe enough distance to speak without being overheard. Once out of earshot, he offered an opinion. "Little hard on them, weren't you?"
Finch simply looked at him then..continued their trek.
Cordelia crossed, coming around the bar area slowly, her eyes on the two men.
"That guy chaps my hide." Taylor shook her head, obviously more than tiffed. "Who does he think he.."
"That's HIM!" Cordelia whispered urgently, checking on the whereabouts of the men.
Taylor was stunned. "Him? The guy who tried to…I thought you said he was dead.."
"No..not HIM…" Cordelia was frustrated. "In my book..that's him. Right down to the limp. It's like someone extracted him from my brain and just.."
Taylor held up a restrictive hand. "Wait, slow it down." She advised. "Take a breath." She waited for Cordelia to calm a little. "The guy in your book.." she checked on Finch. He and Reese were deep within some secretive tete-a-tete. "HE'S the geek? That's how you pictured him?" she scoffed. "No way! No freakin way. He's tall with a beard and.."
"I never said anything about a beard! And I've said he is average height." Cordelia was agast. "Did you even READ the.."
"Well..the reader sees what they want to see. And that guy?" Taylor was certain. "Is NOT your main character. I refuse to allow it."
"You don't GET it." Cordelia seemed frantic she should. "It IS him. I..I must have seen him somewhere and..my subconscious transferred the image to.." she shook her head, dumbfounded. "That's impossible. I've never seen him before in my life and yet..I even imagined the ..the..old-fashioned side burns." The woman was distraught, her tone conveying the stress she was under. "The glasses..who do you know today that wears those things? I tell you, Davy..I swear to GOD.. THAT..is exactly who I had in mind for Garrison Starling."
"A stupid name anyway."
"I like it." Cordelia pouted, then gasped a little mew. "STOP looking at him!" she hissed anxiously. She turned completely around, her back to Reese and Finch. "They will know we are speaking about them."
Finch scowled, sensing he was the topic of conversation between the two females. Fellows tried not to let on but the other one..she stared a hold through him and didn't care who noted the fact.
"Oh, stop freaking." Taylor advised calmly. "It's nothing more than a coincidence. You're just shaken from last night. You're a writer, it's only natural your mind would create.."
"You know I know my characters inside and out..you KNOW I do!" Cordelia shook her long hair. "The vest..the weird tie..it's like he's come to life and is standing right before my very eyes! This is not right, Taylor! Something is very wrong here. You even said, last night..how you thought you knew Mr. Reese from somewhere else too..remember?" She reasoned where no reason existed. "You said that and I know this other guy. That can't be a coincidence..can it?"
"I remembered where I saw Reese." Taylor sighed heavily. "There is nothing supernatural or uncanny involved here. He just looks like someone, that's all."
"Who?" Cordelia demanded. "You're just saying that to shut me .."
"No, I am not." Taylor denied. "I just don't want to say it because..it's stupid, that's all."
"..What?" Cordelia settled, sensing the other woman was telling the truth. She could always tell, after all. "Who does he resemble..tell me."
"You better not laugh." Taylor set her 'you better not laugh' face.
"I won't." Cordelia took offense. "Who?"
Taylor grimaced, hesitating, then shot Reese a very old-fashioned look. "…He's the Nazi guy in Schindler's List."
Cordelia processed. "…Ralph Fiennes?"
"Whatever." Taylor wasn't into actor's names. She wasn't really into show people at all..especially those that came off Broadway. "Not so much the 'English Patient' Fiennes.." she conceded. " I think Reese is darker than that."
"You're crazy." Cordelia sighed. "You know that?"
"Oh, this coming from the person that thinks her characters are coming to life and jumping off the page."
Cordelia had the grace to be bothered. "When you..put it like that." She muttered.
Taylor shook the entire conversation. "Here..have some coffee..you'll feel more like yourself after a hot shower and some food." She was certain. "Coffee is manna from the Gods, don't be disrespectful."
Fellows nodded good-naturedly. "I guess stress can make you do silly things. Maybe you're right. Maybe all I need is a good night's rest."
"And lots of valium."
Cordelia chuckled wistfully. "Thank god for prescription drugs, where would this country be without them."
"In the tank, girl..in the tank."
Finch was relieved to see the women disappear into the kitchen area. "..Why does that woman continuously stare at me?" he demanded an explanation. "Doesn't she realize how very rude that is?"
"Yeah, something's up with that." Reese didn't deny the accusation, having checked on the women as well. "You threw her..when she first saw you. Do you know her from somewhere?"
"We hardly move in the same circles."
"A party, maybe..a fundraiser?" Reese's sense of humor came to the fore. "A book signing?" he asked all too innocently.
"Very amusing, Mr. Reese." Finch was not amused, contrary to his statement. "I have never even skimmed one of those vile romance adventures, let alone, read one."
"Not even page 146 of the 'Highland Slut?'?" Reese seemed acutely disappointed. "Don't know what you're missing, Finch."
The man rubbed his eyes wearily. "I did not get much rest last night. While you are taxing most days, this particular one, I find you singularly irritating, Mr. Reese, if I may say so." He lifted a cool stare.
"It's still a free country." Reese shrugged, pleased he had gotten a rise out of the other man. So few could ruffle that unflappable 'cool' Finch usually exuded, after all.
"Detective Carter was able to retrieve the contents of Ms. Fellows juvenile file." Harold turned to business, glancing out the huge windows by which they stood, his eyes following the path of an elderly woman walking her dog down the opposite side of the street. "Sadly, it was not as I first imagined..several accounts of domestic violence. Apparently Ms. Fellow's father abused her mother. The child was remanded to the Foster System from a very early age. Her mother was subsequently killed in a murderous rage..by her father, of course..which is the way of most such cases, as you know. Ms. Fellows was twelve at the time. And these women want protection from..the police."
Reese sought out the woman. She sat, conversing with her friend, sipping coffee and nibbling on a powdered donut.
"The System lost track of her around the age of fourteen..she surfaced at age twenty-one, becoming the youngest novelist to have a book appear on the New York Times best seller list. A dubious honor but still." Finch spared Cordelia a glance. "I traced her credentials, none of which can be verified from the actual annuals of the colleges listed."
"She lied about her schooling?" Reese was amused and a little intrigued. "Surely someone would have called such a thing into question by now."
"Good PR for an academic society would mean added revue for the school's enrollment fund." Finch shrugged. "To have produced a best selling author is a rather prestigious coup..besides, records get lost in transfer if one is creative enough."
"Who really checks into that stuff anyway, except…" Reese's blue eyes slowly shifted to..
"It's my job, Mr. Reese." Finch reminded peevishly. "I suggest you be about your's. One more thing..I sent Detective Carter to investigate our dead body in Ms. Fellow's apartment. Seems, although there was a sign of a struggle..no corpse was on-hand when our diligent police officers showed."
"A clean-up..that was quick." Reese lifted impressed brows. "We're dealing with professionals here. Which means I must revise my approach and..game plan."
Finch nodded gravely. "Indeed." He moved slightly, signifying the 'meeting' was at an end. "..I have another avenue to explore. Ms. Davidivitch mentioned she had sent the treatment for the novel up the proverbial food chain. I'm curious to see just whom was privy to those documents and how they might be connected to our old antagonist..the Consortium connected to my Machine."
"Could be something less sinister than the NSA...simple greed..avarice." Reese didn't hold out much hope for that though.
"I rather hope your hypothesis is correct but we cannot afford to leave any stone unturned." Finch took a moment to really look at their current Person Of Interest. "She's very young, isn't she..case in point..her choice of nightwear." Finch once again read the cryptic message on Cordelia's teeshirt.
"My 'voices' share the same sentiments..only now.." Reese stated quietly. "I rarely 'shoot' to kill these days."
Harold nodded slowly. "I'm glad to hear it,..John." For the first time in weeks..Harold felt like his old self for a brief moment. "I truly am." He moved off, securing his coat and gloves. Reese watched him exit the heavy entrance doors.