C21 Box Set

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

It took Dylan more than a few seconds to remember where he was—and why. Then he got out of bed, and was immediately tempted to get back in again. The room was chilly, the floor more so on his bare feet. After getting clean underwear from the chest of drawers, he put on socks, briefs, and his slacks. Given where he was, he wished he had jeans but he had gone straight to the bar from work last night—and from there to the cabin. Clothed enough to be decent, he carefully opened the bedroom door, wondering if he was the first or the last one up. The aroma of bacon told him someone had beaten him. Still, he walked quietly down to the bathroom, took care of business then washed his face, brushed his teeth, and went back to put on his shirt.

“You’re up,” Mars said when Dylan came into the living area. “Coffee’s made and breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.

Dylan poured a cup of coffee, then asked if there was anything he could do to help. Mars waved him off, saying he had it under control.

“Is Alastair still sleeping?”

“Nope. He’s been up for hours. Right now he’s down in the basement, finding out where things stand with you.”

“He’s still on the wanted list,” Alastair said, coming into the kitchen area from a doorway Dylan hadn’t realized existed. Unsurprising, since it was a panel which slid open at the far side of the fridge. To anyone who didn’t know it was there, it looked like a short section of wall between the kitchen and the rest of the room.

Dylan rubbed his temples. “And I probably will be for the rest of my life, if they don’t find me first.”

“I’m afraid so. There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” Alastair agreed. “So we’re going to have to see what we can do to change your appearance, for starters.”

Mars studied Dylan after turning the bacon. “At least you’re blond. Changing your hair color will be a snap. Have you ever worn contacts?”

“No,” Dylan told him.

“Well you will be, once we decide on an eye color for you.” Mars tapped his lips. “A mustache, maybe. No beard. They draw too much attention. Have you ever had a mustache?”

“Yes. It comes in more red than blond,” Dylan replied.

“Great. That’s a help.” Mars turned to Alastair. “Auburn, or brown with reddish highlights?”

“Definitely the latter. Auburn’s another attention grabber.”

Dylan listened to them discussing his transformation with a bit of excitement—and a lot more fear because doing it was necessary. “You can’t change the shape of my face, or my mouth.”

“No, but the mustache will help disguise it,” Mars told him. He went back to preparing breakfast and soon had bacon, eggs, and toast on plates, on the table.

While they ate, Dylan thought about what was happening. “What if I don’t want to join C21? It’s not really something I know anything about. I mean I’m not super spy material and never wanted to be, even when I was a kid. Hell, I never even dreamed of being a cop or a fireman.”

Mars glanced at him. “What did you want to be?”

“A vet, then I wanted to sell houses. That was when my parents moved to a bigger one. After that…” He frowned. “I went through a phase when I thought it would be cool to be an actor. That one lasted a while, until I got practical. I majored in business in college, with an emphasis on hospitality management.”

“That was definitely a right turn from acting,” Alastair commented.

“As I said, I got practical.”

“Did you ever actually do any acting?”

“Yep. In high school; and then some amateur theater while I was in college.”

“That will help,” Alastair said, finishing the last of his breakfast, then taking his dishes to the kitchen to wash and dry them.

“But…” Dylan protested.

Alastair turned to look at him. “Exactly what do you plan on doing now? You can hardly go back to work at the hotel. Not with your name in the news as the prime suspect in Mr. Samson’s murder. I doubt you could find a job anywhere in the city right now. Move somewhere else and get a job? Employers do ask for, and check, references. So do apartment house managers. Use your credit cards? The cops would be down on you like a ton of bricks. They’ll be monitoring your bank accounts, so withdrawing any money you’ve got there would be virtually impossible.”

Dylan buried his face in his hands. “I am so screwed.”

Mars patted his shoulder. “The wages of sin, my boy.”

“f**k. You!”

Mars laughed. “Finally, you’re showing some spunk. I like that. You’ll need it.”

“I am not planning on joining up, or whatever you call it.”

“At the moment, I’m sure you aren’t,” Alastair said, rejoining them. “You haven’t had time to consider all your options yet.”

“I think you pretty well laid them out for me.” Dylan’s tone dripped with sarcasm. Unfortunately, he knew Alastair was correct. He didn’t have many options other than crawling under the nearest rock. Or, he supposed, finding some sort of job that paid under the table. A construction worker I’m not, and I haven’t a clue what other occupation would pay that way.

“While you’re thinking everything over, I’ll go into the city and pick up your clothes and personal items,” Mars said. “Is there anything else at your place you can’t live without?”

Dylan considered his question, running over in his mind what was there. For some reason, he didn’t question the fact Mars was willing to do this. “My laptop, and there’s a couple of photos over my desk.” He smiled slightly. “Now if you had a moving van…”

“Sorry, just my bike, with saddlebags. I’ll need your keys.”

Dylan handed them over. “Oh, if there’s room, I’ve got a decent heavy jacket in the front hall closet. I have a feeling I might be needing it if I’m going to be up here for any length of time.”

“Got it.” Mars pocketed the keys, and left. A few moments later, Dylan heard the cycle coming around the cabin, then heading down the road.