Chapter 6: Low Profile, Part 1
1070 Words
"Go ahead," I replied, leaning back in the seat. "Have your fun."
Rick was laughing so hard he was crying. "Oh, thanks, I needed that!" he said, now dabbing at his eyes. He knew how much I hated small towns. Boring. Not enough action. But if we were trying to protect someone, that's the best place to be. In a small town, you can hide in the open and no one will notice a thing. Cooperstown was in upstate New York and as small as small town gets.
"Okay," I said, having had enough. "You've had your fun."
A second later, Rick was still trying to suppress a smile.
"If you were anyone else ..."
"Yeah, yeah ..." Rick replied. "You'd miss me too much."
"Yeah, like a hole in the head," I mumbled, then changed the subject. "What's his name?"
"Who?" Rick was still dabbing at his eye, trying to collect himself.
I punched him in the arm.
"Okay, okay! I surrender!" Rick was still smiling, but managed to pull himself together.
"The kid's!" I said, trying to get Rick to focus, which sometimes wasn't easy. "The one we're supposed to protect. Abbott's son?"
Rick was suddenly all business. "Zachary Davis."
My eyebrows pulled together. "Why Davis?"
"He's using his mother's last name for protection," Rick replied.
"Does he know?" I asked, trying to put the pieces together. Outside the window, the exit signs passed us like neon beacons under the streetlamps lining the expressway.
Rick shook his head. "I'm not sure. Probably. Hell, for all we know, Davis might be Abbott's real name."
I nodded in agreement. It was common for CIA operatives to use aliases. "What else?"
"What do you want to know?" Rick countered.
"The usual," I replied, inhaling deeply. "Where does he go to school? What kind of friends does he have? What does he look like? You know."
Rick drew in a sigh. "Well, he's a senior at Cooperstown Central High, on the football team, and is a good student."
"This is all coming from Abbott?"
"Yes."
I nodded. Just because Dr. Abbott said it doesn't make it true. "What about his friends?"
"Not quite sure," Rick said, looking at the road. "I haven't met him yet."
I nodded.
"Do you have a file on him?" I asked, still turned sideways in the passenger seat.
"You know I do," Rick replied, then quickly flipped open a secret compartment under the dashboard. In it, a manila file folder and a Kimber Solo 9 mm handgun rested. I smiled. "Some things never change."
Rick laughed. "Hey, that's my baby."
"I thought I was!"
"No, you're my daughter. Don't forget that," Rick said, joking.
"Okay, Dad," I replied, sounding like a typical teenager. "I guess I should start practicing."
Rick laughed, averting his eyes back to the road.
I opened the file and, even though it was dark, I could read the paperwork perfectly. On the top was his birth certificate. Hummm ... born in Virginia Beach, Virginia, eighteen years old ... the usual. There was a personality profile. Let's see ... he's a good student, honor roll, plays football, baseball, and soccer, on the varsity team. Okay, so he's a jock. When I moved the papers, a picture of a boy-actually, a young man-was looking at the camera with a casual half smile. A beautiful smile, if I might add. Humm ... I picked up the photo to get a better look. At least, that's what I told myself. The first thing that struck me about him was his eyes. They were almond shaped azure blue that had a depth to them, uncommon for a boy his age. His eyes peered out from behind sun-streaked blonde hair, with bangs that fell lazily over one eye, but was cropped short on the back and sides. His neck was strong and fell to broad shoulders with tanned skin. Not bad. I closed the folder.
Rick smirked at me from the corner of his eye. Obviously, he was watching me.
"What?" I feigned innocence.
Rick's smile broadened as he averted his eyes back to the road. "Nothing, nothing at all," he said, then smiled, catching glimpses of me from the corner of his eye.
"Let's stop and stretch for a bit," I said. Anything to divert the attention away from me. I really didn't need the exercise, but it would be good to get out for a bit.
"Okay," Rick relented, taking the next exit. "We need gas, anyway."
Rick pulled into the first gas station and up to the nearest pump and turned off the ignition.
"I've got this," I said as I walked toward the convenience store. It wasn't a good idea to use credit cards or ATM cards that could be traced.
"Be careful," Rick called sarcastically over his shoulder, smiling.
Without looking back, I flashed him the bird over my head. I heard his contagious laughter as I walked into the store. Inside, I walked straight to the soda cooler. My throat was burning a bit, but not enough for blood. But there was something about Mountain Dew that I had a weakness for. Cool air rushed toward me as I opened the glass door and grabbed one out of the cooler, then headed for the register.
A frail, kindly old man with thinning grey hair stood behind the counter. He was not very tall and not very lean. He sported prominent creases around his eyes, probably from laughing throughout his life. This man appeared to have lived a happy life. Over the last 200 some years, I became good at reading people. Other things I was good at was reading emotions and mind control, but the later I used sparingly.
I threw a pack of Juicy Fruit gum on the counter along with the Mountain Dew.
"You doing okay today, miss?" the nice old man asked, ringing up my purchases.
"Yes, sir," I answer politely, making small talk. He seemed like a nice enough old man. "If the weather just holds out. We have a long drive ahead of us." Actually, I didn't know how far we were going and the weather wouldn't have been a deterrent, but it was something to say. No use in not being polite.
He patted my hand that was resting on the counter. "I'm sure it will." If he only knew what he had just done. I smiled.
- Writer
