Chapter 10: "I need a favour"

The pair arrived at a small square, surrounded by shabby flats and cramped streets, and Nickels stopped.

"Gotta go." he said. "Other jobs need done."

Patrick nodded. "Right. Dealing cocaine, I get it."

"Wha-"

"Keep your hat on, I wasn't being serious. Here." He tossed the kid a small pouch.

Nickels gave a quick look inside, and smiled the way he always did. "Seems 'bout enough. See ya around, boss."

"Pleasure's all mine." muttered the journalist as he walked off.

His cell phone beeped. Patrick took it out and realised it was a message from Fendler.

How's it going? We need you at the bureau ASAP.

He rolled his eyes. Of course, the detective had managed to get hold of his number. He ignored the message and didn't even bother to respond, slipping the phone back in his pocket. The FBI was going to have to wait, for he had other places to go, as usual.

***

The bus ride to the office was a pleasant one. Passengers were few at that time of the morning, so Patrick almost had the vehicle to himself.

It was early, and the first rays of sunshine were just starting to show themselves through the streets between the buildings. Goodness, the whole adventure with Bradbury had taken all night. Patrick used the time he had to drift off into a light sleep, only interrupted by the occasional bump in the road or a passing police siren.

The elevator doors to the office floor opened, and the first thing the journalist did was to get a coffee. He crossed the sea of cubicles until arriving at another space at the far side of the huge room. Unfortunately for him, Pliny was there too, serving himself a Nespresso.

"Walter." he nodded stiffly.

"Ah, Darren. And here was me thinking you had left for good. Such a pity, my morning was going so well..." The man pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose.

Patrick mimicked the gesture with imaginary glasses of his own. "Same here."

After he finished, he proceeded to his cubicle.

"Morning." said a familiar voice.

"Ah, Reece. I hoped I'd catch you here." Patrick clicked his fingers as if he had just remembered something.

"Really sir?" the fellow raised his eyebrows, spinning round in his wheeled chair.

"Yeah, I'll need you in just a minute. Don't... wander off."

Reece brushed off the fact that his senior had just treated him like a child, and was simply happy that his presence was needed. Patrick walked away, taking out his phone. He then dialled Elaine's number and waited for her to pick up. She did.

"What's up?" she asked. "Anything wrong, Pat?"

"No, no, of course not, it's just-"

"Oh, great. I was worried sick last night after you rushed off like that and didn't return!"

"Ah, yes, sorry about that. I had some work to do, a few meetings, that's all."

He heard her sigh at the other end of the line. "You could've at least sent me a message. I'm getting the feeling you had other reasons to be out other than just work, but I'll ignore it."

"Thanks? The reason I called is that I need your help. Can I?"

"Fire away. Make it quick, my break ends in two minutes."

"Great. You remember that guy at your house, the day it all... happened? When you called me."

Elaine snorted. "A guy? Jeez Pat, I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific. There were a lot of people there that day."

"Uh-huh. Well, he was tall, with grey hair, bald on top,... Alan's age, maybe? Oh yeah, and he had remarkably smooth skin. Ring any bells?"

"Yes, yes. That's Marcus."

"Marcus. Right. And he was...?"

"He worked with my husband. Still works in the same place, as a matter of fact. You know, in the OEE. Don't know any more than that, sorry."

"Great, thanks. What about a surname?"

"Oh, let me think. Umm, Wood. That's it, Marcus Wood."

Patrick almost exploded with joy. "Perfect. You're a great help, El."

"Wait, what's all this about? Is he in some sort of trouble?"

Her brother cringed slightly, and cleared his throat. "No, probably not, just checking something... for work."

A short silence. Then: "This again? Work?"

Patrick hung up. Oops.

Back at the cubicle, Reece was waiting.

"Hey." he said, his frizzy hair jiggling about.

"Hey. I need a favour: I need you to look up on somebody."

"Wait what?"

"Wood, Marcus Wood. Pull up anything you have on him; records, family, his job, salary... anything you can find. And then send it all to me - my second e-mail, not my work one. Got it?"

"Wait, wait. I can't do this, Patrick. It's not right, you know that!"

"Ugh, don't be a chicken. It won't take long, it's not hard. Here, use my computer, it's untraceable."

"Untraceable? What?"

"Well, to get in the places you need to get in. My computer is different. Hacked, almost. To put things simple, I have access to a whole variety of databases that I shouldn't really have access to."

"What sort of databases are we talking about here?" Reece shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "NSA? Black market? NYPD?"

Patrick snorted. "Something like that. Now, c'mon."

"How did you...? Why?"

"Oh, a while back I payed a friend to do it for me. Reece, this job involves having sources. But sometimes, your sources aren't enough. You need to see the real thing for yourself. The real proof of what you write about. Get me?"

Reece didn't answer, he just stared at his companion, overwhelmed, looking like a frightened child.

"I'll take that as a yes. Make it snappy, security's tight in those sort of sites. Ah, and don't you dare mention to this to any of your fellow colleagues, because if you do so, I will ensure your dismissal. But hey, if you do this, you just might get a promotion, I'll recommend you to Sunday for that programme you told me about the other day. Bye now."

And off he went. Patrick pressed the elevator button that would take him down to the ground floor. Maybe it was time to go back to the safe house, see his sister and perhaps catch some z's. However, when he stepped out of the double glass doors onto the street, he immediately spotted a black SUV parked in an unusual place, right in front of him.

"Darren." nodded Fendler in his direction.

Crap.

"Oh, will you ever just let me be?" the journalist groaned.

The detective was wearing a light grey suit today, and dark Aviators covered his eyes. Harry was beside him, all in black, leaning against the SUV.

Fendler lifted his palms. "I'll be honest: nope. Not for a while anyway, until the case is closed."

"Right. The case. What now?"

"Just some paperwork you need to fill in. The house, the fire, your belongings, blah blah blah. Oh, and we made you an appointment with a sketch artist, let's see if we can identify this dude. I considered the courtesy of bringing the work to you, instead of at the bureau, but then I thought, why bother?"

Patrick grinned stupidly. "Why bother indeed."

"Let's go, you're coming with us." piped up Harry, scratching his head and opening the car door.

"Alright, alright. Like your glasses by the way, although..." a nod towards a bodyguard at the wheel "James Bond here's ones are better. They're more... in style."

While Fendler took the passenger seat, Patrick clambered in the back, and Harry got in beside him.

"Comfy, eh?" he nodded as they drove off.

No-one bothered to answer.

***

The door buzzed.

"Hi, Pat." said Elaine as he entered.

"Hello."

"What's the matter? You look... wiped out." His sister had a concerned look on her face.

"Oh, I'm just tired, that's all."

Elaine snorted. "Of course you are, you've been out all night. Any chance of you telling me what it was all about?"

Patrick dropped his briefcase on the sofa. "Firstly, work." His sister rolled her eyes, but he ignored her. "And secondly, the feds again."

"Again, huh?" She leaned against the wall.

"Yep. I had to meet with a sketch artist, identify the plumber-"

"Assassin."

"Right. And some paperwork, apparently. More stuff about the house, etc."

"The house? I'm the legal the owner, though. Well, was."

"Don't look at me, I haven't a clue. Listen, I'm heading upstairs. If I'm not up in an hour, wake me. The last thing I need is insomnia."

"Gotcha."

Patrick climbed the spiralling stairs and went to his room. Although as soon as he began to take his shoes off, his cell phone rang.

"Who's this?"

"Reece."

The journalist sat up straight. "Oh? What have you got for me?"

"Well, what you asked for. Marcus Wood. I researched the guy, but I didn't find all that much."

"What?!"

"Look, what you need to know is that he works in the OEE-"

"Knew that already."

"Okay. He's the boss, but only since the toll of recent events. A month at most. So yeah, a pretty senior dude."

"Interesting. He took Alan's place. Does make sense, though, they were best buddies, or at least that's the way my sister put it."

"Huh. He has, of course, no visible criminal record."

"No surprise there. Even if he had, he has the money and contacts to wipe his slate clean. What else?"

"A divorced wife, Helena, and one kid aged 21. Jack."

"Great stuff. All I need now is an appointment."

"Agh."

A pause. "What?"

"An appointment, huh?"

"Yeah, what's the problem?" asked Patrick slowly.

"The OEE headquarters are in DC."

The older journalist grimaced. "Not a problem. I'll take a day off work."

"You've been taking a lot of those recently. Sure Sunday will be up to it?"

"Good point. Still, I gotta. I'll find a way to make up for it, I always do."

"Whatever. Do you want me to make an appointment for you, or...?" Reece left the question floating through the line.

"Nah, I'll handle it, thanks. But I will be recommending a pay rise for you, my friend."

"Wow, that's the nicest thing you've ever done for me."

Patrick frowned. "Why did you have to ruin the moment?"

"I did, didn't I? Shoot."

"Forget it. See ya."

"Wait. Umm, can I ask what this is all about? You didn't really explain earlier."

A pause. "No, I can't."

"Agh. It was worth a shot, though."

"It was indeed." said Patrick, and hung up.

He was getting to the bottom of this. Bit by bit, but he was.

Man, he was tired.