"The Coffee House Spy" 3

Emily locked her bedroom door, threw off her stained clothes and grabbed a pair of jeans and a yellow cotton top from her closet as she questioned her sanity in entertaining that stranger in her home.

Why was she being hospitable to him? And why weren’t her caution centers on higher alert? His disappearing act alone told her he had to be involved in something, why else would he duck out and leave his dog behind at the coffee house?

Any good spy thriller would caution her to look around corners for those lurking shadows watching him…that might now be watching her.

Emily felt uneasy with where her thoughts were taking her and she couldn’t shake them as she stepped from the bedroom and heard the rugged snores coming from Sir Harry asleep on her couch.

She walked into the kitchen to find Brent sitting at the counter thumbing through the plumbing manuscript. The kettle on the stove began to whistle and she walked over and shut off the burner.

“I thought you wanted more tea?”

“No, I think I’ve had my fill of tea,” she shrugged looking down at her clean top, “So…are you here to take Sir Harry home, though I’m pretty sure he won’t appreciate going down the fire escape with you.”

“Oh he’d protest loudly and I’d end up carrying him,” Brent agreed turning twinkling eyes and a teasing grin on her.

His attempt to use charm only upped her suspicion.

“What’s your aversion to doorbells and stairs?”

He chuckled.

I’ve no aversion to them.”

“Then why didn’t you use them?”

“The fire escape seemed the quickest path.”

“Said no one ever and, unless you’re a pigeon, no one is agreeing with you.”

He chuckled again but offered no rebuttal.

“Fine, don't agree, but more of a concern to me is how you found where I live.”

“That was simple; I got your phone number from the café owner and did a reverse look up.”

“How resourceful of you,” she muttered, not quite believing him.

 “Emily,” he said with a sincere smile, “Thank you for taking Sir Harry home with you. It’s obvious he’s comfortable with you and your home.”

“Obviously,” she agreed as they both could hear Sir Harry’s affirmative snoring.

“Which is why I was hoping you’d let me leave him with you for awhile.”

“What? Leave him with me…why?”

“I travel, for business, and I can’t take him with me. Since my usual dog walker, who’s also my dog sitter, told me today they have the flu, I have no one to leave Sir Harry with.”

“Your dog sitter has the flu?”

He nodded. “Would you consider keeping him here?”

“I don’t have a pet lease but even if I could get around that, how long are we talking?” She asked him even as she scolded herself for contemplating his request.

“A week or two, but I’d pay you for dog sitting and for all his needed supplies.”

Red flags lit up her caution center and were pinging like a pin ball game. No matter how amicable he acted, she had to be uneasy with his request. There were too many unanswered questions for her to willingly continue to interact with him, or his friendly dog.

She folded her arms and gave him a probing stare. “It might help my decision if you’d tell me the truth. Why did you leave the coffee house the way you did?”

Brent shifted uncomfortably but before he could compose a believable response, Harry yawned and the sound was loud enough to distract her; it was like a mooing cow.

“What was that?” Emily stood up and turned toward the living room.

“That’s Harry; he’s awake and I can bet you he’ll be looking for something to eat.”

Sure enough, the large brown Labrador trotted into the kitchen and licked Emily’s jean covered leg as he passed her and headed directly over to the refrigerator; it was as if he had an internal compass for where the food was.

Harry bumped his nose twice on the door signaling he wanted to be fed.

“If I open that door he’s going to be very disappointed;” she told Brent, “I was going to order a pizza this afternoon.”

“No worry; I’ll run out and grab a pizza and get you some supplies for Harry too.”

Before she could protest that she hadn’t agreed to keep him, Brent was up and out that window, and already gone by the time she stood up. 

Emily walked to the open window and looked out but she didn’t see him walking down one of the other four fire escapes below hers and she didn’t see him down on the street either. 

Where the heck had he gone? Up to the roof?

She looked up at the stairway above hers that led to the roof and shook her head.

Was he a magician too? How had he vanished so quickly?

It was another mystery to ponder as she waited for him to return.

 

Brent slid into the fourth floor apartment window he’d been told would be left open but when he unexpectedly bumped into a person standing just inside, his reflexive motion was to put them in a choke hold.

Luckily, the feminine voice stopped his movement in time.

“Hold on; it’s just me!”

“Stacy, I could have hurt you.”

“And I could have hurt you,” she challenged her partner with a confident stare.

Brent chuckled as he conceded.

“Yes, you could have.”

Stacy nodded, satisfied with his concession and walked away from the window as she brought him up to date with what had been accomplished.

“I got you the lease for three months and your new moniker is Peter Perocino.”

“P.P. really Stacy? Is this because of your last cover?”

“And,” she continued without giving his question a thought,” You’ll be acting the recluse for this one.”

“Oh come on; I hate that fat suit.”

“It’s not a fat suit; it’s just a beer belly and fat butt pants,” she stated in a matter-of fact tone but then broke into a grin, “Besides, you wear it so well.”

“Thanks a lot,” Brent snorted and looked around the empty apartment.

“The furniture should arrive this afternoon and the landlord believes I’m your sister, Heather, so I’ll be here to set it up. You’re not expected to arrive until very late tonight.”

“But that only gives me this afternoon to convince her to help us, without her becoming any more suspicious.”

“Piece of cake for you.”

Stacy’s opinion of his prowess was evident in her tone but Brent grimaced and shook his head.

“She’s different Stacy; she’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Lose the conscience,” Stacy warned as she threw a leather wallet at him.

He caught it in mid air.

“That’s your new identity for the next three months, or less. Depends on your finesse,” she chuckled.

“I don’t want to involve her beyond dog sitting, got it?”

Stacy walked across the room and opened the apartment door before she turned and gave him her parting counsel.

“Predictability is not in our job description so…good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled to the already closed door.

The distaste he felt at involving an innocent didn’t go away. Yes, he knew the risk to anyone near them but she'd been entangled in this inadvertently, and he was determined to keep her out of danger.

Brent took out his cell phone and called the local Pizza restaurant and placed the order he’d promised her. Then he picked up the suitcase Stacy had left for him and took it into the bathroom.

He looked inside and groaned with disgust. 

He knew this was Stacy’s way of getting even for the octogenarian disguise she’d had to use in their last job but that disguise had worked for her. No one suspected the decrepit old lady in the wheel chair was capable of cutting a priceless painting out of its frame and hiding it in the lining of her wheel chair’s seat seconds before anyone knew it was missing.

He pulled the bucket hat out of the bag along with the god awful, thick lensed, glasses and the irritating, scruffy patches of hair that he’d have to paste on his face for a sickly looking beard. He should have had a say in which character he’d play but it was too late now to change it.

He put on the disguise but refused to put on the fat padding; he’d put that humiliation off for a long as he could.

Brent swung back out the window and seeing there was no one on the street at the moment, he raced down the four levels of fire escapes and on the last landing he jumped the twenty feet down to the street below.

After he’d landed on the sidewalk, like a cat, his demeanor turned inward and he became the recluse.

His shoulders slumped forward and he shuffled his feet indifferently on the pavement as he made his way to the nearby supermarket to buy Sir Harry’s required provisions.

 

The young checkout clerk eyed the stranger as he rang up his items.

“Is that all sir?”

The man nodded, not saying a word.

“That’ll be one hundred and seventy-three.”

The man took out his wallet and counted out the bills then handed it to the clerk and broke his silence.

“I need all of this delivered; can you do that?” he asked the clerk showing him an additional bill of one hundred.

The young clerk’s eyes lit up.

“Sure; my shift ends in ten minutes what’s the address?”

The shuffling footed man left the supermarket and walked to the local pizza restaurant where he picked up his order. He continued back down the street, garnering no interest what so ever.

 

Brent walked up the steps of Emily’s apartment house and took out the wallet Stacy had given him earlier. He flipped it open to take out the two keys tucked behind the fake driver license. One key opened the front door and the other the apartment door.

“I guess good old PP is getting home early,” he scoffed as he shifted the pizza boxes to the side in order to put the key in the front door.

He walked up the flights of stairs carrying the piping hot pizza grateful he hadn’t run into any neighbors on his way up to the fourth floor apartment. Once inside, he changed back to his own clothes, tossed the disguise into the bag and hid it in the back of the closet before picking up the boxes of pizza again and climbing out the window.

 

Emily shook her head at him through the glass.

“Will you ever just use the stairs?”

He smiled but didn’t offer an answer as she opened the window.

The smell of the pizza made her aware of her appetite and Sir Harry was whipping his tail into a small tornado letting them know he was beyond ready for a slice of that pizza.

The lurking shadow Emily had theorized and Brent knew was out there, was moving closer.