The rains drove the packs of tourists normally clogging the walkways inside, and Parker luxuriated in the sheer joy of being able to sit under the awning of a café’s patio and pass the time. The coffee wasn’t too bad, nearly inky enough to be considered Middle Eastern, but the bread he’d been served was dry. Sending it back seemed like too much of an effort, but he was hungry, and the loaf seemed to be the least offensive thing on the menu.
His employer began to ramp up, and Parker set the phone down on the table, sliding back into the director’s chair he’d settled into. The man’s vitriolic rants were beginning to be tiresome, draining what little enthusiasm he’d mustered for the job, and after a long day of tramping through the lower end district of Chinatown, Parker’s mind was on much more pleasant thoughts.
There was a pause in the stream of noise coming out of his phone, and he picked it back up, murmuring for the man to wait. He motioned his waitress over and handed back the baguette, requesting one that wasn’t rock solid. Waiting for her to be out of earshot, he cradled the phone against his cheek.
“I am going to be blunt here, sir.” Parker kept his voice low, forcing the man to pay attention if he wanted to hear what was said. “I am not one of your sycophants, who jump and yip every time you bark. I am telling you what I am doing out of professional courtesy. Mitchell is difficult to track. He hasn’t been back to that dive since I’d tracked him there.”
“Damn it.” The man’s temper was still there, lurking beneath his taut words. If Parker hadn’t been certain he was on his last job for the man, he’d be stupid to think he’d survive another one. His employer hated being told no, especially from someone he thought he owned.
Shifting gears, Parker asked, “Where do you think he’s gone? Where would he go here?”
“He’s not gone to his parents’ house. I’d have heard about that. My stupid sister-in-law would be holding press conferences and shit.” There was a tapping coming across the line, either a finger or a pen striking a table. “Or to that piece of trash he used to run around with. As far as I know, he didn’t have anyone he was close to. Has he told anyone he’s Mitchell?”
“He hasn’t spoken to anyone about it as far as I can tell.” Parker sat his espresso down and smiled at the waitress, who’d returned with a fresh loaf of bread. Testing the crust, he sighed at its hardness. “How much did his doctor at Skywood tell you?”
“As far as they were concerned, his delusions were getting stronger.”
“So that means he was well on his way to recovering the bulk of his memories, then.” Returning to the espresso, Parker contemplated his next move. “I say we take a more aggressive stance. Perhaps something to flush him out.”
“What did you have in mind?” his employer grumbled through the line. “I was going to have you go to Los Angeles and see if that bitch who managed their group knows anything. She’s been a fucking tick on my side.”
“Something more direct,” Parker replied smoothly. “It’s time for Mitchell to lose someone he’s close to… someone he loves. That will drive him out into the open.”
“Well then….” The man’s oily voice smeared and crackled over the phone. “I know just the person you can kill.”
THE storm remained over them, hanging black and heavy enough to block out the stars. Below him, Chinatown stretched out on either side, a sea of han zi and neon. The rain wasn’t enough to thwart the more serious eaters. Small throngs of older Asians flurried in front of a seafood restaurant tucked between a sandwich shop and a jewelry discounter that had been going out of business for as long as Sionn could remember. Their chatter came up through the window he’d cracked open, a sparkling pop of Cantonese punching through the rumble of passing cars. His stomach gnawed on itself for a moment, but it seemed satisfied by a gulp of coffee as he finished off his cup.
The window seemed like a good place to rest his eyes. Actually, anywhere was good to stare at. Just so long as it wasn’t at the man he’d let into his loft and seemingly into his life.
Sionn didn’t want to look behind him. Not at the man sleeping on his couch, a boneless and erotic sprawl dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of sweats he’d borrowed from Sionn’s clean-clothes hamper. Certainly not at the bay beyond, the water he could see on a clear day now shrouded behind a blanket of fog.
The raindrops on his windows turned the streetlights into a bokeh fringe around the edges of the glass, and Sionn followed a heavy drape of water as it flowed down to the sash. There was too much to think about, and his stomach was sour from the gallon of coffee he’d drunk. Still, he poured himself another cup and went to stare out at a city halfway around the world from where he’d been born.
“You’re a fecking git, Murphy,” Sionn grumbled to himself. He’d forgotten to reboot the machine so the coffee was cold, but he took a drink anyway, needing what little jolt the brew could give him to keep him awake. “What’s going to happen when he goes back to being who he is? Where will you be then?”
No, he’d just get Damien back to his life and then walk away.