“Oh! It’s… yeah… it’s uh-“
“Look, I’m gonna be out for the night so,“
“I bet you will.” I involuntarily mumble under my breath.
“I’m sorry?”
“I was… talking to Jess. Sorry ‘bout that. You were saying?”
“… Uh, yes… I’m gonna be busy for the rest of the night, so if you need anything, contact Agent Smith.”
“Yep. Yeah. No problem.” I scratch my head and throw my hands up like an aggressive question when I see Kinzi’s judging eyes following me.
“Alright. Good night.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
Oh, man. What the hell am I gonna do? The man's totally a double agent. Holy shit. Does that make me a double agent because I’m working for one?
“What do you think, Kinzi?” She doesn’t answer, but I can see she disagrees with my mental assumption. (I’m convinced dogs can read minds. I just haven’t proved it yet.)
An hour later,I’m 3 glasses in on Jess’s red wine, and she’s still not home. I’ve called her cell multiple times, but she hasn’t even texted me back. It’s getting late, and I’m beginning to feel depleted of all energy, so I decide to give it one last go. It rings three times then stops.
“Hello?” I squint at the bright screen in the dark to see the seconds are counting on the call time under her name.
“Jess?”
“Who’s this?” A British man with an aggressive tenor to his voice answers the phone, and I know immediately who it is.
“Vincenzo?”
“What? I’m Vincenzo. Who are you?”
“Oh. I’m Jack Beys. Where’s Jess?”
“Jessica is in the hospital. What do you want?”
“What happened?”
“None of your business.”
“Look, man-“ the line beeps three times, and the call ends. Am I supposed to call back? My partner is in the hospital, so I guess I should report that to my boss. But then again, that said boss is in cahoots with the Russians… Hm. This is more complicated than trying to get Jess to do her job.
I pass out thinking about what to do, and when I wake up, my phone has six missed calls from an unknown number. I am not a morning person. In fact, if I could sleep in until 2 p.m. every day, I would. Unfortunately, in my line of work, I’m pretty much on call all the time, but I still want to take a shower before I tend to whatever crazy person called me at 4 a.m.
I force my body up off the couch, lumber across the apartment to the bathroom, flick on the lights, and take a second to look at myself in the mirror. My hair is going in every direction, but then again, when isn't it? I rub my tired eyes before turning on the water to the hottest setting. I slip off my clothes, seconds away from leaping in the bath, when I get another call from the same unknown number.
Ugh.
“Yes?” I answer begrudgingly.
“Twat? I apologize, Jack?” I roll my eyes. It’s Vince.
“Whadda you want, bro?”
“I need your help.”
“Calling me a twat’s probably not a very smooth start.” I purse my lips and turn off the water, so I can hear what he wants.