Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

Felicity pulled Morgan off the bus before he had time to get comfortable, and walked him down to Seventy-ninth Street and the Museum of Natural History. They wandered the dinosaur halls for a while, followed by a visit to the Rose Center, which looks like a gigantic blue marble encased in a Lucite cube. They got comfortable inside the darkened sphere and sat through the show in the Planetarium. After a short bus ride from Central Park West to Central Park South she lunched him at Trader Vic’s in the Plaza. Morgan glanced around at the Pacific island decor while he sipped from a syrupy, colorful, rum-based drink whose name he had already forgotten. Paper lanterns hung from the bamboo and woven rush ceiling.

“So, it’s not too much?” Felicity asked, picking up her club sandwich, prodding a bacon strip back under the bread.

“No, it’s kind of cool,” Morgan said. “Even though that totem pole in the corner is Polynesian, not Japanese. You picked a good one. And I’ve got to admit I dug the museum too.”

Felicity nodded. “Yes. At first I thought I might overawe you with the planetarium, but you sure showed me. Do you know all the constellations?”

“I’ve spent a lot of nights under the stars. Hey, here’s a nice surprise,” he added as a slice of cheesecake arrived. It was the dense, golden-topped kind only found in New York, despite what restaurants in other cities advertise. “You’re just full of good surprises.”

“I’m thinking maybe I can pop another one,” Felicity said. “A museum uptown you’re sure to be liking.”

Preferring trains to buses, Morgan insisted they take the subway to their next destination. They walked down the steps into the tunnel on Eighth Avenue and took the fabled A train as far as 190th Street. That still left them a short bus ride up to Fort Tyron Park and The Cloisters. Just approaching the building cast Morgan back into medieval times. He gazed at the square tower ahead, taking in the four quadrangles, the nearest topped by a vaulted passageway. A few seconds passed before he noticed Felicity’s stare.

“I knew you’d love it,” she said. “Takes the mind back to more romantic times, doesn’t it?”

Morgan turned to take in the view of the gray Hudson below, and the sheer Palisades across the river. “Romantic? I don’t know. A time when warriors were for real, I can tell you that.”

“Myself, I love the gardens here,” Felicity said, taking Morgan’s arm, “but the really cool stuff is inside.”

After basking in the beauty of the great treasures of the Middle Ages, Felicity agreed to turn the reins over to Morgan. They were at the very northern edge of Manhattan, but Morgan insisted they board the train again and travel almost to the other end of the island. Their destination was just south of Little Italy.

Through the market-choked streets of Chinatown, Morgan led her to an obscure little second floor restaurant on Mott Street that he had discovered years ago. Felicity grinned at the more garish nods to tourism in front of the restaurant, like the telephone booths, each wearing a red pagoda roof. The restaurant’s neon sign, hanging over the sidewalk, was partially covered with Chinese characters. In English, it advertised “Real Chinese Food,” and that it was air-conditioned. The roast duckling was superb, and it delighted Felicity to learn that Morgan could converse with the employees, albeit a little roughly, in Chinese.

After their meal, Morgan walked her a few blocks north to a dark, smoky jazz club in Greenwich Village. This was one of the few places left where cigarettes were accepted, and a wispy haze hung a few feet off the floor, highlighted around the performers by stage lights. Felicity loved the music and spent the entire evening analyzing it riff by riff, even making comparisons to classical works. Morgan just sat back and mellowed out.

Felicity knew it was after four in the morning when they ended their leisurely stroll in the dark across the street from her apartment building. It was hard for her to classify her own mood. She was tired but energized. Perhaps dreamy was the word she was looking for.

“I don’t know when I’ve been so comfortable in a man’s company,” she told Morgan, scuffing a toe along the line between two of the hexagonal cement tiles that made up the path out of the park. “Even walking through Central Park in the wee hours, I’ve never felt safer.”

“Don’t you always feel safe?” Morgan asked. “Your instincts seem as good as mine. No chance there were ever any watchers lurking in the shadows.”

“True, true. And I’ve got to admit I’m a bit surprised at how much I enjoyed taking a look at a familiar city from another person’s viewpoint.”

“Me too,” Morgan said. “A great day. And I’m not going to let that asshole behind the bushes spoil it.”

Felicity smiled up into his dark eyes. They weren’t hard, like they had been in that Mexican hotel. She was glad. “Do you suppose we can just talk to him? I’m not feeling like he’s a threat to our lives or anything.”

“You want to chat? Stay here.” Morgan stepped to the low wall that separates the park from the street, crouched, and seemed to disappear. Felicity moved back a few steps, thinking that the sliver of a crescent moon would give her a view of the events. She focused on a certain group of bushes and waited in silence. After twenty-seven seconds by her flawless reckoning, she heard a rustle of leaves followed by a short, low grunt. After a brief silence, Morgan stood up and stepped out of the bushes, hauling a smaller man by the back of his collar. Arms crossed, Felicity left the path to lean against a nearby tree. The lights of the city formed a corona around her world, yet she knew they would be invisible to passers-by.

Morgan’s charge seemed to struggle briefly as he was dragged toward her, but she saw Morgan’s free hand dart into the man’s midsection. There was another grunt and the struggling stopped. Morgan drew himself to attention in front of Felicity, holding the smaller man so that his toes barely reached the ground.

“Sergeant Stark reporting,” he said in a deep voice. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Up close, Felicity recognized the man’s face, despite its being distorted by fear. She held her left elbow, her left index finger pointing at their captive. “You were tailing us this morning. You were originally across the street.” The man’s eyes widened to silver dollars circles.

“You don’t sleep much, do you?” Felicity asked quietly. “But you’re no gunman. They just left you staked out for us, right?” Morgan shook his prisoner by the neck, and the man nodded his head.

“Glory, does everyone in the city know where I live?” Felicity asked. Her brows knit as she faced Morgan, “We may have to find another place to stay.”

Morgan’s sigh was more exasperation than anger. He pulled his fighting knife free of its scabbard and held it in front of his charge, making sure the blade caught the moonlight. “Who else knows?”

The captive shook his head. “When I found out about the price on your heads I found the girl’s place, but I didn’t tell anybody but my own posse. Willy and Joe won’t tell anybody else, on account of they know somebody else will get you.”

“Willy and Joe,” Felicity said. “That would be the other two following us this morning? You guys are pretty good. But you don’t look particularly dangerous. Now my friend here, now he is. Particularly dangerous, I mean. Were you really thinking of butting heads with him?”

The little man’s eyes moved from Felicity’s face to the knife blade to Morgan’s face. “I don’t know what we were thinking.”

Morgan looked at Felicity, waving his knife under his captive’s nose as if it were a fragrant flower. “What happens if I kill him?”