Carys Jones - Fourth To Run

That had been forty minutes ago. Aiden had yet to venture in to the office and face Betty. He wasn’t sure he could handle the look of disappointment she’d doubtlessly be wearing when he addressed her.

But his plan to remain in his office was running out of fuel. With no incoming emails to respond to, he’d be forced to head out and attend to tasks around town. He had a pile of papers that needed dropping off at the town hall along with a couple of documents that required additional signatures.

“Come on,” Aiden refreshed his inbox again, willing someone, anyone to contact him. He was about to accept defeat and go out to see Betty when his cell phone began to whir upon the desk, spinning itself in circles.

Aiden grabbed the device with a sense of relief but bristled when he noticed that the incoming call was from a blocked number.

“Aiden Connelly speaking,” he greeted the unknown caller with slight trepidation in his voice. What if it was a crank call from a disgruntled resident? Was he now going to be subjected to harassment by those still loyal to Brandon who continued to wrongly blame Brandy for his death?

“Aiden, hey, it’s Guy.”

Aiden froze in surprise.

“Guy Chambers,” Guy declared confidently. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?” His tone was jovial, friendly even.

Aiden shook himself out of his startled stupor and cleared his throat.

“No, course not,” he replied politely. “I just didn’t expect to hear from you again. How are things?”

“Things are good!” And from the sound of his voice they truly were. Aiden could almost feel the heat radiating from the smile Guy was wearing coming down the line and bursting out into the office.

“I’m glad.” Aiden repositioned himself in his chair so that he was sitting straighter.

“Listen, Connelly, I’m going to get straight to it.” Typical Guy, not wanting to waste time on small talk.

“Okay…” Aiden nodded, feeling his shoulders tighten in apprehension. What exactly were they getting to? Why had Guy even called him?

“Last time we spoke, you asked me for more information on your friend Justin’s case.”

“Which you said you couldn’t give,” Aiden replied bluntly.

“Right.” On the other end of the line Guy cleared his throat. Was he nervous? “But say something fell in to my lap and I wanted to throw you a bone?”

“I’m not a dog.” Aiden ran a hand through his hair and glanced briefly at his inbox. Still no emails.

“Jeeze, Connelly, I’m trying to do you a solid here,” Guy’s voice boomed in to his ear. “Quit always being so tightly wound! I have a name and a location, you want it?”

“Why would you give me this?” Aiden wondered suspiciously. “Previously you told me you’d already said too much. Now you want to give me names? What’s changed?”

“The case has been tabled,” Guy said quickly, the words almost blended into one another.

“It has? But it had been open for ten years, why table it now?”

“The Bureau doesn’t have the manpower to keep chasing ghosts,” Guy said flippantly. “But I figured what is old news to us might be useful to you.”

“And you won’t lose your job by telling me this?”

“No!” Guy snapped a little too harshly. Aiden pulled a pen and paper towards him. In his mind he could still see Justin’s disfigured face from his nightmare staring at him, pleading with him. Whatever information Guy had, Aiden would willingly take it.

“So what do you know?” Aiden picked up the pen, poised to write with it.

“Your friend Justin was killed by a cartel run by the Caulerone Brothers. They operate out of San Migeno in Mexcio. Real nasty pair. But we’ve been liaising with a guy down there, a local cop keeping tabs on them for us. His name is Javier Santo. He should be able to at least tell you why they killed your friend. Because that’s what you wanted, right? Answers?”

Aiden was frantically scribbling all the information down.

“Um, yeah,” he agreed. “I wanted some answers.”

“Good, well that should help.”

“Thanks.” Aiden felt bewildered by the entire conversation. He looked down at the piece of paper which could lead him to Justin’s killer. Aiden ripped the note from its pad and held it between his fingers. It felt like holding a loaded gun; an object of frightening power – he just had to decide what he was going to do with it.

“So now you owe me one,” Guy declared smugly.

“Owe you one?” Aiden almost laughed at the absurdity of the notion. “What could you ever want from me, Guy? You work for the FBI, you’re much better connected than I could ever dream of being.”

“Hey, you never know,” Guy replied. Then his tone abruptly hardened. “Look, I’ve got to go. Think about what I said. I know you, Connelly. You’re the kind of guy who always does the right thing. Don’t go changing.”

The call ended and Aiden focused his attention on the piece of paper in his hand. He felt dizzy imagining Justin being connected with the Caulerone brothers, whoever they were. Had he gone down to San Migeno? If he had, he’d never mentioned it to his friends. After a few more seconds’ deliberation, Aiden folded the paper in half, shoved it into his pocket and then refreshed his inbox yet again.

*

Brandy had always liked Monday mornings. The prospect of starting a fresh new week excited her, or at least it had in Chicago. When she woke up there she would wonder where her week would take her. There was so much to see and do within the city that she wondered if she’d ever find the time to be able to take it all in. But it was very different in Avalon.

The kettle boiled and Brandy idly made herself a hot chocolate despite the searing heat outside. She needed the comfort of its sweet warmth. The visit to Home Depot over the weekend had rattled her, even though she kept insisting to Aiden that she was fine. Cupping her mug with both hands, Brandy walked slowly through to the living room. Even with the new drapes and cushions, the room still didn’t feel like home. She still felt like a stranger there.

The sharp shrill of the house phone ringing in the hallway made Brandy physically jump. For a moment she just listened to the sound as it methodically blared out. She wondered who could be calling and for a second she feared it was Aiden’s estranged wife, Isla. With trembling hands Brandy placed her drink down and walked over to the phone. She watched it ring for a few more seconds and then took a deep breath and lifted the receiver.

“Hello?” She willed herself to sound confident instead of meek and lost. She prayed that Isla Connelly wasn’t on the other end of the line; she didn’t have the strength for yet another confrontation.

“Brandy, is that you?” Carol Cotton demanded.

“Aunt Carol!” Brandy exhaled with relief and slumped against a nearby wall.

“You told me you’d call to check in and I’ve not heard from you in weeks! I started to get worried!” Carol sounded more angry than worried. Brandy could imagine her standing boldly in Chez Vous, the phone nudged up to her ear but hidden beneath her overly coiffed hair as she drummed her long false nails angrily against the sleek reception counter.

“I’m sorry, time sort of ran away from me.”

“Uh-huh.” Carol’s flat tone told Brandy how unimpressed she was with the excuse she had given.

“You’re too busy lying under that man instead of looking out for yourself!”

“Aunt Carol!” Brandy felt her cheeks begin to burn like fire.

“Why would you ever go back there?” Carol lamented. “To that awful town where you are treated like a pariah? You should be here, in the city.”

Brandy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push her feeling of guilt down towards her toes.