Ghost of a Chance: Redemption

Chapter Three

Dominic Parker glanced at the clocks perched on the shelf across from his desk.  They showed both the time in Washington, where he resided, and in Romania, where he intended, some day, to return.  There was a seven hour difference between the two locations, and Bucharest was always beginning its evening when he opened the office doors, and midnight when he left to return home.  He liked the symmetry of it, that he finished a work day as a new day was dawning in the old country.

Dominic gathered some papers from his desk and slid them into his black leather briefcase, zipping it securely closed.  He powered down his computer; his scrubbers had already worked on the history and hard drive, as it did automatically every afternoon at the designated time.  His work left no trace.  

The last four months had not been easy ones for Dominic.  He had decided the most efficient way to deal with the fiasco in Pennsylvania had been to simply disappear, and so he had.  Yes, Howard Marne had shot him, but that had easily been dealt with via a friend who practiced plastic surgery and was willing to help Dominic in exchange for a few documents detailing his education and early years of practice.  Dominic cleared himself from FIPA’s database the same evening, and no trace of his employment lingered at the agency.  Oh, he knew that people like Steve Skelton and a few others remembered him, but he had long since learned to only be concerned with things he could change.  Worry on other scores was just wasted energy, and in those first seventy-two hours, he had had little energy to waste.

Dominic checked his clothing in a full-length mirror, adjusting his tie back.  The angle of the mirror prevented him from seeing anything above his collar, but he touched his hair and was satisfied.  He hurried down the stairs, dialing his iPhone as he descended into the pool of darkness near the entrance.

“Jeannette?  Yes, Dominic.  I want you to meet me for dinner, tonight.  Are you free?”  Dominic paused, listening to her voice, his eyes closed, filtering Jeannette’s usual stream-of-conscious ramblings.  He had not seen her since his ouster from the agency; had not seen anyone in four months.  It had taken that long to sort the threads of shredded planning out, to lay them again in the loom, and to begin making something worth having again.  Days of physical recovery, followed by weeks of therapy.  The agency had taken good care of him, then wiped him clean and cut him loose.  Now, he needed someone on the inside, although the risk was high; Jeannette was the one piece he still move on a constricted chess board.  He opened the door, walking out onto the sidewalk, into the evening coolness, enjoying the feeling on his face, still listening the phone.  He glanced up and down the street, setting his face and stride firmly.  

“I know, but I wanted to see you, and to talk to you.  About ghosts.”  His words were the verbal equivalant of a hand gernade rolled into a kindergarten.  He knew they would be, and so he stopped at a bench to sit down and listen to Jeannette’s response.  He stared forward, not making eye contact with the people walking by; his face still and his hollow eyes focused on the air in front of him, feeling the whirl of unearthly forms as a mass of humanity, invisible to the other pedestrians around him, surged to and fro, vying for his notice.  It had been like this since Pennsylvania.  If he stopped and focused, and thought, he could see them.  He could see them all, all the dead, each of them struggling, twisting, wanting the same thing.  To be remembered.  His mind could not contain them all, and often he wondered if the silent forms were only in his mind, an illusion created by guilt and regret.  There was no way to know, not without speaking to them, and he would not.  There was only spirit he wanted to speak to, and she was not in the swirl always before him.  

Dominic turned his attention back to Jeannette’s voice, allowing the pale forms to fade.  A gunshot victim dissolved before his eyes, his hollow form vanishing like morning fog.  “Yes. The Park Cafe; at seven.  I will make reservations now.”  Dominic paused, and turned back toward the Metro station, to the spot he knew Teddi Reese had ducked back down the rabbit hole.   “Oh, one more thing, Jeannette.  I want you to wear that red dress you have.  You know the one?  Excellent.”

The Cafe was crowded for dinner, but Dominic ignored the chattering going on around him, waiting for Jeannette to arrive, already savoring the warm smells emanating from the stone building before him.  At ten minutes before seven, a taxi skidded to a halt in front of the restaurant, and Dominic stepped from the curb to open the rear door.  He reached in and took Jeannette’s hand, putting just a hint of pressure on the back with the ball of his thumb as he guided her from the seat.  

“I’ve got this,” he murmured in her ear, and passed a fifty-dollar bill to the cabbie.  He flicked his gaze to Jeannette and observed she was appropriately impressed.  Dominic closed the cab door and tapped twice on the roof; the driver looked at the currency for a moment, and slid away from the curb.

Dominic escorted Jeannette into the restaurant, continuing to guide her with a subtle pressure, his strong hand resting lightly on the small of her back.  

Jeannette purred as she slip onto the chair he pulled back for her.  “Dominic, this is really something.  You’ve gone all Cary Grant since you left.”

Dominic felt the quick pulse of anger, but concealed the emotion as he pulled his own chair from beneath the table.  Instead of answering Jeannette, he turned and smiled at the waiter who materialized at his elbow.

“Good evening, sir, and welcome to The Park Cafe.  My name is Jeffrey, and I will have the honor of waiting on you tonight.  May I show you a menu?”

Dominic waved away the offered menu.  “No, thank you, Jeffrey, that will not be necessary.  The tempura shrimp, please, to begin.  The lady will have your lobster salad, but hold the mango and avocado relish, please.”

Jeannette nodded, and Dominic noted the pleasure in her smile.  

“And you, sir?”

“The wild boar with crabmeat.”

“They have that here?”  Jeannette’s eyes were wide.

The waiter, Jeffrey, nodded.  “It’s very popular.  Would you like to try it?”

Jeannette wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips.  “No.  It sounds too...something.  Too Indiana Jonesy for me.  I’ll stick with the lobster.”  She popped her gum from her mouth and held it out to Jeffrey.  “Could you be a dear and throw this away for me?”  

Jeffrey strode from the table, holding the gum at arm’s length.

Jeannette smiled at Dominic.  “Well, here we are.  You have me all to yourself.”  She wiggled a little bit in the seat, and smiled.  “Do you like what you see?”

Dominic swallowed a quick sigh; although he wanted to push Jeannette quickly and firmly away, at the same time he was thankful she had not changed.  Not at all.  And that would make things so much easier.

He answered her question, “You’ve always had an inner beauty, Jeanette.  How have you been?”

She shrugged.  “Okay.  Busy, I guess.  You know, work, dates, work, dates.  I’m in demand, you know.”  She paused.  “I had to break a date to come here tonight, you know.  You should be appreciative.  Now how could you demonstrate that appreciation?”  She tapped a long, glossy nail at the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you,” said Dominic.  He leaned back as Jeffrey returned, placing a salad before each of them, along with a bowl of warm, delicious-smelling bread.  “Thank you, Jeffrey.”  He passed him a folded bill.  “We would really like to be undisturbed until the entrees are ready.  Do you understand?”

Jeffrey pocketed the bill, smiled, and replied, “Perfectly.”  He slid away, gliding between the tables.

Dominic turned his gaze back to Jeannette.  “Jeanette, what do you know about ghosts?”  He studied her reaction, carefully.

Jeannette picked up a breadstick and bit off the end.  “What is it worth to you, Dominic?  I’m not stupid.  You may have disappeared from FIPA, but not from here...” she touched her forehead.  “Or from here, either.”  She laid her hand on her heart.  

Dominic nodded, putting pieces and people together in his mind.  It was what he did best, what he knew, and he did it now, extraneously, making connections and hierarchies from the seemingly random pools of data, building a plan, thinking, preparing.  And in the few moments it took him to answer Jeannette, he had things worked out.  He smiled, and leaned across the table, close to her, so close he could smell the mingled scent of bread and gum on her breath.

“Priceless,” he said.