In Broad Daylight - Short Story

Dark eyes stared at me, devoid of emotion. Were they empty, or just tired? I stared at the photo in my hands for a good long while, committing his face to memory. The sharp jaw, the sunken cheeks, the bumpy Roman nose, the inky black hair. The man in the photo was lean with broad, jutting shoulders and a tattoo on his neck that I couldn't make out.

"This is him, huh?" I said under my breath. "And you're sure?"

"It doesn't matter. Until we know he's not a threat, he's a threat. Resort security stopped him at the gate this morning. If he is who we think he is, he'll be back," Nigel stated matter-of-factly.

"And who do you think he is?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately; he had his head turned slightly, listening to his ear piece, nodding minutely.

"One of you," he finally responded with a smidge of distaste. "We've got a press conference with the Prime Minister tomorrow at 2, so get it done fast, and get it done quietly. If this blows up, you're on your own. Understood?"

I nodded. "Consider him dealt with."

"Good girl," he said with a hint of condescension.

Nigel's immaculate suit rustled as he made for the door of my hotel room.

"Nigel," I called. He turned, eyebrows raised heavenward. "This is it. The last one. Right?"

He pursed his lips. "Sure thing."

I sighed as the door clicked shut behind him. I was exhausted. The drive hadn't been too unpleasant; it was the weight of Nigel's expectations that crushed my bones.

I looked again at the photo, wondering why I hadn't seen this man's face before. Was he new to the game? Or just that good at staying to the shadows?

Either way, it didn't matter. By this time tomorrow, he'd be dead.

-----------------------

An hour later, I flashed the man's photo around to the security team at the Palm Shade Resort. A kid name Andrew was the only one who'd seen him. He reeked of inexperience and eagerness, but he wasn't quite up to snuff. His company issued kelly green polo was untucked in the back and too tight to boot, and his blonde hair was matted down with an excess of hair gel. That, and he smelled of too much Brut.

"He just didn't look right, around here especially," Andrew said. "He looked like a criminal. All those tattoos. Gave me the creeps."

"What'd he say to you when he approached you?" I asked.

"He said he was here to see family. I asked for his name, but he wouldn't give it to me. I told him until he did, I couldn't let him in the gates."

"And then what?"

"Then he left."

"Just like that?"

Andrew wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. Whether it was a nervous habit or due to the sweltering heat, I couldn't tell. "Well, he looked like maybe he was eyeing the place up, y'know? On his way out. Like maybe he was going to climb the wall or something."

I followed Andrew's gaze up the beige stone wall, well over 10 feet tall. Every other pillar had a camera anchored to it, their red status lights shining steadily. If this man decided to scale the wall, he was going to have a hell of time of it.

"And you haven't seen him since?"

"No. But I told Mr. Black's guy, the one with the red tie, that I'd let him know if I did."

I nodded. "Nigel."

"Yeah, that's him."

"You got a pen?" I asked.

Andrew patted down the pockets of his khakis, searching. He fumbled around as if he were unfamiliar with his own attire, where his pockets were located and what was in each. Finally, he found a pen in his front pocket and handed it to me. I ripped off a corner of the man's photo, turned it over, and jotted down my cell phone number.

"Nigel's having me take care of this, so if you see him again, give me a call. Got it?"

He took the slip of paper from me and nodded, but frowned a moment later.

"You didn't give me your name," he pointed out.

"Kara," I lied easily.

-----------------------

Over the hours that followed, I wandered the resort, languidly observing happy families and relaxing businessmen by the pool, on the beach, and in the hotel lobby. It didn't take long, however, for the Florida heat to get to me. I'd been called down here in such a rush that I brought only the clothes on my back, unfit for the climate.

I ducked into the resort's gift shop, relieved to feel cool air against my skin. There were several patrons inside, none of them the man I sought. I asked them each quietly, non-invasively, if they'd seen him, but no one had.

The shop itself sold surf boards and trinkets and most of all memorabilia, as if the Palm Shade Resort of Key West was something you'd want to tell your grandkids about. But it also offered a small selection of clothing.

I found a more suitable getup and changed in their dressing room, taking great lengths to make sure the yellow sundress I selected offered enough coverage; no one needed to know that I had a gun strapped to my left thigh. When I was satisfied, I ripped the tags off and dropped my old clothes in a canvas bag embroidered with the Palm Shade Resort of Key West logo.

I handed the tags to the clerk, and my bill came to $300. It was a steep amount, but I was happy to be out of my jeans and boots.

With the bag slung over my shoulder, I continued my search, hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses. Kids built sandcastles on the beach, trophy wives tanned in their beach chairs, and teenagers played volleyball; if the man was here, he was well hidden.

I traipsed down a sidewalk that seemingly led to nowhere. The farther I went, the closer I came to the end of the line; in this corner of the resort, it was dead. Where I expected to see that familiar stone wall, instead I saw chain link running the length of the eastern side of the resort all the way down to the beach. Beyond it was a vacant lot with a sign stuck in the sand proudly proclaiming a new resort in development. They'd break ground in the Fall.

The sidewalk ended even with the building wall. It seemed off and protrusive, like a wing of the resort that was seldom used, with few windows. I walked around the side of it, slipping in the sand dunes, only to find a hollow of space open and unused. There were a few pallets of shingles stashed back there, out of sight and weatherworn. I looked around for cameras, but weren't any. If my target wanted to get in here, this would be the place. It was a giant blind spot with few people around to get suspicious.

Three o'clock came and went and there was no sign of him. I checked in with Nigel on the hour, every hour, all while keeping my eye on the resort's vacant neighboring lot.

I took his photo to hotel management, to the shop owners, to the restaurant staff at the crab shack down the beach, all under the false pretense that I was a cop. No one seemed to question it. With enough confidence, you can make most people believe whatever you want them to.

By 5 o'clock, my shoulders were pink and warm and the sun had tired me. I walked down the beach to a cabana bar, bought a smoothie and propped myself up on a barstool, happy to be in the shade for the moment. Not a minute later, my phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Kara? This is Paul Hughes, from hotel managment. The man you were asking about-"

"Did you see him?" I asked impatiently, sitting up a little straighter.

"One of the maids said she saw someone fitting his description, going up the elevator. Lots of tattoos."

"I'm on my way."

The hotel lobby was packed with people checking in and their respective luggage, as if a tour bus had just dropped them off. I searched the crowd for my target, but he was nowhere to be seen. Paul flagged me down while I made a beeline for the elevators, bumping into people left and right.

"She said he went to the 8th floor," he whispered conspiratorially as I punched the Ù button.

"Did she say what he was wearing?"

"A yellow shirt and dark shorts."

The door opened and I climbed inside, leaving Paul out in the corridor, baffled.

"Shouldn't you have backup?" he asked, again in a whisper. He was one of the many who'd bought my act.

"They're already on their way," I lied. "Don't worry."

-----------------------

When the elevator doors opened, I cautiously stepped into the corridor. I had my gun in hand, held behind me so as not to frighten anyone. But there was no one lingering in the posh halls, only closed doors and silence.

Instinctively, I made for the stairs. And lo and behold, two flights down a man in a bright yellow shirt was rushing away. My footfalls echoed in the stairwell as I ran after him, dropping my bag somewhere around the 5th floor. The man stopped on a landing and craned his neck to see me. He knew.

A few more flights down, a door loudly opened and closed, ringing in the air around me. When I caught up, I tore out into the lobby, dismayed that the horde of patrons hadn't dwindled in the slightest.

Paul motioned from behind the counter and pointed to a vacant corridor. In my pursuit, I cut off a weighed-down bellhop and nearly knocked over a tall plant. The door at the end of the corridor led outside, and was closing just as I rounded the corner. I broke into a run.

Outside, I caught a glimpse of him descending another set of stairs, traipsing down the sidewalk toward the vacant lot. I knew it.

I followed him as fast as I could without sprinting. He turned the corner of the building and I slowed, removing my gun from its holster before I proceeded. I knew once I rounded that corner, there'd be no cameras or people to see what was about to happen.

My nerves were on edge. I gripped my gun and rounded the corner, knowing I wouldn't like it when I did. Immediately, I was socked in the elbow. The man grabbed my wrist and tried to make me drop my gun, holding his own on me all the while. A solid kick to his knee dropped him, and I thrust his gun away into the sand dunes with my foot.

"Get up," I said as I kept a safe distance.

A gust of wind blew through my dress, lifting the skirt. The man smirked. His hands were held in the air as if he were surrendering, but we both knew he wasn't.

"I like the view from down here better," he said suggestively.

"Get. Up," I said again, unamused.

Slowly, he got to his feet and pointedly held my gaze. His smirk was ever-present and snaky.

"What? You gonna shoot me? In broad daylight? With all these people around?" His tone suggested he thought I wouldn't, that the mere possibility was laughable.

"What else do you have on you?"

"I guess you're gonna have to find out on your own," he shrugged. And then he winked at me.

His playfully aloof behavior irritated my nerves, but I didn't let on.

"Take off your clothes," I demanded.

His eyebrow raised and his eyes glinted with mischief. He backed toward the brick well into the shade. From where I stood, the sun glared in my eyes, so I followed his example, lest he use the blinding light to his advantage.

Unfazed, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it at my feet. His jeans came off just as quickly, though they hung around his ankles. He had so many tattoos, adorning his arms and legs and even his abdomen, that he looked like a displaced rockstar.

"Turn."

Nearly naked, he made a circle, his arms out to his side. The only item of clothing he still wore was a pair of tight boxer briefs which left little to the imagination. I had my doubts he was concealing anything in there.

"Happy?"

As he pulled his pants back up, I tossed him his shirt. While he slipped it over his head, I rushed him and pressed my gun into his abdomen. He was taken aback by the sudden movement and froze. For the moment, his smirk was gone.

"This is how this is going to go," I said. "You and me, we're gonna take a nice, normal walk back the way we came. We're gonna walk through the courtyard and make for the gates, and you're gonna take me to whatever shitheap you pulled up in. Got me?"

"And what if I decide to run, or scream, or alert security?" The seriousness in his voice was betrayed only be the humor in his eye.

"You do and I shoot you. And I'll get away with it. You wanna know why? Because you're here after being denied access, after the NSA ran your photo through their database and found out you're a dirty man. You're here to kill a member of congress, and I'm here to keep that from happening, with the government's blessing. You wanna try me? Go for it. It's your funeral."

Just then, a beach ball came bouncing up from the beach, past the brick wall that offered us a modicum of privacy, and stopped in the sand. The world spun unexpectedly as the man grabbed me and rammed my back into the wall. In the confusion, his large hand wrapped around mine tightly, clasped around my gun. With his weight and his strength, he now had it pressed into ribs.

"That's what they told you, huh?" he asked with a scoff. "Typical."

"It's over here, mommy!" a small voice cried.

Surprised, we both watched as a little girl, no older than four, came running into view, pigtails bouncing. She trudged through the sand toward her lost ball, and I realized with some horror that it was near his gun.

The gap between us suddenly vanished when pushed me into the wall with his body, as if trying to make us both disappear into its searing bricks. I held my breath, waiting for the little girl to leave.

"Alisa, what did I say?" a breathless woman cried, coming upon her daughter and grabbing her hand. They were both oblivious to our existence, but if they turned to leave, they'd see us.

Without warning, the man's arm wrapped tightly around my back, and he crushed his lips against mine. My first instinct was to protest, but after a split second, I realized what he was doing. None too happily, I opened my lips to him, and he took it as an invitation to slip his tongue inside.

My eyes screwed together tightly against what felt like an impossible situation. I wanted to shove him away, but that would likely mean collateral damage. I didn't want that, and I was guessing neither did he.

The mother gasped, evidence that she'd finally seen us.

"Come on," she said hurriedly. "Come on!"

"But my ball!"

"I said come on," the mother ground out.

It was quiet after, for however many heartbeats, however many breaths. I didn't open my eyes to see if they were gone, but in the silence, I knew they were. Still, the man kissed me like he had something to prove, like I imagine someone would if their destiny were on the line. He sold it well to the mother and the girl, and to me, too. He kissed me like a lover might, and I got swept up in the feel of it. But it didn't take me long to remember where I was, who I was with, and the gun he had trained on me.

When I did finally come back to reality, I pulled away from his lips and pressed hard against his chest. His grip on me eased, but he didn't let me go and he offered no apologies. Instead, he stared at me, breathless. For that brief moment, we'd gone somewhere else, as two different people, and it seemed both of us were dizzied from the journey.

He gulped heavily before regaining his cocky smirk.

"I already got what I came for, sweetheart."

I blanched. Had I been too late?

"Relax," he said. "All I wanted was this."

He pulled a small disc from his back pocket, tucked into a blank white sleeve, its very nature insidious. It must be important. Across it, in scratchy handwriting, read 8-13-15. Today's date.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got somewhere to be."

As he backed away, he pulled on the gun. I stubbornly held to it, reluctant to give it up. His eyes bore into mine as I relinquished it, and he winked at me again, this time in triumph. I angrily watched him walk away, pick up his own gun, and dust it off. He slipped both of our pieces into the waist band of his shorts and slinked through an opening in the chain link fence, each loop cut to accommodate him.

He looked back only once, and gave me a small wave. I contemplated going after him, but for whatever reason, I believed him: he'd gotten what he came for, and without bloodshed.

In the end, I retrieved my bag from the stairwell, checked out of my room and called Nigel to let him know that it was taken care of, to let him know that I was done.

With lighter shoulders than I'd had in years, I hailed a cab, made my way to the airport, and rented a car. It was high time I put all of this in my rearview.

-----------------------

Over the following months, one of the biggest scandals in the history of politics took place, the result of a leak by the notorious Anonymous. I knew in my bones that whatever had been on that disc played a part, though the man with the tattoos never came up in the investigation. Thirty-eight state senators, twenty-seven governors, and countless representatives had information leaked on their affairs, most of which was illegal, for all the world to see. It seemed they had a penchant for laundering money and accepting bribes. Many were arrested, some resigned of their own accord while others were forced from their positions, and a few even committed suicide.

As the mainland fell apart, I disappeared into the Alaskan wilderness, to a quaint cabin made of logs and chimney smoke that I used to think only existed in stories. I was 20 miles from the nearest town, an hour and a half from the coast, surrounded by solitude. I loved it.

One night, during the Leonid meteor shower, I was outside wrapped in layers, lying in the snow. Six fireballs had passed so far, and my fingers had gone numb. After the seventh, I decided to call it a night. I trudged back to my cabin, a lantern in one hand and my folded blanket in the other. Even after all this time here, it still amazed me how absolute the darkness was and how crystal clear the skies. It was a hell of a lot more quiet, too, almost unnervingly so.

After kicking the snow off of my boots, I went inside and hung my coat and my sweater, my scarf and my gloves. The fire was burning low; I'd been out there for hours, having lost track of time. That happened a lot these days. I added more kindling and another log in hopes that it would catch.

And that's when I felt it, that familiar prickling on the back of my neck, the crawling of my skin. I wasn't alone.

My heart stuttered as I wheeled around only to see a man I didn't recognize, not at first. With his hair tucked under a cap, his tattoos hidden by his coat, and his jaw now mottled with stubble, I didn't recognize him as the man who helped put Congress on its knees.

"Who sent you?" I asked. My voice shook more than I'd have liked.

"Nobody," he replied with a congested voice. He sniffled as if he had a cold.

"Bullshit. Who sent you?" I asked again, this time raising my voice.

"I'm not here to cause trouble. I came by myself. I found you by myself. And you weren't easy to find, either," he said with a smirk.

Up here on the edge of the world, I didn't have a gun anymore because I didn't need it. I reached for the fireplace poker next to me and clutched it tightly. He shook his head in earnest.

"You don't need that."

I clasped both hands around the cold iron and held it out in front of me as if it were a sword.

"If no one sent you, then why are you here?"

I came toward him with the poker held high, and he backed into the door, though he didn't seem afraid.

"Your gun. I wanted to give it back to you," he said, wholeheartedly serious.

"What?" That wasn't the answer I expected.

"It's under my coat, if you'll let me get it."

"Do I look like a fool to you? What'd you do with it? Kill someone? Are you trying to frame me?" I asked, so perplexed I almost laughed.

"No. It's not just the gun, though." He paused. "I never got your name, back in Florida. I figure if I found you again, I could kill two birds with one stone. I know your handle, of course, but not your real name."