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section7mfuTitle: The Peaceful Meadows Affair, chapter 6
Summary: Napoleon and Illya try to make sense of things while grocery shopping. As usual, things don't go as planned.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Chapter Six
Illya waited until after they ate and were back in the car, driving to the store, before he called Mr. Waverly. The commander of the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. listened to Illya’s story and concerns in all seriousness, although he raised a bushy eyebrow at the conclusion.
“Agents Pea and Cue?” Illya could hear him frowning. “I don’t recall any mention of them in Albert Sully’s reports. But I’ll have someone start going over those reports anyway.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Illya said. “I don’t suppose there is any way Albert Sully could be contacted and personally questioned on the matter?” With the destruction of the organization, he was no longer undercover as Mr. Raymond, but he was still in Paris, overseeing the dismantling of every house and building connected with the extremists and their members.
“I don’t know, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly replied. “But I’ll look into that and let you know. Meanwhile, be careful there!” he instructed gruffly. “Regardless of who sent that message, someone knows that the four of you were out last night, watching those houses. Is there some sort of a Neighborhood Watch program in that community?”
“Not precisely,” Illya said. “Everyone seems to be on the lookout for suspicious activity, but they aren’t organized into a watch aside from the Homeowners’ Council. Anyway, I’m certain that if multiple people had seen us, we would all be among the missing right now. We weren’t out past curfew, but I wouldn’t be surprised if hiding in the hedges is against the rules, even just to watch the Council enacting its punishment on people.”
“Quite right, no doubt,” Mr. Waverly agreed. “Especially since they apparently always enact their punishments under the guise of night. But if every resident is supposed to report suspicious activity, I must wonder why this particular person chose instead to send a warning. Or a threat, whichever it is.”
“We’re certainly going to try to find out,” Illya promised. “Oh, and would it also be possible for you to have someone research a man called Martin Jensen?”
“There are no doubt many Martin Jensens,” Mr. Waverly retorted. “Is there any way to pin down which one you’re looking for?”
“He was a resident here, most likely not for long,” Illya said. “Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye have been trying to find out what happened to him. They’re being very casual about it, saying it’s just because they’ve moved into his house and are curious, but I don’t buy that.”
“And of course they won’t tell you,” Mr. Waverly said with a sigh.
“Not at all,” Illya said in irritation. “Mr. Wye insisted on keeping to the rule about not discussing anyone who has gone missing, once he and Ecks were given the brush-off.”
“I’ll have someone look into it,” Mr. Waverly said.
“Thank you,” Illya said again. Seeing Napoleon turn in at the store’s parking lot, he added, “I need to go now, Sir, but please keep us informed.”
“The same to you and Mr. Solo,” Mr. Waverly said.
Illya nodded. “We will. Channel D out.”
Napoleon sighed as he parked the car near the front doors. “I don’t know; I’m more inclined to believe that the note has nothing to do with Ecks and Wye’s organization and the usage of the ‘Mind your P’s and Q’s’ phrase was just a coincidence. It would seem a little much for a couple of their former coworkers to be staying here.”
“That could very well be,” Illya said, capping the communication pen. “On the other hand, if this is a THRUSH plot, perhaps Agents Pea and Cue escaped their organization’s decimation and went over to THRUSH, where they were assigned to this community.” He paused. “Only then it would fall to us to wonder why they don’t just kill Ecks and Wye and get it over with.”
Napoleon shrugged. “Maybe they want to draw it out, to make them squirm and suffer before killing them. Since Ecks and Wye were traitors to their organization, the other members may feel that simple, clean deaths are too good for the likes of them.” He got out of the car.
“I suppose,” Illya grunted. “I have never understood that mentality. If killing has to be done, it’s better to do it and get it over with quickly. There is no need to drag it out without mercy.”
“Of course,” Napoleon said, “if it’s a revenge killing, it doesn’t have to be done.” He opened the door, stepping inside the market. “Hmm. This is nicer than I thought it would be.”
“Why?” Illya returned. “The houses are quite nice, just all the same. It makes sense that the store would be appealing.” He grabbed a shopping cart.
“True,” Napoleon mused. “Do you know what you want to get here?”
“I made a list.” Illya took it out of his pocket and set it in the top compartment of the cart. “And you?”
“I have an idea as well,” Napoleon said. He took a cart of his own. “But it will go faster if we each pick up some of the other’s items.”
“Very well. Perhaps you can acquire the dairy items,” Illya said, showing Napoleon his list.
Napoleon glanced through it, mentally recoiling at some of the items. “Dairy will be fine,” he said. “And I’ll pick up some of the produce. As for myself, I don’t believe I have too many unusual items to procure. Mainly a loaf of raisin rye bread, if they have it here.”
Illya sighed. “I was going to select a more normal variety, so I might as well look for that while I’m there.”
Napoleon nodded. “Thank you,” he said calmly.
“And we will meet in the middle of the store,” Illya continued.
“Fair enough.” Napoleon turned to head in his chosen direction.
The store was pleasant and well-organized, which was at least something Napoleon could say for it. Everything was easy to find, and the music playing over the loudspeakers was enjoyable to shop by. He greeted the people who passed by, but they only nodded and returned the salutations; they weren’t in the mood to stop and talk. That could easy enough be because they wanted to focus on shopping, but Napoleon couldn’t help but wonder if they just didn’t want to talk to him specifically. He’d had the feeling that in spite of the friendliness of certain residents such as Marietta, the majority of the people did not like strangers and were wary of both him and Illya.
He was in the process of selecting cereal when lowered voices on the next aisle gave him pause.
“Two people are gone today!” one woman moaned. “I saw Everett and Clarice’s homes for sale when I was driving out here.”
“Well, don’t talk about it here,” a second woman hissed. “You know we’re not allowed to talk about the missing. They’ve violated the rules and they’re not worthy to be discussed in public, according to the Council.”
“I’m just so worried that one of us might be next,” the first woman said. “I’m on pins and needles every day wondering if I’m for sure keeping every little rule. You know, I think they just make up some of them. I saw a worker repairing Clarice’s step. If that was the only issue, I don’t remember anything in the brochure about steps.”
“I asked about that and was already told that a lot of the specific rules fall under general headings,” the second woman said. They were walking up the aisle now, and Napoleon quietly moved forward on his side to keep pace with them.
“All it says is that you’re supposed to keep your house in immaculate condition,” the first woman said. “It doesn’t say that a slightly creaking step is worthy of being immediately kicked out. I thought they’d at least give a warning first.”
“Wait. You know the step was specifically creaking, instead of being broke through or something else?” The second woman sounded tense. “You knew that and you didn’t report it?”
“I saw no need to,” the first woman retorted. “I did mention to Clarice that she should probably get it fixed, and I figured that was all I needed to say to anyone.”
“I’m sure the Council wouldn’t agree with you,” the second woman said.
“Hang the Council, every one of them,” the first woman fumed. “I really think I’ve had enough. I’m going to them tonight and telling them that I don’t fit in here and I want to move. You should too.”
“What if the Council won’t let you go?” the second woman worried. “I don’t know if anyone here has ever tried to move, but maybe they have and they also disappear quietly in the night.”
The first woman fell silent. “Well, if they won’t let anyone go, what are we going to do?” she said in a very small voice. “We’re practically prisoners here. I don’t want to stay.”
“Give it a little more time,” the second woman encouraged. “I think those new people are trying to figure out what’s going on. Maybe they can.”
“Or maybe they’ll disappear too,” the first woman retorted.
“Let’s wait and see for a couple of days, at least,” the second woman said. They turned onto another aisle, leaving Napoleon frowning and pondering over their words.
So at least some of the residents had noticed what he and Illya, and maybe Ecks and Wye, were doing. In any case, they suspected. And if they suspected, it was a good bet that the Council did too. That was most definitely not encouraging.
Sobered now, Napoleon continued his journey to find what was needed to stock their house.
Hopefully they would have a chance to use the purchases.
****
Ecks sat on a park bench and shook out the town newspaper, scanning the day’s stories with a good deal of unimpressed boredom. “Not one mention of those people being turned in last night,” he grunted. “The only indication that something happened at all is that their houses went up in the real-estate listings.”
“What would you expect them to do?” Wye answered. “Announce it all over the place that they’ve asked two more Peaceful Meadows residents to ‘leave’? Seems to me that this rule of not speakin’ about it strikes more fear into people than if they talked freely about what happened and why.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” Ecks paused, then folded the paper and set it on his lap, supporting it with one hand. “It also bothers me that a lot of the people here don’t even want to work outside the community. It’s like they think this is some kind of perfect shelter from the storms of life and that even so much as setting one foot outside the gate will result in a calamity.”
“They sure are off in the head, aren’t they?” Wye chuckled.
“I can’t find it as amusing as you do,” Ecks shot back. “Who knows what people this paranoid might do!”
“For now let’s just worry about the Council. Alright? The sheep what follow them ain’t so much a concern to me as their leaders are.”
“And the possibility that now we’ve got two former colleagues out to get us,” Ecks worried.
“Eh. ‘P’s and Q’s’ probably don’t mean anything. I wouldn’t put too much stock in that.”
“You say that, and yet you were the one who first brought up the idea of showing the note to Kuryakin and Solo,” Ecks said. “It wasn’t just because they were mentioned too; you were hoping they could find out something that would help us.”
“I was; I’ll admit that,” Wye nodded. “But I’m not planning to sit back and let them do all our research for us. There’s plenty for us to look into.”
“If we could get a list of all the residents, which seems unlikely.” Ecks crossed his arms.
“They might have a computer database with all of that sort of information in it,” Wye suggested. “You figured out how to reprogram U.N.C.L.E.’s supercomputers back when you were stalking Kuryakin. Maybe you could also figure out how to get all of this juicy Peaceful Meadows information to us.”
“Possibly.” But Ecks didn’t seem convinced. “Do you think they’d put all of their confidential information on something that can be as unpredictable as a computer? It seems they might be more traditional and old-fashioned and store it in physical files, if at all.”
“Eh, with these people it’s a toss-up,” Wye grunted. “Files can be found too. For all we know, maybe they don’t keep any records at all.”
“Or maybe their bosses keep them. We still don’t know how far-reaching this scheme is.” Ecks started to get off the bench. “Finding out isn’t going to be easy, either, not when they keep the front offices so closely guarded.”
“And maybe that’s a red herring,” Wye said, standing as well. “Maybe if the files are here, and not on a computer, they’re at the homes of the Council members.”
“That Marietta person seems to like Kuryakin and Solo a lot,” Ecks observed. “If we could endear ourselves to her, maybe eventually she would give us some information.”
“Or tell the Council about us,” Wye replied. “Let’s not forget that her first dedication is to that blasted Council.”
“Yes, but she’s reluctant,” Ecks pointed out. “If we could show her that something terrible is going on, she might come over to our side.”
“If, if, if. If we had the proof to show her that something’s off here, we probably wouldn’t need to show her anything.” Wye frowned, seeing Ecks stare off towards the business district’s Main Street. “Now what are you seeing?”
Ecks looked troubled. “I think it’s Jennifer Jensen.” He took out his miniature telescope, focusing it across the street.
“Jennifer Jensen?!” Wye rushed over to follow his partner’s line of vision. “What the ruddy devil would she be doin’ here?!”
“Going into the grocery store,” Ecks said grimly. “And it is her; I’m sure of it.” He shoved the telescope back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
Wye chased after him as he marched out of the park and across the street in determination. This was not a good development. Not at all.
“Ruddy impatient female,” he growled, storming up to Ecks. “She can’t leave things to the professionals.”
“I guess we weren’t solving things fast enough for her,” Ecks said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, if she was goin’ to strike out on her own, she might as well have just done that instead of coming to us,” Wye snarled. “And if her bein’ here makes things worse for us, I’m going to add that to the bill.”
“It’s going to make it worse,” Ecks said flatly as he arrived at the store’s parking lot.
Seeing that Ecks was looking at Napoleon’s convertible, Wye stopped and looked to the Heavens in disbelieving dismay.
****
Illya was just finishing his part of the grocery shopping and heading for the middle of the store when he nearly crashed into a young woman coming from the front of the building and not seeming to watch where she was going. Perturbed, Illya ground to a halt as quickly as he could. “This isn’t a public street, but it’s still generally a good policy to look in all directions before stomping into a store,” he snapped.
She looked to him, actually noticing him for the first time. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You’re right; I should have been watching.” She brushed her shoulder-length black curls away from her face.
“I haven’t seen you at Peaceful Meadows before,” Illya noted. Not that he and Napoleon had met all of the residents, but it seemed a good way to try to ease into a conversation.
“I haven’t been,” she said. “I’m looking for a Mr. Allan Finch. Do you know him?”
Illya scowled. “The only Allan I know lives next-door to us, with his friend.”
“Luther Harris?”
“Luther Something. I suppose Harris.” Illya shrugged. “We haven’t heard people use surnames very often around here.” He peered at her. “If you’re new here, what is your business with Allan?”
“That’s something I need to discuss with him.” She kept a tight grip on her purse. “But if you live next-door, have you heard anything about Martin Jensen?”
“Only that people don’t talk about him around here,” Illya frowned. “He seems to be quite popular regardless.” Seeing Napoleon coming from the other direction, he asked, “Do you know him?”
“Of course,” she answered. “I’m his sister.”
Summary: Napoleon and Illya try to make sense of things while grocery shopping. As usual, things don't go as planned.
Chapter Six
Illya waited until after they ate and were back in the car, driving to the store, before he called Mr. Waverly. The commander of the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. listened to Illya’s story and concerns in all seriousness, although he raised a bushy eyebrow at the conclusion.
“Agents Pea and Cue?” Illya could hear him frowning. “I don’t recall any mention of them in Albert Sully’s reports. But I’ll have someone start going over those reports anyway.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Illya said. “I don’t suppose there is any way Albert Sully could be contacted and personally questioned on the matter?” With the destruction of the organization, he was no longer undercover as Mr. Raymond, but he was still in Paris, overseeing the dismantling of every house and building connected with the extremists and their members.
“I don’t know, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly replied. “But I’ll look into that and let you know. Meanwhile, be careful there!” he instructed gruffly. “Regardless of who sent that message, someone knows that the four of you were out last night, watching those houses. Is there some sort of a Neighborhood Watch program in that community?”
“Not precisely,” Illya said. “Everyone seems to be on the lookout for suspicious activity, but they aren’t organized into a watch aside from the Homeowners’ Council. Anyway, I’m certain that if multiple people had seen us, we would all be among the missing right now. We weren’t out past curfew, but I wouldn’t be surprised if hiding in the hedges is against the rules, even just to watch the Council enacting its punishment on people.”
“Quite right, no doubt,” Mr. Waverly agreed. “Especially since they apparently always enact their punishments under the guise of night. But if every resident is supposed to report suspicious activity, I must wonder why this particular person chose instead to send a warning. Or a threat, whichever it is.”
“We’re certainly going to try to find out,” Illya promised. “Oh, and would it also be possible for you to have someone research a man called Martin Jensen?”
“There are no doubt many Martin Jensens,” Mr. Waverly retorted. “Is there any way to pin down which one you’re looking for?”
“He was a resident here, most likely not for long,” Illya said. “Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye have been trying to find out what happened to him. They’re being very casual about it, saying it’s just because they’ve moved into his house and are curious, but I don’t buy that.”
“And of course they won’t tell you,” Mr. Waverly said with a sigh.
“Not at all,” Illya said in irritation. “Mr. Wye insisted on keeping to the rule about not discussing anyone who has gone missing, once he and Ecks were given the brush-off.”
“I’ll have someone look into it,” Mr. Waverly said.
“Thank you,” Illya said again. Seeing Napoleon turn in at the store’s parking lot, he added, “I need to go now, Sir, but please keep us informed.”
“The same to you and Mr. Solo,” Mr. Waverly said.
Illya nodded. “We will. Channel D out.”
Napoleon sighed as he parked the car near the front doors. “I don’t know; I’m more inclined to believe that the note has nothing to do with Ecks and Wye’s organization and the usage of the ‘Mind your P’s and Q’s’ phrase was just a coincidence. It would seem a little much for a couple of their former coworkers to be staying here.”
“That could very well be,” Illya said, capping the communication pen. “On the other hand, if this is a THRUSH plot, perhaps Agents Pea and Cue escaped their organization’s decimation and went over to THRUSH, where they were assigned to this community.” He paused. “Only then it would fall to us to wonder why they don’t just kill Ecks and Wye and get it over with.”
Napoleon shrugged. “Maybe they want to draw it out, to make them squirm and suffer before killing them. Since Ecks and Wye were traitors to their organization, the other members may feel that simple, clean deaths are too good for the likes of them.” He got out of the car.
“I suppose,” Illya grunted. “I have never understood that mentality. If killing has to be done, it’s better to do it and get it over with quickly. There is no need to drag it out without mercy.”
“Of course,” Napoleon said, “if it’s a revenge killing, it doesn’t have to be done.” He opened the door, stepping inside the market. “Hmm. This is nicer than I thought it would be.”
“Why?” Illya returned. “The houses are quite nice, just all the same. It makes sense that the store would be appealing.” He grabbed a shopping cart.
“True,” Napoleon mused. “Do you know what you want to get here?”
“I made a list.” Illya took it out of his pocket and set it in the top compartment of the cart. “And you?”
“I have an idea as well,” Napoleon said. He took a cart of his own. “But it will go faster if we each pick up some of the other’s items.”
“Very well. Perhaps you can acquire the dairy items,” Illya said, showing Napoleon his list.
Napoleon glanced through it, mentally recoiling at some of the items. “Dairy will be fine,” he said. “And I’ll pick up some of the produce. As for myself, I don’t believe I have too many unusual items to procure. Mainly a loaf of raisin rye bread, if they have it here.”
Illya sighed. “I was going to select a more normal variety, so I might as well look for that while I’m there.”
Napoleon nodded. “Thank you,” he said calmly.
“And we will meet in the middle of the store,” Illya continued.
“Fair enough.” Napoleon turned to head in his chosen direction.
The store was pleasant and well-organized, which was at least something Napoleon could say for it. Everything was easy to find, and the music playing over the loudspeakers was enjoyable to shop by. He greeted the people who passed by, but they only nodded and returned the salutations; they weren’t in the mood to stop and talk. That could easy enough be because they wanted to focus on shopping, but Napoleon couldn’t help but wonder if they just didn’t want to talk to him specifically. He’d had the feeling that in spite of the friendliness of certain residents such as Marietta, the majority of the people did not like strangers and were wary of both him and Illya.
He was in the process of selecting cereal when lowered voices on the next aisle gave him pause.
“Two people are gone today!” one woman moaned. “I saw Everett and Clarice’s homes for sale when I was driving out here.”
“Well, don’t talk about it here,” a second woman hissed. “You know we’re not allowed to talk about the missing. They’ve violated the rules and they’re not worthy to be discussed in public, according to the Council.”
“I’m just so worried that one of us might be next,” the first woman said. “I’m on pins and needles every day wondering if I’m for sure keeping every little rule. You know, I think they just make up some of them. I saw a worker repairing Clarice’s step. If that was the only issue, I don’t remember anything in the brochure about steps.”
“I asked about that and was already told that a lot of the specific rules fall under general headings,” the second woman said. They were walking up the aisle now, and Napoleon quietly moved forward on his side to keep pace with them.
“All it says is that you’re supposed to keep your house in immaculate condition,” the first woman said. “It doesn’t say that a slightly creaking step is worthy of being immediately kicked out. I thought they’d at least give a warning first.”
“Wait. You know the step was specifically creaking, instead of being broke through or something else?” The second woman sounded tense. “You knew that and you didn’t report it?”
“I saw no need to,” the first woman retorted. “I did mention to Clarice that she should probably get it fixed, and I figured that was all I needed to say to anyone.”
“I’m sure the Council wouldn’t agree with you,” the second woman said.
“Hang the Council, every one of them,” the first woman fumed. “I really think I’ve had enough. I’m going to them tonight and telling them that I don’t fit in here and I want to move. You should too.”
“What if the Council won’t let you go?” the second woman worried. “I don’t know if anyone here has ever tried to move, but maybe they have and they also disappear quietly in the night.”
The first woman fell silent. “Well, if they won’t let anyone go, what are we going to do?” she said in a very small voice. “We’re practically prisoners here. I don’t want to stay.”
“Give it a little more time,” the second woman encouraged. “I think those new people are trying to figure out what’s going on. Maybe they can.”
“Or maybe they’ll disappear too,” the first woman retorted.
“Let’s wait and see for a couple of days, at least,” the second woman said. They turned onto another aisle, leaving Napoleon frowning and pondering over their words.
So at least some of the residents had noticed what he and Illya, and maybe Ecks and Wye, were doing. In any case, they suspected. And if they suspected, it was a good bet that the Council did too. That was most definitely not encouraging.
Sobered now, Napoleon continued his journey to find what was needed to stock their house.
Hopefully they would have a chance to use the purchases.
Ecks sat on a park bench and shook out the town newspaper, scanning the day’s stories with a good deal of unimpressed boredom. “Not one mention of those people being turned in last night,” he grunted. “The only indication that something happened at all is that their houses went up in the real-estate listings.”
“What would you expect them to do?” Wye answered. “Announce it all over the place that they’ve asked two more Peaceful Meadows residents to ‘leave’? Seems to me that this rule of not speakin’ about it strikes more fear into people than if they talked freely about what happened and why.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” Ecks paused, then folded the paper and set it on his lap, supporting it with one hand. “It also bothers me that a lot of the people here don’t even want to work outside the community. It’s like they think this is some kind of perfect shelter from the storms of life and that even so much as setting one foot outside the gate will result in a calamity.”
“They sure are off in the head, aren’t they?” Wye chuckled.
“I can’t find it as amusing as you do,” Ecks shot back. “Who knows what people this paranoid might do!”
“For now let’s just worry about the Council. Alright? The sheep what follow them ain’t so much a concern to me as their leaders are.”
“And the possibility that now we’ve got two former colleagues out to get us,” Ecks worried.
“Eh. ‘P’s and Q’s’ probably don’t mean anything. I wouldn’t put too much stock in that.”
“You say that, and yet you were the one who first brought up the idea of showing the note to Kuryakin and Solo,” Ecks said. “It wasn’t just because they were mentioned too; you were hoping they could find out something that would help us.”
“I was; I’ll admit that,” Wye nodded. “But I’m not planning to sit back and let them do all our research for us. There’s plenty for us to look into.”
“If we could get a list of all the residents, which seems unlikely.” Ecks crossed his arms.
“They might have a computer database with all of that sort of information in it,” Wye suggested. “You figured out how to reprogram U.N.C.L.E.’s supercomputers back when you were stalking Kuryakin. Maybe you could also figure out how to get all of this juicy Peaceful Meadows information to us.”
“Possibly.” But Ecks didn’t seem convinced. “Do you think they’d put all of their confidential information on something that can be as unpredictable as a computer? It seems they might be more traditional and old-fashioned and store it in physical files, if at all.”
“Eh, with these people it’s a toss-up,” Wye grunted. “Files can be found too. For all we know, maybe they don’t keep any records at all.”
“Or maybe their bosses keep them. We still don’t know how far-reaching this scheme is.” Ecks started to get off the bench. “Finding out isn’t going to be easy, either, not when they keep the front offices so closely guarded.”
“And maybe that’s a red herring,” Wye said, standing as well. “Maybe if the files are here, and not on a computer, they’re at the homes of the Council members.”
“That Marietta person seems to like Kuryakin and Solo a lot,” Ecks observed. “If we could endear ourselves to her, maybe eventually she would give us some information.”
“Or tell the Council about us,” Wye replied. “Let’s not forget that her first dedication is to that blasted Council.”
“Yes, but she’s reluctant,” Ecks pointed out. “If we could show her that something terrible is going on, she might come over to our side.”
“If, if, if. If we had the proof to show her that something’s off here, we probably wouldn’t need to show her anything.” Wye frowned, seeing Ecks stare off towards the business district’s Main Street. “Now what are you seeing?”
Ecks looked troubled. “I think it’s Jennifer Jensen.” He took out his miniature telescope, focusing it across the street.
“Jennifer Jensen?!” Wye rushed over to follow his partner’s line of vision. “What the ruddy devil would she be doin’ here?!”
“Going into the grocery store,” Ecks said grimly. “And it is her; I’m sure of it.” He shoved the telescope back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
Wye chased after him as he marched out of the park and across the street in determination. This was not a good development. Not at all.
“Ruddy impatient female,” he growled, storming up to Ecks. “She can’t leave things to the professionals.”
“I guess we weren’t solving things fast enough for her,” Ecks said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, if she was goin’ to strike out on her own, she might as well have just done that instead of coming to us,” Wye snarled. “And if her bein’ here makes things worse for us, I’m going to add that to the bill.”
“It’s going to make it worse,” Ecks said flatly as he arrived at the store’s parking lot.
Seeing that Ecks was looking at Napoleon’s convertible, Wye stopped and looked to the Heavens in disbelieving dismay.
Illya was just finishing his part of the grocery shopping and heading for the middle of the store when he nearly crashed into a young woman coming from the front of the building and not seeming to watch where she was going. Perturbed, Illya ground to a halt as quickly as he could. “This isn’t a public street, but it’s still generally a good policy to look in all directions before stomping into a store,” he snapped.
She looked to him, actually noticing him for the first time. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You’re right; I should have been watching.” She brushed her shoulder-length black curls away from her face.
“I haven’t seen you at Peaceful Meadows before,” Illya noted. Not that he and Napoleon had met all of the residents, but it seemed a good way to try to ease into a conversation.
“I haven’t been,” she said. “I’m looking for a Mr. Allan Finch. Do you know him?”
Illya scowled. “The only Allan I know lives next-door to us, with his friend.”
“Luther Harris?”
“Luther Something. I suppose Harris.” Illya shrugged. “We haven’t heard people use surnames very often around here.” He peered at her. “If you’re new here, what is your business with Allan?”
“That’s something I need to discuss with him.” She kept a tight grip on her purse. “But if you live next-door, have you heard anything about Martin Jensen?”
“Only that people don’t talk about him around here,” Illya frowned. “He seems to be quite popular regardless.” Seeing Napoleon coming from the other direction, he asked, “Do you know him?”
“Of course,” she answered. “I’m his sister.”
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Date: 2015-07-01 05:49 pm (UTC)A quote both good and Napoleon: Napoleon said, “if it’s a revenge killing, it doesn’t have to be done.”
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Date: 2015-07-01 11:49 pm (UTC)I loved putting that quote in. :)