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Breaking and entering was beginning to become a bad habit of mine.
This was the second one, I think, this week. Might even be the third.
Although, technically and apparently, this wouldn’t be a break-in; we had legitimate access thanks to Regan. It was going to be a nice change to walk into a building and not do anything illegal, however, despite my intentions to begin legal, I very much doubted it would stay that way. Something illicit was damned inevitable.
I took a long drag of my cigarette, blew out a plume of smoke, and stared up at the tall building opposite the shadows where I’d concealed myself while I waited for Regan. My eyes followed the pristine and sterile lines of the tower, the stark corners and I traced the white metal fascias surrounding the mirrored windows. The lair of Satan. The headquarters of Tribeca Systems proclaimed its presence with an extroverted uppercase font adorning its front face; the text on the building had changed its style more times than I’d tried to quit smoking.
I finished my cigarette and flicked the stub to the floor. Part of me loved to smoke, loved to litter, in the more affluent Sectors of Space Station Delta. I wanted to sully them. Pollute the clear, well-filtered air, and trash the streets.
It was after dark. Again. Another late-night escapade.
I’d had most of the day to recover, at last, and had taken the opportunity to rest, even nap, and eat plenty of food. It some ways, today had been wasted on recovery and I could’ve taken some time to continue to work on my cases. I had leads that were waiting to be investigated. And there was still the mystery of the face changes, the connection between Greene and Emmerson, and the connection between Greene and Tribeca.
The latter, I’d hoped, would become clear tonight.
I started to light another cigarette but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. Regan. I turned to see him dressed all in black. Black trousers, black jumper, black gloves and a black beanie.
“Designer again?” I asked.
He patted himself down with a grin. “Yeah,” he said. “Same as last time; I thought it would be discreet.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He nodded. “Isn’t this the sort of thing a person wears for breaking into buildings,” he said. “You didn’t really say much before, so I thought it was okay.”
“We’re not breaking in.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got access, right?”
“Oh,” he said with a little chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”
“And professional burglars do not wear black.” I started to walk toward the large steps that led up to the entrance, but Regan pulled me by the elbow to direct us around the side of the building. “They wear different shades of grey or navy. Black can sometimes stand out just as much as bright colours. Plus, I don’t think black suits you.”
“Is that why you...”
“No, I just like grey,” I said. “Plus, you can never go wrong with a white shirt. It’s... er... classy.”
“And you like colourful underwear.” I could hear the amusement in his voice and didn’t need to look at him to know his face was filled with a grin. “Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t go snooping. I caught sight of a little flash of polka dots in your laundry basket. Or rather, on the floor next to your laundry basket.”
“Who said they were mine?” I joked. We’d reached an alley at the side of the building, a familiar alley, and I could see a doorway tucked into the wall. I’d been here before. But only because Dionne Bex had felt it unseemly for me to be seen leaving through the front door after a meeting about Subject B.
“After briefly meeting Queenie, I gotta admit that I don’t think they’re quite in her style.”
I laughed. “Definitely not!”
“She’s, and forgive me for saying this,” he stopped us outside the recessed entranceway, “a bit uptight.”
“You’re not wrong!” I snorted a laugh. “She’s got one hell of a stick up her arse! And not the good kind!”
“I knew it!” He swiped his SmartBoy along a panel to the right of the doorway. “You’ve argued with her!” There was a ping and the hidden entrance opened.
I ignored his statement and stepped around Regan and into the narrow corridor. “Come on,” I said walking away and towards our destination; I knew from my previous visit that there was an elevator up ahead that led straight to the CEO’s office.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he asked as he followed.
“You didn’t ask.” I felt a smug grin creep up my face. “You’ve only stated things.”
“Fine,” he said. “Did you and Queenie have a fight?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’m going to break up with her.” We reached the elevator and I paused; Regan would need to swipe us in. “It’s not fair on her. Or me. As soon as this case is over, I’ll tell her.”
“Why wait?” He waved his SmartBoy, and the doors pinged open.
“I don’t want to break a promise.”
I’d forgotten how bare the interior of the lift was. No buttons. No controls. It only had the one destination and the carriage climbed to Dionne Bex’s top floor rooms.
I’d also forgotten how goddamned slow the elevator was. Intentionally slow.
Regan stood close, needlessly and despite the ample spacing, but I welcomed his contact and his silence; he hadn’t said a word since we’d entered the elevator. I wanted him, but I wasn’t going to betray Queenie. I think he knew that.
The carriage came to a halt and the doors opened.
Something was very different.
“That wasn’t there the last time I was here,” I said.
“Nor the last time I was.”
It was dark, gloomy, in the CEO’s office at this time of the evening, but enough streetlight seeped through the large surrounding windows to see a depressed stairway leading down and below the office. It was not discreet. And odd, odd that the placement of the steps didn’t match the décor or the style. Out of place. A secret passage? But why was it open? Revealed?
I turned to Regan and placed my finger on my lips, signalling for silence. He was confused but nodded in response.
There was someone here. A secret passage in the middle of the floor, open in the middle of the night? I doubted we were expected, and I wanted to damn well keep it that way.
I gestured for us to move to the side and away from direct view of the stairs. I reached for my gun, considering for a moment that it might’ve been beneficial to make sure Regan was not only armed, but knew how to defend himself. My hackles twitched. Danger was afoot.
I moved to the opening, Regan just behind, and peered down the steps with my gun raised in anticipation.
There was a light, maybe a lamp, but whatever was below wasn’t fully illuminated. I strained my ears over the beat of my heart and my laboured breaths. I could hear... something. Someone, someone was definitely here. I could hear them pottering about inside.
I moved closer and stepped one foot on the stairs.
They creaked.
Goddammit.
“Regan?” called Dionne Bex from below. “Is that you?”
I glanced back at Regan and could tell by his expression that he’d didn’t know what to do.
“Regan?” called his mother again.
I needed him to do something before she saw us both on the stairs. I couldn’t exactly walk into the room myself; she’d have me locked up before I could say ‘goddammit.’
“Go on,” I mouthed to the other man and gestured with my head for him to descend.
“Yeah.... Yes?” Regan called out as he moved passed me and made his way down the secret stairway. “Yes, it’s me, mother.”
“You came back,” she said. “It’s about time.”
“Yes, mother.” He glanced at me; he looked scared, worried.
“Have you convinced Jack Gemini to investigate the church?”