I had read the morning news. I had reorganized my desk 3 times. I had checked my e-mail 14 times. I had even drank the horrible bank coffee, against my best judgment. Disgusting.
It was 9:30. I had been at work for 30 minutes.
This was going to be a very long day.
I looked over at Clive. He was daydreaming again. Not doing anything in particular either, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
I wasn't.
How had Caroline known, so quickly, that I was in love before? Mr. Golden believed she was naive, and since he was the Mr. Golden, I could not see him being wrong about, well, anyone.
But, maybe... somehow... Caroline had slipped under his radar. Maybe she was indeed that special. Or he thought that because he was covering something up. That was probably more likely. He was the Mr. Golden, after all. What was I, Clem, a mere mortal, compared to him?
I looked at my watch again: 9:34. Damn it.
What could I do for 7.5 hours, when absolutely nothing was going on?
I had lunch at noon, of course, and that was always pleasant. What about the rest of the time?
What was I going to...
"Good morning, Clem," a very low voice said happily. It popped me out of my thoughts immediately. George! What was George doing in Nowhere? I mean, what the hell was George doing in Nowhere?
I took a breath, then answered. "Good morning, George. Welcome to Nowhere Community Bank. How may I assist you?"
George laughed. Apparently, my "bank speak" was far too much for him to take, considering he knew exactly who I had been. You see, George and I had been partners. George made the mess, and I cleaned it up. Simple.
Except for when it wasn't. Except for when George pissed off the wrong guy, and since George had nobody and nothing he was attached to, the bastards came after me. Since torturing me was as effective as punching cinder block with your bare hands, and hoping it will answer your questions, they killed her. And they were right, that was torture, but I still didn't talk. There was no reason to. I was too busy making all of them dead.
Of the two of us, George was the blunt instrument. I was precision. George didn't think in his line of work. He just acted. He was extremely useful in this way. He was 6'5", 280 pounds, and he could lift a car, on a good day. (Lifting up your mark's car is a very good way to scare them, by the way. Especially, while they are inside.)
Why George was here... it didn't make sense...
"We want you back, Clem," George said, smiling. "I miss you. I have gone through 4 cleaners since you left. Incompetents... as you would always say. I still don't know what that means. Your funny way of talking and how good you were at cleaning up my messes... it hasn't been the same without you. Plus, the boss wants you back."
"Can we please talk about this outside?" I asked. "I have lunch at noon. Can we talk then?"
"Sorry," George said. "The boss said that he wanted me to be driving back by noon. With you. You understand. We probably have a job tonight, and he wants us back before dark. You know how he is..."
"No," I said, glaring at George.
George laughed. "You must be joking, Clem! I know the boss went soft after Sarah died. Let you have this vacation in Nowhere. Why in the hell you would come to this stupid little town...? Anyway, you've had 6 months. You should be over her by now, tough guy. You certainly aren't crying at your desk, being useless..."
"The boss didn't 'let' me have anything, George," I growled. "I made an ultimatum, and he took it. End of story. There was no expiration date on my quitting. You. Shouldn't. Be. Here."
"Well, the boss felt..."
"I don't give a shit about what the boss said, or felt, or anything. I am done. I've gone straight. I don't do that anymore, George. You will have to find someone else."
George looked at me for a minute. I could tell he was hoping I would change my mind, just quit my job, and jump in his car with him to go back to Chicago. George was simple, but he had always enjoyed my company, even when I was an ass. The boss knew George wouldn't want to kill me, but he would, if he had to. Sending George meant, whatever it was, was a big deal to the boss. I just didn't care anymore. I had gone straight. I had a date tonight. This could not have happened at a worse...
"Well, who are you, big guy?" Clive asked, walking out of his office.
"I'm George," George said.
I took in a sharp breath. This could not end well.
"Hello, George. My, you have a really strong handshake! Are you a friend of Clem's?"
George thought for a while. Clive looked at me, confused why it was taking so long. I looked back at him and shrugged.
"I don't know," George finally answered. "Clem and I used to work together. I would like to be Clem's friend, but I don't think Clem has any friends."
"You used to work with Clem...?" Clive asked, starting to get the fact that this was not a good thing.
"Yes, I used to work with Clem. Clem was really good at his job, and I would like him to come back to Chicago with me."
"Well, George," Clive began, "when did you want Clem to go back to Chicago with you?"
"Tonight," George answered, with a smile. "We can listen to whichever radio station you want to in the car, Clem."
I did not want to have to kill George. Even if George didn't understand it, we had been friends. This was the price for going straight, I suppose...
"Clem can't go to Chicago tonight," Clive said. "He has a date."
I froze. If Clive had wanted to make things worse, he had just succeeded more than his wildest dreams.
George smiled. "Then, she can come to Chicago with us. Who is she?"
"Caroline Waters. She works at The Golden Florist. She's a real catch. If Clem canceled on her, who knows when he would meet a girl like that again?"
I will not kill my boss. I will not kill my boss. I will not kill...
"Swell," George said. "Well, I'll see you later, Clem. Hopefully, before 5 p.m. tonight. I'll be waiting for you."
George waved, and left the bank. I knew exactly what that meant.
I looked at Clive. I took a very deep breath. "Clive, I am taking the rest of the day off," I informed him.
"What?" Clive exclaimed. "Clem, it's 10 a.m.! You can't just leave me to take care of the bank by myself! Especially with creepy men from your former line of work coming here..."
I grabbed Clive by the collar and lifted him off the ground. Clive's eyes bulged, and he looked absolutely terrified. I thought better of it, and set him down gently. I took another breath. "Do you like Caroline?" I asked, in a low whisper.
"Yes," Clive said, "but you're terrifying me, Clem! What the hell is going on?"
I smirked. He was getting the picture. "Do you like Caroline... alive?" I asked.
"What!?" Clive shrieked. "What the hell do you mean?"
"You just killed her," I said, glaring at Clive. "You told a paid killer who he needs to torture and kill to get me to go back to Chicago. I have to go fix it. Now. I hope you're happy."
Clive turned sheet white. "Clem," he began, then stopped, then started again. "I'm really sorry. If you can come back by Friday, I'd appreciate it."
I scowled at Clive.
"Or why don't you just take the time you need...?" Clive squeaked.
I smiled. "I'll let you know if I can return to work. Thank you for understanding," I growled, and strode out of the bank.
I had gone straight, but I hadn't gone stupid. I still had all of my supplies in the basement. I walked home in as nonchalant fashion as I could muster, until I reached the front door of my house. Then, I ran down into the basement, and took inventory of my supplies. It was all here. Caroline was currently safe at The Golden Florist with Mr. Golden. Her being at work was the best place for her. I needed to calm down, clear my head, stop seeing images across my vision of Sarah's body, and eat lunch.
Yes, I can eat lunch with death surrounding me. How else would I have eaten three squares a day, in my old line of work?
I put all of my supplies that I could possibly need in a black duffle bag, and put it next to me at my kitchen table. Then, I began putting together a sandwich, and tea.
Sarah...
I plunged the kitchen knife into the cutting board.
No, stop. She's dead. You love her. You will always love her. But... she's dead. Thinking about her, now, will make you, and potentially Caroline as well, very dead. You don't know what the fuck is on the other side. You may or may not see her again. Not worth dying now.
I couldn't eat yet. I hadn't done this since Sarah died. That was the problem. I needed to talk to...
My phone began to ring. It was Mr. Golden. I answered immediately. "Hello," I answered.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said, recognizing my voice. "I would like to have tea with you at my shop after work today. Would you be available?"
"Yes," I responded. "I had intended to go on a date with Caroline at 6, but..."
"George is here, buying flowers from Caroline. I don't think it will be a problem, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. I will see you at 4:30, then?"
"Yes, I will be there."
"And Clem?"
"Yes?"
"Please bring one of your sandwiches with you. That was just delicious yesterday."
"Will do," I said. "Thank you, Mr. Golden."
"No problem, young man. I hope you have a nice day off."
Shit. If Mr. Golden had seen me go home from work, George had too. This was not good.
I began preparing my home for war. Everything I didn't want destroyed got stored in the basement or storage shed. I put the panel I had made to conceal the door to my office into effect. Then, I got to work on my tools. Everything had to be cleaned, checked, and organized before something like this. I did not want to go into battle, reach for a knife, and it not be there.
As I finished, I looked up at the clock. 2:30. How in the hell did time go so fast when I had so much more to do? I ran back into the kitchen, and ate my sandwich quickly. It was delicious, I am sure, on an ordinary day, but for me, at that moment, it tasted like saw dust. I drank a large glass of water, then another one. I took a breath.
Sarah...
Damn it.
I took a deep breath.
Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...
I took another deep breath.
Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...
It was time for a shower.
I walked calmly into my bathroom, and undressed. I looked in my medicine cabinet. I had drugs to make this stop, but none of them would work today. I could not be foggy and kill George. I closed the medicine cabinet and looked at myself in the mirror.
I had aged. Lines had appeared on my face where they were not there before. I had a few gray hairs sprinkled randomly through my jet black hair. I was only 32, but the man staring back at me could have been much, much older.
I sighed, and stepped into the shower. I turned on the water, ice cold. I needed to clear my head. I walked into the shower, and sat on the floor, letting the cold water fall on my head. I pulled my knees to my chest, and waiting for my breathing to return to its measured pace. I was trained for just about anything. I just needed to remember which part of that training I needed today.
I remembered...
Sensei always said, "One must be the mountain, not the wind. You are constant, you are eternal, you allow the wind to move around you, and strike when it is most advantageous. The winds of change do not affect you because you know what you are: nothing."
My breathing became measured. The water did not feel so cold. I tipped my head back and let the water flow down my face. I felt like myself again.
I stood, and washed myself thoroughly. I was my actions. I was responsive. I was ready. I stepped out of the shower, and looked into the mirror again. I smiled, slicked my hair back, so it would be out of the way, and smiled at myself again.
I was ready.
I dressed in my suit for exactly this purpose. It looked like a suit I would wear to the bank, but it wasn't. Unlike typical men's attire, this suit was made to move effortlessly with anything I threw at it. The vest had a Kevlar lining. On the inner side, there were numerous hooks and loops to attach whatever arsenal I saw as necessary.
I was ready.
I looked at the time. 4:00. Time to go meet Mr. Golden.
I strode outside to the garage behind my house, opened the door, walked inside and took the cover off of my car. It was an old, perfectly maintained Lincoln Town Car, in black, of course. I threw my duffle on the passenger's seat, and drove over to The Golden Florist.
I walked inside. 4:15. I was early. Mr. Golden was working on closing up shop. "Clem," he said, smiling. "Please take a seat in my office."
Then I noticed it: Caroline was not here.
"Where is Caroline?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"She went home early today. She wanted to get ready for her big date with you. She will be just fine. Please, have a seat inside my office. I will be with you presently."
I did as I was told, and tried to sit in Mr. Golden's office. This was Mr. Golden, after all. He must know something about Caroline I don't. I couldn't sit though, I was too nervous about what a killer like George would do to Caroline. I paced.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said in the doorway. "I meant everything I said over the phone. I'd like to have tea with you. Did you bring a sandwich for me?"
I looked at the ceiling and sighed. "I apologize, Mr. Golden. I completely forgot," I said.
Mr. Golden flipped around the open sign on his front door, and walked into the office with me, closing the door. "I meant, did you bring the necessary items to clean up after a murder?" he asked.
I blinked twice. "Yes, of course," I responded. "They are in the passenger seat of my car, just outside."
"Excellent," Mr. Golden, responded with a smile. "Let us have tea. I can tell from your state of mind that instead of killing George, who is indeed your friend, it would be best to clean up the mess. You require a refresher course before you are a killer again, after your episode with Sarah, I believe it was?"
I winced.
"Yes, that was the proper name. George mentioned her to Caroline while they were shopping earlier. He bought a massive bouquet, with surprisingly impressive taste for his thinking style. Did you teach him the language of flowers?"
"Yes," I said quietly. "It was necessary to send messages in Chicago."
"Quite. The bouquet was half apology, half death. I assume he means to put it on Caroline's dead body. Unfortunately, George may be quite disappointed, if that is what he intends to do..."
"Why?" I asked. "George is a formidable opponent. Furthermore, he's huge. How could Caroline be a match for..."
Mr. Golden smiled, and handed me a cup of tea. "Finish your tea, young man," he ordered calmly.
I sipped my tea. It was extremely good. "Green tea?" I asked, surprised by his choice.
Mr. Golden sat at his desk, across from me, took a long sniff of his tea, before drinking a small sip. "It is from China. One of my wife's favorite varieties. I have not had it in a long time. I figured you would understand the significance of my sharing it with you."
I smiled at him. "I am honored, sir," I responded, taking another sip of tea.
"I understand you are extremely skilled at your job. George spoke very highly of you. For a man of his skills, and typical vocabulary, it sounded like he took the time to memorize larger words to describe you, because he was so very impressed. I am sorry that he chose to come to Nowhere. I am certain you feel the same."
"Yes, I do," I responded, and continued, "but Mr. Golden, why are we not going to Caroline's aid immediately?"
Mr. Golden smiled, and refilled my cup. "Finish your tea, young man," he said.
It was 9:30. I had been at work for 30 minutes.
This was going to be a very long day.
I looked over at Clive. He was daydreaming again. Not doing anything in particular either, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
I wasn't.
How had Caroline known, so quickly, that I was in love before? Mr. Golden believed she was naive, and since he was the Mr. Golden, I could not see him being wrong about, well, anyone.
But, maybe... somehow... Caroline had slipped under his radar. Maybe she was indeed that special. Or he thought that because he was covering something up. That was probably more likely. He was the Mr. Golden, after all. What was I, Clem, a mere mortal, compared to him?
I looked at my watch again: 9:34. Damn it.
What could I do for 7.5 hours, when absolutely nothing was going on?
I had lunch at noon, of course, and that was always pleasant. What about the rest of the time?
What was I going to...
"Good morning, Clem," a very low voice said happily. It popped me out of my thoughts immediately. George! What was George doing in Nowhere? I mean, what the hell was George doing in Nowhere?
I took a breath, then answered. "Good morning, George. Welcome to Nowhere Community Bank. How may I assist you?"
George laughed. Apparently, my "bank speak" was far too much for him to take, considering he knew exactly who I had been. You see, George and I had been partners. George made the mess, and I cleaned it up. Simple.
Except for when it wasn't. Except for when George pissed off the wrong guy, and since George had nobody and nothing he was attached to, the bastards came after me. Since torturing me was as effective as punching cinder block with your bare hands, and hoping it will answer your questions, they killed her. And they were right, that was torture, but I still didn't talk. There was no reason to. I was too busy making all of them dead.
Of the two of us, George was the blunt instrument. I was precision. George didn't think in his line of work. He just acted. He was extremely useful in this way. He was 6'5", 280 pounds, and he could lift a car, on a good day. (Lifting up your mark's car is a very good way to scare them, by the way. Especially, while they are inside.)
Why George was here... it didn't make sense...
"We want you back, Clem," George said, smiling. "I miss you. I have gone through 4 cleaners since you left. Incompetents... as you would always say. I still don't know what that means. Your funny way of talking and how good you were at cleaning up my messes... it hasn't been the same without you. Plus, the boss wants you back."
"Can we please talk about this outside?" I asked. "I have lunch at noon. Can we talk then?"
"Sorry," George said. "The boss said that he wanted me to be driving back by noon. With you. You understand. We probably have a job tonight, and he wants us back before dark. You know how he is..."
"No," I said, glaring at George.
George laughed. "You must be joking, Clem! I know the boss went soft after Sarah died. Let you have this vacation in Nowhere. Why in the hell you would come to this stupid little town...? Anyway, you've had 6 months. You should be over her by now, tough guy. You certainly aren't crying at your desk, being useless..."
"The boss didn't 'let' me have anything, George," I growled. "I made an ultimatum, and he took it. End of story. There was no expiration date on my quitting. You. Shouldn't. Be. Here."
"Well, the boss felt..."
"I don't give a shit about what the boss said, or felt, or anything. I am done. I've gone straight. I don't do that anymore, George. You will have to find someone else."
George looked at me for a minute. I could tell he was hoping I would change my mind, just quit my job, and jump in his car with him to go back to Chicago. George was simple, but he had always enjoyed my company, even when I was an ass. The boss knew George wouldn't want to kill me, but he would, if he had to. Sending George meant, whatever it was, was a big deal to the boss. I just didn't care anymore. I had gone straight. I had a date tonight. This could not have happened at a worse...
"Well, who are you, big guy?" Clive asked, walking out of his office.
"I'm George," George said.
I took in a sharp breath. This could not end well.
"Hello, George. My, you have a really strong handshake! Are you a friend of Clem's?"
George thought for a while. Clive looked at me, confused why it was taking so long. I looked back at him and shrugged.
"I don't know," George finally answered. "Clem and I used to work together. I would like to be Clem's friend, but I don't think Clem has any friends."
"You used to work with Clem...?" Clive asked, starting to get the fact that this was not a good thing.
"Yes, I used to work with Clem. Clem was really good at his job, and I would like him to come back to Chicago with me."
"Well, George," Clive began, "when did you want Clem to go back to Chicago with you?"
"Tonight," George answered, with a smile. "We can listen to whichever radio station you want to in the car, Clem."
I did not want to have to kill George. Even if George didn't understand it, we had been friends. This was the price for going straight, I suppose...
"Clem can't go to Chicago tonight," Clive said. "He has a date."
I froze. If Clive had wanted to make things worse, he had just succeeded more than his wildest dreams.
George smiled. "Then, she can come to Chicago with us. Who is she?"
"Caroline Waters. She works at The Golden Florist. She's a real catch. If Clem canceled on her, who knows when he would meet a girl like that again?"
I will not kill my boss. I will not kill my boss. I will not kill...
"Swell," George said. "Well, I'll see you later, Clem. Hopefully, before 5 p.m. tonight. I'll be waiting for you."
George waved, and left the bank. I knew exactly what that meant.
I looked at Clive. I took a very deep breath. "Clive, I am taking the rest of the day off," I informed him.
"What?" Clive exclaimed. "Clem, it's 10 a.m.! You can't just leave me to take care of the bank by myself! Especially with creepy men from your former line of work coming here..."
I grabbed Clive by the collar and lifted him off the ground. Clive's eyes bulged, and he looked absolutely terrified. I thought better of it, and set him down gently. I took another breath. "Do you like Caroline?" I asked, in a low whisper.
"Yes," Clive said, "but you're terrifying me, Clem! What the hell is going on?"
I smirked. He was getting the picture. "Do you like Caroline... alive?" I asked.
"What!?" Clive shrieked. "What the hell do you mean?"
"You just killed her," I said, glaring at Clive. "You told a paid killer who he needs to torture and kill to get me to go back to Chicago. I have to go fix it. Now. I hope you're happy."
Clive turned sheet white. "Clem," he began, then stopped, then started again. "I'm really sorry. If you can come back by Friday, I'd appreciate it."
I scowled at Clive.
"Or why don't you just take the time you need...?" Clive squeaked.
I smiled. "I'll let you know if I can return to work. Thank you for understanding," I growled, and strode out of the bank.
I had gone straight, but I hadn't gone stupid. I still had all of my supplies in the basement. I walked home in as nonchalant fashion as I could muster, until I reached the front door of my house. Then, I ran down into the basement, and took inventory of my supplies. It was all here. Caroline was currently safe at The Golden Florist with Mr. Golden. Her being at work was the best place for her. I needed to calm down, clear my head, stop seeing images across my vision of Sarah's body, and eat lunch.
Yes, I can eat lunch with death surrounding me. How else would I have eaten three squares a day, in my old line of work?
I put all of my supplies that I could possibly need in a black duffle bag, and put it next to me at my kitchen table. Then, I began putting together a sandwich, and tea.
Sarah...
I plunged the kitchen knife into the cutting board.
No, stop. She's dead. You love her. You will always love her. But... she's dead. Thinking about her, now, will make you, and potentially Caroline as well, very dead. You don't know what the fuck is on the other side. You may or may not see her again. Not worth dying now.
I couldn't eat yet. I hadn't done this since Sarah died. That was the problem. I needed to talk to...
My phone began to ring. It was Mr. Golden. I answered immediately. "Hello," I answered.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said, recognizing my voice. "I would like to have tea with you at my shop after work today. Would you be available?"
"Yes," I responded. "I had intended to go on a date with Caroline at 6, but..."
"George is here, buying flowers from Caroline. I don't think it will be a problem, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. I will see you at 4:30, then?"
"Yes, I will be there."
"And Clem?"
"Yes?"
"Please bring one of your sandwiches with you. That was just delicious yesterday."
"Will do," I said. "Thank you, Mr. Golden."
"No problem, young man. I hope you have a nice day off."
Shit. If Mr. Golden had seen me go home from work, George had too. This was not good.
I began preparing my home for war. Everything I didn't want destroyed got stored in the basement or storage shed. I put the panel I had made to conceal the door to my office into effect. Then, I got to work on my tools. Everything had to be cleaned, checked, and organized before something like this. I did not want to go into battle, reach for a knife, and it not be there.
As I finished, I looked up at the clock. 2:30. How in the hell did time go so fast when I had so much more to do? I ran back into the kitchen, and ate my sandwich quickly. It was delicious, I am sure, on an ordinary day, but for me, at that moment, it tasted like saw dust. I drank a large glass of water, then another one. I took a breath.
Sarah...
Damn it.
I took a deep breath.
Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...
I took another deep breath.
Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...
It was time for a shower.
I walked calmly into my bathroom, and undressed. I looked in my medicine cabinet. I had drugs to make this stop, but none of them would work today. I could not be foggy and kill George. I closed the medicine cabinet and looked at myself in the mirror.
I had aged. Lines had appeared on my face where they were not there before. I had a few gray hairs sprinkled randomly through my jet black hair. I was only 32, but the man staring back at me could have been much, much older.
I sighed, and stepped into the shower. I turned on the water, ice cold. I needed to clear my head. I walked into the shower, and sat on the floor, letting the cold water fall on my head. I pulled my knees to my chest, and waiting for my breathing to return to its measured pace. I was trained for just about anything. I just needed to remember which part of that training I needed today.
I remembered...
Sensei always said, "One must be the mountain, not the wind. You are constant, you are eternal, you allow the wind to move around you, and strike when it is most advantageous. The winds of change do not affect you because you know what you are: nothing."
My breathing became measured. The water did not feel so cold. I tipped my head back and let the water flow down my face. I felt like myself again.
I stood, and washed myself thoroughly. I was my actions. I was responsive. I was ready. I stepped out of the shower, and looked into the mirror again. I smiled, slicked my hair back, so it would be out of the way, and smiled at myself again.
I was ready.
I dressed in my suit for exactly this purpose. It looked like a suit I would wear to the bank, but it wasn't. Unlike typical men's attire, this suit was made to move effortlessly with anything I threw at it. The vest had a Kevlar lining. On the inner side, there were numerous hooks and loops to attach whatever arsenal I saw as necessary.
I was ready.
I looked at the time. 4:00. Time to go meet Mr. Golden.
I strode outside to the garage behind my house, opened the door, walked inside and took the cover off of my car. It was an old, perfectly maintained Lincoln Town Car, in black, of course. I threw my duffle on the passenger's seat, and drove over to The Golden Florist.
I walked inside. 4:15. I was early. Mr. Golden was working on closing up shop. "Clem," he said, smiling. "Please take a seat in my office."
Then I noticed it: Caroline was not here.
"Where is Caroline?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"She went home early today. She wanted to get ready for her big date with you. She will be just fine. Please, have a seat inside my office. I will be with you presently."
I did as I was told, and tried to sit in Mr. Golden's office. This was Mr. Golden, after all. He must know something about Caroline I don't. I couldn't sit though, I was too nervous about what a killer like George would do to Caroline. I paced.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said in the doorway. "I meant everything I said over the phone. I'd like to have tea with you. Did you bring a sandwich for me?"
I looked at the ceiling and sighed. "I apologize, Mr. Golden. I completely forgot," I said.
Mr. Golden flipped around the open sign on his front door, and walked into the office with me, closing the door. "I meant, did you bring the necessary items to clean up after a murder?" he asked.
I blinked twice. "Yes, of course," I responded. "They are in the passenger seat of my car, just outside."
"Excellent," Mr. Golden, responded with a smile. "Let us have tea. I can tell from your state of mind that instead of killing George, who is indeed your friend, it would be best to clean up the mess. You require a refresher course before you are a killer again, after your episode with Sarah, I believe it was?"
I winced.
"Yes, that was the proper name. George mentioned her to Caroline while they were shopping earlier. He bought a massive bouquet, with surprisingly impressive taste for his thinking style. Did you teach him the language of flowers?"
"Yes," I said quietly. "It was necessary to send messages in Chicago."
"Quite. The bouquet was half apology, half death. I assume he means to put it on Caroline's dead body. Unfortunately, George may be quite disappointed, if that is what he intends to do..."
"Why?" I asked. "George is a formidable opponent. Furthermore, he's huge. How could Caroline be a match for..."
Mr. Golden smiled, and handed me a cup of tea. "Finish your tea, young man," he ordered calmly.
I sipped my tea. It was extremely good. "Green tea?" I asked, surprised by his choice.
Mr. Golden sat at his desk, across from me, took a long sniff of his tea, before drinking a small sip. "It is from China. One of my wife's favorite varieties. I have not had it in a long time. I figured you would understand the significance of my sharing it with you."
I smiled at him. "I am honored, sir," I responded, taking another sip of tea.
"I understand you are extremely skilled at your job. George spoke very highly of you. For a man of his skills, and typical vocabulary, it sounded like he took the time to memorize larger words to describe you, because he was so very impressed. I am sorry that he chose to come to Nowhere. I am certain you feel the same."
"Yes, I do," I responded, and continued, "but Mr. Golden, why are we not going to Caroline's aid immediately?"
Mr. Golden smiled, and refilled my cup. "Finish your tea, young man," he said.
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