Chapter 12

Brandon’s cell phone, bloodied clothes and wallet were exactly where Eve had suggested, though he was forced to speak at length with the nurses and sign a dozen or so forms before they would release the belongings to him. One of the documents included an astronomical sum of money they expected to receive for their services, clearly the out of town rate; Brandon agreed to return with enough to pay the bill in full just as soon as he could reach his banker back in Canada (what he really hoped was that the agency would pick up the tab once he’d gotten a hold of them.)

He returned to his room to slide the dirty pants ever so gingerely over his swollen knee, then the undershirt from last night that wreaked of sweat. Despite the smell, it still seemed less ridiculous than simply wearing the hospital gown through town to get back to his apartment. It took him longer to get dressed than he anticipated and as the frustration mounted due to his inability to bend, twist or use his right hand, he decided to take a break and check the cell phone Deep Throat had provided him. He rummaged around the bottom of the clear, blue hospital bag until he was able to produce the phone. It didn’t appear to have suffered any damage the night before. It was a classic-style flip phone that Brandon recognized from his high school days. Guess the government couldn’t spring for an iPhone, Brandon thought to himself as he opened the phone.

He had received one new text at three o’clock that morning. He clicked the enter button on the phone and a split second later it displayed the two word message he’d received, “provide update.” He considered how exactly he was expected to do so, he didn’t assume they wanted him to type away a full report via text message, assuming the number the text came from was even active any longer. Maybe they expect a report via e-mail? His wondering was cut short by an abrupt vibration of the phone. He had received a new message, they must have had a read receipt on the last one, Brandon assumed. He clicked to open it. “Will call in ten.” It seemed it was time for Brandon to go.

Brandon finished getting dressed and made it out the door of the hospital in six minutes. He assumed the chances of the call being tardy were pretty slim, so he’d have to find somewhere relatively private to speak. The hospital was atop a hill near the center of town, but the walk down the hill spanned a good few hundred yards with excellent visibility and little reason for pedestrians (unless they were also being discharged at the same time, which seemed unlikely.) He pulled the phone from his pocket with his left hand and looked at it. Three more minutes. He paused and took a deep breath; he could feel the anxiety building in his chest. This would be all right. He’d just explain what happened, they would recognize that his cover had not been compromised, he’d agree to provide a written report then spend the night eating dinner with Eve, staring intermittently at her lips and chest until she ran away again and he could spend the rest of the night pining over her with a bottle of Wild Turkey. Not a bad night, all in all. He just had to get through this call first. Two minutes.

He realized quickly that his ribs, knee and head made standing and walking around a particularly miserable experience. With no benches to sit on or any horizontal surface other than the ground to speak of inside of a hundred yards, he decided he’d just have to deal with the discomfort. He paced back and forth a bit, annoyingly aware of each dull ache and pain. Longest two minutes of my frieken’ life, he thought to himself as checked the phone again. It should ring any second now and Brandon wasn’t sure which was worse, the anxiety of waiting for the call or the physical pain of standing around as he waited. Luckily, both ended a moment later as the phone began to vibrate. The small screen on the cover of the phone lit up with the word “blocked caller” and in the second it took Brandon to use the fingers sticking out of his brace to open the phone, he wondered if legitimate secret agents like his buddy Deep Throat had to dial star six-seven on their cell phones to keep the bad guys from knowing who they were or if they had phones that just did it for them. He decided he’d probably never know before he had the phone to his ear.

“H…Hello?”

“Hey Brandon, it’s your uncle,” the voice of Deep Throat, or at least he thought so. It sounded like he was smiling… Brandon hadn’t been sure he was capable of that.

“Hey Uncle Tom, I didn’t think I’d hear from you until after your vacation.” Brandon responded with the appropriate code to confirm his identity and that it was safe to speak.

“Heard you had a long night, Brandon.” There was the familiar combination of disinterest and disgust Brandon had come to expect from Deep Throat’s tone.

“Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.” Brandon responded while rubbing his temple with the three fingers he could still use on his right hand.

“Sounds like you came close. Who’s the girl?”

“No one. Why was I being followed?” Brandon’s voice firmed.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” That wasn’t an answer Brandon expected.

“So you don’t trust me? Am I under investigation? What is this?” Brandon was suddenly quite worried about the direction this conversation was going in.

“You’re a tool, Agent Carter. Nothing more. You use your tools as you see fit, you don’t concern yourself with the feelings of a hammer.” An ambiguous answer that did little to quell Brandon’s increasing anxiety.

“And when you don’t need that hammer anymore?” Brandon asked.

“The world is full of nails, Agent Carter.”

“So what now?” Brandon hoped this question would be the one to cut through the bullshit.

“Heal up. Get back to work. Get your shit together.” Deep throat had apparently grown tired of his own metaphor.

“That’s it?” Brandon asked.

“Is there anything else?” Deep Throat asked his first question.

“I could use a hand with the hospital bill.”

“Done. Take care of yourself, Brandon.”

“You sound like you might actually be concerned. Should I be flattered?” Brandon smiled, not that Deep Throat would know.

“I’ve got no use for a broken hammer,” were the last words Brandon heard before a distinctive click indicated that the conversation was over. Brandon sighed. He felt as though he’d dodged a bullet, a feeling that was even more pleasant when he considered that he may have literally. He looked up at the sky, blue and cloudless, then he looked back down at the dirty path that lead to a wider road made of the same. Bright grass contrasted the blue on either side of the walkway and down below he could hear the familiar sound of life going on. He truly was in paradise… and he had a date to get ready for.

Brandon stopped at the pier to grab the necessary paperwork for Tony and to send an e-mail to his contacts with Carnival Cruise lines about the incoming excursion application. He filled out all he could about The Skytop, then wrote instructions on what to include in terms of menu and at-cost pricing for the Cruise line to peruse. He knew he told Tony all he’d have to do was sign, but that was theatrics. He hoped Tony could appreciate that. The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, turning the horizon orange ahead of him. If he hurried, he could have the documents at The Skytop and be back to his apartment before it was completely dark out. He didn’t think his friends from last night would be out again looking for trouble, (the ones that could walk anyway) but it didn’t seem smart to push his luck. The familiar feeling of anxiety clenching at his chest began to return. Pain or not, he’d definitely hurry.

He made it to the Skytop pretty quickly for a man in his state. Covering ground was really taking it out of him, despite how small the town was. He had become hyper aware of his breathing, currently a bit labored, due to the pain that would shoot through his ribs with each deep breath. He stopped a few steps from the door to compose himself. He spent a solid minute doing nothing, just waiting for his breathing to slow while focusing on arresting his outward appearance. He knew he looked like a man who’d been beaten severely the night before, but he was hoping he could at least act like he wasn’t. He clenched his left hand into a fist and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the wave of pain to pass over him that had caught up since he’d stopped. As it subsided, he opened his eyes and walked inside the restaurant.

With the impending evening moving in, the staff was hurriedly cleaning and preparing amidst the handful of early bird dinner guests that were already there. Brandon did a quick inventory of the people inside, counting them and identifying any possible threats as was his custom. He decided as he did that he needed to start focusing on this type of thing more often, seeing as he was snuck up on by a group of thugs while being followed by agents the night prior, a failure on his part to be aware of his surroundings twice over. The answers Deep Throat gave him still bothered Brandon. He didn’t like the idea that he was being followed any more than he liked the intentionally vague answers why. Was it possibly just standard to have your analysts followed from time to time like a form of quality control? It seemed somewhat feasible, he supposed, but still didn’t feel quite right. Something told him there was a solid chance he’d never know. He caught the eye of the bartender, who nearly dropped the glass he was drying when he saw the state Brandon was in.

“Can I help you sir?” He opted not to mention Brandon’s elephant-man like appearance.

“Tony?” Brandon asked with one gruff word. The walk had taken a lot of out of him.

“Upstairs, Mr. Webb… you need a hand getting…” Brandon raised his left hand to indicate that there would be no need and started across the bar toward the stairs. His walk, he realized now, had developed a pronounced limp that served to draw more attention to him as he passed the few diners and the wait staff. He didn’t look at any of them, just continued about his business.

The stairs proved a bit of a problem for Brandon’s knee and he was surprised to realize how much your body twists at the core simply while climbing a flight of stairs. His ribs screamed their dismay at him until he reached the top step and righted himself, taking another moment to get the pain in check. He looked to his right, Tony was sitting in his office exactly as he’d found him the night prior.

“What the hell happened to you?” Tony exclaimed as Brandon opened the left of the two French doors.

“Had a little run in with some local kids,” Brandon answered nonchalantly.

“Looks like they ran into you, Brandon.” Tony stood up and circled around his desk, pushing one of the two chairs outward to provided Brandon an easier route to it. Brandon didn’t intend to stay for long, but couldn’t pass up a chance to get off his feet for a minute. He eased into the chair with a groan, using both his good and broken hands to stabilize his descent.

“I brought you something, they’ll be expecting it at the Carnival office at the pier when you’re done,” Brandon produced the folded in half paperwork from his back pocket, they were slightly crumped from him not thinking to remove them before sitting down. Tony unfolded them and looked them over.

“Ya know, in your condition, I would have understood you not having them for me today,” Tony walked back around his desk and sat down, “but it says a lot to me that you did.”

“I try my best to be a man of my word, Tony.” Brandon adjusted in the chair hoping his back and ribs would hurt less in a new position. They didn’t.

“That you are…” his voice trailed off as he read the answers Brandon had filled in for him, “so you think the cruise line will approve the application?”

“They trust me. You just get the paperwork to the office, I’ll take care of the rest,” Brandon responded, already situating himself for the pain standing back up was sure to cause. Tony stood up to provide help. Brandon took his outstretched hand and let him pull him up to his feet, “thanks.”

“I’ll have one of my guys drive you home, you shouldn’t be out walking the streets at night like this.” Tony indicated toward the nearly set sun through the window. Brandon considered disputing it, but his anxiety about walking home in the dark got the best of him and he simply nodded his thanks. Tony picked up the phone on his desk and called downstairs. Brandon couldn’t be sure who he was talking to, exactly, but Tony told him they would be waiting for him in the parking lot. Brandon thanked his host and extended his hand to shake before realizing it was of little use. Luckily, Tony knew better than to grab his tightly wrapped, broken hand and simply smiled. The two men parted ways and Brandon took his time making it back down the stairs.

Once he reached the walkway outside the main doors of the Skytop, a black Mercedes was waiting with the engine running and a young looking local man behind the wheel. Brandon was impressed with the car, you didn’t see too many luxury cars on Roatan Island. The driver popped out of his seat and ran around the car to open the door for Brandon, which in his condition, Brandon appreciated.

“Where to, Mister?” The young man spoke in passable English. Brandon gave him the address for Ramon’s coffee shop, not wanting to pass out his address unnecessarily. Ramon’s was a few minute walk from his apartment, but it was in a pretty safe part of town, as far as safe parts of town go. They rode in silence until they arrived there.

“Thanks for the lift,” Brandon slid a folded bill into the driver’s hand, “no need to get out, I can take it from here.” The driver thanked him excitedly, clearly unaccustomed to receiving tips of that size and Brandon eased his way out. The car was low, making standing up out of it that much more difficult, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the short time he’d gotten to spend in a legitimate luxury car. It reminded him of his old Mercedes back home and the life he’d left behind. One day, he’d return to that life, or at least find another one that involved luxury cars. In the meantime, he had a few blocks to cover on legs that were growing increasingly wary. He needed to pay attention to his surroundings, he could day dream about cars once he was in bed.

Ramon noticed him climbing out of the car, but didn’t approach, instead opting to maintain his distance and survey the scene. Once the Mercedes pulled away, he casually strolled up to one of the large open windows at the front of his shop.

“You look like shit,” Ramon smiled from his perch in the window, his hands still busy drying a glass.

“So I’ve been told,” Brandon was still situating himself for the walk.

“You need any help?” Ramon continued.

“Nah, thanks though Ramon. You have a good night.” Brandon waved off his offer.

“No senior, you will. I saw your friend heading toward your place a few minutes ago,” Ramon smiled knowingly. Brandon’s chest clenched once again.

“My friend?” He prayed Ramon meant Eve.

“Si, the chica.” Ramon answered in Spanglish. Brandon’s chest pain gave way to butterflies.

“Thanks again Ramon,” Brandon waved, now moving faster to get to his place than he would have thought he could. He’d left his door locked, so she’d be stuck outside. She was early, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it. He’d be able to see his place, and hopefully her, any minute as he limped his way up the street. As he came over the crest of the small hill separating his home from the businesses like Ramon’s, he saw her. She looked incredible in a sundress that only reached midway down her thighs, her legs were pale compared to what Brandon had become accustomed to seeing in Roatan Island and for some reason the familiarity of a pale white girl’s legs was much more erotic than he might have expected. She held two grocery bags in her hands that Brandon assumed was to be dinner. He shook the thoughts flooding into his brain; he didn’t know what tonight was, or what any of this was, but it was too early in the night to be thinking about sex. Get your head on straight, he commanded himself as he hobbled into earshot of Eve.

“Oh my god, look at you!” Eve announced when she saw him struggling through his walk. She put the bags down on the ground. He unconsciously allowed his limp to affect him more dramatically.

“I’ll be all right, more importantly… look at you,” Brandon smiled at the sight of her. Her dress had a floral pattern and beyond the short length in the legs, dipped enticingly at the neckline as well. Eve didn’t have large breasts, her build was much more like that of a long distance runner, lean and athletic, but the view of her neckline only exacerbated Brandon’s problem with keeping his head out of the gutter. She half-jogged up to him and slipped herself under his right arm to act as a stabilizer. It actually hurt his ribs worse than it helped him walk, but he reveled in her proximity. When they got to his door, his eyes wandered down past her beautiful smile and glanced as the loose fitting area that her shirt met her chest, then quickly glanced back up to where her eyes were waiting for him. He blushed immediately at the realization that he’d been caught, but she only smiled.

“Well, your eye seems to be doing fine,” she chided him about his swollen face and wandering vision.

“Um, yeah… I’m healing up fast. Should be back to my old self in no time,” Brandon’s inability to stand upright negated his optimism.

“Well let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, then I’ll make us something to eat,” Eve stepped back out the door to grab the bags she’d left outside before coming in and placing them on the counter Brandon usually used as his desk. He considered being self-conscious about the cheapness of his home, but knew there were few places that looked better than this on the island. Chances were good that her apartment looked the same. Eve walked past him into the small bathroom and started the water in the shower.

“It takes a bit to warm up, might as well make a drink in the meantime,” he suggested as justification for his longing for a glass of scotch. He grabbed the bottle from the counter and placed it between his right forearm and his hip, pinning it in place so he could unscrew the cap. Eve removed two short glasses from the towel Brandon had left them on to dry and placed them on the counter in front of him. He poured two fingers in each glass then placed the bottle back on the counter. Eve picked up both glasses, then handed him one once he seemed ready for it.

“A toast?” Eve asked.

“To both of us?” Brandon recounted from the night before.

“How about just… to us?” Eve smiled and stepped closer to him. Her forwardness surprised him, this girl didn’t seem nearly as uncertain about what she was doing as the one he’d kissed last night.

“To us then,” Brandon smiled. Uncertain or not, he was in heaven… assuming heaven came with a splitting headache. They each took a swig from their glasses without breaking eye contact. Brandon recognized the look on her face to mean it would be a good time to kiss her, but before he could act on it, she turned and walked back toward the bathroom to check on the water.

“Feels warm enough now,” she announced from beyond the doorway. Brandon put his glass down on the counter and started in her direction. Before he made it around the corner he noticed the floral pattern of Eve’s dress on the floor, hanging out the open doorway. His heart skipped a beat as he took the final few steps separating him from line of sight with the shower. Brandon’s wide shoulders filled the narrow doorway and there stood Eve, wearing nothing more than a black lace bra and a matching thong, eyeing herself in the mirror as if to ensure she was still beautiful before he got to there. Indeed, she was. Brandon’s mouth fell open.

“Well you’re not going to be much use to yourself with a broken hand… I figured I’d help,” she smiled that smile that left Brandon excited and terrified at once. He wanted to say something smooth, or romantic, or even cheesy in response, but instead he just gawked, “so get in here,” she reached for him with her small hands. Brandon obliged and stepped through the doorway, his heart racing and his pain suddenly fading away behind the wave of blood pumping toward things aside from his injuries. She pulled at his tee-shirt, bringing his lips down to hers and they kissed passionately for a moment before she pulled away to help him remove the shirt. His torso was riddled with black and blue like it had been tie-died in depressing shades of purple. She ran her hands down along his injuries lightly. Brandon flinched as she passed by a particularly sore area and she jumped a bit, then smiled before leaning in to kiss him again.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you,” she whispered before she began to undo his belt. Getting hurt was the last thing on Brandon’s mind. Brandon looked to the mirror in front of him, through the developing fog on the glass he could see Eve’s thong hugging the subtle curves of her body and he slid his good hand onto her lower back. I need to get beat up more often.