3. Antonio
The morning after the Moretti Family Dinner, Gio summons Antonio back to prism’s comms room. He’d claimed to have an update, but so did Nathan during his phone call last night. That was false, and Antonio’s disappointment contributed to a night of disrupted sleep. Consequently, his yawns drown out every other word of the security management team’s opening speech. At least they started talking as soon as he took his place at the head of the tables.
“So, as you know, Nate narrowed the location to somewhere in the city,” Makeo explains, his near-nubs of fingernails fiddling with a yellow plumeria pendant hanging off his neck.
“Which was not that narrow at all,” Antonio mutters, his chin resting on the bottom of his palm.
“Do you think we’d be here if that was all we had?”
That response from the youngest member on prism’s payroll earns a prickly look from Antonio. “If it’s not, then talk faster, Pete. Or find me someone who can.”
Pete’s back hunches and he leans on both elbows. He’s probably got it even worse than Antonio when it comes to the knees under the table situation, considering he’s a few inches taller. “Word on the street is that a C. Harley is your best bet when you have a bug problem.”
“The tech kind,” Makeo adds.
The left side of Pete’s face scrunches. “Why would we be talking about any other ki—”
“So, you have a name,” Antonio says, his words flat yet firm. “What else? How are you sure this is our guy?”
“We searched in reverse, kinda? Nate said to ask around for the best, the way we would if we were looking to hire them ourselves. There aren’t many that fit the bill. Once we did that, he said he matched up the…something to the…” Makeo taps the side of Pete’s arm. “Help me out, bro?”
“It’s not my job to understand that part of it. I just know we’ll find Harley by going to this place called Tech Me Out. On the outside, it’s just some electronics store. But supposedly, if you go in and ask for a tune-up, that’s like the code word, so people ain’t all in your business.”
Antonio smacks his hand down on the table. “That’s the best damn news I’ve heard all day.”
“All day? What time is it?” Gio asks with a smile (and the shave he desperately needed).
“Time for you to start your car, ‘cuz now it’s our turn.”
Antonio leaves Gio looking confused and heads outside. The sun is way too bright, the wind too loud, and if he moves too fast, he sees double.
Normally Antonio wouldn’t be hands-on in a search party, but he wants to wrap things up quickly. And he could have driven himself, but he wants to keep his eyes closed for just a little longer.
And “a little” is exactly what he gets. Gio’s coupe bobs and weaves from the moment they exit the parking lot, and so does Antonio’s neck.
“Goddamn!” he hollers after a hefty crater knocks his forehead into the window. “I swear, they’ll block a street off for years, and it’ll still look like shit.”
Gio eases up on the gas. “Seriously, what’s up with you? Was dinner that bad?”
Antonio snarls and aligns his shoulders with the back of the seat. “I spent the entire night waiting for what turned out to be the most underwhelming phone call ever. When I finally got home, I may or may not have drunk more than half of one of those big-ass bottles of Pinot, which I thought would knock me out, but it did the opposite.” So between that and what he’d drank at his mother’s home…
“Half? By yourself?”
Antonio thinks about his unsent message to Sienna, the agricultural engineer he met at a toy drive last November. She loves Pinot Noir. Or any wine, really. She lives less than fifteen minutes from his loft. But Sienna has an ex-boyfriend. A pilot who’s flown her to over seven countries. The first time he was at her place, a commercial about a beach came on and it reminded Sienna about their trip to Bali where they swam with the dolphins. Then, the only time she and Antonio went to dinner, she’d pointed out the cuisine was a pale imitation of the fried yucca she and her pilot ex-boyfriend made with some locals in Panama. “I didn’t want company,” he says, practically whispering.
“I guess you paid the price, then.”
An automated voice notifies them of their arrival at their destination, and Gio turns on the hazard lights before swooping behind a brown station wagon.
Antonio waits for the car to lurch into park before getting out to survey the block. There are men packing bricks into the sidewall of a gyro shop two doors down, but the only other occupant is a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller, so Antonio deems the environment a low-level threat. However, he has no idea what to expect, so his guard is still up.
His hangover takes a back seat when he steps into Tech Me Out, which welcomes him with a twinkle of digital screens. The entire space can’t be any bigger than prism’s comm’s room, but it’s organized well.
A man wearing a green button-down leans over a display case and scrolls on his phone. Antonio wonders if he’s this Harley guy, but he looks like he cares more about outfit coordination than cracking codes. After the shopkeeper’s bell goes off, his brown eyes follow Antonio and Gio’s every movement.
“Er, good morning. Can I help you gentlemen with anything?”
Gio looks at the man’s name tag. “Hey…Ben. How’s it going? Listen. Someone sent my buddy and me here because we heard it’s the best place to get a tune-up. Is that right?” He walks closer and is just one forehead wrinkle below Ben, whose tan fingers grip the edge of the case in front of him.
“Uh, well. Yes,” Ben says. “For a tune-up, you’ll want to speak to—”
“Mr. Harley, correct?” Antonio butts in.
“Yes…but he’s not here right now. It’s just me. And…”
“And?” Antonio feels the cracks forming in whatever confidence Ben might have had.
“Robin,” Ben blabs. “I mean…Alex.”
Gio must feel it too, as he asks, “Alex? Who’s that?”, his inflection seeming overly innocuous.
It’s funny, whenever they’re together, people always peg Gio as the friendlier one, and he is, but after twenty five years, Antonio knows his best friend has the capacity to reach the same depths as he can. It simply takes more to push him there. In all honesty, Antonio does hope it doesn’t come to that. He’d prefer things not get messy.
“Alex, uh… Alex owns the store.”
“Oh, yeah?” Antonio glances at Gio. “And where is Alex? I don’t see anyone else.”
“Not here, either. I just meant we’re usually the only ones at the store, in general. Mr. Harley comes on an appointment basis.” Ben’s eyes drift to the opposite end of the store entrance, but snap back. Unfortunately (for Ben anyway) Antonio’s eyes are faster.
He emphatically makes his way to the rear wall behind a display case, pressing his hands against multiple spots until a panel pops out. A mischievous grin appears on his face.
“Damn.” Gio’s eyelids push together as he smiles too. “What’s back there? Secret portal?”
“J-Just the more expensive stuff. But there’s nothing you’d be interested in. Besides, it’s off limits to non-employees.” Ben attempts to move closer to the panel, but Gio steps back from the counter and flaps his coat just enough to reveal a gun. They both stay put after that. “Shit,” he says, under his breath.
“Nothing to worry about, Ben,” Antonio affirms. “I’m just gonna take a quick look for my sanity. G’ll keep you company.”
His pulse surges and he gently swings the panel open to find a blob of a blanket curved over a keyboard. A blob that expands, deflates, and snores, with two black, furry boots sticking out of the bottom. The sight almost makes Antonio laugh, but he steps further and examines the room. Unlike the storefront, this space is cluttered.
The blob stirs and speaks with a voice thin and raspy. “What’s up, Ben? You need me?”
“It’s not Ben.”
The blob transforms like a caterpillar that can’t get out of its cocoon. The blanket eventually flies from the keyboard, and by the time the metamorphosis completes, all the air deserts Antonio’s lungs.
Oh.
Soft, dark-umber eyes complement skin like an afterglow: a perfect blend of brown, red, and orange. Glittered, gold fingernails flick a long, thick mane of braids to the wall and then cross over the neck of a beige sweater. As much as Antonio tries to fight it, his eyes take a trip around the very plentiful curves inside black leggings. It’s a shame; in a different setting, he’d be asking this woman for her number, and not about business.
“What the fuck.” The glittery-gold slides from the woman’s chest to her temples. “Who the fu—how did you get in here?! Ben?!”
The shrill cry cuts through Antonio’s exploration (and appreciation) of the woman in front of him. “Please don’t shout, Alex. Ben’s fine, but he’s busy.”
“He’s busy?” she asks, her irritation compounding. “Ben?” Maybe-Alex looks around Antonio. “Ben?! Are you OK?!”
“I—yes!” Ben calls back, distant but distinct. “I guess.”
Antonio gestures to the panel. “See? Fine. Can we get back to us, now?”
Probably-Alex blinks a couple of times. “Wh-What? What does that even mean?”
“It means I’m trying to talk to you, Alex.”
“Stop saying my name like you know me!” She unsuccessfully tries to push past Antonio, and stamps her foot before backing into the wall behind her.
The tantrum coaxes a snort from Antonio, and Alex’s face hardens. He holds up his palms. “I’ll cut to the chase. The person I’m interested in is C. Harley. I’m aware he operates out of this shop, and since you’re the owner, I’m sure you can point me in the right direction.”
Alex has a much better poker face than Ben, that’s for sure.
However, she continues to stay silent, so Antonio tightens his jaw before saying, “You should know whatever lie you’re trying to come up with is a waste of time. And wasting time puts me in a terrible mood.”
“They have something for that. Anger Management, I think it’s called? Or a de-stressing tea blend, at the very least. I can recommend some, if you’d like,” she says, still looking quite serious.
Antonio eyes her right back, not wanting to lose control of the situation by reacting to her irreverence.
She could just be that reckless, but Antonio feels like she’s deflecting, which tells him he’s in the right place.
He steps closer, following his instincts. “Is this guy your boyfriend or something?”
“You want to know if I have a boyfriend?” Alex asks quickly, without a doubt to catch him off guard. His headache resurfaces, so one more swing might actually knock him down.
So in a swift and reflexive series of moves, he closes their gap completely and ends with his right arm on the wall, trapping Alex against her desk. “I want to know why you’d be protecting someone who would put you in danger,” he offers quietly.
“Am I?”
Alex’s eyes have switched from gentle, to defiant, and back, and coupled with her smart-ass mouth–a mouth with full, pillow-soft looking lips–the boundaries continue to blur on who’s trapping who, here.
Antonio sighs. “Not if you tell me what I need to know. And you should tell me.” He pulls his coat back, deciding to get back on track by revealing his own gun. “You help me out, and we both get what we want.”
Alex squints and wipes her forehead. “You’re looking for Charlie, but he’s not here.”
“Charlie?”
“Yes. C. Harley. Charlie.”
“Alright… Tell me how I find him.”
She reverts to her silence, but Antonio can tell something’s changed. He doubles up on the charm and homes in on those lips of hers, pinkish-brown with a defined cupid’s bow. He intends to dissolve whatever’s left of her fortress of secrecy, but there’s something about the way she looks up at him that has a similar effect. There’s no kindness or boldness behind this gaze. Just temptation.
His nose flares as he teeters the line of giving in.
It’s this damn hangover. That’s all. I’m off my game.
“You go through me,” Alex says. “I take your information, give Charlie a call, and he decides how things move from there. He’s very private.”
“Sure. But you will make the call for me?”
“You have to tell me what you want him for.” Alex pulls her right ear, and Antonio presses a little more of his weight against the wall.
“I think it’s probably above your pay grade. Not to mention, I like my privacy, too. Just make the call, and I’ll handle the rest.”
She shakes her head. “We have a system for a reason. You try handling this without me, and I guarantee he’ll shut you down. He’d be able to tell something was wrong.”
“Would he?” Antonio tilts his head. “Sounds like you and Charlie know each other pretty well, Alex. In that case, don’t underestimate how much trouble he’s in.”
“Underestimating means I’d have had to estimate in the first place. I don’t even know your name.”
In the time Antonio takes to recall whether or not Alex is right, she ducks out from under his arm. At first, he thinks it’s to escape again, but as Antonio does a half spin, he sees her reach for a pair of green glasses on her desk.
Antonio snatches them up instead. “I am the guy with the gun. And you are the woman who’s going to call Charlie. Then, my name won’t matter, because you and I will never see each other again.”
“Can’t make a call if I can’t even fucking see,” she retorts, holding her palm out.
Antonio, baffled on the inside, but composed on the outside, hands her the frames.
“Thank you.” Alex puts them on. “Now, what the hell am I supposed to say when I call him? Hey, Charlie, I’ve got Michael fucking Corleone in here. Stop by when you can? Be serious, please.”
Me be the serious one? Antonio presses his hands together. Then he sits on Alex’s desk and hooks a leg under the seat of her chair, pulling it closer and gesturing for her to sit.
Surprisingly, she does without fussing.
The ticking of his watch acts as a hypnotic pendulum. Antonio quickly becomes annoyed with himself for the thoughts that follow.
Alex looks like the kind of woman he’d find dancing in the middle of her group of friends at prism. A woman he’d invite over to the VIP section. And by the end of the night, he’d wager she’d be talkative for a very different reason.
Antonio clears his throat and pretends to pick a piece of lint off his coat. “My name is Antonio Moretti. I’m just a businessman who’s very protective of what he’s built. That’s all.”
Alex snorts. “Just a businessman?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re about as convincing as Superman and Clark Kent.”
“And you are annoying,” Antonio growls, lowering his face towards hers. “Like a goddamn chihuahua. Call Charlie. Now.”
“Fine,” Alex says, after a pause. “After that, you leave.”
“You’re the one who keeps drawing this out. I’ve about had my fair share of you and this place for a lifetime.”
Alex lifts her phone from her desk, and her eyelids creep together as she scrolls for a bit and dials a number.
“So we can both hear, please.”
She grabs her ear and uses her other hand to toggle on the speaker. “Hi…Charlie? It’s me.”
A man’s voice asks, “Wh—uh…are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I have a potential client for you. But he wants to meet in person. Sensitive subject matter.”
“Okay…where?”
Antonio watches Alex tap the screen and look at him. “Four p.m. at prism, my club down in South Phi—”
“That overpriced, boring-ass club near the stadium. prism,” she finishes. “Does four work?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” Alex ends the call and whacks her phone back on the desk. “There you go. And now you can go.”
Instead of responding, Antonio’s eyes wander around the office until they land on an unzipped backpack lying on the floor. He picks it up and rummages through, calmly raising it above Alex’s reach.
“Give me my fucking bag.”
“You could use a swear jar, you know that? Then you could hire someone to clean all this up.” Antonio continues to dig around until he pulls out a wallet. “Alexandra Agneau, twenty—hold on—Agneau?” He glances at her. “Your last name is Agneau?”
“Wait, what? No. It’s Johnson. Let me see that.”
In a knee-jerk reaction, Antonio lowers his hand, but then thinks better. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
“Only on Mondays.” Her smile gives him whiplash, as the intensity of their encounter mostly vanishes.
“I don’t even know why I bothered asking. Agneau doesn’t sound very common, either way.”
“I guess not. But it’s my name.”
Antonio retakes a look at her ID. “Alexandra Agneau, twenty-six, of Huntingdon Valley. Sheesh, that’s a hike. What the hell are you doing down here?”
“If you’re done stalking me, I’d like my shit back, please, and thank you.”
He passes over her bag. “Seriously, though, you should probably clean that out one of these days.”
“I’m sorry, was your search inconvenient? What are you, airport security?”
That almost gets a laugh from him. “I just need a little insurance, Alex. But glad you were finally able to see things the right way. You have a nice day, now.”