As I walk through the city streets in the hours just before dawn, away from the safe, constantly watched blocks containing the Villa out here in Nashville, I just barely register the wind rushing between the buildings. I have too little time to worry about the wind. It will be there tomorrow, if it’s important. Muddy Ford is a town that awakens at dawn, but does so slowly, bit by bit. Nashville, from what I’ve been able to tell in the few months I’ve been here, awakens suddenly and seemingly simultaneously. As the sun rises up above the building-filled horizon, so too do the denizens of the city rise up to get to their jobs. And I need to be ready for that. Because I need to be in place before the people are at their jobs. A city has a different feel from a town. In a town, you can know everyone. In a city, you can’t. In a city, you just have to know the right people. And I know I don’t yet know all the right people here.
For most, the right people means the people at the top, the shot callers, the ones who can affect the city with ease. But I know better than that. Those people at the top are complicated. To stay untouchable, they stay out of reach. They want to be untouched, so they aren’t as in touch with the people as I need them to be. No, best to get the managers. The people on the ground who run smaller scale operations. Like that chopshop I found across the river eastward. Or that meth op I found running out of a small townhouse. Or that mediocre gangster rapper who wants to be more integrated in the life. The thing about small operations is, unlike those more important people, they’ve got problems they know they can’t solve. And one thing my dad taught me is come with solutions and people will like you much more than if you come with a hand out. But today is not for that sort of scouting. My network, while not extensive, has eyes on most everything happening in that realm already. Those are my first stops. Always my first stops. Because coming with solutions means more than just knowing how to solve problems. It means bringing the solutions to them. Criminal solutions tend to be easy. Advisory. Because if they’re the right fit to watch for me, they have their own system running before I make contact. When I’m just watching. But the others, they can get more difficult. Because political aides and business executives tend to have the problems of wanting things they aren’t supposed to have, and therefore can’t get publicly. Which is why I always make sure to build a network up somewhat first, before going after the aide types. Because either I already have access to whichever vice or activity my future eyes in the halls of power will want, or I know where to find it.
Today isn’t an approach day. Today is just to observe. Approach should be in the middle of December, when the stress of the coming holiday season weighs heaviest. The more burden one feels, the more they appreciate me alleviating said burden. But first I need to figure out who to help, and I need to figure out what they are going to want. I want eyes on the coffee shops near the minor government buildings. Ideally the buildings themselves as well. As I approach, I see it. Just sitting there, right smack dab in the middle of several government and legislative offices, with clear eyelines to them all, is a church. One with one of those towers on it. Perfect. No one looks at the top of a church. If I get in there, I should be good watching the streets for the whole of the workday. As I approach, I make sure my jacket is zipped up and my hood covers my hair fully. Because around here, there are almost certainly cameras. And I prefer not to be immediately recognizable.
From a walk around, I can see the gates are all locked. I suspect the doors are as well. I know better than to use magic outside our Villa’s boundaries. Fortunately, the gate is also insufficient. I walk into the parking lot and hop over the fence there. There’s a door on the side of the building. Locked. Fancy lock. Newish. Replaced in the last seven or eight years. It is comforting to see these old, historical looking buildings sacrificing their authenticity for security. Especially since I know these more recent locks much better than I know locks from ye olde times. And any experienced picker will tell you, knowing a lock can be quite helpful in picking it. This supposed security upgrade of a lock, for instance, has a magnet-based optional alarm system and is highly rakable. Pulling out a magnet and placing it carefully on the metal of the panel takes one side of the equation off the board. My rake will take care of the other. No noises. The streets are still clear. I have maybe a couple minutes before the great awakening begins. Shouldn’t need more than ten seconds.
I only need four. Raking isn’t that time consuming if you’re lucky, and being lucky is one of my many skills. The handle turns and I open the door. On the back of the door, I place a magnet in a similar spot to my first. It should keep the solenoid out of the picture. Because one important aspect of breaking and entering is leaving no trace. Carefully, I take the magnet off of the front panel. Nothing changes. Either I did everything correctly, or the alarm is silent. I close the door, waiting to hear it latch. Only after the double clicking of the latch falling into place do I remove the second magnet.
I make my way through the offices portion of the church, towards the stairwell. The interior of the church is dark, of course, but I don’t need lights. Not really. Most of these old churches have pretty similar layouts. Not quite the same, of course, but similar enough to work on memory and gut feelings. Which is all I need. I’ve done this sort of thing before. I find the stairs exactly where they should be, and head up into the church proper. The tower was towards the front of the church. That’s also where the balcony is. I head there and begin searching for the path upwards, from the public space to the maintenance space. I find what I’m looking for because I know what it is: a wall panel with hinges. I take the stairs up and am in the belltower. It is all automated, as most are these days. Meaning people only come up here when something goes wrong. As long as I don’t touch the bell, I should be fine. Walking around the slatted windows, I look out each of them. Good enough views to at least get a feeling of the timing. Of who and where. Then, tomorrow or the next I can go in person to listen. Today I keep an eye out for people who are stressed, who look overworked and undersleeping. People who would need some help. And where they go.
Below me there is a quiet noise. Someone else likely entered the church. Odd, I didn’t hear any cars drive into the lot. Then again, people do walk. I keep an eye out the windows. Dawn comes. The slats seem to prevent any direct sunlight from getting into the bell’s chamber. Interesting. That means intention on someone’s part to angle each of the slat’s just so. The awakening begins.
“Who are you?” a voice asks from behind me. Not deep, not loud, but unsettling nonetheless. Mostly because I failed to hear them enter the room.
“Just watching,” I say without turning to face whoever is there. The lights of the church are still off. Which means whoever this is has as much reason to be here as I do. “You?”
I can hear a shuffling as the other person sits down near the bell. “I come here to rest. Busy night, and I don’t really have a home to go back to.”
“Fair enough. What about maintenance?” I ask. Still I do not look at them. People have begun moving outside, and that is of far more import than this resting individual.
They chuckle. Then, realizing I’m serious, they add on, “Any inconsistencies have always been attributed to ghosts and hauntings. People only come up here maybe once a year. Too spooky.”
The Dunkin seems more popular than the Starbucks, but for the morning rush, neither seems particularly as popular as she expected. Not ideal. They get their coffees elsewhere. Further afield. Probably further south, deeper into the downtown entertainment district. Or back near their homes. Either way, that means I’m going to have to wait for lunchtimes to learn anything too important. Again, less than ideal. I turn finally to look at the person I’m sharing the belltower space with. “How much of said spookiness can be attributed to you?” I muse.
He smiles. His smooth, pale face and long black hair cut a fairly androgynous profile in the darkness. “Some. I like having a place I can stay. Speaking of, how regular is this going to be?”
I sit down as well. “Not very,” I say.
He waits for a longer answer. I don’t give him one. I know better than to show my cards to a stranger. Especially one who breaks into a quote unquote holy place, like this church. Those sorts of people do not generally have the most trustworthy reputations. Finally, he speaks up. “How long will you be here, then?” he asks. I cannot quite tell if he’s tired, bored, or frustrated. His face seems a practiced blank slate. Never trust someone whose emotions aren’t clear.
“Today,” I answer him honestly. I keep my face neutral, staring him directly in his eyes. No reaction. Either that is what he was expecting, or he does not care. “Why?” I ask in return.
He smiles. It isn’t a real smile, though. A false face, like Alina’s smile during the Convention when she did not wish to interact with someone problematic, but was in proximity to them. “I am William. If we are to spend the day together, it’s only fair you know my name. And you are?”
“Not interested,” I reply, not letting my irritation pass onto my neutral face. Sometimes I miss everyone seeing me as a child.
His smile drops. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his face once more a hardened lack of expression. I can feel the frustration now, though, coming off him in waves. “You’re not my type. I just want to know the name of the person who’s spying on the Tennessee government. In case someone tries to pin whatever horrid thing you have planned on me.”
“I plan nothing bad. Do not worry,” I reply, still not giving him my name.
Suddenly, behind his forcibly neutral face, I can see a look of recognition in his eyes. Like he’s solved some kind of puzzle. If he were better at it, he could keep that hidden. He doesn’t say anything, not realizing I can read him like a book. I stand up and do another walk around, looking at the buildings to see which lights came on first. Taking out my binoculars, I look into each office I can see with their early lights on. I memorize the faces of these early birds. Because the only people who are up and working this early are those who are being forced to be. Especially in governmental entities.
It’s when I sit back down that this William fellow smugly says. “You must be the new guy running around,” he says, a smirk of victory crossing onto his face, “I must admit, from how certain people are acting, you’re not at all what I expected.”
Keeping my face blank, I cock my head to the side. He takes the opportunity to continue his smug monologue. “From how my friends have been talking, I thought you’d be bigger. And armed. And not hiding away in some tower.” He’s trying to get me angry. To get me talking. He really has no idea with whom he is dealing.
I lean in close. I recognize the smell. Death. That is why the slats are positioned just so. Interesting. I thought these types just a rumor. Suddenly, I get the feeling the political world of Tennessee can wait. This gentleman is an opportunity to access a whole different sort of sphere of influence. I give him a slight nod. “You can call me Therese,” I tell the vampire.
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