Cantata

[joegoda]

Wells sat casually in the lobby of the hotel. Serge was seeing to his duty, behind the front desk, taking care of the various requests from the hotel clients. Between answering calls and working the room rosters and the duty sheets for the housekeeping, Serge would sneak a peak at the man sitting in the pale blue brocade chair. Not very tall when he was sitting down, it amazed Serge how tall the man appeared when he stood. He realized it was an illusion, and owed it to the strength of life in Wells. Sitting in the chair, head bowed over a magazine and half-dozing, Wells seemed to be just an older man, bespectacled and balding.

Wells perked up when ever anyone walked in the front door. He had mentioned to Serge that he was waiting for someone, a man, older than he was. No, he didn't know what the man looked like, only that he would show up around noon. Wells had asked if there was a place they could speak quietly, and Serge confirmed that the small meeting room, sometimes reserved for business meetings was open and free. Serge let slip that there was a fee to use the room, but for Wells, or in this case Crispin, there would be no charge. "For special guests," Serge had said with a wink, "prices are optional."

Wells had just drifted off for the thousandth time when a quiet and raspy male voice, from the direction of the front desk, asked for him. His eyes snapped open and his adrenaline pushed him out of the chair. He turned to where Serge was pointing in his direction to take a look at Jorj Helki.

Shortened and bent-backed from the onset of arthritis, his hair was a grey wisp of a memory over age-speckled pate, eyes rheumy behind rimless glasses. Jorj Helki held out an aged spotted hand as he approached.

"Mister.... Crispin?" His voice was soft as cornsilk and raspy as barroom smoke.

Wells held out his own hand and shook a firm grip. Helki may be a bit older, on the downhill slide of youth, but if he was anything like his handshake, he was still a man of steel.

"Yes I am," Wells said. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Helki."

"I am sorry," Helki said, "I find not a lot of pleasure here at all, Mister Wells. You bring up old memories and pain."

Wells turned a raised eyebrow to Jorge, who nodded. "Please," he said to Helki, "there is a small room we can use to talk. I will not take up a lot of your time, I promise." He reached to take the old man's elbow.

Helki shook it off. "I do not know if you are friend or foe, Mister Crispin. Do not treat me as an invalid."

Wells cast a careful eye to his visitor. The eyes were cast up at him and were not pleasant. In fact, if there was a definition for malice, it could be read, not hidden at all, behind rimless lenses.

Wells waved a hand down a short hall toward the meeting room. "If you please, Mister Helki." Leading the way, he continued, "My plan is to possibly relieve some of your pain, and my pain." He held the oak door open for the older man. "You see, my daughter was one of the victims of the slavers."

Helki stopped and looked at Wells with lessened suspicion. "She was raped." Wells offered. Helki nodded curtly and continued into the room.

It was a small room, as Serge had said. Six chairs around a small rectangular table. The walls contained only the barest of boring prints of the ocean shore, coffee maker perking with hot and black coffee. Wells took the chair nearest the door, and waved a hand at one of the other chairs. "Please," he prompted.

Helki took a chair at the other end of the table. The two men sat quietly, looking at each other. Minutes passed and then Wells stood, crossed to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. He turned to Helki and raised his eyebrow. Helki nodded acceptance.

Receiving the styrofoam cup, Helki nodded thanks and without looking at Wells, asked, "Raped?"

Moving back to his seat, Wells explained. "It was after the rescue that you aided. One of the people involved in the slavery found their safe house, and raped my daughter." He sipped his coffee, thankful for the warmth it sent to his brain. "I'm going to take care of him, personally."

"So you know who he is." It was a statement, not a question.

Wells nodded. "Yes. I know who he is."

Helki was quiet and contemplated his coffee. "So, Mister Crispin. You mentioned Hamilton, so you may know of my connection to him." He looked over the table. "Are you aware that I have not spoken, will not speak to him again?" He strengthened his gaze. "Are you aware that I put myself at tremendous risk contacting him the first time?"

"No," Wells said simply.

"Ah." Helki was quiet again, briefly, thoughtfully, before "Are you also not aware that you put me in great danger, having your aid call me and mention Hamilton's name? Or mentioning September, 2002?"

"I had to get your attention," Wells said.

"You certainly did that." Helki said. He took a long, quiet drink and then asked, "And why, Mister Crispin, did you want to get my attention?"

Wells looked at the older man, who looked to be about seventy. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Old enough to be smarter than you." was the short reply. "Why does it matter?"

"Somehow," Wells said, "I get the impression I'm looking at my future."

"I hope you enjoy it," Helki said. "Is that why you called me here? To see what I looked like? Do tell me that you called me here for something other than that."

Wells made a decision, quick and fast. He could have made his apologies and let the man go. Helki had obviously seen enough that he had earned his peace. He could have left the room and walked away, gone back to the States and put all of this behind him. He could simply disappear, let this all go away, become someone else for the rest of his life and live the life that Helki was wanting to have, but the memories wouldn't let him live.

"I want to destroy the white slavers that hurt my daughter, Jorj. I need your help to do that."

The bluntness of the statement caught Helki by surprise. He sputtered his coffee and glared at Wells. "My help?" he shouted. "My...help!" He rose from his seat and walked until he was standing above Wells. Red faced and veins on his forehead showing the rage, he rasped loudly, "My help was given in 2002! My help was given and I had to go into hiding for two years! My own family lived in fear of retribution. We still do!"

He raised a fist and shook it at Wells. "All it takes is one word, one slip, Mister Crispin, and it is not just my life that is forfeit. It is the life of my wife, my sons and my son's sons. These people who you speak about would not stop with just my death alone. Do you understand? They would kill my entire family as a warning to anyone else wanting to help."

Impotently, the fist dropped to his side. "I'm sorry for what happened to your daughter, Mister Crispin. It is one of the lesser evils of this horrible, horrible business." He crossed to the door, quickly, grabbed the door latch and stopped.

"I will not help you, Mister Crispin." Helki said quietly to the door. "I will not help you put my family in danger." Silence. A soft, raspy sigh. A decision. Then, softly, "I cannot help you. However, you are welcome at the Cafe More as my guest. Tonight. Around eight o'clock." He turned the latch and opened the door. "Perhaps you will find the direction you are seeking." He started to leave.

Wells stood quickly, ignoring the wave of exhaustion that swept over him as his adrenaline rush faded. "Jorj," he called quietly.

The old man turned, expectantly.

"I know your life, Jorj," Wells said. "After tonight, you'll never see me again." He extended his hand. "From one soldier to another?"

Helki looked at the offered hand, then up to the eyes of the man who offered it. He took the hand and firmly shook it once. "Goodbye, Mister Crispin," he said, as he left, the door closing silently.

Wells sat in his chair for a very long time. He wasn't sure if he dozed or not, he wasn't sure if he dreamed if he did doze. He thought about Jorj, and Jorj's life and his sacrifice. He could easily see himself ending up like that. Always being afraid, always looking over his shoulder for the unseen enemy.

"Well, isn't that what I'm here to do?" he asked himself. "Finish this and keep my family safe?"

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He stood and opened the door. Serge was there, looking concerned. "Are you all right, Mister Crispin?" Serge's eyes scanned the room, to make sure it was in acceptable condition. "There is a meeting at one o'clock. I am sorry."

"No problem, Serge. I was just cleaning up." Wells picked up the two cups, wiped at the table with a paper towel and smiled at Serge. "Thank you very much for the use of the room, Serge. Is it presentable?"

"Oh yes, Mister Crispin. Very much so." Serge held the door open in an obvious invitation for Wells to vacate. "Thank you for being so understanding."

Wells nodded as he left. "We businessmen need to stick together, don't you think?"

"Absolutely, Mister Crispin."


Back in his room, Wells asked Sarah if there was anything new.

"There have been a few attempts to locate my signal, Herbert," Sarah said. "I have successfully blocked the attempts by appearing to have been transmitting from Paris, France."

"Good," Wells said, tiredly. "Smart thinking."

"Director Hamilton has left you three messages, asking where you are."

"What did you tell him?" Wells asked.

"Nothing, Herbert," Sarah said. "As far as he knows, we are in Paris, near the DeGaul Airport. There is a wireless hotspot there I used for the ghost routing."

"Ah."

"And Laura has also attempted to find you."

"Laura?" Wells pulled at his lip. "Did you tell her anything?"

"No, Herbert. It was my understanding that you did not want to be found. Did I understand you correctly?"

"Yes, Sarah. You did exactly right." Wells felt another wave of exhaustion. "I must rest, Sarah. Please restore surveillance mode."

"Very well, Herbert," Sarah said. "Surveillance mode is on. Sleep well."

"Thank you, Sarah." Herbert undressed and lay back on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "Please wake me at seven-thirty."

"Seven-thirty, Herbert. Very good."

Wells yawned. "I have an appointed me to find More." Sleep pounced on him with cat's claws.

Comments

[capi.livejournal.com]

*gasp*

*heh* Sucked right back in. *L* Well done!

Only two real comments today:

"Wells made a decision, quick and fast." Hrm.... Wells *always* makes his decisions this way, all thru the story, so it seemed to me a tad redundant, or maybe heavy-handed to repeat it now. Your call, of course.

Wells sat in his chair for a very long time. He wasn't sure if he dozed or not, he wasn't sure if he dreamed if he did doze. He thought about Jorj, and Jorj's life and his sacrifice. He could easily see himself ending up like that. Always being afraid, always looking over his shoulder for the unseen enemy.
Hrm again.... When we met Wells, he was already living this way; it was an accepted condition of his career, except he did not have fear, apparently. He lived with a healthy paranoia, checking and re-checking "just in case". Why would he now think that fear might enter the picture? He's always given the impression of utter self-confidence. *chews on it s'more*

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

Only two? I think this year we should work to see if you can go into an uphill slide.

Yep.. quick and fast, all by itself is a redundency and should be eliminated. I pondered the inclusion, decided to put it in simply for a note to myself that the bit that followed showed his dilema. He is, at heart, a good compassionate man. When he saw Jorj, he saw the end of his life, after the career was over. Remember, he's been clinging to work like a lifeline. In truthe, he has no idea what he will do AFTER. In Jorj, he sees his dread realized. He does not intend to die in the line of duty, but he never really wanted to LOOK at what his life would be like afterwards.

His life has changed a bit. He has a family. He has basically struck out on his own with minimal support of the company he works for. When dealing with other people, when a decision is to be made, yes, it's a quick one, because he has to do it that way. He thinks very quickly. And he has to do it with the assurance and confidence that makes the solution work ... or come up with an alternative just as quickly and just as assuredly if the solution does NOT work.

He has met the Grim Spectre of his future in Jorj. Old, a has been, angry at what life he has lost, angry at himself, distrustful for putting himself and his loved ones in this position.

He does not fear death. He really does not fear anything against himself, but he does fear for his family, the same as Jorj. And he does DREAD. Boredom. Being Stalked by unknown and unseen predators and constantly being on guard can be very very tiring. These things wear on the soul of a person. This is what he sees in Jorj. And more little subtexts that I'm just not even aware of unless I spend a lot of time thinking about it. In truth, Jorj represents what I don't want to grow to be either.

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

"Wells made a decision, quick and fast."
How bout "Wells flipped a mental coin and chose heads; the path of most resistance."

[shackrlu.livejournal.com]

I like that! YaY for more story! At least *SOMEBODY* has been able to get some writing done...sigh