She didnt say anything. But her look spoke more than was needed to be said.
“You arent supposed to be here,” I muttered, not in the least bit guilty, but because I had a half eaten donut still in my mouth. She said nothing, standing in the door to her apartment, leaning slightly on the dog statue I had always found creepy and off-putting. “Neither are you,” I said, trying to goad her into saying something. “Mm,” I nodded, pretending it was her who actually said it. “I know and,” I said, pre-empting her actually saying something, “I also know that I am technically breaking the rules, both professional and,” I held up a black leather bra thing that had been laying on the back of the sofa. “Personal,” I grinned.
She sighed, threw her shoes, three inch stilettos, which she had been holding in her hands this entire time, onto the floor near me and stepped into the apartment. She was dressed for work, which is where she was meant to be. I was dressed for breaking and entering.
It had been a game we would play, back when things between us werent so formal. Back when she would speak to me. She would lay out a complex security system and I would have to break in, take something, and leave. I would get bonus points, or rather, bonus activities, if I could do all that while she was inside the apartment. This was the first time I had been caught in the act, however.
People underestimated her because of how she looked. She had a soft face and a very attractive body. She wore things that showed it off. People thought that she was just looking for attention. More fool them, I guess. She could kill me three times over before I could explain what I was doing here. She should kill me, to be perfectly fair; for both personal and professional reasons. I was banking on her not doing that, however. At least not tonight. She was meant to be at work, and yet, here she was.
“What happened?” I asked, repacking my small toolbox. I hadnt found what I was looking for and I was not going to get another chance at it anytime soon.
“Its not here,” she said. Her tone was casual, conversational even. But her voice was cold. There was no emotion. No feeling. She was meant to be at work and hadnt yet switched off.
“What isnt?” I said, feigning ignorance. A trait she used to find endearing. I have no doubts about how she views it now. That said, if she doesnt know what Im looking for exactly, it might give me another chance later. Hide the wrong thing and think yourself safe.
“Her phone,” she said. Her tie was off now and her crisp white shirt unbuttoned. Her back was to me, though. No such thing as a free lunch. But I was more concerned with what she had guessed. Her phone? Whose phone? My brain screamed at me to not follow up. Let her believe I was after something like that. Unfortunately, I am that kind of guy.
“Whose phone?” I tried to keep my voice even. Tried to keep that feint of ignorance up. If nothing else, and it was likely to be nothing else at this point, I could get some information. There was a lot of it in her head. I should know; I spent seven years trying to get some of it.
She turned her head, creasing her nearly perfect skin and frowned. “Why are you here?” she said. I didnt hear her though because as she was asking, her hands had crept up her back and had unclipped her grey-green bra and was sliding it down her arms. Any other man would think this deliberate. No, this wasnt what it looked like – not that I wasnt going to take advantage of it, of course – this was her routine. Anyone could have been where I was and she would be doing this. This was how she ended her day. How she went from a Guardian back to Suzy. Back to being an actual human.
“Well?” she asked, her arm covering her chest as she turned to face me.
I sighed and drew my eyes back to hers. “Spoilsport.”
“Why are you here?” she punctuated each word like a gunshot. “Why are you, and every other two bit thief after that damn phone? I dont even have it, and if I did, I wouldnt keep it here.”
“Suzy,” I said, immediately getting a wince from her as she heard that name. She was still not there yet. It didnt matter. I pressed on. “I genuinely do not know anything about a phone. Look at me,” I said. She didnt look. “Suzy, look at me.” She turned, her arm still covering herself. She looked me in the eyes. “You are the one person I could never lie to.”
“Not from lack of trying,” she muttered darkly.
“Perhaps so,” I shrugged. I had had that speech before. I was not going to let her give it again. “But look at me now, hear me, I dont know about a phone, I dont know whos after it. I am not lying.”
“Fine,” she said. She almost sounded chipper. I was in dangerous waters here. “Then what do you want?”
“Remember our game?”
“I havent seen you in almost three years. Why on Earth would that still be a thing?”
I paused. Only partially to think about my answer. Mostly because I cannot help myself. “Nostalgia?”
She rolled her eyes, stepped into her bathroom and before the door was closed said, “If youre still here when I get out, Im calling Micheal.”
Micheal. If I was the ex, then he was the ex after me. A real mans man. Took the breakup between Suzy and myself personally. No idea why. Six months after her and I broke up, he came calling, broke two of my ribs and told me that if I ever spoke to her again, it would be worse. Not long after that, probably around the time she found out, he ended up with more than two broken ribs and a long stay in the hospital.
“Must be true love if you still talk to him,” I said as the door closed behind her.
“Fuck off,” she yelled as the shower started to hiss.
You have to understand that I have a single track mind. I get it in my head to do something and I dont rest until its done. Its made me rather wealthy, since the people who pay me are particular about efficiency. I like their kind of bonuses too.
Only, now I have several things stuck in my head. First off, theres the job. I took it, it needs to be completed. If I dont, then it doesnt matter how much money I have. I cant spend it when Im dead. Or worse.
Secondly, and I dont know if this is separate or not with number three, but Suzy is a diligent girl. She works when shes meant to and thats that. For her to be home when she was meant to be at work, something went wrong and if it went so far wrong that she cant deal with it, then she might be in danger. Not that shed accept my help if she was, but despite everything, I still care about her.
And number three is her comment about a phone. I would call her a technophobe, but thats not technically correct. Our line of work – her more than me, though – requires a level of paranoia that is a step above the run of the mill people. Suzy trusts the stuff she makes herself. Our game was part of that. The issue is that she adamantly refuses to have a phone. Communication is better when I can punch you, she always said. But now she has a phone. And people are after it. I have a high opinion of myself, its true. But she wasnt far wrong when she called me a two-bit thief. I only have a certain set of skills to my name. And if I can break into her place, so can others.
There are definitely perks to living in a company town. The crime rate, for example is extraordinarily low. The violent crime rate, that is. I cant say a lot about non-violent crime right now, I am in the middle of picking the lock into Suzy’s apartment building. Usually I would wait for the cover of night and head up the outside. Sneak in through a window. She got pretty lazy about that. Something about the thirtieth floor made her think she was safe.
Thing is, right now, I dont want to break into her apartment. That doesnt send the right message. Knocking on her front door, however, is a much better way of getting her to hear what I have to say. Might even get what I need out of it too. Of course, I dont have a key to her building. Nor do I want to tip her off that Im here. Surprises are great.
The elevator in this building is notoriously slow, so I get time to think about my opening line when she comes to see whos knocking. The door opened and the first thing I noticed is the red cloth hanging over the head of the statue that sits outside her door. I recognise it as one of her ornament covers. It should be in her bedroom, covering a crystal ball she recovered as a child. Why was it on the statue. Surprises are not at all fun.
Her front door was wide open, the frame splintered and cracked. I laid my hand on the statue for balance as I peered inside. The statue was warm and despite having very obviously been ransacked, the apartment was empty. I moved through the door slowly and felt the cloth fall off the statues head. I glanced around at it, my paranoia spiking. The statue stood there, not moving.
“Good dog,” I muttered.
“Help me,” Suzy’s ragged voice called from deeper in the apartment.
Behind me, the statue burst into life and ran past me through the door.