Fic: Selfie In Blue, Part III
Locating Danica Hofer at the homeless camp was easy.
She was tall and without a hat, her shaggy blonde hair sparkled in the firelight above the heads of her comrades.
She was flanked by boys and girls her own age, all bundled as she was in dark puffer coats that disguised their slender bodies. Thick soled boots -- construction, or hiking, or dirty lambskin - were their chosen footwear.
Her crew all wore identical backpacks that further distorted their figures, lending them the air of an army unit on maneuvers.
Reese wondered if the teenagers liked these backpacks because they refused to pile their belongings into shopping carts or trash bags the way the older people did. Even homeless, these kids wanted to be stylish. They displayed their membership in hip culture with these green-and-black backpacks showing off their cherished tribal affiliation.
Gathering four of Joan’s blankets over his shoulders, Reese made a snug cave around him and settled into position on his friend’s mattress, one hundred yards from the oil drum where Badge and her troupe were camped for the night.
He could watch her and keep an eye on possible threats until she decided to move out to a new location. Rooting in a neat stack of clothing on the mattress he found an old knit cap. With its Nordic pattern in black, red and white, he assumed the hat belonged to the always stylish Odette.
Smiling at the memory of her vibrant eccentricity, Reese pulled the cap low over his ears and with Odette’s help, he stayed warm until dawn.
+++++++++
His eyes itchy from lack of sleep, Reese was staring in the direction of the little band milling around the girl Badge when all Hell broke loose an hour after sunrise.
The oil can fire was out and Reese assumed from their giggles that the teens were discussing plans for another day of idle rambling and petty mischief. Several had already hitched their backpacks over skinny shoulders and turned away from the group, eager to start the eternal hunt for food while the pickings were good.
He didn’t hear the rifle report, but he saw its devastating result: a red flower seemed to bloom from the forehead of a kid standing next to Badge. As Reese watched, the boy’s thin face registered first surprise, then acceptance, then a horrible absence as he slumped in front of her.
Reese was sure the kid was dead before his knees hit the ground.
After the first scream, a naked burst of energy thrust the crowd of teenagers in all directions.
For a minute Reese lost sight of Badge in the melee and a spurt of panic flashed through him. He assumed the bullet was meant for her, this dead boy an unfortunate casualty of the attack Reese was supposed to prevent.
If the assassin was dedicated, other shots were inevitable. Reese wanted to get Badge out of harm’s way, gather her into his care, and stow her in a safe space he could control. But first he needed to find her. He spun in a complete circle before he spotted her snaking through the panicked crowd.
To his surprise, Badge didn’t look frightened or even worried. Reese thought anger overrode all other emotions, setting her face into a white mask of determination.
Relieved that she was unharmed, Reese trotted half a block until he could time his pace with hers. Her stride was almost as long as his, so he kept a careful distance behind, not so close that she would see him but never so far that he couldn’t spring into action if she needed him.
On the move, he called Finch and Joss to tell them of the shooting and give a report of his plans for tracking Badge.
Although he would never say it out loud, Reese was glad that the rifleman had confirmed the machine’s dire warnings; this was the stage of a mission that Reese preferred.
In the beginning of each case, all those vague predictions Finch set so much store by were couched in cryptic hints, but now the generalities were swept aside by concrete threats. With the enemy revealing himself, Reese could take his measure and establish a plan of action at last.
Though it was dangerous, this was the environment he understood, the world he craved.
+++++++++
After an uneventful morning amble through the clogged avenues of lower Manhattan, Reese was happy when Badge shoved through the door of a little restaurant on a quiet side street.
Following her was easy, maybe too easy. If he could track her with only half an eye out, then he assumed that others with sinister intent could do it too.
Her loping gait, propelled by massive lug-soled black boots, was distinctive. But her costume of black leggings, black scarf, and black puffer coat was perfect camouflage in the monotonous crowd. With the dark satchel draped down her back she looked like every other young Manhattanite on the make.
Only Badge’s vivid blue leather gloves stood out.
Tortoni’s Café looked warm and dry, which was Reese’s top interest at the moment, although he thought the girl must be at least as hungry as he was. Five tables along one wall offered a perch and the glass-fronted counter promised fresh pastries, so if the coffee was hot, Reese hoped Badge was going to stay a while.
But when he hurried after her into the café’s bright yellow interior, she was gone. He didn’t want to make a scene by barging into the kitchen at the rear, so he decided to buy a cup of strong Italian roast and take a seat on the chance the girl was just dawdling in the bathroom.
After ten minutes, Reese unhappily concluded that she had given him the slip. He waited another five before phoning Finch. He hoped that some lucky break from a data base would make up for this surveillance error.
Finch was crisp after learning that Badge had disappeared.
“Not the news I was hoping for, Mr. Reese.”
No need to answer that.
“And I have found some worrying snatches of phone and text exchanges that mention Ms. Hofer’s nickname, so I fear things are only going to get worse from here on out.”
“What do you have, Finch?”
“There seems to be a veritable storm of outrage over a failed delivery of something three nights ago.”
“So who’s mad at who?”
“Badge is the subject of the complaints. That I’m sure of. But what was supposed to be delivered and to whom is not clear yet.”
Reese kept silent, still stung by his lapse. So Finch plunged into the conversational gap.
“I’m monitoring several sites and I expect them to prove fruitful as the day proceeds. The only reassuring feature is that these people seem to have no more of an idea about where Badge is right now than we do.
“The young lady is quite good at eluding her pursuers, it seems.”
“I’ll find her, Finch. She can’t have gotten far.”
“I trust not, Mr. Reese.”
Suppressing a sigh, Reese rallied at a new idea.
“It’s probably the money that the Takashitas found. That’s what’s gone missing, I bet.”
He spoke more firmly as he expanded on his hypothesis
“Badge was supposed to deliver the cash somewhere, but gave it to them instead. And now whoever was supposed to get that payment wants her head.”
Finch replied with a flurry of squeaks at this idea, but his words were lost on Reese.
Badge had come back.
She crossed the space from the café’s kitchen to the front counter in six long strides, brushing his shoulder as she passed down the narrow aisle.
He tapped off the connection to Finch without ceremony, intent on following Badge’s every move.
Near the cash register, she picked up a thick slice of toasted bread and a tall coffee in a disposable yellow cup branded with the name Tortoni’s in curling black letters.
She didn’t pay for the items, only grinned at the elderly cashier who grinned back. Earning a look that affectionate from the old crone convinced Reese that Badge was welcomed, even admired here.
And she had changed her clothes.
Instead of the stark black uniform of the morning, she was now wearing baggy brown corduroy pants, a loose green sweater with cables down the front, and a black and white tweed coat which swept the floor as she moved.
Only the sapphire gloves, black combat boots, green striped backpack, and shaggy cap of blonde hair remained from her earlier look.
Reese decided she must live above Tortoni’s Cafe. Or she was close friends with someone who did. She wasn’t homeless at all; she chose to spend her nights at the encampment hanging out with her band of confederates around an open fire.
The frigid night was her element, not her enemy.
Before she quit the cashier’s station, Reese saw the old woman roll her eyes toward the ceiling with a question for Badge.
“Otter still sacked out upstairs, I guess?”
The girl shrugged in a ‘what’re ya gonna do with men?’ sort of gesture and flashed another warm smile.
Taking her food directly to a condiment station near the front of the store, Badge loaded four packets of real sugar into the coffee. Then she stirred a large dollop of cream into the mix and re-capped the cup.
As she fiddled with her gloves, she answered a call on her cell. So Reese stepped beside her and Blue-jacked the device while pretending to search for the shaker of cinnamon.
He wasn’t going to lose her again.
With the chunk of toast in her mouth, one hand clutching the coffee, and the other pressing the phone to the fringe of hair over her ear, Badge paused in front of the café door.
She was waiting. For him, he guessed.
Reese leaned around her to pull the door open and she zipped past him into the fierce sunlight. So close, she smelled like amber and earth and sweet summer leaves.
He was sure she had made him. But he didn’t care. If Badge was willing to let him follow, he would keep at it until she was safe.
She was tall and without a hat, her shaggy blonde hair sparkled in the firelight above the heads of her comrades.
She was flanked by boys and girls her own age, all bundled as she was in dark puffer coats that disguised their slender bodies. Thick soled boots -- construction, or hiking, or dirty lambskin - were their chosen footwear.
Her crew all wore identical backpacks that further distorted their figures, lending them the air of an army unit on maneuvers.
Reese wondered if the teenagers liked these backpacks because they refused to pile their belongings into shopping carts or trash bags the way the older people did. Even homeless, these kids wanted to be stylish. They displayed their membership in hip culture with these green-and-black backpacks showing off their cherished tribal affiliation.
Gathering four of Joan’s blankets over his shoulders, Reese made a snug cave around him and settled into position on his friend’s mattress, one hundred yards from the oil drum where Badge and her troupe were camped for the night.
He could watch her and keep an eye on possible threats until she decided to move out to a new location. Rooting in a neat stack of clothing on the mattress he found an old knit cap. With its Nordic pattern in black, red and white, he assumed the hat belonged to the always stylish Odette.
Smiling at the memory of her vibrant eccentricity, Reese pulled the cap low over his ears and with Odette’s help, he stayed warm until dawn.
+++++++++
His eyes itchy from lack of sleep, Reese was staring in the direction of the little band milling around the girl Badge when all Hell broke loose an hour after sunrise.
The oil can fire was out and Reese assumed from their giggles that the teens were discussing plans for another day of idle rambling and petty mischief. Several had already hitched their backpacks over skinny shoulders and turned away from the group, eager to start the eternal hunt for food while the pickings were good.
He didn’t hear the rifle report, but he saw its devastating result: a red flower seemed to bloom from the forehead of a kid standing next to Badge. As Reese watched, the boy’s thin face registered first surprise, then acceptance, then a horrible absence as he slumped in front of her.
Reese was sure the kid was dead before his knees hit the ground.
After the first scream, a naked burst of energy thrust the crowd of teenagers in all directions.
For a minute Reese lost sight of Badge in the melee and a spurt of panic flashed through him. He assumed the bullet was meant for her, this dead boy an unfortunate casualty of the attack Reese was supposed to prevent.
If the assassin was dedicated, other shots were inevitable. Reese wanted to get Badge out of harm’s way, gather her into his care, and stow her in a safe space he could control. But first he needed to find her. He spun in a complete circle before he spotted her snaking through the panicked crowd.
To his surprise, Badge didn’t look frightened or even worried. Reese thought anger overrode all other emotions, setting her face into a white mask of determination.
Relieved that she was unharmed, Reese trotted half a block until he could time his pace with hers. Her stride was almost as long as his, so he kept a careful distance behind, not so close that she would see him but never so far that he couldn’t spring into action if she needed him.
On the move, he called Finch and Joss to tell them of the shooting and give a report of his plans for tracking Badge.
Although he would never say it out loud, Reese was glad that the rifleman had confirmed the machine’s dire warnings; this was the stage of a mission that Reese preferred.
In the beginning of each case, all those vague predictions Finch set so much store by were couched in cryptic hints, but now the generalities were swept aside by concrete threats. With the enemy revealing himself, Reese could take his measure and establish a plan of action at last.
Though it was dangerous, this was the environment he understood, the world he craved.
+++++++++
After an uneventful morning amble through the clogged avenues of lower Manhattan, Reese was happy when Badge shoved through the door of a little restaurant on a quiet side street.
Following her was easy, maybe too easy. If he could track her with only half an eye out, then he assumed that others with sinister intent could do it too.
Her loping gait, propelled by massive lug-soled black boots, was distinctive. But her costume of black leggings, black scarf, and black puffer coat was perfect camouflage in the monotonous crowd. With the dark satchel draped down her back she looked like every other young Manhattanite on the make.
Only Badge’s vivid blue leather gloves stood out.
Tortoni’s Café looked warm and dry, which was Reese’s top interest at the moment, although he thought the girl must be at least as hungry as he was. Five tables along one wall offered a perch and the glass-fronted counter promised fresh pastries, so if the coffee was hot, Reese hoped Badge was going to stay a while.
But when he hurried after her into the café’s bright yellow interior, she was gone. He didn’t want to make a scene by barging into the kitchen at the rear, so he decided to buy a cup of strong Italian roast and take a seat on the chance the girl was just dawdling in the bathroom.
After ten minutes, Reese unhappily concluded that she had given him the slip. He waited another five before phoning Finch. He hoped that some lucky break from a data base would make up for this surveillance error.
Finch was crisp after learning that Badge had disappeared.
“Not the news I was hoping for, Mr. Reese.”
No need to answer that.
“And I have found some worrying snatches of phone and text exchanges that mention Ms. Hofer’s nickname, so I fear things are only going to get worse from here on out.”
“What do you have, Finch?”
“There seems to be a veritable storm of outrage over a failed delivery of something three nights ago.”
“So who’s mad at who?”
“Badge is the subject of the complaints. That I’m sure of. But what was supposed to be delivered and to whom is not clear yet.”
Reese kept silent, still stung by his lapse. So Finch plunged into the conversational gap.
“I’m monitoring several sites and I expect them to prove fruitful as the day proceeds. The only reassuring feature is that these people seem to have no more of an idea about where Badge is right now than we do.
“The young lady is quite good at eluding her pursuers, it seems.”
“I’ll find her, Finch. She can’t have gotten far.”
“I trust not, Mr. Reese.”
Suppressing a sigh, Reese rallied at a new idea.
“It’s probably the money that the Takashitas found. That’s what’s gone missing, I bet.”
He spoke more firmly as he expanded on his hypothesis
“Badge was supposed to deliver the cash somewhere, but gave it to them instead. And now whoever was supposed to get that payment wants her head.”
Finch replied with a flurry of squeaks at this idea, but his words were lost on Reese.
Badge had come back.
She crossed the space from the café’s kitchen to the front counter in six long strides, brushing his shoulder as she passed down the narrow aisle.
He tapped off the connection to Finch without ceremony, intent on following Badge’s every move.
Near the cash register, she picked up a thick slice of toasted bread and a tall coffee in a disposable yellow cup branded with the name Tortoni’s in curling black letters.
She didn’t pay for the items, only grinned at the elderly cashier who grinned back. Earning a look that affectionate from the old crone convinced Reese that Badge was welcomed, even admired here.
And she had changed her clothes.
Instead of the stark black uniform of the morning, she was now wearing baggy brown corduroy pants, a loose green sweater with cables down the front, and a black and white tweed coat which swept the floor as she moved.
Only the sapphire gloves, black combat boots, green striped backpack, and shaggy cap of blonde hair remained from her earlier look.
Reese decided she must live above Tortoni’s Cafe. Or she was close friends with someone who did. She wasn’t homeless at all; she chose to spend her nights at the encampment hanging out with her band of confederates around an open fire.
The frigid night was her element, not her enemy.
Before she quit the cashier’s station, Reese saw the old woman roll her eyes toward the ceiling with a question for Badge.
“Otter still sacked out upstairs, I guess?”
The girl shrugged in a ‘what’re ya gonna do with men?’ sort of gesture and flashed another warm smile.
Taking her food directly to a condiment station near the front of the store, Badge loaded four packets of real sugar into the coffee. Then she stirred a large dollop of cream into the mix and re-capped the cup.
As she fiddled with her gloves, she answered a call on her cell. So Reese stepped beside her and Blue-jacked the device while pretending to search for the shaker of cinnamon.
He wasn’t going to lose her again.
With the chunk of toast in her mouth, one hand clutching the coffee, and the other pressing the phone to the fringe of hair over her ear, Badge paused in front of the café door.
She was waiting. For him, he guessed.
Reese leaned around her to pull the door open and she zipped past him into the fierce sunlight. So close, she smelled like amber and earth and sweet summer leaves.
He was sure she had made him. But he didn’t care. If Badge was willing to let him follow, he would keep at it until she was safe.