Sentinel

Helena opened the door. Three pairs of eyes rose to her at once. The two bodyguards looked her over, eyes lingering at the curves. She wore dark blue with silver pinstripes, like threads of silk. The third sighed and looked at her with a flash of relief that he tried to hide.

She looked to the two guards, holding their eyes. When their gaze returned to her, she raised an eyebrow. The bodyguards’ expression pulled into tight approval. The third man rose and adjusted his jacket.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” she said.

“Dr. Webb,” Mayor Allister replied and stepped inside.

She glanced back at the guards, closing the door and turning the lock.

The mayor paused at the terrarium, leaning close to the glass. He held his hands behind his back, twisting over each other.

“I don’t know why you keep those,” he said.

“Widows are solitary but spin webs which connect them with everything in their environment,” she replied. “No one is just one thing.”

He continued to fidget and went to the couch, sitting at the edge.

“I worry that this isn’t helping,” Allister said.

“Our therapy?”

“Each day is something new. I feel like the boy with his fingers in the dike, and I’m running out of fingers.”

Helena took the chair opposite, lifting a notepad from her desk. She opened it to the end of the prior session; she’d skimmed the other notebooks before the mayor had arrived.

“You believe our time is adding to your problems?”

“No, not exactly. I just feel further and further behind every day.”

“Every day?”

He sighed and looked at her. “No. Not every day. It’s just that there are times…”

“You have a critical, challenging job, Morris. It matters. It’s important, but even a mayor can’t control everything.”

“No. I feel they expect me to,” he said lowering his head and gesturing to the curtained window behind him.

“You’re a man, Morris, not a god, not a paragon. A man.”

His voice became small. “I’m not Sentinel.”

Helena sat straight. She scribed the name on her pad and waited. The mayor stared into space.

“Tell me about him,” Helena said.

“Nothing. We have nothing. Appears out of nowhere at the right time, takes down gangs SWAT teams couldn’t touch, leaves evidence a first year DA could get convictions on, and vanishes. If the viral videos didn’t exist, we’d deny it all.”

“That’s not helping?”

“Yes,” he said and shook his head. “No. All the press asks is why the police can’t do what he does. Why did we make him necessary?”

“You resent him. What he does?”

He continued to stare at the floor. “Yes. I’m bound by everything. Voters. Judges. Bureaucrats. Press. He’s free. He acts. It’s working.”

“What else?”

He stared into space, his voice lowering. “People love him.”

Helena wrote a note. “And they used to love you?”

Eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. She let the silence hold.

“Angela-“, he began then put a hand over his mouth.

“Your girlfriend?”

His jaw worked, tension rippling along his skin. “Yes. She wouldn’t shut up about him. I just wanted a quiet night. Wanted to let it all go, and she starts showing me the videos, said the girls at the salon said their boyfriends would never fit into that suit. I just-“

He shook his head.

“What did you do?” Helena asked.

His hands closed to fists. “I left. She’s been calling, leaving texts. Then, I got home. Vera’s talking about kids. Braces, band practice. Little Morris has this towel. Tied it around his neck and runs around the house trying to get it to flow out behind him. Tells me he’s the Sentinel.”

Helena waited. The mayor shook his head.

“I took off,” the mayor said. “Just for the night. Went to Joe’s place, a quiet drink. And, it’s all everyone wants to talk about.”

“No peace,” Helena said.

“No peace.”

Helena set the notepad aside. “And it’s like Morris doesn’t exist. Just the mayor.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’re still Morris,” she said.

“I’m not sure.”

“I am.”

He sighed.

“Anything else you want to tell me before we begin?”

“I’d tell you anything, just ask.”

“Yes. Of course,” Helena said. “Lay back, and we can start.”

He didn’t look at her. Taking a deep breath, he slid up on the couch, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling.

Helena rose, moving to the chair behind the head of the couch. Opening a box of dark mahogany, she lifted the emerald pendant, the chain rattling as it moved.

The mayor’s eyes had already become unfocused and heavy. Seeing the pendant, his eyes locked on it.

“Easiest thing in the world Morris. Watch and listen. My voice will do the rest,” Helena began.

His chin gave a bare nod. She adjusted the pendant’s position to a thread of light slicing between the curtains caught the jewel. The gem sparkled, and Morris’ mouth dropped open as his face went slack.

Helena drew a breath, suppressing the rush as the mayor’s mind dropped its defenses.

“You can imagine quiet beyond quiet. A place where sound doesn’t exist, and my voice is alien, a presence you can’t explain. But, in the quiet there are no explanations. Only quiet. Only my voice. It speaks, and your mind vibrates.”

Eyes closed, breathing even, Morris’ folded hands parted and slipped to his sides.

“Perfect. Your mind continues to move towards the quiet, more tied to the presence. My presence. Quiet presence. Responsive. Easy.”

Helena set the gem back in its box and closed the lid. She slid open a drawer and retrieved a pad, flipping through the pages without a sound.

“Wondering if the ease of quiet and responsiveness might grow. Form a shape that speaks and forgets as it speaks. And your responsiveness forgets as it responds, creating deeper quiet and causing responsiveness to grow.”

Head lolling to one side, his face had become slack.

“Excellent quiet. Always getting better at quiet and response.”

In the terrarium across the room, the web fluttered, and a dark shape darted.

“Quiet deepening teaching responsiveness and becoming aware of numbers, confusing and overwhelming. Numbers on a page. Numbers in your mind. Numbers moving through, driving a car. Numbers driving a truck. Heavy, full, numbers spilling out the back.”

His eyes fluttered, like the movement of someone in a dream. She leaned forward.

“Heavy truck, filled with numbers, driving and turning. Big ones, small ones. They talk. Some say payroll, others say bonds. Laughing and safe.”

His face took on a faint smile.

“When do they drive? When do they drive? You know. You talk about time and days. So much talking, fun to talk. You want so badly to say when they’ll drive.”

A broken whisper exhaled from his mouth.

“That’s right. They keep saying it. Fun. Driving. Talking. Days.”

“Thursday-, Thursday three-“ the whisper began.

“So fun.”

He smiled, nodding. “Thursday three. Thursday three.”

“Perfect. Thursday. Three.”

“Thursday three. Thursday three. Thursday three.”

“They keep driving and talking as the truck drives in safe and sound. Quiet. Safe. Happy.”

The smile remained, and his voice went still.

Helena wrote the time and day then slid the notebook into the drawer, closing it behind.

“As you go quiet, even more quiet, you might remember how the mayor is important. Smart and important. Crowds cheer. Knows best. Always knows best and gets help from people he trusts. Ones with presence and quiet.”

She glanced at the clock on the table, the one that faced her and away from the clients. The hour would end in five minutes.

“Now, you might remember how not to wake or might remember how. Remembering how to listen and hear and think. Still quiet and important. Knowing best and as you remember importance and trust, forgetting everything else.”

Helena rose and went to the chair next to the couch. She lifted the notepad from her desk, crossed her legs, and laid the pad on her knee.

The mayor’s eyes tightened, and muscle tone returned to his features. With a sharp intake of breath, he opened his eyes. They went to Helena, a hint of blank trance remaining.

“Better and better at that,” she said. “Better at quiet.”

His eyes froze, and for an instant, his face went slack before he blinked and sat up.

He coughed and adjusted his suit jacket on his shoulders then worked his tie.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“About that time,” Helena smiled.

He stood. “Really appreciate this, doc.”

She rose, and his eyes moved over her body, confident and presumptive. She met the gaze and feigned shyness, sliding her hands behind her back.

“Friday?” she asked.

“We’ll see,” he said.

“I’ll keep it open. You decide that you’ll need it.”

He stepped past and stopped, the words replaying in his head before he went to the door and jerked it open.

“Ok. Let’s go.”

The bodyguards began to move, and the outer door opened and closed.

Helena closed the inner door and went to her desk. She lifted a phone and dialed.

“I have something for you.”

The voice on the other end answered.

“10 tonight.”

She set the phone back in its cradle and looked at the clock. Half hour before the next client. She went to the terrarium. A new cocoon tremored near the center. The widow was nearby, her red hourglass unmoving.

***

The Uber driver’s eyes flicked between the road and the rearview. Helena pretended not to notice, enjoying how she distracted him. The leather jacket had arrived that afternoon, pitch black. She’d had the lining made in a matching black silk with an embroidered red hourglass that rested between her shoulder blades.

When the driver stopped, he glanced at the blank door with the bouncer beside it.

“You’re sure this is where you want to go?”

“Absolutely,” Helena said, looking at the bouncer.

She stepped out of the car, the evening chill brushing over her face. She tossed her hair to let the breeze lift it over one shoulder. She looked towards the traffic signal up the street, the traffic camera mounted above.

Graffiti decorated a brick wall, yellow spray paint of a lighthouse. The word ‘Sentinel’ had been scripted beneath. Helena smiled.

The leather coat closed around her like a second skin. The car slipped away as trash fluttered past.

Putting both hands in her pockets, she approached. The bouncer loomed over her, more than a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier.

“Private party.”

She tilted her head. “But, I have an invitation.”

“From who?”

“Whom,” she smiled. “It’s private too.”

She stepped towards the door. He pushed an arm out, against the center of her chest. It felt like walking into a tree trunk.

“Ma’am. I need you to step back.”

“You’re afraid of me?” she asked, looking up at him from under her brow. “What harm could I possibly do?”

“Lady, please. I need you to step back.”

She pulled a hand out of her coat and laid it against the back of his hand, stroking the skin.

“I’m not making trouble. I have an invitation,” she batted her lashes. “I promise.”

He shook his head, almost pleading. She smiled. Hitting girls was taboo, strange girls anyway. She continued to caress his hand.

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” she said. “It could be way more fun for both of us.”

“Lady, tell me the name-“, he faltered, a thin sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Or, Or”

He staggered, and his hand fell away from her chest. Braced against the brick wall, he scraped downward. The back of his hand still glistened as his eyes went glassy.

She peeled the glove from her hand and tossed it in a gutter. “Didn’t have to be like this.”

Pulling the door open, smoke and a rockabilly band’s music erupted onto the street. The inside was a mixture of red light, smoke, and stale alcohol. She stepped inside, letting the door bang shut behind her.

Eyes went to her then drifted. Scars and tattoo sleeves decorated the skin of those who looked, and the looks moved between appreciation and predation.

She went to the bar. The bartender came to her but didn’t speak, only waited.

“Bourbon,” she shouted over the music.

He poured a shot and slid it across.

“Safer places to go slumming, you know.”

She suppressed the cough when the bourbon burned her throat.

“I’m meeting Carlo. Can you let him know?”

“Who?”

She started to repeat the name, then his smile became smug.

“You really don’t want to treat me this way,” she said.

The song ended, and the din of conversation that had tried to compete with it babbled and softened before the next song began and drowned it out.

“Last chance,” she said.

“Never been lucky,” the bartender said and walked away.

A stripper pole stood like a monument before the bandstand, and an acrobatic girl in a leather bra and G-string twined around it.

She moved towards the circle, the crowd let her through until she reached the front, her jacket feeling like armor as she brushed past. Like a ritual space, they let the dancer spin. The trance of their lust broke when they noticed Helena, wondering if she prepared to strip the jacket off and join in.

A young man, about twenty stared and sipped at a half mug of beer.

“You up next?” he yelled.

“Should I?” Helena asked.

“I’d pay,” he said and began digging in a pocket.

She laughed. “You know Carlo?”

“Sure,” he nodded towards the bar. An unmarked door stood beside it, along with another bouncer.

“Can you get me in?”

“No chance. No one goes back there.”

“Somebody does.”

Helena turned away and returned to the bar, sliding onto a stool. The boy called after her, but it melted in the noise. The bartender returned.

“Bourbon,” Helena said.

She untied her coat, letting the leather part as she crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thigh. Five minutes passed before a dark-haired man in denim and a leather vest sat down.

“Drink?”

Helena didn’t turn. “Why not?”

The bartender slid another bourbon across the bar.

“Never seen you in here,” he said.

“I heard it was fun.”

“Sometimes.”

“And that you can see people get knifed.”

He laughed. “If you get out of line. Carlos runs a tight ship.”

She turned. “You know him?”

“Sure,” he tossed a thumb towards the private door. “Just came from there.”

“I’d love to meet him,” Helena said.

“I saw you first,” he said and leaned closer, a hand touching her shoulder.

She suppressed the instinct to retreat and turned so that her leg brushed his. “But, I really want to meet him.”

“I’m an interesting guy.”

“Interesting enough to pull that bank job downtown?”

He pulled back, eyes narrowed.

“You a cop?”

“Or that museum exhibit where they got the Rembrandt?”

“Lady-“ he began to retreat.

She touched his leg. “No, don’t. They say Carlo figured it all out, disabled the alarms. Like some kind of supervillain. Sentinel can’t even touch him.”

“Sorry, I can’t-“

She slid her hand further up his leg. “I just want to hear about it. Please.”

He glanced to the bartender who stood frozen. He’d not heard over the din, but he looked at Helena like she was crazy as she draped herself over the man next to her.

“Please. I need it.” She whispered over the noise. “I’ll do anything.”

The man looked to the bartender. Helena choked, the scent of body odor, smoke, and alcohol wafting off the man. She pulled back and looked into his eyes.

He stood. Lust and caution warring. Helena pursed her lips, and lust won.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They went to the door. The man waved, and the bouncer pulled the door open. A narrow hallway went deeper into the building, and when the door closed behind, the din of the bar faded. They made a turn after passing several doorways before the man stopped and pushed open a door, gesturing Helena inside.

Helena took a step. The room was empty, save for a dingy cot. She turned around. The man smiled and stepped close.

“We said I’d meet Carlo,” Helena said, her pulse thudding in her throat.

“After,” the man said. “He’ll be here all night.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You already said yes.”

“Jeff Healy, you’re going to need to kill me.”

“I didn’t tell-“

“Jeff Healy, 10 years for felony assault and robbery. The misdemeanors got too boring to list. It’s in the note I left my girlfriend. My Uber drove me to the front door here. Traffic camera at the intersection catches the front door of this place.”

She couldn’t tell if she’d spoken loud enough and whether he might not care that she’d not written any note. The pounding in her ears muffled everything, and they still rang from the band, but when she stood her ground and stroked his leg, he hesitated. She stepped closer.

“Don’t make it that way. I want to see Carlo. After, you have no idea what I’ll be willing to do.”

“Crazy,” he said as he backed away.

They moved two doors down. Jeff knocked.

“Yeah,” a voice came from inside.

“It’s Jeff,” the man said.

“Ok.”

A lock rattled, and the door opened.

A dingy space lit by fluorescents had a couch of split vinyl to one side, and a bare desk where a woman in a red skirt sat atop. A man sat behind it, leaning back.

“Crazy chick here wanted to meet you.”

“Wanted to meet me?” Carlo asked.

“Hello Carlo. I’m a big fan,” Helena said.

Jeff nodded. Carlo offered a sly smile.

“Ok. You’ve met him,” Jeff said.

Helena stepped into the room. Another bouncer stood partially hidden by the door.

“Hey-“ Jeff said and caught Helena’s arm.

Helena pulled her arm away. “We have an appointment.”

Carlo stood, his hand going to the knife sheathed at his waist.

“10pm. We agreed,” Helena said. “Thought you’d be a little more polite about letting me in.”

Carlo stood and drew the knife.

“Carlo, be a little smarter than Jeff,” she lowered her voice. “Listen to my voice. You’ve heard it before.”

He hesitated and looked to the others.

“My voice, Carlo.”

A flash of recognition. He spoke without taking his eyes from Helena, his tone becoming flat. “Everyone out.”

The woman and the bouncer froze.

“Out,” Carlo said.

As the others left, Helena went to the door and clapped the bolt closed then turned back.

“My percentage is moving up. I get 20 now.”

Carlo sat and steepled his fingers, elbows on the chair. He shook his head.

“No, it stays 10. I know your face now. You don’t get to hide.”

“That’s why I get 20, and while we’re on it, where is it all going? This is a dump, and you could own a penthouse in the Rollins building by now.”

“I’m saving for a rainy day,” he said.

“Or don’t have any imagination.”

Anger. He’d grown up poor, and she was talking down to him.

“Don’t worry Carlo. That’s what you get for the extra 10 percent. I’ll hook you up with better jobs, and I’ll show you how to spend it.”

“I know how to spend it already.”

“Fine. We at least agree on 20 percent then?”

“No, I don’t think we do. I carry all the risks.”

“Carlo, you have your part. I have mine. I don’t ask about your risks, and you have no idea what I do to get the information. It works, and more than that, Sentinel doesn’t even know you exist.”

“If he comes for me, you’re next.”

She shook her head. “Don’t, Carlo. There are dozens of you. There’s only one of me.”

Going to the desk, she sat on top, mirroring the pose of the woman in the red skirt. Carlo’s eyes watched every movement.

“20 percent is a bargain, Carlo.”

His eyes traced over her legs, then he shrugged. “Why not?”

“Good boy. Let’s drink on it. I didn’t get enough of your lovely bourbon out front.”

He nodded towards a liquor cabinet.

Helena hopped down from the desk and went to the cabinet. She lifted the bourbon bottle, pouring two glasses.

“You don’t even treat yourself,” she said, pressing the lip of the glass against her wrist. The ampule sewn into the leather flexed, and two drops dripped into the brown liquid.

She swirled the glasses and came back to the desk, returning to her seat on top. Handing him the drink, he began to swallow it all.

“Hey, we’re toasting,” she said and leaned her glass towards his. He slapped the glass against hers and downed the bourbon whole. She sipped and set her glass aside.

“Now, about that job,” she said. “City payroll.”

He sat straight. “City payroll?”

“Carlo, you have to learn to give a girl a chance.” Helena smiled.

“When?”

“Thursday. 3 o’clock.”

He looked past her. “That’s quick.”

“With the geniuses you have working for you, anything’s possible.”

She chuckled and sipped the bourbon, immediately regretting it. She looked back at Carlo.

He hadn’t moved, eyes glassy and fixed.

Helena looked at the door. It was locked, and a murmur of conversation came through.

Her voice dropped, becoming husky and low.

“You think I’m smart, Carlo. But you want me to realize how smart you are.”

His eyes fluttered.

“You might decide that you can show me, even impress me. Making me admit that you’re smart would even be kind of hot, especially when you bring me the money.”

The thudding of the band continued in the distance. Carlo’s slow breathing stirred, and his eyes began to flutter.

Helena put her hands on the arms of the chair, tilting it back. Carlo’s head lolled. Helena hovered her face close to his, their lips almost touching, and waited.

His eyes fluttered open.

“Might have more than one use for you,” she said.

He licked his lips and blinked, eyes scanning the room before settling on Helena. His scanning turned to pride, and he tried to kiss her. Helena jumped off the desk and retreated.

He stood on unsteady legs, braced on the desk, and moved close. He slid a hand onto her hip.

“You’re distracting me from business,” she said.

He looked down. “I can handle both.”

“Going to have to watch you,” she said and looked him up and down. “Tempting.”

Helena went to the door. Her hand on the bolt.

“Wait, I don’t know your name.”

Helena turned back. “Call me Widow.”