The Agent (Chapter 2, Unbelievable)

by Alec in Michigan

I leaned back in the comfortable seat, letting the soft cushion swallow me, and all my problems fall away.
But only for a moment.
After what seemed like five seconds, a voice came over the plane’s speakers.
“Good morning, travelers, this is your pilot speaking. We are about to land so please put your seatbacks and tray tables in the upright position. Remember to buckle your seat belts, as well.”
I leaned forward, the seat clicking with satisfaction. I turned to look at John, who was staring intensely into the seat in front of him, deep in thought.
We were on our way to Detroit, to meet Bailey Williams, Mark’s wife and our only person present at the scene of the crime. Other than suspecting Owen Antowitz, who we couldn’t find, she was our only lead. The plane lurched forward as it hit the tarmac, causing everyone in the plane jerk upright. John and I stood up, my smug grin plastering my features, a solemn, businesslike look on John, conveying his personality.
We began to walk towards the exit.

John checked us into the hotel, and we immediately got to work. I called the number we had found for the Williams’s address, and a women’s voice, that seemed to be on the verge of breaking down, answered.
“Hello?” She asked, her voice shaking.
I put on my purely business act, and got down to it.
“Ma’am, is this Bailey Williams?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“I’m Alex Noble, FBI. I know it is a very sensitive subject, but we would like to ask you some questions about your husband’s death. You don’t have to right now, but we would like to come to your house and talk further.”
“Well, I, um, sure, I guess. The address is 3244 Williams lane. You have to travel quite a ways down the dirt road to get there.” Bailey said, the brittle voice saying more than I ever thought it could.
“Thank you, Mrs. Williams, and my condolences to you and Mr. Williams’s family.”
She hung up.
“Well, wha’d you get?” John asked, emerging from his room, his hands working the buttons of his new, navy blue suit.
“She said we could come out there, do a little questioning, take a look at the crime scene. Pretty basic stuff.”
“Has CSI taken a look at the area?”
“Yeah, all they found were shells, a broken window, and one stiff. The shells are from a TEC-9 machine gun. The guy doused the whole room with bullets, killed Mark instantly. The gun wasn’t registered.”
“Of course. It’s probably black market.”
“You sure, how could a guy like Owen come back from hiding and already be back in with those guys? He didn’t make a lot of friends on his journey to the top.” I questioned.
“His underlings getting out of jail, they need money and a job, because their record’s too mucked up to get a real job.”
“I get it, but something’s not just adding up. Owen’s gotta be getting on in years, doesn’t he? I don’t think he would have the physical ability to pull off a hit like this. I’m pretty sure he ordered it, but he didn’t do it personally.” I theorized.
“Your absolutely right, but that’s what makes you wrong. Owen doesn’t do things by the book. He’s smarter than that, and that’s why he’s so hard to get.” John countered.
“Okay, then what do we need to do? If CSI doesn’t get Owen’s DNA at the scene, who are we gonna go kill-- I mean catch.”
John laughed, and began to spoke.
“I like your thinking, but we can’t get that far yet. We need to check out known assassins in this area, and see if they have ties to Owen. An address, phone number, email address, anything that could get us to him.”
“Got it.” I agreed.
“I’ll handle the assassin stuff, and you, my friend, have a date with Bailey Williams.”
I chuckled, and sat down on my bed.
“I wasn’t thinking about it that way, but, yeah, I guess I do. Until then, I’m just gonna sit back, and relax.”
“While I do the real work.” He said.
“Yep, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Well, I have to go to one of those internet cafes to surf the web.”
“This place doesn’t have internet?”
“Yeah, even in this day and age. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Big time.”
And with that, John set forth towards the lobby of the hotel.
What was even harder to believe than the hotel not having internet though, was that John was never coming back.