The following morning began quietly, the way Vitus preferred all his mornings. The rain was long gone and showed no signs of returning, so Vitus bid his raincoat goodbye and walked to work early, eating his plain piece of toast along the way. The spring wind was cool and balmy--one that demanded at least some form of adjective, and he almost wished he had brought his coat anyway.
When he arrived at his shop, he found himself unable to shake the feeling that something was somehow wrong. He checked the front door. It was locked, as he had left it. He made his way through the store, winding down aisle after aisle of Bakelite, mother of pearl, and old transistor radios until he reached the back door, which opened to an alleyway, itself connected to a separate storage unit. Both doors were still locked, but Vitus was not yet satisfied. He searched the doors again, squinting so hard his eyes began to ache, until he found something--tiny scrapes on the frame of the storage unit's door. There could be a thousand different explanations, including a pre-existing condition that Vitus had simply never noticed before, but Vitus was never one to follow Occam's Razor. For every hundred simple answers, there would always be one extraordinary one, and that's where Vitus' mind constantly dwelt--in the improbabilities of things. Somehow, he knew that someone had been rummaging through his stock, and they were clever enough to keep their tracks well-covered.
Vitus promptly returned to the front door and locked it, leaving the closed sign facing the street. He stopped at his desk to pick up a pad of paper and a pencil, and then he marched back to the storage unit, which was little more than a large shack. He spent the better part of the morning taking inventory of all his pieces, only to discover that absolutely nothing was missing. Vitus was perplexed. He scratched his head continuously--not because it itched, but rather because over the years he had become convinced that this was the proper action one should take in such a situation.
He thought back to the events of the previous day and of the large, mysterious man who had come seeking the settee. Luckily, Vitus had the foresight to keep that particular piece in a private storage area with much better security. No one else knew the place existed, not even Jenn. Eventually, Vitus retired back into his store. He unlocked the front door and flipped the closed sign, declaring Bethel's Fine Finds' accessibility to an uncaring outside world. He decided to push his suspicions and the impromptu stock-taking from his head, not even bothering to mention it when Jenn made her rounds that day.
When Jenn eventually did make her appearance, she wore a dark pea coat and a long knitted scarf wrapped lightly around her neck. She leaned over the desk, planting an elbow on the hard wood and her chin against the palm of her hand in a blatant, unspoken way of showing it off.
"Nice scarf," said Vitus. He was lying. He found the scarf, with its varying, intertwined shades of pink and white, to be ultimately distracting, but he didn't dare tell her this.
"Thanks," she said. "So when do we leave?"
Vitus paused. In all his bustling and suspecting, he had forgotten about the accidental invitation. "Tomorrow," he said. "Early in the morning. They'll be sending a car to take us to a private airport."
"And you're sure it's all right for me to tag along?" Her eyes were large and round, questioning and ensnaring him to the point that he could not say no.
"Of course," replied Vitus, and he assumed this to be true. Though, honestly, he had not made his client aware that his party would be for two. He didn't see how it could possible make a difference. As long as the plane was a private one, certainly they could find an extra seat for the antique-dealer's partner.
"Good. Because I'm already packed," she said.
"Oh, well, that didn't take long."
"I always keep a bag packed, just in case," she said, and Vitus stared at her. "Not that I've been expecting to make a quick getaway, but it never hurts to prepare if that situation should arise, right?"
At that moment, Vitus Bethel had never been more in love. "That makes sense to me," he said. "Just be here by five."
"Five it is," said Jenn. She slung a hanging length of her scarf behind one shoulder and left, saying goodbye with a mock salute at the door.
Vitus waved and, after she had left, collapsed on his desk.
At 4:30 a.m. the next morning, Vitus decided to head to his shop early and wait for Jenn and the car that would take them to the private airport. The sky was still pitch black, and the cold air forced him into a full length overcoat. He made his way down the street with his slice of toast in hand, eating as he walked. As he approached his shop, he caught sight of something sitting in front of it. At first, he thought it might be a bag of trash, carelessly abandoned by the side of the road, but as he drew nearer, he realized that the shape was, in fact, Jenn, sitting on the sidewalk and huddled up in a thick coat.
"Good morning," she said, as if this was any other morning. She stood up and dusted her backside.
"Come inside," said Vitus. He drew the keys from his pocket and unlocked the shop's door. Vitus had left the heat on, so the shop itself was already warm and comfortable. They quickly shed their coats.
Vitus had barely had time to check over his store, making sure the back door was secure and that all the spare cash had been tucked away safe inside, when a bright light came in through the front windows. A long, black car pulled alongside the sidewalk, and a man in the passenger's seat got out and stood in front of the window. He wore a dark suit, but he appeared to be rather short and muscular. He tapped his foot impatiently.
Vitus checked his pocket watch. "4:41," he said to himself. They were early, but he knew they had to be the people who were sent to pick him up. Vitus and Jenn looked at each other, both suddenly curious about what they had gotten themselves into. The man continued to watch them from the sidewalk, so they both grabbed their coats and stepped outside, where Vitus first took the time to lock and check the front door before turning to face the man.
"Bethel?" asked the man, with a heavy Russian accent.
"Yes," replied Vitus.
"Get in."
Vitus and Jenn looked at each other yet again and for the exact same reason, and then they made for the back seat.
"Who's this?" asked the Russian, pointing at Jenn.
Vitus froze.
"I'm his partner," said Jenn. "Where one of us goes, the other follows--standard antiquing protocol."
The Russian squinted, processing the information, and then nodded. At that exact time, Vitus remembered to exhale.
"Where's the bench?" the Russian asked, his accented English transforming the word bench to beench. Jenn would have laughed if she wasn't suddenly so terrified.
"It'll meet us at the airport," said Vitus. "I've made prior arrangements with a delivery service."
The Russian nodded again, apparently satisfied. They all took their seats in the long, black car, and they were off. While another man in a dark suit drove, the first Russian pulled out a cellular phone and began a conversation that neither Vitus nor Jenn could understand. Jenn was struck by the suspicion that he may very well have been asking for advice on the best location to dump bodies. That very same thought was one of many that raced through Vitus' head at that moment.
The drive turned out to be a long and silent one. They were headed west, rounding along the coast as best as Vitus could figure. Every now and then, Vitus and Jenn whispered to one another, but the men in the front seats proved entirely too intimidating to allow any other form of conversation.
Vitus had been given an address for the airstrip, which he in turn relayed to the delivery company. He himself had no idea where the location happened to be, but he was assured that the driver would arrive on time. Occasionally, he peeked out the back window, imagining that he could see a truck distantly following them down the highway.
When they arrived at their destination, the vacant air strip laid out before them. They followed a short dirt road that ended right at the coast line, which was lined by a long dock and many large ships.
"So when is the plane getting here?" Vitus asked. The Russian did not respond.
They sat in silence for fifteen more minutes, at which point a small yellow delivery truck wound down the dirt road. Vitus, Jenn, and the Russians left the car, and the Russians immediately set about unloading a large crate from the back of the truck, still wearing their dark suits. They signed a receipt for the driver, and the truck disappeared back down the dirt road.
The Russians carried the crate to the docks, where they set it down and launched into a heated discussion carried out entirely in Russian. Vitus looked around and fidgeted. Jenn somehow managed to keep calm.
"You know, I've been thinking," began Vitus as he edged his way toward the still-chatting Russians, "maybe we should just stay here. I'm sure your employer is looking forward to adding this piece to his collection, and it appears as if the two of you are perfectly able to take it from here." The Russians merely stared at him. "We can just... um... take a cab back. It might be a little pricey, but luckily, your boss pays very well." The Russians still stared.
Finally, the first Russian smiled. "That won't be necessary. Our employer is very much looking forward to meeting you. He's been searching for this piece for a very long time and would like to thank you in person for your help."
"Oh."
"So when did you say the plane would be coming?" asked Jenn.
"Just any minute now," said the second Russian. He and his compatriot exchanged a few words, and then they reached into their jackets.
Vitus closed his eyes tightly. He imagined two black handguns pointed straight at him, thinking this would be the worst possible outcome. He opened his eyes to see his worst fears confirmed, except the guns were silver. That somehow disappointed him. Jenn grabbed his hand tightly.
"I don't suppose you've changed your mind about the cab," said Vitus, his voice shaking. He closed his eyes again. A shot rang out.
When he arrived at his shop, he found himself unable to shake the feeling that something was somehow wrong. He checked the front door. It was locked, as he had left it. He made his way through the store, winding down aisle after aisle of Bakelite, mother of pearl, and old transistor radios until he reached the back door, which opened to an alleyway, itself connected to a separate storage unit. Both doors were still locked, but Vitus was not yet satisfied. He searched the doors again, squinting so hard his eyes began to ache, until he found something--tiny scrapes on the frame of the storage unit's door. There could be a thousand different explanations, including a pre-existing condition that Vitus had simply never noticed before, but Vitus was never one to follow Occam's Razor. For every hundred simple answers, there would always be one extraordinary one, and that's where Vitus' mind constantly dwelt--in the improbabilities of things. Somehow, he knew that someone had been rummaging through his stock, and they were clever enough to keep their tracks well-covered.
Vitus promptly returned to the front door and locked it, leaving the closed sign facing the street. He stopped at his desk to pick up a pad of paper and a pencil, and then he marched back to the storage unit, which was little more than a large shack. He spent the better part of the morning taking inventory of all his pieces, only to discover that absolutely nothing was missing. Vitus was perplexed. He scratched his head continuously--not because it itched, but rather because over the years he had become convinced that this was the proper action one should take in such a situation.
He thought back to the events of the previous day and of the large, mysterious man who had come seeking the settee. Luckily, Vitus had the foresight to keep that particular piece in a private storage area with much better security. No one else knew the place existed, not even Jenn. Eventually, Vitus retired back into his store. He unlocked the front door and flipped the closed sign, declaring Bethel's Fine Finds' accessibility to an uncaring outside world. He decided to push his suspicions and the impromptu stock-taking from his head, not even bothering to mention it when Jenn made her rounds that day.
When Jenn eventually did make her appearance, she wore a dark pea coat and a long knitted scarf wrapped lightly around her neck. She leaned over the desk, planting an elbow on the hard wood and her chin against the palm of her hand in a blatant, unspoken way of showing it off.
"Nice scarf," said Vitus. He was lying. He found the scarf, with its varying, intertwined shades of pink and white, to be ultimately distracting, but he didn't dare tell her this.
"Thanks," she said. "So when do we leave?"
Vitus paused. In all his bustling and suspecting, he had forgotten about the accidental invitation. "Tomorrow," he said. "Early in the morning. They'll be sending a car to take us to a private airport."
"And you're sure it's all right for me to tag along?" Her eyes were large and round, questioning and ensnaring him to the point that he could not say no.
"Of course," replied Vitus, and he assumed this to be true. Though, honestly, he had not made his client aware that his party would be for two. He didn't see how it could possible make a difference. As long as the plane was a private one, certainly they could find an extra seat for the antique-dealer's partner.
"Good. Because I'm already packed," she said.
"Oh, well, that didn't take long."
"I always keep a bag packed, just in case," she said, and Vitus stared at her. "Not that I've been expecting to make a quick getaway, but it never hurts to prepare if that situation should arise, right?"
At that moment, Vitus Bethel had never been more in love. "That makes sense to me," he said. "Just be here by five."
"Five it is," said Jenn. She slung a hanging length of her scarf behind one shoulder and left, saying goodbye with a mock salute at the door.
Vitus waved and, after she had left, collapsed on his desk.
***
At 4:30 a.m. the next morning, Vitus decided to head to his shop early and wait for Jenn and the car that would take them to the private airport. The sky was still pitch black, and the cold air forced him into a full length overcoat. He made his way down the street with his slice of toast in hand, eating as he walked. As he approached his shop, he caught sight of something sitting in front of it. At first, he thought it might be a bag of trash, carelessly abandoned by the side of the road, but as he drew nearer, he realized that the shape was, in fact, Jenn, sitting on the sidewalk and huddled up in a thick coat.
"Good morning," she said, as if this was any other morning. She stood up and dusted her backside.
"Come inside," said Vitus. He drew the keys from his pocket and unlocked the shop's door. Vitus had left the heat on, so the shop itself was already warm and comfortable. They quickly shed their coats.
Vitus had barely had time to check over his store, making sure the back door was secure and that all the spare cash had been tucked away safe inside, when a bright light came in through the front windows. A long, black car pulled alongside the sidewalk, and a man in the passenger's seat got out and stood in front of the window. He wore a dark suit, but he appeared to be rather short and muscular. He tapped his foot impatiently.
Vitus checked his pocket watch. "4:41," he said to himself. They were early, but he knew they had to be the people who were sent to pick him up. Vitus and Jenn looked at each other, both suddenly curious about what they had gotten themselves into. The man continued to watch them from the sidewalk, so they both grabbed their coats and stepped outside, where Vitus first took the time to lock and check the front door before turning to face the man.
"Bethel?" asked the man, with a heavy Russian accent.
"Yes," replied Vitus.
"Get in."
Vitus and Jenn looked at each other yet again and for the exact same reason, and then they made for the back seat.
"Who's this?" asked the Russian, pointing at Jenn.
Vitus froze.
"I'm his partner," said Jenn. "Where one of us goes, the other follows--standard antiquing protocol."
The Russian squinted, processing the information, and then nodded. At that exact time, Vitus remembered to exhale.
"Where's the bench?" the Russian asked, his accented English transforming the word bench to beench. Jenn would have laughed if she wasn't suddenly so terrified.
"It'll meet us at the airport," said Vitus. "I've made prior arrangements with a delivery service."
The Russian nodded again, apparently satisfied. They all took their seats in the long, black car, and they were off. While another man in a dark suit drove, the first Russian pulled out a cellular phone and began a conversation that neither Vitus nor Jenn could understand. Jenn was struck by the suspicion that he may very well have been asking for advice on the best location to dump bodies. That very same thought was one of many that raced through Vitus' head at that moment.
***
The drive turned out to be a long and silent one. They were headed west, rounding along the coast as best as Vitus could figure. Every now and then, Vitus and Jenn whispered to one another, but the men in the front seats proved entirely too intimidating to allow any other form of conversation.
Vitus had been given an address for the airstrip, which he in turn relayed to the delivery company. He himself had no idea where the location happened to be, but he was assured that the driver would arrive on time. Occasionally, he peeked out the back window, imagining that he could see a truck distantly following them down the highway.
When they arrived at their destination, the vacant air strip laid out before them. They followed a short dirt road that ended right at the coast line, which was lined by a long dock and many large ships.
"So when is the plane getting here?" Vitus asked. The Russian did not respond.
They sat in silence for fifteen more minutes, at which point a small yellow delivery truck wound down the dirt road. Vitus, Jenn, and the Russians left the car, and the Russians immediately set about unloading a large crate from the back of the truck, still wearing their dark suits. They signed a receipt for the driver, and the truck disappeared back down the dirt road.
The Russians carried the crate to the docks, where they set it down and launched into a heated discussion carried out entirely in Russian. Vitus looked around and fidgeted. Jenn somehow managed to keep calm.
"You know, I've been thinking," began Vitus as he edged his way toward the still-chatting Russians, "maybe we should just stay here. I'm sure your employer is looking forward to adding this piece to his collection, and it appears as if the two of you are perfectly able to take it from here." The Russians merely stared at him. "We can just... um... take a cab back. It might be a little pricey, but luckily, your boss pays very well." The Russians still stared.
Finally, the first Russian smiled. "That won't be necessary. Our employer is very much looking forward to meeting you. He's been searching for this piece for a very long time and would like to thank you in person for your help."
"Oh."
"So when did you say the plane would be coming?" asked Jenn.
"Just any minute now," said the second Russian. He and his compatriot exchanged a few words, and then they reached into their jackets.
Vitus closed his eyes tightly. He imagined two black handguns pointed straight at him, thinking this would be the worst possible outcome. He opened his eyes to see his worst fears confirmed, except the guns were silver. That somehow disappointed him. Jenn grabbed his hand tightly.
"I don't suppose you've changed your mind about the cab," said Vitus, his voice shaking. He closed his eyes again. A shot rang out.
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