Chapter Ten
Possibilities

Stephen's desk intercom gave its discreet buzz, and he held down the reply button. "Yes, Donald?"

"Sir, there's a messenger here with a package for you. He won't let me sign for it, says he's to deliver it to you personally." Donald sounded distinctly annoyed. He was a rather petty man who enjoyed what he saw as his power over those who were allowed to see Stephen.

"Yes, I've been expecting it. Send him in." Stephen consulted his watch. Only four o'clock. Lamont had made excellent time. If he kept performing at this level, Stephen would have to consider giving him a bonus. With this type of work, it was wise to give a little more than you had to, to keep good will.

The messenger was a cut above the general scruffy sort he saw moving through the business district. His jeans were clean, and he had actually removed his cycling helmet before entering the office. "You have something for me?" Stephen extended his hand expectantly.

The young man shuffled his feet, then said, "Um, sir? I hate to do this, but I'm gonna need to see some ID. I know this is your office, an' I had ta go through th' dragon outside an' all, but Mr. Lamont insists on us bein' ab-so-lutely certain 'fore we hand over material."

Stephen nodded, reaching for his wallet. "You may tell your employer that I am impressed with his cautionary measures." He showed his driver's license to the boy. "Will this do?"

Stephen was pleased when the young man did not just glance hastily at the proferred card. He studied it carefully, comparing the photo to Stephen's face. Finally, his expression relieved, he said, "Yessir, that's you all right. Here you are."

Stephen took the manilla envelope the boy offered. "Is there a receipt for me to sign?"

"Nossir. We ain't much on paperwork." He grinned, and there was something feral in his expression. "Boss says it leaves a trail."

"A wise man, your boss. Thank you." The boy left, and Stephen placed the envelope carefully in the exact center of his desk, and just looked at it for a few moments. He ran his fingers lightly over it's surface, tracing along the edge that marked the flap.

Besides that rediculous brad device all these envelopes had, the flap had been gummed shut. Good. He knew the types of riskes bicycle messengers took: he'd seen them dodging in and out of traffic. He had not actually seen one get hit, but it was only a matter of time. And the idea of an envelope full of photographs he'd ordered ripping open when it flew under the wheels of some vehicle after the messenger was downed... He could imagine glossy photos skimming through the air to land in street and gutter, and on sidewalk, to be picked up by witnesses or the police who came to investigate the accident.

Today, there should be no risk. The pictures were supposed to be simple candid protraits, and none of the women had experienced anything that might have made them go to the authorities, and alert them to... irregularities. But later... It was good to know that they were careful.

Stephen picked up the envelope, unbent the prongs of the brad, and tried to peel the edge of the flap up. After a moment, he smiled. They hadn't just used the commercially applied gumming to shut the envelope: they had glued it, also. It was well and truly sealed. Stephen slit the end with his letter opener. He had plenty of spare envelopes to put the photos in for their trip back to his home.

He was surprised by the thickness of the sheaf of photos that he removed from the envelope, until he realized that Lamont had included two different shots of each candidate. How thoughtful. You just don't find those little extras in service these days.

He paged through the photos slowly, studying each woman carefully. He tried to imagine what it would be like to look at that face day after day, perhaps even see the small lines of age creeping in. That was what he wanted. He wasn't interested in getting a toy to use and throw away. If THAT was all he wanted, it would be simple enough, and entail a great deal less risk. He could have gotten what he wanted through Thomball or a half dozen other contacts with nothing but a phone call.

Schulburg first. She was a little older; early forties, starting to show her age. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Stephen wasn't locked into the 'twentysomething' mentality. In fact, there were certain things that appealed to him about more mature women. They'd usually set up their routines more firmly, knew who they were and what they wanted. They had years of experience at blending in and fading into the background.

Schulburg had a little grey in her hair, she hadn't dyed it to conceal it. Stephen tried to decide if this was good, or bad. If she'd used a rinse, would that be considered trying to use protective camoflauge, or putting on display colors? One of her photos was of her in her car. He frowned. That was a rather flashy yellow. Had she chosen it deliberately, or was it all she could afford?

Suelynn Liang was next. Again he studied the photos. She really was quite pretty. That would be a plus, of course. But the more he looked at her, the more he was aware of the exotic nature of her appearance. There was an almond tilt to her large, dark eyes, and a slight ivory tint to her smooth complexion. Would her drabness of dress and self-effacing manner be enough to offset that? According to the records, she was an immigrant from Japan, had come over to the U.S. when she was a teenager. He was afraid that her habits and personality traits had been too set by then for her to truely blend herself in the American culture as seamlessly as he would have liked. He put aside her photos and went on to the next.

Mina O'Connel. He smiled. This was the one he'd had the most contact with so far, and she was very promising. She had her social facade very firmly in place, but Stephen could still catch little glimpses around and over it. There was a sharp mind behind that bland face, and sometimes it peeked out through the wide blue eyes.

Her clothing so far had been exemplery. He hadn't seen a spot of real color on her the few times he'd seen her. She had very nice, very curly hair, but she did absolutely nothing with it. No make-up that he could detect, unless she'd completely mastered the 'natural look'. Yes, she was a good possibility.

Now, then, Barenski. There was a shot of her in the cafeteria. Stephen frowned. She was sitting with several people. He looked more closely, and his expression smoothed. Yes, she was sitting with them, but she wasn't with them, you could tell. They were totally involved with each other. There might as well have been a wall across the table.

Finally Potter. She was the youngest of the group, only nineteen. There was still something unformed about her. If he wanted to, he could shape her as she matured, make her whatever he wanted. That was an idea. He'd never taken one that young before. Of course, at that age, there might still be parents keenly interested in her whereabouts.

Stephen took Liang's photos, and went to his paper shredder. He slid the photos into the slot, and reached for the SHRED button, but stopped. For a long moment he considered, then pulled out the photos and looked at them again. Finally he shrugged. "It's too soon to eliminate her completely." He took the photos back to his desk, gathered all of them into a pile, and slipped them into a fresh envelope. Then the old envelope went into the shredder, and this time he pushed the button.

Dominic picked him up from work that evening. Stephen had him park across the street from the building, and he observed the employees as they made their ways out to their cars. Barenski got in a car with another woman. He'd have to get Lamont to check and see if that was an anomaly, or if she was part of a car pool.

Dominic indicated the lot. "That O'Connel dame has been sitting in her car for quite a while. What's she doing?"

"Judging from the way she was just now pounding on the steering wheel, I would say that she is swearing at the car for not starting." As Stephen spoke, she got out of the car, slamming the door. She stood fuming for a moment, then jerked the door open and slammed it again. Stephen smiled. "Oh dear. She seems to have a bit of a temper."

"She's pissed, all right." Dominic agreed.

Stephen watched as the woman opened the hood of the car and peered at the engine. Even at this distance he could see the look on her face. It said, 'I don't know why the hell I'm doing this. It' isn't like I'll know what's wrong, even if I see it.' She looked close to crying.

A man in a security guard uniform came out of the building and approached her. When he spoke to her, she pulled away slightly, her stance tense. He looked under the hood, but Stephen could tell that despite his attempts to look wise, he hadn't a clue as to what was wrong, either. Shaking his head, he spoke to the woman again, then put his hand on her arm.

Stephen felt a small lance of irritation, bordering on anger. What was the man doing, touching one of his hiders? She wasn't comfortable with it either, he observed. She had pulled back from him with almost a jerk. But that didn't seem to deter the guard. He just took another step toward her, talking and making soothing gestures.

Stephen came to a decision. "Drive over there, Dominic."

His driver shot him a surprised look. "Boss, you going to get personal with her this early in the game?" When he saw Stephen's cold look he said hastily, "Yeah, sure," and pulled across into the lot.

The car had flatly refused to start when Mina went to go home. It had made a grinding, whining sound that got slower and fainter ever time she turned the key. Finally it was just whirring faintly. Alone in the car, with no one near to observe, she had given in to the frustration and anger, and had sworn vigorously and loudly, pounding on the steering wheel as if she could beat the car into co-operation.

No such luck, of course. The final key turn had produced nothing but a clicking noise. She put her head briefly against the wheel, then got out of the car and slammed the door. It felt so good that she did it again. Knowing it was hopeless, she went and opened the hood and stared at the jumble of wires, hoses, and arcane metal bits, hoping against hope that she'd see something that had obviously come loose, and could be easily reattached.

It had startled her when Axel came up behind her. "Car trouble?"

No, I was just admiring the engine. Grease gives me the warm fuzzies. "I suppose so. It's been more reluctant than usual the last few days."

"Let me see if there's anything I can do." Axel leaned into the area under the hood, peering seriously. He touched a wire here, and a hose there, but it was fairly obvious that he didn't know any more about it than Mina did. At last he stood back up. "Nothing jumps out at me."

"Fantastic. NOW what am I supposed to do?"

"No one to call for a ride?"

"No." She answered shortly, and didn't elaborate on it.

"You'd better come back inside while we try to decide what you're going to do."

He put his hand on her arm. Mina stiffened and pulled away. "That's all right. Maybe it just needs to rest a little. Maybe it's flooded."

"Honey, that thing is deader than disco." He took her arm again. "Just come with me, and..."

She didn't have the patience to be diplomatic this time. Her nerves were raw from dealing with the car: faulty mechanics always had that effect on her. Plus she'd been a little on edge all day, wondering what the floral gift signified. She didn't like people in her personal space to start with, and Axel was particularly offensive. "Don't call me honey!" She snatched her arm back. "And don't touch me."

She felt a thrill of alarm when he smiled, his eyes narrowing, and said softly, "Now, that's no way to go through life, darlin'." It was still daylight, but the lot was a hell of a lot more deserted than was comfortable.

Just as she was thinking this, a large, dark car pulled up beside them and stopped, engine idling. The door on the other side opened, and Stephen Baxter got out. Standing in the open door, he said, "Miss O'Connel, isn't it? Is there some problem?"

She drew a breath, grateful for the presence of someone else. "My car won't start."

"How terribly annoying. Do you have a ride home?"

"I was going to offer her one," Turner spoke up.

Stephen studied him with a looke of faint distaste. "You're one of my security guards?"

Axel's eyes hardened slightly at the 'my'. "I work here, yes."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe your shift runs until midnight."

"I have a break in a couple of hours."

"And you were intending to leave the premisis? Your desire to help a fellow employee is commendable, but completely out of the question." He looked at Mina. "The busses have stopped running by now, and I believe that taxi cabs are obscenely expensive. Allow me to offer you a ride, Miss O'Connel."

Mina considered briefly. Baxter was right on both counts: the busses had stopped an hour ago, and a taxi ride would cost far more than she had in her purse. Even if she had felt vigorous enough to walk home, it would have been close to eleven by the time she got in, IF she wasn't mugged or murdered. There really wasn't much of a choice. And after all, this was Stephen Baxter, for heaven's sake. He was a public figure, very well known, and there would be a witness to her getting into the car with him. It wasn't like he was Ted Bundy. "That would be very kind of you. Thank you."

"Excellent." He leaned back into the car. "Dominic?"

The driver's door opened, and a man who looked vaguely familiar got out. He walked around to her side and opened the passenger door in back, making a slight bow as he waved for her to enter. Just before she entered the car, she decided that it wasn't wise to leave things too antagonistic with Turner. A security guard could make things pretty miserable for you, if he wanted to be petty. She gave him a small, brief smile. "Thanks anyway, Mr. Turner. I appreciate the thought."

The dark haired man shut the door after her, and turned to go back around the car. When he passed, his eyes met Turner's, and he smirked. Axel felt a prickle of anger. It was like the bastard was laughing at him for getting shot down. Just before he got into the car, the man said, "You ought to be gettin' back to your rounds, shouldn't you, Rent-a-Cop?"

Dominic had to force back a snicker as he saw the guard's face turn brick red. He shut the door and buckled up, thinking Yeah, pretty boy. Mr. Baxter doen't like anyone else messin' with someone he might be taking a fancy to. You'd better watch yourself, or he'll find some reason to have you pounding the pavement looking for another job.

Dominic turned, hooking an elbow over the back of the seat. She was sitting as far in the corner as she could get without plastering herself to the door. "Where do you need to go, Miss?"

She gave him the address. Crummy section of town. Not dangerous, just crummy. No wonder she can only afford a piece of shit car.

"What seemed to be the trouble with your vehicle?" Stephen asked.

The bitterness of her words was belied by her light tone. "Oh, if I had any idea of that, I'd fix it myself and not have the problem."

Stephen grimaced. "Yes, of course. Silly of me to ask. Has it given you this sort of trouble before?"

"Not exactly this type of trouble. It's been getting slower and slower these days."

"Perhaps it's something minor that can be easily repaired."

"I'd like to think so." Yeah, right. Minor is a relative word. If it costs over fifty bucks, I can't afford it. She glanced around the rich interior of the car. Her fingers absently stroked the seat. Real leather. Who the heck can afford real leather?

Stephen watched the woman stroking the upholstery, and wondered if she was even aware she was doing it. She likes fine things, she just hasn't had a chance to experience them. "How will you get to work tomorrow?"

Mina sighed. "Let's see... I'll have to get up about twenty minutes early, I think, but there should be a bus. I'll have to walk to the store to get change, I suppose. They only want exact change."

"And you'll have the car towed to a garage during the day and repaired?"

She fidgitted. "Would it be all right if I left it there a couple of days? I won't be able to have anything done to it till payday. The towtrucks want to be paid right up front, and the garage won't release it to me unless I can pay them, even if they manage to fix it."

"That sounds like a great deal of trouble and aggravation. Dominic is quite proficient at auto repairs. Would it be agreeable if he had a look at it tomorrow? It's quite possible he'd be able to fix it for you."

"Oh, I couldn't ask that. Besides, it's probably something horrendous. It usually is. I'll still have to have the money for parts, even if he doesn't charge mechanic's rates."

"Something can be worked out. Perhaps ten dollars a week out of your paycheck. In any case there's no point in worrying about it until we know what the problem is. I insist on this. You must accept my help."

"I'm not sure I'd feel right about that."

"Nonsense. It's the most practicle thing to do. Can you really afford to turn it down?"

She stared at him. He was right, of course. That didn't make it any easier to swallow. She'd been making it on her own with no assistance from anyone since she'd gotten out of high school, and it was a little galling to have him assume she needed charity.

Who the fuck are you kidding, Mina? You DO need charity. You're not noble, you're fucking BROKE. Take the deal. "Thank you. That's most kind. I'll appreciate any help I get."

Stephen nodded, thinking, Perhaps. But you resent the hell out of needing it, don't you? You're proud of making it on your own. I wonder how you'd react to being totally dependent on someone else? How would you feel if your shelter, your clothes, your food, your water... your very existence was in someone else's control? My control. How would you feel?*

At her apartment building, Dominic started to get out of the car, intending to go around and open her door again. Mina quickly did it herself, knowing that it was a petty defiance, but not caring. "Thank you for the ride."

"Give Dominic your key so he'll be able to work on your car."

Mina hesitated, then pulled a keyring out of her purse, removed a single key, and handed it across the roof of the car to Dominic. "Thank you."

He tossed it lightly in his palm before pocketing it. "No problem."

She was beginning to shut the door, when Stephen called, "One more thing, Miss O' Connel."

She leaned down to look in at him. "Yes?"

"There's no reason why you should waste money and time on the bus. I will pick you up tomorrow morning."

It wasn't an offer. It was a pronouncement. Not 'Can I give you a ride?' or 'Would you like...?' Just 'I will.' How on Earth could she refuse? No plausable excuse leapt to mind, and he was watching her expectantly. "I have to be in by nine."

"That will be fine. Until tomorrow, then." Feeling somehow as if she'd been herded into something, Mina closed the door and went into her apartment.

Dominic got into the front seat and pulled out, headed toward Baxter's mansion on the outskirts of town. "This is the first time you've gotten this close to one of them this early in the selection process." He was careful to keep his tone neutral, non-judgemental.

"Yes, I know. But really, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. After all," he settled back into the seat. "if I'm her ride home tomorrow, and I will be because you aren't going to be able to fix that car right away no matter what's wrong with it... If I'm her ride, well..." He smiled. "She won't very well be able to arrive home unexpectedly, will she? I'll need to talk to Lamont. If he's ready, this will be a perfect time to install the video equipment."