The two men who had been interviewing me stand to leave. They were almost identical – similar heights, matching suits, sunglasses covering their eyes even when inside.
Different hair colours though. One had black hair, cut in a crew cut. The other was blond, hair slicked back.
Blond hair hands me a card. “Thank you for talking to us, Miss Mena. If you need to contact us, that’s my number.”
I nod, take the card and follow the two agents to the front door. Blond hair smiles at me, and I smile back, more out of awkwardness. The dark haired companion says nothing, and I’m not surprised. The past hour or so that the agents had been speaking to me, he had said nothing.
I shut the door behind them, lock it and leave the card by the phone, not even looking at it to check what their names had been.
Putting my headphones in, I prepare for dinner. Preparing consisted of pulling out a plate and glass out of the cupboards and pouring myself a glass of Pepsi as I waited for the pizza to arrive.
It arrives 10 minutes later and the deliverer apologises for the delay. The car belonging to the agents has gone, and the delivery van was parked in the spot where my Mercedes should’ve been.
I leave the pizza on the dining table and pay the deliverer. Making sure he had left, I make my way back to the living room, singing loudly to my music.
I swear when I see him.
“Nice singing.” He says. His gaze isn’t on me but on the mask in his hands.
“What the hell? How?” I’m having a hard time trying to get my words out.
He raises a finger to his lips, motioning to me to be quiet.
I’m taken aback, surprised. He stands up and walks over to me.
I take a step back. And another.
His arm goes past my head and I freeze. What’s he doing?
He shows me a small piece of plastic. And then smashes it between his hands.
“Okay. You’re kinda creeping me out. Can you, take a couple of steps back?”
He walks backwards and sits back down in my favourite chair. I take in a deep breath, and try not to blush at the thought of someone hear me sing badly. I say the first question that comes into my head. “What the hell was that?”
He looks confused for a second and then it’s gone. “Your house was fitted with listening devices.” He nods in the direction of my coffee table where similar, broken pieces of plastic lay.
For some reason it doesn’t surprise me. It explains the questions that the agents had asked me and why Dark Hair had disappeared halfway through the questions. “And how did you get in here?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead he asks his own. “What did you tell them?”
“I. Nothing. I mean. You hit my car. Well, I hit you with my car. And, you disappeared after the car hitting. That’s pretty much what I told them. About, you, I mean. Everything else was…” I pause, trying to think of the word. “…unnecessary.” I say it more as a question. “Also, do you know how much that car cost? I lost all my no claims bonus when I called in to insurance.”
“What? No, I actually did lose that bonus. I’m gonna have to pay a fortune next time I try to insure that car.”
“What did you tell them?” He moves fast. I had barely registered his movements when his hand reached around my throat.
I try to breathe but it’s difficult with his grip. I wriggle. “I don’t. Remember. I was focusing more. On the thought of pizza.” He loosens his grip. “They asked some questions about what you looked like. What you said. I. I couldn’t see your face because of the rain.” He lets go of my neck and I take in a deep breath.
“You haven’t answer my question. How did you get in here?” I rub my neck. Hopefully I won’t have bruises.
He’s not looking at me; his stare is on a photo by the TV. I don’t expect him to respond and was about to repeat myself when he speaks.
“I need a place to lie low.”
“What?” God, this guy keeps surprising me. “I don’t even know you. You can’t just go into someone’s house and demand stuff like that! Besides, my house was bugged. It’s not exactly lying low if they suspect you’re here.”
“Those devices were for listening. They assumed you were lying to them and were hoping for more information about me.”
Somehow he had managed to convince me to share half of the pizza with him and I talked to him across the table.
“Who is that?” He nods towards the photo that he had been looking at earlier.
I wince. “An old…friend. He’s, gone now.” I take another bite of the pizza. “And you? Do you have a name?”
I watch him take another bite of pizza and from his expression, I assume he found it too spicy for his liking. “No.”
I frown. “You don’t have a name? What do people call you?”
He doesn’t answer but takes another bite and then shrug.
“You don’t talk much do you?” I take a sip of the Pepsi.