Mystery ~ MV1

004. Stewert the fish

[Agent A]

The soft bubbling from the fish tank filled my new apartment with white noise- approximately 60 bubbles per minute, suggesting an air pump operating at standard efficiency- it was almost as soothing as it was obnoxious.

I stood before the tank, my eyes following the lone occupant, a beta fish that was a dark navy blue but transitioned to a bright red as it reached the delicate fins. If glided between a miniature stone archway and what I noted was a surprisingly accurate replica of a Roman temple, complete with correct Corinthian column proportions.

"Why exactly is there a fish in my safehouse?" I asked, turning to where Luke was lounging against the kitchen counter. He'd discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves after helping me arrange the minimal furnishings that made up Melina Vincent's new life. The furniture was precisely placed – nothing too perfect, but arranged in a way that suggested comfortable habitation rather than tactical positioning- for every window was a piece of furniture strategically placed to be a cover if needed.

Old habits die hard.

"Because normal people have fish," Luke replied, his sarcasm as evident as it usually was. I stood up straighter but continued to watch the fish move through the water.

"Actually, only approximately 7.2 percent of households in France maintain aquariums, and the number drops to 4.8 percent when you consider single-occupant apartments in urban areas," I countered, patting the sides of the fish tank gently.

"Statistically speaking, having a fish makes me less normal, not more. Dogs are more popular in Nice."

Luke rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "You'd never keep a dog alive Syd...And that right there – that exact response – is precisely why you now have a fish."

He pushed off from the counter to join me by the tank. "Normal people don't quote statistics when asked about pets. They just... have them."

I felt a slight smile tugging at my mouth as I watched the betta flare its fins at its own reflection, creating a perfect display of aggressive territorial behavior typical of the species. I quickly looked away from the tank, but not before Luke caught my expression.

"You going to be okay here by yourself?" he asked, his voice taking on that protective edge I'd grown accustomed to over years of partnership. "I still don't get why Raymond didn't put me on this with you. We've basically worked the whole case together already."

There was an undertone to his words that made my mind stutter. But I just added it to the unique tone Luke's always had, he's been known for a temper and honestly- it's understandable when you've been skipped over. So I ignore it and shrugged my shoulders.

"Please," I scoffed, "I'm the best undercover operative the agency has. I'll be fine." I meant it as reassurance, knowing Luke's tendency to worry when I worked alone. "Besides, someone needs to keep the home fires burning."

Luke paused, something flickering across his features before he settled into a familiar, caring smile. "I'll try not to worry too much. But you better call me if you need anything – intel, backup, someone to remind you that normal people actually eat meals instead of just drinking coffee..."

"I promise to maintain basic biological functions," I said solemnly. "What will you be doing while I'm playing photographer to the stars?"

"Oh, you know," Luke shrugged, that same odd note creeping back into his voice, "just hanging around the office. Being your personal Google if you need any information."

"You're a good Google" I joke, trying to lighten the tense mood he seems to have adopted. But the comment hangs in the air and I look away as he seems to be lost in a thought I'm not allowed to hear.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he added after a moment, and I look back to see him studying my face.

I nodded, feeling my expression harden with determination. "This ends here. Whatever Vega's running through the F1 circuit, we're going to shut it down." I heard the quiet certainty in my voice – the same tone that had helped me close every case I'd ever worked. Vega was going down. I was going to the steel toed boot that crushed the cockroach.

[...]

After Luke left, I sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the dismantled pieces of my new camera.

The familiar routine of taking things apart and putting them back together had always soothed my nerves – whether it was field stripping my Glock or rewiring surveillance equipment.

There was comfort in understanding the mechanics, in knowing exactly how each component functioned and connected.

The apartment felt too quiet now, the solitude settling around me like a heavy blanket. I pushed away the faint anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind, focusing instead on memorizing every detail of the camera's internal structure. I'd need to handle it like it was an extension of myself to maintain my cover.

A splash from the fish tank drew my attention.

Rising, I crossed to where Luke had left the fish supplies and reached for the food, only to frown as I examined the label.

"Tropical fish flakes?" I muttered, glancing back at the betta. "You're a Betta splendens, he got you the wrong food. You need a high-protein betta-specific pellets, preferably with additional carotenoid supplements to maintain optimal coloration."

The fish just stared back with what I chose to interpret as appreciation for my scientific accuracy.

"I'll get you the correct food tomorrow," I promised, then added after a moment's consideration: "Stewart."

The newly-christened Stewart swooped through his miniature temple, his fins rippling like liquid red silk. I watched him for a moment longer, then returned to my disassembled camera. I had three days to become Melina Vincent, professional photographer.

The fish food would wait until morning.

———
The statistics might be wrong
I'm afraid I spent an hour looking
for fish and France
statistics because of
this book and none of them
said the same thing
Fear not, max will enter in the next chapter