Trapezoid (The Base)

Chapter 18

Levi used to think nothing could be worse than working for his dad as an assistant manager of his hardware store. He'd never cared for it at all. His dad just gave the job out of family courtesy. He'd worked for him straight after he'd left rehabilitation. Thinking of a boss worse than his dad had been impossible. Maybe because their relationship had always been rotten as far as he could remember. He never took being ordered around like a servant very well. The CIA had saved him from his life of misery.

But it seemed fate was playing a cruel joke on him. Cleaning after sloppy eaters was the climax. Was this the only job the CIA could place him in? There had to be other ways. He almost cast a dark blue glare on the kid who squirted the whole bottle of catsup on the fast-food restaurant's lively colored floor. "Murdah! Murdah!" the kid who was probably around six or seven screamed over and over, hopping around the blood-looking mess.

Levi went down on his haunches to clean up. He tried giving the boy's mother a clean questioning look.

She gave a skew apologetic grin. "Apparently he's been watching way too many crime movies. I'm so sorry," she said in her cockney lilt.

How he wished he could spew out, "Sure, but learn to restrain your brat." He was surprised that he was actually able to smile and say in kind tone, "It's okay ma'am. It's my job to serve."

"Hmm. You sound American," she mused.

Dang, I was sure I sounded French. He looked up briefly, giving a polite grin. He continued wiping up the bloody-looking mess.

"I have a second-cousin-twice-removed who lives there. He lives in Texas but by your accent, I can tell you don't come from there. I bet it's a beautiful country—but I know we have more class here. Anyway, what brings you to the land you broke up with hundreds of years ago?"

"Work." If he'd say anymore it may make this chatty woman leave a complaint about the service here. He actually felt relief flood him once the colorful flooring was free of "blood."

He felt like he needed some time in the janitor's storage room just for some solace from the noisy all-Brit patrons. He knew full well it as against the rules, yet he knew he would explode into the worst waiter London had ever known if he couldn't hear himself breathe for a while. He'd probably get fired, but who cared? He was put here to snoop some things out, right? Well, after three days of slaving as an employee in this greasy place, he'd found nothing amiss—except that the manager was terribly skinny.

The window-less room possessed the denseness of a variety of smells of different cleaning fluids. To add to its chaotic appearance, a new stock of boxes was haphazardly dressing the floor of the tiny room. To shut the door, he nudged one out of the way with his foot. Surprised by its stubbornness due to its weight, his curiosity was aroused. Something in him revived.

Maybe this is it!

He went over every single box and package; every flap and fold was taped shut. Slicing anything open was out of the question. He'd have to get back to it later. Now he felt like he was working.

...............................................

The MI5 agent silently watched his fellow agent prep up for his late-night expedition. After being a police detective for five years and now an agent for three, he'd come to be able to read humans to some level. The guy's demeanor, his zeal, his emotions all spoke of something in him that pushed him—something that refused to let him go.