Chapter 3: The crew
David bought another ticket out of New York, under John Banning’s name. John Banning was going to fly out of the country after two weeks in New York and never be seen again. No matter how hard they looked for him.
David collected his luggage and headed to the bathroom. Once there, he locked himself in a stall and peeled the thin gray beard off his face, revealing a gruff brown one, then reached up and pulled off the gray wig and shook out his real hair. When David walked out of the bathroom, no longer wearing the stodgy tie and with a distinctly different gait to his walk, John Banning was all but dead.
Outside the airport, in John Banning’s limo, David smiled to himself. He could use a cup of coffee. But not just yet.
Two days later, having seen one show and been in the museum twice already, David sat down in a corner booth at a quaint little coffee shop just north of Broadway in New York City.
The coffee was cold by the time company came and sat down with him. David didn’t look up as the man sat down. “Nice tan Collins. Is it real?”
“The real one is darker.” Collins was all business, and spoke without real emotion. “I’ve been cruising for a few months.”
“Would that be the same number of months as it was since those people turned up dead?” David looked up at Collins, letting a grin spread over his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about David.” Collins returned the smile and winked. “Who else are we including in this little adventure?”
“Well there is me, of course.” The voice was British, very feminine, and coming from behind Collins. David noticed Collins reaching below the table for just a split second before realizing whom the voice belonged to.
“Hello McKenzie,” Collins said, relaxing a bit.
McKenzie smiled as she sat down, her face as warm and friendly as ever.
David looked her up and down, giving her the kind of long linger he knew she would want. Not that he minded. McKenzie had a figure worth lingering over. “McKenzie, I said blend.”
“Come on, darling, isn’t this good enough?” She gestured to herself, to the skimpy black shirt and tight leather skirt that ended long before her knee high shining leather boots began. “It blends.”
“Maybe at Marilyn Manson’s funeral.”
She smiled and put a hand, complete with black nails, on his arm. “Come on, can’t a girl get a bit of attention?”
“McKenzie, attention is not what we want right now. We need to talk without prying eyes and ears.”
She laughed. On her, it didn’t sound forced. “David, darling, we can’t even begin talking until the rest of the crew shows up.”
“What makes you think there are more people in the crew, McKenzie?” Collins asked, his hand again casually dropping below the table.
“Ask Pythagoras, darling.” She said. She almost put a hand on Collins’ shoulder, but thought better of it. “Four: the perfect number. There are only three now. Who is the fourth?”
“I have taken jobs with fewer than four.”
“I’m sure you have David, but that isn’t my point.” McKenzie called over the waitress. When the young woman arrived, McKenzie’s voice switched into a thin Long Island accent. “Triple Espresso, sprinkle of cinnamon, please.” Collins held up a hand to show that he wanted one as well, and the waitress walked off. “My point, darling,” her voice was back in the British accent, “was that I only work with you in groups of four.” She looked around with a smile that suggested she was proud of figuring something out. “You never need me unless you have at least three others. At least, not anymore.”
“Fair enough, McKenzie,” Collins said, though his hand remained below the table. “So how about it David? Who’s the other person?”
“Jason Quinn. He’s a hacker.” David tried not to just spit out the name. “He should be here any minute.”
“Well what the hell is taking him so bloody long?” McKenzie pouted in an adorable way that only she could.
“Never fear.” His voice wasn’t as squeaky as some computer geeks David had been forced to work with. “I is here.” The man who sat down actually did blend in, wearing a dark suit and a muted tie. He had a broad grin on his face, which made the large scar on his cheek even more noticeable.
“Hello Quinn. Glad you got my message.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, full of anything but humor. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
McKenzie gave Quinn the kind of smile that could melt an ice cap. “Hey there.”
Quinn’s face suddenly flushed red, making his scar stand out in sharp relief. “Hello.” He practically stuttered to word.
Collins rolled his eyes. “Are you two done?”
Quinn coughed, cleared his throat. He gave a very embarrassed smile, then said, “ We should go somewhere else.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” David stood up and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table next to his cold coffee. The four of them walked out of the café.
No one seemed to have a problem with not getting their espressos.