The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning (13 page)

Kyle had told him, that he didn't know. That hadn't technically been a lie; nor had it been the truth. If he knew his partner, she would be trying hard to keep herself away from the hornets' nest – not wanting to be stung or have her ass chewed off, she would try to stay away until their Captain was no longer in a foul mood.

When he heard Genevieve say, “Kyle...”

He finally replied, “The chief is in his office, but for how long...?  I really don't know.”

As he continued to watch their captain, sitting at his desk, too focus on whatever was in front of him, to notice that Kyle was watching him.

“
The moment I got here...,” he said, “he was hovering over your desk; asking where and when you planned on showing up...He stood next to your desk, for close to twenty minutes. First watching the precinct's entrance and then looking back down at your desk.”

XXX

The moment Genevieve heard this, she almost dropped her phone. So she was right, the buzzard had been hovering over her desk and watching the door so he could swoop down upon her when she showed up.

Well, his royal dickhead highness, would have to wait to pick her bones until later; she had no plans to show up, anytime soon.

Groaning, she looked over at Albert. “That's what I thought...thanks, Kyle.” before she hung-up, she hastily said, “How's your ankle?”

XXX

Kyle had somewhat forgotten about his ankle, and it had taken Genevieve reminding him to remember not just his sprained ankle – that was presently plopped up on a chair – but that horrible night.

The moment they had gotten away from that horror fest complex, they had headed straight to the hospital, where the doctor, on call, had done an x-ray of his ankle; and come to the conclusion that he hadn't broken it—he had sprained it. This tid bit of information had done wonders for his ego. While sitting up on the examination table, digesting this information, he had felt like a complete wussy asshole – a failure to his partner.

He had tried hard that weekend to forget, but it took Genevieve bring it up, for the full horrifically, embarrassing, memory, to come back.

Granted it wasn't all Genevieve's fault for him remembering, most of the blame landed on the majority of the cops in the precinct. His Captain, and many others, had asked him about the brace and crutches. While he had lied to those who had asked, by telling them that his motorcycle had fallen on his ankle, his thoughts, had, haphazardly, gone back to that night.

“It's fine...In fact the boss asked me about my ankle...”

XXX

It was Kyle bring up the Captain's quizzical concern over his ankle, that had Genevieve very anxious. While she wanted to know what Kyle had said about it; she was afraid that if her partner had told their Captain about how he had sprained his ankle, that the man, himself, would come down even harder on her.

Yet, as curiously worried as she was, she didn't want to come off as being a callous bitch.

Briefly hesitating, she finally asked, “What did you tell him?”

XXX

Kyle instantly registered that slight hitch in Genevieve's voice – she was worried. And he knew what she was worried about.

If he hadn't known her, he would have been royally pissed off at her for being so insensitive. Yet, he did know her, and he knew that she cared about him; in her own way, she loved him—i
f she hadn't loved and cared him, she would have left him back at that apartment complex.

“
I told him..., that my bike fell on my ankle.”

XXX

Genevieve couldn't help the choke laugh that came lose.

“
You didn't...Did he believe you?”

XXX

“Yep...because my bike has fallen on other parts of my body...” he smiled when he heard Genevieve's deep sensual laugh.

Lord he loved her. She was a royal pain in the ass, but he still loved her.

When she finally stopped laughing, he said, “Gen..., do me a favor, stay out of the police station.” looking back over at their Captain's office, he noticed the tyrant getting up from his desk.

“
And meet me over at the Starbucks on Irvington...At say..., one.”

Before she could reply, he hung up on her. Just in time too, because their Captain was making waves towards him.

XXX

After Genevieve frowned down at the dead phone in her hands, she looked over at Albert. “I was right..., the vulture was hovering over my desk.”

Chuckling, Albert said, “You mean buzzard.”

As she headed toward the door, she mumbled over her shoulder, “Same difference.”

XXX

After leaving the morgue, she decided to head back over to her stiff's apartment complex; her thoughts were solely on looking around the premises. Possibly she stood a better chance of finding something during the light of day, instead of during the eery night.

She knew that Kyle would be none too happy with her entering the building by herself, but frankly she didn't have any other options. She couldn't just go back and deliver nothing to her Captain. Nor could she hope for him to just develop a serious case of amnesia and forget. If there was one positive incentive, that was that she didn't have anyone's safety to account for -  except for her own.

Yet, as plans went, this one didn't pan out.

No sooner had she pulled up to the building, did she notice the lock fence, and the sign out in front, which read, in bold capital letters:
CONDEMNED. 

Chapter Twelve

“Condemned?” Kyle perplexedly stared at her. For a few minutes, he just sat there, muttering this word; eventually, he sat forward and folding his hands upon the Starbucks' table, he inquired,  “Why...? When?”

Genevieve had taken Kyle's advice and stayed away from the precinct that whole morning. Now they both sat in Starbucks, enjoying some chilled coffee.

Shrugging, she finally said, “That's what I wanted to know...And that's why I went over to the building district to talk to my friend, Mark.” taking a sip of her ice latte, she said, “He told me that the building was condemned..., earlier that morning...”

For a brief second, they both sat there, silently weighing over what she had just said and looking around at the gradually growing amount of people in Starbucks.

“Why?” when Genevieve only stared at Kyle, he said, “Why, condemn that eye sore now?”

Shrugging, Genevieve replied, “From what Mark told me, it was bound to happen sooner or later...Besides, from what I gather, they have plans to turn that so called eye sore into a nice parking lot...

Kyle scoffing said, “Yea, that no one will use...”

Shrugging, Genevieve replied sarcastically, “The way I see it, our tax payers' money is being put to good use.”

Shaking his head, Kyle took another sip of his coffee.

For the remainder of that time, they sat in Starbucks, not really talking and avoiding the issue of last Friday night's horror fest. It was like an ugly piece of furniture. One that everyone kept looking at, but no one really had the heart to say anything about.

Once Genevieve had finished her latte, she, glancing down at her watch, decided that it was late enough to head home. Yet, before she could even push her chair in, Kyle suddenly grabbed her hand.

“
Gen, do me a favor...” she stoically looked down at him. “Don't go back over to that apartment complex.”

“
Kyle, even if I wanted to...” and she did want to. “I couldn't”

Smiling, Kyle said, “Yea, well, no sign or chained fence can keep Detective Genevieve Freemen out. So, promise me anyway.”

“Ah Kyle, don't worry your pretty little head...Besides, I have a date.”

“
With whom?”

Not replying to his question, Genevieve yanked her hand away from his and, as she smiled saucily over her shoulder, she sauntered out of Starbucks.

XXX

It was long after his dinner party and guests had left, that Cirpian ultimately decided to just leave Brian down in the cellar at the bottom of the stairs. Besides, the idiot deserved it.

The only thing he had taken from his little wayward pupil was his sword. While he doubted that the jackass would be able to do anything, until he had healed, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Sure enough, it had taken Brain the whole rest of the weekend to heal and, because of his blood lust, Cirpian had spent the rest of the weekend listening to him howl and try to break down the hard cellar door – the cellar door, was one of those well built accessories that had been built long before cheap labor and the improvements in modern technology.

It was early Monday morning, that Brian's blood lust simmered down to the point that Cirpian no longer felt threatened by him; and decided to leave the cellar door unlocked.

From the moment Cirpian got downstairs and made his way to the kitchen, he could sense Brian, just from smelling and hearing him, he knew, when he entered the kitchen, that Brian was sitting over at this quaint medium size wooden table—that sat right underneath this huge kitchen window.

“Good morning.”

Frowning at him, Brian growled, “How did I end up at the bottom of the cellar's stairs?!”

“That's a good question.”

“
You don't know.” he could sense the indignation in Brian's voice. 

“
Not a clue...” sensing Brian's hostile gaze on him, Cirpian said, “It's possible that you had a mishap and that's how...” when Brian scoffed, he continued, “Brian you were always a little clumsy...like a little toddler, with two left feet.”

Angrily growling, he said, “I don't believe you...You know what I think?”

“What?” Cirpian nonchalantly looked over at him.

“
I think you pushed me.”

“
Now..., Brian...I would never do that to a friend.” when Brian sarcastically, snickered, he said, “How long have we known each other, Brian?”

“
What does that have to do with anything...? All it proves is that you're a sick bastard, who gets off on pushing your friends down the stairs.”

“
Ah...come on Brian...Besides, you held a blade to my throat...” when he felt Brian's hostile stare quickly change from that to shock, he said, “Do you remember anything since Saturday?”

“
No.”

“
Well then, that proves it...I didn't push you.”

“
That doesn't prove anything!”

For that brief moment, neither one said anything.

When Cirpian eventually came over to where Brian was sitting, Brian couldn't help being somewhat surprised by how easily he maneuvered the appliances and furniture in his kitchen.

To anyone who didn't know Cirpian, they would automatically assume that he was not blind – hell the man could drive. 

Cirpian was so good at getting around, that there were times, that Brian thought the whole blindness was in his old friend's head. That was until, though, he or someone else asked Cirpian to describe the scenery in front of him or the interior of his house. He would either make up what he thought was in front him, which was surprisingly accurate; with a little discrepancies. Or he would have someone describe to him what they saw, which helped him to imagine what was in front of him.

It was when Cirpian plopped down an envelope in front of Brian, that Brian was abruptly yanked out of his thoughts; so surprised was he by the suddenness of this envelope, that he was stun silent. At least, that is, until Cirpian said, “This is for you.”

Before opening the envelope, all Brian did was continue to surprisingly stare down at it – very much wary on what it could be. Yet, when he eventually did pick up and open the envelope, he was even more surprised by what was in the envelope than the envelope itself. At first, he couldn't help wondering if his eyes were in fact deceiving him.

Yet, once he was able to digest that it was in fact a plane ticket to Paris, his surprise was quickly replaced with that of anger. “Are you serious!” Brain threw down the ticket. “Paris!”

“
I hear it's pretty this time of year.”

“
Cirpian, I am not going to Paris!”

“
Want to bet.” Cirpian, who had been leaning up against the breakfast nook, throughout their whole conversation, with his arms folded across his chest, made that short distance over to the kitchen table; and planting his palms squarely on the table, he leaned, menacingly, toward Brian. “You're going to Paris...If I have to drag your ass, kicking and screaming, on to that plane, then so be it.”

“
I'm not going to Paris!”

Noting the adamant refusal in Brian's voice, Cirpian decided to come at this from a different approach. “Brian, it's either you go to Paris or...” he stood to his full height. “you spend the rest of your life; locked away in my wine cellar.”