Page 22 of Hidden Depths

Leaving his suitcase by the door, he did a sweep of the rooms like he would if he was looking for a criminal, except this time, he was looking for the work he’d been promised.

The bathroom and bedrooms were in the same condition as he found in the living space. Comfortable and modern. In excellent condition.

After a brief grumble, he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Armstrong.

That list of chores you promised me. It’s never coming, is it…

It only took Armstrong a couple seconds to reply.

Sorry, it was the only way I knew how to get you there. Enjoy your time. Sit back and relax. Read a book. Go for a walk.

Thanks, but I can handle my own itinerary.

He waited for a further reply, but none came. Armstrong had found a way to punish him after all.

* * *

Tom second-guessed his shirt choice as he meandered down the street. He was so used to wearing suits that he’d opted for a light button-down shirt. The temperature had been on the pleasant side of hot with a breeze blowing when he’d left for his walk, but it quickly warmed up, and the breath of wind had extinguished when he started down a new street.

After rolling up his sleeves, he unbuttoned another of his shirt buttons and flapped the fabric against his chest to get more air flow.

When he reached an intersection, he turned left where a gust of wind carried the earthy scent of the parched ground and gave him a little relief.

He’d heard a few locals commenting on how dry the last few months had been. And while he should be grateful to have left the cold rain behind, he wouldn’t mind a good downpour right about now.

He thought of the air-conditioned condo and wondered if he should turn back. The thought made him laugh. Vic used to give him a hard time whenever he complained about anything. He’d tell Tom there were too many things to be thankful for. Then he’d badger him into naming a few, acting like it was a joke, but Tom knew he always meant it.

This one’s for you, Vic,he thought as he continued along.God, I know what the weather’s like back in Chicago. This sun is a great change. And these palm trees are—He paused when he heard the purr of a familiar hymn. He looked around, inclining his ear to detect what direction it was coming from, then followed the sound of the ethereal blend of unified voices until he was able to pick out the discordant crescendo of an exuberant participant, then the wobbling vibrato of a vintage soprano. It was a voice that reminded him of his grandmother’s worship when he was a little boy playing with matchbox cars under a hard pew. He’d gotten in trouble on more than one occasion for using the hymnal as a ramp to launch his cars across the aisle.

The church he discovered at the end of his search was smaller than he’d expected. The volume that flowed out the doors made it sound like a chorus of angels had joined in with the small congregation.

It was a romantic notion, bringing enough nostalgia with it that he climbed the steps and snuck into the back.

Judging by the color of the hair of most of the church-goers, he was by far the youngest in the building besides maybe the guy leading the worship and who he would guess was his family sitting in the second row—and also the woman two pews from the back who turned and was now looking at him.

Her gaze was scrutinous, but when he caught her eye, her chin lifted and she turned back, raising her arms into the air as she continued to sing like he no longer existed. That wasn’t usually the response he got from young women.

He slipped into a spot at the back next to a man with a cane resting across his lap. The older gentleman’s eyes were closed and his lips moved, but it wasn’t to the music.

Tom joined in at the chorus and continued to pluck at his shirt, but the room was much cooler than outside, so he unrolled his sleeves and re-buttoned his shirt like his grandmother would want him to while he was in church.

When the song finished, the congregation sat in unison, and a lady with a braid draped across her shoulder got up to welcome them. It was clear that everyone had a fondness for her, and he couldn’t blame them. Even on stage, she had a presence that made you want to trust her. She was warm and carefree, and the people were responsive.

He hadn’t intended on attending church while he was here, but he was glad he did, and he thought he may even return next week.

* * *

Balthazar stood on the end of the dock, looking across the tropical waters in the direction he knew was Cuba.

“We’ll bring the boat in this afternoon,” said a man from behind.

Balthazar turned. “Good. And Lansky?”

“Done.”

“I know I don’t have to ask, but I take it no one’s the wiser?”

“You’ll see it in the news soon enough. There was a brawl during dinner. A fight over a card game as I understand it. Unfortunately, it resulted in one death. The reporters will be pleased to announce that Sam Lansky is now deceased.”

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