Page 4 of Penny for Your Saints

Without conscious effort, I gather the skirt of my dress, lifting the hem to allow myself a greater range of movement. My speed picks up as much as possible while remaining surreptitious. I follow his narrow back in the crowd, watch the slight bob of his head as he weaves between party goers and other waitstaff as he exits the main ballroom, on course for the cloakroom and stairwell, back down into the main rotunda.

I manage to close more than three quarters of the distance between us with ease—my heart thudding beneath my tongue, ears ringing with rising adrenaline—as I press my pursuit. The curious caterer is only a few bodies away from me in the crowdwhen a hand closes around my bare bicep—the palms warm, but rough with callouses.

“Lou! Yeah, you—I’m talking to you!”

I round on my sudden captor, breath snapping into my lungs like wind into the sails of a tall ship.

“Hey! Where’s the fire!? I’ve been calling your name for like the last minute and a half, don’t tell me you’re already half in the bag—I haven’t even finished my first drink, and I don’t wanna have to rush to play catchup.”

Dennis Fucking McBride. Could he have worse timing?

My head snaps back, my prey long since disappeared into the crowd—the wind leaving my metaphorical sails with an exasperated sigh.

“I was on my way to the head. You want to hold my purse while I take a piss?” I snip at Dennis.

“No fucking way,” he scoffs, the mere suggestion that he might hold my bedazzled clutch for a total of two and a half minutes clearly an affront to his dignity.

“Good, then unhand me, you oaf—my eyeballs are practically floating.” I grumble, wrenching my arm from his hand.

“Jesus Lou, you might clean up nice—but your mouth could still use a bar of soap.” Dennis withdraws, adjusting his black satin bow tie beneath his clean shaven square jaw, his blue-green eyes glistening with laughter—his strawberry blond hair meticulously coiffed for the occasion rather than matted beneath his otherwise omnipresent FBI baseball cap.

“Oh no, I’ve failed to meet a man’s expectations of demure subservience, whatever shall I do?” I bat my lashes dramatically, clasping my hands beneath my chin.

“I thought you had to take a piss? Why are you still here giving me grief?” Dennis rolls his eyes, but there’s no denying the telltale quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“I have to wait until you’re done being a smarmy pain in my ass, and you make yourself useful—by offering to go to the bar and grab me another drink, or possibly an entire tray of those little mini brie and apple cheese puff things. I’m fucking starving.” I prompt him, already in motion for the hallway, the bathroom, and any lingering possibility of finding my catering quarry from earlier.

“Manhattan?” Dennis calls after me, already on his own trajectory for the bar. I give him a thumbs up and continue weaving my way through other party guests.

I turn the corner, eyes scanning the crowd in vain for my mystery man in the bad wig. No luck. I’m on my way to the ladies room to refresh my lipstick and make a show of taking a powder after making my excuses to escape Dennis—when I nearly crash headlong into uncle Martin—his eyes similarly somewhere other than his direct walking path.

“Uh oh, they made you fly out of Logan short notice and put on the full monkey suit.” I extend an open hand to keep him from walking directly into me.

“Oho! Agent Penny, fancy seeing you here,” he chuffs warmly, giving me a sarcastic wink with the overly professional ‘Agent Penny’.

“Everything ok?” I notice the thin sheen of sweat at his hairline, the sallow look to his usually rosy complexion. He really does fucking hate these kinds of gatherings, always has.

“Yeah, just claustrophobic in this cluster… I just got here a few minutes ago and I’m already wondering how soon is too soon to leave.” He shifts uncomfortably, pulling at the cuffs of his tuxedo self consciously—darting looks back over his shoulder every so often.

“I’ll tell you what, I’m stuck here until Lowry makes her big speech—then you can use me as an excuse to get out of here,” I offer, hoping to help relieve some of his misery.

I am rewarded with a big toothy smile and the crook of Uncle Martin’s arm as he offers it to me.

“Deal. Shall we, Louie?”

I link my arm through his and allow myself to be escorted back to the main party.

First day back on the job without Lowry, and already I can feel the difference. It’s outright palpable if I’m being honest, and I don’t fucking like it.

I knew that I’d have to get used to seeing Walt Compton behind her desk, in her office—that the timbre and the vibe of the discussion would be intrinsically different without Lowry at the helm. I just didn’t realize how different it would be, and how quickly I would feel the effects.

Already I’m getting more lip before lunch than I’ve gotten in the nearly five years I’ve worked for the BSU. Maybe it’s just a particularly shitty Monday, but the fact that McBride, Gertz, and Tennant have all been thorns in my side at the same time makes me feel like it’s not coincidence.

I have only just finished settling at my desk after making the rounds for report collection from the grouchy BSU boys—unsub evals and profiling course curriculum notes littering my workstation, when Walt Compton pokes his silver head from the narrow opening of his new office door.

“Penny!” he calls me, allowing me this show of respect in front of the others.

“Yes, sir.” I pop up from my desk like a meerkat—surveying my path to his office as I await his inevitable beckoning, assuring I don’t need anything from my desk before I take off—my heels make dull thudding noises on the ancient low pile carpet as I hustle toward Compton.

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