Jazz got back to her apartment just as the first shade of the pre-dawn glow came over the horizon. She sat on the edge of her makeshift bed and reviewed what she had done that night. One thought burning in her mind, over two years of patient observation and slow movement, blown in one rash folly of violent revenge.
She had come to Earth two years ago to be with Becky, only to find her murdered when she arrived. She stayed to try to find out who had done it. And setting up an small private investigation firm had scoured London for clues to the death of her love, but had found none. Still it was work that she knew, it paid well and after a time she had begun to enjoy it for its own sake. It was a nice little life that had fallen apart in a moment when she had come upon the ghost of her dead lover and almost immediately afterward discovered the identity of her murderer.
But now she had to plan what to do next, so as not to get caught for his murder. The first step was to dispose of her remaining tools and start thinking about getting out of Europe, or even off Earth all together. Back to Luna and the places she new best, away from the mess she had gotten entangled with down here.
She lay back on her bed and stared out of the cracked skylight. Often she would lie here and stare out at the sky. Watching the clouds, which were one of the most intriguing things she had discovered on Earth and puzzling over the strange people she met on Earth. Sometimes at night she would catch half familiar glimpses of the stars. And more often, more recently, she would watch half formed images of the Moon, and of her remember life there.
Now she just remembered pulling the trigger tonight. Unplanned, untimely, unprofessionally. Achieving nothing, not even feeling anything as he fell to the ground. And she had even stayed and watched his unmoving body. All her training, every rule she had lived by, forgotten.
But the strain on her body and mind had been great. She slowly closed her eyes, then rolled over on to her stomach, and snuggled into the soft mattress. As the sun strove to break the smog over the eastern sky line she lay in dreamless sleep.
Mary was very worried the next morning. Mr. Brown had not come home the night before. Neither had he phoned to let her know he would be away. This was completely unlike him. He had only once not told her he wouldn’t be home before going out and not coming home, and that time he had phoned to tell her later.
She fell asleep waiting for him to return and woke cold and stiff in the same chair early the next morning. Quickly she ran to his bedroom, quietly open the door and looked inside. His empty, unused bed sat bathed in the golden light from the newly risen sun. She let out a worried sigh and slumped against the door frame. Suddenly she turned and hurried to the other end of the corridor to open the door into Celia’s room. But Celia was sound asleep and safe in her bed.
The phone started to ring. She turned and sprinted down the hall to answer it, expecting it to be Mr. Brown and relieved that he had finally called. But it wasn’t him, instead she stared in some confusion at the face of Jazz O’Riely on the phone’s screen.
“Yes. Hello,” she said, wondering what Jazz was doing phoning Mr. Brown’s private residence, and how she got the number. “What do you want?”
“Hello, Mary,” Jazz seemed very ill at ease. “I’ve some very bad news for you. Last night there was a shooting. Four people where killed and I’m sorry but Mr. Brown was one of them.”
Mary stared at her in shock. “What?” she asked a few seconds later.
“Mr. Brown was shot last night,” Jazz looked straight into the camera. “He’s dead and you and Celia may be in great danger.”
“What?” Mary repeated. Then asked, “How do you know?”
Jazz looked into the camera for a moment. “Look if you don’t believe me check the news-fax.”
Mary didn’t know what to say.
Jazz looked off screen for a second, then turned back to the camera. “Listen I’ve got to go now,” she paused a second and looked genuinely sorry. “I am very sorry to have been the one to tell you this.”
Mary said nothing.
“Goodbye,” Jazz looked into the camera for a moment, then hung up.
Mary stared at the flashing “connection broken” symbol with out really seeing it for a long time. Then she punched up an news-fax service, selected the local headlines and there it was. A hand full of paragraphs under the headline; “Murder of Gangland Boss’s”. A gruesome picture of dead bodies and a journalistic obituary describing Mr. Brown as a godfather of organized crime. Followed by the reference numbers of related articles.
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