“Isn’t it amazing that one can supposedly profile for any eventuality, then get snookered by something as simple as a street kid grabbing a handbag?”
Nick stood just outside the door to the director’s office, clutching the now chaotic brief they requested in his arms. “Oh man … he’s gonna kill me…” he whispered to himself as he listened to what was being said inside.
“Stop looking so amused Tony, this isn’t funny.”
“Actually my dear, it is funny. Very funny. And if it weren’t so serious I would have been rolling on the floor I expect. Where is that boy?”
Ah man! Nick could put facing the music off no longer. He walked into the office as obediently as possible trying to put his feet down just so, careful not to ruffle the carpet, or the Sentinel. “Sorry Sir, … I came quickly but … “
The director silenced him with a wave. Nick turned to leave, trying with all his might not to look at the dark figure standing just off to the corner of the directors’ office. He got as far as the door before the inevitable question:
“Can someone explain to me please; why is there a footprint on page 22 of this brief?”
Three sets of eyes turned to the seemingly shrinking figure of the kid nicknamed Khaos by all who knew him. Nick wished more than ever that the Earth would open up and just swallow him whole. Instead he did the only swallowing as he tried to clear his throat for the explanation. “Well, you see, um … Sir … the thing is … there was a cleaner in the corridor, and he was polishing the floor. And I didn’t see the power cord ‘cause I was in such a hurry. And well … I … tripped.” He knew he sounded like a squirming schoolboy but he couldn’t help it. He could live with the director and his wife glaring at him, but the 3rd set of eyes belonged to the one man he dreaded disappointing more than anyone.
The director sighed, and then chuckled. “Oh Khaos, what in the world are we going to do about you?” He chuckled again, kindly blue eyes sparkling with the perpetual humor the director always seemed to carry with him. “Nick, over in that corner there is a coffee machine. Let’s see how much of the coffee will still be in the mug by the time you get it to my desk.”
“Yes Sir…” Nick squeaked as he turned to perform the requested task. This time both the director and his wife laughed. The Sentinel remained silent, as is his custom.
“Back to business. Now, it is merely a matter of time before Fido finds the sample and leads us to the misguided individual who had the misfortune of picking my wife to rob. The question is what do we do when we get there? There’s no telling right now if he is involved with the Order or if he’s just really unlucky. Charlotte, can you give us any description of the thief, just in case we track him to a crowded place?”
“He was filthy, scrubby and he smelled.”
Nick snorted from the corner of the room, unable to stop himself.
“My sentiments exactly. Sentinel it looks like you might want to take a real Fido along for this assignment.” The dark man ran his fingers along his eyebrow, the only sign of amusement Tony knew he was going to get.
“Tony … “
“I know, I know. This is serious. But Sentinel can’t exactly go around sniffing street kids until he finds the one with the right aroma now can he? We need something a little more … physically descriptive …”
Mrs. Keating sighed in exasperation. Her husband probably couldn’t be completely serious if she told him she had swallowed a photon trigger. “All right, more physically descriptive. He was about 5’6”; he had on an oversized black tanktop and camouflage pants, also oversized. He wore a bandanna on his head and I may be mistaken but it looked like he had blond hair. And he had tattoos all over his arms.”
“Hmmm … doesn’t sound like a member of the Order unless they’ve taken to “blending in with the natives” as a tactic.”
“No.”
It was the first word the dark figure had uttered all night.
“I do not believe he is part of the Order. And I do not believe that they hired him either. It would be against their doctrine to either have someone of that description in their ranks or have any involvement with an openly individualistic person. I believe that this is no more than a random act of crime.”
“Ouch damnit!” Nick’s outcry was in stark contrast to the Sentinel’s deep, soothing voice. “Oops … sorry … Sir. I just … burned … myself.”
For the second time that night the director and his wife had a good laugh thanks to the blond. Sentinel, however, just looked at the kid, shaking his head.
Nick was saved from further scrutiny by a knock on the door. He couldn’t help sighing in relief as he saw the figure entering the office.
“Mr. Litrell, please oh please tell me you have something good to report.”
“Actually Sir you are in luck. I have two good things to report. Firstly, it seems that the little thief saved us a lot of troubles when he grabbed Nan … err … Mrs. Keating’s bag. Apparently an Order runner grabbed the bag of a woman who closely matches her description not too long after.”
Tony Keating couldn’t help himself; he laughed out loud yet again. This time, though, even his wife couldn’t resist a good chuckle herself. “Providence I tell you, there is a lot to be said for it!”
Sentinel merely rolled his eyes, running a finger along his brow.
Brian continued: “And the other good thing is that Fido has tracked our hapless pickpocket. Long and lats already programmed into this GPS.” He handed the unit directly to Sentinel, smiling a familiar smile to the tall man.
The director looked at Sentinel, knowing no words were needed.
