Jaq With a Q (Kismet) (2 page)

Chapter One

Oliver

I sat straight up, my chest tight and my body soaked with sweat, heaving and gagging on the smoldering nightmare. The smoke wasn’t even there, yet I could taste it, it burned my eyes, and it choked me, setting fire to my throat. Physical proof pumped through my veins at an alarming speed while quick thumps beat hard in my chest, pounding loud in my ears. A deep breath filled my lungs as I slid from my bed, my eyes focusing on my room. The one that wasn’t on fire.
It was just a dream
, I said to myself, my hand pulling out on my loose shirt as if it were constricting the flow of air.

Hot water and a mental lesson in particle accelerators, breaking up molecules into their elements kept my mind from drifting back there. I animatedly used one finger to calculate the numbers running through my mind, figuring the typical energy that binds the weak molecules together to be about 0.25 electron Volt (eV). I continued the everyday routine, deciding on a conclusion I had probably figured out at the age of eight or nine. A molecule with a fast moving particle could indeed be split, but the damage was more likely to be localized. The live scenario spilled out into my mind while I entered the kitchen, an analogy of how the normal mind could come up with the exact same answer. A twenty-two caliber rifle bullet soared through the air with my imagination to a block of cheese, leaving a predictable hole rather than splitting it in half. Knowing why was the mathematical part that kept my brain from getting lost, keeping me focused on my uneventful life ahead.

My breath blew lightly on my cup of hot tea, causing steam to cloud my glasses as my eyes shifted to the murky city. A thick haze hovered above the Empire State Building as the hiding sun gently kissed the Chrysler Building. Beefed up four cylinders, deliberately muffler-less, and delivery trucks filled the street below while my breath exhausted a heavy sigh, dread for needing to get out there myself. Start a new day. The same day I had already had yesterday.

I stepped off the train in downtown Manhattan, letting some idiot who had practically knocked me down trying to get on the three-train, get off in front of me. He was obliviously in more of a hurry than I was. What did I have to be in a hurry for? My day was the same as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that; mundane and predictable. All of my degrees, my many years of education, and the time, all for this. The fact is: I should have never gone into particle physics and high energy astrophysics in the first place. Believe it or not, they're surprisingly unemployable. There aren't many jobs where you get to do actual physics for a living, far less than there are qualified physicists.

Unless you were Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, physics is a field where you attain no money and zero glory, hence the reason for my following the same crowd of people to the same politically correct jobs. Feast or famine. I wasn’t creating Nobel-prize-winning algorithms for anything. Those positions were fabled, farfetched dreams, few and far between, and they made me hate Professor Harrison. Asking a physics’ professor if a physicist’s degree is a good idea is like asking a rock star if it’s a good idea to drop out of high school to start a band.

I ignored an unidentified number on my phone as I entered the building for my eight-hour shift of another day of dull and boring work. Maybe I would I kick up the source code and spend a few hours finding the bug just to get away from the primary responsibility of performing data management and analysis of health outcomes and research studies all day. Someone else’s research.

“Good morning, Oliver.”

I nodded toward my new boss, feigning a genuine smile. I didn’t like him any more than my new career, but I greeted him just the same. “Hello, sir. Good morning.”

My computer station had been cleaned again, my desk neat and organized. That only made my day longer. Now I could look forward to finding needed information a lot quicker than before. I thought about saying something to personnel as I shook my head at the voicemail, but it was senseless, a waste of time and thought. If anyone avoided confrontation, it was me. That was vain and not really my thing. I hit nine to opt out of telemarketer calls on a daily basis, and it irked me to no end when they left a message. My OCD had to go get rid of the little icon right away, alerting me of the useless message awaiting my deletion, but not before the voice caught my attention.

“Hello, I’m, I was, I’m looking for...”

I frowned toward my phone when I heard the weak voice, finding it weird but giving it little thought. Obviously, she had the wrong number. She hung up midway through her stuttering words. My expression held the same curiosity when the same number called back twenty minutes later. I looked around the computer lab and walked away from my comrades, my inquisitiveness piqued, but I was unsure why.

Seeing one cup of coffee left in the pot, I walked across the room, claiming it with my Darwin’s theory coffee mug. “Hello, this is Oliver Benson.”

“Um, yes. Hi, I’m Jaq.”

The quiet, shaky voice definitely not matching the guy name caught me off guard. “Jack?”

“Well, yes, but with a Q.”

“What can I do for you, Jaq with a Q?”

“I’m not sure if I have the right guy. Ollie Benson, that’s all I really have to go on.”

A brief memory touched my mind of my dad calling me Ollie as a boy. I hadn’t been Ollie in many years. Nonetheless, I asked, “What is it that you need done?”

“I don’t want to get into trouble. How do I know you’re not a cop?”

My head jolted a little with startled surprise, but I continued, curious of what illegal transaction she was interested in pursuing. “You don’t, but you are wasting my time. Maybe I can point you in the right direction, but first, you have to tell me what you’re looking for.”

“Well, I, I, I’m looking for someone to like, like get rid of someone.”

I sputtered hot coffee from my lips, choking on her words and my drink. That’s not what I was expecting. Heroin or meth maybe, but not that. “You want to hire a hitman? You want to kill someone?”

“Well, no. I want someone to kill me.”

My eyes glanced around the busy cubicles, sure I was being punked. “Who is this? Is this some sort of joke?”

“Never mind. It’s obvious you’re the wrong guy.”

“Yes, I’m sure this is a wrong number. Maybe you should— hello. Hello?” I looked down to my blinking phone just as I heard the beep, alerting me of the dead call. What the hell was that?

Inconveniently, my boring job did little to keep me from thinking about the girl with the boy name. What did she mean by that? She wanted someone to kill her? Why? I checked my phone several times throughout the day, hoping maybe she sent a text or I missed another call, and then I wondered why. It wasn’t like anything would ever come of it anyway. I certainly wasn’t going to kill anyone, but for hidden reasons, I decided to check out the number. It wouldn’t hurt anything to find out a little bit about her.

Unfortunately, my investigation was over before it ever started. The number was from some government funded agency, prepaid, and not registered under an actual name. I shook my head and turned my attention back to my data analysis, shaking off the senseless inquisitiveness for some crazy chick off her meds. Only it didn’t really work. My mind couldn’t stay off the thoughts. I knew with everything in me the girl was serious, but why? Why did I even care? That was the real question.

Having my own distinct perspective on fun, I declined yet another gathering at a local club with peers I didn’t even talk to, let alone like.

“Come on, Oliver. I’ll buy you a drink.”

A thin smile and a quick glance toward Martin, the most annoying guy on the entire floor, and a definite no. “Thanks, I don’t really drink.”

The arrogant idiot was still babbling when I walked out the doors, so ready to leave that building. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fathom one more day there. I would kill myself if I had to do it much longer. Of course, that reminded me of Jaq with a Q. As crazy and off the wall as it sounded, I knew the girl was dead serious. And once again, I pondered why.

Rather than spending my normal time in solitude on personal monotonous projects, I did some digging; one of the perks of being a freak. There wasn’t a system one that I couldn’t hack if I wanted to. Obviously, I didn’t. I sure as hell didn’t want someone from the FBI knocking down my door, but I was pretty certain I’d be safe with some cellphone charity girl. I was double sure when I didn’t even have to try to get through their firewall, not that it mattered. A little bit of disappointment was actually felt. I hated easy. Still, even with an erudite system, I had developed the scale and sophistication to be able to crack even the most robust cyber-defenses. I could rob banks without guns easily, if I wanted to, of course.

My eyes scanned data codes while my mind wandered to her. Her that I didn’t even know, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about. I sipped my hot tea while picking at a plate of udon noodles with soy sauce, trying to hear her in my mind. From the sound of her voice, I guessed her to be young, maybe early to mid-twenties.

“Well, hello, Jaq Tarantino,” I whispered to myself as I pulled the name from the codes in less than a minute. Unsure of my own state of mind, I jotted the address down on a legal pad and pondered where to go next. 119 Dressler Street. Since I had no clue where that even was, taking a ride to see where she lived crossed my mind, but the logical part of my brain talked me out of it.

With a loud groan from deep in my throat, I closed my laptop and flipped on a time and space documentary, forgetting all about Jaq with a Q. Done. Forgotten. Determined not to waste one more second on the useless nonsense, I thought about something else. Something even more dangerous, a quick vision of a blonde back home by the lake. I made that my last crazy thought as I dozed off, promising to let it go.

A deep burning to know more kept my mind from wandering too far away from her. Needless to say, the urge was so strong I couldn’t quite get a handle on it. It was still there when I woke first thing in the morning. Deciding to get it out of my system, I did seek her out; I left an hour early for work just so I could drive by her house. Of course, I wouldn’t have known her had I seen her, but that didn’t keep me from driving over to her house the following day, right after work. I parked in front of a little market, right across from her building and waited. Waited for what and why was the question I couldn’t answer.

I watched a group of girls jumping rope, chanting some catchy tune while going through the alphabet, a wife name for each letter. The neighborhood didn’t look too bad; a lot of graffiti, old buildings, and closed up shops. It wasn’t what I had expected for that part of the city, yet I was sure that part wasn’t more than a couple blocks away.

“Hey, you need directions. I give ‘em to you for five bucks.”

I turned a frown toward a kid, no more than ten or twelve years old with his hand out, a wide gap between his two front teeth. “Do you know Jaq Tarantino?”

“Maybe. Whatcha wanna know for?”

“She’s a friend.”

“That girl ain’t cho friend. She ain’t gots no friends. That girl crazy in the head. Whacked.”

“Why do you say that? What do you mean?”

“She sat right down in the middle of the street and screamed. All because Binks try talking to her.”

“Why?”

“She crazy.”

“What did Binks say to her?”

The kid shrugged both shoulders, sputtering his lips with his reply. “Beats me. She pretty. He probably wants to make some money off her.”

Even though I already knew the answer, I asked anyway, my frown never leaving my face. “How?”

“How you think? Guys pay good money for pretty pussy, but not crazy pussy. Fuck that. Only tricks that girl be turning is in her head.”

“When was that?”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything else tills you pay up.”

“I’ll pay you, just answer the question. When did that happen?”

“Yesterday. Now pay up.”

Retrieving two bills from my wallet, I gave him one. “Here’s five. I’ve got five more if you keep talking.”

“I don’t know anything else. She never leaves her apartment. Only to go in the store there and that only be like two times since she come here.”

“Does she get visitors?”

“Not since she first came here. Shantel tole me she hugged that pole over there, begging the lady not to leave her here. Said it was a county car. Maybe she got loose from prison. Maybe she kill someone.”

That thought lingered in my mind, the possibility real. Perhaps this wasn’t the first time she had contacted a hitman. “Anything else?”

With an opened hand, he answered, “Nope.”

“Where do you live?”

His finger pointed toward an alley next to Jaq’s building. “Next street over, right across from this building.”

“Do you know what side her apartment is on?”

“No, but I can find out.”

“You do that. I’m going to stop here again tomorrow. You keep an eye out for her and see if you can tie down a routine for me. Let me know the next time she goes to the store.”

“That be costing you twenty, man. I ain’t sittin’ around all day waitin’ for some lunatic to come out of her house for no five bucks.”