Before dawn could break, Vincent broke four eggs into a shallow glass bowl.
He picked an errant egg shell shard from the bowl then began whisking the eggs vigorously as minced pork sizzled in a small pan on the back burner.
After a quick stir of the pork, he melted butter in a similar sized pan then added half of the egg mixture
"Something smells good." The remark was followed immediately by a yawn.
Vincent smiled at the sound of Elisa De La Luna's voice.
"Good morning," he said as he expertly flipped the egg.
Vincent filled his palm with grated pepper jack cheese then sprinkled it onto one half of the eggs. He then added two scoops of the pork and let it cook for another twelve seconds before pouring the contents onto a plate while also folding it into an omelet.
"Since when do you cook?"
"I am a man of considerable talents." He set the plate in front of her and turned back to the stove. "I love that you're more surprised by my culinary skills than the fact I broke into your
house."
He combined the remaining ingredients into the pan with the pork and scrambled it all together.
"I expect that sort of thing from you. And my dad." She took a bite of her omelet. "This is pretty good. The man looks good in a suit, fights crime, and cooks. Tell me again why we aren't dating."
Vincent poured his scramble into a bowl he had previously set on the counter.
He joined her at the table and she looked up from her plate to give him a half smile. She was obviously unaccustomed to being awake this early. Her dark hair was a mess of loose curls; several of which dangled over her right eye. She was dressed in a tank top at least a size too big and the one hazel eye he could see hinted at sleep deprivation.
Even then, she was easily the most welcome sight of any morning. There was a mutual attraction between them. Elisa had been far more demonstrative in professing that attraction. However, due to professional constraints, Vincent could not reciprocate in a way that she would appreciate. Acknowledging the attraction then deflecting was his usual approach.
"For two very simple reasons." He watched her raise her eyebrows as he spooned some of his scramble into his mouth. She made a face at him as he deliberately chewed his food slowly.
"One, you can do so much better than me." Another spoonful followed by another twenty seconds of chewing provoked her to glare at him in a way that was both cute and frightening. "And two, your father would make me disappear. I kind of like it here."
"I like you being here too," she replied, her glare instantly changing to a more flirty look. ""Right now, all I'm hearing is that you are a very humble man that makes me breakfast without asking. Sounds like solid boyfriend material to me." It was her turn to slowly eat her next bite, but she stared intently at him unblinking the entire time.
Vincent leaned in closer and returned the stare. Assured he had her attention focused on him, he quickly pulled her plate towards his side of the table.
"Hey, I was still eating that."
"You need to manage your time better. Car will be here in ten minutes."
"This," she pointed to her eyes with index and middle fingers, then pointed to his eyes, "is not over." She pushed away from the table then disappeared around the corner.
Vincent ate from her plate then looked up just in time to see her tank top sail through the air. He allowed it to land on his head.
"There's not much more where that came from," she called from the other room. VIncent shook his head and finished both meals.
*
Thirty minutes after breakfast, Vincent watched as Elisa entered the main entrance of the Institute for Paranormal Studies.
The young woman had earned an opportunity to be part of a research team to study the remnants of a bio armor discovered in the aftermath of the final battle of an armed insurgency that had nearly reached their city.
Vincent lacked her curiosity of such things, but found joy in her genuine happiness at being a part of that world. He had enough everyday mysteries to occupy his time. Monsters and magic were someone else's department.
The ensuing drive to his next destination was eventful. Despite the early hour and scarcity of other vehicles, his driver managed to come perilously close to hitting four cars and direct death threats at each motorist. Every threat was unique and peppered with more expletives than Vincent usually heard in a week. Vincent silently admitted the "if you ate garbage you'd be a cannibal" portion of one of the death threats was a good line.
Vincent was less bothered by the impromptu grand prix race than he was that the entire trip had been scored to a soundtrack of indecipherable rap lyrics.
The moment the car stopped, Vincent quickly thanked the driver and abandoned the vehicle.
Vincent entered through the double glass doors of a nondescript eight story building.
He briefly stopped at the ornate 8 foot marble structure that housed the building's director. The Breaux Foundation occupied the top four floors and leased the remaining floors to a seemingly rotating list of clients. He noticed the art studio listed on the third floor and made a mental note to stop by later.
On the fifth floor, he exited the elevator and held out his ID as he approached the security guard.
Chidike was an older man, soft in the middle, with deep forehead creases and what remained of his hair was mostly white with the odd patch of gray. The man's charcoal gray suit was pressed, creased, and gave him a look of authority when he stood from his chair.
His posture relaxed a bit as Vincent drew closer and the two men shared a quick fist bump.
"Good luck," he told Vincent. "There's some interesting characters in there."
"That's what keeps things fun."
Chidike entered a code on the console to his left and ten seconds later, the doors Vincent stood before allowed him entrance.
Vincent's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the narrow corridor as dozens of pinhole cameras monitored his movements.
At the end of the corridor, a single door opened automatically and he was soon face to face with Dr. Valencia Olkafor.
"Good morning Vincent."
"Doctor. Always a pleasure. What do you have for me?"
"Right this way." The pair walked in silence for a minute before she spoke again. "I didn't expect them to send you. When do you sleep?"
"You know what they say. There ain't no rest for the wicked. Or the weary. Hard to tell which I am most days. What's your excuse?"
"Well, until they get budgeting straightened out, I'm pulling doubles for a while."
"How's the old man?"
"Better. He personally visited one of today's hopefuls."
Vincent considered the ramifications of her statement. They stopped at a transparent wall. On the other side of the wall were four young men. All looked to have had better days. Which had caught the old man's eye, he wondered.
One man, dressed in a sweat-stained white button down shirt and khaki colored pants had all the signs of someone battling the type of hang over that made a man reconsider his life choices.
The next guy Vincent noticed looked as if he had bad mouthed a pro boxer. His face was battered and bruised into an unrecognizable mass of swollen tissue. Vincent doubted close family members could identify him.
Vincent's attention was next drawn to the man with the arm sling. The young man's expression was distant; as if he was still in a state of shock about something Vincent would inquire about later.
The final guy sat on the edge of a bench while leaning against the wall. His attire was the most casual; gray sweatpants and matching long sleeve shirt. The man looked bored. Vincent had no idea how long any of them had been in the room so the boredom could very well have been earned.
Vincent's phone buzzes a moment later.
"Take your time," Valencia told him. "I'll be in the lab."
"I'll come find you." He checked his phone for the file she had sent him.
Benjamin Haddi, Malcolm Fox, Ahmed Dogo, and Alejandre Rivera were the prospective trainees.
He reviewed their alleged crimes. Both Benjamin and Ahmed had been involved in involuntary vehicular manslaughter. Ahmed's charges also included driving under the influence. Benjamin's had an added element of tragedy; the deceased was his friend.
According to Valencia's notes, both had professed their remorse.
Alejandre's notes painted him as just an average young professional making the median range for his entry level office job. Nothing remarkable or impressionable; he could be any twenty-something Vincent passed on any given day. However, apparently, Alejandre had a killer right hook. The victim of the assault had suffered a broken jaw. According to the police report, the victim was celebrating his release.
Disappointingly, the victim's name had been redacted. That piqued Vincent's interest. One of the one twenty had been assaulted but not not named. He would have to look into that later.
Eyewitnesses gave a few slightly different accounts, but the consensus was that Alejandre was drunk and he had thrown the first punch. Vincent imagined that would certainly have someone questioning their choices.
Finally, there was Malcolm. Criminal trespassing seemed like rubbing salt in the wound and Malcolm seemed to have an abundance. Michael Noble claimed that his security team had been over eager in their removal of Malcolm from the premises.
Malcolm's file was the shortest. He was also the youngest and had offered no statements. Part of Vincent saw the appeal in learning more.
But a choice had to be made that best fit whom he could provide guidance.
Vincent left the four men and within five minutes was inside the lab with Valencia.
"Tell me about Benjamin. What is he looking at if he turns down my lifetime of indentured
servitude?"
"Not my department. All of those decisions depend on the new judges and who knows when they will get to his case. I wouldn't say less than forty years if they don't overhaul the sentencing structure. The deceased was the son of someone important. Whatever the new maximum is, it's almost guaranteed that's what they'll go for.
"So I just need to let him know all the benefits of wearing this nice suit
for the rest of his life? Sounds easy enough."
"Do what you do best. I'll see you around."
*
Ten minutes later, Vincent and Benjamin were in a separate room. Neither man seemed to appreciate how brightly lit the room was. Vincent kept his eyes focused on Benjamin's head and the other man's gaze wandered.
"I'm going to give it to you straight. You made an incredibly dumb decision that cost a man his life. When you take another person's life, you don't just take who they are, you take everything they could have been. Do you accept that?"
"Benjamin looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and nodded.
"Good. Next question. Are you willing to trade your life for Akeem's?
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. Are you willing to trade whatever you thought your life was going to be for a life of taking care of Akeem's family? Does that sound like a fair trade to you?"
"What would I need to do?"
"All you need to do is say yes."
"To what?
"You like my suit?"
"It's okay."
"Yes or no Benjamin."
"Yes."
"Can you see yourself wearing something like this for the next fifteen, twenty years?"
"I guess." Vincent glared at him. "Yes"
"Welcome aboard. Training starts tomorrow."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. These life changing moments don't always give you time to sleep on them. You make a decision and hope for the best."
Vincent stood up and straightened his jacket.
"I do need you to realize, one way or another, you will pay this debt.
You decide this opportunity sucks or is too hard, I will find you something
I guarantee is much worse. I'm not saying that to be spiteful. That's
the truth. You killed a man and the punishment is your life. Whether you
do it my way or end up in a field somewhere is all on you. We
understand each other?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow."