Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

You‟re far less dangerous since Angel‟s been
    living with you. That boy has calmed you down. You‟re almost human since he came
    into the picture.”
    “Am I supposed to thank you for that remark?”
    “I‟ve already had Mrs. Chalmers checked out. She‟s nothing more than a lonely
    divorcée. Deal with it, but do not kill her.”
    “Get me those addresses. You‟ve got twenty-four hours.” Kael walked away,
    heading for the Tube to take him home to Angel.

    * * *
    The moment he looked at the concierge opening the door for him, Kael knew he

    was SIS. The man was young and was there only about three times a week. On the
    other days, there was an older man, and a different one for nights. But out of the
    three, this was definitely the one. He watched Kael‟s comings and goings, and he‟d
    seen Freddie and his family visiting there. “What‟s your name?” Kael asked politely.
    “Dawson, sir.”
    “Really?” Kael lifted his hand as if he was about to give him a tip, but his hand
    was empty and he smacked the young man a good one across the ear. “Tell Conran
    to fuck off, and don‟t let me find you here again,” he said and continued into the
    beautiful marble lobby. He pressed the button to call the lift and looked up at the
    numbers. It was stopped on the fourth floor. That bloody woman. I bet it’s her.
    He went quickly across the lobby and into the stairwell just as she stepped out
    of the lift. Dawson had recovered himself sufficiently to open the outside door for
    her. Kael breathed a sigh of relief. This has got to stop. I’m terrified to walk into my
    own building.
    When he reached the flat and found that Angel was not yet home, his first
    reaction was anger. If he’s hanging around with his friends and not coming home to
    get on with his work, I’ll spank the hell out of him.
    Glancing at the calendar in the kitchen, he realized his anger was unjustified.
    Angel was a good boy, and today was Wednesday. Every Wednesday he stayed at
    college late for the chess club. All the years Kael had come home alone to his silent,
    perfectly clean flat, not a thing out of place, not a speck of dust or a knife out of
    place in the kitchen drawer, and he had thought nothing of it. It was his life. Now,

    112
    Fyn Alexander

    after only six months of living with a chatty, busy, loveable, laughing boy, he hated
    walking in to find the flat empty.
    In the living room, he poured a glass of whisky and tossed it back in one gulp.
    His biggest fear when he had brought Angel home was that the boy would make a
    mess. Thoughts of crumbs on the floor and smears on the perfect glass and oak
    coffee table had consumed him. If Angel put a sock on the bathroom floor even for a
    second, Kael had pointed at it and would not move until Angel picked it up. But
    after a couple of rebellious looks from Angel, he had backed off and realized that if
    Angel saw a smear or dropped a sock, he would take care of it very quickly.
    Coming to a decision about Penelope Chalmers, Kael went out into the corridor
    and looked carefully. It was quiet, and he strode quickly along to her door. She‟d
    had her coat on when he saw her downstairs no more than fifteen minutes ago, so
    she must have been going out for a while. From his pocket, he removed the shiv he
    had used that afternoon in class and carefully opened the dead-bolted door without
    making a mark on the door frame. Inside he heard the familiar beeping of the
    alarm. Shit! What an idiot . He set his alarm when the flat was empty, so why
    wouldn‟t she? He quickly disabled hers.
    Unlike his flat, this one was cluttered. Magazines were strewn on the couch
    and coffee table. Used teacups sat about. In the kitchen, dirty dishes were on the
    counter and the dishwasher was full of clean ones. Opening drawers as he went,
    checking everything, looking for something that would mark her as SIS, Kael went
    from room to room. Given the state of the rest of the place, he wasn‟t surprised to
    find the bed unmade and the bathroom untidy. The place was by no means filthy,
    but by his standards it was unkempt and marginally unhygienic.
    It took him less than five minutes to do a thorough search and determine that
    Conran had told the truth. She was a lonely, middle-aged woman who ought to be
    looking at tea dances for a boyfriend instead of annoying him. In the bedroom, he
    noticed a carefully posed photograph on the wall of Mrs. Chalmers sitting on a chair
    with three grown young men