Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

to
    suspect it had something to do with his neighbor.
    “Just answer the question,” the woman said.
    To the constable, Kael said, “I want to see your warrant card. Now!”
    The constable, a tall man in his forties, produced his card. Barely glancing at
    it, Kael took in all the information. “Thank you, Constable Hartford.” To the man
    and woman, he said, “Identification!”
    The woman looked far more annoyed than the man at his tone, but both
    removed photo identification from their pockets, held them up for no more than a
    split second, and pocketed them again. That’s a trick to confuse and intimidate
    people. Most people would not ask them to show their ID twice. They don’t want to
    look stupid . Again Kael had barely glanced at the cards. “What can I do for you,
    Mrs. Cantley?” He looked at the man. “Mr. Jones?” The cards identified them as
    being from the NSPCC: the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
    Children.
    “We need to see the boy who lives with you. You say he‟s your son? Is his name
    Angel?” the woman said.
    “I have never told anyone that Angel is my son. He‟s not my son.”
    The whole picture came together. Mrs. Chalmers had seen Angel kiss him, and
    the bitch had called the NSPCC and reported him as a pervert just because he had
    refused her advances. Kael walked to his door, and the three followed closely. “Do
    you have a warrant to enter?” he asked the constable.
    “I can easily get one, sir. It‟s in your best interest to let us in quietly.”

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    115

    Kael looked the constable in the eyes. “You will remain right there. Do not step
    over my threshold.” He stepped inside, leaving the door open. “Angel!” he called as
    he went into the hall cupboard and got his SIS identification card from his jacket.
    Rubbing his hair with a towel, Angel came into the hall wearing only a tiny
    pair of black underwear.
    “Get your passport, boy.”
    “He‟s older than fourteen,” the woman said quietly to the men.
    Angel looked nervously at the three people crowded in the doorway but not
    daring to enter. Kael handed his card to the constable, who looked at it, surprise
    and concern registering in his eyes. “Sorry about this, Mr. Saunders. We‟ll clear this
    up quickly.” He handed it back while the children‟s workers looked curious at his
    sudden caution.
    Angel reappeared without the towel but still wearing only his underwear.
    “What‟s going on, Kael?” he asked.
    Kael took the passport from him, making brief eye contact. Kael ? He proffered
    the British passport to the workers. The woman took it, opened it to the picture,
    and looked at Angel, then his birth date. “He‟s eighteen and a half,” she said to the
    others.
    Kael took the passport from her. “And I‟m thirty-three. We‟re both adults.
    Anything else?”
    “Do you live here, Angel?” the woman asked.
    “Yes, ma‟am,” Angel said.
    “Are you happy?”
    “Yes. If I wasn‟t, I‟d leave. Do I look like I‟m being held against my will? I go to
    college every day.”
    “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “But we have to look into every situation that‟s
    called to our attention.”
    “Then rest assured that you have done your duty, Mrs. Sandra Cantley.” After
    saying her full name very deliberately, Kael repeated the identification number that
    followed it on the card. It was his own intimidation tactic, showing them he
    remembered all their information and implying he would launch a complaint if he
    heard from them again.
    Kael looked at the policeman. “Constable Hartford, I wish to register a
    complaint of sexual harassment against my neighbor at number 4-12, Mrs.
    Penelope Chalmers, who I know complained to you about me. I told her that Angel
    is eighteen. She will not leave me alone. Please caution her before you leave the
    building. She wasted your time and mine because she found out that I‟m gay. That‟s
    a hate crime.”
    “Not a problem, sir.” He walked directly along the hall and knocked smartly on
    the woman‟s door.

    116
    Fyn Alexander

    Arms crossed over his chest, Kael stood watching from his door. “Yes,
    Constable?” Looking out into the corridor, she made momentary eye contact with
    Kael.
    “Your neighbor, Mr. Saunders, has made a complaint of sexual harassment
    against you, ma‟am.”
    “What?” Her voice filled the corridor. “Have you seen that boy? He‟s not more
    than fourteen.” She attempted