Sins of the Fathers

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Episode 1

--- Gwyneth visits her father
--- Rosa asks Luc to find her biological father
--- Trey discusses his political aspirations with Annette
--- Luc and Anna share a meaningful memory
--- Felix makes a discovery

Gwyneth's flowers

Gwyneth brushed a strand of her brown hair from her eyes. She looked out over the green pasture behind her and stepped down from her pony, Jericho. She led him into the orchard that she knew was the most quiet spot in town. The only sound, in fact, was the whir of the waterfall from which Carmine Falls draws its name. The sound of the waterfall, though, was so unchanging that it amounted to no sound at all, and the silence of the moment made Gwyneth nervous, more nervous than she was already. She whistled and wished she were a better whistler. It kept her mind occupied until she reached her destination. Her anxiety nearly overwhelmed her, but she thought of her mother's all-purpose advice, "When you don't know what to say to someone, just give them a big smile." Gwyneth reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the bundle of hollyhocks she'd stashed in it, and extended them with the biggest smile she could muster.
"I hope you like these," she said, "It's hard to think of a good Father's Day gift. I mean, fathers are the ones who usually give the gifts so it's weird, and... Well, I always give Mom flowers for Mother's Day, and I asked Aunt Nan and she said that hollyhocks are really very masculine flowers, and she remembered you liking them when you were a little boy, so I thought..." She didn't know what she'd thought, but she knew this: the hollyhocks weren't right at all. She could feel that. She always knew when something was wrong. When she put the wrong answer on an algebra test or tried to jump a horse that wasn't ready, she felt a little tug at her stomach. She felt that tug as she stood there in the orchard with the hollyhocks wilting in her hand. "They're blue," she offered, "I remember you always liked blue and green, and, well, the leaves of these are green, so it's just perfect. Your two favorite colors."
It was no use. She'd chosen the wrong gift. She longed to throw the flowers to the ground, scream, "I love you, Daddy!" and throw her arms around his legs as she used to do. Surprisingly, the thought made her giggle. She was fourteen, and the tallest girl in her class at Carmine Falls Middle School; she'd have a hard time hugging anybody's legs, even her 6'3" father's. Of course, she couldn't hug him, anyway. She could never do that. She sighed.
"Well," she said, "Happy Father's Day." Gwyneth placed the little bundle of flowers on the patch of grass in front of her father's tombstone. She stepped back and read the inscription for the hundredth time: "He served he loved and he will be missed", and below it his name, "Jeremiah Robert Montgomery". Gwyneth smiled. "Jeremiah," she thought, "a hard-to-say name. Like Gwyneth. Gwy-neth. But not like Mom's. Charlotte." And remembering what her father had said about the name, she laughed out loud and said, "No, that one's just hard to spell!"
Charlotte was, in fact, just stepping into the orchard. She saw her daughter in the distance, and the vision brought a sharp jab of pain to her heart. There was Gwyneth, speaking to a grave when she should be speaking to a father. And the grave! A squat, cold stone standing where her towering, warm husband should be. "Oh Jeremiah," she said without thinking about it, "Who took you away from us?"

****************

Dearest Claire,
Times are harder here than ever before. The Resistance is weakening, but my resolve grows stronger every day. I will ensure the freedom of my people and the future of my family, and that includes you, Claire, and our child. When it is safe here, you will join me as long as you still want to.
Mama's sickness nearly consumes her, but I tell her about her little granddaughter, her namesake in America, and it makes her final hours on this earth joyful.
As for me, all I need are the memories of our time together to sustain me through the darkest days. You are the finest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. I love you more and more each day. Please tell our daughter that I love her and will be with her one day. When we are at last together, I will explain to her why we've been separated all this time.
My Undying Love,
Mateo

the Sidarus gates

"...when we are at last together, I will explain to her why we've been separated all this time." Rosa folded the thin, creased paper before she even read those last lines. She didn't need to read them. She knew them by heart. They were her favorite lines in her favorite letter, the last of six letters her father had written her mother many years before. "My undying love," she thought, "Please, God, please, let that be true."
A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. "Rosa?" Luc called, "May I come in?"
Rosa answered the door and hugged her adoptive father, the only father she'd ever known. Everything about him-- his finely tailored clothes, the subtle musk he wore, the even tones of his voice-- was familiar and comforting to her. But, she knew, it wasn't part of her. Viola, Ren, and Miranda all had their father right there, the kindest man in the world, Luc Sidarus. But she, Rosa, had never even seen the man who created her, and her mother, the only blood relation she'd ever known, had been murdered when Rosa was only a child. Rosa pushed these thoughts from her mind and said, "Happy Father's Day. Are you excited about the dinner tonight? Is Puck fixing your favorite?"
"I doubt it," Luc answered. "He never does."
"Why do you keep him around then? You're always upset with him."
"Oh, I could never fire anyone."
"You are the softest CEO in the world. It's a wonder Sidarus Enterprises doesn't go belly up. You must be blessed."
"And I am," Luc said, "with the most wonderful family in the world. I came to see if Vincent brought you the perfume I ordered you. I know your birthday isn't for a few weeks, but I couldn't resist."
"Oh yes, and you really shouldn't have. I know how much it cost, and it's far too much for my birthday."
"Nonsense, you only turn twenty-five once, and nothing is too much to commemorate such an occasion. But what I want to know is, what else would you like?"
Rosa didn't answer. She knew if anyone could help her, Luc could. He had infinite wealth and offices all over the world. It was natural for her to turn to him when she needed help. She had no reason to hesitate, except... Luc was her father. No biological father could have been more generous, and Rosa wouldn't hurt him if it meant gaining the world. But lately she'd been tormented by questions about her parentage. She had to know. She at least had to try.
"There is something," Rosa began, "that I want. I want it very badly. I've wanted it for years."
"Well, spit it out, darling. What could it be? I'd planned to get you diamond earrings for your graduation from medical school, but naturally you need them now. Is that it?"
"No, Father," she said, "I don't need diamonds although that's very thoughtful of you. What I need is--- well, it's a little more trouble than that."
"Nothing is trouble. That's the beauty of being so rich."
Rosa laughed, glad at the chance to relieve the tension. She took a deep breath and handed her pile of letters to Luc.
"What's this?" Luc asked. He seemed deeply unimpressed by the faded papers in his hands. Of course, he didn't know that he held Rosa's soul in his hands.
"Letters," Rosa said meekly.
"Yes, I can see, but---"
"I've never shown them to anyone before. My father, I mean, my birth father, wrote them to my mother. He's South American, and he came to this country during the '70s to earn money for the resistance movement in his home." Rosa nearly faltered under Luc's unreadable gaze, but somehow, now that she was speaking, it was all flowing out of her, the story she'd told herself so many times but never told anyone else. "He met my mother," she said, "my mother Claire Jones who was your friend. They fell in love, and they conceived me. Mateo insisted on marrying her. Mama was doubtful, she was worried he'd be found out. And he was, INS and..." Rosa swallowed a sob. It was hard for her to say the word that had forever separated her from her father.
Luc kindly supplied, "He was deported," which gave Rosa the strength to continue.
"Yes," she said, "before I was born. He never came back. He couldn't--- immigration, and as you'll see when you read the letters, he spent all of his time fighting with the resistance. My mother never told me details about him, not even which country he came from. I think she was afraid I'd watch news reports and get scared about him. But she would have told me, I'm certain, if she had lived."
Luc was silent. He sat in the gilt armchair in front of Rosa's vanity dresser. He still held the letters, and his face was as impassive as ever.
"Don't you see," Rosa said, "He's my only family. Oh no, I didn't mean--- Luc, Father, you're my father, and always will be. And this is my home. But I need to know where I came from. Don't you see?"
"Yes," Luc said, "I see."
"Then you'll help me?"
"I don't know what you want me to do."
"Father," Rosa said, "you're so clever and you have people stationed all over the world looking for lost Picassos and things like that. While they're doing all that looking, can't they look for Mateo too?"
"So you want me to look all over the world for a man named Mateo?"
Luc's voice held no trace of sarcasm, but Rosa recognized the foolishness of the question. "No," she said sweetly, "no, it was just a figure of speech. My mother told me he's from South America, and I've been doing some research on the political systems and rebellions there, and I think Colombia might be a good place to start. And we know his mother's name was Rosa. I'm named after her, and I think she might have died in 1986, but that's just a guess from what he says in the letters. And he was in the U.S. during the mid-70s. I know that's not much, but it's not impossible, is it?"
"No," Luc said, "it's not impossible."
"No, I know it's not not if you look for him."
Luc looked at the expectant face of his daughter Rosa, so much stronger than the sad, frightened face of the little girl he'd brought into his home. "Hope," he thought, "that's the difference. These fifteen years she's been here, I've given her hope." He felt his will weakening. He wouldn't take that hope from her, but he didn't want to commit to her search. "Are you sure, Rosa?" he asked. "When you go looking for someone, you often find something quite different from what you expect. 'Such stuff as dreams are made on,' my darling."
His words touched Rosa. She was always touched when Luc quoted Shakespeare. He had barely finished high school and yet he new each play by heart and spoke of the characters as though they were old friends. "Yes, Father," she said, "yes, MY dreams. It is the stuff MY dreams are made on."
Luc smiled. "This man, you say he was fighting in a civil war. You don't know what he might have been involved in. He was deported---"
"Father," Rosa said with uncharacteristic sharpness, "You of all people know better than that."
Luc took Rosa's hand. "Well," he said, "I am chastened."
"You'll find him for me?"
"If it is humanly possible, I will find him."
"Oh Father!" Rosa's "thank you" was lost in her embrace. She squeezed Luc and once again reminded herself that he had taken her in when she was young and had nowhere to go.
"You'd better let me keep these," Luc said, nodding to the letters. "There may be clues in them that are as yet indecipherable to us."
"Yes, yes certainly," Rosa said bravely, even though the thought of parting with the letters nauseated her.
"Well, then, that's settled." Luc rose and walked to the door. "I'll put someone on this right away. And as for you, my darling, I decree we shall only have happiness on this day. It is my day, after all. Why don't you go swimming?"
"I am happy," Rosa said, and it was doubly true because she was certain her request hadn't hurt Luc's feelings. "But no swimming for me today. I'm on my way to the hospital. Dr. Kaufmann is performing open heart surgery at three, and he promised I could observe."
"Sounds delightful," Luc said as he left the room.
Rosa called after him, "Father, thank you again. For everything."

****************

the Montgomery estate

Annette watched as her little sister Julia walked down the curved staircase that led into the foyer of the Montgomery home. "Perfect," she thought, "absolutely perfect. If I'd had that height..." "Height" was her least favorite word. Height was the bane of her existence. Height, or rather lack of it, had ruined her life. At thirteen, she'd been the hottest young model in New York. Photographers clamored to take shots of the little girl with the "smoky, bedroom eyes". Everyone said that as soon as she hit her growth spurt, Annette would really take off. Unfortunately, she never hit that growth spurt--- not at thirteen, or fourteen, or fifteen, and after that everyone stopped waiting. Everyone but Annette, that is. She just knew that she'd grow if she just waited; after all, everyone else in her family was conspicuously tall. "But no," she thought, "capped out at 5'3". It just doesn't make sense! Anna is practically a giant, and she had me. And sweet little Serena is like a china doll, but she had Julia who's... my God, she's got to be pushing six feet now." Annette sighed and took another long look at Julia. "Yes. She'd be perfect. If I can convince Daddy to let me sign her at Close Contact she can have a fabulous career. She's got those gorgeous blue-green eyes like Serena's, and her hair is a little mousy, but we could bring it up a few shades. I think it would take nicely. Slender, good proportions, long legs, and most importantly, height." This time the word didn't strike her as horrific. After all, she was very comfortable in her skin, short as that skin might be. She really sort of liked being short. She had a kind of Clara Bow charm. A taller woman, in Annette's opinion, never drank a martini with much pizzazz. But she knew that she had more pizzazz than women twice her size. She smiled as she watched Julia cross the foyer and enter the dining room on the other side of the hall. "I'm glad I'm not a model," she thought. "It's much more fun to be the agent. Let the girls take all the heat; I'll go out for a cheeseburger. But Julia, she might enjoy---"
"Annette? Annette! Did you hear what I was saying?" her brother Trey demanded.
"I'm sorry." Annette blinked. "What?"
"Did you hear what I said about running for mayor?"
"You're running for mayor?"
Trey rolled his eyes. Annette exasperated him on a weekly basis. "You know, Annie, you are a lousy listener."
"I beg to differ, brother dear. I am a very good listener when I CHOOSE to listen. I can hardly be blamed if you start babbling on before I've decided to listen to you."
Trey started to argue but caught himself. He knew that was what Annette wanted, anyway. She loved to argue, and she always won. So Trey sat meekly and waited for Annette to join his conversation.
She adjusted herself on the little settee they shared. "Now, when did you become the mayor?" she asked.
"I didn't. I didn't SAY that, Annette. I said I might run for mayor."
"Really? Well that's just fascinating, Trey. I think it might be very interesting."
"You do?" Trey was shocked. He wanted his sister's support, but he expected to put up with her teasing before he got it.
"Yes, only what about Mayor Bevins? If you become the mayor, what will happen to him?"
"Well, I suppose he'll go back to running his grocery store."
Annette considered. "Hmmm" she said. Her considering, like everything she did, was performed with a healthy dose of theatricality. She raised one eyebrow. She tapped her chin with her finger. She cocked her head. Finally, she said, "No, Trey. I just don't think it's a good idea at all."
"Why not?" Trey demanded. He had a quick temper, and Annette loved to provoke it.
"Well, Mayor Bevins is such a perfect looking mayor. He's adorable. He always wears those gray trousers, and he has that pudgy, little tummy. He is the best possible mayor. Just looking at him makes me certain that Carmine Falls is a lovely place to live, and safe, too. So, no, I don't think you should run for mayor at all."
"Annette, please be serious."
"I am. I'm sorry to tell you this, Trey, but you don't look like a mayor, and what's more, Mayor Bevins looks exactly like a mayor. You cannot run against him. Now, say you wanted to be a senator, I would support that. You look like a senator." The joke started to carry her away. "Ooooo..." she said, "but you'll have to be an EVIL senator. That would be fantastic! You look just like an evil senator with those black eyes and---"
"My eyes aren't black, they're---"
"Ah, yes, I'm sorry. They're very dark brown."
Annette beamed at him, and Trey couldn't get angry with her. Sometimes during an argument, he wanted to choke her, but afterwards she was so charmingly pleased with herself. She looked like a five-year old who'd just stolen the cookie jar, so different from the savvy, thirty-three year old businesswoman she actually was. Her smug grin melted his heart, every time. He smiled at her. "Annie," he said, "you think it's a good idea?"
"I think if you want to be the mayor, you will do it wonderfully, just like you always do everything---"
Julia interrupted them with a loud thud. She'd been sent to fetch them for lunch, but she tripped just as she was entering the room.
"Julia!" Trey and Annette rushed to help her.
"I'm fine," Julia said as she stood and brushed herself off. "I just tripped."
Annette surveyed the empty space at their feet. "What did you..."
"Oh, um, the floor, I think." Julia blushed.
Annette smiled and put her arm around Julia. "Well no wonder. You probably heard Trey's talk about running for mayor and got terrified. Trey! Don't you know that Julia's beau is none other than Mayor Bevins' son Seth? Are you trying to crush their young romance?"
Now it was Julia's turn to argue with Annette. "He's not my beau! We're friends."
"Well, he took you to the spring formal, didn't he?"
"Just as friends! It wasn't a date--- I couldn't even wear heels!"
"Yes, one of the many curses of being so tall. So, darlings, shall we lunch?" And with that, Annette glided past them towards the dining room.

****************

the Sidarus gates

"My Undying Love," thought Luc. "We shall see."
He leaned back in his leather armchair. Spanish leather. The designer had told him it wasn't strong enough for furniture. It wouldn't work, she had said. It would tear. Well, she was wrong. The chair was now over three years old and in mint condition. The material wasn't nearly as important as how it was handled. "Yes," he thought, "it's all in the handling." He pushed the buzzer under his desk for the fourth time. Vincent was reliable, but sometimes he was slow. That didn't bother Luc; he had an endless supply of patience. He always found something to do while he waited. At the moment he was considering the bar he'd recently placed in the corner of the office. He was unsure about it. Luc was a moderate drinker, and he often liked to have a whisky while he worked. Having a bar in his office allowed him to work undisturbed, which was a definite advantage. However, he also received guests in his office, not many, but certain business partners, and an occasional social dignitary, and he didn't know if the bar presented the right image. "It will come to me, I'm sure. It always does..."
"Boss!" It was Vincent. Vincent, always in a hurry. He burst through the heavy oak door with such energy that he nearly fell into Luc's desk.
"Vincent," Luc said, "You must learn to take your time. You'll get yourself in trouble one day."
"Right, boss, I'm sorry. I know you buzzed like three---"
"Four."
"Right, four times, but I got here as fast as I could. I was in---"
"I'm sure I don't want to know. I'm not angry with you, Vincent. Sit down." Luc took out an ivory cigar box as Vincent took a seat in front of Luc's desk. "Cigar?" Luc offered.
"No, thanks, boss. I'll have one of my smokes if you don't mind."
"Not in the least. You are sure you don't want a cigar?"
"No, sir, I like these," Vincent answered as he pulled a packet of Kool Kings from his pocket.
"Yes, naturally you do. That is the difference between us, Vincent. It's very simple really. All a difference of taste. And that leads to a difference in perception."
Vincent did not know what to say. He hated when Luc discussed anything other than business with him.
"Why it's extraordinary," Luc continued. "The difference between us is so simple. Let's suppose that one day, just one day, you decided to have a good aged Scotch instead of that swill you usually guzzle."
"I don't drink liquor, boss. It slows me down, and I break out in hives."
"I'm not talking about your hives, Vincent. I'm talking about your life. So suppose you drank the Scotch, and it didn't give you hives. Then, perhaps you would put down your Hustler and pick up the New York Times Book Review. You might start going to the opera instead of... exactly what sort of music do you listen to, Vincent?"
Vincent gushed. "Oh, I like different kinds. I like Kiss and Metallica and---"
"Yes. How interesting." Luc lit his cigar. "I've never thought of it quite that way before. How is your cigarette?"
"Uh, it's good."
"Wonderful. Now, Vincent, I have a task for you."
"Sure, boss."
"It's not difficult, but it must be done correctly."
Vincent nodded
Luc indicated Rosa's letters, which were sitting on his desk. "Rosa wants us to find him," he said as Vincent scanned the letters.
"You want me to look for a guy---"
"I want you to do something about it. Do you understand, Vincent?"
"I don't know where to---"
"No, Vincent. I want you to do SOMETHING about it. The last time I told you that, what did you do?"
The light dawned in Vincents eyes. "Oh," he said. "Sure boss. Today?"
"Yes, today. Right now."
Vincent did not move.
"I suggest the alleyway behind Mrs. Sidarus' store," Luc said. "No one will be there today."
Vincent rose quickly. "No problem, boss. Right away. It's as good as done." He bounded out of Luc's office with his characteristic thoughtlessness, forgetting to shut the door on his way out.
"He never remembers to do that," Luc thought. He stood and crossed the room, but just as he reached the door, Anna entered.
"You're leaving?" she asked, and Luc noticed again how husky her voice was, and how lazy it always sounded.
"No, my darling," he said. "I was just going to close the door."
"Then you want to be alone?" Luc knew she wasn't really asking. Anna never thought anyone would reject her company.
"Of course not. Will you have a drink with me?"
"I'd love to." She slinked past him and went to the bar to investigate her options.
Luc kept his distance for the moment. He liked to look at Anna. She always interested him. They'd known each other for decades, and they'd lived together as man and wife for nearly a year, but she was still something of a mystery to him. Luc liked mysteries, but he rarely encountered them. His efficient mind easily reconciled seeming contradictions, but not with Anna. She was a contradiction, and that was the closest he'd ever come to defining her. She was a beautiful woman and a sexy one, but she'd been single for the better part of her life. From the time she'd divorced Clayton Montgomery until the day she married Luc, she had been not only single, but also completely celibate, if she could be believed. Luc wasn't sure that she could be believed, not on that or any other point.
"Let's see," Anna said. She allowed her long, slender fingers to brush the tops of the bottles. "Vodka, vodka, Irish whisky, Scotch--- here we are, gin." She filled a glass with ice and mixed her drink. "What will you have?"
"Here, I'll fix it," he said and poured himself a quick tumbler of Scotch. He raised the glass and toasted, "To you, my love."
"No," she said, "I insist we drink to you."
"Thank you, darling. You're quite right, Father's Day."
She set her drink on the bar and stared at him. Luc looked into her deep-set eyes, the same eyes he'd nearly drowned in years before and then completely forgotten.
Anna said, "Not Father's Day, darling. A much more important day than that."
Luc had no idea what she meant. It bothered him. He remembered everything. Perhaps Anna was toying with him. "All right then, darling," he said. "Let's have your toast."
"You do know what I'm referring to, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I don't. I have no doubt it's delightful, whatever it is."
She picked up her drink and took a tiny sip. "This day in 1968 my life began. Don't you know, darling?"
Luc didn't answer.
"You made love to me for the first time. I know you remember that."
Luc smiled. "Yes," he said, "I do."
"It was this day. I could never forget it. There I was, standing by the waterfall, thinking I'd throw myself in. A young mother, an heiress, a wife, but unhappy. I saw vague shapes, and those were the people in my life. I heard unformed sounds, and those were my conversations. I thought life was the misery of unending dullness. And you changed that. Do you remember?"
He was silent.
Anna set her drink on the bar. She caressed his face. "You came out of the orchard," she said. "I knew you must have been following me. You looked so wild, so different from anyone I'd ever seen before. And I knew at that instant I'd go with you, anywhere you asked me to."
"I said, 'Don't be frightened. I know you, better than you know yourself.'"
"You walked to me and touched my neck. I knew I should scream, but I didn't want to. Yours was the first real touch I'd ever felt."
"You kissed me."
"Yes, and you picked me up and lay me on the ground, and on that day, I was born. I woke up from the monotonous dream that my life had been. Everything was clear to me, but you looked the clearest of all. I knew you were my destiny." And with that Anna nonchalantly picked up her drink and sat in Luc's desk chair. That was her odd way of concluding tense moments.
"Why did you wait for me, Anna, all those years?" Luc was genuinely curious. "I hurt you. You should have found love with someone else."
Anna smiled in her secretive way. She said, "There is no one else, Luc. There never will be."
Luc nodded. He walked to her and unbuttoned the top button of her silk blouse. He whispered, "And there never will be, Anna, someone as irresistable as you are."

****************

Rayburn's department store

Felix Ash checked his reflection in the window of Rayburn's department store. The store was closed on Sundays, so there was no chance of anyone catching him in such a self-conscious action. That was good because there was really nothing self-conscious about Felix; he just liked to be aware of himself and his surroundings. "Not bad," he said to his reflection, and he meant it. He believed, literally, that he was not bad, not Adonis, but not bad. He was 5'10" with sandy blond hair, gray eyes, and regular--- if uninspired--- features. He had a medium build which got stocky when he overindulged, but luckily he hadn't--- lately. Felix was dressed in his Sunday best, not because he'd been to church, but because he wanted to give the impression he had. He had actually just finished lunching with an informant of his, a member of Carmine Falls' illustrious police force. Yes, he liked to be aware.
Satisfied with his reflection, Felix turned away from the store, but just as he resumed his stride, he passed an unoccupied alley. Unoccupied alleys always interested Felix. In his opinion, alleys were lacking in benefits. The only person who would seek out an alley was a person who wanted privacy. "And privacy," Felix thought, "means secrets."
He concealed himself behind the wall of Rayburn's and peered into the alley. He observed that its occupant was none other than Vincent, his boss's "valet". "Vincent," thought Felix, "isn't it a little early for you to be skulking around?" Vincent was the quintessential homebody, yet here he was on a sunny June day over a mile away from the Sidarus "compound", as Felix called it.
Vincent's back was turned to Felix, and he was hunched over something. Felix could not tell what Vincent was doing, but he was suspicious. "Sidarus' henchman," he thought, "doing something here in an alleyway behind the department store that Sidarus' blushing bride owns. This has got to be good. This could be it." He paused for a second to map out his strategy, and then stepped into the alley with as much ruckus as possible.
Vincent jumped when he heard the noise behind him. He turned, ready to fight, but was relieved when he recognized Felix. He called to him, but Felix didn't answer. He just staggered over to the wall and turned his back to Vincent.
"Felix," Vincent repeated. "It's me."
Felix turned and faced Vincent. "Huh?" he said. "Oh. Vincent. Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. Vinnie. Can you help me here?"
"What are you doing?"
"I should ask you that. You have some secret, Vinnie?"
"Secret, uh, no, Felix. It's nothing. What are you doing here?"
"This? Oh, this, well it's what the philosophers have named the call of nature. Only I have a slight problem."
Vincent answered with a blank stare.
Felix said, "I am experiencing some technical difficulties, Vincent. My zipper. Do you, uh, think you could help me here?"
Vincent shuffled his feet. "I don't know Felix. I've got clumsy hands, and I'm kinda busy."
"You're busy?" Felix slowly raised his voice. "Too busy to help a friend in need?"
"Don't be like that, Felix. I gotta get this done. Boss's orders."
Inside, Felix cheered, pleased that his suspicions had been correct. On the outside, though, he assumed the exaggerated expression of outrage so common in drunks and yelled, "Well, I have got to get THIS done! I am answering to a more demanding boss! If you are a---"
"Okay, okay," Vincent said, rushing over to Felix. When he moved, Felix caught a glimpse of what he'd been up to.
Felix seized his opportunity. "What's that you're doing over there, Vincent?" he asked. "It looks like you're burning something in that coffee can."
Vincent stopped dead in his tracks. "Um, no. No, I'm not burning anything."
"Are you sure? Because it looks like you're burning something."
"I'm sure--- look Felix, I've got to get this done. Could you just get out of here?"
"No, Vincent, because I just got my zipper unstuck. So could you give me a little privacy here?"
"Look, Felix, I'm the one who needs privacy."
"Oh, so it's a secret, whatever you're burning in that coffee can."
"No, it's not."
"Then why do you need privacy?"
"I don't."
"Then why don't you just get out of here and let me do this. Unless..." Felix stepped back and gave Vincent a questioning look. "Do you want to watch me? Is that it? Pretty kinky, Vincent, my friend."
"No!" Vincent cried angrily.
"I think you must."
"I don't."
"Then why don't you leave?"
"I will." Vincent made this commitment before he realized what it meant, but once he'd said it, he was determined to leave the alley. He couldn't let Felix know he'd been performing an important job for Sidarus. Felix was enough of a threat already; Vincent wasn't about to let him in on this secret. He turned away as casually as he could and walked towards the sidewalk. Just as he reached the mouth of the alley, he realized: he still had one letter left in his pocket. For a moment he was petrified, but then he thought of a plan. He'd show Felix Ash who was on top. He turned, walked back to the coffee can, and tossed the letter into the dying flames. He acted as though he'd simply found an old receipt in his pocket and decided to throw it away. With a smirk, Vincent passed back by Felix and walked out onto the sidewalk.
Felix's pulse was racing, but he knew that timing was everything. He waited until he was certain that Vincent was gone, then he ran to the coffee can. "Damn it," he thought as he shook the can, "too late. Nothing but blackened---" He stopped. Carefully, he reached into the can. A singed strip of paper lay beneath the ashes. Felix retrieved it and gingerly smoothed its curled edges. He read, "...tell our daughter that I love her and... with her one day. When we are at last... will explain to her why we've been... all this time."
Felix smiled. "Finally," he thought, "something to keep me one step ahead."