The Fallen Body

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The second movement of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 "Pathétique" emanated from the cell phone on the nightstand. As the music got louder, a large, hairy hand reached out from under the covers and flipped it open.

After seeing who it was, the figure bolted upright and said, "Hello?"

He listened to the voice on the other end while rubbing and pinching the sleepiness from the inside corners of his dark, brooding eyes.

"I've got a job for you."

The muffled street noises of New York City were all that penetrated the stillness in the lavish 14th floor penthouse. The view from the bedroom faced towards the east, the dull glow of the pre-sunrise sky creating a backdrop to the buildings of Lower Manhattan.

"OK. Who?"

"His name is Neal Baines. I've arranged for your package to be in an envelope under the bench that overlooks the Gapstow Bridge in Central Park. All the details will be there by noon today."

"I will need to pack a bag, yes?"

"Correct, you'll be taking a little trip to Dallas, TX."

"And how will I get paid?"

"You'll get half wired to your account this morning, and the other half once the job is done. Your specific instructions will be in your dossier." Click.

He waddled to the bathroom and turned on the hot water to shave. He pulled out his pair of Black Nappa Bruno Maglis and cleaned them with a slightly dampened towelette while whistling to the tune of the TV show "Dallas." He put on his white shirt and tie, and then brushed off his Armani suit jacket with a lint roller. He carefully put on his shoulder holster, adjusted his jacket over the bulge so that it was not so noticeable.

Roman Danshov took the stairs down to the subway and got on the Green Line going towards uptown. He planted himself right next to the door in such a way as to allow himself the luxury of being able to jump off at the last possible moment if he felt that he was being followed. This meant, however, that those passengers getting on and off of the subway had to squeeze past him in order to get around to any available seats. As he held onto one of the stainless steel posts, he ignored the looks that he got from those same commuters. Instead, he scanned the crowd to memorize the faces surrounding him.

At the last moment, Roman jumped off at his stop at Lexington Ave and 59th St and headed against traffic on 59th St. He paused in front of the Banana Republic display to see if anyone was tailing him. When he was satisfied that he was not being followed, he continued passed a GNC and a Clifford Michael tuxedo rental store that was advertising a Going out of Business sale, 60 to 80 percent off.

As he came to Park Ave, he passed the traffic cop at that intersection and crossed over to the other side of the street. Roman stopped in front of the Capital One building, looked through the glass to observe any activity behind him. Seeing nothing, he continued in the same direction as before. The aroma of halal food from a street vendor's cart mixed in with the never ending exhaust made him slightly nauseous, but he continued passed Madison Avenue and the Crate & Barrel store on the corner. As he strode towards 5th Avenue he came to a plaza on the corner on his left, so he cut across to the other side of 59th and strolled around the fountain. He glanced at his watch, which read 11:55 a.m., and decided to sit on the cold, gray marble slab that acted as a bench. The leaves on the trees in the plaza had turned yellow and some had settled on the cement ground.

He paused to observe the traffic around him. He could see the southeast corner of Central Park, which was his ultimate destination, but he was a bit early. As Roman sat in the sun to stay warm, he heard the rustling of the trees and felt the cool breeze on his rugged, unsmiling face. His eyes darted from one person to the next as he waited.

After ten minutes and not seeing anything suspicious, he slowly rose to his feet and crossed the street and entered Central Park. Off to his left he saw an orange school bus disgorge its passengers; a group of elementary kids dressed in their navy blue and white uniforms. He hustled to get past them before they started walking down the trail, most likely going to the Victorian Gardens Amusement Park or the Hallett Nature Sanctuary, both on the other side of the Gapstow Bridge.

He took the path that ran closest to the pond and lowered himself nonchalantly onto the bench that overlooked the eastern portion of The Pond. There were three ducks swimming in the pond, two of them quacking to the third one to keep up, but otherwise the only noise was the rustling of the red oaks in the wind. Turning his head from side to side to see who might be approaching from either direction, he slowly reached his hand underneath where he was sitting. His hand came into contact with an envelope, so he grabbed it from above and removed it from its hiding place. It was a thin, manila package that he hastily rolled up and inserted into the inside pocket of his black overcoat. Roman glanced around one last time, pushed himself off of the bench, and then beat a hasty retreat.