Hoods and Bots: Part Seven by Irena Szirtes - inspired by a '555' prompt -

   “They passed Lester’s, the coffee shop on Eighty-fourth where Robert used to take Grace for breakfast sometimes before school.”

 The fifth line of the fifth page of the fifth chapter of “The Horse Whisperer” by Nicholas Evans

credit Canva-Irena Szirtes

In honour of Wilhelm Imiołczyk, whose name I've taken for this story.

In the living hell of WW2 Poland, his forged papers saved lives.

Hoods and Bots: Part Seven

   The following Saturday I almost collided with Frank by the village shop. I could never get away as quickly as I’d like, because Hercule and the rat pack were always excited to see him, always hoped he’d beg a bit of unofficial custody and take them adventuring through the forest. He was still lethally attractive: all the more for seeming unaware his looks and charisma could draw most women, though by now he knew it full well. His smile still got to me, but pain was stronger than attraction now. No matter. Today I wanted to ask him about Roland.

“I saw you the other night, late, I mean, really late - on the bench with Roland,” I began. “How come?”

“You must be mistaken, I haven’t seen Roland. Must have been someone else.”

“Frank Barker, if there’s one thing we thought we'd never see again, it’s bullshit, and all the time you’ve been stuffed full of it! I’ve taken enough lies from you - I’m not taking any more.  I’m not stupid and I’m I’m not blind! You know full well it was him!”

He brushed one hand through his hair, while Hercule took a moment to nose the other one, begging caresses.

“Oh yes, I remember now, I was thinking you meant last night, but I did see Roland earlier in the week.”

“And? You do know his first six months observing is with me, don’t you?”

“Sure thing. ‘And’ nothing really. Just shooting the breeze.”

“Bullshit again! You know my job’s to report back to Bhuresi. He looked devastated, in bits, and I need to know what he told you.  And don’t say his mother, we’ve already been there.”

“So, there’s stuff I can’t tell you, Mia. Orders from above and all that. Sorry, but that’s how it is.”

“Oh please!  Secrets? Don’t make me laugh! Who’d trust secrets to you? We all know what your specialty is - letting out what you bloody well ought to keep in, when all’s said and done!” He winced, but I didn’t care.  “The contribution from a high-flyer like you, Frank Barker, always was, and always will be, financial! Special agent stuff is what you boast about to impress the ladies, is it? Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s too late for this lady!”

   I took the dogs and turned on my heel, but he called after me.

“Mia, you know I’m sorry about all that. I never meant to hurt you, none of it ever meant anything - the only girl I wanted to come home to was you. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you, I didn’t want to break up. And I still love you, really I do.”

I’d heard it all before, a thousand times. “Not enough,” I shouted back. “You didn’t – you don’t - love me enough.”  

   I kept going over and over everything Frank had said. He was hiding something, and I couldn’t work out why. Though he’d betrayed me, I couldn’t believe he’d betray our cause, be party to Roland being enemy undercover. Besides, it hadn’t looked like that kind of conversation – Roland had seemed so distressed.  I went straight to Bhuresi and told her everything. She confirmed the locket had been taken and was indeed concealing a transmitting device. It had been adapted to reroute any messages to one of our double agents and replaced without Roland’s knowledge.

“For now, you are to carry on as if we don’t suspect anything,” she said, “and keep reporting back to me. We’ll make good use of him before the shit hits the fan – and meanwhile, let’s see the enemy get one long trail of misinformation. You'll always have the dog with you, won’t you? It might be wise, now we know.”

 I nodded, a little stunned the locket did indeed conceal technology, and wondered again what Frank was hiding. True to form, Bhuresi stopped me as I got up to leave, took my hand and looked at me directly.

 “Mia, Frank was right when he told you there are things you don’t know. Come to that, there are things I don’t know either. But for what it’s worth - this is off the record, between me and you - when it comes to Frank, you must understand you can’t look at him impartially, not while you’re so angry, and still love him.”

   I told her anything resembling love died months ago and walked out without saying a proper goodbye.

    A day or so later I came home to a small bouquet of hand-pollinated flowers, an expensive luxury in a soil-depleted world. The card read, “Dear Mia, I know you have no reason to trust me. But the Roland thing is different. Trust me again this once, and one day I’ll tell you everything. I still love you, Frank.”

   I held the bouquet above the bin but then changed my mind and looked out a vase. I glanced at the flowers on and off all evening, then took the card on my lap and read it again and again. "Still playing games,” I decided eventually, before tearing it in pieces and throwing it on the fire.