The Lights of Tenth Street (12 page)

He was careful, and he was good at the game. He would not trigger Proxy’s
wrath. He looked out his darkened window into the neon-lit club and smiled. Quite the contrary. Soon … very soon … he would be indispensable. And Proxy rewarded loyalty well.

He picked up the phone and made a quiet call.

In the club outside Washington, D.C., the local manager put down his phone and went in search of one particular dancer. He found her reapplying her makeup, and pulled her into his office for a chat. She left the office with a small smile and went in search of the target.

Within twenty minutes, a lonely satellite engineer was leaving the club with a very beautiful girl on his arm. He couldn’t believe his good fortune, couldn’t believe that she had noticed
him
, had
wanted
him!

He knew he was breaking every rule in the book, breaking all the regulations surrounding his security clearance. His higher-ups would condemn his actions … if they ever found out. Which they wouldn’t.

He looked at the gorgeous girl beside him and hurried to usher her into his car. He was sick and tired of long nights in front of his computer. It was his personal life and the security freaks would never find out. An opportunity like this didn’t come along very often.

I
s Mr. Woodward’s secretary available, then?”

Ronnie tapped her pen nervously against Tiffany’s kitchen table. The bay window alcove was a light-filled oasis, but Ronnie’s eyes weren’t focusing on her surroundings. She was concentrating all her positive energy on the woman at the other end of the phone. Maybe if she willed it hard enough—

The secretary came on the line. “I’m so sorry, Miss Hanover, but he just isn’t available for a conversation right now. I know this is your third call, but he only takes phone calls from prospective students by appointment. As I said before, if you’d like to schedule a fifteen-minute phone call, we’d be happy to arrange that for you, as you seem like a motivated young lady.”

“I don’t—see, my schedule is just so crazy it’s hard to
schedule
something. Especially since he only takes these calls in the afternoon, when I’m working.”

“You’re a waitress, you said?”

“Yes, that’s right.”
Please don’t ask where, please don’t ask where
 …

“Well, could you perhaps schedule it during a break time?”

“Huh.” Ronnie straightened slightly. “You know, I didn’t think of that. Yes. Yes! I usually have a break around three or three-thirty … as long as he doesn’t mind me calling from the restaurant.”

“Oh, he’s had people call from Chinese rice paddies before, Miss Hanover. I’m sure a restaurant won’t faze him.” Ronnie heard the clicking sounds of a keyboard, then the sound of pleasant surprise. “Actually, he had a cancellation tomorrow, believe it or not. I’m scheduling you for tomorrow at three o’clock. Will that do?”

“Yes, that would be great. Just great.”

“Don’t be late now, you hear? He only has the fifteen-minute slot, and he’s a stickler about punctuality. He equates being on time with how much an applicant appears to care about their schooling. And that impacts his perception of their admissions application.”

“Oh yes, of course. Thank you … Thank you so much!”

Across town, a computer hard drive whirred slightly as the latest contact was captured, digitized and filed for retrieval. An hour later, after careful encryption and multiple routings, an automatic report was sent to an e-mail inbox.

The computer was emotionless. The person who reviewed the files was not. Marco smiled as he read the report. Everyone had a lever. It was just a matter of finding it.

Ronnie jammed the last few pieces of lunch debris onto her overloaded tray, gave the table a few perfunctory wipes with a cloth, and hurried toward the kitchen. A moment later, she headed down the hallway toward the break room, fishing for the coins in her apron. She jangled the quarters with nervous hands.

Would the admissions officer truly not mind that she was calling from a pay phone with the din of a loud restaurant in the background? Maybe he would agree to a face-to-face meeting if she could convince him it was worth his time to meet with a high school dropout who hadn’t even gotten her GED yet. If someone would just give her a chance, she
knew
she could make a better life for herself. She was working double shifts almost every day, and her bank balance just wasn’t growing enough. Maybe this Mr. Woodward would understand and give her the break she needed.

She was almost at the break-room door when she heard Marco step out of his office behind her. “Ronnie, can you come in here a moment?”

“Oh—Marco—I have an important phone call to make at three o’clock. Can I come by in—”

“You’re on duty. I need you in the office.”

Ronnie stopped and turned around. “I’m actually on break now, and—”

“You’re in my office now.” He vanished back inside the door.

Ronnie clenched her fists and stomped down the hall and into his office.

“Sit down.” Marco was holding out a chair, a small smile on his face.

Ronnie didn’t walk across the room. “I’d like to stand, thanks. I want to get to my phone appointment.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to know what is more important than your job, Ronnie.”

“You’d like—! Well, fine, I’ll tell you then.” Ronnie jabbed her finger toward the break room. “I’m supposed to be on the phone right now for a Georgia State interview at three o’clock. You have no idea how important this is to me.”

“But for now, you work here, and I—”

“The only reason I
am
working here is to get the tuition for school!” She looked at the clock on his desk and blinked back tears, furious at herself for her weakness in front of her manager. “I was supposed to call the admissions director by now. What’s he going to think when I stand him up? What chance do I have of being accepted?”

Marco’s voice was calm. “Why didn’t you schedule the call for your off-hours?”

“Because I don’t
have
off-hours, Marco!” She stepped forward, her voice raised. “Or at least not when this admissions officer could talk to me. All I do is work, and I still can’t get ahead. I have to save two thousand dollars by the time I start school and that seems as remote as the moon right now!”

“There’s an easy way of solving that problem, you know.”

Ronnie stared up at her boss’s face, and took a step back. “No.
No way
, Marco. I’ve already told you …”

Marco shook his head. “Fine. Don’t listen. It’s not what you think—not exactly, anyway.” He turned away. “Go make your call. We’ll need to talk at the end of your shift tonight.”

Something in his voice made Ronnie hesitate. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Go make your call.”

Ronnie paused, then turned and ran for the break room. Shaking, she fumbled the coins into the slot and dialed the number.

“Is Mr. Woodward there?”

An interminable pause as the call was transferred. “Mr. Woodward’s office.”

“Hi, listen, this is Ronnie Hanover. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid he couldn’t wait any longer. He got on another call just a minute ago.”

“Oh no.” Ronnie couldn’t hide the tears in her voice. “Please. Is there
any
way to reschedule? My boss grabbed me just as I was going to call, and—”

“I’m sorry, Ronnie. He generally never tries twice for someone who doesn’t seem to care enough the first time. He’s too busy as it is.”

“Can you … can you tell him that I tried everything I could to make the call, but that my boss canceled my break at the last minute? I might even lose my job over this. Georgia State is the only school I’m applying to. Is there
any way
he would allow me to make it up by taking a vacation day and coming down to meet with him?”

“I’ll tell him, but I can tell you from experience that he’s unlikely to agree. Besides, you probably don’t have vacation days yet, right?”

Ronnie clutched the phone. “I’ll figure something out.”

A sigh. “I’ll tell him, dear. But don’t get your hopes up.”

The secretary hung up, and Ronnie threw the phone against the wall.

Behind his closed door and his one-way mirror, Marco dialed a phone number and waited, idly looking out at the all-but-deserted tables in the club and the bored dancer making the minimum effort on stage. He jotted a note to himself to fine the girl. He couldn’t afford any sloppiness at this point in the game.

The ringing stopped, and a jovial voice came on the line. Marco spoke in measured tones and allowed himself a thin smile as the heartiness was instantly replaced by tension.

After a few minutes, Marco replaced the receiver and walked over to a small side bar to pour himself a cup of coffee. He settled back into his leather chair and swiveled toward the one-way mirror. During this afternoon lull, he might as well take a break and enjoy the show.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Woodward’s office.” The secretary sat straighter in her chair, listening. “Yes, sir. He’s in the office with a prospective student right now … Of course, sir, I’ll get him right away.”

The secretary pressed the hold button on the phone, then dialed an extension. A moment later, a confused-looking young man stepped out of the inner office and closed the door behind him. The secretary gave him a placating smile as she transferred the call.

After a few minutes, the admissions officer appeared in the doorway. He looked at the young man. “John, sorry about that. Thanks for being so accommodating. Come on back in.”

As the prospective student shuffled back inside the office, the admissions officer caught his secretary’s eye. “Call Ronnie Hanover back and see if she’d still like to schedule a meeting.”

“Sir? But you—”

“I know I said not to, but she must know someone high up in our administration. The dean’s office is pressing me to give her a full-fledged interview.” He shrugged before vanishing back inside the office.

“A screwdriver, a scotch on the rocks, and two martinis. Thanks, Nick.” Ronnie set down her cocktail tray and leaned against the bar, averting her eyes from where
Marco stood a few feet away. He was surveying the club, his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

Her mind raced ahead as she picked up and delivered the drinks, smiling and accepting tips, hardly noticing a word that was said. Was it possible she might actually be fired? She could impose on Tiffany only for so long. What then?

No way would she go back home. She’d risk homelessness first.

“Hey, Ronnie, I’m so late!” Tiffany hurried up next to her and took a couple of deep breaths. A grin broke out on her face. “I just wanted you to know that someone from a Mr. Woodward’s office called. She said Georgia State wanted to talk to you after all, and that you should call at your earliest convenience for an
in-person
interview.”

Ronnie squealed. “Are you kidding? Really?”

“Ohmygosh.” Tiffany was looking over Ronnie’s shoulder. “Marco’s going to kill me if I don’t hustle. I’ll see you later.”

A
s the night wore on, Ronnie went about her business, serving the customers, refilling drinks, and averting her eyes from the stage and the girls that appeared beside her tables. For as long as she worked in the club, she had told Tiffany privately, she intended to watch as little as possible.

She didn’t know that she herself was being watched. On every side, unseen eyes peered through a thick darkness, a fog of oppression and torment. Of fear and lust. Most of the eyes were filled with hate and a twisted desire. The dark beings used the very people they despised. The humans were created in the image of the great Enemy, the One who had banished them forever. That He would move heaven and earth to win back His wayward children was enough reason to despise them, to damage them with great precision. It made the dark beings stronger. They reveled in the destruction of a soul. They wanted each human child tormented on earth … and in the hereafter. They wanted them lost to their heavenly Father.

But there were also agents of the Father in the room, and He was not willing that even one should perish. The very presence of the messengers of light was painful to the seething, dark masses. They flinched away from the searing brilliance, enraged that they had no choice but to comply and allow the dreadful beings among them.

Their snarls hid their anxiety as they watched where their newest adversaries directed their attention. Their upcoming plan was brilliant in its construction, fiendish in its strategy, and massive in scope … so the influx from the Enemy was not surprising. But what did they want with the girl? She was theirs.

They did not know about the prayer.

Hundreds of miles away, a young woman crawled into bed beside her husband, her face grave. He took one look at her and laid down his book.

“Honey … what’s wrong?”

“Do you remember that girl I told you about, the one who dropped out of school a few weeks ago?”

“The cheerleader? Ronnie somebody?”

“Ronnie Hanover. I don’t know why, but I can’t get her out of my mind. I keep thinking about her. I pray for her, but this
feeling
doesn’t go away.”