The Meeting
“Miss Ness, if you have any plans for today, cancel them. FBI’s making a deal with Fisk, and he wants you to be there to run some...errands. Come by the Presidential Hotel, the penthouse. We’re expecting you in half an hour. Be there.” Donovan’s voice was gruff over the receiver as it reached Ophelia’s ear, and the line went dead before she could protest to him of how busy her day was going to be at the Scene Contempo Gallery.
Sighing deeply and telling her employees that she’d call them when her meeting with a “last minute client” ceased, she thought about how was actually looking forward to seeing Fisk due to detecting his name in every news channel and paper in Hell’s Kitchen. Grabbing her trench coat, she headed out and wasn’t shocked to see a large black SUV with Fisk’s name practically written all over it. She smiled sweetly at the driver who was dutifully waiting outside to open her door, and as she got in, the back of her thighs flinched at the coldness of the leather seats. With all these technological advances, she figured they would install seat warmers for back seats in this day and age, but in the grand scheme, it was a temporary pain she managed with the occasional shift in her own discontent.
Later, her mind was occupied on what she would say to Fisk since this will be the first time she’s officially seen him since Vanessa, his girlfriend and her best friend, had to flee. Sure, there were inbetweeners they communicated through, but a face to face? God, Ophelia thought, this must be important to him if he needs to see me for this. What errands need to be done? I haven’t done his bidding in so long…
“Miss, we are here.” She looked up to see the taunting gold letters plastered at the front of the “Presidential Hotel” and gathered her things impatiently. The eagerness to discover Fisk’s fate for her was menacing, but due to the upstanding loyalty Vanessa ensured for her, she kept a calm and steady pace as she traversed to the not-so-secret entrance. The riots for Fisk’s deal with the FBI were getting out of control, and the yelling was soon directed towards Ophelia as she was being sandwiched between agents.
-
“Well, Fisk, if you want me to pick up some paintings today, shouldn’t I get an FBI escort?” Ophelia interjected as the negotiation came to a close.
“Ahh, yes.” He began in a slow matter-of-fact tone, “Miss Ness may be in danger due to her coming here... Agent Nadeem, can you spare an agent to ensure her safety?” Fisk inquired to the tense agent sitting across from him, “It’s an innocent life; it’s I you may distrust, but Miss Ness is just a curator with no record if that’s what concerns you.”
Agent Nadeem curiously eyed the seemingly out-of-place woman before he made a decision, “Just picking up paintings?” She nodded and smiled at the men surrounding and staring intently at her.
“I’ll need to talk to Fisk about the paintings we’ll be getting if that’s not too much trouble. I don’t know if you want to waste all that time listening to art talk--”
“Special Agent Poindexter will accompany you.” Nadeem interrupted.
“Who?”
Nadeem motioned to the agent that stood at his side; Poindexter’s quiet and intimidating demeanor was particularly unsettling to Ophelia for the duration of the meeting, and so a shiver traveled down her spine as she evaluated the likelihood of an uncomfortable afternoon. Fisk’s lawyers left along with the other agents. So as the room cleared, she proudly extended a dainty hand to greet the agent she’d be spending the day with in hopes that he wouldn’t see the fear beneath her ever-cracking facade.
“Nice to meet you, Special Agent Poindexter, I hope you don’t mind waiting for me and Fisk to catch up.”
He dismissed the offering of her fragile handshake and firmly stated, “Yeah, be quick.”
-
“Vanessa would absolutely love these.” Ophelia looked proudly at the much smaller paper copies of paintings they had decided on, hoping that she would approve of their choices.
Fisk smiled shyly and grumbled happily to himself, “Yes. Indeed.” His gaze shifted to the annoyed soon-to-be escort and spoke proudly to the curator, “Special Agent Poindexter won’t let you come into harm’s way. He... saved my life.” The agent scoffed, but his eyes met Fisk’s and lingered as she began to pack her many documents they had been discussing in her manila folders.
Ophelia’s chair legs scraped harshly against the floor and seemingly echoed as it sounded throughout the penthouse. The room fell to a deafening silence in response to her brisk action, and she began to follow her escort, who was already walking out upon her loudness. Heels clicking, she began to tell him the address to their first destination.
-
“This is our last stop,” Ophelia told the quite bored agent, who was following suit with not quite the same eagerness she has. “So once we’re done here, you can go back to whatever duties you’ve got. I could imagine that would include watching Fisk like the caged up animal he is right now.”
“You sure love to tread on a fine line, Ness.”
“Just calling it how I see it, Poindexter.”
Balling her fist and knocking the first pattern that came to her head, the door opened instantaneously, “Esther Falb, may we come in?”
“On what grounds?” She eyed the FBI agent cautiously before returning her eyes to the inquisitive woman before her.
“There is a painting you may have bought not too long ago that belonged to someone that would like to buy it back.”
“Take off your shoes. I have many paintings. Some negotiable and others... non-negotiable.”
Unstrapping her heels and leaving them in the vestibule beside the agent’s own black dress shoes, she realized how exhausted the day has made her. Agent Poindexter didn’t protest Esther’s rituals, and an extravagantly-placed clock struck 6.
Ophelia hung her trench coat on one of the little hooks Esther displayed on the only wall that didn’t have a massive painting showcased. Esther’s own coat hung neatly beside the hook Ophelia chose; Poindexter adjusted his blazer uncomfortably and led the conversation, “so, uh, we’re here for a painting…What’s it called aga—?”
“Rabbit in a Snowstorm.” She proudly interrupted the agent. The two visitors studied the older woman as she tucked a gray strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat.
“You are—Both of you are here because of Fisk? This painting was stolen from my family first, and this just happens to one of the non-negotiables. I’m sorry but you two are wasting your breaths for that man…” She got up briskly and walked towards the door, grabbing Ophelia’s trench coat.
“Ma’am, is this the painting?” The agent turned to the rather large white canvas that held precise and intricate little markings and designs in the whiteness, and he looked expectantly at the two women.
“Yes Agent Poindexter, it’s truly a wonder to look at, no?” The curator spoke in admiration, reveling in the memories the painting has brought her in the past.
“Looks like a whole lotta white to me. Hell, I could—“ Ophelia nudged the agent lightly in the ribs and chimed in, “this piece means so much to my client. It’s practically their love story… Please, any price you could ever dream of, we can give you. You could be set for life, Ms. Falb.”
“Over my dead body. Leave.” She pointed at her door as it swung open.
“No, but—“
“That’s final.”
The curator shot the agent an intimidating stare and dragged him by his arm out to the vestibule. Grabbing her coat from Ms. Falb, she shrugged it on once she was successfully outside with her escort beside her.
“Agent, why were you sabotaging me?” She began marching off to where he left the car.
“That asshole doesn’t deserve to look at that painting, despite its blandness, in his penthouse, surrounded by luxury with a reminder of his supposed love story . Miss Ness, you seem like a smart woman, so why in the hell would you willingly check off things from his wish list?”
“You don’t understand, agent. I’m a curator and a friend of Fisk and Vanessa; I’m doing my job. You need to do yours a little better from what I’ve seen today.”
He chuckled and put his hand to his mouth, rubbing his chin amused, “You don’t— Wait, I hear something.” He lifted his finger in the air and paused to listen.
“Lame excuse to—“
He interrupted her, “Jesus, do you ever just—” His finger wavered in the air and he was close to his breaking point.
“Just what?” She raised her voice. The agent quickly wrapped his arms around her shoulders and clasped his hand over her mouth. The muffling of her voice was hardly audible, much to his pleasure.
The same moment the agent lept towards the ground, Ophelia underneath him, and glass shattered behind them, a single bullet shot through it. A shops’ alarms rang and the agent slowly picked up the woman who fainted upon impact.
-
Regaining consciousness in the agent’s arms, Ophelia was limp and realized the man who was carrying her. She squirmed in his grip in an attempt to shake free.
“Let me go, Poindexter.”
“Sorry I can’t do that… Not until I get you somewhere safe. Do you feel alright?”
“Yeah, just let me walk it off, jeez.”
The agent didn’t hesitate upon this request and let her on her two feet. Her stocking-covered and heel-less feet touched the cold pavement that was a few blocks from the hotel. She flinched noticeably at the pain from the ground and ran her hands briskly over her trench coat that didn’t quite cover the bottom sliver of her dress.
“I’m fine. I have to tell Fisk we didn’t get that last painting.” She wobbled as she walked towards the protesters outside the hotel.
“I should go with you.” He came to her side and wrapped his arm around her for support.
“No, no. I don’t need any more of your help, agent. All due respect, but I can handle Fisk. Besides your work is done for the day. Hang out for all I care.”
A gentle buzz rang in his ears and he wanted to comment on her lack of respect for authority, but he set it aside. He headed to the bar and decided to wait for her until she was done with Fisk.
-
“Rabbit in a Snowstorm?” Ophelia watched the anger come to a slow boil in the man’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Fisk. Someone shot at us, and I just vaguely remember the broken glass and a weight on top of me.”
“And Special Agent Poindexter?”
“I think he saved my life, but I know how much that painting means to you and Vanessa. From my memory, Ms. Falb really didn’t want to part with it. We may have to—“
“We? No, no. I will negotiate. I don’t want to put you further into harm's way again. Vanessa would be very displeased to hear this. You mean a great deal to both of us, now leave.”
-
She took off her trench coat on the elevator ride down after the surprisingly short meeting with Fisk. It wasn’t like he could be too mad at me, she hoped, Vanessa and I are practically sisters. Jesus, I could use a drink.
Fiddling with a button on her trench coat, she took a seat next to a man she didn’t bother to acknowledge. Her mind was preoccupied on how she has completely forgotten to check in on the gallery, but her throat grew dry at the sight of the bar.
“So… how was Fisk?” In her peripheral, the man lifted a drink to his lips and took a small sip.
“I don’t know what you’re—“ She turned to the man she was planning to ignore, and to her surprise, it was her escort from this afternoon and evening.
“Poindexter… Off-duty and drinking.” The barkeep awaited the woman’s order, “Whiskey, neat.”
“You did tell me to ‘hang out’ after all.”
She turned to watch her drink being mixed until the 2 oz of brown liquid was promptly poured in a small glass in front of her. As she took a swig, she watched the man beside her curiously.
He chuckled, “What?” His tone seemed suspiciously defensive, and she took pleasure in his discomfort.
“There is just something off about you. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is or why. It’s entirely fascinating.”
She stared into his hazel eyes that shined with intimidation, yet they were void of any emotion. His voice gave him away perhaps due to the day wearing him out, so he remained silent.
Ophelia took a final swig of her drink and went to pat Poindexter on the shoulder upon getting up from her seat until he grabbed her wrist and halted her actions, “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Of what? One drink and I’m through, huh? It’s just a gesture people do after a long day.” She fished through her pocket and pulled out a $20 bill, “keep the change, pal.”
“How gracious of you, Ness.” He stated mockingly, a smug grin on his face that vanished once she looked back at him.
“You saved my life, so right back at you, Poindexter.”
She went to the hotel’s nearest bathroom and was prepared to flinch at what she expected to find in the mirror. Maybe it was the moody lighting or the slight buzz she had going, but the rings around her eyes looked as if they were a deeper shade of purple than normal.
There were small cuts on her arms as she looked down. The scraping of the cement, she figured, must’ve been a nasty fall. She couldn’t feel the pain quite yet, and she hoped that her endorphins would keep pumping to avoid it all.
She washed the cuts with cool water and couldn’t be bothered to dry them. Realizing she forgot her trench coat at her seat, she left the bathroom.
The agent was chatting with a rather young and attractive red-headed woman. She had similar features to Ophelia, and it was clear from her point of view that she was making him nervous. With occasional sips, he was making light conversation with her, and Ophelia laughed to herself.
She felt like she was stalking him, but she didn’t want to interrupt whatever banter he had going with her. Watching with amusement, she waited until the two walked away from the bar to retrieve her coat.