In the Blood Read Free

He’d kiss her image goodnight at the end of every day, and she’d watch over him from the bedside table as he slept.   That’s what he liked to think she had in mind, but who knows?   He didn’t even know his date of birth; not that birthdays ever meant much.   They were just a sore reminder to him that, while he seemed perfectly adept at finding connections for other families, he just wasn’t good enough to find his own.  

    He shook his head to dispel the memories and collected his things from the table: pad, pen, the incomplete chart.   “It’s just a plane,” he told himself as he stuffed everything into a shabby leather briefcase that was as travel-worn as his suit.   But he could already feel the sweat glands in his palms getting to work.   He rose to leave, taking a last gulp of coffee and helping himself to a chocolate pastry to cheer himself up.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    T he rushing sound coming from the circular vents above him told Jefferson Tayte that he was getting all the air American Airlines would allow.   He twisted at them some more, just to be certain.   Then he checked his seat belt again, knowing it was as tight as he could bear it.   It was creasing his second linen suit that day, this one a shade paler than the last.
    A brief sleep in the passenger seat of his Torch Red, 1955 Ford Thunderbird had barely refreshed him, but he was used to it.   4.8 litres of V8 muscle with manual three-speed overdrive.   He’d had the car since he started pulling paychecks, and even if it was on its third reconditioned engine, for all its faults he absolutely loved it.   Running on whitewall tires with a white hardtop and enough chrome to shame a custom Harley, it looked a little ostentatious when he pulled up to see a client, but he didn’t care.   That car was his only family.
    A suitcase nearly as shabby as his briefcase was testament to a lifestyle of stopovers at cheap motels, imposing a diet of fast food and a snacking habit that had contributed to his appearance over the years.   Travelling prepared had at least saved him the trip back to DC to pick up a flight, and a few provisions from the shopping lounge at Boston’s Logan International Airport had serviced any needs his suitcase couldn’t provide for.   He even carried a valid passport.   He figured always having one with him meant he could go anywhere in the world if he wanted to, even if he had no intention of using it.
    Looking around the cabin he noticed it was half empty and wondered what the absent passengers knew that he didn’t.   Then the thing happened that he’d been trying to avoid.   He caught the eyes that had been drilling into the side of his head from the window seat since he’d first sat down.
    The woman’s voice suddenly burst the air, like she’d been holding her breath all this time, waiting to get an introduction out.   “Hi, I’m Julia - Julia Kapowski. ”   Her voice was nasal with a grating edge, and she hung onto her words as though afraid to let them go again until she’d thought of something else to say.   She was grinning childishly, like she was meeting someone famous and was their all-time greatest fan.
    Tayte twitched in his seat, recoiling intuitively.   Her accent was easy to place.   New York City, he thought.   Queens - maybe Brooklyn.   A hand shot across the empty seat.   It was connected to the widest smile he’d ever seen and he was thankful for the space between them.   He shook the hand and offered an uncomfortable nod.   “JT,” he said.
    The woman wriggled in her seat.   “J...   T...”   She repeated his initials slowly, as though buying herself time to work out what they stood for.   “Well...   The mysterious kind!”
    Mysterious?   Tayte thought she’d never finish the word.   I really don’t need this.   His lips tightened, saying nothing to provoke further conversation, but she was off.
    “You know, you look a lot like my last