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It was forty minutes before they were downtown. They’d gone in silence, with Victor doing things on his phone, typing or looking at something else. Silas focused on driving, keeping to the limit for the most part.
Nathan was glad they were distracted. He wasn’t in the mood for talking about anything other than what they were going after.
Eventually, Silas pulled off of the Interstate and they passed Market Street. Tourist season was well over, but there was still activity at bars they passed. As it was Monday, most restaurants closed early, and it was uncomfortably quiet.
Silas parked along a side street in a lane of houses not too far from the tourist streets. Nathan scrubbed at his own face as he readied himself for this. Once the engine was off, the air inside started to chill immediately. It was a cold night. He’d picked up a hoodie on the way out the door, but he wondered if he shouldn’t have grabbed a coat.
They were sitting in front of a three-story home, the colonial style much like the others on the street. It was hard to tell in the dark the exact color, but it was pale, with fancy columns on the porch. The house was narrow, like many homes in downtown Charleston, extending to the back. Old. Worth a bundle. Not as big as Victor’s parents’ house, but a good size.
Victor kept his messenger bag with him and stepped out. Silas and Nathan got out as well and stood on the sidewalk together. Victor checked his phone and then noted the brass numbers nailed to a garden wall.
“This is the place,” Victor said. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and hiked the messenger bag strap onto his shoulder.
“Who is this guy?” Silas asked.
“Outside contact,” Victor said. “An Academy contractor. So we can’t give him too many details, but he should know not to ask too many questions.”
Nathan peered up at the old home, trying not to feel intimidated by the location or who this person was.
Contractors were rare within the Academy. People they trusted to know the Academy existed but couldn’t be part of the Academy itself. Informants, sometimes. People in high places who respected the Academy enough to feed them information or set up what they asked. They earned favors, only they didn’t know. Someone in the Academy kept count for them, and when they needed anything, the Academy did what they could. The Academy always paid back debts.
Contractors were rare, because it was rare anyone wouldn’t try to take advantage of them for their own personal gain. It took time to be sure they could be reliable.
It didn’t mean contractors could be totally trusted. They were the last resort in cases when what you needed was beyond the Academy’s reach. Things involving the police, usually.
Victor took the sidewalk and opened the garden’s low gate. He held it, waiting for Silas and Nathan to follow.
They hurried to the front step. Standing together, Nathan kept his hands in his hoodie pockets while Victor rang the bell. Realizing he probably looked shady as hell, Nathan reached up and threw back his hood to reveal his face just as the door was opening.
A tall man stood inside, peering out at them. He was maybe in his early thirties, and wore a black T-shirt and dark blue jeans and boots. Hispanic features. He cocked an eyebrow and waited. “Who are you?”
“My name is Victor Morgan,” Victor said. He motioned to the others. “This is Silas Korba and Nathan Griffin. We’re from the Academy. We wanted to ask for your help.”
The man analyzed the guys on the porch, not speaking.
“You are Mr. Ramirez, aren’t you?” Victor asked. “The private investigator?”
“It gets a little weird when they send teenagers to my door,” he said as he opened the door further. “Diego Ramirez. You’ve got the right place. Come on in, I guess.”
They stepped in, crowding the entryway. There was a set of closed doors to the right, and to the left, open doors into some type of parlor with fancy couches. There were vases on top of tiny tables that lined the hallway, and a set of stairs twisting up to the second story.
Mr. Ramirez closed the door behind them and walked around the group. He put his hands on his hips and spoke in low tones. “What’s this about? Why didn’t you just call?”
“We can’t,” Victor said. “It’s more for you than us.”
He cocked an eyebrow again, tilting his head. “Just how much trouble are you in?”
“Do you have somewhere secure to talk?” Victor asked. “I can set up something if you need.”
Mr. Ramirez waved him off and motioned for them to follow. They trailed him, bypassing the stairs. He opened a door to the right, an office.
He walked in, going to the desk. Nathan was the last to enter, and he closed the door behind himself. The room was dark, with wood paneling and leather chairs with a couch along one wall.
“Have a seat,” Mr. Ramirez said.
Silas and Nathan took the couch. Victor took the chair that was positioned in front of the desk.
Mr. Ramirez remained standing and leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what’s this about?”
“We need you to talk to some people for us,” Victor said. “We’d do it, but they know our faces. And we need someone who can do this discreetly.”
“And you don’t have anyone else who can do this?” he asked. “I thought that’s what you all did? Isn’t this your whole operation? Finding out information?”
“Who we’re talking about might be monitored by police as well,” Victor said. “We’re a little too close. And we need to stay out at this point.” If he knew about the Academy, he knew anything involved in the police or investigations was a delicate area. The Academy didn’t usually get involved. They chose to deal with things just beyond the laws’ reach, things the police ignored or didn’t have the ability to fix. Sometimes that line crossed, the police needed the Academy and the Academy relied on the police often. But usually once the police became involved, they disappeared.
That’s when a contractor was needed. They went in where the Academy couldn’t. Check in on crime scenes or talk to people. Pass along some information that might be vital to an Academy operation.
Mr. Ramirez bobbed his head shortly once. “Sure. Who am I going to be talking to?”
Victor took out his messenger bag, presenting a couple of dossiers in files he’d put together before they left Nathan’s. He pointed to the top file. “One is this guy. Morris. A teacher at a high school we’re in.”
Mr. Ramirez opened up his file, checking out a photo and details organized across a few pages. He flipped through it. “No criminal history. Looks clean.” He picked his head up and tilted his head curiously. “You say he might be monitored by police? What for?”
“The whole school is in the middle of a...complication. An investigation but nothing too serious yet. And we don’t know how much the police know or if he is monitored. But it’s possible. They are searching for the principal now.”
“And you don’t want me to find this principal?”
“We’re happy to let proper authorities take care of him for now. We just need information. From two people. It’s about something else outside of what the police are looking in on.”
Mr. Ramirez smirked and waved the files at him. “You just don’t want your names mixed in. I see. What do you want to know?”
“Mr. Morris left the school last night in a car with someone else.” Victor pulled his phone out of his pocket. He stood up, showing a bit more confidence in Mr. Ramirez, probably because it sounded like he was being taken seriously. He showed him the video Nathan had seen earlier. “He was there late a couple of days ago. The car you see here, that’s registered to Mr. Morris. We don’t know who the driver is.”
“That’s all you need?” he asked. “The driver?”
“Yes,” Victor said. “The other person in the second file, Mr. McCoy. He may know as well. He arrived at the school a few minutes earlier in a separate car, but we have a feeling he knows who it is inside. Either one of them might give you
more information.”
“That’s all you need?” he asked. “A name?”
“Yes,” Victor said. “That’s all.”
“This might take time. How soon do you need it?”
“Sooner is better,” Victor said. “But no one’s dying.”
“Yet,” Nathan mumbled. He surprised himself with his own muttering.
They turned their attention onto him. Mr. Ramirez cocked his eyebrow again. “What’s this?”
Nathan made a face. “Sorry. I got ran off the road the other day. Long story. It wasn’t Mr. Morris and this person.”
“It’s part of this,” Victor said in a softer tone. “I should probably mention that. Two other people were in a black Jeep stolen from us. Mr. Morris arrived at the school driving it. The police are holding on to it for now. We don’t know if the two sets of people in the vehicles are connected, but we’re trying to find out who picked up Mr. Morris, and also...how he got the Jeep.”
Diego focused his attention on Nathan, slid his gaze to Silas and then to Victor. “Sounds like you’re all in something deep. You’ve got proof he stole your car? Why aren’t you showing the police this?”
“Because we can’t show them.” Victor’s tone darkened. “This is unofficial.”
“Ah,” Mr. Ramirez said. He dropped the files onto his desk and turned to them, crossing his arms over his chest again. “I see. I know I’m not supposed to ask too many questions of you, but this is pretty far out of what I’ve done for you before.”
“We’re ready to help you,” Victor said. “If you ever need something...”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “Sure. But I’m going to need more. If it’s dangerous enough that they are running teenagers off the road, I need to know what I’m risking my life over.”
Victor bobbed his head in a nod. “Fair enough.” He jolted where he stood, suddenly looking at his phone and checking the screen. “Although...it might have to wait.”
