The Stranger, Mark Ayre [microsoft ebook reader .TXT] 📗

The anger rushed over Abbie in an uncontrollable burst. Dropping her cutlery, she clenched her hands into fists and smashed the table.

It was after the lunch rush. The cafe wasn't busy. The six pairs of eyes with which she shared the space turned her way. Most just gawked, a couple began whispering, wondering who she was. Questioning if this stranger might not be crazy.

Maybe she was. She had to be, didn't she? Only an idiot would keep the black book somewhere it could so easily be stolen. Only a fool would have bought the black book in the first place. Only a complete moron would note down what she had noted down—all those names.

Abbie almost thumped the table again. Stopped herself. Forced herself to pick up her cutlery and take more deep breaths.

After taking a second bite and a third, she put down the cutlery and took another deep breath.

What was done was done—no way to change the past, only to make amends in future. Travis was a dumb teen. He would not keep the bag for long. Try not to think about it.

So what now?

Retaking the cutlery, Abbie found she was able to eat with a natural rhythm. As she ate, she considered her situation.

As she saw it, she had several problems or considerations.

1. Eddie. The reason she was here in the first place. His life was in danger, and although she had her suspicions, she didn't yet know who was going to kill him. She certainly didn't know why. She suspected the only way to find that out would be to discover why Francis had wanted Danny dead.

2. Francis. After rendering unconscious two of his thugs, Abbie would be off Francis' Christmas card list. At the least. As Christmas was almost a year away, Francis would want to find a punishment that could hurt Abbie far sooner than could the Christmas card snub.

3. Travis. He had both her bag and the bag Francis wanted. As a preference, Abbie would get hold of the wife's bag before Francis. As a must, she would get back her bag before anyone else got a look at it.

4. Michael. Abbie had been taken with the boy. She wanted to help him. As much as she wished that wasn't so, it was—nothing she could do about that.

That was more problems than she would like, and that was before Abbie considered how Kline and Ronson might react when they woke. Hopefully, before she left town, they would be in no position to seek revenge.

Four problems, but you could only be in one place at once. Letting your focus split could be fatal. It was essential to pick a lane and go with it.

Easy, in this case. Abbie had made her call regarding Michael and could do nothing until she heard back. In the meantime, he should be okay. She'd told him to steer clear of Travis, and, seeing as Francis knew Travis had the bag, there was no reason for the criminal to go after Michael.

Travis could also wait. He had Abbie’s bag. There was nothing of great value in there except for the black book, and that offered no value to him except via what Abbie was willing to give to get it back. That meant he would come to her. That meant he could wait.

Similar story with Francis. Despite the fact she suspected he was at the centre of what had happened to Danny and what would happen to Eddie, there was no chance she was going to launch an assault against him. Not without proof. She didn't know where he was anyway. Because of Ronson and Kline, he would likely come to her. She would stay alert, ready. She would wait and put thoughts of Francis on the back burner for now.

Abbie finished her lunch, having cut her list down to one item. Eddie. The one person who was hoping he didn't see her again was the person she would have to visit. He wouldn't like it. He blamed her for Danny's death, but she would have to convince him she'd had nothing to do with that. She needed more information if she was going to have a chance of saving his life.

He wouldn’t want to listen to her.

She would just have to make him.

Thirteen

It was gone half three by the time Abbie arrived at Eddie’s place. The evening of what could be his final full day on Earth was fast approaching, and he didn’t even know it.

Over the last few years, Abbie’s dreams had shown her the faces of many men and women scheduled for death within 48 hours of the time she woke, which was always midnight. More often than not, she succeeded in saving the life of the face from her dream. Occasionally, she failed. It seemed a shame that, if Eddie was to die, he would spend his last hours grieving his brother. Abbie was determined her success and not her failure count would rise tomorrow.

Parking the car across Eddie’s driveway, Abbie stepped out and moved up the drive. This was always difficult. She never saw the face of the person who would kill her victims. Even if she had, she would never take them out ahead of their murder attempt. Her prophetic dreams were never wrong. Even so, she would not punish or execute a person for a crime they had yet to commit. This was not The Minority Report.

The door was closed. Locked but not double-locked. Abbie could have broken in but didn’t want to compound on the grievances, imagined or genuine, Eddie held against her. She knocked and waited.

Eddie answered. His face was red, and his eyes sore. Though his cheeks were now dry, it could not have been too long since he had stopped crying.

Upon opening the door, Eddie looked straight at Abbie, but at first, did not seem able to comprehend who she was. Grief had blurred his vision. When it cleared, when he saw her, anger flared in