Red Fox

Gucwa, Vivienne. Snowy Winter Night In New York City. Digital image. Fine Art America. Fine Art America, 11 Feb. 2014. Web. 11 Dec. 2015.

“You can do this. They hired you because you are capable. You’re unique and they need you. You don’t need them, they need you,” she murmured to herself as she applied Chanel #2 lipstick. It was a deep red, the kind that made her feel empowered and sly.  She rummaged through her closet and pulled out a shimmery silver gown and a pair of black heels. She curled her hair loosely and pulled it to one side. If Hollywood Glamour were a person, it would be Rosie Thorne.

On that December evening, Rosie Thorne was walking the streets of Manhattan only wearing her shimmery silver gown. Sure, it was cold, but it was a sacrifice she made for beauty. She dialed a number into a cramped phone-booth, “Yeah, it’s Red Fox. I’m on my way to his home. Stay near 72nd and stay alert.”

She walked down 72nd street, a more reserved area clustered with apartment buildings. She waited across the street, watching apartment building #42, waiting for him to come out.  The snow was gently sprinkling down on the dimly lit street. Rosie watched as the lights turned off in one apartment, hoping it was his. He walked out of the apartment building, engrossed in his phone. He had dark curly hair and wore a tan peacoat and a plaid scarf-- typical winter wear in Manhattan.

Rosie prepared herself to put on a show. She made it a point to look casual. She crossed the street, looking at her feet and bumped into him “accidentally.” He jumped, dropping his phone.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” Rosie said, grabbing his shoulder. The man bent down to pick up his phone.

“No, no its no prob--” His sentence was cut off, as if the words were sucked into the air. He stared at her, marvelling like she was a painting from the Renaissance era.

“It’s really nothing, I, um, aren’t you cold?” He stuttered. “Why do you have no coat, it’s -5 degrees!” His cheeks were red and the glasses resting on his head were fogged up.

“I was mugged, my coat had my phone, my money and my car keys! They didn’t even have the decency to leave me my winter coat,” She scoffed. Rosie was quite the actress.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” he said pitifully. He removed his coat and gently placed it on her shoulders, “Do you, do you need to make a phone call?” His arm extended to her, with the phone in hand.

“Um, I’m just going to text someone,” he nodded his head as she typed her message, “Got him, only enter when I give the signal. Don’t reply.-- Red Fox,” she pressed send, and deleted the message, standard procedure for her.

“Thank you so much, you’ve been such a babe.” Rosie said, giving a stroke to his arm and handing him the coat before she started to slowly walk away. His mouth opened to say something, but he pressed his lips together and didn’t respond.C’mon, C’mon, invite me inside or ask me for dinner, please. She could feel his eyes on her back, watching her walk away ever so slowly.

“Hey,” he called, Rosie froze.  “You can’t go walking around New York like that, it’s too cold and dangerous. I can give you a ride home or you could stay for some tea??” Rosie spun around a keen sparkle in her eyes. Mission almost accomplished.

“I don’t want to impose, you’ve been so kind…” Rosie played with her hair, giving him doe eyes. His breathing hitched, “No, honestly, it’s my pleasure.”

“Tea sounds great.” Rosie grinned and followed him up the worn stairs of his apartment complex.

He handed her a cup of tea as they stared into his burning fireplace in silence. It was a small loft area but it was cozy and welcoming, something she wouldn’t expect from a person like him.

“What’s your name?” He said sheepishly, breaking the silence. She looked at him to see the fire reflecting in his eyes.

“Rosie Thorne. Your name is Adrian Lavan, right?” Shit. I wasn’t supposed to know that. Adrian eyed her uncomfortably, “How’d you know that?”

“Oh, um, I accidentally opened your Facebook when I was texting from your phone. I’m not creepy, I promise.” Rosie feigned a laugh. She may not be creepy, but she sure is a liar. Adrian nodded hesitantly.

You don’t have time for small talk Rosie, just do it already. Rosie inhaled, fixing her posture. She placed her hand on the Adrian’s neck, scooting closer to him. He froze, turning to her. She looked straight into his eyes and leaned in, ready to complete her job for the night. He closed the gap between them and they kissed slowly, passionately. Rosie opened her eyes as they kissed, focusing on his forehead. Just extract the thoughts. Rosie concentrated hard, furrowing her eyebrows. She felt the memories oozing into her conscious, at first blurry but then suddenly very, very clear.

A woman in the corner. Brown hair, her mascara smudged and tears pouring down her face. A gun in his hand, “You are not leaving me dammit! Clara, you can’t leave me, I love you.” He said as his body trembled. He raised the gun, Clara begging him not to do it, “I’ll stay baby, please, put the gun down! Please! I won’t talk to Kristoff ever again! Please, Adrian. Put the gun down, you’re not in your right mind.” A loud bang. A trickle of blood rolling down her forehead and nose. Her eyes were half open, the bullet leaving a hole in the center of her forehead. He dropped the gun, his vision fuzzy from panic. He went over to check her pulse, blood dripped onto his hand. That’s when Adrian pulled away. His breathing heavy, he looked down at his hand and back at Rosie. That's when Rosie knew, he relived the memory, his most repressed thoughts were free once again, and Rosie had experienced them. His eyes were filled with tears. Adrian got up and started pacing, “You need to leave, get out. Now!”

“What’s wrong Adrian?” She asked stalling and still in shock from what she just saw. Rosie reached into her dress and pressed the button sewn into her bra, the signal for backup. They’ll be here soon, just stall him.

“Nothing, I just remembered I have to do something, you need to go. I’m glad I could help, but you need to get out. Call a taxi or something.” His hands were trembling and he kept scratching the area where the blood dripped a few months ago. He walked over to his desk and opened the drawer. Where are they? Rosie tried to peer over his shoulder, he picked up something black, plastic. That better not be a gun. Just as Adrian started to turn with the black object in his hand, they stormed in, “Hands up! Drop anything in your hands! Get down on the ground, I said get down on the ground!” Adrian was pushed to his knees and cuffed by three men in FBI vests and hand-guns. “Anything you say or do will be held against you in the court of law!”

“Thank you Special Agent Red Fox. Who would’ve thought we needed to hire a mind-reader to make-out with our suspects to retrieve information.” The director chuckled. “Oh, Special Agent, you’re going need to come in to the station tonight to tell us what you saw. I had a gut feeling it was him.”  The director winked. Rosie smiled and slipped on an FBI jacket, following her colleagues to the van. On that December night, another murderer was caught, a Christmas gift to Manhattan from Red Fox.