Summer's End

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee was making a brave show of it, leaning nonchalantly against the wall of a building while a nearby mother held her children closer after catching sight of the mutant. But when the limo drove up and the door opened, it only took her a moment (after gawking with surprise) to decide to accept the ride.

"Sure, thanks." Aimee jogged over and ducked inside the car, sliding onto the soft leather seat. It was blissfully air conditioned. "You're going by the Lewinski's?"

[Mrs. Smith]

"I am now."

Her gaze lifted, meeting the eyes of the driver reflected in the rear-view mirror, and with a nod they were on their way. Though it was a dramatic substitute for any city bus, the Bentley itself wasn't overly ostentatious; stretched just enough to accomodate two pairs of seats with plenty of leg room. Perfect for meetings on the move.

"We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Mrs. Smith, Mr. Lewinski's personal assistant."

She had skin like milk and stone, with blood-red lips and a crown of sleek chocolate coils. She sat like a statue, in an immaculate ivory sheath dress, and studied the girl opposite with feline curiosity. She smiled again.

"And you're Aimee, Jim's friend from California. How do you do?"

[Aimee Connors]

The woman was gorgeous, and Aimee felt bad that her first thought was that Jim's dad was probably banging his secretary. Just look at her! Of course, Aimee was feeling biased against Jim's mom, who made it through the day with the help of a bottle of wine and with barely veiled contempt for mutants. Well, not her precious Jim, of course, who was just gifted.

She smiled. "I'm doing great, actually. Thanks for the ride."

[Mrs. Smith]

"Yes, you look well," she said, with a nod of agreement, "Glad to be home, I expect."

She regarded the young teenager in a playful sort of way, like a cat with a spool of string: head canted, eyes heavily-lidded, and a sing-song quality to her voice. It then occured to her that there was a chance her latest remark could be misconstrued, and her sculpted eyebrows gave a leap as she said:

"Here, in New York, of course," and the smile returned, "Is it just like the good old days?"

[Aimee Connors]

She was mostly staring out the window, but she glanced at Mrs. Smith. "Yes, and no. Kind of 'the more things change, the more they stay the same.'" Aimee felt happy, and didn't really notice how the other woman was looking at her. "Sort of a relief, to be honest."

[Mrs. Smith]

"I'm not surprised at all. Not after your ordeal."

Mrs. Smith's expression softened, and she watched Aimee with concern as she once again became distracted by the view beyond the window. She then rolled her eyes at the teenager's absolute failure to be even remotely engaging. A change of approach was in order. Reflecting the girl's sight-seeing reverie, Mrs. Smith stared absently out of her own window at the passing city. The bleak panorama of projects had been left behind, and in their place sprouted towering office buildings and shopping centres with glass faces. Lightly, she drummed her fingernails on the seat leather as she mused aloud.

"It must be nice to get away from all that. No more gangs. No more riots. No more Cameron."

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee nodded absently, and then went still. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears and she felt her extremities get shaky before she consciously processed what the woman had said. She'd said Cameron.

She looked at Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide. "Wh-what did you say?"

[Mrs. Smith]

"I can see I now have your undivided attention," she said with great satisfaction.

Back to business, then. Mrs. Smith crossed her legs, clasped her hands over a knee, and resumed her attentive appraisal of the quiet purple girl. When she next addressed Aimee, there was a slight flavour of the school teacher in her tone:

"Aimee. What is it you think I do?"

[Aimee Connors]

"I don't know. You work for Jim's dad." Aimee made an effort to not look like a wide eyed kid, taking a deep breath. "Secretary?"

[Mrs. Smith]

"Joe Lewinski deals with new people everday. These people are moderately smart, invariably wealthy, and each of them, without exception, have secrets. I am Mr. Lewinski's keeper of secrets."

The revelation, vague though it was, came accompanied with a devilish grin. Mrs. Smith's eyes were bright with mischief. It was fun to be forward when one's ways were so often cloaked in false smiles and empty laughter. She could see, however, that her cryptic words were making the girl feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she was enjoying herself too much. Suddenly, the smile evaporated, she leaned forward a fraction and spoke candidly.

"My business is information. My business is Mr. Lewinski's business. It is not a stretch then to imagine that a son's business is also his father's," she paused to assess Aimee's reaction, "You do see what I'm getting at?"

[Aimee Connors]

She nodded, slowly. "So you've investigated me." Aimee could feel the sweat starting to prickle on her back despite the air conditioning in the car. "Um." Her stomach felt like it was dropping to her feet.

[Mrs. Smith]

"Oh, don't be like that," she pouted, "I was merely looking after Mr. Lewinski's interests. You didn't think a man with his kind of money and power would allow his only son to go galivanting across the country without some form of insurance? Of course not."

Mrs. Smith gave a sweeping gesture, punctuated with a huff of disbelief, as if spying on strangers was a perfectly acceptable way to behave. She gave Aimee a concerned frown. The deer-in-headlights look was becoming as tedious as the conversation.

"There's really no need to be afraid, Aimee. I know you. You're a good person. It's why I wanted to talk to you."

[Aimee Connors]

"Okay," Aimee smiled hesitantly, still not feeling it. "And you want to talk about... my ex?" The Cameron name drop was dominating her imagination, and she was having trouble figuring out what exactly was going on.

[Mrs. Smith]

"No. And I don't imagine you want to talk about him, either."

Aimee's question had taken her by surprise, and it took a beat of silence to shake it off thereafter. A finger traced the smooth walnut veneer until it found a small control panel; with the push of a button, the driver's compartment was segregated by a pane of tinted glass. Their privacy renewed, Mrs. Smith straightened in her seat, and lifted a briefcase onto her lap. It opened with a click.

"Last night, a shipment of pharmaceuticals was stolen from our port to the value of two million dollars, and I would like you to help us get it back."

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee didn't want to embarrass herself by asking any more dumb questions, but after Mrs. Smith dropped her next bombshell she couldn't help herself.

"Me?" she squeaked. "Don't you have insurance and private investigators and ...the police?"

[Mrs. Smith]

"Yes, yes, and thrice yes, but do you not think it would be lax of me if I did not explore every avenue of investigation?"

While she spoke, she removed papers from the briefcase, and clutched them to her chest. These she offered to Aimee. They were stills taken from the security feed at the docks, in which the thieves appeared to be scarcely more than pixelated phantoms as they loaded the crates into a plain white van. A feat, according to the timestamps, that was accomplished within two minutes. Mrs. Smith remained silent as the purple teen cycled through the photographs, and once she was done, it was evident she had questions.

"The security footage has been reviewed by both the police and our own security division. The loss itself is covered by our insurance, but the money is of no concern to Mr. Lewinski. This is the second such robbery in a month and, as you can see, these people know what they are doing. If they strike again, the company's reputation will be stake."

She accepted the photographs and sealed them away inside the briefcase.

"You have questions."

[Aimee Connors]

"Yeah. I don't see how I have any...skills that are going to help you with this," she said, then added, "No offense."

Were they near Jim's neighborhood yet? Could she just jump out of the car? Aimee shrugged at Mrs. Smith, the nearly useless photos in her hand. "I mean, I'm not really in the bad guy catching business."

[Mrs. Smith]

"It is not your skills I am interested in," she said, easing back into the soft supple leather.

"Merely your connections."

[Aimee Connors]

Her brain quickly hopped from that comment to Troy's change in fortunes, and while she didn't want to believe it her stomach flip-flopped. "My friends. You think they're involved in... a heist?"

Aimee looked at the photos again, as if it would make them less pixelated. "We never did anything like this before." She already knows this, doesn't she. "We were just trying to survive."

[Mrs. Smith]

Mrs. Smith, despite her best efforts, smiled with amusement, "No, Aimee. I don't think your friends are a highly-organised fraternity of criminals."

But how quickly she had been to make that connection. In all likelihood it had been nothing more than a knee-jerk display of loyalty, but something had sparked the girl's suspicion in the first place. Regardless of her brewing thoughts, Mrs. Smith maintained appearances, and her warmth. Then, with one finger raised in emphasis, she added:

"But they would provide me with an ear-to-the-ground, which is something I am sorely lacking."