Chapter 12: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Twelve

I’m awoken by the irritating sound of my alarm. I reach over hitting the snooze button with more force than is necessary as if I’m taking out a vendetta on the alarm. Which in a way, I am. I hate alarms. They are unnatural. We should wake up when our body is ready to and no sooner, but I have work to do. Forcing myself to sit up I give myself a good stretch,  warming my muscles up. 

My New York apartment is pretty basic, far more on the simplistic side compared to my home in Moldova. My bedroom just consists of an emerald satin king-size bed, navy blue walls, one black nightstand, a floor-to-ceiling window covered by a forest green curtain and a simple black double-door wardrobe. 

Getting up I step out and walk past the laundry and straight into my bathroom. I take off my nightshirt and slip into the shower turning the water to warm. Today I start researching everything I need and don’t need to know about Alec Lowell and even Peyton Grigoras. It’s tedious but necessary, so I need my brain active. 

Once I’ve washed, I switch the water to cold, gasping as the frigid water hits my now warm skin, shocking my body. The light, sleepy haze that was still over me is now completely gone as my body tries to fight off the cold water. It’s not pleasant, but it does the trick. It’s nothing compared to the mornings growing up when Mum would wake me for training by dousing me in ice water. If you thought my dad’s wakeups were bad, my mum’s were torturous. Once I feel alert, I step out of the shower and dry off before brushing my teeth. I tie my hair up in my towel and then grab the nightshirt I wore last night and put it back on, because do I give a shit?

I step into my open-plan living area, which again is boringly basic. L-shaped kitchen, dark grey walls, charcoal grey carpet, black suede sectional facing a 32” plasma TV, and a black glass coffee table between. Glass sliding doors make up the right wall and open into a decent-sized glass railing balcony. It could easily fit a seating area, but I don’t plan on entertaining guests here. 

I make my way to the kitchen and go about making egg on toast while pouring myself a glass of vegetable juice. I don’t drink coffee, but if I did, I’d never drink it first thing in the morning. Having coffee in the morning to wake yourself up is one of the worst things you can do for yourself. It messes with your brain’s natural ability to produce serotonin and is why most people find themselves becoming tired and lethargic by lunchtime. I always need to be at one hundred per cent when I’m working. Plus, I hate the smell and taste. It’s utterly vile. How do people stomach it?

Once my breakfast is ready, I walk over and sit on the floor in front of the coffee table and fire up my laptop. First I look into Alec Lowell’s basic information and so far so boring. Born 02/07/1993 at Massachusetts General Hospital to Margret and Simon Lowell. Graduated Excel High School and then attended Bunker Hill Community College, which he dropped out of. Who drops out of community college? That’s just sad.

After getting into the police database, I find his police record. Considering he works as a supplier I’m not surprised to find he has a rap sheet; in fact, it would be weird if he didn’t. Charges for racketeering, money laundering and possession of illegal and stolen property. Not too bad for a twenty-eight-year-old. I get his address and look it up on Google Maps to memorise the route to get there. Easy enough. 

As I’m making notes in a document, while taking screenshots and saving them to a folder, I can’t help but note something off about all his information. It was all too easy to find. Not to put down any of my hacking or investigative work, but even by my standards, this feels too easy. Like everything is just ready for me in a nice little bow. Electronic trails aren’t hard to find if you know what you’re looking for but following them is a lot like doing random searches on YouTube. One minute you’re watching the latest music video smash hit, the next you’re watching splinter removal videos. Electronic trails tend to lead to detours and so you end up with a lot of unexpected information, but that hasn’t happened in this case. Everything is just there and ready for me. His trail is too neat, and I don’t like it. So I decide to switch my focus and look further into Peyton Grigoras, intending to be more thorough than my initial search. 

After an hour of research, I’m officially irritated as hell. Much like my search into Lowell, my search into Grigoras is proving to be incredibly convenient and I’m not getting anything useful. He has no criminal record, though I can see that the authorities have been looking into his shipping activities for quite some time, but they haven’t found anything substantial to warrant an arrest. Downsides to operating within the law, you have to follow the rules and sometimes following the rules actually prevents justice from being served. 

My next step will be to look into their banking activities and hopefully, I’ll find any secret accounts they have. Money always talks and being that Grigoras no doubt is in charge of a number of shady dealings, I’m sure he has numerous offshore accounts. I just have to find them, and any Lowell may have. If Lowell did work for Grigoras then there should be a money trail between the two. 

I decide to make a phone call while I continue to look into the matter. The phone answers after the first ring.

“Everything alright, sweet pea?” Marcel asks. 

I smile at his concern. “Everything is just fine. I’m going to be in New York for the rest of the month probably. There’s nothing for you to do, so how about you take the jet back home and then have it brought back to me?” I suggest. He’s quiet on the other end for a moment and I swear I can hear him frowning.

“I think it would be better if I stay,” he declares.

“You would have absolutely nothing to do and that’s time you could spend with Vivienne, or you could even visit Dad and Mum. Go home, Marcel. I’ll call for you if I need you, I promise,” I tell him forcefully. 

He sighs, “You promise to send for me if you need me?” he asks with equal force.

“I give you my word,” I vow.

“Fine. I’ll return home and have the jet sent back. Don’t let anything happen to yourself,” he warns.

“Yes, sir,” I grin as I hang up.

********************

Yesterday’s research was useless and maddening. Sure, everything was detailed but nothing interesting stood out. Trust me when I say, that when dealing with two criminals, there are always interesting skeletons to be found. But these guys have none, which I find suspicious. So today, I’ve decided to go right to the source. 

I’m sitting in my car outside Lowell’s apartment building, waiting for him to come out. I just need him to leave for a few minutes so I can go in and have a look around. I’ve been sitting for two, boring hours when thankfully, I see him step out of the building. I was worried I’d have to sit here for days. Even from across the street and through tinted windows this man looks delicious. He’s 6’3” – so he’d tower over me – he’s wearing a grey sweatshirt with a hoodie; navy blue jeans and sneakers and his eyes are glued to his phone. Nothing about him screams criminal and something about his posture seems… anxious? Even though he’s covered up, I can tell he’s toned just from his muscular neck and his firm ass being showcased in those jeans. Really will be such a shame to kill him.

I wait till he’s a block away before I get out of the car, casually stroll across the street, and enter his building. The lobby looks rather nice, white marble floors, white walls, and a single seating area. No doorman. Good for me, bad for him, and after a quick glance, no security cameras either. What kind of underworld supplier lives in a place that’s so easily accessible? 

I make my way up the stairs to the second floor of the five-story building, and walk down the hallway looking for 2D, finding it quickly. I press my ear to the door to listen for anyone else who may be in the apartment. When I’m satisfied I hear nothing, I pull my lock pick kit from my back pocket and get to work. With an insert here, a jiggle there and a turn, the door opens. I put the kit back in my back pocket and let myself in. 

The apartment is small. Functional, but small. Simple sofa, coffee table, and a decent TV by the door. Two windows on the left-hand wall with the world’s worst view of the building next door. Open kitchen area to the right and a small round dining table and chairs in front of it. There’s one door opposite the front door and I assume that leads to the bedroom and bathroom. The first thing I notice about this place is it reminds me a lot of my apartment. It doesn’t look lived in. I travel all the time and permanently reside in Moldova, so obviously, my other properties go unused for most of the year. What’s his excuse?