Chapter two of White Fox continues here. In this part of the tale, I describe Renardo's appearance and introduce a new character. Some of the decor in Renardo's home is also detailed. For the first time, the reader gets the chance to see the protagonist's interaction with a close friend.
Sancho licked
his lips and looked at his master inquisitively, hoping for more food. Renardo patted his leg, and the dog came to
him and threw his front paws upon his lap.
“How did Malvin figure out that I was onto him, boy?” he asked, petting
the soft mat of fur on Sancho’s head.
“How could he know? It’s not
like I’ve been running around the city, asking anyone where I can find him. Not until Moustache Man, that is.”
The dog said
nothing. His eyes were set on his
master’s face, as if he were staring into his soul. Renardo’s vision became unclear as he
tunneled into the depths of his thoughts.
“I guess how Malvin knows about me is not that important right now. What’s important is that Doctor Wiles lied to
me, and I know where he teaches. He’s my
only lead. I have to talk to him again,
and this time, I don’t think I’ll be as nice.
Wiles….Heh. Fitting name, don’t
you think?”
Sancho left his
lap and proceeded to wander about the room.
Renardo went to the display case at the back of the room and fiddled
with the knot that tied the white cape to his neck. When it came loose, he opened the case, moved
the curtain aside, and hung the cape up on a hook. “I wish I could have worn the whole thing,”
he said to himself. “It just wasn’t the
right time. Soon enough, though.” Then he returned the display case to the way
it was and walked over to the mirror above Sancho’s bed. His tousled hair, appearing dark brown in the
dim lighting (though it was actually dirty blonde), stretched across his
forehead in long strands. Not far below
rested eyes of blue frost, pale but lively.
His nose and mouth were not his most distinct features, but they fit
well within the square frame of his head.
It had been said of him that he carried a boyish look, as his skin was
light and fair, unblemished by freckle or mole; and he was always
clean-shaven. Below his head protruded
broad shoulders upheld by an athletic build.
He was presently garbed in plain black dress pants, business shoes, and
a sports jacket; the latter was open, exposing a white dress shirt that he wore
beneath it. The cape—which had hung
between the jacket and shirt—had been tucked into his pants, but had come loose
some time during his brawl with Moustache Man.
He sat again at
his desk, deciding that he should book a flight to the Philadelphia
International Airport while the thought was fresh in his mind. He prepared to open a window for the internet
when a loud ring stung the air and caused him to leap in his seat. Someone was at his front door. His heart began to race as he imagined a host
of armed police officers scouring his house and property. Or maybe it was Malvin himself; that would be
far worse. Before Sancho could bark, he
waved a threatening finger in the dog’s direction and repeatedly mouthed the
word, “No.” Sancho stared at him with
seeming defiance, but soon his tension from the sound eased and he returned to
his bed. Renardo clicked something on
his desktop and a window popped up, taking a moment to load. He waited.
The screen went black. Then there
was a gray fuzziness and static, and a live feed of his porch popped onto the
screen. Neither the police nor Malvin
was at the door, but rather a man, who presently peered through the thin
windows on either side of the front door.
The man could
not see anything inside the house, so he rang the doorbell a second time. His foot tapped impatiently on the front
porch as he waited for Renardo to show himself.
A few seconds passed, and he stopped tapping so he could listen for any
sounds coming from within the building.
There was silence. Normally
silence did not bother him, but in this place, hidden away from society and
overwhelmed by grand trees and untamed grass, and centered around an expansive
home of aged craft, it seemed to be magnified.
He rapped on the door with loud strikes and continued to wait. The silence persisted. Finally, he turned from the door and made his
way toward the gothic gate. The moment
his foot touched the stair at the edge of the porch, he heard something slice
through the wind, and then a great force bludgeoned him in the back. He fell forward, onto the cement, but he rose
quickly and whirled toward his attacker.
Renardo stood there, laughing and holding his chest. He walked forward and gave the man a
monstrous bear hug.
“What the hell,
Renardo?” the man exclaimed. “Did you really just jump off your roof and tackle
me?”
“Yeah, I guess I
did.” Renardo had some difficulty containing his laughter. “Did you suspect anything?”
“Of course not!
If I did, you would’ve been the one on the ground!” The man began to laugh as
well.
Renardo released
him and grinned. “So how are you, Nate?”
“Hey, what’d I
tell you, man? I dropped ‘Nate,’ so now I’m ‘Nathan.’ It sounds more adult-like,
remember?”
“Yeah,
whatever.” Renardo rolled his eyes.
“Well, Nate, what brings you
to the neighborhood?”
“Well, we
haven’t talked or anything for the past few weeks, so I wanted to come by and
see how you’re doing. How are you doing, bud?”
Renardo craned
his neck so that he could see over Nathan’s shoulder, noticing the quietness of
the area for the first time. If Malvin
knew about him, he should limit his time spent in open spaces. “We don’t have to hang out here. Come inside! I’ll get you some coffee, and
maybe something stronger, if you want it.”
“I’ll go for the
coffee,” Nathan replied, following his friend up the porch. “Not really in the mood for anything stronger.”
They entered the
finely decorated living room, Renardo glancing discreetly out the window for
unwanted guests as he shut the door without a sound. Most of the living room lay to the left,
filled with a massive rug, a glass coffee table, a couch, a recliner, and a plasma screen
television that was greater in width than either friend was tall. A doorway led to the kitchen on the right,
and a door was located on the left of the room, blocking entrance to the other
side of the house. Facing the front door was a
mocha-brown staircase that spiraled up to the second story. Renardo motioned for Nathan to sit on the
couch and disappeared into the kitchen.
His friend took a seat and looked around, shaking his head. The aura of wealth that the living room
exuded never ceased to amaze him.
“So Renardo…you
didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, admiring the colossal
television. “How the heck are ya?”
“You seem to be
forgetting that I asked you first,” came the distant response from the kitchen,
accompanied by the sound of running water.
“Ok, fine,” said
Nathan with a laugh. “I’m really good,
man. There’s not a whole lot going on,
honestly. I’m just busy with classes and
with not having a girlfriend.”
“Trust me, I
hear you there.” Renardo set the coffee pot in the coffee maker and turned it
on. “The second part, that is.”
“Yeah, I was
gonna say, I don’t think you have the stress of classes anymore,” Nathan
commented, “unless that was a different Renardo Blanchard who graduated with
his master’s degree in engineering and a minor in kinesiology—oh, and managed
to graduate magna cum laude.”
“Heh, you’re a
funny guy.” The coffee maker began to growl.
Renardo came to the doorway and leaned against a wall. “I’m glad you’re doing ok. That’s good, man. Really good.”
Nathan nodded,
looking at him. “So then, I assume
you’re not having any luck with the ladies?”
“Yeah
right. I don’t go out enough to see if I
have the luck.” He paused, his eyebrows furrowed with thought. “Although I did meet this lady at a diner
this morning. She seemed to be a little
interested in me.”
“Were you
interested in her?”
The furrowed
eyebrows continued. “Hard to say. I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to
her.”
“Damn, man!”
Nathan shouted, smacking the couch.
“That was your shot! A girl pays attention to you, and you just act like
she’s not there?”
“Ok, ok,”
Renardo said with a chuckle, throwing his hands in front of him as if to ward
off a blow. “I paid enough attention to
see that she was a cool person. And she was
pretty. She seemed kind of sad. She was boring, too.”
“I don’t think
you gave her much of a chance. You
should try talking to her again.”
“Maybe….” Renardo
looked at the ground, his thoughts only on Malvin. “I’ve been really busy lately, though.”
“Doing what?” Nathan
asked. “You don’t have a car, so you’re probably
not traveling far from home. You’re done
with school. You don’t have a job. What in the world could take up so much of your
time?”
“Hey,” Renardo responded,
actually quite annoyed. “Just because you’re
my best friend, it doesn’t mean you know everything about my life. There’s more going on than you know. And you wouldn’t know what to say or do if I told
you everything.”
Nathan rose to his
feet and approached his friend. He looked
at him, his eyes serious. “I’m sorry, Renardo.
I’m curious, though. What’s going on? If I can be of any help, I’ll
do what I can.”
Renardo sighed long,
and his eyes met those of his friend. “Are
you sure you want to know?”
“Of course. You’re my best friend. Please, tell me.”
“Ok, then, but you
should ready yourself,” Renardo warned him. “It’s intense stuff. We should probably sit down for this.”
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