CHAPTER 6- RICO

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/8229cb_7aaa92808eec4194a99f53891513cb45/720p/mp4/file.mp4

His car pulls into the alley behind Manus Potentia, one of the many establishments he owns within the downtown city limits. Five-star restaurant by day. Social gathering place for the elite and celebrities by night. With it now fifteen minutes past four o’clock, Miles figures he has more than enough time to get in and get out before the evening rush.

The rain hammers down now.

Harder and faster than before.

“IRIS, initiate ANON,” Miles says, his voice steady and controlled.

Even in this storm, he doesn’t want to risk anyone identifying him in public. The last thing he needs today is a swarm of paparazzi poised to snag a photo and run a hit piece.

On his wrist, IRIS begins to pulse as a small light begins to glow on the wearables surface.

“Initiating ANON,” IRIS responds evenly.

A gridded beam of light projects and scans Miles’ entire body top to bottom.

“The projection matrix is stable.”

A transparent screen materializes two feet in front of Miles’ face. He reaches up and swipes through a dozen or so personas until he clicks on one—a clean-cut twenty-something with a pompadour. He then chooses a tuxedo with tails and a bowtie on the following screen, a standard waiter uniform at the restaurant. The screen dissolves away as ANON overlays the chosen alias over Miles’ body.

“Projection complete,” IRIS concludes.

Miles searches for a name.

“Ricky? Richard? Rico?”

“Yes, that’s it,” he agrees with himself.”

“I am Rico,” he says confidently.

Though giving himself a fake name isn’t necessary, it always helps him play the part.

A name tag materializes on his chest.

Beneath it, his heart still pounds.

“Have the car pull up to the back door,” he instructs. “And pull up the security detail schedule for today. I need to make sure it’s one of Scott’s main guys. The last thing I need is a scuffle with some meathead who is not clear on how things work around here.”

“The schedule shows Forest H. on back door duty today,” IRIS reports. A brief processing flicker passes across her interface. “Your stress markers remain elevated. I agree that minimizing unnecessary escalation is a prudent course of action.”

That’s her push—subtle and calm.

“Would you like me to notify Scott of your arrival?”

“No need,” Miles replies. “If Samantha showed up, he already knows we’re coming. And if she didn’t… We’ll just play it off like I needed a place to decompress after the keynote. No reason to make any unnecessary complications.”

“Understood,” IRIS replies. “I’ll maintain monitoring.”

The car comes to a stop and Miles steps out under the awning. He makes his way toward the back door. More confidence than any waiter should have in his stride.

The figure standing there is a brute of a man standing six foot five, a wall of muscle and corded veins trying to escape a black shirt that looks three sizes too small.

Miles, or “Rico” rather, gives the man a nod and reaches for the door handle. The man grabs Miles by his jacket.

“And just where do you think you’re goin’ there, bow tie?” the guard snarls. “You know the rules. All kitchen staff checks in on the other side of the building.”

Miles starts to speak, but he gets cut off.

“And I don’t give a rats how worried you are about a little rain messin’ up that pretty little hairdo. You ain’t comin’ through my door.”

He squints at the name tag on Miles’ jacket.

“Ah… Rico.” He nods once. Slow. “There he is.”

He leans in, breath heavy with the faint smell of breath mints and cigarettes.

“Rico, Rico.” A dry chuckle. “Buddy, I suggest you hustle on outta here. Do it quick before you catch a cold. Or somethin’ worse. You understand me?”

He gives Miles a shove but, to his surprise, “Rico” doesn’t budge.

Forest blinks.

Miles begins to give a slow clap.

One clap, two, three.

“Wow, that was fun to watch,” Miles says, sincerity in his voice. “Scott was right about you. You are exactly what I envisioned when we were staffing this position. Keep up the good work, Forest. It’s good to see you again.”

Miles extends his hand toward the giant whose face is painted with confusion. When he does, the sleeve of his jacket slides back, revealing IRIS. Her glowing interface pulses and Forest’s confusion slowly evaporates. When clarity hits him, his posture straightens so fast it’s almost mechanical.

“Oh—” he stammers. “Mr. Tanner. Sir. I… I didn’t recognize you with the, uh… the thing you got on.”

He immediately starts smoothing out Miles’ coat where he’d gripped it seconds before.

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Forest,” Miles replies, pushing his hands away in a forgiving gesture. “That’s kind of the whole point, right? Let's be honest, I’d be way more concerned if you could tell it was me.”

Miles gives him a smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense, Mr. Tanner.” Forest nods quickly. “Course it does.”

He taps the button on his earpiece.

“Scott, he’s here. Yeah, Mr Tanner. He’s at the back door.”

He looks back at Miles.

“Come on in, sir.” He steps aside, pulling the door open. “Scott says you got a visitor in the back room. Hall’s clear. You’re good to go. He’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you, big guy,” Miles says, clapping him on the back. “You keep up the good work.”

Forest straightens again.

“Absolutely, sir. You can count on me. And, uh, thanks again. For the opportunity.”

Miles walks down the hallway as Forest’s voice fades into the background.

The further he goes, the quieter the space becomes.

Too quiet.

Inside his head, it’s quite the opposite.

What am I doing? Turn around. Run.

It’s deafening.

Each footstep he takes echoes louder than it should.

He forces his mind to push out the noise.

"I can do this,” he assures himself. “It’s just a conversation."

The transformation still holds.

Barely.

At the end of the corridor, he sees Scott standing there waiting.

Behind him, a single door waits.

And behind that door—

Sam.