Dirty Money (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 5)

by Patrick Logan

Chapter 10

  "Really? Again, Chase?"

  Chase slumped in the chair across from Dr. Matteo and shrugged.

  "I don't even know what I'm doing at the group sessions. I get nothing out of it. Nothing.”

  Dr. Matteo pushed his tongue into the inside of his cheek and remained silent.

  "Ah, don't you start doing that shit, too. Did Stitts come to talk to you beforehand? Did he share with you his ultimate passive aggressive technique?" Chase said, making air quotes with her fingers.

  She’d meant this as a joke, but when Dr. Matteo hesitated, Chase thought that perhaps this was the case.

  But then he started to speak, and Chase realized that this was never his intention.

  "You don't get anything out of it, Chase, because you don't put anything into it. It's as simple as that. Group is an important part of the recovery process, and I'm afraid you're missing out on it."

  "Oh, gee, the FOMO is killing me," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew she was being petulant, acting like a child having a temper tantrum, but she didn't care. After all, what is it that he called this place? A “safe space?”

  Dr. Matteo sighed. She’d pushed him pretty hard before, and once she'd even seen him break, back when she’d confronted the doctor with Stitts at her side, asking for Louisa's address. He'd snapped then, gone off on a tangent, and had dug his claws into her pretty deep.

  But now, the more that she thought of it, the more it seemed staged. Dr. Matteo’s behavior that day, and, come to think of it, Stitts’s as well, was out of character.

  Chase made a hmph sound and shook her head.

  They’d collaborated to get her back here. Sure, they’d likely not envisioned dragging her half-naked body out of a rock quarry and then wait for a couple of months while she was on the brink of death in a hospital beforehand, but nobody was perfect.

  "You've made progress, Chase. I won't deny you that. But you've got to—"

  "Made progress? Seriously? That’s all I get? I mean, I haven’t used in over six months. I haven't tried to sleep with you or Ronnie, Donnie, or Lonnie or any of the morbidly obese orderlies you have working here, either. I also haven’t solved any cases, because, well, I’m here. Yeah, I remember what you said about my three ‘crutches.’ I’d say that that counts for more than progress, wouldn’t you? I think I'm doing pretty good, Doc. I think I'm doing damn good."

  Dr. Matteo stared at her for a moment longer before his eyebrows rose up his forehead.

  "True, true," he said as if musing to himself. "I’ll give you that. But here's the thing, Chase. You ever seen that show the Biggest Loser? It aired a couple years back on ABC or NBC or one of the BCs."

  Chase shook her head. She hadn't seen it, but she was familiar with the premise: obese people were sent away to have their lives realigned and their bodies reshaped.

  "No, but I know what it's about."

  "Well, you wanna know what happens to these people after they lose hundreds of pounds and then go back to the regular life?"

  Chase shrugged.

  "They put it all back on, just like with every diet?"

  "Yeah, they put it all back on. Because the thing is, all the show is doing is removing someone from their life and putting them in a fishbowl; an artificial environment. Devoid of distractions or any of the triggers that they experience in real life, sure, they manage to lose weight. They don't have their families bothering them, they don't have enablers asking them to go out for pizza, and they don't have to work a regular job where they're stressed out and have no time for the gym."

  "What's your point?"

  "My point is, while you're doing well here, when you get back out there in the real world, how are you going to do then? Are you sure you can avoid all temptations? Out there, there are bad people—"

  Chase made a face.

  "You don't need to tell me about bad people, Doc."

  Dr. Matteo continued unabated.

  "Out there, you’ll experience the same triggers as before. Are you gonna be able to deal with them this time? Or are you gonna go back to the self-destructive pattern that has plagued you since childhood?"

  Chase scowled; she didn’t like this line of questioning. It seemed counterproductive.

  "How the fuck should I know? I'm just doing what you tell me to do."

  "Yeah, well that's not exactly true, is it? You're not doing what I'm telling you. I'm telling you to participate in group because you can learn from these people."

  "What in the world can I learn from Petri Dish?”

  Again, Dr. Matteo sighed and sank into his chair.

  "You know one of the other reasons that those people failed on the Biggest Loser?"

  "They just love food?"

  "They went back to their same old life," Dr. Matteo said, ignoring her comment. "The biggest chance you have for success in this world coming out of a program like this? Start over. Start a new life. Forget about everyone and everything you used to know. Move away. Get a new job. Make new friends. In essence, become a new person."

  This final comment shocked Chase. How could she possibly change who she was? She was who she was because of her experiences. They shaped her, molded her, made her. And to deny herself that was… what? Dishonest? Unfair? Fake?

  She wanted to come back with a witty retort but had none at the ready. It had been a while since she couldn't think of something snarky to say to Dr. Matteo.

  Instead, her mind was preoccupied with a single thought: Could I really become a new person?

  Chapter 11

  "I swear he does this just to piss me off," Chase said.

  Louisa looked over at her as they walked down the hallway toward the meeting room.

  "It’s always about you, huh?" she jested.

  "Well, when's the last time we had two group sessions one day? Umm, never? Yeah, so I think it really is just to piss me off."

  Louisa said nothing.

  Chase also fell silent. In truth, she was feeling quite low. What Dr. Matteo had said had affected her in a profound way she hadn't expected.

  Sure, she'd come here—this time, anyway—with the intention of getting better, of actually listening to what the man had to say and to see if he could help her. Shit, after making it to the other side of withdrawal, she was already a better person.

  Or so she’d thought.

  But now? Now that Dr. Matteo made those comments?

  Chase had become a better person, but she was still the same. She hadn't considered the possibility of becoming a different person.

  Chase entered the room with Louisa at her side, intending on sitting beside her as they always did during group. Only this time, the circle of chairs had name tags on them.

  Chase found her own, picked it up and scrunched it into a ball.

  "What the fuck is this? We’re back in middle school?"

  They were the first ones to arrive and Louisa shrugged before taking her seat, which was directly across from Chase.

  Chase reluctantly took a seat in the assigned chair, and then immediately started tapping her foot.

  Then she glanced around at all the other pieces of paper on the chairs. When she saw that Petra was to her immediate right, her frustration increased. It doubled again when she realized that there was no chair or name tag for Dr. Matteo.

  This is a ploy, some sort of game he’s playing, Chase thought and was about to tell Louisa as much when the door opened behind them and the two other women entered. They were chatting and giggling, but when they caught Chase's expression their moods immediately darkened.

  "This is new," Petra said, taking up residence beside Chase.

  Chase grunted something inaudible.

  When they were all seated they took turns observing one another like animals from different cages at the zoo who were suddenly put in a single holding cell.

  "Anybody see Dr. Matteo?" Marissa asked.

  A smattering of nos.

  "Well, do you think we should wait for him?
"

  "Wait for him? Of course, we should wait for him. What the hell else would we do?" Chase shot back. But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she realized that this was the point.

  Dr. Matteo wanted them to be alone so that they could… what?

  Chase just shook her head in disgust.

  It’s bad enough that I have to listen to these people’s sob stories, but now I have to do Dr. Matteo’s job, too? Lead the discussion like some sort of Girl Guide Unit Leader?

  "Why are you always so angry?" Petra asked. Chase glared at the woman. She had wide-set eyes and a round, pale face with bangs cut straight across her forehead.

  It was the type of look that bothered Chase. It was the type of look that made you want to punch the person in the face.

  She had to actively unclench her fists.

  "I'm angry because I have to sit through all of this bullshit," Chase said. She’d promised Dr. Matteo she would try, that she would give group a chance, but all of a sudden, she wasn't in the mood. What she felt like doing now, was going back to her room and sulking. To wallow in her own self-pity.

  And then maybe she would become a new person. Someone who loved long walks on the beach and maybe doted on a man who worked in Wall Street. Get a dog maybe… no! Not a dog, a cat. A dozen cats.

  "You're not helping, you know," Petra said. Then she waved her hands over the group. "We’re all here because we want to help one another, to get better. Except for you.”

  Chase nodded.

  "Yeah, you’re right; I'm not here to help you guys. I’m here because I don't want to end up in prison," she said, rising to her feet. "But lucky me, nothing in my parole conditions say that I have to put up with this crap. I'm going back to my room. If Dr. Matteo ever shows up here, you let him know where he can find me."

  With that, Chase turned and started toward the door. She made it halfway before Petra had to get the final word in.

  "You're always running away," the woman said under her breath.

  Chase spun around and confronted her, storming right up to her face.

  "What did you say?"

  To her surprise, the diminutive woman, who was only a few inches shorter than Chase herself, didn't back down.

  "I said, you're always running away from your problems. You should—"

  Without thinking, Chase reached out and grabbed the woman's arm. She opened her mouth to shout something in her face, to tell her off, to say something clichéd like, you know nothing about me, but as soon as her hand made contact with Petra’s skin, she was transported somewhere else.

  Chapter 12

  "Get me a drink," the woman croaked. "Petra, get me a goddamn drink."

  Petra looked over at her mother and wondered for what felt like the millionth time why the woman hated her so much.

  What did I do? What did I do to deserve this? I’ve always tried my best to help you out, to make things easier—especially after Dad left.

  “Take the glass with you,” her mother ordered, holding her hand out to her.

  Petra pulled herself out of the couch and grabbed the glass from her mother’s hand. The entire time, the woman’s eyes were locked on the TV. Petra was fairly certain that if she wasn’t quick enough, the woman would just let the glass fall out of her hand and to the floor and wouldn’t even notice.

  With her head bowed, Petra left the living room and headed to the kitchen.

  I have to get out of here, she thought. I need to get out of here, get some fresh air.

  Petra tossed the ice cubes from the glass into the sink and then grabbed two fresh ones from the freezer. She squeezed them tightly in her hand, before gasping and dropping them in the glass.

  How long has it been since I’ve left the apartment?

  Petra inhaled deeply, then grimaced.

  Not long enough to get used to the smell.

  She desperately had to get out of the apartment but knew that her mother wouldn’t let her. She could wait for a couple more hours until her mother passed out, then slip out the door. So long as she was back before her mother woke up…

  But that means sitting in this filth and listening to her insults for two hours.

  Her eyes drifted to the bottle of Southern Comfort on the counter. She sighed when she realized that there was still a quarter left.

  Or three.

  There was another way, of course; if her mom ran out of booze, then she would have to let Petra leave.

  Petra walked to the counter and picked up the bottle. She debated pouring half of it down the drain, but why waste it?

  A quick glance into the family room to confirm that her mother was still mesmerized, she brought the bottle to her lips.

  It wasn’t the first time she tried alcohol, she was twenty-four years old, after all. It wasn’t even the first time she’d snuck some sips of her mother’s bottle.

  But it had been a while since she had this much.

  Petra’s cheeks bulged, and she grimaced with the first swallow. The second and third were easier.

  With a gasp, she pulled the bottle away from her mouth and stared at it in awe.

  Whoops.

  There was only an ounce or two left.

  Petra quickly filled her mother’s glass, then topped it off with some Coke from the fridge.

  Putting on her best fake smile, Petra walked back into the family room. Her mother’s hand reached out expectantly as soon as she heard Petra approach, but she didn’t look over.

  The woman’s lips searched for the rim of the glass like two desperate worms vying for a single burrow.

  For some reason, Petra’s stomach revolted, and she brought her fist to her mouth. It was only a burp, and after swallowing hard she leaned over to her mom.

  "You’re out—I'm going to get a refill," Petra said.

  "Make it quick," her mother snapped back. “Tylko dziwka wychodzi w nocy.”

  Petra started for the door. She grabbed the car keys from the hook then looked back at her mother, the woman’s words echoing in her head.

  Only a whore goes out at night.

  Chapter 13

  Chase doubled over and started to gag. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to regulate her breathing.

  Instead of pulling back from her, Petra actually moved closer and wrapped her arm around Chase’s waist to make sure she didn’t fall. Chase instinctively tried to spin away, to break free, but another bout of nausea struck her.

  This time, vomit rose in her throat, and she couldn’t choke it back down again. Hot liquid sprayed from between her lips. The other women had gathered around, Louise included, and they jumped back to get out of the way. Their movements were unnecessary; most of her vomit landed on Petra’s loafers.

  "Somebody call the doctor," Marissa said.

  Chase shook her head, and immediately regretted it. More vomit filled her mouth, but she somehow managed to swallow it.

  The last thing she wanted was to see another doctor.

  “I’m okay," she managed, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

  It had happened again with a living person. As soon as I touched Petra, I saw what she saw.

  Most of what Chase had seen could be logically explained; even though Chase paid zero attention to the woman when she spilled her beans during group, she was still there. The words were still entering her brain, even if they didn’t register.

  But some things… like what Petra was thinking when she’d brought the bottle to her lips, the way she felt both dirty and powerful at that moment, that was something new.

  Nothing revolutionary, however, but the effect that it had had on Chase was profound.

  It’s because it didn’t feel like this before… before it felt like I was looking through the eyes of the dead. This… this felt like I was her, like there was no separation between us.

  Just the thought of the strangeness of the idea brought about another wave of nausea.

  Chase whinnied like a horse then straightened, trying her best to kee
p a straight face. She wanted to say something funny, to make light of the situation but when she saw Petra’s face, she changed her mind.

  The woman was looking at her in genuine concern. Not in an ‘oh, I should ask if you are okay but not listen to a word of the answer because Captain Social Graces says I should.’ No, Petra really looked worried about her.