Tell me to Fight

by Charlotte Byrd

  I’m tempted to ask but I don’t want to make him even more agitated.

  This is why I left. I’m not going to tiptoe around my own house out of fear of making someone upset by my presence.

  “I’m tired of talking about him,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “We’re no longer together, what more do you want?”

  “I want you to believe that he killed my girlfriend and his partner. The FBI is looking for him. What more proof do you need?”

  “I’m going to believe what I want to believe, Owen. You’re not going to tell me what to think.”

  A part of me is proud of myself for standing my ground, but another part is terrified.

  He already attacked me once.

  He tried to keep me cloistered in the bathroom.

  What’s to stop him from doing it again? One false move on my part and he will.

  He looks down at the floor and hangs his shoulders.

  He’s giving up. I see that as my moment.

  “I’m going to go now, Owen,” I say and move slowly toward the door.

  It was a toss-up whether I should’ve just slipped out or whether it was better to warn him that I was leaving and I chose the latter.

  When I open the door, I turn back once and see that Owen has sat down in the large chair opposite the couch.

  I let out a small sigh of relief.

  Then he starts to laugh. I'm about to close the door but curiosity stops me in my tracks.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, peeking my head back in.

  He continues to chuckle, raising his index finger in the air to show me that he needs a minute.

  “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Of course,” I say slowly.

  “You want to know the real reason why Nicholas will finally get what’s coming to him?”

  Shivers run down my spine. My hands turn to ice. I wait for him to continue.

  “I turned him in,” Owen says, laughing. “I did it. That’s why they’re after him.”

  I shake my head a little from side to side, not wanting to believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.

  “How…why?” I gasp.

  “I called the main office and I told them what he did for Art Hedison.”

  “You mean what we did,” I correct him.

  “Yeah, except that I lied about that. I kept our names out of it. I had just enough information to get Internal Affairs involved and they opened a case on Art. To protect his own ass, Art turned on him, of course.”

  “So…that whole manhunt that they have on him, that’s because of you?”

  He nods and laughs.

  “But why? He helped you so much.”

  “He was informing on me, Olive. To the fucking FBI! Or did you forget that?”

  “Of course not, but we did that job together. He helped you a lot. He set us up with all of that money.”

  “Oh, please,” Owen says, waving his hand. “I don’t care about that. That guy killed my girlfriend and he almost stole you from me. I’m glad that I did what I did.”

  I walk over to him.

  My mind goes blank.

  My mouth goes dry.

  My hand forms into a fist and I punch him straight in his nose.

  When he yells out and wraps his hands around his head, I punch again.

  As hard as I can.

  My hand starts to throb, sending little shockwaves of pain up my arm but that just makes me even more angry.

  He betrayed me just like Nicholas betrayed me but he did it out of spite.

  His betrayal was worse.

  “Get out of my fucking life!” I say on my way out.

  19

  Olive

  When I disengage…

  On the way home, my hand feels incredibly hot. My fingers become sausages and it feels like they’re about to blow up.

  I turn up the air conditioner and hold them up in the vents.

  At the stop light, I take a closer look and realize that they’re not actually as big as they feel. But they definitely need some ice.

  A few minutes later, I pull up to my driveway, but something stops me from actually going inside the garage.

  The door opens and I wait.

  Then I press the button on the sun shield and pull back out.

  No, tonight I’m going out.

  I need a drink and I’m not going to drink alone.

  What I need even more than a drink is someone to talk to and a little bit of a distraction.

  I don’t know of any bars around here but I really liked the restaurant where I met with Josephine so I drive there.

  There’s a large parking lot in the back with not too many available spaces.

  It’s early fall and the snowbirds are just starting to come back to the desert.

  I grab a seat on the edge of the bar so that I can see the beautiful vertical garden right across from me and ask the bartender for some ice in a bag.

  “Had a bit of an accident,” I lie.

  He gives me a nod that says that he doesn’t quite believe me so I don’t bother elaborating.

  I order the same cucumber tequila cocktail that I had earlier and find myself mesmerized as he makes it for me.

  The bartender is in his thirties with short dirty blonde hair and sideburns. He’s got tattooed sleeves on both arms.

  We talk casually as the bar fills up and then empties out again.

  He’s originally from Orange County and moved out here so that he could afford to buy a house.

  The housing prices are high everywhere in California but they are a little more reasonable in the Coachella Valley.

  “I’ve lived in LA for many years but what I like about this Palm Springs area is that it’s like all of the best parts of LA without any of the annoying things. Great restaurants and bars. Cool, easy going people. Cheaper rent and no traffic.”

  “Yeah, I heard traffic in LA can be brutal,” I say, finishing my drink and asking for another.

  “You’re lucky you’ve been spared so far,” he says, cutting up my cucumber and placing it carefully into a new glass.

  While he serves the other customers their drinks, I glance over at him occasionally.

  I like the way he interacts with them. He’s friendly and confident.

  I like the way his hair falls into his face just a little bit.

  I like the way he’s at ease in making small talk and how natural it is for him.

  There are very few things about him that should remind me of Nicholas.

  He doesn’t have the same intensity or darkness.

  Yet, when I look at him, all I see is Nicholas.

  It’s getting late. The patrons are starting to file out and it’s time for me to go as well.

  But I can’t make myself move.

  I take the last few sips of my drink, which is all melted ice by now, and stare at the bottom of the glass.

  “I think I’m ready to go,” I say with great sadness.

  I wait for him to tally my bill.

  “Hey, I’m not closing out the bar tonight,” he says.

  I stare at him as if that’s supposed to mean something.

  “I get off in a few minutes,” he explains. “You want to do something?”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

  I had no idea he was particularly interested since he seemed to give all of his customers the same attention.

  I glance down at my phone. It’s around midnight.

  This is probably the latest that I’ve been out in a very long time.

  “I don’t know,” I mumble. “It’s getting late.”

  “Sure.” He shrugs.

  He doesn’t push.

  He just gives me the bill to sign and walks away.

  A pang of regret rushes through me.

  Why did I say that? I like him. A lot. I’d love to spend some more time with him.

  “What did you have in mind?” I ask, leaning over the bar.

  His eyes light up.
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br />   “There’s a coffee shop down the street that’s open late.”

  That sounds perfect.

  I go to the bathroom and reapply some lipstick.

  A few minutes later, he meets me by the front door.

  The night is warm but not balmy. I haven’t been out much at night here but I enjoy the way the edge seems to be off from the burning sun of the day.

  On our way to the coffee shop, he takes my hand in his. I’m taken aback at first, but then I let our fingers intertwine.

  We slow down our pace and then something catches my eye in the store front of an antique shop.

  It’s a statue of a sheep made from bronze and covered in sheep fur.

  The only bronze that’s visible is on the face and the feet and I stand here staring at it for a long time.

  “That’s really cool,” he whispers into my ear, breaking the spell.

  I look up at him and nod.

  Tilting his head forward, he puts his mouth on mine and I pull him closer.

  We stand here kissing for a long time.

  We pass on the coffee shop and instead go to his place. I follow him in my car. On the way over, I try to talk myself out of it but it doesn’t work.

  I want him. He wants me.

  I can’t have Nicholas.

  We’re kissing again before we clear the doorstep. His hands are down my back and mine are in his hair.

  His lips are soft yet strong.

  I realize that he doesn’t know my name and I don’t know his.

  I consider pulling away and asking but we’re already in the bedroom and I don’t care.

  With the lights out, surrounded completely by darkness, it’s easier to pretend that he’s Nicholas.

  His kisses become urgent.

  Our clothes seem to take off themselves.

  When we’re naked, his body warms me up and mine cools him down.

  He kisses me everywhere and I do the same.

  He isn’t in a rush to get it done, and I appreciate it.

  I haven’t been touched like this in a very long time and I want it to last as long as possible.

  We change positions once and then again and again.

  I feel like we’re dancing.

  Our mouths are comfortable with each other now.

  I start to unwind. I was relaxed before but not like this.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers into my ear. I nod.

  “More than okay. Keep doing that.”

  He does. Our bodies move as one and suddenly I lose all control.

  20

  Nicholas

  When I have to make decisions…

  I wake up a few unrestful hours later with Mallory still in my bed.

  She is curled up in the fetal position with her hair spread out all around her pillow.

  She’s beautiful and sweet and I don’t want to get to know her more. It’s not just because I’m running for my life. It’s because she’s not Olive.

  I log into my account again, hoping against hope that what I saw before was some sort of mistake. Or maybe it was just a dream.

  However, my hopes are low.

  I didn’t have enough money to pay for my dinner so how the hell am I going to have enough money to pay for a ticket abroad?

  Thailand.

  That was the original plan.

  There are lots of expats there but not so many American television programs to keep them entertained.

  The country is huge and populous and it’s easy to get lost there.

  The feds have frozen my fake identity’s account.

  Art Hedison didn’t know any of the details but he knew I had a source to make me the documents. Somehow, they must have gotten to him. That means that all of those identities he made for me are compromised.

  Shit, shit, shit, I say to myself. I’m in a lot more trouble than I had thought.

  Mallory gives out a little snore and turns around. I freeze for a moment, not wanting to wake her up while I try to figure out what to do.

  That money was everything I had.

  I sold the diamonds and the watch and I put all of the money into what I thought was a secret and secure account.

  I put the rest of my money in there, too. I didn’t want to walk around with so much cash and the account was supposed to be completely safe.

  I already spent whatever cash I took out from it and now I can’t take out anymore.

  If the account were to be unfrozen again, the money is still untouchable.

  The Feds know about it and that means they will be able to track it.

  I sit back in the chair and wonder if actually this was a lucky break. If they hadn’t frozen it, then I’d still have access to it and I would use it.

  If they hadn’t frozen it, then they would be able to trace it to me.

  It may be a lucky break but what the hell do I do now?

  With all of my accounts compromised, I don’t have a penny to my name. I won’t be able to get far without money and I’m not sure how much I can borrow from Mallory.

  We just met and she already did me more favors than she really should have.

  I want to pace around the room to clear my head but I don’t want to wake her up.

  Instead, I sneak out of the front door with the room key and my phone in tow. It’s early but the streets of Merida are already buzzing around. People are hustling to work. The coffee shops are full of locals and expats speaking ten different languages. Dogs and their owners are out on their morning constitutionals.

  There’s a large open square with a green park in the middle and a towering Catholic church painted in bright pastels to one side.

  I take a few loops around the park, watching the way that the pigeons congregate and move as both individuals and one big mass. I don’t have any seeds to throw them but I wish I did.

  I take a seat on a wooden park bench and lean back. It’s not particularly comfortable, which is probably for the best. I bought a cup of Cuban coffee from the shop on the corner and I take a sip. It’s strong and sweet, kind of like a shot of espresso and a donut mixed in one.

  I reach into my pocket for my phone and realize that I actually have two in there. In my rush to get out, I grabbed Mallory’s by accident. I stare at my phone for a few minutes debating whether I should make this call with it.

  My brain rationalizes, of course, they don’t have this untraceable number, how could they?

  But my gut is keeping it in check.

  I don’t have any proof that they are tracing my number but I also had no proof that they had access to my secret bank account. The only way to stay safe is to ditch this phone and use another.

  I pick up Mallory’s phone with a bright yellow cover and dial one of the numbers I know by heart.

  Memorizing phone numbers is a dying art but I still practice it just in case.

  A familiar voice answers.

  He recognizes me immediately and we make small talk for a bit. Big Dipper sounds like he hasn’t been to bed yet which wouldn’t be at all surprising. He lives in Vegas and lives the Vegas lifestyle to the max.

  “Listen, the reason I’m calling is that I need a job,” I cut the chitchat short.

  “What kind of job?”

  “Anything. I need money.”

  “You’re all over the news, man,” Big Dipper says. “Everybody’s looking for you. You’re hot property.”

  “That’s why I'm calling you. You owe me.”

  There’s silence on the other end. I hold my breath waiting for his reply.

  There was a time when the cops were after him, questioned me, and I set them off on a cold trail.

  “I don’t have any work right now,” Big Dipper says after a moment. The tone of his voice makes me uneasy.

  What if his phone is tapped, too?

  “Are you sure?” I beg.

  He’s my only chance. If he doesn’t help me, I’m out of options.

  “Call me back in a bit. I’ll ask around,” he says and hangs up.
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  Not entirely sure what a little bit means, but I have to give it at least a few hours. I head back upstairs.

  When I open the door, Mallory jumps out of bed.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. She scrambles for the TV remote and before she can turn it off, I see my face on it.

  Fuck!

  “Hey, listen, I have to get back to work,” she mumbles. “I mean, I have to get back home.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, pretending that I didn’t just see what I saw.

  If she’s trying to act inconspicuous, it’s not working. But I’m not going to do anything to stop her. I don’t want a confrontation and I’m definitely not going to hurt her (even though she seems to think that I will).

  “Thanks for last night,” I say.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she says frantically. “It was nothing.”

  I wait for her to get fully dressed before I ask her.

  “Do you think I can borrow some money?”

  “Money?” All blood drains from her face.

  I want to tell her to stop worrying and that I’m not going to hurt her, but that will just make things worse.

  She looks through her purse and pulls out a few twenties. Dollars not pesos.

  “Here, you can have this.” She puts them in my hand a little too forcefully and heads toward the door.

  “I’ll get this back to you!” I yell after her.

  “No need,” she says quickly.

  Once the door closes behind her, I can’t help but feel like I had put her under a bit of duress.

  I count the money: eighty dollars. A wave of relief sweeps over me. I’ve had millions but I’ve never felt this rich.

  It takes me a few minutes to pack up and leave.

  I don’t know how long it will take Mallory to call the hotline, or if she will at all, but I’m not planning on making it extra easy for them to find me by sticking around this place.

  I wander the streets of Merida for a few hours, waiting for Big Dipper to call me back.

  I have some vegetarian tacos and a few scoops of ice cream at a small cafe run by a Greek immigrant. I try to figure out what to do if Big Dipper doesn’t come through.

  One option is to rob someone to get more money, but then what?

  I don’t have any contacts here south of the border and there’s a bounty out on my head that’s worth hundreds of thousands.