The Truth About Lies

by Aly Martinez

  “Ughhh!” she groaned, bringing it to her face. Her nose scrunched adorably as she squinted, clearly not wearing her contacts.

  “You out of contacts?” I asked, starting on my button-down, the promise of a T-shirt calling my name.

  “Huh?”

  I could see straight up her nose as she flipped the phone in every which direction. I wasn’t able to hide that laugh. “Lisa, stop. I was kidding. I can see you.”

  Her toffee-brown eyes perked as she stretched her arm out, allowing the rest of her face to fill the screen. “Is it working?”

  After tugging on the soft, washed-out cotton of whatever vintage band T-shirt my hand had hit first, I picked the phone up and shot her a smile. “Yeah, crazy. It’s working. How’s it—what the hell are you wearing?”

  She glanced down at the skintight scrap of black leather that was wrapped around her midsection and replied, “A dress.”

  “Absolutely,” I replied, walking back to our bedroom and settling on the bed, “if you were Catwoman. But, seeing as how you are a mere human with no feline reflexes or expert combative skills, I’m going to ask again: What the hell are you wearing?”

  She huffed. “You forgot the whip.”

  “You have a whip!”

  She laughed wildly. “No, Shane. Catwoman has a whip. I was just correcting your seriously lackluster comic book knowledge.”

  I glared at her.

  She smiled back.

  “The dress, Lisa. Explain.”

  She walked across the room, propping the phone against her computer, tilting and angling until I could see most of the room. She backed toward her suitcase which was opened across the foot of the bed, clothes hanging out on every side. “I’m supposed to be seducing a man. You caught me before I had the chance to change.”

  “Oh wow,” I deadpanned. “Exactly what every man wants to hear from his wife.” I leaned in close as she peeled the dress over her head to reveal a sexy-as-sin pair of black lace panties and no bra. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth. She’d been gone for over a month this time, and I’d missed more than just her dinner company. “Whoa, slow down,” I objected as she pulled a pale-pink nightgown on.

  “Not tonight, Pervy McGee. I need to tell you all the things I’ve learned this week.”

  I rolled my eyes and collapsed back on my bed, holding the phone above my head. “That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting.”

  “I can’t hear you for shit. My phone’s been on the fritz. Let me grab my earbuds.”

  While she searched the room, I grabbed the remote and flipped the TV on. The ticker from the stock market’s end of day scrolled across the bottom as a news anchor rambled about the country’s unemployment rate. I hit mute.

  “Okay. That’s better,” she said.

  “Good news: Amazon’s stock prices climbed again today. I might actually be able to afford to keep you golden in our golden years.”

  “Oh, please. I’m gone the minute you start balding.”

  I clutched my heart. “Hey!”

  “I’m kidding. You know I have a thing for Mr. Clean.” She winked. “Now seriously, listen to this shit. I think I found a way to get that woman out.”

  “What woman?”

  “Cora,” she stressed. “The Guerrero woman. The one that was married to the guy who was gunned down.”

  “The madam?”

  Her lips thinned as she scowled. “She’s not a madam. But yeah. Her.”

  “She wants out?”

  “Seriously, Shane. Do you ever listen to me when I talk?”

  “Oh, I listen. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. My wife is currently infiltrating a whore house like she’s Geraldo Rivera. As of last week, she had been promoted to the third floor—whatever the hell that means. And three nights a week, you get dressed up like a hooker, go to a hotel room where you pretend to meet with rich men who give it to you all night long, when you’re really just bullshitting with your husband via FaceTime. Then, when it’s all over, I go to sleep with blue balls while you withdraw cash out of our bank account to pay your pimp. Trust me, Lisa. I hear what you say, but if you don’t want me showing up there and dragging you home caveman style, you’re going to have to accept what kind of details I choose to commit to memory.”

  We both glowered. Hers broke first.

  “Anywho… So Cora. She’s this woman who runs the building for the Guerreros. She used to be married to the youngest one. But I swear she looks like she’s like eighteen now, so I don’t know how that’s possible, but I digress. So she and I were talking last week and she told me about her ex. Oh God. It’s such a sad story, Shane. She still wears this star necklace that he gave her, and get this: Before he died, he wrote on her ceiling in glow-in-the-dark stars. She told me she used to get really overwhelmed, so he wrote the words ‘One in. One out.’ As a reminder that, no matter how hard things get, everything will be fine as long as you just keep breathing.”

  “Damn,” I whispered. “That’s rough. He died, right?”

  “Yeah. Long time ago. But, when she was forced to move here from their old place, she brought them with her. Stuck them right back up the way he had them.” She paused and glanced around the empty room before lowering her voice and rushing out with, “A few nights ago, I broke into her apartment while she was gone and planted a hidden camera under a cluster of some of them.” She slapped a hand over her mouth like a kid who had said a curse word.

  I shot upright, my mouth falling open as I stared at my wife. “What the fuck, Lisa! Where the hell did you get a hidden camera?”

  “The internet. They delivered it right to my doorstep.”

  I flared my eyes at her. “At the whore house? Addressed to Lisa Pennington?”

  She waved me off. “No. I’m not stupid. I made sure it came to Lexy Palmer.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Not helping.”

  “Relax. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. You told me when you left for Chicago that you were just following up on a tip about those missing women and the modeling ads in the paper. Now, you’re living there and planting hidden cameras? You gotta stop this bullshit before you get yourself killed. You are not a detective, Lisa. I let you do this because—”

  “You don’t let me do anything. I’m here because I want to be here and I feel passionate about it. And, because, if I don’t help Cora Guerrero, nobody will. She’s incredible, Shane. She has no idea that she’s the only thing keeping this entire operation running. The Guerreros need her. She’s the one who takes the women for STD testing and makes sure everyone stays on birth control. She talks to them and actually listens when there’s a problem. She makes every single one of them feel special. For example: She makes us call when we get home every night. She does, like, a head count, and if you don’t check in, she’ll be beating down your door first thing the next morning. These women have never had anyone care about them. But Cora cares, and because of that, the women stay. If somebody just got her out of here, the whole damn thing would fall apart.”

  Frustration built in my chest. She had that excited tone to her voice that did not bode well for me. When Lisa got her mind set on something, there was no stopping her. I never doubted that she loved me, but our marriage was never what she set her mind to. I took the back seat to every one of these little adventures she went on. I was fucking sick of it. I could have asked her to come home. She wouldn’t have done it. Not until she’d accomplished whatever harebrained mission she had her heart set on. This time, it was Cora Guerrero. Next time, who the hell knew. The only thing that was certain was that there would be a next time. And a time after that. And a time after that.

  Money didn’t mean much to me. I’d made a fortune buying foreclosed beach property up and down the coasts of Florida when the housing market had crashed. But time with my wife? That was getting rarer and rarer by the year.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I suggested, “See if you can throw some cash at her. Get her out of there. Get you
out of there. Whatever it takes to get you home. I don’t care.”

  “That’s the thing though. She has money. Last night, I was watching some of the video. Above the frame of her door, she has this, like, secret compartment where she keeps a shit-ton of money. It’s all wrapped up in insulation. I have no idea how much is up there. But it was more than a little rainy day fund.”

  I sighed, my head starting to pound. “And let me guess: You’ve got a plan.”

  She smiled wide and toothy. “Yep.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  She swayed her head from side to side. “Probably not.”

  Dread filled my gut. “Is it at least legal? Do I need to get a criminal attorney on retainer?”

  She mocked horror. “Of course it’s legal. Who do you think I am?”

  “You know, honestly, I have no idea anymore.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe we should stop talking about me. What have you been up to?”

  “Work.”

  She twisted her lips. “That’s it?”

  I looked down at my watch. “That and I’m supposed to meet Drew for beers in an hour.”

  “Oh! So he’s speaking to you? That must be nice. He hasn’t answered my calls in weeks.”

  “Yeah, well. He hates your Nancy Drew bit just as much as I do. However, he chooses to ignore it, while I’ve learned to embrace banging my head against the wall.”

  “Hardy har har har. Tell him I said I love him. And that he sucks. And, if he doesn’t answer his phone next time I try to call, I’m never speaking to him again.”

  Cora

  I slapped around on the nightstand as my phone started screaming beside me. I blinked at the time, finding it well past three.

  My head was groggy with sleep as I pressed the little green button and lifted it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Where are you!” Brittany screamed.

  Instinctively, I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Jesus, stop yelling.”

  “The building is on fire, Cora. Where are you?”

  I shot upright, my whole body coming awake with a blast of adrenaline. Slinging the covers off me, I jumped from the bed. “What!”

  “Cora,” River called, sleepily sitting up.

  “Get dressed,” I hissed at her, before asking Brittany, “How bad is it?”

  “It’s… Cora, it’s gone. All of it. The fire department is here. Police are crawling everywhere.” Her voice broke as she started crying. “Where are you?”

  My breath lodged in my throat, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m…I’m at a hotel.”

  “Do you have River with you?”

  I glanced over at her and saw her dragging her hair into a ponytail with frantic eyes leveled on me. “Yeah. She’s right here. Listen, who’s with you? Everybody was supposed to be working tonight except Jennifer. I need a head count, Brit. Get in contact with everybody you can. I’ll try too. Say nothing to the police until I get there. We’re on the way.” I looked back at the bed, finding it surprisingly empty.

  My pulse spiked as I searched the room, but there was no sign of him. My mind spun, trying to figure out if sleep was still clouding my memories. But he had definitely been there with me when I’d fallen asleep, his heartbeat playing in my ear like my favorite lullaby.

  Maybe he’d gotten up early and gone out for a run. Yeah. That had to be it.

  “Did you hear me, Brit? I need accountability on everyone. I’m gonna call Marcos—”

  “He’s here already,” she rushed out. “Or at least his car is. Dante’s too. I haven’t seen them though.”

  Surprise hit me like a brick wall. Why the hell would they be there this time of night?

  And then she slayed me.

  “Penn’s truck is here too. Have you seen the guys?”

  My heart seized, chills exploding across my skin. I didn’t realize I’d dropped the phone. I hadn’t actually formed a full thought before I found myself standing in the hall, pounding on the door on the other side of us.

  Drew opened the door with a hand raised to block out the bright light of the hallway. “Jesus, woman.”

  “Where’s your brother?” I shrieked.

  His hand fell, alarm hitting his face. “With you?”

  Fear slammed into me like a runaway train. I threw a hand out to catch myself when my knees threatened to buckle.

  “Mom?” River squeaked, diving toward me.

  Drew swooped in, hooking me around the waist before I hit the floor.

  “Oh God.” My stomach rolled, threatening to revolt as the panic overtook me.

  Dante’s words from the day before echoed in my mind, slicing me deeper each time. “Lies have consequences, Cora.”

  This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t possible.

  First, Savannah. Now, Penn.

  No.

  Penn was going to walk up any second, pull me into his arms, and tell me there was nothing to worry about.

  He had to.

  “Cora, say something,” Drew urged.

  “There was a fire at the building,” I whispered. “Penn’s truck is there.” I didn’t want to say it.

  I didn’t want it to be true.

  I needed it to be a lie.

  “So are Dante and Marcos’s cars.”

  River gasped.

  Drew let out a string of curse words, but his only reply was, “Let me get my boots.”

  I stood on my own, shaking, propped against the wall, as they both dashed into action.

  I vaguely remember River dropping my flip-flops in front of me. I must have put them on, because I was wearing shoes when Drew guided us into the back of a cab.

  “’Cause you remember exactly how much you have to lose, right?”

  Numb and unable to focus, I clung to the star around my neck, pleading to God, Nic, and the entire universe that I was wrong.

  River held my hand, whispering reassurances as we drove, while Drew sat beside me, his thigh flush with mine as he silently stared out the window.

  The moon was still high in the sky when we pulled into that dirt parking lot. Hope that it wasn’t as bad as Brittany had made it out to be sprang inside me as I saw the tall silhouette of the building, but the flashing red-and-blue lights of fire trucks and police cars painted the true story.

  It was gone, only the stairwells and a mountain of burned debris remaining.

  I climbed out of that cab faster than I’d ever moved before, running toward the building like I could stop it from being real.

  “Ma’am. Ma’am. Ma’am!” a cop called, rushing toward me as I ducked under the caution tape roping the area off.

  “Penn!” I yelled, the lingering smoke in the air choking me. I coughed, gasping for air through my panic.

  The officer stepped in front of me with his arms stretched wide, blocking my path, but I fought to get around him.

  “Miss, calm down. Do you live here?”

  “Did you find any people in there? My…my boyfriend. I think he’s inside. You have to help him.” I gripped the front of his uniform. “Please. Please. I’m begging you. You have to save him.”

  His eyes flicked to a firefighter who almost imperceptibly shook his head.

  Agony erupted like a volcano inside me. “No!”

  Drew appeared at my side, a ghastly look on his face matching my own. “Cora, come here.” He grabbed the back of my neck the same way Penn had done so many times before and curled me into his front.

  And I cried, tears soaking the front of his shirt. “He’s out for a run. I know it, Drew. He’s just out for a run. He’ll be right back. He’ll be right back.”

  Lies—I needed them more than oxygen.

  I was never going to be able to survive the truth.

  Not again.

  Not. Again.

  “Okay, Ms. Guerrero. You’re free to go whenever you’d like. This will remain an active investigation, but given what we were able to pull off Mr. Walker’s security camera, this seems pretty clear-cut.
”

  I stared at the officer. Looking right at him, but not seeing him.

  Penn had security cameras. Good to know.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  I was sitting in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket.

  Numb.

  Broken.

  Ruined.

  And free.

  The bodies of Marcos and Dante Guerrero had been recovered from the ashes, along with the body of another male, his arms and legs still bound to a chair when they’d found him.

  I couldn’t look. I couldn’t see him like that. I couldn’t remember him the way I remembered Nic every night when I closed my eyes: dead.

  Drew identified his body.

  And I sat there, in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket.

  Numb.

  Broken.

  Ruined.

  And free.

  Miraculously, all the girls had made it out. Only Jennifer had been off work that night, and thankfully, she’d been out at the club, dancing and having fun.

  The money in my wall was gone. According to the fire inspector, the flames had originated on the third floor, more than likely my apartment. Five years of secrets, scrimping, and risking my life to swindle money from the Guerreros’ monthly accounts was just poof—up in flames.

  And I was sitting there, alone, homeless, and broke in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket.

  Numb.

  Broken.

  Ruined.

  And free.

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around why Penn, Marcos, or Dante had been at the apartment that night. I’d played out at least a hundred different scenarios in my head, but I couldn’t come up with an answer.

  At least not one that brought him back to me.

  He shouldn’t have been there. He’d been in bed. Safe. Breathing. Holding me. And now…

  I was sitting in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket and fileted open, my heart having been torn from my chest one last time by the Guerreros.

  Numb.

  Broken.

  Ruined.

  Finally free, but more trapped than ever.

  “Cora,” Drew said, squatting in the open doorway, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. “River’s ready to go.”