by Lauren Rowe
“You could make it sound like you thought Sarah was part of your membership. Maybe that’d make it more believable that you’d turn and burn her so damned fast.”
Josh truly has no idea what I’ve been doing for the past year?
“Josh, they won’t have trouble believing I’d turn and burn her, trust me.”
He grimaces.
“Oh really, Mr. Mickey Mouse Roller Coaster? The mere thought is distasteful to your gentle sensibilities?”
He laughs. “The roller coaster thing was an analogy, bro—it’s not necessarily my life philosophy. As a matter of fact, when I find a roller coaster I particularly like, I prefer to ride it over and over again, exclusively.”
“Okay, this is getting gross. Don’t talk to me about ‘riding’ anything ever again, motherfucker. You’re making me want to puke.”
“It’s an analogy.”
“It’s gross. I don’t need that visual of you.” I shudder.
He shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just talking about riding roller coasters.”
“Anyway, there’s no way they’d believe I thought Sarah was some sort of Club offering. They’ve got her computer. They’ve seen our emails. It’s clear we both knew she was breaking the rules—I kept assuring her I wouldn’t tell them she’d contacted me.”
“Aha! Now it all makes sense. I’ve been wondering why you went ballistic about her sight unseen like that. She was the proverbial forbidden fruit.”
“Gee, Dr. Freud, you’re so fucking smart.”
Except that he’s wrong. Josh doesn’t have a clue why I lost my shit over Sarah’s first email to me—and I’ll never tell him because it’s none of his business. But, holy fuck, what an email it was. A Mount Everest kind of girl like me, she called herself. I still get tingles just thinking about it—and about how many delicious times I’ve climbed and conquered my beautiful Mount Everest since then.
“I like the part about you saying you’re eager to move on with your membership,” Josh says. “It makes it seem like Sarah never told you their dirty little secret—or, if she did, like you don’t care. Either way, a good thing.”
A thought is niggling at me. I pause, trying to pin it down. “Are we sure about that? Does Sarah supposedly not telling me what she discovered help or hurt the situation?”
“How could it do anything but help? If she didn’t tell you, then they’ll assume she’s discreet. Maybe they’ll decide to trust her and leave her alone.”
“But what if it goes the other way? What if they think she just hasn’t had the opportunity to tell me yet? Or she hasn’t worked up the nerve? Or what if they think she already told me, and I didn’t give a shit, and now she’s pissed as hell and about to go on a rampage? Even if they think she hasn’t blabbed, they might decide their best strategy is to strike quickly to ensure her continued silence—not to risk it, either way.” I know I’m talking really fast, but I can’t slow myself down. My heart is racing all of a sudden. What if those fuckers are planning to come after her right now? I have the sudden urge to bolt to my room and scoop her up and whisk her away to a faraway place.
“Hmm. I guess that depends on what kind of criminals we’re dealing with here. I mean, it’s just a prostitution ring, right? What makes you think they might be capable of physical violence?”
“What makes me think . . .? You mean besides the fact that they simultaneously broke into Kat and Sarah’s apartments and smashed both places to bits? That’s not enough for you right there?”
Josh’s expression is noncommittal—apparently, no, that’s not enough for him.
I’m sure my face clearly expresses my exasperation. “Don’t get bogged down by the fact that it’s ‘just a prostitution ring.’ It doesn’t matter if their particular racket is prostitution, drugs, gambling, identity theft—whatever the fuck—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re a highly organized crime syndicate with a shitload of money at stake. Do the math, Josh. This is big money. At the end of the day, the specific form of their criminal activity is irrelevant—what matters is that they’re not going to let anyone, least of all a dispensable intake agent, fuck with their cash cow.”
Josh lets that roll around in his head for a second. “I never thought about it that way. Hmm.”
“And, on top of that, I’d bet anything their client roster is a who’s who of some ultra-powerful people, too. They’ve got plenty of incentive to keep their members from learning the truth, through any means necessary.”
Josh suddenly looks anxious. “An excellent point.”
I’m getting myself all worked up. “They’re sitting on a fucking powder keg, Josh. And, as far as they know, Sarah’s the one holding the match.”
“Shit.”
My heart clangs sharply inside my chest. I’m breaking out into a sweat. “I’m just not sure which way to play it. The stakes are too high to fuck this up.” I run my hand through my hair. My Magnificent Sarah. I can’t let anything happen to her. My heart pounds like a motherfucker in my ears. “I just need more information to know what to do.”
Josh nods. “Yeah, I see your point. It’s tricky.” He sighs. “I didn’t really understand all that until now.” He purses his lips, unsure about something. “Maybe you should just go to the police?”
“I thought about that. This isn’t something for the local police—we need the feds. Is the FBI really gonna sick their anti-fraud unit all over this just because Sarah saw a hooker wearing two different colored bracelets? I’m sure they’ve got more pressing shit to deal with, and I need immediate action.”
Josh looks anxious.
“My gut tells me to keep this under wraps until I can serve the whole thing up to them on a silver platter.”
Josh nods.
“You know, if I ever do wind up blowing this thing wide open, it might not be pleasant for either of us. At the very least, it might be really embarrassing.”
He shrugs. “I’m a single guy. It was one month of my life. I don’t give a fuck. No one held it against Charlie Sheen when it came out he had sex with prostitutes all the time. I’ll just make like Charlie Sheen and say ‘Fuck you—I’m winning.’”
We both laugh.
“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck, either. Fuck it.”
“Uncle William would shit a brick, though.”
“I know.”
We both laugh again, imagining our straightlaced uncle—the polar opposite of our father in every way—finding out about our unseemly extracurricular activities.
Josh twists his mouth in apology. “I’m sorry about last night. I just didn’t get it.”
For some reason, hearing Josh say he finally gets what I’ve been trying to explain to him makes me feel like the weight of the world has lifted off me, like I’m finally not alone in all this.
“I’m sorry I blew up at you,” I say. “Thanks for coming here on a moment’s notice.”
“Of course. I’ll always come when you call, man.”
I take a deep breath, panic about the situation and relief that Josh is on board crashing through my body all at once. “Okay, we’ll sit on item number two for a bit—think it through some more. I won’t email them directly just yet.”
Josh nods. “Okay. So what’s next on the list, then?”
“Item number three. Find these assholes the good old-fashioned way. We find a real person in The Club, no matter how low on the totem pole, and just keep connecting the dots all the way up until we identify someone we can fuck up the ass. And in the meantime, I keep Sarah safe and out of their crosshairs at all times.”
He purses his lips. “You know, we really should ask Sarah what she thinks. She’s probably got all kinds of ideas on where to start. I bet she could tell us—”
“No, I don’t want Sarah involved in any of this. This is just gonna be you and me.”
“Bro.” Josh looks at me like I’m an idiot. “She worked for them and she’s super smart. She’s bound to have an idea or two�
�”
“I don’t want Sarah involved.”
Josh throws up his hands. “I’m not talking about asking her to do anything. I’m just saying let’s ask her for input.”
“No.” It comes out louder than intended. I take another deep breath and collect myself. “You don’t know Sarah like I do. If we ask her for input, she’ll immediately start doing something—surveillance or research or snooping around or God knows what. She’s not a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of girl. She’s the one who emailed me in the first place, remember?”
Josh smiles broadly.
“Yes, granted, that part worked out well,” I concede, stifling a smile of my own. That’s the understatement of the year. “But the point is, she doesn’t sit around thinking, ‘golly gosh, wouldn’t it be nice to know x y z,’ she gets out there and does whatever the fuck she has to do to figure out x y z.”
Josh sighs in exasperation. “Yeah, but—”
“When she had a question about this friend of mine—remember the time you invited that little league team to our box seats at the Mariners’ game?”
Josh nods. “Of course.”
“Well, after that, I became friendly with one of the kids and—”
Josh’s face contorts in complete surprise.
“It’s a long story—totally irrelevant. But when Sarah was curious about my friendship with the kid, what did she do? She paid a visit to his mom at her work and got all the information she wanted.” I smile. “She’s such a lawyer-in-training, I swear to God. The girl is so fucking snoopy.”
Josh gives me his patented laughing-at-me-with-his-eyes look.
“And before she ever agreed to meet me in person, she spied on me at my Club check-in—I told you about that, right? That’s when I hooked up with that Purple who showed up a week later at some other guy’s check-in as a fucking Yellow?”
Josh grimaces in disgust. “Yeah, you told me about that.”
“And that’s how the shit hit the fan in the first place—Sarah spied on me and the yellow guy, too—just because her curiosity got the best of her both times—and that’s how Stacy the Prostitute put two and two together and ratted her out.”
Josh nods.
“You see? That’s Sarah. She gets curious—and when she does, she doesn’t hesitate to do whatever the fuck she has to do to satisfy that curiosity. You don’t know her like I do, man. She’s a force of nature, that woman. When she sets her mind to something... I don’t want her taking charge and hijacking things and unwittingly doing something that puts her on The Club’s radar screen any more than she already is. The next time they come after her might not be a simple break-in.”
“I get it. I really do, man. Okay? Don’t freak out on me—I’m on board. But if we’re looking for a place to start connecting the dots, I’m just saying Sarah would know better than anyone what our first dots should be. We should at least ask her.”
“No. It’s non-negotiable, Josh. I don’t want Sarah involved. I’m gonna keep her safe through any means necessary, even if that means benching her from the game.”
Josh sighs. “Jonas.”
“No. I’m keeping her out of harm’s way, both physical and emotional.” I lower my voice. “She had a rough childhood, Josh. Her father was a bastard—an abuser.” I take a measured breath, trying to calm the raging beast welling up inside of me. “Sarah said she and her mom ‘escaped’ him. Fucking bastard. If he were here right now, I’d tear him limb from limb.”
Josh looks anguished.
“She’s been scared enough times in her life. She doesn’t need to deal with this kind of bullshit. She doesn’t need to be scared. I just want to keep her out of it.”
Josh rubs his face and exhales. He doesn’t speak for a long beat. “Okay, bro,” he finally concedes. “We’ll do things your way.”
That’s exactly right—we’ll do things my fucking way. I’m going to keep Sarah out of harm’s way and make her feel safe and protected at all times, through any means necessary, no matter what. All my baby needs to do is go to her classes and study her law books and chase that scholarship she wants so badly and help her mom save the world one battered woman at a time and then come home to me and spread her smooth olive thighs on top of my crisp white sheets and let me glory in her and make love to her and lick her and fuck her and kiss her and suck her and show her how I feel. I want her relaxed and happy and satisfied and carefree—not sitting around thinking some boogeyman is coming to get her. And, quite selfishly, I don’t want Sarah even thinking about The Club anymore, in any capacity. From now on, she can channel all her sexual curiosity into me. She’s all mine now—and I want her undivided attention.
My heart pounds in my ears.
I pull my Club-issued iPhone out of my jeans pocket and toss it onto the kitchen table. “We don’t need Sarah’s input, anyway. I’ve still got the keys to their kingdom. The fuckers haven’t deactivated me.”
Chapter 9
Jonas
“Wow.” Josh pauses briefly, staring at my Club-issued iPhone on the table. “I’m surprised they haven’t cut you off. They must not be sure if you’re friend or foe. Maybe you’re right—maybe they don’t know for sure what’s gone down between you and Sarah.”
“Yeah, and they’d better be goddamned positive I’m the enemy before cutting me off. Hell hath no fury like an asshole unjustly separated from his quarter of a million bucks.”
Josh lets out a loud puff of air. “Oh my God, Jonas. You joined The Club for a year?”
Shit. I’ve never mentioned that little detail to Josh before. I completely forgot he assumes I joined for a fun-filled month, just like he did.
“That’s hardcore, man. Damn.”
He’s right. I shrug.
“Ha!” He shakes his head, smiling. “I feel totally vindicated. Which Faraday brother is the playboy now?”
I can’t help but laugh. Of the two of us, Josh has always been tagged as the bad boy playboy, maybe because he’s always so public about his relationships and partying, when all the while it’s me who’s been burning through women like a lawnmower through tall grass.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me. Kat left a message for you—which she addressed specifically to ‘Playboy.’”
Josh looks disappointed. “She left?”
“Yeah, she had to go to work. Said she has to ‘live her life.’ But she gave me a message for you: ‘Tell Playboy I’d love to hang out with him some time—whenever he’s done chasing Mickey Mouse roller coasters, if ever.’”
Josh groans.
I laugh. “Hey, man, you did it to yourself. You’re the one who said all that Mickey Mouse bullshit right in front of her. Dumbass.”
Josh looks totally bummed.
“You liked her, huh?”
“Did you see her? Oh my God.”
“She’s just your type.”
“She’s everybody’s type.”
“Well, she obviously thinks you’re a total asswipe.”
Josh smashes his mouth into a hard line. “She was sassy, too. I like sassy.”
“It’s your own damned fault.”
“Fuck you. You’re the one who signed up for a whole year’s worth of Mickey Mouse roller coasters, not me. Pervert.”
He’s got me there. I’ve got no comeback.
“What the hell did you ask for in your application that you needed a whole year of it?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter. I told you—I was having some kind of nervous breakdown. What did you ask for in your application?”
“None of your business.” Josh’s face turns earnest. He fidgets. “Hey, man, I had no idea you were... you know, having such a hard time. I thought you were living large, being a beast. I had no idea you were... you know... ”
“Turning into Dad?”
Josh’s face flushes.
“It’s okay. Neither did I. I’d become quite the expert at distracting myself from the truth.”
Josh nods. “Turn and burn,” he says quietly.
>
“Turn and burn,” I agree. A series of images from the past year flashes through my mind. Turn and burn, indeed. “But then Sarah came along and kicked my ass, man. Holy shit, did she ever kick my ass. That woman can spot bullshit a mile a way—and she totally called me on mine.”
“Sounds like she was exactly what you needed.”
“She was—she is.”
“But next time, if you’re having a rough time, talk to me, okay? I never want you to... you know... feel like . . .”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Just don’t do something stupid.”
“I won’t. Never again. I promise.”
“I’ve always got your back. You know that, right? I never want you to—”
“I won’t.”
Josh exhales. “I can’t believe you spent a quarter million bucks on The Club—on anything, actually. It’s so un-Jonas-like of you.”
He’s right. I don’t spend money frivolously. Clearly, I was out of my mind.
“And Sarah knows you joined for a whole year?”
“Yeah, she’s the one who processed my application.” I sigh, suddenly wistful. My Beautiful Intake Agent. She had me the minute her email landed in my inbox.
“Wow. She knows all the ways you’re a total pervert and she still wants you?”
I nod.
“You’re a lucky bastard.”
“I know.”
“Does she know everything else, too? You know, about . . .” He pauses, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
I tilt my head and wait. But Josh doesn’t have the heart to finish that sentence.
He swallows hard.
I finish his sentence for him. “Does she know about The Lunacy?”
Josh nods.
It suddenly occurs to me Josh is the only living person (besides doctors and therapists, of course) who knows everything about The Lunacy—the euphemism we use to refer to “the time when Jonas lost his fucking mind.” There was nothing remotely funny about that period of my life, of course, nothing at all, but I’ve since learned that scoffing about it, calling it something as irreverent and light-hearted and dismissive as “The Lunacy,” effectively minimizes the pain and relegates it to a distant and containable memory.
