The Fixer

by Jessica Gadziala

I guess if you weren't used to them, they could be an intimidating bunch, especially when facing all of them at once in work-mode.

  "It's okay," I told her, lips down by her ear, my finger pressing into her hip reassuringly. "They are all here to help," I assured her. "Guys, this is Aven. Aven, you've already met Kai and Finn," I reminded her, wanting her to find a little comfort in the room.

  "Hey pretty lady," Kai greeted, giving her one of his open smiles.

  "I hope you like the new carpet." That was Finn, one who had never been exactly good at social graces. But because I knew him, I knew he actually meant that genuinely. He truly hoped she liked the carpet. He likely even picked out a super plush, more expensive replacement just because he wanted her to like it.

  "And then these guys are Smith and Lincoln," I introduced her to them, glad when they gave her reassuring smiles even though they weren't exactly the type of men prone to smiling.

  Jules had brought in extra fold-up chairs while I was gone, along with a pop-up table covered in the bags of food, bottles of drinks, and plates and cutlery.

  Raise.

  She needed one.

  "Alright," she said, breezing in on those stilts of hers. It didn't matter how long her shift was, she never took the damn things off. "I am scooping out. Place your orders," she told the room, going over to the table to do what she said. "Aven, have a seat. One of the comfortable ones," she added with a pointed look to the team. "These brutes can deal with a sore ass. You've had a rough enough day."

  With that, everyone got their food, putting their drinks at their feet, their plates balanced on one leg so they could open their files on the other. Like we had done countless times since we had opened.

  I needed to tell Jules to add TV dinner stands to her shopping list.

  "Alright, lay it out. Kai, you first. Rip off the band-aid. I know she's sweating you the most."

  "Me? Innocent me?" Kai asked, pretending to look shocked. Innocent was not a word one would use to describe him, but he got a small smile out of Aven regardless. "Right. Anyway. You are Aven Alicia Armstrong. Nice alliteration. You grew up out in San Fran with your mom and dad. You were happy, it seemed. Good at school. Then your dad died when you were twelve, and mom remarried within two years to a dude who, well, let's just say he's a jackass, shall we?" he asked, waiting for a response.

  "That is fitting," Aven agreed, carefully, guardedly. Sore spot, that one was.

  "And because of her attachment to him, it seemed you and your mom drifted apart, leading you to move out when you were eighteen, jumping right into night classes for spa stuff while you worked during the day at a daycare surrounded by lots of snot." Kai liked to draw pictures with his backstories. It wasn't unheard of for him to half reenact an event. Using voices. "You worked out there for a while at a nice place. Got a parking ticket four years ago. Dated a man named, I shit you not, Snow. That is his legal name, in case anyone was wondering."

  "His parents were hippies," Aven defended, cheeks a little pink, embarrassed by the mention of that boyfriend.

  "Sorry to go here, doll face, but he cheated. You seemed to take that as the last straw in San Fran, and picked up, and moved your ass across the country. Why Navesink Bank, I can not figure out."

  She shrugged a shoulder at that. "I wanted to be close to the beach and the city. Here, it is about ten minutes from the water, and an hour to the city by train or ferry. Some of the houses were up for a third of their real market value."

  "Which had you getting a job at a really nice spa around here. You know the type," he said, addressing all the guys. "Where your girl can go in planning just to get her nails done but ends up spending a grand."

  "You couldn't walk out that door for less than a grand," Aven agreed, making me figure it was one of those fancy ass places that catered to the rich on the west side of town.

  "And, making a nice salary there. Slay," he said, holding his hand out to fist-bump her, which she did, albeit a little awkwardly. "That led you to buying your house. Which, at the time, was great since you had the cash for the downpayment and a high paying job. Then the salon closed right after you moved in. You had to take a cut in not only position, but salary as well. You went out on two dates with a man named Roger. And then one date with a man named Rion. Nothing ever came of any of that. And that is about it."

  "No other guys?" I pressed, brows drawn together.

  "What is so hard to believe about that?" Aven asked, referencing when I didn't believer her earlier. "I don't mind being alone. And my RBF scares men off."

  "RBF?" Smith asked, in the dark.

  "Resting bitch face," Kai supplied. "And sorry to break this to you, but your face could never look like a bitch."

  "Alright. Moving on then. Smith, Lincoln, Finn, what about this guy?"

  Finn started. "He must have walked to her place every time. There were tracks into the woods that disappeared in the middle. No cars abandoned on any side streets." And he meant any. Finn was meticulous that way. "He had no ID on him, as I said. No metal or plastic in his body." I was glad he didn't go into detail about how he knew that in front of Aven.

  "Metal or plastic?" she asked though.

  "Surgical equipment has serial numbers," was his response. "From there. Dead end for me."

  That was where Smith picked up. "Finn sent over some DNA and fingerprints. The lab will take another day or two. Facial recognition didn't pick up on anything from this part of town. We are spreading out the scope, but that is going to take time."

  "I have alerts set up for missing persons," Lincoln went on. "And the scanner has been on. I'm recording it now. So far, no one is missing this guy. But it is early. He won't technically be considered missing for a few more hours."

  "Nothing on a similar M.O. in the area?" I asked.

  Lincoln shrugged as he reached for his iced tea. "You know how stalking cases go. Most don't get reported. The ones that do don't go into enough detail."

  That was fair enough.

  "Checked out the picture," Smith went on. "I don't recognize him. And we keep a pretty close eye on the syndicates. I don't think he is anyone. At least not anyone that we need to worry about in that way."

  That was a relief at least.

  "This is high priority until we get a name. Finn is going to need to clean house. And that needs to happen before a rent or mortgage payment goes by, and someone comes sniffing around."

  The men nodded as they absentmindedly ate some of their food.

  "Don't worry," Kai said, gently elbowing Aven's arm. "We got you covered. Nothing at all to worry about."

  That wasn't exactly true.

  She had her own worries.

  But we would make sure none of this came back to bite her in the ass. In a legal way.

  "I know I am supposed to go home and act like nothing happened. But what about as you guys make progress? Am I just in the dark from now on? Should I not be seen with any of you?"

  Those were good questions, proving that she was managing to keep her head on straight despite all the insanity.

  I reached into my desk, pulling out a burner phone, jotting down the number, then passing it to her along with a phone card. "You'll take this home, set it up, put the minutes on it. Then keep it on and charged. If we need to contact you, that is how we will do it. When this is all over, that will be put in a plain brown sandwich bag near your front door, and someone will pick it up to destroy it."

  "You are meticulous," she said, sounding relieved. "So you will keep me updated?"

  "As information becomes important to share."

  As a rule, it wouldn't.

  The less the client knew, the better.

  But I wanted her to have that comfort. It seemed like she needed it. And she had been through enough for one day. I would let her keep her hope.

  "So this is it?" she asked, sounding completely deflated about having to go back to her life. A life that would never exactly feel the same.

  "For now, yes," I agreed. "We w
ill wrangle your mutt, and head back to your place in a few."

  She nodded, though couldn't keep eye-contact.

  And as much as I would have offered her the room above for as long as she needed, she was not lucky enough to be the kind of client that could do that, escape their lives for a while. She needed to carry on. As hard as that might be at times.

  So fifteen minutes later, Mackey was in the backseat, content since Lincoln had slipped him some pieces of boneless spare ribs, and Aven was beside me in the passenger seat.

  "What is that smell?" she asked, nose wrinkling up.

  "Oh, Finn cleaned the car. He uses some potent shit sometimes."

  "He must be exhausted," she observed as I turned onto the street out front of my building. "He did so much today."

  "He did," I agreed. "But that is Finn. He doesn't get jobs every day. Or even every week. He gets long breaks to recharge. But when he is on a job, he is on it. Nothing gets past him."

  I had no idea why I was telling her any of this. It really wasn't shit she needed to know. It just seemed like she needed noise, like the silence would undo her.

  "That's good to hear," she observed, tensing as we turned into her street, my headlights landing on her house.

  It looked no different.

  I knew that was what she was thinking.

  Considering everything, it should look different.

  But it was the same old house.

  Except, as she would find in a second as we walked up the path, it was a lot fucking cleaner than she even knew was possible.

  I shouldn't step foot over the threshold.

  I couldn't step foot into the entry and ruin the clean inside.

  It wasn't even an option.

  It would never have even occurred to me before.

  But with Aven next to me, hesitating stepping into her own home, knowing what ghosts she would find there, I had the almost overwhelming urge to lead her in, to show her around, to assure her that nothing was going to happen to her anymore.

  I simply couldn't do that.

  I had to be professional.

  That was the job.

  "Aven," I said, my hand reaching down to curl over hers that was clutching her burner cell like a lifeline. Her head jerked over at me, her eyes practically jumping with how fast her brain was spinning. "Everything is handled. You are safe. I know this feels awful right now, but I am just going to need you to nut-up and handle it. It sucks. But you can do it." She didn't look quite so convinced. "Tell me you can do it."

  She took a deep breath, and in doing so, her shoulders moved back, her chin lifted a little. Determination looked good on her. "I can do it," she told me in a sure voice, reaching for my other hand where Mackey's leash was.

  "Good. I will let you know if we have any information."

  She nodded a bit at that, but looked like she maybe didn't quite believe me this time.

  Smart girl.

  "Thank you, Quin."

  That sounded a fuckuva lot like goodbye to me.

  And it was, in a way.

  She turned, flicked on her light, and moved inside, sliding the locks into place, then flicking on her external lights as well. If I knew anything about women in this situation, and I did, she would put every fucking light in the house on. Push back the shower curtains, check the closets, then likely lock herself in the bathroom, using the tub as a bed, hugging a bat like a lover.

  I hated that visual.

  I wanted to be there for her.

  Wait.

  What the fuck?

  No, I didn't.

  I absolutely did not.

  That was insane.

  I forced myself to turn away from her house where all the lights were flipping on, getting in my car, trying to shake the weird, unnatural urge I had to charge back into that house, telling her I would keep guard for the night so she could sleep.

  Because that shit was not like me.

  FIVE

  Aven

  My house was lit up like Mischief Night, just daring those little troublemaking shits to come up and smash my pumpkins or TP my trees.

  The entire inside of the house smelled clean. And not just "oh, I Pledged the wood and Windexed the windows clean," but industrial solvent clean. Industrial solvent with an undercurrent of something minty, I guess to try to cut the chemical smell.

  It didn't work.

  But, still, I was pretty sure my house hadn't been this clean when I had moved in. Every corner looked vacuumed and wiped. The counters were sparkling. Finn had even been able to get some shine going on my hardwood floors that had long since lost their coating.

  Even back rooms that I was pretty sure had never been touched by the creeper were cleaned. My blanket that I kept on the back of my couch had been washed, along with my drapes, and it seemed like all my clothes. Seriously, crazy meticulous. But that worked in my favor.

  Hell, even the inside of my washing machine smelled like bleach as though he had cleaned that after cleaning everything I owned inside of it.

  I hadn't been able yet, though, to drag myself up to my bedroom to flick that light on. I had gotten halfway up before my stomach rolled, threatening to send the Chinese back upward. I decided to go ahead and allow myself that small bit of weakness. But only for the day. I would have to get myself back in there eventually, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.

  For the time being, I made Mackey some real dinner since some pieces of that bright red meat stuff one of Quin's guys handed him before we left wasn't a meal. Then I forced myself to walk around, making tea, gathering blankets and throw pillows, trying to decide where I would possibly feel safe to sleep for the night.

  I knew, rationally, that there was nothing to fear.

  He was gone.

  The 'for good' kind of gone.

  But I was still jumping at the wind and the house-settling noises. In the end, I grabbed my small arsenal of usable weapons - a giant kitchen knife, a cast iron skillet, and a golf club that had been left behind by a previous owner, and I made a makeshift bed in my bathroom, locking the door, and wedging a kitchen chair under the knob just for extra assurance.

  Both my cells were sitting on the edge of the tub as I stared up into the exhaust fan as a few hours ticked away.

  Later, and there was no real telling how much later, I eventually did drift off.

  I woke in the early hours of morning with a sick feeling in my stomach, a sign from my childhood that I had had nightmares, even if my mind couldn't remember them upon waking.

  Taking a deep breath, I inched my way out of the bathroom, doing a lap around my house with a displeased Mackey who really just wanted to go outside, not play guard dog to his traumatized owner.

  Finding nothing - not that I had truly expected to see anything - I found my purse where I had stashed the makeup Quin had mentioned - and Jules had supplied - and finally did it.

  Went up the stairs.

  There was no more avoiding it since I needed to get ready for work, and the only way to do that was to go up to my bedroom to get clothes out of my closet.

  My hand closed around the knob, making me take a deep breath of the chemical/mint combination I was oddly growing a little fond of, and pushed it open.

  Finn had left the blinds up, the windows open to air it out, so the morning light was streaming in over my perfectly made bed covered in a somewhat dainty cream-colored comforter complete with shams and new sheets. The carpet he seemed to earnestly hope I liked was plush under my bare feet, beige, with a light swirling pattern that was as though someone had pressed it into the fibers.

  It was leaps and bounds nicer than my old carpet.

  I was almost a little amazed at how nice my room looked. Almost like it was a different space. Maybe that was what Finn had been going for. Maybe he knew that if it were different enough, it would be easier to forget what had taken place.

  But even as I moved around and admired the newness of it all, I felt my body hugging the walls, keeping a wide be
rth from the spot that the body had been sprawled, as I made my way to the closet to dig out some clothes.

  It was different, sure.

  But there was no way the new carpet could erase the memory of a dead man there, bleeding all over my floor.

  Even the memory made my stomach lurch.

  But I needed to keep it together.

  I needed to focus on pretending like nothing happened, put on a mask, keep my head on straight.

  It was bad enough that the situation happened at all.

  I didn't need to be acting wonky, and wind myself up in jail.

  I took a long, hot shower, and went through the motions of getting ready for work.

  "Hold down the fort," I told Mackey, who didn't even bother to raise his head off the arm of the couch he knew he wasn't supposed to be sitting on in the first place. "Real scary, you turned out to be, huh?"

  I pulled into the lot behind work, a bit paranoid, so double checking my face and neck in the rearview mirror, wanting to make sure that the makeup - AKA Magic In A Tube - worked even in the harsh morning light. And while, if you looked really closely, you could maybe see a bit of a shadow, as a whole, there was no way you would know I had been strangled and hit in the face just a day and a half before.

  My throat still hurt, meaning my voice was still a little horse. But I managed to tell my coworkers that I had gone to a concert over the weekend, and got a little overzealous with my woo-hooing.

  After that, I was locked in a back room with pantsless ladies, and two shirtless dudes for the rest of the day.

  Even though I hadn't needed to put much effort into it, I felt drained by the time I got to my car at six, driving home to a house that felt icky, and trying to just go through the motions.

  I nearly flew at my phone around seven-thirty when I heard the burner going off on the coffee table.

  It was just a text, but even that was better than the radio silence all day. Even that was more than I had really been expecting.

  Nothing new to report yet. How are you holding up? - Q

  How was I holding up?

  That was a bit of a loaded question, wasn't it?