Pretty Boy

by Tara Oakes

A stuttering sob quivers through my lips as I mumble out the newest of all the near-silent curse words I’m calling Chris.

  Loud, crashing, shattering sounds echo up the stairs and through my closed door, causing me to sit upright on high alert.

  Someone’s in the house. Someone’s downstairs.

  I feel my heart begin to race violently, with a sudden clarity taking hold over my senses, chasing away all of the depression and sadness as adrenaline sends me into survival mode.

  What do I do? I reach for my phone to call 911, but they’ll never get here in time. Another crash booming through the house startles me.

  I reach blindly through the dark for the heaviest thing I can find, only to pick up the small snowglobe that dad brought be back from Belgium when I was small. This isn’t gonna do shit!

  Wait!

  My old field-hockey stick!

  Throwing the bed covers off quickly, I run to my closet, nearly ripping off the hinges to get to the well-worn stick that’s led me to victory time and time again. I take the handle and clutch it to my chest, moving through the darkness to leave my room behind.

  I creep stealth-like down the stairs toward the sounds, holding tight to my only weapon, my only means of defense.

  Rather than another crashing or shattering, the next sound I hear is laughter, first a man’s and then a woman’s.

  Oh, God! There’s two of them! I pray that dad’s safe, that he isn’t harmed if he’s home, while thanking the stars that mom’s not home. She’s all but moved full-time to New York, safe and far from here right now.

  I turn around the bottom ballast and hug my body up against the wall as I close-in on the thieves.

  I can hear them, right on the other side of the wall I’m on. I breathe deep, fortifying myself and my courage, widening my stance, preparing to attack.

  One.

  Two.

  I jump around the wall, holding the stick high enough to do damage if needed. “Freeze, motherfucker!”

  “Jessica! Don’t!”

  I freeze in mid-stride, dropping the heavy stick to fall and bounce against the hard tile of the kitchen floor.

  “Ah!” The half-naked young woman with dark hair jumps off the table and scrambles for the black mess of crumpled fabric in the corner. She stretches it out, attempting to cover her nakedness, hanging her head with her long brown hair covering most of her face.

  “Dad?” Part of me knows it’s him from his voice and the short glimpse of his face I was able to catch before looking away. Part of me is in disbelief.

  “I—I—I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?” He stutters, embarrassed, full of shame.

  Oh, God! I cannot believe I just saw that with my own two eyes! I rub frantically at my eyes to try and erase what they just witnessed.

  “Dad! What the fuck! I thought there was a burglar!” I shake my head and look away over my shoulder, anything not to have to look at him.

  I can hear movement, and I snap my eyes over to the petite girl backing away. “I’m so sorry, Miss Leary. I—“

  “Esperanza?” I call out to the maid.

  Oh my God. It’s true. What Tasha said, what Chris confirmed. Dad’s cheating on mom with the maid!

  I feel light headed and back up against the kitchen wall, leaning against it not to faint.

  Wait!

  If this is true, then what else that Chris said is true?

  ~*~

  CHRIS

  The telltale electronic beep scans my I.D. badge, accepting the first phase of entry. Next, I press my right thumb onto the small black pad and bend to line my eye up with the target for the retinal scan.

  Two seconds later, and the double reinforced steel door slides open, clearing the way to Beau’s computer lab.

  The temperature rises at least a few degrees from the heat generated by all the hard-drives and servers lining the perimeter of the room. This is the epicenter of our division of the Bureau’s computer network, and ever since cyber-terrorism and has become such a danger, the space has nearly tripled in size, with more than a few handfuls of agents being assigned to man the machines.

  One of my best friends, Beau Gale, who I’d gone through the academy with, was assigned to this department about two years ago. It’s come in handy more times than I can count.

  “Beau!” I call out into the depths of all the humming and beeping machines and computer screens. “Where you at, man?”

  One or two of the professor-looking agents turn in their chairs to give me a quick nod or wave as I pass them in search for the one guy in here who looks like he actually gets laid.

  Nothing personal, most of these guys are decent enough, but just because we hide you away three stories below street level and you probably don’t even remember how to use your gun anymore, doesn’t mean you should just give up on looking like a man, you know.

  “S’up, bro?” Beau pushes himself away from his desk, one of the largest down here, in his rolly chair, waiving what looks to be an apple in his hand.

  I extend my hand and we grip as if we’re about to start an arm wrestle, before pulling the other in close and giving a harder-than-necessary pat on the back.

  “How you doin’ down here?” I look around at the mess that is his desktop. “Still remember you’re an actual FBI agent and not a college kid?”

  He laughs as I bust his balls. “I’ve got enough accolades on my wall not to forget I wear a badge, bro. One or two of them are from saving your ass, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “That was pure luck, and you know it.”

  He tilts his head. “Both times?”

  Beau may be a goddamned genius when it comes to computers but he’s also a bad-ass field agent. We were partnered up together as rookies and his quick trigger-finger was all that stood between me and a coffin during one particular nasty investigation.

  “Shut up, nerd-boy,” I take one of the pens by the end and use the tip to lift one of the napkins, unearthing what’s underneath.

  I quickly replace the covering while shaking my head in disappointment. Some things never change. He’s still as neat and tidy as frat-boy.

  “You get the information I need?” I turn and lean up against the few square inches that look like they won’t transmit some type of infection.

  Beau chews on what I’m guessing, or hoping, is gum. “In the middle of it right now. Had to finish some stuff for the investigation I’m working on first.”

  I pretend to be interested. “Anything good?”

  Being stuck down here most of his day, Beau doesn’t get much interaction with other non-computer geeks, so he jumps on the question. “Hell yeah, bro. Take a look at this.”

  He tosses me a file to look through while he types faster than I ever thought possible on his keyboard. Opening the standard issue manila case file, the first thing I notice is the 3 by 5 full resolution photo of one of the hottest women I’ve ever seen.

  “Dayum,” I admire the black-haired chic in the photo. “Who is she?”

  He arches his eyebrows, agreeing with my assessment of her looks. “That right there is one of the most dangerous computer hackers out there.”

  I scrutinize the picture again. “Yeah?”

  I’m skeptical. Other than Beau, I’ve never seen an attractive computer geek that didn’t either look like they had a million cats crawling around their house or played online video games under some stupid username like “COOLCAT4U”.

  “Damn straight,” he multitasks, finishing the assignment I’ve given him. “She’s on every major most wanted list, including Interpol’s and she’s on the run with a shit-load of national secrets from every single major world power. As of this morning she’s got a 5 million dollar bounty on her head.”

  I close the file and toss it back onto his desk. “Shit. She’s on borrowed time.”

  He nods. “Not unless I can get to her first. She’s good, though, crazy good. Both parents were KGB. She’s a Kremlin baby.”

  “Maybe you’ll actuall
y get out of this hellhole and see the light of day on this one?” Beau might be a computer expert but he’s also a good fucking field agent. He needs to find a way to be both at the same time.

  He shrugs his shoulders while studying the computer screen before him. “Time will tell. One thing’s for sure… this woman is gonna give me a run for my money.”

  “Don’t they always?” I know Jess certainly does.

  Beau claps his hands loudly, “There it is!” he points to the screen. “Your perp made a call, lasting one minute and thirteen seconds, immediately after the initial call. I’ve got a mobile number. It looks like the number he called isn’t registered to an account holder. It’s a pre-paid throwaway. Give me a couple of hours and I can try and request the actual conversation from the mobile carrier.”

  I stare at him in shock. “Shit! You can actually do that?”

  This man amazes me on one hand and scares the shit out of me on the other. It seems like every time I ask him for something, he manages to do more and more.

  Beau laughs. “Chris, you have no fucking idea what we can do.”

  I breathe out. “Well, remind me to never piss you off. Wouldn’t want you to ever start looking into my shit.”

  He prints out a screen shot, with the phone number of the mysterious caller that Sean, the Leary campaign employee who’s double-crossed his own boss, reached right after Jess called him last night.

  “Thanks, man. I really appreciate this.” I fold the paper in quarters and tuck it into my breast pocket.

  He sits back, reclining in his computer chair. “No sweat. I’ll just add it to the list of favors you owe me. Say, what’s the deal with this case, anyway? Why the rush on the number?”

  “It’s Jess’s dad. Some type of blackmail shit. Using her as bait.” I clue him in. He’s met Jess plenty of times back when we were dating.

  Beau hisses through closed teeth. “Well, that explains the rush. So… you two thrown back together again, huh? How’s that working out?”

  I lower my eyes and stare at the floor tile. “How’d it work out the last time?”

  Neither one of us answers that one. He knows first hand the damage that was done last time.

  “Well, hopefully you learned something from that shit. Don’t fuck it up again, man. She’s a good girl, a keeper. The type that will be around long after that badge.”

  I clap my hand down on his shoulder as I lift off his desk. “Thanks for the number. Good luck finding your Russian.”

  “I’ll email you the transcript of the call once I get a hold of it.” He calls out behind me as I leave the computer lab. “Say hey to Jess for me!”

  ~*~

  JESS

  “Welcome back, Miss Leary,” Kristen, my intern, greets me as I walk into the nearly-empty, early-morning building..

  “Hey, Kristen. You got my email?” I ask as I walk past her into my office, placing my laptop case down on my desk.

  She nods, eager to please. “Sure did. I rearranged your whole morning.”

  I give my best effort at cracking a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  After what happened last night, first with Chris, and then with my dad, I’m in no mood for anything today. As soon as this shit with Sean Yeates is over and Chris closes the investigation, I plan on taking a leave of absence and getting the hell out of here.

  I can’t bear to continue on with this farce of a campaign any longer. It’s all a lie. My dad’s a liar. I won’t be a part of this anymore.

  “Once Agent Gibson arrives can you please show him in?” I flip through the pile of mail collected in the wooden file box during my absence.

  She turns to leave, having been given her instructions. “Shall I prepare some coffee?”

  I don’t even attempt to hide the tartness in my words. “If he wants coffee, he can get it himself.”

  Kristen widens her eyes, “Ok, then.”

  Yes, I’m a bitch today. Yes, I will snap if given the opportunity, and, yes, people will talk shit behind my back. I don’t care. I’m counting down the minutes until this place is nothing but a distant memory.

  ~*~

  The knock at the door isn’t necessarily loud, but the vibration it leaves in my ears is like a sledgehammer hitting metal, causing me to wince my eyes in pain and rub my temples as I rest my elbows on my desk.

  “Come in,” I struggle to call out through my migraine-induced haze.

  I haven’t gotten one of these things since college, and it couldn’t have picked a worse time to hit, but you know what they say; when it rains… it pours.

  My life is a fucking flood right now.

  “Jess? You ready?”

  It’s his voice, Chris’s.

  I haven’t spoken to him since I stormed out of his place late last night, and even without the migraine, I’m at a loss for words. He has no idea what I’ve seen, what I’ve discovered, what’s defeated me.

  I nod my head, waiting patiently for the heavy dose of medication that I’ve taken to kick in.

  “You ok?” I can tell he’s walking on eggshells. “Listen, last night—“

  “No,” I cut him off. “I can’t do this now.”

  It hurts to speak, to communicate in any way, as I just want to curl up in a dark corner and hide until this thing passes. I can’t though. I’ve somehow got to pull myself together and push through this, get this all over with.

  Then, once my mind is mine again, I can deal with Chris. I don’t know what I’ll say, how I’ll say it, but I’ll find a way to apologize. I’ll make him understand how I now know he was right about my dad. But, not now, not in this moment. It will have to wait.

  I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Fine. Look, maybe it’s better this way, you know. Before we get in over our heads, I mean, we’ve done all this before. We’ve been down this road. Let’s just cut our losses.”

  What? Could things get any worse right now?

  “Chris,” I try to look up. “I want to talk about it, really I do. I just can’t. Later. Can we talk about it later? Please?”

  I can tell he’s confused, concerned even. “Yeah. Fine. Later.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHRIS

  Fuck.

  She can’t even stand to look at me. It’s like speaking to me is painful for her, too. I knew she was pissed, I knew she’d give me some crazy attitude, but this is… I don’t know. I’ve never seen her like this before.

  Sure, we’ve had plenty of fights before. She gets pissed, acts like a raging bitch, I realize I’ve been an ass, we let each other cool down and then it used to work itself out.

  This is different, though. First, the way she left my apartment last night, cold as steel, and now like she’s not even able to stomach being around me. She didn’t even flinch when I told her we should just forget this thing between us, thinking maybe that would get some type of reaction from her.

  Nothing. She didn’t even try to accuse me of taking the easy way out.

  She’s done. I can tell by how quiet she is, how pained she looks. She’s just going through the motions to not let this all blow up before I wrap up the last piece of the investigation.

  Fine. If that’s how she wants it, then that’s how it’ll be. Strictly business. Wrap this shit up, make my collar, then get the hell out of here and back to my real life. The life I made without her.

  Jess is sitting with closed eyes, rubbing her temples slowly as if she’s giving herself a pep talk to get through the last few minutes of dealing with me, when the office door opens.

  “Miss Leary?” It’s that intern, or secretary, or whoever she is, from the other day. “Mr. Yeates.”

  The door is widened a bit before a scrawny-looking man is shown in. He has short hair, a pale complection and is wearing a shirt entirely the wrong size, big and baggy where it’s tucked in.

  “Thank you, Kristen. Hold my calls, please.” Jess dismisses her aid. “Please, Mr. Yeates. Have a seat.”

  The man nods to me and t
hen sits in the wooden chair facing Jess across her desk. “Thank you Miss Leary. First, I want to thank you for inviting me in today.”

  I lean back against the bookcase behind me, crossing my arms, ready to watch this unfold before stepping in.

  Jess finally opens her eyes and I can see they’re reddened. A pang of self-anger rips through me, knowing that I’m responsible for that. She probably hasn’t had a decent nights sleep because she’s been too angry with me.

  “I don’t believe you’ve met Agent Gibson,” Jess waves her hand over in my general direction. “He’s been assigned to help us--”

  “Yes,” Sean Yeates interrupts her. “I think I know why he’s here. And, I think I know why you called me last night, as well. I’m not here to talk about polls, am I?”

  Well, this is unexpected. Jess and I catch each other’s stare before Yeates continues.

  “I’ve done nothing illegal. I’ve already spoken with my attorney after you called me last night. I figured you must have figured things out.” He sits up defiantly in his chair. “I’m prepared to give a statement. I’m a journalist. I work for the Daily Times Newspaper. I’m writing an article on Senator Leary and sought to expose him for taking bribes. I solicited photographs, which I did not pay for in any way and sent them to your father. If you read the wordage carefully, you’ll see I never once stated that the pictures would be exchanged for money. I was very careful about that. I simply insinuated that the sum may prevent such information from being made public. I am prepared to show my credentials, as well as make an official statement about my intent.”

  I eye the man carefully, but he doesn’t squirm.

  “And how did you find out that the pictures even existed? How did you know where to look for them?” I move now, taking two strides over to Jess’s desk to sit on the edge and face him man to man, eye to eye.

  He swallows. “I am invoking writer’s privilege and refuse to name my sources.”

  I laugh. “Of course you are.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jess stands, but holds onto the desk as if she’s about to fall over, obviously in shock. “How dare you! Do you have any idea what a mess you’ve caused?”