by Lacey Black
“Blake, I want you and Styx to organize the heist. Make sure it goes off as planned this time with no fuck-ups. We can’t afford another screw up like earlier this week,” Roman says, pointing his fork at me.
“Yes, sir. I’ll get with him later on,” I confirm before going back to my salad.
“What’s the latest on the Lambo job that was botched?” Roman asks as his large steak is set down before him.
“It will be ready by the weekend. The bodywork is top notch and the repaint is almost ready,” I tell them before cutting into my own steak.
Jobs like these don’t go through the shop. No, there’s an entirely different facility that we run those jobs through. I wasn’t privileged to that info until about a year ago. Cars are stolen and taken to a secured, very private facility on the outskirts of Vegas. There, we strip the cars of any identification and prepare them for sale. New identification numbers are issued, along with a purchase history that is completely bogus. I’ve discovered that Roman has a man on the inside of the DMV who is paid handsomely to change records. Very few cars are sold within the United States, but those that are, are given a makeover with new paint and accessories. Combined with the new identification, it makes them untraceable.
A year ago, I was presented with a new opportunity to help in the teardown facility. I had worked hard and proven myself loyal to the organization through the front shop, making myself available to work my way up. After a few months, my hard work started to pay off.
Six months ago, I was pulled further inside the organization. That’s when I had to cut off complete contact with my family. I attend meetings between Roman and his people, help complete illegal jobs, and even make deliveries to cargo containers. This shit is very real, and without being the guy sucking off the big boss, I’m in as deep as I can be.
I’m doing whatever I can to gather as much intel as possible, yet as I sit around the table with my special cell phone turned on, I can’t help but wonder which side of the law I’m really on anymore. Luke assures me that I’m still one of the good guys, but I just don’t fucking know any longer. I need this shit over, and I need it over fast before I completely forget what it’s like to be a respectable part of the community.
* * *
Gage is following behind me as I drive the pristine Jaguar towards the apartment for C. Mathewson. The neighborhood with nice houses and fancy apartment buildings looks vaguely familiar as the GPS directs me towards the building I’m looking for. As I pull up, I have this strange sense of déjà vu for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. I remember this building.
I climb out and grab the paperwork from the passenger seat. After making sure the vehicle is clean and ready for the client, I head towards the front stoop. I locate the button for C. Mathewson and engage the intercom.
“Yes?” comes over the small speaker.
“I have a delivery for C. Mathewson,” I say, taking note that C. sounds older than I was expecting. Especially for someone with a car seat in the back of the vehicle.
“We were just on our way out. I’ll be right down,” she says before turning off the intercom. I take the opportunity to scout the neighborhood. The building is red brick with thick, clean glass and well-manicured landscaping. I can tell the building is well maintained and probably costs a small fortune in rent. It fits in well with the rest of the single-family homes that litter the opposite side of the street.
Last time I was here, it was dark. Though I foolishly didn’t recall all the details of the building when I arrived that night, I definitely took in my surroundings when I left that morning. Carly was on the top floor, the penthouse. There was one other door on the opposite side of the hallway signifying a second apartment on the coveted top floor.
Just then, the front door opens and an older woman carrying a small child walks out. The brunette woman offers me a polite smile as she juggles the antsy child in her arms. The baby turns towards me, giving me my first real glimpse at the little one. The child is definitely a girl with the cutest black hair that holds just a little curl to it. Her complexion offers a hint of a mixed race, and her eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen. When she gives me a huge, toothy smile complete with drool hanging off her lower lip, my heart slams against my chest.
What the hell?
“I have some paperwork for you to sign,” I tell the woman as I pass the clipboard.
She quickly takes it in her available hand and struggles to balance the clipboard and the baby who is doing everything she can to get her little hands on the ink pen. Trying to hold them both, every time she brings the pen up to sign her name, the child in her arm makes a grab for it. Sure, I could offer to hold the clipboard for her while she signs the documentation I need to release the car, but I don’t. Instead I reach for the baby.
“Oh,” she says with a surprised look. “Thank you,” she adds with a small smile.
I watch for a moment as she signs several places on the indicated lines, but then my attention falls to the child. I’ve never held a baby. Well, I’m sure I held my brother when I was younger, but not as an adult. None of my friends have kids yet, and the job hasn’t exactly given me enough free time to enjoy anything other than car heists.
“Can you say hi, Natalia?” the woman coos at the baby in my arms. The sensations of her in my arms quickly go from awkward to something different. Something more.
I glance back down at her, telling myself that I won’t give in to the sudden urge to baby talk, and finally stick with, “Hi.” The baby in my arms reaches up with both wet hands and slaps them around my mouth.
“Is that all you need?” she asks as she hands me back the clipboard.
“Uh, yeah,” I say through my sudden dry throat. I try to clear it before handing the little girl back to her mom. When she takes her, the girl reaches back towards me, and I fight the urge to reach back and take her. I have no clue why, though. I don’t know this baby or her mother. Yet, I’m drawn to her in some weird fucking way. I’ve always pictured my life leading me towards a wife and kids someday. I’m sure this crazy longing that suddenly settled in my chest has everything to do with the fact that I’m nowhere near close to that goal. This job is slowly sucking the life out of me. So much so that I can barely picture what my life would look like without being undercover. Maybe I need to get drunk again.
I take the woman down and show her the repairs we made. “Thank you so much. I’m sure my daughter will be happy with everything,” she says as she bounces the baby on her hips.
“Daughter?”
“Yep, Mommy’s at work, isn’t she, love bug?” the woman coos at her granddaughter.
After a few minutes of silence, Gage honks his horn behind me. “If your daughter has any problems with the repairs, have her call the shop,” I say, handing her my business card.
“I will. Thank you.”
On autopilot, I head back to Gage’s car and slide down into the seat. “Where’s the hottie?” he asks which instantly annoys the shit out of me.
“Not here,” I mumble as he backs out of his parking spot. I watch as the woman secures her granddaughter into a seat in the back of a newer Jeep Liberty. She appears to talk to her for a few moments before closing the door and walking around to the driver’s side.
“Too bad. I really would like to get another view of that ass of hers. That her kid? Must be since we saw that seat thing in the back of the car. Maybe Dad isn’t around anymore. Maybe she’s lonely and in need of somethin’ that only ol’ Gage can give her,” he laughs inappropriately and grabs his crotch as he approaches the road. Instantly, I want to punch him in the fucking throat and watch him struggle to breathe.
I don’t give in though, and I keep quiet as we wait for a break in traffic to pull out onto the street. I glance back over and watch as the woman pulls her car out of her spot, heading towards the other entrance in the lot. She maneuvers her small SUV into traffic and drives further away from me as we speak. Gage’s trap runs non-stop about s
omething that I just don’t give a shit about. Instead, I watch them drive down the street until I’m not longer able to see them.
That little girl stole something from me today. Something that I wasn’t even sure existed anymore. And it’s harder than hell to watch them drive away, basically taking part of my heart with them.
Chapter Seven – A Beautiful Day
Carly
It’s a beautiful October day. The sun is shining and the air has yet to turn humid and unbearable. Even for October, the harsh summer has rolled right into fall, leaving air conditioners fired up and summer clothes a predominant part of everyday attire.
“You ready to go?” I ask Natalia as I strap her in the stroller. I haven’t jogged in a while. Okay, fine. I was never really a jogger, but I have always enjoyed a good, cleansing power walk. So on this beautiful Saturday morning, sporting a tank top, stretchy black shorts, and my worn Nikes, I load up Nat in the jogging stroller to take her for a cruise around the neighborhood.
I was lucky to get this place. My apartment was given to me as a college graduation present from my uncle. Another peace offering. The one he wanted to gift me was closer to the strip and was three times the amount of money. But, I didn’t want to live in the middle of all the Vegas excitement. While I love the city I was born and raised in, I wanted a quiet subdivision where I could walk at night without fear of getting mugged or hit on by a drunk Drag Queen. This place has a great security system and a Neighborhood Watch. My uncle made sure of it.
There’s a nice public school where Natalia will someday attend just down the road from my apartment. It was another selling point when I helped my uncle check out different properties. The police patrol it frequently enough to make me feel safe and secure within the community. Of course, that still doesn’t mean I’m leaving my doors unlocked or hiding a key under the front mat.
We take off down the street heading towards the school. Since its Saturday, the playground equipment and the classrooms are vacant. We keep walking past the unoccupied swings and head towards Poplar Avenue a mile away. Poplar is full of small organic stores and a wide variety of fitness studios. But right smack dab in the middle of all the health food sits one of my favorite little ice cream parlors. They serve the world’s best fresh peach frozen yogurt, and today, that’s my destination.
When we finally reach the ice cream parlor, I’m winded and have worked up quite a sweat. I park the jogging stroller outside of the door and slip inside. Cold air hits me square in the face offering relief from the desert heat outside. Natalia seems to recognize exactly where we are because she gets excited as I approach the counter. I try to keep her quiet while we wait for our turn to order, but it doesn’t seem to work. A few patrons give me “the look” while others offer me a friendly smile and just laugh at my daughter’s excitement.
Cup of fresh peach frozen yogurt and a bottle of water in hand, I head back outside to grab the stroller. With Natalia securely strapped back inside, we head over to one of the empty tables that litter the sidewalk. I grab Nat’s sippy cup and try to get her to drink some water, but her eyes are firmly glued on the bowl of melting yogurt. She lets out an ear-piercing squeal when I apparently take too long, so I take one quick drink of water before grabbing the spoon.
“Good?” I ask my smiling daughter as she gums the delicious, cold treat. I shovel it in as fast as I can, which still doesn’t quite seem fast enough by her standards, and smile down at her happy face. We’ve had a hard year with her colic and digestive troubles, but we’ve been happy. I wouldn’t trade a single moment. Not one of those sleepless nights or crying fits for anything in the world. Watching my daughter smile at me, at the world around her, is my greatest joy.
My thoughts switch swiftly to the fact that my angel won’t have a father. I knew it the moment I saw the plus sign on the pregnancy test that I was doing this solo. I didn’t even know his last name, you know? Plus, he said he was starting a new job. Could be in Vegas, could be in Egypt for all I know. But as we live each day, enjoying the good ones and coping with the bad ones, I know what she’s going to go through. I know what it’s like to not have a father present in your life. My own was absent until gone completely, and hers not even around from the first day. It saddens me to know what she’ll be missing. And what he’s missing too.
If I had the chance to tell him would I? I’d like to think I would. Not knowing what kind of person he really is, I think I got enough of a glimpse of the man deep down inside of him to make a logical, rational decision. Even if that glimpse was filled with passion and intense urgency. If he were the type of man that he showed me two years ago, caring, hardworking, and dedicated, I would definitely tell him. Maybe not right away, but as soon as I knew him enough to trust him with our daughter.
My daughter’s eyes begin to droop and her head begins to sway indicating that she’s dropping fast. She starts to wiggle and fuss as she tries to fight the sleep taking over her small little body. Every day, she fights it. Instead of just giving in and letting herself be lulled to sleep, she fights it as hard as humanly possible, not giving in until the very last possible nanosecond. I enjoy sleep and never fight it, so the only conclusion is that she must get this behavior from her father.
I toss our cup and napkins in the trash bin and point the stroller towards the direction we came. I move the back of the stroller seat until it’s completely reclined which upsets Nat to no end. How can she fight sleep if she can’t watch her surroundings?
By the time I reach the end of the block, her whimpering is non-existent. I keep my pace swift but not quite as fast as the walk to the ice cream parlor an hour ago. Maybe that has something to do with the cup of frozen deliciousness I just consumed. Could be, but I’ll just stick with the fact that it’s warmer outside now.
When I reach the apartment, I spy my car in the parking lot. Mom took delivery for me yesterday while I was at work, signing all of the papers needed. She left all of the paperwork on my counter for me to review last night. When I saw the payment section, it said “Paid In Full” which surprised and concerned me. I didn’t realize the insurance would pay so quickly, but that’s the only logical solution. I surely didn’t write any check or hand over any plastic. The business card attached to the paperwork is what stole my breath, though. Blake Crisp. Sure, there’s thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of men everywhere in the world named Blake, so why would this Blake matter? Probably because every time I see that name, I wonder if he’s my mystery Blake.
After laying my sleeping toddler down in her crib, I head to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of white wine. I’m not much of a drinker, but sometimes I just need a little something to help me relax. The clock says almost four o’clock, which means I’ll be starting dinner soon, and have yet to figure out what in the heck I’m going to make for us. When I set my glass down on the counter top, I can’t help but glance down at the business card lying on top of the small stack of papers. Picking it up, I hold it firmly and read the name once more. Blake Crisp.
After several moments of just looking at the big block letters, I toss the card back down on the counter. I’m sure this Blake isn’t my Blake. In fact, I’m certain. If he were going to be a mechanic at a shop, why would he make it seem like he was going to be completely unavailable? Surely someone who was getting ready to start work in an auto repair shop certainly could continue to see a woman after work if they both so chose. Which only reinforces my thought that this Blake is in no way my Blake.
But why am I still left feeling slightly uneasy?
* * *
The next morning, Mom arrives at seven-thirty sharp to go with us to church. I feel bad going because I’m always the woman whose baby is a perfect angel until the sermon starts. As soon as the congregation sits and the pastor starts to speak, that’s when Nat decides she’s had enough.
I don’t attend every Sunday like I probably should. Mom always grants me a pass, saying that it’s not the frequency of your visits as long as you go ev
ery once in awhile. So, here I am on an early Sunday morning, with diaper bag in hand, heading to church. It’s actually my second time this month, if you can believe it.
“Ready?” she asks from the doorway before taking her granddaughter from my arms.
“Yep. I think I have everything.” I give the room a quick once-over just to make sure the coffee pot and television are off.
The ride to church only takes about fifteen minutes since traffic is somewhat light. The small Lutheran church is nestled back in a great little subdivision where everyone has a white picket fence surrounding their yard. It’s nothing to drive down this road on a Sunday morning and watch them watering their AstroTurf yard or getting the pool floaties out for the day.
Mom is carrying Nat as we walk up the front steps, greeted by an older couple I’ve seen every Sunday that I attend. They wear the exact same outfit, too, no matter what time of year. They are without a doubt the cutest old couple ever with their handholding and their grandparent smiles. I didn’t know my grandparents, but I always imagined that this is what they would have looked like.
“Good morning, dear,” the older woman says to me before turning her attention to Natalia, giving her the typical pat on the top of her head.
“Good morning,” I reply as we walk through the door.
“Do you want to sit in back?” Mom always asks. Of course, I want to sit in back. As soon as Natalia starts her stuff, I try to get out of the chapel as quickly as humanly possible. I hate being the person that everyone is staring at, waiting on me to hush the noisy baby. Of course, I’m not the only young mom in church. Several other babies attend on a regular basis, but I am the only single mom who attends every so often when the guilt of not going starts to weigh her down.
Hey, don’t judge me.
I nod a firm confirmation to my mom and slip in one of the back pews. Several other families are gathered around, all close to the exit in case someone needs to make a fast getaway. I haven’t made it through an entire church service since I was living at home. I can say that because following leaving home, going to college, and living on my own as a young twenty-something, single woman, I didn’t have time to go to church. Hell, I was usually just getting home. Mom never pushed until I got pregnant. Even then, she didn’t push per se, she just suggested I attend with her every once in a while. So, here we are on a Sunday morning, waiting for the service to start.
