The Redemption Lie
Amanda J. Clay
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Bibliography
Copyright © 2018 Amanda J. Clay
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Part I
Drug overdoses kill more than 60,000 Americans annually. Nearly two-thirds of these deaths were from opioids. Women are the most likely to fall victim to opioid abuse. Battling this epidemic costs $500 million each year.
- Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
Chapter 1
Nina stood in the restaurant walk-through, scalding hot coffee dripping down the front of her white shirt and brand-new jeans. She smiled anyway. The slight burn reminded her she was alive and free.
She still woke in a sweat sometimes. She still heard the screams, smelled the blood, felt his eyes on her. But it was getting better with each break of a new day. Each night in peaceful dreams free from terror, her soul pieced itself back together a little more.
Nina still woke early most days, but it was of her own accord and not dictated by the jarring screech of a horn or the apathetic shouts of a guard who hardly wanted to be there any more than Nina did. She also no longer woke in fear, wondering if this was the day they finally came for her. Now her morning ritual was filled with the scents of sticky maple syrup and bitter coffee, the song of bluebirds and the sting in her lungs of crisp mountain air. Small luxuries, small freedoms. The small things she thought she might never see or feel again when she’d been locked in a dungeon of her own making.
Nina set the spilled pot back on the counter and set a new batch to brew.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she jumped, nearly knocking into the coffee again. She checked her phone—only the daily news alert. She took a deep breath—some days her nerves were still on high alert.
The Black Cat Restaurant was waking up, stretching and yawning in preparation for another busy summer day in a touristy Tahoe Village, a quaint Lake Tahoe oasis, straddling the California-Nevada border on the Lake’s north shore. Nina allowed herself a moment of sentimental pride before slipping into business mode. Every day she stepped through those doors, heard the tinkle of the front doorbells, and assessed this quirky place that was hers—all hers—she was mildly overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe she had built something so light, so good, from such a dark place.
The wait staff and bussers hustled along, readying the tables and condiments with efficient, mechanical ease. A strong benefit to hiring ex-cons was their ability to work with efficient precision, unquestioningly conquering even menial tasks with gusto. For most of them, any work was better than mopping prison toilets or turning tricks at a truck stop for a dime bag.
The clamor of dishes echoed from the kitchen and Nina caught a few choice Spanish curses over the din of the rockabilly music.
The rapid cadence warmed her. The place had an edge to it, she knew that. But that was the charm she’d hoped to harness. If she were going to hire mostly women with prison records, she likely wasn’t going to cater to a clientele seeking an upscale French bistro experience. Lake Tahoe attracted a more rugged crowd anyway. So far, everyone seemed to appreciate her motley crew of tattoos and sharp wit.
She walked back to the break room and checked the schedule to ensure everyone had clocked in for the morning shift. She sighed when she saw Melanie was late yet again. A single mom recovering from addiction, Nina wanted to show the woman compassion, but she was on severely thin ice. It was the fourth time this month she'd been unacceptably late for her shift and Nina had a business to run here.
She was patient—you had to be with cons and addicts—but there was only so much patience she could extend before it wasn’t doing either of them any favors. She gave them the chance to put their lives back together, but they had to take advantage of the chance. Nina couldn’t hold their hands forever.
Nina wasn't one of those bosses oblivious to life’s daily impediments. Traffic jams, sick kids, flat tires. Shit happens. But when shit happens all the time, Nina was a firm believer it was time to examine your own decision-making. She didn't believe in luck—good or bad—necessarily. Things happen by chance and you couldn’t always predict when your tire was going to blow out. But you could be prepared for it. You could have roadside assistance, a spare tire in the trunk, and the tools necessary to fix it on your own if you couldn't afford to call somebody. You made sure you gave yourself enough time to get gas, to accommodate for tourist traffic. Hell, even something as simple as checking the weather report can be a lifesaver. Half of the bad luck she knew, was really just a matter of not being prepared when obstacles came at you.
Her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. She snapped it up, hoping it would be a text from Melanie with a reasonable excuse like her young child was eaten by a zombie.
She sighed when she saw it was a text from John. The guy sure was persistent. They’d been on a couple of dates and she supposed he’d been fine. But he was just another one of those arrogant guys too certain he had the world figured out; blue-eyed and classically handsome but just a little too clean. The world had always gone his way, so he wasn't quite prepared for shit to go wrong. And if there was one thing Nina was, it was prepared for shit to go wrong. Because in Nina's world, it was always only a matter of time before the shit goes seriously wrong.
She read the text.
Hey sexy, so much fun the other night. How about Friday? I can plan to get out of the office a little early. Maybe we can hit at happy hour on that rooftop deck overlooking the lake?
Nina rolled her eyes. That was the other thing about John—a vacation home insurance broker for monied people looking for second homes in California’s paradise —he lived in a black-and-white 9-to-5 kind of world. He didn't quite understand running a restaurant in a town that thrived on tourism meant your Friday nights were sacrificed for the foreseeable future. Date night for Nina was more like a Tuesday.
“Is that everyone’s favorite Ken Doll?” Brooklyn said beside her, leaning over her shoulder to intrude on the text. Nina playfully shoved her back.
Brooklyn giggled, adjusting her bleached blonde high ponytail. Her white tee shirt was stretched entirely too thin over enhanced breasts and her uniform black shorts were an inch too short, but none of their patrons seemed to mind. Brooklyn was the kind of girl who drew attention like moths to a flame. She had those All-American good looks, but wi
th a bit of a low-brow edge that sent a signal of sexuality to everyone she met. Primarily to men. And Brooklyn exploited that. Nina didn’t blame her; sex was currency. A very powerful one. Everyone across the world, no matter where you're from or what language you speak, no matter which class or race, understood the deadly language of sex
Nina glared. Brooklyn wiggled her artfully tattooed-in eyebrows.
“He’s so annoying,” Nina said, slipping her phone back into her pocket.
“Give the guy a chance! He’s very cute.”
“I don’t base decisions on cute. He’s annoying,” Nina said.
“Annoying because he’s into you?”
“He just doesn’t get me,” Nina said.
Brooklyn snorted a laugh. “Tell him to get in line. None of us get you, Nina. You’re a weirdo.”
“Just mind your own business, Brooklyn.”
Brooklyn playfully swatted Nina’s butt and scampered off to fill condiments.
Nina laughed, but the truth pricked just a little. She was hard to get, no lie there. But did that mean she was just supposed to pretend she was somebody different?
She tried to imagine explaining her time in prison to Good ol’ Boy Johnny the insurance broker. No, safe no-baggage guys like him were no a longer a reality for her and she’d made her peace with that. And she didn’t feel the need to explain herself to anyone, the need to live her life in any way she didn’t want. That was the glorious part about freedom.
Nina glanced around at the restaurant. This was something honest, something raw, she’d built with her own hands. It wasn't glamorous, and in fact it was downright dirty and disgusting sometimes and she rarely went home without the scent of fry grease and stale beer lingering in every orifice, but it was hers, and it was real. And the best part about it, was she didn't have to answer anyone else. She didn’t intend to start by explaining herself to John.
She wasn't without fear. She would never be without fear. It didn't matter that Luther was dead, and that the rest of them were locked away. It didn’t matter that the dirty money used to finance this place was laundered squeaky clean—untraceable to even the most discerning eye. No one survives what she did without persistent fear and paranoia. No one spends time like an animal in a cage, feral and starved, abused and tortured, without fear nestling deep within the root of one's psyche. But the best thing Nina could do from here on out was to not be ruled by that fear. To use that fear as fuel to do better things.
Nina walked into the pass-through and checked the schedule again, trying to decide how to rearrange the floor plan with Melanie’s absence. She cross-checked the schedule with the girls who had already clocked in.
She walked back to the front of the restaurant and turned up the music—Johnny Cash crooning out over the checked tablecloths.
“Hey, Katie, I need you to expand your section to six tables okay?” Nina said.
Katie tightened her high auburn ponytail and gave Nina a tight annoyed look just a hair short of a glare.
“Ugh, seriously?” Katie said.
Nina crossed her arms, her morning burst of patience rapidly unraveling. Her years by Luther’s side had whittled her capacity for insolence.
“If you can't run a six-table station, then maybe you can't work the busy shifts anymore. It’s part of the job. Just let me know if you get under and I'll come help. I'm gonna run the food line okay?”
Katie tightened her mouth but nodded curtly. She pulled out a compact and applied a fresh coat of deep berry lipstick.
Brooklyn bounced by, doing a little dance in her red converse, her blonde ponytail swinging, her bright red lips mouthing the lyrics.
“I took a shot of Cocaine and I shot my woman down…” Brooklyn sang out, husky and rich like a jazz singer in a smoky supper club.
Nina grimaced. Probably a poor choice of song.
“Don’t look so serious, Nina Banina,” Brooklyn said. “Gotta joke at ourselves, right?”
“Banina?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “It rhymes.” She danced off to greet her first table of the lunch shift.
Nina laughed and went to check in on the bar.
Reina was delicately slicing limes, swaying her wide hips to the music. Her massive thigh muscles tested her small black shorts as her bulging biceps lent agility to her chopping. In a former life, Reina was the first Hispanic female to win the West Coast Regional CrossFit Games. Before she was injured and got herself hooked on painkillers. Before she nearly killed a mother and child with her car while high.
“Get down with it, girl” Nina teased.
Reina smiled, flashing her bright smile through her red lipstick. Nina hadn’t dictated it, but everyone had collectively decided cherry red lipstick was part of the uniform.
“Nina, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve never quite managed ghetto speak. I wouldn’t try. I’d stick to that dry Kristin Wig shit you got going,” Reina said.
“I feel you are no judge of ghetto speak at all so I will tastefully ignore your suggestion. Hey, can you prep a few extra garnishes for the night shift today? We got crazy busy last night and ran out,” Nina said.
“Aye aye, Capitan.” Reina saluted her.
Nina figured if she ever needed a security guard, Reina could fit the bill.
“Oh, and Melanie hasn’t shown up yet. You might need to run the cocktail tables over lunch if I need to pull Brooklyn onto the main floor.”
“Too much slack, Nina,” Reina shook her head.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a doormat.”
“Nah, girl, you just got a big heart,” Reina pointed her knife at Nina and blew a kiss.
Nina’s phone buzzed again and with a silent futile prayer, she hoped it was Melanie. She hated when she had to let people go. It was only John again. Ignoring me or what? Winky face.
She ignored it again and shot off a quick text to Melanie. Hey girl, are you coming in or what?
She waited a beat. Finally, her phone buzzed. Oh my God! I'm going to be right there!
Nina sighed. Likely Melanie was still in bed, sleeping off her hangover from the night before. Hopefully it was just booze, but knowing her, she'd be recovering from an all-night bender of whatever she could put up her nose.
Nina thought of Melanie’s baby girl and wondered if she was sitting in her own filth, watching her mom throw yet another opportunity down the drain. Nina had made it a rule not to get involved in their personal lives. She would help them clean up, get their acts together, and earn a decent living. But she wasn't going to be the one that helped DCFS take children away from their mothers.
Nina was in her office trying to rearrange the schedule for the following week when she heard a rap on the door.
“It's open.”
The door slowly pushed in and Melanie poked her head through meekly.
“Hey, Nina.”
Nina folded her arms over her chest and sighed.
“You going to fire me?” Melanie said, toying with a rogue lock of curly brown hair.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn't,” Nina said.
Melanie stepped in and closed the office door. She looked at Nina, her large brown eyes doe-eyed and solemn. She was like some forgotten film star, perhaps once beautiful but whose looks only gained pathos over time.
“Because I have a little girl. And I have to have a job to keep her,” Melanie said in heartbreaking earnest.
“I know that, Melanie, and I'm sympathetic, believe me. But if you care so much about keeping her then why can't you manage to ever show up to work on time?”
“I know! I'm a total idiot. But I am trying, I promise. Last night I just—”
Nina held up her hand. “Melanie, don’t. I know exactly what last night was.”
Nina looked her over. Melanie’s eyes were bloodshot, her greasy hair was tied up in a sloppy top-knot. Her black uniformed shorts were wrinkled and there was a large makeup stain around the collar of her white T-shirt. Yeah, N
ina knew exactly what last night was.
“Did you even brush her teeth this morning? Nina said.
Melanie ran her tongue over her teeth and covered her mouth. She grimaced. “I think I forgot.”
Nina shook her head in frustration and reached into the desk drawer. She pulled out a spare travel hygiene set from the dollar store that she kept on hand for this very purpose.
She tossed it to Melanie.
“Look, Melanie. I'm trying to do good things here, I’m trying to help you. But it's also a business. And businesses require people to show up when they're supposed to. When you don't show up, you're expecting everyone else to pick up the slack. You get that right?”
Melanie nodded fervently. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”
Nina rubbed her temple.
“Now, Melanie, that's a lie. We both know it. It will happen again, because I forgive you. Every time I cut you slack, you take advantage of it. My fucking curse.”
Melanie's face fell in a way that broke Nina's heart.
“Look, I need you today, so I’m putting you on the floor. Then I'm going to think about what to do, okay?”
“Thank you so much, Nina!”
“But I would expect you will at least have your shifts cut way back. I can't schedule you for the busy shifts until I know you can reliably show up. I can't take a chance during the tourist season. We’re way too busy.”
“I know, I promise to do better!” Melanie scrambled over and threw her arms around Nina.
Nina pushed her away. “Yeah, yeah, just get to work. We’re already way behind. But first, go clean up a little. You look like a two-dollar whore.”
Melanie gave a delighted squeal and ran out the door.
The Lake tourist season was officially kicking Nina’s ass. Nina wiped the grease off her hands and tossed the rag into the red plastic sanitary bucket. She wiped sweat from her forehead and cracked her neck, releasing an orchestra of snap, crackle pops. Being the owner of the place still didn't get her out of having to get her hands dirty most days. It was fine, it helped to keep cost down to run a lean shift. But hell if she wasn’t ready for a cold beer. And had she not given them up years ago, she'd be lighting a cigarette right now. While a lot of people in jail would trade their dignity for just one more cigarette, it was actually what made her quit. She had already forfeited her freedom for the next three years. She wasn't going to be a slave to nicotine as well.
The Redemption Lie Page 1
