by T Gephart
“We need to talk.” I moved closer, my feet lining up right in front of her, and to her credit she didn’t cower.
Her shoulders straightened as she took a breath. “Are you here to apologize?”
“Did you hit your head between now and the last time I saw you?” What the fuck did I have to be sorry for? “I don’t apologize to anyone, especially not someone who went through my shit.”
“But it’s okay for you to do it to other people?” she baited, like I was bound to a same set of standards these other morons were.
“I never said I was ethical. And I’m not here to argue.”
“So what are you here for?”
“I’m leaving again and I might be gone awhile, so I need you not to get any ideas and do more exploring.”
She didn’t respond, her arms folding across her chest with the nerve to glare at me.
“I am fucking serious and don’t get any ideas about going outside. You stay in here, I don’t care if I’m gone a month, you do not leave. You understand?”
I had no idea what was gonna happen at the meet, but if Franco even suspected I was involved, he’d put a bullet between my eyes and then come for her. And given I had no idea if it was a test or a job interview, I was going to play it on the fly, which meant I might not be back tonight. Or tomorrow.
“Something happened.” It wasn’t a question; we both knew she was smarter than that.
“Your bounty just went up.”
“How much?”
“One point five.”
“Million?”
“Million.”
There was no benefit to me telling her. In fact, it would probably make my job harder if she became emotional. But I was hoping that her knowing might help her see how serious it was. So that she didn’t get the urge to continue to be Dora the fucking Explorer.
“Do you know who?” she asked calmly, like it made a difference who was holding the purse strings.
“I have my suspicions.”
“Are you going to share them?” Once again, she kept her voice controlled, non-emotional.
“Franco Santini, you know that name?”
“Of course I do.” She nodded. “His family and mine came over on the boat together. He owns a bakery on Michigan Avenue, but his fortune hasn’t come from selling cannoli.”
“You were investigating him?” It might have been a question, but I was fairly sure I knew the answer.
“Of course I was, he’s been indicted three times and nothing has ever stuck.”
“Then I would suggest making your peace with that and get ready to move to Canada.” And even that wouldn’t be far enough. “He has operatives in Mexico, so your dad won’t send you there.”
“I can’t run.” She shook her head slowly, like she’d come to that realization while sitting like Gandhi on the floor.
“Then you are fucking stupid.”
“My dad paid you to protect me, right?” She shrugged like I needed to be reminded of what the hell I was doing here. “So I wait it out here for a while.”
“Get your head out of the clouds. Waiting it out?” We didn’t have years, and even then I doubted it would be long enough. “You know these people, you think they are going to forget about you next week? I’m not babysitting you indefinitely; I have business to take care of. Besides, I don’t need the heat landing on my fucking doorstep.”
“So kill me then, collect the bounty, but I’m not leaving.” She planted her hands on her hips, tilting her chin in defiance.
“Don’t tempt me, Sofia. I’m not a reasonable man.” And considering I’d held a knife at her throat maybe twenty minutes ago, not the kind of request you think she’d be making.
“Why? What have I got to lose? I’m dead anyway, right?”
Maybe she was right. I should save us both the time and effort and end it all now.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I snapped, needing to get out before I changed my mind. “Stay inside and out of trouble.”
I didn’t bother with a goodbye. I was still fired up from her sticking her nose into my past and now dealing with Franco. The sooner I was gone, the better for everyone.
“What if you don’t come back?” she called after me, her voice missing the panic most people would have saying those words.
“Go to the supply closet and look in the first aid kits. There’s a cell phone in one of them. It has only one number on it. Mine. Call me, let it ring three times and then hang up. If I haven’t answered, grab some supplies and ammunition and head north.”
I tossed the words over my shoulder as I went to leave. “And if I were you, I’d trust no one.”
No matter how hot it was in the city, the wind that blew over Lake Michigan was always unforgiving. And today was far from warm.
It had been smarter to boost a car and dump it rather than take the beat-up Chevy, which was exactly what I’d done. Because there wasn’t a chance I was giving Franco or his crew a chance to ID anything that could be traced back to the warehouse.
I popped the collar of my leather jacket as I stood on the steps in front of the planetarium, my watch showing four fifty-nine.
“You’re early.” A voice came from behind me, the owner of it no surprise—Franco Santini.
He was dressed like a stockbroker in a thick winter coat with his trademark fedora, and I assumed his three-piece Brioni suit underneath. He was in better shape than Jimmy, his body and face not looking anywhere close to fifty-five, which is how he got so much pussy. His wife turned a blind eye to Franco’s indiscretions, but everyone else knew.
“I didn’t take you for the museum type of man.” I turned and saw he was alone. Also not a surprise.
Where Jimmy liked to have an army surrounding him, Franco believed he was God and walked around like he was untouchable. I had no doubt he had men covering us from different angles, probably one with a long range shotgun trained right on my chest. But you’d never know. Like I said—big balls.
“My daughter loves it, about the only thing we have in common. Our love of the universe.” He whirled his fingers in the air as he grinned. Although I was sure that his and his daughter’s idea of the universe were vastly different.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” I smirked, the kid he was referring to absent. “What a wonderful father you are?”
“It seems the theme lately for you, huh?” He laughed, his chin tipping to the pavement indicating we should walk.
Franco didn’t like to stand still, and judging by that little quip he assumed I was involved with Jimmy. “Daughters—daughters are trouble. My advice to you if you have kids, have only sons.”
Yeah, because having kids of any kind were on my to do list.
“Franco, what is it you want?” I looked him dead in the eye, something I knew men like him responded to.
“I like you, Michael.” He continued walking, ignoring the question. “You work hard, stay out of everyone’s business. Self-made man.”
“And you want something, which is why I’m here.” I stopped midstride, at my limit with condescending bullshit as the wind cut through me like a knife. “What is it?”
“Sofia Amaro.” He smirked, facing me. “I know you spoke to Jimmy.”
“I talk to a lot of people, but like you said . . . I stay out of everyone’s business.”
“Not what I wanted to hear.” The smile curled at the side of his mouth as he moved closer. “You either know where she is or how to find her.” His hand clasped down heavily on my shoulder. “You have twenty-four hours to bring her to me, or it will be your head there is a price on.”
“I don’t have her.” I didn’t even blink as I lied to his face. “And I don’t respond well to threats.”
“Oh, no, no, Michael.” Franco laughed, his hand digging into his thick woolen coat. “I never threaten. I’m a man of action.”
For an older guy, he sure moved quick. Our guns were pointed at one another at the same time. We kept them close to
our bodies, the people milling around oblivious they were seconds away from seeing one or two dead bodies.
“Like I said, I don’t respond well to threats.” I nodded down to the gun in my hand. “So, how about we go our separate ways.”
“No.” Franco smiled. “Not an option.”
“You shoot me and I shoot you, kind of counterproductive, don’t you think?” My grip tightened on my weapon as my eyes swept along the people not far from us.
“That we can agree on.” Jimmy smirked. “I have a better idea.”
I hadn’t seen it coming. Which is why when the hit came to the back of my head, I went down like a sack of shit. I’d been careful, trying to keep my eyes moving, but there was only one of me, and clearly more of them.
My finger squeezed on instinct, a round shooting out of my forty-five before I dropped. Hopefully it caught Santini, but I couldn’t be sure; the screams from the crowd were the last thing I heard.
They didn’t waste time either, a second blow knocking me to my knees before I’d had time to move or recover.
And just before I blacked out, I remembered staring down at the concrete and Franco’s shiny black shoes. Firstly hating it was probably the last thing I was going to see, and secondly knowing that I probably wasn’t getting out of this alive.
***
Very slowly my body came back online.
Everything felt wrong.
My eyes were barely able to crack open, the pain of the light so intense I had to shut them and reopen them again so they had time to adjust.
My head tried to toggle from side to side in the hopes of gauging where I was, but no dice, my body protesting at every step with zero cooperation.
My arms and legs had been forced apart but my brain was unable to compute why I was spread eagle and why I couldn’t control my limbs.
Underneath me was soft—a mattress of some kind—while the only other thing I could make out was a ceiling fan whirling slowly above me. Its blades moving slower than they seemed they should.
Everything was foggy, like my eyes and brain couldn’t focus right, my head felt like it was full of cotton and yet I couldn’t lift it from the mattress.
“I’ve given him the maximum dose.” A voice in the distance spoke, “He hasn’t cracked. I think we have to accept the possibility he might have been telling the truth.”
It sounded so far away, like I was in some kind of tunnel. The noises distorted so I had no idea which direction they were coming from.
“No, he knows where she is, and she needs to be taken care of,” Franco’s voice countered. “Give him another shot. If he won’t talk, I want his mind so fried he doesn’t remember this.”
“Another shot could kill him.”
“Worth the risk.”
Intellectually—even without the preamble—I knew I’d been drugged. But my brain was misfiring so much that all intelligent thought went out the window. I tried to will my body to move, but it was like swimming against the tide—nothing. I assumed my arms and legs had been tied but who knew, I could have very easily been tripping out with my incarceration being mental rather than physical.
My skin was hyper sensitive, like it had a million ants goose-stepping up and down my arms and legs, and then I felt a pinch in my forearm.
“No, no, no.” I thrashed around as an uncontainable panic overtook me demanding I get my ass off this bed and to safety. “Nooooooooooo.”
It didn’t even sound like my own voice, the noise ripping apart like it had left my body and was floating above me.
My chest constricted, the expanding of my lungs such an effort that I wasn’t sure I could continue the in and out they needed. And even though my eyes were open, I couldn’t see a thing.
“He’s going to stroke out; you’ve given him too much.”
“He’s still breathing.”
“Holy shit, his eyes. He’s freaking me out.”
“Leave him. Get your things and leave.”
There was a noise.
Loud.
Like a train thundering down tracks at full speed, but I had no idea where the train was coming from. Desperately, I tried to move but I wasn’t sure if the effort I was expending was actually moving my fucking body or I was dreaming it. I was powerless, my heartbeat loud in my ears as I struggled against my body and my mind to get up.
And then it happened.
Everything got quiet.
Still.
And I had a minute of clarity.
This was the fall.
There was a tipping point. A pivotal moment where your body stops pumping blood to where it should and your brain stops firing synapses. And you know you’re going to die.
And then you fall into the abyss of the end—the final breath, the final thought—all of it coming at you in a rush of darkness.
Freedom.
I’d imagined this moment a million times over, and in all those scenarios, it had never been this beautiful. My mouth opened, straining as I pushed out my last breath, and I welcomed the blackness.
I was never good at doing what I was told.
It was one of the reasons I fought with my father when I was growing up. That I wouldn’t sit, be quiet and look pretty like a good little girl.
He hated it.
And I hated being told what to do.
Which is why the minute Michael left the warehouse, I dug out the cell phone. For days I’d had no communication with the outside world and then suddenly, there it was. A connection, something that I could control. But the minute I had the phone in my hands I realized I had no one to call.
No one.
So instead I turned my attention to the computer that was still logged on. The evidence was still on the screen—unlike him to be sloppy—but I guess he’d been in a rush. Either me finding out about his past or my new expensive price tag was probably to blame.
No password was required as I clicked on the computer and I found out more than I’d dreamt possible. He’d been dealing with hackers, using them to procure his information. And then finally I realized what I needed to do.
For reasons unknown—and a huge win for me—he’d left a car behind. An old Chevy was parked out back, the keys still in the ignition. Then it was just a matter of getting his shady contacts to trace his cell and text me the location.
I knew it was dangerous.
That I could potentially be handing myself over on a silver platter, but I couldn’t sit still. And more importantly, I wouldn’t.
It had been hours since I’d last heard from him. And I knew he would be furious, but something in my gut was telling me I needed to move. And years on the force had taught me never to ignore my gut.
His phone was active, on and sitting in an old rundown motel surprisingly not far from the warehouse. The kind of place that had matted shag carpet on the floor and charged by the hour. There was no clue as to whether he would even be with his phone, or if this was an elaborate decoy, but I needed to find it just to be sure. It was just a matter of narrowing it down to the right room.
I knocked at each door pretending to be a jealous wife, room to room with my Smith and Wesson palmed tightly in my other hand just in case. For the most part I got shouts of “fuck off” till I came to the final door. Corner room, floor level, with its dirty drapes tightly closed even though there was a light on. And when my fist banged at the wood, I received no answer.
The skin on my arms goose bumped as I jiggled the doorknob, hoping I could use my weight to leverage it open, but even with some shoulder action, it stayed firmly shut.
The only option was the window. It was open, just a fraction. Which was just enough for me to get my fingers into it and push it open.
It wasn’t easy, the paint around the window frame slowing the slide of the glass, but eventually it gave, allowing me to curve my hand inside and unlock the door.
What I saw when I finally got in would haunt me forever.
Michael was on the bed, tied by his arms and legs, hi
s face angled away from the door. And I had no idea if I had been too late.
“Michael,” I whispered, my arms locked as I pointed my weapon into the corners, systematically clearing the room. “Michael.” No response.
He was gray, the color bleeding out of him as his eyes rolled back into his head, but he was breathing. Not that he would be for long unless I got him out of there fast and got him some kind of help.
With a utility knife I’d found in the supply closet, I cut the ropes that bound his arms and legs. It was while I was freeing his wrists that I noticed the puncture marks on the inside of his elbow.
“Michael, you need to wake up.” My arms wrapped around his torso as I tried to lift him from the mattress. It was like lifting dead weight, his body collapsing against me and pulling him down with me.
I tried again, shoving my nine into the back of my jeans to get a better grip, this time successfully moving him from the bed to the floor but with still no idea how I was going to get him to the car.
“What’s going on here?” A large older guy with the shoulder width of a linebacker, a stained shirt and bad attitude poked his head into the room. “We’ve had complaints about you disturbing our guests.”
“My boyfriend just partied too much.” I hoped the panic didn’t show in my eyes as my hand patted at my waistband at the gun concealed there. “If you can help me get him to the car, we’ll be on our way.” I had no idea if he was staff or one of the men who had done this to him, but I was willing to take a chance.
He looked us over, his eyes lingering over the rope still fixed to the bed frame. “He O.D?”
“No, no. He’s fine. He just needs to sleep it off.” I nodded, going against the screaming instinct inside of me to ask him to call an ambulance and the police. “Please just help me get him into the car.”
“You people want to kill yourselves with your drugs and kinky shit, do it in your own place.” He sneered as he walked around and helped me lift Michael. “I don’t need CSI sniffing around my business. You hear me?”
“I promise we’ll leave.” I grabbed Michael’s legs and helped carry him out.
