“You know you have to bring it back,” he says. “Why would you let me down?”
I'm still hunched over, unable to find enough air. “I tried. It wasn't there. Recant the wish. Please.”
My father would be angry if he knew I was begging, but I bet he begged a few times himself. No one can handle the hum once it evolves. That's the entire point.
Karl just sits there, staring at me. The look on his face would make anyone else fear he was going to hit them. But Karl has never raised a fist at me, ever. He doesn't need to. My punishment is encoded in my DNA.
Shadows move toward me. The guards. Something pricks my arm. Warmth flows through my skin. I drop to the ground and black out.
***
As soon as I wake, I know Karl has recanted the wish. Nothing else makes the hum stop: sex, weed, benzos. My head is silent now. Besides a few sore muscles, I feel fine.
I sit up. I'm on a hospital bed in a small room. To the side is a sink and counter. Opposite, a locker, a trash bin, and a computer-on-wheels.
The infirmary. Since I don't actually exist on paper, I always wind up here for medical care. I suspect Karl wouldn't let any other doctors touch the prized pet anyway.
The medical staff who work in the infirmary must have a massive non-disclosure agreement.
A man enters, wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope. I've never met him before, but I rarely visit this part of the mansion. Thankfully.
He stands next to my bed. “How are you feeling, champ?”
I shrug, feet planted on the floor. “Ready to go.”
I begin to stand, but he touches my shoulder.
“They gave you a sedative,” he says, “so you can't drive for another two hours.”
I groan as I sit back down. Two more hours of this place. Chances are, Karl's going to want to discuss the missing safe before I leave. Not like I have anything else to say. I broke in to the office, and the safe wasn't there.
He needs to fire whoever was in charge of last night's intel.
The infirmary door opens.
“Dimitri!” Silvia hurries to my side. “Daddy said you had a breakdown!”
I lie back on the bed with an exasperated sigh. “It wasn't a—”
I don't bother explaining. A breakdown is as good of a term as any.
She pulls up a stool I hadn't noticed. “Did you get shot?”
Her tone sounds giddy with hope.
I turn my head to her. “I thought you didn't want anything to hurt your inheritance.”
“No,” she says, “I don't want anything to kill my inheritance.”
“Well, then, I stand corrected.” I stare at the ceiling. “No, not shot.”
The doctor steps closer. “Miss Walker, would you like me to bring you a chair?”
Silvia looks up at him, a twinkle on her face. “That would be lovely.”
The doctor bustles away like he's her personal servant. When he returns, he's struggling with a chair that belongs in a formal living room, not an infirmary.
Silvia accepts it, patting his hand on the arm of the chair. “Thank you, dear.”
He smiles. I know that look. He's giving her a thorough exam in his head.
“Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he says, then waits for her reply.
She waves a hand to dismiss him. He steps out of the room, and she turns back to me.
“Why don't you spend the night here?” She shakes her head. “You look horrible.”
“No, thanks,” I snap. “I'm afraid what you would do to me in my sleep.”
She giggles. “Nothing you wouldn't like.”
This is all a fuckin' joke to her.
I stand, expecting to be woozy, but the doctor has no idea what he's talking about. I squeeze around Silvia's chair to head for the door. She snags the bottom of my shirt. I brush her off and get the hell out of there before I say something I will regret.
***
Once I'm on the road back to Phoenix, I call Syd. The line rings at least a thousand times, but she finally picks up.
“Dim?” She sounds groggy. “How's work?”
“Come over,” I say, foot heavy on the gas pedal.
“Mm, okay.” She had definitely been sleeping. “Give me thirty?”
“I won't be home for a couple of hours. Please be there.”
I hang up.
I don't know what I expect her to do. Nothing, I guess. Or maybe everything. My brain is too jumbled to make sense.
I sigh. A few hours with Syd will get me back on track. We can just play checkers for all I care.
When I pull in to my carport, Syd is sitting on the edge of the porch, feet on the steps, staring down at her phone. Probably playing a game. Her purse and a large paper sack sit beside her.
She looks up and then waves as I cross the yard.
I pull her to her feet and kiss her. It's not sensual, and it's not a goodbye kiss either. It just is, and I've never been more thankful for anything.
When we break apart, she smiles at me with a mischievous glint. “I brought you a gift.”
I have nothing to say. My brain is lagging with too many thoughts that I can't sort out yet. So I unlock the door and stand aside as she enters.
“Long shift?” She steps out of her shoes. The heels are so thin, she might as well have been balancing on toothpicks.
“Yeah,” I say, dumbly.
She sits on the floor, cross-legged, facing the coffee table, and begins to pull little boxes and tins out of her purse.
I take a spot next to her, our knees touching. She produces a small blue glass hookah from the paper bag and loads it up. I don't miss that she adds a little something extra. In a few minutes, she's puffing on a hose.
Then she passes the hose to me. “You need this.”
I hesitate. If my night had been a success, I wouldn't think twice about hitting with her. But I have no idea how Karl is going to react in the next few hours. If he summons me to chit-chat about the missing safe, I will have to move fast to get Syd out the door.
Screw it. I take the hose and inhale from it. After a few minutes, I have a pleasant high. I could probably shake it off if Karl comes a-calling, but, for now, I embrace it.
Syd inhales another puff, then leans back on the floor as she breathes out the smoke. She's wearing cut-up black leggings and a short green dress. Her legs are spread un-ladylike. I crawl on top of her and lower to kiss her mouth. Her expression is mild. I suspect she had a trial run with the whacky tobacky before heading over.
I lie down next to her, and we stare at the ceiling like we're watching the stars.
“My grandma is relocating to Europe next week,” Syd says out of nowhere.
“That's nice.” I don't bother to move, not even to look at her. “Where to?”
“Italy. She tried to go to France, but I asked her not to. I hate Paris.”
I laugh, still watching the ceiling. “Who hates Paris?”
“Have you been?” Her tone is accusatory.
“No, can't say I have.”
“I like Italy more.” After a few silent moments, she sighs. “When I was little and she lived in Phoenix, sometimes I would get upset and runaway to her house. I guess my parents knew where I went, but she would let me stay there as long as I wanted.
“She eventually ran away herself. She went to New Mexico and opened a restaurant so she could bake pies all day. When I got my first car, I started running away again. Every time I was upset or scared, I'd drive to her house.
“But now she says New Mexico isn't far enough from the rest of the family, so she's moving to Italy. She left me the keys to her place, so I can still runaway.” Syd turns her head to look at me again. “The house is vacant.”
At this moment, so is my brain. I don't respond. I have no idea what we're talking about.
Syd seems to figure this out.
She props herself on her elbows. “Let's go to New Mexico for a weekend.”
I have an urge to pack r
ight then. We could leave now and arrive before breakfast tomorrow. That includes stopping for a backseat romp along the way.
The trip can't happen. I wouldn't be able to explain to her if I have to leave for work, or to Karl if he notices any charges on the cards.
I've never had to admit just how trapped I am. It's obvious now that my world involves more than just waiting for Karl to figure out the next move in the chess game that is my life.
Maybe I shouldn't have accepted change, but I'm not about to give it back.
“We'll go,” I say, but I doubt the words are even mine. “Write down the address, and I'll figure something out.”
She has no idea what I've just agreed to.
***
We lie on the floor watching TV, stirring only to refill the hookah and smoke it down. When evening fades in, we gather enough energy to put on our shoes and walk to the taco shop at the end of the block.
We eat carne asada tacos without speaking. It's a pleasant silence, where we are both just content with our food and our high and the fact we're going to screw like rabbits on Viagra after we stop being so damn lazy.
Syd looks up at me, taco in hand. “Did you know it used to be illegal to import avocados into the U.S. from Mexico?”
I'm certain I missed the first half of this conversation. “Um, why?”
“Flies,” she says. “The U.S. government thought the avocados were infested with fruit flies.”
“So, there was a shortage of guacamole and it had to be rationed?” I give her a dubious look then laugh. “Was there an underground guacamole trade? You could buy it in half pints, but it's going to cost you?”
She shrugs. “No one went to look. They just thought they had flies and wouldn't import them. The Mexican government tried to barter, but they didn't get anywhere. So they put restrictions on importing from us.”
Syd's brain must be a strange place.
Her face looks serious, and she's no longer eating. Just drifting on her thoughts about produce and insects.
“Finally, they sent someone to Mexico and they checked thousands of avocados. There weren't any flies. Never had been.” She drops her taco to her Styrofoam plate and frowns at it. “Can we go back now?”
I glance at my last taco, then at Syd. Her eyes are red. She has been hitting for a while, but I don't remember her eyes being that way when we left the house.
“Yeah, we can go,” I say, scooping up our plates and plastic ramekins. I dump them in the trash bin, and we head back to my place.
Syd is quiet on the walk and after we arrive. It's not the pleasant sort anymore. I think I'm supposed to be upset about the history of avocados. She doesn't seem angry that I'm not, but maybe disappointed.
We lie on the floor to watch TV and doze. We don't even have sex, but I'm content with the warmth of her body against mine. Around midnight, she kisses me goodbye before leaving. And I still can't figure out why we were talking about avocados.
Chapter 4
Late in the morning, Karl summons me. I expect he just wants to talk about what happened with the safe. Calling on the phone would be too mundane.
Instead, a guard passes me a manila envelope. I could probably wallpaper my bedroom from floor to ceiling with as many of these damn things I've been given.
“I need you to bring me that person, Dimitri,” Karl says.
I hate how he says my name. It has the distinct tone like he's commanding a Doberman to fetch.
“I need him alive.”
Great, another kidnapping. I want to ask if he's certain the target isn't deceased already, but I keep my mouth closed. As bitter as I am over the last misadventure, I haven't forgotten who wields the power around here.
Karl leans back in his chair. “This . . . I . . . wish.”
Satan starts humming a tune in my head again. I wait for Karl to begin our super fun version of Twenty Questions. No way he's letting go of the missing safe that easily.
He raises his eyebrows at me.
That's my signal to get fetching. Maybe he is over the safe, after all.
I don't even bother going through the case file on my way out. If I see my abductee is another minor, I'm going to lose it.
Dimitri Hayes, the cause of lifetime therapy bills across the nation.
Silvia appears out of nowhere. “Taking down another bad guy?”
“Yeah, Silv,” I say, without slowing. “I'm a regular Vin Diesel.”
She catches up to me. “Can I go with you?”
I scoff. “Lay off the blow.”
She matches my pace as we cross the yard and says, “Come on, Dim. Daddy won't let me go into the city alone.”
“Take the infirmary doctor and bring some mouthwash,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “You're nasty.”
“You have no idea.” I glance at her, then sigh. She's just going to whine until I either cave to shut her up, or Eileena goes Amazonian on me. “Get in.”
She claps, then bustles into the passenger seat.
“Don't smoke.” I back the car out and turn to head toward the big city.
She pulls down the visor, flips up the mirror, and starts messing with her hair. “Why aren't you ever any fun?”
“Oh, I'm loads of fun when I don't have the drums of hell in my head.”
She gives me a contemplating look. “That kind of sucks, doesn't it?”
“Nah, it makes for an interesting online dating profile.” I shrug because her concern is a few years too late. “Where do you want to go, Your Majesty?”
She sits straight, though I doubt the reaction was even conscious. She knows who she is; she is multimillionaire Karl Walker's only thriving sperm.
Mother Nature let her guard down on this one.
“McDonald's,” she says.
“What the actual fuck?”
She smiles, her perky expression matching her tone. “I've never been.”
“Wow, look how neglected you are,” I say. “You want the real drive-thru experience? You know, McDonald's is a delicacy in Japan.”
Her eyes widen. “It is?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
She frowns and stares out the window.
I start to feel bad for being prickish to her. Then I remember she's checking off days on her Hello Kitty calendar until I'm her personal servant, boy-toy, and henchman all in one. The guilt evaporates.
I turn on the radio and blast the usual music so neither of us feel obligated to speak.
When I pull into McDonald's, Silvia scopes out the exterior like she's considering buying the place. Then again, maybe it is on her to-do list after Karl gets hit by a train.
At the register, she stands like she's part of the Royal Guard while stating her order. The girl would be an embarrassment if I wasn't pressed for time.
I need to hurry through this stupid whim so I can return her to the mansion and get on with the wish before the ticking bomb in my head takes out my brain like Hiroshima.
I order, pay, and hand Silvia the cup. “This is for drinks.”
She narrows her eyes, then flips her hair and stalks to the fountains.
“Hey,” I call after her and follow right behind. “I wasn't sure you had seen one made of paper us common folk use.”
She doesn't look amused as she fills her cup with ice and soda, then takes it upon herself to claim a table.
I fill my own cup and join her, tossing down straws. “You'll need one of these, princess.”
She snatches up the straw, tears off the paper, and then stabs it through the lid like she's plunging a knife.
“Oh, knock it off.” I slide into the booth. “Stop getting butt hurt over everything.”
She purses her lips and looks across the restaurant, away from me, without speaking. I would appreciate the silence, except she is just stewing. Never know where that will lead.
I shuffle my feet. “Hey, did you know that it used to be illegal to import avocados?”
She meets my gaze, scowli
ng. “What are you talking about?”
“I don't know,” I say with a shrug. “Something I heard. So why won't your dad let you come into Phoenix anymore?”
“He says the crime rate has spiked.”
I resist commenting that it would help if he stopped using murder as his upper hand.
Our order comes up. I go get the tray and set it down on the table.
Silvia takes her food, but her expression is still sullen. I slide back into my seat and unwrap my hamburger.
She says, “I can't wait for you to come live at the mansion.”
“I don't want to live at the mansion,” I say, doing my best not to sound horrified.
“So you plan to drive out to see me every day?” She flutters her eyes. “That's stupid.”
She sets to work on her chicken nuggets and fries.
I stare at her, dumbfounded. As many times as I tell myself Silvia is driving with the engine off, she knows exactly where this vehicle is headed. Her father gets everything he wants, and her parents have been grooming her for next-in-line. Her wish is going to be my command.
A strange feeling settles over me as I realize mixing bloodlines just might negate them once and for all.
***
My head is playing a solid little ditty by the time I get back home from dropping Silvia off at the mansion. I wish she would pick better times to want to hang out, but it's not like I swing by when I haven't been summoned. Those days ended as soon as Karl made me his pet.
I swap out wallets and, with a resigned sigh, drop into my computer chair. I swivel back and forth as I browse through the case file and acquaint myself with my latest target.
His name is Robert. He's twenty-eight, lives local, and is working on his PhD in archeology. He likes spelunking, scuba diving, and skydiving. I bet he also likes alliterations.
No wife, no girlfriend, no offspring. Volunteers three weeks over the summer at a kids camp for underprivileged youth.
I study his picture and the accompanying description. Brown hair, brown eyes, large front teeth, six-foot-two, one-hundred and eighty pounds.
“Well, gonna need benzos for this one.” I toss the papers onto my desk and head to my on-suite bathroom. I pull open the medicine chest. It's empty.
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