by Karina Halle
“I don’t think that feeling will be going away anytime soon,” he told me with a sigh. “But at least we’re working on it, right?”
I nodded and leaned into him and continued our shopping like any other twenty-something couple who was about to move in together for the first time would do.
When we got back to our furnished house – two stories overlooking the ocean AND it had a lap pool – Gus came over and we sat on the upper balcony with two of his computers and started mapping out the plan.
Our first step was to figure out where Sophia lived. The three of us would head into Silverlake and see if she was still at her old apartment. If she was, that made our plan a lot simpler. If she wasn’t, well then we had some digging to do.
“If she’s still in the LA area,” Gus said, typing in his computer, “we could at least find out where she works. She was still working as an esthetician, hey Camden?”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “As far as I know. She’d definitely have to be working. I think that was part of the reason why they tried to get the money from me. She wouldn’t have to work anymore.”
“That’s if her brothers were even thinking of sharing the money with her,” I pointed my pen at him as I jotted things down on my notepad. “You don’t know how close she is with them, really, I mean how deep into the gang she goes. Is she just a pawn getting a small cut or does she have a larger stake in these things.”
He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the lens against his shoulder. He had found sexy nerd glasses at Target and had the prescription put into them in no time. He still looked hot as fuck to me – the glasses and tats were a delicious combination – but I did miss his eyes a bit.
“I honestly have no idea anymore,” he said dejectedly, slipping his glasses back on. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
I gave him a wistful look. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find her if we can.”
“And we just did,” Gus announced triumphantly, turning the screen of his laptop to us so we could see. There was a spa in Burbank that said Sophia Madano worked there as one of the skin techs.
Gus picked up his cell phone and handed it to me. “Want to call and make an appointment? What’s your name again?”
I took it from him and cleared my throat, not happy about being someone else again. “I can be Elizabeth Waters.” I dialed the number on the screen and waited for it to pick up. A woman with a thick Asian accent answered. I asked to make an appointment tomorrow, saying I had a woman give me a facial once, pretty, tiny with long brown hair.
“That’s Sophia,” the woman on the phone said. “Tomorrow at two okay?”
“Perfect,” I said, giving her my fake name. I hung up, my chest crawling with nerves already. I gave the phone back to Gus and wiggled my lips. “I guess Elizabeth has a meeting with Sophia tomorrow. Hope she doesn’t recognize me.”
“Red wig, green contacts,” Camden suggested. “I doubt she would, she only saw you from afar.”
I let out a shaky breath and folded my hands on the table. “All right. Then what?”
“Talk to her, find out where she lives,” Gus suggested.
“I might sound like a creeper.”
“You’re a con artist, Ellie,” Gus said.
I frowned at that. “Was.”
He rolled his eyes and ran his fingers over the brackets that lined his mouth. “Regardless of whether you were or still are, you know what you’re doing. Have some confidence in yourself for fuck’s sake and stop beating yourself up over this shit. You’ve done all of this before. Act the part, gather the intel, report back to us. We’ll tail her, scope out the scene. Then move on to the second part of the plan.”
It’s too bad the first part of the plan relied entirely upon me. After everything I’d gone through, it was odd that I was suddenly so afraid of having to go through with this, something that was quite simple. I guess after so many close calls and being placed in the line of fire, I was scared to death that something would go wrong again and everything I’d gained would be taken away.
Later that evening we went for a drive, heading into LA and the area of Silverlake looking for Sophia’s old place. The apartment was occupied and we spent a few hours outside of it, doing surveillance. Camden had a hunch that Sophia wasn’t there anymore because the window shades were a different color and there was a doormat outside the door that wasn’t there before. His suspicion was confirmed when someone stepped outside to have a cigarette: an elderly man, stooped over. Seconds later an old woman came out and yelled at him to come back inside. Definitely not Sophia.
The next morning I was frazzled, having tossed and turned all night. I wasn’t even in the mood for morning sex. At first, anyway, but it’s hard to say no to a cock belonging to 6’2” of toned muscle. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to pull this off with Sophia. I had no problems lying to her and pretending to be a redhead called Elizabeth but I knew I’d have problems with trying not to shank her.
We had rented a car for the occasion, under my fake name so it was ironically legit, and I drove out toward Burbank with Gus and Camden in their rental car not too far behind. I had a Mini Cooper because that’s just how I rolled while they opted for a Honda Civic, fast enough but nondescript. I pulled up the Mini Cooper in the parking lot of a strip mall with its shitty-looking Chinese buffet next to the “spa” and spent longer than I should have sitting there and trying to control my breathing. I eyed myself in the mirror. The red wig I had on was real hair and fit me like a glove, flowing nicely over my shoulders. It didn’t look sex kitteny, it just looked normal, even up close. It was quite obvious I was wearing contacts though, but the natural green color worked well with my skin tone. I could pass for Elizabeth, I could pass for Elizabeth, I could pass for Elizabeth.
I wasn’t Ellie Watt.
I wouldn’t kill Sophia.
I inhaled until my lungs felt like they were going to burst and got out of the car. I was wearing a black pantsuit, sleek and professional. I worked in accounting for an advertising firm. I had my fake business card in my Marc by Marc Jacobs bag we got from Nordstrom Rack. Elizabeth Waters. Single. Twenty-seven years old. Testing out a Mini because I want to buy one but now was afraid the red color clashed with my hair. Loves getting her pores cleaned.
I wouldn’t kill Sophia.
I gathered my courage and walked over to the door and strolled inside like this was my weekly treat. The bell rang overhead and I was met with unflattering fluorescent lighting and a woman at the counter who was snapping gum. It was a busy place, with the manicures and pedicures at the front, Vietnamese women attacking feet and hands while chatting with each other. The rest of the treatments seemed to be in the back in dentist-like chairs.
“Can I help you?” the girl at the counter asked, her hair looking like it got dipped in Pepto Bismol.
I tried to keep my voice down, not wanting Sophia to hear me and see me before I saw her. “I’ve got a two pm appointment with Sophia.”
The girl eyed the computer and nodded, snapping her gum again, before yelling “Sophia!” Then she pointed at the end of the room. “She’s right there.”
I slowly turned and looked. Sophia was walking toward me, a completely blasé look in her eyes. She looked tired but still pretty, a tiny woman with mad curves, her brown hair pulled back off her face so it showed off her aristocratic nose and red pouty lips. She barely smiled, barely acknowledged me.
Which was actually a good thing. But I was so close to grabbing her by the throat and asking if she knew who I was, if she knew what she’d done, if she realized how fucking screwed she was going to get.
I didn’t, though. I just gave her a smile and said, “Hi, I’m Elizabeth,” and extended my hand.
She looked at it, looked at me, gave me a nod and said, “Right this way.”
Bitch.
I followed her over to the station and she instructed me to take off my suit jacket and put my bag on the ground. I lay back in the chair and
she asked me what I wanted.
Oh, I had so many answers to that.
None were appropriate.
I told her I wanted my pores squeaky clean and to look fresh. I had a date on the weekend. With a really hot guy.
With glasses, covered in tattoos, I thought, a real fucking work of art, a tortured soul with a heart of gold, who fucks like an animal and will love me till my dying day.
I couldn’t help but smile at my thoughts, at the truth, and lo and behold, she smiled back.
“Hot guy?” she asked. “That sounds nice.”
“Oh, I bet you have tons of hot guys,” I said, my mouth snaking upward.
“Me?” she asked and then quickly rubbed the tip of her nose, sniffing. I bet she didn’t have a cold. “No, most of the guys I go out with aren’t very hot.” She laughed awkwardly.
No, most drug dealers aren’t very hot, I thought.
“Maybe it’s the area,” I tried, fishing for info. “Burbank. Too many actors.”
“Oh, no, I live in Pasadena,” she said. “Too many married men.”
I smiled. “Well that doesn’t help.”
“And they never leave their wives for me,” she continued with a non-committal shrug.
I kept smiling, thinking she was kidding. But she wasn’t.
I had to play it cool.
I swallowed down my rage and took a deep breath.
“Nervous?” she asked me. She was more astute than I thought.
“Yeah, just thinking about the date,” I said, covering up.
“What’s the guy’s name?”
Camden McQueen. Camden McQueen. Camden McQueen.
The words were dying to come out of my mouth, just to see the look on her face but I reeled them in and said, “Derek.”
Hey, why not.
“Hot name,” she said, and then she turned her back to me and started making preparations.
The thing I learned about Sophia over the next hour was that she never once mentioned her son, even when I started babbling to her about being single and wanting children and how was I going to balance working at the advertising firm with a child. She didn’t offer anything about Ben.
Not until the end.
She was slapping moisturizer on my face, hurrying because I could tell her next client had arrived and she said, “Well I hope your date goes well this weekend.”
“Thanks,” I told her, swinging my legs over the side.
She picked up my bag from the ground and got my jacket from the hook. As I slipped the jacket on over my blouse, she gave me a dry smile and said, “Listen, about the kid thing. Don’t bother. They always seem like a good idea at the time but they’ll fuck up your life.”
I knew my jaw had dropped open. I couldn’t help it.
She smiled coldly. “I’m serious. I wish someone had told me that back in the day. So enjoy your hot man. Just make sure you use a condom.”
I closed my mouth and swallowed hard, feeling angry and flustered and shocked all at once.
She motioned for me to go to the counter and then waved over the next woman, someone who was obviously a regular. I moved over to the cashier in a daze.
Had she seriously just told me that?
That definitely didn’t help sway my desire to shank her.
And it definitely made me more determined than ever to get Ben far, far away.
I paid for the treatment – leaving her a shitty tip that had the clerk eyeing me like I was nuts – and then high-tailed it out of there. I got in the Mini Cooper and drove home, my hands kneading the steering wheel through miles and miles of heavy traffic. I knew Camden and Gus were waiting nearby the salon to tail her when she went home for the evening. I quickly gave them a call, relaying the information that I picked up but left out that last part. Camden didn’t need any more ammo, and if he did, well then I would give it to him. For now, he needed to keep his head clear and his emotions under control.
I got home, poured myself a glass of wine and waited for my men to get home. Then I poured myself another glass of wine and waited some more.
Here’s the thing about being alone.
You’re not.
You have your demons with you.
Sitting in that house, the house that wasn’t mine, with the furniture that wasn’t mine, and the red wig splayed across the kitchen table, was the first time I’d been alone in what felt like a long time. There was the time in the jungle before I found Camden, but that was no time to reflect or think.
Now I truly was alone.
And it was terrifying.
Not only being in a large and still unfamiliar house with unfamiliar sounds.
And not because I still had this undercurrent of paranoia at the back of my head, this feeling of dread that followed me around in this bright Californian sunshine.
But because I was alone with my thoughts.
Alone with my guilt.
Alone with the knowledge of the things I’d done.
The people I’d killed.
So many sins.
I put my head on the table and cried. I cried for my mother, for the father I knew and lost, for Violetta, I even cried for Javier. I cried for the men I shot, in self-defense or self-preservation. I cried for the people I’d stolen from, robbed, conned, lied to. I cried for everyone who ever had to meet me.
Everyone except Travis.
For him I felt nothing at all, a stone where my heart should be.
I cried until Camden and Gus eventually came home and found me a blubbering, tear-streaked mess who’d drunk an entire bottle of wine. Camden picked me up in his arms and brought me to bed where he stayed with me until morning.
Then the sun rose and his lips lightened my soul and his heart set me free.
And I was able to move on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
While I was busy having my pity-party at home, Camden and Gus had stayed out until just after Sophia’s work closed. She got into a Prelude, newer model, and drove on the 134 until she got to Pasadena, Camden and Gus following her the whole time, two cars behind. From the way Camden described it the next morning, it was like old times with him and Gus in the car, only they weren’t chasing me this time.
They said that Sophia lived in a small bungalow on the edge of a golf course, a much easier location to get in and out of than an apartment building, which was good, but she had quite a few neighbors and they were close to her, which could pose a bit of a problem. Camden got choked up when he mentioned Ben. He didn’t see him but he could see a few toys scattered in the front yard, solidifying his existence.
As much as Camden wanted to swoop in there and get his son back, patience was an unfortunate virtue. Gus wanted us to hold off for a few days while they basically stalked Sophia to get an idea of where she went and at what times and who had Ben when she wasn’t around. The tighter the operation was, the less traumatic it would be for Ben.
It was on day three of their surveillance that they discovered the neighbor across the street took Ben to her house every other day, while Sophia placed him in daycare during the remaining days. The neighbor was an older woman in her late fifties who didn’t appear to have children herself but would take in a few other kids in the neighbourhood, maybe for some extra money. An easier target than a daycare.
When they got home that day and we were lying in bed, I could tell that Camden was beating himself up about it and what they had to do.
“Would it make it easier if you knew that Sophia wasn’t a good mother?” I asked, probing him for a hint.
He shook his head and leaned back into the pillows “No. Not really. Because Ben is just a boy and a boy loves his mom. It doesn’t matter how wicked the mother is, that’s the only mother he knows. Ben will be crushed when we do this.”
“And he’ll eventually be crushed if you don’t,” I reminded him. “As will all of us.”
I snuggled into him, kissing down his face, wanting to distract him. “Tell me about our dream life. Where we are. What we�
��re doing. What you will be doing?”
He smiled and sighed and held me close. He knew I was trying to take his mind off of things and he didn’t care. “Well, if we could I’d still like to go to Gualala. Though in reality we’d probably end up in Canada or something, because Sophia and her brothers will not take this lying down.”
“It’s a dream life, Camden. Gualala it is.”
“Okay then. Gualala. I don’t know if I’d be doing tattoos, maybe I’d try my hand at painting or sculpture. I’ve always loved carving things out of driftwood. I could have an art shop. We’d have Ben and a boy or girl of our own, four years younger. Gus would be there too with some lady love of his.”
“And what am I doing?”
“You?” he eyed me appreciatively. “You’d just stand around and look pretty.”
“And?”
“Give me blow jobs.”
I punched him in the arm.
“What?” he laughed. “I know you love the cock.”
“Shut up.”
“Well then, you tell me,” he said, looking serious and wiping a strand of hair from my face. “What do you want to be doing? If you could do anything.”
The thing was, I’d never really thought about that. I was always just trying to survive and keep going, from one place to the next. I never had goals. I never had dreams. Not really.
I thought back to something I did enjoy once. Something that had put a rift between Camden and I all those years ago.
“I think I’d be a photographer,” I told him. He raised his brows and I continued, “Of course you were always better at that than I was.” He bit his lip sheepishly and I knew he remembered the photos he had taken of me back in art class, for a project he called “Justification.” It had humiliated me at the time, but now I realized that he was only telling the truth. And sometimes the truth fucking hurt.
