by Angel Lawson
“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her again. “Call you tomorrow?”
“Sounds good.”
He kissed her again and then twice more before she finally pulled herself away and shut the door. Nick didn’t leave the porch until she set the alarm and turned off the lights.
NINE
Ari sat straight up in her bed, surrounded by nothing but pitch dark and she held her breath. On instinct, she reached under her pillow for her phone. Someone or something had made a banging sound out in the living room and Ari’s throat lodged in her chest.
Another crash came from the living room, and she turned on her phone to light the room. For the third time that day, she fought a panic attack. Not one to lie in wait, she got out of bed, tip-toeing across the hardwood floor over to the door. She pressed her ear against the smooth surface, her thumb on the keypad of her phone, ready to dial 911.
Footsteps passed her door, clumsy and loud. She heard a man’s voice followed by a sharp, low, “Shhh!”
Ari sighed and swung the door open, “Oliver! What the heck are you doing?!”
Oliver and Veronica swayed against one another in the hallway. Veronica at least had the good sense to look apologetic.
“We had too much to drink and walked back here,” she said.
Oliver shrugged and pulled his latest conquest into his bedroom. He winked at Ari before he closed the door.
Exhausted and still a little tipsy, Ari shuffled back to her room. Just before she closed the door, the hallway light splayed across her room and dresser. She noticed immediately. The box was gone.
Ari knew she had seen the box when she came in her room for bed. Sleek and black, glinting like a secret. Confused, she flipped on her light. She walked to the dresser, opening the first drawer, tossing socks and panties on the top, next to her jewelry box and a photo of her parents. She felt around inside.
Nothing.
Shoving everything back inside, she did the same to the lower drawers, even pulling the dresser away from the wall, wondering if maybe it fell behind. Again, no box.
Ari turned to the bed, straightening the covers and looking under the pillows, one by one.
“Where did you go?” she mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp, and there it was. On the small table on top of the book she’d been reading. Tiny gold flowers glinting in the light.
Not where she left it. She would’ve sworn on it.
Ari wracked her brain trying to remember if she’d moved the box when she got home, but she had been giddy over her kisses with Nick, not to mention sleepy from the drinks at the bar. She couldn’t remember clearly, and obviously no one had broken in—the house was empty when she came home and the alarm had been set. Judging from the muffled banging through the wall, Oliver hadn’t noticed anything unusual when he and Veronica had gotten home.
Ari turned off the overhead light and got back into bed. She picked up the heavy box and opened the lid slowly. Inside she found the note, exactly as she’d left it.
Clutching the box in her hand, Ari drifted back to sleep, thinking of mystery men and secret messages.
* * *
Ari spent the weekend fighting a hangover, dodging questions from Oliver, and catching up on paperwork. Monday morning yielded a staff meeting where her boss’s boss, Mr. Lincoln, attempted to enforce a new dress code—less casual—and by the time it was over, the stack of pink slips from missed calls sent Ari into a full blown meltdown.
“I spent four hours yesterday catching up on my files so I could tackle my already overwhelming to-do list, and a two-hour meeting, about not wearing denim, just set me back two more days! I can’t catch a break!” Ari paced around Stanton’s office waving the pink papers around as evidence.
“I hear you girl. Things are swamped right now.” He pointed to the organized stack on his desk as though that represented “swamped” or something. Everything in his office was neat and orderly. The photos of his family on the shelf behind his desk. The neatly stacked “In” and “Out” trays. “These kids can’t stay out of trouble for a minute. But you know how this operates. Better jump on this stuff now or it’ll only get worse.”
Ari rolled her eyes and said in the most sarcastic voice she could manage, “Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.”
“That’s what I’m here for!” he yelled as she slammed her office door.
Ari dropped in her desk chair and reached for the phone. Time she stopped having temper tantrums and started returning some of her calls. She flipped through the papers and noticed one was from the juvenile counselor, Mrs. Cox, with the subject listed as: Hope.
Ari knew Mrs. Cox only called when necessary. She was responsible for hundreds of girls and their emotional needs while in detention at the courthouse. Ari pressed number three on the speed dial.
“Counselor’s office.”
“Mrs. Cox, its Ari. I just got your message about Hope. Is everything okay?”
“Yep, everything is fine. I got a notice today, though, that she’s up for release. Did you get one of these?”
Ari dug though the pile of papers on her desk but there was nothing with Hope’s name on it. “Nope. Nothing here.”
“It seems like a rush of some sort. Like they couldn’t make the case or something.”
Juvenile court wasn’t like a regular adult court where you had to present solid evidence for a case. Once a child was in the custody of the state, all additional crimes were considered off of that original case. A panel determined sentencing and placement, not the judge. Ari frowned and said, “That sounds weird. Where did this come from?”
“Let me see,” Mrs. Cox said. Ari heard her ruffling papers on her desk. “Judge Hatcher signed the paperwork. This sort of thing happened all the time due to overcrowding.
“Guess it’s legit, then. When do I need to get her?”
“By five or I’ll have to release her to her family or something. I know you’d rather get to her first.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Before Ari hung up, she asked, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What do you think about this prostitution story Hope is spreading?”
Mrs. Cox sighed on her end of the phone. “I’m not sure. The whole thing seems a little dramatic? Hope’s been in and out of here for years. Prostitution is an old habit of hers. But that’s what gives me pause. Why would she suddenly make something like this up? She’s never really denied her behavior until now. Of course, unless she’s willing to give more information, there isn’t much we can do.”
“Right, that’s what I told her,” Ari said, feeling better that another social worker backed up her feelings. “Alright, I’ll be by there before five.”
Ari hung up from Mrs. Cox but didn’t replace the receiver. With a sigh, she picked up the next slip and started dialing.
* * *
Technically, Ari got off work at 6:00 p.m. Realistically, she was lucky to get home by eight. While sitting on Hope’s grandmother’s couch, she took a quick peek at her watch and saw the hands inch toward seven forty-five. Her stomach had already growled in rebellion once and she was ready to go home. Unfortunately for her, picking up a kid from detention was more than just signing a form and taking her home. They had to agree on a new contract, get a leg monitor from Apprehension services, and go over house rules. Some days never ended.
“Your curfew is 9:00 p.m.” Ari said. “The leg monitor will notify Apprehension if you go out—so don’t even try. This is your last chance. You got lucky Judge Hatcher threw out the case.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Ms. Grant.” Hope sprawled on her grandmother’s couch, relieved to be home. “I just want to take a bath and sleep.”
Ari sighed and stood up. “I hope you mean it this time. One more arrest and the placement committee will find a residential program. I’d hate for that to happen.” She shot Mrs. Banks an encouraging smile. “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”
The older woman nodded. “I will. I’ll make sure she behaves.” Wishful thinking. Ari suspected Hope would be back in lockup in the next couple of weeks. “I’ll get your school stuff in order and pick you up on Wednesday. That means you stay in the house tomorrow, got it?”
“Got it,” Hope said. She managed not to roll her eyes. Ari was serious, though. One step outside provided a dozen opportunities for Hope to get in trouble. Heck, all she had to do was open the window.
Ari fished in her bag and pulled out two business cards. She gave one to Mrs. Banks and one to Hope. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here on Wednesday at nine o’clock. In the morning. Be ready.”
“Alright, alright,” Hope said, waving her off. She was right. Ari could only warn her so many times.
Ari left the apartment and stepped into the dark. Wasting no time, she rushed to her car, passing several men sitting on the front steps of their homes. Her car wasn’t as close as she’d liked it to be, but the lot had been full when she’d arrived. After dark in the housing projects held a general danger, but a caseworker had a particular target on their heads. No one liked people prying into their business and even though Ari’s main goal was to help, not everyone saw it that way.
Fall had come to Glory in full force, bringing a sharp chill to the air. Ari reached her car safely, only encountering a group of kids tossing a basketball. Their ball echoed against the pavement as they laughed and joked, but she just kept her head down, searching for her keys, ignoring the mounting panic in her chest. Her leather gloves made it hard to find the keys, but she fumbled them out of her pocket and they clattered to the ground beneath her car.
“Motherfudge,” she muttered, looking around before she ducked down to the ground. A car drove by, flashing its lights across the pavement giving her the light she needed. Ari hurriedly plucked the keys off the ground and unlocked the car. Without wasting time, she jumped in, relocking the door. Taking a deep breath, she realized she wasn’t in danger, but what if she had been? What if she was in trouble? Would the mystery guy know? Would he know how to find her? Would he even care?
Her questions made his interference at the hardware store even more compelling. He knew her name, but had he been there for her or for the robbery?
Ari started the car and pulled away from the curb, confused and more curious than ever about the guy the media called The Vigilante.
* * *
When Ari arrived home, the house was quiet. Disappointed, she realized Oliver must’ve still been at work or out with Veronica. Or maybe both, she thought.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she turned on the TV. Cop show, cop show, dance show, cop show, show about some guy that shot up a movie theater, Desperate Housewives…
Via text, she’d learned Nick had plans with friends that night and he didn’t suggest she come along. It wasn’t that she wanted an invite, Ari just didn’t feel like being alone. Or thinking about her job, which wasn’t happening with the television options so far. Dropping the remote on the couch, she turned the television off and walked to the kitchen. Ari pulled a cold piece of pizza out of the refrigerator and took a bite.
Barf.
Tossing the pizza on the table, she went to her room. There, she stripped off her work clothes and opened her dresser drawer to look for her pajamas. How pathetic was it to go to bed at 9:00 p.m.? Her teenaged self would have mocked her. Dang. Her adult self wanted to mock her. With a slam, Ari shut the drawer and instead, crossed the room to her closet. She unearthed a pair of leggings and an oversized black and gray striped shirt. Cut low in both the back and front, it revealed more than one of Ari’s tattoos. Before she could back out, she laced up the chunky-soled boots she liked to wear, and rummaged through her jewelry box for her favorite silver hoop earrings.
Satisfied, Ari grabbed the cold piece of pizza off the table before rushing out the door in an attempt to fight off another night of bad dreams and numbness.
* * *
Spontaneity could be rewarded, or in Ari’s case, a total letdown. She went back to the club, Glorious. She danced and drank and looked good, if she said so herself. But as she moved through the crowd, it became tragically clear Davis was nowhere in sight. Ari had an itch that needed to be scratched, and it radiated off of her like heat from the sun.
The other men in the club felt her energy, sidling up to her. More than one took the liberty of grinding up behind her. She shot those guys down with a dirty look while moving away. She only had interest in one guy. One connection, and he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
She’d retreated to the corner to drink a bottle of water when she heard the commotion over the music. Shouts and cheers brought her out of the dark to see what the excitement was about, to see if he’d appeared after all. One look proved it wasn’t Davis on the floor this time, but another guy, younger—African-American with tiny dreads crowning his head.
Ari looked around for Davis—maybe this wasn’t his crew. She turned to look behind her, over toward the bar and found herself face-to-face with his dark, watchful eyes. The white scarred slash through his eyebrow.
Reality crashed down.
What was she doing? She worked with him, and…the other time had been a mistake, but this? This was no mistake. Ari was trolling for him, which was just…wrong.
“Ari,” he said, but she’d made her decision.
She ran.
She bolted through the crowd, thick with spectators. They fought back, unaware that she just wanted to get away. They were hoping to get an eyeful of the tricks being performed on the stage. Regardless, Ari was determined to get away from him and this clusterfeck of a mistake she’d made, so she struggled through, squeezing and ducking between sweaty bodies. She’d go to Stanton tomorrow and tell him to remove Curtis from her caseload. Let someone else take the case and not embarrass herself any further.
The club had a side exit and Ari pushed through it, knowing the fire alarm wouldn’t go off. She’d seen others going in and out of the door before.
The cold night air slapped her face the instant she stepped outside, and her hearing sounded hollow from the loud music. Tears formed from the cold but reality seemed even more real out there. She’d come to rid herself of the numbness and only made a fool of herself.
“Ari.” She heard her name. Looking straight ahead, she pretended she didn’t hear him. She ran up a short flight of concrete steps to the parking lot next door. Davis met her at the top.
“Holy shitz,” she choked. “How did you...?”
“I jumped.”
Right. He jumped.
She shook her head and said, “This is just really…”
“Awkward?”
“At best.”
She kept her eyes away from his face. From his mouth. From that spot below his ear.
“Can we just keep pretending this never happened?” she asked. The sweat on her arms and neck froze under the night air, sending her into a shiver. Davis reached out and ran his hand down her arm, sharing his warmth. She pulled away and laughed bitterly. “See, like that? That shouldn’t happen.”
“What if I want it to?”
“Do you always get what you want?”
His dark eyes locked with hers and he said, “No. Not always.”
“That other night,” she said. “That wasn’t me.”
“No?”
“No.”
He closed the space between them. “Seemed like it to me,” he said, tipping her head toward his. Calling her bluff.
Rightly so, because that was her. That night. The real her. The one she hid from Oliver and Nick and dressed in straight-laced clothes, and sat stoically in Judge Hatcher’s courtroom.
Ari didn’t know how to respond and she didn’t have to, because the back door opened and a crowd of people spilled out into the parking lot. In the center, Ari saw the guy from the floor. She looked from the group to Davis and saw a flicker of concern in his eyes.
“I have to go,” he said. “Your car
is close?”
“Yeah, it’s right there.” Ari clicked the key fob so the lights flashed.
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I only had water,” she assured him.
The voices below escalated and she could tell he wanted to go down there. That kid probably was in his crew after all. “Go straight home, okay?”
“Yeah, alright,” she agreed, brushing past him.
He grabbed her arm. “Don’t do anything until we talk.”
“What—” she started to question his right to ask that of her, but he was gone, leaping down the steps and over the railing. Davis disappeared into the crowd below.
* * *
Ari didn’t do anything about Davis the next day. Or the next. Instead she focused all her energy into catching up on the unrelenting pile of work on her desk. If she was honest with herself, she would admit that she hoped maybe the situation between them would just blow over. Maybe Curtis would fail out of the program and she’d never have to go back.
Other than her work, Ari threw herself into Nick. Well, as far as he was willing to let her.
“How was dinner?” Oliver asked. His legs stretched across the couch and he held a bowl of cereal in his hands.
“Good. I see you’re having your own dinner of champions.”
“Dessert. Dinner was a frozen burrito.”
“Gross.” Ari scrunched her nose in repulsion.
“Well, you bailed on me—again. You know I can’t cook.”
“Poor baby.”
He decided to go one step further. “Plus, I don’t have some handsome sugar daddy springing for dinner either.”
“Hey! I paid for dinner tonight,” Ari argued, but it was futile because it only led Oliver to question “how” she paid for dinner. If he only knew how chaste it all really was.
Just before the eleven o’clock news, Oliver hopped up, tapped her legs out of his way and went to bed. “You coming?” he asked as he secured the lock on the front door and set the alarm.
“Not yet,” she replied, stretching into the space on the couch he’d just vacated, “I need to watch the news—make sure none of the kids landed in the pokey tonight.”
