by Coulton, JC
I think I’ve lost weight in the last couple of days, despite pigging out. It’s probably the stress. I’m not complaining, though, because it’s always nice to feel lean and limber. I’m not fat in any way, but my curves have gotten pretty curvy over the last couple years. Now I need to work hard in the dojo to keep myself in fighting form.
Too many soft bits, is what my sensei said when I first started. Back then, he was talking about the inside more than the outside. Judo was what helped pull me out of my depression after the attack. I could probably claim that it saved my life without exaggerating. My heart was a mess, and the idea of ever enjoying sex again was ludicrous. I’ve come a long way.
I call down for a cab, and again, the grief hits me. I remember the cab April and I called only a few days ago from the same phone. There has to be something that Jessup can do. I put the burner phone and some money in a small clutch purse. It’s actually a makeup bag, but my real purse is somewhere out there and it will have to do. I don’t take all the money, because I learned my lesson when those thugs threw down with me.
There’s nothing worse than that feeling of mental restlessness and crappy memories. The room starts to feel suffocating all of a sudden. The conversations April and I had are echoing in my mind. It intensifies the loneliness I feel, having lost my best friend. I decide to wait downstairs for the cab. This time I take the stairwell down. It was too quiet going up in the elevator, and I won’t have to remember one more aspect of the night April was taken.
When I arrive at the reception desk, the staff person tells me the cab is already waiting for me. I walk through the lobby floor and the restaurant is busy. It’s weird for a weeknight, but I remind myself this is downtown New York City. I scan the tables and there are all sorts of well-dressed New York socialites and men in suits, sitting around with small plates of salad in front of them.
I’m happy I had my burger now, and happier I lost those few pounds. It means my dress isn’t too tight at the waist. But I desperately need a minute to digest this burger. I’m about to meet Jessup, hopefully, and if I need to, I’ll put on show.
The taxi driver is a sweet old man, and he gets lost immediately. We end up taking a tour of Central Park. I would be angry, but he stops and turns off his meter to save me a huge cab fare. I don’t mind at all. It’s not even ten at night, and I’m out a little too early to be heading to Caliber. The streets are still busy of course. This city is so alive. I understand why April would consider moving here. Beautiful restaurants, schools, fashion—there’s everything a twenty-something single girl could want. The problem is it all comes at a price.
I flash back to the image of that thug’s hands on her neck and swallow, looking out the back window to see if we’re being followed by anyone. Not that I would know. I face the facts—I’m a lowly researcher and not trained to observe my surroundings like Blake might have been. I’m taking a hell of a risk leaving the hotel like this.
I know Blake will be furious with me. His eyes are full of angry warnings about my safety and my stupidity. God, that man is infuriating. If he really cared that much he would have assigned me an officer. He could have stationed himself in the hallway—although if I knew he was around, I wouldn’t have to get myself off in the shower. I bet he’s just following orders. Or maybe he’s just letting his cock take charge, with his irrational desire to keep me close.
I finally start to see the familiar lights of Times Square approach again, after the cab driver’s wrong turn. Despite the danger, I have a flash of rebellion rise up in me. I tell him to let me out so I can walk. I pay him and start to retrace the steps April and I took on our way in to Caliber. I approach from the direction I ran in.
As I pass the spot where I hid, a shiver runs down my neck. I hope I’m doing the right thing. Thankfully, there are a lot of people still walking around, so I feel safer than I did in the middle of the night. The hotdog vendor who quite literally saved me by just being around the other night doesn’t recognize me as I walk past. I wouldn’t expect him to. The man probably serves a thousand people a day. There’s no reason to look twice at the girl with the tiny clutch purse that’s really a makeup bag.
I get closer and can see the entrance to Caliber. There are a couple of people waiting outside, talking to the bouncers. There’s nowhere near the number of people who were in line that night. I cross the street and take a window seat in a small wine bar. I need to think about this before I dive right in. I pull out my phone and try the numbers again. This time an answering machine kicks in on the first one.
“You’ve reached the offices of Caliber bar and nightclub. We can’t come to the phone, but please leave a message for the duty manager who will check this line at the close of every shift. Or press one for opening hours.”
The voice is a friendly woman and I’m surprised. It’s not like I thought Jessup himself was going to answer, but I expected an ultra-hip New Yorker accent or something similar. It’s good to be faced with the fact that no matter what accusations Blake throws at him, Jessup is a businessman with staff like any other.
They’re good staff too. From my spot, I can sip a chardonnay and watch as the bouncers usher people through courteously. I consider whether I should head inside as if I’m a patron and ask to speak to the manager, or ask one of these guys at the door to call Jessup for me.
I know whatever I do there’ll be a wait—I wonder if Jessup is even in the city, let alone down those stairs. Maybe I’m being naïve, thinking he’ll just show up because I ask for him. The self-doubt starts to wash over me. I pull out my phone with the thought to phone Blake and ask him to come get me. I look at the screen of the shitty prepay phone, and I stop. He’ll just scream at me. At least by doing this, I’ll have done something.
I’m sick of sitting around waiting for this problem to be solved. That’s not how I operate. I’m an action-orientated type of person. If I want something in life, I need to make it happen for myself. There’s no point waiting around, hoping that things will change. That’s what weak people do. With that, I signal for my check, put the phone away and touch up my lipstick. Jessup Lee, here I come.
Chapter Fourteen
Blake
The hotel mezzanine restaurant is starting to fill up around me. I’ve just seen Carrie come down and make a request at the front desk. They gave her an envelope so she must have figured out the issue with money.
She looks super relaxed, and the way she wears her wet hair down her back makes her look younger. I watch her talk to the hotel receptionist. She’s so warm and friendly. I love that about her.
There I go again, using that word with someone who I don’t even trust. I remember something my Mom used to say about Dad. Trust is earned. He never earned hers, though. Even with years to prove himself, he constantly let her down. Coming home yelling, and making a fool of himself in front of us. He used to think he was being ‘the man’. Those slurred words and the grandstanding made me cringe. It was nothing short of embarrassing.
I can’t remember how old I was when I learned he was a drunk. Not old enough, that’s for certain. You can never be old enough to lose respect for your old man. It changes you. I’ve always made the standard son-of-a-drunk claims—I’m never going to be like him; I’ll never raise my kids like him, yada, yada. Yet, look at how I was today, slamming my fist into that cabinet, making Brenda jump.
The shame rips through me. I should give myself a break. It was just one thing. But that’s the way it is with alcoholics—it always starts with one. I’ve been betting on my sobriety saving me from the same fate as him. But like my sponsor says, the disease is always with us—waiting patiently, doing pushups in the parking lots of our lives.
I snap myself out of it. I need to watch Carrie, not think about myself. I bet she’s feeling isolated up there alone. Part of me wants to follow her up and see her. The other part knows it’s a really bad idea. She’s walking nearly directly below me now. From my seat, I see the top of her head. She’s holding a
bag from the hotel shop. Probably got some snacks to tide her over.
She can afford to eat. She’s curvy but not at all overweight. It’s always been that way. I wish I could surprise her right now. Pull her into my arms. I’m sure she smells amazing after a shower, and her hair smells even better. God, I’m fucking incorrigible.
I hope she’s calling it a night. Maybe she’ll watch a movie and eat popcorn in bed before she goes to sleep. It would be a relief, to not have to worry. I could use an AA meeting right now - rather than sitting here watching a lobby.
Carrie disappears into the elevator and I check my emails. I’ll wait here for a while longer, and then take off. It looks like a change of shift is happening at the reception desk and I think it’s about time I do the same when my cell phone rings. It’s Ryan.
“Ryan, what have you got for me?” I listen for a second. “So what does that mean? And what else do you know? That’s it? I’m at the Wilmington Inn and Suites—yeah upstairs. Can you come here?”
I hang up and swear to myself. Shit, shit, shit! He’s not finished yet but the news doesn’t look good. Carrie was also using Brenda’s laptop while I was away earlier. Ryan is doing an analysis now to figure out what she did on it. I’m hoping that it’s something simple as emailing her Mom this time. That way I can head home.
In the meantime, I might as well order dinner. The waitresses are pretty scarce, so I head up and order at the counter. I would have expected better service from a place like this, but who am I to complain. I spent years pissed drunk behind the bars in this town. I can only imagine how many people got short-changed or not even served when I was supposed to be on point.
The staff are probably having a smoke break. I order my steak with the cashier. I go with spinach and mash on the side. This place does a mean spinach with almonds and butter. Too bad the serving size is only enough for a toddler. I head back to my table and look at the clock downstairs. It’s nearly ten in the evening. Carrie is sure to be in bed by now. The lobby looks quiet anyway.
It’s not long before my food arrives and I devote my full attention to it. God, I love steak. Brenda would be making fun of me right now if she was here. She would call me a caveman. I love meat. The waitress looks over at me, and I signal for a sparkling water. She moves quickly this time. I figure she saw that I was left waiting earlier. That’s enough to earn a tip from me. I’m too kind really, but she’s probably a single mother or something.
I see Ryan Morgan’s head pop up from the escalator. He’s here, carrying his workbag, and he really needs a shave. It must have been a long shift. Looking at him, most people would think he was an actor. He’s tall, fit and tanned. That’s unusual for a tech—they spend a fair amount of time indoors. Ryan’s a triathlete, though. He loves the outdoors, and spends most of his time talking about trips and adventures. One day I plan on taking George to see him rock climb. I hear Ryan’s epic stories and think this nephew of mine needs to get out more, once his arm has healed, anyway.
Ryan joins me at the table. He’s a good friend and I slide my bowl of fries over to him.
“Help yourself.”
He nods but signals the waitress and orders a steak too. Business is going to have to wait. I’m not too worried. I count this man as part of my inner circle. I could use his advice. He knows about my recovery and he’s a good friend to hang with. He’s not a big drinker—he’s more interested in adrenaline than alcohol. We’ve gone camping upstate together a couple of times. We talked shit around the fire, and today I could use his opinion on this whole Carrie fiasco.
We make small talk and I finish my fries.
“What’s doing down in the lab?”
Ryan doesn’t really fit in with the others at 43rd. He gets along with Walker, the head tech, but the others are a little too over the top with the geek culture for his liking.
“Buddy, if I hear anymore CSI jokes I’m gonna blow chunks.”
He’s joking but he’s referring to the influx of people coming into the field the last couple of years. The industry has been featured heavily in TV culture lately, and the kids have an unrealistic, glamorized sense of what the job is really like. Ryan himself has resisted the urge to start wearing Hawaiian shirts, and that’s good, because I hate those things.
“I can’t complain too much, CSI nuts or not, at least the team I work with are genuine. No assholes. No crime scene collectors or freaks. Just good people.”
He’s lucky. There are a few bad eggs in the detective cage. It’s the ego that gets to them. We all get cynical, but there’s one guy in particular who has lost his sense of respect for victims. The idiot cracks jokes around fresh bodies, objectifies female victims and generally is an asshole. More than once I’ve nearly lost my temper. Ryan has helped me—pulled me aside a couple times. I’m grateful for the guy.
He’s wearing a pair of fitting cargo pants and a navy t-shirt under a jacket that looks like it has a million pockets. Most of the time, he and his colleagues are decked out in overalls and lab coats when they’re on the job, but he wears hiking boots and outdoor gear as his other uniform.
I think Brenda secretly likes Ryan. She calls him the rugged mountain man when he’s not around, but not without a blush in those cheeks. He would never go there, though. A man like that respects a friend’s sister. That’s the way it is with the people I call my friends. I don’t have many but we’re loyal to each other. It’s part of the reason I called him this afternoon; I can trust him.
We talk for a while about his next trip. He’s taking a month off to climb some mountains in Nepal. The guy loves India, getting in with the locals and learning the language. I envy him and I don’t. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, and George is a commitment. I can’t leave him and Brenda until she’s more financially stable. He needs me more than ever, now that he’s growing up.
Just then the waitress comes back with Ryan’s food. He orders a beer and I like that he doesn’t hesitate. My friends aren’t uncomfortable drinking around me. I make sure of that. I’d hate to be one of those controlling ex-drinker types that can’t handle being around normal people. While Ryan eats, I take the chance to talk. I can’t remember if I ever mentioned Carrie before so I start from the beginning.
“Did I ever tell you about the girl I was into in high school?” He shakes his head so I continue, “Beautiful girl, track star and my best friend. She was something back then.”
He raises one eyebrow to imitate me and laughs.
“Best friend, eh?”
“Nah, I’m serious. Nothing happened back then. I wanted it to, but she cooled off during senior year and not long after that, Brenda and I left town.”
His look becomes more serious. I’ve told him about the way we left my Dad and he knows it wasn’t an easy time.
“Anyway, she’s back.”
He chews his food and looks thoughtfully at me.
“She was a witness to a kidnapping the other night. You wouldn’t believe it, she was in New York for a girl’s weekend, and her friend just so happens to be Jessup Lee’s niece.”
His eyebrows go up again, but not in jest. I’ve talked to him about this case before, and he knows how much the department has struggled to pin anything on Jessup.
“So what did she see?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t good man, they were out on the town and the niece was beaten and abducted. They nearly got Carrie too, she was lucky to get away.”
Ryan shakes his head. “That’s heavy shit man.”
“Yeah, she was pretty shaken up. They took her down before she escaped, but she’s surprisingly resilient for what she went through. They beat the niece, April, pretty hard before abducting her. It’s difficult to guess who it was, but I’m betting it’s a revenge take—Jessup has made too many enemies over the years for it to be a coincidence.”
Ryan nods, “That makes sense. Do you have a shortlist yet?”
“We’re running down snitches and tracking his recent movements, but n
othing so far. The guy is squeaky fucking clean for a trafficker.”
Ryan agrees. Over the last few months he’s done the crime scene work at two of the locations where Jessup’s men were suspects. Nothing—the guy’s a ghost.
“So eventually, whoever has the niece will get in touch and you’ll find out what they want?”
“I hope so. I’ve got Jessup’s lines bugged. Who knows what’s really going on? Apart from him, she’s got no wealth or rich daddy to step in, so I can’t see any other motive. I just hope they let her live.”
He looks seriously at me. “You think Carrie’s involved with Jessup somehow?”
“I don’t want to think that way, but there’s been some lies. She’s all grown up now; a researcher turned wannabe reporter, and even more fucking gorgeous.”
“So…you two?”
I nod. “I couldn’t help myself, man. It was years in the making. I used to think she was the one.”
“Buddy!” He says, nearly choking on a piece of steak. “This is big!”
“I know. It changes everything for me. It’s like I can’t think when I’m around her. But she withheld evidence, Ryan. April’s purse. She said she forgot she had it, but then I caught her trying Jessup’s numbers.”
He shakes his head, “So did she know Jessup?”
“Nah. They only met at April’s parents’ funeral. She says Jessup and April weren’t that close. But honestly, man, I don’t know what to believe. It’s like she thinks she has to be the one to save April. Some renegade reporter vigilante shit—half driven by the need to launch her career, and half by a disbelief in police procedure.”
He doesn’t react. I shake my head and continue, “It’s a mess Ryan, part of me thinks she may have a valid point about the department. I wouldn’t put it past Jacob to use April as some sort of bait to trap Jessup. You know how long she’s been after him?”
