by Gina LaManna
Then I looked at Carlos, and I realized I was being stupid – Carlos would never change. I idly wondered what favor he needed from Clay this time around. Either that, or Carlos was really scared of his grandson.
Nora plied us with heaps of wine, pasta, and meatballs. As we dug in, Carlos asked about my progress on the case.
“It’s good,” I said. “Got some new information.”
I filled him in on my newest conclusions. It was the first time Clay had heard any of them, but he didn’t look phased. He kept his head in his spaghetti and noodles in his mouth.
Carlos gave one slow nod afterwards. Nora gave me another scoop. I pushed my plate away.
“How’d you figure this out? Who’d you talk to?” He eyed me closer than I liked.
“A friend,” I said vaguely. “Nobody you know.”
“Then I don’t trust him.”
“You can trust him, sir. It’s good information, isn’t it?”
Carlos grunted. “Why’d you take two cars today?”
I glanced at Clay, who seemed in the middle of a huge gulp of wine. “Uh, just coming from different places. I called him last minute.”
“If you’re not coming from the gym, then why are you still in your pajamas? And if he’s not coming from the gym,” Carlos nodded to Clay, “then why the hell is he wearing those hideous pants?”
I looked at Clay, who said nothing. I looked to Carlos, but realized I didn’t have anything either.
“You stayed at a boy’s place last night,” Carlos said accusingly.
“Not exactly,” I clarified. “I’d call him a man. And I didn’t sleep there, either.”
Carlos glared angrily at me. “Don’t tell me he’s your source of information.”
His voice was cool and threatening. I’d have almost preferred for him to snap and yell at me.
“Uh–”
“Lacey. What was the first rule I told you when I brought you into the Family? No emotions on the job.” He shook his head. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Thought I could bring you into a man’s game...”
“You can!” I stood up. “It’s not because I’m a girl – and for your information, I didn’t sleep with him. There are no emotions. I was over there for the mission. You want to meet him? I’ll show you there are no emotions.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I don’t mean that. Don’t say yes.”
I shot a horrified glance at Clay, but even his eyes were wide.
A slow smile crept up the sides of Carlos’s face. “Yes, I’d like to meet him. You know what? I’d like to meet both of your boyfriends.”
“What, both?” I glared at Clay. “What, are you his snitch now?”
Clay opened his arms as a gesture of innocence. “I haven’t talked to him for weeks. I didn’t tell him a thing.”
“So, it’s true...” Carlos watched me. “Maybe I did give you less credit than you deserve.”
He took a sip of wine. I watched his throat contract with the effort. It was the longest pause ever. When he opened his mouth, I felt like I’d been teetering on a precipice for days. “Fine. Here’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow – one boyfriend for lunch, one for dinner. Prove to me you have no feelings for your source, and you can continue the job. If not, I bring someone else on. Deal?”
“Fine.” I shrugged. “No feelings, no problems.”
“Perfect! I’ll make a double batch of cookies.” Nora beamed, while the rest of the table flinched. “Just don’t forget, you have to dump them both at the end of the case, so you can go out with my man of choice.”
Carlos eyed Nora.
“Oh, dear, my second man of choice.”
We each pushed around our pasta for a minute.
“Started at the gym today,” Clay said. “Met a great trainer. Name’s Anthony. Big dude. Good guy.”
I looked up, sure I had a pasta noodle hanging from my mouth. Since when did Clay care to converse with Carlos?
To my ultimate surprise, Carlos was staring at Clay with his mouth open.
“I’m not sure he’s that nice. He’s a little creepy, actually. I think he might be coming on to me,” I piped in.
Carlos shook his head, his mouth still hanging open. It was not a portrait I’d want to paint.
“No...” he said in the most unsure voice I’d ever heard uttered from his lips.
“Yep,” Clay said. “Well, not the creepy part. I don’t get that vibe.”
“You haven’t been around when—”
“Did you see the note I left you at the laundromat?” Nora interrupted, flicking her spoon at me. “I volunteered you to watch Nicky’s kids – Clarissa and Marissa – oh, don’t give me that look. It’s for an afternoon. He’s got some business to take care of. What about your phone bill, did they ever tell you why you lost service? Is that why you don’t return my calls?”
Well, I could’ve told her the reason I lost service: it’s what happens when you don’t pay your bills. As for babysitting – that’d be a no. Returned phone calls? See line about not paying phone bill. (She didn’t need to know I had it turned back on).
“Okay, time to go,” I said to Clay – this conversation was starting to go into uncharted territories, land I didn’t feel like conquering today. “Places to be. Things to get ready for. Bills to pay.”
Clay didn’t make a move to get up.
The door swung open again, and in walked Butch and his flight attendant lady friend.
“It’s really time to go,” I said.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Clay stood up.
Nora shoved some cookies into his hand.
“Heya, nice outfit.” Butch eyed Clay appreciatively.
Clay smiled. “Thanks, man.”
I pulled Clay from the kitchen, shouting my thanks and promising I’d be on time for our double date tomorrow.
Back-to-back double dates with my grandparents. Wonderful.
ONCE WE WERE BOTH LOCKED safely in our apartment, I started on the first round of dishes as part of my payment. I fumed silently over the upsetting lunch.
“Why’d you have to give my boyfriends away?” I asked, loosely using the word.
“I only said we’d been at the gym. And I told you, I haven’t talked to Carlos for weeks. It wasn’t me that told about Michael. You’ve got to believe that.”
I poked my head into the living room. The thing was I did believe him. He’d never snitch.
“But nobody besides you knows about Andrey.” I walked back into the kitchen, wiping the large pink popcorn bowl with a soggy towel. The rag slipped from my fingers as I realized that wasn’t actually true.
There was someone else that knew about Andrey, and I needed to find out how.
I set out a bowl of cat food for Tupac.
My To Do list wasn’t enviable under normal circumstances. Now, tack on confronting psychotic gym trainer about love life and luring a guy who’d nearly tossed me out after mutilating a batch of cookies into having dinner with my grandparents, and I was suddenly toying with the idea of simply never getting out of bed again.
AFTER A SHOWER AND a s’more, I cuddled into my yellow sweatshirt, vowing to do laundry in the near future. I pulled out an old grocery store receipt and pen, and sat on my bed doodling with every intention of jotting out my treacherous To Do list.
To Do:
- Laundry
I CLICKED MY PEN A few times and stared out the window at the setting sun. I needed to make a move on this case. Time was ticking away like a flip book. If there really was a mole, and Michael’s theory was correct, then it truly was a race against the Russians.
I psyched myself up and added another point to my list:
- Apologize to Michael. See if he’ll meet me for lunch.
• If yes, awesome. Broach subject of him coming over to grandparents.
• If no, consider swallowing a bottle of aspirin.
- Call Andrey. Tell him we’re having a Fam dinner and I’d love him to join
• If yes, awes
ome.
• If no, shit.
I stared at my list, then went back to the top and added “Do Dishes” in the second empty space. I thought about squeezing “Gym” underneath, but figured I’d leave that TBD for now.
Sighing, I stood up and moved towards the closet. If I wasn’t getting started on numbers three or four tonight, I’d start on the first. Laundry. I promised myself that first thing in the morning I’d go to the gym to sort things out with Anthony, once and for all. Then, I’d deal with Andrey and Michael, and later in the day stake out Andrey’s house to snoop for calls from Uncle Vadim. Or, maybe Clay could stake out the house while Andrey was with me at dinner, just in case the uncle said things he didn’t want Andrey to hear.
I shuffled to the door to go look for Clay, but when I reached the handle there was a weird little red light on the frame.
“Clay!” I shouted. “Get your stupid lights out of here.”
I shielded my eyes and looked around the room, but couldn’t see the source of the red beam. “I can’t find your dumb toy. I told you to stop setting traps like this.”
“I didn’t set any traps,” Clay called from the living room. I heard him thumping down the hall.
A waterfall of ice seemed to have cascaded over my head and down my shoulders, encasing my body in a frigid stance. “STOP!”
I hit the floor. “Clay, duck!”
At the time Clay reached the door, four bullets in quick succession pummeled the wooden frame, holes busting straight through the flimsy wood. I screamed, but everything happened so quickly, I didn’t remember the order. There was a thud and a grunt from Clay’s direction. I wrapped myself into a fetal position and whimpered. I asked Clay if he was okay.
There was no response.
“Clay,” I hissed again. “Are you okay?”
I heard shallow breathing.
“Yeah,” he groaned. “I think I’m nicked.”
“Oh, those assholes,” I said. This was too much. We lived in a low-rent part of town and this wasn’t the first time we’d heard gunshots on our block. But it certainly wasn’t an everyday thing, and I didn’t usually feel unsafe. The violence was normally young gang members playing rounds of chicken or shooting each other over stupid drugs. It was never anything to do with the Family – when the mob killed, it was fast, efficient and clean. Or at least I suspected, since even I didn’t hear about it. But this was going too far. We’d never been endangered by the random violence before. Maybe we needed to move.
Unless...we were the targets.
But now was not the time to think. It was time to survive. Without further thought, I belly-crawled my way over to the window. I heaved myself up and took the smallest peek imaginable out of the corner of the glass pane. I didn’t see anything at first. The lawn appeared quiet and undisturbed, and there wasn’t as much as a car passing on the street. I dared not move. Where did the shooter go? Had he escaped on foot?
A dark figure appeared from around the side of the house. I couldn’t tell if he’d just approached randomly, if he’d been hiding out, or if he was, in fact, the shooter. I stared closer. The figure was tall and built, definitely the form of a strong man. He didn’t seem to have a gun, but he did look familiar. Tall, sturdy, wearing all black, of unknown origins – possibly Latin of some flavor, definitely sexy – what was I thinking? I’d just been shot at, possibly by this man.
“Anthony,” I gasped. I’d thought he was capable of messing with my love life, but shooting me? Honestly.
I army-crawled out of the room.
I quietly pulled open the bedroom door and heaved myself into the hall. I stood as soon as I was clear of my bedroom and behind the sturdy cement wall, but one look at Clay and I was back on my knees. Blood covered his neck and chest, caked his hair, and was smeared all over his abdomen.
I toppled over and my face hit the floor. The world went black.
I awoke, after what I assumed was a short time later, to a knock on the door.
“How long have I been out?” I mumbled.
“What – out where? Oh, you fainted. A second, maybe.” Clay scrunched his eyes at me and spoke much more clearly than I expected for the amount of blood on his body.
“Where are you hurt? Show me. It’ll be okay. We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not fine! Show me,” I demanded.
“I would, but you’re sitting on it.”
I looked down and realized I was sitting on Clay’s hand.
“I can barely feel it,” he said.
“It’s that bad?” I looked at it anxiously.
He shot me a confused look. “No, you fainted on it. It fell asleep.”
He shook his arm and a few droplets of blood spattered onto the already stained rug. Then he sat up and displayed his arm for me to see. A cut barely skimmed the surface, but with all his thrashing and cowering he’d managed to smear blood all over himself.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” I said, standing up and shaking my finger at him. “I thought you were going to die.”
“I’ll work on not getting shot.”
“Yeah, you do that,” I fumed and headed towards the front door, where someone was incessantly knocking.
“Be careful,” he snarled. “It might be the shooter coming to finish us off.”
“I saw the shooter,” I hissed. “It was Anthony. I saw him outside a couple minutes after the shot.”
Clay’s eyes widened – in surprise, not fear, it seemed. “It can’t be. No.”
“Yes.” I pulled one of the clean metal popcorn bowls from the drying rack and used it as a makeshift mirror to see through the peephole. Just in case the guy on the other side intended to blow my head off the second I stuck my eye up there.
“I can’t see.” I shifted the bowl this way and that, but the figure was a murky shadow.
“Wash the dishes better.”
“Now? Is this really the time to discuss cleanliness habits?” I set the bowl quietly on the floor.
“Go in my room. There’s a screen to the left of the bedside table.”
I scrunched my nose in confusion. A second later, without a retort at hand, I stomped into the bedroom.
I normally avoided going into Clay’s room at all costs. Where there should be posters of Hooters models or football teams, instead monitors covered every square inch of the walls. The entire wall at the foot of his bed had been turned into a projection screen, and widgets and gadgets winked and blinked at every turn. How he got any sleep I had no idea.
I located the monitor to the left of his bedside. The screen was mostly black. I squinted and leaned closer, recognizing the hallway. It was my hallway. Right outside the kitchen. And the shadowy figure lurking outside the front door was Michael.
“It’s okay,” I gave a small cry of relief as I leapt over Clay, who was still lying on the floor, and rushed towards the front door. “It’s just Michael.”
I flung the door open just as Clay called, “Wait!”
“Hello,” I said. “You won’t believe what’s just happened.”
“Listen to me, Lacey.” Michael strode into the room without waiting for an invitation. He pulled me along with him, the door dangling open.
I lunged back for it, but was pulled harder and faster by Michael towards the couch. I glanced helplessly at Clay and nodded to the door, but he was watching us with his mouth slightly ajar.
Michael guided me firmly onto the couch. He sat next to me and took both of my hands, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Michael, I’m sor–”
He let go of one of my hands and pressed a finger to my lips. I felt my mouth squish up into an unflattering bunch around my nose.
“Sowwy,” I tried again.
Thankfully he released my lips and I stretched my mouth to get it back into a normal shape.
“Lacey, I’m – I felt bad about running out on you yesterday without an explanation. I just – when I l
eft, I had a problem with my best friend. He was injured in a car accident, and I had to run to the hospital to visit him. I’m not sure why I didn’t bring you along – I guess I just thought that would be too serious, too fast, I didn’t want you to feel pressured meeting my family or anything like that. Of course they were there, too. Family friend,” he explained.
I tried to say something, but my lips remained frozen in place, and I’m sure the look on my face was less than attractive.
“Uh–”
He took my chin in his hand. “I promise I’ll be honest with you from now on. If you give me another chance, that is. You know what they say about the third time...”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I said. “No problem. Actually, on a similar note, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”
“What’s that? Anything.” He looked at me so earnestly that I felt a little flutter in my stomach.
“Will you have lunch with my family tomorrow? They’re having a – well, a little get-together and they’d love to meet you.” I glanced at Clay, who was watching our interaction like a bad soap opera.
When I looked back to Michael, his face was a mixture of a few emotions I didn’t expect. I studied him as I might a Word Find. Was that shock? Fear, maybe? Then there was something that looked oddly like a gleeful glint in his eye.
“Absolutely.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
I let my body fall forward to kiss him back, but sadly he’d already stood up and I toppled right smack, nose-first into the couch. I covered it up (smoothly, I thought) by kicking my feet up on the armrest and rolling over as if I’d sprawled out on purpose.
He started walking towards the door. “I’m really sorry, I have to run quick. Back to my friend, you know. But I just had to stop by. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned at the door. “’Sup, Clay?”
“Hey,” Clay murmured weakly as the door shut firmly in place.
I made awkward eye contact with my cousin. Then sirens wailed nearby, signaling the arrival of cops or ambulances.
“Oh, God.” I bounced up. “I didn’t even tell Michael we’d been shot at.”
