I had no allies.
No friends.
No family.
I wasn’t living in a cartoon so Raskol couldn’t talk back to me. It didn’t take a degree to diagnose me with depression. I was beyond depressed. I was dragged down and disconsolate. I was over the cliff and lost to the rocks.
Fuck Law for making me think I could be anything else.
My laptop sat in the only corner with a working jack, the blue power light blinking lazily. I needed to research Law’s claims. The sooner I did that, the quicker I could forget Law and his gorgeous, lying face. First and foremost: the company he worked for. With Raskol safely asleep in my arms, I carried my laptop to the couch and started to dig.
I searched for GEM on the internet and at first nothing came up. I was expecting GEM to have a website, the same way all companies have websites, but they didn’t, so I searched instead for GEM and politics, and that’s when an entire slew of articles hit me.
Apparently GEM owned a bunch of shady super PACS that they use to donate to and fund campaigns. GEM was just one of the names the umbrella corporation went by. It was unsettling, to say the least, when I recognized some of the other names as products I bought for hair care, food, and just general appliances.
GEM owned everything from car companies to candy companies, and had been responsible for every sundry and terrible thing from oil spills to slavery in Africa.
Head spinning, I closed my laptop. Law was telling the truth, at least. If he worked for GEM, he wasn’t working for Morris. He was probably just doing GEM’s dirty work and funding another campaign. Somehow, I still didn’t feel that much better about him. Law worked for a company that condoned environmental destruction and slavery.
How much better could he be?
I used to have a gut feeling. That is, I could trust my gut about people. If my gut said someone was all right, then I would listen. I no longer had a gut feeling, because my gut had been utterly eviscerated after Morris. I had no idea if Law was good or bad. Working for a bad person didn’t necessarily mean you were bad. I understood that the same way I understood living in a country with a corrupt government doesn’t mean you’re corrupt.
Without my gut, though, I was blind.
I shoved my laptop aside and sunk into the couch. The TV’s blank face stared back at me. I hadn’t watched TV in months. Every single aspect of my mind had been captivated by Morris. What did I like any more? Did I still like Friends? Did I still like Buffy? Pulling the blanket from the top of the couch, I clicked the TV on and waited patiently for Netflix to scroll across the screen.
I selected Psych and as Sean and Gus started their antics, I didn’t laugh. I knew it was funny, I’d laughed before, but something inside me was broken.
I felt like screaming. Even watching one of my favorite shows, I couldn’t forget about Morris.
He’d taken so much from me. He’d taken my future, my reputation, and now he’d taken Sean and Gus.
It was time he had something taken from him.
Five
I could feel my soul slipping away like sand through my fingers. As Mitch Morris moved around the parking lot, the shutter clicks sounded on my camera and the sand slipped faster. I needed to catch him. I was a spider in a web and he was the fly constantly torturing me, buzzing just overhead. I was starving. He was the meal I would never eat.
Morris was in the manufacturing part of Utah, just a little outside of Salt Lake City. If it had been any other person, I would have said it was odd. Odd for such a man to be out in that part of town so late at night. It wasn’t any other person, though. It was Mitch Morris, and he was always up to something.
I clicked the camera again, watching his movements through the delayed stills. He seemed perfectly calm between the gray-black shadows of the buildings and towering pallets. Questions plagued me. Who was he meeting? Why there?
Morris was dressed impeccably. Wearing a long wool pea coat with fur trim over his three-piece suit and polished shoes, he looked like he was going to the symphony, not standing on loose gravel amidst dirty wooden pallets. Again I felt myself slipping, disappearing into the man that had taken a part of me.
I needed to understand him.
I was dressed all in black, hiding behind one of the stacks of wooden pallets. I was beginning to think that it was not my superior stealth keeping me hidden from Morris, but instead his superior hubris. He had every cop in the city, every journalist, and pretty much every person, in his pocket. He had no one to fear because they all either feared or loved him. Why would he worry about me?
“Senator.” A slightly frightened, mousy voice perked my ears. “I don’t understand why we had to meet here.” I lowered my camera slightly to get a better look and squinted, finding it hard to see in the dark. The only light on the lot was meters back: a lonely and dying street lamp. I squinted harder and saw the owner of the voice: me.
Well, not me, but it looked like me six months back. The girl was wearing a nice pencil skirt and blouse accompanied by a look of simultaneous fear and awe on her face, as if she had so much to learn still, even in the clearly terrible situation. My camera nearly dropped from my fingers as memories of the incident overcame me.
“I told you, Teresa, I have to volunteer at the shelter around the corner and this was the easiest place to meet.”
“Yes, but I could have given it to you in the morning…” The girl, Teresa, trailed off. She looked around warily, clearly uncertain of the situation. I understood that too well. Morris was a great man, right? He was a senator and church figure; she had no reason to distrust him. Still, why were they in such a precarious situation?
“I’m a very busy man, Teresa. If you’d rather work for someone else…”
“No!” Teresa apparently snapped to her senses. “I love working with you. It’s a great opportunity, thank you.”
“I could give you the papers in the morning. You didn’t have to come to my apartment.”
“I’m a very busy man, Nami. If you’d rather work for someone else…”
“No!” I said, letting Morris inside my door. “I have the papers right—”
Fear crept into my belly and adrenaline coursed through my veins as a hand fell on my shoulder. In the brief moments that I’d been reliving the incident, Teresa and Morris had disappeared. The camera dropped from my hands and fell to the gravel. I had zero time to contemplate the damage that might have been done, because there was someone there with me.
I spun around, expecting the worst.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. Standing a few feet away from me, his body outlined by what little light existed in the grim lot, was Law. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or on guard.
“Making sure you don’t do something stupid,” he growled.
“You have no fucking clue who I am, Law.” I seethed. “Or what I’m doing.”
“I know you’ve been following the senator for months now. I know you want revenge.” Law stepped closer, forcing my back against the snow-covered wooden pallets. “I know that if you keep doing this it will end badly for you.”
I was terrified. I hadn’t let anyone, much less a man, so close to me since the incident. Still, I didn’t want my fear to betray me. I settled my breathing and kicked up against the pallets, forcing Law to stumble back.
“And how do you know that?” I spat.
Law quirked a brow. “I’m observant.”
I scoffed. Observant? What the fuck did that mean? “So what, I’m supposed to trust you?” I shoved him, making him stumble back a few more feet. “I don’t know a thing about you, except this: you’re untrustworthy and you’re dangerous.”
“I am dangerous, Nami, but not to you. I can help you.” There was a sincerity in Law’s eyes that I wasn’t sure I should acknowledge. Instead, I disregarded him. Now that I knew I wasn’t in any danger, awareness replaced the adrenaline that had previously held my body captive. The first thing on my mind: what happened to Morris a
nd Teresa? I immediately thought the worst. Ignoring Law and whatever shit he was trying to sell me as diamonds, I scanned the lot.
Morris’s car was gone.
Teresa was nowhere to be seen.
It was as if they’d vanished.
An icky, cold feeling settled in my gut. Had Morris just taken another victim? If so, all I’d done was snap pictures with my fucking camera. Camera! I bent down and grabbed it, brushing snow off the already cracked lens.
“Have you been listening to a word I’m saying?” Law sniped.
“No,” I said as I examined the lens for more cracks. “I already told you, I don’t trust you. If you keep showing up, you’ll be sorry.” I didn’t exactly have any way to back up my threat, but I hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff.
I snapped a picture of Law, this time with flash, and made sure to get right up in his face. As the bright bulb flared I heard him swear. I used the small window of confusion to run—and hopefully vanish—away from him.
I was at my car, fumbling with my key, when Law showed up. “Did you really think that was going to work? Take a picture and I would be too stunned to follow?”
No. Yes. I don’t know.
I’d hoped it would. I shrugged and ignored him, getting my key out and sticking it into the lock. I drove an old Honda. It was a bit beat up, but it was cheap to fix and it got me from point A to point B consistently. As an added bonus, it blended in nicely.
Law leaned against the door as I jimmied the lock open. “You need my help more than you think if those are the kind of getaway moves you have stored up.”
“I don’t need help.” I ripped the door open, causing Law to stumble back. Once inside I slammed the door in his face and pressed lock. As I prepared to put the key in the ignition, there was a light rapping on the window. I turned, my face sour, and saw Law staring inside, his hazel eyes almost puppy-like.
“What?” I growled.
“Will you give me a ride home?” His voice was muffled through the car, but I could tell he was sincere.
“Are you fucking joking?” With Law, I couldn’t be sure.
Shaking his head, he explained, “I took the bus.”
I let my hand fall from the keys, prepared for yet another argument with Law. It seemed like all I was doing now was following Morris and arguing with this new, paradoxical man. When would my life become mine again?
Probably never.
“You did not,” I protested, still locked safely in my car. He opened his mouth to explain but I cut him off. “The buses don’t run this late. Stop lying to me.” The last public transit system usually left around eleven, though it was hard to gauge because public transit in Utah was a joke. Occasionally transit stopped running, just because.
I watched his face carefully. Law still had that five o’clock shadow around his sharp jaw, and I wondered if he had that because he thought it looked cool, or because he was too busy to shave. From the little I knew about him, I decided it could go either way.
“You caught me.” Law grinned. “I just want to talk to you. I’ll even show you where I’m staying.”
I gripped the keys again, getting ready to drive off. “I couldn’t care less about where you’re staying. I couldn’t care less about anything concerning you, really.” I turned my car on, deciding that if I ran over his foot, it would be a bonus.
“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” Law’s voice sounded over the roar of my maybe-in-need-of-an-oil-change engine. I paused, still keeping the car running.
I didn’t think Law wanted to hurt me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have done it by now. Clearly he knew how to track me down.
His question appeared to be a simple yes or no answer, but it wasn’t. I hadn’t thought Senator Morris was going to rape me, and look how that turned out. I used to think I understood people’s motives. I used to think it was easy to know good from bad. Now I had no fucking clue.
I had no idea who wanted to hurt me. I had thought I knew who was my friend and who was my enemy; now everything was utterly murky. The old me would have looked at Law and said drool-worthy, kind of weird guy, but totally harmless.
Then again, the old me had looked at Mitch Morris and said kind of handsome dad-figure who is giving you a great recommendation for when you get out of college.
And. Look. How. That. Turned. Out.
I shook my head at Law and drove off.
Six
7:15 Morris gets his coffee. 8:30 Morris meets with advisors. 9:30-11:30 Morris either works from office or meets with volunteers. 12:00-1:00 Morris takes lunch.
Morris, unlike most politicians, took his lunch outside the capitol. That’s when I was going to pounce. He had a favorite place to eat: a little dive down in West Valley. I sat in my car, completely oblivious to the cold, and watched the entrance, waiting for him to walk out. It was almost 12:40 and he usually finished between 12:40 and 12:50. I was all steely composure as I fixed my gaze on the doors. Nothing was going to rattle me.
Gun safely nestled in my lap, I waited. As Morris emerged at exactly 12:45, I got out of my car and walked toward him, gun to my side. Just as I was about to make myself known, someone grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me away. I opened my mouth to yell but a hand covered my lips. Despite planting my feet firmly on the snow-covered asphalt, I was dragged away. I looked up at my captor, sagging a bit when I saw Law. At least I knew the asshole.
I struggled trying to get free, but Law kept me pressed tightly against him. I had to watch limply as Morris made his way out of the restaurant and to his car while Law dragged me further and further away. Morris sat himself in the driver’s seat and I reached a hand out futilely, as if I could yank him away and to my side. I kept my gaze pinned on Morris until Law pulled me all the way around a building, completely out of sight. Nestled between two dumpsters, Law finally let loose his hold of me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whisper-yelled.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I pushed him until there was a good foot of distance separating us. “Get off me!”
“It looked like you were about to commit murder.” Law folded his arms and inspected me. “I was stopping you from making a huge mistake.”
“You have no idea what I was going to do.” And he didn’t. I wasn’t going to murder Morris, even if that’s what it looked like. I was just going to scare him. I wanted him to know, with no uncertainty, that he hadn’t ruined me.
Law reached for me again. I tried to maneuver away but he was too quick. He clasped a hand around my arm and yanked my gun out of the other. He dragged me back out of the alley and to a black Range Rover. I struggled the entire way, but it was useless, like fighting against a tornado.
“What are you doing?” I asked, hoping my fear wasn’t evident.
“We’re going back to my place,” Law grunted, not even bothering to turn back to me.
“Like hell we are!” Ignoring me, Law opened up the passenger door and pushed me inside.
“This is fucking kidnapping!” I screamed as Law shoved me inside. As I tried to open the door, Law sat inside and locked them.
“Look, Nami, I’m not trying to kidnap you.” Law’s tenor was smooth and low, like he was explaining why our dinner plans had changed and not why he was fucking kidnapping me. “I just want to talk.”
“So talk,” I exclaimed. “Don’t kidnap me.”
Law started the car and said, “I know that tattoo on your body isn’t just art.”
“You don’t know anything.” Absently I looked at the tattoo that snaked across my arm. It was one of many I’d had done during the media circus after my rape. I had birds on my collarbone and a tree on my abdomen, but the one on my arm was by far the most significant. It was a snake shedding its skin because the scales had caught fire. I was inspired by a phoenix. With phoenixes, no matter how many times they burst into ashes, they are always reborn more beautiful. I chose a snake instead of a phoenix because it felt apropos. You know, because of the r
eptile in a suit currently hijacking my life.
I needed to feel some kind of control. Inking my purpose gave me that control. Law was right, it wasn’t just art. It was my coat of arms, my purpose, and my drive. It reminded me every day what I had to do.
Law pulled out of the restaurant, still cool as a cucumber. I eyed my car and a brief thought entered my mind that it was the second time Law had driven me away from my car.
“You’re going to drive me back here,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“You’re driving me back here,” I repeated, louder. “I’m not taking a bus all the way back to fucking West Valley.” The last time he’d driven me home I’d had to bus it back to my car, but at least I’d been in the same city. This time it would take at least two hours to bus it back—assuming Law’s plans for me didn’t include murder.
“Fair enough,” Law replied. Feeling a little bit better about the situation, I unfolded my arms and regarded Law.
“You could have just asked me to come with you instead of, you know, dragging me across the lot and throwing me inside like a sack of potatoes.”
Law eyed me from his peripheral. “You would have come if I’d asked nicely?”
“Yes,” I lied. Of course I wouldn’t have come. I would have laughed in his face and driven away. Still, I didn’t appreciate being thrown in cars like cargo.
“You’re such a liar,” Law laughed.
“Where are we going?” I growled.
“I told you. My place.”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head, feeling cold all over. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead and palms and my breathing sped up. I knew what was happening: I was afraid. I hadn’t been to a stranger’s house, let alone a male stranger’s house, since being raped.
“Nami?” Law glanced at me sideways. I felt completely vulnerable. Law had taken my gun, he’d shoved me in his car, and now he was taking me to his house. For a moment I had felt…well, not safe with him, but not completely on edge, and that naivety made me want to punch myself.
Dirty Law Page 5