by Teagan Kade
I see Ethan pick up a gun and check it, holding it with two hands.
We gather there against the wall crouching right beside the front door, the only exit.
Ethan brings his mouth to my ear, pressing a second gun into my hand. “When they come in, you g—”
But that’s all he gets out before the door flies open and two men rush inside, the same guys from Ethan’s apartment—Fredek and Dimitri. Dimitri flies into the middle of the room, gun raised.
Fredek pauses there just past the threshold.
He looks left and spots us, bringing up his gun at the same time Ethan reaches for the table lamp and swings, bringing it hard into the side of his head.
I scream, glass shattering around us, wondering why Ethan simply just didn’t shoot him before I realize I was in the way.
Dimitri, in the center of the room, turns toward the commotion and fires twice, one of the bullets shattering the front window, the other punching into the brickwork somewhere behind Ethan.
I fire back, the second shot pinning him in the shoulder, a pained “ugh” as he’s driven back. Still, he continues to fire.
Ethan kicks Fredek in the chest, sending him sprawling into the coffee table.
He pushes me behind him and out the door, slamming it closed. Two bullet holes appear in the top of it, a third low.
Ethan looks around, the gun still in his hand. He spots a car with the doors open, a dark Cadillac of some kind. “Their car. Go.”
We run towards the car as the door to the motel room opens and the muzzle flash of gunfire lights up the doorway.
I fire back, steadying my hand and again sort of surprised it comes so naturally.
Dimitri, an enforcer for my father, retreats back inside in the motel room, his gun reappearing every so often to fire at us.
I get into the passenger side and Ethan into the driver’s. “Thank fuck,” he says, finding the keys in the ignition, turning them and starting to back out.
A round hits the A-pillar to the right, a metallic ringing filling the interior of the car.
“Hold on,” says Ethan, gunning the car into a full one-eighty before planting his foot and taking us out of the motel parking lot with a screech of tires.
More shots come, but they’re in the distance now, little more than muffled pops.
“I think I knocked that guy out,” says Ethan, the engine bouncing off the rev-limiter before he remembers to shift.
“Fredek?”
Ethan looks over to me. “You know those guys?”
I check over my weapon, dropping the magazine out and punching it back in as though it were completely natural, like tying one’s laces. “Fredek and Dimitri have worked for my father since I was a little girl. Even took me to senior prom.”
“And now they’re trying to kill you?”
“They’re good lapdogs,” I reply. “My father’s given them good lives, power in the organization. They’ll do whatever he says, and trust me, they’ve done worse.”
I don’t even think Ethan knows where he’s going, driving blindly hard on the gas. “So we’ve got a couple of trained killers on our tails, a BFF who’s clearly not all she says she is.”
“Ally?” I protest, feeling my heart drop but fighting against it. “It still doesn’t prove anything. They could have found out where we are some other way.”
“You’re being naïve.”
“I know her. She deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
“And when were dead? What then?”
It feels like the first fight we’ve had, this whole stupid thing coming between us. It’s the Montello curse. Find something beautiful and we’ll find a way to ruin it, and in pursuit of what? Power? Profit?
“Look,” I begin, brushing my hair out of my face, “arguing isn’t going to do us any good. What we should be doing is getting rid of this car.”
“Why?”
“It will have a tracker in it. All the organization cars do.”
Ethan nods, getting back into work mode, that let’s-solve-a-problem manner the males of the species seem to thrive with. “The parking lot we hid in earlier is just a few miles up the road here. Will that do?”
I nod back. “Yeah. After that, I’ve got no idea. They’re going to be everywhere soon, sweeping this entire area.”
We park the car in the back of the parking garage in the darkest possible corner. No point making it easy for them.
Done, we stand there the middle of the parking garage.
I don’t think either of us knows what to do now, and we’re short on time as it is. I’m still fluttery inside from the adrenaline, the sheer heart-beater that is running for your life.
I point to the entrance of the parking lot. “There are two cameras at the entrance there, another over by the exit stairwell and lifts.
“What are you saying, Ms. Observational?”
“I’m saying we don’t want to be on those cameras and seen leaving.” I nod to a landscaping truck on the far side of the garage, the back of the trailer covered by a tarp. “How do you feel about hiding out?”
*
We hide under the tarp, the material of it glowing neon blue under the single fluorescent light above.
There are a couple of bags of mulch to rest on, but we still have to lie flat, Ethan beside me with his hands on his chest. “What makes you think someone’s even going to come for this thing?”
“Fresh mud on the tires. It hasn’t been sitting here long, not since we were here last.”
Ethan’s smiling. “It’s true. I’m dating a god-damn super spy.”
“You’re dating a woman,” I counter. “We notice the little things.”
He doesn’t miss that. “So we’re dating, officially?”
“You don’t count three counts of intercourse as dating?”
“You make it sound awfully impersonal.”
I reach over to him. “Impersonal, no. Legal, those things you did to me? Surely not in some states.”
He laughs at that. I’ve come to love it, the way his face lights up when he does so. “And I haven’t even pulled out my little binder of secret sex moves yet.”
“You’re reserving that for a special night?”
“One where we’re not hiding in the back of a truck, yeah.”
I have to agree with him on that point. The tart smell of mulch and manure isn’t making for a very sexually charged atmosphere, even if my adrenaline-riddled body is saying otherwise. No, sexy times will have to wait.
Three hours later, around dawn, there’s movement in the front of the truck, a door swinging open and slamming closed.
I look across to Ethan. He nods back.
I hadn’t considered the possibility the owner might check the back, be pretty surprised to find the two of us bunking here, but the truck rumbles into life and starts to reverse, the blue tarp turning green as we start to move.
It’s a bumpy ride out, the world’s worst massage table, but soon the tarp turns almost translucent and I know we’re outside the lot.
We both shift onto our stomachs, lifting ourselves to look out the gap between the back of the trailer and the tarp, look where the hell we’re going.
There’s a bit of traffic around—tradesmen mostly off to get an early start on the day.
We discussed this earlier, how we’d wait until we were at least five or six blocks away from the lot before getting out. The city itself should provide enough cover.
The truck bumps to a stop, the intersection lights having turned red.
“Now,” says Ethan.
Together, we drag back the tarp. I climb out first, Ethan helping me down and checking the cab, but the driver is either oblivious or half-asleep.
We hit the ground together looking directly into the windshield of a late-model Ford where a woman is looking back at us particularly perplexed.
Ethan waves and smiles. He tucks me under his arm, escorting us off the road and down a nearby laneway. We go in as far as we can, Ethan pu
lling us into a tight alcove. “Mission complete, mademoiselle.”
I put out my hand. “Let me talk to Ally.”
Ethan looks skeptical. “You sure that’s a wise idea? I’d have to destroy it when you’re done. We can’t take any chances.”
“I know,” I reply, “but I need to know where we stand here, where I stand with her.”
Ethan fishes in his pocket, handing over his cell. “Make it short, less than thirty seconds, and no details about where we are.”
“Got it.”
I find Ally’s number and hold the phone to my ear. It rings a lot longer this time before Ally answers. She seems surprised. “Sofia?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“I thought—” She doesn’t finish. “You’re okay?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
It suddenly strikes me maybe Ethan is right. It doesn’t add up. I decide to press. “We’ve known each other the longest time, right?”
“Or course,” comes Ally’s quick reply.
“So why would you betray me like this, betray us?”
I want to bring her into this, to make it personal. If she cracks, she cracks. If she doesn’t, I’ll know at least I tried, at least I made sure.
Ethan raises an eyebrow, curious at my line of questioning.
“What are you saying, Sof?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Why did you give them the location of the safehouse?”
I expect her to deny it, naturally, but her response is quite the opposite. “You were going to hurt the family, Sof. Your father told me. You were going to get us all, everyone you ever cared about, sent to prison, me included.”
Now what was only cursory suspicion turns to anger. “You’re kidding me, right? Tell me this is a joke.”
“But, but,” she stammers, “I had second thoughts. I couldn’t let them kill you.” She starts to break down, but I can’t be sure it’s an act.
“That’s why you warned us to get out.”
“Yes.”
She’s conflicted. I’m sure that much is certain, but there’s still no way we can trust her now. I should have listened to Ethan, to his instincts.
I’m conflicted too, my mind racing as I try to piece together my next words. “I get it, I do, Ally, but I won’t be in touch again, goodbye.”
Her tone changes swiftly. “You think you’re queen shit, don’t you? You always have.” That broken voice is gone.
“Sorry?”
“Why couldn’t you have just turned a blind eye like all the other wives and adult children do? Why did you have to go and mess it all the fuck up?”
That’s it. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of a response. She may have saved us once, but it’s clear where her allegiance lies here.
I hand the phone to Ethan. He takes out the SIM and snaps it in two. He drops the phone itself on the ground and smashes his boot into it, crunching it into the asphalt until it’s a shattered mess.
“You heard that?” I ask.
“Every word.”
He extends his hand and I take it. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We walk away fast, my conversation with Ally playing on repeat in my head.
*
We stop at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, the kind of uppity hipster establishment that didn’t exist around here until a few years ago.
We’re sitting outside. In our hoodies we look more like early morning runners than, well, people trying to run away.
I sip at the coffee. Uppity and hipster this place might be, but the coffee’s basically a beany orgasm in a cup… at least compared to the sewer water the hospital called coffee.
“Good?” laughs Ethan, sipping one of those ‘get-up-and-go!’ protein shakes all these places have.
I smile, but he sees deeper than that.
“It’s the thing with Ally, isn’t it?” he says.
I place the coffee down, where it steams in the morning air. “You got me.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, you know. It just proves you’re human, is all. People change.”
“Maybe she’s right.”
“In what sense?”
“Maybe I should have turned a blind eye, feigned ignorance. It would have been easier, right?”
He reaches across the table and takes both my hands. Framed by the hoodie he looks like some kind of fitness-slash-life coach, which is, of course, fine by me. I could do with some coaching right about now. “Don’t tear yourself up about it, Sofia. I’d much rather know you’re being chased because you were trying to stop this than because you were a part of it. It proves everything I suspected.”
I’m about to cry again, something I don’t remember doing much of in my former life. “And what’s that?”
He points to the middle of my chest. “You care, you’re good, and you’re going to get through this.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
He lets go to hand me my coffee, standing. “Let’s walk, get the blood moving.”
We head out onto the main road. I notice Ethan constantly taking in his surroundings, his eyes always on the move. I wonder if it’s a side effect from his time in the Army, a paranoia of sorts—though we’ve both got plenty to be paranoid about right now.
I stop, looking at the scene in front of me.
“What is it?” asks Ethan.
I frame it with my hands, trying to recall. “That restaurant up there, the one with the dragon thing on the sign. I met Mark and Lynna, my handlers, there, definitely more than once.
Ethan tugs my hand. “You think they’ll be there?”
I shrug. “It’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt to check. Maybe they left a message or something?”
“Did you ever meet them anywhere else?”
“No,” I reply.
Ethan exhales, standing. “Let’s give it a shot then.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOFIA
The restaurant is an opulent mix of brass and leather, the sort of uber-trendy establishment that serves ten types of starter bread and bespoke butter flown in from Denmark. I remember eating here, laughing here… And then I remember meeting here for an entirely different reason.
I always met Mark and Lynna for brunch. They placed us up in the back in a private booth, but I worried my father’s reach extended everywhere, that there would be bugs or listening devices set up in every restaurant in Philly. Even after constant reassurances from Mark and Lynna I was safe, I recall living in an almost perpetual state of fear and anxiety. That’s when I’d demanded they teach me how to use a weapon.
“Ms. Montello.” The hostess is walking across from the other side of the restaurant. She stops before us smiling. “I’m afraid your party’s been delayed, traffic, but I’d be happy to set you up by a bar while you wait, order your usual?”
My usual, I think. Candy apple cosmo.
It’s so strange to think I know that now, but I’m more interested in what else she said. Mark and Lynna will be here. They’re coming. It seems too good to be true, but maybe it’s a lucky break. Maybe a lucky break is exactly what we need.
“Okay.” I smile back. “And a dark and stormy for my friend here.”
The hostess’s eyes turn to Ethan. “Of course.”
She leads us to the bar and brings the bartender out to mix the cocktails.
“What makes you think I like it ‘dark and stormy’?” says Ethan. “Especially at 10am in the morning.”
I pick up a toothpick, testing the point against the pad of my finger. “A dark and stormy for a dark and mysterious stranger, no?”
His hand falls against my thigh, edging inwards. “Dark, sure, but a stranger? I don’t think so.”
“Hmm,” I muse, tapping the toothpick against his bicep. “You might have a point there, but don’t worry. All the cocktails here are delicious, and it’s never too early—not when you’re a Montello.”
“That’s the question, th
ough: do you want to be a Montello?”
I look down at the bar. “I’m not sure. I sort feel like two different people caught inside the same body, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“A hell of a lot more attractive, though.”
I laugh. “Maybe,” I reply, looking to the door.
“You think the FBI agents are going to show? You don’t think it’s weird they chose today to show up?”
“This is where we met, it will be the same time… Who else would it be?”
The second I say it I realize what the issue is.
Ethan gets up. “Tell the hostess we’re going to stretch our legs, that we’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
It’s smart. I wave the hostess over and tell her we’re going for a walk, to have the cocktails delivered to our usual table. “But the others?” she protests.
“We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Ethan smiles, laying the charm on thick. “You’ll tell the others when they arrive?”
“Of course.”
Ethan leads me out, checking left and right, always on the lookout. I feel guilty I’ve placed him in this war-like heightened state of awareness, a state he’s no doubt done his best to repress and forget, though I can’t deny it hasn’t been useful. I’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for him—in more ways than one.
We stop at another alleyway down the road with a good view of the front of the restaurant.
“What if Mark and Lynna really do show?” I ask, standing beside Ethan around the corner.
He keeps his eyes on the front of the restaurant. “We still need to wait. If it looks clear, sure, we’ll go and chat, but we have to wait all the same.”
We follow a group of dark SUVs tailing each other at high speed down the road. They pull up out the front of the restaurant in convoy. They’re similar to the SUVs the FBI uses, but I know immediately they’re not.
“Here we go,” says Ethan, straining to see.
The doors open and people start to pile out. They’re in suits alright, but they’re not agents or officers.
They’re part of the Brotherhood.
Ethan spins and starts us down the alleyway running. “That’s not the FBI.”
“I know,” I reply, taking his hand as we start to run.