by Mia Luxe
"Yes?"
"Well, tonight I'm going to train you... to cook!" Connor reaches up to a cupboard that’s too high for me to reach and grabs a large wooden cutting board.
I giggle. "You're going to regret that.”
“No, I’m sure I won’t. I’m your favorite teacher, right?”
I smile. “Top three after tonight.”
“I’m wounded,” he says, reaching down and grabbing a bulb of garlic from the lazy susan.
It's so strange. It's like all the darkness and turmoil has left him. I don't see the shattered, distant man that gave the lecture about the Maturi family and the violent psychopaths he took down. He's just a guy, a hunky, sexy guy with a goofy sense of humor I would never have guessed at.
He peels the garlic, putting it onto the cutting board, and the knife moves in a blur. The clove of garlic becomes tiny pieces within seconds.
“Connor, I’m going to have garlic breath if I eat that!”
He shrugs. “As long as we both have garlic breath, we won’t even notice. Have you been paying attention? You’re mincing the next clove.”
Under his tutelage, soon my hunks of butchered garlic become uniform and minced. He drizzles lemon juice onto the green beans and turns on the gas stove. He puts two pans on the gas top stove and tells me to throw the butter in. There is a satisfying sizzle. The second the garlic is added the delicious smell fills the room and makes my mouth water.
Together we pan fry the beans and sear the scallops, and he teaches me the moment when to flip them. I jump back as a little bit of butter splashes out, making us both laugh.
He plates the meal and puts the pans in the sink.
"Don't worry about the dishes, I'll do those later."
We are about to sit down at his big, formal dining room table.
"This seems like it's meant for a family of twelve!”
He cocks his head. “Yeah, I normally just eat while doing work. I never sit here. Let’s just sit in the kitchen?”
“Sounds good.”
Everything about the house is too big for just one man. I don't want to think about how much it all cost. We walk back into the kitchen where there is a nice, small table for us to sit at. He pours us both glasses of water.
I take a bite of my scallop and my eyes roll back. "Incredible!"
"And you made it," he says.
"I barely helped."
"Don't sell yourself short. You're going to be a great cook."
"Well you are a great... trainer," I flirt back.
We don’t speak at first, both of us ravenous.
“So,” he says. “What brought you to West Coast U? You have family nearby?”
I cringe, and he must see the look on my face when he mentions family.
“Yeah, three hours east. I came here partly to get away, if you know what I mean.”
“Get away from what?”
I sigh. "I've got two older sisters, and they are just perfect. One is thirty, with two kids and married to a lawyer. The other is, twenty-eight, and she's already married to a freaking doctor. They have these safe, perfect lives, and I just wanted to get away from it."
"It's hard to get away if you flunk out."
I take another bite of scallop, enjoying the flavor.
"Well, I know I'm on academic suspension, but I just figured I could talk my way out of it. It's worked until now."
"It would be a damn shame for you to just scrape by. You have so much potential."
I smile. "Well, maybe now I'll reach it.”
He gestures with his fork, swallowing another bite. “Seriously, first year barely matters. The first semester is about finding out what you like. Now you know. Criminal psychology interests you, and with my course as a prereq, you can get into some other great courses.”
“Any recommendations?”
“Oh yeah. Criminology 202 is decent. But the one you’ll love the most is Professor White's Geographic Profiling lectures. It’ll blow your mind.”
I sip, a question forming in my mind that I’m not sure if I feel comfortable to ask.
“Do you ever miss working undercover?”
Connor puts down his fork and runs his hand through his hair, thinking.
“No. I needed a buffer. I know I make a difference consulting on investigations and lecturing to new recruits. You know, I’m actually doing a lecture for the FBI this weekend.”
“The FBI! Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “It’s in Portland. Want to come?”
The scallop I was balancing on my fork falls back onto my plate and my heart skips a beat.
He’s inviting me on a vacation with him?
I smile, joy hitting me. This feels like I’m more than just his student fantasy. This feels like something that could lead to more.
You don’t take just anyone on a weekend trip.
“That sounds incredible. I’d love to come. What’s the lecture about?”
He pauses. His brow furrows.
“My time undercover.”
A chill goes through my body.
Willow, what are you doing with this guy? He’s practically a stranger! You don’t know enough about him.
“That sounds very educational.” I push my empty plate away, feeling a chill through me.
His time undercover was part of him. But it makes me so uneasy thinking about it.
“Good. We can -”
Suddenly, I need to be out of this house. “Um, actually, I think I better be going. Dinner was really good.”
“No problem. Sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?”
I shake my head, and pull my phone from my pocket, dialing the number for a cab. Connor gets up, leaving the room for a minute and comes back just as I finish the call. He’s got some sort of credit card in his hand. He holds it out to me.
“It isn’t right for you to spend a fortune on cabs. So I got you a gift card.”
I take it gingerly, our hands brushing. My mind wants me to recoil, but my body trusts him.
“Thanks, Connor.”
“Just let me know if it’s getting low, OK?”
“Sure.”
We wait in silence. I’m tense and uneasy. My thoughts are racing.
Connor, how did you manage to stay undercover for two years in a violent crime family?
I want to ask the question, but I can’t find the courage to let the words leave my mouth. My phone rings, signaling the wait is over for the cab.
Connor walks with me to the cab, opening the door for me. As I am driven back to dorms the rain starts, thick, heavy drops that come down slowly. The drive takes me through the rich area, driving past a parked Jaguar, a black Mercedes, and a luxury Porsche. The people in this area have beautiful lives and beautiful things.
The second I’m away from him, my mind works feverishly.
He survived two years undercover. He gained the trust of men like Joe Maturi, violent, evil men who should have seen through him.
I need to go to Portland and hear that talk. I need to know the truth of what happened during those 24 months undercover.
I gulp as we drive, the rain beating against the windshield.
What if I learn something so vile and cruel that I can never be with Connor again?
Fighter
Connor - Wednesday, November 5th
My first day out of training, without ever setting a foot on beat patrol, and I got called up to the top floor. I had heard of the Walrus only by reputation. A massive set of whiskers and a fiery need to crush crime.
"They say you're a fighter."
"Undefeated in the police boxing league. Sir."
"How are you at MMA?"
"I've never fought it competitively, but I can hold my own."
"Good." He nodded, and he looked at me like I was a hammer.
He slid a folder towards me, and let me read through it. It made my blood boil. Three murdered women, beaten to death. The Maturi family looking back at me, all dead-eyed.
"We are
working with the Canadian RCMP up North in this one. These fuckers are slippery. We haven't been able to prove anything against them. What we think is going on is an international human smuggling ring. The Maturi family goes up to Canada, finds vulnerable women, and bring them back here. Some of them get used as prostitutes, others are kept for private use by the Maturi syndicate. Those three deaths are all from two years ago, and it's been dead quiet since then. They’ve tightened up ship. Gotten more professional."
I know I'm supposed to be analytical. That's what they taught me in the academy. Instead, I feel a boiling rage as I look at the human scum that forms the Maturi family.
"How can I help."
My answer makes him smile grimly.
"Good. Good attitude. We just locked up their driver and bodyguard on drug possession charges. They are going to be looking for a new bodyguard. We think they are going to pick their new guy from an underground fight ring in Seattle, the Iron Circle. If you want this assignment, you're going to have to go there and beat the fuck out of everyone they send against you."
"Why me? Why not an experienced member of the force?"
He shakes his head, his white mustache moving back and forth.
"We need someone who none of their crooks will recognize.”
I nodded.
“Officer Bold, I’m not going to bullshit you. The Maturi’s are careful. This ain’t a two month operation. You’d start at the bottom, working your way up in the ranks until they trust you enough to be a bodyguard for Joe Maturi. We need someone high up to catch these guys. Someone at the top of the ecosystem. I read your file. You finished high school a year early and took an accelerated psychology degree. Then you signed up for the force and scored top of class. You’re the man for this job."
"When do I start?"
The cold concrete floor, darkened by old blood as my head hits the ground, ringing out.
Jumping to my feet before the huge, fat linebacker of an opponent can charge me, dodging his bull rush and striking him in the neck with a gloved fist. I can barely see through the blood and sweat, my eyes stinging as he clutches at his neck. I rush him, striking him in his thick gut, his kidneys, dropping his guard and cracking him on the cheek.
He falls and doesn't get up. The crowd roars and I roar with them, letting the animal beast that lives inside me out for the first time.
For the first time, I feel truly alive.
I wake up gasping for air, my sheets sweat-soaked. My bed is empty. For some reason, I half expected Willow to be next to me.
Instead I’m alone. With my demons, my memories. Every night, the dark dreams of my past.
When I sat in the courtroom across from Joe Maturi, hearing the judge read out the guilty verdict, I should have felt satisfaction. 15 years he’d be gone. He’d come out of jail a fifty-year-old man, his prime taken away by me.
We didn’t get him on murder. His father, Stefano Maturi, took the fall for the serious charges. He should have been put away for a life sentence like his father.
His cold eyes stared at me when the verdict was read. They stared with a promise.
This isn’t over.
I pull myself from the sweaty, tangled sheets and wash my face with cold water. It refreshes me. After a long, satisfying piss I go to my home gym and face off against the punching bag. Lately I’ve felt the need to hit my fists against the bag instead of running at the university track.
The morning routine of punching, ducking and weaving gets my blood flowing, my muscles pumping and clears my mind. A short, cold shower gets me back to the right state of mind.
That part of my life is over.
I've put it behind me. And now, for the first time in three years, I’m feeling hope.
Hope for the future.
Hope by the name of Willow.
If anyone ever tries to harm her…
I'll kill them.
Corruption
Willow - Wednesday, November 5th
Thank you, Connor Bold. I sit in front of my Sociology exam. It’s the first one I’ve studied for since the start of semester. Connor’s the reason I started to study, and he’s the reason the test doesn’t look like it’s written in Egyptian. I look at the first question.
Question 1: Define and contrast the important concepts of mechanical and organic solidarity attributed to the work of Emile Durkheim.
Just a week ago I would have spun some bullshit answer. I write quickly, my pencil scratching against the paper as I explain the differences between small scale tribal societies and large scale societies, focusing on how specialization and interdependence leads to organic solidarity.
I get to the multiple choice section and finish the last answer on the Scantron with thirty minutes to go. Instead of handing in my paper and calling it a day, I look back over every one of my responses carefully, making a few minor changes. With one minute left, I hand in my test.
Professor Maxine Waters gives me a sour look as I hand in my test. I haven't even been to half the classes this semester, but I can tell she hates me.
Can I blame her?
I've come to class so hungover I fell asleep halfway through a lecture. My last assignment was three weeks late and riddled with mistakes.
As I leave the class I feel a little shudder.
I was trying to be so different than my sisters, but all I was... was a failure.
I walk back to my dorm and sit down at my desk, trying to get rid of the feelings of shame for the way I’ve been living my life. I open up my laptop.
I know I’m thinking about my family because it’s my scheduled monthly Skype call today. The last two months I spun them lies about getting good grades. I had a feeling my father could tell I was lying and didn’t care enough to call me out.
They offered to pay my tuition to a select few universities. Each one is close enough to my old home that they can keep an eye on me, but just far enough that I’m out of sight and out of mind.
I hate taking their money, but there was no way I could get a scholarship with my grades. Maybe I’ll get a job and pay for my next semester myself.
I login to Skype, knowing what awaits me. My father will try to act interested, asking vague questions that allow for equally vague responses. My mother will have that sad, disappointed look, the one that says she wishes I was more like Sarah or Jennifer.
Sorry for ruining your streak of perfect daughters. I’m not stupid. My older sisters are both over a decade older than me. I was a mistake. I ruined your perfect lives.
What would they do if they knew I was sleeping with my professor? They would just sigh and shake their heads.
Willow is off trying to get attention again.
Willow is off breaking the rules again.
There’s a beep-boop sound from my computer from the incoming call. I’m tempted to hit decline with an excuse, but instead I take a deep breath and answer.
The connection is a little fuzzy. My dad peers at me with furrowed eyes. My mom has a fragile smile.
“Hello, Willow,”
“Hey,” I say back.
We pause for a second.
“So Willow, been making lots of friends?”
It’s the same thing my mom’s asked the last two calls.
“Yes, mom.”
There’s an awkward pause. Then it’s my father’s turn.
“How are your classes?”
A little surge of pride runs through me. I reach over to my philosophy paper, my first mark in the class above 50%. The bright red A+ stands proudly at the top.
“Is that a C+? The call’s a little blurry.”
“Shush,” says my mom, giving him a look. “It’s an A+! Great job Willow!”
“Thanks, mom,” I say, and my father gives me the look.
The look that says you’re full of shit.
“An A+. That’s your best mark… in your life.”
“Yes, it is. So what?”
“Did you do it all on your own, or have some help?”
“I didn’t have help.”
He keeps giving me the look while my mother shoots daggers at him. My mom is always trying to keep the peace.
“I’m just remembering last year when you copied a term paper…”
My anger boils over. It’s not fair. When I finally earn something on my own, they just think I cheated!
“Well maybe I don’t want to be like you anymore!”
Through the blurry call I see my father’s eyes harden.
“Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
My mom gasps, glaring. “Language!”
“You know what it means. I don’t need to break the rules to succeed. Or the law!”
My father grabs the laptop screen in his hands like he wishes it was my neck. His face is too close to the camera, pudgy and angry.
“Now you listen to me, you entitled little brat. You say one more fucking word and I’m cutting you off. You don’t like my money? Then don’t take it. Who do you think pays your damn tuition?”
My mom pulls him back, saying something I can’t quite make out. Tears spring to my eyes and I slam the laptop closed, wishing for once a call with my parents didn’t end with yelling.
I take a deep breath and blow my nose. I’m not going to cry, not for that asshole.
You know what? I’m done.
My sisters turn a blind eye to it. My mom probably doesn’t suspect. But I know how my dad got the development contracts. I know how he swung government funding his way.
My dad’s best friend gets a job with the government, and just like that, all the best contracts go his way.
“Maybe he doesn’t even think he broke the law. Maybe he thinks corruption is just a part of life,” I say to myself, shaking my head.
Great fucking example, my dad.
I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be dishonest, cheating, breaking the rules and doing everything I can to get ahead.
I text him.
I will be taking care of my expenses from now on.
I’ll find a job as a waitress somewhere if I have to, no matter how long the hours are or how obnoxiously the drunk clientele hit on me.