I listen and nod but nothing registers. At least, not the way it’s supposed to. I was so certain that the flash drive was meant for the same client that it never even occurred to me to ask. And now, what’s going to happen now?
My nose starts to tingle and thick heavy tears roll down my face. They burn my eyes and I can’t wipe them off quickly enough before the next round comes down. Nicholas wraps his arms around me.
“What does this mean? What’s happened?” I mumble through the sobs.
“Whoever came to see you, this Janet Bailey, she wants the flash drive but we don’t have it anymore,” Nicholas says.
I want him to sugarcoat it. I want him to outright lie. But he doesn’t and that makes things even worse.
“So, they took him? That’s why he’s missing, right,” I say, shaking my head with my whole body shaking.
“Not necessarily,” Nicholas says. A glimmer of hope, perhaps?
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure what happened to him. One, he could just be out somewhere. He’s not used to carrying that phone around or answering it or maybe he just forgot it somewhere,” Nicholas suggests.
I wipe my face and then wipe my hands on my pants. I wait to hear more.
“Two, something could’ve happened to him but it may not be related to the flash drive. You said that Janet said that people want to kill him?”
I nod. “Apparently, his boss put out a bounty. Anyone who kills him and proves it will get one hundred thousand dollars.”
Nicholas picks at the seam along the steering wheel with this index finger.
“That’s a pretty big bounty,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want to lie to you, Olive, but whatever he did, whomever he turned in, they are really fucking mad.”
I press my nails into the soft part of my palm until I feel pain.
“As far as bad news goes, if something did happen to him it may or may not be related to the flash drive. I’m not entirely sure if Janet Bailey and her people are responsible since it did happen so…quickly. They have waited a long time to get paid back, why not wait a little more to get the flash drive?”
My tears have dried and my thoughts are more focused but none of that gives me the answer that I want. Then something hits me. “What’s even on that flash drive?” I ask.
31
Nicholas
When we meet up…
I don’t know what’s on the flash drive and I make it a point to not know these things. I am just the quintessential middleman. I’m a courier. I’m a post office worker.
It’s not my job to know what’s in the parcels that I deliver, in fact it would be harder for me to do my job if I did know. When I tell Olive this, she doesn’t seem to believe me. I try to convince her but I’m not particularly effective.
The thing is that I can’t know what’s in the package, not if I want to get more jobs. If I were to find out that something I’m taking and delivering is worth say one million dollars and they are only paying me two hundred grand then I would be tempted to cut them out of the deal. Of course, it’s worth much more than what they’re paying me to get it.
Otherwise they wouldn’t make a profit on it and everyone in this business has to get paid.
We don’t do this for fun (well, not the sane ones, anyway). We do it for money.
But the job is not without its perks. There are no set schedules and there is no office. There is a boss or at least a client that you want to please in order to get more work in the future.
Not long ago, I thought that the Harry Winston necklace would be it for me. That would be my ticket out but it didn’t turn out that way.
That’s why I’m back here, trying to build up my savings.
If I want to keep Olive happy and pay her the money that I promised then I’ll need to do more jobs like his one over the next year.
Finding Owen isn’t really in the plans, but Olive needs an answer and there is someone who might have one.
Why am I not there with you? She texts and my phone dings.
I put it on vibrate.
We have already had this conversation. I am meeting with a contact who might know something. I told her about him when I felt sorry for her but now standing in the alley, watching my breath rise above me in a puff, I regret every part of that spill.
She can’t be here because she can’t know that I’m talking to the FBI. She thinks I’m meeting with an old acquaintance who knows the run of the streets. What she doesn’t know, what no one will ever know, is that I’m in a lot of trouble with the federal government.
They have a whole file on me and they are using it to get information. When my well runs dry or I stop cooperating and doing independent research for them (basically when I stop doing their job for them), they are going to throw the book at me.
The details of that particular book, I am not so sure of though. Is it just the prior crimes that will come before a jury? Or will they also charge me with all of the shitty things I did, to get the precious information that they want.
“What do you have for me?” Art Hedison asks, walking toward me. He is dressed in a nice suit and shoes, clearly doing something outside of his capacity as an FBI agent.
“Where are you going? Coming from?” I ask, trying to be friendly. This hasn’t always been my approach but I figured I’d give it a try this time since I do need him to do me a favor.
“My sister’s engagement party. Why are we meeting? What’s so important?”
He doesn’t have time for this. That could be a good thing. Maybe I can get a quick answer and a goodbye.
“Owen Kernes is…missing.”
Art stares at me and then lets out a big hollow laugh originating somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
“You don’t believe me?” I ask. “So, you know where he is?”
His laughter subsides quickly and the corners of his mouth start to point downward.
“What the fuck is going on, Crawford?” he asks. At least, he didn’t call me Nicky again. “You were supposed to befriend him and get him to talk to you. What the fuck have you been doing instead?”
“That’s what I have been trying to do,” I insist. “I was friendly. I was nice but it’s kind of hard to get a guy to like you if he thinks you’re the one who murdered his girlfriend.”
Art shuffles his feet, popping a cigarette into his mouth.
“But this isn’t about that. Olive told me that she hasn’t seen him since Saturday. She doesn’t know where he is and she’s worried. I’m sure that you are aware of that bounty that they have on his head.”
“Who?” Art asks, revealing nothing.
“I don’t know who. I just know that there is one. One hundred grand, to be paid to anyone who kills him and shows proof. Someone is really mad at whatever he did inside to get out.”
It takes Art a few moments to process all of this information. I lean back against the wall as he thinks it over.
“So, what you’re telling me is that he’s dead? And that you don’t have a job to do anymore?” he asks, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing it in my face.
“No, what I’m telling you is that I’ve been helping Olive track him down but there’s only so much we can do. I was hoping that you could help us. Maybe talk to the cops? Find out something?”
“Listen to me, you asshole.” Art puts his finger in my face. “I’m not here to do you any favors or to make your life easier. That’s what you do for me. So, go do that. Find out where he is and get on his good side. Otherwise, you’re going to get on my bad one.”
I resist the temptation to roll my eyes and I wonder why I thought this was such a good idea. Then I remember.
I had to see his face when I told him that Owen is missing.
Art doesn’t have a good poker face and I now know for sure that he has no idea where Owen is.
32
Olive
When I think of another possibility…
Nicholas doesn’t ask
me about her and seeing her again is the last thing I want to do, but I have to make sure that he’s not there. When we get back to my apartment, I pour each of us a generous amount of whiskey and down mine immediately.
The thought of doing this makes me want to drink the whole bottle but then I won’t remember anything and that’s never a positive thing in an investigation. Nicholas nurses his drink, watching me get another helping.
“You planning on blacking out tonight?” he asks.
I raise my eyebrows in disapproval and he quickly throws up his hands to admit defeat.
“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just…interested in what our plans are,” he adds.
“I don’t have any plans,” I lie. “I just want to have some drinks and not think about him anymore.”
We sit in silence for a bit, listening to the apartment settling into itself. This place is newer, so nothing creaks here like it used to in all of those places growing up.
It’s no wonder there are about a million different movies and books set in New England and about ninety percent of them involve ghosts. I don’t have any supernatural beings haunting me, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not haunted.
“There is one more person we should probably go see if we want to make sure to dot all of our i’s and cross all of our t’s,” I say, throwing back the last of my second drink.
Nicholas leans back against the couch and puts his foot on top of his bended knee.
“And who’s that?” he asks when I don’t go further.
“My mother,” I say after a long pause.
“When do you want to go?” he asks, without taking a beat.
I shake my head. “No, not tonight. It’s late and I’ve had the shittiest day in a long time.”
I pick at the flower on the shawl that’s draped over the couch. It’s the color of a sunset and it always gave me a good feeling looking at it, especially on all of those short dark and gloomy winter days.
Tonight, however, it doesn’t do its job.
“You think he went to see his mother?” Nicholas asks.
“Yes… No… I don’t know. Maybe. He shouldn’t have. I told him what she did to me. But you know how people are with their mothers.”
Nicholas exhales slowly, his nostrils flaring.
“I know how some people are,” he finally says.
We haven’t talked about his relationship with his mother much, but right now is not a good time.
I pour myself another glass, this time of wine, and offer one to him as well. He sticks to whiskey.
Half an hour later he is quite buzzed and I’m outright drunk.
“You know, I wanted to have some drinks with you because I thought it would cheer me up,” I admit.
“Has it?”
I shake my head no. “Now, I just want to cry.”
I lean my head into his shoulder and he pulls up my chin toward his face.
“Alcohol always makes you cry, even if it makes you laugh first,” he says, placing his lips softly on mine.
I tilt my head further back and open my mouth. Our tongues touch and a little burst of electricity rushes through me.
He pulls down my shirt, exposing my breasts. He takes one into his mouth, taking the other one in his hand. His tongue feels soft and firm on my nipple and I arch my body with each kiss.
He takes turns between the two to make sure that neither is neglected and a warm soothing sensation starts to build at my core.
After freeing me of my top and bra, he starts to run his tongue and mouth down my body. He starts at the top near the nape of my neck and slowly makes his way down to my belly button and to my pelvic bones.
Then he pulls the top of my panties slightly down and out of the way, teasing me.
I bury my hands in his hair. Its soft, thick strands slide around my fingers making them difficult to grip.
His fingers touch the inside of my thighs and my legs immediately open wide.
Every part of me is so aroused that I feel flushed and damp at the same time. My breasts feel heavy and sensitive along with other parts of my skin.
His fingers make their way inside of me, teasing me, playing with me. When he reaches over to kiss me, I slide mine down his body, shocked to find that he has already stripped himself of all clothing.
I wrap my hand around his hard, big cock and listen to him moan into my ear.
We lose ourselves in our hands and in the energy that they create, occasionally pressing our lips to each other’s in a sloping sideways kiss.
Slowly, I turn on my side, raising my leg a little in the air and keeping my hand firmly around him. For a moment, he pulls away and I hear a snap of latex somewhere behind me before he glides inside.
As his movements speed up, the urgency and the heat that he has generated in between my legs pushes me over the edge. I call out his name as I try to catch my breath while waves of pleasure course through my body.
33
Olive
When we go to see her…
The stoop of my mother’s building is lined with rotten wood. I trip on one of these panels and nearly fall on my face, catching myself with my hands and getting a large gash across my palm.
Perfect, I think to myself. What a perfect way to start the day.
It’s a little bit after noon and I hope it’s a good time to catch her. She’s not much of a morning person and she often goes on a bender late at night, sleeping in until eleven is not uncommon.
What I hope is that she didn’t start on her new day’s drinking yet.
The hallway smells as if someone urinated in it recently because someone probably has, and it takes three loud, police department are here to arrest someone, type of knocks, to get her to open the door.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” my mother asks.
Standing before her in her tattered robe, unwashed hair, and dark circles underneath her eyes, I can’t help but wonder the same thing.
“I’m looking for Owen,” I say, crossing my arms. “Have you seen him?”
“Hi, who’s your friend here?” she asks, extending her hand.
Given how friendly she’s being, I’m thinking she’s already had a drink or four. They shake hands and she smiles when he calls her Mrs. Kernes.
“You can just call her…” I start to say.
“Mrs. Kernes is fine,” she cuts me off. “It’s about time I got some respect around here. Would you like to come in, Mr. Crawford?”
Nicholas flashes me a smile as a sign for thumbs up and follows her inside.
“Olive, you coming?” she hollers back at me and I reluctantly come inside.
The apartment smells like stale cigarettes and is covered in dust and garbage. She has never been one for picking up after herself, but I don’t remember it ever being this bad.
I would always clean up whenever I came by, whether it was to do dishes or sweep the floor.
But now, the dirt and debris are just piling up along with the boxes of deliveries, dirty clothes, and grocery bags.
My mother doesn’t seem at all bothered by any of this. There are people out there who apologize for the mess in a clean apartment, but my mother doesn’t even offer one for this.
Then again, we did just turn up at her door unannounced without even a phone call.
“So… how’s Owen?” she asks. “I heard he got out.”
“You haven’t seen him?”
“Nope. I would’ve appreciated it if he had stopped by. I mean, what has it been? Ten years since we saw each other on the outside?” She lights a cigarette and blows the smoke high into the air.
“Did you visit him in prison?” Nicholas asks.
“A few times, but it’s hard for me to get around, you know. I’m sure that Olive told you.”
“The reason we’re here, Mom, is…he hasn’t come back home for two nights. And I’m worried about him.”
It’s hard for me to put myself out like this with my mother. I wish I had the kind of relationshi
p with her where I could talk to her about anything but we don’t.
Even before she did what she did, I always kept my cards close to my chest. She never made me feel safe enough to reveal who I really was or what I was going through.
“How’s he doing?” my mom asks, melting into the recliner in front of the television.
She doesn’t invite us to sit down and I want to leave. I try to get Nicholas’ attention but he doesn’t acknowledge me.
“He’s fine. Was fine when he was staying with me. But now…I’m not so sure.”
“Eh, you know men. He probably needed to get out there and get some. He hasn’t been with a girl in a decade.”
“Okay, let’s go Nicholas,” I say, turning around on my heels.
“Leaving so soon?” she yells after me.
“Yep. If you haven’t seen him then I have nothing else to say to you.”
I open the front door and wave Nicholas over.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that, Olive. Why can’t we start again? Oh, are you that dashing mysterious man who wrote her the letter and got her to go to Hawaii?” she asks Nicholas.
I don’t hear his answer.
I’m too dumbstruck by the person standing before me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Owen?” I whisper. My voice is barely audible. Something tickles my throat and I cough.
A sudden gush of rain starts to beat down on us. It was only a drizzle before, but now it’s strong enough to make the shrubs next to the railing quiver under the weight of each drop.
Owen rushes past me without saying a word, up the stairs to our mother’s door. But I can’t move. It’s as if my feet have been shackled to the ground by some invisible force.
Tell Me to Stay Page 12