by Belle Aurora
It was my turn to speak. “No, you won’t.”
At that moment, every face in the room turned to blink at me. I spoke again, “It was my job to judge. I judged wrong. I’ll fix this.” I added I low oath. “I’ll find her.”
Vito shakes his head, wiping tears away from his sleeve. “No. I don’t know you. And I don’t trust you.” He turned to his youngest son. “Luc. You’ll find her.”
Before Luc could answer, Gio was there. “No, Pops. Let me do it. Let me find her.”
Vito looked at his son, searching his face. “You never liked Alejandra. I could never understand why. But maybe you saw something in her that I did not.” A moment’s pause then he agreed, “Yes. You will find her.”
Gio responded, “It’s not that I don’t like her.” He turned to Miguel and Eduardo, smirking, striking where it hurt the most. “I just don’t care about her.”
Eduardo shook his head. “I want Julius to find her.”
I glared at Gio. “I will find her.”
Gio looked at me then, sizing me up. His lip curled as he looked at me like I was nothing but a bug. A bug that needed to be stepped on. “Well, then. I guess it’s a matter of who gets to her first.”
Eduardo, clearly panicked, muttered, “Please. I want her brought home.”
Vito’s head snapped around. “I want her dead.”
Eduardo stated, “She’s pregnant. She holds the heir of our movements inside of her.”
Vito boomed and pounded on his chest with a closed fist, “Then she will suffer the loss of a child as I have!” Nostrils flaring, he promised, “As you will.”
Eduardo didn’t say a word, but I saw his jaw tic.
Vito calmed himself and then straightened his tie. “If you want this alliance, I want Alejandra’s head.”
Miguel watched in horror as Eduardo reluctantly conceded, “Agreed.”
And as this was happening, Ling whispered behind me the very words that were running through my mind.
“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”
From the excited glint in Gio’s eyes, I knew one thing.
I had to find Alejandra first.
As I drive on for what seems like hours, possibly because it has been hours, I think back to a documentary I saw on TV a few years ago. The documentary was about scientists being able to pinpoint a psychopath gene in people. Most people with this gene are coldhearted and clinical. They don’t react to violence as other do, and they don’t recoil at gruesome scenes. They revel in it.
And in a mere moment, I wonder whether I have that gene.
Surely, people aren’t meant to smile and sing along to the radio, tapping their feet only hours after the death of their spouse.
Maybe I am a psychopath.
I frown in thought. If I’m a psychopath, then Dino would have been one also. My mind travels a distance inside itself, trudging up memories I had long since locked away.
The first time Dino punched me and split my lip.
The first time Dino kicked me so hard that my ribs broke.
The first time Dino yanked me by my hair so hard that I needed to cover a bald patch for six months till new growth set in.
No.
I am not a psychopath.
I am merely a hardened woman tired of being some asshole’s punching bag.
I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad he died feeling fear. I’m glad he felt wronged.
He deserved it all and more.
I suppose I’m too relieved to grieve.
I don’t know where I am, but I do know I’m hungry, the constant knot of fear at the mere presence of my husband now gone. A quick glance at my fuel gauge tells me I need to fill my car with gas, especially if I’m going to be driving through the night. Pulling into a diner at the side of the road, I step out and hand my keys to the young attendant. I throw the duffle over my shoulder and hand him two hundreds. “Fill her up and clean the windshield. I’d also appreciate if you checked and topped up the oil and radiator fluid. Whatever is left over from the charge, you can consider a tip.”
The Sunnyside Up Diner looks like a decent place to get some lunch. I don’t have a lot of time to spare. I approach the counter and am greeted by a mature waitress with a wrinkly smile. “What can I get ya, sweetie?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
“Whatever is the quickest to go, please.”
The waitress doesn’t skip a beat. “Egg salad sandwich, coming right up.”
Making my way over to the refrigerator, I pull out four bottles of water and a sports drink. I place them on the counter then skim the snacks by the cash register. I quickly add two packets of potato chips, sugar-free gum and a handful of Twizzlers. The waitress comes from the kitchen not a minute later with a brown, wrapped package and, looking at all the things I’m buying, reaches into the baked goods display and adds a small package of cookies to my things. As I’m about to argue, she rings up my total, and mutters, “I baked those myself, honey, and they’re about to go bad. You see that you finish them by tomorrow, you hear? Besides, you look like you need some meat on your bones.”
Smiling at her kindness, I pay the total, leaving a more than decent tip for my waitress, pack everything into the duffle and head out. When I see the young attendant looking over my car and chatting to a greasy-handed man in his fifties, my gut clenches. I call out, “Everything okay?”
The older man looks my way before his eyes slide over me. “When’s the last time you had a service?”
I squint over at my Lexus. My car is immaculate. I don’t allow people to eat in it for fear of crumbs getting into places where crumbs have no business being. The only people I allow to look under the hood are specialized mechanics, and for the longest time, I didn’t drink anything in it. Not even water.
Opening the passenger door, I reach into the glove compartment and pull out the logbook. I hand it to the mechanic, and he smiles. “Good girl.”
After flipping through it with a furrowed brow, he sighs and jerks his head in a decisive nod. Handing back the book, he states, “The mechanic you’re using is fleecin’ you. Bleeding you dry.”
I try not to gape. “What?”
He nods. “He’s adding work here and there that he hasn’t actually done. It’s all over the place. It’s an old-school trick from way back when. Three months in a row, he’s changed your fancy Lexus wiper blades, and by changed them, I mean he’s written down that he has to accumulate enough on your invoice that he’s hoping to God you don’t check.” My mouth slacks and he smiles a fatherly smile. “Which I guess you don’t.”
“You’re serious?” I huff. “I’ve been going to him since I bought the car.” I look to the man and add quietly, humiliated, “For five years.”
The man’s brows rise. “Ouch.”
Yeah. Ouch.
I’m guessing my mechanic got a little more out of our relationship than I did. And when I say a little more, I mean tens of thousands.
Sighing, I lean my hip on the hood of my car and ask a tired, “What’s wrong with the car?”
“Cracked radiator.”
Absently rubbing at my neck, I ask, “Okay. If you can fix it for me in an hour, I’ll pay you double.”
“Not that simple, missy. I don’t have the parts I need. I’d need to order them. I could probably get it fixed in five days, and that would be the very quickest.”
Panic fills me, and I stutter, “I-I need to get out of here, sir. There has to be a way.”
He shrugs. “I can patch it, but that’s only a temporary fix. I can’t guarantee you’d get far. I got a loaner you can have if you got places to go.”
Anger rises, clenching my insides tight. “Shit. No, thank you. I need to go, as in I won’t be coming back type of gone.” Suddenly, an idea strikes me. “Your loaner, where is it?”
The mechanic points to a beat up old blue Cadillac complete with rust spots. It doesn’t look like much, but I see so much more. A slow smile crosses my face. “I’ll make you a deal. A t
rade, more accurately.” His brows rise to his hairline when I add, “My car for yours.”
He laughs, but there is no humor in it. I need to get out of here and quick, so I decide to use half-truths. Losing my smile, I swallow hard, and croak, “Please, sir. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. The last relationship I was in just ended, and it didn’t end well. My husband was possessive and dangerous. I’m going to be followed, and if I’m found…” I blink. “There’ll be trouble for me.”
He doesn’t respond a while, allowing what I’ve just told him to sink in. He nods solemnly, jerking his chin toward my temple. “He give you that bruise as a parting gift?”
Looks like my makeup doesn’t cover as much as I hoped it would. I don’t respond, just avert my eyes.
“Tell you what, missy. You can have my loaner. It’s not much, but I put a lot of work into it. It purrs like a kitten. But I can’t take your car.”
I didn’t notice I’m holding my breath until I start breathing again. I shake my head. “I don’t want it, really. The slips are in the glove compartment. If we do this, it’ll be a straight up trade. If you don’t want it, scrap it or use it for parts. I don’t care. I just don’t want it back.”
He holds out his hand. “Jimmy.”
Placing my small hand in his, we shake. “Ana.”
He smiles big. “Well then, let me get you the keys, and you can go ahead and drive off into the sunset, Miss Ana.”
As he walks inside, a thought makes me shudder.
People like me don’t drive off happily into the sunset.
We careen down jagged cliff sides.
Jimmy the mechanic recommended a nearby motel for the night. He told me to mention his name, so when I arrive and make my way to reception, I’m not surprised to find a man who looks remarkably like Jimmy, only older, waiting for me at the counter.
I ignore the peeling off-white walls and dirty laminate floors. I also ignore the brownish-looking water stains on the ceiling and smile. “Hello.”
Before I get another word in, the elderly man barks, “You Ana?”
At the booming sound of his voice, I jolt, clutching my hand to my chest. And he wheezes out a croaky laugh. “Sorry, sweetness. Lost most of my hearing in ‘Nam. You the girl Jimmy was talkin’ about?”
I simply nod while trying to calm my racing heart. Swallowing hard, I start, “Yes. I need a room for the night—” but am cut off with a barking order, “You’ll stay here two, Miss Ana, no arguments. You look tired as hell, and lucky for you, any friend of my son’s gets a two-for-one special, so tonight’s on the house.”
Oh. This must be Jimmy’s father.
I try once more. “Thank you so much, but I really just need one—”
My body jolts again when the man booms, “Nope!”
Well, all right then. Knowing I’m not going to win this argument, I cave with a thin smile. “Two nights it is.”
The man grins and it transforms his face. His sharp angles soften and he winks. “Knew you’d see reason. Besides, my Jimmy said you needed a place to lay low. So I’m gonna write you up in the book under Jane Smith. No one will ever know you were here.” Blinking in surprise at the kindness of this man and his son, I dip my wobbling chin and nod, wiping away stray tears.
The man coos, albeit loudly, “Hey now.” Stepping forward, he takes my hand in his and pats it softly. “None of that. You’re safe here.” As I look up, he pins me with an almost glare. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”
And it sounds so much like a vow that I find myself believing it.
I soon find out the man’s name is Duane. After he shows me to my room, I can’t help but wonder if he’s given me a nicer one or if they’re all as nice as mine. Sure, the reception area looked a little worse for wear, but the rooms are pretty. A sandy yellow patterned wallpaper covers the walls, giving the effect of light when there is none. The queen-sized bed wears a duvet of pale yellow and white flowers. The bathroom is white tiled and clean, with a strong trace of disinfectant in the air. And that’s okay. It’s fresh. I love that smell. The tan carpets have no stains and feel plush under my bare feet. All in all, the motel is more than I could’ve hoped for.
I expected roaches the size of small dogs. Instead, I got a vase full of yellow and white silk flowers.
The sun begins to set and I yawn. I stand from my sitting position on the bed and walk over to the crisp yellow curtains. Chancing a peek outside, I see the world continuing to live around me. I close the curtains then make my way over to my duffle. I unload all the water bottles and chew on a Twizzler while working on the rest.
The taste of tangy raspberries and sugar linger in my mouth, and I suck on the licorice while checking my new passport.
Maria Gambirella.
That is who I am from now on. Knowing Dino and his trust issues, no one else knows about this passport, about this name. I am officially a new person.
I check the gun, making sure the clip is loaded and check the safety. I then transfer it into my purse. It’s a little large, but all I really need it for is the fear factor. I would never shoot a person, not unless my life depends on it. And you better believe if I had to choose between me and you, you’d lose, every day of the week.
A beeping noise sounds from my purse. My brows furrow as I dig inside. I quickly find the source of the beeping.
My cell phone. And it has a low battery.
Shit.
Finding a piece of paper and a pen, I quickly write down the few phone numbers I need to know, then walk out of my room. Standing over the railing, I rear back and throw down as hard as I can. I watch my cell phone sail through the air a few seconds before it hits the ground with an impact so hard that pieces of plastic and metal ricochet all over.
I head back inside and sit on the edge of the bed by the nightstand. Taking the piece of paper, I hold it up and dial from the phone in my room. It rings four times before the line clicks over. “You’ve reached Doctor Manda Rossi. I’m currently unavailable at this time. If this is regarding a medical emergency and you’re unsure what to do, please visit your local general practitioner or hospital. Remember, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Leave your name and contact information, and I will return your call as soon as I can.” Beep.
I hold the phone in my shaking hands, my heart pounding in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, but then close it. Shaking my head, I try again. “I-uh.” Nothing. I can’t think of anything to say. “Manda, it’s Ana.” What can I possibly say that she doesn’t already know? I try anyway. “By now, you probably know about Dino.” I grip the phone tight. “I just called to let you know I’m okay. I’m safe.” I blink as my racing heart eases. “I’m finally free, Manda.” I breathe a laugh. “I’m free.”
And with that, I gently lay the handset on the hook, disconnecting the call.
I wonder if that will be the last time Manda will hear my voice. I suddenly wish I had said more, something meaningful, something heartfelt. I wish I had told her how much her friendship meant to me and that I wouldn’t have survived as long without her.
I sit on the edge of the bed and ponder some more.
Something tells me that the price of my freedom is going to be high, and I will likely pay with my life.
It’s not bad having friends in high places.
I’ve dealt with a lot of people in my life. I’ve also helped a lot of those people. You could say I’m a decent guy, or if you knew me better, you’d say I knew how to roll.
Do a favor, gain a marker. That’s how people roll in my world.
So I place a call to an old friend, a cop. Casper Quaid isn’t surprised I’ve called. “I was wondering when you’d call it in.”
I fight a grin. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
Casper scoffs. “Is it something I could lose my job over?”
I don’t answer. That being my answer.
Casper sighs. “What am I doing, Julius?”
I respond a bored, “Just triang
ulating a cell phone.”
I knew Casper thought it would be worse. I know this, because as soon as I tell him what I need, he agrees hastily and calls me back within a half hour. “The cell isn’t moving. Your guy is somewhere between these coordinates.” He rattles off the coordinates and I write them down, handing them to Ling. I thank him, and Casper quickly clarifies, “That’s it. We’re done. You don’t call me for favors anymore, right?”
Then, I do smile. “That’s it, man. We’re done. Have a nice life.”
Casper immediately sounds relieved. “Likewise.”
As we drive, we look out for places of interest at the side of the road. The sunlight is starting to fade, and with it, our time. I rub the back of my neck as I drive. Tension causes my neck to stiffen. I can feel Ling’s eyes on me when she pledges, “Hey. We’re going to fix this. Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”
I rub my neck harder and look on. “Yeah.” My answer comes out hoarse, and neither one of us believes that everything will be okay. How could it? We have one innocent man dead and are currently hunting a woman who will meet the same fate.
No. This is not okay.
Not even close.
Before we left, I had Miguel print out two recent photographs of Alejandra, one of her fresh-faced and smiling, the other with her wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses.
Ling, looking out her side of the road, utters, “Diner.”
I pull over and we step out. Checking my back pocket, I slip out and we walk inside. The plump waitress smiles at us and greets, “Hi, there. We’ve got burgers on the menu tonight. If you’re interested, ask for Deb’s special.”
Approaching the counter, I look the woman in the eye and force a smile. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Jay. Hoping you could help us. We’re looking for this woman.”
I hand the printed photographs of Alejandra to the woman and see recognition the moment her eyes settle on Alejandra’s face.
She hesitates. “She in trouble?”