“So if I’m not a whore, what are you saying?”
“You screw guys in an entirely different way, Presley.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know what a honey trap is. Women pay you to seduce their husbands. You flirt, make them feel special, then they pay more in the divorce settlement.”
Presley put her hands on her hips. “Any pig who cheats on his wife deserves what he gets.”
“Do you play every guy you meet, Presley? You played Fabler. You played me for more money, and then played me again for a place to stay while you’re avoiding those Turkish thugs, who you probably played. And when I ask about the Turkish thugs, you try to make me feel like I’m a jerk for asking. For caring. And when I start asking you questions about your family you make me feel like I’m back in Jurf al-Milh trying to avoid landmines. Do you automatically dismiss everyone who tries to care about you? Do you try to con every guy you meet?”
“This conversation is over.” Presley walked into the kitchen to get more water. She checked the freezer for the ice tray she’d filled earlier. The cubes weren’t frozen yet.
Grim followed. “I asked a simple question, about the money you owe, and then asked about your kid, and you’re so defensive about it that your fists are clenched and you look like you’re going to punch me.”
Presley looked at her hands, and relaxed them. She blew out a breath, tried to center herself.
“Grim… you’re not my boyfriend. I know this must seem strange, since you’ve been watching me every day for weeks, and you think you know me, like people think they know a movie star or a politician or someone they see all the time on TV. We don’t have a relationship. I don’t owe you personal details about my life. The sex was just sex, and if you want to ever get laid again you’ll let this go.”
“So you’re saying I have a choice? I can either get laid, or learn more about your past?”
“Okay. I choose learning more about your past.”
“What about the Turks?”
“I’d rather deal with Kadir than your needy ass. Where’s my money?”
He winced.
She held out her open palm. “My money, Grim. I want it.”
“It’s… in the bank. I don’t keep that kind of cash around the house.”
“So we can stop at the bank when you drop me off at the airport.”
“It’s after five. Bank is closed.”
“Go to an ATM.”
“There’s a five hundred dollar withdrawal limit at a cash machine. I owe you more than that.”
Presley rolled her eyes. “Fine. Take me to a hotel. We’ll settle up tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go to a hotel.”
“You blew it, Grim. That ship has sailed.”
“I respect that. You can stay here. I’ll… sleep on the couch.”
“Too late. I want out. This was a mistake.”
“I’m sorry, Presley. Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry.”
She practically snorted. “You don’t even know what you did? You couldn’t leave me alone, Grim, even after I told you to, several times. Am I supposed to say chicken pot pie to get you to change the damn topic?”
“I can do that.”
“Too little, too late. This was all a bad idea. You giving me a ride into town?”
Grim stared at her, giving her that kicked puppy look.
“Fine. I’ll Uber. Where are your garbage bags?”
“Under the sink. Why?”
She grabbed one and headed for the bedroom to get her things.
“Presley, wait.”
Presley didn’t wait. She gathered up her stuff, putting the bulky body armor in the bag. Grim appeared in the doorway.
“You can take my truck.”
“I don’t want to spend another second with you, Grim.”
“I mean, take it.” He held out his keys. “You can sell it in town. There are dealers open who will pay cash. I’ll sign the title over to you. It won’t be worth all that I owe you, but’s it’s all I’ve got.”
Presley turned at him, feeling anger churn through her.
“What do you mean it’s all you’ve got?”
His face burned.
“Grim, what are you saying?”
“I’m… broke.”
“Define broke.”
“I have about a hundred bucks left. I spent the rest of it trying to find out what happened to Lori.”
He didn’t answer.
Presley’s rage flared like a gas fire, and she answered for him. “You didn’t plan on paying me. You tried to shame me for trying to con you, when you’re been conning me this whole time.”
“Look, it wasn’t technically a con. I suck at thinking things through. Take my truck.”
“How much do you owe the Turks?”
“I told you, that’s none of your business.”
“Do you owe them more than I owe you?”
“What the hell does it matter?”
“What if we could pay them off?”
Presley didn’t know how the conversation took this turn. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Fabler has money.”
Presley almost protested.
Almost.
“So you want to ask your murdering brother-in-law for a loan?”
“We don’t ask him.” Grim crossed his arms. “We take it.”
Presley knew she must be insane for even considering it, but the concept took root in her head and blossomed.
“I searched his whole house. Top to bottom. There wasn’t any cash.”
Grim shrugged. “So he keeps it in the bank. Maybe an account. Maybe a safe deposit box.”
“You think we can get him to tell us?”
“If we’re persuasive enough.”
“How much do you think he has?”
“He has money stashed from our contractor days. I know he never spent it. Lori made all the money they needed. Plus he got six figures from the state for his wrongful conviction. My guess is he has over half a mil. How much do you need? Would half of that be enough?”
“He’s dangerous, Grim.”
“I know.”
She eyed him. “Are you bullshitting me?”
“About what? You can check public records. The government cut him a fat check.”
“Not about the money. About your real motive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean. You’re obsessed with Fabler.”
“So?”
“So is this about robbing him? Or something more?”
Grim’s mouth became a thin line, and he nodded. “I get what you mean. Are we plotting a robbery? Or a murder.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
He began to pace with his fingers laced behind his head.
“I’ve been living with this for three years. I had plenty of chances to kill him. Hell
, I could have paid his cellmate twenty cartons of smokes to strangle the bastard while he slept.”
“So what’s your real motive here? Paying me back? Hurting him, as revenge?”
“I want to find out what happened to Lori. While we’re getting his bank account info, I’ll have the chance to ask him a few more personal questions.”
“You’re talking about interrogating him.”
“We have to do that anyway. And I want answers.”
“You want to torture him.”
“I don’t want to. Fabler was my best friend. I’m talking about getting justice for my sister.”
Presley shook her head. While she was flexible when it came to morals, this violated all sorts of personal lines.
The military taught her how to unleash violence upon an armed adversary, following the rules of combat.
Torture was a whole different thing.
“I won’t do it.”
Grim stopped pacing and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got nothing left, Presley. No job. No money. No family. This has completely consumed me. Hell, I’ve been watching you do training exercises for a month, and I’m so messed up in the head I thought I actually cared about you. You’ve made it clear that’s bullshit. I accept that. We do this job, you never hear from me again.”
“This solves your problems, and mine. He’s a scumbag murderer, Presley. He deserves this, and more. Come on. Let’s do this. Me and you. We can split the money, go our separate ways. I can’t do this alone. I need you. What do you say?”
“I’m sorry, Grim. I can’t do it. She wasn’t my sister.”
Presley finished packing the garbage bag, picked up all of her stuff, and left Grim’s apartment.
GRIM ○ 4:00pm
Grim stared at the Osmonds.
“Wow. I’m such an asshole.”
None of the catfish answered. But it seemed like they agreed.
The green housefly circling the room seemed to agree, too.
KADIR ○ 4:00pm
“She’s walking out.”
Kadir had been surfing a darknet snuff website called Usher House 2.0 on his cell phone, watching a woman get repeatedly branded, and he glanced up at the cop’s apartment building.
Presley descended the stairs.
“Looks like she’s leaving, Kadir. She got all her stuff.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious, dumb ass. Lemme think.”
Presley appeared in a hurry to get somewhere, and Kadir wondered if she’d called another ride-sharing app, like the one she’d arrived in.
Kadir smiled, imagining the look on her face if he pulled up, claiming to be her Uber driver.
Presley slapped at her jeans pocket, took out her cell phone, and quickly made a call. A intense call that involved a lot of her attention.
He elbowed Doruk. “Let’s pull up closer. She’s preoccupied with something. Maybe we’ll get a shot.”
Kadir patted his pocket, feeling for the vial of Quadmix, making sure it was still there.
It was.
PRESLEY ○ 4:00pm
Her phone vibrated, and Presley almost dismissed it.
She tugged out the cell and stared at the screen.
<911.
Presley immediately dialed her father, her anxiety growing with each ring. When Dad finally picked up, he sounded devastated.
“Marna. You have to come home.”
Dad’s voice had always been a steady source of strength for Presley. Always calm. Always confident. A lighthouse that would forever shine, even through the worst storms.
It sounded like the light had gone out.
“What’s wrong? Is Brooklyn…” Presley couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.
“It’s bad, Marna. It started two days ago. I didn’t want to worry you, so I took her to the ER.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to wait until we got the test results.”
“Dad?”
“Her body is rejecting the transplant.”
“But she’s been doing better.”
“I know, honey.”
“Is it the Simulect? Maybe she needs a higher dose.”
“They’ve tried that. They’ve tried every immunosuppressant legally available.”
Presley clenched the phone so hard she wasn’t sure which would break first; the case or her fingers. “What about the ones that haven’t been approved? We can take her to Europe. Or Asia. The damn FDA with all their damn regulations—”
“The only thing that can be done is another heart transplant. She’s on every list, but… well, you know how hard it is to find a donor.”
Presley refused to break down. “Can I talk to her?”
“She’s… not awake, honey.”
“Can you wake her? I need to talk to her, Dad.”
“Brooklyn… Brooklyn’s not conscious. She’s on an ECMO pump.”
Presley remembered those initials from Brooklyn’s last operation, and they hit like a brick to the face. Extracorporeal membrane oxygenation.
“Jesus, Dad. Is she on the pump, or a ventilator, too?”
“For now, just the pump. You need to come home.”
“I’ll be there soon, Dad. I’ll be there—”
Much as Presley longed to be with Brooklyn, holding her daughter’s hand wouldn’t cure her.
Brooklyn had been on the waiting list for three years and they’d never found a heart. Presley had to find one herself.
With that realization, resolve set in.
“How long can she stay on the pump, Dad?”
“She’s stable now. Her cardiologist said a few weeks, maybe a month, unless there are complications.”
“I’ll be there in three days. With another heart.”
“How, honey? The banks won’t give me another loan. I don’t know how you scraped up the money for her last operation.”
“I’ll get it. I’ll be in touch. Tell Brooklyn that Mommy loves her.”
Presley hung up. Then she stood and pressed Grim’s intercom button next to the door.
“Presley? That you?”
“I’ll do it. Let me in.”
The door buzzed, and Presley wiped her eyes and marche
d up the stairs and met him in the hall. Grim reached to hug her, but as much as she needed to be held, Presley pulled away.
“We’ll do this thing together, Grim. But it’s a business relationship. Nothing more.”
“What changed your mind?” He spread out his hands. “Wait, forget I asked. We’ll keep personal details out of it. When do we hit him?”
“Tomorrow morning. I want to be on the afternoon flight out of Wichita.”
“We need to start planning.”
“I know.”
“You want to come in?”
But Presley didn’t say that. She pushed past him and went into the bedroom and dropped all of her stuff.
Then they discussed how they could rob Fabler.
FABLER ○ August 26, 2017 ○ 2:41am
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, because my adoring husband, who swore to protect me, did the opposite. Instead of protecting me, he killed me.
Difficult to talk while sobbing. “I tried so hard.”
What was that? Having some trouble hearing you?
Lori held a hand up to the bleeding, rotting hole on the side of her head where her ear used to be.
“I tried too hard.”
You didn’t try hard enough, did you? Be honest, Fabler. You lost it.
“I wish it was me, not you.”
I don’t care what you wish. Lori’s face changed, head stretching, skin turning grey, eyes getting huge and black. You messed up, and I hope that fact tortures you to death.
And then he was back in Kirkuk in Iraq, staring at Hoopland’s severed head, and the journalist’s head became Fabler’s head and he watched his mouth open and close and try to breathe but he couldn’t breathe because you can’t breathe when you’ve been beheaded and the panic and fear grew and grew until—
Fabler opened his eyes and jolted awake, gasping for air. The blanket soaked. Sweat. Possibly urine.
He stood up in the closet, and walked naked into the kitchen, putting the wet blanket in the washing machine. Then he showered, trying to scrub the dream away.
Trying to scrub the last three years away.
When that didn’t work, he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He saw lunchmeat that Presley bought, an apple, some potatoes.
What Happened to Lori Page 24