by Ryan Schow
Cira was now dressed to the nines. Her initial aim was to hold Atlas hostage by her good looks and her intrigue. Like most men, if he was attracted to her, he’d want to impress her. If he did that, she would clamp down on his weakness and grab hold. It was a simple plan with a dozen potential pitfalls. She knew the pitfalls, though, so she also knew how to improvise, and how to navigate around and through them.
Cira was ogled all the way inside, as expected, and then she was shown to the warden’s office. When she was face-to-face with the man Leopold had just turned, Cira forced an easy smile, a smile meant to disarm. The warden hesitated, like he was wondering if she knew all of his filthy secrets, but then he smiled and stood to greet her.
“Good morning, Warden,” she said. “I trust you’re retrieving Atlas for me?”
“We’re preparing him now.”
“What is he, a meal?” she joked in an attempt at levity. “Don’t you just cuff him and bring him to me?”
“It’s a little more complicated with this one. For starters, you can’t use my office for reasons I won’t get into. Follow me. We have a secure room for you. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“Do I look like comfort is my chief concern?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” she said, looking at him like the very statement was exhausting her already short supply of patience. She decided levity was not a worthy goal anymore. “It makes me feel like you’ve just added ten years to my life. And why are you switching rooms? That’s not part of the deal.”
He laughed, showing her to a room with a bed and no camera. “We don’t have conjugal visits, but sometimes we need the reward system, whether the CDCR agrees or not.”
“CDCR?” she asked.
“California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.”
She scanned the room. “Where’s the camera?”
“There isn’t one.”
“I want the audio off.”
“I will personally make sure of it.”
“Leopold will know if you’ve been dishonest,” she said, irritated. “He’s the bear you don’t want to poke, Warden Dicampli.” She watched him shrink before her eyes. “You trust him, don’t you? To keep his word?”
“I’m assuming I should?” he asked, less a statement than a question.
“That’s an accurate assumption. No mistakes, Warden Dicampli. Leopold gives no second chances and he doesn’t accept apologies, not for errors as egregious as this would be.”
“I understand.”
Cira sat in the better of two chairs, crossed her legs at the knee. “Make sure you do.”
When she was alone, she explained the situation to Leopold, who heard the entire exchange and agreed that it was safe to proceed. She waited another fifteen minutes for Atlas to arrive, and when he did, he looked like he’d been taught a few early lessons about being a former cop in prison.
“Cuffs on or off?” the guard asked Cira.
“Can I trust you?” she asked Atlas.
“I don’t even know you,” he replied, gruff.
She appraised him through a long eye; he didn’t look away or blink.
“Off,” she finally said.
When the prisoner’s restraints were removed, the guard said, “Behave, Hargrove.”
Atlas offered no response. Instead, he rubbed his wrists and took a seat across from Cira. She took a moment to look him over. All of him. He was six foot one, broad shoulders, a rather imposing form. It wasn’t in the build; he was maybe two-twenty, two-thirty at best. He just looked lean for his size, and agile in spite of a few old injuries. Atlas hadn’t blinked once.
“You act like you’ve never seen a man before.”
Ignoring his jab, she focused directly on him. It wasn’t his features that were arresting as much as it was the condition of him that gave her pause. His discerning eyes were icy, colder than a Siberian winter. Surprisingly, her insecurities flared under his gaze. Why did she suddenly feel so underdressed and diminutive? She knew right away that this was not a man who would yield to his genetic weaknesses. Whatever had brought him to this place in his life would make it more than difficult to subjugate him.
“You look like hell,” she said.
He shrugged. The convict had a scattering of old bruises, several scars over his eyebrows, and the bridge of his nose looked a touch crooked. His hair was long, as if it hadn’t been cut since he’d arrived, and his beard was a month old, at least.
“Did they get you medical treatment for your injuries?” she asked. “Because you have a lot of healing you’ve done recently.”
“Who are you?” he asked, crossing his arms.
She caught sight of his swollen knuckles, the little scabs and shiny pink scarring. She’d had her fair share of brawls in her earlier life, enough to know he’d been through the wringer already. She also saw that he’d given back some of what he’d taken.
“I’m a friend,” she said, sitting upright. “Are you punching people or walls?”
“Both,” he said.
By the look of it, he still had all his teeth. That was something, wasn’t it? It’s when you start getting teeth knocked out that you start to spiral. He licked his lips, not like a creep, but because they were dry from dehydration. Was he really in solitary confinement? He had to have been. They must have just pulled him out, for she’d never seen a man so run through and not begging for death.
Eventually, he met her eyes. The moment had a surreal quality to it, for she nearly buckled under the impossible weight of his gaze. Had he even checked out her body? Did he even blink? She started to get a little nervous when he’d only look into her eyes. Most men would at least give her the cursory once-over. But not him. Did he not see her sitting there? Did he not see her legs?
“I want to formally introduce myself to you, Mr. Hargrove,” she said, her nervousness barely masked. “My name is Leopold Wentworth and I believe you and I are going to be friends.”
Atlas smiled, and then he laughed. “You don’t look like a Leopold to me, but this is California, so whatever.”
She tapped her ear, turned sideways to show him the earpiece, then waited a second for understanding to set in.
“Ah,” Atlas said quickly. “Nice to meet you, Leo.”
“I sent my associate here to see you, but at some point in time, depending on how you and I get along in the future, we may meet face-to-face. For now, in my line of work, anonymity is crucial to survival. I’m sure you understand.”
“I don’t care who you are, what you do, or what kind of woman you sent to see me.” He looked her over, grimaced. “Do you really think I’m the kind of person who suddenly becomes different around a good-looking woman? I was married to someone much better looking than her, and you know what?”
Cira failed to catch the frown that touched her lips. “What?” she asked, relaying Leopold’s words.
“I’m not impressed.”
“In me or Leopold’s approach?” she asked on her own. She was pissed off that he’d insulted her so brazenly, but she was also angry with herself for feeling disappointment in his words.
“The approach,” he said. “But if I were in another place, with another life ahead of me, perhaps I would look at you and feel something more than this.”
“Something more than what, exactly?”
“Disdain.”
In her ear, Leopold said, “I pay you to say what I say, not let your ego get in the way of something much greater than your fragile self-esteem. Follow my lead, my dear. Follow it to the letter.”
“I understand your situation is dire,” she said, repeating Leopold’s next words. “And I understand your wife has finally cut ties with you.”
He started to stand up, but she said, “Sit down, Atlas. We’re here with solutions, not problems.”
“I don’t need this.”
“Sit down.”
He looked at her, cocked his head sideways and
allowed a slow, sadistic expression to spread across his face. “I’ve missed having a woman tell me what to do.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Fuck no,” he snapped, sitting back down.
“I’ve made arrangements to have you released into my custody from time to time,” she said. “But it’s all contingent on your willingness to be released.”
Atlas started laughing, which caused Leopold to heave a big sigh in her ear. “And how exactly did you do that?”
“We have pictures of the warden sucking some girl’s dick.”
Now this stilled him. “Really?”
“This isn’t a practical joke, Mr. Hargrove.”
Sitting up, his eyes started to clear. She finally hooked him. It was time to reel him in and hope she didn’t press her luck. A fish like this, if he snapped the line, he’d run for deep water and she’d never get him back.
“There’s a price tag on everything,” she said, repeating Leopold’s message.
“That goes without saying.”
“I watched the video of you killing those crack heads,” she said. “There was no hesitation, and you knew you would be shot by your former colleagues, yes?”
“I assumed as much,” he said, shifting in his chair.
“I also had the pleasure of watching your sentencing. You said you had no remorse, that after what those kids did—how they took the lives of so many innocent children—they deserved to burn in hell.”
“More or less.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“More or less,” he said.
“What was going on in your head when you shot them?” To her direct question, Atlas sat back, his gaze curious but intense, almost like he was measuring the value of this conversation. When he didn’t answer, Cira said, “It bothers me that you’re not looking at my tits.”
“Why is that?” he asked, still not looking down.
“Most men respond to their base level needs before anything else,” she said. “A normal man wouldn’t ignore them the way you are.”
“So far, all you are is daylight and a voice,” he said. “When this little meeting is over, I’m going back into a hole, and when I get out, I’ve got a lot of people who are going to try to kill me. Before they succeed—and I’m sure they will—I’m going to kill as many of them as I can. So forgive me if I don’t look at you like a piece of meat, or something I’d like to mount. Besides, my ex-wife is better looking than you anyway.”
She drew a sharp breath, wondered what the hell just hit her, then tried to recover. When she got herself back together, she found he’d watched it all happen, like he was amused.
“You already said that,” she replied, curt.
“I just wanted to make sure you heard me,” he smirked, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You’re quite the character.”
“Everyone has vulnerabilities, Leopold,” Atlas mused. “You just happen to wear yours on your body, on your face, in the way you do your hair. I’m ready to go back to my cell.”
He started to get up, and she feared she’d lost him. This fish was running. Could she stop him before he broke free?
“Ronnie Beckett,” she said at Leopold’s insistence.
Atlas stopped, looked at her and sat back down. “What about him?”
“He’s the price,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“You kill him, you get to vacation in an exotic land. It’s not as simple as that, but that’s kind of the gist.”
“It’s not even close to the gist, but you have my attention.”
“This is a complicated procedure,” she said. “And you are the centerpiece. The reason we might actually get justice for those in need of it.”
“Go on…”
“A fifteen-year-old girl was taken in Philadelphia.”
“So?”
“So I’ve been hired to find her.”
“And did you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Well, we think so.”
“So go and get her.”
“We can’t,” she said. “I mean, we can, but we’re short a man, and time is of the essence.”
“Not my problem.”
“The pay is phenomenal, Mr. Hargrove.”
“Money means nothing to me here. But I’m sure you know that. So why don’t you tell me what you need me to do, where you need me to go, and please, please, if you’re going to try to butter my toast, at least use the good stuff.”
“We have a detective on retainer. He’s the best in the country, able to find anyone. He tracked this girl to Saint Petersburg.”
“Florida or Russia?”
“Russia.”
Atlas laughed, crossed his leg over his thigh and leaned back in his chair.
“Go on.”
“We can get you out of here, put you on a private plane and fly you there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Once you’re there, we can provide you with the resources necessary to collect her and bring her home.”
Uncrossing his leg, stamping his foot on the ground, he leaned Cira’s way, grabbed his chair and dragged it forward harshly, quickly, and with an unpleasant, irritated look in his eyes. She leaned back, not sure what to do.
Irate, seemingly tired of the charade, he said, “Give. Me. A. Break.”
“This is for real,” she said, her heart pounding heavier than normal, the back of her neck and her armpits heating up.
“You’re a wet dream, underfunded for this, and walking on a razor’s edge,” he said. “That’s what makes all this very dangerous.”
“This is your wet dream,” she countered, speaking Leopold’s words verbatim. “I’m officially overfunded, and I want you for this more than anything.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you are a good person who doesn’t hesitate to do bad things for the right reason. Plain and simple.”
“My life is over, pal,” he said.
“You can begin it anew.”
“No,” he said, scooting even closer to Cira. “I can’t. Your money won’t change that, this lovely young woman won’t change that, and all the faux influence in the world won’t change that.”
“Kill Ronnie Beckett,” she said, “and get out of jail free.”
“For how long?” he barked.
“However long it takes to recover the missing girl.” He sneered in response, baring his teeth at her. Recoiling, she said, “Get out of my face, Atlas.”
He sat up and studied her gaze. She was suddenly terrified of the man. Finally he got up and stepped back.
“So if it takes me three days, I get three days plus flight time? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And if it takes me a month?”
“That’s the outside window,” she said, speaking for Leopold. “If you can’t get this done in less than a month, you aren’t the man I need you to be.”
“Why me?”
“I already told you that.”
“It’s not just that,” Atlas said. “There’s more, if you are who you say you are.”
“Okay,” she said. “Fair enough. You’re the perfect person for this. You’re trained for both investigation and urban warfare, albeit local warfare with gangs, thugs, etcetera. You can fight, handle a gun, and you aren’t afraid to do bad things for the right reason, as I said earlier.”
“Clearly.”
“Plus, you have the perfect alibi and no ties to me.”
“Why would that matter if it’s overseas?”
“It always matters, Mr. Hargrove.”
In her earpiece, Cira heard something in Leopold’s voice, a desperate uncertainty. It wasn’t apparent what he was thinking, or feeling, rather it felt like an emotion peeking around the proverbial corner, hesitant, yet there. Was he starting to panic? She wouldn’t know what that sounded like on him, because she’d never seen him panic. Not even once.
“If you set me loose to get this
girl, what will I be up against? Because Saint Petersburg isn’t on the up and up these days. There’s a criminal element woven into the deeper fabric of that city—”
“There are certain crimes they pay nothing more than lip service to,” she said. “Nevertheless, Saint Petersburg is beautiful this time of year.”
“Who will I be up against?” he asked again, still standing.
“This young woman has been rolled into the sex-trafficking trade with some pretty nasty people. We don’t know exactly where she’s at in Saint Petersburg. We’re going to need you to rendezvous with our contact inside the city.”
“Is this a rescue mission, or an assassination?” he asked, looking like he got it. “Because you’re asking me to rescue a girl, but you like the fact that I’ve killed before. So which is it?”
“Both,” she said. “If need be.”
“What are my rules of engagement?”
“Kill everything that gets in your way,” she said for Leopold, “but don’t leave a trail, and don’t come home without the girl. And never, ever let my name leave your mouth.”
“Not enough,” Atlas said, heading to the locked door.
“You’d rather die in here?” Cira asked. “Because you said it yourself—if you stay here, you’ll die. At least if you come with us, you’re not in a cell, and no one knows who you are.”
“I’ll still have to come back.”
“For now.”
“This is a no-go. I’ll take my chances here.” He knocked on the door and said to the C/O, “I’m ready now.”
“We can find Alabama,” Cira said, terrified of what his reaction might be.
He turned and fired her a look. “No one can find her,” he hissed. “That includes you.”
“We can.”
The C/O opened the door, looked at him, and then he glanced over at Cira. “You sure?”
Atlas seemed to think about it for a moment, like he was turning it over in his mind. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I’m positive.”
“Are you a complete fucking idiot?” Cira asked, standing up.
“I guess so,” he replied, unaffected.
The line had just snapped; this fish was running. The guard took Atlas away, and in her ear, Leopold said, “He’s not leaving, is he?”
“He is,” she said, her face losing color.