by MV Ellis
“We’re doing this for him as a peace offering. We’re like—his party planners.” Divinity/Trinity exchange a glance with Jazzy and all three start giggling like hyenas.
“Sounds more like you’re his unpaid gofers to me,” Geneva corrects them.
“Whatever. At least we’re invited.”
“Yeah, well, I’m invited too.” Geneva waves the paper in front of Jazzy’s face. “See, I have the lame, ugly-ass flyer to prove it.”
“Give it back.” Jazzy tries to grab it, but despite her incredible range of motion with her go-go-gadget arms, Geneva is too fast and holds it behind her back, so it’s out of reach.
“Let’s go,” I say more forcefully, in a second attempt to stop a fight before it happens.
The situation is cringey enough, and I don’t want to give the Alpha Delta Pi wannabes any extra reasons to talk shit to, or about, me. Instead, they glower at us as we start to walk away.
“Oh—just so you know, we were at Zeph last party anyway, so if you think you have exclusive invites, joke’s on you, bitches,” Geneva calls over her shoulder.
I’m learning that Nevie is a natural antagonist, and she can also be super competitive, which means she never wants to back down from a fight, even a totally unnecessary one. The twins, of course, must win everything, so they’re at the finish line with her when it comes to digging their claws in and not letting go. They’re oil and water—or, better yet, gasoline and a match—in almost every way, yet they have that in common.
Jazzy scoffs and plants a hand on her hip, jutting it out while looking at Nevie like she’s shit on her shoe. Then, she whips her hair over her shoulder and turns her back on us.
“Fucking skanks,” my roomie mumbles, while still staring down at the flyer.
“Why don’t you just throw it away?” I suggest. “It’s not like we’re going. At least, I’m not. I can’t speak for you.”
I remember how keen she was to be at the last one, and resolve not to let her twist my arm into going with her this time.
My heart dropped into my shoes as soon as Zeph’s name was mentioned before. He thinks I’m a low-rent hustler who’s blackmailing him, and he’s warned me multiple times to stay the fuck away from him. I know he doesn’t want me at his party, he made that abundantly clear last time. More to the point, I don’t want to be there, and I definitely don’t want to be near him, or the rest of The Fallen.
Geneva looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “Are you crazy? We need to go to this bash. Both of us.” I’m actually beginning to think that she’s the one who’s insane.
“Neve—”
“No.” She shakes her head forcefully. “There’s no debating this. We can’t let those bird-brained hoes push us around like that. They don’t own us, or the guys, and they can’t dictate what we do.”
She’s right about that, but my reluctance has zero to do with the girls, and everything to do with not wanting to be in close proximity to Zeph, and, even worse, on his turf again. The last time we were in that exact same situation was a total disaster, so I want a repeat performance like I want a hole in the head.
It’s bad enough living with the daily threat of running into him at school, but at least there are plenty of other people around most of the time, plus teachers and even security, if it came to it.
I choose to conveniently overlook the fact that the teachers are lax at best when it comes to pastoral care, and Zeph seems to control everything and everyone around here, so they’re probably as good as useless to me if I really need them, and he’s in the equation.
Why does my whole life feel like a ticking time bomb, or a powder keg ready to blow?
“Nevie, I can’t go to that party.” I drop my voice, even though there’s nobody remotely within earshot. Somewhere along the way, paranoia has set in, making me self-conscious about everything. “This thing with Zeph, and the others... I’m trying to stay out of their way, and a party at Zeph’s is the definition of putting myself in the firing line. Remember how that panned out for me before? Besides, I am one hundred and fifty percent not invited, so…”
“Ha! Don’t go listening to those lollipop heads. I’m pretty sure they were starved of oxygen at birth for just long enough to do irreparable damage. Nobody’s invited to Zeph’s parties. Ergo, everybody’s invited. It’s not high tea with the Queen of England, it’s a chance for a bunch of kids to get high, and get lit, and for Zeph to shift a bunch of product, so the more the merrier. Plus, he’s filthy rich, so why don’t we take advantage of that fact, and have a good time?”
I laugh. “You’re stinking rich, too.”
“Not compared to him.” She scrunches up her nose. “He has me beat, like, a hundred times over. Plus, it doesn’t matter how much you have, shit always tastes better on someone else’s dime. Facts.” She wasn’t wrong about that, in my limited experience.
“Well, they have me so beat, I’m not even in the race. In fact, I’m back at the club house cleaning up their messes for minimum wage, plus tips. There’s a reason they call me Budget Barbie.”
“Come on.” She takes my arm, steering me back toward the girls’ dorms.
“Where are we going? We have English Lit—”
“We are ditching today,” Geneva declares.
It’s starting to feel like Groundhog Day, but when she gets in a mood like this, there’s no arguing with her—she can’t be talked out of whatever asinine idea she’s come up with.
“Fine,” I groan, rolling my eyes with mock-reluctance.
The truth is, if I really wanted to go to English Lit, I would have protested a little more, but since I already know we are having a substitute teacher today, I don’t really mind skipping the class. We’re probably just going to watch an educational movie and do a worksheet, or something equally boring, anyway.
A few minutes later, Geneva opens the door to our dorm and tosses her book bag into the corner on her side of the room. She sits down on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh and begins inspecting the flyer for about the millionth time. I join her, wanting to see the details, even though I know it will just make me feel like a total loser.
“Maybe this can be your chance to get back at him.”
“Uh…how… exactly?”
“I don’t know, maybe walk in on him when he’s screwing the girl of the hour, and take a picture of his dick. Then have it printed out and blown up before slapping it on every wall, locker and pillar in the entire school for all to see.”
“It sounds like a good idea in theory…” I laugh. “Nah, actually, scratch that, it sounds like a terrible idea, both in theory and in practice. Firstly, because I’d never actually go through with it. Secondly, given that I’ve already burst in on him by accident twice, and no matter what I say, he still doesn’t believe that I’m not stalking him, it seems like I’d be playing with fire to do it on purpose.”
I pause to catch my breath. “And the third, and probably most important, reason is that I get the distinct impression that not only has half the school already seen his dick, but also that he wouldn’t give a fuck if it was blown up in lights at Times Square. Plus, speaking as one of the fifty percent, I’ll be honest, I don’t think he’d have many complaints if it was.”
Geneva’s eyes widen. “That good, huh?”
I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face at the recollection, even though I don’t want to gush about Zeph. “Better. He has plenty to work with, and I swear to God, he pushed buttons I didn’t even know I had.” Actually, he pounded them, but that’s semantics. My body floods with heat at the recollection. I may not like the guy, but I seem to be hardwired to want him.
“Seriously, that’s why it’s so laughable that those peanut brains think they can hand-select people for his party. Even more so after Zeph put Trinity in her place over the cafeteria debacle. You know that was his way of publicly taking your side, right?”
“Hahahahaha. No. You weren’t there to see the way he looked at me, or to
hear his tone, especially when he called me Budget Barbie. He was definitely not on my side.”
“Trust me. It doesn’t matter what he called you, or how he looked at you. When he stood in the middle of the cafeteria, and basically told the entire school that you’re his business, he sent a clear message to everyone, especially the guys. You’re now officially property of The Fallen in general, and Zeph Cross, very specifically.”
“What?” I snort so hard, it triggers some kind of coughing fit, and I can’t breathe while I splutter my lungs out. When I finally come up for air, I have tears streaming down my cheeks. “You need to put down the crack pipe. That isn’t how it went down at all. I’m telling you, he hates me. With a passion.”
“Listen, I’ve been around here long enough to know how these guys operate. Trust me. I promise you, he couldn’t have been clearer if he’d taken his dick out and peed on you like a dog marking a tree. You’re his.”
“Ewww! That’s so gross, I think I just vomited in my mouth a little… And like I said, you’re totally wrong.”
“Nope. And not only that, but didn’t you say that Tyce came to your rescue and helped you pick up the shit you dropped in the lunchroom?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Wow. You literally have the Fallen on their knees for you in one way or another, and you have no fucking idea.”
“It’s not that I have no idea, it’s that it’s not true. I hate to say it, but I think you may actually be full-blown crazy. Like for real. This shit is all in your head.”
“We’ll see... but in the meantime, let’s agree to disagree. Either way, this situation calls for a wine cooler,” She stands up, and drifts over to our mini refrigerator.
“Yeah, because that’s exactly what we need, lowered inhibitions when we‘re trying to make a rational decision,” I grin and take the strawberry-flavored concoction she holds out to me.
Geneva pops the top from her drink and guzzles down a few large swigs. When she comes up for air, she burps loudly. Gross.
She arches an eyebrow and gives me a sideways glance. “Oh, honey—the decision is already made. We’re going to that party. Not only that, we’re gonna to slay so hard, nobody will forget our names.”
Chapter 29
It’s Over
ZEPH
* * *
Thunder strolls into The Abyss unhurriedly, like he doesn’t give a shit about the fact that he’s late.
“What the fuck are you looking so happy about, and what time do you call this?”
“What, can’t a guy appreciate what a gift it is to be alive?”
“Are you high?”
“It’s 9 a.m.”
“That’s not the question I asked. It’s also not the time. It’s 9:12, and that was my point in the first place. You’re late.”
“Oh, well no, I’m not high, except on life, and I’m so sorry I’m late Mein Fuhrer.” If it wasn’t for the fact that I have way more important things than him to think about, I’d be inclined to rip his face off and feed it to gulls. As it is, I curl my hands into fists and try to somehow keep my shit together. The struggle is realer than ever.
“But as we’ve been learning in Civics, as well as the laws, rights and responsibilities laid down by our hallowed Constitution. Life is all about social contracts, and modern mores dictate that there’s a fifteen minute grace period in time keeping whereby a person meeting with another person is not, in fact, late.
“Bro, are you sure you’re not high? You’re acting kind of…off.” Lennon’s brows knit together in concern..
“He’s right,” Jagger quips. “I’ve been reading a lot about the long term effects of recreational drugs on the brain, and I’m wondering if you’re not suffering some kind of psychotic episode.”
“The only psycho around here is you, you dick. You haven’t been reading shit.”
“Hahaha, true. But my dad was listening to a podcast about something like that in the car once, I swear.”
Thunder flips him the bird and turns his focus back to Lennon. “I’m not off. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I’ve have in fact, never been more on.” Lennon shrugs noncommittally, but looks largely unconvinced.
“Jesus, I don’t have time for this shit. Just sit your lame ass down and try not to make any more of a dick of yourself than you already have.” We all watch in silence as Thunder picks his way through to an easy chair, and throws himself into it.
Tyce in particular stares at him hard, as though willing him to make eye contact, which Thunder seems to be studiously avoiding doing. I make a mental note to find out what the fuck is going on with the two of them, but again, I have way bigger fish to fry to give it too much thought right now.
I wait a few beats until Tyce turns his attention back to me.
“What’s up? It better be good, dragging us out of bed at this ungodly hour, when the devil’s still out to play.”
“Right?” Jagger nods emphatically. “Although, to be fair, we—” He motions to Lennon. “Haven’t actually made it to bed yet. But still, the point stands. I hope this is worth the wasted pussy time.”
I throw him a trailer load of shade, but otherwise act like I haven’t heard him.
“My guy found Jack.” I address my comment directly to Tyce.
“Jack. Like the Jack?”
“Yeah. One and the same.”
“Uh…what’s going on? Who the hell is Jack?” Thunder is suddenly all business.
“Jack’s the guy who had Zeph’s gig before him. In fact the one whose disappearance is the main reason Zeph got the gig in the first place.”
“Gig? You mean working for The Philosopher?” Jagger sits up tall, all of a sudden way more focused and serious than normal.
“Yep. He went to ground right after…”
“The incident with Aster,” Tyce supplies, because I still can’t bring myself to say the fucking words.
“I’ve had someone looking for him ever since.”
“‘Someone.’ Like a private detective?”
“I guess you could call him that.” I squeeze at the back of my neck. I have a knot there the size of a small mountain. Tense doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“What would you call it?” Looks like I have Lennon’s undivided attention now, too.
I sigh. “I mean I don’t think we need a label, but if I had to, I’d say he’s part PI, part bounty hunter, part hit man. It really depends on the job at hand.”
“Okaaaaaay.” Thunder draws the word out slowly.
“Whatever. None of this is the point. The point is that he found him and has managed to get him to talk—not much, but it’s a start—and I’m hoping that with a little more ‘encouragement’ he’ll be able to coax more out of him soon.”
“Do we want to know what form this ‘encouragement’ is taking?”
I turn to Thunder. “You’re a smart guy. Apparently. Given what I’ve just told you about my dude, you do the math, and whatever you come up with is gonna be about right, and then some. But to answer your question, no, you probably don’t want to know in the long run. The less you know, the less you can spill if the shit hits the fan down the track.”
“Fair.” Thunder nods.
“Okay, so Vince is working on Jack; what do you need from us in the meantime?” Tyce is all business, and I’m reminded once again of why we’re best friends. The guy is solid as a rock, and always there when I need.
“That’s the thing. I found out some shit, and I think we need a plan for the party so that we can hopefully find out more while we’re there. But we need to be careful. As you know, Jack went to ground, and I have to say, he did a pretty good job of seeming to vanish from the face of the earth. If Vince wasn’t so good at what he does, we might never have found him, so I’m guessing that The Philosopher had a hand in his disappearance. Otherwise, I just don’t think he would have had the resources to do it so effectively alone. I mean, maybe I’m underestimating him, and from the get-go he had a get out plan for
when the shit hit, but somehow, I doubt it.
“Okay, so what did you find out?”
“Well, I’m no closer to knowing who The Philosopher actually is, and, like me, I highly doubt that Jack knows, even after working for him for as long as he did. But the few things he has said so far at least give us somewhere to start, which is more than we’ve had until this point.”
“True.” Tyce nods sagely.
“So the main piece of new news is that the ‘burner’ phones I use to contact The Philosopher aren’t actually burners.”
“So why did you think they were’?
“I don’t know. Just an assumption, I guess. I mean, who in this business doesn’t use them?”
“Good point. So if they’re not burners, what are they, and why is this even relevant or useful information?” Tyce looks as confused as I felt when I first heard the news.
“I’m getting to that. It turns out that rather than rely on burners, The Philosopher has developed his own phone network: Kall1. It’s basically a heavily encrypted comms platform, including the phones themselves, that is totally impenetrable by the authorities, or anyone else, for that matter.” It sounds far-fetched when I say it aloud—like something straight out of a movie.
“Apparently, if the network gets hacked, or is under threat in any way, or if the phones themselves fall into the wrong hands, the whole thing folds in on itself like a Swiss army knife, then disappears fuck knows where without a trace, like the lost city of Atlantis.”
“Are you fucking for real? It sounds like something off of Mission: Impossible.” Tyce looks and sounds incredulous, and I honestly don’t blame him. If I hadn’t heard it from the source, I’d be inclined not to believe it, either.
“Right? Talk about the truth is stranger than fiction. You couldn’t write this shit, but it’s totally true. According to Vince, everything Jack has told him so far checks out. The first stage of the shutdown is that they send a kill text to the phones in question, and they are instantly wiped, so even if the FBI or whoever did get into them, the entire network would have been erased by that point, and there’d be nothing for them to see.”