by Shel Stone
Maybe he liked it because it was perfectly acceptable to be bored. Being bored in meetings, or at clubs, or dealing with his staff—that wasn’t quite as acceptable. It suggested a lack of attention, and this was not a business, or a town, where you could afford not to pay attention.
For the hundredth time, he again raked over his options for finding Nook, but they were very limited. She wasn’t speaking to her mother, or her friends. A completely cash-based girl, who had gone offline and underground. That phone number was the only way to reach her, and he couldn’t do anything with it. You couldn’t go through official channels to find people you might have to eventually dump in the ocean. It simply wasn’t smart.
Some things just had to be done and this was one of them. As she suggested, he couldn’t simply forget her. The consequences to himself would invite trouble he couldn’t afford. Things went bad when turf wars started. People started pushing politicians to do something, and when their re-elections were threatened, all agreements were off. Like everyone else, politicians looked out for number one.
So, Nook had to be dealt with. His only strategy was to wear her down, or simply wait for her to fuck up in some way.
A gentle knock on the door sounded and he knew it was Carlos.
Getting up, Palmer walked to the door in only his black pants. Carlos was probably the one person who got to see him so informally. Two white compresses were taped to his chest, but the nurse only came to change them now.
Carlos walked through the door. “There’s been some news back from the guy we sent up to Orlando. Paid to see the CCTV and it shows her putting the bag in the locker and then getting on a bus to New Orleans. She was alone.”
This was all as Palmer expected. “You got copy of the footage?”
“No. It would be problematic getting it, so only if it’s necessary.”
“It’s not.” He wanted to see it, but didn’t need to. The fact that she was alone was something he’d already guessed.
“But there was a bus heading up to Atlanta at the same time, and she chose the one to New Orleans,” Carlos continued, standing in his dark suit. The man had a uniform and he rarely deviated from it.
“So she headed southward,” Palmer said.
“Presumably.”
Walking over to the espresso machine, he put some capsules in and made two coffees.
“I’ll get a guy to New Orleans and see if we can pick up the trail there.”
Palmer nodded. Unbeknownst to her, he was getting a step closer. The higher probability was that she was in California or Nevada. But he kept in mind that his assumptions could be wrong. Usually, however, the higher probability turned out to be the right answer. The world was generally not that creative, but this was a game between him and Nook.
Nook was young and inexperienced, but she wasn’t stupid. Part of her was curious, and the other part hoped she could negotiate with him. She had nothing to negotiate with, but she was, subconsciously, if nothing else, hoping that the more he knew her, the harder it would be for him to deal with her. As he’d said, this was nothing personal. Survival of the fittest.
But he was also still very angry. While she might not admit it, she’d had her part in this, had known exactly what kind of people she’d been hanging out with. She’d also known that they hadn’t been invited to that party for the pleasure of their company. There was enough brains in there for her to have known. Plus the fact that she’d run—with his product.
Afterward, she might have wizened up and realized the position she’d placed herself in, and then she’d run scared. At least she’d had the brains to do that. Those other two idiots would have been down on the streets in Liberty City, trying to push the product.
“Yeah, send someone off to New Orleans and find out where she went,” Palmer repeated, taking a sip of the black, unsweetened coffee. “I want to know where she’s run to.”
Walking into his bedroom, he pulled on a suit and checked his reflection in the mirror. It was lucky those little bastards hadn’t been better shots and gotten him in the heart, or the head. Things could have gone very differently. The ride could have been over and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.
For everything he’d achieved, he still didn’t feel content. Something was missing and he only realized that now that he’d almost left this earth. He had enough wealth, enough success and enough gravitas to say he’d done what he’d set out to do, but now what?
He’d been quite happy basking in his place in the world, knowing he was the center of a web that stretched to every possible part of society. Not a person who could be ignored and locked out as someone with no inherent value. Society was going to deal with him whether it liked it or not. And so was this girl. You didn’t screw him over and get away with it.
A new day dawned, and he was done being an invalid. These wounds were not going to bother him anymore. It was time to get back to where he’d been before this setback.
Chapter 16
NOOK SAT UP IN her bed, sleep still half gripping her. As always, it was sunny outside. She could hear people down in the parking lot. A book lay beside her. Not being on the internet sucked. It was interesting how much of her spare time was spent there. Now she had to learn to do other things with herself, like read worn second-hand paperbacks from the thrift store.
And TV, but she could feel her brain atrophying sitting there staring at it.
Another day with nothing to do. It was getting harder moving cities, or maybe it was because this was involuntary. Coming to Miami had been exciting—she’d sought out the hottest scene and pushed her way in. Got her job, paid her rent and had fun otherwise.
Here she was too scared to make friends in case they started questioning her. Palmer wouldn’t be above offering money, and anyone with brains would realize that if they figured she was running from someone dangerous.
She wanted her life back, but that wasn’t an option. Palmer might say this was nothing personal, but that was bullshit. He was furious about what had happened to him, and she couldn’t entirely blame him.
Her phone rang and she jumped. Really?
Watching it, she wondered if she should ignore it. Obviously she should, but she found herself reaching for it.
“Did I wake you?” he asked as she answered. From what he said, it seemed he slept while she was working. “Nice weather.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I know you went to New Orleans. Saw the footage of you getting on the bus.” His voice always had that low, lilting quality. There was a calmness that put you at ease, even when you didn’t want to be. Oh and also, he knew she’d gone to New Orleans, which meant he was actively trying to track her. It was also feasible he could find her next stage, which had been Houston.
At some point, she had to move on, but she’d just gotten a lead on someone who could get her good quality ID cards, and she needed some. With a birth certificate and driver’s license, she’d be set. A social security number would be too hard, but she could probably live without one. It wasn’t like they checked the one she gave at the places she worked.
No, she needed to stay put until her IDs came through. He’d only gotten as far as New Orleans, so it wasn’t like he was breathing down her neck. Obviously he was going to check with the bus station once she’d told him his product was there. Not exactly Sherlock Holmes level deductions there.
“Bully for you,” she said and shifted until she sat leaning against the headboard.
“So where’re you staying?”
“Where do you think I’m staying?”
“Cheap motel. Kind of place where the owners don’t really notice who’s staying.” Right on the money, but it wouldn’t be hard to make out. “Except you’d be hard not to notice.”
“Is that right?” she said, again feeling agitation, or was that something else? Was it discomfort she felt when he said she was unforgettable?
Keep in mind who you’re talking to, you dumb bitch, she chided herself. �
�See I think we need to stop having these conversations.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Oh really?”
“I think you feel a thrill in your belly every time I call. I think you like living on the edge a little.”
“You so don’t know me.”
“Yeah, you were hanging with those two losers in the hope they’d take you to the library,” he said darkly. “No, you wanted excitement. Even to come hang with someone like me.”
“For the record, I had no idea.”
“Well, you keep saying that, but along every step of the way, you never objected. You knew where you were.”
As much as she hated to deny it, she couldn’t. It had been exciting. Meeting him had been exciting, but hell had she bitten off more than she could chew.
“I’m going to destroy this SIM,” she finally said.
“How will you negotiate with me if you do? Get me to back off. That is your objective here, isn’t it? It’s why you keep answering the phone when I call.”
“And you made it clear nothing will stop you, so what’s the point of these conversations?”
Someone walked past outside, Nook could see their shadow cross her window and then disappear. Her heart beat fiercely, even as she knew he was on the other end of this phone. Someday, he could turn up outside her door, and then she was literally fucked.
“You talk to me because you figure it’s an insurance policy. If I know you, it would make it harder for me to hurt you. Maybe you’re right.”
It felt as though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “We both know you’re calling in case I inadvertently tell you something about where I am.”
“Or maybe we are negotiating some solution where you tell me and I come get you.”
A shiver rose up her spine. Come get you, the words reverberated around her head. Because underlying the fear was that thrill. This was playing with fire and she knew it. As much as she hated it, there was a part of her that wanted to be consumed. It was a stupid part—a part that made girls make dumb decisions, a part that allowed girls to trust guys they knew they shouldn’t.
It was also a part that made her wonder how it would have been if nothing had happened that night and she’d stayed after Jaz and Sammie had left.
EXCEPT JAZ AND SAMMIE WERE DEAD. Let’s not forget that. Laying on the floor dying, Palmer had still taken care of business. Even as it looked like his ticket was up, he’d refused to give up. That was the kind of guy she was dealing with.
“I am not dumb enough to think I can negotiate with you, Palmer. You already said why you can’t give up, and I doubt that’s changed.”
“You actually listened.”
“Yeah, well, my life depends on it.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. You’re not in a position to negotiate, and neither am I.”
“Maybe you should grow a conscience and decide on a different life choice,” she said, because the only things that were likely to stop him was him dying, going to prison or deciding to give up his occupation. Would it be too much to hope for that the DEA were about to swoop in and rid her of her problem. Yes, probably. Guys like Palmer were connected.
“A conscience, huh? And what is it I should be conscientious about? I sell a good time to tourists.”
“Well, there’s a whole bunch of other people who aren’t having a good time. For them, it’s a real problem.”
It was silent down the phone for a minute. Nook was curious to see how he’d react.
“Not a problem society should look to me to deal with.”
The answer surprised her. “Isn’t that passing the buck somewhat?”
“If you want to talk about passing the buck, let’s go with that theory. These junkies who are medicating themselves because they can’t tolerate being in their own skin. I’ve known a few in my life and you have too from the look of where you grew up. These people with mental illness or trauma, of whatever else it is that has them unable to tolerate themselves. They will seek their escape any way they can, sniff glue if they have to. Taking away their means of doing so isn’t going to make them ok, isn’t going to solve the trauma that drives them. No one wakes up one day and decides they want to be a junkie. They don’t have a choice—less so when you consider it was the medical profession that set them up with their habits in the first place.
“And society doesn’t give a fuck about them. Society cares when these people are visible, steal their garden ornaments or break into their cars. Make them go away, society says. It doesn’t try to help them, doesn’t try to calm their situation down and assist them to hold their families and lives together. The chosen route is to try to starve them into disappearing by cutting off the supply, which is only a front, by the way, the whole war on drugs. There are too many people making money off these sinking people. Personally, I like to deal with cocaine, which is generally too expensive for them, but that’s beside the point.
“So now these people have a supply problem, because they can’t just stop no matter how painful society makes it for them. And cutting supply as a strategy has never worked and never will. We know this. Secondly, it doesn’t at all address what’s gone wrong in these people lives. Because you don’t deal with suicidal people by taking away all bridges. It doesn’t stop them being suicidal.
“So society, in the guise of you, turn to me and say that I should fix the problem of these people you don’t give a fuck about. That is the literal definition of passing the buck. Believe me, darling, I am not going to make up for your apathy.”
Finally he took a pause. Nook could even feel his anger down the phone, and had nothing to come back with. This was not a conversation she’d intended on embarking on and anything she said now could be a red flag to him, because, yeah, she hated all the junkies in her neighborhood. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t as if she was willfully apathetic to anyone suffering. “Fine, society should do more to help them. All I’m saying is that you’re not helping them either.”
“You mean if I didn’t supply them, things would be better. For who? If you are saying for them, you are selling yourself a nice little delusion. What you mean is that things would be better for you.”
Obviously this was something he had strong opinions about, had thought about. “And you.”
“And I am fully honest about it. There would literally be no money here if it wasn’t for the war on drugs creating scarcity. There is no inherent value in the raw materials or the production. The money in drugs is a consequence of policy, and don’t delude yourself by thinking they don’t know.”
“It just sucks is all I’m saying,” Nook said, because there was nothing she could argue. For all they put into the war on drugs, there were more drugs and more junkies around than ever. It was hard to argue it was working, but equally hard to say they shouldn’t do it. “You know you could choose not to be a cog in that wheel.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s evil.”
“Hadn’t realized you were such an idealist. There you are every day, taking money off poor, defenseless men who are slaves to their hard-ons. Shouldn’t you be saving marriages by not doing what you do?”
“Hardly the same thing, but I will concede the point. And every single one of those dudes has a choice about walking into a strip joint.”
“So you do work at a strip joint. Good to know.”
Nook clenched her fists in aggravation. She’d walked into that one. Had been so distracted, she’d lost her bearings. “Screw you, Palmer,” she said and pressed the end button. “Fuck,” she spat through gritted teeth. It was too dangerous talking to him. It wasn’t a big fuck up, because he’d already suspected, but she’d just confirmed it without intending to. She had to stop talking to him.
Chapter 17
PALMER SMILED. Closing his eyes, he repeated the jingle he’d heard, trying to tease out the notes. WKR something. Nook probably hadn’t noticed, but someone had walked past with a radio and it had blasted out some statio
n jingle. He just had to find it. There was the fuck up, the thing that would reveal her, and she didn’t know she’d just given herself away.
The noose was closing on her.
Sitting down on his couch, he pulled over the keyboard for the internet hooked into his TV and started searching for radio stations with names that sounded like what he’d heard. Helpfully most have their jingles on their websites.
And there it was. Las Vegas. Of course that was where she’d gone. The field was narrowing down. She worked in a strip joint in Las Vegas.
Hopefully she hadn’t been spooked enough to run just yet. She didn’t know that he was a significant step closer than he had been a mere hour ago.
He knew the fuck up would happen and now it had. Now he knew where to send his people to look for her. She lived within ten minutes from her work, on a street with a nearby bus route, probably in quite a seedy part of town.
It felt like victory was in his sights.
Picking up his phone, he relayed the information to Carlos, who said he’d send some people over to search for her.
“Don’t approach her,” Palmer said. “I don’t want them to be seen, only to find her.”
“Alright,” Carlos said, but Palmer could tell he didn’t fully agree or understand the directive. It had risks of her spotting them and taking off, but as opposed to what he said, this was very much personal and he wanted to take her down himself.
It pleased him how fast this was happening. It served him that this was happening fast. It went to prove without a doubt that you could run, but you couldn’t hide from him. A message that needed to be put out there.
Putting the phone to side, he let his head flop back. Excitement coursed through him. This was literally the thrill of the chase, and his prey was in sight.
Suppressing a groan, he got up and walked outside. It felt as if something had shifted, but everything looked exactly the same. It shouldn’t take the guys long to find her now. Trying as she might, she couldn’t hide from him for long. Speaking to him had been her mistake—her downfall.