When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  Around noon, I’m still in my pj’s going through notes when Max comes home with Sully and Greene in tow. “Oh, the three stooges. Either you have stopped by to take me to lunch or you have good news for me,” I say as they come in. They look so somber the “Imperial March” should be playing as they enter.

  “You know I never bring you good news, smartass,” Sully says. The man is such a charmer. It’s shocking he’s still single. Max walks to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of tequila and a shot glass from the cabinet.

  “Oh, you grabbed the Patron,” I remark. “You must have fabulous news. Okay, boys, spill before the anticipation kills me.”

  Max points to the dining room table. “Sit, then shoot.” He pours one and slides it across the table toward me as I sit.

  Greene pulls up the chair next to me. I know it must be very bad if they’re having him break it to me. He’s the only one with a shred of empathy.

  “Lil,” he says. “Two days ago, a man was taken into custody. In an attempt to bargain, he offered up information about other crimes he was involved in. One of the things he said was that he was hired to watch you.”

  I take my shot and motion for Max to pour me another. “By whom? How believable is this information?” I ask.

  “We believe it’s reliable. He knows far too many specifics for it to be bogus,” Greene explains.

  I take the next shot and roll the glass between my palms. “Who hired this guy? And what does he mean by ‘watch’ me?”

  “From what we can gather, he was hired by a man with ties to the Moreila drug cartel. They keep themselves fairly insulated. It’s next to impossible to pin anything on them, but that’s what it looks like. We uncovered some evidence that Ashton was tied to them, but nothing conclusive. This guy’s given us some information that’s helping us connect some dots.”

  “What kind of dots?” I ask.

  Sully drums his fingers on the table as though he’s trying to decide how much he wants to tell me. “We think Ash owed the cartel a shitload of money. At least five mill. Maybe more. This joker was supposed to sniff you out and see if you had the money, and if you did, get it back.”

  Five million dollars? What kind of moron would ever put Ash in charge of five million dollars? This situation has become so much worse than I could ever have imagined. “So, was he following me? I’m sure he could figure out from my lavish lifestyle that I don’t have five mil hanging around.”

  “He was hired to follow you, but from what he says, they weren’t happy with his intel. Apparently, you’re boring and don’t give anything away,” Sully replies.

  I point at him. “See, I’ve been following the rules. Even Pablo Escobar thinks so.”

  Max slams his hand on the table, making me jump. “Dammit, Lily! This’s serious. They’ve hired someone else, and he said this guy will chop you into pieces to get the information. He claims he doesn’t know who it is or how this new guy operates, but he knows the guy works freelance and is very good at his job.”

  I motion for another shot. “So, what do we do?”

  “We’d like to catch this guy before he has a chance to act. We want to try to draw him out. If he’s supposed to be following you, we’d like to set up some exercises where we send you out and follow you to see if anyone else follows you,” Greene explains.

  I take my shot, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You want me to be bait?”

  “Yeah, basically,” Max says.

  “Okay,” I reply.

  Max looks at me like I’m crazy. “That’s it? ‘Okay’? Do you understand what we’re asking?”

  “Lily’s tough,” Sully says. “I knew she’d be down for it.”

  “Let her hear the details first,” Max retorts. He points at Greene. “Go ahead.”

  “We thought we would start using the car. If someone’s watching you, they’re probably keeping an eye on it. You’ll go and get the car, run some specific errands, and then put the car away,” Greene explains.

  “Okay, let’s get started.” I get up to grab my purse.

  “Slow down, eager beaver,” Sully says. “We’ll start tomorrow. We’ve got to get all the moving pieces in place first.”

  They try to give me more details, but I ultimately decide it’ll be easier the less I know. I shoo them all out. As soon as I close the door, my body shakes with fear. The phone practically jumps out of my hand as I try to call Gavin. No answer. I text and email too but get no response. I’m so desperate that I actually call his work number.

  “Mr. Edward’s office. Mrs. Smythe speaking.” Mrs. Smythe sounds like a British version of my third-grade teacher, a miserably bitter woman who was so hardened, we used to joke her face would crack if she tried to smile.

  I find my voice and shakily say, “May I please speak with Gavin?”

  “Mr. Edwards is not in,” she replies. “Who may I say has rung?”

  “Could you please tell him that Lily called, eh, I mean rung.”

  “Oh, Ms. Clark,” she replies as though it pains her to say my name. “I will inform him as soon as he is available, though that may not be for several hours. He is at a testing site, and there’s no mobile reception. It will be some time before he returns to London. Good day.”

  Dammit. Why does my boyfriend have to live so damn far away?

  Before I make it back to the tequila bottle for another shot, the door opens. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you alone to freak out, did you,” Max says, bags filled with Chinese takeout in hand.

  I run to his open arms and bury my face in his chest. “Thank you for coming back.”

  “Come on, let’s eat in Mer’s gigantic bed and watch Deadliest Catch. I’m so behind.”

  I grab the take out bag from him and open it. He’s ordered extra potstickers for me. I kiss him on the cheek. “Best roommate ever, except for when you bring me bad news. I’m thrilled you’ll be moving with me.” For once, he doesn’t protest.

  We bring the food to the bedroom and set up the containers on a tray to prevent them from spilling.

  “Let me ask you something,” I say as I break apart my chopsticks. “So the guys that Ash was on his way to meet when he died were mafia. And this other group is a Mexican cartel. It seems crazy to me that he could be so involved with two different organized crime groups. Could you be wrong?”

  Max puts his container of almond chicken down on the tray. “I wish I were. Crime syndicates always need outside partners. Lawyers, accountants, bankers, shipping and transportation, and people who are willing to help them launder money. From what we can tell, Ashton was an experienced money launderer. But what made him even more attractive was that he had connections. We’re not sure how he got in so deep, but he had contacts everywhere. It made him very attractive to various types of criminal elements.”

  I drag my spring roll through the duck sauce. “Sounds like Ash. He was always Mr. Popularity no matter where we went. People are drawn to him like magnets.”

  “We’re still going through his records and computer, but he was in deep. The Italians, the Mexicans. He even had some deals going with the gangs in Baltimore. Most white guys would get shot setting foot in that territory. But somehow, your husband pulled it off. That just tells you he must have been able to deliver on his promises. Otherwise, he would have been dead a long time ago.”

  I smile sardonically. “I’m so proud. My husband, tearing down racial boundaries one criminal act at a time.”

  Max shoves a dumpling in my mouth. “Don’t think about it. It won’t get you anywhere.”

  After chewing enough to speak again, I say. “One last question, then I want to send all my Ash memories back to hell where they belong. What’s the difference between a cartel and a mob? The Italians seemed to be okay letting me go. Why do we think the Mexicans won’t just do the same thing?”

  He wipes his mouth and takes a long pull from his beer bottle. “The mafia and cartels are two totally different animals. The mafia are organized,
with rules and structure. Each mob has a slightly different way of working. Some are broken down by families, others by geography, but each one has a hierarchical organization that’s run like a business. Yes, they’re violent, but there’s an order to it. Cartels used to be that way, but once all the leaders ended up dead or in jail, all hell broke loose, and it became every group for themselves. Picture Lord of the Flies.”

  An image of Ash, half-naked and covered in war paint, running around a fire on a beach, flashes through my head. I know that’s not what Max means, but I can’t help laughing to myself. Max’s tone is intense, and I know he takes this stuff seriously. Not wanting to interrupt, I nod as I munch on my Kung Pao Shrimp.

  He continues, “No rules, no order, no boundaries. Survival is dictated by power. If you want something—territory, product line, whatever—you have to take it. The more violent, the better. The threat of retaliation must be so intimidating that it’s a deterrent. People have to be too frightened to fight back.”

  “So what do they do to people who steal five million dollars?”

  “Make an example out of them,” he replies.

  I swallow, fighting the lump forming in my throat. “Enough drug talk. Let’s just watch the show.

  At some point during our marathon, I fall asleep. I don’t wake up until the next morning. A lot of tequila mixed with the knowledge that a drug cartel has a bounty on my head leads to surprisingly deep sleep. I don’t really feel rested when I wake, but at least I got through the night.

  Today’s bait day. Max has left a note that I need to be down to the meeting spot by ten to go over everything, so I get up and get showered. What does one wear when acting as contract-killer bait? I go with a simple white sundress.

  On my way out the door, I check my phone. Max must have turned the ringer off last night because I have nearly two dozen missed calls from Gavin. I skip to the final voicemail.

  “Lily dear, I’ve just spoken to Max. Please tell me you’re not going along with this blasted plan. Using you as bait is crackers! I’m furious with Max for even suggesting it.” He releases a long sigh. I can just picture him raking his fingers through his hair while he thinks of what to say next. “If you’re going through with it, please stay safe. I know it’s tempting to try to catch this guy once and for all. I wish I could be there with you. I’m stuck in the lab for the next few days doing product testing. Mobile reception is limited. Ring me when you’re done, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Please be safe, luv.”

  Since I can’t talk to him, I send him a long email, outlining all the reasons I need to go through with this plan and all of the things I’m petrified might happen. Writing it all out is cathartic and actually alleviates my stress. With a newfound feeling that almost resembles confidence, I lock up the condo and head out. I know an agent’s watching me leave, trying to spot anyone who might be following me from my building.

  As planned, I head down the street toward the metro. When I get to the top of the stations stairs, I find myself fact-to-face with Charlie.

  “Hey there, stranger! Where’ve you been?”

  Christ, Charlie. Not now. I say the first thing I can think of that will make any man run. “Hey yourself. I wasn’t feeling so hot yesterday. You know, girl problems. I’m on my way to the OB/GYN right now. It’s pretty ugly.”

  After that comment, he should be running in the other direction, but he continues walking with me and instead looks determined to keep by my side. So I decide to turn it up a notch.

  “The cramps are just out of control. And the blood!” I shudder. “There’s just way more blood than normal. I feel like I should be dead with all the blood loss.”

  “Man, that sounds horrible! I hope you feel better!”

  He’s still there and not showing any sign of leaving. Until now, I’ve never met a man who doesn’t bolt at the first mention of female issues. Who is this guy?

  Since he’s not deterred, I guess it’s time for the big guns. “I think I may have a yeast infection to top it off. There’s that smell-”

  He suddenly looks down at his watch, finally showing a hint of squeamishness. “I’ve got to run. I’ll catch you later. I hope you get… all that sorted out.” He turns on his heel and heads back up the stairs.

  Hanging on all the way to the yeast infection? Charlie’s officially moved from sweet to creepy in my book.

  When I get to the meet location, an apartment in a non-descript building in Columbia Heights, there are already about thirty agents there—way more than I was expecting, which is highly intimidating. They break down the plan. Today, I’m meant to take the car out and drive a prearranged route, make a bunch of designated stops, and then return to the garage.

  Then “the fun starts” or so Max says. We’ll come back to the apartment to debrief, which is when we’ll go through all of the photos and video they film to see if anyone looks familiar. We could be there all night.

  An hour before go time, the agents scatter to hide in mailboxes and behind bushes or whatever it is they’ve got to do before I hit the road. Meanwhile, I’m left to sit and stress. My phone chimes, alerting me to an email.

  Sorry we couldn’t connect before you start your “mission”. Good luck, luv. I’m sure it’s scary, but you are the strongest, bravest person I know. If anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ll be an excellent spy. Just pretend you’re British, and you’ll do just fine.

  Love,

  Gavin

  He knows just what to say to make me smile.

  Before long, Max tells me it’s time for me to get going. So, I go collect Franklin’s car and dutifully follow my map, trying to look as casual as possible. I’m nervous, but after I get moving I begin to relax. There are thirty agents watching me, after all. If anyone tries anything, one of the many someones watching my back will jump out of the shadows and get him. It’s also completely possible that there’s no one following me. So, I go about following my list of errands, trying to appear as normal as possible. Throughout the mission, I never see anyone, agent or bad guy.

  When the day is over and I have to return the car, the garage attendant practically has to pry the keys out of my hand. Not only is the car fun to drive, but when I’m behind the wheel, I can almost remember what it was like before my life got turned upside down. Life with Ash may have been all thorns and no roses, but at least there wasn’t someone lurking in the shadows waiting to take me out. As much as I don’t want to turn in the car, I know that the sooner I put this all to rest, the sooner I get to keep the car full time. It’s excellent motivation to put my all into catching this stalker.

  After I say good-bye to the car, I take the Metro back to the meet location. While I wait for the elevator, I send a quick text to Gavin, letting him know my covert activities are done for the evening and I rocked them. No need for the British inspiration with the Mission Impossible theme song playing through my head the whole day. An American classic.

  When I reach the apartment, the boys are getting things set up, so I take a seat out of the way. I play with my phone and notice several Google chat messages from Charlie, all from before the yeast infection conversation. Bet I won’t be getting any more of those. Yeast infections are such reliable boy repellant.

  The debriefing takes hours. The agents managed to take a million photos, and I have to look through each and every one of them to see if anyone looks familiar. By the end, I’m certain I’ve now seen a picture of every jogger, dog-walker, and nose-picker in the whole damn city. And after six hours, all the faces look the same.

  With today being a bust, the plan is to have the agents follow me every day for five days, varying the errand locations, and see if we notice recurring people. It’s going to be a long five days. On the other hand, it’ll give me time to catch up on errands, and I’m going to get a cut and foil on the FBI’s tab.

  When I get home, there’s a package for me at the front desk. It’s wrapped in British flag wrapping paper. My heart soars, and I hope that i
t means that Gavin’s here. The card reads:

  Lily,

  Before you get too excited, no, I’m not here. A friend of mine was going to Washington today, and I asked her to bring this to your apartment. Far faster than FedEx.

  Since I can’t be there to hold you tonight, I send this as my proxy. It’s by far my favourite article of clothing I own. I hope it brings you comfort.

  Wishing I were there,

  Gavin

  I open the box at the front desk, unable to wait, and get a whoosh of Gavin, as though he’s somehow found a way to package his scent. Underneath the tissue paper is an Oxford sweatshirt that looks as though it has been through hell and back. I’m amazed the thing is still in one piece, considering all the holes and tears. Despite its decrepit state, it’s soft as cashmere from the apparent years of wear. I absolutely love it. In fact, once I get it on, I may never take it off. I’m certainly never giving it back.

  In addition to the sweatshirt is a stuffed Paddington Bear, sporting a tag that says, “Made with love in England.”

  I run upstairs, shower, and put on my new sweatshirt. It’s heaven. I send him a text that says:

  Love the present. Who knew you were such a Paddington Bear fan? BTW, threw away that dreadful sweatshirt that got mixed in with the bear.

  I was hoping to get a witty reply from him, but I don’t hear anything the whole evening. When I’m ready for bed, I take a selfie and send it to him and say:

  Just kidding. Best. Present. Ever. Hope you don’t expect to get it back, because it’s now my absolute favorite thing that I own.

  Over the next four days, the agents follow me as I go about my typical routine. They tail me on my run and then watch me work all day before following me home. I really feel for these guys. They have to watch me stare at my computer all day. What a shitty assignment! They send a female agent with me when I go to yoga, which is disappointing. I’d really wanted to see Greene or Sully trying to do the bird of paradise pose.