by Anne Leigh
And in the deepest recesses of your being, the truth was inescapable: you were mortal.
Therefore, you can die.
“Para asustarlo.” The voice was gurgled from the blood still dribbling out from his mouth. I could barely make out the words, but he said them.
I seated the rifle by his forehead, my shoe finding a home on his left shoulder.
“Say it again,” I commanded, play time was over. It had been over since the second he fired that shot at her.
He repeated what he’d said, “Para asustarlo.”
To scare him.
“Dr. Bridges?” I said, pressing the blunt edge of my shoe deeper between his shoulder blades.
“Si.” His face was now turning a shade of purple. He was in a shitload of pain as I wasn’t merely pressing on his shoulder blades, I was getting him reacquainted to an old injury that he had when he played soccer in his teens.
See, Tony’s files – the ones that I read and re-read when he sent them to me – were rich with the history of the lives of the men who were following Athena.
The man who was now closely acquainted to the pain I was inflicting on him was a soccer star when he was twelve. But he’d injured himself while colliding with another player and in the same shoulder, had two dislocations that required surgery.
In the battlefield, you could win by shooting your enemies straight between their eyes.
Or.
You could win by knowing how to hurt them where it would hurt the most.
I heard the steps closing in on the door to the room.
Salvatore.
“The next time you shoot at her; you won’t live another day to spend with Irma.”
His eyes widened, the fear now reflected in his stare. His mouth moved, but what he wanted to say was stuck between him realizing that I knew everything about him and that I would deliver.
Irma was his girlfriend.
A young woman from his hometown of Guadalajara whom he visited every couple months, the one whom he planned to retire with once his drug dealing business was over – if it would ever be over.
I took my foot of his shoulder and kicked the rifle to the side.
He was loyal to his boss but his loyalty was being tested right now.
It was evident in the way he looked at me while Salvatore and two of his men tagged him.
Salvatore had to take his sunglasses off to check the extent of the damage I’d done to Abel. The inquiring look in his brown eyes didn’t receive a response from Liam.
Abel was going to be taken to the FBI’s headquarters for further questioning. His close relations with El Padre would be another notch to Salvatore’s glowing career.
Before leaving, Salvatore patted me in the back, “Great work catching him.”
I shook my head and pointed to Liam who was talking to the remaining agent. “He’s the one who got Abel.”
“Who rearranged his face?” Salvatore’s appraisal wasn’t lost on me. Abel’s mug would require tons of paperwork to be filed. Not that his superior cared for one of the cartel’s leading men, but because there’s a thing called the law where even the most notorious crime lords had to be bestowed their human rights.
“His face was already messed up,” I countered, kicking a gum wrapper on the floor. “Thanks for giving us time with him.”
Salvatore nodded, the light hitting his balding head that gave it an extra sheen. For what it’s worth, he was one of the good guys. His methods, often unconventional and unpopular, had made him a regular staple on news channels. Criminals complained that they were handled indelicately under his command. Said criminals were infamous for their inhumane acts so they had no rights to protest.
“I knew of your father,” Salvatore said, while we walked up the stairs. Liam and the other agent were leading the way.
“Huh,” was all I could say. My dad never mentioned him. Or maybe he never got the chance to.
“He was a great man.” He went on to say, “He saved my wife’s brother in Afghanistan.”
My dad’s been gone for a long time. Yet the honorable acts that he did remained forever. The world was big yet so small. My father loved reading and when he was home, he’d tell me stories, theories, principles of war and the world. He once said that Karinthy who theorized six degrees of separation was a brilliant writer – we’re all connected to each other by a max of six steps.
“He was,” I replied, while looking down on my phone to check where Athena was in my house. She was in the office/library. She usually went there to catch up on her class work.
“I heard the girl’s very pretty –” The comment was completely out of the blue and had me turning my head to watch Salvatore’s expression. “Andrew mentioned it a couple of times.”
Whoever Andrew was, he needed to concentrate on his own job.
“Outta line,” I declared. “Why is he checking on her?”
The sharpness in my message was highly detectable.
“He was getting intel for the team,” Salvatore explained, his hands folding on his chest. We were now standing in front of the strip club. Abel now long gone with Salvatore’s crew.
My jaw ticked and my teeth clenched, “She’s not part of the intel.”
Salvatore looked at me, wisdom surfacing in his gaze, “Ah.”
“Tell Andrew to stop surveillance on her. We’re handling it on our end.”
“She’s the reason why Abel’s face is unrecognizable. I doubt his mug shot would be of any use. He can’t even open his eyes.”
Liam, now standing by his truck, pinned me with a look.
He wanted to leave.
“He hurt her,” I reasoned even though there was no need. The thought of Abel firing off the shot to hurt Athena made me want to track the motherfucker down and give him another beating.
I lifted two fingers to Liam - two minutes and we’re out of here.
“Does Joseph know?” Salvatore asked, while eyeing the other agent who was now waiting inside the Lincoln Navigator.
“No, I haven’t reported to Dr. Bridges yet. I’ll call him as soon as we wrap up.”
“That’s not my question, Webb.” For the first time, he’s addressing me by my first name. I was Worthington. Our acquaintance was on a professional level.
“What’re you asking me?” I was getting lost in his ambiguity. I had things to do and I’m sure his day was about to get ten times busier with the capture of Abel. By now, word would’ve gotten around that one of El Padre’s prized men was under the FBI’s guard. DEA, ATF, CIA, NSA – everyone would be calling and El Padre would begin plotting on how to get his prized courier back.
“Does Joseph know that you like his daughter?”
“So.”
Denton’s light blonde head turned to face me.
“So?” My brows lifted. He’d been acting fidgety since he sat down. Professor Wallaby was running late and his TA wasn’t in yet either. The whole class was watching the clock on the wall.
Ten minutes.
“There’s a thing…sort of like an event.” He smiled tentatively, his right hand rubbing the corner of his jaw.
“Hmm…sort of?”
“It’s kind of an important event,” he muttered, still rubbing his jaw.
Denton didn’t usually speak in Valley Girl code so this must be bothering him. In the past months, we’d gotten closer. Not in the way I’d originally thought it to be. We had become close friends though there were times when I’d catch him looking at me and he’d turn his head abruptly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.
“My mom’s being honored for some Woman of the Year award.” His lips turned up, his hands now busy with a pen, doodling on a blank piece of paper that I’d handed him earlier. He always forgot his notepad so I’d become his and Mario’s paper supplier.
“Wow that’s so great!” I exclaimed, reaching for the phone inside my book bag. I’d felt it vibrate against my leg.
“It is...” He nodde
d, pride visible on his face. “She’s a great lady. I’m biased cause she’s my mom, but she’s really worked hard to be where she’s at today.”
If there was a woman whose achievements merited the top awards, it would be Governor Shayla Holmes. She’s provided homes to women in crises, ensured that the homeless received food and lodging, and was a top advocate for climate change. She set the bar way high for legislators to uphold honor and integrity while serving the people. It wasn’t a mystery how she’d been voted for her second term by ninety percent of the population. Her work spoke for her. As Senate President pro tempore, her hands were always full so her sons got the least amount of time with her. Denton may have mentioned once or twice that he wished his mom would be around to watch more of his games, but his grumble was normal from the perspective of a son missing his mom.
The noise from the auditorium was getting louder as my classmates checked the clock again.
Twenty minutes.
“I need a plus one.” Denton’s eyes slid to the space beside me. It was as if he was almost too shy to ask.
Adorable.
“Okay,” I checked out the black and white plastic clock facing all of us. T-minus twenty-two. “I’m sure Mario would love to go.”
Denton fake-coughed then his shoulders shook, “I’m sure he would. He’d do anything for a free meal.”
Mario wasn’t in class today. He had a bad case of food poisoning that made him run to the bathroom every ten minutes. His last reply to our group text was a photo of him wrapped in a green blanket, sitting on his bathroom floor.
The poor guy had eaten one too many enchiladas from a street food vendor in downtown L.A. and twelve hours later he’d been a pukey mess.
“But I want you.” The words came out rapidly and I almost missed hearing them, what with the excited noise around us.
My gaze landed on his face.
Clean-cut.
Handsome.
Green eyes that could make any woman swoon and melt.
I could attest to that since I was one of those women who swayed under his stare.
Those greens focused on me and he said, “I want you to go with me. It would be an honor for me to have you as my date.”
No was on the tip of my tongue and the answer that my heart would agree with.
“It’s one night, A.” Sometimes he’d cut my name short to A. And those times were instances when I knew he really meant it. “I know you’re not into me…”
A brunette sitting two chairs down eyed me with curiosity. She was probably thinking, “Why wouldn’t you be into him? Are you blind?”
“I’m not this tough SEAL guy.” His green eyes dimmed and his shoulders sagged an inch, “I’m not abrasive, loud, or obnoxious. I’m barely keeping the B’s in my classes and I don’t even know if I’m going to the NBA.”
The banana muffin that I had for breakfast was now churning uncomfortably in my stomach. I wasn’t expecting a conversation like this before noon. Or anytime. At all.
He kept his eyes on me, refusing to let my gaze fall. “But I like you, A. And I think before he came into the picture, you liked me too – in that way. I’m sorry if I’m blindsided you like this. It’s just that I never get the chance to speak to you alone anymore. All I’m asking is for a night. A date.”
As soon as the clock hit the thirty-minute mark, the whole class fled the room.
It was extremely unusual for Professor Wallaby not to show up. Even his TA was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully they were both okay. Maybe they got the food bug that Mario had. But the class syllabus explicitly stated that we could leave if the teacher did not show up thirty minutes after the class start time.
Denton remained in his seat, he didn’t look like he was planning to go anytime soon.
Webb as usual was waiting outside and he’d be coming in to check on me if I wasn’t out by the time my classmate, Ian, the guy with the red headphones and blue canvas bag, was out the door. He was the last person waiting patiently for everyone else to get through the door.
No would be my answer.
But as I looked into Denton’s eyes, I caught glimpses of myself before this whole thing with my dad happened.
Denton was right.
Before Webb entered my life, he was the guy I dreamed about.
The man I wanted to be with.
My feelings towards him might have changed, but it wasn’t his fault.
Nothing had changed with the way he looked, or the way he acted, or even the way he smiled.
It could possibly be true that he’s not the tough Navy guy, but he was tough in his own ways. He was the coolest guy under a tremendous amount of pressure to produce outstanding results on the basketball floor.
And right now, he was asking me for a night out.
A date.
Maybe a chance to feel normal again in the midst of the situation that I had been unintentionally put in.
How –
How can I say no?
“Is it a black tie event?” I asked before I could think more about it.
His eyes lit up in a way that blinded me. He was prepared for me to say no and I was too.
So the next words that came out of me shocked us both. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
He quickly stood up from his chair and raised his hands up in the air, yelling, “Yeah!”
My face heated up as Ian, who was a few steps from the door, glanced back with a shake of his head.
I stood up to hush Denton and instead I was engulfed in big, strong arms.
Arms that had the strength to defend himself against top-caliber guards.
Arms that offered the warmth of friendship and more if I wanted it. He said something to the effect of no worries, I got you covered then he raised me, lifting my feet off the ground. I gave him a big smile and put my hands on his blonde head.
And it was in that position that Webb found us.
Denton’s back was towards Webb so he didn’t see the myriad of emotions that were mirrored on Webb’s face.
Surprise.
Anger.
Sadness.
I’d made no promises to Denton, I was giving him one night out of the many nights in my life.
I turned my eyes away from Webb, refusing to see the hurt bouncing off of him.
There was no doubt that my heart beat for him.
But a long time ago, I promised a ten-year-old boy named Kyle that I would shower the world with smiles and love.
Denton reminded me so much of Kyle.
And if I could give the man holding me in his arms one of the highlights of his college life, why not?
I just wished that the man who carried the weight of my world and my father’s burden would understand.
Because if not…then I wouldn’t know what to do.
When I was seven, my mom instructed me not to touch the painting my dad had given her as an anniversary gift from Christie’s.
She’d said, “This is one of the great Emil Nolde’s works. It’s priceless.”
My dad, who was home at that time, had hung the painting and he’d reiterated, “Son, I have no idea who Emil is, but listen to your mom.”
She was always into the arts. Paintings, sculptures, you name it, and my dad somehow found a way to gift them to her.
Back then, I was too young to understand so I’d merely shrugged and answered, “Yes Mom and yes Dad.”
When my father died, I’d often catch my mom staring at the vivid yellows and deep reds that were embedded in Nolde’s work. One day, I asked my mom, “What do you see when you look at them, Mom?”
She’d kept her eyes on the storm-scape themed art and replied, “Your father. I see him. In all of Emil’s art. He was private yet he was so full of life.”
“Don’t you feel sad when you think of Dad?” At that time, it had been two years since my dad passed away yet it was the first time I really had the courage to ask her. It wasn’t that I was scared of what she’d say. It was because I was in a
way not ready for what she’d feel.
Her somber eyes gazed at the painting again, “I do. I’m sad that he’s not here with us. I’m sad that he couldn’t be here to celebrate your graduation. I’m sad that he’s not here to witness you in the Navy… I’m sad for a lot of reasons.”
I’d reached out my hand to hold her shoulder, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She had wiped a tear that had formed in her eyes and responded, “But most of the time, I remember him as the man who rocked you to sleep when you had colic. You weren’t always an easy baby, but he took fatherhood in stride. I remember the happy memories that I’d created with him. I remember him like that painting,” pointing to the one in the dining room, my view obstructed by the wall, “and this painting,” her eyes grazed the one a few feet away from us. “I remember when he gave them to me. They were priceless before. But now…they’re irreplaceable. Just like your father – non-expendable. Untouchable.”
Those were my mother’s exact words.
She hadn’t wanted me to touch the paintings then because of their value.
And now, they were even more priceless.
What if I had actually put my fingerprints on them, would their worth be a couple hundred grand less?
My father was now untouchable yet his memories remained so vivid.
The paintings in my mother’s house would remain where they were, from the time my father hung them to the day my mother took her last breath.
They were never to be touched, only to be looked at.
Because, as my parents had tried to explain when I’d attempted to actually touch the one in our living room to my mom’s unending consternation, “The oils in the hands can corrode the art.”
I’d never thought that the day would come when I’d see the wisdom in my mother’s words.
That when an artwork was a masterpiece, you did everything to preserve it.
Put it up on a pedestal and don’t soil it with your hands.
Athena and Denton were the last ones to come out of their class.
Everyone else went poof as soon as they got the clear that the professor wasn’t showing up for the day.
I’d texted her but she hadn’t responded.