‘We think maybe they took her into custody for her own protection.’
‘Protection from what?’ Marisa screeches.
‘You saw the news, right? You saw the police station that got hit?’
Marisa nods, her lip starting to tremble again. ‘That was just some crazy ex-cop, wasn’t it? That’s what I heard.’
‘No. We think they were coming after Liva,’ he says. ‘She witnessed a murder last night. She was in the police station giving a statement. And then, later, after we escaped, the same guys who shot out the police station found us again.’
Marisa is now staring at me as though I’m the grim reaper standing in her front room waving a scythe. The horror isn’t even masked. ‘Why?’ she asks Jay. ‘What do they want from her?’
I force myself to stand there even though I can hear the blood pounding in my temples and want nothing more than to run from the room. I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t have brought anyone into this. We made a promise about no communication. We were stupid to break it. I steal a glance at the door.
‘We’re not sure,’ says Jay quietly, ‘but possibly it has something to do with her father and his line of work.’
‘Who’s your father?’ Marisa asks, her attention flying to me.
‘He works for the government on a human trafficking task force,’ I tell her, wishing Jay had just kept his mouth shut.
‘Trafficking?’ she asks, frowning. And then it dawns. ‘People?’ Her voice rises and her eyes grow round.
‘Yeah,’ says Jay, and I can tell he’s finally having second thoughts about coming here too, or the wisdom of telling her any of this.
Marisa sinks back against the sofa cushions and takes us both in with a slow shake of her head. ‘Mierda,’ she says.
‘Yeah,’ says Jay, smiling wryly. ‘You can say that again.’
She leaps suddenly to her feet. ‘How do you know they didn’t follow you here?’ Her eyes fly to the door as though fully expecting someone to come bursting through it.
Jay stands up and puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s OK, Marisa, we shook them off this morning. They don’t know where we are. We’re not being tailed. We made sure.’
Marisa studies him, her shoulders rising and falling fast before she takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and when she opens them again she nods. ‘OK. Of course you can stay here. As long as you need.’ But her gaze slips to the door again and I can tell from the nervous swallow that her feelings for Jay are fighting her better instincts. If the real police find Jay here then she could be charged with harbouring a felon. And if the other people find us, well, that thought’s probably scaring her a whole lot more. I shoot a glance in Jay’s direction, hoping he’s realising that coming here was a stupid idea and that he’ll suggest we leave, but he’s not looking at me. He’s grinning at Marisa.
‘Thanks, Risa,’ he says. ‘It’s just till the morning. I promise.’
Marisa shakes her head ruefully at Jay, then throws back her shoulders and marches into the kitchen. ‘Who’s hungry?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, we could eat,’ Jay answers for us both. We hear the sound of cupboards opening and then a sudden torrent of Spanish hits us.
‘What?’ I ask Jay, alarmed.
Jay winces. ‘She just found out we ate her secret chocolate stash.’
‘Oh.’
Pots and pans start clanging.
‘Are you sure she’s OK with us staying?’ I ask in a whisper.
Jay steps closer, ‘Yeah, don’t worry. She’s cool. She never stays mad for long. And she’s not mad at you anyway, just worried.’ So he did notice.
‘Do you think it’s a good idea that we came here?’
‘Where else we going to go? You want to sleep rough in Prospect Park?’
Though the idea doesn’t appeal that much, yeah, I think I would. At least we wouldn’t be putting anyone in danger. And at least we’d be moving again. Staying still, stopping in one place, is making me antsy. It’s giving me time to think and I don’t want to think.
Just then Marisa sticks her head around the door. ‘You like spicy?’ she asks me.
‘Um, yeah,’ I say.
She smiles slyly and I wonder how many chillies that just earned me.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jay says, behind me, close to my ear. ‘She’s always a little like this whenever I bring a girl home.’
A sharp stab of what feels disturbingly like envy spears its way through my gut. How many girls does he bring home? But at the same time I feel a surge of warmth because his breath is still against the nape of my neck, causing goosebumps to travel the entire length of my spine.
‘Not that I bring home a lot of girls,’ he adds quickly. ‘You know, there have only been a couple.’
He’s rambling. I have never heard Jay ramble. I turn slowly around to face him, noticing his cheeks are infused with colour. Is he embarrassed?
‘Liva, you want to freshen up? Be my guest,’ Marisa says, sticking her head back around the doorway, an onion and a bag of chillies in her hand.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I say, glancing between her and Jay. I’m getting a very strong hint that she wants me out the way so she can talk to Jay, so I back off and head towards the bathroom, wondering if she’s about to start lecturing him on his sanity. When you think about what we just dumped on her – that Jay has been arrested and is currently evading custody, that we’re being hunted by the police, the FBI and what we think is a human trafficking gang, as well as the Latin Blades – I would understand if she wanted us to leave. Or if she thought Jay needed his head read.
‘There are spare towels in the cupboard in there and help yourself to whatever you need,’ Marisa tells me with a forced smile.
I close the bathroom door, glancing once more at Jay before I do. He give me a reassuring smile. The kind an executioner might before he throws the switch.
27
As I turn the lock I hear the first angry hiss of rapid-fire Spanish. I twist the faucet so it’s on full and tiptoe back to the door, hoping the sound of the water rushing down the plughole will cover me. Once I’m there though, with my ear pressed to the wood, I realise that my three years of high school Spanish qualifies me to answer questions about the weather and ask the way to the beach, but doesn’t qualify me for listening in on a conversation this fast or this furious. Jay’s voice is a low and steady murmur against Marisa’s machine-gun rattle. I have no clue what they are talking about. But I do hear my name mentioned several times in the midst of a torrent of colourful-sounding adjectives and after a while I begin to feel grateful that I can’t understand what’s being said.
I head back towards the sink, forcing myself to ignore the argument and focus instead on sorting myself out, if not emotionally, then at least physically. I throw cold water over my face to try to wake myself up a bit and only then do I gather the courage to look at my reflection. My hair is tied back in a ponytail but strands have fallen loose, framing my face, which looks pale and washed out. My eyes look grey rather than blue and haunted is the word that springs to mind as I consider the shadows etched beneath them. Marisa has a pharmacy’s worth of cleansers, moisturisers and other lotions arranged around the sink and in the cabinet, so I help myself, in the hope that if I can make myself more presentable then maybe Marisa might feel warmer towards me, though even as I dab on some moisturiser that says its going to soothe, illuminate and hydrate me to the max I know I’m lying to myself. It’s not Marisa I want to look good for. It’s Jay.
Five minutes later, with hair brushed and teeth finger-brushed, with some colour returned to my cheeks and the dirt scrubbed away, I look more human. Though I certainly don’t feel the same way on the inside. Now we’ve stopped to draw breath and I have room to start thinking again, my emotions have started to seesaw madly. The knot in my stomach is pulled so tight that I feel nauseous as the smells from the kitchen start to seep through the door. Briefly, my mind wanders to my dad. Is he back yet? Will he find the note I left him in the safe? Will he b
e there tomorrow? Does my mum have any idea what’s happening? Is she going out of her mind with worry? I picture her pacing the marble-floored hallways of our house in Oman with Sven trying ineffectually to calm her down. Should I call? I press my hands to my head, trying to rub away the tiredness so I can think clearly, but then my thoughts turn, as they’ve been threatening to all day, to the relatives of all the people killed today in the police station. What must they be going through right now – knowing what’s happened to their husbands, wives . . . their children? I think about the woman pushing the pram who rammed me from behind on the street and the look of sheer terror on her face, and I think about Jay’s mother and where she might be right now and what she must be thinking. And I think of the Goldmans being carried out of their house in black body bags.
I think of everyone who’s fallen into the path of these men who are trying to find me. Me. And I wonder how it can be possible that so many people have paid with their lives while I’m still standing here, still breathing. It’s not fair. I try to remember what Jay said about it not being my fault, about not being responsible for all the shit that happens in the world, but I’m not sure how to reconcile that. I stare at myself hard in the mirror, blinking through a film of tears. Wasn’t Felix enough? How can I live with all these other people on my conscience too?
An insidious thought slides through all the others, worming its way to the forefront of my mind. Maybe I should let them take me. That way, I start to reason, at least no one else would get hurt. But the thought makes a cold, solid lump form in my gut. Could I just do that? Hand myself over to them? The lump rises up my throat. I could make a phone call they could trace. I could wait for them to find me. Is that what I should have done from the start? Could I have stopped all this from happening? If I hadn’t climbed on to the roof at the Goldmans’, would everyone else still be alive?
I realise I’m clutching the edge of the sink and that I’m shaking hard. My legs are rubbery, and it’s my arms that are doing the work to hold me up. My lips are tingling and I realise that’s because I’m hyperventilating, the air going no further than the back of my throat.
I close my eyes and the room spins wildly. The taste of the chocolate I ate earlier fills my mouth, cloying and acidic, and I think I’m going to be sick. Bending over the sink, I practise the breathing and visualisation technique that Felix taught me to help me get over my fear of the dark.
He sat with me in the dripping dank basement of our house in Nigeria, where rats the size of cats used to hang out and play, and he talked me through the fear that had me paralysed and sobbing. He showed me that fear was nothing but a product of my imagination and that I could make it go away by changing my thoughts, taking control of them, and showing the fear who was boss. Fear became an animal that I could put on a leash and lock away in a cage.
I need to use that same technique now, trap the fear like an animal, and keep it locked away. I need to be able to think clearly if I’m to have any chance of making it through this. Of helping Jay. After a few seconds I’m able to get hold of my breathing and bring it back under control, and then the nausea ebbs. My mind is still flying in a million different directions, battling panic and trying to sweep frantically at the fear, but I make myself move towards the door. I’ve been in here too long. Jay’s going to come looking. And also, a part of me recognises that being close to him helps in its own way to keep the fear at bay.
I reach for the lock and that’s when I hear Jay and Marisa talking in low voices, only now they’re talking in English.
‘I’ve got to find him,’ I hear Jay saying. ‘Where do you think he is?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marisa answers, ‘probably with a girl somewhere, getting wasted. Why do you need to find him anyways?’ she asks, and I hear the hiss of a hot pan hitting water. They must be talking about Teo.
‘I need to know what went down with the Blades after I got busted, find out what the score is.’
I miss the next part because something starts sizzling loudly. The smell of cooking meat hits me through the door.
‘What are you going to do?’ I hear Marisa ask.
‘I’ll take the rap,’ Jay answers. ‘Keep my mouth shut. If they can guarantee they won’t come after Teo or my mom.’
Marisa’s sigh is audible. ‘Jay—’
‘Jay nothing.’ He cuts her off. ‘What other choice have I got? If I run, they’ll catch me sooner or later and then it’ll be worse. I need to find Teo, though. Talk to him. He’s gotta get his ass clean and start being responsible. Mom’s gonna need him when I’m not there. Someone’s gonna have to look after her.’
I hear Marisa sobbing.
Jay’s voice softens. ‘You gotta promise me that you’ll take care of her too, Risa. She’s gonna need you.’
‘I promise,’ Marisa says through her tears. ‘You don’t need to ask me that. You know I will.’
A drawer opens and crashes shut. The sound of cutlery being dumped on a hard surface follows.
‘What was the job? Why did you do it?’
‘Because I’m an idiot, like you said. They needed a driver. Gave me an address. Told me to be there, to ask no questions and just to drive wherever they told me to drive.’
‘And you did it?’ Marisa asks incredulous. In the bathroom, I rest my forehead against the cool wood of the door.
‘What choice did I have?’ Jay spits. ‘Teo was in no state to drive anywhere. And he’s on parole anyway.’
‘And now you’re going to go to prison in his place. What about college?’
‘It was just a dream,’ Jay says bitterly. ‘It was never going to happen.’
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Marisa hisses. ‘It was never just a dream. You were going to go. You deserve to go.’
‘No. I don’t,’ Jay says firmly.
There’s a pause. The sound of someone setting the table. Then: ‘When are you going to hand yourself in?’
I hold my breath. ‘When Liva’s safe. Tomorrow morning, I guess.’
‘What?’ Marisa’s voice rises almost to a shout.
‘I promised. And I just need to, OK?’ Jay sighs, his tone telling her to drop it.
She doesn’t. ‘Why you care so much what happens to this girl?’ she demands. ‘You don’t even know her.’
I hold my breath, my hands falling to my sides.
Jay pauses. ‘She did me a favour. I’d be dead if she hadn’t helped me get out of that police station. Simple as that. I’m not gonna abandon her now.’
I exhale under my breath.
‘But these people—’ Marisa begins.
‘It’s OK, I promise.’ Jay cuts her off. ‘It’s just a few more hours and then . . .’ He stops and I realise he had been going to say it’ll be over. It hangs there, in the silence, the ominous knowledge that it isn’t going to be over for Jay. Not by a long shot.
I realise then that I’ve been in the bathroom way too long and that if I stay here much longer it’ll be obvious that I’m eavesdropping so, plastering a smile on my face, I open the door and walk out.
‘Smells good,’ I say even as my stomach rolls over at the sight of the food.
Marisa’s smile tightens on her face. She quickly turns her back and starts serving up whatever she has cooking in the pans on the stove. Jay carries the plates to the table without a word, and then pulls out a chair for me. I drop down into it, my legs still not feeling strong enough to hold me up.
‘You want something to drink?’ he asks me.
‘Just water,’ I say and I watch him fill a glass at the sink and bring it to me. He has the gun still tucked into his waistband and I realise that I do too. I figure that taking it out in front of Marisa isn’t a good move so I just leave it there, checking quickly that the go-bag is still over by the door.
Marisa sits down and picks up her knife and fork. Jay sits opposite me and seems to be waiting for me to start, so I pick up my fork with a shaky hand and stab a piece of chicken with it. It looks like she’s m
ade some kind of chicken stir fry. I take a bite. Yeah, she didn’t scrimp on the chillies either. I chew and swallow as the roof of my mouth ignites.
‘Too spicy?’ Marisa asks.
‘No, it’s great,’ I say, smiling weakly and swallowing. I can actually deal with chillies. I spent a few years in Pakistan when I was a child and the food there isn’t exactly bland.
‘Jay says you saved his life,’ Marisa says, after a heavily weighted silence.
I glance up. She’s watching me carefully over a glass of water.
‘He saved mine too,’ I say.
‘We’re a good team,’ Jay adds, catching my eye. He’s trying to lighten the mood, make me smile, but I can’t smile back. I drop my gaze to my plate. Even eating is hard. I focus on the burning sensation in my mouth to try to distract me from the thoughts whirring around my head.
We fall into silence, everyone wrapped up in their own thoughts. I spy Marisa wiping away a tear and Jay drops his fork and squeezes her hand under the table. I watch him, wondering if he’s thinking like I am, that this will be the last time he has dinner with his cousin in a long time.
28
I eat as much as I can, but judging from the others’ barely touched plates no one is much in the mood for food. I start clearing the table and carrying everything through to the kitchen. When I turn around to go back for more, Jay is standing in the doorway blocking my way.
‘How are you holding up?’ he asks.
I shrug, keeping my gaze fixed on his chest. ‘How ’bout you?’ I ask, risking a quick glance at his face.
He gives me a sad smile, which says it all. Then he lifts his hand and almost absently strokes my hair behind my ear, his fingertips gently sweeping the skin beneath my ear lobe, and an arrow of heat shoots all the way to my fingertips.
‘Not long now,’ he whispers.
I close my eyes and feel myself swaying towards him. I want to press my forehead against his sternum. I want to rest there, and I want him to hold me. I have this idea that Jay might be able to help me wrestle the fear back into its cage, though rationally I know that I need to do it alone. There’s no point ever relying on anyone for something like that. You can only rely on yourself.
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