by Marcia DM
“The day the mission ended, the first one to go down was Abdel.” I look at Sarah, trying to find something in her face, but I’m not yet sure what. “I killed him right there and then. He was my target, I needed him to be the first to die, to make sure the head of the snake was cut off.” My mind warped to that glorious moment. “Slicing his throat with my knife was something I wanted to do since the beginning. But I never found Asad, and to be completely honest, I didn’t look for him that night. I simply thought he was there and someone else had got him. After all, he was an adult and had initiated within the organization. I should have checked the kill list closely, but I didn’t and that’s my mistake.” A rookie mistake if you ask me, but I don’t say this out loud.
“How did he know who you were?” Sarah asks.
“That’s what we can’t figure out. But somehow he managed to get intel about me being a double agent within the organization.” I look at Carter with some concern. “We’re talking about someone who has been trained to torture by a lot people, and I’m one of those people. This is someone who knows his shit.” Carter is staring at me, he looks serious. I think he just understood how serious this is. I can see the wheels spinning— he’s thinking where to look next.
“I’ll hit the road, I got a guy who knows a guy who may know where he is, or at least where he was seen last. If the visit pays off… Should I call you?” I nod. At this point I’m all in. He stands up and stretches his body, slowly walking backwards while smiling at Sarah. Classic Carter.
There’s no denying that both Carter and Sarah are the same age and he has this attitude that makes women wanna throw their panties at him. But I hope he ain’t thinking he’s the right man for her, because he isn’t. He toys with women a lot and he likes that lifestyle. “We’ll find him, cuz.” He gets it. He understands that this mission has to do with the memory of my brother. He lost him, too. They were best fucking friends, for God’s sake. That’s why he’s so invested in it. When we saw them kill him on TV, that brought us closer. He became the pillar I could rely on for support. “See you later, Snow White.” He winks at Sarah and goes out through the kitchen door.
“He didn’t use the front door. Why?” I want to answer that right away, but I can’t. I’m fighting against jealousy, and it’s taking all my energy.
“He doesn’t want to show face to the officers. One may say he has some ‘personal issues’ with the law.” I’m trying to be funny and make her laugh like Carter did, but I don’t even get a smirk from her.
Silence fills the room. She starts to gather all the dishes to wash them in the sink. She does that all the time to turn her back against me. That’s okay, things between us were already weird, and the embarrassing moment we shared last night made everything worse. Why did she react like that? Was she really jealous? Maybe the alcohol made me see what I wanted to see. I watch her from the kitchen table.
She never had a haircut in all those years; her hair is black as the darkest night, it starts straight and ends in tiny shiny curls. It’s so long, it almost reaches her ass. But it doesn’t cover it, which is good, because I like looking at it.
Stop this at once!
My mind and my body betray me. I’m rock hard and I can’t hide it. I should really think about something else and look somewhere else.
I decide that going to the gym is the best way to spend my energy. My cell rings— Carter. I wasn’t expecting a call from him this fast.
“Someone’s ready to talk,” he says.
“When and where?”
“The usual spot, an hour.” The line clicks, and I turn around to let Sarah know that I’ll be going out. But she’s no longer in the kitchen. She must have gone to her room. When I get to her room, I see I was wrong and I start to worry. There’s sound coming from the bathroom. I get closer to the door and put my ear against it. I hear a pair of scissors blades grinding against each other.
I worry a little.
“Sarah?” I knock on the door. “Are you okay?”
No answer.
“Sarah, open up, please.”
Still no answer.
I freak out.
“Sarah!” I bang on the door with hammer fists. I can no longer hear the scissors. It doesn’t matter how hard I knock; the door won’t budge.
“FUCK!” I take two steps back and raise my boot to kick the door open. Before I can do that, the door lock clicks and starts to open slowly. As soon as I see her, I grab her wrists looking for cuts or injuries along her arms. I find nothing but the old scars and markings I made in the past. I look up to meet her eyes. She’s crying. And that’s when I see it. Now it all makes sense. The sound of the scissors was not from her wanting to inflict damage upon herself— she cut her hair. It rests at shoulder length, and she looks fucking beautiful.
“You can’t think I’m going to hurt myself every time you turn around, Bruno.” She has a point.
“I know, I’m sorry… I thought that… I’m just…” I sigh loudly, feeling relieved. “It suits you, I like it.” She looks down and runs her right hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, and then blushes. That’s a good sign.
“You can thank Carter, he gave me the idea.” She lets those words slide with poison. She knows I felt that low blow.
Dammit!
She walks past me with a plastic bag full of her hair, and leaves for her room. I can only think about two things— either she did it to please Carter, which is making me jealous again, or she did it because she needed a change. I hope it’s the second one, I really want it to be the second one. “Sarah… I’m going out.” She turns around. Her face is filled with stoutness and anger. I really don’t want to leave her alone again. “I thought that maybe you wanted to tag along,” I lie and hope she doesn’t accept the offer.
“Of course, I’m coming.”
Shit.
Who is this person, and where is Sarah?
CHAPTER 19
SARAH
While I was cutting away more than half of my hair with a pair of old scissors, Carter told Bruno about a person of interest and that they needed to meet. Out of shame for acting up, Bruno asked me if I wanted to go. I guess he never thought I’d say yes. After arguing for a couple of minutes about whether I should really go or not, he decided I could attend this meeting, under a few conditions:
1)Wear something to disguise myself. Which I agreed upon.
2)Carry a gun. I said yes, even though I don’t know how to handle one.
3)Stay in the car at all times. I’ll go ahead and let you guess the answer to that one.
If your guess was ‘fuck, no’, you’d be right.
The ride to the spot was boring at first. Even though it was just under an hour, he wouldn’t talk to me while driving on the highway. I could see something was bothering him, and he’d only look at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I grew tired of that game and started asking questions. “Who is this person we’re meeting?” He said nothing. “Bruno…”
“It doesn’t matter who he is. What matters is that when we get there you don’t talk or argue. You need to stay hidden and protect your identity. You are here with me because you insisted, and I’m still trying to understand how I agreed to do this. It’s imperative that you don’t show your face around this place. Got it?”
“Yes… I’ve got it four times now,” I answer with sarcasm. Something’s up with him. He’s nervous, or at least out of his usual character. I wonder why’s that.
“I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep repeating it until you get it. You don’t…”
“…talk or argue, stay hidden, don’t breathe, blah, blah, blah. I fucking got it, alright!?” I yell out that last part. I shouldn’t, but I’m starting to feel anxious. He laughs at my reaction.
The air feels dense in the car. “Good, then… Now… tell me something. Why did you cut your hair like that?” Is this really what’s bugging him?
“I don’t know. I guess I needed to change something i
n myself.” He doesn’t reply verbally; he just nods in silence.
A few minutes later, he pulls over at a crappy diner right off the highway. The surrounding area looks almost barren, the lot is partially full, and we start to walk towards the entrance. Walking through the front door of a public establishment with him for the first time since I’ve been out feels better than I had anticipated. Maybe it’s the outfit he picked for me, which makes me blend right in, with this worn-out ridiculous cap paired with your typical pair of sunglasses. Or maybe it’s the gun he gave me, for which he provided a more than needed crash course on how to properly handle it. Or perhaps I feel safe with him by my side. All these emotions are rushing through me at 100 miles an hour, making it impossible for me to pinpoint the exact reason for them. Inside, this place looks like a snapshot from the seventies, and I don’t mean in a good way— nothing is new, not even a single surface looks clean. I’m thinking I’ll have to burn these clothes afterwards, and then I see them: butt-crack-showing people sitting at the bar, having drinks and watching a game on a— yes, you guessed correctly, a TV so old that all the colors on the screen are shades of green. But that doesn’t seem to stop them from yelling at it. Looking further down the booths, we see the last one is taken by two men; one of them raises a hand and waves once. Bruno says, “This way. Stay close to me.”
The man who waved is Carter, who just saw me and frowned— that seems to be a family trait. He switches his gaze from me to Bruno, and I can tell he’s asking, “What the fuck is she doing here, cuz?” without saying a word.
Bruno points where I should sit, and he sits right next to me. Our legs are touching and even though he doesn’t look at me, I know he can feel the same tingling sensation I’m feeling. The stranger is sitting in front of me and asks, “Who is this?”
“Fucking Santa Claus. Let’s talk,” Bruno says.
The man looks at Carter. Before he can say anything, the waitress shows up and says, “What can I get y’all?”
“Water, bottled, and a tuna sandwich, no crust,” Bruno claims without taking his eyes from the man.
“Okay. The rest of you, folks?”
“That’s it, for now,” Bruno adds.
“M’kay, bottled water and a tuna sandwich with no crust. Comin’ right up!” she says and goes into the kitchen. Bruno waits until the waitress is far enough and starts talking. While they talk, I look at the man, who’s wearing a red and black lumberjack shirt, buttoned up to the very last button and sleeves rolled up showing colorful tattoos on both arms, and I can’t help but think that if Cassandra came across this man on the street, she’d cross the street in a second. Me on the other hand, I look at him hoping that he knows something about the person who destroyed my life.
“I’m not talking until I see the money,” he says raising his chin, showcasing a lot of scars on it.
“Where did you get this one?” Bruno asks Carter; he shrugs in reply.
“You’re going to pull this on us?” Carter says and crosses his left arm over the man’s shoulders. “You know how this goes— you talk, we pay, end of story. Don’t make this a B-rated movie where the snitch dies at the end of the scene.”
“I ain’t no snitch and I ain’t talking to nobody. You can shoot me with that gun o’yours and it wouldn’t make a difference,” the man says to Carter. I hadn’t noticed that Carter was holding a gun in his right hand and poking the man’s ribcage, until he mentioned it—my body jerks back.
The guy notices it.
Bruno notices it.
Carter probably notices it as well, but is more focused on keeping the gun on the ribs.
“Listen, punk. I didn’t drive all the way up here to hear you whine like a little bitch about money,” Bruno says gravely. “The way I see it, you’ve got two options— first, like Carter just said, you talk, we pay, everybody’s happy; second, no, we’re not going to kill YOU, not at all. We’ll pop every person in this God forsaken place, shoot you twice in the knee and call the cops. With luck, the EMTs will show up fast, patch you up, save you the hospital trip and send you straight back to the big house. Since you’re in parole, I’m sure they’ll skip the trial.” Bruno’s voice darkens. Is he being serious? Is this the Professor talking?
“Hey, hey, hey. No need to go all loco in here. I’m just looking out for my interest. I’ve been ripped off before, you know? But I guess the Professor wouldn’t do that.” He laughs nervously. Bruno doesn’t say anything. “Oye, all I know is that a young guy in his early twenties bought me a nine mil and a bunch of other stuff, and paid loads for them.”
“This guy had a name?” Bruno asks.
Before the man answers, the waitress shows up with the order. “Heeere we go. Bottled water and a sandwich.” She leaves the plate and the water in front of Bruno and leaves.
Bruno moves the plate in front of me without a word, but the message is pretty clear.
Eat.
“He wouldn’t give me his name, and for the big wad of cash he gave me I wasn’t going to press him for it.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Jorge. You know I don’t give a shit about putting on a show here tonight, and I’m sure as hell nobody will do business with someone who sells his customers to the highest bidder. So, will you be a dear and be cool? I don’t want to apologize to my friend for making him come all this way for nothing,” Carter says while poking Jorge’s ribcage harder and harder with the gun. He makes me laugh even when he’s threatening someone, but I can’t express that. My poker face is solid and Bruno’s too, with one small detail— he looks like a nuclear reactor about to go into overdrive.
“You guys are tough customers. Alright. He went by the name of Leon. You know, like lion, but in Spanish.”
“Okay, keep going. Give me dates and an address, something worth my time,” Bruno says.
“We met two weeks ago, I think.”
“Where, exactly?” Carter asks.
“At my place. That’s all I know, I swear to God,” he says while holding his palms together.
“No God or man can help you here. But don’t worry, be believe you,” says Carter. “You said a nine mil and some other things… What things?”
“A knife and some rope.” Jorge’s being coy, and Carter doesn’t like that. He pulls the hammer back until it clicks. Jorge jumps in his seat, only to be grabbed by Bruno by the arm, which makes him sit back down.
Bruno pulls a very big knife from his jacket and runs its tip on Jorge’s arm. “A butter knife or something more like this one?” Sweat is all over Jorge’s face.
“N— not that big of a blade on the one I sold. Braided rope, pliers and a grenade!” Jorge mumbles the first words.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of here,” Bruno says.
“Here’s your money. Now beat it and don’t turn back…” Carter says, “…or I will put a bullet in your asshole,” he whispers. Jorge stands up and bolts out of the place. “What do you think?” Carter asks.
“It’s him— Asad… The motherfucker’s buying locally. Tracking him now will be easier. Put a word out— we need his location,” Bruno says.
“Are you sure, cuz?” Carter sounds skeptical.
“The grenade confirms it— that’s his weapon of choice, it’s his favorite.”
“If that’s true, then we’re fucked beyond what we first though. We need to keep looking.” Carter sips the last of his coffee and looks at me. “Can I ask why she’s here?”
“I know we have to look. And no, don’t go there.”
“Okay, okay. Then at least let me tell you, that cap looks good on ya.” He winks at me. “And by the way, what happened to your hair?”
“Why do you ask? Do you need a new midnight wig?”
Carter bursts in laughter. Bruno doesn’t.
“That’s very good. That’s very, very good. I guess you took the ‘Snow White’ nickname a little bit too serious, though. On the other hand, you look gorgeous.” That comment made me aware of a feeling inside of me— I need to impre
ss Carter. I don’t know why, but I like it. I finish my sandwich, Bruno throws a couple of bucks on the table and we stand up. He puts a hand on my lower back and guides me towards the exit. Carter waves and leaves through the back door.
CHAPTER 20
BRUNO
Ishould be thinking about how we’re gonna catch this son of a bitch, but instead I’m picturing myself punching Carter in the face just for being cute with Sarah. I really can’t stand this fucking feeling and I hate that.
This isn’t who I am. I shouldn’t care at all. I must focus on finding ‘Leon’— that’s our number one priority. When I get this done, Sarah’s free once and for all. Meaning that she will also disappear from my mind.
We get in the car and I can feel her watching me. I don’t dare make eye contact, I’m afraid that she can tell what I’m feeling.
Is it fear?
I’ve never said those fucking words before! What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve been driving for more than an hour, but what she doesn’t know is that we’re not going home— we’re headed towards the only place on this earth where I can feel at ease. I really need to chill the fuck down. I look at her feet to see if she has the right shoes for the occasion— she does. If that weren’t the case, I’d have to carry her.
Shit… Bruno, you need to stop this.
Right, sorry about that.
I pull over by the road, and she throws a worried look at me with her beautiful blue eyes.
“What happened? Why did we stop?” Those two questions are full of uncertainty. That’s a legitimate feeling, considering all I’ve done to her, and I get it, but it still hurts.
I look at her and say soothingly, “I want to show you something… Will you come with me? There’s no catch, I promise, nothing weird or crazy.”
“Do I have a choice?” That’s her favorite follow-up question lately. She must ask it to make herself sure she’s not under my command, control or watch. Therefore, she needs to know that she’s free. Because freedom of choice is what humans are all about.