by Abbi Hemp
“We need to get going,” Harris said. “The clock is ticking.”
“You should just run. Get out of the city.”
“And go where? This is the FBI we’re talking about here. I can’t run from them.”
“They probably let us both out to watch us. We need to be careful.”
“We’re innocent, Tyler. It’ll be okay.”
“If only the world worked that way,” I said.
She stepped back.
“I’ll follow this last lead.”
“Let me come with you. We can do it together.”
“No, that would be less safe. Think about it.”
“You’re right,” I said, unable to stop staring at her.
“I’ve been writing an article as I dig up more information. This will be the story of my career, Tyler.”
“I believe in you,” I said then kissed her again.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Wait about ten minutes, bro,” Harris said from the door.
“Thanks. I’ll get with you in a few days after things calm down. They have to know something was up tonight.”
“They’re not dumb,” he said.
After they left, I paced back and forth in the dusty lobby of the condemned hotel too shitty for even the poor bastards running amok in the city.
I have to save her.
No other thought mattered as much.
THIRTY-THREE
Mercy
Harris left before we reached my apartment building. I went inside alone, sending Jennifer a text message on my way up to the eleventh floor.
“Come over. Need to talk.”
The feds were likely listening, but I didn’t care. I had been using the neighbor’s WiFi signal, so hopefully they didn’t know about my research online.
As I found out more about the players involved in the smuggling operation, everything made more sense. Following the money trail had paid off.
If they let me get the information out. A story so big would not be accepted by many traditional news outlets and most of the bloggers like Huffington Post.
By the time Jennifer arrived, I had myself worked up, ready to take on the world. She walked in my apartment, glanced at the printed sheets of paper strewn everywhere and whistled.
“You got some serious Erin Brockovich activity going on in here.”
“Close the door. You haven’t been with Roger, have you?”
“No…Why?
“You can’t see him again.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, stopping by me in front of the couch as I stared down at the stacks of paper neatly arranged on my glass coffee table.
“Good. He’s a bad man.”
“He’s bad in bed too.”
She laughed, still clueless.
“You don’t understand. He’s a criminal, and there’s no telling what he’s capable of doing.”
“This is Roger, the guy you set me up with, right?”
I furrowed my brow, frowning.
“I’m so sorry. Do you forgive me?”
“I guess. I’m still confused, to be honest.”
“It’s easy. Roger, and maybe Tyler, were involved in a smuggling operation out of Afghanistan.”
“Tyler was involved too?”
“I’m pretty sure. From what the FBI said, they’re ready to forgive him.”
“The FBI?” She tilted her head back and stared at me. “You’re putting me on, right?”
“No, Jen. I’m totally serious. I’ve been freaking out. They told me not to get in contact with Tyler, but…”
“Let me guess,” she interrupted. “You talked to him anyway.”
“He came to me, to check on me. I think he loves me.”
Her eyes widened.
“Already?”
“I know, right? This is the real thing. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. We connect.”
“But now the FBI is saying you can’t see him.”
“Exactly. Unless I can unravel the mystery of who is behind this smuggling operation and where all the money is going.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
“You have an idea to help?”
“No! I almost forgot to tell you. I’ve met a new guy.”
I resisted rolling my eyes.
“That’s nice, but…”
“No, really. He’s great, a rock star.”
My eyes rolled on their own.
“I’m serious, Mercy. We’ve been getting along well so far, and we haven’t even slept together.”
“That’s great. I’m glad for you, but I’m kind of in middle of an emergency right now.”
“Have you called your dad?”
“Um, no. Why would I call him?”
“Duh. He’s a spy.”
“I’ve told you, he’s not a spy.”
“And I’m telling you he’s definitely some sort of spy. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“You back on the drugs?”
“No, but I wish I was sometimes. It hurts you don’t believe me.”
“I’m a journalist, Jen. If my mother were alive and said she loved me, I would look into it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that line before. I’m going. All this talk of the FBI and spies has me spooked.” She giggled. “Spooked. Get it?”
Many people might hate Jen for being so goofy and seemingly unconcerned with helping me, but I understood she would only get in the way. I had a hell of a lot of work to do if I would bring down the people smuggling precious minerals out of Afghanistan on a massive scale.
Clearing the good name of Tyler and myself also mattered. I saw Jennifer out of the apartment then returned to my laptop. Running the Tor browser made it more difficult for them to watch where I went on the Dark Web, a real source of information that flew fast and free.
As I worked on the story of my career, I realized Tyler needed to go on the record in the story. While nothing would stop me from masking his identity, having his name attached would make it even more powerful when the story broke online. If I ever finished.
THIRTY-FOUR
Mercy
As much as I hated to admit it, Jennifer had given me decent advice. Even though my father wasn’t a freaking spy, he was my superhero and might have an answer to my dilemma.
He appeared surprised yet happy when I appeared at his doorstep. I threw my arms around him and hugged tightly. No matter the situation, he always made me feel better.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Come inside.”
I stepped in the apartment.
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“How long have I been your father?”
“Don’t remind me,” I said. “I’ve got a problem, and I thought you might have an idea on how to solve it.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I need to sneak into a building with no one knowing it’s me.”
He tilted his head to the side as he studied me.
“You sure everything is okay? You can talk to me.”
“I know, Dad. Everything’s fine. It’s just… for my job.”
While I hated to lie to him, he didn’t need to know the FBI was after me. Some things were better kept from parents no matter your age.
“Well, you need a good disguise.”
“Like a mask or something? Maybe a wig?”
He laughed.
“If you want to look conspicuous, that will work, but if you want to blend in, you’ll need to work on it more. Lucky for you, I can help.”
It was my turn for me to tilt my head in curiosity.
“You’re an expert at disguises?”
“It’s been helpful in my career.”
“As a traveling salesman?”
“Yes, dear, as a traveling salesman.”
We made eye contact for a few seconds. I looked away first, not ready to push him about the whole spy nonsense. I needed to get to Tyler and get him to agree to be in my sto
ry on the smuggling operation.
A few minutes later, he had me sitting on the toilet seat as he straightened a blonde-haired wig on my head. I struggled like a schoolchild not wanting to go to school.
“Hold on,” he said. “Let’s accentuate your eyebrows and make you look Middle-Eastern.”
“No!” I said.
He stepped back and peered at me down his long, thin nose.
“No?”
“I mean, it’s fine. As long as I look different.”
“That’s better,” he said, going back to work.
“How did you learn this?” I asked to change the subject.
“Oh, don’t worry about it right now, dear. Let’s finish your make-up.”
Forty-two minutes later, I looked like an entirely different person. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
“Well?” Dad asked.
I smiled.
“This will work.”
“You go get your story,” he said. “Don’t be like me. I failed your mother, and…”
“Stop it, Dad!” I interrupted. “Seriously. You’re the best man I know, the only one who could pull off being a mother and father for me growing up.”
He frowned. I put my hand on his arm, rubbing it gently.
“Dad, I’m serious. I love you.”
“I love you too, dear. Now go before you get emotional and smear your mascara.”
“Makeup tips from my salesman father. Gotta love it.”
He smiled meekly then walked away. I heard the garage door slam and knew he’d snuck off to have a cigarette. I mean, Jennifer was an idiot thinking he was a spy. Not my dad.
* * *
Lucky me, I thought as I nodded my head at the doorman, not saying a word. He winked but said nothing. Did he know? Would he let me go upstairs then rat me out to the feds?
Calm down, I told myself. How could he even know they’re looking into you? When I made it to the elevator, I hit the button, pacing back and forth impatiently while waiting for it.
The second it arrived, I dashed inside and pressed the button for his penthouse suite. I remembered the federal agents busting us right after fucking, but I didn’t care. With his help, I would be able to run my story and at least make our story public. If I pulled that off, we’d have more protection.
At the top floor, I got out and knocked on the door in the private foyer. He answered, eyes opening wide as soon as he saw me.
“What are you doing here? Come inside.”
“I couldn’t wait to talk to you. I’ve found out some stuff on Jeffries you need to hear. My story is almost done.”
“Are you crazy?” he asked, killing my mood.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t run this story. It’s too dangerous.”
“Think about it,” I said, putting my hand on his thick arm. “If we go public, they can’t disappear us. At least not as easily.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t like it.”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t really need your information or to even source you in the story.”
“Other journalists will look into it and see I was at FOB Rushmore during the same time period. Are you willing to ruin my life like that?”
“Ruin your life? What about me? Are you not interested in a life for both of us?”
He took a deep breath, taking a few steps away before stopping and turning. “No.”
“No, what?” I asked, following him.
“I’m not helping you with this. I’ll go to the feds and tell them it was all me.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“Name calling? Really? Are you like twelve or something?”
“You can be such an asshole sometimes. You know that?”
“And you can be a…”
He grimaced, not finishing the thought.
“Fuck you, Tyler. I came all the way over here to share the good news with you, and you’re not interested in anything other than controlling what I do.”
“Come on, Mercy. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Someone who stands up for myself? Maybe I should hook you up with Jennifer.”
“I love you,” he said, putting a strong hand on my waist.
We made eye contact.
“Prove it.”
He sighed, removed his hand, and looked away.
“You should go,” he said. “We don’t want them to catch you here. They probably followed you.”
“I don’t have my phone on me, and I took some evasive measures.”
“Yeah, I noticed the wig.”
I pouted.
“Why do we have to do this to ourselves?”
“I don’t know,” he said then repeated, “You should go.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you when I talk to you, I guess.”
As I rode the elevator downstairs, anger boiled up inside me, ready to burst. The poor doorman must have thought I was such a bitch as I left the building in a rage.
Fuck men, and especially fuck Tyler.
He might have been fuckable, but he was not worth the trouble.
THIRTY-FIVE
Tyler
I went to see an attorney the next day. The prick had the nerve to ask what I’d been smoking before I came in. His eyebrows came together in confusion as he realized I wasn’t kidding.
“If you’re being investigated under the Patriot Act, I’m not sure I want anything to do with you. Why didn’t you work with the feds?”
“We were. They came after us a few hours later. The only thing I can think is that someone higher up told them to go after us and not the ones still doing the shit.”
He shook his head.
“I’m afraid my hourly rates…”
“Fuck your hourly rates,” I said, cutting him off. “Can you help me or not?”
“If you have the money, I can help you.”
“I have the fucking money.”
“Good, good,” he said, actually rubbing his hands together.
Can I trust this guy to keep Mercy and I safe?
After I told him the rest of the details concerning Mercy, his expression changed to fear and loathing once again.
“Do not, under any circumstances, go anywhere near that story on the record or off.”
“That’s what I told her, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t think with your dick.”
“Excuse me?”
“Calm down. I’m keeping it real because you’re paying so much.”
“What are your rates, again?”
“Two…” He studied my reaction. “Fifty per hour.”
“Fine. You’re the only one who didn’t kick me out of their office today.”
“I bet. For now, I recommend you go home and lie low. If you’re not working, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“Right.”
I stood, looking down at him as he sat behind his expensive Mahogany desk.
“I’ll call you when I learn something new.”
“See my receptionist out front to put down a retainer.”
“Ten grand work?”
His eyes widened.
“Wait. I thought you said you weren’t involved in this smuggling operation.”
“I was in the past, but I’m not anymore. Don’t you even listen? This is my life we’re talking about here.”
“You have to admit that it’s a bit confusing,” he said, rubbing his moustache.
I headed to the door of his office, ready to pay and go prepare for whatever awaited me next. Between the feds, Roger, Mercy, and everyone else, there was no telling what it would be, but I wanted to be ready.
After swiping my Visa Black Card in the lobby of his office in a rubdown strip mall, I headed to catch the Staten Island Ferry back to the city.
THIRTY-SIX
Tyler
I headed to her apartment when I returned, intent on talking her out of doing the story
. If the feds tried to stop me, they could talk to my attorney.
As I took the subway then walked toward her building, my thoughts on the matter shifted. Where I had once thought it best for her not to do the story, I came to understand her point of view.
Once I admitted to myself she was right, it all made sense. The story being in the public eye would give us some level of protection and keep us from disappearing into a holding cell in some bunker.
By the time I reached her building, I had my mind made up. The feds could fuck themselves for all I cared. I had served my country, and I deserved to be allowed totell the truth.
Doing so would likely end up with me prosecuted or perhaps losing my military pension, but as long as I had Mercy by my side, nothing else mattered.
I walked straight up to the front door of her building and pressed the buzzer for her apartment.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” I said.
“What are you doing here?”
The door buzzed and clicked. I opened it and went inside. On the way up to her floor in the elevator, I thought again about my decision to be honest with her and the world about what I’d been a part of in Afghanistan when I served.
My mind and my heart battled the whole way up. When I stepped out of the elevator, doubts hit me hard. Was I making yet another mistake?
I pushed the self-doubt aside and made my way to her apartment. She stood in the doorway, waiting as I approached. I saw a look of worry and concern on her face.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, stepping back into her apartment.
“We’ve got to talk. I don’t like the way our last conversation ended,” I said, walking in and closing her door.
“Me either.”
“Wow, you’ve really been working,” I said, glancing at all the papers scattered around her living room.
“You don’t even know. It’s been crazy, but it’s all coming together.”
I took a deep breath.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ll allow you to use me as a named source.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I put a hand on her waist. “If we’re serious about our relationship moving forward, we need to work together.”