At that moment, she envied them.
And she really should have seen this coming.
1
October 25th, 2012—King’s Harbor Care Center—Bronx
Fantine hated King’s Harbor Care Center. Her father, Jae, insisted on this being his nursing home—right off Gun Hill Road in the Bronx and by the highway. He treated King’s Harbor like some holy place—preordained to be where he spent the rest of his ornery, incontinent days. As if a seven-story building built to imprison the old was the perfect place to go into exile and pay for a blank list of sins.
The home stank of shit, medicine, and old books. The halls were terribly lit and it seemed there was always a single, sad, senile old man in a wheelchair on each floor. The décor, like the people, was weathered and sad. Faded wallpaper with strange designs running in uneven, vertical rows. There was probably a time when the carpets were actually red instead of a sad impression of pink. Where there was no carpet, linoleum reigned supreme. Fantine swore she could smell fumes coming off the material and often wondered when the news would hit that anything made before 1980 was pumping a steady supply of carcinogens into the air.
Hell, Fantine didn’t know if there was an actual King’s Harbor in the Bronx to begin with. Her father had no reason to be here. They lived in Yonkers for most of her life and moved to New Rochelle for a year or two when her mother died. The only time she remembered her parents going into the Bronx was for food or the occasional visit with a friend. It made little to no sense. Then again, not much about her father made sense these days. Jae retreated into himself and seemed to die a little with his wife. He still spoke and cracked jokes, but that spark, that fire he once had was snuffed. Maybe this was why he chose exile in the Bronx. Fantine had given up on looking for answer, so she accepted his choice and did her best to keep him cared for and comfortable—no matter how much he fought her. Hell, she figured the fighting is what kept him going—and she was pretty sure he enjoyed it, no matter how much he pretended not to.
Fantine steadied herself against the elevator wall. It was sticky, almost sweaty, against her shoulder. She pulled away from it with a grimace. “Gross,” she muttered. Fantine closed her eyes and took a long breath. The car was small and slathered in thick, green paint—chock full of lead, without a doubt. She slipped a deadbolt lock she kept in her pocket and a lock pick from the other. She enjoyed timing herself against the elevator. This was a new one she picked up the other night. It came with bells and whistles, the packaging proclaiming that it was “top of the line” and “rugged.” Nothing about being incapable of being picked, though. A bell pinged as the elevator lazily reached each floor. By the time it sounded off four times, the deadbolt was opened.
“Junk,” she said.
The elevator doors slid open and to her left, Douglas Stratford—the 6th floor’s wheelchair orphan. She only knew his name because it was written in permanent marker on the back of his chair on legal paper. Fantine smiled. She slipped behind Douglas and pushed him to his room. Turned the TV on for him. She made sure to stop at the nurse’s desk to get the word out that Douglas was left alone in the halls—again. The nurses gave her the side eye and curt nod. One of them impressed with her French tips while the other dug her nose a little deeper into a tabloid magazine.
This didn’t bother Fantine, she was used to it. Places like this made everyone numb after a while. Even the staff was worn down to the damn nub. It was a miracle anything survived here when it all laid static and in danger of falling to dust at the slightest provocation.
Fantine found her father, Jae, cursing at the other nurse on duty in terrible Korean—the only Korean he knew.
“Cut it out, Dad,” Fantine said while smiling to the nurse, “I can take care of him now, Sandy.”
Sandy answered with a tired frown and left the room.
“Mee-cheen-nyun,” Jae called to Sandy’s back. He turned to Fantine. “I don’t trust her.”
Fantine slipped her bag from her shoulder and tossed it onto a chair. “You’re just an old racist pretending he can say more than six words in Korean.”
“Well, I am Korean.” He lifted a thin finger and waved at it her. “So are you. Be proud of your heritage.”
“Get off it, Dad. You’re second generation. We’ve never left the country.”
Jae muttered something under his breath and snatched his TV remote from the nightstand near his bed. He turned on “The Price is Right.” Someone was struggling to turn that oversized wheel while the host smiled as a conditioned response. Stockholm Syndrome on daytime television. “Why aren’t you at work?” Jae looked down at the remote as he jammed a finger against the channel select button. He cracked the heel of his palm against it. “These TVs are all broken.”
Fantine sat down at the edge of Jae’s bed. “Took a half day.” She reached over and snatched the remote away. Opened the battery compartment, flipped the AAs to the correct position, and handed the remote back to her father. “Here.” Fantine then reached into her pocket and dug a folded paper out. She unfolded it three times and held it out to Jae. “Guess who’s officially been rehabilitated?”
Jae took the remote. Pressed the offending button again—it worked. He snickered. “You forged that signature?”
Fantine frowned. “Fuck, Dad, no. My parole officer signed me off. I’m done. No more bullshit. No more felon status.”
“You’ll always be my little felon.” Jae turned to her with a smile. “Well, you have a job, at least. Not like they knew about this, or about what else you can do.” Jae shook his head. “She says she’s rehabilitated, but she works for a security company. You tell them you can probably crack whatever they can throw at you?” It wasn’t until the past few years that he spoke positively about Fantine’s skills. Before her mother died, it was the last thing he ever wanted to talk about. Now, it was the only time he seemed to be generally enthusiastic, so Fantine let it slide. She’d been obsessed with her mother’s double life from the moment she found out about it, much to her mother’s dismay. It took time, but Fantine chipped away at the resistance and convinced her mother to teach her everything she knew about lock picking and safe breaking. It was exciting, and better yet, came natural to Fantine. It was bizarre that now she and her father stood on separate sides after everything that happened.
She slapped her father’s leg. “I like my job more than being a crook. The less they know about...that, the less chance of me ending up back in the bad place.” She may have done her time, but it didn’t mean she was dead. Fantine had to fudge facts to get a job and take care of her father after she served her minimum of two years—her mother’s old lawyer was a goddamn miracle worker. Three years of parole left her having to take a part time job as a late night dispatcher for a cab company. Thankfully, it was a quiet gig and her PO was cool with it. This freed Fantine up to getting a real job in the city that paid enough to take care of her father. The risks were the same, but the motive was noble—she could live with that.
Fantine stood up and fetched Jae’s wheelchair from the corner of the room. She unfolded it and locked everything into place. “Come on. You need some fresh air before you start blending in with the bed sheets.”
Jae grumbled again. He slid his legs over and off the bed. Slowly straightened himself up. He moved like a stop-motion puppet. “Not too long. There’s a show I wanna watch.”
“A soap opera?” Fantine smiled as she secured a cushion on the wheelchair.
“No.”
“Living the good life, Dad, you lie down all day; stare at pretty white girls on TV.” She rolled the chair beside Jae and helped him onto it. “Comfortable?”
Jae slid into the wheelchair and nodded. “I don’t like the white girls.” He leaned in and grinned. “I prefer the little Latina ones.”
“Ugh, gross. I don’t need to know about your creepy old man fetishes.”
“Bah, you talked about it first. I’m allowed to look either way. Old man like me has few joys anymore.”
“I have no interest in things you want to look at, Dad. I don’t even acknowledge you and mom had me naturally.” The subject matter could have been less repellent, but Fantine was glad to bicker with her father for a change. He seemed to be in a good mood. She made a mental note to check to see if his medications were changed.
Jae cackled. “So what, you were a virgin birth?”
“In my mind, absolutely.” Fantine slipped the shoulder straps of her bag onto the back of the wheelchair. She stretched her arms out to either side and let her wrists go limp. “I think I’d look good immortalized in wood or marble.”
Jae shook his head. “My little anti-Christ.”
“Ha-fucking-ha.” Fantine rolled Jae out the door of his room and down the hall. “Downstairs or the patio?”
“Downstairs. That little weirdo keeps trying to talk to me on the patio. She smokes terrible cigarettes.” He held his nose and frowned. “Besides, she’s fat.”
“Misses Rafe is very nice.”
“She smells.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Dad.”
“Takes one to know one, kid.”
It was loud outside. The highway nearby provided a chorus of cars speeding and honking—the occasional baying of an eighteen-wheeler. Fantine walked Jae around the King’s Harbor building a few times before sitting on a bench.
“It’s cloudy,” Jae complained.
“The air will be good for you.” Fantine stretched her arms out across the bench.
Jae snorted. “At least I have my jacket.”
“I brought lunch.” Fantine rooted through her backpack and fished out two baggies with hero sandwiches inside. “Your favorite from that place on Buhre Avenue. I made a quick stop before I got here. Hopefully it’s good. They changed owners.”
Jae nodded his mood visibly brighter. “Ham, Swiss, and mustard on semolina?”
Fantine slipped a half of sandwich out of the bag and handed it over. Then she fished out a soda. “I figured an early visit deserved a treat.”
“Thanks,” Jae said between bites. “You know there’s no will or money, right?”
Fantine laughed. “You know me, always trying to get my hands on that Park fortune.” She pulled a half a sandwich out of her own bag. Unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and took a long pull.
“Is that water?” Jae arched an eyebrow.
“I’ve behaved for six weeks.” Fantine took a bite of her sandwich.
Her father put his hand out. “Give me a sip.”
She handed him the water bottle.
Jae unscrewed the cap, lifted the bottle to his nose, and then took a sip. “Good.”
“You should try trusting me sometime.”
“I trust you, Fan; the problem is I know you too well.”
A black Escalade parked in front of the building. Two immense men in sweat suits stepped out and wandered over to the front entrance. They both wore sunglasses and had their hair slicked back. Had the appearance of gym rat twins. They stopped in their tracks when one spotted Fantine and slapped the beefy arm of the other. He jabbed a fat finger at her.
“Miss Park?” His accent was strong—voice heavy with bass.
Fantine sighed. “I didn’t do it.”
They both laughed. “No. Someone would like to speak with you.”
She stayed seated. Looked to her father. “I’m a little busy right now.”
One of the twins turned to Jae. “Do you mind?”
Jae frowned. He craned his neck to take a long look at the car. “Old business?”
They nodded.
Fantine watched the exchange. What did her father know about this?
“Fan, go with them.” Jae rolled backwards and edged to the entrance of the home. “I can get upstairs on my own. Don’t make any trouble—you should know these people live to make trouble over nothing.” Someone held the door open for him and he waved a goodbye.
Fantine watched her father roll inside. Took another bite of her sandwich and stared at one of the twins. “You mind giving me a how or why before I blindly follow your asses into a car I don’t know?”
The twins turned to each other then back to her. They both shook their heads in unison.
Fantine finished her sandwich, collected the garbage, and tossed it in the trash. Took her time getting to her feet. She wiped her hands on her pants. “Alright, let’s go.”
One of the twins tried to take Fantine by the arm. She shrugged away with a frown and gestured to them to go ahead of her. They walked in silence to the SUV. The rear driver side door swung open slowly. Fantine slid in—almost went too far on the rich leather upholstery. She clung to the seat with one hand while pulling the door closed.
There was a man to her left. Aleksei Uryevich. Fantine knew him from childhood, but the last time they’d spoke was in front of her mother’s casket as he shoved a wrinkled envelope with twenties into her hand. That wasn’t as long ago as she pretended, but she found herself surprised at the differences seven years marked on him. He was older—wider. Still looked as if he was artlessly sculpted of rock—stereotypically Russian—a craggy face and a sour frown. This was a man who strangled his joy away lifetimes ago. He turned to look at Fantine, stared at her for a long hard time.
“Congratulations on the first day of true freedom,” Aleksei said. The car began to move. He stared at her with a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “You always look exactly like her when you are angry.”
Fantine scowled. Her was mom—a subject that she didn’t need to jump head-first into today. “Is this some kind of weird catch up visit?” She stared out the window and ran a nail over the leather interior. “I wouldn’t mind talking about any money you may have owed her.”
Aleksei chuckled. “No, not visit.” He leaned over, his face darkening. “Now that you are nice and clean, I have a job for you. One I think only you can do. One that you owe me.”
2
Fantine stared at her host from across the table. “Can’t even wait for me to have a week or two as a totally free woman, huh?” She looked around the diner. It was a rundown relic in Coney Island—surrounded by ancient carnival attractions that packed in more rats and roaches than people these days. There was a sickly sweet smell hanging in the air—the stench of cheap European cigarettes mingling with it. Fantine was surprised the place still existed. Coney Island, much like New York’s other forgotten islands, Staten and Roosevelt, were blank spots in her mental map of the city and its surrounding boroughs.
“Nobody is ever entirely out of the business are they? You are clean—free to return to what you do best. I cannot ignore that.” Aleksei smiled. His lips were so thin it seemed more like an old wound opened up on his face.
Fantine leaned back. The upholstery of her seat was cracked all over and exhaled as it gave in to her weight. She swore she smelled brine. “I guess not. Though, I think I’ve been pretty clear to anyone who’s asked before; I’m done, you know, retired. I get that maybe I owe you, but you could at least approach this with a softer hand. Hell, I’ve got to wonder how you even found out about this at all.” That last bit was a lie. She knew damn well who told Aleksei to approach her. They were on track to have a good talking to after this sit down. Fantine didn’t rule out violence either.
Aleksei smiled. “Your disdain for my decision matters not. What matters is I assisted you with your father’s care and now, you are available to work towards repayment.” He lit a cigarette and puffed for a moment. “So, this job.”
“I’ll say it again; I’m really not interested in any work. You give me time and I will pay you cash back with interest.” Fantine raised her hands. “No offense, but I’ve gone straight. Have myself a steady gig and everything. I only came along because, well,”—she looked to the twins—“I felt a little more than compelled against my will.”
Aleksei ashed his cigarette on the old wood floor. “Again, when I say I have a job for you, it is not so much of a request, ponyat?” He leaned in and arched a bushy
brow. “I am not a fan of wasting time, especially my own.”
She nodded. “See, that’s the kind of attitude that’s making this situation less of an offer and more of a kidnapping and strong-arm kind of thing.”
“You are absolutely right.” Aleksei blew smoke over their heads. “I have no concern for your needs. Only that you are equipped to assist me obtain something that I want.” He pointed the lit end of his cigarette at her. “Don’t play coy, I know you are good.” Aleksei turned to the twins seated to their right. “You gentlemen know this is the girl who hit Empire City alone, right?” He narrowed his eyes. “What was the take on that? What a shame to lose it all so quickly. They arrested you how soon, five hours after?”
Fantine eyed the twins. They both raised their brows—as much of an emotional response as she’d expect. “I don’t talk about that anymore.” Empire City was a good take, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Aleksei. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she played the system well enough to squirrel away enough of that take and cover her tracks to leave a nice, fat retirement fund for her when the time was right. Getting caught wasn’t entirely part of the plan, but Fan was cautious and planned as if it was the most likely outcome. Betting against herself to maintain the money wasn’t so hard.
Aleksei watched her. “I don’t think I ever told you how upset I was to hear your mother passed. How that swayed me to assist you in your time of need.”
Fantine reached across the table and slipped a cigarette from Aleksei’s pack. “Doesn’t the Bible say something about living by the sword?” She slipped the cigarette between her lips and leaned forward.
Aleksei lit her up. “That does not seem to make sense. Your mother was never violent.”
Fantine took a pull of the cigarette and shrugged. “But she was in a violent business.” She sighed. “Besides, does it actually matter to you? Do we really need to talk about this?” Her mother’s end was sudden and violent—punctuated with lead. One last job where a new partner panicked and decided Fan’s mother was a loose end. When it happened, that sheen Fantine saw in the criminal life faded. She may have wanted to be like her mother, but not in death. So Empire City happened—one last gig before leaving the life. Didn’t work out as well as she planned, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel Aleksei was blocking.
No Happy Endings Page 2