No Happy Endings

by Angel Luis Colón

  Aleksei shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”

  Fantine looked away and blew smoke through her nose. “I’m sorry. You mentioned business and now we’re playing some weird, sentimental catch up BS.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t help you. End of story. I’m not that little girl sitting in your bar while you and my mom schemed.” It was easy to be feisty with Aleksei, even if he had nothing to do with her mother’s death.

  Someone—from the looks of it, a waiter—brought a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses to the table. He wandered off into the back of the diner without a word.

  Fantine stared at the vodka. “I don’t drink.”

  Aleksei poured the shots in silence. A four count pour for each. “If the both of you were in the room, I would have difficulty telling the two of you apart.” He knocked back both shots. “Li...”

  “That wasn’t her name.” Fantine clenched her fists. “I asked politely. No more talk about her.”

  “As you wish.” Aleksei put out his cigarette in a shot glass and nodded towards Fantine. The twins stood up and flanked her at either side of the booth. One grabbed her shoulder while the other slipped a handcuff around her left wrist. The other cuff attached to a briefcase—a fancy one—all steel with no seams to tell where it opened.

  Fantine tried to pull away. “What the hell is this?” She tried to adjust the cuff. It was tight and already cutting blood flow to her hand.

  Aleksei poured another shot. “It is a briefcase. Inside is a timer and trigger.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. What does that have to do with the handcuffs?”

  “I do not want you to run away.” He eyed the briefcase. “Your father, how is his health?”

  Fantine lost her breath. Blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If you are good as they say you are—as your mother was—I would get to work. If you do not press the button in time,”—he spread his hands palm forward—“your father will...” Aleksei pause. “To be honest, I have no better word than ‘explode.’”

  A bomb. Fantine knew it—she didn’t want to believe it—but she knew the crazy Russian bastard had a reputation for the dramatic. Though, why he didn’t just threaten her with the trigger was beyond her. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a hole in this plot. Where was the bomb? Was it activated by radio, no; the range was way too far. Maybe a cellular signal kicked off detonation? This had to be a line of bullshit, there wasn’t time to think things through, not when her heart was trying to claw out her chest and her head swam in adrenaline. Fan’s bread and butter was security. Demo, violence, was something she avoided.

  Fine, Fan thought to herself, we’ll play your bullshit game.

  Fantine dug into the pocket of her hoodie and fished out one of her smaller picks. She undid the cuff from her wrist with ease and removed the other from the briefcase handle. Laying the briefcase on the table in front of her—handle side towards her—she ran her hands around the perimeter. The area nearest the handle was raised and continued across the sides of the case, but there was no seam. “This isn’t a clamshell,” she muttered to herself. “The outer layer of this case is a dock.” She slipped the lock pick back into her pocket and pulled out a small bag. She unrolled it to reveal a collection of specialized picks and a mini-stethoscope.

  Aleksei watched her. “Out of the business, but she has all the tools to...”

  “Shut up, I’m thinking.” Fantine raised a finger and spun the briefcase so the bottom faced her. Dead center was a divot with a small hole leading inside. She looked into the hole—no threading at the entrance—so this wasn’t meant to hold a screw. This would be where a custom key would slip in, depress a trigger, and release the docked portion of the briefcase. “This is baby stuff.” She fished one of her tools from her roll and tested the lock. Leaned in as she shifted it around. “No tumblers. It’s a release lock—just like I thought.” Fantine clicked her tongue. She chose what looked to be a dull, thick nail from her pick spread and shoved it into the hole.

  A click. The sound of air being released.

  Fantine grinned. Turned the briefcase back around and slipped it out the dock. She immediately frowned when she saw that there was a smaller clamshell case within. On its left side, a fingerprint scanner that deactivated the lock. To the right of the scanner, a little LED glowing red. “Damn it.”

  Aleksei snorted. Poured himself another shot. “I believe there may be a timer too.” He turned to the twins. “Is there a timer?”

  They nodded. “Another three minutes give or take,” one of them answered. He had darker hair than the other.

  Fantine studied the fingerprint scanner. Did her best to ignore the layer of sweat on her forehead. She took a breath. Told herself she’d seen this before—along the line of what corporate drones used to get into secure buildings or the fingerprint scanner one would see at Disney World. “This is cheap garbage. Bargain bin corporate security sold to paranoid assholes who think their confidential documents are super important just because they’ve got a salary in the low-six figures.” She shrugged. She knew the type; they made up the middle management at her day job. “Probably works at best, seventy-five percent of the time.” Fantine flipped the briefcase over. Saw a small gap in the panel where the scanner was screwed to the case. “Which means...” She snatched a flat-head screwdriver from her pick set and jammed it into the gap. “The company that made it knew there would be failures—a short or some other boneheaded programming fault.” She pulled hard against the scanner and it gave into her effort. The panel popped out, a few wires exposed. Fantine cut two of them with the flat head and pressed them together. A satisfying tone played and the briefcase popped open.

  There was nothing inside.

  Fantine blinked and stared at the empty briefcase. She expected a con, but there was no relief. She couldn’t look at Aleksei. The impulse to wing the briefcase at his craggy, bastard face was too overwhelming. “You piece of shit.”

  The twins immediately held her arms again. Fantine struggled, but the effort was wasted.

  Aleksei laughed out loud. His eyes sparkled. “It’s like the eighties again. Look at that fire.”

  “Fucking with my head isn’t the best way to go about getting me on board with your bullshit.” Fantine wanted to claw at his eyes, spit on his face. The twins made her rethink that.

  Aleksei shook his head and motioned for the twins to release her with one of his ringed bear paws. “Let her be.” He straightened the lapels of his suit jacket. “I intend to make us both a lot of money, Miss Park. You work well under pressure—maybe you cannot take a joke, but that is okay. You can learn.”

  Fantine narrowed her eyes. “Learn nothing. I told you I’m not in with this.”

  “Can you stop a bullet? Maybe lock pick a gun?” Aleksei raised his eyebrows. “Because that will be what’s next for your father.”

  Garbled English aside, the man was right. Still, Fantine wasn’t going to let him win easy. She knew Aleksei would at least recognize that after dealing with her mother for as long as he did. “Should I believe you? You fed me a line already.”

  “I have bullets available to me, Miss Park. Having your father shot would not be very complicated. Bombs are not as easy—the authorities actually look out for those.” Aleksei stood up. “They will bring you back to your father.” He motioned to the twins. “I will be in touch.” He turned and walked towards the kitchen.

  Fantine side-eyed the twins. “You guys alright with me taking a subway back? I’m not exactly into the idea of getting in a car with you again.” She forced a smile. “No offense.”

  The twins looked at one another, then back to her. They nodded at the same time.

  Fantine stood. She poured herself a shot of Aleksei’s vodka, slammed it down, and then poured another. She finished that one with equal fervor. “Okay—maybe that’ll help.” She wiped her mouth clean with a sleeve. The vodka burned—it was cheap. Fantine fought the impulse to wretch. She walk
ed to the exit of the diner and rested her hands on the cross bar of the door. “Tell your boss to give a call next time. Tell him to leave my dad out of this, too.” She rushed outside and walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run. When she spied a small alley between a bodega and a shuttered insurance office, Fantine ducked in and vomited.

  It took a minute to catch her breath. She spit and frowned at the taste of vodka and stomach acid coating her tongue. It was stupid to drink, but she wanted to make a point. What that point was; she didn’t have a clue.

  3

  “Yo.” Pete deadpanned as Fantine unlocked the door to their apartment. He was sprawled out on the couch playing yet another in the long line of cookie cutter gun games he obsessed about every year. “I thought you were getting back early.” Pete was dressed in a button-down and slacks. She seemed to remember something about a job interview today, but Fantine had a feeling that it didn’t pan out—like always. Seeing Pete so aloof set her off.

  Fantine walked over to the TV and slapped at the power button until the screen went dark. “We have a big fucking problem.”

  “Dude!” Pete sat up and reached for the remote. “This is a ranked match.”

  Fantine unplugged the console from the wall. “I give no fucks. Not one.” She stood and stared at Pete, her fists clenched. “Why did you tell your father I was done with my probationary period? Hell, why did you even tell him I was living here?”

  Pete’s eyes widened. He sat up and raised a hand as if to defend from a punch. “Whoa, hold on.”

  “Your fucking father, like, kidnapped me today, Pete.” Fantine pointed at the door for some reason, as if Aleksei were waiting outside. Pete looked so much like his father, only softer—more like he was molded from biscuit dough than stone. It was enough to get her temperature up and Pete was an easier target for her ire. She knew she shouldn’t milk it, but she would. “Answer my question. Why did you tell him about me? About us living together? I mean, hell, man they cut my parole period short because my PO trusts me.” She felt sick. “Holy shit, does he think we’re an item?”

  “Fan...” He stood up. “I haven’t spoken with that asshole in almost a year. I mean, I call my mom, but it’s not like he’s ever around.”

  “You tell your mom about our whole living situation, then?”

  “No. Besides, why the hell would she tell him?” He stared directly into her eyes.

  Fantine stomped to the fridge and yanked a six pack of Miller Lite from the back. She uncoiled a can from the rest of its troop and pulled back the tab. A satisfying hiss emerged. This was wrong, but she didn’t know what to believe. Pete didn’t have a reason to lie to her. As far as she knew, he was right. He and his father had enough trouble admitting there was a biological connection between the two of them; a conversation about life and random goings on was far from the norm in their relationship.

  Pete scrambled to his feet. “Hey, hey. Where did that come from?”

  Fantine took a long pull from the can and then wiped her mouth. A small burp came from her—almost quaint. “It’s been back there for weeks.” She shook her head. “You’d have seen it if you did your share of the chores.” She pointed a thumb at the magnetic white board on the refrigerator listing off weekly chores. All of Fantine’s were checked off. Pete’s chores—garbage and fridge clean up—were left unaccounted for.

  Pete sighed. “You already drank.”

  Fantine sat on a barstool they kept by the counter. “Maybe.”

  “Because of my dad?” There was a sincere sadness in his eyes.

  “Absolutely because of your dad.”

  Pete slipped his phone from his front pocket and then frowned. “Fuck, I can’t hold the parole officer over your head anymore.”

  “Nope.” Fantine grunted, stood back up, and collected another beer from the fridge. She gave Pete a single-finger salute and walked to her room. She slammed the door shut, collapsed into her desk chair, and nudged her wireless mouse with the bottom of her beer to wake her computer from sleep mode. Swept an array of picks, screwdrivers, and locks bought at Home Depot off the desk with her forearm onto the floor to make room for her beer. She turned on her computer monitor and logged into her VPN for work. Fantine was stressed. She needed something to break. In her line of work, that meant breaking security protocols for her employers—a security solutions startup focused on home and business safes. Fantine wasn’t their best employee—she made sure of that—but she was in the top five. Her mother taught her to always show off enough to get praise, but never at the level that received unwanted attention.

  So Fantine drank and worked. She typed and stared hard enough at her computer monitor to make her eyes go numb. When she logged out of her network client, it showed she’d been logged in for two hours. At least she was caught up—small victory. She didn’t feel drunk, but couldn’t remember when she finished off the rest of her beers.

  “Damn,” Fantine whispered to herself and stood up. Her lower back was stiff and her vision blurry. She needed another beer, but she didn’t want to get ambushed by Pete. He meant well, but at this juncture, she couldn’t see him as anything more than a pain in her ass. Fantine could hear him in her head, You didn’t have to drink, Let’s give a call to your sponsor. That last one would be rough. Fantine never went to AA—she lied about it weekly to Pete on account he threatened to toss her out. It was his apartment after all.

  They’d met each other as kids, back when her mother and his father did business together. They would play Galaga at Aleksei’s bar for hours, both completely ignorant of what their parents planned in the stock room. Fantine figured out how to get free credits in the game when Aleksei forbid Pete from taking quarters from the register. She’d always been good at getting things to open or work for her—like her mom. Even when their parents stopped working together, Fantine kept in touch with Pete. He was a good friend—now he was her only friend. This left her feeling especially betrayed. Pete was a confidant—the single person she entrusted so much of herself to and he seemed to barter it away so easily. And for what? Good faith from his father or something else?

  There was a knock on the door. Pete had a knack for knowing when to bother her. “Yeah?” she called out.

  “You sober?”

  “Mostly, why?” she figured that was true enough. Fantine could handle herself for at least four beers. Anything over that—or if shots got involved—and she was too far off the rails.

  “Mind opening the door?”

  Fantine stood. Stared at the door. “Is there a speech waiting for me?”

  “You won’t find out until you actually open the door.” There was a smile in his voice.

  That gave Fantine some hope that their discussion wouldn’t be too awkward. She walked over and unlocked the door. Turned and collapsed onto her bed. “Come on in.”

  Pete walked in. “I called my dad.”

  Fantine sat up. “Holy shit, Pete. He threatened my dad. Did you tell him I told you?”

  Pete raised a hand up. “Look man, I had to know how he found you. It’s not fair to you or,”—he pointed at an empty beer can—“your general health. What he did was fucking uncalled for.” Pete sat on a chair and scooped up a lock. “Apparently the psycho has me watched from time to time.”

  “What for?”

  Pete shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he thinks I hang out with cops or that my mom’s convinced me to start talking to the wrong people because the alimony checks aren’t big enough. Does it matter?”

  “It matters when he starts going after my father.” Fantine sighed. “I thought this was done when they locked me up. All of it.”

  “It was.”

  “And now I’m getting sucked into it again. I haven’t done a B&E in how long now? Fuck’s sake, I got lucky with Empire. I can’t do serious time.” Fantine wanted to pout, to cross her arms over her chest and feel sorry. In the back of her mind, though, she knew her luck wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, something was going to ca
tch up to her. Her mother always told her the business of stealing had a single absolute: nobody got away with it forever. Even if they quit while they were ahead. “And beyond the sword over my father’s head, Aleksei knows enough to do as bad to me.”

  Pete leaned over. Stared at the lock in his hand. “If that’s the case, I don’t know if there’s a choice here, Fan.”

  She stared at him. Felt her jaw go loose. “I thought you said you spoke to him.”

  Pete sighed. “I did. And there’s no convincing him. Apparently there’s too much money involved for him to think straight.” He shook his head. Dropped the lock back onto Fantine’s desk. “You know how he gets. Shit, he nearly killed your mom when she walked away from him.”

  “Then we go to the cops” Fantine stood up. Scrambled to get her shoes on. “They’d understand that I’m fresh off parole. I’ve got something lose.”

  Pete scoffed. “Be a fucking rat, dude? Then what? You get killed? Your father? Hell, my mother—even me?” Pete straightened up. “And don’t buy into anyone believing you’re redeemed, especially a cop. You’ve done time, you’re fucking trash to them, no matter how young and pretty.” He dragged a foot along the carpet. “Besides, it’s not like you have knowledge about my dad’s comings and goings.”

  He had her there. Fantine frowned and let her arms drop to her sides. “You’re right. There’s nothing.” She snatched her jacket from the floor. “I need to take a walk. Think about all of this.”

  “Are you gonna do it?” Pete watched her.

  “I have no idea. I don’t even know for sure what Aleksei wants.” Fantine walked out of her room.