We sit on stiff leather chairs and study the sparse room. A coffee table contains the latest editions of Billionaire and Jetgala magazines. I scoff at the cover showing a black Playboy jet and three Playboy Bunny girls on a wing. A sea light mounted on a metallic tripod sends a beam of light onto an antique dagger situated on the wall beneath big, bold letters proclaiming Black Dagger Security. I wonder how a black dagger will fare against an AK-47.
A door on the other side of the room buzzes open and an Asian woman with short, cropped hair enters carrying a tray, and places two black enamel cups filled with vibrant green tea onto the coffee table. Her eyes refuse to make contact with either of us and she leaves as quickly as she enters.
A flash of movement in the aquarium draws my eyes over and I grimace at the sight of the piranhas pecking away at a guppy with red slashes on its beautiful scales. The door buzzes again and in hobbles an old man with a flaky scalp, dabbing at a runny nose with a silk handkerchief. His eyes are dead and his expression unreadable.
“You must be young Zachary, then?” The old man coughs up phlegm and spits it into the handkerchief. “You might want to keep your distance; I’m battling a nasty case of the flu.”
He fixes his dull, gray eyes on Zachary. “So what brings you here?”
Zachary glances at me then looks back at the old man. “This is my friend, Clarise Chambers.”
A shiver runs through the old man at the mention of my name but his face remains unaffected.
“Chambers, eh? Your father’s got it in a bad way; at least, that’s what they say. And why have you come to me?”
“I need your services. My brother is in trouble and we need your help.”
“We? You mean you and Zachary or you and your father? With whom am I doing business with?”
I look at Zachary, perplexed, and he just stares at the darkly stained walnut floor. My voice is clear, determined. “Me. You’ll do business with only me.”
The man studies the bag on my lap and licks his lips. “Cash?”
“From my grandmother…before she died…for use in times of need.”
“I like how your grandmother thinks…or thought, pardon me, may she rest in peace. Now how can I help you?”
Zachary tells the old man a shortened version of the story and gives him the street block where the warehouse is. The man’s face twitches and his eyes fall to his lap.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. If your brother was stupid enough to end up there and you haven’t heard from him in twenty-four hours, he’s a good as dead.”
CHAPTER 17
I KNOW WHAT the man says isn’t true; I believe Keary’s father enough to know he wants Phillip alive. But I realize all the same that my chances of finding Phillip on my own are slim to none. Oddly enough, I’m one of those people who like it when the odds are against me. I believe I can still find him—on my own if necessary.
Zachary and I say good-bye to the old man and leave the building in a hurry. I catch a glimpse of Zachary’s pale, nervous face and realize he’s not the best person to take along. No wonder I picked Keary over him. He’s just an indolent, spoiled wimp. I wish that Keary was with me; I’m sure he’d back me up without a second thought for his own safety.
We clamber into the car and ignore the Italian driver’s nervous mood. I tell him the address to the C Street warehouse and notice Zachary’s body twitch in terror.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to go in there—I’ll go by myself. You can stay in the car.” Like the punk bitch you are.
“No way, I can’t let you go in there. You heard the old man: even he wouldn’t accept a job that involves them. It’s freakin’ suicide.”
I sigh irritatedly. “Fighting brawn with brawn is suicide. I’m only going there to have a conversation with them.” It was stupid of me to think of hiring security professionals to deal with mafiosi. It’s much better to underplay the whole situation. Maybe whatever Howard McNaughton is paying them I can pay more. Somehow this sounds like just another business transaction. The thing I am worried about is exposing myself to too much risk, so I decide to try and do everything out in the open if possible.
After a long drive through Boston we finally arrive at the warehouse and the driver parks the car on the opposite side of the entrance. I tell him to wait, grab a $10,000 stack of bills from the bag and stuff it in my purse. Nearing the paint-peeled metal door, I feel a shiver slide along my spine, wondering who’s inside the old warehouse.
There’s no buzzer at the entrance so I make a fist and pound on the door. I turn and glance at the tensed faces of Zachary and the driver and amuse myself with the thought that they look like scared little boys. My gaze shifts back to the warehouse—the gray exterior, the iron grating covering blackened windows, the trim overhang—and I spot a security camera aiming at me. I give the camera a small wave and a prim smile.
After awhile I hear boots clapping against the floor inside the warehouse, coming ever closer to the door. There’s a series of locks turning, and a cascade of metallic clicking and scraping. The door creaks open and a nasty-looking black gun points at my forehead, held by a skinny, rat-faced boy maybe two years older than me. The middle of his bare chest contains a black cross tattoo, on his shoulder a spider’s web, and on his arm an intricate snake. I can distinctly see the small cross, star, and sunray tattoos on the fingers of the hand holding the gun.
“Sto shu ka?” The boy’s voice seems artificially lowered, gruff and threatening.
“I have a business proposition to discuss.” I try to sound legitimate, but end up sounding stupid and shrill.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He waves the gun at the road. “Get out of here, bitch.”
“You have my brother, Phillip Chambers. And I have money.”
His black eyes narrow, considering me as if for the first time. “Inside.”
I shake my head no and take a step away from the door. “I will show you the money inside my purse so you know what I have to say is real.”
He aims the gun at my chest and gazes expectantly at my purse. I open it slowly and display the stack of bills. He purses his lips, makes a satisfied smacking sound, and twitches his shoulder like he doesn’t give a fuck.
“I have much more. All I need is to talk to someone who represents your interests—in a neutral place. The Starbucks near the Seaport World Trade Center.” I am certain someone inside is studying this entire conversation from a video feed.
The boy rolls his head around and slams the door shut. Is it enough for them to take the bait?
I turn and walk coolly towards the car and open the door myself since the driver’s eyes are locked in a hazy stare, his jaw dropped open in fright. Zachary looks like he just pissed himself. I gesture like I thought things went about as good as expected and tell the driver to go to the Starbucks.
When we arrive, Zachary begins to follow me inside, maybe out of habit or because he’s thirsty, but I tell him to wait in the car. Then I laugh sadistically and ask him if he wants something to drink. He nods his head and I promise to bring him a box of organic apple juice because I think he’s acting like a five-year-old.
Of course I lie. I go into the Starbucks and order a Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream. The pimply-faced barista glances conspicuously at my outfit. He finishes making the drink, places the cup on the counter and calls out my order. I find a seat in the corner and take a small sip, too nervous to enjoy the taste. Out of habit, I flip open my iPhone and check for texts. One from my mother: Leaving home soon. We will miss u.
I stare at the screen for a long time, stuck in a daze. Phillip is gone and now Mother and Father. Shit. When I go home tonight I’ll be all alone. Vulnerable. I should have hired the security firm to at least protect me at home. After my chilling conversation with the gangster I feel exposed to sinister forces. This is all a terrible idea.
In my reverie I fail to notice an old man wearing a gray cotton jacket until he walks o
ver to where I’m sitting. He asks me politely in his lightly accented English if he can join me at the table. I must have gaped at him for a while because he smiles warmly and sits across from me.
“The girl with men’s balls, is it not so?” I almost spew the liquid from my mouth. “Ah, yes, so it is. Well, since today it so warm, I broke my tradition and ordered this Iced Cappuccino. What shall we drink to?”
I raise my cup to his toast and clear my throat, thinking how to best respond. “Let’s drink to family and fortune. For without family we are unfortunate.”
He nods and smiles a small, thoughtful smile and takes a drink, allowing it to roll ponderously in his mouth. “Wise words for one so young…and I will not say tender as it has been clearly demonstrated that you possess a fine strength of will. Now you mentioned your brother. How can I be of assistance?”
This is not at all how I expected the encounter to go after dealing with the boy at the warehouse and listening to Zachary’s story. I study the old man’s plain black eyes for hints, but his placid expression reveals nothing.
“My brother Phillip disappeared from home after attending a party in your warehouse two nights ago. I’m not interested in blame—I only want my brother back. And I have money”—I open my purse to show the stack of bills—“and am willing to offer much more for assistance in returning him back home safely. I love my brother very much and believe strongly in keeping family safe.”
The old man nods thoughtfully. “Family is indeed important, I agree. Just out of curiosity, how much money would you be willing to compensate for assistance in retrieving this lost brother of yours?”
I think about the money in my bank account and in my bag. Just how much would I be willing to part with? I tap $500,000 on my iPhone and display the amount to him.
“Impressive. You do love your brother a great deal. But it’s not enough.”
“Not enough?” I sigh loudly. “How much?”
“This man, this…businessman holds a severe grudge against your father. To succeed in this endeavor, and to protect my interests and my relationship with this businessman, I would require more than double this amount.”
More than double? I add up all the cash I have and the amount in my bank. I tap out $1.1 million on my phone and display the amount to him. “Will this be enough? Is it enough to persuade you to help me instead of—”
He interrupts me with a wave of his wrinkled hand. “We’re not involved with him right now in this situation, but with this we will re-involve ourselves in the equation, if you understand my meaning. Meeting you and hearing your story, yes, this changes many things. However, I will need more. This is not my request, this represents the sum total of what is required to succeed at what you ask.”
“That’s all I have in cash. I have some diamonds and gold, but not all that much.”
“I’ll consider whatever you have as enough—how is that?” The old man smiles kindly at me.
“Thank you. Truly, I thank you.”
“You can thank me formally by ensuring my lieutenant outside receives a deposit on this transaction.”
“I have a hundred on me now, is this acceptable?”
His nose twitches and he bobs his head yes. “And your phone number—we will text you wiring instructions for your bank to send us the remaining cash. The rest you can give us in person when we deliver your brother to you.”
I show him the number on my phone’s screen and he carefully withdraws his own phone, puts on reading glasses, and slowly taps in the number.
“They make these screens so small—I can barely read a thing.” His grin disarms me. “An old man’s curse…the eyes. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss—?”
“Clarise. And you?”
“Aleksey. And don’t forget, have the money ready to transfer immediately upon our confirmation that your brother is safe in our possession.” He rises and collects his drink and walks with a slight limp towards the door.
I pause for a few seconds before heading to the door myself. The same boy from the warehouse greets me at my car, looking humble this time, and I tell him to wait a moment. I go inside the car and chuckle at the terrified faces of Zachary and the driver—their eyes pleading desperately for us to escape. I grab the money bag, stuff in the stack of bills from my purse, and hand it to the boy.
As he’s swaggering away, my words stop him. “Bring back the bag when you’re finished.” Mother paid a small fortune for that bag; there’s no way I’m going to let him have it.
Soon the boy returns with my empty bag and hands it back, a contrite look on his face. “I must apologize for calling you a bitch back at the warehouse. You’re noble and strong, nothing like a dog in heat.”
His words surprise me speechless, and as I watch him walk away, I wonder if there’s anything they can do to bring Phillip back. Somehow I believe they can and they will. Whoever is holding Phillip will have an unpleasant surprise tonight. I think this is the only thing to do. Howard McNaughton’s sole concern is ruining my family and hurting Father in the worst possible way. Negotiating with the devil only ends up getting you in hell.
I’m quiet the entire journey home, barely noticing when Zachary exits the car at his house and then when the driver tells me we’ve arrived home. Harris House seems stately and lonely, like a retired general in the sunset of his life. It’s early evening by now and I realize I’m starving. Mother and Father must be having their luxurious dinner together—a last supper for a while, until Phillip comes back and I can ask them to return.
After all the trouble I’ve had I need a little luck. Meeting Aleksey was that luck—or maybe I created it. How does luck work, anyway? I go inside and saunter to the kitchen and what I find causes my chest to choke up in an avalanche of emotions. My beautiful mother, in all her kindness, has left dinner and a note for me on the counter.
Dear Clarise,
I know you’ll be hungry so I made a little something for you to eat—your favorite garlic pasta. Your father and I love you more than you can imagine. We’re both sorry for all the foolishness we’ve put you through over the years. Please forgive us.
Love and kisses—
Tears spill freely from my eyes and I sob uncontrollably, staining the note still in my hand. How could I have hated Mother all these years? Why didn’t I see past her anger and bitterness towards Father and realize it had nothing to do with me? She just allowed herself to play the foolish victim instead of owning and accepting her fate. And now she and Father are gone.
I look around the room and take in the feeling of Harris House. Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe family is more important than this house. Maybe the seed of deception sown by my great-grandfather has poisoned the house for good. Without Phillip and my parents filling this lonely space, I feel little affinity to the house. I know I made a promise to Grandmother to protect and take care of Harris House, but right now I just don’t think it’s worth it; protecting and caring for my family is far more important. And somehow I believe Grandmother would have agreed with this.
If Mother were here with me, having dinner together, laughing at some stupid joke that Phillip made, I’d feel hungry and devour the plate of food. But the house is empty; Phillip, Mother, and Father are all gone and I’m alone. My stomach is knotted up so tightly I can’t eat a thing, no matter how much I want to.
I place the plastic-wrapped plate inside the refrigerator and apologize to Mother for not eating her food. When I close the door I grip the handle and say a silent prayer for my family’s safety. Tomorrow I’ll feel better, tomorrow Phillip will come back home, and tomorrow will be a brighter day.
On my bed I find a white gift box adorned in silk lavender ribbon. I find a note tucked away under the bow and open it.
Dearest Clarise,
Happy birthday, darling. Treasure this like we treasure you.
Love always—
My birthday! I can’t believe I forgot all about my birthday. After all we’ve been through, the fact that m
y mother remembered makes me admire and love her even more. She remembered my eighteenth birthday and bought me a gift. I feel even worse for asking my parents to go. She must have remembered all the way back in New York City. The box is from Barneys. Should I open it now or wait? I check my phone—August 19. My birthday is tomorrow.
Lifting the box from my bed I have a feeling I know what’s inside. I remember shopping at Barneys with Mother in June—we were all giggly crazy looking at the new dresses that had arrived from Paris. I’d gone to look at shoes and Mother had stayed behind. I can remember the white dress clearly. Tomorrow is my birthday and tomorrow I’ll open it.
I place the gift on my desk and take off my clothes and toss them on the bed, wanting nothing more than to warm myself up in a hot bath. The Turkish bathrobe feels soft and warm on my skin and I fill up the tub, add sleep lavender bath salts, and revel in the hypnotic smell. Soon I’m undressed and in the almost scalding water that causes my skin to go pink. I’ve always insisted on bath water as hot as possible ever since I took the waters with Mother in Bath, Fosso Bianco, Pamukkale, Beppu, and the Blue Lagoon in Iceland.
Memories of those days with my family traveling abroad fills me with warmth: Phillip being rebuffed by the Turkish girls, Father and Mother’s happy drunk face after soaking and feasting in Tuscany, Phillip and I swimming and playing in the vast Blue Lagoon, eating Sushi and sneaking sips of sake from Father in Beppu, the sense of history and greatness I felt wandering through the Roman Baths in England.
Will those happy days return to our family? Will the quiet nights return, of lounging around by the fire, playing chess with Phillip, with icicles and snow outside while the gloomy wind blows? Will the map on Phillip’s wall come true, of all the places we promised we’d visit together one day: Glen Coe, Ha Long Bay, Petra, Namaqualand, Wulingyuan, Iguazu Falls, Cenote Sagrado, and Mount Kailash in Tibet? I have a future I want to live, to thrive and succeed, to fill with memories of love and adventure and family.
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