The Devil's Contract

by Claire Contreras

  It was a picture of soldiers dressed in the military uniforms of different countries. She could only make out the United States uniforms because the rest weren’t familiar to her, but knew that it was a gala honoring the different countries coming together to fight for one cause. Todd pulled on Amara’s arm for her attention and smiled at her when she gave him a questioning look. It was a wide, affectionate smile that showed the dimples on his cheeks. Amara smiled back as he introduced her as his girlfriend to Colonel Masson and his wife Dianne.

  “What a beauty she is,” the colonel said, shaking Amara’s hand.

  “Did you expect anything less from me?” Todd joked, making the colonel and his wife laugh. Amara forced out her own laugh and continued to stand there looking pretty, which was what was expected of her.

  “So, what do you do, Jasmine?” the colonel asked.

  “I’m an English teacher,” she said. It was in the packet that Vivienne gave her when she arrived in Paris, and Amara was glad she had rehearsed that a number of times. Just as Vivienne said, the colonel and his wife smiled at the information and let it be. Nobody really cares what you do, they just ask out of courtesy. Unless you throw an impressive or interesting job out there like “I work for NASA,” people normally don’t care to question you about it. Amara was glad for that. She let Todd walk her around introducing her to people, all while she looked for Courtney, making sure not to lose sight of her.

  When it was time to sit at their table, Courtney and Amara excused themselves to go to the restroom.

  “Don’t make us wait too long,” Jeremy joked, throwing a huge smile their way.

  “We wouldn’t dream of it,” Courtney said, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder as they walked away.

  How many liars are there in the world? She wondered. We all lie about things, but it seemed like the higher up in the chain of command you were, the better you were at deception. Maybe powerful people are just better liars. She looked around the ample room adorned with purple lilacs in the centerpieces and wondered how many sat in the room.

  “MERDE!” PHILIP SHOUTED, making Amara jump slightly in her seat. Courtney seemed to remain unfazed by his outburst.

  “They did give me the suitcase though,” Courtney said.

  “They’re trying to buy time,” Philip said, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “This is insanity! There is no time!”

  He continued his conversation with Courtney in French, as Amara watched silently. She could understand most of the conversation, so was able to follow along. They’d returned from the gala to Méchant and went straight to Philip’s office. Courtney told him everything that was said in the limousine and at the gala—and Amara helped filled in the blanks on her conversations with Todd. It wasn’t much—only enough to get the United States government in deep shit, she thought wryly. Amara zoned out, but started paying attention again when Courtney and Philip began to argue.

  “You don’t have a visa right now!” Philip shouted.

  Courtney’s fists landed on Philip’s desk loudly. “I’m from the United States, goddamn you!”

  “You won’t be able to travel back here for months once you go over there. Are you okay with that?” Philip asked.

  Courtney’s eyes widened. “No,” she whispered.

  “Amara, your workers visa is okay, correct?” Philip asked.

  Amara felt her heart drop to her stomach. “Yes.”

  “You will need to do this on your own,” Philip said.

  “Do what?” Amara asked. Her voice squeaked more than she would have liked.

  “You’re going to New Orleans. All you need to do is take a package for me.”

  Amara felt as if her breathing stopped. “What kind of package?”

  “Nothing large, don’t worry. Nothing that will get you in trouble. Only papers.”

  Only papers. Amara could do that. Only papers.

  “Who am I supposed to give them to?” she asked.

  “I will give you all of the instructions. You do not worry,” Philip said.

  She looked at Courtney and saw her biting her nails, and worry was the only thing Amara could do.

  “Get some rest, we will talk in the morning,” Philip said after nobody else spoke.

  Amara and Courtney headed toward Amara’s room. Neither said a word. They took turns in the shower and sat on the bed once they’d changed into their nightgowns. Amara hated nightgowns, but it was a rule Thelma had at Méchant. You must always wear a nightgown if you slept there.

  “You’re worried about this whole thing,” Amara said.

  Courtney sighed. “I wish I could do it or go with you.”

  “It’s only papers he said, it’s not like it’s drugs or anything,” Amara said, letting out a nervous laugh.

  “It might as well be drugs,” Courtney said.

  Amara’s eyes widened. “What kind of papers are these?”

  “It’s best that you don’t know. Guard them with your life when they’re given to you and don’t let them out of your sight.”

  “Of course not,” Amara said, still feeling shocked. “What does Philip do? I mean... what does he have to do with the United States government?”

  Courtney tore her eyes from Amara’s gaze and looked at the door. “He does a lot of things. He’s an important man.”

  “Clearly. But why?”

  Courtney shook her head. “You’ll need to ask him.”

  Amara’s looked away. That was the first time that Courtney ever withheld anything from Amara.

  “SO I’M BACK to being Amara?” she asked Philip as he handed her a polished brown leather briefcase.

  “Only in the airport. It is very, very important that you never use your name when you speak to this man,” Philip said. His blue eyes locked with hers and for once he wasn’t amused.

  “If these papers are so important, why aren’t you delivering them?” she asked.

  “Because I would be a dead man if I did and I quite like my life.”

  Amara gasped. “What about mine?”

  “What about yours?” he asked, frowning.

  Amara’s jaw dropped. “What about my life!”

  Philip shrugged. “Your life is mine for the next two years and this is what I need to do with it right now.”

  “What?” Amara shrieked. “And what if I decide not to do this?”

  Philip laughed. “We have a contract.”

  “And?”

  “And you can’t wash your hands of me,” he said. “Even if you try, I’m sticking, Amara.”

  “You have no right to play with other’s lives,” she said, making fists of her hands to keep them from shaking.

  “Says who?” Philip asked looking amused again.

  Amara’s eyes narrowed on him. She picked up the briefcase and tapped it with her hand. “I can bury you with this, I’m sure.”

  Philip grinned and nodded. “You can.”

  “Why are you smiling?” she seethed, unsure of what to make of the way he was enjoying himself. She was hoping to scare him yet all she seemed to be doing was humoring him.

  Philip chuckled. “You’re learning how to play the game,” he said. “I quite like you.” He took a couple of steps, closing the distance between them and gripped her chin forcefully. “For the record, the reason you wouldn’t dream of ‘burying me’ is because I have people watching your family. The minute I’m gone, so are they. All I have to do is make a call and both of your parents will be in jail. Their house will be taken, their cars will be taken, and then what will you do, Amara Maloof? Who will save you then? Colin? You know he’s due to get married any day now, right? Engaged to a pretty girl... Molly, that’s her name. Do you want to see the photos? They make quite a lovely couple. Here, let me show you,” he said, dropping his hand and walking behind his desk.

  Amara was frozen in place as she watched him open a drawer and pull out a folder. Tears had already begun to build in her eyes before he walked back to her with an 8 x 10 photograph
in his hands. Philip thrust the photo into her face and Amara was forced to take a step back. She dropped the briefcase on the chair beside her and took the photo. It was of Colin holding hands with a pretty girl with golden curls that spiraled to her shoulders. They were looking at each other and smiling. Amara really tried not to cry, she really tried to control the sobs that threatened to well up inside of her. But when she saw the diamond ring on the girl’s finger, she couldn’t hold back her tears.

  “Why are you showing this to me?” Amara whispered as she wiped her face.

  “I thought you might want to see the reality that’s going on. Say the word, Amara. Say the word and your parents go to jail, your mother’s treatments are taken away and you will be left on the street. I own Lotus now, I own your father, and in turn I own you.”

  The picture slipped out of Amara’s hand and to the floor as she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she tried, and failed, to calm herself down. The image of Colin and his fianceé would forever be embedded in her memory. The knowledge that he had moved on without her in less than a year cut her deeply.

  Philip exhaled loudly. “If you do this right, I will make you a deal—a better deal—one that may get you out of here sooner.”

  Amara wiped her cheeks. She wasn’t going to get out of Méchant any time soon either way, and even if she did, Colin would be married by then. There was nothing she could do to stop that—to keep him from hating her—to get him back.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it anyway,” she said.

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: Our date

  I had fun the other night. Let’s do it again soon. How’s Paris?

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Re: Our date

  It was fun, and if we do it can’t be for a couple of days. I have to go to your favorite place soon... what did you say the name of the little restaurant in New Orleans you frequent is?

  X,

  Jasmine

  PS. Paris still sucks.

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: The Big Easy

  You’re going to Nola? When?

  -Nolan

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Café Creeper

  Next week.

  X,

  J

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: Re: Café Creeper

  That ^ has a good ring to it, actually. It’s called Stanley’s and I’m bummed I won’t be in New Orleans. What the hell! You’re going next week and work is sending me to California for TWO fucking weeks. What kind of shit is that?! We can’t seem to get on the same page!

  -Nolan

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Pages suck

  Yeah. I guess it’ll be a good change of scenery even if it’s only for a couple of days. Apparently my ex is engaged now.

  -J

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: Ouch

  Sorry to hear that. Are you okay? I take it the breakup wasn’t amicable between you two?

  -N

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Re: Ouch

  Well, there was no screaming match, if that’s what you mean. I guess I’ll have to be okay. I hate him for moving on so quickly. I hate her for existing and... well I don’t know, I guess I’m just filled with hate right now.

  -J

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: :(

  Is she blonde with big boobs?

  -N

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Re: :(

  HUH????

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: LOL

  If she is, it won’t last. I was talking to a buddy of mine about this the other day. All of our divorced friends have rebounded with blondes with big boobs. It never seems to last.

  -N

  To: Nolan Underwood

  From: Jasmine Oliver

  Subject: Weird

  You and your friends are weird. But yes, she is blonde. I couldn’t really see her boobs in the picture though. And for the record: I fucking hate her guts.

  -J

  To: Jasmine Oliver

  From: Nolan Underwood

  Subject: Re: Weird

  I hate her too.

  And yes, we’re a little weird; it’s what makes us interesting.

  -N

  THERE WAS AN older man with silver gray hair waiting for Amara at the airport when she arrived. His sign read: “Méchant – Jasmine Oliver,” and as soon as he saw her, he waved it frantically. A little exaggerated. His name turned out to be Maurice, and Amara was sure he made a habit of embarrassing his children, if he had any. Maurice was loud, and spoke with a thick French accent—one that made Amara feel like she was in Paris and not back on US soil. She kind of hated it.

  Amara checked in her hotel in the French Quarter and walked around after a short nap. She wasn’t due to meet with her contact until the next morning, so she decided to roam around the city for a couple of hours, mainly so that she could have something to report back to Nolan with. She really needed to stop thinking that way.

  When she finally sat down for dinner, Amara called her mother to check up on her. Worried that her mother would ask questions, Amara avoided telling her that she was in New Orleans, even though she felt terrible for keeping it from her. New Orleans was a stretch from New York, but Amara still felt bad for not visiting her mom while she was in the US. She checked in with Philip to let him know that Maurice had set everything up with Gerard, the man she would be meeting the next day, and rehearsed her “script” one more time.

  The next morning, Amara dressed and picked up the briefcase she would be delivering to Gerard. As her black heels clicked against the marble floor of the lobby, as she tightened her grip on the briefcase in her hand and held her jacket closed with the other. She hoped it wasn’t too cold outside. She’d worn a black pencil dress that reached her knees and a tan trench coat, but wondered if she should have worn leggings to shield her legs from the wind. Thankfully the temperature seemed to be in the sixties, as Maurice had promised. He met her in the front lobby and ushered her to his car.

  “I will wait by the door,” Maurice said as he drove to the café. He only made one turn before he slowed the car and told her they had arrived. Amara shook her head in confusion. They could have definitely walked there.

  “Get-away car,” Maurice joked, seemingly reading her facial expressions.

  Amara’s brows lifted and she let out a surprised laugh. The joke was totally inappropriate for the circumstances, but she was amused. She stepped out of the car and walked into the little café, walking over to a man in a brown suit, as per her instructions.

  “Jasmine,” the man said, as his brown eyes scanned her and the briefcase in her hand.

  “Gerard,” she responded.

  He motioned for her to take a seat across from him. She did and placed the suitcase on the chair beside her. Amara’s eyes made a sweep of the nearly empty restaurant before they shifted back to Gerard.

  She heard something slide below the table and felt it at her feet. On instinct, she lifted her feet quickly.

  “I have this in exchange for yours,” he said.

  Amara handed over the briefcase and looked under the table to see a black leather duffle bag.

  “You are to check this in at the airport. I already put a tag on it and will give you one to carry on. If you are questioned about the contents, you say it is toiletries,” Gerard said.

  Amara’s eyes widened as she picked up the bag. It was heavy, and she knew she would have to throw it over her
shoulder. “And what is it really?”

  She was afraid of the answer, but had to ask anyway. She needed to know what she was transporting overseas. Gerard appraised her as he debated whether or not to answer her truthfully.

  “Explosives,” he said, finally.

  Amara felt every nerve in her body still. “What?”

  He shrugged and opened the briefcase Amara had handed him. She watched as he leafed through the papers, ignoring her question.

  “They’re not guns, and they aren’t functional in the state they’re in. You have nothing to worry about. They’re completely safe to travel with.”

  Amara gaped at him. “You’re asking me to transport weapons overseas, and I’m not supposed to worry?”

  Gerard looked at the expensive gold watch on his wrist, closed the briefcase and stood up. He looked at Amara one last time before walking away. “I’m not asking.”

  Amara stayed in the café, staring at the empty seat in front of her. She decided to eat while she was there, figuring it would be one more thing to check off of her New Orleans list. When the waiter took her order, she found that she no longer had an appetite and simply ordered a cup of coffee. Looking out the window, Amara noticed the fog that had blanketed the city that morning was lifting, and she was treated to a clear view of the balcony of the café next door. It seemed as if all the restaurants had the balconies Nolan loved so much. She watched a man step outside and take a seat at one of the tables. He had a newspaper in his hands and, when he lowered it, Amara felt as if the world shifted below her. It was Colin. His brown hair was in the stylish disarray she loved so much, and his face held a shadow of a beard. What was he doing there? Amara began to get up from her table to go to him when she saw a woman appear and sit across from him. It was the blonde from the picture. Molly. Amara watched as the blonde placed her hand over Colin’s on the table, and he let her. She watched as Molly leaned in to kiss his lips. And he let her. She watched as he smiled at her. It wasn’t his usual smile, but still, it was one. Amara’s knees gave out and she was forced to sit down. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from them. They looked comfortable together. Colin went back to his newspaper, and the woman typed away on her phone.