by Dan Taylor
“And Cole’s foreskin? You sent that to the Agency.”
“If you were to fry that up, it would taste like a decent bit of pork belly. Cole’s in one piece, trapped in some basement somewhere, spending his hours watching two-star comedies on Netflix.”
“You sick bastards.”
He holds his palms out and says, “What you gonna do?” He becomes serious. “Now take this cell and make the call. Bar Coco, you know the place? Before I lose my fucking patience. Pretty please, with fucking sprinkles on top.”
15.
“HEY…REGAN.”
“Jake? Why are you phoning?”
“I think that’s obvious?”
I cringe, and Charles elbows me, which causes me to moan quietly.
“Jake, you disgusting pig. You phoned me to do that!”
“What?”
“You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Oh.” Despite sounding disgusted a moment ago, now she sounds disappointed. “So what have you phoned me for?”
“You know…just wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“I’d rather say in person.”
“I’m in bed.” Then she whispers, “With Omar.”
I mouth the words to Charles, who gives me a thumbs-up.
Then I say, “Good.”
“Good? Why is that good?”
I hear her get up. I hear a deep, heavily accented voice say, “Where you going, babe?” The change in acoustics tells me she’s probably in the bathroom.
“Regan?”
The line goes completely silent. I think she’s covering the microphone end and speaking to Omar.
After a moment or two she’s back. “We’re going to have to make this a quick one, Jake.”
“Okay. I think it’s time I met Omar.”
“Why do you want to meet Omar?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious.”
Charles is pissed. He makes a move-it-along gesture with his hands.
“I don’t think it is obvious.”
“You know…I think it’s pretty important to meet the guy who’s going to be marrying my wife. You know, give you guys my blessing.”
“You’re not my dad, Jake. Why do we need your blessing?”
“Oh, I think that’s obvious.”
“You keep on saying that, but I don’t think any of this is obvious. In fact, it’s downright confusing. Last time we spoke, you were telling me that you think Omar’s a bit shady. That he isn’t a prince. And that you should check his background for me.”
“I said those things, but that was just a knee-jerk response.”
She’s silent a second. “So you think I should marry Omar now?”
“Definitely.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy. Really happy. Omar and I are really happy together.”
“Then let me meet the guy. I’ll shake his hand, buy him a beer, and give him some advice—make sure he doesn’t make the same mistakes I made. It’s time we made our split amicable.”
“I think I like this new Jake. What have you done with the old one?”
Regan laughs. This is the best I’ve gotten on with her since we split months ago. And I feel sick.
“He’s been kidnapped.”
She laughs, and Charles shakes his head, makes a throat-slitting gesture.
I say, “So what do you say?”
“Omar doesn’t drink, but I suppose it would be cool if you bought him a Red Bull. Where do you want to meet?”
“Bar Coco?”
“Yeah, sounds great. Let me just tell Omar.” She sounds like a teenager after her crush has just agreed to take her to the prom.
The line is silent a moment. Then Regan says, “He’s fallen asleep, but I’ll wake him up. In thirty minutes sound good?
“It does.”
“Great…oh, and Jake, thanks for this.”
“My pleasure.”
I hang up.
I hand the phone back to Charles, and think about what I’ve just done. About what will happen to Omar, to Regan, and to my eternal soul.
Charles smiles, almost sympathetically, and says, “You did good, kid.”
16.
“SO THIS IS HOW it’s going to go down. You’re gonna meet with Omar and Regan. You’re going to chat and play nice. Laugh at his jokes, smile when he pays you a compliment. You three are gonna get on like a house on fire. After a sufficient amount of time has passed, in order to have gained their trust, you’re going to ask to speak to him and Regan out back. For whatever reason—I don’t know…say you want to smoke a cigar with the both of them as a peace offering out back or some shit. Just as long as they both come. Then we’ll take them, do what we need to do.”
“I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“Listen to me, Jake. Omar isn’t a good guy. Guy peddles heroin, for God’s sake. You think Regan should be marrying a guy like that? You’re doing her a favor, believe me.”
“But what will happen to Regan? You said both.”
“We won’t harm a hair on her pretty little head, I promise.”
I’m silent, then say, “Leo said something about three tasks. If this is one, what are the other two?”
“You’re stalling again, Jake.”
“Just answer the question.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands, but I’ll play along as best I can. Truth is, I don’t know shit about any other tasks. I only know about this one, and only this one.”
I bite my bottom lip, stare into space.
“Let’s put it this way. Don’t do it and you’ll have a bitch of a decision to make. Who will watch the other die, Randy or Mary?”
I sigh. “Cigar? I don’t think they’ll go for that, and Regan knows I don’t smoke.”
Charles downs his Bell’s, pats me on the back. “You made the right choice, Jake.”
17.
CHARLES PUTS ME in a cab, after warning me for one last time that to not go through with it would be “a worse decision than fucking a ten-dollar whore without a rubber.”
He’ll also have eyes on me the whole time. After meeting Charles, I’m doubly convinced that Donald isn’t the only eyes they have on me tonight. What isn’t clear is what Donald was doing there. These guys are slicker than a frozen bowling lane. There’s no way they’d trust someone of Donald’s competence to have responsibility for even the smallest part of this operation. So he must’ve been planted. But why? To test me? See how much of a dummy I am? Or worse, to lure me into a false sense of security, figuring I’d try and turn this thing around in my favor anyway, so why not have me do it in a way they know about, allowing them to see it coming from a mile off?
That last thought makes me paranoid. Part of me wants to play along, see this thing out their way. Didn’t I want to be rid of my ex-wife anyway? But not like this.
The cab pulls up outside Bar Coco. I pay the man and go inside.
I spot Regan immediately, and the sight of her blows me away. She looks like she’s had one of those Extreme Makeovers, but without the result looking Silicon Valley. Her hair’s voluminous, wavy, and now she’s a redhead, when before she had limp hair that could be called neither brunette nor blond. She looks slimmer, too, or it could be the tit-popping dress she’s wearing.
When I reach the table, she stands and greets me with a warm smile. As does Omar, who doesn’t look in anyway apprehensive to be meeting me, his future wife’s current husband.
To settle my nerves, I make a joke. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a girl. She looks a bit like you, but no way near as attractive. You might’ve seen her. She’s called Regan.”
She laughs and punches me on the arm. Omar’s still grinning, and says, “Why, Jake, this is Regan.”
We both turn to him, and I shake his hand. My palms are sweaty but he shows no sign he’s noticed. Regan laughs as though Omar was pla
ying along, but his confusion at her laughter tells me he didn’t.
Regan says, “Omar, Jake. Jake, Omar.”
We both nod and then all three sit down.
There are drinks on the table.
She says, “Nice to see you, Jake. I took the pleasure of ordering your favorite.”
It’s Rochefort Number Ten. God damn it, she has.“Thanks.”
We sip our drinks, making fleeting eye contact. Omar grins the whole time.
Regan coughs, prompting me.
I say, “So, Omar, how are you finding the States?”
“Oh, you know, it’s a nice place. Nice climate. And the women aren’t bad, either.” He winks.
Following Charles’s orders, I laugh. “That’s good, Omar. That’s good. You’re quite taken with one woman in particular, I see.”
Omar puts his arm round her shoulders, not defensively. “I have. Forgive my boldness, Jake, but I just want to thank you for letting this one go. She’s made me a very happy man.”
“I don’t know if she told you, Omar, but it wasn’t me who let her go.”
Regan’s eyebrows narrow.
Then I continue, “We’d just found that we had become more friends than lovers, so we split.”
I smile and glance at Regan, who gives me a thumbs-up, which she makes with her right hand, down low, concealing it from Omar.
Omar says, “I don’t know how anyone could be just friends with this beautiful woman.” He plants a big wet kiss on her cheek.
Regan laughs sincerely, which seems out of character. I know her to not like this kind of wet-cheek neediness. But it becomes clear why when Omar elbows her in the side, showing that it might be an in-joke or unexpected use of irony.
The two of them genuinely look in love. And the dress and hair, which I thought might’ve been to impress me, are clearly for Omar. And God help me, I can’t help but like the son of a bitch.
“You two make a great couple.” And then, to fill the silence—Hancock, my own worst enemy—I say, “so tell me how you two met.”
Omar looks to Regan, who smiles, letting me know she remembers telling me during a heated argument, and that she’ll play along. Then she says, “It’s a little bit embarrassing.”
“Go on, honey, tell him. It isn’t embarrassing how you met me.”
“Okay, we met on a dating site.”
She laughs, and Omar holds up his hand to give her a high-five. After snorting with laughter, she does.
I say, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I once met a girlfriend at a boxing match.”
Omar looks confused. “That isn’t embarrassing.”
“No? She was the one who won…and by knockout.”
Omar and Regan laugh, but I can’t stomach joining in, so I smile a tired smile with the corner of my mouth. I had to go and choose this night to be the most charming I’ve been in a while. Fuck my life.
Under the table, Regan pats me on the knee. But I’m under no illusion that it’s anything but friendly.
We do get on like a house on fire, and not because I’m forcing it, either. Regan’s a changed woman. I think about our relationship since we split—the arguing, the petty insults, the ego-battle about the signing of the divorce papers. Now that I’m amiable, she is too. Could I have been the cause of the conflict? This is shit timing for a bit of introspection, I know. But I can’t help it.
And I’m only getting fonder of Omar. There’s a likeable cheesiness about him. He’s a sincere dude, and he’s constantly making an effort to involve us both equally in conversation. Every so often he throws in a “the old ball and chain” joke, doing it in that ironic way of his, making him endearing. I wanted to hate the guy, but I’m finding it difficult, folks.
I’m at the point now where it would be easy to manipulate them out back.
It’s time to make a phone call, which I’ll risk, despite that no-phone-calls rule.
I excuse myself, look around for people who might be following me, and go to the bar.
18.
WHEN I GET BACK, Omar excuses himself and goes to the restroom.
There’s a moment’s silence, in which Regan and I try and act casual, both expecting the other one to return to type now that Omar is out of the room. But we don’t.
To my right, there’s a couple arguing, something about the woman wanting to go out and smoke a cigarette.
We notice this and laugh silently, knowingly.
Regan breaks the silence. “So, Jake, this feels good. Doesn’t it?”
“It does. Does this mean we’re officially grownups now?”
Regan chuckles. “I think it might. I just want to say thank you for making an effort with Omar. I have to admit, I’ve thought you a prick, for as long as I can remember. Tonight has really surprised me.”
“I thought I was a prick too.”
“No you didn’t. You thought you were great.”
“Okay, I kind of did.”
She pauses, then hesitates, but then manages to get it out, “What’s happened, Jake? You know, to change you.”
Omar will be returning any moment, now, unless he’s one of those guys who washes his hands just as his dad showed him—taking time over lathering up, rinsing his hands thoroughly, keeping his hands under the drier until their actually dry.
I need to act quickly.
I take her hands in mine, say, “Regan, has Omar officially made you the heir to the O’Cain estate?”
Her eyes narrow. “Jake, what’s this about?”
“I need you to answer the question, before Omar gets back.”
“Oh, this about the knee-touching thing? Because that was purely bubonic.”
“Platonic. No, it isn’t about that.”
“Then what’s this about?”
“Just answer the question.”
Regan’s unsure, but she answers, “Yes.”
“Do you trust me, Regan?”
“I don’t know…I do, I guess.”
“Don’t overreact to what I’m about to say.”
“Jake…?”
“Omar’s got us all in a spot of trouble—”
She stands up and slaps me. All eyes turn to us. I stand up and hold up my hand apologetically, then pull Regan back down to a sitting position. “Listen to me, Regan. We both know that Omar isn’t a Nigerian prince. Omar seems like a good guy, and I like him, but he’s messed with a mean set of fellas, and they want something back that he’s taken from them. And they’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
“This is a really shitty way to try and get me back. It’s even low by your standards.”
“I’m not trying to get you back. I’m trying to save your ass, my ass, and even Omar’s ass.”
“What do you mean? Just explain.”
“There’s no time. Omar will come back any moment. I need you to do exactly what I say.”
Regan bites her bottom lip, looks behind her at the men’s restroom, then turns back to me. “Okay, Jake, I trust you. But if this is some sort of trick, you’ll never see or speak to me again.”
“Deal.”
“Okay, what do I have to do?”
“I’m going to ask Omar to come outside with me to…smoke a cigar, like a rite of passage or something. I don’t know.”
“Omar doesn’t smoke cigars.”
“That’s what I thought. But he’s coming out to smoke this one. And you’re going to make him.”
“Okay, I think I can do that. What next?”
“When we’re out there, you’re going to go the restroom, go in one of the cubicles, and open the window. Leave it ajar, and the cubicle door locked, then climb into the adjacent one.”
“The adjacent one?”
“The one next to it.”
“Then you’re going to come out of the restroom and wait by the front entrance for me.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“And one last thing. When I say run like hell, run like hell.”
19.
OMA
R RETURNS, GRINNING. I look at his hands, notice they’re bone dry.
He sits down. “So what have you kids been talking about? Have you been talking about Omar?”
Regan and I share a nervous laugh, then I say, “Something like that.”
The couple to my right is still arguing. She’s holding up a cigarette in front of his face, waving it angrily, grabbing at one of his pockets with the other hand. I think he’s got the lighter.
All three of us turn to them, pokerfaced, then turn back.
I’ve changed my mind about the cigar tactic. I can be persuasive, but getting a man who drinks a Red Bull over a decent alcoholic drink to smoke a cigar would be like trying to convert the pope to paganism.
I say, “So, Omar, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about outside.”
I wink at Regan, who looks at Omar, then nods encouragement.
Omar doesn’t say anything, just grins. There’s confusion in his eyes.
I continue, “You know, man things.”
Realization. “Jake, it happens to all of us. Believe me.”
Regan’s face goes bright red.
“Not that, Omar. It’s some advice I need to give you. About Regan. You know…” Wink wink nudge nudge.
“Oh that. I’ve got that covered. But thank you.” He laughs heartily.
Regan leans back, mimes something, bringing her hand toward her mouth with pursed lips.
It doesn’t seem like a good tactic, but she knows him better than I do. “It involves a certain meaty appendage and your lovely wife-to-be’s lips. And how to get it. If you know what I mean.” Wink wink.
Regan’s now making a slitting-throat gesture, then points at the arguing couple.
Oh, now I get it.
The confusion on Omar’s face shows that he’s already got that base covered.
I ask Omar, “No?”
“Why do you think I’m marrying her, Jake?”
He holds his hand up, and fuck it, I high-five him. I like this guy, but by God I’m going to get him abducted. For all our sakes.
I’m running out of ideas. And panic shows on Regan’s face.
While I’m trying to think of one last topic of conversation to lure Omar outside, the woman from the arguing couple storms out back with cigarette in hand.