For the Love of Flowers

by Kelsey Hodge

  It has been a slow day at the shop today, which means I’ve already gone through all my flowers to make sure they’re all in good condition. I check my future orders to see if anything will need to be ordered in and make a note of the flowers that will be required and the date they need to be ordered by. I’ve also made sure there are no holes in my gift display, which of course there isn’t. I’m now sitting behind the counter, flicking through a florist magazine. Checking out all the arrangements, getting new ideas for future orders, and daydreaming. I haven’t been paying attention and jump out of my skin when the shop doorbell rings. When I look up at Dad’s face, I struggle to keep the smile on mine.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying to sound surprised and happy when I’m anything but that.

  “I came with the order book for your safekeeping again. I needed to make sure you were honest with me before giving it back. You’ve been a lot more attentive about the business than you ever were before, so I thought it was time.”

  I want to fist pump the air, and I’m already thinking that the moment he leaves, I’m going to photograph every page and send it to Wyatt. I can use the cell he gave, so it isn’t traceable to me. We’re finally getting somewhere, but I need Dad to tell me the rest. I need to know how he orders the drugs and how he gets them into specific crates, but I’m going to take getting the order book back as a good sign and keep my fingers crossed. This could be the start of the end.

  “Thanks, Dad. This means a lot to me. Knowing you can trust me after what I did,” I say. Every time I say something like this, I feel like I’m letting whole generations down. People have been fighting for years to give gay people equality.

  “That’s so nice to hear, son. When you get home tonight, and after we’ve eaten, I want you to come up to my study. There are some other things I want to discuss that cannot be done in the open.”

  “Okay, Dad, if that’s what you want.” I’m rarely allowed in his study, and it’s the only place he conducts his business from. If he wants me to go there tonight, that can only be a good thing. I need to make sure I don’t come across too eager, as this will set off too many alarm bells.

  “It is. I think it’s long overdue,” he replies and smiles before he turns to leave.

  I blow out a breath. Oh shit, this is serious. Going into his study is a big thing. I make a checklist of things I need to hide on myself tonight. The first being my gun, but I should be able to pick that up from my room on the way to the study. I need to think of a reason to go back to my room. The second thing is the cell that Wyatt got me. Any messages sent tonight need to come from this. I know in my bones that tonight is the night. As I’m going through my mental checklist, I remember that I’ll need to get my bullets from Frank. I keep my gun unloaded in the house for safety. I had hoped to get to a gun range before now, and I had planned to keep some bullets from then, but it hadn’t happened.

  The bell on the shop door rings again, and I look up, wondering if Dad is back. Frank walks in, almost like he knows I was thinking about him.

  “I saw your dad come in. I wanted to check on you.”

  Always looking out for me. “Yeah, I’m fine. He wanted to give me the order book. But I was about to text you. Can you get me some bullets please? Dad wanted to discuss something with me tonight, and I want to be prepared in case I need to leave. Better keep your phone on tonight too.”

  I cannot believe how believable I sound. Frank seems to buy it. Later, I can text him and say it was a false alarm. I’ll keep the bullets safe until the following morning when I’ll give them back to him. By that point, I’m sure he’ll have heard what happened, and he’ll know my involvement. Fingers crossed he understands.

  “I’ll get them for you, but I’ll give them to you on the way home. I don’t want you to have bullets in the shop,” Frank says.

  “Thanks, Frank.” With that, he turns and leaves the shop. I pretend to look at the magazine for ten minutes, to make sure neither of my visitors return. When I’m sure I’m alone, I open the order book on the shelf under the counter and power up the cell, thankful I always keep it charged. The lighting isn’t great, so I turn on the flash and try to angle the cell so all the information on the page is included, and the flash doesn’t wash any of it out. It takes me a couple of tries, but then I get it right. I spend the next five minutes taking photos of almost every page. I’m planning to take the book home, but the sooner I get the information to them, the faster they can use it.

  I open the text app and send my first message to Wyatt.

  >Got order book back. Sending photos. Save them and delete from the phone.

  I then open a new message and attach as many photos as I can and hit send. I think I send about four messages altogether. When I’m sure they’ve all been delivered, I delete the photos and wait for a reply.

  >Got them, this is helpful. Thank you.

  I don’t bother to reply to this. I delete the message thread and turn off my cell. I need to remain focused during this evening. I don’t need to any heartfelt messages from Wyatt.

  I study the order book for the next couple of hours and try to make notes of any patterns. If there are areas with more drugs than others, or the same type of drugs being ordered every time. If that’s the case, and I’m shown the ordering system tonight, I could tie everything up. Before I know it, Frank texts me to tell me he’s outside. It’s time to leave. I send him a return text telling him I’m stuck on a call with a customer. This is a lie, of course, but if Frank looks into the shop, I have the phone to my ear and nod my head a few times. I’m deliberately leaving work late, so we hit the evening traffic on the way home. I’ll have to eat in what I’m wearing, giving me an excuse to change on the way to meeting Dad.

  Five minutes later, I walk out of the shop, with my trusty messenger bag hanging across my body, which now contains the order book. I lock up the shop, trying the door to make sure it doesn’t open, and make my way over to the car. Frank opens the rear passenger door, and I get in. As I sit, I pull the strap of my bag over my head, pulling it closer to me. Before Frank pulls off into traffic, he turns back towards me and hands me a sealed box that I know contains the bullets for my gun. I give him a nod in thanks and place it in my messenger bag in such a way so that nobody will notice. Frank watches me for a second before turning back around, starting the car, and pulling out into traffic.

  My plan works. By the time we make it across town, navigating all the afternoon traffic, I’m late arriving home, and Mom is ready to serve dinner.

  “I was about to call you. I was getting concerned,” Mom says.

  “Sorry, Mom. I had a customer call the shop late, then we hit traffic,” I say, keeping my fingers crossed. “Do I have time to change?”

  “Not if you want to eat it hot,” she replies. I sigh with relief. Now, everything is going to plan.

  “I’ll change after dinner, but I’ll drop my bag off in my room, so it isn’t in your way.” Mom hates it when I leave my bag laying around, so she won’t deny me this.

  I quickly move from the back of the house, up the hallway, and upstairs, which are opposite the front door to the third floor. I turn right towards the front of the building where my bedroom is. When I first came back, I thought I may end up in one of the smaller bedrooms on the first floor. Surprisingly, I’m in my larger childhood bedroom, with everything exactly as I had left it when I moved out. As you walk into my room, the bay window is straight in front of you, with the bed and side tables to one wall. On the opposite side is the wardrobe and right next to it is the desk. I place my bag on the bed and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

  Back in the kitchen, I see that Dad has now joined us. I have no idea if he was in the house when I came home or if he arrived after I went upstairs, but these aren’t questions you ask him. If he feels you should know his whereabouts, he’ll tell you, not the other way around.

  “Hi Dad.”

  “Still in your work clothes, Lorenzo,”
he says, looking me up and down.

  “Got delayed at work with a customer and hit traffic. Just got in. Had time to drop my work bag in my room, and that’s it. I’ll change after we eat,” I explain, praying Dad agrees.

  “That’s a good idea. You know how Mom hates having to delay dinner,” he answers me.

  For the next twenty minutes, we all eat together, talking about our days. It’s nice, which is a very odd thing to think considering the situation I’m in. Mealtimes have always been family time, so the time passes very pleasantly. When all the food has been eaten, I ask to be excused to change. As I rise from the table, Dad calls to me, “Lorenzo, I’ll be in my study when you’ve changed.” I nod my head in acknowledgement and make my way back to my bedroom. Hope Dad enjoys his last minutes with Mom.

  Once back in my room, I head to the bathroom which thankfully is next to my room. I turn the shower on, and while it’s heating up, I get a towel from a cupboard by the bathroom door. The moment the water has a bit of heat in it, I step under the stream, wanting to get this shower over with as quickly as possible. After five minutes flat of washing, I towel dry my hair and wrap the towel around my waist and walk back to my room, making sure the door is closed behind me. Thankfully, Mom and Dad grant me privacy when I’m in my room, so I’m not worried about them barging in. Walking over to my wardrobe, I pull out some dark-blue jeans and a black t-shirt. I then go to the gun safe hidden on the floor in the back. I retrieve my gun and place it on the bed, ready to be loaded. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I load my gun. Pulling out the magazine, I pull the slide back, making sure to catch it on the slider catch, and place it beside me on the bed. I then reach over to my bag and pull the box of bullets out. Pulling out the tray of bullets, I click each one into the magazine, counting as I go to make sure there are seventeen bullets. I then click the magazine back into the gun and hold the frame with my fingers. I pull the slider back, and my gun is loaded. Securely placing it in the waistband of my jeans at the base of my back, I pull my t-shirt over it. I deliberately went for one of my bigger t-shirts as it was bigger in the back for this very reason. I run my hand through my virtually dry hair. After a quick check in the mirror, I pick up the cell from Wyatt, slip it into my pocket, and make my way to meet Dad.

  Dad’s study is on the fourth floor at the back of the house. It takes up half the floor space with the rest taken up with another bedroom, that’s formerly Marco’s, and another bathroom. I walk up to the door and knock, waiting to be invited in. You never walk into Alfredo’s domain; you must be invited in. I hear Dad’s voice shout, “Come,” and I walk in. The way Dad has decorated the room makes it very intimidating. Every surface seems to be clad in wood with a matching large carved desk placed opposite the door, in front of a large window that looks out onto the back deck. It somehow always manages to bathe Dad in light, so he looks like he’s glowing. The only color in the room comes from a red Chinese rug in the middle of the floor, the brown leather chairs in front of Dad’s desk, and the matching couch along one side. There are also books on the massive bookshelf on the opposite side.

  I stop inside the door and await my instructions on where I am to sit. Looking up and seeing me, he says, “Argh, Lorenzo, take a seat.” He points to one of the leather chairs facing his desk. The moment I’m sitting, he starts to talk.

  “I was so happy that you came back after our little disagreement.” I must stop myself from laughing here. Getting your son almost killed isn’t a little disagreement. I nod my head and wait for him to continue. “I’ll admit that I’ve been wary, and it has taken me a while to trust you again. That’s all in the past now, and we’re back where we’re supposed to be. When you turned up at the house that night surprised us. I was pleased because I had been planning to invite you over to talk about the business.”

  Now this is where I need to tread very carefully. I need to seem interested but not overly keen, or that could send alarm bells ringing. “What about the business?” I ask, keeping my tone on the right side of intrigue.

  “I think it’s time I tell you how it’s run. I want to retire in the next few years, and by starting the process now, I can mold you into the perfect replacement. I hadn’t been sure when this would happen, but when I saw how happy you were to get the order book back today, I know the time has come.”

  I want to dance around the room and laugh at the same time. Dance because I’m so happy that he’s finally giving me the information I need. Laugh because he thought I was pleased about getting the order book back as it was a link to the family business, not because it meant I had something I could send to Wyatt. I’m going to have to say something to him.

  “Having your trust back is important to me,” I say to him, playing into his belief of self-importance.

  This answer is obviously what he wants to hear by the look on his face. I watch as he rises from his chair and walks over to the bookcase. He pulls out a book, and it looks old, covered in worn red leather at the edges. At one point, it has gold lettering over it. He places it on the table in front of him and sits. As he opens the book, but it isn’t a book at all. It looks like a box file and seems to contain a lot of documents. He pushes it towards me. I slide forward in my seat and pick up the book to look inside. As I flip through them, they’re all emails ordering roses from the flower farm. I look at Dad in confusion. Why would he be hiding emails? Dad can see my confusion and simply says, “Take a closer look at the email address.” Picking up the email, I notice the email address isn’t right. If someone didn’t know the correct address, they would think this is an order to the farm.

  “The address is wrong,” I say to Dad.

  “No, it’s right, but it’s not for the farm,” he replies. This gets me to take a closer look at all the emails. They’re the same color roses and quantities for the drugs that come into the city. It hits me like a thunderbolt. This is how he orders the drugs.

  “These are drug orders,” I say to him, surprised. “I thought you might have been using the dark web.”

  At this, he laughs. “When I first heard of the dark web, I thought it would be perfect, but then I decided that placing orders in broad daylight hadn’t failed in the generations we had been doing it. But it needs to be upgraded, so we switched to emails.” He then points to the books on the shelves. “That there’s your history.” Every one of those aren’t books but files containing my family’s history. I must get those files or at least some of the information inside them to Wyatt.

  “That’s a lot of history,” I state, “but how do you get the drugs from these orders to ship?”

  “We use identical crates to those used at the flower farm.” He leans forward in his chair, so I guess this will be important. “I’ll explain. When we organize a shipment, we give a rough arrival time of the ship to the farm, so they know to get the flowers ready. We always make that time, but it’s normally a day ahead of schedule. When we have drugs to be collected, we email want’s needed, and they’re placed into the identical crates in a false bottom. Each crate only carries small amounts, nothing over five kilos. Anything more and the smell can be detected by sniffer dogs.”

  “Sniffer dogs?” I ask, trying to put an edge of confusion into my voice.

  “Yeah, now and then, when the ship returns to the US, it will be searched by customs with sniffer dogs. We transport them in refrigerated containers that affects their sense of smell. Sending smaller quantities means they aren’t detected.”

  “That’s great, Dad,” I said, trying to sound impressed.

  “It’s good. My poor father and grandfather had a much harder time, as they imported things like sugar or coffee. It was so much harder to hide. They had to get in with even fewer quantities. When you showed the interest in becoming a florist, I saw my chance to change, and it has been successful for us. Anyway, the crates are collected from the drug factory the day before we get to the farm, which is only a little further up the coast. When we get to the flower farm, we place the frozen flowers
in crates, making sure the roses go into the right ones, and the ship then makes her return journey. We can do the entire trip in about two weeks.”

  I hadn’t realized that Dad’s organization was so in depth. Yes, he’s following a formula that has worked for generations, but he has thought about every aspect. It’s no wonder he’s successful getting the drugs into the city, but I need to find the link to the ship and Dad.

  “So, what do we own in the operation?” I ask, hoping to God it isn’t complicated.

  “We own all of it,” he says. “The flower farm, the ship, and the drug factory.”

  “Wow!” I exclaim. If I can get this information to Wyatt, it will hopefully be enough to implicate Dad with everything. As I sit looking at him, I try to figure out if there’s anything else I should ask, but nothing comes to mind. Now that he has shown me where he keeps his files, the answers to any future questions should be there. I know it’s time. I get up from my chair and walk over to the bookcase. I look at each of them, but there are no names on them. They all have the weathered-leather look. I then turn to the center of the room and face my father, who looks at me with confusion on his face.

  “Lorenzo,” he says the question in the tone of his voice.

  “Thanks, Dad. That was all the information I’ve been waiting for,” I reply, making sure my voice portrays all the anger and hurt I feel towards this man

  “What do you mean? You sound so strange,” he says to me. I pull my gun from its hiding place and point it right at him. I had hoped he would be scared, but he laughs at me. I feel myself getting angry. “What are you planning to do with that? Kill me?” he says, still laughing.