by Linden Storm
Jimmy looks at the ground. “Sorry. To tell you the truth, uh, I figured she’d gone off to visit you!” His brow creases. He wipes sweat off his chin with the back of a meaty hand. “Hey! I’ll just bet she’s on her way to you right now. And wouldn’t that just be a mix-up and a half if it turned out you were down here looking for her at the same exact time she’s up there looking for you?”
Belle giggles again. “It would! But I’ll bet that’s just what happened?”
“Yeah! Funny!” Wishkowski says.
“That is funny, all right,” William says.
“And you are?” Wishkowski says, thrusting out his hand to shake.
“I’m William and this is Nick,” William says.
“Oh, you’re all on that team. That Battlecraft thing?” Jimmy squints and shakes his head, smiling sheepishly.
Nick takes Wishkowski’s hand. It’s hot and wet, and Wishkowski holds the handshake too long.
“That’s right, we’re on the Battlecraft team,” William says. “The Untouchables.”
“You know, that’s Marina’s hobby, and I don’t really understand it. But I sure am glad to meet you, and especially you, sis.” Jimmy Wishkowski enfolds Belle in a sweaty bear hug.
Belle gags a little. And then she puts on the same vacant smile and says a cordial good-bye to Jimmy Wishkowski.
They take off walking briskly toward their rental car as Wishkowski enters the elevator.
“Who was that?” Nick says, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder.
“What?” Belle says.
“You were a person I didn’t know back there,” Nick says. “A California-born pole-dancer.”
“You might have some acting skills, too, if you had grown up in seventeen different foster homes.”
Belle picks the hair up off of her neck and flaps it around. William offers her a bottle of water and she takes it and drinks the whole thing.
“Should we have stayed there and made him talk?” Belle says. “I could tell he knew something, at the very least. Did you see the way he kept looking away? He was trying to hide it, but he was nervous. Or scared.”
William touches the car-door handle and pulls his hands back. “Ow,” he says, flapping his hand around to cool it off. “You know, Raymond Chandler said something like ‘Ain’t no clean way to make a hundred million bucks.’ But I say there’s no clean way to ask a Border Patrol agent what he did with his mail-order bride.”
Belle walks to the edge of the sidewalk and kicks a plaster wall hard enough to chip the paint. Flakes fall onto the pavement. “I have a right to know what happened to my sister.”
Nick and William stand quietly, waiting for her to continue.
“I’m really worried about Marina,” Belle says.
“Finally!” Nick says. “We’re in synch.”
Belle stares at Nick until he fidgets and looks away.
“But it might get dangerous,” she says. “That guy’s in law enforcement, even if he is just a border patrol agent.”
“Dangerous?” Nick says, panting.
“You saw the gun, right?” Belle says.
“Belle. Listen. We have to do this. We won’t be able to live with ourselves,” William says.
“I’m going to do something. But it seems like you guys are thinking of this as a game. It isn’t a game. It’s reality, and you can get hurt,” Belle says.
“We know that. But we’re in it now. We can’t walk away,” William says. “I’m really worried about Marina.”
Belle bunches her shirt up around her hand and opens the car door. She can feel even more heat rolling out. She wonders if Nick can handle it. He’s already leaning on William.
Belle thinks for a few minutes, searching her memory for a way forward. Then she remembers a brief conversation she’d had with Marina right after she’d married Wishkowski. She’d asked about the wedding, and Marina had described it briefly, then changed the subject. “I guess we can go see Jimmy’s ex-wife,” Belle says.
“Wait…” Nick says. And then he begins to fall down. William holds him up.
“Am I going to die?” Nick says.
Belle helps William drag Nick to a bench in the shade of a bus stop shelter. William coaxes him to drink water. He sputters and spits.
“Drink more water!” Belle says. “Your health bar’s in the red.”
Nick gulps the water and comes out of the swoon. William gently pushes his head between his knees.
“It’s okay, Nick, a little AC and some water and you’ll be fine,” William says, patting Nick’s back.
“We have to go find Wishkowski’s ex-wife,” Belle says, waving her phone in front of William’s face.
William sighs. “You never slow down, do you?”
“Somebody’s got to lead this shit-show,” Belle says. “And I don’t see you two doing it.”
∆∆∆
Belle agrees to drop Nick off at the motel before she and William go visit Jimmy Wishkowski’s ex-wife.
On the way, William looks out the window at the brown, parched landscape and empty storefronts while Belle fiercely manipulates her phone. She’s searching for more information about Wishkowski’s ex. It’ll help to have as many details as possible.
After a while, Belle looks up from her phone and realizes William is staring at her. Or maybe he’s just staring into the middle distance, thinking about something else.
“What’s up?” she says.
William flushes.
God, Belle thinks, he’s such an emotional person. He’s always throwing his arms around somebody, telling someone how great they are. Belle feels like his opposite, like they have nothing in common outside of the game.
Now he’s taking deep breaths. “Why are you so harsh? Nick’s having a hard time. You could be a little nicer.”
“I could be, but I’m not,” Belle says. “Being nice is not important to me.”
“I know you’ve been hurt,” he says.
She feels the anger rise up in her, an emotion so familiar it’s become comfortable. She wants to focus on the game, not on relationships.
“Look,” William says. “I know you grew up in foster care. After your mother died. And I know some of your foster homes were not good.”
Belle reddens and frowns.
He keeps talking. “You said you’ve been homeless, basically, and…”
She feels herself working up to another level of rage and decides to put a stop to the conversation the best way she knows how. She decides to attack.
“Do you have any idea how you sound?” she says, turning to face him squarely. “You grow up in a wealthy family, and you get busy screwing that whole sweet deal up, the private schools, the vacations in Europe, the ‘summer programs,’ while I’m stuck in the foster system with racist dirt bags who are always asking what I am because I have slightly darker skin than they do.”
He says nothing, just looks slightly stunned.
“I didn’t know what I was, okay? My mother died when I was two. There is no father in my birth records. When I was five, I was sent to a foster home and lived with eight other kids. One of the older boys was a psychopath who beat me up every day. I ran away all the time. At eleven I was sent to a farm in Enumclaw. They had me operating farm equipment and weeding beans on my hands and knees, and then they sold the produce at a fancy farmer’s market in the suburbs. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen years old.”
William’s face turns a dark pink. He looks at the floor of the car, then out the window.
Is he crying?
“Forget it,” Belle says, ignoring his tears. “We’re almost there. Jenny Wishkowski is expecting us.”
∆∆∆
William fixes his gaze on his feet and tries not to cry. But the tears come anyway, rolling down his face.
Belle doesn’t notice, being engaged in the task of the moment. Belle can always be depended on to stay on task. Often while bulldozing weaker humans and leaving them bleeding—or weeping—and out of
her way.
He remembers when he’d started crying all the time. It had been when he was ten, after his father had married Sandra. Her daily goal had been to humiliate him, and she knew just what to do. Every childish mistake, every naïve move would be pointed out and presented as evidence to his father: William was stupid, William was lazy, William was useless.
And his father had eventually bought fully into Sandra’s assessment, his early placatory defenses of his son rapidly fading into numb acquiescence. Eventually, his father’s house had become too oppressive, and he’d fled it forever.
Thereby handing Sandra what she’d wanted all along—a household empty of her husband’s unwanted progeny.
His mother had always been there for him, at least. Even in his teens when he’d acted out and gotten in trouble.
He wonders, not for the first time, if his relationship with Belle Morris is an attempt to prove his stepmother wrong. And he wonders if sticking with the team will be worth the pain.
∆∆∆
As she and William approach Jenny Wishkowski’s address, Belle thinks about the fact that she’s not alone in the world anymore, not completely.
She has a sister.
She’s always recognized the resemblance, and now she feels the truth—Marina is her sister. She doesn’t remember her mother, and she has never met any other blood relatives, but there is a feeling between her and Marina she’s never felt before. It’s like they understand each other before they even realize it.
When she looks into Marina’s eyes, or when they say the same word at the same moment, there’s an unmistakable feeling of familiarity.
But most convincing of all is the way both move. Their unconscious gestures when they’re together, like mirror images moving in synch.
Belle had been cataloging their similarities for some time, without admitting it to anyone: the way Marina looked at people when she was skeptical—a slight tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyes. The way she twisted all the way around when someone called her name. The way she pointed at an object of interest, jabbing her finger repeatedly. The way she smiled when she was mildly amused, the upturn of the left side of her mouth.
Finding Marina—that’s the only thing that’s important now. She continues to comb the interwebs for information on Wishkowski and his former wife. There isn’t much there.
The car takes them into a housing development filled with three layouts of nearly identical one-story stucco homes. They’re all colored brown, beige, or an odd putty-pink. All the yards are gravel and rock punctuated by cacti, boulders, and cement statuary. Most of the windows are barred, and there are many RVs and pickup trucks in evidence.
They pull up in front of a house that looks nearly indistinguishable from all the others.
The heat assaults them as they hurry to the small, shaded front porch. Belle can feel William’s eyes on her back as she rings the doorbell, feel him judging her.
She doesn’t let that hinder her transformation into the vacuous person who had interacted with Jimmy Wishkowski.
Jenny Wishkowski opens the door. She is big and wide and colorful, wearing a violet scarf, a voluminous fuchsia dress with softball-sized white polka dots, red lipstick, and sparkly eyeshadow. Her hair is a dark, bulbous cap on her large head.
“Hi!” Belle says, making herself smile like a beauty queen at a parade.
“Hi!” Jenny says. “You must be Marina’s sister.”
Belle can’t completely hide her surprise. Then she decides it’s not necessary. The character she’s playing would be flattered. “You recognized me!” she squeals.
“You look just like her,” Jenny says, smiling. “But you know that already.”
“Did Jimmy call you?” Belle says innocently. She’s worried about what might have happened after they left Jimmy’s place. Had he gone inside and noticed that his apartment had been tossed? Had he called his ex-wife to warn her? She decides it’s by far the best strategy to play it straight, to pretend innocence and ignorance. She hopes William doesn’t give anything away.
“He did call me,” Jenny says, smiling.
Belle feels a surge of relief when she registers Jenny’s open, sincere smile. Wishkowski must have missed the fact that they’d disturbed his mess. “This is my friend, and Marina’s friend, too. William,” Belle says.
“Well, aren’t you cute?” Jenny says. “I watched your interview on that YourStream morning show. You almost went viral, honey. I think there’s a meme.”
William smiles. “I hope not, ma’am,” he says.
Jenny sits on a Navajo-themed love seat, nearly filling it up. Belle and William sit squeezed together on another small sofa. Between them is a coffee table made of a glass top perched on a pink marble pedestal that bears a resemblance to a howling coyote. The house smells like chocolate chip cookies.
“So how can I help you?” Jenny says.
Belle reflects on the fact that although there isn’t much information on the interwebs about Jenny Wishkowski, her occupation is listed. She bills herself as a psychotherapist who “incorporates hypnosis, horses, and crystals to create a unique therapeutic environment.” Belle can see by the way Jenny sizes them up that she is shrewd, if a little idiosyncratic. She reminds herself to be careful.
“I’m looking for my sister?” Belle says. “But you probably already know that?”
“Your ex-husband didn’t seem to know where she went,” William says. “He thought she might be heading to Seattle, but we thought we would check with you to see if you heard anything.”
Belle leans forward, blinking her eyes rapidly and smiling. “I think it’s just so great that you’re friends with Marina? I mean, how many exes are friends with number two?”
“I like Marina,” Jenny says. “Who wouldn’t? She’s smart, and nice, and completely aboveboard.”
“Don’t you think it’s…kind of funny? Jimmy doesn’t seem to know where she is or how to reach her, and yet he seems kind of like the attentive type?” Belle says, smiling vacantly.
Jenny swipes her hand in the air to dispel any whiff of suspicion. “He’s embarrassed. Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if your bride of six months ran away? But she was living in a stranger’s world.”
Belle waits, hoping she’ll go on. And she does. Jenny might be shrewd, but she talks nonstop, filling every nook and cranny of the conversational space. She launches into a story.
“It was such a lovely wedding,” Jenny says. She looks up and to the right, as if she’s winding up to go on for a long time. “They were both so happy, and I was happy for them. Dan and I—Dan’s my gentleman friend—stood up with them. It was at Maricopa County Courthouse…Lovely. Just lovely. They went to the Grand Canyon for their honeymoon. I gave her something borrowed, something blue…you know, and told her what to look out for being married to Jimmy. I love Jimmy. Jimmy’s the love of my life, really, but our love wasn’t meant to last. Dan—he’s my partner—understands.”
Belle makes herself nod and blink, nod and blink at the big colorful, soft woman as she talks and talks. This is better than she could have hoped for. William’s mouth has fallen open, and Belle nudges his thigh to get him to close it.
“What to look out for?” Belle says encouragingly.
“You know, I think it was something about me and him together. I don’t know what it was. Something. We were so in love, but he couldn’t stop the drinking when we were together. He didn’t know why; I don’t know why. We loved each other. Isn’t it strange? But anyway, he’d drink, and he was not a happy drunk. Ha! Not a happy drunk at all. Thank God he doesn’t drink any more. Sober for ten years.”
“He got a little difficult when he drank?” William says.
“Well, yes, he did. He got jealous. So jealous. Accused me of having affairs with the oddest people. Like I’d have an affair. Me!” She spreads her arms wide in a gesture of helpless puzzlement. “But he’s been sober for years. Many years. Over ten years now. Completely sober! He got his ten-yea
r pin from AA. They gave him a party and everything.” Jenny nods solemnly. She fans herself with both hands. “I’m repeating myself a little bit, aren’t I?”
“I didn’t notice,” Belle says, willing herself to scrub every trace of sarcasm out of her tone.
“That’s a long time to be sober. Good for him!” William says.
Huh, Belle thinks, William is a much better actor than I thought. He sounds completely sincere.
“Do you know how Jimmy and Marina were getting along? Recently, I mean?” William says.
“Great! They were getting along great! She’s a lovely girl. Wait! Let me show you something. Look at this.”
Jenny stands, tugs her dress down, and disappears into the other room. She comes back out with a framed photo in her hands. “I have a picture!”
The photo shows the Maricopa County Courthouse: terracotta stone, art deco. On wide steps, four people squinting into a bright day. To the left, Dan and Jimmy, two broad, magenta-faced, middle-aged men in white cowboy shirts and indigo jeans and shined cowboy boots. On the far right, Jenny in the same polka-dot dress she’s wearing now. In the photo, her body is turned to the side to minimize her bulk, and she is beaming. And sandwiched between Jimmy and Jenny, Marina stands in a white lace dress, looking caught and stricken, as if she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.
∆∆∆
It’s nearly dark as Nick watches William vaping in the dim light outside the motel room window. He’d said it was for medicinal reasons. Nick would like to join William and indulge in some of his excellent private-label cannabis, but he doesn’t trust himself to function on the stuff—he’s barely coping as it is. Plus, it’s still a thousand degrees outside.
He’s busy trying to read Marina’s journal. His Russian is just okay, but he can get the gist of most of the entries. So far, it’s mostly about the game—strategy ideas, training plans, dissections of matches they’d played.
His thoughts turn to the afternoon’s events. That break-in.
Nick can’t believe what they’d done. They’d burglarized the apartment of a Border Patrol officer, and he’d almost caught them. Nick can’t believe that huge sweaty law enforcement guy hadn’t realized they’d been inside his place. Any moment, he’ll probably wake up from his drunken stupor and call the Phoenix police, who will call down heavily armed SWAT teams to riddle them with machinegun fire. Or blow them up with grenades. Or gas them to death. It’ll be just like getting ganked in the game, except the blood and death will be real.