“Yeah, well, at least you know...”
“Yeah, and it’s a pity, really, because I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.”
She says nothing else.
I don’t say anything, either.
We lay there in silence.
For once, I don’t prefer it.
I want her to say something else, anything else, just to erase those words now assaulting my mind.
I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.
I don’t like it, not at all, because as she says those words, I come to realize, in the moment, that feeling might be mutual.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
That question is like nails on a chalkboard. It’s like Jim Carey in Dumb & Dumber. It’s like a boojie little blonde talking about her fucking wardrobe.
It grates on my every nerve.
I twitch at the sound of it.
Seven stands beside me in the old warehouse, eyeing me with caution, awaiting an answer to his question. It’s approaching noon, and we’ve unloaded a few crates, a truck coming in this morning with the guns for one of Jameson’s connections. I couldn’t get ahold of Three, but Five showed up in his place, a fact that also irritates me.
“This morning,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that it wasn’t for more than an hour. I had too much on my mind. “You gonna ask me about my feelings next, doc? Maybe prescribe me a tranquilizer to keep the nightmares at bay?”
“I’m just looking out for you,” he says, not at all ruffled by my attitude.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need my hand held, thanks,” I say, snatching up a crowbar to pop the top off of a crate, figuring I’ll just inventory it all myself.
I left Scarlet at home, in bed, asleep.
She could probably use the extra money, but I need some space to clear my head so I can try to think straight when it comes to all of this. There’s work to be done, things that need handled, and I can’t be worrying about the people around me when I need to be concerned about the ones standing in my way.
My phone rings as I start sorting through the guns. I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. Three. I hand it to Seven, saying, “Deal with this bastard before I kill him.”
Seven nods, taking the phone and answering it, saying everything that needs to be said, minus the threats I’d be spewing if I had to deal with him directly. He lectures the kid like he’s his fucking father, which is kind of funny, you know.
That’s how Seven acts. Like a father figure.
Like he knows what’s best for us.
He usually does.
Seven hangs up eventually, sighing, still clutching my phone. “He said his phone was dead, he forgot to charge it because he was preoccupied dealing with that woman.”
“That sounds a lot like an excuse to me.”
“That it does,” Seven says. “He apologized.”
“He’s got two strikes already,” I say. “If it so much as even rains on me, he’s catching the blame and that’s it for him.”
“Understandable.”
I go back to inventory, popping open the other crates before dismissing Five, paying him for the manual labor. I’m nearly finished with it all when ringing once again shatters the silence.
“If that’s Three again...”
Seven looks at my phone, expression guarded as he holds it up. “Brooklyn number.”
Son of a bitch.
“Put it on speaker,” I order, waiting for Seven to press the buttons, knowing right away it’ll be none other than Aristov. “Gambini.”
“Ah, Mister Scar, I was hoping you would be accepting calls today.”
“For you, Yogi? Anytime. Now tell me what you want so we can both get on with our days.”
“I am curious if you are with Morgan right now,” he says, “if she is there, wherever you may be.”
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to tell you that, do you?”
“I am hoping so.”
“Well, tough shit, because you’re not getting anything from me.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh. “That is a shame. You could have made a little girl very happy, but instead, you choose to break her heart.” The phone shifts, his voice dropping lower as he says, “I am sorry, my kitten, but you cannot talk to your mommy on her birthday.”
This conniving son of a bitch...
“Do you think I’m stupid?” I ask. “Do you think I’m going to fall for this bullshit? That I’ll actually believe you have the kid right there with you?”
The phone shifts again, his voice sharp as he says, “Say hello to the man.”
I shake my head, snatching a lid up and slamming it back onto the last crate, the bang echoing through the warehouse so loud that I almost miss the sound of the soft voice coming through the line. “Hello.”
Time feels like it stops.
I turn, looking in the direction of my phone. Seven still holds it, wide-eyed, staring at me. Guess he didn’t expect to actually hear the kid, either.
“Hello,” I say, having no idea what else to say, if I should even say anything.
“Is Mommy there?” she asks, a hopeful edge to her high-pitched voice that I know I’m about to crush.
“No, she’s not,” I say, “but she misses you.”
“I miss her, too,” she says, and I can hear her voice as it quivers, hope replaced with devastation. “Do you know where Mommy went?”
“Put your father back on the phone,” I say, because I can’t answer those questions for her, but she doesn’t listen to me any more than Scarlet ever does.
“Please!” she says, starting to cry. “I want Mommy! I don’t wanna be here no more! Please don’t—”
She lets out a shriek that is muffled damn near instantly. I can hear a struggle through the line, frantic sobbing, coughing, like the girl can’t catch her breath. My stomach sinks. Seven looks at me with horror, like he expects me to do something, but what the hell am I supposed to do about this?
I’m suddenly grateful Scarlet isn’t here, that she isn’t hearing it.
“Quiet, kitten,” Aristov says, getting back on the phone. “Daddy is talking to Mommy’s new toy.”
The girl grows quiet.
I don’t hear a fucking peep from her.
“Did you just hurt her?” I ask, trying to keep calm, when I want to reach through the line and rip his fucking balls off.
“I shushed her.”
“You choked her.”
“Nonsense,” he says. “They must be taught or else they run wild. It is for her own good.”
For her own good.
“What do you want?” I ask. “I’m starting to lose my patience with you, and you’re really not going to like me when that happens.”
“You know what I want,” he says. “I want my little kitten to have her mommy back.”
“Well, then, we’re on the same page,” I say. “I’ll gladly come pick up the kid and reunite them so they can go on their merry way.”
“Tsk, tsk. You know it will not work like that.” He laughs. “Tell me where to find the suka. I, also, grow tired of this game, and I will not play it much longer. If you do not give me what I want, everyone you know will pay the price. Your friends, their families... even your own brother. Yes, I know about him, Mister Scar. I do not want to hurt them, so do not make me. All I want is my pretty girl back home so we can be a family.”
Before I can respond, the line goes dead.