It’s still early.
What’s important here, in case you haven’t done the math, is the man managed to locate my warehouse, which is just a step away from finding everything else. Nothing I own is in my name, no... most of it’s under an alias. Oliver Accardi. But all it would take is a simple search of this property to stumble upon every other deed I have, including the one to my house in Queens.
You know, where Scarlet’s at...
“Not in the mood to strip search me, huh?” I ask. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time,” he says. “Are you certain there will be one of those?”
“Pretty goddamn sure.”
Aristov glances all around me, like he’s contemplating what to do. Before he can do anything, though, Three struts into the alley, interrupting.
“Ah, Mister Jackson,” Aristov says. “It has been a while!”
“Not nearly long enough,” Three growls. “What are you doing here?”
“Just saying hello to your boss,” Aristov tells him. “I thought I would give him one more chance to return what belongs to me before I start helping myself to what does not.”
Three’s eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Does it sound like one?” Aristov asks. “I am merely saying if I do not get what I want, I may have to settle for something else. In fact, there is a pretty brunette already on stand-by, a sexy little one we call Lexie... she is not my Morgan, but I suppose I can make do with a substitute for now.”
Three looks damn close to snapping, about to lunge at the guy for that, which is what Aristov wants, so yeah... not happening.
“Three,” I say, “get to work.”
“Yes, sir,” he mutters, making his way into the warehouse.
“Go help him, Seven,” I order, knowing the man’s still lurking behind me, “so we can get out of here.”
“Yes, Mister Pratt, go help your friend,” Aristov chimes in. “I am sure your wife will be happy to have you home early. Lovely woman, that one.”
“What did you just say?” Seven asks, stepping closer instead of going away.
“I said she is a lovely woman.”
“Go, Seven,” I order. “Now.”
Seven listens that time, storming into the warehouse.
“Threatening a man’s family doesn’t make you a bigger man,” I say. “It makes you a disgrace.”
“Do you think I care about the names you call me?” he asks. “Besides, it is not a threat. I do not make threats. I am a man of my word.”
“Your word being...?”
“I will do unimaginable things to that woman, lovely or not. It would not be hard. She is very trusting. Most women are. But I will leave her alone, I will leave you all alone, if you return my Morgan.”
“She’s not yours.”
“Do you think she is yours?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So why does it matter so much to you whether or not she is mine?”
I don’t answer that, because fuck him.
I don’t owe this man a goddamn explanation.
“I will give you a chance to think on it,” he says, taking a step back, “but your chance will not last long, so think quickly, Mister Scar.”
He leaves, disappearing from the alley, just as Seven bursts back out, unable to contain himself. I know he was still listening. It’s written all over his face.
“Go ahead,” I say before he can even ask. “Check on your wife and make sure he doesn’t show up there.”
“Thanks, boss,” Seven says, his steps brisk as he rushes away.
I stroll back into the warehouse, finding Three sitting exactly where Seven had been earlier, munching on one of Seven’s carrots.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Imagining that jackass dying a horrible death.”
“That’s all well and good, but there’s still work to be done,” I say, “so let’s count these fucking oranges so we can all go home.”
Chapter Ten
There was a time, less than a year ago, when the little girl still believed in fairy tales. Not those crazy ones from the storybooks, no... she believed in those happily-ever-after, bad guys are punished as the heroes persevere stories, the ones from the cartoons her mother watched with her.
She loved Cinderella. She loved Snow White.
Princesses were pretty, and happy, and kind.
But more than all of that, more than anything else, the little girl really loved Toy Story.
Be like Buzz and Woody.
She thought her toys were real, that they had feelings and came alive, too, when she wasn’t looking, but all those months later, she wasn’t sure anymore.
Because Buster hadn’t moved at all from the mantle. The little girl couldn’t save him, but he wasn’t saving himself.
“Bye-bye, Buster,” she whispered, being oh-so-quiet, standing in the doorway to the den in the darkness, as the Tin Man slept hunched over in a chair by the fire.
She gave the bear one last look before going back to the bedroom they called hers.
It was the middle of the night. A little bit of snow covered the ground outside, the sky cloudy, the air so cold it fogged up her window. She shivered as she shoved it open, making a face when it made a screeching sound, like grinding metal. Like a rusted Tin Man.
She was scared—so scared—but she didn’t let it stop her. Her mother told her to name her fears, so she called it Buzz Lightyear. Climbing out of the window, onto the small roof, she crawled along it, teeth chattering. It was only the second story, but she felt like she was way up in the sky. But still, she sat down, scooting to the edge, and took a deep breath.
“Be like Buzz,” she whispered to herself. “He can fall with style.”
It took her only a moment to gather the courage to jump—or more like roll, just tucking and falling into a small snowdrift on the grass below. She cringed, landing with a thud, her whole body hurting, but she tried to be quiet so nobody would hear her.
Her arm stung, and her head felt all woozy, but she got to her feet and started walking, heading away from the palace she hated.
The little girl had no idea where she was going, no idea where the Tin Man even lived. But she remembered it was just one road to the beach, so she went that way, with nothing more than the clothes on her back and the red-colored money the Cowardly Lion had given her.
She walked... and walked... and walked, walking forever, freezing cold, her nose running, her fingers numb, before she finally came upon the boardwalk. Nobody was out there at that hour. The few people she passed along the way were too busy to even notice her. It was so dark, and she was still so scared, but she kept going, walking to the only place she knew around there.
Passing the signs that said the beach was closed, she walked out to the shoreline, the cold water touching her shoes.
Where was she supposed to go now?
“Hey, you there,” a voice called out, light flashing her direction. “What are you doing?”
The little girl turned, seeing a man approaching—a man wearing a blue uniform. A police officer.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, coming closer.